#like I have content-fished the HELL out of that game there's literally nothing left to discover in it I haven't already found

[vaguely-concerned]

sometimes you will hear a small voice in your head that whispers '...but what if you did another playthrough of dragon age inquisition? like just to get those good good lore brain tingles going while we wait for the next game? it doesn't have to be a completionist playthrough or anything, we could get it done quick'. and I want you to know that is the devil speaking to you because he gets kickbacks on every moment spent farming power in the hinterlands

[mourntheantagonist]

Billy accidentally becomes a makeup tiktoker. He started with like work out thirst traps, but one day he forgot to take off the makeup look he had been practicing (I'm thinking like those fun eyeliner trends?) and people freak out. They want more, so he gives in and does a couple. He enjoys them more than the thirst traps because he gets to be creative and explore makeup more. Somehow, he ends up doing more makeup transition videos than thirst traps.

Oh goodness you’ve found a weakness in me: Billy wearing makeup 🥹

He absolutely WOULD be one of those gym bro™ tiktokers posting videos of him lifting in the mirror and doing push ups to uncomfortably sexual tiktok sounds (Steve admittedly falls into the trap quite easily, and it certainly doesn’t help when Billy will send them to him while he’s at work, trying to act like a functional member of society). Essentially, Billy would fully embody the male gaze, muscle, sweat, the whole nine yards. His videos are plastered all over straight tiktok.

I like to think it happens when he’s just casually responding to a comment with a video. He’s just sitting at home on the couch while he does it, not even noticing that he’s wearing black winged liner and mascara and highlighter and blush on his cheeks. He doesn’t notice because it’s nothing out of the ordinary for him. He likes to wear makeup, he usually does, just not at the gym because he’d just sweat it off.

And of course, every single video he had posted up until that point had been at the gym. So you could imagine the shock that everyone in the comment section had when they saw it.

Like you said, people freak out, both good and bad reactions. Billy doesn’t really pay any attention to the hate. He’d gotten so used to it by that point in his life that it’s almost like he can’t even see the hate comments anymore. What he does notice on the other hand are all of the comments freaking out in the good way.

“I don’t know if I wanna be him, or be with him!”

“Dude is literally beautiful holy hell.”

“BRO EYELINER TUTORIAL RN!”

“I have no idea wtf you just said, I was lost in your eyes.”

Billy was initially confused until Steve connected the dots for him, having to show him what the rest of his page looked like for him to understand what all the fuss was about.

And views had gone through the roof, and all of those snake people began swarming the comments of his gym thirst traps begging for more videos of him in makeup. And Billy was nothing if not a crowd pleaser.

So he does, and his content does a quick 180 degree shift into almost solely makeup transitions and he just lives for the comments.

“ATE AND LEFT NO CRUMBS”

“Can you do that again? I was walking my fish.”

“The power this man has over me”

He and Steve will sit together reading through all of them and laughing up a storm.

“You better step up your game Stevie, or user728191010 might take your place.”

…

and of course, because it’s tiktok, there will be unnecessary drama. someone decides to go and make a video about how he’s “co-opting queer culture for views” and suddenly he comes to the realization that somehow everyone genuinely believes he’s straight.

No comment on any of his videos had ever made him laugh harder than that had.

[cdroloisms]

take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

MCC FIC! MCC FIC! MCC FIC! To be clear, I outlined this weeks back, when teams were first announced, and I took very very little from the actual MCC itself when it came to actually writing this - all I have are the same teams, but it really exists in its own continuity outside of Real Life MCC (obviously, as it’s using the dsmp characters) and everything like that as a whole! Just to be clear :D)

The worldbuilding is also Absolutely Bullshitted start to finish, as well as any and all medical information. Rip. We’re here for a good time, not for a long or particularly accurate one - hope you guys enjoy regardless!! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic, dsmp!mcc aus my BELOVED

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

But it’s one thing to love the normal Championships and quite another when his team looks like it’s falling apart from the inside out - and as the games progress, it becomes more and more obvious that losing, this time, might not be an option.

tws: C!QUACKITY CRITICAL (sorry i promise i love him but he is NOT portrayed very nicely here, very dark portrayal of him), implied trauma, abuse, torture, panic attacks, manipulation, gaslighting, needles, hospitals, MCC-typical violence, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault themes

(16k words !! :D long boi) 

Michael loves MCC.

Of course he does! It’s fucking MCC - like, who wouldn’t love it? MCC is how he met so many people, how he met Dream, that one time, the two of them teamed with Techno and Burren and winning it all - MCC is a goddamn blast and he’s thankful every time he gets the invite that he’s able to compete. 

Still- it’s hard not to be a little more nervous, now. 

Dream gave him an invite to his SMP right after they teamed, but it wasn’t until months later that Michael actually cashed it in. Entering the server, it became very obvious very quickly that the DreamSMP, as it’s known, isn’t quite the same as its shiny media appearance. The spawn was covered in blocks, creeper holes littering the ground. The people he passed were grey-faced, too stoic to be the same, smiling faces he remembers from only less than a year ago. The air stings of gunpowder and iron. Worst of all are The Crater, shoddily covered in glass that does nothing to hide the damage done, rending the server in two straight down to bedrock, and the Prison, looming on the horizon. Absent-mindedly, Michael rubs at his left shoulder, remembering the Warden setting the prongs of his trident against the skin in warning, just hard enough to barely draw blood. Yeah, that place is bad news. 

The fact of the matter is the server is a mess. And like, okay, whatever, Michael gets it. Everyone has their issues - it’s just the DreamSMP seems to have more than most. Despite his original worries, it’s honestly not been as bad as he originally feared upon logging in; yeah, Bad and Puffy and Foolish and the rest of them are a little more trigger-happy than he might’ve expected (and he’s not going to say that Bad crying over turtles wasn’t a little startling when he first joined, but honestly he thinks Bad is just Like That.) There’s way more death than he’s really comfortable with, and Puffy keeps mentioning Bad murdering her son (Foolish? He thinks? The guy is also a literal God but like, families are weird, who’s he to judge) in a way that’s way too casual to come from anyone entirely well-adjusted, but overall his experience has been alright. 

Still, he gets the feeling that nobody exactly wants the outside world to know about the issues with the place. It’s not an issue for him usually, not when his sleeping schedule is the exact opposite of most of the people he knows and he spends most of his time screwing around on the server, anyway (usually harassing the Warden until the asscrack of dawn if he’s being honest) but with MCC, with everyone watching - he’s starting to get why everyone from the SMP was so damn tense all the time, now. 

Anyway- he loves MCC, he really does. But even that doesn’t stop him from wincing when he sees his team card, the names Dream and Quackity and Sapnap written in Scott’s looping handwriting. He’s not seen Sapnap at all since joining the server, has only heard a little about his place (something Kingdom, not that he was paying attention) from Foolish, and has no idea what the man has been up to. Quackity is his own unique can of worms; Michael doesn’t know exactly what’s up with him and his country, but everything he’s heard so far has sounded like nothing but bad news, casinos and schemes and a trail of wreckage following wherever he goes. And Dream-

Michael looks out his window, chewing on his lip, looking directly in the direction where he knows the prison stands, impenetrable, intimidating. Where Dream’s cell is, in line with his house, where he’s been hidden for months without a trace. Where the Warden had confronted him that one night, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, blood splattered on his boots. 

There’s no real ignoring an MCC invite - not without good reason, not without the admins picking up on something being up. There’s not really a choice, here, but for Michael to duck his head down and pretend everything’s fine just like everyone else from the SMP. He directs one last glance at the prison before walking away, setting the invite on his counter. If he’s lucky, everything will turn out fine. 

(He ignores the part of him that asks what’s going to happen if they’re not. No point in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet - right?) 

---

Weeks pass, the tournament creeping closer, and Michael gets no alerts from his teammates on his comm. No one comes to his house to check in, say hi, not even a ‘hey, we’re kinda competing in a massive tournament in like, seven days, you ready?’ Hell, he even starts checking his goddamn mailbox for a letter or something only to come up empty-handed every time. Never mind performing well - it’ll be a miracle if their team manages to arrive at the tournament at all. 

It isn’t until the day before MCC, the sun high in the sky at what must be near noon, when he finally gets a message on his comm. Michael fishes it out with a frustrated huff, seeing Quackity’s name pop up first when he manages to turn on the screen. 

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

It takes a couple seconds for him to blink away his shock - out of everyone he expected to arrange practice for their team, Quackity was definitely not at the top of the list. He half-thought they would have to drag him to the tournament kicking and screaming; from what he’s heard, he’s been nothing if not devoted to his country. Shaking his head, he goes to reply; practice is practice, and their team really needs it. 

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

Pulling up his server list, Michael scrolls for the practice server, finding it and then letting the server transfer do the rest. A few nausea-inducing seconds later, he’s at the practice server spawn, standing in the middle of a neatly paved road surrounded by colorful arenas and signs. 

“Michael!” 

He turns; there, by the Battle Box arenas, Quackity is waving at him, already dressed in a red varsity jacket and a pair of shorts, the jacket bearing a front pocket embroidered with a rabbit and a large R stitched onto the back. He reaches behind him for a red bag, throws it his way for Michael to catch mid-air. 

“Got these outfits for us last minute - hope it’s alright with you,” Quackity smiles, and Michael tries to prevent his eyes from clinging to the scar spanning the entire left side of his face. “Anyway- how are you, man? I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all on the server. How’s it been?”

“I’m good- it’s been good.” Michael opens the drawstring bag, cataloguing the contents - there’s a jacket, just like Quackity’s, a pair of shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a headband, all in varying shades of red and white. “Nice outfit- thank you. Is anyone else around?”

Quackity waves a hand behind him. “Yeah- Dream’s here. Should be coming out of the arena soon, actually.” Michael looks over behind his shoulder to where he’s pointing - there, walking down the stairs, is another figure wearing all red that must be Dream. “There he is- hey Dream! Michael’s here!” 

Dream hurries down the stairs; unlike Quackity, he is wearing the sweatpants along with the same jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is a lot longer than Michael remembers, pulled back behind his head in a ponytail, mask, as usual, fastened over his face. He settles behind Quackity, giving Michael a small wave; his hands are covered by a pair of fingerless gloves. 

“Hey, Dream!” Michael grins; it’s been such a long time since he’s seen his old teammate, and despite the circumstances and everything that’s apparently happened since then, it’s still pretty damn nice to see him. “How’ve you been?”

Dream seems to freeze for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good,” he says, quiet, sounding almost breathless. Michael’s eyes go to the slivers of skin that show on either side of his face, to the slight shake to his hands. 

“You alright? You look a little pale,” Michael asks, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dream stills at the words, muscles tensing, gaze averting to the side even with the mask - doesn’t miss how Quackity steps forward, looking Michael in the eye as he tosses a casual arm around Dream’s shoulder, smiling brightly. 

“Don’t worry. This idiot has just been practicing a bit too much before you got here,” Quackity gestures with a flippant twist of his wrist, “You know how he gets. Right, Dream?” 

“Um- yeah. Ha,” Dream responds just a little too late to be strictly normal, shoulders tight and nearly pulled to his ears under Quackity’s arm. “Practice- I’m a little out of shape.” 

“You sure?” Dream’s breathing hitches and Quackity steps forward, just a little bit, eyes still fixed firmly on Michael’s own even as he shifts his gaze to try and look at Dream. “We can take a break if you need, Dream-”

“I’m fine!” Dream smiles with a little stuttered breath that turns into a small laugh, “It’s- uh. It’s fine. Thanks Michael, but we can practice. Not much time left to waste, you know?”

“You sure, Dream?” Quackity says, suddenly, voice soft and sincere. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been able to practice- you sure you don’t need a break?”

Dream shakes his head firmly. “No- it’s fine. Really- where’s Sapnap? He should be coming soon, right?”

“If you say so, pal,” Quackity replies, doubt coloring his tone as he pulls out his communicator. “I told Sapnap to come, he replied a couple minutes back; he should be here soon, I think. You want to go meet him at spawn?”

Dream nods, and they begin to set out towards the center of the server, Quackity and Dream quickly taking the lead as Michael falls back. After a minute, Quackity falls into casual conversation, rambling about something as Dream nods, Michael trailing behind the two of them and adding his own input as he sees fit. Sapnap arrives soon after, and the noise level picks up even more after that, Sapnap and Quackity falling into an easy rhythm of banter and quips as they set out to practice Battle Box and Parkour Tag, carefully working their way through the different games under Dream’s tutelage and advice. 

And here’s the thing- Michael isn’t stupid. Yeah, he’d hardly consider himself a top tier MCC player, and he’ll be the first to say that he’s nowhere near qualified to deal with the literal laundry list of issues that affect every member of the SMP, but even so, he’s not clueless. He’s good at looking at multiple sides of a situation, doesn’t easily give into intimidation or manipulation, and he’s observant as all hell. So when Quackity wraps his hand around Dream’s wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around until his knuckles pale, when Dream winces, muscles in his arm locking before letting it go limp, not protesting when Quackity drags him forward except in the tiny, tight expressions that flit across his face every few moments, tight and gasping and shaky at the corners - Michael notices. 

“See you at the tourney, yeah?” Quackity calls to him after practice with a wink before clapping Dream on the back, Michael watching silently as the muscles of Dream’s neck pull tight, head ducking to his chest. “Good job, big guy,” he says, laughing. “Keep this up for tomorrow and we’ll be good.”

“Mmhm,” Dream mutters after a brief second, “We’re- we’re gonna win.”

“Betting on it, pal,” Quackity replies, voice light in a way that completely fails to explain Dream’s full-body flinch. “MCC, huh? Can’t fucking wait.”

“See you tomorrow, Quackity,” Michael says as he presses DreamSMP on his server list, pretending that a chill doesn’t crawl down his spine at the smile that the other man throws his way in return. 

---

There’s no real easy answer.

Michael comes to that conclusion at some point in the middle of the night, restless and pumped on way too much adrenaline to go to sleep. He can’t outright antagonize Quackity, can’t let him know he knows something’s up - not when Quackity had already spent the majority of practice keeping one dark, narrowed eye on him at all times, lips pursed in a slight frown whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking. He’s not stupid; whatever’s happening between Dream and Quackity is secret, and kept that way for a reason. His mind goes back to the brief flashes of anxiety that had moved over Dream’s face before he could react fast enough to school them back into a carefully neutral position; whatever it is, he doubts it bodes well for Dream in the slightest. 

Unfortunately, his hands are pretty damn tied. He knows public opinion on the masked man in the server is overwhelmingly negative, but has no damn idea how far it extends. How many people are in on whatever’s happening in that damn prison? How many people know what would make Dream, bold and bright and recklessly confident in all of Michael’s (rather limited) memories, into someone so quiet, unimposing, nervous? His head spins with the possibilities, with the ever-present reminder to not make a fuss, let the tournament pass on, to never, ever let anyone find out what’s going on within the SMP. Should he do anything at all? 

Too soon, it’s morning, and he drags himself out of bed with a groan to glare at the sun streaming through his window. Somewhere, Quackity and Dream and Sapnap are also waking up, are preparing to compete in one of the biggest damn tournaments to exist. Michael sighs, glancing over to where he’s set out his outfit, freshly pressed and waiting. Any other day, and he’d probably be fucking ecstatic. Here, he buries his head in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan against the palm of his hands. 

He loves MCC, but he sure as hell doesn’t like whatever the hell is going on with the rest of his team. 

Getting into the server goes smoothly enough. The outfit is comfortable and looks damn good, props to whoever made the thing, and the sight of the multicolored crowd successfully manages to tamp down some of his nerves. He busies himself with saying hi to all of the members waiting in the lobby, happy for the chance to talk to some people he hasn’t seen in ages, feels the night of anxieties wash away with every stupid joke told and burst of laughter drawn from his lungs. 

They come back the moment Scott steps up in front of the lobby. “Teams, it’s time to head to your team rooms! The tournament will begin in fifteen minutes,” Scott says, expression sunny and bright, “we’re wishing you all luck for a great performance today! May the best team win!” 

In a flurry of movement, they’re all whisked to their rooms for a final few minutes of preparation and morale-boosting, and Michael enters the glorified dressing room to Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap already standing there, seemingly in the middle of conversation. 

“You ready to win?” Sapnap yells, and Quackity whoops, and Michael manages a small cheer of his own. They’re all visibly nervous; Quackity has scarcely stopped moving, pacing from one side of the room to the next; Sapnap is basically jumping in place where he stands. Dream stands at the very back of the room, looking tense; Michael directs a wave his way and gets a small one in return. 

“Game plan, game plan,” Quackity mutters, “do we know what games we’re playing first? Dream?”

He nods at Dream, and Dream stands up straighter, mouth falling open.

“Oh- um,” he hesitates, a strand of hair flopping forwards as he tilts his head in thought. “We’ll want to save Parkour Tag and Battle Box towards the end- maybe something more high-risk at the beginning, but not first, just to boost morale,” his teeth catch on his bottom lip, “Maybe something like To Get To The Other Side? If they have that- or Build Mart, if we can get it out of the way.” He shakes his head. “If that’s alright- I mean-”

“Great,” Quackity cuts in smoothly. “Sapnap? Michael? Does that sound good to you?”

Sapnap flashes a thumbs up, and Michael nods. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Dream.”

Dream’s head snaps towards him, mouth slightly open in shock. The sight of it makes Michael’s gut twist uncomfortably; there’s something about how surprised he is, at the nervous hesitancy with which he spoke that was nothing like what Michael remembers of his easy leadership in that MCC with Techno, that doesn’t sit right at all in his stomach. Even with his expression largely hidden, there’s no mistaking the clear, genuine surprise on his face at the idea of someone thanking him - Michael tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it as Quackity continues to speak. 

“We’re going to win,” he grins, just a little too sharp at the edges, “so get out there and play like your lives depend on it, yeah?” 

Sapnap cheers, and again, Michael and Dream follow. It’s not until he’s outside the door, within the clamor of screaming teams and people counting down with the timer that Michael realizes that Quackity was staring at Dream the entire time. 

---

Michael curses, frustrated, when he’s knocked off a platform again, making sure to flip Krinios the bird before he falls into the Void entirely. When he makes it to the other side, Quackity and Dream are already deep in conversation - if you can call it that. Even from here, it looks worryingly one-sided.

“-were you thinking, falling off there-” Quackity’s hand is on Dream’s shoulder, Dream standing stock-still in front of him, “you better be taking this seriously, Dream.”

“Hey- sorry about that,” Michael calls with a wave, “I swear Krinios had it out for me. At least I made it across, right?” 

Quackity turns, startled, and in the split-second that it takes for him to register Michael’s appearance, his expression smooths over into something friendlier, more inviting. “Michael!” He says, enthusiastic, and it’s like the anger that had filled his words just seconds before was never there at all. “Don’t- don’t worry about it, man. We all kinda dropped the ball on that one, right Dream?” 

The words should be encouraging, just simple ribbing between teammates. Dream’s mask is still ducked down, facing the floor, shoulders slightly hunched in. 

“Um- Sapnap did pretty good,” Dream says, quiet, “he got top ten, right?” 

Michael looks over to where Sapnap is standing a little ways away, seemingly busy typing on his communicator. Quackity laughs, sharp and loud. 

“True,” he punches Dream lightly on the upper arm, and Michael watches the way he freezes the second the fist makes contact with his jacket, “come on, man, you’re losing your touch. You really gonna let yourself get beat by Sapnap?” he shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls open his communicator. “Jesus- even I beat you in that last round. Watch your spot, Dream, I’m coming for you.” 

“I mean,” Michael says when a second passes and it becomes clear Dream isn’t going to respond, “Dream was doing pretty well with the last two rounds, right? I thought I saw his name pretty far up there.” 

Quackity takes a second before responding, again, staring at Michael oddly as he does. “That’s true,” he concedes, “hey- I was just making a joke, don’t worry. It’s all for fun, right Dream?”

His gaze goes to Dream, and automatically, Michael follows. Dream seems to startle under the attention, twitching Quackity’s direction in the awkward silence that results. Michael watches as the mask slants slightly to face Quackity, as Quackity looks back at him with an intense, unreadable expression, shoulders strangely tense. Whatever unsaid conversation that seems to pass between them is entirely lost on Michael as Dream finally responds with a sudden, almost strangled bark of laughter. 

“Yeah- just jokes,” his fingers twist over one another, hands held close together in front of his body, “Though Qu- Q’s right, I- I should probably pick it up. We’re playing to win.” 

A ding alerts them to the end of the round, and Michael steadies himself in preparation for the teleport to the next map. As he turns, he catches Quackity’s expression, once again, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he continues to look at Dream. 

“Good luck,” he calls just before they enter the next round, and tries not to think too much about what he’s saying it for. 

---

They manage pretty well for the rest of To Get To The Other Side, finishing with a second place overall that got cheers from Sapnap and even a slight smile from Dream. Hole in the Wall, on the other hand, has been a lot less successful - though Michael will be the first to say that it’s his fault. His practice in the last few months has been lackluster (at best) and it definitely showed in the arena. 

He leans over the railing, watching Dream and Sapnap through the crowd of participants left that have yet to be knocked out by the giant walls of slime. Quackity’s standing next to him, having been similarly thrown off the platform early in the round, expression tight and lips set in a small frown, and looking at him for too long makes Michael uneasy so he looks down at the arena again. They’re in the last round, and they’re supposed to be making callouts anyway for their teammates still participating below.

Without thinking, once again, Michael looks over at Dream. Sue him, he knows the guy best and Dream has been acting odd all day, to put it lightly. Even ignoring the part of him that’s screaming that something’s wrong, that there’s something up that has everything to do with the beanie-wearing man standing besides him, it only takes a few minutes of observation to see that Dream is - for the lack of a better word - off. Michael watches as he vaults over another wall, only barely managing to bring himself to his feet in time on the other side. Dream’s movements - even to his untrained eye - have always been fluid, effortless. He jumped and vaulted and ran like gravity didn’t exist, like every physics-bending maneuver he made was as easy as breathing. Michael remembers watching him sprint over the parkour course before, time completely unmatched as he appraised each obstacle and basically flew his way through, sounding hardly even winded when he whooped loudly in victory from the top of the salmon ladder. In total contrast, Dream jerks away from the coming wall again, movements sloppy and harsh as he scrambles to the other side of the disc-shaped arena. He’s still fast, and still making jumps, but everything is strangely angled where it had once been fluid, stopping and starting suddenly, moving in bursts of speed and then skidding to sudden stops. 

“WEST!” Quackity shouts, and Michael watches as Dream’s head turns jerkily at the noise before he dives out of the way of the incoming wall and manages, barely, to twist around the side. Michael winces at the tumble he takes on the opposite side, clutching his chest slightly as he stands back up again. 

“North!” Michael calls, because he should probably actually help his teammates, huh, and Dream manages to move around this one better, jumping through a hole in the wall and tucking and rolling as he lands. “Nice jump- East!” 

It’s an easy wall, thankfully, and both Sapnap and Dream visibly take a breath as they stand in place for the wall to pass over them. As it passes, a droning buzz comes from the speakers, and the walls below them speed up. 

“South-to your right!” Michael shouts as they turn, eyes turning between all of the false walls before finally focusing on the right one, his shout echoed by a similar one from Quackity. At each one of the calls from the man besides him, Dream seems to tighten further, movements increasingly erratic as he dodges and weaves around the walls. There’s still a lot of people left - Michael follows Dream through the crowd with a frown, watching as he and Sapnap jump the next wall, Dream’s foot nearly catching on the top edge. 

“West-” Dream flinches, jumping over the two-high wall at the last possible second, landing completely off-balance on the other side and falling to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, but there’s already a wall at the west edge of the platform - his head turns, still searching for the wall - Quackity yells.

“LEFT!”

Something in Dream’s movements seem to shift, even in the distance - Michael watches as he immediately, almost robotically, steps to the left at Quackity’s voice, not even jumping, not turning his head to take in his surroundings, just moving instinctually at the words, and slams into the coming wall hard enough to get flung into the middle hole in the platform. Quackity curses, fist crashing into the railing as Dream falls and the chat message shows on their communicators, and a second later he’s materialized beside them, face oddly slack and mask focused somewhere faraway. 

“Shit,” Dream mutters when he seems to come back into himself, shaking his head and then turning to the two of them, still by the railing, “Dammit. Sorry, I-“ 

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael cuts in before Quackity can speak. “You did good.” 

“I-” Dream catches Quackity’s gaze, then pushes his head away, mask facing the ground. Something about it and his raised shoulders and the dark, angry glare that Quackity directs over the railing when Michael looks back makes him shift in place, uneasy. “Could’ve done better, ha. Sorry.” 

The three of them watch, silent, as Sapnap continues to compete. He manages to get pretty damn far, making it to the top three, but getting knocked off-balance by a wall and off the platform just before the timer sounds. Michael cringes back at the sound of it over the speakers, watches the other contestants settle into place, panting, in victory.

“Great job, Sapnap,” Michael shouts when he materializes in front of them, and the other two are quick to echo his sentiments. If they sound a little duller than they should be, if Quackity’s jaw seems clenched and Dream’s all coiled up like a spring, far too tense, it’s from placing lower than they wanted and slipping in the rankings, not anything else.

Keep your head down, Michael reminds himself, and everything’s gonna be fine. And if the words ring more and more hollow with every repetition, well, that’s for him to ignore and for everyone else to never, ever find out. 

---

Buildmart is chosen next, which they all groan at, but at least it’s going to be out early and not left to ruin all of their scores later. Michael takes his place at his build, one third from the left side - it’s some abomination of colored glass and white concrete meant, if he is to guess, to emulate a stained glass window. He’s between Dream and Sapnap, the former positioned in front of a flower-dotted grass field with a picnic table, the latter staring down a miniature car with black concrete for tires and stone buttons for detailing. He breathes a steady breath as they await the countdown, already planning for his trip to the Colors section to grab materials for his build and the others’- Buildmart isn’t his strongest game, but it’s not his worst either, and he’s damn well going to try his best. 

He skids into the portal with an armful of colored concrete and glass, spilling half of its contents inside a chest before running to his build. He pulls himself to the crafting bench to craft - he squints at his build - he needs four red glass panes and 3 yellow, right. As he brings the panes to his inventory and begins laying out the frame of the build in concrete, he looks over to Dream, who is noticeably struggling with placing the flowers in his build and getting the placements to match that of the original. He knocks away a white tulip with a muffled curse, sounding frantic as he looks back to the original, and places it again to no avail. 

It seems that his struggle hasn’t only caught Michael’s attention, as the statue to the leftmost side of the room explodes in gold coins and confetti - Quackity has finished his build and is now looking at Dream with narrowed eyes. Dream places the flower again, and the build refuses to respond. Quackity’s gaze narrows further, and he opens his mouth-

“Hey Quackity!” Michael starts speaking before he’s even noticed that he’s opened his mouth, fumbling as he regains awareness of what he’s doing and tries to find a direction for his sentence to go, “do you have any concrete?”

Quackity looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which is fair, considering there’s a block of white concrete pretty obviously visible in his hand. “Um- no? Weren’t you supposed to go to Colors?”

Dream finally manages to place the tulip where it belongs, and the build between them disappears in another explosion of gold glitter. Michael laughs awkwardly. 

“Sorry- haha. I got a little mixed up.” He places the last piece of white concrete, watching as his own build disappears. A little wooden cottage takes its place, made of what appears to be just oak wood and cobblestone. “Are you going to get wood? Or should I?”

“I- You get wood,” Quackity shakes his head, visibly frustrated, “And I’ll get stone. We have to hurry, we’re falling behind.” 

After that, Michael finds it a little too easy - or maybe not easy, but at least tolerable, to interrupt when Quackity looks a little like he’s about to fall on the side of being angry versus just annoyed, stepping between his angry glares at Dream with a forced smile and an incessant string of annoying questions- 

“Hey Quackity, do you have any spare iron?”

“Hey Quackity, I think you placed that a little too far back.”

“Hey Quackity, can you take a look to see what I placed wrong?” 

It’s not perfect. It’s hardly even functional; Michael knows that Quackity has begun with the habit of directing death glares at his back whenever he thinks he’s not looking, his responses to Michael’s questions becoming more and more clipped, often paired with irritated grumbles and sighs. Sapnap, when Michael looks at him, seems largely engrossed with his own builds, but he’s also begun looking over at the two of them with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, and Dream only seems to be getting more jumpy with every frustrated growl out of Quackity’s mouth. Even Michael’s forced levity and falsely ignorant questions can’t do much against Quackity’s anger when they walk out of Buildmart dead last for the minigame, dropping their team all the way down to seventh in the overall rankings, and the tension within the team as they walk out - Quackity nearly stomping, Dream following with his hands wringing around each other and head ducked fearfully - is almost enough to make Michael scream. He looks at the scoreboard with a worried expression as he enters the Decision Dome, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his gut. 

There’s still five more games to go, and he’s not sure how long they can last before something snaps. 

---

Battle Box is chosen next, and they react to the game with quiet cheers and slightly grim faces. Michael’s been in enough MCCs to know that this game, of any, is crucial - after their lacking performances in the last two games, a good showing at Battle Box will be crucial to pull them back into the competition and raise morale. With Sapnap and Dream, if this were any normal game, they should be able to sweep through a good amount of the competition without much effort. As it is, though, Michael looks at the two more combat-oriented members of his team with a worried expression, the two barely even able to meet each other’s eyes. Their interactions so far have been less than promising- if they can’t hold it together for this round, well. 

Michael shakes his head. They’ll do fine. They have to. 

Even so, the first round only seems to confirm his concerns - they get woolrushed almost immediately, and in Dream and Sapnap’s stumbling to get to mid, nearly crashing into each other and focusing their efforts on the same player by accident, the other team manages to fill out the wool, sending them back to the spawn box even more frustrated than before. 

“Amazing teamwork, guys,” Quackity snarks immediately, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Like you did that much.” 

Sapnap is still staring at Dream oddly, Dream turning his head to avoid his gaze. The two of them look largely oblivious to Quackity and his whole deal, even as Quackity whirls around to give him the stink eye. 

“You didn’t do anything either, if I remember correctly,” Quackity mutters, and Michael shrugs. 

“Fair.” 

A ding alerts them to the round’s end, and they resign themselves to preparing for the next round. Michael picks the extra arrows from the wall, knowing that no one else will want the kit, and watches as Dream anxiously runs his hands over the crossbow. 

The next round goes better, barely; Michael and Quackity end up knocked out pretty early, but Dream and Sapnap manage to kill the rest of the team soon after. He watches from the box as they fill in the wool, Dream looking awfully tense as he shears away the white wool for Sapnap to fill it with red. Quackity watches them both with a tight expression, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

Michael turns away, ignoring him, going back to watching Dream and Sapnap still standing within the arena. Both of them look awkward, oddly out of step with each other - Michael’s not watched them fight much, but he knows that they have a reputation as a pair, was there for the Sky Battle round where they completely wiped through the competition. Even here, Sapnap moves forward and Dream flinches back - there’s something heavy and tense between them, lingering in the few words they’ve spoken to each other, if they’ve even spoken to each other at all, one always rushing forward too fast or following just a little too slow. They’re still brilliant fighters, almost unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and with swords, but the faltering communication is sure to hurt them more in the future. 

His worries come true just three rounds later, the two in between being narrow wins for their team, each a little more shaky than would be comfortable. Michael has found himself easing off the worst of his anxiety in verbally sparring with Quackity, jabbing at the other with offhand remarks and little needling jokes to keep his attention off the other two, especially as his glare has become more pronounced and his words more angry. Even so, nothing he does or can do will fix the odd tension between Dream and Sapnap, whose communication remains as stilted and awkward as ever. 

They’re facing a stronger team, PVP wise, with Punz and Seapeekay, and Michael ends up falling in a bow duel against Jack. He watches as the Captain falls to a potion by Sapnap, then as Jack is taken out by a crossbow bolt courtesy of Dream, just before Quackity falls to a well-timed bow shot from the opposing team. 

That leaves the strongest PVPers to battle it out, and Dream and Sapnap manage to team up and kill CPK - but not without taking a nasty damage potion to the face that must leave the two of them low. Michael watches Punz, booking it to mid with a crossbow, anxiously - both of them would be a oneshot with the thing, and on the condition that he takes no damage before fighting with either of them outright, he’s probably got enough health to hold out a few hits. 

Sapnap pulls out a health potion, and Michael grins - that’ll be good for the two of them, and should secure them the win - only for him to gesture roughly with his sword and for Dream to stagger backwards, panic flashing over his face. He only seems to grow more fearful at the sound of glass shattering on the ground, falling backwards further - far enough to be largely out of range of health pot - and in their shock, Punz manages to catch both of them off guard and nail Sapnap with a crossbow bolt that downs him for the round before similarly dispatching Dream in two hits of his sword.

Sapnap explodes upon respawn in the box - “What was that? I had a health pot!”

“I-” Dream fumbles, face still oddly pale, “Sorry I didn’t- I- I-”

“We had that round!” Sapnap’s arms flail forward as he gestures angrily, Dream freezing further as one hand skims past his shoulder. “I can’t believe- I had a health pot! Punz was on, like, half! We could’ve killed him!”

“Easy, easy,” Quackity moves forward, putting a hand on both of their shoulders - Sapnap seems to relax immediately, while Dream, if anything, only looks more tense. “It’s time for the next round - we’ll talk about this later, alright?” 

Dream nods, movements overly tense, and Quackity flashes a toothy smile his way as Sapnap moves back, still mumbling to himself. He and Quackity move to talk in the back corner, words quiet enough that Michael cannot make them out, and something sick and cold slithers over his spine. Sapnap and Quackity are fiancés, aren’t they? 

Michael looks over at Dream, mask still covering his face as he looks away through the glass to the arena, shoulders still tight as Michael’s pretty sure they’ve been for as long as he’s seen him since he came onto the server. He remembers the panic that make itself obvious on his face every time Quackity came up to him, even as covered as it is, the similar- if not the same- fear that had painted his face when he respawned fresh off of the Battle Box round after Sapnap’s sword had passed a little too close to his body. 

Quackity and Dream- he’s sure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that there’s something going on there, dark and dreadful and poisonous. Who’s to say that Sapnap isn’t involved, as well? 

---

They finish Battle Box decently well, but not as well as they’d hoped, pulling them up to fifth place with a decently large gap between them and fourth. Quackity and Dream disappear immediately as the Audience Votes begin coming in, leaving Sapnap and Michael to stand awkwardly in the lobby to wait for the rest of their team to come back. Michael watches the crowd for a glimpse of Quackity and Dream, comes up empty. A sigh fizzles through his teeth as he looks up into the sky, the endless blue doing little to ease his nerves - he’s worried, even if he doesn’t want to think about it, for his teammates. For Dream. 

