#the caretaker instinct kicks in man

[strxnged]

Ugh YESSS FOUND FAMILY

My ideal relationship is platonic with a little bit of romantic tension sprinkled throughout

With children though I’m “I will kill everyone in this room and then myself if anything were to happen to you”

PLS WHY DO I ALSO PREFER PINING TO ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS. LIKE THE like the best friends trope except u never actually get together and its okay like that. like ur just obsessed with each other but fulfilled as friends. THIS WITH THOMA OR TIGHNARI OR SHINOBU AHLFSHAL::AWL:JAW:L

[confused-wanderer]

Alfred is badass and has unuasual skills even for a batfam member.

Inspired by pandaredd’s skit where Alfred says “Bond wishes he was me”

The man is the caretaker of the bat family, he has raised every damn member, and has seen more than his fair share of wars, doomsdays and worse. He is a butler. And god knows what else in the spare time. All I imagine is that if a teenage Bruce looks up at Alfred and whispers he wants to train, Alfred might be the one who gives him contacts.

Alfred:

Bruce:

Alfred: .. wait here master Bruce, I know you won’t even listen to what I’m saying so I will let you learn the arts. Only under one condition though, I choose your trainers

Teenage Bruce: Alfred, whom would you-

Alfred *already on the phone* : Hello there Lee

Teenage Bruce *wide eyes* *mouthing* : Rock Lee??

Alfred *scoffing* : what world do you think we live in! Be more realistic Master Bruce.

Bruce: .. so who is it?

Alfred: Bruce Lee.

The scariest thing about the butler is that he will take you apart in less than a blow, and he doesn’t even need weapons. He will however use them just for fun.He can still hear if Bruce or any of the batfamily sneaks around, he’s been the only one who somehow knew Cass was in the room and offered her snacks while she was hanging upside down from the ceiling in the pitch black and overall has better instincts to locate any of them in the mansion than a GPS tracking system.

When supervillains, nosy reporters or even crooks try to break into the Manor, the fact that no one installed a security system should’ve really been a warning point that the Waynes had other.. deadlier security.

By the time Jason comes home he sees Alfred cleaning up the carpet, but doesn’t miss the wrinkled edge of the sleeve. It is only then when he looks to the other room and the criminals are all sitting in time out, each a truly remarkable shade of blue, black purple and green he’s never seen in real life. And none of them were even bleeding.

Alfred also has insanely fast reflexes. And to everyone surprise, he is an bloody good shot. Green arrow was once testing out a new arrow and it accidentally whizzed past the target and almost hit the cat when out of nowhere Alfred caught it and snapped it with one hand. And then proceeded to borrow a pistol and shoot the target while walking to the other side of the room, not even sparing a glance at the bullseye he had hit. All the while holding a tray of glass bottles that hadn’t moved a single inch.

He’s given advice to Jason on how to make explosives out of everything and nothing, taught Dick how to cut a tree in half with one kick, showed Stephanie how to always win Russian Roulette, guided Damian on how to break bones without ever leaving traces, taught Tim how to mimic someone’s voice and be scarily accurate, and so much more. Once on live television the world saw Alfred eat three cookies and refuse to pass them to Bruce Wayne before saying “They’ve been poisoned” and throwing them away. A few people swear they heard him mouth “bloody amateurs” afterwards and he insisted he was fine, stating that he was already “used to it.”

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And that is why the bat cave is a safer option for batman’s enemies than the mansion. Because if you were caught by the butler, just know that god has already forsaken you.

[foodtruckery]

Your abo idea is so good and you mentioned the idea of ford obsessing over who else has helped stan with his heats but what I'm wondering is if ford would obsess over /him/ helping. Wondering what wouldve been different if stan presented when they were younger (then probably dismissing it thinking how their father wouldve blown a gasket) or if stan had called him and told him when it happened or if he had known even when he came out of the portal

I think abo stancest has potential for some fun dynamics and your characterization of those too would make it soooo good omega old man stan who's still just as much of an ass as he usually is and it both drives ford up the wall and makes him a little bit more crazy with his scent

oho you've activated my "i haven't stopped thinking about this idea and have more to share than you asked for" trap card! (and you've given me an excellent excuse to step away from halloween party prep for a minute, so thank you, anon!!) btw this is. so much fucking longer than i meant for it to be, i'm SO sorry.

but absofuckinlutely ford would be as haunted by that thought as i am by this whole premise. i'm putting this behind a cut JUST because i managed to ramble for 1,000 words about this because it is eating me alive. please know that if i hadn't been forced to spend the last several days locked in on party planning, there would already be something more coherent in the works for this lol.

i like to think that when he was younger, ford would've been just. obsessed with the fantasy of it all, right? when he's still heavily embedded in that society and wrapped up in the expectations of how alphas are supposed to be, how omegas are supposed to be. how could he NOT think about the ways things may have been different. what stan would have smelled like with that sweeter omega edge, or how much different, how much wetter, it may have sounded when he overheard him masturbating in the dark when stan thought he'd fallen asleep.

and what a perfect excuse to finally act on those less-than-acceptable feelings he's had about his brother. sure, it's not the done thing, but they're already so close, and they share all their space, and who would really blame him for being completely overhwelmed by all those pesky new instincts when stan went into heat for the first time?

but that's fantasty land, and older ford is the universe's smartest boy, so he knows that's obviously never going to happen. instead, i like to think our super intelligent idiot goes and develops a thing for betas instead, which he blames on the FWB thing he has going on in college with fiddleford and never inspects anymore closely than that. he's entirely too much of an intellectual to be fussed with all that secondary instincts nonesense, after all, and ford is NOT a natural caretaker/pack leader sort, can't stand the idea of some simpering omega expecting him to handle everything for them all the time, so it makes sense that he gravitates towards betas on the blessedly rare occassion where he seeks out a partner -- usually to get over a rut or something similar.

and then....well, there's the whole portal thing. and wouldn't you know it? not a lot of secondary genders in the multiverse! well, multi-genders, absolutely, but it's surprisingly rare to come across anyone else with the specific sort of secondary gender alignments from his universe. but that's even better, because it just separates him even further from the expectations he was always outside the lines of anyway.

of course, when he gets BACK, it's....hard to adjust to finding out that stan did, actually, present after he was kicked out left. but as an alpha. which...that makes sense! it's what they expected after ford presented, right? twins and all that. explains why they brawled right after he got home -- stupid, useless alpha hormones vying for dominance. and because smartest boy ford is so separated from all this by the time he comes back, it doesn't ever occur to him that stan would have to be feigning more than just his name and an ID card to impersonate ford for 30 years.

and why would he think stan was anything else, after all? sure, ford is a little rusty with identifying scents like these nowadays, but he isn't incompetent. stan smells like an alpha. and he sure as hell acts like one -- the worst kind, even. cocky, loud, physical, brash. ford definitely doesn't spend any time at all disappointed by this turn of events. and he certainly doesn't spend any other time fantasizing about bitching stan to make a point about reclaiming his home and his territory. he doesn't strip his dick to that idea at all.

needless to say. by the time things...settle down, ford's made some peace with the situation. he's found enough middle ground with stan that he isn't willing to fuck up rebuilding some kind of (loathe though he is to admit it) pack with his brother over a fleeting fantasy.

having all of that upended again, though? it's like turning a tap on full blast after you just got the damn thing to stop dripping. hard to hold on to the "i prefer to fuck betas" and "i am over this obsession with my brother" mentality when you're face to face with the bedrock of every lewd, overindulgent sexual fantasy you had between presenting and college. and how could he not consider all the things he missed, that could have actually been within reach?

where the hell was stanley when he went into heat for the first time? he wouldn't have known to start suppressents or pheremone drugs before that. did he ride it out alone in the back of that damn car someplace, getting slick all over the upholstery and his hands? did he think about ford to get through it? or did he find somebody to help out? to give him a door to lock or, worse, a bed to share. if he was fucking a stranger through his first heat, did he think about ford to get through that?

what if he'd said something the night he came to gravity falls? hell, by that point, ford can't even remember how stan had smelled that night, not in the midst of the torture and the paranoia and the insomnia -- if he hadn't been in the middle of bill's psychological warfare, would he have noticed that stan had presented? or would he have fallen as easily for whatever drugs stan may have been hiding behind then as he did when he came back?

but if he had noticed, would it have changed anything? it probably would have made things worse if it had, of course. bill knew all about stan and, worse, the fantasy of stan of ford held on to all those years. realistically, it would only have been horrible if stan had shown up on his doorstep halfway being dragged into a heat. but the idea of it -- of fucking stan through it in the basement instead of fighting over the portal and his journals. well, that's a nice thought.

it does beg the question, though: if ford can't remember how stan was presenting that night, there's a chance he hadn't been masking as an alpha yet. and even if he was, ford knows enough about the illicit drug trade to know that it's never a sure thing. did stan ever lapse? 30 years is a breathtakingly long time to be on those sorts of drugs, and they can't have all come from reputable places or been easy to get a hold of. especially in the woods in oregon.

it's clear with the situation now that being off those drugs has pointed and rather immediate consequences. does that mean that stan went into heat in the shack at some point? maybe multiple points? if it happened early on, would he have nested in ford's room, with whatever might have still smelled like him? or did he find someone in town to help? worse, was there someone in town who helped regularly when this sort of thing came up? and most importantly if so, who?

ford has QUESTIONS to say the least, but he is taking all of this QUITE WELL GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES, thank you very much.

[holidayinhell]

CWs: violence, noncon nudity, major character death, vampire Whumper, vampire/ineffective Caretaker, bloodbag whumpee

“Whumpee… don’t!”

Whumpee continued toward the vampire, ignoring his friend's protests.

“Shut up, Caretaker.” Whumper snapped over his shoulder. He shifted his attention to Whumpee, expression softening as he outstretched his arms to the young man.

Wearily, Whumpee took an uneasy step forward, curling into the tall man’s embrace.

“Sweet boy.” Whumper cooed, patting his captive's back delicately.

The vampire nestled his face into the crook of Whumpee’s neck. His favorite spot. 

He was being disarmingly gentle and Whumpee clung to every moment of tenderness with bated breath. The vampire planted small kisses on the bare flesh, goosebumps prickling to the surface of the skin. Whumper drew his captive in closer, tightening his grip until Whumpee’s breath escaped in ragged wheezes. 

Whumper relished the act, all too aware of Caretaker’s vigilant gaze from the corner of his eye. He savored every moment that he toyed with the man, drinking in the drumbeat of Whumpee’s racing heart beneath him and Caretaker’s intense, protective glare.

“Are you scared?” Whumper tucked the hair behind Whumpee’s ear. “Thought you were used to it by now.”

He nipped at Whumpee’s neck, eliciting a sharp gasp when his fangs nicked the surface. But the vampire didn’t clamp down like he normally would, instead he dug his teeth in deep enough for only a small ruby droplet to seep out.

He licked up the pearl of blood clinging to his lip. The vampire’s wicked emerald eyes flickered back to Caretaker, glinting with a hint of warning.

“Do me a favor, Whumpee.”

He smoothed the fabric over Whumpee’s shoulders, tracing the bones that protruded under his thick woolen sweater. 

Whumpee shifted nervously under Whumper’s heavy hands. “Okay.”

“Take this off.”

It was a command disguised as a suggestion. There was no point in fighting against it. 

Whumpee obediently lifted the shirt above his head with frail fingers, revealing his battered torso; a collection of green and blue bruises, a spattering of old and new. His skin stretched tightly over his sharp ribs, pulled taut like a drum. He was startlingly skinny, but Whumper didn’t remark on how emaciated he looked. 

Instead, the vampire bundled up the discarded shirt and hurled it into the corner of the room.

“Pants too. All of it.”

Whumpee’s hands fumbled to find the button of his jeans, dreading whatever came next. He didn't have to look up to sense Caretaker's silent, watchful gaze boring into his spine.

“Whumpee...” Caretaker murmured. His instincts urged him to intervene, but logic told him to bite his tongue.

The pants dropped to the floor, sagging around Whumpee’s ankles. Then he hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband, grimacing as he shimmied out of the garment. His hands rushed to cover himself. The underwear slid down his legs limply, and he stepped out of the puddle of fabric and kicked it aside.

“Good boy. Now put your hands down.” Whumper slapped Whumpee’s wrists with a powerful smack. “Stand in the middle of the room, right there. Under the light.”

Whumpee anxiously shifted into position, forcing his balled fists to remain at his hips. A bead of sweat fell to his collarbone despite the chill of the room.

“Give me a spin now, I want to see you. All of you.”

Hands clenched to the side, his cheeks burned in shame as he spun in a slow circle under the harsh fluorescent light. He could feel both vampires appraising every inch of his naked, battered body, like two butchers eyeing a prize cut of meat.

Whumper’s eyes roved over Whumpee’s flesh, searching intently for the mark he knew was hidden somewhere.

“Hmm. You’re very pale.” Whumper observed.

“He’s a living being,” Caretaker interjected. “He needs sunlight. And food.”

“I’ll tell you when to speak.” Whumper snapped, eyes narrowing at his charge.

Whumper had a soft spot for his protege, but the naive young vampire had a tendency to be unruly. Outspoken. Combative. While this intense nature might one day forge a formidable vampire, training him was a dismal task.

He had plenty of time to straighten Caretaker out. That could wait. Whumper focused his attention again on the gaunt figure shaking in front of him. “Give me your arm, sweet boy.”

Whumpee timidly outstretched his bare arm, mottled with thick, half-moon scars. He yelped when Whumper pressed his wrist to his mouth, this time plunging his sharp fangs deep into the tender flesh. Tension hung thick in the air.

“You taste vile.”

Whumper spat the mouthful onto the floor.

Whumpee instinctively pulled his bleeding arm to his chest, smearing himself with red.

“I--I do?” he stammered. His heart pounded in his ears.

“Why do you taste… like Caretaker?”

The question hung heavy in the air. 

“Please,” Whumpee whispered. The man crumbled instantly, his courage shattering like glass. Silent tears streamed down his face.

A powerful smack sent Whumpee crashing to the floor. 

“STOP!” Caretaker cried.

The back of Whumpee’s head slammed against the concrete with a sickening thud. For an agonizing moment, his vision went black. Groping blindly, his hands cradled his aching skull. 

Without warning, Whumper delivered a powerful kick into Whumpee’s chest, stamping the heel of his boot square against his sternum. The blow knocked the air out of the man’s lungs with a sharp, gasping whoosh, and sent him sprawling across the floor in a convulsing heap.

The vampire took hold of Whumpee’s ankle, hoisting his leg in the air. 

He spread the man apart, putting him on full display, exposing Whumpee’s soft, vulnerable genitals. Whumpee helplessly fumbled to cover himself.

“Put your fucking hands down.”

Sobbing, Whumpee drew his hands back.

A fresh wound revealed itself on the inside of his thigh.

It was a bite mark, deliberately hidden at Whumpee’s groin. The teeth marks didn’t match the others. The mark didn’t belong to Whumper. 

The vampire dropped the leg, sending Whumpee’s leg crashing into the concrete.

“Caretaker.” Whumper snarled.

“D-D-Don’t be mad.” Whumpee stuttered breathlessly, grime cutting into his elbows as he scrambled into a fetal position.

Whumper kicked the frail man again, this time square in the stomach, adding to the ever-growing collection of bruises on his torso. An anguished cry escaped Whumpee’s lips.

“Stop!” Caretaker implored. “He didn’t do anything!”

“You’ve been tasting him.” Whumper snarled.

 “You’ve been drinking from my bloodbag, and you thought you could hide it from me?” His voice grew sharper, edged with betrayal.

Caretaker froze, ears ringing with his friend’s quiet sobs.

“Y-Yes, I bit him.”

“You fucking imbecile.”

“But I--I didn’t drink from him! I would nev--!”

“He’s ruined.” Whumper dismissed, his voice a harsh, guttural growl. His blazing emerald eyes locked on Caretaker with searing intensity, full of unrestrained fury.

 “You tainted his blood with your putrid fucking venom.”

Whumper’s demeanor was radiating with a fury that raged so violently Caretaker could almost feel it buzzing in the air. He was at a loss. He had never seen his master so furious, and his mind raced to find the words that might tamper his wrath.

“I didn’t want to.”

The vampire spat at Caretaker’s shoes, trying to rid his palette of the astringent flavor.

“He was dying-- I had no choice.”

Caretaker side-stepped towards Whumpee protectively, keeping his eyes on his master as he traversed the room cautiously. A knot of uncertainty tightened in his chest.

“The venom is the only thing keeping him alive.” Caretaker tried. “He hasn’t had human food in weeks.”

“He tastes sour.”

Caretaker shook his head. “He just needs food! I’m sure his body will cycle it out. I barely gave him any. In two days, he’ll--”

“This is truly disappointing.” The vampire interrupted. “Even coming from you.” 

Caretaker blinked in disbelief. He’d done exactly what was asked of him, hadn’t he? Whumpee was still breathing, still human. Still alive. How else was a human supposed to survive for weeks without a single scrap of food?

His chest tightened, the gravity of the situation slowly sinking in. 

“Please,” Caretaker tried. 

His hair fell in his eyes as he bowed his head down in contrition, doubling over in the best display of submission he could manage. It was his last chance to diffuse the situation, to have a chance at helping his friend. 

“Forgive me, master.”

Caretaker peeked up at the vampire through his curtain of bangs, but the vampire didn’t budge.

“I crossed a line. It won’t happen again.” He added, “punish me as you see fit.”

“I will.”

Frowning, Whumper sighed deeply. Caretaker was a young vampire, still so naïve in the ways of the world. He wanted to give his protege the benefit of the doubt, but his blood was still boiling from this predicament. Caretaker wasn't getting off the hook that easily.

