#i left it semi vague so feel free to run w it!!!

[hehosts-moved]

❝ — how do you like your tea?? ❞ with closed eyes, he finds the menu easily, sliding it forward to his companion. ❝ the way a person prefers their tea can say a lot about them. i typically like my teas black and unsweetened. i'm having an earl grey today. what are you having?? ❞ // * @7hell liked for a starter from yong-sun !!

[maybankiara]

THESE WICKED GAMES WE PLAY

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Implied Fem!Reader

summary: Barry decides he needs to get money back from Rafe, one way or another. When you become a part of the bargain, Rafe decides that’s enough.

w/c: 3.2k

t/w: kidnapping, canon-typical violence, toxic relationship

a/n: this is basically something straight out of an action movie (...or obx). not proofread so will probably contain typos, but i’ll get around to doing that. it’s midnight. sorry about the formatting, i did this on my phone.

masterlist | tag list

written for @whormotional

Your boyfriend deals coke, alright. It's something that passes by unacknowledged for the sake of whatever relationship you're trying to keep in place, with your college and his college and whatnot.

When it comes to dating Rafe Cameron, "easy" is the last word you'd use to describe it.

(You often wonder - why stay? What is it that's keeping you around? Then you see him lying in bed next to you, eyes closed and messy hair covering them, and you see the boy you fell in love with. You hope he's still somewhere in there, waiting his turn on the surface.)

(It's hope.)

That exact hope is what you're clinging to as you walk through the cut, looking for your boyfriend. It's summer and the North Carolina heat is dry, palpable, as your shoes are already warm against the pavement.

A kook is not welcome to the Cut.

You keep one of your hands in your pocket, the other one to your ear, dial tone turning to voicemail for what feels like the hundredth time.

'Fuck.'

Another five minute break. You slip your phone back into your pocket, turning on some music to tune out the voices of people around you. They all seem to be taunting you, even if you don't stick out like a sore thumb without your fancy car - even if you know nobody is taking notice of you.

Rafe doesn't do this often. If he plans to go MIA for the day, he'll shoot you a text in the morning and let you know. He'll call you in the middle of the day to see if you're doing okay.

He'll care.

Well, not today.

It's nearly eight in the evening and you haven't heard from him since late last night. As far as you know, neither have Topper nor Kelce. The Camerons don't know shit about Rafe anyway, so that's a dead end in the start.

It doesn't warrant you searching for him through the middle of fucking nowhere. The centre of the Cut, the part of it that's looking semi-decent, is long behind you. Your feet are uncomfortable on a gravel road, grass too dry to grow anywhere

The next few moments happen in slow motion and fast forward at once. You feel a hand on your bicep, and you see that you're standing genuinely in the middle of nowhere, and the air feels cold in your throat. The song in your ears has ended and all you hear is the hum that's an aftermath of loud music, and someone's footsteps on the gravel.

The hand gripping you spins you in place, and you feel warm metal against your back.

You don't fight back. You freeze.

The person in front of you is your height, and he's got a bandanna covering the lower half of his face. You see that his hair is black and tied up in a ponytail, and you look into his eyes, but all you remember about them is how fearful they make you feel.

Another metal is pressed against you, this time cold, and on the bare flesh of your neck.

'Get in the van.'

A door slides open and you're dragged into the van, frozen still. The man jumps in behind you and someone holds your hands behind your back. The engine hums and the door slides shut, and the moment the metal blocks daylight, your brain catches up.

'LET ME OUT! YOU FUCKIN' PSYCHOS! WHAT THE FUCK!'

You scream your lungs out and push forward, rashly enough that the person holding you back doesn't have time to harden their grip, and you slip free. In front of you is the man with the bandanna, and all you see is your right hand pushing into his chest as your left reaches for the door. He falls -- you open the door -- the van swerves, and you fall back into the arms of the person holding you earlier.

'LET ME GO!' you scream again, reaching forward like a tied bull, but the grip is tight this time around.

'Shut the fuck up, bitch,' says the one with the bandanna, rising from the floor.

The road is bumpy and you keep fighting to maintain your balance. He wipes the corner of his mouth where a trickle of blood dripped from, and you wonder for a moment if you hit his face, or he got it in the fall.

'Let. Me. Go.'

'Aren't you going to bargain, you fuckin' kook bitch?' The bandanna is off, you notice only now, and you have a vague feeling as if you've seen his face before; your body goes stiff. 'Yeah, I know who you are. Country Club's pussy.'

Your brain works as if on speed -- Country Club. Rafe. You've heard only one person call him that.

The lump in your throat is heavy to swallow, but you do it anyway, straightening your back as much as the van in motion allows you.

The urge to spit in his face is almost too much to take.

'Rafe will kill you, Barry.'

The grin with the golden teeth he flashes you makes your stomach churn. Chills run down your spine, but you keep your teeth clenched, and eyes full of spite.

All it does is make him laugh. 'He doesn't have it in him.'

There's something cold on your throat; cold and sharp. Barry slides the blade across, pressing just tight enough to make you feel the hints of pain, but not enough to hurt you.

You keep your chin high, even if the tremble has already betrayed you.

'Your boyfriend owes me money,' he says. His accent is dirty--pogue--and sleazy in a way that makes you want to throw up. 'A lot of it.'

'You know he's going to pay you back. He always pays you back.'

The pressure on your throat increases in a moment. Your whole body clenches and you bite down on the inside of your lip, feeling the blade cut into the skin.

'Oh, he gon' pay back, alright. Where is he?'

You stare at him for a moment, waging your options. 'I don't know. I haven't heard from him the whole day.'

Barry's eyes squint as he leans into your face, close enough for you to smell tobbaco and weed coming out of his mouth. The pressure on your neck dissipates, enough to let you breathe.

'Fucker better not be dead in a ditch.'

'He'll pay you back,' you promise.

He glances you up and down, and you feel as if someone is throwing filth all over you. He licks his lips as they stretch into a grin, and he nods to himself. 'Yeah. One way or another.'

If there is a God, you pray to him.

--

Rafe is losing his mind. He knows he's fucked up.

There was a call-in last night, a delivery to some of his college friends on the mainland. They were throwing a massive house party, and a lot of people needed a supplier, and it was easy to just call him.

He caught the last ferry over, drove three hours, all without telling you because he knew you'd worry -- and there should've been no reason for you to worry.

He wasn't going to stay, or drink, or do coke.

But he did. He did all three of the things he told himself he wouldn't.

By the time he woke up, it was nearly three in the afternoon, his phone had been smashed the night before, and there was no way to get a hold of you. He sat into his car and shot straight for Kildare, looking for you at home and every place he could find, until it was Topper who told him you'd went looking for him.

In the Cut.

A certain kind of darkness he'd never felt before washed over him. You weren't answering your phone when Topper called, and it didn't take long for Rafe to get back into his car and ignore all the speed limits on his way to the cut. He didn't care about being seen -- all he wanted was to be wrong. To roll up into Barry's backyard and for Barry to have no idea where you could be.

That's what he wanted. And when he got there, and no one was there, he waited. He'd wait until fucking Barry came back and he can make sure he didn't do anything with you.

Rafe fucked up, but he knew that if Barry had done anything to you, he'll fuck up to the point of bloody hands and time behind bars.

And he wouldn't hesitate.

So when Barry doesn't answer his phone and Rafe sees his van roll up, but it's someone else in the driver's seat, and the van is rocking unnaturally, the darkness falls over his eyes again.

He doesn't see red. He doesn't see black.

He sees Barry's face when he walks out of the van with you behind him, a drip of dark red on your neck, and he lunges.

--

You don't comprehend Rafe until he's at Barry's throat. It's a flash of blonde and a polo shirt and mutli-coloured shorts, and then Barry's down and you recognize the grunts and the hair and the clothes, and then you're screaming his name.

Someone comes behind you and places a hand over your mouth, grabbing your tied hands with another. Someone else jumps out of the van and onto Rafe, knocking him into the floor.

Your screams are muffled, but you bite the hand on your mouth and they're loud again, until you're hit in the face. The pain is numbing -- dull and painful sound of flesh against flesh echoing in your skull. You've got a hand covering your screams again, and you stumble backwards.

Next to you, on the ground, Rafe is pushing himself up with a streak of red coming out of the left side of his hair. He looks at you and you see the rage and the fear all in one -- "Y/N.'

You try to say something, but it hurts when you move your mouth, so all that comes out is a whimper.

He reaches for you but a guy smacks him on the side of his face. Rafe stumbles towards you, hands outstretched, but the loss of balance is enough for the guy to pin him against the wall, gun to his temple.

You scream.

The guy hits you again, and you smell copper.

Barry gets himself off the ground and presses the heel of his palm to his temple, and a mixture of blood and dirt remains on it. He spits blood and wipes his mouth, wiping the rest of his face with the bandanna. His left eye is swollen and there are a few cuts from Rafe's rings scattered here and there, bruises already starting to form.

You glance at Rafe, and you see him struggling to get to you. Even with a gun to his head -- he doesn't stop trying.

Another whimper leaves your mouth and the guy holding you pulls your head back, to the point where it's painful, and Rafe screams 'HEY! LET GO OF HER YOU FUCKIN'---'

Barry slaps him across the face. You hear skin snap and Rafe grunts in pain.

'Shut your damn mouth, Country Club.' He comes closer and takes over the gun, letting the other guy hold Rafe in place. 'Your girl over there seems to be ready for some f--'

'I've got your money.'

'Now we're talkin'.'

A satisfied grin stretches across Barry's features, whereas Rafe's neck tenses, veins looking as if they're about to burst. He glances at you for a second, as if he's trying to tell you something, but you don't get it -- you're barely standing on your feet.

The gun travels from Rafe's forehead to underneath his chin, pushing his head backwards.

No. You surge forward, the moment's weakness allowing to to take two steps closer until Barry waves his free hand and there's something cold and circular pressed into the back of your head, and you whimper again.

Rafe twitches, but is pushed back.

'Nu-uh, that ain't how we doin' this. Gimme money, and y'all loverbirds walk outta here alive.'

The threat makes your bones shudder; 'Please.'

You don't know if you're begging Rafe or Barry or God, but one of them has got to answer.

Rafe catches your eye and nods at you, tears streaming down his face. He's no less afraid than you are -- somehow, that hurts even more. 'I won't let anything happen to you.'

'Yadda, yadda, yadda. Pay up, Country Club.'

'It's in the glove compartment,' Rafe says.

'Everything?'

'Half.' Rafe tenses again, and you see a flash of bravery across his features. 'I'll give you the rest when you let her go.'

Your boyfriend laughs, a maniacal laugh you've never heard before -- desperate and high-pitched; the laughter of someone who laughs in the face of danger.

The gun on your head moves from back to the side; you can almost hear it sliding.

It's even colder on the bare skin of your temple.

'If you hurt her, you'll never get the other half of the money,' says Rafe, poison dripping from his voice.

Barry contemplates this for a second. 'You're not the one in position of demands.'

'I swear.'

For a moment, Barry's moment tenses on the trigger finger, safety off. Your chest tightens and you're convinced he's going to shoot, and you can't even move -- but he doesn't.

