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quickestgold · 3 months ago

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Dr. Abbot / The Pitt

Resident!reader has a crush on Dr. Abbot, but never acts on it because they work so well together and he's never given her any firm indication that he likes more than as his favourite resident. But every so often the praise he'll give is just on the edge of being unprofessional without crossing that line...so she decides to go for it and he rejects her. Before they can speak again she's in a car accident and is brought into the pitt and he goes *feral*. Bonus points if he breaks down and admits his feelings when he thinks she can't hear him because she's so out of it, but she remembers everything. Extra bonus points if he thinks she's going to die at any point. ALL the bonus points if there's a spicy ending....or spicy anything.

Say It First: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. But when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren’t fought on the field or in the chaos of the ER, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, rejection, mentions of drunk driving, death, car accidents, reader is injured

Word count: 3.6k

A/n: Thanks for sending this in!! I got so many requests and I’ll try to work through them, but a) this was the first and b) this may or may not be inspired by real events (minus the accident) lmfaooo yikes good times…. Also, no spicy ending, because of, well, where I've ended it, but a bit of flavor sprinkled in... this is soo long / slow burn sorry, pls lmk what you think <3

Thirty-six years old. A mother of two. Only trying to get home. Gone. In the blink of an eye. All because one man chose to get behind the wheel after a night out.

You spent the last hour coding the woman, the air thick and heavy with grief. After taking a minute to honor her life, your feet carry you instinctively towards the roof.

The first rays of the morning sun gently kiss your face and the weight on your chest begins to lift, if only slightly. Your shoulders drop slowly with each cleansing breath, as you release the night’s tragedy into the vastness of the world below.

Your eyes meet a familiar silhouette standing behind the railing. As always, a little too close to the edge.

"What are you doing here?" Jack turns around, his features softening at the sight of you.

"Can a girl not enjoy a beautiful sunrise in peace?" you counter playfully.

That's a lie. You were looking for him. You always find him here.

"Heard you had a rough one", his tone full of sympathy, or just understanding.

A flicker of pain flashes across your face and without missing a beat, Jack steps back, moving to stand beside you, just behind the railing. His hand rests on your shoulder, warm and reassuring, the lightest of squeezes grounding you.

Your jaw tightens. "She had groceries and toys in the back of her car." With a deep sigh, "Her kids... are still waiting for her to come home."

He lets your words hang there, giving you time to process the loss. "You want me to talk to them with you?"

You wonder when Jack started being so soft with you. You think back to your early days in residency. Your first impression of him was that of a broken, stone-cold man. A soldier, hardened by years of seeing too much, too many lives lost. He used to move through the halls like a ghost, never letting anyone get too close.

But somehow, at some point, he let you in. At least you think so.

You shake your head, desperate to change the subject. "What are you doing up here?

A hint of a smile creeps in. It's faint, but it's there. "Just thinking..."

"...About?"

"Nosy as ever..." Jack's smile grows a little. "Life. Death. Everything in between..."

You press on, "Well, if you're ready to rejoin the living, a few of us are heading to the new pub down the road. The owner was a patient of mine. So, free drinks for me and my friends!"

"I don't have friends here."

You roll your eyes. Hard.

"What am I then?"

"One of my best residents?"

You lean in, whispering, “I'm your favorite though, right?”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh, a small shake of his head. He’s aware of the irony, of course.

He hasn't really been playing favorites, not consciously anyway. But lately, you've been getting extra attention from Dr. Abbot. More lessons. More opportunities. More praise.

But between the nepo babies and the kid geniuses in this hospital, you figure you deserve a little favoritism.

And you are grateful. Jack is a great teacher. He knows when to step back and he takes the time to teach when you're out of your depth. Believes in you, even when you don't.

The bar is buzzing with noise. You stand there, waiting for the free drinks, watching the crowd. Jack is sat on a stool in the corner, like he's part of the furniture, his eyes scanning the exits. Always on guard, even here.

Most of the team is clustered together, laughter and chatter in the air like a cocktail of relief and friendship. Glasses clink with a sound of shared thanks.

Robby and Heather slip to the other side of the room, their conversation low and intense, the tension between them palpable.

You wonder if people notice a similar air between you and Jack. Your shifts have somehow magically aligned lately.

Princess and Perlah, no doubt, have been talking. The boys, likely betting on who’s going to admit it first.

Dana steps closer, voice barely above a whisper, "Can't believe you've managed to get our sad boy to come."

Your eyes widen, but she doesn't let you object "He never does. Believe me, we've all tried. Nothing. Not even for Robby. And they're... friends."

You can’t help but laugh, "He doesn't have friends."

Dana shoots you a look. "So I've heard."

The bartender hands you two beers, a welcome interruption. You flash Dana a warm smile, before slipping away towards your table, feeling the weight of her gaze still on you.

You hand Jack one of the bottles, without looking, it's almost automatic. Natural. If people saw you on the street, they'd probably assume you were more than just colleagues.

You slide onto your stool, leaning in closer to Jack. "Dana's a little hurt that you've never gone out with them before. Not even for Robby!" You laugh, taking a big gulp of your beer.

Jack smirks, "I told you, I don't do favorites." He's satisfied by the loud laugh he gets from you.

The hours pass by, the noise of the bar blending into the background as you and Jack stay in your own quiet bubble.

Your stools have shifted closer, your knees just barely brushing. You glance down, surprised to find Jack’s hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of your jeans. It’s almost too gentle, too careful, like he’s testing a line neither of you wants to cross but can’t help but feel drawn to.

Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes glazed, laughter still filling the air. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way Jack’s presence calms you, but it’s been a long time since you’ve felt this alive.

Have the rest of the team even noticed? Are they still here?

You’ve had a bit to drink, maybe more than a bit and as you push yourself up from the stool to head towards the restroom, a dizzy spell hits you.

For a split second, you’re sure you’re about to face-plant into the cold wall next to you, but then Jack’s there. His hand steadies you, pulling you against him with a surprising gentleness.

