#Michael hasn’t had a good nights sleep for literally most of his life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cdroloisms · 3 years ago

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take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

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

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

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

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

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

(16k words !! :D long boi)

Michael loves MCC.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

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

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

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

“Michael!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

There’s no real easy answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“LEFT!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Like you did that much.”

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

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

“Fair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

Keep your head down.

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gottem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smile slips off his face.

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

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

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

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

---

“Shit-”

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

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

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

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

A sudden shock of clarity.

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

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow.

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

Keep your head down.

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

Not this time.

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

---

“What the hell was that?”

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

“I- I-”

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

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...liar.”

“What?”

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

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

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

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward.

“Quackity!”

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

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

The world explodes into white.

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

“LET’S GO!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I don’t feel so good.”

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

“Dream-”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for everything, Scott.”

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

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

Well. Here goes nothing.

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

“Michael?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#-> my writing #my writing :D #c!Quackity critical #tw trauma #tw abuse #tw torture #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw needles #tw hospitals #tw emotional distress #pandora's vault #prison arc #god this was so fun #hope you all enjoy !!#long post

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morningstar-descended · 5 years ago

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Mammon was an accomplished soldier in the Celestial Realm

Belphie used to be a little Lucifer Mini-Me when he was a young Angel

Lucifer would sing his siblings to sleep, Before

He didn’t tell his brothers about Lilith because he didn’t want them to interfere with her new life. It was hard enough for him not to.

Diavolo’s older brother, Beleth, has a scar covering the left side of his face from where Dia ground him into the dirt to try and get him to yield.

Their formal fight for the crown lasted three days.

Diavolo’s younger brother, Amaymon, is Asmo’s sugar daddy.

Diavolo’s Mom is also still alive, she has her own estate in another part of the Devildom. She can suplex him.

Lucifer will absently neaten up his brother’s clothes for them while he’s lecturing them.

Lucifer has fed demons and unruly Witches to Cerberus before.

Mammon has never had a partner in any sense of the word.

Satan was ‘born’ as a baby.

Asmo used to dress Satan up in little outfits when he was small.

Satan can repeat almost everything he’s read verbatim.

Lucifer has to double check that he knows where all of his brothers are before he can rest at night, unless he passes out.

All the brothers wore their hair long as angels. Lucifer’s the only one who’s never grown it back out since their fall.

It took Lucifer around six hundred years to develop proper feelings for Diavolo.

Lucifer is deathly afraid of Diavolo’s father.

Barbatos is possibly--not counting Diavolo--Lucifer’s only friend.

The Sport Beel plays is a type of Wrestling mixed with MMA and Capture the Flag. It’s played topless.

Lucifer will occasionally ask Levi to explain the plot of an anime or game to him if he wants to zone out for a while. He’s listening, but because following what Levi is talking about takes a lot of concentration, it’s almost like meditating.

Lucifer’s hair got its white / gray streaks when they lost Lilith.

Lucifer actually does have some wrinkles, he just hides them most of the time.

No matter how hard he tries, Lucifer just can’t get good at video games.

Lucifer will write out bits of sheet music when he’s bored.

Lucifer has more demon markings on his body than just the diamond on his forehead.

Lucifer’s hands are very scarred, mostly from dealing with small child Satan.

Beel’s sport is unnamed because in Infernal, it literally just is called “The Sport” since there’s only one.

Almost all of the siblings have physically torn an opponent to shreds and or consumed them. Asmo and Mammon are notable exceptions.

Satan went through a phase where he spoke solely in riddles.

Levi was hardcore into theater before animation became more of a thing. he still has a lot of opinions about it.

Belphie spent most of their early fallen years either half asleep, or completely asleep.

Beel is incapable of chewing gum or sucking on a jaw breaker properly. He impulsively swallows whatever goes in his mouth.

Lucifer has been summoned to the human world successfully only twice in his existence. He killed both summoners for the audacity.

The entire garden around the house of lamentation was of Lucifer’s design.

Mammon has the best control over his shape-shifting--able to stay in a false form for longer, and able to retain his humanoid form despite high emotions.

The brothers are, quite literally, Devildom Celebrities.

Diavolo has never kept a pet before.

Lucifer is ambidextrous, but prefers his left hand.

Mammon is left handed.

Gluttony demons tithe to Lord Beelzebub on his birthday in the form of whatever food they fixate on.

The first angel Lucifer killed after his fall was one he didn’t actually recognize.

The first angel Mammon killed was one of his friends from the Celestial Guard.

Lucifer will never forgive the other Archangels for turning their back on him.

Lucifer has only ever had two partners in any sense of the term in his entire life.

Beel used to be the smallest, before he hit his growth spurt and overshot all of them.

Lucifer swears almost exclusively in celestial, when he’s pissed off enough to actually swear.

Satan doesn’t really have any of Lucifer’s memories, but he retained the emotions based around them. It’s confusing.

Lucifer can cook just fine, but he can’t bake to save his life.

The Longest Lucifer has stayed awake without any rest was about a month. It wasn’t pretty.

Half of the time Lucifer says something funny it’s unintentional.

Most of the Devildom’s current infrastructure was pioneered by Diavolo’s father.

King Diavolo’s real name is Ba’al.

Lucifer can play basically any instrument that’s been invented, apart from electronic only ones.

Levi’s skill in painting could put any of the great masters to shame.

Lucifer isn’t a fan of a poultry, ironically.

The fact that they can get Belphie to wear his complicated RAD uniform everyday while being the Cardinal Sin of Sloth is a point towards how well Belphie controls his sin.

Being a shutin used to be cool and mysterious-- Levi mourns that social shift often.

Lucifer considers Levi the easiest brother to handle because he doesn’t really leave his room.

Mammon, while definitely being guilty of lots of grifts and get rich quick schemes, actually has at least five jobs on top of his stipend for being a Sin.

Lucifer has been trying to figure out how to kill those three witches for causing him problems by proxy, but he hasn’t figured out a legal way to justify it yet.

Amaymon is Diavolo’s youngest sibling. Lucifer can’t stand him.

Flower arranging is one of Asmo’s hobbies.

Asmo also has the best eye for interior design aesthetics, even if he uses them to make a room look... Like That.

For Centuries Lucifer couldn’t even begin to talk about his interests without Diavolo flooding him with related gifts. He’s gotten better about it since.

Lucifer and Diavolo’s relationship was purely physical at first.

Beel often uses the fact that his brothers think he’s stupid for his own gain. Most of the time it’s to get more food, but whatever works works.

Lucifer is completely fire proof now as a demon, inside and out.

He has nightmares of fire, though.

In one of the battles of the Celestial war, The Archangel Michael did his Signature “Step on Lucifer’s face/head trick” And Lucifer nearly took his leg off for it.

All demons can both purr and growl.

Lucifer’s back is heavily scarred from his fall and Satan’s creation both.

Mammon physically regenerates the fastest, and Belphie the slowest.

Levi, due to Envy’s ability to constantly and unintentionally buff the demons around him, is always helping his brothers in some small way whether he means to or not.

Beel still has specific nightmares of Lilith’s death, and will often crawl into Belphie’s bed to hold him after.

Satan never knew Lilith, but he’s emotionally attached to her because of the vague memories he inherited from Lucifer.

Asmo’s hair, if he grew it out, would be loosely curly.

All Lust type demons are Incubi / Succubi / Concubi.

Wrath type demons are the ones who cause classic hauntings.

All sleep paralysis demons are Sloth demons, though.

Pride type demons are the most prone to possessing humans in power, despite Lucifer having never possessed a human before.

Barbatos is actually a little bit older than Diavolo, but not by much.

Luke is basically Michael’s son.

Simeon is the younger brother of the Archangel Jophiel (the Angel of Beauty).

Asmo, if given the chance to defect back to the Celestial Realm, would seriously consider it.

Mammon acts like a fool, but isn’t one himself.

Belphie and Beel aren’t quite telepathic, but they always know where the other is, or if they’re in trouble.

The Cardinal sin of Wrath traditionally writes all of the punitive legislation in the devildom, so Satan is the one who writes out what crime gets what punishment.

The Devildom’s economy has never flourished so much before Mammon became the sin of Greed.

A good 60% of the work Lucifer does is paperwork that should actually be handled by one of his brothers.

Asmo’s painted his nails with his own venom before, and then used it to kill people who piss him off.

The only person Lucifer can accept losing to is Diavolo.

Lucifer isn’t a functional person until around 2 hours after he’s woken up. Luckily he tends to get up around 4:30a.m. / 5a.m. so when normal people have to interact with him, he’s mostly aware.

Mammon likes to over-saturate his foods with toppings and sauces, which is why Beel can’t stand his cooking.

Asmo likes the taste of straight vodka.

Lucifer once slapped another demon’s head clean off when they spoke back to him while he was addressing Diavolo’s court.

Lucifer and Diavolo’s first real “Date” was in the Royal Garden.

Any part of an Archdemon is worth a small fortune, as they’re rather potent spell ingredients.

If you talk shit about Mammon near a Greed type demon they WILL beat your ass.

Diavolo loved Lucifer on sight. Or, well, he loved the look of him.

#{ Mun Post }#Ask Meme #{ fuck you. never challenge me again ghdhghsdhg }#Anonymous #long post #dialuci

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nostalgiabones · 4 years ago

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Soon To Be // L.H

Here I am with another blurb! If you’re tired of seeing me on your dash – blame @calumrose ❤ The photo is very serious but it’s just a sweet little blurb with Luke and Delilah (featuring Uncle Michael!). Please let me know what you think here, or if you have any requests!

“This venue is stunning,”

You murmur the words in Luke’s ear as he leans in closer to you, his lips brushing your cheek. Michael’s wedding is in full swing; the evening ceremony approaching the late night when most guests would begin to leave. With a hotel room booked, along with the other guys, down the road, you had no plans to leave anytime soon. That was if the sweet ten-month-old in your lap lasted that long too.

“It really is,” Luke replies, his fingers entwined with yours under the table. “We should look at something similar for us next year.”

You smile at his words; Michael’s wedding getting the two of you even more excited to plan your own. There was something about Luke seeing you at a wedding that just made him even more excited for you to be his bride; to officially declare his love for you in front of his family and friends. The beautiful engagement ring on your finger had been there for almost two years. You were in no huge rush to get married, yet even when you had begun to plan your special day, your plans were put on hold by an unexpected bundle of joy.

