#e-plier fic

[queenjunothegreat]

The Ao3 Team is throwing an Anniversary Challenge, and as someone who LOVES Ao3, I for sure wanted to be part of the party, so here's my addition! No promises that I'll do all fifteen days, but I plan to do at least a few! So, enjoy the flash fics!

So, here's my day one contribution: A-F-A-B-E-L

“So, tell me why are we torturing ourselves by learning Spanish in our free time?” Piper scoffed. “I could be surfing right now. Do you know how good October is for surfing? Oh! Or I could pay someone to remove my fingernails one by one with a pair of rusty pliers. That sounds more fun than this.” Jason chuckled softly at her dramatics. “Well, I’m doing it because I want to ask my boyfriend to prom. Pretty sure you’re doing it to impress cute girls. Well, one cute girl.” Piper’s cheeks turned red and she stuck out her tongue at him. “I don’t have to learn Spanish to convince girls to like me.” “Last time you said vámonos in front of Reyna, you said it so bad I thought she was going to cry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Reyna cry.” Piper made a distressed noise and threw herself on Jason’s bed, face-first into the pillow, clearly reliving that dark moment. “I hate you.” *** Piper and Jason face the horrors of vocabulary with each other Ao3 Anniversary Collection Day 1: Learning a Language Together

“Why are you so bad at this?”

Jason looked up from the workbook in front of him and straightened his glasses in order to give Piper the full force of his baleful glower. “Yeah, because you’re doing so well.”

 Piper puffed out her cheeks for a moment and propped her own workbook up in front of her face. “That’s different. You already speak Latin, which is basically Italian, which is basically just wiggly Spanish.”

“And you speak French, which is basically just curly Spanish. What’s your deal?”

“That’s not true!”

“Neither is what you said about Latin!”

“Ugh!” Piper made a disgusted noise and slammed her book shut before tossing it aside. She furiously rubbed at her forehead, eyes squeezed shut. “I hate this!”

Jason heaved a deep sigh and put his book aside as well, though a little less passionately than Piper had. “Look, why don’t we just take a break, yeah?” Piper grumbled quietly to herself in response, so Jason nudged her with his socked foot. “Pipes? What’s wrong?”

“I hate language class,” Piper admitted after a while. “I’ve already got enough in my brain that trying to cram a whole other language in there doesn’t fucking work. This sucks.”

“It does,” Jason agreed whole-heartedly. He’d been relieved beyond words that Edgarton offered Latin and that it counted for a foreign language. He liked getting the chance to be a normal kid, but it was also nice to have a class where all he had to focus on was not being too good at it. He knew Leo did it, too (which Jason didn’t think was fair because Leo also got to breeze through math class, but it kinda balanced out when it came time for history) and he was pretty sure Piper was taking French down in LA. 

“So, tell me why are we torturing ourselves by learning Spanish in our free time?” Piper scoffed. “I could be surfing right now. Do you know how good October is for surfing? Oh! Or I could pay someone to remove my fingernails one by one with a pair of rusty pliers. That sounds more fun than this.”

Jason chuckled softly at her dramatics. “Well, I’m doing it because I want to ask my boyfriend to prom. Pretty sure you’re doing it to impress cute girls. Well, one cute girl.”

Piper’s cheeks turned red and she stuck out her tongue at him. “I don’t have to learn Spanish to convince girls to like me.”

“Last time you said vámonos in front of Reyna, you said it so bad I thought she was going to cry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Reyna cry.”

Piper made a distressed noise and threw herself on Jason’s bed, face-first into the pillow, clearly reliving that dark moment. “I hate you.”

“You’ll hate me less once we finish this vocabulary lesson,” he promised her. “Now, come on. What’s the Spanish word for ‘friendly?’”

For a moment, Piper was silent, and Jason really though that her temper tantrum  would hold strong. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d stormed out of the dorm in a language-fueled rage, but soon she sagged into the sheets in defeat. “Afable,” she recited with a put upon sigh. “A-f-a-b-e-l.”

“Close. A-f-a-b-l-e.”

Piper let out a loud groan from the depths of her chest and Jason rolled his eyes fondly. He hoped that Leo’s track and field practice went over today. He had a feeling this was going to be a long lesson. 

[shewithoutrain]

I wrote this and needed to put it somewhere.

THAT Vegas/Pete torture scene + LoL’s Villain on repeat = this monstrosity of an original fic snippet.

Warnings: torture porn???, torture as foreplay, (but not between these two: Inti is getting off on anticipating what ‘Rose is going to do to Give when she catches up), IDEK THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I TOUCH THESE OCs IN 3 YEARS AND THIS IS WHAT THEY GIVE ME

————

The rope sinks into his flesh, scarring him with its bite. His heart is thundering in his chest, swooping through his ears as he tosses the hair from his eyes.

“You think she cares?”

The words are raw, stripped from him as if she’d flayed them from his lips herself. They are helpless in front of her shadow, the shadow that looms in front of him, over him, within him, and he’s trembling, breath coming in short pants.

“What a fool.” It’s a croon, something dark and scornful, entirely separate to the fear surging in his throat, dragging the air from his lungs, that doesn’t betray the twist in his gut, skittering over his overly-sensitive skin.

The slap blooms against his cheek, a crack that snaps in his ears, searing in its redness, and he knows it’s there: it’s obvious, it’s u n m i s s a b l e, the cold weight of the family’s ring imprinted for everyone to see, and he has to swallow back the noise that begs to escape him.

“You’re the fool,” is the response, calm, measured as Give steps back, careful fingers easing the cufflinks off. He rolls the sleeves of his pristine white shirt with precise, crisp movements and the breath leaves Inti in a shaky exhale.

Give’s next words have him stop breathing entirely.

“You were never meant to leave here alive.”

Give reaches for — jump cables, part of him categorises, alongside pliers, knives, screwdrivers, whips, but the rest of him is blank, the words echoing, bouncing off the walls of his skull, a warning, a threat, a promise —

“So you’re going to tell me everything you know about Rose.” It comes out as a sneer. “About her weaknesses, her soft spots.” A cable is pressed into the underside of his chin as Give says that, trailed down over his Adam’s apple, the hollow of his throat, to rest with heavy warning. “After all, you are her favourite boy toy, right?”

There’s no opportunity to answer, as the other cable is shoved into his shoulder without warning and electricity strips through his body with a scream.

The wires are removed and Inti collapses back into the chair, muscles still spasming. Sweat slicks every part of him, and he’s raw, like red-tipped nails had raked over his insides. His throat is raw from the force of his scream. Give smirks down at him.

“And then I’m going to dispose of you.”

He shouldn’t. He can’t. Tells himself the shaky laugh that tumbles free sounds is a soft sob, that the trembling stretch of his mouth is a pained grimace.

The stream of information on Give’s pressure points running through his mind shows him everything he needs to avoid to get out of this.

With clawing desperation, he find the nearest one, and presses.

[weirdlyhornyforegos]

TikTok Boyfriend

MINORS DNI!! E-plier x male reader. E-plier is called Marcus, and beware, I know nothing about TikTok and had to google things about it, so if something seems off, that’s why :P 

Marcus loves making TikToks, and since he has gotten very popular on the app, he has also found he loves to livestream and chat with his followers.

It’s fun to film and post things like dances, lip-syncing, and other fun stuff (and the occasional thirst trap), but it’s extra fun to see peoples reactions to what he is doing live. 

It’s also just nice to hang out and chill with people for a bit, especially when he’s alone, like right now, because you went out for a run a little earlier. 

Marcus is in the kitchen, his phone on the counter, propped up against the wall. He does a dab cause someone asks, grinning as he comes up, seeing several people groan in chat.

“So, now that I’ve done the mandatory dab, any questions for me?” His eyes scan the screen, trying to find a question to answer. 

“Oh, here’s one! What’s your favorite candy rn? I gotta say, right now it’s the mango ginger chew.” Marcus reads the screen a little, seeing a few question about what it is.

“It’s these chewable candy, look, I’ll show you, hold on one sec.” Marcus looks down, opening a drawer that is just outside of the screens view. Too preoccupied with finding the candy and talking, he doesn’t hear the front door open, and you yelling that you’re home into your shared house. 

You take your shoes and shirt off, leaving your socks and running short on. You toss the sweaty shirt into the laundry hamper in the bathroom on your way to the kitchen. You can hear Marcus talking in there.

“Ah, here they are!” Marcus pulls up a mostly yellow and orange bag, holding it up so people can see it. You walk into the kitchen, and see him talking to his phone, but pay him no mind, going straight for the fridge to get something to drink.

“The little corner store not far from here sells them, tried them for the first time a few months ago, and since then I just can’t stop eating them.” Marcus takes a candy and pops one in his mouth, reading the comments as he chews.

“Never mind the sweets, who’s that shirtless hunk in the background? He’s the real candy here.”  Marcus reads out loud from his phone. His eyes widen, spinning around just in time to see you closing the fridge, Redbull in hand.

“Yo.” You say and give him a peace sign, grinning as he blushes.

“Babe, didn’t realise you were back yet.” You smile and open the Redbull.

“Just got back from my run, needing some energy before I go do some strength exercises.” You take a sip of your Redbull, eyeing the phone you can barely see over Marcus‘s shoulder.

“I didn’t ruin.... Whatever you were doing did I?” Marcus quickly looks at his phone, were the comments seems to be exploding even though he’s covering most of you now. He turns back around, grin on his face.

“No, but you did just show off to a few thousand people on my livestream.” You raise a brow, grinning yourself. Marcus holds out a hand, making a come here motion. You oblige, and he takes your hand not occupied with the Redbull and drags you next to him.

“Everyone, meet my very fit, and very handsome boyfriend.” You wave with your Redbull before taking a long sip.

“Hi people of TikTok.” Marcus snorts and you stick your tongue out at him. Marcus looks at the chat on screen, which is mostly filled with heart, star, and sweating emojis. You notice as well, grinning smugly, taking another sip of your Redbull.

“People are wondering if you’re down with answering some questions. I think they’re a bit curious about you.” You grin, elbowing Marcus’s side gently.

“Or just thirsty, but go ahead, ask away.” The chat more or less explodes, and both of you laugh at that.

“Woah, slow down people, I can only read so much!” You let your eyes skim the screen.

“How long you two been together?” Marcus reads out loud.

“We been together for like a year now, a couple of uh, mutual friends introduced us.” Marcus nods, looking for another question for you two answer.

“Okay, quick fire round! Favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“Favorite food?”

“Oh, though choice, but gotta say fried rice right now.”

“Favorite movie?”

“Come on, too hard, next.”

“What do you do?” You can’t help the shit eating grin that spreads across your face.

“Mostly Marcus.”

“Hey!” Marcus hits your shoulder as you laugh.

“Alright, alright, heh. I’m not gonna go into specifics, but I work with legal stuff.” You take a last sip of your drink, shaking it to check if it’s empty. 

“And I think that’s my cue to leave folks, I should get back to my workout.” You try to leave, but Marcus hand still around yours stops you.

“What?” Marcus grins.

“You not gonna give me my goodbye kiss?” You eye his phone for a brief moment, then mentally shrug. 

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his for a kiss you intend to be brief, but Marcus quickly deepens it, even putting a hand on your hip.

When you lean back, Marcus is wearing a smug grin, and looking over to the chat it’s filled with sweating and eggplant emojis. You chuckle, letting go of his hand to ruffle his hair.

“You’re such an exhibitionist.” Marcus doesn’t deny it, but pouts as he fixes his hair and you walk away. Turning back to his phone, he starts reading the comments again.

“Wow, you guys are THIRSTY.” 

For the rest of the livestream he keeps getting comments that he seems distracted, and to be fair he is. 

He can’t help but think about you kissing him shirtless in front of so many people, and then just sauntering off.

He ends up cutting the livestream short, apologising for it being shorter than he said it would. The last comment he sees before shutting off is “Hell yeah, go get that D Marcus ;)”

---------

You have just finished your workout, and are on your way to your shower when Marcus more or less corners you in the hallway. He pushes you back against the wall, lips on yours and his arm bracketing you in. You’re surprised to say the least, but are quick to kiss back.

Marcus hands skim along the waistband of your shorts, starting to pull them down, but you stop him.

“I’m sweaty and gross.” Marcus huffs and sinks to his knees.

“Don’t care.” This time you don’t stop as he pulls at your shorts, letting them fall to the floor. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head, taking your cock in hand, pumping it a few times. You swear and tangle a hand in his hair, careful of the sunglasses.

Marcus strokes your cock as he kisses the inside your thighs, teasingly slow about it. You grunt and pulls at his hair, clearly telling what you want to happen. 

He looks up with a smug grin, before taking the very tip of your cock into his mouth and sucking. You moan, letting your head fall back against the wall with a slight thunk.

You can feel Marcus grin around your cock as he starts to bob his head up and down, covering what he can’t get in his mouth with his hand.

He varies the pressure around your cock, sucking in seemingly random patterns as he moves his mouth up and down your shaft, occasionally pulling up so you’re barely in his mouth before sinking back down again.

You have to hold back to not buck your hips up to much, even though you just want to fuck his face.

Marcus seems to know, as he sinks down as far he can, your dick hitting the back of his throat. This earns him a loud moan from you and a hard tug on his hair. He moans around your cock, and palms his own cock trough his pants. 

You look down just then, and the sight of him is almost enough to make you come. 

His lips stretched around your cock, palming himself with eyes closed, clearly enjoying himself just as much as you are. 

Marcus opens his eyes and looks up, grinning as best as he can with his mouth full, and starts moving again. He speeds up now, causing you to grunt. You move your hand so you’re gripping his hair with both, his sunglasses clattering to the floor. 

You buck into his face, working with Marcus’s set rythm. His hand joins his mouth on your cock again, jerking you off at the same time as he sucks you off. 

You warn Marcus when you’re close to coming, and he pulls off your cock completely, but before you can complain, he’s jerking you off with both hands, and you’re coming. 

Marcus makes you come all over his face, your cum painting white streaks across his cheeks and nose, even covering the little mark he always draws on  his cheek.

When he lets go of your cock, you let go of his hair, supporting yourself on the wall. Marcus licks his lips, catching some of the cum dripping down his cheeks with his tongue.

“Fuck.” It’s all you can say and Marcus looks so smug that you tug him up by his hair, smashing your lips against his, not caring in the slightest that his face is covered in your cum as you kiss him. You somehow manage to pull your shorts back up and on without stopping kissing Marcus.

You kiss him until you have gotten a little more steady on your feet, and then you spin Marcus around, pinning him to the wall. You move from his lips to kiss along his neck, starting to suck a hickey into his skin. 

He moans, his hips moving against you, pressing his very hard cock up against you. You let one hand wander down to the front of his pants, pressing against it over his clothes.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hard.” You speak against his neck as you stroke him as good as you can trough the fabric.

“Well somebody just came all over face so...” You can hear the grin in his voice as he bucks his hips up towards your hand.

“Come on babe, open my pants and take my cock out.” You grunt against Marcus’s neck, pressing against him more, so he’s flush against the wall, your thigh pushing between his legs, adding to the pressure of your hand. Marcus moans as you bite gently down on his neck.

“No.”

“No?” Marcus pants, confused as you move your thigh and hand against him.

“No, you’re gonna come for me just like this.” Starting on another hickey, Marcus moans out loud, his hand clutching at your biceps.

“Since you’re such a show off, I think you can show me how good you can be at coming in your pants.” You lick a long stripe up the side of his neck, stopping at his ear to gently nibble at his lobe before speaking.

“Don’t act like me kissing you in front of your audience isn’t waht brought all of this on.” Marcus groans and you pull back to look at his face. He’s out of breath, clearly blushing and flustered.

“You little exhibitionist.” A particular hard press of your hand makes Marcus groan.

“You get excited by the thought of getting off in front of an audience don’t you?” Marcus nods and you grin.

“All those people watching you fall apart underneath me, watching you turn into a horny mess.” You go back to kiss along his neck, kissing over the marks from earlier, and start making new ones.

“Seeing you come all over yourself, getting covered in my cum and yours.” The breath Marcus lets out is shaky, and followed right after by a moan as he moves against your thigh, seeking friction. You grin against his skin, able to tell how close he his.

“Come on, come on, come for me.” You speed up your hand, and Marcus whines.

“Please....” 

“Please what?”

“Please touch my cock!” You hum, your own cock stirring again hearing how desperate Marcus is to get his cock touched.

“Might as well.” You quickly unbutton and unzip his pants, slipping on hand inside, taking his cock in your hand. 

Marcus moans out your name, and just a few pumps later he’s coming all over your hand and himself. You stroke him trough it, savouring the little moans and whimpers coming from his as his orgasm is drawn out. 

Letting go off his cock, you tuck him back into his pants. You put your hands on his hips, drawing him in for a kiss.

“Come on, lets go for a shower.” Marcus nods and as you try to move away, he palms your cock, making you draw in a sharp breath. 

“Looks like someone is already ready for round two.” His grin is cocky and flirty, already recovering form his orgasm. You groan.

“Shower. Now.”

[anabsolutesimpforegos]

A/n: idk where I was going with this and then it just happened???? Idk this is just an extension of this post by @weirdlyobsessedwithegos and @only-lurkin-dont-mind-me . The route I took for this? Questionable. But it came out ok so its f i n e. Was supposed to be a crack fic but I blacked out and when I came to it was cute lmao. Enjoy!

