#llsmp au

[salemoleander]

every fugitive hour leaves its mark

This is the fic I wrote for the Extreme Timed Challenge Exchange as a gift with prompts around Villain!Cleo, Vigilant!Etho, and a superhero AU. Thank you so much to @extremetimedchallengeexchange for putting this together!

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Chin propped on her hand, Cleo idly moved papers around her desk and tried to convince her eyes to stay open. It was late, sky already in the shade of off-blue that heralded pre-dawn, but she just- She could feel that she was on the edge of something with this research. The seed of a plan of entry for the branch of banks that kept bragging about its “on-staff heroes” and “unrobbability”. Claims which were, respectively, foolishly overconfident and not actually a word - and both equally grating.

She should really just be done with this, come back to it in the morning. The sleeve over the nub of her left arm was irritating some nerve or muscle or something - Cleo would’ve taken the damn thing off hours ago, if she’d known it was just going to be a night in of paperwork. But Lizzie had said the team might go out, and she didn’t want to go through the rigmarole of putting her arm on if that happened.

Slumped in their chair, something shifted in the background hum of late-night noise. They felt their exhaustion drift into watchful attention. This was an old building; its creaks and rattles had a rhythm to them, and something was off . The subtle wrongness of the silence made them sit up, just a moment before-

Someone knocked on their door.

No one should ever knock on their door. Very few people even knew where they lived, and of those almost all had a key. Or didn’t need to bother with one. She’d come home from missions several times to find Scott had teleported inside, eaten half the contents of her fridge, and passed out on the couch. Regardless, no one should be knocking.

Standing slowly, avoiding the creaky spots in the planks as much as was possible in a third-floor flat built half a century ago, Cleo made her way to the door. She peered through the peephole. 

Whoever was out there either wasn’t trying to surprise her or didn’t know much about her power, because they were still in plain view of the door. Idiot. Then she caught a flash of a black face-mask as the person raised their hand to knock again, and with a jolt of recognition Cleo wrenched the door open.

Blue Fire- Blue, she decided, because Blue Fire was long and stupid- stood on her doorstep, in his stupid ramshackle hero get-up. One hand was still half-raised as if to knock. His normally-white hair was pinkish in some places and grey in others, blood and dust discoloring it.

She glared at him, both in the traditional way and in the way only she could - bringing her power to bear and freezing him in place.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Cleo hissed. 

He stared at her, mask moving in and out with his breath, but otherwise no response... Right.

Graciously, she released her power enough for him to move his jaw and respond.

"You're my only hope, Cleo!" He said, with the bright tone and panicked energy of a car salesman who knows he's already lost the sale. "I'm desperate for help, a harmless man hoping to throw himself on your, your tender mercy- c'mon, stop laughing, I spent the entire walk here thinking of this."

"My tender mercy?" Cleo asked, eyes watering slightly from laughter. "Sorry, I'm fresh out of that. I think that's what hospitals are for."

“I don't want to get arrested."

"Fair enough. That's what friends are for - which we aren't."

"I know we’re enemies. I swear I’m not here to hurt you. No one else even knows I’m-” he cut off, wincing at the admission.

Cleo snorted dubiously. He'd dropped the woe-is-me tone, which was good because it was annoying, but bad because it was harder to ignore 'exhausted blunt plea for help' than 'child pleading for a cookie'. Harder, but not impossible. This guy was either the worst hero she’d ever met (a high bar, really, considering Poultry Man existed), or he was lying to set her up for some team of heroes to bust through her windows. And probably, she thought as she made to shut the door and prepare for a fight, the latter.

“I’m serious, Cleo.” He said her name like- like he was begging. She paused.

Blue raised his eye to meet her gaze, and that was when she noticed he was shaking. Tiny trembles, running up and down his legs and core, making the shadows on his face from the fluorescent overhead shift constantly. Her power stopped voluntary movement, not- which meant-

Cleo grit their teeth, made split-second peace with the fact that the next few hours were going to be so annoying , and released their power’s hold on Blue. He staggered, half stepping and half falling forward, and they lurched to catch him. They of course couldn’t feel anything through their left prosthetic, but the hand gripping his waist immediately felt wet. 

Cursing, she pulled him inside, then slammed and locked the door while he leaned heavily on her.

Blue was silent as she helped him limp forward and sit down on what she’d long-ago designated the Blood Chair. (It was easy to clean! In her opinion everyone who went around hitting people for a living should have a blood chair. Saved a lot on cleaning fees from increasingly-suspicious specialists.) 