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the man is scared of Quackity, that there’s an odd sort of history there that Michael conveniently has no information about. Whatever it is, it’s left Dream unsure and uncharacteristically nervous, left the entire team floundering without proper leadership to tie them all together. Really, a part of him knows that the Championships should be the least of his concerns - if he were braver, or a little better at combat, or a little less inclined to just let things pass as they always have, then he’d be raising a fuss. Getting in the way, talking to Dream, doing something other than making backhanded compliments to Quackity that he’s sure have been doing little more than annoy the man further. 

“Michael?” Sapnap comes within his line of sight, lips pressed together in a carefully put-together expression that Michael is sure will collapse the moment they’re away from others’ prying eyes, “Can we speak for a moment?”

Michael forces another easy smile to his face as he turns towards his teammate, feels a little disgusted at the amount of them he’s had to use to simply function with the rest of his team. “Sure! Where to?”

They walk at a brisk pace to the team room, Sapnap’s eyes focused forwards the entire time, not speaking. If he’s being honest, it’s a little awkward, but the lighthearted comment on his tongue to break the silence dies out the minute Sapnap closes the door and looks back at him with fierce, focused eyes boring into him. 

“What’s your deal?” He hisses immediately, words pitched low even though he doesn’t really have to - there’s no one nearby, and the team rooms are decently soundproofed. Michael feels his hackles rising as Sapnap’s arms cross in front of him, eyes still focused on his own as he talks. “I’m not going to lie- I don’t know you that well, even though you’re on the SMP now, but can you quit it with Quackity already?”

“Quit what?” Michael snarks - sue him - matching Sapnap’s tone with irritation of his own. 

“Don’t- you’ve been antagonizing Quackity all day,” Sapnap’s hand runs through his hair, messing up his hair and tangling it into knots, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of in the middle of a competition here? So it’d be really nice if you could save the fighting for until after we’re done?”

“Says you?” Michael can’t help the retort this time, huffing irately at the offended expression that flashes over the other’s face, “I don’t really know if you’ve noticed, but your teamwork has been a little less than stellar, today. Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“What-” Sapnap looks confused, even through his anger, gesturing more and more wildly. “What do you even mean?”

“Oh, so are we just ignoring what just happened in Battle Box then?” 

Sapnap’s eyes flash as he closes into himself again, hands gripping at his upper arms as he crosses his arms in front of his chest once again. “That- that’s different. That’s because of Dream.”

“Oh, just keep blaming it on the other guy, why don’t you?”

“No-” Sapnap shakes his head furiously. “You haven’t been on here for nearly as long, you don’t get it, Michael. Dream- he’s-,” Sapnap flails, and Michael groans at the familiar words. 

“Dream’s what? I was on the team with the guy before, you know. It’s kind of the reason why he invited me in the first place?” He raises an eyebrow. “We worked together perfectly well then - am I supposed to believe that his self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ can’t do the same?” 

“You don’t understand,” Sapnap repeats, expression hard and oddly far away, “Dream- he’s changed- he’s done so many terrible things. I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, but he’s bad news, man. He’s hurt- so many people.” 

“Oh- you want to talk about hurting people?” 

Michael isn’t quite sure what comes over him - only really realizes a white-hot flash of rage lancing through his chest, a sleepless night and half a competition’s  worth of anxiety and frustration and build up combining into a sizzling spike of fury that briefly tinges his vision red. 

“How about the way Dream looks like he’s about to keel over whenever anyone gets close to him? How about how he flinches back at literally every loud noise and fast movement? How about how Quackity’s been making these stupid, angry comments at him for the entire competition that make him freeze for a minute each time? Or how about when you were in Battle Box and Dream backed away from your sword like he thought you were gonna drive it through his chest?” Michael barely feels himself stepping forward with each word, jabbing his index finger into the other’s chest. “You want to talk about hurting people? How about you go talk to that fiancé of yours and then come back to talk?” 

A loud, droning buzz comes over the speakers, alerting them of the end of the break. Michael steps back, face flushed in embarrassment, before the world whirls away and they’re teleported back into the Decision Dome. 

He adamantly refuses to meet Sapnap’s eyes as Quackity and Dream materialize in the sector with them, Quackity’s hand clamped around Dream’s upper arm as the other man keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, looking even more panicked and frozen than before the break. 

“You ready to win?” Quackity laughs, and Michael watches as his hand tightens around the sleeve of Dream’s jacket, knuckles paling from the strain. 

“Yeah,” Michael tries to cheer, and it feels like ash on his tongue. “Let’s do this.” 

---

Survival Games ends up being picked next - Quackity and Sapnap quickly pull up to the front of the group, close enough to be within eyesight but too far to really pick up their conversation. Michael keeps an eye out for the reddish glow of their bodies as they scout the surrounding areas for chest, staying back with Dream as they look at the other side of the road. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a smug sort of satisfaction of Sapnap seemingly confronting Quackity about whatever the hell has been going on, as awkward as his whole outburst had been. As it is, some time with Dream is nice without Quackity watching over his shoulder like a hawk - he directs a small, genuine smile at the man by his side that Dream seems to do a double take at before shyly returning it with one of his own. 

“There- I think I see a chest,” Michael points under a lamppost, running to the wooden box and flicking the lid upwards. He pulls out a chain chestplate that he promptly puts on himself, then throws over the iron boots to his teammate as well as a small stone axe that he’s sure Dream will make better use of. “We should probably catch up to the others - don’t want to be caught off guard while separated.”

Dream nods, and the two of them pick up the pace before finding another chest that Dream rummages through, this time, finding an iron sword that Michael takes for himself and a cake. 

“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Michael says after a few minutes of quiet, words becoming more firm when Dream looks up at him with a surprised expression. “Seriously- you’ve been doing great, man.”

“Thanks,” Dream smiles, words quiet and terribly sincere, and the sinking pit in Michael’s gut returns at the tone. “Not as good as I should, though. I’ve been underperforming a lot,” he laughs a little at the words, but even to Michael’s ears it rings hollow. “It’s not over yet, though.”

“No it’s not,” Michael concedes, rearranging his inventory as they run. “But it’s good enough, man, really - just look at my rankings.”

Dream huffs. “You’ve been doing good, Michael.”

“And you’ve been doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Michael tips his head in his direction. “Give yourself some more credit, man. You’ve been playing well.”

Dream smiles again, but even now the corners of his mouth seem tight, tense. “I need to play better, though, if we want to win,” he says, matter-of-fact, analytical to a damn fault. Michael rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point. 

“Sure, but that goes for all of us, Dream,” he shakes his head. “And it’s okay if we don’t win, you know?”

“No.” 

Michael turns, frowning. Dream’s tone has become oddly flat, eyes dead as he continues to stare at the pavement under their feet. He seems to be chewing on his lip anxiously, startled out of his own thoughts when he looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “I mean- I don’t know. I really have- want to win.” 

There’s something so carefully worded about the admission, quiet and scraped open and raw in the slow sincerity of the words. Michael wants to poke at it, wants to understand what’s left him so unsure of every step, what determination lies behind the words that has left desperation clinging to every shallow breath he draws. A crack of thunder on the horizon, heralding a player’s death, reminds him that now is not the time. 

Keep your head down. 

“Alright,” he smiles thinly, hoping that the fracturing, yawning pit of emptiness in his chest isn’t obvious in the words. “Then we’re going to win.” 

---

Michael skids to a stop at the finish line, feeling the elytra deequip as he’s thrown into spectator mode. He runs his hands through his wind-tousled hair, feeling it strain against his fingers as he roughly finger-combs it back into place. Dream and Sapnap are off to the side, standing next to each other but seemingly not speaking - Michael smiles as he floats over, still shaking the adrenaline off from the race. 

“Hey,” the two look up, smile in recognition, and Dream waves; there’s a small smile on his face, strained but present. “You both did really good!” 

“Thanks, Michael,” Dream laughs, earnest, “I did decent, I guess- haha. Top ten at least.” 

Sapnap whoops. “We’re popping off!” Michael cheers in agreement, and their efforts manage to pull Dream’s smile a little wider as he ducks his head to look away again. 

“Thanks, guys.” 

They watch as Quackity flies through the finish line, appearing in front of them and shaking his arms out as he gets his bearings. 

“Geez- that trident,” he shakes his head, looks up. “Hey, there you guys are. How’d we do?” 

“Dream got seventh,” Sapnap scrolls through his comm, looking through the rows of contestants and their times as they come in, interspersed by the occasional chat message, “And I got 10th. Michael got- 28th, I think? And you got 32nd.” 

“Hmm,” Quackity hums, “What do you think, Dream? Is that good enough to pull us to Dodgebolt?”

Once again, Michael watches as Dream stiffens under the scrutiny, head ducking down and looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Um- I don’t know,” Dream mumbles, “I messed up a trident- fell into the void once, probably could’ve done better otherwise-” his voice trails off, tensing further as Quackity takes his usual spot by his side, jabbing an elbow none-too-lightly into his ribs. 

“But you didn’t, though,” Quackity says, tone flippant, “so what do you think? With those placements- is it going to be enough?” 

“Hey, we did great, man,” Michael glares at him, more forward than he’d usually be - but all he can see is the shoulder that he has pressed against Dream’s arm, the way Dream’s stood stock still since the moment he made contact, “Lay off of Dream, would you? He did great.”

“Yeah, Q,” Michael’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Sapnap chimes in from the side, rising further when Sapnap moves forward to link his arm with Quackity’s own and half-drag him away from Dream. “Chill out, man, we popped off. We’re gonna fucking win this, ok?”

Quackity’s lips press together; he’s still smiling, but there’s no mistaking the seething darkness that lingers in his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, gaze still trained on the pale off-white disk of Dream’s mask. Still, with the rest of the team against him, he’s in a losing fight and he knows it; Michael watches as he visibly backs down, rolling his shoulders back as he lets Sapnap pull him further back. 

“We’re going to fucking win this,” he repeats, and Michael wonders how he manages to make the words sound so much like a threat.

---

“Sky battle,” Sapnap calls as the decision dome below them lights up in confirmation of the penultimate game, expression immediately becoming more focused as he turns back to the rest of the team. “Alright- strats, what are we thinking?”

“There’s the iron at spawn,” Dream starts, interrupted by the teleport to the Sky Battle arena, making him cut himself off comically and take a second to shake off the resulting disorientation, “And then there’s the iron in the nearby island. We gotta pick one, tower as soon as we can.”

“Got it,” Sapnap looks down, seemingly calculating, before looking up again - Michael has heard him compared to fire before, but he thinks this is the first time he’s really seen it; there’s a veritable blaze burning in his eyes as he looks at each member of the team, easily taking charge as they prepare for the first round. “Same buddy system as Survival Games - Q, stick with me, Michael, stick with Dream. I’ll tower to the next island- Dream, you good with getting the iron at spawn and crafting armor for us?” 

Dream startles, before flashing a small thumbs up at the other - Sapnap smiles wider, teeth bared dangerously.

“This is our game,” he cheers, and Michael enthusiastically whoops in reply, “we’re winning this, you got that team? Let’s go!” 

This, Michael thinks, is the way the games should’ve gone - they jump into action upon the start of the game, Michael watching as Dream races through both chests on the spawn island, getting the iron and jumping down cleanly with a water bucket before following Sapnap’s bridge to the other island. He tosses over a pair of leggings and boots as he lands, then takes Sapnap’s excess iron to craft the other pieces of iron for himself and Sapnap as the other man begins shooting at opposing teams. Their communication is near wordless, simple one- or two-word requests communicating all they need as they follow each other seamlessly into the main arena area, sealing off their entrance as they search the ring for other teams.

Sapnap, especially, seems to have shifted - instead of waiting for Dream to take the lead, he seems comfortable barrelling on forward on his own, trusting for Dream to follow his steps. Michael watches as the two of them easily work through the two lagging members of Orange, shooting through a gap in the wall to catch an unsuspecting Yellow player chased by the border. Michael ends up dying to an unlucky block of TNT placed on his head - curses out what appears to be Quig, bounding over to the other side of the arena, and follows Dream and Sapnap as they continue to fight their way through the competition. 

It’s not perfect, for sure - Dream hesitates at a bad place a minute later, ending with Sapnap getting 2v1ed and exploding in a flash of red sparkles. Dream is similarly dispatched a few seconds after, and the three of them watch Quackity, caught in the crossfire of two other teams, before he also goes down. 

“Good work, team,” Sapnap says as he appears, disoriented, in spectator mode, and they watch the remaining two teams battling in a rapidly shrinking border before Fruit falls as well, leaving Pink as the winners. “That was close- we’ve got this.” The conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Michael, briefly, feels bad for anyone that stands in the way of it. 

With the second round, they once again fall into rhythm without any major hiccups - someone tries to cut them off before entering the main arena, but are made quick work of by Sapnap’s relentless onslaught. As Michael watches, Dream seems to regain confidence as well, moving more to fight with Sapnap side by side instead of just playing support, tugging him back from a risky play and catching Punz in a nasty combo that does him in when he manages to slip past Sapnap. 

The four of them end up in the final stand off in the middle, but end up getting caught too high up and killed by the border before they can jump down. Sapnap hisses at the narrow defeat, but the disappointment has hardly seemed to dim his determination - if anything, it seems to burn brighter. 

“Last round,” he mutters, and Michael watches as Dream walks up to him, bumping him lightly with his shoulder. 

“This is our game,” he says, a small smile appearing on his face, and Sapnap returns it with a fiery, blinding one of his own. 

“Ours,” he says, and even just standing on the side, watching - Michael believes it. 

Still, his concerns have yet to disappear - they linger in his mind as they jump into an adrenaline-filled last round, jumpy from excitement and victory just within their grasps. Dream is still more jittery than he should be, taking a second more than usual to react to fights, and his teamwork with Sapnap - while good - is still noticeably rusty. Michael’s lips thin at the memory of Dream backing away from Sapnap’s sword in Battle Box, hunched into himself, almost on the floor, with a clearly desperate edge to his expression - and no matter how he tries, he can’t quite manage to shake it off. 

Unfortunately enough, the third round doesn’t bode well for them from the start - Quackity gets bowed off while bridging to the main arena, and upon entrance there they end up flanked, hard, by another team in a conflict that gets Michael killed within seconds. Sapnap and Dream book it to the other side of the arena, where they manage to work through a full team without too much trouble - but the next minute brings another half-team flying at them from the back, catching them in the middle of trying to recuperate. The two focus Dream in the middle of eating a steak, and Michael watches as Dream steps back instead of moving forward to fight, that same shade of fear making his muscles seize as he stands, stock still, watching helplessly as swords fly his way- Michael cries out, but there’s nothing he can do-

Between one blink and the next, Sapnap is standing in front of Dream, a snarl painting his features as he whirls through both players in a fury. Michael watches, awed, as his sword weaves and dances between the two attacking Dream, making quick work of them both until they’re no more than items scattered over the ground, then grabs Dream by the wrist and drags him up a nearby ladder onto the upper floor, plopping him by the wall and then backing off. 

Sapnap stands back as Dream sits against the wall, breathing fast and labored, dropping to his knees with his hands in front of him, palms up, no weapons in hand. Michael watches, frantic, for the signs of any teams nearby - with Dream panicking and Sapnap’s back to the rest of the arena, they’d be easy pickings - but for once, luck seems to be on their side, because no one comes. Dream heaves a breath through his lungs, deep and shuddery - Sapnap watches, lips flat from concern, but doesn’t speak. 

“You good to continue?” he asks, when Dream seems calm enough to recognize his surroundings, and Dream looks up at the words, jaw slack from shock and disorientation, before his head dips in a firm nod. 

“Good,” Sapnap smiles, tight-lipped and fiercely determined, fiercely loyal, as he reaches out a hand that Dream moves to take. “Let’s go fuck them up, yeah? You and me, just like we used to.”

Michael watches, heart in his chest, as they stand together to face the rest of the competition, towering towards the middle and facing off with the remaining teams,  watches as they move forwards through explosions and buckets of lava, coalescing onto the middle island, as they battle through the remaining opponents as one in a clean spiral of clashing blades and flying arrows, fighting with their backs to each other in the center of the arena. He watches as a well-placed fishing rod by Dream knocks their final opponent off the platform, leaving them in the middle, triumphant, as the only remaining team - 

Watches, a brilliant, bubbling laugh in his chest as Dream and Sapnap take their spots in the middle of the arena, standing side by side as Sapnap raises Dream’s hand in victory, both laughing and cheering  into the sky.

---

Their performance in Sky Battle manages to pull them to third - but second place still stands a few hundred coins away, and they watch anxiously as Parkour Tag is chosen as the last game and they are transported over the arena. 

“Last game,” Sapnap calls, “We’ve got this, alright?” 

He gets terse, short nods in return - it’ll be a close game, and even Michael is feeling the pressure. He breathes a soft, quiet breath through his teeth as they prepare, looking over to the opposite team as they choose their hunters and runners. 

“Dream, you up to hunting first four?” Sapnap seems to be watching the effects of his words more, waiting for Dream’s agreement before moving forward, sliding into the position of leader easily when Dream seems to struggle. Dream nods and steps into the hunter’s box, lips pressed together, flat and focused, and Michael turns back to the arena to plan out his route. 

Parkour, by far, is not his strong suit. It hadn’t been his strong suit during Parkour Warrior and sure as hell isn’t it now - he enjoys it well enough, but with the pressure of a hunter on him or the time creeping past and the competition standings hanging over his head like a guillotine, he’s prone to slipping up and he knows it. The map is full of dizzying, multi-colored structures and difficult jumps, the twists and turns of the arena making his head spin. Being good at parkour is more than being good at movement - it involves being able to make split-second decisions and execute them with no time to hesitate. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t particularly good at any of that, so Parkour Tag mostly just stresses him the hell out. 

He sets out to the arena, listening for callouts over comms as he fumbles over the buildings. Halfway through the game, Dream’s voice comes through comms, quiet, focused. 

“Gottem.” 

“Nice, Dream,” Michael smiles, trying not to trip over a particularly hard jump, only to fall to being tagged in the back by the opposing team’s hunter - Ant, if he remembers right. “Sapnap and Q are still in- we’ve got this.”

Once again, each time, Dream races through the opposing team in seconds, seemingly going faster with each round. Michael has heard his reputation as a hunter before, but only now is he really appreciating the extent - the speed at which he manages to dispatch all three opponents is downright terrifying. They manage to win all four rounds, lingering around second place overall on the leaderboards, before Sapnap and Dream switch off for hunting. 

With each round, Michael watches Dream in the lobby, watching as he tenses further in focus and determination and no small degree of fear, but it hadn’t been nearly as obvious in between rounds. Now, with him in the arena with Quackity and himself, Dream’s jumpiness is all that more palpable, adrenaline making him pace and jump in place from where he stands at the edge of the place. The glass lowers, and he explodes into motion, bounding on top of the nearest tower to wait for the hunter to come towards them. 

Michael ends up caught first, early in the round, once again, and resolves to following Dream over the glass to watch his movements and make callouts for the hunter chasing behind him. Watching Dream move through the arena, dodging below fixtures and through tunnels and jumping from tower to tower with seemingly no regard for gravity pulling him down, it’s become all the more obvious that this is his element. He makes another hairpin turn around a pole, kicking himself up over a tower and then diving from it to a nearby building, landing on a ledge inside it, hands clutching the wall - Michael watches, quietly awed, as he outlasts the hunter, landing in small, panting breaths in the lobby. 

“Great work,” he cheers, quiet, as Dream shakes off the last dregs of the adrenaline, all of them watching the leaderboard anxiously, “Just three more rounds, alright?” 

The rounds that follow continue in much of the same vein - Dream, once he’s gotten started, seems near-impossible to chase down; Michael and Quackity provide support, distracting the hunter for as long as they can until they get tagged, but part of him wonders if it’s all even necessary. Dream flies from structure to structure seemingly unhindered by The Laws That Be, expression firm, if a little frantic, as he parkours his way through the arena. To their credit, the hunters chase, and several come pretty close - but Dream, worked up on adrenaline or anxiety or some twisted mix of the two, races over and around the buildings within the arena like his life depends on it.

It’s a surprisingly (if sickeningly) apt description - the skill in parkour is far from unacknowledged on Dream’s record; they all know his reputation with Parkour Warrior, all know that there are little that can match his skill as a traucer - but there’s something newly desperate in the way he runs, the muscles of his body tight and taut even in between rounds, expression permanently tight at the corners from fear. His movements, lacking in their usual fluidity, are made up with sheer speed and mad scrambles up walls that no one else seems to dare replicate. It’s concerning, even to Michael’s untrained eye, how frantic he seems the entire time, the flashes of expressions that he’ll direct towards the hunter like being caught by them will be his end, but- if anything, at least it’s effective. 

Between his parkour and Sapnap’s own skill, they manage to dominate the other teams without much issue, and the bonuses from eliminating the other team first combined with Dream’s survival points each round land them a first place for the game by just a few hundred coins. The four of them watch with bated breaths for the event standings, whooping and cheering together when it shows the red rabbits in second - 

“DODGEBOLT, BABY!” Quackity cheers, loudly, and the rest of them join him, laughing and screaming incoherently, “LET’S FUCKING GO!” 

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Sapnap punches the air with a loud, resolute whoop of joy, and Dream - still shaking off the jitters of his last round in Parkour Tag - soon joins in with a few cheers of his own. 

Michael watches them all with a smile on his face as they cheer in victory - Dodgebolt has them against the Yellow Yaks, which will be a hard match up, but between Dream and Sapnap’s skill, if they all stay focused, they shouldn’t have any issue. 

They’ve done it. They’ve made it to Dodgebolt - if they keep their heads in the game, then they should win. All he has to do is keep his head down a little longer, long enough to win them the game, long enough for them to go home with new crowns and new coins, long enough for him to go back to living his quaint little life in his quaint little house - going back to heckling the Warden at night and hanging with Bad and Puffy, working on builds and living life away from the rest and pretending that nothing is wrong. The server will go back to normal come tomorrow, and it will all be okay. 

The smile slips off his face. 

They’ve done it. And then they’ll go back to the SMP, and Dream might evade whatever immediate consequences come with losing, but there’s no evidence that whatever’s caused that heartstopping, devastating fear that has characterized his every move is going to stop. They’ll win, and they’ll go back to the SMP, and they’ll keep dying and fighting wars and keep pretending that the world they live in is normal; they’ll go back to the server, and Michael will go back in his house while Dream goes back into his cell directly across from it, still locked in a black box with no way in or out, no means of communication with anyone outside, locked away with the key thrown away for anything to happen with no one to know-

Michael glances over to Dream, to the tense edge of his shoulders that has never left for as long as the tournament has continued and long before. To the grey-faced, grey-eyed inhabitants of the SMP, coming to the Championships with sealed lips and a shared determination to never reveal that anything is wrong, to pretend that things are normal and move on. 

Michael’s hands clench into fists at his side, then unclench, the helplessness cutting through his excitement like a splash of cold water straight through his chest. They’ll win the Championship, and then what? They’ll go back to the server, and then what? 

He looks up at the sky, avoiding the eyes of the rest of his team as they are teleported to the arena. Around him, nothing comes in reply. 

---

“Shit-”

Sapnap disappears in a flourish of red particles, and Michael winces as Dream picks up the arrow he left behind, biting his lip as he watches the opposite side maneuver on the ice.

Both of Dream’s shots hit true, and Michael switches to dodging over the ice as the opposing team begins to shoot. His mind is still buzzing with uncertainty, questions whirling around his skull and making his head spin, the reminder to just let things be raging against the anxiety that has wormed its way deep into his bones for the better part of the day. His performance has fallen a bit as a result, and they’re tied, 2-2, for the last round of Dodgebolt against Yellow - winner takes all. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell, but he wants to fall back into the background. He wants to make a difference, but also wants nothing more than to go on pretending that everything is fine. It would be so, so easy to move on and wash his hands of the whole affair - it’s not like anyone else will know, only himself and the guilt that he’s sure will haunt him to remind him of his failures. Is there even anything he can do? He’s no genius at combat, or parkour, or strategy- all he has are his eyes, his ability to see what the hell is happening with no means to change any of it. 

An arrow whizzes towards him, too low to hit, and falls to the ice by his feet. Michael feels it plop into his inventory as he runs past it, shivering slightly from the cold or adrenaline or some mix of the two - not that he can really tell. The other team still has an arrow, the gleaming arrowhead catching the light as the person shooting - Jack, it looks like - moves it from one side to the other, looking for someone to aim. Michael lets the arrow into his hand, feeling its weight.

A sudden shock of clarity. 

He staggers back and nearly trips over his own feet, feeling relief rock his body when he manages to catch his balance - his eyes rake over the rest of his team, still dodging over the ice, completely focused on the opposing side. He worries his lip between his teeth - it’s a risk. It’s a hell of a risk, and if he messes up - they’re fucked. They’re more than fucked. There’s a good chance that this does more harm than good, a good chance that it won’t do anything at all. 

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow. 

With his bow pointed to the floor, he doesn’t think anyone’s noticed yet - especially the rest of his team, gazes still trained over the centerline to the other side of the arena. Michael plants his feet, raises his bow, aims - he’s standing still, too still, and he can already see Jack swinging the bow towards him from the corner of his eye, preparing to let the arrow fly directly at him. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Keep your head down. 

Michael lets go, and Quackity manages to turn just in time to see the arrow hit him between his eyes.

Not this time.

Michael just manages a wicked, satisfied smirk before the world disappears in a flash of red. 

---

“What the hell was that?” 

Michael teleports into the middle of the MCC main lobby, finding Quackity already mid-yell in front of the podium, where the Yellow Yaks have taken their places as the winners of the Championships, new, shining crowns on their heads as they greet the crowd with smiles and cheers. Michael turns to where the rest of the team has gathered in the corner, Quackity hissing angrily at Dream, curled into himself against the fence. 

“I- I-”

“You lost us the fucking game, that’s what you did,” Quackity grabs him by the arm, rage painting his features as he yanks Dream closer to him, ignoring the other’s panicked yell at the proximity and flailing to get away. “What the fuck- you had both the arrows. How the fuck did you miss that?” 

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

Michael steps forward, bodily shoving Quackity out of the way - Dream’s head rises just enough for the two eyes painted on his mask to look  above where they’d been hidden behind his arms, though Michael’s far too lost in his own anger to pay any mind to him at the moment. Quackity turns his furious direction towards Michael, only seeming to get angrier as he meets his eyes. 

“Oh, fuck off, Michael- you-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You fucking- we fucking lost because of you, you know that? We had that! We were going to win that, you fucker-” 

“And then what, Quackity?” The words Michael had been pushing back the entire day come forth, mixed with his simmering anxiety and muffled anger that he’d been forced to push down, game after game after game, one bubbling mess of emotion underscoring his tone and making Quackity rear back, “Then you’ll go back the SMP and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy? Go back to your shiny little country with a shiny new coin, beat up Dream a few times to work off the adrenaline because, hey, it’s not like anyone else is gonna know if he’s black and blue inside of that shitstain of a prison, is that right?” 

The flash of panic that makes its way over Quackity’s face is more than enough to confirm the worst of Michael’s assumptions, and the rage that has made a home in his chest only burns hotter. 

“What- what the fuck did he say?” Quackity barely manages to catch onto his tone, pressing harder with narrowed eyes and a snarl, “He’s lying, you fucking idiot, that’s all he ever fucking does-” 

“He’s not told me shit,” Michael presses forward, forcefully pushing Quackity away from Dream, who is cowering from both of them behind him, “But you would know a hell of a lot about that, wouldn’t you Quackity?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, pal,” Quackity shakes his head, hair whipping past his eyes, “And I’d recommend you shut your fucking mouth before you go around hurling baseless accusations- I could have you sued for defamation, you know-”

“Oh, we’re talking law, now? Fine! We’ll talk legalities- how about we start with that casino of yours and work from there?” 

Sapnap moves over, quiet thus far as he watched from the sidelines, and Michael watches as Quackity relaxes, minisculely, at his approach - only to tense further when Sapnap presses a hand to his shoulder, meeting his eyes with blazing eyes staring right at his.

“Q,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious, “tell the truth, now- what did you do?”

Quackity laughs - it sounds unsure, even in Michael’s ears, “Sapnap? You can’t tell me you believe-” he waves his hands frantically, “this- this fucking asshole, now, do you hear him? He sounds- he’s literally out of his fucking mind-”

Sapnap shakes his head, firm. “Quackity, I’ll need you to cut the bullshit. What did you do?” 

“He’s backing up Dream, Sapnap,” Quackity focuses his gaze on Sapnap, something creeping up in his tone, sweet and cloying despite the bitter tone, that Michael can’t quite recognize, “You know what Dream is like- he pulled the same shit with you, remember? You and George? Tommy?” He waves a hand at Dream, who ducks down further at the attention, “He hasn’t changed, man! He’s still pulling the same bullshit, still manipulating people for the hell of it- you know, the exact same thing he did to you? Don’t fall for that again, man.”

“I-” Sapnap seems to hesitate, conflict warring over his features. 

“Look at me, Sap - you know what Dream’s like. He pretends to be your friend, makes up some stupid bullshit to justify his shit - Michael hasn’t been around for as long, not like the two of us, remember? He doesn’t know.” Quackity brings his hand to Sapnap’s own, ignoring Michael’s protests as he laces their fingers together, “I care about you, Sap. All of this- I’m just worried that he’ll end up manipulating you again. I’m just trying to protect you.” 

“...liar.” 

“What?”

Sapnap steps back, wrenching his hand out of Quackity’s own. His expression, out of what Michael can see from the sliver of his face that is facing him, is stormy with fury and no small amount of regret - Quackity steps back, unease finally beginning to flicker in the corners of his self-satisfied expression as Sapnap stares him down. 

“You’re a liar, Quackity.” Sapnap draws himself up. “Now, I’m asking this for the last time- what did you do?”

Quackity’s expression stutters, falls, as Sapnap stands back next to Michael, the two of them between him and Dream. His eyes flick between their faces, then to Dream, then back again, frown deepening with every pass he makes between the three of them. Michael keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every second of silence that ticks by, Quackity seeming to grow more and more angry and tense under their scrutiny and unforgiving stances-

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward. 

“Quackity!” 

Michael only manages to throw himself out of the way of the man barrelling towards him just in time - too late, he realizes that he wasn’t Quackity’s intended target. He tackles Dream to the ground, pinning the taller man underneath himself onto the ground in a rough thump that seems to knock all the air out of him. Dream immediately begins to thrash aimlessly, jaw going slack in panic as Quackity levels his arm against his neck, going still as Quackity presses harder against his windpipe. Michael is only barely close enough to pick up what he says over the sound of the surrounding screaming, Sapnap rushing forward to pull Quackity off to no avail-

“-make what I did two weeks ago look like a fucking joke when we get back, going to make you wish you fucking died-” 

The world explodes into white.

When Michael’s vision clears, he’s face to face to the stony face of one of the MCC admins, their status displayed by the proud red [Admin] by their nametags and the fact that they’re floating several inches off the fucking floor. He backs away, strangely winded - probably from the panic or adrenaline or yelling or, more accurately, all three, as Quackity is pulled back effortlessly by an admin, easily caging his flailing limbs with a snap of code as he is frozen into place - and Michael whoops. 

“LET’S GO!” 

(The arrow hits Michael in the shoulder, and he disappears in a flash of red - only instead of going to his usual place above the Dodgebolt arena, standing with the other competitors, he finds himself teleported in front of a dizzying array of screens and buttons, too many to have any idea where they connect and how they work. Michael turns to meet the faces of the MCC Admins, each one looking at him with odd, concerned expressions and furrowed brows. 

“You shot your teammate,” one says - Noxite - and Michael nods to concede the point, not quite finding the words to speak. “Why?”

“If you had such a big issue with the teams, you could’ve just talked to Scott,” another one pipes up from the back, “I’m sure we could’ve worked something out.”

“I know, I know,” Michael runs his hand through his hair, both relieved at the plan working better than he could’ve ever fucking imagined and suddenly lost for words in front of the admins, each one looking at him with their full attention. Every nerve in his body rails against the scrutiny, reminds him to pretend that nothing is wrong - but it’s too late to pretend, now. It’s been too late for a long, long time. 

He remembers Dream, looking away all competition, voice dead and lacking all of its former vitality - remembers Puffy, hair a little greyer from stress, grief painting her face whenever she thought anyone wasn’t looking - remembers Bad, hands still shaking despite his attempts to hide it - the prison, looming on the horizon, unbeatable, impenetrable - himself, helpless, for all this time, to do anything but watch and wait. Until now. He takes a deep breath, steels himself- 

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

“Thank you for your information, Michael,” Noxite smiles at him, and relief throws itself through his system so fast that it makes him dizzy- “We’ll handle this from here. Good job.” 

“Holy shit- when did you get time to contact the fucking admins, Michael?” 

Michael ignores the clamor around him as the lobby bursts into activity and people talking over each other, each one probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, ignores Sapnap muttering, awed, from beside him, to move towards Dream, still sprawled out over the floor. There’s an admin by him, standing by to seemingly keep the crowd away but not engaging with Dream directly, and Michael ducks by them to kneel down by Dream and meet his gaze. 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, still shaking from the leftover adrenaline as he presses his hands to the ground to try and hide it, “We’ve got you. It’s over- Quackity’s gone. You’re safe now.” 

“Michael?” Dream’s voice is so damn small when his head twists to look over, hair having fallen largely fallen out of his ponytail to land in wisps all around his face. “You- how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shushes him, chest twisting painfully. “It’s alright.”

“...I don’t feel so good.”

Dream coughs harshly, and Michael quickly maneuvers him to a sitting position as his shoulders shake with another one, hand flying to his mouth as he is wracked with loud, wet-sounding coughs. Concern wells up in his throat, watching as Dream shakes with more coughing, nearly choking as he curls into himself, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls his hand back, and Michael gasps at the sight.

“Dream-”

There’s blood, and a lot of it - mixed with the saliva in his palm, shiny and stringy over the planes of his hand, dribbling past his lips and down his chin. His teeth are similarly stained red when his mouth opens slightly, stance wobbling before he collapses altogether against Michael’s body - Michael can barely hear himself shouting for a medic as Dream heaves a rattling, wet sounding breath into his shoulder. 

“Th’ts not g’d,” he mumbles, quiet, before going completely limp. 

---

When you first get strong enough to go to the Nether and collect blaze rods and brew potions for the first time, the first thing that gets beaten into your head forwards, backwards, left, right, and every way in between is that health and regen aren’t a replacement for actual recovery. Instant health pots are famous for their tendency to heal everything affected to the same degree - which is bad when you have a particularly deep injury, as it’ll often finish healing it near the surface while the injury persists underneath. Regen pots tend to be better at that front, but even they cannot completely fix a serious injury - the two can only act as a temporary, emergency fix for severe wounds, often being an invaluable resource to stop the worst of the bleeding and hold everything together for long enough to bring someone to proper medical attention. 