💗💗reblogs are appreciated💗💗

– He could never get a picture or a video of you

– It had started out as a joke on his tik tok but now it was infuriating

– He was going to get a picture or video if it killed him

– “Babe, I dunno what to tell you, its not like I’m actively trying,” you smirked one day

– You weren’t lying, but his frustration with documenting your existence in some way was slowly but surely becoming hilarious

– Being a cryptic wasn’t a lie either

– You were,,, off putting to say the least

– Eyes that glow slightly? Check

– Night vision? Check

– Doesn’t sleep often? Check

– Smile just a bit too wide? Check

– No sound when walking? Check

– Inability to be captured on camera? Check, check, and check

– He’d been through it all in his head and it was really dampening his otherwise chill attitude

– “Babe wAit sit still!!”

– You put on your best smile, adjusted on the couch, pulled your knees up a bit, and looked into the camera, “is this good?”

– It was silent for a moment, and then you heard your voice echo back at you

– It sounded,,,, scary, if you were being honest

– “do I really sound like that???” you asked, leaning forward to look at his phone

– On the bright side, he got a relatively clear shot

– On the down side, your figure was still blurry, your eyes shone from the camera, your smile was very obvious and,, sinister,, was that the right word? You looked down again and yes, yes it was

– He almost cracked your skull with his as he lifted his head and whooped

– “I finally did it!!!! I did it!” you had never seen him this excited… it was cute

– “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know you’re just itching to post it. Go on.”

– he looked down from the ceiling, then down at his phone, then back you “I uh,, thanks?? For being okay with me bothering you about this I mean??” he smiled apologetically

– You grinned and leaned forward to kiss his cheek, “no problem"

[absolutepokemontrash]

You Can’t Handle The Tooth

A very very short fic where Luke needs a loose baby tooth pulled, but he’s really nervous about it.

Genre: Crack

Warnings: Teeth stuff

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Wiggle…wiggle…wiggle…

Luke toyed with his loose tooth in front of the mirror, brows creasing as his eyes followed each little shake.

Wiggle…wiggle…wiggle…

“Luke, you’re going to be late for school, are you still in bed?” Simeon knocked before slowly opening the door and sticking his head in the room. Luke didn’t have time to answer, he had much more pressing things to deal with! “What’s wrong?”

“Oh Simeon!” Luke cried, pointing at his loose canine. “My tooth! It’s awful!”

“Ah,” all the concern melted off Simeon face, and an almost cheeky smile replaced it. “How long has it been loose for? I could pull it out for you-”

“NO!”

“E-eh?”

“NEVER! You’re not touching my tooth!” Luke covered his mouth protectively with his hands, pushing a little too hard on the loose tooth and causing a dull ache in his gums. “Not after what happened last time!”

“L-last time?”

Luke shuddered at the memory. “We tried to pull one of my front teeth too early… and it hurt sooooo much and got stuck… one of the older angels had to get it out with pliers…”

The little Angel said that last part in a whisper, as if repeating what happened would summon dozens of plier monsters to steal his remaining baby teeth. Simeon chuckled slightly before covering it up with a cough, but even Luke could still see the ghost of a smile on his face.

“I promise I won’t hurt you, would you like to try-”

“No!” Luke shook his head so hard his hat slipped onto his face. “It needs to fall out naturally so it doesn’t hurt!”

Simeon blinked a few times in surprise, before shrugging and sighing. “If you say so, Luke. Now we’re going to miss school if you don’t get going.”

—————————

And wait for the tooth to fall out naturally, Luke did. But OH MY GOD WAS IT ANNOYING.

After a fatal incident where Luke bit down on a cookie Barbatos had made, his tooth was majorly loose. Every time he bit something, the tooth would click back and hit the roof of his mouth, causing one of the most aggravating pains of Luke’s (albeit short for an Angel) life.

Eating soft foods at lunch? “OW!”

Hopping up and down stairs? “OW!”

Just talking? “OW OW OW!”

As much as this was grating on Luke, it was grating on the demons and the other exchange students more.

“You know, Luke,” Beel said, munching on a muffin that Luke had given up to him. “I could pull it out for you.”

“Wh- no! I already told you!” Luke huffed, crossing his arms and slumping forward, causing his teeth to click together and once again, hitting the loose tooth. “I’m waiting for it to fall out naturally.”

Belphie, who was asleep next to Beel, let out a surprised snore, opened his eyes, and scanned the area before his eyes landed on Luke.

“Snrk- ugh… loose tooth?” He asked.

“Mhm…”

“Give me five minutes, let me get the pliers.” Belphie shifted to get up, but the horrified expression on Luke’s face froze him in his tracks. “Y-you alright Chihuahua?”

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

Luke screamed and ran down the hall and completely out of sight, leaving the two bewildered twins behind.

————————

“Owwww…” Luke whimpered, rubbing his upper lip in an attempt to massage his sore gums. He was sitting next to Leviathan in the library during what was supposed to be a relaxing study period, but nope. His tooth was once again ruining his day.

Levi grimaced and rolled his eyes as his thumbs just missed the next tiles. Piano Tiles was a game meant to be won with little to no distractions, but the chihuahua was really getting on Levi’s last nerve. He slowly turned to look at Luke, what he hoped to be a gentle smile on his face.

“L-listen, why don’t I help you with that?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Levi went redder than ketchup as embarrassment rushed to his face. “W-well! I know yo-you probably d-don’t want the help of some worthless Otaku, but I can get your tooth out.”

“Huh?”

Levi turned to face Luke fully and lowered himself to his level. “Y-yeah, just let me get some twine and-”

The Avatar of Envy reached forward, and as quick as a bolt of lighting, a resounding CRACK echoed through the entire library. Levi’s face snapped to the right as a red spot began to grow on his cheek. Luke’s chair screeched as he roughly pushed it out and bolted for the door.

“SIMEEEEEEOOOOOOOON!”

His shouts revived an angry shush from the poor librarian.

“G-geez…” Levi rubbed the spot on his cheek, it didn’t particularly sting, and Luke had really soft little hands. “Like being slapped by a squishamellow…”

———————

“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” Luke whined as he went down each step of the school’s front stairs. The Avatar of Greed let out an annoyed groan from behind him.

“Fido, I’m serious, if ya don’t stop with the whinin’ I’m gonna take away your extra walkies.”

Luke went a colour that could only be described as the brightest shade of red ever conceived as he turned to berate Mammon. “My name is- ow- it’s Luke!”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Mammon rolled his eyes waved his hand in the air. “What’s the big idea about this stupid tooth anyway? Don’tcha know what you’ll get once it comes out?”

“Hm? What..?”

“Money!” Mammon said with a megawatt smile. “The tooth fairy’ll give ya some pocket change in exchange for your tooth! A pretty fair trade if ya ask me.”

“I don’t need money.” Luke huffed, frowning up at Mammon. “I save my allowance. Unlike some.”

Mammon choked on a gasp before coughing up a storm. Luke turned around and kept walking. No use in trying to reason with scumbags like him!

“Oi! That’s a pretty mean thing for an Angel to say!” Mammon shouted. He grabbed the back of Luke’s collar and spun him around. “Listen kid, I know ya want your tooth to fall out ‘naturally’ or whatever, but what if the Great Mammon made takin’ your tooth out fun?”

“F-fun?” Luke asked tentatively, Mammon grinned and nodded.

“Yeah! I’ll get a bit of twine, wrap it around that sucker and attach the end of the twine to the bumper of my car. Then I put the pedal to the medal and the tooth becomes a distant memory! What do ya say?”

Luke and Mammon had about four seconds of awkward sustained eye contact… until Luke raised a small bottle and sprayed its contents right into Mammon’s eyes.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

The two of them screamed as Luke ran off towards Purgatory Hall at top speed. Mammon clawed at his eyes before he realized… Luke had sprayed him with water. Not holy water. Regular water.

…damn it chihuahua.

—————

“Ah, hello Chihuahua.”

No… in his own home…

There stood in the doorway to the living room… evil incarnate. The worst of the worst… the baddest of the bad… the sadists of sadists… the most refined scum in the entire Devildom… the giver of bad nicknames…

Lucifer… the Avatar of Pride…

Well, the most refined dickhead in the Devildom was wearing quite the chipper smile on his eeeeeeviiiil face.

“What do you want?” Luke sneered, Lucifer only smiled and sat next to the Angel.

“I’ve heard about your little debacle and I’m here to help.” Lucifer said, slowly reaching out his hand. “Just hold still.”

“NO!”

“LUCIFER FREEZE.”

Ah! A SAVIOUR!

Standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, stood the human exchange student. Lucifer sat frozen mid grab for the tooth with a expression that could only be described as pure inconvenience. Himiko gently glided across the room and took Luke’s face in her gentle hands, he immediately sank into her touch.

“Oh you poor poor thing!” Himiko cooed, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Has your tooth really been bothering you?”

“Mhm…” Luke sighed mournfully. Even though he would have loved to have told Himiko off for treating him like a little kid… he had to admit, she had a way of making him feel like the most special little Angel in the entire universe.

“Aw, and everyone’s been bothering you? Shame on them!”

“Yeah!”

“Excuse me-”

“Shut up, Lucifer.” Himiko growled before turning back to Luke with the sweetest look he’d ever seen. “Oh Luke, I’ll help, okay? You don’t have to take your tooth out. I know an old human truck that can make all the pain vanish.”

“R-really?” Luke asked, his voice tinged with hope.

“Mhm!” Himiko nodded with the warmest of smiles on her face. “Here, lay down.”

She gently guided Luke’s head to rest in her lap, then patted his head three times.

“Step one! Pat, pat, pat!”

Luke giggled as Himiko then began to boop his nose.

“Step two! Beep, beep, beep!”

“Hi-Himiko…” Luke said through peals of childish giggles. “How’s this supposed to help?”

“Shhh, now for step three. Close your eyes and say aaaaaaaah.”

“Aaaaaaah.”

Luke closed his eyes and he felt Himiko’s fingers close around his tooth, then- nothing. Huh… there was the tiniest of dull aches but he didn’t feel any discomfort. Luke opened his eyes a crack and slowly felt around for his tooth with his tongue. Did Himiko click it back into his skull or something-

THAT HUMAN STOLE HIS TOOTH!

Himiko triumphantly held the baby tooth in two pinched fingers, Lucifer let out a chuckle and shook his head. Luke’s jaw dropped as he leapt off of Himiko’s lap and nearly fell backwards into the coffee table. He pointed an accusatory finger at the two of them as he tried to sputter out a reply.

“Y-y-you tricked me!” Luke gasped, he turned to Lucifer with a furious expression on his little face. “Your awful demon-ness has rubbed off on her! That was sneaky! And cruel! And mean! And-”

“Clever?” Lucifer offered.

“I was going to say awful!” Luke stomped his foot.

“Luke,” Himiko said gently, holding out his tooth. “Come on, it didn’t even hurt, did it?”

“N-no! But you’ve betrayed my trust! I’m never speaking to either of you again!” Luke said as he stomped off towards his room.

Himiko and Lucifer shared a glance as they heard angry footsteps coming back to the living room. Luke stuck out his hand, his cheeks still red with anger.

“I want my tooth back. I deserve some tooth fairy money for this!”

———————

Author’s Note

Betrayal… betrayal of the highest order… this was just a quick little thing to get me back into the swing of writing :3

I hope you enjoyed!

[meetthetank]

Peccatum Chapter 19: Silence

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), Jackass/The Commander (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), 6O (NieR: Automata), 21O, Jackass (NieR: Automata), The Commander (NieR: Automata) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe, genre typical violence, long fic, Slow Burn, War, Chapter 13 is rated E, CW on chapter 18, Hate crimes

2B frowns as the sun sets over the city of Vigo. After 9S had failed to show up for dinner, worry had eaten away at the back of her mind for hours. He wasn’t in his room, or with 21O’s birds. Not even 6O had seen him around. 

Not wanting to whip the other soldiers into a panic, and to keep out of their work, 2B keeps her search to herself as best she can. She drifts through room after room looking for any sign or scent of him. Even as the other scouts file in one after the other, 9S isn’t among them, and they have no idea where he was. 11S mentions that 9S was given a simple shopping list from Jackass and that it shouldn’t have taken him this long to be back. 

“Maybe he went out into the woods?” 801S offers. “Did he say anything about meeting him somewhere?”

2B sighs, “No, but I haven’t looked outside the city yet.”

42S begins to wax poetic about her and 9S having a moonlight tryst in the woods again, but 2B ignores his nonsense and pushes past the group of boys. If it were the case, 9S would have said something to her. It isn’t like him to vanish without a trace. Someone always knew where he was.

With the addition of the soldiers in regalia she does not recognize patrolling the streets, as well as the refugees congesting the shortcuts and back alleys, it’s much more challenging to slip through unnoticed. One of the soldiers in strange, hooded armor stops her just in front of the city gates and tries to corral her as if she were a confused citizen. Despite their self important posturing, it only takes a thinly veiled threat from 2B to make them stand aside. She is, after all, the most dangerous thing within these walls.

The moment the gate opens to her, 2B bolts into the woods. Foliage and underbrush rush past her; prey animals scatter in all directions at the sudden approach of a predator. Her dark, keen eyes hone in on any and all movement in the quickly darkening forest. Every shifting shadow or rustling leaf could be a lead—but all she finds are terrified animals.

Her search takes her to the clearing where she and 9S had met not long ago. A strange sense of nostalgia twists in her stomach and she can’t decide if she finds it unpleasant or not. What is discomforting to her is that there is no sign of 9S anywhere. She had half expected to find him sprawled out in the leaves with a rose between his teeth, like in 6O’s romance novels. She...wasn’t sure what she would do if she had found him like that.

Since the forest holds nothing to help her search, not even the faintest scent, 2B huffs and decides to move on. Searching the entire forest would not only take too long but also draw too much attention to herself. Besides, 9S is probably back at the barracks by now. Hopefully.

Instead of returning to Vigo through the gates, 2B scales a nearby tree and leaps onto the top of the wall. If it were just a bit darker out she would have simply transformed and flown back, but that would terrify the townsfolk. Coatyls rarely left their ancestral home anymore, and humans have such short cultural memories. She’d be shot down within seconds, mistaken for a flying demon or a large bird of prey come to snatch up their children.

She slinks through the back alleys with ease, cutting across rooftops and walls as if they were treetops. The scent of seared flesh catches her attention for a moment but she quickly attributes it to vendors and families cooking their dinners. Her stomach rumbles and her mouth waters at the thought of meat (or potatoes). Once she finds 9S she’ll drag him with her to find something to eat. Humans seem to like eating with others.

As the barracks comes into view, something catches 2B’s eye. People she doesn’t recognize rush into the building. The low rumble of voices shouting over each other can be heard, and it’s only when she gets a little close does she hear what they’re saying. They demand one thing after the other. Entry to the building, a meeting with White, the start of an inquisition. Something must have happened in the time she was gone—something that makes worry twist in her stomach.

She enters the barracks through an unattended back door and makes her way through the winding stone corridors towards where the scouts normally congregate.

“-...9S…” a female voice says, her voice straining on his name.

2B stops in her tracks and listens for more information.

“-....Executed…” another, tired voice adds.

Her stomach drops. Without thinking, she follows the conversation. She has to know what was happening. She has to make sure 9S was okay.

2B rounds a corner to see Jackass all but sprinting towards White’s temporary office followed by 6O and 21O, who wrings her robes in her hands and wears a look of pure distress. It’s the first time 2B has seen her so shaken, which only reinforces her fears.

She lurks behind them as they enter White’s office. She is not an official part of their army; a meeting like this is barred for her. 2B lingers by the doorway, only slipping inside once attention turns away from the three women who file in.

“So You dare to sit here and deny the fact that there are half-breeds within your ranks,” a bearded man shouts, his face turning the same shade of red as his cape, “when we have detained one?!”

“Senator, our army does not harbor the enemy,” White says, her voice as cold as ever. “However, that does not mean it is impossible for one to slip through the cracks unnoticed, especially one such as him.”

2B bristles at his name, but remains silent and composed.

“It did look...disturbingly human,” another man said, this one much older and wizened compared to the man in the red cape. “It is not unheard of for demons to mimic humans in order to worm their way into our ranks.”

“Yes. There have been several cases, even recently.” White responds and shoots an icy look at the man in the red cape. “Now then, if you would release the soldier in question into my custody we can begin our disciplinary process. If you have recommendations on what course of action we should take, now would be the time to say so.”

“We will not be releasing it,” the Senator growls. “It is to be publicly executed by beheading tomorrow at dawn.”

The words hit 2B with such physicality that she recoils. Time seems to slow around her as the gravity of the situation begins to sink in.

9S is going to die.

They’re going to kill him, simply because of his blood.

And it makes her furious.

She pushes past a number of muttering strangers, past 21O who tries to hide the tears welling in her eyes, past 6O who comforts her, and past nobles who balk at her impudence.

“How dare you,” 2B snarls.

“Excuse me?!” the Senator shouts with an indignant gasp. “General, who is this?!”

“9S has done nothing. He is innocent, and you’re going to kill him?” 2B slams her fist onto the table with such force that the ancient wood creaks. “You disgust me.”

