#he would either cave / keep going without realizing what's happening / or have to fucking die to maintain balance anyway

[lochley]

if byron actually got his way

lyta would probably take this role there honestly and i would pay to see her go hardened matriarch

[jestiamy]

for context (separate links) / tagging @p1nkp0nkk since they are the one that. made me post this so like in this hypothetical au canon needs to be. canon ish. since the premise is "okay but what would V do in a canon timeline." ; but also with the general end goal of "become an antagonist, probably."

I don't really talk about it but my ocs actually do a lot in the background of canon. specifically in the tang dynasty and before (jttw era). to fix all of that meddling to make an au closer to canon we get ;

Ch'en, Gongdai, and Hong are all not around.

maybe they're dead, maybe they chose a difference form, maybe they never existed - none of that matters. as long as 'ch'en'/'gongdai'/'hong' are gone, this timeline can be achieved

This comic goes a lot less "entire comic+ after this everyone screamed" and more "V was just people watching -no form stuff intended since. they don't know they're meant to do that. they accidentally make eye contact. they're both really confused and also v is in a lot of sudden and confusing pain and freaking out really bad + after this V hides right away as every memory up until that moment macaque has ever had starts flooding over into their brain and instinct is all like. dude what the fuck you're gonna die!!! leave!!! hide!!! go away!!!"

Macaque dies, V takes a long long long long time to settle into their skin as a person that is distinctly Not Macaque without their shapeshifter seniors around to explain how it's meant to work. It's a lot of shock and hiding in caves. They come to accept that yeah, my best friend who I also don't know at all tried to kill me except I wasn't me I was someone else until I saw me and then I became me? But not. because I'm dead. They eventually work out a name (Venera) but it took a few hundred years more then it would otherwise and they're definitely a lot more macaque then they would have been if they knew what was happening

macaque comes to life and while he's gaining back his former strength and distinctly not doing whatever it is that weird bone lady wanted, he tries to find out if that person he saw before dying was like. actually a person. and not a hallucination. good side quest, very achievable, and definitely not a subconscious way to avoid confronting his issues by going on a fools errand.

he somehow actually finds the person. they both scream. great introduction

they work out some stuff. hey you're like, sort of me. yeah I guess. talk out their feelings. get eachother in loop on what their revenge scheme is if there is any at all. that stuff. after the conversation tapers off they go their other ways though, mostly because they both think the other is kind of weird. not like, a bad weird, but not really a good weird either.

they keep in brief contact. sort of. macaque just wonders back sometimes, and v doesn't really have anywhere else to go. the instinct of "hide like your life depends on it" was definitely one they didn't kick after the first time it showed up. so they kind of just hang out. in the same cave. forever.

macaque keeps coming back mostly because it's. kind of sad. like huh, if I managed to escape this is what I'd be. mostly just sees young macaque in v, takes pity on that, and comes back to try and be a friend when he has the time. he isn't exactly good at the friendship thing, but he hasn't tried to kill them yet, and that's better then v's last friend right ???

from there I have no idea but I'd imagine v's kind of like. this is My Friend, and macaque is the kind of guy to see no ethical or moral issues in asking his highly secluded friend who has no one else but him to help him out with evil stuff (he is slow and does not realize that is how it is framed) and so if given time and macaque thinking he should enough, they'd probably become macaque's like. in reserve evil henchman. highly in reserve though. he's no lady bone demon okay, he does not vibe well with "menacing person following me around as I do evil."

and so the au from there depends on how bad of a person I let macaque be because. v here is very loyal and macaque is the only person alive with that loyalty. this could go literally so many different ways depending on macaque's general reaction/feelings/plans regarding V

[agentem]

Emily watches "Black Adam"

Because... I am bored at my parents' house.

The father of the kid in the prologue was the Rock. Why are we pretending he Shazamed into the Rock?

Is this set in the past? There was a Smashing Pumpkins song, and the driver has a cassette tape. Is this the 90s?

The prologue reminds me of the opening of X-Men Apocalypse and the scenes in the cave remind me of Moon Knight. Where is Oscar Isaac? He should be here.

I know Dwayne Johnson has clauses in his contracts that he can't lose a fight in movies. But I think it'd be HILARIOUS to have Zachary Levi's goofy Shazam beat him. Or Darla, because Darla is my favorite from that movie. I'd also like to see Shazam beat Superman while we are at it. Because he is supposed to be the one who call when Superman goes evil and that is sort of what happened in Justice League. Doesn't Shazam (then Captain Marvel) beat him and Superman plows fields and penance?

I knew Aldis Hodge was going to be hot in this but I am surprised how into Pierce Brosnan I am.

How does Adam know what a catchphrase is?

At this point I fell asleep, not ENTIRELY the movie's fault. I had some medication issues. But the movie didn't keep me up either.

Hawkman looks hot. I don't know how the citizens can boo him. Sure, non-intervention but also stand there and look pretty.

Who is playing Pierce Brosnan's in costume body double? He's hot too.

I'm sorry I'm so into the JSA when they are doing the bad thing here but the Rock is too bulky for me. LOL. He's also giving lines like "Force is always necessary" like they are gems. And I'm like, "eh, force is often necessary but we prefer if it's not."

Cyclone's suit is interesting but it also looks like something you can buy at Hot Topic. I like her hair though. Great hair.

I don't really like this kid and the mom. I feel like they got everyone killed and I don't know why?

Pierce Brosnan is really bring the only emotional performance to this movie and I thought his James Bond was without depth, and bad.

The ultimate badguy/demon Shazam looks really stupid. Like some middle schooler drew him. "Yeah he's got horns and a pentacle on his stomach and muscles and he flies."

This whole final battle could have been avoided if Dr. Fate just told Hawkman to call the facility Black Adam was in. They spoke to the lady from Peacemaker. Doesn't anyone have her number? Or did he Fate just want to die?

God I hate this kid.

... I mean it's not terrible. It's silly. I think I would've rather seen the origin story with the son. Even though you would've known the Rock would become the hero in the end, it still would've felt like something different, set in ancient times.

Or maybe if they had combined Whirlwind or Atom Smasher with the kid from Kahndaq? Like if one of them were from Kahndaq and wanted to be a hero but fucked up with Intergang somehow--got in trouble with the JSA--so feeling like he or she needs help, awakened the champion from the past without realizing he wasn't Shazam but Black Adam. That way we get can rid of some of these extra characters.

"Kahndaq" also feels like a set with maybe 24 people living there. I know they film on sets to keep the press from seeing, but you gotta do something distinct. Maybe have that weird triangle hand signal all over the place. Give them a cultural backstory. I don't know.

But then I hated the hand signal so maybe not.

END CREDITS: Happy to see Cavill get another chance at Superman but can we agree that Amanda Waller shouldn't have been involved? And also that it should have been Zachary Levi as Shazam?!?

Black Adam started as a Captain Marvel/Shazam bad guy. You can't be saying Shazam multiple times in the movie and not addressing the fact that Shazam has movies too.

[boxxyass]

BloodFest!!! Week One

Week one of Bloodfest ;) Bo Sinclair X  GN Reader Prompts: Rope. Teeth. Size. Blood     Keywords: wicked, rain

There was something truly wicked in the way Bo smiled after putting a bullet from his shotgun into a tourist, he didn’t usually have the patience that Vincent did to kill or maim his victims with a knife. He got a sick sort of satisfaction seeing the terror on the person’s face as they attempted to run only to take a glance behind and realize how truly fucked they were before he squeezed the trigger and they went down hard.

On this particular night, the tourist was double fucked because you were on the hunt as well for them, but only after begging Bo to let you come help and reminding him, you were very much capable of handling yourself. Rolling his eyes he caved in and reminded you if you got hurt it was your own damn fault but in the same breath was telling you to be careful because it was downpouring right now. You just gave him a wink and went out the front door machete grasped firmly in your right hand ready to decapitate someone if need be. 

Bo followed you out shotgun in hand telling you to scope out the houses on one side of town while he went to the movie theater. You watched as he disappeared into the night, the fog and heavy rain obscuring even the soft glow of the town that gave the illusion of life within could not be seen. Being soaked to the bone and prowling around in the dark and mud added an extra thrill to the hunt and sent shivers of excitement through your body, you hoped you got to the tourist first, because as of late it seemed Bo was getting to have all the fun.

30 minutes went by of you creeping through shadows and peeking in windows only to be met with the blank stares of the wax figures, no obvious signs of muddy footprints leading through door ways or knocked over furniture and broken objects usually giving away a rushed hiding place. You huffed in annoyance wondering if Bo was having better luck tracking this fucker down. Taking shelter for a moment on one of the larger porches with a roof you tried to think of where to look next or if you where better off waiting for Bo to come meet back up with you. 

Suddenly you where laying sideways in the cold mud and and rain drops clouded your vision as the taste of blood overwhelmed your senses. What the fuck just happened, how could you have let someone get the better of you!?. With bleary vision and black spots in your eyes you could make out a man three times your size still standing on the porch and the spot where he had slammed into you so hard he had sent you flying through the wooden guard rail which explains the excruciating pain you felt in your back and rib cage. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!! You tried to get back up on your knees as you slid in the mud and your vision threatened to black out entirely, and you became aware that your jaw felt like someone had sucker punched you. Finally getting to all fours, you knew you had seconds before this man came down and either killed you or maimed you permanently, but it was so hard getting the world back into focus and chocking on your own blood wasn’t all that fun. You refused to die so pathetically though even if he did kill you oh you would give him something to remember you by. By some miracle you had managed to keep a grip on the machete without accidently getting impaled by it or losing it to the thick mud. 

From the corner of you eye you saw the hulking figure of the man stalk towards you and barely managed to stagger to your feet and keep him at arms length by wildly swinging your weapon. This forced him to step back a few feet and reconsider how he was going to get his hands back on you. Spitting blood out you grinned like the crazy fucker you where knowing if you could scare him enough and plant some doubt in that brain of his you would find your opening to strike. He did seem more hesitant now, maybe surprised you had even gotten back up, but this wasn’t the first time a tourist had  roughed you up and it never ended well when Bo found out, which made you even more gleeful at the thought of what this person would have to suffer through. 

You toyed with him a bit letting him think he was going to get the upper hand again and dodging out of the way just in time before he finally slipped up and you felt your blade slice through the flesh and muscle of his back. Watching as he went down to the ground in sheer agony gave you that rush you always craved on the hunt and you just stood there watching him wither around in the mud. You where in such a trance you didn’t even notice the rain had finally stopped and that Bo’s truck was pulling up to the murderous scene, the headlights revealing just how much of your blood and the tourist blood had been spilled. 

The sound of the car door being slammed shut is what brought you back to reality and Bo calling out your name trying to make sure you where okay. You didn’t fight him as he turned you around in his arms to take in the damage and the loopy grin you always got when these things happened. You could see the hellfire in his eyes though the absolute rage in his face as he took in the swelling and bruising and the blood still coming out of your mouth and nose. On closer inspection he realized the fucker had taken out a few of your precious teeth, he snarled wanting to blow the mans head off and watch his brains go four different directions, but he wanted to make the suffering last, make him beg for mercy as he pulled him apart. 

Bo stalked over to the whimpering mess of a man and whistled low as he took in the still large oozing gash across the man’s back. You smiled to yourself knowing he was proud of you for standing your ground, and doing such a nasty number on someone. While Bo manhandled him you rummaged in the back of his truck looking for rope just so your now permanent guest didn’t get any funny ideas about trying to leave again. Finally coming across some you eagerly handed it to Bo who was enjoying poking and prodding the man’s wound and making him scream. He roughly tied up his arms and legs and threw him none to gently into the back of the truck before knocking him out cold to get him to shut up for awhile. Now that the adrenaline was fading from your system the aches and pains began to really make themselves known, and Bo was quick to pick up on that as he was at your side once more taking your face into his bloodstained hands. Everything was starting to feel hazy again, only reason you where still upright was that Bo kept saying you're name and begging you to stay with him. 

You could only weakly grasp onto his arms and mumble that you wanted to go home now, scooping you up into those strong arms of his he gingerly placed you in the passenger seat. Everything after that was a blur, you could vaguely remember him talking to Vincent about taking the tourist and then asking him to come take a look at you once he was done with that. 

Next thing you know you woke up with a throbbing headache and breathing felt like sucking through a straw, for a moment you panicked unsure of what was going on until Bo’s voice was shushing you and pushing your hair back telling you it was okay and he wasn’t going anywhere and that him and Vincent would fix you right up. Blindly you reached for his hand and tugged him closer until he got the hint that you wanted him to lay down with you. Trying not to move you around to much he maneuvered himself onto the bed and rested his head on top of yours running a hand softly through your hair and leaving kisses on the crown of your head. You wanted to stay awake but he was making it so hard, and the warmth radiating from his body along with the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat is what finally lulled you back into a peaceful sleep, knowing as long as you had Bo you would be okay in the end.   

[sopxhiea]

Invitation

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Drabble

She leans against the doorframe, hair resting on her shoulders as she plays with her dress. Fuck, she’s proper lovely. Her smile follows the lines of her delicate features and he swears he sucks in a breath while waiting for the lad to get his papers in hand.

“You can come in for a bite, you know?”

Oh, he’d like to.

Her voice is soft, playful almost and Alfie images her writhing underneath him like he’s done a dozen times before but reminds himself that there are rules, invisible ones that are formed by the moral compass of the person.

He doesn’t have one.

She plays with the ends of her hair as he looks down at her small form, she gets lovelier by the day, he swears. A soft smile finds his lips and he shakes his head, making a curious noise leave her lips at the act. His eyes meet hers once more and he considers, fucking thinks about going in his employee’s house to have dinner with his housemate.

“‘m good, lass.” he speaks, choking out the words when she starts walking towards him.

Her movements are slow, clearly calculated as she strides towards him. He sucks in a breath and his eyes don’t leave hers. She has her smile on the entire time. She knows the affect she has on the baker all too well, as he’s not the most subtle of admirers but she decides she’ll give him a chance, she wants to after all.

“Have you had dinner, Mr. Solomons?” she whispers and he loses it for a second, mouth agape for a solid second before he gathers himself to look at the devilish eyes of the lass before her.

She says his name in a way that makes him swear there are gods, good ones too. They have given him the gift of her, or more so the gift of getting to ogle her every morning he has the chance to come by. His employee lives with her, a bloke named Ishmael and he makes the lad swear that he’ll take care of the girl.

Although he’d much rather do it himself.

“Nah, I haven’t.” he mutters, no energy left to curse in his system with her so close by.

He sees her face closer this way, even more gorgeous than he’d thought before. He takes his time, too. Eyes her eyelashes under the evening light as she stares up at him, marvels at his bulky form while he eye-fucks the girl. She doesn’t mind it, enjoys it if anything.

“Come on, then.” she says and he can’t find in himself to say no, he can’t even shake his head but to follow the lass.

He shakes his head while walking inside the house, following her like her tail and she smiles at the act. Alfie doesn’t seem like the rough type to her, although she’s sure he’d love to act like it. She doesn’t know enough about him to make conclusions but the more things she hears, the more curious she is about the nature of the gangster.

She sits him down then, on the large table in the dining room with no one but her and him. He figures Ishmael is inside the apartment somewhere still looking for the papers Alfie had asked for and he prays to his gods that the lad can’t find them. The lass pours Alfie a cup of water before filling his plate with warm food.

Fuck, it had been a long time since he’d had warm food at the table.

At any table, he reminds himself and catches the eyes of the lass he’s so fond of. She fills her plate as well, leaves Ishmael’s place empty and sits in front of Alfie before eating. Alfie watches her for a while, a slurty look in her eyes as she takes small bites from her filled spoon. 

He then digs in, swearing under his breath as he realizes that this was just what he needed. “Fuck.”

She smiles at the word, also because just a small plate of warm food was enough to untie the knots he’s keen on carrying. She watches him devour the food before him, the papers he came around for long forgotten as he casts her a peculiar glance every other minute. She eats slower, watches him under a curious gaze and settles that she likes him.

“Another one?” she asks, sweet this time once he’s done but he shakes his head. He’s full and hungry for something else now that his belly was full.

“Nah, pet. Good fuckin�� food it ‘s, though, yeah.” he says, appreciating home cooked foods more than ever now that she’s made some for him.

Ishmael finds the papers in the meantime, realizes his boss is having a meal with the girl he lives with and settles that it’ll be best to just wait in the car. He knows that the boss is fond of the lass, although he doesn’t know her well and he’s interested to say the least so he steers clear, away from the dining room.

“Well....that’s kind.” she speaks after his last words and he realizes he wants something else.

“It’s the fuckin’ truth, innit.” he speaks under heavy eyes. Not because he’s sleepy but because he wants her. 

“Tell me something else that’s true.” she says, elbows on the table once she’s finished. He smirks at her, laughs almost at the request. 

“Where’s the lad?” he asks, knowing he’s playing with fire now and tries to steer clear from fucking a lass a decade younger than him.

But she doesn’t seem to mind. It seems like it’s quite the opposite, actually. She wants it, he can see but she’s not the one to beg for it. He just thinks she’s not properly worked up yet, once she has her panting it’s over. But he knows the blurry lines formed by what’s proper and what’s not.

The way she’s looking at him is definitely not.

“I told him to stay away.” she says, as a matter of fact about the time she’d warned him off about keeping clear if they were ever to be in the same room.

“And he fuckin’ listened?” he asks, chuckling while muttering out the sentence. His own lad who doesn’t always listen to him is whipped by a young thing like her.

He doesn’t blame him. He’d do anything she says without questions, too.

“What do you think?” she whispers, voice breathy and she smiles when he gulps.

He’s in the wolf’s cave as a lone bear.

She can’t tear him up, not yet but she has the capacity. He knows she does from the way she walked towards him outside. She plays with her knife, putting the sharp part against her tongue and he inhales sharply. She’s done this before, he can see but he wonders who was the other player, the unlucky bastard.

“Why haven’t you come inside the house before?” she asks, curious eyes lingering on his lips before landing on his eyes.

“Didn’t have a good enough fuckin’ reason, did I?” he speaks but it’s a lie, they both know it.

“Is me waiting for you not good enough?” she counters the words with another questions and he loses his breath for a second before sucking in a sharp breath of air.

And he knows she’d been waiting but not how.

She’d been waiting with a smile on her face, hands exploring her inner thighs with the visions of him. She was impatient, that was easy to see and he’d die to see her chest heaving the way it had a couple days ago with the thought of his head between her legs. He sees the want, the need in her eyes, mirrored fiercely in his.

“I know you have places to be..” she starts speaking and he knows he’s fucked, she doesn’t need to finish the sentence. “...I’d be willing to keep you company, if you’d like that is.” she speaks and he knows it to be true.

“How old are ya’, lass?” he asks and she retreats for a second. He sees her hesitate, not because she cares about the age difference but because she doesn’t.

She doesn’t give a single damn about how he’s much older than she is or that he’s got blood in her hands. This is mostly due to the many lads she’d been around who were seemingly appropriate, some would even say a catch, for her but they were boring chaps who just wanted a kiss from a pretty girl.

She needs a man, and reckons he’s exactly that.

“I think you already know the answer.” she bites back this time, almost aggressive and he revels at that, marvels at her angry orbs for a second before he realizes he’s been staring at her like his last meal.

“Ya’ know how old I fuckin’ am, hm?” he asks and she chuckles, smiles at his act. She’s lovely, he catches himself thinking as he watches her and she nods.

She fucking nods.

And then she speaks, but with more poise and anger this time. She’s managing her rage well, he can see because he has the exact same one swimming in his very own orbs. He watches her entire demeanor change and she talks without breaking eye-contact, making him shift in his pants.

“I know age doesn’t matter to you....nor me being Ishmael’s housemate. You either want this..” she gestures to herself before putting her elbows on the surface, eyes stern. “...or you don’t. There’s plenty of fish in the sea and I have no problem with hunting some down.” she finishes and he needs an entire moment to gather himself.

He watches her chest heave, a million visions fills his head before he has to shake them out. His pants are tight now, too tight as he groans while adjusting the fabric. She sees the frustration, months of him wanting to make her his and now she’s presenting him with the opportunity but it’s not like what he’s imagined. 

Oh, it’s much better.

“What if I, yeah, do fuckin’ want it? What happens then, hm?” he asks, hand tugging at his beard as he watches her delve from confusion to confidence all in a second. She smiles at him, and he swears he’s about to fuck her on the dining table but she speaks before he can do that.

“Do you always ask questions that you know the answers to? Or is it only with me?” she says and he raises his eyebrows at that.

He does know what this entails.

Sleepless nights in his office, him fucking her against the desk and her getting bruises for it. He knows she’ll spend the weekends if he asks but he also sees the other side of the coin, the one with no fucking and a whole lot of blood. He sees the danger and a flick in his heart tells him to keep the angel before him out of it but he’s selfish.

“Do ya’ know the answer then?” Alfie asks and this is a warning of sorts, telling her that once she’s in, there’s no way out.

She nods, not bothered or threatened but simply knowing. He watches her smile, a wide grin on her pretty lips as she speaks.

“I’m not scared of a little blood, if that’s what you’re asking.” she speaks and he knows she’s not a woman to be toyed with. Sure, she’s young. Much younger than anyone he’s ever been with but he sees the fire in her eyes, the same he’s had since he became a young man. He knows she’s been through less than he, he can see it in her delicate hands compared to his calloused ones but he finds that he doesn’t care.

“‘m a dangerous fuckin’ man, luv.” he says and the pet name makes her smile in a way that makes him lose his breath. It’s so easy for her, he thinks and she knows, she drags the smile because of it.

“A dangerous man wouldn’t warn me off.” she says with a wicked smile.

And he’s sold.

He can’t argue with that logic, he thinks and it brings a low chuckle to his lips. She’s right, in some sick and twisted way and it makes him smile. He wants to take her home, kiss her real good and then explore every inch of her soft skin she’s graciously exposing to him. He wants to mark her and for people to see it. It’s primitive, but primitive can be good.

“When do ya’ have to be fuckin’ home?” he asks, like she’s a school girl or if her parents will check the bedroom in case of a missing daughter at night case.

So she chuckles at the words, shakes her head and offers the gangster the kindest smile she can muster. He wants her to ruin him, to make him beg on his knees and he’s willing to do so, every step of the way if he needs to but she’s taking a step back each time he tries to catch her in his strong arms. It’s frustrating but he’s close, too close to pass up the opportunity.

“Whenever we’re done.” she says, almost in a whisper this time and it makes Alfie get up almost abruptly.

He feels like a young man inside, how he felt before the war as he walks out of the dining room but not before stopping in front of the lass to mutter some words.

“Go on, then.” he says, against her face and she can feel the goosebumps on her skin. It makes her excited, that she finally has the chance to have a go at the scary man and Alfie watches her get her coat and offer her hand.

He takes it.

Her hand is much smaller, softer too and not roughened by the world’s many troubles. He plans to keep them that way, to make sure there’s not a scratch on her in his time of being around promises himself that it will be the case as long as she keeps him around.

Just before she’s about to hop into the car, holding onto his hand, she plants a kiss on the side of his mouth.

And he’s gone.

Because it’s soft, far too good for a criminal like him but he can’t bring himself to say that she should be wary of him. He wants her, like a little kid wants candy and he cannot keep denying himself, he knows this. He also knows she may come out of a bit more mature so sees it as a gain and gain situation.

Then he barks at the driver to take them to his place and feels her hand clasp his. A low fuck leaves his lips and he knows he’s in for trouble.

---

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum

A/n: This happened and i hope you liked it? Let me knowww and also if you’d like to be tagged.

