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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP Recap (March 2/2021) - The Day After

The server grieves, building tributes to Tommy. Ranboo ponders to himself and confronts Sam about what happened as Sam continues to search for answers.

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VOD LINKS:

Foolish

Captain Puffy

Ranboo

Eret

Skeppy

Badboyhalo

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- Foolish builds a tribute to Tommy in front of Tommy’s house.

- Captain Puffy builds a shrine to Tommy.

- Ranboo reads through the Memory Book. On the eighth page is written, “He’s dead.”

- Throughout the stream, “It’s Raining Somewhere Else” plays in the background.

- Ranboo doesn’t understand how it could have happened. How could Sam have let it happen?

- He eventually decides there’s no sense in trying to rationalize why it happened...it already did.

- The only person who could stand up to the person in that prison is now gone, and there’s nothing he can do about it. But he can’t cry about it.

“Why do I want to? It’s not like he was kind to me...in fact, he was the opposite most of the time...But it was the fact that...he was kind once. That’s really all it takes. That’s really all it takes for me is...one person being kind to me, and then I’m indebted to them. Because I’m indebted to Tommy...although he didn’t really keep up friendship, he was still technically the first person I considered a friend on this server.”

...

“But now...I can never repay him anymore, so...there’s only so much that I can do.”

- Ranboo wanders away into the wilderness, passing by Jack’s restaurant. He goes into the forest to collect flowers.

“Why now are the same people who argued against him suddenly being sad? Because they see it...they see it as a relief. People only really see Tommy’s death as...relief. For them, it’s relief from...well...Tommy. They didn’t want to deal with him anymore, so now that he’s gone, their mourning isn’t sadness. It’s celebration, because no longer is the one person who, if I’m entirely honest, made this server interesting...now people can do whatever they want with little to no repercussions.”

“The reason so many people hated Tommy is because Tommy made them think.”

“For the first time, the people who were so deeply rooted in their beliefs...they had conflict."

- He was stuck in the prison for an entire week, and no one thought to help.

- Now that he’s gone, people are becoming virtuous. Afterwards, he’s now viewed as a reason why people want to help, to not let it happen again.

- Eret jumps down to the spider spawner and heads to the Egg Room to check his kingdom taxes chest. He peeks into the Egg Room but heads out before too long.

- Ranboo continues his monologue. All these people who claimed they were going to “protect the children of the server!” They just assumed that Tommy was safe when he was locked in with a murderer.

“I should’ve done something but I didn’t because I was scared...I was scared to help, and that was my fault, and I know that...I’m being...I’m going back on what I’ve said previously, I’m doing all this because I don’t know how to handle this! I don’t know how to handle this.”

- He forces himself not to cry. He says things that are wrong sometimes, he says things about what he believes that don’t work.

- Puffy completes her cobblestone shrine for Tommy.

- Ranboo continues.

“Monologues about my beliefs aren’t gonna change anything, right?”

“And who knows who else could be next? ‘Cause it’s not like no one else is going to die...”

“But what are we gonna do? We’re just gonna react!”

“God, I’m such a hypocrite...I don’t know what to do!”

“Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t I do anything to help Tommy in the prison? I -- I should’ve, I could’ve...But then why didn’t I? I was aware of it, I could’ve done something, but...what stopped me from going in? And saying something? I mean I know I’m banned, but I still see Sam outside. What stopped me from going inside, or at least telling Sam that...what stopped me?”

- He starts swimming across the lake to walk back.

“I know I’m hypocritical, I know I’m a...non-redeemable character, but...I just don’t know what to do...just doesn’t make any sense.”

- Ranboo walks up the Prime Path to Tommy’s House and begins to plant the flowers there.

“That’s how most people deal with it, right? We’ll just make a quick little shrine and move on...make their shrines, make their statements about how they’re gonna make it better, and then...they aren’t gonna change a single thing. They’re gonna say their piece and continue on. And me, of course, being the hypocrite that I am...I’m gonna do the same thing.”

“...At least I can remember this.”

- He holds an allium.

“Remember this? I gave him one of these and he immediately insulted me...that was one of the first times we ever interacted. I gave him one of these, he insulted me, and then I helped with one of the things that led to his demise...so here, Tommy. A flower...there’s no one there to pick it up anymore.”

- He watches the dropped flower on the ground.

“If you don’t make the most of what you have before it leaves, then you’ll have regret. You’ll think to yourself, ‘why didn’t I do something more?’ Why didn’t I do something more to help?"

- The flower despawns.

“Goodbye, Tommy. You were interesting, but...you were still a friend.”

- Ranboo decides that he wants to figure out how it happened. Because even if he doesn’t need closure, other people might. He decides to speak with Sam.

- He meets Sam (Awesam) at the Big Innit Hotel, asking how he’s holding up.

- Ranboo says he’s confused about a couple things and wants to ask about what happened.

Ranboo: “I’m not talking about Tommy’s final days, I’m talking about the period of time before that. Before...prison. Before even the Disc War, do you know what happened to Tommy?”

Sam: “Yes. Dream...was in the prison, and I would...he...started admitting, telling me about what happened, and...yeah, I know.”

Ranboo: “So you know what Tommy had to go through.”

Sam: “Yeah, I know.”

- Sam insists that there was nothing he could do.

Ranboo: “You never thought ONCE that maybe, maybe, having a visitation with one of the most dangerous people on this server wouldn’t lead to ANYTHING bad for the visitor? So you installed NOTHING about it? You did nothing about it?”

Sam: “I didn’t think that something wouldn’t happen to Tommy specifically.”

Sam: “There’s some people that I never let go and don’t forget. I didn’t let Tubbo go visit him, there’s a reason for that...but I didn’t think that he would kill him.”

Ranboo: “What would make you think that he wouldn’t!?”

Sam: “He admitted himself that he needed Tommy. It’s the only thing that he would talk about when he was in there alone, was Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. And Tommy came and wanted closure...and I thought it would be good for him to move on.”

...

Ranboo: “So you never let him out after a WEEK?”

Sam: “Ranboo, I couldn’t let him out!”

- Sam explains that trying to make more entrances also means more exits, and that he was following protocol. Ranboo protests that Dream had Sam make the protocol in the first place.

Sam: “If I thought there was something I could’ve done, I would’ve done it. By the time I realized Dream was -- attacking him, I headed back there to try and stop him immediately, and when I got to the main cell he had already done it. And then...I was standing on the other side of the lava just screaming at him, and he just laughed. I know I should’ve tried to do something, but you have to understand I couldn’t let him leave. What if Dream left with him, where would I be?"

- Ranboo then asks about the explosions. Sam explains that there’s no sign anywhere of who did it.

Sam: “I need to find who it was. ‘Cause...whoever did that...trapped Tommy in there, and made me leave him in there with him. And they saw what it did, and they knew he was trapped in there, and they still didn’t come...they didn’t tell me that it was them, so they...they wanted him to die.”

...

Ranboo: “I can help you with that. I think, if I see anything, ‘cause...obviously if the person that did it probably had...no...connection with anything. I mean, they must’ve just...someone who was against Tommy.”

Sam: “Someone who was for Dream.”

Ranboo: “No one’s for Dream.”

Sam: “I would hope not.”

- Meanwhile, Eret meets with Captain Puffy at their castle. Puffy asks if he knows...Eret doesn’t. They go on a walk down the Prime Path and Puffy shows them the shrine as she tells them.

- Ranboo then confesses about George’s house.

Ranboo: “It’s kind of my fault!”

Sam: “No, it’s none of your fault.”

Ranboo: “No, you remember -- George’s house, the thing that started all of this, that led everything to this moment? I...helped with that. And...Tommy covered. Tommy covered for me, and he could’ve not, and then everything probably would’ve been fine.”

Sam: “You don’t know.”

Ranboo: “But I do. The only reason why Dream built the prison was because of Tommy’s exile, because he realized how nice someone being away was, on the server. The only reason why Tommy’s exile happened was because of the house, and because of the fact that he covered for me. It’s a butterfly effect, Sam.”

- Sam asks for Ranboo’s Memory Book. He writes a page saying it’s not Ranboo’s fault, Sam is responsible.

- He says that, if Ranboo finds something, to come and talk with him. Sam then says goodbye and leaves.

- Ranboo thinks, maybe there was some evidence that Sam didn’t see around here. He walks closer to the prison.

“But there is at least one thing I can do, and that’s...at least take care of our friends. Like Tubbo, my friend.”

- Eret is devasted by the news. Everything was supposed to be fine! Like the old days before L’manburg! He was only gone for a little while. Puffy isn’t sure what she’s fighting for anymore. They walk down to see the prison as well.

- Ranboo decides to work on the hotel, at least. He sees Sam Nook standing by Tommy’s hotel. Sam Nook asks how Ranboo’s hotel is coming along, and says that Tommy is excited about the competition. Ranboo says he’ll see Sam around.

- Puffy fills Eret in on how corrupted the Eggpire has become. Eret reminisces about the L’manburg War, and the duel Tommy lost to Dream.

- Ranboo sits on the bench for a quiet moment.

- He then remembers something. He descends into the Power Tower war room.

“This is where he told me our plan...of going to burn down George’s house.”

- He mines down and finds the chest, still filled.

- Puffy tells Eret that she tried to break the Egg, but it hurt her back. They make their way to L’manhole. Eret has a theory that, in trying to revive Wilbur, they may have caused some sort of rift that caused the corruption to accelerate -- but it’s just their theory.

- Puffy remembers how Bad and Skeppy had a heated moment where Skeppy asked Bad to choose, the Egg or him.

- Ranboo goes to leave but then...wait...was that...?

- He checks the chest again and finds the allium.

- Ranboo continues walking down the Prime Path. There is one constant, and that’s death. And no matter how you try to run from it...it’ll always come eventually.

“Hardships are hard, death is tough...but...loss is a part of life, chat. You gotta make sure that you’re open to the lesson, ‘cause you never know when it’s gonna be able to help. You never know.”

- Puffy shows Eret the McPuffy’s.

- Ranboo goes into the Nether to pull a 180 out of the lore and immediately falls in lava. Welp.

- Puffy and Eret explore the Oogway Shrine and then Puffy decides to show Eret Ponk’s Maze.

- They walk around, Eret turns on shaders and Puffy shows them her secret chamber in the mansion.

- Foolish speaks with them.

- Bad does a hangout stream with Skeppy.

- Puffy starts building a statue at Tommy’s house and the others help.

- They decide to have a beach party funeral at Logsted, a celebration of life.

- They place a coffin at the site of the beach party. They say some parting words.

- They then walk around Logsted and explore.

- Bad speaks with George, Dream, Quackity and Foolish too

- Obama lore

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Upcoming Events:

- Tales From the SMP: “Haunted Mansion”

- Quackity’s business opening and lore stream

- Puffy’s origin story stream

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

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furiosophie · 3 years

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maybe a little more oh the things we left behind epilogue fluff??? ;u; i know the entire epilogue was fluff but i am insatiable

yes very good thinking anon and sorry for the long wait my brain is just a heap of goo right now but here we go - some ottwlb fluff set between the Mandalorian war and the very last scene of the fic, a small compilation of how Din found the rest of their family:

oh the things we found

small TW for mentions of blood and trauma

Din doesn't in any way plan on becoming a magnet for Force-sensitive children, he really doesn't, but it happens regardless, something about his unique combination of Force-null beskar, Force-conduit darksaber, and Force-bond husband drawing them in like moths to a flame.

He finds Rey first, on a recon mission out to Jakku, casing a distress signal from a lost covert. She can't be any older than Ben, who is seven now and an absolute terror, but in comparison to him, she doesn't listen to Din one bit, her whole life just a series of defying the authority figures around her. She dangles from a rope above him, in the hollowed-out remains of an Imperial Star Destroyer, sticking out her tongue at him. "I'm not coming with you!" she declares while Din tries to position himself in a way that will allow him to catch her if she slips. "I'm waiting for my family. They're coming to get me!"

He doesn't have the heart to tell her no one in their right mind would ever willingly come back to a place like Jakku. He places all his rations, most of his credits, and, just for good measure, some bacta spray on the ground below her like he's making some offering to an ancient feral god and leaves with an ache in his chest.

"She won't come with me," he complains to Luke later, pacing up and down in the living area of the Mudhorn while Luke brews tea. They don't technically live in the Mudhorn anymore, have their own quarters in the ruins of Yavin's temple, but they always end up here regardless, whenever one of them comes back from a mission, whenever they need it to be just the two of them, away from everyone's worries.

Luke hands him a steaming cup and places a soft kiss on his temple. "Don't worry," he says, in that cryptic tone of his, the one he uses to tease Din when he's being daft about something that's impossible for him to know. "She will." And that's that.

Din goes back. Once, twice, three times, until the sparse crowd of locals looks at him with pity in their eyes. She does come with him eventually, after his eighths visit, when he draws the darksaber on a dune beast and turns around to find her looking at him with the type of recognition in her eyes that he's only ever seen in the way Luke looks at Ben and Grogu.

"She's like you," he accuses when Luke greets them at the bottom of the Mudhorn's ramp, Rey perched high on his shoulders, her arms wrapped around his helmet so tight it's hard for him to see. Luke just smiles and reaches out so Rey can tentatively take his hand. The change is instant - as soon as their palms touch her whole body relaxes as if something in her is finally at peace and Din has to reach up to keep her from sliding off his shoulders. And well. That's that.

Finn is next, standing tall in front of a group of terrified kids, in a backroom of the imperial laboratory they just raided, his eyes ablaze and lips turned up into a snarl. "I'll fight you," he snaps even as Din can see his hands shaking around the mop he fished out of the supply closet as a makeshift weapon. "I'm not scared, I'll fight you!" And really all Din can do in response is pull his helmet off and fall to his knees with his hands raised above his head.

It seems to work because he gets all of them into the Mudhorn eventually, Finn curled up on the copilot's seat, staring out in wonder at the endless expanse of space while the rest of the kids are rolled up into every available blanket in the captain's quarter. It's a bit of a rough start - where Rey felt turmoil because of the things swirling inside her without guidance, all Finn has ever known is supervision and people telling him to be something he's not, his connection to the Force tempered down in all the wrong places, too silent and too loud all at the same time, and in the first weeks, Din spends a lot of time hugging him close to the beskar plating of his chest, taking strolls under the quietness of Yavin's trees like he used to do with Ben. Finn quiets eventually, just as Rey did, the two of them getting on like a house on fire.

