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beelsnack · 4 years

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Hi!!! I LOVE UR WRITING AND I MEAN A LOT! Its the first time EVER I ask for something and I know you are the right person! I don't know if you can write a HC of a female MC or it NEEDS to be neutral but just in case: How would the brothers react to a fem MC who is like"flat", (almost no breasts) and is super insecure? If you only write neutral, how would they react if MC was insecure because they have no curves at all and they think they are plain? THANKS A LOT 💞💞

Omg I’m??? So honored?? Thank you so much, I hope I can live up to the praise. ^////^

Yeah, I can def write a female MC! My only rule regarding MC’s gender is that you specify in the request if you want a certain gender for the MC. Other than that, I default to gender neutral pronouns!

I feel like I kind of mixed the two versions of your request together without meaning to, lol. This ended up being more like a fem MC who thinks they are plain. I hope you like it regardless!

I’m sorry this took so long, friend. I was in a bit of a creative slump and I wanted to put my all into your request!

CW: Suggestive situations, but nothing explicit

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Lucifer: “Come on, stop staring.”

Lucifer smirked from his position beneath her, using one arm to prop himself up while the other reached up to trail along her jaw. “Am I not allowed to admire your beauty?”

“I’m not beautiful,” she muttered, glancing away shyly. In the heat of the moment, both of them had discarded a majority of their clothes, but now that she had a moment to think, she hesitated. “Especially not compared to you.”

“I wasn’t aware that our relationship was a beauty contest,” he sat up fully, brow creased in concern. His hands made their way to her waist, steadying her as she straddled his lap. “Tell me what’s on your mind, my dear.”

She bit her lip, face growing warm. “It’s just…wouldn’t you prefer someone more…more?”

“My dear,” he chuckled lowly. “You are already quite the handful.”

“I meant…physically.” she crossed her arms over her chest, and Lucifer couldn’t tell if it was a subconscious gesture or not. “I’m not exactly…you know, well endowed.”

He was quiet for a moment before sighing and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “If I wanted to be with someone based solely on appearance, I have my pick of the whole Devildom. You, my dear, are the only one who had managed to enrapture me with more than just your pretty face.”

Mammon: “Hey, human! Check it out!”

Mammon actually knocked on the door while he spoke, they were making progress.

She looked up from her schoolwork and smiled at him. “What’s up?”

“The Great Mammon is on the front cover of Devil Today, that’s what!” he tossed the magazine he had been carrying on top of their textbook. Splayed across the front in full color was Mammon, staring coolly over his sunglasses at the camera. The only change from his normal attire was swapping out his normal brown and white jacket for a black leather one, so it was clearly supposed to look casual.

Her eyes drifted from Mammon’s picture to beautiful demoness hanging off of his arm. She was exactly what a model should be - tall, slender, well-endowed, the works. The human felt a surge of jealousy climb up their throat, and she had to struggle to force in down.

“Hey, hey,” Mammon planted his palm flat on her desk, leaning down so he was eye-level with her. “What’s with that face?”

“What face?”

“The face yer makin’.” he frowned. “You look like you just took a bite out of something rotten.”

Her eyes flicked back to the glossy magazine cover. “Nothing. The picture looks great, Mammon.”

“You really think you’re getting out of this that easily?” he might lack common sense, but Mammon could read facial expressions and nervous tics like most people read books. “Come on, tell me what’s up.”

“I just…” she sighed, slumping back in her desk chair. “I keep wondering when you’re going to dump me for one of these amazing models you work with.”

Mammon’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “You’re kidding me, right?”

When she shrugged and looked away, he huffed and took her hand. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

“Even Goldie?”

“Hey now, don’t be cruel!”

Leviathan: Was she really getting jealous over an anime girl?

A quick glance at the screen in front of them told her that yes, yes she was.

“Whoa, I, um…!” Levi gulped, scrambling for the pause button. The main couple was in a locker room, the girl clad in nothing but a pair on gym shorts and a flimsy tank top. There had been plot that lead up to this scene, but she had stopped paying attention a while ago.

“The reviews didn’t say anything about an r18 scene…” Levi mumbled, face turning bright red. She could see his bright orange eyes flick over to her briefly before he desperately searched for anything else to look at. “Oh, man. Ohhhh man…”

“Levi?” she gently placed a hand on his arm, and she felt him tense, but he didn’t pull away. Maybe the exposure therapy WAS working. “You good?”

“I-I-I…” he kept looking back and forth between her and the screen, face getting redder with each pass. Yup, he was definitely comparing.

Almost instinctively, she curled in on herself. Of course, she should have known she couldn’t even begin to compare to a 2D girl.

“Ah, wait, no, don’t look like that!” Levi stammered. “I just, um…th-this is the first time…I’ve thought the 2D one was…b-b-better…”

She stared at him for a solid thirty seconds before her brain caught up with what was happening and her face grew just as hot as Levi’s looked. “…Oh…”

Satan: Well, someone was certainly popular.

Satan had asked her to go to a new cat cafe that was opening up after classes had ended. He always took a bit longer to reach the entrance since his last class was all the way across the campus, so she had found herself a nice bench to sit on and read while she waited. It was only a few minutes before the doors opened to reveal Satan…

And a whole group of succubi.

Obviously, since he was one of the Seven Rulers of Hell, Satan got quite a bit of attention. Although she didn’t want to admit it out loud, the thought of him surrounded by demons whose literal reason for living was to turn people on made her feel a bit…inadequate.

One of them had linked her arm with his, manicured claws drumming along his forearm and she smiled coyly up at him. They were too far away for the human to hear the conversation, but the way her glossy lips pouted cutely up at him certainly didn’t make the human feel any better.

As they descended the stairs onto the cobblestone walkway, Satan’s eyes met her. Almost immediately, the vaguely irritated expression he had been wearing melted into something warm and he shook the succubus off of his arm without a second thought.

“Hey, sorry for making you wait.” he was at her side in a second, extending a hand to help her up from the bench. “Were you here long?”

“Only a few minutes,” she peeked over his shoulder at the fan club that was slowly morphing into an angry mob. “Um…”

“They’ll get over it,” he held onto her hand as they began walking, leaning over to kiss her temple. “Come on, let’s go. What were you reading?”

Maybe she didn’t have anything to worry about.

Asmodeus: This was a mistake.

A new nightclub had opened up in the Devildom Cultural District, and as Devilgram’s biggest influencer, Asmo had gotten some VIP tickets. He had practically begged her to come, since it was so rare that she wasn’t bogged down with homework and other mundane things. The thought of going clubbing with a bunch of demons made her feel a bit queasy, but she had agreed anyway.

Of course, Asmo was taking forever to get here. Knowing him, he was still in the bath. But, her name was on the VIP list, so the bouncer had let her stand behind the rope to wait for her date.

She watched as what seemed like every Devilgram model was let into the club. She couldn’t hear anything being said over the pounding base of the music, but she had caught enough disparaging glances to get the general idea that she was being judged.