[navalcriminalimagines]

Hi it's me again! 🤭 May I request for angst "Do you even still love me?" and end with fluff "Please just kiss me already" for Gibbs? 🥺

Thank youu!! ❤️

I hope you’ll like it! Let me know ❤️

Distance

You thought that after catching Harper Dearing, things would go back to normal, but Gibbs is still distant with you as he's been for months. You don't know what to think, you barely see each other, he doesn't call to pick you up after work so you can spend the night together. You can't remember the last date you two had. It's driving you crazy.

So, you decide to surprise your boyfriend at work. You walk into the NCIS headquarters, and you can see they are still remodeling all the damages that was caused by the bombing. As you get to the bullpen, you realize that only Tony and Tim are here. "Miss Y/L/N, nice to see you here!" Tony greets you with a warm smile.

"Hi Tony!" you return his smile, "Tim," the agent waves at you but keeps typing on his computer. "Is Gibbs around?"

"Down in Abby's lab. You can go if you want,"

You thank him and walk to the elevator to join Abby's lab. Unlike Tony said, Gibbs isn't there. You can see Abby doing her thing on her computer, so you knock before getting in. "Y/N! Hey!" she basically jogs to you to give you a hug.

"How are you, Abbs?" you ask. You know that she's been having nightmares since the bombing and her reflex is to call Gibbs in the middle of the night.

"I'm fine. Nightmares are less regular. I'm sorry if I wake you up by calling Gibbs,"

"It's okay. I understand why you do it,” to be honest, you aren’t with Gibbs when Abby calls. You don’t spend the night over anymore. You only witnessed her calls a time or two. “Was he supposed to be here, by the way?"

"He was but now he's either down in Autopsy or back upstairs," she informs you, "Are you mad at him for going after Dearing by himself?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

At this very moment, Abby realizes she made a mistake. Apparently, you didn't know the details about Dearing's death. Gibbs hid that for you. At first, Abby doesn't want to tell more about it, but she caves in when she sees the sadness and hurt on your face. "He went there without backup. It could've been--terrible,"

Things are actually worse than you thought. Gibbs could've died by going after that guy. Of course, he can die every day on the job, but he took unnecessary risks, and the worst part is, he didn't even tell you about it.

You don't want to chase him all over the headquarters, so you just go back into the bullpen and wait for him with the boys. Gibbs appears a few minutes later, obviously surprised to see you here. "Elevator?" you just ask and he nods, following you.

Once inside the elevator, you turn off the switch. Gibbs can see you're pissed by the way you stand.

"Kiss me," he says with a smile but your reaction is to shook your head no. You would've taken a step back if you weren't in this little space.

"You don't deserve a kiss, Leroy," you tell him. "Are we still dating?" you ask, clearly annoyed.

"Why wouldn't we be?" he asks, innocently.

"Cause you're distant. Cause we haven't been together for months. Cause you're fucking avoiding me! Cause you lie--"

"Hey!" he interjects, "I do not lie! Especially not to you,"

"Oh really? Didn't you go after Harper Dearing all by yourself, without any backup? You literally threw yourself into the lion's mouth but you didn't give him a heads up! Do you even think about how I would feel if something happens to you? Do you even-- think about me, at all?"

You try to fight your tears but you've been holding back for a while now, you just let them go. It breaks Gibbs's heart to see you like, he never imagines his behavior would hurt you like this. He feels really bad about himself right now, he doesn't care about Rule 6.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I--"

"Do you even still love me, J?" you finally ask. This has been on the tip of your tongue for weeks, you had to ask. You're scared of the response he may give you, but it's better to know. If he wants to break up with you, he should just do it.

Gibbs closes the gap between you two, his hand immediately finds its way to your cheek and he locks his piercing blue eyes into yours. “Of course I do, Y/N,” he says, taking your tears away with his thumb.

“Say it,” you whisper.

“I love you. I never stopped loving you,” he admits, “I’m sorry I’ve been distant with you lately, I’ll make it up to you, I promise,”

One thing you know about your boyfriend is that he always keeps his promises. He wouldn’t promise you anything if he didn’t plan on doing it. You can’t doubt about that.

“Then, kiss me already,” you say and he does. Gibbs brings his lips to yours, you can smell the coffee he’s been drinking on them. What started as a chaste kiss becomes more intense. While his tongue slips into your mouth, your hands ran through his Marine haircut. Gibbs moans at the feeling. He missed you. He missed how you touch and kiss him.

He won’t ever be distant with you, again.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

All Men Have Limits - VI

Character: Dick Grayson x Reader x Bruce Wayne

Summary: A certain bat believes that Y/N is in way over her head, that she’s too naive to act in her best interest. So, whether she wants it or not, the vigilante family is going to help and protect her before she gets herself killed.

Word Count: 3,800+

Previously on…

“Nightwing! Regroup!” Bruce snapped into the comms again.

No matter how dire the situation was, they always stuck with their codenames while in uniform. But right now, Bruce wanted to scream at Dick to get his shit together.

Dick was quiet for a moment, allowing his family to only hear the roaring of his motorcycle as it zipped through the streets of Gotham.

“By the time we regroup, she’ll be dead,” Dick answered darkly.

This was the biggest difference between Dick and Bruce.

Dick wasn’t ruled by his emotions – except when it involved the safety of people he cared for and loved. When that happened, his emotions took control. It was very unlike Bruce, which just proved there were some things Dick simply couldn’t get trained out of him.

Bruce was always calm and collected – even when it was his kids that were in danger. Was he scared for Y/N’s life? Yes. But he also knew that panicking and going in hot was not going to help her. If anything, it would put more people in danger.

“Jason is following him,” Tim announced.

Jason might’ve refused to use comms, but they still had a tracker on his bike.

“What’s the plan?” Tim asked.

——————

Y/N probably looked like a drunk driver from the way she was serpentining to the heart of Gotham.

But she was tried to load a magazine into her gun as she ran every red light without getting t-boned by oncoming traffic.

It was…a lot. Especially since Y/N knew she were driving to her assassination.

It hadn’t been hard sneaking past the internal security at the manor. Y/N knew she could do it since she was brought there. But she decided to save that knowledge for the right time. And that was tonight. It was clearly designed mostly for Damian – or perhaps for any of the boys when they were younger and rebellious.

Then Y/N had to jumpstart the first car she saw parked on the street near Wayne Manor, which took longer than she had liked.

She might not have a lot of skills in the combat area. But she was rather resourceful in almost every other way – which included hijacking cars.

Y/N was so panicked about making it to the city before they could intervene, that her mind wasn’t really processing what was about to happen.

All Y/N knew was that she hoped they’d be done with it before any of them knew what was happening and could try to stop it.

She knew what they would’ve said. They would’ve told her to stay where she was and they would handle it. They would’ve done everything to keep her safe while also trying to save Gotham.

But Y/N couldn’t wait to see if she was responsible for the deaths of thousands while she sat on her ass and did nothing.

So she took her life into her own hands.

She gave enough information for them to use. Even if she was gone, she’d given them enough leads to finish the job without her.

Now her time was up.

Y/N knew eventually time would catch to her. She’d lived a far too risky life, threatened the most dangerous people, ruined the lives and locked up even more of dangerous people. It was only a matter of time before her luck ran out.

Y/N skidded the car to a stop. And she realized her hands were shaking as she threw the car into park.

She hadn’t stopped driving until she reached Old Gotham – right underneath the Clock Tower.

It was a nice, wealthy part of the city, which meant that there weren’t questionable people lingering on the streets.

In fact, it was eerily quiet – even for such a nice neighborhood. Y/N didn’t see a single person walking around in her vicinity.

But when she turned, there were five masked people watching her.

The Talons.

Their faces and bodies were completely covered, with their masks and goggles reminiscent of actual owls.

All of them had an arsenal of some sort of bladed weapon – countless knives, katanas, axes, or even broadswords. And, of course, they all had talons. 

“So you are the irritant,” one of them greeted, his voice muffled from his gear.

Y/N took a step back as she grabbed her gun out of the back of her waist.

But she felt a presence behind her and whipped around to see more Talons surrounding her.

Did they really expect her to be able to put up that much of a fight?

“I’ve been called worse,” Y/N smirked.

She was clearly in denial that she was about to die.

They all unsheathed their weapons.

But Y/N wasn’t going to let them make the first move.

She started shooting bullets. Either they were wearing bullet-proof vests or they were blocking her bullets with their weapons. It was all happening so fast that she couldn’t figure it out. She knew her aim wasn’t off. Jason had been secretly teaching her how to shoot. And she’d gotten rather good with his help.

“Fuck,” Y/N hissed when her magazine was empty and she had failed to take down a single Talon.

As she tried to reload the magazine, their patience ran out.

One of them knocked the gun out of her hand, slicing the skin in the process.

Before Y/N could look down at the damage, another Talon wrapped his hand around her neck and lifted her off the ground like a doll.

“How can such a weak and pathetic woman have caused such a nuisance?” He cooed at her as he tilted his head, inspecting her.

Y/N couldn’t reply even if she wanted to.

Her hands were frantically trying to free herself, nails ripping at the armor and gloves of the Talon.

“Perhaps she could be of use to us,” one of them spoke up. “Unless she’d rather die…”

But before they could drop her or make a decision, someone dropped into the middle of the chaos with a blur.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was being dropped to the ground and coughing to recover her breath.

When she looked up, she saw Dick – no, Nightwing – taking on all of the Talons who were sent to kill her.

Yes, Y/N had frequently seen Dick train with Bruce and his brothers. However, this was something entirely different.

Y/N watched in shock as Dick used his escrima sticks to take out the Talons in droves. He flipped, kicked, punched, and moved in a way Y/N had never seen before.

There was a moment of pause that gave him the opportunity to meet her gaze.

“Y/N, run!” Dick screamed as he flipped away from the deadly claws of a Talon.

She blinked at his command and snapped out of her daze.

Jumping to her feet, she did as he said.

But she only got a few yards before two more Talons dropped in front of her and blocked her path.

Her fear was interrupted by bullets raining on them seconds before a motorcycle flew into her peripheral.

Red Hood did a front wheel break and swung his motorcycle so precisely that he managed to take out both of the Talons with the backend of his bike.  

He turned to look at her. “Get on.”

But Y/N looked behind her at Dick, who was fighting Talon after Talon.

“What about Di–” she stopped herself from using his name. “What about Nightwing?!”

“Batman is on his way with the others. But right now, we have to get you out of here,” Jason yelled back.

Right on cue, the Batmobile came screaming toward them, as well as Tim on his motorcycle.

“Y/N, get on the motherfucking bike,” Jason warned her.

She turned around again and saw Dick now being aided by Damian, Tim, and Bruce. They were finally starting to overpower the Talons.

Clearly they hadn’t sent the numbers to defend themselves against the entire bat family. They probably assumed Y/N would head their warning and arrive unaccompanied. And Y/N did. But both her and The Court underestimated the vigilante family’s protectiveness towards her.

Y/N finally listened to Jason and jumped on the back of his motorcycle.

Barely giving her a second to adjust, Jason floored it and sped away from the fight as quickly as possible.

This motorcycle ride was nothing like the one Y/N shared with Dick.

Jason rode like bat out of hell, whipping around tight corners without slowing down. And even with her vice-like grip around his waist, Y/N felt like she could fly off at any moment. The wind stung against her skin like a million little needles.

“Where are we going?” Y/N tried to scream to him.

“We have to make sure they’re not tracking us before we return to the cave!”

Y/N couldn’t tell how long they had been driving around. But her arms and muscles were sore from the tension of holding on for dear life. She was so exhausted that if she hadn’t been so scared, she probably could’ve fallen asleep on the back of Jason’s motorcycle – even with his reckless driving.

Without any warning, Jason veered into a parking garage and went to the basement level where no cars were parked. He must’ve pressed a button because a hidden compartment was opening against the cement wall and suddenly they were driving through it.

Y/N got off the bike as soon as he stopped and looked around.

It must be one of his safehouses.

To her surprise, Jason took off his Red Hood helmet and then the domino mask underneath. He also grabbed some clothes that would either cover his Red Hood uniform or make it look like civilian clothing.

He pointed to a car, “Come on.”

Y/N followed him silently and got into the passenger seat.

It was a 20 minute ride back to the manor.

And it finally gave Y/N time to actually process what she had planned to do tonight. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Jason asked after 10 minutes of silence.

“And say what?” She challenged.

He smirked. “I don’t know. Maybe how you enjoy playing sacrificial lamb.”

Y/N ground her teeth together. “That’s oversimplifying it, and you know it.”

Jason just shrugged.

“That’s it?” She asked when he didn’t follow up with any more questions. “Really? You’re not going to start lecturing me?”

“Oh, definitely not. ‘Cause you’re gonna get a shit ton of that when Bruce sees you – maybe even from Dick, if he’s not too overwhelmed with relief from seeing you in one piece. Which, by the way, you’re very lucky to be.”

Y/N had no response to that.

The rest of the ride was quiet, except for the local classic rock radio station that Jason decided to turn on.

To their surprise, no one was waiting in the cave for them. But Dick and Tim’s motorcycles were parked, as well as the batmobile. So they had clearly returned.

“That might not be a great sign…” Jason mumbled as got out of his civilian car. “Come on,” he nudged with his head as he started making his way to the stairs that led back into the manor.

When they got up, Jason followed the sounds of voices coming from the kitchen.

Y/N’s eyes immediately took in the group, worried that someone would be missing.

No one was in full uniform. Tim and Damian were in sweats. Bruce’s cape and cowl were gone, but his full body armor was still on.

The three of them and Alfred were all gathered around Dick, who was sitting on the island counter shirtless with nothing but his black compression shorts on.

One of his left eye was black, there was dried blood below his nostrils, his bottom lip was split and swollen. But Y/N’s eyes were only looking at the wound on his side that Alfred was currently stitching. Clearly one of the Talons’ swords found an in.

When the family heard Jason and Y/N’s entrance, all eyes were on them.

Dick looked relieved.

But Bruce? He looked livid.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

He didn’t yell. No, instead his voice was low and even. And it scared Y/N more than yelling ever could.

But she was too busy looking at Dick’s injuries with concern.

Then her gaze raced to Tim and Damian, looking them up and down to try and assess if they had any injuries. But they seemed in good shape.

“Y/N!” Bruce snapped.

Finally she acknowledged him. 

“What?!” She growled in return.

“What were you thinking?”

“Bruce…” Dick warned quietly.

They had all seen Bruce get this way. And they all unfortunately had been on the other side of his wrath. They could see the telltale signs that Bruce was about to give one of his level-headed, but extremely disappointed speeches.

Except there was one big difference this time: Y/N wasn’t one of Bruce’s kids.

And by now, all of the boys had figured out that Bruce was feeling some kind of way about her. Even Damian had finally realized that Y/N wasn’t just an ally or fellow vigilante to his father.

“How about we all take in a deep breath and appreciate that none of us are dead?” Jason asked the group loudly. “Because we know that hasn’t always been on the case in the past…”

But Bruce ignored Jason and took a step to Y/N.

“You could’ve been killed,” he muttered quickly.

“I was trying to save innocent lives!” Y/N snapped.

“You should’ve told us as soon as you received the threat,” he countered.

“Why? So you could sideline me and make decisions about my fucking life?”

“We would have come up with a plan. One that did not involve you hot-wiring a car and driving to your death.”

“I was trying not to endanger anyone else, meaning all five of you!”

“And look how that ended,” Bruce answered darkly as she gesture to Dick, who was now stitched up and Alfred was putting a wrap around his torso.

“You can’t just shove your way into my life whenever you feel like it!” Y/N finally shouted at Bruce. “I was doing just fine before you added yourself to the situation.”

This wasn’t just about tonight anymore. The tension in their relationship had now flooded into the argument, finally reaching its boiling point.

“Tonight proved otherwise,” Bruce told her evenly.

But Bruce remaining too calm and showing no emotional reaction was only infuriating Y/N more.

“Hey!” Y/N yelled. “Just because I don’t put on a stupid costume and punch my way out of problems doesn’t mean you’re better than me. In fact, you would be screwed if it weren’t for me. You need me. You need me more than I need you.”

Bruce just glared at her.

“What? Nothing to say?”

“We can have a discussion when you stop behaving like a child.”

And it was finally what made Y/N snap.

She lunged at him.

What she planned on doing to him was beyond her. Everyone, including herself, knew she didn’t stand a chance against a petty fight with Batman. She probably couldn’t even land a punch if he let her.

Thankfully, she would never have to get that proven to her. Because Dick put a stop to it before it could actually start.

When he had moved off the counter and closer to their argument, she didn’t know.

But now Dick was finally intervening as he wrapped his arms around Y/N from behind her, pinning her arms to her side and pressing her back to his chest.

“A child?!” Y/N screamed as she tried to fight her way out of Dick’s grip. “Should I remind you that you fucked this ‘child’?!”

“Alright,” Dick warned her calmly. “That’s enough.”

“Let go of me!”

“Calm down,” he told her quietly.

Suddenly, Y/N remembered that Dick was injured, and he was injured because of her. And now she was thrashing against him, probably causing him harm and putting him at risk of opening the stitches Alfred had just finished.

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’m calm.”

But Dick waited a second or two before he decided to believe her.

When he let go, she lightly shoved him away from her and made her escape.

The whole family watched her leave, and felt the awkward tension that filled the room after she’d gone.

Tim looked shocked.

Jason glared at Bruce.

Damian seemed rather disappointed – in Y/N or his father, no one could figure out.

Dick eyed Bruce. “Great job,” he told him darkly.

Bruce just crossed this arms and sighed.

Dick gestured in the direction that Y/N went. “Aren’t you going to go after her?”

But he knew already from Bruce’s expression that he wasn’t going to anything of the sort.

“You know what, forget it.” Dick huffed before heading in the general direction that Y/N had escaped.

But Jason wasn’t going to let Bruce off the hook so easily.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” He hissed.

“Stay out of it, Jason.”

“Stay out of it?” He mocked. “Yeah, it’s a little bit hard to do that when her safety has become a family matter.” Jason shook his head in disappointment and turned to leave, “I’m out of here.”

-----------

When Dick tried to retrace Y/N’s steps, he found the front door of the manor wide open. The sight was rather eerie for some reason. But Dick stepped onto the front of the manor and looked out at the land.

Had she made a run for the gate?

It wouldn’t be the first time tonight, clearly.

But after a few scans of the property, he eventually found her.

Despite the circumstances, Dick couldn’t help but smirk when he found Y/N sprawled on the great lawn of the manor, laying on her back and staring up at the stars.

He stood over her. “I’m surprised you didn’t make a run for it.”

“Oh, I tried,” she told him matter of factly. “Bastard’s already updated the security system from earlier tonight.”

“Believe it or not, that’s his way of saying he cares. Just ask Damian.” He slowly sat down on the lawn with her, but made sure to still give her some space.

“No. It’s his way of reminding me that he’s the one in control.”

Dick winced, knowing there was probably truth to that, too.

“He shouldn’t have said that to you,” Dick sighed.

Y/N scoffed. “What part?”  

He hesitated before clarifying. “You’re not a child.”

She went quiet, not expecting him to get right to it.

“Well, we’re the same age…so of course you’d say that.”

Dick rubbed his face, knowing this was a losing battle. Nothing he said on the matter would bring her comfort.

Y/N finally looked away from the stars and her face scrunched in guilt and worry as she took in Dick’s fresh bandage. There was a pinkish blotch that showed just how big the wound was.

Slowly she sat up and turned to him. “Are you okay?” She whispered shakily.

He grinned at her concern. “Believe it or not, this is nothing.”

But Y/N still reached forward and cupped his face. Her thumb traced around his black eye, but made sure not to put any pressure on the swollen skin.

Dick leaned into her touch, not bothering to try and hide the affection.

“This is exactly what I didn’t want,” Y/N mumbled.

Dick opened his mouth, but then quickly changed his mind and closed it again.

“What?” She pushed.

But before Dick would answer, he slowly moved into her space. Then he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Please, don’t do anything like that again.”

His approach was different, but it was clear Dick and Bruce felt the same way about the stunt she had pulled. 

Y/N was quiet.

“I understand why you did it. I really do.” He added quickly. “But just…” He paused and took in a shaky inhale. “Tonight scared the hell out of me, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered.  

“I know you are. I saw it on your face as soon as you saw my injuries.” His eyes went dark. “But we can’t do things like that. We have to work together or this is all going to explode in our faces.”

Y/N thought over his words.

His hands went to cup her face.

“Deal?” He pushed.

She nodded.

Then Dick’s eyes moved down to her throat.The blistering red was already fading and being replaced by purple and blue bruising.

His mind flashed back to earlier, how he saw her dangling by her throat and unable to escape the Talon’s grip. The sight had caused him to rush into battle, not thinking of a plan before doing so. It went against everything Bruce had taught him. But seeing Y/N’s life in danger made him black out.

“We should get some ice for your neck,” Dick muttered quietly.

Then he looked down at her hand. It had stopped bleeding, but the cut looked painful and there was dried blood surrounding it.

“Fucker sliced it when he knocked my gun out of my hand,” Y/N mumbled when she saw Dick staring at it.

He eyed her suspiciously. “And I suppose Jason’s been helping with that, huh?”

She cringed. “Maybe…”

Dick just huffed and shook his head.

He started getting up, “Come on. Let me clean that cut and get some ice for your neck.”

But Y/N pulled him back down.

“Wait. Can we…Can we just stay for a bit?” She asked quietly, and then pointed up and laid back down in the grass to stare up at the sky.

Dick smirked and nodded.

He joined her, moving closer this time so their shoulders touched.

“You can actually see the stars out here,” Y/N sighed.

The smog and city lights of Gotham made them invisible.

But now they were far enough to see a few.

Dick thought about all the places he used to travel to with the circus. Some of them were so far removed from society that he could see every single star at night.

But he didn’t tell Y/N that this was nothing compared to those places.

Instead, Dick just slowly moved his hand and grabbed Y/Ns, interlacing their fingers. A part of him expected her to pull away. But she squeezed his hand and kept looking up.

—

Alfred found Bruce in the library, looking out the windows.

When he joined his side, he saw what Bruce was looking at: Dick and Y/N laying on the grass of the great lawn, stargazing.

“You’re disappointed in me,” Bruce said without taking his eyes off the two.

“I said nothing of the sort, Master Wayne.”

Bruce frowned. “You don’t have to.”

“She is not another charge, Master Wayne.” Alfred sighed. “Therefore you should not treat her as such.”

“I’m trying to keep her safe.”

“Why do you think she said nothing of the threat?” Alfred countered. “Why do you think she did not believe she could trust you?”

Bruce said nothing.

“You put the safety of Gotham over your own life every night, Master Wayne.” Alfred continued. “Yet you are so spiteful towards others who do the same.”

That finally made Bruce turn away from the window to look at Alfred.

“You owe her an apology,” Alfred finally confirmed. “Even if Master Dick has become rather good at cleaning up your messes.” 

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

Part 7

Let me know what you think – please, please, please.  

[gamerwoo]

Seventeen: Welcome to Caratland (End)

Characters: Seventeen x reader (gender neutral)

Genre/warnings: horror/halloween au, choose your own adventure au, horror au, angst, murder, major character death, 

Summary: The night before Halloween, you and your 13 friends decide to go explore the infamous abandoned amusement park: Caratland, where it’s rumored that rides start on their own, empty mascot suits are seen walking around, and people don’t return the same as when they left. Can you and your friends survive the night in Caratland?

a/n: realizing halloween is coming up, i’ve decided to FINALLY finish the au i did last halloween. for those who kept up with it: i’m sorry for discontinuing it. there was hardly any interaction with it so i just lost interest and motivation. and the lack of interaction is why i decided to just put all the choices in this part so you can see all the endings and whatnot. i’m sorry it took so long to wrap things up and there will probably be mistakes so i’m sorry about that, but i hope you all still enjoy it. ALSO LMK WHICH PATH/ENDING YOU GET FIRST TIME AROUND!!!