Unfortunately, when someone tries to use health pots and regens to completely bypass the time and rest needed for the body to properly heal itself and recover, what usually ends up happening is internal injuries - not completely healed by the potions alone - continue to be jostled and irritated, which can lead to further, worse, problems with internal bleeding and bones shifting out of place if they’ve been broken, which can then pierce through muscle and organ tissue - to be honest, Michael was never the best with all the medical stuff, and he’s half-sure that the horror stories he’s heard were exaggerated to beat it into his head never to be an idiot that thinks that potions can solve everything, but either way, he’s never tested his luck with the things.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn’t seem to have done the same, as the entire day’s worth of intense activity, between practices and MCC itself, were more than enough to fuck over the healing effects of whatever health potions he apparently downed before coming to the Championships. From what Michael has heard, it got a little harried after he was first brought into the hospital, but he’s apparently stabilized since - recovery will be slow, both physically and mentally, but at least he’s out of that damn prison to actually start on that path.

“Simply put, your teammate is a bit of an idiot,” Scott tells him when he finally catches him in the waiting room, hair fluffed up at the sides from where he’s evidently messed it up in Admin-related stress. “But he should be alright now, with proper medical attention and lots of rest - make sure to tell him to actually rest, will ya? No more parkouring for him - he can wait until after he’s out of the hospital to show us all how it’s done.” 

Michael laughs, relief settling into his chest, “Thanks, Scott.” He directs a playfully accusing look towards the other, a grin tugging at his lips, “but you know, he’s only my teammate because you made it that way. Kinda sounds like your own fault there..” 

“Oh, quiet, you.” Scott laughs- he looks stressed, and Michael feels a twinge of sympathy. The administrative side of things after his whole stunt at Dodgebolt, and then especially with what happened in the main lobby, must be an absolute nightmare. “Anyway, I need to go back - Admin meeting,” he shakes his head, already looking at his comm. “You should go see Dream, by the way. I think he’s awake.” 

“Thanks for everything, Scott.” 

Scott smiles at him, soft, sincere. “Go see your friend.” 

He disappears in a flash of white light, teleporting away, and Michael looks at the empty space where he stood for a few seconds before standing up out of his chair to move towards the door. He hesitates at it for a second, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it to the side - it’s suddenly awkward, without the pressure of the competition at his back and the relentless questions of what he should do. He doesn’t even know if Dream knows what happened, or if he’ll be happy with him - for all he knows, Dream was the one who started the whole ‘don’t tell the Championships what happens in the server’ deal. His teeth catch on his lip as he stands, lost in thought, at the door.

Well. Here goes nothing. 

He eases the door open, getting a glimpse inside the room - it’s white, clean-looking, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a chair on the side with his Championships clothing and what appears to be some sort of padded body armor laid over the cushions. Dream, as expected, is lying down in the bed, unmoving; for a second, Michael thinks he’s sleeping, before he suddenly twists his head over to look at him.

“Michael?” 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. For the first time today, Dream’s face isn’t masked, a glimpse of it visible behind him on the dresser by the bed. He blinks up at him owlishly, eyes wide and green, looking even bigger combined with the hollow planes of his cheeks, overlaid by pale, slightly raised scars. “How are you feeling, man?” 

“Um-” Dream tries to pull himself up, visibly struggling, and Michael rolls his eyes as he hurries over to help raise the back of the cot because you’re supposed to be resting, Dream, just let the fancy bed do its job, and settles back with an odd look on his face as Michael pulls over a chair. “Good? I think? I mean-” he flails his hands a bit, “this is weird. And I kind of hate this gown- but um. Yeah.” 

“That’s fair,” Michael laughs, and Dream huffs a small laugh out of his own, settling back into his pillow. He looks strangely small, with all the layers stripped away, frail and skinny against the sheets. His skin isn’t that same paper-white shade it had been when he collapsed in the middle of the fucking lobby, but it’s still pale enough to be vaguely worrying, especially combined with the IV and other wires hooked up to him. 

“Apparently, I’m dehydrated,” Dream drawls when he catches Michael staring at the IV, making a small, frustrated sound through his teeth as Michael turns to look at him, “figures, I guess, but still sucks. I hate needles.” 

“Ouch,” Michael winces in sympathy, “yeah, those don’t look that fun.” Dream smiles up at him, before his expression shutters, dulls, and he looks away, not meeting his eyes. The sight of it makes Michael frown, quiet, remembering the way he’d drawn back from them all over and over again throughout the day - that fear and trauma won’t go away in a day, but it hurts all that much more to see his face as panic flashes across it and he pulls back, gaze carefully detached. 

“Dream?” Michael moves closer, but is careful not to make contact, “you alright?”

“Hmm?” Dream directs another small, tight smile his way, strained at the corners as his eyes flick away to the floor once again, “yeah- I’m- I’m fine.” 

Michael sighs, but decides not to push it. “Have you done anything else here, yet?”

Dream shakes his head. “No- I think that someone’s going to bring food over soon, I’m not sure. Not really hungry,” he mutters, half to himself, and Michael tamps down the concern that wells up in protest, “But we’ll see, I guess.” 

“That’s good,” Michael nods, and Dream looks up at him, expression startlingly unsure. 

“Um- do you know?” He wrings his hands together, eyes darting across the room nervously before flicking over Michaels’ face, and Michael tries to make himself look as calm and comfortable as possible, “I mean- do you know what’s going on with- everyone?” 

Ah. Michael winces internally- he probably should’ve expected this question, but in the fallout of what happened in the lobby and Dream, you know, passing out in his arms, he ended up brushing off or ignoring a lot of the chaos that resulted. He wracks his head for snippets of information that he’d seen in his communicator and from visitors to the waiting room, including people that had been there with him that had been pulled for questioning and meetings, Tommy’s expletive-filled yelling from the lobby still ringing in his head. 

“Um- I think that they’ve got a team of moderators pulled up to investigate the server, figure out what’s been going on,” Michael ticks names off on his hands, mentally going through the list of people that he’s been given information on, “They have Quackity in custody, I think, for the moment- they’re still waiting for more information on what to do with him, but they’ve got a whole MCC lobby’s worth of witnesses that saw him assault you so far, if you plan on pressing charges and stuff- um- Sapnap got pulled for questioning, nothing too major right now, I think that they’re going through the other server members that were attending the Championships for the moment.” 

“Are they- putting them in jail?” Dream’s voice sounds slightly tinny despite his forced calm, arms crossed in front of him, and Michael shakes his head firmly. 

“No- legal stuff between servers is weird, and I think they’re holding off on anything like that for now. Quackity’s just there at the moment because of assault charges on the MCC server - stuff in the SMP is still technically outside of their jurisdiction.” Dream visibly relaxes, and Michael smiles thinly, “It’ll be rough for a few weeks as they collect evidence and figure out what to do, but for now, they’re just focusing on recovery - giving people medical attention if they need it, lining up therapists,” he laughs, quietly, “lots of therapists.”

Dream hums, looking away. The corners of his mouth fall, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes a shuddery sigh through his lips.

“I- never wanted it to get this bad,” he opens his eyes, looking down at his hands, lip slightly trembling, “I don’t- I don’t know where it all went wrong.” 

“Hey,” Michael slides closer, ducking to meet Dream’s eyes with a soft smile. “You’re not alone anymore, alright? You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. Focus on yourself, on recovering.” 

Dream hesitates, breath seeming caught in his throat, wide green eyes staring into Michael’s own, before ducking his head to look away with a slight nod. Michael leans back in his chair, watching as Dream turns to the side, curling in on himself slightly with a small wince, eyes fixed on the window.

“Didn’t think I was going to see the sun again,” Dream says after a while, gaze still trained behind the glass to where the sun is slowly setting, rays of sunlight streaming past the slits in the blinds and casting glowing stripes of honey-gold throughout the room and over Dream’s face. Michael feels something cold press against the back of his throat, the quiet admission making air stutter in his lungs at the image of Dream, alone, huddled in the middle of an obsidian box for months and months and months, never knowing if he’d see anything other than the same black walls for the rest of his life. 

“You’re not there, anymore. You’re safe now.” 

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to look out the window silently, breathing slowly as he moves his hand through a sunbeam, watching the way it streams between his fingers and warms his skin, seeming mesmerized by its soft glow. 

“Michael?” Dream looks over, and Michael feels the air punched out of his lungs at the soft, disbelieving sincerity held within his expression, the fearful edges for once pulled back far enough for the light to catch the quiet, heartfelt appreciation gathered in the slight quirk of his lips and downward slope of his eyes. He looks away a second after, a band of light cutting across his face and landing over the bridge of his nose, smile still on his face, voice almost too quiet to make out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Michael feels his own smile widen, looking out the window himself- it really is a beautiful sunset. “What are friends for?” 

[amatchinwater]

Did a little thing for Day 2 of Stackson Week 2021!

Day 2: Trapped together

Pairing: Stackson

Warnings: underage drinking

Word count: 2709

Rating: teen and up

Ao3 link

Stiles knew it was a bad idea to have a party at Lydia’s lake house in the middle of hurricane lever rain and a goddamn flood warning. What’s even worse is he’s the first person to show up! Lydia herself isn’t even here yet. The banshee was kind enough to tell him where they put the hide-a-key so he could get in and out of the storm. Scott and Isaac aren’t picking up or answering his texts. If they’re not here because they’re too busy fucking and Stiles has to be here soaked and alone, he’s going to kill them.

When Stiles gets in the house, he stomps his shoes on the mat to not track in any mud. Lyds would castrate him for that, so he takes them off just to be safe. Slipping out of his jacket, Stiles hangs it on the hook, careful not to let it drip anywhere other than the little rug underneath it. The house is empty and eerily dark. Then again, why wouldn’t it be? He’s the only fucking one here. Making his way into the kitchen, Stiles’ preturbrance only grows. 

It doesn’t even look like the place is meant to house a party in the next twenty minutes. Nothing is set up. There isn't a single bag of chips or other snacks on the counter. No pizzas and sandwich platters like her birthday. A keg is not beside the island either. Just two bottles of wine with a sticky note that reads-

“Have fun?” 

Oh my god! Stiles jumps and flails, nearly knocking the bottles over on the counter. 

“What kind of fucking game is she playing?” Jackson snatches the note, rereading it before flicking it back towards the island. 

Still clutching his wildly beating heart, Stiles gasps, “could you maybe announce yourself next time?” He collects himself- mostly. “Not all of us have your little wolf senses. You almost gave me a heart attack, you fuck.” 

Jackson snorts and almost playfully bumps him with his shoulder. “Not my fault you left the front door unlocked, Stilinski.” 

Fuck this. “I’m leaving.” Stiles stalks back towards the front door, yanking his jacket off the hook and grabbing his shoes. Whipping the open the door, the teen groans loudly, dropping his head back, “you’ve got to be kidding me!” 

“What are you bitching about now?” The wolf steps beside him and looks outside, his eyes widen drastically. “Holy shit!”

The lake has officially overflown since they’ve shown up and the driveway is at least three inches deep with water. Jackson’s care looks like it’s barely  capable of surviving if it gets too high. Stiles almost cares enough to wonder if they should move it. This fucking storm! Now he’s stuck here with nowhere to go. Yes, he has a jeep, but the road out is no doubt a muddy mess that even Roscoe can’t navigate. 

Closing the door and putting his clothes back where they were, Stiles whines, “why would she pick today to do this?” Thinking about the weather his dad forced him to watch this morning. Most cities were calling in downed power lines and massive branches flying through the streets. 

She knew this storm was coming. So much so that Lydia even reminded him to wear his boots rather than his sneakers. “I guess I better call Scott, tell him not to come. No use in him getting stuck in the woods like this.” Sures, having his best friend here would make this exceptionally better. But Stiles doesn’t want to break up any fights between a stir crazy Jackson and Isaac. Fishing in his pocket, Stiles pulls out his phone and smashes the call button in annoyance. 

“Stiles, hey. I’m sorry I did-” Scott answers on the second ring only to be cut off by Stiles.

“I don’t care if you and Isaac were fucking,” Jackson chuckles at his jab. “Don’t come to Lydia’s. The lake flooded and now Jackson and I can’t leave.” 

“Okay,” Scott draws out the word and if Stiles wasn’t mistaken sounds a little confused. Jackson’s brows knit together at the response too. Okay, so it did sound weird then. “I’m sorry you’re stuck there, dude. But maybe this will be a good thing?”

Is he serious? “How the fuck is it supposed to be a good thing to be stuck in a goddamn house with someone who hates my guts?” Stiles’ hand slaps his thigh in exasperation. Not to mention the asshole in question was hotter than hell fire and makes it incredibly hard to be in the same room with him. Not thinking about that when Jackson can smell his chemosignals. 

“Well,” Scott drawls, “you did say you had a crush on him.” Stiles blanches and goes stalk still, forgetting how to fucking breathe. Jackson snorts beside him. Stiles is going to kill Scott. “Oh my god! He’s right next to you, isn’t he?”

“I hate you so much right now.” Stiles makes a point to stare at the floor and not at the shuffling wolf beside him. “Well, thanks for getting me killed. Great best friend job, truly. See ya probably never, Scotty.” He promptly hangs up before Scott can answer. 

“So,” Jackson purrs and Stiles can’t help but turn and face the wolf. His arms are crossed from where he leans against the wall, one foot propped behind him. Jackson’s face holds that stupid, sexy, douchbag smirk, “you like me?”

He’s not even going to entertain that. Stiles squints at him with his mouth slightly parted. It only makes Jackson chuckle. “I need a drink,” Stiles uses every ounce of self control not to literally run away and back into the kitchen. Sifting through the drawers until he finds the corkscrew, Stiles grabs a bottle. Once the cork is out- that actually had already been opened- Stiles could give fuck all about a glass. He takes a sip directly from the bottle, regretting it at the extensive bitter taste of wolfsbane.

Clearly that one’s for Jackson. He’s courteous enough to slide the wine across the island when Jackson is back in the room. The wolf stares at him as his lips wrap around the mouthpiece and drinks from it, not giving a damn to wipe it after Stiles’ drank first. The other boy just watches before his brain recovers and he opens his own bottle. Setting the cork and opener aside, Stiles grabs the wine and leaves the wolf in the kitchen to go sit in the living room where Lydia keeps the playstation. 

Plopping on the couch, Stiles lets himself sink into the cushion and takes several swigs. Actually rather enjoying the slight burn and the warmth that quickly settles in his belly. He can very easily just sit here and watch tv like Jackson doesn’t even exist. Stiles can go to literally anywhere else to be away from the wolf if need be. He cannot believe that Jackson found out he likes him. 

Fucking Scott.

It takes a few minutes for Jackson to join him. Stiles already has Supernatural playing and has killed a good third of his wine before the wolf is sitting next to him. Like right next to him. One nervous leg bounce and their thighs or knees will touch. Seriously? Lydia has two couches, a chaise lounge, and two armchairs in her living room. So why is he so close?

Scratch that initial thought. There’s like six other rooms in this big ass house that Jackson could’ve gone to. Why here? Stiles drinks more. 

Jackson takes another small sip, looking like he’s barely drank anything from his own bottle before saying, “I have a secret to tell you.” 

He fights the eyeroll only just, “what information could you possibly have that I would care about?” Amber eyes stay glued to the flat screen.

“I don’t hate you, Stiles.”

“Oh?” He asks with mock interest. Even though there’s something tickling at his heart that Jackson didn’t call him ‘idiot’ or ‘Stilinski’. He can’t allow himself to fall for the wolf’s tricks. He won’t let the rug get yanked out from under him. 

“Quite the opposite actually.” 

Stiles snorts and turns to make some smart ass retort. But his ‘yeah right’ gets stuck on his tongue finding Jackson’s face mere inches from his own. He gulps. Clearing his throat, Stiles takes a big sip before putting his bottle on the small table beside him. Too fuzzy and warm to process this, Stiles scooches until he’s pressing against the armrest. 

Jackson also places his bottle on the coffee table before sliding closer. Forcing Stiles to half turn into the couch while the wolf puts an arm on either side of him, completely encasing Stiles. “I like you,” he presses further, “a lot.” Jackson leans in until their noses brush, “tell me if you want me to stop.” 

Blame the wine. Blame his hormones for not wanting him to stop. Hell, blame everyone and everything, Stiles included. But he does have a massive crush on Jackson. Even though he knows damn well that he shouldn’t. The guy’s a prick. He has no problem letting people know that he’s better than them. Making damn sure to flaunt his money too. As if that makes him hotter or something. It doesn’t. 

No, it’s the icy blue eyes that make Stiles want to learn their secrets and harvest the knowledge. The wolf’s stupid jaw that’s perfect and Stiles just wants to bite it. He;s seen Jackson naked numerous times- thank you locker room shower’s forgotten concept of privacy. But god damn, when Jackson smiles- not his asshole smirk, but genuine smile- Stiles’ lungs and knees forget how to function. Despite his actions earlier, the teen is actually pretty happy to be stuck here. 

Only acting as though he hates Jackson because he was simply following the wolf’s lead. His eyes flick to Jackson’s bottle of wine- its contents too hard to see in the dark green glass from this distance- and back to hooded baby blues. There’s only two reasons Stiles can believe that this is actually happening right now.

Jackson’s drunk. Because Stiles doesn’t understand the extent in which wolfsbane affects werewolf's tolerance. Which would mean the ex-kanima has no idea what he’s doing and should go sleep it off. Stiles hopes it’s this because the latter is just too painful. 

Jackson’s fucking with him. Surely he doesn’t have actual feelings for Stiles. Maybe the wolf found out he’s bi and wanted to tease him about it. Although, something tells him that Danny would murder Jackson if he ever found out. Still. This is Stiles. Lowest on the lacrosse totem pole and not the wolf’s best friend. Is Jackson that cruel though?

Beautiful, parted pink lips get closer, so Stiles whispers, “you’re just drunk,” and turns his head away, hoping that’s the case here. Waiting for the joke to play out.

“I’m really not.” Jackson reaches over to grab his drink. There’s maybe three sips missing when he dangles the bottle for proof. “See?” The wolf puts it back, returning with a smirk and a cocked brow, “now will you let me kiss you?” Jackson chuckles, it’s a breathy sound, but doesn’t make to move closer. Leaving it to Stiles.

He’s not falling for that trap. The prove-to-me-you-want-it-so-I-can-kick-you-down trap by making Stiles lean in. “So you’re fucking with me then?” He should’ve known better. 

The other boy looks confused and a little offended. Jackson leans back farther, still sitting close, but no longer in Stiles’ personal space. He actually wants him to come back, but how could he ever tell the wolf that when this is just a game? “Why would I fuck with you about this?” Jackson’s voice is soft and full of so much emotion that Stiles almost believes him. 

“Uh, because that’s what you do?” Stiles gestures wildly like it should have been obvious. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that we’re not even friends. You were literally my bully when we were kids. I don’t- and i-it only got worse when I developed a crush on Lydia. Which I get, she was your girlfr-”

“What’s not why I was a dick.” The wolf cuts him off with a shake of his head. Stiles squints an eye at him, mouth still hanging open from the word that didn’t finish. “I was jealous.” 

“Why the fuck would you be jealous of me?” Stiles scoffs and Jackson ducks his head with a chuckle. “Lydia never even looked at me while you were together.” 

Jackson flashes a bemused grin when he looks back, “I was jealous of Lydia, you idiot.” The name usually bitten out comes with a tone that suggests it’s meant to be a term of endearment. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry that I wasn’t fawning over you like your little fan club, okay? My bad. You’re right, you’re incredibly hot and I should’ve stroked your ego by putting you some fucking pedestal-” Jackson swallows whatever other words and the surprised squeak from Stiles’ lips. He stares bug eyed at the wolf’s closed eyes. Jackson presses closer, his hand cupping the other boy’s cheeks while his tongue slides against Stiles’ bottom lip. Entrance isn’t given, he can’t really, Stiles is too shocked to do so. 

The wolf pulls away, still holding Stiles’ face, “I didn’t care that you thought she was attractive.” Jackson drops a hand and lifts his hips, pulling one of Stiles’ legs until the human gets the massage and- for some fucking reason- lays on the couch. The wolf’s hips immediately settle into the space created and Stiles can feel just how much Jackson wants this. Him. “I wanted to be the one you had a crush on because of the massive one I have on you.”

That’s a lot to process. If Jackson liked him then- “why did you make my life hell?” 

Jackson’s free hand falls to Stiles’ hip, rubbing softly and the other props himself on the armrest behind Stiles’ head. “I didn’t know how to handle the fact that I suddenly like guys. Well, a guy.” The wolf sighs, “Lydia knew and agreed to keep my secret as long as I needed her to. I’m sorry I treated you like that.”

Stiles has never seen him act so soft. Having Derek as an Alpha and a proper back must really be working for Jackson. It makes him charming in a way that his jerk persona never could. Being emotionally balanced and all that. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time. And I’ll know if you’re lying. So don’t do me any favors and don’t hide from me either.” The warning is evident. Don’t say it and not mean it. And don’t mean it but not day it. Otherwise he’ll walk. “Will you please, let me fucking kiss you?” 

Stiles fists his fingers in the wolf’s shirt- half expecting Jackson to snap at wrinkling his expensive clothes- to push him away or pull him closer, the other boy really doesn’t know. Until his arm moves of its own volition and Jackson’s mouth gets drawn to him. 

The wolf chuckles against his lips, “finally.” The hand on his hip grips tighter and the other comes back to his jaw. Jackson tilts his head up to deepen the kiss. Jackson kisses like he wants to swallow Stiles whole. Maybe he does. Maybe Stiles would let him. Panting he pulls away again, and the other teen bites back a whine. “I have one more question and then I promise I’ll shut up.”

The human playfully rolls his eyes, “what is it?”

“Be with me.” Jackson states. Stiles cocks his head to the side with a chuckle, that wasn’t really a question. But his heart skips a beat nonetheless at the implication of the wolf’s words. “Will you be my boyfriend?” 

Stiles is nodding before the request is completely out of Jackson’s beautiful face. “Fuck yeah, dude.” The wolf breathes out a laugh at the ridiculousness. “Now just kiss me. Please?” 

“Whatever you want,” Jackson grins and presses his body in further, claiming Stiles’ lips as his own. 

Stiles is now stupidly happy about this storm locking them in Lydia’s lake house. He got a boyfriend out if. 

[onslaughtsixdotcom]

Scaling Up Dragon Heist

Around April or May of 2019, I started to run Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, one of the official WotC 5e hardcovers. I’m still not done with it, although that is largely the fault of COVID and my own extensions to the campaign. 

I think Dragon Heist is one of the better 5e modules by WotC. I think it’s got a strong playground for the characters, and Waterdeep has 30+ years of publication history to draw on. The release of the module also heralded in a HUGE amount of third party extension content, including the famous Alexandrian Remix. I hadn’t heard of this before I started running my campaign and having ideas about how to do it, so it didn’t influence me--although I’m sure we came to a lot of similar conclusions and ideas, based on common perceptions of what the actual flaws are of the module.

Still, despite those flaws, I think they help the module rather than hinder it. It gives the DM a shitload of room to improvise and draw in the margins, rather than some other 5e adventures which feel like they can’t be fucked with in the least.

Here’s the kicker: I started my adventure at level 4. We had a pre-existing party that I had run through the classic N1: Against the Cult of the Reptile God. (Fun fact: A map that I drew is the 3rd Google Images result for that. Woah.)

The party spent a few real-world weeks traveling across about 7 days of overland travel where I ran some drop in one shots; including Mike Krahulik’s Dusk (a Twilight parody) and a really fun 2 hour diversion where the players saw an ancient blue dragon take off the roof of a church during a wedding. Then they arrived in my city: Dawnharbour.

I don’t run the Forgotten Realms. I find it not to my taste. Most of the names suck. The lore is invariably boring or weird, and not the fun kind of weird. I was going to run Dragon Heist, and I was going to put it in my own city. I gave the players some justification previously for why they would want to go there: The cleric’s sister had been kidnapped by the Cult of the Reptile God and turned into a Yuanti; a snake person. The bard had stolen a golden statue of the Reptile God and wanted to melt it down and plate his violin with it. I told the cleric that they would need a high level magic user and someone in Dawnharbour could probably help them; ditto the bard needing a highly skilled magical blacksmith. The third player didn’t really care where they went since he was on the run from his home country. So, off to Dawnharbour. They reached level 4 when they got to the city.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the details of my city or everything I changed for the campaign. Instead, I’ll talk up some hard and fast ways to make the adventure work for a higher level party. Most of them revolve around the encounters. I’m assuming the party will start around level 4 or 5.

Chapter 1

The book opens with the players in the Yawning Portal, a famous tavern with a big ass well to a megadungeon underneath. (More on this later.) They’re hanging out doing whatever when a troll and some stirges pop out of the well. The book says that the players get attacked by the stirges while the owner of the bar, a typical Forgotten Realms 15th level Fighter running a fucking bar for a living deals with the troll.

A troll is CR 5. They can handle a troll. If they can’t, you have a bigger problem.

Next up the book leads them to a Zhentarim warehouse. When they get there it’s abandoned and there are (ugh) 3 Kenku. Kenku are like tengu if they sucked. They’re bird people who can only speak in mimickry, like parrots. They can only repeat words they’ve heard before. This is stupid as fuck (especially when a player wants to be one) but more importantly, they are incredibly weak. I think the kenku are just hanging out or they got captured by the Zhentarim who left them there after they bail or something like that. Whatever.

I put the Zhentarim there instead. I put like 20 Zhentarim. I used the Spy statblock; they don’t have a lot of CR and at level 4 or 5, the players are real slice and dicey about killing them. They can basically carve through two of these dudes in a turn. It was *really* fun to just have the players mow down these mooks. They used the 2nd floor to their advantage, casting Grease on the stairs and creating a bottleneck and then picking them off with ranged attacks and spells. I think I might have given the Zhents 1hp and treated them as minions (see 4e). 

I think I had the police show up after they were all dead; someone heard the commotion and called the cops. I think I also put an NPC there; I shuffled around a bunch of the NPCs the module uses. (They got their quest to save Volo from Bigby in the Yawning Portal; instead of finding Volo here, I think they found my equivalent of Renaer Neverremember.) There was a day’s break between this and them going into the sewers in the next part.

The sewer introduces the Xanathar’s minions. I believe a Duergar is actually there and I took this as a sign--I made most of Xanathar’s mooks Duergar, and then decided--this dude is a Beholder and he has a Mindflayer for a lieutenant. The Xanathar’s forces should ALL be classic D&D dungeon monsters, like rust monsters and umber hulks and ropers. This gives you a wide variety of weird shit you can throw at your players at different CR levels, and the idea of a gangster Beholder who thinks hiring a bunch of umber hulks to go shake down a local deli is fucking hilarious. But, it doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Throw some umber hulks or something in this lair. Go nuts--the weirder, the better. Xanathar’s crew should have no qualm about hanging out with a gibbering mouther or a carrion crawler.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is the least developed chapter in the book. It also revolved around a bunch of Forgotten Realms faction nonsense that I wanted nothing to do with. I used this time instead to formally introduce the Xanathar, the Cassalanters and Jarlaxle. After they foiled his plans to rig a goldfish competition (think a dog show but for fish), the Xanathar became convinced the players worked for the Zhentarim and invited them to have a sit down about their intentions; if they worked for the Zhents he wanted to formally declare war. The players hated the Zhents--they killed an NPC they liked back during N1, partially to set this all up. Xanny was cool with that.

The Cassalanters were a way to introduce a new player. They call up the Blackstaff to say, hey we have a magic item, can you send a guy here to deliver it? (Magic item possession is illegal on the streets in my setting, but if someone important hires you to transport it, then you can do it. This makes being a courier a very lucrative job; lots of people are just carrying around other people’s stuff for a living.) They almost immediately knock out the new player sent to pick up the item, and replace him with their dofflegagher. The idea was that the dofflegagher player would then infiltrate the Blackstaff’s organization.

Blackstaff is no dumbass and hired a random dude off the street--my new player. Then, Blackstaff hired the rest of the party to go rescue him--mostly as a ruse to snuff out the Cassalanters and get evidence that they were shitty.

When they encountered the Cassalanters, I used a Cambion; one of their servants turned into him. This guy slowly became a recurring lieutenant; he was basically the Goldar for the Cassalanter’s Lord Zedd and Rita Repulsa. At the time, I hadn’t read any lore for Cambions; I’m not particularly concerned with monster lore the way the guys who make the game write it. I literally thumbed through my deck of monsters, saw this winged devil horn dude, and said, “Right on, he looks like he’ll work.” A Cambion is CR5, more than suitable for the encounters the party will have with him over the next few levels. The Fiendish Charm ability is fun and can really fuck with the players; I ruled, of course, that anyone under its affect would obviously be free if the Cambion was killed. Even after it was killed, he just kept on coming back, because he’s from Hell and killing him on this plane doesn’t really do anything.

As the players continue to face the Cassalanters, a go-to seems to be spined devils. This is fine but not very powerful for a level 4, 5, 6 party. Therefore I suggest supplanting it with barbed devils. They’re CR5. Adding one or two of those to an encounter with spined devils can make this a real fun encounter that isn’t too horribly overwhelming, especially if at least one of your martial characters has a magic weapon (which they fucking should; they’re level 5!)

IMO you can also introduce Jarlaxle in this chapter; a fun way is through his Zardoz Zord persona. It could simply be that Jarlaxle knows Volo (or any other NPC the players know) and wants to invite them to a free meal to get to know them. In my game, Jarlaxle operates openly as himself (I found it would just complicate things if he was someone else) and invited the players to his yacht shortly after they met the Xanathar, to formally tell them all about the Vault of Dragons, the Stone, and how everyone they have met in the city is after it.

Chapter 3

I am not the biggest fan of this part of the module. I think nimblewrights and similar creatures are really dumb and don’t fit my D&D world. A lot of the stuff in this chapter is investigation stuff, and you can play that out however you like. It doesn’t drastically need scaling up, though you may have to account for something like Zone of Truth that they might not normally have access to. It also helps if you do the opposite of the book, and make the police a bunch of shitheads who don’t care about the city--this way the players are actually motivated to help. I’ve seen a LOT of posts that open with “the fireball happened and my players shrugged and said they would let the police handle it.” Horrible! The police should either be incompetent, apathetic, or (best case) both. They don’t care who did this and if they did, they wouldn’t be able to catch them. Now it’s completely on the players.

IMO it also helps if you do the leg work to make the NPC someone they actually care about. In the book it’s an NPC they’ve never met but they have a mutual acquaintance through--it would be nice if they get invited to a dinner with this NPC or something similar prior to this. Or, change it to be any NPC they like who you don’t mind killing. Hell, they’re level 5 or 6 at this point--if they got a cleric, they can even cast Revivify and wake the dude up. They could even cast Speak With Dead and immediately find out who blew him up or what he was doing here!

Moving on, there’s the Gralland Villa. I retooled the name to actually sound like a good name; sue me. 

The book has a bunch of Zhents hanging out here. A simple way to make this dramatic and hard is to pull the trigger and make the players fight their way in. The stone is right here at the villa and they need to steal it. Sounds simple enough.

Things got complicated for my party when a recurring NPC appeared. She was an ex girlfriend of the bard in our party; they were both Tieflings. She now worked for the Zhentarim and was basically their second in command. And she was here to steal the stone, come Hell or high water. The bard, still in love with her, was perfectly content to let her steal it and even cover her getaway. The rest of the players, not so much, but when the chaos was ensuing and she was literally running past them with the stone in hand, made the decision that it was smarter to try and help her escape and then figure out how to get the stone from her later, than try and get it from her now.

This led literally directly to chapter 4.

Chapter 4

By now it’s obvious: I used all 4 bad guys.

I ran through the chapter and picked the coolest maps and best encounter ideas, including the rooftop chase, the theater, the sewer and the courthouse. I weaved them together carefully, and all the changes I had made to the groups paid off when they entered the theater, chased by barbed devils and our Cambion friend, only to have an Umber Hulk with the Xanathar’s logo painted on his face crash through the stage, flanked by two Duergar. Add in some Drow gunslingers and it was a fucking party.

(the large hexagon is where somebody cast Darkness; the big scuffed circle is a grody spot on my grid tiles. I still need new ones...)

The courthouse had a great scene where the Cassalanter dofflegagher impersonated the chief of police, interrogating the players for the code word to activate the stone (I added one; who cares?) until the real chief of police showed up! The players had to do an entire encounter with this guy while handcuffed; thank god for verbal only spells, right? 

From here the stone ended up with the players, and then it ended up with Jarlaxle who they are working for. Jarlaxle attuned to it and told them the Vault of Dragons is inside Undermountain; 3, 5 levels deep? Who knows? And it requires 3 keys: The Crown of Asmodeus, the Ring of Winter, and the Robe of the Archmagi.

I gave these 3 magic items to the Cassalanters, the Xanathar and Manshoon. This is a pretty common hack and it means the lairs in the book actually get used. I made up one of the magic items (Crown of Asmodeus) and stole another from a module I don’t intend to run as written (the Ring of Winter is, I believe, in either Tomb of Annihilation or Storm King’s Thunder). They’re fun!

So the rest of the campaign has been the players bouncing between going deep into Undermountain, the megadungeon underneath the Yawning Portal, and going to the 3 different villain factions to steal their shit. 

The villain lairs are NOT statted for level 5 players AT ALL. The players have no hope of actually killing ANY of the villains at level 5; to fight the Xanathar is a pure TPK at level 5. But at level 8, like where my players are now? One of them died and then got Revivified; the others all survived or made their saves when they were hit by death or disintegration. (In the spirit of the Xanathar, I rolled every eye beam randomly, rerolling if I had used that ray in the last round.) That’s about the best you can hope for with a Beholder IMO! 

The rest of the lairs you can mostly run as-is. Any very low CR mooks, basically anything lower than 1 or 2 CR, I would probably replace with a higher CR variant. We’ve already discussed what you can replace them with above, and if you’ve made it this far into the module, you should have a pretty good sense of what your players can handle.

[hitsuackerman]

Soom Meetings (Hawks x Reader) nsfw

Prompt: Its quarantine time. You were preparing for a video conference with a few other heroes. Hawks, being the cheeky bird that he is, has other plans for both of you

Warnings:  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), cursing

a/n: this entered my mind since we have to do online meetings w/c are a pain in the ass huhuhu i just thought, what would Hawks do if he were added into the mix? Enjoy my self indulgence xD

Masterlist to my other fics :) here

Taking a sip of your coffee, you couldn’t help but stare blindly into space. It was quite early, at least for you. On a normal day, you would wake up at 10am. Gotta get that full 5 hour sleep heroes dream of. Today would mark the 80th day of quarantine and things were not going well.

The bitter goodness your coffee had to offer now began to circulate your system. The stinging sensation your eyes felt with each blink slowly went away. Yawning somewhat made things a little more tolerable. Staring at the view of your glass windows, you savored the clear blue skies and silence your unit had to offer.

