#cause it's gonna be a Proper Fic on AO3 and everything i want to do butter right

[to-be-a-dreamer]

BTW, I don't know if I ever posted about this but I've decided to take this very stupid joke of mine and, as usual, take it way too far so there is currently a Butter fic in the works and I am in love with it like why is it turning out GOOD

Just in case anyone needed a reminder that my toxic trait is: will do anything if it's stupid and/or funny enough

[awesome-opossum-after-hours]

Chapter 4 of "You Can Be Happy Later" on ao3

hey guys!!! so this chapter takes us on a bit of a flashback, so it would take place directly after Part 2 of the show.

it's a bit shorter than the others, but I wanted to give a quick look into Brett and find a proper way to set up his feelings. because let's face it, this man disliked Ron bc he was jealous. we all know it lolll

I was really proud of this one so I decided to post it on here as a standalone as well. if this is your first exposure to this fic, please check it out from the beginning and let me know what you think!

Six Months Ago…

When Reagan had returned to her lab, after Brett had believed he had lost his best friend for good, he had never felt more relieved. Throughout the entire debacle with Air Bud, she was still always on his mind. Brett was preparing himself for when the dopamine of their mission wore off, and he would have to go back to a cold and empty lab. His best friend- one whose walls he had spent almost a year breaking through- would now have no memory of him whatsoever. But she would be happy, blissfully distant from the Deep State and living a quiet life with her true love. 

But Brett loved her. 

He had only recently realized that this love was beyond platonic. Brett wasn’t sure when this friendship had morphed into these feelings, but it had finally dawned on him when he actually felt dislike towards Ron: something Brett Hand had usually reserved for dog haters, people who litter, and any of the bad “-ists” (we all know the ones.). And the only thing Staedler had done to cause this dislike was date Reagan. Brett knew this was wrong- stupid and selfish, but he couldn’t help it! Then, he saw just how proud Reagan was to call Staedler her boyfriend, and how much she really loved him. 

Brett was happy seeing Reagan happy. So he pushed these feelings as deep down as the deep state. After her and Ron’s breakup, it wasn’t right for him to let his crush resurface too much. Instead, Brett went back to his main mission: Reagan Ridley’s happiness. He first tried using techniques he learned from therapy. Reagan needed a healthy release of her feelings, so Brett made it persistently clear that he was there to listen!

She was a tough nut to crack. As per usual, Reagan’s response to “talking about her feelings” was brushing off the situation. She was “doing perfectly fine”, and didn’t “really have anything to talk about, ya know?”. So, he took a step back from this strategy and the two had their first “Family Dinner” movie night again since the whole fiasco. 

“La La Land…” Reagan scoped out the BluRay DVD that Brett had brought over. “What’s this one even about again?”

“Honestly, not totally sure!” Brett slid the DVD into the TV’s disc slot, then sat back on Reagan’s couch. She handed him a bowl of white cheddar popcorn (his favorite, she knew!). “I know it’s a musical though, with lots of dancing and bright, fun scenes! Should be great for a much-needed night of fun, Reags!”

**An hour and a half later…**

“You’ve gotta give it everything you’ve got. Everything. It’s your dream.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna follow my own path, you know? Stay here, get my own thing going.”

Yikes… Brett was kicking himself, for sure. Of all the choices… of COURSE he picked a movie with doomed lovers who could’ve never both gotten their happy ending! Dammit brightly colored musical numbers he saw clips of on social media!!

“... I’m always gonna love you…”

Ohhhh god. Brett fidgeted nervously with his sleeve. He glanced over at Reagan, who was staring silently and wide-eyed at the screen. Even in the dim light, he could see her shaky breaths as she began to blink away tears. Brett paused the movie, turning to face his best friend. 

“Reags… you okay?”

Suddenly, Reagan dove to him, burying her face in Brett’s shirt as she finally let herself cry. Not just a small, delicate cry- full-on sobs broke from Reagan like a river rushing through open floodgates. Brett was quick to return the hug, soft and secure, while he rubbed comforting circles on her back. Reagan’s small frame shook with the sheer force of her emotions, but Brett held her like a lifeline. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Reagan. I promise”.

Reagan sniffled. “What if it’s not?” She choked out through her tears. “What we had… * sniff *... what if nobody loves me like that again??” She hugged him tighter.

Brett’s heart ached. He wanted to tell her just how much he loved her. How he’s willing to give her the world. But saying that now wouldn’t be fair- she didn’t need that. What Reagan needed right now was a friend. “Reagan…” he whispered to her. “You’ll find that again, I know it. You’re incredible, you’re strong, you’re so smart- any guy would be lucky to have you. But for right now, it’s okay to hurt. I’ll always be your shoulder to cry on, Reags.”

She didn’t say anything, but continued to bury her head against his chest. He was more than okay with that. Brett held his best friend tight until her sobs turned to shaky breaths, which slowed into sleep. Eventually, he carefully maneuvered Reagan into his arms and carried her to her bedroom. She managed to stay in deep sleep, almost as if it was the best rest she had gotten in weeks (which he knew it probably was). Brett placed Reagan gently down on her bed and draped her covers over her sleeping body. He quickly slipped downstairs to turn off the TV and fill up a cup with water, then back upstairs to place the cup on Reagan’s nearby nightstand. He also managed to plug in her phone, setting it down on the opposite side of the small table as the cup. 

As Brett was walking through the doorway out of Reagan’s bedroom, before shutting the lights off, he turned to get one last look at his best friend. Releasing a week’s worth of pent-up tears all at once had wiped her, and she was practically dead to the world. 

Brett gazed at her with a soft, sad smile. “Love ya, Reagan. Get some sleep, alright?”

[slashmagpie]

Blood & Snow

Pt. IV

Directory: {Pt. I} {Pt. II} {Pt. III} {Pt. V} {Pt. VI} {Pt. VII} {AO3}

Day four for @hermithorrorweek! This is the longest chapter in this fic and completely got away from me lmao. I hope you all enjoy it. TWs for this chapter include: violence, gore, possession, non-consensual body modification*, temporary character death?

IV. TAKEN OVER

“So what you’re saying,” Cub says, “is that the dungeon… ate Tango?”

The seven of them are sitting in a makeshift circle of chairs in the waiting room. Well—most of them. Scar’s in his wheelchair, rolling back and forth in that way he only does when he’s particularly anxious, and Gem is hopping around the outside of the circle, too full of energy to sit still. Bdubs is a shade paler than usual, fingers buried deep in the moss of his cloak, his chair pushed as close to Scar as he can manage. Pearl is sitting on his other side, a frown on her face as she glances around the circle. Then there’s Cub, and beside him, Etho and Hypno, both of them evidently as concerned by this development as he is.

“Or—something,” Bdubs says, uncomfortable but not quite grumbling. “It’s like—everything’s covered in his soul.”

“His soul,” Etho echoes, sceptically.

“His soul, his consciousness, his self, whatever you wanna call it! But it’s everywhere.” 

“I dunno, Bdubs, that sounds pretty…”

“Ridiculous?” Bdubs snaps. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it! But it’s real.”

“And the dungeon has flesh now,” Scar adds. “And it breathes. It’s really freaky! And I can’t find Tango anywhere.”

“I found him,” Bdubs says. “It was dark. He said he was in ‘the one place you can’t reach.’ Any ideas what that means?”

There’s a long, drawn-out pause.

“I mean…” says Cub. “There’s really only one place, isn’t there?”

“Where?” Scar asks.

“The Burning Dark.”

There’s another long, long pause.

“You mean level four,” Hypno clarifies.

“Well, it is the one place we can’t get to,” Cub points out. 

“You want someone to get down to level four. To find Tango. Without dying. When it’s not even open?” Etho says, staring at him.

Cub shrugs. “Anyone have any better ideas?”

They don’t.

“Tango’s going to kill me,” Etho wails.

“Wait, who said anything about you being the one to do it?” Hypno says. 

“Well—I mean, I thought…” Etho trails off awkwardly, shrugging. “Since I’m the best player, and all…”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Hypno says with a huff. “I mean, me and Cub are pretty good at this, too!”

“Well, I mean, if you two want to do it, be my guest. Are your decks big enough?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“We could all do it,” Cub suggests.

They turn to stare at him. “What?”

“Well… it’s not like it’s a proper run, anyway. We’re not trying to get an artefact—we’re trying to get Tango. If we combine our decks, go in together… We might have a better chance of at least one of us making it.”

The two of them consider it. “It could work,” Hypno admits. “Wouldn’t it cause a lot of clank, though?” 

“Well, then we sacrifice Etho to the Vex and keep on running.”

“Hey!”

“Sure. We can go in together. Why not?”

“Great. Etho? You in, man?”

Etho sighs. “Fine.”

“So that’s the plan?” Pearl says. “We send in the three best players and hope you guys can get him out?”

“Is there something wrong with that?” 

“No, no, it’s fine, I just feel like there’s something more we should be able to do.” She points at herself, Scar, and Bdubs, then waves a vague hand in Gem’s direction. “Right? I don’t wanna be sitting around twiddling my thumbs while you guys are down there.”

“I could try dreaming again?” Bdubs suggests. “Like—I could be down there all invisible helping you guys out.”

“And I’ll be your man in the van!” Scar declares.

“Our… what?” Hypno blinks.

“You know, your man in the van! Like Grian in Phasmo!”

“He means he’s gonna sit out here and not do anything,” Gem cuts in.

“Hey! I’m going to offer my best commentary.”

Etho pulls a face. “Can we pass on that?”

“Okay, so, what about me?” Pearl asks. “What should I do?”

“I know what you can do,” Gem says. 

Pearl turns to look at her. “You do?”

“Sure.”

Cub glances up at Gem, and instantly his senses tell him that something is wrong. He can’t quite put his finger on it—is it that she’s suddenly stiller than usual? The way her fingers twitch towards the sword sheathed at her hip? The stony look in her eye, the smile stretching eerily across her mouth?

Before he can figure it out, Gem answers the question with, “You can stop me.”

Her sword is out before anyone can say anything to that, coming down on Bdubs’ shoulder and splitting him in two. Bdubs respawns in the bed across the room with a cry, his body dissolving into golden and green light that soaks into Gem’s skin as she laughs and wipes the blood from her skirt. Cub is on his feet in a matter of seconds, pulling his own weapon and shield, as the rest of their little circle scatters apart and away from her. 

“Gem?” Pearl cries, drawing her axe, taking several careful steps back. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, Pearl.” Gem’s smiling, but there’s a note of genuinity in her voice, a slight shake around the edges. “I can’t just let you break the rules!”

“Who died and made you hall monitor?” Scar mutters as he wheels as far back from Gem as he can get.

“Tango,” Gem says, her breath misting in the air like it’s several degrees colder than the waiting room actually is. “He told me I need to stop you by any means necessary.” She takes a step forward, swinging her sword and letting the tip of it drag across the ground. “And as much as I want to save him, well… Any means necessary it is. Unless... you stop me.” She steps just into Pearl’s personal space. Cub watches as frost begins to creep over the tip of Pearl’s nose.

“The dungeon ate you too,” he realises.

Gem grins with too-sharp teeth and swings her sword upwards.

“Run!” Pearl cries, parrying it with the blade of her axe. “Go, go!”

“You heard her!” Etho says, and then he and Hypno are running, leaving Cub watching the fight unfolding.

“Cub, what are you doing?” Hypno cries. “Come on!”

Cub should run, is the thing, should join them in their trip down. He knows it, right down to the itch in his skin that begs him to move. But that’s the problem—there’s an itch that makes him want to move. A foreign presence too familiar to not recognise, blue veins stretching across his skin, the voice different but the motive all the same.

Go with them, begs the skulk, begs the dungeon, and Cub looks at the ferocity with which Gem fights and feels an inkling of fear in the back of his brain.

The dungeon ate Tango. It’s eating Gem.

…What happens when it eats me, too?

“Cub! We’re gonna go without you!” Etho cries, and the skulk screams, and Cub flinches away from the fight and towards his friends.

“Sorry! Coming!” he cries, and races towards the drop-down into the hall below.

“Dude, for a moment, we thought you weren’t gonna come,” Hypno says. “Thought you were gonna leave us out to dry.”

“Nah, man,” Cub says, shoving his blue-coated hands in his pockets, trying not to squirm. “I’m with you, I’m with you.”

“Right. Everyone get their decks and meet back here,” Hypno says. “Who’s paying?”

There’s a long pause.

“Well, you know, I got the least shards…” Etho says, shuffling.

“You also have the best win rate.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“I’ll pay,” Cub says. “I’m sure Tango will reimburse me, anyway.”

The two of them glance at him. “Oh, okay. Thanks, Cub.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cub smiles at them. “I just wanna get down there as fast as possible. Speedrun, come on. Let’s get our decks.”

----

It’s weird, going in with three people: first they sort through their cards, try to figure out the best way to build their individual deck into one larger one, bicker about getting the correct cards back at the end of the day. Then they have to decide—well, it isn’t a real run, so is it worth taking their armour in? What about food? Would taking a sword to a ravager be a smart move, or a particularly stupid one?

Some part of Cub—a part that he’s not too keen on inspecting��recoils at the idea of cheating to such an extent, and he tells the others so. They agree—a little reluctantly, maybe, but he thinks they all feel uneasy at the idea of angering the dungeon, when it’s already in Gem trying to tear Pearl apart upstairs, and it’s already got Tango trapped somewhere deep within its depths. So: no armour, no food, no weapons. Just the three of them, and their frankenstein deck, and all the wits they have about them.

Man, Cub just hopes they aren’t making a mistake.

“Shotgun!” Hypno calls as he hops in the minecart. Cub hops onto the back of the minecart, arms around Hypno’s shoulders and feet firmly planted on the transom at the minecart’s rear. 

“Sorry, Etho,” he says with a faux-sheepish, not at all apologetic smile at the third member of their party. “Guess you’ll have to walk.”

“Oh, no, I can fit,” Etho says, and promptly throws himself into Hypno’s lap.

Hypno yelps. “Dude!”

“What?” Etho bats his eyes innocently, but Cub will bet anything that there’s a smirk beneath that mask of his. “Are we ready to go?”

“I guess,” Hypno grumbles, wincing as Etho repositions himself in the cart.

“Press the button, let’s go,” Cub says.

“Pressing the button!” Etho says, reaching up to hit it and then ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the low ceiling of the tunnel.

The minecart ride takes an age, and yet takes no time at all: the air turns frigid around them as they descend down into the depths, and Cub gets a sense of what Scar had been talking about, the feeling of being surrounded by something alive. He tightens his grip on Hypno’s shoulders, sucks in a steadying breath—

And then falls in a heap on top of the other two as they’re all forcibly ejected from the minecart into the same space.

“Oww…”

“Ugh.”

“Welp.” Cub stands and shoves his hands in his pocket. “Better not do that again.”

“Trust me, I’m not planning on it,” Hypno grouses. “Who wants the map?”

“You can take it man, I don’t mind,” Cub says. “Just keep us updated on the card count.”

“Got it.” Hypno picks up the map, leaving the compass floating behind in the entryway as he heads towards the door. “Okay, what’s the game plan?”

“Split up and look for a key?” Etho suggests. 

“Won’t that just build up clank?” Hypno shoots back.

“EVASION,” bellows the dungeon.

“...Well, that answers that question,” Cub says, following the two of them down into the ice tunnels. “Anyone know where the ravagers are?”

“Not a clue,” Hypno says.

“Hopefully Tango will be nice to us,” Etho says. “Right, guys?”

“...Well, we can certainly hope,” Cub says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

His fingers close on the cold heavy compass shell that he did not put in there.

“Alright,” Hypno says as they make it to the circle. “Who’s going where?”

“I’ll go up the right tunnel!” Etho volunteers immediately.

“I’ll take the left,” Cub offers.

“And I’ll take the crypt, then,” Hypno says. “Okay. Use your comms—message if you have a key and we’ll meet at the kneeling man.”

“Gotcha,” Cub says, and with that they’re off. 

There’s nothing by the TNT pond, and only a few coins in the treasure spot on the leftmost tunnel. He snags some berries and hops across the dripstone, pausing in the opening of the tunnel as he hears the distinctive huff of a ravager. He presses himself to the wall, and feels the wall shudder behind him, not quite solid. He freezes and, slowly, reaches back to press his hand into it. 

The skulk that’s eaten into his fingers shivers, and like recognises like, and the cold surface of ice and stone feels almost warm.

Like frostbite, Cub thinks, almost absently. He feels warm, but he’s cold. His breath mists in the chill air.

Without thinking, he steps out into the path of a ravager. 

He blinks at the ravager. It blinks back at him. He can see his silhouette reflected in its eyes. 

“Hey, man,” Cub greets. “Are we gonna be cool about this? Great, thanks man. Knew I could count on you.” 

He can feel the dungeon’s gaze on him as he stares the ravager in the eye. His fingers are black and blue. The cold feels almost cosy. He tightens his fingers around the compass. 

“We’re cool,” he says again, and he’s not talking to the ravager this time. “I’ll get it, don’t you worry.” 

The ravager, slowly, turns and begins to walk away. 

<Hypnotizd> got a key

Cub turns and walks the other way, leaving black and blue footprints in his wake.

-----

Down on level two, there’s more ground to cover. Etho heads towards Rusty’s room. Hypno takes the lava pathway. Cub makes a beeline through mushrooms to the dripleaf parkour.

He finds a key in the amethyst, floating in the water right beneath a ravager’s feet. It watches him docilely as he ducks in and picks it up, leaving with a casual wave. 

The parkour is easy. The lake, even easier. Willie throws a trident, but it feels more like a greeting, an inside joke, than it does a threat. The throw goes wide, anyway. Cub drags himself to shore, shakes off the water like a wet dog, and approaches the barrel.

He sucks in a breath. Tightens his fingers on the compass. Pulls out his communicator with his other hand.

<cubfan135> sorry guys

<cubfan135> gotta do it

<cubfan135> you know how it is

<Hypnotizd> ???

<Etho> cub what are you doing

<Hypnotizd> what

<cubfan135> good luck making it to lvl3

He tucks the device away and opens the barrel, placing the key into the slot. There’s a familiar chime, and then the door opens with the hiss of pistons firing. Cub takes a steadying breath as he steps through the doorway, and finally pulls the compass from his pocket.

His hand is fully covered in skulk, the veins rotting their way into his flesh, inseparable from his skin without carving them out. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. More skulk-spots dot the surface of the compass, but he can still see the needle through them. Can still see the inscription, telling him to go deeper into the dungeon.

And so Cub goes.

He doesn’t bother crouching. Level three goes so much quicker when you don’t have to worry about being quiet, when you know that even if the wardens do hear you, they won’t care. The skulk sloughs from his legs, leaving sticky trails of fungal soul rot behind him. He can feel it creeping up his spine, weaving into the cracks between the bones. The dungeon is dark, and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s got rot in his eyes, or because he’s close enough to a warden for the blindness to take effect. He supposes it doesn’t really matter. He knows where he’s going anyway, the skulk veins in his nervous system controlling his legs so that he doesn’t have to.

Hm. It must be in his brain already. If it wasn’t, he’d probably be a lot more panicked about being puppeted like this.

