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[moonlightandmarble]

Give Me The Night-Theatrical Release

When Sleep tires of Vessel and all seems lost, an even more ancient being is called to intercede...

(I haven't written anything like this in years so please be gentle and if you need something tagged please let me know. This is about the lore characters because RPF is weird and uh yeah idk pleaseenjoybye)

Vessel watched as Two scratched figures into the sand with a piece of driftwood that had washed ashore. He had been extra quiet as of late, and it had not gone unnoticed by the others. Here, in the pocket between worlds that existed outside of time and reality, it was all the more apparent. It was if he was waiting for something, and yet when questioned he replied he was fine. 

And for all other appearances he was, he was still constantly inhaling caffeine, still contributing to the Great Work, still occasionally slipping into old vernaculars from before he became the Second Vessel. They all tended to do that, all of the Vessels. They all came from different places in time, and as Sleep selected them throughout the eons they came together to make the Great Work. None would remember what they were before, but fragments of the past would reveal themselves as time went on. And lately, more of those fragments were coming forward, representing themselves in the addition of colors and cloth, flashes of individuality. And in some cases…the smallest sparks of rebellion.

  All of these things troubled him, all the more because he was seeing it in himself as well. Something was happening to all of them. And it did not help that Sleep had become more and more withdrawn from him. His Presence even in the First’s mind far less frequent. He both hated his absence and reveled in it. The loneliness could drive him to dash out onto the beach in despair, throwing himself into the waves and crying out for an answer that would never come. But the others, they were always there to pull him out, to pull him back from the brink and surround him. Their presence was less overwhelming, more gentle, and Vessel the First had grown to be so grateful for them. 

 So he found himself smiling as he watched the Second, not even realizing the Third had sat down next to him until a warm cup of tea had been placed into his hands,

“You’re doing that thing again”

  “What thing?”, he turned the teacup in his hands, watching the steam rise up and humming as he felt the heat sink into his skin.

“You’re doing some Deep Thinking. Drink your tea. You need it.”

He wanted to argue but the Third always spoke his mind, and most of the time he was insufferably right about things. So he sighed and sipped, “Thank you”

The Third crossed his long legs in front of him, leaning back on his elbows, “So no return call on the God Phone then?”

Vessel swallowed and grimaced. The tea was excellent, but the words planted a bitter pill that stuck in his throat, “No. He does not answer. Even after all the Rituals, after all we put into the Great Work-“, he stopped himself. He was being ungrateful, childish, dancing too close to heresy. He shouldn’t speak in such a way about the one who had done so much for them. Who had changed them, brought them up and remolded them from the dust they once were. 

He took another sip, “I’m sure he has his reasons”

      Three made a quiet “hmmm”, the one that Vessel knew was a noise of doubt. The one the Third used when he knew Vessel was making excuses. Before he could respond though, The Fourth had sat down on the other side of him, seemingly contemplating the waves, before nodding his head towards Two, “He’s still at it with the strange sigils again then?”

Three looked over, Two having his back to them, apparently so engrossed in what he was doing he didn’t even notice them watching him, “Every day now. I asked if he wanted anything and he said he was fine with his usual sugar water.”

Four pulled his legs up and sat his chin on them, contemplative, “What you make of it?”

Three shrugged, “Can’t force him to tell us really. But maybe the Rituals are wearing him out? We were traveling for a long time for the last one. He doesn’t seem to be in any distress at least.”

Vessel looked on, silently finishing his tea and setting it aside when he felt a familiar prickle at the back of his neck. He straightened up, getting to his feet, and looking at the sky above, “He is coming…”

They all scrambled to their feet, all except for Two, who was still busy scratching the mystery symbols into the sand with all the intensity of a university student at exam time. Before Vessel could call to him though, Sleep manifested himself before them, hovering between the ocean and the sky. 

The six eyes Sleep had given Vessel allowed him to see things that others could not. Things hidden behind the vestiges of the material world, things both beautiful and grotesque, all uncanny. But even he couldn’t fully comprehend Sleep’s appearance. Multiple eyes in multiple colors blinked and stared, vanished and reappeared against an ever changing background. Sometimes he was as a black cloud, sometimes he was a school of fish, sometimes he was a great and prehistoric sea beast, sometimes he was a wholly alien mass of tendrils and snapping squid beaks, but always with the look of detached curiosity in his many eyes as he watched them.

As Vessel knelt Sleep’s voice pressed into his mind, and he felt the examination begin. Like hundreds of tendrils poking into his brain and turning it over and over, looking for any small flaw or hidden treasure to be pulled out and dissected and studied. 

The Voice began, in a monotone made up of a thousand voices, “You guard your thoughts from me, why?”

“If I am, it is not intentional I assure you.”

“This is not the first time, my Vessel. It speaks to a pattern that I find unacceptable”, the pressure in his mind intensified, making him wince in pain. He grit his teeth but spread out his hands, an attempt to placate, “Please, I am still yours. I am still faithful.”

“And yet you Keep Secrets.”

 The probing got even worse, and he doubled over in agony, grasping at the sand as the pain blinded him with white hot light, choking out a plea, “What have I done to offend you? Please!”, he felt the hands of Three and Four on him, trying to soothe as tears began to form. He tried to shoo them away from him, his hands shaking. But they helped ease him back up, holding him steady between them.

“But you cannot hide anything from me, my servant. Your mind has been wandering, your attention strays, you seek that which is forbidden to you. The seeds of Doubt have been planted, and now that which sprouted roots in you must be removed.”

He lifted his head, staring wide eyed, “I don’t understand, what are you saying?”

“The other vessels are no longer necessary. They have served their purpose, and now they lead you astray from me. Their time has ended.”

Vessel's heart thudded, and he felt his blood go cold, “Please no…no no no no don’t take them from me please. We have done so much together for you and we aren’t finished-“

“It has been decided. Do not try my patience.”

Vessel’s mouth opened, as he silently tried to grasp for words. This was a nightmare, it couldn’t be happening, and yet he could see in Sleep’s eyes that this was his final decision, yet still he couldn’t allow this to happen.

“But have they not also served you well? Have I not served you well? I will do anything, anything just please…not this…punish me instead I beg you. I will accept it with a smile on my face. I won’t complain, I won’t bother you for answers, just…please. Not them…”

“They are distracting you. Do you not comprehend that none will love you as I do? What have I done to receive this spitefulness from you?”

White hot anger boiled up from within him. How could he? Was it not enough that he had bled and been broken over and over and over again to Sleep’s whims? Had he not sacrificed? Had he not given him EVERYTHING? When would it all be enough?

 “They’re my friends…no they are more than that, you can’t do this. Tell me to tear my own heart instead and I will! You cannot demand this of me!”

There was a moment of silence, before the ground began to rumble, the sky turning to blood and the waves to ink. The others scrambled to find each other, huddling next to the First.

Vessel had seen Sleep enraged before. And he was often on the receiving end of it, but he had not seen Wrath such as this before. Every part of him was begging him to throw himself down and plead for mercy, and yet…

He looked over at the others, and saw that as much as they shook as he did, they still stood beside him. Willing to face the punishment of an angry god while still on their feet. So he looked once again upon the face of his savior, his persecutor, and stepped forward to receive whatever would be doled out. 

“I…**I CAN’T**? You Forget your place so easily, I can do as I will. And you are ungrateful, you show no piety, you DOUBT me. I MADE you what you are now! I raised you from the dirt in which you fell pleading for an end to your mortal pain, your trifling qualms, and I raised you to be like a god compared to humanity. And you spit in my face, as a scurrilous viper!”

The Third muttered to the Fourth, “I really wish he’d just kill us and get on with it already.”

The Fourth managed a chuckle, “Whatever happens, I am glad to have met you”, he grabbed the Third’s hand, which seemed to help steady them both for what was to come. 

Before Vessel could respond, Sleep's tendrils were upon him. He knew there was no point in fighting, but he grasped and pulled at them anyways, his hands uselessly sinking into squishy boneless ropes that were as resilient as steel. They wrapped around his body, yanking him off the ground. There was none of the gentleness with which he was first lifted up, he was merely a toy in the hands of a giant angry child. 

The others tried to hold onto him, to keep him there with them, wrapping their arms around his legs and clutching onto his clothing so hard that his robe began to rip, and the Fourth called out, “We can’t, he’s too strong, Vessel will tear apart!”

“Assuming Sleep isn’t just going to do that anyways! Just keep hold of him!”, the Third had a leg and a hold on his belt. A stray thought flitted by hoping that he wouldn’t die without his pants on. He called out to them, “Just let me go, flee and save yourselves!”

It didn’t matter anyways, Sleep made a tug and effortlessly pulled him away from the others, a tendril wrapping around his throat tight like a steel band, more wrapping around his ribs with crushing strength, and with every panicked breath out they only got tighter. He couldn’t even cry out, the tendril around his throat painfully tightening around his windpipe like a noose. He tried to calm down, to remember his breath control, to keep his panic from leading more quickly to his demise. But already he was fading, his heart thudding like ii’s drums in his chest as a gray mist crept into the sides of his vision. All six eyes blinked in an effort to stay awake, but as he looked up into the blazing red eyes of Sleep he knew there would be no return.

But there was a deafening crack, like lightning striking the sea, making  his ears ring, and it echoed throughout the bleeding sky. The tendrils loosened their grip ever so slightly, and it was enough for him to turn his head back to the beach where he saw the Third and the Fourth staring at the Second.

He was at the head of the beach, glaring up at Sleep, eyes blazing with fury and a inner light Vessel had not seen before. His palms held together in front of him, as if he were in mid-clap.

A voice like thunder echoed out from nowhere, vibrating his very teeth with how it boomed throughout the bubble, “Go then back to the Void where you belong, but you will not be taking them. They are no longer yours.”

Vessel was released suddenly, and he crashed onto the beach in a heap. His body was broken, he could feel that much. Pain screamed from all of his nerves like alarm bells. He stared up at the sky, at his deity, as he withdrew and faded as suddenly as he had arrived, without so much as a whisper. The blood turned back to azure, and the ink to lapis. 

He sighed, or tried to, managing only a choked wheeze as the darkness crept in, for the last time ever. And yet he tried to keep his eyes open, hearing the others running along with the waves gently lapping.  It was too late, but they were free. And the last thing he saw were the faces of the others staring wide eyed and frightened as they tried to bring him back to them. 

He thought in his final moments, that he had heard Two’s voice, 

“Help him.”

He gasped and coughed, holding his throat as he sat up. The tendrils were gone, and he took in a deep breath, filling his lungs in relief. It was only after he took several breaths that he looked around himself, finding that he was no longer on the sand but instead on a bed of soft moss and grass. He was in a clearing surrounded by ancient trees, the crowns of which formed an almost perfect circle that let him look up into the clearest night sky he had ever seen. Stars so numerous they resembled the lights of a great city glowed in white, red, yellow, and blue, and were cast against the glowing ribbon of a galaxy. 

Truly, it was a breathtaking sight. But there was something not quite right. The stars weren’t ones he recognized.

A low smoky voice broke his immersion, “Don’t be afraid”.

He turned slowly, cautious, his tall frame slightly hunched. But he paused when he saw her, straightening up and tipping his head, all six eyes focused.

A woman. Tall. Surprisingly tall. Taller even than he. Her skin was like the deepest obsidian flecked with stars, like she was a reflection of the sky above. Horns in the shape of a lyre arched from thick, wavy hair that cascaded down her shoulders. She wore a plain black peplos, which made her skin stand out all the more. Her eyes were of amethyst, and he could see no hint of malice in them. But with his sight he could see behind her a hazy reflection of her true self, a queen of stature winged and radiating a barely restrained power that could only belong to someone on par with Sleep himself…and yet…something about her felt even older. 

He didn’t approach, but neither did he back away, standing his ground even as she started to walk around him, looking him over while he tried to study her at the same time.

“Do you speak?  Or are you perhaps too frightened to do so?”, she said with a slight curve to her lips.

He paused from trying to follow her with his head. Was she teasing him? Who, or what, was she? What did she want with him? Every part of him was tensed, awaiting an attack or some other sort of nonsense. Because what else could possibly happen? The worst possible thing had already occurred so what else could go wrong?

Fuck it, he decided, and then threw his thoughts out onto the wind,

“I am not afraid”

This was a lie.

“I speak when there is something important to say”

This was not a lie. But something Sleep had taught him. Sleep did not speak with a mouth, finding it to be more befitting of mortals while he projected his thought forms. He had no need to speak otherwise. And why should he? He had Vessel to be his Voice, the one to relay his message to the others. 

“Were the Voice. You were The Voice”, a thought at the back of his mind oh so helpfully reminded him. 

He sighed. 

She plucked at his robe, which he now realized was whole and dry again. Not even a wrinkle to be found. Indeed, it was as if everything he was wearing was new again, and he reached up to feel for his mask.

It was still there, and still as attached as ever to him. And it was then he noticed her reaching out towards it.

He flinched away from her hand, recoiling like a rattlesnake without even thinking, teeth bared and body tense as a bowstring. And almost as suddenly as it happened a wave of shame hit him, and he looked away as he swallowed down the ball of dry bitterness that had formed in his throat. 

Her voice was low and gentle, “It doesn’t come off, does it? You have tried before.”