At least for now.

With the steaming cup of coffee in your hand, you tiptoed to your room. A ghost of a smile on your face.

Slowly opening the door, you creeped closer to your bed. Careful not to step on any of the feathers scattered on the floor. Eyes darting to the messed up sheets, crimson wings spread out flat as his back rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His arm hanging limply on the edge of the bed.

Gently, you lifted one of his larger feathers and made space for you to sit down. His hair as messy as always. The tufts of hair splayed all over the pillow. Not a sign of stress on his sleeping face. Unconsciously, your finger began to trace his jaw.

His wings began to crest and his feathers began to fluff up. His hanging hand now blindly searched for you. When he felt the soft skin your thigh had to offer, you quickly placed the cup on the bedside table and waited for him to make his move.

A small squeak left your mouth when he easily maneuvered you back into bed. Bare arms snaking your waist as his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Legs beginning to tangle with each other. One wing now protectively resting above you. There was no doubt in your mind. You adored mornings like this.

“Well, good morning to you.” You ran your fingers through his hair. The feeling of him tightening his hold on you felt lovely.

“I have to admit,” His voice was still raspy. Deep. “This quarantine makes me thankful. I get to spend more time with my favorite hero.”

“Oh… I’m your favorite hero?”

“Fishing for comments?”

“Perhaps.” You giggled. “You are ranked higher than me, though.”

“That doesn’t matter, Lovebird.” He chirped. “You're a rank below me yet you're underground. That’s literally an impossible feat.”

“I honestly don’t know how that happened.” Drawing circles on his back, he let out a satisfied hum. His eyelashes tickled your skin. Hawks was fully awake now.

“Well, we don’t have any patrols scheduled for today.” He shifted his position. Placing himself between your legs you willingly opened. His hands slowly grabbed your wrist and pinned them just above your head. Bringing himself closer to you, he began to trace the tip of his nose on your neck. “How about we continue where we left off last night, eh?”

The sudden grinding of his hip along your accumulating heat was enough to make you wrap your legs around his waist. Tilting your head, Hawks growled a tiny bit before sucking on your tender skin. As he sucked on your skin, he interlaced his fingers with yours.

His morning wood rather evident. He pushed himself on your clothed entrance. Lazy morning sex was something you would want. Hell. Just feeling Hawks inside you was something you would definitely want. BUT, you couldn’t.

“As much as I’d like you to fuck me lazily in the morning,” You managed to free your hand and pushed him away. Your foot resting on his chest, keeping his lust filled eyes at bay. He was pouting and this only made things worse. “I have a meeting in 20 minutes.”

Holding your ankles, he placed your leg on his shoulder and went back to his previous position. His chest now touching yours. His trademark smirk resting on his lip.

“I’m sure you can just turn your video off, baby~” He nibbled on your lower lip and grinded his hips once more. “Or we can just give them a show.”

Hawks felt a tugging sensation on his chest. He knew you were using your quirk on him. The next thing he knew, he was floating away from the bed. Your fingertips emitting a mahogany glow. Placing him on the chair, you sat on your knees and smiled. Acting all innocent. 

“We can do that later.” You stood up and went to the closet. Feeling his eyes following your every movement. You took out your hero costume’s leather jacket and white shirt dress. Used to his stare, you changed in front of him.

“You’ll regret teasing me, chickadee.” He threatened. He stood up and walked towards you. Buttoning your shirt when he was inches away from you. His hot breath brushing your face. When he finished, his hands began to wander your curves as you put on your jacket. “Better watch out, Number 3.”

This man would be the death of you. The way he smoothly held on to your chin while giving you a deep kiss was enough to make you weak. Screw the meeting, that’s what you thought, but this was an ‘important’ one based on the email.

“I’ll be in my office, Number 2.” You booped his nose and went your way. He did, however, smack your bare ass when you turned around. For a second, you played with the thought of grabbing a pair of his boxers but, nah. It would be a lie if you weren’t curious what his antics would be later.

Opening the doors (and leaving them ajar), you immediately went to your PC and prepared everything. When your wallpaper finally appeared, you blushed at the sight. It was one of your first photos with Hawks. Taken approximately 4 years ago.

Opening the Soom app, you let out a silent groan. Everyone was now online and currently waiting for the host to start the meeting. There were 8 green dots. A bunch of heroes that you were in charge of. Edgeshot being one of them.

The meeting was a simple one. A briefing for an upcoming mission to come in 3 months. As to why they chose this online platform still baffles your mind. Your eyes darted to the door when a stray feather began to float it and wander around your office. Right when you were about to call for Hawks, the call for the meeting began.

Straightening yourself, you put on your game face and observed each of the participants. The feeling of weight being slowly added onto your shoulders crept in. Somehow, you had managed to let the spotlight land on you. Because of that, you were given more missions despite not being tied to any agencies.

Teamwork was never your forte. But safety was. You always managed to coax yourself into being a team player by making sure each of them were far from harm.

As the minutes dragged by, the familiar pop of yellow peeked inside your office. Raising a brow, he took that as an invitation and led himself in. A plate of chicken nuggets on his hand. Looking at his wings, you saw how there were barely any feathers. Just the small soft ones.

Your eyes widened when he was just about to walk into your camera’s view. 

“Is something wrong, (hero name)?” Fatgum asked. His voice cutting the meeting. All eyes were on your video now. The corner of your eye twitched when Hawks moved your notebooks aside and sat down. One knee resting on top of the other.

“Nothing.” You faked a smile and your professional tone back. People were still clueless that you and Hawks were dating. The two of you had to thank you being an underground hero for that. “Please proceed.”

The meeting continued and this time you made sure you were on mute before opening your mouth.

“Whatever it is… do NOT.” You scolded him. Eyes not wavering from the call. But, your arm was extended just enough for you to pinch his thigh. The little wince of pain was enough to make you content. 

“Shouldn’t have done that, love nugget.” He took the wandering feather and made it hover around his finger. Instructing the small feather to creep behind your back, the small red thing did its job.

Your breath hitched when the feather brushed your exposed nape. Your body shivered as the feather did small back and forth movements. Yet, in the video, the feather was small enough to be deemed as non-existent. Clenching your fists, you tried not to be bothered by the sensually soft touches Hawks gave indirectly. 

Hawks was now walking away from you. The feather still doing its job. Your eyes were focused but he knew your peripheral vision was on him. Perfect, he thought. Now he was situated across from you. The same playful smirk on his lip. Lifting his hand, he motioned that he would keep his mouth shut.

You knew too well he was playful, cocky, and a tease. So when he began to take his shirt off, your eyes darted to his little strip show. It was not helping one bit that he was flexing his toned muscles. Your throat was definitely dry.

“So what are your thoughts about the plan, (hero name)?” Edgeshot asked. There was no response and all they could see was you and your eyes focusing somewhere else. “(hero name)?”

“YES!” You snapped back. Clearing your throat. “I think the plan looks alright. The division among heroes is compatible. But I am con-”

You jumped from your seat a tiny bit. Your hands held on to the edge of your desk. The feeling of his hands running up and down your thigh was making your core heat up. Having caught you off guard, Hawks managed to pry open your legs. His golden eyes clearly teasing you from under the table.

“I’m, uh, concerned about the entry?” Your hand now held on to his messy hair. Hoping that he wouldn’t go any further than that. The regret of not getting his boxers now flooded your system. Only being in your panties made things much easier for him. You were now biting your tongue and tried to even your breathing.

Hawks was now kissing your inner thighs. Poking his tongue out, he trailed it all the way to the hem of your panties. His teeth tugging the hem and releasing it with a snap. Seeing your jaw tighten and your chest heaving, it only encouraged him.

His finger now began to slide up and down on your panties. A wet spot indicating that you were turned on with his advancement. Spreading your legs further apart, another feather came swooping in and landed straight into his hand. Using the tip, he began to brush it on your skin. The grip you had on his head shattered. 

Using the feather, he sliced the corners of your panties. Looking down at him, you gave him a small pout. One not noticeable to those on the video. You liked those panties and now he just had to slice em. It was still hot though, no denying that. 

“Holy shit~ Keigo~” Thank quirks your mic was on mute. Feeling his tongue lick your entrance made you push your back to the chair. Blinking away the urge to end the meeting and have him take you on your office table. Which, come to think of it, has never happened. 

It was pretty evident that your cheeks were now pink and your eyes hazy. When he sucked on your swelling clit, you fisted some of his hair. Only pushing him and telling him to continue.

“Now that we’ve got that cleared. (hero name). We suggest that you hold another meeting to run through the details.” The chairperson said.

“Fuck, yeah.” It was more breathy than you intended. You mentally slapped yourself.

Both Hawks and your eyes widened. This was getting too interesting for the winged hero. Wanting to push it more, he inserted his middle finger and began to pump slowly. His teeth began nibbling on your lower lips and clit alternatively.

“What I meant to say was, yeah.” Your face was a blushing mess but stoic in their eyes. “Forgive the language. I was rather excited and pumped up.”

“Pumped…” Hawks whispered with a small chuckle. Sucking on your clit one more time, he inserted two fingers. His pace a little faster. Using his free hand, he trailed under your shirt and squeezed on your breast, tugging your hardened nipple.

Releasing the grip your right hand had on his head, you slammed the mute button once more.

“Fuck!”  You covered your mouth and hoped they saw it as a cough. “Holyshitholyshitholyshit!”

Your back was now glued to the back of the chair. Lowering your body a bit, you gave him easier access and he happily licked and sucked your engorged clit some more. Knowing the mute button was doing its magic, he too let out a moan. He was starting to become frustrated. The throbbing sensation in his caged cock was getting out of control.

“When will that meeting be over, baby?” He asked. His fingers doing the work for him as he palmed his cock. His eyes blew up with lust. 

“Shh…” You reassured him. Meeting his gaze, you gave a soft smile. “It’s almost over.”

With hints of frustration, he fully exited his fingers away from your wet pussy. Licking the juices off his fingers, he crawled out from under your desk. All he wanted to do now was to show himself in the video and put an end to his suffering. Taking his boxers off, he stuck his tongue out and tossed it over your head.

No one noticed it except for one.

Your chat box pinged and you opened it.

MT. LADY: GIRL! WTF WERE THOSE BOXERS?!

(h/n): Are you seeing things, Yu? :p

MY. LADY: Dont think I didnt see yer face. Im not as blind as the others.  Who? Do i know him? You dating someone? How did i not see this coming?!

(h/n): Hmm… ;)

That’s all you replied and you closed the chat. Your eyes traveled to Hawks, who was now hovering behind your monitor. Palming his throbbing member. Winking at your flustered face. 

“C’mon baby bird…” He mouthed. He wiped a fake tear away from his eye.

Finally, the chairperson spoke and wrapped things up. When he finally dismissed the meeting you practically left the room without saying farewell. Pushing your chair back, you opened your arms and immediately felt his warm body against yours.

Both your lips crashed into each other. It was the perfect definition of a hot, steamy, and messy make out session. Lifting you up, he placed you on your desk. Your hands pushing any obstacles that lay in your path. Quickly taking your jacket off, you tilted your head as Hawks began to leave a trail of kisses and hickeys.

Impatience won and the winged hero practically ripped apart your shirt. Pushing both your bodies, you felt the cold surface touch your back.

A loud moan escaped your mouth as he began to suck and nibble on your hardened bud. His other hand entering your wet hole. 2 fingers in while his thumb rubbed circles on your clit.

“I want you now, Keigo…” You whimpered as he began moving downwards. Leaving behind sloppy kisses till he reached your abdomen. Taking his fingers out, he used the juice and began spreading it on his cock.

Teasing you with the tip, he brushed it against your clit. Your legs instinctevely wrapped around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer. Before he would put himself in you, he glanced at the door and red blurs came swarming in. Attaching them to the base of his wings. Once all of them were in place, he stretched them to their full span. He knew you were always turned on when his plumage was full while he made love to you.

Resting his elbow beside your head, he gave you a deep kiss. His tongue asking for entrance as he slowly slid himself in. Your back arched with pleasure as he nibbled on your lower lip. Your wet hungry pussy feeling full from his shaft.

Roaming hands found their way to the base of his wings. Giving them a bit of massage before digging your nails into his skin. He let out a growl mid-kiss. Thrusting harder, he earned a loud moan from you. The kind of moan that immediately pushed him to the edges.

His hands found their way to your hips. His grip firm, keeping you in place as he began thrusting into you faster and deeper. The carnal look in his golden eyes slowly ate the coil in your stomach away.

Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. The hickeys now fully visible. The only sound inside your office were the sounds of skin slapping against each other, moans, pants, and loud cursing from sheer pleasure.

“Kei…” You were close and you were not sure how long you could last. “Fuck~ Harder, baby~”

Placing the bend of your knee on his shoulders, he leaned closer towards you and kissed you once more. His thrust much more deeper and he felt his cock twitching. His sinful mouth found its way to your earlobe. Tugging it ever so slightly and nibbling on it.

“Cum for me, Pro-Hero #3.” He whispered. “Show me just how much I can break your walls.”

The last thrust he gave you snapped. You nails dug into his skin while your legs pushed him in even deeper. A wave of heat began to flood your body. Each thrust Hawks did as he rode out your orgasm made your body shudder. Not soon after, Hawks grunted and bit down your neck as he let his twitching cock release inside you. Feeling your pussy milking his cum was overwhelmingly delicious.

Collapsing on top of you, he chuckled.

“You need to have more online conferences, nugget.” He lifted his head and peppered your face with light, feathery kisses. The afterglow evident on your blushing smiling face. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Keigo.” Your leg began brushing his. “Shall we prepare lunch?”

The two of you shared a giggle as his feathers flew out of the room to get some towels and clothes. In your mind, you were already plotting your revenge. Two could definitely play this game.

[shiftytracts]

Stop Wanting More, part 2 of 2 (T/M/A fic)

In which season-four Jon tries to quiet his hunger for live statements by gorging himself on paper ones, and Daisy tells him what she used to do when she got shaky between hunts. Part one here.

Content warnings for this half:

Nausea, and brief descriptions of prior vomiting

Vague discussion of Daisy’s passive suicidality

Animal cruelty and death: Daisy talks about hunting rats for sport

—

“Statement of Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner, regarding—”

“Shhhh! You’ll wake the tape recorder.” Her hand clapped over his mouth so hard his teeth buzzed like mugs in a cupboard. He did his best to say Ouch. The salt on her palm made his inner lips itch. Daisy sighed: “Too late; I can hear it hissing.”

At once the cushions began to lurch again, and his stomach contents with them. On her way past him off the couch Daisy managed both to step on his trouser leg and elbow him in the sacrum. Chills curled up in the shadows of heat she’d left on his forehead, stomach, legs. Her way back into her prior position went smoother, though. She even remembered how tightly to press his belly with hers. Why did returned warmth always make him shiver?

“Alright—skip the spiel. Just Ask.”

“What did you used to do when—” Daisy cut him off with a hollow laugh, which Jon seconded. As soon as he’d begun to speak the tape recorder clicked back on, as he’d suspected it would.

“Whatever; just do it.”

“You won’t be too self-conscious?”

She shrugged. “Won’t matter; I’ll be compelled.”

Jon bit down the wave of remorse and resentment her words stirred inside him. She’d agreed to this—cajoled him into it, even. He could examine those feelings later, when she’d gone to bed. When he was alone, and warm, and.

Unbidden into his head came the passage from Tristram Shandy about the “beds of justice.” He’d never read it before, having got through hardly ten pages of that book, and wondered now for half a second how Beholding could have thought this would help, until there thundered across his mind the words, I write one half full,—and t’other fasting;—or write it all full,—and correct it fasting;—or write it fasting; and Jon swallowed, as if that would make it stop. Less than a second later he could feel his stomach trying to expand around it.

Last week he’d tried reading an encyclopedia—vore-ing it, cover to cover. No good; he quit a third of the way in, when it bored him so much he caught himself fantasizing about its giving him a paper cut he’d have to get up to attend to. Eating fear-free trivia was like trying to fill up on tic tacs. Only when stuffed could he even feel it going down.

He told himself if he didn’t Ask her for her story now he’d only spoil his dinner with more useless facts.

“What did you used to do when you got shaky between hunts?”

“I hunted rats around my flat,” Daisy said at once, in the expressionless way of compulsion. In a voice more like her own, she went on, “Not inside, not at first, just—around the dumpsters. First my building’s, and then some nights the whole block. However long it took before I got too slow to enjoy chasing.

“Then one night I thought I saw one dart past in the corridor. So I left out bait for it, half hoping it’d attract more rats into the building. It worked; I found three in there that week.”

“What do you mean bait?”

Again her first sentence emerged as though she were reading it off a list. “Leftovers, mostly. Wasn’t hard—I didn’t have much appetite for” (in one-handed air quotes, with a huff of laughter) “'people food,’ anyway. I’d just make sure to leave a few bites unfinished, and stick them under the mat at the top of the stairs. Sandwich crusts usually, nothing gross. When I got Chinese takeaway I’d use the cabbage they put in the box.”

To make air quotes Daisy’d had to fish her hand out from under the blanket. Now she returned it to its slot on the side of his gut where hip gave way to bloat. Jon almost wished she hadn’t; he feared the reminder might weigh him down. He felt giddy and light, like if he stood and walked, hell, ran, it might not hurt his legs and chest. Like if he flapped his hands instead of wringing them he’d bump the ceiling. For Daisy to comfort his body he’d have to remember he had one.

“How did you catch them? It does—uh.” Whichever Watcher department took charge of compulsion seemed to know his question ended here, because Daisy responded before Jon could finish his follow-up sentence. (It doesn’t sound like you laid traps, he’d meant to say.)

“By the tail. I ran after them and stepped on their tails and then.” She paused for an entire second and closed her eyes tight, but by the time Jon realized what this meant she’d already concluded: “I snapped their spines with my shoe.”

That was all she said, but not all he learnt about it. The Eye let him—made him hear the crunch. For an instant it shared with him the satisfaction Daisy’d felt at the finality of that sound. It had been a sore spot for her, a then-recent wound, how many monsters didn’t die when you broke their necks.

Then her satisfaction left him, and he felt intensely sick.

“Stop—don’t say any more—I’m sorry Daisy, I didn’t—”

She snarled a sigh. “Yeah, I know. Guess I should’ve told you not to ask about that part.”

“Oh. No, it’s. I'm alright, I just meant, it looked like you… didn’t want to tell me that.”

“No I didn’t,” Daisy concurred, in a tone so flat he wondered whether he’d somehow compelled it.

“Is there anything else you don’t—er. What other questions about this would you prefer I didn’t ask.”

She shrugged. “Everything else is fair game.”

“Okay,” Jon said, wishing that answer reassured him more. “You don’t—need a minute, or?”

Again she shrugged. “Yeah, alright. You look like you might, anyway. How’s your gut feeling.”

It took him a moment to realize she meant his actual gut, not like. When he did he answered without thinking: “Not bad? Ignorable, mostly, but. That in itself is.” He looked down at his fingertips for some loose skin to peel. “I’m… stronger, now, already, my. My limbs feel like.”

Daisy nodded. “Like they could carry you without having to think about it.”

“Quite,” Jon agreed, though he wished as soon as the word left his mouth that he’d picked a different one. Something that sounded less like he wanted to talk about the phenomenon’s downside, its sinister implications. He very much did not.

“The rats, did you… eat them?”

“Ew, Jon,” she replied, like it was obvious. “Not literally, no. Didn’t have to. You don’t literally eat statements either, yeah? I just killed them and it… fed me.”

“But didn’t satisfy you,” Jon suggested.

“No. They didn’t make me less hungry, just made it easier to sleep. And they made my belly swell up like yours.” (She patted his; he huffed in pretended offense.) “That’s why I only did it after I’d gone home for the night: it made me slow. I’d know I’d had enough to go to bed when I couldn’t run after them anymore. When I tried to go without—I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. Soon as I stopped thinking about it, they’d fly open. Or at least, it never felt like I slept. Guess I must’ve done, though, ‘cause sometimes I’d find myself chewing on the bedding.” Daisy shook her head, with a sigh interpretable also as a laugh. “Think I’ve started doing that again. I keep finding holes in Basira’s sleeping bag.”

“Not yours, though?” Jon knew she and Basira slept with the edges of their two sleeping bags zipped together. (A frankenbag, Daisy called it.)

Daisy grinned: “No. Hers is a better texture.”

“Thought you said you didn’t remember doing it.”

“I don’t, but mine looks like it’d be grosser to have in your mouth.”

In reality, Jon had never seen her sleeping bag up close, but now Beholding showed him what it looked like. Once kelly green but now faded grayish, like a pond; the fabric was all over pills. It smelled like wood smoke, Ritz crackers, and the lone sock one finds at the bottom of every suitcase.

“That’s fair,” Jon allowed, hoping the strain in his voice would sound to her like a laugh. Somehow this piece of information, about the godforsaken sleeping bag, had brought his stomachache back way above the “ignorable” waterline. The nauseating smell, maybe? He tried to steady himself with a deep breath, but, well.

“You look sick.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“You’re not subtle, Jon,” she scoffed; “you gasp and writhe.”

Jon tried to shrug, tried to laugh. “I’m fine. It’s just… a lot. I’m alright, I’ve just never.” What, been this full? Compelled an eldritch snack after having already eaten his weight in paper? As if that weren’t obvious. He drew in breath to speak, but still hadn’t thought of an end to his sentence. Then he felt Daisy’s hands—both of them—start to dig shallow trenches, one up each of his sick sides. His breath came out in a shaky sigh.

“That help?”

“Yeah.”

Each time they reached his ribs—or, in the left side’s case, the place where his ninth and tenth ribs used to be—her hands turned back, in a slight arc so that they made narrow ovals, each a little closer to his stomach’s center than the last. Until they met in the middle, then worked their way slowly back out to his sides.

“Could you… keep doing that while I hear the rest of your.”

Her laugh had an edge to it that miiiight have been contempt? But she said, “Sure. What do you still want to know?”

“Uh.” He pretended to have to think about it. “Why don’t you hunt rats now?”

“I don’t want to kill things just because they’re weaker than me.” Daisy’s hands had frozen in place while she spoke these words; now they resumed. She sighed, but Jon wasn’t sure at what. “Rats are fine, they don’t need to die.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re fine,” Jon scoffed; “pretty sure they serve the Corruption. They spread hantavirus, ratbite fever, lymphocytic”—he paused to swallow a wave of nausea, hoping it was the ugliness of these facts and not their sheer bulk that sickened him. He hoped also that she’d assume his voice had caught on the pronunciation, rather than. He cleared his throat and continued: “Lymphocytic choriomeningitis, and leptospirosis. And the plague, of course, though not without help from.”

Daisy groaned, her teeth bared to the canines. Jon could feel her fingers curl into fists, though thankfully none of his skin got trapped between her nails and palms. “That’s exactly the kind of judgment I’m trying not to make anymore. They’re—they’re also good, okay? Rats. Had a friend with a rat once, when I was a kid.” For an instant Jon wondered if she meant Calvin Benchley. Then the Eye told him she did. “You can teach them tricks. Like dogs. His knew how to fetch, roll over, go through mazes to find treats. And they’re affectionate, friendly. The tails are weird, but—they have sweet eyes.”

A huff of laughter tumbled out of Jon’s nose. “All animals have sweet eyes. That’s a pretty low bar.”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

The Ceaseless Watcher seemed to side with her on this, showing him the eyes of lemurs, flies, goats, anglerfish (the regular kind).

“Either way, I hardly think that outweighs the plague.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Daisy insisted, still sounding querulous. She’d retracted her hands now, and held them balled together close to her chest—like Jon himself did when he felt too shy to stim outright. If they hadn’t been talking about rats the attitude probably wouldn’t’ve struck him as rat-like, but.

“It doesn’t always need to matter which one of those things is more important,” she went on. “It feels like it does, but—sometimes that’s just a habit we get into. Some things just are, okay? I like not having to think about it anymore.”

“Right, that makes sense, we can….”

“Besides. I didn’t care about any of that when I was hunting them. The diseases or whether they’re part of the Filth or whatever. I just knew they were gross, and that people were scared of them. That’s the main reason I killed monsters, too.”

“What if you just… caught them and let them go?”

“Monsters?”

“No, rats.”

“I don’t want a substitute, Jon. I’m alright going cold turkey.”

“But it’s not cold turkey, it’s—no turkey.”

Daisy looked at him for the first time in what felt like a while, and smiled, but furrowed her eyebrows. “Just what do you think ‘cold turkey’ means?”

“I know there’s no actual turkey,” Jon sighed, trying to ignore the Eye’s barrage of suggestions for where the phrase might have originated. God, his stomach hurt. He missed having her hands there to rub away some of this nausea and ache. Wondered what he could say to bring them back. Doing it himself at a time like this would’ve felt so. “I just mean, withdrawal is—different. It can kill you, but you’re still abstaining from something that people in general don’t need to live.”

“Aaaand you think people in general need the Hunt.”

“Of course not. I know you know what I’m getting at,” Jon persisted. “You’re talking about starvation—which, unless for some reason the Fears are too sentimental to throw their old husks away, means it will kill you. Not just—‘can.’”

“Maybe. Probably, yeah. If some monster doesn’t come around to kick me off the wagon first. I’ve told you that before, though.”

“…Okay. Yes, you have, that’s. Yes. So then—?”

“What?”

“Why are you giving me a statement!?”

“To commiserate,” Daisy recited first, in the flat tone of compulsion—and then, “Shhh!”

“Tape recorder’s already on.”

“Yeah but Basira’s out there; she might—be asleep. It’s not a statement,” said Daisy. “Just a story.”

As usual Jon let himself fall into the trap. Was it a statement? By Institute standards, maybe not; he wasn’t sure it counted as a supernatural encounter, except from the rats’ perspective. And most of the fear in it was the rats’, too. He supposed you could call it an encounter with her own changing nature? Statement of Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner, regarding her supernatural hunger and how she.

“But why would you feed me a story when the answer you come to at the end of it is that it’s better to starve?”

This time he didn’t mean to compel her—was sure he’d phrased it indirectly enough not to. But Jon was surer yet Daisy wouldn’t have given the answer she did except under compulsion:

“Because I felt sorry for you.” Then she winced, bared her teeth, shook her head; Jon wondered if she’d felt that one. It seemed like people usually didn’t—just heard themselves speak words they hadn’t meant to, and surmised what had happened from that. But maybe after so many in a row she’d begun to feel the static.

“For what? Why?”

“For feeling evil. Because it reminded me of me.” In her own voice: “Think maybe I wanted it off my chest, too.”

So, what? The moral high ground was alright for her, but he was too weak for it? Or, or not, what, spiritually advanced enough to walk that plane? Because he hadn’t been conscious for his six-month limbo between life and death, like she’d been in the coffin?

“But you resist, so—? Why wouldn’t you think I should starve too?” On the ocean floor of his stomach something evil emerged from its hole. “Hhh—wait, don’t answer that, I’m—”

Too late. “Because eating the statements doesn’t hurt anything. The ones already written down—just recording them, it’s harmless. And you can’t give me bad dreams anymore, so—ugh.” Jon opened his eyes to find Daisy clawing at her temples. She shook her head, to the extent she could without knocking into his. “I told you I'm trying not to do that anymore.”

I’m not ready, Jon had meant to say. But seeing how little she liked having answered, he wished he could claim it was for her sake he’d tried to stop her.

He still wasn’t ready to hear or think or talk about this, really. The top half of his belly seared with such pain he couldn’t think straight; lower down it squirmed. He felt perilously sick. His whole body wanted so badly to curl into a ball that his legs wouldn’t quit twitching against Daisy’s. He pressed his elbows into his sides, while his hands hovered, pathetically he was sure, just over the top and center of a stomach he feared would pounce if he dared touch it.

But he felt like owed her some proof he’d been listening. “Do…?”

“Judge people. Decide what’s right for them.”

“I see,” Jon lied; that was all he could manage for now. In truth he needed a break before he could even parse what she had said.

“Turns out I can’t lie to myself under compulsion either. I didn’t think that was the reason?—thought I was just not judging you.”

“I think”—he pushed himself back from her, sure for a second that he was about to be sick. It passed, but his breath caught on it as on panic, so he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.

Especially not since Daisy too shot upright, her nails loudly scraping the cushion behind her as she hurled herself against it. “Shit—turn around—not on the couch—”

“I’m okay, it’s.” He did turn around, just to ease her mind, but the motion required had quite the opposite effect on him. Jon heard the sounds of ragged breath and whimpering, then recognized his own voice behind them.

Daisy’s hands came to perch one on the back of his shoulder, the other on his side between rib and pelvis. “Don’t worry about it, just get it out. We’ll clean it up later—just like last time, remember?” The fingertips of the hand on his side twitched back and forth at his stomach’s very outer edge.

“N—o, I.” He swallowed. “I think I’m alright.” Tried opening his eyes. Nope, not ready. His breath shuddered again. Daisy’s hands vanished from his shoulder and side; he heard the flapping sound of a blanket being shaken out, then felt it flutter and settle on top of him. Must’ve got dislodged when he rolled over, though he was warm enough now he hadn’t noticed. Dimly he recognized this as a victory.

Her hand moved to stroke his back; she kept saying Shhh, but not in the harsh way she had earlier. “You, uh.” Again Jon swallowed, though what ailed him was a lack of spit rather than excess of it. “You weren’t nearly this nice last time.”

“What?” The hand on his back stilled. “I was too! I tied your hair back for you! I let you ruin my jumper by wiping your pukey mouth on it! I sat with you, on the cold hard floor, in front of the toilet, and let you babble all your egghead theories to me about vomit and the Corruption, even though I’d been sick not two days before, and could barely stand the smell even without you philosophizing about it—”

“No, I meant—the time before, when you. Never mind.”

“Oh—when I had to clean it up?” Jon nodded, hoping she’d be able to tell that from the back of his head. “Yeah, well. Guess I like you better now.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Me neither.” And yet she scooted closer to him, hooking her chin over his shoulder. Her hand came to rest on his belly again, its heel in the hollow at the edge of his pelvis. “This okay? You alright with touch right now?”

In response Jon felt around for her hand. When he found it he slotted his fingers between hers, pulled her hand to a sicker-feeling place a few inches higher up, and left his there on top of it.

“Right,” Daisy laughed—“my mistake.” She dragged their combined hands very gently back and forth across the place he’d brought them to. “This where you’re feeling yuckiest?”

His breath caught again, but with surprise and relief this time. With his free hand Jon covered his eyes, willing himself not to think about how ridiculous he must seem to her right now. “That’s, er. That’s perfect, yes.”

“Sure.”

“Though actually—do you think—maybe a slightly… longer stroke?”

Again she laughed. Her hand went limp under his. “Backseat driver. Alright, show me how it’s done.”

It took him a minute to determine that himself. He tried pulling her hand back and forth past his navel, but that grated against something sharp inside. Supposed he couldn’t consult the Oracle for this. Up and down, maybe? Yes, that would do. Or a circle perhaps. Anti-clock—? No, clockwise, definitely. Much better.

Once they’d got that sorted out, Jon said, “I wonder if… you’d let me Ask. One more question.”

“Seriously? I can feel how stuffed you are; how could you possibly want more? Five minutes ago you nearly puked.”

“I’m just—curious, alright? I won’t be sick, I promise.”

“Fine.”

“Did you ever… throw them up?”

“I didn’t eat them, Jon. Told you that already.”

“Alright, poor choice of words. Did you ever—” he tried to think how best to phrase it. “When you threw up regular… people food. Did something of the rats ever come up with it?”

“Yeah. I only got sick once in the time I was doing it, but, I think so, yeah. Thought I was just really out of it at the time though. They didn’t make me sick, I don’t think—just another stomach bug, like the one I gave you. One of those bugs where everything has to come out? And it came on me in the middle of the night, so the last thing I’d”—a pause to sigh; her hand slipped out of his, presumably to make air quotes, but then took it again before he could think of somewhere else to put it—“‘eaten’ was the rats. Not as many as usual; I was already feeling slow that evening. But, yeah. They… it wasn’t their actual bodies, though, okay? I thought I was just dry heaving at first—you know when you’re hanging over the toilet bowl because you know you’re gonna be sick—”

Jon squirmed, fighting a temptation to cover his ears. “Yes, thank you, I’m familiar with—”

“—but you can’t get anything solid up yet, you just retch and drool and cough into the bowl. Well it started then, and then, some of it got mixed up with my sandwich. It was like I… felt their fear, like I—became them, for a second. Each one of them.”

She’d been right; it was too much. God, please don’t make him be the rat! Jon bit his lip ducked his head to his chest curled his toes bent his knees, anything, trying to barricade the doors against the onslaught of information. He pressed his and Daisy’s combined hands hard into the place where his stomach jutted forth from ribs for fear if he didn’t try to equalize the pressure inside from without he might burst like a sheep in clover and flood this whole room in half-ruminated text, a cloud of serifed letters scuttling heinously all over himself and Daisy like half-formed spiders.

“I don’t know how I knew that’s what it was,” Daisy went on. “It wasn’t like I saw the scene again, or heard the crunch, or felt the. Anything like that. I just—was the rat. I was prey. Just for a second. And knew that I—me, as in.” Again her hand slipped out of his. “The Hunter, was about to kill me. And… then it faded and I was me again until the next one.”

Her hand returned to the dome at the top of his gut where he’d last set it, but its ghosts on his palm and between his fingers remained cold. She brushed the hand up and down his belly, airily—oblivious to how its muscles clenched and undulated. Jon panted and forced himself to focus on her hand and nothing else. How it bumped and shuddered when his stomach’s shape morphed under it. How at the end of his every exhale her touch became so light it tickled. This was the present Daisy, and the present Jon. Here on this couch in the Institute basement. Both thin, her bony ilium pressed closer to his sacroiliac joint than was quite comfortable. Warm, except up one leg where the blanket let in a draft.

The one who’d tried to prey on him was long gone. If anything he was the one feeding on her, now. And they just laid on the couch together, massaging her horrors into more comfortable shapes inside him.

“That enough?”

Jon grunted an incredulous huff. “Too much,” he admitted, unable to keep the strain out of his voice. “You were right—I, uh. Didn’t know stomachaches came this size.”

Her laugh sounded affectionate. The lines up and down his stomach morphed into circles around it. “Ha—look how much higher your belly comes up on this side. That must be where your ribs were.”

“Yes, I’ve. Noticed that before, thanks.”

“Think you’ll keep it all down?”

“Hope so.”

“Good luck. Wouldn’t want you to have to relive the rats again.”

Oh, god.

“The less said about it the—better I’ll feel, I think.”

“Well that’s a change,” Daisy mused, patting his stomach as though in summation. “I should get to bed. Be alright on your own?”

“Er.” No, no, no, god please no, not alone yet with all these? “Yes, alright. I should be fine.”

She laughed again. “I’ll stay til you fall asleep.”