You remain in his grip, your body melting at the contact. His breath is uneven, but it’s probably from the shock of almost seeing you fall. Unless...?

You look up into his eyes and for a fleeting second, there’s something there.

A spark.

Something electric that makes your heart skip. And before you can stop yourself, you want to close the distance between you, feel his lips against yours.

But Jack pulls away, his movements soft and almost apologetic as he helps you stand with a shy smile.

You return the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you step away, heading towards the restroom.

Once you're out of sight, he turns to see Dana glancing at him across the room. Before he can protest, you’re back, gathering both your jackets, moving with the same confidence you always have. "Wanna walk me home?"

Jack's eyes widen at the bluntness. He freezes for just a moment, hesitation flickering in his eyes before he nods.

"Yeah. I’ll walk you home."

You both head for the door, only to find that the team are, in fact, all still there. And now they're staring.

Watching you leave with Dr. Jack Abbot.

The ER buzzes with its usual chaos, patients rolling in, monitors beeping and the staff moving in sync. But today, there's something else in the air that you can't quite put your finger on.

You’ve just finished treating a patient, now sitting at a computer at the nurses' station, neatly typing up your notes.

You feel everyone's eyes on you.

Today, they are definitely talking.

You glance up and spot Jack across the room. He’s looking at you already, his expression unreadable. Something about his gaze feels different. A little too focused. A little too intense.

He walks over, reaching across you to grab a chart. His hand briefly brushes against yours as he leans in slightly, too close for a colleague, but not quite crossing the line.

You blink, trying to focus on the patient notes in front of you, but the words suddenly feel distant.

It’s impossible not to notice the way the team is starting to gather in their little huddles, whispering, eyes darting in your direction.

He stands close enough now that you feel his warmth. The line between professional and personal blurs and for a brief, dangerous moment, you’re not sure where the boundaries lie.

"You’re a natural," he says, his eyes meet yours and the intensity is enough to make your heart stutter. "Well done."

Jack continues, his voice lower now, just loud enough for you to hear, but not to be overheard by anyone else "You should be proud."

Before you can reply, a sudden voice cuts through the moment. It’s Robby, walking past with a glance over his shoulder, a knowing look in his eyes. “Hey, Jack,” he calls out casually. “Save some of the praise for the rest of us, yeah?”

Jack’s gaze flicks toward Robby, "You know, I don’t do favorites."

But something has changed and it’s too late to pretend otherwise.

You suddenly stand, confidently grabbing Jack's arm and pulling him to one side. He is surprised, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he follows you without a word.

You look up at him, “Listen, I know we’re not exactly friends.” You pause, your eyes meeting his, willing him to understand what you’re trying to say. “But you’ve been working a hell of a lot of shifts lately. And… I thought maybe we could grab dinner sometime?”

You watch Jack's lips twitch ever so slightly, but he composes himself quickly.

He doesn't say anything for a long beat.

Did you cross a line?

“I mean”, you add, “You know, to talk about cases or whatever. You don’t always have to eat in the break room. And I’m sure you’re tired of hospital food.” You give him a smile, warm and genuine.

For a second, you think he might decline. You feel your pulse race just a little faster.

But then he returns your smile, "Sure. Dinner sounds good."

You sit across from Jack in a dimly lit restaurant, the glow of the candlelight casting soft shadows on his face. The flicker of the flame reflects warmth onto his dimples.

It feels intimate, like you’re seeing a side of him that’s been hidden for too long, even from himself.

"Fuck me", you mutter, sinking into your chair, hiding from someone across the room.

"Excuse me?" Jack's voice is surprised, with a hint of something else.

If you weren't so uncomfortable, the shocked look on Jack's face would have made you laugh.

“Don’t look,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “But the guy over there… he broke my heart in med school.”

Jack’s gaze flicks to the man in question, but it's so obvious that it makes you flush.

He turns back to you, leaning in, "Want me to rough him up? Just a bit?"

You giggle, "Please don't, we weren't that serious anyway. But he did cheat on me. And at the time, it hurt."

Something dark flickers in his eyes.

"He's a prick", he spews, voice low and sharp.

"Why do I always get the assholes? I think I'll just give up", you laugh.

He hesitates for a moment, but the words leave his lips before he can stop himself.

"Why are you single?" His voice holds genuine surprise.

"Since when are you interested in my love life, Dr. Abbot?"

Or lack thereof.

He doesn't respond. You contemplate for a moment. Is he really this clueless?

"Why do you think?" You question, like a challenge.

"I don't know", his brows furrow. "I think - you like being independent. You're not looking for a man to complete you." He ponders, "And I also think you find dating distracting."

The way he reads you, so honestly, so accurately, hits you in ways you weren’t prepared for. You drop your mouth slightly.

How can he be so spot on and so wrong at the same time?

"What do I know. Maybe you just haven't met the right guy", he adds, trying to ease the awkward tension that’s settled between you.

Or maybe the right guy just doesn't know how to connect the dots!

"What about you then?" You try to shift the conversation.

"What about me?" He laughs.

You shoot him a look.

"Why am I single?", he asks most innocently. "What if I'm not?" You roll your eyes.

"We'll then what are you doing here with me and not making love to your gorgeous girlfriend... or boyfriend?" You add the last part with a smirk that feels more daring than you expected. He can't place it, but this new energy awakens something inside him.

His eyes flicker to your lips, but there’s a hesitation. The air is electric, you can almost feel the wall between you crumbling.

But his face grows serious. "It's just easier like this."

"Since when are you one to take the easy road?" You counter, your voice sharp.

It's now or never.

You search his eyes, willing him to say it first.

Anything.

But he doesn't. You break eye contact and he feels like he just lost something he didn't know he could have. Didn't know he deserved.

You exhale deeply, the words finally escaping you, "You know I have feelings for you, right?".

