#ANYWAYS SCAR'S WIN NEVER FUCKING LEFT MY MIND

[raticalshoez]

hey, isn't that that one guy with no friends?

(Click on image for better quality !!!)

[suguru-getos]

//fractures// geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 2

🔗-> part one

warnings: hurt-comfort, mentions of wounds, mentions of stitches, guilt, complex emotions from suguru, panic attacks, reader is in a dark headspace, fluff too!! 🙂‍↔️💅🏻

story summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through. the affection you’re forcing him through…

chapter summary: suguru tends to you after the whole ordeal caused by him, still conflicted & somehow tortured with the way his heart pangs at your condition. 🩷

a/n: please comment down below if you want to be tagged in the taglist <3 thank you ‼️ it's so evident that i'm just writing this for my own silly liddul heart TT_TT

an hour, at maximum. an hour had passed from when geto left your bleeding, tattered body on the bed. the mark of 'MONKEY' with deep, gashing cuts and the way your blood oozed out of your injured, broken skin was haunting his very core. he did it majorly for himself, just to remind himself that you're one. you're nothing but a monkey and monkeys shouldn't have the freedom of life. monkeys are filthy- monkeys breed curses- monkeys are disgusting and vile- monkeys-

his own feet betrayed him quickly when he found himself running for your room. the cream colored satin bedsheet stained with blood. your foot prints stained with blood directing towards the bathroom. his can feel his heart sink at the sheer amount of blood loss. jaw clenching and a soft wave of anxiety which ripens with every passing moment hugging him. did you… die? no, no its just been an hour-

he rushes to the bathroom door, watching you lay limp, holding a piece of gauze in your bloodied hands. you must have passed out by trying to give yourself first aid. he falls to his knees, tears in his eyes seeping through at the sight of usual color in your lip faded to discoloration. you look so peaceful when you sleep. he finally notices the wound inflicted by him on you, it was looking lethal. a striking reminder that you were a monkey and he was, well, a monster.

he doesn't understand what's happening, he was pretty clear that he needs to irradicate the whole human race, he has to. only those with superior selves, who can withstand not creating a curse should be allowed to live. how will he achieve this milestone when his heart weeps at the sight of one pathetic little human half his size losing consciousness.

his bulky and sturdy arms wrap around your body, hugging you closer to him and taking you to his room. your room was a blood bath anyway, he needs to ask the servants to clean it up. gently placing your body atop the plush mattress of his room, he took out his first aid kit, good thing you had been passed out. your wounds are deep and require stitches. he can't bear any more of your screams now without breaking like glass. his mind has already decided to punish him with repeated rings and episodes of your cries and wails when suguru did this to you. he wishes they could stop - he wishes they never stop. he needs to be punished.

bringing your wrist close to him, he decides to stitch those gashes up, watching your face every few seconds. you were knocked out cold, not an expression on your pretty face. he feels like it’s a win, when you'll be awake, at least you wouldn't see the word 'MONKEY' engraved on you… then again, it will scar, and it will scar bad. "you're pathetic" he hums at your sleeping form. "fragile, useless, powerless, pathetic." he adds on, the sentence more a reminder to his own self rather than for you. you're not listening to this anyway. "I could snap your neck like a twig and you wouldn't be able to defend yourself. anyone I call my family could." he sighs, fuck - he's tearing up again. you almost look dead over just an anger tantrum of his. he really needs to be very careful. you're like a little bunny who could die at the slightest bit of carelessness.

a few hours pass with suguru holding your hand, observing the crests and troughs of your sleeping face, how your chest barely heaves but still reminds him that you're alive. he couldn't be more glad that you're alive. he hates that. he hates that it brings him joy that your heart is still beating. he hates that you are bringing him joy and copious amounts of guilt.

"geto sama!" nanako gleams from outside his bedroom door. he wipes his tears at the sound of his adopted daughter's voice. "yes? what is it?" he hums from inside. "the monkey isn't in her room!" she pouts from outside, and suguru gets up to open his door. the teenager watching you lie down on geto's bed with a face of confusion. why were you laying down on 'their' geto sama's room? you- a monkey- the look of disgust in her face is inevitable.

"relax, nanako." he hums, "we need to return her to her parents after 9 days." he responds with his usual close-eyed feline smile. "yeah, but why is she here?" she pouts, "she's too pretty for a monkey though-" a frown envelopes her face. "I agree." suguru looks at you momentarily, a moment of longing and guilt erupting from the depths of his heart before quickly snapping out of it. "I got angry at her, and punished her." he continues, while nanako could see with the way the gauze bandage on your forearm was inflicted with dark reds of blood, that you indeed, were punished. "what did she do?" she asks instinctively and suguru gnaws at his lower lip.

nothing. you did absolutely nothing.

"well, she is a monkey after all." nanako adds, shrugging. "her purpose is as our 'money collecting monkey', isn't it?" she asks him, and he faintly nods. "well, if she really made you angry, geto sama. I suggest you can kill her after getting the money!" she chirps as if it was the most normal thing to say. suguru, on the other hand, feel sickened to his stomach at the thought. "hmm. I need some time alone, nanako" he declares, watching the teen leave his room and locking his door.

he's quick to grace himself in the sanctuary of your presence though, hand back holding yours. "just nine more days of you here, monkey." he reminds both of you. "then your parents will come and get you and this wouldn't exist." he smiles, a sadness spreading across his face.

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you don't wake up for one and a half days. the exhaustion on your body, the lack of nutrition and the loss of blood demands rest. AND, geto suguru is absolutely tweaking!

he sat next to you, watching you gently, leaning beside you against the headboard. you didn't wake up. he hasn't showered, hasn't gone out of his bed. his family thinks its weird, but they don't push him. suguru is a tantrum king after all, and a pissed off suguru chan is best avoided. the next morning, you're awake before noon. suguru hasn't budged, he has declined all his meetings, all his catch-ups, everything. why? he doesn't know that now, his mind doesn't give him the time to reason for any of it right now. the hollow pit of anxiety that was created was now a bottomless one. he wanted relief from it, he wanted to see you awake! shoko- maybe he needs to talk to shoko-

you shifted a little and his attention is immediately diverted to you, looking at you with the biggest sigh of relief possible. "ah-" a pained whimper escaped you, it hurts everywhere. your ribs hurt, you can barely breathe, tears sting your eyes as you groan, trying to get up. the lack of iron in your body making you dizzy. "good morning, it's afternoon now." suguru hums, just 7 days with you. why is he counting days like a mad man in prison?! before you could process anything, your eyes widened when you heard his voice, heart fluttering out of your very chest and breathless pants echoing in the room. you gripped your chest, it burns, your lungs burn from the lack of air your body can't get due to the whole panic of it all. what will he do? will he hurt you again? fuck- your head hurts, everything hurts- "plea- please" you gasp out, the veins in your forehead strained and popping as you began wailing again. shrieks and cries of pain and panic.

suguru doesn't know what to do about it, he needs to hug you close and tell you it's going to be okay. he wouldn't hurt you. he feels sorry- you don't have to break apart like this- does he even deserve to say that?

instinct… he is just acting on his instinct now.

"breathe with me, ssh~ listen, listen, little one. look at me, breathe with me. deep breath in- come on- follow me-" his voice is soft, but you're inconsolable. you have your very own instinct, the instinct to flee from him. the instinct to run away from him. you struggle against his hold and choke on sobs, leaning away. suguru is quick to pull you back to him, your head against his chest, soft head pats coming after. "ssh ssh ssh~ nothing's happening, no one's going to hurt you." he echoes it repeatedly. "that's it, that's it…" his own rapid heartbeats turning calmer and calmer as your shoulders slump back in exhaustion. you stop resisting after a few minutes, letting him hold you softly.

"just seven more days, and you'll be home." suguru hums to comfort you.

"I hope you die." you mumbled with equal hatred to his comfort. may as well be killed instead of spending seven whole days with him… "I hope everyone you ever knew dies, and they die in front of you." you spit out in your venom laced tone after calming down, trying to lean away from suguru's hug.

"and? who will kill them? you?" he is almost amused, but nothing you say with outweigh his guilt right now. "let’s get you cleaned up and get you to a doctor." he announces. he still has 7 ol' days with you after all.

[wannaeatramyeon]

More Gun + Goo Shenanigans

Credit Card

The first message came through at 8am.

Accompanied with 'oops, forgot mine. using yours. hope you don't mind 🥺🫰 '

And usually Gun would mind. He would mind a whole fucking lot. But when you're in a junkyard moulding your masterpiece, having left most of your usual everyday carry at home. Well. You have bigger fish to fry. Or a smaller Daniel Park to cook.

Besides, it's probably just an energy drink anyway if the amount and the blonde's habits are anything to go buy. Gun can let it slide just for today, that for some reason Goo has desided to forgo any contactless payment and use Gun's card. Whatever.

And then the next messages from his bank continue to come through.

8:32am: Coffee shop - 8000 won

8:56am: Coffee shop - 8000 won

9:17am: Coffee shop - 8000 won

9:25am: Coffee shop - 8000 won

9:30am: Coffee shop - 8000 won

9:33am: Coffee shop - 8000 won

9:34am: Coffee shop - 8000 won

Ok. That's enough.

Gun angrily dials Goo. Seriously. "What the fu-"

"Sup man!" Goo sounds completely manic and shrill. Likely about to buzz out of his head.

"Did you just pound 7 coffees and an energy drink?"

"7 doubles and an energy drink," the voice on the other end corrects.

"I'm cancelling my card."

"No wait-"

Family friendly

"What you crying for kid? Never seen someone so handsome before?" Goo flashes his most winning smile. The one where it's all teeth and maybe a touch feral.

Understandably, the kid, probably no older than 8, wails even louder.

What. the. fuck.

That's what you get for trying to be family friend huh. Goo starts scowling at her, now inconsolable with fear.

Honestly. How dare she take one look at his face and burst out into tears.

Where the fuck are her parents.

Gun would have intervened; they have places to be, things to do. If only the whole situation wasn't so entertaining.

Especially as he now looks over and finds his partner in a bizarre stand-off where Goo's face darkens the more the kid cries, and the kid cries the more terrifying Goo's face becomes.

"This lil motherfucker-" Wait. A lightbulb goes off in Goo's head and he forces all the cheer he can into his voice. "Kid, come look at this!"

She looks up just in time to see Goo whipping the sunglasses from Gun.

Her daddy has warned her about this. The red scar. The eyes. Pitch black. DEMON.

She runs off screaming and flailing as Goo cackles.

Hospital

"Why is it when something happens, it's always you two."

"Just want to see your pretty face again, cutie!"

The elderly nurse sighs. She's experienced far too much, is too weather beaten, for Goo Kim's flowery words to have any effect on her.

Completing her last rounds before her shift finishes, she just wants to finish and then go. Have a bath. Lie in bed. Lo and behold, she has these two idiots appearing once more in the private wing.

Hmm. It had been a few weeks since she last saw them.

She rifles through the clipboard, checking the doctor's notes. "So what are you in for?"

"Fighting." Gun, on the next bed, answers.

"...And you both ended up with neck braces?"

"Yep! We got a little rough. You know how these things are," Goo chirps, light tone contrasting with his eyes angrily glaring at Gun.

"...It says pillow fight here."

"Yep!"

That doesn't sound right. " And what were the pillows filled with?"

A brief pause, where they exchange shifty glances before piping up together, "Rocks."

Outfits

"That looks great on you,"

"I know."

Gun ignores Crystal fawning over Goo. Completely ignores them and the vein throbbing on his temple.

He absolutely will not concern himself with such juvenile things.

Barely remembers the first time he wore the same outfit, picking Crystal up and accompanying her to J-High, she took one look at his outfit and held back a giggle.

He doesn't give a shit. He has more important things to think about.

Or when Goo raided his wardrobe, rifling through outfits, laughed at this monstrosity and then asked if he could have it, Gun just shrugged. He has no attachment to it.

And now Gun absolutely doesn't care that Goo is on the receiving end for his outfit.

Who gives a shit.

Gun Park is above this nonsense. So what if he is daydreaming about strangling the life out of Goo in that stupid shirt and stupid scarf.

It's no different than usual, he always fantasises about killing Goo.

It's fine.

And one I accidentally deleted: Spice Eating Contest

"...What's wrong with you two?" Kouji, face completely repulsed, watches his two hyungs scarfing down the ramen in front of him.

The store's spiciest, apparently. Renowned, Crystal had said. Three please, Kouji had asked. And when it arrived? Disappointment. Spicy? Not by a long shot. Barely even having any heat.

The same can't be said for Gun and Goo's palate, tears streaming down their sweaty beet red faces, snot flowing freely and ew. Likely mingling with everything else.

"It's not spicy at all!" Goo spits, mouth full of ramen and glowering at Gun.

"Who said it was spicy, idiot." Gun retaliates, eyes leaking even more as he shoves in another mouthful.

"Umm. Guys. You need to be careful-" Kouji tries, but to no avail. Both now too busy trying to swallow inbetween coughing fits.

Oh well.

He did try to warn them.

Guess they will just have to deal with the aftermath once the spice works its way through their digestive system and wrecks their body for a second time.

[bloom-ribbon22]

Bloom's Dinotrux HUMAN AU infodump: D-Bros + Skrap-itt

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I know I already posted them but I still wanna put em here + front facing D-Structs(unrelated note: don't usually do front faces much, I have tried it probably two times and it either ends up looking weird or just not right but I do like how it turned out this time! hmm maybe I should do more characters front facing).

anyways, I've always wanted to infodump share some bits of lore, facts, info, and other stuff of my human AU version of the Dinotrux and I kind of started with the D-bros + Skrap-itt, why? ngl they're one of the most interesting characters to me. soooooo here you go :)

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D-Stroy:

-when D-Structs was born, D-Stroy looked at his parents while pointing at his new baby sibling and asked "mom, dad.... why does he look so ugly?"

-a very mischievous kid back then. he was the ultimate pranker. he pranks a lotta people that he almost lost count of them but his favourite pranking victim is you guessed it! ya boi D-Structs! oh poor poor young, bratty, selfish D-Structs... always having silly stuff drawn on his face when he was asleep and almost getting scared to death everytime his brother just jumpscares him...I'd list more but this is getting way too long lol.

-hair is l o n g and messy af. you can probably store/hide items in there idk.

-has a high tolerance for spicy food and also enjoys eating it.

-even as a kid, he always gets into fights and still does which results to him always receiving new scars/injuries. almost never minds it because with all honesty he doesn't really give a shit what he looks like. even though he is incredibly strong, he knows his limits and also knows he isn't invincible or indestructible so he tries his best not to overestimate his strength and avoid battles if he knows he can't win it.

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D-Structs:

-was already a selfish guy when he was a bratty little kid and a bit of a snitch too. when he was five and D-Stroy would do something to him, even something that's completely harmless like slightly nudging his arm this left D-Structs no choice but to use a move that every older sibling fears "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

-heavily dislikes the taste of sweets. can't really handle it, the taste of sugar and the feeling of it melting into his tongue is just....sickening, maybe even irritating...in fact, it's unbearable....

-similarly to D-Stroy, he often gotten to a lotta fight even as a kid and still does which ends up getting himself new scars/injuries. most of these fights are pretty much his fault as most of the time he's the one that's starting/asking for it.

-"I'd rather live my life all alone until I die" that's what he thought to himself until Skrap-itt came to his life. story between them was kinda similar to the canon. it was so hard for him to tolerate this talkative and dumb lil pipsqueak but as time goes on he kind of started to get used to his company that it feels oddly weird whenever he's alone... sometimes...after all, Skrap-itt was the only one that gives a fuck about him...

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Skrap-itt:

-short king. you can kick him like he's a football or better yet, pick him up like he's some kind of cat and maybe even put him in a box, seal it shut, and deliver it to any random person. "your order is here"

-a cat person. he understands them, he knows they're not just annoying animals always whining for food 24/7, they are loving and caring too! they're not just, y'know, not that playful...at least..most of the time...he would adopt a cat but sadly D-Structs not really a big fan of pets in his home.

-was the weird lonely kid who often gets picked on a lot and many avoided him because, again, a weirdo and thus lived a pretty lonely life. Smash-itt, Break-itt and Lloyd are often the ones picking on him which would explain why Skrap-itt is so bitter to them when he meets them again, worse part is that D-Structs, though completely unaware of their history, """hired""" them.

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that's all for now, there will be plenty more(and I may add more stuff) and of course I'll make some for Ty and the gang :) fun but not needed fact: I started to type all of this with 11 percent battery and now it's 7 percent....dang

anyways I'm coming back to school at January 3 and I'm scared af sidbdiebsisbisbsisjd-

[ipreferfiction]

Jiggy.

MY SPECIAL LITTLE GUY MY BLORBO LOVE OF MY LIFE. i am insane about him. he is the character of all time

My first impression: huh. i don't know what's going on here but he seems interesting and competent.

My impression now: i would kill and die for him. he is my favorite character in mdzs and one of my favorites EVER. he has so many layers!! a-yao....

Favorite thing about that character: he's COMPETENT. to an absolutely insane degree. learning what he did about cultivation from shitty useless manuals and forming a golden core as an older teenager/young adult takes an INSANE amount of talent, not to mention HENSHENG??? he is the only (named?) character to have a soft sword, he's adapted bits of fighting styles from multiple major sects, and he's skilled enough with Hensheng that at some point he has shattered multiple spiritual weapons with it. he was a spy under WEN FUCKING RUOHAN for months. he and wwx are entirely responsible for winning the sunshot campaign and he dealt the final blow. also what he did with the song of turmoil?? equally insane amount of talent.

Least favorite thing: the Bad TakesTM. he attracts them like FLIES

Favorite line/scene: Lan Xichen! In this life, I’ve lied countless times, killed countless times. Like you said, I killed my father, my brother, my wife, my son, my teacher, my friend—of all the evil in the world, what haven’t I done?!...But I’ve never even thought of harming you!

i am very normal about them.

honestly his entire Guanyin Temple showing is nuts in the best way and i am chewing on him. close seconds are him on the stairs of Jinlintai looking at Nie Mingjue and going, of course they and I are different! the utter RESIGNATION of it. the truth of it!! he will never be treated like the rest of the cultivation world, he knows it, and Mingjue can't see it like he does!

Favorite interaction that character has with another: every time he and xichen are on screen or on page together is just. so nuts. the box scene. guanyin temple (god!!!!!!!!!! augh). everything cql added in.

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: Qin Su!! she needs more time anyway but god their relationship is SO TRAGIC and i love looking at AUs where the whole marriage can be avoided and there aren't lasting scars left on both jgy and qs from. you know. accidentally marrying your half sibling because your shared father is a rapist. also, we get zero real looks at how their relationship is before everything goes south and it pains me.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: this is so fucking hard oh my god. there are bits of He Xuan and Ling Wen that i see in him, i think? especially the. "i was born the same day as you and i am cleverer than you but my life was a tragedy and yours was perfect, so why was I not worthy of the same fate you were? why did I get nothing when you got everything?" and the "you know what? I am tired of cleaning up your messes. i am going to cause problems now." he also... i cannot explain this one but his vibes are very similar to Alexander of Tirragen from the Song of the Lioness quartet in my mind. i genuinely truly cannot comprehend WHY those two are associated in my brain, but they are.

A headcanon about that character: he was in love with Xichen and Xichen was in love with him. god bless the cql xiyao agenda.

A song that reminds of that character: lying beast by run river north - it reminds me very much of what he would think of himself esp. towards the end (and guanyin temple)

An unpopular opinion about that character: he and Mingjue's relationship could not have been fixed, or at least not without considerable effort on Mingjue's part, post-Sunshot and especially around the time of the stairs before JGY starts playing turmoil. JGY did not need to put more effort into it! he was already putting effort into it! Mingjue's worldview is fundamentally incompatible with JGY's existence, frankly. It never mattered how hard he tried to mend the relationship because Mingjue would always see him as a liar who was trying to manipulate him, and the sworn brotherhood was not a good idea, Xichen, good god.

Favorite picture: all of them but especially these. i support his wrongs (he has never done anything wrong ever in his life). he is the prettiest man alive and yet!! he suffers! but oh god his thousand yard stare after Mingjue kicks him down the stairs...