The breath that passes your lips is shaky.

'I know where y'all live,' concludes Barry. 'You either gimme the money now, or I come take it.' He glances at you, checking you up and down, and Rafe squirms in the guy's arms at the sight, a hand covering whatever he's saying. 'I won't let her off easy come next time.'

You watch as the guy lets go of Rafe, now only Barry's gun pressed to his chin keeping him in place. He walks over to the truck, opens the passenger door and the glove compartment, and takes out a wad of cash.

Some part of your heart sinks, and seeing the way Rafe is looking at you, he knows it, too.

The cash is placed on Barry's empty hand. 'Damn, kid. Y'all delievered.'

'Let her go.'

'You're not in the position to make demands.'

'You promised---'

'And I shit on my promises, wipe my ass with 'em, make sure it's sparkly clean,' snaps Barry. The gun is cocked, a crook in Barry's elbow as he's inches of Barry's face. 'You better give me the other half or it ain't gon' be promises I wipe my ass with.'

Rafe gives in. He tells them about the secret compartment he had installed in the back of the truck, the one not even you knew about. There's a wad of cash in there equal in size to the one Barry gave to someone for counting. You're shaking, trembling, feeling your knees are about to give in; all you can feel is that, and the gun pressed to the side of your head.

It ends up being almost a third more than Rafe owed him, but Barry takes it all anyway.

They let you go first. You've still got a gun to your head as you roll down the passenger window and get into the truck. Barry promises Rafe to blow your brains out in case of any funny business, and leads Rafe to the driver's side.

He places a hand over yours, but you pull it back.

You see his heart shatter.

When the guns are away, Rafe drives the two of you out of the Cut, just driving around the island. You don't want to go home -- he doesn't want to go home. For a while, you don't talk, save for the one time he asks you if you're okay. You shake your head and he says he's sorry, but sorry won't change anything.

Sorry won't take away the feeling of a knife to your throat, or a hand hitting your cheek, or the gun ready to bang.

He pulls up at a gas station, refills the thank, goes into the store. He comes out with a bag full of snacks and two bottles of water, looking as if nothing happened.

'How can you be so calm?'

Rafe starts the car and comes onto the road, taking a long time to answer. 'Because you're okay.'

You feel like you've been slapped in the face. 'Is this a normal thing for you? Being beaten to a pulp, a gun to your head?'

'No,' he says. While you can tell it's the truth, it still doesn't make it okay, how easy he's done this. 'I fucked up, Y/N.'

'You fucked up, alright. Where did you get that money from? Did you go rob a bank today, that's why you were gone and I was the one who got my ass handed to me?'

'Please don't do this.'

'Do what?' You watch him avoid eye contact; you watch the arch of his brows, the slope of his nose, the curve of his Cupid's bow, and wonder if you'll ever be able to see him the same way. 'Rafe, you're a fuckin' drug dealer. I don't want to have anything to do with that.'

'You don't have to,' he offers, speeding up a little. 'We could just keep separate---'

'WELL HOW'S THAT WORKING OUT SO FAR!'

Rafe swerves and the truck hits the side of the road, jumping you to a startle. You clutch onto the handrail above your head -- Rafe turns the wheel to the other side -- a car coming in your direction honks and moves out of your way -- Rafe gets the car in control.

Your heart is beating fast, and you're done.

'Take me home.'

'Y/N---'

'No,' you say, your hand a barrier between the two of you. 'Just... don't. I've tried to ignore that part of you, but I'm over that.'

'You're breaking up with me,' he realises.

(It shouldn't hurt; but hope died when you saw the boy you loved on top of another man, beating the shit out of him.)

'Yes.'

He doesn't argue -- knowing him, he'll call you later, when he's given you space and you've had the chance to calm down.

You know each other too well.

(Hope died when he was the reason why there were moments when you thought you wouldn't see your family again.)

He drops you off at your home, doesn't even turn the engine off. His hand catches yours before you leave and he says he's sorry once more, with tears staining his cheek, but you shake your head and rip your hand out of his.

This has been a long time coming; you can no longer live in a lie.

(The Rafe you fell in love with is gone.)

★

tagging. @jjtheangel @teenwaywardasgardian @thelocalpogue @jjmaybanky @sacredto @chasefreakinstokes @drewstarkey @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @margaritatimebaybee @outrbank @yourlocalauthor @justawilddreamerchild @snkkat @mynamewontwork13 @sunwardsss @storiesbymads @koufaxx @drewstarkeyobx @ilovejjmaybank @jjmaybanksbaby @mahleeyuh @starkeymarkey @nicolewithasoul @kiarawilliams127 @butgilinsky @bricksatanakinswindow @starlightstarkey @copper-boom @starrystarkey93 @hotel-colson @stargazingstarkey @outerbanksbro @anonymous0writer @annedub @outerbongs @jjandreidsgirl @jjmaybanqs​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @maybanksbaby​ @yelyahryan

[idnek83]

Aid - Chapter 12/13

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Soda Kazuichi/Tanaka Gundham

Tags: Alternate Universe - Island Mode, No Game Spoilers, Masturbation,  Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Grinding, Wet Dreams, Anal Fingering,  Friends With Benefits,  Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, Anal Sex

Summary: Everyone is hot and half naked because of their beach vacation. Soda is horny and tries to do something about it. Gundham tries to help and does. It all gets a little out of hand.

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Read on Ao3

This Chapter: Soda gets some advice from an unexpected source: Soda tries to run from his problems, and realizes that's why he has so many.

_____________________

Soda was sure to stay far away from the ranch, heading in the opposite direction as he left the hotel area. Seeing Gundham just then would be unbearable, he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the anger on Gundham’s face, knew the hurt would be even worse.

He just needed to stay away for now.

It all could have been so easy if he hadn’t been so god damned stupid. There must have been signs that Gundham was into him, right? Something anyone else would have caught onto…

Like… maybe those names Gundham always called him. What was a consort anyways? He knew it had something to do with kings, so like… a king’s friend? Or was it more like and advisor or something? He wasn’t sure, he’d have to look it up later.

He didn’t even know where to start with paramour, he could vaguely recall a band with a similar name, but that was about it.

But it wasn’t always just ‘consort’ or ‘paramour’, Gundham would sometimes use other words too.

‘Dark’ had been the first one, back when Gundham had referred to him as ‘companion’ more often then not, then at some point it had become ‘dear’. Then ‘sweet’ and ‘dearest’ had worked their way in, along with that word, ‘consort’, that felt like it meant so much more than friend…

But none of that was explicitly romantic, right? Besides ‘dark’ and ‘consort’, Soda was pretty sure he’d called Hajime all of those things before…

Then ‘paramour’… Gundham had first called him that after the night on the beach. It always felt a little… flirtier than ‘consort’, but most of that was probably just cus Soda didn’t know what it meant, right? Or maybe it was something about the way Gundham said it? He remembered Gundham calling him that as he begged him to fuck him the previous night…

Soda’s face colored. Not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

That hadn’t been the only thing Gundham had called him that night though, another new word had entered his speech: ‘beloved’.

Soda blushed even harder.

Okay, so it was pretty hard to interpret that as anything other than romantic.

But Soda had been way too turned on to even notice it…

So maybe there hadn’t really been signs that Gundham was into him? At least not before he had started calling him ‘beloved’ last night. But then there was…

The way Gundham had always seemed so focused on him while they were touching each other, the way he was gentle, paid attention to whether Soda was feeling good, made sure to make him feel cherished with every touch.

Soda wished he could say he did the same for Gundham…

The way Gundham had held him when he was upset, never made him feel bad for crying, and always made sure he knew he was there to talk, while never making him feel like he had to talk if he didn’t want to.

It was so easy for Gundham to make him feel safe…

Yeah. The signs had definitely been there.

He was just the worlds biggest idiot.

He was crying again, out in public now like a loser. He just sat where he was on the beach and hid his face in his arms.

He hoped no one saw him.

“Soda?”

Fuck everything.

At first he didn’t want to acknowledge her, thought that maybe she’d just go away if he didn’t.

But Gundham wanted them to get along better, so…

“Hi miss Sonia.” He didn’t lift his head, he didn’t want her to see him crying.

There was a moment where nothing happened and Soda almost thought she had left, but then he heard the rustle of fabric and saw the light shift as she sat next to him.

He heard her exhale slowly.

“Is something… no. Something is upsetting you. Would you like to speak with me about it?”

He lifted his head to look at her then. What was going on? Why was Sonia even talking to him, not to mention asking if he wanted to talk about his problems.

“I… what’re you doing Sonia?” She had raised her hand as if to pat Soda on the back.

Sonia blushed a little, but her face was determined.

“I am comforting a classmate.” She patted his back a few times, a little too forcefully to really be comforting, then quickly withdrew her hand.

Soda was still confused.

“But, why? I mean… it’s me?”

Sonia looked away from him.

“It was brought to my attention that I do not treat you well.”

Right, Gundham had said he talked to her.

“I decided I will try to improve the way that I treat you. And when I saw you crying I-“

Shit, she had seen him crying. The thought made him want to cry more, but what really made the tears begin to well up again was the fact that she was being nice because of Gundham.

Here was Sonia, trying to comfort him, and it was all because Gundham had asked her to be kinder to him. And how had he repaid Gundham for doing that?

By calling him a sex thing.

He was crying again.

“Shit, s-sorry. I shouldn’t be crying-” Soda tried to wipe away his tears.

“No! It is okay! Please feel free to-” Sonia looked like she was panicking.

“And I s-shouldn’t have treated you so-” The tears just kept coming.

“It was cruel of my to ignore you-” Sonia was tearing up too.

“I really didn’t mean to-” He felt even worse for making her cry.

“It was I who-” She stopped herself to breathe, and Soda unconsciously did the same.

They looked at each other, both red in the face and teary eyed, and Soda felt something shift.

“I’m sorry.” They both spoke at the same time, and their faces mirrored each others shock.

Sonia smiled a little, and Soda thought she might be suppressing a laugh. He smiled back.

“I… would very much like if we could restart our relationship. Would that be ‘cool’ with you?”

“More than cool.”

Sonia held out her hand and Soda shook it.

“Then it has been made official. From now on we will be fond friends.” They let go of each other’s hands and sat in silence for a moment, looking out at the ocean.

Soda knew that wasn’t the end of it. One day they were going to have to sit down and have a real conversation about it, one where Soda could properly apologize for the way he treated Sonia.

“You do not treat each other fairly.”

Right. Each other.

Maybe Sonia would apologize to him too then. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But he was happy that it was out in the open now at least, happy that Sonia knew that he knew he had been treating her badly, knew that he wanted to change that.

And he was happy that now they might be able to become real friends.

He smiled to himself at the word: friends. Not too long ago he would have seen this as another opportunity to try to get with Sonia, but the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He must have grown some.

And it probably helped that he was hopelessly into Gundham.

Even if he had fucked that up.

He looked at Sonia, who was smiling softly at the sea. Maybe apologies weren’t as hard as he thought.

“Sonia?”

“Yes?” She turned and smiled at him, but he could see a bit of hesitation in her eyes. Yeah, they definitely needed to have another conversation later.