The arm he had wrapped tightly around his abdomen drew her eye.

“Where?”

Making a barely-audible grunt of pain as he moved, Blue shifted his arm to reveal four jagged gashes over his ribs, shirt in tatters over the area. His dark outfit disguised a lot of it, but between the blood on her hands and how wet his shirt looked, she knew it was bad.

Voice shaky and rough, he said, “They had me down, already. But they still pulled off my vest. Did this and walked away.”

“Bloody hell.” The cuts made her anxious, which was stupid because she’d been around plenty of blood and treated worse. Whatever, it’s fine; she could figure out why this injury freaked her out so much later.

Cleo whirled to run and grab her medkit from the bathroom. She only took a few steps before she turned back to point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t fucking move, or you will be leaving this apartment via window. I will be right back.”

Blue didn’t look like he was capable of eating a sandwich, nevermind setting a bomb or performing espionage. Still, she figured an extra threat never hurt. He gave a tiny nod.

She made her way to the tiny pink-tiled bathroom in the hall, yanking her first aid bag from its place on the wall. Throwing open a door of her medicine cabinet, she grabbed a few extra rounds of gauze. For a moment Cleo caught their face in the mirror. Tired, puffy eyes; frazzled red hair; a split lip left over from their last fight. Their mind was jumbled from exhaustion, but one question rose to the top:

Why am I helping this guy?

There were lots of noble reasons to help - chivalry, honor, similar nonsense. There were even more ignoble reasons - Blue could be a hostage, provide intelligence. Ultimately though, she was subject to neither thread of motivation. She was indulging a much stupider and less useful reason - curiosity. Why did he come here? 

Why her?

She walked, arms full, back to the living room’s yellow-cast glow. Blue remained in the chair she’d left him in. Arm clamped to his side, head tilted back in exhaustion, eyes closed. Adorable.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” she sang out, voice booming in the quiet room. Was it necessary? No. Was she going to torment this guy as much as possible while he was here? Absolutely.

His eye popped open, and he stared for a moment in anxious, blank incomprehension before awareness cleared his gaze. Then he closed his eye again and whined, plaintively and dramatically.

“Aw c’mon Cleo- I’m already grievously injured. Can’t you just leave me to sleep?”

Dumping the armful of medical supplies on the table, they pulled an ottoman over and sat in front of him. 

“One, no, because I don’t like you. I only let people I like fall asleep bleeding all over my furniture. Two, no, because I don’t know what happened to you. You might have a concussion.”

“I didn’t hit my head.”

Cleo grinned, channeling every bit of her manic exhaustion into it. “Don’t care.”

She grabbed safety shears from the bag, and turned back to reach for his shirt. The moment he registered that she was reaching for him, his right foot settled flat on the floor ready to move. His breath hitched for just a beat, morphing into a coughing fit that broke the tension of the moment but left one of his palms red-flecked. 

She paused while he composed himself, hands lowered to her knees. Thought for a moment, of the way Lizzie couldn’t be near candles anymore. Of how Ren had to cut his own hair. 

Once Blue was breathing normally again, Cleo cleared their throat and drew his sharp gaze. “So- I need to cut your shirt off- just around the wound. Safety shears like this are blunt at the ends, so I’d have to work inordinately hard to stab you, and I’d really rather be asleep than get in a knife-fight. No offense, you’re clearly great at knife fights.”

He huffed a laugh, then grimaced. “Don’t be funny. I think I have some busted ribs.”

“I’ll try not to,” she deadpanned. The corner of his mouth twitched, only noticeable under his mask because she was watching for a reaction.

“Okay, I’m gonna grab your shirt,” she said, reaching out again. He kept a watchful eye on the movement, but otherwise didn’t seem like he was about to cut and run, so she counted that as a win.

She pinched the hem of his shirt and began the process of gently tugging it away from where it was stuck to his injuries. He grunted a few times, knuckles white on the arm of the chair. Once it was free, she held up the shears silently, and then moved them to the hem. Her hand brushed his leg, and she was surprised at how warm it felt even through the fabric of his pants. Usually in her experience blood loss made people colder, but he felt almost fevered. She tucked that bit of observation away for now.

Cutting his shirt off and finally seeing the extent of the damage, she whistled. “They really did a number on you.”

Blue’s face tensed, gaze skittering away to focus on the far wall. “Yeah.”

“Just out of a sort of, let’s call it professional curiosity- can I ask who did this?” Not that she cared- okay, that was a lie. She cared a little bit, now. Cleo could be violent but she wasn’t cruel, and the jagged path of these marks spoke of pain for pain’s sake. And she had rescued too many cats to have a heart entirely hardened to desperate, injured creatures showing up on her doorstep.

