#also another part that got me was the prison where the warden just like falls from the ceiling and crushes the random ass scamp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cdroloisms · 3 years ago

Note

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

#tw trauma #tw disordered eating #tw torture #tw abuse #tw blood #tw injuries #tw unhealthy coping mechanism #tw emotional distress #tw murder #tw animal death #tw dark content #tw unhealthy eating habits #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks

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ray-ray-writings · 4 years ago

Text

Family Fatality-Awesamdude

Gn!reader x Sam x Son!Tommyinnit …. It be angsty and sad with a happy ending. Also, does not follow what actually happened in the lore!

Small note: I think this is the last fic I’m going to write in first person. I think a lot of people enjoy the use of second person more and it’s also a bit easier for me to write in second person. The only reason that this fic is written in first is because it’s a part two and I want to keep it consistent. If you have thoughts about this, feel free to message me!!

Part One: Family Matters.

Check out my masterlist here

Y/N believed it was a bad idea from the beginning. Call it parental instincts. But unfortunately no one believed them… until it was too late.

Y/N’s POV

I knew it was a bad idea.

I should have listened to my gut.

Tommy should have listened.

Sam should have listened.

We should have known better.

When Tommy told Sam and me that he wanted to visit Dream in prison, I instantly said no. That boy had been through so much trauma and manipulation because of that green wearing bastard, I didn’t want Dream to ever be able to see Tommy again.

Sam was more into it. It was less of wanting Tommy to be able to see Dream and more he wanted an opportunity to show Tommy the prison. But he was for it. Sure he knew what Dream did to Tommy and hated the blond for it, but he also understood Tommy’s desire to see him.

We told Tommy we would talk it over and let him know our decision.

I really didn’t want him to go.

Sam talked me into it.

That night after we put Tommy and Stella to sleep and crawled into our own bed, Sam began to explain his side further. He told me about how it might be nice for Tommy to get some closure. To be able to see Dream completely trapped in prison with no way out. It may help stop the nightmares.

That’s what convinced me in the end.

As much as Tommy would try to tell us he was fine, his dreams told us otherwise. More often than not, we’d wake in the morning to find Tommy had crawled in bed between us or that he would be sitting in the rocking chair in Stella’s room. He never told us exactly what would happen, but we could tell.

I just wanted them to stop. I wanted my boy to be able to feel safe in this house. And if that was the only way to have it happen… I had to let it happen.

Tommy was thrilled with our verdict. Threw his arms around us in a huge hug and kissed our cheeks. I did my best to put on a happy front, but it was difficult. Sam could tell. Tommy could tell. Heck, I’m sure that even baby Stella could tell.

I was wrapped in another hug by Tommy and was pulled close to his chest while he buried his face in my hair.

“I’ll be alright baba… I promise.”

Liar.

My stomach was in knots the day he went to the prison. I woke up with enough time to see them off. I gave both of them extremely tight hugs, forcing them to promise me they would be safe before sending them off, telling them to be back in time for dinner.

I watched the two walk toward the horizon and stood there watching long after they disappeared from view. The thing that snapped me from my swell of anxiety and nerves was the sound of Stella crying.

I immediately jumped into action, closing the door and rushing toward her room. I carefully got her out of her crib and began our usual morning routine. “They’re going to be fine baby,” I cooed as I changed her, “They’re going to be just fine.”

I knew she couldn’t understand me. I knew I was saying that more to try and convince myself of that. Thinking if I said it out loud it would make it true… it wasn’t true.

The whole day I could help but worry. I tried to focus on Stella, on taking care of her, playing with her, making sure she was okay, but I found my thoughts drifting back to Tommy and Sam and the visit. I couldn��t help but wonder how it was going, if the two were safe.

The pit in my stomach deepened when our usual dinner time rolled around and there was no sign of the boys. I tried to contact one of them via communicator, but no response. I wasn’t surprised. The prison was so heavy laced with obsidian it was nearly impossible to get a signal in there. I watched with a heavy heart and a knotted stomach as the sun sunk lower and lower into the sky and still, no boys. Stella’s bedtime came and I was forced to put her down alone, Sam and Tommy still nowhere to be found.

I tried to remain calm. I sat on the couch and stared at the TV as a movie played. After a while, I realized my knee was bouncing like crazy and that I was halfway through the film but I had no idea what the hell was happening. I reached over and quickly shut off the TV. The black screen reflected the scene behind me, letting me see what was behind me.

I immediately jumped at the sight of my husband standing in the doorway behind me. My hand flew to my chest as my head whipped around to look at him. “Sam!” I exclaimed a bit breathless, using my free hand to push myself up from the couch to completely turn to him. “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in!”

Sam didn’t say anything. He only stared at me. That confused me. He usually rushes right for me, shouting hello, and wraps me in a hug and kisses me sweetly… Why is he just staring at me blankly? “Sam?” I questioned, taking a few steps forward toward him. He still didn’t move. Sam just stared. As I grew closer, I could see that his eyes were rimmed red and the usual light that filled his eyes was completely gone. It was really freaking me out. “What’s wrong?”

It was then I noticed that he had entered alone. Tommy hadn’t come in with him. That sent a fury of butterflies to stir in my stomach. “Sam? Where’s Tommy?”

That was the question that broke the dam.

I watched as Sam’s bottom lip began to quiver and a hushed sobbed echoed throughout the room. “I’m sorry,” Sam whimpered out, another sob escaping him. “I’m so sorry.”

Sam’s legs seemed to give out from under him, causing me to rush forward as my husband fell to his knees. I sunk down to my knees and quickly cupped his face, gently tilting his head to look at me.

Sobs were still falling from his lips as his eyes met mine. I rose my eyebrows at him, not wanting to rush him but still wanting to know what the hell was going on. I didn’t have to wait long for his gut wrenching words.

“You were right.”

It instantly clicked. I was right. That’s why Tommy wasn’t here. I was right. I was right to not want him to go. To not want him to see Dream. Something happened. Something bad happened. I was right.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop him. I was too far. I failed him. I failed to protect him. I failed our son. He’s dead and it’s all my fault.”

Time seemed to stop at Sam’s words. Sam kept babbling words out through his sobs, but I became unable to hear him any longer. A loud ringing filled my ears and I watched as my own vision blurred.

He’s….

He’s dead….

Tommy…

Tommy is dead.

Dream… Dream killed him.

A gut wrenching sob ripped itself from your throat as you fully registered what your husband was telling you. Sam’s arms instantly reach out and wrap around you tightly, bringing you into his chest. Your hands fall from his cheeks onto his chest as you clutch his shirt, burying your face in him as you sob.

You’re not sure how long you’re there, kneeling on the floor sobbing. Slowly, and I mean slowly, but surely, your sobs die down until the only noise filling the room are soft sniffles.

“I was right,” you manage to croak out, pulling yourself away from your creeper hybrid husband to look up at him.

“You were right,” Sam echos, moving one of his hands to cup your cheek and tilting his head down to rest his forehead on yours.

You let out a watery laugh as you close your eyes tightly and relish in the gentle contact.

“God. I have never wanted to be wrong more in my entire life… I wish I wasn’t right.”

The next few days passed slowly. The sky seemed to be constantly dark and everything seemed gloomy. Even Stella was more somber, as if she could tell something was wrong. And she probably could. She had gone from spending almost every second with her older brother to not seeing him for days on end in the blink of an eye.

Sam still had to work. He had to force himself to go back to that damned prison with that bastard and listen to his taunting laughter through the cameras as he mocks the Warden’s pain. It takes everything in Sam to hold back and not barge into the cell and kill Dream himself. He knew that wouldn’t bring back Tommy and wouldn’t make him feel better, but even still.

The house seemed so quiet. Even with Stella babbling and cooing, the rooms had never felt more quiet and empty. I found myself searching for Tommy’s voice, his laughter, his whole presence everyday only to be disappointed when my search came up empty. I tried to play some of his favorite music discs, but tears would fill my eyes as I realized I would never hear him sing along to them and the silence that would have usually been filled by him babbling about the disc was too deafening for me to want to listen to them again.

The worst part, I found, was when Sam would get home. I was always happy to have my husband back. Always more than willing to hug and kiss him in a greeting. A welcome home. But everyday, I’d try to turn to greet Tommy two. I would be waiting for two blonds to appear in my home, even though I knew only one would be home. My heart would break over and over as I searched for the boy that I knew wouldn’t be there.

I let out a sigh as I finished up the last dish I had prepared for dinner. Sam should be home from work any minute now. I set the table, thr-- two places and the food in the middle, Stella in her high chair. Now all there was to do was wait for Sam.

As I finished up, I heard the front door open. “Honey! I’m home!” Sam’s voice called out. A soft smile placed itself on my lips as I turned around and made my way to the front door.

“Hey honey welcome--” The sentence died on my lips as my eyes met what was at my front door. My husband had not come home alone. Instead of the one blond that I had seen come home day after day, had been joined by another blond.

A familiar blond.

The blond I had spent the last several days missing and mourning.

Tommy.

“Tommy?” My voice croaked as my eyes met his icy blue ones.

Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as he gave me a soft smile, “Hi baba.”

A sob let my lips as I raced forward and wrapped my arms around the middle of the boy I call my son. His arms immediately wrapped around me as he pulled me tightly to him. His face turned down and buried in my hair as I nuzzled into his chest. My fingers clutched at his shirt that rested on his back, trying to prove to myself that he was here. That Tommy was back and actually here. Here in the flesh.

“How--How did you? Why are you? What the?” I babbled out, tilting my head up to try and look at him.

“We can talk about it later… For now I’d just like my parents to hold me.”

Another sob escaped my lips as I moved my head back to its original position. Sam’s strong arms wrapped around the two of us, pulling us close to him. Our little family was back together again. How? I don’t know. But I didn’t care. Tommy was back.

The sound of Tommy’s stomach rumbling broke up from the sweet moment. I let out a small laugh as I carefully pulled away from the hug. I let my hand come up and cup the boy’s cheek. “How about you go sit at the table? I’ll get another plate.”

He gave me a quick nod, leaning down and kissing my cheek before making his way to the table.

“STELLA!! I MISSED YOU!”

I laughed again and turned to my husband, giving him a smile. “He’s back?” I whispered the question, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“He’s back.” Sam confirmed, placing his hands on my hips, pulling me close to him. He then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips, one I instantly returned. The kiss said it all. Tommy was back. Our family was back. We were whole once again. And I’m going to make sure that it stays that way.

That sucked. I’m sorry. But if you did enjoy, be sure to leave a like and maybe a reblog and comment telling me what you liked about it. Until next time!

#mcyt #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt one shot #awesamdude x reader #awesamdude imagine #awesamdude one shot #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit imagine #tommyinnit one shot #son!tommyinnit #family fatal #ray-ray-writings #requested #dreamsmp x reader #dreamsmp #dreamsmp one shot #dreamsmp imagine

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rainbowtransform · 4 years ago

Text

For What It’s Worth

The thing is: Robin’s not an idiot. There’s something weird around his dad that rubs off onto his papa and him.

Robin found his dad wandering around the forest, looking so confused. “What’s your name?” Robin had asked and his dad had shrugged shakily. “You don’t remember?” Robin asked and his dad shook his head.

And Robin had hummed and taken him to meet his papa. Papa had reached slowly out for Robin’s hand and he dragged the stranger closer in order to grab onto his hand.

“Who did you bring now?” Papa asked, chuckling.

“We don’t know his name!” Robin said.

“Hmm.” Papa said. “Well, what do you want to be called?”

“I don’t know.” His dad had said. “I can’t... I can’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” Papa told him. “We’ll work it out. Do you want to come in?”

And then he chose the name Cornelius. And he become Robin’s dad, and he manages to become part of their family. And then he died, and Papa dies, and Robin dies.

And then Robin wakes up.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Robin breaths. He holds up his hands, shakily and coughs. He gets up in the middle of the flower field and he looks over to a bunch of buildings to his left. He makes his way over to the buildings and stumbles into the house right in the middle of a lake.

There’s a woman with changing rainbow hair and short horns on her head discussing something with someone in a cape and a crown on his head. Robin watches them, and then sees the woman turn to face him.

“Hello?” She asked him. “Who are you?” The person she was talking to also turns his head, and looks at him.

“Do you not remember?” The guy asks. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

Robin shakes his head. “I know,” he says. “I know who I am.”

The rainbow haired looks around. “Who are you?” She asks.

“I’m Robin.” He states. “Son of Cornelius and Catt, from the village deep in the Forest.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“There’s no village in the forest,” Puffy whispers to Eret. They’re watching the boy closely as he drinks the water that they gave to him and coloring on a piece of paper.

“He’s lying then.” Eret says. “Or he really doesn’t remember.”

Puffy hums. She turns away to pour herself some coffee, and Eret holds out their cup for another one as well. He turns his head to face her.

“It just doesn’t feel right. And whose Cornelius? And Catt? I thought this world was closed to everyone except the people Dream let in.”

“That’s why he might be from a different world.” Puffy says. “But he was forced to come here, you know?”

“How?” Eret asks. “Dream’s in prison, and we haven’t seen Callahan in months.”

Puffy shrugs and they both turn to look at the kid, whose glass is finished and set very nicely on the table with a little scrawled thank you :) in the corner of the paper, and the kid’s gone.

“How?” Eret chokes. “We were listening to him the entire time, we looked away for like, a minute.”

Puffy sighs, “That’s what Dream would do when he was younger.” She said and rubs her eyes, “We just have to find him.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Robin walks along the two different parts of the path in front of him. He makes a game out of him jumping from one part to another, climbing mountains in order to keep the game going. He sees red vines everywhere and watches as some of them shrivel up as he walked by.

It seems scared of him, which is good Robin guesses. But he kept going, passing by two teenagers who both look at him with confusion. “What the fuck.” The one with blond hair says.

The brown one pulls up his communicator (Robin doesn’t think he has one but he’s not going to check) and swiped through. “Are you Robin?” The brown haired one calls and Robin glances at him.

“Maybe.” He says. “Why?” (When you’re with a stranger, Dad says. You’ve got to be careful with what you say. They can use things against you.)

“I’m Tommy and that’s Tubbo,” Tommy says. “You Robin?”

“Nope,” Robin says easily, the lie rolling of his tongue. “I’m Walter.”

“Walter? Two new people?” Tommy turns to look at Tubbo who shrugs.

“We should take you back anyway.” Tommy says, and when he turns back, Walter’s gone.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Robin comes across a big crater towards one of the pathways end. It’s covered in glass with red vines creeping around inside and Robin hums. “Don’t like those,” he whispered to himself.

The Red-Eyed villagers always talked about these didn’t they? Something whispers, inside Robin’s head. Your father died to Red-Eyes.

But the vines didn’t have anything to do with the Red-Eyes. Right?

Robin keeps moving. He wanders back toward the pathway and continues forward. He doesn’t meet anymore people (they’re probably all by Puffy and Eret).

Robin wanders down the path again, and finds a house made entirely of quartz. Quartz is already a hard material, found only in the Nether and Dad’s the only one who goes there.

“It’s too dangerous for you,” Dad told him, pressing a kiss to Robin’s forehead and then ruffling his hair. “Once you’re older we’ll go together, yeah? Me, you, and Catt. Two cats and a Birdie,”

Papa had laughed. “Keep me out of that, Cornelius,” he said. “I’ll be old and frail.”

“Still beautiful,” Dad had said. And Papa had turned away, a blush on his cheeks.

Robin guesses they’ve got their own person or people who go to the Nether. Robin sees the pictures that’s littered around the house and he goes through one of the many doors.

It looks like there hasn’t been anyone living here in a long time.

(Be careful, Birdie, Papa says. You never know what might be around the corner. Even if it’s nothing besides a harmless animal.)

Robin creeps, keeping the lessons that Dad taught him close to heart. (Footsteps light, Robin. Watch your surroundings. Don’t let anything catch you unaware.)

There’s some pictures of a Diamond-blue man and a demon. There’s also some baby pictures around of a black-haired kid who is playing in fire and giggling all the while.

There’s some pictures of them demon and the kiss again, the kid’s growing. Then it’s the kid and a kid whose not looking at the camera, but they’re both grinning. Then they’re teenagers (this time with a man with goggles) and Robin does a double take. The teenager looks so much like Dad, but it’s got to be coincidental. Right?

(The world, Papa tells him, is full of coincidences. Did the world mean it, is the real question.)

The last pictures are torn out of their frames, littered around the floor and Robin picks one up shakily.

There’s his dad.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Robin ends up holding onto the torn picture, staring up at the Prison before him. And that’s what it must be, because they told him that Dream’s in prison, and If Dad is Dream, then he’s here.

Robin steps into the entrance, stares at the Nether Portal and then presses the button.

“Hello?” Crackles the intercom.

“I’m here to visit my dad.” Robin says, straightening his back.

The intercom is silent for a moment before: “Step into the portal.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“The prisoner doesn’t have a son.” Is the first words the Warden says. Purple Netherite armor shining.

“He does.” Robin says, smoothly. He’d been taught by Dad how to lie, how to keep calm and be confident in his skin. Dad taught Robin how to survive, but Papa taught him how to laugh and have fun and how to live. They both are truly a perfect pair.

“The prisoner doesn’t have a son.” The Warden says, and Robin in all his ten-year-old glory laughs and wheezes.

“I’m his son.” Robin says again. “And I want to visit my dad.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The Warden lets him in after an hour of back-and-forth. Robin drinks potions that give him fire resistance and is killed by the Warden.

(Death doesn’t stick but Robin’s eyes full with tears anyway)

The Lava falls, and Robin gets to see his Dad, sitting on the edge of the something else in his room. He almost calls out, but thinks better of it while the Water waits.

“Keep with the floor,” the Warden says. Robin walks with the floor, just until he gets to the cell’s opening and looks at the Netherite blocks that the Warden put in place to keep him away from his Dad.

The blocks lower, the lava falls, and Robin steps closer. This place is tight, small. Dad hates small places.