She probably looked like a kid playing dress up compared to everyone else. Although she had thought that she looked fairly decent when she had checked herself out in the mirror before leaving, being surrounded by the Devildom’s best and brightest put a very unflattering filter over her self image.

“There you are!”

She jumped as Asmo appeared in front of her. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the bouncer let him in. He looked stunning, as always, hair curled stylishly and already long lashes made even longer with mascara. Honestly, this man could show up in a garbage bag and make it the next fashion trend.

“Ooh, that dress looks amazing on you, darling!” he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, briefly overwhelming her senses with the smell of his cologne. “I’ve never seen you wear that color before! Look at you, stepping out of your comfort zone.”

“Thanks, Asmo,” she laughed. “You look amazing too.”

“Don’t I?” he held out his arm for her hold onto like a proper gentleman. “I tried this new moisturizer today, and it’s a miracle-worker! You have to try it.”

“Is that Lord Asmodeus?”

“Of course it is, any club owner worth their salt would invite him for the opening!”

“Who’s that mousey little thing with him though?”

She could only catch snippets of conversations, but the Devildom rumor mill was already turning. She couldn’t help but frown, tucking herself closer to Asmo’s side.

“Don’t listen to them, darling,” he leaned down to whisper-yell into her ear. “They’re just jealous, and jealousy doesn’t look good on anyone.”

Beelzebub: This was the last time she was working out with Beel.

It might have been different if they were working out at the House, but being surrounded by demonic weightlifters made her feel a special kind of incompetent.

Everyone in the gym looked like they should be starring in a weight loss infomercial, but she felt like she was the before picture and everyone else was the after. She was wearing a baggy T-shirt that she was pretty sure wasn’t even hers and basketball shorts. Everyone around her was all toned muscles and six packs, and her arms felt rubbery just from a few reps with a five pound weight.

“You need some water.”

Someone of Beel’s size had no right to be as sneaky as he was. She hadn’t even heard him set down his weight, and suddenly he was standing in front of her holding out a water bottle.

“Thanks.” she sighed, setting down her weight. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until she took a drink. “Man, I feel tired already.”

“You’re doing good,” Beel smiled. “Maybe next time you can try the ten-pound weights.”

Just the thought made her biceps twinge. “Maybe…”

“You don’t have to feel self-conscious.”

“Huh?” Damn him and his unexpected perceptiveness.

He sat down next to her on the bench, popping the cap on his own water bottle. “You were looking around at everyone else, and you had this look on your face like you just ate something bad.”

“I’m that obvious, huh?” she laughed weakly.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “I was watching you.”

“You were?” she had been too busy comparing herself to everyone else to notice.

He nodded. “I like how you look when you’re determined. It’s…cute isn’t the right word, but…”

She couldn’t help but laugh, bumping him with her shoulder. “I get it. Thanks Beel.”

Belphegor: “Hey, come on, wake up!”

Sometimes she swore Belphie purposely fell asleep whenever it was the most inconvenient for other people.

She honestly didn’t know when he was conked out, but he was deep in slumber by the time she closed the textbook she had been using to fill out her study guide. He had folded his arms on the library table that the two of them had commandeered and pillowed his head on top of them.

“Why do I even bother…?” she sighed. Even so, she poked his cheek. “Belphie, come on. They’re going to close the library soon.”

He mumbled, but stubbornly remained asleep. Growling under her breath, she stood up and placed both of her hands on his shoulders.

“Bel. Phe. Gor,” she punctuated each syllable of his name with a shake of his shoulders. Finally, he groaned, one drowsy amethyst eye blinking up at her.

“Man, I was having a really good dream…”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Were you even sleep long enough to dream? We’ve only been here for an hour or so.”

“O ye of little faith.” he yawned, sitting up. “I guess it’s best you woke me up, it wasn’t a dream I should be having in public.”

“Please tell me you weren’t having a wet dream in the school library.”

“Mm,” he smirked up at her. “It wasn’t a wet dream yet. More like moist.”

“Gross.”

“Well, I thought it was pleasant.”

She rolled her eyes, beginning to gather up the books she had spread across the table. Belphie continued to watch her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You were really cute in my dream.” he finally said. “Not that you aren’t cute in real life, but still.”

She paused. “You were dreaming about me?”

“Who else would I dream about?”

“Literally anyone else.” she frowned, refusing to look at him as she shoved all of her supplies back into her bag. “I’ve seen some of the succubi around here, there are way better options.”

“Do you really think that?” Belphie reached out and grabbed her wrist. He wore his usual disinterested frown, but there was genuine concern shining in his eyes. “You really think I would trade you in for a bigger pair of tits attached to a screeching harpy?”

She just shrugged.

“If this was just about how you looked,” he stood, still holding onto her wrist. “Do you really think I would sacrifice my precious nap time to study with you?”

“Well, I mean, you still had your nap time…”

“That’s beside the point.”

#shall we date obey me #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me x mc #fem!mc

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 7,499

Chapter Warnings: swearing, smoking mention, implied s.uicidal ideation, mentioned past s.uicide (c!Wilbur)

Chapter Summary: Technoblade arrives, finally putting all four of SBI in the same place at the same time. There’s too much bad blood for things to run smoothly.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Ten: midnight wire

It’s a waiting game, from there.

Because Sam says that they’re likely to only have one shot at this, and Puffy seems inclined to agree with him, and they need to gather allies and make preparations and be as sure as they can be that all of them will come out the other end intact, which, when dealing with a giant egg that can mind control people, is never as certain as it sounds. So it’s a waiting game, and Wilbur finds that Puffy and Sam are spearheading everything, and he is left mostly out of the loop.

Were things different, he might protest. But he is a long way from his general days, and he’s not sure he has that in him anymore. Not sure he’s capable of that kind of leadership. Not sure he would deserve such a position, even if he could successfully execute it.

And then there’s the fact that Phil’s around, and everyone’s tiptoeing around everyone else, and Tommy is expressing his displeasure in glares and Tubbo makes himself scarce whenever Phil is in the vicinity, and Phil himself barely seems to know how to make any overtures, so they’re all at a standstill, an uneasy equilibrium that seems wont to fall apart at any minute. They are allies of necessity, of circumstance, but if it weren’t for their common enemy, they would be scattering to the winds.

He knew, of course. He knew that somewhere between countries forming and countries falling, between exiles and alliances and betrayals and destruction, that they had all come undone at the seams. But it is one thing to know it and quite another to be confronted with it, to be confronted with sons who no longer trust in their father and a father who does not know how to speak to his sons, and they all believe that they are right and the others are wrong, and there is truth in everyone’s perspective but that hardly matters if no one is willing to make the effort to understand.