“You can’t guess?” His voice was measured and cold. It made something in their chest twist. They were frightened. Not fear of him, but a kind of fear nonetheless.

Still, she rolled her eyes in response. “I wouldn’t ask if I knew the answer already, would I? You don’t have to tell me, I just-”

“Your allies,” he spat. 

“They wouldn’t- they wouldn’t do this.” Cleo said it quietly, like a fact. Because it was, to her. They would fight if they needed, but that was when it was necessary, not- not this wanton violence. Not a blow delivered after someone was down. That wasn’t how they did things.

“Well, they did,” he muttered.

Hot defensive anger hit her in waves, and she glared until he froze. 

Then her brain finally finished the terrible math equation it had been trying to solve since she’d first seen the wounds. She realized she’d seen slashes that width apart, before. They’d been on her last sofa. Ren had slept over, and woken up disoriented, with his claws out. Seeing the same shape of injury on a person was- 

It’s fine! It’s fine, she thought, a little hysterically. Deal with that later. For now, she dropped her power and sat back to give Blue some room.

“This was a bad idea,” he said. “Just give me ten minutes to patch myself up, and I can go, and we can pretend this didn’t happen.”

“No.”

“No?” Blue asked, cautiously. He was clearly assessing how close she was, how far the window, how far the door. She sighed.

“I mean, you’re welcome to do that if you want, I won’t stop you,” they said, channeling a calm they were not currently feeling. “But I- fucking hell, I wish I didn’t, but I believe you. And the least I can do now is patch you up.”

He stared at them like they’d just announced the moon was made of cheese. “You believe me.”

“Yes. I don’t want to,” she admitted. “I want to say you’re lying and throw you out a window. But I believe you.”

“Alrighty,” he said, voice speeding up as he talked. “That makes things a lot easier. My name is Etho. Please don’t remove my mask, or take me to a hospital, or kill me. Please especially don’t kill me.” His speech was rapid, now.

Cleo stared in confusion. ��Oooo… kay?”

He smiled beatifically, white hair haloed by the amber light of the ceiling lamp. “Thanks Cleo! Owe you one.” Etho’s eye fluttered shut and he slumped back in the chair, head lolling onto his shoulder.

“Delightful! Wonderful! Perfect! Fuck!” she said, already, reaching for her supplies. It was going to be a long night.

[shepscapades]

A last life ethubs comic that isn’t really about last life ethubs

[silverskye13]

Etho looks down quietly at his basket, making sure everything he needs is inside. He knows it is best to only make one trip down to the water. The water is treacherous. He is strong enough to withstand it, but of course, everyone who ever drowned thinks they're strong enough until their lungs are bursting. So. He double checks. He makes sure.

He has a week's worth of laundry. Some dishes he needs sand from the river to scour. A bucket, so he won't have to make this trip for another few days. There are a few pieces of leather armor in need of a quick rinse before they're polished. Also, he's thirsty. He tries not to drink his rain water. He needs it to last.

Finally, Etho belts on his sword, hefts the basket over one shoulder, and the empty bucket with his free hand. He looks to the short path that leads down to the dock. The water is blue as the diamond sky above, edged in gold from the slowly gathering sunset. Birds are singing. Breeze whispers through the willow branches and cattails. Across the river, a small herd of deer is moving through the rushes. One breaks apart from the others to drink. Etho sighs out a long breath, steels himself, and walks down the trail.

The water is cursed. Very few people still come to the river for chores. Most only dare to run down for a few buckets of water when the well is running dry.

_____

When Tango saw him gathering his things earlier, he'd shaken his head and made a warding gesture with his hand. Protection. For himself. For Etho. Or just to ward away the idea of evil.

"Scream, I guess," Tango had told him. "I doubt we'll make it in time, but yanno, we'll know what happened."

Etho had only offered a tense smile behind his mask. Everyone would know what happened, scream or not.

"I'll be fine," Etho said. "I've been fine before."

He said it a lot more confidently than he felt, and Tango wasn't reassured. Tango had a good nose for things like that. He sniffed the air, and made the chagrined expression of someone who could smell a coming thunderstorm.

"Yeah. Sure." Tango sniffed again, and then tapped the side of his nose with a knowing finger. "On second thought, maybe save your breath."