“So. You’ve developed feelings for poor little Whumpee, huh?”

Caretaker stiffened. Of course he had. But admitting something like that felt like a sure-fire way to get Whumpee killed.

“No. You told me to keep him alive so, I was… misguided, in my duty. I didn’t even think about it.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Please, take it out on me. It's my fault” Caretaker tried. “Whumpee didn't do anything wrong.”

The vampire’s eyes bounced to Whumpee, folded into a fetal position on the floor. The skinny captive was huddled into a tight ball, arms hugging his knees tightly as he fought to steady his breath. He looked so fragile. So pathetic.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Caretaker. You can’t hide anything from me.”

Whumper seized a fistful of Whumpee’s hair, yanking him onto Caretaker’s shoes. 

“And you don’t put your fucking fangs on your master’s property. Ever.”

“Drain him.”

“No. Nono, no…” Whumpee anchored his arms around his friend’s shins. He clawed at the leg of Caretaker’s pants with wide, frantic eyes.

Caretaker blinked, stunned into silence.

“This is your punishment.” Whumper said sternly. “Kill him now.”

“NOOOO!” Whumpee shrieked, voice raw with terror. “Caretaker. H-h-help me. Help me please!!”

Caretaker couldn’t bear to look down at the boy quivering at his feet, eyes wide with desperate hope that his friend could somehow save him. All Caretaker ever wanted to do was to keep him alive, to keep him safe, and in the process he had condemned Whumpee to the very fate that he had so fiercely fought to prevent.

“I’m so sorry, Whumpee.” His heart shattered as he gently ran a hand through Whumpee’s soft, teddy brown hair.

With a cold, sinking dread, Caretaker knew that Whumpee’s fate was sealed. This was the only way Whumper would ever forgive him.

“I wanted you to be strong. I thought I was helping you.”

Caretaker dropped to his knees alongside Whumpee. Taking his face into both hands, he wiped the tears from his sunken cheeks, planting a sorrowful kiss on his forehead.

All hope shattered when Caretaker twisted Whumpee’s head to the side, stretching his neck long. 

“Oh god, god please--” he whispered in a soft, trembling murmur. “Don’t kill me, Caretaker!”

A hopeless sob ached at the back of Whumpee’s throat, but he swallowed against the urge to cry out. He sniffled powerlessly as Caretaker’s tongue swirled along a fresh spot at his neck.

“Be brave,” he hummed. Caretaker’s fangs plunged into Whumpee’s silky flesh. 

He didn’t realize how much his body craved it until he took his first sip. 

Oh fuck.

Whumpee’s pitiful pleas fell silent as Caretaker swallowed mouthfuls of his thick, spicy blood. The human’s heartbeat fluttered like a jackhammer, flooding Caretaker’s mouth with tangy ecstasy. His tongue eagerly lapped at the red that spilled onto the pale flesh.

Was this truly punishment? Before him was a veritable buffet, free for the taking.

Whumpee’s terrified heart beat so quickly that the vampire didn’t need to suck at the wound at all, the blood filled his mouth in time with Whumpee’s ragged pulse, which Caretaker eagerly drank down.

 

By the time Whumpee’s heart slowed, Caretaker had nearly forgotten that he was devouring his friend. Any concern for the human felt like a far off memory, even if he was the one person he’d ever managed to keep alive. Cold realization hit after his pulse slowed to a whisper, and then, nothing at all.

Caretaker gathered the cold, limp body into a half-hearted embrace. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

He wasn’t sure if the apology meant anything. He spent the last ten minutes sucking the life out of the human he once called his friend, and he enjoyed every fucking second of it. 

Part of him wondered if there was an ounce of humanity left in him, or if he had finally completed the transformation into a full-blown blood sucking monster. Either way, he pulled away from the corpse feeling rejuvenated. For the first time since being turned, he felt strong.

With a shit-eating grin, Whumper gave his nod of approval.

“Find another.” The vampire reached for the handle of the huge steel door, propping it open for Caretaker to follow.

“And this time, keep your fangs off.”

((more Whump oneshots))

[legendofmorons]

Hello there! Can I request a work on a gender neutral reader being a parental figure to the chain? Reader is both wise but chaotic, and has little quirks like humming or holding on to the boys clothing to keep them from walking to far from them.

Parental instinct

Hi! I'm so sorry this was late, but I had so much fun with it. I might just do more of it.

Pairing: chain & reader

Rating: G

Summary: A look into life and the chain's parental figure

Warnings: none

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

You don't actually have a 2024 bingo card, but you know that being sucked into an adventure with nine heroes wouldn't be on it anyway. You should start making yearly bingo cards.

You step into something of a parental role, out of necessity mostly, but you're also probably a caretaker at heart.

So, after a few months, you've gotten the boys to really start listening to you. Which is a feat.

On days like today, you're thankful for the help Warriors, Time, and Twilight present. You need all the help you can get while coralling the heroes through the more modern hyrule.

You say modern, but you're all in the 1980s, with big hair, blur eyeshadow, and a lot of shoulder pads.

"Wind!" You call loudly, grabbing the back of his shirt to stop him from crossing the cross walk.

A car speeds by.

"What?"

"Please don't get run over." You say with that long suffering tome familiar to those responsible for chaotic gremlins.

"Didn't (Y/n) just go over traffic rules?" Legend huffs as if he didn't also have to be stopped by Warriors and the captain'squick reflexes.

"Shut up Legend you're just as bad." Wind sticks his tongue out.

"Boys!" You interject, "We're clear now, let's go."

You follow the chain, bringing up the rear.

Hearding them to a hotel and booking last-minute rooms is an experience that involves keeping Wind near you at all times.

(You promise yourself to find one of those cute animal backpack leashes. Or maybe nine of them, actually. That'd make keeping the boys in line easier.

Maybe Legend needs a monkey one.)

After you've gotten the rooms and divided them, you all settle in your room.

Four and Legend have taken a bed to themselves sitting side by side.

Sky, Wild, and Warriors sit on the couch. The three too tired to cause much trouble.

Time and Hyrule sit beside you on the third bed.

"We should totally try that pe-za." Wind declares as he flops himself over your lap.

"Pizza. But yeah, sure." You say as you toss Wild the remote to the TV.

Wild takes a minute but figures out the remote and starts flipping through channels.

You are ordering several pizzas through an app. You've got several large pizzas, lots of breadsticks, a few orders of salad, a few liters of soda, and a bunch of deserts by the time it's all ordered. Thank Hylia for rewards programs.

Wild has found full house and pit it on. Whether good or bad, nostalgia is probably there.

"(Y/n)!" Legend calls, "Tell Four to get his feet off my side of the bed!"

"Four." You say with a pointed look, "Stop tormenting poor Legend."

"He started it." Four says evenly, as though he isn't currently sticking his cold feet onto Legend.

"Hylia, grant me some patience." You mutter to yourself.

"Not strength?" Sky asks.

"If she gave me strength, I'd shake some sense into all of you."

Wind is laughing then, a little too much like a hyena, but he's happy, so we'll take it.

-------

After dinner and showers, the boys all gone to bed. You find yourself beside Time.

The old man is lying down, trying his hardest to sleep. But something seems to be bothering him.

It's instinct to start humming. The tune is old and familiar as your voice takes it on.

After a while, you look down, finding Time's face serene the way only peaceful sleep grants. Good. He needs it.

You didn't expect to gain nine kids this year, but you wouldn't trade them for the world. Ganon better watch his back, though. You'd kick his ass in a heartbeat for all he's done to your boys.

[paranoidginger]

Random headcanons for the TF2 mercs!!

Scout: ADHD hardcore, should probably be medicated for it, but isn't. This man cannot stand still for anything, he is always tapping his feet or fiddling with something. He definitely bites his nails, especially his thumbs. Repressed bisexual who is accidentally homophobic because he thinks he isn't supposed to like guys, and thinks everyone chooses to like the opposite gender. He's a surprisingly good artist, and he has dyslexia. That mixed with dropping out of highschool made him somewhat illiterate, spelling is hard, and so is reading any big words.

Soldier: Jack of all trades, he has had every job possible, but if he weren't in love with going to war, he'd probably settle on properly running a raccoon sanctuary. He is the reason why Medic had to invent a cure for rabies. Definitely thinks that being a lesbian just means that you like women, regardless of gender, he refers to himself as a Lesbian after learning that Pauling Identifies as one.

Pyro: Probably not even a human, uses any and all pronouns. They're really smart, despite acting childish, and are the one who built their flamethrowers. Probably collects stickers. Would definitely watch MLP and drag the other mercs into watching it with them, Pinkie Pie is definitely their favorite of the mane six. They draw a lot, and are pretty good at it whenever they want to be, they just prefer drawing silly things. Their room probably smells like burnt plastic and gasoline.

Demo: Only goes sober whenever shit gets super, super serious, like one of the other mercenaries that he cares about gets hurt. He's got a really strong caretaking instinct that gets drowned out by drunken recklessness. He's a total lover, and definitely the type of guy to kiss the homies goodnight. It takes a LOT to actually get him drunk drunk, like, I'm talking ungodly levels of alcohol that would probably kill the average person. He's Spy's drinking buddy, and probably knows the most about Spy's background from listening to his drunken ramblings about regrets and how he wishes he was a better father. Demo probably knows a lot about most of the other mercs, just because he's a good listener and a vault whenever it comes to sensitive information. He's also really fucking smart. Probably pansexual tbh, just based on vibes.

Heavy: He gets nervous whenever he has to help out any of the more 'delicate' mercenaries. He knows he's ridiculously strong, and he has excellent control of himself, but he can't help but feel like he's handling glass whenever he's helping out any of his injured teammates, especially when it comes to Scout or Spy. He's super fucking protective of all of his team though, and would absolutely crack skulls if anything happened to any of them. He is the only person other than Medic who is allowed to touch Archimedes. Probably bisexual with a preference towards men.

Engie: He's usually pretty polite, but can be one of the most brutal out of any of the classes. He's definitely autistic with a special interest in machines. He probably wants to capture one of the mvm robots just to run tests and see if they're sentient. Low-key god complex, like, moreso than medic, he's just super humble about it. He definitely talks to all of his machines. He's 100% a trans man, I can see him as being demisexual.

Sniper: Definitely autistic, he's probably got a shitload of random animal information. Total arachnophobe, but only towards small spiders. Hand him a tarantula and he's fine, but show him a stick covered in baby spiders and he's going to probably kick it as far away from himself as possible and run away. He adores lizards of all kinds, and probably used to lay on the ground watching them all the time as a kid. This man can't use a kitchen for shit, but he manages to make anything he cooks over a fire absolutely delicious, he probably refuses to share though. Probably Asexual. Has a shitty taxidermy rat in his camper that he's unnecessarily proud of, and he probably collects bones. Super into oddities and weird little knick knacks, and he still has all of his baby teeth that he keeps in a little jar on a shelf. Can't run for shit, but could walk for hours if need be. Likes doing arts and crafts, he knits in his free time, and almost always has a sewing kit with him.

Medic: Knows a little about every different medical field, he just sort of studied up on whatever piqued his interest. DOES have a PhD in medical science, he just lost his license to legally practice in a hospital or doctor's office. Gay, probably a trans man. Has definitely experimented on himself before, giving himself different deadly diseases and whatnot just to challenge himself to make a cure before he dies. Also autistic. Spoils the fuck out of his birds, and would probably Frankenstein together a human body for Archimedes if he could figure out how.

Spy: Bisexual genderfluid icon. Usually only gets caught because he's being way too much of a cocky showoff. Definitely wears eyeliner and says that it 'helps him see better' when it's bright out, even though it's 100% just a fashion statement. Has a collection of antique cigar boxes and lighters.

[ficmashup]

Caretaker

A/N: I should probably put summaries on these, but I'm terrible at brevity. Clearly. But wow some people actually like this and I'm blushing and kicking my feet. :) Thanks for interacting! Sorry this one is a bit more team-based than Price-based, but honestly the way to that man's heart is through his men. He's such a dad and I love him for it.

Warnings: Vague SA references or similar trauma, stabbing, harsh language, f!reader, talk of being shot, wound care.

Word Count: 3.8k

Feral Masterlist

What really puts the team and I’s tenuous connection to the test is when Soap gets stabbed.

We’re two months in. I’m just a soldier and medic today, on the ground with the rest of the group as we clear a warehouse storing some enemy supplies that we’re…appropriating. My focus is razor sharp, easily directing my hyperactive fight or flight instinct into looking around every corner and keeping a sharp ear out for any noise. Soap and Ghost are on the other side of the building doing the same, Price pulling up the rear.

Gaz and I both hear the scuffle and stop in our tracks before Ghost���s voice comes over coms. “Soap’s hit. Eastern corner.” We start moving immediately and I slide my gun wrapped around my body to my back as we reach them, the boys already forming a circle around Soap as they watch his back. I’m on my knees at his side the second I reach him, my hand pushing down hard on his thigh as I take in the handle sticking out just above his hip.

His body is held taut and his jaw is locked, clearly trying to stay quiet and still. “Alright, Soap, I’ve got you.” I murmur while Price gives orders to the boys. Gaz and him split up, more than likely going to clear the rest of the building while Ghost stays in the shadows next to me to watch our backs.

Soap grunts. “Good to know, G.”

I guide his hand to my knee and press it there so he can squeeze when the pain gets too bad. It helps my patient and gives me a good indicator of their pain levels. My fingers are ginger as I rip his shirt a bit more, moving it and his tac vest up enough to see the wound. “Didn’t hit anything vital, you lucky bastard. I can patch you up here, then treat this properly at camp.” I’m already doing it as I tell him, my med-kit open on the concrete floor beside me. I gather two pills in my hand and reach up, tilting his chin to look at me. “Swallow.” His eyes widen a touch and he lets me slip the pills past his lips before his throat flexes as he swallows. “Good. Those will kick in and take away some of the pain on the walk back, but I can’t wait until then. So, I need you hold onto me because this’ll hurt like a bitch.”

I hold his gaze, making sure he knows I mean it and he nods. With gauze packed around the blade, I yank it out without hesitation and Soap chokes. “Fuck.” He curses and his fists clench, his fingers digging into my thigh while I move quickly to staunch the blood flow. Price and Gaz return, nodding to Ghost to give the all clear. The warehouse is empty except for us.

“And here I was thinking Scots were more creative with their cursing.” I goad him a bit to distract him and he huffs a laugh.

“If you wanted me to teach you curses, lass, you should have asked.”

“Think I just did. You going to disappoint a girl?”

Another dry chuckle leaves him and I glance at his face to see a crooked smile despite the pain. “Ah, well, awa’ n bile yer heid is Ghost’s favorite. Means go fuck yourself.” The aforementioned soldier grumbles as he slides through the shadows to settle a few feet from Soap’s head.

“Shouldn’t have gotten him started. Now he won’t shut up.” Gaz comments good-naturedly from my left, he and Price watching as I work. That’s exactly my plan. If Soap’s talking, he’s not thinking about the pain.

“Definitely seems like Ghost’s favorite. Does he hear it often?” I’m nearly done now as I make sure the bandages are as tight as I can safely make them while holding Soap’s gaze again, drawing his attention with a direct look.

He takes a sharp breath, but grins through the pain. “Often enough, eh, LT?” He teases while glancing towards the Lieutenant.

Ghost doesn’t budge from where he watches us. “Couldn’t say. I only pay attention when you speak English.” Soap chuckles at that before I rest a hand on his shoulder and glance at Ghost, tilting my head to his other side. He moves there instantly while I look into Johnny’s eyes again.

“Time to get up. Lean on us and remember that the meds will kick in. Just keep moving for me, yeah?” My voice is calm and firm. I ease him up into a sitting position while he grimaces, but nods. Ghost and I share a look as we move simultaneously to get Soap up onto his feet. He groans and I brace a hand against his bindings to make sure they hold fast. As soon as I meet Price’s eyes, he nods and we start moving out.

Gaz moves towards me to take Soap, but I give him a sharp look. I’m the medic, the sick and injured are my responsibility. I keep Soap’s arm around my shoulders and push ahead with Ghost on his other side. The whole time I keep him talking quietly, distracting him and verbally poking him to keep his mind occupied. A single mention of his favorite football team sends him on a rant for five minutes straight and I don’t think I mistake seeing Ghost’s mask twitch as he smiles.

Gaz and Price are quiet as we make slow progress forward, letting me do my work, but I feel their eyes on us every now and then. Especially on me. Things go a bit easier when the pain pills I gave him kick in and Soap is practically back to himself by the time we get back to camp. Ghost helps me lay him down while everyone else packs up. We were planning to leave tomorrow, but tonight serves just as well.

Gingerly, I help Soap out of his tac vest and shirt before taking a proper look at the wound. “How’s the pain, soldier?” I set his hand on my knee again as I check to see how much blood has seeped into the gauze.

“Three. Barely twinges.” He responds and I give him a critical look as his grip on my leg tightens just a touch as I check my work. But I don’t call him out on it.

“It’s not too bad.” I tell him honestly as I remove the bandages, taking special care to clean the wound this time even as Soap winces. “As long as it’s kept clean and the dressing changed often, you’ll heal in no time. Hope you don’t mind my company because you’ll be seeing a lot of me for a while.”

He shakes his head, a little smile on his face. “Wouldn’t mind it a bit, G, but I can look after myself.”

“Not a chance.” My voice is firm and I make sure to stare into his eyes, placing a hand with blood smeared over my fingers on his shoulder. “That might’ve been how you did it before, but I’m your medic now. No one touches these bandages other than me. Especially not you. Understood, soldier?”