“Have you… seen Gundham today?” There was part of him that wanted her to say no.

“Ah, yes. I saw him when he came to pick up his breakfast this morning.” Something made her frown. “He looked very tired and very upset... Was it you who was the cause of that?” She sort of looked like she was getting ready to yell at him.

“… Probably.” He couldn’t tell her the whole truth but- “We, um, had a fight.”

She deflated a little.

“Oh. You… you did not fight about me, did you?”

“Nah.” He laughed a little, awkwardly. “Well, I guess you were part of it? But don’t worry, it was mostly just me being stupid…”

Sonia looked like she was thinking.

“I visited the farm today, after breakfast.” Jealousy flickered through Soda’s brain, and he told it to fuck off. “Gundham was there, talking to the Four Dark Devas of Destruction. He… he sounded sad, and when I greeted him, he had none of his usual enthusiasm.” She swept some hair from her face. “Whatever it is you fought about, it seems to have upset him greatly…”

Yeah, no surprises there.

“I know. Its my fault.”

“Then why have you not apologized?” Sonia was once again filled with her usual intensity.

“W-what?” He was taken aback by the sudden shift in mood. Sonia was staring at him intently.

“You believe it is your fault he is upset?”

“Y-yeah.”

“And you know what it is you have done wrong?”

“Yeah...”

“Then apologize, you bastard.”

It always took Soda by surprise when Sonia swore, but her blunt logic surprised him even more.

It was his fault and he knew what he did wrong, so he should just apologize? Well, yeah, but it wasn’t that easy…

“But he doesn’t want to talk to me right now…”

“Of course he does not want to talk to you!” Ouch. “He does not want to talk because you have not apologized yet!” She was up on her knees now, leaning towards him with a determined look in her eyes.

“W-well, yeah, but he, um, said he wanted some time to think?” He had said that, why was it a question now? Soda was falling apart under Sonia’s intensity.

“If you fought this morning then he has had plenty of time already. You should apologize now, and if he decides he would like more time to think, then at least he will know that you are sorry!”

“He already knows I’m sorry…”

“Does he?”

Did he?

Shit.

He didn’t.

Soda had never actually said sorry after the whole ‘just a sex thing’ thing. He had tried, but Gundham had been too upset and made him leave before he could.

Fuck.

Gundham was currently under the impression that Soda actually had though of him as just a sex thing, that Soda really didn’t want anything else out of their relationship.

Fuck shit fuck.

Sonia was right, he needed to apologize and make it clear to Gundham that that wasn’t true, that he really hadn’t meant to hurt him. After all, if Gundham did all his thinking without actually knowing the truth, then he wouldn’t be able to come to a real conclusion, right?

He stood up too quickly, it startled Sonia a little.

“Sorry Sonia.” He extended a hand to help her up. “But you’re right. I… I need to go apologize. Right now!” Sonia took his hand and stood. He noted the surprise in her face when he let go, as well as the smile that followed it.

“Thank you.” Soda knew it was both for helping her up, and for not being a creep about holding her hand. Good, they were making progress. Now hopefully things would go that smoothly with Gundham.

He waved goodbye and jogged off in the direction of the ranch.

He needed to talk to Gundham. Now.

Next Chapter

[sam-lives-story]

#SamLives - Chapter 15

“Marble Theory”

[Previous|Next?]

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

Chase came to a slow stop behind the pair, and when he caught sight of the Skype call, he grinned. He strolled over and leaned down to get into the video frame, propping his elbows on the back of Jack and Mark’s chairs and smiling between their tense faces, oblivious to it all.

“Sup bro! You’re MatPat, yeah?”

Matt had gone very still, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth hanging open in a search for words that, Jack had a feeling, would never come. His expression was familiar to the Irishman...in that it was very, very similar to the one he had worn when he had accidentally seen Sam for the first time.

“W-What–”

Jack sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair, slouching back in his seat.

“Chase,” he mumbled, almost apologetically for Matt’s sake, “this is Matt. Matt...this is...part of that ‘Serious Shit’ we need to talk about.”

Matt dropped his Diet Coke.

 The Skype call fell silent for a long moment.

Mark managed to draw Chase into a sheepish state of quiet with an exasperated look and a huff, Sam curled closer into Jack’s shoulder from the tension in the room alone, and Jack waited with baited breath to see how Matt would react once he was free from his shocked, stunned stupor. None of them had to wait long.

“What?!” Matt demanded, both hands clutching at his hair. His voice had gone high and squeaky, and semi-hysterical laughter bubbled past his lips. “Wait - what?! That’s - he’s–”

Then he was grinning, excited, baffled joy lighting up his entire being. His exhaustion from before seemed to vanish behind utter glee.

“He’s alive, yeah,” Jack nodded, starting to smile himself. Chase fell back into a cocky grin and dragged a chair around the table, straddling it backwards and leaning forward between the YouTubers again to keep himself in the conversation.

“He looks just like you.” Matt sounded in awe. “But how–”

“Probably the same reason as Sam and Tim,” Mark supplied. “I’ve got a theory about belief playing a huge part in this, and though I’m not sure how to prove it, it’s the best one we’ve got so far.”

“Tim…?”

“Tiny Box Tim.”

Sam perked up at the name. He nodded happily and swooped into the air, doing a little loop and darting out of the room...perhaps in search of his newfound friend.

“That’s...your channel mascot, right?” Matt hazarded, looking almost uncertain, and Mark shrugged.

“Essentially. Or, he used to be. Not so much now-a-days, but that’s for his own safety more than anything else.”

Jack blinked. Oh. That...made sense, actually. He’d been vaguely aware - if not actively so - that Mark hadn’t really mentioned Tim recently on his channel, but it wasn’t as if he had known Tim was real until recently either.

“So–” Matt stooped out of frame, reappearing with the fallen Diet Coke in his grip and toying with the bottle between his hands. He ran a hand through his hair a few times, puzzling something out, then he spoke again. “So. Okay. So. Sam and Tim are real. And now...Chase, was it…?”

“Yeah bro. Chase Brody.” Chase gave Matt a tiny two-fingered wave with a proud little smirk.

“Chase Brody,” Matt nodded in thanks. “And now Chase is real. So that’s three characters that have come to life, right? And supposedly, if Mark is to be believed then – what?”

He trailed off with a question at the look Mark and Jack were exchanging on the other side of the camera. A strain had appeared behind their eyes, a tightness in their expressions, and Chase seemed to have turned a little grim as well. His jaw had gone tight and he looked away, tossing a half-glance over his shoulder toward the door.

“It’s not three, man,” Chase muttered. He tossed a glance to the camera before rising from his chair, crossing to the kitchen doorway and leaning out of the room with one hand on the doorframe. “Yo, Hen! Henrik!” He huffed and took a deep breath, shouting louder. “HENRIK–”

“VHAT?!” Henrik’s German accent came from somewhere in the apartment, distant and muffled by the walls between the two men. "Just text me, don't shout like a verdammt hooligan–"

"Phone's charging," Chase shot back. "Get in the kitchen. Skype call. Important shit."

"Sheisse–" There was muffled grumbling in the distance, then– "Pants?"

Chase glanced down, and from his seat Jack could see Chase's shoulders sag at the sight of his utter lack of anything more than boxers on his legs. Whether it was in sheepish embarrassment or annoyance that he had to wear real pants, Jack couldn't be sure.

"...would you be pissed if I said no?" Chase called back. Henrik swore from somewhere down the hall.

"Idiot. Every damn time you get on a video call…”

“Another one of your characters, I presume?”

Jack and Mark both refocused on the computer screen at Matt’s voice, and Jack chuckled weakly.

“Yeah...Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein. German doctor.”

“Huh.” Matt unscrewed the lid of his Coke slowly, just in case it exploded in his face, and - when it thankfully didn’t - brought the bottle to his lips as he asked his next question. “And are they always like this?”

Behind them, Henrik had finally appeared in gray slacks and a black turtleneck to shove a pair of wrinkled jeans at Chase’s chest, the two of them bickering in low tones all the while. Like an old married couple, or a couple of teenage boys. Like brothers. Like best friends, if Chase’s mirthful smirk and Henrik’s eye-rolling chuckle was anything to go by.

“You’re askin’ the wrong guy, man,” Jack shrugged. “Sure, I created ‘em, but that doesn’t mean I ever wrote ‘em in the same scenes together. This is – well.” He looked to Mark, who quirked an eyebrow at him. “...well I mean you’ve been more creative wit’ your Egos’ interactions, Mark. I’ve yet ta put mine in the same room. This is the first time I’ve seen ‘em talk to each other at all.”

“Trust me,” Mark’s expression darkened a fraction. “I’d much rather be seeing my Egos talking like yours are right now. Seeing the two of them together last night, discussing whether or not I should be left alone…” He shuddered and his shoulders tensed.

“So...more than three,” Matt concluded, and for the first time his expression was beginning to take on some of the tension the rest of the call’s participants had been carrying since the beginning.

“More like seven if you’re counting the kids,” Chase confirmed, appearing over Jack’s shoulder. He was tugging a pair of jeans onto his legs, fighting with the zipper while Henrik began making himself a cup of coffee in the background.

“Und by ‘kids’ you mean Sam and Tim, ja?” he asked, to which Chase nodded.

“Seven–” Matt let out a slow breath and slouched back on his couch, eyes unfocussed as thoughts raced through his mind. One hand was running haphazardly through his hair while the other continued to toy with the lid of his Coke bottle.

“Yeah, seven,” Mark agreed. Then… “So far.”

Jack winced, and Chase and Henrik exchanged tense looks behind him. So far. It was a thought they had been avoiding, but all the same, it was one that had crossed everyone’s mind. So far . ‘So far’ implied ‘More to come’. It implied that Darkiplier, Antisepticeye, and Googleplier would not be the last of the darker Egos to appear...but at the same time it offered some hope that characters like Jackie and Marvin and maybe Dr. Iplier may be willing to step in and help…if they showed up, that is.

“You do realize how...how...earth shattering this entire concept is, don’t you?”

Matt’s gaze was still distant, unfocussed, his head resting back against the couch cushions and his eyes aimed somewhere near the ceiling. The gray bottle cap from his Coke bottle rolled between his fingers, clicking quietly against his wedding ring every so often. Jack could see the gears turning in the theorist’s brain, could tell even through the screen that this was a lot for Matt to wrap his head around.

“Nooo,” Jack drawled sarcastically, and one of his hands came up to itch at the side of his bruised neck. “Bein’ attacked and almost killed by my own doppelganger, twice, definitely didn’t blow my fuckin’ mind.”

Mark rolled his eyes and elbowed his best friend in the side. Matt’s head jerked up off the couch and he went bug-eyed, shock and concern flooding his features, and in that exact moment two individual voices chimed in.

“What?!”

One was Matt.

The other was Robin...who had entered the call just in time to catch Jack’s last comment.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Robin’s brow furrowed. He shifted in his seat - in his recording room, it seemed, which is where Jack would have been too had his fear of most technology (and memories in that room) not stopped him from setting foot in there a few hours beforehand - and levelled both Jack and Mark with a questioning look.

“I knew about the stream. I saw that one. What do you mean twice?”