“That’s enough.” White says, keeping her voice low. “2B, you do not have a say in this matter at all.”

“You would let 9S die?!” 2B snaps at White. “After all he’s done?!”

“2B…” There’s a dangerous edge to the Commander’s voice that makes 2B shiver involuntarily.

“How can you sit here and do nothing to stop this?!”

“That's enough.”

White rises from her seat and stands at her full height. For the first time since she’s met the Commander, 2B realizes how tall she is. White practically dwarfs her in both height and physical mass. There’s a power within her that feels...wrong...to 2B. It’s enough to make her back down.

“General,” the Senator begins, also visibly shaken by White’s voice, “with the discovery of this half-breed within your ranks, the integrity of your soldiers is called into question.”

2B, though shocked into silence by White, barely suppresses a snarl when the Senator begins speaking again.

“Just how many of the enemy could be hiding within, seeking to learn our secrets?”

“There are none,” White says with definitive strength. “There are no half-breeds in my army. 9S is simply an outlier and will be...taken care of come tomorrow morning. We do not have the manpower to divert our resources away from the blockade to mount this inquisition of yours.”

Both Jackass and 21O stiffen, but maintain themselves far better than 2B does.

“Unbelievable! You- I can’t stand by and-”

Suddenly, Jackass storms over to her and grabs her by the arm. “Shut up,” she growls as she drags 2B out of the room. 2B tries to resist, but even all of her strength isn’t enough to stop Jackass.

21O and 6O follow them out after being rudely beckoned by Jackass, who drags the struggling 2B as if she were a small child.

“Let go!” 2B shouts the moment the doors behind them shut. She rips her arm away from her and bares her teeth at Jackass. “How can you let this happen?! He’s one of your-”

“I told you to shut up,” Jackass growls under her breath. “Put the fangs away and listen to me for a godsdamned second.”

2B looks between 21O, 6O, and Jackass. As much as she wants to storm the dungeons and save 9S herself she knows it would not be that easy. It’d most likely do more harm than good in the end. She looks at Jackass, the lieutenant with eyes like bottled lightning, and waits silently for her to continue.

“I got a plan.”

“What are your motives, half-breed? Why are you stealing our people?”

9S looks up at the masked man through one eye. His other is blackened and almost swollen shut. The area around it aches like his leg and chest, like broken bones do. Blood trickles from broken teeth torn out with white-hot pliers, only to be spit out onto the cold stone floor when too much pools on his tongue.

“I don’t...have any…” he breathes, “I just...want to go home.”

Unsatisfied with his answer the man delivers a crushing kick to 9S’ stomach. He coughs violently and spits up more globs of blood.

“Where is your commander?” the masked man growls.

“Please…” 9S sobs, “please, I’m not the enemy!”

The masked man grumbles something that 9S can’t hear and saunters over to a small brazier he had brought into 9S’ cell. Thin pieces of wood crackle with embers, heating a bar of iron to the point that it glows with a sinister white light. The man picks up the bar with a heavily gloved hand, causing tiny embers to scatter into the darkness.

9S can only whimper as the man holds the searing metal close to his chest. The heat is enough to burn his pale skin without even touching it. Parts of his chest start to blister, going from angry red to a sick white within seconds.

“You will die tomorrow regardless of what you say to me,” growls the man. “There is no point in holding onto your secrets, demon.”

“I’ve told you...everything…” 9S wheezes. He tries to push himself further into the wall as even the rough-hewn stone digging into his blistered back is preferable to the burning iron.

“Wrong answer.”

9S braces himself as best he can but even after hours of this vicious cycle, but the moment the iron bar touches his skin he lets out a strained howl. The bar slides through like a knife through butter. Fat and muscle alike melt and sear; blood seeps out and bubbles into steam instantly. He wails for mercy till his throat gives out, leaving him silently gasping in agony.

After what seems like hours, 9S’ tormenter removes the iron from his chest and places it back into the brazier. The headsman stands over 9S, darkening the already dimly lit cell. The only sound in this dismal place is the crackle of fires and his own choked sobs. Everything else is as silent as the grave.

“The pain will end when you answer my questions,” the masked man says.

9S’ pulse roars in his ears, drowning out any sound beyond what his own battered body makes. He tries to take deep, even breaths, but each one is anguish; he trembles with pain from even the slightest movement. Sweat drips down his body, causing him to shiver violently in the cold, stagnant air of the dungeon. He closes his eyes for a moment. Everything in his primal mind says to keep his eyes open, to fight back, to run away. But he’s bound to a wall, his vision blurring from pain. It didn’t matter in the end. He would be dead soon anyway.

A heavy door slamming snaps him out of his stupor. 9S knows not to get his hopes up, but the footsteps approaching only spur on those thoughts. It could be Jackass, the Commander, or even 2B coming to release him. Jackass and White would reprimand him to no end, but any amount of verbal berating would be like a gentle maiden whispering sweet nothings in his ear by comparison. 2B would take him into her strong arms, hold him close to her chest, and protect him from anyone attempting to take him from her.

Though none of these wistful thoughts come true, the reality is somehow stranger than 9S’ imagination. Two figures, both of them male and the exact same height, stand outside of his cell conversing with the masked man. Their negotiations end by the time 9S forces himself back to consciousness, and the two men wave order the headsman to leave them. 

“Hello, 9S.” 

Adam’s smooth voice feels like honey being poured into 9S’ ear. He had only encountered the upjumped councilman and his brother eve in passing, but the impression stuck with him. It was hard to forget the flowing, alabaster hair of Adam, Eve’s incredible muscle definition (and aversion to shirts), and their piercing red eyes that seem to glow in the dim lighting. Their sweet stench overpowers the dungeon’s mildew, blood, and piss smells. It sickens 9S, even more so than the inhumane chittering of the girls in red that linger just outside his vision.

Why had this faux politician and his bodyguard brother saved him from being executed tonight, and why were they here now? Why had they demanded to be alone with him?

“Go...away,” 9S hisses.

Adam chuckles. “Come now, that’s no way to treat a benefactor.” He kneels in front of 9S, smiling widely. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

9S recoils at Adam’s breath, which stinks of rotting fruit. “I know...what you two are,” he spits. “You’re...demons. Real ones…”

Again, Adam laughs. “Yes, you are correct. But, like all apes do, you fail to grasp the intricacies of the situation. My brother and I, we were made to look like you, talk like you. We even bleed like you do. All in the pursuit of a more...gentle conquest.”

“We’re like you,” Eve says, “but better.”

“I’m nothing...like you two monsters,” 9S groans. “I wasn’t constructed. I was born...I think...for myself….I’m not...evil.”

“Foolish ape.” Adam grins and takes 9S’ chin in his hand, forcing him to look into his crimson eyes. “What is an Incubus? A spy. An insurgent. They plant their seed in the human population, grow our numbers within the enemy. They draw power from their victims to spread their influence even further. Given a simple signal, these spawn awaken to their true nature and join our ranks as thralls.”

Adam’s words twist in 9S’ stomach more than any knife could. His whole life he’s fought with his heritage, with self-hatred. He’s worked so hard to deny that part of himself that it’s like the bursting of a dam when it’s dredged into light.

“Us Homunculi aren’t much different.” Eve chimes in, idly tapping his clawed gloves on the bars.

“No, we’re not,” agrees Adam. “But you, dear boy. You are different than the other ape spawn.”

“Wh...what?” 9S shivers at Adam’s words, bracing himself for...he’s not sure what.

“You have...awakened on your own, so to speak,” explains Adam. “You have drawn power from something no ape spawn, Incubus, or any other demon has. It’s very...interesting.”

“I don’t...understand.”

“The dragon, boy. You’ve managed to mate with a dragon.”

9S’ pain-addled mind races, trying to put the pieces Adam has laid out for him together. He tries to recall what he felt like after...meeting with 2B in the woods that day. He remembers pain and pleasure in equal measure. He remembers waking up in the infirmary in a stupor, but he didn’t feel stronger...or did he? Something had happened during the fight with Grun. A surge of power that had rushed through his body. He had felt lighter, his muscles tighter, and something that 2B said started to take shape once again.

She had mentioned his eyes were gold now.

“The implications of this are fascinating to me,” Adam says, jolting 9S out of his thoughts. “What did you do that allowed you to overpower a dragon?”

The underlying meaning of Adam’s question makes bile roil in his gut. “I didn’t-...”

“What would happen if you continued to mate with and draw power from this dragon? The possibilities are endless. Even now, you were able to hurt the Ocean Engine enough for it to ignore multiple warships. And yet ....” Adam’s face shifts from elated curiosity to a frown of disappointment. “And yet, here you sit. Broken and beaten within an inch of your life. Overpowered by a mob of fearful apes.”

“Why didn’t you fight them?” Eve asks, his eyes wide with genuine curiosity, “They hurt you so badly, and you didn’t fight back? I don’t get it.”

“Yes, Eve, I agree.” Adam nods. “I don’t understand either.”

“I…” 9S closes his eyes, as if that would hide his shame, “It...I couldn’t have fought off that whole mob. They would have swarmed me in seconds if I actually fought back. I lashed out at someone, broke their arm I think...It just made them angrier.” He sighs and lets out a weak, bitter laugh. “It would have disappointed my mother, too.”

9S can’t suppress the tears that begin to flow as he thinks about how broken 21O must be. But there’s little time to dwell on that, as Adam lets out a long, sinister laugh that chills him to the core.

“To think that a swarm of apes could defeat a demon, even an ape spawn, is absurd. Without your...equalizers, as you call them, they are nothing but animals playing at something more. You have much more power than you realize, little ape spawn.”

“I don’t…” 9S mutters, “...What do you mean?”

Adam chuckles darkly and backs away, leaving Eve to take his place, “Show him.”

Cyan energy crackles around Eve’s hand, “Sure thing, brother.”

Before 9S has a chance to protest, or even scream, Eve clamps his clawed hand around his face. It’s like being burned again, but this time it surges through 9S’ body like liquid fire. He howls, his voice rattling the air around them. Every muscle seizes and spasms. His heart beats so rapidly he thinks it has stopped for a moment. 

Soon, 9S’ body begins to contort. His bones grind together. They harden and stretch as the muscle around them bulges so as not to be crushed under the new mass. His skin stretches to accommodate the changes. It splits open on his upper arms, his calves, thighs, and shoulders, only for new tissue to quickly stitch them back together. His previous injuries begin to heal as well. New, rough skin grows over the burns on his chest and back, the sensation just as agonizing; like thousands of thousands of ants skittering beneath his skin. The bones in his broken leg fuse together as well, though in an awkward and painful way that makes the leg look crooked and wrong. A similar sensation plagues his forehead, where his nub-like horns are. They sprout out rapidly, growing new branches and a rougher texture similar to a stag’s antlers. The sudden weight makes his head dip forward, allowing 9S to see the pulsing golden veins that snake beneath his skin. His tail, now much thicker and with multiple barbs, thrashes wildly on the ground, only to be pinned beneath Adam’s boot.

9S lifts his head to roar, scraping his now elongated fangs against the meat of Eve’s palm. The only thing he can think about is how much it hurts and how much he wants to hurt them for doing this to him. He thrashes against his restraints, rattling the chains and bending the plate that holds them to the wall. Despite his new strength, the iron shackles hold firm, crushing his wrists inside them.

“This is the power you wield, boy.” Adam says, glaring down at him with disgust. “Escape is at your fingertips, yet you lash out at your benefactors like a beaten dog.”

Again, 9S lets out a furious roar and gnashes his teeth at the twins.

“That’s enough, Eve.” he commands, “Any more and he’ll die before his execution.”

Eve pulls his hand away reluctantly. Almost immediately the lightning that courses through 9S’ veins retreats. His body shrinks down to his demure, natural size. The antlers fall from his head and disintegrate to ash. Exhaustion replaces rage, agony replaces the will to fight. He slumps against the wall, barely able to breathe or hold his head upright. His mouth aches with thirst, each breath only invites more dryness into his dehydrated body.

“How disappointing.” 

With that, Adam and Eve leave 9S. They don’t even bother to lock his cell.

He chokes, “2B….please….2B….” 

He doesn’t even have tears left to cry. 

“2B….help….don’t leave me alone….I don’t want….to die….”

“Please….help me….”

But nobody came.

[lovelylogans]

my eyes are wide to all your lies (’cause you’re not that discreet)

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, mentions of getting rid/lessening anxiety, human experimentation (not as dark as it sounds, but still figured a warning would be good), fusion, deceit

pairings: royality

words: 6,269

notes: april fools, i got you! and now i present the idea that warranted my first block in four years of internet friendship and had me cackling in unholy, childish glee the whole time i was plotting and writing it: it’s a phineas and ferb au! yeah, you read that right. title from “busted” from phineas and ferb.

There was one hundred and four days of summer vacation before school came along just to end it.

So the annual problem that the Sanders-Prince brothers had was finding a new way to spend it. They’d built rockets, fought mummies, climbed up the Eiffel tower, discovered things that didn’t exist, given monkeys showers. They’d surfed tidal wives, created nanobots, located Frankenstein’s brain. They’d found a dodo bird, painted a continent, and driven their brother insane. 

The question that was posed every day over toast-with-heaps-of-jam then had to be posed:

“Logan, what are we gonna do today?”

Logan Sanders nudged his glasses up his nose with a thoughtful expression. Logan had the expression of the teacher’s pet, the nerd that never got in trouble beyond perhaps reading during class, or correcting a teacher, but behind that calm, know-it-all expression and dorky glasses laid a mad scientist who had not yet graduated high school. 

“We could recreate Tesla’s death ray again,” he suggested mildly.

“Logan, we did that three weeks ago.” Roman groaned. “No doing things again! It has to be bigger, better, bolder, newer.”

Roman Prince, on the other hand, had the exact look of a troublemaker that tended to have teachers hollering “Put that away!” and “Prince, principal’s office!” and got him parked in the front row of the room before he could scoot off to the back (usually next to his stepbrother, which compounded the problems, not that Logan would ever let himself get caught.) He gladly lived up to the reputation and strove for each spectacle to be bigger and grander than the last.

“Mom!” Virgil exclaimed, eyes huge, made to seem even wider by the dark eyeshadow smeared beneath them.

Their older brother (or stepbrother, to Roman) Virgil Sanders, had the exact face of a punk-rock emo kid, the sort of boy who skipped school and missed curfew and never cared. In actuality, he was kind of a tattletale, or perhaps more like the boy in back who muttered “I don’t know about this guys” while the other kids were doing things like experimenting with fireworks that they’d stolen from their older brother’s stash. Virgil’s ongoing pursuit of the summer was to catch Roman and Logan in the middle of one of their dangerous plots, which would surely end in their serious injuries and or deaths I know I look like the bad guy but you two have to be safe okay you could get seriously hurt or seriously DEAD do you understand me Roman and Logan D-E-A-D dead!

“That’s nice, dear,” Caroline Sanders-Prince said absently from where she was at the stove. Virgil groaned and put his head down on the table, floppy bangs narrowly missing the butter dish.

“Why do I even bother,” Virgil grumbled.

Roman batted his eyelashes at his stepbrother. “Because you love us?”

“Gross,” Logan muttered, from behind a thick tome entitled Understanding Chinese Engineering Doctoral Students in U.S. Institutions: A Personal Epistemology Perspective that he’d pulled from nowhere, because he was a boy genius who read books with very long titles like that. “Emotions.”

“Gross,” Virgil snapped. “Mom, Roman has the platypus on the table!”

“That’s nice, dear.”

“Aw, Deceit wouldn’t do anything, would he?” Roman crooned to their pet platypus, inexplicably named Deceit, who knickered at Virgil dutifully. Virgil pulled a face at him, because he did not trust that platypus.

“He just wants some bacon!” Roman exclaimed.

“Can platypuses have bacon?”

“Platypi,” the book corrected from where Logan’s face had been. “They’re technically carnivorous, so—yes. He’d probably prefer larvae or freshwater shrimp, though.”

“Gross,” Roman said, as he ensured Deceit had all the bacon he wanted and lowered him back onto the floor. “And so not the point! Logan! We have to figure out what to do today!”

The brothers continued to bicker, not noticing as Deceit the platypus crept outside, looked around, and pulled on his hat before entering into the secret chute that would catapult him to his day job: an animal agent for the OWCA, protecting the tri-state area from one inator-enamored mad scientist at a time.

“More Tesla?”

“Logan. We spent all of that week. On Tesla. We have to do something fresh! Something bold! Something we invent!”

“I still can’t believe you invented a death ray and you thought that was a good idea,” Virgil said, ready to work himself up into an anxiety-induced tizzy. “It’s a DEATH ray, death is right there in the name!”

Logan frowned at him over the pages of his book, which he was somehow halfway through already. “We wouldn’t have killed people,” he said. “Flies, probably. Or mosquitoes. Most likely.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” Virgil said. “Thanks, a death ray for flies or mosquitoes, most likely! What could have possibly gone wrong?!”

“How is it possible for you to worry so much?” Roman said, from where he was constructing an elaborate toast-tower with the remaining slices they hadn’t eaten, yet. He was currently sealing together the walls with jam and carefully carving out the windows for the tiny toast-people to survey their kitchen table kingdom. “I never worry so much.”