Shara is the one who brings Paige and Rose Tico, two sisters left stranded and alone by the still raging unrest of the remnants of war, and there is barely a discussion before she decides to take them in herself, the two of them glued to Poe the second they step off Shara's ship.

He finds Armitage last, standing over the dead body of an Imperial officer, blood on his hands and all across his face, just a sliver of yellow in the green of his eyes. Din has bruises on his arms for a week from how hard the kid strains against him as he tries to drag him out of the Star Destroyer before it self-destructs, but he figures, all things considered, they'll be able to handle that too.

He turns out to be a menace, of course, too smart for his own good, and way too stubborn to let Ben get away with his teasing, which always seems to end up Luke and Din having to physically drag them away from each other. Din tries to do for him what he did for everyone else, to hold him close and comfort him, but he only ever succeeds in the quiet of the night when he finds him at the very top of the temple wrapped up tightly in Luke's arms, both of them holding onto each other for dear life, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-stained, darkness hanging around them like rain clouds.

Armitage takes a shine to Bo-Katan though, amidst all of his defiance, a fact that seems to confuse her as much as it does Din, and he knows that that will probably spell disaster in the future given how fast and feral Armitage takes to swinging a lightsaber, but to his relieve the Armorer steps up to pull him to her workshop by the back of his neck and balances the murder in his eyes with ever-evolving engineering challenges.

And so it takes a bit, quite a while in fact, but they find their balance eventually, their weird ever-growing family, all of them slotting into each other in a way that sometimes makes Din wonder if this was their doing too, Luke's and his, if in bending the universe around them, and in becoming one in the Force they somehow became a beacon for all those who are lost.

He wonders about it on the nights when, even after Han settles down on Yavin more or less permanently to be closer to Ben, and even after Paz bashfully asks to officially adopt Rey who's been glued to his shoulders for months, and even after Armitage makes it very clear that he doesn't plan to ever be adopted by anyone, Luke comes back from an excursion to find Din pilled into their bed with a bunch of wayward Foundlings.

"Sorry," Din mumbles sleepily as Luke steps over a snoring Paz who's taken up guard in the hallway, "It just happened."

"Is there room for one more?"

"Unlikely," Din sighs as he always does, but Luke finds a spot anyways, shuffling the kids around until they are just awake enough to demand a story from him.

"It's late," Luke smiles as Din pulls him closer to lean their foreheads together in greeting, Grogu climbing up from where he was tucked beneath Ben's chin to settle in between his dads. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

"Just one!" Rey pleads from her spot at Din's side, Finn's head popping up behind her in a show of support and Luke raises a warning eyebrow as Poe and Rose scoot closer from where they were sprawled over Din's legs. "You always say we need to be curious about the world around us!"

"It will help us sleep," Armitage argues from his spot at the end of the bed, the one he takes to pretend he doesn't care about any of this, and starts scooting close too, shoving at Ben to make space.

"They make a good point," Din interjects gently and pulls Armitage out of the way and between them before Ben can get up enough to headbutt him with Din's helmet, which is a constant on his head on those nights where they all feel pulled towards each other.

"Traitor," Luke laughs, letting Armitage nestle in closer to him, but he'll tell them about his travels anyways until they are all knocked out and snoring peacefully and Din can press a quick kiss to Luke's lips without having to listen to a cascade of "ew" and "gross".

And so, in the end, he always drifts asleep knowing he doesn't fully understand it, not really, how they all manage to fit so perfectly into each other's lives, how he managed to find this, this place that is domestic in a way nothing in his life has ever been, but he figures he doesn't have to understand it, not when he also knows with absolute certainty that they are all exactly where they are supposed to be.

#dinluke #oh the things we left behind #thank you for that lovely question anon #I had this in my head for a long time I'm glad it's out there now #they all deserve some cuddles and happiness #also yes I made most of them the same age to fit my timeline poe and hux are the only ones who are slightly older #imagine all of them as children in the same place pure chaos #I have some more of their shenanigans somewhere down in my notes #maybe I'll get around to writing them out one day #but now I take a nap #soph andswers asks #soph writes

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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Seconding the 'mob guys watching over Chris for Paul's suggestion!

CW: References to murder/mob organization stuff, references to parental death, grief, referenced past whump of a minor

Every Tuesday at 9 am, just like clockwork, Sean Malley lumbers into a coffeeshop nestled into the corner of a flat featureless strip mall. Contrasting to the pale concrete nothingness of its surrounding, the little coffeeshop is painted a warm, rich brown along the exterior, with heavy platers spilling over with purple and yellow flowers every few feet until Sean reaches the door.

It’s a welcome bit of individuality along this ring of small strip malls and larger big-box stores kept out of the city proper by a pile of zoning laws too draconian to fight. He’s been coming here for ten years now, more or less, and has seen the little coffeshop through its earliest days struggling for business right to now, where he feels reasonably certain he’ll be dead long before they close this place for good.

He moves inside, the light immediately warm and slightly dimmed. The scent in the air of freshly roasted coffee beans and baked goods. The cannolis they sell came from him, Sean’s proud of that - his wife had a favorite recipe and he’d given it to them after she passed, hoping for one batch for the service. They’d just kept making them, having one ready for him when he popped in, and... well, they’ve sold them ever since. Even call them Christa’s Cannolis, handwritten in cursive on a little placard. She’d have been tickled pink, he thinks sometimes, to see it.

One of his knees comes and goes as it pleases these days, giving his step a bit of a shuffle-scrape. He’s smiling, though, and humming as he goes.

Life is good for Sean Malley, all things considered.

Truth be told, he hadn't actually expected to live this long. Keeping close to Conor and his family had paid off in the early days - just as his instincts had kept him safe when the Garden erupted in in-fighting, too. When the Clean-Up happened, during the Garden’s most vicious in-fighting, Sean had seen half the men he’d watched start as snot-nosed dumbasses taken out one by one, clearing the way for Conor’s fucking grandson to make his play for power.

Those kids who’d run lookout gigs and then moved on to guard duty or work with the cargo coming in... one by one those kids-turned-adults, with families of their own, had been removed from the picture. Fifteen, all told, a bloodbath stretched out over six months - sixteen, of course, if you count how Paul’s murder went all wrong.

The one comfort had been watching Conor’s grandson lay the groundwork for his own comeuppance the whole time - promising favors for loyalty and then killing the ones he’d promised those favors to. That’s no way to start yourself as leader, and... well.

Trash had been taken out, in the end. Riley Higgs had gotten rid of the poison - and the poison’s friends - and his crew’s a damn sight better than Conor’s grandson’s people had been.

Riley, for one thing, understands that an organization like the Garden works, in the end, on trust. On being a family.

Don’t kill your family without a good damn reason, now do you?

Now Riley... he had a good reason. And Sean had made sure Riley Higgs knew a few very important facts that kept him on the man’s good side, and very much alive when the dust settled.

Even if he had did have to live with a bum knee. And back. And his hip’s started twinging every time it rains...

"Morning, Mr. Malley!" His favorite barista calls out, giving him a wave from behind the counter. She's a pretty thing, just cute as a button. Probably in her late twenties but when you’re as old as Sean is, everyone looks like a child playing pretend.

Still, it always brings a bit of sun in the old man's day to see her bright pink hair before he ever takes his seat. He always tells her she should move on from here, do something with her life other than serve old men their coffee and watch them while away the hours.

But I like it here, Melody always replies, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. I like our regulars, too. Besides, this place pays better than the job I’d get with my actual degree.

"G'morning to you, Melody!" He calls back, moving to have a seat in his usual spot, sinking gratefully into the plush armchair by the bookshelf in the corner. His favorite coffee table book, a heavy thing full of photos of World War II, is already laid out on the side table next to it, bookmarked where he’d left off last week. "Busy day, today?"

Melody is already heading his way, coffee in hand just how he likes it, one of Christa’s Cannolis on a small plate in the other. Sean’s doctor has been on him about cutting out sugar, and he’s done it just about everywhere else, but he still has his cannoli on Tuesdays. Christa had been so proud of herself when she’d mastered that recipe...

"Not really,” Melody says with a shrug, breaking into his thoughts. “Just the usual morning rush and a couple college kids, wandered outside but they left their drinks, I figure they’ll come back. One of 'em looks like he got mauled by a real weak bear."

Sean feigns surprise. "Oh, does he now?" He takes a sip of his coffee and sighs happily. "Not too hot. You had it out already, didn't you?"

"I saw your car pull into the lot," Melody says, giving a little it's nothing gesture. “I knew you’d be in, so I kept an eye out for you.”

"You're a doll, Melody, and this place would be lost without you." He presses the twenty-dollar bill into her hand, and when she protests, he shakes his head, adds another ten, and closes her hand firmly around the cash. "Take it, take it. I'm an old man on my own, who've I got to spend it on, huh?"

"You're not that old, Mr. Malley," Melody sighs, an old song and dance between them. “You’ve got grandkids who could use it, too, you know.”

"Ha! Trust that my grandkids never want for anything, Melody. Besides, live the life I've lived, and sixty feels like eighty-two. Go on, then. Cilly'll be along in a bit."

He sits back to drink his coffee as she heads back behind the counter, watching through the front window the cars that pass along the highway, the scattering of people getting in and out of their own vehicles in the parking lot. It's a perfect, and perfectly normal, Tuesday morning. Just like any other.

A perfectly normal Tuesday where one creature of habit makes it a point to get a quick look at another.

A flash of red catches his eye, and he frowns, watching a bright red Northern cardinal alight on the bench placed outside the shop, preening one wing briefly and then seeming to look towards the lot.

Sean follows its gaze, silently chastising himself for being so utterly taken by a simple bird, but... Northern cardinals are more or less unheard of around here, especially in the city. This one seems to cock its head in his direction.

"Someone," He mutters to himself, "is a bit lost."

There's a peal of laughter, as the door opens, the little bell on top chiming to announce them, and there they are.

Two young people walking inside, heads tilted together. One of them has thick, wavy black hair, one of those haircuts the younger people like so much now, shaved on the sides but long on top. The younger guys in the Family wear their hair like that now and then.

Sean thinks he liked it better when everyone kept things neat and tidy, but times change, and the Garden can't stagnate just because an old timer's got opinions. Riley’s take is he’d rather is people look like they could be anybody anywhere, and Sean has to admit the kind of haircut he’d like to see would stick out like a sore thumb.

Both of them are wearing all black head to toe, the black-haired one in a tank top and baggy pants, a large yellow lightning bolt on a cord settled just below their collarbone. Honestly, if he gets past the hair thing, they’re cute as a button, too.

Really, though, he’s not here because of them.

He’s here to get a good look at the young man walking in beside them.

It’s funny - it’s been nine - ten? - years since he last saw Paul Higgs alive, the day before he and his sweet Ronnie were gunned down in their own home in the night... but tears still prick at the corners of Sean’s eyes when he see the ghost of Paul in his son’s narrow face.

There’d been a joke when the little one first came into the world, that somehow Paul and Ronnie had put together a child where her genetics simply skipped out entirely. He’d been a little clone of Paulie from the start, and he’s different as a man than he’d been as a child lining toy cars up at their feet in the warehouse on Saturdays when Ronnie needed a break.

Sean pulls his phone out, idly scrolling - his daughter had helped him to get Facebook and a couple other things besides, including some kind of app that had his favorite card games. He pretends now to be fascinated by something he sees, but in truth he pulls his camera up and starts recording.

“It, it, it could change everything,” Paulie’s boy is saying, breathlessly excited, hands moving through the air in a blend of gesture and general happiness. “You see? Everything! Make it, it, it-it safer, make... make things better.”

“I know, I know,” The other one replies, deep voice warm and thick with love, and Sean sighs, missing his Christa now more than ever. He consoles himself with a bite of cannoli. “I already told you I’m in, Chris, okay? I’m going to help you. You don’t have to sell me on it.”

Tristan ducks his head with a shy smile, and boy if he isn’t Paul’s spitting image in that, too. Paulie hadn’t smiled much, not like his kid does - maybe that’s what he got from Ronnie - but in a smile like that, well... you could see where he got it from. If you’d known Paul, of course.

Which the kid didn’t, not anymore.

“It could, um, be dangerous though.” They’re barely audible now as they go back to where they left their still-steaming drinks, sitting down on a nearby couch. “Nat’s worried. And, and, and you know Jake-”

“Chris, you could walk across a crosswalk when the light starts blinking and Jake would still worry about you,” The other one teases. Sean knows their name, but right now it won’t quite come to mind, lingering on the tip of is tongue, never quite landing. “It’ll be public, yeah-”

“Telling everyone who... who, who I am.” Tristan starts tapping his fingers on his pants, a peculiar finger-twist-tap-tap-tap gesture that Sean once knew as well as anyone, when the boy was small. But it’s the words, with a hint of nervousness lining them, that get his attention. “The... the whole world’s going to, to, to to-to-... to... to know about Tristan Higgs.”

Now that gets Sean’s attention. He cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and starts a new one. It takes work not to sit up, or drop his cannoli, or in some other way give himself away.

He knows, then?

How?

Sean looks down at his phone, looking over the scar on Paul’s boy’s forehead, the only remaining evidence of what had been much more visible the first couple times they’d seen him out after it happened. Sean and Cilly had figured maybe a fight - people get into them, really. Paul wasn’t exactly gentle as a lamb, and why would his boy be?

But now... he wondered. His instincts told him the two were related, and of course he knew from the time they’d worked with WRU pretty closely under the table that those memory things they did sometimes failed. Sean had done a fixer job once for someone whose pet had recovered memories too fast and killed a servant in a panic...

“Oh, Paul,” Sean murmurs. “What’d your boy do, hm?”

“I’m, I’m going to to to t-... to tell everyone who I am,” Paul’s boy is saying, leaning forward and taking the hands of the other one in his own, squeezing them tight. “I’m... will, will, will you come with me? When, when I... so someone’s there?”

“What? Holy shit, Chris, go to the Olympics? With you?” They inhale and exhale, blowing some hair from their eyes, and smile. “You should take someone who knows more than I do about all that stuff, Chris, take Jake, or-”

“Jake has has to stay here. To, to protect the house. But... will you come with me?”

Sean cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and this time adds a message.

Olympics are in Chicago this year. What’s Paul Jr. planning?