“Dad?” He asks. Slowly, softly.

“You’re not real,” Dad says. “You’re just a hallucination. You’re not real.”

“Dad,” Robin says, and kneels down. “Dad I don’t know what’s happening. I was home until I wasn’t, and I was dead until I wasn’t and I don’t know what to do.”

Dad sighs And turns away. “Stop trying to trick me.” He says softly. “Robin and Catt are gone. They’ve been gone for years.”

“But I’m right here.” Robin says, and feels his tears build up again. “Dad, please!” And then he wraps his arms around his father’s thin body, and cries into his shoulder.

Dad is tense before he relaxes and grabs Robin’s arm and turns around. “Robin?” He whispers, and then wipes away the tears that fall. “Don’t cry, Birdie.”

He cradles him. “Do you know how you got here,” he asked, resting his chin on Robin’s head.

“No,” Robin said. “I just woke up here.”

Dad hums, softly. “You won’t be able to stay here.” He says. “The Warden won’t let you.”

Robin swallows and hugs him closer. “I know.”

“You shouldn’t be here though.” Dad says. “And I’d you’re here, where’s Catt?”

“Papa wasn’t there when I woke up.” Robin says. Dad nods.

They stay like that for a while.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

And then the Warden’s voice comes through the intercom with rage in his voice. “Visit time is over, Theadore.”

Robin shakes his head. “I’m not leaving.” He says.

Dad holds on a little tighter. “You have to go,” Dream murmurs.

“I won’t.” Robin states. He’s sweating, the lava not helping burning hot and the water in the cauldron and corner do nothing to help him.

“Visitor, if you do not leave I will be forced to come in the prison cell and take you out by force.”

Robin clings tighter. And the blocks comes up, and the lava falls and the Netherite armor of many shine across from them. Dad readjusts his grip and holds on, while Robin does the same.

Robin hears something shake and Dad quickly puts it on him, using his sleeves to cover it. He presses a kiss onto Robin’s forehead, ruffled his hairs. “Birdie.” He says. “You make me proud every day that you live. When you get out of here, go far far away. Go as far away as possible and don’t ever come back.”

“I can’t leave you.” Robin says and then there’s the Netherite armor closer. Robin starts screaming, as they try to pry his hands from his father. Dad’s yelling, too, shrieking to leave them alone.

His voice is shrill, and Robin sees some people covering their eyes but he doesn’t care. He holds onto his dad for life, and Dad doesn’t let go either.

(Not until the Warden shows up behind him, and Robin screams so, so loud. The Warden lifts a sword and then smacks Dad in the head with it. He crumbles and his grip loosens, and Robin screams.)

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

When Robin looks down at what Dad slapped onto his wrist, it was the same thing that he’d seen Tubbo and Puffy and Sam open up. Something so precious that Dad got to keep it in prison, and he’d just willfully given it up.

Robin opens up the communicator. The others have already disbanded, having saved the child from the “monster”.

“He did horrible things,” they all tell him. “He did bad, bad things.”

But Robin stares at the death messages with a blank look.

[Dream tried to swim in lava]

[Dream died trying to escape Awesamdude using [Warden’s Will Breaker]]

Robin swallows, hard. That’s his Dad there.

That’s his Dad.

The only one of their village still alive.

Robin makes a decision. He feels Dad’s lips on his forehead, burning hot. He feels a ruffle of his hair, like Papa’s there, next to him.

Papa would have wanted Dad out of prison. Papa wouldn’t have allowed this. Papa... Robin needs his Papa.

He turns around and squares his shoulders. Puffy (talking against to the Warden) doesn’t notice as he leaves, steps quick and silent.

Just like his Dad.

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votederpycausemufins · 4 years ago

Text

it seems like some people were disappointed that Tubbo and Sparklez haven’t realized who each other are yet, so in this chapter.... I taunt you even more by not letting it happen! bwahahahaha!

@petrichormeraki

Dream was only half paying attention as he worked. He really only replies with yes’s and no’s and nodding along. He was glad the mask hid his surprise when he found that not all the admin powers were there and even less of the Watcher’s influence. Ranboo hasn’t been given the powers directly, but the fact that they had initially been moved by Grian in the first place was enough.

Like an infection, the powers that were linked to Dream himself and not the role of an admin spread into the fragments of energy and magic the Watcher had left behind. It was supposed to act as a label warding off those who would want to mess with those a watcher had claimed in some form or another, but it was also something Dream could use.

He froze when he recognized parts of the energy, similar to signatures he had messed with before. Ranboo said something and he tried to play it off, but he could tell the new admin suspected something. Dream started actually focusing on the conversation until Ranboo no longer seemed suspicious.

Once again, Dream looked at the magic and realized it resembled that of Philza and his sons. That’s right, the watcher has said something about a third son that Philza lost, other than Wilbur and Tommy. It had rattled the hardcore player. And Philza was an avian just like Grian.

Dream started with something small. He might be trapped for now, but he could still do whatever he could to bring his favorite pawn back.

He paused to continue the conversation with Ranboo a bit longer before getting another idea. One wasn’t enough with him. Maybe with what little there was, he could still find a way to mess with the whole set. But before he could get far, Ranboo was starting to leave. It was fine. Two would be just enough.

Grian started feeling sick, he looked around and saw Tommy and Mumbo sleeping next to him, the bots curled up with each other in their own sleep mode. He tried moving in a way to not disturb them but his head spun. His vision went dark for a moment and the next thing he saw was the floor of his mansion getting closer. He was surprised he wasn’t dead from falling that far, everyone else was too. Everyone was trying to figure out what was going on.

Someone pointed it out. This had all started after his family showed up. Maybe it was their fault. But someone else said that it was just the freak out of losing Tommy. It was the war, one person shouted and then more joined in. They were letting people that made war join this server, this safe place. Who would be next? Xisuma wasn’t making it safe anymore. The new server was a problem and he was a problem.

All of Grian’s eyes started looking around, some of them peering into other places on the server. He just needed to find the admin and set things right. He was still dizzy, but Grian pushed himself to his feet, talons scraping on the ground. He dragged himself towards the front door and then flew into the air. The sky started darkening and thunder rumbled before purple magic swirled around him to help bring him to his destination.

Philza stumbled, putting a hand to his head. Wilbur caught him before he could fall. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t know.” Philza managed to get out, a wave of nausea hitting him. His wings felt heavy and they unfolded, now dragging on the ground. Wilbur cursed next to him and then started talking to someone. It sounded like it was probably Techno. Philza felt weak on his feet, but for a moment the rest of his strength returned. Something in his mind was screaming that he needed to get out of there.

Wilbur called out, trying to get Philza to stop as a raven flew away to escape dangers he couldn’t see.

Crumb jumped as thunder struck and she shifted to a more humanoid form, though her hair retailed her signature calico colors. “Dat was waaay too loud!”

“Yeah, I know. My friend Fundy gets scared by lightning a lot due to him being a hybrid. I’m not sure I could deal with sensitive ears like that.” Tubbo moved a hand towards some burn scars he had. It managed to go unnoticed by Crumb, but Sparklez.

“What happened?” He asked, making Tubbo realize what he was doing. “You don’t have to say if it’s a sore subject.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Tubbo looked down at their feet. “I just got trapped before some people killed me with firework rockets. But that was before. Instead of president, I’m Admin Tub-”

There was another sound of thunder as a bolt of lightning struck near them. Crumb and Tubbo both covered their ears while Sparklez shielded them. He blinked the spots out of his eyes, glad that his sunglasses helped with some of the blinding light. Where the lightning had struck stood a form. The captain assumed it would be a skeleton horse that spawned due to the storm, but it was much taller. Another bolt of lightning lit up the creature and Sparklez drew his sword. “What’s a harpy doing here?!”

“Harpy?” Tubbo asked before seeing the looming form of whatever was being referred to.

“A type of bird hybrid, though normally they’re smaller.. But either way, they shouldn’t be in this dimension.”

“They shouldn’t be in this dimension. Shouldn’t be in this dimension.” Sparklez’s voice echoed clearly.

“Oh my god, that’s not a fucking harpy!” Tubbo exclaimed as he started to fumble for his communicator. He needed to warn someone now.

“God, god, god!” the ‘harpy’ parroted back. Another bolt of lightning lit him up and Tubbo froze as Grian’s bright purple watcher eyes all looked down on the trio.

“We need to run!” Tubbo grabbed Sparklez and Crumb and started pulling them away. Their communicator ended up on the ground in the scramble to run and a taloned foot stepped on it, breaking it into pieces.

Tommy was stirred by his sleep from his communicator buzzing followed by rumbling thunder. He yawned with a small shiver and looked around to see Grian was gone. “Bitch coulda woken us up too.” Tommy complained before pulling out his communicator. More messages started coming in, so he scrolled up to read the first one.

<Tubbo_> Grian’s a watcher again! We need help!

<Tubbo_> We’re in thjgrknilvsfehmdb

<Iskall85> What? Mumbo was supposed to be watching him

<Hbomb94> What’s going on?

<Docm77> Nothing good.

Tommy scrolled through the messages as he shook Mumbo awake.

<FalseSymmetry> Why isn’t Xisuma responding?

<Iskall85> I’m trying to see where his comm is. <Iskall85> shit, both his and Tubbo’s are completely down.

<BdoubleO100> What are we going to do?!

When Mumbo complained about being woken up, Tommy shoved his communicator in the redstoner’s face. Reluctantly Mumbo took it and started reading and Tommy moved to wake up the bots. After a few seconds, Mumbo jumped up. “Grian’s not here!”

“Yeah, I saw! He’s wherever Tubbo is but no one knows where that is! And apparently Xisuma is fucking dead or something!”

“Oh this is very not good!”

“You think?!” Tommy manages to wake the bots up. “Last week he was worried about us, so maybe we can convince him again?”

“I don’t know, it’s a little different every time.”

“Well that’s just great!” Tommy shouted, snatching his communicator back.

<TommyInnit> If anyone gets eyes on Grian or Tubbo, send a message this way. If we can’t at least calm Grian down, I at least want to keep Tubbo safe.

“What’s going on? Jrumbot asked, sounding concerned.

“Something’s wrong with Dad.” Mumbo answered, picking Grumbot up. “Tommy can you fly down with Jrumbot?”

Tommy shook his head. “You know I’m stronger than you. You carry Jrumbot down, I’ll take Grumbot.”

Mumbo nodded and handed Grumbot to Tommy before the two glided down from the nest room.

The captain stood, weapon drawn as Grian walked closer. They moved towards a shop that was well lit and finally he got a good look at the watcher. He did indeed look like a harpy, though corrupted by the watcher magic.

As Sparklez kept his eye on Grian, he felt a pang of sadness as he recognized something. Though for the most part the form was staying consistent, he could see feathers shifting unnaturally, the forms of arms becoming clearer and then fading from where the wings were. He had seen this before back when Crumb was first learning how to shapeshift, not quite sure how it worked. It made his wonder how much of this the watcher was in control of.

He didn’t have much more time to dwell on that train of thought as a wing swept towards him. He swung his sword, the blade cutting into the feathers. There was a screech of pain from the Watcher and he pulled back. He seemed to be ready to attack again but paused, tilting his head. Sparklez watched, trying to read his opponent, but then had to cover his face as Grian flew into the air, making the wind whip around. Before he could recover, he felt what felt like claws against his chest. They were gone a moment later as his back was slammed against a wall.

“No! Tubbox is my friend!” He heard Crumb speak, making him look back up. Grian had grabbed a now struggling Tubbo. Crumb was holding onto Tubbo as wings swiped at her, but she shifted her form and moved around to keep from being hit. Finally Grian started flying, dragging Tubbo along as well as Crumb as she refused to let go.

“Crumb! No! Let go!” Sparklez held out his arms, hoping she would let go and he could catch her. But she didn’t and the two of them were taken away by the Watcher as purple magic teleported them away. The captain fell to his knees, just staring at the now empty space in the air.

A raven landed in front of a building of blackstone and obsidian. It shifted back to human form and hit the button, sending a signal to the warden. He traveled through the nether portals to meet with Sam. Answers came out of his mouth that he couldn’t even understand, but it seemed the warden was able to. He was guided to a platform and soon he was walking across to a prison cell with Dream standing within it.

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #tommyinnit #grian #grian xelqua #watcher!grian #avian!grian #dreamwastaken #ranboo #mumbo jumbo #tubbo #crumbl #cuptoast #captain sparklez #wilbur soot #philza

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saviwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Cuddle Buddies

Hello lovelies! I've been working on this one for a bit and I really hope you guys enjoy it!

The jail cell was cold that night. You would think I would be used to it by now, but tonight the chill was nearly unbearable. Despite the extra blankets (a gift from the prisoners I was told), I laid there shivering, trying to maintain some semblance of warmth.

After a few minutes of freezing, I sighed and reluctantly got out of bed. The coldness of the concrete floor leaked through my socks, causing another shiver to run through my body. I reached under my bed and pulled out a flashlight, another gift from the others. I wasn't sure where it had come from, but I was glad to have it nonetheless. Staying here for as long as I had, I knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially if the horse had a criminal record.

I silently made my way to the barred door and fished out a bobby pin from my pocket. It took days and weeks of begging, but Yancy had shown me how to open and close the cell doors in the prison, making this nighttime journey possible. I listened for the guards, but thankfully they all seemed to be elsewhere.

I gingerly stepped out of my cell and ran towards Yancy's. The halls were pitch black, but thanks to my handy dandy mystery flashlight, I could see exactly where I was going. By the time I reached his cell, I had started to realize how silly I was acting. Why am I doing this again? Then another chill ran through me and I remembered. Oh yeah. Cold. Maybe he could spare another blanket, or tell me where to get a heater of some sort.

I peeked through the bars and saw Yancy curled up on the top bunk, seemingly asleep. I fished out the bobby pin again and picked the lock, keeping an ear out for guards. After a few tense minutes, I managed to unlock the door and swung it open, wincing at the slight squeak of the hinges.

I entered the cell and slowly closed the door before making my way to the bunk bed. On the bottom bunk, Heapass was snoring away, occasionally mumbling in his sleep. I stood on my tiptoes and poked Yancy's cheek once, twice. On the third poke, he opened his eyes.

"Whu..." He said before rubbing his eyes and looking at me. "Oh, hey. What're youse doin' here?"

Just then a violent shiver ran through me, making me almost drop my flashlight.

Yancy sat up a bit, looking at me with furrowed eyebrows. "You cold?"

I nodded. He looked at me for a split second before scooting farther into the bed and patting it. "C'mon, let's getcha warmed up."

I hesitated. This wasn't... exactly what I had in mind. It was against the rules for inmates to share the same bed. I knew that, and I knew that Yancy knew it, but the stubborn cold was so damn persistent.

I glanced down at Heapass, who snorted and muttered something about a gongoozeler.

"Don't worry, he won't wake up. He's a deep sleeper, he is."

Finally, I took a deep breath and climbed up into the bunk bed, turning off my flashlight. I suddenly felt nervous all over again. The bed was incredibly narrow, and I was hyper-aware of the lack of space between us. If Yancy noticed as well, he was much better at hiding his awkwardness than me.

"Jeez, youse colder than a popsicle," He remarked as he wrapped the blankets around us. Like me, he had also been gifted with extra items, though his were slightly more worn than mine.

With some adjusting, we finally found a comfortable position for us both. The downside, it meant that Yancy was almost laying on top of me, making my heart beat faster than normal.

"Feeling better?" He asked softly.

I nodded, my face heating up like a kettle. I couldn't remember the last time I had someone hold me like this. It felt... nice. I was definitely warmer than before.

A moment later, I heard Yancy humming softly. It was the chorus of I don't want to be free, the musical number that he used to welcome me to this place. I felt my eyes growing heavier and heavier.

As my body finally relaxed and I was moments from falling asleep, the tune changed into something I didn't recognize. It was a soft melody, almost like a lullaby. It was the last thing I remembered before falling asleep.

BRIIING BRIIING. I groaned as the morning alarm blared, covering my head with the pillow. My least favorite part of the day.

In a flash, I suddenly remembered what happened last night. I sat up and looked around. I was back in my own bed, in my own cell. Was I dreaming? It felt so real though.

"Hey! Get your lazy butt up!" said the guard walking past, "It's time for breakfast!"

With another sigh, I got out of bed and made my way to the dining hall. I saw Yancy there, leaning over the table with a small pencil, scribbling furiously. I got my food and sat down next to him. He quickly folded up the paper and stashed it in his pocket before I could tell what it was. He looked up at me and smiled like normal, but there were slight bags under his eyes.

"Hey there," he said, "Didja sleep good?"

I nodded, wondering what he was doing that was so secretive.

"That's good. Glad to hear."

We sat together quietly, eating our gruel. I wanted to ask about last night, but I couldn't find a way to bring it up. Part of me still wasn't sure if it actually happened. And I didn't want to embarrass Yancy or myself if it turned out I was wrong.

As we brought up our empty plates to the kitchen, Yancy suddenly cleared his throat.

"I think the warden has a new pin today."

I frowned but turned to look at him. The warden was standing against the wall, staring down the prisoners as they ate. Unfortunately, he was too far away for me to check Yancy's claim. I then felt a slight tug on my clothes. I looked back at Yancy, but he just put his plate up and walked away, mumbling something about rehearsals. For a moment, I could've sworn he was blushing.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. I looked back up, but Yancy was long gone. I started to open it, then a loud cough jolted me back to reality.

"Quit holding up the line." the chef barked at me. I quickly got out of the way and ended up back in my cell. I had a few more minutes until the legally allowed activities started. I pulled out the note again and unfolded it.

I didn't want to say anything in the dining room, cause I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. But I'm glad that you trust me enough to come to me when you need something. That being said, if you ever get cold again or you just need a cuddle buddy, don't hesitate. Yours, Yancy.