The room is illuminated with silver and pink; a beautiful theme, the hall decorated with class and elegance. There are huge bouquets of stunning flowers on every table, each one decorated with simple yet intricate name cards, each with their own personal touch. You can tell no detail has been spared as you admire the space, every part feeling as special as the whole day had.

Delilah whines in your lap, trying to lean back against you to cuddle against your warmth. It had been a very long day for her, and she had coped with it well – apart from missing her mid-afternoon nap. Luke had tried to get her to sleep during the dinner, hoping it would mean her lasting through the evening, but he’d had no such luck. There had been too much going on – too many people, too much noise, too much attention from her uncles. The environment was too overwhelming and exciting for her to sleep in, leading to her getting sleepier the more the night went on.

“I know,” You soothe, rubbing your hand down her back, over the frills of the adorable dress you had got her to wear for the special day. You re-adjust her in your lap so she’s facing you, letting her rest against your chest the best she can with your own outfit in the way. “Today has been a lot, hasn’t it?”

Luke pouts at the sight of his sweet daughter, reaching over to brush her curls out of her face as she yawns. She looks up at him, her eyes heavy with tiredness, making his heart melt. “C’mere, baby. Do you want to dance with daddy?”

You chuckle at his words, knowing she’s not in the mood to be moved around a lot. He holds his hands out for her and you pass her over, watching him cuddle her into his body, her face pressed against his crisp white shirt. She nuzzles her cheek against him, trying to get comfy, but whining at the strange environment and loud noises. It’s only a moment before the first hiccup of a cry slips from her lips, and Luke knows she’s overwhelmed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He coos sympathetically, his hand lifting to smooth up and down her back. You reach into the bag of Delilah’s necessities that you brought along to keep her occupied and content, fishing out a pacifier and handing it to Luke. He slips it between her lips, waiting until she takes to it before bouncing her in his arms. “I’m gonna walk around and rock her for a bit.”

You nod and accept the sweet kiss he brushes to your lips, deciding to let him have some time with her before turning to speak to Ashton’s partner.

Luke keeps swaying her in his arms, heading to the middle of the dance floor where he can see Michael and Calum. He doesn’t know how kindly Delilah will take to attention from them when she’s so overtired but decides to try anyway. Michael spots them coming over and gestures to the DJ to turn the music down a little, now that a lot of people have started leaving anyway.

“Well, look who it is,” Michael announces, his heart melting at the sight of Luke rocking Delilah in his arms. “It’s only my favourite little wedding guest. Hi, honey.”

Delilah looks up at her uncle, lifting a tiny fist to rub at her eyes before cuddling back into Luke. He shifts her in his arms, so her face is level with his neck, his lips brushing over her head.

“Oh, someone is sleepy, huh?” Calum asks her, reaching out to brush his knuckle lightly over her cheek. Her eyes flutter at his touch, leaning into the comforting gesture. “God Luke, she’s so sweet.”

“I know,” Luke pouts, resting his cheek on her forehead. As the youngest band baby, both her parents and all her uncles dote on her; all willing to drop literally anything to hold or comfort her. “And very overtired. I’m surprised she hasn’t crashed yet.”

“Too tired for a cuddle with the groom?” Michael asks, not knowing whether it would be a good idea, but not being able to resist. “Will she cry if I hold her?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Luke replies, knowing Delilah is usually content with any of her uncles holding her. “Here you go.”

He passes Delilah to Michael, waiting for a moment to see if she instantly decided she wanted to be back with him. She doesn’t resist though, just whines for a moment at the change of arms, before settling with Michael. He sways with her to the music, keeping his hand on her back to secure her in his arms.

“There we go, sweet girl. Have you had so much fun today, huh? How has your first wedding been?” Michael murmurs to her, his pointer finger running up and down her cheek. Luke stays close, watching the two of them interact.

“She’s so ready for bed,” Luke chuckles, watching his heavy-lidded daughter gaze at him with a sleepy expression on her face. He knows they don’t have much longer before she loses her resolve and will no longer be happy to be passed around them.

“It’s been a big day for you, hasn’t it? Are you all partied out?” Michael murmurs, his other hand rubbing her back. She wriggles in his arms, and all Luke wants is to take her and get her to sleep – he knows how grumpy she’s about to get with how tired she is. “Okay bubs, I got my cuddle. You can have your dad back now.”

With a kiss to her forehead, he hands her back to Luke, deciding to go and find his bride. Luke gets her comfy again, letting her snuggle underneath the material of his black suit jacket. She yawns again and whines against him, her hand clinging to the neck of his shirt, so he wouldn’t put her down again. He heads back over to your table.

“Do we have her blanket? I think she’s cold.” He asks you, continuing to sway on the spot to keep her settled for the moment. You hand it to him, the soft cream material a much welcome comfort to Delilah as Luke wraps it around her small frame. “I got you, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long day for you.”

He sways around the edge of the dance floor with her, his hips moving in time with the music. He keeps his focus on her, eyes below the blanket, watching as her own eyes droop. She finally begins to fall asleep, allowing herself to rest, soothed and comforted as she’s surrounded by Luke.

He doesn’t know that you’re watching; that your gaze is soft, and your eyes are lined with unshed tears at the sight. You know how content Delilah is with him, watching how he rocks her, how he’s looking at her as she falls asleep in his arms. It makes you appreciate just how lucky you are to share a life with him, to have Delilah who is half you, half him – to witness him be such an incredible dad. The man you get to call the love of your life, and soon to be, husband.

***

Masterlist

Taglist: @irwinkitten @wildflowergrae @luckyduckydoo @letstaketheups-and-downs @jazzyangel242 @cashworthy @babylon-corgis @norawashere @monsteramongmikey @late-nightdevil @maluminspace @fluffsshawn @xhaileyreneex @flowerthug @calpops @youngblood199456 @aliencal @wokeupinjapanisabop @banditocth @cashtonasfuck @5-secondsofcolor @g-l-pierce @monsteramongmgc @calmlftv @mantlereid @treatallwithkindness @another-lonely-heart-blog @calumrose @inlovehoodx @mermaidcashton @everydayimfangirling345-blog @sexgodashton @b-easybreezy @ilumxna @malumsmermaid @opheliaaurora23 @talkfastromance4 @zhangyixingxing1 @everyscarisahealingplace @mateisit-balsamic @saphseoul @suchalonelysunflower @findingliam-o @castaway-cashton @megz1985 @notinthesameguey @calumscalm @karajaynetoday @metalandboybands @littledrummeraussie @vxlentinecal @itjustkindahappenedreally @queenalienscherrypie @xxxstormyninixxx @chicken-ona-stick @hoodhoran @harrys-shrooms

#this made me so emo #luke hemmings au #luke hemmings fics #5sos blurbs #5sos au #dad 5sos blurbs #dad!luke blurbs #dad!5sos blurb #dad!5sos #dadsos blurbs #dad!sos blurb #dad!sos blurbs #luke hemmings blurbs #mywriting #myblurbs #lukeanddelilah

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beclynn-herondale · 4 years ago

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Inside TMI Gang's diaries part 5 2/3

Clary: Dear diary, I ran away with Jace, mom won't be happy, but I have to save my Jace. Simon is covering for me, although that won't last long and mom may go mama bear on him, I do love him though and I'll owe him one. So far things have been weird, seeing Jace get along with Sebastian is strange and I don't like it, and Sebastian is as evil as ever, i miss Jace so much, this Jace isn't my Jace. And Sebastian doesn't trust me I know this for a fact, but I don't trust him either and you better watch your back Sebastian.

*Later*

So Jace's room is the same as it always is, so clean not a mess, everything is neat, but he isn't Jace. We went on a date, Sebastian let us cause Jace would be with me, Jace cam speak italian and hates ducks, I'll have to mention this stuff when he is my Jace again, we stole a boat but that's nothing new from what we usually do, the date was nice but I felt guilty for enjoying it, when we came back Sebastian was occupied and creepy, anyway, we had a talk when I woke up later and he is starting to confuse me, but that's what he wants. I went back to bed and got up again, also Jace can make eggs, I don't like them but can't tell him that, also I wonder if he can cook other things, need to make a list of things to ask him when he's back to normal Jace. We also read a copy of his ancestor's book.

*Later later*

Me, Jace and Sebastian, went on a mission kind of thing, Simon calls us team Evil, we fought a demon, and I actually kicked a demons butt, Sebastian took us to a kinda night club, me and Jace got high, Sebastian told me I have a dark heart and like bitch whatever. Me and Jace made out in the club and uh things kinda got outta control, I am not proud, ok, I thought I saw dead people and passed out, I woke up to Sebastian leaving and followed him, demons almost killed me and he saved me, what is he doing? I lost my ring and can't get in contact with Simon, everything is bad and maybe this is all hopeless, no, I just need coffee, sweet sweet coffee, I need a coffee high *coffee/knife/serious emoji*

Possessed Jace: Dear diary, things are good, Sebastian keeps giving me weird looks when I am with Clary though, Sebastian we are still cool though don't worry. Clary is here and it's nice, I want her to be happy and her to have whatever she wants, I am gonna be so romantic but cool about *sunglasses emoji* I am Jace Lightwood, and extremely smooth and she loves me.

*Later*

I took Clary on a date and I nailed it *sunglasses emoji* we went back home after that and I read to her and we went to sleep, after that we went on a mission, my fire goddess kicked ass, and Sebastian took us to a night club place to take care of evil stuff, me and Clary got high and we did some things at the night club. In the morning I made her eggs, I'll make her eggs all the time, Sebastian wants to discuss evil plans now.