[squidkid15]

PLEASE do ramble more about Whumpee Macaque and LBD and Mayor as whumpers please please I am sitting with popcorn and begging you with Eyes.

I'm not in a coherent mood so this won't be connected but have a collection of unrelated thoughts. Mostly fanon/HCs (but not all!)

consider, if you will, if the mayor is the one that killed macaque and not wukong (and then LBD warped that memory)

Consider again, if you will, if the mayor was there to collect him when he was revived

continue considering mac needing to be trained after being revived. Has to learn to function half blind. Any long-term injuries he now needs to adapt to (in Core mac had to go from right to left handed because he can't SEE his right hand well anymore, but then first had to recover from the injury that destroyed his left shoulder. It was a long road). Balance being fucked up, lack of depth perception. Having to relearn how to fight with all that.

Needing a sparring partner, perhaps. Consider for me that the man who killed him "helps" him recover from it. Mac doesn't know this.

Consider the scar that killed him being really sensitive. The mayor knows exactly where it is. Can drop him in an instant.

Mayor constantly beating him down while "training" him to recovery. Mocking him, digging into the wound of wukong killing him. ("So weak, no wonder he discarded you.")

Mayor knowing mac uncomfortably well, and abusing this knowledge

LBD knowing mac uncomfortably well, but in a different way. Mayor knows mac's powers and scars and weaknesses, knows his body and how to bring him down, because he already has. LBD knows his mind, warped it and twisted it. Sifted through memories to twist them appropriately. Knows him inside and out.

At least one of them knew Mac liked theater, how else would the Mayor know to check a run down shadow play theater for him? What an odd place to look for a monkey who is, presumably, on the run from you.

I HC that the mayor has some sort of paralysis/freezing power - see Shadowplay where Mac just freezes when the mayor grabs him. Imagine the fun there :)

Mac is so genuinely terrified of LBD/his debt to her - that is his entire motivation in S3. It's not personal, sure he's mad at Wukong still, but that's not what drives him. Every time we see him, he talks about "being free of his debt". And in benched he is TERRIFIED of her, bargains the fire when she has him chained up, you can hear it in his voice. What has she done to him to earn that? We NEVER see Mac scared, even fighting possessed Wukong he's not scared. LBD instills a fear in him that we never see otherwise.

She seems able to cause psychic pain (the winning side - dragging mac through flashbacks we see him tense and frozen and then slumps when she lets him go)

Speaking of that scene, it opens with mac SCREAMING. We hear him scream before we see anything.

I can't not mention the ice covering. The time limit, the way that that is the most serious we ever see mac. That he knocks MK out to get him out of the way, threatens everyone's lives for it. She's put a timer on his head (we see the ice expand) and it HURTS. He keeps holding the arm covered in ice when he talks to Wukong, he stumbles. He's in pain and on a timer and panicking.

And, if you feel like indulging in AUs (as you all know I do) then LBD is a real fun whumper if you stick her and mac in a room for longer than they're shown in the show. @lotusmonkey and I have delved that particular rabbit hole MANY times it's one of my favorites.

Can I interested you in this

How about this

What about this one

Have you read my fic? There's some mac whump scenes with mayor as whumper and I'm normal about it

Anyways long story short I have more thoughts I'm just scatterbrained about it today but i will always talk about mac whump

Here have one more because I always use Incredibly Specific Language when talking about LBD whumping mac

[fuckingfinwions]

Would you consider doing emotion play/jealousy with Maedhros and Dark!Fingon? Fingon conspiring on how to keep Maedhros his, and how to get him to feel exactly how Fingon wants him to feel - whether that's passive unquestioning obedience, desperate adoration and gratitude that Fingon deigns to care for him, or crushing guilt at any tiny imperfection. Fingon gaslighting the fuck out of him. Fingon keeping Maedhros all for himself, for always.

Fingon knew that he wouldn't have been able to get away with this back in Tirion. For one thing, Maedhros's father would have been in the way, his orders making Maedhros drop all other projects. For another, Maedhros himself would have seen through it in an hour. He was better at schemes and politics than Fingon, and noticed every time Fingon tried to manipulate him into spending more time together. He'd often go along anyway, as they both enjoyed each other's company, but Fingon never actually felt like he won.

But Maedhros was different now. Angband had let him scarred in body and mind, at once able to stay standing through terrible pain and flinching from the slightest displeasure. Fingon didn't want Maedhros to stay weak, but he did want to win. Maedhros would belong to Fingon first, with any other responsibilities a distant second.

The healers said that Maedhros was uncertain, and looking for any source of comfort. But they warned that if Maedhros had one, he might build himself around it, unable to function should that person leave.

Fingon had no intention of ever letting Maedhros leave him, so that sounded good. He couldn’t sleep in the same room as Maedhros unfortunately; there was no room for a second bed, and Maedhros was too injured to share a bed - yet. So Fingon moved into the room next door.

Maedhros was so easy to work with. He was desperate for praise and comfort.

Fingon started out with half-truths.

"It’s Morgoth’s fault you’re missing a hand." (Not mine. I'm the one who rescued you and bandaged you. I'm the one who gives you a soft bed and warm clothes.)

“You abandoned me after Alqualonde.” (I bled for you and killed for you. I’ve killed people before, when they tried to take you away from me hurt you.) Fingon had heard by now about the ships, but he let Maedhros apologize and beg for his forgiveness all the same.

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long for rescue, I came as soon as I could.” (Your brothers didn’t even try; they don't care about you.)

Maedhros thanked Fingon for rescuing him. Fingon said you’re welcome, you’re worth it to me.

When Maedhros was gripped by a nightmare, Fingon was the first to hear it. Maedhros woke up terrified.

“Shh, I’m not angry with you. I know you’re trying to be good and get sleep like the healers said.”

“I’m sorry I disobeyed them.”

“They’re under my command. I know you’ll obey everything I order you to do, right? This was just an accident?”

Maedhros nodded. “How can I prove I’m obedient?”

“You just need to trust me.”

“I do!”

"What if I tied you to the bed? Just for a bit, I don’t want you to hurt yourself thrashing in your sleep.”

“Of course Fingon, anything for you.”

Fingon tied Maedhros up, on his back, arms splayed wide and feet together. “This way you can see me, and won’t worry that I’ll fuck you.”

“I trust you,” Maedhros insisted.

“Good.” Fingon grabbed a knife from his belt. It wasn’t the one he had used on the mountain - that one had sadly fallen off the eagle's back - but it was nearly as long.

“Now, hold very still. I don’t want to cut you.”

Maedhros shivered in terror, but didn’t move.

Fingon placed the knife flat against Maedhros’s belly, over his nightgown, letting the cold sink through. Then he ran it down one thigh, mirroring it with his hand. He ran the knife on Maedhros left arm, pausing a moment, at the armpit, the elbow where he could have slipped between the bones. Finally the wrist, letting.

Maedhros’s pulse was beating hard, and he was beginning to whimper.

Fingon placed the knife in Maedhros’s hand, the blade forming a straight line below those elegant fingers. “hold that for a moment for me.”

Tears dripped from Maedhros’s eyes, but he nodded and closed his hand, expecting any moment to feel the blade biting in. His eyes widened when there was no pain, and a quick glance showed no blood.

“That knife is only sharp on one side, it’s made for cooking.” Fingon explained. Then he leaned over and kissed Maedhros.

“Let go.”

Maedhros did, and Fingon caught the knife deftly. He made sure that Maedhros could see him turn it around, and brought it to Maedhros’s throat. He held it there a long moment.

“Very good. Maybe next time you’ll actually believe that I won’t harm you, and that you don’t have any reason to fear me.”

Maedhros apologized. “I’m sorry. I was trying. I can be good, I can do what you say.”

“I know you're trying, and that’s good. It means you’re not enthralled to Morgoth. But you still have the taint of that place, still expect me to hurt you just like he did.”

"I don't -"

"Don't worry, it's not your fault. Now go to sleep. I'll wake up early to get you loose, and the healers won't have to know."

"Thank you Fingon."

[huginsmemory]

7 and 29 for the ao3 wrapped ask game? :D

Thank you for the ask!!! 💖💕 Oh man what good asks these are!

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

Ohhhh nooo the prize winning question. I'm going to ramble on now, a LOT. It's definitely Glass Animals I Love You So F**cking Much album. I adore the album just generally myself because it's about humanity and the messiness of humanity, and about fucked up relationships and yearning. Since it came out this summer I've been listening to it on repeat, both because I find the album in a way really cathartic to myself and my relationships. One of my favourite songs on the album include How I Learned to Love The Bomb about living with someone/a partner with anger issues, which I deeply relate to. There's a lot just generally about still loving people even when you should perhaps not love them, or despite it all loving them anyways because you really don't have control about that; also, not feeling good enough and being self destructive, being depressed despite being loved/how you feel as a person who loves that person, self destructive urge to just let go of control (and doesn't that feel nice???)... It's puts into song a lot of feelings I have, and that I haven't found that people really explore other than maybe in toxic ship fandom spaces, of all things. Or like. Therapy. (This is also in no way shape or form the reason I like these ships either nuh-uh)

So of course these songs then also really dovetailed perfectly into the blorbo-ship wrapped for me of the year, of BillFord (also previous to that, Hoffstrahm, also toxic) because they're a toxic mess that despite everything still deeply cared for each other. Seriously the song Wonderful Nothing is a very accurate description I find of Bill's view of their relationship, since it's about someone who has violently sabotaged their relationship out of self-destructive tendencies and the belief that they are better than the other person (who has now left the relationship, and moved on), even though they love the person, and still love the person even after they've left. Which is why one of the lyrics has been used as a title for the series on working on them, haha.

Also just. Look at the first three refrains:

Wonderful nothing You just want something nice You just want substance I just wanna cut out both your eyes

Wonderful nothing You just want something kind I want corruption I think I'm the devil in disguise

Here's my state of mind Give me destruction Tell me I'm scrumptious I'm a fucking delight

29. Favourite line/passage from this year?

I think I really quite like this passage chunk:

That's not to say there are not occasional lapses, both by Bill and Ford. Screaming matches and glass broken on the floor or long cold silences, when everything gets too much; when things that can't be forgiven resurface, raw wounds that had never really healed properly, and some that likely never will. Afterall, both of their psyches are more made of scar tissue and open wounds than unblemished skin. But most of the time now, there's peace, and there's this; Bill asleep within his arms, in the late hours of the morning. It's something he had yearned for, when he was young and impressionable and dreaming of snatches of intimacy with his muse. He gently brushes the pads of his fingers across Bill’s surface, smooth and warm beneath his hand, and Bill snuffles softly at the touch, cradled against Ford's side, small hands clutching onto Ford pajama shirt. Light catches on the gold that sits heavy on his fourth finger; a curse at first, a mistake from a drunken night of carousing, of a forgotten birthday before everything inevitably went to shit. Then, something shocking with dire consequences when Bill was dumped on their doorstep.

[someonewhos-world]

Jett munches on the uncooked noodles of ramen. Jack looks at him like hes the reason why Chris accepted their auditions.

Jack has a glass eye. It's fake. His left eye,where the scarring is, is so fake. Tyler's walked in on his cleaning it in the confessional because yk, that's kind of also the bathroom. They both screamed.

Jett forgets hes the only one who has like. Prosthetics. On the plane. So when he pops his legs off very casually or when someone kicks him in the leg, he doesnt entirely react.

Both twins have tried to sabotage challenges during their time on team Victory. Again, as I mentioned in an earlier headcanon post, they didnt exactly have to because the team was losing anyway but they did sabotage it a little. Just a teensy bit.

Jett has caused at least one (1) uproar with uno. He even got Chris in on it. Someone got hit with something.

Genderbent??? Who said they arent feral when genderbent.

Jess almost shoved Simon to a feral Elizabeth. Almost. Never quite did it though. She did, however, lock him in the confessional and had to hold the door shut while Jace ushered Noelle and Jody to a picnic date on the place in the cargo hold.

Like, she had one foot planted on the wall,the other bracing on the ground while pulling on the door while Simon is banging on the door.

Genderbent or not, these two screamed when the scarabs were released and jumped into the other's arms.

Jack broke a nail once. Once. And didnt fucking notice because he was running on adrenaline during the Amazon episode, realized it and cried because a. His FINGERNAIL IS MISSING AND ITS SCARY AND HE DOESNT KNOW WHAT TO DO and b. THEY WERE ATTACKED BY GIANT CATERPILLARS AND HES ALL ITCHY AND EVERYTHING HURTS.

Jett literally would fight Sierra if he had a given chance. Maybe. But he knows for a fact that when a girl fights,She fights to kill,maim and rip you apart. Jett likes living. Jett likes having (most) of his limbs intact. Hes swell, hes good. Have a nice day ma'am.

Jack wont hesitate. He hesitates with children, gives them a very testy look that's like "try my patience, I dare you" and they back down. As for people older or around his age, square the fuvk up. Square up.

Jack keeps mostly to himself and just smiles when someone looks at him. He does this to mostly get people off his back because people will find it weird when you smile at them intentionally with no motive.

Jett just keeps his headphones on and mostly ignores people. He doesn't speak unless spoken to and even then sometimes he doesnt answer.

Jack cried when Jett was left behind in New York. He had to be held back by Owen so he didnt go after Jett who was sitting on the ground stunned.

Jett, on the other hand, was fuming and very worried for Jack. I'll write a short fic about them I promise

Jack almost lashed out at Chris for this and Alejandro convinced him not to, just to win for Jett and Jack just kind of was like ">:("

It's ok because they reunite and never leave each other's sides.

Jack rides with Noah!! In the ambulance and visits him. He might've had flashbacks of the accident but didnt really say anything. But that plane ride to Hawaii is lonely.

He wonders if Noah likes caramels.

Jack left Jett alone for like one night to go to work and he comes back and Jett goes "it's so funny, I like started choking on a gummy worm and vomited with how hard I was coughing" and Jack just screams "YOU WHAT ARE YOU OKAY????"

They're so chaotic I love them.

Jess doesnt mind doing her own makeup but Jace insists on matching eyeliners. So someone has pink eyeliner while the other has blue

Jess snaps her compact mirrors close so hard that both mirrors break. Jace has snapped her nail file at least twice.

Jack has nails. He scratches himself and others on accident. Jett trims them. They both have small hands.

SANITY WHAT SANITY I HAVE NONE

[amayadrawz]

Info dump about the characters in my story: live for Ara!

Background info:

There are these creatures called Malnaki that suffer this thing where they are always hungry all the time and by hungry I mean painful starvation that never goes away!!

They have a carnivorous diet and eat wildlife and stuff (but they can anything really they just highly prefer meat)

Their hunger never goes away even when they do eat something, regardless of amount. However there is one thing that is the exception that does actually satisfy their hunger and that is human flesh 🧍

Eating humans however only provides very brief relief before an individual is once again consumed by hunger so Malnaki constantly pursue humans as a result.

Anyways on to the story itself:

Ren is a Malnaki individual who at one point earlier in his life grew tired of the endless cycle of hunting humans while never escaping hunger, so he decided to basically quite and stop hunting humans all together!

(Another thing to point out is that while Malnaki are much stronger than humans physically, humans also have stuff like weapons, plus humans are always found in groups so for Malnaki, hunting humans is both hard and dangerous as humans kill then just as often as they kill humans)

Ren decided to move into an isolated wilderness to get away from both humans and other Malnaki to try and get away from the cycle as much as he can, and for several years he lived in total isolation ( just as he wanted)

It was all fine and dandy until one day, while he’s minding his business, he detects the scent of a human AND malnaki nearby and is immediately like “wtf”, so he goes to investigate. When he does he finds a turned over wagon and finds out that a human who had been traveling through the area was attacked by Malnaki and subsequently eaten (very odd because as stated before, neither of those things should be found here)

Just as he’s about to leave and go back to doing whatever, he hears a noise coming from under the wagon and discovers a little baby that had been sleeping and was now waking up. After some back and forth he decides fuck it I’m a dad now (very very simplified version of this story)

And then he named her Ara :)

And to briefly go over the other characters present in this story we have:

Matori, Rens mom who kinda left him when he was small (a normal thing for Malnaki but he kinda hated it) who at one point decides to find him again, but when she finds a rando human hanging around where she believes Ren to be she thinks “free meal” and tried to attack her :( then Ren intervenes and has to explain why she can’t do that and while she thinks he’s crazy, she listens.

Anyways her and Ren have a very very strained relationship (he went about 20 years without seeing her) but it very slowly gets better over the course of the story

Then we have the Stranger (that’s what we’re calling her cuz idk if she’ll ever have a name), she is literally a stranger who one day happened upon Ren and Ara when she was small and also tried to attack her (she have Ara the facial scar), Ren tells her to back off and she listens and goes away… until several years later where she comes back and this time Ren has to throw hands with her and he wins but she did tear out his eyeball and ate it :(

Footage from the event:

Also I turned the Ren V stranger fight into a webtoon episode found here:

Anyways there is more characters cuz spoiler alert: Ara once she is older eventually leaves Ren to live on human society and gets an adopted family there (Ren is still involved don’t worry) but I simply have not managed to even come up with designs for them :(

For now that is all! ✌️

[cookiethreat]

Random thing #2:

It wasn’t an ordinary day. Not for both Villain and Hero. But for some reason, the two rolled with it anyways.

The Villain was at Hero’s apartment. It was always lonely and cold without any company.

Honestly, it was a little messy too.

The two were sitting on the couch in Hero’s living room. The tv was shining right into their face and both of them were leaned over with black controllers in their hands playing Super Smash Bros.

The Villain never understood why Hero wanted them over all the time, they knew it was from boredom and loneliness, but it had to be something else as well. Nobody knew Hero invited Villain into their apartment, and it was a good thing. If Superhero ever found out, Hero would lose everything they have.

But for now, it was just them two.

The game was pretty intense, all the two could hear was their own controllers clicking away with buttons. This was the third round of fighting, and Hero hasn’t won one round yet.

Villain couldn’t help but peel their eyes off of the screen and turn to Hero.

Their eyes were reflecting the tv, it almost looked like there was a projector screen built right in their eyes.

Villain could get lost into their eyes. Every time they looked at Hero’s face, their heart forgot how to beat correctly. They loved them.

But they couldn’t put it into words.

When their mind traced off, they heard their game character die as the word “K.O” appeared on the screen. It was Hero’s first win so far, and they raised their hands over their head and squealed.

“Haha! I did it! I finally beat you!”

Villain couldn’t help but scoff. Obviously they won. If they hadn’t distracted them.

“I just went easy on you that time.”

Hero eyed Villain as their arms sank back down.

“Oh please. You only say that because you lost.”

“Alright, alright. One more round, perhaps?”

“Oh you bet it!”

And now they were fighting. Again.

The fights went on for so long, they both could hit each other with the choice of attacks their character had, but the character never seemed to fall off the battle field.

It reminded the Villain of their fights with Hero. It made their heart sink. It made words crawl up their throat.

They just had to say it. They couldn’t leave their feelings for Hero locked up inside.

“Hero.”

Hero replied, eyes still locked on the screen in front of them.

“Hm?”

“I… I um…”

For fuck sake, just say it already!

“I-I… I like you!”

…

There was a brief pause, and Hero’s eyes didn’t move. Finally there was a small scoff.

“Right.” There voice sounded very sarcastic. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

And then, there was silence.

Villain felt a long scar trace across their heart, like their whole kingdom that just surrounded Hero collapsed within seconds right before their eyes.

It made sense. Hero didn’t like them. They didn’t love them the way Villain did. After all this time, Villain could only daydream what it would be like to have a relationship with Hero. Because they were the villain, and Hero was the hero.

Their body went numb as they heard their character die again. Hero had won another round. “Aha.” They said, leaning back against the couch in confidence. “I won again. That leads us with a perfect tie!”

The apartment was silent.

Hero’s eyes finally looked at Villain.

“Uh… you good?”

There was no reply.

Hero leaned up again, trying to see Villain’s face, which had turned a bit away from Hero.

Villain was crying. Hero had never seen Villain cry once. Not when they were being yelled at, or when they had the worst wound ever or when they were left in the pouring rain by Supervillain.