--

(For Daisy’s take on “the time before,” when she had to clean up his vomit, see Abyss of Possibilities; to view the drawing in less-bad resolution, see this post)

[syndianites]

The After; The Athar: Chapter One

Chapter 1/?

Chapter 1 [Here] - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

AO3: This Chapter - Full Fic

Summary: Post Season 2, non-Mianitian Compliant. The crew finally land back into the world after the events of Ruxomar. That should be a good thing, right? But Wag is feeling the burden of everything that has happened to him, and he didn’t even get his magic back to boot.

It’s hard to be happy when life has been so shitty.

Relationships: Sparklington (end-game), Marthlington (temporarily), Sparkanite (Spark x Ianite) (past, mentioned), Motanite

Content Warnings: Death Mentions, Implied Depression, Implied PTSD, Self-Deprecation, Breaking up a Relationship (Marthlington)

AN: I’ve been working on this since September? of 2019! I have 5 chapters done and still going. I wanted to wait to post this until I was done with it, but my impatience has gotten the better of me.

@the-moon-pal I’m coming for your crown king >:)

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They’d made it home a couple weeks ago, to the land of Mianite. It’d been such a relief. They got to meet the rest of the alts, got to watch Dianite meet the other gods- and cringe at the tension that crackled between them- got to find all their homes again. For once, in the past-however-long, there was peace. They could relax.

So why did Wag feel like utter shit?

Right. Because he literally got the worst part of the deal.

He thought his powers would come back when they got home. And they did, for a few hours. Not the full range, but a lot of it. It felt good to be full of magic again. It felt like he was himself.

But then things started to fall apart. Martha grew distant. His powers fell away in fits and bursts. He realized that the rest of FyreUK had moved on after they made amends in Ruxomar. They found their way on. Without him.

Nothing was the same, he realized, as he spent more time around the place they had called ‘home.’

Spark had done what he did best: built a city. Well, more like a village. What had once been a place of buildings thrown about at random and mostly open plains was now sparsely populated. Neatly arranged shops and a few houses took up the space next to the beach. New people had even begun to show up.

Everything was changing around him, yet he was stuck holding onto the past. Holding onto his wizardhood, to his brotherhood, to a partner that was farther now than ever, and- worst of all- he was still holding onto the hope that everything would just… go back. To how it was.

To when he was important.

Well, like fuck is he was going to sit around and loathe his existence. He could at least try to do something. Swear to Athar, he wasn’t going to turn into a lump of depression just because he couldn’t handle change! He’d rather be a walking mass of depression! That way he could at least pretend he was being productive.

Potions or spellbooks? A question as old as time. Potions were a staple in his life. If there was one thing that would never leave him, it was his ability to make fucking potions. Like, fucking make potions. Not potions to help people fuck. On the other hand, the more he poured through spellbooks, the more likely he was to get closer to finding out how to get his powers back.

Maybe his powers left when FyreUK left, taking all the glory of Athar with it. But that was too terrible of a thought, so that got chucked in the ‘not-today-bitch’ bin. Which was a handy dandy mental bin that stored all of his worst problems.

He never could fit himself in it, though.

So potions it was.

Now that he was out of the business of magic, most of his money came from his potion making. He had made yet another little wizard- alchemist? Potion master?- tower. Plopped some advertisements in el Pueblo de Spark and took orders to pass the time. He had to fund his botany experiments somehow.  Someone had to introduce weed into this world, that might as well be him.

If he was going down in history for something, that wasn’t ‘Word Renowned Wizard Extraordinaire’, then ‘The Guy who Made Weed’ would sure as hell work. 

Wag pulled up his log of orders. Luck, luck, dexterity, healing, luck, love- yeah, those didn’t really work but he’d make it anyways-, strength, luck, yadda, yadda, yadda. Lots of luck. He could probably get away with making a batch or two of luck potions, then work through the rest.

He spared a glance outside. Spark’s little hut-square town was beginning to develop into a pleasant little fishing hole. Surprisingly- or not, given how deep the waters were nearby- the place was actually a fairly hot place for single fish to mingle. Warm waters, nice and deep, lots of cover, and not much human interference. Until now, anyway.

Either the fishermen were starting to get a fair amount of revenue going or they really needed help. Luck potions were among his most expensive. The ingredients were hard to acquire regardless of how you made it.

Rabbit’s foot? Morally and physically hard to get a hold of. Rainbow trout? Terribly rare. ‘Star-light Fruit’? Not even confirmed to exist.

His method was a little more straightforward. A butt load of four-leaf clovers, a tiny bit of alcohol, and a fuckton of glitter. Clovers for the magic, glitter for the look, and alcohol for the feeling of being lucky.

It was a very bullshit potion.

It took forever to find the clovers, let alone collect them.

Athar give him strength.

Giving one last look outside, he tucked his log book in his cloak. Then he went and rummaged through his chests.

Monotony here he comes.

~~~

Wag was halfway through his second batch of luck potions when a distant knock came from his door, followed by the sound of bells. If not for the bells he’d have ignored the knocking. With a stretch, he putzed down the stairs. The many flights of stairs.

He missed being able to make elevators.

Opening the door revealed one Mr. Sparklez, hair tousled but otherwise neatly groomed. He was relaxed, if not a little winded from his trek up the hill Wag claimed as his own.

Wag smiled. “Hey Sparklez, what brings you up to my tower of terror today? Here for a chat or a swanky danky potion?”

He gestured for Jordan to head inside and get comfortable, but the man waved him off. “Actually,” Jordan started, “I was wondering if you’d seen Martha? I needed to ask her something and I haven’t seen her all day. Figured she’d be with you.”

Ah, so Jordan wanted to find Martha.

Ouch.

Doing his best to ignore the squeeze in his chest, Wag kept his smile firmly in place. “No, I don’t think I have. She, uh.” He paused, going for a nonchalant shrug. “She doesn’t come around the tower all that often. I’d ask Spark instead. She tends to hang around him more. Her good ole pops and all, y’know. They do have a lot to catch up on.” Wag tried to ignore how weak his words sounded. He didn’t want it to sound weird that Martha wouldn’t come around, but instead he just sounded pathetic.

Great.

Jordan gave Wag an awkward smile, seemingly uncomfortable with the sad display. “Ah, alright. I’ll ask around for Spark.” 

He turned to leave but caught himself before he was fully turned away. Jordan chewed on his words. “Are you-” His eyes swept over Wag. “How have you been? We don’t see you as much anymore. Other than Tom, I guess, but it's hard to get rid of Tom once he decides you’re friends, y’know?”

“I’ve been,” Wag wanted to laugh, but pushed through the sentence, “swell, thank you. I would get out more, but I’m always so busy potion making. Gotta pay the bills somehow.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. It wasn’t the exact truth, but he did spend a lot of time on potions.

Letting his shoulders settle, Jordan gave a small laugh. “Who would press a wizard to pay bills? Someone who wants to catch on fire, I’m sure.” He opted for a friendly smile. “If you ever want to hang out or something, let me know. I’ve been getting kind of bored between Spark telling me how to be a better champion of Ianite and living in an actual, peaceful society.”

Wag waved after Jordan as he began his descent. Yeah, a wizard. A frown tugged at his face while he shut the door.

A real fucking wizard.

~~~

Making potions was rather methodical. Each step took a certain amount of time, each item had certain effects, meshed certain ways with other items. It was like following a recipe, but with bigger consequences for messing up. Cooler results, though.

Wag had just finished melting down the clovers he’d gathered and extracting the essence- which is to say he lit it on fire after sprinkling a generous amount of blaze powder on it- when Jordan had stopped by. Which was convenient, since he needed to wait for the weird half-liquid half-slime to cool off enough to move it. The awkward potions, glitter, and alcohol were already prepped. Now all he needed to do was mix shit together.

Oh joy.

At the very least, it was satisfying to roll the clover essence into little balls to plop into an awkward potion and then watch them dissolve. The clover gave the essence a natural, healthy green color while the blaze powder, which clung to even the most thoroughly washed slime, gave it something of a yellow highlight. Golden glitter gets dumped in to make it feel like you were about to drink something special. Yes, the glitter was edible. No, most people didn’t realize he put glitter in this shit. Then the alcohol was for that background buzz. It was meant to dull the senses just enough to trick people into believing, wholeheartedly, in whatever god-forsaken abomination he just made.

Sorry. What ever divinely crafted, totally safe potion he’d just made.

Sure, he didn’t test it himself, but it seemed to work well enough for the people he gave it to. So where was the harm?

It was fine.

The next part was perhaps the most boring. And he’d spent all day yesterday crawling on the ground looking for four-leaf clovers.

Tagging and packaging. Writing names on slips of paper, tying them to the potion, putting it in a small, padded box to prevent any breaks. Rinse, repeat. It was annoying, wasted money, all that jazz, but it helped the look. Who wants to be handed a regular old potion, by hand, when you can get it in some majestic looking box to really add some sparkle to your magic?

Maybe Ruxomar rubbed off on him in a bad way.

In any case, the look was important, and by Athar was he going to make it look fucking fantastic.

Unfortunately, this task was also terribly, horribly monotonous. Worse yet, it left room for thinking. And thinking was Wag’s least favorite pastime since floating in the Void. Especially since floating in the Void.

It lead to him thinking deeply about himself and Athar knows that most of his life problems could be traced right back to that. His mistakes, his fuck ups, his shortcomings, all of it came back to him thinking way too hard about himself. 

Gross.

Instead, he tried to run over potion recipes in his mind. Or any recipe, really. All the different ways to make a fire resistance potion when you don’t have magma cream. Counting how many potions used lemongrass. Figuring out what potions would make it more likely to catch fish. Literally anything. As long as it was potions, it was fine.

Not about himself, not about Athar, not about wizards, and not about… Martha.

Yeah, that last one would be a one hit k-o. 

But now that his mind had touched on the subject, it dug in. Sunk it's claws into the delicate stability of his mind. Dramatic, he knows, but that’s how it felt. It was like the more he tried to get the thought out of his mind, the further it burrowed into him. Awful, painful, and not even worth the effort.

Martha… clearly didn’t care about him anymore. Or, well. He winced at the thought. She didn’t love him like she used to. If she, uh. Did in the first place. But this was old news. This was something he pondered after she seemed to avoid him like the plague, seemed to grimace when she looked over and saw him and not him.

Steve.

The name sat heavy in his head. They hadn’t meshed well, ‘specially where Martha was concerned. But they managed, for her, because they loved her.

Wag felt guilty, looking back on it now. For stealing their time together, for messing with their relationship. They hadn’t gotten to be together enough, had lost too much time before-

Yeah, he didn’t like thinking about Steve more than he didn’t like thinking about Martha. Wag didn’t feel like he deserved to think the name, let alone put himself up against his image. Steve was a hero. He rebelled against Helgrind in a cunning, intelligent way, he was selfless in more aspects than any of the heroes that appeared in Ruxomar, and he was the one to sacrifice the most. To sacrifice it all.

Where did Wag stand against that?

Honestly, it was no wonder Martha couldn’t stand to look at him. He was just a reminder of Steve, a reminder that she didn’t have Steve. That she had him instead. 

Had she ever loved him?

That wasn’t the point. The point was that Martha was hurting, trying to pick up the pieces of what she left behind in Ruxomar. What she had lost. And Wag wasn’t doing anything to help. He was stuck up in his tower, making potions, trying to forget about everything that he wasn’t.

He should try to look for her.

But the last time he did, he got turned away. She was “catching up with her father.” She was “busy settling into the new world.” She was “trying to get a grip on her new goddesshood.”

Wag was persistent, but even he could get the hint.

By Athar, he got the hint. “I don’t want to see you.” “Don’t come near me.” “You can’t help me.” 

He wondered if Spark was doing anything to help her or if he was also caught up in everything that had happened. From what he had learned about the man in Ruxomar, he was devoted to his wife. No, he gave everything for his wife. Learning she was dead after working up everything to see her again?

He had played it well. When he heard the news, Spark kept strong, only letting his tears show. If he had gone home later after parting with Martha, who had her own grief and guilt, crumbling on the inside no one would know. And if he had locked himself away and let everything loose, let himself break, none would be the wiser. But they could guess, they could give him a passing glance, a thoughtful frown.

Wag wondered if he still carried that grief around with him.

Spark had taken to trying to discipline Jordan to be a better champion of Ianite. It had made the man uncomfortable with getting told he could be a better follower and all. Or rather, having it implied that he wasn’t the best follower. Spark was stubborn in ‘training’ the champion of Ianite to be a full fledged follower.

Still, Jordan didn’t appreciate the sentiment.

Wag understood. Having the husband of the very goddess you watched die get on your case about being a better follower? When the crushing weight of guilt hadn’t fully let off your shoulders? He wondered if Spark hadn’t taken to coaching Jordan to make himself feel better, to remind himself that he would have kept Ianite safe, that he would have fixed the world before it broke out from under them.

It sounded like torture.

But it helped settle Wag. Call him selfish, but he felt better knowing other people had real problems, real grief, to deal with. Sure, Wag had his hang up with Martha. Yeah, he had his issues with being-a-wizard-yet-not. But he wasn’t as close to neck deep as Spark was. Like Martha was.

He wished belittling his problems made them feel less suffocating.

Martha. Martha was still pushing him away. And he was letting her. What did that say about him? About their relationship?

A sigh heaved out of his chest. It was like someone stuck a large rock right in his rib cage, tucked neatly between his lungs. Hard, heavy, and an all around burden. Potions. He needed to think about potions.

His hands betrayed him with a subtle shake. How many names did he have left to write? How many boxes did he have left to pack? Fuck if he knew. He had to keep counting, to find a way to wrap up all his issues, his panic, his fear, into a nice little package and tuck it away like a forgotten gift.

Athar help me, Wag tried to control his thoughts, I might drive myself insane by the end of the year.

As if on cue, another knock at his door broke his thoughts. He tried not to feel relieved to rush away from his potion packaging. He was fine, cool as a cucumber.

Throwing open the door, he came face to face with his second visitor of the day. Tom.

Tom was standing in front of his door almost uncertainly, like he wasn’t quite sure why or how he got there. He took one sweep over Wag’s unhidden face and a determined, focus look set in on his own.

“We,” Tom looped his arm around Wag’s in a sudden movement, “are going out somewhere. No if’s, and’s, or but’s.” 

Eyebrows shooting up, Wag let himself be dragged from his house with an aborted motion to close the door behind him. He mournfully watched his door stay ajar. Hopefully no one else ventured up the hill today, otherwise he might be down a few potions.

“Why?” Wag turned his attention back to Tom, who was resolute in his intention of pulling Wag away to Athar knows where.

A grin was shot in his direction. “You look like you need to get out of the house. Also, I’m real fuckin’ bored and you’re clearly in need of some company.”

A wry smile snuck on Wag’s face. “Oh lucky me. We should get some tea, live up to our trademark.”

Tom nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s hit town. Fuck it up. Flaunt our hero-ness and get shit faced.”

“Let’s not get shit faced, and especially not get kicked out of town for making a ruckus.” Wag fondly rolled his eyes. “I do quite like living here and it’d be a shame to have to follow you around to make sure you don’t die.”

Tom gave a mocked offended gasp, free hand coming up to his forehead as he leaned away. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I’d never die if I didn’t live in a community. I’m a rogue, don’t you know.” He sniffed. “I can easily hold my own in the dangerous wilds.”

“Without anyone to pester and annoy?”

“I can pester anything!”

Wag bit his lip to stop a laugh. Tom always brought such energy with him. It was refreshing. Maybe he was right, he just needed some company.

He wouldn’t say that to his face, though.

“I suppose so,” Wag continued, “You are rather persistent. I bet you could annoy the sun into setting early.”

“Nah, I’d blow that fucker up instead.” Tom winked, snuggled back up to Wag, effectively trapping his arm. “I still think we should get shit faced. Drink our sorrows into the drain, throw them up another day.” 

Wag mock gagged. “I’d rather keep them down the drain, thank you. Besides, what a waste of alcohol. If I’m drinking, I’m drinking to keep it down. Not!” He quickly cut Tom off, “That I want to go out drinking.” He eyed the sky, giving a disapproving look to Tom when he saw that it was still early afternoon. “No one should be getting drunk before the sun touches the horizon.”

With a pout, Tom leaned into Wag’s side. “Lame. I suppose,” he drew out the word, “we could go get some good old fashioned tea. Call it a pre-game without the game.”

Wag rolled his eyes. He wasn’t looking to out game his issues. That wasn’t a solution. It’d just make him turn into a sad drunk and give him a headache in the morning.

This is why he needed weed back.

But also, he didn’t want to develop another problem. Gotta keep it clean. For now.

Tom still had his own plans, alcohol or no alcohol. “I find when I’m feeling down that doing something batshit stupid makes me feel better. We should go fishing with our bare hands- no, with only our teeth- and no shirt on. Attract ladies and gents to us alike. Are they looking at our finely chiseled chests or our daring courage? Who’s to say.”

“You are far from chiseled my friend. Try soft.” Wag poked Tom in the stomach jokingly. “And who said that I’m feeling down?”

“Hey!” Tom swatted his hand away. “I’ll have you know I’m more ripped than you’ll ever be!” He huffed, squeezing Wag’s arm. They walked in silence for a moment, now upon the town. After wandering the street for a second, Tom spoke again, quieter. “I had this feeling.” Wag eyes him. “It was weird. My gut was telling me to check in on you. And then when you opened the door it was written on your face. Even I’m not dumb enough to miss that.” 

Wag heard the unspoken I was worried carried in Tom’s words. Talk about soft. He squeezed Tom’s arm back. “Oh wow, a gut feeling?” He teased lightly, “I think it was just you missing my magical presence. It is hard to go too long without seeing me.” If only that were true. “But I’m here now, and we can go do something absolutely stupid, just for you.”

They share a smile, a quiet thank you floating between them.

Tom gets a glint in his eyes. “Does this mean we can go catch fish with our bare hands?”

“I suppose so.” Wag drawled. “How else are we going to show off our toned figures?”

That got him a laugh, one concerningly maniacal, and he was dragged between houses.

Yeah, he might regret this.

Tom turned and gave him a smile that was all teeth and no common sense. He paused next to the shore, a little ways off from the docks. Shucking his clothes, one Tom Syndicate stood proudly in his underwear, unconcerned about the effect of sunlight on zombified skin. People gave them a look of distaste.

Oh, he was definitely going to regret this. 

~~~

Soggy was one way to describe how Wag felt. Wet as shit was another. All in all, he was rather pleased with himself and the rather large, shiny fish sitting in his lap. The fish which so happened to be a fair amount larger than Tom’s.

“Oh fuck you.” Tom spluttered around a mouthful of fish, laying down an arm’s length away. He had gathered quite an amount of fish, a solid number for catching something with your mouth alone. None of them were that large. In fact, most were an average, if not slightly below, size.

Wag eyed the pile smugly. He may have only caught two, but damn if he didn’t go big.

“Well, it seems that I’ve caught myself a winner.” He tried not to look too pleased. The look on Tom’s face told him he failed.

Tom scoffed, letting the fish fall to the sandy floor with a wet fwop. “You got lucky! Clearly, quantity wins the game here. Sure, you caught one big, old, dumb motherfucker, but I caught a dozen other dumbass fish! I should get the win.”

“Wasn’t size the goal here?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

Before Tom could fire back, a voice from behind interrupted him. “I think the two fools sitting in their underwear soaked to the bone are both losers.”

Wag tilted his head back to see Tucker standing with his hands in his pockets, back slouched, and an easy smile on his face, standing just where the sand turned to grass. Next to him was one lovely fox lady, Sonja herself, and one Sparkle butt, Jordan.

Nice to see the gang all here.

Tom sat up. “How dare you! I’ll have you know we are the best fishers on the island!”

Tucker raised a single eyebrow. “Really now? Are all the other fishers out at sea today?”

“Well excuse you, Mr. Boner. I’ll have you know we caught all of this,” Tom sweeps his arm across their score. “And I think that’s quite the haul.”

“How long did it take you?”

“Fuck you.”

Tucker snickered, moving closer to poke his foot into Tom’s side. “That’s what I thought.”

Wag, meanwhile, was carefully moving his prize to the side so he could stand up. Brushing the sand off himself, he exchanged a smile with Sonja and a nod with Jordan. Sonja gave him a good natured headshake. “And here I thought you were smarter than this.”

Jordan’s eyes trailed down Wag’s chest before flittering away. “Right down to your boxers? Tom must have gotten you good.”

“Well, I was fairly set on getting a nice cup of tea and walking across the beach, hand in hand like real lovers, but Tom was far more intent to go all macho and catch fish with his mouth alone.” Wag leaned in with a hand against his mouth to give a stage whisper. “Between you and me, I think he’s trying to step up his oral game.” He winked.

Jordan groaned, giving Wag what he thought to be a rather dramatic eye roll. That wasn’t even the worst he had to offer, and he’d given him such an easy setup! Sonja waggled her eyebrows and giggled when Tom butted in. “It’ll never be as good as yours dear.” He batted his eyelashes mock innocently.

The group burst into laughter. Tucker stepped closer, swinging an arm around his vaguely damp shoulders. “Hey, it’s nice to see you out and about man. It’s been a hot second. Almost thought you’d drank the wrong potion and kicked it or something.” 

Wag nodded seriously. “Quite the real possibility. Why, just yesterday I almost drank real glitter! The kind you’re not supposed to eat.”

“Been there,” Sonja added, “I thought I was going to die when I did. Just gave me a very colorful trip to the bathroom.”

Tom grinned as he moved to elbow Jordan in the side. “I bet our good ole Captain here wouldn’t know the difference. How else did he get his namesake, right Mr. Sparkley Butt?”

“Hardy har,” Jordan gave Tom a fondly disgusted look. “The name’s Captain Sparklez, that ‘namesake’ came from you giving me a stupid nickname.”

They fell into more chatter, giving Tom and Wag the time to put their clothes back on, Tom not caring that he was still wet as he put his suit back on, while Wag just slung his cloak over himself. No point in putting pants on over wet underwear.

The group, all now clothed to some extent, began to wander back towards town. Wag was more than content to listen to Tom ramble on. He would get interrupted by Tucker when he said something ‘incredibly stupid’ and, more rarely, by Jordan, who would correct some technical thing that Tom clearly did not give a shit about.

Sonja drifted next to him, giving Wag a conspiratorial smile. “You’re looking mighty fine in just a robe and boxers. Is this the bedroom Wag special? Or is that sans boxers?” 

“The bedroom Wag special is whatever you want it to be.” He winked. “It’s magic all around.”

They exchanged a laugh, falling silent again.

Wag knew that wasn’t what Sonja really wanted to talk about.

She looked back at him, a warm look in her eyes. “It’s nice. To see you out. Been a while, y’know?” Sonja stretched her arms out in front of her. “It really has been a bit since we’ve talked. And since you’ve left the house. But honestly?” Her tail swishes behind her. “I could have made a few more treks up that damn mountain myself.”

Shaking his head, Wag elbowed her side lightly. “It is a fairly tall hill, but I think mountain is a bit of an overstatement.” It was, in fact, a bitch of a climb, but Wag didn’t think it was that bad. He’d put the tower just on the other side of the Glowstone Forest, across from the Priest’s house. (What was it called again? Forest of the Void? Abyss Forest? Obsidian Trees? Yeah, he didn’t know or care). 

Left unsaid was a ‘That’s okay, you don’t have to go out of your way’.

He received an eye roll. “Please, the only trek worse than that is up to where Tucker’s first house was. I was so happy when we moved it down the mountain. Well, into.”

It’s no trouble, her words left hanging, I don’t mind.

Wag huffed. How dare she be considerate. “You know what’s worse than a trek up a mountain? A trek up a mountain to get some rare flower, only to be spited by the universe and have not a single flower growing up there. Honestly, I could use some help from someone so used to climbing mountains.” A smirk pulled at his face. “Or maybe just send someone up there for me.”

We could always hang out when I’m playing master botanist. If you’d like.

Sonja smiled at him, but couldn’t resist getting a dig in. “Aw, did you skip leg day? Have some chicken legs over there? That’s alright, I’m sure someone,” she tilts her head, eyes sweeping past the buildings around them, “would be willing. Get a nice little lackey so you can rest your old bones at home and complain about how the cold makes your joints stiff.” 

“How dare you,” Wag sniffed, hand held up to his heart. “I’ll have you know, my joints are just fine in the cold! Some of us just aren’t made of the cold, little miss fox.”

Sonja, ever so mature, stuck her tongue out at him.

They kept up some conversation, occasionally stopping to listen in to whatever Tom was saying. Wag, for a moment, realized that he had missed this. Missed them. That even though he wanted to avoid all the new things in this world, he’d always have his friends.

A quiet, hopeless voice asked if they’d leave him too.

~~~

There was nothing quite like hiking up a hill, in only your boxers, a little buzzed, during the night time. The pure amount of skeletons that had sniffed around looking for a cheap shot alone was bad enough, but the fact that his legs already hurt from struggling to fish with just his mouth without drowning? Yeah, it felt more like he was climbing up a mountain that was near vertical.

Fuck gravity.

A pit of warmth had settled in his chest a couple hours ago. Whether it was the alcohol that Tucker, of all people, had got the group into drinking or just the effect of being with friends for a while, Wag felt content. Not a common feeling in recent times. It was nice.

Really nice.

Upon reaching his door, his mind scrambled to figure out why it was left slightly open. He shrugged. As long as nothing was missing or stolen, he didn’t really care.

He made his way inside- making sure to actually close the door behind him- and wandered over to the stairs. Ah, his mortal enemy. Between being a wizard way back when and the magic rampant in Ruxomar, he had gotten way too used to avoiding stairs. Now it was a chore to move up and down the tower. But his bed was upstairs and he was not sleeping on the crappy couch he shoved into the lobby for guests or customers again.

So stairs it was.

By the time he got halfway up the stairs, he wanted to quit. Why, in Athar’s name, did he put his room on the third highest level? Stupidity, that’s why. The view was so not worth it.

When he actually made it up to the correct floor, he pushed the door to his room open, chucked his clothes to one side, and collapsed in bed. Now this, this was worth it. Soft, plush, warm, and very much without skeletons.

The less arrows being shot at him the better.

A soft chuckle caught his attention. Or rather, killed the peace he had wrapped around himself mere hours earlier.

He didn’t move. Not because he was scared. No, he knew who was in his room. He just wanted to pretend, for a moment, like this was something he was used to.

Like coming home to his lover being home wouldn’t surprise him.

The bed dipped beside him and his robed and boxer-ed glory. A hand ran through his hair. Wag tried not to tense.

“Seems like you had a good night out.” Her voice was like silk, soft and pleasant on his ears. “Hopefully they didn’t hassle you too much.”

Wag breathed. His chest was tight, emotion punching at his ribs. “Yeah,” he said, “It was nice to have some time with them again.”

All of this felt so forgein, now. To have her here. Was she here? Or did he drink more than he had originally thought. Shit.

Martha scratched his head. “I do have to say, I’m surprised that you actually left the tower. You’ve been holed up here for so long I thought I’d have to drag you out.” He could hear the smile in her voice. Or maybe he was imagining it. His head was a mess and he wasn’t quite sure what he was making up and what was real.

It was kind of pathetic.

He laughed. “Yeah, Tom showed up and dragged me out. Not complaining though, I had a lot of fun. It was nice to take off from work. Making potions gets boring.”

So did sitting in your own depressing thoughts, but that was more exhausting than boring.

“Oh,” Wag turned his head to face Martha, looking up at her. The darkness made her hair stand out. It looked like a halo around her face, bringing out her lovely lilac eyes. She was just as beautiful as the last time he’d seen her. But there was something heavy in her eyes that she tried to wipe away when his own reached her. “Jordan was looking for you earlier. Did he ever find you?”

Martha blinked and the heaviness was gone. Ish. He knew it was there. Somewhere.

“Ah, no.” She frowned. “I’ll have to see what he needs tomorrow.”

He nodded. To be honest, Wag wasn’t convinced Martha was actually sitting here with him. Which was kind of sad. Very sad.

“I can come with, if you’d like,” Wag rushed out, trying not to sound desperate. “We haven’t had much time together, which is understandable with your dad being around and all the stuff you need to do. And, y’know, it’d be nice to walk with you for a bit.”

Oh, he sounded so desperate.

Yikes.

A smile graced Martha’s lips. “Sure, I’d love that.” Wag let out a breath. “We’ll take a stroll, get a nice scenic view of the beach as we go, call it a date-” She cut off. The heaviness came back to her eyes. Wag knew what she was thinking. Who she was thinking about.

It hurt.

“I’m going to go take a shower before getting ready for bed. You can go ahead and sleep, if you’d like. I know you’ve had a long day and you’re probably tired. Don’t force yourself for me.” Martha stood as she said this, fingers trailing in his hair. Then she left.

Reluctantly, Wag got up to do just that. Changed his boxers and hung up his cloak. Buried himself back into bed, under the covers.

