#if it gets any longer i wil simply die

[inkyquince]

alright, i gotta go out today but oN GOD THIS PIECE OF WRITING WILL GET DONE BY THIS EVENING

maybe

[faeri-fiction]

-4-

The girl was born beautiful, with a lively face and snow white skin. There seemed to be stars shining in a pair of clear eyes, pure and natural. She had a faint fragrance of herbs on her body, and her temperament was unparalleled.

The little white deer opened the door and came in, seeing the medicine mortar and pestle in her hands, she was surprised and said, "Didn't Aunt Shao go out and won't be back for so long, you're still pounding medicine?"

Xueli said: "Daily work cannot be neglected. My aunt said that no matter what I do, if I slack off for too long, I will die by my own hand. Medicine is a matter of life and death, and there should be no negligence. Besides, I will prepare more medicine in advance. If someone in the forest accidentally gets injured or gets sick, they can get medical treatment in time."

As she spoke, she took out the crushed herbs neatly, carefully put them into a small square paper bag, wrapped it with red string, and wiped off the medicinal extract.

The combination of the color of the medicine paper and the color of the red string can clearly and simply distinguish the types of different medicines, which is concise and clear.

Aunt Shaoyin was not in the fairyland recently, she left the fairyland with the medicine box half a month ago and went to the mortal world.

Ever since Xueli grew up and was able to take care of her own life, and the nearby creatures who had developed spiritual intelligence could also assist her, Shaoyin would sometimes go out to the mortal world for free consultations for a short time, saying that it was to test how much of her medical skills she had. Diligently, by the way, see if there are new intractable diseases in the mortal world, and if they can't be cured, then find a way to overcome them, and save lives and heal the wounded.

According to her aunt, the way of medicine is born to cure diseases and save people. Without the benevolence of doctors, there will be no medical skills and prescriptions.

Her aunt usually does not leave the fairyland for a long time, as many as five or six days, and as little as one or two days, but as Xueli grew up, the time she leaves is getting longer and longer. There will be some problems, so this is the first time that Aunt Shaoyin will leave for more than half a year in one go.

Xueli kept moving, but thinking of her aunt leaving for so long, she couldn't help lowering her eyes.

She casually said to Bailu: "I still have some herbs that I haven't finished processing, you wait for me for a while, and go out to play after I finish it."

"Okay." The little white deer nodded, its bright eyes were very quick-witted.

It was obviously not the first time that the little white deer had come to wait for her in the small wooden house. She was very comfortable and casual, and she walked briskly around the house with her little hooves.

Suddenly, she saw Xueli's unsealed wooden storage box, and she couldn't help exclaiming: "Xueli! You didn't eat any of the food that Aunt Shao left for you!"

Xueli's hand holding the pestle trembled and stopped, her face became flushed immediately.

She immediately rushed over, closed the lid of the wooden box, and stuck herself on top of it.

"Don't look at it!"

Xueli hugged the box full of radishes, and said embarrassingly, "Auntie won't be back for a long time, so it doesn't matter if I eat less."

Shaoyin worried that Xueli would not be able to find something to eat while she was not at home, so she had stored a lot of food for her at home in advance. The aura in the fairy world is abundant, and herbal foods are almost indestructible. Shaoyin also specially matched the varieties for her according to balanced nutrition. Xueli only needs to take a little of each kind and cook it every day.

However, it seems that half a month has passed, and Xueli has not touched the radishes here at all.

The little white deer looked worriedly at Xueli, who suddenly exploded, and said, "But what will you do when Aunt Shao comes back? She will definitely check if you have eaten properly when she comes back."

Xueli's white, fluffy tail was bristling, and she said stubbornly: "I didn't say I wouldn't eat it, and I will eat it in a few days."

The little white deer said: "But you don't eat a single radish now, maybe you have to wait until a few days before Aunt Shao comes back to eat together!"

Xueli: "Anyway, I will eat it in the future!"

As she spoke, she tightly closed the lid of the wooden box, patted it, and then ran back to finish processing the remaining herbs.

The little white deer was helpless, dubious about Xueli eating the radishes in the future, but she had no choice but to quietly lie down and watch her process the medicine.

Xueli is skilled in medical techniques, and has been practicing medicine strictly under the guidance of Fairy Shaoyin for more than ten years. Every movement of hers is smooth and precise, as if she did it directly without thinking, but graceful and unrestrained, without a trace of sloppiness.

The little white deer looked at her in admiration, unconsciously fascinated.

There was only little finishing touches left and soon all the herbs were cleaned up. A whole row of medicine bottles and medicine packages were arranged in sequence, and the house was filled with the fragrance of herbs.

Xueli arranged all the objects neatly and said with a smile, "Okay, I'm done!"

As she spoke, she suddenly moved and turned back into her original shape of a little white fox.

Four fluffy little white paws are standing firmly on the ground, with nine tails without any variegation behind them, and soft snow white ears standing on top of her head, and every part of the body is white and flawless, just like fresh morning snowfall.

As soon as Xueli changed back to her original body, she squinted her eyes and shook her fur uncomfortably, calling out, "Awoo!"

She has grown longer than when she was a child, but perhaps it is her breed or something, but she looks smaller than the average fox, and she looks very huggable and fluffy.

Seeing that Xueli had turned back into a little fox, Bailu hurriedly knelt down on her front hooves meekly, arched her back, and waited for Xueli to climb onto her back.

Xueli is the only beast in fairyland that can transform into a human body. She holds the key of this fairyland on her body and is the master of the fairyland. She helped everyone to become enlightened at the beginning, and the creatures close to her usually play together, but they often can't help but show reverence.

"No need, I can go by myself!"

Xueli shook all her white fur, quickly shook her head, then excitedly touched the white deer, and asked, "Where are we going to play today? Where are the others?"

"You come with me!"

Seeing that she didn't want to take advantage of her, the little white deer didn't force it. She straightened up, kicked her hooves lively, and ran outside.

"Awoo!"

Seeing this, Little Xueli quickly followed with her tail wagging happily.

A fox and a deer, bouncing and vivacious, soon disappeared into the forest.

...

At the same moment.

At a height of 40,000 feet, the clouds pierced the sky, and the air was separated in nine directions, before it reached the sky above the clouds.

On the wide and flat platform, several young male disciples of similar age are competing.

They were all about seventeen or eighteen years old. In the fairy world, they were more than a teenager, but still they are a little childish. They all had youthful, frivolous, arrogant expressions on their faces, and their eyes were shining with stars.

The two people who are competing are fighting fiercely, back and forth, their figures are so fast that it is almost impossible to catch the glimpse, and the light that glints off of their weapons is like lightning flashing and thunder rolling.

Ordinary people cultivate into immortals to pursue longevity, and live in the fairyland afterwards. The fairyland is divided into upper and lower layers. Performing their duties, they are in charge of the operation of the fairyland and the mortal world.

This is the place where wolf deities live. In the fairyland, most of them are wolf gods and gods with extremely high cultivation. The wolves are loyal and tenacious, and they are ferocious divine beasts. This group of wolves are in the prime of youth, without any sign of retreat or fear, just like sharp arrows shooting out of the bowstring, the fight is extraordinarily high-spirited.

Those two fought fiercely, and the rest of the people also stared intently, cheering and applauding from time to time, excitedly.

Above the crowd, there is a young wolf fairy who is also seventeen or eighteen years old. He has a handsome face and sits leaning sideways on a throne with a thick white velvet robe on his shoulders. His original shape is a snow wolf. Everyone stood or sat on the ground, but he was the only one sitting at the top, with an extraordinary status.

"Stop!"

After the young wolf fairies had roughly decided the winner, the wolf official shouted, and the two disciples who were still fighting immediately separated quickly.

The tasseled spear that came out of one of them spun several times in the air before stopping firmly behind his back.

The wolf officer turned his head and saluted the young wolf fairy on the throne, saying: "Young Master, it's your turn."

The young wolf fairy nodded slightly, stood up, and leisurely the fur coat fell from his shoulders, revealing his straight shoulders and narrow waist, and he walked forward slowly.

The long-awaited opponent is the best among the disciples. He has fought against the young master many times. Although he has never won, just being the young master's opponent is enough to make people feel excited.

He took out his weapon and stood on the platform solemnly and excitedly.

Young Master snow wolf also arrived soon, and the two saluted each other.

The wolf fairy looked at the figure of the young master with admiration.

Because his mother was injured during pregnancy, the young master suffered from the root cause of the disease in the womb. He was weak since he was a child, and even had a long period of time when he was young, sleeping more and waking up less often. Many doctors worried that he would die before growing up.

However, more than ten years later, the young master not only did not die young, but also became the most outstanding disciple among the young people of this generation by virtue of his own hard work.

After the current fairyland master abdicates, the young master will be the next wolf king.

His talent is outstanding, his cultivation speed is astonishing, not to mention his celestial power, his beast form is also a snow wolf that can control the stars, far more powerful than ordinary wolf immortals, both human body and beast body have extremely strong combat power, at his age he is absolutely invincible among similar immortals.

Thanks to the cultivation level of the young master that is higher than ordinary people, the cold disease brought out from the mother's womb will hardly affect him, but he has not recovered after all, and he often needs to wear a fur robe to keep warm even in summer. Body temperature, and occasionally severe cold and pain when the onset is severe. The young master has a persevering personality. Even at this time, he will not let people easily notice his weakness. He endured silently to the end by himself, and he already has the demeanor of a future wolf king.

But in the most serious cases, the young master will stay behind closed doors for several days in a row. The difficulties in cultivating to the current level under such circumstances are self-evident, but the young master has managed it.

At this time, the two young masters on the platform had already started fighting.

The person who confronted the young master was already the most outstanding disciple among the other young wolf cubs, but facing the young master who was a snow wolf, he was completely at a disadvantage, and had almost no strength left to fight back.

[griffintail]

Finding a Forgotten Memory

Summary: A happy ending for this post and this one. 

Pairings: Parental! Ghostbur x F! Child! Reader

Tommy x F! Child! Reader

Warnings: ANGST! But there’s a happy ending.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         Tommy swept his gear on the floor as he paced the length of his bedroom in his hotel, warm tears rolling down his face.

         He remembered the day Ghostbur had stormed into his home, balling, his tears creating smoke, that he couldn’t find his little blue. He had assured the ghost, she was fine. Probably hiding or she wandered a little farther than she should have.

         Grabbing his sword in case the search took too long, he followed Ghostbur into his sewer he’d moved back into after Tommy’s freedom from exile. Inside, Tommy had a few doubts as he looked at the bit of wreckage around the place.

         “Did you do this looking for her Ghostbur?” Tommy asked, sitting a barrel upright.

         “N-No. I-I s-s-s-he…” The ghost couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

         “I’ll look outside. Stay here in case she comes back alright?”

         Ghostbur nodded rapidly, clutching onto an already full piece of blue. Tommy nodded before leaving the sewer calmly then booking it to Phil’s.

         “Phil!” Tommy shouted, slamming the door open, startling the man and his crows. “There’s something wrong with Ghostbur.”

         “What? What’s wrong?” Phil immediately stood up.

         Tommy explained the situation and they both gathered everyone they could, a search party formed. (Y/N)’s name was shouted into the wind as everyone separated into many corners of the Dream SMP land and the L’Manberg land. Even people like Sapnap and Punz helped them look in their more familiar areas.

         But they couldn’t find the little girl and mobs had started to come out. Tommy, Phil, Techno, Fundy, and a few of L’Manberg citizens continued their searches. Techno and Phil went into more in-depth searches or rather questionings. Yet…there was no word of her…

         That was the night Phil fabricated the lie.

         “We’ll only use it till we figure out what happened. Ghostbur will have to believe it because Fundy refuses to talk to him but he likes (Y/N).” Phil assured the younger as he fidgeted in worry.

         They’d try to figure out what happened in the next few days!

         …

         Then a few days turned into a few weeks. And a few weeks turned into two months…

         They’d lost hope and even though there was no message on the walkies, they knew the magic had a range and (Y/N) …she had to be gone…They didn’t know what happened, could only speculate.

         Time had to move on and people grieved, Tommy taking it hard as the little girl had helped him through hell without knowing. She was part of his family and she had made him smile when he needed it the most, not even knowing he had needed her little games and laughs. He wished he had those when he had gone through the final battle with Dream, yet even after his victory, he continued to grieve and now seethe as Dream dangled a fruit of revival in front of him.

         Listening to the same horse shit, day after day…

         They had told Ghostbur once or twice in the beginning but Phil told everyone to keep up the lie when the ghost would just break completely, unable to function at all. Tommy couldn’t handle it anymore that Ghostbur didn’t remember the one thing he thought the ghost would never forget. That he wasn’t grieving like him. The little girl only helped Tommy through a rough time but that same little girl was Ghostbur’s entire world! It wasn’t fair to her memory that Ghostbur simply forgot the end of it!

         He knew the ghost couldn’t help it and that the ghost would break if he actually remembered but it frustrated him to no end because Tommy didn’t forget and broke at his own memories and he couldn’t live like this anymore! He…he couldn’t let the little girl be gone any longer…

         He looked at the prison from his window, before clenching his hands. He needed to pay an “old friend” a visit.

         …

         Tommy stood on the other side of the netherite blocks as the lava behind him finished cascaded down and the barrier was gone between him and the smiley masked man.

         “Tommy! What do I owe the pleasure?” Dream asked, spreading his arms as he laughed.

         “Business. I want that revive book Dream.”

         “The revive book? You know I can’t just give that to you Tommy. I won’t revive Wil—”

         “Not…Wilbur,” Tommy muttered.

         Yes, the boy wanted his older brother back but he wanted this little girl back first.

         “Not Wilbur? Who would you want? Not Schlatt.” Dream mocked and Tommy clenched his jaw.

         “Just shut up you bastard and listen!” Tommy shouted and Dream stopped, watching. “You’re going to bring (Y/N) back or I’ll never visit you again and we both know how much you want me to visit.”

         Dream stood there before grinning wickedly behind his mask. “(Y/N)? Huh. You’re going to have to remind me who they are…”

         “YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHO SHE IS!” Tommy snapped, doing his best to keep his tears in. “She was the little girl you hated because she made me happy during exile!!”

         “Oooh, right. Ghostbur’s kid.” He chuckled, turning from him. “How’s he doing?”

         Tommy restrained himself with great difficulty.

         “Such a bad memory, his child going missing, I’m sure he’s practically been destroyed…”

         Tommy felt the warm tears in the corner of his eyes as he took deep breaths.

         “Or did he finally forget the little brat?”

         He lost it.

         He pinned Dream to the obsidian wall and barked at his smiley mask.

         “YOU’RE GOING TO BRING HER BACK RIGHT NOW YOU GREEN FUCKING PRICK!”

         Then Tommy saw his wicked grin under his mask.

         “I’d love to Tommy, but I can’t bring back what’s living.”

         “W-What?” Tommy sputtered, confused.

         Dream laughed as Tommy let him go.

         “You never saw the message because there was no message to have! It wasn’t my goal after all to kill her.”

         Tommy’s world stopped before his heart pounded. She…She was still alive?! But Dream had been in prison for three months after they finally decided she was gone. She…She wouldn’t have survived…

         “And now that you know, the clock is ticking Tommy. Will you lose her and have to deal with another ghost? Of course, I can make it simple. Let me out and I’ll give her right back.”

         Tommy shook. He had mourned for her. He had stopped…looking for her…

         Shaking his head, Tommy stepped behind the barrier, it going up, shocking Dream. No, Tommy needed to make this right.

         “I’ll find her. Suck it, green boy.” Tommy snarled, before stepping onto the bridge.

         “YOU WON’T! SHE’LL DIE BEFORE YOU FIND HER TOMMY! ONLY I KNOW WHERE SHE IS AND SHE’LL STARVE SLOWLY!”

         But Dream underestimated Tommy’s determination…

         …

         “PHIL!” Tommy shouted on the walkie as he sprinted back for his hotel for his gear.

         “Don’t talk to me, Tommy! How could—” Phil started to yell at him.

         “(Y/N) IS STILL ALIVE!”

         “W-What?” Phil stopped.

         “I went to Dream to revive her and he admitted to taking her. She’s still alive. We need to find her now!”

         Tommy slid slightly as he got to the entrance of the hotel before dashing in.

         “H-How, what?!”

         “IT’S A LONG STORY NOW WE NEED TO LOOK! We need to every fucking place Dream’s ever been!”

         They had figured she had been kidnapped. They just hadn’t known by who. Dream had been prime suspect, but even then, he had an alibi; and at the time, they couldn’t exactly search the most powerful man’s places.

         “O-Ok. Ok! I’ll get everyone!”

         Tommy grabbed his gear and went to meet with everyone else. The search was back months later but they had new information. Dream was tricky with his hiding and everyone had to be clever as they went into different corners of the world…

         Tommy didn’t sleep for two days as they searched everywhere they could as his thoughts went rampant. What if Dream was just messing with him again? Lying to get him to let him out! What if Tommy had just given everyone false hope…

         Then as the sun just breaking into light purples on a new day, Tubbo cried out on the walkie.

         “WE FOUND SOMETHING! WE FOUND SOMETHING IN DREAM’S BUNKER!”

         Fear didn’t even grip Tommy as he sprinted for the nether portal. Tubbo, Ranboo, and a small crew of others took to the task of taking the bunker physically apart in hopes to find anything.

         Tubbo justified by saying this was where Dream had held his biggest cards. He wouldn’t have kept (Y/N) too far from there.

         Tommy stumbled into the room as he saw Ranboo standing back to be there if someone got stuck as Tubbo, Foolish, and Jack carefully digging around a mechanism they had destroyed. Tommy pulled out his own pick and joined them.

         After some time, they managed to crumble away stone into a hallway.

         “I’ll go,” Tommy muttered.

         He hated the tight space of the hall but he had to know and if it was a trap, he wanted to take it. Carefully going down the hall with his axe instead, he didn’t go too far before he found a door. Opening it slowly, he found a plain room and…a little girl in a dirty blue hoodie spinning around bored in the room.

         “(Y/N)!” Tommy choked on a sob before dashing into the room and hugging her tightly.

         She yelped in surprise before grinning widely. “Uncle Tommy! I told Dream you’d visit!”

         Tommy cried as he squeezed her. She was so naïve as always. She hadn’t changed in the missing months…He missed his niece so much.

         “Your crying! I don’t have any blue.” She said, looking around the empty room.

         “I-I’m ok (Y/N).” He laughed quietly. “They’re happy tears…but there’s a ghost that would love to see you…”

         She gasped. “I missed daddy! Is he here?”

         “No…but I know he’d love to play a game of hide and seek…”

         “Ok, do you have any food? The tall man hasn’t brought me any.” She explained as he stood up.

         He frowned in confusion before his eyes went wide. The person that had been helping Dream while he was in prison.

         “(Y/N), what did she look like?” Tommy asked quickly.

         She shrugged. “He was very tall and he wore funny clothes and he wore a mask.”

         “Like Dream’s?”

         She shook her head. Tommy frowned deeply. Who the hell had been helping him?

         “I don’t have food on me but I’m sure Ghostbur will gladly give you dinner.”

         She grinned as he carried her out. The others cheered seeing the pair, sharing hugs with her as Tommy continued to hold her. Everyone over the radio celebrated as Ranboo made the announcement. Phil nearly collapsed in happiness when they got to L’Manberg, relieved he hadn’t lost another child he had helped care for.