They were crying now. In this exact moment.

“Are… are you crying?” Hero’s tone of voice remained in confusion. “Over a game??”

There was no words to say. Not anymore.

Villain stood on their feet, grabbed their coat which was hanging over the arm chair of the couch, and started to head for the door.

“Wait, Villain!” Hero yelled, also standing. “I didn’t mean-“

It was too late. Villain had shut the door behind them.

(This was in my drafts so it’s a bit lazy. -.-)

[lebenspurpur]

{slashers x fem reader who has a blood kink? sorry if this is against ur boundaries u don’t have to if ur uncomfy!!!} submitted by anon but I accidentally deleted the original ask because I am an idiot.

Also darling, you're fine, all my boundaries got destroyed years ago.

Warnings: blood (duh), knives, a lot of cutting, mentions of self-harm and necrophilia.

Also a female reader this time.

Michael Myers

Oh Michael loves it.

Blood always gets this man going, I think we've established that.

Wait a second.

You want to cut him? *slowly backs off*

Yeah, he doesn't necessarily trust you with a knife.

Michael doesn't mind the pain, his pain endurance is way too high for that. It's just that cutting him would be a dominant action. And Michael really doesn't want to give you dominance.

He'll let himself get cut if he can cut you.

Michael is all for period sex if that's your thing. Be careful though, he is not going to be soft just because you're sensitive.

Michael just thrives off of the fact that, not only are you shedding blood, you're very sensitive and you're in pain as well.

A pure sadist, this man.

Vincent Sinclair

Blood? Doesn't that involve you getting hurt?

Vincent is skeptical.

He really, really doesn't want you to get hurt.

It would turn you on?

Hm.

Let's test it first.

Vincent will be very slow and careful, stopping as soon as he thinks something's wrong.

You have to reassure him to get going quite a lot.

After he realizes what effect blood has on your body, he overthinks it again and then consents.

He's going to create a new and very special safe word for this, just in case he ever really hurts you.

He himself doesn't really mind getting cut, as long as it makes you happy. This man would do anything for your happiness.

To be quite honest, Vincent loves the marks you leave on him. He looks at them in the mirror the next morning, a bashful grin painting his handsome features. I am so soft for Vincent please.

Period sex? Are you sure you're not in pain during that?

Vincent isn't grossed out by body fluids, but he won't go down on you during your time of the month.

His problem with period sex is that you're already hurting and he doesn't want to cause further harm.

He's perfectly fine with just fingering you and receiving blowjob though he can do without those if you don't want to until you're off your period again.

Vincent would literally do anything for you and I'm not kidding.

Bo Sinclair

"Woah there sugar... didn't think you'd be into that."

He's a bit surprised in the beginning.

Period sex is a no for him, don't even bring it up. He'll probably vomit already at the word period.

Him cutting you is totally fine and he likes that if you're fine with it.

However him getting cut is not going to happen.

To make it up to you, he can fuck you after he just killed a victim.

He'll thrust into you, fresh dark-red splashes of blood painted on his face.

"Do you like that? Knowing that I fucking killed a guy and then immediately came in here to fuck the shit outta you? I bet'cha do sugar."

Lester Sinclair

B-..blood?

Lester is pretty concerned until you explain it a bit better.

After that he's still concerned.

Hmm, how about animal blood?

Lester just doesn't want to be in pain and he doesn't want to put you in pain.

If you're fine with non-human blood then he's very relieved, having been scared that you'll leave him.

Please reassure your feelings for him or he's going to worry for months now.

Baby Firefly

She's a bit astonished in the beginning. She just didn't expect that from you, out of all people.

But, being a part of the Firefly family, she's totally down for it!

She'll gladly pepper you in little cuts and then suck at them. Baby loves using her tongue on you anyway so it's a win-win situation.

She's also very open for period sex. After all, she's done worse than eat someone out during their time of the month.

Baby is the best at aftercare. She'll make you a hot bubble bath, clean the cuts and she got sparkly pink band-aids for the both of you!

Otis Driftwood

Did you just say blood? *drags you to his torture room*

Otis... is so down for this.

Can he.. like carve his name into your body?

Oh and can he take a picture of you?

Can he take a picture of you next to a corpse?

You just wanted to see him bloody, god damnit.

Period sex is not something he'd insist on doing but he'll never say no to fucking you.

Billy Loomis

You want to do what?

Billy has never heard of a blood kink before. It reminds him of his love for the red substance though.

The only difference is that he doesn't use real human blood.

It takes a lot of coaxing but after a while he might be okay with cutting you a little bit..

After seeing how much you enjoy it, he might let you cut him too.. but not too deep!

Billy would also really enjoy fucking you after coming home from a kill. He'd be drenched in blood, the red fluid clinging to his chest and slowly smearing onto your back.

He smirks as he spreads the red fluid on your perky nipples, watching you throw your head back and moan shamelessly.

Stu Macher

Sure, why not?

Stu is an incredibly adventurous person, even when it comes to sex.

You trust him and he trusts you so where's the problem?

I don't think Stu would actively enjoy a blood kink but he's not going to say no since you asked him so nicely.

The pure facts that you're getting so aroused from a simple liquid is enough to make him turn feral anyway.

Who needs blood when you can have Y/N begging on her pretty, little knees for your cock?

Brahms Heelshire

"No."

"But-"

"I said no."

Yeah no, blood scares him.

It will need a lot of coaxing to even get him to try it.

I don't think he'd like it very much.

But Brahms will gladly kill the grocery-boy for you if you'd like to see him drenched in someone's blood.

Thomas Hewitt

Blood? Sweetheart, what if you get hurt?

He'll gently cradle your face in his big palms, searching for sincerity in your eyes.

Upon finding it, he'll nod and ask you to explain it to him again.

He'll try it for you. If you're going out of your way to ask this of him, he has to try it in his opinion.

He doesn't like the act of cutting to get either your or his blood and he'd rather have the blood to be his.

Tommy is a big, strong man. He can take a few small cuts.

But you're his tiny, sweet Y/N, he can't cut you?!

So yeah, to get him to cut you will be quite a quest.

As soon as he sees your reaction to blood, he blushes, desire clouding in his brown eyes.

Maybe this is a good idea after all.

He'd still have you or him covered in animal blood, rather than human blood.

Thomas doesn't care if you're on your period or not, but he'll immediately stop when you're in pain.

Just relax Y/N, he'll go get a towel and then he'll take care of his "little problem".

Josef

Blood? But why?

Okay, for you, he might try.

He enjoys it more than he originally thought.

Blood has an important meaning to him too and to see it spread all over your pretty body.. just does things to him.

Period sex is not his thing.

I don't even think he knows how periods work.

Amanda Young |TW SELF HARM|

Amanda has heard about blood kinks before and you can not change my mind.

She's down to try it if you both feel comfortable.

However, Amanda has had struggles with self-harm in her past and would therefore prefer you getting cut.

She just doesn't like willingly adding new scars to her collection.

There's something so arousing about you licking her bloody fingers clean, she can't help but press her thighs together.

Period sex?

She isn't the biggest fan of that idea but fingering you is not a problem to her.

She's kind of confused since her cramps are too painful to get aroused during her period.

Her aftercare is also very good. Amanda always has bandages and band-aids stacked away somewhere and she knows how to deal with the wounds she's left

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Chapter 62: Scars

TWs in the tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Master stopped Puppy from making breakfast this morning. “We’re not going to eat today.” She said.

Puppy hoped that the ‘we’ doesn’t include Kitty, but it did. The two of them play the Game of Life to get their mind off the hunger.

“Is it bad that I wish Bunny were here?” Kitty asks softly. “Obviously I don’t want him to suffer, but I miss him.”

Puppy shrugs. She’s long past wondering what wishes are ‘bad.’

“I hope he’s okay. It would suck if after all this he doesn’t even get some happy memories. I hope it’s worth it.”

They both know it won’t be, but they can hope.

That night, Jane asks the both of them a long series of questions about their emotional and physical state, and writes down the answers.

“My therapist wants me to see how eating regularly will impact my mood. But first I want to collect data on how not eating impacts my mood, and compare it to how not eating impacts mortals’ moods. Obviously a sample size of two isn’t great, but this is just for fun. I’ve done experiments like this before, anyway. I just know Peyton will be a bitch about it if my data isn’t recent. So! We’ll do this for a week, and then we’ll all eat three times a day for a week and track our feelings.”

Kitty rolls their eyes. “Wonderful.”

“Play nice, Kitty. I was going to let Puppy sleep every night, to avoid confounding variables. But I know that rewarding one of you is rewarding both of you, and I don’t reward bad behavior.”

“I said it sounded wonderful. But if my tone bothers you, you can just make it against the rules. You know I obey you, Master.” Their tone is ice. “And if I knew the opinions of mere mortals bothered you, I’d of course ‘play nice.’”

Puppy loves Kitty, adores them, but what Jane is offering is a full week of regular sleep, maybe two, and she can’t lose that for Kitty’s pride, for this stupid fucking power struggle they’re never going to win. Just apologize, please just apologize, it’s not worth it. She squeezes Kitty’s hand, hard. They gasp, looking at her in surprise.

“I…I’m sorry?”

Jane smiles smugly, seeming satisfied. “Go to bed. Both of you.”

~~

A lot of the clothes Barron got for you would show your scars. To be fair, that’s any clothes that show your arms or legs or neck.

All three of them have repeatedly told you you can ask for anything you want. Maybe you should test that and ask for more long-sleeved shirts. That’s a reasonable request, right? At least, it’s a reasonable request after they’ve insisted you can ask for anything.

On the other hand, there’s no reason to be so self conscious about the scars. Diya and Greg both have them, and they don’t hide theirs. The bite wounds on Diya’s neck, the burns on Greg’s hands.

But… your scars are worse. Which isn’t to say the pain that caused them was worse- you could never know that, and you would never dream of saying you went through worse because there are more marks. The worst things Jane did to you never left a scar, after all. But you definitely have more.

Sometimes you think your arms and legs and chest look a bit like what someone might doodle in a notebook while bored in class. Hearts and swirls and the weird fucking S thing- but the burns and drill marks ruin the image. And the brand.

That’s what you most don’t want anyone to see. If they didn’t like the collar, they certainly won’t like the brand. And you don’t want to see it, you want to pretend you don’t have it.

So you should ask for more long sleeved shirts. And if that means Barron hurts you, at least you’ll know. You won’t have to wonder anymore.

You ask during breakfast, while everyone is there, which feels safest.

“You- you said I could ask for anything, right?”

“Right. I can’t promise I can get anything, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. I want to do whatever I can to help you feel comfortable.” Barron says. Diya smiles at you encouragingly.

“…Nevermind.” Coward.

Diya frowns. “It’s just- you’re kind of stuck here. We brought you here and you can’t leave without risking a monster hurting you, and it would be really shitty if we didn’t do whatever we could to make it comfortable. So if you’re feeling weird about asking for stuff because you feel like you owe us- you don’t. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

Greg nods firmly. “You don’t owe us anything.”

You nod. That… actually helps a bit. You’ve been feeling weird about asking for things when they’ve already given you so much, but you didn’t have much of a choice in that. Maybe it’s not that big a deal.

“I was- I was just wondering if I could have more long sleeved shirts?”

Barron nods. “Of course. The shirts I already got you fit, right? I’ll get some more long sleeved ones today.”

“They fit, yeah. Thank you.”

“Any other clothes you want? Or anything else? Something for entertainment, a food you like, or something?”

You shake your head. There’s a beat of silence.

“Well, I’ll be sure to get you those shirts.”

“Thank you.”

The cabin is quiet for a moment, but Diya never lets it last for long. “Is there a specific reason you want more long sleeved shirts?”

Barron coughs. “You don’t have to answer that. We don’t plan on interrogating you any time you ask for something.”

“Right, right. But like… are you cold? Do you feel more comfortable with more of your body covered? Or is it just a style thing?”

“Diya.” Barron’s tone is warning, sending chills down your spine. Diya sighs dramatically.

“I just think we can help more if we know why you want it! But I can see I’m making uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

Greg has finished their breakfast and takes their empty plate to the sink. You’re eager to do the same.

“It’s okay.” You probably would’ve told them about your scars- but Barron, the way it silenced em with a word… it scared you. If Barron doesn’t want the reason why, you don’t want to share it.

“So… what’s your favorite food, Ethan?”

“Saltines.”

You are overwhelmed with a sort of nostalgia for when Kitty asked you that. You miss them, and Diya is just similar enough to them to make you miss them more.

“Do you want to go on a walk today?”

“…Sure.” You get up and put your plate in the sink. You want a minute alone, want to leave the house- the cabin without being supervised. But walking with Diya isn’t terrible.

“You mentioned you like board and card games. What’re your favorites?”

“I don’t… I like ones with more strategy, I guess. I don’t really have specific favorites.”

“We could play something today. Or I could show you some of the games we’ve got on the computer.”

“That sounds fun. Either of those. I need to do some laundry first, though.”

“Me too! We can do it together.”

You can’t tell why ey seems so desperate to spend time with you. Maybe ey pities you, or feels the need to supervise you so you don’t misbehave. Or maybe ey genuinely likes you and wants to spend time with you. But you don’t feel like any of the likable things about you have been on display lately. You’ve just been scared and tired.

Barron leaves to go to work, and Greg joins you and Diya as you sort clothes. The two of them get chatting about different types of clothes and how comfortable they are, and you zone out as you do the simple task. It’s nice, it doesn’t require enough focus to make your head hurt.

It’s okay. You’re okay. Jane isn’t here, Barron isn’t here, no one’s going to hurt you. You let yourself feel safe for just a moment.

~~

Kitty is doing a lot worse than Puppy. They aren’t as used to hunger. At least, not as used to hunger as they go about their daily life. They can handle it when it’s part of a punishment, but for some reason it’s a lot harder like this. They thought it would be easier with more stuff to distract them, but it’s not.

They don’t know how Puppy handles it. Often only eating once a day, she must be constantly hungry, but she never shows it. Not eating at all, she doesn’t behave any differently. She does her chores efficiently and masterfully. She doesn’t make mistakes. She’d be punished if she made mistakes.

Kitty is having trouble thinking about anything other than food. Food that they know is in the fridge and in the pantry, food that’s /right there/. They try to read and play games and color, but end up too distracted by hunger.

They drink lots and lots of water. Jane never explicitly said they could, but she hasn’t punished them, so they take the risk. Puppy doesn’t though. She drinks when Jane gives her water, and only then.

Kitty keeps thinking that if Puppy were downstairs being hurt, they would be able to get food. They’d know Jane wasn’t watching.

But that’s a horrible thing to wish for, and they know it. They just want to not be hungry anymore.

They’re so tired, so fatigued, but they’re in too much pain to fall asleep. They lie on the couch and count the seconds. They’re so hungry.

~~

You are hiding in the bathroom crying because Diya decided to make mac ‘n cheese for dinner. It’s embarrassing and stupid and it’s just- it’s stupid. Of all the things to remind you of living with Jane…

You think you’ve been pretty subtle, slipping away from the table gracefully and crying quietly, but-

“Ethan? What’s wrong?” Diya’s at the door.

“I’m just going to the bathroom. Do I need supervision to do that, too?” You’re not mad at em, not really, but your heart pounds and you can’t stop thinking about her poisoning you for /no reason/ and Puppy was /already sick/-

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. Can I please just have a minute alone?”

“…I want to help.”

“I know, I know, but I think helping me use the bathroom might be overstepping.”

Diya snorts. “You’ve been crying, though. I could hear you.”

“Why were you listening to me going to the bathroom?”

“I- I was just coming to check on you! You looked upset.”

You feel bold with a locked door between you. “If I wanted your help I would’ve asked for it.”

“…Okay. Okay.” Footsteps retreat from the door. Maybe you were a bit harsh.

Barron could still teleport in. But there’s no reason for it to do that, you haven’t done anything to upset it or disobeyed any orders. There’s no guarantee that Barron will follow the same rules as Jane, though.

Diya said it gets better, and you have to believe that’s true. You have to believe that you won’t always cry over mac ‘n cheese, that you won’t always flinch at the sight of your arms uncovered. You have to believe it, or else there’s no point to any of this. No point to escaping, and certainly no point to trying to save Puppy and Kitty.

After crying a bit more, you splash some water on your face and return to the kitchen. Everyone else has already finished, they’re doing something in the living room. They left your meal on the table.

You force yourself to take two more bites of cold mac ‘n cheese, and then throw out the rest. You remember loosening your collar with Diya, how it was scary but you did it anyway, and you felt better afterwards. It should be the same here. It will get easier, it will get better. You have to believe that.

~~

Puppy’s hands won’t stop shaking. She’s going to get in trouble, going to drop something, going to get herself and Kitty punished.

She has to be careful, has to stay present, pay attention, be a good Puppy. Master can tell when she’s trying.

She needs to make sure Kitty is good too. She can’t let Kitty get hurt, she has to keep Jane happy. Her first priority is pleasing her master, always always always.

Her hands won’t stop shaking, no matter how hard she focuses. It’s only going to get worse as she gets hungrier.

Maybe Master will be merciful. This isn’t a punishment, and she’s proven time and time again that she can do her chores, follow the rules, even while starving, even while sleep deprived, even while so sick she could barely walk. Master doesn’t have to test her, Master just wants to be mean to her therapist. She might be merciful, might tell Puppy that she’s been a very good girl and she can be done for the day.

But Puppy knows better than to get her hopes up. She’s done these chores with shaking hands and an aching stomach before, she can do it again. Even if chores that usually take a couple minutes take half an hour. Even if supplies she can usually carry easily are too heavy to hold for more than a minute at a time. She can do it, and she will, and she and Kitty won’t get hurt any more today.

~~

“I’m sorry about yesterday.” Diya says out of nowhere. You’ve been working on knitting again, hoping that it will hurt your head less as you get better at it.

“Hm?”

Diya plops down next to you on the couch. “I have never, in my entire life, wanted to be alone. Even when I was with Irving, it was better to have him there and hurting me than to he left alone. So… I tend to assume other people feel the same way. It’s caused problems before, and I tried to remember that you might like to be alone, and I still made the same mistake I always make. I should’ve listened the first time you said you wanted to be left alone. I’m sorry.”

Ey’s apology sounds sort of scripted, but still genuine. You think ey’s telling the truth.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t mad at you. And you were right, I was crying.”

“Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to. I’ll leave you alone if you want.”

You kind of do want to talk to em. Talking to Diya has helped before. Not as much as talking to Kitty or Puppy would’ve helped, but it helped.

“It’s stupid.”

“Yeah? I should probably say something about how no feelings are stupid, but… I don’t know. Like, back when I first got away from Irving, when Jane killed him, I struggled to eat because I felt like I was hurting my food. Because I had been food for so long. And that was pretty stupid! Eating a sandwich is very different from drinking someone’s blood, and I knew that, and I still had full crying screaming episodes over eating. It wouldn’t have helped to call that stupid while I was going through it, but I don’t think it would’ve helped to act like it was perfectly reasonable either. So maybe emotions /are/ stupid sometimes, but that doesn’t really matter that much. What matters is how the emotions affect you and what you can do to manage them.”

Diya’s rambling reminds you so much of Kitty talking about The Game of Life or how Jane’s actions were never your fault. God, you wish they’d come with you.

Diya is a different person, though. It’s not very nice to em to act like ey’s just a replacement for someone else. And you think you do like Diya, as eir own person, even if you don’t fully trust em like you do Kitty.

“She poisoned us one time using mac ‘n cheese.” You say softly. “It hurt. Puppy was already sick, and we didn’t do anything. She just did it. It wasn’t the worst thing she ever did, I don’t know why trying to eat mac ‘n cheese freaked me out so much. The first thing she did to me was drown me, and I’m not freaked out by the sound of running water.”

“That stuff’s definitely weird. It’s just whatever your brain associates with the trauma. It doesn’t always make sense.” Ey pauses. “It really sucks that she did that to you. Are there any other foods that might cause that reaction?”

“That’s the thing- I don’t know. She didn’t poison us with any other foods like that. But I don’t know. If you’d asked me before- I mean, you did ask me before, and I had no idea mac ‘n cheese would affect me like that.”