When did it get so bad? He feels like he should have noticed it getting quite this bad sometime before this run. It had started when he’d begun running deadlies, of course, when he’d first touched the skulk and had veins wrap themselves around the tips of his fingers, like recognises like. The rot knows that he’s been a home for it before—knew he would be a home for it again. And Cub had taken that little vein, that infection, back up to the surface, and he’d told it no. Had told it, just for Halloween. Just a costume. He wouldn’t do what he did last time, and overtake the server with mould and decay. He’s not about that, anymore.

And yet, here he is, covered in the stuff, rot in his bones and blood and brain. How had he not noticed? How had nobody noticed?

(He thinks of Gem, perched in the walls, skin turning grey and eyes turning sharp. He thinks of Tango, trapped by his own dungeon, deep within the depths of a cave he’d sacrificed months of his life to. He thinks of run after run, of heart-pounding, adrenaline-rushing fun, of shard-cravings and withdrawal-fever, and he thinks that maybe, maybe he understands.)

(Nobody had wanted to notice, because noticing would have meant having to stop.)

(And nobody wants to stop playing Decked Out.)

Cub comes to a halt as the compass’ needle begins to spin wildly. He takes a few steps back and forth, feeling for the minecart beneath his feet, and drops the compass into the hopper.

A dispenser spits... something back into his hands.

CF135, says the label on the something, but this is not the artefact Cub’s familiar with, not the model rocketship with his name carved into the side. This could barely be called an artefact at all, a bloody and writhing handful of intestine, frozen half-rotted flesh beneath his fingers. He gags, nearly dropping the guts, blood spattering against the skulk that coats his legs and being absorbed into the rot. The guts themselves have spots of skulk-vein spattered across them, barely visible through the red, pulsing blood that drips from them, and they twitch despite clearly being dead, dead, dead.

“What is this?” he cries out to the dungeon. “Why have you given me this?”

Something tugs on his leg. Gently, barely there, and then—

Cub lets out a scream as he’s pulled down through the floor, pain flooding his body as his pelvis hits the hard stone floor. The skulk surges, crawling up his body, consuming all in his wake, tugging him down, down, down. The intestines wrap themselves around his neck, squeezing just tight enough that his limited vision darkens even further, that he panics, before loosening ever so slightly to allow him to gasp. 

Cub wails.

“Hey, no, stop it, I don’t—Tango! Tango, hey, man, please, stop it—!”

The dungeon quivers around him. The skulk slows in its consumption, leaving Cub half-eaten and shaking on the dungeon floor. His chest shudders as he sucks in one breath, and then another.

“That’s it, man,” he manages to choke out through the tears. “We can talk about this, can’t we? I promise—I won’t even try and get you out, if you don’t want me to. I’ll stop the others. Just—don’t do this. Okay?”

Everything is still for a moment. Silent. 

Cub feels a vein of skulk drag itself slowly, comfortingly, across his cheek, leaving a bloom of decay in its wake.

“Cubby,” the dungeon sighs, voice as unfamiliar as the word is familiar, and Cub lets out a sigh of relief.

“Tango! Hey, man. Good to see you, good to see you.” He may be a little delirious, actually, he thinks as he babbles. “Hey, so, you can let me go, yeah? I’ll get out of your hair—or into it if you’d prefer—whatever, man, I’ll do whatever, as long as you let me go. So—we’re good? Yeah?”

The intestines tighten, not enough to choke, but enough to hold. A hug, an embrace, in the only way a dungeon made of rotting flesh knows how. Cub melts into it. He’s in so much pain, is the thing. He’s in so much pain, and he’s so, so cold.

Something yanks on his leg, and a shrieker howls, and the skulk devours, and Cub manages one last cry before he’s pulled down into the dark.

[queenofcats17]

The Birthday Boy

So, I haven’t done a Tommy-focused fic for @hlvrai-twh. And I’m gonna do that now!

I'm guessing on a lot of the G stuff, so I might be proven wrong later in the blog.

Once again, here is the AO3 series.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tommy had felt pretty bad about how Benrey had been treated during the game, and he’d fully intended to find Benrey after his birthday party to apologize for what had happened. Benrey was his friend, after all, and Tommy certainly hadn’t enjoyed having to fight his oldest friend. He could understand why Benrey had been the bad guy, what with the cutting off of Gordon’s arm and continuing to be antagonistic, but Gordon certainly hadn’t helped the situation by lashing out at Benrey. Plus, Benrey just didn’t really...get how humans worked. Gordon didn’t know that, though. From Gordon’s perspective, Benrey no doubt seemed incredibly cruel and callous.

The point was, they both had valid grievances, and Tommy hoped maybe if he could get them both to see that, they could all be friends again. Normally he wasn’t the biggest fan of having to moderate conflict, but he knew how stubborn both Benrey and Gordon could be and figured the interaction would benefit from his mediation. They both liked him, after all. They both trusted him. They would listen to what he had to say. He was sure they could talk this out and everything would be fine.

Then the swap had happened and the game reset.

And Tommy forgot everything.

At first, everything was alright. Or, as alright as things could be when he was trapped in a twisted version of his workplace. He was trapped and terrified, but at least he wasn’t alone. He had Gordon and there weren’t any monsters actively threatening to kill him at every turn. Although he didn’t remember the first run, he did feel a strange sense of relief every time he turned a corner and there wasn’t a hoard of enemies ready to jump out at him. He hadn’t even really needed the pipe he’d picked up to defend himself.

Things didn’t stay alright, though.

For starters, the man he thought was Gordon ended up losing an arm. That had terrified Tommy, as he hadn’t been sure what would happen to “Gordon”. They didn’t have access to any proper first aid kits. What if “Gordon” got an infection? What if he ended up losing too much blood? Tommy had been so scared that he was about to lose his friend. It had been such a relief when “Gordon” had eventually woken up again.

Reuniting with Coomer had been a slightly stressful experience as well, not just because Tommy had been dealing with an injured friend. Seeing Coomer had filled him with a sense of impending dread, the likes of which he’d never felt before. At the time, he hadn’t understood why he’d felt that way. He should have been happy to see Coomer. Doctor Coomer was his friend! But he hadn’t been happy. He’d been afraid, sure something bad was coming.

Perhaps that dread had come from the unconscious knowledge that this was all wrong. That they had done this dance before to a different song.  Maybe he’d known, somehow, that the man with him wasn’t truly Gordon Freeman, and that Coomer did not consider this “Gordon” an ally. That knowledge surely brought up associations with the fight against Coomer’s clones. But this was all speculation. There was no way he could know for sure what the cause was.

The only thing he knew was that Doctor Coomer’s presence made him feel that something was very very wrong.

And then had come the less than tactful delivery of the truth of the situation while in the library: Benrey had stolen Gordon’s body and was trying to escape, leaving Gordon to be deleted in his place.

Having that knowledge so suddenly thrust upon him had...not been great for Tommy’s mental health. At the moment, he’d become overwhelmed by what he felt was the sheer hopelessness of the situation. He didn’t know how to help Gordon, how to fix things. He wanted to fix things. He needed to fix things. He couldn’t just let Gordon suffer like this. Gordon was his friend! But also, what would they even do if they got the chance to fix things? How did they fix this?

It was all just...so much.

There was so much he needed to juggle, so much he needed to remember and consider. They needed to get out, they needed to help Gordon, and they needed to make sure Benrey didn’t hurt them. 

There was also something else that Tommy was trying very hard not to think about, but that his mind kept drifting back to.

Why had Benrey done all of this?

No one seemed to have an answer for that, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask Benrey about it.

Tommy kept coming back to that question, though. Why had Benrey done all of this? Why would he have done something so horrible to Gordon? Tommy knew Benrey! Or, at least, he’d thought he did. He’d never thought Benrey would have the capacity to do anything so heinous. If it had only been to avoid deletion, then why hadn’t Benrey come to Tommy or the others? They would have helped him. He had to know that, right? They were his friends. They wouldn’t have just let him be deleted.

So why? Why steal Gordon’s life and body? Why doom Gordon to be killed in his place?

It just...didn’t make sense to Tommy.

He also couldn’t help but feel a sort of...betrayal at all of this. Benrey had stolen Gordon’s body and was now putting all of them in danger. And for what? Just to avoid deletion? Why hadn’t he trusted them to help him?

He didn’t fully understand why Benrey had done what he had until he remembered the events of the first game. That made him feel even more angry and betrayed.

“He did all of this because- because he was mad we made him the bad guy?!” He yelled as he paced his little office. “That’s- That’s- THAT’S SO STUPID!”

Coomer simply watched from his chair as Tommy paced.

“Why didn’t he just talk to us?!” Tommy continued. “Didn’t he think about what the consequences would be?!”

“I don’t think he did,” Coomer said.

Tommy stopped, looking back at the older scientist in confusion. “What?”

“I don’t think he thought about any of it,” Coomer continued. “From what I observed, I don’t believe his thought process went beyond “I want Gordon to hurt and I don’t want to die”. I don’t think he considered what any of the consequences would be or how painful it would be for both Gordon and himself.”

Tommy was momentarily silent, then groaned and covered his face with his hands. “He’s such a fucking idiot,” he muttered darkly.

“Yes, yes he is.” Coomer agreed with a solemn nod.

.

When Null arrived, Tommy tried to be as friendly as he could toward him. This was still his friend, he told himself. This was still Gordon. And he needed to make sure Gordon didn’t feel lonely. Not to mention, he couldn't help but feel guilty. Both for not being able to help Gordon and for his father’s role in everything.

Having Sunkist around definitely helped. Whenever Tommy was feeling overwhelmed, all he had to do was find Sunkist and bury his face in her fur and he would feel better. Sunkist seemed to improve Null’s mood as well, so Tommy often brought her to the cave when Null was having a bad day.

“Do you think I could bring Joshua here?” Null asked one day when Tommy had brought Sunkist over.

Tommy stiffened, avoiding Null’s gaze as he stroked Sunkist’s back. “I, uh, I don’t- I don’t know, Mr. Fr- Uh, Mr. Null. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you brought Sunkist into the game,” Null said. “She’s technically just a part of your pre-programmed backstory, but you brought her here anyway. So maybe I can bring Joshua here.” He looked so hopeful it made Tommy’s heart hurt.

“Are you- Do you really think it would be a good idea to bring a kid here?” Tommy asked. “This is a pretty dangerous place.”

Null’s face fell. “That’s...a good point,” he conceded. “I just...I miss him.” 

Sunkist turned her attention to Null, getting up on her hind legs to lick at his face.

“Whoa, hey!” Null laughed, gently pushing Sunkist away. “Alright! Alright! I’ll stop being sad!”

Sunkist sat down, barking out some sweetvoice.

“She doesn’t want you to stop feeling sad,” Tommy said. “She wants you to know that you’re not alone.” He reached out and put a hand on Null’s shoulder. “It’s...It’s okay if it hurts. I can’t- I can’t imagine how hard it must be to be away from your son. But you’re- you’re not alone. We’re here for you.”

He didn’t say they’d find a way to get Gordon back to Joshua. He couldn’t promise that. He didn’t know if Benrey would even come back. As much as he wanted to promise they’d find a way to let him see Joshua, he couldn’t give Gordon false hope.

Null smiled softly, putting his hand over Tommy’s. “Thanks, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

Tommy cried after he left Null’s cave. He holed himself up in his room with Sunkist and he cried.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Why did it have to be this way? They should have been able to do something to stop this. They should have been able to save Gordon. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

It was a day or two before Tommy visited Null again, not that time had any meaning in the game. Null didn’t comment on Tommy’s long absence, as Tommy was often gone for days at a time when he got caught up in an experiment. Tommy still felt guilty, though.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Null asked, frowning slightly.

“I...don’t think we can bring Joshua here,” Tommy said, avoiding looking at Null.

“Oh.” The disappointment was clear in Null’s voice. “Well, I guess I should have expected that.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said again, fiddling with his lab coat.

“It’s alright,” Null assured him. “It’s not your fault.”

And yet, Tommy couldn’t help but feel that it was. He’d failed to save Gordon. He’d failed to ensure Gordon would see his son again.

But he couldn’t tell Null any of that.

So he forced himself to smile. “Okay. Do you, uh, do you want to play fetch with Sunkist?”

Null smiled back. “Sounds good.”

.

Tommy didn’t talk to his father much. That had been true even before all this had happened. Or, at least, that was what his memories told him. Talking to his father could be...hard. Tommy’s father had always thought in terms of the big picture, the long term, the large scale. It meant he was almost always prepared for the worst-case scenario but fell flat when it came to the littler, more mundane problems.

Tommy had deliberately avoided his father after the game had ended. He didn’t know just how much his father had been involved in what had happened, but he still felt hurt and betrayed. He felt like, if his father had as much power as everyone said he did, he should have done something to stop this. His father should have kept this from happening, should have kept Benrey from escaping, should have kept Gordon from dying. His father, to his credit, hadn’t tried to force Tommy to talk to him, remaining outside of the map to work on Gordon’s code.

Once Gordon returned as Null, Gman simply observed, knowing the other AIs didn’t want to see him. Although he hadn’t been able to save Gordon’s passport, he had managed to salvage the photo of Joshua, which he gave to Null when Tommy asked. That request had been the most they’d talked before Benrey came back.

Tommy only went to properly talk to his father after Benrey had returned to the game. After he was sure that things were going to be alright. As he’d expected, he found his father outside the map, waiting for him.

“...Hi, Dad.”

“Hello, Tommy.” Gman nodded slightly. 

Although he looked the perfect picture of calm professionalism, Tommy could tell he was somewhat nervous due to the occasional tapping of his foot. Tommy couldn’t help but feel a sort of vindictive satisfaction at this. Good, his father should be nervous.

For a moment or two, the two of them just stood there, floating in the void outside the map.

Then, Tommy asked the question that he’d been dreading the answer to, “Did Benrey learn that body-switching thing from you?”

Gman visibly flinched, turning away from his son. He didn’t even need to say anything for Tommy to know what the answer was, but he spoke anyway. “...He did.”

Tommy had predicted that would be the answer, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. He’d hoped this hadn’t been because of his father. He’d hoped Benrey had found the spell somewhere else. Deep down, though, he’d known that this all came from his father.

“Why?” He demanded, already feeling tears stinging his eyes. “Why did you teach it to him?! None of this would have happened if you hadn’t taught him that spell!”

“I know.” Gman’s voice was quiet and weary. His shoulders slumped as he continued to avoid looking at Tommy.

It only made Tommy angrier. If his father had known this would happen, then why had he done it?! Why had he given Benrey the tools to do such awful things?!

“Why did you even tell him in the first place?!” Tommy rubbed furiously at his eyes, willing the tears to stop. He couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t break down. If he broke down, he wouldn’t be able to get any answers. “You had to know what he was going to do!”

Gman was silent for a long time before answering. “...He threatened to hurt you. I did not know if he was bluffing, but it was not a bluff I was willing to call.”

Now it was Tommy’s turn to go quiet. A part of him thought that maybe he should be happy that his father cared so much about him. Another part just felt guilty. His father wouldn’t have given Benrey the spell if he hadn’t been worried for Tommy’s safety. The one time his father hadn’t thought in terms of the big picture and it was because of him.

“Once the switch had occurred, I did what I could to save Mr. Freeman’s data and keep you safe, although my powers were severely limited as a result of Benrey’s actions,” Gman continued. “I understand that nothing I say will excuse what I did, but I...truly am sorry. I did not want this to happen”

Tommy didn’t say anything. His emotions had gone on such a roller coaster and now he just felt drained. Continuing to be angry wasn’t going to help him. There would be no fight, no tearful apology. This was the best he was going to get. His father thought through reactions and responses ahead of time. This was the response that had been decided upon and it likely wouldn’t be changed. At least he’d apologized.

Gman waited patiently for Tommy’s response.

“I...Thanks for apologizing,” Tommy finally said. “I appreciate it. I think Gordon’s the one you really need to apologize to, though.”

“I will,” Gman assured him. “Once he’s more...emotionally stable.”

Tommy let out a long exhale. “Thanks, Dad.”

Then, he turned and left.

.

Things were...tense after Benrey returned to the game.

By the time Benrey swapped back with Gordon, Tommy was considerably less angry with Benrey and more willing to spend time with him. He’d seen how sincerely sorry Benrey was and how much he genuinely wanted to make amends. Benrey was trying to be better, Tommy could see it. So, Tommy would come to see him and try to get him to do things other than mope.

But when Benrey had first returned...Tommy hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. He’d still been furious and hurt by Benrey’s actions, remaining cold toward Benrey every time they’d interacted. He was glad Benrey was trying to make amends, but he’d needed to be angry about everything for a while. It still really hurt. He’d thought they were friends. He’d thought Benrey trusted him. But Benrey had been willing to let all of them die just to save his own skin.

Not once did Benrey object to Tommy’s cold shoulder, a treatment Forzen and Coomer also employed, nor the open hostility showed by Bubby nor Darnold’s deliberate avoidance. 

Things continued like this for a bit before Tommy finally sat Benrey down and asked all the questions that had been stewing in his mind for ages now.

Benrey had known he wasn’t going to like this conversation as soon as Tommy had grabbed his arm and dragged him to an empty room, but he hadn’t protested. Whatever was coming, he figured he deserved it.

“I want to talk,” Tommy said, turning to face Benrey after making sure to close the door.

“Okay?” Benrey stayed where he was, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“Don’t...Don’t do that,” Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not- I didn’t bring you here to yell at you. I just...I have questions.”

“...Okay.” Benrey unclenched himself a little bit but remained tense and afraid.

Tommy sighed again, his shoulders slumping. “I thought we were friends, Benrey.”

It was like their conversation in the hallway all over again. Benrey probably should have expected this would come sooner or later. They’d never really finished that conversation, had they? Tommy had been avoiding him ever since that day.

“...I know.” Benrey hung his head.

“Did you really not think about how any of this would affect us?” Tommy asked.

“I just...I just wanted him to hurt like I had,” Benrey mumbled. “I didn’t wanna be bad, but he made me bad. You all made me bad. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t...I didn’t wanna think I did anything wrong.” Tears were welling up in his eyes at the memory of what he’d done, the pain and rage reflected back at him on a face that was no longer his own. “I didn’t think about what was gonna happen after. I know I did bad. I know I did. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“I was going to apologize to you after the party, you know,” Tommy said. “I felt bad that you were the bad guy. Gordon was kind of a dick to you. But you were a dick right back. You both had valid grievances and I- I was going to make you talk it out so we could all be friends again.” Now Tommy was tearing up, all his emotions beginning to boil over. “You didn’t need to do any of this, Benrey! We could have worked it out! If you’d just told us we would’ve helped you!”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Benrey had transitioned to full-on sobbing, his arms wrapped desperately around himself as trying to bring himself some small modicum of comfort from the guilt weighing him down.

“Did you not trust us?” Benrey full-on sobbing had made Tommy start full-on sobbing now too. All his bottled-up pain and anger were spilling out now. “Did you not think we’d help you? We’re your friends!”

“I know! I wasn’t thinking about it! I’m sorry!” And he was, he truly was. He’d been sorry ever since the switch had first occurred. It was too late to back out by that point, though. And he hadn’t wanted to believe he was the bad guy. He hadn’t wanted to be bad. He couldn’t be bad.

“Why didn’t you trust us, Benrey?” Tommy demanded. “Why didn’t you trust me?” His voice broke on the last word, all the anger draining away to be replaced by raw, genuine pain. “I thought I was your friend.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know, I’m sorry.” Benrey collapsed to the ground, covering his face with his hands, his whole body wracked with great heaving sobs. 