So, here he is. On top of Tommy’s house, just sitting. Listening to what crows remain—there are fewer, now, but still plenty—and concentrating on the breeze in his hair, the fresh scent of the grass. Little things, things to ground him, things that will continue to exist whether he has a functional family or not,

(whether he is here or not, and he should not be left alone to his devices at the moment, perhaps, but he does not want company, because company means Tommy’s sullenness or Tubbo’s avoidance or Phil’s pained floundering, and he can’t, he can’t put up with it, and he’s not going to make them put up with him)

(though that’s not fair, it’s not fair and he knows it’s not, because they’re worried about him, they are, and all the preparations and rushing about that everyone seems to be doing doesn’t mean that Tommy hasn’t stopped trying to talk to him about it, awkward and so very sincere, or that Phil is not shooting him worried glances when he thinks he’s not looking)

and he wishes he had a cigarette. It’s a terrible vice, but there was comfort to be found in the smell of it, back then, in the curl of the smoke in the air and in his lungs. It was something he had control over. Something to prove he was alive. Something to seek refuge in.

But he has no cigarettes, and he knows that if he tries to go to find some, people will start being concerned over him, more than usual, and he’s tired of people treating him like he’s made of glass, like he’ll break if he hits the ground too hard or like he’ll break himself if he’s allowed to be alone for too long. Even now, he probably doesn’t have too long before someone seeks him out. He’d better enjoy the peace while it lasts.

(he’s still not being fair but it has been a bit longer, now, since his revival, and perhaps this bitterness has always been present, under the guilt and the grief and the determination to never unleash that side of himself again, perhaps it was there but masked, but whether it was or not, it is here now, and he has no idea whether he has the right to be angry but he is, he is, he is)

He has no cigarettes, and going through his inventory reveals nothing of note. He has the weapons that Tubbo gave him, though the longer he has possession of them, the more he dislikes them. He is more than capable of holding his own in a fight, but it is never his first choice, and the feel of the sword against the palm of his hand has begun to sicken him.

(or perhaps not the sword itself, but what he could do with it, the way he could paint the air with blood rather than words, because his words have gone dry and stale and he’s not sure he will ever recover them)

(you could defend yourself but you don’t like that much either you always liked a crossbow because if you failed to kill your enemy if your enemy reached you armorless as you were and your flesh ready for the blade’s bite it was over it was all over and that’s what you wanted and it is luck that you survived as long as you did survived to ruin it all and perhaps they would all have been better off for it if you were a little worse at aiming)

He doesn’t have any blocks. No building materials, nothing crafted. No one seems keen on giving him anything to do. He could take the initiative himself, but that invites the same problem as trying to go off on his own. People worrying, fretting, Tommy telling him not to stress himself out and Puffy telling him that they’ve got a good handle on things.

He’s still got those cornflowers. He pulls them out, turning them over in his hands, and experimentally crushes one. It takes so little effort to turn flowers into dye, and the petals stain his fingers and palm, streaks of blue standing out starkly against skin that is, perhaps, paler than it should be.

Blue. He likes the color. He crushes another flower. Breathes. Tries to just be for a little while. He never used to have much of an affinity for the color before,

(and there is a part of him that wants soft blue wool under his hands, warmth and safety and love unconditional and a friend that does not leave him, does not judge him, does not expect him to be anything other than what he is, but he pushes that part of himself down to suffocate because there is no time for that)

but some things linger, he supposes, even when he would rather they not. A liking for blue is not the worst thing rattling around in his brain.

A crow settles right next to him. He blinks, frowns, stares at it. It stares right back, almost accusatory.

He doesn’t remember Phil’s flock being so annoying in the past. But then, perhaps that’s just another thing he has to get used to. More irritating birds, and more of them in general.

He sighs. “I can’t say that I’m in the mood right now, Phil,” he says.

“Oh, my mistake. I’ll be sure to let Phil know.” A low drawl, almost monotone, coming from directly behind him, and he jerks, twisting around, and it is not Phil at all. The bird lets out a caw that sounds distinctly smug, and then flaps its wings rapidly and takes off, but he’s hardly paying attention, because of all the people to come looking for him up here, he didn’t anticipate Technoblade.

“When did you get here?” he asks, too surprised to say anything else.

Techno snorts. He is decked out in blue rather than red, and Wilbur is struck by the resemblance to earlier days, different times, another server entirely. That was his first brush with war, but it had all been in good fun, then, and when they’d had enough, they’d walked away. There is no walking away now, and there is something in Technoblade’s stance that says he is well aware of it; there is a harshness to him now that has never been there before, even with all of the voices and all of the blood and the way he has been called to violence every day of his life.

Was he like that, in the tundra, those first hours after Wilbur returned? He remembers thinking he looked tired. He’s not sure that he would have noticed anything else, then.

“As far as anyone else knows, I’m not yet,” Techno says. “Thanks for the welcome.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean—I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting to see you, is all.”

“Phil called,” Techno offers, as if that explains everything. Perhaps it does. But then, there is a sardonic twist to his lips, a discontent in his eyes. “Said somethin’ about an egg cult and makin’ omelets.” He shrugs. “If you’ve dragged Phil into this, might as well have me too.”

“I didn’t drag Phil into anything,” he says. “He showed up on his own. He didn’t have to.”

“And what did you expect?” Techno asks. “That he’d just sit down and take radio silence from you? After everything?”

Anger flares, white-hot. Irrational, maybe, that this should be what does it, but the dam that holds him back is strewn with rotting planks.

“He seems to be just fine taking radio silence from Tommy,” he snaps. “Why not me too? Why not me, after everything? After everything, what do you even mean, after everything? Do you mean after the two of you worked with Dream to destroy L’Manberg? Do you mean after you basically disowned Tommy for the high crime of standing by his best friend? Tell me what you mean, Techno, because honestly, I don’t think that Phil or you has the right to demand anything from me or Tommy.”

“I was talkin’ about how you used Phil to commit assisted suicide five minutes after he set foot in the server,” Techno replies evenly, “but sure, Wilbur, let’s get into it.” And to Wilbur’s consternation, he gathers his cape around himself and sits to his side, about a meter away. “I wasn’t going to talk about Tommy, but you want to talk about Tommy? Fine, let’s talk about Tommy. I have a whole list.”

“You have a—what?”

“I’m sick of bein’ used, Wilbur,” Technoblade says, and his voice is still even, still cool, still lacking even a trace of anger, and perhaps that is the scariest part. “That’s all you and Tommy ever seem to do, these days, is use me. I don’t know how many times I have to say that I’m not a weapon before people start to get it, but it hasn’t worked yet. I have to admit, I’m tired of tryin’.” He fixes him with a stare. Wilbur feels rooted to the spot. “So let’s talk about Tommy, Wilbur. Do I regret not bein’ there for him before? Sure. But I tried when I could, and he threw that away. And I wouldn’t have minded if he’d sided against me from the start. But I laid it all out in front of him, and he chose to join me, and then he chose to betray me. That’s a choice that he made.”

“You were destroying something that mattered to him!” he exclaims. “You were hurting his friends! What did you expect him to do?”

