#im still not clear on if he’s said they’re gone or just clipped but man. if they’re just clipped that backpack on them cannot be comfortable

[zeb-z]

can we talk about Phil and Jaiden today and their interactions after Jaiden finally shows her wings because I’m going crazy.

Jaiden showing off her wings for the first time to Phil, and Phil both happy for her and also insanely jealous, because why did she get to keep her wings, while his got clipped so badly he needs his backpack to counterbalance the weight he lost - or at least the weight he looses having to keep them close to his back.

and the whole time they’re talking in a group, hanging around spawn, Jaiden is perched somewhere above the group. up in a tree, moving from branch to branch, or against the wall, or right on the top of that lamppost. Phil, on the other hand, stays sat on the bench the entire time. grounded.

and every time Jaiden hops from perch to perch, he looks specifically at her. zooms in whiles she’s sat on the lamppost even as he continues conversation. its such a small detail but really helps punch in just how much Philza can’t let it go, can’t stop wishing that he could do the same.

[stanknotstark]

Commanding Loki (just kind of happens)

Summary: You’re not really sure how it happens but you begin commanding Loki, the God of Mischief, around. To everyone’s shock, he happily obliges to your commands. 

The first time you do it in front of the Avengers they all kind of stop in shock.

"Loki, get me a soda before you sit down." You told rather than asked the God.

You were too busy looking at a tablet Tony had lent you to see him stop in his tracks. He glared at the Avengers looking at him, ready to attack him as if he was thinking about attacking you for giving him an order. They weren't wrong but only because you did it in front of everyone. Probably.

He got you a soda and sits next to you, rolling his eyes at your nonchalant thanks. 

The next time it happened was kind of a life or death situation.

"Loki, leave the room right now and calm yourself," You checked Thor's pulse through the gushing blood which made him slippery as an eel, "You either calm yourself and I’ll let you back in or you can sit out there like a petulant child. Go."

Natasha looked at you as if you were crazy, her hands pressing a t-shirt to Thor’s wound tightly. Loki heeded her no mind though and did as you told him.

He was welcomed back within 15 minutes.

Next, you do it more to push boundaries because Natasha had a conversation with you after Thor's fiasco. She's finds it quite funny that he obeys you like it's second nature but if anyone else dared do it he wouldn't hesitate to threaten their life. Trust me, Tony had wanted to test his boundaries and tried to do it too. Needless to say, Tony wouldn't be doing it again any time soon, he was still pissy some very expensive pieces of furniture got destroyed.

So one day while you and Loki are hanging out with Natasha, like you all consistently do because you three enjoy silence but companionship at the same time. You look across at Nat and grin, making sure Loki doesn't see it and commence your plan.

"Loki," Loki looks up from his book on midguardian foods newly introduced from 1996 to 2010, a questioning frown on his face, "Pass me the remote."

It's simple enough, nothing too strenuous. Yet.

"You have two perfectly functioning arms." Loki mutters but grabs the remote and gives it to you. You give him a genuine smile and you can see he has gone soft in the eyes before he looks at his book again. 

You glance at Nat with raised brows, she looks away with a smirk as you turn on the TV. Flicking through channels you finally settle on reruns of Stranger Things. Natasha gets interested and you kind of watch but mostly you're thinking about commanding Loki to do something else but what? Loki keeps looking at his book but you see him glancing up often to watch the show too.

"Hey, Cowboy," Loki growls at the name, it had come up when Thor told you he used to call him a cow for his horns, "Don’t sit like that you'll get scoliosis....if a God can get that." Loki who had slouched forwards blinked at you and sat up straight in shock from the bad posture. When you see him glower at the TV you smile, he's probably cursing midguardians for ruining his good posture.

"Thanks." You whisper.

Loki hums carelessly and puts his book down to instead watch the show. Natasha coughs into her hand (a hidden laugh, you knew Nat too well), Loki eyes her suspiciously, looks at you, then focuses back on the TV. You force yourself, with great resolve might you add, to not laugh. You let things settle again before you try the ultimate command.

"Ugh." You start, rolling your right shoulder around and poking at it as if it hurts. You're literally about to tell Loki to massage it for you but you’re struck by paralyzing shock. Loki had noticed your 'discomfort' and moved closer to you. Lifting his hands towards your shoulder he stopped and looked at you with a tilted brow, asking consent. 

Aww how sweet.

You nodded and shifted so he had better access to your back. One hand landed between your shoulders on your back and the other pinching the area where your shoulder met your arm and began massaging.

Shocked you let him staring at the TV but not knowing what is going on on the show. Loki and you had touched before so it's not so out in the left field that you're concerned but he was massaging you in front of Natasha. Your thoughts turned to mush as he pushes and pulls your body so he could access all of your back and starts massaging your entire back. You couldn't help the little whimpers and soft moans of delight. Not only was this man a God but he was literally gifted God like hands, unfair!

After letting out another whimper Loki stopped. You felt him shift back to his original spot and so you did too. Glancing at him you saw a hint of flushed cheeks as he stared at the TV distantly. Natasha was outright staring at him with both eyebrows raised to her hairline, it looked like.

Loki cleared his throat and left with an offhand excuse.

Once Loki left the area Natasha's eyes fell onto you. She smirked lecherously but said nothing about what had just happened. Turning her attention back to the show when you shrugged your shoulders, completely flustered. 

She asks, "So like, I don’t doubt Will is going to be found but does Barbara make it?"

You smile and settle into the couch, "You'll find out in a few episodes."

Natasha groans and you laugh. You know she hates not knowing but if she's truly desperate she can look it up on Google or ask Jarvis.

The next time you command him it's another crisis. 

In short, Thor and Loki are arguing, both clearly in a ferocious rage in the kitchen. All the team is there to experience it this time too.

"No, Thor, I cannot simply understand why you would defend those inept idiots you call friends. If you think they're in the right you’re more brainless than I thought!" Loki yells at Thor who now looks like a kicked puppy and your motherly instincts kick in.

"Hey!" Loki looks at you shocked, this is the highest he's ever heard your voice, and probably the angriest too because you just don’t get mad. You have the patience of a Buddha God, Tony likes to say. 

"You apologize to him right now, then you will listen to what your brother has say, and if you interrupt him I will show you just how minuscule a God can be to a non believer."

The entire kitchen is silent. Tony looks like he wants to flee the area, he's been on your angry side once before. Steve is practically engraving the table with his eyes. Natasha shrugs and continues eating her meal, the utensils clipping the plate the only noise in the room.

Loki looks at Thor and raises a brow. Thor, still looking at you, swallows and begins to talk, focusing on his brother again. 

"Im trying to learn but I don’t know how to stay neutral between your feelings and my friend's-"

Loki opens his mouth but slams it shut when you snap your fingers.

"-i do not want to offend anyone but every choice i make I offend you and I’m sorry brother, I truly am. What can I do to amend things between us?"

Loki glances at you to see if he may talk now. At your nod he says, "Start by supporting your brother sometimes. I don't ask that you stand behind every argument between your friends and I but you never fail to support them, it seems. You can't please everybody Thor, and you can't stay neutral forever, at some point you have to realize that you have to pick a side and who's side."

Thor has lost to kicked puppy look but he now frowns and nods, staring at the floor with guilt. Loki's hand comes up, hesitates, then he places it on Thor's arm for a second and swiftly leaves.

When no one moves for a few seconds you clear your throat and they all go back to whatever they were doing before the argument escalated out of proportion, you included.

You realize you may have tiptoed the line of being fair with that last command so you let it rest for awhile, give Loki some space. He of course notices your avoidance because Tony had asked you what was up between you both, stating that the God had asked him if anything was bothering you. Usually Loki came to you with his concerns, not being the type of person to talk behind someone’s back. 

You sigh and tell Tony you’re fine, that you’ll talk to him. So you head out from Tony’s lab and search for Loki. He isn’t in the living room, kitchen, or even his own bedroom. You remember him once stating that he likes read on the roof sometimes, Tony had build Loki a garden up on the roof at one point since Loki clearly missed the garden from home, Asgard. A small gesture but a true turning point for both Tony and Loki’s relationship you think. 

Walking out on the roof you don’t see Loki in the garden so you murmur a few expletives and make your way back to the door when a voice calls out your name. You follow the sound and find Loki hidden on a corner of the roof, sitting on the edge of the building. 

Walking up behind him you ask, “Can we talk?”

“You’ve never asked before, don’t see why you’d start now.” Loki says, no contempt in his voice though, it’s just very...neutral. 

You force out a small laugh, hearing your own tenseness in it, “Ya, about that..”

You sit next to Loki letting your legs dangle over the ledge like Loki does now. His legs kick every once in awhile giving him an almost childlike appearance. 

“First off, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Loki looks at you.

“I was out of line the other day with you and Thor. Not just then I’ve been, well, commanding you to do things for me and that’s...it’s not...right?” You finish lamely, your face a big grimace but you look Loki in the eyes when you apologize.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” Loki says with mirth lingering in his words. 

“Well, ya, is there some other reason I should have?” You squint at him suspiciously.

“No.”

Loki looks at you with an innocent look on his face, which you know is pure bullshit, but you let it slide. Shaking your head with a smile you then look out across the open skyline below you. 

“Apology accepted.” Loki says after some time has past. Your shoulders, which had tensed involuntarily, now relax. 

You don’t react, well more like force yourself not to, when you feel Loki’s hand come to rest atop yours which had been supporting you on the ledge. Loki lets his hand rest there before he gets more confident and intertwines both of your fingers. You smile, finally looking at Loki who is already staring at you brazenly. 

“Kiss me.” 

“What?”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

Loki smirks then leans in, his left hand coming to cradle your head at your jaw and kisses you. At first softly, as if testing the waters, then begins to put more passion behind it as you lean into him. His tongue gently swipes across your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let him explore. 

If you thought this man had God like hands....

When you’re both breathless you part but keep your faces close together. Your eyes roam over his face, noting how young he looks right now, how vulnerable, and bite your lip. Loki’s eyes drop to your lips and uses a thumb to pull your lip from your teeth lest you bruise them more. “Don’t bite them, it is my job to bruise them.” Loki says breathlessly. 

Much later, when it’s dark out, you both come back into the tower and make your way to the living room. The first person you see is Natasha who, legit, smiles at the look of you two. Tony who notices Nat smiling looks where she’s looking and whistles at the two of you who decide to share a love seat. 

“Shut up.” You command the two of them. 

You were sure the both of you made a pretty funny picture. Your hair was most likely tousled, too much so to just be from the wind, and Loki’s lips were nearly purple with bruising so no doubt yours were any less. Not to mention the both of you were too incredibly happy, which ya you being happy is normal but it was almost an alarming amount of giddiness and Loki doesn’t normally show his emotions so openly like this. 

Tony smirks, raises a brow and points the remote at the TV. “Stranger Things?” 

You, very much flustered, clear your throat and say yes. 

[voiceless-terror]

#6 for the kiss prompts?

this was an ‘im sorry’ kiss, and i picked jonmartin! some safehouse fic cause we can’t stay away from it, apparently. this begins a little angsty but ends on an entirely fluffy note.

Three days in, Jon gets hungry.

He tries to hide it, but Martin knows the signs. As much as he professed to stay away from Jon over the last year, he still spent his fair share of time in the Archives, looking for statements and keeping an eye out. Jon would pace the halls, attempt conversation with Basira or Melanie only to be shot down, scratch at his arms and bite his nails. Martin wanted nothing more than to usher him to his seat, fix him a cup of tea and hand him a statement but he never did, of course, fleeing the basement whenever the impulse got too strong. 

The past three days at Daisy’s cottage have been like some sort of waking dream, each of them tiptoeing around the other, pretending Jon didn’t sleep on his shoulder the train ride up, pretending Martin didn’t hold his hand the entire way. Jon rambles about everything but the institute, shooting him shy smiles and lingering in the doorway before he leaves a room. Martin makes them tea and goes through the cupboards, telling Jon of any interesting finds. They’ve spent more time together these last couple of days than they have in the past two years. But they haven’t talked about….them. This, whatever it is that they’re doing. They’re living together, but acknowledgment of the situation would disturb the delicate peace they’ve made, and Martin’s not in a place to take any sort of rejection, perceived or otherwise. 

So when Jon shuts the door to the bedroom that afternoon, Martin’s naturally worried. He woke up bleary-eyed and irritable, barely touching his toast and speaking in short, clipped tones. Martin’s mind automatically goes through every action from the past few days, searching for something he’d done wrong, something he’d said, when he noticed Jon’s hands itched at the sleeve of his jumper. His eyes looked somewhere past Martin, as if struggling to focus. 

He needs a statement.

So Martin stamped down the urge to nervously chatter and instead remained silent, watching as Jon mumbled something unintelligible and rose from his seat, retreating to the bedroom. He’ll come out when he’s ready, Martin reassures himself, moving to clear the table. He doesn’t hear the murmurings of a statement just yet, but still, he doesn’t want to bother him. Maybe he’s trying to hold off. They hadn’t brought many statements with them in their rush to leave the institute. Jon’s been so reluctant to speak of such things, and Martin doesn’t want to push. 

But then it’s past noon and Martin’s starting to get hungry- Jon must be, too, since he barely touched his breakfast. He knows Jon has other, more pressing hungers to deal with, and he’s not going to fault him for it, but he’d still rather he eat three meals a day. He has to keep his strength up, and maybe a bit of company would help distract him.