He swallows, then his smile grows as he gives me a nod. “Yes, ma’am.” I nod in return and finish wrapping the wound again while his eyelids droop. “Thanks, lass.” My hand lightly pats his shoulder before I lay his shirt over his chest while I stand.

“Sleep. Move a muscle and I’ll have you strapped to the inside of the car.” He hums his acknowledgement while I stand up and walk over to the men lingering around the back of our jeep. “He’ll be fine. It’s not too deep and didn’t hit anything that’ll cause problems later. We can move out whenever we’re ready.”

Price nods. “Let’s head out then. The sooner, the better.” He receives a chorus of acceptance from me and the others. I’m quick to pack up and slide my bag in the back along with the others before we get Soap in the jeep. Price drives, Ghost sits in the passenger seat, then Gaz and Soap sit on either side of me in the back.

“How are we doing, Soap?” I ask softly as we drive across the landscape, not exactly keeping to roads and worn paths.

He grunts with a hand braced against the wound. “Really enjoying the bumps, Cap.”

“We’ll reach a road in a few minutes. Stick it out, Johnny.” Price responds and Soap curses as he hits a particularly deep crater. My hand moves Soap’s to my knee again, holding it there as a touchstone. I’d rather not give him any more pain pills to avoid him getting drowsy, but I don’t want him incapacitated with pain. Keeping his hand there will help me know if he can handle it.

“This can’t be the worst you’ve had, Soap.” I poke a bit of fun at him and he half-smiles, scoffing.

“Not a chance. Being shot in the leg was a fucking bitch.” He shakes his head before leaning it back against the headrest. His eyes slide to mine. “What about you, G? What’s your worst?” I blink, hesitating as I consider the question. Price hits another bump and Soap hisses while Gaz tries to hide a chuckle as a cough. “You fuckin’ aiming for them, Cap?” His accent gets a bit thicker and I glance up at the rearview mirror to find Price’s eyes already on me. I shake my head slightly. Soap’s question is fine.

“Depends on what you consider worst. The most painful or the one that left me the most fucked up?” I offer and interest flashes in Soap’s eyes. I’ve got him distracted, at least. “I got shot in the left shoulder, then had to fend off an assailant in hand to hand. Worked the bullet deeper into my muscle since it wasn’t clean through. Took forever to heal and it’s a miracle I still have full movement. Couldn’t raise my arm above my shoulder for months.” The men nod or grimace, understanding and easily relating.

“Thought I was going to go stir crazy every time I’ve been put on bed rest.” Soap grumbles and I don’t bother telling him that he’s going to be on bed rest as soon as we get back to base.

“That’s because you can’t stay still for five minutes.” Gaz teases and Soap gives him a grin and a half-shrug to say he’s not wrong.

“Drives most medics crazy. Hope you’re up for it, G.” Ghost comments from the front and I look pointedly towards Soap.

“He’s not going to be difficult for me, are you, Johnny?” I ask expectantly and he shakes his head immediately. The men chuckle while I glance at Price in the mirror and fight a smile of my own. There’s a new edge in his eyes, a soft one, and I find that I like seeing it there.

Gaz shifts in place, a grin on his face as he stares at Soap. “You’ve already got him purring like a cat, G. What were in those pills you gave him?”

“Shut it, Gaz. You heard her threaten that guy in the bar. I’m trying to keep my balls where they are.” The car rumbles with laughter again, mine included, although it’s too quiet for anyone else to hear. We finally reach a dirt road and the ride becomes a fraction easier. Soap eventually falls asleep while I watch over him, my hand still on top of his where it sits on my thigh.

*     *     *

After a brief argument when we get on base, I force Soap into the med tent to stay overnight for observation. There’s a nagging feeling in my gut. I wait for him to finish taking a shower after I carefully wrapped the bandages so they wouldn’t get wet. He quirks a brow when he finds me waiting for him and I wave him into bed so I can take a look at the wound one last time before everyone turns in.

“This isn’t my first, you know.” He quips as he lets me check it again.

I give him a placating look. “After so long in the business, you learn to trust your gut. Better to be paranoid and wrong than careless and miss something that kills you.” That shuts him up promptly and my lips press together as I look at the wound. It looks a little red, almost inflamed. I replace the bandages before digging through a cabinet nearby, then come back with a bottle of water and pills. “Antibiotics, just to be safe. If there was something on the blade and it’s infected, then you’ll probably get a fever in the night. It’ll get worse from there depending on the infection.”

He takes the pills and swallows them, blinking at my words before remarking sarcastically, “Great.”

I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I’ll be here. After I head to my room for a bit, I’ll come back with food and you’ll be stuck with me for the night so I can keep an eye on you.”

Amusement creeps back into his eyes as he sits up a little in bed. “They do have people here whose job it is to stay the night. I know you’re just as worn out as I am after the mission.”

I toss the bed’s blankets up over his legs with a firm look telling him to stay put. “Pretty sure I already told you that the only one touching those bandages is me.”

He hums, his smile widening a bit. “You know, I like this possessive side to you, G.”

“Uh-huh. You’ll like it even more when I zip-tie you to the bed if you don’t do everything I say.” I return sweetly and he swallows as I pat his foot, then head to the door. Surprise flits across my face as I see Price waiting for me and I walk over, stopping beside him and turning to look at Soap just like he is.

“Not being too obstinate, is he?” Price asks and he keeps his voice lower than usual while nurses file in and out of the tent while they take care of their own charges.

I heave a breath, but shake my head. “He’s been a good patient so far, but we both know restlessness settles in a little later.” He nods with the corner of his mouth lifting. I hesitate a moment before leaning a shoulder against the wall behind us and turning my body towards him. “My gut is telling me that it’s infected.”

Price turns towards me as well and his expression turns serious. He’s been in this business longer than me and he strikes me as the kind of man who doesn’t disregard his gut either. “Plan of action?”

My eyes cut to Soap idly tying knots with a lace pulled free from one of his boots. “I’m leaving him to have some time alone. We won’t know whether I’m right or not until late into the night, anyway. I’ll come back in an hour or two and keep an eye on him.”

He nods, pressing his lips together before he looks at me. “Alright. Keep me updated if he takes a turn for the worse. And don’t neglect yourself either.” Price gives me a pointed look that I respond to with a small smile. It’s getting a little easier to give those out, recently.

“Understood, Captain. I plan on spending an hour in the shower.” I get him to smile too as I salute him playfully, then head out to my room.

*     *     *

I keep my promise. Well, mostly. I spend a long time in the shower, then change into a tank-top and comfortable pants. My skin is still hot from my shower and I cool off a bit as I walk to the mess hall and get some food as promised before heading back to the med-tents. Soap shoves every morsel of food I give to him into his mouth and I shake my head while eating my own a tad slower. He crashes soon after and I take the time to set everything I might need on the small table next to the bed.

After that, the only thing to do is wait. I curl up in the chair next to him and get as comfortable as I can in the uncomfortable chair. There are one or two other nurses that mill around, but otherwise it’s quiet. Eventually, I find myself falling asleep. I’ve slept in worse places in my military career. I’m still on the cusp of sleep when I feel something settling over me. My eyes flash open and I look up in an instant to see the culprit. His hands freeze and his eyes widen as I find Ghost draping his jacket over me.

I sigh in relief and relax back into the chair, my eyes shutting a moment as my heart thunders in my chest. “Ghost.” I greet him with a scratchy voice before looking towards Soap and moving to get up. “Everything okay?” He puts a hand on my shoulder to hold me in place.

“Everything’s fine. Just came to check on the stubborn bastard to make sure he wasn’t causin’ too much trouble.” He says quietly, his voice gruff and low. “Didn’t expect you to be here, G.”

I relax back into my chair with his jacket tucked snug around me. “I’m here for the duration. Just to make sure everything goes okay.”

His brows furrow. His usual skull mask is gone to leave only the black fabric he wears under it. It’s nice seeing more of his face even if the skin around his eyes is still painted black. “You expectin’ something to go wrong?”

I shrug a shoulder. “It’s just a precaution. A gut feeling.” My lips purse as I look at Soap, slack-jawed and snoring softly. “It could be infected. Or I could be paranoid.” I sigh again as I lean my head back against the chair and Ghost’s mask twitches.

“Either way, thanks for looking out for him.” Ghost crosses his arms and leans a hip against the end of Soap’s bed.

I raise a brow at him. “It’s my job.”

“No.” Ghost shakes his head, eyes crinkling just a touch as I think he smiles again. “This is going above and beyond your job, G. And I’m grateful. So’s everyone else on the team.” I blink as I take in the compliment and his jacket tucked around me. It’s sweet. Terribly sweet.

“I’m glad to do it, Ghost. You all have been pretty welcoming and I know I don’t come off the warmest, but I appreciate it.” Discomfort swirls in my chest at admitting it, but he took a risk thanking me. I can return the favor. “You’re my team.” It’s a claim and a promise. I’ll be loyal, dedicated, treat them like family, as long as they’re just as loyal to me.

Ghost nods, seeing this and understanding. He understands more than the others, if I had to guess. “And we’ve got you just as much as you’ve got us, G. Even if it takes a while for you to see that.” I smile as I pull his jacket a bit closer around me. I’m coming around to the idea.

*     *     *

I fall back asleep after Ghost leaves, but not for long.

Soap’s peaceful snores fade and I wake up when I hear a grunt to find him half-sitting up with his blankets tossed off. He gives me a weak smile when he sees my eyes open. “Sorry, lass. Afraid I’m not feeling great.” I lay Ghost’s jacket over the back of my chair and I’m up in an instant. My hands smooth over his cheek, then his forehead.

“Your skin is hot.” I murmur, knowing he has a fever.

He huffs a soft laugh. “Always knew I was hot.” The corner of my mouth lifts as I help him sit up a bit more and take his sweat-soaked shirt off, then wipe away the sheen covering his chest, back, and forehead.

“It’s going to be a rough night for you, Johnny, but the only way through it is straight.” I set the small towel aside before gently pushing him back down to lay on the bed. Next, I grab two other washcloths I have set aside and head over to the sink to soak them before coming back.

“You certainly don’t sugarcoat things, G.” He chuckles as I lay one cold cloth over his bare chest, then fold the other as I pat his face with it before laying it over his forehead.

“You want me to tell you pretty lies?” I ask softly, aware of the few other patients still sleeping around the room.

His head shakes. “Never said I didn’t like it, lass. Think it’s refreshing.” He takes a deep breath and I rub the cool cloth over his chest before wetting it in cool water again and returning it. “Reminds me a little of Ghost.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s a little surprise in my voice, but I suppose I was just thinking that Ghost understood me more than the others. “He was here earlier to check on you. Based on what he and Price said, I expected a little more resistance from you.” I reach up and flip the washcloth on his forehead so the cool side is against his skin.

He gives me a crooked grin despite the fever, pain, and exhaustion I’m sure he’s feeling. “I’m a sucker for a gentle touch, lass. And I’m a little bit afraid of you.” I chuckle and his eyes light up a little. “Am I delirious or was that a laugh? Can’t wait to tell Gaz I got you to crack first.”

“It was barely a laugh. Hardly counts.” I tease and his eyelids get a little heavy. “Sleep if you can, Johnny. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

He hums in lieu of a laugh. “Good thing I’m not tryin’ then. In fact, think someone would have to pry you out of the team’s cold, dead hands to get you away from us now.” His eyes fall shut as he speaks and I keep gently dabbing his face with the cold washcloth. I let the words sink into me along with Ghost’s earlier, feeling them tether me to the team and the men that create it. But it doesn’t feel like a weight. It feels like a life preserver, buoying me over the waves I’ve been fighting against for a while now. Finally, I take a breath without worrying about whether I’ll take on water.

“Yeah,” I whisper, resting my hand on the cloth on his chest to feel his heart. “I’m getting pretty fond of you all too.”

Taglist (oh my gosh, hi people! Thanks for wanting to be tagged, I love you. Hope you enjoy. If anyone else wants to be tagged, lmk):

@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas

[small-sinclair]

Whumptober 10: Blow to the Head

Injured!Johnny Slaughter x nurse!reader

Tw: blood, Johnny being a bit softer than normal

Passed out from Pain

Johnny limped sluggishly down the beaten path back, tracking down your steps and small drops of blood. He had to hand it to that friend of yours—they got him pretty good with a piece of glass in his side. Johnny managed to pull it out of his body, but the pain was started to build up until his vision was becoming blurry and each step grew heavier. He felt as if he was hit by a car or some type of train on the tracks he hears at night.

Johnny leaned against a base of a tree to support himself, and blood fell from his fingers like a waterfall. His head was pounding from a punch that one of your friends threw, and his feet began to drag. His chest was littered with small cuts and bruises, and it began to sting as he pushed off the tree and continued to follow your steps. He felt like a slug as he came closer to the shed at the end of the path, and he felt a weak smile grow when he heard you pushing back into the wood—

He hisses in pain as he fell to a knee. His legs finally caved under him and the pain in his side throbbed throughout his body. He looked up blankly at the shed and saw your outline standing in front of him. You were gripping a shovel tightly until your knuckles turned white. Under different circumstances, he would be impressed that you want to fight him and would amuse the idea of a good scrap, but he was losing too much blood, and the pain was building to the point of being unbearable. When he looked into your eyes, he knew you that you were figuring out that he was too weak to do anything.

The hunter became the hunted. He was at your mercy, and there was nothing he could do about it besides try and fight. He would end up losing, though, and he knows it. Besides being hurt and the pain growing through his bones like ivy on the side of a house, he hasn’t eaten in days. Meat has become low, causing him to be unable to eat. As much as wanted to eat and have something, his family had food first. He hates to admit it, but he’s a family man. He would rather see his family grow while he sits back. The old man’s cooking wasn’t as good as he praised it to be, Nancy took charge in taking care of Grandpa, Sissy’s sicker than a dog, and Bubba and Nubbins eat like there’s nothing there.

As much as Johnny hates it, he eats later. If there’s any scraps, he’ll take them like a stray dog in a back alley.

Starving and in pain...he really was a battered dog.

He forced himself off his knee, sluggishly trying to move from the ground, but failed.

You watched with uncertainty as he fell back to the ground, and your nursing kicked in. You didn’t go to med-school just to stand by and watch someone in pain and injured. You took a promise, a code, to help those hurt. Your family always said that you were a caretaker, so being a nurse was a good spot for you. At first, you were ready to fight him and hit him with the rusted shovel you found in the shed, but seeing the state that he’s in, bleed profusely from his side and beaten by someone in your friend group, something else clicked. Was it something in his dark brown eyes, which were screaming in pain? Or was it the empathy you felt for his pain, knowing that even giving him a hand he would kill you with his bare hands?

Win or lose, the house always wins.

Johnny stood on his feet and wavered between his weights and thoughts. He wanted to shout at you to stay away from him as soon as he felt himself falling backwards. He felt himself wanting to fight, needing to survive against you. He was being hunted now; an easy kill for you to avenge your friends.

You dropped the shovel when he tried to stand on his feet but stumbled back and nearly fell on the bed of rocks. You caught him and gently lowered him to the ground until his head was resting on your lap. Instinctively, his hands held on to your arms as you lowered him down, dropping his knife. His brown eyes began to water as his skin stretched and ripped, making him wince in your hold. He couldn’t think straight as he looks up into your eyes as the sunlight got caught in your hair, tangled in a sweet and bitter web of care and fear. Johnny found himself relaxing in your hold as his eyes began to roll. The pain in his side was getting to the point where he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

His eyes shot open when he saw your hand reaching down.

“Wait, don’t,” he silently begs, his words too slurred. “Don’t.” Johnny’s eyes then widen as your hand thumbed away blood from his lips. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, craving it more.

You then ripped a piece of your shirt off and began to apply pressure to the wound on his side. “Stay still, okay? Can you tell me your full name?”

“Johnny Sawyer,” he answers, breathing out his name. “’M Johnny.”

Your hand smoothed back his hair, brushing away the strains from his eyes. The long, jagged scar over his eye stood out like a nail, and you traced it lightly with yuor finger tips. He shivers but leans in; he felt himself begging to pass out. “I’ll stay here with, Johnny,” you promised. “I’ll try to help you.”

He shakes his head. “Y’all kill me.”

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve let you fall backwards,” you stated as if it was a fact, and it was. If you didn’t have obligations to treat those who are hurt, you would’ve used the rusted part of the shovel’s head to take off his head! “I won’t hurt you, Mr. Sawyer. I promise.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His eyes lulled and rolled, passing out to the inter throbbing in his bones and under his skin.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

HI!! okay so with the magical euphoria thingy i screamed into my pillow like twenty million times while reading AUDHSHXH /pOS YOUR WRITING IS AUAHDHAHX!!:?:!;!;:!, ANYWAY.

whumpee uses WAY too much magic in a fight. they’re completely giddy, out of it, and have just horrifically defeated something/someone.

looks around and notices that everyone is silent and terrified of what whumpee is capable of, because holy fuck. they did not need to go that far????

meanwhile whumpee thinks they were doing the right thing and, still incredibly excited from winning, runs over to caretaker!! and doesn’t understand why caretaker flinches away from them!! ^_^

sorry for the heinous grammar its like almost midnight rn :(((

(context)

I’m glad you liked my writing! I’m grinning like a fool rn.

And yes!!! Not every battle ends with Whumpee exhausted and ready to collapse. Sometimes they’re still sparking with energy, too deep into the high to realize they’re acting oddly, but not deep enough to be entirely gone. And honestly? For the people who care about them, for the people who are afraid of them, I think that state would be far, far worse. Awake but not quite aware. Unpredictable.

So like, hear me out.