Trapped Jace: *sharpening knives* just wait you little shit, keep looking at Clary like that and I'll stab you, I am gonna beat you up, you shall know my wrath, and I will bring it upon you. *Knife/murderous emoji*

Sebastian: Dear evil diary, what can I say, the fruit of evil is ripe, I have evil plans, I have Jace under my finger, I have Clary now too, and soon she'll understand. Jace will do anything I say and Clary will do anything for him, love truly does make one weak. And I wi burn shit. Also maybe I'll play with stuff as well. *Devil emoji*

*Later*

We got into a fight and Clary can kick ass, maybe I underestimated her a tiny little bit. We went to a night club and I talk to Meliorn and I do believe the fair folk will stand with me, and after all I do have something with the queen, and I know what you are going to say what about Jace? Well you see Jace is my backup plan he has no idea ;)

Alec: Dear diary, still sneaking around, Jace is still gone, Clary is gone now too, Jocelyn is angry and I know why she scares Jace now, Izzy and Simon are something, Idk but my big brother instincts are kicking in. Jocelyn and Izzy went to the Iron Sisters and found out there isn't a weapon to separate Jace from Sebastian, unless it is of heaven itself or something. *Shrug emoji*

*Later* so we summoned a demon, and then a greater demon, what have we become? I'll do whatever it takes to save Jace, but like when did we start summoning demons and greater demons like it's not a big deal? I think we've lost our minds, and we are also now apparently going to summon Raziel, what are we doing, but it's for Jace. Also Magnus does look good in his outfit today but there is stuff between us. When did life get so complicated? *shrug emoji*

Magnus: Dear diary, welcome back to the crazy chaotic would of Shadowhunters, I may have lost Clary, but it's not my fault she can make portals, I see an angry Jocelyn in my future. Alec is kinda weird lately but it's probably nothing, Isabelle and Jocelyn were going to the Iron Sisters to see if there is a weapon that can separate Jace and Sebastian, blondie needs to come back so all this Shadowhunter drama will calm down.

*Later*

We summoned a demon and after that we summoned the greater demon Azazel, the little shit almost told Alec who my father is, and I swear what have I gotten myself into? Oh! Also apparently we are gonna summon an Angel now, I have a feeling we'll all be dead by the end of this, it's a miracle we haven't died already, I have to do research and stuff, also Sheldon saved my cat so I am thankful for that, Isabelle and Simon have something going on, Jocelyn is gone, and I want to drink and drink, cause Magnus is done bitches. But also Alec is looking beautiful today. *throws glitter* *sunglasses emoji*

Izzy: Dear diary, Simon came to me like I asked him to, and he told me about starwars or something, I don't remember the plot exactly but I think they had something called lifesavers???? Or something, also they are apparently in space which is cool, and the good guys win. Also me and Jocelyn went to the Iron Sisters and they said I would make a good one but like bish ya girl needs her heels, idk what has gotten into me lately, but when I think about Simon I feel happy and I get this feeling and I want to spend time with him and hear him talk endlessly about starwars cause he is so passionate about it. *Confused emoji*

*Later*

We may have kinda summoned a demon, and then a greater demon, and now we may kinda be getting ready to summon an angel we are on our way to Luke's farm so yeah. . . But yeah, Simon may die and idk what to do... *Blank emoji*

Simon: Dear diary, life just doesn't seem to be letting up, first Clary ran off to do reckless shit, Jace is literally possessed by her evil Brother and is like a puppet, Jocelyn is mad I didn't stop Clary, but honestly who can stop Clary?!?! — Izzy went off to the Iron sister earlier with Jocelyn before she found out Clary was gone and apparently they can't make a weapon to separate Jace and Sebastian without killing them both, this is the part where that intense action yet hopeless music would start playing. *Nerd emoji*

*Later* I told Izzy the plot of Starwars and she listened and laughed and said it was neat, she said It was neat and even though it is so much more than neat for some reason her just listening to me talk about it made me so happy, she may become a fan *Shooketh emoji* but also we summoned a demon, and then a greater demon and now we are going to summon an angel to try and get the angel Michael's sword called glorious cause it's apparently the only weapon that will work, but I may die so rip, but also please let everything be alright but also I do have the mark of cain it's just a matter of if it works. *Worried emoji*

Church: Dear Cat diary, I come to you with the heavy weight of the most fucking done I have ever been, Jem is still hasn't come and saved me, Herondale is still possessed and honestly I am done, fire ball ran away, archer boy is off doing shit, Izzy is falling in love now too and I thought she would be the one who wouldn't like girl love drama? And Simon is probably contributing to whatever chaotic plan fire ball has. evil shit is probably off doing evil shit, where's that sweet little boy? Gone! Because an ass had to be an ass. Sorry I need to control my emotions, I just miss Jem so much, and these kids are driving me crazy, also Magnus you are contributing as well now,Jem Jem Jem pls. Anyway I am gonna go sharpen my claws and eat tuna and drown my sorrows in tuna. *Cat/tuna/murderous emoji*

Tag list: @khaleesiofalicante @chibi-tsukiko @megs-readstoomuch @spotsandclawsthings @magnus-the-maqnificent @replayfootsteps @sarcasticmalecfan @simply-ellas-stuff @my-archerboy

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calumcest · 4 years ago

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even when the night changes it will never change me and you

okay yes i know i have literally just dropped off the face of the planet and i show up a month later with almost 2k of nonsense pseudoangst but you know what. sometimes life just be like that i have a lot going on right now so i can’t promise i’ll be back here often but i will try i’m adjusting to a new (and INSANELY busy) routine but hopefully once i’m more settled in that i’ll have more time to be back here and also time to write more britpop i MISS writing britpop

Grief isn’t new to Ashton.

He’s grieved relationships, grieved lost relatives, grieved phases of his life, grieved friends that have come and gone. He’s mourned endings of tours and album cycles and futures that could have been but weren’t, cried for himself and for others and for nothing in particular. Ashton’s life has been full of grief from the moment his father had scooped out a part of his heart and run off with it, leaving a clumsy, too-young Ashton to try and learn how to grow the rest of it back again.

But he’s never grieved someone who’s still there.

Grief is marked by a sense of loss, and until now, it’s made sense to Ashton. People flit in and out of his life, marking his days with laughter and a heart fit to burst and then a stomach so hollow it feels like when they’d left, they’d taken yet another part of him with them. He must be scattered at the four corners of the world by now, a bit of his heart here and a piece of his soul there and maybe even a part of his lungs somewhere too, the breath stolen from him by a face he can barely remember but still makes his newly-stitched-up stomach ache. And the more abstract things have made sense too; endings, that ring of finality, that gut-wrenching moment in which the world stands still and he stands still with it and nobody else does and he realises that’s it, it’s over, and I’m the only one who’s noticed. Grief is loss, he thinks, and maybe solitude, that crushing awareness that whoever said he was born alone and he’ll die alone was right, that even though he’s got everybody else alongside him they can’t ever be with him.

And there is a loss with this grief, too, but he can’t put his finger on what it is, because Luke’s still here.

He’s still smiling brightly at Ashton when they wake up in the mornings, blue eyes a little hazy as the remnants of sleep drain out of Luke’s irises, seeping through his bones and into the mattress they should probably replace by now. He’s still yelling for Ashton when there’s a spider on the wall, the same note of panic in his voice as there always has been, the same escalation in pitch when Ashton doesn’t defy the laws of physics to get from the upstairs bedroom to the downstairs bathroom in the space of three milliseconds. He still turns his face to Ashton when they’re watching TV, blinking slow and breathing even and lips already curved up in a soft smile because he knows Ashton’s going to kiss him before even Ashton does.

So why is Ashton grieving him?

Or, not Luke, specifically. Luke’s still Luke, always has been Luke, and there have been times Ashton has found himself on his knees in a pew praying to a God that he doesn’t believe in that he always will be Luke, too. No, Luke hasn’t changed, and Ashton hasn’t changed either, but they’ve changed. Or, no, that’s not quite right either. Nothing has changed, but something has shifted. Something’s moved, and Ashton doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, but it’s not a good thing either. It’s just- it’s just a thing. Nothing’s grown, nothing’s shrunk, but something’s been shuffled around, and Ashton’s still reaching for it in its old place, knuckles knocking against the edge of it rather than fingers curling around it.

But it’s unnerving, because he doesn’t know what it is.

He finds himself picking up letters from the doormat addressed to Luke, and he falters, stares at Luke’s name for a moment, something curling uncomfortably in his stomach. He finds himself drinking in all of Luke across the table as Luke tells some animated story about one time in Year Nine, right, when me and Michael hated each other, and the words wash over him because there’s no room left in Ashton for them to sink in, not when he’s so full of an unsettled feeling at the sight of Luke’s bright blue eyes and pretty pink lips, the same as ever, but a few millimetres to the left of where they used to be in his heart. Most of all, though, he finds himself aching, finds every cell in his body turning itself over and over, left to right, right to left, up and down, trying to discern whether it’s here that things have changed, whether it’s here that he can find that old comfort and safety hiding away.

And it’s confusing, because he hasn’t lost anything. His way, maybe, or his mind, but somehow it feels like something more than that, something bigger and extrinsic. Or maybe it’s intrinsic, and that’s the whole fucking problem. His fingers are scrabbling at the worn fabric of himself, at the soft fabric of Luke, at the well-known fabric of the two of them, tough and sturdy thread weaving in and out of glinting silk, but it all feels the same. Maybe it’s his fingertips that have changed. Maybe he’s got new fingerprints, leaving brand new stains all over himself and over Luke, marking him up as his all over again.

He doesn’t tell Luke. What would he say? Something’s changed, but it hasn’t. Nothing’s changed, but it has. He doesn’t need frog-marching to the doctor. He needs to find where things have moved, needs to follow the spotlight as it crosses the stage, not stay three feet behind it, unable to guess where it’s going to move next. But he doesn’t know how, because he doesn’t know what’s moved, and until he knows what’s moved he won’t know where it’s moved, and until he knows where it’s moved he won’t know where - or whether - it’s going to move after that.

He does tell Calum, though.

He’s only planning on saying one carefully constructed sentence, one throwaway line that he’s neatly built up with sharp new bricks, but it seems like he might have forgotten the cement, because it all comes tumbling out, tongue twisting in on itself as the words try and form themselves before Ashton can see their shapes and stop them in their tracks. Calum just listens, though, nods, doesn’t interrupt or stop him or frown or even look like he’s thinking about it, like he’s already formulating a response in his mind. He just listens, and then when Ashton’s finished, he looks at him, dead in the eye in that way that Ashton hates because Calum’s the only person besides Luke who’s found the direct line between Ashton’s eyes and his soul.

“That makes sense,” he says.

“No it doesn’t.” How the fuck can it make sense to Calum, when it doesn’t even make sense to Ashton?