Jack’s hand stilled against his neck and he blinked at the new arrival, looking a little sheepish and more than a little tense. He had texted Robin to give him a head’s up about Chase and Henrik being on the call. But he hadn’t really explained–

Twice. The first had been horrible...and the second was still so very fresh in his mind. Last night. Last night, in his sitting room, one room away. Last night and sharpened knives and glowing strings and a hand at his throat and–

Mark tapped Jack’s leg lightly, trying to wordlessly catch the other’s eye. The Irishman swallowed and snatched his hand away from where it remained by his throat, tossing a weary smile in his friend’s direction. He nodded minutely in thanks.

“After…” The word came out hoarse and Jack cleared his throat with a wince. “–after our call sort of...dropped last night, A– er...the...the glitch , showed up again. It...er…” He broke off, unsure how to explain what had happened in words that wouldn’t make him want to throw up.

Robin muttered a curse under his breath and Matt took a long swig from his Diet Coke.

“Jack, you’re still recovering, mein friend,” Henrik cut in. He stepped up behind Jack with his turtleneck sleeves rolled up to the elbow, leaning down to get a look at the bruising on Jack’s neck. “I can tell zhem about last night, ja? Perhaps Mark can fill in ze things I’ve missed.” He caught Chase’s attention and nodded to the stove. “Could you make him some tea?”

Chase, who had finally managed to fasten his jeans, nodded without a single comeback and started rifling through Jack’s cupboards in search of what he needed.

“Holy crap, you weren’t kidding…” Robin spoke again, his eyes wide and curious, watching Henrik and Chase on his screen and looking much like he was trying to convince himself this wasn’t just high quality video doctoring. “That’s Chase and Schneeplestein...seriously, you could be triplets. Are they all real now?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The former was Jack. The latter was Henrik. Jack’s gaze snapped to him.

“Yes? What d’you mean, yes ?”

Every YouTuber in the conversation pinned Henrik with a look, each lingering somewhere between avid curiosity and a sharp demand for clarification. The doctor took that as his cue to pull up a chair. He quirked an eyebrow at the assembled audience and settled into his seat, folding his hands neatly in his lap.

“Perhaps ve ought to vait for ze final member of this conversation to arrive before charging ahead vith new information. Yes?”

“Okay, no, I get that part,” Matt cut Chase off in the middle of his re-retelling of the Nerf-vs-Knife battle he’d had against Anti. “Mind-controlling ‘puppet strings’ aren’t so impossible. There are plenty of cases in nature where living creatures can manipulate the thought processes of others, or even sedate their victims.”

Chase raised an eyebrow at the theorist.

“...we learn a lot of weird scientific facts while researching for our theory videos.”

Chase nodded with a quiet “huh”. It made sense.

“No, what I’m trying to figure out is how a living being can be both solid tissue and an entity with the capacity to separate into smaller pieces at will. You said Anti’s head exploded when you shot him?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Chase shrugged. “I mean it like - flew apart into tiny flashing specs and then came back together. As far as I’ve been able to figure out, he’s not fully solid most of the time. I mean, dude, he literally appears out of the shadows. He’s like a digital ghost.”

“Digital…” Matt drummed his fingers against the half-empty Diet Coke bottle in his grip, a thoughtful expression on his face.

They had been discussing the recent chaos for almost an hour. Once Amy had arrived on the Skype call, and after she had checked and double-checked to make sure Mark was alright, Mark had jumped right into explaining what they knew so far. They had shared a link to the ending clip from Jack’s stream in the chat so Matt could watch it himself (Jack rightfully refused to relive that particular memory in detail again) and between Mark, Henrik, and - now - Chase, they were just about finished with their retelling of the past few weeks’ events. Technically, they had only recapped everything up until the post-battle discussion that had taken place after Anti and the others had left, but Matt had become somewhat fixated on how Anti functioned and had asked Chase for more details about the fight that had occurred.

“Pixels,” Jack chimed in. “The flashing specs? I thought they looked like pixels.”

The Irishman was nursing a warm mug of tea and doing very little talking, doctor’s orders. He and Mark still sat splitting center before the camera, and Chase was perched on his backwards seat behind and between the pair. Henrik had taken up a spot just behind Jack’s other shoulder, making for a slightly cramped but still visible seating arrangement.

Jack’s knee bounced incessantly throughout the discussion, his sneaker squeaking quietly against the linoleum, and Sam had returned to his spot on Jack’s shoulder (much to Amy’s delight). Tim had joined them by this time as well, and the tiny box couldn’t seem to decide between cuddling up in Mark’s lap and playing on the table with the small pile of tiny trinkets he’d apparently been collecting from various nooks and crannies in Jack’s apartment.

“Pixels. Alright.” Matt made a note of it on the spiral bound notebook he’d gone to fetch near the beginning of the call. The once-empty page was already filled with scrawlings and he had long since started onto the back as well. “I’ll take some time to analyze that clip from the livestream later. I’m sure I could learn a lot about how he works if I take it at a frame-by-frame breakdown…”

“If you need more to work with, I can try and get something from Jackie,” Chase offered, his chin now resting on his folded arms on the back of his chair. “I mean the guy loves filming his fights, and he’s definitely had a few with the Glitch Bitch.”

“I’m not sure who Jackie is, but if he’s got something, I’ll gladly take a look.”

It took Jack’s brain a second to realize what Chase had said. Once he did, his head whipped around so fast he felt his neck pop and the bruises on his throat throbbed.

“Jackie – wait, Jackieboy Man?” he asked, massaging his neck and ignoring Henrik’s sharp warning look for being so careless. “I have some fuckin’ questions.”

“You think you have questions?” Mark asked rhetorically.

“Mark, did you tell them about that theory of yours yet?” Amy asked, drawing her boyfriend’s attention. “That ‘believing’ thing.”

“I told Jack,” Mark told her. He flashed her a grateful smile and a wink. God, he was glad to have her around. “It’s probably worth bringing up. Thanks Amy.”

“Believing?” Matt this time, curious as ever about this entire ordeal.

“The power of belief,” Mark nodded. He resettled in his chair, folding one leg over the other and propping his right ankle on the opposite knee. “Matt, you’re familiar with Bendy and the Ink Machine, right?”

Matt gave him a flat look.

“...okay, yeah, dumb question,” Mark agreed. “Anyway - well, I explained it in a lot more detail to Jack last week, but to stick to the basics...I have a theory that Sam, Tim, Anti, and the rest of the egos were brought to life based on the fan following they gained from the fanbases they belong to. It - it sounds a little far-fetched, I know. But in listening to some of the dialogue from Bendy , Joey Drew’s ramblings about ‘belief’ having more power than people know...it got me thinking. Because each character that has shown up, every single one, has appeared after some sort of hype and attention was built around their character on YouTube. Sam and Tim showed up first. Tim came to life a few weeks after I shared an animation with Tim’s introduction on my channel. Sam was the first to show up on Jack’s end. I started seeing signs of...well…” He stammered for a moment, his eyes going distant, and Jack had a feeling he knew exactly what Mark couldn’t quite say.

“You started seein’ signs of Darkiplier. Your dark alter ego.”

“...r-right.” Mark nodded sharply.

He was fisting his hands in his lap at this point, and though they were out of the camera’s view, Jack could see how white his knuckles were and how tightly he was clenching his hands together. Tim seemed to sense Mark’s discomfort and tumbled off the kitchen table and into the YouTuber’s lap.

With a weak smile, Mark forced his hands apart and let his familiar climb happily into his palms.

“...I started seeing signs of...him...after I posted my short film series centered around his creation. Anti showed up shortly after the ‘Sam Lives’ incident went viral. While Sam’s video didn’t have Anti in it, it still acted as a spark to set things off, seeing as there had been some fanbase buildup right before then because of that video you made with Anti and Henrik.” That one was directed at Jack, who nodded. “The only one that doesn’t make sense to me is Google.”

“Wait, what about Chase?” Jack murmured, eyebrows furrowed.

“The Nerf gun, dude,” Chase told him, patting Jack’s shoulder. “It might not have made it into all your uploads, but don’t think I didn’t notice that.” He proceeded to pop up on the rear legs of his chair, balancing there with a hand on each of the chairs in front of him.

“The Nerf gun?” Jack asked, looking lost.

Mark, on the other hand, looked far from confused, his expression almost bordering on guilt. Jack turned slightly in his seat to face his best friend and set the half-cool tea he’d been holding on the kitchen table, levelling Mark with a pointed look. He waited a moment, watching Mark stew silently. Then–

“Got somethin’ to share wit’ the class, Markimoo?”

Mark coughed, then shrugged, and Jack was sure he’d have folded his arms across his chest in defense if Tim wasn’t still sitting in his hands.

“Well, I mean…” he stumbled over his words. “...I mean I may have been using the Nerf gun. A lot. In videos.”

“No no, I know that bit,” Jack nodded. “Ye scared th’ shite out o’ me more times ‘n I can count with that one. If that damn gun hadn’t been a great distraction the other night, I’d be tellin’ you off fer bein’ so annoying with yer random trigger-happy moments in the recording room. Tell me what I don’t know.”

A beat. Then finally Mark stammered out:

“It wasn’t random, alright?” he admitted, rubbing a thumb gently against Tim’s cheek, earning a little rumble of happiness from the tiny box. “After watching your stream, and after you told me you’d been cutting out glitches from your recordings before sending them to Robin, I had a feeling it wouldn’t just stop after Anti visited you in fully-formed person. So I...sort of...tried to make sure he didn’t come back again. Not fully. I kept the Nerf gun with me, and any time I thought I saw glitches or shadows in the corner of the room I’d shoot at it. It worked like a charm, for a while anyway. I just cut out any of the parts of the recording that had real glitching before I sent it off to be edited.”

Jack’s expression went stiff and strained, his throat feeling oddly tight. The change in atmosphere happened in a matter of moments.

“He...he was there?” He asked, the words leaving him a hoarse whisper. “The whole time, he was there? He could have - he could have shown up, at any moment, he almost did ...but...what–”

“Breathe.” Henrik. The doctor’s hand squeezed Jack’s shoulder and Jack was quick to latch onto it, his eyes shuttering closed and his free hand clutching at the leg of his jeans. “Take a breath, ja? Slowly. Zhat’s it…” Jack forced himself to calm down, Mark’s shoulder bumping his in apologetic support on his other side. Henrik’s voice was calm and even in his ear all the while.

“Anti vouldn’t have been able to get in so easily, trust me. It takes a lot of effort to reach zhis side of ze Brink, no matter how powerful you are. Mark’s efforts were more zhan enough to keep him at bay vhile it lasted. Anti most likely vould have returned sooner if your good friend had not been here.”

“Whoa, what?!” Chase interrupted, the front legs of his chair slamming back to the ground loudly. “What the hell, Hen? What happened to calling it “The Edge”? It sounds way cooler man, and we had, like, a majority vote!”

“Two out of five is not ze majority,” Henrik rolled his eyes. “Und you forget zhat ve are not ze only ones who live beyond it.”

“In that case, we should count–”

“Even if you add Bing to your numbers, it still isn't the majority,” Henrik muttered. Chase opened his mouth again, but before he could even speak– “And your purple-clad, eyeshadow-vearing edgelord of an acquaintance doesn’t help your case either.”