The squadron is returning back to camp after a long day of missions. Their mage is still with them, in both senses of the word. They’re not fallen into total lunacy yet, still conscious and mobile. Whumpee’s bouncing on their toes, head swiveling on their shoulders like an excited puppy. They’re chatting excitedly, near incomprehensibly, at a soldier that made the mistake of getting too close. The soldier can only nod along to the stream of consciousness leaving Whumpee’s lips.

Caretaker is keeping a hold on Whumpee’s arm, making sure they don’t run off. They know Whumpee will be fine after a night’s rest.

It’s a rare moment of calm. They’re sore and exhausted, but the warm pride of a job well done leaves them feeling satisfied. The atmosphere is light as they trudge through the forest. Peaceful, all things considered.

But then Whumpee freezes, body stiffening all at once as something catches their attention. They turn, eyes focusing on something. A flash of enemy colors flicks in their vision–

Whumpee’s moving before Caretaker can react. Light bursts from their hands, illuminating the dark forest, and the squadron freezes on instinct. Whumpee’s attention, fractured and fleeting moments ago, has sharpened into a deadly edge to focus on a single figure.

Whumpee reaches out a single glowing hand, fingers curling as if grabbing something.

Flanked by two petrified guards, hands shackled behind his back, is a single enemy soldier taken as prisoner. His eyes widen as Whumpee’s attention focuses on him, the man’s bruised and exhausted face contorted in terror. His mouth is open in silent, terrified scream.

Just as Caretaker is reaching out to stop them, Whumpee reaches out with an open hand. Their fingers curl inward as if grabbing something. With a sharp movement their hand is pulled back, fingers clenched shut. The prisoner’s body lurches forward in response.

The crackle of energy cracks through the air, and suddenly something red and dripping and squirming is hovering mere feet from the man. He’s never laid eyes on it before, but the emptiness in his chest tells him exact

The human heart, still beating, falls to the forest floor. Its owner falls a moment later.

Silence follows. Fear and shock runs through the squadron, their minds struggling to comprehend what had just unfolded. Some freeze like a deer in the headlights, terrified that moving will bring Whumpee’s wrath. Others are inching their hands towards their belts, looking for a weapon. Others still are simply trembling from shock, suddenly and violently reminded of the danger in their midsts.

The terror that grips Caretaker is different. They’re afraid for Whumpee. Training kicking into overdrive, Caretaker’s eyes dart over the scene, calculating. Assessing the panic, assessing how long they have until fear turns into action.

They know they have to take control of the situation. Caretaker’s footsteps are firm as they approach Whumpee, exuding confidence they don’t feel, and praying it's enough to keep the situation from escalating.

Caretaker places a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee turns to face them, expression blank

“Whumpee,” Caretaker speaks with trained calmness, voice gentle yet firm. Their smile is a weak, trembling thing, doing little to mask their anxiety. The smile Whumpee gives in return is genuine and bright, oblivious. “We need him alive. We’re taking him in for questioning, remember?”

Whumpee doesn’t respond. Their eyes are more clouded than they were a moment before, their sanity strained even further by that display of power. For a long, breathless moment Whumpee simply stares, a vacant smile plastered over their face.

Caretaker keeps their expression calm, but the tension is suffocating them. All they can hear is the gurgling of a dying man.

And then the moment breaks. Whumpee blinks, and awareness flicks back into their eyes. A tittering giggle creeks out from between their teeth.

“Oh! Right, yes. We need that one alive, don’t we?” Whumpee laughs.

The clearing is still as Whumpee all but skips over to the twitching body. They grab the heart from where it dropped.The muscle is still pulsing weakly, spilling blood over Whumpee’s arms. They don’t seem to notice.

Whumpee calls their magic again, the organ vanishing in a flash. In that same instance, the prisoner’s eyes fly open, bloodless lips widening with a desperate gasp. His next inhale comes out as a sob. He curls inward, limbs close to his chest, as if desperate to keep his heart in its place.

Whumpee doesn’t even give the man a second glance. As their would-be victim sobs, broken and terrified, on the ground, Whumpee happily returns to Caretaker’s side. They reach their hand, now coated a deep red, expectantly towards Caretaker. Caretaker holds Whumpee’s hand with a trained smile, and tries not to flinch at the warm wetness.

Caretaker starts walking, not daring to look back. They know the terrified, hateful, dangerous looks they’ll see if they did.

Whumpee doesn’t notice the way Caretaker's grip tightens, or how they’re maneuvered to walk some distance away from the other soldiers.

The rest of the trip is done in silence.

[bamber344]

Jordyn's training, part 4: Deployment

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Getting rid of the 'whumpee intro' title because it's becoming quite redundant with how far this has stretched, and I've found that it's kinda hard to classify a lot of the POV characters we have coming up so I'm just not gonna do it and let you guys decide where they fall on the whumpee/caretaker/whumper spectrum :3

Sorry for the long wait! I wanted to get some good progress done on my book before coming back to this, and this chapter is decently long as well (almost 3.7k) but hey that's more for you guys! I'm very excited to share this one. Chapter begins after the cut :)

CWs: broken bones, slight dehumanisation, conditioned/obedient whumpee, other general LW stuff. Honestly not a lot to warn for in this chapter but let me know if I missed anything important.

Jordyn's Training, part 4: Deployment

1 YEAR AFTER WAKING

An arm broke under my fist, the elbow joint bending backwards with an awful crack. I let go of the screaming criminal, spinning around with a kick to the head of the one sneaking up behind me. He stumbled backwards and I kept up my momentum, spinning again and gathering shadows behind my leg. The added force of the darkness when my armoured boot made contact knocked him straight to the floor, where he stayed, unmoving.

I was almost finished. There were only two criminals left, standing at the far end of the room with their weapons raised. They seemed hesitant to approach. I didn’t blame them. The room was already filled with the limp, groaning forms of their fellows, and they surely knew by now that their fates would be no different. Still, I needed to take them down to complete the exam, and I wasn’t going to fail again. If they wouldn’t come to me, I would go to them.

I sent out a whip of shadow, wrapping it around one of the men’s ankles. The shadow flexed and shrank to my will, allowing me the leverage to pull him off of his feet and fling him around the room, using his body as an improvised wrecking ball against his friend. I released my hold at just the right moment to send the man crashing into the other criminal, smashing both of them against the far wall, knocking them out and completing my final combat exam. 

After a few seconds of stillness, the door to the observation room opened. I took a deep breath, blowing out the leftover nerves and letting the adrenaline run its course. A pervasive nausea sat heavily in my gut as I left the exam room, as it so often did after a live combat training session. I hated the feeling of bones breaking under my strength; my victim’s screams ringing through my ears for days afterward. My combat instructor told me that many people feel ‘alive’ in the midst of a fight; filled with endorphins and running on instinct. I usually just felt overwhelmed and sick. Part of me was honestly a little surprised that I’d aced the exam this time around. I even kept my cool when the lights turned off, forcing my shadows to remain close and defend me until they came back on. I guessed all the extra training just paid off.

“Well done, Seven. You passed,” Father said, walking up to me. He’d been calling me Seven ever since my last attempt at the exam, though I didn’t fully understand why. He still called me Jordyn when we were alone in my room, but whenever we were out and about in the facility, I was only Seven. When I asked about it, he said that it was practice for when I’m deployed. I wouldn’t be going by Jordyn as a hero, either. He also said that I should start calling him Captain de Vygon or sir when in public, too. I was still getting the hang of it, though.

“Thank you, Fa-” I paused, clearing my throat. “Sir.”

He nodded. “Return to your quarters. Your dinner will be delivered; you may eat it at your own discretion. Make sure you rest well. Tomorrow, we will finalise your deployment.”

I lowered my head, insides buzzing with anticipation. “Yes, sir.”

With that, I turned and left, following Father’s command and heading straight to my room. Once there, I removed my armour, stretching out my sore limbs and sighing at the sensation of fresh air hitting my skin for the first time in hours. After that, I showered, spending an indulgent amount of time under the soothing spray of hot water, checking over my body for new bruises or cuts from the fight. I usually had a couple lingering around from training (or, in one case, banging my shin against my bed frame) and today was no exception. Thankfully, there was nothing serious. Nothing had pierced my armour this time around. That knife wound from my previous attempt had slowed me down in training for at least a month, and left a nasty scar in its wake. At least it matched the one on my face, not that anyone but Father or myself would be seeing it from now on. 

The shower washed off the remaining adrenaline, but I was still restless; excitement at the prospect of finally leaving the facility overtaking all else. I tried reading a book to pass the time, but like always I just ended up doodling in the margins, drawing little pictures to chronicle my day. It was something I’d picked up in the past few months, when my training started getting harder and more painful, and Father became much stricter. There was a lot that upset me nowadays, and since I wasn’t allowed to express that out loud, I had to find other ways to get it out of me. The more I let it build up, the worse I felt, and that tended to affect my performance, which Father was always quick to pick up on. Drawing was the only effective way I’d found so far of releasing that pain; pouring it out through the pencil and onto the paper.

Dinner came and was eaten, the clock ticked onwards, and eventually I found myself growing tired. Even in bed, however, the sleep never came. Every time I thought about tomorrow, anticipation would shoot through me. I’d spent a whole year of my life in this facility, recovering from my accident, learning how to be a hero again, and tomorrow, I’d finally be allowed to leave.

I couldn’t wait.

—

Elevators were something of an enigma to me. I could count on one hand how many times I’d ridden in one. That very first day - the day I’d woken from the green - I remembered being carted into a small box in a wheelchair along with Father, and when the doors opened again, we were somewhere else. It only succeeded in worsening the state of abject confusion I was in. By now, theoretically, I knew they were just taking me to different levels of the facility beyond the access of the stairs in my section, but the novelty had as of yet failed to wear off. Being able to get from one place to another without moving was always mystifying to me.

Today, however, I had to contain my excitement at getting to ride in one. I was at Father’s side, travelling upwards out of the facility for the very first time. He had told me not to expect much action for my first day; he wanted to get me used to the city and my role before sending me on any solo patrols. Should anything exciting happen, it would be the police tracking down a suspect and sending me to apprehend them. As much as I disliked combat, the prospect of any sort of change to my schedule was enticing. 

The elevator finally stopped moving, and the doors in front of me opened to a wide, dimly lit concrete room. I followed Father out, stepping around the large, metal, wheeled things lined up in rows all over the place. The urge to ask what they were was strong, but I knew better than to speak without permission. If it was important, Father would tell me in time.

Eventually, we stopped at one of the metal things. It was all black, quite boxy in shape. Father stepped around one side of it, and when I went to follow him, he paused, looking at me with a confused expression.

“Oh, of course,” he said, a wry grin forming on his lips. “You’ve never seen a car before, have you?”

“This is a car?” I asked. I’d read about them in my books, but due to the nature of the facility, I’d never actually seen one in person before.

“Yes. Get in on the other side.” 

He showed me how to work the door, so I went around the car and followed his command, taking my seat next to him. He strapped himself in, then leaned over to do the same for me, instructing me on how to do it for myself. The day had barely even started and I was already learning so much.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, I did yelp a little when the car started moving, despite knowing to expect it from reading about them. My embarrassment was quickly replaced with awe, however, as we drove out onto the streets of the city.

I’d never seen anything like it before. There were cars everywhere, the roads stretching on as far as I could see, bordered by buildings so tall it was like they were piercing the sky itself. And speaking of the sky! I couldn’t believe just how blue it was! I’d spent my entire life surrounded by greys and whites and blacks. Seeing such a bright, beautiful colour stretching out above me was breathtaking. My heart was pounding in my chest from the sheer amazement alone.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Father asked, no doubt noticing how enamoured I was as I craned my neck to see out the windows. “Welcome to Tombguard, the city of heroes.”

I turned and looked at him. “Permission to speak?”

“Granted.”

“Why is it called that?” I asked. “Isn’t that name a little… morbid? Aren’t tombs where people get buried after they die?”

“I’m glad you asked. It has to do with the city’s conception. A long, long time ago, there was… an entity, shall we say. A being of great power that roamed the earth, causing chaos and destruction, subjugating populations to Its will. They called It the Godling, as Its strength was second only to that of what we recognised as a God. It had the powers of creation and decimation, and almost anything that It wished would come to pass with a mere thought. The only thing It couldn’t control was the human spirit. It is said that the ancestors of the de Vygon family forged a blade capable of taking down this monstrosity. After a fierce battle, the beast was impaled with the blade, sealing away Its power. The family imprisoned It, deep below the earth, and this city was built around It to maintain Its cage. It is believed that the blood of the Godling still runs to this day, seeping into the ground and spreading through the earth, and that it’s what gives people like you their powers. That is why there are so many heroes here; proximity to the Godling’s prison increases the likelihood of a child being born with power, but there are also more monster attacks here than anywhere else on earth. The demand necessitates supply. Hence; Tombguard, the city of heroes.”

For some reason, the thought of whatever ‘monster attacks’ were sent a shiver down my spine and had my hair standing on end, but I brushed it off. “The de Vygon family? You mean your ancestors were the ones who fought that thing?”

Father nodded. “Indeed. Though we no longer have access to the Godling’s prison. That honour passed to a different branch of the family, one that no longer bears the name.”

He sounded almost bitter about it. I knew better than to ask what that was about though, so I turned back to the window, taking in the beauty of the outside world.

—

Father took me on a tour around the city, showing me all of the sights, taking me down as many side-streets as he could so that I could start to learn the layout. I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage, though. The whole thing was like a maze! There were so many twists and turns, and after a while, a lot of it started to look the same. I supposed it would probably be easier once I got on top of the buildings, as heroes apparently often did. I’d just have to wait and see.

We were pulled up at a stop light when it happened. A shout from the side of the road caught my attention.

“Hey, stop! Thief!”

My whole body lit up with adrenaline. This was it! My chance to take down a real criminal! I looked to Father for approval.

“Go ahead, Seven. But be gentle. You want to make a good first impression, after all.”

I nodded, removing my seatbelt and all-but launching myself out the door. The commotion was happening outside of something Father had told me was called a ‘general store.’ There was a man at the door, angrily shouting, pointing down the street at another person who was sprinting away, something cradled in their arms. I wasted no more time, using my shadows to fortify my legs and propel myself forward.

Father had specified to be gentle, so I didn’t bother using my shadows for anything else, just crashing into the criminal and tackling them down to the ground, pinning their arms behind their back. Two loaves of bread and a carton of milk scattered across the ground in front of us.

“Ah! What the hell?!” the thief said, craning their head around to look up at me. It was a young man, probably not much older than me. “Please, it’s just a little food! I’m just trying to feed my family!”

I knew how it felt to go hungry, but that didn’t mean I could go easy on this guy. He was a criminal, after all, and they would always try to spin a tale to convince me to let them go. I tightened my grip as he futilely struggled against it. 

“Argh! What kind of superhero are you?! This isn’t your job!”

I wasn’t certain I had permission to speak, so I kept my mouth shut. Otherwise, I would’ve argued against that. This was what I had been training for my whole life – as far back as I could remember, at least. What else could my job possibly be?

“Backup is on the way to take him to the station,” Father said, approaching us. “Good work, Seven.”

“Thank you, sir.”

By then, a crowd had started to form, watching the scene unfold.

“Is that a new hero?”

“I’ve never seen them before.”

“That black armour is scary…”

“Are they working with the police?”

Father stepped around me, facing the amassing group of people.

“The show’s over, folks! Nothing to see here, just Tombguard’s newest hero doing her job. The police will be here soon, so I’d advise you all to clear out.”

The crowd took Father’s advice and dispersed, leaving us alone with the owner of the store, who came over and picked up his discarded stock. 

“I’ve never heard of a hero working with the cops before, but boy am I glad for it now, Mr…?”

Father smiled, holding out his hand to shake. “Andreas de Vygon, Captain of the 23rd precinct, and the handler of our newest superhero; Seven.”

“Well, thank you, Captain. Thank you both. I’ll be sure to let everyone know that the 23rd has the backs of us business owners, unlike the rest of the Heroes’ Union, those freeloading bastards.”

Father laughed. I had to take a second to process it. I didn’t think I’d ever heard him laugh before. 

“Oh, I assure you, Seven is not part of the Heroes’ Union. She actually helps the city.”

“Ha! You said it! Well, I’ll see you around. Feel free to stop by anytime for a discount!”

The man left, and the police arrived not long after, rolling up in one of those black and white cars I had seen after departing from the facility elevator. Two more men stepped out; one in a blue uniform, and the other dressed a little more casually in a button-up and trenchcoat. Both of them peered at me curiously before approaching.

I let the one in blue take over in handling the criminal, finally climbing to my feet and returning to Father’s side, where the other man was. His light brown, grey-streaked hair was messily slicked back, and the lower half of his face was covered with stubble. He looked me over with an unparsable expression.

“So,” he said. “This is Project Genesis, huh? Shorter than I thought they’d be.” His voice was husky and deep.

“This is Seven, Detective Matthews,” Father corrected. “The product of Project Genesis.”

Detective Matthews grunted. “How’d you convince a hero to work with us, anyway?”

“That’s confidential, detective. Now, don’t you have a shoplifter to process?”

He sighed. “Yes, sir.”

A loud crash from down the street caught everyone’s attention. My heart felt like it stopped in my chest at the sight of what caused it.

It was like a section of the ground itself had come alive. A huge, pinkish mass of tentacles and eyeballs rose out from a destroyed section of road, coated and shielded by the concrete and asphalt sticking to its blotchy skin. It thrashed at everything around it; ripping out lampposts, throwing cars, smashing buildings, enraged at the sheer concept of life itself, not able to comprehend why it had been forced to be.

Why has it been forced to be? It thinks this is a question one should ask itself, little shadow. 

…What? Whose voice was that? The words echoed through my skull like a concussion; their source utterly unknown but their sound viscerally painful; a thousand nails driving their tips into my brain with every syllable. As quickly as it had begun, however, the words and their suffering disappeared, and I was left to wonder if either had even existed in the first place.

