#ANYWAY THIS WAS FUN TO WRITE

[daboyau]

Oooo uh for the ask game, can you please do number three with Donnie and Mikey?

Hi hi Curly!! I had two completely different ideas for this prompt, but this is the one I completed first. :) I’ll share the other one if I finish it. -3-

i hope you enjoyyyy!!! (Warning for donnie being a lil…creepy? I guess?)

Mikey groans, head pounding as he struggles towards wakefulness. He feels funny. All sluggish and achey, and everything feels too heavy. Every twitch of fingers or attempt to open his eyes feels like trying to lift Raph single handed — it’s doable, but it’s hard. The temptation to let himself drift off again is sounding better and better with every second that passes, but for some reason he just…can’t. There’s something that’s making his scales feel all creepy and crawly, but he has no idea what it might be with his eyes still closed.

With a groan of effort, he forces his eyes open — and then squeezes them closed again, when the bright lights sear his eyeballs and makes his headache about 10,000% worse. He whimpers, but his arms feel too heavy to lift all the way up to his face, so he can’t even press the heels of his palms into his sockets to try to alleviate some of the awful stinging pain. 

There’s a curse from somewhere not too far away, and the next second he feels a cool, wet cloth being draped across his whole face. He stiffens for a second, startled by the sensation, before a pair of hands press gently against his temples. He breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that gentle, methodical touch after years of his brother carefully massaging his migraines away.

“Dondon?” he rasps, the nickname so slurred that it’s really only years of familiarity that might make it recognizable. The touch falters for a brief second, just long enough for Mikey to worry a little, before they continue their healing path across his scalp. He sighs and feels his muscles begin to relax again. A smile trembles at the corner of his mouth, and his worry starts to slip away. Even if something feels weird, it’s fine. Donnie’s here, after all!

He tries to speak again, his tongue still struggling against the words he wants to blurt, when the hands move lower to rest against his shoulders. They squeeze briefly before being laid flat, and…there’s something weird. They’re too cold and hard, and way too big, the tips of those fingers resting at the base of his chest plates. 

His eyes slam open, but the damp cloth is still laid out over his face, and when he tries to lift a hand again to move it, he realizes with a sudden terror that he can’t because he’s tied down. The sound of confused terror that escapes his throat has those hands pressing against his chest preemptively, rendering his attempts to buck against the restraints useless. Still, he struggles, keening as every desperate thrash does nothing but make those suddenly unfamiliar hands feel heavier and heavier until he’s left breathless. White spots burst against the dark cloth that’s hiding the world away from him. 

“Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay.” The voice sounds so much like Donnie, but somehow wrong. Rougher. Harsher. Mikey whimpers weakly. 

The hands slowly lift from his chest, and settle on either side of his neck. They brush against his scales, and he realizes that they’re metal, or at least they’re covered in it. Donnie doesn’t like having tech on his fingers like that. Says it makes it hard to use his screens without risking hurting them. 

He feels a single cold finger drag itself across the hollow of his throat. It pauses. Lingers. A threat that even Raph could read loud and clear. Mikey’s too scared to even swallow. He can hear feel his heart pounding, desperate and loud, beneath that finger.

“You’re okay,” the voice says again, softer this time, closer, like he’s leaned down to whisper directly next to Mikey’s head. “You’re not going anywhere. Not again.”

Mikey swallows down the fear and the confusion and manages to choke out, “What’s going on?”

The hands withdraw. He hears slow footsteps circling him. It makes him think of when he was little, and Leo would try to spook him during hide and seek by being loud enough to let him know exactly how close he was to finding him. He swallows, and can almost feel the eyes on him, tracking each tiny movement. 

“You don’t remember,” says not-his-brother. Something like a question, but maybe just confirming what he already suspected. Mikey squirms, testing the restraints once more, not even knowing what he was maybe supposed to remember in the first place. It’s unnerving to hear the voice, because it sounds just like Dee. It’s the exact same carefully blank tone he uses when he’s feeling too many big things to fit inside his words. The little emphasis he puts on his T’s and how he swallows the R when his throat is all tight from holding back tears even though he always swears he never cries. 

Something is really, really wrong. 

“Wh—“ his voice fails him, cracking and fragile, and he rattles out a cough that hurts before he tries again. “What don’t I remember?”

A deep breath. A hand that just barely brushes against his arm before jerking back like the touch had burned him. Mikey wishes he could see, so he could at least try to take a guess at what’s going through the Donnie-Not-Donnie?’s mind. 