There were a couple of marked-out words besides 'yours' as if he couldn't decide how he should've ended it. I found myself smiling, a bubbly feeling erupting in my chest. I read it a few more times before I absolutely had to leave. Tucking the letter into my pillow, I made my way to the yard, smiling the whole way there.

#markiplier #markiplier egos #yancy #ahwm #writers of mark #my writing #hope you enjoy

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lassluna · 4 years ago

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CS January Joy Day 31: A Happy Ending (well, that depends on where you stop the story)

Emma Swan was a criminal. A thief. A forger sentenced to four years for bond forgery. Killian Jones was the agent sent to catch her. And catch her he did, but after an escape attempt, an exploded PO Box and a deal an unusual partnership is formed, one that will give them both all that they ever wanted or lead to mutual destruction. White Collar AU

Ao3 FFN

AN:I am very thankful to @csjanuaryjoy for finally getting me to write this. It's been a wild year and hopefully this next one will bring a bit more joy. Thank you @teamhook and @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading for me.

“How did it start?”

It started like most stories if she’s being honest, which she rarely is.

It started with a stolen car, stolen watches, so much stealing, so much theft, so many lies that she had forgotten where Emma, the lost orphan girl, ended and where ‘The Swan’, grifter, forger, liar, thief began. Her reputation grew, as did her steady collection of wealth.

It started with a boy and a girl, lost and alone and unwanted in the world and turned into some wannabe Bonnie and Clyde duo who just wanted to be seen, to be heard, and to take back what the world took for them.

They lied, cheated, and stole for the sake of it. And they were good at it. There’s something about being alone and unwanted that just made it easier to pretend. Sometimes a lawyer, other times a high profile gambler rubbing elbows with mobsters and politicians alike. One time she pretended to be Leila Lucas, princess of a far off land in order to get close to some crown jewels. They pretended that these lives, these rich, luxurious important lives were theirs. They pretended that they deserved these things because they could take them.

And take them they did. The car, the watches, the bonds, the jewels, the paintings, they took them all.

Emma loved the paintings, the art, the beauty. She loved looking at things that gave people feelings. It made her feel a little less alone.

Neal loved the money, the thrill, the ways the world bent to their will, the way it rushed through their veins.

It started with young love. It started good, and they were happy.

“How did it end?”

It ended like most stories, or at least it seemed like that to him.

He was a simple FBI agent, chasing her, tracking her, trying to prove to the world the crimes she commited. Part of him always thought that was what she’d wanted. She wanted her crimes to be seen, noticed. She wanted to be known, not disappear into the shadows.

He understood that, he was trying to prove himself too. Killian was a good FBI agent with a shitty childhood and an even worse family history. But he wanted to be great. He wanted to escape the shadows and prove that he was better than those who came before.

He just wanted to do his job. He wanted to catch her. He wanted to catch 'The Swan'. He spent years hunting her. He was supposed to be just one more FBI agent who tried to catch a break and then went on to the easier, flasher cases.

But not Killian. He had no intention of giving up. Because The Swan was special. She was as elusive as they come, never staying in one place too long, always running, running, running.

There were two of them he knew, but it was always her. She was the one planning things out, making the big moves, making the forgeries, being seen. Never him. He knew that once they got her, his crime spree would end. She was the one that they had proof for. She was the brains and the brawns behind their every operation.

But the problem was that as the years went by, as he got closer to catching her, he learned a lot about Swan. He learned how she likes her hot chocolate: with cinnamon. He learned she also had a shitty childhood; an orphan at birth, bounced around to one foster home after another. He learned she hated violence. Her jobs were smart and with little to no chance of anyone ever getting hurt.

And she got to know him too, if the gifts and the birthday cards proved anything. ‘Know thy enemy’ as they say. But no one ever said to send your enemy flirty postcards, uber eat deliveries of your favorite take out places on stake outs, or gifts to your younger sister on her birthday.

He doesn’t remember when it happened, but they had an appreciation for each other.

Smart, his little sister said once when he was home for a few days before he had to go back out to chase her. You always liked smart.

It ended like most stories, a betrayal and a trap. He knew it was a trap and let her fall right into it. Neal Cassidy, her partner in crime traded away ‘The Swan’ like she was nothing. Honor among thieves seemed to have skipped him in that lesson.

The look on her face when she was caught, trapped, was painful to him. Her eyes were green fury as the truth became obvious to her. Her eyes looked at Neal who was leaving out the back, and then on him.

"It's about time we met properly," he told her as the uniform officer arrested her. “Agent Jones of the New York FBI White Collar division.” She didn't respond to him. He never expected her to.

It ended with a defeated bird who flew too close to the sun.

“Then what happened?”

Then began nearly four years later with Killian Jones, being pulled away from his current case for a jailbreak. ‘The Swan’ had escaped 3 weeks short of her 4 year sentence. It had been years since he even heard her name. Her capture had been his shining moment, it had made his career.

Her escape had been flawless. Her long hair, chopped off, a guard uniform ordered with the warden’s own credit card.

She was in the wind with no hope of being found.

“Road blocks, wanted posters, people posted at the train stations and airports,” the marshals told him, but Killian knew her, knew Emma.

They wouldn’t catch her with the traditional methods.

She didn’t escape for the traditional reasons.

She had been a model prisoner, kept her head down and out of trouble, so why leave now? It had taken months of planning. So he went back, when did she start planning her escape? When did things change?

She got visits from him, from Neal. The vile excuse of a man who got her caught in the first place. He knew better than to judge someone for going back to familiar patterns. Especially trapped in prison.

But his visits stopped nearly a month ago. The man went from visiting weekly with a smile and a magazine to nothing.

So Killian looked at that tape, the final visit from the conman who got away with it. He wasn't surprised by what he saw. His last visit was final. He had all the body language of it. A pained smile, looking shifty and nervous. Emma had stood, slamming her fist on the glass; he'd seen tears on her cheeks when the guards dragged her back, back towards her cell. She’d screamed and pleaded.

But Neal left anyway.

“Ariel,” he said to the younger agent. She was a bright new recruit, his favorite of the probies. “Get me anything you have on Neal Cassidy and all his known aliases.” Ariel was very good at finding exactly what he needed in moments like this. A cold blooded shark in a sea of misinformation.

They find her in an empty apartment, cradling a dreamcatcher in her hand. She looks the same as the last time he’d seen her. Heartbroken. They were in Neal's apartment. The one he rented a few weeks after her trial.

(Killian remembered seeing him there, full of sorries and excuses. Word on the street was that no one wanted to work with him after that. Honor among thieves was apparently much more important than the man thought.)

“How many are here?” she asks as he enters. Her back towards a pillar in the middle of the room.

“Between the FBI, the Marshals, NYPD...everyone,” he chuckled. He’d told them they hadn’t needed to corner off the streets like this. Emma had never been violent. “They’re going to give you another four years for this, you know that right?”

Emma laughed a humorless laugh. “I was two days late,” she admits, obviously not caring one bit about what he said.

“And that’s all he left you?”

“It means goodbye,” Emma admitted. He gave her a small smile, knowing nothing he can say will help. “I can’t believe they dragged you here for this after all this time.” He wasn’t that surprised. Catching her the first time had been his defining moment; if he failed the second time, they could write it off as a fluke.

“It’s been a long time, Swan.” She smirked at the name. “But can’t blame them. I was the only one who caught you, none of the others even got close.” She looked at him quizzically.

He was dusty, fresh from an exploded PO box that his latest case--nicknamed The Dutchman-- had left specifically for him. There were strange threads left on his clothing that none of the Harvard grad FBI agents could tell him anything about. It was something that had agitated him greatly before he’d been pulled here, to find her.

“This guy’s good,” he told her, watching her look him over. “Maybe even better than you. I’ve been hunting him for a few months now and-” She moved quickly, standing and plucking one of the threads off his jacket blazer. It shined strangely as it caught the light. Killian could hear the marshals, or maybe S.W.A.T. pounding through the doors a few floors beneath them.

“What’s it worth if I can tell you what this is?” she asked, handing it to him.

“What-”

“I can tell you what these are right now in exchange,” she said quickly. He could practically see the thoughts and plans race in her mind. Time was running out. “In exchange for a meeting,” she concluded.

“A meeting?” he asked.

“A meeting in one week. Deal?” she asked. They were coming. Killian nodded. Despite his misgivings, it was only a meeting.

“That’s the new security fiber to the Canadian $100 bill,” she said, just in time for the other agents to drag her away. Her smile is bright and mischievous as she refuses to break their gaze until the last possible moment. “I’ll see you in a week!”

“And I was right. It was. According to Agent Jones, it nearly created an international incident.”

“Did you catch him?”

“We did.”

It hadn’t been easy, not for Emma now wearing an ankle monitor to keep her in check--a fact that made her insides squirm at the thought of being tethered-- where anything going bad meant she had to go back to prison with no hope of finding Neal.

It made her heart race in that familiar way of when she was a child and got placed. When one wrong move meant they'd send her back.

“He did a good job disappearing,” Ruby told her in the shadows of Granny’s guest house. Because her friend knew that her first priority was finding Neal.

(She’d run into the old woman at a thrift store looking for some new clothes to wear after seeing the seedy motel Killian had tried to put her in.

She’d met a kindred spirit in the older woman, a thief after her own heart so to speak. Emma would never forget the look on Killian’s face when he saw her new view. He’d turned to the older woman, “You know she has a criminal record right?” he’d asked her.

Granny had taken it in stride, leaning forward with a smirk. “So did my wife.” she said with a wink.)

"Keep looking, Ruby. I need to find him," she told her friend, her oldest friend. She’d been her partner in crime once, when working with Neal had come with extra stress and baggage. With Ruby things were simpler, easier. Ruby was in the information business. She knew what was being run and where. She knew all the local fences, all the local forgers. If Neal was in the city, Ruby would be able to find him.

Ruby nodded, but she looked worried. She glanced at the anklet in apprehension. Then back at her. All the tell tale signs that Ruby wanted to say something but worried for her reaction.

“You know you don’t need him right?” she blurted out. “You’re so much better than him Emma, more talent for this stuff in your pinky then he has in his whole body. He was nothing without you and everyone knew it,” she said, practically bristling with every word. “He betrayed you, why go through so much to find him?” Emma felt her fists clench, along with anger, fury, loss.

Neal Cassidy was a loaded question where she didn’t have an answer.

But she pushed it down. She pushed it down deep. A smile appeared on her face. There was so much. So much she didn’t know, so much no one knew.

Emma couldn’t risk it.

“It’s complicated Ruby,” she said finally. “But in the meantime, what do you know about The Dutchman?”

It had been difficult, Emma had noticed a particular signature in some forged Canadian bond. It was one that Emma recognized. Lilly Prescott. She was a well known forger that was very good at staying well under the radar. The FBI had never even heard of her which was a testament to her ability.

Emma had tried to work with her once. Her work was good and her planning was even better. But the woman couldn’t help but take things that didn’t belong to her, couldn’t help but press Emma’s buttons in all the worse ways.

It had taken seeing her tongue down Neal’s throat to learn two things: that they couldn’t work together and that it was time to grow up.

And grow up she did when they walked into a church Lilly had been restoring. The little wench had leered at her and Killian. “Emma Swan,” she’d said with a cheeky grin when she caught them comparing her work with that of the signature. “I don’t exactly feel comfortable having a known art thief around my work.”

“Allegedly,” Emma corrected her. She’d never been caught for her art theft. A point of pride if she’s being honest. Just a few forged bonds.

She says glancing at Killian. “Who’s your friend.”

“Just a friend,” Killian assured Lilly as they shook hands.

“Emma doesn’t have any friends,” Lilly pointed out. “Unless you count Neal of course. But with friends like that, who needs enemies?” she laughed.

The name turned in her stomach, like something good that turned rotten, like a vice grip on her that she still couldn’t shake.

Not until she found him.

“Of course,” Killian agreed, glancing her way. I know she’s trying to get under your skin, his gaze told her as she pushed her walls firmer in place. If Killian could see that this woman could affect her, it worried her what else he could see.

“You wouldn’t know anything about a thief known as The Dutchman would you?” Emma asked innocently. Because if there was one thing Emma knew, it was that Lilly hated being outdone. “I hear his work is second only to...oh you know.” She smirked at her. “Allegedly of course.”

“Of course,” Lilly said, an edge to her words. It’s all Emma needed to hear. Because she knows she did it. That’s what she tells Killian after they’re asked to leave the church.

“I know she did it Killian.” his hand on her arm halted her pacing. “Did you see the look on her face?”

He did, she knew he did. “I believe you Swan, but we need proof,” Killian insisted. “That’s how this works.”

Proof came with Emma breaking into Lily’s warehouse and Killian coming and arresting them both. She’d cut her anklet after all, seizing all Lily’s things that were in plain sight.

It turned out reading all those law books in prison counted for something.

“And then your partnership was born.”

And it was good, if Killian was honest, it was better than he ever expected when Emma had proposed this deal. She showed up every day for work. She often showed up in ridiculously expensive suits with a fedora on her head. He’d groaned when he first saw it, earning an elbow in his side and a “You just don’t understand fashion.”

(Trouble, like the woman who occasionally gave Emma tips about the criminals they were hunting, the woman who introduced herself rather reluctantly as a Missy Wolfe when Killian had showed up unannounced, who looked him over with a predatory glare and called him a ‘suit’.

“She doesn’t trust cops.” Emma had explained later. “She’s harmless, I promise.”

But she sure did know how to drink all Killian’s beer that’s for sure.)

Every day they would use her knowledge of the criminal underworld to find white collar criminals. After several weeks, they had a 92% closure rate and an even higher recovery rate.

But there was still this thing hanging above them. Between them. A secret they both knew about but refused to talk about.

And his name was Neal Cassidy.

Killian could tell she was looking for him no matter how many times he told her not to. Neal was her weakness, the one thing that caused the normally level headed woman to lose her bloody mind. This was a good thing for her. Emma Swan would rot behind bars and this way at least she was doing good.

Emma Swan liked doing good. He could tell, even when she refused to admit it.

She brought him his picture one day while they’re on their way to speak to a witness, the picture was from an atm in Tallahassee. “Please.” She begged. “I need to find him, to see him. Come with me please, send an agent, the marshals, send me in full shackles and prison oranges I don’t care.”

He had never seen her so desperate, not when he caught her, not when she asked him for this...arrangement. “Swan...what we have here...it’s good. It’s a second chance for you, why risk it for him? He put you here. Why risk it all for him?”

She didn’t respond, hands tightened into fists as she looked down. Killian swore he saw something in her expression something that would explain how this intelligent woman being so infatuated with-

“You’re right.” She says, her voice level. Eyes hard like steel. “There is no reason for me to be chasing Neal Cassidy.” She hissed the words.

Killian doesn’t have her super power, but he knows there’s more to the story than she’s letting on. “If there’s something you’re not telling me-” But she shook her head.

“You said it’s not happening, and what does it matter what I want.” She says shifting on her feet, shifting the anklet like she always does when she feels particularly trapped. “I’m just your CI. A convict without a choice in any of this.”

He stops her right there. “Swan, when have I ever treated you like you don’t have a choice in this? If you don’t like what we ask of you, if you think it’s too riky all you have to do is say the word and-”

“-And I go to prison.” She snapped. “I go back there and rot.” Her temper was flaring and Killian stepped back, fearing getting burned.

“When have I ever threatened you with that?” He asked sincerely. “When have I ever told you that unless you go undercover with this mobster, or that corporate trader that you’d be shipped back?” He says.

Emma doesn’t respond, head dipping slightly. “What about the other agents? That’s what they said would happen.” She admitted in a small voice. “And really, the jobs we do, they’re fine. I don’t feel endangered.” She assured him simply.

“Emma, I swear to you, your safety and happiness is just as important as these jobs. You are not just a criminal.” He says sternly. He steps closer to her, wanting her to look at him and hear him. Seeing her cowed and unnerved unsettled him. “Try something new darling, it’s called trust.”

“Trust doesn’t exactly come easy to me.” Emma admitted. “There’s really no way I can get to Tallahassee?” She asked once more.

Killian sighed.

The moment they finished the job, he sent a message to Ariel.

“Get me anything you can on Neal Cassidy’s recent activity and do it discreetly.” He says.

“Why?” She asked. It was why he valued the younger agent as much as he does, she knows when to put her head down and do as he asks, but she also knows when to press him for details.

“Emma’s not going to stop pursuing Neal.” He told her. “I want to know what she finds out, finding Neal ourselves is the best way to know what she’s up to.”

She handed him a file on the man the next morning, a file Killian took back home with him at the end of the night. He couldn’t risk Emma catching him snooping on her ex. He felt silly hiding it, but the thought of her knowing he was doing so filled him with dread.

“Maybe you should tell her you’re jealous.” Belle informed him as she came home from class, seeing him consumed with the file at their kitchen table. His little sister always seemed to come home from her classes at just the right moment to see him when he’s consumed with a case.

“I’m not jealous Belle.” He says quickly, closing the file. “I’m being thorough.”

He is. There was something there, his gut feels it. There’s something about this man that Emma was hiding from him.

“After all the cat and mouse you’ve done with her, I bet she’d tell you if you asked.” Belle informs him. But Killian disagreed, he knows she won't be truthful with him if he asked. It’ll be an evasive answer framed to have him pointed in the opposite direction. It was how she worked while on the run. This is the only way.

“How do you know?” Killian asked. “You’ve never even met her.” He reminded her.

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Then the Diamond heist.”

“Then the Diamond heist”

It had happened quickly. A diamond heist that had been done with such perfection Emma was generally impressed. They had video surveillance in the vault and nowhere else. It was as if they just vanished, and considering that New York had extensive video surveillance it was impressive.

It was a job she would do once upon a time. Just the kind of take that was exciting enough to catch her attention. But that was in the past.

Emma was determined to keep her head down when it came to jobs. She had a bigger problem on her hands. Someone had Neal, or at least was putting pressure on him. He’d signaled her from an ATM camera in Tallahassee.