His jaw clenched. He had tried many times in fact. And with each attempt it just seemed to become even more a part of him. The first time, it felt like it would take his skin off with it, and now, well it _was_ his skin. “It…hurts.” He covered his face with his hands. He was human, once. And that was all he knew since he had first put the mask on. But whoever he was before had been erased. He had no idea how old he was, how long Sleep had him as a servant, how many times he had died and come back and died again. Now he was…just this. An empty vessel. And he was overwhelmed with that feeling of emptiness, Sleep’s presence utterly gone from him. He crumpled down to his knees, his head touching the moss like he was a supplicant. 

She knelt down beside him, her hands clasped in her lap, “Are you in pain?”

“I failed Sleep, but worse, I failed them.”

“You sound so certain when you say that. What makes you believe you failed?”

“I should have been stronger, I should have protected them, I should have been more obedient. Then none of this would have happened.”

“But you survived, as did they.”

He thought for a moment, sitting back up again to look at her, “They’re safe?”

She nodded, “They are. And so are you”, she tipped her head again, in a way that vaguely reminded him of an owl, “Can you feel anything while it’s on?”

     “What…do you mean?”

“If you were to face the sky while it was raining, would you feel the drops fall upon you?”

He paused to think on it. When was the last time he felt anything on his face? As much as the mask had become a part of him, did he ever feel the touch of the wind or the rain? Did he feel his own tears burning a trail down his cheeks? He couldn’t remember.

“I…”

“May I?”, she put her hand out, palm upright. Her nails formed short points, but still, there was something about her that felt familiar, that felt safe. As much as his mind was shouting at him that this was all some sort of trick, he decided to take the chance. 

He stared at her, then her hand, then her again, swallowed hard, and then gave a short nod.

She reached out towards his face slowly, making a low soft noise as if she was trying to gentle a wild horse. This time he didn’t flinch or shrink back, keeping still as she gingerly touched the cheek of his mask. Her eyes met his as she began to feel along the filigree-like edge that outlined his jaw, and he gave another tiny nod. She continued to feel along it, like she was memorizing its shape with her fingertips, but she stayed slow and gentle with her movements, especially when she got to the little points that poked past his chin. She went to his forehead next, and tapped a nail on the material, receiving a dull sound in response.

She made a sad sigh, “I cannot remove it, but I can help you another way”

He went to speak but as she once again caressed a fingertip along his cheek he made a soft gasp. He could feel her hand. It was warm, the pad of her finger soft and with just the slightest trace of her nail grazing him. She smiled wide as she watched his reaction, “There you are”. His breath caught in his throat at the peek of fangs behind her lips, visions of blood in the water and the grip of teeth burying in his flesh flickering in from the past in his mind. He blinked those thoughts away, forcing himself to focus on how oddly…tender she was while touching him. The way she looked at him. Not like he was a subject to be examined and flayed open down to his core so that his every memory and thought and failing was exposed to the salt air but, like how the others looked at him. With fondness. Softness. 

“You’re not used to a gentle touch are you? I think you need more of that in your life.”

“Why?”

She gave him a sad look. Though he did not understand why.

“You don’t think you deserve that?”

“I’m…it’s not about deserving-I-just…” 

But it was. He knew it was. But overpowering the fear and despair there was a deep and aching Want.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!”, he nearly yelled it but managed to just barely get a hold of himself, ‘…I want you to keep going, please.” He reached up a shaky hand, covering hers with his own as she cupped his cheek,  “please.”

She grinned again, her fangs almost glowing white against her dark skin. And for a moment he wondered what it would be like to feel them piercing the flesh of his neck, the blood dripping from him like rubies. He felt himself get warm at the thought, but kept quiet, watching her raise her other hand slowly to touch his other cheek. He couldn’t help it, he closed his eyes, feeling such softness soothing his nerves, the heat of her palms sinking into him bone-deep. The tenseness began to drop from his shoulders as her thumbs stroked under his eyes, and he realized when she swept away wetness that he had been crying. 

“Who are you?”, he said it as a plea, desperate to know and no longer bothering with the pretense that he really had any way to fight her off. Not that he wanted to anyways. Her touch awakened something in him, a need so great he would die, he would kill, he would do anything to have it recognized. 

She gave a soft and affectionate sort of smile as she kept petting his face, “You still don’t recognize me? Even after you had called to me so long ago…”

      “I called to you?” 

She got closer, her face mere inches from his, and sang in her smoky voice, near his ear in close to a whisper, “So give me the night, the night, the night…”. She traced a finger over his lower lip, “But even before then, I was listening. When you sought comfort in the darkness, when you looked to the sky and prayed to anyone who would listen, when you sought inspiration in the stars…I heard you.”

“But who-“

“Think a little longer, and you will know my name”

He blinked, his voice shaking as he spoke, “The Greeks called you Nyx…”

She laughed in soft delight, “And some called me Nótt, some called me Ītzpāpālōtl, some called me Nephthys and on and on and on…”

“Are you…like Sleep? You don’t feel the same.”

“Existence is vast. There are things even older than Sleep. Older than bones and mountains and even the stars themselves. No. We are not the same.” 

“But how-“, it clicked just as soon as he was about to ask. The symbols that Two etched into the sand. An ancient language even the gods had forgotten. Primordial sigils of protection that just so happened to look like messy doodles of stars and planets. Two had been calling to her, summoning her, whichever the case, he was the one who had brought her forth. And so it was her-, “You were the one on the beach, the one who sent Sleep away”

“Yes. That was me”, she sat back, taking one of his hands in hers, tracing the lines in his palm with her fingertip, “When Sleep claimed you initially, Two was there with you. But while he didn’t worry for himself, he worried for you. He made sure to keep his research hidden, but he’s very dedicated when he sets his mind to something, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

He nodded, nearly vibrating with Wanting to Know All but allowing her to continue

“And so when he first spoke to me I immediately answered. We made a plan, for Sleep has tossed aside many of his playthings, and the world is littered with those broken by him. I couldn’t stop Sleep entirely by myself, and he couldn’t either, so we made a pact. He would be my vessel. But not in the same way Sleep had you.”

“I never had any idea…”. 

Playthings. That really was how he saw them. And he was just one of many. For as much as Sleep had praised him in the beginning, building up his confidence and faith, it was all just to serve and end. An end which would have shattered him utterly. But somehow Two knew. Two had the foresight that he didn’t. 

“Nor would you. That was intentional. We couldn’t have Sleep’s favorite noticing anything strange was happening. At least not until we knew that Sleep was going to do for certain. When he stopped responding to you, we knew it was time.”

“Did the others know?”

“They suspected something was afoot, and knew more than they led on. But did they know exactly what was happening, and that I was there? No. As much as it pained Two to keep things from you all, it was necessary so that you would have a way out from all of this.”

He placed his head in his hands, “I am such an idiot…why didn’t I realize it would happen. Why did I stay? Why when all the signs were there that we were just puppets in his hands?”

She put a single fingertip under his chin, tilting his head to look up at her, “Your whole life you have wandered the desert in search of sweet rain and your prayers only returned bitter waters. In you there is much pain yes…but oh there is so much love. It’s not your fault that there are those who are drawn to your love only because they wish to use it. Who seek out those who have suffered and are so desperate for any love, any show of kindness, that they lay their traps for you”, she looked at him with soft eyes, and he felt his heart thump faster, “But you knew, deep down you knew you deserved better because you knew already that they deserved better. You just hadn’t made the connection yet. And when you did, you all stood together. In the face of wrath. It was not me that saved you in the end, you saved yourself. You saved them. And that was the key to bring me forth.”

She leaned forward, just to gently kiss his forehead, holding his face between her hands while his tears made trails down his face. He met her eyes anyways, and saw himself reflected in them, “You are not alone. And you are loved. The other vessels love you, and I have loved you for so very very long.”

A little vibration went up his back, a long distant memory. A soft whisper when he felt at his worst, like a breeze that slid over his skin. Words he could not hear but somehow…he didn’t feel quite so alone as he hunched over the keyboard. A heady scent coming from the window…

“I…don’t know what I can give you. I know only to worship…”

“Just be you, and let your love out. Show it to the others. I ask for your heart, but only when you are ready to give it willingly”, she nuzzled his cheek, and he was taken aback by how soft she felt, “I see your pain, and I will carry that burden with you if you wish, when you are ready.”

But it was with a heavy sob, one he could no longer hold back, that he pressed into her arms, clinging to her like a frightened child as all the pain and the grief over wanting so badly to be loved only to be tossed aside poured out of him. He had stuffed it away for so long, several lifetimes worth of trying so hard to mold himself to the expectations of others in the hopes of just a little kindness, and now the dam had finally broken. He heaved shuddering sobs as he crumpled, feeling her hugging his head, one of her delicate hands stroking his back as he grieved his past selves. 

As he finally caught some of his breath back, he loosened his grip slightly, sitting up slowly,

“I apologize.”

“For what?”

“I’m…not entirely sure to be honest.”

“You’re used to apologizing for everything aren’t you?”, she hummed and then booped the end of his nose, “That’s another habit we’ll have to break you out of”.

He felt the spot that she just touched, bemused, “So what happens now?”, he peered around the clearing again, “Is this your home?”

“It’s my Garden. A world between worlds like your beach”, she extended her hand, a luna moth flitting through the trees to land on her knuckles, he watched as she stroked  its wings, ever so gently, “What happens next is up to you. But Two doesn’t need me to hide within him any longer. He should be having a nice nap right now.”

Vessel let out a soft chuckle, “Were you the reason he was imbibing so much red bull?”

She made a face, “Oh no no, if anything I suggested he switch to using a French press but he refused”, she shook her head, but she was smiling, and he couldn’t help but notice that even in the low light of the clearing she seemed to have an inner glow. She took his hand, letting the moth crawl into his palm. As he watched it explore his fingers he asked, “Do you have worshipers?”

“No, at least not in the way most gods do. I do not have a need to be worshiped. My sustenance comes from those who revel and rejoice in the night. That is enough.”

The moth, seemingly satisfied with its explorations, flitted off into the darkness, “Would you want one?”

She hugged her knees to herself as she met his gaze, the corners of her mouth turned up, “Are you asking if I want one, or are you asking permission to worship me?”

He looked back to his empty hands, thinking. He couldn’t remember the last time he had much of a choice in anything. Let alone something like…this. 

She bumped her shoulder softly into him, “Or are you asking for something else?”

He swallowed, feeling the warmth radiate from her and how soft she felt just from the touches she gave him. He wanted…more, “I’m…honestly…wondering what you taste like…”

She shifted, and for a moment he had the frightened thought that he had made her angry, but instead she had turned to look at him, touching his jaw so he would look back at her, “You’re welcome to find out, taste and touch as much as you like”, she nuzzled his cheek, running a finger over his lower lip and playfully whispering, against his ear, “I promise I won’t bite you”.

The corners of his mouth twitched up, “… and what if I-want-you to bite me?”

She laughed, and the sound made his smile go wide. “And what else would you want?”, she slid behind him, sliding her arms around his neck, so she was pressed fully against him, and he found himself giving a little shiver as her breath warmed his skin, the fragrance of night blooming jasmine on her skin, “Would you make me yours?”

“Is that what you really want? You know it would be completely unlike Sleep...”

“I know, that’s why I want it”, he reached up, slowly, to touch her hand, a reassurance, “Control is not what you desire. You wish for something else from me.”

He could feel her breathing against his back, “Only your heart, freely given. Your mind, your friends, everything else is yours alone.”

“Then make me yours, and be mine?”

“Gladly~”

He woke up. The morning light was gray as it crept over the horizon. The ocean's waves calm in the background. He slowly sat up, and he felt a wave of grief wash over him. No. It couldn’t have been a dream. Could it? Another punishment by Sleep? To give him a dream so real only to take it all away at the end wasn’t beyond him. And it wouldn’t be the first time, but to make this would be beyond cruelty. No. He wanted to scream, to howl curses at the sky and the waters and at existence itself. 

 He scrambled to his feet, and sucked in a breath at the sudden ache in his neck, and as he reached up he gingerly stroked over the bite mark that formed a perfect crescent there. The one bite he wouldn’t let her heal. And he realized he could still taste her on his tongue, his back stinging slightly from when her nails raked down his skin, the fingers of her other hand twined with his in the soft moss. 

He huffed a soft laugh, closing his eyes as he turned inward, seeking out her resting place. 

“Are you still there?”, he said in a whisper, his own heartbeat and breathing the only response as he searched his own mind. No. That was wrong. She told him his thoughts would be his own did she not? So why would she take up residence there? No, no. Her throne was elsewhere. And then he felt it, just the slightest stirring, a tiny shift in movement while in a deep sleep. There. Coiled around his heart protectively, she rested quietly. He pressed his hand over his heart, but a distant shout made his eyes open again. He turned, finding Three, Four, and Two running towards him. He was about to speak when he was full on tackled by Three, falling back with a grunt and immediately barraged with questions,

“WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD FOR GOOD”

“WHERE DID YOU GO?”

“TWO HAS BEEN SLEEPING FOR HOURS”

“ARE YOU HURT YOU’RE GRIMACING”

“That’s because when you threw yourself at him he landed on a piece of driftwood you tit”, Four was laughing but mercifully helped Vessel back up into sitting position, settling into the sand next to him, “You alright then?”