         Reluctantly, before Tommy brought her to the sewer, Tommy told her not to tell Ghostbur about her “trip”. It was a little secret between the two of them. She promised not to tell and Tommy brought her into the sewer, seeing Ghostbur was doing his daily morning to find his little blue. He hid (Y/N) in a barrel he knew Ghostbur checked before rushing out.

         He waited by the door as he heard a cry of laughter, smiling lightly before leaving, his work done.

         “There you are little blue! It’s breakfast time, not time to play hide and seek!” Ghostbur laughed, hugging the little girl tightly, not really understanding why he had before he gasped hearing her stomach rumble. “You’re starving! Let’s have a big breakfast!”

         She giggled, agreeing with him as she snuggled into him.

         “Your hoodie is getting dirty, we’ll wash that before we go visit Phil and Tommy, ok?”

         “Ok, daddy. I love you.”

         “I love you too my little blue. I love you so much.” He muttered without thinking, nuzzling the top of her hoodie.

[hermits-that-craft]

Staying With The Traitor - Chapter One

A Reluctant Agreement

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695042/chapters/65115157

“Gentlemen I believe I could provide you sanctuary.” Eret says quietly, appearing around the corner. Wilbur moves in front of where he thinks Tommy could be, though he can’t see the teen.

“Eret how fucking dare you!” Tommy yells, his voice falling from besides Wilbur.

“I have value still.” Wilbur spits towards Eret, who flinches away from the ex-president of L’manburg.

“You’ve been betrayed, I can help you.” Eret says, offering his hand to Wilbur.

“Eret the fucking nerve of you.”

“We know we’ve been betrayed.” Wilbur glares at him. “For a second time.”

“Whoever you’re mailing won’t come for a few weeks, even if they leave the second they get the letter.” Eret points out, and Wilbur nearly crushes the letter in his fist. “I can offer you sanctuary in a place that Schlatt won’t look for you, so you don’t have to run constantly.”

“We can run, Eret.” Tommy says, the potion slowly wearing off. He pulls out another invisibility potion, his form flickering as it comes into view.

“You shouldn’t have to run, Tommy.” Eret says sympathetically. “You’re just a kid. This shouldn’t have happened to you.”

“I’m not just a kid!”

“You’re only sixteen, you shouldn’t have been thrown out of your own country, political opposition or not.” Eret looks to Wilbur. “You know where to find me, just…

Consider it.”

---

Dear Technoblade, Do you remember how you said that it was a bad idea for me to hold an election? So soon after becoming president? You were right. Of course you were right. Schlatt became president. He kicked me out - which is fair, I ran against him, I should have expected that. But he also kicked Tommy out. Tommy! A child. Tubbo’s working for him, Tommy says that he doesn’t want to but I’m not so sure. Tubbo doesn’t appear to be harmed, though. We can’t get close enough to tell. We’re on the run. We’re going to be on the run for a while, we need your help. We need to take back L’manburg. Please Techno, please come to help. Thanks, Wilbur Soot (Though this is mainly Tommy’s idea. I don’t want to get betrayed again get you mixed up in all of this)

---

Tommy shivers in the little dirt house they had made, dug down and buried six feet under a tree. Wilbur sighs, wrapping a blanket around Tommy’s shoulders, not saying anything as they listen to rain and footsteps above them. Quackity shouts directly above them, and Tommy flinches, a bloodied bandage over his arm. Wilbur lifts a finger over his mouth, reminding Tommy to be as quiet as he can as Wilbur attempts to bandage his leg. They can’t make out anything, and soon the footsteps leave, but Wilbur doesn’t relax, even as he watches Tommy drift off into sleep.

It’s too quiet.

Not like L’manburg, or Manburg, with the sounds of potions brewing and people whispering off into the night, or owls flying and bats screeching. There was alway noise to keep him company on long nights.

Now, the only sound is Tommy's breathing, slow and steady. A beat to keep the time. Wilbur tucks Tommy into the bed, promising to himself that tomorrow night, he’ll ask to sleep in it. Just like he promised to himself last night, and the night before. 

“I’ll be back soon, I’m just going to get some food for us to have tomorrow.” Wilbur promises the sleeping teen, creating a small hole for him to climb out of. They’ll need to find a new base soon.

The cold night air nips at Wilbur, and he is quickly drenched by the rain. Wilbur shivers, imagining the warmth of L’manburg on a night like this. Tubbo, Tommy, Fundy, Jack, Nikki and himself all around a fire, laughing, telling stories. Eret, maybe, if Nikki brought him with a small comment about a big, cold and empty castle. A few comments about betrayal and a trade of wine later and the room would be singing again, the two teens trying to get wine from Fundy or Jack while Eret tells Nikki and himself about how his kingdom is going. Wilbur doesn’t blame Eret for the betrayal, even if the wound is still so fresh that it stings. Who wouldn’t betray the side that appeared to be losing for a kingdom to rule over? Eret did seem to enjoy being the king, and he was fairer on his people then Dream was.

Wilbur frowns, catching himself thinking about Eret in the past tense. He can’t remember when that started. Eret should still be king, and he should still be a fair and just ruler.

Wilbur pulls himself out of his memories and buries his yearning for the past under a need for food. Tommy will need food in the morning, and so will he. Neither man can afford to starve out here, so far away from civilisation.

Not far enough, it would appear.

“This is Dream SMP land, Schlatt.” Eret’s voice cuts through the forest, and Wilbur freezes, pulling the brown coat he found around him as he ducks behind a tree. “I sincerely hope that you aren’t breaking our treaties.”

“I’m simply looking for two outlaws.” Schlatt’s voice sends cold terror down Wilbur’s spine, and he looks to the tree that Tommy is sleeping peacefully under. Tommy could die tonight, if Schlatt finds him. Or worse.

“From my understanding, you exiled them. They are no longer in your land, in Manburg, so you are breaking the treaty that was signed for your protection.”

“Oh please,” Schlatt laughs. “Do you mean to tell me that the treaty signed by outlaws is still in effect? In any case, those two are also in Dream SMP land. They’re breaking the treaty as well, unless you let them in.”

“They have citizenship of Dream SMP, because unlike some democratically elected leaders, I don’t allow children to be country-less.”

“But they are homeless.” Schlatt laughs, and Wilbur freezes, mulling over the new information. They’re under Dream SMP rule again. “Why are you out here, Eret? I thought that you would want to stay inside your big empty castle.”

“I heard your men shouting for a hunt, I was concerned for my citizens and came out here.”

“So you know where they live?” Schlatt’s voice is light, the question darker than his voice portrays it.

“Why does that matter to you.” Eret’s voice goes dark, as though he knows the danger that the question poses, the fear it sparks in Wilbur. 

“I'm looking for them. I want to talk.” Wilbur holds his bow tighter, not prepared for a fight but ready if he needs to be.

“With netherite weapons.” Eret’s voice is incredulous. “I don’t believe that it will remain peaceful.”

“What's your point?”

“Go home, Schlatt. You have a country to rule, leave my citizens to me.” Eret growls, and Wilbur hears a twig snap as one of them moves.

More twigs snap, and Wilbur can hear Schlatt grumble under his breath as he walks away. Before he can move, before he can even release the breath he didn’t know he was holding, Eret sighs.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you two.” Eret mumbles, and Wilbur can hear the sorrow in his voice. “I’m trying my hardest. I really am. I’m making sure everyone is doing okay, I’ve hidden Nikki from Schlatt and his lackeys and they’re none the wiser. If only I could convince Tubbo to join Nikki, then at least I could say that he’s okay.”

“Thank you, Eret.” Wilbur whispers, and Eret takes in a sharp breath.

“Wil? Are you alright? Are you hurt? Where’s Tommy, is he okay?”

Wilbur steps out from behind the tree, and he sees Eret for the first time in what feels like years. The king has bags around his eyes, his crown discarded for a netherite helmet and armour glistens in the rain. Hair pokes out from under the helmet, and behind Eret’s sunglasses his eyes glow so bright that Wilbur can see them before he sees the bags that appear so prominent. His cape isn’t on, his regal attire clearly exchanged for more practical wear. As though he thought a fight would break out. A sword rests in its sheath, and Wilbur can see the glow from the enchantments on it. Eret, despite the bags under his eyes and the concern written into his features, looks regal, put together.

Wilbur knows that he must look like shit next to him. Covered in dirt and mud and blood from not being able to stop for a moment to clean himself, bags under his eyes from days of sleeping on dirt or stone floors, and messy hair hidden under a saturated beanie. Wilbur’s probably the most clean that he’s been since the election, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t look like a drowned rat.

“Tommy’s alright.” Wilbur finally answers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, he’s hurt, they haven’t stopped hunting us, but he isn’t dead. Asleep, right now.”

“You left him by himself?” Eret doesn’t sound like he’s judging Wilbur, just asking him a polite question, but Wilbur can’t help the rage that leaps into his throat.

“Someone has to feed him. We need food after all. It’s safest to hunt at-”

“I know, I’m not judging. Just wondering if the person who you wrote that letter to arrived.”

---

Dear Wilbur Soot, I’ll come as soon as I can. I need to do some things with Dad Phil first, but I should arrive in about a month. Maybe two months, if I can convince Phil to come with me. Don’t die, Techno

---

“My offer still stands, you know.” Eret says, walking towards Wilbur. “If you’d like to, I can set you both up a room tonight and you can come in the morning.”

“How would I tell Tommy?” Wilbur sighs into his hands, sitting on the leaf covered grass. “I promised him freedom from tyranny, and now a dictator is hunting him and our only refuge is the country that we started a revolution against.”

“I think he’d be more happy to be safe,” Eret suggests, and Wilbur glares at him. “I mean, he’s just a kid. He needs the safety.”

“Could we go to your castle now?” Wilbur asks, his voice small. Guilt eats at his insides as he looks to the ground. Selling Tommy and his freedom for safety. Selling their freedom to a traitor. Sure, a friend when Nikki invited him in, a person they took pity on in a lonely castle, but someone who would sell them out to the highest bidder, just like last time.

“Of course, do you want me to wait here?” Eret asks, and a smile forms on his lips. Wilbur glares at the grass, weighing his options.

“No.” He says, standing slowly. “Unless you don’t want to crawl through a one by one block dirt hole.”

“I don’t care.” Eret shrugs. “As long as I can make sure you’re both safe.”

Bastard. Wilbur spits in his mind, but he keeps his mouth shut as he walks towards the small hole. How is he supposed to tell Tommy, especially with Eret in the room with them? How can he let the boy down?

Wilbur kicks a stone, sighing to himself. It’s for the best. It’ll keep Tommy safe.

---

Dear Tommy Innit, Sup, I know Wilbur doesn’t want to go through another betrayal, alright? He isn’t that good at hiding what he writes on letters. Look, I know you both. I care about you both, so I’m going to ask you a favour. Make sure Wilbur is alright until Phil and I get there, okay? Thanks, Techno.

---

“Thank god you’re alright!” Tommy says, slowly standing up. He limps to Wilbur, checking the man over for injuries. “I thought that you were hurt, you shouldn’t have left someone could have found you, or followed you back or-”

“Tommy we’re going now.” Wilbur says as Eret steps into the room. “We-”

“What? Why?”

“We can’t stay here.” Wilbur swallows his pride, sorrowful eyes meet Tommy’s tired ones. “We have to stay with Eret until Techno and Phil come, alright?”

Taglist:

@octosghost @firefly464 @surohsopsisofclouds @chromations @magpies-and-glitter @wwwwwelcomegays @asmoljay @ribineran @hawheckin @violet--majesty 

[restnowyourhardshipisover]

Let’s entertain the possibility that trapping killing and reviving Tommy in the prison was a plan. Not just using the TNT, not just trapping someone but specifically to kill and use the revival book. As opposed to murder being an emotional reaction to starvation, abuse and watching his attachment die.

I don’t think it’s likely, as in I think there’s significantly more evidence that doesn’t support it. There is some evidence to support it. To that end, if it was a plan, and it being a plan matters then it was a plan to accomplish something.

What does it accomplish? Let’s go through ideas and how realistic I think they are. For fun and because it’s interesting to consider.

(I’m hand waving the idea Dream did somehow predict Sam’s choice to keep Tommy in not just the prison but the cell for longer than the waiver allowed for, how Sam would perceive an unsolved TNT explosion, Ect. I really can’t think of a reason that’s possible we’re just accepting it is for the sake of theroy crafting.)

Proving that the revival book was real. People were already acting with the assumption that it was real without that proof. And if this was a longer term plan he could’ve killed and revived Tommy or Tubbo during Doomsday before Punz brought the others through. or make the Vik and Lazer experiments public. It seems like a very odd timing and a difficult to control situation for that. Dream could’ve gotten the impression during Tommy’s visit that it had become necessary, but that doesn’t map to the idea it was planned.

To learn about afterlife or confirm that the revival book works. While this is the answer Dream offered Tommy, we now know for certain it’s false.

An escape attempt. Tommy being trapped with Dream might be motivated or persuaded to help Dream escape. Because they’re both stuck in the cell. This to me only makes sense if the target was trapping whoever visited next as opposed to Tommy specifically. Tommy is of everyone probably the least likely to help Dream escape. And has no skills suited to breaking out of an unbreakable prison. And I’m not terribly convinced two people in the cell would help. I think Dream’s reaction to Technoblade being trapped in the prison and the fact that with months of active collaboration they weren’t able to escape supports the idea that Dream did not have a way to escape that simply required a second person. So, I guess in this possibility killing Tommy somehow makes him more likely to help with an escape attempt? Because Tommy’s desperate enough to escape he’d help Dream also escape? I personally don’t think it makes much sense.

Just to hurt Tommy. This frankly would be pretty out of character, Dream certainly has hurt Tommy in the past but generally for specific goals. This also folds in with the idea Dream planned to continue killing and reviving Tommy, which frankly makes no sense with the actions Dream took. Also, Dream might be better at PVP than Tommy but I’m going to call bullshit on the assumption that he could always win that fist fight. Tommy’s not that bad. If this was the reason for the plan, what does that accomplish? Actual nothing. Except maybe getting punched to death by Tommy. It also doesn’t track with the power dynamic we see play out. Sam could’ve removed Tommy from the cell at any time but chose not to due to security concerns. Killing Tommy repeatedly seems very likely to tip that scale.

A hostage. Dream planned to use Tommy or Tommy’s revival as a hostage to barter for something, presumably to be let out. But doesn’t end up going through with the plan for some reason. Again let’s remember Sam could’ve removed Tommy but refused to. Dream had opportunities to negotiate with Tommy’s safety, but we don’t see him do so. Maybe Sam isolating him from all contact accidentally thwarted his plan. This, and any other aborted plan theory is possible but I struggle to find any meaningful consequence for the story going forward.

Contacting Deadbur. When Tommy was dead he spoke to Wilbur in purgatory and did talk to Dream about that. If Dream was able to be certain Tommy would be able to contact Wilbur in death, there might be some message to be passed? Or getting a general sense of how Wilbur is doing? Or gifting the guy who has spent years in isolation the happiest moment of his eternal damnation? This assumes Dream has a lot of predictive knowledge but hey, we’re already assuming that with this theory. This also feeds into stone theory? Potentially?

Helping the egg/BBH at the time of Tommy’s death in the prison the Eggpire had effectively a bounty on Tommy. We know that Bad at some point was probably collaborating with Dream, specifically giving probably Ranboo probably blueprints. So in theory: Dream and Ranboo trapped Tommy in the prison and Dream killed him, in exchange Bad gave Ranboo the blueprints. But Dream also revived Tommy, meaning he didn’t loose anything from such a trade. This would be a cool twist and reasonable but it isn’t particularly foreshadowed, and as much as I can tell Bad wasn’t wearing his Egged skin or the disguise layer during that cut scene. It would explain Ranboo’s presence at the Red Banquet. This also assumes that Bad was working in the prison or had contact with Dream even while he and Sam were very much enemies.

Those are all the possibilities I could come up with, and ones I’ve seen elsewhere.

This was actually really fun. Because the premise is unlikely to begin with I got to hand wave things and just speculate with outlandish theory crafting.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 36

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

The passage of time was a difficult thing to judge by the moonless and sunless sky. There were no clocks in your quarters either, which only made the matter more confusing. 

The adrenaline was still running high in your veins when you focused on finding any traps or hidden passages in the rooms Loki and you had been sent to. Everything felt new and strange, and you still couldn't quite wrap your mind around the fact that you'd successfully left the Earth. 

You wondered if you were the first human to ever walk the Edge.

"Is it night already?" you finally voiced your confusion to Loki, looking over the opposite wall. 

There was not much to inspect in the living room, since it barely contained any furniture. The walls there, for all you could tell, had nothing suspicious about them, except for the remarkable carvings made directly into the stone. They mostly consisted of nature and beings similar to the High Prince you'd already met. The poses seemed mostly symbolic, but it was difficult to guess the meaning behind them without any knowledge of the Edge's culture or history. 

There were some other carvings, too, but you couldn't look at them for too long. There was a strange discomfort when you tried to focus on the details of figures that seemed to have too many eyes or limbs or were shaped in ways flesh should not be able to bend. There was a depth to some of them that made you carefully brush your hand over them to make sure they were actually flat. The only thing you felt then was the chilly cold of the stone under your skin, and nothing close to the drowning depth of the outlines on its surface that seemed to drag you into the void. It was a similar feeling to the dizziness you tried to fight around the Prince. 

"It's the closest thing to night the Edge has," Loki said. He extended his hand over the chimney in the bedroom, using his magic to detect any irregularities. The Edge was not a place that would welcome foreign magic, and it made using it difficult. He felt himself growing tired every time he used it.

"How do you know?" 

"By the light. Violet means night, then it changes to blue around morning, and then shifts into orange near afternoon. As far as I'm concerned, there is no noon or the concept of hours as we know it, but the day lasts for roughly 24 hours, so for my own personal use, I divide it that way."

"But what casts that light?" 

You groaned as you pushed a heavy table out of the way to inspect the floor. You had watched too many movies on Earth to make the mistake of not checking each and every tile. 

"Nothing. The Edge simply… makes it." 

Loki winced, putting his arm down. The chimney seemed to be normal. He had lost track of time too, but a few hours must've passed since your arrival. It was a comforting thought to know the place you were supposed to spend the next few days was a rather safe one, but Loki couldn't shake off the feeling they might've missed something. 

He walked over to the corner you almost finished inspecting. 

"What do you mean?" you asked, glad to have a conversation to fill in the strange silence in the rooms. Even through the large windows, there was no sound of birds, insects or any other living creature on the other side of it. 

Loki leaned on the wall. 

"The Edge is… not entirely made out of matter, as most worlds are supposed to be. Atoms, I think they’re called on Earth. Magic makes up around half of the Edge, and only leaves so much for the matter. It's a unique trait, not seen anywhere else in the known universe. It's a fascinating thing, and there are a lot of theories circulating around about its origins, but that would take too much to properly dive into. To put it simply, the Edge is one of the places where intent shapes reality. Some natural laws that we take for granted might not apply to this place at all. Like the lack of sun or the moon, for example. Or the breaches."

That was certainly an interesting concept to think about in the middle of almost-a-night. 

"Every answer I get only creates more questions," you admitted, finally leaving the floor. The passage of time might have been difficult to measure, but your body was slowly catching up to all the hours it lived through since waking up in the morning on Earth. 