“Are you afraid, Seven?” came Father’s voice from my right; deep and solid and beautifully real, tearing me back into the physical world.

“N-no,” I lied, the word cracking as it came out. In truth, the sight before me was almost petrifying. My entire body screamed at me to run, flee, hide from the impossible thing wreaking havoc down the road.

“Do not lie to me,” Father replied.

I sucked in a breath. Perhaps honesty was better than feigned confidence in a situation such as this. “Yes.”

“I expected you might be. It was one of those… things that injured you in the first place. I’m not surprised that an instinctive fear has persisted, in spite of your… memory loss. Don’t worry, your job is here. The Union will deal with it.”

As if summoned by his words, it was then that I saw two figures in the distance leap off of a nearby rooftop towards the creature. A huge shard of ice materialised from nowhere, skewering the monstrosity straight through. It swung a tentacle at the heroes, but they suddenly disappeared, reappearing on the ground a little ways away. The fight continued on like that - ice spear, dodge, ice spear, dodge - until the thing was nothing more than a limp chunk of flesh, leaking water from its death wounds. They made it look easy. 

All of a sudden, the two appeared right in front of us. One of them flinched away from the other.

“Fuck! I told you not to do that, Viv!”

I was starstruck.

Standing before me was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I didn’t know why, but it felt like my insides were tearing themselves apart with need just at the sight of her alone. Her outfit was mostly white, made of a seemingly thin material that didn’t really leave much to the imagination, with a mask covering the top half of her face. Her blonde hair was shaved at the sides, but longer on top and at the back, messy and streaked with darker brown. Her downturned lips were a pale shade of pink; soft and enticing. I couldn’t explain it. I couldn’t justify it. There was just something in my very being that wanted to be near her in any way possible.

The other one - Viv, I presumed - put her hands up in apologetic surrender. She wasn’t wearing a mask at all – in fact, both of them were showing a lot more skin than I thought heroes were allowed to, based on what Father had told me. Her red hair was shorter, tousled and hanging loose from a small ponytail, no doubt messed up from the fight. She was quite pretty, too, but she didn’t have the strange allure that the other woman had, for whatever reason. She turned back to us.

“Hey, Uncle Steve!”

Detective Matthews cleared his throat. “Good morning, Vivienne. Nice work out there. You too, Madeline.”

Madeline. The name rang through my head like a bell. I felt like I was forgetting something.

“Thanks!” Vivienne turned to me. “So, a new hero, huh? What’s your name?”

“We’re done here, Seven,” Father said, putting a hand on my shoulder and guiding me back to the car. I tried to crane my head around to get another look at the two heroes, but a spark of sharp pain at the back of my neck reminded me of what happened when I disobeyed, so I quickly gave that up.

It was only when we were back in the car, buckled up and moving away from the scene, that Father spoke again.

“You should watch out for those other heroes, Seven. They’re freeloading scum whose only contribution is showing up once a month when those monsters attack and taking all the glory for killing them. They’ll try to corrupt you with promises of wealth and camaraderie, but they can offer you nothing I cannot already provide for you. Especially stay away from that blonde one; Madeline. That’s an order.”

Of course. That was just my luck. “Yes, Father.”

“Oh, and while I’m at it, I might as well mention it before I forget. Kill the black-winged one on sight should you see it.”

With those cryptic orders, he fell silent and I was left to ponder what that could possibly mean, staring out the window, longing to feel the breeze on my skin.

Taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star @alsolucakairomi @idkwhattodowiththisaltiamsorry

So happy to finally be done with this arc lol. As much as I love Jordyn this section really stretched on and I'm looking forward to exploring some other character povs and getting deeper into the world

next chapter will be from Madeline's POV, probably titled Till Death Did Us Part

hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, and be sure to say something if you want to be added to the tag list! every reblog helps :)

[blade-liger-4ever]

The Hardest Goodbye

Poseidon stood on the shore, watching the waves lapping at the sand as the sun slowly crept down toward the horizon. A wind blew by, chilly, and although it didn't bother him, the baby bundled in his arms squirmed and began to cry.

Turning so his body blocked the stiff breeze, Poseidon hefted his seven month old son, Perseus "Percy" Jackson, higher so that his neck wouldn't be damaged. Shushing the child gently, Poseidon soothed, "It's alright, Percy. Everything is fine. Your mother will be here soon."

Percy continued to squirm, but he soon quieted. Looking out at the sea, Poseidon pulled his son closer to his chest, briefly wondering if Percy could sense how heavy his heart was.

In all the time he'd spent with Sally, he'd never felt more comfortable or content. Where once the raw power residing in the oceans and the allure of the great depths and its creatures had called him to rest and hunt, they now seemed like shadows of a life he could barely call his own. Even now, though he was about to return and never set foot in his son and lover's lives again, Poseidon could not feel anything but contempt for his domain.

God of the seas, storms, earthquakes, and horses. Titles that he'd proudly worn in the past - even though he and his fellow Olympians were only caretakers in the Great Plan - now seemed like a childish interest that he had clung to. Perhaps his elder brother Hades had outgrown that thought process sooner than he had; it would certainly explain why he didn't care for Zeus' theatrics, and tolerated Poseidon's own swinging of moods for centuries.

By the universe, what had he been doing with his life?

Ever since he'd met Sally, it was as if his perspective had been changed. He no longer thought about the tides, the migrations of sea creatures, or the times storms were due each year as dutifully as he once had. And when he had thought of that, and even when Poseidon had overseen such matters, it had been at a declining rate of...punctuality. He arrived late, appeared in casual clothes that he quickly had to change when he'd realized he'd forgotten his Olympian garb, or forgot a few manners that were tradition. Somehow, Zeus had let it slide; perhaps Hera or even Hades had defended his actions, or bargained something in exchange to allow Poseidon his numerous faux pas to please Zeus.

But then Percy had been born. His son, the brightest star in his life, whose tiny, weak cries still both amused him and made his protective instincts kick in, entered his life, and made it better just by his existence.

And in the past seven months of his life, Zeus had had enough.

Two weeks ago, Zeus had summoned him for a private meeting. That was never a good sign, and Poseidon's growing dread was confirmed when he met his younger brother at Crete. They argued all morning over how Poseidon had neglected his duties, even though Poseidon had countered that the Olympians' roles was only as overseers of the natural order the Creator had made. But Zeus had made up his mind, and Poseidon knew there was no changing the decision. Zeus swore that once the seventh month was over - a number that was in their power to honor, no matter the circumstances - Poseidon would return to the seas, and Zeus would pass a law that prohibited all the Olympians from contacting their children.

That had left Poseidon two weeks to spend with Sally and Percy. He'd tried his best to spend every possible second with them, and make plans for when Percy could be sent to Camp Half-Blood for his protection.

Protection. The worst part of that meant abandoning them to a human man to mask Percy's scent from monsters and keep them from discovering his true identity. And not just any man would do; he had to have certain vices - an addiction to alcohol, or smoking - in order to completely cover the scent. Sally had assured him she would find someone with those traits with their best interests at heart, but Poseidon had a nagging suspicion that even if she found a man like that, he would turn against them eventually.

Percy gurgled, and looking down, Poseidon saw him reaching out his small arms toward him. Smiling, feeling his heart break, he reached over with his free hand and extended his index finger. Percy caught it with both hands, and laughed as Poseidon played with him.

He glanced at the horizon. The sun was just touching the waterline. Although he technically had until midnight, Poseidon knew he must leave soon after the sun sank below the horizon, and before the moon was high. If nothing else, his swift return might appease Zeus enough that he could find ways of watching over Percy without breaking the law behind his younger brother's back.

A car's engine caught his attention, and turning, Poseidon saw Sally park the Chevelle on the asphalt path. He watched her exit, gently slipping Percy's tiny hands into his palm and holding them as she descended down the sandy hill toward them.

"I managed to get off early tonight. Made plans for a uh, date later, to keep the coworkers guessing," Sally said by way of greeting, smiling, though it didn't reach her eyes.

Poseidon nodded, smiling slightly before turning his attention back to Percy. His son had his mother's hair, though his grip was, for the moment, more akin to his own.

"You sure you can't stay a few more hours?" She asked, and Poseidon risked another look at her. Sally was keeping herself composed well, even though there was still a tremor in her voice.

Keeping Percy in the crook of his arm, he stepped forward and pulled Sally into a hug. He pressed a kiss to her forehead as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, as if trying to keep him there by sheer force of her own will.

"My brother is not an understanding man," he whispered, holding her tightly. "And even if I could, I would risk raising his suspicions. This is the safest way."

And the easiest way for me to leave before changing my mind, he silently added, though he kept that thought to himself.

Percy began to squirm, and looking down, Poesidon saw his son staring up at him. Just like him, Percy had eyes as blue as the sea, and although they normally held wide-eyed curiosity, at this moment there was a degree of subconscious understanding in them.

He glanced across the sea, noticing that the horizon was already beginning to swallow the sun. An idea that he'd been ruminating on took solid form in Poseidon's mind, and looking down at Sally, he asked, "Did you bring some towels?"

Sally nodded, glancing at the water as it gently crashed against the shore. "Do you want me to get them?" she asked, already extricating herself from their embrace.

"Please do," he answered, briefly watching her swift retreat to the Chevelle.

Turning toward the ocean, glancing at the sun dipped a third of the way past the horizon, Poseidon waded into the waters, careful to keep Percy out of it for the time being. Keeping the water from soaking into his clothes, Poseidon stopped when he was waist deep. Still holding his son in his arm, he placed his free hand into the sea, gently moving the water back and forth.

Once he was certain that the water was at the right temperature, he slowly lowered Percy into the water, keeping his face exposed to the air, but letting the water trickle into his ears. Percy, having previously been kicking his feet, stilled as his eyes widened. Connecting to the sea and the waters of the world, Poseidon masked their presence from the wider Olympian community and fully opened his connection with Percy.

He felt his son's confusion and awe, knowing he had seen a portion of the ocean's grandeur and power. Pulling his senses back from the scope of what he'd exposed him to before it overpowered him, Poseidon strengthened their shared mental bond and spoke to him:

I know you will question why I left you both, he said. Percy looked him in the eye, still confused, but listening.

You will struggle to understand your place in the world, and if you cannot find it in yourself to forgive me, or - or to love me, I will accept that. But I want you to know that what I do is because I love you. I love you more than I have loved anything in the world, and right now, this moment, is my last gift to you, until you're old enough to enter my world. We may never see each other again, but I will always watch over you. From this moment onward, you will be under my protection. When you see the ocean, or feel alone, come to the water. It will provide you with the shelter you seek, and give you the healing you need, physical and mental. It will give you strength, power, and comfort. And when you think no one is listening to you or cares for you, I will always be listening, and I will always care for you. This I promise you, my son.

Percy began to make an agitated gurgling noise, and pulling him out of the water, Poseidon risked a last glance at the sky. The sun was almost completely below the waterline, and clutching his son to his chest, he turned and trudged back onto the shore. Sally was waiting, one towel in hand and another over her shoulder as he approached. As she opened the one in her hands to take their son, Poseidon leaned down and kissed his son's forehead.

"I love you, Percy," he whispered, voice trembling. He faced Sally, gently placing Percy inside the towel and helping her dry him for a moment. Then, wrapping him inside the towel, Poseidon embraced them one last time. He and Sally shared a final kiss, and pulling away, he murmured, "Goodbye, Sally. Take care of yourself and our son."

Blinking back tears, Sally nodded and answered quietly, "I will. I love you, Poseidon."

"I love you, too."

Despite his attempts, Poseidon felt a single tear slip out and roll down his cheek. He smiled at them one last time, then turned toward the ocean. As he walked away, he turned into seawater and dove beneath the waves.

Agony hit him, and pain like he'd never felt pierced his heart as he assumed his true form and swam toward his palace. For the first time his eyes stung, and it felt difficult to breathe as he maneuvered around the various sea creatures. Even as the palace rose before him, he felt his vision darken, and for the first time, Poseidon realized what it must have felt like to drown.

Pausing just before the gates, he glanced at the trident in his hand. He spun it around briefly, then tentatively reached out to Percy through their bond.

He was met with a wave of confusion and sadness, and heard Percy's sobbing as Sally soothed him as she returned to the car. Heart breaking all over again, Poseidon gently sent calming reassurance and love to Percy. Soon, his son had settled down, and was lulled to sleep by Sally's lullaby.

Retreating from Percy's perception, Poseidon swiftly entered into his palace. As he passed the numerous rooms, he wished one could be made for Percy.

He stopped short of the throne room, a thought suddenly striking him. Camp Half-Blood had many cabins for the Olympians' children, but Poseidon had not had many since World War Two had ended. There would be little that would bring Percy comfort in the camp.

But there was a large lake a short distance from the training grounds...

Pushing open the doors, Poseidon entered into the antechamber. Although it could not be done for another year without raising Zeus' suspicions, he began to make plans for the type of cabin he would build his son.

After all, Poseidon thought with a weak, yet hopeful, smile. Zeus never said he'd pass a law forbidding that the Olympians make homes for their children.

[coffeeanddonutscafe]

BG3 Chronicles of Misadventures

I was a bit sad today so had to use the best therapy in the world :D FANFIC WRITING THERAPY. *it's a joke* I'm working on a fic where Tav is the main caretaker of the group and she is so used to being the one - providing the emotional care to others - that she doesn't notice the subtle ways everyone is showing that she is appreciated and loved too. I haven't finished writing THAT fic - but I want to make something funny too. If you wanna check out some of my fluffy Astarion fics, CLICK here.

My RANDOM BG3 Headcanons for my fanfictions. (I'm thining of turning them into some funny BG3 chronicles - what do you think?)

Gale's Hidden Talents: One day, just as the sun was setting, Tav stumbled upon a scene that defied all expectations. There stood Gale, his usually ink-stained fingers now wielding brushes with a grace that would put any artist to shame. Before her eyes, he unveiled a landscape so vivid, it was as if the canvas held a piece of the world itself. And then, in the corner, an unexpected touch of humor: Astarion depicted as a bewildered goose, WITH SHARP TEETH - a stolen sandwich firmly in beak. GOOSTARION - was the name of that sketch. The sight left Karlach in peals of laughter, while Astarion's affronted expression was a masterpiece in its own right. (I really think that GALE WOULD DO IT - little passive-aggressive little comics on EVERYONE)

Shadowheart's Vulnerability and Cheese addiction: In a rare moment of candor, Shadowheart unveiled a piece of her past to Tav. It was a tale shrouded in mystery, starring a little mouse who once shared her world. Details were scant, but the mischief they got up to in Shaar's academy kitchen floor made for a tale that painted a smile on Tav's face, imagining a young Shadowheart orchestrating daring cheese heists. However, Shadowheart never told what happened to the mouse.

Lae'zel's Grudging Praise: Lae'zel's rare compliment was like a unicorn sighting - everyone heard about it, but few actually witnessed it. They were also legendary for their awkwardness. It was like watching a bull in a china shop trying to do ballet. One time, she attempted to compliment Tav's weapon-wielding skills by saying, "You would wield a chair with the deadliest dignity." Tav had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. It was like getting a compliment in a foreign language that had no direct translation into compliments as we know them.

Astarion's Confusing Support: In the midst of battle, Astarion's protective instincts kicked in, but it seemed like his emotional well had run as dry as a desert. He swooped in, attempting to shield Tav from an incoming blow, but his battle cry came out more like a dramatic sigh. He shot the attacker a look that was equal parts "I will end you" and "I need a nap," as if he was auditioning for a melodramatic play. "Touch my bloodbag, and you'll... maybe regret it, or not, whatever." Tav wasn't sure whether to be grateful or slightly miffed, but she decided to roll with it. After all, having a suave vampire who was one step away from a mid-battle siesta watching your back had its unique set of perks. Maybe Astarion just needed a double espresso and a quick catnap between skirmishes.

Wyll's Tap Dance Sacrifice: Wyll, the warlock extraordinaire, decided to offer himself up as bait to a gang of hobgoblins. Tav could hardly believe her ears. Ina moment of bravado mixed up with panick Wyll started dancing. It was like a one-man tap dancing show in front of an audience of sword-wielding hobgoblins. She half-expected them to start clapping along. Who knew that warlocks had such a flair for the dramatic? The hobgoblins were too stunned to speak. So they disengaged from the battle. Tav could swear, she heard Mizora laughing somewhere in the distance.

Halsin's Honey Escapades: Halsin, the wise druid, had a not-so-secret passion for honey. His quiet escapades into the forest to find his golden treasure were the stuff of legends. And the fact that he preferred to enjoy it in his birthday suit just added an extra layer of hilarity. It was like a scene straight out of a comedy play - "Halsin and the Honey Chronicles." Tav couldn't help but wonder if he had a secret stash of bear-themed underwear.

Withers Sassy Chronicles: Whenever Tav approached Withers, it was like stepping into a tabloid's editorial office. The gossip flowed freely, each insight served with a side of catty commentary and sassy flair. With a twinkle in his eye, Wither became Tav's very own gossip columnist, regaling Tav with tidbits that painted a vivid portrait of their companions, quirks and all. (they gossiped the most, even more than Astarion)

These uproarious moments turned their perilous journey into a laugh-out-loud adventure. Who knew that adventuring could be this side-splittingly entertaining? Would you like to hear more - in-depth stories about each of the gang members?

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

((contents: kidnapping, captivity, buried alive, isolation, hallucinations, left to die))

Promptspiration: This week's post result fic, from the "When Caretaker finally finds Whumpee..." poll, and the result "having given up / despairing". combined with @whumpers-monthly prompt this month: "locked in a coffin".