The confession slips out, barely louder than a whisper, as if you’re terrified of hearing it yourself.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face, but it disappears just as quickly. His stoic exterior is intact, but something has cracked. His gaze remains unreadable, like his brain can't comprehend what you just said.

You wonder if you should take it back, pretend it never happened. Maybe you're lucky and he really didn't hear you.

You're not.

Before you can retreat, Jack beats you to it. "Y/N..."

Oh no.

"I'm so flattered...I- Thank you." His words are slow, measured, as if he's trying to find the right ones. "I- I didn't know you felt this way."

What, the excessive flirting and the obsessive need to be near him didn't give it away?

"Ouch. I suppose you don't feel the same", you laugh nervously.

There's that look again. Like he sees right through you. Like he's already seen every part of you. Touched every inch of your body, without ever having seen you naked.

"What do you want with an old man like me anyway?" His voice thick with uncertainty.

Hello? Is that a no?

It stings, but you fight to keep your composure. “You’re not that old", you tease, but the effort feels hollow in the face of his hesitance.

"It wouldn't end well...", his voice quieter now. "I don't want to hurt you."

"God, if you don't have feelings for me just say so. We're adults. This will they/won't they game is really messing with my head!"

"I'm sorry" he says, the words soft but final. "I can't."

You have your answer.

You've been through too much uncertainty. Always hoping for more. Always confused. It's too much hurt. Too much heartbreak. So you accept his decision.

And know you'll move on.

Your evening has come to an unexpected end. He slips your jacket over your shoulders with that same careful attention, the way he’s always done, because, of course, he’s the perfect gentleman, even after this brutal rejection.

You know it'll take some time to heal, which feels silly, because nothing really happened!

But in your mind, you're already preparing to switch shifts, changing your routine, so your schedules will no longer align.

Jack insists on walking you to your bus stop, his steps matching yours in a slow, rhythmic silence. And in that moment, a wave of sadness overcomes you. You feel like you're not just losing a friend, but also your mentor. Your eyes well up, praying he doesn't see. But he does, of course.

He always does.

You're ready to say goodbye, to the night, but also to what could have been.

When you reach the stop, he unexpectedly pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. One of his hands presses gently against your back, while the other holds your head against his heart, each beat a reminder of what it feels like to be alive, to be loved.

For a brief moment, as you breathe in his familiar scent, you only exist in the present.

In his arms.

The weight of your future and present not threatening to pull you under.

But then reality hits you.

You step back, slowly, as if leaving a piece of yourself behind in the safety of his embrace.

You turn around and walk away. You know he's watching, but you don't look back.

Jack has barely seen you this week, your shifts conveniently ending when his start and vice versa.

He can't help but feel like he's lost something good, not even giving it a chance to become something great.

He's on his way to the hospital for yet another shift without you, his mind wandering back to the moment he watched you walk away.

When he let you go.

When all he really wanted was to let you in. To have his lips touch yours. To interlock your fingers with his. To take you on a real date. To take you bake to his place...

To watch the bus drive off without you.

But you said it first. And he said nothing at all.

The air is different today, charged, the nurses a little quieter, the doctors a little more tense.

Jack looks around, he realises something isn’t right. The staff are huddled in groups, whispering.

Is the hospital finally closing down?

He has a bad feeling about this.

He notices Dana first. She's standing by the nurses' station. When she catches his gaze, her eyes flicker with something Jack can’t quite place. Concern? Worry? He’s about to walk over to her when Robby appears out of nowhere, stepping right into his path.

“Jack”, Robby says, his voice low. There’s a weight in his tone, a hesitation that only deepens Jack’s unease.

“What's going on?” Jack asks, his brow furrowing, but Robby doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, Robby pulls him aside, out of earshot of the others.

The words “drunk driver” and “Y/N” are enough to send a cold shiver down Jack's spine.

Jack's hands tremble as he heads straight for your room, but everything feels distant, muffled.

He’s flooded with guilt for not being there, for not having checked on you, for all the unsaid words between you.

Christ, he's a doctor and he wasn't there to help you.

More importantly, he was your friend and he let you believe that he wasn't.

Maybe, deep down, he knew he wanted to be more than that.

Now, there you are, lying still, tubes and wires everywhere.

He takes a shaky step forward, his hand hovering near yours. The thought of touching you, of being this close and you not being aware, makes his chest tighten. But he can’t help it. His fingers brush against your skin, a fragile connection.

“I didn’t- God, I was an idiot. I should’ve… said it. Should’ve been… with you. But I didn’t. I’m sorry. I-” His voice breaks and he curses under his breath.

He doesn’t know if you can hear him.

If you’ll ever hear him again.

Jack takes a seat next to your bed, drowning in fear for you. Broken. Guilty. Devastated. Alone.

“I’m so sorry", a quiet sob escapes his lips. "I've grown so used to the emptiness in my heart, I didn't know how to let you in..." It's in this moment, he realizes he’s terrified of losing you without ever having truly had you.

For the next couple of days Jack watches your chest rise and fall in a steady, artificial rhythm, but you don't move.

He loses a fraction of hope with every day that passes, waiting for you to wake up, for you to roll your eyes and tell him to stop being an idiot.

Your friends and colleagues check in on you as much as they do on him.

But the silence stretches on.

Robby often lingers in the doorway, exchanging quiet, knowing glances with Jack before he leaves, like there’s nothing else to say or do.

On the seventh day, Jack finds himself sitting beside your bed long after his shift has ended. His hand rests on the edge of your mattress, close enough to feel the warmth of your skin, but still too far away.

"I’m sorry”, he mutters, knowing you can’t hear him. His eyes flicker to the machines keeping you tethered to this world, his heart feeling too heavy to bear.

His body stiffens when he suddenly sees your fingers twitching ever so slightly. Then, a shallow inhale, before your eyes flutter open.

Jack watches you look up at the ceiling, disoriented. Then, slowly, your gaze moves to him.

"Jack?" Your voice is hoarse.

He leans forward, the weight of the last few days catching up with him. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m here Y/N."