“It does,” Calum presses, unbothered by Ashton’s resistance. “It’s not grieving the loss of a person or loss of a stage of life, but the loss of your old perception of how things are. It’s just adjusting to a shift.”

“Why would it change?” Ashton wants to know, like Calum’s the keeper of the keys to Ashton’s own mind.

“Just happens,” Calum says, with a shrug. “You change, so your perception changes. Would be a bit weird if you still saw the world like a nine-year-old, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t feel like I’ve changed.” Ashton knows he’s being stubborn, but he can’t leave with a half-thought, needs Calum to lead him right up to the water and cup his hands in it and then bring them to his lips for him. Or maybe Ashton’s already in the river; maybe that’s why he can’t seem to find anything to drink, because how is he supposed to know to drink what appears to be his ground?

“Change doesn’t always have to come in eureka moments,” Calum says. “Things can change you without you noticing. And you can change you without you noticing.” Ashton steeps himself in those words for a moment, lets them bleed into his core and half-expects them to burn at him like acid, but they just surround him, soothe him like coolant on an overworked engine.

And suddenly, Ashton finds the spotlight. It’s not three feet away. It’s right next to him, waiting patiently for him to step into it. Nothing has changed, he was right about that, and something did shift; he was right about that too. It’s just his perception - he’s the same, Luke’s the same, and they’re the same, but Ashton’s perception of them has changed.

“Oh,” Ashton says, and Calum doesn’t say anything else, because he’s brought the water to Ashton’s lips now, and it’s up to Ashton to learn to clumsily do it on his own.

It takes him a while.

It’d be nice if it were a simple process, if change did all come in eureka moments, so he could simply turn his back on the smiles that make it all the way from his heart into his lungs and up his trachea but falter just before his lips, so he could look at Luke without his stomach flipping uncomfortably, but it isn’t. The smiles stay forced, and his stomach tries its best to earn a spot in the Gymnastics Australia Olympics squad, but it gets easier. It’s not permanent, now, and it gets less and less, until instead of feeling thick in his mouth Ashton’s tongue is curled around laughter and I love yous that he means almost more than he’s ever meant them before. And it’s not like he ever didn’t mean them - nothing changed, after all; he always loved Luke as much as he always has - but he’s starting to feel his way into his place again, finding the taped X on the stage right in the middle of the spotlight that he’d managed to miss somehow.

And then, before he’s even realised it, he’s stood right in said middle of the spotlight, feet placed perfectly on the X, watching the little particles of dust as they float around him, disturbed by his steady inhales and even exhales. And when he looks out, tries to make out something other than the column of light he’s bathed in, he sees a figure in the front row, beaming at him, like he’s the entire show they’d come to see.

Luke. It’s always been Luke.

(And when he picks up the post one morning and sees Mr L. R. Hemmings, he falters again. To smile at the envelope, to feel that familiar warm glow in his heart, to feel the way his fingers curl around that inscrutable thing rather than bumping against it.

Loss doesn’t always have to mean grief. Sometimes it can be hope.)

#lashton #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos slash #yeah i wrote this in like 20 minutes embarrassing #anyway back to my reading about tacit knowledge <3 at least its not internalism/externalism anymore #however i think i have time at the weekend to FINALLY read sam and bellas birthday fics for me #i am so excited i cant even tell you #however i have to say hilarious that part of this fic is taken from the internalism/externalism debate we had today #thats literally sending me my masters degree...put to use for 5sos fic...

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henriiiii-1001old · 4 years ago

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rambling pt 9(?) - a lot of stuff xddd

sooo i’ve been coming up with a few hcs that i wanna share, and i really hope you guys don’t mind. i haven’t rambled in a while anyways sooo yeah

gonna put this under the “read more” since i might put a lot, but here’s what i’ll be rambling abt:

fnaf 3 updated hcs! fnaf sb (just a lil since the game hasn’t come out yet) william and herny’s springlock incident (warning for most of the hc being very deailed in how the incident went and being set in a hospital setting!!!)

enjoy!

updated fnaf 3

sooo this honestly only has a few changes to it, but i’m gonna explain it in detail bc why not.

char still gets the job at fazbear’s fright and hope is still the phone dude/gal of this universe (she just checks up on them every night before their shift to make sure they made it there alive). so char’s first night goes pretty well, they slept half the shift and just decided they’d leave an hour early just bc nothing was really going on. next night though, they see something on one of the far cameras that had recently been installed: a giant, rotting bunny suit. char decided that it was a good idea to see the fucker up close, so that’s what they did.

and then william, now springtrap, awakens with no memory of his life. the only things he remembers are the name “henry” and the memory of seeing yellow eyes. everything else is hazy to him. char thinks that someone had maybe died in the suit a long time ago, and they decided that he was now their friend (and they called him fluff butt just because his tail was still fluffy unlike the rest of him xddd).

weeks pass, and springtrap gains a few of his memories, growing close to char as they are his only friend. he thinks that char is henry for a while since he saw char’s amber eyes, and henry has yellow eyes. char’s boyfriend (his name is franky say hello uwu) eventually ended up visiting one night bc char invited him over, and he got to meet the big guy himself. char was being a bit of a butt to springtrap though since they hadn’t gotten much sleep, and franky didn’t blame them. they really didn’t like him calling them henry, and out of pity franky told spring that he could call franky henry. that’s when springtrap also remembered the name “ryan”, the other bitch he slept with when henry wasn’t around. (they did later figure out that springtrap was william bc of this fact but no one wanted to tell him yet bc char thought he could maybe change since he lost literally all of his memories).

another few weeks pass and springtrap remembers a lot of his life now, if not all of the memories he had before he died (somehow. not even he knows how he gained his memories). springtrap is now exhibiting behaviors the old william did, cocky, master of manipulation and guilt tripping, the god complex shit, etc. one day, char told him everything about him, not knowing that he had regained most of his memories. he then decided that maybe he could try and get some remnant by betraying char and killing them, but they quickly caught onto what he was doing and was chased around the building. henry and mk (not michael this time surprise surprise :D) rush in, char’s arm gets broken, mk gets char out while henry beats springtrap with an axe, lights the place on fire, and everyone rushes char to the hospital.

oh, and charlie just.. watched the whole thing happen bc she didn’t want anyone knowing she was still around, so char and charlie don’t become friends anymore. sorry guys :’(

fnaf sb

short section thank goodness. sooo all i really have planned out for sb is that annabeth (tape girl) gets a job at the new pizzaplex, gregory is some random kid who got lost one night and he got home safely when he found annabeth. cult hears abt this and decides they’ll take the kid’s remnant, but thing is char, hope and their two other friends, jake and sammy found them about to kill him. sammy decides he’ll bolt into the group and snatch the kid and.. it actually works? gregory eventually ends up safe but sammy gets kidnapped by the cult. char tried saving him but alex the bastard shot them >:(

i do wanna say something else but i’m gonna save that for later lol (it’s spoilers for the end of my au qwq)

the springlock incedent

aiiight this one i’ve actually been thinking recently, so sorry if things get out of place quickly

another warning just in case: this hc has a somewhat detailed explanation of ho the event went, and it mentions a lot of blood, suffocation, and the hc is set in a hospital for a while. please look away of you are sensitive to this type of content.

henry and william were practicing for a performance one day, and things were going great. their wives just took care of the kids outside since it was a weekend. plus the kids wanted to come and watch the performance. henry and will first practiced in a lone room so the kids couldn’t see yet. thing is... something reeaallly bad happened.

something set off the springlocks in fredbear, but henry didn’t make a sound. he trained himself to shut up when he experienced pain, so he just stood there and took it. william noticed and then realized something went wrong, so he then panicked as he tried getting henry out of the suit and instead made springbonnie’s springlocks set off as well. through the pain, suffocation, and lots of blood loss, william managed to get both of them out of the suits. he had no energy left in him, and henry had already passed out from blood loss, so all william could do was sleep..

carol came in to check on them and thought they had died. she and kathryn immediately called for medical service, and henry and will were rushed to the hospital. the kids wanted to come to see if they were alright, and carol and kathryn had no choice but to let them come along. they were not allowed to see them in person yet since the image of seeing them extremely bloody would leave the children scarred, and they didn’t want that.

william wakes up the next day, quickly adjusting to his surroundings. he tried sitting up, and while it was very painful he managed to sit up. he saw that kathryn had stayed with them for the night, and she was asleep on the couch. he also saw henry in the same room as him, sleeping peacefully. a doctor comes in and lets him know what had happened.

kathryn eventually wakes up and got to talk to william for a bit. she tells him that the kids are okay, but she was informed that henry actually had less of a chance to live since he was punctured by the springlocks much earlier than william, so they had dealt more damage to him.

they stayed in the hospital for a couple of days, william soon beginning to be able to walk around a little bit since he seemed to be healing faster than one normally would (ahemremnantahem). henry still made little to no progress in healing. it was getting to the point where he might even pass away...

henry’s heart monitor suddenly started going flat, and william was the only one in the room. he did whatever he could to save henry, messing with whatever he could in case something worked, but nothing did. he called for doctors and after a very quick and tense 20 seconds, henry was breathing and his heart was pumping, slowly returning back to normal. two hours passed and henry was finally awake.

it did take a while for henry to recover since he was asleep for a while. william did help him a lot, and they got released the next week.

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spaceskam · 5 years ago

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our fainted thrill carries on (5/13)

next chapter of my season 2 fix it!

ao3

“I can’t believe you were being a goddamn Peeping Tom at 3 in the morning at Flint Manes of all people. He’s not, like, ugly, but you can definitely do better.”

Kyle shook his head as he entered the motel room Cam was staying at, already yanking his notebook out of his bag. He dropped onto her bed and flipped it open to the page where he’d drawn the symbol from Jesse Manes’ hip.

“I wasn’t peeping for fun, look at this,” Kyle said. Cam sat beside him. “This is the tattoo that both Jesse Manes and Flint Manes have. I didn’t have a chance to check, but I would put money on the fact that at least one of Alex’s other brothers has it too.”

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“That’s the thing, I don’t actually know,” he told her, “There’s just something about it that’s off to me. It’s a combination of the male symbol and the Neptune symbol, which is three, like the trident, so I’m thinking it’s three men, right? Well, when Alex was talking to his dad earlier, he mentioned something called M.V.C.”