Whumpee: Draco Whumper: randos Caretaker: Lucius Fic type: post-Hogwarts

Draco is buried alive by some of Lucius' unsavoury associates.

((words: ~2200))

-------------

Another bout of unpleasant side-along Apparition, and then Draco was shoved into another man's hands and yanked around. The wizards around him were speaking an Eastern European language, Romanian or Belarusan or something, and they manhandled him around physically instead of trying to instruct him. None of them had answered of his questions or demands with anything but blows, and he had gotten the message quickly and shut up. 

Pairs of hands seized both of his arms, holding him between at least two of them. Someone ripped the dark hood off his head, and he winced away from the glaring white light of a wand that was in his eyes. 

"The Malfoy boy," a heavily accented voice said, the first English he had heard since he was grabbed, and he squinted into the light to see an unfamiliar wizard with heavy eyes. "Your father is Lucius Malfoy, yes?" 

He wasn't a 'boy', he was nineteen, but it seemed he was doomed to be seen that way by his father's associates forever. "It looks like you already know the answer." He jerked against the hands of the wizards holding him. They didn't even come close to letting go. "What do you want?"

"From you?" The speaker shrugged. "Nothing. But your father, he owes us a service he has failed to deliver. Perhaps he can use an incentive, no?" He stepped back, turning away, and gestured with the wand. 

Now that the light was further from his face, Draco could see something of the empty field they were standing in, and the huge amount of dirt piled up beside a dark, hard-edged gash in the ground. There was a rough wooden box leaning against the pile of dirt, a six foot long box standing open, and for a long moment his mind refused to see it for what it was. 

The men holding his arms started pushing him toward the hole, and he resisted just out of instinct, forcing them to drag him along. And then, when he recognised that they were pulling him toward the box, and that it wasn't a box, it was a coffin, he started struggling wildly. "No!" He pulled against their arms, digging his heels into the thick grass. "Don't! He'll do it! He'll do whatever you want, just don't—!"

One of them grabbed him by the back of the neck in a painful grip that forced his shoulders to hunch, and they yanked his arms up so that he could only twist wildly and futilely against them. His flailing kicks made contact with one of their legs and they lifted him up off his feet, and slammed him into the coffin. His face slammed into the rough wood of the back of it, and he shoved back, twisting around to make a last desperate bid for freedom. He managed to face front, but they shoved him back and closed the lid on him while he screamed for them to let him out and slammed his hands against it. 

There was more discourse in their language outside. He threw himself forward, trying to break out. The coffin wasn't well-constructed and slivers of white wandlight fell between the planks, enough to see his hands, enough to see how tight the space was. Rough boards pressed against him on all sides, inches from his shoulders, inches from his face. "Let me free!" he screamed again desperately.

The coffin moved, jostling him with sharp, careless movements, and he slammed against the sides and front of the box with cries of pain and shock. Then there was a loud thud as the box landed hard, and he landed hard inside it, on his back, thrown up so the top of his head hit the top wall of the coffin. 

There was a loose thump on top of the coffin, and he shoved against the lid, yelling for them to let him out. Dirt sifted into the coffin through the gaps between the boards, falling on his face and making him sputter and frantically wipe his eyes and mouth clean, his knuckles and the edges of his hands bumping up against the inside of the lid. The thumps slowly covered the lid of the box with dirt, blocking out the thin shafts of light that were all there was left of the outside as he screamed.

The darkness was absolute. Darker than night, darker than the dungeons, as dark as being blind. 

He had to stop screaming because he was running out of breath and it was making him panic; one solid bout of pounding and kicking at the coffin sent a curtain of dirt falling in on his face, and he was briefly terrified that it was going to keep coming and suffocate him. He covered his head with his hands, arms pressed up against the lid of the coffin.

It stopped in a minute, and he cleaned off his face as much as possible, coughing, and made himself hold still. His muscles were trembling. He had to take stock of his situation. He had to calm down.

Testing the space by stretching out his toes, he touched the bottom, and accidentally shoved his head against the top again. It was only maybe two inches longer than he was tall. There was barely space for him to move his hands, four or five inches, maybe, between his chest and the wood above him. Moving his elbows, he hit the wood on both sides within inches. He was lucky he was not large in any dimension but height; he would not have been able to move at all if he were muscular or even remotely fat. As it was, he could barely draw up a leg to push against the lid with his knee, unable to get any purchase with his feet, and his hands could either rest on his chest or at his sides, nothing else. Only his head could move freely. 

He tried breathing deeply, focusing on control, on separating himself from his emotions. But fear was always the emotion he couldn't compartmentalise away, since he was a child. Fear always won. He couldn't let it now. 

He couldn't think about it. He couldn't not think about it, but he couldn't allow himself to think about it, because there was no path forward for him, and that was terrifying. Nothing he could do, there was nothing he could do to help himself, he was trapped…

He thought about it, and it won. He was trapped. His breath hitched, his control slipped, and then he was screaming again, screaming for help, for his captors to come back, for someone to save him. He beat his hands and knees against the coffin lid until they hurt and dirt was sifting down on him again, and when his throat was too raw to continue screaming, he sobbed. 

Exhaustion was his only respite from the terror; nothing changed except that he was tired and sore along with being trapped, and he held his hands on his chest, trying to get warm, trying to catch his breath, trying to stop crying. 

He had no way of knowing how long it had been, or how long it would be. Maybe it was almost over. Maybe his father would be here soon…

—-

His father didn't come.

He didn't know if time passed, or if it was drawing out forever. Maybe it had only been an hour. Maybe no time had passed at all…

Maybe this would be like this forever.

He screamed. He cried. He tried to calm down. He failed in his control and panicked, beat and clawed at the coffin until he smelled blood and his hands were in agony and he was just sobbing helplessly, knowing he was going to die if someone didn't help him, and no one was there. 

—-

He drifted. He didn't know if he was awake or asleep, the darkness was the same. Everything hurt, but at a numb remove. He thought he called out, but he didn't know if he did or if it was in his mind. Once he heard Voldemort's cold voice mocking him in the darkness and it made him scream and hit his head hard against the inside of the coffin lid.

Occasionally, he thought he heard something else, the thumping of digging above him or the call of a voice far away, beyond the dirt. Every time, it turned out to be a dream or his imagination or a hallucination.

And still, every time, he tore at the coffin and yelled for their help, and every time when he was worn out he stopped and held his breath, waiting for it to come again, and it never did. 

There was only the nothingness.

—-

"Mother… Mother, make him let me out… Mother, please…" Tears trickled over his temples, into his ears. "Mother…"

—-

'Why did you let them take you?' his father demanded. 

"I'm sorry…"

'All you had to do was kill them. I suppose it was expecting a bit much with Dumbledore, but it's not even someone you knew this time — you can't even kill a few petty gangsters? How did you get so weak?' 

"I'm sorry…"

'Do you even care how much trouble you're causing me?'

"I'm sorry… please…"

'And now you're expecting me to fix it for you. Like always. I'm not sure it's worth the trouble.'

"Please come get me…" he whispered. 

—-

No one was coming. 

If his father were coming, he would have already been there. If it were possible for him to do what they demanded to free him, it would already have been done. He had failed, been killed or arrested. Or not tried… 

…Or they had never intended to let him go, even if his father complied. The grave they had dug, it wasn't just a hole, it was so deep. Deep enough to ensure his body was never found. They had always meant to leave him to die, he realised, no matter what his father did. A strangled sob rose in his swollen throat, and he hit the side of his agonised hand against the lid of the coffin a final time. 

"I don't want to die," he whispered, a broken sound that fell flat and faded away in the darkness like it had never existed.

Because he didn't have a choice. 

He had never had a choice. 

All the fighting, the struggling, the pleading, the trying, it had never been any use. No one would ever know and it was going to end the same. An unnamed body in an unmarked grave in an unknown countryside.

He was never going to see home again. The phantom images of white peacocks and the sound of fountains and the smell of flowers flickered so easily across his starving mind, and they wrenched another sob from his parched throat. He just wanted it more than anything, and all he was going to have for the rest of his life was the cold hard darkness.

He was never going to see his mother again…

His hands settled painfully on his chest, and he cried quietly in the dark, thinking of her and trying to find a way to let her go. 

He knew he had to die, he just wished he had been able to say goodbye… 

—----

Lucius ripped the lid from the coffin with the urgency of barely-controlled panic. "Draco…" The word came out in a quiet breath, not a yell. His heart had jumped into his throat and blocked it. 

Draco was lying in the coffin, limp, grey-skinned, smeared with blood and caked with the dirt of the grave, cut through with clean tear-tracks that wound down into his hair. His lips were pale and cracked. The blood-stained rips on the knees of his trousers, the misshapen bruises of a fractured hand under bloody scrapes, the broken and missing fingernails, the splinters embedded in the tips of his raw fingers — all stood in mute testament to his desperate fight to survive. 

And it didn't look like he was breathing. He was sick with himself. Draco had tried so hard, and he had failed him. He was too late. 

"Draco…" There was ice in the pit of his stomach, but he had to know. He set his hand on Draco's cheek and turned his head on a limp neck, trying to get him to acknowledge him. Trying to will him to be alive. "Draco, I'm here." 

And then, incredibly, Draco's eyes did open, a vague gaze that took a long second to focus on him, but alive. After all that, alive. 

"You came…" he whispered, a barely audible cracked breath. He tried to move his hand, to touch him, perhaps to make sure he was real, but he couldn't; more than the damage to his hands, it clearly pained him to move at all, from the locked muscles and the pressure blisters of his thin frame forced into one position for three days. 

"I  did." Lucius gently lifted him to sit up and held him against his shoulder, cradling the back of his head. "Of course I did."

[vpyre]

Hi! Just wanted to say I love your writing and that you are pretty cool :3

I absolutely love sub copia and while I’m more sub leaning that man definitely brings out the caretaker in me:)

Hope you have a good day/night!

Aw! Thank you so much!! ^w^

I’m so with you on that hrgehfhshdjsjf. I’m a switch myself, but he kicks the dom side into overdrive lmao. I have never felt this weird of a combination of sadism and caretaker instinct for any other character before xD

I hope you have a good one too! :D

[autumn-foxfire]

Episode 2!

Damn, Shinichi's first thoughts when he wakes up... imagine thinking you're dead. Thinking no one will really know what happened to you, you never really got to live your life, your dreams, confess to the girl you will spend the next 1000 episodes lying and gaslighting too (sorry I'll stop shading about that eventually).

Also the boy must have a concussion after that hit. Though that has magically disappeared now that he's running home. Continunitiy!

Ran, maybe you should do what your mom did and run out instead of tidying up after a drunk all the time, I know you don't notice it now but that shit fucks you up in later life, you're a kid, not a caretaker. Gotta love Gosho also telling us how bad Shinichi's parents are in the next breath though! Also Ran, if you're so worried, why didn't you chase him in the first place? Because he told you not too? You're an independent women! You don't need to listen to a man! Trust your instincts girl! Because the one you love will make you doubt yourself continously (I said eventually).

...how does Shinichi know about the mole and Agasa's butt.

And Agasa starts the lying! Ahhh, this is the plot we know and hate.

Shinichi you're such a nerd I love you.

RAN TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS.

Ran why are you asking that a child? Also he's not going to be dependable for long-

You know what would be interesting, Ran herself says she's excited to have a little brother and then Conan lives with them for so long he definitely is in her eyes, so I'd love exploring the concept that the image clashes with the romantic feelings she has but I know Gosho would never give that to us.

It was cute that the moment Shinichi learned something Ran never meant to tell him (or well like that) that he was going to tell her the truth, he really didn't like lying at first (how that changes).

Shinichi and dogs. He should be allowed a dog. Give him a dog Gosho. A big dog that can be his steed as he rides into battle like he does this episode.

See, Shinichi, this is why Ran should know. She can kick ass when Gosho let's her. Also Ran looks so pretty in the older style, it's a shame they let the hair horn just grow and grow.

[angelofrainfrogs]

Going Back: Ch. 11

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy’s: Security Breach

Description: Things are looking up for Gregory. After putting the soul of a formerly-immortal killer to rest, he and his new family can finally begin their lives anew. Sure, Gregory might have been cursed with mysterious Remnant in exchange for being involved in this mess—not to mention his caretakers consist of sentient robots and ghosts… But there’s no doubt that the bond they share is unbreakable. They love him, and he in turn. 

All in all, life is finally starting to go right for once. 

…Unfortunately, true peace is a hard-won battle. There are other things to contend with besides William’s decrepit soul, and Gregory will learn that his role in the lives of the Aftons and Emilys is far greater than anyone could’ve imagined. 

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

The old nursery rhyme, Grandfather’s Clock... It persisted and slowly grew louder and louder.

The vent behind Michael’s head echoed with the harsh memory-inducing sound. Not five seconds after it stopped completely, who else should fall into Michael's lap but Mari? The Puppet seemed just as alarmed as the guard was judging by her aggressive wiggling and thrashing.

Michael was embarrassed to admit that even after all they’d been through, his immediate instinct was to throw the Puppet off and try to kick her out the door, earning himself a few more seconds of perilous freedom from the vengeful bot and soul inside. However, this passing thought only lasted a millisecond—too fleeting for him to even consider acting on it. Instead of punting Mari like a ragdoll, Michael held her close in an attempt to calm her down.

“Whoa, whoa, relax!” he exclaimed, doing his best to pat her on the back. “Why are you so freaked out?! I can’t understand if you don’t chill!”

As the Puppet started to slow her wild movements, Michael gently held her by the shoulders at arm’s length as he tilted his head with a pinched expression of worry. “What’s wrong, Mari?” 

Being addressed by her new name seemed to ground her enough. Puppet furiously tapped Michael's arms, then pointed to the security cameras with a thin finger. There was a threat inside the building—explaining how she knew would be impossible and time-consuming, so she sought to gently break free from one of Michael’s hands and finagle the controls for the monitors, head swiveling until she found the East Arcade’s security feeds.

Just in time, as they crossed over a camera where the shadow of a man snuck into a nearby bathroom, its door still shaking from the force he seemed to push it with. Repeatedly, Mari pointed to the screen, tapping it furiously until Michael got the message that she needed his help.

Michael’s mild concern instantly narrowed into sharp-focused fury. “Who the fuck is that?”

Someone was in the Pizzaplex after hours, and that meant that someone was near his family. Someone was a potential threat to everyone he cared about, who all happened to be in the building this very second. Even if it weren’t for Mari’s reaction, Michael could tell this stranger wasn’t welcome; no one would be sneaking around like that if they had good intentions.

With a cold jolt of fear, Mike also realized this uninvited guest was way too close to where Gregory and the kids were for comfort. Though he trusted Bonnie to look after them, there was only so much one robot could do when trying to keep so many kids safe from a currently unknown threat…

As if Michael had been in this scenario many times before, in one smooth movement he slung the Puppet around his shoulders and stood, patting his work belt down to assure he had his guard supplies. Upon exiting the office, he unclipped his walkie and tuned it into Sam’s. “Hey, Sam? Don’t freak out, but I think there’s someone in the Pizzaplex near the East Arcade. I’m going to check it out right now; I’ll keep you posted.”

The Puppet was quick to grasp on to Michael. If not only seeing a security guard was enough to scare whoever this was, the animatronic with the dead-eyed stare clinging to Mike's shoulder could help put some fear into the intruder’s heart. There were still children to protect, whether they were alive or not.

“Let me know if you need back up, Mike,” Sam answered after a beat, tone sounding worried as he’d just sent Freddy off with Gregory's tablet. He had a feeling that Freddy may react proactively should he see someone sneaking around the Pizzaplex.

Sam made sure to lock his office again, checking the hall corners as he jogged towards the security office. He could still do something—in place of Mike, he could check out the camera's feed and give him help where he needed it.

***

This wasn't happening the way Terry intended.

The sounds of kids playing had led the man with a sloshing beer gut towards the East Arcade. As soon as he caught sight of that mechanical rabbit he recognized as a character from many people in Hurricane's shared childhood, he dashed. Terry was smart enough to know those things had security features since the 90's; there was no way he could get close to his son with that thing around.

So now here he was, trying to call his wife for the tenth time in hopes of simply bailing on the plan to find Gregory. Who needed that little shit's government checks anyway? They already reported him missing, so the blame was hardly on them.

It was his fault for running off in the first place...

***

Michael was rushing towards the restroom he’d seen the man sneak into, face a mask of steely determination. On the way he ran into Freddy, who was expectedly concerned at the situation when Mike filled him in. Freddy wanted to help, but the guard said his assistance would be best utilized in the arcade with Bonnie and the kids.

With Gregory’s tablet clutched tightly in his hand, Freddy made a beeline for the game room. The kids were scattered throughout the arcade when Freddy arrived, but he didn’t want to call more attention to them by yelling out. Instead he rushed to Bonnie’s side, managing to snag a wandering Evan along the way and tuck the little ghost under his arm.

“Bonnie, help me gather the children and take them to the security office behind the prize counter,” Freddy instructed, still remembering the safe rooms. Even if he wasn’t connected to the Pizzaplex network anymore, his mental map of the building was still intact.

“Freddy? What’s happening?” Evan asked, instantly growing worried, though he allowed the fatherly figure to carry him around for now. With a hitch in his breath, he asked: “Did… did Puppet see something? Is she okay?!”

“She is with Michael; she is fine,” Freddy replied, not fully answering the boy’s question. To Bonnie, he urged: “Let us not waste time.”

Bonnie, who was the king of being nonchalant, came besides Hannah and scooped her up playfully into his arms at Freddy's request. Sure, he pulled her away from her game, but he distracted her by tossing her gently upwards in the air.