Tommy had thought that this would bring him some form of catharsis or closure. Instead, he just felt tired. All of this made him tired. Now that the danger had passed, he so often found his emotional wells depleted. Dealing with all these emotions and conflicts was exhausting.

Tommy didn’t know how long precisely Benrey cried for. He cried a bit himself, but it was mostly little sniffles, much quieter than Benrey’s body-shaking sobs.

Finally, Benrey seemed to cry himself out, slumping back against the wall behind him. He looked especially like Gordon when he was exhausted. It was maybe slightly concerning that Tommy categorized “exhaustion” as a Gordon-like expression. He’d unpack that later.

Tommy was about to suggest they go back to the others when Benrey suddenly spoke, “Are we still friends?”

Tommy froze, halfway through kneeling to help Benrey up. How was he supposed to answer that?

Benrey, in turn, didn’t dare say anything. He didn’t want to pressure Tommy into answering.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” Tommy finally said after a painfully long silence.

Benrey visibly cringed, drawing into himself. He’d had a feeling that would be the response. It didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I...I still want to be friends,” Tommy continued. “But I...We need to work back up to where we were.”

“I understand,” Benrey mumbled, lowering his head.

“Look, let’s just...let’s go back to the others.” Tommy knelt, holding out a hand to Benrey. “We can- We can talk more about this later.”

“Okay.” Benrey sniffled, taking Tommy’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

It was a start, Tommy told himself as they headed back to the group. Maybe it wasn’t all fixed, but it was a start. They could get better from here.

For the first time in a while, Tommy actually believed that everything was going to be alright.

[tomato-fendo-writes]

I dont have an ao3 account so id like to drop a comment in your askbox if thats alright. With that being said the change of pov was SO good, keeping us in the dark as to what kazuya's feelings are about all this (tho we can kinda guess thanks to the previous chapters) especially on jin now that they have proper interactions, and its also kinda funny how quiet he is when we're not in his head. All while everything about jin is downright heartbreaking, the scene of him confronting his father over being late is my fav part of his chapter, cant wait for him to eventually realize that kaz isnt either "just closed off and not particularly mean" nor "uncaring and straight up cruel" but a little bit of both. Its also interesting how, from an outside point of view, kaz's self-interested pragmatism could ALMOST be read as kindness, he DID find jun's phone and he DID gave jin his own phone to contact lee. Speaking of, considering how empty that phone is save from messages from lee and jun, i wonder if jin is gonna find the pictures his mother send his father, im glad at least those photos didnt die along with jun and her phone :)

In any case, this fic makes me insane, Im eagerly waiting the next chapter, its really good👍

no problem taking comments in ask form! tho it is easier for me to lose track of them, and i think you can comment as a (named) guest on ao3? unless theyve changed that

but yo i have been thinking about this ask ALL DAY DHFJK, youve picked up on SO MUCH of the little stuff ive been laying down, youre the first person ive seen point out many of these! kazuya's intentions being easily misconstrued from the outside, jin having him HALF pegged, the pictures..... know that i very rarely bring things up without them contributing something, at least when it comes to my writing. legit started beaming and pointing at my phone screen reading parts of this comment - certain parts here will be VERY important, but i wont say which ones ;)

going thru the rest of the comment, ty so so much, writing jin's grief was something i spent a lot of time on, and us knowing kazuya's general thought process up to this point is why i switched when i did. we understand what he's thinking, what JIN thinking about all this? both sides are equally important, so i wanted to get jin's pov as early as i could.

and i agree that its almost funny how silent kazuya can be when we aren't reading his crazy little thoughts sdhfjk. when i write him interacting with people i often have to go "how many times can i have him go quiet before it gets freaking annoying," but im trying to write him a little more reserved! hes doing a lot of observation through much of this fic, he thinkin CONSTANTLY, but im trying to balance his internal and external voices as well as i can. i actually have a joke with my beta thats just "SPEAK, MOTHERFUCKER," cause he employs the silent, impassive deathglare so much 💀

ty SO SO MUCH i was glowing at lunch while reading this, thank you for your support, compliments, and everything else! ♥

[fonulyn]

i've seen ao3 tag wranglers also say (on their personal tumblrs, there has been no Official Statement about it) that separating big events like whumptober into a series or collection of individual fics is preferable. also ao3 has a limit on number of tags per fic, 75 i believe? so proper tagging one big fic for something as potentially triggering as whumptober can get tricky fast.

yeah I've seen those posts too. especially if it includes multiple fandoms! different fandoms have different wranglers too so it'll probably cause a lot of extra work on that front too.

tagging is exactly why I feel it'd be much preferable to make it separate fics. you get enough tags to cover everything, but don't overwhelm people with a wall of tags in your attempt to include all of those unrelated works in one. both whump- and kink- are the kind of tobers that do have a lot of potentially triggering or squicking content so I feel it's extra important to have clear tags for everything.

also, sure you can add warnings and tags to author's notes in each individual chapter, but... let's be real. if the work has literally dozens of chapters I'm not gonna click through them all to see the tags and content warnings.

personally, I like using the series-option, if I want the fics to be connected! I did it for the fic challenge I made for myself a couple of years ago. for this years whumptober i honestly might not even do that and just post the fics as they are but let's see :'D

[gallavictorious]

I saw your tags and I think you might need to write that fic of Ian and Mickey recreating their first time when Ian gets a tire iron. 🧐☺️

Okay, so this took me a hot minute, and I did it as a kind of speedwrite so it's rather short and not exactly thought out. I also went off (my own) script a little bit and it got unexpectedly sappy there for a moment... But! Have 1,4k very silly words of Ian and Mickey roleplaying their first proper get together because Mickey gave Ian a tire iron. I hope you enjoy it, dear one – thank you so much for the prompt! I had unexpected fun with it. ❤️

(Oh, and tags in questions are the ones on this post, so all credit to @jenatte for providing the original inspiration.)’

ETA: It’s on AO3 now too.

---

Ow. The fuck?

Reluctantly, Mickey blinked awake. The bright light suggested it was already near noon, but that wasn't what had woken it, that wasn't–

It came again: a hard poke to his back. Not the good kind, either, of Ian pressing his hard-on against Mickey's rear while they were snuggled close, but something cold and sharp. Insistent.

”What the fuck?” Mickey groaned, rolling over on his side and peering up at–

–his husband standing over him with... a fucking tire iron in his hands? Not just any tire iron either, but the one Mickey had gotten him as a gift for their anniversary as a mix of a joke, sentimentality and practicality; it was how they started, sure, and meaningful for it, but also a damn good thing to have, no home was complete without it. He thought that maybe Ian had overlooked the practial aspects, though, in favour of going a little misty-eyed before he started dropping half-assed quips about hard lenghts and Mickey had to roll his eyes and punch his husband in the arm a little bit.

Now Mickey's brow furrowed further as he tried to make sense of the scene. For a brief, terrifying moment, apprehension siezed his gut: was Ian having a manic episode, seeing enemies where there was none? But no; though he feigned a fearsome scowl, there was that glitter in Ian's eyes and a small quirk to his lips that spoke little of mania and everything of being a fucking dork and a tease.

”Give me the gun, Mickey,” he intoned, and Mickey was about to ask again what the hell and what fucking gun and maybe are you feeling okay man because perhaps Mickey didn't have quite as good a read on his husband as he thought he had–

–and then he got it, memory reasserting itself, and he could feel the fucking grin growing on his face quite of its own accord. He'd have felt stupid for not immediately catching on, but give him a fucking break, he'd been sleeping two seconds ago and his days of waking up with a start and ready to fight were slowly and thankfully becoming a thing of the past.

Ian's faux frown broke, as he was unable to contain an answering smile. He seemed inordinately pleased with himself, and with Mickey for getting it. Mickey would tell him he was a fucking idiot, but Ian looked so expectant that Mickey decided to play along instead. No harm in a little weird roleplay to make his husband happy, right?

Besides, it wasn't like Ian standing over him and looking vaguely threatening and very hot didn't do it for Mickey on several levels.

”Okay, fine,” he said, climbing to his feet while doing his very best to appear drowsy and uninterested. It had been instinctive back then, the plan of lulling the irate kid into a false sense of security before pouncing on him and kicking his teeth in for having the fucking gall to march into Mickey's room and demand things.

Mickey made a show of slowly turning towards the nightstand, just as he had all those years ago. He could feel Ian's eyes track his every movement, ready to react to the sneak attack he knew was coming. There'd be no taking him by surprise this time.

His face turned away and unseen, Mickey smiled. Or would it?

He grabbed hold of the bottle of lube on the table and spun around to throw it at Ian's head, took a quick step up and to the side, and as Ian gave a short yelp and involuntary raised his hands to protect his face, Mickey rushed him from the side to push him down on the bed. Ian went with a thud and an oof and Mickey didn't hesitate; he was on his husband in a second, straddling his chest and wrestling the tire iron from him grip.

”What the hell, Mick?” Ian demanded, not bothering to struggle but glaring up at Mickey with wide reproachful eyes. ”This isn't how it went!”

Mickey grinned. ”How it went is I kicked your scrawny ass,” he said smugly. ”Now, how am I gonna do that if you know which way I'm gonna move?”

”I was going to let you win!” Ian protested.

Mickey's eyebrows rose. ”Oh, you were gonna let me, huh?”

”Yeah,” Ian said slowly, eyes narrowing, ”I was going to let you.” And with that he grabbed hold of Mickey's arms and pushed him to the side while using his greater body weight as leverage to flip them around.

”Fucker,” Mickey spat, kicking at Ian's shins. He dropped the tire iron – not like he was actually going to hit Ian with it – to have both his hands free for a renewed assault on his sneaky little shit of a husband, but Ian had already wrapped his his stupidly big hands around Mickey's wrists and was pushing him down into the mattress, grinning triumphantly while Mickey struggled and squirmed beneath him.

”Guess I had a change of heart,” Ian said.

Mickey stilled, biting at his bottom lip as he considered. He was pretty sure he could still take Ian if he really wanted to, mostly on account of him being a ruthless motherfucker with no interest whatsoever in fighting fair. However, that required a level of playing dirty and pulling nasty jabs that went far beyond what he felt comfortable doing to his husband these days.

”Uh-huh, and what's the plan now, genius?” he demanded, opting for snark instead of violence.

Ian didn't answer. The look in his eyes had shifted from triumphant to something thoughtful, and softer.

”Do you think it'd have gone the same way if it'd been me on top of you instead of the other way around back then?” he wondered aloud.

Mickey made a face. It fucking figured that his sap of a husband would turn a promising round of foreplay into a game of sentimental what-if.

”I dunno,” he said, wriggling his hips a little to remind Ian that there were otherstuff they could be doing right now, stuff way more exciting than having a goddamn conversation. ”Does it fucking matter? It didn'thappen like that, and it never would have happened like that either, 'cause back then I didn't give a shit about fucking you up too bad, so I'd bashed your fucking brains out before letting get on top of me.”

He wanted to bite his tongue as soon as he'd said it, but it was too late: Ian's eyes had lit up and his thoughtful look transformed into a smirk. ”Well, I mean,” he drawled, leaning down to put his mouth to Mickey's neck, just for a moment, just a little bit of teeth in the brief touch.

”Fuck off,” Mickey said, but he was laughing. Ian's weight pinning him down was as exciting as it was annoying, as it was grounding.

Ian just hummed. He'd straightened again and was gazing down on Mickey with a look that was so damned fond it made a small blush work its way up Mickey's neck.

”I think we'd have ended up here anyway,” Ian decided. ”Somehow.”

”Oh yeah?”

”Yeah.”

Soft smiles then, as something warm and happy bloomed in Mickey's chest. For a moment, they just looked at each other, eyes resting on the face each of them knew best, loved best.

Ian let go of Mickey's wrist to put his hand on the side of his head, fingers tangling in Mickey's hair as Ian ran a thumb over his husband's cheek. He bent down again, but this time to capture Mickey's lips in a long, lingering kiss.

”I think I was always going to have you,” Ian murmured as they broke apart, forehead pressed against forehead.

A second later he yelped in surprised outrage as Mickey took advantage of his lapse in vigilance to grab hold of his hair and yank his head sharply to the side while pushing up to get Ian off him and halfway down onto the floor. Mickey followed him with a snicker, and off they went again, tousling and laughing and absolutely heedless of any noise they might make.

[lucky-katebishop]

I spent a month reading harry potter fanfics and here’s what I learned

So for the past three and a half weeks, I’ve been doing basically nothing but reading Harry Potter fanfics and now I kind of just want to talk about them. No one cares but future me will! I tend to get caught in obsessions fairly easily (for instance, two months ago was comic books and last month was video editing and then k dramas). I’m feeling like my Harry Potter obsession is fading which makes me really sad cause it was a fun ride. I went from Drarry to Hinny, time travel to alternate realities, obscuris Harry to Dark!Harry, MCU AUs to Doctor Who AUs. I must’ve read more than 50 fics.

I’ve learned that I hate Dumbledore

Snape makes for a great mentor but I will only like him with proper character development

also where did Snape being Draco’s godfather come from? I don’t think this was in the books? I’m not angry, just confused

I read a fic that was so sad that I was physically unable to finish reading it -- actually I read two of those, one of them was a DID fic and the other Voldemort adopted Harry

the Voldemort one is quite possibly the most tragic thing I have ever read and even though it’s been two weeks I still haven’t been able to recover -- I was only halfway finished too GOOD LORD

another fic I read that was so fucking depressing was a time loop situation where Harry literally couldn’t get out of and it ended tragically

obscuris Harry is interesting but I really only like the ones where Newt is actually involved but I couldn’t find any finished ones

I don’t like it when Harry’s appearance changes, it throws me for a loop

there was this one where Harry got sent back in time and his figure got disfigured and so he didn’t even appear like himself anymore

I just find it odd for Harry Potter not to look like Harry Potter, idk

I also have a headcanon that his hair is very curly rather than shaggy

I haven’t been able to find a fic where Harry goes back in time to the Marauders era and has the right amount of angst but the right amount of fluff

I’ve read some good ones where the Marauders travel to Harry’s time but like,,, it isn’t quite what I’m looking for? I’m gonna have to write it, aren’t I? 

this doesn’t happen with irondad fics, literally everything you’ve ever wanted you can find it there

I read one where Harry did go back in time but she (fem!Harry) didn’t really interact with her parents or the Marauders that much, she became friends with Regulus instead

Regulus should’ve been in Gryffindor

I’ve not only read fics where Draco has been a Ravenclaw, Slytherin, but also a Gryffindor. I haven’t found one where he’s in Hufflepuff

I’ve read fics where Harry’s in every single house - the Ravenclaw one might be my favorite so far, it had to do with him going to a different timeline where there’s another Harry and he’s a major dick

Hufflepuff Harry one was funny, but it got distressing cause Dumbledore didn’t trust him and tried to get him expelled

actually the Hufflepuff one made my heart hurt cause Harry was put in the body of a Harry who isn’t the boy who lived and barely spoke and was basically like an even more traumatized Neville

Slytherin Harry is everything to me and he should’ve been in Slytherin

Ravenclaw Draco is something that can be so personal

I’m tired of reading Year One fics, I get it, there’s a stone, let’s move on

Year Four fics are my favorite however, there was one (which is my favorite) where Harry’s a necromancer and in the graveyard scene he calls corpses from the graves alive to help him get out of there it was so cool

I am partial to Harry/Draco but Harry/Luna is cute

there was a Pokemon Harry/Luna one that’s adorable and I’ve read it twice already

I like when there’s a ton of lore involved

especially Hogwarts lessons - like ancient runes can fucking get it, I love runes fics

there was an MCU AU one where I read Harry didn’t have his magic anymore, not as potent as it was, but he did have ancient runes

LISTEN I tried to get into Dark!Harry but after that Voldemort adoption one I can’t do it anymore, I will start crying literally right now -- he just wants to be fucking useful! He just wants to be loved! Is that too much to fucking ask for? 

however Harry doing dark!magic but isn’t actually on the dark side is cool

Death Eater Spy Draco! It makes me distressed but also I am so here for it!

Jenkins if you’re out there I love you (if you get this reference I love you)

I read a ton of Avengers adopt Harry when he’s younger but I don’t care for younger Harry fics, I prefer when he’s a teenager and I don’t have to read the first few years at Hogwarts, it can get repetitive

Give me all the angst with Harry being a horcrux please, I’m living for the drama

Lily is not a fan favorite weirdly enough, when the Marauders are in fics she’s usually not there which is unfortunate because I just really want a good Harry/Lily bonding moment

one of the saddest fics I read was where harry, luna, hermione and neville find themselves in an alternate dimension where Lily and Remus are married and alive, James is a dick but has other kids, and every single person that had died in their world is alive

I don’t like it when there’s Ron bashing, he’s one of my favorites, but if I have to, I’ll read some of them

there was this Sherlock fic (listen, I went in fucking deep, it’s been a weird month) where fem!Harry is on the run from the Ministry because I don’t actually understand and Ron and everyone is out for blood for her

Eleventh Doctor/Harry is a pairing I was not aware of but I actually kind of love?

Master of Death Harry is fucking OP and I love him for that

mcu aus is something I never knew I needed

Holly Potter and the Midlife Crisis is fucking everything

So is On Punching Gods and Absentee Dads, I realized it was the same author when I read in the author notes that the author was going to some volcano convention thing and I was like this is way too niche for it to be a coincidence

I’ve read Tony is Harry’s dad, Loki is Harry’s dad, Harry is just weird friends with Thor, ones where Natasha is Harry’s aunt

listen everyone is related to this boy

I will not read a fic if it doesn’t involve Harry, he’s my boy, he’s my love, I care only about him and him only I’m so sorry

you know that meme where people say nobody’s favorite character is harry potter, the titular character? Well meet me! He’s my favorite!

in battle of hogwarts fics, Remus almost always dies. Why is that? Why do you guys hate him so much? It’s always half and half for Fred, I never know if he’s going to live or not

In all of the good fics I’ve read I saw in the collections area of ao3 the same collection and I was like! You get me! 

if it says Gammily’s Bookshelf on the fic, it’s gonna be a really fucking great fic let me just tell you that right now

Parseltongue gets me so riled up, I fucking love Parseltongue, it’s so cool

there’s a reason I usually filter out non/c*n but I decided to let it flow and I ran into a few that fucking d e s t r o y e d me why do you guys read shit like this, it broke my heart

that being said I read one that was really nuanced and actually really good but it’ll never be finished and I’m very mad about that

Either we have a better understanding of how goblins could be utilized  than JKR or we’re just ignorant of how powerful they can be

weird coincidence that I’ve read two completely different fics where Harry thought having a threesome meant kissing three different people

Dumbledore’s a bitch and I hate him, every fic I’ve read so far agrees with me

there is a person out there that is CARRYING the bucky barnes/harry potter pairing on their back and I hope whoever that is knows how much I appreciate them

remind me never to click on a fic that hasn’t been updated since 2015 ever again, C’est La Vie I will miss you so

this is just a fucking quarter of the harry potter fics I’ve read but thanks for reading if you did, let me know if you want to know some of the titles

[quartzwriting]

The Sorcerer and The Agent

Pairing: Doctor Strange X Avenger!Reader

Description: After a training session, you stumble into a meeting where an unexpected visitor makes you, a former SHIELD Agent, shy. 

Warnings: Non

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Originally posted on Quotev / This story is divided into two parts, one through the readers point of view and one where it is retold in Stephen’s perspective.