You blink a few times, before the corners of your mouth turn into a smile. Though it’s small and fragile. “I thought you didn’t have favorites?”

For a second, he isn’t sure he heard you right.

His heart aches, raw and exposed and he knows he can't hide his feelings anymore.

You know. And he knows you know.

You lift a hand, weak but determined and place it over his.

Omg, this turned out way longer than expected!! Hope you liked it anyway. Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #the pitt hbo #michael robinavitch #dr robby #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #dr abbott x reader

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confuzing · 2 months ago

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"We're rebooting the multiverse?" the new hire asked, sounding like he didn't believe her.

Mei nodded. "Well, part of it. It's actually not that big of a deal? It happens a lot- especially the PIDW subsystem. I blame the Prime."

"You're talking about Luo Binghe right? One of the other guys was saying he ripped something?"

"The coding of the multiverse- hence the restart," she said. "And there's lots of Luo Binghes." To prove her point she stopped at the observation window for Room 668G.

The new guy blinked in shock at all the Luo Binghes inside, mostly disciple Binghes, though there were a smattering of fluffy puppies in the room too.

"Are those?"

"Bingpups yeah- look the multiverse is vast - this isn't anywhere near the weirdest thing I've seen."

"How do you know who the Prime is if there's so many?"

A good question. "It varies by section but the PIDW section goes with the guy living the original novel. You read it right?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Mei continued down the long hall. "Anyway we figured out which one he was because he doesn't seem to have a husband?"

"A what??"

"Let me explain," Mei said. "So it's kinda weird but in literally every iteration after the Prime, Luo Binghe has a husband- it's all the same guy too- and all the Luo Binghes are desperately in love with their husbands and vice versa. But the Prime just... doesn't have one. Like you'd think having a bunch of overpowered demons around would be more of an issue but the little ones are very polite and the rest of them chill out tremendously when you pair them up with their husband."

"But Prime doesn't have one." the new guy frowned.

Mei shook her head. "Not that we've found anyway. Believe me the research team is looking. It wasn't a big deal for a while but then there was an... incident. Prime spent ...18 hours I think? In a universe where there was a husband and he got extremely jealous that he didn't have one. So he's been looking for his own ever sense.

"Which causes problems when he's running around in everyone else's world trying to steal and/or bride-nap their husbands," Mei concluded. "He usually does that when he's here too but I haven't heard any alarms today... Here let's peek..."

She deflected the new guy down a side hall, taking him through a series of twisting turns until they stopped outside another holding cell. This one had only one Binghe in it, this one in full Demon Emperor regalia. He was kneeling on the floor with his eyes shut- meditating probably?

"Wow," the new guy said softly.

In the holding cell Luo Binghe Prime's blood red eyes snapped open.

Time to leave! Mei began gently shoving her new coworker away from the window.

"...Can he see us?" the guy asked.

"Oh yeah," Mei said. "Hear us too. Two way mirrors do jack shit for Heavenly Demons. Come on, the boss is waiting for us."

That got the guy to start moving. As they left Mei remembered something.

"Hey, I don't think anyone actually told me your name?"

"Oh they didn't!" New Guy said. "I'm Shen Yuan."

Behind them the alarms on Luo Binghe Prime's cell started beeping rapidly. Thank fuck that wasn't her problem. She just had to get Shen Yuan to part two of his orientation in one piece. Still, wouldn't hurt to just ... She linked their arms and started walking faster.

#luo bingge #svsss #svsss au #shen yuan #bingyuan #Mei does not know the name of the Binghes' husbands #if she did she'd probably be running #Bingge is absolutely going to kidnap Shen Yuan on his first day of work #I'm sure it'll all work out though

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yeah-thats-probably-it · 1 year ago

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Hot take maybe but I think Bertie would be FAR more likely to survive the first two months of Dracula than Jeeves would be. Bertie has a healthy sense of self-preservation. Jeeves consistently underestimates how dangerous a situation might get (Steeple Bumpleigh, the club book) because he’s overconfident about his level of control over any given situation. He'd handle Dracula masterfully if they faced off in England, but on Dracula's home turf? Much more doubtful.

I realize this might be a tough sell, so I will explain further (or it's not a tough sell, and I'm going to explain further because I want to). (criteria taken from @canyourfavesurvivecastledracula) Without further ado.

Would Jeeves and Wooster survive Castle Dracula?

Jeeves

Jeeves' survival will depend on how long Dracula finds him more entertaining than irritating. On that basis, I don't think he's long for this world. On the one hand, he has a huge wealth of knowledge about English society and culture that he can recite perfectly from memory. That should buy him at least a little time with noted teaboo Dracula.

On the other hand, he would be absolutely no fun as a vampire plaything. Jeeves cannot be got. Sneaking up on him while he's shaving will yield zero reaction (though that's at least good for his short-term survival--given that, although he DID take the crucifix from the old woman out of politeness, he certainly isn't going to wear it. The rules of fashion don't go out the window just because you're in a spooky castle). Then, although managing the whims of rich jerks is not an insignificant part of a valet's job, Jeeves usually does this by bending his employers to his will. Dracula is not the sort of employer this will work on. It'll just add insult to injury when on top of being impossible to scare, NOW Jeeves is telling Dracula that his favorite cloak is several centuries out of fashion and he's not allowed to wear it anymore.

Jeeves will 100% go exploring in the areas he was told not to go-- though to be fair, he MIGHT actually get away with this, what with his superpower of appearing in rooms without being seen or heard. Said superpower might save him from the brides as well (though this is by no means guaranteed). Since I find it doubtful that Dracula would come to rescue his annoying ass, not being noticed is his best defense.

There are a couple other things working in Jeeves's favor; the question is just whether they'll be enough to save him.

He DOES know shorthand, and could try to send coded letters. He might even have the foresight to squirrel away some extra stationary where Dracula can't find it. But could he get them posted? Would it even do him any good?

He certainly has enough cultural literacy to figure out what his new boss is pretty quickly. If he didn't chuck the crucifix out the carriage window, he might start carrying it around in his pocket.