"I've had centuries to study every scrap of information Asgard's libraries held about this place," Loki shrugged apologetically. "I wouldn't outright call it an obsession, but my interest in the Edge was great enough to accompany me during a lot of sleepless nights."

"Don't say it like I'd ever shame you about it. It's good that at least one of us knows vaguely what's going on. I won't be able to catch up on all that, but I have to know more if we actually plan to investigate this murder. I don't think we can treat this case as a typical one."

Loki winced again, crossing his arms. He sat down on the huge bed. "I have no idea what's going on. It took Asgard so long to finally install an ambassador here, and now he's murdered along with a lord? It makes no sense unless someone was fond of yet another war." 

"Would it be so strange? Wars are waged all the time." 

You fell onto the soft mattress next to him with a delighted sigh. The covers were divinely cold under your cheek as you rolled on top of them. 

A small smile played on Loki's lips as he watched you. "That's true, but the Edge has no means of winning it. There is no army here, no one to even draft in one." 

That made you freeze mid-roll. "The Edge is empty?" 

"No, but-" 

"You know what? You look like you're about to give a lengthy explanation, and I can't focus right now because of this bed, so how about I take a quick shower and you tell me about it all during it?" 

"Do you want me to join you?" he asked with mischief in his eyes that made your knees a little more shaky than usual. 

"Maybe later, you naughty god. We'll have all the time we want once you tell me, precisely, how deep of shit we are in right now." 

Your hand patted Loki's arm briefly before you made it towards the large bathing chamber. You left the doors creaked open, so he sat next to them, with his back to the wall. The murmur of running water filled his ears, but he didn't turn. 

A single greenish wil-o'-the-wisp played between his fingers as he recalled the tales he'd read as a kid. 

"The Edge is not an empty place, but it is far from having a society. It's mostly made up of individuals of various races and origins, that have nothing in common except that they live in the various parts of the Edge. The only exceptions are the 'lords' I've already mentioned. They look as the High Prince or the Queen, and dwell around the places of power, like this palace. The names might be confusing, because they certainly are not a ruling party. There is no ruler of the Edge, the lords simply have… a duty to fulfill."

"Which is?" you asked over the sounds of the splashing water. 

"To die." 

The water stopped. "I don't think I heard you right." 

"Their duty is to die, and in doing so, restore the magic-matter balance that is so fragile in this place," Loki explained with his heart heavy. 

The greenish light moved along his fingers, jumping from one to another like a living creature. Even such a simple spell was distorted by the powers raging under the calm surface of the edge of the universe. 

"There are three lords chosen for that purpose - the King, the Queen, and their child. Those are titles, for their names no longer matter once they're chosen. They are the strongest of lords at the time, which makes their connection to the core of the Edge extraordinarily strong. Which is why, when they fade one after another, all the magic and the matter they've been, feeds that core and brings back the balance. Right now, the King is gone, the Queen is fading, and when she's dead, most of the breaches you've seen from the window will be fixed. For the time being, of course. Until another one is needed."

"Does it… have to be them?"

There was uneasiness in your voice that Loki couldn't blame you for. He remembered his own shock when he had discovered the truth all the centuries ago. 

"No," he said. "But because they are the strongest, their connection is the greatest. Many more weaker beings would have to die in order to replace just one. But don't be sad, love. The lords think of it as a great honor and are grateful for restoring the balance to this shattered place. It is not a world, after all. It's just a state of things on the verge of the universe."

"That's… sad." 

"It is." 

Loki put out the little light. It felt off in the violet radiance. 

The water splashed as you washed off the events of the two worlds, so different from each other. Without the words to fill in the silence, Loki had to forcefully steer his mind from conjuring images fitting to what he'd been hearing. 

Loki cleared his throat. With nothing to focus on, his gaze involuntarily kept falling onto the crack you left the door with. It was only there in order to hear him talk, he knew that. 

It was not for lurking. Definitely not. 

Right? 

Overanalyzing every moment of the conversation previous to that, Loki didn't even notice when the sounds changed. He was only brought back to reality by the soft steps and a thrilling sight of two barely covered legs passing right next to him. 

"What?" you shrugged, noticing the look on his face. "I forgot my clothes." 

The pastel blue robe rode further up your thighs as you crouched next to Loki's bag, searching in its depths. You didn't seem to be in a rush. 

"And people say I'm the villain," he shook his head with a smirk he couldn't stop. 

"I've got absolutely no idea what you're talking about." 

"I'm sure you don't," Loki eyed the glistening skin, not yet dried completely. The aroma of whatever oils you'd used teased him every time he breathed your scent in. 

He noticed you staring at him with a smile that told him all he needed to know. 

"I'm going to repay you one day," he promised, standing up from the floor. "Slowly, and meticulously." 

"I hope so. But for today, I think you need to prepare for that lovely murder." 

Loki cursed, walking into the bathroom and closing the doors firmly behind his back. He cursed again under the shower cold enough to rattle even his teeth.

[atlasfreak]

hell is hot from your mistakes

chapter one; Tumblr Edition

The afterlife is a mess of time and space. Dream got the brunt end of that mess, of time, and bad luck follows Tommy even in death. Dream is mere seconds too late reviving him.

Tommy wakes up in a familiar, unfamiliar world in a familiar, unfamiliar body that looks so much like an old friend of his, and yet he remembers everything when really, he shouldn't. His brother's voice guides him, the Nether is blistering heat and dust and his hands are hoofed.

ArchiveOfOurOwn link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073104 or THIS.

Dream has the book and he's at work.

He's surrounded by blood, and corpses. Bodies. His hands are stained red and so is the face of the boy beside him and the fur of the cat in front of him. He's drawn a circle out of the red and the cat lays, set to look sleeping, in the center.

He's missing his mask - it's broken, shattered. The sharp porcelain edges are red, too, cut on the soft skin of his dead cat to draw his ring of blood. Cut on his fingers, too, as he had aligned the shards to smile up at him.

Dream stands and opens the book. It's akin to an inventory; incorporeal pages that the warden can't take away. He reads quietly and he checks his preparations and he double checks it and he triple checks it and then he glances over the translucent pages and-

And yet, the cat's corpse is still.

He waits longer. Waits for the cat to blink open its eyes, jump back to its feet. Waits for it to meow and rub against his legs.

But it stays limp and cold and lifeless.

The same as it has been for the past six tries.

Dream slams his fists on the ground, snarls. "Work! Fucking work! WORK! Bring it back!"

He's furious.

He did everything the book said, everything the book asked. He followed every step down to the letter, every drop of ink. And it didn't fucking work.

He didn't kill his protagonist for nothing. He needs to get out. He needs to get out. He needs it to work. He'll do it, he'll figure it out, he'll get it to go. He'll get the cat to come back and he'll get Tommy to come back and he'll get out, even if he has to tear through the obsidian with his bare hands.

He feels wet on his cheeks, he hears it drip onto cold fur. He's furious. He's furious.

"WORK!" he screams, and it listens.

There's no poof of smoke or swirl of magic. No glowing bodies, no floating corpses, no showy tricks.

But there is soft, shaking paws. They bat at his face, at his tears. Tender, haunted eyes bore into his.

"Oh," he murmurs, wiping at his eyes. He stares at the saltwater on his fingers as it turns mixes with red and turns polite pink, then looks up at the living, breathing cat with its front legs on his and head tilted worriedly. "Oh."

The cat meows gently, butting his hand. It has been through so much for just a little cat, so much. It bumps against his fingers again.

Longing for his kindness, his warm attention. The quiet compliments and pets from before the light faded from its eyes.

The sweet Dream who gave it his food, who showered it in affection.

He swipes an arm through the air, flinging it across the room. It screams death's scream as its tiny body is thrown to the starving lava and Dream watches it squeal and screech and burn away.

That Dream is dead. He died a very, very long time ago. The cat is living in the past.

Well... lived.

But he did it. He brought it back, he cracked the code. After so many attempts, he did it. Tears. Regret, remorse, grief - whatever. Pain.

Dream turns his eyes to the mangled body of TommyInnit.

Broken and beaten and bruised and bloody, he's not touched it. Not even to brush blonde hair out of gray eyes (they were blue once. They aren't anymore). Too afraid he'd mess something up, that he wouldn't be able to fulfill his promise.

He feels a smile stretch across his face. He grins, and he grins like a madman.

"Tommmmmy," he crows. "Ready for another round?"

The corpse is silent. Of course it is. It's dead! But Dream can fix that, yes.

"Oh, I sound like Wilbur," Dream whispers. "Wilbur! Oh, I'll get him, next!" He claps his hands, his eyes light up like a storm - a dangerous one. A very dangerous one. "And Schlatt, too, bring them all back, why don't we? Bring them all back!"

He doesn't need to draw still blood, no need to cut Tommy's pale skin on the glazed shards of his mask; the crimson already stains his hands. He draws a new circle - a big one.

Dream slams his fist into the wall. He hears a sick crunch and gasps, fire shooting up his arm. He laughs, he laughs. Tears pools from his eyes and he lets them fall onto limp blonde hair and he feels victory surge through his veins and fucking hell, his hand hurts like the devil, but he knows Tommy's eyes will flutter open and he knows Tommy will scream loud enough to be heard all the way from here to the Arctic.

Nevermind that- he did it. He's done it. He can bring people back.

He's a god.

He's a god, he's a god. He can bring people back to life! Nobody else can do that. An admin is nothing compared to a god. He's- he's the most powerful person on the server.

He brought the cat back. He brought Tommy back!

He brought Tommy back, and yet Tommy doesn't open his eyes.

"Go on," Dream mutters, kicking at the boy. "Get up."

Tommy doesn't move, he doesn't respond, doesn't shout curses or scream or swear. Dream frowns.

He leans down, studies the body. He grabs a cold hand and he holds his fingers to the wrist, checking.

No pulse.

It didn't work.

Dream sits back. Why didn't it work? "Why didn't it work?" he echoes aloud. "Can I not- why didn't it go? Why didn't it work?"

He wishes he hadn't killed his only company. Dull green eyes stare at the lava, at the molten bubbles. At the swirling heat that had mercilessly swallowed up the cat - Pussboy, he reminds himself bitterly - and Dream sits down and he tries again.

And again.

And again.

And Tommy stays dead.

Is this the afterlife?

It can't be. Tommy was there - he saw it. The afterlife is blank. It's a void, it's all light. This place is dark.

It's empty, too. No warm brown eyes, no surprised yellow. Wilbur is not waiting with open arms and a gaping wound, and Schlatt is not staring at him with cold shock and pale skin.

This place is not death. Tommy's seen death.

What is it then? If it's not death, what is it?

He opens his eyes.

It's not dark, he notes first. It's red. Very red. His first thought is blood, but it's very much not blood. He turns around, trying to find a hint of color - any color, any color but red - and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

There's a piglin there - a baby piglin is glaring at him. It has downy fur and no tusks or sword or crossbow. It's a child, barely days old.

"Hello?" Tommy tries, but it comes out odd. He looks around and he looks down at himself and all at once, he realises a few small things about his appearance, and then he realises one big thing. The big thing.

He isn't human.

He has hooves on his hands and feet, his ears are on the top of his head. A tail lays behind him and his skin is covered in soft, orange-ish pink fluff. Just like the piglin next to him.

He doesn't scream. He wants to, but he doesn't. He simply shuts his eyes and covers his mouth.

Ok, Wilbur, I'll play fuckin'- I'll play cards with you, just get me out of here. Get me out of here.

He could almost swear he hears his brother laughing at him.

Tommy opens his eyes- he's still here, in hell, with a piglin.

It squeaks at him. Tommy shuts his eyes again, so it squeaks again.

When Tommy doesn't respond, it hits him.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Tommy screeches- every blow feels like he's reliving his own death. His voice comes out a garbled piglin mess - is his throat not equipped for English? "Stoppit!

He feels the ground vanish from under his feet and he feels a brief panic surge through him - what a way to go, huh? Well, what a run. A short run, but a run regardless. Time, Tommy thinks, to go back to the white place, the Zone, because a baby piglin beat him to death. That's a couple steps down from Dream beating him to death, probably, and a couple steps up from dying to a baby zombie, Phil.

(When Phil dies, will he come to the Zone, with us?)

But Tommy's not even there himself, he realises, because he still feels the warm of the Nether on his face.

When he opens his eyes, Wilbur is not there, waiting. The piglin child is. He still sees red and he still sees the piglin child. He still is a piglin child. He's alive. He's not going back to the white.

Suddenly, Tommy can breathe again.

He finally looks up. He's dangling by the scruff, and there's a big piglin holding him with hooves like his. An adult piglin with blank white eyes. He can't tell if they're full of affection or scorn, but he doesn't want to find out.

And that must be mother! Tommy hears a voice mock.

"Shut up, Wil," he grumbles. The baby piglin crosses its arms as Tommy is lifted out of reach.

The adult piglin growls at him, sniffs at his head. Like she's making sure he's not dead. It kicks at the violent little baby, a warning, then places Tommy down again.

Tommy would flip the other child off, but he only has three fingers.

Don't be so mean, Tommy! Wilbur chastises, his voice echoing through Tommy's mind like Chat did. That's your brother!

"It's not my brother," Tommy spits.

He, Wilbur corrects.

Tommy growls. The big piglin growls back.

Tommy shuts his mouth.

"Wil, the hell is going on?" he decides to ask instead. The other two tilt their heads in confusion as he mutters what must be gibberish to them - and it sounds like gibberish to himself, really. But Wilbur seems to understand.

I mean, hell if I know, Wilbur's voice seems to move around, standing by his left now. Tommy glances over, but there's nobody there. Just his - he gags - brother, the piglin. Looks like you got reincarnated.

"Reincarnated? That's when you throw food back up, innit?"

That's regurgitated, Tommy. It's when you die and then are born again.

The big piglin stands up and oinks at them. Tommy know, deep down in his little piglin brain, that she wants him and the other to follow. She leads them through the underbrush as Tommy continues muttering to his real brother, the one who has taken the place of his old chorus.

"I'm a piglin," Tommy huffs as he stumbles through the roots. He takes pride in knowing he's not the only idiot, as the other baby pig trips and falls, too - neither of them are used to walking. Especially not on hooves.

You are a piglin, Wilbur's voice confirms. Tommy sighs.

"Like Technoblade," he says. "I'm a piglin, like Technoblade."

Wilbur pauses to think. Yes, that sounds about right.

"Did Techno die too? Was he a human once?"

I'm not omnipotent, Tommy. I don't know Technoblade's life story.

"Oh."

I don't think he's the same as you, though. Technoblade is really tall, and he has a mane. You don't have a mane. Nor does your mother.

"Think he's one of those axe pigs? In the bastions?"

A brute? Yes. He's a brute, I think.

"Damn right 'e is," Tommy growls. "Nasty fuck. Prick."

No, no, Tommy. A bastion piglin is called a piglin brute. Technoblade is literally a brute.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Tommy stares at the ceiling, blankly. Part of him worries a stalactite will come barreling down to crush him. "Life as a piglin is boring. I would like to come back to the DreamSMP."

Wilbur laughs. Tommy snorts, too- what a joke. Wanting to go back. But it's true. He misses it. He missed it in exile and he missed it while imprisoned. He misses it now.

No, no, this is interesting, Wilbur says. I'm stuck here with you, anyway. Even if I wan't to, I can't take you back. I don't want to though, I'm having fun.

"It's boring, is what it is!" Tommy drawls. "You're only having fun cos you get to watch, Disembodied-Voicebur!"

Big Piglin guides them to a nook- a small Netherrack cave yawning out from under a sheer cliff. She sniffs at their heads again as they follow her into the cavern, making sure they didn't up and zombify on the journey. When she's sure they're still alive, she grunts at them. Sleep time. You're young, so you need to sleep.

She lays almost like an Overworld pig, Tommy notes.

You'll probably never see Overworld mobs ever again.

It's not Wilbur's voice, it's his own. A quiet thought, a thought he made, and it shakes Tommy to his core.

Wilbur sighs, his voice practically drips with apprehension. Don't- don't lose hope, Tommy. Technoblade, remember? He got to the Overworld. You... you can do it too.

Tommy's piglin brother lays down, too. More humanlike than their mother, but still not quite human enough to comfort Tommy.

But regardless, he copies.

Goodnight, Tommy.

"Goodnight, Wilbur. It's.. good to have you back. I think."

Wilbur doesn't respond.

Tommy shuts his eyes. Sleep doesn't come easy as it should for a baby piglin, but he's not surprised - he's not really a baby piglin. He's TommyInnit in the form of a baby piglin.

He's an imposter - at least, he definitely feels like one.

When his eyelids finally grow too heavy and the sironsong of sleep finally lures him off the side of the ship, he dreams. He dreams of dark cells and a smiling mask.

And in that dark cell, Dream glares at it - the mask. He avoids the empty eyes of the body in the corner. He knows they're still empty, despite his efforts. His best efforts. He's so drained. So tired.

He hears potatoes splash into the water in the corner, turns to watch them bob. Sam has remembered that he is in there.

Dream drags himself to the water, tilts his head to glare up into the darkness. "Why not fucking kill me?!" he screams up the tunnel. "Why not just kill me, Sam? I killed him."

Sam does not respond.

"You can't, can you? You want my help. My book."

Sam does not respond.

Dream snarls and throws the spuds at the lava, they burn like his cat did. He hears a sigh echo from above him, but no more food falls.

"Don't starve yourself," Sam growls. "I'll bring more tomorrow."

Dream does not respond.

He turns to Tommy's body and despite it all, he keeps trying. He keeps trying. Tommy does not respond.

[inkribbon796]

It’s Not Rabies, It’s . . . Ch. 1

Summary: There was an old phrase that the Jims believed in wholeheartedly: “If I cannot find trouble, I will create it.”

Or: King gets a crash course in parenting in the weirdest way possible.

A/N: This was a suggestion-request from the anon NightFall on AO3. Which resulted in this story and since this one was getting a bit long it inspired a bit for the Visitation Day on Sunday which will be a lot less angsty.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Chapter 1: I’m Sorry, You’re Dying

It was another slow day in the city, typical city crime mixed with the fact that Anti was busy stalking Henrik and Remus had a bout of food poisoning. So not a lot of bot supervillain crime was being done.

That mixed with over two feet of snow kept a good number of people indoors. King especially didn’t want to deal with Dark mother henning him, was sitting in the main common room of the heroes’ base next to Yancy. He was communicating with a couple of people on his phone.

But because there wasn’t anything big happening in town, the Jims were bored. And bored Jims led to only one thing: trouble.

There was an old phrase that the Jims believed in wholeheartedly: “If I cannot find trouble, I will create it.”

It was a surprise when RJ and CJ came bursting into the room with Marvin hot on their heels. None of the other heroes had even seen them come into the base, but that was nothing new.

“Hey dumbasses, let’s not play with cursed shit,” Marvin ordered.

“Look out Jim, I’ve got a stabby,” RJ held up the spike in his hands, the thing looked like it was made of stone with some runes carved into the side of it.

And what would happen next would become the single most preventable accident that had happened in the base for the past seven years.

King and Yancy were used to sudden bursts of noise. Between Wil and their siblings, King especially was good at tuning out background “white noise” as King called.

So King hadn’t even realized the Jims had run in, hadn’t seen RJ get closer until he accidentally stepped on his cape. King startled, pulling on the cape as he rushed to stand and scurry away from the Jims.