Masterlist | Fic Reading Recs | Ao3 | Quotev | Coffee

PART ONE: The Agent

This morning's training was brutal. Natasha usually pushed you hard, but something today told her to push your limits. Some force in the universe told her to make you suffer today. And you did. By the end you were drenched in sweat, gasping for a proper breath of air, and in desperate need of a hot shower. You knew your muscles would be screaming at you tomorrow morning.

After you had taken a break, one that consisted of you lying on the training room floor for a while, Nat asked you to go tell Tony that the hologram training simulator was having some problems. He had been working on the thing for a while and there were still a few glitches that you had discovered today. Forcing your legs to get up and move, you made your way to the elevator to head a few floors up, regardless how wobbly they were feeling. They were literally jelly and it took you a little to get coordination back.

A post-workout towel was swung around your neck and you were still wearing your gear. Workout leggings, sports bra and top, the gloves you always wore on the field. Nat did not give you anytime to change before she sent you on your way to Tony. You were a hot mess and very tired, so you were ready to get it done and over with so you could shower and take a nap. FRIDAY told you that Stark was in the upstairs lounge.

Dabbing off the last bit of sweat from your forehead, you yawned from how tired you were as the elevator opened and you stepped into hallway that lead to the lounge. As you walked in you spoke, "Stark, your hologram training simulator is having some problems. It looks like there's something wrong with-"

You stopped dead.

Along with Tony, who was resting on a chair that was pulled backwards, there were two more people gathered around a table where small meetings were often held. One of them was Steve, who had some paperwork out in front of him. The other was Stephen Strange. You had not expected him to be there. He looked bored, listening to Tony talking probably. But his expression changed a little when the three of them heard you walk in.

Sure, you did not want to admit it but you found the man very attractive. Whenever he came to the compound you always tried to sneak an extra glance at him when he was not looking. And when you were not doing that you were trying not to look at him cause he might see the blush on your face. But when you did have to look at him, whether it be at a meeting or at a gathering or just across the room to say hi, you lost your ability to focus. Something about him made you forget everything else. His sarcasm and quick wit that rivaled Tony's. Perfectly styled hair with swoops of grey that were surprisingly fitting to his style. Neatly kept facial hair that framed his cupid's bow-lips that you often wondered of their softness. Beautiful eyes of crystal ocean blue that are always so bright, even when giving a cold stare. And that voice, Goddamn that smooth, low voice.

And there you were, looking like a total mess in front of him.

You wish you had not listened to Nat, that you instead went to your room and took a nap right away. You wished you were not looking like you just walked out of a workout session while your skin glistened with the remains of sweat and your hair messy. And you wish you could go hide of embarrassment.

You snapped out of your little trance of shock and tired to pick back up what you were saying, "w-with the projectors."

Tony visibly scrunched up his face, "That's weird. It was working when I tested it yesterday."

You struggled to speak when you were this distracted and surprised, "Nat and I were training. The thing is busted."

You could feel his eyes on you. I regret this, you mentally whined to yourself.

"I'll have a look at it later."

You would have turned around and walked out, make it look like you had some work to do. But instead Steve had to open his mouth. "Training go well today, (Y/N)?"

You wanted to die.

"Sure." You shrugged, trying to keep cool. "Nat pushed me hard."

"Looks like it." Steve laughed. You wanted to punch him.

You chuckled nervously and cleared your throat, "Well um I'm gonna go upstairs and shower. I have more work to do after."

As you said this, your eyes met with Stephen's. Direct eye contact with those blue eye, those beautiful blue eyes. You risked a little smile at him. You probably looked dumb in the state you were in so you sort of regretted it. But the smile you got back made you not regret it at all.

You turned on your heel and walked as fast as you could without looking suspicious.

"Oh! You need to refile that mission report from yesterday, (Y/N). FRIDAY processed your bodycam footage and you need to make a new timeline."

"I'm aware, Stark!" You did not look back as you snapped at him. Just another task on your ever growing list of things to do.

Upon exiting, you missed the door. You ran into the door frame with a bang. You tried to brush it off like everything was fine. You felt everyone's eyes turn back to you, digging into you like the weight of the embarrassment itself. And you swore you heard someone chuckling as you quickly left the room.

Now you were desperate to go hide in your room and never show your face again.

PART TWO: The Sorcerer

Listening to Tony babble was always brutal. Every single time Stephen came to the Avengers compound for a meeting the man of iron would always end up talking too much. The look on Steve's face said that even he was tired of listening to Tony talk about this new technology he has been working on. Stephen could not even remember what it was in the first place, something about holograms maybe. His fingers tapped on the table, the metal of his slingring making an impatient  noise as it hit the wood.

Both him and Captain Rogers exchanged a look. They wanted this meeting to keep going but Stark would not shut up. This happened often. A little too often. His mind started to wander, draining out Tony's voice and being replaced with his long to do list for today.

Suddenly the door to the lounge opened and someone walked into the room, soft footsteps hitting the floor as they came closer.

"Stark, your hologram training simulator is having some problems. It looks like there's something wrong with-"

Stephen perked up at the familiar voice. He quickly connected it to the owner. It was (Y/N) (L/N)'s voice. And there she was when he looked up.

He was not expecting to see her in the state she was currently in.

She was wearing workout clothes like she had just come from training, looking a little out of breath and energy. Traces of sweat covered her forehead and shoulder, and her cheeks were flushed a soft pink. Her skin glowed a little. He made note of what exactly she was wearing, a tank top with a sports bra peaking out from underneath. A pair of gloves that he had seen her wear before. And leggings. Very form fitting ones. He clenched his jaw and swallowed.

Whenever he needed to come to the Avengers compound for some business, he kind of hoped to catch a glance of her. Something about her always grabbed his attention. She was attractive, but also very kind and sweet. He would see you laughing with your coworkers and the image would stick in his head for a while. He would remember a snarky comment you made at a meeting that made him chuckle a little too hard. He would wonder what you looked like on a field mission, all serious or with a sprinkle of cockiness between a determined look. You were very interesting to him, in a good way.

"w-with the projectors." She finished. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he forgot she was talking for a second.

Then the thought of her working out in that outfit came to mind... but he quickly shut that out because he knew where that would go. But it trickled in the corners of his mind, and the wonder poked at him about another situation where she would be blushing and covered in sw-

He stopped himself as Tony's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "That's weird. It was working when I tested it yesterday."

"Nat and I were training. The thing is busted." Her voice cracked.

He risked another glance at you, and he did not regret it.

"I'll have a look at it later." Tony groaned.

"Training go well today, (Y/N)?" Rogers asked her.

The woman shrugged, "Sure. Nat pushed me hard."

The captain laughed, "Looks like it."

At that moment Stephen realized that she looked a little embarrassed. He was not sure why. But he swear he saw the already present blush on her cheeks deepen. She chuckled a little, he sensed a trace of nervousness in it. Yes she was embarrassed. He had to admit, it was kind of cute.

(Y/N) cleared her throat, "Well um I'm gonna go upstairs and shower. I have more work to do after."

He made eye contact with her. She smiled at him, and he melted a little. It was a very pretty smile. He gave her one right back, a genuine one that reflected her own.

Her previous words echoed in his mind. Shower. Stephen, stop!

The woman turned to leave and the others turned back to the table and paperwork they were going through. Stephen let out a breath as he turned his attention back to the material of the meeting.

"Oh! You need to refile that mission report from yesterday, (Y/N). FRIDAY processed your bodycam footage and you need to make a new timeline."

"I'm aware, Stark!"

The corner of his lips tugged up.

There was a bang and (Y/N) had run into the door frame, causing the three men to look up. She quickly left the room, it was now obvious that she was embarrassed. He did not blame her since she just pulled a maneuver like that. A SHIELD agent and master of stealth, from what he was told, just dumbly ran into a wall.

He could not help it. He started chuckling.

She's adorable, he thought to himself.

"What's gotten into her?" Steve asked, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe Nat overworked her."

Tony laughed, "Nah. Probably because there's a strange man in the room."

Stephen grinned, but then ran that statement through his head again. He could not think of anything. That woman was a mystery, that's for sure.

[thesquidkid]

I was the match and you were the rock

This was supposed to be a very different fic, but Things We Lost In The Fire by Bastille came on, and this was born (also I listened to the song on repeat, so there may be some lyrics scattered around 😂)

It is also quite sad (at least I have tears in my eyes writing it), so I guess sorry? Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it! 😂 (Also on ao3)

Oh and there might be spoilers for the finale? With everything happening with the airstream.

Michael was sitting on the ground, back against his truck, in the middle of the junkyard, looking at his trailer go up in flames. All the people he cared about were besides him, Alex sitting on his right, rubbing his thigh. He had his arm around the other man, the two of them mourning the airstream and all the moments shared.

But more than just memories with Alex, the trailer held Michael’s life for over a decade. He knew the others were sad, but overall they all shared the same sense of joy - Jones was no more a threat. And as much as Michael wanted to celebrate, he also mentally counted how much everything would cost to replace, if he could live with Alex until he found a solution, how many other vehicles had been touched, how deep in debt Sanders Auto would be in.

“Out.” Sanders said, not leaving any place for discussion. He was standing, leaning against Michael’s truck, his leg touching Michael’s shoulder, a comforting presence.

When Michael had fallen to the ground seeing the flames, Sanders had kept standing, head high. But deep down, he was in a similar state to Michael - teary eye(s) and wet cheek(s), calculating the loss of money, the loss of small sentimental value. Because even if there wasn’t much in the airstream, it was all Michael’s, and Sanders had grown used to it being there, was even attached to the poor thing.

This is why he was asking everyone to leave. They didn’t belong in this place, and didn't understand what was truly happening. They wanted to celebrate the win against Jones - as they should - but they didn’t feel the same loss that Michael did.

Michael didn’t even register Sanders’ word, didn’t even hear the cars leaving, his ears still ringing from the explosion. He had gone into the airstream, to try to save anything, but it was too late, most of the inside had burnt down already, the outside shell starting to melt.

I will burn down everything you care about, Jones had said when they defeated him. At first, Michael didn’t understand. Alex was standing next to him, seemingly not on fire, Isobel and Max in a similar state. He even checked in with Sanders, called the old man to make sure he was okay, when the explosion happened. Michael had driven as fast as he could, rushing to the airstream, Alex shouting after him.

He didn’t see Alex running after him, forgetting for a moment that Michael was fireproof. It was only when Alex grabbed Michael’s hand inside the airstream, that Michael registered the dangerousity of Alex being here. Using his powers, he had pushed Alex out of there, but that didn’t stop both of them to still be coughing and Alex’s prosthetic needing to be replaced.

But neither of those things were at the front of Alex’s mind in that instant. Sitting on the ground, his leg in front of him, still hot from the fire, coughing once in a while, his only focus was Michael. Michael was okay, physically. The flames hadn’t burned him, and the coughing had stopped after a while. Emotionally, on the other hand, he knew that Michael was not okay. Even if he couldn’t fully understand how much the airstream meant to Michael, he knew that he was hurting, and wanted nothing more than to be there to comfort his boyfriend.

And so he stayed. When Sanders told the others to go, he looked up to the older man, who was only looking at the flames. He wondered if he should leave the two to be alone, to mourn, to check the damage, but he also knew that he was not going to leave Michael’s side for a few days, especially not after what happened with Jones.

The firefighters came, eventually. By then, nothing could be saved. Luckily, Michael had used his powers to push the remaining cars and various other inflammable objects present in the junkyard to the side.

When the firefighters left, having checked Alex, Michael and Sanders and advising them to go get checked out at the hospital, the three men were alone, the airstream’s creaking cutting through the night.

“You should head home,” Michael whispered to Alex, his eyes never leaving the airstream, “you need to rest your leg, I’ll join you in a bit.” He turned his head to meet Alex, who could see all the desperation, the sadness and the anger present in those golden eyes.

“You’re sure?” Alex asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Michael nodded, turning back to the airstream with a sniff. “We need to check for what can be covered by insurance, and what we’ll lose,” Sanders said with a gruff, turning his back to the airstream for the first time since the explosion.

Michael wiped his cheeks and turned around, facing Alex properly, who was sitting on the bed of the truck. From where he stood, Michael could see the airstream from the corner of his eye, could smell the burnt metal, could hear the cracks. He took Alex’s hands in his, “I’ll be home in a bit,” he said, his voice breaking, “I just need -” he went on in a sobb, dropping his head into Alex’s shoulder, who put his hand to Michael’s hair, in a comforting gesture.

It broke Alex’s heart to see this, to see Michael be so desperate, so lost, in such pain. “You need to make a list of what burned down,” Alex finished, knowing that this was important to Michael, both financially, and sentimentally. Who knew if Sanders Auto would even recover from such havoc. Alex just knew that he would do everything he could so that Michael wasn’t alone.

Michael sniffed into Alex’s shoulder, breaking Alex’s heart a little more, before standing up. He wiped his face with his hand, and breathed deeply, his hands still holding onto Alex’s.

Alex drove back home, putting his leg through one last painful challenge, before taking it off as soon as he sat on his couch, before texting Michael to let him know he had made it safe and sound.

Examining the prosthetic under a proper light, he could see that it was crooked, parts of it having melted in the heat. His stump was bright red and swollen, he made his way to the bathroom and warmed himself a bath, setting an alarm clock to get out of the water.

When the alarm rang, he dried himself and got dressed for bed, each step made with a wince. After taking two painkillers, he made his way to his bed, falling asleep as soon as he was under the covers.

He woke up when he felt a warm body slide next to him under the covers. When he opened his eyes, he saw Michael, curls still wet from the shower he had just taken, eyes still puffy. Alex scooted closer to Michael, wrapping him in his arms. They could talk in the morning, about Jones, about the airstream and the junkyard, but right now, both needed the rest and the comfort of each other.

In the morning, when Michael woke up, he found himself in an empty bed. He got out with a smile, eyes still puffy from the night before, but not crying anymore (not that he had any tears left in the first place), and walked to Alex’s living room, where he could hear some noise.

Getting closer, he could hear Alex on the phone, finishing up a conversation, “Yeah okay, I will, thanks.” He was sitting on the couch, his leg propped up on top of a pillow, the prosthetic off. On the table were laying a jar of cometquiles spread and some flying sauce-cakes, making Michael chuckle, remembering the last time those were on that exact table.

“Arthuro called and asked what you wanted, he heard about -” Alex said, going off at the end, not wanting to say it, but knowing that they needed to talk about it, the explosion.

“How’s your knee?” Michael asked instead, taking a cake and sitting next to Alex, worry clear on his face. The airstream was gone, the damage already caused at the junkyard, he and Sanders had already talked about their next possible moves, right now the only thing he could act on was Alex. Whether it was a massage, fixing the prosthetic, anything Alex needed, wanted.

“It has known better days,” Alex answered, leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder while he ate. They were silent for a few minutes, Michael enjoying breakfast, Alex texting Kyle about his leg. Once Michael finished eating, he spoke up.

“So, uh, we made a list?” Michael started, hesitantly. “Of all the things we lost in the fire. A few cars were touched, so that’s gonna cost a lot with the clients. Hopefully we can get insurance, but I don’t think that’ll be enough. There’s also a lot of old junk that burnt, which sucks since we wanted to sort through it and melt the metal parts together. Now it’s just a bunch of useless shit, so we’ll have to throw that out. We’ll also need to replace the heavy tools, a lot of them are melted or burnt. So all in all, the bill is high.”

He sighed, “Too high,” he added at the end, a whisper, as if saying the words at louf would make them more real. After the pandemic, the junkyard was slowly building itself back up monetarily, but they still weren’t out of the red. And the explosion only made things harder.

Alex rubbed his hand up and down Michael’s back, listening in silence, being a comforting presence. One Michael finished speaking, Alex talked, voice low, testing the waters if Michael wasn’t ready to talk about it now.

“Did you make a list for the airstream?” he asked, full of concern.

Michael nodded, and suddenly it was as if the dam had broken. When last night Michael was mostly in shock, he was fully sobbing, turning to Alex, who held him tight in the embrace.

“I lost -” Michael sobbed, “I lost everything, Alex.”

Alex held him, tried to make him feel calmer. Except, this was all new territory, seeing Michael brake like that, Alex had never witnessed it. Like everyone else, anger was mostly the emotion he had attributed to Michael in the past. And that anger was still there, now, sobbing into Alex’s chest. Except it was controlled, and surrounded by sadness and pain, that Alex didn’t need to be psychic to feel.

Before, Alex might have taken Michael’s comment personally, told him that he didn’t lose everything, that Alex was still there. But this was past Alex, present Alex knew that Michael had built his life in that airstream, it was his first real home, the first safe place that was his and his only. Because where the truck was technically speaking the first thing Michael owned, the trailer was the first object he built from the ground up.

So yes, Michael had lost everything. Everything he owned, everything he built, the countless drawings and projects that scattered the walls of the airstream and the entire bunker, the photographs he kept hidden in a box.

Where people would see a piece of trash, some place that was unsanitary and dirty, some place that wouldn’t be comfortable to live in, Michael had seen a home for many years. And as much as Alex was Michael’s home, nothing could replace the airstream.

“I know,” Alex whispered into Michael’s hair, “I’m sorry”.

The two stayed in that position for a while, until Alex’s phone rang. Michael stood straight, wiped his eyes and his nose, and grabbed another cake, while Alex talked to Eduardo, giving a fast review of what happened with the Lockhart machine, but keeping it vague enough to not out Dallas.

“Seriously,” Alex laughed out after hanging up, “the Valenti’s need to stop calling me.” At Michael’s confused raised eyebrow, he continued, “I was talking to Kyle earlier, he was worried about my leg, telling me not to put it under pressure. As if I couldn’t make that decision myself. And now, Eduardo is giving me a week off, to, I quote, ‘rest’. I am a grown ass man, I can do that myself!”

Michael giggled at that, turning into a laugh. “What?” Alex asked with a smile, not understanding what was funny.

“Babe,” Michael said, leaning close, “you do need people to tell you to rest.” He kissed Alex’s cheek as the other man chuckled, “That’s fair,” Alex replied, turning to look at Michael.

He was not yet in a good state, his eyes were still puffy and red, his cheeks beard the path of dried tears, his curls were all over the place, and his eyes were still heartbreaking. The sadness and the pain were clear in them.

But when Alex looked deep into Michael’s eyes, he could see that it was going to be okay. That Michael would hurt, for a long time even, and it would be hard to recover financially, but Michael’s eyes had something in them that he had desperately tried to get rid of. Hope.

And that was enough for Alex to believe that they were going to be okay. That Michael was going to be okay. The fight wasn’t over. The other’s may not be fighting Jones anymore, but Michael and Alex weren't done. In more ways than once.

They still had to deal with the damages in the junkyard. Help Sanders with his auto shop. And deal with their personal fears, Michael’s fears about his father.

The fire had destroyed Michael’s home, but from the ashes, a new one was being built.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Heyo, reporting back to request a continuation of a continuation of a continuation, if you wouldn't mind! Aka, please more 3rd Life Villainpulse angst, I'm so invested (and very curious as to whether his latest murder attempt was an actual success, or if he really should have stuck around to verify the death...)

i genuinely rly love this! i’ve got such plans for it now that i think i’ll make it into an actual proper fic.

i’ve also now posted it on AO3, titled Stand For Nothing! link here

…

Impulse is getting concerned. It’s been over five minutes and no death message in chat. It should’ve happened by now. He had been worried about being found near the scene of a death — it’d already been about five minutes since the meeting and someone would’ve gone to find Skizz, so his items would almost certainly be found — but now he’s starting to think he should have stuck around anyway and made sure the job was finished.