“Which is…?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

“You’re coming here with a lot of missing information.”

“Yes, but,” Kyle said, “I have theories.”

She eyed him before leaning a bit closer to get a good look at the symbol. It was a long shot, but he figured another brain might help piece shit together more. Besides, she was smart and thought like Alex without all of the daddy issues.

“So, originally, I was thinking that maybe it was just three different guys, but now I’m thinking it’s three different generations. Like, the generations of Manes Men that are hunting aliens or whatever. And it’s more symbolic that three actual generations, it’s more of like ‘my father, me, my son’ type of deal. I have no way of seeing if Jesse Manes’ father had one, but the one on his hip looks aged enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if his father did it himself when he was, like, 15.”

“Jesus.”

“I mean, think about it, Jesse having a seriously controlling father would explain why he is the way he is,” Kyle said. He knew she didn’t know all the details about Alex’s relationship with his father, but she knew enough. “And the reason why Alex didn’t get roped in is because he showed early on that he was rebellious and it took more than intimidation to instill conformity.”

“Okay, nice theory, but I think that might be a stretch? Like, I think you’re trying to fit what you know about Cap and his dad into the box of what you think the tattoo means. What if it’s something completely different and you’re just veering really far off track?” Cam said. Kyle smiled at her and, if she wasn’t capable of killing him, he probably would’ve done something stupid like thank her for having a brain.

“Yes, absolutely! I am too wrapped up in this theory and I’m trying to prove it right rather than trying to find objective information,” Kyle said, “Which is where you come in.”

“I’m listening.”

“Thursday night, we’re having like a group dinner at Max’s, so I’ll know where everyone is and know that they’re safe. Do you think you can do some sleuthing in that time to see what you can find?” Kyle asked. Her face hardened and she leaned away from him.

“By sleuthing, do you mean seducing Flint Manes?” she asked cooly. Kyle immediately shook his head, though now that she mentioned it, it did sound like a good idea.

“I mean, not necessarily,” he said. Cam fixed him with a look.

“I’ll look into things, but I’m not sleeping with Cap’s brother,” she said. Kyle nodded easily.

“Absolutely, I just need fresh eyes and ideas," he told her. She nodded, reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing her phone. She took a picture of the symbol.

"I'll keep you updated. Now go home and go the fuck to sleep because you look like you haven't slept in 24 hours."

He didn't have the heart to correct her that it was 36.

"Michael fucking Guerin!"

Michael slowly smiled at the sound of Alex's voice as he climbed out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his hips and grabbed another one to dry his hair, throwing the bathroom door open. He sauntered to the kitchen where Alex was doing laundry. The washing machine and dryer were really out of place there, but Alex had rigged them up all by himself and who was Michael to judge.

"You called?"

Alex whipped around, totally unphased by Michael's level of nudity. That felt more worthwhile than when he got flustered. This… this was fucking normal. How cool was that?

"What is this?" Alex demanded, shoving his jeans in Michael's direction, "Is that wood glue?"

Michael took it from him and gently scratched the rough, dull-colored patch on the fabric.

"Yeah, looks like it."

"You are a mechanic. What are you doing with wood glue? Why are you messing with wood glue when you're wearing my jeans? Stop ruining my jeans!"

“Relax,” Michael laughed, grabbing them out of his hands, “You got vinegar? That’ll usually get it out.”

Alex just continued to glare at him and Michael took a bold step forward, tilting his head in a slightly cocky manner. He licked his bottom lip and watched as Alex’s irritation slowly melted, his shoulders dropping. Not for the first time that week, he thought about kissing him, but he held off. That was a bad idea and they both knew it.

“Go put vinegar on it and then get dressed,” Alex told him, stepping to the side to go find a pair of not-stained jeans. Before Michael could catch himself, he grabbed his arm and leaned close. Alex couldn’t even hide his smile as he did so, still trying to force a glare. “What do you want?”

“Don’t be mad at me, please,” Michael said as softly as he could, pouting slightly and batting his eyelashes. Alex rolled his eyes and pulled out of his grasp.

“Dry off, you heathen,” Alex laughed. Michael watched as he headed to the bedroom and took a deep breath before he turned to put that section of his jeans in a bowl of vinegar.

It was weird to think that this was the most stable they’d ever been for the longest amount of time. Tonight would make it a full week of sleeping in the same bed, spending all their free time together, learning more about each other than they ever had. Michael didn’t realize just how much he didn’t know about Alex. Sure, maybe he still hadn’t mentioned that piece, but it was hard to be mad by that when Alex was right there and laughing through a story about a time in France where he accidentally walked in on his past CO getting off to a Lady Gaga music video and had been sworn to secrecy, but Michael was an exception.

Soon enough, they were in Michael’s truck, carpooling to Max’s house. He shouldn’t have felt so fucking giddy about going to his dead brother’s house for some pseudo-family dinner, but he was. It helped that Alex’s jeans hugged his thighs and Alex was right there, humming along to the radio.

“Oh, so, just a warning, Liz is probably going to ask you about what’s going on between us,” Michael warned, “Maybe Isobel too, but most likely Liz.”

“Why?” Alex asked slowly.

“Because she thinks I’m, like, leading you and Maria on or something. But I’m not, right? Like, you don’t think that’s what I’m doing, do you?” Michael clarified. Alex instantly shook his head.

“We’re literally trying to revive a dead alien and trying to track down whatever my dad’s bullshit is, who has time for maintaining a romantic relationship?” he said.

“Exactly!” Michael scoffed. Alex huffed a small little laugh that was so much cuter than it had any right being.

“She hasn’t talked to me about it,” Alex admitted, tapping against his leg to the rhythm of the song playing on the radio, “Actually, neither of them have really talked to me at all about anything.”

“Wait, for real?” Michael asked, “You’re giving Liz a space to do all of her experimentings and she doesn’t even talk to you?” Alex shrugged like it didn’t matter. But it did. Michael was the first to admit he was shit at maintaining friendships, but Liz and Maria always claimed Alex was their best friend. They took care of each other, he was one of theirs.

But did that only apply for when they needed something?

“It’s fine.”

“Well, I mean, it’s just weird. Like, she acted like she’d talked to you about it like she was scared that you were gonna get hurt,” Michael explained, “Not that I’d ever hurt you on purpose like that again, by the way.” Alex snorted.

“Liz and I have never, and I mean never, talked about my love life. Which is fine, there’s not much to tell, but still, she’s never once acted like she was concerned about what the two of us are doing while cohabiting,” Alex said. Michael took his bottom lip between his teeth. Cohabiting. “And Maria and I used to talk about it, but that stopped once she found out it was you I had a history with. Then… after she came over, we haven’t really talked at all. Which is my fault too, I haven’t reached out.”

“I’m sorry I fucked things up between you two,” Michael said, glancing over at him. He had his head against the window, staring at the passing desert with interested eyes. It was just like he’d done when they were young and Michael didn’t know how to process that.

“No, we didn’t exactly try. One day I’ll talk to her. I sort of have to get up the courage because I feel bad about the way I acted,” Alex admitted. Michael huffed a laugh.

“Same,” he said, “I was probably worse.”

“I would say we could go apologize to her together, but I think she might get the wrong idea if we’re within 50 feet of each other,” Alex said, biting back a laugh, “I did corrupt your straight white boy ass, you know.”

Michael shook his head with a laugh. “Cute.”

“Well, that’s what she thinks. Or, a lot of people think,” Alex said, “What is your percentage anyway? Like, a lot of bi people have a percentage or something, not always 50/50.”

“Yeah, see, I don’t fucking know,” Michael admitted. Alex actually laughed this time and Michael just smiled. He really didn’t know. He thought he was pretty 50/50, but it was hard to really conceptualize that on a human level. He guessed he could make a list of everyone he’d slept with and base it off of that, but even that felt skewed because most of the time he’d had pretty limited options in Roswell. If he counted everyone he’d been attracted to, though, that felt like an even harder thing. Did famous people count? Cartoons? At the end of the day, who really held a candle to Jessica Rabbit? “I just act on how I feel in the moment. But you aren’t the only man I’ve hooked up with if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex asked, “Who else?”

“Okay, it was only one other guy and it was just, like, giving head in the bathroom of a club, but still. You didn’t make me queer, you just made me know it was okay,” Michael said. Alex was quiet and when Michael glanced over at him, he saw him staring at him with that look. The one with the half-lidded eyes and the parted lips and his head tilted back. It had his stomach doing flips. “What?”

“Nothing,” Alex hummed, leaning forward to turn the radio up. Misery Business by Paramore was playing, still in it’s first few chords as if Alex had just sensed it was on.

“You can’t just ignore me for Hayley Williams,” Michael laughed. Alex cranked it up louder, the speakers thudding as the instruments kicked in. “Really?”

“I’m in the business of misery, let’s take it from the top,” Alex sang, leaning in instead of answering. Michael just rolled his eyes and joined in until they were both headbanging and scream-singing at the windshield. It felt good. Everything else in the world paled in comparison to just that.

He was almost sad as they pulled up to Max’s house.

Alex was not at all surprised when Rosa flew out of the door and immediately latched onto him as they walked up.

“Oh, thank god, save me.”

He laughed easily, wrapping her in a hug. He’d promised to see her more often, but he hadn’t really been making good on that promise. It was a problem that he definitely was going to put more effort into fixing. She was one of the only ones he could even tolerate at this point.

“Is it that bad?” Michael asked with a smile. Rosa looked over at him with a slightly judgy look in her eye, but he didn’t seem to take offense to it. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Can I move in with you for, like, a week?” she begged, “If I have to be locked alone or with Liz or with Isobel for any more time, I am going to lose it. It’s only been, like, a month.” Alex looked over to Michael and raised an eyebrow in question. Michael held up his hands.

“Hey, it’s your house. If you want a guest, don’t let me stop you,” he said.

“Mm,” Alex hummed in response. Michael flashed him a warm smile and then let himself inside the door, leaving Rosa and Alex alone.

She waited until the door closed and they were, for the most part, out of earshot before pulling away. The look on her face was nothing short of intrigued and he was again filled with an old sense of belonging. Maybe he would let her stay for a while. Lately, Michael had been giving him that same welcome feeling, so why not add more to the mixture? It made him feel good.