So he knocks on the door, despite his trepidation. “Jon? I’m going to fix lunch, did you want anything?” No answer. He opens the door a crack, more out of worry than anything, and peers into the dark room. “Jon?”

Jon’s in front of the bed, the satchel of statements emptied beside him and papers strewn across the floor. His eyes scan the pages in his hand hungrily, as if searching for his next meal. That’s what he’s doing and he doesn’t want you to see this, his mind helpfully supplies and yet still he speaks, he can’t help it.

“Jon, I was just going to-”

“Not hungry.” The words are startlingly severe, and Jon doesn’t even raise his eyes from the page. Martin bristles.

“Alright, but you should really-”

This time he does look up, and the glare leveled at him is surprisingly reminiscent of earlier days in the archives, when Martin would interrupt a statement or exist near him a little too loudly. “I said I’m not hungry.”

Time to go. “Fine.” Irritation drips into the word and he takes a step back from the doorway.

“Close the door.” He does. Slams it, actually. He’s not hungry anymore.  For the first time the house feels big and empty, despite the cozy quarters. 

He grabs his coat from the couch, deciding to go for a walk. It’s not as temperate a day as it could’ve been- it’s getting colder, and the two sunny days they had beforehand seem now more miraculous than a regular occurrence. He wanders aimlessly in the fields, not willing to commit to the hour walk to the village, and too moody to visit the cows he knows are only a mile off.  As much as he wants to lose himself in solitude, he resists. Back with Peter, he would hold on to every perceived slight and tell himself it’s better this way. Without people. That way, you can’t get hurt. It numbed the loss, and it’s so, so tempting to fall back on. But the voice that urged him to take Jon’s hand is louder now, and it tells him this will pass. Jon’s not truly angry with him, he doesn’t have to stay away. It’s this voice he listens to now.

It helps that his feet kind of hurt, too. 

By the time that he comes back, it’s starting to drizzle. He shakes out his coat and hangs it on the back of a chair, heading towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. The door’s still closed, but he can hear no noise behind it. He loses himself in the routine motions of making tea, humming under his breath. He’s so wrapped up in his task that he doesn’t hear the door creak open or register Jon’s presence until he turns around and finds the man within a foot of him.

“Christ Jon!” He yelps, the mug in his hand just barely remaining steady. “You scared me-”

“I wanted to apologize.” The words sound almost grave, and Jon’s gazing up at him an intense look of contrition. He looks better, the circles under his eyes slightly faded and his face not quite so gaunt. He’s eaten, then. “For...hiding away like that, and snapping at you. I shouldn’t have done that.” He fidgets on his feet for a moment before moving even closer, directly into Martin’s space. Jon has to crane his neck to look up at him, and still maintains that intense eye contact. “I’m sorry.” Martin’s heart is hammering in his chest and he watches, eyes wide, as Jon awkwardly gets on his toes and leans forward, putting his hand on Martin’s chest to balance himself. Not without some strain, he reaches up and kisses him.

It’s a tiny, dry peck on the cheek, lingering just too long as Jon struggles to maintain his balance. He falls back on his feet and looks up at Martin anxiously.  Martin, who’s still holding a cup of tea in one hand and a spoon in the other. Jonathan Sims kissed him. 

“W-Was that alright?” he asks, a squeak to his voice in stark contrast to the deep gravity of the words before. Jonathan Sims kissed him and has now asked if it was alright. 

Martin blinks owlishly. “Y-Yes? I mean, yes. That was fine. And, uh, apology accepted. Yes.”

They stare at each other for a few moments before Martin comes to his senses, gesturing to the cup in his hand. “Tea?”

Jon takes a few steps back, an unreadable expression on his face as he wobbles into a kitchen chair. “Um, yes, please.”

That exchange taken care of, Martin makes him a cup and sits down across from him. Jon’s now refusing to meet his eyes, cheeks red as he stares into his cup of tea like it holds the answers to the universe. Martin can still feel the burn of the hand on his chest, the soft pressure of Jon’s lips on his cheek. He wonders if it was a one time thing. The irrational part of him thinks it's just how Jon apologizes. You know it’s not, the more rational part says. But neither part seems to be controlling his mouth as he starts to speak.

“Next time I’ll bend down.” He stares at the table, willing himself to shut up as he outwardly takes a calm sip of his tea.

“W-What?”

“Should you, uh, feel the need to do that...again. I’ll make it easier on you.” He taps at his cheek and hazards a glance at Jon, who’s gone rigid in his seat. He’s staring at Martin uncomprehendingly, though there’s the hint of a smile on his lips.

“T-That would be very, er, appreciated,” Jon replies in a strange, businesslike fashion. “Should I feel the need.”

Martin nods, his heart going into overdrive. They both take a sip of their tea. 

“And if you-” Jon continues, face going even redder. “If you ever felt the need yourself, I could-” He tilts his head and shoulders up awkwardly in a weird little pantomime, as if leaning up to an invisible kiss. “-make it easier too?”

Martin lets out a strangled little sound. “Yeah. That, uh, sounds good.”

“Good.”

They finish their tea in silence. Jon looks away every time Martin attempts to make eye contact, and the hint of a smile has turned into a full-blown grin, though it's leveled at the table instead of him. Ridiculous, planning the logistics of their kisses like they don’t sleep in the same bed and wake up entangled. They’ve got a lot of things to talk about and work on, some more serious than others. But for now, should Martin feel the need, he can clear the dishes from the table and kiss Jon on the forehead before he walks them to the sink.  

And he does just that.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30882518

[firefly464]

The Real World - Chapter 13

"Oh Im gonna take a small break and go easy on this chapter :D" - me the other day. i then proceeded to write the longest chapter so far for no god damn reason.

ALSO YAY COOL SYMBOLISM IN THIS ONE

Thank you @i-have-this-now​ for helping me with transitions because im a complete mess Thank you to @rivys​ for beta reading and editing!

Master Post

First - Previous - Next

~~~

“They WHAT?!” Wilbur yelled, wheeling around to stare at the teenager behind him. 

“They uh, they’re going to try and bring our Tommy and Dream back?” Tubbo repeated, taking a step back. “Is that bad…?” Hadn’t this been what Wilbur wanted? For their own Tommy to come home? Why was he acting so aggressive about it? 

“Yes that's bad! Thats really fucking bad! Not Tommy obviously, but Dream?! Tubbo, Dream could come and break the peace treaty. He might start a whole new war, just out of spite. I cant… We can’t do that again. We just don’t have the resources.”

Tubbo paled as he realized what Wilbur was saying. Yes, they might have a chance to bring Tommy home, but at what cost? They would have to go back to living in fear, terrified that at any moment, Dream would come up behind them and try to kill one of them. He took another step back, shaking his head. He couldn’t go back to living like that. He just couldn’t. 

Wilbur walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, crouching slightly so that he was at eye level. “Tubbo, I need you to tell me something, and I need you to tell me the truth. Where are they going?” Tubbo shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. On one hand, he had promised Tommy that he was going to help him get home. He had given his word. But on the other, he couldn’t go back to living in constant fear. He just couldn’t. “The eastern dark woods…” he muttered, trying to push away the guilt that gnawed at him. He had to do this. For his friends. He had no choice. 

“Got it.” Wilbur stood to full height, his eyes set and determined. “Go get your things together. We’ve got quite the trip ahead of us.”

~~~

“You can’t be serious. This is all you have? Why are there- why the hell do you have so many buckets? How on earth are you going to carry them?” George shook his head as he looked over the meager pile of supplies that Dream had gathered. 

Dream just shrugged as he rolled up the bedroll he had found in one of the chests. “You never know what might happen. I’m just trying to be prepared.” 

“Right. So you decided the best way to be prepared was to pack 3 buckets, but not pack any food or actual fresh water. You don’t even have a flint and steel!” 

A snort of laughter sounded from behind them. Dream turned to see Tommy, snickering to himself quietly. When the teenager noticed that they were looking at him, he wiped the grin off his face and stood up straight, trying to look serious. It didn’t work. 

“You know, you could be actually helping instead of just standing there and laughing,” Dream remarked. 

“Aw, but where's the fun in that? It’s much more entertaining to sit back and watch you struggle.” 

“Oh really? I would love to see you do a better job.” He clipped the bedroll to the base of his pack. 

Tommy stepped forward with a smug grin. “Ok, I will, since I’m just so cool and awesome. First off, you need coal for torches and shit. Second, toss the buckets out. You’re not going to be pulling any epic mlg moves here. That's just not how physics work.” Dream grumbled to himself as he took the buckets out of the pile. 

“Shut up, both of you!” George cried out, bringing the bickering to a halt. “Clearly neither of you have any idea what's going on or what to do. So instead of arguing, why don’t you just listen to me and do what I tell you to do. We’re on a timer, aren’t we?” 

Dream and Tommy looked down guilty. They had forgotten about the 48 hour limit, and had ended up falling back into their carefree habits. “Right, sorry.” Tommy said. 

“Alright, Dream, I want you to go and gather some water. Once you’ve got a bucket full, I want you to boil it and bottle it. We can’t have you getting sick from dirty water. Tommy, go and gather some wheat. We don’t need too much, just enough to make enough bread for if we can’t find any animals. I’m going to go and get the horses saddled.” George’s voice was calm as he explained what each of them was going to do. The other two nodded and quickly rushed out of the room. 

~~~

“Alright I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve never rode a horse before. I’ve got no fucking idea what I’m doing,” Tommy admited as he tried to find his balance atop the large animal. The three of them had gathered up all of their materials rather quickly, and were now on their way towards the forest. “Seriously, how the fuck do people do this?”

“By shutting up and not complaining.” Dream seemed to have figured out how to ride his horse pretty quickly, and was now spending his time taunting the younger teenager. 

“Yeah, well maybe if you weren’t so damn annoying, I would have less to complain about.” 

"C'mon, Tommy, hurry up. The sun's setting." George said, while Tommy almost fell off his horse.

The three of them rode across the rough wilderness, as the moon rose slowly along the horizon. This was going to be a long night.

~~~

“We can stop here to make camp for the night,” George said as they came across a small clearing. The three of them had been traveling for hours now, and found themselves in the middle of a birch forest. 

"Eugh, birch. This is literally the worst kind of wood." Dream said jokingly. 

"Agreed." Tommy nodded.

"What? Oh come on, birch isn't that bad." George relatiated as he set up a fire.

"What?" Dream laughed. "George, have you seen these trees?"

"Dream, they're just trees. Plus, we aren't gonna be here for long. We'll keep travelling as soon as the sun rises." George rolled his eyes.

“Ughhhh, really?! But that’s so early!” 

“Tommy, shut up. Stop acting like a child. You’re just lucky that we found a place to stop at all.” George handed both Dream and Tommy a couple of torches. “Here, set these up along the perimeter. The last thing we need is a bunch of mobs trying to kill us while we sleep.” 

Both Dream and Tommy stared at him in shock. 

“What? Do you guys not have mobs in your world?” 

“Wha- No of course we don’t! I didn’t think that they were actually real here, holy shit…” Dream exclaimed. 