He had been intending to stay here at his villager trading centre until the death notification came up and then he would run back to Dogwarts and play the distressed best friend.

But no death message. So his plan has to change.

When he makes it back to Dogwarts, he finds Ren standing outside the Renchanting building, his face pale. When he spots Impulse, he quickly beckons him. “Impulse! For the love of god, where’ve you been?!”

Impulse blinks. With no death message in chat, what can Ren be so worked up about? “W-What? What’s happened…?”

“Skizzle’s been attacked! We heard an explosion outside our walls and when we went to check, we found him out there, passed out. He’s in a critical condition but Martyn’s with him now and hopefully he’ll recover.”

Impulse can only stare at Ren with an open mouth and a pit in his stomach. Somehow, in all the possible outcomes he pictured for this scenario, he never imagined Dogwarts would actually find Skizz alive. After three perfect murders, it seems he got careless.

“O-Oh my god,” he manages to choke out. “C-Can I see him?”

“Not yet, but Martyn will tell us when we can.”

Ren takes him down into the living area under Renchanting. There, Etho is pacing back and forth in front of a closed door, clearly deep in thought, but he glances up as Ren comes in. “Ren, you found him.”

Ren nods, even though it wasn’t really a question. “Any word?”

“Not yet. Martyn has three healing potions in there with him though, so I’d say Skizz’s chances are really good.”

Impulse has to strain to keep his expression steady at that. “G-Good. That’s good.”

Something changes almost imperceptibly in Etho’s expression, but Ren, clearly not noticing, rubs Impulse’s back reassuringly. “He’ll be okay, Impulse. Don’t worry.”

All Impulse can do is nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the door opens and Martyn appears, his body blocking the view inside the room. “He’s awake,” he reports, a very serious look on his face. “Ren.”

Ren quickly ducks into the room, but when Impulse starts to follow, Martyn blocks him. “Not you,” he says coldly. “Etho, stay with him, please.”

Impulse’s heart freezes. There’s only one reason Martyn would stop him from seeing his injured best friend.

Skizz has told him everything.

He takes a step back and bumps into something behind him, causing him to jump.

“What’s going on, Impulse?” asks Etho casually, an only-just-discernible undertone of danger in his voice. “You seem a little tense.”

“My best friend almost died,” Impulse replies coldly, but even he can tell his words are unconvincing.

“Indeed. I wonder how that happened?”

“I don’t like what you’re implying, Etho. Why would you have any reason to suspect me?”

Etho just folds his arms and says nothing, infuriating Impulse. “You said I was the only person on this server you really trust!”

“That was before I joined these guys. I’ve had a weird feeling in my stomach about you for a while, Impulse. Something hasn’t felt right since this whole thing started, but I assumed it was just me trying to apply rationality to this irrational world. But one thing never changes, Impulse. No matter how much you try to change it.”

Impulse falls silent, scowling at the ground. He’s already given away too much in his tone and expression.

He glances sideways at Etho, who has his eyes fixed on the door Ren and Martyn went through. Realisation dawns on him: Etho isn’t expecting him to put up a fight. Etho thinks he has nowhere to go.

Now is the time, then. He can’t afford to wait any longer; when Ren and Martyn come back out here, it’s over. Impulse knows he can’t take on three people at once. This is his last chance to escape alive.

So when Etho shifts position a few seconds later, Impulse strikes. Before he can react, Impulse sweeps Etho’s legs out from under him and shoves him into the wall as he’s falling. Without waiting around to see the result of his attack, Impulse takes off running.

He makes it out of Renchanting and is just about to run down the hill towards the crastle when an arrow whizzes by him, nicking the sleeve of his t-shirt and causing him to lose his balance. Suppressing a scream, Impulse topples down the hill and lands in the shallow river at the bottom. He tries to continue onward but has to stop as he puts weight on his left foot and realises he must have twisted his ankle during his fall.

Gritting his teeth through the throbbing pain, he looks up in time to be able to dodge another arrow fired at him by the figure on top of Dogwarts’s wall.

He has to keep going.

Every step on his left foot is agony but he pushes himself on, half-galloping down the hill on the other side, the crastle in his sights.

“Bdubs!” he shrieks as he draws near, his heart racing. The Red Army is likely right behind him. “BDUBS!”

The person he’s calling rushes out of the castle over the drawbridge just in time to catch Impulse as he finally loses his balance and pitches forward.

“Impulse! You’re soaking wet!? What the-?!”

“Th- They’re coming for me,” he croaks. His eyes flicker up and he spots two faces in the windows on the second floor. It’s time for the performance of his life. “Dogwarts turned on me! They think I killed Tango and Cleo a-a-and made you kill Joel!”

“What?!” gasps Bdubs. “That’s ridiculous! Why would they think that?!”

“I-I don’t know but th- They’re gonna kill me, Bdubs…!”

“Not on my watch!”

Bdubs quickly ushers Impulse inside the crastle and into the waiting arms of Jimmy. Together, the two guide Impulse upstairs and lay him down in the bed Grian has placed in a position safely away from the slit windows.

“What happened, Impulse?” Bdubs asks softly. “How did they turn on you?”

Impulse takes a shaky breath. “Something happened to Skizz. He… He got attacked. Then he told everyone it was me and that I’d killed Tango and Cleo and manipulated you into killing Joel.”

“First of all, that’s utterly ridiculous,” Bdubs snaps. “I killed Joel because he was about to kill you. And second, why on earth would you want to kill Tango or Cleo?”

“I-I think you might’ve been right, Bdubs. I th-think Etho was responsible for Cleo’s death. And now he’s got Dogwarts trying to make me a scapegoat.”

Bdubs’s gaze darkens. “Despicable little-.”

“BDOUBLEO!”

“Stay there,” says Bdubs.

He strides to the window, flanked by Grian and Scott, armed with his crossbow. “What do you want, Ren?”

Down on the ground, having left Skizz in the care of BigB, stand Ren, Martyn, and Etho, staring up at the castle. The latter two hold bows, while Ren is armed with a sword and shield.

“We know Impulse is hiding out in there,” Ren announces, with the regal but dangerous air of a king. “Hand him over to us, Bdubs.”

“No way in hell,” Bdubs snaps back. “He told me everything!”

“We can guarantee you he did not,” responds Martyn steadily. “Not the truth, anyway. He’s using you, Bdubs.”

“YOU’re the ones using HIM! As a scapegoat!”

“Impulse isn’t the angel you think he is, Bdubs,” Etho says darkly. “You’re protecting the person who killed Cleo.”

“No, YOU killed Cleo,” snarls Bdubs. “And I bet you killed Tango too and tried to blame it on me! You’re just trying to frame anyone you can so you can get away with it!”

Despite the pain and stress he’s experiencing, Impulse can’t help feeling proud of himself. The seeds of doubt and suspicion he’s sown between Bdubs and Etho are paying off now.

“Bdubs.” Ren’s voice drops slightly as emotion creeps into his tone. “He attacked his best friend and left him to die. If we hadn’t found him in time, Skizz would have succumbed to his injuries alone and terrified in the middle of nowhere, murdered by his own best friend.”

“What exactly is Impulse’s motive supposed to be, here?” Scott asks suddenly. “You say he killed Tango and Cleo, orchestrated Joel’s death, and tried to murder Skizzle. Why exactly would he want to do that?”

“Skizz claims Impulse said it was because Tango “knew too much” about something,” Martyn says. “Some kind of secret that Impulse is keeping. And that Cleo’s and Joel’s deaths were “necessary to push the war forward”. That’s his motive, Scott. Impulse wants war, and he doesn’t care who he hurts to get it.”

“We ARE talking about the same Impulse, right?” demands Bdubs. “Our Impulse? The sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly? Are we sure Skizz didn’t just misremember? He's a little unreliable like that. Maybe he said it was someone else who-.”

“Don’t you dare!” Martyn bursts out suddenly, his voice filled with the most venom anyone had ever heard it. “Don’t you DARE say that! You weren’t there, Bdubs! You didn’t have to fix his broken ribs and his fractured neck and his shattered arm! You weren’t there when he finally woke up after several minutes of crying out and panicked breathing like he was having a nightmare! You didn’t hear the way he cried, how terrified he was when he told me what happened, the raw agony in his voice! That’s not the demeanor of someone who MISREMEMBERED! Skizz has gone through hell today and it’s all Impulse’s fault! So I’m not leaving here without his head, in one form or another!”

“YEAH!” Ren yells in agreement, hitting his sword against his shield. “No more arguments. No more wasting time. If you don’t give us Impulse right NOW, we will declare war on you and take him by force.”

Inside the crastle, Impulse’s heart skips a beat. This is it: the moment of truth. Either everything he’s been working towards will finally come to fruition… or Bdubs will hand him over and he will die.

Bdubs straightens up, a steely look of determination appearing in his eyes.

“Then consider us at war.”

[free-pancakes]

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: LeviHan Canon-Divergence fic Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price–particularly at Levi’s expense. Chapter 9/? Chapter 8 Chapter 7 Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

crossposted to ao3 here: link

notes: ahhh this one's long, I got carried away. but! hope you all like it! thanks for reading everyone, i think i'll be wrapping up this story in one more chapter after this!

CHAPTER 9

“Happy birthday, Levi!”

Kuchel gently shook the child awake, his big grey eyes blinking sleepily until he realized what day it was. He sat up quickly, a tiny smile on his face as Kuchel squeezed him tightly in a warm embrace.

“How old are you again, sweetie? I seemed to have lost count!”

Levi jumped up on his bed, fists pumped up in the air in triumph— “Mama, I’m 5 years old today!”

“Oh that’s right!” She said with a bright, yet tired grin. Stepping out into the kitchen, she had a small breakfast prepared for him, and reached to the countertop for a surprise. Levi burst out of their shared bedroom and sat at the table, waiting for his mother to sit with him. Next to him she placed down her cup of coffee.

Mouth full, Levi asks, “Aren’t you gonna eat with me, Mama?” Before he could try to give her half of what was on his plate, she whipped out a small cinnamon bun for him from behind her back.

His eyes sparkled as he saw the small pastry, something he had always dreamed of eating—one of the fancy-looking ones from the bakery window he would see on the other side of the underground.

“Once you finish all of your breakfast, you can have this, okay Levi?” He nodded earnestly, gobbling up the rest of his food before reaching for the bun. He tried to give her half, but she settled for a little bite, convinced by Levi’s little glare when she said she wouldn’t try any. Kuchel’s nearly empty stomach rumbled in hunger, but her heart was completely full as she watched her son eat a proper meal for once.

Luckily, she had the whole day free for him without having to leave him early for work. So, she took Levi for a walk to one place she had always wanted to take him—he was just old enough that he’d be able to keep this memory as he grew older, and she wanted him to remember and hold on to it for years to come.

They walked hand in hand until they reached a part of the underground that was very unfamiliar to Levi. Kuchel bent down to his height, and put her index finger up to her her lips, signaling him to keep quiet. Levi nodded, and followed her as she led him to a small ladder hidden amongst some abandoned buildings. When she reached the top, she reached down to hoist Levi up with her—and Levi covered his mouth to stifle a gasp. A tiny secluded area where some light from above ground escaped to shine on that very spot, there a bright patch of green grass with something quite beautiful in the middle...

Kuchel whispered as they crawled up to it together: “These are African violets, Levi,” she said with a smile as Levi’s eyes grew wide as he stared in awe. He had never seen real plants before, only in some of the few books he’s seen in his short 5 years of life. “They grow well in low light, like this spot right here!” She pointed to the grass and dirt underneath it— “Plants grow roots, which keep them grounded and so they can soak up water and nutrients to stay alive!”

“Wow,” Levi whispered as he looked, trying to imagine what the roots looked like below. “Mama, what happens if some of the roots ever get hurt?”

Kuchel tilted her head to the side, pleasantly surprised at her son’s curiosity. She chuckled, “Don’t worry Levi, even if some of the roots were to get severed or damaged, it’ll still continue living, and hopefully one day grow brand new roots in it’s place!”

Levi put one hand up to his forehead, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, thanks Mama, that’s good to know!” Kuchel smiled and ruffled his hair, and they both sat to stare at the violets together for a little while longer.

——

“Is the Captain finally asleep?”

“Yeah, I think so, Jean,” Armin answered. The two stood just outside the open door to the infirmary room Hange laid in, and saw Levi had fallen asleep sitting up in the chair they had placed in the room for him.

It had been an entire week since Hange was in this state, and it had felt like an eternity to all of them. But as much as it was bringing all of them down, they knew it was affecting Levi the most.

“I don’t think Captain Levi has slept all week… the bags under his eyes seemed a lot darker and more menacing than the usual.” “Connie, now’s not the time to joke around about this,” Jean retorted.

“I’m not joking! It’s the truth and you know it!”

Armin jumped in to separate the two. “Guys, calm down, you might wake him up—“

Out of nowhere, a sweet aroma lingered in the air, causing all three of them to stop, looking around for the source. Their eyes all fell upon Mikasa, holding a small paper box.

“I… got this from Niccolo’s bakery. I remember Hange mentioning to me once that he liked—“

“Oi, is that a cinnamon bun?”

All four of them jumped, startled from Levi suddenly joining them.

“Captain, I think maybe you should go back to sleep—“ Levi squeezed Mikasa’s shoulder and gently took the box from her hands.

“All rested. Connie, it’s your turn to watch over Hange,” Levi said as he walked away.

Once he disappeared around the corner, Connie, Armin, and Jean frowned at Mikasa.

“You knew this the whole time and didn’t tell us?? All we needed was a stupid cinnamon bun to get him off our tails all these years??”

“Ow!”

Mikasa smacked Connie upside the head, and she swiftly followed after Levi, leaving the three in her dust. They grumbled and shrugged it off, and Connie went in to look after Hange.

Levi sat outside looking out at the ocean water as the sun began to set, an empty box filled with crumbs in his lap. It had been a long time since he thought about his mother, the violets. He thought about how much she probably sacrificed just to get him that cinnamon bun for his birthday.

The memories gave him some relief for once—he was absolutely exhausted, a week without any sleep weighing down on his eyelids as he stood guard over Hange. For once, they had a win—they made it out alive. But now, he wasn’t so sure they really won, and his hopes were beginning to unravel.

He closed his eyes. “Just for a moment,” he thought. But before he knew it, he woke to the cover of night, and Mikasa sitting next to him.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Mikasa decided to break it. “Can I ask why this is your favorite?” She said as she pointed to the empty box in his hands. Before he would answer Mikasa, Levi looked up at the sky, staring at the stars shining above him.

——

Hange stared at the stars above her, wondering if the ones here in paths were the same ones Levi would be able to look up at right now.

“Come on, Zeke, there has to be another way!”

Zeke yelled back. “Hange, we’ve tried everything! We’ve been at this for who knows how long! It’s not like we could keep track of time here, for all we know, it’s been weeks!’

Hange felt anger surge within her heart.

“And what, so we stop trying??” She kicked, sending showers of sand flying towards Zeke. Thunder cracked and lightning flashed, drizzles of rain beginning to fall.

Hange held up her hand to catch raindrops. “See, we learned that this realm is clearly susceptible to emotions!” She spun a knife from her pocket, and slashed at the palm she held up. “And we cant turn into titans here, but we are still able to regenerate here…”

Steam arose from her wound, the skin of her palm gradually mending back together. Then she picked up a leaf, and as she rubbed it, it morphed into a baseball—“And that objects we find here can sometimes turn into something we most desire…”

She threw the ball at Zeke, who caught it carefully. As he looked down at it, it suddenly morphed into a baseball bat, smacking him right in the face.

Hange threw her head back and laughed, “…and we know that it doesn’t always do morph reliably!”

Zeke grumbled, rubbing his forehead right where the bat hit him. He couldn’t believe Hange still had this much energy. He was right at his limit of patience for all of this. In his opinion, it was all moot—they had tried so many different things, and the turnout was looking quite bleak.

“Hange, have you—“

“…And we found out that…”

“Hange.”

“AND we know that—“

Zeke stood up and grabbed her hand, forcing her to look at him.

“Hange, listen. Have you ever thought… that maybe… maybe you should just let this all, go?”

Hange’s bright expression slowly faded, a confused frown now left on her face.

“W-what?”

“I’m just saying, we’ve racked our brains for maybe a week. And maybe we should just focus on getting you back home and out of paths. We’re not even sure if we could do that, right?”

Hange turned away from Zeke, and remained silent.

Zeke spoke— “Just… maybe you should just let Levi go, Hange. He’s alive right, isn’t that all that should matter to you?”

Hange looked up towards the giant, glowing tree standing in the center of paths.

“Do you really think the tree doesn’t hold anything promising? I know you tried before I landed here, but…”

“Hange are you even listening to me??”

Zeke watched Hange’s back, her frame beginning to tremble. Of all the losses, the countless losses Levi and she had endured up until now—they deserved a win. And she wouldn’t give up on it. Ever. She balled both hands into fists, and stopped shaking, now still and firm in her decision.

“Zeke, defeat is all the Survey Corps has ever known.” She took a deep breath. “…But this time, I’m bringing us a win, whether you’re gonna help me or not.” She then made the trek towards the tree.

Zeke sat in the sand, dumbfounded. Hange was intriguing to him—he wondered how different things would have been if she ended up being a Marleyan Eldian instead one within the walls. Someone sharp like himself but… a lot more optimistic. That’s right. Might have done them all really well and maybe things would have turned out better for him and his comrades—none of them knew what they were missing here. He brushed both these pointless thoughts and the sand off himself, standing up to follow after her.

——

Mikasa spoke— “Just… maybe you should just let Hange go, Captain Levi. She’s alive right, isn’t that all that should matter to you?”

Levi kept walking as Mikasa followed behind him.

“Connie you can go, I’ll be here.” He saluted and hurried out as he saw Mikasa darting her eyes at Levi.

“Captain.” Levi didn’t answer and resumed his post next to Hange.

“Captain Levi, did… did you hear me?”

Levi remained seated, and did not look up towards Mikasa as he spoke: “You remember what Hange said, that day? In Shiganshina?” He took a quick pause. “…That ever since we joined the Survey Corps, every day has brought a new farewell?”

Mikasa’s heart dropped heavily at the memory, but she nodded.

“Well, I’m not ready to say farewell just yet.” Levi said with confidence. He had been thinking all this time that he’d pay the price of Hange being afraid of him, that he’d be happy if she was simply alive. Well, he knew in his heart that Hange wouldn’t be happy this way.

And he wouldn’t either.

So, he was putting his trust in her. If anyone could figure it out, it’d be Hange—and they deserved a win.

Levi took Hange’s hand in his, and brought it near his lips.

“I told Mikasa today about my 5th birthday. My mother, the violets… you remember right?”

He kissed her hand. He remembered when Hange asked him to take her the minute she told her—they spent the whole day looking for it, and luckily, they did find it. And they were still growing there after all this time.

“They grow well in low light…”

He laid his head on the bed next to her, yawning.

“…And even if a small section of roots get damaged, the flowers will still grow happily. And maybe someday, brand new roots can grow back in its place…”

Stealing a glance upwards towards Hange’s face, he swore he saw her smile before he drifted off to sleep.

——

Zeke stood in front of the giant tree with Hange. Her brows were furrowed, deep in thought.