It sounded, to Jack, as though this wasn’t a new argument...but he didn’t feel up to mentioning that aloud.

Mark mouthed the words ‘purple clad’ and ‘edgelord’ with a look of baffled confusion on his face before he landed on the more important tidbit from Henrik and Chase’s convo, and said–

“Bing?”

“Yeah man!” Chase grinned, punching Mark lightly in the shoulder and nodding. “Bing’s a hell of a guy! He’s taught some sick nasty tricks on that skateboard of his...though I gotta say he’s leaps and bounds better than I am.”

Another familiar name. First Jackie, now Bing...

“Why don’t we take a step back here?” Matt piped up, all eyes drawn to his little corner of the screen at his words. He got a little more comfortable, took a long drink from his Diet Coke, and clicked his pen a few times in thought. “So we’ve got a whole bunch of supposedly-fictional characters all coming to life, right?” He started listing it off. “We’ve got Mark’s theory about ‘belief’ playing a role in this. We have what seems to be a greater universe here that includes all of these characters interacting in a capacity that hasn’t been explored in your canon plots on YouTube, right?” Both Jack and Mark nodded to confirm his question. “Alright. And then we’ve got this Brink thing that The Medic over here brought up, which - based on its context - serves as the barrier between the world the ‘fictional’ characters live in and the world we’re in right now.”

“I can see vhy you vanted to bring him in on zhis,” Henrik muttered to Jack with an almost proud smirk on his face. Jack nodded. Matt was kind of brilliant at connecting dots that nobody else could see...and hopefully he could help both Jack and Mark find a solution for the whole “my evil alter ego is coming to kill me please help” situation once he understood what was going on.

“So I think the next thing we need to do is to question our local fictional friends,” Matt went on. “Chase and Henrik. Clearly we’ve seen - or some of us have seen - the things happening on this side of the screen. Or - this side of the Brink. Either. Or...maybe both.” Confusion crossed his face for the briefest of moments before he shook it off and went on: “But either way, I think we need to know what happens on your side of that wall. If there’s anything at all that could help us understand how this all works, that would be fantastic.”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Robin agreed, and Amy nodded along with the others.

“I wanna know how we got from writing and filming a super fun murder mystery, to finding a creepy bad guy haunting our house,” she said. “Normally that’s not something most filmmakers are worried about, right?”

Amy looked rightfully uncomfortable, and Mark smiled consolingly through the screen.

“I’d imagine not, no.”

“Alright, well, if we’re getting questioned–” Chase interrupted abruptly, standing from his chair and stretching, “–then I think I’m gonna need a drink for this.”

“Chase–”

“Want one Jack?” Chase offered, ignoring the warning tone coming from the good doctor.

“Nah, I’m good,” Jack waved him off, reaching once more from his tea. “Knock yourself out man. But if you could grab the honey while you’re over there, I’ll buy you more Doritos, yeah?”

Henrik’s mutterings of ‘Jack, don’t–’ were lost beneath an exuberant cheer from Chase.

“Awe hell yeah, dude,” Chase agreed with a cheeky grin.

“Chase–!”

“It’s chill, Hen,” Chase rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

He escaped to the fridge, and Jack couldn’t help but compare his expression and posture to that of a teenager who knew he was doing something wrong but didn’t seem to care. That, combined with Henrik’s muttering of choice swear words mixed with something German he couldn’t understand, and Jack made a firm mental note to ask about the argument later. What in the world was going on…? He knew his characters. He had created them, after all. What could he be missing here?

“To answer your question,” Henrik bit out, finally turning away from Chase to face the Skype call again, “I have existed since ze beginning, or at least zhat is how I remember it. From ze moment this Jack created me in my first video, I’ve been alive on my side of ze Brink. Vith each new character and addition of plot, my backstory has filled in. I know, at one point, I didn’t remember being very good friends with Chase. But zhen I just...did. Some things, I know, didn’t come about from your videos, Jack. Some things just...vere. Und vhile I cannot be sure, I believe ve are affected just as much by the fans who believe in us as ze person who created us in ze first place."

Jack was momentarily floored.

“Like how even though you started off as a joke character who was a horrible doctor, you clearly have full medical experience now,” he pointed out, and Henrik smirked.

“Yes. Like zhat. You didn’t write it at first, but ze fans did. Und zhen you began to believe it to.”

“Oh yeah, about that,” Chase added, his tone tight. “I know you didn’t know we were real yet...but can I just say fuck you for the backstory you gave me? Dark humor is great and all, but fuckin’ hell man…”

Guilt flooded him and Jack flinched, bowing his head and swallowing thickly. Yeah. Yeah, he probably deserved that.

“I’m sorry for that. If I’d known you all were real, you know I never would have–”

“Nah, of course not,” Chase shrugged. He was still a little bitter as he sipped at his beer (under Henrik’s salty glare) but he honestly didn’t seem to hold any hatred toward Jack. Almost as an afterthought, he tugged the small bottle of honey out of his back pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Jack. “You’re a good guy. But like I said. Fuck, dude.”

Chase raised his beer in a halfhearted ‘cheers’ and took another long swig.

“Ve can talk about it later, ja?” Henrik said. He seemed tense. Tense and uncomfortable, but all the same, he was staying on topic better than any of them. “To carry on...our stories and beings are comprised of a balance of what you, ze creator, share vith the vorld, und most likely vhat the viewers believe vhen they see those stories. Not that something vill suddenly make us disappear or change in a drastic vay. If for vhatever reason you vere to retcon a character and replace zhem or redesign zhem, I get ze feeling something new would come to life instead of the original character being changed.”

“Like that edgy-ass version of Dark, right?” Chase tossed in, and Mark choked on air.

“What? ”

“Ya know, the old Darkiplier. He’s not the real deal anymore, but hell, he still hangs. He’s mostly like an edgy teenage ghost-dude who sometimes hangs with Bing and Virg–”

“That being said,” Henrik spoke up over his friend, “ve can be affected by things in ze outside vorld. Like my gaining proper medical knowledge...or more recently, Chase gaining a Nerf gun zhat holds more power zhan it did before.”

“That shit ain’t a plastic toy anymore,” Chase agreed.

“I was gonna ask where the hell that came from,” Jack nodded. “My Nerf gun - the real Nerf gun - didn’t do a damn thing to...him. When he showed up.”

“Don’t you remember? There was a shit ton of fanart going around with me and a PMA gun. I was blasting positivity, bro. I dunno why but I guess somehow it stuck in the minds of the fanbase or something? Hell if I know.” Chase shrugged and smirked over his beer bottle. “But now I’ve got it, and it’s helped a hell of a lot with our Anti problem on our side of the Brink.” He blinked and his grin widened. “And yours too, come to think of it.”

Matt had been quietly jotting down everything as it was said, his head down and eyes sharp and focussed despite the late hour on his end. Amy, too, looked somewhat exhausted.

“Anything else you know about the Brink?” Matt asked, barely sparing a glance at the camera as he continued to write.

“It’s this wall, this force, that basically separates our world from yours,” Chase shrugged, swirling the bottle in his hands as he spoke. “I wouldn’t exactly say it’s solid but it sure does a good job of keeping things contained. It took a lot to break through when Hen and I saw that you were in danger, Jack.”

“Why just you?” Jack asked. He was toying with the flip cap of the honey bottle, had been for a few minutes now, the quiet clicking of the cap playing beneath the ongoing conversation around him. “Why aren’t Marvin or Jackie here, or JJ?”

“Zhere hasn’t been enough ‘belief’ or power to allow zhem ze strength required to cross over,” Henrik provided the answer. “Chase and I vere given enough recently to grant us zhat privilege. Normally vhat ve have right now vouldn’t be enough...but Anti has been making it far too easy to cross over recently.”

Henrik’s expression darkened, and Matt’s pen stilled on his notebook.

“How so?” the theorist asked, finally looking up from his notes.

The good doctor looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Vell - let me put it like zhis.” He shifted to the edge of his seat and leaned forward, looking over his glasses with his fingers steepled before him. “Say you have a sheet of paper and a marble. If you drop ze marble on ze paper, it vill not break through. It may bounce off, but it cannot rip ze page. Now - let’s say you poke a hole in the middle of the paper vith a pencil. Ze marble still cannot break through, but if you vanted to pour smaller beads onto the page, zhey vould be able to pass through the hole. The more times you pour beads on the paper, the weaker the paper gets from ze veight und ze pressure.

“Over time, you can add larger, heavier beads to vear it down, and maybe you can poke two or three more holes in ze page very close to ze first one...und perhaps, now, if you vere to drop that marble onto ze page...either ze hole has been worn away enough and gotten big enough to let the marble fall through, or ze marble might be heavy enough to break what little paper separates the four holes vhich now exist.”

The good doctor leaned back in his seat again, hands folded in his lap.

“Either vay, things can pass through zhat paper much more easily now. Anti has been punching too many holes in the page...and he’s been dragging others through to help push ze process along. It is much easier to cross over zhan it used to be. So really, if you vanted, it vould not take much for Jackie or ze rest to cross over. All zhey vould need is a little...nudge. A little more veight on their marble. A spark to add to zheir power.”

“A catalyst,” Matt realized, with a little nod. “Something to add fuel to the fire of the fanbase.”

Jack and Mark exchanged a look, understanding dawning in both of their expressions, and they could see the same look in the eyes of the others on the call.

“We’ve gotta fake a leak,” Jack grinned. “A plot leak.”

“We can’t do it on our channels though,” Mark pointed out, making Jack’s grin falter for a moment. “You know that the moment you post something, or I post something, the Evil Trio are gonna pop out of the wall to attack again.”

“I dunno,” Chase grinned, looking cocky as he set his now-empty beer bottle aside and reached for the second one he had stashed beneath his chair. “After what I did to Anti? I doubt he’s gonna be walking away easily after that.”

“Even so…” Henrik’s eyes burned sharply behind his glasses and he reached over to steal the second bottle from Chase’s hands, shutting the other man’s complaints down with a firm shake of his head and a look. “Drawing less attention to ourselves is preferred. Ja?”

“Why don’t I do it?” Matt offered. He shrugged. “I’ve already posted that video about Sam. I could send out a tweet that hints at a new theory related to the Egos–”

“No.” Amy had spoken up, shaking her head firmly. “Matt, I’m sure the boys would appreciate your help, but not like this.”

“What do you mean ‘not like this’?”

“You have a son to take care of and he’s not worth putting yourself in danger for. Is he?”

Jack let out a low whistle and Mark got a dopey smile on his face at Amy’s words.

“...you really picked a good one, Mark,” Matt conceded, a tired chuckle escaping him. He ran a hand through his hair and flashed a sheepish smile to the camera.

“Hell yeah I did,” Mark agreed. “Damn. You’re good.”

“What can I say? I’m a smart girl,” Amy grinned, giving him a tongue-in-teeth smile. “And that’s also why I won’t offer myself up as a sacrifice. Dark probably already knows who I am since he’s been in our house, and though I don’t see him coming back now that you’re there, I don’t want to give him reason to come after me when you’re not here to be my backup.”