He feels eyes on him and glances up to find Tristan looking over at him, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Sean’s been watching him for years, popping up in places, the way you sometimes see the same faces at the corner store, the mom-and-pop, a coffeeshop like this one. Now, he watches Tristan look him over, knowing he’s familiar but not knowing why. Part of him, with a pinprick of an old, old grief, wishes Paul’s little boy would recognize him now.

Most of him knows it’s better if he doesn’t.

Tristan looks away, and goes back to talking, but his voice lowers and now Sean can’t quite pick up what he’s saying beyond a few scattered words. He gets a couple photos of the lovebirds with their head together, sipping coffee, and sends those on to Riley, too.

Job done, he settles back to finish his cannoli and drink his coffee. Tristan and-... Laken, his name suddenly supplies, only an hour after he’d started trying to remember it - get up and leave, Tristan’s arm around Laken’s waist.

Good for the kid, Sean thinks, with a smile. By this age Paul had an elementary school son running around, but you know, it’s good to take your time on these things, and it’s nice to see that all the shit they’ve had to stand back and watch still wraps up nicely into Paul’s boy living a pretty nice life indeed.

His phone dings just as Cilly enters - right on time at 10, like clockwork - and he glances down to open the message from Riley.

I’ll get one of our guys to look into it. This might give us the out on the business I don’t want to be in I’ve been looking for. Kid looks good, looks like Paul. Family genes run deep.

Sean greets Cilly, even older than him but a sight more spry, and glances out the window. The bird’s gone from the bench, of course. The day is bright and shining.

In Laken’s car, they’re halfway back to the house Laken shares with their roommates when Chris suddenly sits straight up. “Mr. Malley,” He breathes out, green eyes widening.

Laken jumps - he’d been silent, preoccupied and in thought - and nearly jerks the car into a curb. “Damn, Chris! You scared me. What’d you say?”

“The old guy, in, in, in the the the the-the-... the coffeeshop, who kept looking at, at me.” Chris rocks forward, hands on the dashboard, his eyes staring ahead but not at the road, they’re looking far ahead... or behind himself, back in time and not space, when and not where. “His name’s Mr. Malley. I, I, I knew-... my dad knew, my, my, my dad, my dad-”

He winces, the headache splitting him apart, and Laken hits their turn signal, pulling into the parking lot of a generic fast food place, swinging into a parking space and turning to look at him.

“Chris? You okay?”

Chris’s face has gone pale, cold sweat breaking out. It still happens, sometimes, and when they lean over to touch his shoulder he flinches back from them, instinctively.

Laken exhales. “Okay. Ride it out, Chris. Let the memory go if it’s hurting, it’ll come back to you. They all come back now.”

“No! No, I, I, I want-... Mr. Malley knew my dad, I went to-... work, with, with him sometimes, his his his wife babysat me, I... I know him. I knew him. I knew-” He turns to look at them, and they fight the urge to try and touch him again.

Not yet.

“Do you... do you think, think, think he knew me?”

Laken swallows. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t he have said something, if he recognized you? If he was your dad’s friend? Are you absolutely sure that-”

“Yes, I’m, I’m sure. I know it was him. I, I, I know, he, he, he gave me me me Dinotopia books... for Christmas one year...” Chris jerked in a breath and let it out again, hands going up over his head, folding himself in half until his forehead rested on the dashboard, pressed to the cool molded plastic. “He, he, he, he came to their funeral, he hugged me, he said, you’re too young to to to to have to lose so much, and everyone said-... everyone said stuff I hated but but but not him, he said, he said-”

“Chris, please, don’t hurt yourself doing this-”

“He said grief gets worse before it gets better, and and and and he said-... he said... he said don’t let anyone tell you that R-Ronnie’d want you to to to be strong, she’d want you to scream your head off if you want to, your dad’d be proud if if if if-if... if you told us all to go to hell, and... and and and and it felt like he was the only person who who who knew them at all that day, everyone said, said, said stupid things but not him, not-... not him and not Mr. Cilly, not-... not my Aunt Jo, not anybody, but he-”

Chris chokes on a sob and when Laken throws their arms around him he melts into it this time, crying against their shoulder, the two of them uncomfortably arched over the center console and the gear shift.

“It’s okay,” Laken whispers, running their fingers over the slowly growing fuzz of his hair. “It’s okay. Let it ride, Chris. It’s okay.”

“He, he, he was my dad’s b-b-best friend-... Why d-didn’t he, if he saw me, why wouldn’t he-... I s-see him all th-the the the time, why doesn’t he know who I am?”

“Maybe he’s like Akio,” Laken says, and feels him trembling under their touch. “Maybe he’s always thought you were dead.”

“I w-was,” Chris whispers “When I, I, I was Baldur. When I was training. When... when I... was good. I was dead.”

“Chris-”

“I was dead,” Chris says, and they kiss his head, helpless to think of anything else to do. “When my p-parents died, I died, too. Mr. Malley made m-me feel like I I I wasn’t. Why didn’t he kn-know me? Why didn’t a-anyone know I was alive?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

“Hurts,” Chris whispers. “Why, why, why didn’t anyone help me before she she she-... before I was-... why didn’t anyone help me?”

Laken’s own eyes burn, and they draw circles on his scalp with their fingertips. “I can’t answer that,” They say, low and soft. “I’m sorry. But you know you have people who can and will help you now.”

For a while, Chris’s only sounds are sobs, and Laken can only make soft soothing nonsense noises and feel like shit that it’s not enough.

“Ev, everyone knew she-she hated me,” Chris whimpers, and sounds younger than he ever has, and Laken wants to throw a punch or scream and they can’t do either, only sit in the car and glare at people who look in as they walk past. “Everyone.”

“Chris-”

“Everyone knew, why, why, why why why didn’t they stop her?”

Back in the coffeeshop, Sean and Cilly are in the midst of an argument about a baseball game that happened 30 years ago when his phone rings. He holds up one finger and picks it up, lifting it to his ear.

“I have a job for you,” Riley says, with his cheerful hint of brogue. Funny, to remember that this part of the family only came here a few decades ago. “It’s a job I know you’ll enjoy.”

“Watching Paul’s boy is my retirement gig,” Sean says amicably. “You know I don’t do the dangerous stuff any longer, Mr. Higgs.”

There’s a silence. “I’m going to do some looking into what you sent me. But in the meantime I need to give you a job, and you’re going to do it.”

“And why is that, Mr. Higgs?”

“Because you’re going to want to do this.”

“What is it, then?”

Another pause.

“I want you to find Joanne Botham.”

Sean thinks of the dour, angry woman who had ignored Tristan in his funeral suit, gathering mourners around her while she sobbed over Ronnie’s loss, Ronnie’s own son alone on a couch staring off into space until Sean himself had sat down and told him, don’t let ‘em say your mom’d be proud of you bein’ stoic today, kiddo. Ronnie’d want you to scream if you felt the urge.

The kid had looked at him like he’d been given water in the desert, a starving man offered a bowlful of broth. Mr. Malley?

People will say a lot of real stupid stuff to you today, Sean had said. His eyes had gone to Joanne Botham, and Ronnie’s sister’s icy glare when she looked at her own nephew had made his blood run cold with anger even then. Likely in the future, too. But you just remember Paul and Ronnie weren’t saints. And they’d never want you to be, either. I’m sorry for your loss, Tris. No one on God’s earth has loved their kid like yours loved you. Should’ve seen his face when he told us your mom was pregnant with you. Could’ve lit the world with all the sunshine there.

A clap on the back, a whispered thank you, and that had been the last day Sean Malley had ever seen Tristan Higgs alive.

Until, of course, Riley had told him there was a boy living in a pet liberation safehouse who looked remarkably like Paul. Until, of course, Riley had shared that he’d known Tristan Higgs was alive all along. Until, of course, Sean had been told he couldn’t make a move because WRU was protecting all the players who had stolen his friend’s kid.

Until... now.

“Mr. Higgs?” His voice drops, and Cilly sits up, alarmed at the sudden change in tone.

“You heard me. Find Joanne Botham. I have a feeling we are about to get the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

The phone goes dead on the other end, and Sean slowly sets it down, finishing his second cup of coffee in a gulp. Then he looks at Cilly, and starts to smile.

“Riley’s got work for us,” He says, and when Cilly’s eyebrows raise he doesn’t wait for him to ask for more. “Don’t worry. You’re going to like it. Finally get to do what we should have done ten fucking years ago.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

#whump #speak out arc #chris the strawberry blond romantic #emotional whump #grief tw #referenced parental death #referenced past whump of a minor #referenced murder #memory loss #memory recovery #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #hi made myself cry during chris's part towards the end wheeeee

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angelicamerlinbarnes · 3 years

Text

On the topic of “mass murderer” Sirius Black...

Sirius is a serial killer. The Marauders all knew this. Sometimes they talked him down. Sometimes they helped. So really, he probably would have ended up in Azkaban eventually… but James, Lily, and Peter? He didn’t kill them.

James finds out first. They’re having a sleepover when they’re eleven and James wakes up to go the bathroom when he realizes Sirius isn’t beside him. He wanders around the house trying to find him and eventually ends up outside in the rain, where Sirius is dragging a dead man across the yard. He looks up at James and grins, running over to hug him. James looks down at Sirius’ blood-soaked hands, swallows, and asks if he needs help with the burial. Sirius just beams and sets the body on fire, laughing with glee as it burns. James is fucking terrified, but he never tells, and he doesn’t think it will happen again. (James could never give up his brother, so he doesn’t tell.)

Regulus finds out second. One night Sirius and their parents are having another fight, and Sirius is getting more and more agitated. What pushes him over the edge is when Orion says that Regulus will be a good son and take the Dark Mark. Sirius screams, “Over my dead body!” and shoots two stunning spells, their parents bound before him. Smiling down at them sickeningly, Sirius approaches with a knife and slits their throats. The blood still on his hands, he looks up at Regulus, destroys the knife with magic, and smiles. “Ready to go home, Reg?” He asks, holding out a hand, and a speechless Regulus takes it and follows without a word. (This proved that Sirius would never hurt Regulus, so they don’t tell.)

Peter finds out third. One night James and Sirius disappear from the dorm. It’s before they become Animagi and it’s a full moon, so Remus is down at the Shrieking Shack alone. Peter uses the Map to find Sirius and James in the woods, James watching as Sirius uses magic to dig a hole for the body next to him. There’s a Slytherin tie hanging off the body though the face is unrecognizable. Sirius is grinning and James is smiling, albeit a bit worriedly, as he watches him. Peter sneaks back into bed and doesn’t mention what he saw, but the next morning, they are all called to an assembly about a missing Slytherin student who was last seen hexing some first years yesterday. Peter glances over at Sirius, sees he’s smiling, and swallows, his hands tightening in his lap. (Peter’s scared for his life, so he doesn’t tell.)

Remus finds out fourth. Some Slytherins find out about Remus’ lycanthropy when they see him limping out of the Shrieking Shack in the morning, bleeding from the few new scars Sirius couldn’t fix. They start to poke fun at him, asking him what he’ll do when they tell everyone and he gets expelled, and Remus cowers under James’ arm and squeezes Peter’s hand as he readies a retort. Before he can say anything, however, the three Slytherins are twitching on the ground and Sirius is hissing threats at them as he turns each of them to ash. He then conjures a wind to blow the ashes away, and turns back to the others with a grin. James looks tired, Peter looks sick, and Remus looks terrified. Sirius’ smile falters and he starts to apologize when Remus stumbles forward into his arms, pushing his face into Sirius’ chest and breathing him in. Sirius folds his arms around his boyfriend and kisses his head. (Remus loves Sirius too much, so he doesn’t tell.)

Dumbledore finds out fifth. Sixth year rolls around and after the Prank, the remaining three Marauders confide in Dumbledore about Sirius’... habit. Obviously he doesn’t believe it, but it alarms him enough to start watching. One day he follows Sirius out of Hogwarts and into Hogsmeade, where Sirius starts a violent fight against three anti-werewolf Ravenclaws. One of them runs away (that’s the real Ravenclaw, being smart), but Sirius offers the other two no mercy. He slits their wrists and watches them bleed into the snow for a few minutes before sighing and casting a spell that freezes their lungs. He stares at their bodies for a little while before using magic to summon acid that eats their bodies. He then wanders back to Hogsmeade, leaving Dumbledore to stare at the decaying corpses of two of his students. (Dumbledore knows that killers are useful in war, so he doesn’t tell.)

Severus finds out sixth. Sirius targets him one night. Severus is walking the halls doing rounds when Sirius corners him and presses his wand to his throat with a manic look in his eyes. Severus regards him calmly, having already guessed at Sirius’ unstable mentality, but this only serves to agitate Sirius more. Still, Severus can see how his hand is trembling. He tells Sirius he doesn’t want to be murderer. Sirius scoffs, answering cavalierly, “You think you’re the first person I’ve killed?” Severus smirks. “No. But I think I’d be the first one you regretted.” That gives Sirius pause. He hesitates for a moment, then pulls back entirely and lets Severus return to bed. They never speak of it again. (Severus knows there are far worse men than Sirius Black to be killers, so he doesn’t tell.)

Mcgonogall finds out seventh. Sirius arrives to detention late and drenched in blood. The other Marauders are quiet, not rushing to his side like they would normally, though they all watch him nervously. Mcgonogall, alarmed, started fussing over him and asking why he would come here instead of going straight to Madame Pomfrey. Sirius just grins, and with twinkling eyes says, “It’s not my blood, ma’am.” Mcgonogall steps back, alarmed, and asks whose it is then. Sirius tilts his head to the side, his crazed grin widening. He answers, “That visiting Ministry official. The one who harassed you. You remember.” Mcgonogall swallows and nods, then points him to where Remus is with a shaky finger, instructing him to help the others and telling him they will talk about this later. Sirius’ eyes flicker and his smile drops off his face as he whispers, “Please don’t be mad at me, Minnie. I can’t… I can’t help it.” Mcgonogall doesn’t answer. Sirius walks dejectedly over to the others, where Remus embraces him and starts frantically whispering in his ear as James’ hands flit over his body and Peter sneaks nervous glances at Mcgonogall. (Mcgonogall cannot take yet another good thing from Remus Lupin, so she doesn’t tell.)