But it wasn’t fast enough, RJ tripped and slammed into King. In actuality RJ just tapped him with the thing but as if it was triggered to go off, the center of the spike detached and violently stabbed into King’s chest and punctured all the way until there was about an inch sticking out the other side.

RJ and King looked at the spike in horror and then at each other before King slumped to the ground like a marionette with its strings up.

Instantly the other heroes rushed to King’s aid. Marvin doing his best to stabilize him, fearful of taking the spike out without killing him. He wasn’t moving, the young man was barely breathing.

It was so bad Iplier thought he was already dead when he checked for a pulse.

Iplier stared at King in shock. “His heart’s still beating.”

“Vat?” Henrik asked in surprise. He was in the room already preparing for the postmortem surgery to remove the spike.

“He’s not dead so we need to work fast,” Iplier realized, calling in for anesthesia and all kinds of help.

They worked quickly to stabilize King’s condition and eventually pull the spike out. Marvin and the Host, or just the Host because he quickly pushed Marvin out of the room, helping to make sure there wasn’t a magical infection of some kind.

When King woke up, his chest was killing him. “Ughhhh.”

Scratch that. It felt like he was hit by a truck, died, was drop kicked out of Heaven, and sent back to Earth. Everything hurt.

“Congrats,” Iplier started. “You are no longer dying.”

“Fucking thanks, I guess,” King groaned.

“I take it you’d like a higher dose of morphine,” Iplier asked.

“Pllllleeeeease!” King groaned.

That got a slight chuckle out of Iplier.

The next week was absolute hell. The first two days after he got out of the hospital he was fine. He tried to take it easy around the park. He didn’t want to overexert himself and damage his heart again. But after that second day he had a constant shrilling migraine. It hurt to be outside, hearing people talk felt like his brain was being stabbed. He felt too exhausted to move, he couldn’t even think about eating without wanting to throw up.

Virgil was the one who found him on that absolutely dreadful third day, shaking on his floor.

Iplier was called back in and King went right back to the hospital. His heart was fine and thanks to the Host he hadn’t even gotten scars.

After checking his symptoms, Iplier got worried and furious. He proclaimed it to be rabies, something he’d warned King about since day one.

King didn’t remember being bitten, but knew it could have happened literally at any moment he’d been outside.

For a week, since he’d been stabbed, he lay on a hospital bed, 100% certain that he was going to die in an agonizingly slow fashion.

Then one night, while Yancy had fallen asleep watching over him, King went to sleep. He began having a weird dream where he was walking through a field and came across a dismantled house. The only thing left standing apart from the frame was a single interior wall and a mirror.

The young man looked at the mirror, shrinking back from the mangled, hideous image he saw . . .

And then he was awake. His headache, gone.

It was euphoric.

All the pain he’d felt in his body had simply vanished. He wondered if he’d died, looking over to see Yancy still slumped uncomfortably in a hospital chair.

King was about to call out to him, to ask if he had died, when something in his bed bit him.

He screamed in pain, almost throwing himself out of the bed. Yancy startled awake.

There was something in King’s bed, still under the sheets. It was about the size of a wiffle ball and it was making little growling noises.

The young man threw off the covers and he saw that there was a drawing pressed flat to the bed, and it was moving, as if King had trapped something under a cup and then lifted it to get a better look, allowing it to escape.

Darting quickly the figure moved along any connected surface, hitting the wall and moving around. As if the figure was frantically searching for something.

“What is that?” Yancy demanded.

“I don’t know,” King admitted.

The Host chuckled, suddenly appearing in the room, he was careful not to use the door, “Yancy and the King of the Squirrels should greet the newest member of their family.”

“How’s that thing ours family?”[1] Yancy demanded.

The Host reached up and the figure particulate jumped him and the chittering, echoing scream died down as it just started devouring the Host’s aura. Which would have been a problem if they weren’t doing the equivalent of using a thimble to drink out of an ocean.

The Host had a smile on his face. “They have a diet that consists primarily of aura but in a couple months they should be on solid food. And they are King’s child.”

“My what?” King screamed. “I can’t have kids, not on my own, and I can’t have them in a day.”

“The King of the Squirrels was hit by a soul splitter. Normally a soul splitter would kill a human, or splinter them, but the King of the Squirrels is lucky that he was not human. So the soul splitter merely snapped off a portion of the King of Squirrels’s soul to create his child.”

“So they’re a part of me,” King asked, hesitantly reaching out his hand and the figure snapped onto King’s hand. He felt a tingling as the figure began trying to consume his aura before standing calmly on King’s shoulder. “You got your own name little buddy?”

“Lunky,” the Host introduced.

“Lunky?” King smiled, the figure turning to look at him. It almost sounded like they were purring. “That right or is Uncle Host playing a joke on me?”

Lunky went back to exploring the room. Now that there was no danger, reality clouded around King’s mind.

“What am I going to do?” King panicked a little bit. “I can’t take care of a kid! I can barely take care of myself.”

“Youse[2] got this,” Yancy reassured. “Youse are the most responsible ‘a all’a us.”[3]

King did feel a little better but at that moment Dr. Iplier walked in and saw all of them standing up.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Iplier demanded, leaving the door open. It was an action that immediately caught Lunky’s attention as they realized there was a world beyond the four walls they were in.

“Surprise, I’m not dying anymore?” King tried.

“Ahh, Iplier has made a mistake,” the Host grinned as Lunky’s figure stretched vertically and grabbed onto the door.

“Oh no!” King realized, as Lunky was already speeding along the walls, looking for aura to eat. They were following an old trail that Anti had left a couple hours ago, following it to Henrik’s office before doubling back and slipping through the sliding front door that activated as Lunky neared them. And with that he had escaped the hospital before Yancy could make it down the hall to look for them, cursing as he went.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. How is that thing our family?

2. You’ve

3. You’re the most responsible out of all of us.

[lyssismagical]

When the sky is losing light, I swear my head fills up with memories

Febuwhump Days 25-28 - Presumed Dead, Freeze to Death, Glass, Post-Tragedy

Read on AO3

{TW: Minor Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence}

*

His breaths puff out of him, visible in the frigid air.

Kidnapped again.

He’d only been kidnapped a handful of times before, but being both Tony’s Intern and Spider-Man had some pretty obvious downsides. It always ended fine, a grand rescue mission ending with Tony coddling Peter in Medical.

It never took longer than mere hours for him to be found, always covered in trackable devices or taken by people who underestimate Tony’s genius.

But this was different already, Peter could tell.

The man speaking to him from the other side of the glass-walled enclosure Peter’s in, isn’t interested in using Peter for ransom like most others are. He doesn’t even seem interested in hurting Peter, doesn’t step inside the enclosure at all.

And worse, Peter recognized the man pacing. He was one of the police officers constantly chasing after Spider-Man, believing he was failing the city, all of the bullshit that the Daily Bugle puts out. He’d tried to arrest Peter a few times before and had even started shooting at Peter as he swung through Queens.

No matter how much good Peter did, police officers like him would always believe he was a menace.

“Did you know,” the man starts, dress shoes clicking against the ground as he paces. “that over thirty percent of the criminals you web up end up free to roam the streets within days of arrest? Did you know that we still have to present the criminals to the judge and jury nearly evidence-less, and they’re proclaimed innocent until proven guilty? Did you know that the majority of the criminals set free after you play pretend police with them, end up doing more crime and hurting more people?”

Peter does know that. He watches the news as often as he can, he’s got access to files and information through Tony and FRIDAY even if he’s not technically supposed to see it.

He knows it and he hates it. He keeps tabs on all the criminals and he gives them the benefit of the doubt, hoping the close run-in with the cops will get them to turn good, but it rarely works out that way.

Peter keeps his mouth shut, testing the chains that hold him to one of the four glass walls, metal freezing cold on his wrists, but they’re too strong.

“There’s an obvious solution here, spider,” the man says condescendingly. He taps at one of the two guns that sit against his hips. “Bullet right in the forehead. Get the job done for real.”

Frowning, the young hero shakes his head. “That’s not right-”

“If you don’t, you’re letting these criminals walk free.” The man, shakes his head, leaning up against the glass. The name tag on his shirt reads David Walker.

“That doesn’t mean I can start killing people just because they did something wrong.”

David scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Let’s start with a man you webbed up three months ago, alright? His name was Scott Paterson. Scott’s a drug dealer, he’s got a few counts of assault under his belt, even had a charge of arson. You caught him three months ago in a drug deal gone wrong. Scott was webbed up and we collected him. He was out on the streets again within two days.”

Peter doesn’t remember Scott. He believes David, but it’s hard to remember specific names or crimes that he stops on the daily.

“Two weeks ago, we found Scott in his apartment,” David continues. “He had been in the process of moving out of state to avoid being caught because he’d killed two guys who were witnesses to Scott’s crimes.”

Guilt rushes through Peter, settling amongst all the other buckets of guilt he’s stored deep within his conscience. He knows this kind of thing happens, he does, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

David leans against the glass, hands splayed out. “Those two deaths are on your hands, Spider. Two women are now widows, three children are fatherless, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t want-”

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Spider,” David tsks. “If you had killed Scott instead of leaving him for us to deal with, those families wouldn’t have lost those men, and Scott would’ve gotten what he had coming. Isn’t that the better outcome? Just think of how many deaths are on your hands if over thirty percent of the criminals you webbed up are still commiting crimes.”

Peter flinches, not wanting to think about blood on his hands, reminding him of Ben and all the citizens he couldn’t save no matter how hard he tried.

But David won’t stop now. “Wouldn’t it be better if the precious hero stopped failing? Wouldn’t it be better for you to rid the streets of all criminals, not just the ones that us cops can put behind bars for a couple of years? Wouldn’t it be better if you protected your civilians and your city, Spider-Man?”

“I can’t just kill every person who’s done something wrong! I can’t just start pulling the trigger every time somebody steps out of line! Wouldn’t that make me just as bad as them?”

“You’re already a menace, Spider-Man, do you really want to be a failure too? If you don’t kill them, they’ll just hurt more people and then it’s on you.”

Tears are welling in Peter’s eyes against his will because this isn’t right. Tony’s always said that Peter’s morals rival those of Captain America. That Peter was always good, simply put. And Peter believed it. He was a hero, after all.

David’s face softens a fraction, a frown tugging at his mouth. “Alright, let’s make this easier for you, okay?”

He turns down the hallway, they seem to be in some cliché abandoned warehouse, only the glass blocking Peter away from David, but Peter doesn’t have to try to know the glass isn’t normal glass, and the handcuffs holding him down aren’t regular handcuffs.

Peter takes the second of solitude to check himself over. He’s wearing the t-shirt and jeans he had on when he was walking to school, he guesses only a few hours earlier. His phone, watch, and backpack all missing. Even his shoes were gone. He doesn’t feel hurt at all, other than the headache from being knocked out.

David’s a police officer. There’s no way of knowing how many others are working with him, if he could’ve wiped any security tapes, if he could’ve taken them somewhere non-disclosed where even Tony couldn’t find them.

The cuffs must be vibranium, refusing to break no matter how hard Peter tugs at them. It’s January too. The abandoned warehouse isn’t about to have heating, so the frigid air makes sense. Peter shivers just thinking about the cold seeping into him.

“Alright, Spider.” David’s voice returns. He emerges back into Peter’s view, but this time, he’s dragging a body along with him.

David shoves the door to the glass enclosure open and tosses the body to the floor by Peter’s feet.

“Meet Scott Paterson, Spider-Man,” David says, a grin stretching across his face.

Scott’s face is enough to trigger the memory of him. There was shouting behind a bar when Peter was on his way home, so Peter went and webbed both Scott and another guy up. He left them with the drugs as evidence along with the knife Scott had pulled out.

His face is a little beaten up, blood dripping from his split lip onto the ground but his eyes are wild with confusion and fear, hands shaking in the plain handcuffs holding his wrists behind his back.

“We’re going to play a little game, alright?” David pulls one of the guns out of his pocket along with a roll of duct tape.

Peter’s shivering steadily and his head is pounding, vibranium holding his wrists in front of him, so there’s not much he can do as David tapes the gun to Peter’s hand, covering his hands and fingers in the silvery tape, index finger on the trigger.

“You’ve got one bullet in there,” David explains, taking a step back to admire his handiwork.

He pulls Scott to his knees, draws the second gun and holds the barrel to Scott’s temple.

“Wait a second-” Scott gasps, biceps straining as he tries to get away, out of the handcuffs, out of the grip on his collar.

“Now, here’s the game, Spider.” The click of the safety. “Put your bullet in his forehead.”

Peter tugs at his restraints harder, shaking his head as tears rush into his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t just kill him!”

“The blood is already on your hands, Spider. If you don’t kill him, I will, and it’ll be your fault. Or you kill him.”

Scott’s wild eyes lock onto Peter’s. “Please, man, I’m not- I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I got caught up with this awful dude who was threatening my daughter, and I did what he told me to do to keep her safe. You gotta- Please, man, I can’t die. Don’t- Don’t let me die.”

Peter’s heart clenches, hands shaking as he lifts the gun, a tear already tracing its way down his frozen cheeks. He turns the gun towards David.

“Do it, coward,” David says, lifting his eyebrows. “You’re just a coward, Spider. If you kill me, my death will be on you, but you’d save Scott. If you don’t, I’ll kill Scott and it’ll be your fault. Either way, somebody dies and the blame is put on you.”

Shaking his head again, Peter can’t convince himself to speak around the lump in his throat, worried that if he opened his mouth, a sob would escape.

David shoves the gun harder against Scott’s temple, glaring at Peter. “Your choice, kid. Me or him.”

“Please, man, you’ve gotta believe me,” Scott pleads, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. “I know I did bad things, but I’m not a bad guy. My daughter’s dance recital is tomorrow and I- I promised I’d go for her. Please.”

Peter’s hands are trembling as he points the gun up at David, chains pulling taut. “You don’t have to do this. You could put down the gun and we could all walk out of here.”

But there’s no sympathy in David’s face, no care, just the same nonchalance. “You’ve got three seconds or I’m killing Scott.”

Three.

There’s no way out. There’s no way to change the outcomes of this. Somebody’s going to die. Either Peter kills somebody, or Peter lets somebody kill someone. Either way, it’s on Peter. Either way, Peter will leave here a murderer. No better than David or Scott. No better than the people he puts in prison every day. No better than the man who killed Ben that night all those years ago, the one that Peter spent months obsessively tracking. No better than the worst of the worst.

Two.

Either way, Peter’s a killer.

One.

* Peter startles awake when he feels hands on his shoulders, shaking him hard. He gasps, cold and sweating and crying, not shivering because he’s long since stopped shivering in this stupid fucking glass prison, but trembling from the anxiety that still thrums through his veins, the adrenaline crashing.

“Oh fuck, kid, I thought- You weren’t moving and I- I thought-”

“Tony?” His voice breaks on a sob, tears frozen against his cheeks, and the gun is still taped to his hand, still warm against his palm. “Get it off, get it- get it off, please, I can’t-”

Tony’s quick to grab a knife handed to him from somewhere behind Peter, probably Natasha, and cutting the weapon away from Peter’s palm.

There’s blood and glass everywhere. Peter peeks over Tony’s shoulder, barely able to contain the hoarse sob that escapes him when he sees the unconscious figures.

“Are they-”

“One of them was,” Tony responds shortly. “The other one passed out from shock, he’ll be fine.”

But that’s not better.

Peter pulled the trigger.

He was the one that put a bullet in another man’s head.

He was the one who took the life from a human being.

Peter hides his face against Tony’s shoulder, stomach twisting at the flashes of blood and shattering glass and feeling the recoiling gun.

His head gets stuck in a loop of percentages, of statistics. Thirty percent of criminals. He wonders how many police are like David, how many of them would push Peter to murder. He wonders what the statistics are for people he’s saved versus those the police have saved. If Peter’s really making a difference of not. He wonders, in another universe where he never became Spider-Man, if Queens would be better off.

It doesn’t matter though, alternate universes and statistics, because Peter killed a man. Because there’s a dead body only feet away from him and the gun is only inches away from his fingertips, glass shards littering the floor and digging into his knees and shins.

“C’mon, let’s get you to the car and back to Bruce, okay?” Tony says, voice soft and low. His hands are much too careful against Peter’s shoulders and thumbs running over his cheekbones and fingertips brushing back his hair.

Peter doesn’t answer, doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to, throat clogged up with grief and crushing guilt.

He doesn’t deserve any of it. He doesn’t deserve Tony and his soft words and softer touches, doesn’t deserve the luxury of seeing a doctor and getting patched up, doesn’t deserve safety and warmth. He deserves to be behind bars for this. He killed a man.

Tony leads him up to his feet, careful to position himself between Peter and David’s body, it doesn’t matter because the image is already scarred into Peter’s memory.

The world is too bright, sun bouncing off the snow and into Peter’s eyes before Tony slips a pair of sunglasses on him. The world goes dim and dark, and Peter lets Tony lead him forward and maneuver his pliant limbs into the car.

He hears Happy say something to him, but he sounds distant. Underwater.

Tony’s fingertips are on his face, pushing his curls back and smoothing his thumbs over Peter’s temples. “Sleep, kid. It’ll be okay.”

Peter doesn’t believe it’ll be okay, doesn’t know how Tony could, but he rests his head against the window anyways and spends the drive trying his best not to think about the glass against his head and in his skin.

Peter doesn’t answer many of Bruce’s questions, but thankfully, the doctor is kind and limits his questions to yes or no answers where he can.

Tony sits at his side while Bruce takes the glass out of him and stitches up the deeper wounds, putting butterfly bandages over the rest.

And then Peter’s led back up to the penthouse where May arrives, bundling him up in a tight hug before getting a sandwich in front of him.

He eats even though his food tastes like nothing and it’s hard to swallow around the lump in his throat that doesn’t seem to leave. He can’t get the image of Scott’s crying face and David’s body dropping to the floor, gun going off and hitting one of the glass walls, effectively shattering it.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony murmurs sitting down across from Peter and pushing a cup of water towards him.

Peter doesn’t know if Tony did it intentionally, but the cup is a colorful plastic one, not glass.

“Thanks,” Peter says, coughing to cover up the effort it takes to stop himself from bursting into tears again.

“I know this is a bad time and I shouldn’t be asking you anything this soon, but the man’s at the hospital with Nat and Steve, and they’re wondering what they should do with him,” Tony says. “He says it’s your decision whether or not you want him in prison.”

Scott’s giving Peter the decision. Another decision. Maybe that means Peter did a good job the first time Scott’s life was put in his hands.

Either way, he doesn’t want to make the decision. He doesn’t know if he’s psychologically capable of making another big decision like this one.

“Send him home,” Peter says, voice robotic and not quite his own. “Wasn’t his fault.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow. He’s always been overly-curious. Someone incapable of holding in the questions he wants answers to, so it’s not surprising when he says, “It wasn’t his fault that there’s a dead police officer on our hands now?”

It’s not his fault. He probably assumed the gun on the ground meant that Scott shot David, not Peter who shot him. He probably saw the gun taped to Peter’s hand and automatically assumed it couldn’t have been him.

“No,” Peter says shortly, taking a sip of the water and trying his best not to draw attention to his violently trembling hands. Water sloshes over the edge of his cup onto the table. “Scott’s not a bad guy.”