_____

Etho walks out onto the dock, his footsteps silent as he can make them. He took his boots off by the dock's edge. They're heavy when they're wet. He sets the basket down gently on the aged wood. He fills the bucket first. In the neat and tidy plan of his habits, he thinks the bucket is the one he least wants to be left last with. It's heavy and cumbersome, and requires leaning over the water's edge. So he fills it, trying to disturb the water as little as possible, and pads back to his boots to set it down gently beside them. Then he's back to his basket, and getting to the louder work, what he know will attract attention.

He grabs a shirt and dunks it into the water, wringing it out a few times before scrubbing it against the dock's edge. Someone nailed a washboard here, probably to make it easier for everyone else who needed to scrub up -- one less cumbersome thing to drag to the riverside. Beside it, Etho can see long scratches in the wood, vanishing off the side. He has large hands, so they don't line up to him, but the unmistakable look of nails scratching, clinging, is recognizable even still. He wonders idly who made them. Probably someone playing, before the water was cursed. Or an animal that swam across the bank and needed help scurrying out.

He is tempted to think it's something more sinister, but he knows better.

The water turns from diamond blue to sunflower yellow, then to blazing orange with rusted and bleeding edges. The herd of deer on the other side of the water wanders off, sated. A fox calls in the wood somewhere, an uncanny, very human scream. The bird calls twitter into silence, replaced by chirping frogsong. Etho wrings out the last of his clothes and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He checks how far the sun has dipped in the sky, and decides he has an our yet before dark settles in.

With his clothes washed, he sets them back in the basket, neatly folded. They'll wrinkle probably, but when he puts them out on the line, the wind will straighten them out. His knees are sore from kneeling, his back from leaning. His armor will be easier to clean if he can settle in, brace it on his crossed legs.

Etho looks around the water, at the deceptive stillness. It's a slow, lazy river, hardly pushing the water fast enough to put ripples on it. There is one place near the opposite bank where a long shadow stretches from a stone, broken by the reflection of red sunset. It's the kind of image he would expect to see on a lake on a windless day. He's heard before that quiet rivers make for deadly waters, that there is a current in holes in the riverbed that will devour someone.

But Etho isn't in the water. He's on the dock, and the dock is safe. Nothing will drag him off it. Nothing in the water is strong enough. It doesn't have to be. There is some comfort in that, in knowing he can't be devoured against his will. It is why he still comes to the river. It is why he dares. Etho sits back and crosses his legs, bracing his leathers against his knees. He scoops a palm full of water onto them and scrubs, trying to get blood out of the small cracks where it will settle and rot. His chainmail is back at the fort up the hill, where its heaviness can't encumber him. It cleans itself reasonably well, all the links clattering together, just so long as he doesn't roll in any mud.

There is shuffling on the dock behind him, the creaking of old wood. Etho tilts his head, breathes in deeply through his nose. His pulse doesn't quicken. After a momentary pause, he resumes his work.

"Hey BDubs," he says conversationally. "Trying to sneak up on me?"

"Wh-- no. Of course not." There is mischief in BDub's answer, a grin in his voice. "The great Etho? Never. You probably heard me coming from a mile away."

"Maybe not a mile," Etho chuckles humbly. "You going to join me?"

"Well, I don't know," BDubs laughs, leaning over Etho's shoulder. "Is it safe?"

"I don't know why it wouldn't be."

"Water's cursed," BDubs reminds him. "There could be boogiemen about."

"You trying to tell me something BDubs?" Etho asks slyly, peering up at his friend.

"What? No of course not," BDubs laughs. He sits beside Etho, plunging his bare feet into the water beside the dock. "Even if I was, you know me Etho. You? Kill you? You'd kill me first."

"I don't know about that," Etho hums, splashing another palm full of water on a buckle clasp and scrubbing at a rusted stain with his thumb. "You made pretty efficient work of Grian."

"Grian had it coming," BDubs shrugs. "Got too caught up listening to the music."

Etho chuckles. "The music was very good."

BDubs kicks his feet in the water, humming the tune momentarily under his breath. It's a haunting sound, not really meant to be sung. Not by anything human. Etho shudders in spite of himself.

"Man, don't do that."

"Sorry! Haha! Sorry. Couldn't help it," BDubs grins a gap-tooth smile in Etho's direction, his eyes bright and gilded by the setting sun. "It's probably one of the coolest kills I've ever gotten."

"I'll make sure Tango knows you said that."

"Oh, Tango's fine." Bdubs waves a hand dismissively. "He's just upset 'cause I scared him."

"You did more than just scare him."