“Hange, what’re you thinking?”

She swung her head back at Zeke, suddenly speaking a mile a minute. “Have you thought about how almost every curious thing in this realm has been activated by some kind of strong emotion? Feeling? Attachment??” She lowered her head, her fingers rubbing her chin, her eyes looking up in thought. “Well, not sure if exactly this, but you know I guess attachment applies to simply having strong feelings and—“

“Hange, Hange, slow down. What exactly are you implying?”

Hange was no longer talking, and now walking up to the tree.

“Strong feelings… a memory maybe…”

She felt drawn to it, and began reaching her hand up to the tree trunk, focusing on one of the happiest memories she had stored in her beautiful mind.

“Hange be careful! None of us has ever touched—“

Hange closed her eyes, focusing on the memory with a smile on her face, and gently placed her fingers over the bark burning a bright white light. Suddenly, yellow light began traveling between the bark’s crevices and nooks, slowly traveling to light up a whole section of the tree. A warm yellow glow covering only one section of branches to the top and going back down to where the visible portions of the tree ended in the sand.

The two looked in awe—it was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Why do you think—“ Zeke started, but simply couldn’t even finish his sentence in his shock.

Hange’s mind began racing, hypothesizing everything she could about what this might have meant, but out of nowhere, she felt like her heart stopped for a second, and it was as though she could hear Levi’s voice.

And her mind quieted, one particular memory coming to mind. She smiled and closed her eyes.

“Aw Levi…” she breathed out. “Thanks for reminding me of that memory…”

“Did you say something?” Zeke asked, only to find Hange shoot her head up, her eyes wild.

“Wait!” Hange yelled.

Was this the answer?

“The roots! Zeke!”

With a whooshing noise, the baseball bat from earlier suddenly morphed into a shovel. Hange began digging impatiently with her hands, pushing sand away to follow the portion of the tree lit with a yellow glow, following it down deep to reveal its roots.

Zeke was confused, but didn’t question her determination. He ran to grab the shovel and began to dig alongside her.

They dug for what felt like hours, and finally collapsed breathing heavily, arms aching, sweat dripping from their foreheads. Most of the root formation had been uncovered, still continuing to give off an inviting, warm, yellow glow.

They looked at the extensive network beneath them. Now curious, Zeke decided to reach out and touch a portion of the roots. When his fingers made contact, before his eyes flashed a memory.

He gasped and fell backwards.

“What! What’s wrong??” Hange rushed to Zeke’s side.

“It’s… Mr. Ksaver.”

Hange tilted her head to the side. “Mr. who?”

“I—“

Zeke paused, thinking. It was Mr. Ksaver’s memory of them playing catch, not his own. It wasn’t from his viewpoint so…

He followed the network and then touched a place a bit further down. He watched a memory, and did the same, touching yet another part farther down the line.

“Hange…”

She looked at him earnestly.

“I think… these are beast titan memories right here. I think, they may be lifetime memories of shifters….”

Hange’s jaw dropped. Zeke paused—one more to confirm his suspicions.

He reached, but stopped. He decided to take Hange’s hand.

“Let’s look together, okay?”

Both of them reached their hands towards the farthest end of the root network. “This would theoretically be your body’s most recent memory,” Zeke announced, raising an eyebrow at Hange.

Hange nodded back at him, ready to see.

Together, they touched the root end—they saw Hange’s body laying completely still and unconscious on an infirmary bed. Levi was there, asleep while holding her hand with his head lying on the bed next to her, an empty pastry box sitting on the table next to him, Mikasa sitting nearby, finishing paperwork in the dim lamp light.

[spicycreativity]

Intertwined - Chapter 4

Chapter: 4/8

Additional Notes: My AO3, WizardGlick, is 3 chapters ahead on this. Critical thinking exercise: Read the following Twin Peaks quote and consider how it related to Intertwined and to post-PoF as a whole:

WINDOM EARLE: What do you fear most in the world?

MAJOR BRIGGS: The possibility that love is not enough.

Chapter Content Warnings: Again, it's a hanahaki fic.

Excerpt: "Here's what I want you to do," Janus said, and his voice was surprisingly tender given the hard look on his face. "Cook for yourself. Don't make something you can take to the others later. Don't make something to share with me. I'm giving you a free pass to be selfish."

Yesterday, Patton supposed, could have gone worse. He had haunted the kitchen after his departure from Janus, begging the mindscape for some sort of hint. Like the answer to all their troubles was lurking in Thomas’ subconscious, just out of reach.

When morning came, he returned to Roman and Logan's rooms, was again rebuffed, and so floated back to the kitchen, made himself some coffee, and sat down at the counter. Again, he reached out with his mind for some kind of reassurance. He had to fix this. There had to be something he could do.

A 5,000 piece puzzle appeared in front of Patton. The image on the box was that of dogs playing poker, captioned A Friend in Need. The subconscious was funny sometimes, in a way that made Patton feel kind of sick and hollow. He opened the box and shook the puzzle pieces put onto the counter. It was a way to pass the time, at least.

A few hours crawled by. Patton’s hands began to shake from the caffeine, and he knew he should eat something, but… It almost didn’t seem worth the effort. He was happy to cook for his fam-ILY, but, when it was just him, what was the point? He put down another edge piece and flinched at the sudden appearance of Virgil in front of the coffee pot. Virgil had made himself scarce after yesterday’s meeting, only reappearing to turn down Patton’s offer of dinner. Patton couldn’t even blame him. How terrible, to wake up after a bad day and find your friends inconsolable and enemies at your door.

“Hi,” Patton said. Finding faux-happiness out of reach, he settled for ‘not completely miserable’ instead.

“Did you eat?” Virgil asked, pouring coffee into a purple mug decorated with this logo.

Patton saw no reason to lie, not about this. “Not yet. I got a little distracted.”

“Mm-hm,” said Virgil.

“Listen,” Patton said, already getting up to make toast. “Are you okay?”

Virgil shrugged and opened up another cabinet. “Want some orange juice?”

"Um, sure." Patton got out the bread and popped a few slices into the toaster. "Thank you."

"No prob." Virgil stood on his toes and got down two glasses, pivoted to the fridge for the orange juice.

"It's just," Patton said, "You don’t seem very upset?" It wasn't that Virgil was necessarily acting upbeat , but… Well, Patton had been expecting something more intense than Virgil's baseline levels of casualty.

"I am," Virgil said. "But I also want orange juice."

"Oh." Patton fell silent. His own feelings were so big and loud in his head they didn't really leave room for anything else. In the light of everything that had happened, Virgil's response felt cold. Patton had half a mind to tell him so, except that… Well, he had no room to talk about 'proper' emotional responses to things. If this was how Virgil wanted to navigate the situation, that was his right. "Did you talk to Roman yesterday?"

"Sorta." Virgil put the orange juice back, scooted a glass to Patton, and took a seat on the counter. "He said he wasn't ready to talk, but might be soon."

"To you?"

"Yeah." Virgil's expression was cloudy. "To me."

"That's a lot," Patton said, treading cautiously. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Virgil's knuckles went white around his glass, so much that Patton was worried he might break it. "Oh, there's plenty I want to say," he said darkly. "To you and to-- to him."

"Janus," Patton said, feeling it important, somehow, to say his name.

"Yeah. To Janus."

"You can," Patton said. "To me. I won't get mad."

"I just don't understand!" Virgil said, the words exploding from his chest. "What did he say to you to make you trust him? After everything he did to Roman, to you, to Thomas! What did he say?" It was almost a plea, "What did he say?"

"I already told you, kiddo," Patton said, poking at the water droplets collecting on the side of his glass, unable to remember that they were called. Logan would know. "I made a choice to trust him."

"But why ?"

"I don't know, I just-- I felt something. I don't know if I can explain it in a way you can understand. I just got it. I understood what it was all for. "

"So, what, he just gets a free pass for treating us all like crap? Just gets to talk his way out of consequences?"

"Well, no." Patton kicked the toes of his loafers against the molding under the counter. "But I don't know that it would do any good to… punish him? Be cold, be mean, yell at him. What's done is done. I'm not asking you to forgive him."

"Good, 'cause I don't."

"But I also need you to understand that I made my choice and I'm committing to it. I…" Patton smiled sadly, gazing at the countertop without really seeing it. "I gave my word, in a way."

"Fine," Virgil growled. "But if he hurts you, if he does what he did to Roman and Logan, I swear, I swear--" Patton covered his ears briefly and Virgil seemed to get the message. "Well. I'll avenge you."

"Thanks, Virgil." Patton smiled again, happier this time, and looked Virgil in the face. It really wasn't all that long ago that he had thought of Virgil as an enemy. And now look at them. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"You are?"

"Of course I am! You've been a really good friend to, to all of us. And I'm so happy--"

"Stop," Virgil said, pulling up his hood. "Stop, stop, stop."

"Aw, did I make you blush?" Patton teased.

"Yeah," Virgil said, his voice breaking on that one syllable. He cleared his throat. "Let's not-- I'm gonna--"

"Is something wrong?" Patton asked, already reaching out for a hug. Virgil couldn't see him with his face buried in his hood, so Patton stopped short and let his arms fall to his sides.

"I just, uh." Virgil took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, swept his hood back with a jerky motion. "Sometimes I don't feel like I deserve all this."

"Oh, kiddo, of course you do!" Patton said, again holding out his arms for a hug. Virgil instead held out his hand, and Patton took it in his own, determined to communicate all the love and devotion he could through that simple contact. He smiled at the matching weave of their friendship bracelets, smiled at the memory of sitting side-by-side with Virgil as they both struggled with five-strand braids.

Virgil nodded, and his breathing was still shaky and spastic when he said, "I'm gonna go-- I'm not going off to cry all by myself, if, uh, if you're worried about that. I just need… Uh. Yeah."

Patton nodded, hurriedly snatching the half-cooked toast from the toaster and imagining it smeared with Crofter’s and butter, arranged neatly on a plate. "Okay!" He said with false cheer, passing the plate to Virgil. "Come get me if you need anything! Maybe we can watch Ghost Adventures tonight."

"Sounds good," Virgil said, slightly muffled around his hand, as he was chewing at his thumbnail. "Later." He sank out.

Patton sighed and stared at their untouched orange juice glasses. Even when he was trying to fix things, he made people upset.

A drop of water slid down the side of Virgil's glass, pooled on the countertop. Patton stared at it as another followed.

What did it truly mean to deserve something, anyway? It was something Janus would probably have an opinion on. He seemed to have opinions on most things. Maybe Patton could ask him in a bit.

“Did you need me for something?

Oh, okay, or Patton could ask him now. He turned, unsmiling to Janus. It wasn’t that he wasn’t cheered by Janus’ presence, but that he had no reason to lie. Janus had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't depending on Patton for anything. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to steal you.”

“No harm, no foul,” Janus said, and sighed so heavily his breath displaced a few puzzle pieces. “As you can see, I was hard at work.” Despite this claim, he wore a hard, annoyed expression and Patton remembered with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was dealing with a liar. "Did you need help with your puzzle?" Janus asked.

Just like that, Patton's heart leapt. "You'll stay?"

Janus shrugged. "I suppose I can clear a space in my schedule."

Patton stood to get him some coffee. The pot was empty, but it was simple enough to imagine it full again. Ordinarily, he disliked the laziness of misusing Thomas' imagination, but he couldn't deny that it was convenient sometimes. He could tell he was on the brink of annoying Janus (somehow) and didn't want to risk pushing him over the edge. "Have you eaten?"

"Have you?" Janus asked, side-eyeing the remaining slices of toast sitting in the toaster. Patton had forgotten all about them.

"I guess it slipped my mind," Patton turned around and set a coffee mug on the counter in front of Janus, then rounded it to sit down again. He tried not to notice that Janus had scooted his chair away from Patton's, that he leaned on his elbow so they were even farther apart.

"Hm," said Janus, making a face. He didn't push it, and Patton was grateful for that. "Oh, and thank you."

"Of course," Patton said.

He watched Janus for a moment. He handled the puzzle pieces with difficulty, his gloves impeding his ability to pick them up. When he realized he was staring, he turned away and started fitting more edge pieces into place.

He couldn't decide if the quiet was pleasant or awkward. It was kind of nice, kind of domestic, sitting here with Janus, but he couldn't help but feel a kind of tension in the air.

Then Janus turned away and started coughing. Patton reached out to put a hand on his back, caught himself, pulled away. The deep, jagged sound made him cringe. He was no stranger to coughing fits, none of them were, brought on by Thomas' cat allergy. But this had come out of nowhere.

"You okay?" Patton asked when Janus resurfaced. Maybe he was just projecting, but he thought Janus looked a little pale on his human side.

"It's warmer today, isn't it?" Janus said, not looking at Patton.

"Huh?"

"It's not as cold. Roman seems to have gotten ahold of himself somewhat."

"Um, yeah, I guess." Patton furrowed his brow, trying to get a good look at Janus. "But Janus, are you okay?"

"Fine," said Janus. "Just inhaled some coffee, that's all."

But his hands shook as he slid a blue puzzle piece down the counter, and Patton was already halfway out of his seat before he even realized what he was doing. "You know, I think I will make breakfast."

"A little late now," Janus said. "By the way, did you really call me all the way down here just to work on a puzzle?"

"So brunch, then," Patton said. "And to be honest, no."

"Oh, do be honest," Janus said, leaning against the counter and resting his chin in his palm.

But Patton's priorities had shifted beyond philosophical debate. He had to take care of Janus now, get him comfortable, get him honest. He had to. "It's not important anymore."

"Hm," said Janus. He cleared his throat quietly, winced. "Well, now I'm not curious at all."

"It's okay," Patton said, trying for a reassuring smile. "We can talk about it later." He spun around, trying to decide what to make. Toast sounded wholly unappealing now, and he should choose something that would be easy on Janus' throat--

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, by the way," Janus said.

"Making brunch?" Patton said with faux-innocence.

"Mm-hm. And what did you have in mind?"

"Soup."

"Patton," Janus said in a chastising tone. "I don't need you to take care of me. I need you to take care of you."

"That cough sounded like it hurt," Patton said, defeated.

Janus sat back and spread his arms out as though to show himself to Patton. "It did. It went away on its own. I'm fine."

Patton wasn't sure what to say to that. He scratched at his friendship bracelets, embarrassed. "Oh."

"Here's what I want you to do," Janus said, and his voice was surprisingly tender given the hard look on his face. "Cook for yourself. Don't make something you can take to the others later. Don't make something to share with me. I'm giving you a free pass to be selfish."

"But that's wrong!" Patton said reflexively. He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but it wasn't like he could take them back. "Not for you," he hastened to explain. "That's your job. But me?"

"I can't very well be selfish for you," Janus said. He seemed annoyed, digging his fingers into both sides of his midriff in a way that looked decidedly painful. "Just try it. It won't be the end of the world."

And Patton wanted to. He didn't want to let Janus down, but… Where did it end? Where did it stop?

"Patton," Janus said. "I can see you catastrophizing."

"Sorry," said Patton, feeling close to tears. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I just… I don't know who I am or what I want or if I'm even allowed to want."

"Breakfast, Patton. That's all. One little thing."

"Okay," Patton took a deep breath. Calm down. Make food. He could do that.

"There's nothing else," Janus said. "Just us, right now. Just this room. No consequences."

"Okay," Patton said. Cinnamon rolls. He wanted mini cinnamon rolls.

"Good," said Janus. "You're okay." He cleared his throat again, coughed a little behind closed lips. Patton forced himself not to notice, knowing that it would make Janus annoyed if he pointed it out or tried to help.

"I hope so," Patton muttered, half to himself, as he got his ingredients together. A phrase popped into his head and he shouted it out impulsively, "Mise en place!"

"Bless you?" Janus said, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no." Patton smiled. "Getting all your ingredients together. Mise en place."

"Ah," said Janus. He smiled too, his human eye crinkling at the corner. Patton almost sighed at the sight. Janus seemed to hold himself above human standards sometimes. He presented himself as something cold and pure, unbreakable and untouchable and utterly perfect. There was something so beautiful about seeing him step down from the pedestal. Janus seemed to notice Patton staring and turned away, surprisingly demure. "How about some music?"

A turntable appeared on the counter, spinning something inoffensive and charmingly lo-fi. "That's nice," Patton said. He didn't recognize the artist, but it didn't really matter. The music seemed to slide into the cracks of their conversation, filling out the empty spaces and projecting calm throughout the kitchen.

So Patton made cinnamon rolls and Janus worked on the puzzle while he sipped his coffee, and they both pretended not to notice the ragged coughs that Janus couldn't bury under the music no matter how hard he tried.

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived - Chapter 17: An Old Friend

This is chapter 17 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo (briefly), Ranboo (briefly), George, Sapnap (briefly)

Word count: 3816

Cw: playful violence, overstepping boundaries, brief discussions of loneliness, tension between characters, food (technically)

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Silence lingered after Tubbo left. It loomed in the air as Wilbur stayed frozen in place. 

He quietly sighed as a familiar ghost wandered into his thoughts, “So the door closing was Tubbo leaving?”

Wilbur quietly muttered, “Yeah.”

“I think we- you should go talk to him.”

Wilbur threw his head back in annoyance. “It’s not that simple.”

Ghostbur sighed, “I know, but they always say trying is half the battle.” The words were quieter than the air around them. Wilbur slumped against the wall for a moment. 

“I think I should just leave.” Wilbur didn’t even think about the words, it was just a universal thought that hovered over his mind.

“You and Tubbo are a little rough right now, but Michael would still miss you.” 

Wilbur let out a dry laugh. Ranboo barely knew him and Michael was just asked to go away from him. He pushed himself away from the wall, “How about we go on a small walk then?” The tiredness in his voice was present. Ghostbur was either too kind to point it out or he simply didn’t notice. Wilbur couldn’t guess which was more likely.

“We’re gonna come back though right?” Wilbur recognized hope in the ghost’s voice, one that he didn’t want to crush.

So instead of the truth, he muttered out, “Yeah.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, more so a slight twist on the answer Ghostbur wanted. Besides, Ghostbur probably didn’t have the attention span to even think about coming back. Wilbur was glad Ghostbur couldn’t hear his thoughts.

He opened the door to Michael’s room and proceeded to walk down the stairs slowly. He noticed the lack of sound in the house, his quiet footsteps echoing slightly. The air felt tight in his chest as he looked around. 

He peaked around the stairs, seeing a distant room that Ranboo was in. His back was turned from Wilbur as two pale arms were wrapped around his torso. He quickly realized it was probably a hug being exchanged between the two. He felt an awkwardness that persisted in his mind any time he saw Ranboo and Tubbo interact. It made him realize just how much he desired the past. Even if it wasn’t as good as now, with all the fighting and arguing, it felt much better than this solitude that lingered around him.

Besides, the quickest way to form a connection with someone was through a shared enemy. He supposed he was the enemy for a lot of people.

He tore his eyes away from the scene as he walked to the front door of the house, closing the door silently behind him.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once he was outside again. The cold was a nice refresher to the stale air that filled the house. He walked peacefully in the snow, not even noticing that he was walking to the nether portal before he was right in front of it. He stopped his actions when he realized, quickly thinking through the pros and cons of just leaving. 

Michael was too little to properly acknowledge who he was. Ranboo wasn’t fond of him. Tubbo couldn’t stand him.