He doesn’t say that he doesn’t think David was the bad guy either. He doesn’t say that he thinks Peter’s the bad guy.

“Okay, I’ll let them know,” Tony says, looking at Peter like he’s going to ask another hundred questions to get to the bottom of this.

“I’m going to my room.” Peter stands up abruptly, arm jerking like it expects to be held down by the chains from earlier. He almost forgets to put down his cup and when he does, he forgets to reign in his strength and the cup breaks, spilling water over the table.

Instead of dealing with any of his obviously unusual actions, he just nods at the mess he’s made like he did it on purpose and walks to his bedroom.

He doesn’t want to deal with any of it. His skin is crawling and his lungs feel like they’ve collapsed. And he knows what that feels like.

He wishes he could talk to Ben.

Ben would know what to do, what to say. He always did. May’s good and Peter loves her, he does, but she always used to let Ben deal with the emotional side of things. After Mary and Richard died, Ben would be the one to comfort him after nightmares and he was the one who would drag out old photo albums and hold Peter while he cried. May was the one to put the funeral together and she did his laundry and cooked them food and offered any support she could.

But Ben’s not there anymore. He isn’t there to be the elaborate story-teller he used to be, making up voices and gesticulating wildly until he got Peter to fall into a giggle fit. He isn’t there to tuck Peter into a warm blanket, make Ben’s Special Hot Chocolate, and do jigsaw puzzles with him in the middle of the night. Ben’s not there.

“Yorke Construction, how can I help you?”

Peter jerks, fingers clutching the phone against his ear. He hadn’t realized he’d called.

“Um, sorry- I shouldn’t have-”

The lady’s voice softens. “Are you okay?”

It’s not the same person who used to pick up the phones at Ben’s work when he did work there.

“I shouldn’t have called, I just-”

“Are you okay?” she repeats gently. “Are you trying to reach someone?”

Peter resolve crumples and he tries to hide the obvious tears in his voice. “My uncle used to work there, he doesn’t anymore. I shouldn’t have called, I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

“No worries at all.”

Peter hangs up before he can say anything else, and he lets his phone fall to his bed, curling up in his blankets as he cries.

* Ben used to want to be a police officer, Peter remembers. He got accepted into the academy, but he never ended up going. He didn’t have the money and he hated how much Mary and May worried about him, even if he hadn’t become a police officer yet. Instead, he went into construction.

He always talked about one day building May a house in the countryside. He liked building things, was super smart. Peter thinks that’s where he got his desire to build.

He wonders if things would be different if Ben were a police officer like David was. Ben would’ve been hundreds of times better than David.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony murmurs, walking in. He winces, probably noticing the tearstains or maybe the blood he’s drawn from biting his lip. “How’re you holding up?”

He sits at the end of Peter’s bed, gently rubbing his shins where his wounds have all healed from the broken glass. Peter turns his eyes to the ceiling.

“It wasn’t Scott,” Peter says.

“I know.” Tony’s voice doesn’t hold any anger, any hurt, any betrayal. He’s been the one saying Peter’s the most morally sound person he’s ever met, he should be angry that Peter’s killed a man.

“It was me.”

Tony nods. “I know.”

Ben would’ve been angry. He was always better. The best. Peter imagines himself holding the gun at Ben, not a bystander like he was that night. He thinks of murder and blood and glass shattering. Of Ben’s body dropping the same way David’s did.

“I’m- I’m a murderer, Tony.”

“Scott said that you saved his life,” Tony offers. He shifts back on the bed to rest his back against the wall, propping Peter’s feet up in his lap.

Peter swallows thickly. “He wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it weren’t for me. If I hadn’t webbed him up three months ago, he wouldn’t have ended up on the police’s radar at all.”

“You wanna tell me what happened in there?”

From his tone, Tony’s not expecting a story. But Peter wants Tony to yell at him, to hate him for what he’s done. Peter thinks Tony will understand if he hears the statistics, if he hears how Peter failed again and again, how dozens of people are dead because of him, and how David’s blood is on his hands.

In his strange state of mind, confused and focused on all the wrong things, Peter forgets to leave out the details like he normally does. How he always does. He leaves in the gory details by accident because he can’t think straight, and he’s pretty sure some of the details he tells are of Ben’s death and not David’s, but he isn’t sure.

“You didn’t have a choice, Peter,” Tony says, voice somehow still staying soft and low, thumb still rubbing his ankle, expression still full of care. “He didn’t give you a choice.”

“I held a gun and I shot somebody, Mister Stark. How is that not my fault?”

Tony sighs, long and tired like he isn’t sure how much he wants to fight this fight. “Listen, kid, I know you have a guilt complex the size of America, so I don’t know how I can ever convince you that this wasn’t your fault, but nobody’s mad at you regardless.”

“I’m a killer!” Peter exclaims angrily, sitting up in bed and glaring at Tony through his tears. “How the fuck can you argue that I did anything right today?”

“Because I know you, kid, and I know you didn’t have a choice. And let’s say you did, okay? Let’s say, you had a choice and you chose to kill him. You know what? I still love you. Nothing could make me not love you, kid. Nothing could make me hate you.”

Peter presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “But I’m a killer.”

“I’ve had people die because of me,” Tony says. “Lots of people that I tried to save and couldn’t. Lots of people that died because I made mistakes on the job. And I know you don’t believe I would’ve, but I nearly killed that fucker last year that hurt you. If it weren’t for Rhodey that night, I would’ve killed him.”

“You were protecting me.” Peter doesn’t know how to wrap his head around any of it. “That makes it different. You’re not a killer, Mister Stark.”

Tony shrugs, sending him a sad smile. “You were protecting Scott and yourself. Plus, you weren’t given a choice, bud. You had that gun taped to your hand. That’s not a choice.”

“That doesn’t make it okay. I still- I still killed him. I still shot the gun. I still watched-” Peter cuts himself off, brain stuck in a loop of David dropping to the floor and Ben’s hands coming up to cover the wound as he sunk to the ground and glass shattering.

“Maybe not,” Tony shrugs again. “Even if we were in that hypothetical that you killed somebody in cold blood. And I’ll repeat, hypothetical. I think you’ve saved enough people to make up for it. What the NYPD and the legal system do with the criminals, what the criminals do if they get back on the streets, that doesn’t fall on your shoulders.”

Peter sniffles, too tired to keep arguing it. His guilt has settled enough to think a little bit straighter, but he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to make it go entirely away.

“Plus,” Tony continues, patting his kid’s ankle. “You should know, Scott spent this morning at his daughter’s dance recital. Her name’s Anne, I learned, and she’s very happy her favourite superhero saved her dad.”

Later, Anne and Scott will send letters with their thanks for allowing them to stay together. For choosing both Scott’s survival and for not sending him to prison.

For now, Peter pulls his feet away from Tony to instead curl up against his side, tucking his face against his father-figure’s shoulder, hiding away his tears.

“You know,” Tony says eventually, arms tight around Peter. “When we found you, you were so cold, so pale… There was so much blood.”

“Hm?” Peter responds, too tired to try for a real conversation.

Tony sniffs. “I thought you were dead for a second. We got there and there was only one heat signature and it was Scott, and the blood made me think you were dead too. I thought- I thought I had lost you.”

Peter hums in response, nuzzling closer to Tony.

“If David wasn’t already dead, I would’ve killed him.”

It’s a strange thing to bring comfort to Peter, but he trusts Tony, he believes Tony. And he lets Tony burden some of the guilt that’s stored in him. He lets go of some of it, believing that Tony will always catch him when he falls.

* Peter visits Ben’s grave that evening.

He figures it’s only fair. He’s got a lot of guilt to work through, but he knows Tony’s going to be there every step of the way, and May’s going to continue being there for him too.

He doesn’t say anything, scared that his words would never be enough to mean anything, to amount to what he thinks and feels. He doesn’t know how to articulate any of his thoughts into anything real.

Instead, he lays the blueprints down on the dirt. He dug through storage until he found them. For the house Ben was going to build May one day. It’s a silent promise, that if he can do anything for Ben, he can do this.

He’ll try to keep the streets safe, he’ll try to be a superhero, he’ll try to be the person Ben always wanted him to be.

But he will build the house for May. He will let Tony take care of him the way Ben would’ve wanted him to. He will learn to forgive himself how he knows Ben has.

{I’ll be starting a taglist officially the next fic I post, so if you wanna be added let me know}

[msbluebell]

what about a "you start war, you face consequences AU"? At the end of BE Route, Edelgard thinks have achieved her goal. But everything go wrong! First, Claude, who has survived, becomes the king of Almyra and declare war to her to the Empire . And he's VERY powerful. Also some former nobles of Alliance and Kingdom don't accept the reunification and start a rebellion with the former knights of Seiros . The peace wil not happen any soon and a lot of people die or suffer or join the rebellion 1-2

2-2. Finally, Felix has survived and becomes the feral guy and decides to avenge Dimitri (his best friend), Rodrigue (his dad) and Sylvain (his lover) by killing the black eagles one by one and nobody (even Byleth) can stop him, no matter what they do. And Byleth has not the power of Sothis anymore. They can only watch everything falling apart, while being powerless. They can only watch their friends die by Felix's hands, Claude taking back the Alliance AND the Kingdom, ect...

This is actually what would have most likely happened if the Black Eagle Route didn’t have an Deus Ex Machina ending and the Crests and God powers didn’t disappear for no reason. I have made no secret of the fact that Black Eagles is my least favorite Route (yes, I’m including Church Route in this), and the lack of actually having to reform and change the system thanks to magical convenience is one of the reasons. 

Nobles will not give up their crest fixation just because Edelgard hates crests. And without crest disappearing, it is unlikely they will take to Edelgard’s reforms. She may end up turning her own allies against her. Especially ones that don’t believe in her cause and just gave up because they didn’t want to be killed.

Also, it is a very, very, very dumb move to spare Claude in the Black Eagles Route. No matter what, he is a political opponent that proved he’s 1) very manipulative 2) very good at thinking on his feet and gathering resources. He should have died just to eliminate the potential for later rebellious uprisings, even if Byleth and Edelgard didn’t know anything about his ties to Almyra. Looking objectively at Claude’s goals and the ending of Black Eagles Route, yeah, he still has a dream of uniting Fodlan and Almyra. And unlike Fodlan, Almyra isn’t suffering from being war torn for five years. There IS a chance he’d come in take over, especially if any of his friends died in the battle. 

Point is, Black Eagles Route has a lot of potential for mess if the crests don’t vanish (which I am so fixated on. The CHURCH didn’t make the crests, so why did they disappear? I interpret Byleth’s powers disappearing because they choose to relinquish them, which is a slap in the face to Sothis btw Byleth, but why did the CRESTS disappear when the Church fell? They had nothing to do with their creation! Ugh.)

(Black Eagles, much as I dislike their Route based on their actions and lack of self-awareness, still deserved a better written ending.)

But I’m ranting. Let’s get on to the prompt with Consequences AU:

I’ve spoken in another post about how Byleth, as I interpret them, more accidentally sided with the Black Eagles than anything. It would be the same in this AU, accidentally burning their bridges when they saved Edelgard in the tomb. Then they were forced to see the path through to the end because they couldn’t go back to anyone else, and they DID disagree with Rhea and distrust the Church, so maybe Edelgard is right...?

It was foolish to hope, in hindsight.

Rhea going mad was something that they expected, but they didn’t think their own actions would be the breaking point that drove her to such insanity. And they can’t erase the image of Dimitri kneeling in the rain as an axe meets his flesh. So many of their students died...but that was just...pitiful.

Edelgard assures him that it was for a better future, that all the death and sacrifice now will mean less suffering later.

But it’s hard to look at the people suffering in the NOW and think it’s better for the future. It’s like Edelgard is so fixated on the world that will be she forgot to take care of the world they’re in, or maybe she didn’t, and the people around her just don’t seem as real to her as the people in the future she’s envisioned.

Byleth’s first clue that everything was going wrong should have been their hair and eye color returning to it’s original state.

Sothis and they...the both of them have always been one, whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing. They are a single entity that was separated and then made whole again. But now there is an emptiness inside of them, and the emotions they’ve developed are fast fading again. They’re becoming numb once again as they lose the part of themselves that was her, and they don’t understand why.

Soon, they even stop caring.

Edelgard insisted that it was a wonderful sign. That they pointed their blades towards the heavens and won, so her path must be the righteous path.

Byleth no longer cares enough to correct her.

Their students, the Black Eagles, frown more when they speak now. Byleth has lost their emotions, so the fondness is ebbing away again. They’re distressed as they lose their teacher, and Byleth tries to pretend they care until even that seems pointless.

They follow Edelgard because they know that’s what they decided to do, not because they care. They’re too muted now, and even guilt is slipping away as time erodes more and more of Sothis from their very being.

Then the murders start to happen.

It starts when Dorathea was found outside of the Opera House. Her body had been cut down by the singular strike of a sword, left to rot in the street by an unknown assassin. The Black Eagles mourn, and Edelgard swears justice will be paid. The guards are doubled in the city and the hunt is on.

It doesn’t keep Fernidand from dying later. His entire platoon was killed, a mix of sword wounds and Reason magic leaving behind a field of corpses. Witnesses say it was a pale, dark haired, man. Just one. With an unused lance tied to his back. Something about revenge, the witnesses say. For a father, a best friend, a brother, a sister, and a lover.

A year goes by and the guards get lazy again. It seems the assassin had reached their goal or died in the process.

Until Almyra declares war.

Byleth gives their advice as it is sought, but no longer cares enough to see to the personal welfare of the troops themselves. It’s...demoralizing, to say the least.

Then Berneddeta dies in her room, a knife left behind, the signal of House Gautier’s crest carved into the hilt of the blade. A warning.

There are no Gautiers left, though, they were all killed, so it can only be Felix, Byleth explains to Edelgard, because there is no one else left to avenge House Gautier, and Felix was a childhood friend of both Dimitri, who is dead, Ingrid, who died defending Dimitri, and Sylvain, who also died in that battle.

Edelgard puts a bounty on his head.

But her troops are too spread thin with Almyra’s sudden and unrelenting assault. With another war on the horizon, many nobles that don’t care for Edelgard or were taken over surrender to Almyra without hesitation. Fodlan is once again halved, and with it Edelgard’s forces.

Then Lindhardt is killed by Felix, this time with a note: “I’m coming for you Edelgard.”

Claude, it seems, is the leader of the Almyran forces, and declares quite happily that he’s going to make Fodlan a part of his country. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes when he says it though, and he’s barely holding back heavy disgust.

Byleth can’t help but think of how foolish they are when they have sentiment.

Byleth also advises Edelgard to surrender.

“Not you.” Edelgard begs, knuckles gripped against the table, “Of all people, you cannot abandon me.”

But the Byleth she wants is long gone. Or, actually, they never existed. But if if they had her dream killed them until nothing but a numb shell was left behind. Byleth, as the are, is under no illusions of what they are now. A walking corpse, with all that made them human faded into the back with a sleeping Goddess that was once themselves. 

Casper, who swore he wouldn’t let another one of his friends die, falls next. Felix, it seemed, has sided with Claude and is now leading the lands that was formally Faerghus. The people of the Alliance and Fearghus help rebel, throwing riots so large that they cannot be suppressed.

Petra is gone shortly after, taken by riots.

“FOR GOOD KING DIMITRI!” Cry out the people of Faerghus as they flood the streets of Fhiridad. Imperial soldiers are pushed back by people not even wearing armor, such is their numbers, and when actual soldiers come Faerghus is no longer a Dukedom of the Empire.

“FOR THE NOBLE CAUSE!” Cry the people of the Alliance as they’re lead by those still left of the Golden Deer. Hilda’s older brother has taken the helm and lead them to victory.

When they finally take Enbarr Byleth isn’t fighting. They don’t care, and watch from Edelgard’s side as they march her palace. They warn her to surrender, but she claims she’ll die first.

Felix walks in, and cuts down Hubert. Claude walks in behind him, hands on his hips, looking up at Edelgard and Byleth with a cold smile, “Did you get what you wanted?”

“I don’t want things.” Byleth answers, emotionless, “I haven’t since the power Sothis gave faded away, and I was left incomplete again.”

“Sounds awful, hope all this was worth that.” Claude answers as Edelgard’s eyes widen in horror.

“Perhaps if I could still feel, that would hurt.” Byleth answers him, “But I can only remember what emotions felt like, the experience is lost to me now.”

“...wow, that almost makes killing you feel like I’m being merciful.” Claude remarks as Felix glares from beside him, “Teach, why did you DO this to yourself?”

“I had meant to take Edelgard prisoner.” Byleth confesses, “I was simply run out and had nowhere else to go. Helping her seemed like the logical choice at the time, but it’s strange, I can’t see the logic in it now.”

Claude originally meant to take Byleth prisoner, if they could somehow be captured. Interrogate them and whatnot, allow their former students to air their grievances before they were executed for treachery. 

Not that just feels too cruel when Byleth was apparently already killed long ago.

So, when the final battle ends, Claude tells Felix to end Byleth.

Byleth never even lifts their sword.

[nygmobblepot-trash]

Untitled

Part 1 out of ?

I wanted to write a fanfic that takes place after Endgame that deals with Dr. Strange, Peter Parker, and Thor. Someone else too, but they will show up later. They never got closure after the hell they went through. The movies and tv shows don’t come out for a while and i have had this idea for a while now. 

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Stephen Strange laid on the cold wood floor of the New York Sanctum. Outside he could hear the busy traffic and people living their lives. The commotion used to be welcomed, now it was a reminder that they had won. Now it was a constant reminder of danger growing every day. He had used the time stone months ago to see how Thanos could be beaten. The only foreseeable outcome involved messing with time. Countless times he has been warned not to mess with time, yet he never listened. What else could he have done? Allow half the universe to vanish? Would he let Thanos win if he saw what winning really meant? Strange didn’t know. He wanted to stop thinking about it. He wanted the questions to stop more than anything. One by one the Avengers had come by with their questions and one by one he could see that they blamed him for their fallen. No one had actually blamed him out loud, but he could see it in their eyes. If only he had looked farther in time or used the time stone sooner to see the incoming threat. If only they knew sooner Thanos may have not even won in the first place. Now he had no time stone and no idea how to fix the mess he made.

At first Stephen couldn’t stand any type of quiet. After the snap that was all that there was in the soul stone. Absolute nothingness and never knowing if he would ever be freed. Now quietness is all he wanted. He wanted the natural disasters to stop and he wanted to get Loki as far as possible from the space stone. The theory is that the two are connected. Fix the changes made and things should go back to normal. If he could get Loki away from the space stone maybe just maybe he can fix that time line thus fixing his. It was only a theory of course and it was possible he could make things worse, much worse.

The overwhelming nature of the situation made Stephen take solace on the floor of the sanctum while trying his best to ignore the outside world. The door had not been opened for anyone for months. The windows had all be blocked off. Dust was accumulating on everything, except his spot on the floor boards where he spent most of his days at nights. He does not know how long it has been since he has closed himself from the outside world, but he does not care. He just needs to rest for a little while longer then he will figure it out like he always has.

Arguing from outside brought Strange’s attention to the living world. He should really find some ear plugs.

He watched as the handle tried to turn slowly and carefully. He heard more arguing and then the handle jiggled harder. Strange tried to closed his eyes and go to sleep. The door had a spell and there was no possibility of intruders. 