Dark room. Dark water. Tango screaming and running, scrabbling at the walls with his nails. If they ever went back to that little cave, Etho wondered if there would be marks on the walls like the docks, played, desperate fingers, digging.

"Well he's alive, isn't he?"

"I guess he is."

"Then he should get over it!"

Etho shakes his head, laughing. BDubs' voice is over-loud on the quiet lake, but its a good sound. Full of intensity and joy, and revelry. It made the silence between his words stark and empty, and Etho was always loathe to fill it.

Bdubs suddenly wraps an arm around Etho's shoulders, pulling him into a conspiratorial embrace. "Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you, by the way."

Etho suddenly has goosebumps on his neck, his spine, his arms. BDubs' arm is cold against his shoulders. He smells of bracken and standing water, and his eyes are bright as sunset. Etho takes a long, slow breath in and holds it for a moment.

"Uh... Yeah, BDubs?"

"I've got a plan, you know, for the others," Bdubs continues, his voice dropping to something near a whisper. There is something on the edge of his tone like the ringing of bells. Excitement. Thrill. Hunger. "But I'll need some help. I mean, I'm good at redstone, you know 'ol BDubs knows his stuff. But I need an expert. Someone good at traps."

"You know you've always got me Bdubs," Etho laughs, and it is hard to keep the nervousness from his voice. He's not sure he succeeds. "I'm happy to help. Just uh--" He shrugs his shoulders, and BDubs' arm falls away. "You know. Keep your distance."

"You're not scared of me, are you Etho?" Bdubs laughs, and it's loud and boisterous, and perfect. It echoes off the water like glass. Bells and ringing. He gives Etho a prideful, knowing look. "No, you're not scared of little 'ol BDubs. I know what you're scared of."

BDubs suddenly turns and slips into the water. Not all the way. His hands are still clinging to the wood, his elbows resting on the dock like it was a pool side. But the splash hits Etho's side and makes him shudder so hard, he drops the armor he'd been polishing. In a flash he's on his feet, backing away two, three steps. His movements feel too slow and heavy, and there's an instant of panic in him.

"Woah man!" Etho snaps, startled. He reaches for something, anything-- "I said keep your--!"

But BDubs is laughing, kicking his feet, stirring up the mud at the bottom of the river. "Oh come on Etho. It's water."

Etho takes three long breaths, filling his lungs to bursting before pushing the air out again heavy through his nose.

"You're fine you big baby," BDubs grins, resting his head on his crossed arms. His legs stop kicking, stop stirring up the mud, and Etho can see the water is shallow enough that he's standing on the bottom. He'd thought-- he'd thought-- "You'd think I tried to drown you, jeez."

He thought it was deeper.

Etho held his breath for a moment, counted slowly. He wanted to reach his hand to his neck, to check his pulse. To see how fast his heart was beating. He moved his hand to, and at a mocking glance from his friend, decides instead to stoop to pick up his dropped armor. He walks carefully to his basket and places it inside.

"Why'd you come down here, anyway?" BDubs asks. "If you're so scared, I mean."

"You know me, BDubs. I always come back," Etho answers, almost a reflex. A rehearsed answer. "Who else would I go to?"

"Tango and Skizz?"

"They won't keep me safe like you will." Etho points out. He shudders again, the cold from BDub's touch had seeped into him more than he thought it had. He's acclimating though, like jumping into a pool. It's a cold that seeps out of him, warms as it settles. "It's me and you to the end, right buddy?"

"Of course Etho. I'd never betray you."

Etho looks through his things one last time, then frowns. He turns the basket with his foot. He glances at BDubs, who still watches him from the water's edge. Then he takes a chance and crouches down beside his basket, rifling through with both hands.

"Lose something?" BDubs asks, standing on his tiptoes to get a better look.

Etho looks around, checking first the dock, and then the water beyond. In the deeper water over the side, he sees the flash of a buckle in the dying rays of the sun.

"Oh, huh," BDubs hums disinterestedly. "Guess you'll have to get that."

"BDubs," Etho scowls.

"Fine! Fine. I get it. You don't wanna get wet." BDubs puts up his hands, as though surrendering. "The water really isn't all that bad." He offers Etho a quick little salute. "Be right back."

He takes an exaggerated breath and splashes beneath the dock, stirring up mud and river plants. He breaks the water's surface shortly after, holding up the fallen armor piece triumphantly. "Ta-da! Hold your applause. I know I'm great."