Their plan had always been Tallahassee, a city in the middle of Florida of all places. No one would expect anyone who had stolen millions of dollars of artifacts to retire there of all places. It was perfect. They were going to have the life they always wanted growing up.

(It just so happened that Emma had told him that’s where she had her stash at.

A lie. A trap. Bait he had fallen for now after all this time. Never once did he leave his apartment in New York, only now did that stone come loose. It had to mean something.)

But not everyone knew that Emma was done with that life. Not even her most trusted confidant --and partner in more than one crime--Ruby believed her.

“Of course I didn’t do it.” She’d hissed into the phone when the brunette asked her excitedly. “But do you know who did?”

“None of my contacts know anything, sorry Em. I’ll keep an ear out.” She answered. Emma can hear the sounds of birds on the other end. She knew better than to ask. “That’s why I thought it was you.”

It wasn’t long after that that the forged diamond is shown to have a small swan etched into it. One that matched the ones she left in her forged bonds. It became very clear very fast that she was being framed.

“Killian, you need to know I didn’t do this.” She insisted, backing away from them in the parking lot after having been confronted. “You have to believe me.” Her eyes looked for him. She needed to know he believed her.

It didn’t matter who else did, just him. Because if Killian didn’t have her back then who would?

“Killian?” She asked when he didn't meet her gaze. He did eventually. He looked saddened. “You know I was set up right?”

Killian didn’t respond. It made her furious. It reminded her of the real situation here. She was just the criminal and he was just her handler. Any semblance of a partnership was just a figment of her imagination.

“Swan...” He said softly. “If what you’re saying is true, I swear to you I will get to the bottom of it.” I believe you. “But until then...Emma Swan you are under arrest...”

Back to prison. Back to the cell. Back to being helpless while Neal is off with-

She couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not when someone was trying to frame her. The same person who was holding Neal, she was sure of it.

So Emma did what she did best. She ran.

She ran and ran and ran. She’d spent every day on her walks to the office coming up with escape routes through a city she knows too well. The agents depend too much on the anklet to catch her.

The tracker is tamper proof but no one ever said it was foolproof. All it takes is a sharp knife and a toss over the edge of one of the many footbridges in Manhattan for it to be a useless blinking distraction.

Every bone in her body tells her to run as fast and as far as she can. It wouldn’t take much to get out of the city, some cash from one of Ruby’s stashes and a visit to some supplies for a new ID. All she would have to do is say the word and Ruby would run with her. She was good like that, always ready to get into all sorts of trouble for her.

But if she did, if she ran then she would be as good as guilty of this crime. She would never get a chance to prove her innocence. She would never get her chance to find Neal.

She had to find Neal.

I believe you. Killian had tried to tell her that. Maybe it was time to try that thing called trust...

It’s how she meets Belle because while Killian is off coordinating with the Marshals, she’s drinking tea with the sweet brunette she had sent an 18th birthday gift to a few years back.

Killian Jones’s little sister was as fierce as her brother. Belle asked her if she’d done the crime she’d been accused of.

No.

And she had leveled her with a steel glare. “Then Killian will prove it.” She’d said with such certainty, such conviction that she understood a bit about Killian’s stubbornness. It was genetic. “You just need to trust him.”

Emma did. Emma really did, more than she trusted anyone. He was honest, a good man. He was fierce keeping her out of the line of danger when at all possible and he cared for her. Moments like this reminded Emma of why everything had gone so wrong.

I’m tired of running.

“I’m going to call him.” Belle says, not a question. “If you don’t think you can, if you really think Killian won’t have your back after everything, you have until then to leave.” Emma doesn’t move. Not when Belle is talking to Killian about her classes, about having found a stray bird in their patio. (Code for her she assumes)

That’s when she sees the blinking in the cable box and she knows. She knows that this is all a lot bigger than the two of them.

Killian was positively furious when he arrived, all red faced and fuming. “Bloody hell Swan!” Killian hisses when he storms in. “Why did you come here?” Emma didn’t know, not really. Just an instinct and her instinct was telling her to come here. That he would know what to do. “If you were going to run, why come here?! You involved my sister!”

Emma swallows back her words, fear taking a hold in her chest.

“Killian. Give her a chance.” Belle said, taking a place inbetween. “Just listen.” He did.

“I’ve been tracking Neal.” Emma admitted. “Someone...someone has him.“ she takes out the photo she’d shown him. The whole photo, she had been too afraid to show it to him earlier, the hand on his arm, the shine of something pressed against his ribs. Something that looked very similar to a revolver. “They want something I stole but I can’t-I don’t know what it is. I had a friend of mine poke around and I think I got too close.” She explains. “Because they framed me. It has to be connected, Killian.”

There was no other explanation, stirring this fight or flight instinct in her bones. But she has to hold firm, she has to trust in Killian. Because here she was, all her cards on the table.

“Maybe, but this is not how to do things.” He says sternly. “Running isn’t going to get you anywhere but caught or-” Killian swallows back his words. “That marshal really has it in for you Swan.”

(The marshall in question was one Walshe Greene, appearing the moment they returned to the office wanting to speak to her about the fact that some of her anklet’s tracking data had gotten corrupted.

Data that just so happened to coincide with the robbery. He’d been dickish and entitled, coming into her space when she didn’t crumble under his thinly veiled threats.

Threats she didn’t tell Killian about.)

She pointed over to his deconstructed cable box. “Not just me.” She hissed his way. A bug was in his house, in his home. The home he shared with his sister. “Both of us.”

She sees his barely concealed furry, the shock and fear on Belle’s face. “Whatever is coming, it’s coming for both of us.”

“She was cleared of that.”

“She was. Then you seemed to find her rather quickly, despite telling Marshal Greene that he would catch her with wanted posters and roadblocks.”

“I have exceptional luck.”

Things shifted from there. Instead of working this case on one end and Emma from another, Killian felt her walls fracture ever so slightly, and perhaps the guard he put up around her also came down ever so slightly. Perhaps too much.

(Once they found one bug in his home, Belle was insistent that someone come over and deep clean their place of any form of listening devices. It wasn’t long after the case got wrapped up that Emma called over an ‘exterminator’.

“Missy Wolfe.” She introduced herself to Belle, a smirk on her face. “But you sweetie can call me Red.” Belle had raised an eyebrow at her.

“When Emma mentioned she knew someone, I expected you to be...”

“Less gorgeous?” She’d said with a grin. “And when our mutual friend had said the suit had a cute sister I definitely imagined someone like you.” A surge of protectiveness surged within him at the way that Red was looking at his sister.

“I think you’re here to do a job” He reminded her.

“I am quite a skilled multitasker.” )

She showed him her lead to whoever was after them. A message in the video surveillance, of their breakup and Neal messaging her in morse code by tapping at his side. Dream It meant the dream catcher which led her to a meeting in Grand Central Terminal at the end of the week.

Killian had been there when he called her. Seen her panicked face when she heard his voice. “Give him what he wants.” Neal had said.

“What is it he wants?” She’d asked.

“Give him everything. It’s the only way I can come home, the only way for us to be together.” He said. Killian could feel her heart break when she said the words.

“I can’t Neal. It’s the only leverage I have.” She looked up and Emma ran. She ran because she saw him. She saw her lover that she can’t reach, can’t catch, can’t have. Killian makes him out for a moment but he’s gone. He’s gone by the time they get to where he was, a roof of a building looking down at them.

Emma collapsed in a sob and he was barely in time to catch her. Barely in time for him to hold her. She cried into his chest, something rare and primal and aching.

“I just want him back.” she sobbed and his heart ached for her. He understood the feeling of losing someone you love, of not being able to be with them. He holds her, hand running through her hair, her blonde locks that are growing in from the cut she’d done months before. His head finds a place on the top of her head as he tries his best to comfort her.

Emma came back to herself after a moment, pulling away, rubbing her sadness from her face as easily as putting on a mask.

“We are late for a case aren’t we?”

They are. But there’s something about the vulnerability of Emma in that moment that conflicted with the flirty beautiful woman in front of him that distressed him. Perhaps it’s the ease that her walls come back up.

Or maybe, they aren’t walls, maybe it’s a loosely fitted cork, because their next case involves a kidnapped child and a pair of parents so obsessed with the reading of their dead aunt’s will to even know when the little girl had been taken.

Questions like if the will had been forged, or if the inheritance was filled with counterfeits had become meaningless without the child. A fact that exploded out of Emma at the father who was planning on leaving the country with ‘his’ inheritance before the FBI could interfere. The man had crumbled before her blunt display of emotions, her fury and her grief.

“She deserves better than to be just another pawn in whatever game the two of you are playing.” She hissed. “It’s not about money, take it for someone who’s had a hell of a lot. There’s more to life than numbers on a check and if anything happens to that kid you’re going to learn that the hard way too.”

He understood. He understood then, and he understood later.

“Case hit home for you didn’t it?” He asked afterwards over a beer once the child was reunited with parents that may have learned a thing about family from Emma. An old bookie of the husband had tried to pressure him into complying.

“Little kids are cute, what can I say.” She said evasively while taking the offered beer. That was another sign Emma was still hurting, she hated beer. “She deserves better.” That she did. “You did too.” He smirks, knowing that she knew him better than most. Yet he wondered exactly how much she did know.

“And how much exactly do you know about my childhood?”

“I know that you loved your father, you idolized him. You had his knack for numbers.” She said. “I know he used you as a diversion when the feds came in and busted down your door. He left you and your mom with nothing.” She swallowed and he could see her picking her words carefully. That meant she knew more than most. “I know you learned that he had at least two other families, an elder brother in DC. and a younger sister in Georgia who appeared at your door when you had just lost your mom. You took her in no questions asked.” Killian remembers the day he met his elder brother. The man had been older and took one look at him and wanted nothing to do with him. Killian was just another reminder of what Brennan Jones had done. He also remembers the day several years later when a teenaged Belle had knocked on his door. He took one look at her and remembered what Brennan had done, but he swore to accept her no matter how much the reminder hurt.

“So you know quite a bit, Swan.” He responded. “I also know a bit myself.” He countered.

“Of course you do.” She laughed, “I bet you even know my shoe size.”

“8.5 or sometimes 9 if the shoe runs small.” He said with a smirk. “You left a pair in that hotel in Rio.” A pair of bright red pumps that matched a bright red dress. “Why do you care so much?” Or maybe it’s the beer talking, talking too much if he’s honest. “Neal betrayed you, he left you, why do you care so much about saving him?”

The laughter dies from her face, something heavy takes its place. “Seeing my position a little too similar to your own?” She deflected. “Someone who got left behind just like you?”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you deserve so much better Swan.”

“What exactly do I deserve Agent Jones.” She said, leaning forward. “I’m a criminal.” That she is. But he doesn’t think about that when he leans forward and cups her cheek. He doesn’t think about that when he brushes strands of blonde hair out of her face, nor when he smiles and-

"Has Agent Jones ever behaved unprofessionally?"

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional.

He had to be, with a family history like his. Even Emma’s heard of it through her underground contacts. She’s heard of the legendary Brennan Jones who masterminded a theft like no other, millions of dollars gone in a blink of an eye.

She’d heard through the office gossip about him. About how no one trusted him when he was recruited right out of college, his superiors always made things difficult. Never trusting that he wasn’t just like his father.

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional, that’s what made Emma enjoy the chase so much. Because she knew it was a true battle of wits, not like the muscle head marshals. Killian was smart and honorable. If he was going to catch her, it would be done the right way.He was just like her.

But the way he looks at her sometimes is so not professional in all of the best ways.

Sometimes he looks fuming, mostly when she’s pushed the limits a bit too far, gets in over her head, and just makes it out by the skin of her teeth. But always looks relieved when she makes it out.

Sometimes he looks like she holds the sun and the moon because she’s figured out some con or trick someone pulls. It always comes with a “You’re brilliant Swan.” when no one else is listening. She always shoots back a knowing smirk, tucks a loose strand of blonde behind her ear and replies with “I know.” It always makes him roll his eyes but his expression never wavers.

And that one time, after a particularly draining case, after that little girl with parents who didn’t give a damn about her had been rescued and she thought...she thought he was going to kiss her and...

And Emma may have to admit to herself that she wanted him to.

But with Neal, and the FBI frowning upon CI handler relationships, not that a kiss meant a relationship...God Emma was confused. They hadn’t kissed and perhaps she had misread the situation completely. Because he’d practically scrambled away when it happened.

He’d ran out the door with some made up excuse on his lips, a deep blush on his face.

Maybe it was all in her head, maybe she was the one being unprofessional. But she can’t help the way he makes her feel more than her past, more than what she can do.

With Neal it had always felt like it was them against the world.

With Killian she thinks maybe they can just exist in the world, maye make it a little better in the process.

What makes it worse was a conversation she hears between Ariel and Killian days after their almost kiss. Days after she spends a night dreaming of what could be.

Emma hadn’t meant to be eavesdropping, but she had a lead on their new case and was heading into his open office when she heard them talking in tense low voices.

“What was your talk with Neal like?” The younger agent asked him. It makes her stop in her tracks, makes her heartbeat wildly.

He shot Ariel a glare and told her to keep her voice down. But he hadn’t refuted her claim.

He doesn’t tell her about it later when she finds a more convenient time to talk to her about the case.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Emma asked Ruby later in her apartment over a tall glass of wine. Because she desperately needs the alcohol to calm down her racing thoughts.

“Emma...Does it ever occur to you that maybe...maybe Killian is involved?” She contemplated, sitting across from Emma with her own equally tall glass of wine.

“Involved?”

“Killian is in the prime position if you think about it.” She muses. “You under his thumb, maybe Neal in his back pocket. Maybe it was him all along.” Emma shook her head because no. It couldn’t be.

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional.

“Then why is he keeping his meeting with Neal a secret when you’ve been upfront with him? After all, his own father is a master of crime, maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

“So she trusted you?”

“Yes.”

Emma Swan does trust him.

Killian remembered that case they had a few months back, Emma had gone and broken into a shady hospital without backup or a warrant. The case had involved Granny’s granddaughter not getting a kidney and she’d gone rouge.

Something he warned her against a half dozen times by this point.

She’d broken in and gotten caught and drugged up to the gills. Killian had had to get in and break her out without anyone realizing. He’d even stolen the security tapes.

“I trust you Killian...out of everyone in my life, Neal, Ruby...you are the only one I truly trust.”

Emma did trust him. She trusted him with her free smile when she was feeling particularly excited out on a job. She trusted him with her fury when things were hard and she felt truly trapped by their arrangement. She trusted him with her tears when she thought about Neal. She didn’t often say much but he just knows.

He knows her.

Emma trusted him to know her and Killian knew it’s not something freely given.

But then out of nowhere that guarded expression on her face returns. Any move he made seems to be met with passive aggressive responses and half truths. She had her barely contained fury back beneath her eyes.

It reminded him of a young agent who was furious when he learned that all the older agents were laughing behind his back. When he learned that they would never take him seriously because he was damaged. He was a joke.

Emma Swan was no joke.

It unsettled him, he can’t figure out what changed.

Or perhaps he was reading too much into her responses, after all, he was keeping a rather large secret from her. Because despite not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to break her trust, he feared this new information would be too much for her. Too much temptation.

Because there was nothing more tempting to Emma than information about Neal Cassidy.

It had taken some favors and a considerable amount of FBI weight throwing to secure the meeting, but he’d had it. Killian had had a meeting with Neal Cassidy.

He knew what they wanted from Emma.

(“A music box, she stole it in Germany just before...about a year before you caught her. They won’t let me go...they won’t let us be together without it.” He’d assured him.

“How do we know any of this is real?” He asked him. “How do we know this isn’t some game to get in her head?”

Neal gave him a disbelieving smirk. “I guess you don’t know. But considering you don’t know the whole story, I have to say that I have the advantage.”

“I find that whenever the supposed hostage talks about having the advantage they are rarely telling the truth.” He replies firmly.

“Ask Emma about the job we ran in October. If she tells you the truth then you’ll know exactly why Emma has to hand over the music box”)

He knew what they wanted from Emma, but he wasn’t sure if telling her would be smart. He honestly wasn’t sure if she could handle it.

That is, until in the middle of a job, a sting operation Emma had snapped. She’d nearly turned him in, her eyes had turned steely and she hissed that she knew.

“I know you have Neal, that this whole thing is a game, a trap, a trick.” she seethed. It had completely caught him off guard.

“What?!” He’d demanded, but the mark was listening, hell all his agents were listening. They couldn’t do this here. “If you have ever trusted me, you’ll give me a chance to explain myself otherwise get back to the case.” He’d said sharply. He met her steely glare with her own and nodded once.

I trust you.

She’d proven it later that day when their mark had locked in an airlock and they only had one canister of air. She’d shoved it into his grasp. “I trust you.” She’d whispered out loud this time. Please don’t play me for a fool.

He hadn’t, of course. They’d found their way out and sitting there in front of a multimillion dollar mansion swarmed with agents and bundled in shock blankets, he’d told her.

“I met Neal.” He admitted her. Her eyes are wide, but she’s not surprised. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think you could handle it.” But he was wrong, so wrong.

“You had no right to keep that from me.” She replied sharply. “But I understand why you did.” her expression softened. “I know how I must look to you: a love sick fool chasing after a man who hurt me. Risking everything for him...”She trailed off before fixing him a firm gaze. “What did he tell you?”

“He told me what he wanted. A music box.”

“A music box.” Emma repeated. She laughed at her words. Laughed like he’d told her the most ridiculous joke in the world. “Then let’s go get the music box.”

“And where was the music box?”

“Under our noses the whole time.”

“Bloody hell Swan!” He’d cursed. “How?”

It had been one of her most daring moves. She’s not sure why she decided to do it, but after she thought of it...the idea was just too intoxicating. It was a challenge, a dare and perfect. So perfect.