“You made a portal,” Maybe-Donnie breathes, and those cold metal fingers skim across his arm again, across the divots where sharp scars had burned their way into his skin years ago. It burns, and Mikey distantly realized the old wounds must have reopened. Those unfamiliar-familiar hands are shaking as they trace the wounds. “You disappeared. We… I spent so long looking for you.” 

Mikey goes still. He turns his head, trying to follow the sound of the voice. The rag over his face feels like it’s suffocating him. Feels like drowning.

“Mikey,” Donnie-But-Wrong says, slow and full of wonder, like he is savoring the sound. Maybe he’s enjoying the opportunity to say it out loud and have it be heard. “Angelo.”

“I’m here,” Mikey breathes. His fingers twitch. Those metal fingers slide into his hand and give a gentle squeeze before they disappear again. Mikey wishes they’d stay longer, but instead of saying that, he gathers up his courage and makes a demands instead. “Let me see.”

A pause that stretches on long enough that Mikey thinks that he’ll be ignored. Left blind and chained and buried here. Then, a shaky breath and a soft beeping sound. The rag is lifted away. 

The lights have been dimmed, but it still takes his too sensitive eyes a second to adjust. 

The face staring back at him is haggard and scarred. One side of his face seems almost melted from old burns that trace all the way down his neck to disappear under the clasp of his battle shell, and the eye resting inside the socket is robotic. There are fine lines around his mouth and at the corners of his intact eye. It is entirely unfamiliar. 

He smiles, and—

It is undoubtedly his brother.

“Dondon?” he rasps, tears blurring his vision. The smile grows bigger even as his brother’s face seems to collapse in on itself, and pink tinged tears begin to leak from his good eye. 

“Hi, Mikester.” 

The nickname feels like a punch. He wants to reach out, to hold him close and listen to his heartbeat until it feels familiar again. He wants to run away, so far and fast that he can pretend that this nightmare never happened. 

But he’s still chained. There is a manic glint in the Wrong-Donnie’s eyes as he leans over, cradling Mikey’s face in his cold metal hands, heedless of how he struggles to escape the hold. His lower lip trembles. 

“What happened to you?” Mikey whispers, and his voice feels like it gets swallowed by the black hole of that grinning mouth and bloodshot eye. 

“It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I finally found you, and I won’t lose you again.” His grip gets tighter. Smile wider. Mikey’s heart tries to choke him as it climbs its way into his throat. Not even a whimper can escape past it as What-Happened-To-You-Donnie leans close to press their foreheads together. Mikey feels the curl of his smile against his cheek as he breathes, “You’re never leaving again.”

is this actually Mikey’s brother? Did he find a donnie who’s been broken by grief in an alternate universe? Is it all a simulation? Who knows!! Not Mikey, not you, and certainly not me. :) hope you liked, my friend!!

[a-little-unsteddie]

Admiring the Ocean

I promise this is fluffier than the last thing I posted. Kinda. It gets there, in the end. Enjoy!

———

Eddie was never what anyone would consider a ‘quiet kid’. He did everything so loudly — so himself — and without reservation. It’s one of the things that Wayne insisted he loved most about him. He didn’t hold back, ever, and Wayne thought that kind of being, that kind of loving, was beautiful.

Unfortunately, the world would not agree with Wayne Munson, because Eddie was only eight when he first started getting into Dungeons and Dragons. Someone at school had lent him a guidebook, and he had taken it home to read. Occasionally, when he read something particularly intriguing, he would turn to his dad and repeat exactly what he learned. At first, he got patient smiles and nods. Then his dad would roll his eyes before turning to listen. Eventually, he would audibly scoff as Eddie required his attention. This would lead to his dad eventually growling out, “For god’s sake boy, shut the fuck up before I make you.”

That would be the first time that Eddie learned that sometimes he was too loud.

It wouldn’t be the last time.

Eddie was ten when he came home to tell his dad about his crush. He was ten when he learned that he should be quiet about that part of himself. He was ten when he was almost killed for loving a boy. He was ten when he left to live with his Uncle Wayne. He was ten when he decided he wouldn’t talk anymore. He was too loud.

It didn’t last, however. It lasted about as long as his uncle found out he decided to stop talking. It lasted maybe two hours. And then his uncle was telling him that there was nothing wrong with him. That the way he loved was magnificent, so completely and irrevocably perfect. It would take longer for Eddie to believe it. To embrace it.