“Damn… A world where you don’t have to worry about getting eaten alive in the middle of the night. That honestly sounds really nice.” he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “Never mind that right now. I need you guys to set up the torches.”

~~~

The sound of a netherite blade slicing through the air echoed across the quiet forest. It had been several hours since they had set up camp, and Dream had long since given up on sleep. The events of the day had played over and over in his mind, making it impossible to close his eyes. And so, he had quietly gotten up and snuck away to a small open area where he could practice.

Over the past week, he had found that practicing sword fighting helped him to calm down. The simple, repetitive motions helped to quiet the intrusive thoughts that continued to plague him. He had started to grow quite reliant on it to stay sane. Maybe, when he finally got home, he would join a fencing class. 

If he got home. No. No he couldn’t think like that. Pessimism wouldn’t get him anyone. He needed to trust Tubbo and Wilbur. They were going to get him and Tommy home. They had to. 

“You know, you’ve really gotten a lot better,” said a voice from behind him. A squeal of surprise was torn from Dream’s throat as he spun around, his sword at the ready. “Pffft, what on earth was that?” George stepped out from the shadows of the trees into the light of the torches that Dream had set up. 

Dream placed a hand on his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. “Jesus man, you scared me. What the hell was that about?” 

The shorter man chuckled as he stepped further into the light. “Gotta keep you on your toes. What's the point of learning how to fight if you’re not constantly aware?” He drew his own sword and held it out in the form of a challenge. 

“You are actually the worst,” he said, raising his own sword in response. 

With a grin, George rushed forward in attack. Dream raised his sword to block the incoming strike, allowing his instincts to take over. He had learned that if he simply didn’t think about what he was doing, he often did quite well. And so he let his mind go blank, instead focusing on surroundings. The stars, the leaves, the trees, even the man before him was all taken in as they sparred. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” George asked, most likely hoping to distract his opponent. 

Dream only shrugged as he feigned an attack at his friend's leg, only to come up and create a small cut on his cheek. “Couldn’t sleep. I was hoping that doing some practice would help calm me down.” 

“And? How's your success rate?” 

“Well it was pretty good, until you arrived and scared me half to death.”

“Aww, I didn’t realize compliments scared you so much.” 

“Yes, I’m quite shy.” Dream couldn’t help but grin. 

As the two of them joked back and forth, they continued their little duel. It had been going for a couple minutes now, and they seemed to be at a bit of a stand still. A rush of pride surged through him. In roughly a week, he had gone from completely and totally useless to actually able to defend himself. Now, he just needed to set himself apart. 

His mind began working overtime, analysing every small detail. Quickly, he reached back with his free hand and pulled out a loaded crossbow. George’s face transformed into surprise when he saw the weapon. The bolt flew past his face, only just barely grazing the side of his head.

Dream quickly threw the weapon aside and pressed his advantage. Suddenly, the favor was tipped towards Dream. George was unbalanced, startled by the use of the crossbow. Still, he managed to raise his sword just in time to block another strike. 

With his free hand, Dream reached into one of the pouches around his waist and pulled out a small sphere, roughly the size of a marble. With a slight squeeze, the sphere expanded to the size of a baseball. While George was distracted with blocking the strike towards his face, Dream tossed the sphere behind him. With a crash, the sphere shattered against the ground.

Suddenly, Dream appeared behind George in a shower of purple. With a sweep of his foot, his friend came falling to the ground. With a final motion, he held the sword above his throat, his green eyes bright with exhilaration and delight. 

“Alright alright, you win. I surrender,” George said with a laugh. 

“Did you see that?! That was so cool! Oh my god that was so awesome!” Dream exclaimed as he helped George to his feet. “That was so damn cool!!” he started jumping around the small clearing in excitement. 

“How did you even do that? I’ve never seen someone use a crossbow in the middle of a sword fight before” 

“I’ll be honest, I’ve got no idea. I have no idea what the hell I just did. I just know that it was cool as fuck!” 

He shook his head, chuckling as he watched his friend dance around the area. George had never seen Dream show any sort of emotion before, much this level of excitement. Even though he knew the reasons why, he couldn’t help but feel a bit weirded out by it. Watching the pure joy flash across Dream’s face was strange. Still, it was nice. “You are such a dork” 

He only responded with a wide grin. 

A thought flashed through George’s mind, causing him to frown slightly. Dream stopped his playful jumping and walked over, his eyes now filled with concern. “Hey, you alright?” He asked. “Oh shit, you’re bleeding! Hold on I’ve got a few bandages on me I think…” 

As Dream pulled out a couple white bandages from his bag, George let out a slight chuckle. “Do you even know how to use those?” 

“Uhhh, not really? I’m sure I can figure it out. How hard can it be?” 

He wasn’t impressed. With a roll of his eyes, George held out his hand for the bandages “Here, just let me do it. It doesn’t really hurt, I think it's just a small cut. Probably just needs to be cleaned.” Taking a bottle of water from his bag, he quickly wet the bandage and started to clean the blood from his face. 

Dream pouted. “Well what if I wanted to help?” 

“Then you can go and wash the blood out of these,” George said, tossing him the now stained bandages. “No point in wasting perfectly good bandages because of a small cut.”

He caught them easily, but otherwise didn’t move. “Nope. Not until you tell me whats wrong.

The brunette cursed under his breath. Since when had he been so easy to read? “I uh, I was just thinking about… Stuff,” he waived his hand vaguely. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Dream plopped down onto the grass and patted the ground next to him. “Here, take a seat.”

He sat. 

“Spill.”

“I’m just… Worried, I guess? I mean, in a few days, you’re going to be gone and… the other Dream will be back. I guess I’m just scared about what he's gonna do.”

The smile faded from Dream’s face as he considered what to say. “What was he like?” he asked after a few seconds. “The other me, I mean.”

“He was… Scary. All he cared about was the thrill of the hunt. The mask made it impossible to tell what he was ever thinking, which made it ten times worse. Of course, it only covered his eyes and nose, so that you could still see his grin.” He shuddered. “I watched as he blew up the gates of L’manberg with a massive smile on his face.” 

“So then… why did you follow him in the first place?” 

“I had no choice. When Sapnap and I showed up, he was the only other person here. It was either join him or be left out to die to the mobs. After a while I guess I just didn’t realize how cruel he was. He was a good leader, and super charismatic. Not to mention a really good actor. By the time the war started… I guess I just trusted him, if that makes sense. He had kept me alive ‘till then, so why would anything change?”

Dream nodded. He wasn’t going to pretend like he understood what his friend had gone through, but he could still try and help in his own way.  “He taught you sword fighting, how to survive. You felt like you were indebted to him, right?” 

“Yeah… Pretty much. God, its so stupid! I should have been able to realize how messed up he was. Why the hell did I not realize?!” He took off his round sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut tight. “I was so fucking stupid.” 

Hesitantly, Dream reached over and placed a hand on his friends back, trying to comfort him. “Hey, that’s not stupid. You’d be surprised at how easily our minds can trick us into thinking we’re doing the right thing. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's not your fault.” A stab of guilt shot through him. He had been the one to add George onto the server. If he had waited a bit, would things have been different? Maybe if he had acted differently on stream, or not sent the declaration of war, maybe things would have turned out different. The other Dream might have turned out to be a decent guy, not someone that people trembled before and feared. 

“I should have been smarter… I should have joined Sapnap when he went off on his own.” 

The weight of George’s words finally sunk in. The other Dream was a monster, a killer. He was the living, breathing version of the mask Dream sometimes wore in his videos. The act of someone who enjoyed the hunt, and nothing more. These past two weeks had been peaceful and calm compared to what everyone had normally lived through, and it was all because the monster was finally gone. But now… now they were about to bring him back. They were about to bring everyone’s worst nightmare back to life. 

What choice did they have? It was either that, or let the entire world get destroyed. Either way, the other Dream was about to ruin people’s lives. He sighed. “It's going to be alright, ok? We’ll figure something out, I promise. You’re not going to go back to living like that. I promise.” 

Now, it was just a matter of keeping that promise. 

~~~

Master Post

First - Previous - Next

[10shillingsand6pence]

Can I get a minific of Waylon Jones with his alternate job, like, chasing down Bigfoot or smth? I find that thought to be very entertaining.

(This was fun! Thank you for the request! Sorry it took so long to finish.)

fic request inspired by this initial post of alternative rogue careers

Technical Difficulties

Waylon stood still and let the sound assistant attach the small lavalier mic to his camo-colored vest. At 5'3", she had to reach over her head to clip it in place. He was too focused on the stack of flashcards he was holding, dwarfed by his large hands, to spare her a glance.

He lifted his eyes from his prompt cards to the guy standing next to him. With a bit of a paunch and a comb over, his face showed only excitement (even standing within arm's reach of a man with Waylon's particular, ah, attributes). The siren call of fifteen minutes of fame was stronger than some people's sense of self-preservation, apparently.

"'Kay, er," Waylon began. "I gotta get through all these questions. Even if we already been over it, just answer 'em, yeah? Best you can. And talk slow. Yer always talkin' faster than you think you are, on camera."

The man nodded earnestly.

"And if you mess up, it's fine. Just keep talking. They'll fix it in post."

Another eager nod.

Waylon glanced at the director, who was standing behind one of the two cameramen, checking out the framing of the shot. A whole troop of crewmen filled the clearing in the woods, just far enough from the Gotham suburban line that the mics wouldn't pick up the sounds of distant passing cars. It was still surprising to Waylon that when the footage was all put together, it would look like he and his guest were out in the woods alone.

Seeing Waylon look in her direction, the director nodded. "Let's have a run-through. Make-up, they're sweating. Fix that."

A man holding two containers of cake make-up (for two completely different skin tones) approached and did a quick touch up on their faces, using powder to take away the shine that would look unnatural on camera. Waylon was used to this and bent down so the guy could reach his face, wishing they would hire taller make-up people.

"All right, let's go, people. Quiet! Waylon, whenever you're ready."

Waylon nodded and tossed his cards over his shoulder, where they were scooped up off the ground by an attentive assistant. He straightened his square shoulders and addressed the man. "So, I hear ya got quite a story to tell?"

The man jerked his head down to speak at the mic under his shirt. "M-my name is Dennis Hardey--"

Waylon waved a meaty hand, causing him to instantly fall silent. "Ya don't need to say yer name, the intro'll have the names. And stand up straight, man!"

Dennis nodded like a faithful bobblehead and jerked up straight.

"So tell me what happened the night of, uh, the incident," Waylon prompted again.

With enough enthusiasm to make up for his lack of experience in front of the camera, Dennis launched into a description of the night that landed him an interview on the show. "It was prolly around eleven. Earlier in the day, my wife she had thrown out a big bunch o' oranges that had gone bad, and then I heard a commotion out in the yard, by the garbage bins. I headed out and that's when I saw 'im, goin' right through my garbage."

Waylon peered at Dennis. "Could it've been a raccoon?" he asked in his gravelly voice.

"It was big!" Dennis insisted, holding his hand up above his head to estimate the size. (His hand did not quite reach a height equal to the top of Waylon's head.) "Way bigger'n a raccoon. Bigger'n a bear even!"

Waylon glanced down at his hands and then remembered he wasn't holding his flashcards any more. "Uh... could it have been Man-Bat?"

"Did I say it had wings, son!? This weren't no Man-Bat. This was Bigfoot!"

Waylon didn't answer. He had to halt a moment and process, because no one had ever called him son before. The director sighed and jotted the time down on her clipboard so she could go back and edit out Waylon's blank, deer-in-the-headlights look.

* * *

The next morning, Waylon saw the director reviewing footage and lumbered up to her as quietly as a seven-foot-tall man could lumber. She lifted her head only long enough to wave him closer and then went back to studying the small screen. He looked on over her shoulder.

Their small campsite appeared in the footage, all in blacks and greens due to the use of a night vision camera. It was a steady shot, obviously from a stationary camera set on a tripod. The camp was quiet and empty, a circle of rocks in the center with no hint of a fire, and two tents set up on either side.

Suddenly a furious roar broke out, tiny on the small camera speakers, but the watchers knew how effective it would be in full audio. The camp sprung to life like a nest of ants prodded with a stick. Dennis Hardey and his brother -- who was also accompanying them but hadn't been interviewed yet, and Waylon couldn't remember his name -- burst out of their tent wearing nothing but boxer-briefs and tanks. They stumbled around the campsite. Hardey Brother #2 tripped over one of the rocks around the fire pit and went sprawling.

The giant, shadowy form of Waylon burst out of his own tent, breaking the front poles as he exited and collapsing the front. He didn't pause, only answered with a roar of his own and charged into the forest.

The director forwarded the footage, watching intently as the Hardey brothers circled around the campsite in doubletime. They picked up sticks for weapons and then changed their mind and dropped them, pointed at the camera that was rolling, pointed at the woods, circled some more.

Finally, as one, both brothers turned to the woods where Waylon had disappeared. The director hit the resume button and watched as Waylon lumbered up out of the bushes, towering over the rest of the campsite. His eyes glowed yellow in the night vision camera, tiny headlights in the dark, and his jaw and chest were stained black. The two brothers were statues, unable to look away.

"Uh, false alarm," Waylon rumbled on the screen. He scratched his cheek for a moment, searching for something more to say, then changed his mind and turned, going back into his half-collapsed tent.

The director paused the footage.

Waylon sighed heavily. He opened his mouth to start an apology for messing up the shoot and for damaging company equipment. Before he could get the words out, she slugged the tall man on his armored bicep. "This is GREAT," she said enthusiastically. "We're getting a second season for sure!"

Waylon let his mouth snap shut. He tentatively smiled.

[imreallystressed]

nothing is okay /j (pt. 1?)

word count: ~2000 pairings: general angsty platonic DLAMPR, more specifically platonic roceit and the creativitwins, and some angsty (platonic) anxceit because we’re here anyway.  warnings: angst! so much of it. angry virgil, yelling, self-deprecation (thanks ro) and the like, crying, remus and his remusy ways, spoilers!! if you need something tagged shoot me an ask! notes: WOW this got out of hand. im almost definitely continuing this oops!! also while this is not meant to be unsymp virgil AT ALL, it could potentially be perceived as such just because we don’t know his reasoning. if you want it tagged let me know! there is. a cliffhanger. at the end,, but it is 100% optional and if you want to imagine a happy ending go for it!! ill write one too, i promise, but i need a break oops next! AO3 LINK

“Right,” Roman had said, or something along those lines, and then he had sunk out. Left. Always too scared to own up to his mistakes, and always too arrogant to even admit he made them.

He had sunk out, ended up in his room, because it was the only place he could ever feel safe anymore, what with the looming threat of his brother, who only came with some fun and terrifyingly complicated emotions he always chose to ignore. He’d never related so much to Logan.

He was in his room, and then he was in his bed, the tears in his eyes and guilt cloying at his chest making every movement feel clipped, like the whole world was moving at three frames per second, jumping around instead of the steady stream of ideas his room usually provided. Yes, his room was safe. But he was so, so alone.

He’d collapsed into his bed, wrenched his hands in the soft duvet until he swore he could feel the fabric tearing, and there he’d stayed for God-knows-how-long. He would guess somewhere around the three hour mark, at least since Patton knocked on his locked (always locked) door and he’d given no answer. Then again, Roman always had a way of losing track of time, helplessly locked in place as the hours flew by.

It had been, in fact, three hours and twenty-eight minutes since Roman had done his sort of... controlled free-fall into the bed, and hadn’t moved. His face had a print on the side, likely from the sequined pillow that he had fallen onto by chance - he hadn’t noticed the uncomfortable prick of plastic shards until he got up, rubbing his face with sore hands. He had, in fact, torn the cover of his duvet, but it was nothing he couldn’t imagine away when he was feeling better, or even take a needle to.

His head still felt stuffed full of cotton, but the feeling of guilt worming its way around inside his chest, up his throat was all too sharp. His first course of action was to apologise.