“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“I want to be able to eat mac ‘n cheese without crying.”

“We can work on that! We have leftovers, and you can make your own mac ‘n cheese whenever you want.”

You nod and focus back on your knitting. “Thank you. For giving me advice, and for sharing about your own experience. It helps.”

“I’m glad!” Diya beams, and then eir smile fades. “Are you still worried about Barron hurting you?”

“I don’t- well. Yes.”

“Why?”

“I can’t- I can’t do it again.” You can’t, can’t trust someone again just for them to hurt you, can’t fall for such an obvious trap, you can’t-

“You keep saying that. What does it mean?”

You have to set the knitting down, your hands are shaking too much. “I… I want to go on a walk. And I want to do it alone.”

“…Okay. Go ahead. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You get up and approach the door. Ey doesn’t stop you. You step outside. No one stops you. You could leave. You really could leave.

Instead, you follow the same path you and Diya usually take. It’s nice. You loosen your collar and breathe the fresh air deeply. You’re okay. You hope Puppy and Kitty are okay.

With your collar loose, and walking alone, you feel incredibly rebellious. And it’s scary, but it’s also exhilarating. You are full of a nervous, excited energy that makes you want to do a cartwheel or something. But you can’t do a cartwheel, so you just walk faster.

When you come back to the cabin, Diya isn’t in the living room anymore. Your head only hurts a little bit, so you pick your knitting back up. You don’t tighten your collar.

~~

Even with a full week of regular sleep, Puppy is exhausted. She splashes cold water in her face, does jumping jacks, tugs on her hair, and she only barely holds onto consciousness. Her chores are done (she thinks- oh god, are they done?) so she just has to stay awake until Master gives her permission to sleep.

Kitty hasn’t stayed awake for more than a couple minutes all day. Puppy watches them breathe, terrified their breathing will suddenly stop.

Just one more day. Just one more day, then Master will move onto the next phase and she’ll get to eat three meals a day and maybe she’ll still get to sleep every day.

Of course, she’ll have to be careful to avoid refeeding syndrome. But she’ll be allowed to eat, and Kitty will be allowed to eat. Just one more day.

“How are you feeling? I feel great.”

When did Master get in here? Puppy groans.

“Poor Kitty’s asleep… I’ll wake them up after we finish your questions. How would you rate your hunger on a scale of one to ten? Speak. You can answer these questions.”

“…Nine.” It can always be worse. It can always get worse.

“How would you rate your fatigue on a scale of one to ten?”

“Nine.”

“How would you rate your desire to commit violence on a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.” It’s what she’s been saying all week.

Master continues her line of questioning. Puppy thinks Master asks more questions than normal, but she can’t be sure.

Finally, Master tells her to sleep. She doesn’t have to be told twice.

~~

Diya is helping Barron with something in the computer room, so you and Greg have been playing card games in the living room.

Hanging out with Greg is a lot quieter than hanging out with Diya, but you don’t mind. You don’t mind the quiet at all.

You’re a bit worried about Diya being alone with Barron, but there isn’t any screaming coming from the computer room, so you think ey’s okay.

Greg has incredible posture. They sit up straighter than you think you ever have, and they handle the cards with a strange sort of grace.

“After we finish this one I can show you some of the card games we made up while I was with Jane. Well, Kitty and Puppy mostly made them.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Yeah, they were good at that stuff. I guess they had more practice than me, but any time I tried to make a game it ended up really boring.”

“Ah.”

You continue to play in silence. It’s nice. It’s also nice that you’re winning.

“Are you enjoying living here?” Greg asks.

“…I think so. So far, it’s much better than living with Jane.”

“So far?”

“Well, I can’t know the future. Are you enjoying living here?”

“I am.”

“…Have you ever been hurt here?”

“No. Well, I’m sure I’ve bumped into things or tripped and gotten hurt while here with stuff like that. But I don’t think that’s what you’re asking.”

You swallow. “No one’s hurt you while you were here?”

“Nope.” They pop the P, then think for a second. “Well, maybe on accident. But I can’t think of anything specific. Why do you ask?”

“…I don’t know. Just checking, I guess.”

Greg nods. “That’s okay. You can check as much as you want. None of us will hurt you.”

You think, for maybe just a moment, you believe them.

—

You wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of screaming. Shit, shit, it’s happening, it’s hurting them, shit.

You don’t know what to do. You instinctively pull your blanket over your head, but you know it’s not a good hiding place.

The screaming is over as soon as it started. Should you investigate? Should you pretend nothing happened?

You take off the blanket and head towards where you think you heard the noise. It’s Diya and Greg’s room.

You hear crying, quiet but definitely there. You think it’s Greg’s voice. You throw open the door.

It’s just Diya and Greg. Greg is crying without emotion on their face, but it doesn’t look like they’re hurt. Diya holds them close.

“Ethan. Did we wake you up? Greg just had a nightmare. I’ve got this handled. You can go back to bed. And… maybe knock, next time.”

That makes sense. Greg did say they all have nightmares, and if Barron’s not here… Well, you don’t think Diya would hurt Greg. It makes more sense to you that it would be a nightmare.

You step back, embarrassed. You’re lucky you didn’t interrupt something more intimate.

“…Sorry.”

Greg recoils, burying their face in Diya’s shoulder. You gently close the door.

It feels… wrong, to have seen Greg so vulnerable. It makes your skin crawl, and you’re not sure why. But they’ve seen you after a nightmare, so you guess you’re even.

…Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, for Diya or Greg to see your scars.

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @fuzzybucketz

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else!

[helliontherapscallion]

Stressful Spectres (Sweet Betrayal Part 3)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 4

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse/neglect, mentions of death, slight body gore, blood

Word count: 2,873

With hands tightly clasped behind your back, you tensely paced around your office. The Pogtopians were constantly being sighted around the borders of Manberg and it was your job to prevent this. You tried everything; setting up traps, luring mobs around the vicinity, nothing worked. They just kept coming back like pesky cockroaches following pheromones. The only way you’d be able to prevent them from spying into the borders was to rebuild a wall, and Schlatt would turn your idea down the second the word ‘wall’ would leave your mouth. He gave you only two days to completely figure everything out from the last time one of the cowards was spotted running from the borders, and it seems that those two days are nearly up. 

“You should take a break, (y/n).” Without looking at him, you kept pacing and ignored him. “Stop ignoring me, you know I don’t like when you do that… Please, take a break. I’m worried about you,” he sounded just like he did from before. You felt your eye twitch. 

“...(Y/n), remember what I used to sing to you?” He chuckled, the sound being airy and far off, “‘hey hobo man, hey dapper Dan-’”

“Shut the fuck up!” You grabbed your vase and hurled it blindly in his direction. The glass shattered against the wall and you heard nothing else from the teenager. “I don’t need you anymore.” He had been visiting you for the past week or so, ever since Schlatt found out about you taking your birthday off. You were banned from speaking to the Badlanders and got a few physical punishments that would definitely give you more scars on your arms. It was your fault anyways, you were slacking off during a war when you were one of the leaders of this country.

Your door opened when you were mid pace, making you plaster a strained smile on your face and spin around to narrow your eyes at whomever decided to not knock. You were greeted by a slightly buzzed ram hybrid raising an eyebrow at you. He must’ve just started drinking. 

Whenever he was only slightly buzzed or on the very rare chance he was sober, he was the most affectionate with you. It wasn’t much, only small praises and the occasional smile, but by Ender you ate it up like you were a drug addict getting their first hit in months. You craved any type of affection, no matter where it came from or how rarely it came. You were willing to wait for it, even if it was rare. 

His amber gaze flicked around the room before it landed on the ceramic shards embedded into the carpet. He jutted his chin towards it, “fuck happen there?” 

You ran your hand down your face and massaged your aching cheeks, “nothing. Just thought I saw a rat, but my mind was just playing tricks on me.” His calculating gaze pierced through you like a spear before he narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded. He walked over to the window and looked out at the vast city, hands neatly clasped behind his back. “...Have you come up with a solution to our... problem?”

You sighed angrily and resumed your pacing, “I’ve tried everything. They just dismantle the traps I set up, kill the mobs I lure around it, they even killed the iron golems! The only option here is to put up the walls again.” 

“I know you didn’t just say what I thought you fuckin said,” Schlatt hissed out, “there’s no way in hell I’m putting up those walls again.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do then, that’s our only option,” you mumbled under your breath only to freeze when Schlatt stomped up to you. He spun you around and grabbed your shoulders, leaning close to your face. His breath smelled like tobacco and a hint of scotch, “are you questioning my authority?” You shook your head frantically. “Really? Cuz it sure sounds like you’re questioning my authority. You seem to forget that I’m your boss and you will treat me as such. Do you understand me?”

You nodded and he let you go, slightly shoving you off to the side as he walked past you. “I-I’m sorry, Dad.” He paused in your doorway, “don’t call me that. I don’t want to be the father of someone that constantly contradicts me. I’ll be back in an hour, you better have this shit figured out by the time I get back or I swear to Ender I’ll fire your sorry ass. You’re on thin ice, (y/n).” Without a second word he left your office, the sound of his dress shoes clanking against the tile fading down the hallway. 

You could feel your heart break inside of your chest and your lungs get deflated by the shards piercing them. He was the last person that actually loved you, and you fucked it up. You always fuck everything up, you supposed that it was an innate part of you. No matter what you did or what you tried, you’re always going to be a fuck up. 

No, you can’t just sit here and ponder all of your life’s mistakes; you need to be brainstorming before you lose your connection to the person you loved the most. You paced around your office endlessly murmuring to yourself. You knew he was watching you pace again standing off in the corner, the room felt off like it always did whenever he was there. You ignored him and continued your pacing. 

Just as you came up with a solution, your door was opened and Schlatt stepped into your office once more. He was swaying slightly on his feet and his suit jacket was unbuttoned. “You figure something out?” 

You put a confident smile on your face, “yes. I think we should send patrols around the border, and I think the Badlanders and Rutabagaville members would fare nicely. We can send them in groups of two and send them once in the morning, afternoon, evening, and night.” 

He nodded to himself, satisfied. “That sounds like a decent plan, you’re keeping your job for now. But don’t think I’ll forget about what you said earlier.”

You felt extremely relieved and grinned at him, “yessir. I apologize for that once again, it just-”

“Save it, you’re still on thin fucking ice… Don’t look at me like that, ya smiling freak. Your face is absolutely disgusting.” You dropped your smile and looked at your slightly scarred fingers. Light pink raised scars littered your skin in random amounts along your right arm, leading up your neck, and becoming the most concentrated on the entirety of the right side of your face. You avoided looking in the mirror, mostly out of anger because your appearance was a constant reminder of the stain your ‘brothers’ left on your life. You were still adjusting to having a blind spot in your vision, the eye having lost its sight and now a cloudy white color from the fireworks. Your eyelid on that side was permanently half-lidded, unable to open up fully even if you tried. 

You were fully aware that your appearance was… unsightly, to say the least, to everybody that looked at you (yourself included), but Schlatt was one that never cringed away from you. Hell, even Quackity (the mere mention of his name made icy betrayal wash over your entire body) avoided looking at you in the first few weeks of your injury. Schlatt was the one that loved you for who you were, scars and all, and you fucked it up. 

He squinted at you, his eyelids blocking everything with the exception of his rectangular pupils. A snort left his lips before he moved to leave you to your own devices. “I’ll inform the others of their new duties, get your paperwork done.” 

“Yessir.” 

You sat down at your desk chair with a sigh and rubbed at your aching cheeks before you picked up your pen and started on your paperwork. Well, it was yours with the exception of Schlatt’s thrown about occasionally in piles. The room was engulfed into an uncomfortable chill once more, he’s back. You honestly have no idea why he just keeps coming back to you or even if his pale spectre was just a stress induced hallucination. He just showed up in your office one day saying that he’s been looking everywhere for you. He acted and looked exactly like he did before he left, except his attitude was strangely chipper for someone that had an iron pickaxe buried deep within their forehead. 

“(Y/n), I’m back!” He sang, floating over to your desk. “Geez, that goat guy is a real jerk isn’t he?” His slightly glowing hand appeared in your vision and tried to pluck the pen out of your grasp. It swiped right through your hand, making you shiver at the uncomfortable feeling. “I’m still not used to that.”

You huffed and focused more on your paperwork. You could feel the chill getting closer, leading up to the point where he was directly behind you. The icy air gusted down your neck with every breath he exhaled. “Whatcha workin on?” He whispered in your ear. 

“Nothing that you need to worry about.” 

“So they speak! I was worried you went completely mute… Well, you did scream at me before, but I didn’t count that. That’s okay though, I knew I could get you to talk to me sooner or later. I’m irresistible, you remember how I was with the ladies.” 

“Fuck off.”

“No need to be so mean to me.” You focused on your paperwork again, furrowing your brows and trying to tune him out. “(Yyyyyyy/nnnnn), you can’t ignore little ole me forever.” 

“I can and I will.”

He gasped before laughter streamed from his lips, the sound being muffled since it was on your deaf side. “You just talked to me though! I think that’s a win for me. Do you remember when-”

“I swear to Ender, if another word comes out of your mouth I’ll make sure that the next pickaxe finds its home through your tongue and down your throat.” 

He was silent after that, leaving you to your paperwork. At least, that was until someone knocked on your office door. You sighed before plastering a smile on your face, “come in.” Your door opened to reveal the signature white smiley face mask, messy blond hair, and green hoodie.

Dream had been giving you small lessons on your swordsmanship lately, and you were getting better with each passing lesson. You were proficient on defense, so it was time for you to learn how to offensively attack. 

You saw that he placed an apple on your desk. You looked up at him in confusion. “What? You haven’t eaten anything all day, I don’t want you passing out or anything during our lesson.”

“Finally! Someone with actual sense around here! It’s so refreshing, isn’t it (y/n)? Well, it’s refreshing for me anyways.” 

Dream chuckled, “thank you.” 

Wait a damn minute.

Dream could hear him?!

Your pen froze mid sentence and rested on the paper, it’s ink pooling in one place. You slowly looked up at Dream, “you can hear him?” He looked at the teenager behind you before looking back at you, his head tilting. “Of course I can. He’s right there.” 

“Yeah (y/n), I’m right here. My name’s Lucius by the way, it’s nice to meet you!” He floated over to Dream and held out his hand, the pickaxe handle almost hitting the taller male in the chest. Dream stepped back slightly and nodded, “Dream. Eat that apple fast, we don’t have all day.” You snapped out of your stupor and grabbed the apple, taking absentminded bites while staring at your dead best friend talking animatedly to the masked man. 

So he was real after all. You were worried something might have actually been wrong with you for a moment! It was nice to know that you weren’t completely insane. 

“...meet (y/n)?” 

“Oh, I’m training them at the moment, would you like to watch?” 

“Yes! That sounds exciting, doesn’t it (y/n)?” The two looked at you expectantly, Dream’s head tilting slightly and Lucius smiling widely at you. You swallowed your bite and nodded, throwing the apple core into your trash bin. “...Yeah. Yeah it does. Uh, I’m going to get changed and then we can start our session.” 

After you got changed, you met with the two outside your door and walked out of the White House to the training grounds. The entire time you were walking, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Lucius. Every time he would turn his head, the pickaxe would move with it. The crusted blood that emanated from the wound and splattered down his pale face was perhaps the darkest color on him with the exception of his jet black hair. 

In a strange way, it wasn’t the blood or the pickaxe protruding from his head that disturbed you the most; it was his eyes. Of course they still crinkled at the edges when he smiled, but it just wasn’t the same. The black eyes that were once so full of life were a dull gray with milky pupils. 

Other than the obvious pickaxe, blood, dead eyes, and constant glowing, he looked exactly like he did before he died. His baggy sweater, albeit mudstained and wrinkled, was still a salmon color with its signature pinstripes. The mop of straight black hair was still pulled into a bun with multiple unruly strands escaping the elastic and framing his face.

Before you knew it, a pale hand was waving in your face. “Earth to (y/n)! Oh good, you’re back to the land of the living! What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Well, I mean you were just staring at me, but my point still stands.”

You moved your gaze to the dirt path, “it’s nothing, I’ll tell you later.” He huffed, but didn’t say anything else to you for the rest of the trip. Instead, he was making small comments on your surroundings. 

Eventually, you were across from Dream on the training arena holding a wooden sword in front of you defensively. Lucius was sitting in the grass a little ways away from the painted boundaries with one foot over the other and his elbows resting on his knees propping his chin up. He was watching with an intensity he always had whenever you were doing something he deemed ‘dangerous’. To be fair, sparring with the most skilled member on the server was fairly dangerous.

“Let’s see if you remember what I taught you last time.” Without giving you a warning, he charged at you with his own wooden sword raised. Your sword clashed with his and you pushed against him. The mask moved upwards on his face slightly, “good, but always expect the unexpected.” 

With a simple sweep of his foot, you were on the ground gasping for air. You could faintly hear Lucius suck in air between his teeth before he shouted “you’re doing great, sweetie, but do better!”

Thanks, Lucius. Very motivating.

You rolled away from Dream’s foot before he could pin you to the floor. Your mind flashed back to when Techno- no. None of that, you need to focus. You got back onto your feet in the blink of an eye and dodged another blow. You used his momentum against him, stepping away at the right moment sending him skidding to a stop. 

Before long, he had you on the floor again with the tip of the sword pressing into your chest. He relaxed before helping you up, “you did better than I thought you would, but there were still some obvious flaws in what you did. Using my momentum against me was smart, but with what you did the opponent would recover fast. Here, let me show you how to properly do that.” 

You improved on a few things defensively and learned a few things offensively before the sun started to set and cast shadows on the surrounding forest. Dream shook your hand, “nice work today, you’re gonna rival even the best eventually.”

“You were great, (y/n)! I didn’t know you had it in you!” I didn’t have it in me when you were alive, you mentally corrected him. “Thanks, Lucius.” You glanced at him only to be met with his body phasing through yours in an attempted hug. He fell to the ground and rolled over, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ll never get used to that.” 

Dream snorted before he shoved his hands into his pockets and started to nonchalantly walk back towards the White House. You and Lucius looked at each other before you ran to catch up with him. Lucius floated next to you, examining the dirt on your exposed arms and the forming bruises on your calves. He wrinkled his nose, “you really need a shower.” 

“Well I can’t exactly strip now and find a shower in the woods, can I Lucius?” 

“You just reek.”

“Yeah, you kinda do.”

“Thanks Lucius, Dream. Really feeling the love.” 

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[cdroloisms]

take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

MCC FIC! MCC FIC! MCC FIC! To be clear, I outlined this weeks back, when teams were first announced, and I took very very little from the actual MCC itself when it came to actually writing this - all I have are the same teams, but it really exists in its own continuity outside of Real Life MCC (obviously, as it’s using the dsmp characters) and everything like that as a whole! Just to be clear :D)

The worldbuilding is also Absolutely Bullshitted start to finish, as well as any and all medical information. Rip. We’re here for a good time, not for a long or particularly accurate one - hope you guys enjoy regardless!! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic, dsmp!mcc aus my BELOVED

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

But it’s one thing to love the normal Championships and quite another when his team looks like it’s falling apart from the inside out - and as the games progress, it becomes more and more obvious that losing, this time, might not be an option.

tws: C!QUACKITY CRITICAL (sorry i promise i love him but he is NOT portrayed very nicely here, very dark portrayal of him), implied trauma, abuse, torture, panic attacks, manipulation, gaslighting, needles, hospitals, MCC-typical violence, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault themes

(16k words !! :D long boi) 

Michael loves MCC.

Of course he does! It’s fucking MCC - like, who wouldn’t love it? MCC is how he met so many people, how he met Dream, that one time, the two of them teamed with Techno and Burren and winning it all - MCC is a goddamn blast and he’s thankful every time he gets the invite that he’s able to compete. 

Still- it’s hard not to be a little more nervous, now. 