“I expected him not to turn on me. Again. That’s all you and he have done since you came to this server. You bring me in to deal with your messes, and then you get all shocked and outraged when I do what I said I was going to do the whole time.” He shakes his head. He’s still not angry. He’s still not angry, though from his words, he definitely should be. But instead, there is resignation. Perhaps some acerbity. But not anger. “I wasn’t going to get into this. I didn’t want to get into this. But I’m not here for you, Wilbur. I’m here because Phil asked me, and that’s all. I’ll help with your omelet, but that’s all. I’m finished. I tried to be finished a long time ago, but you all kept dragging me back in.”

“Does it not matter to you, then?” he asks. “Any of what came before? Any of the old days?”

Techno raises an eyebrow. “‘Course it does,” he says frankly. “Let me ask you something, Wilbur, when exactly did you stop seeing me as a person with feelings?”

It’s clear that he’s not expecting an answer. And still: that pervasive resignation. Wilbur feels his animosity draining away, replaced by numbness.

(this is on him, isn’t it? he brought Techno here, he recruited him into the first war, he promised him anarchy when he had no intention of delivering, he provoked the first rift, it was all him, him, him, and the worst part of all of it is that he cannot deny any of what Technoblade is saying)

(because they all have their truths, and the problem lies in the refusal to understand. wasn’t he just thinking about this?)

“That’s where I stand, then,” Techno says, turning his head away to face forward, toward the rest of the SMP. There are blood vines visible from this vantage, if you squint just enough. “I thought you should know.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t want to fight.”

“Neither did I,” Techno says. “But sayin’ ‘I didn’t want to’ never seems to accomplish much of anything.”

Wilbur doesn’t have anything to say to that. He flexes his fingers, stares down at his hands, still covered in blue. Blue, blue, blue. If he were Ghostbur, he would smile and chirp something untactful and naive, and perhaps it would not make Technoblade happy, but it would take away the resignation, at least, would distract him from—would distract him from what? The way he seems to expect his family members to treat him as a tool for their own ends? There is no distracting from that. And as much as Wilbur would like to deny it, he cannot say that Technoblade is wrong,

(a history: he and his brother sparring on the grass, he and his brother tormenting Tommy, he and his brother on opposite sides of a grand war, but having so much fun with it, every clash underlain by quick-flash smiles and inside jokes and the knowledge that despite it all, they are still there for each other)

(a different history: summoning the Blade to fight in their war, digging the Blade a pit to fight Tommy in, stringing the Blade along with promises of anarchy, of a tyrant toppled, knowing full well that the Blade will not like the end result, knowing full well that he intends to betray everyone in the end, knowing full well, knowing full well, knowing full well that he will not have to deal with any of the consequences at all because he intends to end his own story without regard for the people still living in it)

“I am sorry,” he says, and this time, he means something entirely different. “For what it’s worth.”

Technoblade sighs. “I am too,” he says. “For what it’s worth. Not for all of it. I’d do a lot of it again. But for the things that are worth bein’ sorry for?” He looks to the sky. Wilbur wonders if he’s counting the crows, as he has taken to doing himself. “I’ve got plenty of regrets. Don’t mistake me there.” He sighs again. “Maybe there’s somethin’ to be worked out, yet. But nobody’s ready for that. I’m not ready for that. I would be astounded if Tommy was ready for that. You don’t seem all that ready for that. So how about we make an omelet and save the rest for later?”

It’s not what he wants. But perhaps it’s not what Technoblade wants, either, and perhaps that is a good sign.

Prime, what a mess they all are.

“Alright,” he says. “Omelet.” And as if summoned by his words, he spots a figure coming down the path toward Tommy’s house. Or, wait—two figures. One is easily distinguishable as Puffy, but he’s not sure about the other, not from this distance. They have dark hair, and they’re wearing a lot of white, and—is that a headband?

Wait.

“Is that Sapnap?” Techno asks doubtfully.

“What the fuck,” he says.

Puffy better have a damn good reason for this.

----------

The reason is, apparently, this: Sapnap stands before all of them and says, with fire in his eyes and white-knuckled fists, that be barely recognizes the man that Bad has turned into, that the Egg has made him become. That he’s been busy at home, with his fiances—and how interesting it is, to learn that Sapnap and Karl, of all people, are Quackity’s fiances—and that he didn’t see a good opportunity to do anything about it before now, but if they’re taking the fight to the Egg, he wants in.

“The Bad I know would never have pulled any of this bullshit,” he declares. “He basically raised me. I know him better than to think this is him. So yeah, mark me down for whatever you’ve got planned.”

And isn’t that achingly familiar.? Except for Sapnap, the positions are reversed: he is the son trying to talk sense into the father, trying to save him, rather than the other way around. He conspicuously does not make eye contact with Phil, who is standing off to the side, Ranboo hovering near him—did he arrive with Techno?—hunched over and looking like he’d really rather be anywhere else.

They’re gathered on the Prime Path outside of Tommy’s house once again. It’s become a de facto meeting place, of sorts, which is strange to him. Tommy himself has always been central to events on the server, but his little dirt hut? Wilbur has never spent so much time here before, and he doesn’t think anyone else has, either. Regardless, they’re all here, Puffy next to Sapnap and Sam come down from the prison, Phil and Ranboo, Tommy and Tubbo both very obviously glaring at Technoblade, who has taken up most everyone’s attention by his sudden arrival. He doesn’t think Sapnap has spotted him yet, lurking around the edges of the conversation as he is, but if Sapnap’s going to be here, he might as well get this over with.

“And we should trust you why?” he asks, stepping forward smoothly, in the way he knows makes his coat flare out just so. If no one else is going to ask, he will.

(it’s not paranoia if it’s common sense, it’s not, he’s being careful, he’s watching himself, it’s easy to trip but he hasn’t yet)

Sapnap jerks, all the color draining from his face as he turns. His eyebrows furrow, his lips parting, and Wilbur can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing, tries to make sense of a dead man walking.

“Holy shit,” he says. “You’re—”

Something settles. Old patterns emerge. Here is someone he doesn’t have to watch himself with. Perhaps not an enemy, not anymore, but no friend, no one he cares to keep close.

(he fought by Sapnap’s side once but that was a thin alliance and he was hardly concerned with just who had flocked to his banner, not anymore, not when he’d already made the decision to betray them all, to light the fuse no matter what)

“Yes, yes,” he says, airily waving a hand. “Hello, I’m alive, back by unpopular demand, all of that. I need a guarantee that you’re not under the influence. Being close to Bad gives you a good motive to come and help, I’ll grant you, but it also means that you could be infected through your proximity to him. I’m sure you understand my caution.”

(the words are back, dripping off his tongue like fine wine, like rich confidence)

“He’s—” Puffy starts, but Sapnap’s voice overlaps with hers.

“Wait, am I the only one who didn’t know about this?” he asks. “You’re just—back? Alive again? How the hell did that happen?”