“Yeah, I worry enough for you, and Logan, and your little scout friend,” Virgil grumbled. “I have all the anxiety of this neighborhood combined into one person.”

Roman perked up, nearly sending a tiny toast-family sprawling. “Hang on, what did you just say?”

“Oh,” Virgil said, because he knew his stepbrother well enough to see his “new idea! new idea!” face, and he also knew him well enough to fear it. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” Roman said gleefully. “Logan! I know what we’re gonna do today!”

“Run me through it again.”

Roman sighed loudly from where he was stationed in a treetop, twisting a screw carefully into place. Half of Logan’s body was underneath their latest monstrous machine.

“Okay. So. The basic plan is, we’re going to see if we can put you in this machine to ease out some of your worries, your fears—enough so that it doesn’t overwhelm you constantly, not too much to change who you are as a person,” Roman began. “And if you hate it, we can reverse it, no problem.”

“When you say basic plan,” Virgil said apprehensively, and Logan rolled partially out from under the machine, lifting the welding mask off his face so that he could squint at Virgil, looking strange without his glasses.

“Without the scientific explanations that would inevitably confuse those of lesser intelligence.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You know what he means,” Roman said, and then, “Oh, God, here he comes, quick, I—“

Roman made a half-aborted gesture as if to climb down the tree, and then hastily redirected his energy toward straightening his shirt, patting his hair into place, and setting up the most swaggeringly handsome pose he could manage in a tree. Virgil, looking down the street, tried his best to hide his smirk.

Patton Hart had lived down the street since they’d moved in after their parents got married, and his crush on Roman had ignited not long after the first box was taken off the truck. Patton Hart had the exact face that had teachers picking him for messenger duty, to guide a new kid around the school, or to provide a good face for the school—if he hadn’t volunteered for it already. He had quite the sprawl of extracurriculars under his belt, including, amongst others, Knitting Club, Baking Club, Pun Appreciation Club, and, most notably, leader of the Fireside Scouts—as noted by his constant orange sash that clashed horribly with his usual blue polo and gray hoodie.

The mutual crushes were a subject of constant private heckling between Logan and Virgil at Roman, and it would have been proven to further public mocking if Patton wasn’t so deeply, genuinely nice.

Patton bounced into the yard, beaming. “Hi, Virgil!”

“Hey, Patton,” Virgil said gruffly. (Patton had even charmed Virgil, a feat which back in the feuding-stepsibling days had stunned Roman to no end.)

“Hi, Roman,” he said, grinning up the tree at Roman, batting his eyelashes. “Whatcha dooo-in’?”

“Hey, Patton,” Roman said. “We’re trying to see if we can make Virgil less scared all the time without erasing who he is as a person.”

Patton flopped out on the sun-soaked grass that was trying valiantly to live in the drought of summer. “Sounds hard, but if anyone can do it, it’s you two. Hi, Logan,” he added to Logan’s knees.

Logan grunted and extended a hand out from under the machine. “Round-nose pliers.”

Patton cheerfully plucked the necessary tool from the expansive kit (tool-fetcher for the Sanders-Prince brothers was an unofficial but important extracurricular of his, one that he’d considered making a badge for) but held it in his hands, not yet handing it over. “What’s the magic word?”

“There’s no such thing as magic.”

“Logan.”

Logan let out a long-suffering sigh that he was probably extending, to compensate for the lack of eye contact, which meant no eyeroll. “Please pass the round-nose pliers.”

“Sure thing!” Patton said, carefully placing them in his hand, only to watch his arm disappear back under the machine. 

Roman had managed to get down from the tree, and hastily straightened out his shirt before he leaned against the machine in a way that could not, in any universe, pass as casual. Virgil rolled his eyes and instead resorted to picking at the latest rip in his jeans rather than focus on any of the big and admittedly very scary-looking machine that would somehow help his anxiety.

Shouldn’t it be, like, painted with sunshine and daisies or something, not just some kind of metallic alloy? If it was about taking away fear?

“I’m telling Mom,” Virgil said, mostly out of routine at this point.

“Aren’t you involved today?” Roman said. “And therefore, you’d get in trouble too, so—”

“It’s not about trouble,” Virgil said irritably. “It’s about—it’s about danger. You can’t just keep ramping up experiments without safety measures and without making detailed plans or prototypes or something that you run through any potential side effects or faults that would happen, you could get hurt badly, you could hurt someone else, you could—”

Logan had wheeled himself out from under the machine, removing the mask, and his stare was so knowing that Virgil clamped his mouth shut, looking at a patch of brown grass that wasn’t quite in the reach of the sprinkler.

“We aren’t Dad, Virgil.”

Logan’s voice was pitched low, almost kind, and Virgil screwed his eyes shut.

“Hey,” Roman said, blessedly oblivious as always, “where’s Deceit?”

Deceit was currently parachuting his way onto the balcony of his nemesis’ secret evil lair/tower. As a platypus without opposable thumbs, this was more difficult than most would think.

Especially when a platypus without opposable thumbs was dodging a series of dodgy traps, only to stumble into a table where his nemesis had set up tea.

“Oh. Deceit the platypus, there you are,” Dr. Doofenshmirtz said. “You’re late, and as such, I have revoked your access to cucumber sandwiches!”

Deceit stared at him blankly.

“Oh, I just can’t resist that face,” Dr. Doofenshmirtz said. “Fine, catch!”

Dr. Doofenshmirtz hurled a cucumber sandwich directly at Deceit’s beak like the world’s tiniest, most confusing projectile, which hit his beak, and then expanded outward into a series of wires and cables, snaring Deceit against the wall.

“And now that you are trapped, I shall explain my evil plan!” He said gleefully. 

Deceit let out the platypus equivalent of a sigh, tipping his head back to the ceiling.

“Okay, that should be the last of it,” Roman said, stepping back and wiping his brow free of sweat. Virgil, who had long since retreated to the shade of underneath a tree, grimaced at the machine, and began picking at his freshly-painted black fingernails with a renewed sense of fervor. There were already tiny chips of black littered around him in the dirt.

Patton proffered a little tray of lemonade, and Roman perked up. 

“Oh, hey, thanks, Patton!” He said happily, picking up the ice-cold glass and pressing it against his forehead for a moment, before taking a healthy gulp from the red-and-white striped straw.

“Logan, Virgil?” Patton offered, lifting the tray. “I have cookies too.”

There was a brief break as everything went snack-crazed for a bit, the boys bumping into each other and elbowing each other aside as they took their cookies of preference.

“So,” Patton said, taking his own sip of his lemonade (blue-and-white striped straw) “Virgil goes in there, you press that switch, and he’ll just... he’ll be less worried about things?”

“Well—” Logan began, but Roman broke in, smiling winningly at Patton.

“Essentially, yep!”

“Well,” Logan repeated, “Actually, Patton, I was surveying the mechanics, and it could potentially be aided if someone who produced... less worry and had a... how should we say, sunnier outlook on life stepped into the machine, too.”

Patton blinked at him, and Virgil was already surging toward the machine, spreading his arms, as if to bar anyone from approaching it.

“No. No way,” Virgil declared immediately. “It’s bad enough that you looped me into this plan, but there’s no way that you’re bringing Patton into it too!”

“Patton joins our plans daily,” Roman pointed out. “Honestly, it’s really more of a shock that you joined in, Fret-a-lot-saw.”

Virgil squinted at him. “Are you calling me a tool?”

“Shucks, kiddo, if it’ll help, I’m helping,” Patton said, setting aside his lemonade.

Virgil was already shaking his head again, eyes wild, like a spooked horse. 

“Why did I even let you get this far?” He asked himself. “Forget it! I’m going to tell Mom, and she’ll—”

“—say that’s nice dear without looking up from whatever else is taking her attention?” Logan asked archly.

“Fine,” Virgil said, undeterred. “Roman’s Dad, then.”

“It’s baseball season, no chance,” Roman said with a shrug.

“The police, then! The FBI! Anything!” Virgil said. “You two need a wake-up call, okay?! And apparently I’m the only one who’s gonna give it to you!”

“This is why you need the machine,” Roman said, and spread his hands. “Look around! You are literally the only one who is so freaked out about this.”

“Because no one else has common sense!”

“Because everyone else knows we can do it and doesn’t treat us like we can’t!” Roman snapped, and immediately shut his mouth, going bright red. “Um, I mean—I mean, obviously, more like haha, of course we can do it! Because we’re so smart and handsome and—”

Virgil hesitated, and lowered his arms to cross them over his chest. “I didn’t say you couldn’t do it,” he admitted grudgingly. 

“Yeah, well, you act like anything we make will inevitably blow up a lot more than someone who thinks we can,” Roman grumbled, scuffing a sneaker over the grass. 

“Because that happens, Roman! Even to really, really experienced inventors. Besides, aren’t you a little young to be making crazy inventions in the backyard every day?”

“Yes,” Roman said, jutting his chin up proudly. “Yes I am.”

Logan sighed. “We’ve run tests, we’ve made prototypes, will you please just step into the machine? This whole—” Logan gestured broadly with his hand, nose wrinkling, “emotional outburst thing is part of the whole reason we made it.”

Virgil hesitated even more. 

“It can’t hurt to just try, can it?” Patton said, and proffered his hand. “Look, I’ll step in with you. It looks kinda scary.”

Virgil hesitated, licked his lips, and said, “You’re sure about this?”

“Positive,” Logan said, shoving Patton toward him, and hissing in his ear, “Quick, before he changes his mind.”

Patton shot him a fondly exasperated look, before taking Virgil’s hand. Roman glowered at their joined hands for a moment.

Virgil let out a slow breath, and his knuckles went white from how tightly he was squeezing Patton’s hand. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“On it,” Patton said, and ducked through first, Virgil shooting a last look that seemed to say help to Logan, before following.

“All right!” Roman whooped, racing over to the machine. “Okay, power on, levels stable... you two ready?”

“I guess,” Virgil grumbled, as Patton chirped, “Yep!”

“Less worry, here we come!” Roman trilled, and flipped the switch.

A veritable lightshow ensued and the machine flared, and smoked, and sparked, as Roman and Logan hastily stepped back.

Roman leaned into his ear, shouting to be heard over the machine. “We are sure about this, right?”

“About 85% sure, yes. Perhaps 80%. 65% sure, at lowest. Probably.”

“Good enough for me,” Roman said, and returned his gaze to the machine just in time for the light and noise to die down.

“All right, Virgil, how are we feeling?” Roman called out. “Less inclined to bust us all the time? Maybe relaxed enough to, like, let us keep experimenting with death rays?”

There was no response.

Roman and Logan both frowned. 

“Patton?” Roman called, a little more desperate. “Hey, sweet-Hart, you okay in there?”

“Um,” a voice floated out from the machine that neither of them had ever heard before, and yet was inherently familiar, “you guys?”

Deceit tuned back in, perfectly timed to excise the Tragic Backstory but to get the full effect of the eventual evil plan of the day.

It had taken years of practice.

“—to make everyone as fearful as I was that day in the checkout line!”

Deceit stared at the massive device cloaked by a sheet.

“Yes, that’s right, Deceit the platypus,” he said gleefully, and whipped off the sheet. “Behold! The Frighteninator!”

Deceit began to work against the bonds, wondering idly if he would break his record of forty-one seconds—very impressive, for a platypus without opposable thumbs, if you asked him.

“Yes, soon the whole tri-state area shall tremble in fear, and therefore, I will be able to easily subjugate them and become emperor of the tri-state area!”

Roman was still waving the smoke out of his face when a silhouette stepped free from the machine, seeming close to stumbling before holding out its arms to keep its balance.

Well. That wasn’t right.

“What,” the voice asked, in that same foreign-familiar tone, “just happened?”

“Oh, excellent,” Logan said, peering closer at the silhouette.

“No, not excellent!” The silhouette wailed and at last the smoke cleared, revealing—

Well, at first Roman wasn’t really sure.

It looked sort of like a person, if not for the extra set of arms protruding at the waist. Their eyes had a huge pair of round glasses set in front of it, but the bags underneath them were pronounced and darker than Roman had ever seen on an actual person. Their polo was stitched in an odd amalgamation of blue, gray, purple, and black, mixing plaid with solid color, and there was an odd sash that—

Oh. 

Oh, wow.

“I dunno,” the stranger said cheerfully, “I think it’s kinda neat! Imagine all the cool stuff we can do with four arms!”

“Virgil?” Logan said, at the same time Roman said, “Patton?”

“Yes,” the voice answered—and that was why it sounded so strange, so familiar—

It was both of their voices at once.

“You,” the creature glowered. “are gonna get so—!”

“—famous, from all that nifty inventing you guys do!” the creature finished.

No, not a creature. It was Virgil and Patton. Patton and Virgil? Patton-and-Virgil, Virgil-and-Patton? God, his stepbrother had fused with his crush, he was so used to weird days (most of them he was responsible for) but this was so weird.

“You’ve fused!” Logan said gleefully. 

“This was not in your plan!” Virgil—or at least, the part of him that was Virgil—cried out.

“Well, we thought it might be a side effect,” Roman admitted. “But hey! Take a few steps, swing your arms around, tell us how you feel, this was definitely on the to-do list, and now I don’t have to deal with any of Logan’s nerdiness infecting me.”

Logan threw a wrench at him half-heartedly and Roman ducked—a well-practiced maneuver.

“Why’ve I got four arms?” the creature said, taking a hobbling step forward, flexing its two right hands. “I mean, all the more stuff I could do with it, probably—Virgil, you’re left-handed, aren’t you?”

The two left arms stretched, almost sulkily. Roman hadn’t known that an arm could stretch sulkily, but leave it to Virgil.

“Fascinating,” Logan breathed, digging hastily and coming up with a legal pad and a pen. “How do you feel? Do you still feel essentially separate, or do you find yourself more as a cohesive, singular unit?”

“I,” the creature said, and then it frowned. “I dunno, I guess? I’m—we’re?—feeling a bit more like one unit the longer we stick together, I think. We think?”

“Singular pronouns, I think,” Logan said, taking notes hastily. “Male ones. As to the four arms question—”

“Forget that,” Roman said. “What do we even call you?”

“Hm,” The creature said, one of its right hands coming up to frame under its chin. “I dunno. Pattil? Virgin?”

Roman snorted a laugh, and the creature slanted a look at him that was distinctly Patton.

“Why’s that funny?”

“It—uh—it isn’t,” Roman admitted sheepishly. “Sorry. Um... how about Moxie? Like, you got moxie, kid, Moxie.”

“Moxie,” they—he—said. “Okay! Sure, sounds cool.”

“How’s it going, though?” Roman said. “Less worried? More worried? Still freaking out about having double the amount of arms as usual?”

Moxie frowned for a second, and then his eyes went far away.

“Oh,” he said, tone equally far away, splitting into two—distinctly Virgil and Patton speaking in unison. “Oh. I can feel what you’re feeling.”

“Is that... good?” Roman asked, but then Moxie wrapped all four arms around himself, as if giving himself a hug.

“Do I want a cookie?” Moxie mumbled to himself, and snorted as if he had made a joke.

“Perhaps that would be good, I’d imagine transfusing into a new form would burn calories,” Logan said. “Plus, I’d like to see your finer motor control.”

Roman picked up the tray, offering it, and Moxie took a few shambling steps closer, eyes squinted in focus, a set of arms spread to keep his balance. 

“Hmm,” Moxie said, and then the right hand lunged forward, nearly knocking the tray over, before squeaking, “Sorry!”

“That’s okay,” Roman said. “New body. Also, can I tell you how weird it is that my friend and my stepbrother are combined into one person now?”

“It’s feeling less and less weird,” Moxie mused, before more carefully reaching and taking a cookie. “Thanks.”

Roman smiled at Moxie. Inexplicably, Moxie blushed, and then Moxie scowled, and then Moxie shoved the cookie into his mouth whole.

“Was that on purpose?” Logan asked mildly, who had not stopped scribbling.

“Mmmhmmm,” he said, trying his hardest not to spew crumbs. “Hungfwy.”

Logan nodded, marking something specifically. “Patton, what did you eat for breakfast? I’m curious as to how many calories this burns.”

“He didn’t,” Moxie blurted out, and then a right hand clapped over his mouth.

“Patton-cakes!” Roman scolded. “For all the times you talk to me about balanced eating!”

“That would explain it,” Logan said. “Take another cookie. Left hand, this time.”

Moxie reached forward with his left hand, taking another cookie, not even knocking over the tray this time.

“Oh, yeah,” Moxie added, “I feel less worried, but I... feel. A lot. So.”

He took another big bite of a cookie.

“So,” Roman said. “Um. Now that we have a fusion machine... what now?”

Roman and Logan exchanged a grin, and Moxie looked nervous for a second, before he grinned, too.

“—what?! Deceit the platypus?!?! How could you have possibly freed yourself from that cucumber sandwich?!”

Deceit held up his OWCA-issue pocketknife in answer.

“Curse you, Deceit the platypus!”

Deceit leapt, and smacked Dr. Doofenshmirtz across the face with his beaver tail.

Virgil had gone inside with the excuse of fixing Patton a plate of some leftover breakfast, but also mostly to avoid the light-and-smokeshow of the machine as Roman and Patton sequestered themselves in the machine.

It hadn’t quite died down by the time Virgil came out, awkwardly holding a plate.