“She’s so good,” Mark reiterated, his expression taking on a dreamy and dark-eyed look. Jack had to elbow his best friend to keep him from drooling all over the kitchen floor.

“Alright, so, now that we’ve basically narrowed it down to almost none of us,” Robin spoke up now, “why don’t I do it? Why don’t I let something slip on a stream?”

“What?” Jack asked, looking reluctant to agree. “But that’s–”

“–probably the smartest plan we have,” Mark finished for him. “Robin is already involved. He edits all your videos. So as long as we are still the ones editing everything weird out of things before we send them, it would come across as Robin talking about legitimate future content.”

“Oh absolutely,” Robin nodded. Jack looked like he wasn’t entirely happy with this plan. Robin kept talking, “And since we already had Ego content planned, if Anti or that Google guy happen to be snooping in, we already have texts and messages from weeks and weeks back talking about things we wanted to do.”

“Yeah, but…” Jack tried to come up with another reason that this wasn’t going to work. “...but you’re in Sweden.”

“And…?”

“And what if something happens and we can’t get to you?”

“Jack, Anti von’t be going after anyone unless zhis actually vorks,” Henrik pointed out. “And even zhen, it’s more likely he’d go after us. But on ze off chance zhat he does vant to take it out on our dear friend, by zhen Jackie and Marvin vill have arrived, in vhich case ve’ll have a magician and a superhero sitting in the room who can get us zhere much faster zhan a plane, train, or automobile.”

Jack fell silent at Henrik’s words, thinking. Matt continued to scribble in his notebook and Chase was still moping over having his beer taken away, but the rest waited silently for Jack to agree to what was arguably the best plan they had right now.

“...fine.”

“Good,” Robin smiled. “Now that I’m in the loop, I can feel useful for once and actually help with the crazy stuff you’ve been dealing with.”

“I appreciate that,” Jack acknowledged with a tense smile of his own. “But just - if anything happens, anythin’ at all , you call us. Okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great. Good. Okay.”

“Alright,” Mark nodded. “Are we good here? Anything else we need to go over?”

“All good on my end,” Matt raised his pen. “I’ll go over the stream footage, and whatever else Chase can get me from Jackie. If I can figure out something to help take Anti down a notch, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks Matt,” Jack’s smile turned more genuine. He finally stopped fiddling with the honey bottle cap and set the plastic container aside. “We seriously appreciate it. Anything helps right now.”

“Of course! Happy to help.”

“Just take care of Ollie, okay?” Mark added. “With how cute he is, that kid’s gonna be spoiled for sure.”

“Spoiled rotten,” Matt agreed, a sparkle in his eyes.

“I’ll see if I can stream tonight to get the word out.” Robin this time. “The sooner the better.”

“Definitely,” said Jack.

With something that sort of, kind of, maybe-half-resembled a plan set in place, Robin and Matt left the call, leaving only Amy on the screen...and it was then that Jack made his friendly goodbye. He plucked Sam from his shoulder and tucked him into his hoodie pocket, grabbed the tea and honey from the table, and all but dragged a confused Chase from the room with Henrik following behind them, smirk set in place.

“What’s the big idea, bro?” Chase demanded, finally yanking his arm free from Jack’s grip once they reached the living room.

“What?” Jack smiled innocently behind his tea. “I just figured Mark an’ Amy would want some alone time ‘fore the call ended. He hasn’t seen her in almost a week, you know?”

Chase held up a finger to protest, paused, nodded slowly, and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Alright, alright, fine. You’re right.” He rolled his eyes and started off towards the guest room down the hall. “You still owe me a bag of Doritos!”

“I know!” He almost raised his voice to shout the words after the retreating back of his doppleganger, but thought better of it and took another sip of tea with a wince.

“Here...Jack…” Henrik stepped up to him, and though Jack hadn’t asked him to, the doc gently took the tea and set it aside, taking a moment to get a good look at Jack’s neck. “Let me go grab my medical bag. I may have something to help vith ze soreness.”

For not the first time, Jack was grateful that most of the characters he had created had friendly personalities and good hearts. Both Chase and Henrik felt like old friends whom he had just met...and though there wasn’t a word for that feeling specifically, he knew that if there was it would probably apply to Jackie and Marvin too, whenever he met them.

Jack smiled to himself. Yeah...he was pretty lucky. True, he had a demon of a doppelganger after him, and he'd already had two near-death experiences (which was two too many in his opinion) but even so...lucky. Definitely.

[A/N] - Hey all!

I know it's been a long time since I posted...a long......long...loooong time...but to be frank this chapter was much harder to write than I wanted it to be. I struggled with trying to write Robin and Amy (sorry if they're out of character!) and for some reason the words just would not come out the way I wanted them to. It's not my proudest chapter, but it's still an important one. So I hope that everything was explained in a way that made sense!

The Marble & Paper concept literally came to me as I was writing this thing, and I ended up really liking the metaphor. I've had the concept in my head of how the Brink and the Fictive world work for a long time, and I was pretty satisfied with the explanation given in this chapter. It's definitely going to come into play later...so I hope you paid attention. The next chapter will be much lighter and MUCH more fun! And as of last night, I've gotten a few pretty crazy ideas for how to direct the plot moving forward. Forgive me a mischievous chuckle, but it's gonna be a fun time... ;)

~ Pixie

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

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[pixie-mage]

#SamLives - Pt.3

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[This story has been edited and reposted on the official #SamLives Tumblr. The new post of Chapter 3 can be found here.]

(The main difference between this version and the updated version is the scene in the kitchen. Instead of Signe being there, PJ is still hanging out instead.)

“Jack, you need sleep.”

Day Nine of the #SamLives debacle.

Jack would be lying if he said he’d been sleeping fine, that he hadn’t been worried. The stress of the situation was beginning to take its toll, and it hadn’t been made any better by the GameTheory video that had come out the day before. Matt had good intentions, Jack knew, but...it hadn’t exactly worked the way he assumed the other YouTuber had been hoping.

“Game Theory: Does #SamLive? THE SCIENTIFIC PROOF!”

MatPat was one of the few YouTubers who had, accidentally, learned of Sam’s existence. It was at that Rachel Ray event, the one where he and Matt had been on the same Taco-Making Team™. Sam hadn’t been feeling well so Jack had brought him along for the day, keeping the little eyeball in his hoodie and out of sight, close to him in case Sam needed him. But in the midst of the chaos of the competition, Jack had been jostled by Matt, had tripped and landed on his arse. Matt had immediately apologized and laughed it off...but when he’d reached down to help Jack stand up, Sam had peaked out from where he’d been hiding in Jack’s hood. Matt had frozen, a stunned look on his face, and in an instant Jack knew that he had seen. That he knew. For a moment the pair had been frozen in a stare-off, neither sure what to do. Then Jack had shaken his head quickly and put a finger to his lips. No. Please. Quiet. Don’t say anything...

...and Matt had nodded. He’d helped Jack to his feet and not commented on it at all. Tom (their third teammate) had missed the entire exchange, cracking some joke about “Laying down on the job”. Later, in a bathroom down a back hallway, Jack had explained everything to Matt...and Matt had sworn he wouldn’t tell a soul.

So when #SamLived had taken the YouTube scene by storm faster than Scott Cawthon turned out FNaF games, and when Jack saw that GameTheory had made a video about it....he knew what Matt was trying to do. The video wasn’t proving that Sam was real. The video was to try and counter-prove the theories saying he was and to point out all the reasons why Sam couldn’t possibly exist. Which would have been fine, except that it meant all of the fans over on the GameTheory channel who hadn’t heard about the #SamLives chaos would now be in the know.

“...ack? Jack!”

“Hm...?” Jack dragged himself from his thoughts and blinked, shaking himself mentally. “Sorry Peej, I missed that.”

PJ was watching him from the office chair next to his with a frown on his face. He nudged the Irishman’s leg with his foot.

“Man, you were totally out of it for a bit there. I was just saying you should get some sleep.”

“I’m tryin’, PJ, I swear I am,” Jack smiled weakly. “I’ve just been stressed. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

"Are you still up for recording a game today? We can wait until next week if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Jack pulled on a brighter smile. Good ol’ PJ. He was a decent guy and an even better friend. But Jack shook his head, running a hand through his hair to fix it. “Don’t worry about me. One video isn’t gonna be the death of me! I’ll take a nap when we’re done, alright?”

PJ held up both hands in surrender, returning the Irishman’s infectious grin.

“Whatever you say! But you had better be serious about that nap. You look like you need it.”

Jack scoffed and laughed, his next words dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, thaaaanks, thanks for the compliment. I reeaaally needed that self-esteem boost. You’re too kind.”

“No problem!” PJ grinned cheekily back at him.

The two fell into laughter, and once they had started into the Nintendo Switch game they’d planned on recording, most of Jack’s worries fell away for the time being.

That’s not to say they didn’t come back. Jack kept his promise to PJ. He took a nap, crashing onto his couch with all the grace of a baby giraffe. Signe - knowing he needed the rest - only pressed a kiss to his cheek before leaving him to his devices. But his sleep was a restless one, leaving him feeling only a fraction better when he woke up later to his phone ringing on the coffee table beside him.

With his face still buried in the stiff couch pillows, Jack reached out out blindly, his hand skittering across the table’s surface like a drunk spider, landing on the remote, a game controller, and yesterday’s mail before finally coming into contact with his phone. He answered it without looking, face still half-mushed in the pillow.

“Mph?”

“...Jack?”

“Wassup?”

“Did I wake you up?”

The humorous tone on the other end of the phone was vaguely familiar, and it took him a moment to make the connection in his barely-woken-up state.

“...you’ve reached Jacksepticeye’s mouth. His brain isn’t here right now, but if ye call back again in a few minutes it might’ve come back around by then. Either that, or his mouth will have left too.”

“The infamous screaming Irishman of YouTube, missing his mouth? The horror!”

“Oh, shuddup Mark,” Jack chuckled. He dragged himself into a semi-upright position, slouching on the couch. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing asleep at six in the evening?”

“I took a nap.” Jack yawned and scratched at the scruff along his jaw. “Is there a reason fer this call or didja just miss hearin’ my voice?”

“Can ‘both’ be an answer?” Jack could hear Mark’s grin from the other end of the line.

“Heh, I s’ppose,” he chuckled a little. “But really, what’s up?”

“I...eh. Saw the video that GameTheory posted. He really jumped on the bandwagon quickly, didn’t he?”

“Is this about Sam again?” Jack didn’t mean for it to come out as annoyed as it did, honestly. He really didn’t. But it sounded that way anyway and he winced at his own words. Signe stuck her head out from the doorway to the kitchen, an eyebrow raised in question. Jack waved her off with a soft smile.

“I...” Mark faltered. Seemed like he’d hit the nail right on the head. “...well, yeah, but I’ve got a reason for bringing it up, I swear.” The American was quick to defend himself, and Jack couldn’t help but wonder if Mark thought he’d hang up because of the subject matter. He sighed and sat up a little straighter.

“Oh yeah?” Jack asked, trying to sound more friendly. “And what reason might that be?”