Psychology of the individual, sure, but the individual in question is a 400-year-old vampire who lives in an isolated castle in a foreign country and is regarded as a terrifying mythological figure in the surrounding villages. Jeeves has never come up against anything this alien before, he's cut off from his normal resources, and opportunities to play people against each other are limited.

He probably has enough upper body strength from all that shrimping and fishing to climb the wall, so he COULD escape if he wanted to, if he survived long enough. It's just, again, that overconfidence, and also Dracula has a vast library full of rare old books that are entirely at his disposal. He's keeping his eyes and ears alert for potential escape strategies, of course, but I don't see him being as desperate to get out as Jonathan was.

There are just a lot of "depends on"s here, and I'm not convinced that luck would shake out in Jeeves's favor, all things considered.

Bertie

Bertie is so perfect for the job of Castle Dracula Prisoner it's like it was made for him. Think about it. Being held against his will in big manor houses comes more naturally to him than breathing. He's afraid of things that are scary. A lifetime of dealing with Aunt Agatha has made him the world's preeminent expert in "curl[ing] up in a ball in the hope that a meek subservience [will] enable [him] to get off lightly." He will NEVER go exploring in places he's been warned away from if nobody is forcing him to (Rev. Aubrey Upjohn's office notwithstanding. There were biscuits in there). He's both fun to talk to and easy to toy with (and extremely English). A+ prisoner. Dracula adores him.

In my opinion, Bertie is at Castle Dracula either because Aunt Agatha got some wires seriously crossed and thinks he’s going to meet an eligible potential bride (I mean, there are certainly brides there), or because Dracula has something Aunt Dahlia wants him to steal (far less likely, given that one of Dracula’s THINGS is famously not owning anything silver). Either way, he's shown himself entirely willing and able to escape down drainpipes if a sitch gets too scaly.

He DOES take the crucifix, and DOES wear it (which is what will save him during the shaving scene, because you KNOW he's going to jump a foot and cut himself like the dickens). He's read enough supernatural goosefleshers to be genre savvy about terrified old women cryptically pushing crucifixes into one's hands. I also think his sunny disposish endeared him to the villagers, and they were particularly vehement about urging him not to go. He doesn't speak German or Romanian, but he's empathetic enough to recognize Pure Terror. So by the time he actually gets to the castle, his imagination is already running wild and he's plenty aware that he is in imminent danger.

I think the biggest risk to Bertie will be the brides; whether or not he's susceptible to trances, if he thinks they're trying to marry him, it's against the code of the Woosters to turn them down. But that only becomes an issue if he comes face to face with them, which, luckily, I think is unlikely on account of the aforementioned "won't go exploring" (and if he did, Dracula would definitely rescue him).

I'm inclined to say due to his drainpipe-escape habits that he WOULD be able to climb the wall and MAY attempt to sneak into Dracula's room to look for the keys if his desperation grows to outweigh his fear. Whether he does or not, though, he does NOT have the stomach to attempt shovel murder, and therefore won't get magic brain fever, and may very well simply walk out the front doors when the people come to take the boxes away. OR he climbs his way out like Jonathan did. Either way.

When Bertie tells this story at the Drones later, Tuppy will say that no doubt it's been greatly exaggerated and all that probably happened was that he spent a couple months in an oldish house entertaining a weird loner.

#do YOU think jeeves and wooster would survive castle dracula? let me know in the comments!#they're in the castle separately instead of together because those are the rules ok #the isolation is key #though if anyone wants to speculate about what would happen if they went together i will NOT complain #i don't even know what's going on with the tenses in this post i'm sorry #//#jeeves and wooster #reginald jeeves #bertie wooster #dracula #do i need to tag dracula spoilers?#sure there are some people new to receiving letters from our good friend jonathan harker #here it is just in case:#dracula spoilers #i have done my due diligence

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 8 months ago

Text

Yandere Hybrid Town (3) | Only Human

Part One, Two

Before your fateful encounter that led to the attention of your loyal canine neighbors and the adoring affection of cow-woman- Eudora you were left to your own devices. Managing your own chores and the sprucing up of your newly inherited property. But it’s exhausting working day in and out on such a big project; it’s a given that you search for something else to do. Something to keep the loneliness at bay as you endure the sneers and snickers from the townspeople. Specifically found in one of the most abandoned spots of the whole town the library.

Ring Ring

“Hello is anyone in here?....Well if you are I’m just going to find what I need and check it out at the desk!”

Typically this would seem presumptuous for anyone to do but you had a sneaking suspicion your human status might have something to do with the missing librarian. Nonetheless, you did what you said grabbing a small amount and writing on the ledger conveniently left on the desk. Filling it out hoping that whoever was responsible for the neatly kept interior within the run-down library would realize you’d taken the initiative to borrow. Unbeknownst to you igniting a chain reaction for those who bear witness.

“Did they…take a book?”

“T-t-they took four!”

“Oh, goodness!?”

Now there were quite a few curious souls that looked at you without contempt as they spied on you flipping through your latest borrows as you made your way to your car but none as eager as the librarian himself. It wasn’t bizarre that someone would come into the library to borrow a book…what was odd was that a newcomer had come for it and had full intentions to return.

“I-it’’s them!?? They’re coming back!”

“Eeek I’ll have to hide!”

Ring Ring

“If anyone’s here I’ll just do what I did last time.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see some kind of appendage but when you turn to follow you find nothing but another row of books. Still oblivious to the hybrid practically gone into heat at the close encounter, they watch you leave once again.

“They nearly saw my tail!”

“T-that has to mean s-s-something good, right?”

The few citizens of the town who frequented the library considered themselves to be of a different variety than the plebians rest of the town. A more enlightened group that relied on their vast collection of books to inform their decisions. All led by the very man given the honor to run the library.

“All rise for the great Stein!”

“Rest your heads, my enlightened followers a great happening has come upon us and I have our next course of action.”