“Hoo boy! We gotta mosey for now. But we'll be back later!” the bunny loosely promised, glancing around as he began his search for Elizabeth and Gregory and gently bouncing Hannah in his arms; despite her ability to float or become incorporeal, he felt like it was important. Little things like that helped a kid like her feel normal, he assumed.

Gregory was spotted with Lizzie—the rabbit caught them in the act of trying to jump the prize counter in hopes of substituting their meager amount of tickets for a better prize.

“Hey, kids! We gotta go to the security room and get ourselves some snacks now!” he said, keeping his worry locked behind a mask, finding himself almost too good at pretending to be fine in the moment. He'd wave his free arm at the kids to make them follow him. “Quit all your cheatin' and come on! Freddy's waiting for us.”

Despite the annoyance of being pulled away from their games, it seemed the kids knew when it was time to go. Freddy’s concerned expression—not nearly as hidden on his human face—was the final prompting they needed to head to the security office without a fuss.

As they walked, Freddy allowed Evan to float alongside so he could slip his hand into Gregory’s, silently reassuring his son that everything would be alright. They didn’t know if this intruder had anything to do with his foster parents, but a twist deep in Freddy gut told him the timing was certainly a strange coincidence.

***

Along the way, Michael encountered another unexpected companion: Monty, emerging from Gator Golf just as the guard rushed past. He’d snagged the large robot and urged him to follow, feeling more confident with a bodyguard at his shoulder. Though Monty’s programming should be docile now, he was still an intimidating figure.

“Wait here, big guy,” Michael instructed in a whisper as they approached the bathroom. After being assured by Sam that the worst the animatronics would do was capture the threat and bring them to security—which, in this case, was standing right there—Michael opted to let Monty tag along as backup. The android was confident in his abilities to defend himself in a physical fight, but who knew if this psycho had any weapons on him? They couldn’t risk the kids being put in more danger.

“You got it, Mike,” Monty replied, flashing a sharp-toothed grin and punching a fist into his palm. “Lemme know if you need me to go after ‘em.”

Michael patted the gator’s arm and then turned to the bathroom, opening the door with a harsh kick of his heel. He stepped inside, calling out in a slow, deep voice tinged with barely-concealed annoyance: “Hello? Security! Look, I know you’re in here—we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” 

The jig was up—whoever was working here at night already saw him. So, hanging up the dozenth call he made to Rita, Terry sighed. What were his options? Security might let him go with a warning if he told the guy he was only looking for his son.

Looking through the cracks in the colorful plastic stalls, Terry gulped. There was a short pause before he surrendered, figuring that if he made himself compliant now, there might be time to slip away later. Terry didn't see this as an encounter that would hinder him; he always found himself worming his way out of messes and responsibility.

Slowly, he opened the stall door and put his hands up. Terry Smith had a seemingly permeant crease in his brows, glaring up to the perceivably younger man for having caught him.

“Alright—just be cool...,” Terry said, his voice like bike tires on gravel. Low and rough like you'd expect from the voice of a two pack a day smoker. For now, he'd bide his time. It wasn't like this guy was a real cop.

Good news: the man looked like a normal human, albeit a pissed off one. Still, Michael wasn’t going to take any chances. He was cinch his hands behind his back, holding his wrists together as best he could with one hand while reaching for his walkie with the other.

“I got him,” Michael said into the device, informing his boss of his success. “Let me know where I should meet you.”

As he waited for Sam to respond, Michael locked gazes with the man in the mirror. Clamping his wrists tighter, he narrowed his eyes. “Who are you? Why are you here after hours?”

Regardless of the fact he’d broken in, something about this guy just gave Michael a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Oh, come on! Really? I'm an old man, kid. I'm not going to do anything,” Terry fibbed, rolling his eyes with an annoyed glared pointed at Michael over his shoulder. He spoke down to the guard to cover up the fact that he was clearly up to something. He even tested Michael's strength, finding him much stronger than he looked. “My name's Terry—and I know I'm trespassing, but I have a very good reason for it.”

His explanation was cut short as a voice chimed in over the walkie.

“I'll come to you you—” Sam told Michael, noting everyone present and accounted for inside the nearby security office. “—you're in the East Arcade bathroom?”

“You can't detain me like this. You're not even a cop...” Terry rolled his eyes with a heavy loll in his neck. The more this man spoke, the more he couldn't hide his self-entitled personality.

“I can do whatever the hell I want to do,” Michael snapped back, grip tightening to border on painful. With his name revealed, it was abundantly clear who this man was: Terry Smith, Gregory’s foster father come to take his son back. Apparently, he decided to try a less savory route of doing so since his wife’s attempt failed.

“Don’t bother thinking you can slip out,” Michael remarked when he felt Terry start to squirm. Good—the bastard deserved to suffer as much discomfort as possible for the trauma he put Gregory through. The night guard wore a grin, though it didn’t meet his cold eyes. “I’ve got a biiig friend waiting just outside, and I guarantee he won’t be nearly as nice as I am if he gets his hands on you.”

Monty might be overtly docile now, but Michael knew how scary it could be to see a gigantic gator running at you. Hopefully that’d be enough to quell Terry’s thoughts of escape, since it was making Michael’s skin crawl the longer they touched.

“You’re lucky, though—you get to meet the CEO!” Mike spoke in an exaggeratedly excited tone. “Once he gets here, you can explain to both of us why you’re sneaking around the Pizzaplex.”

Terry's eyes had gone wider. There wasn't any way he could worm out of this right now, so he'd try getting sympathy from this aggressive night guard before the CEO dared show his face.

“Please—Sir, I'm looking for my lost son. He loves this place. I-I just want to get him home safe and sound.” He squirmed uncomfortably. This security guard’s hands were like a vice grip, tightening the more he threatened to wiggle loose. “Look... Understand it from my perspective. You've got a family right? Wife or... Or kids or something? I just want my son back...”

He attempted to illicit an empathetic response from the guy, but he wasn't entirely sure that he was dealing with the most empathetic person around. But Terry was a parasite at heart; feeding off of other's kindness was the only way he knew how to get by. 

“Yes, I have a family,” Michael responded through clenched teeth.

Along with some good friends he had three younger siblings, two of which had been around since the 80s and one he’d acquired recently. Gregory was his brother, and Freddy was certainly a better father figure to all of them than William ever had been. The former co-founder of Fazbear entertainment had neglected his children due to his madness, which was certainly no excuse for his behavior… But Gregory’s neglect had been intentional, and that made Michael want to punch out the man he was holding.

“If you’re looking for your son, might I ask why you’re sneaking in at night to do so?” Michael asked. He could take an educated guess, but he was really stalling for time until Sammy arrived to give further direction. Although, if the CEO didn’t show up soon Michael was growing increasingly tempted to throw Terry out to deal with the likes of Monty and anyone else roaming around in wait for him to pass by.

The tense statement Michael made sounded so definitive that Terry clamped his mouth shut, more worried now that the security guard had found a hole in his plan. Though, to Terry, it sounded better than the situation looked at first glance. He swallowed, mouth becoming nervously dry as he went to explain.

“My wife—she came here a few days ago. W-We hadn’t heard anything from the CEO about our son. Rita, she uh—s-she has it in her head that our son’s somewhere in here,” the man explained, having to swallow again to lubricate his crackling voice. “I came here to put both our minds at ease and—HEY! You're hurting me, bud!”

Terry yelped dramatically, trying to wiggle loose just in time for a very tense looking Samuel to walk through the doors. Scowling, Sam crossed his arms and leered down at the intruder.

“Okay—what the hell is happening here?” he inquired. Where Terry went to explain, he was immediately silenced by the CEO, who held a dismissive hand to his face. “I'm talking to my guard, not you.” 

“Says his name is Terry, and he’s looking for his son,” Michael informed, careful to leave out extraneous details. To Terry, they needed to make it seem like they only knew what he told them—they couldn’t let on that Gregory was a part of their wild, adoptive family. Mike raised a skeptical eyebrow at Sam as he continued. “He told me his wife—Rita, I think?—stopped by the other day and met with you, but you weren’t able to tell her anything.”

With a final warning squeeze, he slowly released Terry’s wrists, smirking with satisfaction as the man rubbed the now-tender skin. Michael’s violent temper had quelled with time, but seeing the man in clear discomfort gave him a sick little sense of satisfaction. Looking to Sam, the guard asked, only half-joking: “So, what do you think? Should we sic Monty on him for trespassing?” 

“Rita...” Samuel blinked, fixing the round frames on his nose. If she had proof that Gregory was in hiding at the Pizzaplex, Samuel had a feeling at this point Rita might be desperate enough to call the authorities. However, without solid evidence they couldn't conduct a search without probable cause if Sammy pushed back hard enough. So, she must've sent the idiot she married to come and look for traces of Gregory himself.

“Yes, Rita Smith; I remember now.” Samuel's voice was calm, but the man wore his emotions on his sleeve just like his twin. With his nails digging into his jacket and a contemptuous gaze, he was much less friendly with the Smiths this time around. “Sir, I'm positive I already told your wife there’s no evidence of your missing son being in the building. The head of security and I were looking over the tapes day and night and found no trace of Gregory Smith.”

Well... More like doctoring the footage ahead of time. It was another white lie, and Sam felt his line of sight dither from Terry's. As a con man himself, Terry raised his hand and pointed a stubby index finger at the CEO.

“Bullshit, you must’ve seen him! This is the only place he could’ve gone! There has to be outside footage somewhere—” Terry shouted, argumentative and rude. “You can trick all the new fuckin' rubes in this town, but people like us remember what happened forty years ago! Weird shit happens here; kids go missing…” 

“You shut the fuck up!” Michael hissed, overcome with a dark flash of anger that made him grab Terry by the front of his shirt. He lifted the man up on tip-toe as he sneered down into his face, much less obvious at lying than Sam. “You have no clue what you’re talking about. We haven’t seen your kid—if we did, we’d tell someone. Do you really think we’d still be in business if shit like that was still going down? And—”

“Hey, y’all good in there?” Monty’s voice cut through Michael’s rant, the gator’s protocol for protecting staff amping up along with the raised voices.

And not a moment too soon—the last thing Mike wanted was for his emotions to overwhelm him and let slip something that would prove they knew more than they were letting on. He took a deep breath, setting Terry back on solid ground as he let out the air in his artificial lungs.

“We’re fine, Monty; just stay put,” the guard called through the closed door. His eyes shifted to Terry, now even colder than before. “I suggest you get the hell out of our Pizzaplex before you really piss us off, got it? If we find any information on your son, you and your wife will be the first to know.”

Samuel looked rattled. The rant Michael was about to go on could’ve jeopardized everything. Thankfully, with Monty’s interruption Sam pulled himself from the shaken daze of Terry having touched a nerve and could now intervene. Standing at Mike’s side, he decided to play good cop.

“We'll gladly escort you instead of calling the police. I understand why you did what you did.” Samuel tried to sound understanding, taking Terry by the shoulder as he spoke. He began guiding them through the bathroom door to kick him out at the entrance, a slick smile pulling at his lips. “Do it again and I’ll be contacting the authorities to hit your ass with a civil suit.”

Michael had successfully intimidated Terry into a more passive behavior. It turned passive-aggressive when Sam mentioned suing him, but Terry lacked the resistance to fight either of them right then and there.

Especially when he saw just how big Montgomery Gator was up close. 

“Monty, buddy!” Michael greeted the animatronic warmly. “Mind tagging along while we show Terry the door?”

“‘Course not!” the gator replied loudly, his long tail swaying slowly to and fro. To the inexperienced it might seem like just a standard pre-programmed movement cycle, but in reality it was a predatory gesture meant to keep Monty focused on potential prey. He wouldn’t seriously hurt the guy, of course—now that the malware was gone, he was physically unable to do such a thing. He could certainly intimidate, though… and even rough the guy up if Sam or Michael tweaked his aggression settings a bit.

Heavy footsteps shook the floor as Monty began following along beside the trio, his grinning maw widening when Terry spared a quick glance at him out of the corner of his eye. In his rumbling voice, Monty remarked: “I’d go along with whatever they say, if I were you—you don’t want to see anyone around here really mad!” His smile got impossibly bigger. “‘Specially not any of my friends…”

This isn't happening, Terry thought, trying to keep his gaze forward and to ignore the mechanical freak show that was currently following him and the CEO down the halls. I’m not being threatened by a fucking robot...

“Thank you, Monty,” Sam told in an appreciative tone as the gator held open a door for all of them to pass through. When Terry slowed, Sam was the one to nudge him into walking again. As they approached the exit, Terry attempted to plant his feet again in resistance.

“W-Wait! Could I come back when you're open again? Come on, this isn't fair...,” he practically whined, attempting to pull at everyone’s heartstrings—though maybe it was futile. That robotic alligator likely only listened to its masters without free will of its own.

“I'll think about it. Monty? Could you help our friend here get moving again, please?” Sam asked with another closed-off body stance, crossing his arms disapprovingly.

“You got it, boss!” Monty replied, taking a big step forward and hoisting Terry into the air by his underarms. The man was lifted like a pillow, clearly no match for Monty’s extreme strength. It was Michael who held the doors now so Monty could carry Terry all the way to the exit. Only when they reached the front entrance did Monty set him down with a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest when the man scrambled away from the imposing gator. “Alllright, ride’s over! Time to go!”

“Remember—sneaking back equals instant lawsuit,” Michael piped up, glaring at Terry with hands on his hips. One set of fingers tapped the taser at his belt in a not-so-subtle threat. “And that’s only if I’m feeling nice.” 

Sam relocked the doors as they slammed on Terry, leaving the man in a tizzy. Once out of earshot and only after lowering the exit shields, Samuel put his hands on the top of his head.

“You two—” he laughed, only able to breathe and joke about the situation now that it was over and out of sight. “—nearly made him crap himself. Wow... We need to be more careful with our security protocols.”

Sam rubbed his eyes as the stress of it all came down upon him. To completely fix the security systems, they’d need to being the rest of the Glamrocks back online. It was an upside and downside to having the walk-around characters themselves be a part of the security network. Having the gang wandering around to protect Gregory was their best option now that they knew the Smiths were actively sneaking. And with the souls of the dead wandering this place, Sam felt like they might not only have the police to worry about should Terry or Rita complain to them. If one of those cheesy ghost-hunting shows got word of haunted animatronics, they’d be all over this place…

Samuel begun to pull out his phone and send a text to the whole family:

Cost is clear. I put the front end on lockdown so no one set off the alarms, okay?

“Good thing all we have to do now is fix Roxy—then we can turn the system back on,” Sam remarked absently as he typed.

“That guy’s a piece of work,” Monty murmured, looking to the doors as he flexed his claws. Sammy’s last comment piqued his interest, and he turned to the men with a spark of hesitant hope in his eyes. “Wait, if y’all just gotta fix up Roxy… Does that mean Chica’s ready to go?!”

“She’ll be ready by the start of night shift tomorrow for sure, if not tonight,” Mike replied, running a stressed hand through his hair. The encounter with Terry really jarred him more than he’d like to admit, and he was mentally kicking himself for almost losing his cool. 

However, Sam had a good point. Once all the animatronics were up and running, they could reactivate that mysterious “internal network” Michael had been hearing so much about and act as their own security/relay system.

“Actually, Sam, we should probably finish up with Chica asap,” Michael thought aloud. The faster they could move onto the wolf, the better. He opened his mouth to speak, when his phone buzzed with a text from Freddy responding to the group message.

WE WILL STAY CLEAR. I AM TAKING THE CHILDREN BACK DOWNSTAIRS FOR THE NIGHT AS AN EXTRA PRECAUTION. ARE YOU ALRIGHT? DO YOU NEED ANY ASSISTANCE?

Michael snorted, and indicated for Sam to check his phone when the man gave him a questioning look.

“Silly bear got stuck on caps lock,” Michael chuckled, replying that they were just fine and Freddy had a good plan. He paused, then glanced up at the gator. “Monty, mind going with them just for extra security?”

“Nope,” Monty replied easily, as if he could even deny such a request. “I’ve been meanin’ to take a trip down there to see where all the lil guppies hang out anyway. I’ll make sure nothin’ bothers ‘em.”

“Thanks; I’ll go back to the security office and watch the cameras while you work on Chica,” Michael told Sam, simultaneously relaying this plan to Freddy and Charlie. “I doubt he’d come back tonight, but we don’t know what this psycho’s capable of…” 

Freddy Fazbear had no clue how to type on a phone and it was precious. The worried text message had stamped a smile onto Sam's mouth. He worked on texting back the group chat, but asked Michael: “You think you're going to need Charlie's help tonight? It could get hairy if Terry shows up again.”

Samuel brought it up, not meaning to rhyme as he spoke before going back to compose his text to Freddy. “We'll be fine. Gonna send Monty down with you. How are the kids?”

Before he could press send Charlie had sent them all something—a moving picture of a cat tackling a baby in a backyard. She captioned the oddly timed meme: The Cat is Sam and Terry is the baby lol

With a roll of his eyes, Sam ignored the text as he suppressed the urge to laugh at something that dumb. Michael snickered at Charlie’s message, texting back:

Lol so true… you want to stick with me in the security office for a bit? Mari’s welcome too but she might want to go with the kids

Aloud, he told Sam and Monty: “Yeah, I’ll hang with Charlie. Sorry this is such a huge mess—”

There he went again, apologizing as if all of this was somehow Michael’s fault. Charlie had been on his case about not doing that for the past week, though it was a hard, decades-ingrained habit to break. With a heavy sigh, Michael shook his head and looked to the pair.

“Anyway, we’re good for now; come on Monty, you and I are going in the same direction.” Before heading back into the depths of the Pizzaplex, Michael squeezed Sammy’s shoulder in friendly acknowledgement, his usual grin quirking up the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for the backup, boss.”