Etho, in spite of himself, chuckles. He shivers again -- the evening is getting cold -- and reaches a hand out. BDubs places the buckle in his hand, then reaches his other hand up to clasp Etho's gently. It's awkward and off-balance, Etho leaning precariously over the side of the dock, and BDubs on his tip-toes, holding him in place. It isn't a hard grasp. At any moment, Etho can take his hand away. He has always been stronger than BDubs.

"Hey, Etho, I really have missed you, man," BDubs says, smiling fondly, his voice soft. It isn't a whisper. It simply isn't loud and brash like he normally is. Heartfelt. The kind of tone that beckons, that wants to be listened to. "I mean-- I've missed us doing things together. It reminds me of the good 'ol days, you know? NHO and Mindcrack. We make a good team."

"We do," Etho agrees. He takes a long, slow breath. He shivers.

He frowns.

Etho pulls his hand out of BDubs, and BDubs offers no resistance. Etho looks down at his hand, at the wrinkled, waterlogged skin. He rubs his thumb across his forefingers, feeling the odd texture, grounding himself on it. Etho takes a deep breath in, lets it out again slowly.

"How long have I been in the water, BDubs?" Etho whispers.

Etho is still holding the belt buckle in one hand, still looking down at the wrinkled fingers of his other. BDubs is still in front of him, only his head and shoulders above the water. Etho looks back over his shoulder. The dock is startlingly far away, the basket sitting on the very edge. Beyond it, his boots and water bucket are sitting in the grass beside rushes and willow branches.

"Does it matter?" BDubs asks, smiling gently.

Etho takes a long, deep breath through his nose.

"Oh, don't be scared," BDubs says, moving silently closer. He reaches out his hands and grasps Etho's arms, a gentle touch, reassuring. A friend trying to assuage fear. His eyes are blazing red and orange with the setting sun, but the sky is black and salted with stars. "I didn't drag you down here, Etho. You came to me, remember?"

"BDubs--"

"You know I'd never betray you," BDubs continues, taking a slow step backwards. He pulls Etho with him, and Etho, by habit and familiarity, takes a step forward. The allure of BDubs' voice tilts his vision. He's on the dock, holding the buckle that fell in the water, and BDubs is clasping his hands, and the sun is setting. The water is up to his chest, and the world is dark star-filled, and BDubs is taking another step backwards, and Etho is following. "I could have betrayed you day one, and I didn't. I'm just asking for your help, Etho. You and me together, right?"

"BDubs--"

"It's the deep water, isn't it?" BDubs croons, like he's speaking to a child. "The deep water scares you? It's okay. You're fine."

Etho is fine. His breathing is slow, his heartbeat even. He wants to be scared. He should be scared. But BDubs is his friend.

BDubs reaches up to Etho's neck, not to strangle or to threaten, but to gently cup his hands around him. He pulls gently on Etho, not to drag Etho down, but to raise himself up, so they're nearly eye to eye. Etho feels water around his shoulders, and shivers.

"It's okay," BDubs says. "I would never hurt you, I promise. We don't have to go any deeper." His voice even and calm, inexorable. Etho's pulse doesn't quicken when he says, "You know how many people drown in shallow water? It's easy. I'll be with you the whole time."

The water is around Etho's neck, and BDubs is above him just slightly. One hand raises slowly to the back of Etho's head, fingers gently tangling in his hair. It is the caress of someone who cares for him deeply, someone who wants him to stay. The feeling is wholly dissonant from the words being spoken. Water? Drowning? How could someone who loves him so much drown him?

"You want to stay with me, right?" BDubs asks. "You and me together, we'd be unstoppable, Etho. The best duo the Life Series has ever seen."

BDub's hand on Etho's neck moves just slightly, the thumb pulling around to rest on his adam's apple. The hand in his hair clenches just a little. A warning. "You're not thinking about betraying me, are you?"

Etho shivers again. He wants to be afraid.

"You know, Grian said some things before he drowned," BDubs's hand on his neck tightened just a little. Etho could feel his pulse against BDub's thumb, finally, finally beginning to quicken. "He said you were a survivor. He said you'd leave me -- heh -- high and dry. You wouldn't do that, would you, Etho?"

Etho's pulse quickened more. There was a cold numbness in his limbs that he hadn't even noticed gathering, and his sluggishly awakening panic pushed it from him.

"BDubs," Etho said, his voice small and hoarse in his throat, "let me go."

"Etho..." BDubs said warningly.