“Not particularly relevant,” he says. “I assure you, it’s something we’re all grappling with at the moment. Would you answer the question?”

Sapnap is still gaping. “I—I guess, I mean, I’ve only been near the Egg once. Bad’s tried to get me to get close a couple of times, but I always give him an excuse. I don’t know how you want me to prove that.”

He lifts a shoulder, half a shrug. “And your fiances? They’re not here because—?”

“Karl hasn’t been feeling great lately,” he bites out. “Completely unrelated to the Egg. But Q’s staying with him for now. I also don’t want either of them anywhere near this thing. Can you blame me for that?”

Against his will, he glances at Tommy and Tubbo, the former of whom still glaring at Technoblade, shock and rage warring on his face, and the latter of whom seeming to want to look anywhere except at Technoblade.

(you want to keep them safe you want to keep them far away but they will not go because the fight is in their blood and this is what you have made them into and the battlefield is different but they still will not leave it and they were adventurous as children to be sure but you did the rest and you know it you cannot protect them and you have only yourself to blame)

“Alright, then,” he says. “I’m not the one to welcome you aboard. But welcome aboard.”

“Okay!” Puffy says, clapping her hands together. She’s scowling, slightly, and Wilbur realizes that they’ve pretty much been running roughshod all over her. “Thanks for that, Wilbur. As you can see, Sapnap, we’ve got a bunch of war criminals, former dead people, irritating little twerps, and Tubbo, but we’re all working together and not provoking anyone more than we need to, because taking down the evil mind control egg is what takes precedence here.” She shoots a glare at him as she speaks, which frankly, he feels isn’t entirely justified. He wasn’t provoking Sapnap. He would have said a lot worse if he was trying to provoke Sapnap.

“While I’m at it, hi, Technoblade,” Puffy adds. “Glad you could make it. Just, nobody blow up any city-states while we’re here and we’ll be fine, okay?”

“I will make no promises,” Technoblade says, “but as long as you’re not hiding a new one from me, we should be good.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy breaks in. Wilbur’s surprised he’s abstained this long. “Why the fuck are you like this? You can’t just barge in here and claim to be all about helping now and expect us all to go along with it. You blew up L’Manberg! You and him!” He jabs a finger at Phil. “You worked with Dream! You, with your stupid withers, over and over again! And you just think you can come back and butt in here like none of that happened? I mean, maybe you can, since I guess no one’s trying to lock you up over it, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair, and it doesn’t mean that you get to be so fucking, so fucking like that about it! Like none of it fucking matters.”

It’s curious to watch everyone’s reactions. They don’t all have a stake in it, not the way that Tommy does, not the way that Tubbo does, not the way that Wilbur does. Sapnap doesn’t seem to know how to react, and Sam’s fingers are clenched around his trident. Puffy just looks tired, which he supposes is fair. He doesn’t think she’s paid enough to put up with their bullshit. Because that’s what it is: their bullshit. To be sure, all of the things that Tommy is saying apply to everyone; he’s talking about general crimes, actions that Techno has taken that have affected the whole server. But Tommy’s not concerned about how they affected the whole server. He’s concerned about himself, and Tubbo. That’s all.

(he can’t blame him, not when he’s the exact same way. he wouldn’t be upset with them at all, wouldn’t care one whit about the ruin of the country that once was his, if it weren’t for the fact that Tommy and Tubbo were hurt over it)

He meets Puffy’s eyes. Jerks his head at her. Go, he says without saying it, and she nods.

“I’m going to show Sapnap some of the stuff we’ve been working on,” she says. “C’mon, Sam. Oh, Ranboo, you too, if you want.”

“Oh.” Ranboo sounds surprised to be addressed. Which is fair, considering that Wilbur forgot that he was there entirely. “Um, sure, I guess. Glad to uh, glad to help out.” He casts an uncertain glance at Phil, looking for cues, and that should tell him all he needs to know about their relationship right there,

(and he’s not jealous, he’s not jealous, he’s not, not jealous that Phil has picked up another kid because this is just how Phil is and there’s no need to be jealous and having another brother might be nice, actually, but why would he do this when Tommy is right here and so clearly in need of support, and why would he drag another child into the mess that is their family in the first place?)

because Phil nods at him reassuringly, and Ranboo follows along with Puffy and Sam and Sapnap as they leave the rest of them alone on the Prime Path in what has to be the least subtle statement of here’s some space so you guys can talk about your family issues that Wilbur has ever witnessed.

Techno was right. They’re not ready for this conversation. But they’re going to start it.

“So, what exactly is the problem here?” Techno asks, in exactly the tone of voice that will not help at all, lazy and unaffected. And Wilbur knows he knows better than that, so it has to be on purpose. “You rattled off a lot, there, and I wasn’t takin’ notes.”

Tommy lets out an inarticulate screech of rage and starts forward, hands clenched into fists. But Tubbo reaches out and grabs his shirt sleeve, and he stops in his tracks.

“You know what the fucking problem is,” he spits. “I fucking hate you. You’re terrible, and you’re the worst, and I want to never see your face again.”

“Oh, so I’ll just leave you to fight a bloodthirsty Egg cult by yourself?” Techno says. He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, Tommy, no can do. I’ve been told they’re calling themselves the Eggpire. That’s right up my alley.”

“Yeah, maybe you fucking should!” Tommy yells. “Maybe you should leave! I don’t want you here! Tubbo doesn’t want you here! We don’t need you, either of you! We’ve been doing just fine all on our own, and now we’ve got Wil back, so we doubly don’t need you! We never have! You haven’t—you haven’t been here before, so why should you suddenly start being here now, huh? Why don’t you just fuck off back to your, your stupid snow fort and your stupid dogs and leave the rest of us alone?”

Phil closes his eyes. The picture of weariness.

Wilbur considers stepping in.

(not yet)

(Tommy needs this)

“I literally just told you why?” Techno says. “Have your listenin’ and comprehension skills gotten this bad? I’m not sure why you’re mad at me, Tommy, you’re the one who used me as a weapon and betrayed me. Again. Feels like I’m preachin’ to the choir, here.”

“I didn’t—” Tommy squawks. “I couldn’t just let you do that to everyone! Why don’t you fucking understand how shitty of a thing that was to do? You destroyed L’Manberg, Technoblade. That was people’s home. That was my home! That was the place, it was the place that Wilbur created, it was Wilbur’s country, and it mattered so much to all of us, and you fucking destroyed it like it was nothing.”

(he thinks you wanted it to be here why does he think that does he not remember what you did what you wanted you wanted it gone and if anything Technoblade fulfilled your greatest desire)

“Well, gee, Tommy, I don’t know,” Techno says, “maybe if L’Manberg didn’t want to get its ass kicked, L’Manberg should’ve left me in retirement, where I was completely content to live out the rest of my days in peace. Or maybe, and consider this, they shouldn’t have set up a corrupt and tyrannical dictatorship just like the last one was.”

Tubbo has gone pale. His face is blank. “I’m right here, you know,” he says.