Dream gave him an invite to his SMP right after they teamed, but it wasn’t until months later that Michael actually cashed it in. Entering the server, it became very obvious very quickly that the DreamSMP, as it’s known, isn’t quite the same as its shiny media appearance. The spawn was covered in blocks, creeper holes littering the ground. The people he passed were grey-faced, too stoic to be the same, smiling faces he remembers from only less than a year ago. The air stings of gunpowder and iron. Worst of all are The Crater, shoddily covered in glass that does nothing to hide the damage done, rending the server in two straight down to bedrock, and the Prison, looming on the horizon. Absent-mindedly, Michael rubs at his left shoulder, remembering the Warden setting the prongs of his trident against the skin in warning, just hard enough to barely draw blood. Yeah, that place is bad news. 

The fact of the matter is the server is a mess. And like, okay, whatever, Michael gets it. Everyone has their issues - it’s just the DreamSMP seems to have more than most. Despite his original worries, it’s honestly not been as bad as he originally feared upon logging in; yeah, Bad and Puffy and Foolish and the rest of them are a little more trigger-happy than he might’ve expected (and he’s not going to say that Bad crying over turtles wasn’t a little startling when he first joined, but honestly he thinks Bad is just Like That.) There’s way more death than he’s really comfortable with, and Puffy keeps mentioning Bad murdering her son (Foolish? He thinks? The guy is also a literal God but like, families are weird, who’s he to judge) in a way that’s way too casual to come from anyone entirely well-adjusted, but overall his experience has been alright. 

Still, he gets the feeling that nobody exactly wants the outside world to know about the issues with the place. It’s not an issue for him usually, not when his sleeping schedule is the exact opposite of most of the people he knows and he spends most of his time screwing around on the server, anyway (usually harassing the Warden until the asscrack of dawn if he’s being honest) but with MCC, with everyone watching - he’s starting to get why everyone from the SMP was so damn tense all the time, now. 

Anyway- he loves MCC, he really does. But even that doesn’t stop him from wincing when he sees his team card, the names Dream and Quackity and Sapnap written in Scott’s looping handwriting. He’s not seen Sapnap at all since joining the server, has only heard a little about his place (something Kingdom, not that he was paying attention) from Foolish, and has no idea what the man has been up to. Quackity is his own unique can of worms; Michael doesn’t know exactly what’s up with him and his country, but everything he’s heard so far has sounded like nothing but bad news, casinos and schemes and a trail of wreckage following wherever he goes. And Dream-

Michael looks out his window, chewing on his lip, looking directly in the direction where he knows the prison stands, impenetrable, intimidating. Where Dream’s cell is, in line with his house, where he’s been hidden for months without a trace. Where the Warden had confronted him that one night, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, blood splattered on his boots. 

There’s no real ignoring an MCC invite - not without good reason, not without the admins picking up on something being up. There’s not really a choice, here, but for Michael to duck his head down and pretend everything’s fine just like everyone else from the SMP. He directs one last glance at the prison before walking away, setting the invite on his counter. If he’s lucky, everything will turn out fine. 

(He ignores the part of him that asks what’s going to happen if they’re not. No point in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet - right?) 

---

Weeks pass, the tournament creeping closer, and Michael gets no alerts from his teammates on his comm. No one comes to his house to check in, say hi, not even a ‘hey, we’re kinda competing in a massive tournament in like, seven days, you ready?’ Hell, he even starts checking his goddamn mailbox for a letter or something only to come up empty-handed every time. Never mind performing well - it’ll be a miracle if their team manages to arrive at the tournament at all. 

It isn’t until the day before MCC, the sun high in the sky at what must be near noon, when he finally gets a message on his comm. Michael fishes it out with a frustrated huff, seeing Quackity’s name pop up first when he manages to turn on the screen. 

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

It takes a couple seconds for him to blink away his shock - out of everyone he expected to arrange practice for their team, Quackity was definitely not at the top of the list. He half-thought they would have to drag him to the tournament kicking and screaming; from what he’s heard, he’s been nothing if not devoted to his country. Shaking his head, he goes to reply; practice is practice, and their team really needs it. 

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

Pulling up his server list, Michael scrolls for the practice server, finding it and then letting the server transfer do the rest. A few nausea-inducing seconds later, he’s at the practice server spawn, standing in the middle of a neatly paved road surrounded by colorful arenas and signs. 

“Michael!” 

He turns; there, by the Battle Box arenas, Quackity is waving at him, already dressed in a red varsity jacket and a pair of shorts, the jacket bearing a front pocket embroidered with a rabbit and a large R stitched onto the back. He reaches behind him for a red bag, throws it his way for Michael to catch mid-air. 

“Got these outfits for us last minute - hope it’s alright with you,” Quackity smiles, and Michael tries to prevent his eyes from clinging to the scar spanning the entire left side of his face. “Anyway- how are you, man? I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all on the server. How’s it been?”

“I’m good- it’s been good.” Michael opens the drawstring bag, cataloguing the contents - there’s a jacket, just like Quackity’s, a pair of shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a headband, all in varying shades of red and white. “Nice outfit- thank you. Is anyone else around?”

Quackity waves a hand behind him. “Yeah- Dream’s here. Should be coming out of the arena soon, actually.” Michael looks over behind his shoulder to where he’s pointing - there, walking down the stairs, is another figure wearing all red that must be Dream. “There he is- hey Dream! Michael’s here!” 

Dream hurries down the stairs; unlike Quackity, he is wearing the sweatpants along with the same jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is a lot longer than Michael remembers, pulled back behind his head in a ponytail, mask, as usual, fastened over his face. He settles behind Quackity, giving Michael a small wave; his hands are covered by a pair of fingerless gloves. 

“Hey, Dream!” Michael grins; it’s been such a long time since he’s seen his old teammate, and despite the circumstances and everything that’s apparently happened since then, it’s still pretty damn nice to see him. “How’ve you been?”

Dream seems to freeze for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good,” he says, quiet, sounding almost breathless. Michael’s eyes go to the slivers of skin that show on either side of his face, to the slight shake to his hands. 

“You alright? You look a little pale,” Michael asks, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dream stills at the words, muscles tensing, gaze averting to the side even with the mask - doesn’t miss how Quackity steps forward, looking Michael in the eye as he tosses a casual arm around Dream’s shoulder, smiling brightly. 

“Don’t worry. This idiot has just been practicing a bit too much before you got here,” Quackity gestures with a flippant twist of his wrist, “You know how he gets. Right, Dream?” 

“Um- yeah. Ha,” Dream responds just a little too late to be strictly normal, shoulders tight and nearly pulled to his ears under Quackity’s arm. “Practice- I’m a little out of shape.” 

“You sure?” Dream’s breathing hitches and Quackity steps forward, just a little bit, eyes still fixed firmly on Michael’s own even as he shifts his gaze to try and look at Dream. “We can take a break if you need, Dream-”

“I’m fine!” Dream smiles with a little stuttered breath that turns into a small laugh, “It’s- uh. It’s fine. Thanks Michael, but we can practice. Not much time left to waste, you know?”

“You sure, Dream?” Quackity says, suddenly, voice soft and sincere. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been able to practice- you sure you don’t need a break?”

Dream shakes his head firmly. “No- it’s fine. Really- where’s Sapnap? He should be coming soon, right?”

“If you say so, pal,” Quackity replies, doubt coloring his tone as he pulls out his communicator. “I told Sapnap to come, he replied a couple minutes back; he should be here soon, I think. You want to go meet him at spawn?”

Dream nods, and they begin to set out towards the center of the server, Quackity and Dream quickly taking the lead as Michael falls back. After a minute, Quackity falls into casual conversation, rambling about something as Dream nods, Michael trailing behind the two of them and adding his own input as he sees fit. Sapnap arrives soon after, and the noise level picks up even more after that, Sapnap and Quackity falling into an easy rhythm of banter and quips as they set out to practice Battle Box and Parkour Tag, carefully working their way through the different games under Dream’s tutelage and advice. 

And here’s the thing- Michael isn’t stupid. Yeah, he’d hardly consider himself a top tier MCC player, and he’ll be the first to say that he’s nowhere near qualified to deal with the literal laundry list of issues that affect every member of the SMP, but even so, he’s not clueless. He’s good at looking at multiple sides of a situation, doesn’t easily give into intimidation or manipulation, and he’s observant as all hell. So when Quackity wraps his hand around Dream’s wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around until his knuckles pale, when Dream winces, muscles in his arm locking before letting it go limp, not protesting when Quackity drags him forward except in the tiny, tight expressions that flit across his face every few moments, tight and gasping and shaky at the corners - Michael notices. 

“See you at the tourney, yeah?” Quackity calls to him after practice with a wink before clapping Dream on the back, Michael watching silently as the muscles of Dream’s neck pull tight, head ducking to his chest. “Good job, big guy,” he says, laughing. “Keep this up for tomorrow and we’ll be good.”

“Mmhm,” Dream mutters after a brief second, “We’re- we’re gonna win.”

“Betting on it, pal,” Quackity replies, voice light in a way that completely fails to explain Dream’s full-body flinch. “MCC, huh? Can’t fucking wait.”

“See you tomorrow, Quackity,” Michael says as he presses DreamSMP on his server list, pretending that a chill doesn’t crawl down his spine at the smile that the other man throws his way in return. 

---

There’s no real easy answer.

Michael comes to that conclusion at some point in the middle of the night, restless and pumped on way too much adrenaline to go to sleep. He can’t outright antagonize Quackity, can’t let him know he knows something’s up - not when Quackity had already spent the majority of practice keeping one dark, narrowed eye on him at all times, lips pursed in a slight frown whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking. He’s not stupid; whatever’s happening between Dream and Quackity is secret, and kept that way for a reason. His mind goes back to the brief flashes of anxiety that had moved over Dream’s face before he could react fast enough to school them back into a carefully neutral position; whatever it is, he doubts it bodes well for Dream in the slightest. 

Unfortunately, his hands are pretty damn tied. He knows public opinion on the masked man in the server is overwhelmingly negative, but has no damn idea how far it extends. How many people are in on whatever’s happening in that damn prison? How many people know what would make Dream, bold and bright and recklessly confident in all of Michael’s (rather limited) memories, into someone so quiet, unimposing, nervous? His head spins with the possibilities, with the ever-present reminder to not make a fuss, let the tournament pass on, to never, ever let anyone find out what’s going on within the SMP. Should he do anything at all? 

Too soon, it’s morning, and he drags himself out of bed with a groan to glare at the sun streaming through his window. Somewhere, Quackity and Dream and Sapnap are also waking up, are preparing to compete in one of the biggest damn tournaments to exist. Michael sighs, glancing over to where he’s set out his outfit, freshly pressed and waiting. Any other day, and he’d probably be fucking ecstatic. Here, he buries his head in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan against the palm of his hands. 

He loves MCC, but he sure as hell doesn’t like whatever the hell is going on with the rest of his team. 

Getting into the server goes smoothly enough. The outfit is comfortable and looks damn good, props to whoever made the thing, and the sight of the multicolored crowd successfully manages to tamp down some of his nerves. He busies himself with saying hi to all of the members waiting in the lobby, happy for the chance to talk to some people he hasn’t seen in ages, feels the night of anxieties wash away with every stupid joke told and burst of laughter drawn from his lungs. 

They come back the moment Scott steps up in front of the lobby. “Teams, it’s time to head to your team rooms! The tournament will begin in fifteen minutes,” Scott says, expression sunny and bright, “we’re wishing you all luck for a great performance today! May the best team win!” 

In a flurry of movement, they’re all whisked to their rooms for a final few minutes of preparation and morale-boosting, and Michael enters the glorified dressing room to Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap already standing there, seemingly in the middle of conversation. 

“You ready to win?” Sapnap yells, and Quackity whoops, and Michael manages a small cheer of his own. They’re all visibly nervous; Quackity has scarcely stopped moving, pacing from one side of the room to the next; Sapnap is basically jumping in place where he stands. Dream stands at the very back of the room, looking tense; Michael directs a wave his way and gets a small one in return. 

“Game plan, game plan,” Quackity mutters, “do we know what games we’re playing first? Dream?”

He nods at Dream, and Dream stands up straighter, mouth falling open.

“Oh- um,” he hesitates, a strand of hair flopping forwards as he tilts his head in thought. “We’ll want to save Parkour Tag and Battle Box towards the end- maybe something more high-risk at the beginning, but not first, just to boost morale,” his teeth catch on his bottom lip, “Maybe something like To Get To The Other Side? If they have that- or Build Mart, if we can get it out of the way.” He shakes his head. “If that’s alright- I mean-”

“Great,” Quackity cuts in smoothly. “Sapnap? Michael? Does that sound good to you?”

Sapnap flashes a thumbs up, and Michael nods. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Dream.”

Dream’s head snaps towards him, mouth slightly open in shock. The sight of it makes Michael’s gut twist uncomfortably; there’s something about how surprised he is, at the nervous hesitancy with which he spoke that was nothing like what Michael remembers of his easy leadership in that MCC with Techno, that doesn’t sit right at all in his stomach. Even with his expression largely hidden, there’s no mistaking the clear, genuine surprise on his face at the idea of someone thanking him - Michael tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it as Quackity continues to speak. 

“We’re going to win,” he grins, just a little too sharp at the edges, “so get out there and play like your lives depend on it, yeah?” 

Sapnap cheers, and again, Michael and Dream follow. It’s not until he’s outside the door, within the clamor of screaming teams and people counting down with the timer that Michael realizes that Quackity was staring at Dream the entire time. 

---

Michael curses, frustrated, when he’s knocked off a platform again, making sure to flip Krinios the bird before he falls into the Void entirely. When he makes it to the other side, Quackity and Dream are already deep in conversation - if you can call it that. Even from here, it looks worryingly one-sided.

“-were you thinking, falling off there-” Quackity’s hand is on Dream’s shoulder, Dream standing stock-still in front of him, “you better be taking this seriously, Dream.”

“Hey- sorry about that,” Michael calls with a wave, “I swear Krinios had it out for me. At least I made it across, right?” 

Quackity turns, startled, and in the split-second that it takes for him to register Michael’s appearance, his expression smooths over into something friendlier, more inviting. “Michael!” He says, enthusiastic, and it’s like the anger that had filled his words just seconds before was never there at all. “Don’t- don’t worry about it, man. We all kinda dropped the ball on that one, right Dream?” 

The words should be encouraging, just simple ribbing between teammates. Dream’s mask is still ducked down, facing the floor, shoulders slightly hunched in. 

“Um- Sapnap did pretty good,” Dream says, quiet, “he got top ten, right?” 

Michael looks over to where Sapnap is standing a little ways away, seemingly busy typing on his communicator. Quackity laughs, sharp and loud. 

“True,” he punches Dream lightly on the upper arm, and Michael watches the way he freezes the second the fist makes contact with his jacket, “come on, man, you’re losing your touch. You really gonna let yourself get beat by Sapnap?” he shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls open his communicator. “Jesus- even I beat you in that last round. Watch your spot, Dream, I’m coming for you.” 

“I mean,” Michael says when a second passes and it becomes clear Dream isn’t going to respond, “Dream was doing pretty well with the last two rounds, right? I thought I saw his name pretty far up there.” 

Quackity takes a second before responding, again, staring at Michael oddly as he does. “That’s true,” he concedes, “hey- I was just making a joke, don’t worry. It’s all for fun, right Dream?”

His gaze goes to Dream, and automatically, Michael follows. Dream seems to startle under the attention, twitching Quackity’s direction in the awkward silence that results. Michael watches as the mask slants slightly to face Quackity, as Quackity looks back at him with an intense, unreadable expression, shoulders strangely tense. Whatever unsaid conversation that seems to pass between them is entirely lost on Michael as Dream finally responds with a sudden, almost strangled bark of laughter. 

“Yeah- just jokes,” his fingers twist over one another, hands held close together in front of his body, “Though Qu- Q’s right, I- I should probably pick it up. We’re playing to win.” 

A ding alerts them to the end of the round, and Michael steadies himself in preparation for the teleport to the next map. As he turns, he catches Quackity’s expression, once again, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he continues to look at Dream. 

“Good luck,” he calls just before they enter the next round, and tries not to think too much about what he’s saying it for. 

---

They manage pretty well for the rest of To Get To The Other Side, finishing with a second place overall that got cheers from Sapnap and even a slight smile from Dream. Hole in the Wall, on the other hand, has been a lot less successful - though Michael will be the first to say that it’s his fault. His practice in the last few months has been lackluster (at best) and it definitely showed in the arena. 

He leans over the railing, watching Dream and Sapnap through the crowd of participants left that have yet to be knocked out by the giant walls of slime. Quackity’s standing next to him, having been similarly thrown off the platform early in the round, expression tight and lips set in a small frown, and looking at him for too long makes Michael uneasy so he looks down at the arena again. They’re in the last round, and they’re supposed to be making callouts anyway for their teammates still participating below.

Without thinking, once again, Michael looks over at Dream. Sue him, he knows the guy best and Dream has been acting odd all day, to put it lightly. Even ignoring the part of him that’s screaming that something’s wrong, that there’s something up that has everything to do with the beanie-wearing man standing besides him, it only takes a few minutes of observation to see that Dream is - for the lack of a better word - off. Michael watches as he vaults over another wall, only barely managing to bring himself to his feet in time on the other side. Dream’s movements - even to his untrained eye - have always been fluid, effortless. He jumped and vaulted and ran like gravity didn’t exist, like every physics-bending maneuver he made was as easy as breathing. Michael remembers watching him sprint over the parkour course before, time completely unmatched as he appraised each obstacle and basically flew his way through, sounding hardly even winded when he whooped loudly in victory from the top of the salmon ladder. In total contrast, Dream jerks away from the coming wall again, movements sloppy and harsh as he scrambles to the other side of the disc-shaped arena. He’s still fast, and still making jumps, but everything is strangely angled where it had once been fluid, stopping and starting suddenly, moving in bursts of speed and then skidding to sudden stops. 

“WEST!” Quackity shouts, and Michael watches as Dream’s head turns jerkily at the noise before he dives out of the way of the incoming wall and manages, barely, to twist around the side. Michael winces at the tumble he takes on the opposite side, clutching his chest slightly as he stands back up again. 

“North!” Michael calls, because he should probably actually help his teammates, huh, and Dream manages to move around this one better, jumping through a hole in the wall and tucking and rolling as he lands. “Nice jump- East!” 

It’s an easy wall, thankfully, and both Sapnap and Dream visibly take a breath as they stand in place for the wall to pass over them. As it passes, a droning buzz comes from the speakers, and the walls below them speed up. 

“South-to your right!” Michael shouts as they turn, eyes turning between all of the false walls before finally focusing on the right one, his shout echoed by a similar one from Quackity. At each one of the calls from the man besides him, Dream seems to tighten further, movements increasingly erratic as he dodges and weaves around the walls. There’s still a lot of people left - Michael follows Dream through the crowd with a frown, watching as he and Sapnap jump the next wall, Dream’s foot nearly catching on the top edge. 

“West-” Dream flinches, jumping over the two-high wall at the last possible second, landing completely off-balance on the other side and falling to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, but there’s already a wall at the west edge of the platform - his head turns, still searching for the wall - Quackity yells.

“LEFT!”

Something in Dream’s movements seem to shift, even in the distance - Michael watches as he immediately, almost robotically, steps to the left at Quackity’s voice, not even jumping, not turning his head to take in his surroundings, just moving instinctually at the words, and slams into the coming wall hard enough to get flung into the middle hole in the platform. Quackity curses, fist crashing into the railing as Dream falls and the chat message shows on their communicators, and a second later he’s materialized beside them, face oddly slack and mask focused somewhere faraway. 

“Shit,” Dream mutters when he seems to come back into himself, shaking his head and then turning to the two of them, still by the railing, “Dammit. Sorry, I-“ 

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael cuts in before Quackity can speak. “You did good.” 

“I-” Dream catches Quackity’s gaze, then pushes his head away, mask facing the ground. Something about it and his raised shoulders and the dark, angry glare that Quackity directs over the railing when Michael looks back makes him shift in place, uneasy. “Could’ve done better, ha. Sorry.” 

The three of them watch, silent, as Sapnap continues to compete. He manages to get pretty damn far, making it to the top three, but getting knocked off-balance by a wall and off the platform just before the timer sounds. Michael cringes back at the sound of it over the speakers, watches the other contestants settle into place, panting, in victory.