After that, well.

He would burn that bridge when he got to it.

He made his way over to the attached bathroom, splashing some water on his face with sluggish movements, trying to cool off his burning eyes or clear away the redness on the right side of his face. The water helped, however little, and he felt marginally better, more clear-headed at the very least.

Of course, with his senses now unimpaired, he was able to hear the yelling.

At first, it just sounded like some general voice - vaguely Thomas, but could also just be a stock audio of a man shouting into a microphone. Just under that, though, when Roman blinked tightly and focused a little more, was a faint gravel, oh-so-familiar, one that matched neatly with a grinning face and easy banter - Virgil. Virgil was yelling.

Roman dried his face roughly, irritating his skin more, and zoned out completely as he waited in front of the mirror for the red blotches to fade. Virgil’s voice faded in and out, sometimes stopping entirely. Roman couldn’t tell if someone else was interrupting him or if he was just that out of it.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of choppy-but-definitely-not-pleased dialogue and the sound of waves and misplaced bits of the conversation from earlier washing over his head, myriad colours and shapes dancing across his vision, Roman glanced back up at the mirror.

He looked normal - or, well, the normal from the past few months. Before that, there might’ve been a little more colour in his cheeks, or light in his eyes. He smiled, just to test it, and found his smile both reassuring and wholeheartedly wretched. Pretty, yes, enough to fool anyone looking, including himself - but just that. Pretty. Nothing behind it, no real emotion.

Roman straightened his sash. He could work with pretty, right?

“Don’t touch me!” shouted Virgil’s muffled voice, and Roman opened his door.

The first person he saw was Remus, lounging on the sofa cross-legged, his smile just as deranged as usual but his eyes pinched, like he was making a real effort to keep up his... peppy attitude. God, Roman could relate.

Then Patton and Logan, who both brightened upon seeing him, if you could call relief brightening. They were standing next to each other, but several feet apart - almost like they were ready to move, hold someone back. Patton wore a peacemaking smile that was obviously slipping off his face, his glasses sliding down his nose. Logan looked significantly more composed, his hands clasped behind his perfectly straight back (the only straight thing about him, Roman thought automatically) instead of hovering, like Patton’s. Like Remus, his mouth was set in a line normal for him, but his eyes were lidded slightly, not quite glaring but certainly not approving.

And then, of course, like the centerpiece in an odd stage, Virgil and De- Janus. Janus’ stance was defensive, pulled back with his hands raised by his sides. Virgil’s stance was none of that - he’d leant forward, hands thrown out beside him, gesturing wildly. Janus’ face was unreadable, eyes conveying some sort of sorrow, possibly, but mouth set in a classic smirk as he met Virgil’s eyes.

Virgil looked absolutely furious. 

Roman’d seen him angry, sure, plenty of times. A lot of the time directed at him. But he’d never seen Virgil truly upset. Like end-of-the-world, life is over, “I’m going to stab you to death with a kitchen knife” upset.

Roman stepped into the living room. Patton threw him a brief smile - a real one, not a “please don’t kill each other on the carpet” smile. Logan gave him a nod, and raised one eyebrow in a silent question, which Roman answered with a smile. His fake smile, but a smile nonetheless, and Logan didn’t seem to mind.

Virgil barely seemed to register that he was even there, continuing whatever point he had started. Roman heard a lot of words, angrily shouted, but none of them that he hadn’t already thought about.

Janus glanced over at him quickly, almost unwilling to look away from Virgil, and gave him a tiny smile, or just the ghost of one. Roman felt a tiny shred of guilt fall away from his chest.

Sudden movement caught his eye, and then Remus was next to him. His smile was gone, and instead of looking insane and slightly worried, he just looked like... well, like Roman.

Back in the beginning, right after the Split, both Roman and Remus were told, separately, that they tended to mirror each other. Completely subconsciously, one would copy the tiny mannerisms of the other. According to Logan, it was painfully obvious, especially when they stood next to each other.

Some far-off part of Roman’s brain wondered if he was doing that now.

“They’re fighting,” Remus said.

“To answer your question, I do have eyes,” Roman responded instantly, forcing down a panicked wave of nostalgia and memories of Thomas’ carpet on his face.

Remus didn’t laugh, but the side of his mouth did quirk up a little bit, and Roman felt like they were kids again, watching Logan and De- Janus debate.

“Oh please, like you’d know anything about being honest with feelings-”

There went that happy thought.

“How long have they been like this?” Roman asked, in part to distract himself from how dry his mouth was all of a sudden.

Remus screwed up his face. “Ugh, time. Long enough for a horse to bleed out.”

Roman blinked at him.

“Like two or three hours. You know I suck at time. We both do.”

Roman had to suppress his flinch at that one, turning his gaze back to the two in the center of the room. “Two or three hours? And they’re still going like this?”

“Oh, you should’ve seen Virgil when he first found out. Entertaining stuff,” Remus said, but it lacked his usual screech of laughter.

“Has anyone tried to interrupt?”

“Almost got decked.”

Roman sighed. “If I asked to talk to... Janus. Alone. Would Virgil kill me?”

“No. You’re the only one he hasn’t actively screamed at.”

“I was in my room this entire time, of course he hasn’t-”

“Or about,” Remus continued. Roman avoided his eyes, suddenly finding the ground very interesting. “In a negative way.”

Remus nudged his shoulder, and headed back for the sofa. Roman didn’t have time to shove away the feelings box that time - but he did have the foresight to hide his reaction to it.

“Janus!” he called, before he could talk himself out of it. Both Virgil and Janus paused, and suddenly Roman had four pairs of eyes on him - Remus was fiddling with some kind of string contraption that Roman really hoped wasn’t going in his room later. “Can I - can I talk to you? Alone?”

Janus looked back at Virgil and then to Roman again, his expression a closed door, and took a step towards him. Roman gestured to his room, and Janus made a beeline for it without hesitation. By the time Roman was closing the door, Patton had already clasped his hands on Virgil’s shoulders.

The last thing Roman saw before he shut the door was Virgil’s face, utterly heartbroken.

“If he asks you to pick a side, don’t,” Janus said the moment the handle clicked.

“Huh?” Roman responded, very eloquently. “Oh! Uh, sure?”

“It’s- he’s already mad at Patton. And that’s my fault.”

“It’s really not,” Roman responded instantly. Janus gave him an expectant look. “I assume he’s mad at Patton for... being your friend? Or something. And that’s fine, I don’t know what happened, but it’s not your fault, right? ‘Cause Patton made that choice and he seems to be sticking with it, and that’s his choice, not yours. So- yeah.”

Janus looked absolutely baffled, and Roman realized all in a rush that nothing he had just said made any sense, but Janus interrupted him before he could say anything.

“I- thank you, Roman. I appreciate it,” he said softly, and wow, did he actually understand any of that?

“No problem,” Roman said, rushing on. “I wanted to apologise. I didn’t - I shouldn’t have made fun of your name. It was mean, and I was lashing out, and I’m really sorry, and it’s actually a really cool name and I didn’t know you were into mythology-”

“Roman.”

Roman shut his mouth so fast there was an audible click.

Janus looked slightly pained, glancing around the room awkwardly. His tongue was moving inside his mouth, but he wasn’t saying anything, like he was thinking of the right words. Roman toyed with his fingers nervously, waiting.

“Okay,” Janus said, and Roman’s head shot up. “I accept your apology, even if I think it was unnecessary.”

“I-” Roman began, but Janus held up a hand to cut him off.

“I apologise too. Comparing you to Remus was low blow, and it didn’t make much sense anyway. Neither of you are evil. You’re nuanced.”

“We weren’t,” Roman mumbled.

“You are,” Janus repeated, frowning. “Years of personal growth have that effect.”

Roman smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

“Just common courtesy-”

“Not for that. But that too, I guess.”

Janus met his eyes, and they shared some kind of look, before he looked at the door again, sighing.

“I guess I should get back to that.”

“I can ask him to calm down.”

“It won’t work, and he has a right to be upset,” Janus said, pointedly avoiding Roman’s silent question. “You should sit with Remus. Make it obvious you don’t want to be involved, and we part as neutral.”

Roman frowned a little bit - neutral certainly didn’t sound good - but nodded anyway.

Janus opened the door.

(stop reading here to avoid the AngstTM cliffhanger and come up with your own ending :7)

(i can’t put another break so we’re using parentheses babey!!)

They stepped into the living room, eyeing Patton, Logan, and Remus, who all wore different shades of “distinctly guilty”.

The room was quiet.

Virgil was nowhere in sight.

[calumcest]

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter three

[ao3]

yes its me back AGAIN with another chapter imagine i took 5 years off writing fic altogether and now im churning out like 7k a day procrastination truly is the biggest motivator on the planet now i can cheat myself into feeling productive when really my dissertation is still...how u say...unwritten 

The boiler is fixed a week later, and Luke returns home. 

Despite the fact he’s always lived in this apartment alone, it feels oddly quiet without Calum shouting at him from the kitchen every five minutes and a dog pawing at his ankles for food every two hours. Luke, in all his twenty-six-year-old wisdom, decides that the obvious solution to this temporary loneliness, rather than waiting it out, is to get a dog himself. 

“Look,” Calum coos, because Luke (in all his twenty-six-year-old wisdom), has decided to ask the biggest dog-lover on the planet to accompany him to the shelter to pick out one (one) dog. “This one’s so cute.”

“You’ve said that about the last seven,” Luke says. The shelter employee accompanying them laughs.

“That’s because they’re all cute,” Calum says, smiling big and soft at the little puppy sniffing at his finger excitedly. “You should get them all.” Luke rolls his eyes. 

“That’s a great idea,” he deadpans, knowing Calum’s barely listening to him anyway. “My four-room apartment is ideal for seven dogs.” 

“Exactly,” Calum says absent-mindedly, moving on to the next dog and grinning widely at it. “Hey, little man. This one’s adorable, Luke.” 

“Do you think any dogs aren’t adorable?” Luke asks, partially exasperated, partially genuinely curious. 

“There’s no such thing as a non-cute dog,” Calum says, and he crouches down to get as close to a corgi’s eye level as a six-two grown man can get. Luke’s got to admit, this one is pretty cute, wagging its little tail and gazing up at them with what almost looks like a smile. Its tail starts wagging harder when Luke crouches down next to Calum, and, unlike the previous seven dogs, it elects to walk over to Luke rather than Calum. 

“I think you’ve found your guy,” Calum says, straightening back up again. “What is he, a corgi mix?” 

“A pomeranian-corgi mix,” the employee confirms. “He’s called Clifford.” Luke looks at Calum in horror, and Calum bursts out laughing.

“I can change his name, right?” Luke says, because he doesn’t know the intricacies of dog ownership. He’s not sure whether he, like, needs to appeal to court to change his dog’s name, or something. 

“Well, technically, yes,” the employee says, “but Clifford’s pretty resistant to change. We tried changing it to Chester and he refused to respond.” Luke looks back at Clifford, who’s still wagging his tail, tongue out, looking decidedly pleased with himself. Luke’s heart kind of melts. 

“Right,” he says. “I mean. I guess I can just live with the embarrassment of having a dog named after Michael, right?” He directs the last bit at Calum, who shrugs, still grinning. 

“Your call, dude,” he says gleefully, because he’s a terrible friend. Luke sighs, casting another glance at Clifford. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, little man,” he says, and Clifford paws at the cage. 

  -------

  “He’s called what?” Michael says, half in disbelief, half in delight. 

“Fuck you,” Luke says, as Clifford sniffs at Michael’s ankles curiously. Michael bends down, scratching behind Clifford’s ears. 

“Hey, buddy,” he says. “You’re my son, d’you know that?” Clifford’s eyes close and he pushes into Michael’s touch. 

“Get your own dog,” Luke says, tugging on Clifford’s lead gently. Clifford refuses to budge. 

“I might,” Michael says. “Clifford needs a sibling.” 

“He’s not your fucking son,” Luke says, tugging again, and finally Clifford trots back to heel and settles down, resting his head on Luke’s foot. 

“Don’t swear in front of my kid,” Michael says, smiling fondly at Clifford. 

“I hate you,” Luke says, because he does. 

  -------

  Having a dog is a lot like what Luke imagines living with Michael is like, so maybe Clifford is aptly named. 

Clifford follows Luke from room to room, paws at the sofa until Luke lets him on, glares at Luke when he’s playing Xbox until he makes room in his lap for Clifford to sit, and starts making whining noises when he thinks it’s been too long since he last ate (which is, like, every half an hour). 

“I’m trying to work, little man,” Luke says one Saturday morning in late November, when Clifford sets himself down on Luke’s feet and glowers at him for having a laptop in his lap. Clifford makes a noise of disdain. “You can sit next to me, but I need to keep this roof over our heads.” He pats the sofa next to him, and Clifford gives him one final reproachful look before trotting over to the sofa and pawing at it. Luke leans over the laptop to pick him up, because he knows better than to take the laptop off his lap and give Clifford a chance to worm his way in, and Clifford curls up next to Luke, staring across the room at the door to the hallway. 

Luke manages to work for another hour and a half, ignoring Clifford’s dramatic sighs (seriously, who fucking knew dogs could be drama queens?), before he can’t concentrate on anything other than his growling stomach anymore and sets his laptop aside. Clifford, who’s been dozing for at least twenty minutes, immediately jolts upright and pads into Luke’s lap, curling up and resting his head on Luke’s thigh. 