"Let me go!" Etho shouted, planting his hands on BDub's chest and shoving backwards away. What he felt, in that brief second, was neither skin nor flesh, nor the softness of fabric. He felt tangled river weeds, and fish scales, slimy and cold against his skin. The cursed thing that looked like BDubs but wasn't, released Etho spitefully. His claws tore from Etho's neck, scraped along the back of his head to come free with pale strands of his hair. Suddenly there were arms around him, and Etho screamed and thrashed as he was dragged.

"I've got you dude! I've got you!"

It was Skizz, his voice a thunderous bellow in Etho's ear, his arms feverishly hot against him where they clamped like vices around his waist. Skizz dragged Etho from the water like he weighed nothing. Etho got his feet underneath himself and clung to Skizz, staggering out of the water as quick as he could. He heard feet pounding on the dock, and glanced over to watch Tango sprint across the wood. He stooped, grabbed up Etho's basket, and sprinted back with it, the reaching, clawed hand of the thing that looked like BDubs snapping for his ankles and missing.

"I got him!" Skizz shouted to Tango, scrambling onto the grass, refusing to let Etho go until they were well up the path. "Did you see how close he was?!"

"Yeah I saw!" Tango snapped, choking on his own fear, gulping in air and coughing it back out again. "It tried to drag me in!"

"Oh my god, are you okay dude?" Skizz demanded, and, when Tango nodded, he turned back to Etho. "Are you okay? I didn't see you go under. Can you breathe?"

Etho, who had collapsed into the grass the moment Skizz released him, lay there gasping like a hooked fish. He shivered, pale and cold from how long he spent in the water-- how long had he been in the water. He could still feel the thing's burning claws in streaks across his neck, and a tickling of blood at the back of his head.

"Etho?"

"I'm okay," Etho gasped, "I'm sorry I just-- I needed-- I wanted--"

"I know what you wanted!" Tango snapped angrily, the anger of someone who had risked his life. The anger of someone who thought a friend of his was dead, or dying. "But it's not him, Etho."

"It sounds like him," Etho whispered. He threw an arm over his eyes and shivered again. "It sounds like him, though."

"I know it does buddy, I know," Skizz said, his voice full of sympathy and pity. He waited with mountainous patience as Etho pulled himself together, and then helped Etho stand.

Together, they walked back to the fort.

Behind them, something cursed and hungry in the dark water, sang, and its voice was sweet and familiar.

[sculkshrieking]

A short introduction comic to a Last Life AU i've been rotating in my mind where Scar is a ghost only Grian can see :)

Part 2

[setacin]

"Are we allies or enemies / this will be the death of me"

[nayl0rdoesstuff]

The fact that I'm currently working on one is amazing-

Ok hermitblr hear me out.

Last Life SMP. Danganronpa AU.

T h i n k a b o u t i t.

[3lsmp]

Inwardly they are ravening wolves.

LAST LIFE WEREWOLF AU - WITHIN ONE HIDES A MONSTER.

[artlesscomedic]

dang kids!! based on this post by @greiiliss

[tunastime]

UM UM UM “staying up until midnight to talk” with SEN or DBHC ethubs or docsuma

Or “pull me closer,” with dbhc docsuma :floshed:

Okay skitters away

staying up until midnight to talk (919 words) (x) (:3c)

Etho’s hands follow a practiced rhythm. He isn’t sure how they wouldn’t, with every wire and mechanism and gear in his body perfectly calibrated to move with precision and within expectation. He certainly fails, and jerks, and stutters, and falls, but base programming, movements that fell perfectly into subroutines he couldn’t even begin to trace, even if Xisuma showed him the exact steps? Of course they were perfect. And of course he never faltered.

The sand beneath him offers a much needed cushioning from the hard, winter dirt, despite the fact that the sun provides little warmth to the air around them in the snow fort. The sky is so blue it makes his eyes strain to look at—and maybe it would hurt, if he knew how it was supposed to feel.

Instead, Etho watches patches of sky blue in the silver-warped reflection of his sword, faint flickers of enchantment pulsing out from the hilt where the hastily carved runes sit. He runs the sharpening stone against the blade’s flat edge, careful not to nick the silicon of his fingers as he scrapes it across, again, and again. Practiced, careful, calculated rhythm. So much so that he doesn’t even register the sounds of shuffling a few paces away until Bdubs’ voice cuts through the silence.

“Etho,” he says, voice all rough around the edges like he were hungry for something more than just company. Etho keeps sharpening, just for a moment, before he chances a glance over.