Getting the music box had been difficult, a job that didn’t really interest Neal. It was a little too flashy without enough reward. Thankfully a fence of hers had been able to take his place on the job.

(A fact that Neal was not happy about.)

Graham had been good, and it had gone off nearly flawlessly. She’d given him a cut of the profit she would make when she sold the music box--and a slap for a stolen kiss that Neal still doesn’t know about--except she never did get around to selling the damn thing.

She’d meant to, really. But this was right in the beginning of Agent Jones pursuit of her and she’d thought he was cute and enjoyed teasing him with her gifts.

So Emma had set to work. A good forger can make something worthless look real, but only a great forger could make a priceless artifact seem like a fake knock off.

So that’s what she did. No one ever knew, they didn’t even suspect it.

“My sister!” Killian exclaims again. “What did I tell you about involving her?” Emma shrugs.

“To be fair I had already long sent it to her by the time you gave me that warning.” She told him simply, picking up the item. “I assume it came back clean when you sent it to the lab?” It was smaller than she remembered, a fake gloss painted on to mask it’s trace components.

“They traced it to a manufacturer in China and Belle liked how it sounded. Bloody hell, what would we have done if she had tossed it like I wanted to do?” She’d found a similar looking one and stole the packaging. Emma shrugged.

“I didn’t exactly anticipate for some rogue agent to kidnap Neal for this thing. I didn’t even steal it for anything other than morbid curiosity.” She admitted. “Now that we have it, when can we get the meeting?” She asks.

Killian sighs. “I’ve put word out, hopefully Neal will contact me and we can set a time.”

“Or.” Emma adds. “We can contact the person pulling the strings behind this, behind everything.” She snaps.

“We don’t know for sure.” Killian says with a calming gesture.

“You really think Walshe has nothing to do with this?” Emma snaps. “After coming into town just in time to frame me for the diamond heist?”

Killian doesn’t respond. Emma takes the music box tightly in her hands. “This has to end. It has to end now.”

“Swan-” But she steps out of his grip. “We need to do this the right way, catch him red handed, not just hand him what he wants, when will it end?”

Oh it’ll end. The stakes were too high for Emma not to see to it that this cat and mouse game end now.

Plans circulated in her head, how to get out with the music box, how to make the exchange before Killian could talk her into a more by the book plan. Sometimes things couldn’t go by the book. Sometimes the ugly gritty way was the only way.

Killian’s phone rang loudly at his side. He picks it up, giving Emma a look. We’ll figure this out, you just need to trust me.

But something on the other end was clearly very wrong. His eyes narrowed and she could see something darker and fiercer just below the surface. “Stay there Belle.”

He could hear the younger girl talking quickly on the phone, Killian’s hand clenched. She was clearly very upset.“I’ll be right there. Do not say a single word until I get there.” He glanced at her. “We need to go now. Belle’s just been arrested.”

“She was arrested because the Marshalls believed a phone call she received from an unfamiliar number was our father.”

“Was it?”

“Just a spam caller”

The marshalls had wanted him out of the way, and they got it. It hadn’t taken much. They had Belle in handcuffs, her eyes were red as her classmates looked on, Walshe’s grip on her was rough and his words had been rude and vial and then he’d had the balls to mention Emma. So he’d swung and decked Walshe Green in the face.

It felt good. But it ended with him in cuffs besides Belle. He’d watched a wide eyed Emma leave with Ariel, considering her handler was about to be put on suspension he was glad she wasn’t being taken into custody next. She’d been strangely silent through the whole ordeal.

Emma had tried to deescalate the situation at first, but a comment Walshe had made left her frozen. Emma Swan never froze up.

“You never know, a parent’s greatest desire is to see their kid, wouldn’t you agree Emma?”

It wasn’t until afterwards. After he was back home missing his badge and gun, he realized two things.

The Music box was gone.

This had never been about Neal.

“When we were originally tackling The Swan, Emma took a year gap where we couldn’t find a single hint of a job she was running. The working theory was that she was waiting for the heat of her last job to die down.”

“And now?”

“Now I realize that she went underground for a different reason.”

They met at the drop point.

Emma felt bad for having Ruby steal the music box from Killian’s house, but it was the only way. No one was supposed to know about him. No one was ever supposed to connect her to the little boy that was born in New York Hospital in October of that year.

They were supposed to disappear and start a new life together, Tallahassee.

Neal and her called it Tallahassee. It was the end game plan, retire and move to Florida or some island in the tropics. But Neal had never wanted to go clean, so Emma took her son and ran.

So Neal set a trap for her. She set a trap so she couldn’t disappear with their kid.

“When you get out.” He said, holding one of his toys, one of her son’s toys “We can be a family. It was only four years.”

Emma had hated him for four years, for robbing her of that time together, of wanting to be a father and changing his mind and then changing his mind again.

It wasn’t until now, until Neal was faced with losing their kid, of him being abducted and held above their heads that he truly cared. Maybe, maybe it’s not too late for them.

They met at the drop point, except there was no Neal, only Walshe. But she doesn't let that shake her resolve.

“Where is he?” She demanded.

“Neal is around.” Walshe said cryptically. “I hear you have my box.” She didn’t deny it.

“I’m not talking about Neal.” She said. “You’re not getting a damn thing unless I can see my son.” The man smirked wider than he had any reason to.

“Don’t trust me?”

Emma didn’t dignify his words with a response. He gave a large sigh and opened his car door. There in the backseat, passed out in his car seat is Henry. She hadn’t seen him since he was an infant, but she knew. It was her son. Her four year old little boy looked positively exhausted but in good health. It made her gasp in relief, tears gathering in her eyes.

He’s gotten so big.

“Where’s my music box?”

She gave it to him without a moment’s hesitation. Her only focus was pulling that boy into her arms and never letting go. She was never letting him go again. “Neal said to give you these.” Walshe added after the box is placed securely in his car. It was an envelope. She takes it with the hand not around the boy.

Papers...She realized a whole new identity and not just for her. Neal, Emma and Henry Nolan. A normal happy little family. It was good, extensive.

A happy ending after all. Four years ago this is all she’d ever wanted.

“There’s a jet waiting for you, it’ll take you wherever you want. The three of you can disappear.” Walshe explained.

“Why?” Emma asks. “Why go through all of this? Kidnapping my son, using him to get to Neal to get to me? Just for that.” Because it wasn’t worth that much, not enough for all this.

“Because my employer wants it.” Walshe said cryptically. But he doesn’t elaborate, he doesn’t need to. It says all she needs to know.

There’s someone behind the curtain.

“You better get going. Neal is waiting for you.” The address was written in the envelope, so she settled Henry in his car seat in her car and then she headed out.

But not before she sent Belle the most expensive collection of sketch books and paints money can buy, art school wasn’t cheap and she had talent. Real talent.

Not before she called Granny and thanked her for everything.

Not before she called Ruby and told her about Henry. The papers...

(“I don’t know why you didn’t trust me to tell me the truth Emma.” She’d said. “But for what it’s worth I’m glad you are finally getting the life that you want. But you know what I always say-”

“A happy ending.” Emma breathed. “Is all about where you stop the story.”

She could feel Ruby’s grin through the phone. “From the moment we met, I knew your story was going to be exciting, but my question is, is this where you want to stop the story?” )

But Emma didn’t have time to contemplate her words. She needed to go. They had to get out, they needed to run. This is what she always wanted.

She was 50 feet from the plane when she heard her name being called out in the terminal.

“Swan!” It makes her stop in her tracks. She can’t help but feel her chest tighten at the sound of her name. She turned to see him. His suit is rumpled, tie missing. He looks like he ran all the way here. “Swan wait.” She did. She had to.

“You can’t stop me Killian.” She said. “You can’t.”

He nodded. “I know, all of this was sanctioned. It’s all an op as far as anyone can tell.” He agreed. “Legally I can’t interfere.”

Legally.

“Why are you here Killian?” Sha asked.

“I’m here to remind you of what you’re walking away from if you get on that plane. I know what you want Swan, I’ve always known. You want to be a part of something. You are here.” She bit her lip, he was smiling at her, something delicate and desperate. He wanted her to stay so badly.

“Neal once said that we run. We run until when we run from something we just miss it.” She recalled.

“You don’t need to run anymore Emma. You can stay. You and your son. You can stay.” He promised. “You don’t have to look over your shoulder anymore.”

“Why are you here Killian?” She asked again. Because it can’t be for her. It didn’t make sense. She’s a criminal, a convict, a fraud. She didn’t deserve for him to look at her like that.

“Because you sent Belle art supplies. You called Ruby and Granny. You said goodbye to everyone except for me.” He reminded her “Why?”

Why hadn’t she?

“Because...” she trailed off. “You’re the only person who could change my mind.”

He smiled at her, close enough to cup her cheek. “Did I?” She doesn't speak. She can’t. She leans in and kisses him. Something she never dared to want. Never dared to even consider.

It was better than she ever imagined. It was something that she would surely miss if she got on that plane.

But is it enough? Is it enough to turn away from a definite happy ending? Or is she walking away from it? “Killian...

Emma didn’t get a chance to contemplate the issue further.

Because when she looks back at the plane, at Neal’s face in the window of the plane, before she has a chance the plane explodes.

“And you know the rest.” Killian says. “They immediately took Emma into custody. Investigators descended on the terminal, Walshe went underground and you’re here to determine if my actions warrant you taking my badge.”

The investigators glare at him, clearly not believing some of what he’s saying. But they’ve been glaring at him since he stepped into the room. It was probably a side effect of having just interviewed Emma.

But it doesn’t matter what they believe. All that matters is what they choose to do. They can choose to give him back his badge and gun and let him do his job. Or they won’t.

“Do you believe Ms.Swan set the bomb that killed Mr. Cassidy?”

He looks them dead in the eye. “No.” He says pointedly. “She would never do that.” Not just because she was supposed to be on that plane, not just because her son was supposed to be on that plane but because Emma wasn’t a killer.

They don’t ask him any more questions.

He walks out the door with his badge, his gun and a warning. But there’s time to worry about that later. Right now all Killian wants to do is see her. He wants to see if she’s there. If she had left before he was done or if she was waiting for him.

And she is. She’s leaning against his door of his car a smile on her face and a-

“Another hat Swan?” He asks. Emma smirks, removing the hat and placing it on his head.

“I think it looks pretty good.” Emma says with a smirk and a subtle bite of her lip. “What do you think?” Now it’s Killian’s turn to smirk. She looks brilliant with that hat, so he places it back on her blonde head of hair. It does little to distract from the brand new tracker on her ankle, but he appreciated the attempt. Its slimmer chases less according to the memo Emma had emailed him..

“How’s Henry?” He asks. It had been a few weeks since she met the boy, since he’d caught him and his mother from the explosive blast of the plane that killed his father.

“Adjusting.” She says, her grin fading.

Emma wasn’t allowed to keep him, social workers didn’t feel comfortable given that she was a current convict with an unusual situation. Thankfully Ariel was a registered foster parent with a spare bedroom. Henry had immediately taken a shine to Ariel and her husband and their current foster, a six year old girl named Melody.

It wasn’t perfect, but Emma could see him as often as she wanted while she applied to earn back rights she never should have lost.

“What now?” Emma asks. Her hand drifts to his. Her hands are softer than he’d thought. He leans in close, not too close but closer than he should. Closer than a handler should be with his charge. But he was close enough to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s smiling.

“Now? We have another case.” He tells her.

“And later?” She adds. “What do you plan to do about Walshe, and Neal and-”

“I don’t know.” He says honestly. “But whatever we do, know that we’ll figure it out together.”

#cs january joy #csjj 2021 #Captain Swan #once upon a time #White Collar AU

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ranvwoop · 4 years ago

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Ran!! Techno lore!! How we feeling :)

HELLO CRYPTID L WE'RE FEELING. WE SURE ARE. WEVE GOT SO MANY FEELINGS.

I like. technoblade. he is my streamer. My streamers are Phil, Techno, n Ranboo and I am bracing myself for the inevitable plot-relevance where they no longer hang out on the smp but. but i adore them...... this colours my perception, because, if you had read any of my previous lore things, I Really Care About the Syndicate, because it's got all three of my faves :D.

(I have some more faves, but. they are my top three.)

To start I really like the setup!! For like, a Plot Narrative speaking, both of Techno's streams this week are very viewer friendly :D. Since Techno has been gone for a little while, it isn't like... a horrible stream to jump into if you, too, have been gone for a little while. I mean, I haven't, but I've been trying to like. Ease a few people into actually watching instead of just listening to my frantic yelling, and you don't need too much prior knowledge for this one. Granted, it didn't work, I'm going to shove dsmp lore at my pals until it works, guys please D:. But either way it's a nice break from the super conspiracy-theory red stringing! Also Technohumour is always fun.

I am a simple person, sometimes. There's some downtime. Syndicate my beloved! All four of them! I love! The birthday party made me UwU. And then just a simple inciting action setting up for today. I also saw a post about how much the birthday stream emphasised that Techno did have friends, and that was the difference between who is he is now and who he was and also the difference between himself and Dream, with the whole attachments n stuff.... head in hands.

The start of the stream was !! very good. I love the ae duo or emerald duo or whatever they call Phil and Techno hanging out. I Love how it was lighthearted and joking and Phil being concerned but they're still laughing and it's all good! Because Surely Nothing Bad will ever happen to Technoblade. Even when he passes Phil his will, which, I loved just seeing a bunch of posts (myself included) in which everyone was just. A WILL?? But. I love them. I am going to spend all of my time thinking about the like ten minute interaction.

Also it was very funny that it just. messed up. Scuffed streams my beloved. Phil rlly just Poofed out of existence. And then his photo poofed out of existence. It would have been really funny if Techno started to monologue to a painting, though.

But. But the actual part that matters. Technoblade goes to prison.

First of all. I would like to acknowledge that Sam doesn't break character. He's made it through Tommy, who is Tommy, Softie Ghostbur, Sad Ranboo, Clever Quackity, and Techno, who is Techno, among others I didn't watch. cc!Sam playing the warden my beloved. How do you not sound like you're smiling.

BUT. I adore clever characters. Similarly with Quackity, Techno knew what he was getting into and I just love that attitude. Very fun to watch. He is unconcerned, Absolutely scouting out the prison. Lingers the camera on the stasis chamber. Doesn't put his valuables in the vault. Rip to all those gapples because there was absolutely the hestience of. welp. He's not getting those back.

A lot of people interpret his behaviour as excited, but I choose to interpret it as more nervous. You know, the like, cool nervousness like ahah yUP nothing's wrong. (• ▽ •;).

There are lots of ways it could go!! There've been Quite the jokes about everyone breaking in to see Dream, but that honestly looks like how it could go again. Tommy and Tubbo had an interest to break in and kill Dream, though Wilbur's reappearence sorta threw a wrench in that, but he wants to visit his hero, and the Syndicate would have an interest in bringing Techno home. I don't think that there's gonna be a Syndicate breakout stream, but I would Love it. Another contender to meet in prison would be Michael Mcchill and I think that would be hilarious to meet a lot of the characters that way.

More likely, Techno will fill his inventory with the books and be brought back with a stasis chamber, and maybe the Syndicate will still break into the prison with this knowledge and free Dream?

I'm also Very interested in Ranboo, because I'm always very interested in Ranboo lol. But. I see Techno and Ranboo's spoken philosophies as basically the same but opposite. The person and their alligences are seperated, except Ranboo chose to pretend as if the alligence is irrelevant and Techno saw alliegences as Very Important. (In past tense since it's really been a long time since this group was involved in any politics! The Egg doesn't count, since it's not really an alliegence but. mind control.) They both want to get rid of things that force people to do what are percieved as Bad Things. It's more nuanced than that with the whole Syndicate and Actual Power Structures, but honestly alligences as a whole sort of fits with Techno often feeling like he's betrayed and changing his plans accordingly.

Ranboo and Techno Are Friends. Dream and Techno have a business relationship, and Techno is severely misled about what exactly is going on. Ranboo has no obligation to join in on any prison breaking, with no hard feelings, that's part of the explicit rules of the Syndicate. Will he just sit out and let it happen?? Will he try to propose a better solution??? Will he help?? Please don't cause infighting in the syndicate please they're All I have on this server—

Oh, also Philza Minecraft deserves to be concerned, sad, and also angry. Let him fight someone. You cannot hurt his bestie that's illegal.

I am not really aspiring for a Dream + Techno team post-prisonbreak, or anything. From a meta standpoint, all of Dream's lore is Very heavy (literal child abuse!) and Techno's lore would uhhhh. really not mesh well with that. Honestly I would be content if Techno still didn't know what Dream did, because it's funny, and they walked away once again as conditional "if you need a hand". Maybe there wouldn't be that much development in that, but you see, it's funner.

This was an Absolute Mess, I am sorry Cryptid. I had a lot of feelings. I just think he's neat. I was also Very Sleepy so none of my thoughts are coherent. Why thank you for asking :D.

TDLR: i liked it a lot!!! It was really good. I like Technoblade's lore style, n I think it is. A well needed little break from almost constant angst. Also, Please Syndicate, please communicate with eachother or just. do not fall out. that's all i want.

#vwoop.noises #asks #☆cryptid☆#THIS SURE WAS A LOTTA WORDS TO SAY A LOT OF NOTHING.#but. but hey nobody has to read it im void yelling #except Cryptid but void has routinely brought this upon voidself so yknowwww #which!!! rhank u very much for asking irs sweet #this took so long cause i was also doin other stuff ^u^#p. pls dont reblog if ur not cryptid

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somedayonbroadway · 4 years ago

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Oooo Im interested in your Star Wars newsies AU

Ooooooookay so this is gonna be interesting. I will be basing this particular AU off of the original trilogy (the best one by far. Nothing will ever beat it) though if you’d like to see the prequels or any other Star Wars movie done, or a different Star Wars story that I start making up on the spot, just let me know!

This is also going to be very similar to the storyline of each and every character. So I’m only going to do the three main characters, but if you’d like to hear about more, just let me know!