“I see you,” Technoblade says. “I don’t see you arguin’.”

“Would it do any good?” Tubbo asks. “You’ve made up your mind. Not like it can make a difference now.”

“Of course he’s made up his mind!” Tommy says. “He’s a stubborn fucking pig. He thinks he knows everything, and he doesn’t give a shit when people tell him he’s wrong, because he’s the great Technoblade and Technoblade is never wrong, and he doesn’t care about people, he just cares about his stupid fucking anarchy and his stupid fucking fights, and nothing else matters to him.”

It is Wilbur’s turn to want to close his eyes. But he doesn’t let himself look away.

Technoblade’s face darkens.

(he understands, he understands how Tommy can accuse him of not caring, he understands, but at the same time, he doesn’t, because they grew up together, the three of them, so Tommy should know better, should know better than to think Techno an unfeeling creature, because Techno cares deeply and abidingly and desperately loyally, and that is why he despises betrayal so very much, because it is so rare for someone to grant him the same amount of regard and trust that he is prone to giving away. Tommy ought to know that, so how can it be possible that the events of this server have washed away years of shared history?)

“Okay, I think everyone needs to calm down,” Phil says, but Tommy wheels on him just as quickly.

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down,” he snaps. “You don’t have the fucking right. You did all the same things that he did. All the same things, when I thought—” He cuts himself off suddenly, shaking his head, grimacing like he was about to give something away. “Nevermind what I thought. But I went through hell, and you weren’t there for me. Neither of you were there for me. In the end, I had to claw my way out myself, no thanks to either of you. So I don’t know where you get off coming around here and claiming to want to help when you’ve never done shit to help me before.”

“I let you—” Techno begins incredulously, but then Phil strides forward, closing the gap between them, and Techno falls silent.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says simply. “I’m sorry for a lot. I can’t say that I’m sorry for L’Manberg, because that, I’d do again. But I’m sorry for hurting you. And most of all, I’m sorry for not being there for you when you needed me. Either of you,” he adds, with a glance at Tubbo. Tubbo doesn’t react. “I honestly didn’t think you’d want to see me, after what I did to Wil. By the time I realized how badly I’d fucked up, it was a bit late to do anything about it.” His mouth twists. “I don’t have anything more to offer than that. I can’t change the past. But I’d like to start making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

Tommy stares at him for a long moment. And then turns on his heel and marches off after Puffy and the rest.

Silence falls.

“For the record,” Tubbo says, “I’m not too mad anymore. But really, that’s just because he’s mad enough for both of us. And being angry all the time is really exhausting, you know?”

Tommy calls over his shoulder: “Tubbo, come on, let’s go make fun of Ranboo!”

Tubbo gives them all one last, searching stare. And then follows Tommy.

Silence again. Even the crows are quiet.

“That could have gone better,” Phil murmurs.

“Look on the bright side,” he offers, and Phil looks at him, eyes dark. “It could also have gone worse. He could have tried to kill you.”

“Couldn’t help but notice you not bein’ of any help,” Techno says.

“And who was I supposed to help?” he asks, and laughs, not bothering to hide the acidity. “You two? Maybe. I’m pissed at you, but that’s for Tommy’s sake, not L’Manberg’s. I probably should have helped him; Prime knows he needs the support. But at the same time, he’s hardly seeing things clearly either. None of us are. We’re all very fucked up, I’ve noticed.”

The last is supposed to be a joke, or at least, something to lighten the mood a little, because he can’t stand Phil looking so tired and old. But Phil just sighs, something miserable flashing in his gaze.

“And besides,” he continues, softening his tone a bit, “Tommy needed to be able to say all of that himself. He didn’t need me speaking for him or defending him. He needed to air all that out.”

“Do you think there’s hope?” Phil asks. He’s still standing stock still, gazing out over the path in front of him, though Tommy and Tubbo have both passed from sight.

“I really don’t think I’m the one to ask about that,” he says. “But you’re here, yeah? You’ve apologized, and you’re going to try to make things right? I’m not accepting anything on Tommy’s behalf, but it seems like a good first step.”

Phil doesn’t answer. Technoblade makes a low noise that is not quite a scoff, but when Wilbur glances at him, the expression on his face is contemplative rather than angry, rather than derisive. And it’s a start. It’s a start. It has to be a start.

(because if it isn’t if things carry on in this way you’re going to have to choose between them and you already know what your decision will be but it will hurt you will break you to tear out those connections at the roots and no one can be more important to you than Tommy is but you still want Phil you still want Techno no matter their faults no matter what they’ve done they are still your family and you don’t want to have to choose but brace yourself Icarus there is always a fall and the storm wall hasn’t blown through yet)

----------

The plan, in the end, is a simple one: they’re going to gear up, take a shit ton of weapons and firepower, and do their damnedest to crack the Egg’s shell wide open.

There are more complicated factors, of course. The Egg is not a natural thing, and they don’t know what kind of defenses it may have. They also don’t know whether harming the Egg will harm the people under its influence, so that is something to watch for; Puffy and Sam are both insistent that if that happens, they abort the attack immediately.

(though he and Phil meet each other’s eyes across the room, and he knows they are thinking the same thing, thinking about the nature of conflicts such as these and the necessity of sacrifices)

It’s not a particularly solid plan, but it’s the best they can come up with, under the circumstances, and they’re prepared as they’re going to be. Wilbur doesn’t object to it in theory.

But in practice—

“The fuck do you mean, I’m not coming?” he demands.

Puffy meets his gaze head on.

“We need someone on the outside, watching to see if they bring in reinforcements, or if any other weird stuff happens,” she says. “Sam volunteered, but Sam also needs to be at the prison to make sure no one takes advantage of this to try a prison break or something, and he can’t really afford to divide his time. That leaves you.”

“That leaves—what about one of the literal children?” he asks. “You’re fine with bringing the minors near the fucking mind control egg cult?”

“Obviously I’m not fine with it,” she says, “but if I told them to stay behind, they’d follow us in anyway, except I wouldn’t know where they were in order to protect them. This way, everyone knows exactly where everyone else is.”

“Damn straight we would,” Tommy mutters, and Wilbur wheels on him.

“And what the hell are you thinking?” he asks. “Why would you—”

Tommy glances away from him, and all at once, he understands. His chest goes cold.

(red in his mind and red in his heart and the world aflame and he raises his sword)

“You don’t want me to come,” he states.

“I—look, Wilbur? I don’t want to lose you, okay? And I can’t hear the fucking thing, and you can, and I don’t—I couldn’t stand it, if what happened last time happened again. I don’t want to go through that, and I especially don’t want you to go through that. Not again. So, yeah, I’d rather you be just outside, so that we can call you if we need you, or you can call if you need us, but I would feel a whole lot better if you didn’t go in there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Phil open his mouth to ask something, and then shut it again, his brow furrowed.