Bdubs leans at the wooden fence, leaning his weight into the flimsily-set posts. He grins like nothing in the world could bother him. The characteristic dark brown of his eyes flickers with red, with that same hunger. Etho hates it. Which is odd. Because he really doesn’t feel strongly about much of anything, and disgust is an emotion very foreign to him, and he’s beginning to think the slight grinding in his chest is a problem Xisuma might need to diagnose when he gets back. It feels wrong. Because he knows he likes Bdubs just fine. He trusts him just enough. But that look.

Bdubs is still watching him, eyeing the sword in his hand with a gaze he can’t place, let alone read. Better give him an answer.

“Bdubs,” he says calmly, tilting his head to the side.

“You thought anymore about my offer?”

Etho makes a sound like a hum, mimicking the sound of turning the idea over in his head. He stands, setting his whetstone next to the cold embers of last night’s fire. The pot and cups still rest in the dirt, as cold as the rest of their surroundings. The sword stays in his hand.

(In the back of his mind, a memory surfaces. In it, Etho lies in the night-damp grass in clothes that still smell a bit like gunpowder, but not enough to notice unless you got real close. Bdubs is somewhere to his immediate left, still speaking, haloed in the glow of lanterns and lights of a shop. One of them at least. Within the clarity of memory, Etho can pinpoint that it’s Tango’s shop. Bdubs doesn’t live far from here. He isn’t sure when waiting for Tango to restock candles turned into tell Etho all about the extra additions to your base and your journey to find all the perfect horses for the Horse Course that you both just wrapped up, or into tell Bdubs all about how empty the mountain is, and how interesting this new game sounds, and how you hope you both find somewhere cool to base. Because you’ve already told him that you’re teaming up. But it does, and in this same space, the sky is full of bright white stars and a sliver of a moon that's starting to peek into the sky. Bdubs yawns.)

“The one from last night?” Etho asks, coming to with the sword heavy in his hand. He pushes the point into the soft sand until it hits hard earth and starts to give.

“You don’t gotta keep this fence, Etho…” Bdubs sighs, leaning his head into his palm. Etho folds his arms across his chest, splays one hand as he shrugs.

“Seems like the best way to settle this, ���Dubs.”

“You could join me. Could always still join me,” Bdubs tries. “Just a quick one-two stab! Easy!”

“I can’t do that,” Etho says, shaking his head. “You know that.”

Bdubs sighs again, dramatic, deflating over the fence as Etho’s rejection stands firm. The thirium in his chest feels like it’s been flash frozen and has only started to dethaw, cold in his hands and feet, up his shins and to his elbows. He rolls his shoulders in, cupping each hand around each opposite elbow. There’s a little warmth to be found in the action with no fans kicking on to compensate.

“Well,” Bdubs says, drumming on the wooden beam between the two fence posts. “If you ever change your mind.”

He watches Etho for a moment, that familiar look coming to his eyes, as if it were trying to eclipse the haze of red Bdubs looks at him through, as if it were trying to expand his tunnel vision by just a fraction of an inch. Just as Etho notices, it’s snuffed, and the easy, careful look is replaced by an indifference Etho doesn’t think he enjoys. He still isn’t sure how much he knows for certain. He shrugs, barely a movement at all. Better say something.

“I won’t,” he says.

Bdubs huffs and turns away.

[average-etho-enjoyer]

This wonderful comic by @shepscapades took over me and I had to put it together into a video at 2am. Anyways, enjoy sheps' vision, now with audio (and some transitions)!

[alienssstufff]

head empty

only impdubs smooches

thank you for feeding us <3

THANK YOU! I HAVE TO FEED MYSELF

[eyelessfog]

Do me a favour. Burn.

[ID: A digital drawing of Zombiecleo from my steampunk au of last life, where she is human. Cleo is glaring down at the viewer, holding up a match that's blowing in the wind. They're wearing a large trench coat that's brown, as well as an off white shirt and dark pants. The match sends out 5 circles of light, getting dimmer as it gets further away from the flame, and Cleo's colouring gets darker with the lighting. END ID]

[shepscapades]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [PART 6] [Part 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

[This comic is part of my dbhc au, following the chaos and panic that ensues after Doc and Xisuma try to get Etho back online at the start of s9 after a very rough s8 finale that leaves him a little. broken. It's set to the vibes of Joywave's Destruction!]

[rhyshh]

Last Life au where Ren dies when he boogey kills Skizzleman and turns red on episode 4

Bonus:

[sculkshrieking]

Ghost Scar AU Part 2

Part 1

[coolguypluiplup]

have a renchanting doodle from a ll apocalypse au i haven't talked about on here yet :)

i'll post more about it once i've finished the first draft, so expect more of that soon !!!