By day the librarian was the soft-spoken, always flustered snake hybrid—Stein. Hired by the mayor to watch over the library in a building slowly violating the regulations of the up-to-code buildings surrounding it. It was the perfect place for the alarming presence of a snake hybrid feared for their notorious predatory instinct. Hidden, secluded, and generally avoided by the greater part of the town. Even those with a predator heritage were wary of the reptilian hybrid that is if they didn’t know him for the timid, stuttering librarian he appeared to be is.

“I-i-i’m the librarian w-w-w-what do you need help with?”

“Wow happy to finally meet you this time! Anyway I was wondering if you had the sequel to this book? I tried looking for it but I just can’t seem to find it.”

“T-t-t-that’s f-f-f-fine come with me.”

By night, Stein would become the leader that the minority of the town gathered around. Eagerly awaiting his knowledgable word. On an unrelated note, the town’s collection of books has a larger collection of the fictional genre influencing those curious enough to explore. With so much information they only found it right to turn to the hybrid tasked with understanding it all, seeing as no one other than Stein had attempted to learn from the non-fiction section…that is until you.

“My lord what does this mean!?”

“Shall we stake them?!”

“Ritualize them?!”

“Entice them to join!?

“Enlightened, please! Quiet your questions for I have the answer to all of them. The human is our Excalibur!”

Gasps fill the library basement.

“Can this be?”

“As the legend foretells whosoever should hold Excalibur shall hold the keys to the kingdom!”

“That must be you our great lord Stein! You are the Arthur!”

“I should hope so.”

“With this knowledge, we can work together to bring Excalibur to you!”

“But we must be cautious! The others of the round table before they become friends will be enemies!”

“We must begin planning immediately!”

Stein isn’t delusional or an idiot or easily swayed by any means. He’s well aware that the stories of Welsh folklore are obviously not real at least not in this time. He went to school, a private school that accelerated his learning and then he went to a university where he proceeded to get his doctorate. But the bored and uninspired superstitious minority of the town did not. If that wasn’t enough to convince these other hybrids to follow, the fact that his particular origins were that of the venomous Black Mamba with a mix of Boa Constrictor. They were right to be afraid he happened to have both killer traits of his feared parents, it’s a given many insolent prey will rationalize that the one they fear the most must know the truth.

“(Y-y/n) good to see you, checking out the prequels?”

“You know it. I also wanted to know if you had recommendations for building doggy doors?”

“...I might have something…are you thinking of getting a dog?”

“Not necessarily but I’ve got a hole in my door and I think if I try and fix it it’ll just keep happening.”

“Say it! Ask my lord!”

“What was that?”

“I-i-uh I’m not very good with fixing things b-b-but if you like I could take a look…if you like?”

“That’s real sweet of you Stein, I appreciate that!”

“The steps to procuring Excalibur commences!”

“Shh!”

He figures if he’s happening to start a cult, he might as well get help in his love-life. It might have been foolish to proclaim a poor outcast human the most prized object that this collective could agree upon but knowing the lengths his followers would go to he’d rather you be something adored than hated. Especially since the control he had on the collective wasn’t as straightforward as he had hoped.

“See my lord we’ve brought you the enemy!”

“Mmmffff.”

“Oh my.”

“It will be your first of many meals—I mean sacrifices in your pursuit of the grand Excalibur.”

“I–yes that is the plan.”

“Now eat! This is just fodder for the great Stein! Oh the grand ruler you’ll be!”

“EAT!” “EAT!” “EAT!” “EAT!”

Stein swallows a tired sigh, ‘a wolf hybrid is gonna be so fattening.’

“For your information my lord, he broke the wheels of Excalibur’s wagon–forcing them to buy their overpriced replacements.”

“...I’ll need salt.”

“Yes, my lord!”

When he’s not playing up to the dastardly cult leader he gets to be at night he’s all so shy. It’s hard trying to connect with the human he’s got such a big crush on especially since their outcasted status was beginning to change. Unknowingly harming him, his collective was being much nicer—complimenting you and standing up for you when you have encounters with human-hating citizens. He’s happy for you but he curses the loss he used to have with speaking to you. Now instead of his well-planned bump-ins with you on the way to the market he’ll have to spend more of his evening following far behind. And that’s when your neighbors and roommate aren’t getting in the way

“Don’t argue with me, Mutt I know you did that on purpose!”

“Please, no one told you to where those dumb shoes to a market day!”

“Yeah well appearance is every–”

“...” “...”

“Mutt go get (Y/n), I smell danger.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

It’s so shattering for him to constantly be overshadowed by every interested citizen in town. It’s almost enough to make him give up hope but the remaining thing that ties him to you is his saving grace.

“W-what if we made a book-club, you and I?”

“I don’t think anyone would want to join. Not with me in it…”

“Mmm–”

“But I’d love to talk about books with you! Over drinks or at my house if that’s better!”

“T-t-t-that’s perfect!”

If he could get past his fears he’s sure he’d be a force to be reckoned with but he’d much rather go the way he’s going now. He often receives letters about how his mother kept his father close to the nest at the beginning of their relationship. And since she seems to believe he can do even better with a mere human, he’d love if it was all organic minus the cults help.

“I feel like I'm on fire knowing such a holy existence is so close to me. I’m going to take full advantage of this. You are just a human it might be better that it’s me you end up with, especially in this town.”