Tag list: @sadienita @xummie @mingoats @xxbluestrifexx @kwanseo @junhaoshua @allegxdly​ 

Previous | Caratland Masterlist

[NOTE: there will probably be mix-ups with paths and endings because i literally just did all of this in 3 days and posted without anyone proof reading it. i will go through everything later to fix and edit things, so please be patient with me!!!]

»»————-　　————-««

16 -- A

“It’s probably best to go back to the breach, right?” you decided. “We know it’s there so it’s the best way to get back.”

“_____ has a point,” Wonwoo shrugged.

“Alright, everyone head back to the hole -- and don’t get split up,” Seungcheol stated before deciding to take the lead.

“Okay, but if I see one of those glorified Chuck E. Cheese mascots coming toward us, I’m leaving all of you behind,” Seungkwan muttered as he followed with the group.

All of you were glancing around trying to keep an eye out for the animatronics, while also trying to quickly and quietly make your way back to the way you’d gotten into the park. You kept mentally kicking yourself for convincing your friends to come here. If it wasn’t for you, you wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. You were just lucky everyone was still here...

The gates were starting to come into view, and you felt relief begin to course through you. Your legs were starting to move faster on their own, just wanting to get out of this living nightmare.

Seungcheol shooting his arms out to stop the group was what had you skid to a stop. He whispered loudly for everyone to get down behind the nearby shrubs and two trash bins. The fourteen of you poked your heads around to see what had gotten him to act like this, and your heart sank at what you saw

Serenity was blocking the hole in the fence.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan hissed.

“We’re gonna die here...” Seokmin whispered, but Wonwoo was quick to comfort him.

“What’s the plan now?” Hansol wondered.

“I know it’ll risk us going to jail or something,” Jihoon began, “but I think it’s time we just cave and call someone.”

“No, I’m not going back there!” Seungkwan whispered intensely.

Your eyebrows furrowed as your turned to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“I’d rather get arrested than get murdered,” Mingyu insisted. “At least we know we’ll be safe and alive in jail.”

You made a face, “Will we, though?”

“Listen,” Hansol interrupted as he pulled out his phone, “I’ll just call my parents -- they’re really chill. And worse case scenario, they just lecture us.”

But as he went to make the call, all his phone did was beep at him like the line was busy. He took the phone away from his ear and looked down, furrowing his eyebrows.

“We had service all night, right?” he asked.

“Yeah...?” Joshua replied.

“Well now I don’t for some reason,” he said, turning his phone screen to show his friends.

Mingyu’s eyes widened, “You’re kidding.”

Then everyone, including you, were taking out their phones and checking for service. Just like Hansol, you had no bars.

Unfortunately, everyone else was in the same boat.

Now, Seokmin was on the verge of tears, “We’re going to die here!”

“Don’t get hysterical yet,” Minghao told him. “There’s gotta be a way out of this. Even if we have to wait around until morning, we can probably out-run these hunks of metal.”

“Y’know, I heard a friend of a friend snuck in here once,” Soonyoung began. “Some dude Changkyun knows. He said there’s apparently some sort of underground exit under the food court.”

“At this point, we’ll have to try anything,” Wonwoo sighed.

“So back to the food court?” Seungcheol practically whined.

You took a deep breath, “Unfortunately, yeah.”

[GO TO: 17 -- A]

»»————-　　————-««

16 -- B

“Does anyone even remember where the hole in the fence is?” you asked.

Everyone either gave you blank stares or shook their heads. You let out a sigh.

“Alternate way it is,” Minghao shrugged.

“Let’s just hang here until someone thinks of something,” Seungcheol suggested. “We’re all here, and I think those things are still hanging around wherever we were before. It’ll take a while before we see them again.”

So the fourteen of you hung out at the merry-go-round. Most of you leaned up against the horses or found yourselves sitting down on them. A few of you sat on the two steps of the platform. Chan and Wonwoo were sitting in one of the carriages that most families or parents sat in. All of you were scrolling on your phones or looking at someone else’s phone, trying to research anything about Caratland that might help you find a way out. Maybe a map or a blueprint or something might come up. 

Suddenly, the ride jerked. You almost fell over onto Junhui as the ride began turning slowly, the music trying to play but the wiring was too old and worn that it just sounded demonic at best.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Jihoon scoffed. “Who turned on the ride?”

The question was overlooked by Mingyu’s shriek. Every head who was on his side of the merry-go-round whipped over to see Bongbong sitting on a horse only a few rows away from the tall boy. But another scream from Seungkwan was what brought attention to the answer to Jihoon’s question.

Eight was standing at the controls of the ride, his never-changing smile on his face as he slowly waved.

“Run!” Joshua called, leaping off of the horse he was sitting sideways on.

“Run where?” Seokmin called as he scrambled to get off the ride and jump the short fence.

“Food court!” Soonyoung shouted as he pumped his legs as fast as they would go. “It’s a long shot...but I have an idea!”

“I’d rather know the idea first!” Jeonghan called after him as the group ran together away from the merry-go-round.

“One of Changkyun’s friends apparently broke in before!” he tried to explain between breaths. “He said there’s an underground exit there! Who knows if it’s legit, but...”

But it was the only plan they had.

[GO TO: 17 -- A]

»»————-　　————-««

17 -- A

All of you had to squeeze through the tiny basement windows to get back in after finding the doors to be locked once again.

“How’d those fuckers get out in the first place?” Jeonghan huffed as he landed on the concrete floor of the basement. “The doors have been locked this entire time.”

“We’re being chased by animatronics that haven’t been functioning for years, and they’re out to kill us for some reason, and that’s what you’re going to question?” Soonyoung pointed out.

“Can we focus, please?” Seungcheol whined. “The sooner we find this secret eit, the sooner we’re free.”

“Everyone start searching,” Hansol said, waiving for everyone to scour the basement.

All of you searched every inch you could. The floor, the walls, shelves, behind old cupboards and props -- but there was nothing.

“What if it’s not here?” Chan suggested.

“Yeah? And where else would an underground exit be other than in the basement?” Jeonghan shot back.

The youngest frowned and rolled his eyes, “Soonyoung just said it was underground, he didn’t say under what part of the food court.”

“I mean...Jeonghan has a point,” Seokmin admitted hesitantly. “The basement is underground.”

[TO GO UPSTAIRS TO THE FOOD COURT GO TO: 18 -- A]

[TO CONTINUE SEARCHING THE BASEMENT GO TO: 18 -- B]

»»————-　　————-««

18 -- A

“It can’t hurt to check somewhere else,” you spoke up, moving to stand beside Chan. “We’re looked everywhere down here. What if it’s not in the basement? There could be some secret tunnel under a different location and we’re just going to be here wasting our time.”

“I mean...yeah, that makes sense,” Jihoon decided with a shrug. “Alright, we’ll try back upstairs.”

“I don’t wanna go back up there...” Seokmin whined, clinging to the nearest person -- it happened to be Junhui.

“We’re all going,” you reassured him with a soft smile. “Let’s go. Nothing’s going to happen.”

You led the way up the stairs this time, but you found yourself going slow. You strained your ears for any noise on the other side of the basement door but the food court seemed to be quiet. Maybe the animatronics couldn’t get back in since the doors were locked.

You pushed the door open cautiously, poking your head out to glance around. It seemed empty, so you opened the door wider and let everyone else out.

“Is that e--”

SLAM!

All of you jumped back and turned around hearing the basement door slam shut behind the last person out. 

“Fuck this, I want out,” Mingyu stated, shaking his head as he began to quickly walk away from the door.

“Hold up,” Wonwoo reached out and grabbed Mingyu’s wrist to keep him with the group. “We should stick together.”

“It probably just closed from the weight of the door anyway,” Minghao figured before going to pull on the door handle.

It didn’t budge.

“Move out of the way, toothpick,” Seungcheol smoothly pushed Minghao out of the way before trying the door himself.

Still nothing.

“D-did it...lock?” Chan asked slowly.

“Haha, would you look at that?” Seungkwan said, checking his wrist that very clearly didn’t have a watch on it. “I actually have to get the fuck out of here. Bye!”

“Maaaaybe,” Hansol grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him back, “don’t do that.”

“Yeah, nobody goes running off, got it?” Jihoon checked, shining his light at everyone to make sure they agreed to the new rule. “Shit’s too weird to be splitting up.”

“I think our best bet would be to hide in the security room until morning,” you spoke up. “It’s probably the safest place in here.”

“_____’s right,” Wonwoo nodded. “Let’s go -- and stick together.”

As a group, all of you made your way to the security room, with you, Jihoon, and Soonyoung leading the way. All of you had your lights, shining them around to make sure the entire area was safe until you made it to the security room and barricaded the door closed.

“Jesus Christ, I hated that,” Mingyu panted as if he had been holding his breath the entire time you were walking.

“I think I almost shit myself,” Soonyoung admitted.

“Imagine your last words being ‘I think I almost shit myself’,” Junhui snorted.

“Hang on, shut the fuck up,” Seungcheol snapped, holding a hand up as he quickly scanned the group in the room. He was trying to count heads while all of you were talking, and as he quickly recounted, his blood turned to ice. “Why are we one short?”

“One short?” Jeonghan asked.

“Someone’s missing,” he said urgently.

“Alright, let’s run attendance real quick,” Jihoon decided, trying to stay level-headed. He pulled out his phone and went to the group chat. “Obviously I’m here. Soonyoung?”

“Here.”

“Seungcheol?”

“Here.”

“Mingyu?”

“Unfortunately here.”

“Hansol?”

“Yup.”

“_____?”

“Here.”

“Joshua?”

Silence.

Jihoon looked up from his phone, repeating, “Josh?”

You and your friends looked around, trying to find Joshua’s face in the crowded room. But nobody spoke up, and the silence following Joshua’s name became deafening.

“Oh fuck...” you breathed, trying to not completely lose your shit. “Did we really lose Josh?”

“We have to go back for him,” Jeonghan insisted.

“What? No!” Seungkwan shouted. “That’s suicide!”

Then everyone was bickering. While everyone of course wanted to hope Joshua was safe, half of the group felt that going back out to look for him would mean all of them would get killed. The other half, on the other hand, were willing to risk their lives to go on a rescue mission.

[TO GO OUT LOOKING FOR JOSHUA GO TO: 19 -- A]

[TO STAY IN THE SECURITY ROOM GO TO: 19 -- B]

»»————-　　————-««

18 -- B

“I mean...how would it be under anywhere else?” you asked slowly with a shrug. “No offense, Chan. But like, this is kind of the only basement in the place.”

“See?” Jeonghan sneered.

Chan just frowned and rolled his eyes.

“There’s gotta be something we missed,” Soonyoung said, trying to stay calm. “Let’s just sweep the place over again.”

But after more looking, you still came up with nothing.

“At this point, I’m about to just dig through the boxes of old animatronic parts and just hope there’s a portal at the bottom or something,” Joshua sighed, slumped against a wall with Jeonghan beside him.

“Good luck,” Jeonghan scoffed. “I already tried picking one up to move them away from the wall but they’re super fucking heavy. It’s literally impossible.”

You turned your head to look at the large stack of boxes. There were piles of various sizes, but the ones at the back pressed up against the wall went up the highest. It was a long shot, but behind the boxes was the only place nobody checked because it couldn’t be reached. But with everyone giving up hope, it didn’t hurt to try, right?

“Hey, Gyu,” you spoke up before pointing to the boxes. “Think you can move those?”

Mingyu shrugged, “Yeah, probably.”

He walked over to the wall and began lifting boxes one-by-one. He grunted as he picked them up and moved them away until he called everyone over.

“There’s metal behind here!” he called over his shoulder.

“Ooh, is it the door?” Soonyoung asked excitedly, pushing himself off the floor.

“Told you it was better to look down here,” Jeonghan said once more.

Jihoon groaned, “Can you let it go? Leave Chan alone already.”

Seungcheol started assisting in the box-moving until the metal door was accessible. Seungcheol tried to push it open, but it didn’t budge. He tried harder, but still nothing.

“Can I try?” Mingyu asked.

Seungcheol stepped out of the way, gesturing for the tallest to give it a shot.

Mingyu threw his shoulder into the door a few times before it finally swung open, leading to a narrow corridor that looked like it would bring you straight to Hell.

“Okay,” Soonyoung breathed out, “let’s see if this is the way to freedom.”

[GO TO 20 -- A]

»»————-　　————-««

19 -- A

“Why is this an argument?!” you shouted over the bickering. “Our friend could be dead! I don’t care if nobody comes with me, but I’m going to find Josh.”

“I’ll go,” Jeonghan stated.

“Me too,” Hansol volunteered with a slight raise of his hand.

“Plus, I highly doubt an animatronic got him,” Minghao scoffed as he went to join your group as you went to open the door.

“Well...good luck with that,” Seungkwan nodded.

In the end, it was you leading the way, with Jeonghan, Hansol, Minghao, Seokmin, and Seungcheol tagging along -- the latter two clinging to each other as you opened the door and went down the short hallway to the door that read EMPLOYEES ONLY on the other side.

“Why would he split off from the group?” Jeonghan wondered. “If he were trying to prank you guys, he would’ve had me in on it.”

“Maybe he just--”

Your sentence was cut off by a scream -- your own scream. Your eyes saw the scene before you: Joshua’s body laying just in front of the EMPLOYEES ONLY door, a bloodied mess. All you could do was scream.

Standing over him, covered in what you could only assume was your friend’s blood, was Bongbong.

“_____, run!” Minghao shouted, grabbing your arm and yanking you away from the door.

He quickly reached for the door and slammed it closed as you and the others ran back down the short hall. Jihoon had poked his head out the door to see what the noise was, and you crashed right into him, hyperventilating as tears welled in your eyes.

God, that image was going to be burned into your brain forever.

“What happened?” he asked.

“J-J-Josh!” you sobbed.

“Those things are in here,” Minghao panted, closing the door to the security room and pressing his back. “Th-they got Josh.”

“You’re fucking with us,” Seungkwan said quietly and very unsurely.

“Would Minghao fuck with you?!” Jeonghan cried. “If you don’t believe us, why don’t you go out there and check for yourself, Kwan? Go get yourself traumatized!”

“Okay, don’t scream at him, it won’t help anything,” Wonwoo spoke up, trying to somehow keep the group put together.

“Let’s just focus on finding a way out,” Seungcheol decided in a shaky voice. 

“U-um...guys?” Mingyu spoke up, staring into the monitors.

Everyone gathered over to see what he was looking at.

Each room had a camera and a monitor to go with it. In each room, stood an animatronic. Each camera had an animatronic staring into it, as if they all were staring at the group.

They knew where you were.

“We have to get out of here,” Seomin panted, beginning to hyperventilate. “They’re going to come in here and kill us!”

“I get it’s scary, but we have to stay calm and--”

“Hey!”

Everyone turned their heads a the sudden exclamation. Chan was standing beside a square metal door in the floor with some dusty boxes and wires he’d moved to find it. He smirked, gesturing to the door.

“While you guys were shitting your pants, I found the underground exit,” he stated.

“Well fuck, kid,” Jihoon whistled under his breath.

“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Soonyoung said as he threw the trapdoor opened and descended the ladder that led to a narrow corridor.

Chan gave Jeonghan a pointed look, “And you thought I was stupid.”

Jeonghan just rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”

[GO TO 20 -- A]

»»————-　　————-««

19 -- B

You felt like a shitty person for not wanting to risk your life for Joshua. You felt extremely guilty that you didn’t want to go out and look for your friend, but truthfully, you were afraid to die -- and that’s why half your friends didn’t want to go looking for him. Not everyone was brave enough to be a hero, and while you always told yourself you would be when putting yourself into the shoes of horror movie characters, it just wasn’t the truth.

But in the midst of the argument of whether or not to go out to search for Josh -- the argument that you stayed silent for -- Mingyu spoke up in a shaky voice, “U-uh...g-guys?”

Everyone turned toward him to see he was staring into the monitors. You all gathered over to see what he was looking at.

Each room had a camera and a monitor to go with it. However, the monitors had gone fuzzy so you couldn’t see anything in any of the rooms.

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrowed, “Why are the cameras suddenly down?”

You wished they stayed that way after seeing what was displayed next. In each room, stood an animatronic. Each camera had an animatronic staring into it, as if they all were staring at the group.

They knew where you were.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the most disturbing thing.

You could see on one of the monitors, Bongbong was standing in front of the camera holding a familiar body. Joshua was being held up by his neck, and blood was coming out of his mouth, nose, eyes, and even his ears. 

You weren’t the only one to let out a scream and flinch away from the camera, hiding your face as you started panicking and crying.

“We have to get out of here,” Seomin panted, beginning to hyperventilate. “They’re going to come in here and kill us!”

“We have to find the fucking exit!” Seungcheol said in a panic. “Everyone go--”

“Hey!”

Everyone turned their heads a the sudden exclamation. Chan was standing beside a square metal door in the floor with some dusty boxes and wires he’d moved to find it. He was just staring at you like he hadn’t just witnessed what all of you did -- and maybe he didn’t because he was too busy searching.

“Way ahead of you,” he stated.

“Thank god,” Jihoon said under his breath.

“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Soonyoung said as he threw the trapdoor opened and descended the ladder that led to a narrow corridor.

Chan gave Jeonghan a pointed look, “And you thought I was stupid.”

Jeonghan just glared at him, “I’m not in the fucking mood.”

And then he went down the ladder.

[GO TO 20 -- A]

»»————-　　————-««

20 -- A

Other than only being wide enough for one person to walk through at a time, it was also very dimly-lit. It definitely looked like something straight out of a horror movie that would 100% lead to the characters’ imminent death.

Needless to say your heart was pounding in your ears.

There was another metal door, but this one was far easier to open. The squeak of it echoed down the corridor as the thirteen of you filed into the room. It seemed to be where they kept the spare mascot suits that actual employees would wear. There were a few of the bodies of the suits hanging up, with heads scattered in corners and on shelves, along with gloves and feet strewn about.

“I hate this,” Jun stated, looking around the room. 

“I know these things are empty, but looking into their empty eyes is somehow worse,” Jihoon mumbled, staring at an Eight head.

At the opposite end of the tiny room in the right corner was another metal door. You were starting to wonder how many more metal doors you’d have to encounter in this place.

To the left of the room, there was a tiny wooden door that seemed like it would lead to a crawlspace. You assumed there was just more storage back there, but nobody cared enough to look back there, anyway. The focus was to get out of this place and get to safety.

“C’mon,” you nodded your head toward the other metal door that you assumed would lead to the exit, “let’s keep going.”

As Seungcheol went for the door, you and your friends heard banging. You all paused, Seungcheol’s hand on the handle. You listened for the banging again, and then looked to where it seemed to be coming from.

“Guys?” Joshua’s voice called from behind the small wooden door. “Guys?! Oh my god, guys! C-can you hear me? Hello?! Help me!”

“Josh?” Jeonghan took a step toward the door.

[TO HELP JOSHUA GO TO 21 -- A]

[TO CONTINUE TO THE EXIT GO TO 21 -- B]

»»————-　　————-««

21 -- A

“Joshua!” you cried as you ran to the small door.

You knew what your eyes saw, but was it possible none of it was real? How else would you be hearing Joshua’s voice? He must’ve been alive somehow. Anything seemed possible at this point.

You got down on your knees, opened the small door, and crawled your way through. You stood up as your friends tried to get in behind you, but what you saw made your heart fall into your stomach as your hands went to cover your mouth, muffling the loud sob that came out.

Joshua’s body was slumped against the left wall, looking just as you had remembered.

He was still dead.

Your friends had similar reactions to you. Seokmin even threw up. 

Seungcheol shook his head slowly, eyes full of tears while some streaked his cheeks, “We... W-we have to bring his body...”

“He’s right,” Jihoon said solemnly -- his body seemed to be shutting down now, almost uncapable of processing his emotions. “We need evidence of what happened tonight. Nobody will believe us otherwise.”

“I-I hate to say it, b-but...it’ll s-slow us down, though,” Wonwoo interjected through his sniffles. “What if we don’t make it out?”

[TO TAKE JOSHUA’S BODY WITH YOU GO TO 22 -- A]

[TO LEAVE WITHOUT JOSHUA’S BODY GO TO 22 -- B]

»»————-　　————-««

21 -- B

You quickly reached out and grabbed Jeonghan to keep him from going any closer to that door. He turned to look at you, a pained expression on his face.

“Jeonghan, that’s not Joshua,” you told him. “You saw what happened to him. Whatever it is, it’s not him.”

“I think _____’s right,” Wonwoo nodded. “We need to keep going.”

You kept your hold on Jeonghan as all of your began filing out of the mascot room into another narrow corridor like the other one. This one, though, had a sharp right turn before leading down a while to another steel door.

But this door didn’t budge.

Soonyoung was at the head of the group, and he groaned in frustration as he tugged at the handle over and over again, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me; what’s with these doors?!”

You started to hear a thumping. It slowly got louder and louder...

...Or maybe it was closer and closer.

Junhui walked down the way you’d come and poked his head around the corner, his eyes widening at what he saw. He whipped his head back around and booked it straight back to where your group was trying to open the door, calling, “You might wanna hurry up on that door!”

Coming down the hall were all four animatronics, their eyes lit up as they stomped closer and closer.

“It’s not doing anything!” Soonyoung huffed, trying with all his might to open the door. “Mingyu, get up here!”

Mingyu squeezed between bodies to get to the door, trying to open it as the group just shouted for him to be faster.

“We might have to just...face these things,” Chan said. “Once and for all.”

“Yeah? How?” Wonwoo scoffed. “They’ll crush us in seconds.”

“There’s fou-- thirteen of us, and four of them. We might have a shot.”

“Well hurry up and decide so we can at least put the strongest up against them first,” Junhui called.

[TO FACE THE ANIMATRONICS WHILE MINGYU KEEPS WORKING AT THE DOOR GO TO 23 -- A]

[TO FACE THE ANIMATRONICS TOGETHER GO TO 23 -- B]

[TO KEEP TRYING THE DOOR GO TO 23 -- C]

»»————-　　————-««

22 -- A

“We can’t just leave him here,” you stated. “Not only for the evidence, but because he doesn’t deserve to rot away here. His family doesn’t deserve to wonder what happened to him.”

“I’ll grab him,” Seungcheol offered, swallowing his fears and stepping forward to scoop up his friend. “Let’s get him home.”

Chan was the last into the tiny room, so he turned to go. But the wooden door was suddenly closed and wouldn’t open back up.

“What the hell?!” he grunted as he continued to try the door.

“Why’d you let it close, dumbass?!” Jeonghan demanded.

“I didn’t!” Chan shouted back. “It was just open!”

“Ugh, leave it to the fucking baby to--”

“G-guys?” Seokmin asked.

“Can you get off my fucking case?!” Chan huffed as he stood up and went to stand toe-to-toe with Jeonghan. “You’re always such a fucking asshole to me! Why can’t you--”

“Guys?” Seokmin tried again, looking between the left and right walls.

“Are you two really going to argue right now?” Jihoon groaned. “We’re literally--”

“Guys!” Seokmin finally shouted over everyone. “The walls!”

“What about the--”

Jihoon’s question died down as soon as all of you began looking at the walls. They were moving in toward each other, which would crush all of you between them.

Everyone was suddenly in a panic. Everyone was throwing themselves at the door, trying to tug it open before the walls could do anything. Some of you -- such as you and Wonwoo -- decided to spread out so you had more room. But some -- like Jeonghan and Chan, who grouped up by the door with a few others -- created a big human-lump that would be crushed faster. You heard their cries and pleas before they were crushed to death with a sound you couldn’t get out of your ears.