The thing is—the thing is, he understands. He understands where Tommy is coming from. If their positions were reversed, he would want the same thing. But it stings, like splinters in his heart, and he tries to tell himself that Tommy is just worried about him, that Tommy just wants to keep him safe, but that is bad enough, because it should be the other way around, should be him protecting Tommy, should be him keeping Tommy safe, and it smarts to know that Tommy doesn’t think he’s capable of doing even that much.

(but he is right, of course, right to doubt him, right to keep him at arms’ length, because he has proven himself susceptible to the whispering and the enticement and Tommy is right to look him in the eyes and tell him to stay behind)

“We’re taking a whole lot of holy water with us, just in case,” Puffy says. “So in case of an emergency, it’ll probably be fine. But I agree with Tommy. I think for your sake, this is where you can do the most good.”

“Right,” he says, and his voice sounds hollow to his own ears. “Right, no, yeah, I get it. I can do lookout.”

(you were their general and how you have fallen)

(they do not trust you and they are right not to)

“Wil—” Tommy starts, but he shakes his head rapidly, cutting him off.

“No, I’m serious, it’s good. You’re probably right.” He smiles, or at least goes through the motions; his lips curve upward, at any rate. “Can’t say that I’m eager for a repeat either. But you’ve got to promise that you will call me in if you need me.”

“Course we will,” Tommy says, and he

(doesn’t believe him he’s lying he’s lying he’s lying)

nods. That’s the best he’s going to get.

There’s not much to say after that. Sam wishes them luck and returns to the prison. The rest of them head off toward the Egg, and he holds his head high and his back straight and pretends there is no shame curling in his gut, no wounded animal clawing at his chest, no hurt, no fear, no bitterness. And he pretends that he does not feel the weight of Phil’s gaze on his shoulders, curious and concerned. Phil has not been told about his encounter with the Egg, no details, at least, and he would like to keep it that way, if he can. So he pretends not to see, and he pretends that the growing density of the vines as they march forward does not strike a chord of

(longing)

dread in his heart.

There is no reason to worry, probably. Techno and Phil are armed to the teeth, and Puffy is no lightweight, and they will all work to keep the kids safe. And Tommy and Tubbo themselves are very capable, even though they shouldn’t have to be, and he doesn’t know Ranboo very well

(though there is something terribly eerie in his bearing, at the moment, in the way he almost seems to be taller, in the blank, glazed look in his eyes, in his almost mechanical movements, and it is very unsettling but perhaps the kid is just nervous)

but he lives with Techno and Phil, so he must have some measure of skill.

So it’ll be fine. It’s going to be fine.

He wishes he could persuade himself. But he can’t, not on the way there, and not after they arrive, not after they leave him at the top of the ladder with several bottles of holy water and a repeated promise to let him know if something goes wrong. Not after they all descend the ladder, out of sight.

He is alone.

He tries to breathe, tries to steady his nerves. He used to be better than this. He used to be able to go into battle without this anxiety clanging in his bones. But he can’t stop remembering

(red red red and don’t you want peace, brave heart, don’t you want to rest)

the previous ordeal, and they all took holy water with them, but what if that isn’t enough? What if the Egg worms its way inside their heads regardless of the precautions? What if the Egg takes Technoblade? What if the Egg takes Phil?

He takes to obsessively checking his communicator, only placing it down for a few seconds at a time before picking it up again and searching for new messages. There is nothing, and he tries to tell himself that radio silence is a good thing, that it means they’re not in danger, but before fifteen minutes pass, he’s about ready to jump down the ladder himself, regardless of the risk, regardless of the consequences.

It grates, being left up here on his own, like a child that can’t be trusted with his own safety, when the literal, actual children went down there, could be fighting for their lives right now.

(and it was one thing to be left out of planning, because he doesn’t want to be a general anymore, not really, doesn’t want to be a leader, not when it all brought him to such grief, but it is one thing to let others take charge and quite enough to be left out entirely)

(they’re pulling away they’re abandoning you they know what you are and this is just the excuse)

He sighs noisily, running a hand through his hair. Sets the communicator down. Picks it up again.

It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be—

There’s a message.

He reads it. Once, twice, three times, just to make sure he’s not hallucinating, that it’s real, that the words glaring up at him, swimming in front of his eyes, aren’t some error, some mistake, aren’t a glitch with the worst possible timing. He blinks, hard, but they remain the same, and terror reaches into his chest and stops his heart.

(there is something very wrong at the heart of this server the beating living heart is choked and stuttering staccato black with poison and clotted with misery and you can see it in the sky can smell it on the wind and in that cell that obsidian cell where the walls weep and the lava enters your nose and lingers you knew it you saw it there is poison creeping a monster waiting and the monster is loose and he is coming and death on his footstep and it is as the tide and the tide must always return and the tides are black and cold and they want you to drown)

The words are still there.

Awesamdude was slain by Dream.

Without a second thought, he grips the top rung of the ladder and vaults over the side.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #tommyinnit #tubbo #sapnap #ranboo #captain puffy #awesamdude #:)#alivebur #/rp #cat writes fic #long post

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maluminspace · 5 years

Note

This is all because of you! and you make me feel so small with Calum please.

A37 “This is all because of you!”

A22 “you make me feel so small”

You’d always promised yourself you’d never let anyone reduce you to this. Somehow, though, Calum fucking Hood had managed it.

No one had ever meant enough to you, before, that a simple jealous argument would cause you to try and drown your sorrows in a bottle of cheap vodka.

Calum had stormed out hours ago. He hadn’t called or text you since he’d sped off in his beloved sports car. You know he’s probably just crying to Michael or Ashton about what a nightmare you are but it infuriates you nonetheless.

The last swig of vodka you down burns your throat, making you wince but your pour another measure anyway. Some of the alcohol sloshes onto the coffee table as your aim becomes clumsy. It’s a clear sign that you shouldn’t drink anymore but you’re hoping it’ll help you pass out soon so you don’t have to sit here crying over Calum for the rest of the night.

Wanting your boyfriend to come home has barely resurfaced at the front of your mind when the sound of crunching gravel on driveway draws your attention. A few seconds later a car door slams and footsteps make their way towards your front door.

As much as part of you wants to jump on Calum and apologise while he wraps you in a tight hug, the rest of you kind of wishes you’d put the chain on the front door so he can’t get back in.

When your boyfriend slopes into the hallway closing the door behind him, he immediately turns towards you. Calum must have noticed that the lights were still on in the living area when he’d pulled into the driveway.

“Didn’t expect to see you back here tonight.” You slur, scoffing in an attempt to seem uncaring.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking far too tired to be mad anymore. “Well I didn’t fancy sleeping on Ashton’s sofa so...”

You let out a humourless laugh. “I knew you’d you go crying to your boyfriend about this.”

Calum shakes his head, toeing off his converse before padding across the living room towards you. His eyes linger for a moment on the half empty bottle sitting on the coffee table. When his usually soft brown eyes finally meet yours they betray the anger still simmering beneath the surface.