“I think so”, he found the piece of broken driftwood behind him and tossed it aside, “What did I miss?”

“We thought you were dying and then you just…vanished.”

“We’ve seen you die before but, not like this”

  “And you always come back but-“, they exchanged looks and then Four gestured with his head to Two,  who had plonked himself down opposite of Vessel, a beatific glint in his eyes. “He kept saying you’d be back, before passing right out.”

Vessel huffed a laugh, “No wonder, he had been keeping a pretty heavy secret under wraps for a long time”, but he reached out and took Two’s hands in his, before kissing them like he was royalty, “Thank you. You saved all of us.”

Two shrugged, “Well I couldn’t very well lose all of you could I? Besides-“, he flung his arms around Vessel, tackling him back into the sand, causing him to make a grunt that was less substantial that the one Three had him make but still one that he knew he would be feeling later, “We have so much more to do and to see!”

The other two had the temerity to flop down on him as well, so he was fully trapped, “Am I EVER going to be allowed to get back up?”

Four rested his head against Vessel’s chest, “You’re going to have to get used to this. You’re stuck with us I’m afraid.”

Three rumbled on the other side, “Maybe in an hour or so we’ll let you up for tea. But only that. And to tell us where the hell you’ve been off to disappearing without leaving a note and all”

“You came back just in time, look, the sun is rising”, Two pointed towards the horizon, and Vessel was just only able to lift his head to look, 

“So it is…but I wonder what the night will bring.”

[juniemunie]

Its the kids turn!! ⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

i put way too much effort in this

Don't worry they're still FAR from the conventional nuclear family lmao

PJ is by @/7goodangel

Gradient is by @/askcomboclub

Template by @/unu-nunu-art

Error and Fresh by @/loverofpiggies

Ink by @/comyet

Design notes under!

Design Notes for PJ:

-Error patches up the tears on his scarf! Very nice of him to do.

-All the art materials he has stashed on his belt are for food. He likes to snack on em often.

-Because of Error's..."tolerance" of him, he has more strings that he can use. He's got enough to form legs.

-Fresh gifts him magical ink durable Heely shoes! Instead of shedding footprints all over the place, he can instead heely/skate around and leave behind lines. He's creative on using it during battles. He would never admit it, but he appreciates the gift.

Design Notes for Gradient:

-I based his outfit off ye old web aesthetics like Cyber Grunge,,, I really liked the big pants look on him.

-I placed his scarf on his neck to match with his family, but also to match Template's scarf hehe, a little sign of his influence.

-You can't see it but his laptop bag has a ton of pins and merch of random dated internet references.

-His shoes looking old design Ink's shoes were complete accident but I liked it enough to keep anyway. Maybe Ink gave it to him and he spiced it up!

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

if Crozier had a nickel for every time someone close to him kept a mortal wound secret from him he'd have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's definitely enough to give him some very specific trauma for the rest of his life

[karuopla]

mister Tumblr I am behaving :)

[fawnim]

"Good morning, dear."

[Alt version under the cut !!] im so insane about back tattoos - tr@mp stamps especially - and im so insane about my fem azira so when Ace suggested it, i screamed WHY NOT and blacked out and now we are here.

If you want to support me, please consider commissioning me or tipping me over on kofi! I have a goal of $200 for school and living expenses, just so i can help alleviate some burden for my dad who's getting a heart surgery soon. I also offer sketch commissions on kofi for $5-$15! Any help would be a biiiig help. Thank you so much!

@goodomensafterdark

[steddielations]

“Evening, sir.”

It’s the Harrington boy. Again.

“I told you, son, it’s Wayne,” he manages a smile, harder to do these days, like chipping it out of cement and dusting it off. But he gets it done.

Steve doesn’t have the Henderson boy with him today, that’s a first.

“Where’s the curly one?” He steps aside, letting Steve into the trailer door, more rickety than before. No money left to fix it after repairing the bulk of the earthquake damage.

“Dustin? He doesn’t wanna watch the game, and trust me, you don’t wanna listen to that kid complaining the whole time,” Steve walks by, sorta chuckling to himself, “I always miss the replay ‘cause he makes me change the channel to those D&D cartoons during the commercials, just like—”

He stops in front of the couch, looking over his shoulder at Wayne like he’s afraid he messed up somehow. Wayne noticed that look often from him, less and less, but still often. All that confidence he carries can drop on a dime, sorta reminded him of—

“Like Ed?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“S’alright. I don’t mind talking about him if you want,” Wayne manages another concrete smile, but he means it. Steve always waits for him to bring up Eddie first, like he doesn’t want to remind him if it ain’t on his mind, but Wayne likes to be reminded. It’s nice to feel like he’s not the only one missing him. “But the game was yesterday and y’know the cable’s out.”

“Yep, got it covered. I uh, I taped it,” Steve fishes a VHS tape from his back pocket. Fancy. Wayne would worry about him using that for his sake, but he has a feeling Steve’s folks aren’t around enough to notice.

“The Colts win?”

Steve flips the tape around, “Haven’t watched it, so we can bet on it if you’re feeling lucky.”

It doesn’t feel so dry and heavy when Wayne laughs a bit then, waving Steve to go ahead and start up the TV. He already caught the game on the radio, but he bets on the Colts anyway. Loser’s supposed to do the dishes after they scrounge together some soup, but Steve does them anyway.

Wayne would make a stink about it but he can tell Steve just wants to help, to feel like he’s helping. Same thing when the Henderson boy comes around to see him, wanting to hear all the stories, even the scary ones. So Wayne doesn’t mind letting Eddie’s friends feel like they’re helping him.

His nephew didn’t have many friends. Real, cover-your-six kinda friends. The boys he played his music with, they’ve come by a couple times, Wayne always liked Jeff despite the racket. That older fella that’s doing time now, Wayne wasn’t too fond of. And some of Eddie’s dungeon buddies he talked about were the only few.

Now, casual acquaintances? Anybody who didn’t have anywhere else to sit when he had an empty spot at his table? Sure, Eddie had those in spades.

His boy was good at that, putting on a good old show for his crowd, on a stage to keep his distance. That damn Al did him in good, never could trust easily, having his old man pop up and drag him into his mess before he took off again. And Eddie’s poor momma would’ve done right by him, if she hadn’t gotten sick so young.

Took Wayne a long time to get Eddie to depend on him, to trust this was his place to stay and he didn’t have to earn it, Wayne wasn’t just filling his head to scheme something out of him.

Love ain’t a transaction that way. He wasn’t ever any good at saying it, but he tried to show Eddie the best he could.

His boy though, always carried a debt with him. Like he owed Wayne something for taking him in, had to graduate quick and make it outta here, do something with the better life he gave him. Al dug him in so deep, Eddie stayed roped into whatever his latest scheme was (the cars, the dealing, the gambling, thank God Eddie wasn’t there when the goddamn robbery went wrong, 25 to life) like maybe it’d be enough to keep him from running off again.

The odds have never been in favor of people like them, poor folk in a town that’s stuck in its ways, where everybody’s just like their old man, but Al made his choices and Wayne made his. Rest their mother’s soul, she did her best. Part of Wayne was relieved when Al got locked up, at least Wayne had a better chance of keeping Eddie from going down the same path, try to raise him right.

Being a Munson wasn’t a crime. He didn’t owe a darn thing to anybody. Eddie could graduate at his own pace, play whatever games and music he wanted, dress however, that didn’t mean he was up to no good. And a lot of boys get into dealing for a little easy extra money around here, he was gonna grow out of that just like Wayne did.

It worked until all this mess.

That’s why Eddie ran off after what happened to the poor Cunningham girl. He gets spooked when something goes wrong, like it’ll be the last straw he can’t make up for so he runs off. Like the first time he didn’t make senior year, went and hid out with that Rick fella that Wayne never did like, got Eddie deep into that business he tried to keep a secret.

‘Course Wayne knew. He knows exactly what and where his boy hides. If those damn cops weren’t tailing him, he would’ve gone straight to get him.

That was before he knew it would turn into all of this. Now he wishes he would’ve done it anyway. Gone right to Eddie, told him it wasn’t his fault that everything got all turned upside down. Told him he knew he was innocent right from the get-go, and got him away from this rotten old town.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t go get his boy.

So now he’s just trying to be there for Eddie’s boys, since he can’t.

“You have a night shift tonight right? Gonna put on a pot of coffee,” Steve says once he’s finished up the dishes.

Wayne hums. There’s usually more noise going on during these visits. Steve’s still alright at carrying on, even without the Henderson boy’s chatter to fill any gaps.

It was strange, the first time the two of them showed up. Wayne knew Eddie was close with Dustin, but he didn’t have a clue that he was chumming it up with the Harrington boy. Just don’t seem like the same type of company. He might not believe it if it weren’t so obvious that Steve cared about his boy. He suspected before, but now with Steve showing up here alone, he knows.

Steve misses Eddie in a different sorta way than Dustin.

“No cream or sugar, right?” Steve looks humored by that as he passes the mug of black coffee to him, “How are you related to Eddie again?”

Wayne’s mouth turns upward, remembering his nephew’s god awful sweet tooth. He picked up a box of Honeycombs the other day in the store out of habit. “Just happened to be standin’ there when they beamed him down.”

That gets a good chuckle out of Steve. Nothing wistful weighing it down and Wayne’s glad, watching Steve pour himself a cup of coffee too.

Then bitter-sweetness swirls in his chest, seeing the mug that Steve chose for himself. Must’ve dug it out from one of the boxes Wayne hadn’t hung back on the walls yet. The earthquake did a number on his collection. That Garfield one was the only one he’d gotten around to gluing back together.

“What is it?” Steve asks, cup paused at his mouth.

“Ah nothin’ just,” Wayne waves it off, “That’s the mug Ed always used.”

“Oh, I can use a diff—”

“Nah, nah go ‘head. It’s fine.”

Unconvinced, Steve takes a wary sip.

Mostly these days, Wayne just feels like a watch without a ticker, a chest with nothing beating inside it. He can’t name the feeling he has at seeing Eddie’s old mug being used by someone else, but at least it’s something.

“Y’know, he used to put everything in that sucker. Soda pop, soup, cereal, you name it,” Wayne shakes his head, mouth twitching into a smile, “I’d have to wrestle it away from him just to give it a good washing. It’s well loved, alright. Leaks now.”

As if on cue, Steve has to grab a napkin to sit underneath it.

Wayne lets out an amused hum, “He uh— Didn’t have much stability ‘fore he came to live with me, so he’d get real attached to things like that.”

Carried around a stuffed dragon they picked up at a garage sale ‘til Wayne couldn’t sew the wings back on anymore. Never wanted to throw anything away. Got real anxious about Wayne going to work sometimes, even when he was too old for a sitter. Held onto him saying “Stay home just today, Dad, please.” Which, he didn’t mind Eddie calling him that. It always softened him up, made him give in. Wishes now that he’d told Eddie upfront. Maybe he never would’ve stopped.

“Thought for sure he’d marry that damn guitar one day.”

Steve nearly sputters his coffee, laughing at that, “Yeah, those two are made for each other.”

It’s nice, seeing the way that story lit Steve up. Sorta like his boy can still make someone happy. Hurts like hell that he ain’t here to do it himself, but Wayne was always good at telling stories. That’s where Eddie learned it from.

“I’m uh,” Steve deflates after a minute, looking down at the mug, “God, I’m just really sorry, Wayne.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too, Steve,” he says, because, well.

Wayne gets the feeling that his boy was Steve’s boy too.

Read the rest on Ao3

[jayjay-thejet-plane]

Oops! I stayed up till 5am drawing this (why do i do these things…)

Anyways; prostate massage in professor seresin’s office after hours <3

(for the piercer bradley (and professor jake) au!)

thank you alex for all the wonderful ideas!

Close up below :P

[just-french-me-up]

If you'd still like Dreamling kiss prompts, how about 7 or 17?

@martybaker asked : Hello, your fics are so lovely! May I humbly request ‘A kiss to shut them up’ if you’re still taking prompts? 👉👈 @anonymous asked : Thoughts on dreamling 7 or 17 (to shut them up or to distract - maybe even both at once?) for the kiss prompts?

We're shutting him up, yall! This is a Retired!Dream one, in which Dream struggles with the human body and human condition, and can't see how he can measure up to his old self in Hob's eyes. Angsty you say? Deceivingly horny I raise you! I kept this sorta M rated but... hey if there's more to come *winkwink* who knows?

The human body was a curious thing. It required constant attention, fluids, fuel, maintenance, care. And yet it was so... limiting. Morpheus could still remember how it felt, to think of a place and feel the ground shift under his feet without ever having to move. There had been no hunger then. No thirst. No itching, for his skin had never had the notion that it could be too dry.

If he had ever felt those things, it had been because he had chosen to.

Now the world imposed itself to him, there wasn't much of a choice.

Urges baffled him the most. The dryness coating his mouth on a particularly hot day, his mind conjuring up images of cold, condensation-weeping bottles. The drowsiness taking hold of him after dinner, weighing on his eyelids. The burning, devouring heat flaring in his abdomen as Hob would step out of the shower, a towel lazily tied around his hips, the line of hair trailing down his navel guiding Morpheus' gaze downwards.