It was only a moment later you met the same fate.

[GO TO ENDING B]

»»————-　　————-««

22 -- B

"Nobody wants to be the asshole that says it’s better to leave him behind, but...” you trailed off.

Wonwoo was right. Joshua would more than likely slow you down. Besides, you knew Josh would want all of you to have the best chance of getting out alive as possible.

“Th-then you go ahead,” Seokmin spoke up, almost like he was afraid to.

“What?” Jihoon asked.

“I...” Seokmin looked at Joshua as more tears welled in his eyes. “It makes me sad to think he’d just be down here alone. I don’t care if he’s...gone. He can’t just stay down here.”

“I’m not leaving my best friend down here,” Jeonghan agreed.

“Seokmin, he’s--”

“Look, just go,” Hansol interrupted whatever Jihoon was going to say. “I’ll help them with the body. You guys just go on ahead.”

Minus the three who wanted to collect Joshua’s body, the group turned and left the small room and went back to the mascot room. Soonyoung tugged on the metal door and led the way down another corridor that looked exactly the same as the one that had led into the mascot room. This one, though, had a sharp right turn before leading down a while to another steel door.

But as you were walking down the hallway, you heard the yells and screams of your three friends. All of you turned on a dime and ran back toward the mascot room but the metal door was already closed and wouldn’t re-open for some reason. All of you were yelling and trying to open the door until you heard a sickening crunch, and then silence.

You all fell silent. You didn’t know what to do now.

“We--” Jihoon’s voice cracked so he cleared his throat. “We should just...keep going...”

Following behind Jihoon, you all turned one by one and went back down the hallway. You turned the corner and walked down that long hallway toward another metal door.

But this door didn’t budge.

Jihoon groaned in frustration as he tugged at the handle over and over again, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me; what’s with these doors?!”

You started to hear a thumping. It slowly got louder and louder...

...Or maybe it was closer and closer.

Junhui walked down the way you’d come and poked his head around the corner, his eyes widening at what he saw. He whipped his head back around and booked it straight back to where your group was trying to open the door, calling, “You might wanna hurry up on that door!”

Coming down the hall were all four animatronics, their eyes lit up as they stomped closer and closer.

“It’s not doing anything!” Soonyoung huffed, trying with all his might to open the door. “Mingyu, get up here!”

Mingyu squeezed between bodies to get to the door, trying to open it as the group just shouted for him to be faster.

“We might have to just...face these things,” Chan said. “Once and for all.”

“Yeah? How?” Wonwoo scoffed. “They’ll crush us in seconds.”

“There’s fou-- nine of us, and four of them. We might have a shot.”

“Well hurry up and decide so we can at least put the strongest up against them first,” Junhui called.

[TO FACE THE ANIMATRONICS WHILE MINGYU KEEPS WORKING AT THE DOOR GO TO 23 -- A]

[TO FACE THE ANIMATRONICS TOGETHER GO TO 23 -- B]

[TO KEEP TRYING THE DOOR GO TO 23 -- C]

»»————-　　————-««

23 -- A

“Mingyu, keep trying the door!” you called to him. “We’ll try to hold them back.”

“We?!” Seungkwan repeated.

Mingyu continued to try to pull the door open as the animatronics slowly turned the corner and began walking toward the nine of you. You weren’t sure how to prepare yourself for this at all, but you knew you couldn’t just turn your back and die.

But you should’ve known what would happen. Four giant machines up against eight fleshy humans who were nowhere near as strong. Sure, all of you were faster than them, but how could you dodge or run in such a narrow hallway? You were doomed from the start.

Well, not you specifically.

Seungcheol had shoved you to the back toward Mingyu, promising to keep you safe. So your friends all died in front of you, and all you could do was stand there and watch in horror.

That’s when Bongbong closed in on you.

“I got the--!”

Mingyu’s exclamation of finally getting the door open was cut off by Bongbong’s arm swinging out and clotheslining him into the wall and cutting off his oxygen. 

The attack that was meant for you, but you had ducked underneath.

The light flooded into the corridor, and just like that, the animatronics just shut down. The light turned off in their eyes, and they were frozen with their hands reaching out for you.

Except Bongbong’s arm that was now frozen in place, keeping Mingyu strangled against the wall. 

You could hear Mingyu gasping for air as you slowly opened your eyes that you’d squeezed shut when you ducked. You looked up and saw the animatronics were lifeless now, and then you shot up and turned to try to help Mingyu. You pulled and pulled on Bongbong’s arm while you had to watch Mingyu slowly die. It was like watching a movie in slow motion, the way his body went limp and the life drained from his eyes. Still, you stood there and sobbed and told him you’d free him as you continued to pull uselessly at the animatronic.

When it finally set in that you didn’t stand a chance, you ran out the back parking lot where the door opened to. You ran out of the park and to your car -- which was still parked near the other 3 that belonged to your friends that were no longer with you -- and drove off toward home with tears still streaming down your face.

The clock on your car radio said 6:08am.

[GO TO ENDING A]

»»————-　　————-««

23 -- B

“The door’s useless!” you cried. “We’re not going to just turn our backs and die. That’s not how I wanna go out.”

Nobody had any faith, but they knew you were right. Laying down and dying after all of this wasn’t worth it. If you died, at least you would die fighting.

But you should’ve known what would happen. Four giant machines up against nine fleshy humans who were nowhere near as strong. Sure, all of you were faster than them, but how could you dodge or run in such a narrow hallway? You were doomed from the start.

Seungcheol had shoved you to the back toward the door that wouldn’t open, promising to keep you safe. So your friends all died in front of you, and all you could do was stand there and watch in horror.

That’s when Bongbong closed in on you.

[GO TO ENDING B]

»»————-　　————-««

23 -- C

“The door will work!” you swore “Like the basement, remember? Just keep trying!”

Sure, this was different in the way that you had to pull and not push, but it had to give eventually, right?

You continued to face the animatronics that were now starting to close in on all of you. Seungcheol tried to squeeze in besided Mingyu, grabbing the handle and pulling with him. Jihoon crawled between Mingyu’s legs and stood in between the taller boy’s arms, both of his hands wrapped around the handle and tugging with everything he had.

You moved to put yourself in front of your friends. You got all of them into this mess, so you deserved to be the first to die.

As Bongbong closed in on you, you closed your eyes.

“_____--!”

The darkness you saw behind your eyelids suddenly seemed brighter, and you felt a gust of wind from behind you.

There was a couple seconds of silence.

“Holy shit,” Minghao breathed.

You opened one eye just enough to see Bongbong’s face just inches from yours. But...why were the lights in its eyes off?

You opened your eye wider. Then the other one. Its arm was only a hair away from you, but it made no move to actually touch you. There was also light flooding into the corridor from behind you. You whipped your head around to see the door was open, and you looked back at four animatronics. Were they off now?

“Oh my god,” you sighed in a shaky voice, taking a step backward toward the door.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Wonwoo said as he grabbed your hand and all but dragged you out the door.

The door opened to the back of the parking lot. All of you ran as fast as you could toward your cars, only stopping at the hood of the closest one to catch your breath. Seungcheol pulled out his phone.

“It’s 6am,” he reported.

“Maybe that’s why the door didn’t open,” Wonwoo panted, hands on his knees.

“I don’t care to speculate,” Jihoon said as he went to get into one of the four cars. “Take me the fuck home.”

[GO TO ENDING C]

»»————-　　————-««

ENDING A 

You weren’t sure what to do about the texts from the group chat when you got home. You swore everyone was dead. You watched them die in front of you.

Soonyoung said he was tripping balls the whole night.

Jeonghan agreed, saying he was sure there was something in the air making them hallucinate.

Even Jihoon was saying something weird had happened that night, because he thought he saw everyone die.

So...maybe they were right?

But when you inevitably went to school Halloween day, something didn’t seem right. Maybe it was because you hadn’t slept all night and you were drained in every sense, or maybe it was because you were convinced all of your friends had died right before your very eyes, but everything felt...off. At least, your friends did. It was their smiles and their voices and their hugs and laughs and promises that everything was fine, but something about it seemed alien to you. 

Maybe it was from how emotionally and mentally drained you were, and the fact you didn’t get any sleep, but you swore there was an odd glow to their eyes that wasn’t just the glimmer of the florescents.

And why did Junhui wink at you?

[YOU AND ALL YOUR FRIENDS ESCAPED FROM CARATLAND...OR DID THEY?]

»»————-　　————-««

ENDING B

Get dressed.

Brush your teeth.

Brush your hair.

Go downstairs and converse with your parents.

Drive to school.

Say hello to your friends.

Laugh at what Soonyoung said.

Promise to walk to class with Seokmin and Seungcheol after you go to the bathroom.

Go into the bathroom.

Use the mirror to fix your outfit.

Use your fingers to brush through your hair one more time.

A light reflects off the mirror.

You are the only one in the bathroom.

[NONE OF YOU ESCAPED FROM CARATLAND BUT SOMETHING ELSE DID]

»»————-　　————-««

ENDING C

(NOTE: i know some people might’ve only had josh die while other had more people die. so this part will mention multiple people who didn’t make it home but i will only mention josh by name. sorry if it seems kind of confusing)

You didn’t even want to go back home after everything that happened. But you needed to shower and change, so you dropped your friends off before going home. After getting out of the shower, you checked your phone. Your heart dropped and your stomach was doing flips at what it saw.

One series of texts was from a group chat that was all of the people you were positive made it home from Caratland. All of them were wondering what the fuck was going on.

The other was the original group chat, with a text from Joshua asking if everyone made it home okay. It made a shiver go down your spine. How could he be texting? He died.

Those that had died started having a conversation about hallucinating, insisting something weird must’ve been in the air to make everyone trip and see things that didn’t actually happen. Nobody knew if it was possible. Minghao suggested that at this point, anything was possible. But still, why did all of you have the same hallucination?

The group decided it was best to ignore the message.

When Wonwoo offered to give you a ride to school, you said yes.

The two of you walked to homeroom together and saw the usual group of your friends sitting at the left side of the classroom. But seeing the friends you thought had died now just sitting there like nothing happened made your skin crawl. You wanted to turn around and walk out.

Wonwoo squeezed your hand and continued forward.

You sat and chatted with the group, and everyone seemed to be dancing around the fact that things were...weird. Maybe it was because you hadn’t slept all night and you were drained in every sense, or maybe it was because you were convinced all of your friends had died right before your very eyes, but everything felt...off. At least, your friends did. It was their smiles and their voices and their hugs and laughs and promises that everything was fine, but something about it seemed alien to you.

Maybe it was from how emotionally and mentally drained you were, and the fact you didn’t get any sleep, but you swore there was an odd glow to their eyes that wasn’t just the glimmer of the fluorescents.

And why did Joshua wink at you?

[YOU AND ALL YOUR FRIENDS ESCAPED FROM CARATLAND...OR DID THEY?]

[fickle-tiction]

Gotham’s Ticklish Prince

This started out as a headcanon, and then it spiraled out of control. You’re welcome.

  ~~

One day Bruce Wayne makes headlines. This isn’t surprising, or even noteworthy. He’s always making headlines for some silly nonsense he does as Bruce, to draw attention away from Batman. What is surprising is when he walks into the Hall of Justice and sees his face smiling back at him from about 10 different magazines strewn all over the meeting table.

Specifically, he sees himself curling inwards, eyes crinkled, nose scrunched, mouth stretched into a wide surprised smile as Mike, his date to last night’s gala, stands behind him. Thankfully, Mike’s hands are out of frame so no one can tell from the picture that he’s squeezing Bruce’s sides from behind.

“Oh look.” Arthur says, coming out of nowhere with a shit eating grin on his face. “Gotham’s Ticklish Prince decided to show his face.”

If Bruce didn’t have years of training and self discipline under his belt he would have flushed.

A Different magazine comes flying at him and smacks him in the stomach before he can even blink. Bruce catches it on reflex and looks down, only to be met with the headline “Gotham’s Ticklish Prince Has A New Squeeze” and, to his internal horror, it shows a picture snapped about two seconds after the first one. Bruce is clearly laughing in delight as Mike squeezes his sides, in full view of the camera. Several smaller pictures are beneath it, catching Bruce as he latches onto Mikes hands, turns and leans in close to tell him to stop. He didn’t have to flip to page 4, where the story apparently continued, to know what other pictures they surely got. Mike hadn’t stopped after one squeeze, and Bruce was too into character, and for once too unaware of any paparazzo nearby, to make him stop.

He knew he should have skipped the gala last night. Getting only 3 hours of sleep over the course of 4 nights and then slipping into his Bruce persona was always risky. Normally the two whiskies he had wouldn’t affect him at all, but the exhaustion plus the fact that he liked this Mike guy and was feeling comfortable and loose, clearly created a perfect storm. He remembered Mike sneaking up on him, he remember his guard being down just enough for it to catch him unawares and cause a reaction. He remembered how good it felt, but he won’t be letting himself go there. No. No thank you.

What he didn’t remember was the paparazzi being right there.

Or what would happen when those pictures surfaced at HQ.

Bruce finally looked up from the front cover of the Gotham Globe and was met with identical smirks from Arthur and Clark. Well, that explained the newspaper smacking him in the stomach earlier.

“It’s a character.” Bruce said, voice flat as he tossed the magazine onto the conference table. It wouldn’t help his situation if he tried to throw it out or look like he was hiding something.

“Right.” Clark didn’t sound like he was buying it at all. “So you knew you were being recorded. That’s why you put on such a convincing act.”

Recorded?

Recorded?!

Again, Bruce didn’t outwardly react at the news, but inside he was curling into a ball, ready to wither and die at any second. They fucking got that on video?

Naturally, the huge screen on the wall clicks on at the moment, showing a video of Bruce doing something on his phone. He had actually been playing some asinine game as he waited for Mike to come back from the bathroom. Bruce Wayne couldn’t be caught doing anything more than slicing up fruit on his phone, after all.

“I see Victor’s here.” Bruce says dryly, as though his eyes aren’t glued to the screen. His face remains impassive, but inside he’s once again screaming for his past self to turn around as Mike comes into frame behind him. He’s so busy watching Mike smirk and start sneaking up behind him (and, really, how did he not notice this last night? The guy is being so damn obvious about it.) that he doesn’t notice Clark and Arthur inching closer to him on either side.

Bruce feels a hand latch onto either of his sides just as Mike reaches forward and does the same on camera. Thankfully, Bruce’s guard has been up since he first saw his goofy face smiling back at himself when he walked into the room, so he does nothing more than cock an eyebrow and look at first Arthur, and then Clark.

“It’s a character.” He repeats, ignoring the staccato squeezing at one of his worst spots.

“I’m not going to react like he does, even though this tickles like hell. Bruce Wayne is an airheaded goof ball. Batman might be ticklish, but he doesn’t let it show--what the fuck?!” Bruce looked down to see a glittering gold rope wrapped innocently around his ankle. “Diana! What the hell?! I’m going to--” He cut off, clamping his mouth shut as he felt words trying to spill out. Words he most definitely did not want to say in the present company.

“Going to what, Brucie?” Diana asked, smirking as she held the lasso of truth in her hand. Bruce glared daggers at her, lips clamped tightly even as the squeezing on his sides turned to wiggling fingers and, to his horror, he felt his resolve breaking. 

“I’m--” Bruce huffed, biting his lower lip to keep from both speaking and laughing. “--I’m going--” His mouth was trying to curve into a smile, but Bruce was nothing if not stubborn and refused to let it happen.

“We’ve almost got him.” Arthur smirked, venturing a little lower and pinching just above Bruce’s hipbone. 

Clark noticed the jolt that caused and immediately followed suit on his side.

“I’m-Going-To-Pretend-To-Hate-all-of-you-to-keep-up-my-image.” Bruce was forced to say, as he finally caved and latched onto Arthur and Clark’s hands. Not that it did him any good. He might be The Batman, but outside of his suit he didn’t stand a chance against Superman, Aquaman and Wonder Woman, if she decided to get more hands on.

“You don’t actually hate it, do you.” Clark marveled, giving that spot above his hipbone another gentle pinch. Thank God for his super hearing, because without it he probably would have missed the squeak Bruce let out.

“I-” Again, Bruce was trying to clamp his mouth shut, but it wasn’t very effective since his mouth was stretched into a wide grin. “I have an image to maintain!” It was supposed to come out as a growl, but instead it sounded more like a whine as Bruce’s dam broke and laughter started pouring out of him.

“Well, if you’re trying to maintain the Ticklish Prince of Gotham image, you’re doing a fantastic job.” Arthur mocked him, now fluttering his fingers up and down Bruce’s side rapidly. 

Bruce was lost to the laughter, something that hasn’t happened to him since he was a kid. He began backing up, trying to back away from the tickling fingers flying furiously up and down both sides of his body. Absently, he noted that Diana must have let him go because he didn’t trip over the lasso as he tried to get away. He did, however, back himself into the wall without realizing it since his eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to contain the wild laughter pouring out  of him.

“Fahahahack!” Bruce cursed himself as Clark and Arthur boxed him in, each still tickling away. Clark was now experimenting with Bruce’s stomach while Arthur, the bastard, was worming his way under Bruce’s arm. 

They let him try to defend himself for a minute, wordlessly taunting him as they both danced around his arms with half-hearted attempts to get at his armpits. Finally, Arthur spoke up. “Clark, do you mind doing something about these?” He asked, tracing his fingertips gently up and down Bruce’s forearms. Bruce was well and truly gone if even that tickled like hell.

“Wha-” Bruce asked, laughter starting to die down as he got a short break. He cracked his eyes open, realizing for the first time he had been hunched in on himself, arms clamped down tightly, trying to protect as much of his sides as he could. 

“Oh, it’d be my pleasure.” Clark grinned. Lightening fast, he grabbed up Bruce’s wrists in one strong hand and pinned them to the wall above his head. Bruce’s eyes widened comically, too far gone to have any hope of controlling his facial features.

“Hey now.” He said, voice breathy as caught his breath. “You’ve had your fun.” Instead of the gravely voice they’d come to expect, Bruce’s voice was closer to that of his alter ego Bruce Wayne’s now. Nearly high pitched, and just short of panicky as he flexed his arms against the steel grip they were in.

“Tell me Bruce,” Arthur started, fingers slowly crawling up his ribs towards their destination. Bruce’s nerves immediately jumped to attention because they were already so worked up. “Are your armpits ticklish?”

Bruce tried to glare at him, even as his muscles twitched beneath Arthur’s fingers and his mouth started curving into another grin.

“Diana left.” Clark added, grinning at the man he had pinned to the wall. “And she took her lasso with her. I guess we’ll have to find out for ourselves.”

“Fuck.” Was the last coherent thing Bruce said for quite a while.

When Clark and Arthur finally let him go, he slumps to the floor in an exhausted heap and marvels at the last time he laughed that much (The answer: never.) or the last time he felt this exhausted without getting his ass whooped, or whooping someone else’s.

Once he’s regained some of his dignity, Bruce goes to the security feed with the intention of deleting the last hour of footage. He surprised to find it’s already gone, the tapes spliced seamlessly, with only a minor blip to show anything is missing. 

Victor, naturally, saved the entire thing to his personal servers. Just in case.

[littlesniggy]

Hi! Idk if you’re already at Wano Kuni and if not please just ignore it but would you consider doing either nsfw headcanons or scenario for Kaido? Maybe some female pirate tries to take him down and he keeps her as a pet? You can make it dark if you want to!

Love your writing so so much!

There is always a first time for writing for a character and yes, I've almost caught up with the latest episode so I know enough about Kaido. It was a challenge to write for him though since I haven't really thought about his sex life, what he likes and what he doesn't, so I'm not sure if this might be a little ooc? But I hope you still enjoy it!

Warning: 18+, nsfw, dub-con!!, Master/pet, mention of humiliation, mention of violence

Pairing: Kaido x pet female! reader

Word count: 2.2k

“Worororo.” His deep voice rumbled through the huge cave, echoing from the cold walls and making you feel like you were standing in front of a monster. Well, technically he was a monster; especially in his dragon form and even like this was he simply a mountain of a man. What were you thinking when you decided to take him on? Did you really think you had a chance against the strongest creature? How foolish could you be?

The emperor was sitting on his huge throne, a bottle of sake in his hand, drinking it like it was water. You were amazed as to how he could drink this much and still be able to fight. When you tried to take him on you thought you had a chance once he was flat out drunk – but you were gravely mistaken.

“C’mon. Try again.” He laughed, his eyes watching you in amusement. You were panting heavily, stray strands of hair clinging to your face. You were sweating like a pig. If it was because of the heat or your futile attempts at hurting the man in front of you, you weren’t sure and you didn’t care. You got even angrier at his mocking tone; to the point he made you feel helpless.

Gathering the last bit of strength you had left in your body you punched him right in his face; there wasn’t even a slight crunch indicating a broken bone. But your hand hurt instead. “Fuck!” you cursed, holding your fist; tears of humiliation and pain gathered in your eyes and you averted your gaze, not wanting him to see your tears.

“So weak….it’s almost pathetic.” He chuckled, taking another huge sip of booze. “Is this all you’ve got?” when you didn’t answer, he let out a disgusted sound of disapproval, his expression changing from amused to displeased.

“No will to fight, no devil fruit power – I should just kill you to save you from this miserable life.” His hand searched for his huge mace, finding it and swinging it as a warning. You looked up, your eyes following the weapon warily but you suppressed the urge to flinch. You felt his eyes on your form, a contemplating look on his face.

Suddenly, he stroke out, the mace swinging towards you at an incredible fast speed, ready to strike you with full force. You shut your eye tightly, held your breath and waited for the impact that was sure to hit you – but it never happened. After what felt like an eternity you opened your eyes slowly, seeing the weapon only inches away from your face. Your whole body was trembling uncontrollably and your knees gave in, making you fall to the ground.

Fear clung to your body like a second skin and the tears you tried to hold back so bravely were now running down your cheeks, uncontrollable sobs leaving your body. I thought he’d kill me! You always thought you didn’t fear death; that you would welcome it like an old friend once your time came but GOD! – how much you had been mistaking! You didn’t want to die!

“Worororo.” The mace was slowly retreated and Kaido watched your sobbing form in front of him. “Are you scared of dying?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “I like the look of fear on your face. I want to see it more often.” His words made you shudder in fear. What does he mean? Didn’t he want to kill you?

He got up, weaving two steps to the side, the alcohol slightly clouding his senses. You didn’t date look up at the man in front of you, wishing he’d just somehow forget about you and let you leave but this was futile, you knew. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him reach for something out of your sight and shortly after something black was dropped in front of you.

“Put it on.” He demanded. Your eyes skimmed the black leather piece, decorated with small metal thorns. It was a collar! Incredulously, you took the collar in your hands, your fingers feeling the cold, stiff leather. Why did he have something like this?

“Put it on!” he got louder and you flinched at his demand. With shaky hands you put the degrading piece of ‘jewelry’ around your neck, the leather tightening around your throat and you felt like it was already choking you.

“Wororororo. Get naked. Pets don’t wear clothes.” Your body acted on its own and piece after piece dropped to the ground, exposing your over the years as a pirate trained body, some battle scars and slightly dried skin from the salty sea water. The emperor’s eyes wandered over your body while he took another huge chug of his sake before realizing it was already empty. Angrily, he smashed the empty bottle on the ground; you had to dodge some broken pieces that flew in all directions to not get hit.

“Bring me new booze!” he yelled at you, his furious eyes piercing you. Your body was frozen in place and you couldn’t move, even if you wanted to.

All of a sudden, you were choking in his grip, legs in the air, struggling for support, your hands clawing at his huge hand.