“Great job, Sapnap,” Michael shouts when he materializes in front of them, and the other two are quick to echo his sentiments. If they sound a little duller than they should be, if Quackity’s jaw seems clenched and Dream’s all coiled up like a spring, far too tense, it’s from placing lower than they wanted and slipping in the rankings, not anything else.

Keep your head down, Michael reminds himself, and everything’s gonna be fine. And if the words ring more and more hollow with every repetition, well, that’s for him to ignore and for everyone else to never, ever find out. 

---

Buildmart is chosen next, which they all groan at, but at least it’s going to be out early and not left to ruin all of their scores later. Michael takes his place at his build, one third from the left side - it’s some abomination of colored glass and white concrete meant, if he is to guess, to emulate a stained glass window. He’s between Dream and Sapnap, the former positioned in front of a flower-dotted grass field with a picnic table, the latter staring down a miniature car with black concrete for tires and stone buttons for detailing. He breathes a steady breath as they await the countdown, already planning for his trip to the Colors section to grab materials for his build and the others’- Buildmart isn’t his strongest game, but it’s not his worst either, and he’s damn well going to try his best. 

He skids into the portal with an armful of colored concrete and glass, spilling half of its contents inside a chest before running to his build. He pulls himself to the crafting bench to craft - he squints at his build - he needs four red glass panes and 3 yellow, right. As he brings the panes to his inventory and begins laying out the frame of the build in concrete, he looks over to Dream, who is noticeably struggling with placing the flowers in his build and getting the placements to match that of the original. He knocks away a white tulip with a muffled curse, sounding frantic as he looks back to the original, and places it again to no avail. 

It seems that his struggle hasn’t only caught Michael’s attention, as the statue to the leftmost side of the room explodes in gold coins and confetti - Quackity has finished his build and is now looking at Dream with narrowed eyes. Dream places the flower again, and the build refuses to respond. Quackity’s gaze narrows further, and he opens his mouth-

“Hey Quackity!” Michael starts speaking before he’s even noticed that he’s opened his mouth, fumbling as he regains awareness of what he’s doing and tries to find a direction for his sentence to go, “do you have any concrete?”

Quackity looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which is fair, considering there’s a block of white concrete pretty obviously visible in his hand. “Um- no? Weren’t you supposed to go to Colors?”

Dream finally manages to place the tulip where it belongs, and the build between them disappears in another explosion of gold glitter. Michael laughs awkwardly. 

“Sorry- haha. I got a little mixed up.” He places the last piece of white concrete, watching as his own build disappears. A little wooden cottage takes its place, made of what appears to be just oak wood and cobblestone. “Are you going to get wood? Or should I?”

“I- You get wood,” Quackity shakes his head, visibly frustrated, “And I’ll get stone. We have to hurry, we’re falling behind.” 

After that, Michael finds it a little too easy - or maybe not easy, but at least tolerable, to interrupt when Quackity looks a little like he’s about to fall on the side of being angry versus just annoyed, stepping between his angry glares at Dream with a forced smile and an incessant string of annoying questions- 

“Hey Quackity, do you have any spare iron?”

“Hey Quackity, I think you placed that a little too far back.”

“Hey Quackity, can you take a look to see what I placed wrong?” 

It’s not perfect. It’s hardly even functional; Michael knows that Quackity has begun with the habit of directing death glares at his back whenever he thinks he’s not looking, his responses to Michael’s questions becoming more and more clipped, often paired with irritated grumbles and sighs. Sapnap, when Michael looks at him, seems largely engrossed with his own builds, but he’s also begun looking over at the two of them with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, and Dream only seems to be getting more jumpy with every frustrated growl out of Quackity’s mouth. Even Michael’s forced levity and falsely ignorant questions can’t do much against Quackity’s anger when they walk out of Buildmart dead last for the minigame, dropping their team all the way down to seventh in the overall rankings, and the tension within the team as they walk out - Quackity nearly stomping, Dream following with his hands wringing around each other and head ducked fearfully - is almost enough to make Michael scream. He looks at the scoreboard with a worried expression as he enters the Decision Dome, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his gut. 

There’s still five more games to go, and he’s not sure how long they can last before something snaps. 

---

Battle Box is chosen next, and they react to the game with quiet cheers and slightly grim faces. Michael’s been in enough MCCs to know that this game, of any, is crucial - after their lacking performances in the last two games, a good showing at Battle Box will be crucial to pull them back into the competition and raise morale. With Sapnap and Dream, if this were any normal game, they should be able to sweep through a good amount of the competition without much effort. As it is, though, Michael looks at the two more combat-oriented members of his team with a worried expression, the two barely even able to meet each other’s eyes. Their interactions so far have been less than promising- if they can’t hold it together for this round, well. 

Michael shakes his head. They’ll do fine. They have to. 

Even so, the first round only seems to confirm his concerns - they get woolrushed almost immediately, and in Dream and Sapnap’s stumbling to get to mid, nearly crashing into each other and focusing their efforts on the same player by accident, the other team manages to fill out the wool, sending them back to the spawn box even more frustrated than before. 

“Amazing teamwork, guys,” Quackity snarks immediately, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Like you did that much.” 

Sapnap is still staring at Dream oddly, Dream turning his head to avoid his gaze. The two of them look largely oblivious to Quackity and his whole deal, even as Quackity whirls around to give him the stink eye. 

“You didn’t do anything either, if I remember correctly,” Quackity mutters, and Michael shrugs. 

“Fair.” 

A ding alerts them to the round’s end, and they resign themselves to preparing for the next round. Michael picks the extra arrows from the wall, knowing that no one else will want the kit, and watches as Dream anxiously runs his hands over the crossbow. 

The next round goes better, barely; Michael and Quackity end up knocked out pretty early, but Dream and Sapnap manage to kill the rest of the team soon after. He watches from the box as they fill in the wool, Dream looking awfully tense as he shears away the white wool for Sapnap to fill it with red. Quackity watches them both with a tight expression, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

Michael turns away, ignoring him, going back to watching Dream and Sapnap still standing within the arena. Both of them look awkward, oddly out of step with each other - Michael’s not watched them fight much, but he knows that they have a reputation as a pair, was there for the Sky Battle round where they completely wiped through the competition. Even here, Sapnap moves forward and Dream flinches back - there’s something heavy and tense between them, lingering in the few words they’ve spoken to each other, if they’ve even spoken to each other at all, one always rushing forward too fast or following just a little too slow. They’re still brilliant fighters, almost unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and with swords, but the faltering communication is sure to hurt them more in the future. 

His worries come true just three rounds later, the two in between being narrow wins for their team, each a little more shaky than would be comfortable. Michael has found himself easing off the worst of his anxiety in verbally sparring with Quackity, jabbing at the other with offhand remarks and little needling jokes to keep his attention off the other two, especially as his glare has become more pronounced and his words more angry. Even so, nothing he does or can do will fix the odd tension between Dream and Sapnap, whose communication remains as stilted and awkward as ever. 

They’re facing a stronger team, PVP wise, with Punz and Seapeekay, and Michael ends up falling in a bow duel against Jack. He watches as the Captain falls to a potion by Sapnap, then as Jack is taken out by a crossbow bolt courtesy of Dream, just before Quackity falls to a well-timed bow shot from the opposing team. 

That leaves the strongest PVPers to battle it out, and Dream and Sapnap manage to team up and kill CPK - but not without taking a nasty damage potion to the face that must leave the two of them low. Michael watches Punz, booking it to mid with a crossbow, anxiously - both of them would be a oneshot with the thing, and on the condition that he takes no damage before fighting with either of them outright, he’s probably got enough health to hold out a few hits. 

Sapnap pulls out a health potion, and Michael grins - that’ll be good for the two of them, and should secure them the win - only for him to gesture roughly with his sword and for Dream to stagger backwards, panic flashing over his face. He only seems to grow more fearful at the sound of glass shattering on the ground, falling backwards further - far enough to be largely out of range of health pot - and in their shock, Punz manages to catch both of them off guard and nail Sapnap with a crossbow bolt that downs him for the round before similarly dispatching Dream in two hits of his sword.

Sapnap explodes upon respawn in the box - “What was that? I had a health pot!”

“I-” Dream fumbles, face still oddly pale, “Sorry I didn’t- I- I-”

“We had that round!” Sapnap’s arms flail forward as he gestures angrily, Dream freezing further as one hand skims past his shoulder. “I can’t believe- I had a health pot! Punz was on, like, half! We could’ve killed him!”

“Easy, easy,” Quackity moves forward, putting a hand on both of their shoulders - Sapnap seems to relax immediately, while Dream, if anything, only looks more tense. “It’s time for the next round - we’ll talk about this later, alright?” 

Dream nods, movements overly tense, and Quackity flashes a toothy smile his way as Sapnap moves back, still mumbling to himself. He and Quackity move to talk in the back corner, words quiet enough that Michael cannot make them out, and something sick and cold slithers over his spine. Sapnap and Quackity are fiancés, aren’t they? 

Michael looks over at Dream, mask still covering his face as he looks away through the glass to the arena, shoulders still tight as Michael’s pretty sure they’ve been for as long as he’s seen him since he came onto the server. He remembers the panic that make itself obvious on his face every time Quackity came up to him, even as covered as it is, the similar- if not the same- fear that had painted his face when he respawned fresh off of the Battle Box round after Sapnap’s sword had passed a little too close to his body. 

Quackity and Dream- he’s sure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that there’s something going on there, dark and dreadful and poisonous. Who’s to say that Sapnap isn’t involved, as well? 

---

They finish Battle Box decently well, but not as well as they’d hoped, pulling them up to fifth place with a decently large gap between them and fourth. Quackity and Dream disappear immediately as the Audience Votes begin coming in, leaving Sapnap and Michael to stand awkwardly in the lobby to wait for the rest of their team to come back. Michael watches the crowd for a glimpse of Quackity and Dream, comes up empty. A sigh fizzles through his teeth as he looks up into the sky, the endless blue doing little to ease his nerves - he’s worried, even if he doesn’t want to think about it, for his teammates. For Dream. 

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the man is scared of Quackity, that there’s an odd sort of history there that Michael conveniently has no information about. Whatever it is, it’s left Dream unsure and uncharacteristically nervous, left the entire team floundering without proper leadership to tie them all together. Really, a part of him knows that the Championships should be the least of his concerns - if he were braver, or a little better at combat, or a little less inclined to just let things pass as they always have, then he’d be raising a fuss. Getting in the way, talking to Dream, doing something other than making backhanded compliments to Quackity that he’s sure have been doing little more than annoy the man further. 

“Michael?” Sapnap comes within his line of sight, lips pressed together in a carefully put-together expression that Michael is sure will collapse the moment they’re away from others’ prying eyes, “Can we speak for a moment?”

Michael forces another easy smile to his face as he turns towards his teammate, feels a little disgusted at the amount of them he’s had to use to simply function with the rest of his team. “Sure! Where to?”

They walk at a brisk pace to the team room, Sapnap’s eyes focused forwards the entire time, not speaking. If he’s being honest, it’s a little awkward, but the lighthearted comment on his tongue to break the silence dies out the minute Sapnap closes the door and looks back at him with fierce, focused eyes boring into him. 

“What’s your deal?” He hisses immediately, words pitched low even though he doesn’t really have to - there’s no one nearby, and the team rooms are decently soundproofed. Michael feels his hackles rising as Sapnap’s arms cross in front of him, eyes still focused on his own as he talks. “I’m not going to lie- I don’t know you that well, even though you’re on the SMP now, but can you quit it with Quackity already?”

“Quit what?” Michael snarks - sue him - matching Sapnap’s tone with irritation of his own. 

“Don’t- you’ve been antagonizing Quackity all day,” Sapnap’s hand runs through his hair, messing up his hair and tangling it into knots, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of in the middle of a competition here? So it’d be really nice if you could save the fighting for until after we’re done?”

“Says you?” Michael can’t help the retort this time, huffing irately at the offended expression that flashes over the other’s face, “I don’t really know if you’ve noticed, but your teamwork has been a little less than stellar, today. Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“What-” Sapnap looks confused, even through his anger, gesturing more and more wildly. “What do you even mean?”

“Oh, so are we just ignoring what just happened in Battle Box then?” 

Sapnap’s eyes flash as he closes into himself again, hands gripping at his upper arms as he crosses his arms in front of his chest once again. “That- that’s different. That’s because of Dream.”

“Oh, just keep blaming it on the other guy, why don’t you?”

“No-” Sapnap shakes his head furiously. “You haven’t been on here for nearly as long, you don’t get it, Michael. Dream- he’s-,” Sapnap flails, and Michael groans at the familiar words. 

“Dream’s what? I was on the team with the guy before, you know. It’s kind of the reason why he invited me in the first place?” He raises an eyebrow. “We worked together perfectly well then - am I supposed to believe that his self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ can’t do the same?” 

“You don’t understand,” Sapnap repeats, expression hard and oddly far away, “Dream- he’s changed- he’s done so many terrible things. I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, but he’s bad news, man. He’s hurt- so many people.” 

“Oh- you want to talk about hurting people?” 

Michael isn’t quite sure what comes over him - only really realizes a white-hot flash of rage lancing through his chest, a sleepless night and half a competition’s  worth of anxiety and frustration and build up combining into a sizzling spike of fury that briefly tinges his vision red. 

“How about the way Dream looks like he’s about to keel over whenever anyone gets close to him? How about how he flinches back at literally every loud noise and fast movement? How about how Quackity’s been making these stupid, angry comments at him for the entire competition that make him freeze for a minute each time? Or how about when you were in Battle Box and Dream backed away from your sword like he thought you were gonna drive it through his chest?” Michael barely feels himself stepping forward with each word, jabbing his index finger into the other’s chest. “You want to talk about hurting people? How about you go talk to that fiancé of yours and then come back to talk?” 

A loud, droning buzz comes over the speakers, alerting them of the end of the break. Michael steps back, face flushed in embarrassment, before the world whirls away and they’re teleported back into the Decision Dome. 

He adamantly refuses to meet Sapnap’s eyes as Quackity and Dream materialize in the sector with them, Quackity’s hand clamped around Dream’s upper arm as the other man keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, looking even more panicked and frozen than before the break. 

“You ready to win?” Quackity laughs, and Michael watches as his hand tightens around the sleeve of Dream’s jacket, knuckles paling from the strain. 

“Yeah,” Michael tries to cheer, and it feels like ash on his tongue. “Let’s do this.” 

---

Survival Games ends up being picked next - Quackity and Sapnap quickly pull up to the front of the group, close enough to be within eyesight but too far to really pick up their conversation. Michael keeps an eye out for the reddish glow of their bodies as they scout the surrounding areas for chest, staying back with Dream as they look at the other side of the road. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a smug sort of satisfaction of Sapnap seemingly confronting Quackity about whatever the hell has been going on, as awkward as his whole outburst had been. As it is, some time with Dream is nice without Quackity watching over his shoulder like a hawk - he directs a small, genuine smile at the man by his side that Dream seems to do a double take at before shyly returning it with one of his own. 

“There- I think I see a chest,” Michael points under a lamppost, running to the wooden box and flicking the lid upwards. He pulls out a chain chestplate that he promptly puts on himself, then throws over the iron boots to his teammate as well as a small stone axe that he’s sure Dream will make better use of. “We should probably catch up to the others - don’t want to be caught off guard while separated.”

Dream nods, and the two of them pick up the pace before finding another chest that Dream rummages through, this time, finding an iron sword that Michael takes for himself and a cake. 

“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Michael says after a few minutes of quiet, words becoming more firm when Dream looks up at him with a surprised expression. “Seriously- you’ve been doing great, man.”

“Thanks,” Dream smiles, words quiet and terribly sincere, and the sinking pit in Michael’s gut returns at the tone. “Not as good as I should, though. I’ve been underperforming a lot,” he laughs a little at the words, but even to Michael’s ears it rings hollow. “It’s not over yet, though.”

“No it’s not,” Michael concedes, rearranging his inventory as they run. “But it’s good enough, man, really - just look at my rankings.”

Dream huffs. “You’ve been doing good, Michael.”

“And you’ve been doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Michael tips his head in his direction. “Give yourself some more credit, man. You’ve been playing well.”

Dream smiles again, but even now the corners of his mouth seem tight, tense. “I need to play better, though, if we want to win,” he says, matter-of-fact, analytical to a damn fault. Michael rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point. 

“Sure, but that goes for all of us, Dream,” he shakes his head. “And it’s okay if we don’t win, you know?”

“No.” 

Michael turns, frowning. Dream’s tone has become oddly flat, eyes dead as he continues to stare at the pavement under their feet. He seems to be chewing on his lip anxiously, startled out of his own thoughts when he looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “I mean- I don’t know. I really have- want to win.” 

There’s something so carefully worded about the admission, quiet and scraped open and raw in the slow sincerity of the words. Michael wants to poke at it, wants to understand what’s left him so unsure of every step, what determination lies behind the words that has left desperation clinging to every shallow breath he draws. A crack of thunder on the horizon, heralding a player’s death, reminds him that now is not the time. 

Keep your head down. 

“Alright,” he smiles thinly, hoping that the fracturing, yawning pit of emptiness in his chest isn’t obvious in the words. “Then we’re going to win.” 

---

Michael skids to a stop at the finish line, feeling the elytra deequip as he’s thrown into spectator mode. He runs his hands through his wind-tousled hair, feeling it strain against his fingers as he roughly finger-combs it back into place. Dream and Sapnap are off to the side, standing next to each other but seemingly not speaking - Michael smiles as he floats over, still shaking the adrenaline off from the race. 

“Hey,” the two look up, smile in recognition, and Dream waves; there’s a small smile on his face, strained but present. “You both did really good!” 

“Thanks, Michael,” Dream laughs, earnest, “I did decent, I guess- haha. Top ten at least.” 

Sapnap whoops. “We’re popping off!” Michael cheers in agreement, and their efforts manage to pull Dream’s smile a little wider as he ducks his head to look away again. 

“Thanks, guys.” 

They watch as Quackity flies through the finish line, appearing in front of them and shaking his arms out as he gets his bearings. 

“Geez- that trident,” he shakes his head, looks up. “Hey, there you guys are. How’d we do?” 

“Dream got seventh,” Sapnap scrolls through his comm, looking through the rows of contestants and their times as they come in, interspersed by the occasional chat message, “And I got 10th. Michael got- 28th, I think? And you got 32nd.” 

“Hmm,” Quackity hums, “What do you think, Dream? Is that good enough to pull us to Dodgebolt?”

Once again, Michael watches as Dream stiffens under the scrutiny, head ducking down and looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Um- I don’t know,” Dream mumbles, “I messed up a trident- fell into the void once, probably could’ve done better otherwise-” his voice trails off, tensing further as Quackity takes his usual spot by his side, jabbing an elbow none-too-lightly into his ribs. 

“But you didn’t, though,” Quackity says, tone flippant, “so what do you think? With those placements- is it going to be enough?” 

“Hey, we did great, man,” Michael glares at him, more forward than he’d usually be - but all he can see is the shoulder that he has pressed against Dream’s arm, the way Dream’s stood stock still since the moment he made contact, “Lay off of Dream, would you? He did great.”

“Yeah, Q,” Michael’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Sapnap chimes in from the side, rising further when Sapnap moves forward to link his arm with Quackity’s own and half-drag him away from Dream. “Chill out, man, we popped off. We’re gonna fucking win this, ok?”

Quackity’s lips press together; he’s still smiling, but there’s no mistaking the seething darkness that lingers in his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, gaze still trained on the pale off-white disk of Dream’s mask. Still, with the rest of the team against him, he’s in a losing fight and he knows it; Michael watches as he visibly backs down, rolling his shoulders back as he lets Sapnap pull him further back. 

“We’re going to fucking win this,” he repeats, and Michael wonders how he manages to make the words sound so much like a threat.

---

“Sky battle,” Sapnap calls as the decision dome below them lights up in confirmation of the penultimate game, expression immediately becoming more focused as he turns back to the rest of the team. “Alright- strats, what are we thinking?”