“So,” Logan said, making a table on the notepad, “how long into the fusion do you think it’ll be before one of them gives themself away?”

Virgil snorted. “Five seconds.”

Logan sighed in relief. “I’ve been very tired of hearing about how Patton’s hair shines in the sun. Or about how his eyes sparkle when he laughs. Or—”

Virgil laughed. “That bad?”

“You don’t share a room with him,” Logan said darkly.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t get randomly hit with butterflies because Roman smiled at you while you were fused with Patton. Let me tell you, that felt very gross.”

Logan tilted his head. “Point,” he said, and stole a triangle of toast already spread with jelly. 

“Aftereffects of the fusion?” He said, before jamming the toast triangle into his mouth whole and readying his pen.

Virgil paused, analyzing that, and said, “...weirdly calm.”

Logan nodded, writing this down, and at last the machine died down.

“Okay, Roman, Patton, how are you doing?” Virgil called out. “I’ve got breakfast for you here, if you want it.”

There’s a pause, and then, “I think we want to be Paman?”

“Paman,” Virgil amended, and the fusion stumbled out. He looked almost normal, really—blue and white and red seemed like a much more fitting combination, though the orange sash really was quite hideous, still—except for the four pairs of eyes, the bottom, normally-placed set wearing glasses, the top set clearly Roman’s.

“Ooh, jelly,” Paman said happily, and lumbered toward Virgil, taking the plate with a sunny smile that was obviously Patton. “Thanks!”

He flopped out on the grass, and tucked tidily into his breakfast, eating neatly and swiftly. Virgil and Logan sat, both staring at Paman—Paman seemed to stare back, even as he kept one set of eyes on the breakfast he was eating. 

“I love jelly,” Paman said, and then, 

“I know,” Paman said, “You always—“

A pause. Paman’s cheeks went a bright shade of red, and they put down the toast. Virgil offered a fist, and Logan reached out and tapped it with his own (a gesture that had taken some explanation for Logan to do on command, now.)

“You really...?”

“Is... are you...?”

Paman trailed off, smiled to himself, and went back to his breakfast, still blushing.

Crack! Pow! Bam!

“Not the nose, not the nose!” Dr. Doofenshmirtz wailed.

Paman was absently holding hands with himself when Logan finished his questionnaire, and nodded, flipping through the legal pad, which he’d mostly filled.

“I suppose the next question is, does a fusion more or less maintain its stability when another person is introduced to the fusion?”

Paman blinked. “You can add more than two people to a fusion?” He asked, and he answered himself in his next breath: “A fusion’s made up of all its parts—it can be anyone, as long as they’re comfortable with each other.” Paman then nodded, as if this made sense to him, and looked at Logan.

“Aren’t you curious?” He said, in his more unified voice, and Logan’s eyes gleamed for a moment, before—

“I suppose,” he said, attempting at casual.

“You sure about this?” Virgil asked.

Paman and Logan spoke as one: “Positive.”

Virgil sighed, but got to his feet. “Guess I’ll flip the switch, then.”

Slam! Pow! Ka-CLANK!

“NOT THE FRIGHTENINATOR!”

“Weird, right?” Virgil said, leaning against the machine, as the unnamed fusion (two sets of arms, two sets of eyes) staggered from the machine.

“Fascinating,” he said. “It seems that adding a person aggregates the unusual physical additions—Virgil, hand me my notepad!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but fetched it for him, handing it to the left set of arms, which immediately uncapped the pen and began to scrawl.

“Will you two keep your emotions away from me,” the fusion complained, and in the next breath he snickered, “Sorry!”

The fusion scrawled away at length, before he offered a professional nod, and one of his hands.

“All four of us,” he said, and Virgil hesitated.

“It’ll be fine,” he promised, and Virgil sighed, before accepting the hand, and walking back into the machine.

With one last well-placed kick, Dr. Doofenshmirtz went down and stayed down. Deceit, after waiting a few moments, rushed over to the Frighteninator, intent on shutting it down, tiny platypus paws roaming the machine, before—

Deceit let out a knicker that would have had his platypus mother scrubbing out his bill with platypus soap.

He walked out, spreading his arms—one set. And one set of eyes.

“We must look like a normal person,” he said.

He wasn’t sure where the thought originated, and if he focused, he could sense the divide—Logan’s intense curiosity, Roman’s inherent passion, Patton’s ambitions of kindness, Virgil’s worry—but he was...

He was...

He reached in his pocket and dug out a phone, turning it to the front-facing camera to squint at himself.

The outfit had actually normalized into something a normal person would wear—a red shirt, a tan jacket, jeans. His face was...

He squinted at himself. He looked so much like—

my eyes—

—my nose—

—my ears—

—my cheekbones—

—and yet so utterly, completely himself. He was... he was....

The name came from somewhere deep inside of him.

“Thomas.”

He lowered the phone, and took a shaky, wobbling step forward, almost like a baby deer, arms pinwheeling to keep his balance. Then another, and another. They got easier all the time.

It’s like we’re a whole new person, one of them, or maybe all of them, marveled, it’s like we’re a real, actual person.

But he was missing something. He was missing...

Oh, but he was so here now, all together now, even if it was imperfect it was wonderful. The laugh that bubbled up from inside him was truly, wholly felt, until—

What’s that, a thought, sharp, that could only be Virgil, and he looked up in time to see the arc of green light split and head for him and for the machine.

“Uh-oh.”

There was no time for this newly-formed body to hurl itself aside, and so the green light caught him full in the chest, and he doubled over, hitting his knees.

What’s happening, what’s happening—

—green light, could have been gamma-based—

—it’s hurting him, it’s hurting usme, we have to—

—knew something bad would happen knew it knew it knew it knew it—

Distantly, an explosion could be heard—but he was on his hands and knees, vision narrowing in, and he tried to suck in a breath. He can hardly breathe. There’s something pounding in him, deep and strong, overwhelming all his other senses, and his vision doubles, and—

whatshappeningwhatshappeningwhatshappening

—their vision goes black around the edges, and the green-brown grass looms large in his vision, and what’s that noise, what’s that noise—

—heart rate increase, sweat increase, this is epinepherine, this is fear, as if you don’t know anything about it shut up shut up shut up they’ll hear they’ll—

There’s the scent of burning, but it’s so far away that he can’t focus on that right now, and their body feels like it’s splitting, like it’s—

—hurts why does it hurt I don’t want to hurt I want my friends I want to go don’t hurt my friends don’t hurt my friends don’t hurt my—

—but he feels molten, like lava, like he’s about to melt and spill everywhere, and he can’t hold, but he needs to hold, he needs—

—no, no, don’t do this to them, they’re just kids, I can take it, let me take it, I have to take it, I have to be the one who takes it, don’t do this to them, dontdontDON’T—

He tears down the middle, and there’s a pain for a moment, so sharp and unbearable that none of them can breathe, and—

Patton blinked up at the sky. For a moment, silence—streaky white clouds on the edges of the horizon not daring to intrude on the clear blue of the sky; a bird soared directly overhead as if to flout the clouds’ cowardice.

The silence broke with a horrible, rasping breath, and Patton pushed himself up onto his side to see Virgil, rolling onto his side, coated in a green glow. Patton hastened toward him, heart in his throat.

“Virgil—”

“Don’t touch him,” Logan said, already at his other side. “We don’t know if the gamma ray will spread back to us if we touch him—”

Patton’s eyes stung, and he swiped at them in irritation—he hated that he cried when he got frustrated, or angry, or scared. “Can’t we do something?!”

“M’fine,” Virgil choked out, eyes screwed shut. “M’fine, it’s getting better already—”

“Virgil, don’t you dare lie,” Roman said, pale and ashen and—and how is Patton almost fluttery at a time like this, can’t his emotions settle instead of seesawing wildly inappropriately from one end of the spectrum from another?!

Virgil took in a purposefully deep breath, let it out, and offered a weak, crooked smile to them. “I’m fine, see? I’m fine.”

The green glow had lessened, at least. He now just looked like he was bathed in the light of a green spotlight, instead of encased in some green, glowing Jell-O. He pushed himself up onto the elbows, and drew a hand over his eyes, before he squinted. 

“Okay, how the fu—I mean heck—do you guys do that everyday?”

“Do what?” Roman said cluelessly, and Patton’s eyes are drawn toward the fusion machine. Or, where the fusion machine was. Now there was just black soot.

Roman shrugged. “Deus ex machina?”

Logan let out a regretful sigh. “Well, at least I have my notes,” he said thoughtfully. “And the blueprints.”

“Boys, I’m home!”

“Hi, Mom,” Roman, Virgil, and Logan called without looking up, Virgil getting a bit more color in his face by the second, green fading and fading until it was just about gone.

“Patton, I’m really okay,” he said, and Patton let out a shaky breath, remembering Moxie, remembering all the fear and worry he felt, but all the care, too—the soft side that he kept almost hidden.

“You better be, mister,” he said. “Or I’ll—I’ll steal all your cookies!”

Virgil’s lips twitched. He looked like a normal person now. “All of them, huh?”

“All of them,” Patton said, nodding judiciously. “For the rest of your life.”

“Sounds serious,” he said, well, seriously.

Logan nudged his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “Any lingering effects?”

Virgil held up a shaking hand in answer.

“Let’s get you inside,” Logan said. “And horizontal.”

“Probably a good idea,” Virgil said, and all three of them hastened to help him up—Logan and Virgil grabbing his hands, Roman pushing his back—and Virgil slung an arm around Logan’s shoulders.

“Help me in, would you?” He said loudly, and proceeded to “accidentally” kick Roman in the shin.

“Hey!” Roman said, but his response died when Virgil jerked his head.

And Patton and Roman were left alone in the backyard.

Patton scuffed his shoe over the yard. “That was pretty crazy, today,” he offered timidly.

Roman smiled at him and shoved a hand through his hair—Patton felt his cheeks going red, reminded at this, the most inopportune moment, that Roman knew how attractive he found that, now.

“Good crazy?”

Patton felt his face split into a grin. “You kidding?” He declared. “That was awesome! Well, until the random gamma ray of despair, I guess. But other than that!”

Roman laughed, too, and he said, “He’ll be okay. Gamma rays like that tend to be really temporary.”

Patton sucked in a breath, looked into the living room window, where he could see Logan already pestering Virgil, waving around his notepad before beginning to scrawl with a single-minded fervor. He smiled again.

“I trust you,” he said. 

“Yeah, I know,” Roman said, soft, and Patton inched closer.

“So,” Roman said. “Seeing jelly all over your face was what really sold you on me, huh?”

Patton smiled wider. “I think it was a cute look. But I think all of your looks are cute, so, you know.”

Roman smiled, and he offered, “So, um. Do you wanna... do you wanna get ice cream sometime?”

“I’d love that,” Patton said. His cheeks hurt from smiling so big.

“Because you don’t have to you if you don’t want to,” Roman added hastily. “I mean, I get it if you don’t—”

Patton put a finger on Roman’s lip, remembering too much of Paman’s self-criticism, his loneliness, his doubt.

“Roman,” he said. “Dearest. I’d. Love. That.”

Roman’s face broke out into his own relieved smile. Patton hoped he was remembering Paman, too—the butterflies in his stomach, the way he’d felt when Roman had smiled at Moxie, when their hands had first brushed together.

“Pick you up at seven tomorrow?” Patton offered.

“Yeah,” Roman said breathlessly, and he cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. Okay.”

Patton beamed, and leaned forward to press a kiss against Roman’s cheek, watching in delight as Roman’s face went red, too. Patton took his hand.

“C’mon,” he said. “We gotta go make sure Virgil feels better by giving him lots of hugs and sugar.”

“Okay,” Roman repeated, and Patton tugged him inside, where Virgil and Logan were already bickering, and curled up in a corner was—

“Oh! There you are, Deceit!”

[fanaticfangirl001]

Sits Like a Whore But Wears Pearls

Author’s note: This is for the Kate’s Card Against Humanity Challenge My prompt was: clothes off, penis in vagina. (it’s bolded) This may also be my longest fic. Warning: Swearing, the use of the word whore, but it’s used making fun of the way Tom sits. Mention of sex

@emilyevanston 

“Tom I’ve been thinking.” Holly puts down the cup of tea, acrylic nails tapping the sides of the cup.

“That’s a dangerous hobby of yours, considering the last time that happened I was picking out glitter from my stubble not ever really a beard.” Tom put aside the phone he was tapping away on answering emails.

“You made a lovely fashion statement with a teal glitter beard. It went nicely with your eyes. Your beautiful eyes aside I’ve been thinking about you telling everyone about us.”

“Second thoughts?” He asks.

Holly shakes her head. The two of them have been together for almost a year and are living together, if she has a problem with the relationship she would have told him by now. The sneaking around in her mind was getting a little tedious.

“No, it’s just let me see your hands.” Tom obliges and she takes his hands, surveying them. From a nail tech perspective, his nails weren’t in the worst shape she’s ever seen but they were close.

“Yup that’s what I thought.” Holly drops his hands.

“What? Are my nails going to fall off?” Tom looks at his own nails.

“Your cuticles look like a small woodland creature gnawed on them.” Holly bluntly replies going back to her tea.

“And that matters to you…” He arches a brow confused. Tom’s nails aren’t a part of his body that he knows people like to see.

“Tom, if people see you with bad nails, they may think I’m a bad nail artist.” Holly explains simply.

Tom starts laughing from behind his hand then says, “That’s adorable and so innocent that you think during an interview people are looking at my hands.”

Holly smirks “They might if you not sit like a whore.”

“There’s the Holly I know and love.” Tom moves his legs so he’s sitting beside her in his whore-like fashion.

“So, what are you going to say exactly.” Holly asks biting her lip in an effort not to laugh at him.

“How’s this, I like to keep my private life to myself but I will say that I have an incredible girlfriend named Holly. She’s an amazing nail artist who also gave me a manicure before the interview so my nails don’t look busted. Wiggle nails around.” Tom says laying it on thick.

“Pretty good, I mean you probably don’t want talk about us intimately.” Holly sips her tea.

“That’s right.” Tom hooks a leg around her.

“No juicy details? “Holly asks” No mention of clothes off, penis in vagina sex.”

“Nope, amongst other things I won’t talk about.” Tom smirks trying not to turn pink.

“Like me falling while trying to strip on your birthday.” Holly shakes her head at the memory.

               After that came the utterly embarrassing trip to A&E. She left with a small splint on her broken toe, and matching cast on her badly sprained ankle.

“Exactly, even though I’m not quite sure how one trips over their own pants.” He smirks.

“Laugh at me all you want, just wait here. I’ll get my nail stuff.” Holly gets up unhooking his leg.

“This won’t hurt, will it?” Tom yells after her.

“No, and when have I ever hurt you?” Holly yells her answer.

“You sprayed hair spray in my eyes and then there was the stud incident or the time…” Tom goes on about the many fails.

“Okay I get it. You are the victim of many fashion based experiments, but I promise this won’t hurt one bit.” Holly reenters the room with a large box and a small dryer.

“You know my sister are very excited to meet you.” Tom watches as she opens the box, all the colors differ slightly of a grey beige to a pink nude. This must be one of the boxes she has devoted to nudes.

“They want me to do their nails, right.”  Holly quirks her eyebrow up.

“Yep.” Tom pops the p.

“And your mom?” She asks mentally penciling them in to her schedule of clients.

“I might have told her about your side job as a hairstylist, with your specialty in coloring.” He watches again as she pulls out a long box with many openings containing different gemstones. These might be useful.

“What does she want?” Holly asks.

“Uh.” Tom tries to remember.” She said hot fudge highlights.”

“Caramel highlights.” Holly guesses.

“Yeah, that. Afterwards I really wanted ice-cream.” Tom watches closely as he sees her get the out the nail tools, all he could describe them as is torture devices, there’s the sharp stick, a pair of scissors, two types of plier looking things, and a silicone thing on a stick that looks like a tiny baking spatula.

“Did you go to the place by the bakery that I love without me?” She asks.

“No, I would never, how dare…yeah I did.” Tom dramatically answers with a small grin.

Holly used to his theatrics asks the real question. “What did you get?”

“Pistachio, and caramel sauce.” He watches her wipe down the tools with an antiseptic wipe.

“I will never not judge you for your ice cream preferences.” Holly opens another box and chooses two small bottles, the label worn of years ago.

“Do you judge all your clients flavor preferences?” He asks getting comfortable.

“Nope you’re just special.” Holly winks getting out a large tube of something that Tom has no idea what it is.

“Are you going to paint on a color, some piece of art, a charm or just clear?” He asks, if they were going to do this, he might as well have something memorable.

“Do you want that?” She asks eyebrow quirking again.

“Might as well go all out.” Tom answers coolly.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to an interview. I’ll make sure it’s classy.” Holly gets out the glass files with a red tip to it.

“What do you do first?” Tom begins asking questions.

“Shape your nails.” Holly starts with filing switching between two files.

“And then.”

“Get rid of your cuticles.” She uses the mysterious squeeze bottle and puts some of the liquid on his nails. Holly rubs it all around the bottom of his nail.  

“Next.”

“Buff.” She picks out a large pink block of what feels like sandpaper to buff the nails.

“And…”

“Now the strengthening base.” Holly takes a small bottle out of base coat for your nails. The only thing Tom can read on the bottle is rose oil.