“So, are you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to slowly pull it out of you?” she asked. A confused smile fond his face and he tilted his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Alex,” she said, pouting her lips as she teased him, “Amor está en el aire.”

“Stop,” he warned despite her dramatic tone bringing a smile to his lips.

“Or should I say lust.”

“That would be even further away,” Alex laughed, looking up to double-check that no one was hanging outside the door and then casually scoping the rest of the perimeter that he could see, “We’re just friends.”

“Mhm,” Rosa hummed, crossing her arms and popping her hip out to the side as she judged him, “And there’s no residual feelings?”

“Okay, I didn’t say that,” Alex said, trying ignoring the way his cheeks started to burn, “But we’re just not in a place for that and, honestly, things are better right now than they’ve ever been between us. I’m not going to fuck with that especially when we’re still not done handling things with my dad.”

“When will you ever be done with your dad, though, Alex? Because even after he’s dead, he’s still going to haunt you and we all know it,” Rosa said bluntly. Alex’s smile dropped easily and he shifted his weight. “I don’t want you putting off your happiness for something that’ll never go away.”

“It’s not that,” he said, but he paused, “Well, it’s a little bit that. But mostly we’re just still in the thick of it, it’d be stupid.”

“Is that it or are you just scared to ask for what you want?” Rosa pressed. He scoffed.

“You’re just going in deep aren’t you?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she grinned, “No, but, for real, can I stay with you?”

“Depends, are you going to mock me for sharing a bed with him?”

Rosa’s eyes went wide and she scoffed, her jaw-dropping dramatically.

“I swear, if I could go back and tell baby Alex that he’d be sharing a bed with the boy he’s in love with, he’d tell me I was a liar.”

“If you told baby Alex a lot of things that are going on right now, he’d tell you you were a liar,” he laughed, “Let’s go inside and I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay, you harlot.”

“There it is.”

Isobel gave him that look that told Michael that he was in trouble.

“Oh, what the hell did I do this time?” he asked.

She looked over to where Kyle and Liz were cooking before grabbing his arm, pulling him down the hall and sufficiently into Max’s bedroom. They both unintentionally upturned their noses at how much Liz and Rosa had just made it their own space. It was jarring no matter how much they understood that she had the full right to do so. Eventually, Isobel shifted her attention back to him.

“How are you?”

Michael blinked at her for a moment in confusion. “Huh?”

A small pout overcame her face and she sighed, “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Rosa and Liz and it’s come to my attention that I may have been a shitty sister. We used to act like them, or something, but now I feel like we’ve just drifted apart without Max. Which I have no excuse for because I can feel you a lot more now. You feel… better.”

Michael was hesitant to smile as he watched her. This felt like one of those conversations that was going to veer off into the other direction, but right now… Right now, she looked sincere. So sincere that he pulled her into a hug and she clung right back. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her.

“Catch me up, what have I missed,” she urged, grabbing his hands and sitting them both on the bed, “I’ll go first so you don’t think I’m hounding you. I donated a few grand of Noah’s money to a woman’s shelter, I have been really good at being nice to both Ortecho sisters, and I’ve been working with Arturo to make a name for the Crashdown online whenever I’m not working on my powers or, like, my actual job. Your turn.”

Michael very quickly realized he had nothing for show and tell. He simply went to work, helped them at the lab, checked on Max, and went home to Alex, repeat. What was brag-worthy about that?

“I don’t really have anything to update you on,” Michael said. Isobel rolled her eyes.

“You are significantly less stressed than you were even last week,” she said, “What changed since then?”

He didn’t know how to answer without sounding stupid. Open honesty with Alex had suddenly cured his soul? Well, it wasn’t that. He couldn’t even really articulate what exactly had caused him to feel like this.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging, “Alex just likes having me around and we talk about things. We never used to do that before, it feels good.” Isobel gave him a tiny smile, like she knew something he didn’t.

“You’re really happy with him?”

“We’re not, like, together or anything. I don’t want that right now, we’re just good like we are. But I… I can’t describe why it’s so good right now.”

“Because it’s unconditional,” Isobel said, voice soft and eyes glassy. She didn’t usually give him that look or speak to him like that. They were usually playful, but she looked serious. He wondered if it had anything to do with Max not being around. “You’re finally feeling unconditional love.”

Michael swallowed hard as she just said it out loud. It felt like a good descriptor, honestly. He felt wanted and needed, but in a way that meant he could also want and need right back and it wouldn’t result in failure. Because Alex trusted him enough to call him when he needed him even after all the bullshit, he didn’t kick him out when he ruined his jeans, he didn’t yell at him for not understanding, he only kept one secret. Alex had said open and he’d thrown himself all in.

But now that she said it out loud, it sounded terrifying.

“Okay, you look like you’re going to throw up,” Isobel said, sniffling, “Sorry, I’m just, like, feeding off your emotions and you just… you feel really safe. I’ve never felt that from you before and I didn’t realize. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you’ve never felt safe, Michael.”

“It’s okay,” he said, still trying to process it for himself. Is this really what it was supposed to feel like all the time?

“No, it’s not. I’ve been a shitty sister.”

“I’ve been a shitty brother.”

Isobel just rolled her eyes and pulled him into another hug, one that lasted a little longer than the one before. He sighed easily against her shoulder, closing his eyes as he relaxed in her grasp. He missed her so much.

“So, are you guys back together?”

“What? No.”

The sweet moment ended when she slapped his shoulder.

“So, um, your dad,” Liz said, scraping her fork against the plate.

When Alex had suggested this whole thing so he could get a feel on how Liz was coping, he had stupidly thought that maybe, just maybe, it would feel normal. They were all friends, all of them close and reliant on each other. And yet it was fucking awkward.

“Right,” Alex said, clearing his throat and putting his fork down, “So, we’re pretty sure he’s up to something on a deeper level. There’s something called M.V.C. that I’ve been trying to look into, but I’m not finding anything yet. I don’t know if I’m just looking in the wrong places or what, but, that being said, I think we all need to be careful.”

“I’m already being careful,” Liz told him. Alex nodded once.

“I know, I’m saying we need to be extra cautious,” Alex went on, “My brothers are in town and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they’re tied up in this shit. With Max being gone and us focusing on that, it makes everyone a little more vulnerable.”

“Us?” Liz asked, tone still clipped, “No, it’s me and Isobel and Michael working on Max.”

Alex blinked and refused to show any emotion, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. He knew that Liz wasn’t exactly his biggest fan right now‒God knows why‒but he wasn’t sure why she was being rude. He’d given her a lab and they were supposed to be friends, and yet it seemed to stop there. They didn’t talk. They didn’t do anything. How much was that for friendship?

“Anyway,” Kyle jumped in, “Right now, Jenna is looking into Flint and Jesse to see if she can get any separate information that we aren’t getting.”

Alex took the moment of attention being taken off of him to look over for some strength to keep his mind on track. He didn’t want to let whatever Liz felt towards him distract him from why he was here. He locked eyes with Rosa who raised her eyebrows and tilted her head just enough to say you got this. He wasn’t sure she even knew what she was supporting him to do, but she did it anyway without any hesitation. He loved her for that.

“Wait, Jenna’s back in town?” Isobel asked.

“Yeah,” Kyle answered, “And she’s giving me updates, but so far Flint isn’t budging. Apparently, he’d been warned about her.”

“Back up, you told her about everything with Max?” Liz asked. Kyle eyed her and then gave Alex a look that said ��see?’. Alex’s eyes drifted to Isobel and then Michael, both of them looking like they didn’t belong in the conversation, then to Rosa who was trying to hype him up to get on topic. “Because that is not your business to tell.”

“Liz, you know you can trust us, right?” Alex said, “Because it feels like you think you’re on you’re own.”

“Is that right? Because the only one helping me with Max is Michael and Isobel,” Liz argued, “You and Kyle aren’t helping.”

“Liz, I am helping, I’m just trying to also deal with Project Shepard stuff,” Kyle said softly. Liz shook her head, clearly irritated with him saying that. Alex furrowed his eyebrows.

“Liz, my father is an actual threat,” Alex told her, “We don’t even know if Max has a chance. His heart is shredded. Can he even be revived, Liz? Honestly, can he? Or is this just false hope to distract you from mourning him?”

Liz stared at him with a look that was so distinctly Rosa that it was jarring. She shoved her chair back and got to her feet, abandoning the table. They all sat quietly for a moment before Rosa pushed back her chair. Alex shook his head.

“I got it,” he said. Michael caught his eye, seeming a little too serious as he stared at him. That’d be the next thing he dealt with.

Alex followed Liz to the bedroom and found her standing there like she was preparing for a fight, face hardened and eyes set on him the moment he walked through the door. He took a moment to prepare himself as he shut the door behind him.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Alex,” she said as soon as the latch clicked in place.

“The science part? No, you’re right, I don’t. But I do know that you’re being more than a little irrational. What happens if it doesn’t work? Is Max even getting better at all?”

“Nothing exponential yet, but it’s something! It’s only been a month, Alex! We’re not going backward and that’s all I need to know that I can fix this!”

“Okay, and if you do fix it, then what happens? If you manage to resurrect him, then what? Because with the way you’re acting, I’m failing to see how you’re aren’t going to get some sort of power high from resurrecting someone.”

“The way I’m acting? Who are you, my dad? I’m just doing what’s right! He died to bring Rosa back, it’s my job to bring him back!”

“Is it, though? It’s not like you asked him to bring her back.”

“It doesn’t matter! I love him!” she yelled, tears brimming her eyes, “I love him and I hate him! He didn’t even ask me and he, he just left me as soon as I had something good! This can’t be the end of it!”

Things clicked in Alex’s head then and he took a step forward, holding his hands out so she could see them clearly.

“I know,” he said, “I know how it feels to lose someone just when it gets good.”

“Oh, screw you, Alex, you don’t know how I feel. You can’t compare your stupid little affair in high school to this,” Liz spat. He nodded even though it rubbed him the wrong way.

“You’re right, it’s not the same,” he agreed, “But pushing everyone away isn’t going to help, and being in denial isn’t going to help either. You need to mourn and you need your friends.” Liz shook her head and took a step away from him.

“No, what I need is Kyle and Michael to focus on helping me instead of being at your every beck and call,” she told him. Alex let his hands drop, his eyebrows furrowing. “They’re the only ones who can help me and you’re just capitalizing their time.”