Lily finds out eighth. After Hogwarts, settled into a comfortable marriage with James and Severus, Lily is worried about some recent murders. Harry isn’t even a year old, and the murderer seems to be targeting suspected Death Eaters (which Regulus and Severus are, as they’re spies for the Order who have the Dark Mark). But James assures her they’re safe, though he won’t explain why. When Sirius shows up in the Floo after a mission, Lily pulls him aside and relays her worries to him. She asks him to talk some sense into James, and Sirius just cocks his head with a smile and says, “I would never kill your husband or my sibling. Or you or your son.” Lily goes white with understanding, backing away from Sirius as he watches her with sad eyes. James and Severus come back in and talk her down, telling her everything. But Lily won’t touch Sirius anymore. (Lily wants to know that her son has the best protection possible, so she doesn’t tell.)

Even after Sirius is locked up in Azkaban, the others know he isn’t responsible. As somewhat of a reassurance, Sirius insisted to each person who found out his secret that they make an Unbreakable Vow. They were to promise absolutely nothing to him, but he swore he would never hurt them. When he completed Lily’s, he also swore never to hurt Harry or any of their children. So when Harry’s third year rolled around, Sirius was at large, and everyone was saying he was to kill Harry… Severus and Remus knew better.

And above all, no one told Harry about Sirius’ habit. Only those eight people ever know. Sirius dies, to the public, an innocent man.

#serial killer #dark au #dark marauders #dark sirius black #sirius black #marauders #wolfstar #nonbinary regulus black #james x lily x severus #dysfuntional family #yeah...#sorry?

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mt-words · 3 years

Text

Ranboo is one of the most successful L’manburg presidential candidates ever and he never even officially ran.

Let’s look at his campaign goals and promises.

Values-

• Primes- reached most subbed to twitch streamer.

• Clout- see above.

• Women- respects all the female streamers on the SMP.

• Funny- obviously.

• Banger tweets- has publicly murdered multiple people with sass.

• Sam- self explanatory.

Type of Government-

• Whichever one works :) - having a government never worked out well for L’manburg and now they don’t have one, so… I call that a win.

Outlaw-

• Arson- our first failure. To be fair his chances weren’t great.

• Tommy- exile.

• Racism- L’manburg is gone now and can therefore no longer be racist if it tried.

• No childenrrren- I’ve never seen a childenrrren, have you? Didn’t think so, that’s a success.

• Killing pets/ Sapnap- Since L’manburg is no longer a place (crater doesn’t count) Sapnap can’t go there anymore, therefore he’s been effectively outlawed.

• Boats just for Dream because he needs to learn how to walk- When was the last time you saw Dream in a boat? Guarantee it has been at least two months.

• Heart attacks- no one has had one since he joined the SMP.

• Ranboob- Tommy is a variable, this goal is doomed to failure.

Relaw-

• Untax Niki- She’s no longer being taxed.

• Ranboo day- I mean, it hasn’t not happened? It could be coming up?

• Techno shack- made a shack next to Techno’s house.

• Accidental muder- has been committed and gone unpunished multiple times, seems relawed to me.

• Make Big Q’s clothes mandatory- He showed up to the Disk War finale naked, unfortunately that’s a failure.

o And Dream too- depends on if this is in reference to him changing his skin or not wearing armor.

General Promises

• Recrown Eret King- yep.

• National Anthem will now be a mix of all star and ymca- strike four, I don’t think I can stretch this one.

• New Flag- strike five.

• Beach episode- the pirate treasure hunt.

• GIVE TECHNO SOME FRIENDS- He has Philza, Ranboo, and Niki now. It’s a good start.

• Make a bank- It’s being worked on.

Goals

• Kill Georgenotfound- I don’t think he’s done this? Correct me if he has.

• Punt Tommy- again, was involved in him being outlawed.

• Give Philza Elytra- failed so far, but it looks like it will happen when he dies. So.

• Give Fundy a dad- Eret sort of adopted him? It didn’t really get followed up on.

• Give Tubbo bees- he did get a hive.

• Somehow make Wilbur even more dead- is currently trying to kill Dream so Wilbur and Schlatt can never come back.

• Find Sally and figure out how the heck THAT happened- failed, but to be fair I’m not sure even Wilbur knows.

• PROTECT THE L’MANTREE- This aged poorly.

• Make TECHNO swear- close but not yet.

• MAKE PURPLED ORANGE- The egg messes with colors, we’ll see?

• Give Tommy his view- they’re making a tower with a great view of the Prison.

• Tax Punz- don't think this has happened yet.

• GIVE GEORGE AN ALARM CLOCK- can’t be done, the universe would break.

• Give Eret some rest- they took a break for a while.

• LET TECHNO AND NIKI SPEAK- they both have room to talk with the Syndicate

• Make new explosives- nukes.

• Enable rain- it has been fixed.

• MAKE MUFFIN A CURSE- multiple streamers on the Dream SMP use muffin to swear now.

• MAKE GEORGE FOUND- George is doing Lore now?!?

Get Money- is now one of the richest members of the server.

• Pyramid scheme/ Girl scout ccokkjgiers- can you prove he hasn’t?

• BAKERY THAT ONLY STEALS MONEY- Ice cream shop, but close enough.

• MERCH- has made merch.

Speech promises-

• Be a better president than any previous by not being in the smp- failed on the day he made the speech. I guess his promises were just too good.

#some of these are scarily specific #like the make new explosives?#I completely forgot about that!#And there are still more goals he could accomplish #the list isn't done yet #maybe i'll update this when everything is completed or impossible to complete #ranboo 2021 #ranboo #l'manburg #ranboo for president #dream smp #mt's words #ranboo appreciation

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 3 years

Text

In Light Of Recent Events

Remember that amazing writing prompt about summoning the god of war and a teenager showing up? Original post here

Well, due to certain things that happened yesterday, I wrote a mini-fic that’s a similar thing, but with the Dream SMP

Fic under the cut

When the residents of Mizu decided to summon the idol of war, they weren't expecting a kid.

His eyes were a cloudy gray with barely a hint of blue, and he wore a simple red and white t-shirt.

The only indication that he was anything other than human came in the form of the sparks that surrounded him, like lightning, or half-forged metal.

The captain stepped forward with practiced reverence. It wasn't every day that summoning an idol actually worked (in fact, this was the first success in, well, ever). Then again, it wasn't every day that you asked for a war god and got a gangly teenager.

"Excuse me, are you sure you're in the right place? It's just-we sort of asked for Technoblade. You know, the idol of war?"

The teenager said something, but his normally booming voice was small and cracked from disuse. The captain frowned in confusion.

"Could you repeat that?"

"Technoblade is the idol of slaughter. Desolation, destroying everything and more before you even lose a thing. He was never in a real war in his life."

The captain turned to their enderman hybrid first mate, who shrugged before asking a question of their own.

"Well, what about Dream?"

The teenager stared at the crowd through his gray eyes for a while, before finally bursting into laughter. No one else joined in with him, making the whole thing a little unnerving.

When his snickering had finally stopped, he collected himself and answered the question.

"No, and you're an idiot. Dream is the idol of tactics and victory. Also cruelty, but you left that out in your little museum. Right?

Dream is only there for the end of wars. He only gets the last word, or the last kick, or the last little piece of leverage for his nest.

He doesn't do the less fun stuff.

The "dying on a floor because you got betrayed and you can't run or scream or turn to look at Wilbur" stuff.

The "living in a cold ravine and mistaking every sound for the enemy coming until you can't sleep anymore" stuff.

The "running through your city the third time it blows up, holding onto Tubbo's hand and praying that if the worst happens, you die first" stuff.

I guess I did die first.".

The first mate seemed disappointed by the answer, and it was a bit of a blow to his pride to be told off by a kid.

So, he narrowed his purple and yellow eyes and asked one final question.

"Who the hell are you, then?"

The sparks surrounding the teenager seemed to double in number, and the surrounding crowd noticed for the first time that his feet weren't quite touching the ground.

"My name is Tommy. Former right hand man, former brother, former soldier.

I had a uniform. It was blue, and white, and gold, and I was so proud to be fighting for freedom and our legacy.

I stepped up to fight Dream because I knew that it was the right thing to do, and because I had to win because that was what was supposed to happen to people who did the right thing.

I died under the bridge. Couldn't tell where the blood stopped and the water began.

I didn't want to be a hero. I never wanted to be a hero. I just wanted to be safe.

But I barely got a moment to catch my breath before I was in danger again, or the people I loved were in danger, or other people had decided I was the problem and needed to go.

I was helpless when my best friend got blown up as a sick demonstration.

I was helpless when my brother started spiraling and wanting to blow up the world we created.

I was helpless when he did just that, and died, and we didn't even give him a funeral.

I was helpless every time Techno decided to teach me a lesson through the exploding end of a wither, and all of this is nothing compared to what Dream did to me.”.

He paced in the air, fear and anger rising.

"He forced Tubbo to put me in exile, and he'd come over every day to explode my things and lie to me and convince me that I had no friends but him and make my life hell. It got so bad with him that I wanted to-"

He took a shallow breath, trying and failing to stay calm.

"I built a pillar. He blew up my house, and murdered my cow, and told me it was my fault. I kept apologising over and over to him so he'd stop destroying things, but he didn't, and then he left me all alone.

And I built a pillar. And I jumped off it."

His voice grew quieter again.

“I was 16.

I landed in the water. I chose to land in the water and left that place behind.

That wasn't the end of what that bastard did to me.

He blew up my country, raining TNT down even after it was already gone.

He tried to kill Tubbo, and I was helpless again.

I thought I was free when we put him in prison. I thought I'd get some closure, or a chance to breathe.

I thought I was going to be okay someday.

I went to visit him one last time. Just once. Just to tell him that he finally hadn't won.

I got trapped in there with him for a week. At least in exile I could run.

He killed me with his bare hands.

I died alone and bloody and scared.”.

The glass walls of Mizu began to shake as tears started to fall from Tommy's eyes.

"I was 16."

The captain raised their hands in an attempt at calming the boy down.

"I'm sorry that all happened. We just have a small request, and then you can be on your way. See, our peaceful city is under threat, and we were wondering if-"

"If I could fight for you?"

"We’re awfully sorry, but we need the power.".

Tommy looked at the captain, tears streaming down his face.

"If you want to know the "power" of war, go lose everything.

Be helpless. Be powerless, have people only like you when you're on their side or gone.

Never be safe. Never breathe.

Watch your friends and family and everything else you love die for a cause you can't even remember.

Fill your lungs with ashes and freezing water and blood. Then, you can call on my name.

How dare you."

The glass walls shook violently, small cracks starting to form. The first mate stepped forward, desperate.

"Please, we wouldn't have called unless we really needed you-"

"Need me? You need a soldier. You need a reliable cannon. You need someone to fight and bleed for you."

The oxygen warning sirens began to play over the speakers.

"I will never fight for anyone again."

Sparks flew all around the room as the warning repeated over and over.

With a final disdainful look at the first mate, the spirit of war rose up torwards the sky like he once did with a trident many years ago.

Tommy was free. The glass shattered behind him.

#dream smp #tommyinnit #c!tommy #dsmpblr #dsmp #dsmp tommy #i just happen to think that if tommy wanted to come back as a wrathful spirit #we should just let him #tw death #tw suicide #tw blood #his life was.....not great #the lost city of mizu #i decided to put in the mizu backstory because why not

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tera-vadai · 3 years

Note

Hello, my dear friend.Uhm.. you think you can write about comfort TDBKDK, after the current events of the manga? ThXs <:O

[Placed during the hospital arc, post-war events]:

That day the sun is nowhere to be seen, and instead, a closed gray sky spreads up above and as far as where the eye is capable to see. Dark clouds cluster together forming an impenetrable wall for the light of day to pass. A fitting (and ironic) sight for such grim times.

In the distance, a thunderous roar makes a harsh announcement.

It will rain soon.

He doesn't care though, his mind having more pending and cruel things to think about, so he stands in the hospital's rooftop, his mismatched gaze fixed in an invisible (and unreachable) point on the horizon.

The time passes, minutes, hours probably, it's all surreal, but Shouto just stays there, motionless and in silent contemplation.

Alone.

The city extends before him, busy civilians walking to catch the bus, honking cars stuck on the traffic. At first it appears that nothing has changed, but with a closer look one can see that that's not true at all. Things are more silent now, almost no heroes can be seen patrolling the streets; the people move cautiously, constantly checking their surroundings, like if they were expecting something bad to happen in any moment.

Given the recent events, those fears are justified, no place can be considered safe anymore. What happened that day has unleashed a chain reaction of unpredictable events that worsens with each passing day. This chaotic nightmare doesn’t seem to have an end...

Another thunder is heard, and more sooner than later, the rain droplets begin to fall mercilessly, concealing the tears he hadn't realized he was shedding.

Still, he doesn't care. He doesn't have the energy to do so, not when his family's past has already been exposed in the way it did, all those wicked secrets laying now in the open, available for everyone to see, for everyone to judge... He can’t stop to rest knowing that his older brother has become a murderous villain and is somewhere out there, contributing to the crumble of the world...

Shouto is at a loss, not knowing what to do... what can he do...

(Can things even be fixed at this point?)

He looks at his bandaged hands, felling useless, powerless, and choking back a sob, he slowly falls to his knees, overwhelmed by the many dreadful thoughts that plague his mind, and that, at times, appear to be slowly pushing him to insanity...

The water feels cold against his skin, that sensation helps to keep him centered and (partially) aware of his surroundings, but that doesn’t help to lessen the pain nor solace his silent despair.

It’s until he doesn’t feel the rain hitting his body anymore when he finally realizes that at some point he stopped being alone. An umbrella now covers his form, shielding him from the rain.

"If you stay like this, you’ll catch a damn cold," the blond boy before him reproaches.

“Sorry, it’s just... I... I need a moment," Shouto answers quietly, his eyes still glued to the floor.

“We know,“ a green-haired figure joins them, and crouches besides the bicolored boy, “but you were taking a bit, so we decided to come and check on you,” he informs, gently placing a hand on Shouto’s shoulder.

That gesture is enough to finally make him raise his gaze, and face his friends. Yet for a moment, the touch almost makes Shouto flinch, his blood mildly boiling when he remembers the hurt caused by the deception of the person he had trusted so much into, but almost inmediatly he dismisses all those poisonous thoughts. He is tired of arguing.

At this point, so many revelations have drained him. The conversation of a few days back is still haunting him, more negative emotions that have piled up inside of him. He discovered he got lied, and in response he shouted, he got angry, he may have punched a wall or two, and he also cried.