Yeah. It’d be a date.

~~~

Martha didn’t like to get up early. Neither did Wag. Normally, this lead to them sleepily cuddling until one felt so inspired as to get up. Normally.

Ever since the group returned to the land of Mianite, Martha didn’t sleep as well. Between nightmares, being a fledgling goddess, and the… absence of certain people, she found herself waking earlier and earlier.

Wag had his fair share of sleep troubles. Where sleep troubles stopped Martha from sleeping as much, it led to Wag sleeping more. The less he slept the more exhausted he was. The more exhausted he was the more he slept. It was a vicious cycle and actually the reason Wag didn’t leave the house as much.

Nonetheless, both found themselves getting ready to leave just after dawn. Martha moved like last night didn’t end awkward and uncomfortable. Bright, cheerful, and painfully affectionate with Wag. Like she hadn’t been avoiding him for the better part of their stay here.

The worst part was that this wasn’t the first time she came back like nothing was wrong. It was almost like she could tell when he was starting to doubt their relationship. Except, he was constantly doubting their relationship. Even when things had been going well. But this time, it was like she knew when he was thinking about how much of a relationship they didn’t have.

Which was concerning if she actually knew what he thought.

Wag, on the other hand, moved like a zombie. Tired, groggy, and barely awake. The picture of early morning beauty. It wasn’t far off from how he used to act, but now it was like someone had chained weights to his feet.

Damn, he was tired as shit.

Martha had set about making some breakfast from the little food he had. Some eggs, some- thankfully not spoiled- fruit, and milk. Wag was pretty sure he didn’t have milk, but he wasn’t going to question it. She was the more magical of the two, now, so it was within reason that she could get milk in the few minutes he’d lagged behind her in getting out of bed.

He, on the other hand, was on the task of making coffee. Coffee was something of a luxury here, since it was so new to the land. It wasn’t grown naturally on the island and Wag wasn’t sure if it was imported from some far off place or if it had been introduced by the earlier dimension hoppers that still hung around. Spark, for sure, seemed to run on the stuff.

That didn’t really matter to Wag, though. He had a plant of it in his garden, for ease of access, but more importantly to see if it could be used to help crossbreed weed into existence. No far off land had procured the plant yet, so he would still strive to be the maker of weed.

Not the best plan in the world, but that wouldn’t matter once he actually made the plant.

He really shouldn’t be encouraging substance abuse.

Surely, coffee would wake him up. Then he could go on a walk with Martha and do that thing they seemed to do where they avoided those topics and pretended like everything was fine. And maybe, just maybe, they’d enjoy the conversation. Maybe they’d feel something again, feel whole for the brief moment where they let themselves forget about the person who was missing, the person that clearly held more place in Martha’s heart for it to have torn so much when he-

Maybe Wag would get his shit together and let things die between them.

Maybe he’d decide that fighting an uphill battle wasn’t worth it.

For now, though, he was content to pretend things were the same. It was better than being entirely, wholly alone. And, deep in his heart, he still loved her. So, so much.

Enough that he knew it would hurt no matter what he did.

They chatted over the food Martha cooked. She complemented his coffee, the beans from the plant he owned, and he told her that the cooking is just as good as it’d always been.

Neither mentioned that it was usually Steve, not either of them, that did the cooking.

They tossed little affections at each other with ease. Like it was second nature. A brush of hands, a quick smile, a peck on the cheek. It was like a dance. As though they were trying to make a show of how much they still cared, how much nothing had changed despite the fact that everything had changed.

Hands loosely held together, they left the house as a unit, holding up a conversation with ease. If either of them tripped up in their speech as they avoided that topic or this word, neither called each other out for it. For all that everything was off and wrong, they made it work. They found a way to shove a cube into a round hole.

Whether it was because they wanted it to work so bad or because the hole was a giant chasm with space for miles was up to debate.

The beach was calm in the early morning. Fishers were stocking up their ships to start up on their daily trip, tightening a rope here, making space there. Few people walked about the town, the kids either asleep or getting hassled to eat breakfast. With so few people out, it felt like they were on the outskirts of life, just the two of them. Like viewing the world through a painting.

That illusion was helped by the sheer height of Jordan’s tree. It was still there, despite the damage it had received when Tom got to it. If he looked closely, Wag could see the remains of burn marks and grooves held in the thick bark. He had heard that, after the heroes had left, Ianite had nursed the tree back to life in honor of her lost champion.

He ignored the fact that Ianite had sent them into the void in the first place.

Wag himself had left before that, called on to help the heroes that he had watched over as a distant wizard. Even now, he wondered if it had been worth it. To lose everything because he was asked to. In his weakest moments, he wondered if it hadn’t been the gods’ way of throwing him out.

That thought hurt the most out of everything in his life and he never let it linger.

It wasn’t long before they made it to the base of the hill that Jordan’s tree- sorry, Jerry’s Tree- sat beside. They weren’t that close to getting inside yet, but it was a milestone.

As they climbed the hill, massive roots stretching out below them, Wag started up some conversation about the different species of trees. He never once mentioned apple trees. It was part of his botany, after all, and important to keep track of. The types of trees, not apple trees. Apple trees were just one of those topics and therefore something they made an unspoken agreement not to talk about.

He pondered, during his ramble, that Martha could have just flown up the tree. She could do that, after all. Wag couldn’t. Not anymore. The worst part was that he’d help build this tree, or, well, make it. Way back then. That was a sore spot to think about, but even still he was in awe of the tree. Not because of the fact that he's contributed to it- no, he had felt a sense of pride for that a long time ago. Rather, because of how it’d regrown.

Ianite’s gentle hand had turned it from merely a large, enchanting tree to a behemoth of divine wonder. Its branches had spread further, with more room between them and the tips reaching towards the heavens. The leaves had shaped up and gotten fuller, surely the size of a full-grown adult by now. Fireflies could be seen lazily hovering about clusters of leaves, giving the tree a pleasant, natural lighting.

Many more platforms and walkways had been built, new buildings having been added on top of that. They stretched from one end to the other. The most daring teased the edge of a branch, hung firmly along the length of it. The walkways were either long rope bridges made of braided vines that shimmered a faint purple or ramps made and reinforced by the same wood the tree was made of, the bottom featuring fancy swirls alongside the support beams.

Other vines, flora, and bushes lined the branches and platforms. Though they looked like they were leeching off the tree at first, a closer inspection- granted you were on the tree to get an inspection- showed they were delicately wrapped around the branches and sneakily planted in hidden pots for a more natural look. The flowers ranged from all sorts of purples- fitting. Buddleias enclosed doorways, Hyacinthus were wound along lanterns strung along pathways, and an abundance of Jacaranda could be found wherever space was made for flora.

The more he looked the more nature there was to see, the more connecting walkways there were strung along, the more everything there was. It felt like the whole world was home under the canopy.

The tree had gone from the house of a solitary man to a city of nature.

It didn’t feel like the same tree.

Wag pushed aside the nagging thought that it was better than anything he could have ever made. Ianite was a full fledged goddess, Wag was- had been- a mere wizard with the idea of godhood in his head. What he made had been incredible for mortal standards, and was still incredible for the standards he had held himself to. It would do no good to compare himself to Ianite, especially when all she had done was repair what was already there.

As they made their way up to the crest of the hill, following the path from the town to the tree as it curled around Jordan’s old home, Wag spared a glance at the birch and quartz house. It was simple, sleek and minimal. It suited Jordan. Of course, Jordan himself had made it, so why wouldn’t it?

Compared to Jerry’s Tree, though, it seemed rather dull and insignificant.

Actually.

Wag spared a closer look at the smaller home. It looked lived in. A frown pulled at his lips. Was someone living there? Who else, other than Jordan, would?

Martha had picked up the conversation now, adding in details about trees that she had seen in her travels long ago, ones he’d never have had the chance to see. There were many interesting species, some magical in the same sense as Silverwoods, some as plain as a simple oak tree, but all more than enough to satiate Wag’s desire to know more. His mind kept getting pulled back to the Casa de Sparklez, though.

A thought struck him, one he’d had just moments before.

Jerry’s Tree looked and felt so different, now that Ianite had tended to it. Like it was a different tree. Did Jordan think the same? Did it feel less like home, after being away for so long and having watched it burn?

Was Jordan living in his older house because the tree felt so forgein?

Martha was going on about a beautiful tree known for the lights its seeds shone, especially during the night hours. It really sounded like a sight to behold. More than that, the gentle, awed look on Martha’s face pulled at Wag’s heart.

Take care of her.

There was a sour taste in his mouth. Wag decided not to mention what he had just noticed. That was Jordan’s business, not his.

Martha was looking at him now, a small, shy smile on her lips. Wag felt like if he said the wrong thing it’d disappear in an instant. Like Martha was used to having her interests pushed aside, or used to pushing them aside herself when people didn’t seem to care about what she was saying.

Take care of her.

He offered a smile back, a genuine one. He really did love her. More than anything, he wanted to keep loving her. But something told him it wouldn’t work. That what they had had started to decay sometime around the end of Ruxomar, around when he left.

No, around when Martha almost became Mrs. a instead of a Ms.

Bitterness clutched at Wag’s heart. For all the love he held for her, he wondered, again and again, if she held the same. If she ever held the same, if she even held something close to the same.

Take care of her.

Looking up at Jerry’s Tree, Wag remembered what it used to be. He remembered watching it burn, the pain he had felt in seeing his hard work get tarnished, in seeing a friend’s home wither away.

Now, though, it was different. Not quite a home, anymore, but reborn. Alive. And maybe, in the future, it’d be a home again, or maybe not. Maybe it needed to burn for it to become what it was now. Jordan would have never built it up to this, but Ianite had.

Maybe that was the secret, Wag pondered. Maybe you had to let things burn to be able to build them up stronger.

He looked at Martha again, at the softness in her face and the hardness in her eyes. His heart pulled in so many directions. Love, anguish, love, despair, love, hurt, love love love.

Yeah, he was going to have to let this relationship burn.

[fuwafuwamedb]

The Questionnaire (Gudako, Hakuno, Rin, Romani, Cu, Gil)

Physical day: a day where all the faculty of Chaldea would gather and meet with the respective doctors to check on overall health and fitness.

What aspects of a man would you say are most important?

Loyalty

Confidence

Humility

Other (Please List)

Gudako circled humility and continued on, glancing to the two others in the room and watching with a laugh as Rin pulled her clipboard away from her and hovered over it. Those blue eyes warned of vengeance if she came too close.

Hakuno meanwhile, frowned, her pen tapping over parts of the page as she muttered incoherently to herself. The more she looked, the more she seemed to be frowning. Her pen stopped at the bottom before returning to the top of the page and working her way back to the bottom. There must have been something wrong.

You’re sick. What do you want your significant other to be doing?

Let me heal in peace.

I need pampering.

Time to hit the drug store.

Gudako marked the next answer, snorting a little.

If she was sick, then her so called ‘significant other’ needed to be hitting up that drug store and stuffing her full of enough medicine to dull the pain away. That was especially true if it was like with here, where she would be expected to continue fighting or defending Chaldea and the fate of humanity. That kind of task required twenty-four hour, three hundred and sixty-five days a year focus. There wouldn’t be any trying to pass off the task to someone else.

Bring on the pain killers and the vaccines; she had work to do.

A litany of curses left Rin’s lips, bringing her and Hakuno away from their clipboards.

“This thing is wrong,” Rin told them both. “It’s entirely wrong. I thought this was supposed to be an entertaining exercise before we get started on our physicals with Nightingale.”

“What does yours say?” Hakuno asked, inching over to the woman’s side before her clipboard was swiped.

Rin huffed.

“What?”

“Yours is decent.”

“What are you talking about? Mine’s a mess.” Hakuno motioned at the questionnaire. “According to this survey, I need someone arrogant in my life to allow me to strike my independence and find my own voice. I don’t think I need anything like that.”

“According to mine, I need a ‘stage five clinger who is loyal to the grave and willing to go the distance to see me happy.’ I’d rather have the independence allowing proud guy.”

“You’re both putting too much into this.” Gudako waved her results. “I’m destined for a peace maker.”

“A pacemaker?” Hakuno snorted, “I mean, I know you’re eating a lot with Artoria Alter, but-“

“PEACE maker.” Gudako rubbed at her forehead. She could kind of see how they had ended up with their results, but she doubted there was anything to these damn tests. The Magi*Mari special survey for love and destiny was just something to fill time.

She could already see the trouble forming. A peace maker probably wouldn’t sound that bad to Rin either. The woman was nothing if not uncertain about what she would want in a partner. That was why right now, out of the three of them, Gudako was the only one with servants.

Hakuno refused to choose.

Rin couldn’t choose.

It made things highly interesting.

“Tohsaka.”

Nightingale glanced over at them, breaking up the fight before it could form. Rin pushed passed them, vanishing before Hakuno was reviewing Rin’s answers and entertaining herself with the surveys. Each of them came and went to that back room, listening to Nightingale give direction.

Romani came in during her own though, leaving Gudako to laugh as he held a handful of Magi*Mari magazine’s under his arm.

“I found them in the main waiting area,” he argued.

She just bet he had.

The rest of the day was uneventful.

Spartacus had been released from his area of Chaldea. Boudica was planning an overthrow of Chaldea to stop the Romans from gaining any further power. The Celts started an underground brewery a few weeks back, apparently. Gudako found herself staring at the vats in the private bath of a very tired Gilgamesh Caster and sighed.

Just another day.

That was why, the next day, she didn’t understand.

“Master?” Kiyohime smiled, holding down Alexander and Kid Gil. “Aren’t I a great peacekeeper? I made sure that the morning dining hall was quiet for you. Everyone is getting along so well!”

“Let them go, Kiyo.”

“Hmm?”

Gudako stared at the two boys.

“Oh! These two? They told me they wanted to be like this.” The two struggled harder. “They think of it like a game. It’s the greatest entertainment. Maybe you and I could meet later, master? I could show you how to tie knots and-“

Gudako waved a hand.

This was already a quiet morning and she couldn’t place what else was amiss.

No… No, she could place what was wrong.

Rin wasn’t storming at the kitchens demanding any food. Normally, she would be demanding a cup of tea and giving a smirk at Emiya before she’d sit down and raise a ruckus with one of the servants. She seemed to always be having trouble with Enkidu for some reason. The hatred seemed to flow freely.

She’d never understand why.

The two literally didn’t know one another’s names.

And then Gilgamesh would be laughing loudly with Ozymandias. The golden king and the pharaoh were known for their early wake up, more so the Uruk king than the other. Gilgamesh would drag the pharaoh in and complain about his eye lining talents before fixing it himself.

The laughter would rise. The people would cry. It was a regular routine that she had become accustomed to.

There was no pharaoh.

There was no Uruk king.

Hell, Cu wasn’t here pissing off Emiya through taunts flung through the window.

Then again, the celts had been drinking that beer so they wouldn’t have to lose it.

“Good m-morning, Gudako.”

Gudako glanced over her shoulder, smiling and moving over a bit. “Romani! Hey, have you seen Rin and Hakuno?”

“They’re spending time with servants.”

“Oh… Oh good. I hope it’s not about trouble again.”

The good doctor nodded. “Gilgamesh is no doubt talking to Hakuno if that helps.”

She didn’t find that helpful, but that was alright. She had a plate being set in front of her by Emiya and the doctor was at least helping her relax.

~

“Hakuno?”

Romani held the test before him, leaving the contents for him to peruse.

Clear as day, the little brunette fool that he feigned indifference to had selected him with this childish and overly colorful survey. Even the description, listed at the bottom, seemed to only add to that mental image.

To think he had affected the woman to this length!

“I thought you should know. A Magi*Mari test is not something to take lightly,” the good doctor warned him. “Hakuno and the others did this test in the trust and hope that they would find their heart’s chosen person. I thought it was only right to share-“

“Right, right.” He wasn’t listening.

“I thought that, since the test went into such detail, that I thought it might be talking about-“

“Me, of course.”

Romani nodded.

The test was no doubt discussing his Caster self. Caster Gilgamesh was very good at empowering those around him and showing a great amount of ambition and pride. It would only make sense for Hakuno to be a good match for him.

After all, the test was from Magi*Mari. That meant that the good woman had found the secret to finding soulmates. She was truly a magician on par with grand casters. She was grace. She was beauty. She was absolutely everything that a person could have possibly wanted in a woman… and so much more.

“I need to go.”

Romani nodded, “I’ll leave you to let the results be found.”

“They’ll be best with me,” the man told him, letting the survey sink into the depths of his gates.

~

“Hmm?”

“I found this test that seems to say that you’re someone that Rin is looking for a relationship with,” Romani explained, holding up the second of three magazines that he’d found in the waiting room over by the infirmary.

“How do you know it’s about-“

Cu moved over to his side, pausing his own question to run his eyes over the page. He nodded here and there, raising a brow and frowning a moment before he gave a small huff here and there. His nodded once more. Twice.

“Alright, yeah. You got me. Damn, what is this thing?”

Cu lifted the bottom of the magazine.

“Uh…”

“It’s from a talented idol and suspected mage. You have to love the fact that she cares so deeply about the love and admiration of her fans. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that there was a survey that said you would be good for Rin and Rin would be good for you. When Magi*Mari says it, you know it’s tru-“

Cu snorted, holding up a hand.

“What?”

“I’m supposed to believe a magazine?”

“It’s from Magi*Mari.”

The man gave him a small look before shrugging. “I’ll give it a shot. Why not? Rin’s always good for fighting with. Maybe it’ll remind her to let me be her partner more often.”

“You won’t regret it!” Romani promised.

The man gave a small wave, turning the corner.

~

Thinking back to those two, Romani couldn’t help but to feel a bit bad for Gudako.

Rin had been the easiest to find the match for. The description had practically sung praises for Cu Chulainn. After all, who else in all of Chaldea had a loyal to death mentality and was so relaxed and giving that he’d ‘no doubt go fishing and come back to cook all the fish for you’?

There was no one. The survey had clearly meant him.

Hakuno had been harder, but rereading a few times and really thinking about it had let him know that it must have meant Caster Gilgamesh. The king would take good care of her, even if he wasn’t the perfect match. The man was giving, arrogant but willing to listen, and he did take note of Hakuno at times.

The few times that the two had worked together, it had been like watching two gears in perfect sync.

Romani set the magazine in front of Gudako.

“I wanted to talk to you about this.”

“Hmm? Oh! That survey thing!” Gudako laughed, setting her spoon for breakfast aside and wiping at her mouth with a napkin. “What about it?”

“I couldn’t find your peace keeper.”

She frowned.

“I talked to everyone in Chaldea that was up this morning,” he explained. “I wanted to find the person and surprise you so that you could be happy, but… it didn’t necessarily work out. You’ll have to forgive me.”

“Romani…” Gudako looked at the magazine a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t want a partner like that right now. I have you.”

“Hmm?”

“Well…” Gudako laughed a little, scratching at the back of her head. “It’s just… why bother to have a partner who’d always worry about you and lose faith that you could keep returning alive and well? I’d rather have a doctor who believes that I’ll be okay and keeps the Mage Association from panicking, you know?”

“Right.”

Gudako nodded. “So there you go. You’re the only partner I need. You’re my peace keeper.”

He’d keep trying, but Romani nodded.

“Now then, wanna go drag some servants through experience ember farming?”

“Finish the veggies that you were given first,” he told her.

“Spoil sport.”

“Your peace keeper would appreciate it,” Romani told her, smiling a bit as he flipped through his Magi*Mari magazine.

The idol was truly never wrong.

She must have been clairvoyant.

[sage-nebula]

Game Review — Animal Crossing: New Horizons

The first new game I played in 2020 was Animal Crossing: New Horizons, and like many people, this game took up a huge chunk of my playtime this year, and in fact continues to take up a chunk of it each day. With all that said, it’s only natural that this is the game these reviews start on.

So let’s get started.

Overall Score: 9/10

I feel like it would be disingenuous to give a game that I’ve thus far clocked 545+ hours into anything less than a 9/10. (The actual playtime is probably longer due to a two Switches fiasco, but that’s another story for another time.) I’ve been a fan of the Animal Crossing series since the very first one released on Gamecube, and New Horizons met all my expectations and then some. While I know this game is divisive among some members of the fandom (though I don’t know too many details since I tend to stay away from the negative people), I personally feel like this is the best Animal Crossing yet, and I’m eager to see what the fall update is. With that said, let’s go into a bit more detail with some pros and cons. (Note: I recommend reading this in full on my blog, since bullet point lists now look atrocious on the dashboard.)

The Pros:

Obviously, there is so much to do. You’re essentially building the town from the ground up this time, meaning that there’s literally nothing on the island when you first arrive and you have to do everything to create a functioning society. (Even though it was supposed to be a temporary vacation . . . but that part of the plot is forgotten almost immediately.) While that may seem like a monumental task, what it really means is that a.) you have full control over your experience on the island, and b.) you have hours and hours and hours of playtime ahead of you. Particularly since a nasty pandemic in real life has made game development and release slow, New Horizons was perfect in this aspect.

The in-game tutorials don’t really feel like tutorials. Of course this means that you might have a bit of fumbling as you figure out how to use this or that new feature, but you really feel like you’re a newcomer to an island figuring things out rather than being slowly walked through a step-by-step guide on how to play the game. It made the experience feel more natural and immersive, which I really liked.

You are no longer punished if you don’t play the game for a while. This is a big one, mostly in the sense that although you do still have to deal with cockroaches and the like, never again do you have to deal with your favorite villager spontaneously packing up and leaving because you had to take some time off the game to study instead. While all this does lessen the “the game plays even when you aren’t” feeling a bit, I remember losing all will to play New Leaf when Freya up and left, on top of the Beautiful Town Ordinance making it boring since I never had to worry about weeds or anything like that again. The fact that villagers have to have permission to leave now really takes a load off your mind, especially if you took FOREVER to get your favorite (rather than using an Amiibo or villager trade to get them in).

You can place furniture outside! You can move buildings around! You can terraform! I touched on this a bit in the first bullet, but the fact that you can completely control what the island looks like through various tools is honestly the best thing Nintendo could have given us. I still remember how, in New Leaf, Paula plonked her house down RIGHT where I wanted to build a bridge, and so I had to wait for her stupid, ugly face to get out of my town before I could build it. And it took THREE MONTHS to do that. Now if something like that happened, I could just tell the villager to move their house and they’d do it, no sweat. On top of this, being able to place furniture outside makes the island look so much more natural, since it’s normal for people to decorate patios and the like, and being able to terraform means you can really have fun with the design of your island. It’s great, I love it.

We’re getting a steady stream of updates and events. Holidays are update-locked now, meaning that you can’t time travel ahead to experience holiday events and therefore ruin the game for yourself. Instead, Nintendo is surprising us with new content and updates, which I feel makes the game last longer and keeps it exciting. As I mentioned above, I’m excited to see what they have planned for fall. A Halloween event? Maybe a certain coffee shop opening in time for pumpkin spice season?! I don’t know, but I’m excited to find out.

The day-by-day nature of it also makes it a game that I feel like I can always have on the side, rather than one I complete and then never touch again. When I first got it I played it constantly, and then (due to a pandemic-induced game drought) I immediately did play by time traveling day by day, doing things, and then going back to the present to start the process over the next day. But now that there are other games out to play and I have a 5-star island, instead I play it as the first game of the day to do dailies, and then I save and put it aside. I pluck any weeds, water any flowers I’m growing, hit rocks, dig up fossils, talk to my neighbors, check which vendor we have, and then I save and end for the day. It takes me about 30 minutes to do my dailies, but it’s a nice little thing to do in the morning when I’m still in the process of waking up. One weekend morning I sat on my porch, drinking a cinnamon latte, doing my ACNH dailies. It was so peaceful and nice. ACNH is a great daily game, just a quick little thing to do before you move about the rest of your day.

The Cons:

There are definitely quality of life improvements that I feel should be in the game, but aren’t, even after players have been mentioning wanting them online every month since the game’s release. These features include, but are not limited to:

Being able to craft in your house without needing to remove materials from storage.

Being able to buy multiples of an item by putting in the number you want to buy, rather than having to buy them in groups of five.

Golden tools NOT BREAKING, especially since they NEVER USED TO. (Granted, normal tools didn’t break at all in previous games save for the ax, but the Golden Ax never broke. That was the entire point of getting it. What the hell, Nintendo.)

Being able to group like items, such as manila clams, fish, or bugs in your inventory.

Having Isabelle announce which daily vendor is on the island in her morning announcements.

Being able to buy different color variations of the same item at once at the Able Sisters’ shop.

Being able to switch between crafting and customizing without leaving the bench completely and then going back into it. (So like, you craft an item, and then you can immediately customize it if you want.)

Being able to call villagers to find out where they are on the island so you can easily find them if you have to return an item to them, or want to give them something, etc. Why have a NookPhone if you can’t actually use it as a phone?

Letting you lay down paths with terraforming more than one tile at a time. Like let you choose how many tiles you want to lay down in a row at the start, and then immediately place them.

Similarly, make it so you can’t scuff away custom paths, and also let custom paths keep the shoes-on-brick or tile sound if you have brick or tile beneath them. And so on. Little tweaks that aren’t necessary, but would make the game more enjoyable if they were implemented.

Some of the updates are coming too slow. In particular, I’m thinking about how it’s only possible to upgrade Nook’s Cranny once at present. I have put well over 500 hours into the game; by now I should reasonably have a Nookington’s (or whatever Timmy and Tommy will call it), but I don’t. I could understand if it was one shop upgrade per season, but that hasn’t been the case and I don’t know what the hold up is. It’s a bit disappointing.

That’s about all I can think of in terms of cons, at least at present. Most of my gripes are with minor quality of life implements that they could reasonably do, but aren’t doing for some reason. Otherwise, I think it’s a fantastic game that I still get daily enjoyment out of. If you like slice of life games and are looking for something new and warm to pick up, I highly recommend Animal Crossing: New Horizons.

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 98

 Chapter Summary -  Tom and Danielle enjoy a few days in Ireland after the world learns about them.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

I put photos in to give an idea of the areas Danielle and Tom are in and visiting. I will add more for the next few chapters (since I have now figured out how to do so)

I own none of the images used, all Copyright is of course, to the owners of these images. I am merely using them to shamelessly show off my lovely country.

Okay, few things.

- The Burrows does not exist as far as I am aware. - The place in Galway does, it is called McDonaghs and I love it! - Irish people until recently tended to have big families, my mother is one of 7, my dad is one of 14, my partner's mother is one of 9, his dad is one of 7, you get the idea, cousins are something that I seem to have everywhere.

Much of this is seen in Ed Sheeran's Galway Girl video

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​​​ @nonsensicalobsessions​​​ @damalseer​​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​​ @winterisakiller​​​ @fairlightswiftly​​​ @salempoe​​​​ @wolfsmom1​​​​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Tom adored Ireland, it was just like Scotland in most ways and as Danielle had stated, most everyone did not seem to care about their being there. A few people seemed to recognise them, but they did not seem overly bothered by the fact there was someone famous nearby as they walked through the narrow streets of Galway City.

They had stayed at Danielle’s grandmothers the night before and with consent from Lourda and Michael, had gone to Galway to get one or two things sorted for it. Danielle had taken a slightly larger loan than the cost of the house and the solicitor fees, Tom had realised, as she wanted to fix one or two issues in the house while they were there. He smiled as she walked through the city and got what was needed to be ordered and paid for. “It’s about an acceptable time to eat dinner, right?” She asked as she looked at her phone.

Tom checked his watch. “Yes, what have you in mind?”

“Fish and chips, really nice ones.” She smiled.

“You’re not going to convince me they are any better than the ones in Aldeburgh, let us just put to rest that argument here and now,” Tom stated firmly but with a large smile on his face.

“We’ll see.” Tom’s smile faltered with the smug grin on Danielle’s face.

Tom had to admit, it was delicious, the cod was almost equal to the place near his mum, but the chips were incredible, giving it an edge, the smile on Danielle’s face only grew as she watched him eat. “Fine, it’s amazing.” She grinned widely at that admission. “The batter is nicer in The Burrow’s though.” “It is, I will concede, but the chips make this better.” “We did not discuss the chips, only the cod, so I am right.” Tom goaded, Danielle gave him a warning glance, “You know it’s true.” “We’re in public, so I can’t fight you on this one.” Tom laughed at her annoyed expression.

* “Why did you leave?” Danielle looked at Tom as they walked along the path next to the ocean in a small area of Galway Danielle had called The Claddagh. “It is so beautiful here, how did you decide to leave?” “There’s nothing here. I mean jobs are still being lost a lot, even though it is not as bad as it was, but there was nothing for me, I also needed to get away, I felt like I would just combust if I stayed, I felt so alone and lost after Dad and Mam left. I didn’t even know where to go.” “Why Suffolk?” “I fell asleep watching TV and when I woke up, a documentary was on, Suffolk, Cornwall and I think…Isle of Wight, or was it the Isle of Man, regardless, they were on it. I had thought about going to England, but I was sort of lost about what to do, it was a documentary on why certain people retire to those areas and it sort of led from there. I felt like the cities were too big, they were a good size and fit for me.” She looked up at him. “It worked out well in the end,” Tom looked down at her. “Had I decided to move to London, if I was some girl you walked passed getting out of a Tube or walking down the street, I may never have gotten to know you; and why would I? I would never have afforded a place in Belsize, maybe I may have chosen a house near Emma, but would I have started talking to her, probably not, I would never have gotten to know you. That random show on TV is why Suffolk, your mum saying hello as she got her shopping out of the car the day and being nice to me while I was waiting for the estate agent was why that house.”

Tom stayed silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. A simple little decision, made when tired and lonely was the reason they were introduced and in turn together. “It’s weird how one thing leads to another.” “Yep. Everything we have done to date has led us here.” Danielle smiled. “We are always the results of our actions or inactions.” “I wasn’t meant to be home that weekend you moved in and I wasn’t supposed to go with Emma that day for the hotel choosing, but I was, I remember that day, you were not taking any of the hotelier’s bullshit and you were incredible.” “Is that when you realised I was amazing?” Danielle jested.

“Yes, it was.” She paused and stared at him. “I spent a year of my life in love with you and did nothing about it. I did not do anything about it and caused myself more than a few miserable nights thinking about it, over and over. We could already be together for far longer, I…” He looked around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. “I have to confess, I have not always slept well since we have been together.” Danielle frowned at his admission. “I have woken a few nights, thinking of ‘what ifs’ and one that gets me every time is what if when you were with Paul and you had gotten pregnant, not this other woman. I literally cannot get that out of my head.” “We never…” “But you would have, sooner or later.” Tom pointed out, Danielle could not argue, if she had remained with Paul, sooner or later, yes, it would have happened. She would have still been on contraception, but there was always a chance. She physically shuddered at that. She was not ready for children yet, but with Tom, she believed she could make it work, she did want it with him down the road, but with Paul; that was a terrifying prospect to her. She would have felt trapped then. “Are you okay?” Tom noted her shuddering but did not know the reason why. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I…the idea of that, of alternatives to this…I don’t like it.” She explained, “But we are not in those alternatives, I think about it sometimes too, the weird little voice in my head playing games with me, but you can’t listen to it, it’s not healthy.” She pointed out. “Now, we better drive back to the house, we have an early day tomorrow.” “I never actually asked, but where else is planned on this little holiday?” Tom asked curiously. “Galway is incredible, I can see why Sheeran sang about it.” Danielle looked at him. “Ed Sheeran has a song about Galway on his next album, or more about a girl from Galway, falling in love with an English man,” he laughed. “It’s a lot like you actually.” “How do you know what is on his next album?” “He was in Rome last summer when I was there, I was in the room when he…” He stopped talking. “You were there when he let Taylor listen to it.” She completed, Tom nodded sheepishly. “I see.” She said nothing more until they made their way back to the car.

Tom looked at her worriedly as she sat in and started the engine. “I could drive if you would like?” “No offence, but this is a city with a serious one-way street system, watching you get flustered would be hilarious, but I really just want to get back to the house.” She laughed. “Come on.”

“Elle, did I…?” “Make things weird back there by ceasing to talk when it came to referencing an event that occurred in the three months of your life that you had lost the absolute run of yourself? Yes, you did. Was I ignoring it because I don’t want to make a big deal of it, yes, I was.” She replied. “You did stuff in your time together Tom, I know no one wants to talk about that stuff with the current partner, nor does their current partner want to hear those things, especially if they think they are comparing them, but what you were saying had little to do with Swift, you were talking about Sheeran, I had no idea he was out there.” “No one did,” Tom informed her. “I am not comparing you to her by the way, and if I did, you’d win.” “Obviously.” Danielle smiled, but she bit her lip after. “I sometimes feel like the money thing is an issue though.” Tom’s eyes widened slightly. “I have nowhere near your money, I never will.” “What the hell does that matter?” Tom got a little angered by her words. Her income was good, good enough to afford her everything she needed, that was all that mattered to him. In truth, Tom worried about that being a point of contention between them, Danielle was too proud and independent to ever take handouts, he’d known that before he ever offered to help her with the house, but he also knew that she would compare herself to other women of better income. As she had said before, Taylor had been able to private jet anywhere she wished, Tom wondered how that may have affected her self-esteem. “I don’t want someone based on their bank balance, I am not like that, I want someone that makes me happy and who is a pleasure to be around.” He argued.

“I know, but I wish I was able to afford to drop everything and get a private jet across Europe or to afford to go to exclusive expensive restaurants, but…I’m not.”

“I know, and I like that about you; you weren’t raised with a silver spoon in your mouth, expecting everything to be given to you. When I was nineteen, my parents didn’t have the money to get me a car, but I wanted one. I got a waiting job in a posh country club, and fuck me, was every one of them an ass. They were so rude, self-centred and all round horrible.” He stated. “I swore that summer I would never be l them, or surround myself with people like them, for fear I would turn into one.” “So you are using me to keep you grounded, to still feel like you’re part of the normal set?” Tom looked at her horrified, his face calming when he saw her sticking her tongue out between her teeth as she did so, a large grin on her face. “Behave.”

“Make me.” “What day are we heading on?” “We are going to Clare tomorrow.” “And we are not returning to your grandmothers?” “No, we are staying down there, then heading to Kerry, then to Cork before heading up to Dublin to go home, why?” Tom’s smile grew as she spoke of London as ‘home’. “Because when I get you to Clare, I am going to make you.” Danielle’s brows rose at that statement. “What do you say to that?” She opened and closed her mouth a few times silently at that. “Lost for words Darling?” “It’s going to be a difficult night.” She admitted; her voice slightly higher in pitch.

“And why is that?” Tom’s voice deepened as his hand slid up her thigh.

“Tom.” “What Darling?”

“Don’t.” she warned.

“Don’t want?” “Tom, I swear, I am finding it hard enough to stay behaving myself at Nan’s with you rubbing your crotch into me in your sleep, making naughty noises, adding to that is not fair.” Tom slipped his hand further up her thigh. “I swear to God, if you make me crash this car,” Danielle warned, but she was smiling and did not take her eyes off the road.

“Is it a B&B in Clare?”