“Not now, little man,” Luke says, picking Clifford up gently and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I need to make us lunch.” He sets Clifford down on the floor and stands up, stretching as he walks into the kitchen, Clifford hot on his heels. 

Calum had told him to make sure he makes his own food first before feeding Clifford, because apparently the alpha eats first, or something, so Luke flips the kettle on, chucks a few handfuls of pasta into a pot and puts the ready-made bolognese sauce he’d bought into a separate pot to heat up. Clifford knows the routine by now, so he just settles down near his food bowl, closing his eyes. 

Luke’s a pretty quick eater, so Clifford gets his food about twenty minutes later while Luke’s washing up his pots. When Clifford’s finished, lapping at the water in his bowl noisily, Luke heads back into the living room and picks his laptop back up again. Clifford follows a few moments later, and this time doesn’t complain about Luke working when Luke picks him up and sets him down at his side, petting him absent-mindedly as he reads a report. 

By four, Luke’s concentration has gone again, so he closes his laptop and stretches. Clifford stretches next to him and then jumps off the sofa, wagging his tail expectantly. 

“Alright,” Luke says. “Get your lead.” Clifford spins excitedly in a circle for a moment before running off to the hallway, tearing back in the door a moment later with his lead trailing along the floor behind him. Luke bends down, and Clifford sits still as he waits for Luke to clip the lead to his collar. He lets Luke tug on his shoes and then starts pulling on the lead a little impatiently while Luke searches for his keys. 

“You’ll be the one complaining if we get locked out, Cliff,” Luke says, a tad irritably, when Clifford pulls a little harder after two minutes of Luke trying to find his keys. He eventually finds them in his jacket pocket, and sets off, locking the door behind him. 

It’s nice outside, and Luke tilts his face into the sun as they make their way to the park. It’s only a short distance away, and Clifford patiently waits at the kerbs of the two roads they have to cross which makes the journey a lot easier for Luke. Once they’re in the park, Clifford beelines for the dog park, making Luke quicken his pace a little to keep up. He hops excitedly in front of the gate as Luke fumbles with the latch on it, and as soon as there’s a sliver of a gap he forces his way through, causing the lead to get caught on the railings as he twists his way through. 

“Cliff, you fucking idiot,” Luke says, unhooking the lead where it’s got caught and slipping into the dog park himself, shutting the gate behind him. “Sit, I’ll let you off.” Clifford sits, vibrating with excitement, and the minute the lead is unclipped from his collar he’s tearing off to join the other dogs running around the middle of the park. 

Luke ambles over to one of the wooden benches, away from other people - making small talk with dog owners gets a little painful after a while, he’s found - and settles down, keeping an eye on Clifford and making sure he’s not getting involved in anything too rough with any of the bigger dogs. He’s so caught up in watching Clifford that he doesn’t notice someone sitting down next to him until they clear their throat, making Luke throw them a glance. 

And his stomach drops, because fucking hell. It’s Ashton.

“Hi,” Ashton says, offering Luke a small, almost nervous smile. 

“What are you doing here?” Luke asks stupidly, because in his mind, Ashton’s not supposed to be anywhere Luke is.

“Walking my dog,” Ashton says. “What are you doing here?” 

“Walking mine.” Ashton frowns, looking out at the pack of dogs running around, like he’s trying to pick Luke’s out from the group. Luke looks over too, because Ashton being here means Spot’s here somewhere, and he always liked Spot. 

“You have a dog?” Ashton says, and he sounds kind of uneasy about it. Luke kind of relishes it; it’s solid proof that Ashton doesn’t know Luke anymore, and it doesn’t sit well with him. 

“Obviously.” Ashton says nothing to that for a while, and they sit in incredibly tense, awkward silence. 

“How have you been?” Ashton says eventually, and Luke snorts. 

“We’re not doing small talk, Ashton,” he says. The name rolls off Luke’s tongue a little easier than it had the first time, a month ago, and something about that sets his teeth on edge. 

“Jesus, alright,” Ashton mutters. “I’m just trying to be polite.” 

“Well, don’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Ashton roll his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

After another five painfully slow minutes have passed, Luke’s had enough. He gets up, fumbling with the lead in his hand, and shouts: “Clifford!” 

“You named your dog after Michael?” Ashton asks from behind him. Luke scowls as Clifford comes bounding over, but his stomach flips uncomfortably. It’s yet another reminder that Ashton knows more about him than he’d like, that he still knows little things like his best friend’s surname. 

“No,” he says, bending down and clipping Clifford’s lead onto his collar. “He was called Clifford when I got him.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says. “Like the big red dog? Kind of a shitty name for a tiny corgi.” Luke’s scowl deepens. 

“He’s a pomeranian-corgi mix,” he says, a little venomously, “and yours is called fucking Spot .” He gives in to Clifford’s puppy eyes, petting him briefly before straightening up. 

“She’s got spots,” Ashton says defensively. 

“She’s a dalmatian.” 

“Exactly.” Luke rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not taking any fucking criticism from someone who names a dalmatian Spot,” he says. 

“It’s a good fucking name for a dalmatian,” Ashton says, getting up from the bench too. “Spot!” 

Spot comes zooming out of the group of dogs, a blur of black and white, but doesn’t head for Ashton. Instead, she beelines for Luke with her tail wagging harder than he thinks he’s ever seen it go. She jumps up at him before she even reaches him, trying to lick every inch of his body, and Luke can’t help but laugh as he tells her down, Spot, down and tries to pet her. 

“She’s missed you,” Ashton remarks. Luke doesn’t take the bait, just pats Spot on the head one last time before turning to Clifford, who’s trotted up to Spot, intrigued. 

“C’mon, little man,” he says, but Spot’s just noticed Clifford at her feet and is also taking a great interest in him. The two of them sniff each other for a moment, and then their tails start wagging, and Clifford’s face breaks into what Luke always swears is a grin, and Michael always tells him is probably a doggy cry for help. “C’mon, Cliff.” 

“Heel, Spot,” Ashton says, like he’s trying to prove Spot’s better-trained than Clifford, or something. Spot, though, doesn’t budge.

“Heel,” Luke tells Clifford sternly, because fuck Ashton, and Clifford trots to Luke’s feet, albeit a little reluctantly. Luke can’t help but feel a little smug as Ashton gives up, leaning over to clip Spot’s lead to her as she gazes up at Luke, panting happily. Luke gives her one absolutely final pat on the head, because he has kind of missed her too. 

“Alright,” Luke says, a little uncomfortable, because he has no idea how to say goodbye to someone he never wanted to see again. 

“See you,” Ashton says, and it’s written all over his face that he knows what Luke’s thinking. Luke snorts. 

“Hopefully not,” he says, but it’s not mean. It’s just honest. 

Ashton smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, see you not, then,” he says. 

“See you not,” Luke agrees, and sets off out of the park. 

It only occurs to him when he’s waiting to cross the road that he’s just had a semi-civil conversation with Ashton, and it sends a bewildering flash of confusion, anger and embarrassment coursing through his veins. 

Whatever, he thinks, as Clifford trots off when the light turns green. It's not like he's going to see Ashton again, so it doesn't matter. 

  -------

  “What are your plans on Thursday?” Calum asks him on Tuesday afternoon. Luke shrugs, trying to adjust the settings on his fan. It’s too fucking hot in here. 

“Dinner, TV, wanking,” Luke says, fiddling with the controls. “Why?” 

“Come to dinner,” Calum says, and there’s an edge of something a little nervous to his tone. Luke looks up at him with a frown. 

“Why?” he asks, suspicious. Calum hesitates for a moment, like he’s not sure whether he should tell Luke, but then he sighs. 

“Mike and I want to talk to you,” he says. Luke looks away again, staring steadfastly at the fan. 

He’s known this talk was going to come for a long time. Every time he makes a comment about their soulmate status and then clams up when they try and broach the topic, he sees them exchange a Look, a Soulmate Look (or maybe just a Michael And Calum Look). They’re careful to avoid talking about it when Luke’s around, to keep the touches and looks to a minimum, but the minimum is still enough for it to be painfully obvious what they are and that Luke’s not a part of it. 

“Fine,” Luke says eventually, reluctant, because it’s been nearly three months since they found out and they still haven’t spoken about it, and even Luke has to admit that at some point, it’s going to start impacting their friendship unless they all lay their cards on the table. Calum makes a noise of relief, like he hadn’t expected Luke to be so easy to convince. 

“Seven?” he says. Luke nods tightly, twisting the bottom of the fan in annoyance at both it and Calum, and it finally starts fucking whirring. 

“I saw Ashton at the weekend,” he says after a moment, because he feels a little guilty and anything is a better topic of conversation than the uncomfortable silence they’ve lapsed into. 

“You what ?” Calum sounds aghast. 

“By accident,” Luke says hurriedly. “I was walking Cliff, and he was in the dog park.” 

“Right,” Calum says, concern still colouring his tone. “Did you talk to him?”

“He talked to me,” Luke says. 

“What did he say?” Luke shrugs. 

“Tried to make small talk,” he says. “Insulted Cliff’s name.” Calum looks torn, because he usually never misses an opportunity to insult Clifford’s name, but clearly thinks now is not the right moment. 

“How did you leave it?” he settles on eventually. Luke can see the self-restraint it’s taking him to not say Clifford is a shitty dog name, to be fair . Maybe this is a good tactic to get Calum to stop making fun of Luke; next time Calum jokes about how long Luke takes to get ready in the mornings, Luke’s going to tell him Ashton said the same thing. 

“He said see you, and I said hopefully not,” Luke says. Calum nods, satisfied. 

“Good,” he says. “Have you seen him there since?” Luke shakes his head, and hesitates, before telling Calum he’s not actually been to the dog park since Saturday. Calum frowns. 

“Why not?” he asks. Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortable, fiddling with the settings on the fan again. His face is heating up, and he’s pretty sure it’s just because it’s too fucking hot in here. 

“Don’t want to bump into him,” he says. Calum gives him a long look, and Luke tries not to lose his composure under his steely gaze. 

“You shouldn’t let him change your routine, Luke,” Calum says seriously. 

“I know,” Luke says, picking at a stray thread in his sleeve. “It’s just- it’s easier.” Calum says nothing for a moment, and then sighs. 

“He’s going to think he has an effect on you,” he says, and it’s a little patronising.  

“He does,” Luke mutters. “He pisses me the fuck off.” 

“You know what I mean.” And Luke does, and that pisses him off too. 

“Whatever,” he says, turning back to his computer and clicking on the email in his inbox that looks easiest to deal with. “My problem, not yours.” It’s mean, it’s uncalled for, and Calum doesn’t deserve it, and Luke feels a pang of guilt as soon as he says it, but he can’t swallow his pride to apologise. 

Calum doesn’t say anything, which Luke kind of thinks is worse than if he’d just taken the bait and risen to the argument Luke’s sort of spoiling for, and they sit in silence for the rest of the afternoon. 

  -------

  Thursday comes too soon. 

Luke brings Clifford, partially because he doesn’t want to leave him alone for two hours and partially as a shield or an excuse to leave, but as soon as he lets himself into Calum’s flat with the key he’d been given when Calum moved in Clifford tears off, lead trailing behind him, to find Duke. 

“Hey, son,” he hears Michael say to Clifford, and scowls. 

“Come back, little man,” Luke shouts, kicking his shoes off. Reluctantly, Clifford comes back around the corner, and Luke bends down to give him a quick scratch and unclips his lead. Clifford doesn’t hesitate, running back into the living room to find Duke, who’s probably sleeping and doesn’t want to be disturbed by an over-excited three-year-old dog. Luke hangs the lead up on top of his jacket and trails after Clifford, finding Michael on his own in the living room playing MarioKart. 

“Hi,” he says, setting himself down on the sofa heavily. There’s an uncomfortable atmosphere that he’s not used to having with Michael and Calum, not since Year Nine when they both hated his guts. 

“Hey,” Michael says nonchalantly, not looking away from the screen, but it’s too casual. Luke’s stomach flips, and he swallows. 

“Cal in the kitchen?” Michael nods. Great. Now he’s making awkward small talk with his own best friends. 

Luke watches Michael play for a few minutes, one eye on Clifford to make sure he’s not annoying Duke too much, and then Calum comes out of the kitchen and declares that dinner’s ready and they all shuffle to the table, dogs in tow with hopeful looks on their faces. 

They make idle, awkward chat while serving themselves, Calum and Luke filling Michael in on this stupid fucking client they had to deal with last week, and everybody’s uncomfortable because it’s stringing out the inevitable but none of them want to be the one to bring up the elephant in the room. 

Eventually, though, Michael sighs, and puts his fork down. 

“This is stupid,” he says, and Luke privately agrees. “Can we just talk?” Calum shoots Luke a worried glance, and Jesus, Luke wishes they would stop acting like he’s going to fucking break if they talk about it. 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Let’s just get this over with.” It’s a little barbed, and he feels bad when Calum’s shoulders slump a little, because he is happy for them, he is, he’s just also selfishly unhappy that the three of them are now officially Michael-and-Calum and Luke rather than just unofficially. 

“Okay,” Michael says. “So. Calum and I are soulmates.” Luke nods, putting a forkful of beans into his mouth so he won’t have to say anything. 

“We want you to know it’s not going to change anything between us,” Calum says, and Luke chokes, half on a mirthless laugh, half on his beans. With a little difficulty, he swallows, takes a sip of water, and then speaks. 

“That’s not true,” he says. “It has to change things between us. It’s already changed things between us.” 