(These days he has been crying a lot, hasn't he?)

Still, once explained, he was able to understand his friend’s actions, and seeing the worry and the honest regret in Izuku’s eyes made the negative feelings go away almost entirely. After all, he couldn’t be mad at him forever. Not when they needed each other more than ever.

“I’m as fine as I can be.“

That clearly means he is not okay, and he can tell that his friends have noticed. But he also knows that everyone is hurting, not only him. The war has affected all of them, so he considers it selfish to burden his friends with more worry because of his fault.

"You don’t need to be here... you’ll get sick too," he offers, as if with that excuse he could get them to leave.

But obviously they stay.

"You are fucking crazy if you think you can get rid of us, because we are not going anywhere without you,” the blond announces, “we are not going to leave you alone.”

Izuku nods, supporting the motion, "We promised it, didn’t we?"

"We are here."

"With you."

A lump forms in Shouto’s throat, and his eyes get wet, (because he knows that this time their words are sincere). With no more secrets between them, and having to face a world full of uncertainties, it’s reassuing to know that he can trust in them, and that they can trust in him.

He tries to wipe the tears that blur his vision. There’s so many things he wants to say, to thank his friends, to express how much he appretiates their support (and company), but his voice breaks before he can do it, and his next attempt is interrupted by a hug from the freckled boy. Then Bakugou crouches too, joining them, and soflty begins to ruffle the crying boy’s hair.

"You are kind persons too, you know?"

Shouto is not alone, none of them are, they have each other. They are together in this.

And that’s the most important thing that they must engrave in their mind if they want to fix the mess that has put the world upside down.

(Because after the rain, the sun always shine again).

--🍰💥🥦--

I have been working on this since when we were right at the start of the hospital arc in the manga and still ignored... so many things, so this drabble contains many speculation I had at the time and, as a consequence, doesn’t exactly match the canon events (something I have decided to partiatly ignore as well), so, this is my take had the post-war events in the hospital had happened differently, but still, I hope you can enjoy this little re-imagined thingy, and also, I apologize for taking so long to complete your request @weny4r ;-;💔

Now, talking about the manga, I think comfort TDBKDK is right what we need in these trying times 🤧🥺 Thank you so much for your request ^^💖

#tdbkdk #todobakudeku #hurt/comfort #bnha #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bnha manga spoilers #drabble #writing request #canon divergence #Tera writes #my writing #🍰💥🥦

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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: 5,895

Chapter Warnings: swearing, violence, blood, choking, attempted murder, manipulation, and references to past abuse

Chapter Summary: Wilbur and Tommy speak to Dream. It doesn’t go fantastically (though Wilbur does beat him up, so there’s that).

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

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

Chapter Six: hide your soul out of his reach (ii)

Most people never think to guess that he is Technoblade’s brother.

There is a reason for that, of course; they are both adopted, for one thing, and they look nothing alike, which is why he used to like to say that they were twins. It was always funny, to watch Techno roll his eyes and get all exasperated and try once again to explain to him that that’s not how twins work, Wilbur, and it would always make him feel warm inside, because no matter his irritation, Techno never quite got around to saying that they’re not.

But whether by blood or no, he is Technoblade’s brother, and he has something of the Blade in him, something of his simmering rage, something of his inclination toward violence, the urge for blood howling in his soul, screaming at him to protect what is his.

And so.

“Hi, Tommy,” Dream says. “It’s good to see you,” and Wilbur is moving without having given himself permission to do so, a wordless snarl curling in the back of his throat. For a moment, he forgets where he is, forgets what he’s here for, forgets who he has at his side. His attention is focused on one thing and one thing only, and he launches himself forward, and the sudden sting in his knuckles as they impact porcelain is nothing in the face of the grunt that Dream lets out, surprised and pained. A crack rings through the room, and he withdraws his hand to see a new break in Dream’s mask, a new fracture, and nothing is so satisfying as the knowledge that he put it there.

Dream is staggering back, seeking to regain his balance. Wilbur regards him for a moment, his head strangely clear, and then decides not to let him.

They go down in a heap, Dream’s head bouncing off the hard obsidian floor with a gratifying thunk. Wilbur lands squarely on top of him, and his fist flies once, twice, three times. Into his mask, over and over, and the cracks widen, and the mask is breaking, and he wants to see it shattered, wants to see it come to pieces—

There is someone saying something, someone shouting. He’s not paying attention. They can wait.

Because then, Dream starts to laugh.

And the thing about it is, it doesn’t sound like what Wilbur knows his laugh is, that wheezing tea kettle noise that everyone always made fun of him for.

(gentle teasing, back in the old days, back when they were all friends, when this server was a safe place, a good community, back before it all went wrong, and perhaps he should wonder what happened to make that Dream into the monster that he is now, but he hurt Tommy and he doesn’t care)

Instead, it’s quiet and low and steady, and there is a smugness to it, a superiority even under the breathlessness, as if this is where he wants to be, as if everything is going according to plan, some plan of his, going right even though Wilbur is sitting on his chest and doing his level best to beat his face in, and—

How dare he have the nerve

(how dare he have the nerve)

to laugh

(to laugh when he’s just destroyed everything around him)

after all that he’s done

(and leveled the very thing that he fought so hard to reclaim but if he cannot have it nobody can and he laughs for the joy of it, the terrible, terrible joy)

to everyone, to the server, to Tommy?

He made a list, when he woke up. He made a list. And he’s accomplished the first goal. He’s found Tommy. And his mind is separating, splitting in half, and one half has control of his body and one is watching from the outside, and the one with his body takes his hands and puts them to Dream’s throat. He can feel his pulse, rabbit-quick. His skin is warm to the touch.

He presses down, and Dream stops laughing.

The half of him that is watching begins to scream with a voice that sounds like his father’s. Begins to shout, asks him,

(can you kill a man in cold blood?)

and the answer is

(yes)

because he knows what monsters are, knows that he has one pinned beneath him, and he knows that he is one too, and only a monster can kill another monster. He will suffocate the life from him, and the world will be better for it. He will suffocate the life from him, and Tommy will be safe.

It’s one of the easiest decisions he’s ever made.

But someone is still shouting, shouting words that enter one ear and rattle around in his skull and fade away without making any kind of sense, and he ignores them. Except then, he can’t, because there are hands on his shoulders, hands trying to pull him back and away, and he resists them, doubles down, places more pressure on his stranglehold, because he wants Dream gone and he wants Dream dead and he’s not going to stop until he’s paid in full—

“—bur, please!”

But Tommy sounds scared.

Like a rubber band released, he comes back together again. His grip goes slack. He allows Tommy to pull him off.

“You can’t—” Tommy is saying, is babbling, and he has tears in his eyes, and it doesn’t make sense for him to be crying, because Dream was the one who hurt him, so he should want Dream gone, right? “Wil, you can’t, you can’t kill him, we need him, we need to talk to him, and he doesn’t, he doesn’t deserve to die, Wil, he doesn’t, so you can’t—”

“Doesn’t he?” he asks, and is surprised by the hollowness of his own voice.

Tommy falls completely silent. For a long minute, the only sound in the cell is Dream wheezing, coughing, struggling for air.

“I don’t know,” Tommy says, and he sounds so miserable that Wilbur regrets asking the question. “Maybe. I mean, I think about stabbing him every time I see him. But I—I don’t want him dead, alright? He’s in prison, and he can’t hurt anyone anymore. So I don’t want him to die.”

He hurt you, Wilbur doesn’t say. He’s still hurting you.

Because Tommy is pale and trembling, his hands shaking where they’re still gripping Wilbur’s shoulders. Because there is a waver in his voice that is wrong, that doesn’t belong, that Wilbur has heard only a handful of times before. Because sometimes, Wilbur will look at him, and his eyes will be far too old, older than any sixteen-year-old’s should be, and part of that is on him, he knows, he knows, but Dream is responsible for so much of the rest.

“I don’t want him to die,” Tommy repeats, and Wilbur realizes that he’s been silent for too long, that Tommy must have taken it as disagreement. “And I don’t want you to kill him, okay? Not like—not like this.”

He’s not entirely sure what that’s supposed to mean.

He opens his mouth, and no sound comes out. So he clears his throat and tries again, and he’s not sure why he’s so hoarse, since he wasn’t the one being strangled, but his voice is a croak.

“Fine,” he says. “But you can’t—if he so much as looks at you wrong, I’m not about to fucking hold back. You get that, right? I’m not letting him—I wasn’t there when it counted. So I’m gonna make it count now. I’m doing my damnedest to make it count now. So if he does anything, I’m not letting it go. I’m not letting him do shit.”

Tommy’s hands tighten. For a second, Wilbur thinks he sees tears in his eyes, but then he blinks, and they’re gone, so perhaps it was his imagination. He has to think it was his imagination, because otherwise he’s going to lose his mind. Because Tommy doesn’t cry. Almost never cries. And if he cries now, it’s either because Wilbur’s fucked up massively, which is bad, or it’s because Wilbur has done something right but it’s overwhelming him because he’s not used to things going right, which would be worse. So much worse.

“Okay,” Tommy says. “Yeah. I—thanks, Wilbur.”

“Not to interrupt,” Schlatt says, and Wilbur flinches with his entire body. He’d forgotten that Schlatt was here, and now Tommy’s looking at him in confusion, and now is not the time for this. Now is definitely not the time for this. Schlatt is over by the entrance, he thinks, but he doesn’t dare turn to look. That’s too obvious. “Because this is very touching and I’m real happy for you, but he’s up again.”

He draws in a breath. And looks past Tommy. Dream is on his feet.

He exhales.

“I won’t kill you,” he says, and his voice is far cooler, far steadier than he feels, “because Tommy doesn’t want me to. That’s it. That’s what’s keeping you alive right now.” And he stands, and Tommy stands with him, shifting to be at his side rather than in front of him.

Dream inclines his head. “I get it,” he says, and Wilbur feels a vicious spark of delight at how terrible he sounds. “Thank you, Tommy.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tommy snaps. “I’m not doing it for your sake. You great green bastard.”

“It’s been pretty boring since the last time you visited,” Dream continues, as if he hadn’t spoken, and if Wilbur couldn’t hear the evidence in his voice, he would assume that the last few minutes hadn’t happened, either. Since when was Dream this unflappable? That’s not the Dream that he remembers.

(he remembers more than one Dream. he remembers the Dream who invited them to his server, who offered them a home and friends, who played war games with Tommy and Tubbo but was always so very gentle with them, who was considerate and funny and someone Wilbur was glad to call a friend. he remembers the Dream who fought against the independence of L’Manberg, cunning and bitter and angry and loud about it. he remembers the Dream who sided with Pogtopia, who always sounded as though he was smiling, laughing at all of them, like they were all a great joke whose punchline had yet to be told. he remembers the Dream who gave him the TNT, who told him to blow them all sky high, and the way his blood sang in anticipation in return and Dream knew, then, he knew what Wilbur was planning, he could tell by that damn smile)

(Ghostbur remembers the Dream of Tommy’s exile. but Ghostbur didn’t know any better than to like him, and he can’t trust memories that are colored by that)

“Tough shit,” Tommy says, more confident now, and if he thinks he has the lead on this, Wilbur’s content to let him take it. “We’ve got questions and you’re going to answer them.”

“What makes you think I have answers?” Dream asks, and—

Is he always this purposefully obtuse?

He glances at Tommy’s face, takes in the frustration written there, the resignation. Apparently so.

“If you don’t think you can help us, then we’ll just leave,” Tommy says, and it’s an odd statement, but apparently, Tommy knows what he’s doing, because Dream takes a step forward. Just one, though, and Wilbur would like to think that he knows better than to get any closer.

“I can help,” he says. “I’m glad you came to me. What’s the question?”

Silence falls for a moment. Tommy’s eyebrows go up, and Wilbur chances a glance back at Schlatt. He’s still hovering near the entrance, by the lava, and its glow permeates through his figure, a bit, rendering him translucent. His eyes are narrow, fixed on Dream.

At least he’s taking it seriously.

“Right,” Tommy says. “You’re going to make me spell it out, then. You said you could bring back Wilbur. That’s pretty much the whole reason why we left you with your third life. But, and I don’t know if you noticed this, but here he is, see? So how the fuck did you do something from in here, or if it wasn’t you, who the hell was it?”

“I did notice, actually,” Dream says, more than a bit wryly. “Hi, Wilbur, by the way. Nice to see you again.”

“I think that you should drown yourself in your sink,” Wilbur replies with an easy smile.

“So, that’s the question?” Dream says, ignoring him once again. “You want to know how I did it?”

“And why,” Tommy puts in. “Why would be good to know too, since I didn’t ask you to. You know.”

“I do know,” Dream agrees. “I have to say, I was kind of surprised at that. I thought you wanted your brother back?”

Tommy sputters. “Wha—of course I do! Did,” he tacks on, with a sidelong glance at Wilbur. “Uh, ‘cause I don’t have to anymore, because he’s here. Look, could we stay on track?”

“Sure, sure,” Dream says. “I mean, I’m not sure exactly how much I can tell you. Resurrection's a tricky business, you know. Lots of moving parts. And you get it if I don’t want to give away all my secrets. Do you want anything to eat? I can’t give you much in the way of variety, but I thought I’d offer.”

There’s something about this that Wilbur doesn’t like.

“No, we don’t want your fucking—your fucking raw potatoes,” Tommy says. “That’s disgusting, and you are a sad, pathetic man because that’s all you have to eat. Wilbur, isn’t he a sad, pathetic man?”

He nods absently. He should be chiming in. He shouldn’t be making Tommy do all the work, shouldn’t be making Tommy confront Dream himself. But there is something creeping over his mind, a nameless dread, stealing his words. And under that, a realization, one that makes no sense at all but that he is increasingly certain is right.

“You’re saying that like I have a choice,” Dream protests, sounding so mild, so even-keel, and it’s wrong, there’s something wrong with this picture. “Potatoes is all I’m given. Maybe if you talked to Sam and got him to give me something else, but unless you do that, it’s potatoes all the way.”

“I’m not getting you things,” Tommy says. “We’re not friends. You need to stop talking like we’re friends. We’re not friends, I don’t like you, I don’t like who I am around you, and I’m not talking to Sam about your fucking potatoes, Jesus Christ.”