It was all to be expected, and Wilbur had been a fool for letting comfort settle even for just a moment. One of the most important lessons from the wars, and the election, was that things were constantly moving along. Things had been moving along without Wilbur for a long time now, even if it wasn’t for as long as he’d originally anticipated. It occurred to him that he’d sought refuge with Tubbo far too many times since he was revived. A hint of a home that no longer existed. Tubbo had treated Wilbur decently ever since they had their first proper conversation. 

Wilbur, the fool he’d apparently become, had accepted every crumb of it like a starving dog. He’d relied on the friendly banter and the mansion with open doors. He’d relied on the voice of the kind ghost within his mind, that was forced to spend time with him anyhow. Wilbur had taken every bit of kindness from the people who merely tolerated him, and wasn’t that pathetic? That wasn’t what Wilbur Soot was supposed to stand for. He used to be so much stronger than that, holding the world in his own hands, and being the commander of a nation, rather than just a pathetic shell desperately seeking kindness and safety.

He stepped into the nether portal, the whisps of it filling his mind.

He wandered through the scalding heat absentmindedly, before the familiar voice of the ghost chimed in. “Wait, are you in the nether?”

Wilbur slowed down for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Oh…” Ghostbur said, his voice going much quieter, “You didn’t tell me.”

Wilbur inhaled sharply at the realization. He was moments away from cursing but stopped himself in time. He facepalmed and groaned at his own forgetfulness, “Shoot, I forgot.” 

There was hesitance in the air and no immediate response.

“Sorry,” Wilbur said, and he meant it. Promises meant nothing, but apparently, Wilbur couldn’t even hold up the simplest ones. The ones that it would cause nothing constructive to break.

“It’s okay- but…” Ghostbur trailed off slightly.

“Yeah?” Wilbur said, continuing across the bridge.

“Are we…” Ghostbur sounded like he was trying to find the right words, “Are we actually going back to Tubbo and Ranboo?”

Wilbur let out a breath. “I mean, yeah,” he said with a shrug. The truth was, he had little to no idea where exactly he was going, or where he was returning. Everything was a mess in his mind. 

“Then why are you going to the nether?” Ghostbur asked, “Oh, do you just really like walking?”

“Uhhh.” Wilbur rubbed the side of his head with a hand as if it would clear the fog in his mind, and allow him to speak words that made any sort of sense. “I just wanted to check on Friend?” he said, realizing it sounded far too much like a question, and was far too close to a lie, “I was gonna surprise you. But I don’t want you to be worried.” He let a smile slip across his lips on instinct, even if Ghostbur couldn’t see it.

The excited gasp from Ghostbur indicated that Wilbur had said the right thing. That was the most important part. Why exactly it ached in his chest, however, was unknown. “Oh yay! I love him so much.” Ghostbur said happily, sounding relieved, “You’re such a good friend. I don’t know why I didn’t trust you!”

Wilbur hid the grim darkness settling in his throat at those words with a breathless chuckle. “Y-yeah.” he simply said, as he continued walking towards the next portal.

Upon his arrival at the ruins of L’Manberg again, Wilbur realized the promise held little to no weight at all. The sheep wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and that shouldn’t have been surprising to him whatsoever. He gratingly remembered the way Tommy had stayed close to it, trying to drag it away from Wilbur, as the air around them grew more and more desperate. He remembered the fear in the boy’s eyes, and the memory sent a numbing strike of a blade through his stomach. For a moment, the pain on his face seemed almost entirely fresh again.

It was kind of funny too. How out of all the places on the server, one he’d found himself repeatedly returning to, was his own unfinished symphony. Perhaps the thought to finish it remained too loud in his mind.

But he had other priorities, ones that seemed to be fleeing him quickly. The ones that danced around his mind tauntingly. At first, he considered a new nation or even just a community that united under his rule. That required people he didn’t have. He tried to be part of a family or just making friends in general. That required people that he didn’t have. He wanted Ghostbur to still be able to experience life through him. That required people he didn’t fucking have.

As if he needed them. He spent thirteen and a half years in limbo. He could spend some time by himself solving his own problems. 

So he settled on an objective that no one else had, and he didn’t need much help to achieve. Getting Ghostbur out of his mind. He didn’t know if it was even possible, yet it felt nice to have a mission for once instead of wandering aimlessly and interacting with whoever he saw first. 

He laid out the bullet points in his mind. He wanted to start with the library, but Tubbo’s trust in him was already so thin. He thought about Dream, but the man was locked behind bars. He considered the thought of someone who knew Dream, which didn’t seem to have any immediate cons.

He ran through his mind of who knew Dream well. He roughly guessed anyone that was his ally knew him decently, but from there it was the question of who would tell him what they knew.

He decided to walk out of the crater of L’Manberg and closer to the town. The walk was quite nice as he occasionally described the view for Ghostbur. There wasn’t much detail, just the tree leaves gently swaying and how the shapes of shadows the buildings left looked.

“Are there clouds in the sky?”

Wilbur looked up for a moment, turning around slightly. “Not that I can see.” When he looked back down, he saw a person wearing a blue shirt in the distance. He tilted his head as he walked, turned on the path, and walked closer to them. It took him a while to identify them due to the sun in his eyes, but he eventually realized it was George. The George that was very close to Dream and presumably wasn’t on negative terms with Wilbur. The George that could be quite useful. He slipped a small smile onto his face as he jogged towards the man. He muttered towards Ghostbur, the smile showing in his voice, “Slight change of plans, Ghostie. We’re chatting with an old friend.”

Ghostbur gasped, “Oh which one?”

George heard Wilbur’s footsteps and turned towards the sound. A confused smile came across his face, but he did a small wave nonetheless. When Wilbur arrived where George was as he happily exclaimed, “George, it’s been forever!” He held a hand out and when George latched onto it, he pulled them both in for a quick hug. It burned so wonderfully, but Wilbur made himself pull away. “How have you been?” George still seemed shocked, “I- I’ve been good, but you’re alive!” He ran a hand through his hair, slightly messing it up along the way.

Wilbur grinned at him, “Yeah! I’m back and better than ever.”

“Wow, that’s really great. Glad to see you again,” he said, looking at him with a lot of disbelief, as if he was still processing the sight, but seemingly didn’t intend to question him too much about it. That was a nice change of pace. It wasn’t as if Wilbur understood either.

Wilbur nodded, “You as well. Where you heading?”

George shrugged, “Mostly just taking a walk. You?”

“Same.”

“You wanna catch up? Oh- you’ve gotta see the prank I’m pulling on Tommy.”

“I’ll come along and see it myself.” George started walking again, and Wilbur followed suit. George was on his side- literally and figuratively- all he had to do was to gently bring up Dream and propose a few questions. It didn’t seem too difficult. So he continued with George, the conversation flowing surprisingly easily between them. They ended up at Tommy’s house rather quickly. Perhaps Wilbur was having a pleasant conversation for once.

Tommy’s house was small and made of dirt, something that surprised Wilbur quite a bit. Small and underwhelming, even after so long, and Wilbur wondered why Tommy still lingered there. A strange, very small part of him almost hoped that the house would expand. Wilbur left too much of a remarkable impact for Tommy to reside in somewhere so small and meaningless.

George took off his backpack once they were there, carefully placing it on the floor. He pulled out two cartons of eggs. He snickered as he handed one carton to Wilbur and kept one for himself. He grinned at Wilbur, as he picked up one, throwing it at Tommy’s house with force, as it splattered on the dirt wall. 

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows with slight surprise as he opened the carton, picking out an egg from inside when he had a bad feeling in his chest. It almost stabbed him out of nowhere, a pang of strong guilt about an action he hadn’t even committed yet. 

Yet, what had Tommy done for him? 

The thought settled like his own grip on a gun that he knew he knew exactly how to use. A familiar lack of faith in those around him, because they knew Wilbur was a villain, just as he knew himself. Once everything went wrong they would inevitably turn against him. He knew as much. It had been proven to him time and time again. He clenched the egg for a moment, accidentally creating a small crack in its surface, as George was already halfway through his carton. He turned to Wilbur, a big grin on his face. “Come on! The guy’ll be furious, it’ll be hilarious.”

George looked at Wilbur for a long moment, the grin barely fading, but wavering just a little. Wilbur huffed, and threw the egg towards the house. It landed with a faint ‘crack’, splattering all over the bottom of the wall. A smirk lingered on Wilbur’s lips, as George laughed.

 Though the feeling in his chest stayed just the same, because what exactly was Wilbur trying to gain? He remembered the sting of Tommy’s eyes, glaring at him, as if Wilbur was everything that was wrong in the world.

We were like family.

A lot of good that did them.

He picked up another egg, and threw it at the house with a little more force, though as it cracked against the wall, he noticed his hand was shaking. George shouted over to him, “Yeah, like that!”

“What are you doing?” Ghostbur asked. Wilbur was thankful he couldn’t reply.

He held another egg, his gaze settling on George for a moment. He stared for a second too long as he soon released it. The throw coming off weaker than he intended. George’s voice was one parallel to an eye roll, “Oh, C’mon. The leader of L’Manberg can throw better than that.” George moved closer to Wilbur, standing right next to him. He raised his eyebrows, “Do I seriously need to teach you how to throw something?”

Wilbur scoffed, “Oh you wish.” On impulse, he threw the egg directly at George’s shirt. He felt that familiar guilt for a moment. The one that foreshadowed George leaving just like everyone else. But in the moment, everything was fine. 

George just chuckled as he dramatically complained, “My favorite shirt!” He took an egg from his carton and smashed it on Wilbur’s face.  Wilbur wiped off the egg yolk and cracked shell, starting to slowly approach George.

“Wilbur, no,” George’s laugh swirled in Wilbur’s mind. Wilbur quickly ran up to him, effectively tackling him as he was pinned. Wilbur didn’t hesitate to smash the egg in George’s face. 

George groaned, “Dream, why do you always have to do this?” He chuckled near the end as Wilbur’s grin dimed. 

“Dream?”

George stopped smiling instantly, a look of recoil coming across his face. “Sorry, sorry, I just saw the fingerless gloves for a moment. I…” George gently sighed, “Let’s just pretend it never happened.” Wilbur distantly nodded. Another person was only around him because of someone he was not. Wilbur tried to hide how hurt he felt instead grabbing another egg and gently handing it to George. The man with goggles nodded and threw the egg hard on the front wall.

It almost reminded Wilbur of simpler times. Where pranks were pulled in good fun, with mild anger following, soon to be forgotten. When grudges were minor and actions didn’t turn into blood feuds. Though there was something in the way George looked at the house, that made Wilbur feel that this wasn’t just done in good fun. Few things were anymore. That was one thing that had been different, even last time Wilbur was alive. “What are you standing around for?” George asked, “I’m colorblind and I can see several eggs left in your carton.”

George was looking at Wilbur as if it was a test. If there was anything Wilbur fucking hated it was being tested. It indicated that someone else had the upper hand, and was going to use it against him, if he didn’t live up to their expectations. Wilbur caught himself scowling for a moment, before smiling lightly. “Yeah, sure.” He said, “Though I actually had something I wanted to ask you.”

George threw his last egg, cracking it against the window with no hesitation. “Yeah? What is it?” he asked absentmindedly. 

Wilbur let out a sharp breath, clenching the carton in his hand. He liked the way it slowly broke under his command. “You know how I was… Revived?”

George raised an eyebrow, dropping the empty carton on the ground. He laughed, “Yeah? I’m looking at you right now.”

“Right,” Wilbur said, straightening his back, and cracking his neck, as he threw his cartoon towards the house, most of the eggs breaking on the ground. George watched confusedly. “And I suppose you are aware that Dream was the one who did it?”

George frowned, the look in his eyes changing abruptly. “He did?”

It was the look of someone who’d suffered a loss, and it was strange, to see that in regards to Dream. It was strange because the look was given because of a person everyone else seemed to have agreed to hate with little hesitation. “Yes,” Wilbur confirmed, stepping a bit closer. George stood his ground. “Are you sure you didn’t know?”

George shook his head and shrugged, “How should I know? The guy’s in jail.”

Wilbur knew enough about George, to recognize when he was on the defensive. He huffed. “Even if you didn’t know that, I was just wondering if you knew anything else?” He watched George take a step back, and it sparked something in Wilbur’s chest. Wilbur being in control. The powerful commander, who won back L’Manberg, and declared it independent. The one whose voice everyone listened to during the war meetings. “Dream was your friend, wasn’t he? If anyone knew about his ability to revive people beforehand, surely it’d be you?”

Hurt settled on George’s face. He shook his head. “I didn’t know anything.”

“Have you visited him yet?” Wilbur asked, barely acknowledging George’s words. Information. He needed information, and he would get it this time around. “I’m sure he misses you.”

That seemed to strike a nerve, as George’s eyes widened for a moment. He closed them and shook his head against the ground. “No,” he said, sounding far too much like someone who tried to sound like they didn’t care.

The realization that George was uncomfortable, hit Wilbur early on. It reminded him of the way Tommy scowled at him. The quiet dismissal of Wilbur’s questions.

Yet what did Wilbur care about exactly? 

He’d been desperately cowering for so long, seeking approval, and any crumb of tolerance of his presence. And George had tolerated him, even if some of it was just a moment of remembering someone he lost. It was funny how George, his old enemy, seemed to have any respect left for Wilbur.

Though it wasn’t respect. Not really. George was testing Wilbur, and Wilbur was going to test him back. Wilbur was no longer going to rely on those who tried to care about the new him. About the him, who had spent thirteen and a half years at a train station, yet hadn’t changed at all. They were expecting someone else, and that was fine. Perhaps Wilbur shouldn't have expected them to even care in the first place. It was too naïve of a goal and much too optimistic for his liking. It was almost similar to the blinded confidence he possessed in Pogtopia, allowing help to be given to him with nothing to be given in return, only to be unsurprisingly betrayed in the end. The cycle repeated until he betrayed himself. A tragic flaw, a dramatic end, an end to a life-long monologue- call it what it was, but he was alone.

In Pogtopia, Wilbur had realized he was alone too far in.

In the ruins of L’Manberg, by the house of his old right hand man, years and months later, Wilbur had gotten used to that feeling.

“Why don’t you let me know what happened while I was gone? Fill me in from another side of history! Because the wars don’t matter anymore, George. I just want to know what I missed.” Wilbur smirked, as he watched George shake just slightly. Wilbur stepped closer, George walking backwards towards Tommy’s house. “Surely that isn’t so hard?”

“I have nothing to do with him anymore, you understand? He’s in prison, and you’re alive.” George said, the words sounding sharp, “That’s all I know.”

“Come on, surely I’m not that untrustworthy?” Wilbur tried to make it sound like a joke, “Tell me, was it a relief when I was gone? Did it lift any weights off your shoulders? Off of Dream’s?” The comment was barely related, though it came out of Wilbur, as if it had been urging to for years. A little requiem from an enemy. Not that Wilbur had considered George much of an enemy back then, but perhaps to the other side it was different. 

He was surprised when George looked him straight in the eyes. While George looked so small as he stood there, and despite how his voice wavered, for a moment he almost looked confident. “I didn’t want you to die. You were a good guy,” George said. “I can tell you that much.”

Wilbur almost didn’t comprehend the words. His face twisting strangely, as he watched George standing right by the wall, caught up in a corner. The words made no sense at all, because that wasn’t how anyone was supposed to view him. Not someone from another side. It was almost laughable, that George knew so very little about Wilbur. Yet, for a brief moment, he was at a loss of words.

“What the fuck is happening?” a new voice chimed in.

Wilbur turned his head abruptly, surprised that anyone was around. He was met by the sight of Sapnap, looking at the scene with confusion and concern.

[olligreen]

No Bad Student | 3 -- Nice Things

{C}

Pairing: Lawrusso (Daniel x Johnny) Genre: Angst Warnings: Emotionally-abusive parent mentioned briefly Word count: 1566 Summary: KK2 AU in which Johnny ends up living with Miyagi and Daniel for the summer. Inspired by nadianecromancer’s comic, but I’ll try to avoid making any scenes similar to the ones they already did! Notes: This was originally posted on Ao3 here. I’m much more used to that format than this one, but I’ve seen a lot of people post their fics here and thought I’d give it a shot.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The dust had only just settled as Johnny’s car pulled up beside one of the tarp-covered vehicles in Miyagi’s lot. It didn’t belong there, Daniel thought, like a hyena in a pack of dogs. Daniel stood guard as Miyagi paid no mind to it at all, heading back to his work promptly, as if leading him there was just another errand he completed.

Johnny slammed his door with no malice, but the sound still tensed his rival’s shoulders. They met eyes momentarily before he set out toward Miyagi, his steps purposeful. He stopped a few feet from him, crossing his arms and glaring.

Miyagi gave him a nod but was otherwise unbothered.

“So what’s this problem you were talking about?” He spat out caustically.

“Talk later.”

“What? What do you mean? I’m here, my car’s here, now tell me what’s going on.”

“Talk later,” Miyagi demanded.

“This is unbelievable! What am I supposed to do until then?”

Miyagi ceased his work, looking up at him. “Don’t know. Go home?”

Johnny’s eyes drifted back toward the car without his intention as he searched for a proper response. “How the hell am I supposed to go home without my car?”

Miyagi turned his head to Daniel, who was watching from the very edge of hearing distance. Johnny followed Miyagi’s gaze and scoffed, not hiding any aspect of his frustration.

Daniel’s brows shifted. “No! No way! I’m not driving him around!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Johnny retorted.

“It means I’m not doin’ it, dumbass! What do you think?”

Johnny’s eyes widened with rage. The same, purposeful steps sent him rapidly closer to Daniel.

Fear struck him just as aggressively as before, but he hid it well, as still and composed as a statue. “Look, I’m just saying, man, we’re not friends. I don’t want you around.”

“Yeah?” Johnny stepped close enough that their difference in height forced Daniel to look upward. He hovered there for a moment, letting his dominant stature assert itself before he spoke. “Well, I’m right here. What’re you gonna do about it, LaRusso?”

A sigh sounded from behind Johnny as Miyagi gave him a gentle push, bringing him back a few steps. Still, Johnny’s glare was locked on his opponent, whose defenses crumbled as soon as they separated, eyes looking anywhere but forward.

“Daniel-san. Move bed inside, work there.”

“What? You’re giving me work when he was the one who--”

“Go!” Miyagi shouted harshly.

After making a final, silent complaint, Daniel stomped off toward the house. He dragged the unassembled parts inside as quickly as he could since every second he spent in sight range of that prick was torture.

Johnny watched on with a sadistic grin, feeling, for the first time in a while, like he won.

“Why smile? Something funny?” Miyagi asked in his own form of sarcasm.

“Well, I--...” Johnny launched immediately into defense. “Look, man, you don’t know what that asshole really did, alright? You’ve only seen it from his side.”

Miyagi hummed in understanding, then gestured for him to continue.

“What?”

“Tell your side.”

“Oh… uh…” Johnny’s eyes glanced to the house behind Miyagi, checking the windows. “I--... Alright, well, first he stole my girlfriend.”

Miyagi hummed again, furrowing his brows.

“Well--... Well, alright, we’d been broken up for a couple of weeks, but--... But it wasn’t over, alright? In fact, we were trying to talk things out but he kept butting into it. And then the guy punches me in the face! Outta’ nowhere!”

Miyagi nodded slowly.