Even then, though. Eddie decided he would love boys quietly. From a distance. He knew it was dangerous for him to love openly. So he didn’t. He made every other part of himself so loud it drowned out anything else. No one noticed the quiet yearning Eddie felt. He hid it from everyone.

Well.

He tried to hide it from everyone.

But Wayne must have known, must have been told, must have somehow seen, because he took Eddie close one day and whispered into his ear gentle reassurances.

“I know. I know, it’s okay. It’s okay to love boys, y’hear me?” Wayne had gruffly spoken, firm but quiet. “I know it’s scary, but it is okay. You are allowed to love boys. I love you. You are mine, y’hear me, boy? My son. And you can love whoever you want.”

Eddie still hid it. He just hid it with Wayne, letting his uncle hear about whoever he liked. He couldn’t help it, really. But other than that, he was quiet. He never showed signs in public. He was still loud, but he used it as a cover. He used it as a shield. Threw himself into being so wholly and unequivocally himself so that he could watch, yearn, admire from afar. Used his speeches at lunch to give himself a chance to look at whatever pretty boy had captured his attention.

Eddie loved pretty boys.

He did so quietly, observing from afar, content to love them from his mind, doing nothing to show for it besides the occasional longing look. He never expected any of them to love him back, how could he? Loving them was never about getting loved in return — no one expected a sunset to watch them back. He was happy doing what he was doing.

And no boy was as pretty as Steve Harrington.

Loving Steve Harrington wasn’t something that Eddie had expected. It had happened suddenly, without a warning. Eddie had been unaware of the fact in one moment, one breath, and in the next one, Eddie knew he would love Steve Harrington until he died, probably. He also knew he would do so silently. The one thing about himself he would ever do quietly. He watched as Steve healed and became more himself, admiring the way that he had been building muscle strength. He watched the gentle happiness return to Steve, how it radiated from inside of him and brightened the entire room. He was breathtaking. Still, Eddie loved without expectation. Without planning to tell anyone. Other than Wayne. Wayne heard it all.

Heard about the way Eddie is certain he could create constellations if he concentrated hard enough on the moles and freckles dotted across his skin. He heard of the way Steve’s laugh brings a smile to anyone who’s around to hear, the noise so gentle and fond it’s impossible to ignore. The way that Eddie is convinced that Steve was art, a sculpture carved from stone, appearing soft and forgiving, but actually sharper than he lets on.

Except.

Eddie got comfortable. When Eddie got comfortable, his self preservation goes down, apparently. Eddie and Steve were hanging out, and Steve was looking at Eddie curiously, searching for something. Eddie wasn’t scared of what he was looking for — at first. Then, the longer Steve looked at him, eyes growing ever fonder, Eddie realized what Steve was looking for. Maybe not what he was looking for, exactly, but what Steve had found. Eddie was terrified of whatever it could be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked, looking at Eddie in soft confusion. Not accusatory, just curious. Worried, maybe. It soothed Eddie enough to just start talking.

“I learned from a young age that sometimes I love things too loudly,” Eddie started, unsure where he was going until the words were spilling out, “But I still loved so much. Everything. Dungeons and dragons, art, theatre, math on a good day. I just didn’t know how to be quiet about anything I admired. And well, some people didn’t like that, so they tried to shut me up.” Here, Eddie paused for a second as he contemplated something. “I guess, in a way, they won. Because I stopped loving boys out loud, but god, do I love them. Especially pretty ones, like you. But I learned that just because I can’t be loud about it, doesn’t mean I can’t do it. So I did it from a distance. Never straying too close. It’s a bit like loving the stars, y’know. Or how a sailor loves the sea,” he paused, smiling softly, “in the way photographers love a sunset. With my entire being and no expectations to be admired, to be loved, back. You don’t look at the ocean and expect it to look back at you.” He ended his ramble, trailing off and feeling his cheeks heating up. He said a bit mire than he meant to. Well, he supposed, he was never really meant to love quietly.

Eddie opened his eyes when a hand touched his cheek, not realizing he closed them. His eyes met Steve’s, who was looking back at him so softly, so lovingly, that Eddie was struck with the absurd thought that this is what it must feel like to be admired, to be loved by the ocean in return.

[ciircex]

Alastor [ @culling ] declared, "there you are, darling. ” 👀 || My muse is being hit on by someone they aren't interested in and are visibly uncomfortable. Send, "there you are, darling" for your muse to come and wrap their arm around mine's waist to guide them away.