“Yes, a nice one. I stayed there for a wedding before, good thick walls.” She grinned.

“How do you know about the walls?” Tom asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer. “My cousin had a girl to the next room, let’s just say, going into my room, I could hear a lot, in my room, I heard hardly anything.”

“You have a considerable number of cousins,” Tom noted.

“Like you can talk.” “I have eight, you seem to have…”

“Forty-three first cousins.” “Jesus Christ.” Tom stared at her.

“Fine Catholic Irish families. Mam was one of nine, so you know how it is.” Danielle shrugged. “I am the only only-child on both sides.”

“That is pretty insane,” Tom commented. “It happens a lot in rural families.” “Will we meet any of them?” “I dunno, do you want to? I haven’t seen any of them since Mam died. I only talk to one or two on Facebook at birthdays.”

“It’s sort of sad you’re not close to them.” “If I had been, I would not have left, so selfishly, no I am not bothered by it. I have you instead now, I prefer that; plus, I love having Emma and your Mam, and even the Duchess and everyone else. I am happier over with you all.” “Well, we sort of are your family now.” “I take it you’re not getting the updates from your sisters.” Tom looked at her confused. “Your Mam was mentioning hotels.” “For what?” “Wedding receptions.” She glanced at him for a bare moment as she waited for them to get their turn to enter a roundabout. “Yep, I kid you not. Emma has had to tell her, more than once, to stop.” “You’re kidding, why have I not been told this?” he stared at her as though expecting her to erupt in laughter. “Elle, are you serious?” “Ask Sarah.” “Wait, you said she was talking to Emma.” “Yes, and Sarah.” She laughed.

“You’re lying.” “Ask her.” Tom took out his phone and typed a message to his sister, he looked at Danielle again before pressing send, Danielle not looking at him as she focused on the road. Only a moment later, there was a beep to tell him he received a new message, looking at it, his eyes widened. “Jesus, Mum.” “Told you.” “She’s even hinted at places here apparently over the last day or so.” “Ha-ha.”

“Elle!” “What, it’s funny. Let her have some fun, we are not getting married so it’s not like she is actually interfering, she is only…” “Getting completely ahead of herself, how are you not running for the hills?” Tom looked at Danielle, who clearly was just finding the whole situation amusing. “Because I am not bothered, yes, she is getting a tad ahead of herself, but if it keeps her happy, she’s not harming anyone. I actually love that your Mam thinks that that would be a good step for us, have you any idea how terrible some people have it with their partner’s mother?”

“But we’re not even together a year, marriage…” “Is not even on the cards yet, I know, but leave her have her fun, saying something may cause her to feel hurt, saying nothing and letting her have it when it is a non-issue is far better for everyone involved.” She smiled.

“So, this is not scaring you off?” Danielle laughed as she used the indicator, then turned the car up the smaller road they were driving to. “No, it does not. I actually like it.” Tom looked at her worriedly. “Not because I want to get married in the next week or so, but because it makes me feel like this is something that matters.” She explained, smiling as she did so, but not taking her eyes off the road.

Galway City - including a castle in the centre of it.

The Claddagh

Connemara, where Danielle's grandmother's cottage is.

[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 035 [Consequences]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 2,869

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“Will I catch my breath before I meet my end? Wish I could say I played a fair game, but I’ve been cheating death. Because the sun brings light to mistakes of yesterday.” Mosaic, “Hollow”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Honestly, what were you thinking, Winchester?” Midnight put her hand on her hip, looking at me expectantly. Principal Nezu was standing beside her, his paws behind his back and a cheerful look on his face.

I grunted, not even bothering to respond as I looked away, my arms crossed over my chest. I mean, I could tell them that I was legit contemplating shoving a chimichanga up his ass, but something tells that wouldn’t help my case here.

She sighed deeply at the lack of response, turning her gaze to the small rat beside her. “What should we do with her?”

“Well, she did attack another student outside of the event,” Nezu said cheerfully as he turned his beady eyes to me. “Do you deny this accusation?”

“No. Would it help if I said he deserved it?”

“It won’t help at all!” He smiled, before looking back up at Midnight. I bet he gets a lot of neckaches looking up at everyone. “Winchester should certainly be punished for her misconduct. However, I feel as though removing her entirely from the sports festival is a bit over the top. She worked quite hard to get as far as she did, after all. Do you agree, Midnight?”

She nodded. “In that case, you will forfeit your next match and accept fourth place. You should be thankful that you aren’t being removed from the sports festival entirely!”

I held back a groan. Man, Katsuki’s gonna be so~ fucking pissed.

“You’re also going to apologize to Monoma,” she continued. “Is that clear?”

“Yeah, whateva,” I muttered.

“You can be such a pain, Jen,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “We better get the next match started before they start to riot again. Go back to the seating area and stay out of trouble!”

“It’s not my fault trouble is attracted to me, Midnight. I mean, look at me, I’m sexy as fuck!”

She deadpanned.

“What, you don’t agree?”

“Go, Jen.”

“Che,” I did as she ordered, heading straight for 1-A’s seating area. From the direction I was walking, I would have to pass by class B before reaching my own. I hesitated for a moment, having an internal debate with myself before finally taking the steps down. Monoma was sitting in the first row. Half of class B glared at me, while the other half just gave me a confused look. I stopped in front of the blonde. Recovery Girl had clearly fixed his nose, but there was a white strip of bandage over the bridge.

I took a deep breath. This kinda hurts my fucking pride, but… fuck it. “I’m sorry for punching you. No matter what you said to me, I should’ve had more control over myself. Sorry, Monoma.”

His eyes widened, cheeks dusting with color as his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Kendo, sitting behind him, smacked the back of his head and he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “Y-Yeah… me too.”

Ryuu smiled proudly at me, his fingers brushing mine as I passed. It was his way of saying that there were no hard feelings between us, and I really appreciated the sentiment.

I returned to my class, stifling a yawn. The class noticed me and their chatter died down. I tried to ignore all the eyes on me as I sat between Bakugo and Sparky.

“What happened?” Sparky asked, softly.

I shrugged, sharing a look with Bakugo. It was obvious that the two boys had told the others about what they saw. “I had to apologize to ’em.”

“That’s it?” He breathed out, giving me a grin. “We were worried!”

“You better not be lying,” Bakugo’s eyes narrowed at me and I chuckled, ruffling his ash blonde hair.

“No lie, bro.”

“It’s the second match of the third round! These two heroes in training have both been front runners in the sports festival! It’s Midoriya!! Versus! Todoroki!! But which of these rivals will advance to the next round?! BEGIN!”

Before Mic’s voice could even fade, both boys sprung into action. Todoroki launched an ice barrage at Zuku, who used a small smash with his finger to break it apart before it could reach him, sending a strong gust of wind across the stadium. The only thing that kept Todoroki in bounds was the chunk of ice he created behind him.

“Wo~w! Midoriya managed to break Todoroki’s insane opening move!”

They did this dance again. And again.

“He countered it again!”

My eyes narrowed as I watched them. The battle’s only just begun and he’s already broken three of his fingers on his right hand. For fuck’s sake, kid. Ain’t there another way to use that insane power of yours? Like I get it, it’s the superior quirk, but still…

“Oh crap!” Kirishima came running up. “I’m missing it!”

“Hey, nice job making it to the third round, Kirishima,” Sparky commented.

“Thanks, man! Looks like I take down Bakugo next!”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Heh, yeah, sure. In your dreams.” Kiri grinned brightly, hands on his hips. “No, but seriously. It’s crazy how both you and Todoroki have moves that blast the whole stadium. Must be pretty nice!”

My eyes narrowed at him. There’s that lack of self-confidence again…

“Plus, you don’t have to pause between attacks,” Sero added with a jealous look in his eyes.

“It’s not as easy as you think, ya morons,” Bakugo responded. “If you overuse your muscles, you risk tearing them apart. If you sprint too much, you run out of breath.” He paused, looking down at his hand. “Quirks are physical abilities, too. They can get worn out, you can’t just use them non-stop.”

“It makes sense when you put it that way,” Kiri admitted. “I wonder if that’s how Midoriya thinks he’s gonna beat Todoroki.”

“Todoroki withstood Midoriya’s power and is now rushing his classmate!”

Midoriya tried to avoid the ice, but it grabbed a hold of his foot and his fist clenched, power rising drastically. I shifted in my seat, a drop of sweat rolling down my cheek. Bakugo sent me a look but said nothing, his eyes snapping back to the match. Zuku broke his arm defending against the ice. Fuck, kid, do you even have a plan?

“Woah! Todoroki continues his overwhelming attacks! Could this be his finishing move?!”

Ice shot toward Zuku at an alarming speed and he released another smash to counter it. Todoroki was barely able to stop himself from being thrown out of bounds that time.

“You’re trembling… Todoroki,” Zuku’s voice reached out to us. “It’s easy to forget that quirks are physical abilities and that means… there’s a limit to the cold your body can take, right?! I get it. Usually, you’d make up for the drop in temperature by using the heat from your left side, but you refuse to do that now. Listen… we’re all giving it our all… to try and win… to make our dreams a reality… to become number one! You think you can win with half your strength?! Look at me, Todoroki! You haven’t managed to put a single scratch on me yet! So come at me with all you’ve got!!”

What the fuck is he thinking? While it’s true that Todoroki’s ice hasn’t hurt him, he’s already broken four fingers on his right hand and his left arm. He’s quickly running out of options. Is he trying to bluff? No, that’s not it. My brow furrowed. Wait a minute… I shot out of my seat, eyes widening. “Don’t fucking tell me…”

“What’s wrong, Winchester?” Kirishima leaned forward, his hand on my back and voice full of concern.

Izuku, you… you’re trying to save him, aren’t you? You’re risking the finals, your body, everything to pull him out from the darkness he’s lost within. I can’t believe this.

“Midoriya… what are you trying to do here?” Todoroki demanded, his voice growing angry. “You want my fire?! What, did my monster of a dad bribe you or something?!” He rushed at Zuku. “Now I’m mad!!”

Zuku’s slammed his fist into Todoroki’s stomach.

“A solid punch! That’s the kind of action that I like to see!”

You’re literally tearing your body apart, Izuku! Is it worth it? My hands clenched tightly, nails digging into my palms. There’s no way in hell Gran can heal all of those injuries at once, but you know that already don’t you? You don’t care…

Izuku used his cheek to pull back his thumb, releasing another smash.

“Why are you putting yourself through this?” Todoroki demanded.

“I wanna live up to people’s expectations! I wanna be able to smile… while doing something good for them! I wanna be a pro! Whatever it takes to be a hero!” Izuku cried, headbutting Todoroki in the chest. “That’s why I’ll give it my all… just like… you should be! There’s no way I can know what you’ve gone through, or why you’re even here. Your life has been so much different then mine, but right now… stop screwing around! If you want to reject your father, fine, but you don’t have the right to be number one if you’re not going to use your full power!”

I stepped forward, my hands clutching the railing. I can feel… so much raw emotion coming from those two boys. Sadness, pain, frustration. I swallowed hard, my heart clenching within my chest.

“Winchester, are you okay? You’re shaking…”

No… no, I’m not okay… because neither of them are.

“Shut. Up.” Ice was spreading rapidly across his right side.

“That’s why I’m going to win this!! I’ll surpass you!” Izuku punched him in the stomach again, sending him flying back into the air.

Todoroki was silent for a moment, clearly lost in thought before shaking his head. “I will reject you… I refuse to use my left side…”

“It’s yours!!” Izuku cried. “Your quirk, not his!!”

Todoroki’s power shot through the rood as flames erupted from his left side, blazing like an untamed wildfire, fueled by pure, raw emotion.

My hands clenched tighter around the metal. Those flames… they’re so goddamn beautiful, so powerful. I… I want to fight him. I want to feel those flames for myself, I want to see how my flames stack up against his. Can my body withstand them? Goddamn it!

Arms wrapped protectively around my waist, but their words were muffled, distant. My mind could only focus on the sheer amount of power and emotion that was crushing the air.

“Yes, Shoto!! Have you finally accepted your purpose?!” Endeavor stalked down the stairs, a smug look on his face as he approached the railing. “That’s it, very good! This the dawn of a new era for us! With my blood in your veins, you’ll surpass me! You will live up to the reason I created you!!”

My eyes snapped to him, glowing red as my blood boiled within my veins. I’m already in trouble with the staff, I should fucking punching that bastard in the balls so he can’t have any more fucking kids. I should punch him in his smug fucking face, too. Maybe it’ll make him attractive if I rearrange those ugly ass features of his!

“Endeavor suddenly shouts words of… en… couragement? What a doting father…”

My eyes snapped back to the arena as a wave of power shot through the air. Fucking hell, that power is… incredible. Todoroki covered the arena with ice, which Izuku dodged, flying toward him. In an instant, Todoroki switched to his flames, melting the ice he had created. Five thick cement slabs shot up from the ground between them, lessening the impact of each of their attacks, but the raw power from both sides shattered the cement easily, exploding them into bits. A fierce wind pushed against the stands. I braced myself, feeling the arms around me tighten and several voices crying out in surprise.

The intense pressure slowly started to fade and I felt like I could breathe again.

“What happened just now? What the heck is up with your students?” Mic cried.

“The air around the ring had been thoroughly cooled down and then rapidly expanded when heated up.”

“Wait, that’s what caused the explosion?! How hot did that fire get?! Jeez, I can’t see a thing! Is the match still going on or what, huh?”

The smoke finally started to clear. Zuku’s body was flush against the wall, smoking. His body shifted before falling to the ground, unconscious.

“There…” Midnight’s voice was shaking. “Midoriya is… out of bounds! Todoroki wins! He advances to the fourth round!”

I took a shaky breath. “Let go of me.” I shoved the person away, seeing a flash of red as I took off toward the nurse’s office, ignoring the calls of my name.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“The bones in your right arm were shattered. I’m afraid it’ll never be the same as it was before.” Gran explained sadly as she stood beside the best. Izuku was covered in bandages, his arms wrapped thicker than Aizawa’s. “I need to remove the bone fragment or they’ll get stuck in your joints. I’ll heal you afterward.” She sighed deeply before turning to Toshi, who was standing beside me. “You lit a fire under this child and pushed him too hard. Look at what he’s done to make you proud. I don’t like it one bit.”

I scratched my cheek. “Come on, Gran, that’s not fair… I mean, he did push him, that’s true, but… Toshi ain’t completely to blame. I know Zuku wanted to make him proud and help Todoroki, but he should have had the sense to stop before it got too far.”

Toshi rested his hand on my shoulder.

Gran shook her head in disappointment. “You’re going too far, you hear? You and the boy. Don’t praise him for what he’s done today.”

“Midoriya!” The door slammed open, nearly making Toshi jump out of his skin as Iida, Ochaco, Tsu, and Mineta appeared in the doorway, all looking worried.

“You scared the crap out of me,” Toshi muttered, holding his hand over his heart.

“Getting jumpy in your old age?” I snickered, raising a brow. He shot me a look, pinching my hand.

“Are you okay?” Ochaco asked before she noticed Toshi. “Oh, it’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

Real smooth, Tosh. Real smooth.

“He’s in no state for visitors,” Gran said firmly.

“Hey, guys…” Zuku said with a soft, low voice. “Shouldn’t you be watching the matches?”

“The stage was far too damaged,” Iida explained. “They’re taking a quick break to repair it now.”

“That match was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, Midoriya.” Mineta’s small body shook as he spoke. “What pro’s gonna want a sidekick that hurts himself?”

My eyes snapped to him and I was about to punch him in the head when Tsu slapped him with her tongue. “You’re just rubbing salt in his wounds. Probably not a good time.”

I sent her a smile, which she returned.

“Hey, I was just speaking the truth.”

“You’re much too noisy!” Gran scolded, ushering them toward the door. “I know you’re worried, but I’ve got to focus on surgery now.”

“Surgery?!” They chorused in shock.

“Go on, get out of here!” She kept pushing.

“But -”

“Surgery is a big deal, isn’t it?”

“Will his wounds be healed?”

“Don’t worry, just leave me to it.” She assured them.

“Ribbit…”

That… was the saddest fucking ribbit I’ve ever heard in my entire fucking life. I fought the urge to rush over and pull Tsu into a bone-crushing hug.

“With all due respect, ma’am, shouldn’t Winchester be forced to leave, as well?”

My eyes narrowed at Iida. Got his ass beat and he still doesn’t know when to fucking call it quits. Annoying fuck.

“I need to check on her injuries from earlier, now go on.” She finally got them out the door, closing it behind them.

“I’m sorry…” Zuku spoke up, his voice soft and defeated. I rested my hand on his uninjured leg, rubbing gentle circles on his outer thigh to help calm him. “I couldn’t do what you asked of me. If I had shut up… not said anything… I might’ve been able to beat him… but I…”

“You got Todoroki to realize something very important about himself,” Toshi responded.

“I guess so. In his first match, he looked so sad. I was trying to figure out why, when I should’ve been focused. I made a bigger mistake, though. Whenever we were fighting, I was just so… so frustrated. I couldn’t see the bigger picture or what it would take to win. I’m sorry…”

“It’s true that the match didn’t go how we wanted it to, and realizing where you went wrong won’t change that… but, listen. Meddling where you don’t technically have to is the essence of being a hero.”

I squeezed his thigh, giving him a smile when his eyes met mine. “Toshi’s right, you know. Helping Todoroki was more important to you than winning the match. If you ask me, you’re already a damn good hero.”

He made a strangled noise, trying to hold back tears as his hair fell over his eyes.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

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[ducktracy]

116. gold diggers of ‘49 (1935)

release date: november 2nd, 1935

series: looney tunes

director: tex avery

starring: tommy bond (beans), joe dougherty (porky), bernice hansen (kitty), billy bletcher (villain)

oh man, where to begin? this is probably the most important review yet, arguably more important than i haven’t got a hat. you’re seeing that right! this is tex avery’s directorial debut. some history before we start (yes, this is going to be one of those LONG posts, but it’s certainly worth it):

tex had worked at walter lantz before working at warner bros, where he suffered an eye injury. he was horseplaying in the office—they had a game where one would shoot a rubber. and or a spitball at someone and hit them in the back of the eye, yelling “bullseye!” with each successful shot. the game evolved to using paper clips, and someone told tex to look out. he turned around just in time for the paper clip to strike him in his left eye, losing vision in said eye. many have attributed his poor depth perception to the wackiness and bizarre nature of his cartoons.

avery applied for warner bros, bluffing his way through and telling leon schlesinger he was a director. tex is cited as saying “'hey, i’m, a director'. hell! i was no more a director than nothing, but with my loud mouth, i talked him into it.” with hardaway gone, freleng and king were the only directors there, and avery was graciously accepted.

yet, the staff was growing in size, and avery’s unit was beyond the limit for a single studio. thus, termite terrace was born—a shoddy five room bungalow affectionately dubbed termite terrace as a result of their termite houseguests. he was assigned animators bob clampett, chuck jones, sid sutherland, and virgil ross. instead of animators swarming around to whatever director needed them, avery now had a solid unit, a model that would continue on and distinguish the animators/units as we know them today.

tex is attributed to birthing the studios greatest stars. daffy duck, elmer fudd, and bugs bunny (it could be debated whether he created bugs or ben hardaway created bugs, especially since bugs was hardaway’s nickname and literally named bugs’ bunny. however, for simplicity’s sake, tex is virtually the creator of bugs. he solidified the voice, the personality, and the design, which differed greatly from the hayseed loon that was hardaway’s bugs.) he had a relatively short career at warner bros, leaving in 1941 after a dispute with leon schlesinger over his cartoon the heckling hare (which we’ll cover in depth once we get there). he moved to mgm, where his potential as a director really exploded. he spawned the iconic yet austere droopy, as well as red hot riding hood, the inspiration for jessica rabbit in who framed roger rabbit. this man is responsible for a LOT, including holding the title as one of my favorite directors (the others being, of course, bob clampett and frank tashlin. coincidentally, all of them left sometime in the 40s. maybe that’s why i love the 40s cartoons so much)

i’ll run my mouth more at the end of the review, soap boxing on why this cartoon is so important, but let’s actually SEE the contents of the cartoon so we can interpret it. it’s 1849, the heart of the gold rush. beans and porky wish to hit it big by digging for gold, but a nefarious villain snatches their findings, resulting in trouble.

tex avery loved to play around with words, whether it be sign gags or narrating captions as we see here. open to a remote western town, rife with cacti and dry land. “THE TIME” is proudly displayed on the screen as we pan to a covered wagon, a calendar inside clueing us in that it’s july of 1849. “THE PLACE”—we pan to a saloon titled “GOLDVILLE SALOON”. and, of course, “THE GIRL”.

little kitty comes bounding out of the general store, joining a crowd congregating around a bulletin board. the newspaper article posted details beans’ gold digging ambitions: “YOUNG PROSPECTOR TO HUNT GOLD IN RED GULCH”. a picture of a proud beans, posing with his pickaxe and his mule. below it: “BEANS — local boy to brave hazards of red gulch for gold”.

absolutely ecstatic, kitty snatches the paper from the billboard and rushes away. bernice hansen’s delivery is on point and absolutely hilarious as kitty gives her breathless monologue: “oh, that’s my sweetie, and i’ll bet he’ll find the gold, and he loves me and everything!”

porky makes his second major (i use that term loosely, since his appearance in i haven’t got a hat wasn’t REALLY a major role but more of an acknowledgement) appearance, this time as a fully grown adult, father to kitty. genetics work in mysterious ways. he fixes himself a giant towering sandwich, including a whole fish, a block of cheese, sausage links, and an entire roasted turkey. sustenance! he scarfs the sandwich down and gives an ecstatic “WWWWHHOOOOPEEEE!!”, a catchphrase of his that thankfully never returned outside of this short. still extremely amusing. as i said before, i don’t find dougherty’s porky “painful” like how some other people find it, but i definitely think this is his most awkward performance, and it’s not even because of his characterization, but the decision not to speed up his voice. dougherty had a very deep voice, and in this cartoon his voice isn’t sped up at all. it’s a bit jarring, but this WAS his second real appearance. tex’s next porky cartoon, the blow out, would have him back as a (much cuter) plucky child.

kitty rushes in and shoves the paper in porky’s face, continuing her breathless babbling. “look what my sweetie’s gonna do! i’m so proud of him! he loves me and everything! he’s gonna find gold and we’re gonna be married! and right this minute, he’s way out in the mountains—“ kitty’s breathless narration continues as we get a shot of the mountains. a long, exposed tunnel goes right through one of the mountains, where we get a distance shot of beans hacking away at a mountain. “and right now he might be discovering gold!”

a closeup reveals beans picking away at the side of the mountain, carving a little hole. just above it are some slots. beans plucks a button from his shirt and feeds it into the makeshift machine, pulling a branch as a lever. he spins, and lands the jackpot. a plethora of gold coins rush out of the slot, beans collecting the loot with his hat. if only it were that easy!

rightfully gleeful, beans cries “gold!gold!” and leaps on his trusty steed. a giant “GOLD!” zooms into view on the screen as beans gallops along on his mule, rushing into town. he bursts into the saloon and declares “i found gold in the gulch, boys! gold in the gulch!”

all of the patrons echo “GOLD?” incredulously, deserting their post at once. even the bartender leaps over the bar, leaving behind some ice cream and other desserts on the counter. a bit of an awkward shot—there’s a still frame of the food on the counter, and you’d expect someone to come in and take the food with them, but that’s not the case. it just sits there and goes onto the next scene. i wonder if there were any cuts, or if didn’t have time, or what. nevertheless, it’s slightly jarring but a menial thing to pick at.

one by one, the patrons leap on their horses and follow beans to his site. a man flops to the ground where his horse rides HIM instead—a regular gag in the looney tunes universe, but one that tex avery seemed to enjoy in particular. can’t blame him.

beans alerts everyone in town—a dog in the bathtub, the dog taking his bathtub with him as he runs, two stereotypical chinese men at the laundromat (yeah, not a good way for tex to start off. just blatantly racist.), and a barbershop quartet singing “sweet adeline” outside of a barbershop, animation by bob clampett. beans alerts them, and the quartet runs off... until they rush right back to finish their song. a great gag as they run right back to find the gold.

next stop, kitty’s house. beans rushes inside and exclaims “i found gold!”, holding kitty by the hands. porky pokes his head out from the kitchen, wielding a fork and spoon, where he repeats “gold?” incredulously. no time is wasted as he jogs right out the door, donning a ten gallon hat and a pick axe. beans excuses himself, kitty refusing to let go. he runs out the door, and kitty reflects on her sweetie. good, snappy timing as beans unexpectedly zooms right back inside, dipping kitty and giving her a rather passionate kiss. he leaves once more as kitty collects herself.

porky has his jalopy all ready to go, and beans jumps right in. porky gives another “WHOOPEE!” as they barrel on. more blatant racism as they pass the chinese men traveling via rickshaw. porky and beans zoom right past them, and a cloud of exhaust cover the men. predictably, they’re now in blackface, talking in a stereotypical accent (as if they weren’t before). obviously, it goes without saying why or how this is disgusting and wrong. i love tex avery as much as the next person, but this isn’t a good start. you’re better than this, tex! it bears mentioning regardless. although we’ll explore a ton of beautiful, great cartoons, we’ll also be examining cartoons that are equally nasty and grotesque. both are important and deserve equal attention.

fade out and back in to the site where beans struck it rich. porky gives another “WHOOPEE!” and strikes his axe into the ground, as do the siamese twins and beans. porky sticks his hand in his hole, where he pulls out a shiny coin and yells “gold!” so far, his dialogue has been three “WHOOPEE!”s and two variations of “gold”. what a complex character! he stores his find in his back pocket for safekeeping. a highly amusing gag as he sticks his hand down again, this time his hand extending through another hole near his pocket. he fishes his hand into his back pocket (unknowingly) and grabs his find, reaching his hand out of the hole and admiring his “new” loot.

the process repeats until beans’ voice stops porky in his tracks. he’s found something. porky tosses a rope down into the cavernous hole that beans is in, and with a few good tugs, beans pops out of the hole, perched on top of a heavy treasure chest.

everyone crowds around as porky and beans lift the chest. inside is a tiny little book, covered in a thick layer of cobwebs that reads “HOW TO FIND GOLD”. beans opens the book, and the answer is right there in the print: “DIG FOR IT”. tex’s strong sense of humor brings the cartoon much needed liveliness and fun. tex was definitely a gag man more than an artist, and he has said so. not that his cartoons are badly drawn at all, but it’s clear he has a priority in humor, which is a great priority to have. porky and beans exchange gobsmacked looks.

enter the villain, creeping along furtively with his horse. he peers through his binoculars, surveying the site. pan past porky and beans scratching their heads over their instructions, past a bag of gold, past a pickaxe... the villain goes back to the bag of gold, exclaiming “ah! gold!” he fires his gun, a wonderfully strange hybrid between a gun, a fishing rod, and a grappling hook. as he fires, a lasso extends down to the gulch, tying conveniently around the bag of loot. the villain reels in his catch—some great added detail as he struggles, as if fighting a big one, and even scooping it up in a net.

porky and beans spot the bandit. porky stutters “if you get that bag for me, you can have my daughter.” beans is delighted and eagerly shakes his hand—it’s a deal. he jumps into porky’s car and rides off, winding up the twists and turns of the mountain as the bandit makes off with his gold. visions of grandeur fill the bandits head as he imagines a long, fanciful, costly limo, a driver touting him around as he chuffs on a fat cigar, donning expensive clothes.

his fantasy is interrupted by gunfire. beans wields duel pistols, firing back and forth at the bandit. bullets reduce the bandit’s hats to shreds, the hat a shadow of its former self as it plops back on the villain’s big head. great contrast. beans continued his fire, shooting a giant hole in the bandit’s pants. a makeshift buttflap falls open, revealing a giant tin pan covering the bandit’s ass for protection. bullets ricochet off the pan, much to the delight of the bandit.

frustrated, beans opts for a rifle instead. a gunfight ensues, and tex avery’s need for speed begins to break out. it’ll climax soon, but tex’s strong point in his cartoons is definitely speed and timing. he can drag out gags or make them ensue in a blink, so much so that those scenes leave you breathless and exhilarated. some great examples that we’ll see are in this, the village smithy, and porky the wrestler. the bandit slings his guns back at beans, his arms whirling around at impossible speeds, so much so that he turns into a literal blur, rising and falling back on his horse.

beans ducks, retaliating. the force of his fire is so strong that his car is propelled back multiple feet with each shot. however, trouble boils when his car stalls out. empty. beans pours a jug of moonshine directly into the engine (instead of the gas tank), and the car explodes to life—parallel to the same scene in you don’t know what you’re doin’! but on steroids. the car turns into a giant blur, stretching out to vaguely resemble a race car. with amazing force, the car barrels into the villain, who is thrown into the air with ease. this is where tex’s speed is magnified and used to a great amount of potential, a potential we haven’t seen yet in a cartoon. it’s exhilarating and breathless, and above all, believable. you feel like you’re right there with them, a must see scene.

the car defies gravity as it speeds along the walls of the caverns, a lovely angle of the car headed straight towards the camera (that would be recycled in one of tex’s cartoons at mgm, dumb-hounded). beans now barrels whence he came, knocking into the villain once more. instead of being propelled into the air, the bandit is dragged into the car, reduced to nothing but a mere blur. around another curve they speed, the loose bag of gold that was thrown into the air with the bandit now landing in the car.

a forlorn porky paces anxiously, awaiting the return of his beloved gold. he, too, is wiped into the chase, again reduced to a mere blur as he falls into the car. the car zips into town, right past kitty, who sweeps outside her house. she’s spun around like a top as the shanghaied racecar whirls past.

finally, the car screeches to a halt. the villain is slumped over inside the car, whereas porky and beans are unharmed. kitty reunites with porky, who lifts her up lovingly. he places her down in front of beans. “well, here’s my daughter!” beans graciously accepts kitty’s hand as he thrusts the bag into porky’s hands, replying “and here’s your gold!”

a lovely twist as porky stutters “gold be derned! that’s my lunch!” sure enough, he stuffs his hands inside the bag and lifts out a giant towering sandwich, identical to the one he scarfed down at the beginning of the cartoon. he gobbles it up with ease, giving a contented smile as we iris out.

whether you love this cartoon or hate it, it’s historical significance can’t be denied. this and i haven’t got a hat are probably the most important cartoons we’ve seen thus far, and the two, in my opinion, rely on each other for success. had friz not created porky, who knows what would have happened in this cartoon. same goes the opposite way. had tex not come aboard and used porky in a suitable role, porky may have continued to exist in cameos, but how far would looney tunes have gotten before inevitably getting canned?

i personally love this cartoon, and is probably my favorite one so far. tex avery was such a pivotal element to the success of looney tunes. albeit this isn’t his most polished work (and the blatant racism with the chinese twins and the blackface gag can’t be overlooked or dismissed), this cartoon is fun, exhilarating, and happy. tex’s sense of humor is on point, and his timing/speed is impeccable. it leaves you wanting more, almost as if you aren’t satisfied. the whole cartoon revolving around porky reuniting with his giant sandwich is another plus. beans is endearing, though bland in personality. kitty is equally endearing, her breathless excitement indescribably amusing and contagious. porky is also amusing, but hardly endearing—but, again, second cartoon, still trying to figure things out. without comparing his appearance here to other cartoons (which is very difficult to do), he fits just fine as the bumbling comic relief character.

this is a major turning point in the world of looney tunes. thanks to tex, cartoons are going to get snappier, funnier, wittier. i may be biased since he’s one of my favorite directors, but it’s hard to argue with, especially since this is the man who made daffy, elmer, bugs. if anything else, i definitely recommend this for historical significance. aside from that, it’s fun, happy, energizing, and a great relief to the drab cartoons we’ve been seeing thus far (though friz deserves much more credit than he gets for his merrie melodies). obviously, express discretion at the racist gag of the chinese twins/blackface—they aren’t too exhausted, but definitely prominent enough to constitute a warning. this is a cartoon worth watching.

link!

[osmw1]

Dimension Wave   Chapter 34 — Limited Dimension Wave

“What’s with all the ruckus at this hour?”

Alto sleepily rubbed his eyes. Beside him stood Yamikage and Tsugumi, both of whom were asleep minutes ago as well. Yamikage had adjusted to living on the seas and has been sleeping properly too. Tsugumi was still half-asleep.

“The ship is being pulled along by something.” “Surely ‘tis but a wave.” “If it’s just a wave, then I don’t know why my Helmsmanship skill isn’t working at all.”

I was able to keep the ship from capsizing when the storm hit us, but I don’t know why it’s not doing anything now. Was it because I caught the Humongous Squid? That shouldn’t have anything to do with it. But if it is, then my fishing must’ve affected something. I mean, that doesn’t really make sense though. We should’ve only been jostled around a little by the drag of the squid. Maybe we simply triggered a flag for the Sea of No Return… but that would be awfully optimistic thinking.

“Be on gua—What?”

I turned around to see who tapped my shoulder. But there wasn’t anyone there. I mean, obviously not. Everybody on board is standing in front of me. To my right are Yamikage and Tsugumi. To my left are Alto and Sheryl. Ahead of me is Shouko. Who would be there to tap me on my shoulder?

“Kizuna, what if there were ghosts on the sea?” “Well, I’d expect you to be a little more scared…”

The lady standing right in front of me seemed as if she could see more than we could. I’m not scared enough to be shrieking out loud, but Shouko looked extremely serious considering the possibility of ghosts and stuff… Well, I know Dimension Wave is only a game, but I wish she would at least pretend to be scared. But someone else was.

“… phantom ships.” “S-S-Su-Surely you jest, miladies!” “Well, I s’pose ghost ships and pirate ships are nautical staples.”

Neither Sheryl nor Alto seemed surprised. It’s true that MMORPG’s usually have them as dungeons or events. Hell, it’d be more surprising if they didn’t show up on a nautical RPG. And why are you pissing your pants already, Yamikage?

“Yeah, you’re right… That would explain why the mist and the sudden chilliness too.”

Visibility had rapidly worsened. The fog, eerie and disturbing, was extremely well done on the developers’ part. Drowsy before, but Yamikage was now trembling. Was she that terrified?

“Hey, Yamikage. It’s a little clichéd, but would you let me scare you with a ‘boo!’?” “How! You would be such a knave!” “Figured you’d get mad.”

I don’t think my joke went over very well, but I also don’t think it made much of a difference that I warned her first.

“Thy mere suggestion has wrought me with fury!” “Fine… then how ‘bout you, Alto?” “No way, José! I’ve got the heebie-jeebies already!” “Heh, I never said I was actually gonna do it, but your guys’ reactions was amazing.”

It might’ve been more fun to push them, but the other three…

“Do tell why you are looking at me like that.” “… try me.” “You’re so oopy spoopy, big bro!”

Yikes. I don’t know what I expected out of my sister, but I really don’t want her to act all cutesy with me like that again.

“But in all seriousness, a ghost ship, huh? Sounds like it’ll be tough.” “Even during the day~!”

Well, the whole party’s leveled up a bit and even I’m at about half the Energy I used to have. I’ve also been using Transmutation to get some Energy out of the squid I fish up, but since the skill is only at rank I, it takes quite a bit of time to cast. Plus, since I get about 5-15 Energy per squid, that’s only about 700 Energy per hour. I’ll probably have to keep using the skill to level it up to II, but it’s yet to pop up even though I’ve been at it for a while now.

“I-I-Is that the ship, perchance?! Oh, but I am so frightened!” “What’s truly frightening is that you still haven’t acquired Night Vision.”

She probably sleeps through the night, but I’ve had it unlocked for so long already. More importantly, though, I looked over to the direction she was pointing. It was glowing in a ghostly white light, emitting a full body sense of dread. The realism of it all truly spoke to the beauty of VR.

The ghost ship was absolutely colossal. Our sailboat was only about 20 meters in length, but we were completely eclipsed in comparison. Sheryl explained that leisure watercraft over 25 feet (approximately 7.6 meters) are designated as cabin cruisers. But this was more like a yacht. It had the space for multiple living quarters and other facilities on board. It was probably, what, ten times bigger us and it had suddenly appeared in front of us. The sails were in tatters and its planks crumbling. If it weren’t for the mysterious white light that it’s emitting, you’d think this ghost ship is just some floating rotten junk. If this were a horror movie, there would be a theremin playing in the score right now.

“Yamikage.” “Gah!” “I… I just wanted to speak to you. No need to be shrieking or anything…”

And just for kicks, I turned to look at Alto and then gazed past his shoulders. He seemed out of it. Whatever it may be, their reactions are top notch. You’ve just gotta have at least one person in your squad like these two!

“I think I respect you a little less now, Kizuna.” “Whaaat? Just because there’s a ghost ship?” “But the look on your face!”

Haha! Oh, this guy. But I suppose there are more important matters at hand. Like the ghost ship.

“Like I was saying, let’s be on guard and prepare for combat. Something like this has gotta have enemies on board.” “Understood.” “‘kay.” “Mm-hmm!”

The three of them replied with confidence if not enthusiasm. The other two? Cowards. Especially that Yamikage. Get a grip! At least Alto’s got an excuse. He’s been busy trading up till now, so he might be a little underleveled. Yamikage, though, has the strongest stats out of all of us. With her Drain, her numbers are better than even Shouko. But, I mean, if she’s simply afraid of ghosts and spirits, then there’s nothing you can really do about it.

“If you two are that bad with ghosts and stuff, you wanna stay behind?” “… Stay behind? Here?” “Yeah.” “I shall follow you till the ends of the Earth!” “I mean, it’s probably safer if you stay here and wait for us.” “Hell to the no! It’s a billion times scarier to be here alone!” “I guess? I grew up watching a lot of this stuff, so I guess I’m used to it.”