“Useless pet.” He growled, his grip tightening around your neck, the thorns of your new collar poking into his hand but he barely felt anything. Since his hand was so huge he was not only choking you but also crushing your upper body with his iron grip. You felt that your bones were about to break, pain rushing through your body. You couldn’t decide what you should focus on first; your lack of air filling your lungs or the quiet crunching of your body.

Kaido’s eyes narrowed at you, then they looked past you to an entering subordinate. “Kaido-sama, I-“ but he was cut off. “Bring me more booze!” the emperor ordered the man, walking back to his throne, your body like a doll in his huge hand. At least his grip eased a little, giving you room to breathe properly again.

He sat down and placed you on his thigh, his hand moving down from your neck and upper body to your hips, his grip holding you in place. You weren’t sure how to behave but you knew for a fact that any wrong movement would trigger this unpredictable man and you weren’t keen on finding out what else he would do to you.

The first time he took you it was hell. He took you to his bed and you knew what he wanted to do even without telling you. He ordered you to get on your knees on his bed. When you tried to fight him he simply pressed you down with ease. You heard a rustling noise behind you and out of the corner of your eye you saw how he took out his huge member and your breath caught in your throat. This is never going to fit! Your mind screamed and you just wanted to get away from him. But it was futile.

He wasn’t a big talker during sex and he didn’t appreciate it when you pleaded with him to let you go, to go slower and give you some time to adjust. It hurt like hell and after he was done your body was a giant ball of pain. Your body was covered in his cum and he just pushed you out of his bed, telling you to get lost.

The times after that were no better. Each time, he thrusted into your body like it was some kind of sex doll, pressing your face into the mattress to shut you up. His deep grunts were the only sounds that filled the room and to your dismay he wasn’t someone who came fast. It was an ordeal.

The first time you had to suck him off your jaw just locked and you couldn’t close it afterwards. It took a while and a lot or effort and pain to be able to close it again. Kaido just watched you in amusement, his cum dripping out of your mouth and dripping onto your exposed chest.

Kaido had also no shame in getting walked in on, just continuing with either fucking your mouth or pussy while his subordinates just awkwardly telling him the latest news. It was humiliating but there was nothing you could do about it.

Over time, you got used to his treatment and had learned to ‘always be prepared’, as bad as it sounded. You had realized that it was bearable when you stretched yourself beforehand. Was it humiliating? For sure. Was it necessary? Absolutely. Kaido once caught you stretching yourself and since then he had you do it in front of him. He liked the show.

You were on all four again, your rear exposed to the emperor behind you, your core already dripping. Kaido took his place behind you, his hand stroking his erect dick lazily. His other hand was holding the bottle of booze, taking a huge gulp. You felt his dick press against your entrance, pushing further and further until the tip disappeared inside of your pussy. You grabbed the bed sheet with your hands, trying to relax around his member.

With a fast snap he buried himself inside of your body completely, taking another gulp of his booze. Some of it dropped onto your back, the cold liquid giving you goosebumps. His hand found its way into your hair, grabbing it uncomfortably tight. His hips started to move against your body, hard and merciless. He was only chasing his own orgasm and he didn’t care if you enjoyed it or not.

A clatter echoed through the room and you saw the bottle burst into a thousand pieces. His now free hand found its way on your hip, pressing you against his body. His dick was filling you out and the sheer force of his thrusts made your body jerk back and forth on the bed.

Kaido let his nails rake down your body, leaving red and bloody streams on your skin. You arched your back, clenching around his dick in response. Kaido raised his eyebrow at your response and chuckled. His pace got faster and his hand on your head pressed your upper body down on the bed, his body leaning over yours, his other hand supporting his weight on the bed next to your head.

“Ah!” you panted, a seemingly long forgotten feeling spreading through your body – lust. The emperor’s fierce thrusts actually made you feel good! – and you didn’t know what to do. Never would’ve you imagined that this brutal man could actually manage to please you, even though it probably wasn’t his intention at all.

The small pants became more frequent and turned into moans, the sound of raw skin on skin slapping against each other made your stomach tingle in excitement and for the first time you started to actively move against him.

Kaido was moving inside of you like a wild animal, his animalistic instincts taking over and he took you like a wild beast in heat. Apparently, he was quite fond of your moans since he didn’t press your face into the mattress as usually when he wanted you to shut up.

“K-Kaido-sama!” you moaned, trying to look at him over your shoulder but he wouldn’t let you. He huffed, a low growl rumbling through his chest and his grip in your hair tightened. The good feeling inside of you grew stronger and stronger, a tight knot forming inside of you, threatening to burst with each thrust.

Even in his drunken and animalistic state he noticed how your pussy started to tighten around his dick and he knew you were close. “If you wanna cum, cum. But don’t expect me to stop.” He warned you. It was the first time he actually talked to you while he was buried inside of you. A desperate moan left your body and you tried your hardest to prolong your own orgasm but each thrust made it harder and harder.

With a specifically hard thrust he finally pushed you over the edge. Colorful spots spread across your vision, blurring your surroundings as you cam hard around his dick, your walls clenching and unclenching. A loud moan filled the room when you came, your body trembling due to the sheer force.

But Kaido wasn’t done yet. His stamina was impressive, really, but right now you hated him for it. The high you were just on slowly faded away and his hard thrusts brought you back to reality. You wanted to complain, to tell him to stop but you knew better. As uncomfortable as the feeling right now was, he was in a good mood. And you would be the most stupid person to try and change that.

When he finally came with a low grunt on your back he didn’t push you out of his bed immediately. He was lying next to you on the bed, his breath already even again. There was a silence between the two of you for a moment, before his deep voice broke it.

“Bring me more sake. I’m getting sober again.”

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

His Dark Materials - Season 2 Episode 7 *FINALE* (Thoughts and Rambles)

We have a LOT to unpack here oh my god oh my god

When I say I was screaming and yelling during the episode, I mean I was LITERALLY screaming and yelling

This post is mostly screeching and capital letters, you’ve been warned

“So cold” “life or death meant nothing” - well shit. Accurate description of a Spectre attack damn

I didn’t know what those creepy noises were at first and I was sat here absolutely TERRIFIED because it was creepy as fuck. Then I realized it was cliff ghasts because they said something that I recognized from the book and I was like “oh shit”

Pan and Will talking is the sweetest omg

The fact that Pan told him that Lyra thinks he’s as brave as King Iorek Byrnison :’)

“She’s the best friend I’ve ever had” “You’re her best friend too” - STOP, MY HEART

Lyra was awake and heard the whole conversation :3

“I’m no longer an aeronaut” :( “I’m an insect” - LMAO

Hester and Lee’s banter remains my favourite thing and now it’s bittersweet tbh...

“You could never be an insect, Lee” “Okay, hare” - bless them

Marisa finding where Lyra was staying and then finding Lyra’s coat?? And crying with it pressed to her face?? :’(

In case I haven’t mentioned it already, I am incredibly gay for the witches/their aesthetic/costume. Absolutely beautiful queens, all of them

Oh hi, it’s Mary and the two kids!

The fact that Mary helped them find their adults :’)

Also, “We like you miss” - BLESS

I’m kind of confused as to whether the blue flower petals are important or if it’s just her smelling them? IDK

“I’m close to my father, it’s time I found him” - OOF OKAY UMM ARE YOU SURE

“I let my best friend down” - Noooo Lyra, no you didn’t! :( Your dad is a terrible parent and killed him, that’s not your fault!

“Maybe this is how I let you down” - Well done, Asriel and Marisa, you’ve fucked up a perfectly fine child is what you’ve done

Will telling Lyra that she hasn’t let him down :3

That witch turning up because she was trying to warn Marisa about the spectres, only for Marisa to torture and kill her... oof

FUCKING MONKEY I CAN’T DECIDE HOW I FEEL ABOUT HIM

“She’s MY daughter” - Okay, damn, lady...

“EVE. She’s the mother of all” - OH FUCK YOU TOLD HER. OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK

THE SPECTRE ATE HER DÆMON OMG NO THIS IS HORRIFYING WTAF

Seriously, the way the witch went so grey and lifeless and just fell to her knees and down... Urgh, my stomach is turning

Just when I thought I hated the monkey again, he starts whimpering because he’s afraid of the Spectres :(

“Stop whimpering” - DAMN MARISA YOU ARE A STONE COLD BITCH HUH

Pan being the damn voice of reason and telling Lyra they should stay with the witches like yes, Lyra, listen to him for once!!!

Okay but why are the Magisterium soldiers lowkey dressed like German soldiers from one of the World Wars???

I’m not really surprised that BBC left out the detail of Ruta and Asriel fucking when she found him to be honest XD

So the witches think that the Æsahættr is a person but it’s actually the KNIFE. AND THEY DON’T REALIZE. RUTA YOU DON’T NEED TO GO ANYWHERE, IT’S LITERALLY RIGHT THERE

“...That’s not my dæmon.” “Run.” - OH SHIT OKAY MY WHOLE BODY JUST TENSED UP

So umm Lee got shot and FUCK NO FUCK NO I’M NOT READY FOR THIS EMOTIONALLY THANKS

I LITERALLY DO NOT WANT THIS TO HAPPEN OKAY

“You’re either with me or against me” Umm he’s your dæmon?!?!

THE WAY SHE SCREAMED AT HIM OH MY GOD SHE’S FUCKING TERRIFYING HOLY CRAP

“What are you frightened of?” - oh, I don’t know, Marisa, maybe because YOU FUCKING SCREECHED AT HIM. MAYBE HE’S FRIGHTENED OF YOU

Also I love the detail of Marisa getting onto her hands and knees, sort of crouching and mirroring the monkey’s body language. I just love the parallel

The way the monkey flinched from her when she went to touch him omg :( No dæmon should be THIS afraid of their person (or at all?!?!)

Honestly, I find this series’ portrayal of Marisa fascinating tbh

“We have to do whatever it takes to keep her safe” - Umm, like maybe drugging her and hiding her in a cave for months? 🤔

Also in case I didn’t say this before, the fact she has complete control of the Spectres is fucking scary and always has been from the very first time I read the books

Okay so Lee is fully aware that he’s going to die if he stays behind but he does it because he knows that it’s the best chance of making sure that Lyra ends up under the knife’s protection (because Jopari will find her). All Lee wants is for Lyra to be safe and that hurts my heart so much, he loves this child so much :’(

“I love that little girl like a daughter” - LEE STOP MY HEART IS ALREADY BREAKING AS IT IS

NO NO NO NO I AM NOT AND NEVER WILL BE READY

Oh hey Red PAN-da (sorry I know I keep repeating that joke but honestly LOOK AT HIM)

“Once I change, you’ll stop changing” - OH SHIT. So we’re having THAT conversation then

“What do you think you’ll be?” “A flea I hope” - LMFAO I LOVE IT

“Is it Will that’s changing you?” “I think” - FORESHADOWING FOR AMBER SPYGLASS ANYONE?!

All the meanwhile, while Lee is dying and shit is going down, Ms Mary Malone is just chilling in a cave on a mountain by a waterfall, just reading

I literally struggled to watch Lee’s final scenes. I literally didn’t want to watch it because I cried reading it in the book, and I knew I’d be the same here

The fact that Lee HATES taking away people’s lives but he says “it’s theirs or Lyra’s”... I love him. He loves her so much.

“Think about anything, think about bacon!” - LMFAO I LOVE YOU HESTER YOU ABSOLUTE GEM

THE BULLET CLIPPED HIS SCALP AND I HAD A HEART ATTACK 

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” - NO HESTER NO DON’T YOU DARE BLAME YOURSELF DARLIN’, YOU ARE THE BEST AND WE LOVE YOU AND LEE LOVES YOU

I do this everytime I read the book and I did here even though I know what happens, but I was praying mentally that maybe Serafina would reach Lee in time... just maybe...

I’m really sitting here crying over Hester and Lee on a Sunday night, love that for me

Hester limping :(

“Don’t you go before I do” - FUCK YOU BBC AND PHILIP I’M SOBBING MY EYES OUT

“Oh how far we flew” - STOP IT. STOP IT RIGHT FUCKING NOW I SWEAR-

I literally yelled and cried out “NOOO” when Hester faded away and Lee died. I am so upset even though I KNEW it was coming. I am literally not okay.

Oh god no Will, now is not the time to be walking away from Lyra and that witch 

Also why is that witch asleep on guard?? Come on, love, do better, it’s not like these are the two most important children in all the universes.... 

To be fair to Marisa, I’d feel pretty invincible if I were climbing up a mountain while the Spectres were guarding me/on my side

WILL AND JOHN FINALLY MET AHHHH

“I was told I’d find my father here”  - YEAH AND THAT’S HIM WILL ASDFGHJKL;

I’m low-key disappointed that there’s no brawl between Will and Jopari here. Like they instantly recognize each other and... hmm. I know there has to be changes but still.

“Your mother, Will, where is she?” - Awww. John really didn’t stop loving her :’)

“My son... is the Knife Bearer” - oooooohhhhhhh

“You have a dæmon” - that’s right, Will. Don’t worry, you’ll get one next season

The way I audible went “oh shIT” when Mrs Coulter found Lyra fast asleep. Like I said, I knew what was going to happen but STILL

I’m not really surprised that those Spectres killed the witch who was supposed to be guarding Lyra and Will tbh like that’s what happens when only ONE witch guards two teenagers and that witch falls asleep

The way that Lyra panicked when she woke up and saw her mother stroking her cheek omg 

Off topic but I’ve only just realized that Jopari has a fucking man-bun LMFAO OKAY

The fact that Jopari tried to get back to Will and Elaine but couldn’t will always hurt me

“And you chose these people over your family?” - I MEAN-

“I’ve thought about you every day.” - Awww

So John tells Will that he has to go to Asriel and bring him the knife, and he tells him all about the war that’s coming and I have LITERAL chills because I’m so ready

“And then we go home?” “... And then we go home.” - RIP MY HEART OUT, IT WOULD HURT LESS

“I’m not strong enough” - yes you are, Will! I promise you, you are! And Jopari says, “Both of us were brought here” - exactly! You were brought there for a reason by fate or whatever you want to call it!

“Your duty was to be my father” - WILL REALLY CAME FOR HIS DAD LIKE THAT I GUESS

“Look what you’ve become without me” - Oh my god, just when I thought I wasn’t going to cry again

JOPARI HUGGING WILL, SEEING THE SOLDIER AIMING, AND THEN PUTTING HIMSELF BETWEEN THEM SO HE TOOK THE BULLET INSTEAD OF WILL ASDFGHJKL;

So in the book, Jopari is killed by a scorned witch who had once asked him to be her lover, but he had turned her down (because of Elaine and Will obviously), and she kills Jopari in front of Will and then he kills her (I think?). But here it’s just a soldier leftover from the Lee vs Magisterium fight, so... yeah. Kind of a little peeved about the change personally but whatever I guess.

“The night is full of angels, they will guide you now” - AHHHHH

Also, might just be me, but maybe that line would have been slightly more impactful if the scene had taken place at night

This show really said “fuck healthy parental figures” I guess

Except Will’s mum, she’s the best and if anything were to happen to her we’d all riot

SAYAN KÖTÖR FADING AWAY NOOOO I HATE SEEING DÆMONS DIE

Okay, last little gripe, but I just wanted to say that in the book, Will doesn’t realize it’s his dad until literally the last second before his dad dies - like they both realize and then BAM, Jopari is killed. And while I do love the father-son reunion, I am kind of annoyed by the change because it was such a huge punch in the gut in the book that Will searches for so long for his dad, only to lose him the second he finds him.

Serafina finding Lee’s body and kissing his forehead was yet another punch in the gut, thanks Pullman/BBC/BadWolf

The fact that Will had to bury his dad :(

Also, WILL WEARING JOPARI’S JACKET OH MY GOD MY HEART

Oof that shot of his amputated fingers...

So the narration, when it started I thought it was Jopari at first, like from one of his letters... but then as it continued, I went “hang on”, and then I said outloud “wait, is that ASRIEL?!”

DID MARISA REALLY PUT LYRA IN A FUCKING TRUNK?!? BITCH ARE YOU OKAY?!?

Will putting his hood up like his dad did just hits differently

Okay so um ASRIEL HI I WASN’T EXPECTING TO SEE YOU THIS SEASON OH MY GOD THE SCREAM I LET OUT

HIS MONOLOGUE BY THE WAY IS FUCKING ART AND A MASTERPIECE BUT I WAS TOO BUSY CRYING OVER JAMES MCAVOY TO WRITE THE WHOLE MONOLOGUE DOWN

Oh, hi Stelmaria!

It always makes me scream that this man is not only Lord Asriel now but he’s also fucking Mr Tumnus and MOTHERFUCKING BILL DENBROUGH LIKE HOW IS THIS MAN INVOLVED IN SO MANY OF MY FANDOMS?!?

ANGELS ANGELS OH MY FUCKING GOD-

“We stand with you, Asriel Belacqua” - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“Let us prepare for war” - FUUUUUUUUCK

(I was deadly serious when I said this was just me screaming and crying by the way)

I’m still reeling over the fact that Marisa put her daughter in a fucking trunk. Like I get you can’t exactly carry a drugged child about in the open but Jesus Christ, love, really?!?

Also Ruth Wilson / Marisa Coulter in a headscarf? *chef kiss*

The way that the screen went to black as she put the lid on the trunk down - SHIT OH SHIT GOOSEBUMPS

THE CREDIT SONG IS SO BEAUTIFUL BECAUSE IT HAS FUCKING ANGELS NOW I’M-

I WASN’T EXPECTING THE POST CREDITS SCENE OH MY GOD

ROGER?! ROGER! IT’S ROGER I’M NOT OKAY-

BBC YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THAT ON US LIKE THAT FUCK-

“What is this place?” - I’M SCREAMING SO LOUD I CAN’T HOLD IT IN

For anyone unaware, the reason I’m screaming so loud over the post-credits scene is because in TAS, while Lyra is drugged and in a groggy sleep, she has these visions of Roger talking to her from the Land of the Dead, which then later leads to her and Will actually GOING to the Land of the Dead and... well, the rest is even HUGER spoilers but YEAH I’M NOT OKAY.

Honestly, I’m just so happy and emotional because I’ve been waiting over a decade for a decent adaptation of not only NL but for TSK and TAS too, and we’re 2/3 there now. Just one more book/series to go... I wish we could have it now. I really hope that filming for the final one starts ASAP because if we have to wait two years just to see the conclusion to this series, I might cry.

This series is so amazing, and this season especially has been so incredible to watch. It’s been the highlight of my week for seven weeks, and I have no idea what I’ll do with my Sundays now that it’s over. I’ve asked for the DVD for S2 for my birthday already (since it comes out 29th December and my birthday is 13th January... just saying), and words can’t describe how much I do love this series. I know it sounds hollow since I say it about so many things I’m into, but this was such a huge part of my childhood and it’s one of my favourite fantasy series of all time. It’s truly one of the most incredible pieces of literature and now it’s making for incredible television... I love it so much.

[robininthelabyrinth]

(Uh. You're bio says prompts are open but your ask button says prompts are closed? I'll send a prompt anyways, feel free to ignore me.) The Burial Mounds are not made for people. It's not willing to change this. So as people eat it's food, drink it's water, breathe it's air... /they/ change. They're still human, technically, probably, but they're... different

It affected the strongest first, Wen Qing found.

Strong was, of course, a relative definition – no one at the Burial Mounds was ‘stronger’ than Wei Wuxian, of course, but all his power was borrowed, not his own, not after what he’d done to his golden core. So rather than being considered the strongest, he was considered among the weakest, right up there with A-Yuan: the rest of them, despite being civilians, had at minimum been civilians in a cultivation sect, meaning that they either had golden cores or had made some progress in developing their qi.

Of them all, Wen Qing and Wen Ning had always been the best; it had been that which had made them Wen Ruohan’s favorites.

So, to no surprise, it affected them first.

It wasn’t that they didn’t know that the Burial Mounds was full of resentment: a battlefield so bitter that it had poisoned the earth and water and air, left without purification for years upon years, and eventually the resentment had solidified, turned into a rotten lump of it.

It was that they hadn’t realized that it had started resenting anyone who tried to change it, and that it instead sought to change them.

It was a little like Stygian Tiger Seal, Wen Qing reflected in those years where she had too much time to reflect. That had been a regular sword, once – some cultivator’s treasure, no doubt, right up until they stabbed it into the corrupted Xuanwu’s side as they did, leaving their mark on the beast even as it ended their life – but years and years of being near resentment had made it resentful itself.

Had given it power, but also – malice.

The Burial Mounds had malice to spare, and it did not like them when they were just – human.

When they were still cultivators, trying their best to purify what little evil they could before they planted their crops.

So it changed them.

Wen Qing was the strongest cultivator left alive from their Wen sect, but Wen Ning – Wen Ning was something else, of course. Literally, thanks to Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation.

Perhaps the Burial Mounds saw what he was – a fierce corpse, living and conscious and shot through with resentful energy, not needing to eat or drink or sleep, no ability to purify anything – and thought that it would be much happier if the rest of them were like that too.

Wen Qing was the strongest, and so it went for her first.

At first she thought it was her own strength showing through. She’d always refrained from meals when possible to allow her family to eat more, especially A-Yuan, because the amount they were able to buy or grow was simply not enough for all of them. But she’d closely monitored her inedia to ensure that she was not growing weak – that was equally unacceptable, someone had to protect them – and eventually she noticed that her ability to refrain from regular food had grown rather impressive, to the point that she barely ate a bowl of rice once every fortnight.

Meditating in a small cave seemed almost like it was enough.

It wasn’t until she was there, drawing in what she thought was natural qi, and something living came in – a bird of some sort, she though – that she began to realize that something was wrong.

Did realize.

It was hard not to, not with the way she had torn at the bird with her teeth and swallowed the heat of its blood down her throat, leaving it rich in meat but without any blood.

After that Wen Qing had quietly panicked – though of course she’d brought the bird back for the rest of her family to cook and eat the normal way – and she’d vowed that she would eat only rice and radishes, just the way the rest of them did, and not resort to her cultivation any longer.

It was too late, though. The rice tasted spoiled in her mouth, even though everyone else ate it easily; the radish made her gag even though it was fresh. She could not eat them.

Only blood was sufficient.

Wen Qing wasn’t sure what to do about it – she couldn’t just go and hunt all the time, there weren’t enough living things on the Burial Mounds to make that practical, there was a reason they’d tried growing food instead – but around that time Wei Wuxian got the idea of making a blood pool for his experiments.

She didn’t know where he got the blood or how he kept it fresh.

She didn’t ask.

In the beginning it was only a spoonful here and there, enough to keep her energized and healthy while she tried to force herself to live on human food again, but after a while she found that a single cup of blood each week was enough to sustain her entirely, meaning that her aunts and uncles and poor little A-Yuan could eat a little more.

(Wei Wuxian ate too much, just as much as he might if he were a normal human who had never practiced inedia or couldn’t because his core was gone, but he was their benefactor. Of course they had to feed him before all others, except maybe the growing A-Yuan.)

After a while, Wen Qing noticed some of the others – Fourth Uncle was first, but others weren’t far behind – also leaving food on their plates, unable to eat, only they were wasting away for lack of it. She should have let it happen, maybe, but they’d worked so hard to survive, gotten through so much together, and so she decided to slip them a little blood in their tea, just to see if it would help.

It did. It was like night and day, the way their faces filled with life again – animated and cheerful, the way she remembered them best.

So she kept doing it.

(She’d once had medical ethics that forbade experimenting on those who did not know or consent, she recalled vaguely. She’d thrown those ethics into Wen Ruohan’s face, refusing to do his bidding even if he killed her, and he’d rolled his eyes and given in, assigning her only to hospital work for his soldiers and a management position in a supervisory office – he’d been nasty and cruel, but also practical, at least when it came to members of his family; he preferred to boast of having an excellent doctor as part of his clan over yet another corpse in his Fire Palace, and she’d made it clear that was the choice.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t accepted her refusal, though, and once you decided there was something worth breaching your ethics one time, it made it so much easier to make the same decision again – and again – and again…)

And then, before she knew it, the end came.