“You know what we mean,” Michael says. Luke doesn’t like the we , the us and you implication. That’s exactly what he’s talking about. “We’ll still be best friends.” 

“We want this to be an honest conversation,” Calum says. “All cards on the table.” 

“ All cards on the table?” Luke says, flicking a glance at Michael, who knows firsthand how spiteful Luke can be. Calum’s never had an argument with Luke like The Great Bedroom Bust-Up of 2019. Michael holds his gaze, and nods. 

“Okay,” Luke says. “You first.” Calum and Michael exchange another glance, some kind of unspoken soulmate conversation that Luke can never be a part of. A pang of something a bitter and painful hits him when he realises that not only can he never be a part of it, he can never have it himself, because his soulmate is fucking Ashton . He’s never going to have this, and, not for the first time, he lets himself admit that it’s the majority of what makes it hurt so much.

“Okay,” Calum says carefully. “I’ll just speak for myself. You know I’ve been in love with Michael since- well, uh, as long as I can remember. That’s nothing new. What’s new is that I know Michael’s in love with me too. And, uh, that we’re sort of together now? That’s new.” And yeah, it is new, because Luke hadn’t even known about that. Sure, he’d guessed, with all the hushed conversations and Calum calling Michael love like it was the easiest thing in the world, but it’s somehow different hearing confirmation of it. It stings more than he’d hoped it would. “Other than that, nothing’s changed. I still love you. You’re still my best friend, Michael’s still my best friend.” Calum pauses, clearly waiting for Luke to say something, but Luke just shrugs. He hasn’t got anything to say to that. 

“We’re not going to be all couple-y around you,” Michael says. “We know this isn’t the most ideal situation. But we’re not going to keep tiptoeing around you like we have been, so you’ve got to stop being an arsehole and actually support us. This is it now. This is how it is forever.” 

Luke has to swallow back the bile rising in his throat at that, at how easy it is for Michael and Calum to throw around words like forever. He only just manages to bite back a spiteful well, how do you know that? Ashton and I didn’t work out, and we’re soulmates , but Michael can see it on his face. 

“All cards on the table,” he reminds Luke. 

“This isn’t going to work if we don’t get it all out,” Calum adds. “We’ll just build up resentment otherwise.” And yeah, Luke can kind of see his point, because his resentment’s been building for the past six months already. 

“Fine,” Luke says, and it’s a little snappy. “How do you know this is forever? I’m living proof that that’s not always the case.” The words twist in the air between them, Michael and Calum on one side of the table, Luke on the other, and Luke kind of hates himself and kind of hates them. 

“It just is,” Michael says simply, like Luke hasn’t just taken a nasty swipe at his relationship. 

“I’m not taking sides if it doesn’t work out,” Luke says, partially to drive the point home, partially because it’s something he’s worried about since they first became friends. Some of the most stressful times of his life have been when Michael and Calum have argued and both come running to him, each expecting him to take their side. 

“We wouldn’t expect you to,” Michael says smoothly. “But you have to support us in this. I don’t want to have to take sides either.” The I’d choose Calum goes unspoken, but Luke hears it. 

“Say it,” he says, because apparently he’s some kind of masochist, and all cards on the table, right? Michael folds his arms. Calum looks like he’s about to cry. 

“I’d choose Calum,” Michael says, calm and even. The words cut straight through Luke’s heart, even though he’d known, he’s always known, that he’s second-best to both of them. If it had ever come to it, even before all this tattoo bullshit, neither of them would have chosen Luke. 

(He supposes that’s part of the soulmate business, but it doesn’t make it any less shitty.) 

“And you?” Luke says, rounding on Calum. He needs to hear it, somehow, needs to hear the brutal honesty, needs to hear their old friendship crumble all the way down before he can rebuild it with a new dynamic.

“Don’t,” Calum says, pleading. 

“Say it.” Luke’s tone is hard, but his voice wavers. “I need you to say it, Calum.” Calum swallows, hard, and Luke watches his mouth open and close a few times. 

“I’d choose Michael,” he mumbles eventually, and swipes at the corner of his eye. Luke immediately feels like shit. He doesn’t want Calum to cry. 

“I’m sorry, Cal,” he says quietly, and he means I’m sorry for all of this, and I’m sorry for making you cry . Calum nods, sniffing a little. 

“So you know where we stand,” Michael says, and he’s still calm, collected, put-together. Luke’s a little surprised - he’d expected Michael to be the one to fall to pieces, Calum to be the one to keep the conversation together. 

“Yeah,” Luke says, handing his unused napkin over to Calum for him to wipe his eyes. Calum gives him a watery smile. “Guess I know where I stand, too.” Michael looks at him, hard. 

“We’ve tiptoed around you for six months, Luke,” he says bluntly. “We’ve put all of this aside for you.” Luke swallows down the guilt that rises at that, because it’s true. They’ve put Luke first the whole time, ever since he found out it was Ashton, until the dinner a few weeks ago. They’ve been careful, they’ve been considerate, and Luke’s been a selfish dickhead, not letting them be who - and what - they are around him. 

“I know,” Luke says. “I- I really appreciate that.” 

“And?” Michael prompts. Luke sighs. 

“It fucking sucks,” he says. “I’ve always been second best to you two. It’s always been you two, and then me. And now that’s just- that’s never going to change. I see the way you look at each other, the way you touch each other, and.” He shrugs. “I’m always going to be an afterthought.” He’s almost willing Michael and Calum to contradict him, but they don’t. It doesn’t sting, though, this time, just a dull throb of hurt that Luke thinks might just actually be disguising his crippling sadness. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words. 

“And I- I think my biggest problem is that it hurts. It hurts because I’m never going to have this. I know that’s my problem, not yours, but.” He shrugs again. “You guys really drive it home.” And because all cards on the fucking table , he adds: “It hurts more to be around you guys sometimes than it does to be around Ashton.” 

The words ring in the silence of the room. Luke thinks he’s never said anything more hurtful in his life, and also thinks he’s never said anything more honest. 

“Okay,” Michael says, and he sounds like he’s upset but trying his best to hide it. “Is that all?” Luke nods. He actually feels a bit better already, underneath all the hurt and confusion and aching sadness, because now they know how he feels and he knows how they feel and they can start to rebuild, start to move forward. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he is. “But you said all cards on the table.” 

“I did,” Michael says. 

“I’m glad you can be that honest with us, Luke,” Calum says, still sounding a little thick, and Luke presses his lips together. 

“I’m glad you can be honest with me too,” he admits. “I think- I think it shows. That we’re best friends.” It sounds stupid when he says it, like a ten-year-old on the playground, but both Calum and Michael nod sincerely, like that’s exactly what they were thinking. Luke has to blink back the tears that well up in his eyes at that, because fuck, he doesn’t deserve them. 

“I love you,” he says, and it comes out helpless. Both Michael and Calum smile at him, and Michael’s eyes suddenly look misty too. “I do. And I really am happy for you two, underneath all of this, I swear. It was the first thought I had when I realised you two were soulmates. I know I’m a selfish cunt. I just- I kind of needed to hear you say our friendship was going to change to accept it, to move on. I’m glad you didn’t lie to me.” 

“It’s okay,” Calum says. “Imagine how badly Michael would have coped with it if he’d been third-wheeling you and your soulmate.” All three of them laugh, but it’s choked and teary. 

“Fuck you,” Michael says, wiping his eyes. 

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me,” Luke says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I mean, I think it’ll still take me some getting used to, but that’s my problem. I’m happy for you, and I love you. And I don’t want to be an obstacle anymore.” He’s given up trying to control the tears now, because it’s Michael and Calum, and they’ve seen him in far worse states than this. 

(They saw him after Ashton.) 

“You were never an obstacle,” Michael says reassuringly, a little choked. 

“We made the choice to put you first, Luke,” Calum says, reaching over the table for Luke’s hand. “We might be soulmates, but we’re still nothing without you.” Tears are streaming freely down all of their faces now, and Luke squeezes Calum’s hand like it’s the only thing tying him to the planet. He reaches for Michael with his other hand, laces their fingers together, and sits there for a moment, crying silently with his two best friends. 

“I love you,” Calum says. “Both of you.”

“I love you too,” Michael says. “Mostly Luke, but yeah, you’re alright too, Cal.” Luke and Calum huff out shaky laughs at that. 

“We look like we’re doing a séance,” Luke says after a moment, when he sees Calum and Michael’s hands intertwined under the table, and Calum and Michael giggle weakly. He puts on a husky voice, and says: “Oh, spirits of third-wheeling, are you out there?” Calum and Michael laugh again, stronger this time, and Luke’s heart warms. They’re okay. They’re going to be okay. Everything is changing, but nothing has changed. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael says, grinning.

“We should probably feed the dogs,” Calum says, because Clifford and Duke have been huffing every few minutes for about twenty minutes now. Luke nods, and lets go of both Michael and Calum a little reluctantly, despite the fact that Michael had been about two seconds away from crushing his hand. 

They all get up, Calum and Luke to feed their respective dogs, Michael to start clearing the table. They’re in sync, they’re working in tandem, and they’re okay.

They’re okay. 

  -------

  Luke hasn’t been back to the dog park since that Saturday. 

He’s walked near it, walked past it, almost walked to it, but chickened out at the last minute. Calum’s words echo in his mind every time - you shouldn’t let him change your routine - and he knows, he knows Calum’s right, but Luke’s a bit of a coward and a big fan of taking the easy way out. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sit uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, though, every time he turns left instead of right into the park, but Clifford doesn’t seem to mind. 

Clifford, Luke has discovered, fucking loves the beach. 

It’s not too far from the park to the beach, so Luke’s taken to walking Clifford along the water instead, letting him splash around to his heart’s content in the waves lapping at the shore. Clifford doesn’t even tug in the direction of the park when they set off anymore, just bounces happily along the road to the sand. 

Luke tells Calum, one day, who off-hand remarks that he’s never actually taken Duke to the beach, and Luke, once he’s got over his initial shock, says they absolutely have to go. Calum rolls his eyes, and Luke calls Michael to convince him to go and pressure Calum into going - which, in hindsight, not the best idea, because as Michael sensibly points out, he’ll probably get sunstroke before they even make it to the beach. Nevertheless, Michael agrees, and so Calum agrees, and that’s how, a week later, they’re all ambling down the warm pavement to the beach. 

“Jesus, I’m fucking boiling,” Michael grumbles, plucking at his shirt. 

“It’s December, Mike, what d’you expect?” Luke says, jogging a little to keep up with Clifford. “You’ve lived through twenty-seven of them.” 

“Fuck, don’t say that,” Michael groans. “I’m so fucking old.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, with a grin. Duke’s padding along calmly, stopping to sniff at flowers every few minutes, much to Clifford’s chagrin. “I’m your toyboy, now.” Michael scowls. 

“Fuck you,” he says, fanning himself wildly. “Fuck. I’m getting in the water as soon as we get there.” Luke rolls his eyes. 

“You’re so fucking melodramatic,” he says. “It’s six p.m. It’s not even hot.” 

“Alright, just because you got all the Australian genes,” Michael snipes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Luke says. 

“Blonde, blue-eyed, ability to surf,” Michael says, waving his hand dismissively, like it’s some kind of an explanation. 

“What? I can’t surf,” Luke says. 

“Well, you can stand up on a board, can’t you? Same thing.” 

“That’s not surfing,” Calum says, shaking his head. 

“I’m not taking criticism from you ,” Michael says, because Calum can barely stand up straight on solid ground, as they round the corner and arrive at the beach. The sun is slowly setting, glittering on the water and making them all squint. 

“I’m getting in,” Michael declares, tugging his shirt off and flinging it at Calum. 

“Me too,” Luke says, before Calum has the chance to say anything. Clifford’s whining, begging to get to the water, and Luke hands Michael his lead for a moment while he wrestles his shirt off his sticky back. He turns his back to Calum, reaching out for Clifford’s lead, but is interrupted by Calum saying:

“You didn’t tell me it’s grown.” 

“Huh?” Luke says, turning back to Calum. Calum points at his back. 

“The tattoo.” Luke frowns. 

“What?”

“It’s grown.” Luke twists, trying to see. Fucking tattoo. Of course he got his on his shoulderblade. 

“I can’t- I’m sure it hasn’t,” Luke says. “You’ve only seen it once. You probably just don’t remember.” Michael’s walked over next to Calum, and he’s frowning now, too. 

“It’s got a dog on it now,” he says, and Luke scowls. 

“Come on, guys,” he says. “This isn’t funny.” 

“I’m not joking,” Calum says, and he sounds a little confused and a little worried. 

“Do they do that?” Michael says, addressing Calum, like Luke’s not even there. “Do they grow?” 

“Mine hasn’t,” Calum says, tilting his head up so the sunlight catches the black ink on his neck. 

“Nor mine,” Michael says, turning back to Luke, who’s still trying to see his own shoulderblade in vain. “Here, wait, I’ll take a photo.” Luke stills, slightly grumpy, ready for a ha, ha, guys, I didn’t even believe you, what kind of a joke is that when Michael and Calum inevitably burst out laughing, but it never comes. 

Instead, Michael shoves his phone in front of Luke, and Luke grabs it and pulls it closer, because he hasn’t brought his glasses. He cups a hand over the screen, squinting to see, and he can make out the tattoo, dark and swirling on his skin. Waning moon, bird with drumstick - and, shit. Dalmatian, gazing up at the bird. 