The ALLURE of a femme fatale seemed to have followed her EVEN in death, which was flattering but it also could be such an... annoyance. Compliments were all FINE && DANDY, stroking her already HIGH self-esteem, but it was a problem when the compliments just became LEWD comments that just irritated her to no end. [ IT WASN'T EVEN TASTEFUL FLIRTING, SOMETHING SHE COULD PLAY ALONG WITH. HOW DREADFUL! ] "How ADORABLE, you think you have a chance with me," she TEASED, though an edge was gleaming under her words, threatening to cut the fellow sinner if they persisted. All she wanted was to walk home from her boutique, alone && without a CARE in the world. Circe should've known that her TEASING remark would have just flown over the horny sinner's head, thinking it was an invitation to invade her space further. A SCOWL presented itself upon her lips && she was fully prepared to bite the head off the other [ METAPHORICALLY, OF COURSE ] but she stopped as she saw the sinner's expression turn VISIBLY afraid. How curious, why did this sinner, who seemed to have been so ADAMANT about going home with her now seem so AFRAID? Circe got her answer within a few SECONDS, an arm wrapping around her WAIST guiding her away from the sinner && a voice accompanied by RADIO STATIC, simply stating: "there you are, darling." She let a SMILE cross her ruby red lips, allowing Alastor to guide her away, anything to get AWAY from any other... unwanted attention. "Thank you for HELPING out, little old me. I SWEAR a lady such as myself can HARDLY walk home alone anymore without some... PRICK thinking he can rizz me up." Her demeanor had changed, FINALLY relaxing now that she wasn't STRESSED at being so lewdly talked to.

[windfighter]

Kouji on ice

Prompt: Ice pack

-------

Winter. Snow had fallen during the night, melted and frozen again. The streets were slippery and people shuffled more than they walked. Kouji was as well, unintentionally, as he made his way over to Takuya for a movie night while Kouji’s parents were out of town. He was almost there when a particulary nasty patch of black ice, invicible to the eye, covered the sidewalk. Kouji put a foot on it and his foot instantly slid forwards faster than Kouji could counter. The ground came closer fast. Kouji’s hands shot out to brace the fall. Pain exploded from his left shoulder, then his hands slid away from him as well and he landed on his butt.

”...ow.”

Every part of his body ached. He put his right hand on his left shoulder and winced. Took deep breaths. The pain slowly crawled back, settled in his shoulder, arse and lower back. At least he didn’t seem to have broken anything.

He rolled his shoulder. Pain flared up and he let out a groan before closing his eyes. Perfect. On the day when his mom wasn’t home and he was supposed to hang with Takuya. He looked at the sky, considered his options. He could always cancel and go to Kouichi instead, but… He had been looking forward to this. They had spent the whole week planning since it wasn’t often just the two of them got to hang out. Most of the time Kouji spent his spare time with Kouichi to catch up on all the years they missed growing up.

Kouji put his hand to the ground and tried to push himself up. His hand and feet slid on the ice and he fell right back down. His shoulder hurt and he cursed. Hoped no one saw him. He tried to find a comfortable position for his shoulder, used his other arm to support it. A shiver ran through his body. The air was chilly and the ice he sat on did little to make him warmer.

Maybe he should call someone?

He put his arm in his lap, held his breath as a new bout of pain rushed through it. It was… probably not dislocated. It should be hurting more if it was. At least Kouji hoped so, but he had obviously injured it in some way. He filled his lungs with air, released it slowly. Grabbed his phone and called Takuya.

It was bad when he had to ask Takuya for help.

”Hello?”

”Hey, uh… Come give me a hand?”

The ache in his shoulder was so bad. Kouji closed his eyes, tried to focus on Takuya’s voice and ignore the pain.

”Are you okay?”

”Yeah.” He really wasn’t. ”Mostly at least. Just can’t get up. Bambi on ice and all of that. Did you know that ice is slippery?”

Takuya laughed. Kouji was some kind of frustrated.

”Alright, where you at?”

Kouji stuck his tongue out. His cheeks felt hot.

”You’ll probably spot me when you step outside.”

Takuya was quiet for two seconds. Kouji felt embarrassed over the whole situation. Worst of all – mom and dad would probably not trust him on his own after this.

”On my way”, Takuya said. ”See you in a bit.”