Star Wars AU

Characters

Racetrack Higgins — Luke Skywalker

Katherine Plumber — Leia Organa

Jack Kelly — Han Solo

Crutchie Morris — Chewbacca

Warden Snyder — Emperor Palpatine

Joseph Pulitzer — Darth Vader

Medda Larkin — Obi Wan Kenobi

Todd Kloppman — Yoda

Spot Conlon — Lando Calrission

Obadiah Wiesel — Jabba The Hutt

Racetrack Higgins

Anthony Higgins lived his life as a farmer on Tatooine.

He lives on this hot, desert planet with his aunt and uncle, who constantly try to convince him that everything he’d ever need is right there on Tatooine.

Anthony does not believe them.

Growing up fascinated by any kind of ship he can get his grip on, he acquires the nickname “Racer” from his friends and is named an excellent pilot. He wants to explore the galaxy, but on the insistence of his uncle is forced to stay at the farm on account of the dangers that would come if he left.

Everyone was terrified of the Empire.

Race wanted to make a difference.

Growing up, Race had always been told that his parents had been good people. His father had died as a pilot during the clone wars and his mother had died getting him to safety.

Race never had a reason not to believe them.

He lives a relatively normal life on the farm on Tatooine, though he longs for so much more.

When Race was born, he was secretly given to his aunt and uncle by a woman he believed to be named Medda Larkin who lives in the desert land away.

This woman looks out for him, against his uncle's wishes, though, upon asking him why the old man has such a quarrel with Medda, only to be left without an answer.

Frustrated by his friends following their dreams and leaving the desert planet, Race finds himself staring into the sunset daily, wishing he could fly past it.

And one day, he gets his chance.

After inspecting new droids his uncle purchases, he finds a message of a beautiful girl begging for help from a Medactrine Larkin (I don’t know. It felt right).

Wandering off, Race goes to investigate, asking Medda Larkin if she was related to this mysterious person after being attacked by Sandpeople who knock him out and nearly kill him.

With the droids, M7-TN and BK-03, Race discovers that Medda is Medactrine and was once a Jedi Knight, one that fought side by side with Race’s father, whom she trained in the ways of The Force.

Though he at first declines Medda’s offer to travel with her to help the woman in the message, a Princess Katherine Plumber, after he tries to return to his farm, he finds it destroyed, the bodies of his aunt and uncle carelessly laid in front of the door to his home.

So he goes.

This embarks Racer on the path to him truly becoming The Chosen One.

Upon running from the people who murdered his family, Medda informs him that they have to secure travel off of the planet

That’s when Race meets Jack Kelly.

Race and Jack weren’t immediately best friends, but Jack wanted to protect him. Race was never entirely sure of why.

The Force is strong with Race, even though he never knew it.

Medda begins to train him in the ways of the force.

Race is forced to watch his mentor get struck down right in front of him and while he’d only known the truth for a few days about Medactrine’s true identity, he felt as though he owed his life to her.

Because she saved him countless times over and he didn’t even know.

Racer joins the rebellion after Medda dies, hearing her voice in his head, clear as day, telling him to run.

He is the pilot that blows up the Death Star whilst the majority of all others who tried died around him in their TIE Fighters.

Medda is guiding him the whole time. He uses The Force.

Race has the piloting skills of his father.

Race travels to a galaxy that many believe to be deserted to be trained by another Jedi Master by the name of Klopp.

He trains for a long time, becoming an unofficial Padawan and learning the ways of the Jedi who are nearly extinct.

He nearly gets killed by a yeti

He gets his hand cut off by the very man the whole galaxy fears.

He is told one day that he is the galaxy’s last hope

Jack Kelly

Jack grew up an orphan

When he was young, his parents were killed by the Empire and he was kidnapped by a local gang and made a part of it, a slave to it.

He grew up in a life of crime. He’d never asked for it.

After escaping that gang, leaving someone he loved dearly behind, Kelly, he runs off and joins the Imperial Navy as a flight cadet, naming himself Jack Kelly in honor of the girl who helped him escape.

After years of service, Jack wants a way out, a way to get away from this life only to be tricked and thrown into a monster’s den by con men who are infiltrating the navy in search of a lot of money.

It is in this monster’s den that he meets a creature with fangs, horns and golden skin with one leg. His name is Charbeddon. Jack calls him Crutchie.

Eventually, after escaping the navy and teaming up with the group of cons and thieves, Jack ends up doing the Kessel run in twelve parsecs in a ship that he nearly won in a game of cards, The Millennium Falcon.

He makes it clear that he’s an excellent pilot. Well, as long as he has his lucky dice with him. They were the first thing he ever stole.

After being betrayed by the small gang, Jack finds that he’s better of when it’s just him and Crutchie

Though he goes back to win the Millennium Falcon off of the man who cheated him at cards, one Mr. Spot Conlon, who is forced to put his money where his mouth is when Jack wins and claims his ship as his own.

After this, Jack and Crutchie leave for a small planet called Tatooine to find a crime lord that had been mentioned to him once who is putting together a big job

Long story short, Jack ends up owing this crime lord a big debt, ending up with a price on his head that sends just about every bounty hunter in the system out looking for him.

Jack meets Race and immediately knows that he wants to protect the kid, though he does not truly understand why at first

Jack Kelly is named the best smuggler in the galaxy at a very young age.

After escaping Tatooine after promising the crime lord he would pay him back within the month, Jack finds himself on a journey that changed him for good.

He saves a Princess, expecting a reward.

He didn’t expect to fall in love

Though he is hesitant to join the rebellion at first, his overwhelming urge to protect Racer like no one protected him growing up takes over and he flies after the kid right before the Death Star is blown up, saving him from being shot down.

Jack and the Princess, Katherine, get off to a rocky start until they finally admit they have feelings for each other

Jack is eventually captured, along with Katherine and their droids, by the empire

Jack is tortured for information; the location of Anthony Higgins, though during the first session of the shock torture, he isn’t even asked any questions.

Eventually, Jack is told he will be the test subject for a trap they were setting for Race. Jack had no hope of escape.

As he’s being led to the trap, Katherine admits that she loves him to which Jack can only respond that he knows

He’s frozen in Carbonite and shipped away to the crime lord that put the price on his head, being fixed as a permanent decoration in old Weasels hide out.

Katherine Plumber

After being given up by her mother, Katherine is adopted by a Senator the Queen of Alderaan

She grows up in a political setting, learning day in and day out about the Galactic Empire.

She vows to be a part of taking it down

She is the reason that Racer joins the rebellion in the first place.

After her ship gets infiltrated, the young princess finds a droid and records a desperate massage for someone her father spoke of often and trusted above anyone else. She asks Madactrine Larkin for help. She’s their only hope.

Katherine had a team of people find a weakness in the Death Star, something they could use to destroy it. She sends the plans with the droid BK-03

And then Katherine is captured by Darth Vader, the man most feared in the galaxy.

Even as she is defiant and strong in her ways, when the evil man aims a planet killer at her home, she caves and reveals what she’d done only for her home planet to be blown up anyway

She is then held prisoner, believing she will be executed soon

Until she’s rescued by a kind boy and a much too devilishly handsome young man who drives her crazy.

Katherine is much more than just a Princess. She’s a senator and eventually, a general

She’s a natural born leader.

Just like her mothers, biological and adoptive

Katherine finds herself often being treated like a damsel in distress, when in reality, she’s tough enough to handle herself.

After she’s captured once again by the Empire and the man she thought he hated but turned out to love was turned into a statue and sold away, she is the one who goes out to save him

Maybe they both get captured immediately, but at least she got that far

She is made a new slave for Weasel even as a newly blind Jack is trying to beg Weasel to leave her alone, that he’d pay him back in full and even more but he is taken away and finds Crutchie waiting for him in the dungeon.

Katherine is forced to wear demeaning clothing and held by a chain around her neck like Weasel's new pet.

Even after Race tries to save them, he gets captured as well. He is fed to the monster they have underneath them only to kill the thing and be taken prisoner like Jack and Katherine has to watch the whole thing.

She is forced to watch while the only friends she has are taken out on Tatooine to be eaten alive by a giant man eating plant

This is where Race gets the upper hand and Katherine is given the opportunity to finally kill Weasel and escape with Jack and Race.

She is very sneaky and very quick and even when Jack tries to protect her, she ends up saving his skin just as much

Katherine Plumber is strong with the force, though she believes Race, her brother, must be the Jedi of the family

She finds out all on her own, through accidental Force Searching that Darth Vader was the Jedi Knight Joseph Pulitzer, who was also her father as well as Race’s.

Katherine is honestly a badass.

Let me know if you guys want to see any scenes from this one!

For more Mood Boards and AUs, click here!

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drethanramslay · 4 years ago

Text

Rock Bottom

Pairing: Mona X MC (Alexis Jennings)

Masterlist

Word count: 1.8 K (I really tried🤧)

Warnings: None, there is swearing, also there is a crossover 👀

Author's note: I'm taking part in @rodappreciationweek and this is my entry for day 3 (mona)

The hosts of RoDaw @client-327 @brightpinkpeppercorn and @choicesarehard are donating $5 usd to the Lebanese red cross, up to $500 for every piece of Mona content today! Please consider making/posting something for Mona today if you haven't already❤️

I'm also taking part in @wackydrabbles so you will find the prompt in bold

Forgive me if I make any mistakes

"Prisoners move back to your respective cells." The loudspeaker blared, cutting sharply through the air, giving Mona a cold splash of reality.

Until that godforsaken announcement, Mona had been sitting on the steps, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the cool breeze threading through her hair. The sun rays poured over her and she enjoyed the warmth emanating from them. She could smell the ocean and with her eyes closed, she could almost imagine standing on the shores of Santa Monica, the sound of the waves washing over her.

But there is only so much imagination one can use to forget that she was in jail.

To her darn luck, she had been transferred to Trask Island, a maximum security prison off the coast of Florida. It was one of those dreary prison where you were completely cut off from the world.

No call, no letters, no communication.

Whatever fucked up environment they created here, that was her world and Mona hated every second of it.

It was also called the 'rock' because one, it was on a island and two, it would drown all your hopes and wishes of a future, just like how a rock sinks in water.

No one has ever escaped Trask Island and no one ever will. The words of the warden echoed through her head making her scoff.

It's cute that he thinks I will be sticking around in this shit hole.

Mona was super determined to get the fuck out of here even though there were moments when she was completely and utterly lost.

She hated the orange tracksuits she had to wear. She hated the way these spiteful men dictated her life and tried to break her spirit. She hated being stuck in a tiny cell.

She longed to feel the adrenaline rush in her veins when she raced.

She longed to feel her hands gripping her steering wheel, as she drove at speeds defying gravity.

But most of all she longed for Alexis... The girl she left behind.

Mona found it ironic. After her ex ratted her to the police she swore that she would never let anyone have that power over her. That she would never wear her heart on her sleeve again. She built this impenetrable fortress around herself so that no one could enter and know the real her.

But Alexis managed to do that by just smiling at her.

The way their hands fit perfectly into each other's... The way that all her worries would go away when Alex was in her arms... The way that they both pushed each other, looked out for each other and challenged each other...

Mona had never witnessed such a feeling of companionship and she couldn't help but fall for her.

I love you Mona... Those words haunted her but at the same time motivated her to keep going through the motions of the day.

Her fantasies were abruptly interrupted by the guard kicking her combat boots. "Up and going, or do you want a month in solitary?"

And the thing she hated the most about this prison are the guards. I mean it was normal to hate them but this was some next level shit. She absolutely abhorred them to such a extent that she wanted to strangle them with her bare hands.

The number of times she was thrown into solitary was not even funny. And all of them were for the dumbest of the dumbest reasons.

Hell she was thrown in the hole for a fight she wasn't even part of.

All men are the same... Power hungry and drunk on greed. That's why girls are better.

So not wanting to risk living in the darkness for a month, she bit her tongue and got up before joining the other cellmates.

"What a dick." Eris Huang, an expert demolition muttered under her breath, so low that only Mona could hear it, causing her to snort.

In the six months she was here, she was low-key glad that she met Eris. They two met when Mona was moved into Eris' cell. Both were strong willed, hard headed and sarcastic woman so it wasn't really surprising that they became fast friends.

"Tell me about it. One of these days he is gonna piss me off so bad that I will end up castrating him with a blunt knife."

"Oof. I will hold him down and break his legs." Eris offered causing Mona to smirk. I like this girl.

"Anyways, I have a shift at the library so meet you later." Eris spoke.

"Get me another notebook if possible."

"What are you writing? A love letter?" Eris teased which made Mona roll her eyes but she wasn't very far off from the truth.

"A lady never tells." Mona answered causing Eris to chuckle as she took a left to go to the basement.

Mona reached her cell and she felt the the cell gate close behind her with a loud clang, which resonated in her ribcage.

Sure, hanging out in the yard and working in the workshop was a welcome distraction but staying in her small cell for more than 17 hours would make a girl lonely.

So, in all these hours of loneliness, sadness and hopelessness Mona found some sort of solace in writing about her dreams, list of things she was going to do once she was out, her aspirations... But most importantly, how much she missed Alex and how she wished to be by her side.

So settling into the corner of her bunk, she opened the notebook with tattered pages so that she could write.

Dear Alex, I know I told you to not let me imprison you but that's not applicable to me because you are always on my mind. It's hard to forget you. I miss you so much....

Do you know what day it is today? It's the fifth... Or I assume so because there is no calendar here. We aren't told what date, month, year it is. It's just days which sinks into the lonely nights and the cycle continues.

It's been six months since I last saw you... And I guess it just hit me hard.

It's just cruel how little time we had together.

I still remember that night. How happy we were in that cute little prom of yours. I still remember how heartbroken you were when I betrayed you.

But you didn't let it break you.

I still remember the way you took down those bastards. I still remember how fucking proud I felt on that moment. I still remember how I took a bullet for you and the shock that coloured your face.

And I know the thoughts which ran at your head in that moment. "Someone actually cares enough for me to take a bullet for me."

I'm here to tell you that yes, I took a bullet for you and I would do it a thousand times over just to prove that I love you and I care about you. I'm here to tell you that you are worth it and you deserve all the love in the world.

I wish I could hold you in my arms and tell you all of this but... Life loves fucking with me and you got caught as collateral.

It's just... Hard some days. Sure I have made friends with some other criminals and tried to make this fuckery my new normal but I'm only human. I'm few moments away from sinking to rock bottom, as shocking as that may sound.

You always perceived me as an aloof, careless and a strong badass but that changed when I met you.

Sure I was always strong but you make me stronger. You and me... We both are like two knives sharpening each other. Pushing each other to reach new heights of awesomeness.

But, I also want to worry for you. I want to appreciate you. I want to wake up next to you and I want to love you.

I often wish how we would have met if I had not gone down the wrong path. Would we have met at some pub? Or in some Ivy League college? Or some frat party?

People often say that you shouldn't waste time thinking about the things that could have been but when you are in a prison with nothing but time, that's all you seem to do.

So yeah, you are the only thing preventing me from going insane.

I think that's enough emotional bullshit for today and I'm low-key relieved that you aren't reading these letters, of me talking like a sap.

But one thing is for sure- I love you.

Yours, Mona.

She heard the electric buzzer and the door of her cell opened. Eris walked in with an impassive face with a guard standing at the entrance. He shut the cell gate and walked away.

Mona's eyes narrowed as she sat up straight. Wait a minute-

She waited for the guard to be far away before she spoke up. "You have a plan."

Eris turned the light off of the cell and plopped on to the bed opposite Mona's.

"Smartie. Always knew I did a good job of recruiting you."

"But how? Do you remember the last time you failed and ended up in the hole for a month and a half?!"

"Yes I do remember but this is foolproof. We have outside help."

"... I'm listening."

"Do you speak thief?" She asked which made Mona scoff in disbelief.

"Obviously. I have stolen cars and kidnapped people. Obviously I'm no amateur."

Eris proceeded to explain how her friends Rye and some other chick had come up with a plan. She listened with complete attention and only stopped her to ask valid questions.

"So... Are you in?"

Mona tried weighing the pros and cons. It's sounded a tad bit unrealistic and far fetched. There were a couple of loose ends which made her hesitate.

Eris noticed that and grasped her hand. "See Mona, no escape plan is perfect. This is a rough draft and we will work out the kinks. But remember, the three crucial things an escape plan needs is- Luck, faith and determination. We don't know about what lady luck has in store but, we sure can have faith and determination."

"I know that you hate it here and I know the punishment of escaping is harsh but what's wrong in trying? We are already suffering as it is, what's a little more? And I see that fire in your eyes, M."

"The fire to break free and the fire to go back to your girl."

Mona looked up and the momentary joy of getting to see Alexis soon. Adrenaline courses through her veins, causing her heart to beat faster.

Eris leaned forward, her voice intense. "So tell me- Would you like to blow this joint or rot in here for the next five years wishing you could have atleast tried?"

Mona's eyes met hers and a smirk formed in her face. Reaching forward she shook Eris's hands, sealing the deal. "What the hell. This is without doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. Of course I'm in."

Don't worry Alexis, I'm coming home.