Wen Ning struck down Jin Zixuan on Wei Wuxian’s sloppy, badly-designed orders – however unintentional it had been on either of their parts – and the Jin sect demanded blood, whether Wei Wuxian’s or theirs. And Wei Wuxian was their benefactor, and that meant it had to be them.

Wen Qing told the Fourth Uncle about what she’d been doing with the blood before she left, not wanting them to starve because she wasn’t there any longer, and then she went to Jinlin Tower to die, seething with resentment about the whole thing. And they took her brother away, and they killed her and scattered her ashes in the Burial Mounds, probably as a final fuck you to her.

They also killed the rest of her family.

She knows they did, because whatever they did to kill her, it didn’t quite – stick.

It was about a year before she fully reformed herself out of the ashes, piecing each ash together back into a physical body like they were all just puzzle-pieces, and crawled out of the ground. Her family was waiting for her: their bodies had been thrown into the blood pool, and the blood of the pool had interacted with the blood already in their bodies – the blood she’d fed them – and they hadn’t stayed dead, either.

“We’re going to need to be careful,” she warned them, settling into the role of leader as easily as always. “We’re living off resentment, now – I’m not quite sure if we’re mo or gui, depends on when we count it as having happened, but either way, we’re now the things that cultivators night-hunt. We can’t allow ourselves to become known, or we’ll be targets.”

Nods all around.

She looked around, reviewing the crowd. “…where’s A-Yuan?”

“I think he’s still alive,” Granny said. “I hid him away before the battle, and the place was empty when I checked it again. No corpse.”

“Good,” Wen Qing said. She hoped he stayed that way, alive, the way they weren’t. “I don’t know what happened with Wen Ning – they didn’t kill him along with me. Maybe we can try to find him, later.”

Maybe they could find A-Yuan, too.

Maybe they could finally make themselves the home they’d been trying to build for so long.

[malfoymanortings]

somebody else PT 1

SUMMARY: Mae has been in love with Draco Malfoy since her first year at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy fell in love with Mae in their fourth year, and then promptly fell into Pansy’s bed instead. All the while, Mae clings to the hope that Draco will change. That is, until, Ron Weasley takes his chance.

PAIRINGS: toxic!Draco x OC, Ron x OC, Ginny x Luna

!a sprinkle of smut in this chapter! 

TRIGGERS: suicidal idealization for a brief moment.

"What do you feel?" Draco asked her, a smirk on his devilishly handsome face.

"I don't feel anything." she replied emotionlessly, staring blankly at his uncaring eyes.

"Why's that?" he inquired, the smirk not leaving. He asked her this all the time. Every time, she gave him the same reply.

"Because you always do this."

"So leave." Draco snarled, a disgusted look on his face.

"I can't leave you, because I love you." the words hurt, and she briefly shut her eyes as he caressed her jaw with his hand, gently placing his thumb on her full lips, his family ring cool against her skin.

"But I don't." he said the words cruelly, harshly dragging his thumb down her lip and then placing his hand on her throat.

"I know." she acknowledged his cruel words. It was nothing new to her.

He roughly shoved her away from him, his hand jostling her collarbone harshly. He laughed as she flinched, turning away from her. She knew he would turn before he left the door, and he did, coming back to her and pushing her against the wall. He gripped her neck tightly, the metal from his rings pressing painfully on her throat, placing his lips to her ear.

"You would do anything for me." he breathed out, his teeth grazing her lobe.

Draco roughly took her robes off, and she unbuttoned her shirt. He pushed her down onto his bed, their lips mashing together as he roughly gripped her hips, leaving his fingerprints behind. He trailed his lips down her neck, to her breasts where he quickly undid her bra, leaving her exposed as he groped at her skin. She moaned at his touch, which seemed to make him go faster as he quickly slid down her skirt and pumped two of his long fingers deep into her pussy. 

Before she was ready, he thrusted his dick inside her, making her gasp at the pain. He had his arms propped up on either side of her head, leaning down to leave marks on her neck as he pumped in and out of her. She moaned loudly as the pain subsided and pleasure took its place. 

"You like that, don't you?" Draco muttered breathlessly. "Fifthly little slut."

His breathing became ragged, and with one final hard thrust, he pulled out of her and rolled off the bed. She lay there, regulating her breathing, and shutting her eyes so he didn't see her cry. As usual, it was over as quickly as it had began, and she knew that was because he got all his foreplay done with Pansy fucking Parkinson.

"D'you want me to go now?" she asked quietly, sliding her skirt back on and retrieving her bra.

"Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle will be back soon, so you'll probably want to be gone." Draco shrugged, putting his clothes back on and fixing his hair.

"Or are you just going to invite Pansy up here later?" she couldn't stop the sarcastic comment from coming out, sliding her shirt on and tucking it into her skirt.

Draco smirked at her. "Maybe."

She felt the tears prick again, and she quickly left his dorm without saying goodbye. After all this time, surely she would have gotten used to the feeling. Surely, she would have stopped caring.

But caring was the only thing she knew how to do. And Draco knew that. Draco was well aware of that.

It had started last year during their third year. She had always had a crush on Draco, and as it had turned out, he had known the whole time. He had love for her at one point, she assured herself, but she just couldn't figure out when the love had faded. Maybe it was last year at the Yule Ball when Pansy's dress sparkled more than hers and Pansy's tits were on full display in her low cut gown.

Maybe it was when they had grown comfortable enough that it could have been mistaken as losing feelings. She had started to see the tender look he would give her fade after the Yule Ball. That was when he began making excuses for why he couldn't study with her, why he wasn't sitting with her at meal times, until eventually she found Draco and Pansy wrapped together on the common room couch.

Perhaps if she hadn't forgiven Draco so quickly, if she hadn't assured Draco that she understood why he cheated, maybe he wouldn't have done it again. She would never forget that glimmer of cocky triumph in his eye when he realized she had forgiven him without a fight.

Sitting on the edge of the balcony in the astronomy tower, she tilted her head to the sky, staring out at the vast spattering of stars. Her dark brown hair tangled in the wind around her, and she couldn't find it in herself to care.

As she thought of that first time she had caught Draco, she laughed bitterly as she recalled he hadn't even apologized. He had simply stared warily at her, gauging her reaction, and when she immediately said she wasn't upset, he had relaxed. Throughout it all, she had been the one to apologize. She had been the one to ask what she could change in order for this to never happen again. She had been the one to promise to do better. All the while he had sat there and planned out the next time he was going to see Pansy.

She knew people were shocked when she and Draco had started dating. It seemed unlikely, the bullying Slytherin prince paired with the unusually kind Slytherin outcast. Before Draco, she hadn't had many friends in her house. She had most of her friends in the other houses, Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley being her best ones. Luna had accepted Draco as her boyfriend, while Ginny was thoroughly against it. For a while, they had stopped being friends, only to pick back up after an awkward month of Luna finding the strangest reasons to bring them together. Luna couldn't stand the thought of her best friend and her crush no longer being friends. Through it all, Luna was the only one who knew just how many times Draco had cheated on her.

"My cousin must have an infestation of the nittlebigs," Luna had said loftily, holding her as she cried. "I don't understand why else he would hurt someone as beautiful and kind as you."

Luna never pressured her to break up with Draco, and that was part of why they were so close. She knew that regardless of what she told Luna, Luna would listen and offer judgement free advice. A rather large part of her wanted to carry a mini Luna around in her pocket so that when she was feeling down, Luna would have something rather kind to say or something so odd that it would distract her from her personal woes.

She longed for Luna now, desperately wishing she had a distraction from her mind.

Just jump.. the voice whispered in her head. jump, and you'll no longer feel anything.

The voice was so.. alluring. It was true, if she jumped, she wouldn't have to feel anything. It wasn't that she wanted to die, she just… no longer wanted to feel the constant heavy weight in her chest. The only time she got a reprieve was when Draco would walk in the room on a good day, and give her a smile that reminded her of the boy she fell in love with. The boy she had watched Hermione Granger punch in their third year, the boy who had been full of such cocky and pompous attitude that had ran away crying when someone had actually shown him action instead of talk. Draco was always all talk. Just like when he used to promise her he would be faithful. He no longer did that.

The wind grew stronger as she hoisted herself up on the ledge of the railing. She began walking along it like a balance beam, her arms spread out to keep her balance. The urge to jump became stronger than before, and she focused on keeping her balance so that her intrusive thoughts wouldn't overcome her.

Tears slipped down her cheeks a hole caved through her chest. All she wanted was to be loved.

There were footsteps coming from inside the astronomy tower. She carefully got down from the railing, wiping her cheeks as Ginny Weasley burst through the door with a haggard look on her face.

"Mae, what the bloody hell are you doing here this late at night?" Ginny demanded, her eyes narrowing as she took in her hollow look and wet eyes.

"I could ask you the same." she responded, twirling her wand between her fingers.

"Ron told me they saw you up here," Ginny paused, her frown creasing her forehead. "Figured I would check on you. What the hell happened?"

"Draco and I.. got in a little argument."

"Over what?"

Mae bit her lip. She hadn't wanted to tell Ginny, as she knew that it would be harder for her to keep things together if Ginny knew.

Tell her, the voice whispered. Tell her, because it will be easier.

"He was, erm," she cleared her voice. "Cheating on me with Pansy again."

Ginny's eyes flashed dangerously, and her voice was hard and flat. "Again? How many times has he done this?"

She shrugged. There was no way she would tell Ginny she had kept track of each thirty seven times Draco had cheated on her. "Dunno."

"I'll kill him," said Ginny decisively. "I'll kill the prat."

"No, Ginny please," Mae pleaded, reaching out to grip the Gryffindor's robes. "I'm handling it! I just need to be better."

Ginny's mouth dropped open, and she gave Mae an incredulous look. "Mae, you're not the one at fault here. The slimy git bastard is the one who I should be hexing."

Mae shook her head furiously, tears sliding out. "No, you don't understand, I just need to change. I'm too soft, and he's just doing this so I'll be stronger for whatever is coming next-"

"Don't tell me you believe that rubbish!" Ginny shouted, this time gripping Mae's robes. "You are beautiful, you are smart, you are kind to a bloody fault, you are an amazing friend and I would never say that about any other Slytherin!"

"That doesn't mean I'm perfect!" Mae argued hotly, her frustration and sadness growing. "I may be all of those things, but at the end of it all I love him and I won't ever be good enough for him!"

She ended her shouting with a muttered cry, slumping into Ginny's open arms. "Why am I not good enough?"

"You are good enough, Mae," Ginny rubbed her back consolingly. "It's him who's not."

"That's the problem though, isn't it?" whispered Mae into Ginny's robes. "Everyone thinks he has no good, but me. I know he's good. He just needs to find himself again."

"You can't save everyone," replied Ginny softly, pulling away and cupping Mae's face with her hands. "You will wake up one day, and realize you've had enough. You're too young to have your life tied together with someone who will never see your worth."

Mae shrugged. This was why she was hesitant to tell Ginny. She knew that the wise witch would say something so absolutely truthful and clever that it would make her think of her situation in a different light.

"I think I need to sleep now."

Together they walked back through the castle, splitting apart for Mae to head downstairs to the Slytherin common room. She trudged her feet along, taking her time as she entered the thick door. Upon entering, she headed straight to her room she shared with Astoria and Daphne Greengrass, and Marissa Blackwoods. The other girls were fast asleep, Daphne's loud snoring filling the air, and Mae found it easy to settle in her bed. What she found difficult was attempting to sleep

Ginny's words kept spinning around her head. You'll wake up one day, and realize you've had enough. The only problem was, Mae couldn't imagine her life without Draco. Sure, he made her upset and made her not like her life. But he was comforting in the sense that he was familiar, she had spent nearly three years with him. That was such a long time, could she really give all that up just on the off chance that she would be happier without him?

One day, you'll realize you've had enough.

Part two

Part three

[ophiuchus-interactive]

Hi, darling! ❤ "i’m finally ready to be with you, but you’ve finally moved on from me, and i’m too late" please?

Am I gonna regret this? Absolutely.

Oooh!!! Nobody specified means everyone gets some pain!!!

Thank you dearie!!!

(TW: Death, growing old, regret, mention of grief, slight mention of blood)

Valerian-

“Was it worth it?”

It was like an itch.

No matter how many times over the years Valerian fought with himself to ignore your last words to him, he couldn’t. It crept up on him, crawled under his skin like a memory made of carrion beetles and worms. The question wouldn’t die, it decomposed- fertilizing nightmares of days long gone by. It turned his heart rotten.

He wakes up sometimes with his hand reaching out across the bed, the coolness of his empty linens sending Valerian drowning amongst the currents of time and misfortune again. Giving his decision the moniker of “mistake” would hardly encompass how much of a fool he was, how he thought so assuredly he had you, that you had all the time in the world to wait.

Just one more job, he would tell you, one more bounty. And all there would be left for him, was you.

But you were gone. And your words stung and scraped and dug at his skin. And he scratched and scratched and scratched at the fading memory of you.

Peter-

People talk about the five stages of grief like it’s a process, but really, it’s a map. It’s a state you find yourself in, a sick and twisted path of destinations and crossroads that path themselves in and out of hell. You find yourself there. You hardly ever leave. Some people are lucky; some find themselves in acceptance of their loved one’s death. Some lose themselves in their anger. Some people, desperate to cling to the memories, never make it farther than phase one.

Peter’s destination was bargaining. He never got any further than that.

Desperation. Helplessness. Despite any and all appearances of the cheery, capable man, you saw more in your time with him than most. And he was hurt.

Peter tried many times to get through these feelings, the past clawing at his heart and mind, ripping- always ripping- him back to where he left off. He was so beside himself in his worry for you every time you got hurt, there were times you thought it better to not go home at all. If only to quell the pain. If only to stop his hurt.

And maybe it was bad. Bad to let him go like you did. But how much more could you stomach watching him hurt? Ghosts haunting him, tormenting him, his face twisting at the sight of you coming out of a battle alive.

Be okay, for me. Please be okay.

You hated promises you couldn’t keep.

You hated the thought of breaking his heart even further, if one night you came home, and you weren’t okay.

Rosalie-

Love isn’t perfect. It was an epiphany she had working on a dock, years after she’d left you. She was older, wiser, but still remembers you the way she liked you best: smiling. Your voice had faded from her memory, your words probably twisted by time, but it was your smile that she recalled with perfect detail. It was good, this way. Better.

Rosalie tries not to think about the moments where it wasn’t flawless, and always to her surprise, those memories are nothing more than blunt daggers in her mind. Tears, anger, regret- those feelings surface, dull and subdued, but they don’t affect her the same way it does with your smile.

Where did it all go wrong?

Rosalie doesn’t know. She doesn’t expect it, either. She broke her finger slamming her hammer down, missing the nail when she came to this realization. The shattering sound of her ring finger was a dull, monotone noise compared to the blood that rushed in her ears;

Did I not try hard enough?

It was you, smiling. The crystal clear sound of your laughter. The mute sounds of your anger- the blurry visions of your tears. Faded arguments. Jokes that sound so familiar. Her memories weren’t perfect. Her love for you wasn’t, either.

But it was real.

Real like the fractured bits of bone and knuckle. Real like her scream. Real like the hot, furious tears that poured down her face, the pain- the pain.

Intangible. Imperfect.

Like her memories of you.

Thane-

“You’re lucky you’re not dead, you know,” Thane’s voice was steady, like scolding was part of his profession, “if they were any closer to you-”

“I know,” You say, your eyelids slamming shut. You did your best to hide your frustration, lest Thane suddenly decides he was going to start bitching to you about that, too, “but I’m alive. It’s fine,”

“It’s reckless,” He corrects, and the familiar feeling of your heart dropping to your stomach throws you off. You were over him. His words shouldn’t sting this much anymore.

“Foolish, really,” Thane continues, and his cold, sterile needle seems bury itself deeper into your skin, “but, given your proclivities for practically throwing yourself at death’s doorstep, I’m not surprised,”

You scoff, throwing back your head in disbelief. Is he being serious?

“I jumped in front of the damn gun because you weren’t moving fast enough! Any slower, Thane, and you would’ve been dead.”

He stops. The needle sat still against your skin. The sutures pulled taut- your wound was almost closed.

“What?”

“He was aiming for your effin’ head,” You spit, tired, tired of the damn man in front of you. Never so much as a thank you for the amount of times you saved his ass, and he’s still giving you shit? Still grating on your fucking nerves?

“I…” He sucks in a breath, “I didn’t know that,”

“No shit,” You huff, “you never do.”

That seems to be enough to snap Thane back out of his daze. His piercing, cold eyes met yours, and you were surprised to see that they seem to mirror your irritation. Your fury,

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

That you're loved, you fool. I loved you.

Why couldn’t you see that?

Why couldn’t you see me?

There was so much at that moment you wanted to say, so many words that turned stale on your tongue. It was bitter, finally seeing the realization on his face, to watch those very lips that you’d only dreamt of tasting, turn until tight, thin frown. Confusion and worry and shock painted his face a pale, pinkish gray. It was the color, you realized, of regret.

Of his regret. Not yours.

Ophelia-

When Ophelia found your first gray hair, she almost cried.

It’s started. The clock is ticking.

You soothed her horror with laughter, plucking the strand of hair straight from your head and throwing it to the side, like it was garbage. Trash.

“You stress me out,” You say with a laugh, and Ophelia finds it in herself to smile. She doesn’t notice at first, how the laugh lines deepen.

You complained of pains in your back. Your hips. Riding a horse has become too much of a pain for long distance travel.

Your head of hair is now silver. Ophelia pays the color little mind.

She insists on riding into town herself more and more, much to her quiet, naked distress.

You slap her shoulder playfully, shrugging off your discomfort like you were twenty-three again,

“And miss out on the candy restock? Perish the thought.”

Ophelia now loves the contoured lines of your face. You’ve laughed a lot. It’s pretty.

You sit at home now, keeping your hands busy as best you can.

Ophelia does her best to ignore the gossip in town. She’s older, and yet they call you the pervert.

Does she really look so young? Has she really not changed? Will there be no sign of growing old with you?

You smiled sadly as she said these things late one night. She’d be crying again,

“Be still, my heart. I am always with you.”

She misses it.

She left for town only a day ago. The tulips were in bloom. Ophelia thought it a good idea to surprise you.

Doc greeted her in town. He shook his head, eyes cast to the ground.

The tulips were ruined in her haste, and Ophelia cried herself into exhaustion.

It was a terrible day. A feather unnoticed on her neck, had turned a light shade of gray.

Javier-

Javier was cold. Dying was a frigid feeling.

His chest heaved slow, shallow breaths. With each rise and fall of his chest, he could feel his own blood fill up his lungs, his own chest caving in. Dying was an uncomfortable feeling.

He held your hand like it was his lifeline. Javier didn’t want to look in your eyes again, he knew the light was gone.

“Re-remember when,” he starts, and the force of his breath alone causes him to gag and heave. For a brief second, he wonders if this was it- he couldn’t even say goodbye, before he said hello again. Javier was okay with that. But his breathing slows and calms down, and it was enough for him to start again,

“R-remember when I first met you?” It was a favorite of his; you looked so wild back then, so free. Years have passed and times have changed, you along with it, but the way you looked then?

It made him believe in such a thing called love.

Javier tries to laugh, but it comes out as a choked, wet cough. His hand still held onto yours tightly,

“...you...made me feel alive. And...and scared, a-and brave, and- oh, god, I love you. I-I love you.”

Javier took a breath. Dying was a tiring feeling.

He held your hand. Dying was a lonely feeling.

But he’s coming, and he’s sorry that he’s so late.

Sergio-

“Thank you,”

He laughs. It’s a hollow sound. Sergio was three fingers deep into his rye when you finally spoke up, and of course, it makes him laugh,

“Is that what divorced people say to each other? Thank you?”

You shrug, gulping down a glass of your own poison. Divorce decrees took more out of you than gunfights. Is it any wonder why one happens more than the other?

“You were my husband,” You say quietly, your eyes never meeting him, “You loved me, for better or worse...thank you, for that.”

“You’re an amazing person,” Sergio says without hesitation. His fingers were cold as he clutched his whiskey glass, raising it high into the air, “I...I mean that. Truly.”

What more was I to do, if not love you?

You smile, gulping down your sorrows, lest they escape your lips. Crying was for later. You’re saying goodbye, now.

“I, ahem,” Sergio clears his throat, his free hand going to wipe his reddened eyes, “I hope that whoever they are, they treat you good and proper, and that you are loved…” He pauses, “...that you are loved, as I’ve loved you.”

Say it more. Mean it. Husband, what words are these, when I’m no longer meant for them?

“I don’t hate you, Sergio,” You blurt, and they were words that demand repeating, “but this...I’m not...we, we’re not-”

They are only meant for you.

“-I know,” Sergio says, giving a wave of his hand, “I know. And thank you,”

“For?”

“For allowing me to love you,” Sergio says unevenly, and he takes a moment more to finish his drink.

????/Hope-

So this is agony.

Another’s hand upon your cheek.

You looked happy in their arms. You wore the same smile that made them realize what love was for the first time- what it could truly mean. Those feelings only grew inside them as time went on, bright and fluttering and bursting, so this is love.

It felt good.

But you never gave them that look you’re giving your lover, now. There’s no light in your eyes when your gaze finds them- you grin, you always grin, but it’s the same look you give Valerian and Peter.

It hurts. But why?

They should be happy for you- you're happy. You have someone to love. If this is what you’re feeling, being in your lover’s arms…?

They’ll have Rosalie run a diagnostic on their systems- surely this is a glitch that needs to be fixed. If you’re happy, they’re happy. Rosalie can fix this pain, and Hope will be normal again.

It hurts, being like this.

[onecanonlife]

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 8,506

Chapter Warnings: swearing, blood, major injury, seizure, character death

Chapter Summary: In which the sun rises.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Twenty-One: morning sun

He has a lot of thoughts on poetry. Poetry, he often finds, is just music without the tune. The rhythm is there already, and the words can be their own melody, if they’re written right, with a shape and a contour and a buildup and a decrescendo. He knows poetry. And poetry can tell stories, too, can tell whole narratives, can show a hero’s journey from the beginning to the bitter, bitter end, because something he noted a long time ago is that in the old stories, the old poems, in the meter and rhyme, there are few heroes who get happy endings. There are few stories that end with the hero growing old and finding peace. The heroes in the stories he was drawn to, the stories that Technoblade told him as they grew from children to lanky teenagers to adults, the heroes in those stories come to tragic ends.

So, he knows poetry.

Is there poetry in death?

Once, he would have said yes. Once, he would have said that death, perhaps, after a long fight, after a struggle lost, after all the world goes caving in and the hero stands alone knowing how far he has fallen, knowing there is only so much further to go, knowing that every cliff has its bottom and every sea its floor, after all of that—once, he might have said that death, after all of that, was the most poetic thing of all.

But he thinks he knows better now. He thinks that death is not poetry at all. He thinks that death is pain and suffering and hurting those who were left behind, and death is an ending that cannot

(is usually not, and perhaps he needs to examine that, too, needs to start considering himself lucky for the second chance that no one else ever gets, because he gasped back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes and there has been so much pain since then but there has been beauty and now revelation)

be revised once the pen has left the paper, and all the best stories are edited before they are consumed.

But life is not a story, and he is a person, not a role, even if that thought turns everything upside-down, forces him to consider everything he thought he knew about the axis on which the world spins.

And dying cannot be poetry, because he thinks he is dying, and there is nothing lovely about it at all. Not now.