“You’re… mad at me for having friends? You lost me,” Alex said. Liz groaned, throwing her head back and wiping her head.

“I’m not mad at you for having friends, I’m mad that,” Liz said, stopping herself as she gathered her thoughts, “I’m mad that…”

“That things aren’t going your way?” Alex filled in, “That things aren’t like they used to be? That I’m not just going to fold and back away and let you and Maria walk all over me and take everything?”

Liz scoffed, “We did not walk all over you.”

“Okay, maybe not, but you were definitely put first. Hell, you still are on some level. I know you don’t get it, but if I avoid my father, it won’t matter if you can bring Max back or not. We’re all fucked. We’re breaking rules to accommodate you and Michael and Kyle are doing all that they can to help you even if you don’t see it,” Alex explained, “And, look, I know you don’t like me anymore, but I do still care about you and it’s worrying me that you aren’t thinking clearly.”

“What?” Liz sighed, looking at him like he’d lost it, “What do you mean I don’t like you?”

“I’m not stupid, Liz. You call me your friend because we used to be, but actions speak louder than words.”

“Oh, but that doesn’t apply to you?”

“Excuse me?” Alex asked. She gave him a look like he should know what she meant, but he had no idea.

“You know that Michael has no idea what he wants and you’re still playing house with him,” she said, “I know you aren’t stupid, Alex, which is what I’m not getting. Why are you letting him in your house like that when you know he’s just trying to fuck you and Maria over? I like him, I do, and I know he’s charming, but he doesn’t care about anything but himself, Max, and Isobel at the end of the day. He is just like Max but even more destructive and all you’re doing is enabling him to hurt more people.”

Her words hit Alex like a blow to the stomach. He physically took a step back, trying to follow her ridiculous train of thought.

“Don’t talk about something you know nothing about,” Alex breathed, shaking his head. She gave him a truly pitiful look like he was the one who should feel bad.

“I know enough.”

“Do you?” Alex scoffed, “Do you know that I love him? That he loves me? That I have spent over a decade keeping him safe and I am not about to stop now? Maybe that makes me a fucking dumbass, but I know what I’m getting myself into with him. He’s not trying to fuck Maria over, he’s trying to learn how to take care of himself before he dives into something. He is doing better than I have ever seen him and I’m not going to take that away because you don’t understand. And he is not like Max. Just because your little alien is murderous and self-righteous, doesn’t mean mine is. And, for God’s sake, don’t act like this is about Michael when it’s about me.”

Liz stared at him, his words slowly but surely sinking in. He waited and stared without faltering. He realized a little bit more about the benefits of having Michael Guerin staying in his house. After this was over, he didn’t have to be alone. After this, he was going to go home and curl up against his chest and listen to him breathe and be held until he fell asleep. That would make up for this.

“You’re in love?” she asked. Alex rubbed his hands over his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “What matters is you think I’m sabotaging things by going after my dad and monopolizing Michael’s time. That isn’t what’s happening and I don’t know how to make you realize that.”

Liz stared at him, those frustrated tears coming right back.

“I don’t know who you are anymore, Alex,” she admitted, “Everyone’s changed since we were kids, but you’re a completely different person. I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to handle that on top of everything else.”

That stung, but Alex knew it was fair. He was still trying to see himself too.

“Okay,” Alex said, “Then I’ll make time to work closer with you.”

“What?”

“That’s the problem, right? You’re struggling to trust me, but we’re both the ones discovering the most information about this shit. We should be working together,” Alex decided, “Then maybe you can re-get to know me.”

“Okay.”

“You need friends, Liz,” he told her, “Or you’re going to break.”

Liz took a deep breath and nodded, wiping away her tears.

“Okay.”

“I got the glue out of your jeans.”

“Thanks.”

Alex was already curled up in bed and rubbing his temples by the time Michael came into the bedroom. He was tired and hadn’t really talked to anyone since he argued with Liz. His skin felt too tight and he was irritable and he felt even worse when he realized Michael was feeding off his negativity. He’d been in a good mood before dinner.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as Michael quietly checked the closet and behind the curtains for him before shutting off the lights.

“You’re okay,” Michael said. Alex shut his eyes as the bed shifted and he waited for Michael to reach for attention like he usually did. Except he didn’t. “Hey, uh… Do you really think we won’t be able to bring Max back?”

Alex curled in on himself a little more. Right.

“I don’t know. I just want you all to be prepared.”

“Yeah.”

Micahel was quiet for a few minutes, long enough that Alex started thinking he was angry at him. Alex almost apologized a handful of times, longing to be forgiven for something he wasn’t actually sorry for. He just didn’t want to push him away, he didn’t want to be annoying, he didn’t want to be a problem.

“Hey, Alex?” Michael said. Alex let out an unexpectedly heavy breath and he cursed himself for it. “Is there anything important you haven’t told me? Like, alien wise?”

Alex was instantly bombarded with documented torture he’d kept a secret, filmed dissections he’d hidden, videos of his mother trying to sweet talk guards that hit her or worse in response that he’d lied about, and that stupid piece of the ship that scared him more than anything. They were all stupid and small and out of Alex’s control in the grand scheme of things, but they were big and scary on their own. What if Michael stopped feeling safe? What if Michael left?

“No,” Alex said, “I’ve told you everything.”

Michael was silent again for a few seconds. Alex waited for him to call him out for being a liar, to call him out for being annoying and not the guy he actually loved. If Liz didn’t see him as himself, why should Michael?

Except then the mattress creaked as he shifted and slowly Michael’s arms encircled his torso. He exhaled in relief as Michael pressed up behind him, fitting against his form effortlessly. They fit together so well sometimes it hurt him. But he pressed his warm nose behind Alex’s ear and held him tight, using his body heat and willpower to shoo away all his bad feelings.

“You’re the strongest man I know, you know that, right?” Michael told him softly, “I trust you more than anyone in this entire galaxy.”

Alex didn’t know how to say he wasn’t worthy of that title. So he didn’t.

“It’s okay,” Michael added even softly, his voice hardly even making a sound at this point, “It’s okay to be sad. We all need a little help sometimes.” The words were Alex’s, but they fit in his mouth like they belonged there.

Alex’s body was flooded with emotion, that overwhelming feeling of everything coming for him and forcing tears to his eyes. None fell and he kept his eyes closed, but he knew more than ever that he loved him.

He loved him so much it hurt.

“Did you find anything?”

“Um, I think you should sit down.”

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows but did as Cam instructed and sat on her motel bed. He’d been spending a lot of time there the last few nights, usually after shifts so they could talk about theories. Right now, though, he was just drained from a very uncomfortable dinner.

“Did Flint tell you something?”

“No,” she said slowly, sitting beside him with a file in her hand. She kept it to her chest so he couldn’t see it until she wanted him too. “He was a dead-end and visiting hours with Jesse are over. He gets out of the hospital in a few days though, which you knew, and I plan to speak with him then. But I started thinking about it and I looked into something else.”

“And you found something?”

“Yeah,” Cam confirmed, eying him hesitantly, “I don’t think it’s three generations.”

“Oh?” Kyle said. Slowly, she pulled the file from her chest and held it in front of them, opening it to see the same tattoo on a brown-skinned hip. He grabbed onto the file.“Who is this?”

“Don’t freak out.”

He looked over to her in confusion. “Why would I freak out?”

“I was thinking about it and I was trying to think who was just as involved with aliens as Jesse Manes,” she said, “So I started searching through old military records and a lot of them had either pictures or descriptions of their tattoos, stuff to identify soldiers by if worse came to worst. We got lucky that the Valenti’s clearly have no problem with their bare ass being in a picture.”

Kyle’s eyes widened involuntarily as he realized what she was saying. And it definitely wasn’t generational. Instead, it was starting to look a lot more like a cult.

“So…”

“Yep,” she sighed, “Manes and Valenti. Two heads of Neptune’s trident.”

“Fuck.”

#malex fic #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #our fainted thrill carries on

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clumsyclifford · 4 years ago

Text

i’ll be your eyes (you be my face)

‘cause darling i get scared for you, and i’m not busy anyway.

It’s unspoken, but Luke is pretty sure they’re trading off on who gets to have a breakdown every week. (Or, Luke and Ashton help each other. Heal each other. Same thing.)

TWs: depression, suicide ideation, general angst. you guys asked for it. title from the song anyway by noah kahan.

read it on ao3 here

It’s unspoken, but Luke is pretty sure they’re trading off on who gets to have a breakdown every week.

Last week it had been Ashton, and Luke thinks he did a decent job talking him down from it. He has some practice. Ashton’s always been — well, they’ve all been fragile, from the very start, but Ashton has always been the most obvious about it. Michael lashes out. Calum pulls himself inward. Luke keeps it quiet. But Ashton bleeds. Ashton leaves himself open and vulnerable, cries tear stains into the carpets and tour bus floors and hotel pillows. This is just the way things are. Ashton bleeds. He’s the only one who does.

This week, though, it’s Luke. Luke knows that because it’s a terrible day, and they’re sitting at dinner and Luke is staring at his plate, and Ashton’s just cracked a joke about something, and now Luke’s heart — his chest — everything’s wrong, and he wants to cry where he didn’t just a moment ago. He’s not hungry. Has he ever been hungry?

“Luke,” Ashton repeats, but Luke buries his face in his hands instead, elbows digging into the table. This is how it is. They do this over and over. It’s his turn to fucking lose it, isn’t it? He’s earned the right. “Luke. Are you — what can I do?”

Luke shakes his head. “Not hungry,” he says, and then without ceremony pushes his seat back and retreats to his room, shutting the door behind him.

He feels desperate and stretched thin and achy, feels like he’s been in panic mode for weeks and it’s starting to wear him out. Ashton let him move in to help, but Luke hasn’t really gotten better, has he? Still the same piece of shit he was before, rock-bottom with a pickaxe. He flops face-first into his pillow and hugs it tight. Maybe he’ll be able to hold his breath longer this time than the last. Maybe he’ll be able to hold his breath until he passes out. Maybe —

“Can I come in?”

Luke grunts, which means yes, in Luke-and-Ashton-living-together-speak. The door creaks.

“Can I sit?”

Another grunt. Luke hasn’t taken his face out of his pillow. He’s just beginning to feel lightheaded from it. Maybe this is the time it kills him.