Kouji nodded, ended the call and put the phone back into his pocket. Put his right arm under his left to decrease the pain and waited. His body shivered worse. Maybe he should have called Kouichi instead.

Takuya opened the door and looked around. Kouji stared at him, waited. Didn’t wave because he really didn’t want to move his shoulder again. Takuya smiled when he finally noticed where Kouji was sat, but the smile changed into a frown. He took a few quick steps, but slowed down when he slipped on the ice. At least he didn’t fall. Kouji laughed. It would have been stupid and hilarious if both of them ended up injured on the sidewalk.

”Hey”, Takuya said and stopped next to Kouji. ”Ground’s slippery.”

”Told you”, Kouji laughed.

Takuya raised an eyebrow, his eyes zeroed in on the way Kouji held his arm. Kouji gave a one-shouldered shrug.

”So when you said you were okay…”

”I said mostly. Help me up?”

Takuya smiled, shook his head and put his hands on Kouji’s knees. Shoved him over to the side where there was still some snow to provide some resistance. Kouji took a deep breath, got his feet under himself. Takuya grabbed his right arm as Kouji stood up and almost slipped again despite the snow. His back twinged and he pressed his face against Takuya’s shoulder.

”Sorry I fell”, he mumbled against it.

Takuya laughed. It shook Kouji’s body, pain shot through his shoulder and he groaned. Takuya stopped laughing.

”How bad is it?”

”Not bad enough to need a hospital?” Kouji said but it sounded more like a question. ”I really just want to get inside already though.”

His body was still shivering. Takuya noticed, pulled away and hung his jacket over Kouji’s shoulders. He wrapped an arm around Kouji’s waist and started walking towards the house.

”Good idea, let’s get you inside and into some warmer clothes.”

It sounded too good to protest and Kouji let Takuya lead him inside. Takuya’s arm was warm, chased away some of the cold from Kouji’s body and offered some comfort from the way his shoulder hurt with every step. Takuya pulled away when they reached the house, opened the door. Kouji felt cold again. Stable, but cold. He tried not to let it show, but his body betrayed him, still shivered. Takuya walked infront of him up the stairs, opened the door to the apartment.

Shinya’s loud voice echoed outside as the door opened and Kouji’s head suddenly felt heavy. He clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Takuya patted his uninjured shoulder.

”He’ll leave soon, dad’s giving him a ride to Tomoki’s place and he’s a bit late.”

”Yeah, I’m just…”

Kouji didn’t know how to explain it. Takuya snickered.

”In pain?” he suggested.

Kouji hmpfed, walked past Takuya into the apartment and sat down on a chair. He leaned forwards to untie his shoes, but his shoulder shifted, moved, hurt, and he sat up straight again, held his breath. Takuya came inside as well, closed the door and looked at Kouji. Tilted his head with a worried smile. Kouji closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

”So having a hurt shoulder absolutely sucks”, he said.

Takuya laughed and Kouji opened his eyes again. Watched as Takuya knelt infront of him and untied his shoes. Kouji kicked them off and Takuya put them to the side before helping Kouji out of his coat. The door opened again and Takuya’s dad arrived. Kouji stood up, started moving towards the living room, but Takuya stopped him.

”Hey dad! Can you look at Kouji’s shoulder before driving Shinya?”

”I’m fine, Takuya”, Kouji said.

Because he really didn’t need more people to know how useless he was at walking. Takuya snorted.

”I know”, he said, ”but I want someone who knows stuff to look at it before we start fighting.”

Kouji rolled his eyes and laughed. Shook his head.

”I’m going to the couch. Hi, Mr Kanbara.”

”Hey Kouji. What happened to your shoulder?”

Kouji wasn’t sure how Takuya’s dad was supposed to be able to do something. He grimaced because he had really prefered to just forget the whole thing.

”Slipped on the ice. It’s probably nothing, but…”

”Could be. I’ll look at it in a minute, you go sit down.”

Kouji bowed his head and hurried into the living room. Shinya had retreated from it and Kouji sank down in the couch. He was still shivering and Takuya’s worried gaze returned.

”I have some warm clothes you could borrow?” he suggested.

Kouji curled up against the side of the couch. He considered. He was supposed to head back home later in the evening so he hadn’t brought any extra clothes, but he also hadn’t counted on getting stuck on ice for ten minutes. He nodded.

”Yes, please.”