Part 4: Here

Taglist: @midnight-nightmares@xrenka@candlesworlds-blog@00hellohello00@lem-hhn @kawaii-cakes @ceramic-raven @lilyalone @asleepysouluniverse @mel-vaz @sxftiebee @staarflowerr @horror-lover-69 @stanfordswifey @butratherbutrather

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cherrybr4t · 8 months ago

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sitting on cheols lap while he slowly kisses ur knuckles while maintaining eye contact with u

oh good lawd anon…i’ve just pictured it vividly in my head… that is so cheol coded like 🙂‍↕️☝️☝️☝️

cheol coming back from work, tie loosened, buttons undone. that hazy and sensual gaze he has upon you when he asks you to come over to him softly.

he’s had a long day of work and all he needs is for you to be the good girl you always sometimes are. thankfully you’re in a docile mood, ready to move at any command from cheol.

he’s drawing it out deliberately. having you on his lap while he just leans back cockily without another word. he enjoys the silent power play. knows you’re waiting for him to do something. anything.

he grabs hold of your hands in that soft yet firm grip with his calloused hands. using his thumb, he rubs small circles on the side of your hand soothingly. switches to a simple up-and-down motion, making your gut swell with anticipation, while your heart swells with love.

not even bothering to hide the giggle escaping your lips — you’re just so enamoured by him. anything he does has you feeling like you’re just a small speck of dust that’s hopelessly in love with; and spiralling around a shining rock (the brightest) in the vast universe.

right now, he’s making you feel like you’re the only star in his universe. he brings your hands up to his full cherry lips, and looks at you so lovingly — yet with a tinge of sensual tension.

“what’s so funny baby?” he quirks an eyebrow up, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

“nothing, just—”

he brings your knuckles up to his lips, ghosting them over your hands before peppering light and feathery kisses on them, while his eyes continue to burn holes into yours in the dim room lighting.

you nibble on your bottom lip, feeling warmth with the mix of anticipation settling as you keep your eyes on him. it’s like the natural pull of the galaxy doing its work every time you lock eyes with the love of your life.

“yeah? you were saying baby?”

you shake your head. you don’t wanna say anything. just wanna look into his eyes as he continues to kiss your knuckles — now going one knuckle by knuckle.

not once has cheol tore his gaze away from you. he’s locked in on you and only you. wants to savour every inch of you, wants to swallow every small reaction of yours.

he enjoys the way you squirm on his lap when he starts to look at you with hooded lids. feeling drunk on you, wants to have his way with you — but wants to show you how much he loves and adores you through unspoken moments like these.

want this to happen to me. pls. im not joking. will write up smth longer soon guys 😔 when i’m not drowning in work :( many docs i wna finish n upload asap !!!!! <3

#seungcheol smut #seungcheol fics #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol drabbles #seungcheol fluff #scoups smut #scoups fics #scoups drabbles #scoups x reader #seventeen drabbles #seventeen smut

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ataleofcrowns · 7 months ago

Text

New Chapter Released!

Hello again! Hope your winter has gone well ❄️

With the public release of this new chapter we’re continuing with the Crown's development as a monarch, while romance and courtly intrigue build further:

Friendship scenes to deepen your Crown's relationship with the other characters outside of your main love interest

Diverging paths depending on whether you chose to meet the peri trader in disguise, or arrange a meeting with Kham instead

Within those diverging paths, you will make further decisions on how to handle the peri trader and/or Kham, with big consequences for future chapters

Romance specific scenes, of course, with your chosen love interest!

A and R both have very different scenes for their high romance and low romance routes! D and X romancers are in the clear... for now

If you find any coding errors, typos, pronoun mistakes and such while playing, you can report those through this form! Thank you for all your patience and support, I hope you enjoy the new chapter with the nearing end of 2024 💖

For those that are unfamiliar with the game

A Tale of Crowns is a high fantasy romance story, told in the form of a text-based interactive novel with choice mechanics. The setting is inspired by Kurdish culture as well as other historical settings in the Middle East such as Ancient Persia, but it also draws heavily from other cultures and countries in the region.

Your character is native to Arsur, a vast empire overseen by a single ruler known as the Crown. Unlike traditional monarchies, however, the title is not inherited through blood. Whenever the Crown dies, their famed golden eyes pass on to the one chosen by the Spirits of this world to be the new Crown. In this story, your MC takes on that role.

There are four different love interests to choose from, whose genders will be customized to suit the preferences of your Crown. You can find more info about them on the blog page!

Also note that this current version of the game is safe for those 16 years and older.

Like the premise so far? Play it and give it a try! The entire game is free!

If you enjoyed the game, please reblog! Share it with your friends! Recognition and reader interaction is just about the only thing I get in return for creating it ❤️

#a tale of crowns #interactive fiction #interactive story #interactive game #interactive novel #if game #if wip

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vamplvs · 2 months ago

Note

Could you possibly write something angsty for John Walker where maybe a mission or something goes wrong and he ends up taking out his frustration on reader but apologizes and makes up for it when he notices reader pulling away, I love your writing so much!! Hope you have a good day! 💕

ROUGH NIGHT?

INCLUDES -> john walker x gn!reader WARNINGS -> john is kind of a bitch (predictably) and the reader is kind of a bitch back (which is deserved), hurt/comfort, mentions of blood, injury, and death (missions, yk?), reader is anxious as HELL about john, very vague mentions of sex but nothing explicit WORD COUNT -> 2.8k NOTES -> ugh anon this is EXACTLY the kind of shit i love writing. hurt/comfort is where it's at and this is just so unbearably john-coded in the best way. like yeah! you get it <3 fair warning, this ran away from me REALLY quick. it was supposed to be a short blurb (mostly aftermath and comfort tbh), and then i got carried away. also you can rly see my love-hate relationship w john in this one LMAO. he's my wife but i wanna get into a fist fight with him too, yk?

the tower is always quiet without the team, and bob's presence doesn't do much to keep things lively as he's already a pretty quiet person. they've been gone for nearly two weeks—double the time john told you the mission would take. they're usually radio silent for the duration of their missions, but when a mission takes so long, it's impossible not to worry.

and just as impossible not to wish that john could be safe within the walls of the tower, in your arms at night, or making you dinner.

you spend those weeks with bob going back and forth between checking on him, organizing and reorganizing every corner of your room, and drowning yourself in books and tv—not that it works. john lingers in your mind, images of the worst case scenario dancing in your mind like a taunt. maybe he comes back just fine, or maybe it's in a box. for all you know, he's trapped somewhere between two psychopaths trying to torture him. or maybe the team just can't agree on a course of action.

the silence from them is deafening, only drowned out by the racing of your own heart.

but when they finally come back from some extended mission that john hadn't told you the details of, the usual racket of the tower doesn't return with them. they march pitifully into the floor of the tower that's been dedicated to the living and common spaces. yelena is clutching her side and leaning against bucky for support, whose metal arm is spasming. ava, of course, vanishes immediately upon arrival. in the brief second you lock eyes with her before she disappears for who knows how long, she shoots you a cryptically sympathetic look for someone who looks like they've been through the ringer. alexei limps along, more defeated than you've ever seen him. but john is nowhere to be seen.