“I mean, okay, but you can’t complain about the food when I try to give you some—”

They keep bickering. Wilbur’s only paying half of his attention to the conversation, only enough to make sure Dream doesn’t try to pull anything too terrible. The rest of him is frantically working, thinking, trying to puzzle out why this is pinging as so very off.

“I’m a good businessman, Wilbur,” Schlatt mutters, and Wilbur jumps, because he is right by his ear, the fucking stealthy ghost bastard. “I know stall tactics when I see them.”

“He’s stalling?” he asks, and only realizes his mistake when both Tommy and Dream look at him. But Schlatt is right; Dream is stalling, has been going out of his way to change the subject and goad Tommy into an argument, and that means— “You’re stalling. You’ve got no fucking clue what’s going on, do you?”

Dream laughs. “Oh, come on now,” he starts, but Wilbur’s got his number now, and he’s not going to allow him space to breathe or to spin a lie.

“No,” he presses, “none of that. No potatoes, no fucking with Tommy’s head, no games. I’m not playing games. You would’ve been so quick to gloat, if you had been the one to do this. So quick to hold it over our heads. And even if you hadn’t, but you knew who did, you would’ve dangled that information in front of us like a, a fucking carrot on a stick. Instead you’re rambling about your food and trying to pick a fight. You didn’t know I was alive until I stepped foot in this cell, did you?”

Dream is silent. His mouth is thin. There is a stream of blood slowly trickling out from under his mask.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says. “Holy shit. You bastard.”

“Well then,” Wilbur says, “I think we’re done here. Tommy, do you think we’re done here?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, shaking his head. “Yeah, I think we are.”

He turns to call out to Sam, to tell him that they’re ready to leave, but there are footsteps, and he wheels around again to see that Dream has moved closer, far too close for his liking and far too close to Tommy.

(there is something)

“Okay, maybe I don’t know why Wilbur’s back,” he says, “but don’t you think that’s concerning? It could’ve been anything, with any goals. I could help you figure it out.”

Tommy winces, and Wilbur once again feels the urge to drive his fist into Dream’s face, to put his hands around his neck and squeeze. He refrains, if only because of the look that it put on Tommy’s face the last time, the fear it put in his voice.

(there is something very wrong)

“We don’t need your help,” Wilbur jumps in before Tommy can answer.

“Right, yeah, we don’t—Sam! Sam, we’re ready to go!” Tommy calls.

“You say that now,” Dream says scornfully. For a second, Wilbur fears that he’s going to try to come forward more, to make an attempt to get out when Sam comes for them. But instead, he stands where he is, crossing his arms. “I know things about this server that no one else does. You need me.”

“We need you like we need a heart attack,” Tommy snaps. Beside him, Schlatt mutters something inaudible.

“Maybe you do,” Dream says, and then, inexplicably, his tone lightens. “I hope you visit again. I like seeing you. And this is the first time I’ve had so many visitors at once, so this was fun. We should do it another time.”

“I think that you should shut up and stop talking now,” Wilbur says, eyeing the lava as it continues to flow over the entrance. Is it taking too long? How many seconds has it been? Sam is there, isn’t he?

“Well, you three are always welcome to come back,” Dream says. “I’ll be here. Unless I’m not.”

Wilbur’s blood runs cold.

(can you see it?)

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Tommy demands. “You’ve got nowhere else to go. You’re going to be staying in here for the rest of your sorry fucking existence, and I’ll come back here to tell you all about all the fun things you’re missing out on because you decided to be a fucking dickhead toward all of the people that used to care about. How’s that, then?”

“As long as you visit,” Dream says mildly. He’s smiling. There is blood on his lips.

“He’s looking at me,” Schlatt whispers. “He’s looking at me, Wilbur, oh god oh fuck he is looking right at me, how the fuck is he—”

Dream tilts his head. Schlatt cuts off, making a choked sound.

“I’m still the admin of this server,” Dream says. “Putting me in a box doesn’t change that. So if you’ve got more questions, I’m happy to answer them whenever.” His smile broadens. “Not just about this, too. If the Egg ever starts being a problem, feel free to come to me. Not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

Finally, finally, the lava curtain drops. Sam is standing on the other side, entirely too far away, and the platform is approaching, entirely too slowly. Wilbur feels locked in place, mind ringing out with three, three, three. He shouldn’t know that. He should have no way to know that, admin or not. He shouldn’t—so how does he—?

(look closer look closer do you see it do you see it do you see there’s something wrong with)

“The Egg?” Tommy asks, and the platform is here. Tommy hesitates, clearly torn between staying and following this new line of questioning, and going. But then, he shakes his head vigorously. “No. No, we’re not doing this. Goodbye, Dream.” He strides out onto the platform.

Wilbur lingers a moment. Schlatt has disappeared.

Dream is staring at him. He can’t see his eyes, but he knows, deep in his soul, that they are boring into his.

So he turns on his heel and joins Tommy on the platform. It begins to move, and he can’t help the glance back over his shoulder. Dream is still there. Unmoving. And if he does make a motion, he doesn’t do it until they are across, until the lava has dropped back down, masking him from sight.

..........

The pressure in his chest lifts as they step outside. He sucks in a deep breath, relishing the fresh air in his lungs, air that is bright and clean and smells of grass rather than hard stone and the bitter heat of lava. The sun is bright in the sky, and he has to blink a few times to readjust to the light.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted,” Sam says.

“He’s a dickhead,” Tommy says, oddly quiet. “Didn’t really expect much.”

“Well, I’ll let you know if he says anything to me,” Sam says, and then winces. “Anything relevant, anyway. He talks a lot.”

Tommy snorts, looking away. “Tell me about it,” he says, and his demeanor is definitely strange, subdued. He seems better, less fidgety than when they were inside, but still not at ease. “Or don’t, actually. I don’t want to hear about what that sick, sick man tells you.”

“Probably for the best,” Sam agrees, and then turns to him. “It was nice seeing you, Wilbur. Welcome back to life, I guess.”

There are a multitude of ways he could respond to that. Thank you would be easiest, would be what’s expected. Part of him wants to answer with something snarky, something sarcastic, something that reveals just how much he appreciates being here, but he won’t do that, not with Tommy standing right there. He’s trying to be positive. Trying to be better, trying to at least pretend to be happy. For him. He needs to keep to that, especially now, after whatever the fuck that was in there. So, thank you it is, then, and he opens his mouth to say it, except what actually comes out is, “He can’t get out of there, can he?”

Sam is silent for a long moment. His face does something that Wilbur can’t quite interpret, not with the mask covering half of it, but his eyes go a little wider, his brows a little more furrowed. It’s almost like understanding, or perhaps pity, and Wilbur doesn’t like either option. He doesn’t want to be understood, not really, doesn’t want people to think they understand him before he expressly allows them to, and he has no use for pity.

(villains are not meant for pity, and he still has Dream’s blood on his knuckles)

“No,” Sam says. “As long as I live, he will never set foot outside this prison.”

He says it with such conviction that Wilbur has to believe him. But somehow, it doesn’t set him much at ease. He can’t stop thinking about it, what Dream said, what he implied that he saw, the way he stared, motionless and intent and predatory, in a way, even though he was weaponless and armorless and subsisting off of raw potatoes. He should hold no power, be no threat, and yet, Wilbur can’t make himself relax.

“Alright. Thank you, Sam,” he says. Sam nods.

“Of course,” he says. And then, he’s stepping away, heading back into those dark walls, to that swirling portal that opens for none but who the warden wishes. And then, he is gone.

“Right then,” Tommy says, after a beat of silence. “Home?”

“Yeah,” he says, and feels exhaustion settle in, that constant companion.

So they do. They go home. They run into no one on the way, once again, and Tommy notices his confusion about it this time and tells him that no one truly lives in the area anymore, not since L’Manberg’s third and final destruction, and Tommy says it in such an offhand way that he doesn’t have a good response to it. Doesn’t have a good response to the way he seems to accept its loss, as if it was inevitable, only natural that everyone should have up and left the area, and it’s true that Wilbur wanted the nation gone but he never wanted Tommy to suffer for it, not really.

(though he didn’t care who suffered in the end, in that room covered in buttons, his anthem, that glorious song scraped into the walls, the music crescendoing with the explosion and then the ringing, blissful silence)

(no, he didn’t care who suffered, by the end)

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say much, not until they’re back at Tommy’s house, the hole he dug out in the side of the hill and has made his own. He doesn’t know what to say, all of his old charisma failing him, so he watches Tommy for a little while as he knocks about his chests and goes to harvest a few carrots and rants about things that have been happening on the server lately, little things, minor things, things that conspicuously don’t involve Dream at all.

“Tommy,” he finally manages, “are you alright?”

Tommy stops where he is. “Course I am,” he says. “Wilbur, I’m a very big man, you know. It’s going to take more than one green bastard to unsettle TommyInnit.”

“It’s alright if he unsettles you,” he says. “Prime knows he unsettled the hell out of me.”

Tommy stares at him, and then looks away and into the chest he’s got open.

“Yeah,” he says, quieter this time, “I know.”

Wilbur waits.

“It’s just that—” Tommy says, “It’s just that I hate him, so much, and I hate what he does to me. He gets in my head so easily, even when I know to expect it. He’s so good at fucking with me, and I can’t stop him. And I tell myself, each time I go, that this’ll be the last time, this’ll be the time I put it all behind me, but then it’s a couple of weeks later and I go back again, because I think part of me misses him. How fucked up is that? I know exactly what he is, and part of me still wants to think he’s my friend.”

He says it all vehemently, but so very softly, like he’s trying not to hear it himself.

“It is fucked up,” he agrees, matching Tommy’s tone. “But that’s not your fault. It’s his.” He hesitates. “I’m sorry I made you go with me. I shouldn’t have.”

Tommy wheels on him, eyes suddenly blazing, and he slams the chest lid closed.

“You didn’t make me do shit,” he snaps. “Nobody makes me do shit. I do what I want. And I wouldn’t have felt any better if I knew that you were in there with him alone. Think that would’ve been worse, actually, so shut the fuck up about it.”

“I—” he starts, and then stops. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He needs to be better about this. Needs to be better about remembering that Tommy is more than capable of making his own decisions. He is a child still, and ought to be protected, but he doesn’t need coddling, doesn’t need babying. There is a fine line between those things, and it is a difficult one to walk.

“Of course I’m right,” Tommy says. “I’m always incredibly correct. You should stop apologizing so much, though, it’s weird. Or wait, actually, do it some more, tell me all about how I am very right and you, Wilbur Soot, are very wrong and dumb.”

It’s an obvious ploy to lighten the mood. He can’t bring himself to go along with it.

“Why did you stop me?” he asks. “Actually, though. Not because he didn’t deserve it or some shit. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Tommy scowls, his shoulders tensing.

“And what if I do?” he says. “Maybe he does deserve it. Doesn’t mean it should happen. I told you, I want to stab him really bad, but that doesn’t mean I do it. It wouldn’t be fair. Or very satisfying.” He crosses his arms, and for a moment, the image of him in the present is juxtaposed over a younger Tommy, in the exact same pose, arguing with Techno or Phil or him over some stupid, childish thing. Wilbur blinks, and the image is gone. “Besides, we did need him. To talk, that is, even if he turned out to be fucking useless.”

Alright, he can believe that.

(but he sounded so very scared, and)

“Did I scare you?” he blurts out. He regrets the words instantly, but he can’t take them back. “With what I did?”

He’s expecting Tommy to answer with a resounding denial, no matter what the truth actually is. He’s not expecting him to flinch.

(they are in that dark ravine and Tommy is conspiring with traitors and he’s screaming at him, half angry and half desperate to make him understand, to keep him on his side, to get him to see that they have each other and no one else, that no one else can be trusted, he’s screaming and he takes another step forward and he’s not expecting him to flinch)

“You didn’t see the look on your face,” Tommy says. “It reminded me—”

He cuts off, but Wilbur is capable of reading between the lines.

“I’m sorry,” he says, somewhat helplessly.

“You are better, right?” Tommy says. “I mean, really, you don’t—you don’t feel like you did back then, right?”

He’s trying to keep it casual, like it’s not a big deal, like he’s not desperately searching for the answer as to whether or not Wilbur is still insane.

Wilbur’s heart is doing something strange. Something that hurts. Or perhaps that’s just guilt.

“I am,” he says, “I am, I swear. I just—I saw him, and I couldn’t hold back. I know that how I was—how I was then, I don’t understand how you don’t hate me for it, but I look back, and I know now. I do. I’m sor—”

“I don’t need you to apologize again,” Tommy cuts him off. “I—I am actually very fucking sick of apologies, I’ll have you know. But I never hated you, Wilbur. I was really angry, after you—after you went and did that, but I didn’t hate you, and then I was sad, and I just wanted you back. The real you. And I was upset and angry because I knew I could never have that. Except I do now, right?”

“You do,” Wilbur says, because there is no other way he could possibly respond to that. “I swear, you do.” And he opens his arms, and after a second of hesitation, Tommy comes over and sits on the bed next to him, and slumps into his embrace, and Wilbur holds him against his chest because it’s all he can do.

(all he can do to hold him like this and hide from him that the darkness is not gone, that there is something in him that still calls for the destruction of everything and everyone for no reason other than why not, something in him that wants to pour oil over the world and light the match and take himself along with it, something in him that has broken once and will do so again, at the slightest provocation, something as fragile as a sheet of glass already cracked or a bird’s wing once fractured from the fall and never healed right)

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I wish I had been,” he says, ignoring Tommy’s request for no more apologies, ignoring the fact that wishes and could-have-beens and what-ifs are useful to exactly nobody. “Ghostbur wasn’t exactly a great help, I know—”

“Oi,” Tommy says, pulling away to look him in the face, “don’t insult Ghostbur. He was doing the best he could. Maybe he didn’t really understand a lot, but he was there. Even when nobody else really was. He was—he was better than nothing, you know? He tried to make people happy. So don’t make fun of him.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” he says, and for some reason, thinks about the flowers he still has. He’s not sure why he kept them, why he bothered to retrieve them from the locker at all. But he did, and he has them, and they’re the only thing in his inventory at all. Cornflowers. Blue.

(he tried to make people happy but he failed, didn’t he, so how much could he possibly have mattered? he failed in a different way from Wilbur-when-living, but he failed all the same, and that is another thing they have in common, loathe though he is to admit it)

Tommy seems content with this, and he leans forward again with a sigh.