(and not then, either, though you were not ready to know it)

“Shut up, you’re not fucking dying,” Tommy says, and with the words come a wash of cold clarity, focus that he clings to desperately. It might be a mistake, because the pain comes back to the forefront, too, sharp and everywhere and overwhelming and he wants to retreat from it, and he thinks he’s going to retreat from it, if it keeps on like this, so it’s a matter of how long he can manage to hold on.

He’s only just recovered his footing. He’s not going to let himself slip away. Not when he’s only just figured out he wants to keep standing.

And then his heart spasms, sending a burst of hot pain ricocheting in his chest, and he is reminded that he might not have a choice in the matter. He tries to draw in breath, and finds his airways blocked. He tastes iron on his tongue. He tries to draw in breath, and he can’t, and his lungs are burning, burning—

“Turn his head,” Tubbo says sharply, “turn it, he’s choking—”

Someone wrenches his head to the side. He coughs, once, twice, and then he’s wracked with them, curling in on himself as best he can, hands coming up to clutch at his chest, his throat, and he can feel the blood spilling from his mouth, pooling in his cheek and splattering on his lips. Blood. It waters the vines, the vines that are turning to dust. The blood vines are watered, and nothing at all happens, because the vines are dead.

The vines are dead, and he is dying, because he’s pretty sure that his internal organs are all giving out.

“He’s coughing up blood,” Fundy says, near hysterically, “why is he coughing up blood, what’s wrong with him—?”

“The Egg hurts you when you hurt it,” Tommy answers, matching his tone, his high pitch, his fear. “The Egg—and I fucking forgot, oh my god, why did I let him do it, we should’ve figured this would happen—”

“Does anyone have pots?” Tubbo demands. “Does anyone have pots, because I don’t.”

“I didn’t grab any,” Fundy says, “it all happened so fast, I didn’t think to grab any—”

“Wait, shit, I’ve got one,” Tommy says. “Here, c’mon.”

He feels hands on him, gently pushing him out of the position he’s folded himself into. And then, he’s leveraged to sit more upright, and he groans, something in his abdomen screaming in protest at the shift. He doesn’t have the strength to keep his head up, so he lets it fall back, and it hits someone’s chest. He’s propped up against someone, and as his vision clears, just a bit, he sees Fundy crouched to one side, hands hovering over him, and Tommy kneeling right by him, tugging on the cork of a potion, so it’s Tubbo that he’s leaning against.

“Here, Wilbur, just,” Tommy starts, and then the glass is being held to his lips. He parts his lips compliantly, and he feels the liquid slide across his tongue, but there’s too much blood in his throat for it to go down smoothly, and in the next second, he’s coughing again, sputtering, trying to suck air into a throat that’s too clogged and lungs that won’t quite inflate. He jerks, and Tubbo’s arms come up from behind him, grabbing his shoulders and holding him steady even as his body tries to escape the inescapable.

“C’mon, Wil, please,” Tommy says, and his eyes are wide and so very blue, and there’s a sheen across them. Tears. He’s making Tommy cry. “Please, you’ve got to swallow.”

He can’t get in a good enough breath to be able to tell him that he’s trying, that he would very much like to swallow, it’s only that absolutely nothing seems to be cooperating with him at the moment. But surely Tommy knows that, knows that he would if he could, and he’ll keep trying, even though—even though everything hurts, and really, there’s no other way to put it than that. Everything hurts, every inch of him, like his skin is being stretched too tight and he’s boiling from the inside out.

(but then again, Tommy doesn’t know the realization he’s just come to, he just sees his brother limp on the ground and fading away before his eyes and coughing up the potion he’s given him, coughing up what might be the best chance they have to save him, and that is what Tommy sees, so is there any wonder that he automatically assumes that)

No. No, he needs Tommy to know. He needs all of them to know that he doesn’t want this, that he doesn’t want to go, that he’s not giving up.

Tommy presses the potion to his lips again, desperate, insistent. He parts them again, and this time, some of it goes down. A bit goes down the wrong pipe, in fact, setting him to coughing again, but that burn is nothing compared to everything else. He can feel the magic begin to take effect right away, racing inside of him, trying to repair what has been broken and torn apart, and because he can feel it at work, he can feel exactly what’s wrong, can feel it try to patch holes inside of him that the Egg’s death throes ripped open, can feel it surrounding his heart, trying to encourage it to beat in a steady rhythm again, can feel it in his lungs, trying to reopen one that has half-collapsed. He can feel it all, and he knows that even if he managed to down the whole flask, it wouldn’t be enough. Not for this.

Because magic can only do so much. Because magic only goes so far.

Despair pools in his chest along with the fire, but he bucks against it, because he doesn’t want

(he doesn’t want to die and it took him so long to decide as much to understand himself enough to realize it and he doesn’t want to die but his body is giving out even as he fights to stay and this cannot be how it ends, it cannot be, because the world is cruel and the world is unfair but he cannot believe that it would be so unjust as this, so unjust as to take away what he has only just realized he wants to keep)

(but then again, the world does not often listen, does not often care for what is good and what is fair, because the world simply is, and that was a lesson he learned long ago, chased from the podium, the arrow in his back, betrayal and desperation playing a counterpoint melody, and it would never have happened if fairness was something the world at large took into consideration)

(but then again, does the universe not listen, when it well and truly counts? though to say as much would be to imply that it never counted before, when it did, did and still does, still does, because perhaps he can heal if given the chance but he will not forget and neither will anyone else)

to die. He doesn’t want to die. And if ever there was a moment to fight against despair, to fight against despair and win, for once, it is now. It is now.

“I’m trying,” he gasps out, and then immediately has to stop, has to struggle for air again, his chest heaving. He’s shaking, his bones trying to flee his skin.

“I know,” Tommy says. “I know, just come on—” The potion is back, and it’s the last of it, and he manages to force down some more. His vision sharpens, his breathing becoming just ever so slightly easier, but it’s not going to be enough. His heart falters, skips several beats, sends deep pangs shooting through his ribcage, and he knows it’s not going to be enough.

“I am trying,” he insists, as soon as he has enough air for it, “I am, I don’t—I don’t want to go—”

He coughs. Something inside him shifts, grating against other things, and fuck but that hurts, and there’s blood dribbling down his lips again. Hot and sticky. Damning.

“Okay, okay, that’s good, you’re not going anywhere,” Tommy says, “you’re not, we’re not gonna let that happen—”

“Comms are still down,” Fundy says. “I’m not getting through to anyone. Should I—should I go and get someone? I’m a fast runner, I can make it there and back.”

No.

No, no, he—it makes sense, what Fundy is suggesting, but he doesn’t want his son to leave him, because what if he leaves and he—he never gets to tell him all the things he wants to say, all the things he should have said a long, long time ago, what if he leaves and the last that Wilbur sees of him is his retreating back and that’s all, that’s all there is for either of them, what if he dies here and now and he never gets to—

(a scene, imagined: the sun setting over the water, a warm, lazy breeze rustling his hair, and they are sitting side by side, quiet and companionable, and they are fishing, their lures bobbing together in the lake, and all is not fixed and all is not forgotten but there is peace and forgiveness and an opportunity to repair the once-burnt bridge and he wants that he wants he wants)

He moves his arm. The first time, it flops back down uselessly, but he tries again, expends far more effort than he should, and he hooks his fingers into Fundy’s sleeve. Fundy stills, and Wilbur looks at him. Really looks. Meets his eyes and keeps his gaze there. And he doesn’t know what he looks like, doesn’t know how bad he must appear at the moment, but though there is worry on his son’s face, there is something else there, too, something more complicated.

“Wil?” Fundy says softly.

He might not get another chance for this.

“I love you,” he says, and he can feel the words sliding into each other even as they leave his mouth, but he hopes he’s comprehensible. He prays, because he needs Fundy to know this. “I love you, and—I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry. I wanted to be better this ti—”

His heart squeezes, like it’s doing its level best to collapse in on itself, and he breaks off with a strangled squawking sort of noise. And Fundy makes an odd noise of his own.

“Shut up,” he says. “You’re not—you’re going to be fine. Stop talking like you’re going to—you can’t leave again, okay, you can’t do this to me again, you can’t—”

He’s hurting his son. Hurting his son just like he has all along, and he’s powerless to stop it, powerless once again. And there is some measure of gladness in it, in knowing that Fundy does not want him dead, but he is hurting him, hurting him when he never wanted to do so again. When all he really wanted was a chance to make things better, if he could. If he would be allowed.

He tightens his grip on Fundy’s sleeve. Fundy’s face shutters, and then he reaches over with his other hand and pries his fingers off, and Wilbur thinks that actually he might die right here and now.

Except then, Fundy takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, clutching them tightly. He tries to squeeze back and only manages a flutter, but it’s enough.

(because all is not well between you and perhaps it never will be, but know this, know that your son still loves you)

“I’m so sorry,” Tubbo says suddenly, and he can’t crane his neck to look at him, so he has to settle for listening to the words. “If I hadn’t used the totem, maybe—”

“Oh my god, don’t fucking say that,” Tommy snaps, and Wilbur quite agrees, because if Tubbo hadn’t used the totem, then perhaps this would feel very different, and perhaps he would not be terrified of the sensation of his life slipping away from him, because he would have death’s most effective preventative measure resting in his hand, waiting for his heart to still in order to repair the damage. But if Tubbo hadn’t used the totem—and he didn’t see exactly what happened, occupied as he was, but he can guess well enough from the still-present echoes of terror on Tommy’s face—then Tubbo would be dead. And that is not an acceptable loss.

“It’s the truth,” Tubbo insists.

“No,” he forces out, “no, that wouldn’t—that wouldn’t be any better—”

And then, his muscles seize. His back arches, and he hears himself cry aloud, and then the world goes away for a bit.

When it all returns, it crashes in on him at once, and he feels disoriented, exhausted, like his brain is seeking anything recognizable, anything to help make sense of what’s happening, and coming up with nothing. It takes a moment for him to remember where he is, what’s just happened, and even then, he feels dazed, almost outside of himself. He still hurts, but it’s distant. Like it’s happening to someone else.

He’s lying fully on the ground. There’s something soft under his head. A jacket? There is no one holding his hand, and a low keen rips itself from his throat. But no one’s listening—sound filters back in, and it takes effort to parse the voices from each other, speaking over themselves as they are.

“—going,” Fundy is saying, and Fundy, Fundy, he’d like Fundy to come back and be next to him, but he forces his head to flop to the side and sees that Fundy is standing now, standing with the rest of them. “I’m going, we need help, he’s—he’s literally dying right now—”

“He’s not fucking dying,” Tommy says, “would you stop saying that, he’s not—”

“If you’re gonna go get help, then go and hurry up up about it,” Tubbo is saying at the same time, and—

That’s right. He’s dying. He might have just had a seizure. That’s probably what that was. Caused by—seizures can be caused by traumatic brain things, right? Injuries? Having the Egg fucking around in there probably counts, and even beside that, he felt it die, felt it as the power of the universe flowed through the sword in its hand and tore it apart, even as it took him down with it.

(and there are some things that a mortal mind is not meant for, and surely, surely, the universe in its glory and its infinity is one of them and yet it is in your head always humming always there and it will not leave even when you do not pay it heed)

So that’s that. He’s just had a seizure, and he thinks his body’s gotten to the point where it’s given up on trying to fix anything, because the pain is fading, fading back into numbness, as if all his nerves have collectively decided that this situation is a little too fucked up and there’s nothing they can do, no point in working on it anymore. No point in signaling that anything’s wrong when nothing’s being fixed.

He’s dying.

(he doesn’t want to go)

“No way he gets back in time,” someone says. “You’ve got minutes at most.”

He’s not sure who spoke, but he agrees. Short of a miracle, he’s—he’s dying, and he wants to cry, because he doesn’t want to go. His surroundings blur.

He’s alone. Why isn’t anyone next to him? They’re standing, around him but not with him, talking to each other, voices so frantic and scared, and they’re just kids, and it’s so unfair that any of this is being put on them at all, and he doesn’t blame them for it, of course, but he thinks that if anyone was going to go for help, it should have been done right away. Not now. It’s not going to do any good now.

If he’s going to die, he doesn’t want to be alone.

(he intended to die alone, at the end of it all. he intended for himself to be the only one to be hurt. that’s one of the only reasons why he didn’t blow it all to hell sooner, because people were there, people talked him down, people like Quackity, people like Tommy, and they didn’t talk him out of wanting to do it but their presence reminded him that he didn’t want them to be hurt, he only wanted himself to hurt, because that was what was fair and that was what was right)

(but he didn’t die alone, at the end of it all. Phil held him, and he felt a little less afraid under all that relief, and the last thing he remembers from that day is warmth overwhelming, and if he’s going to die again, he doesn’t want to be cold, alone, alone)

He tries to talk, to say something, but he really is having trouble breathing now. His chest rises and falls in quick, short pants, too shallow to supply enough oxygen, too little to support his voice. He tries to move to get their attention, but his limbs don’t respond to his commands.

And then, Fundy’s taking off, running for the entrance, and no, no, no—

He finally manages to meet Tommy’s gaze. Tommy’s crouched by him again in an instant, and Tubbo is, too, grabbing his hand, and he’s glad of it, glad for the contact, but—

“It’s okay,” Tommy tells him. “You’re gonna be fine, Wilbur, Fundy’s gonna go get someone, and they’ll bring more pots, and, and another totem, too—”

His vision is darkening. He wants Fundy to come back. His heartbeats are growing more erratic, slower, weaker.

“Tommy,” Tubbo says, voice small, and stops. Tommy goes silent for a moment.

“No,” he says, then, and his voice is a sob. Wilbur wants to comfort him. He can’t move. “No, no, this isn’t fair—”

He knows. He knows, and he can’t do a thing about it.

“I—” he manages, pushing the word out with what little air is circulating through his lungs. “I don’t want—”

He can’t finish.

“I know you don’t want to go,” Tommy says, “I know, so, so you won’t, you won’t, you’re going to be fine—”

“We’re here, Wilbur,” Tubbo says. “We’re right here.”

He’s glad. He wants to stay with them.

“Jesus, Wilbur.” There’s that voice again. Not Tommy’s, not Tubbo’s. Soft and exasperated, and perhaps a little bit concerned, but he’s not sure. His ability to think, to reason, is slipping from his grasp, and one some level, that terrifies him, but on another, he can no longer care. “You giving up?”

The peculiar combination of derision and amusement is familiar. He opens his eyes; he hadn’t realized he’d closed them. Above him, a face hovers, upside-down from his vantage point. Dark hair, scruff, chipped horns, a blue sweater. Schlatt.

How long has he been here?

“Is this how you’re gonna go out?” Schlatt asks him. “Taken out by a—whatever the hell this was? You know, I’m still not clear on that. None of you assholes ever explained it to me. Some kind of demon bullshit. But you’re just gonna let this happen?”

Somehow, his voice cuts through the haze that’s filled his mind, cuts through even where Tommy and Tubbo’s voices have blended together, becoming one with the background. Perhaps it’s the sudden burst of annoyance, an energy he thought he no longer had; of course he’s not letting this happen. There’s just not a whole lot he can do to fight against acute organ failure. Does he look as if he planned this?

“You don’t want to go, though,” Schlatt says. “I heard that. Good on you, I guess. Deciding that life’s worth something after all. I’m real proud.”

He tries to glare at him. He has no idea whether his face is doing anything or not. If it is, he hopes that the boys don’t think he’s mad at them.

“Okay,” Schlatt says. “Okay, you know what? Let’s give this a try. You’re a real jackass, though, you know that? I want to make sure you know that. I need you to remember that to the end of your days. I want you to put it on your tombstone when you do finally kick it. Here lies Wilbur Soot, he was a real jackass.”

He doesn’t understand what Schlatt is trying to say. He’s rambling, as if to himself. And the world is sliding away again.

(he’s trying to hold on but there’s only so much he can do if the entire cliff face gives way there’s only so much he can do to fight against it there’s only so much)

But then, he feels it. The tether. The rope that binds them. The trailing connection. It opens up, pulling like gravity on his heart, and there’s that familiar sensation, energy leaving him, flowing down the line, except this is energy that he truly doesn’t have to spare, and the last embers of his panic flare up again, because surely Schlatt can feel it, can feel that he has nothing to give, that this is only going to kill him quicker, within seconds if he keeps this up and he may not have much of a chance here but he doesn’t need Schlatt making it worse—

“Holy shit!” he hears Tubbo say, backed up by, “What the fuck are you doing?” from Tommy an instant later. He can’t see them. He can’t see anything. Their voices are far away, and he’s trying to reach them, but he’s falling, and he can’t stop it, can’t stop himself, and the void is close.

(and he’s scared)

“Hey Tubbo,” he hears Schlatt say. Distantly, from a long way away, and getting quieter. Everything is dim. He’s floating. “You deserved better than me, kid, you really did.” A pause. “Tell Fundy the same thing, would you?”

His heart beats. Once. Twice. And then does not beat again. He’d be in pain if he could still feel it. But it’s all gone. All falling away, and the void is close, the void is reaching out to him, and he is—

And then, the tether reverses.

Energy flows back into him. What Schlatt took, and somehow, inextricably—more.

He slams back into himself all at once, gasping for air, back arching off the ground as he is hit with—everything. Sensation, in his fingers, in his toes. Pain, in every inch of him, every atom. Lungs that inflate, barely at first and then more fully. Ruptured places repairing themselves. A heart that starts again, and beats, beats, beats.

“C’mon,” Schlatt is muttering, over and over, and though Tommy and Tubbo are still talking, it’s the only voice he can latch onto. “C’mon, c’mon.” His hand is splayed across Wilbur’s chest, firm and solid, pressing down. “C’mon.”

He has sight again. Schlatt is still there, is still leaning over him, strain written on every line of his face, and Wilbur doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand what he’s doing, doesn’t understand where this energy is coming from, doesn’t understand how it’s—healing him. It’s healing him. Though—Schlatt is a ghost, is usually intangible, has to rely on Wilbur’s lifeforce if he wants to do anything, but perhaps that doesn’t mean Schlatt has none of his own. Perhaps it’s just not enough to sustain him. Perhaps it’s not enough to form him a body, not enough to create life from death.

But perhaps it’s enough for this.

Just as he works through it, Schlatt loses his solidity. His hand slips down, passing through Wilbur’s chest, and he shudders at the sensation, tingling and cold. But Schlatt doesn’t pull away, and the energy keeps flowing, and then, Schlatt starts to flicker, his form wavering in and out of reality.

And finally, Wilbur thinks he understands.

(reciprocity is something they both know well, and a connection once opened can flow both ways)

“You’re giving too much,” he says, though he’s practically mouthing the words, so thin is his voice.

“Yeah, well,” Schlatt says, his voice echoing and distant and staticky. Like a snowfall. “Maybe I want you to prove me wrong.”

Prove him wrong?

(a sunny day, flowers twisted absently in his hands, blue flowers to match the blue sweater, blue sky above, and Schlatt’s voice saying, people like us don’t change, and he once believed that, believed that his role was set and there was no going back, and he believed that for Schlatt as well, believed that for the both of them there could be no redemption, but now he isn’t so sure, and he looks into Schlatt’s eyes and he thinks that perhaps)

“Schlatt,” he whispers, and Schlatt gives him a long look. Hard, but not cruel, measured, but not mocking, considering, not dismissive. And perhaps, just perhaps, there is a little bit of regret there, too.

(regret for the boys they once were, full of life and ideas and hope, tongues sharp and minds sharper, and what good friends they used to be, in the days of their youths when they were free and unburdened and war was a tale from the past and politics a distant future and betrayal a joke and a game, when they were young, when they were young)

“Prove me wrong, Wilbur,” Schlatt says, and then, he is gone. He winks out of existence, and there is no shimmer of blue in the air, no feeling of being watched, of eyes on him, and the tether breaks, snaps apart, and he lets out a soundless shout as the backlash hits him, like a rubber band snapping back into place. The energy stops, and there is nothing in its place, and he reaches out, instinctively, searching, and finds nothing. Where the ghost was, there is blank space. Only the world, and no hum of the stars.

(the hum of the stars is in your mind and your mind only and you are alone inside of it and there is no other not anymore)

And he is alive.

“What the fuck,” Tommy is saying. His hands paw at his neck, pressing up to find his pulse, and Wilbur can feel it. The touch is warm. “What the hell did he do to you, that fucker—Wilbur? Wilbur, c’mon, answer me, man, are you still—”

“Here,” he says, and Tommy falls silent. “I’m here.”

He is here. He is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and the vines are still turning to dust above him. He is here, and he hurts, still, deeply and acutely, every inch of him aching, but his heart beats steadily, his lungs expand when he breathes, and there is no catch in his throat, no urge to cough, no churning in his stomach, no convulsions wracking him, and his vision is clear.

“Wilbur?” Tubbo asks. His voice shakes.

“I’m here,” he says again. “I’m not going. I’m still here.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, and then, Tommy’s all but on top of him, lying on his chest, wrapping his arms around him, knocking the breath right out of him, and Tubbo follows a short second behind, taking up all of the space that Tommy isn’t. He wheezes, but it’s a good sort of wheeze, even if it hurts. It definitely hurts. But he’s hardly about to get them to stop.

They pile on him, grabbing onto him like their lives depend upon it,

(or like his life depends upon it)

and he feels warm, and present, and here. Still here.

(safe)

(alive)

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. That’s about all the volume he can manage; his throat feels shredded. “I’m so sorry I scared you.”

“You’d better be sorry,” Tommy chokes out. “I thought you were gonna die.”

“I thought I was too,” he says. “But I didn’t want to. I fought it, I swear. I don’t want to go. I mean that.” They’re on top of his arms, pinning them. He gives them a nudge, experimentally, but they don’t give an inch, so he’s going to have to settle for not hugging them, apparently. “I’m staying right here. I don’t want to die.”

The words are novel. He thinks he’d like to say them over and over again, just to test them out, to feel the truth in them. He doesn’t want to die, and more than that, he rather thinks he wants to live. What a revolutionary thing it is, to want to live.

“You dickhead,” Tommy mutters, and buries his face in his shirt, which becomes damp in short order. He won’t call him on it.

“Please don’t do that again, though,” Tubbo says. “That was actively terrifying.”

He manages a laugh. The sound of it surprises him. “I’m not planning on it,” he says.

Despite the heavy weight of two teenage boys resting on him, he feels lighter than he has in weeks. Since he woke up in that forest, rain falling on his face, and turned to the arctic, to the snow and the tundra and the promise of family that he didn’t know how to feel about, the promise of a family that was scattered and broken into too many pieces. Since seeing his brother again a scarce day later, standing in the rain, the notes of the guitar fading in the air. Since the Egg, since the prison, since arguments and tentative reconciliations and everything that’s happened between now and then. And the thoughts still lurk. He can sense them in the shadows of his mind, ready to swell forth again, ready to tell him all about what he deserves and how he will be betrayed and how everyone hates him and he hates himself but for now—

For now, in this moment, he wants to live, and he wants to live well, and he pushes aside the whispers of what he deserves and lets himself be, and lets himself love.

(and lets himself be loved)

And then: footsteps. Several pairs, rushing down the corridor. He can’t get a good look, and the boys don’t seem inclined to take much notice, either. But he has a feeling as to who it is, and his suspicion is confirmed a moment later, as Fundy’s voice floats toward him, saying, “—bad, I mean, it’s really bad, I really think he’s literally dying, and I don’t, I just don’t—” He sounds as though he’s been keeping up this litany for some time, perhaps more as something to say than anything else, something to focus on, something to distract him a bit. His voice gets closer, and then stops. “Oh my god, is he dead?” His voice pitches upward, and overlaps with a sharp inhalation—Phil’s, he recognizes.