“With rose oil. What does the rose oil do?” He asks.

“Prevents hang nails and damage of the nail. The oil is also good for your hair and face, but your hair is too late for that.” Holly ruffles his hair.

“I really don’t need another forty-five-minuet lecture on dying my hair too much for roles.” Tom replies as she rolls the nail polish bottle in between her hands.

“All I ask is that you use a replenishing hair mask for when the role is finished.” She begins painting on the rose oil base.

“Let’s focus on the nails, then I’ll think about asking you for help with my hair.” Tom replies not wanting another hair dye incident or worse glitter.

“It’s a deal.” She puts Tom’s hand under a dryer for a few minutes.

“Oh, that’s actually like a nude color.” He notices the nude color she’s about to paint on his nails.

“Yep, but that’s not all don’t worry. You will get nail art just stay still.”  She starts painting the nude color on.

“What kind.” He asks wanting to get to the fun part.

“Classy with a hint of sexy.” She puts his left hand in the dryer while starting on his other hand.

“So lace.” He guesses.

“And dots.” She checks on the left hand.

“Boring.” He mutters.

“Okay then let’s break out some pearls, then. Two accent nails not just one. How about that?” She pauses the painting and pours out some pearls from the gem container.

“Much better, I think.” He answers as she begins doing the lattice work in white on his nails.

“It’ll look good, don’t worry. You can wear this manicure with everything.” Holly answers the one thing question Tom wasn’t wondering.

“How many nails like this do you do?” He asks since she painted his thumb very quickly.

“Depends on when the local school has their prom?” She answers starting on another nail.

“I’m getting prom nails.” Tom laughs imaging himself in a roomful of girls getting ready for a school prom.

“Yeah or wedding, really any big classy event.” She starts adding the dots below the lattice pieces.

“You’re cute when you’re concentrating.” He smiles still watching her nose scrunch up like a rabbit.

“Then I must look gorgeous.” She says not looking up from the nails, letting one hand dry while working on the other.

“Always do.”

“That’s super cheesy and I can’t swat at you without messing this up so just know I’m mentally smacking you.” Holly rolls her eyes gently placing the pearls on the accent nails in neat little rows. “Noted.”

“I think I’m done but we have to move them to the dryer carefully.” She takes both of his hands gently and place them in the dryer careful to not move any of the pearls.

“Alright, so now we wait.” Holly flicks on the television to a tennis match for him. It wasn’t her sport of choice but she doesn’t hate it.

“Yep, and I’m going to take a picture.” Holly says as Tom’s eyes are glued to the tennis match.

“For?” He asks not looking away.

“My portfolio, I show it to clients and take it with me for the art shows.” Holly finishes her tea and cuddles up to him, if he could move his hands he’d have his arms around her.

“Where are these nail art shows?” His attention briefly caught.

“All over the world, I only just started going to a few in London.” Holly smiles. This means more traveling and hopefully more time spent traveling with Tom.

“What kind of nails can you do?” He asks as Holly pulls his out of the dryer to check them.

“All kinds, the simple ones like on my hands, 3d ones like yours, I also do long acrylics, some gel.” Holly says putting the nails back in the dryer. She wiggles her own acrylics painted red.

“Could you make Loki nails?” Tom asks as though he’s planning something.

“Do you want me to do your nails for the premiere?” Holly guesses the plan then pulls out his nails from the dryer. “These are done.”

“Depends on how people like these.” Tom wiggles his fingers.

“Of course, if Chris and Mark want to, I could do their nails as well.” Holly smiles thinking of what would happen if she had the three of them in the same nail shop.

“Nope, they have to find their own. Not sharing you.” Tom kisses her forehead now that he’s free.

“Baby, you sound like the snobby housewives whose nails I paint. They’ve all laid a claim on me. When they all book times close together it’s better than watching the Ladies of London.” Holly rolls her eyes.

“They have a reason to, you’re good.” Tom relaxes into the couch, spreading his legs placing his hands in between. 

“Sits like a whore but wears pearls.” Holly mutters cleaning up her makeshift nail station.

[audiencestudies]

Fanfiction: How it Came to Be

Among the realms of internet-based fans come sites where they are able to express their ideas and unravel the many thoughts pertaining to the fandoms they hold dear. As Sullivan states, fans are distinguished from the rest of the audience through their intense interest and dedication to specific popular media. Fans exhaust much of their energy into these realms, both online and in person, becoming an entire subgroup of audience through their dire enthusiasm of the texts they enjoy: music, film, television and sports. Sullivan makes note of how fans stem beyond the definition of “passive consumers”, as they have taken a step beyond the act of simply tuning in to the texts they enjoy so much (Sullivan, 206). The active fans delve into activities beyond basic viewership, where they become producers of the texts they become intrigued with. Fans may produce artwork, poems, songs, video edits and attend both local and distant social gatherings with other fans. What will be dissected in this particular blog post is the growth of FanFiction, the humble beginnings, where the term was coined and what was the “first” Fanfiction.  

Humble Beginnings

Though popular FanFiction websites such as Fanfiction.net had not come into existence until the late 1990’s, the activity itself had been around for decades longer. Fanfiction is described as amateur narrative writing based on already-existent texts such as novels, movies, television series and real life celebrities or public figures. Journalist Laura Miller in a piece published by New York Magazine described the development of FanFiction,

"...fanfiction as we now know it began back in the days of Star Trek fanzines, on whose mimeographed pages female Trekkers wrote of Mr. Spock swooning in the arms of an ardent Captain Kirk. For decades, fanfiction communities – soon to migrate en masse to the web – functioned as a subset of science-fiction and fantasy fandom, where they were treated, by the mostly male nerds who ran things, like a younger sister best banished to her room whenever company came by. The internet changed all that by ushering in the era of the networked fan, often a girl who sampled her first taste of fic in Harry Potter fandom." (Miller, 2015)

Origin of the Term

The term Fanfiction was coined in 1939 by the sci-fi community as a derogatory term differentiating the amateur written stories and the professional ones. In the 1944 Lexiconic fandom handbook, Fancyclopedia, edited by John Bristol Speer, the definition of Fanfiction was cited as:

“[sometimes] improperly used to mean fan science fiction, that is, ordinary fantasy published in a fan magazine... occasionally bringing in some famous characters stf [science fiction] stories. [...] Fictitious elements are often interspersed in account of fan activities, which may make them more interesting, but plays hob with a truth-seeker like [Greek philosopher] Thukydides. Round robins have been attempted in the fan fiction field.”

Star Trek And Slash Fiction

This definition remained from 1930-1950, until the first modernized fanfiction was introduced in the form of a Star Trek fanwork. Avid Star Trek fan, or “Trekkie” Joan Marie Verba discusses the concept of “Spockanalia” in her novel, Boldly Writing: A Trekker Fan and Zine History 1967-1987,

"In September 1967, as Star Trek began its second season, a fanzine called Spockanalia appeared in New York City. The title page called it 'a one-shot published by Devra Langsam and Sherna Comerford.' (A 'one-shot' is a fanzine intended to appear only once.) The 90-page fanzine was mimeographed. The first issue was bound by laying the pages onto a wooden board and using a heavy-duty wall stapler. Collators then folded the prongs of the staples back with pliers."

Star Trek played a role in the development of slash fiction, a subgenre of fanfiction where same-sex characters are meant to be read as a heterosexual romantic couple. While the genre is still immensely popular, the 1970’s started the trend with the outpour of fanworks featuring Kirk and Spock paired as a homosexual couple. Slash fiction has only increased in the amount of works published. (Reich, 2015)

Today?

With the rise of a digitalized world, the internet has only allowed us more accessibility to content created by fans. Fanfiction sites such as Archive Of Our Own, Wattpad and Fanfiction.net contain millions of stories with an abundance of pre-existing texts in which the fans base their work off, some of the most popular fandoms including Star Trek (yes, even today!), Harry Potter, Supernatural, and The Marvel Cinematic Universe.

Sources

Reich, J. E. (2015, July 25). Fanspeak: The Brief Origins Of Fanfiction. Retrieved from https://www.techtimes.com/articles/70108/20150723/fan-fiction-star-trek-harry-potter-history-of-fan-fiction-shakespeare-roman-mythology-greek-mythology-sherlock-holmes.htm.

[qqueenofhades]

bloodsport [fighting in a love war]: two

you all never stopped asking for a second part of this, and since timeless is officially back from the dead, well, the occasion should be commemorated. tagging @crazykittehcat​, @queenofexplosions​, @extasiswings​, and @prairiepirate​. sorry for any typos, as it is a horrible pain in the ass to post fic on a tablet, but my computer is still dead, so.

rated e.

part one/ao3.

Flynn and Lucy do not speak to each other for the next three days. This is noteworthy enough, given that Wyatt and Rufus have generally relied on her to communicate important bulletins to the fourth member of their team (or as Rufus puts it, ''translating it into asshole''), that it causes both of them to take notice. It's kind of hard not to, given that they get caught in the 1863 New York Draft Riots, straight out of Martin Scorsese, and Flynn is shooting on one side, Wyatt is shooting on the other, there is absolutely not a word exchanged between either of them, and they nearly all get killed by the Gangs of New York before they can bail. Once they arrive back at the Lifeboat, sooty and shouting and with bullet holes through several dangerously nearby pieces of their clothing, Wyatt finally explodes, ''What the hell was that about, man? Huh?''

''It's my fault now, Wyatt?'' Flynn is sleek and suave and showing his teeth, which means he's feeling especially dangerous. ''Given the fact that I was the one who told you Boss Tweed was Rittenhouse, you should thank me for -- ''

''Is that what you call it? You ordered Lucy to tell us that Boss Tweed was Rittenhouse, which I am sure she already knew, and which anyone could guess by looking at the guy for two seconds, and then you went to peace out in Five Points while the rest of us were dodging mobsters, so yeah, Flynn, you were a big help!'' Wyatt shoves his gun into the holster as they clamber in and slam the door, not wanting to hang around here any longer than they have to. He goes to help Lucy with her seatbelt as usual, but she shakes her head at him. Flynn looks smug, goes to help instead just to show up Wyatt while briefly forgetting he's not talking to her, and then smartly decides he does not want to try to touch her in any capacity after the look she just gave him. He sits down, buckles up with a black cloud almost visible over his head, and nobody says a word as Rufus fires up the jump to launch them back to 2017.

Once they land, Lucy angrily undoes her harness, picks up her skirts, and storms out of the Lifeboat without a word, which leaves the men behind for an extremely awkward competition of who can get out the fastest without running into each other. Rufus books it like he's trying out for the track team, and Flynn starts his usual melodramatic stalk off to brooding solitude, but Wyatt grabs his arm. ''Hey. I'm not done with you yet.''

''What a pity, I'm done with you.'' Flynn's eyes smolder back at him like burning coals. ''All of you, really.''

''Yeah. We know. You haven't stopped telling us every day. We get it. You hate us. But you know what? Fight me. I can take it. Don't you dare hurt Lucy, or -- ''

''Is that what you think I did? Hurt her?''

''I think you did something. What the hell happened?''

''Why are you asking me?'' Flynn frees himself with a jerk and stares down at the shorter man evilly. ''Why aren't you asking her? Not sure you want to hear the answer? You know I won't tell you, so now you can say you made the effort without the risk of uncovering the outcome. Good job, soldier. Gold star. Put it on your report. Now piss off.''

''HEY!'' Wyatt almost runs between him and the door, increasing Flynn's nearly-to-boiling-point temper still further. His face is still angry, but his tone is close to frantic. ''Just tell me you didn't hurt her! Look. We're not friends. That is clear to both of us. But I thought -- possibly idiotically, I admit -- that the one common ground we had was her. Was I wrong?''

At that, as much as Flynn wants to bark at him again, it feels like the air draining from a balloon, the water from a pool, the light from the sky. He's momentarily flummoxed, not the least because he has no idea if he has or not. He has been doing his best not to let the events of three days ago cross his mind in any capacity, cryogenically freezing them on the spot, consigning them to the dark place of his memory where he doesn't go. He's not going to be able to function otherwise.

''I didn't hurt her,'' he says at last, heavily. ''Not on purpose.''

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Wyatt's face. He clearly wants to believe this, but he is preconditioned to expect the worst from Flynn, and if Flynn is honest with himself, he knows the bastard has not exactly been given any compelling evidence to the contrary. As he has told them many times, he indeed is only helping because they have just about sworn a blood oath to bring Lorena and Iris back when they're done. And while Flynn doesn't want to believe them a tiny bit, not after what happened the first time, he's found himself doing it anyway. Because if he isn't fighting for them, he doesn't know why he's fighting at all, and if he's not fighting, he might as well just go curl up in a dark corner and die. It's been like this as long as he can remember. In different ways, yes, but it isn't something that started with losing his girls. Living in his head has been a total disaster from day one, and he's never once been sure how to stop it. He's tired.

''What do you mean, not on purpose?'' Wyatt says at last, somewhat less heatedly. ''Did you -- ''

''Nothing.'' Flynn turns to go. He wants a stiff drink, or three. ''It was nothing, all right?''

''Whatever that nothing is, it's affecting the mission. Lucy is doing her best to pull her weight regardless, because she's a professional. You're...'' Wyatt considers his words carefully. ''We didn't ask you to be on the team just because you were the nearest grunt with a gun who could be briefed about the time travel thing. If that was the criteria, we would have gone back to Pendleton and gotten another of my buddies. Another Bam-Bam, a -- ''

He stops.

Despite himself, Flynn feels a faint flicker of guilt, considering that he is -- indirectly, but not very -- responsible for Dave Baumgardner's death. Add it to the list. What comes out, of course, is caustic. ''Of course not. He didn't last very long, did he?''

''Yeah, because one of your guys shot him.'' Wyatt's head comes up, eyes flat and hard. ''You're a dick, Flynn. I know it. We know it. I'm pretty sure you know it, because you're too smart not to. Strictly speaking, both of us should probably still be in jail. But that doesn't matter now, and we asked you to be on the team because you are literally the only other person in the world who can help us. You think you're the only one who has to forgive us for the betrayal that we've already told you ten thousand times was not Lucy's fault. There's plenty on our side of the ledger too. You ever think about that?''

This is the last conversation Flynn wants to be having, especially given the unhappily low whisky content in his bloodstream. ''That you're so much better than me and I should be grateful you gave me a second chance at all, from the goodness of your hearts? There. Yes. I thought about it. Can I go now?''

''No.'' Wyatt remains looking at him levelly. ''That we're so much the same. As much as both of us hate it. And yeah. Fine. Go. Spend the night listening to Finnish death metal and watching grimdark YouTube videos, whatever you do to stay in the zone. Just don't take it out on Lucy.''

With that, he spins on his heel and strides off on double-time parade march, as Flynn stares balefully after him, wondering if he could nail Wyatt between the ears from here. Probably, but it would be messy, it would be very difficult to explain to the other two, and, well, Rittenhouse would be very pleased if he did. So, tempting as it is, he has to resist. He was hungry, but he doesn't think he is anymore. He has no idea what to do. Sleep? As if. Go back to tinkering with the Lifeboat -- Rufus hates it when he does that, but Rufus can eat his Chocodiles and shut up. Besides, Flynn's modifications work. Usually.

Seeing no other option, he goes to the charging station and pulls out the circuit board he's been rewiring. These Boy Scouts he's working with shot down his suggestion of stealing another nuke to power the Lifeboat the same way as the Mothership, which Flynn himself didn't see anything wrong with, and they keep losing time since Rittenhouse can jump whenever they want, while the Time Team has to wait for their battery to top up. Like driving through a tunnel shouting ''can you hear me now?'', while your enemies are taking the helicopter over the top. Not exactly a recipe for success.

Flynn sits down wearily, opens the case, and stares at the circuits until his eyes go out of focus. He picks up the pliers and makes a cursory adjustment, then drops his hand. Tries to work up the motivation for another one. Prove he's valuable, not that he should be caring about what these chuckleheads think of him. He knows he blew it today, hung them out to dry -- but he came back, didn't he? He could have bailed, left them there, taken the Lifeboat himself (well, he'd need Rufus at least for that, but he could have worked around that) and gone back to working alone. After all he's complained, both before his absorption into the time team and after, about having to delegate, that would seem to be the simplest solution. After all, he hates them. Doesn't care if they get stuck for good in the Civil War (funny, that, considering the civil war going on with them). Could have left. Etc. Etc.

But he came back.

Flynn doesn't want to think about this either, and if he does go to get something to assist him in forgetting, he'll probably run into one or all three of them, doing their insufferable team-bonding thing. Drinks after work for the crew. He can't stand that.

(He might want it. Just a little. To sit there and be part of something. Part of them.)

(He ignores it harder.)

He has made a further few futile attempts to modify the circuit board, when he senses more than hears someone by the entrance to the warehouse, a slight shift in space that nonetheless he has become too-attuned to. He lifts his head, flicks his eyes over as surreptitiously as he can without appearing to look, and sees Lucy standing on the far side, arms folded. She's changed out of her 1863 clothes and showered, her hair damp and dark around her pale face, and Flynn can catch a whiff of some floral shampoo that makes his throat briefly dry. He swallows hard, ignoring that too, as well as the simple sweatshirt and leggings she's wearing. He's seen her in all sorts of clothes by now, from every time (and less, an unhelpful voice in his brain whispers) and she looks beautiful in each, but this is a different Lucy. Lucy without her armor, without her makeup, without her never-flagging, steely strength as the undoubted captain of their ship, with just her hair loose and her walls down. She doesn't even appear to notice Flynn. She's here because by the looks of things, as tired as she is, sleep isn't in the cards for her either.