At least he thought there wasn’t until he watched from the top of the stairs the door get off its hinges and land at the bottom of the stairs.

“THOR! What are you doing?! I told you that I could come back later. He’s probably busy and does not want to talk to me,” a panicked voice yelled.

Strange watched as Thor walked his way into the Sanctum followed by a terrified Peter Parker. “Nonsense Young One. If you wish to talk to the wizard you shall.”

Strange quietly groaned and put his hands over his face praying that they would leave.

“It’s dark in here. He isn’t here. Thank you Thor, but I am going to leave.” Peter turned to leave, but Thor simply smiled and held the Spider-ling by his shoulders. Thor then pointed to the top of the stairs where Strange laid. 

“Wh- Why is he laying on the floor like that? Is he okay?” Peter whispered to Thor. “Why is there no lights in here?”

“Go ask him while I fix this door. If he does not respond simply kick him.” Thor turned to the door to “fix it”.

“That will be quite unnecessary” Stephen muttered pushing himself off the floor. “I was only napping, Peter. I was up all night doing research.” Strange lied as he met the two men at the bottom of the stairs. Well half it was a lie to be fair.

“I am sorry to wake you. I tried to tell Thor not to break down your door. Oh is there a light switch somewhere?” Peter looked for a switch in the almost dark Sanctum.

Stephen paid no attention to Peter. Instead he focused on Thor trying to fix his door. Fixing in this case meant setting it carefully against the wall so it doesn’t fall through the hole. “What?” Strange quickly turned to Peter realizing he was talking to him. “Lights. Of course” Strange answered himself and snapped his fingers. All at once the lights flickered on, the door was placed back on its hinges, correctly, and all three were sat upstairs. Thor and Peter sat together on a gray couch while Stephen sat across from them.

“Do not start doing that again.” Thor warned.

“You were the ones who barged in here. Now can you please tell me what was so important that you had to disrupt my peace?” Strange shot back. He was in no mood to deal with the Odinson. He had not seen Thor since the funeral no words had been exchanged between them. After that he ran off into space. Stephen hoped it was because Thor had not business with him, but apparently that is not the case. Strange then laid his eyes on Peter who had not stopped fidgeting the whole time.

Thor put his hand on the boy’s shoulder once again. “I am going to looking around this sad place while you talk to him.” Thor then met eyes with Stephen. “I know he will answer every single on of your questions.” Stephen almost laughed. Was that a threat? Of course it was. Add pissing off the God of Thunder to the very long list of fuck ups.

Stephen watched as Thor left them alone to undoubtedly mess with the way he had left the Sanctum.

Peter. He had been dreading this day. He hoped it never came, but here they where. Maybe he isn’t here to talk about what happened. Maybe he just needs help. Fury did call him a while ago. That has to be it. Fury wants a team and desperately needs him to join. No Thor said he had questions. Of course he wants to talk about what happened.

‘Tell him you are busy. He obviously doesn’t want to be here. You can deal with Thor too.’ Stephen’s inner voice pleaded.

Peter suddenly stood up. “I-I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.”

‘You’re right. Leave.’

Strange watched as Peter started to make his escape.

“Peter... come back here. We need to talk, please come back and sit down.” Strange commanded. 

Peter slowly made his way back to his seat. Strange sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. I am not feeling myself currently. Please tell me what you have come here to say.”

“Well, its about what you said to... Mr. Stark after you used the time stone to figure out how to win.”

‘Just yell at me already.’

“Go ahead Peter.” Strange faked an encouraging smile.

He asked you how many outcomes there were for everyone living. You said there was one. Did I do something wrong? Mr. Stark and the others should still be here. Is it because I couldn’t get the glove off?”

‘He blames himself. Good you should keep it that way.’ Strange shook his head in hope the voice would stop.

“No Peter. Stark asked me how many we won.” Stephen admitted against his own wishes.

“But that’s the same thing! Why would winning mean Natasha and Tony dying! If that’s winning what is losing?” Peter yelled tears streaming down his face. “Was this the outcome you were trying to get to happen?”

“Peter unfortunately this was the best one. Sacrifices had to be made. I never made them do anything, Peter. I am truly sorry.”

“You never got along with him. How do we know that you...” Peter trailed off not wanting to finish the accusation.

“Go ahead. I want you to say it.”

'Say what they are all thinking.'

“You told him this is the only way when in reality this is the one that benefited you. It’s your fault. He thought there was no other way, because you lied!” Strange could see the hatred burning in his eyes. He could also see his own reflection in the boy’s eyes. He looked pathetic and not like himself at all. He deserved this.

“I did not do it to burn Stark. You’re right though. I lead him to his death. I knew if I told him he would chose not to leave his family behind. It was two people or the entire universe. It was not fair for me to be the decision maker Peter, but I didn’t know what else to do. I still don’t know what to do. The Chosen One was wrong about me.” Strange bent over and out his head in his hands.

‘It’s your fault. It should have been you. They had a family. What do you have? Nothing.’

He heard Peter’s shallow breaths become more calm as he sat down next to Strange. “Listen, i’m sorry. I don’t really think you did what you did to hurt him or Nat. I fought someone a while ago. He was my friend, I trusted him. He lied to me and tried to kill me and my friends all because he was angry with Mr. Stark. I trusted you. No I still do. I’m just afraid to get hurt again. I had to make sure you weren’t lying to me.”

“Lies may not escape his lips, but he does keep the full truth to himself. Isn’t that right, Strange?” Thor said while rejoining them.

“What am I keeping from you?” Strange sighed tired of Thor’s game.

“Loki.”

“What are you talking about? You watched him die with your own eyes!” Strange yelled getting throwing his hands in the air.

Peter whipped his tears away. He promised to help look after Thor after Bruce had explained to Peter that Thor had lost mostly everyone. “Thor, he’s gone.”

Thor crossed his arms. “Scott told me what happened.” He said simply.

Damn it Lang. Stephen told him that under no circumstances he could tell Thor about Loki.

“It’s clear that you are lost. You desperately need help, but you won’t ask for it because your ego will not allow it. I will not allow you sit here and feel bad for yourself.”

“Thor what are you talking about?” Peter asked clearly confused.

“Stark and the others accidentally created a universe where Loki escapes with the Tesseract after the battle of New York. I may need help Thor, but you are not the one to give me that help. I thank both of you for the talk, but I have had enought for tod-” Before strange could finish Thor grabbed his arms.

Thor leaned in close to Strange, his voice shaking with anger, “I told you, you were not going to do that anymore. I am not going anywhere. You are not the only one who feels guilty, but unlike you I am trying to do something about it. He promised me the sun would shine on us again. It will Strange.”

‘He’s right.’ 

“Alright, you win. Do not blame me when this does not go the way you want it to. Now if you please you can let go of me now."

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Thank you for reading and I hope it wasn’t too terrible!

[zbickerstaff]

An Unpretentious Plan for the Future Betterment of the Human Race and Planet Earth.

                                                                              By Zach Bickerstaff

Clearly we are in trouble. I’m sure that few will disagree. Of course everyone has their own opinion of exactly what our problems are and many of these opinions conflict. But it is abundantly clear that the world has a great many problems upon which everyone can agree. I shall endeavor to concisely explain my long range plan to remediate these problems and endow the Human Race and Planet Earth with a long, prosperous, peaceful and happy future.

                                                                     The Problems

 More than seven billion people inhabit this planet. That’s enough people to fill up Yankee Stadium thirteen thousand times. If you snapped your fingers once per second seven billion times, it would take you 221 years, ten months. We haven’t stopped reproducing either. If anything, we are speeding up. By the year 2050 it is predicted that there will be close to ten billion people. The planet cannot stand up under such a biological load. Seven billion is bad enough. Can you imagine how much poop seven billion people produce? Climate change is a big concern despite the fact that many people deny that it exists. Many of the deniers are now coming around and are finding the courage to accept the fact that something needs to be done. People also argue about the causes of climate change but when you strip away all the scientific jargon and theories, what it comes down to is that there are just too many people on the planet – dirty, messy, inefficient people. The notorious garbage island in the Pacific wasn’t made by penguins and wallabies; it was made by human beings.  

 Environmental problems aside, the human race itself suffers greatly because of its own fecundity. A conservative estimate says that thirteen to fifteen percent of the world’s population is starving or undernourished. 3.1 million children die of malnutrition each year. Malnutrition is a terrible way to die. It’s not a quick death, it is slow and painful. Often parents will feed their children instead of themselves. When they die the children are orphaned and roam the slums, begging for handouts and searching garbage piles for scraps. Speaking of slums, overpopulation assures that there will not be enough wealth to go around. 36% of the world’s population, almost two billion people, lives in poverty. Vast slums exist in South Africa, Kenya, Mexico, Nigeria, Brazil and India. People live in run down shacks constructed from whatever they can get their hands on; pieces of cars and trucks, packing crates, driftwood, bamboo, palm fronds, etc. There is rarely any running water and sewers consist of an open trench flowing with human and animal waste.

 This “lack of wealth” or the unfair distribution of it is the root cause of war. Few wars have been fought over purely ideological issues. Acquisition of resources is far more often the case. In the 20th century alone an estimated 108 million people were brutally killed by war, far more were injured, and made homeless. Again, the root cause of this is overpopulation; too many people, not enough resources.

 So now we have identified the problem. So how do we solve it? The big problem is that this is indeed a very big problem. People tend to be selfish and very uncooperative creatures so they are highly unlikely to go along with any solution. The first step is organization. No solution is going to be effective unless everyone, or nearly everyone, goes along with it. The world is divided up into nearly two hundred different countries. You might think that the United Nations would be a good place to start. No. The UN has no teeth and can’t control nearly enough of the population to be effective with, well anything. When was the last time they stopped a war? There are many people who understand the value of a world government. Realistically, it’s the best, fairest form of government; everyone plays under the same rules, it’s far easier to track criminals who break the rules and it will make war unheard of. It will be much easier to disarm the population to prevent armed revolt, war and mass murder. The immigration problem will be solved because borders will no longer be necessary. Once this achieved, good, solid, enforceable population growth rules can be put into place and there will be nothing that those who do not have the courage to cooperate will be able to do about it.  

 Another very important problem that I haven’t spoken of is the loss of jobs to robotics. Granted, this has been going on a very long time. Surely you have heard the term “Luddite”. It comes from an English mill worker named Ned Ludd who destroyed a new automatic loom in a fit of anger in 1779. He was angry because the new machine had taken the gobs of several workers, including  his. Such a machine is a primitive form of robot.

 Technology is advancing at an alarming rate. Think of a job, any job. Within fifty years, a robot will be able to do it. Artificial Intelligence is even replacing artists. There are advanced programs that can compose music. One was programmed to compose in the style of Beethoven. It wrote a piano sonata and a panel of expert musicologists was tricked into believing it was an undiscovered work by the master himself.

 So, in the next hundred years or so the human race will be out of work. I seriously doubt that the robots will turn against us though, like in the Terminator film series, that’s just the stuff of science fiction. But it will be a very serious problem and the cause of much conflict; many people competing for a very few jobs. The solution is a government that will fairly and equally award what few jobs remain to those qualified and deserving and to divide up the wealth and distribute it equally to those who cannot be employed. The only other alternative is to outlaw advanced technology and / or provide “makework” jobs and that simply will not work over the long term.

 But this still leaves us with the problem that the population is growing and there are not enough resources to go around as it is. Remember, fifteen percent of the population is starving. The simple solution is to simply grow more food. But that’s not as easy as you might think. I well remember driving across the state of Texas, hour after hour. Texas is really big and there are vast stretches of open, undeveloped land. I kept thinking: “why does nobody live here? Why does nobody farm this land?” I soon realized that it was because there is no water – or nearly no water – just enough to keep cacti and sagebrush alive. There is certainly not enough water to sustain the huge, sprawling suburbs of the Northeast US and not enough water to irrigate anything but cacti and sagebrush. And that’s the problem on a global basis too. There is a lot of water on this planet but the vast majority of it is salty. Only 2.5% is fresh and only 20% of that is usable by humans, the rest is locked up in ice caps or is polluted.

 Even if we could figure out some way to feed a gianormous population of ten billion, that still leaves us with all the problems of garbage and human waste. Think about how much poop ten billion people produce.

                                                                            The Plan

 It’s obvious that we need to reduce the global population, not allow it to keep growing and try to deal with it. As I have stated in the preceding paragraphs, there are too many people right now, and we are looking toward the future – the far future. The long term goal is to have no more people on the planet than can live in comfort and relative wealth, be adequately fed and receive all the necessities of life; medical care, a fair government, diversity, inclusiveness and the freedom to feel safe from violence and intolerance. Experts differ in their calculations but the consensus is that the global population should be no more than two billion people.

 So what do we do with the five billion people who are dead weight? Well for starters, they would need to be moved around. With a global government it will be much easier to move people into more efficient and environmentally friendly locations.  Massive structures will be built covering square miles and rising a thousand feet or more. This might seem like it would use up land that could be cultivated but in reality it would free up cultivatable land by “putting everything in one place” - shops, theaters, hospitals, schools, recreation, sports arenas, etc. Perhaps a million or more people could live in one of these “mega-buildings.” In the United States, for instance, once the ideal population level is reached, it would only require approximately one hundred of these structures to be built and the entire population will be moved into them. All other buildings will be torn down. The mega-buildings will be built on land that cannot be put into agricultural use such as deserts, areas with poor soil quality and salt flats.

 Travel will no longer be necessary except between one mega-building and another. People and goods will travel through underground tunnels or on above ground monorails in environmentally friendly, electrically powered rail cars. However, such travel would rarely be necessary because everything one could ever want will be contained within the mega-buildings. This would free the land for agriculture, solar farms, wind farms and other types of environmentally friendly types of energy. Fossil fuels will be rendered obsolete. People will no longer need to own automobiles and will be free from the huge expense of purchase, maintenance and insurance. The carnage of traffic accidents will be a thing of the past.

 A birth control program will be established to stabilize the size of the population. Perhaps the best way to do this is to selectively administer certain chemical compounds during routine vaccinations which would prevent women from producing eggs and / or men from producing sperm. It would be simple and completely painless. No one would even know it had been done until they tried to have children. The selection process will be based on genetic characteristics in an effort to weed out the more troublesome aspects of the human condition such as genetic deformities, mental illness, intellectual disability as well as social issues such as diversity.

 An extensive education program will be established which will contain curriculum to be sure that everyone is made thoroughly aware of the necessity and importance of the steps being taken to save the Human Race and the planet. It will also be used to educate people of the evils of racism, toxic masculinity, misogyny and other destructive behaviors as well as wean the population off of superstitious religious beliefs which conflict with various aspects of the program such as birth control. To this end it would be best to remove children from their parent’s sphere of influence. Schools now provide most meals for children and supervise much of their activity. It is a few simple steps to modify the school system to keep children under the careful and nurturing supervision of the educational system all of the time. Parents would be allowed to visit of course but the object is to prevent them from teaching their children falsehoods and destructive behaviors such as the aforementioned religious superstition, intolerance, bigotry and racism. It would prevent parental child abuse. Alcoholic, uneducated, poorly educated and mentally ill parents are notorious for abusing their children. How many times have you heard news stories about parents doing unspeakable things to their children?

Once the above measures are in place, the population has been relocated and the land has been cleared, agriculture will switch to plant production exclusively, becoming sustainable and eliminating the highly inefficient, wasteful, inhumane and environmentally unfriendly production of animal products. Fishing will be banned so that the oceans can recover. This is not to say that everyone would be forced to be a vegan vegetarian. That’s just not practical and many people would balk at the idea. Plus there is the aspect that a vegan diet holds many dietary deficiencies. Vegans have to be careful to find alternate sources of protein and the vitamins and minerals which are usually supplied by meat, eggs and seafood. This is not something that you can expect a large population to do. Our global government will have detailed records on everyone; location as well as age, height, weight and health status. Based on these factors and the ability – or lack thereof – to contribute to society in a useful way, individuals will be carefully selected for humane harvest. With modern technology a human being can be compassionately and painlessly euthanized and the body can efficiently be processed into many different wholesome and palatable types of food. There is nothing gruesome or morbid about this. This is not the stereotypical, cliché cannibalism of the Donner Party, Hannibal Lechter and Jeffery Dahmer. For instance, the head and hands will not be processed. This is for two reasons. 1. To allow the next of kin to have a funeral with an open casket. The head and hands will be mounted on a dummy body. Afterwards they will be removed and cremated.  Burial will be outlawed; it is wasteful of valuable land which can be otherwise used for agriculture. 2. Many of the diseases associated with the consumption of human flesh are transmitted by brain and nervous tissue. The average human body contains between fifty and seventy five pounds of usable meat. A rate of one billion humane harvests per year will provide an adequate meat supply and pare the global population to an acceptable level within five or six years. This solves both the starvation and the overpopulation problem. It’s a win-win situation.  Obviously only mature people will be selected for harvest. No one will be eating little kids. A minimum age, say 35 to 40 will need to be established. Of course a few people may object to this but over time it will become routine and people will accept their fate. Once the global population is stabilized and clean environmental practices are established, the practice of humane harvesting could be gradually phased out and we could once again begin farming cattle, pigs and other livestock. But we must be vigilant and not let things get out of hand again. We must be strict but gentle. The educational system is key to shaping the thought process so that a tolerant, diverse population is maintained which has the courage to make this plan successful.

 Truly, we are in trouble and truly the plan I have set out here is neither that complicated or difficult. The outcome would be an Earth that could only be described as paradise. I have heard other plans. At best they are patchwork / Band-Aid solutions. Here is a plan that guarantees peace, sustainable, long term human happiness on a green, environmentally sustainable Earth.

[idxchanyeol-blog]

snake oil and holy water

in which chanyeol tries to come to terms with the idea that his success was bought, not earned

character development prompt:  detail the shittiest moment of your career (+5XP)

To say that Chanyeol’s career thus far had been turbulent would be an understatement of mammoth proportions.   A true rollercoaster ride: his time with Poizn has seen soaring highs and crushing lows, winding loops and sudden turns in the track, thrill and terror in equal measure. And much like a rollercoaster, whenever they pull into a station for a moments reprieve and the adrenaline begins to fade, he’s left with a feeling of overwhelming sickness and regret.

The worst moment of his career (To date, at least) comes before he’s even stepped out on stage with his members. Before the group cement their reputation as a magnet for scandal. Before the downward spiral that sees him lash out at the fansign. Before his transformation into the hardened cynic of today.

The lowest moment of his career is spent alone in the dorms, plagued by worries that it’s all over before it’s even begun.

Before the fall comes the rise.

He’d always had concerns about company tampering during his time on the survival. On reflection it had been foolish, no, downright idiotic, to have not seen the signs. But pride has always been his downfall, and every victory was another victory with which to feed it. Every round he won, every rung of the ladder he climbed served only to inflate his ego which would in turn blind him to the harsh reality.

Or perhaps he did see the signs, and chose to turn a blind eye. A self-serving wilful ignorance. Selfishness is a trait that runs in the Kang family genes, so it’s not unthinkable that he simply pushed the questions to the back of his mind. Survival shows are cut-throat, and it’s as valid a tactic as any other. It holds less honour, sure, but it works. It sees him consistently on the top of the pile when he should be buried deep underground. He chooses to believe that he was always in the dark and not peeking through the curtain, but perhaps he’s more like his parents than he’d care to believe.