“There’s the iron at spawn,” Dream starts, interrupted by the teleport to the Sky Battle arena, making him cut himself off comically and take a second to shake off the resulting disorientation, “And then there’s the iron in the nearby island. We gotta pick one, tower as soon as we can.”

“Got it,” Sapnap looks down, seemingly calculating, before looking up again - Michael has heard him compared to fire before, but he thinks this is the first time he’s really seen it; there’s a veritable blaze burning in his eyes as he looks at each member of the team, easily taking charge as they prepare for the first round. “Same buddy system as Survival Games - Q, stick with me, Michael, stick with Dream. I’ll tower to the next island- Dream, you good with getting the iron at spawn and crafting armor for us?” 

Dream startles, before flashing a small thumbs up at the other - Sapnap smiles wider, teeth bared dangerously.

“This is our game,” he cheers, and Michael enthusiastically whoops in reply, “we’re winning this, you got that team? Let’s go!” 

This, Michael thinks, is the way the games should’ve gone - they jump into action upon the start of the game, Michael watching as Dream races through both chests on the spawn island, getting the iron and jumping down cleanly with a water bucket before following Sapnap’s bridge to the other island. He tosses over a pair of leggings and boots as he lands, then takes Sapnap’s excess iron to craft the other pieces of iron for himself and Sapnap as the other man begins shooting at opposing teams. Their communication is near wordless, simple one- or two-word requests communicating all they need as they follow each other seamlessly into the main arena area, sealing off their entrance as they search the ring for other teams.

Sapnap, especially, seems to have shifted - instead of waiting for Dream to take the lead, he seems comfortable barrelling on forward on his own, trusting for Dream to follow his steps. Michael watches as the two of them easily work through the two lagging members of Orange, shooting through a gap in the wall to catch an unsuspecting Yellow player chased by the border. Michael ends up dying to an unlucky block of TNT placed on his head - curses out what appears to be Quig, bounding over to the other side of the arena, and follows Dream and Sapnap as they continue to fight their way through the competition. 

It’s not perfect, for sure - Dream hesitates at a bad place a minute later, ending with Sapnap getting 2v1ed and exploding in a flash of red sparkles. Dream is similarly dispatched a few seconds after, and the three of them watch Quackity, caught in the crossfire of two other teams, before he also goes down. 

“Good work, team,” Sapnap says as he appears, disoriented, in spectator mode, and they watch the remaining two teams battling in a rapidly shrinking border before Fruit falls as well, leaving Pink as the winners. “That was close- we’ve got this.” The conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Michael, briefly, feels bad for anyone that stands in the way of it. 

With the second round, they once again fall into rhythm without any major hiccups - someone tries to cut them off before entering the main arena, but are made quick work of by Sapnap’s relentless onslaught. As Michael watches, Dream seems to regain confidence as well, moving more to fight with Sapnap side by side instead of just playing support, tugging him back from a risky play and catching Punz in a nasty combo that does him in when he manages to slip past Sapnap. 

The four of them end up in the final stand off in the middle, but end up getting caught too high up and killed by the border before they can jump down. Sapnap hisses at the narrow defeat, but the disappointment has hardly seemed to dim his determination - if anything, it seems to burn brighter. 

“Last round,” he mutters, and Michael watches as Dream walks up to him, bumping him lightly with his shoulder. 

“This is our game,” he says, a small smile appearing on his face, and Sapnap returns it with a fiery, blinding one of his own. 

“Ours,” he says, and even just standing on the side, watching - Michael believes it. 

Still, his concerns have yet to disappear - they linger in his mind as they jump into an adrenaline-filled last round, jumpy from excitement and victory just within their grasps. Dream is still more jittery than he should be, taking a second more than usual to react to fights, and his teamwork with Sapnap - while good - is still noticeably rusty. Michael’s lips thin at the memory of Dream backing away from Sapnap’s sword in Battle Box, hunched into himself, almost on the floor, with a clearly desperate edge to his expression - and no matter how he tries, he can’t quite manage to shake it off. 

Unfortunately enough, the third round doesn’t bode well for them from the start - Quackity gets bowed off while bridging to the main arena, and upon entrance there they end up flanked, hard, by another team in a conflict that gets Michael killed within seconds. Sapnap and Dream book it to the other side of the arena, where they manage to work through a full team without too much trouble - but the next minute brings another half-team flying at them from the back, catching them in the middle of trying to recuperate. The two focus Dream in the middle of eating a steak, and Michael watches as Dream steps back instead of moving forward to fight, that same shade of fear making his muscles seize as he stands, stock still, watching helplessly as swords fly his way- Michael cries out, but there’s nothing he can do-

Between one blink and the next, Sapnap is standing in front of Dream, a snarl painting his features as he whirls through both players in a fury. Michael watches, awed, as his sword weaves and dances between the two attacking Dream, making quick work of them both until they’re no more than items scattered over the ground, then grabs Dream by the wrist and drags him up a nearby ladder onto the upper floor, plopping him by the wall and then backing off. 

Sapnap stands back as Dream sits against the wall, breathing fast and labored, dropping to his knees with his hands in front of him, palms up, no weapons in hand. Michael watches, frantic, for the signs of any teams nearby - with Dream panicking and Sapnap’s back to the rest of the arena, they’d be easy pickings - but for once, luck seems to be on their side, because no one comes. Dream heaves a breath through his lungs, deep and shuddery - Sapnap watches, lips flat from concern, but doesn’t speak. 

“You good to continue?” he asks, when Dream seems calm enough to recognize his surroundings, and Dream looks up at the words, jaw slack from shock and disorientation, before his head dips in a firm nod. 

“Good,” Sapnap smiles, tight-lipped and fiercely determined, fiercely loyal, as he reaches out a hand that Dream moves to take. “Let’s go fuck them up, yeah? You and me, just like we used to.”

Michael watches, heart in his chest, as they stand together to face the rest of the competition, towering towards the middle and facing off with the remaining teams,  watches as they move forwards through explosions and buckets of lava, coalescing onto the middle island, as they battle through the remaining opponents as one in a clean spiral of clashing blades and flying arrows, fighting with their backs to each other in the center of the arena. He watches as a well-placed fishing rod by Dream knocks their final opponent off the platform, leaving them in the middle, triumphant, as the only remaining team - 

Watches, a brilliant, bubbling laugh in his chest as Dream and Sapnap take their spots in the middle of the arena, standing side by side as Sapnap raises Dream’s hand in victory, both laughing and cheering  into the sky.

---

Their performance in Sky Battle manages to pull them to third - but second place still stands a few hundred coins away, and they watch anxiously as Parkour Tag is chosen as the last game and they are transported over the arena. 

“Last game,” Sapnap calls, “We’ve got this, alright?” 

He gets terse, short nods in return - it’ll be a close game, and even Michael is feeling the pressure. He breathes a soft, quiet breath through his teeth as they prepare, looking over to the opposite team as they choose their hunters and runners. 

“Dream, you up to hunting first four?” Sapnap seems to be watching the effects of his words more, waiting for Dream’s agreement before moving forward, sliding into the position of leader easily when Dream seems to struggle. Dream nods and steps into the hunter’s box, lips pressed together, flat and focused, and Michael turns back to the arena to plan out his route. 

Parkour, by far, is not his strong suit. It hadn’t been his strong suit during Parkour Warrior and sure as hell isn’t it now - he enjoys it well enough, but with the pressure of a hunter on him or the time creeping past and the competition standings hanging over his head like a guillotine, he’s prone to slipping up and he knows it. The map is full of dizzying, multi-colored structures and difficult jumps, the twists and turns of the arena making his head spin. Being good at parkour is more than being good at movement - it involves being able to make split-second decisions and execute them with no time to hesitate. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t particularly good at any of that, so Parkour Tag mostly just stresses him the hell out. 

He sets out to the arena, listening for callouts over comms as he fumbles over the buildings. Halfway through the game, Dream’s voice comes through comms, quiet, focused. 

“Gottem.” 

“Nice, Dream,” Michael smiles, trying not to trip over a particularly hard jump, only to fall to being tagged in the back by the opposing team’s hunter - Ant, if he remembers right. “Sapnap and Q are still in- we’ve got this.”

Once again, each time, Dream races through the opposing team in seconds, seemingly going faster with each round. Michael has heard his reputation as a hunter before, but only now is he really appreciating the extent - the speed at which he manages to dispatch all three opponents is downright terrifying. They manage to win all four rounds, lingering around second place overall on the leaderboards, before Sapnap and Dream switch off for hunting. 

With each round, Michael watches Dream in the lobby, watching as he tenses further in focus and determination and no small degree of fear, but it hadn’t been nearly as obvious in between rounds. Now, with him in the arena with Quackity and himself, Dream’s jumpiness is all that more palpable, adrenaline making him pace and jump in place from where he stands at the edge of the place. The glass lowers, and he explodes into motion, bounding on top of the nearest tower to wait for the hunter to come towards them. 

Michael ends up caught first, early in the round, once again, and resolves to following Dream over the glass to watch his movements and make callouts for the hunter chasing behind him. Watching Dream move through the arena, dodging below fixtures and through tunnels and jumping from tower to tower with seemingly no regard for gravity pulling him down, it’s become all the more obvious that this is his element. He makes another hairpin turn around a pole, kicking himself up over a tower and then diving from it to a nearby building, landing on a ledge inside it, hands clutching the wall - Michael watches, quietly awed, as he outlasts the hunter, landing in small, panting breaths in the lobby. 

“Great work,” he cheers, quiet, as Dream shakes off the last dregs of the adrenaline, all of them watching the leaderboard anxiously, “Just three more rounds, alright?” 

The rounds that follow continue in much of the same vein - Dream, once he’s gotten started, seems near-impossible to chase down; Michael and Quackity provide support, distracting the hunter for as long as they can until they get tagged, but part of him wonders if it’s all even necessary. Dream flies from structure to structure seemingly unhindered by The Laws That Be, expression firm, if a little frantic, as he parkours his way through the arena. To their credit, the hunters chase, and several come pretty close - but Dream, worked up on adrenaline or anxiety or some twisted mix of the two, races over and around the buildings within the arena like his life depends on it.

It’s a surprisingly (if sickeningly) apt description - the skill in parkour is far from unacknowledged on Dream’s record; they all know his reputation with Parkour Warrior, all know that there are little that can match his skill as a traucer - but there’s something newly desperate in the way he runs, the muscles of his body tight and taut even in between rounds, expression permanently tight at the corners from fear. His movements, lacking in their usual fluidity, are made up with sheer speed and mad scrambles up walls that no one else seems to dare replicate. It’s concerning, even to Michael’s untrained eye, how frantic he seems the entire time, the flashes of expressions that he’ll direct towards the hunter like being caught by them will be his end, but- if anything, at least it’s effective. 

Between his parkour and Sapnap’s own skill, they manage to dominate the other teams without much issue, and the bonuses from eliminating the other team first combined with Dream’s survival points each round land them a first place for the game by just a few hundred coins. The four of them watch with bated breaths for the event standings, whooping and cheering together when it shows the red rabbits in second - 

“DODGEBOLT, BABY!” Quackity cheers, loudly, and the rest of them join him, laughing and screaming incoherently, “LET’S FUCKING GO!” 

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Sapnap punches the air with a loud, resolute whoop of joy, and Dream - still shaking off the jitters of his last round in Parkour Tag - soon joins in with a few cheers of his own. 

Michael watches them all with a smile on his face as they cheer in victory - Dodgebolt has them against the Yellow Yaks, which will be a hard match up, but between Dream and Sapnap’s skill, if they all stay focused, they shouldn’t have any issue. 

They’ve done it. They’ve made it to Dodgebolt - if they keep their heads in the game, then they should win. All he has to do is keep his head down a little longer, long enough to win them the game, long enough for them to go home with new crowns and new coins, long enough for him to go back to living his quaint little life in his quaint little house - going back to heckling the Warden at night and hanging with Bad and Puffy, working on builds and living life away from the rest and pretending that nothing is wrong. The server will go back to normal come tomorrow, and it will all be okay. 

The smile slips off his face. 

They’ve done it. And then they’ll go back to the SMP, and Dream might evade whatever immediate consequences come with losing, but there’s no evidence that whatever’s caused that heartstopping, devastating fear that has characterized his every move is going to stop. They’ll win, and they’ll go back to the SMP, and they’ll keep dying and fighting wars and keep pretending that the world they live in is normal; they’ll go back to the server, and Michael will go back in his house while Dream goes back into his cell directly across from it, still locked in a black box with no way in or out, no means of communication with anyone outside, locked away with the key thrown away for anything to happen with no one to know-

Michael glances over to Dream, to the tense edge of his shoulders that has never left for as long as the tournament has continued and long before. To the grey-faced, grey-eyed inhabitants of the SMP, coming to the Championships with sealed lips and a shared determination to never reveal that anything is wrong, to pretend that things are normal and move on. 

Michael’s hands clench into fists at his side, then unclench, the helplessness cutting through his excitement like a splash of cold water straight through his chest. They’ll win the Championship, and then what? They’ll go back to the server, and then what? 

He looks up at the sky, avoiding the eyes of the rest of his team as they are teleported to the arena. Around him, nothing comes in reply. 

---

“Shit-”

Sapnap disappears in a flourish of red particles, and Michael winces as Dream picks up the arrow he left behind, biting his lip as he watches the opposite side maneuver on the ice.

Both of Dream’s shots hit true, and Michael switches to dodging over the ice as the opposing team begins to shoot. His mind is still buzzing with uncertainty, questions whirling around his skull and making his head spin, the reminder to just let things be raging against the anxiety that has wormed its way deep into his bones for the better part of the day. His performance has fallen a bit as a result, and they’re tied, 2-2, for the last round of Dodgebolt against Yellow - winner takes all. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell, but he wants to fall back into the background. He wants to make a difference, but also wants nothing more than to go on pretending that everything is fine. It would be so, so easy to move on and wash his hands of the whole affair - it’s not like anyone else will know, only himself and the guilt that he’s sure will haunt him to remind him of his failures. Is there even anything he can do? He’s no genius at combat, or parkour, or strategy- all he has are his eyes, his ability to see what the hell is happening with no means to change any of it. 

An arrow whizzes towards him, too low to hit, and falls to the ice by his feet. Michael feels it plop into his inventory as he runs past it, shivering slightly from the cold or adrenaline or some mix of the two - not that he can really tell. The other team still has an arrow, the gleaming arrowhead catching the light as the person shooting - Jack, it looks like - moves it from one side to the other, looking for someone to aim. Michael lets the arrow into his hand, feeling its weight.

A sudden shock of clarity. 

He staggers back and nearly trips over his own feet, feeling relief rock his body when he manages to catch his balance - his eyes rake over the rest of his team, still dodging over the ice, completely focused on the opposing side. He worries his lip between his teeth - it’s a risk. It’s a hell of a risk, and if he messes up - they’re fucked. They’re more than fucked. There’s a good chance that this does more harm than good, a good chance that it won’t do anything at all. 

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow. 

With his bow pointed to the floor, he doesn’t think anyone’s noticed yet - especially the rest of his team, gazes still trained over the centerline to the other side of the arena. Michael plants his feet, raises his bow, aims - he’s standing still, too still, and he can already see Jack swinging the bow towards him from the corner of his eye, preparing to let the arrow fly directly at him. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Keep your head down. 

Michael lets go, and Quackity manages to turn just in time to see the arrow hit him between his eyes.

Not this time.

Michael just manages a wicked, satisfied smirk before the world disappears in a flash of red. 

---

“What the hell was that?” 

Michael teleports into the middle of the MCC main lobby, finding Quackity already mid-yell in front of the podium, where the Yellow Yaks have taken their places as the winners of the Championships, new, shining crowns on their heads as they greet the crowd with smiles and cheers. Michael turns to where the rest of the team has gathered in the corner, Quackity hissing angrily at Dream, curled into himself against the fence. 

“I- I-”

“You lost us the fucking game, that’s what you did,” Quackity grabs him by the arm, rage painting his features as he yanks Dream closer to him, ignoring the other’s panicked yell at the proximity and flailing to get away. “What the fuck- you had both the arrows. How the fuck did you miss that?” 

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

Michael steps forward, bodily shoving Quackity out of the way - Dream’s head rises just enough for the two eyes painted on his mask to look  above where they’d been hidden behind his arms, though Michael’s far too lost in his own anger to pay any mind to him at the moment. Quackity turns his furious direction towards Michael, only seeming to get angrier as he meets his eyes. 

“Oh, fuck off, Michael- you-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You fucking- we fucking lost because of you, you know that? We had that! We were going to win that, you fucker-” 

“And then what, Quackity?” The words Michael had been pushing back the entire day come forth, mixed with his simmering anxiety and muffled anger that he’d been forced to push down, game after game after game, one bubbling mess of emotion underscoring his tone and making Quackity rear back, “Then you’ll go back the SMP and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy? Go back to your shiny little country with a shiny new coin, beat up Dream a few times to work off the adrenaline because, hey, it’s not like anyone else is gonna know if he’s black and blue inside of that shitstain of a prison, is that right?” 

The flash of panic that makes its way over Quackity’s face is more than enough to confirm the worst of Michael’s assumptions, and the rage that has made a home in his chest only burns hotter. 

“What- what the fuck did he say?” Quackity barely manages to catch onto his tone, pressing harder with narrowed eyes and a snarl, “He’s lying, you fucking idiot, that’s all he ever fucking does-” 

“He’s not told me shit,” Michael presses forward, forcefully pushing Quackity away from Dream, who is cowering from both of them behind him, “But you would know a hell of a lot about that, wouldn’t you Quackity?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, pal,” Quackity shakes his head, hair whipping past his eyes, “And I’d recommend you shut your fucking mouth before you go around hurling baseless accusations- I could have you sued for defamation, you know-”

“Oh, we’re talking law, now? Fine! We’ll talk legalities- how about we start with that casino of yours and work from there?” 

Sapnap moves over, quiet thus far as he watched from the sidelines, and Michael watches as Quackity relaxes, minisculely, at his approach - only to tense further when Sapnap presses a hand to his shoulder, meeting his eyes with blazing eyes staring right at his.

“Q,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious, “tell the truth, now- what did you do?”

Quackity laughs - it sounds unsure, even in Michael’s ears, “Sapnap? You can’t tell me you believe-” he waves his hands frantically, “this- this fucking asshole, now, do you hear him? He sounds- he’s literally out of his fucking mind-”

Sapnap shakes his head, firm. “Quackity, I’ll need you to cut the bullshit. What did you do?” 

“He’s backing up Dream, Sapnap,” Quackity focuses his gaze on Sapnap, something creeping up in his tone, sweet and cloying despite the bitter tone, that Michael can’t quite recognize, “You know what Dream is like- he pulled the same shit with you, remember? You and George? Tommy?” He waves a hand at Dream, who ducks down further at the attention, “He hasn’t changed, man! He’s still pulling the same bullshit, still manipulating people for the hell of it- you know, the exact same thing he did to you? Don’t fall for that again, man.”

“I-” Sapnap seems to hesitate, conflict warring over his features. 

“Look at me, Sap - you know what Dream’s like. He pretends to be your friend, makes up some stupid bullshit to justify his shit - Michael hasn’t been around for as long, not like the two of us, remember? He doesn’t know.” Quackity brings his hand to Sapnap’s own, ignoring Michael’s protests as he laces their fingers together, “I care about you, Sap. All of this- I’m just worried that he’ll end up manipulating you again. I’m just trying to protect you.” 

“...liar.” 

“What?”

Sapnap steps back, wrenching his hand out of Quackity’s own. His expression, out of what Michael can see from the sliver of his face that is facing him, is stormy with fury and no small amount of regret - Quackity steps back, unease finally beginning to flicker in the corners of his self-satisfied expression as Sapnap stares him down. 

“You’re a liar, Quackity.” Sapnap draws himself up. “Now, I’m asking this for the last time- what did you do?”

Quackity’s expression stutters, falls, as Sapnap stands back next to Michael, the two of them between him and Dream. His eyes flick between their faces, then to Dream, then back again, frown deepening with every pass he makes between the three of them. Michael keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every second of silence that ticks by, Quackity seeming to grow more and more angry and tense under their scrutiny and unforgiving stances-

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward. 