“Shit,” he says, and he’s panicking, pawing at his back like it’s going to come off. All he can feel under his fingertips is warm skin. “Shit. Fuck. What the fuck? They don’t- they don’t just fucking grow, do they? Is this- is this, like, cancer, or something?” 

“What?” Michael says. 

“Look it up,” Calum tells Michael, who wrenches his phone back out of Luke’s hands and starts typing furiously. 

“Fuck,” Luke says, raking a hand through his hair. “Cal, what the fuck.” 

“Hey,” Calum says, soothing, reassuring. Even Clifford seems to have noticed something’s wrong, because he’s whining at Luke’s feet, no longer vibrating at the other end of the lead in Michael’s hand. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s- Cal, it’s not- it’s grown ,” Luke says, almost frantic. “It’s not supposed to do that. Yours hasn’t done that.” 

“I know,” Calum says, like he wishes he could offer Luke an explanation. Luke stares at him wildly for a moment, and then pulls his own phone out of his pocket. 

“What are you doing?” Calum asks. 

“Calling Ashton,” Luke says, because deep in his gut, it feels like the only thing to do right now. 

“What- Luke, I don’t think that’s a good-” but it’s too late, Luke’s taking a few strides away from Michael and Calum, biting his lip as the dial tone rings. 

It cuts out after four rings, to a scrambling and a surprised: “Hello?” 

“Hi,” Luke says, and he can hear the panic in his own voice. 

“Luke? Are you okay?” 

“Has yours grown?” There’s a pause. 

“What?”

“Your tattoo. Has it grown?” 

“ Grown ?” 

“Just answer the fucking question. Is there any more to it?” There’s a rustling sound, then a thud, like Ashton’s getting out of bed. 

“Uh, I don’t know, it’s- I can’t really see it unless I look in a mirror, hang on.” There’s the sound of padding footsteps, and Luke stares out at the horizon, watching the sun slowly lower itself into the water, counting the seconds as they pass. “Shit. Shit .” Luke’s stomach sinks. 

“It’s grown?” 

“Yeah. It’s- what the fuck? Are they meant to do this?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“I- what the fuck?”

“I don’t fucking know , Ashton.” 

“Jesus, alright, don’t bite my fucking head off.” Luke clenches his teeth. 

“Fuck you,” he says. 

“Fuck me ? Luke, you’re-” But Luke doesn’t stick around to hear what he is, hanging up and traipsing back to Michael and Calum, who are muttering quietly to each other, staring at Michael’s phone screen. 

“It’s grown,” he confirms, even though he thinks they all knew that. He didn’t have to call Ashton to confirm it, but somehow, he needed to.

“There’s something, but you’re not going to like it,” Michael says. 

“Tell me.” 

“There’s been a study,” Calum begins, and Jesus, Luke doesn’t have the time for this. He snatches Michael’s phone out of his hand and reads - study, London, tattoo growth, separate, choice. The words scramble in his mind and he reads the sentences over and over again until they make sense - a study conducted in London, into soulmates who experienced tattoo growth, discovered it occurred when the mates made the active choice to remain separate . 

Luke’s stomach lurches, and he feels the blood drain from his face so fast that he goes dizzy, catching Calum’s bicep to steady himself. 

“It’s a small study,” Calum says. “Six sets of soulmates. It’s not conclusive.” 

“Jesus,” Luke whispers, not even listening, mind racing. “Am I- Am I just going to end up covered in fucking- in tattoos about Ashton ?” Calum bites his lip unhappily. Neither he nor Michael can answer that. 

Luke falls into the sand, hard, and Clifford immediately climbs into his lap, sniffing at him, quiet and concerned. Michael and Calum settle down next to him, and Calum wordlessly hands him back his shirt, like he knows Luke wants to pretend it’s not happening. Luke pulls it back on silently, and puts his head in his hands. 

“Can I just catch a fucking break?” he mumbles, voice cracking on the last word. Two sets of arms slip around him. 

They don’t swim, and Clifford doesn’t get to play in the water, but they get to watch the sun set together, and in between his spiralling thoughts Luke finds the time to think that that’s something.

taglist: @glitterlukey @hey-its-grey 

chapter four

[cleaduvalls]

i watched “spy kids” 4 times in 1 week and here are my thoughts

carmen your nightgown is like 200 years old, get a new one

you clearly know this story by heart, you’re saying parts of it. why are you questioning what “take him out” means

a double wig should be more obvious than that

we can see that that’s a glass elevator. people can see you changing, ingrid

nice hat

why did you kill the swan

is that paul rudd???????

how are jets ripping pages out of a book

heart shaped parachutes shouldn’t be working that well

why is there a guitar on your bed. how do you sleep

i think the kids would have seen the track in the floor at SOME point

why is there a jungle gym in their house. i know they’re spies but who has a jungle gym.... in their HOUSE

carmen you’re a frog

i think juni just legitimately try to kill carmen

why are both parents going to school. is that like, a Thing????

juni how do you do that

who puts a video screen in the front seat

hey look its floop. love that guy

they’re not picking on you for the bandages, it’s cuz you brought the toys OUTSIDE your backpack. always put them inside. trust me

did his mirror just.... zoom in?????

h*ck yeah beat him up greg

do all the other kids hate him too??????

dang that hurt

“chief” that’s so white

stupid kid. his dads a spy

that floop doll isn’t even close to accurate

hey look its floop again. love that dude

Big Willy Wonka Energy

oooh skipping numbers i see. love that

why do the subtitles have “mr. floop” as his name. its just floop, yall

“sometimes in order to think big you have to think small” pretty inspirational tbh

oh hes fidgeting!!!!!! love that

woah what are you doing this is rated pg ingrid

i wish my uncles would tell me im shrinking. they just make small talk abt school 😔

this gradenko lady looks like jan from the office

hey its floop again!!!!! love that dude

yes juni. its a fire drill in your own home

these dudes have a jungle gym AND a pool. what the h*ck

why did you pull off your mustache to prove you’re not related. if anything that makes you more related. greg does that too

why did he put the mustache back ON

where did those boats come from

carmen says manual weird. man-yull

right, cuz adrenaline causes warts

“don’t touch anything” *immediately touches everything*

basic boat ettiquette: don’t shit in the boat. those toilets can’t handle anything

is that globe..... punched in???????

floop!!!!!!! love that dude

feet on the desk????? i dunno seems pretty gay

since when did carmen get keys to that

i might be wrong but i dont think thats every country

what does pressure have to do with positioning a laser

this floor is the best mechanic in the whole movie. reminds me of a richie rich comic i had as a kids

why did they not run into the wall. i wanted to see that

is the slide there when floop films his show????

HEY ITS FLOOP!!!! love that dude

theres a bunch of normal food like.... sour worms. why did they pick the slime from charlie and the chocolate factory when johnny depp finds the oompa loompas

thats a sick coat. best one in the movie

that was a good snap. nice acoustics

God what a power move. something thanos would say

listen floop i love you but thats not how you say research

fELIX NO

and hes gone. cool

did she kick the camera?????

haha author unknown. cuz hes a spy

why did you take that one specifically????? plot convenience????

he can still be a spy, just not a good one. learn to read

is that supposed to be a question?????

FUN FACT if you listen closely when carmen says “like felix said” you can hear a weird cut in “said”, almost like its a new clip

theres no keyhole

i think juni can read. why are you spelling it

did you have the floop toys in your pocket????

OKAY THIS SCENE WHERE THEY PLAY IT BACKWARDS?????? THAT MESSED ME UP AS A KID 

what do those things do?????

i can feel the pain from the fan blades

how did that break the chain????

why would you annouce that. they can hear you. just because they’re thumbs doesn’t mean they’re deaf

that’s a thing, not a place

FLOOP!!!!! ON A BILLBOARD!!!! love that dude

how are you slipping. shes holding YOU

YOU DROPPED HIM GENIUS

how do people not notice the jetpack dudes

DOES NO ONE CARE THAT CLOTHES WERE STOLEN

that’s a cute coat

why is the lady cool with carmen just... doing that

HEY I LOVE THIS SONG!!!!!!!!! AND THAT DUDE!!!!!

ofc you can’t think “straight enough” you’re gay

why is mexico sepia tone

when do you think juni had time to change and learn a new language

IF IT HURTS TO HIT HIM, S T O P

i wanna be on that merry-go-round

HOW DO YOU K N O W THAT HIS CODE NAME. WHY “MUST” IT BE HOMBRE

i love how junis just like “we already got a fake uncle”

LOOK AT HOW FLOOP IS SITTING!!!!!!!! THATS GAY!!!!!!! HE IS A HOMOSEXUAL!!!!!!!!

ALSO MORE FLOOP!!!! say it with me, LOVE THAT DUDE!!!!!!!!!!

minion looks like barry from friends

wait i lied this coat is better

we DO have uncles like that!!!!!

if your inventions are so good why is your font so BORING

hey wait carmen said that. hmmmmmmmm 🤔🤔🤔

glowsticks dont help you see like at all

the map looks like gallifreyan but its not. spy kids is older than the doctor who reboot

they go ZOOM

THATS NOT HOW YOU SAY MANUAL!!!!!!!

great job carmen YOU wrecked the plane

WHATS A REGULATOR

oh its just a breathing thing

haha pee joke. funney

where are the brains coming from???? that factory is Not Correct

if i were juni i would look back over all the floop’s fooglies tapes and see what the agents were saying backwards. once the mission was done, ofc

it took me like 5 minutes to figure out what sknaht meant the first time

SEE THIS MECHANIC IS GOOD BC NOW THERES NO PLEXIGLASS

WHY DOES NO ONE RUN INTO THE WALL

F L O O P  I S  G O D

love that dude

you discussed with the spy parents that juni watched the show. he just told you that you took his parents. you KNOW this is juni, why are you surprised that he watches it????? you already know!!!!!!

tbh i kinda want some of those colorful chains. they’d look cool somewhere

haha voice crack

no wonder your shows not doing well. those are awful times

why is there a sexy thumb nurse. why did floop make the thumb nurse sexy

use her first name?????? you’re clearly dating

!!!!!! THEY USED THE SAME TOOL MULTIPLE TIMES!!!!!! UNHEARD OF!!!!!!!

he cares so much about this show!!!!!! its so sweet!!!! love that dude

YEP THIS COAT IS BETTER, LOOKS A M A Z I N G IN A RUNNING SCENE

haha you killed carmen

ok this scene with the acid crayon is like my absolute favorite. something about using a crayon to escape and then floop (love that dude) opening the door a second later and then doing a double take. FAVE

wheres belize

ok so apparently its a country by mexico

no you CANT tell her you need to ESCAPE

we finally got a clean outside shot of the castle.... that place is wack

haha minion can’t sit in the hand chair correctly because hes STRAIGHT what a loser

hey juni HOW DO YOU DO THAT

minion you know what the robot costumes look like AND what juni looks like. dont be stupid

what..... what do you want carmen for, exactly, minion??????

floop is supportive of others’ art!!!!!!!!!!! love that dude

HE SAID “WHERE’S MOM AND DAD” LIKE THEY’RE HIS OWN PARENTS THAT’S SO C U T E

ALSO ANOTHER SCENE WITH THE GREAT RUNNING COAT

he says doppelganger beautifully

“its too late” that timing was BEAUTIFUL

you COULD take 500 brains out if you just TRIED HARDER. still love that dude

his control panel has buttons that spell “floop”

WHY CAN MINION TALK NORMAL

if its reversible why do you have it in later movies

carmen fights fake juni and juni fights fake carmen because they didnt have the fancy clone (?) technology

THREE TIMES!!!!!! THEY USED THE SAME TOOL T H R E E  T I M E S THIS HAS NEVER BEEN SEEN BEFORE!!!!!!!!!!!

nice censorship

HOW DID MACHETE SMASH ONLY THE CLEAR WINDOWS AND A L L THE CLEAR WINDOWS THERE ARE NO MORE CLEAR WINDOWS!!!!!! ANYWHERE!!!!!

wow nice 3 buttons thats totally how you hack

oh look they have all died

oh. guess not :((

machete you better rip off your mustache

HES GOING TO JUNIS LEVEL TO TALK TO HIM!!!!!!! HE RUFFLED HIS HAIR!!!!!!!!! HES GONNA MAKE A GREAT DAD!!!!!!!

wow no shit ingrid

did he leave his wart bandaid on the kitchen counter?????

ALAN CUMMING!!!! ON A CEREAL BOX!!!!

ok CLEARLY other people watch floop’s show, he’s rated number 2. kids at the school are gonna recognize juni and carmen. they better get popular

is that george clooney

well that’s not how it works in spy kids 2. or 3. or 4. or the tv show

[save-the-spiral]

InkWizTober Day Twenty-Four: Dizzy + Round Table

Welcome to day Twenty Four! Wrote about Avalon! Warnings for traitors, blood, graphic depictions of violence, death, suicide mention, swearing, and dying thoughts of main character.

(link to prompt lists) (link to inktober tag)

The young wizard stumbles as they race down the dirt road, a hand pressed to their side. Things in Avalon were going bad. 

Like bad bad. 

The wizard trips over themself as they whip around the cobblestone hut by the roadside. Their scraped palms burn on the stones as they squeeze between the cut cliff of earth and the home. Small bursts of colors in the blackness of their desperately closed eyes were their only company as they tried to calm racing pulse and breath.

The young wizard listens as what sounds like the entirety of the Knights of the Silver Rose passes by, Queen Gwendolyn barking orders.