Hope you liked it 😊

Mona x MC Taglist : @kamilahsayeet2063 @kaitlynliaofanxx @vampiregirlsblog @made-me-deep-blue

Permanent Tag list: @trappedinfandoms @oofchoices @agent-breakdance @rookie-ramsey @dailydoseofchoices @colossalpainintheass @siaramsey @raleigheffingcarrera @kaavyaethanramsey @theeccentricbibliophile @ac27dj @ramseysno1rookie @justanotherrookie @openheart12 @jamespotterthefirst @checkurwindow @chasingrobbie @junggoku @bellcat2010 @choicesstan1 @mvalentine @crazynutella @hatescapsicum @dr-ramseys-rookie @lilypills @vampireblissblog @decadentwinnerjudgedream @choicesficwriterscreations @nooruleman @anonymously-cool @sanvivrma

Wacky Drabblers: @ao719 @axwalker @bbrandy2002 @bebepac @bitchloveskcbaseball @blackcatkita @bobasheebaby @burnsoslow @dcbbw @debramcg1106 @doriansapprentice @emceesynonymroll @everythingchoices @flutistbyday2020 @jessiembruno @katedrakeohd @kingliam-rys @liamrysandme @sophie-and-shizuku @loveellamae @lucy-268 @mrschoicesobsessed @no-one-u-know @pedudley @queenrileyrose @ravenpuff02 @romanticatheart-posts @sirbeepsalot @speedyoperarascalparty @starrystarrytrouble @storyofmychoices @texaskitten30 @txemrn @utterlyinevitable @walkerswhiskeygirl

#anushka writes #mona x mc #mona #rod mona #mona rod #ride or die #ride or die: a bad boy romance #rodappreaciationweek #rodaw #rod appreciation week #eris huang #eris thm #the heist: monaco #choices stories we play #playchoices #choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry

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medicifm · 4 years ago

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* not me actually writing an intro the night before like i always mean to 😳 hennyway hey biddies , i'm chloe , im in the snowy part of pst , & i use she / her pns . i’ve been . . . . . . . scouring the tags for an rp like this so im so excited to bring this newish muse of mine here ! im here to do the honours of introducing my himbo - on - the outside , manipulative - shit - on - the - inside . . . oscar 🤡

( twenty three , cis man , he / him ) ✉ ― hey babes , have you met OSCAR MEDICI ? they’re working here as THE HEAD CHEF AT LORENZO’S , a few villas down from where you’re staying . you might hear them singing ALRIGHTY APHRODITE BY PEACH PIT playing from their villa , it’s their favourite song . yes , they hear that they look like JACK GILINSKY a lot , actually - it’s really uncanny . their friends back home in SYDNEY , AUSTRALIA say that if they were on a tv show , their trope would be THE WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING , how funny is that ? ✎ chloe , 22 , she/her , pst

𝐢 .

pinterest | wanted plots |

𝐢𝐢 .

name : oscar gabriel medici

age : twenty three

dob / sign : december 4th , 1997 / sagittarius sun , leo moon , libra rising

pob : sydney , australia

gender / pronouns : cis man & he / him / his

career : head chef at lorenzo’s , full - time heathen , professional disappointment for mothers everywhere .

drinking / drugs / smoking : yes / more often than he’d admit / never .

religion : jewish background , currently non - practicing .

physical : jack gilinsky fc , dark brown / black longish curls ( reference ) , dark brown eyes , canon jack g’s tattoos , no piercings , 6′2″ , 175 lbs , lean but strong . tattoos a la canon!jack , pearly white smile that he may . . . or may not . . . use crest 3D white strips weekly to maintain . lots of burns & scars from kitchen mishaps on his hands & arms .

traits : hard - working , flighty , intelligent , hedonistic , charismatic , intense , volatile ,

other : speaks weird french ( aussie accent tings ) , tans easily but wears sunscreen nonetheless , works hard parties harder , can’t read a lick of french but spends a lot of his free time with a coffee & a new paperback , has a bit of an internal vendetta against rich people ( for no real reason , he just doesn’t like most of them ) , has ins with a bunch the local farmers & visits them weekly , pretends he isn’t lowkey addicted to nicotine administered via a puff bar , liquor of preference is tequila or red wine , drives a lil vespa around town for the gag of it ( loves seeing it haphazardly parked amongst a bunch of luxury cars ) ,

character inspo : jess mariano ( gilmore girls ) , gordon ramsey 🤡 , patrick verona ( 10 things i hate about you ) , ferris bueller ( ferris bueller’s day off ) , han solo ( star wars ) .

𝐢𝐢𝐢 .

oscar’s arrival was as unwanted to his parents as could be : a father whose tendencies leaned towards alcoholism & abusing whoever was in arms reach , a mother whose life was more or less spent at the nursing home she worked as a nurse at , evading home . he became a self - inflicted loner , preferring to do literally the exact opposite of what was expected or wanted from him . he had a few friends he ran with , but watching them all go off & study or prepare for university solidified in oscar’s mind that the non - traditional route was for him . growing up by the water , oscar always felt more drawn to skip school & head to the beach than he did obeying his parents wishes .

one of his solaces was his grandfather , gabriel , who owned an italian restaurant in a beach town north of sydney . whenever the weather was bad & oscar felt like ditching class , he’d head over to his nono’s restaurant where his ass would be put to work as soon as he set eyes on the restaurant . it was tough work , but challenging in a way that fanned the flames in oscar’s heart , rather than dimming them . by the time he was a teenager he was working in the restaurant everyday after school , an agreement between him & his grandfather framed on the back wall that stated that as long as oscar kept from flunking out , he was allowed to spend as little or as much time in the kitchen as he pleased .

his absolute defiance of anything traditional & following the rules made him unpopular with adults , but lowkey cool with the girls . by the time he was sixteen , he was losing his focus on the restaurant & his grades & spending more & more time chasing after girls . his nono tried to get oscar to come back & focus , but as always , anything he’s asked to do quickly becomes the thing he’s running from the most .

tw : death , cancer . around his eighteenth birthday , his grandfather suddenly fell ill with a rare form of cancer that took his life six weeks after diagnosis , which rocked oscar’s world . he felt overwhelming guilt that he hadn’t spent more time with his grandfather , which manifested itself as oscar dropping out of school a year shy of graduation to commit himself fully to perfecting his grandfather’s techniques , learning all of his recipes ( read : pouring over dozens of handwritten cookbooks ) in some failed attempt to get back some time with him . oscar hadn’t been close with his parents in years , more or less seeing them as wardens of a prison he wanted nothing to do with . his grandfather’s will left him the deed to the restaurant , with an ask that oscar would promise to act on whatever he felt called towards , rather than doing what others expected of him . to be candid , this whole situation crushed him .

eventually , he decided he’d had enough of the stifling community he’d grown up in . he sold the restaurant to one of the regulars , a wealthy man who he’d come to acknowledge as somewhat of an uncle ; a safe pair of hands who would treat his grandfather’s legacy with as much passion & respect as oscar himself would . so he packed a bag , texted his mom that he was going traveling , & got on a flight that evening . he traveled all around - first through central america , then through europe , throughout asia & africa , & spent a few months driving a van across the continental united states & canada for fun .

eventually , he started getting low - ish on money , & decided to settle in one of his favourite places he’d visited : southern france . he arrived in early 2018 , taking on whatever menial tasks he could while learning french until he got a position as a line cook in an italian restaurant . a few years later , he’s made his way up to filling the head chef position , an honour he takes with pride . he’s implemented many of his own recipes while using flavours he’s learned from his travels , with ingredients straight from local farmers . he’s earned the restaurant a two michelin star rating , & is constantly striving for more to get that last star ( both for his own ego as well as a secret debt to his grandfather ) .

𝐢𝐯 .

ok but that vid where gordon puts two pieces of bread on someone’s head & calls them an idiot sandwich ? that’s oscar . intense as fuck in the kitchen , & best nobody catch an attitude about it bc he will not hesitate to hand them their ass on a silver platter .

another gordon reference : you know how he’s the spawn of satan with adults , but the sweetest , most helpul guy with children ? that’s oscar with his staff vs people he wants something from . whether its to sleep with them ( usually his first instinct to be fair ) , their money or clout , or to get into some wild adventure some random resort staff wouldn’t dream of getting into , he can turn on the charm whenever needed .

can go from absolutely demoralizing someone in the kitchen to stepping out into the lounge to schmooze with his friends or cougars who leave phat tips in 0.2 seconds . the speed at which his mood can completely 180 is one of the seven world wonders ( last i checked ) .

his love language is absolutely acts of service . catch him actually falling in love once in a blue moon & making it his mission to cook her extravagant meals everyday .

the wolf in sheep’s clothing label epitomizes his nice , helpful , charismatic exterior , while ulterior motives & disdain for those who grew up with more money than he did lurk beneath the surface .

he can be MEAN when someone fucks him over or pushes him farther than he wants - isn’t afraid to go for the low blows or send someone home with an identity crisis if it protects himself .

lowkey alcoholic but he’s not ready for that conversation yet . he sees it more as perks of the location & atmosphere he’s found himself in .

also lowkey falls in love HARD , like this man is a closeted romantic but self - sabotages all potential relationships before they can get to that point out of fear he’ll be unable to live life of his own volition ( takes a flaky philophobic sagittarius to know a flaky philophobic sagittarius 🤡 ) . has probably only had a few real relationships besides flings bc he’s afraid .

𝐯 .

check out my wanted plots tag listed here , as well as my pinterest wanted plots board here . here are some other suggestions hehe :

best friend / ride or die : someone who knows about his past , keeps him grounded when he’s lk spiraling & wants to drop everything & flee to some far flung corner of the earth .

actual relationship : it was fast - burn with deep feelings ( not them thinking they’re soulmates after dating for a month . . . pete & ariana type beat ) but completely unrealistic . they have their own life , he’s pretty much tied to the restaurant , not to mention his lack of sharing anything about his childhood / life back home . they loved & cared for each other , but crashed & burned fairly quickly because of how idealistic it was . they can either be on bad or good terms now .

hateship with sexual tension 😈

summer flings !!

fake boyfriend : he shows up on her arm to her family’s events where she’s expected to have a partner . it’s not a real relationship , but her parents don’t need to know that . he plays the part & satisfies her parents beyond the bare minimum , & in return she invites him to parties , takes him out on her family’s yacht , etc etc . we luv some symbiosis

i can always use more fwbs hehehe

squad : a group of people who do everything together , have a chaotic group chat , have nicknames for one another , are utd on each other’s sex lives , party all night then show up to brunch hungover together .

cat & mouse : someone he’s pursuing who isn’t quite giving in , & vice versa . maybe it’s been going on a few years , everytime they’re in st tropez they have this weird lil flirtationship thing goin on until she leaves , they forget about one another , then pick it right back up when she returns .

confidant : preferably someone from a working class background who understands his plight of being a worker amongst people who expect to be waited on .

enemies : they don’t like his attitude , & he doesn’t like them in return . lots of eye rolls , shit talking , & tension between their mutual friends .

we’re sleeping together but we shouldn’t be but that’s half the fun : for whatever reason they became friends , starting hooking up despite it not being a good idea ( read : he’s exes with one of her friends , her parents want her focused on career , they’re part of the same friend group , etc ) . . . but now they can’t stop . lots of stolen glances across rooms , squeezing past one another in a crowded club just close enough for a quick touch to the back , quietly leaving one another’s places the morning after & playing dumb to anyone who asks .

#villasintro #eeeek im hyped !!

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mrs-hyperfixed-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Dead Memories

The Host doesn’t like Yancy. When Yancy aims to find out why the Host takes things too far.

@thomothysdoodles

I finally got round to it. I feel like the quality of this deteriorated the further down I got but oh well.

A Heist With Markiplier had done very well, and as a result 3 new egos had been “born”. They had fit in well. Magnum was loud and boisterous and got along well with Wilford but had the common sense to hold the lunatic by the back of the shirt whenever he attempted to do anything suicidal, much to the relief of Dark. Illinois was charming and could reduce most of the egos to a blushing mess in no time with his flirting. He also had some wonderful stories that he had given the Host permission to write down. There was one problem though. Yancy. The Host didn’t like Yancy. He had been as quiet as a mouse when he had been introduced, having seemingly lost the confidence he had had in prison. When he had finally opened up he was just as loud as Magnum before he quieted down again and went back to his timid ways. These were normal characteristics, but something about the man just rubbed him the wrong way. Something about him felt dangerous. Everyone knew he had killed his mother and father, but no one seemed to be aware of that capability for violence that lurked underneath Yancy’s skin. But the Host knew. As soon as the Host had been near Yancy he’d been struck with a vision so violent that the blood had poured from his eyes, much to Yancy’s horror. As a result he tended to avoid him whenever he could, opting to just stay in his library and work. Yancy’s past reminded him of someone long dead.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid him forever. And Yancy had started to notice how the Host turned on his heel whenever Yancy and him had accidentally appeared in the same room or how the Host would rush by him if they were forced to go past each other in the hallway. At first Yancy had been slightly relieved, the Host was a terrifying being and was taller than most of them. To be honest Yancy had started off avoiding all of the egos until he had been talked into socialising after an incident. It hadn’t been so bad, Wilford had just pissed everyone off when it had gotten stuck in his head. And then everyone else had gotten it stuck in their head. But everyone preferred having Yancy’s signature song memorised rather than not having Yancy here at all.

Now that Yancy was beginning to settle down properly with the rest of the egos he was beginning to take things a bit more personally.

So Yancy resolved to go down to the Host’s library and ask him what the hell his problem was.

***

Yancy had to admit, he was impressed. The library was where the basement should be, but as soon as he stepped inside he knew that some magic had to be at play. The ceiling was so high that he couldn’t see it, the shelves so tall that it would be impossible for him to reach the top of them. The carpet was red and plush and the gargantuan room was illuminated by what appeared to be bright candlelight without a single candle in sight. The smell of old books permeated the air. It was a beautiful place, and Yancy felt slightly sorry for the Host for not being able to see it.

He wandered down the aisles idly, not really knowing where he was going and what he was looking for. After a little while he had forgotten why he had originally come down and instead ran a finger over the hardback spines of the books. Some were black, some were red, some were a deep green. Golden letters in a beautiful looping scrawl adorned them. He was tempted to bring one out and look at the handwriting on the pages, but part of him remembered that everything in this library belonged to the Host. He didn’t want to risk pissing him off too bad by touching something he wasn’t supposed to.

A prison flashback came to him unbidden. A flashback that showed a young Yancy reaching out to grab an apple off another inmate s lunch tray. He wasn’t going to eat it anyway. Big mistake. Yancy had ended up with a snapped wrist for his trouble. Of course the man who had snapped his wrist had ended up in solitary, and some of the older prisoners had rallied around him to teach him how prison worked. They had taught him well. Yancy had been the leader and the Warden’s favourite right up until Dark had come to get him.

He had been fairly lost at first. The environment in the mansion had been so different to prison, but just like those old prisoners had done, some of the egos had rallied around him. Many of them were surprisingly paternal.

But not the Host. And Yancy was reminded of his purpose when he came to an enormous gap in the shelves. And he quickly discovered that the Host used this space for his office.

Across from Yancy sat a decently sized mahogany desk that was adorned with a short stack of papers, and an old-fashioned golden pen with an inkwell next to it . A cushioned brown leather chair served as the seat for when work needed to be done. Off to the right side of the clearing was a comfortable looking armchair with a small end table next to it.. But no sign of the Host.

He must be further into the library. Yancy entertained the thought of turning back, but if he didn’t do this now then he would never have the courage. So he sat in the armchair and waited. And waited. And waited.

The library was so warm and the lights were at a dim glow. Why would a blind man need light? He thought to himself as his eyelids started drooping. He had been having trouble sleeping recently in unfamiliar terrain. He fought to stay awake. In the prison if you fell asleep anyway but your bunk then you were either going to be woken with a beating or with something missing. Falling asleep was dangerous. And he didn’t want the Host to find him asleep in his library. But he couldn’t help himself as sleep dragged him down into the abyss.

***

Yancy didn’t know what time it was when he was woken up by the scratching of a pen. It could have been hours or minutes and he would have been none the wiser. He kept his eyes shut.

“The Host knows Yancy is awake,” came the delicate voice from off Yancy's right.

He uncurled himself from the couch and peeled his eyes open. The Host sat at his desk and scratched away with his golden pen at his stack of papers. Half of the stack was now off to the side. How long had Yancy slept?

The Host was just as imposing as when Yancy had first met him. He didn’t have the same kind of terrifying raw power as Dark, but something oozed out of him. Even in his chair he was tall. His head was down towards the paper he was writing on, the bandages covering his sockets beginning to go red with blood. He was muttering under his breath as he wrote, quiet enough that the scratching of the pen nearly drowned out his voice.

“Yancy needs to leave.”

Straight to the point then.

Yancy shook his head as he spoke, “No, not until youses tell me why youse been acting so weird.”

Yancy moved to stand in front of the Host’s desk, determined to stand his ground.

The pen stopped, and the Host moved his head up to seemingly stare at Yancy. Yancy felt those empty eye sockets cut right through him. He wondered if they were really pitch black inside.

The Host seemed to consider for a moment, “If Yancy wishes to know, he makes the Host uncomfortable. Now that he has his answer, Yancy needs to leave.”

Yancy was taken aback. Sure, he had made people uncomfortable before. But that was usually on purpose, throwing his weight around so that new prisoners understood the hierarchy. But he hadn’t actually done anything to the Host. Had he?

The Host went back to scratching away with his pen. That was it? He wasn’t even going to tell Yancy why? He felt his anger rising in a way that it hadn’t since he had gotten out of prison. That wasn’t good. His temper could be dangerous and make him do stupid things. But he was a slave to it. Yancy waited and waited while his anger grew. He wasn’t going to leave until the Host acknowledged him again and told him why Yancy was such a source of discomfort. Without thinking about the consequences, Yancy marched over to the Host and ripped the pen out of his hand.

He had been midway through a word, and now a line had been jerked across the page and through the paragraph that the Host had been in the middle of writing. As Yancy yanked it back the inkwell spilled over the pages that the Host had written on, effectively ruining the whole pile. Somewhere in the back of Yancy’s head that registered as being a very bad thing. He almost wanted to apologise. But his anger was still fierce.

The Host wouldn’t have accepted his apology at this point anyway.

“What the hell is youses problem?!” Yancy hissed.

The Host was silent for a minute. Then he stood up.

“How long before Yancy turns those hands on one of the other egos?”

“What-”

The Host interrupted him. He was angrier than Yancy now, and the impact that his words were going to have hadn’t yet reached him. “The Host sees everything. The Host sees Yancy as a teenager. He sees Yancy’s mother with her back turned staring out of the kitchen window.”