So there’s only one thing to do.

“Help,” he rasps, “I’m being crushed.”

There is a long moment of silence, and he almost wishes that Tommy and Tubbo would get up so that he could see the looks on their faces. Almost, but not quite. He’s content to stay like this for a good while longer.

“Oh my god, he’s alive,” Fundy says, and there is a sharp exhalation, also from Phil.

“You fucks,” Phil says, relief audible. “Do you know how scared I was?”

“I wasn’t,” Techno says. “I wasn’t worried at all.”

Finally, Tommy stirs, lifting his face from his chest and glaring off in the direction of the entrance. He also lifts a hand and flips them off.

“Fuck off,” he says. “We’ve just had a traumatic experience, we have. Are you going to stand there and be—and be twats, or did you bring anything useful? Like—” He stops, looking back down at him. His face is vaguely tear-stained, though Wilbur’s pretty sure that most of it is in his shirt. “Do you still need some pots? Or did—what the hell did he even do, anyway? How did that—you were definitely dying, and then he was there, all, all like that, and then he disappeared and you were better. What did he do?”

“Changed, I think,” he murmurs, and judging from the expression on Tommy’s face, he doesn’t get it. But that’s alright.

“Okay,” Phil says, and then he’s sweeping toward them and kneeling. His wings are on full display, he notes, no effort at all put toward hiding them, and maybe it doesn’t really mean anything, but he can’t help but feel glad. Phil should never have to hide his wings, no matter what condition they’re in. “Alright—here, Tubbo, could you move over a bit?”

Tubbo shifts off of him, too, his breathing unsteady. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed to match Tommy’s. He doesn’t say anything, just shuffles to the side so that he’s sitting next to Tommy. Phil shoots a quick smile at him, one that’s probably supposed to be reassuring but comes off as strained, and then, his hands are on Wilbur’s shoulders.

“You think you can sit up, Wil?” he asks, and Wilbur tries. He tries, but immediately gives it up as a lost cause as all his core muscles cry out in immediate protest.

“Sitting up ability is currently on strike, I believe,” he says, and Phil’s brow furrows in concern, but he takes it in stride. Behind him, Fundy and Techno are both hovering—though Fundy’s far more obvious about it. It is a bit funny how they’re both doing it, though, and the contrast between them, Techno’s bulk and general everything next to Fundy’s fidgeting. Fundy keeps casting glances at Techno, too, nervous ones.

Phil pulls him into an upright position, and he moans, his head swimming for a second before the lightheadedness abates. He hunches forward, letting gravity pull him back down a little; he thinks he’d flop over like a ragdoll if it weren’t for Phil steadying him.

“Where are you hurt the worst?” Phil asks, voice quiet. “Fundy said you were coughing up blood. And that you had a seizure, I’m guessing, judging from what he told us.”

He can still taste it on his tongue. Sharp iron. And his limbs are all very sore.

“A bit everywhere,” he admits. “I’m pretty sure all my organs were giving out on me at once, so I don’t think there’s one specific area that needs attention.” Phil’s expression widens into open dismay at that, and something very much like fear, and perhaps he shouldn’t have phrased it quite like that. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so blasé about his imminent death in front of the man who he begged to take his third life and definitely emotionally scarred in the process. But he’s still a bit wrapped up in the fact that he’s alive at all, alive and glad to be so.

“Okay,” Phil says, in a way that implies he definitely does not think that it’s okay, but he’s trying to keep it together. “Okay. That’s—okay. Do you think you could get down a regen?”

He pulls a face, but nods. Regen potions have never been his favorite; their magic is rough, unsubtle, far more concerned with function over comfort. But he likely needs one, or two, or several, or as many as his body can keep down, because he is alive, but probably far from alright, still; the continuing ache is evidence enough of that, and he’s fairly certain that if he tried to stand, he would tip over immediately. Phil has no reservations, bringing out a pot from his inventory and holding it up to him, a mirror of Tommy’s actions a minute before. Only this time, he brings up a shaking hand to help support the glass, even if he can’t hold its full weight, and he swallows all of it without coughing.

It gets to work. He winces, and then decides that he’s been on the ground long enough. The energy from the pot is more than enough for him to attempt to get up.

“Whoa,” Phil says, “wait, Wilbur—”

He’s up. His vision blacks out for a second, but when it clears, he’s still up, if woozy. He imagines he might need help to walk any significant distance, but he won’t need to be carried, at least. Which is nice. Being carried is undignified.

“You should absolutely not be standing up,” Tommy snaps, and he raises an eyebrow.

“And yet,” he says, spreading his arms. Once again, he gets the impression that he’s being far more casual about all of this than he should be. He imagines that it will hit him later, the horror of it, seeing Niki’s face twisted in rage, letting the Egg inside his mind once again, almost being unable to pull himself out, almost dying right after he figured out that he didn’t want to. It will all his him, he’s sure, but for now, he would like to walk out of here under his own power, his family by his side, everyone alive and unharmed, the trouble dealt with at last. “I’m alright. I actually mean that. I’m not going to keel over.”

He inhales. Wrinkles his nose. Actually, it doesn’t smell very nice in here.

“Is the rest handled?” he asks, glancing at Phil. Phil is standing very close to him, wings flared, likely ready to catch him if he needs it. He won’t, though he appreciates the gesture.

“We felt the Egg go,” Phil says. “It was like—like the world itself distorted for a second, and then patched itself back up. We were already on our way here when Fundy came to get us. In a nutshell, yes, it’s handled. Dream was still up when we left, but the rest of the Egg people just sort of—stopped. And nobody on our side went down hard. Eret and Puffy got the worst of it, but they’ll both be fine, last I saw.”

“But Dream was still up,” he says. Beside him, Tommy’s shoulders hunch.

“Not for long,” Techno says. His gaze is fixed behind them, on the Egg. “We would’ve stayed if we weren’t sure of it.” His eyes drift to Tommy’s for a second. “The others are handlin’ it. But we can go see.” And then, to Tubbo: “The totem came in handy.” A statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Tubbo says, expression inscrutable. “It did. Thank you, Technoblade.”

Techno shrugs. “I gave it to be used,” he says dryly. “Let’s not make a habit of it.” And that is a Techno way of saying you’re welcome, of burying the hatchet as much as he is able, and it’s not nearly enough, but it’s a first step. And then, Techno literally steps forward, and Wilbur is a little too concerned with the way that Tubbo stiffens to notice exactly what his intent is, which is why it takes him by surprise when Techno takes his head in his hands and presses their foreheads together.

Just for a second. But it’s an old gesture, a familiar gesture, and not one that he ever expected to receive again. His breath catches.

(you were kids the first time he did this, the first time he butted his head against yours, impossibly gentle, tender in a way you hadn’t realized Techno knew how to be, and it wasn’t until later that Phil explained it to you, explained piglin instincts and the concept of a sounder and how Techno always, always feels far more than he lets on, and always, always cares, perhaps too much, and he still does, despite everything, he still does)

And then, Techno walks forward, past them, to the husk of the Egg that lies behind, and the moment is over. But it was there. It was there, when it didn’t have to be, when Techno would still be well within his rights to hold back from them, from him, to keep his distance. But here he is, displaying open affection, and he’s not naive enough to think that means it’s all fixed, but—

Hope is a dangerous thing, but he feels in the mood to indulge. And beside him, Tubbo relaxes, and Tommy, just for a second, wears an expression that suggests a bit of hope of his own.

He turns to watch Techno as he roots through the dust, a crumbling, greyed-out monument that barely holds any shape. A reminder, and nothing more. An empty shell, and that, too, will disintegrate soon enough, leaving a room of dust and lava pools, and statues long abandoned.

Techno huffs. Reaches down. And from the middle of the Egg, he pulls out—

“Is that fucking Skeppy,” Tommy states, flat as a fucking pancake.

He blinks. Because it—is. Somehow. Fucking Skeppy. Though he looks different; parts of him are the same blue, but many patches are discolored, greyish white, and as Techno hoists him up, Wilbur thinks he sees red slipping off of him, like runny paint.

“Oh my god,” Tubbo says. “Was the Egg Skeppy this whole time?”

“I was wonderin’ where this guy got off to,” Techno says, and throws Skeppy across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, apparently unconcerned. “He hadn’t been by to bother me in a while. And BadBoyHalo kind of just sat down and started cryin’ about him, which, I won’t lie, I had no idea how to handle, not my area, but I thought he might be here. Are we leavin’ these two here, or takin’ them?”

Niki and Jack. Both on the ground, chests rising and falling. Free of the Egg, now, but he’s not sure where that leaves them. Though it would likely be—

“Leave ‘em,” Tommy says, startlingly vehement. “Just, we’ll come back, leave ‘em here for now.”

“I don’t think he meant to,” Tubbo says quietly. “I think it just happened really fast.”

“Don’t care,” Tommy says. “Leave ‘em.”

He looks back and forth between them. Gold still dances across Tubbo’s skin. And he wasn’t turned around, didn’t see what happened, but he thinks he can guess, based on everything, based on Niki’s sword at Tommy’s throat and Jack pinning Tubbo to the ground, based on their desperate, misdirected need for vengeance and the way Jack shouted and a boy who would do just about anything to ensure Tommy’s safety. Hears I don’t think he meant to, and thinks about other times, darker times,

(and meaning does not always matter, because intent is washed away in impact, and he never meant to hurt them)

and he decides not to ask. Not now. Not yet. Though it should be addressed. A lot of things should be addressed, a lot of things that they have not, yet, because there has been no time, because everything has been moving at a breakneck pace, but the pace will be slower now. The pace will be slower, and they will have time.

He looks to Fundy. Fundy stares back, not saying anything at all. His eyes are wet.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Fundy murmurs. Quiet enough that he doesn’t think anyone else hears it.

“Me too,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

A start. A first step. There are so many of those that still need to be taken. For now, Fundy’s lips curl into what might be the ghost of a smile.

They will have time.

***

The scene they return to is this: some are standing, some are sitting, all gathered in the courtyard of the castle. The gates lie wide open. The vines are gone. The sun is rising.

There is Eret, standing tall, though blood still runs down from a wound on their shoulder and another long gash on their arm. Their crown is blood splattered, their glasses still perched on their nose, though slipping down, and Wilbur glances away before he can take in something he’s not meant to see. There is Puffy, kneeling, her blood on the grass around her; it is her leg that is wounded, though it is difficult to tell how badly. There is Sam, shifting, uncertain, a lost look in his eyes as his fingers flex around his trident. There is Purpled, on the outskirts, on guard but perhaps an ally, though he has no reason to be. There is BadBoyHalo, sitting, curled into himself, tears running down his face, which is less ashen. The other members of the Eggpire cluster around him, seemingly in various states of shock. None of them move. They are mostly ignored.

There is Ranboo, also sitting. His eyes are wide. Tears are streaming down his face, too, and a bit of steam rises from his skin. He pays no mind. He’s trembling, occasionally gasping for breath through a sob.

There is Quackity, still standing, hands clutched around an axe like it’s the best protection he knows how to have. He wonders if there’s any truth to that; Quackity has never been one for fighting, though he tries.

(he wonders if Schlatt wanted to say anything to him, too. wonders if it would have done more harm than good)

And then there is Dream, lying on the ground. There is George, crouched by his side. There is Sapnap, kneeling, all his weight on the sword piercing Dream’s chest. Dream’s chest rises and falls, shallow and slow, and nobody moves. Sapnap’s face is flushed, tears in his eyes, and whether they are from anger or grief, he can’t tell.

Dark smoke puffs out from under Dream’s mask and dissipates in the air. Tommy makes a small sound, and Wilbur fits his hand into his. Tommy doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look away from the sight in front of them, but his fingers curl around his.

Sapnap moves as if to draw the sword out. Dream’s hand comes up and wraps around the hilt, stopping him.

“No,” Dream says, voice a reedy whisper, free of shadow. “You need to be sure it’s gone.”

And so they stay. The only sound is crying, and Sapnap’s harsh breaths, hitched and desperate. Both angry and grieving at once. George’s hands inch forward until they’re curled into Dream’s hoodie. It’s like a painting, the three of them. The sun crests the walls of the castle, and the rays fall on them like a caress, and the smoke stops appearing. The sigils carved into the sword dim.

Dream stops breathing. Quietly, and without fanfare. Like a sigh.

As one, more than a dozen communicators chime.

Tommy exhales shakily.

(is this closure? is this what he wanted? he doesn’t know, but there is no going back, no going back to the old days, when they were all still friends and the war was a game)

(and after everything that Dream did perhaps it feels wrong that this should end so abruptly or that he should not shove the sword in his chest himself for what he did to Tommy or that Tommy should have no say in his fate but at the same time perhaps it is right and perhaps this is the way the circle breaks at last)

Techno sighs, walks over to where Bad sits, and dumps Skeppy in front of him. As if a spell has been broken, Tubbo moves, too, crossing to Ranboo and crouching before him, speaking to him in low tones. Several others start moving, like the world was on pause and has only just resumed. Sapnap draws the sword from Dream’s chest, but he remains there, kneeling by the body.

Dream looks peaceful. Though with his mask still on, it’s impossible to tell. No one motions to remove it.

Tommy presses close to him. On the other side, Fundy steps closer. Against his back, he feels one of Phil’s wings brush against all of them, a promise of shelter, of safety. Perhaps this time, it will be kept.

Just like that, it is over. Can it be over?

(is it ever truly over?)

(but in every ending there is a beginning, and the world still spins, and the grass still grows, and the sky is still blue, and finally there is more reason to look forward than back)

The sun rises. Is rising, has risen, will rise again and again and again. And he’s lived to see it.

[daincrediblegg]

ALPHABET HEADCANONS: JACK O’NEILL

A/N: This is it!!!! I’ve caved!!!! I need more content for this man and I’ve gotta create it myself, so enjoy these unprompted lil nuggets of fluff! And don’t forget my ask box is always open for more!!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Jack is super fuckin affectionate, but he’s more of a… show don’t tell kinda guy. He’s got a bit of a hard time necessarily talking about how he feels- usually deflects things with humor. But he shows it in other ways. In warm touches, in playful side-eyes. Unrestrained by being professional he will hug you all the fuckin time. No shortage of funny little pet names either oh my god it’s like he comes up with a new one every fuckin dAY. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Jack O’Neill is a really good best friend ok. You’ve seen how he is with the rest of SG1. The dude has so much chill (unless it’s a life-or-death situation obviously), is always inviting you to go fishing. He’s REALLY good in tough situations simply because of his sense of humor and general chill attitude. GREAT at reducing anxiety like guy is a human valium- always knows how to distract anyone before their brain goes into some sort of head-spiral about anything. Loyal as SHIT when you’re in with him he’s pretty much ride or die for you even if you don’t agree with him on everything he would still probably take a bullet for his best friends. Also the biggest hype man- whatever you’re good at he has 100% faith in you to do it right and will always shut down negative thoughts about your abilities. 10/10 on the bestie scale tbh the man is a LIFER.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He’s actually, perhaps surprisingly, a really snuggly guy when you’re in a relationship with him. He may be… a little touch-starved since the divorce, and kinda misses it, so expect an arm draped over your shoulder or around your waist whenever you’re in a room together, and to be damned near joined at the hip when you’re not in public. The man is an actual living cuddle bug and he’s so sweet jesus. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

At one point in time he’d have liked nothing more than to settle down, get a dog, just enjoy being retired, but honestly he doesn’t mind that that ideal is a little further away than he thought now that he’s in the Stargate Program. He likes what he does- as stressful as it is sometimes, but there’s never a dull moment. That’s for sure. He’s very good about cleaning and keeping things tidy generally (it’s that military training hard at work), but cooking??? Eh??? He’s passable, can make some basic stuff and ofc he loves to grill (expect very charred meat) but… just don’t ask him to cook anything too elaborate (like… this is a dude who thinks beer is a good omelette ingredient jfc do not let him near a stove for anything more elaborate than a fried egg he’s a fucking gremlin man). 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Quickly. And probably succinctly. The only time he’d really get blunt about something is if he had to end it with his partner for some reason. Just to spare himself and his partner the pain. It’s not without emotion though. Oh no. He may move on from things with relative ease- more likely than not without malice for the other person, but he’d never leave anyone without saying a proper goodbye if he’s the one who has to end it. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Probably not too quick. He’s not even sure he really wants to get married again after how everything with Sarah went down. He’d have to be pretty crazy about someone to want to try all that again, but if that happens… then maybe he won’t be thinking about it like that. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

H-… have you seen this man??? How tender he is with his partners??? It’s unbelievable that a guy like him has the capacity to be as gentle as he is but it’s breathtaking, and it’s only a glimpse of what he’s capable of. He may be a military man- but doing what he does requires much more care and dexterity than people think, and his touch only serves to show as much. This is the guy who holds your face or tugs you closer when you kiss him. This is the same guy who can diffuse bombs and wield a firearm like an extension of himself and handles you with the same amount of reverence and care if not more. 

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Oh he loves hugs. Loves them. May not do hugs quite as often as he might like actually. Hugs his close friends plenty and especially when they need it, but hugs you even more. He’s a really good hugger too. They’re just encompassing and strong and warm and if you’re not careful you could get addicted. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He waits on this one. For like… a long while. He probably knows it deep down long before he says it, probably won’t really admit it to himself for a long while even when he realizes that’s what he feels. But one day it probably just… slips out. Unprompted. And it’ll shock you both, but one thing’s for sure; he means it with his whole chest and nothing less. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh you have no jealousy troubles with this man. He’s an adult, and he recognizes that he’s not the center of everyone’s universe and that people can have just friendly relationships with other people of the gender they’re attracted to. He wouldn’t be in any kind of serious relationship with someone he didn’t trust them implicitly from the start. The man is truly a champ at being chill as hell. If he ever does feel it you’d probably never fuckin know it either. Guy can keep that shit close to his chest if he wants. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Warm, enveloping, grounding. The kind that make you feel like you’re sinking into something solid, that nothing could hurt you. If he’s kissing you he’s taking his time. Holding you close. Meaning it. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

ARE YOU KIDDING??? HE’S FANTASTIC AROUND KIDS!!!! EARTH KIDS?? ALIEN KIDS??? THEY ALL LOVE HIM!!! HE IS JUST DAD SHAPED!!!!!! TO EVERYONE!!!! He’s… not sure if he’d ever want to try to have another kid of his own, maybe, but he has SERIOUSLY considered adopting some alien kids in the past at MINIMUM and probably would if he wasn’t always going off-world.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

A lot of groaning, at least when he wakes up at first, probably some sleepy kisses while resisting the temptation to uh… get frisky before work. But he’ll get up, clean up, shave and do his silly little crossword (and he DELIBERATELY puts in wrong answers for funsies I know this in my heart). Most days he probably eats breakfast at the base, but on his days off he would probably take turns with you making breakfast- makes egg and bacon smiley faces when it’s his turn (and the occasional beer omelet if he’s feeling lazy). PROBABLY would pick up donuts for the weekend too. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Usually with a couple of beers, snuggling up under a nice flannel blanket and watching The Simpsons, or whatever else is on TV. Maybe some take-out from one of the usual places (I’m convinced he’s got like 5 or 6 places in town he’s a regular at that he goes to on rotation) . Probably gets a fire going if things are getting chilly up in Colorado. Just likes to settle in and maybe pass out on the couch a lil. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s a low and slow kind of guy. Both for his own emotional well-being and for his partner’s. He’s got some pretty nasty demons in his past, and they overwhelm even him sometimes.  He knows that it’s important to talk about it, and while if he really loves someone he won’t mind sharing these things with them… it just takes time for him to work up the courage to face them again himself and put it all into words. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

With a partner, he’s just about as far away from easily angered as a guy can get. He’s actually very chill with the people he loves. There’s sincerely so very little that you could do that could piss him off to the point of losing his temper- and even then he’d never shout at you or anything- that’s the kind of shit he has to do and see enough at work, and he pretty explicitly never wants to cross that line with someone he’s in a romantic relationship with. And even if he is angry for some reason he’s never really angry at his partner- at least in affairs of the heart he pretty much always remembers the love he has for you comes first and foremost. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Believe it or not he actually is *very* good at remembering things about people. He may be one whole dumbass, and can’t do math, but that’s because most of his brain capacity is taken up with things about the people he cares about. Probably knows you down to your favorite food- enough to know to bring it to you to cheer you up, or suggest watching your favorite movie when you get home after a long day. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He probably remembers the moment you met the most clearly- the moment when you were suddenly in his life even though he didn’t know what you would end up meaning to him down the line. 

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Jack is honestly the kind of guy who would rather die himself than stand idly by and watch someone he cares about die. This man would take a staff blast and so much worse for you and that’s a guarantee. But when he’s down that means he’s a little more vulnerable. He really appreciates it when he knows someone is gunning to keep him alive too. To know that despite his bravado and despite his own hero complex someone’s just as concerned with his livelihood. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He’d put a little effort in. He’s more on the low-key side, not as big of a fan of grand gestures, and of course sometimes the job gets in the way of putting plans into motion (and he’d need a partner who’d understand that), but if that does happen he inevitably finds a way to make it up- sometimes even ahead of time if he has even a shred of warning about some kind of impending earthly peril. But when he plans something it’s usually very sweet, and far from an unfun cliché (but at least one time for valentine's day you *will* come home to rosepettals on the floor leading to the bedroom to find him in some silk boxers on the bed because of course he’s the gift). But usually things with him are… I don’t wanna say spontaneous because he does usually have at least a little bit of a game plan, but he’s all for improvisation and just loves getting swept up in doing whatever with you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

I wanna take some time to call him out thoroughly on the fuckin beer omelets thing my guy do you???? Have taste buds???? Listen. With other shit in there I might understand. Beer and cheese is a good combo. But???? JUST BEER IN YOUR EGGS AVAJSFHR!!!!!! Of all the stuff you’ve done in this whole series this is probably your greatest war crime and I’m gonna fucking invoke the 3rd amendment for it. Oh also his fridge is nasty and full of “science experiments” (which like... same) but guy I get why you always be getting take out now jesus fucking christ.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not overly. You’ve seen how this man dresses. He has his little inexplicably fashionable moments, but by *far* he’s more concerned with practicality at least where his attire and physical appearance are concerned. That being said, if you compliment him on like literally anything he will get a major confidence boost about it and will try to do it/wear it more. 

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

No… and yes. With all he’s seen and been through, he knows not everything is certain, not everything is meant to be and nothing is forever. But at the same time… he feels just a little better off with you around. He feels this kind of thing with everyone he’s really close with in their own unique way. He really doesn’t know where he’d be without the people he cares about who care about him back and can’t imagine a scenario in which he’d feel whole as a person without them coming into his life at the time they did. And you’re absolutely no different. 

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

So we know Jack has like the biggest fuckin sweet tooth. Pie, Cake, Donuts, ice cream, all of it. There’s always sweets in the house. And if you *make* some for him??? He will automatically love you forever. Also would probably be ok with you feeding him sweets. Warning tho: He’d probably do it back and get it all over your face and whoops now you’re making out covered in frosting and bits of cake and the only way to clean up is to lick it off each other’s faces oh no oh dear. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Petty, pushy people. Just doesn’t have the time. Jack can honestly vibe with just about everyone, even people who are wildly different than him, but the only thing that’s really an outright nope for him is people who are so wrapped up in petty problems they can’t see any kind of bigger picture. Or people who are just generally *too* pushy or overly dramatic about every little thing for little to no reason to the point of being just plain childish. He can handle just about everything else but that??? Nope.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Kinda sprawls out a lil in his sleep. Typically a stomach sleeper but shifts to his back sometimes (especially to cuddle). He’s always at least touching you in his sleep because no matter how much or little he just likes knowing you’re there.