Sam didn't quite understand what Michael had even been apologizing for to begin with. But still, he was glad to give Mike a reassuring glance.

“I've always got your back, buddy,” he replied, waving off both Monty and his friend in favor of heading to his office.

So much to do, Sam thought, and only so much time. It was nearly the weekend, and their scheduled re-opening needed to have everything working again. Sam just had to keep telling himself that everything was going to work out in the end if he managed to work long enough...

***

Down below, the troupe of children had made it safely to the inner workshop and what Gregory had now been affectionately calling the Ghost Diner. In the darkness, Gregory made himself busy by showing the spirits how the drawing tablet worked. Currently, with Bonnie posing on the workbench in a thinker's position, Gregory sketched what he saw.

“Yeah, so when you want to color it, you can just switch to a new layer under the line art you just made,” he explained, making sure there was enough room to show the other kids as they all hid inside the burned out diner. Freddy didn't really want to leave them out of sight, but it was safer if Gregory and the others were completely hidden from view.

“Hey guys, I’ve got another friend for you to hang with!” Henry’s voice sounded bright and calm from the workshop entrance. A few minutes earlier Monty had appeared in the hallway just outside per Michael’s direction, where Henry happened to be keeping watch. After some introductions and brief marveling at each other—Monty in awe of his friends’ creator and Henry astounded by Monty himself—the old ghost led the way to where the children gathered.

“Hey, y’all!” Monty greeted with a wave, taking in the little band of kids. A quick health scan indicated that Gregory wasn’t distressed despite the situation, to the gator’s relief. He also noted that this scan only worked on Gregory, meaning all the others weren't quite human.

At this point, Monty had stopped questioning things in favor of trying to go with the flow, as was his usual nature. As long as everyone was safe and happy, who cared whether they had real heartbeats or not?

“Monty, thank goodness!” Freddy said, moving to hug his animatronic friend around the waist. “Thank you so much for helping.”

“Aw, no worries Fredbear!” Monty replied, throwing back his head in laughter as he ruffled Freddy’s hair aggressively. He acknowledged Bonnie with a wink through his purple shades, though he was quick to direct his attention to the kids. He was still a bit wary of the rabbit. “What’cha doin’? Hey, that’s a great drawin’, squirt!”

***

Michael just got to the office when Charlie and Puppet came banging on one of the security doors. After confirming their identities on the cameras Mike let them in, then sunk into the chair with a heavy sigh.

“Well, we guessed as much but I can now confirm: Gregory’s foster dad is a shithead,” he announced, drumming his fingertips on the desk in annoyance. 

Charlie stayed by the door for a second longer, taking in what Michael said and silently wondering what had happened while Marionette quickly slunk inside. Mari was quick to curl up the length of the chair and flop her arms around Michael in a hug.

“What even happened? I was downstairs almost all night,” Charlie said, closing the door behind her as she joined the pair inside.

Henry asked that she stayed downstairs when the chaos began—something about Charlie rushing into danger set him off these days. While he worked on Mari's newest android upgrades, Charlie acted as his assistant despite her very busy mind. The fact that Michael potentially got to beat up Gregory's foster dad without her had put a deep frown on Charlie's face.

“Oh, you know—just gave him the ol' one-two,” Michael joked, as if reading her thoughts. He mimed punching an invisible person before settling back into the chair with a huff, wrapping an arm around Mari's plush frame as she hugged him. “Really, the coward was hiding in the bathroom—Mari caught him and ran to tell me, and when I saw him on the security cameras I alerted the others.”

He let out a humorless laugh, rolling his eyes. “Bastard tried to act like he was concerned about Gregory, and the reason he was sneaking in was because he and his wife hadn't heard anything since she tried to get info. We quickly showed him the door with Monty's help, so I doubt he'll be back tonight.”

Michael's gaze shifted to the cameras, nearly all of which were still and quiet since most of the members of the Pizzaplex were down in the basement where feeds wouldn't reach. The only movement he could see was Sam shuffling around with Chica's prone body, as well as Sun talking animatedly with his new friend in the Daycare. With a sigh, Michael added: “Still, it's not a bad idea to keep an eye out for the rest of the night... we need to be extra vigilant over the next few days, too. Sam's working to get Chica and Roxy fixed up so he can activate the animatronics' extra security protocols.”

It figured that both of the Smiths turned out to be giant assholes. Charlie and Michael expected nothing less from the people that wanted to take Gregory from them and back into harm’s way. While Charlie was the one that seemed to support others, the thought of others coming to take away their little brother had begun to really worry her. Charlie bit at the sides of her nail, following Michael's line of sight to the security feeds. She could sit here and worry, sure. Or she could help to keep Gregory safe.

So Charlie wandered her way to the desk, standing beside Michael as he performed his job. The security outfit certainly looked more familiar on him the longer she saw him in it. Before Michael could catch her gaze, she glanced up and watched both Ennard and Sun playing together. If only they could give Gregory that sort of carefree life...

Sighing, Charlie decided to voice her biggest concerns. “Do you ever wonder if we're going to mess him up? Like... He's going to be like us because of all of this?”

Charlie finally could look at Michael, hoping for reassurance from her friend as she gently worried the sides of her arms with a self-soothing hug. “I like to think we're helping him out by protecting him from everything. But, I don't know sometimes... I-I just know we can't lose him.”

What a loaded question. Michael stared hard at the camera as he gathered his thoughts, a heavy crease forming between his brows. Puppet was still clinging to him, though she'd moved to wrap around his neck in a backwards hug so she could watch the feeds, too. .

“Charlie... the kid decided that he'd rather have a robot bear as a dad over anything else,” he said slowly, gaze flickering up to his friend's for a brief moment. “I think he was already a little messed up before we found him. But...”

He paused, swallowing hard. Mike just wanted one sibling to have a normal life—extended family included. That's really all he'd hoped for. He'd always known it was a fever dream, but with every horrible thing that happened to Gregory over last weekend along with the foster situation, Michael was now a hundred percent sure he was a curse to anyone he chose to call “brother” or “sister.”

“If you mean 'is he going to be mentally scarred and would probably benefit from some serious therapy', then yes; absolutely,” Michael continued, knowing Charlie would understand the self-deprecation this time. “And I have no clue what that Remnant will do to him down the line... God, I wish I'd have saved him from that. Fuck, I'm such a—”

He broke off suddenly, the guilt and regret coming over him like a wave. He'd gotten good at pushing down the feelings over the past few days, for if he thought over everything that he'd been through Michael worried he might go insane. But sometimes, in moments like this, it was all too much. Blindly, he reached out for Charlie's hand while he used the other to furiously swipe at approaching tears.

“All we can do is watch over him and make sure he's as happy as possible, Charlie. I agree—we can't lose him. We can't lose anyone again. I... I don't think I can take it.” The confession was quiet, only meant for Charlie and her protective Puppet to hear.

The sound of Michael fast-approaching apathy and sadness pulled Charlie's vision from the screens to their connected hands. She refused to let Michael say horrible things about himself any longer. While of course she enjoyed poking fun at her friend with only the intentions of making him laugh, when he tried to do it to himself she was quite hard on him. Subsequently, Charlie was pulled closer and she rested her head on Michael's shoulder.

“I heard somewhere it's good to cry,” Charlie told him, shutting her eyes as she felt the same sadness for Gregory. “You can. I'm not going to tell anyone...”

They grew up in a time where crying too much got you yelled at—specifically, Michael's dad despised crying. All of them still had so much to work through, and Charlie knew it was silly to hope that all their shared issues would be solved overnight. It simply wasn't realistic. They would all deal with their personal horrors for the rest of their existences...

After pausing to think over the words without her voice being garbled by her own tears, she was able to tell Michael: “We'll do everything we can, but blaming ourselves won't help Gregory or the others at this point.”

“I know, I know, I just... it's hard,” Mike said, appreciating her presence after all these years of being alone. He let out a mirthless laugh that soon became choked up with the tears he'd been holding back for so long. “Man... our lives really went to shit, didn't they?”

Now things were finally starting to look up, yes, but they'd suffered for so many years trapped in their own physical and mental prisons. With this thought in mind, the stalwart Puppet wrapped around him, and his best friend's head on his shoulder, Michael finally allowed himself to cry.

It was quiet at first, still getting used to the fact that he could let the tears flow without anyone scolding him for not being strong enough. However, soon he was sobbing openly, the camera feeds all but forgotten as he slipped an arm around Charlie's waist to pull her closer. Puppet had to accommodate her reach to include Charlie who was now smushed into Michael's side, both of them apparently needing the comfort. Charlie felt like a pot of water about to boil over. The crying may not help every sad feeling automatically go away, though it was a relief to get every excess emotion out.

Something about watching the strongest boy you knew growing up—someone you had admired to an extent for their apparent bravery—break down sobbing... Well, it gets to a person.

Charlie couldn't help the few speckles of water she left on his shirt. When the two of them could breathe normally again, Charlie refused to leave his side. Pushing everything away and trying to forget was hard. Especially when everything reminded you of what happened. It was both her greatest comfort and heartbreaking to know that Michael felt the same as she did.

Before long Charlie was playing with Michael's hair in the way she found he liked, blankly watching the video feeds with Mari.

“Puppet—” Charlie said, trying to lift her friend's spirits now. “—if you tell anyone we were crying in here, I'll be sooo mad.” She spoke sternly, a smile cracking her lips as Puppet shook her head fervently. Motioning a zipper being pulled over her static mouth, Mari mimed throwing away a key to tell them that their little secret was safe with her.

“Watch her actually be a total chatterbox when she gets her new body,” Michael remarked with a small upturn of his lips, playfully jabbing Charlie's side. “Just like the one who designed her.”

His face felt heavy and splotchy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like that, though it must’ve been decades ago. Even the minor breakdowns over the past weekend had nothing on what just transpired in this tiny security office. Despite this, after letting it out Mike did feel better in a way. Not great—he didn't think he'd ever feel great about things. But at least Charlie was here for him, and vice versa. They'd been ripped apart when they needed each other the most, and now they could finally make up for all they'd lost, no matter how slow the process was.

The guard let out a sigh, allowing himself to relax as Charlie continued idly messing with his hair. He was still on alert, but he really didn't think Terry would show his face around again tonight. Hopefully the man wasn't that stupid.

“...You think the kids are giving Freddy a run for his money?” Michael asked, if only for a topic change. “I know he's literally made to handle groups of them, but surely he wasn't designed for prolonged exposure to the likes of my sister and Cassidy...”

Charlie laughed at the sentiment, now sliding her arms around Michael’s shoulders to try and help dry off his face. All his tears seemed to collect under his chin, so Charlie whisked them away with the long sleeves of her shirt.

“Those twins, too—oh my god,” Charlie brought up. Nearly all of the children down there were a handful to take care of. The only one who you practically never had to worry about was Hannah; even Evan had his moments. After controlling her giggles, egged on by the quick jabs to her ribs, Charlie laughed: “He's got Bonnie and Monty! I'm sure they're holding up. My dad's patient but I doubt he's getting much work done.”

Still, it was her hope that once Mike's shift was over, Puppet would have a way to talk to them come dawn. Before when they shared a connected consciousnesses, Charlie was completely in sync with her toy friend. Now it’d become only slightly hard to decipher exactly what she meant all the time. And while Mari had personality, it would become much clearer with the ability to speak soon enough.

“Oh yeah, he's getting zero work done,” Michael agreed with a nod, leaning back in his chair to cross his arms over his chest and set his feet on the security desk. He grinned with the thought of wrangling all those excitable kids. “You're right, though—at least they've got help. Bonnie's good at entertaining, and I have a feeling Monty would just throw them over his shoulder if they get too obnoxious...”

As Charlie imagined the chaos happening below, a faint smile lit up her face.

“You'd do the same thing if you were watching all of them,” Charlie replied, as if she herself was a total saint. Whenever she babysat the little Aftons with Michael, she remembered it being an uphill battle for them to not mess up the house or have anyone actively hurt when Mike's parents came home...

***

Michael's guess wasn't too far off. By this point most of the kids had gotten tired of sitting around talking or watching Gregory draw and decided to pursue other venues of entertainment. Freddy chose to be a monitor, observing the whole room and being available to those that needed or wanted to hang out with him. His gaze was currently fixated on Monty, who much to the former bear's annoyance was currently tossing Cassidy, Cain, and Quinn as high as possible and seeing who could get the most air time. Freddy couldn't really complain, as if they got to close to the ceiling they could simply phase through it... However, the thought of Monty doing this with more corporeal children caused Freddy to let out a preemptive sigh.

Henry was actually able to get more progress made with Mari's android than he'd expected, despite being interrupted what seemed like every five minutes for a kid to show him something interesting or ask him a random question. The old soul loved the attention, though; it reminded him of the days back in the original diner when life was good.

In the bowels of the Pizzaplex, Gregory was helping Bonnie find a relic from the past. The rabbit could practically see the old guitar in his mind. It was technically his—just an older version of himself owned the thing. When a sooty, filth-covered Gregory emerged from the backdoor holding a guitar up by the neck, he flaunted it in front of the old rabbit and Hannah.

“Is this the one?!” Gregory called as he strutted for the rest of the group.

“THAT'S the very one! Here, here—bring it over so I can tune it,” Bonnie shouted excitably.

Running between his legs ducked Liz, who was currently playing a game of tag that'd lasted well over an hour now with Evan. The high energy of all the children was being handled well by all four responsible figures thus far. After Gregory handed off the instrument, Bonnie was quick to employ his automatic tuning system as he expertly plucked the strings.

“Here, Hannah!” Bonnie larked, handing off the guitar after making sure the strings wouldn't just snap on her from their age. “Why don't we practice chords? Maybe we'll learn a song tonight!”

“WHOA! Seriously?!” The sight of Bonnie's original guitar, even more special in Hannah's eyes due to its clearly old vibe was enough to send her into an excitable fit. She jumped up and down, unable to contain her glee as she reverently took the instrument from Bonnie's paws. After looking around for a moment, she settled against a wall in a quieter corner of the room, already re-familiarizing herself with the strings and few chords her brother had been able to teach her before her fateful trip to the Pizzaplex.

Gregory, having no real musical talent to speak of, ran towards Monty now with the full intention of being launched in the air.

“MY TURN! My turn, please!” he exclaimed, arms up in the air and waving to gain the gator's attention.

“Well hurry up, squirt, 'fore your dad freaks out!” Monty called, bending down to grab Gregory at the maximum throwing angle.

“Monty, do not even think about it!” Freddy warned sure enough, eyes narrowed as he took a step towards the rampaging gator. However, Gregory's speed was no match for his dad's, and before Freddy could blink he watched his son get launched high into the air, the top of his shaggy brown hair only missing the ceiling by mere inches.

“He's fine!” Monty insisted with a hearty laugh, backing away with Gregory clutched in his arms as Freddy started towards them with fire in his bright blue eyes. The gator knew full-well this could have dire consequences, but he couldn't resist adding on: “Get the stick outta your butt and loosen up, Fredbear!”

Being launched in the air willingly left Gregory shouting—a fun, carefree shriek that garnered the attention of the twins and Cassidy. They could relate after having Monty throw them for the last twenty minutes. When Gregory touched back down in Monty's arms he was giggling. His poor dad was going to blow a circuit, or have a simulated heart attack if Monty did that again. But Gregory felt the need to reach out and tell him: “Dad! I'm totally fine! Do you wanna throw me instead?”

Maybe the issue was that Freddy still didn't quite trust other people not to hurt him? The bear couldn't protect him forever; even Gregory knew that, but he loved his Dad enough to at least try not to give him a stress-induced coma. Which reminded Gregory to ask Henry later—could his robots get grey hairs?

“Y'all, let’s not fight! It's s'pose to be a little party down here!” Bonnie called, always the peacemaker, helping Hannah keep time with her chords as he tapped his foot to the beat.

Gregory's reassurance and smiling face worked surprisingly well to get Freddy off Monty's case tonight. Freddy knew he was being overly protective, but he couldn't help it—the whole situation with the foster family was something completely out of his knowledge base and left him deeply distressed, especially when he couldn't do anything but hide away with the kids. He wanted to go out and actively help, but he understood it was best to let Sam and Michael handle it. There was a whole other side to this slippery slope of their “adoption” of Gregory that Freddy hadn't the faintest idea how to work through, and he couldn't risk jeopardizing anything. Even so, taking a backseat after literally being the leader of a band for years was a hard concept for Freddy to wrap his head around...

But right now, Gregory was just trying to have some fun. He did trust Monty implicitly, despite how it seemed. Bonnie's words were the final trigger Freddy needed to snap him out of his seeing-red funk. He blinked a few times, then his expression softened into its usual kind smile. Instead of taking Gregory away, he leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the top of the boy's head, then backed off with a slightly embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, you two—do not mind me. Have fun! Ah, Monty, just... please throw him a little lower, will you?”

“Can do, Freddy!” the gator replied with a jaunty salute, then proceeded to toss Gregory again without warning, eliciting an even louder shriek than before. He was careful to make sure the boy's head didn't come nearly as close to the ceiling this time around, if only to save his old pal the stress. 

Gregory had been taken off-guard and paid the price of trusting Monty completely. He yelled as he was thrust upwards, positive there'd be room for a flip—though Gregory wouldn't dare try it for fear of breaking his neck from the height. Falling back into Monty's waiting arms made him miss the ground after the second throw despite how fun it was, eyes squeezed shut as he laughed regardless; it was more adrenaline he felt in lieu of fear.

At the other end of the room, Bonnie was sure to give Fredbear a positive thumbs up. He wouldn't leave his friend hanging as he watched the two come to an agreement everyone seemed happy with.

***

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