“We’re gonna have to go check out that Egg, aren’t we?” he mutters into Wilbur’s shirt.

“What makes you say that?”

“Dream mentioned it,” Tommy says. “I hate letting him yank me around. But he could be involved with it, maybe. Could be trying to—to hatch something, or something like that. I wouldn’t put it past him. So we’ve got to go see what the thing is all about.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that you have to do anything,” Wilbur says. “You deserve a break. You don’t have to play hero.”

“I’m not playing hero,” Tommy murmurs. “I am a big damn hero. Never really got a choice in that, did I?” He pulls back again, letting Wilbur get a good look at the way his eyes have begun to droop. It’s no wonder; it’s been an exhausting day, even if it’s only late afternoon. It’s a good thing, really, because that means he doesn’t quite notice the twisted expression that Wilbur is sure is on his face. “No, but there are people I want to protect. My friends. Like Tubbo. And Sam. So we should go see the Egg and make sure it’s not gonna hurt them.”

Wilbur looks at him, at this child who has gone through more than any child should and has come out the other side still standing, still determined to help his friends, still loyal to a fault, and he wonders how he could ever have suspected him of turning against him. How he ever could have managed to fuck up with him so badly.

“Okay,” he says softly. “We can go see the Egg.”

Never again, he thinks. I swear to you, I’m not fucking up again. And ignores the dread that’s pooling in his heart.

They’ll go visit the Egg. Assuage their curiosity. And then, finally, perhaps, some peace.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #awesamdude #jschlatt #alivebur #glatt #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #canon says one thing about their dynamic and i say no <3

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silence-burns · 4 years

Text

Please Hate Me //part 37

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

The vast sitting area of the rooms was where Loki and you spent the rest of the night. It was a comfortable place, clad in silks and velvets, but there was a certain tension in the air that prevented you from enjoying it fully.

The sounds coming from outside, mostly from the wilderness of gardens beyond the balcony. They were nothing of what you might've experienced on Earth. The wild shrieks followed by soft cooing and voices unnervingly similar to child's laughter sent shivers down your spine whenever you tried to imagine what sort of creature might make them.

And how close it was.

There was fruit left on the table in a large bowl polished to the point of mirroring whatever came close to it. Some of them resembled in shape what you knew from Earth, but there were many that didn't.

You reached for a yellow roundish one and peeled the skin off. It had a sour taste of overripe mush.

Loki munched on small blue berries while he sat by the fire. He did his best to remain calm, but his foot kept twitching nervously every now and then.

"How many assassinations have you been through?" you asked when you sat next to him. He turned to let you put your head on his knees.

"Two for political reasons, back on Asgard. Some idiots thought they could wipe out the ruling dynasty and take over. There was one more when Thor and I have been sent as ambassadors to a place newly conquered and visibly unhappy about it. And one when I just didn't get along with some noble. To this day I have no idea why," he stated with a smile that said otherwise.

His finger followed the plane of your brow tenderly.

"Sounds like you were a dick to the wrong person. You have that effect on people."

"...could be."

A soft knock at the door ended the moment. You looked through the balcony. The colors began to shift.

A man you'd never seen before waited for you in the corridor. You weren't sure if he was a guard, but the thin, needle-like sword by his side suggested so. Or maybe no one there felt safe anymore.

Loki took your hand as you followed the silent man. He was as tall as the High Prince and the Queen, but of a slender build, almost as if he would break should any pressure be applied to his bones. What startled you the most was that you were finally able to see him clearly. The shadows still seemed to cling to him as a second skin, but there was no blurriness that made your head hurt like yesterday.

His sharp and cold eyes noticed you watching him. There was no softness to his features. The untamed darkness of his skin shifted wildly as a storm front would swallow the sky in endless hunger.

He guided you through winding paths between the pillars in shades of off-gray, partially hidden under the climbing ropes of tiny flowers. The breeze snuck between them, careful as to not make a sound.

The man led you to a terrace bathed in shadow from overhanging roses. Their thick thorns and sturdy branches intertwined savagely, forming a close-packed, unbreakable surface.

"High Prince." Loki bowed his head toward the lord waiting underneath the roses. You quickly followed suit. .

The guard left you without a word, walking away on silent, bare feet.

The High Prince wore a tunic of deep blues and intricate patterns of interlaced branches, or maybe animals, or maybe spiders with their long, thin legs creeping from behind whatever tried to run. The design shifted whenever you thought you finally grasped it. You turned your eyes away before it became impossible.

"Despite the outrage among my people," he said in a tone rich with shimmering starlight, "I still hope this mess can be solved bloodlessly. And quickly."

His head was close to the concentrated woven wall of thorns and roses above him. The Prince didn't seem to bother staying careful. His horns, painted with a silver dye, glinted sharply.

"We'll do our best," Loki promised. "What happened on the day of the murder?"

"Nothing beyond the usual. Asgard's ambassador had taken a liking to our library, and spent most of his days there, along with one of the librarian's assistants. And then one day, they were found right there, bloodied and cold." His hand moved. The long, spindly fingers were tipped with claws.

He motioned towards a niche under the overhanging roses. When you first entered the balcony, you thought it was bathed in dense shadow. But shadows could never be red.

"The lord had of course faded by the time his remains were found, and not much was left of him. We have moved the Asgardian’s… body to the rooms he used to occupy, and spelled it to remain intact had you any need to investigate it."

"We are terribly sorry for the loss," Loki said, watching the dark splotches of dried blood. Judging by their expanse, no one bothered to clean them.

You wondered if, in a world where its inhabitants simply faded, and their life energy was returned to the core of their world, they were surprised to see such a mess left. You looked up at the roses in full bloom, their flowers meaty and wide open to the endless light of the sky without sun.

The Prince followed your gaze.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" For the first time since arriving, he addressed you. "I have never seen them bloom. The assistant's link to the core wasn't strong, but even it was enough to revive a part of it."

Despite the warmth of the castle, you shivered. There was nothing human in the eyes regarding you with calculated care.

"We'll do our best to bring this matter to a swift end," Loki said, taking a casual step ahead, cutting through that stare. "And investigate everything thoroughly."

The smile he wore like an armor was edged and unpleasant. In a place where thoughts shaped reality, words could be knives, used carefully and meticulously.

"I hope so."

The High Prince left the balcony, his horns scratching the unyielding surface of roses. One of them was cut, and rained down in tears of red petals. The spiraling patterns of the lord's tunic seemed to look at you as he walked into the bright corridors with his hands clasped behind his back. There was something wrong with the shadows circling beneath his feet.

You let out a breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding. "I try really hard, but the longer we stay here, the harder it gets to find at least one normal thing in this place."

"I promise that once we're done here, I'll show you a world less… corrupted."

"I honestly can't wait."

You walked over to the place where two people you'd never get to know had their lives ended. There was nothing special about the crumbling stone, corroded by the passing of time and the shifting currents of energy in the air.

Loki reached into the depths of his magic in hope of finding any trace of whoever was behind it. But the Edge's magic was wild and tangled, and whoever paid a visit there, left no magical footprint.

Loki came closer and reached over your shoulder. The curtain of roses lifted a little, showing a hole where the balcony's railing should've been. Beneath it, the castle's wall was in a rough state, with pieces missing. You both looked down through it, toward the ground.

"I may not be an expert climber," you said, "but I have a feeling getting on this balcony through there wouldn't really be a problem."

"I am an expert climber, especially when it comes to castles," Loki judged the distance and crumbled stone, "and it definitely wouldn't. The only question is, why not actually use the stairs?"

"If I was a 7 foot tall High Prince with murderous intent, I'd prefer to stay out of people's sight too. And if I knew the whereabouts of the most hated person in my kingdom, I don't think it'd be hard to sneak into the place he passes on his way from the library every day."

"That sounds oddly specific, darling, and almost as if you suggest that the most important lord on the Edge wanted to murder that ambassador, but not in a way that would immediately start a war. Why do it sneakily and request an investigation? That sounds like extra steps leading nowhere."

"That is a hole in my theory," you admitted, walking away from the dried swaths of blood. "But you have to admit he acts a little off. Literally everything is suspicious about him. And it would actually make sense if he started murdering people in order to keep himself from fading. You've seen what it already did to some roses. If he used more people..."

You leaned on the railing and Loki followed. The gardens the balcony overlooked were a tangled chaos of branches, flowers, and trees leaning heavily to the sides, as if in the middle of moving. Huge statues of people you had no knowledge about rose through them, staring with blind eyes. If anyone wanted to use them as cover to get to the wall, it wouldn't be a problem. But what for?

You put your head on Loki's shoulder and felt his arm wrap around your waist.

"My theory makes no sense," you said into the leather of his armor.

"We don't have enough clues yet to make a sound one. Don't worry about it, we just got here."

He sent you a soft smile, one he rarely let anyone see. It often caught you off-guard with how much tenderness could be found in his smallest gestures. It was a relief to have someone by your side, wherever you went and whatever you had to deal with. There was something reassuring with knowing that even in the vast expanse of the universe, you weren't alone.

"Thank you," you muttered into his lips softly.

Standing so close, you felt the moment his surprise shifted into something else.

Loki pulled you closer into the kiss, with need and joy digging his fingers into the nape of your neck. He didn't force you, though, and when for the briefest moment something else caught your eye, he didn't stop you moving away.

His lips were pink and the breath they caught, ragged. With heavy lids, Loki followed your gaze towards the gardens behind you.

The Queen stood as still as if she already were one of the statues overlooking the gardens and the narrow, gravel paths winding between them. Her gown was made out of silk as ethereal and delicate as moonlight, and on anyone else, it would look regal and grand. But the fading was a cruel destiny, and one that paid no favor to those afflicted. The Queen clad in silks and jewelry like falling stars was barely there, gray despite the light bathing the world. Despite the remnants of life still dwelling deep inside her.

Her eyes were empty to the home around her, no recognition or emotion showing on her face. She looked at a patch of flowers climbing over one of the statues, but it was uncertain if she actually saw them.

An appropriate distance away, another figure stood. It was a woman with a headpiece covering her squat, stunted horns like morning mist on a spiderweb. A scar ran down her right cheek, old and badly healed. Her eyes were trained on the Queen, but her pose was stooped and bored. She must've been a guard delegated to ensure the well-being of the fading ghost of the Queen.

"I might've just shifted into detective mode, because something is telling me that maybe we should think of looking for witnesses," you whispered.

Loki shivered, feeling your breath brush his neck in a gentle caress.

"Talking to her would be considered a great offense," he said with a slight rasp to his voice. "The ones who are fading are supposed to be left alone to reconcile with the core as their essence fades. It's a tradition, and an important rule."

"When do we break it?"

Loki eyed the guard.

"...once she's alone. It shouldn't be difficult to find her, even though everyone seems to overlook her."

"And that's why she could be a witness to so many things," you said with newfound hope. Something clenched in Loki's chest as he watched your face lit up. It was a beautiful sight.

"Looks like we have a plan." He offered you his arm. "But before we spit on tradition, how about we pay a little visit to our lovely corpse?"

"Of course." You took it. "I can't wait to see what he has to offer."

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #Loki Laufeyson #loki laufeyson reader insert #loki imagine #loki marvel #loki mcu

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nxrthmizu · 3 years

Text

| the detective and the blue-eyed fox | ch.4

»»——⍟——««

title | denial will be your downfall

prompt | detective and criminal AU (Oh my god how did I go from that prompt to this)

pairing | Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

words | 1.9k

author’s note | I enjoyed writing this so much! :3 ppl out there on ao3 being like ‘omg I can’t wait to see what happens’ and I’m here like ‘yeah I can’t wait to see what happens too I haven’t figured it out yet’

»»——⍟——««

| beginning | previous part | ao3 |

»»——⍟——««

What, exactly, had Marinette been expecting, you ask?

Anything except Damian Wayne somehow uncovering her alter-ego (Both of them, might she add) and acquiring the miraculous of the black cat under two days. She had to admit, she knew he was something- That's why she recruited his help in her desperate search for Chat Noir's former miraculous- But in under two days? That was just appalling.

And if you had told Damian Wayne three months ago that he would, three months later, be sitting in his apartment across his coworker, who had been moonlighting as Gotham’s newest vigilante, Lan, and also happened to be Paris’s former superhero who fought villains induced by butterflies (Of all things), accompanied by two practically-god creatures that were the size of flying mice, he would’ve called the mental hospital. Not to mention that they were discussing the murder of her former partner slash newly appointed CEO of Agreste Enterprises. Throw in the fact that the murderer happened to be a musician who probably had a crush on her civilian identity and wanted to use magic jewellery to bring back his crush’s parents, and the whole thing just sounded like a fifth-grader’s vivid imagination.

He had considered admitting himself into the mental hospital, but at that point he was way too invested in the ‘case’.

“Luka?” Denial was a clear ring in her voice, disbelief a close second in volume.

For weeks, the one thing she wanted to know was the name of her partner’s killer, and now that she knew it, she wanted to give it back. Luka, sweet, kind-hearted, generous Luka- A murderer?

Plagg nodded grimly in confirmation.

“I don’t believe this.” Marinette shook her head defiantly, refusing to believe the truth that the god of destruction laid out for her. “He would never...”

“We literally have an eye witness.” Deadpanned Damian, straight-forward as ever. The bluenette sucked in a breath, lowering her head to avoid her coworker spotting the tears that pricked her eyelids like ice needles. Everything hurt- She had lost her parents in a final battle to win Paris its’ normality back, then she lost her partner, and now she was faced with the truth that the one man she thought she could trust- Was a killer.

The detective’s eyes softened. “I know it’s hard to take in, and I know I shouldn’t ask you for this- Especially after everything you’ve sacrificed- But Couffaine probably isn’t the same person you knew anymore. You need to stop seeing him as your friend, and hard as it is- You need to start looking at him as the man who killed your partner- And wants to kill you. If you keep going like this, denial will be your downfall.”

A droplet of blood formed on the bluenette’s lip as she bit down hard to hold in her pain, her agony, her tears. How much longer did she have to suffer? How much longer did she have to be brave? How much longer did she have to endure what the world threw at her?

“... You know, you can cry if you want. I can’t say I understand, but being in your position now must be pretty hard. You’ll only hurt yourself if you keep everything inside.”