“And so I--… y’know, I defend myself, and--... and--... Y’know what, long story short, she ends up going out with him, and--... And then he dumps water on me for no reason, like an asshole, ruined my joi--... my uh… my costume, and then we chased after him and--... well, you were there for that one, but we were just--... It was justice, alright?! He started that whole thing.”

Miyagi hummed. “That everything?”

“Well--... I dunno, I guess I just--...” Johnny sighed, his voice solemn, quiet. “Y’know, I lost Ali to him, and then--... then--... You have no idea how important karate was to me, man.”

“Was?”

Johnny’s gaze drifted downward, his mouth hanging open as he searched for a response, but found none.

Miyagi nodded, letting the silence hang for a while longer.

But Johnny was sick of silence. “So uh… what about that problem with my car? Is it bad?”

“Car problem not bad, can fix. You problem more important.”

“What problem? What’re you talking about, man?”

“Your trip.”

Johnny’s shoulders tensed as he felt his ruse falling. Still, he tried to hold on. “Yeah, to Malibu, like I said. I--... my family has a beach house there.”

Miyagi hummed, nodding lightly. “What family like?”

Johnny kept his gaze behind Miyagi. It drifted from window to window. “We’re fine. Normal, I guess.”

“Brother? Sister?”

“No, no it’s just--... It’s just me.”

Miyagi nodded, watching Johnny's expressions intently. “Encino, yes? Very nice place.”

“Yeah.” He said with a shallow nod, his eyes drifting downward.

“Not nice?”

His eyes lifted, surprise behind his blank expression. “Oh, no it’s nice and all, it’s just--... I dunno, it bugs me when people assume your life is good just because you’ve got money, y’know?”

Miyagi nodded.

“‘Cause I mean, it’s all good stuff: the pool, my car, our house, but--...” His words drifted off.

“But?”

“It’s stuff. That’s all it is. It can’t replace everything else.”

Miyagi paused for a moment as he chose his words. “What missing?”

He sighed sharply in frustration, buying time. “My step-dad--...” The words seemed difficult to say, so much so that it stopped the sentence short.

Miyagi indicated again for him to continue.

“He just--...” His eyes moved along the ground as he thought. “He’s an asshole.”

Miyagi nodded, seeming to understand fully.

“Not just to me either, to my mom, to his employees, to everybody. Guy just likes being mean to people.”

“This reason you go on trip?”

His eyes went up to Miyagi’s again, the shock a bit more obvious this time. “I--... Yeah. He doesn’t want me around anymore, now that I’m… an adult, I guess. I don’t feel like an adult.”

“Know the feeling,” Miyagi said simply before starting off toward the house. 

Johnny watched as he moved away, then sped up to catch him. “You do?” He walked at his side, his gaze now fixed on him.

“Leave home alone too, just fifteen years old.”

“Fifteen? Are you serious? That’s crazy!”

“Hai.” Miyagi swung open the door of his home, holding it as Johnny entered after him. He took a turn, then opened a pine chest full of linens and cushions in plain, warm coloration. They looked inexpensive, but comfortable nonetheless.

Johnny made his own search with him, his eyes moving about the entry room, then he sighed in relief as he didn’t find who he was looking for. While he was distracted, he felt a soft thud as something hit his chest. Miyagi had set a bound bedroll against it. He lifted his arms to take the minimal weight of the thing, but by his expression, it was clear he didn’t know why. “What’s this for?”

“Sleeping.”

“Right, but what do I need it for?”

“Sleeping.” He began setting everything back into the chest, organized properly.

Johnny stared forward in confusion for a few more seconds. “Are you saying I can stay here?”

“Hai.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“What--... With Daniel?”

“Hai... Yes.”

“Don’t you think he’ll have a problem with that?”

“Don’t know.”

Johnny watched, puzzled, as the teacher prepared to brew some tea as if nothing important was going on at all. 

It was only now that the surreal nature of the situation hit Johnny. He was inside Mr. Miyagi’s house, the same place that Daniel was given the weapons he used had against him. And yet, it wasn’t a negative experience -- not entirely, at least. He wasn’t sure what it was about the old man, but even having known him for this short of a time he knew that Mr. Miyagi was different from all the men in his life. He was better. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed to know exactly what he needed to hear, or his almost frustrating brevity, or maybe it was just the fact that he listened. He heard and understood what he was saying without forcing his own biases on his words. He saw his emotions even when he didn’t want to express them. Miyagi listened to him, and it felt good.

Johnny smiled warmly at the thought, but the smile quickly fell as he heard a loud thump behind him, muffled by the wall. Miyagi didn’t look up. He was too busy selecting a box from his tea cabinet.

“You sleep there.” Miyagi gestured with an empty kettle toward just about where that sound rang from: a door on the opposite side of the room. It didn’t exactly match the color or wear of the others, as it seemed it was just put there recently.

“I--... But--...”

“Hm?” Miyagi threw up a brow, looking over at the bewildered blonde only occasionally as he worked.

Johnny couldn’t seem to find the words to any of the questions he wanted to ask, so, with confusion still on his expression, he walked into the door, the bedroll tucked under his arm.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 18 (Mafia AU)

Summary: Rus makes a decision.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warning:  Heads up, let me add a warning here for attempted sexual assault and violence.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

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Read Chapter 18 on AO3

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Read it here!

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Lilies were lovely flowers, and it was a damn shame that Humans seemed to only associate them with funerals and Easter. They made for a beautiful focal point in a bouquet, large waxy petals in a bright array of colors surrounding the dark stamen, dozens of them spilling out and around a vase or basket, brilliant shades complimented by a delicate frame of leafy greens.

So many gorgeous colors available and Blue grew many of them, but the lilies Rus was working with were white, only a hint of creamy yellow at their centers. They smelled nearly as beautiful as the crimson roses that joined them, each delicate bloom nestled into its cushioning bed of neighboring white.

(A single red rose, please)

Only Rus’s fingers were stained with redness, not from those velvety petals but from the thorns, the dark crimson of his own marrow spotting the lilies, smearing bloody across those pale petals and he couldn’t stop even as they began to wither under his touch, white petals spotted in redness curling up and dying, and—

Rus woke with a gasp, the cold sweat on his bones chilling him as the dream of withered petals slowly faded. He sank back against the mattress and ran a trembling hand over his face, grimacing at the dampness.

Next to him, his brother slept on obliviously, his smaller frame buried deeply in the luxurious comforter on their borrowed bed. The bathroom light was on, seeping out to cast the room in shadows and even in the dimness, Blue’s much-loved face was lined with obvious exhaustion. The crow’s wing of a bruise running down his cheekbone wasn’t quite hidden into the pillow, stark against pale bone.

Thoughtlessly, Rus reached out with the vague idea to heal it and hesitated with his fingers still inches from that bruise. Tired as Blue was, he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to sleep through any sort of magic being used on him. Better to let him rest and take care of it when he woke up, and if looking at it made his gorge rise with swelling guilt, then Rus only had himself to blame. This all might have started with him getting dragged in, but things had changed since that day in the shop when he had hidden behind the counter in a stranger’s arms.

That day was over and a new one was dawning, one where Rus complicit, for not listening to his brother’s warnings, for not keeping his distance, for letting his desire for Edge overrule his rather uncommon sense.

No, that wasn’t entirely true, at least one other person was at fault here, the one who’d caused that bruise. He wasn’t sure he believed Blue that their so-called host wasn’t to blame; even if he hadn’t struck the blow, he’d obviously failed to protect them as promised. Broken promises tended to multiply, that was a hard lesson Rus learned while they were still Underground.

Well, he certainly wasn’t lost in a metal fog any longer. He felt as if he were waking up from more than an unpleasant dream. His pleasure-tinted memories of last night in Edge’s bed had lost their luster the moment he got a good look at his brother’s bruised face and cold reality settled in its place, sinking down into the pit of his soul like cold water sinking to the ocean floor.

Somehow, he’d been slowly starting to forget the truth; that he and Blue were here unwillingly, staying only for protection against revenge that hadn’t been theirs to begin with. They were very bad men, Edge warned Rus of that from the very beginning, and Edge was still planning on dealing with Blaze however he would; someone would likely be dead and dust by the end, and Rus couldn’t allow himself to forget that, if only to ensure that neither he nor his brother were part of it.

Rus wrapped his arms around his legs, settling his chin on his updrawn knees. Where the hell did he think this was all going to go, anyway? When everything was said and done, and Blaze was dealt with, where did he fit in a place like this? He didn’t, that was how, did he really think he’d be able to finish up his shift at the shop making bouquets and then come back here to pretend he didn’t know what was happening around him, both inside and out of these walls. Even if Edge wanted him for longer than a few nights, Rus couldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

His brother’s comment about getting paid well might have been cruel, but it wasn’t entirely untrue. Only it didn’t seem to be dollars that Rus was bartering with, but instead his own soul.

No. He couldn’t let that happen, not to Blue. His brother worked so hard for everything they had ever since their pop left. He wasn’t going to throw it away, not for a few minutes of pleasure, he couldn’t.

This would end eventually; they would go back to their home and their flower shop and leave all this madness behind, and though it made a fresh lump rise in his throat to think of it, Rus decided that he would tell all of this to Edge today. Whether it ended in pleading or demands didn’t matter, he was going to end whatever this was, could it even be called a relationship? All Edge knew about him was what he’d seen through a window. It was time to set aside this ridiculous fantasy, if not for himself then for his brother’s sake.

The sheets were still clinging to him clammily, sweat from his nightmare drying uncomfortably on his bones. Rus slipped carefully from the bed, snatching up his phone and using the flashlight to help him pick out fresh clothes from the closet.

It was still relatively early, only barely past six am, no wonder Blue was still sleeping. Normally, Rus would be as well, it was another hour before his time to groaningly drag himself out of bed and down to the shop for his daily shift. As tired as he was, the idea of crawling back in to lay on the damp sheets didn’t appeal much.

Instead, he went into the bathroom to change, this time in a pair of loose, flowing trousers with an oversized sweater layered over a plain button-up. It was a heck of a lot closer to something he’d find in his own closet, even if he could tell by the feel of the fabric that it was from some pricy department store and not the local thrift shop. He wondered idly if someone had actually gone shopping for these new clothes or if they’d simply ordered in like Chinese takeout. He had kind of a hard time picturing a delivery boy turning up at the back entrance of the club loaded down with bags of clothes instead of egg rolls. Whoever brought ‘em, he was reluctantly grateful for the quantity even as he shrank away at the thought of how long they might be intended to be there, and how could he stay away from Edge living directly down the hallway from him, how could he…?

Rus resolutely pushed that thought aside, splashing cool water on his face and patting it dry. It was a good thing their closet was filled, he told himself, ‘cause the clothes he’d worn yesterday were downstairs in the stripper’s dressing room, probably never to be seen again.

That thought made him cast a guilty look at the clothes he’d worn up here, the ones loaned to him by Mona for her brief tutorial on dancing. They were lying in a careless pile leftover from last night’s shower and he bit the tip of his tongue worriedly. Maybe Mona would need them back, someone had to. He could ask the Dogs to bring them to her with a note of thanks…or he could take them himself and let her know that he was all right.

Plus, it’d be a chance to give her some proper gratitude for trying to help out. Sure, it hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped, really not, but that wasn’t her fault, and she didn’t have the first idea how the story ended last night. Seemed like she should at least get to know Rus probably wasn’t gonna end up with cement shoes or anything, but this time, if he was going downstairs, he’d do it properly and walk.

Decision made, Rus gathered up the clothes, folding them into a tidy bundle. They were rumpled and stank richly of sweat and sex. He blushed to think of returning them that way, but he couldn’t lie, it felt less embarrassing to bring them back to Mona than to leave it for the Dogs to find on laundry day. Worst that could happen with her was it would confirm some suspicions she already had.

He carried the bundle out of the bathroom with him, hesitating as he glanced at the bed and the lump in the covers that was his sleeping brother. This time there wouldn’t be any slipping off without a word, no more secrets, not if he could help it. He paused at the little table by the door to write his brother a note, his scribbly handwriting stating clearly that he was returning something downstairs and he’d be back soon.

That was one thing done right, at least.

That done, he slipped out the door to the hallway, closing the door hastily before the light could wake his brother. As expected, there was a Dog standing guard outside and it turned to him questioningly, its headed tilting to one side.

“excuse me, can you take me downstairs to speak with the ladies?” Rus said. Firm yet polite seemed like the best route and he held up the bundle in his arms. “i have some stuff to take back to them.” He really hoped they didn’t offer to just take it for him and not just because there was no way a Dog wouldn’t pick up on the reek. He was gonna talk to Mona one way or another, flimsy excuse or not.

The Dog said nothing, and Rus still wasn’t quite sure if that was a choice, an order, or simply a physical impossibility. It seemed to consider, then pulled out a cell phone, unhindered by its paws as it briskly tapped out a message. Whatever reply they received, they nodded and led the way down the hall to the elevator, the same one Edge brought him upstairs in, hey, he was starting to get the hang of this place.

Once the doors open again, Rus took the lead, heading to the dressing room from last night. The Dog waited at the entrance as he slipped inside, clothes in hand.

It was mostly empty now, none of the bustling and hurried dressing of the night before. The only stripper in the room was the Cat Monster…Lilith, that was her name, and her clothing was a stark contrast to their first meeting. Her revealing slip of a dress was exchanged for simple jeans and a t-shirt with ‘Bad Girl’ written in sparkly letters across the chest. She was tying the laces on her sneakers, glancing up and then again in a doubletake as she caught sight of him.

She gave him a sultry smile, pink tongue curling over her lips. “Well, hey there, sugar skull, stopping in for another visit or are you hiding out again?”

“no, um,” Rus said, awkwardly. He held up the bundle. “mona loaned me some clothes, i was just bringing them back.”

“Oh, is that all?” she yawned, showing sharp teeth, “Night shift is over, hun, Mona’s gone for the day.” She tilted her head in the direction of a large bin that was already overflowing with clothes, bra straps and stockings hanging over the sides. “You can toss it in the pile, they’ll get take care of.”

Rus wavered, torn, then decided he didn’t need to keep them as an excuse to visit with Mona. A lack of one hadn’t stopped him yet. He tossed the bundle in the pile and started back out to the hallway, then hesitated to ask, “do you know when mona will be back?”

Maybe if she worked tonight, he could slip down to see her before she started for the night.

“Sorry, hun, schedules change. If you want to wait, I can check after I get a smoke. I’m dying for a cig.” She held up a pack of cigarettes and against his will, his gaze strayed to it longingly. He hadn’t had one in days now and his nicotine craving lifted its ugly, eager head, starting a painful itch in his marrow. Damn, he hadn’t even checked his backpack when the Dog gave it to him and didn’t remember if he had a pack of smokes in it. He sure wasn’t about to ask Edge or, angel forbid, Red for one. It might be days yet before he got out to buy a pack himself.

Lilith gave him a knowing look. “Want one, sweetheart? You got that kind of look.”

The sudden flood of saliva in his mouth was embarrassing, but eh, the rules were a little different for smokers, nothing wrong with bumming the occasional cigarette so long as it didn’t become another habit, a worse one than smoking itself.

“i…yes,” Rus said gratefully, “if you don’t mind?”

“Nah, c’mon, I can share.”

She turned and walked towards the back of the room, her slender tail curling around her feet and Rus followed her to heavy door with a bright ‘Exit’ sign gleaming over it in neon red.

“I’d get a smack on the hand if they caught me sneaking out this way,” Lilith confided. Her whiskers quivered as she wrinkled her little muzzle. “But I can’t stand walking all the way ‘round for a quick smoke. I get enough exercise on the pole, you know?”

He didn’t, but he could certainly guess. He followed Lilith outside into an alleyway lined with trash cans, the sky overhead tinged grey with the coming dawn. She shook out one for herself and lit it before handed over the pack, and the first hit of nicotine melded into his magic with deep, mellow relief. Talking didn’t seem necessary, Lilith only played on her phone while both of them smoked silently through their cigarettes and when Lilith was done, she tossed her butt to pavement already littered with dozens more and shook out another before handing the pack back to him.

“May as well have another, honey,” she said, and he really shouldn’t, he had enough debt as it was, and what was that look she was giving him, something like regret…?

There was a sudden stinging at the back of his neck, coupled with hot breath, whispering low in flame-speak. “Yes, do have another. It might well be your last.”

The still smoldering butt fell from his nerveless fingers, falling into a puddle with a hiss, the dizziness already swarming over him distancing him from both his senses and his magic. He whirled clumsily around to see a fire Monster standing behind him, as tall as he was and nearly as broad as Red. The hectic flutter of his purplish flames cast the alley in disturbing shadows, devils dancing to their deaths in the slowly growing sunlight.

Blaze.

Rus took a stumbling step back, fumbling at the door, but there was no handle on the outside, only smooth metal. He looked at Lilith disbelievingly, slurring out, “wha…why?”

Tears were streaming down her pretty face, soaking into the short fur. “I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry. He was offering money, so much money, you don’t understand what it’s like here—”

He didn’t hear whatever else she said as he was suddenly seized, pushed back against the rough bricks of the alley wall. Those deep purple flames managed to be somehow both dark and blinding, Rus squinting against that painful light, cringing away.

“don’t—” Rus stuttered out. But his hands were disobedient and strengthless, pushing helplessly against Blaze’s shirt as he stepped closer, his surprisingly heavy body pinning him against the wall. His face was too close, burning fingers painfully pinching his chin and forced Rus to lift his head, the smoky ash of his breath gusting over Rus’s face.

“Perhaps I judged too quickly on Edge’s tastes. You are rather a pretty thing, after all.”

Rus cried out, the sound muffled, choking as his mouth was taken in a rough kiss, the pained heat of flaming tongue forcing its way between his teeth. He didn’t think, could hardly manage a single idea past no. He bit down automatically, choking again as his mouth filled with bitterness reminiscent of gasoline.

He nearly fell as he was released, gasping for breath, and he only barely managed to open his sockets enough to see the blow before it struck, his vision exploding into whiteness as Blaze backhanded him and sent him to his knees amidst the filthy puddles and the rotting old cigarette butts.

Dazed, he could only watch as Lilith grabbed hold of Blaze’s arm as it rose again. “Stop it! You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“So I did,” Blaze said, and someone Rus couldn’t see was translating in a gleeful drawl, “You should have secured the same promise for yourself.”

A deafening sound rang through the alley and Rus stared dumbly as a bright blossom of red appeared on Lilith’s shirt, splatters of crimson stark against her white fur like winter berries in a snow bed. She looked down at herself in confused disbelief, touching that awful wound with trembling fingers and smearing that stain across her shirt as she slowly collapsed to the ground. Filthy water splashed, more redness tainting the puddle in a slowly spreading pool as she stared sightlessly up at the rising sun.

In that moment Rus found his voice, managing to croak out something like a hoarse scream before a rough hand slapped over his mouth, the brutal grip painful on his jaw.

“Come on, put him in the backseat. I’ll see if I can keep our guest entertained for the trip.”

He was dragged over to a waiting car, shoes scraping the pavement uselessly, barely noticing the leather seats beneath him. A door slammed and hot hands hauled him upright until he was sprawled awkwardly across an uncomfortable lap, a scorching mouth licking a painful path up his cervical vertebrae. Fingertips plucked threateningly at his clothes, but didn’t wander beneath them, and that only made Rus shudder helplessly, dizzily nauseous and numbly clouded in rising fear over what was to come.

edge. help me. It was hardly more than a distant, uncertain thought, the words never making it to his slack mouth.

tbc