In truth it doesn’t matter what he knew. Regardless of how, he found himself crowned winner and for the briefest of moments was on top of the world. Finally, the recognition he’s so craved all his life. It’s a matter of days before he’s tumbling from the peak into freefall, recognition and admiration morphing into resentment and apathy. The cat is out of the bag.

To begin with he dismisses the chatter as idle gossip; rumours dreamed up by slighted fangirls angry that he’s beaten their favourites. Give it a week and it’ll stop, he’s reassured, they’ll move on to something else. They seemingly never do.  A week passes and the noise only intensifies, the alleged corruption that led to his win an albatross draped around his neck. With each passing day it gets heavily, the scrutiny intensifying. He’s yet to even debut and already the name on everyone’s lips.

This isn’t what he wanted though. 99 Entertainment was supposed to be an escape route. A training ground where he could forge his own path through sheer grit and willpower, not buy his way to the top. And yet all they are is incompetent. The story doesn’t die, it only spreads. An open wound left to fester, the poison slowly spreading and corrupting public opinion. Why it isn’t nipped in the bud immediately remains an unsolved mystery; perhaps they didn’t know just how toxic it was, or believed the patently untrue proverb that all publicity is good publicity, or that they would be proved wrong by his talent and stunned into silence once he returned to the stage with Poizn. Or, perhaps most likely, they were simply to inept to catch it before it spiralled.

Either way, by the time he’s pulled aside there’s no hope of clawing it back. Damage control is the only viable option. There’s truth to the rumours, he’s told, but he’s not to address them. To do so would be breach of contract. The voice that tells him is strained with stress. “We’re figuring out how best to handle this. All options are on the table right now. Including possibly removing you from the line-up to limit the blast. We thought that you should know.” He simply nods and walks away.

As he slowly shuffles back to the dorms his mind is racing, a thousand voices thundering inside his head. The glacial pace is deliberate as he tries to order them, each second a new barrage of questions raining down. Why did they do it? How much was I worth? Was any of the success actually mine? A few more steps. Was everyone else in on it? Did my competition throw it deliberately? What am I supposed to do with this information? A few more steps. What are my members going to think of me? Am I the only one? How does this impact them? A few more steps.

Was I not good enough? Am I not good enough?

By the time the door swings open he’s drained. Empty. Numb. The empty silence of the room roars as he crosses the threshold. A glance around confirms that nobody else is around. On a normal day he’d be curious about their whereabouts, furious that he’d not been informed or invited along, but now he’s grateful for the solitude. A bag is thrown aside carelessly as uneven footsteps echo through the room. He perches on the foot of his bed gently, eyes fixed on the carpet underfoot.

Chanyeol has known anger. Chanyeol has known sadness. Chanyeol has known disappointment. He hasn’t known whatever this is. It makes his stomach feel tight, as if he’s going to vomit at any moment, head spin like a concussion and lungs smaller than the breaths he’s taking in. Every negative emotion you’d care to name bubbles away inside him, a cocktail of melancholy.

And he feels dirty. Like he’s been used and discarded, a broken toy thrown across the room by the child who’s smashed him to pieces. His skin crawls with disgust, regret overcoming him. Why had he decided to do this? To sign his soul away to the devil on nothing more than a whim? To flee the haunted house of his family? The very ghosts he’s been trying to escape have followed him, and no matter how far he seems to run the shadow always stretches further.

Time passes. How much, he doesn’t know. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes like hours and hours like days. He sits there, despondent and wordless. The first time he can recall not knowing what to say. Eventually he rises, carves a path towards the bathroom. A click confirms that the door is locked, that he is guaranteed some privacy. The hiss and patter of water from the showerhead confirms that he won’t be heard by anyone who returns. Clothes are discarded messily in a pile in the corner before he steps under the hot stream.

Crying in the shower to hide your tears is a cliché. But it’s a cliché that Chanyeol embraces with open arms. As soon as water hits his skin the floodgates open. A single ugly sob followed by silent weeping with eyes sown shut. His shoulders are hunched, breathing heavy as he lets go. Such displays of weakness are rare, but when they happen, they are guaranteed to be spectacular.

From this day forwards, he thinks, he’ll have the same reputation as his parents. There a problem? Throw money at it until it goes away. The very stigma he’s come so far to avoid now hanging over him for the rest of time. They’ll be so proud. He should have done better. If he’d done better, nobody would have asked questions about his win. Or they wouldn’t have cared at least. The company should have trusted him, not made shady deals behind his back and then prepare to throw him under the bus because they’ve left a scandal of their own creation to escalate out of control.

Sadness turns into anger. A plastic bottle is grabbed, launched across the room at full force. Just as the dull thud-thud of contact with wall then floor chimes out, an arm sweeps across the rest viciously and sends them clattering. And then a shout, primal fury that needs to be unleashed, followed by a fist to the tile guaranteeing his knuckles purple. The soft side of his hand hits in time with sobs as he slowly lowers himself to settle amongst the bottles, hugging his legs in tight and trying to regain control of his breathing.

The dream is dead. It was fun while it lasted.

Time passes. He still doesn’t know how much, but by the time he emerges his skin is pruned and the light from outside the windows has faded. The room is no longer unoccupied, and as he saunters back towards his bed wordlessly a flurry of concerned and inquisitive looks are thrown at him. “Not tonight.” Is all he manages as he lays back expressionless, too emotionally drained to even begin to explain.

As should be obvious, the talk of the dreams’ demise were greatly exaggerated. The situation was never dire enough to warrant his removal and the scandals that plagued his members proved to be a blessing in disguise, watering down the controversy and taking the heat off of him before he has a chance to make the rash decision to buy out his contract. It takes some time, but eventually he returns to his normal self, goes on as if nothing has happened and nods along with whatever the company says like the good little dog he is.

Vindictiveness is a defining trait though, and he’s never truly forgiven those involved for almost ruining him to achieve their own ambitions. Or indeed himself for believing his own hype and almost winding up buried because of it.

[tired-college-student-writing]

What do you mean real?

Summary- Ethan really thought the craziest thing he’d ever experience was having his idol turned friend invite him to move cross country for YouTube. Unfortunately, that was only the tip of the iceberg.

Part 1

part 2

Ethan tossed his set of keys on the kitchen counter as he entered Mark’s house. He listened to the house only to find it silent, which was odd since Mark and Chica were suppose to be home. Right as he was going to call out for the older man, a yellow and pink form appeared in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow before shrugging.

“We doing an ego video today then?” 

Mark grinned behind his pink mustache, lips spread so far it must be painful.

“Not sure yet, blueberry. Still working out some of the… Details,” 

The slurred drawl made Ethan snort before turning towards the fridge.

“Okay cool,” He said, rummaging through the fridge for last night leftover Chinese food, “We can go over ideas if you want, just let me heat some of this up. Tyler texted a bit ago saying he was leaving his doctor’s appointment so he should be here-” He stopped talking as he heard the back door open. Weird no one else was supposed to be here…

“Who’s an adorable baby girl~” 

Ethan’s blood ran cold as he heard Mark coo at Chica from down the hall, “You are, oh yes you are Chica-bica.”

 Ethan’s eyes were locked with the man across the island from him.

“Yo Ethan, you here yet?”  Mark called out, “I wanted to run some of these ideas past you before Tyler gets here,”

“We’re in the Kitchen Mr. Mark-le-plier!” Wilford answered. Ethan heard Mark swear and feet pounding on the floor before he saw him appear in the doorway from the corner of his eye. Chica shot past him towards the brightly dressed man who fell to the floor with an excited squeal.

“Oh, Miss. Chica, you’re looking lovely as always,” was laughed out as Chica licked his face. It wasn’t until a large hand gripped Ethan’s forearm did he look away from the man on the floor up to an almost identical looking face. Mark placed himself between the laughing man and Ethan before turning back to the blue-haired man.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked glancing over his pale friend, “He didn’t hurt you did he?”

“Please tell me this is some weird dream,” 

Mark let out a hollow laugh,“I wish,”

“Secret twin brother?” 

Mark raised an eyebrow, “I’m sorry, have you met my family? There’s no way I could hide a twin,”

“I’m in some weird ass coma dream?” 

Mark sputtered at that last one, eyes wide not knowing what to say for a couple of seconds before he threw up his hands.

“Why the hell would you be in a coma?!” He screeched indignantly as the… being behind him laughed.

“I don’t know,” Ethan replied back at equal volume, “Maybe I accidentally forgot to ask in a new place used peanut oil or some shit!” Mark paled as Wilford fell silent, Ethan hardly noticed until a flash of pink light appeared behind and a hand squeezed his shoulder. He whipped around coming face to face with a stoic-looking Wilford, a heavy scent of candy apples hitting the blue-haired man full force. The look on his face was enough to send a shiver down Ethan’s spine, even without him thinking about how only a second before Wilford had been across the room.

“Now, Now Ethan, my boy,” His voice was slow as if talking to a child, “ Markaham doesn’t like to think about friends playing that kind of jokes on him,”

“What kind of jokes?” Ethan couldn’t help but ask, mind trying in vain to restart.

“Pretending to be dead and leaving him, of course!” Wilford said. Ethan opened his mouth to ask what he’s talking about when Mark broke in.

“We’ve been over this Wilford. When people die in this plane, they stay dead,” Wilford frowned.

“That’s not very fun!”

“It's not supposed to be!”

“Well, I guess those jokes aren’t much fun in the first place,”

“Not everything is a joke Wil!” 

Ethan squeaked, stumbling out from between the two snapping men. Mark stopped, throwing a glare at Wilford before he turned back to the younger man.

“How about we move this to the living room?”

 Ethan felt his head nod as Mark ushered him onto the coach. Wilford followed rocking back and forth on his heels across the room. Mark sighed, wincing a bit before leaning against the arm of the couch. He gestured at the pink haired man.

“Ethan met my oldest ego. Wilford Warfstache, manic reporter, possible psychopath, and an all-around pain in my ass.”

 Wilford swept into a deep and dramatic bow.

“A pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Blueberry,” Wilford proclaimed, smile wider then looked possible. Ethan’s eyes flicked between the two men letting the silence overtake the room.

“This,” He finally broke the uncomfortable silence after several long minutes, eyes settling on Mark’s serious face, “This is actually real. HE’s real?!” 

Wilford laughed heartily, “He got it together quicker than most!”

Ethan stiffened as the… ego gestured wildly with his gun. That thing was plastic, right? It had been when he had messed with it at the office last week, but no he wasn’t so sure. 

Mark simply rolled his eyes at the man he had just described as a maniac waving a gun around.“Shut up Wil. We were going introduce him to you guys soon,” 

Wilford pouted crossing his arms.

“It’s been a month!” He whined, “I’m not the only one getting bored you know,”

“It has not, it’s hardly been three weeks!” 

Ethan broke in, not able to hold his tongue any longer, “How the actual FUCK!” 

Mark chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Long story,” He said, “The basics are Wil here is a figment of me brought to life by the fans and their belief in him-”

“The official term is Tulpa,” Wilford said, breaking in a proud smile on his face, “A being brought to life by a mental power. Oh, you should have seen Mark’s face the first time I made an appearance! He thought he was going crazy for over a month before I decided to appear when he was with Wade and Bobert, they all had a conniption!” Mark growled, glaring at the other man.

“Yes, because having a psycho with my exact face pop out of fucking nowhere is totally normal,”

“It is to you,”

“Well, it is now! You don’t leave me the hell alone!” 

Ethan couldn’t help, but feel slightly amused as the pair started squabbling, Mark’s voice slipping into an exasperated fondness as Wilford’s smile faded from manic to content.

“This isn’t what I expected to come back to.” 

The pair stopped mid-sentence, eyes flashing over to the door, not moving back from each other’s faces. Ethan glanced up to see Tyler standing in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ah, the man of unusual size has returned!” Wilford greeted, wiggling his fingers at him.

“Wilford, let me guess, you decided to ignore Mark’s order to let us break this to Ethan gently because you were bored?”

“Got it in one, Chap!”

“And you two,” He continued, “Got distracted by your lover’s quarrel to actually explain what’s happening?” Ethan let out a startled laugh at the sputtering pair that sprung apart, disgust growing on both their faces.

“Gross, Tyler!” Mark whined, nose wrinkled, “He’s literally me… if I was a pink obsessed serial killer,”

“Hey now,” Wilford said, “I’ve never killed any cereal.”

“Enough,” Tyler’s voice cut over the impending argument, “Ethan needs an explanation,”

“They told me some stuff, like him being here because the fans want him to be real and stuff, and how he made Mark think he was going crazy before freaking out Bob and Wade,” 

Tyler snorted, “Better than my introduction to them. I almost got stabbed when I met Mark’s superpowered imaginary friends,”

Ethan’s eyes widen.

“Them? Friends? As in plural? Are all the fucking egos alive?” Ethan ranked his brain trying to make a list of all the characters Mark created over the years, but there were too many. Mark cut back in.

“Only the most well known and loved ones~” 

A pink cloud appeared on Ethan’s lap fading to reveal a grinning Wilford, the smell of candy apples renewing. He seems to ignore the fact that Ethan looks ready to bolt as the ego continued.

“Oh yes, it’s me, my partner in crime Bimbo, the good old Doctor, Mr. Roboto, Hosty bosty, The rodent monarch, The sexy scary school girl and of course, Darkipoo.”

 Ethan’s minds whirls trying to figure out which characters Wilford is talking about. His mouth works quicker than his mind as a question slipped out.

“Why the fuck does it smell like a carnival threw up?” 

Wilford looked sat up scandalized as Mark double over, clutching his gut as he laughed, Tyler giggling helplessly next to them. Wilford huffs as he leaves Ethan’s lap, mumbling to himself as he paces the room.

“Of all the things for you to be worried about at this given moment” Mark finally gasps out, “You’re asking about how his pink cloud smells like fair food?” Ethan blushed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me for trying to ignore the fact that half the egos he listed off are killers… I think at least? I mean you implied stuff in the videos, but didn’t always come out and say they were serial killers,”

“Nah,” Tyler laughed, “I’m pretty sure at least half of them would kill people if given the chance,”

“I made it so they don’t” Mark piped in raising his hands in defense, “ They just have to work out their murderous desires in other ways,”

“That’s very reassuring,” 

Mark shrugged helplessly, a weariness settling on his face.

“You learn to live with what you can get when your psyche literally shatters into a million pieces and becomes new personas any time you want to make a joke.”

Ethan winced, only for Mark to wave it off.

“Oh don’t get so put off, I’ve made my peace with whatever curse is placed on YouTube that makes egos come life.” 

Before Ethan could respond, the front door banged open, and a mechanical whirl was heard walking towards them.

“Oh looks like my escort has finally arrived,” Wilford said, waving his fingers slightly as another Mark look-alike appeared in the doorway. With his shaggy hair, simple blue shirt and glow G shining on his chest it was easy for Ethan to conjure his name up.

“Hey Google,” Tyler greeted, as Mark just sighed as Google tilted his head.

“Gr-Greetings Tyler,” His voice skipped slightly over the words.

“Let me guess,” Mark started, “Wil left right before a meeting and Dark is throwing a fit?” The android nodded, advancing on the pinkette.

“Dark is-is not impr-pressed with Wilford’s disappear-ance,” he explained, “I have been sent to retrieve-retrieve him,” 

Wilford pouts.

“Alllllllright,” He sighs, “I just need to do one more thing before we leave,” Google’s eye seems to twitch before he nods.

“Hurry u-up then.” 

Wilford smirks before diving onto the couch, wrapping his arms around Ethan’s waist, placing his knife against his neck.

“Isn’t my new friend adorable googs~” He sings, the others freezing around him. Google’s blue eyes flashed over the scene.

“I was under the impre-resssion you wished-wished not to tell Eth-Ethan of our ex-ex-existence yet,” Google said blandly, ignoring Ethan’s pleading eyes. Mark refused to tear his eyes off of the pair but replied.

“I didn’t Wil had other ideas though,” Tyler made a move forward only for Wilford to tighten the knife more.

“Ah Ah,” He laughs at Tyler, “No need to be hasty-” 

Ethan rammed his head back against Wilford’s nose, twisting from his grip, grabbing the knife from his hands as he sprang up from the couch. Without a second thought, he ran behind the others, pinning himself to the wall behind them. Mark and Tyler simply stared at the small boy, back to Wilford that was clutching his nose in pain.

“Is-Is your t-t-test complete yet?” 

They all turned to google who had his arms crossed across his chest. Wilford pulled his hands away from his face, smiling widely despite the blood dripping down his face.

“Yup, Yup!” He skipped over to Google, snapping his fingers. Ethan yelped as the knife in his hand vanished and reappeared in the pink psycho’s.

“What the fuck Wilford?!” Mark demanded. Google raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s tra-tradition to see if the introduc-tions in-to the Office include a death threat,” He said, “We thought you-you were aw-aware of this. It’s to in-sure they can handle the more-ore unstable sides of the egos. If not then-then the saner of the egos-Egos work to pro-protect th-em until they-they learn to defend them-selves.”

Ethan’s eyes widen, before glancing at the stunned men in front of him.

“You handled yourself nicely, we shouldn’t have to worry about you too much tomorrow,” Wilford said, “Tootles~” 

In a flash of pink the egos vanished, leaving the three men alone. Mark removed his glasses, rubbing his face with a groan.

“We’re taking a day off today,” He said, collapsing on the recliner, “ We’re gonna need all our energy for when they demand all us at the Office tomorrow.”

“I’ll text Kat,” Tyler said, “I’m sure she’ll bring some Indian food,”

“Amy will probably grab ice cream when I tell her why we’re having a light work day today,” Mark mumbled pulling his phone out. Ethan nodded silently taking a deep breath before walking out of the room.

“Where you going?” Tyler called after him. He glanced back as he climbed the stairs.

“Borrowing Mark’s laptop” He said, “If we’re not recording today I should get some editing done,”

“Yeah, no,” He heard Mark call before the man seemingly appeared behind him, swinging him onto his shoulder and started to carry him back down the stairs. Ethan yelped in shock, pounding on Mark’s back lightly.

“What the hell dude! Put me down,” He complained.

“Not happening,” He laughed, tossing him on the couch.

“You are on strict relax mode today,” Tyler said, as Mark went over the tv and started fiddling with one of the game systems.

“I’m fine and we have to do something,” He whined, trying to get up.

“Kathryn and I will do some editing and post a video or two for both of our channels. You’re giving your brain a rest from the mind fucking it just experienced,” Mark commented, shoving him back down, before handing him a Wii controller. A quick glance at the screen revealed Mario Kart 8 was cued up and ready to go. He sighed settling back.

“You guys aren’t giving me a choice are you?” Mark laughed ruffling his hair.

“We’ll let you pick what cup were competing for,” Ethan’s lips quirked up against his will as he entered Grand Prix mode. He slowly relaxed as his friends plopped down next to him, the fears of tomorrow being drowned out by colorful graphics and playful shoving.

[aizawa-yamada-shinsou]

What do you mean real?

Summary- Ethan really thought the craziest thing he’d ever experience was having his idol turned friend invite him to move cross country for YouTube. Unfortunately that was only the tip of the iceberg.