He hesitates, telling himself not to do anything stupid. Then, because he is Garcia Flynn, and stupidity is embedded in his DNA, he puts the board aside and gets to his feet. ''Lucy.''

She jumps, turns, sees him, and flinches. He can see her hastily putting her walls back up, her game face, preparing to deal with whatever crisis he's about to bring to the table in any sense of the word, and he feels guilty, in a way he didn't even for Bam-Bam, that he's the cause of it. She gets so little rest or respite, and even here, in whatever few stolen hours she gets before their next trip, she can't relax. Not with the Minotaur lurking in the labyrinth -- that makes her Ariadne, Flynn supposes, and it makes fucking Wyatt Theseus, which, you know, might explain a lot. Especially the throttling each other part. But Lucy is Lucy, and even now, she will give him another chance, listen to what he has to say, even if it will inevitably hurt her. She'll put that aside too. ''Yes, Flynn?'' she says tiredly. ''What do you need?''

That twists his heart. Of course she'd ask what he needs, prepare to fill a vacancy, requisition resources. Keep everything on track. He can hear Wyatt telling him that Lucy is still pulling her weight because she's a professional, and he's... well, he is clearly not. Briefly, he wonders if Lucy is not Ariadne, but Atlas, and you'd never know. ''I...'' Christ, he's not good at this. He and Lorena rarely argued, and when they did, the actions were already there, the instinctive and implict permission to make it better without the words that still came so hard to him, but which he tried, for her. He has none of that with Lucy, no shortcut or safe place. ''About today. It... could have gone better.''

A corner of Lucy's mouth quirks wryly. It's the closest thing that there has been to a smile on her face for the past several days, and Flynn feels almost abjectly grateful to be the reason for it. ''Yeah,'' she says. Calmly and matter-of-factly, not ripping into him unduly, but also refusing to let him in any degree off the hook. ''Yeah, it could have.''

''Wyatt told me too. Earlier.'' Flynn attempts a nonchalant shrug. ''I didn't mean to bother you. I'll just...''

With that, he tries to sidle back off toward his fruitless circuit board pursuits, but Lucy's quiet voice stops him. ''Garcia.''

As it does every time she uses his first name, that roots him to the spot like a bolt of stinging lightning, pulse suddenly tripping too fast. He waits tensely, hoping she won't say anything -- well -- dangerous. (Yes, it's true, this is usually his department, throwing verbal bombs at her, and he would deserve it if she wanted to make him pay more for what he could have cost them today, after everything they've endured already.) When she doesn't, he finally prompts, ''Yes?''

''I just -- '' Lucy bites her lip, which makes her look younger than usual. ''What... happened the other night. I'm sorry if it... I didn't want it to make things more difficult. They already are enough. If that's the case, I just... both of us should forget. We won't say anything to the others. I haven't, and I know for a fact you haven't. The job comes first.''

Flynn regards her, worn, muted, and ashamed that she feels as if she is the one who has to apologize to him, when his own actions -- well, he has still never encountered a situation that he has improved, at least without blowing it up entirely first. Finally, gruffly, he says, ''You know someone needs to teach you how to fight.''

Lucy looks as if she can't decide whether to accept this out or not. She glances down. ''I wasn't exactly talking about the fighting.''

Of course she wasn't. They fight all the time, they exist in a constant low-level state of conflict, why would she be talking about that as anything different? Like two reverse polarities forced together, clashing and sparking, except for when they're not, and that becomes the most dangerous state of all. And all that energy, that determination to keep up that division and distance, this war and its bloodsport, comes from Flynn. Lucy has been silently asking, begging for a truce this entire time, and all he has been doing is twisting the knife.

That, at last, is the one thing that breaks the increasingly rickety dam inside him, the one holding back his rationalizations and justifications and his anger, the way it's been easier to focus it on her, because she's here, and Rittenhouse isn't. Has remained just as elusive and shadowy and multi-headed as ever, just out of reach, counting on him to do half of its work for it by continuing to punish Lucy -- the others too, yes, but especially Lucy. Both sides have always known that this turns on her. Rittenhouse attempting to recruit her hasn't worked, but why come up with another plan, when they can see Flynn eating them out like a cancer from within? Must be waiting. Placing bets. Wondering what day Lucy breaks, and turns at last to them.

Slowly, so slowly, Flynn's hand comes up. He reminds himself that he'll punish himself for this later, but for once -- God, for once -- not Lucy. Wyatt's right, she deserves this least of all, and while Flynn himself would never admit that short of having it tortured out of him (and maybe not even then), and even he can see the appeal of a détente, if a temporary one. He waits for Lucy to push him away, which he would deserve if she did, or worse. But when she doesn't, his fingers end up brushing lightly over her cheek, his thumb tracing the bow of her lower lip, the indent of her chin. He starts to move his hand away, feeling as absurdly self-conscious as if he's done something far worse, but Lucy takes an unexpected step, and his arm gets stuck between them.

Flynn's throat closes as if a fist has wrapped around it. He was not counting on this, and isn't sure how to extricate himself, as they were almost having a genuine moment there and for once, he doesn't want to ruin it. His hands skim down Lucy's sides to her hips, hovering but not quite taking hold, though both of them can surely feel the electricity crackling in that remaining breath of space. Lucy's eyelashes flutter, her lips parting, until Flynn realizes, with an entirely different sort of shock, that if he leaned down and kissed her right now, she probably wouldn't object at all. Not that he should. That is exactly the sort of action that ''don't do something stupid'' from earlier was supposed to prevent.

To Flynn's credit, he does make an effort. Perhaps less to his credit, the only thing that effort does is draw him downwards, as Lucy rises on her tiptoes. Her arms wrap around his neck -- perhaps less from a desire for deeper closeness than because of the fact that simple statistics dictate she needs to achieve considerably more height to comfortably kiss Flynn. That indeed appears to be what is happening here, as their mouths open and turn and seek hungrily deeper, as he lifts her and presses her back against the Lifeboat's cold metal hull, as the kiss turns raw and insatiable. Until Lucy's hand comes up to pull at his cravat, as Flynn has once more not bothered to change out of his nineteenth-century suit, he freezes, and both of them come to their senses as if doused in cold water. Lucy jerks away, Flynn puts her down, they take three steps back as if from a piece of live ordnance, and remain there, staring. It is excruciating.

''I -- '' Lucy says at last. ''I should go.''

''Yes.'' Flynn wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to let on how breathless he is, blood roaring in his ears (and in other places). He's only aware of how dangerous that was, the need to push her away again, before she starts feeling too sorry for him, before she thinks he deserves any kindness at all. ''Run back. I'm sure the kindergarten class needs you.''

Lucy arches one eyebrow at the irony of him calling anyone else a kindergartner, especially when it comes to emotional maturity, but infuriatingly, she doesn't take the bait. Instead, she gives him one of those piercing looks that he can never quite withstand, no matter what he tries. After a moment, she says, ''Rufus.''

''What?'' Whatever Flynn was expecting -- and frankly, if he was expecting anything, that would mean he thought this through, which he did not -- it wasn't that. ''What about Rufus?''

Lucy shrugs, lightly but with an unmistakable edge. ''Chicago,'' she says. ''1931. We weren't supposed to go there originally. Rittenhouse had taken over Mason Industries and they knew how they were going to solve all of this. My -- biological father had it all worked out. Wyatt was in jail for stealing the Lifeboat and Baumgardner was dead, so Rufus and I had been assigned a new soldier. Or should I say, hired gun. The plan was for us to jump to 1962 Texas, and kill your mother. Maria Thompkins.''

''Wh -- ?'' Flynn feels punched. ''You knew my mother?''

''After the moon landing,'' Lucy goes on, coolly and dispassionately as if reading a medical report. ''We found out who the woman you spent all your time with there was, and that you saved your half-brother's life. So, of course, Rittenhouse found out as well. The easiest way to stop you, according to them, was just to kill your mother before you were born. Rufus and I both vehemently opposed it, fought against it. I told Cahill to his face that it was the wrong decision and that I wouldn't do it. It didn't matter. We still ended up in the Lifeboat in 1962.''

''But -- '' Flynn is reeling, struggling to keep up with this. Knowing that she would have been justified in letting this happen, as he was willing to let her grandfather die in the explosion in 1954. Her father was already born, yes, but -- ''I'm still... here, I didn't -- ''

''Yes,'' Lucy says. ''Yes, you are. Because Rufus, the shy tech geek who has never fought anything except in a computer game, took on a trained Rittenhouse assassin to save your mother. I helped,'' she adds, clearly as an afterthought. ''We managed to knock him out, subdue him, and jump back to pick up Wyatt and follow you to 1931. You remember what you arranged to happen to Rufus in 1931?''

Flynn cringes.

Lucy folds her arms, chin tilted back -- showy displays, major breakdowns aren't her style -- but transparently and totally furious. ''So,'' she says. ''You know why Rufus snarks at you and you snark at him and so forth? It's because he's scared of you. He's scared to be alone with you, he's scared you'll try to get him killed again, and he knows it would jeopardize the mission if he said anything, so he swallows it and he never tells you what he did for your mother, and just ignores it, because he's that brave. Wyatt is used to hating your guts. Me, well, I know you well enough that I'm not that bothered by you anymore. But Rufus? How does he protect himself?''

''Lucy -- '' Flynn's cheeks feel hot. ''Lucy, I'm -- ''

''I don't want your apology,'' Lucy says. ''Not for me. What I want is for you to apologize to him, and mean it. Not that I'm holding my breath for that. So. Suit yourself. We're stuck with each other anyway.''

She shrugs again, having never raised her voice once through all of this, while Flynn can feel each of the stripes she left scalding on his backside. It strikes him how deeply, truly connected the three of them actually are, much as he derides it and snorts at it and rolls his eyes. Wyatt wants nothing for himself, if Lucy might be hurting more, and Lucy wants nothing for herself, if Rufus might be hurting more. Whatever each one of them are facing, struggling with, they don't care about that pain if they need to cover someone else's back, close ranks, shield whoever might be nearest to breaking. That's why they kept beating Flynn, stopping his plans. He knew as much about where and when they were as them, if not more. He was willing to do far more than them. He was certainly not concerned with whatever collateral damage he might inflict. But they do have something he doesn't. They have each other. And it's true that they have far more to forgive him for than he does them, and yet, they've still offered him a place with them. Out of necessity, yes, but they've tried to make it more than that. And he's --

Flynn doesn't have any idea what to say. He feels as if the ground has gone out from under him, as if she's reached into his chest and torn something out of him, that small, endless fire that he keeps burning against the world, the sense of righteous outrage, the only thing he really has left. It hurts him, but it hurts his enemies more, so it's always been a sacrifice he's willing to make. Now, though. Now, he's completely at a loss. Just him, and Lucy Preston across the way, still confoundedly expecting him to change, to make a better choice. He wishes she wouldn't. That she would just give up. That would make this easier.

And yet. He knows that that -- as with him -- is the one thing she is never going to do.

He takes a step. Another. After what Lucy just said to him, she would once more be deserved in backing away, in running screaming. But Garcia Flynn has always been a man of action, and that is the only way he knows how to go about fixing this, in whatever small part. When Lucy doesn't back away, when he's reached her and closed the distance between them again, when she's practically straining her neck to look directly up at him, he holds her gaze. Then, slowly, goes to his knees in front of her, which makes them just about even. He waits.

Lucy's cheeks flush pink, as her tongue darts out to touch her lips. He can breathe the faint lingering fragrance of her shampoo, that fresh scent that hangs around women, something bracing and clean, a bit like sunlight. It's going to his head, it's making him giddy, so he's thankful to already be on his knees. As his hands come up, almost span her waist, and then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her leggings. Punish yourself later. His mantra, every time he comes close to forgetting, for a moment, why he is doing this. As he tugs them slowly down her hips, pulling her panties with them, as he brushes his nose against her slender thigh and she sucks in a breath and braces her hands on his shoulders. He is light-headed with want for her. He is starving to death, and the banquet is laid before him, but he will not take a bite.

Lucy utters a small impatient noise in her throat, trying to shift herself into his mouth, and Flynn is a number of things, but he's not quite strong enough to resist that. He kisses her as suddenly below as he did above, all at once, thorough and devouring, and Lucy's grip tightens on him almost hard enough to hurt. Not that she could hurt him, not this way. In other ways, she's quite adept, but it is only in seeing his weaknesses and targeting them as unerringly as a sniper. Never cruel, never for sport, but simply because she knows exactly what he is, and always has.

Flynn braces himself, hands on her thighs, as he licks her, delicately circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, and then moves lower, slipping his tongue into her, starting a slow rhythm. He increases the pace steadily, pulling her leg to drape over his shoulder as she grasps for purchase on the Lifeboat again, knuckles white. As with everything Flynn does, it is done wholeheartedly and with utter abandon, no stopping, no slowing, no mitigating factor. He bites lightly at her, moving her leg to get a better angle, as he can hear the ghost of a moan catch in her throat. She doesn't say anything. Likely for the best. Talking rarely goes well between the two of them.

Flynn can taste her slickness on his tongue, a light citrusy tart that must be from whatever she washed with in the shower, feel the rasp of her fine dark hair against his lips. He doesn't let up until Lucy's toes clench, her body shudders, and she comes with a choking, muffled gasp that reverberates against his mouth, through both of them and into the Lifeboat on the other side. Oddly fitting, considering that he feels as if they are adrift on a wild and stormy sea, and this is the only chance they have of survival, of ever making it back to land. He remains where he is for a moment more, then slides back on his knees, once more wiping his mouth with his arm, feeling hot and bothered and fragile as glass himself, but not about to ask her for satisfaction. He will handle it. Later. Alone. As usual.

Lucy stands there weak-kneed, mouth open, eyes dark, gasping, until she finally recollects herself, pulls up her panties and leggings, and shoots a half-tentative look at him, as if waiting for him to do something else. When he doesn't, she bites her lip, ducks her head, and says softly, ''Good night, Flynn.'' Shoots another look back as if wondering or perhaps even hoping (though surely that is his imagination) that he will stop her. But he doesn't.

Flynn watches her go for a long moment, head thundering. Then, when he is sure she's off to -- wherever she's going, whatever she's going to do for the rest of the night -- he shuffles gingerly out of the warehouse, out across the courtyard, and up the stairs to his room. Shuts the door behind him and swears, in several of the numerous languages he knows. He doesn't exactly feel better, and he needs to attend to things, so he angrily wrenches off his shirt and trousers, gets on the bed, and takes himself in hand. Closes his eyes and imagines Lorena, imagines her smiling, saying something earthy, pushing him onto his back. He was always happy to let her lead; she enjoyed sex, enjoyed having it, knew what she wanted and how she wanted him to give it to her -- which was good, because he was clueless. Not about the sex part, as he could manage that well enough, but making her happy, truly being what she needed and wanted. Women have always been a mystery to him, like most men, but she took him by the hand and patiently showed him how, never made him feel stupid for not knowing. Chose him, for some baffling reason, when he was just as much a wreck as he is now, though somewhat differently. And now she can --

Flynn's eyes flash open. Because he has been thinking of Lorena, but the face he's picturing, that came the most easily to his mind, wasn't hers. Figures. He isn't sure that he shouldn't be completely ashamed of himself, trying to jerk off to his wife's memory after going the ''I'm sorry I'm a disaster, does oral sex help?'' route with another woman. He feels hollow and tawdry and unsatisfied, struggling to recapture the exact details of Lorena's face, the arch of her lips, the fine network of blue veins under her skin, and almost panics when he realizes that he can't. He has no pictures of her. He went off the grid after the murders and had to destroy every bit of potentially trackable electronic equipment. All the hard copies, all the photograph albums, were packed up and taken away by Lorena's parents. They never were terribly fond of Flynn, blamed him for their daughter and granddaughter's death (they're not wrong, he thinks, they're not wrong) and saw no reason to let him have any, especially if he was going on the run. The only place he sees her now is in his dreams.

He is starting to forget.

He is starting to forget.

He can't stop it. It's going to keep happening. There is no way to reverse the process. He has to do this, he has to get her back, because otherwise one day in the not-so-distant future, he might wake up and find even the ghost of her gone. He might not even remember exactly what he has lost. And when that happens, she'll be truly gone. Rittenhouse will win.

In a cold sweat, Flynn eases himself down on the bed, letting go and abandoning his efforts, lying there with his eyes screwed shut until things go somewhat slack on their own. He feels nauseous, panicked, at the edge of control, forcing down the screaming in his head. One more night. He can make it one more night. Then decide tomorrow if he can keep going. That's the trick. Make it through a day, remember that you can always die if you can't. That's the comfort.

Flynn waits until his breathing steadies, until his heart unclenches. He should get some sleep, though he rarely does. Doubtless they will be once more charging into the breach soon enough.

He decides he will apologize to Rufus tomorrow. It's oddly comforting.