“Well see...the thing is...” Mark trailed off. Jack could hear sounds in the background, movement. Like Mark was moving around the house. Was he pacing? “...I mean...w-well, it’s kinda...weird. I mean not bad weird, or freaky weird - okay it might be a little freaky to some people but–”

“If this is about your third nipple I already know,” Jack snickered, trying to lessen the tension with a joke. But it didn’t seem to help because Mark let out a frustrated groan on the other end of the line.

“No! No, it’s...” More silence. “Okay, it’s kind of about Sam, but kinda not.”

“Okay...?” Jack stood up from the couch, shuffling to the kitchen as Mark struggled to find the words he wanted to say. Coffee. He needed coffee for this.

“OH!” Mark shouted suddenly, as if he’d had an epiphany. “OH! Oh oh oh! Okay! So! In Bendy and the Ink Machine, Joey Drew has that...that one tape recording, where he’s talking about belief. About how it can do amazing, impossible things, and how you could even cheat death or something–”

“Mark, what in th’ blue blazes does this have ta do with my imaginary friend?”

“I’m getting there, I promise.”

Jack rolled his eyes and started the coffee machine, leaning back against the counter with one hand tucked in his pocket. Signe was seated at the kitchen table with a book, and she was still giving him puzzled looks that made her curiosity about his phone call clear. Jack covered the mouthpiece and lowered his voice.

"It's Mark," he murmured. "Keeps asking about Sam."

"You gonna tell him the truth?" Signe asked.

Her hands were cupped around a warm mug of tea, and she held it up near her face to let the steam warm her while she waited for a response. Jack didn't respond right away...but before he could even figure out an answer, his phone buzzed against his ear, a notification pinging in the background. So he pulled the mobile away from his face and put the call on speaker, minimizing the app so he could check whatever had just gone off. All he offered Signe was a half-shrug as his response to her question.

“Belief. I’m talking about belief,” Mark continued. Jack opened Twitter, still listening. “I never really thought about it before I played Bendy, but afterwards...it just made sense! And then you posted that video with Sam and I remembered that quote from the game...”

Jack swiped over to his messages, and saw one from somebody he was fairly certain he wasn’t friends with. Weird...he tapped it. It took a long time for the message to load, and once it did, the app closed itself out. Jack scrunched up his nose. Well then. It was gonna be one of those days then, huh? The rustle of static came over the speaker for a moment and Jack frowned, struggling to understand Mark’s words.

“If y...ave...nough of it you ca...”

“Mark? Mark, you’re cuttin’ out, man–”

Jack tugged his other hand free from his pocket and tapped the screen - and he gasped sharply when a static shock jolted through his finger. He shook his hand roughly through the air and winced, cursing under his breath. What the hell...? Then whatever weak connection he’d had with Mark’s call was gone, the call dropping and ending abruptly. Jack...blinked. And stared at his phone.

"You alright?" Signe looked up from her book again to frown at her boyfriend, who tugged on a soft smile. He shrugged and tucked his phone in his pocket. Ah, well...Mark must’ve had bad reception.

"I'm fine, Wiish," he crossed the kitchen to plant a kiss on the top of her head, squeezing one of her shoulders gently. "Just a little static shock. Surprised me more 'n anything. But don't worry about me! I'm a big, strong boy! I can handle anything!"

Jack's tone turned humorous and his antics drew a giggle from Signe, her eyes brightening and her lips curling up at the corners in a brilliant smile.

"Sure you can," she teased, poking at his side and making him scamper away. "A big, strong boy who's scared of being tickled."

"Hey! I'm not scared of it!" Jack protested as he continued making his coffee. He pretended to look highly affronted by the accusation. "I jus' don't like it! Can ye blame me?!"

Signe just stuck her tongue out in response then returned to her book, a soft smile still gracing her features.

Jack finished his coffee and moved on with his day, his focus turning to recording and uploading the day's videos…though somehow Mark’s little ramblings about “belief” lingered with him, hovering in the back of his mind.

What had he meant by that…?

[A/N] This part/chapter ended up being longer than the previous two...oops lol. Got a little carried away. I don’t have a real plan for this, but I have a feeew ideas about where it might go. This could get interesting... :3c

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[queen-scribbles]

Inquisitor!Jowan

World State:

--Warden Trinne Amell, romanced Alistair, left Anora queen, Alistair stayed a Warden, OGB, Trinne killed the Archdemon, still alive(Happy Ending sans Harvey AU, I guess xD)

--Evi Hawke, red personality, warrior, romanced Anders(rival path), very pro-templar, executed Anders, recruited Seb, sided w/templars endgame

       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-

For this AU, Trinne told Jowan to run from Redcliffe, rather than conscripting him to the Wardens(wouldn’t wish this life on her best friend or something). She lets him out of his cell and tells him to run after he goes in the Fade to fight the demon and free Connor bc it’s clear that’s not going to buy him much mercy and she couldn’t live with herself if she just lets him get killed/made Tranquil. So he does the aiding refugees things, changes his name to Levyn to avoid the templars looking for him. Also, new name for a new start. (basically, I like having him fight the demon to count as his Harrowing, and also needed him to run so voila)

About a year post-Blight, after the Archdemon, Mother, and Architect are all dead and the darkspawn threat starts to die down, he gets tired of running. But what else is there for someone like him? The average civilian doesn’t recognize the scars on his hands and arms, but a templar probably would. He goes anywhere near a Circle, he’s as good as executed.

So he makes do as a (sort-of)hedge mage, trading help for whatever people can afford to pay. Sometimes this means food or clothes or learning new skills instead of money. He’s fine with that. One family was so poor his “payment” was a flower crown made by their six year old daughter. He keeps a couple of the flowers long after they dry out, pressed between the pages of a book to help him remember on bad days that he can be both good and good for something in spite of his mistakes.

After the Chantry Explosion in Kirkwall, he gives up using magic entirely(had already been saving it for emergencies only), and settles in a small, out of the way village(Chilltread) near the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. It’s remote, has no templar presence, and the people are kind without being nosy. He tells them he got in trouble at home and had to leave(which is true enough), and they don’t pry.

Chilltread is quiet and hard to reach enough the Mage-Templar War doesn’t really touch them, and news takes so long to get there the first they hear of the Conclave is when the delegation from the Ostwick Circle passes through. They make it sound important enough to pique Levyn’s curiosity and he asks if he can go with them. He’s starting to go stir-crazy staying in one place and this seems a good excuse to leave for awhile but come back. They agree, long as he brings his own provisions/gear and pulls his weight. He’s willing to do that, and so leaves with them when they depart the next morning. When one of the escorts asks his name and he says Levyn, the man chuckles and turns to a nearby mage in the delegation. “What were you sayin’ about your name not bein’ common, Trevelyan?”

The mage in question, dark haired with pale green-blue eyes, scoffs and makes some comment about how one nobody from a backwater Fereldan village sharing his given name does not make it common. They press on, already running slightly behind desired schedule and with three more days’ travel ahead of them. That evening when they make camp, Levyn Trevelyan apologizes to Levyn the Nobody for his attitude. “Today was not a good day, for many reasons, and  had me all out of sorts. My humblest apologies for disparaging you.”

Levyn brushes it off(“I am technically a nobody, so you’re not wrong”) and they chat for a while. Trevelyan waxes eloquent about both his family and the Ostwick Circle, while Levyn is a little more vague. Lots of ‘you wouldn’t have heard of that place’ and ‘I haven’t done anything spectacular, really’ dodging.

It gets colder the higher into the mountains they go, and the next(last) village they pass through on the way to Haven(even smaller than Chilltread), Levyn trades a good chunk of his provisions to a villager for warmer clothes. He can deal with being hungry, has before. But the cold is wicked this high up, and he can’t stand it. (acquired: starting armor :D)

They’re among the last to arrive at the Conclave, which suits Levyn fine; less time around a large number of templars. He is, of course, not important enough to actually be included in the talks, but there’s plenty of gossip to be heard from servants, mercs, and guards. It gives him a pretty clear picture of where things stand and how ugly the Mage-Templar War has gotten. Trevelyan is included in some of the meetings, but doesn’t want to discuss them when he’s free, preferring to talk about his family or the friends still at Ostwick’s Circle, all of whom he clearly misses.

Being so wary of people--especially Chantry-affiliated people--Levyn spends a fair bit of time wandering the temple halls, wondering what parts Trinne saw when she was here.

And then comes the explosion.

Running, things chasing him, the woman, climbing… something, a cliff, maybe? Or stairs? The bright flare of light and rubble under his feet and then a cell and angrily hissed words.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

      -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-

Turns out, when he stumbles out of the Fade, he stayed (semi)conscious just long enough to say his name was Levyn before passing out entirely. Since the Ostwick delegation didn’t add him to their roster when he joined them, the only Levyn to find is Levyn Trevelyan. So they assume that’s him and run with it.

It hits him almost as soon as his head clears what happened, but Cassandra sounds a hairs-breadth from killing him on the spot, and he’s terrified she will if she knows he’s Levyn-the-nobody-apostate instead of Levyn-with-noble-family-ties. So he plays along, he figures just long enough to fix this and leave. Sidesteps Varric’s guess about where he’s from with “What is this, an interrogation?”

By the time they seal the Breach and he’s no longer in immediate danger of execution, he’s ‘Herald of Andraste’ and in too deep to stop lying about who he is. Everyone thinks he’s Lord Trevelyan of Ostwick, and the nobody from Chilltread village is just another tick mark on a casualty report. (not that anyone cares) So he decides to play the part. He’s good at pretending to be someone he’s not, after all. And he can’t think of a pleasant outcome if he tells the truth.

Has something of a panic attack when he sees Cullen in the War Room. Only person in the whole Inquisition who might recognize him(he thinks). But it’s been a decade since Kinloch Hold, and they’ve both been through enough hell Cullen doesn’t seem to recognize him. He’s still anxious about talking to the man the entire game bc what if he remembers?!

Leliana thinks he looks vaguely familiar, but can’t put her finger on why until mid-late game, and keeps her deduction to herself. Part of why she’s so protective Josie when she thinks there’s maybe something starting there

He’s also wary of talking to Cassandra in the walking-on-eggshells sense, given the first impression of brazen righteous fury he got from her. (They’ll eventually be friends, but it’s gonna take awhile)

Goes with the ‘Not sure I’m chosen’ route(but does believe in the Maker) bc he can’t keep that bit of his true self from peeking through. He’s been trying so hard to atone for his mistakes for years, but still can’t believe Andraste would choose someone like him as Her Herald. (still not doing great in the self-confidence department)

Really likes Mother Giselle. Is petrified Chancellor Roderick will find him out and blow it wide open to discredit the Inquisition.

Has another near-panic attack when Cole shows up, bc oh BOY is keeping him around flirting with disaster. But help is help and can he really turn him away?

Tries his best to come off as quiet and reserved rather than overwhelmed. Inner monologue more

Josephine is a breath of fresh air. Someone who’s not tied to the Chantry, so he doesn’t feel like he has to be as guarded around her. She’s kind. She’s strong. She’s gracious. He feels like he can relax around her more than anyone else in the Inquisition. (Not so much he tells her everything right away, but more than around Cass or Cullen for example. Or Leliana, who treats him like a riddle she’s trying to solve.)