Damian had seen victims. Too many. He knew and saw first-hand the overwhelming emotions that could surge over one, the unstoppable tsunami of feelings that could wipe out the legs you thought were strong enough to hold you, the wave that could destroy everything and leave you with a broken wasteland as it receded.

He knew the harm of pent-up emotions. Pent-up emotions were like a jar filled with explosive gas, waiting for the slightest spark to trigger an explosion. And when it did explode, you would find shards of glass digging in to your skin, digging into the skins of the ones around you. He knew the harm of pent-up emotions, because he had felt it first-hand. Because as cold, as uncaring and blunt his exterior could be, Damian Wayne was a human, and he knew what it was like to hurt.

“You don’t have to hold it in just because you want to hold an image of a strong person in front of me.” He continued. “No matter what happens from here on out, you’re already very strong to me. Emotionally and physically. You were thrust into the role of a superhero with no guidance, made to deal with all the pressure with no one to confide to due to the risks it made to the ones around you. You fought without pause ever since you were a teen, only to lose so much when everything was over. You tried to start again, only to be faced with more pain. The fact that you’re still standing, that you’re still doing something to fight back- That’s amazing in itself.”

A dry, choked-out sob of a laugh startled him. “Of all people. I never expected that you to be the one that would understand.”

“Hmm.” Damian shrugged, leaning back into his chair with an air of looking unbothered. “I have a rather high standard for what I consider to be strong- Emotionally, anyway, and you just so happen to have been through enough to pass that standard.”

She cracked a small smile at his feeble attempt to shrink back into his ‘I’m-cold-and-I-don’t-care’ shell. “Back to business- Since you’ve found the ring and the person behind this...” Luka’s name stung the tip of her tongue, and it was too soon and too painful to say- But much to her gratefulness, Damian didn’t bring up her avoidance of his name. “I better contribute by telling you I think I know where he’ll be.”

The green-eyed detective perked up instantly, moving from his relaxed position to one that was leaning forward, eyes wide in curiosity.

“I don’t where he is now, per say, but I know where he’ll be.” She continued with a smile. “Have you ever wanted to visit the City of Love?”

»»——⍟——««

What was formerly the City of Love was now a mourning city, shrouded in rain clouds and misery. The murder of Adrien Agreste tightened like a noose, gradually strangling and suffocating the city below. Rain pattered onto Paris’s black cobblestone roads, the streets empty with the exception of one or two pedestrians, walking as quickly as they could to avoid being alone with the deafening silence of post-war Paris.

The silence was accented by the steady splash of rainwater as a lone figure walked slowly down the street, a black hood shielding his face. Turquoise eyes gleamed as the man approached the house of the woman expecting him, raising his hand to press the doorbell once.

“Luka.”

Chloe Bourgeois stood in the doorway of her apartment, eyeing the drenched man with a purse of her lips. “You are not stepping into my apartment like that. If you get a single splotch of mud on my carpet...” She glowered at him, unsatisfied until he grumbled, removing his cloak and muddy boots.

The deceased mayor’s daughter scrunched her nose in disgust, handing the man a towel to dry off with.

“Wipe your feet on the towel until they’re clean. Don’t step all over my house with those dirty feet of yours.” Chloe scoffed, leaving him in the entrance of her apartment while she strolled back inside, her golden silk robe fluttering behind her movements.

“Any progress?” Luka asked gruffly, looking as uncomfortable as he could be, seated on the pearl-white couch inside the blonde’s luxurious apartment. The mayor had left his daughter quite the fortune.

Clicking her tongue in annoyance, Chloe rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. “Luka, my answer will be the same as the one I gave you yesterday.”

The man resisted the urge to slam his hands on the glass coffee table in frustration. “You’ve been searching for Ladybug for weeks. What is taking you so long?”

“Excuse me.” Chloe cleared her throat, looking rather offended. “If I’m not mistaken, you had three months ever since Ladybug left, and you didn’t find anything, either. I don’t think you’re in the position to criticise my progress.”

He shot a glare in her direction, displeased with her jab at his failed attempts to locate the holder of the Ladybug miraculous. “Find her,” He hissed, standing up abruptly. The blonde wasn’t fazed at all, taking another sip out of her tea with a bored expression. “Find her if you want to bring your father and butler back.”

The heavy footfalls belonging to the impatient man made Chloe scoff, the loud slam of her front door causing an angry ‘Hey! Watch it!’ from the blonde. She sighed softly, reminiscing of the days when things weren’t so complicated and everything was alright. Across her living room sat two framed pictures, sitting next to each other serenely.

The first was a photo of herself, Mayor Bourgeois, and the butler, Jean, the three of them standing in front of Le Grand Paris, in all of its’ golden glory. The second was a photo of 5-year-old Chloe, smiling toothily with her arm slung around another blonde- Adrien Agreste, with his soft green eyes and his shy smile.

“I won’t let you be forgotten.” She whispered to no one in particular, still staring at the two framed pictures. “That’s a promise.”

»»——⍟——««

Meanwhile, in the dreary corridor leading to Paris’s highest-security-prison, was a displeased woman, glaring daggers at the guards who were denying her entry.

“You morons.” She hissed, her French slanting off with a clear American accent that resounded even clearly in her anger. “For the last time, I’ve told you, I work for the FBI, and I need to talk to him.”

“Ma’am, we’ve received no sort of alert that an agent was coming to visit.” The guard defended, baring her from highest-security-cell in the whole building. There had been at least five other gates before the one she was at, and at everyone of them she had been throughly questioned and checked for anything that could result in an outbreak of disaster.

A dry laugh echoed off the grey cement walls of the holding. “Well, then you go ahead and tell my superiors that I’ve come here for nothing and that they have to pay for a second flight.” The woman smiled when sparks of fear alighted inside the two guards’ eyes- She had come so far, and she wasn’t going to let two measly guards stop her when she was just one wall away from her target.

“I... Alright miss. You should know the rules, don’t get too close to him.” One of the guards said reluctantly, sharing hesitating looks with his partner, but they opened the heavy metal door for her nonetheless. The woman, dressed in a black blazer, a white blouse, and a dark-coloured pencil skirt, nodded her appreciation, heels clicking as she stepped into the holding.

A two-inch thick glass separated her and the grey-haired man, who looked up in surprise, eyes flashing in recognition of his visitor.

“Mr. Agreste.” She addressed politely, dark red hair tied up in a formal bun.

The man that was formerly Hawkmoth glanced at her up and down, and then at the closed metal door. “I have to say, I’m impressed you managed to get in here.” A low laugh rumbled from his throat, cracking out of the speaker by the side of the glass wall that allowed the man to communicate.

She smiled at his compliment.

“It’s been a while, Lila Rossi.”

»»——⍟——««

taglist. @demonicbusiness @animegirlweeb @roselynfey @2confused-2doanything @insane-fangirl-of-everything @promiswords @galaxylightmoon @fusser90 @ira-sairain @liquid-luck-00 @glastwime859

gen. daminette taglist. @maskedpainter @animegirlweeb @missmadwoman

*rubs hands together* I have soo many plot twists for this baby planned *cackles evilly* everything’s coming together... Also the story has strayed so far away from the original plot but eh whatever

»»——⍟——««

| next part | ao3 |

»»——⍟——««

#damian wayne #marinette dupain-cheng #daminette #damian wayne x marinette dupain-cheng #mlb x dc #detective and criminal au #detective!damian wayne #fox!marinette dupain-cheng #cady writesss «#the detective and the blue-eyed fox

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botwstoriesandsuch · 3 years

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The reason aoc had no stakes is cuz even if we lost link would just take a nap and then wake up and murder ganon with a stick

Ok I recognize that this is a joke and I love you good job have a lil kiss *mwah* nice joke nice joke but also I am in MAJOR WRITING MODE which means that I am prompted to write essays on the storytelling process at the flip of a switch and buddy, pal, chum, mate, this is a major switch that has been flipped

Because it gets on my nerves, it’s one of my BIGGEST PET PEEVES of ALL TIME, I abso-fucking-lutely DESPISE, when people think that stakes is equivalent to life and death. I just hate it, it makes me seethe to no end. I could grip the clouds from the heavens, and my rage would make it rain upwards.

People who think stakes is just about winning or losing or living or dying, I will stake you, I will do violent crimes. You wanna know why those big superhero movies like Justice League and what not don’t work? It’s because it thinks that big giant death armies are meaningful stakes. You know stuff like Civil War, or hell even shows like Attack on Titan or Gravity Falls work? It’s because it’s stakes exist both externally and internally, and the consequences of actions exist beyond just living or dying or winning or losing.

Listen to me very closely. The reason Age of Calamity has no stakes, is because you don’t care about the characters. It’s not because of the timelines, or resurrections, or whatever whatever, no. It’s because you don’t care about the characters.

Now Ashshshshsh, yes you love your bird and fish husbands and wives very much ok yes I get that, I do too. BUT, BUT, when you look at this from the storytelling perspective, like thinking from the perspective of someone experiencing the story fresh for the very first time, with or without botw context. You did not care about the characters, you cared about the ending. That is why there are no stakes.

Why the fuck do you care if Teba dies? Like, sure, if Teba dies, you are sad, the character that you love is dead, you might even cry! But why do you care, what are the consequences of his death, what happens if he dies, what does he, on a character level lose?

What you’re typically supposed to do to get your audience to care, is establish a character, develop them, then give them a goal and a need to attain that goal, a good goal or motivation that affects a character both externally and internally, and then when the conflict or battle comes up, you’re left with that feeling of “oh no, I really hope this character wins, because otherwise, [insert something] happens, and I don’t want that.” That’s what stakes is, in very broad concept.

That’s why living and dying is a form of stakes, but it’s not the only one. “Oh no, this character is hurt, I really hope this character wins, because I like them, and I want them to live.” That’s you stakes. Same idea with winning and losing. “Oh no, this character is losing this volleyball match. I really hope this character wins, because they’ve worked hard to reach their goal, and I don’t want to see that go to waste.” Okay, great.

Now the PROBLEM is, those concepts are overdone to the point of extinction, like it’s arguable that the stakes of living and dying just doesn’t exist as a strong good form of stakes in media anymore. Whether by symptom of plot armour, of predictable writing, or the establishment of modern tropes and clichés, blah blah blah, you can’t solely rely on those ideas for stakes. ESPECIALLY in the realm, of video games. I don’t need to spell out the whole living and dying aspect of it right? And the winning and losing stakes goes out the window because that concept has an entirely different meaning and tone when the player is the one in control. Essentially what I’m saying here is, on a character level, you can’t rely on those ideas as a sense of stakes because it just doesn’t have meaning. But the thing is, Age of Calamity does rely on it. And it SOME aspects, it worked.

You have experience good stakes in this game before. You’ve probably done it on some crazy tough side mission or some interesting self-made quest to find yourself that last raw bird wing to finish up that upgrade. You yourself struggled, and understood the journey that you went through, the time that you invested to make yourself better (as big or small as it may be) at the game, and you eventually beat that level, or found that item. And you were genuinely relieved and happy. Whether you realized it or not, you were on the edge of your seat, intently focused on the task and “battle” at hand, you were invested in yourself, and the effects of the outcome of your struggle. That’s what good stakes does. That’s why so many videogames have impactful story telling.

But listen here, the reason you only experience those good stakes through the gameplay, is because you don’t need to put in the effort to care about yourself. You’re you! You know yourself, you played out your motivations and struggles. That all happens without the games help. So now the issue becomes, you need to emulate that same feeling for the story world and it’s characters. And Age of Calamity just puts in none of the meaningful work to get you care about the CHARACTERS on a CHARACTER LEVEL. It relies SOLEY on the work done by Breath of the Wild, with the exceptions of maybe Kohga and King Rhoam. And also Sidon is an exception in the sense that his relationship to his sister is a pretty decent stake (but tbh the bar is VERY LOW)

We’ve established how the stakes of winning or losing or living through a battle don’t have as much strength as motivations or stakes in this game. So, knowing that....Name Daruk’s motivation. Name a true and honest reason why Zelda shouldn’t die. And don’t tell me that “because it would make the other characters sad” because that is just a reaction to events (based on the characterization and writing work done by AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT GAME cause again Hwaoc doesn’t character develop for shit) being sad isn’t motivation, or stakes. Being sad is a normal human reaction to anything ever, it isn’t anything new, and by god it doesn’t inherently impact the world or story around you.

You know what would have been good stakes? If Age of Calamity developed the New Gen Champs a bit more and maybe one of them could say something like, “I feel it’s my duty to help stop the Calamity, because the fact that I time traveled here means that I have a big responsibility, and if we lose then I’m a failure in both this time and my own. So I need to step up to the plate that has been set for me” or something something. Or, and this is a big one, give ASTOR something to do (because stakes is inherently about CONFLICT and you can’t have good internal and external stakes when there is nothing to CONFLICT with the other characters) let Astor be like “This world doesn’t deserve to go on, humanity has made too many mistakes, I was abandonded as a child, the King murdered my mom, I need power to get revenge, or to revive some dead family member” blah blah blah pick one of the clichés but at least it would be SOMETHING. When motivations conflict, that’s what gets you to care about characters, because then it’s not just about living or dying, it about the effects of that death, or that loss. If this character dies, they died believing a lie, or believing they were a failure and I don’t want that. If this character is defeated, they won’t get another chance to save the people they care about, and I don’t want them living with regret. These two characters have sympathetic goals, and I can see the points that both sides have with their motivation, but I also like them so I don’t want them to die, oh no, what’s gonna happen.

If you don’t CARE about the characters, and their goals, if the only thing that’s keeping you awake at night about them living or dying is “I like them” then there is something wrong.

You didn’t finish Age of Calamity because of the characters, you didn’t finish it out of an honest desire to see these characters reach their goals. MAYBE there’s a connection you had for Zelda, but honestly compared to Breath of the Wild, it’s nothing. You finished Age of Calamity simply out of curiosity to see what happened at the end, to see what your efforts of gameplay lead up to. You had no actual character arcs to latch onto or care about, which means you had no expectations or desire to see how they would play out, no STAKES no INVESTMENT. Which means live, die, resurrect, or perma-death as you see, you’re not invested in the characters, your invested in the time you put into that media.

#hwaoc spoilers #also not to be a film nerd on zelda-sideblog but this is why Age of Ultron doesn't have the same effect as the original avengers #and this is also why the ending of gravity falls or atla are the best #and also why disney live action remakes dont work

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