@pleaseletthisjimbetaken You did say you’d like to see if I posted anything so I hope it’s not too bad. 

edit- Decided it was too long and added this in. Also why do I always find mistakes after I post?

part 2

Ethan tossed his set of keys on the kitchen counter as he entered Mark’s house. He listened to the house only to find it silent, which was odd since Mark and Chica were suppose to be home. Right as he was going to call out for the older man, a yellow and pink form appeared in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow before shrugging.

“We doing an ego video today then?” Mark grinned behind his pink mustache, lips spread so far it must be painful.

“Not sure yet, blueberry,” The slurred drawl made Ethan snort, “Still working out some of the… Details,” Ethan smiled back before turning towards the fridge.

“Okay cool,” He said, rummaging through the fridge for last night leftover chinese food, “We can go over ideas if you want, just let me heat some of this up. Tyler texted a bit ago saying he was leaving his doctor’s appointment so he should be here-” He stopped talking as he heard the back door open. Weird no one else was supposed to be here…

“Who's an adorable baby girl~” Ethan’s blood ran cold as he heard Mark coo at Chica from down the hall, “You are, oh yes you are Chica-bica.” Ethan’s eyes were locked with the man across the island from him.

“Yo Ethan, you here yet?” He heard Mark call out, “I wanted to run some of these ideas past you before Tyler gets here,”

“We’re in the Kitchen Mr. Mark-le-plier!” Wilford called. Ethan heard Mark swear and feet pounding on the floor before he saw him appear in the doorway from the corner of his eye. Chica shot past him towards the brightly dressed man who fell to the floor with an excited squeal.

“Oh, Miss. Chica, you’re looking lovely as always,” was laughed out as Chica licked his face. It wasn’t until a large hand gripped Ethan’s forearm did he look away from the man on the floor up to an almost identical looking face. Mark placed himself between the laughing man and Ethan before turning back to the blue-haired man.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked glancing over his pale friend, “He didn’t hurt you did he?”

“Please tell me this is some weird dream,” Mark let out a hollow laugh.

“I wish,”

“Secret twin brother?” Mark raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, have you met my family? There’s no way I could hide a twin,”

“I’m in some weird ass coma dream?” Mark sputtered at that last one, eyes wide not knowing what to say for a couple of seconds before he threw up his hands.

“Why the hell would you be in a coma?!” He screeched indignantly as the… being behind him laughed.

“I don’t know,” Ethan replied back at equal volume, “Maybe I accidentally forgot to ask in a new place used peanut oil or some shit!” Mark paled as Wilford fell silent, Ethan hardly noticed until a flash of pink light appeared behind and a hand squeezed his shoulder. He whipped around coming face to face with a stoic-looking Wilford, a heavy scent of candy apples hitting the blue-haired man full force. The look on his face was enough to send a shiver down Ethan’s spine, even without him thinking about how only a second before Wilford had been across the room.

“Now, Now Ethan, my boy,” His voice was slow as if talking to a child, “ Markaham doesn’t like to think about friends playing that kind of jokes on him,”

“What kind of jokes?” Ethan couldn’t help but ask, mind trying in vain to restart.

“Pretending to be dead and leaving him, of course!” Wilford said. Ethan opened his mouth to ask what he’s talking about when Mark broke in.

“We’ve been over this Wilford. When people die in this plane, they stay dead,” Wilford frowned.

“That’s not very fun!”

“It’s not suppose to be!”

“Well, I guess those jokes aren’t much fun in the first place,”

“Not everything is a joke Wil!” Ethan squeaked, stumbling out from between the two snapping men. Mark stopped, throwing a glare at Wilford before he turned back to the younger man.

“How about we move this to the living room?” Ethan felt his head nod as Mark ushered him onto the coach. Wilford followed rocking back and forth on his heels across the room. Mark sighed, wincing a bit before leaning against the arm of the couch. He gestured at the pink haired man.

“Ethan met my oldest ego. Wilford Warfstache, manic reporter, possible psychopath, and an all-around pain in my ass,” Wilford swept into a deep and dramatic bow.

“A pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Blueberry,” Wilford proclaimed, smile wider then looked possible. Ethan's eyes flicked between the two men letting the silence over take the room.

“This,” He finally broke the uncomfortable silence after several long minutes, eyes settling on Mark’s serious face, “This is actually real. HE’s real?!” Wilford laughed heartily.

“He got it together quicker than most,” Ethan stiffened as the… ego gestured wildly with his gun. That thing was plastic, right? It had been when he had messed with it at the office last week, but no he wasn’t so sure. Mark simply rolled his eyes at the man he had just described as a maniac waving a gun around.

“Shut up Wil. We were going introduce him to you guys soon,” Wilford pouted crossing his arms.

“It’s been a month!” He whined, “I’m not the only one getting bored you know,”

“It has not, it’s hardly been three weeks!” Ethan broke in, not able to hold his tongue any longer.

“How the actual FUCK!” Mark chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Long story,” He said, “The basics are Wil here is a figment of me brought to life by the fans and their belief in him-”

“The official term is Tulpa,” Wilford said, breaking in a proud smile on his face, “A being brought to life by a mental power. Oh, you should have seen Mark’s face the first time I made an appearance! He thought he was going crazy for over a month before I decided to appear when he was with Wade and Bobert, they all had a conniption!” Mark growled, glaring at the other man.

“Yes, because having a psycho with my exact face pop out of fucking nowhere is totally normal,”

“It is to you,”

“Well, it is now! You don’t leave me the hell alone!” Ethan couldn’t help, but feel slightly amused as the pair started squabbling, Mark’s voice slipping into an exasperated fondness as Wilford’s smile faded from manic to content.

“This isn’t what I expected to come back to,” The pair stopped mid-sentence, eyes flashing over to the door, not moving back from each other's faces. Ethan glanced up to see Tyler standing in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ah, the man of unusual size has returned!” Wilford greeted, wiggling his fingers at him.

“Wilford, let me guess, you decided to ignore Mark’s order to let us break this to Ethan gently because you were bored?”

“Got it in one, Chap!”

“And you two,” He continued, “Got distracted by your lover’s quarrel to actually explain what’s happening?” Ethan let out a startled laugh at the sputtering pair that sprung apart, disgust growing on both their faces.

“Gross, Tyler!” Mark whined, nose wrinkled, “He’s literally me... if I was a pink obsessed serial killer,”

“Hey now,” Wilford said, “I’ve never killed any cereal,”

“Enough,” Tyler’s voice cut over the impending argument, “Ethan needs an explanation,”

“They told me some stuff, like him being here because the fans want him to be real and stuff, and how he made Mark think he was going crazy before freaking out Bob and Wade,” Tyler snorted.

“Better than my introduction to them. I almost got stabbed when I met Mark’s superpowered imaginary friends,” Ethan’s eyes widen.

“Them? Friends? As in plural? Are all the fucking egos alive?” Ethan ranked his brain trying to make a list of all the characters Mark created over the years, but there were too many. Mark cut back in.

“Only the most well known and loved ones,” A pink cloud appeared on Ethan’s lap fading to reveal a grinning Wilford, the smell of candy apples renewing. He seems to ignore the fact that Ethan looks ready to bolt as he continued.

“Oh yes, it’s me, my partner in crime Bimbo, the good old Doctor, Mr. Roboto, Hosty bosty, The rodent monarch, The sexy scary school girl and of course, Darkipoo,” Ethan’s minds whirls trying to figure out which characters Wilford is talking about. His mouth works quicker than his mind as a question slipped out.

“Why the fuck does it smell like a carnival threw up?” Wilford looked sat up scandalized as Mark double over, clutching his gut as he laughed, Tyler giggling helplessly next to them. Wilford huffs as he leaves Ethan’s lap, mumbling to himself as he paces the room.

“Of all the things for you to be worried about at this given moment” Mark finally gasps out, “You're asking about how his pink cloud smells like fair food?” Ethan blushed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Excuse me for trying to ignore the fact that half the egos he listed off are killers... I think at least? I mean you implied stuff in the videos, but didn't always come out and say they were serial killers,"

"Nah," Tyler laughed, "I'm pretty sure at least half of them would kill people if given the chance,"

"I made it so they don't" Mark piped in raising his hands in defense, " They just have to work out their murderous desires in other ways,"

“That’s very reassuring,” Mark shrugged helplessly, a weariness settling on his face.

“You learn to live with what you can get when your psyche literally shatters into a million pieces and becomes new personas any time you want to make a joke,” Ethan winced, only for Mark to wave it off.

“Oh don’t get so put off, I’ve made my peace with whatever curse is placed on YouTube that makes egos come life,” Before Ethan could respond, the front door banged open, and a mechanical whirl was heard walking towards them.

“Oh looks like my escort has finally arrived,” Wilford said, waving his fingers slightly as another Mark look-alike appeared in the doorway. With his shaggy hair, simple blue shirt and glow G shining on his chest it was easy for Ethan to conjure his name up.

“Hey Google,” Tyler greeted, as Mark just sighed as Google tilted his head.

“Gr-Greetings Tyler,” His voice skipped slightly over the words.

“Let me guess,” Mark started, “Wil left right before a meeting and Dark is throwing a fit?” The android nodded, advancing on the pinkette.

“Dark is-is not impr-pressed with Wilford’s disappear-ance,” he explained, “I have been sent to retrieve-retrieve him,” Wilford pouts.

“Alllllllright,” He sighs, “I just need to do one more thing before we leave,” Google’s eye seems to twitch before he nods.

“Hurry u-up then,” Wilford smirks before diving onto the couch, wrapping his arms around Ethan’s waist, placing his knife against his neck.

“Isn’t my new friend adorable googs~” He sings, the others freezing around him. Google’s blue eyes flashed over the scene.

“I was under the impre-resssion you wished-wished not to tell Eth-Ethan of our ex-ex-existence yet,” Google said blandly, ignoring Ethan’s pleading eyes. Mark refused to tear his eyes off of the pair, but replied.

“I didn’t Wil had other ideas though,” Tyler made a move forward only for Wilford to tighten the knife more.

“Ah Ah,” He laughs at Tyler, “No need to be hasty-” Ethan rammed his head back against Wilford’s nose, twisting from his grip, grabbing the knife from his hands as he sprang up from the couch. Without a second thought, he ran behind the others, pinning himself to the wall behind them. Mark and Tyler simply stared at the small boy, back to Wilford that was clutching his nose in pain.

“Is-Is your t-t-test complete yet?” They all turned to google who had his arms crossed across his chest. Wilford pulled his hands away from his face, smiling widely despite the blood dripping down his face.

“Yup, Yup!” He skipped over to Google, snapping his fingers. Ethan yelped as the knife in his hand vanished and reappeared in the pink psycho’s.

“What the fuck Wilford?!” Mark demanded. Google raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s tra-tradition to see if the introduc-tions in-to the Office include a death threat,” He said, “We thought you-you were aw-aware of this. It’s to in-sure they can handle the more-ore unstable sides of the egos. If not then-then the saner of the egos-Egos work to pro-protect th-em until they-they learn to defend them-selves.” Ethan's eyes widen, before glancing at the stunned men in front of him.

“You handled yourself nicely, we shouldn’t have to worry about you too much tomorrow,” Wilford said, “Tootles~” In a flash of pink the egos vanished, leaving the three men alone. Mark removed his glasses, rubbing his face with a groan.

"We're taking a day off today," He said, collapsing on the recliner, " We're gonna need all our energy for when they demand all us at the Office tomorrow," "I'll text Kat," Tyler said, "I'm sure she'll bring some Indian food,"

"Amy will probably grab ice cream when I tell her why we're having a light work day today," Mark mumbled pulling his phone out. Ethan nodded silently taking a deep breath before walking out of the room.

"Where you going?" Tyler called after him. He glanced back as he climbed the stairs.

"Borrowing Mark’s laptop" He said, "If we're not recording today I should get some editing done,"

"Yeah, no," He heard Mark call before the man seemingly appeared behind him, swinging him onto his shoulder and started to carry him back down the stairs. Ethan yelped in shock, pounding on Mark's back lightly.

"What the hell dude! Put me down," He complained.

"Not happening," He laughed, tossing him on the couch.

"You are on strict relax mode today," Tyler said, as Mark went over the tv and started fiddling with one of the game systems.

"I'm fine and we have to do something," He whined, trying to get up.

"Kathryn and I will do some editing and post a video or two for both of our channels. You're giving your brain a rest from the mind fucking it just experienced," Mark commented, shoving him back down, before handing him a Wii controller. A quick glance at the screen revealed Mario Kart 8 was cued up and ready to go. He sighed settling back.

“You guys aren’t giving me a choice are you?” Mark laughed ruffling his hair.

“We’ll let you pick what cup were competing for,” Ethan’s lips quirked up against his will as he entered Grand Prix mode. He slowly relaxed as his friends plopped down next to him, the fears of tomorrow being drowned out by colorful graphics and playful shoving.

Yeah posting this might be a mistake but whatever. I’m only doing this cause I’m procrastinating studying for finals because Trig is going to kill me

[sable-longclaw-blog]

To Those I Have Loved: Finale

[[NSFW for language. This is the finale. This is it kids. Of the series anyhow. I hope you have enjoyed it! Thank you @macelongclaw for writing this stuff with me. Your stories added to mine were just.. AMAZING. Still though, stay tuned. There is a part 2 to the finale to come around Sunday or Monday!]]

I was born in blood, bathed in the life of crimson and washed in sanguine before I could even take my first breath. That was what I was promised, and I spent my life spilling it upon cold steel and stone floors, purging the world of those more wicked than I. After all.. it takes a monster to kill another one. One way or the other, I always figured it was the way that I would also die. No stone did I leave unturned in my work, not a trace left behind. I excelled in the art of death and wore its burdens like a badge of honor, and donned the mask of a killer proudly as one would wear the crest of their house. Such was my doctrine and what I followed. I never had faith in the Light, or any Gods that rest above me in a world I can't see. My faith rested within myself, to always pull through the worst of situations and keep myself level when others would falter and crumble. I took whole and unabashed pride in the way I made each cut, surgical and precise. They were many, but they never suffered and I always took down their names, so that their lives, no matter how badly lived, would not be taken without some sort of remembrance. I think that is the only humanity I had left in me, to make sure those candles weren't snuffed out and left to collect dust on a forgotten shelf in a broken down vestige.

In this small life I have learned that I am not a monster, not entirely. I have learned love and I have felt the wrenching cuts that made whole valleys in my heart and left a wasteland of broken dreams and promises in their wake. The dead trees and dried up rivers that rest there make up the memories and tears I have lost to never gain again. But most of all it has left me warm like the sun upon the face of a child in a field of flowers. It left me being something better than I was the day before, shaping me and molding me into this unrecognizable face that held true life within the golden hue of seeing suns. I found family and what it all meant. Loyalty, too. And I found him. Mace. There were not parts of me that he didn't touch, even the ones I kept locked away and promised never to let out of their cages made from years of abuse, neglect, their locks wrought from self hatred. I have betrayed those I swore I never would, my fealty shaken at the hands of greed and misplaced fatherly duty. In his grave he lay now, he who sired this golden eyed girl he lay in shreds upon fields of endless grain. He lay in his grave at my hands, soaked in the blood of his words and mind never to break his baby girl he left behind to cheat, lie, and steal.

To those I have wronged, I can never wash my  hands enough of the blood I pulled from your bones and the life of you that I destroyed. To your families, there will never be enough shame in this world to show my regret for what I have taken from you. But know this. I had to. My life was always more important than yours and did I not, know that silently it was you that threatened me in the shadows though not by your own mouth. And know that I am saved because of you and through you I found what this life meant. Without your blood on my hands and the battles I held in my head as I held you down, I would have never wanted something more. For that I am forever in debted to you.

No longer am I bound by honor and duty to serve the shadows that enveloped me and held me tightly like a sinful lover. No longer am I bound to a life of lies and deciet ten miles wider than the sun. But most importantly I am no longer bound to myself. I no longer have to suffer to the blade I held at my own throat and the knives I jabbed in my own back with every single one I jabbed into yours. Into all of you. Mace and the rest of the Ludlow crew. No longer am I bound to hide from you for now you will know who I am, and what I stood for. But know that after I met you, all I did was for you. Lady Ludlow I lived to serve you and every breath I took and action I made was done in effort to keep right by you and loyal to your kind heart, kindness that was so ill deserved by me. Know now that as I stare at this light at the end of my tunnel that I am free and these chains hold me no longer. I only hope you find it in your hearts to forgive how I have so wholly wronged you all. Know that my freedom came at the price of your grief. Mace, I have loved you for what has felt like ages, and now that what I was is at its end... please forgive me and please love me still. And when you sing the epitaph of that woman who died that loved you so much, do not sing in misery and wet not your face with the tears, for you have not lost me, only she who could no longer live as she did.

I thought all this time I would die bloody and reckless, but instead the death was a sweet release, peace found within its merciful grip.

Two Weeks after Argus

A whole ocean roared before her, bare feet resting upon the docks of Booty Bay allowing the gentle salt spray breeze to brush and caress against her darkened skin. Sable just smiled, the most genuine smile she could ever smile, completely alone for the moment. Still, a part of her mourned for what she left behind on Argus. Who she was, and what made her up died that day. She mourned because at the moment Mace was left to believe she was dead and buried six feet under within the Stormwind Cemetary. She was still recovering from her wounds, but she was strong, and had made sure she’d be well enough for travel in a day or two’s time.

"Soon, baby...." was all she whispered before turning and heading to the room rented under the name of the man she had come to know as Timwei Alecksyn... Agent Seven. A hand to her arm stopped her though, causing her to turn to face the man she now called brother and probably her best friend at the moment. His dark brown eyes met her own, and he simply nodded his head, his expression grim but solid. 

"It is done, little shadow. They mourn your death fully, and -the others- believe you dead. Though I have left special instructions with your employer in a letta. She is the only one who know you live. I believe you when you say she knows how to keep her mouth shut." he chuckled out softly, patting her arm before looking over his shoulder at the setting sun. "Soon, when it all blows ova, you can go home. The Uncrowned will have forgotten you and your debt to them is paid in their minds in your blood. Your freedom is just upon the horizon, Sable. And if they do catch wind that you live, they will not make a mess of your blood. It will not be worth it to them after some time has passed. They do not work as you were lead to believe under your fatha." He turned back to her then and offered her a warm smile. "I must leave you now, for a time. I fear my wife is threatenin' to have my head if I do not come home and mind the children for a bit. My absence was not welcome in the home, though, like your Mace.. she knew it must be done. Until I see you next, little one." 

She couldn't help but smile at him and nod her head. "Thank you, Timwei.. I owe you for this. Any fuckin' time you need me for -whatever-, you let me know. Ain't never had a fuckin' friend like you, don't know if I ever wil l have another one. And don't fuckin' worry.. I'm good at layin' low. The beaches will do me good to get my head cleared. I'm not sure if I'm ready to face him yet anyhow.. He's going to fuckin' hate me.. but what else is new." She laughed softly after her words were done, shaking her head. "Was a bad thing we had to do... but.. for the right reasons." she huffed out, looking back up at Timwei, keeping her smile on her lips.

She had no idea that Tim was going to see her husband, and no idea what was coming the following day.

(( @macelongclaw @elizebella @lumenwolf @longclawofgilneas @ludlowvineyards @aldreusreinhold @sarahskyfall @jungnaysoftmaw @araethius @guardian-swiftspirit @pyroreaper-blog @the-little-chef -- All of you Ludlows for mentions! ))