He sounded a little too whiny for his own liking, but Takuya smiled. Patted Kouji’s right shoulder and disappeared to the bedroom. Takuya’s dad stepped inside. He stopped by the couch, scratched the back of his neck. Kouji curled up further. He felt way too vulnerable and exposed and he didn’t like it. This was supposed to just be a relaxing evening where he and Takuya watched movies and ate popcorn and instead it was… this. Kouji winced as the pain in his shoulder shot up again.

”Clothes!” Takuya’s voice called from behind.

A thick sweater and sweatpants landed in Kouji’s lap. Takuya appeared infront of Kouji two seconds later. Kouji shook his head, grabbed the hem of his shirt and tried to pull it over his head. His shoulder screamed in agony and Kouji stopped moving. Held his breath. Prayed to the gods of the digital world that Takuya and more importantly Takuya’s dad couldn’t see how bad it hurt. He wasn’t quite that lucky. Takuya grabbed his hand, forced him to let go of the shirt and guided it through the hole of the t-shirt, gently pulled it over Kouji’s head and injured arm. Takuya’s hands were warm where they brushed Kouji’s skin and Kouji’s cheeks felt hot.

”You’re absolutely freezing”, Takuya said and tossed the shirt to the side. ”How long were you out there?”

”Ten minutes?” Kouji guessed. ”Might not even have been that long.”

Takuya’s dad put a hand on Kouji’s injured shoulder, pressed at it, and Kouji pulled a sharp breath, reached for Takuya and grabbed his arm. Takuya stepped closer and Kouji pressed his face into Takuya’s side.

”Shit. Okay. I wasn’t ready”, he said when he could breathe again.

”Well yeah, otherwise you would have braced against it”, Takuya’s dad laughed. ”It’s a bit swollen, can you move it?”

Kouji kept his face pressed into Takuya’s side, carefully lifted his arm and rolled his shoulder. He could but…

”It’s… pretty painful”, he admitted.

”Might be a sprain. I’ll get you an icepack.”

”You can sprain your shoulder?” Takuya asked.

There was an amused tone in his voice that Kouji didn’t like one bit. He let go of Takuya and leaned back in the couch instead. Shivered.

”Sprain is just a torn ligament and we have a lot of those”, Takuya’s dad answered.

”That… uh…” Takuya glanced at Kouji. ”That actually sounds pretty painful.”

”Coulda told you that”, Kouji snorted.

Takuya’s dad left and Takuya grabbed the sweater he had brought, pulled it over Kouji’s arm while being careful to not nudge his shoulder. Kouji took a shaky breath. He felt so… stupid. He let out a sigh.

”Sorry for getting injured.”

”It’s fine”, Takuya answered.

He tried to navigate the sweater behind Kouji’s back and Kouji leaned forwards to help. Put his other arm into the sleeve while Takuya held it out for him. Takuya zipped the shirt up and Kouji stood up. Realized that his pants were a bit damp, probably from his butt melting the ice.

”I can change pants on my own”, he said when Takuya moved closer to help.

Although some help would probably have made it easier, Kouji realized when he pulled them down and his shoulder shifted. He kicked them off, pushed them to the side with his foot and grabbed the other pair. It was a little harder to get them on. Gravity worked against him and they fell down to the floor again when he tried to change his grip and they slipped through his fingers. He took a deep and frustrated breath. Takuya watched him, a hand over his mouth and a way too amused expression on his face.

Takuya’s dad returned. Kouji’s cheeks burned and he leaned down, grabbed the pants with both hands and pulled them up. The pain in his shoulder exploded, crawled down his arm, made him dizzy. Black spots danced infront of his eyes and he stumbled forwards. Takuya grabbed him, sat him down in the couch. Kouji’s breaths were shallow, didn’t quite fill up his lungs.

”...Do you want us to call your parents?” Takuya’s dad asked.

He put the icepack on Kouji’s shoulder. The cold numbed the pain somewhat and Kouji’s breaths relaxed. He should probably let them know what had happened. It wasn’t like they’d drop whatever they were doing and head home straight away. But there wasn’t much they could do from out of town either. Kouji took a deep breath and nodded. Might as well. Takuya grabbed Kouji’s phone, sat down next to him on the couch and wrapped an arm around him. Kouji closed his eyes and leaned against Takuya, listened as they made the call, as Takuya started the television, as Shinya returned and started excitedly talk about spending the night at Tomoki’s place.

”Are you tired?” Takuya whispered in the middle of Shinya’s rant.