It was a strange thing, to be overcome by such sensations. An infuriating thing, really. He ought to be able to resist them. He had been able to resist them, once, to ignore them, dismiss them into nothing if he so chose. How vexing it was, to be a creature of wants and needs, when your existence had been nothing but careful control.

He would not tell Hob, but he could not help but feel... lesser. How clever could his mind be, now that he only had access to his own? How good could his hands be, he who had been able to breathe life into dream clay, fashion lands and castles with a single thought? How pleasing could his touch be, now that he was barred from his lover's unconscious? How could he compare to who and what he had been, once?

They had not made love ever since his encounter with the Kindly Ones. Hob had never pushed, reading Morpheus far better than Morpheus ever could, now. There had been times, here and there, when Morpheus had thought they would, with lingering kisses growing deeper, embraces in bed tighter, but something had held him back. Some bitter gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach. Yet another thing he could not seem to control.

Yet he wanted. Desperately, frustratingly so. The most mundane things would strike him as the most erotic sights he could fathom. Hob drinking his coffee in the morning, his Adam's apple bobbing as he'd swallow. Hob reading the day's papers, his gaze intent, focused. Hob reaching up to grab this or that from a cupboard, his shirt riding up and showing his navel, while his tired pajama bottoms hung from his hips, revealing the slight dips there, a hint of hair...

Morpheus' body would betray him often, subjecting him to fantasies and erections that, much like the rest, he held little control over. Unlike food, lust was a hunger he never seemed to satisfy. It only grew.

If Hob had ever caught him staring, he never said anything. Instead, he was highly skilled at noticing when Morpheus' mind would start spinning on itself, feeding the loop of existential dread looming over him. He had taken to giving Morpheus tasks, then, something to focus on. Although it would not quite clear the storm, it muffled it somewhat.

Perhaps he'd sensed another one of Morpheus' spirals that night, when his voice rose from the bedroom.

"Oh, bollocks! Love? Might need a hand here."

As he stepped inside the bedroom, Morpheus found Hob standing by the mirror, struggling with his button-up. He flashed a quick contrite smile at him, emphatically tugging at the fabric.

"Can't manage to button those buggers off," he explained.

"Allow me."

The human condition was one thing, but buttons he could handle. Morpheus' touch was methodical, surgical almost, as he focused on the task at hand, yet three buttons later, he could not help but feel his focus slip. He could feel Hob's warmth under his fingertips. His heartbeat. As he breathed in, Hob's scent filled his lungs, distracting him further. By the time he was done with the shirt, his mind had gone elsewhere.

Hob wore an undershirt, a thin, almost see-through thing. It required barely any effort to see his chest in spite of the fabric. Morpheus' eyes trailed down, heat flushing his cheeks. Mindlessly, his thumb traced the line of hair down Hob's abdomen, his mouth filled with want. He could feel hot breath against his lips. Humans were not meant to withstand such hunger.

They were kissing before Morpheus could articulate another thought, Hob's mouth warm and soft against his, the coarse brush of his stubble adding fuel to the fire overtaking him. No doubt Hob had meant for this to be tender, but Morpheus was famished, taking, and taking, and taking all that was offered until his lungs might explode. He found himself gasping against Hob, nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

"Hey," Hob whispered, gentle to a fault. "It's okay. There's no rush."

Morpheus swallowed hard, feverishly catching his breath. Hob's palm was invitingly cool against his cheek.

"I will keep," he continued. "We don't have to―"

"I want to," Morpheus rasped, weeks of frustration pushing the words out of him. "I want you. I just―"

"Just what?"

The patience in his voice was the lifeline Morpheus held onto as he sighed, embarrassment flooding through him.

"This form, it feels... finite. Flawed. Lacking."

Fallible, he did not say. He watched as Hob's eyes grew round, ridicule joining embarrassment.

"Duck―"

"I am not as I once was," he continued, overcome with the need to justify himself. "I am no longer suited to anticipate your every want. I can not satisfy you to the degree I once could. Everything I have to offer is bound to disappoint in comparison."

Hob's stare felt heavy, too heavy for Morpheus to hold, but as he looked away, Hob took his chin between his fingers, directing his gaze back to him.

"Love, I―. Sex is not about making some kind of... of ranking."

"Your unconscious would rank it, regardless."

"Fuck my unconscious. It's my conscious self who wants you, magic dick or not."

The corners of Hob's mouth twitched at his own joke, but seriousness soon took over.

"I love you," he said, prompting Morpheus to look away again. "I love you. I would love you Endless, I would love you human, I would love you if you were a tentacled monster and hell, you've been that before if you'd recall!"

Morpheus fought back the smile creeping up on his lips.

"I never cared how we'd fuck. Well, I did, but― I did because it was you. I wanted to be with you. I still do."

Hob sighed, and they stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other.

"At least now we know that mind of yours is well and truly yours and not a Dream of the Endless exclusive."

"An unfortunate discovery."

Hob's hand settled on Morpheus' waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of his shirt.

"I do want you," he said. "Whenever you're ready. If ever. But I don't want you holding back because you've convinced yourself I may not enjoy it well enough, according to some cosmic standard you've set for yourself."

Morpheus nodded slowly, his own thumb back to tracing the happy trail on Hob's stomach.

"I have always found you pleasing enough, after all," he dared, shooting a tentative look at Hob. "As human as you are."

Hob made a face, pulling him closer by the waist.

"Your compliments need work, duck. But I do think there's a silver lining to this whole human condition you are overlooking."

"Is that so?"

Hob smirked at him, fully conscious of how devilishly handsome that made him. He had had, after all, centuries to hone those skills. How long would it take him?

"You no longer have access to my unconscious, right?"

"I do not."

"Which means you can no longer anticipate my every want, as you said."

Now that was rubbing salt into the wound.

"Yes," he conceded with a frown.

"Well imagine how arousing it is, my love," Hob said, his eyes darker by the second, "to be able to surprise you."

A warm shiver went down Morpheus' spine, sending his pulse into a frantic race. He swallowed thickly, holding Hob's gaze.

"How arousing?"

"Very. Cock-achingly, one might say."

Morpheus glanced down, finding Hob's trousers tight, his hard cock pressing against the fabric, making his knees weak. The human body truly was weak in the most delicious way.

"I could dare you to surprise me," he teased back, his breathing loud in his ears.

"You could."

Gods, that mouth of his, Morpheus was quite certain he could be undone from that tone alone. But still.

"But should you find me displeasing, you ought to―"

The rest of his words were swallowed into a kiss, unheard and discarded, replaced by tender sighs and wanting hands, and after a while, Morpheus found he'd forgotten what they even were, his mind blissfully blank save for pleasure.

The human body was a curious thing. A highly pleasing thing, at times.

Send me a kissing prompt?

[black-rose-writings]

Unexpected Consequences (Danny Phantom One Shot)

Also on AO3

Inspired by and referencing the events of this comic by @lilianade-comics

By the time Danny Fenton was four, his parents have gone through all of the available babysitters in the entirety of Amity Park and Elmerton. Well, technically not all of them, but apparently, there is a critical percentage of babysitters scared half to death, at best, which makes all other babysitters turn you down no matter how high the pay.

Of course, in this case, the problem was with the house, not the kids, but the Fentons would not be convinced that their house is anything but the safest place for their children to be. What if a ghost came to the babysitter’s house? How would they defend themselves? Do ignore the fact that their own house was a magnet for ghosts, because that’s exactly what they did.

And it brought them to him.

The last thing Vlad Masters expected to hear during his Thursday dinner was his phone ringing.

Well, that was not entirely the case. He was running a rather large company by then, and he was known to take after-hours calls. Not happily, but it wasn’t as if he had any sort of life outside of work – not one that he could be open about, anyway – and with the global expansion of his enterprises in the last few years, sometimes people simply forgot about the existence of time zones.

He didn’t expect to find his personal phone ringing. A small thing that he modified himself and was fairly certain only his mother and a certain annoying definitely licensed and absolutely not shady or paranormal in any way psychologist had the number for. This was neither of them.

He was sure Spectra would give the number to someone just to piss him off, but no living being (and very few dead ones) even knew of their connection. Which left his mother, whom he did instruct to not give the number to anyone, under any circumstances. Of course, telling a Masters to not do something was entirely pointless if said family member did actually want to do the thing.

He hoped to all Ancients his mother wasn’t trying to set him up with some pretty single girl or a recently divorced single mother from her church again.

And while that prayer had been answered, it was much like making a wish to Desiree – somehow worse than the thing he wanted to avoid.

On the other end of the line was Jack fucking Fenton.

It took considerable willpower to not immediately crush the phone and burn the remains to nothing. He did, however, transform before Jack even finished the first sentence.

What ghost wouldn’t get defensive, hearing the voice of their ghostmaker, for the first time after a decade of silence, talking cheerfully and excitedly? Like he hadn’t killed him with his impatience. Like he hadn’t left him to rot. Like he didn’t turn him into an abomination. Like no time had passed. Like nothing had changed.

How dare he talk like that? How dare he ask for favors?

His ghost half may have been the more emotional one, but there was also a level of confidence and power that it brought. Things that he was going to need if he was to talk to Jack Fenton and not let the oaf know anything was wrong. He was fairly certain the man wouldn’t notice either way, but there was no way to know when Madeline could be listening in.

Jack – no, both of them – were asking for a favor. They needed someone to babysit their kids.

Vlad was vaguely aware the two of them had produced two children – the thought of Jack’s clumsy hands anywhere near Madeline made him see red every time – focus, Vlad.

It seemed the couple had bought a haunted broadcast tower to work in and had transformed it into a livable house (or so they claimed). Unfortunately, it seemed that while the ghosts haunting the tower steered clear of the Fentons, babysitters had no such luck, and neither did their kids – though they taught the kids basics of ghost defense (Vlad didn’t know much about kids, but he was fairly certain ghost fighting skills of any sort were not standard curriculum for four and six-year-olds).

It took Vlad a considerable effort to not send Jack to hell and tell him that it’s their own fault. He thought of Madeline. They were her children too.

Of all the plans he had come up with, of all the ways he considered wooing her, this was not one that had come to him before. Things have changed. They weren’t in college anymore. His Madeline was a mother, now.

Perhaps all he needed was to show Madeline that he was a better parent than Jack Fenton. It couldn’t be that hard, right?

***

If you told Vlad Masters the day he (run from) left the hospital that there would come a day when the love he felt for Madeline was going to be but a distant echo or that he would love children sired by Jack Fenton as if they were his own, he would probably laugh at you.

If you said to him the day he received the notice of the birth of their first child, that he would one day destroy any creature that would even dare to look at her meanly, that he would endure any pain, put himself between any weapon and this child, he might have blasted you to pieces. He would endure. But she was so human. So fragile.

If you told him the day he found out about their second child that one day, that the child would be the first human to find out his secret, he might have just flown over and throttled the baby in its cradle, just to be safe, and felt exactly zero remorse about the action. Nobody would ever know. Babies die all the time. Especially with parents like his.

If you told him the day he received that fateful phone call that one day, he would be the first to hold Danny Fenton after his death, the only way he would imagine such a scenario happening would be he was the one to kill the boy. Why else would he hold Jack Fenton’s son?

If you told him, any time in those 18 years between his transformation and today, that the Fentons would make their own child a halfa with their negligence, he would have nodded along. Perhaps he would have even been excited about finally having someone be like him, someone he could teach, someone who would share the hate every ghost feels for their ghostmaker for Jack Fenton. It didn’t surprise him – they never changed in that way. And if there was some excitement, when he found out, he could never imagine how much it would hurt.

If you had told him how much the second fateful call would hurt, what emotions it would ignite with him, how irreversibly it would alter him, he would have never picked up the first one.

But he picked up both and there was no going back.

***

Danny’s hands were shaking as he carefully put in the numbers into the phone.

He felt so stupid. He knew it was stupid. He knew it, and he did it anyway.

And for what?

He had been so proud when his parents left him alone at home for the whole weekend for the first time, when Jazz convinced them to take a campus tour at one of her top choices for a university.

She was sixteen for god’s sake, she had so much time for that stuff.

So, of course he invited his friends over. Of course his techno geek and goth best friends wanted to see the stupid ghost lab his parents had in the basement.

Of course they dared him to go into the ghost portal. It wasn’t working. Danny knew that. He also knew it was dangerous. If he could avoid touching any of his parents’ stupid invention for the rest of his life, he would. Which was kinda hard when half of the house counted as one of those inventions.

They called him a coward.

Tucker was one to talk. He was afraid of hospitals for no good reason. Danny could name about a hundred reasons why messing with his parents’ tech or ghosts was a bad idea. It didn’t bother him that Tucker called him a coward. They were losers and cowards and that was one of the reasons they were friends in the first place. Okay, maybe it bothered him a little, but he would never admit that.

Sam, though, it hurt from her. The girl seemed to not be afraid of anything and she was fascinated by all things strange and dark. All the things that pissed off her parents. And as much as Danny told himself she was a friend and he didn’t want to make it weird, anyone with eyes could see the giant crush he had on her.

Sam wasn’t afraid of anything. And even though he could name all those reasons for why he shouldn’t do it, why they shouldn’t be in the lab at all, why he just wanted to spend the weekend playing videogames and raiding his dad’s snack hideouts and why that’s exactly what they should do, none of those words came to mind as Sam goaded him.