“Fucking cheater.” They find themself whispering once they’re sure their only company is the multitude of gross bugs they likely just shacked up with for the sake of a hiding place.

Sliding out of their hiding spot, the wizard takes off in the opposite direction, trying to stay on top of the large swath of tracks the knights left. The bright blue sky of Avalon was mocking them, and they wanted to stop to appreciate the juxtaposition, but they didn’t have time. Staying on the tracks, they went back to Abbey Road, quickly hiding outside the wall to shed their armor and cloak, leaving them in stained casual clothes that one would expect from a Ravenwood student.

Cursing, the wizard grimaces, moving their hand off of their side, and defacing their shirt with blood to make it unrecognizable, as well as coating their face and running their hand through their hair for good measure. It was a lot of blood, and they sway on the spot at the thought, but stumble and continue to move.

When they enter Abbey Road a few merchants shriek, though Prospector Zeke and his companion don’t spare a glance.

Barely having to fake their cries to disguise their voice the wizard speaks to the nearest merchant. “Please, the knights-”

The fox points them towards where they knew the knights’ headquarters are with no hesitation. “Most left- a hunt- but-”

The young wizard sprints, almost blacking out at the pain racing them up their side, ripping at the seams of their stab wound. They vault over the ruin of a wall, fuzziness crawling in their vision.

Doors still wide open to the headquarters, the wizard closes them, gasping in pain.

“Fuckin- Fucking traitor.” They bite out, grinding their teeth to prevent the groan of pain that tries to escape them.

They fumble around the table, before grabbing the parchment and quill Queen Gwendolyn had previously used to write out supply lists and battle plans. The young wizard begins to write, clumsy as their vision dims more and more.

They try not to fall asleep, and it reminds them of back on Earth, of babysitting young children who never wanted to nap, of arguing with their young siblings they practically raised themselves, who are going to miss them, miss their bedtime stories-

The Knights of the Silver Rose do not return to their headquarters until far after nightfall, the full moon lighting their way, though a few pyromancers light torches anyway. Their chainmail and plate armor betray their approach, loud alongside their conversations.

Their faces, the ones not hidden by helmets, are grim. A determination is set into every wrinkle, every haunted eye. A bad hunt always meant bad luck was on the horizon, and this one was no different. 

When a scout races in the darkness towards them, panting hard, out of shape from their retirement, everyone else stands at attention. Still breathing hard, the scout simply waves a hand for the rest to follow. 

They do, and are shocked by the find.

“They returned?” Sir Pike Del Lago asks incredulously. 

“It appears so.” Queen Gwendolyn says dryly, her disdain clear enough to make some of the weaker willed knights shiver.

“They were bleeding, how did we not know-?” Sir Perry Gilliam sniffs the air, grayed jowls shifting. 

“It matters not. Let us hope to find merely their corpse in the Abbey, and hope they did not sabotage our equipment.” The Queen replies, tone sharp as her blade.

A chorus of “Yes my Queen.” makes Queen Gwendolyn sigh and remember why things were much simpler in Dun Dara.

The merchants appear to have gone to bed, leaving only a few lit torches. The knights follow their queen, silent and tense. 

The doors to the headquarters are closed, but unlocked, which leads Queen Gwendolyn to send back a glare to those in charge of staying back to guard the headquarters, the badgers in question whimpering slightly. The queen just huffs in disappointment, before pushing the doors open herself. She is glad that the room is not in disarray, but still finds herself dreading what lies before her.

The room is lit only by the full moon streaming in through the stained glass window, illuminating the slumped form of a small human in softly colored shapes. The queen steps forward, crossing the room swiftly to check the pulse of the poor creature.

Finding the human dead, Queen Gwendolyn sighs, but isn’t surprised. The amount of blood dripping off of their new round table is too much for the human to have been alive. At that point it was a blessing for them to have died. 

In the middle of the Round Table, however, right at the base of the silver rose’s bloom, was a torn sheet of parchment, held in place by an athame with a bloodied handle. With the human’s hand clenched and reaching, it seemed to have been their last action.

Gingerly, the queen lifts the parchment up, letting the top of the page tear more once they recognize the handwriting.

My dearest Queen Gwendolyn,

You have a traitor in your midst. And no, it was not me.

She inhales, glancing back at the blood smeared human’s face and recognizing it.

Whether you believe this or not, do not betray emotion while reading it, for your own safety. He has been waiting for years, and was in on it with the late Sir Malory, having worked to orchestrate your husband’s death. I know it may be hard to realize, but he has been a traitor since he was given his title. 

I don’t know the depth of his plans now, but they fully intended to kill your husband and usurp his thrown if the plan had not worked. He challenged me to a duel when I confronted him, and I couldn’t resist. I suppose my heroics are my end, as you warned me they would be. 

He cheated. He betrayed even the sanctity of the battlefield, revealing how little honor he has. A coward- when I had the upper hand he even tried to bring me in on it, telling me he’d forgive me if I murdered you, my queen. He is the type to monologue, like most villains.

I’m sorry I was too brash. I insulted Pike Del Lago, and died for it, I suppose. I died for the cause. I died for nothing, because no one else will save Avalon if I do not, I died for nothing and I will be known as the second coming of Sir Malory. I’m dying right now and all I can think about is my little siblings, how I promised I’d come back, and now they’re going to be sitting up at night waiting for bedtime stories like I promised, 

Im sorry my queen   Im a coward a fool a dea d wizar d please forgive me and take my quest, save the spira l         lik e I  did, kill morganthe     be the hero please plaese plese ple s pl

Queen Gwendolyn is breathing raggedly, blinking back tears. She is royalty, born and raised, and will not cry at the fact that a person’s last words are lost in the stain of their own blood. Back straight, she folds the paper neatly, slipping it into a breast pocket.

Turning around, she walks through the crowd of her knights. Once she has cleared them, she whips back around. “Well? Are you not coming? I will not hold a meeting over the corpse of a traitorous wretch.” 

She leads them out into the grass, under the light of the moon. She remembers how the young wizard once pleaded with her to return to the war, how they did anything to please her. 

“I cannot do this alone.” She repeats their words to her under her breath. Gwendolyn finds her paw reaching for her sword as the memory almost overtakes her, though the pleading face is replaced by one pressed into the very Round Table the wizard fought for, blood smeared and too rounded with baby fat to be that calm in death.

Gwendolyn wants to believe the wizard so badly. Wants to blame a man instead of a child. But she doesn’t know the full truth yet. She sees Pike Del Lago standing tall, laughing at the side of one of the younger recruits.

Pike had revealed the wizard as a traitor to the knights, had said they would be running away. He was the one who sent a mob after the wizard.

She doesn’t want either to be right, but only one can be. Either that, or both are traitors, and her heart cannot take that.

“My Queen, if I may, what was in that note?” Sir Guy Gascoigne asks, still hesitant to look her in the eye after all these years.

“It was a suicide note.” Gwendolyn responds, tone clipped. She settles on a ruin of a wall, idly noting the small bloodstain on it. 

A few of the knights jeer at the fact, and Gwendolyn wonders just how jaded they have become after war. Or are they naturally cruel, as too many men seem to be? Do they, too, exist to cause pain, only to find it so much easier under the guise of lawfulness?

How many men here have the potential to stab her in the back and spit on her corpse as they spit on the corpse of the one wizard who saved them, gathered them?

“A shame, really. The wizard was skilled in battle.” Gwendolyn begins, “I doubt any of us could have truly beaten them in a fair fight.” She examines her claws, picking at some fur.

The knights silence at that makes her heart race. Will the plan work? Is there really the traitor right in front of her?

“Imagine- the one who defeated them in combat would have been a true hero, if the wizard were not such a coward. I would have likely given the one who bested them anything they asked- if I had not gotten the honor myself. Though, the wizard was a savior of worlds. I doubt we as an army could have taken them on, not without cheating. It is truly a shame they decided our world was not worth saving-”

“My Queen-” Sir Pike starts, his voice failing him.

“Sir Pike.” Queen Gwendolyn stood, approaching him, grabbing one claw in her delicate paws. “Truly, you have my thanks for outing the traitor in our midst, though I’m sorry to say that even you could not have fought them- they were-”

“I DID, my Queen!” Sir Pike begins to look almost excited, a cruel gleam to his eyes that she had never seen before shining in the moonlight. “I fought them- it was how I could warn the rest of their actions-!”

“Oh, Sir Pike!” Queen Gwendolyn feels dread and rage fill her system, pour down her spine. “What did they say when you battled?” She bats her eyes, riling the man up.

“They tried to stop me- told me I could never follow up Sir Malory-” Sir Pike trails off, stepping back.

Gwendolyn unsheathes her sword, then promptly resheathes it in between the plates of the knight’s armor and shell. 

“That was for the young wizard.” She snarls, blood splattering her fur. Pulling out the sword, she finds the rage overtakes her, and she does not stabbing for a while yet.

It takes her knights pulling her off of the desecrated corpse of Pike Del Lago, her screaming about his cowardice, that she stops stabbing him.

[system-architect]

Plex: 5, 12, 15, 19

wow you are asking all of the SERIOUS QUESTIONS !! added in number 9 since u added that in a second ask

5: Guilty pleasures

plex is an oddball case in this one because most ppl would probably be like “oh yeah my guilty pleasures r like staying up playing videogames all weekend” or w/e but plex exists in a world of opposites where it’s very much The Norm for him to just kind of be procrastinating and indulging in junk food and various media all the time, However his friend group is just the rest of the IT krewe and while they’re also all into those kinds of guilty pleasures its sort of their Social Culture to be really into like videogaming all weekend and eating shit food, and so they’re also very into Cringe Culture meaning like. the stuff that plex would consider guilty pleasures are things his coworkers would Disapprove Of and find 2 cringey or ~soft~ so plex’s guilty pleasures are probably somewhere along the lines of like... god idk.... plex hasn’t really been allowed to explore his interests outside of this group so honestly it’s less he has any SPECIFIC guilty pleasures, the man just feels guilty and bad every time he’s like an actual friendly decent gentle person for once.......... which is semi often because despite being an obnoxious twit he is not actually bad 2 the bone....................

this went on longer than i intended but plex’s ‘guilty pleasures’ are basically like “i was nice 2 some newbies in this mmo today and i get really irrationally excited over getting new pins/clips to use in my hair and both of those are very Soft Boy which i feel guilty for doing because thats not the Cool Inquest Badass Guy Thing To Do so im going to get cagey about it and hide it and pretend i don’t care”

second revision tl;dr plex’s life sucks

9: Humiliating memories

you are GOING FOR THE KILL on this man

im not sure about hyper specific things but plex probably has a lot of traumas(TM) stemmed from having health issues as a child, e.g. getting picked on in pre-college or having doctors fuss at him (he’s always been physically weak and exhausted really easy on top of eye issues-- his pale appearance and issues come from him being essentially the asura pattern equiv of a double merle). plex being plex also he has a tendency to Run His Mouth and he’s undoubtably said a LOT of short sighted stuff over the years that still haunts him at night hjkgf

12: Grudges and vendettas

plex holds grudges A Lot..................................... the main one i can think of is he’s like. pissed at both his parents simultaneously jhkfgd he’s pissed at his dad for running off and being a total absentee father but pissed at his mom for chasing his dad off in the first place. (tho he still ends up wanting their approval/etc and is sort of chasing the trail of vague info potentially leading to his dads whereabouts atm)

bein a videogame player also im sure he like. has gotten his ass beaten in like a pvp match in one of his mmos and like instantly blocked the person responsible and since then gone after them with VIGOR whenever he gets sorted into a match with them. ....i don’t know if mmos/similar videogames exist in tyria tbh but im gonna assume maybe theres like, an asura runescape out there man idk. if not this is theoretical personality exploration

15: What it takes to make them cry

BIG SECRET HERE....................................... plex is a bit of a crybaby but he’s just gotten really good at clenching his jaw and tryin 2 suppress it

his emotions are very vivid and wild and so when he’s been wronged or affronted or insulted or lost smth or is otherwise upset he’s really gotta suppress both the yelling and the waterworks. ...he usually suppresses the latter but not the former.......

19: People they’ve hurt or indirectly killed, and how it affected them

oh boy.............. plex is in a weird position with this because being inquest but doing IT for inquest he’s never had a very direct hand in killing people but he absolutely facilitates it by fixing up their machines

he’s probably mostly at his desk and not usually observing inquest scientists doin their thing cus when he’s gotta trudge out to the rest of the base he mashes some buttons and then trudges back over to the IT dept but there’s prrrrobably been uh, a few cases he’s Witnesses ppl testing “ok hold on sit tight a sec while i make sure this laser/horrible device works Now” or machines instantly firing up and resuming their programs when he like, plugs them back in (after someone accidentally unplugged it and made angry calls to IT for an hour demanding they move them up their queue and come fix their machine RIGHT NOW so they can resume their IMPORTANT RESEARCH and they never figured out they just unplugged it)

plex actually Witnessing these things is probably uhh Not a good experience for him, plex IN THEORY is all “oh the inquest does bad things but like its necessary for scientific advancement.. :/” but actually seeing a machine you just fixed like scramble someone’s physical matter is very. viscerally unnerving and nauseating to him and he really does not like having that “my guy the shit you do facilitates a LOT of painful murder” connection made abundantly clear to him, and it probably shakes his devotion to the inquest a bit before he decides to stuff those feelings back into pandora’s box and pretend everything is fine. definitely ends up replaying the scenes in bad dreams or night anxiety episodes tho