Still deciding whether to do CotJ or IHW bc it’s either walking into the templar stronghold or walking into Redcliffe, and I”m not sure which would be worse for him. One has templars(+the envy demon glitch), but the other has a host of bad memories/guilt and higher odds of being recognized as the blood mage who poisoned Arl Eamon. (At least, in his mind. It’s been ten years, the only one who might recognize him is Connor.)

Gonna sacrifice Hawke in HLtA bc Alistair is still in a relationship with Trinne and there’s no way Jowan would do something so devastating to his best friend(sister, really) as sacrifice the man she loves.

Really embraces the concept of “Whatever we were before, we are now the Inquisition” bc leaving his past far, far behind him sounds fucking fantastic.

[sam-lives-story]

#SamLives - Chapter 3

“Belief”

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“Jack, you need sleep.”

Day Nine of the #SamLives debacle.

Jack would be lying if he said he’d been sleeping fine, that he hadn’t been worried. The stress of the situation was beginning to take its toll, and it hadn’t been made any better by the GameTheory video that had come out the day before. Matt had good intentions, Jack knew, but...it hadn’t exactly worked the way he assumed the other YouTuber had been hoping.

“Game Theory: Does #SamLive? THE SCIENTIFIC PROOF!”

MatPat was one of the few YouTubers who had, accidentally, learned of Sam’s existence. It was at that Rachel Ray event, the one where he and Matt had been on the same Taco-Making Team™. Sam hadn’t been feeling well so Jack had brought him along for the day, keeping the little eyeball in his hoodie and out of sight, close to him in case Sam needed him. But in the midst of the chaos of the competition, Jack had been jostled by Matt, had tripped and landed on his arse. Matt had immediately apologized and laughed it off...but when he’d reached down to help Jack stand up, Sam had peaked out from where he’d been hiding in Jack’s hood. Matt had frozen, a stunned look on his face, and in an instant Jack knew that he had seen. That he knew. For a moment the pair had been frozen in a stare-off, neither sure what to do. Then Jack had shaken his head quickly and put a finger to his lips. No. Please. Quiet. Don’t say anything...

...and Matt had nodded. He’d helped Jack to his feet and not commented on it at all. Tom (their third teammate) had missed the entire exchange, cracking some joke about “Laying down on the job”. Later, in a bathroom down a back hallway, Jack had explained everything to Matt...and Matt had sworn he wouldn’t tell a soul.

So when #SamLived had taken the YouTube scene by storm faster than Scott Cawthon turned out FNaF games, and when Jack saw that GameTheory had made a video about it....he knew what Matt was trying to do. The video wasn’t proving that Sam was real. The video was to try and counter-prove the theories saying he was and to point out all the reasons why Sam couldn’t possibly exist. Which would have been fine, except that it meant all of the fans over on the GameTheory channel who hadn’t heard about the #SamLives chaos would now be in the know.

“...ack? Jack!”

“Hm...?” Jack dragged himself from his thoughts and blinked, shaking himself mentally. “Sorry Peej, I missed that.”

PJ was watching him from the office chair next to his with a frown on his face. He nudged the Irishman’s leg with his foot.

“Man, you were totally out of it for a bit there. I was just saying you should get some sleep.”

“I’m tryin’, PJ, I swear I am,” Jack smiled weakly. “I’ve just been stressed. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

"Are you still up for recording a game today? We can wait until next week if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Jack pulled on a brighter smile. Good ol’ PJ. He was a decent guy and an even better friend. But Jack shook his head, running a hand through his hair to fix it. “Don’t worry about me. A video or two isn’t gonna be the death of me! I’ll take a nap when we’re done with this one, alright?”

PJ held up both hands in surrender, returning the Irishman’s infectious grin.

“Whatever you say! But you had better be serious about that nap. You look like you need it.”

Jack scoffed and laughed, his next words dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, thaaaanks, thanks for the compliment. I reeaaally needed that self-esteem boost. You’re too kind.”

“No problem!” PJ grinned cheekily back at him.

The two fell into laughter, and once they had started into the Nintendo Switch game they’d planned on recording, most of Jack’s worries fell away for the time being.

That’s not to say they didn’t come back. Jack kept his promise to PJ. He took a nap halfway through the day, crashing onto his couch with all the grace of a baby giraffe.PJ - knowing he needed the rest - only asked Jack if he could raid the pantry (“Sure, just don’t touch the cookies or you’re dead to me.”) before leaving him to his devices. But Jack’s sleep was a restless one, leaving him feeling only a fraction better when he woke up later to his phone ringing on the coffee table beside him.

With his face still buried in the stiff couch pillows, Jack reached out out blindly, his hand skittering across the table’s surface like a drunk spider, landing on the remote, a game controller, and yesterday’s mail before finally coming into contact with his phone. He answered it without looking, face still half-mushed in the pillow.

“Mph?”

“...Jack?”

“Wassup?”

“Did I wake you up?”

The humorous tone on the other end of the phone was vaguely familiar, and it took him a moment to make the connection in his barely-woken-up state.

“...you’ve reached Jacksepticeye’s mouth. His brain isn’t here right now, but if ye call back again in a few minutes it might’ve come back around by then. Either that, or his mouth will have left too.”

“The infamous screaming Irishman of YouTube, missing his mouth? The horror!”

“Oh, shuddup Mark,” Jack chuckled. He dragged himself into a semi-upright position, slouching on the couch. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing asleep at six in the evening?”

“I took a nap.” Jack yawned and scratched at the scruff along his jaw. “Is there a reason fer this call or didja just miss hearin’ my voice?”

“Can ‘both’ be an answer?” Jack could hear Mark’s grin from the other end of the line.

“Heh, I s’ppose,” he chuckled a little. “But really, what’s up?”

“I...eh. Saw the video that GameTheory posted. He really jumped on the bandwagon quickly, didn’t he?”

“Is this about Sam again?” Jack didn’t mean for it to come out as annoyed as it did, honestly. He really didn’t. But it sounded that way anyway and he winced at his own words. PJ stuck his head out from the doorway to the kitchen, an eyebrow raised in question, a bag of crisps in hand. Jack waved him off with a smile.

“I...” Mark faltered. Seemed like he’d hit the nail right on the head. “...well, yeah, but I’ve got a reason for bringing it up, I swear.” The American was quick to defend himself, and Jack couldn’t help but wonder if Mark thought he’d hang up because of the subject matter. He sighed and sat up a little straighter.

“Oh yeah?” Jack asked, trying to sound more friendly. “And what reason might that be?”

“Well see...the thing is...” Mark trailed off. Jack could hear sounds in the background, movement. Like Mark was moving around the house. Was he pacing? “...I mean...w-well, it’s kinda...weird. I mean not bad weird, or freaky weird - okay it might be a little freaky to some people but–”

“If this is about your third nipple I already know,” Jack snickered, trying to lessen the tension with a joke. (PJ clearly thought it was funny if his stifled laughter from the other room was anything to go by.) But it didn’t seem to help because Mark let out a frustrated groan on the other end of the line.

“No! No, it’s...” More silence. “Okay, it’s kind of about Sam, but kinda not.”

“Okay...?” Jack stood up from the couch, shuffling to the kitchen as Mark struggled to find the words he wanted to say. Coffee. He needed coffee for this.

“OH!” Mark shouted suddenly, as if he’d had an epiphany. “OH! Oh oh oh! Okay! So! In Bendy and the Ink Machine, Joey Drew has that...that one tape recording, where he’s talking about belief. About how it can do amazing, impossible things, and how you could even cheat death or something–”

“Mark, what in th’ blue blazes does this have ta do with my imaginary friend?”

“I’m getting there, I promise.”

Jack rolled his eyes and started the coffee machine, leaning back against the counter with one hand tucked in his pocket. PJ was reclining in a kitchen chair, playing a game on his phone with his feet kicked up on the table, and he was still giving Jack puzzled looks that made his curiosity about the phone call clear. Jack covered the mouthpiece and lowered his voice.

"It's Mark," he murmured. "Markiplier. Keeps asking about the #SamLives thing."

"Oh, yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask...how did you guys do that?" PJ asked. “New animation program? Robin did a fantastic job.”

PJ’s grip on his phone had gone slack while he was talking, but a beeping sound effect from the game immediately drew his attention and he quickly focused on playing it while he waited for a response. Jack didn't respond right away...what would his lie be this time?...but before he could even figure out an answer, his phone buzzed against his ear, a notification pinging in the background. So he pulled the mobile away from his face and put the call on speaker, minimizing the app so he could check whatever had just gone off. All he offered PJ was a half-shrug as a response to his question.

“Belief. I’m talking about belief,” Mark continued. Jack opened Twitter, still listening. “I never really thought about it before I played Bendy, but afterwards...it just made sense! And then you posted that video with Sam and I remembered that quote from the game...”

Jack swiped over to his messages, and saw one from somebody he was fairly certain he wasn’t friends with. Weird...he tapped it. It took a long time for the message to load, and once it did, the app closed itself out. Jack scrunched up his nose. Well then. It was gonna be one of those days then, huh? The rustle of static came over the speaker for a moment and Jack frowned, struggling to understand Mark’s words.

“If y...ave...nough of it you ca...”

“Mark? Mark, you’re cuttin’ out, man–”

Jack tugged his other hand free from his pocket and tapped the screen - and he gasped sharply when a static shock jolted through his finger. He shook his hand roughly through the air and winced, cursing under his breath. What the hell...? Then whatever weak connection he’d had with Mark’s call was gone, the call dropping and ending abruptly. Jack...blinked. And stared at his phone.

"You alright?" PJ looked up from his game again to frown at the irishman, who tugged on a quick smile. He shrugged and tucked his phone in his pocket. Ah, well...Mark must’ve had bad reception.

"I'm fine, Peej," he crossed the kitchen to tap PJ’s phone screen, making him lose whatever game he was playing and earning a cry of protest in return. "Just a little static shock. Surprised me more 'n anything. But hey, I’m good! I’m golden! I'm a big, strong boy! I can handle anything!"

Jack's tone turned humorous and his antics drew a snort and rolled eyes from PJ.

"Sure you can," he drawled, swatting at Jack’s arm to stop him interfering with his game again, and making the gamer scamper away with a victorious grin. "A big, strong boy who's scared of heights."

"Hey! That is a completely valid fear to have, you hypocrite!" Jack protested as he continued making his coffee. He pretended to look highly affronted by the accusation. "I mean it’s not really the height that scares me, it’s the fuckin’ death waiting at the bottom of the fall. Can ye blame me?"

“Maybe you’re just scared of being tall because you’ve been so short your whole life–”

PJ barely managed to dart out of the kitchen in time to miss the roll of paper towel Jack chucked at his head.

Jack finished his coffee and moved on with his day, his focus turning to recording the second video with PJ…though somehow Mark’s little ramblings about “belief” lingered with him, hovering in the back of his mind. What had he meant by that…?

[A/N] This part/chapter ended up being longer than the previous two...oops lol. Got a little carried away. I don’t have a real plan for this, but I have a feeew ideas about where it might go. This could get interesting... :3c

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

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