Shinya kept talking, probably hadn’t heard it. Kouji blinked, looked at the television. He could go for a nap, but it didn’t feel like tiredness, not in the normal sense. He couldn’t describe it to himself even if he wanted to.

”Think I’m just… overwhelmed by everything?” he tried.

”Do you want to go home?”

”No!”

Kouji did not. He had been looking forward to hanging with Takuya so much. Shinya fell silent and Kouji blushed when he realized he had raised his voice.

”No, I’m… good. Fine. I want to stay”, Kouji said and looked away.

Pulled away from Takuya, who pulled him right back.

”Good”, Takuya said. ”I like having you here.”

Takuya’s dad came inside, handed the phone to Kouji.

”Kousei wants to talk to you.”

Kouji wedged the phone between Takuya’s shoulder and his cheek, watched as Takuya’s dad gestured for Shinya to get ready to go.

”Hey, dad”, Kouji said into the phone.

Shinya got up, followed his dad to the hallway. Takuya changed the channel on the television, stopped at a gameshow Kouji had never seen before.

”Are you okay?”

Kouji shivered slightly. He was a bit warmer, dressed in Takuya’s clothes and with Takuya’s arm around him, but not completely heated up yet.

”...mostly”, he admitted.

”Do you want us to come home?”

They’d return the next evening anyway. Kouji shook his head.

”I’m fine, Takuya’s helping me.”

Takuya hugged him closer. Kouji closed his eyes again.

”Alright”, his dad said in the phone. ”Will you be able to walk Wolf?”

Kouji groaned. He had forgotten the reason he wasn’t staying at Takuya’s over the night – he needed to take his dog outside in the evening and morning. He moved his shoulder and took a sharp breath. Shit. He hated to admit it but…

”...I won’t. I’m sorry, I’ll solve it somehow.”

His dad laughed and Kouji blushed. It wasn’t funny in any way, shape or form.

”Don’t worry about it, I’ll call the neighbours and ask them to do it. You stay there and we’ll come get you tomorrow.”

Kouji started protesting but his dad interrupted.

”I already talked with Mr Kanbara about it. In fact he insisted.”

Kouji sighed. Takuya changed the channel again. Maybe he was getting bored. The door to the apartment opened and closed and Shinya’s voice disappeared. Kouji grabbed Takuya’s hand, realized what he had done and hoped the ground would open up and swallow him. It didn’t. Takuya squeezed his hand.

”Yeah okay”, Kouji said into the phone. His voice trembled. ”Thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Takuya grabbed the phone and ended the call and Kouji leaned heavier against Takuya. Takuya squeezed Kouji’s hand again.

”So?” he asked. ”Are they coming to take you from me?”

Kouji shook his head, pulled away from Takuya and leaned against the back of the couch instead. The icepack started sliding off his shoulder and he grabbed it and placed it in a better position.

”Been ordered to stay here until tomorrow evening”, Kouji answered. ”So we’ll have time to watch all those movies we were arguing about.”

”If you’re forcing me to watch Titanic I’m throwing you out though.”

Kouji snorted and shook his head.

”That was a joke, Izumi said I should suggest it just to see your reaction. You did look hilarious when I did.”

”It’s for girls”, Takuya argued.

Kouji took a deep breath. He was too tired to do any kind of arguing. Takuya noticed, grabbed a blanket from the armchair and stood up before wrapping it around Kouji.

”I’ll order pizza for us, you take a short nap on the couch while we wait for them and I boot up a movie.”

Kouji started protesting but was once again interrupted.

”It’s not a question”, Takuya said.

He leaned down, kissed the top of Kouji’s head. Quickly stepped away again. His cheeks were red. Kouji’s felt hot as well. Takuya looked away.

”It’ll just be more fun if you have energy to argue”, he said and took the phone from the couch.

Kouji… didn’t know what to say. He scratched the back of his neck, nodded and laid down. Swallowed and watched Takuya as he walked away, into the kitchen. Closed his eyes.

The evening was shaping up to be more interesting than he had thought.

[daisywords]

One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

[black-quadrant]

sometimes all you need is one passionate person who goes berserk for your work to keep you creating

[evilmafuyu666]

[lucabyte]

monologue

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[ping-ski]

shrödinger's plex fic (they are real to me)

EBY eclipse and y/n ref here!! :3

[wasabi-gumdrop]

neon glory squad 💖

[teethlordd]

There are worms in my head

[solarmorrigan]

The Witch and The Carpenter

For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).