“Are you drunk?” He asks incredulously.

You shrug as you down the glass of vodka you’d poured just a few moments ago. It doesn’t sting your throat as much as the last time. “What do you care?”

Calum rolls his eyes, an angry blush rising in his cheeks. “Of course I fucking care!” He replies, the effort he’s using to keep his voice steady is painfully evident in his tone. “If I didn’t care I wouldn’t have come back in the first place.”

“Whatever...” you scoff, picking up the bottle again.

“Seriously?” Calum asks, the exhaustion written all over his face as well seeping into his voice. “Are you gonna just keep drinking until you throw up everywhere? Is that your plan?”

There’s still a part of you that wants to resolve this argument and just go to bed. It’s tiny voice is given strength by the pleading in Calum’s eyes as he watches you slosh more vodka into the glass in your hand and into your lap. “‘M not planing on the puking part...” you reply, trying to keep the fire of your anger alive over the desire to just apologise.

“Well that’s where your heading!” Calum insists, “and I’ll end up having to clean that mess up too, like everything else you fucking touch!”

You drain your glass and slam it down on the table along with the bottle. “I’ve never asked you to clean up my messes!” You retort, “I’m a fucking adult, capable of sorting out my own shit!”

Calum rolls his eyes impatiently. “Yeah, it looks like it.” He snaps back, gesturing sarcastically at the items you’d just returned to the table. “You’re really acting like someone who has their fucking shit together, aren’t you? I leave for a few hours and come back to this...”

Your irritated boyfriend gestures a little too hard and knocks the half empty bottle of alcohol onto the floor. It smashes into several pieces, its contents seeping over the wooden flooring.

“Well done, Calum!” You snap, “you’re such a fucking idiot.”

Instead of sniping back at you as you expect, Calum simply leaves the room. He returns a moment later with with a roll of paper towels and a bin bag. Without so much as a glance in your direction, he drops to his knees next to the puddle of vodka and broken glass.

Your drunken brain finds it hard to comprehend why Calum’s suddenly gone all quiet. For some reason it makes you angrier as you drop down next to him. “Don’t ignore me, Calum!” You command, keeping your bleary eyes on him as he carefully wraps the broken glass on a few layers of the paper towels. “You’ve already done that enough, tonight!”

You can tell that Calum is annoyed by your words but he continues to concentrate on wrapping up the dangerous shards of the broken bottle.

“Do I really mean that fucking little to you?” You demand, your tone of voice betraying just how disgruntled you are by Calum’s lack of communication.

Your words seem to strike a nerve with your boyfriend as he snaps his face towards you, his brown eyes filled with the sad sort of anger that would usually break your heart.

Unable to tear your gaze away from Calum’s, you’re fully expecting a barrage of vexed words but all that escapes him is a pained yelp.

You glance down to see a trickle of blood running down from the pad of one of his fingers. For a split second you forget your anger, feeling only concern for the love of your life. You instinctively reach out to him but he immediately shies away. “Leave me alone.” He mutters, struggling to his feet. “This is all because of you!”

And just like that your anger is back. You watch through narrowed eyes as Calum strides off towards the kitchen.

It takes you much longer than it should to struggle to your feet. That’s probably unsurprising, given your inebriated state, but it’s still frustrating. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, stumbling after your boyfriend.

Calum doesn’t reply. He simply turns on the cold water tap and holds his bloody finger under it. The way he winces in pain kind of makes you want to hug him but your drunken brain reminds you that your still pretty angry with him. “Are you ever going to answer me?”

Your boyfriend finally turns to face you. There are tears brimming in his beautiful eyes, you’re not sure if they’re a result of his pain or frustration but either way it hurts to see him like this.

“I can’t do this with you now.” Calum concedes. “Please can we just talk in the morning?”

You shake your head, stepping a little closer to your boyfriend. “I didn’t wait up all night just to go bed without resolving it anyway.”

Calum scoffs impatiently. “Yeah getting shit-faced was a great way of showing me you want to work this out.”

Even in your drunken state, you know Calum has a point and you feel the shadow of something like embarrassment or shame. “Well I had to do something when you just ran out on me!”

Calum turns off the tap and steps over to the draw where you keep your little first aid kit. “I left because you hurt my feelings.” He confesses. “I know I’ve been distant lately, but you didn’t have to say the things you said.”

Sober you would have agreed with him in an instant. Perhaps you had actually been a little harsh earlier. Drunk you is still angry, though. “I don’t know what I’m meant to think, Calum!” You argue. “You’ve been sneaking around, acting shifty and nervous all the time...”

Calum grimaces again as he places a plaster over the cut on his finger. You’re not entirely sure it’s the tiny injury that causes the physical reaction, though. “I’m not cheating on you.” He sighs, exhausted and obviously just done with this whole argument. “I could never...”

The sincerity of Calum’s words almost seeps through your inebriated brain... Almost. “Then give me an explanation, Calum!” Bursts from your mouth as you sway on the spot.

“Not now.” Calum replies, his voice quiet. “Not when you’re drunk.” He insists. “Not when you make me feel so small, like this!”

Your boyfriend’s last sentence kind of hurts but you manage to stop yourself from uttering a venomous reply by literally biting your tongue between your back teeth.

Calum doesn’t say anything else as he returns the little first aid kit to its drawer before heading back into the living room.

You follow him, but only to the doorway. Your brain is slow to think of a reply other than ‘I’m sorry’ and you’re not quite ready for that yet.

As Calum cleans up the rest of the broken bottle and mops up the spilt vodka, you find yourself absently watching him. Just as you open your mouth to demand an answer, something falls out of the pocket of Calum’s leather jacket. The tiny item turns out to be a black velvet box. Initially you’re a bit confused. It’s only when Calum opens the little lid, that you realise there’s an engagement ring hidden inside.

Suddenly everything makes perfect sense, even in your alcohol soaked brain. Calum’s been distant and shifty lately because he’s been nervous to ask you marry him.

All of your anger and suspicion suddenly melt away, leaving a knot of guilt in its place. You want to run over to Calum and apologise for being so oblivious and tell him how stupid you feel for ever thinking he could be unfaithful.

Before you can do any of that, though, your boyfriend closes the box and shoves it back into his pocket. He wipes a tear from his face as he throws the last vodka-soaked paper towels into the bin bag and carries it outside.

As much as you want to tell Calum that you know the real reason why he’s been acting so strange, you know that he was completely right about now being entirely the wrong time to talk about ‘the truth’.

Instead of giving things away, you decide that you’ll act surprised when he finally asks you. He at least deserves that moment of knowing that he’s chosen the exact right way and moment to ask you.

In the mean time, you’ll stop being so paranoid and start making him feel like the amazing person he is. Starting with an apology as soon as he walks back into the house.

Masterlist

#calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood burb #calum hood fic #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5sos fic #calum imagine #calum blurb #calum fic #angsty!calum #my writing #200 dialogue quotes #tw: alcohol

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