He listens to his breath. He tries to count sheep. He always told Iris to, though he wasn't sure it worked. He listens to the night go on. Listens to the earth spin, the stars rattle softly in the heavens, the world move inexorably toward another morning. It won't stop. It won't stop.

All he can try to do is spin the planet back. Pass through the doors of time, rewrite the annals of time and space and history. He has always known that he is a difficult man to love, and that Lorena is the only woman who could, who was willing, who understood. Without her, he has no chance.

(No chance, he insists.)

(No chance.)

Eventually, shivering, silent, solitary in the dark, he sleeps.

[weirdlyhornyforegos]

Fic masterlist

MINORS DNI!!!!!

All my stuff in gender neutral, unless explicitly stated otherwise! All Markip**er egos. Updated: 27/02-2024

^^ = Lime

*** = Lemon

Strike through means I do not recommend reading that fic, but it’s still there

Characters: Actor, Darkiplier, Damien, Engineer, E-plier, Eric Derekson, Googleplier, Heehoo, The Host, Illinois, Murdock (Murderplier/Killer Mark) Porniplier, Wilford Warfstache, Yancy, Yandere. (And some extra Antisepticeye)

Normal fic count: 77

Kinktober 2022/23, fic count: 23

All my fics

Actor

Prompt: “Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”/“Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.” ***

Prompt: Reader topping Actor and (consensually) wrecking his shit/Reader speaking French and turning an ego on ***

Prompt: Reader flirting with Google and Actor getting jealous and possessive ***

Fic: Damien x reader x Actor where Damien is in the middle for once ***

Prompt: Vampire reader with Actor, Darkiplier, & Wilford ***

Darkiplier

Prompt: “Darling, your heart is too pure for me.” ^^

Prompt: “I don’t care if you think you look like godzilla when you wake up, you’re my beautiful godzilla.” ^^

Prompt: “Maybe I should get you a collar so you don’t forget who you belong to.” ***

Prompt: “You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.”/“You’d better be quiet if you don’t want to get caught.”/“You look good all soaking wet.” /“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.” ***

Prompt: “Did I say you could stop?” ***

Prompt: “You take my fingers so well don’t you?”/“Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”/“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”/“Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic.” ***

Prompt: “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.”/“Pull my hair!” ***

Prompt: Voyeurism kink/“I want you to watch me, first. Then you can have me.“ *** (AFAB reader)

Prompt: Winged reader that melts into subspace when their wings are touched ***

Prompt: Dark and Anti tries to get with you, but are always interrupted by the other, ends with a fight and an angry three way ***

Prompt: Dark with a naturally submissive s/o that has a praise kink to end all praise kinks, and he starts praising them in public ***

Prompt: “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”/“I love the sounds you make when you come undone.”/“Say my name over and over again and, once you think you’ve said it loud enough, scream it. I want the whole neighborhood to know who’s making you feel good.” ***

Prompt: “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”/ “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”/“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” ***

Fic: Darkiplier in a white suit and a fuck machine ***

Prompt: Darkiplier in lingerie ***

Prompt: “Can you stop sending me nudes, I’m at work.” “That excuse never stopped you when I was working.” “Can you blame me? I bought lace undies, what was I supposed to do?” ^^

Prompt: Dark consensually influencing readers thoughts and actions with the lines “Be a god pet and do what I tell you” & “Open your mouth.” ***

Prompt: You get a little possessive over Dark and Anti and have to mark them ***

Prompt: Dark possessively fucking Reader dumb & calling reader darling ***

Prompt: Dark with vampire reader ***

Prompt: Vampire reader with Actor, Darkiplier, & Wilford ***

Fic: Birthday drabble with reader in a bow ^^

Prompt: Dark going down on afab reader *** (afab reader)

Fic: Dark and tentacles. That’s it. ***

Fic: This time reader is the one with tentacles **

Fic: Dark and Murdock shares you (afab reader) ***

Fic: Dark is asleep and you should let him, but you can’t help yourself *** (amab reader)

Damien

Fic: Damien x reader x Actor where Damien is in the middle for once ***

Prompt: Giving Damien a handjob ***

Engineer

Fic: The Captain fucks Engineer against a wall *** (amab reader)

Prompt: “Stop talking and take off your clothes.” “Why would you say that! I tried so hard to make you happy and now you’re- Your hands are distracting me.” ***

E-plier

Fic: You’re his boyfriend and walk in on a livestream, which leaves him distracted and horny *** (male reader)

Eric Derekson

Prompt: “Don’t hesitate, just kiss me.” ^^

Prompt: “Are you wearing my shirt?”/“Tell me what you like.”/“Did you dress up just for me?” ***

Prompt: Eric and a transwoman reader in an established relationship, reader offers him a blowjob for the first time (trans female reader) ***

Prompt: Eric fucking transwoman readers tits with “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”/“You deserve a reward for being so good today, what would you like it to be?”/“Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.” *** (Trans female reader)

Prompt: “You have no idea what you do to me“ ^^

Prompt: Eric and dirty talk *** (Male reader)

Googleplier

Prompt: Google squad showing reader how much better they are at pleasing them than any other weak human ***

Prompt: Google and dry humping *** amab reader

Prompt: “I can’t wait to put bruises all over that pretty skin” + possessive Google *** (male reader)

Heehoo

Prompt: Consensual hunter/prey kink with Heehoo ***

Prompt: Reader accidentally stumbling onto Heehoo while camping ***

The Host

Prompt: “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” ^^

Prompt: Male Reader topping Host *** (Male reader)

Prompt: “I only want to please you.”/“Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.”/“You know, you look real pretty when you cry.”/“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” ***

Illinois

Drabble: Illinois and someone with fangs ***

Fic: One tent instead of one bed ***

Prompt: Illinois and reader with an aphrodisiac ***

Fic: Illinois wanders into naga reader’s cave looking for treasure (male reader) ***

Fic: Illinois and almost skinny dipping ***

Murdock (Murderiplier/Killer Mark)

Fic: Dark and Murdock shares you (afab reader) ***

Fic: Waking up with curled around Murdock’s back  (amab reader) ***

Fic: Murdock having some fun with Yancy when you come home (amab reader) ***

Porniplier(s)

Prompt: Plumber porniplier “inspects” readers “pipes ***

Wilford Warfstache

Prompt: “I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you and also that I’m pregnant.” ^^ (Female reader)

Prompt: “I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me.” ***

Prompt: “Come here, baby, let Mommy/Daddy take care of you.”/“Aww, is my little princess/prince getting shy?”/“It’s okay, honey, you can pull my hair as hard as you want while I’m between your legs.” *** (Female reader)

Fic: Wilford giving reader’s wings a massage *** (Male reader)

Fic: Dark walks in on Wilford and winged reader *** (Male reader)

Prompt: Reader is a little chubby and kinda insecure, Wilford is sweet and appreciative *** (Female reader)

Fic: Somnophilia with Wilford ***

Prompt: Wilford with bratty reader that gets slaps as punishment ***

Prompt: “ Do you like it when I touch you like that?” / “ Okay.. This is new. ” / “ What a pretty sight. ” / “ Good girl. ” *** (Female reader)

Prompt: Just some desperate sex with Wilford ***

Prompt: Vampire reader with Actor, Darkiplier, & Wilford ***

Prompt: Wilford offering Captain some stress relief ***

Yancy

Fic: Visitation day ;) ***

Prompt: “Aww, is my little princess/prince getting shy?”/“Come here, baby, let Mommy/Daddy take care of you.” ***  (Uses the nickname princess, but gender neutral :) )

Prompt: “Wanna see what I’m wearing underneath all this?”/“These walls are pretty thick, which means you and I can be as loud as we want.” *** (Female reader)

Prompts: “Why do you keep looking at me?” “Oh, you only just caught on? Why do you think I can’t keep my eyes off of you?” / shut up and kiss me already with Yancy / I’ve wanted this for so long with Yancy ^^

Prompts: Stolen handcuffs + “ Okay.. This is new. ” / “I read your diary“ ***

Fic: Yancy gets a new tattoo *** amab reader

Fic: Petplay with puppy Yancy and dom reader *** amab reader

Prompt: Submissive and a little touch starved Yancy ***

Yandereplier

Prompt: Reader being tired of being a bottom with “Touch yourself for me.”/“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” ***

[anabsolutesimpforegos]

I can't believe people actually like the e-plier fic I'm–

[emptynarration]

Here’s some info on my “Twisted Minds AU”

So the gist is this:

dark lost his human shell, becoming more or less the house entity, but it’s not just that but just what Dark is. Due  to that, it slowly drove everyone inside of the manor “insane”.   bringing emotions to extremes, shifting personalities to the opposite of  what they were, changing appearances and stuff

the only one who’s  not “insane” in this au is Host. he started out like the rest, author  turning more and more horrible and weird, but due to dr iplier (I’m  debating pronouncing him eye-plier cus y e s) author turned into host,  and with host’s powers of narrations and knowing of different realities,  he realized that this reality he’s in is absolutely fucked up, and now  he’s terrified of existing here.

A short info on the egos:

Dark is a formless shadow-y entity. He’s confined to his office, which appears basically as a void. If the radius of his aura (turning things monochrome) is larger than just a bit outside the office of the hallway, then it’s best to stay far away from him, as it’s a good sign he’s angry.

He basically only “feels” and has no thoughts or such. Just a cloud of feelings, you could say. He stays in the office out of his own, because somewhere in there he knows he’s the cause of the egos being so fucked up

Wilford is completely gone, rationality pretty much left his mind. He’s always smiling, laughing, giggling. There seems to be nothing that can bring him down. In his mind, Dark is still alright. He visits Dark daily, just sitting in the office and talking to him. (in my hc, wilford can see A LOT more colours than humans can, so he can actually see in the void, and can make out the main mass that is dark). sometimes he pulls dark out of the office and drags him around -his favorite activity is to play piano with dark (i wrote a fic about the two of them interacting)

Somewhere in his mind, he knows Dark isn’t supposed to be like he is. But it’s not really something conscious.

With Dark is also the only time Wilford can be spotted with genuine smiles, or even no smile at all (tho thats very rare)

Dr Edward Iplier is totally bonkers. He mixes his own medicines and poisons, and tests them on alive humans -and sometimes the egos. He loves to torture people and inflict pain, killing people while they’re forced to be conscious. He and his clinic are constantly covered in blood, pretty much.

Sometimes, Edward has “sane” moments, in which he acts like a normal verse Dr Iplier. In those moments, he tries to do the right things, which is usually taking care of Host.

Edward is pretty much the whole reason Host is Host. Due to all that (it’s 2 fics about it lol) Edward has forced Host into a sort of pretty toxic and abusive relationship. Host is too terrified to try and escape that, and he craves all the small bits of kindness he gets, since no one else is nice anymore

Google Blue, Green, and Red are a horrible amalgamation, fused together in a truly horrible body horror figure (also described in a fic). They are now acting as one, referred to as “it” or “Chrome”.

Google Yellow/Oliver is still missing from that amalgamation. He has extremely heightened emotions, and every little thing could tip him into another extreme mood-swing. He’s terrified of Chrome, but he can feel smth akin to a “pull” towards it, since he’s supposed to be a part of Chrome.

Bing is broken down, having been used for spare parts, as well as getting viruses and such tested on him. Oliver has gotten a complete copy of what makes Bing Bing, as well as of all 4 Googles.

King of the Squirrels has basically turned into a humanoid killer squirrel.

Bim has turned into some sort of cannibalistic monster, that doesn’t really resemble a human a whole lot anymore.

I don’t have anything solid for the other egos sadly. Mostly I just go with “the opposite of how they usually are”, since that’s easiest.

[weirdlyhornyforegos]

Masterlist

MINORS DNI!!!!!

NEW NAVIGATION POST WITH LINKS TO ALL MY STUFF

NEW FIC MASTERLIST!

All my stuff in gender neutral, unless explicitly stated otherwise! All Markip**er egos. Fics and headcanons. Updated: 09/03-2022

^^ = Lime

*** = Lemon

FICS

All my fics

Actor

Prompt: “Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”/“Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.” ***

Prompt: Reader topping Actor and (consensually) wrecking his shit/Reader speaking French and turning an ego on ***

Prompt: Reader flirting with Google and Actor getting jealous and possessive  ***

Fic: Damien x reader x Actor where Damien is in the middle for once ***

Darkiplier

Prompt: “Darling, your heart is too pure for me.” ^^

Prompt: “I don’t care if you think you look like godzilla when you wake up, you’re my beautiful godzilla.” ^^

Prompt: “Maybe I should get you a collar so you don’t forget who you belong to.” ***

Prompt: “You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.”/“You’d better be quiet if you don’t want to get caught.”/“You look good all soaking wet.” /“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.” ***

Prompt: “Did I say you could stop?” ***

Prompt: “You take my fingers so well don’t you?”/“Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”/“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”/“Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic.” ***

Prompt: “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.”/“Pull my hair!” ***

Prompt: Voyeurism kink/“I want you to watch me, first. Then you can have me." *** (AFAB reader)

Prompt: Winged reader that melts into subspace when their wings are touched ***

Prompt: Dark and Anti tries to get with you, but are always interrupted by the other, ends with a fight and an angry three way ***

Prompt: Dark with a naturally submissive s/o that has a praise kink to end all praise kinks, and he starts praising them in public ***

Prompt: “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”/“I love the sounds you make when you come undone.”/“Say my name over and over again and, once you think you’ve said it loud enough, scream it. I want the whole neighborhood to know who’s making you feel good.” ***

Prompt: “You know, you always look so much better when I mark you up.”/ “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”/“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” ***

Fic: Darkiplier in a white suit and a fuck machine ***

Prompt: Darkiplier in lingerie ***

Prompt: “Can you stop sending me nudes, I’m at work.” “That excuse never stopped you when I was working.” “Can you blame me? I bought lace undies, what was I supposed to do?” ***

Damien

Fic: Damien x reader x Actor where Damien is in the middle for once ***

E-plier

Fic: You’re his boyfriend and walk in on a livestream, which leaves him distracted and horny ***

Eric Derekson

Prompt: “Don’t hesitate, just kiss me.” ^^

Prompt: “Are you wearing my shirt?”/“Tell me what you like.”/“Did you dress up just for me?” ***

Prompt: Eric and a transwoman reader in an established relationship, reader offers him a blowjob for the first time (trans female reader) ***

Prompt: Eric fucking transwoman readers tits with “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”/“You deserve a reward for being so good today, what would you like it to be?”/“Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.” *** (Trans female reader)

Googleplier

Prompt: Google squad showing reader how much better they are at pleasing them than any other weak human ***

The Host

Prompt: “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” ^^

Prompt: Male Reader topping Host *** (Male reader)

Prompt: “I only want to please you.”/“Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don’t we see how many times I can make you cum right now.”/“You know, you look real pretty when you cry.”/“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” ***

Illinois

Drabble: Illinois and someone with fangs ***

Fic: One tent instead of one bed ***

Prompt: Illinois and reader with an aphrodisiac ***

Yancy

Fic: Visitation day ;) ***

Prompt: “Aww, is my little princess/prince getting shy?”/“Come here, baby, let Mommy/Daddy take care of you.” ***  (Uses the nickname princess, but gender neutral :) )

Prompt: “Wanna see what I’m wearing underneath all this?”/“These walls are pretty thick, which means you and I can be as loud as we want.” *** (Female reader)

Prompts: “Why do you keep looking at me?” “Oh, you only just caught on? Why do you think I can’t keep my eyes off of you?” With Yancy / 55 shut up and kiss me already with Yancy / I’ve wanted this for so long with Yancy

Yandereplier

Prompt: Reader being tired of being a bottom with “Touch yourself for me.”/“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” ***

Wilford Warfstache

Prompt: “I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you and also that I’m pregnant.” ^^ (Female reader)

Prompt: “I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me.” ***

Prompt: “Come here, baby, let Mommy/Daddy take care of you.”/“Aww, is my little princess/prince getting shy?”/“It’s okay, honey, you can pull my hair as hard as you want while I’m between your legs.” *** (Female reader)

Fic: Wilford giving reader’s wings a massage *** (Male reader)

Fic: Dark walks in on Wilford and winged reader *** (Male reader)

Prompt: Reader is a little chubby and kinda insecure, Wilford is sweet and appreciative *** (Female reader)

Fic: Somnophilia with Wilford ***

Prompt: Wilford with bratty reader that gets slaps as punishment ***

Prompt: “ Do you like it when I touch you like that?” / “ Okay.. This is new. ” / “ What a pretty sight. ” / “ Good girl. ” ***

Headcanons

All headcanons

Egos reacting to their S/O speaking French ^^

Egos with dirty talk ^^

The egos with a s/o that gets flustered by compliments and praise ^^

Drabbles

All drabbles

Eric and dirty talk ***

Dark in lingerie ^^

Other

Talking tag ^^

200 follower drabble event (closed/done) *** ^^

300 follower drabble event (closed/done) *** ^^

[weirdlyhornyforegos]

I’d seen too many uses of Marcus/Markus for Actor Mark, actually, so I went with Mac for E-plier.

Huh, I’ve actually never seen that myself, I’ve only seen people use Mark or Actor to refer to Actor Mark in fics. But that’s kinda interesting!

[weirdlyhornyforegos]

sone people call him marcus

Ohh, that’s cool, thank you for telling me! Wanted to know since I felt writing and reading E-plier might get a bit weird/tiring in a fic