He never asked to have a weird family. He just wanted to be normal and deal with just the normal kid problems. He just wanted his friends to understand that unlike them, he wasn’t a weirdo by choice.

Maybe he snapped at them a little. Maybe he raised his voice a little. Maybe he called them just as shallow and image-obsessed as the A-listers. Maybe he called them boring and attention seeking. Maybe he cursed them out a little.

Maybe a lot more than little.

And they left.

He sat in the living room, watching the clock, alone.

Of course he was alone. He yelled at his only friends.

And for what?

Maybe they were right. Maybe he was just a coward. The portal wasn’t working. How dangerous could it be?

As the minutes ticked by and he felt worse and worse about what he did, he got up and headed back into the lab.

He put on one of the small hazmat suits his parents had for him. He had meticulously torn off and threw out all of the stupid patches with his dad’s face that the self-obsessed mad scientist put on them, months ago, in the off chance he was forced to wear one outside or near a camera. He knew that Sam would mock him for it. But with his parents inventions, he’d rather be safe than sorry. Or dead. Or worse – a ghost.

The thought terrified him. If his parents were to be believed, ghosts were nothing more than echoes of human minds, twisted, either entirely animalistic or evil. Monsters, wearing the face of the dead.

He didn’t even believe in ghosts. He had memories of them from when he was a kid, but they could have just been dreams. With how much their parents talked about the stuff, of course his mind would haunt him (ha!) with them in his sleep.

He realized Sam had left her new camera on the table. She had shown him and Tucker how to operate it a few weeks earlier when she bought it.

Danny turned it on, started recording and left it on one of the tables, pointed at the portal.

“Hey, Sam, Tucker… here’s to show you I’m not a coward. I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

He waved at the camera, took a deep breath and stepped into the portal.

It didn’t work. How dangerous could it be?

How dangerous could it be?

He couldn’t get that thought out of his head as he stumbled out of the portal. It hurt. It hurt so much. And he wasn’t himself. Not anymore.

Twisted monster wearing his own face. A monster his parents would probably hunt and tear apart for stealing his face, for stealing their child away from them.

He sat on the couch and cried. He wished so much to just be himself again.

He couldn’t be dead, right? Everything hurt. He couldn’t be dead. Ghosts didn’t feel pain.

He looked at his arm, at the formerly black glove, now snow white.

He just wanted to be himself again…

He watched as white light appeared, first around his waist and then travelling along the rest of his body, turning him back into himself.

But his parents said ghosts could sometimes pose as living humans.

He felt his heart beating in his chest, now.

He couldn’t be dead if his heart was beating, right?

It didn’t just moments ago.

The rings.

A memory came up. A memory he dismissed as another dream.

He must have been really small, one of the first times uncle Vlad was watching him and Jazz. He was making smoothies in the middle of the night.

Danny wanted to see what was going on and he saw uncle Vlad, with those same rings around him. His normally silver hair seemed pitch black, before the black rings swept across him and turned him into his normal self. He was too young to have gray hair even now, and more so then. His parents explained that it was because of an accident back when they were in college. And accident with a portal prototype…

Vlad gave him candy to promise to never tell anyone what he saw that night. Danny did very distinctly remember eating it all at once, because he was a four-year-old given an irresponsible amount of candy, and how sick he wound up being after.

He thought the whole thing was just a dream. And maybe it was.

When he looked at his hand, he couldn’t see it. He still felt it there, it still made a dent in the couch pillow, but it was invisible.

Something was very, very wrong and he needed to solve it before his parents got home.

And there was only one person that might have the answers.

He called uncle Vlad.

***

Vlad told him to not panic.

That was easier said than done.

He tried to. He tried to keep himself occupied. He took off the stupid hazmat suit.

He other him was still wearing his.

He wanted to watch the TV, but after the remote phased through his hand and fell beneath the couch, he gave up on that.

He could just go to bed. Vlad lived a few states over. It would take him a few hours to arrive.

Maybe he would wake up in the morning and find out it was just a bad dream.

It couldn’t be. Bad dreams don’t hurt.

Most of the pain had faded by now, though he still felt sore, especially in his own body. The other him didn’t hurt that much – but Danny was scared if he fell asleep in that body, he would never wake up. Not as himself anyway.

He was staring at the living room ceiling as the sun set outside. His whole body felt numb. He was tired, but in a different way than needing to sleep. He didn’t have the energy to get up and turn on the lights.

As the darkness crept up more and more, he realized that he could see in the dark a lot better than he did before.

He felt cold, he realized. Not horribly so, just barely colder than would be comfortable.

Cold like the dead.

A horrible thought crossed his mind.

His parents said ghosts could possess human bodies. Maybe he was already dead, his body growing cold slowly, but he just refused to leave it.

Maybe if he closed his eyes, he would never wake up. He could just let go.

Uncle Vlad would arrive in the morning and find his dead body, laying here on the couch.

A shiver run down his spine, and he would swear a cloud of mist escaped his lips.

Maybe it was just cold in the house, and he was freaking out over nothing.

Then, the light turned on.

He jumped up to see who did it.

Uncle Vlad stood by the door leading from the kitchen, looking him up and down.

It took Danny a moment to realize he was floating and that he didn’t have legs.

Instead, there was a wisp-like tail, moving with a mind of its own.

He may or may not have screamed in shock and moments later, he was back to his old self and hit the couch.

He poked his leg. Solid. Normal.

He gulped and looked up at uncle Vlad.

“Danny…” the man whispered. Danny knew his uncle. His voice was always comforting. It was now, too. But there was something else, that he couldn’t put a finger on. Vlad breathed in as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.

He sat down next to Danny and pulled him into a hug.

Uncle Vlad was always warm. Too warm. And he was always super weird about it. But right now, Danny felt the chill that had plagued him since he stepped out of that stupid portal melt away. For the first time since that scream left his throat, he still felt it hurt, he felt like he could breathe properly.

For a moment, it didn’t matter what happened, or if he was some kind of monster now. He felt safe.

He began to cry. He cried into Vlad’s stupid fancy suit, because the man apparently didn’t own any other clothes.

He felt his body tingle the same way it did when he dropped the remote and he feared he would slip from Vlad’s grasp. But he didn’t.

“If you don’t want to hug, you can just say that.” Vlad muttered.

Danny sniffled and looked up at him. “What… what do you mean?”

“Intangibility. But I think you didn’t do it on purpose, did you?”

“I… I don’t know.” Danny admitted. He didn’t want to let go, but he felt like a baby sobbing into his uncle’s chest like that. Vlad run his fingers through Danny’s hair.

“It’s okay. It takes time to learn to control it.” Vlad said. “And I’ll help you in any way I can, little badger.”

“Do you… do you know what…” Danny paused, looking for words, unsure of which question to ask first. “What happened to me?”

Vlad seemed to have just as hard of a time finding words.

“Am I dead?” Danny whispered after a moment.

Vlad sighed. “Yes. But you’re also alive.” Vlad run his hand along Danny’s left arm, where he still felt echoes of the electricity that went through it not so long ago. The electricity that killed him. Vlad let go of him and moved away. Danny didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to go back to the cold. “I want to show you something.”

“Oh… okay.” Danny muttered, letting.

Vlad took Danny’s hand and placed it over his own heart. Then, he laid his own over the center of Danny’s chest, where the cold was coming from.

“Like this, we’re still alive. Our hearts are beating. We need to breathe. We need to eat and sleep like any other human.” Vlad paused for a moment. “Can you transform?”

“I think so.” Danny nodded. He had tried turning back and forth a few times while waiting for Vlad. All it took was a thought.

Vlad turned, too.

If he looked closely, he could still recognize his uncle. The shape of the nose and face, the stupid goatee. But if he didn’t look for his uncle, he probably wouldn’t see it. The ghost had blue skin, red eyes with no whites or pupils, pointed ears and when Vlad spoke, Danny could see sharp fangs glint inside of his mouth. Even the shape of the body was different – mom said uncle Vlad had never fully recovered from his accident and the resulting hospital stay. It seemed that the ghost half of him had no such problem, and probably much more resembled the shape the man had been back then. And if his human body had been a little too warm, this one was basically a walking space-heater.

“Like this, no heartbeat.” Vlad whispered. “No need to breathe and no need to eat human food, either.”

“What about sleep?”

“Unless you’re in the ghost zone, yes.” Vlad nodded. “But you can’t stay in one form for too long. If you stay human for too long and don’t use any of your powers, they will simply happen on their own, whether you want it or not. And if you stay as a ghost for too long, your human body will weaken.”

“Will it go away?”

“No. This is you, now.” Vlad sighed. “But you’re not alone in this. I’ll teach you. I’ll help you.”

Vlad turned back to his human form again and Danny followed suit. He could now name the feeling that happened when he did. The suddenly loud thump of his heart, the need to breathe.

“What was that… tail thing?” Danny asked. It had been bothering him the whole time.

“Sometimes, ghosts do that, when we’re flying. Not all and not always, but it does make flying a little more effective.”

“Am I a monster, now? Mom and dad said all ghosts are monsters.”

“Your mom and dad are too obsessed with being right that they get a lot of things wrong about ghosts. Ghost are much like people. Some good, some bad, and most just kind of in-between.” Vlad said. “They are… different, though. Their society, their rules and traditions, it’s very different from human ones.”

“Why do I need to know that? I’m not planning on hanging out with any ghosts… except you, I mean.”

“Some of those customs and values are inherent to being a ghost. It will not be right away, but your view on those things will likely change to a more… ghost-like one.” Vlad explained. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Vlad… do mom and dad know about you? What you are?”

Danny saw Vlad’s eyes flash red. He had seen it before, though he was sure he was imagining things. Often whenever his accident was brought up. Or when dad said something stupid and insensitive – so most of the time dad talked.

“No.” Vlad said after a moment. “No, they don’t know what I am. And they must never find out about either of us. Nobody living can.”

“Why? I mean… yeah, they are ghost hunters, but I’m still their son and you’re still their friend.”

“Are we? Or are we monsters wearing stealing their faces?” Vlad shook his head. “Your parents have very hard time accepting they were wrong about something. What you are… what we are… goes against all of that, all that they think they know. You might be right. Maybe their love for you is stronger than their stubbornness. And maybe it is not. It’s better we never find out.” Vlad sighed, pulling Danny closer to himself again, seeing the boy shivering again. “And they are not the only ghost hunters out there. Even if they do accept us, the others would not be so forgiving. We must be careful to not leave any evidence of what we are.”

“The camera.” Danny exclaimed suddenly.

“What camera?”

“I… I was recording myself when I went into the portal. I wanted to show my friends I was not a coward.” God, he felt even dumber saying that out-loud.

“Is it still in the lab?”

“I think so.” Danny nodded. Vlad stood up and headed there immediately. Danny followed him.

He always knew Vlad seemed to make no sound while he moved. For the first time, Danny understood how.

“High ectoplasm can mess with electronics. If we’re lucky, the recording doesn’t show anything.” Vlad muttered, seemingly talking more to himself than Danny. The camera was still recording while he picked it up. That was not a good sign.

Vlad began to watch the playback of the video. Danny cringed at the awkward intro he did. And then, moments later, a piercing scream echoed through the lab. Danny felt a sharp stab in his chest at the sound. Even through the recording, it was awful.

Vlad’s features seemed to be made out of stone, but somehow, Danny was certain the man was furious. As the figure of ghost Danny emerged from the portal, Vlad closed the camera and his palm erupted in magenta flames.

Danny stepped back.

“You could have just deleted the video.”

“There are ways to recover deleted videos. This is more certain.” Vlad said, the poured the charred dust from his hand into the hazardous waste disposal. When some of it refused to come off, Danny watched Vlad’s hand change – it seemed almost like static on a TV, but in real life. Vlad’s hand was now perfectly clean. “I’ll buy you a new camera.”

“It was Sam’s actually.”

“I’ll buy her a new camera.” Vlad corrected himself.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Danny asked.

“It will not be possible right away, but once your core settles a bit, it should come naturally.” Vlad nodded. “I promise, I’ll teach you everything I know. But first, dinner. I’m sure you have a million more questions. You can ask them while I cook.”

***

Vlad Masters was not a father. Not that he knew of, anyway.

And Vlad Plasmius wouldn’t even consider exposing himself to such a weakness.

But cores are as fickle as they are stubborn.

Vlad wasn’t Danny’s father, and perhaps in a different lifetime, that would have mattered to him.

It didn’t in this one.

It mattered that the boy he had watched grow up was dead, because of his parents’ negligence.

It mattered that he was alive, stuffing his face full of pasta, badgering him with questions about a subject he had no interest in until that day.

By human law, he was the boy’s godfather and the assigned guardian, should something happen to his parents, just as he was for his sister. Some days, he was tempted to make something happen. Today was one of those days. But he looked at Danny, remembered the conviction with which he claimed his parents would accept him, both of them, even as the abominations they both were now. The boy would mourn. The boy would break. The boy loved his parents, because he was a child and that’s what they do. It was for that look, that conviction, that Vlad held back the inferno rising through his body. The Fentons were lucky their son Remained – had that scream in the portal truly been the boy’s final breath, Vlad knew there would be no holding back.