It’s not what he wants, though. It’s not. Sometimes Luke thinks he’s just faking it until he makes it — over and over, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die. One day it will be true again. A hand settles delicately over the dip of his spine.

“Pick your head up, Luke.”

Luke doesn’t. His heart is beating faster now; he still hasn’t caught his breath, and now his chest is starting to squeeze, and maybe this really will be it.

“Luke. Stop it.” The hand moves to his shoulder, grips him tightly, forces Luke to turn onto his side, and Luke glares as he exhales.

“We said no more of that shit,” Ashton tells him. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on.”

“You already know what’s going on,” Luke mutters. “My brain is fucked up. That’s what.”

“How do you feel?” Ashton presses. “Did something happen that made you react like this?”

Of course nothing happened. That’s a stupid question. Ashton should know better. “Oh,” Luke says, “you mean other than the fact that there’s something wrong with my fucking brain? No, nothing.”

Ashton doesn’t say, there’s something wrong with mine, too. He doesn’t say, that’s why I’m here. Or even that’s why you’re here. He doesn’t remind Luke that the whole reason they moved in together was to help each other out. That wouldn’t really be true anyway, even though Ashton likes to say it is; the truth is that Luke is imposing on Ashton, and if Ashton weren’t so fucking lonely and broken, if Ashton weren’t just as bad as Luke if not worse, then he’d have never let Luke in. Because Luke is fucked up. There’s no doubt about it. And now Ashton is signed up to deal with it.

“Are you mad at me?” Ashton asks him. Luke stares.

“Of course I’m not fucking mad at you,” he says.

“Then stop taking it out on me,” Ashton says. “Talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling. We can get through this, you know. We have, and we’ll keep doing it. I know you can. Do you trust me?”

And Luke wants to tell him of course I trust you but that’s not the point, say trusting you isn’t going to fix me, say it’s not about trust. But Ashton’s expression is open, earnest, so deadly sincere.

“I trust you,” Luke says, like he’s said a hundred times before. “I feel like shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “But it’s okay. I know you don’t mean it.” Luke wonders if Ashton really believes that, or if he’s just saying it. And if he means it, what would it take to convince him that Luke hates him? Maybe Ashton trusts Luke too much. Maybe he should say something about that, do something about it.

He remembers a soothing hand to Ashton’s face, a gentle kiss to his forehead while he’d cried about missing his siblings, stroking his hair until he’d fallen limp in Luke’s arms, mumbled words like it’s going to be okay and you’ll see them soon and I’m here, I’ve got you.

It’s symbiotic in a dangerous way, this precipice they’re balancing on. Just two batteries killing themselves to charge each other. But as long as they stay in this bubble, alone together, they’re effectively immortal. Like Prometheus, cursed to heal every morning only to be torn apart again every night. And around and around they go.

By all rights, it’s a good day. A fun day, actually. Luke teaches Ashton to play “She’s Kinda Hot,” and then Ashton goes and does the shopping and Luke cleans the kitchen before he comes back, because he’s just that nice. Ashton makes dinner. They eat. It’s fine. It’s good.

Ashton goes to bed earlier than Luke, always. He’s got a better grasp on what he needs to feel better. Physical health is the first step towards mental health. Ashton has it down to a science, literally, almost. He tries to push Luke, but Luke’s got far too many thoughts to shut up before one in the morning at the earliest, so he’s still awake at midnight after Ashton’s supposedly gone to bed.

He’s still up when he hears footsteps, and that means Ashton’s awake, possibly getting water or something. It’s not a concern. It shouldn’t be.

Then, “Yeah. I miss you, too.” And Luke feels a secondhand pang of hurt, this melancholy that surrounds Ashton whenever anyone mentions his family. It’s a sensitive topic for him more than most; to go from practically raising your siblings to never seeing them must feel like losing a limb, not that Luke would know. He stalls, listening for the sound of Ashton crying or even choking up. He knows his cues. “No, we’re fine,” Ashton carries on, the sound growing distant as Ashton moves further towards the kitchen. “It’s just weird, you know?”

Luke creeps towards his door, listening. “Mike, don’t,” Ashton finally says; Luke does a double-take. Michael? Clifford? Their bandmate and best friend? Okay. That makes sense. It can make sense. If Ashton’s going to be on the phone with anyone at midnight, anyway, it’ll be Michael. “Seriously, it’s so far away.” Pause. “Obviously I — Michael, it’s not worth it. You should spend time with your family. Plus you’d be leaving Cal all by himself and you know he doesn’t do well.” He laughs. “Look, I should sleep. Talk to you later, okay? No, we’ll talk about it later. Okay. Yeah, yeah. Love you. Bye.”

Luke counts under his breath. When he reaches ten he pushes the door open and slowly pads into the kitchen, where Ashton is nowhere to be found.

“Ash?”

“Yeah,” comes Ashton’s voice. Luke comes around the island, and Ashton has his back pressed against it, feet propped up and digging into the bottom drawer across from him. His elbows are resting on his knees, head hung low, fingers tightly woven into his hair. The picture of distress, of silent suffering.

“All right?” Luke asks, even though he’s obviously not. Then, in the interest of transparency, he adds, “I heard you talking to Mikey.”

“He wants to come visit,” Ashton says quietly.

“That sounds nice.”

“I know. It does. I want him to."

"But?"

Ashton blows out a puff of air, like he's smoking but without the cigarette. "I don’t know. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“I don’t think he’ll care,” Luke says candidly. “He’s seen us both at our worst.”

“I know,” Ashton says despairingly. He’s still talking into his thighs, and hasn’t looked up to see Luke. “It’s just, I don’t know. I’ll be apathetic. I’ll be an asshole, and I’m trying so hard not to be. I don’t want him to think I don’t still like him. Just because I don’t know how to, like, work properly.”

“Ash, Mike’s known us for, like. Six years? Give or take?”

“And I love him, and I don’t want to be like this,” Ashton says frustratedly. “I hate — I don’t want to see anyone. Don’t you feel like this? Ever? That if you have to talk to another person you’ll just —” He tugs at his own hair. “It’s not fair to him. I told him not to come.”

Luke gets it, but he’s surprised to hear it from Ashton. Sometimes it feels like the fame is a forced half of Luke’s social life, contractually obliged to talk to everyone all the time about everything, and in response he has to shut himself away whenever he can or else he’ll commit murder. But Ashton’s friendly, personable; Ashton seems to enjoy creating conversation out of thin air.

“It’s just Michael,” Luke says gently. “He’s been like that more times than any of us can count. Hell, he probably invented the feeling. It doesn’t matter if you want time to yourself when he’s here. It’ll be nice to have him anyway.”

“I miss him,” Ashton says, and picks his head up to look at Luke. “Isn’t that fucked up, that I miss him? I miss Calum. I miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“I know that. I know. I feel like I'm missing something and I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s not fucked up to miss your best friends,” Luke says. “And it’s also not fucked up not to.”

“We spend every fucking second together and it drives me crazy,” Ashton says weakly, “and then we’re separated and I miss everyone so much it hurts. Luke, if you hadn’t moved in I think I would have, like. I don’t know.”

Luke knows, but neither of them are going to say it.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m the one who’s lucky to have you, not the other way around.”

Ashton shuts his eyes and holds out an arm, which is an invitation, and Luke accepts, sitting down next to Ashton and leaning heavily against his side. Ashton drops his hand to Luke’s shoulder and his fingers brush up against Luke’s bicep, curling under the sleeve of his t-shirt, stalling there.

“Every second you’re not here, I miss you,” Ashton murmurs. Their heads are tipped together; Ashton’s staring straight ahead, and Luke’s looking sort of sideways at the fraying threads at the hem of Ashton’s t-shirt. “Maybe that’s crazy.”

“It’s not crazy,” Luke says quickly. He exhales. “I’m not, like...going anywhere, you know? I need you too.”

“Not as much as I need you,” Ashton says. He’s just like this sometimes. Blunt to a degree that makes you wonder if he’s being genuine. But Ashton’s always genuine. There’s not a truly dishonest bone in his body.

Luke doesn’t answer that. There’s no way to know whether or not it’s true.

“Wanna sleep with me tonight?” he asks.

Ashton nods. “I love you, you know?” he says, and Luke does know, but it doesn’t hurt to hear it.

“I love you too.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” Ashton says, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“Of course it’s the same,” Luke argues. “How can it not be the same? What, you think I wouldn’t drown without you?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“Not now,” Ashton says, sighing. “It’s — sorry. I know I brought it up but not tonight, Luke. I’m tired.”

Luke rests a hand on Ashton’s knee and rubs circles against the fabric of his joggers. “Okay. That’s okay. Bedtime, then?”

“Think so,” Ashton mumbles.

They stand, brush themselves off, return to Luke’s room with arms loosely linked. Ashton crawls under the covers and Luke is close behind. This is a practiced enough routine that Luke knows his choreography. He drapes his arm over Ashton’s waist and the other under his head, and Ashton sinks back into Luke’s chest until it’s hard to tell if they’re still autonomous individuals or just one big super-person. One mega band member full of sadness and pain and despair and a lot of broken music. Minor key people.

“I swear we don’t have to talk about it,” Luke whispers, “but I love you, too. However you meant it, that’s how I mean it.”

“You can’t say that if you don’t know,” Ashton whispers back.

“Well, I love you,” Luke responds. “Full stop, no qualifiers. Even if you didn’t love me I still would.”

Ashton sighs. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“Sure, or whenever. Or never, if that’s what you want. I’m just telling you.” He flattens his palm against Ashton’s heart. Ashton covers it with his own hand.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Luke falls asleep to Ashton's steady breathing, and he thinks, terrifyingly, that he could get used to this.

#luke hemmings #ashton irwin #lashton #lashton fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #i WARNED you it's emo as fuck #stuff #emo lashton

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bestillmyslashyheart · 5 years ago

Text

The Red Name pt 4

part one || part two || part three

The bed was cold when Michael woke up. The sun was high in the sky and Alex was long gone. All that was left in the whole cabin were the sheets on the bed and Michael’s phone on Alex’s pillow. The notification light was blinking and Michael already didn’t care about what anyone had to say to him right now.

He unlocked it anyway when he saw the new email icon. He never got emails.

It was from Alex.