My sisters and I used to always rent horror flicks and watch them together. There’s even new VR horrors where you watch in first-person. I’m not crazy about the genre as a whole though. But enough contemplating. Let’s charge on board.

Vrrt!

There was a crackling noise. It was a noise I’ve heard merely two weeks ago. It’s here… With a bright flash of light, time and space warped—

—Limited Dimension Wave.

Kizuna†Exceed (Captain)

Hakoniwa Shouko (Vice Captain)

Yamikage

Sheryl

Tsugumi†Exceed

Altorese

A menu popped up with a list of our names. Once past the blinding light, it looked like the dungeon was located below deck. There was no information on the minimap except for each of our locations. Everything else was pitch black. It’s probably one of those hidden dungeons that pop up in games all the time.

“Limited Dimension Wave?”

I muttered aloud to myself, but everyone else was similarly confused by what it meant. Shouko had already readied her weapon. It’s like she’s some sort of disciplined soldier, ready to engage in combat at the drop of the hat. Sheryl was simply looking around with her usual blank expression. Tsugumi had her battle scythe wielded in both hands. Her lower body trembled while her animal ears twitched agitatedly. Alto seemed out of it, just as before. And then there’s…

“Eeeeeeeeek! No, it’s too scary! Help meee!”

There was about one person who was almost repulsively afraid. But wait. Where did that verbal tic of her go? She’s actually that terrified? I mean, she was scared before, but… I don’t know, I feel bad for putting her through this now.

“Yamikage, it’s alright!” “… Kiz!” “… Who?” “… Miss Kizuna.”

I have so much to say about her correcting herself, but I can save that for later. I’m not about to ask her what she thinks about me though. But Yamikage. Just what is she? I’m sure if I got to know her, I’d understand her more and guess to how she is as a person. Not her character, but rather the actual player behind the ninja. I mean, of course, it’d be rude for me to pry. In online games like this, you never know who’s comfortable sharing what with whom. This is all just theory, but in my mind, Shouko is from old money, Sheryl… I’m not so sure about, Tsugumi is obvious, and Alto is probably… a little older. You know what they say about books and covers though.

“Chill, Yamikage. We’re in a game. Even if there were ghosts, it’s all just a game.” “… I understand, milady.”

From below her, I looked up straight into her eyes… And seemingly calmer now, she nodded in agreement. Alright, with her out of the way, I had to get a handle on the situation. I just had to pay no mind to Dark Shadow holding on to my sleeve.

“So, what’s does ‘limited’ mean?” “… With restrictions.” “I mean, if we look at it literally, then I suppose it’s a restricted Dimension Wave?” “I believe it to mean that it is limited to the current party listed in the information screen.” “Ooh, that makes sense…”

This was something I’ve seen more than once in MMO’s. It’s not dissimilar to instance dungeons and party quests. Tsugumi had played one that was all about co-op with your party members. It’s a total cliché, but I’ll bet that we’ll have to clear this dungeon and then defeat a boss. We’ll get quest rewards and boss drops at the end too. And we’re probably limited to doing this once a day or once a week or something. I get it now. That’s probably why it’s limited.

“Alrighty. No point to standing around like this. Shall we?”

contents: /prologue/ /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /ch014/ /ch015/ /ch016/ /ch017/ /ch018/ /ch019/ /ch020/ /ch021/ /ch022/ /ch023/ /ch024/ /ch025/ /ch026/ /ch027/ /ch028/ /ch029/ /ch030/ /ch031/ /ch032/ /ch033/ /ch034/ /next/

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[imagine-organization-xiii]

Organization Members as Babies/Toddlers

Suggested by: Anon.  Let me know if any of the links don’t work!!! I didn’t do actual babies because babies don’t really have personalities and they don’t really... do much? So it’s more on the line of toddlers instead of babies.

Thanks to the headcanon queen, @4ddictwithapencil for help with this one!

Let’s just say that most of this is happening at Grandpa Xehanort’s house.

Xemnas

Favorite Toy: a Fluffy Puppy Rocking Chair where he can sit and judge people with his arms crossed and hatred in his eyes.

The grumpiest of babies.  Nothing you do ever makes him happy.  Will glare at you and judge you for everything you do, practically being judgmental at your parenting.  Does not cry or scream, which would be a lot better because it would make him seem like a normal baby, but he does bite often and unashamedly.  Also pulls hair, but not to be spiteful.  He’s just fascinated by hair for some reason.

Sticks to a fairly strict schedule.  Goes to bed at certain times, eats at certain times, naps at a particular time, etc.  If he gets off of his schedule, he goes nuts and gets really upset.  A decently calm baby when he’s on schedule, but when he’s off schedule? He’s a nightmare.

Xigbar

Favorite Toy: Nerf Guns

The naughtiest of tiny babies, absolutely 100% the worst baby ever.  Gets into literally anything and everything because he likes to touch things just for the sake of touching them.  Most likely to stick a fork in an electrical socket.  Also likely to pee on you when you try to change his diaper.

Definitely a kid that will test your limits and really try your patience.  He likes to see how much he can get away with without getting into really big trouble, so if you’ll tell him not to touch something, he’ll immediately touch it when you look away.  Then during a scolding, he’ll pretend like he never did anything. Like this is literally Xigbar.

One positive about Xigbar is that he’s a great sleeper.  Goes to sleep without a fuss and barely ever wakes up in the middle of the night.  Also?? surprisingly cuddly when he’s tired?  He doesn’t like being picked up or coddled too much, but when you see him yawn? He’ll definitely want to be held as he falls asleep.

Xaldin

Favorite Toy: The Jungle Gym Playground Set where he and Lexaeus help to protect baby Zexion

A baby with a surprisingly big appetite.  He’s not picky when it comes to food and will literally try anything you put in front of his face.

Has a fascination with putting his face out of the window on long car rides to feel the breeze.  Also has a tendency to fall asleep in the car when driving around for a while.  For some reason it just makes him sleepy.

Xaldin is pretty content with being by himself.  Likes to sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else play than actually participate.

Vexen

Favorite Toy: Science Experiment Lab

Super curious!!!  Like to pretend to be a scientists and make pretend experiments.  Never misses an episode of Bill Nye the Science Guy.

Never goes outside unless it’s winter and freezing.  LOVES the snow more than anything else in the world.  He’s one of those kiddos that you have to drag Vexen inside the house, even with the bribe of hot chocolate with little mini marshmallows.  He just loves the snow, having snowball fights, and making snowmen!

Lexaeus

Favorite Toy: Tonka Dig n Rig Playset

That kid who likes to dig in the sandbox because he claims he’s going to dig to China.  Just likes being in the dirt for some reason.  He can just lay outside in the grass for hours without moving.

The quietest of all the babies.  Seriously silent because he generally prefers to point at things instead of speaking.  Never cries or talks, either, and his parents were seriously getting worried, so they actually took him to a doctor to see if something was wrong with his hearing or vocal chords, but no.  He’s fine.  When prompted, he was literally able to speak in fully formed sentences and shocked the hell out of everyone in the room.  He just likes to stay silent more than anything else.

Zexion

Favorite Toy: Create Your Own Books Activity

Another baby who is seriously curious about the world.  Likes to get into literally everything if only because he wants to know what it is, what it does, and how he can use it or play with it.

SO CUTE AS A BABY.  Has chubby cheeks that you just want to pinch.  A seriously lovable baby who’s wonderful and amazing.

He’s that baby that always accidentally gets into trouble, and Lexaeus and Xaldin know it.  They’ve formed a pact between the two of them to follow Zexion around and keep him safe from other babies/bullies (aka Xigbar.)

Can’t go to sleep unless someone reads him a story.

Saix

Favorite Toy: Fisher Price Desk and Lamp to store his crayons and important documents

Pretty similar to Xemnas, Saix has a god damn schedule and you need to stick to it or he will go absolutely insane.  You’ll be left with a very unhappy baby and he’ll make sure you know how unhappy he is, loudly and often.  He needs order to function, more so than most babies.

Bossy as shit and a little know it all.  He will definitely correct adults when they’re wrong about something and has absolutely judged his parents on their parenting skills and tried to tell them what to do.

Axel

Favorite Toy: Sit and Spin - definitely makes himself dizzy as hell on purpose.

You can’t have candles in the house with this sweet baby.  He’s absolutely fascinated with fire and will very much stick his hands on or near the fire on the stove if given the opportunity.

He’s also very loud! Not in like the uncontrollable screaming way, but he just babbles a lot.  He’ll definitely be trying to have a conversation with you like, “Bla bla baa bebebe sha ba daaaaaa da ba.” And you just have to nod and agree with whatever he says.

Like Xigbar, he’s great sleeper because he has so much energy during the day that he’s practically exhausted by nighttime.

Axel sometimes throws tantrums, but it’s usually only when he doesn’t get what he wants.  You won’t let him have a snack or a piece of candy from the store and he’ll get pretty upset with you, but he’ll get over it fairly quickly.

Demyx

Favorite Toy: Sing-Along MP3 Player

Singing gibberish since literally the day he was born.  Demyx has one of those little machines that has a speaker and microphone, and he drags the thing around ALL DAY, practically screaming into it because he thinks it’s singing and practically drives everyone nuts.

Loves to go in the pool! Demyx is a natural swimmer that doesn’t need floaties and isn’t afraid of water or getting water splashed in his face.  Laughs hysterically every time you let him play with the hose pipe.

Luxord

Favorite Toy: Kid’s Playing Cards

Luxord likes all sorts of card games, like Old Maid, Go Fish, etc. He’s also a really great master at Peekaboo.  Even though he’s a kid, 100% definitely has the skill to take all of your money in poker. Also likes matching games where you can find the matching pictures, Solitaire, and board games like Mouse Trap and Guess Who!  Not Monopoly, though.  He hates Monopoly.

Attracted to shiny silver and gold things, especially coins.

Likes to have someone sing him a lullaby before sleep and, unlike most kids, he really likes to have a bath.  Can’t sleep unless he’s clean and in new jammies!

Marluxia

Favorite Toy: Kid’s Gardening Set

Marluxia loves playing outside! Spends more time playing in the yard than inside, so he gets tons of fresh air.  Likes to play in the garden, pull weeds, and plant pretty flowers.  Would try to plant acorns and other seeds because he wants to see them grow into something big.

Also gets dirty A LOT.  He’s that crazy kid that makes mud pies whenever he possibly can and gets the mud everywhere. Over his clothes, tracked through the house, all across the driveway, on his skin, etc.

Larxene

Favorite Toy: An Old Barbie Doll, but it’s beaten up, hair torn out, and damaged

Larxene is a drama queen baby.  Practically acts like she’s a teenager even though she’s only three years old.  Definitely bosses the other babies around, like Angelica from the Rugrats.  An unbelievable amount of sass within a tiny body.

Terrible.  Tantrums.  All the time.  Every day.  Everywhere. Larxene is the master of the temper tantrum because she knows it’s one of the best ways to get what she wants. Doesn’t care who she bothers with her screaming as long as she gets whatever it is that she wants.

Roxas

Favorite Toy: A stick that he pretends is a sword.

A happy, cheerful baby who laughs at everyone and everything, but he is very clingy. You can’t set him down or he’ll get really upset and worried that you’ll suddenly disappear.

He’s a happy baby, like I said, but he also has a short temper.  If everything is the way he wants to be, he is the cutest most lovable baby in the world.  If anything is annoying him, he’ll throw an absolute fit.

Also likes to play with styrofoam swords all the time.  And for some reason, he has a habit of stealing your car keys (though you aren’t sure if it’s because he likes the shiny stuff or the jingling noise.).

Xion

Favorite Toy: A GIANT teddy bear that she can cuddle and sleep on.

A content, curious baby who doesn’t do much and is just happy to look around and see new things.  She’s absolutely precious!  Such a cuddle bug that loves hugs and skin contact just because she likes the warmth.

She’s cries sometimes, but not because she’s being a brat or throwing a tantrum.  Poor thing just has a lot of emotions and the only way she can get them out is to cry.  A quiet cryer, though.  She doesn’t have loud, screaming cries.

Gets distracted really easily.  She likes shiny things and noisy things and toys that squeak and rattle.  She loves toys of any kind and is always happy to get new stuff.

[ixeliema]

Insecure - Shane x my farmer, Terra

By popular demand (sort of, I mean I have never posted content on Tumblr out of fear it would get stolen or that I’d get harassed for it, so “popular” means like 2 reblogs and around 30 likes, THANK YOU ALL), here’s my fic about Shane being an awkward scared bean!

Summary: Terra and Shane had grown really close over time, and have formed somewhat of a routine. Shane goes to the saloon after work, Terra meets him with a beer for conversation. When Terra stops coming to the saloon, Shane begins to wonder what he did wrong, and if he messed up.

TWs: Implied self harm near the end, Talk of Suicide and Suicide Attempts, Anxiety and Depression, General Angst, Language (let’s be honest, Shane definitely swears a lot)

Word Count: 5373

Thursday, 18 Spring, Year 2 – 3:40 PM

 I hadn’t seen her in days, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d done something wrong.

Stocking those infernal shelves day after day made it hard for us to see each other as it was, even though we’d been dating over half a year by now.

At the end of last summer, she’d approached me shyly and handed me a bouquet and a beer. The beer, I’d come to expect, as she’d began greeting me at the saloon on a nightly basis when I got there at 6, drink in hand, and during the summer, sometimes with a freshly grown hot pepper.

Even after starting my therapy, she was always there with something, whether it was a beer because I’d “earned it” or a sparkling water because I was still trying to get away from my past emotional crutch and she knew that. Hell, she knew that all too well.

But two days ago, she wasn’t there. I was worried so I sent her a letter, and even then, no response. With work, I didn’t have much time to ask around town or visit, so I’d asked Jas and Marnie to tell me if they saw her anywhere, and even then, nothing.

I was becoming increasingly more convinced that I’d upset her somehow. What had I done in the last week to upset her? Had it been my tone when we talked on Saturday? Was it the beer can on the floor when she came to see me at home on Sunday? What WAS it?

I shook my head. Deep breaths, Shane. I channeled my counsellor’s advice. “Don’t panic, just breathe.” I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

“SHANE.” Morris’ voice boomed behind me. Startled, I stood up quickly, can of chili still in hand.

“Yes, sir?” I somehow managed to say without stuttering, despite my nerves still being high from the voice behind me.

“Your shift ends in an hour and a half, and you still have two aisles to stock.” Morris didn’t really sound angry at me, but he wasn’t exactly known for being a pleasant person to work for. There was a reason the girl with the ginger hair at the counter looked like a corpse from dawn until dusk every day.

“Sorry sir, I was taking a quick breather.” I made up the excuse knowing that Morris wouldn’t care whether I was 5 centimeters from a mental breakdown or not. He wouldn’t care what I said.

“Just don’t let it happen again. You still have plenty of work to do.” He smiled at me, and I felt ill.

He turned around quickly at the sound of the doorbells jingling. “Hello, welcome to JojaMart!!”

I rolled my eyes. What, am I not allowed to breathe here anymore?

“Oh! Miss Terra!”

My shoulders shot up from the pouty slumped state they were in upon hearing her name. Terra? What was she doing here? She hates JojaMart almost as much as I do at this point.

I heard a hushed voice to Morris and rapid footsteps away from my direction. I rushed to the edge of the aisle, desperate to see her face, to ask what was wrong, if she was okay. If WE were okay.

Nothing, just the same tired cashier, and no Terra, no Morris.

I looked around a bit, but to no avail. She must have gone to his office to talk with him in private.

What for though? She literally talks shit about him every time we hang out. What would be so important that she’d be willing to talk to Morris PRIVATELY?

With a sigh, knowing that Morris would fire me if I was caught loitering around the aisles, I went back to work.

 Thursday, 18 Spring, Year 2 – 7:20 PM

 Never in my life had getting blackout drunk sounded so appealing as I sat in the corner, completely alone, and with far too many questions spinning around in my head.

Seriously, what was this afternoon all about? Even after changing out of my uniform and clocking out, Morris wouldn’t talk to me, and even if he did, I doubt he would have said anything. Not like he owes me anything, I’m just a pawn to him, and he has always made it clear he doesn’t “care” about us.

I felt my heart sink again as I remembered watching Terra walk away from the store through the glass doors in the rain, wanting desperately to call out to her but feeling completely powerless in the face of my fears and my douche of a boss.

Not even Lewis and Willy’s banter about fishing off the docks when they were young, or Gus’ finest pizza could snap me out of the funk I was in. The only thing I could understand tonight was that Terra blatantly didn’t want to see me today.

I stood up and left the saloon, far earlier than I ever had before. Maybe, just MAYBE, I could run into her, especially if she was trying to avoid me. She knew my schedule well, not like it was difficult to memorize. Wake, eat, work, drink, sleep; rinse and repeat. She knew exactly where I’d be and when, and if I had any chance of finding her, I needed to use that to my advantage.

 I started out toward the forest. Maybe she was fishing by the lake? She had a particular fondness for the dock where we’d first sat down and really talked, and she loved fishing there. Something about a “constant flow of 25-inch-long smallmouth bass.”

Upon finding nothing, I checked my phone. 8 PM. Maybe she was home? It was a longshot, at this hour, but worth a try. She really pushed her body to the limit when it came to sleeping.

I headed north to Vervain Farm, sidestepping some weeds and a fallen tree branch as I headed up the docks. Her farm was very much right in the middle of a number of small rivers, and the numerous “isles” that made up her farm were traversable only by small bridges.

“Terra?” I asked softly, almost as if my voice didn’t really WANT to be heard. Clearing my throat and shaking my head, I called again. “Terra?”

My voice echoed in the wind, as a chilling breeze swept through my tattered jacket and into my bones. No response. I approached her cabin and stood on the doorstep in the rain for what seemed like forever before I finally gathered the courage to actually knock louder than a pathetic tapping.

I heard silence, then a shuffle, and then nothing again. I knocked again, hoping she was there, but all that answered my knock was a muffled “mrow?”

Terra’s cat, Citrus, emerged from the cat door and rubbed up against my leg, before realizing I was soaked and shaking his head indignantly at me.

“Hey boy,” I said under my breath, well aware that it was cold enough to see my breath fogging up the night air. “Have you seen Terra?” I asked, stroking his fur with my cold hands.

He looked up at me, green eyes wide and curious. “Mrow?”

I sat down on the porch beneath the gable, petting Citrus for another few minutes, listening to the rain and his purring, and trying to breathe normally.

Where is she? My mind was going crazy, and I swore I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes.

I grabbed Citrus close and let out a single sob. The cat, more than a little disgruntled by my actions, meowed loudly in surprise and growled at me until I loosened my grip.

“S-sorry.” I stuttered, feeling my jaw tensing up and chattering from the cold. “I’m sorry.” I repeated, scratching the cat behind his ears.

The orange tabby mewled at me once more before reentering the house, and I sighed heavily.

Alone again.

I stood up and shook my head aggressively, feeling the raindrops flying out in all directions from my messy purple hair.

The rain had lightened up, and I knew that this was the only chance I had to get home without receiving another cold shower from mother nature.

As I descended the stairs, I swore I heard a voice inside, but then again, at this point, I was too tired, cold and sad to know if it was merely an auditory hallucination or not.

I fell into bed at Marnie’s place at 9 PM on the dot, and as I did, I tried to empty my mind of all these thoughts. Terra, my insecurities, my loneliness, everything. And as I eventually drifted off the sleep, around 2 in the morning, I dreamed of Terra and I’s first date.

The gridball game with the Tunnelers, the game where I kissed her suddenly out of excitement, and panicked, thinking I’d just ruined my chances with this wonderful woman who had given me hope again. As she kissed me back, I remember feeling everything fading into the shadows. The game’s noise, the crowd’s screams, the tipsy feeling inside my head, everything was gone. Only her and me.

And god, was it wonderful. The last Sunday of Fall, and the last game of the season. We’d won, but I barely even remember that part. I remembered the taste of her lips on mine. The faint scent of beer and fried food as I inhaled deeply, taking it all in.

Moments like that could drive an atheist to Yoba, because in that moment, I had kissed an angel.

On the bus ride home, she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, hair messy, and a little bit tipsy herself. She was just so beautiful. Even as she drooled a bit on my jacket and made strange noises in her sleep, I just fell harder and harder for this woman every time I took a breath.

“Terra, I love you so much.” I said under my breath. “You give me hope that there is a future for me after all. You make me feel like I actually mean something to someone. You give me a reason to try harder, and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”

A small snort answered my statement and I felt my face start to hurt from how wide I was smiling. “Terra, I think that I want to marry you someday. No, I know I do. Terra, I want to make me the happiest man alive…god this sounds so cheesy. I’m trying to say that…I love you. And I hope I can make you happy for the rest of my life.”

After the bus stopped in Pelican Town, I woke her and walked her home, thanking her for the wonderful time, and laughing at her jokes and her story about a funny dream she had on the ride home.

Of course, she didn’t know what I’d said, but I did. And those words were tattooed on my heart now. I want to marry her. I really, REALLY do. But I can’t propose without a Mermaid’s Pendant, and lord only knows how the hell you get one of those anymore.

Morris appeared in my dream, sly and shrewd. I knew he knew something, but there was no point in asking what he knew, because he would never tell me so long as he lived and breathed. He owed nothing to a stupid subordinate.

The night was long, and full of miniature dreams and nightmares in which I was alone and drowning in my fears.

God fucking damn it.

 Friday, 19 Spring, Year 2 – 8:20 AM

 A rolling fog had settled over the valley, and the walk to work was much chillier than usual.

The milky white haze was so thick that I could barely to the end of Marnie’s cow paddock. As I continued my walk, I wondered if maybe Terra would answer her phone.

I dialed her number and stared at her contact name as it rang. It read “Brat” with a purple heart emoji. I always wondered if she had me named something in her phone, especially since she was literally the only person in my contacts WITH a nickname.

“Hi this is Terra,” Her voice jolted me out of my daze.

“Terra, oh thank god, I was so worried—”

“Unfortunately, you caught me in the fields, on in the mines, or…whatever. Anyway, I’m not able to talk right now.” I exhaled. God, I was so stupid. Was I so desperate to hear her voice that I didn’t realize I’d gotten her voicemail? It’s not like I hadn’t heard it before.

I hung up. Even if I could competently leave a voicemail without enough “Uh’s” and “Um’s” to outdo Jeff Goldblum, I didn’t know what I’d say to her, much less if she wanted to hear it at all.

I sighed heavily, feeling like all my happiness was draining out of my fingertips into the foggy air.

I clenched my fists, in a vain attempt to stop myself from feeling so rotten. I didn’t have much say right now. After work, I could go to Pierre’s, or sit outside her house until she got home…actually no, the last one would just come across stalker-y. And at this point, the last thing I needed was to drive her further away.

God damn it! Damn it damn it damn it!

I kicked a rock into the mists of oblivion, hearing it splash into the river. I needed to get my dumb ass to work before I lost my job. Not like anyone else in town was hiring, so I’d be fucked if I lost the job.

So, dragging my feet more than I ever have in the past, I dragged my shallow corpse of a body into JojaMart.

 Friday, 19 Spring, Year 2 – 4:40 PM

 10 minutes until my shift ends. I said to myself, feebly attempting to ground myself in reality after the most out-of-it shift I’d ever had, even including all the ones I’d been forced to work while hungover.

The clock’s incessant ticking had me so high strung I was convinced that the next tick I’d hear would make me break the fucking thing over my knee.

A constant reminder of where I was, that ticking. A steady reminder that I’m wasting away stocking canned goods in a dead-end town for a corporate dunghill while the love of my life refuses to speak to me.

My eyes felt hollow, like they weren’t really seeing things, more like they just stared off into the blackness of nothingness and stayed there.

The snapping of Sam’s fingers in my face startled me back into reality. “Earth to Shane, hellooooo.”

“Sam?” I sounded almost drunk in my bewilderment, which wasn’t ideal right now. The last thing I need is for my coworker to think I’m zoning out because I’m drunk off my ass on-shift.

“Yeah, me.” He grinned his borderline obnoxious sunshiny smile. “Your shift ended like, 3 minutes ago. You’re usually out of here in a flash.”

I stared back at the clock I’d been fantasizing about murdering, surprised. He was right somehow.

“You’re one to talk, your shift ends at 4, what the hell are you doing here still?” I retorted, indignant at the younger man’s tone for no good reason.

Walls up.

“I fell asleep in the break room, don’t tell Morris.” He sniggered; way too proud of himself. “You going to the saloon? I’ll come with. I’ve got about twelve games of pool to lose tonight.”

I wasn’t thrilled by this bright and smiley tagalong, but it wasn’t like he was wrong. Where the hell else would I go? Not like anywhere else felt right today.

May as well let myself relapse like the coward I am.

“Sure. Give me a second to get out of this shitty uniform.” I said, disappearing into the break room.

 Friday, 19 Spring, Year 2 – 5:10 PM

 Sam wasn’t a bad guy really, but right now he was the worst guy for me to be around. He was too cheery, and far too talkative.

I thought the clock was annoying, but Sam reminded me far too much that I was a total wet blanket just by breathing with a smile.

“How was work, dude?” My mind didn’t really register the question until I heard the bells jingle as the door shut behind us.

“Uh?” I answered gracefully. “Oh, right. Work. Uh, um.” I stammered. Pathetic, Shane, you seriously suck shit at conversation. Why does anyone bother with you to begin with?

“Yeah, work. Good ol’ Joja.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Long day, huh?” He seemed sympathetic, but to me, that meant pity. And I didn’t need his pity.

“Yeah, sure.” I said.

Walls fortified.

“You okay?”

The fucking worst question of all. In the deluge of questions this kid asked me, that one bothered me most, and for really no good reason.

It made me angry, it made me want to cry, it made me want to scream, and it made me, most of all, just feel empty.

“Not really, Sam. Please stop talking.” Was the politest response I could manage.

Sam raised his finger as though he had something to say, but quickly decided against it.

Good. Please stop pressing me before I throw myself in the river and pack my coat full of stones.

We walked in silence for a while until we were passing the Mullner’s house, when Sam piped up again with a smile. “Hey Shane, I think tonight will help you get your mind off of…whatever’s going on.”

I stared at him, actually stopping in my tracks. Why did this kid sound so fucking condecending? And why did he give two shits about my mental wellbeing?

No one gave a shit about that, except Terra, and now she was gone.

“Why are you acting like you know me?” My voice was steeped in venom, probably more so than I’d intended. “Why do you give a fuck what’s going on with me?”

Sam stopped too, staring at me, worried.

“Stop acting like you understand me. It’s pissing me off.” I felt my face getting hot. It wasn’t anger, it was tears. “Get lost, kid.” I suppressed a sob, hurting my chest and making my eyes burn with tears.

Sam stepped toward me. “Shane, I didn’t mean—”

“SHUT UP!”

I turned around quickly as the tears fell. “Just…please…go away.” My voice choked. “Pl…ease.”

Sam took a deep breath, and then grabbed my arm, dragging me around the corner and through the door of the Stardrop Saloon.

“What the fuck are you--? Get your hands off me! Let me go! Get off!—” I struggled against his grip, but to no avail. I fell to the ground, and Sam dropped me. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice.

“Shane?”

Turning around in a daze, I saw Terra. Golden earrings, brown hair tied neatly in a bun, familiar purple sweater, leather boots, and gorgeous blue eyes. My heart stopped for a moment, and then began rushing again as I realized I was still crying, on the floor, and in complete disarray.

“Terra—! I, um, hang on, I, wait, uhhhh…” I panicked and basically spilled out words like a semi-truck carrying nothing but alphabet soup crashed into a wall.

“Shane, what’s…?” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Oh my god, Shane.”

Her arms were around me instantly, her lips on my forehead, and suddenly I couldn’t feel anything. Numbness covered me the instant her hands made contact with my skin, and I couldn’t hear anything.

None of the noise from the tavern, none of the eyes staring, none of the tears on my cheeks, just her arms around me. I felt like I was home again.

I snapped out of it to hear Terra apologizing profusely, on the brink of tears, as I stared into nothing. “I’m so sorry, Shane, I didn’t think about how you’d interpret my actions, oh my god, I’m so sorry…”

“F…for wh…what?” I rasped, throat dry from dehydration. “It’s…my fault. Right?”

She stopped moving, stopping to stare at me. “Wh…what?”

“I fucked up…and…you…you finally realized…that I’m…just a…piece of shit.” I was dizzy, and Terra was growing increasingly more concerned.

“Baby, baby no!” She shouted her pet name for me, turning a few heads from the arcade area. My face was burning. No no no no don’t look at me. I bit my lower lip, suppressing a sharp inhalation that would have certainly made me start hyperventilating.

“Baby I…” Terra stopped and sat back, staring at me. “I was gone because I was…” She paused, pursing her lips.

“I was looking for this.”

She reached into her sweater and revealed a blue conch shell on a leather string.

It was a Mermaid’s Pendant.

Everything went white for a moment. Wait. She wasn’t serious, was she?

Me?

 I stared at her in complete shock, jaw gaping, breathless and completely incapable of saying anything. “Terra, you…”

“Shh.” She put her index finger to my lips and put the necklace around my neck. “Shane. Breathe.”

Right about now I noticed exactly how many people were surrounding us. Almost everyone from town was here. A Friday night at the saloon was busy enough already, but there were some new faces, like Jodi and Caroline, both of which I’d never seen in here before.

Everyone. Sebastian, Abigail, Alex, Willy, even LINUS, was staring down at us, as I felt my face heat up in embarrassment. She’d been planning this for days. Everyone was here. For us. For me.

“I…” I cleared my throat, scrambling to sit up straight, and try to recover whatever dignity was not currently ablaze in the depths of hell. “I…”

Terra looked concerned. Oh my god, she thought I was going to say no.

She’s just as scared as I am about what this means.

“I accept!!” I shouted.

Silence, then eruptions of applause.

Terra tackled me with a hug and began to cry into my chest. And unbeknownst to even myself, so did I. Gus cheered and turned on the jukebox to the oldies channel he always played. Sam smiled down at me, Sebastian congratulated me…Lewis tried talking to me about how to go about arranging a wedding, but I couldn’t hear him.

I was far too busy crying. Someone, no, not just anyone, TERRA, just told me that they want to spend the rest of their life with me. ME!

Part of me wondered if it wasn’t somehow just an elaborate prank, but the tears in her eyes and the pendant around my neck snapped me out of that illusion immediately.

Terra was going to be my wife.

Holy shit.

 After the commotion died down I asked her everything I’d been meaning to ask over a well-deserved beer and basket of chips. “Why did you actively avoid me for the last week?”

“I’m a really bad liar and I know how perceptive you are, and I was really worried you’d find me out. I wanted to invite everyone because they’re all really important to me, but it was hard getting around without running into you.”

She looked incredibly guilty, and I felt my heart tighten at the sad look on her face. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I laughed a little. “Just…give a guy a warning…or something.” I took a huge sip of beer. “I mean, I was basically staying up all night thinking you were ghosting me because I left a beer can on the floor when you visited on Sunday.”

“The what?” Her oblivious question made me realize exactly how stuck up in my head I was about the whole thing, of course she hadn’t even noticed.

“Wow.” I exhaled. “I feel…stupid.”

“That makes two of us.” She replied, putting her head gently on my shoulder. “I didn’t even think about how this might affect your anxiety.” She bit her lip. “God, I’m an idiot.” She slumped, seeing her so broken up over my mental state destroyed any lingering doubts I may have had about how genuine she was being with me.

“Terra, baby…I…” I stopped. I was about to tell her that she wouldn’t have HAD to worry if I were normal, but I stopped myself. I wasn’t great at sitting and talking feelings with a borderline stranger, but there was one thing I’d learned in abundance in the short time since I began therapy.

I couldn’t keep blaming myself for everything. I would consume myself and end up even worse off. And it had been a battle to stop, especially considering recent stressors.

“We both messed up, baby.” I answered. “You made a mistake, and I got super worried and convinced myself that you were breaking up with me in a slow and painful way. And worst of all, I was convinced I deserved it.” I paused as Terra looked up at me. “Baby, I want to marry you. I’ve wanted to marry you since that night at the gridball game, but I’m such a goddamn trainwreck that I wanted to get better before I proposed. I…”

“I wanted to be worthy of you.”

Terra looked into my eyes with a lot of confusion and a lot of love.

“That’s when I decided I wanted to marry you, too.” She blushed a deep pink and looked at the floor. “I…heard you saying how much you loved me in my dreams.”

I froze. Wait. Had she also heard the—

“I heard you tell me you wanted to marry me, too.”

I felt my face burning. Fuck. I was hoping she wasn’t going to say that.

“After a few days of thinking about it, I decided to look into how to propose.” She continued, laughing. “I eventually found out, about halfway through winter, that I needed to propose using a Mermaid’s Pendant, which can only be received from a ghost you can find in the RAINY season.” She scoffed. “I was really angry about having to wait, actually.”

Seeing her pout about this was adorable, even though I had no goddamn clue what she was talking about with a “ghost” and the “winter” and “rain.”

“I only got the pendant yesterday, actually. I was on the beach at like 6 PM and I saw the Old Mariner standing on the island across the bridge.”

“It cost me a lot of money, so I spent the rest of the night at the beach, fishing up some big fish to sell to repair the dent in my funds.”

Wait. “How much did it…cost?” I said, concerned.

“It’s…not a big deal now. I got the money back from a good harvest and quality fish.” She smiled a toothy grin. She knew what I was doing. I was fishing for a reason to blame myself, and she put an end to that right quick.

“Hey Shane,” Sam’s voice came from behind me. “Hey dude.”

I turned to face him. “Hey…uh, I’m sorry about earlier.” I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. This kid was just trying to help and I’d just yelled at him and made myself out to be a total ass.

“No, no, I get it, man.” He held up his hands as his two friends ducked out the doors of the saloon. “I would have been really confused and angry too. And I know now that you have a lot of anxiety and…a lot of baggage.” He paused, glancing at me, as if looking for approval. “I shouldn’t have forced you, and I’m sorry too.”

I smiled, and Sam looked at me as though he were witnessing a unicorn cantering through the fields of heaven. I guess it really was true how little I smiled in public, good lord. “I appreciate what you did for me, Sam.” I put my hand out to shake his hand, and he reluctantly accepted. “Thanks.”

“For…wait, what?”

“Thank you for being such a good friend to Terra, and for helping me out, even though I’ve been nothing but unpleasant to you.”

“Uh, no problem, man, I just…I’m glad that it all worked out.”

Sam ducked out, and I felt my nerves cough and sputter out like a dying lawnmower.

“Shane,” Terra said my name and snapped me out of my drowsy stupor. “You should get home. You’ve had a long day.” She smiled. “We can get together and plan the wedding tomorrow. I’m thinking the 22nd would be a good date.”

Wedding. God that word sounded foreign to me.

“Alright,” I sighed. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Waving at Gus and Lewis as I left, Terra and I ventured out into the cold.

As we started toward Marnie’s ranch, I paused.

“Wait, Terra, the 22nd is a Monday.” I felt my heartbeat trying to race, but falling victim to my slightly intoxicated bloodstream. “We can’t possibly get married then, I have…ugh…work.” I grimaced.

“Oh, about that.” Terra laughed. “I may or may not have prematurely gotten the next week of work off for you by talking to Morris.”

The pieces connected suddenly. “Wait, that’s what you were doing?”

“Well, yeah, what, did you think I went in there to blow the bastard? I’d rather die.” I laughed loudly at her crudeness, spooking a rabbit into a bush nearby. “It wasn’t easy. We can do Monday, Tuesday, any day. I just think that Monday is best because then we’ll have a whole week to move you in and get adjusted.”

Moving in? Oh god, that was something that made my heart leap. I’d be living with Terra. Holy shit. Married and living with the love of my life, and by MONDAY? This was clearly all a ridiculous dream.

“Fuck, pinch me.” I said breathily. “I have GOT to be dreaming.”

“Why so?” She laughed. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.” She added coyly.

“Oh shaddup.” I retorted. “I…still can’t believe any of this is real.”

She leaned over and kissed me square on the lips, tilting her head to the right and bending into me with a passion that not even the horniest dream could manifest.

Her tongue danced behind her lips, asking permission, and I opened my mouth, allowing her access, grunting slightly as her hands caressed the back of my head, stroking my hair.

She pulled away, leaving me wanting more. “Are you convinced now?”

I shook my head. “God damn, how did I get so fucking lucky?” Laughing, I caressed her cheek, kissing her forehead. “Seriously, what did I do to deserve you?”

She beamed at me, grabbing my hand and continuing to walk toward Marnie’s. “You went through hell every day, waiting for someone to love you.” She turned back. “It took me…a long time to realize what I felt for you. I realized rather suddenly actually, after…that day.”

She couldn’t meet my eyes for that moment, and I knew that it still haunted her. The blood, the broken glass, the cuts, the beer, everything. I realized in that moment what I would have lost, had I succeeded. I would have missed out on everything good that had ever happened to me.

She interlaced her fingers with mine. “We fit like a pair of puzzle pieces.” She said. “And without you, I don’t feel like I’m complete anymore.”

“Terra, I…I don’t think I knew what “complete” felt like until I heard you talking to me when I was resting at the clinic after…all that. I heard you saying that you might love me, but that being in love scared you. You kissed my cheek, my bandages, and when I officially “woke up”, I just remember feeling…whole.”

Terra blushed. Clearly we both had said things to the other when they were “sleeping” that we were shy about saying to the others’ faces. “Terra, you’ve made me the happiest man in the world, and EASILY the happiest man in Stardew Valley.” I said, turning to her.

I took her hands in mine and kissed her gently, feeling all the worries and fears of the day wash away like the tides rolling out to sea. “I will never stop loving you. And I will do my damnedest to make you the happiest woman alive.”

“I love you.”