By ghost rules, however, the boy was his child. Nobody, living or dead, had a greater claim to Danny than he did. Danny couldn’t understand it yet, but the trust he had put in Vlad, the love he held for him, and whatever it was that Vlad felt for the boy in return, had bonded their cores. Perhaps the boy would never realize – his core was so soft and new when the bond formed and would be such a natural part of it by the time Danny would start to understand his core that he wouldn’t even notice it.

Vlad wasn’t sure what he felt for Danny could be called love in the human sense, but after ten years of fighting it, he knew it would be recognized as such by ghosts. Ghost love was like that. Possessive, obsessive, a powerful and unbreakable bond, built on strength and devotion.

Danny was his.

He had let go of his old obsession long ago, perhaps on that fateful night, but he knew the parts of him that still clung to the rage of death would rest easier from now on. In the battle between himself and his ghostmaker, he had won.

[kurtsascot]

Ugh, As If!

read klueless, a klaine!clueless au, on ao3!!!!

HQ Version of Cover Art ; Art Ref Image

Summary: It’s 1995. Kurt’s a senior at McKinley High, and he’s looking to lose his virginity and get his love life in order before he goes off to college.

Unfortunately, Blaine, the pretentious son of Burt’s ex-wife, is in Lima to intern for Burt’s congressional reelection campaign, and Kurt is stuck dealing with him until the election is over.

Art: alice / @warblercore @mistyintherivers

Rating: M*

Key Tags: enemies to lovers, but its more like, oblivious idiots to lovers, kurt’s more oblivious than blaine, romcom shenanigans, 90s slang, humor, virginity, falling in love, forced proximity, first time*, pining, hurt/comfort, fluff, slowburn, kind of ?, internalized homophobia, period appropriate homophobia but like…as little as possible, klaine endgame

Soundtrack (updated as chapters go live)

closeups under the read more !!

[winpocalypse]

an idea: sam being fully naked getting dicked down by dean who is fully clothed. it's about the power dynamics 🖤

i'll add to this @lambmotifz's suggestion of hair pulling <3 takes place right after sam's detoxification in my bloody valentine (5x14) on AO3

Famine was actually wrong. At least, partially. That should give Dean some satisfaction. Some “gotcha” feeling. These fuckers do not have a read on him like they think they do. It’s not that there’s nothing inside. It’s that it’s buried so deep it feels like a black hole. It’s the first thing he remembers ever doing— the long and taxing task of digging. It’s so embedded in him he does it to this day, even if it doesn’t matter anymore, even if he dug it enough. No, it doesn’t fill with food, sex or booze. But there’s something that fills it, if only halfway. Something that soothes the so familiar and all consuming hunger.

“Dean…”

His brother’s so pale these days the blush that usually consumes his face and neck is now quite visible between his shoulder blades. Even his ass and thighs are now marked red from the rough contact with Dean’s trousers, but he doesn’t nag. It’s also a testament to how far gone Sam is, or how tired he is, that Dean didn’t hear a single complaint about his boots in the bed yet.

He slides his knee between Sam’s, pushing it so he opens wider and Sam almost collapses entirely into the mattress. He manages to keep his hips up, but the foundation is weak, trembling at the knees, his soft dick with it. He’s squeezing Dean so tight inside, he probably can’t even move much without hurting himself. When Sam’s tired and tense, he gets that much tighter. 

Dean bends down, all of his clothes attaching themselves to Sam’s naked body, his shoes trapping Sam’s feet under him, his denim scratching Sam’s legs as his movements become frantic— up and down, side to side,  all in all out. Even his belt’s marking its way to Sam’s ass, as all of his shirt’s buttons leave their trail on Sam’s arched back. 

When he’s tired, Sam’s also a lot quieter. That changes in a beat when Dean pulls him back by the hair. Pain, or pleasure, or both, he leans back, mouth open and eyes closed tight. Dean never goes for Sam’s hair during a fight, not even the silly ones, the bitch-slapping they used to do, but it does come with a punishing grip the way he does it now, fist full of hair, just like it would be in a fight. But what he does want is to see Sam’s face. His mouth. The cleanliness of it.  

The remaining strength vanishes from Sam then, and he is now spread out, belly on the bed, all covered with Dean, from his fingers clenching under big brother’s hands, to his curled toes. His messy hair still clinging to Dean’s fingers as he pushes Sam’s head down, not letting go, never letting go.

And now Dean can pretend the hoarseness, the tiredness, the slumped shoulders, all of it comes from him, and him alone. He wore Sam out, of course, that’s how he does it. 

That’s how he fills the gaping hole inside. 

[dungeonmechoui]

the tallman dogboy with biting tendencies / halfling tsundere chew toy are on my mind... don't even worry about it.

(nudity/nsfw under the cut)

chil eventually gets back at laios for all the hickeys he left on him btw

[xakemi13x]

COSMO🍓🍞🍰✨!!

Character from Roblox Game:

'Dandy's World'

Human version fan design I made ♡

I have so many doodles on random notebooks.

Should I upload??

[kris-mage-fics]

Wintersun

A short Shepherds of Haven fic that takes place on Wintersun. Some vague spoilers for Chapter 4 and Blade's 5th day off in the Alpha build. Also there's a reference to this bit of a fic I haven't finished, but it's not necessary to understand what's going on.

| Ao3 | rated G | 628 words | Blade/Kyrahlise | under the cut for very light spoilers mentioned above |

"Happy Wintersun," Kyrahlise said as she handed Blade a slim package not much larger than her hand. Neither of them acknowledged the momentary brush of their fingertips.

The gift was neatly wrapped in paper she'd painted with winter berries and small swirls of gold. All tied off with a thin green ribbon salvaged from one of her old dresses. The design was overly flashy for his taste, but she had been too focused on making it pretty and was short on time to repaint something more austere.

Blade raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You didn't need to," he said, yet she could've sworn his face softened as his eyes traced the designs on the paper.

Kyrah smiled having anticipated he'd say something along those lines. "I'm aware. But I wanted to and thought you might enjoy it."

He looked up from the gift to meet her eyes. "Did you paint this?" Of course he remembered she painted. While in The Reach he'd fussed at her plenty to not paint outside. He trusted her judgment enough to promote her to Captain after a month, yet the cold was somehow too much. He made absolutely no sense.

"Yes," she said in a light tone.

"It's nice." Did Blade's compliment make her feel happy in a way it probably shouldn't? Yes. But she'd take that to her grave before admitting it to anyone.

"Thank you, though I hope you like what's inside more."

Blade's eyes went back to the present he held delicately. She ignored the strange little feeling in her chest when he untied the ribbon and slipped it into a pocket before carefully unfolding the paper. Underneath was a small book of poetry. "You remembered, thank you."

An unusual wave of nerves washed over Kyrahlise. What if he'd read this collection before and hated it? Well, there was no use worrying about it now that the book was in his hands. "Yes, by one of my favorite contemporary poets. Are you familiar with her work?"

"I'm not."

Her smile was tinted with relief. "I hope you find her poetry to your taste."

There was a upward tilt to his lips as he nodded. Kyrah gathered he was thanking her again, but reading his subtle expressions was like cracking a code.

Not that she needed to decipher anything to understand Blade's kindness. He'd always been considerate and respectful towards her. A sharp contrast to how many Norms treated her after she left the Circle. Like when he'd been livid because of what happened in that damned cave, it had filled her with so much warmth. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have anyone care about her well-being. It was the catalyst for certain feelings towards him being stirred up. Feelings she accepted existed then politely ignored.

Though a recent incident in his room made her question if Blade was really as indifferent to her as he so often appeared.

When Kyrahlise glanced back up at Blade, his eyes were so gentle as they met hers it brought an instinctive smile to her lips. The first time he looked at her like that was when she learned black was the warmest color of all. The way his gaze slowly traced over her face almost felt like a sweet caress that seemed to stop briefly at her lips. But she was likely imagining things again.

A slight frown passed over his face as his free hand twitched, then clenched against his side. He looked at her another moment, gave a hint of a nod and another quick 'thank you' before turning and walking away. When he was out of earshot she sighed. Maybe one day she'd figure out what was really going on inside that inscrutable head of his.

[clarionglass]

archangel 2.0 (game master cinematic universe, part 8) | read on ao3

“Absolutely not,” Siobhan said when she rounded the corner to see Sam’s evil doppelganger coming the opposite way down the corridor. “Whatever plans you’re cooking up, I’m not in the mood for them today.”

Other Sam just shrugged at her. “No plans. Perfectly innocent, that’s me.”

“Like hell,” Siobhan replied. “You’ve already fucked with me once, I’m not believing that for a second. Why are you even here, anyway? I know for a fact you shouldn’t be filming today.”

“You people commandeered my home, not the other way around,” Other Sam said with clearly forced patience.

Siobhan just hummed in response, noncommittal and suspicious, and Other Sam tilted his head to examine her closely, then straightened, pleased with what he saw.

“You never really liked me, did you, Siobhan?” he asked, a faint smile of satisfaction playing about his lips. “You always had a feeling that something was off. You know, it's funny what the subconscious remembers, even when it didn't really happen.”

“God,” Siobhan bit out with an impatient roll of her eyes. “Fuck. Yes. I know you wiped my memory, well done you, you can stop fucking gloating about it.”

“Aw, you think I'm talking about that? Oh, no. You've seen me before. Trusted me, even.” 

Other Sam smiled, and when he spoke next, his voice was different. “Enough to vote for me, as it happens.”

“What the fuck?” Siobhan asked, genuinely bewildered, because that voice was eerily familiar. Though it hadn't crossed her mind in nearly 20 years, it used to be everywhere, back in her uni days. Political advertisements, news briefings, Question Time; you could barely turn on the TV without hearing it.

“Oh, good,” Other Sam said instead of answering, back to his usual accent and clearly pleased with himself. “I was worried I mightn't have kept the voice.”

“But that was—” Siobhan began, and faltered. It was English, for a start, pitch perfect in a way that didn't feel like a put-on accent. The range, the register, the cadence—they were all slightly different from Sam's, but somehow just as natural. Firm and authoritative, but in a friendly way. The voice of a politician you would be happy to vote for. The voice of a politician she had voted for, in fact, seventeen years ago. 

“That was Harold Saxon,” she said in disbelief. “You can't—no. Do you mimic voices, or—”

“Oh, no,” Other Sam replied cheerfully. “That was me. He was me.”

Siobhan just looked at him flatly. “You can't expect me to believe that.”

“Believe me or not, it's true,” he said. “It's a fun little thing called regeneration.”

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. “And what's that?”

Other Sam mustn't have been expecting her to call him on that, or had revealed more than he planned to, because to Siobhan's private delight, he looked suddenly uncomfortable. He folded his arms, closing himself off—but even so, was unable to fully hide his unease, fingers tapping out a restless tic on his upper arm. 

“Quirk of Time Lord biology,” he answered shortly. 

“You're not getting away with a half-arsed answer like that,” she snapped back. “What does it mean?”

He paused, weighing his words carefully, even as the jitters in his fingers betrayed him. “We don't die,” he said slowly. “Or, we do, but… it's not permanent death. We change.”

“Change what?”

Another pause, another careful consideration of how much to reveal; silence, except for that faint, almost imperceptible tapping.

“Everything,” he replied eventually. “Face, body, even the way we think, to an extent. Every single cell, overwritten.”

“Bullshit,” Siobhan breathed. But—it was just something to say. Deep in her heart, she believed him. 

Other Sam just shook his head. “I was Harold Saxon,” he said—not an insistence, but a fact, solid as stone. “You knew me, Siobhan. The whole world did.”

It was too much to be true, but it couldn't be a lie. She felt the disquiet building in the pit of her stomach, felt her own knotted fingers start to fidget, drumming out a quiet rhythm.

“Why?” she asked. “Harold Saxon was PM for a couple of days, then had some kind of mental break and was never seen again. What did you have to gain from doing that?”

“That's only what happened the second time round,” he said softly. “The first time was much more interesting.”

Something didn't feel right. The world felt unstable, like at any minute, the wallpaper that was the backdrop to reality would start to sag and peel. But Other Sam had the answers, it seemed. And there was security in knowledge. 

“What do you mean?” Siobhan asked.

“You know what happened,” Other Sam said. “Even if it didn't happen, not really. But I can show you, if you want.”

“Please,” she breathed, and Sam's exact double met her eyes with all the gravity of a black hole. 

“Do you trust me, Siobhan?”

And the funny thing was, she did. Despite it all, despite everything she knew and everything he had done, she couldn't help but believe in him. Everything he said sounded rational, reliable, reassuring—a port in the storm. 

She nodded.

“Good.” He smiled, then, slow and broad, and she trusted that, too. “I'm glad, because this might be… uncomfortable.”

Other Sam pulled out his microphone from inside his jacket pocket and aimed it at her. It made a strange buzzing noise, the tip glowing bright, and suddenly she was bent double, clutching her head as pain a thousand times worse than any migraine she'd ever had splintered through her skull. 

It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she couldn't escape the agonising clarity as memories she had previously believed to be whole and solid peeled apart into two mirrored pieces. 

On June 20th, 2007, Siobhan Thompson voted Saxon in the UK general election.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, and the broadcast of an apparent “first contact” suddenly cut to a black screen.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, then looked out upon his domain with satisfaction as the sky opened wide like a mouth, spilling out millions and millions of bladed metal spheres that laughed with the voices of children.