Yancy’s anger dissipated. It had been replaced with cold dread. He knew where this was going.

“Yancy’s mother feels dissapointed. Her son was expelled for getting into fights. She doesn’t know what to do. Lost in her thoughts she doesn’t hear him. Not until his hands are wrapped around her throat.”

Yancy took a step back, dropping the pen.

“She reaches up and starts clawing at his hands, desperately trying to pry him from her neck. Desperately trying to get some air in. She can’t make any noise. She can’t call out for her husband to save her. She tries to reach for a knife, but even now she can’t bring herself to hurt her son like that. He notices her reaching and yanks her away from the counter, pulling her down onto the floor. Hurting her son be damned, her brain is in survival mode and she begins to thrash. But she doesn’t realise it’s too late, only that she’s in some of the worst pain she’s ever felt. Her arteries have ripped and her blood has entered her arterial wall. She’s having a stroke.”

“Please stop,” Yancy begged.

“She’s dying. And her second to last thought before she fully slips into death’s embrace is what did I do? She feels betrayed, and yet she still can’t bring herself to hate her son. And as her soul finally leaves she thinks please God don’t let anyone hurt him.”

Yancy fell to his knees, devastated. He hugged himself as he felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. How was he supposed to react to this? He wanted to shrivel up and die. But the Host wasn’t done.

“Now how about Yancy’s father?”

Yancy shook his head. He wanted to beg the Host to stop. He would do anything.

“Yancy’s father came downstairs after ten minutes to find his son still choking the corpse of his dead wife. Yancy raised his head to look up at him. Everything happened so fast, too fast for his father to fight him off.. Yancy had reached towards the counter and ran at his father to attack. At first he had thought his son had punched him repeatedly. And he foolishly thought to himself that he could have a chance of survival if he ran. Then he felt the warmth. He felt like he was covered in hot sweat, and then he looked at his son. His son was holding a knife with a blade covered in so much red that it had coated the handle, thick red rivulets of it ran down his hand. He looked down at his chest. He couldn’t see the wounds. His white shirt had been dyed completely red and stuck to his chest. It was beginning to run down his trousers and stain the carpet. And then he felt the pain. He felt the hot searing pain in his organs. He screamed, and Yancy lunged forward to slit his throat.”

Yancy was sobbing openly now, uncaring of the Host’s presence.

“The man felt the same betrayal his wife had, and as he choked on his own blood he hoped that they wouldn’t kill his son when they found him.”

Yancy’s heart cleaved in two. Even in the end his parents had loved him. He was a monster. The Host was right, it would only be a matter of time before Yancy turned on his new family. He didn’t deserve to be here. He should be back in prison suffering alone in solitary. Without thinking, he got up and ran past the Host, going further into the library until the Host could no longer hear his cries of anguish.

***

The Host had made his way up to the Doctor’s office, his bandages heavy with blood after forcing those visions of Yancy’s parents. It had been a slightly painful process removing his bandages, the blood acting as a glue. Dr Iplier had used cotton swabs to reach into his sockets and clear out fresh blood as well as blood that had dried to the inside of his sockets. He had remained silent for the entire cleaning process, mulling over what he had said to Yancy. Maybe he had gone slightly too far, but Yancy had ruined an entire book. And he hadn’t been wrong about Yancy’s capacity for violence.

“Have you seen Yancy?” Dr Iplier asked as he cleared the last of the blood from the Host’s gaping eye sockets.

“The Host has not,” he lied, hoping the doctor wouldn’t sniff out his guilt.

The Host wasn’t good at keeping secrets, it went against the very nature of his powers. He fought to keep from narrating what had happened in the library when Dr Iplier had asked, instead focussing on narrating his surroundings.

Dr Iplier wrapped a fresh bandage around the Host’s eyes. “None of us have seen him all day. I’m afraid that he’s going to do something stupid.”

“What does Dr Iplier mean?”

“I’m honestly shocked the all-seeing Host never saw it,” Dr Iplier joked, trying to mask his obvious worry.

“The Host is not all-seeing,” the Host said as he beckoned for the doctor to continue.

Dr Iplier sighed. “You know it took him a while to adjust. Well, in the first few weeks before he came out of his shell he tried to kill himself. Broke into my office when I stepped out and tried to overdose. I’m afraid that something might tip him over the edge.”

The Host froze.

Oh no. No no no. The Host had gone too far. He knew he’d gone too far. Not even ten minutes after Yancy had ran from him, the Host had started to feel as though there were stones in his stomach, and he didn’t want to admit to himself that he was beginning to feel regret. The weight of his mistake hit him like a train, forcing the breath out of him. Dr Iplier shot him a quizzical look that the Host ignored in his panic. He hadn’t liked Yancy, but he hadn’t wished for his death. All of his thoughts crashed into him. Who was he to judge Yancy anyway? He had been a monster too at one point. And this. . . if he had pushed Yancy to the edge then it would be even more blood on his hands.

Yancy might still be in his library. He had to find him. As soon as a fresh bandage covered his eye sockets he shot out of the office and ran.

***

The Host had forced a vision. It made him bleed profusely and he would probably need to go back to the doctor fairly soon, but it had helped him find Yancy. He was deep in the library, and the Host found him curled up hugging his knees and sniffling, just like he had been in the Host’s vision. Yancy’s face was red and streaked with tears, his brown eyes bloodshot and the skin around them puffy. He was breathing hard, exhausted from the excessive sobbing. If he heard the Host’s approach then he ignored him.

“Yancy?”

Still Yancy ignored him. The Host didn’t blame him.

“Yancy, the Host is sorry.”

Still nothing. Sighing, the Host sat on the floor across from him, back leaning against the bookshelf and crossing his legs.

“Just leave me to starve,” Yancy whispered. “I’m a monster. They loved me and I killed them. All because I can’t keep my cool.”

The Host winced. He shouldn’t have told him their last thoughts. It had probably made it easier believing that his parents had hated him in those last moments. The Host had made a terrible mistake.

“Yancy isn’t a monster. The Host is a monster.”

Yancy lifted his eyes from his feet to stare at the Host, obviously curious but at the same time too afraid to ask. The Host was using his sight to look at the smaller man, blood slowly leaking through his bandages again as a result. Yancy looked so small and vulnerable curled up in the Host’s library. It made his heart twist with even more regret.

“The Host ignored Yancy. He ignored Yancy’s issues. He ignored Yancy’s pain. And the Host has no right to judge if Yancy has violent tendencies.” The Host took a deep breath, his own memories just as painful. “The Host was someone else before. Someone who did terrible things. He hurt people for fun. He would break people’s legs with his bat and watch them crawl. He would cut off slices of skin and make them swallow it. He would put out cigarettes on his victims eyes. So the Host supposes that Yancy and the Host aren’t so different after all. No amount of apologies can take away what the Host and Yancy did, but all they can do is try to move on.” The Host took another deep breath. “The Host is sorry. He truly is. And he will spend as long as is necessary to make it up to Yancy.”

Yancy stared at him, but at least his tears had stopped flowing. The same couldn’t be said for the blood still dripping out of the Host’s eye sockets.

Finally Yancy uncurled himself, wiping his eyes and face as he did so. “It’s. . . It’s alright.”

It wasn’t alright, and the Host didn’t feel any better. In fact, he felt worse. And things were beginning to grow awkward in the silence that stretched out between them. The Host looked for something, anything to say.

“Does Yancy like to read?”

Yancy looked down at his feet, almost seeming to be ashamed. “I can’t read.”

The Host cocked his head in surprise. Yancy was illiterate?

“I just. . . never did so well in school. And people in prison don’t care if you read good, ya know? One cellmate once read his book to me once when I asked, but I was too embarrassed to ask if he’d teach me.”

Yancy wanted to learn to read. And the Host had a library full of books.

“Then the Host will teach Yancy.”

“Youses don’t have-”

The Host held up his hand. “It’s the least the Host can do. He will not take no for an answer.”

Finally, Yancy nodded. And the Host was pleased to see a timid smile on his face.

The Host stood and offered the smaller man a hand. “Lets begin.”

#markiplier #markiplier egos #the host #yancy #yancyiplier

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ray-ray-writings · 4 years ago

Text

Visiting Hemlock-Dream

This is a Dream x gn!reader in the dreamsmp! Small thing, hemlock is another type of poison. It is actually the poison that the Greek philosopher Socrates was forced to consume after he was found guilty in his trail.

Masterlist here

This is a part two to Sweet as Cyanide (here), so if you haven’t read that yet you can check it out . Don’t worry. I’ll wait…..

All good? Okay here we go!

Y/N is finally able to visit Dream in prison.

Y/N’s POV

“Are you sure about this? You know no one would blame you if you never wanted to see him again,” Niki questioned, a soft hand resting on my shoulder. I had to force myself not to roll my eyes and scoff. Instead, I settled for a fake shy smile and a small head nod, “I know Nik. But I really want to see him. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help it,” I explained, hoping desperately she would leave it at that. Niki gave me a pitiful smile as she nodded, giving my arm a tight squeeze. “I know what you mean… I’ll be right here when you get out,” She assured, wrapping her arms around me in a quick hug before taking a few steps back. “Thanks Niki. I’ll see you in a bit,” I claimed softly before turning toward the prison. I took a deep breath before making my way to the entrance.

I let out a deep breath as I reached up and pressed the button, letting Sam know I was there. A noise sounded letting me know I could enter and pass through the grid. I was greeted by Sam at his desk. “Hey Y/N” Sam greeted me, holding a stack of papers. “Hey Sam,” I greeted back, my eyes scanning around the place. “This looks really nice,” I complimented the warden on his build. “Thank you!” He beamed, handing the papers he held to me. “These are just waiver you need to sign. They basically say that you release the prison from all responsibility if you get hurt and that that responsibility falls on the prisoner you are visiting.” He explained, handing me a pen. I hummed and quickly scanned the documents before signing them.

Sam quickly took them and tucked them away in his desk before standing up and moving out from behind the desk. “Alright. We’re good to move on.” I followed him out of the room and into a room full of chests. “Please put all your things in this chest here,” He asked, motioning to a chest near the door. I gave him a nod before quickly emptying my inventory. Once I was done, I turned and proved to Sam that there was nothing left on my person. Sam gave me a smile and a nod before we moved on once more.

My excitement grew as we walked down the path I had only been down once before. My hands seemed to shake at the sight of the lava wall that hid my boyfriend from my view. “Hey, if you’re too nervous to do this, you can turn back around. You don’t have to see him,” Sam comforted, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. He was taking my excitement as nerves… good. I took a deep breath and gave him a shy smile, “I’m okay Sam, really. I want to see him,” I assured the tall man. “Okay… Do you want me to stay here with you or go back to the cams?” Sam questioned, still unsure if he should leave me alone with ‘the monster’. “You can go watch on the cams. I’ll be fine, even if something were to happen you could be back here in a flash,” I claimed with a small smile.

Sam gave me a small nod, “Alright, here you go.” Sam reached over to the wall and pressed the button that controlled the lava. Slowly, the lava stopped falling, revealing my love. I felt my breath catch in my throat at the sight of the blonde boy that had my whole heart. The iron bars fell allowing me free access to Dream. Sam gave me a pat on the back before he disappeared out the door.

I wasted no more time and ran to Dream. A smile, a real smile, formed on his face as I raced toward him. Our bodies crashed together with the swift motion, my arms wrapping around his neck, his around my waist. I squeezed him tightly as I buried my face in his neck. I couldn’t help the tears that fell from my eyes and onto his skin. “I missed you so much bub,” I cried into his neck. “Shhh, love,” he murmured, rubbing one hand up and down my back, holding me close.

“I missed you too. I’ve been so lonely here. I’ve missed your sweet words, your gorgeous face. I miss waking up next to you every morning. I love you so much,” he muttered into my ear, pressing a kiss to my temple. His words shocked me a bit. Yes, I love Dream and he loves me, but he almost never acted like this. “I’ve missed everything about you. I miss your kisses and cuddles. I miss the way you’d threaten everyone for even looking at me in the wrong way. I’ve missed going to sleep next to you, cuddling and waking up the same way. I love you so much too,” I muttered back.

Dream pulled away slightly, just enough to face me before crashing his lips into mine. My eyes fluttered closed as I completely melted into the kiss and into my boyfriend. I missed my love so much. I missed feeling his lips on mine. His gentle touches, his sweet smiles, his manipulation of everyone around us. He’s mine and I am his, no matter what and no matter where.

Dream was the one to pull away from our kiss. “God I’ve missed that,” He announced, grinning from ear to ear. I couldn’t help but giggle and return the grin, “I’ve missed that too.” Dream slowly unwrapped himself from me, but quickly reached out and took my hand. He walked me over to his bed. He let go of my hand before sitting down on his bed, resting his back against the wall. I raised my eyebrow at his actions but he simply patted his lap telling me to sit down. I giggled and rolled my eyes at the action, but obeyed. I quickly moved my legs so that there was one on either side of his thighs and I sat on his lap. Once again, my arms moved to wrap around his neck and his came to wrap around my voice.

“So,” Dream began once we got settled, “How’s it going out in the free world?” Dream asked, teasingly. I could tell that he was both asking about the server, but was also making a joke about the fact everyone thought that I was now ‘free’ from his control. “It’s all fine, I guess. You were right. Everyone began coddling me the second that prison door slammed behind me. I’ve been staying with Niki because they think going back to our house is too painful for me,” I informed Dream, who simply scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“The more important thing though,” I started, lowering my voice a lot as to not have it picked up by the cameras, “I can’t get a hold of Technoblade. No one has seen him, or at least not that they’re telling me. I went to his house and he wasn’t there, I went to Phil’s house and he said he hadn't seen him. But I’ll keep looking. I’m going to get you out of here.” I promised my boyfriend quietly. Dream’s brow furrowed, “That’s really odd. Especially since Philza hasn’t seen him… He must remember he owes me that favorite. But you have my full trust, love. I know you’ll make me proud.”

My heart swelled at his words. It was so comforting to hear that. Even though weeks ago, he promised me it wasn’t my fault he was here, I could help but still feel guilty about it. Especially because I had to pretend that I was happy he was gone. I didn’t respond with words, instead leaning forward and pressing my face into the side of his neck and pressing a small kiss there. “I love you.” “I love you too.”

The rest of the time we spent together was in that position. I told him about all the new structures that were being built around the server. I told him about how everyone was working together but there was definitely still some tension. Dream didn’t seem surprised at that at all. Dream told me about his days at the prison. He had a small clock gifted to his by Sam. He admitted to me that he would sometimes throw his clock out of his cell into the lava so Sam would come in and bring him a new one, allowing Dream to have some form of human contact. He got three meals a day, but he claimed none have ever been good as my cooking, that made me blush. Dream spent most of his day thinking about me and the things he would be doing if he wasn’t locked up. He kept a little journal in order to keep himself sane.

In a much quieter tone, Dream also told me of the little things he’s noticed about the prison. How the lava always takes a few seconds before it begins its descent. Dream told me he knew that the redstone sometimes would misfire and Sam would have to take the time to fix it. Sometimes it only took a few minutes but there were also times he’d be gone for many hours. Dream also spoke of where he thinks the elder guardian that causes mining fatigue was being held. I listened very carefully to what he was telling me. Sam is an excellent builder, even better engineer, but nobody was perfect and it sounds like to me that Dream was slowly but surely finding Pandora’s Achilles heel.

It felt so good to be in Dream’s arms again though, even in this circumstance. In the many years we’ve been dating, I’ve never been away from Dream for that long before and it was really hard. Which explains why I was so excited for this visit… But alas, all good things must come to an end.

“Times up Y/N…” Sam called softly from the platform behind us. I looked over my shoulder and gave the man a nod in acknowledgement. I turned back to Dream, leaned forward and pressed a swift kiss to his lips. “Goodbye my love,” I whispered to the blonde man, tears threatening to fall again from my eyes. A smile appeared on his lips, “Goodbye love,” He returned at the same level. I slowly got off of my boyfriend and walked away from Dream. Once I was out of the cell, I turned back around to face Dream, who had also stood up from his bed “I’ll be back soon,” I promised the blonde boy who remained in his cell. A small chuckle left his lips as the iron bars enclosed him once more, “I’ll be here.”

With that, I took a few more steps back to stand next to Sam. I gave my boyfriend a small wave as Sam pressed the button to make the lava begin pouring from the ceiling. I could see Dream's sad smile as he waved back at me and then he was gone.

“You okay?” Sam asked gently, a hand resting on my shoulder. “Yeah,” I sniffed, reaching up and wiping at my eyes, “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Thank you for letting me see him,” I thanked, changing the topic. Sam gave me a soft look as he nodded, “Of course. You’re always welcome to come back. I can even show you around to other rooms if you ever want.” I nodded at his words. “That sounds really cool. I’d love to see them. I’d love to see this whole place,” I told him as cooly as I could. The one thing I could not do right now was raise suspicion. “When we get back to the front desk we can set a time and date!” He offered cheerfully. Once again I nodded, this time a bright smile beaming across my face. “I’d like that.

I couldn’t help but mentally chuckle at the situation though. I don’t know why after all this time everyone still thinks I’m just so sweet and innocent. Sam offering to show me around like a father would show his child around his work place on bring your kid to work day simply confirmed that thought even more. Little does he know how hard it’s going to bite him in the butt. I’m going to get my boyfriend out of this Pandora’s Vault…. If it’s the last thing I do.

There you go! I hope you enjoyed! If so, be sure to leave a like! Maybe even reply or a reblog?

#mcyt #mcyt imagine #mcyt one shot #mcyt x reader #dream #dreamwastaken #dream imagine #dream one shot #dreamwastaken imagine #dream x reader #dreamsmp #dream smp #dreamsmp imagine #dream smp imagine #ray writings #ray ray writings #ray-ray-writings #visiting hemlock #requested

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