His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).

Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.

(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)

“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.

“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”

Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.

Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.

At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.

“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”

“Your door?” Steve offers.

“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.

“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.

And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.

(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)

Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.

Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”

Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.

“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.

“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.

Red: Eddie’s favorite color.

Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?

Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.

And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?

In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.

Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.

And comes back the next week.

“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”

“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”

“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.

“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”

Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.

He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.

They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.

Witches don’t get nice things.

(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)

They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.

“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.

Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.

As much as he can, at least.

“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”

“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”

Eddie doesn’t do tabs.

Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”

“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.

Eddie falters. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”

And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”

The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.

Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.

He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.

And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.

Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.

How excited he is to see Eddie.

Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.

“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.

“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”

(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)

Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.

The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.

“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”

Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”

Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.

“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.

Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”

“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”

And so it goes.

And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.

Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.

“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.

“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.

Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”

Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.

By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.

“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”

Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”

Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.

This isn’t for him.

(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)

Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.

“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.

“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”

“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”

Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”

Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”

“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.

There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.

Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.

Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.

Maybe this is something he gets to keep.

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[gammija]

tiefling jon's first day at the Archives

[pomefioredove]

i just noticed on your 'yuu gets sold' sorta series that there was a good ending, by chance could you do a bad ending one? if not that's totally ok! keep safe and stay healthy ❤️

oh god. I have a very evil idea for this.

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim

summary: a bad (or good, depending on your stance) ending type of post: short fic characters: surprise :) additional info: yuu is gender neutral, this is short, HELP

Everyone waits.

The chatter and banter which once occupied the courtyard dies down to dull whispers and foot tapping.

Everyone waits, and there's no Crowley.

"Wonderful," Jamil sighs. "He's probably taken all the money and run off. I told you all that-"

"Maybe he's late!" Kalim shouts. A few in the crowd murmur in hopeful agreement.

Silver coughs. "Maybe he realized this whole thing is ridiculous and is processing everyone's refunds,"

They don't like that option as much.

The sun hangs lower and lower in the sky, threatening to shroud everyone in darkness as the minutes tick on.

"Well, I've had enough of this," Vil says, turning towards the exit. "I've put off my afternoon long enough."

"For once, we can agree on something," Leona murmurs, dragging Ruggie along with him.

No one is exactly surprised with this turn of events- but there's a definite sense of disappointment that everyone is sharing.

"He probably just forgot or 'somethin," Epel says, walking alongside Ace, Deuce, and Jack back to Ramshackle to update you on the happenings.

Jack shrugs. "He's definitely not the most organized, but there's no way someone could just "forget" about this. I think Jamil is right, he probably ran off with the money while he could. The swindler..."

Deuce is the next to add something to the pity party. "And yet, we should've known this was a possibility,"

"Shoulda seen it coming..." Epel murmurs. "I shoulda listened to Vil and pulled out while I still had the chance. Dang it..."

The lights are on in Ramshackle as the four approach, a warm and welcome sight after their disappointing afternoon. And the front door is open- were you expecting them?

"Hm. Well, think of it this way," Ace pushes the door the rest of the way open. "We may have been scammed, but at least nothing changes. I mean, it could've been worse."

"A lot worse," Deuce murmurs, following him inside.

The four make it into the foyer and stop dead in their tracks.

There are many things to expect walking into Ramshackle- cobwebs, dust, ghosts, you- Crowley is usually not one of them.

"You- you've been here this whole time?!" Epel shouts, throwing his arms out. "We were all 'waitin for 'ya like a bunch of idjits!"

Deuce and Ace wince. "Dude, chill... but seriously, where were you?"

Crowley doesn't have the chance to answer before something else steals away their attention.

You walk into the room, suitcase in hand. "Guys?"

The four turn to greet you, eyes wide at the luggage you're carrying. "What's that... Crowley?"

The man himself just stands there, pretending to ponder something. "I could have sworn I sent someone to break the news... how peculiar,"

Epel's brow knots. "What news?"

"A third party somehow got wind of our little... venture and donated a very high sum at the last minute. Along with a very passionately worded letter about our dear prefect's safety here at school," he pauses. "Or lack thereof."

Crowley sighs. "The name rung a bell, but... I couldn't imagine how or why anyone outside of NRC would be following the prefect's moves so closely,"

Deuce's eyes narrow. "Crowley. What are you trying to say?"

"Well, I..." he says, seemingly at a loss for words. "I'm afraid to say that our prefect is being transferred to Noble Bell College,"