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night partying with friends, ringing in the new year with hopes that 2008 would bring nothing but good things. 

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night tossing and turning in a fitful sleep after another day slaving in the labour camps, producing resources for the Master’s war to come. Her days consisted of nothing but work and sleep, with barely a thought to spare about what the new year would bring, but if she had been pressed to name a hope—it would be for relief. In one form or another.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought about America. It held the promise of a bright future, maybe a career in her chosen field of archaeology, or maybe any number of exciting new opportunities. It would be scary, uprooting her entire life to move halfway around the world, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was jump.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought one word, the one word that united the entire planet. It held the promise of a bright future, the revival of a god and the downfall of a devil, the world unfolding with possibilities outside the confines of the labour camps that were all she’d known for the past year. It was scary, placing her trust—her life—in nothing more than a story, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was believe.

Both timelines were true. One had been reversed when the paradox that sustained it had been broken, but Siobhan couldn't deny that they both had happened. Impossibly, the parallel sets of memories were carved equally deep into her mind and body, the life she knew existing side by side with the ghosts of trauma.

In the present, she looked at Other Sam—the Master—with abject horror.

“You can’t have,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“But I did,” Other Sam replied cheerfully, and god, it was a mindfuck, aligning the atrocities of the year that never was with the familiar face of a friend she’d known for years. The deaths, the labour camps, the slavery, the shipyards, the radiation pits; all to feed a war that would reach across the stars, and all masterminded by the man who now stood in front of her as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“And now you’re here,” Siobhan hissed. “From fucking… god-emperor of the Earth to just working at Dropout, huh?”

“Oh, all of that was the old me,” Other Sam said innocently. “I’ve changed. In more ways than one,” he added, with that little peering-at-his-hands gesture that Siobhan recognised from the Deja Vu recording. 

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to just trust that?”

“You did a minute ago,” Other Sam replied with a faint smile.

Her heart sank. She had. She undeniably had. She’d let him fuck with her brain without even questioning it, because when he asked, she’d trusted him implicitly, even when mere moments before she was questioning him with all the suspicion she could muster.

Which meant, worst of all, that that feeling of trust hadn’t come from her.

“How did you—?”

“The Archangel network,” Other Sam said, not even bothering to hide his smugness. “Remember that?”

Of course she did. It was the best carrier, back in the day, before it went offline—shortly after Harold Saxon was removed as Prime Minister, as a matter of fact. She’d used it. Everyone had used it.

“Good, wasn’t it?” he continued. “A low-level psychic field, moving your thoughts to exactly where I wanted them. And even though the satellites were taken down, that was still nearly eighteen months of conditioning.”

“Fuck you,” Siobhan breathed.

Other Sam grinned. “Can’t do it across the whole planet anymore, but one-on-one, well, let’s just say I have a rather… magnetic personality. So if I give you that same stimulus…”

He began drumming his fingers again, and this time, Siobhan could see it for what it truly was. Not a fidget, but a signal, written deep into her subconscious seventeen years ago—abandoned, forgotten, but never truly gone. And she had echoed it so readily, she realised, had been sucked into the pattern without even noticing. Tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Trust me, it said somewhere deep in her brainstem, soft and insidious and unable to be ignored. Believe in me. And—

“Stop it!” she snapped, clenching her fists to still her traitorous fingers.

Other Sam raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Stop what?”

“You know exactly what,” she growled, holding onto her anger like a shield. “The drumming.”

He laughed, a bitter little huff of a sound. “If only you understood the irony of asking me that. But fine, if you insist.”

As she felt that creeping influence leave her, Siobhan let her hands relax, but not her mind. “Don't you ever try that on me again.”

Other Sam just pulled a mournful face. “But it's so much fun!” he protested.

As Siobhan glared daggers at him, he raised his hands, palms facing outwards in surrender. “Don't worry, don't worry,” he said. “I've got places to be. In fact, you've actually given me a very good idea.”

“No, no—”

“I'm leaving you alone, Siobhan. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“No, fuck—”

It was too late. Other Sam was already walking down the corridor purposefully, ignoring her completely. With a feeling of dread building in the pit of her stomach, she pulled out her phone and began to write a text. 

---

Sam burst into the editing suite, Siobhan close behind, to see his doppelganger sitting at one of the computers with a look of quiet focus. 

He looked up when he heard the door, and seeing who had just entered, sneered. “Oh. It's the cavalry.”

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded.

His double merely gave him a cool look. “Tell you later.”

“Hell no, dog,” came a new voice from the doorway, and Sam's double blinked to see Lou, still breathing heavily from what must have been a jog from the other end of the studio. 

“Tch. You, too?”

“Course,” Lou replied, looking at Siobhan with fierce pride. 

Sam, now fully inside the room, stepped out of the doorway to let Lou enter, which he did with a glint in his eye. 

The Master merely watched, one eyebrow raised coolly as the other man walked close, staring him down the entire time. And when a fist rocketed into his shoulder, hard and accurate, the carefully-cultivated air of perfect nonconcern shattered as he winced in pain.

“That's for Escape the Greenroom, you sick son of a bitch,” Lou said, shaking out his hand. 

Other Sam frowned, rolling his shoulders back with an audible crunch. “Fine,” he shrugged, the lines of pain in his face giving the lie to his nonchalant words. “Fine. Get it out, if you have to.”

Lou smiled dangerously. “Good,” he said, and wound up once again. 

The second punch hit Other Sam squarely in the jaw, and was even harder than the first. 

“And that's for everything you did to the world. And more importantly, everything you did to my friend.” He turned back to Siobhan. “Good?”

“Good,” she confirmed. Her smile faded as she switched her gaze to Other Sam. “Get fucked.” 

“Hell yeah,” Lou said with satisfaction, and turned to go. “Yeah, you can schedule me with him for shit now,” he added as he passed by Sam, who nodded.

With a click, the door closed behind him, leaving Sam and his doppelganger, still rubbing life back into his jaw, alone in the editing suite.

“I can’t say you didn’t deserve that,” Sam remarked.

His double merely sniffed, turning his attention back to the monitor.

“So. Now it’s just us, like you wanted, what is it that you’ve really been doing in here?”

“Getting you more subscribers,” his doppelganger replied matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that something you want?”

“Well—”

“Sam,” came the cool response. “Come on. I know how much you stress about those budget meetings, because you say it’s part of my penance to pretend to be you in some of them.” His mouth twisted, and he added, “I’ve been so good about it, too. Haven’t murdered even one of your board, and it’s been incredibly tempting. But you need the revenue, you need the profits, you need the subscribers.”

Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t deny it.

“I’m doing you a favour,” his double said softly, seeing the light of resistance fade from his eyes. “I’m not hurting anyone, it’s just a low-level psychic signal that nobody will notice. Subconsciously prompting social media viewers to actually subscribe, if they like what they see. And share it with their friends, and so on. It’s all for the benefit of Dropout, I promise.”

“You know I’ve gotta suspect you’ve got an ulterior motive, right?” Sam asked.

“I know,” his doppelganger replied. “But even if you don’t trust me, and you think I’m up to something—well, whatever that is, it’s a problem for later, right?”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, please don't ask me to trust you. Siobhan told me what you did.”

His doppelganger just shrugged. “That was then.”

“She also told me what you did about ten minutes ago.”

“Like I said,” his double countered. “That was then. But I’m grounded, remember? I have to use my talents, brilliant as they are, for good. Or whatever you call good, anyway. The good of the company, maybe, and it’s definitely that.”

“Look. I’m only agreeing because I’ve got the Doctor on speed dial,” Sam said slowly, after a few moments’ thinking time, and he watched as a grin spread like oil across his double’s face. “Don't make me regret this.”

“Cross my hearts,” the Master replied.

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x brian and other sam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): x part seven (all good things should have a bit of malice in them): x part eight (archangel 2.0): you are here!

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

}{ Who Are You? Are You Nobody, Too? }{

}{ Thrown into a strange game with no memories of their lives before, Jimmy and Scott find comfort in a quiet valley and in each other. }{

}{ 3rd Life }{ Flower Husbands }{ 3.9k }{ sfw abridged version of an entry for Driving After Dark 2 }{

"We're married now."

Jimmy gaped as Scott grinned at him behind the delicate petals of the flower he held to his nose. "E - excuse me?"

It was just a bit, surely. The sort of joke that he would usually, if the other person was someone he liked, lean into with everything he had and flirt back just as hard. But something about the soft quirk of Scott's lips and the gleam in his gemstone eyes made Jimmy's thoughts short circuit.

"You gave me a flower. We're married now," repeated Scott. "That's how it works, you know."

"Oh," was all Jimmy managed to get out. He was fairly certain that wasn't how marriage worked, despite his missing memories, but the crystalline notes of Scott's ringing laughter eroded any desire Jimmy had to challenge the declaration.

And anyway, it was just a bit. Surely.

Scott seemed to be completely serious about teaming up, at least, and Jimmy was eager to prove himself a good ally who could carry his weight without being a burden. That was why he opted to build his own little house on the opposite side of the valley, to avoid inserting himself into Scott's space without a direct invitation. He showed off his work proudly, but the way Scott's ears dropped when he saw it had Jimmy second-guessing himself.

"Sorry. I'm not a very good builder," he said as he twisted his hands uncertainly. "I know you like things to be all cute and everything. I tried my best, but - "

Scott cocked his head to one side and seemed almost perplexed as he watched Jimmy stumble over his words. Then some realization or another that Jimmy couldn't work out crossed his face, and he smiled in that way that always sent Jimmy's stomach into somersaults.

"I do like cute things. That's why you're around." He giggled at Jimmy's immediate flush. "It's a good start, really! Do you mind if I...?"

Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he had only imagined the disappointment in Scott's eyes earlier. "Not at all, go ahead! What's mine is yours."

"Oh? I'll keep that in mind." Amusement sparkled in Scott's eyes, assuring Jimmy that his next words were only meant to tease, not be taken seriously. "It will soothe the disappointment that my husband doesn't want to live in the same house as me."

"...What?" squeaked Jimmy. He squeaked a lot around Scott, he was beginning to realize. "Wait, that's what you were upset about?"

Scott laughed.

- }{ -

By the time Jimmy returned, both the face of his cliffside hut and the flower valley as a whole sported significant improvements. Scott was kneeling by a campfire near the lakeshore, stirring a pot of something that smelled amazing. His ears twitched almost imperceptibly at Jimmy's approach, and he looked up to greet him with that smile that sent Jimmy's stomach into somersaults.

His stomach went into a lot of somersaults around Scott, he was beginning to realize.

"I thought we'd have dinner out here, meet in the middle so to speak. If that's okay with you." Scott turned his attention back to the stew.

Jimmy grinned. "Yeah, 'course it is. Just let me put everything away." He emptied his inventory of all the resources he'd gathered on his trip out, then joined Scott by the fire. "What all's in there, anyway?"

"Mostly vegetables." Scott lifted the wooden spoon he was stirring with, both to show Jimmy the chunk of carrot that rested on it and to test the tenderness of the vegetable against the wall of the pot. "Our first harvest of carrots and potatoes, and some odds and ends I foraged from the woods. I did add some of the chicken you prepared earlier, to make it a little more hearty."

He set aside the spoon and picked up a ladle instead, filling a bowl and passing it to Jimmy before filling his own. Jimmy accepted it gratefully, taking a tentative sip of the hot broth before picking up one of the two smaller spoons that waited nearby. "Oh, that's delicious - wait, did you carve all these dishes today?"

Scott seemed pleased that Jimmy had noticed. Jimmy would notice every detail he could if it meant that smile would stay on those pretty lips. "I did," said Scott. "I finished my building projects earlier than I expected, so I thought I might as well start on some easy comforts."

"Oh my gosh, that's impressive! Is there anything you're not good at?"

Scott's ears twitched happily. "Oh, very little," he said smugly, and Jimmy laughed.

There wasn't much in the way of conversation at first. Jimmy's focus was on the stew, the day's hard work of gathering logs and stone and ores having made him ravenous. Scott was similarly focused on refueling after all the hours spent building. But as food and silence both settled, the slightly awkward small talk between them strengthened into something easy and comfortable. They told each other what little they could about themselves, information drawn from either their limited memories or gut feelings, and theorized about what they couldn't recall.

"Do you think we're anyone important in our home worlds?" Jimmy asked. He stared up at the first stars that faded into existence as the sky slowly dimmed. "I get the feeling that some of the others are, you know? Like Etho, or Martyn. They just feel so...big. Like there's no way they aren't someone."

Scott was laying next to him in the grass. The inches between their shoulders felt ever so close and oh so far all at the same time. "I don't think I am. Or rather, I hope I'm not. Being known by strangers sounds...exhausting. I just want a quiet little life with someone I care about."

Jimmy smiled. "That sounds nice. I don't think I'm anyone important either. But you're right; being nobody sounds like the way to go." He turned his head to look at Scott. "You know, we never did proper introductions. Hi, I'm Jimmy. I'm nobody."

Scott turned his head to look at Jimmy with a soft smile. "Hi Jimmy. I'm Scott. I'm nobody, too."

Jimmy laughed.