“Quackity!” 

Michael only manages to throw himself out of the way of the man barrelling towards him just in time - too late, he realizes that he wasn’t Quackity’s intended target. He tackles Dream to the ground, pinning the taller man underneath himself onto the ground in a rough thump that seems to knock all the air out of him. Dream immediately begins to thrash aimlessly, jaw going slack in panic as Quackity levels his arm against his neck, going still as Quackity presses harder against his windpipe. Michael is only barely close enough to pick up what he says over the sound of the surrounding screaming, Sapnap rushing forward to pull Quackity off to no avail-

“-make what I did two weeks ago look like a fucking joke when we get back, going to make you wish you fucking died-” 

The world explodes into white.

When Michael’s vision clears, he’s face to face to the stony face of one of the MCC admins, their status displayed by the proud red [Admin] by their nametags and the fact that they’re floating several inches off the fucking floor. He backs away, strangely winded - probably from the panic or adrenaline or yelling or, more accurately, all three, as Quackity is pulled back effortlessly by an admin, easily caging his flailing limbs with a snap of code as he is frozen into place - and Michael whoops. 

“LET’S GO!” 

(The arrow hits Michael in the shoulder, and he disappears in a flash of red - only instead of going to his usual place above the Dodgebolt arena, standing with the other competitors, he finds himself teleported in front of a dizzying array of screens and buttons, too many to have any idea where they connect and how they work. Michael turns to meet the faces of the MCC Admins, each one looking at him with odd, concerned expressions and furrowed brows. 

“You shot your teammate,” one says - Noxite - and Michael nods to concede the point, not quite finding the words to speak. “Why?”

“If you had such a big issue with the teams, you could’ve just talked to Scott,” another one pipes up from the back, “I’m sure we could’ve worked something out.”

“I know, I know,” Michael runs his hand through his hair, both relieved at the plan working better than he could’ve ever fucking imagined and suddenly lost for words in front of the admins, each one looking at him with their full attention. Every nerve in his body rails against the scrutiny, reminds him to pretend that nothing is wrong - but it’s too late to pretend, now. It’s been too late for a long, long time. 

He remembers Dream, looking away all competition, voice dead and lacking all of its former vitality - remembers Puffy, hair a little greyer from stress, grief painting her face whenever she thought anyone wasn’t looking - remembers Bad, hands still shaking despite his attempts to hide it - the prison, looming on the horizon, unbeatable, impenetrable - himself, helpless, for all this time, to do anything but watch and wait. Until now. He takes a deep breath, steels himself- 

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

“Thank you for your information, Michael,” Noxite smiles at him, and relief throws itself through his system so fast that it makes him dizzy- “We’ll handle this from here. Good job.” 

“Holy shit- when did you get time to contact the fucking admins, Michael?” 

Michael ignores the clamor around him as the lobby bursts into activity and people talking over each other, each one probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, ignores Sapnap muttering, awed, from beside him, to move towards Dream, still sprawled out over the floor. There’s an admin by him, standing by to seemingly keep the crowd away but not engaging with Dream directly, and Michael ducks by them to kneel down by Dream and meet his gaze. 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, still shaking from the leftover adrenaline as he presses his hands to the ground to try and hide it, “We’ve got you. It’s over- Quackity’s gone. You’re safe now.” 

“Michael?” Dream’s voice is so damn small when his head twists to look over, hair having fallen largely fallen out of his ponytail to land in wisps all around his face. “You- how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shushes him, chest twisting painfully. “It’s alright.”

“...I don’t feel so good.”

Dream coughs harshly, and Michael quickly maneuvers him to a sitting position as his shoulders shake with another one, hand flying to his mouth as he is wracked with loud, wet-sounding coughs. Concern wells up in his throat, watching as Dream shakes with more coughing, nearly choking as he curls into himself, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls his hand back, and Michael gasps at the sight.

“Dream-”

There’s blood, and a lot of it - mixed with the saliva in his palm, shiny and stringy over the planes of his hand, dribbling past his lips and down his chin. His teeth are similarly stained red when his mouth opens slightly, stance wobbling before he collapses altogether against Michael’s body - Michael can barely hear himself shouting for a medic as Dream heaves a rattling, wet sounding breath into his shoulder. 

“Th’ts not g’d,” he mumbles, quiet, before going completely limp. 

---

When you first get strong enough to go to the Nether and collect blaze rods and brew potions for the first time, the first thing that gets beaten into your head forwards, backwards, left, right, and every way in between is that health and regen aren’t a replacement for actual recovery. Instant health pots are famous for their tendency to heal everything affected to the same degree - which is bad when you have a particularly deep injury, as it’ll often finish healing it near the surface while the injury persists underneath. Regen pots tend to be better at that front, but even they cannot completely fix a serious injury - the two can only act as a temporary, emergency fix for severe wounds, often being an invaluable resource to stop the worst of the bleeding and hold everything together for long enough to bring someone to proper medical attention. 

Unfortunately, when someone tries to use health pots and regens to completely bypass the time and rest needed for the body to properly heal itself and recover, what usually ends up happening is internal injuries - not completely healed by the potions alone - continue to be jostled and irritated, which can lead to further, worse, problems with internal bleeding and bones shifting out of place if they’ve been broken, which can then pierce through muscle and organ tissue - to be honest, Michael was never the best with all the medical stuff, and he’s half-sure that the horror stories he’s heard were exaggerated to beat it into his head never to be an idiot that thinks that potions can solve everything, but either way, he’s never tested his luck with the things.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn’t seem to have done the same, as the entire day’s worth of intense activity, between practices and MCC itself, were more than enough to fuck over the healing effects of whatever health potions he apparently downed before coming to the Championships. From what Michael has heard, it got a little harried after he was first brought into the hospital, but he’s apparently stabilized since - recovery will be slow, both physically and mentally, but at least he’s out of that damn prison to actually start on that path.

“Simply put, your teammate is a bit of an idiot,” Scott tells him when he finally catches him in the waiting room, hair fluffed up at the sides from where he’s evidently messed it up in Admin-related stress. “But he should be alright now, with proper medical attention and lots of rest - make sure to tell him to actually rest, will ya? No more parkouring for him - he can wait until after he’s out of the hospital to show us all how it’s done.” 

Michael laughs, relief settling into his chest, “Thanks, Scott.” He directs a playfully accusing look towards the other, a grin tugging at his lips, “but you know, he’s only my teammate because you made it that way. Kinda sounds like your own fault there..” 

“Oh, quiet, you.” Scott laughs- he looks stressed, and Michael feels a twinge of sympathy. The administrative side of things after his whole stunt at Dodgebolt, and then especially with what happened in the main lobby, must be an absolute nightmare. “Anyway, I need to go back - Admin meeting,” he shakes his head, already looking at his comm. “You should go see Dream, by the way. I think he’s awake.” 

“Thanks for everything, Scott.” 

Scott smiles at him, soft, sincere. “Go see your friend.” 

He disappears in a flash of white light, teleporting away, and Michael looks at the empty space where he stood for a few seconds before standing up out of his chair to move towards the door. He hesitates at it for a second, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it to the side - it’s suddenly awkward, without the pressure of the competition at his back and the relentless questions of what he should do. He doesn’t even know if Dream knows what happened, or if he’ll be happy with him - for all he knows, Dream was the one who started the whole ‘don’t tell the Championships what happens in the server’ deal. His teeth catch on his lip as he stands, lost in thought, at the door.

Well. Here goes nothing. 

He eases the door open, getting a glimpse inside the room - it’s white, clean-looking, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a chair on the side with his Championships clothing and what appears to be some sort of padded body armor laid over the cushions. Dream, as expected, is lying down in the bed, unmoving; for a second, Michael thinks he’s sleeping, before he suddenly twists his head over to look at him.

“Michael?” 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. For the first time today, Dream’s face isn’t masked, a glimpse of it visible behind him on the dresser by the bed. He blinks up at him owlishly, eyes wide and green, looking even bigger combined with the hollow planes of his cheeks, overlaid by pale, slightly raised scars. “How are you feeling, man?” 

“Um-” Dream tries to pull himself up, visibly struggling, and Michael rolls his eyes as he hurries over to help raise the back of the cot because you’re supposed to be resting, Dream, just let the fancy bed do its job, and settles back with an odd look on his face as Michael pulls over a chair. “Good? I think? I mean-” he flails his hands a bit, “this is weird. And I kind of hate this gown- but um. Yeah.” 

“That’s fair,” Michael laughs, and Dream huffs a small laugh out of his own, settling back into his pillow. He looks strangely small, with all the layers stripped away, frail and skinny against the sheets. His skin isn’t that same paper-white shade it had been when he collapsed in the middle of the fucking lobby, but it’s still pale enough to be vaguely worrying, especially combined with the IV and other wires hooked up to him. 

“Apparently, I’m dehydrated,” Dream drawls when he catches Michael staring at the IV, making a small, frustrated sound through his teeth as Michael turns to look at him, “figures, I guess, but still sucks. I hate needles.” 

“Ouch,” Michael winces in sympathy, “yeah, those don’t look that fun.” Dream smiles up at him, before his expression shutters, dulls, and he looks away, not meeting his eyes. The sight of it makes Michael frown, quiet, remembering the way he’d drawn back from them all over and over again throughout the day - that fear and trauma won’t go away in a day, but it hurts all that much more to see his face as panic flashes across it and he pulls back, gaze carefully detached. 

“Dream?” Michael moves closer, but is careful not to make contact, “you alright?”

“Hmm?” Dream directs another small, tight smile his way, strained at the corners as his eyes flick away to the floor once again, “yeah- I’m- I’m fine.” 

Michael sighs, but decides not to push it. “Have you done anything else here, yet?”

Dream shakes his head. “No- I think that someone’s going to bring food over soon, I’m not sure. Not really hungry,” he mutters, half to himself, and Michael tamps down the concern that wells up in protest, “But we’ll see, I guess.” 

“That’s good,” Michael nods, and Dream looks up at him, expression startlingly unsure. 

“Um- do you know?” He wrings his hands together, eyes darting across the room nervously before flicking over Michaels’ face, and Michael tries to make himself look as calm and comfortable as possible, “I mean- do you know what’s going on with- everyone?” 

Ah. Michael winces internally- he probably should’ve expected this question, but in the fallout of what happened in the lobby and Dream, you know, passing out in his arms, he ended up brushing off or ignoring a lot of the chaos that resulted. He wracks his head for snippets of information that he’d seen in his communicator and from visitors to the waiting room, including people that had been there with him that had been pulled for questioning and meetings, Tommy’s expletive-filled yelling from the lobby still ringing in his head. 

“Um- I think that they’ve got a team of moderators pulled up to investigate the server, figure out what’s been going on,” Michael ticks names off on his hands, mentally going through the list of people that he’s been given information on, “They have Quackity in custody, I think, for the moment- they’re still waiting for more information on what to do with him, but they’ve got a whole MCC lobby’s worth of witnesses that saw him assault you so far, if you plan on pressing charges and stuff- um- Sapnap got pulled for questioning, nothing too major right now, I think that they’re going through the other server members that were attending the Championships for the moment.” 

“Are they- putting them in jail?” Dream’s voice sounds slightly tinny despite his forced calm, arms crossed in front of him, and Michael shakes his head firmly. 

“No- legal stuff between servers is weird, and I think they’re holding off on anything like that for now. Quackity’s just there at the moment because of assault charges on the MCC server - stuff in the SMP is still technically outside of their jurisdiction.” Dream visibly relaxes, and Michael smiles thinly, “It’ll be rough for a few weeks as they collect evidence and figure out what to do, but for now, they’re just focusing on recovery - giving people medical attention if they need it, lining up therapists,” he laughs, quietly, “lots of therapists.”

Dream hums, looking away. The corners of his mouth fall, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes a shuddery sigh through his lips.

“I- never wanted it to get this bad,” he opens his eyes, looking down at his hands, lip slightly trembling, “I don’t- I don’t know where it all went wrong.” 

“Hey,” Michael slides closer, ducking to meet Dream’s eyes with a soft smile. “You’re not alone anymore, alright? You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. Focus on yourself, on recovering.” 

Dream hesitates, breath seeming caught in his throat, wide green eyes staring into Michael’s own, before ducking his head to look away with a slight nod. Michael leans back in his chair, watching as Dream turns to the side, curling in on himself slightly with a small wince, eyes fixed on the window.

“Didn’t think I was going to see the sun again,” Dream says after a while, gaze still trained behind the glass to where the sun is slowly setting, rays of sunlight streaming past the slits in the blinds and casting glowing stripes of honey-gold throughout the room and over Dream’s face. Michael feels something cold press against the back of his throat, the quiet admission making air stutter in his lungs at the image of Dream, alone, huddled in the middle of an obsidian box for months and months and months, never knowing if he’d see anything other than the same black walls for the rest of his life. 

“You’re not there, anymore. You’re safe now.” 

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to look out the window silently, breathing slowly as he moves his hand through a sunbeam, watching the way it streams between his fingers and warms his skin, seeming mesmerized by its soft glow. 

“Michael?” Dream looks over, and Michael feels the air punched out of his lungs at the soft, disbelieving sincerity held within his expression, the fearful edges for once pulled back far enough for the light to catch the quiet, heartfelt appreciation gathered in the slight quirk of his lips and downward slope of his eyes. He looks away a second after, a band of light cutting across his face and landing over the bridge of his nose, smile still on his face, voice almost too quiet to make out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Michael feels his own smile widen, looking out the window himself- it really is a beautiful sunset. “What are friends for?” 

[griffintail]

I dunno if this is dumb, but hear me out:

Y’know the song “For the Dancing and the Dreaming” from How to Train Your Dragon 2? Well, imagine that song but with Philza or Techno and a reader s/o! Like, they’ve been apart for way too long because of various circumstances, but when they finally see each other it’s just love at first sight all over again.

I was singing that song a lot at work today, and thought this idea might be a cute and wholesome break from the wonderfully tearjerking angst that was that last Parental Dream post. I think that anon woke up and chose violence that morning, not that I’m complainin.

I can’t remember which anon request it was that chose violence but I remember heavily agreeing with you. This request was so fing perfect to do with Techno. I hope you enjoy it.

Dancing and Dreaming

In Game

Pairings: Techno x F! Reader

Warnings: None :)

A/N: There is a poem in this that’s not mine. It’s by Anna Shaw and I found it randomly on the web. So I take no credit for it.

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

I'll swim and sail on savage seas

With never a fear of drowning

And gladly ride the waves of life

If you would marry me

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

        (Y/N) remembered standing on the edge of the Arctic Empire’s border, watching Techno’s ship sail off a year back. Word came that his brothers needed his aid in their own nation. She remembered begging to let him come with him, she was the best swordswoman in the land.

        Who do you think taught her?

        Yet, Techno didn’t want someone to hurt her and made a promise to her.

        “I’ll take these nerds, alright? I’ll come back to you though, no matter what, and…I’ll marry you.”

        The voices went wild in his head for the first time in forever. Running the kingdom kept them sated but with him soon to be leaving, he supposed it riled them up. They were screaming praises and hatred at the same time but he didn’t care. This was what he wanted.

        “I…” (Y/N) was speechless for a few moments and Techno gave a cheeky grin, that helped her break out of it as she laughed. “Ok. But you have to come back.”

        “No scorching sun, nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey if you promise me your heart and love me for eternity.” He kissed her forehead.

        From there, he boarded the ship and she didn’t see him for a year. She got no word from him or from his brothers, which gave her hope as well that he was ok. Of course, he would be, he was Technoblade.

        She was running the daily duties as Techno’s stand-in when one of the servants of the castle, bowing to her deeply.

        “Ma’am, we’ve spotted a regal ship coming into harbor.”

        “Get the guards ready then, we can’t take chances on this land, I have no patience for royalty, let’s go.”

        There had been a few battles in Techno’s absence, one’s (Y/N) commanded on his behalf that had earned her a few battle scars but nothing that caused her to lose a precious life. She had learned from the best of men. Putting her sword in its sheath and a bow and axe on her back, she set herself off to the harbor.

        As she got to the harbor, she saw a flag she had never seen flickering on the top of the mainmast. It was a half-circle of black on one edge with a line of yellow lining it as three stripes, one blue, white, and red, came off the yellow lining and three Xs in the middle. Two of the X’s were in the white strip as the third was in the half-circle of black.

        She stood on guard still as the ship slowed as it made it to their docks. Many knew nations tried to challenge the half power of their empire.

        Going onto the docks, she stood tall a safe distance from the ship.

        “Hail, who are you!” She called to the ship.

        A face leaned over the front and she stiffened at the grinning young face she remembered.

        “(Y/N)!” Tommy grinned. “Long time no see.”

        “What the fuck are you doing on that ship?!” She scolded, going over.

        “It’s mine!” (Y/N) scoffed at his words.

        “I think you’ll find, it’s mine.” Wilbur came behind the young boy, giving a smile to the woman. “It’s a pleasure (Y/N). Mind telling your men down?”

        “I mean, only if you tell me where Techno is.”

        Then she screamed as she was lifted off the ground.

        “You’ve gotten sloppy perceiving around you.” Techno chuckled as the boys on the ship laughed.

        She couldn’t be angry. She merely grinned as he put her down and hugged him tightly.

        “You’re ok.” She whispered.

        “I promised you I would be. I just had to take down a government.” He shrugged as he hugged her back.

        “My dearest one, your mighty words astound me but I've no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me.”

        He hid his face in the top of her hair as he grinned to himself. He had truly missed her.

        That night, a grand ball was held in honor of Techno’s return, his victory with his brothers, and for the new alliance with the nation of L’Manberg as (Y/N) found out. (Y/N) laughed as Wilbur stole the first dance with her from Techno, having missed his brothers’ antics since the last time they had met.

        The two men kept teasing Techno by stealing the woman away until Techno practically picked her up and stole her away to the dance floor.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But I would bring you rings of gold

I'd even sing you poetry

And I would keep you from all harm

If you would stay beside me

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        “Was someone jealous?” (Y/N) teased as she curtsied to him and he bowed.

        Together they danced in sync with ease. If there was no music, it would still be a beautiful dance to behold. They had done this number before, their own formal dance they always easily moved into.

        “I would like to see my wife to be after a year.” Techno gave a joking eye roll.

        “I’ll always be here for you, Techno. Even if we weren’t going to be married.” She blushed lightly, remembering his promise.

        At the end of their dance, Techno took her hand as usual but instead moved into a position to kneel.

        “This smooth son of a…” (Y/N) thought to herself with a grin.

        Techno went into his pocket, holding out a golden ring up to her. “Allow me to make it official to you after keeping you waiting for a year.” He cleared his throat before speaking clearly.

        “If I have to hold hell ransom,

        In turn for your wayward soul,

        I will.

        And if I must, fight through the depths of Tartarus

        To save what’s left of you

        To save the pieces life didn’t get to destroy,

        Then consider yourself saved

        For there is not a battle I won’t win,

        If saving you is what I am fighting for.

        So, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have no use for rings of gold

I care not for your poetry

I only want your hand to hold

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        “I mean you win every battle anyways.” She whispered so only he would hear and he gave her a deadpanned face before she spoke a bit louder. “I care not of those things, as long as I have you Techno and your hand. I will gladly marry you for just that.”

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

To love and kiss to sweetly hold

For the dancing and the dreaming

Through all life's sorrows

And delights

I'll keep your laugh inside me

I'll swim and sail a savage seas

With never a fear of drowning

I'd gladly ride the waves so white

And you will marry me!

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        People clapped as she giggled hearing the hollers of his brothers as he rolled his eyes before smiling as he put the ring on her finger. He gave a sweet kiss to her forehead, neither much for sharing a lover’s kiss in public. The night’s events took on new energy around them but the two simply enjoyed the presence of the other as they glided across the floor.

        Techno regaled her with what happened in L’Manberg, throwing in a few jokes to hear her sweet laugh he had missed through the battles he and his brothers had fought. They had all been such brutal battles, even the ones they had to fight with their words. Yet, each one he fought harder than the rest because he knew, across the savage seas, he’d go home to the most perfect woman and get to marry her.