- }{ -

No one on the server knew quite what to make of their situation. Fourteen people, dropped into an unknown world, with no memory of the lives they surely must have been leading before and only the knowledge that they had agreed to partake in some sort of game. They were all vaguely aware that there were rules that would be revised with death, knew three deaths would be the end, and had a strong suspicion that some of them must have known at least some of the others before. But beyond that, they were almost as much a mystery to themselves as they were to one another.

Jimmy had his own strong suspicion that Scott was the sort to be just as mysterious in his regular life. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the...elf? fae? Jimmy didn't know exactly what he was, and Scott only smiled and deflected the question when Jimmy asked.

Neither man avoided the rest of the server entirely, but decided early on that they preferred to keep to themselves for the most part, unwilling to get too involved with the growing tensions between other factions. With a strong wall erected around their little valley and most of the resources they needed within, it was easy to forget that there was more to the situation than living the quiet little life Scott had admitted to dreaming of.

It was easy to forget, too, that they weren't really married. Scott still jokingly referred to Jimmy as his husband, even in front of the others, and seemed perpetually amused by Jimmy's variety of flustered reactions whenever he did.

Jimmy might not have been certain of much, but he knew beyond doubt that he was utterly enchanted by his basemate. The first time Scott leaned over and kissed Jimmy's cheek, Jimmy's thoughts crashed so hard that he barely heard Scott ask (with difficulty concealing his delight) if he was all right.

"Fine! I'm perfectly fine," he managed to squeak out. "Was just - thinking! About the, um, the thing. The thing that needs, uh, repaired right? I'll...go do that now."

"Right, the thing," repeated Scott, eyes sparkling. Jimmy wondered if they shone just as brightly in whatever color they were naturally, whether they were the green they were now or some other shade. "Best get to it before sunset."

- }{ -

It took Jimmy another three days to work up the courage to ask Scott for another kiss. He wasn't even planning on it at the time, but they were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the lakeshore when a stray petal drifted down from the clifftop and landed in Jimmy's hair.

Scott leaned in and reached up to pluck it away. "Trying a new accessory?" he said with a grin. His voice was low and his breath was warm, and Jimmy found that all of a sudden desire outweighed anxiety.

"Can I kiss you?"

Scott's eyes widened in surprise, then his mouth curved into that soft, soft smile. "Of course. You don't really have to ask to kiss your own husband, you know."

Jimmy let out a breathless chuckle. "You're still sticking to your little joke, huh?"

Scott's ears dropped, and Jimmy's heart dropped with them when he saw hurt clouding his pretty eyes. "You thought I was joking about that?"

"Well...yeah?" Jimmy tilted his head in confusion. "I mean, you said it literally within the first, like, hour of meeting. We barely know one another, Scott."

"Oh." Scott pulled away. Jimmy was struck with the desire to pull him close and assure him he didn't mean it. "I'm sorry. I mean, I know we're not married married, but you never said anything against it, and I thought you liked me back, so I just sort of...assumed."

"Assumed what?" This wasn't going at all how Jimmy had pictured it. "And I do like you! I just didn't want to, you know, take things at face value and look like an idiot later if it turned out I misinterpreted what you meant." He paused. "Which...okay, in hindsight - "

If the delicate bell-shaped flowers that dotted the ground in the woods could actually ring, Jimmy imagined they would sound an awful lot like Scott's laughter.

"So you do like me?" Scott's ears were beginning to perk back up, albeit cautiously. "You're not mad that I assumed we were dating?"

"I mean, I wish you would have said something? But no, I'm not mad." Heat blossomed across his cheeks. "So...about that kiss?"

Scott leaned in but paused at the last moment, letting Jimmy be the one to close the gap. Jimmy leaned in too, and the longing feeling in his chest that he hadn't even known was there disappeared.

Logically, Jimmy knew it couldn't possibly be his first kiss. The jitters he felt had more to do with kissing someone new for the first time, not the act of kissing itself. But was it the first time he had ever kissed Scott? It didn't seem probable that they even knew each other in the outside world, let alone were romantically involved, and yet...

Scott deepened the kiss, melting into Jimmy when Jimmy put his arms around him. The way their mouths moved together felt like the most natural thing in the world. One ear twitched in - surprise? delight? Jimmy had learned quickly how to read Scott's subtle body language, but some microexpressions were still beyond him - when Jimmy was the one to take initiative and run his tongue along Scott's lower lip, and he let him in immediately.

By the time they parted to pant for air, Jimmy had lowered Scott down into the soft grass, and the way Scott stared up at him with swollen lips and gentle surrender in his eyes stole Jimmy's breath away as quickly as he could catch it.

"I don't want this to be over."

The confession that slipped out of Jimmy startled both of them. Then Scott's confusion gave way to amusement, and he laughed. "Well, I don't exactly plan on giving you up any time soon."

"No, I mean - " Jimmy sighed and rested his forehead against Scott's. "What happens at...at the end? I know what happens when you die in a typical hardcore world, but..."

But nothing about their situation was typical. And even in a typical world, the same fear lurked in the background of every player's mind: what if something goes wrong? what if my eyes don't open again like they're meant to? what if this is actually final? Jimmy had been trying not to think about it, but being dropped into a strange game with no memory was unsettling enough, and only magnified those natural fears.

They might be the players, but something else was toying with them.

"I think we'll respawn wherever we're meant to be," said Scott firmly. "Whatever block has been placed on our memories will be gone, we'll be safe at home - wherever 'home' is - and we'll have new friends to contact. Or old friends to check up on," he added, threading his fingers through Jimmy's hair.

Jimmy nosed against his cheek, then lay next to him with a sigh. "You think we know each other on the outside?"

Scott snorted. "Jimmy, either we already knew each other before this, or we have what is quite possibly the most insane and immediate chemistry that has ever existed between two people." He mirrored the way Jimmy lay on his side, tucking a hand under his head. "You...feel like home. It's hard to imagine I came from a life where I didn't already love you."

Jimmy smiled. "Home?" he repeated, feeling a sliver of hope for what could be.

"Home," said Scott, and it sounded like a promise.

- }{ -

"I mean, you don't have to use it or anything." Jimmy pressed his fingertips together nervously. "It's not very well-made, actually. It's only holding together because Impulse helped me with all the fiddly bits."

Scott stared at the hand-cranked beater he held, turning it over and inspecting it. Jimmy shifted nervously. A few days before, Scott had lamented the lack of much nicer kitchen appliances found on more established servers, wishing aloud for even the simplicity of an electric mixer to make his baking easier. A bundle of twigs made a sufficient enough whisk for eggs, but not so much for making a smooth, creamy frosting to top the variety of little cakes he liked to bake.

"I did wonder what you were spending so long at the anvil for the other day." Scott tapped a finger against the metal of the beater. "I love it. Thank you."

Jimmy beamed, pleased with the pleased expression on Scott's face and even happier with the kiss that followed. "My husband is so talented," said Scott, resting his forehead against Jimmy's. "Is there anything you're not good at?"

"Quite a lot, actually," said Jimmy with a sheepish grin, and Scott laughed.

Scott made a cake that very night, informing Jimmy with delight that the beater did indeed make a significant difference to the texture of the frosting he'd previously been mixing with only a wooden spoon. Privately, Jimmy couldn't tell much of a difference, but he kept that thought to himself. He was more interested in the way Scott offered a scoop of frosting on his fingertip for Jimmy to taste, and the way Scott's breath caught when Jimmy gripped his wrist firmly and took his time licking away the creamy glaze.

"It's delicious." Jimmy didn't intend the low, deep tone that his voice took on, but he took great interest in the way Scott swallowed hard, parted his lips, and leaned closer. It would be easy to tease him, but it would be even easier to lean in and kiss him.

"Don't you have a cake to frost?" he murmured against Scott's lips when Scott went for a second kiss almost right away.

"It still needs to cool," Scott murmured back. Not one to be denied, he mouthed at Jimmy's jawline and down his neck, and it was Jimmy's to flush and lean closer. "Could take hours, really."

Jimmy chuckled breathlessly. "Hours, huh? Well, you're the expert. What do we do in the meantime?"

Scott smiled against his neck. Jimmy's heart pounded in his chest.

He was so caught up in imagining the possibilities of what Scott might say next that it took him a moment to realize what was happening when Scott stepped back, smiling ever so sweetly, and handed him a pile of dishes to be washed.

- }{ -

"What's on your mind?"

Jimmy jumped as Scott nudged him with his shoulder. "Oh! Gosh, you startled me. Sorry, what did you say?"

Scott's lips were quirked upwards and he kept his tone light, but the crease of his brow betrayed his concern. "You've been a million miles away all day. What's wrong?"

"Oh. Nothing's wrong. I just..." Jimmy looked down at the blade laying across his lap and gave it another polish. "Some of the others think this is all going to turn into a proper war."

"Hmm." Scott looked out over the water. The sun that shone down on them was warm, but not overly so. Dragonflies flitted around the reeds. A little frog sat quietly in the mud shaded by a rock. A bluejay watched them from the top of the wall, silent.

Jimmy polished a freshly sharpened sword. Two sets of armor hung by the anvil, gleaming with newly applied enchantments. The potions chest next to Scott's brewing stand was crowded.

"What if - "

Scott put a hand over Jimmy's. "We'll be okay. We're just a couple of nobodies, remember?" He slipped the sword from Jimmy's grasp and set it off to the side, replacing it with his own fingers. Jimmy held on like he'd been handed a lifeline he was afraid to let go of.

He looked around at the beautiful oasis he and Scott had created together. He looked at Scott, so graceful he could easily be mistaken for some ethereal spirit who lived among the flowers.

Perhaps he was. Perhaps Scott had always been here, part of this valley of eternal summer, and only Jimmy was the outsider.

Jimmy didn't care anymore about the world before, he realized. Sure, he was a little curious, but had everything he needed here. He had a home, rustic but comfortable, with plenty of room to improve over time. He had friends, some of whom - like Martyn and BigB - even felt like he'd known for years.

He had Scott.

Nothing, in this world or any other, could fill his heart the way Scott did.

"Jimmy?"

Scott squeezed his hand. Jimmy swallowed against the emotions creeping up his throat.

There was a poppy in his inventory, picked only this morning and stored away until Jimmy could figure out the best time to present it. But realizing his heart was certain in an uncertain world, it didn't seem like there would be a better time than right now.

Scott blinked at the flower Jimmy handed him, but took it without hesitation. "We're married now," said Jimmy, and Scott's eyes shot back up to meet his own. Jimmy grinned. "I gave you a flower. We're married now. That's how it works, right?"

"Oh," was all Scott managed to get out. Then his arms were around Jimmy's neck, and his mouth was crashing against Jimmy's mouth, and it really didn't matter anymore what the rest of the factions outside the wall were or weren't planning.

Jimmy smiled as Scott grinned at him behind the delicate petals of the flower he held to his nose, and they both laughed.

- }{ -

"What's on your mind?"

One of Scott's ears flicked toward Jimmy at the sound of his voice, but he didn't take his eyes off the nearly complete flower crown in his hands. "Just trying to decide how many more roses I want in this."

Jimmy tucked in the end of the last stem on his own flower crown and placed it on Scott's head. "It's not very nice to lie to your husband, you know."

Scott chuckled, but Jimmy could hear the reservation lurking in the melodious notes. Jimmy cupped his cheek, and Scott leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too." Jimmy pressed his lips to Scott's forehead. "Why do you sound so sad about it? You're not breaking up with me, are you?"

He meant it as a joke, but the way Scott looked at him sent his stomach plummeting.

"No, of course not." Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief, and Scott gave him an apologetic smile. "But seeing Scar turn red, it made me think about what's coming. What happens when this is all over."

"Didn't we already talk about this?" Jimmy kissed Scott's forehead, then the bridge of his nose, then under his eye. "We outlive everyone, and enjoy being nobodies together. Easy."

Scott's eyes were soft as he watched Jimmy. "Yeah. Easy." He finished weaving the flowers he still clutched, then crowned Jimmy with them. "But let's say something happens and we respawn back in our old lives. Would you...still want me?"

"Yes."

Jimmy answered without hesitation, not needing to think about it. He already had thought about, late at night staring at the ceiling and listening to Scott's steady breathing next to him. He knew this couldn't last forever, as badly as he wanted it to. But he and Scott could.

"I want to marry you for real," he said softly. "Maybe we can find a cleric somewhere, or maybe Ren could do it. Kings can do that sort of thing, right?"

Scott laughed. "You know what? Why don't we do it? Think about it; clerics and kings officiate marriages because they represent a higher authority. But the only authority I care to recognize is yours and mine."

"I like the sound of that." Jimmy kissed Scott's hand. If he'd ever been to any weddings, he couldn't remember them, but he could recall some vague approximation of what must be standard vows. "I promise to cherish you forever and stand by your side, for better or for worse, from one dream to the next."

Under a veil of sunshine and poppies, Scott smiled at his husband. "I promise to cherish you forever and stand by your side," he repeated. "For better or for worse, from one dream to the next."

The vows were simple, the kiss was chaste, and the only witnesses were butterflies and birds. But it was theirs, and it was beautiful. In a peaceful valley in one little corner of a strange world, two nobodies grinned at one another under the delicate petals of the flowers in their hair, and they both laughed.