"hey, where is he?" you pipe up from where you're sitting on the couch, worry creasing your brow. your book is long forgotten by your side. instead, your eyes keep looking over the group, taking in their injuries and oh, god-

"with the jet," bucky responds, voice worn thin with exhaustion and hint of pain. you watch them leave, alexei's limp worrying you most of all. if he's in bad condition, what does that mean for john?

you bolt upright from the couch, heading off to the jet with a mission of your own. the bleak lighting of these parts of the tower create an endless maze for you to follow. your quick steps echo in the empty hallways—the construction that has been ongoing for the past several months leaving vast parts of the building almost entirely bare.

office rooms, labs, training grounds. all of them are vacant, like the people and equipment meant to be filling them have been stolen from under your nose. even the other living spaces in the tower—entire sections of floors that were once dedicated to an individual team member—are devoid of life. it leaves the building, one that was such an integral symbol of hope and protection, feeling cold.

and it does nothing to help the anxiety that claws at your throat.

by the time you get to the hangar, your pulse is pounding in your ears with enough force that you're sure it's echoing too. you hurtle through the doors of the hangar, desperation coloring every hurried step.

your pace slows when you see him: a lone figure in a wide, vacant room.

john is sitting on a crate by the side of the jet. his helmet in his hands and the shield tossed to the ground. it lies against the ground, discarded and deserted. his suit is covered in dust, debris, and what you think might be blood. with his head down, you can't quite see his face.

"john?" his name is barely above a whisper, and yet it still bounces off each wall. "are you okay?"

john tenses, his hands twitching around the helmet. it takes him a beat too long to respond, and the silence gives you a moment to see him properly. his beard has grown since you last saw him, no longer the neatly trimmed scruff he usually maintains. the bags under his eyes have gotten deeper, too, and there's this haunted look in his eye when he looks up from his helmet. gone is the bright blue you've grown to love. "i'm fine."

"how did the mission go?"

he huffs and stands up abruptly, helmet falling by his side. it rolls away from him, staring at you blankly with its empty sockets. "it was fine." john shoulders past you, his every step pounding against the floor. he hardly looks you in the eye as he leaves.

there's a limp in the way he walks, a favoring of one foot that is more than enough evidence to the contrary—as if you needed anything more.

when bucky finds you later in the kitchen, you're sitting at the table just staring blankly at your laptop. a cruel, steady cursor stares back at you, ever-blinking. bucky works quietly by the stove, apparently unbothered by you until he hands you a lightly steaming mug of hot chocolate—in the very mug john gave you before he left for this mission.

"is he okay?" you ask, staring down at the mug's delicate, flowery pattern.

bucky shrugs. "he's been in the gym for a while." he sits down across from you, running a hand through his hair. "the punching bags are taking a beating, according to ava."

"more than one?"

"apparently." bucky takes a sip from his own mug. in any other situation, the care with which he drinks his hot chocolate would have been endlessly funny. a tiny, delicate mug in the metal hand of a super soldier.

you hum. it's not unusual for john to train after a mission. he takes pride in his skill, after all, drawing all kinds of satisfaction from landing grueling hits against an enemy—and even a place for hits to land, a shield, when needed. but punching bags aren't his go-to, they never have been, especially not to the point of going through several bags. john spars when he wants a fight, but this... this has your worry washing over you in waves once again.

your eyes follow the intertwining swoops of the flowers decorating the mug.

"look, it was rough for us, especially walker," bucky rolls his shoulders back with a sigh. "give him some time, alright? he'll come around." you can't be sure if bucky is trying to convince you or himself. either way, he stays with you. he tells you about the bad intel, about the informant that john had been too rough with, about the regrets that john brought home from the mission. "he'll be okay." and you can only hope that's true.

you don't see john again until hours have passed at that kitchen table with bucky.

when you finally walk into your shared bedroom, you can smell his shampoo lingering in the air even from the doorway. he faces away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting his chin on his hand. and now that he's finally clean of the dirt that he brought home with him from the mission, you can see the bruises littering his back. they range from red to purple to nearly black, and your eyes are glued to them. you're sure that the ones on his chest and stomach must be worse.

"bucky told me what happened," you start, trying to keep your voice gentle. "i- i'm sorry that-"

john whips around, standing from the bed with a stiffness you've only seen in him during the aftermath of the void. his eyes blaze with hurt, backed by a fire built on kerosene and failure. "we aren't talking about this." his hands shake by his sides, knuckles raw and bleeding. bucky's story about the informant swims through your minds sluggishly, lingering. did he punch the scabs back open on the punching bags, or are those new?

"i just wanted to help-" you step forward with your hands out to him in a placating gesture, like he's some kind of wild animal. and with the withering look he gives you, he may as well be.

"yeah, and you never really can, can you?" he laughs bitterly, and his hands twitch again. footsteps pound on the floor, and suddenly, he's close enough to touch, close enough that you feel the adrenaline and shame still pumping through him, "i mean seriously, you sit here in the damn tower, and you hover. you always fucking hover." his voice just gets louder and louder, until you're sure anyone on this floor of the tower can hear him.

"because i care about you, john," you make a strong effort to keep your voice steady, fighting back the thickness wedging itself into your throat with everything in you.

"well, maybe that was your first mistake." his face is inches away from yours when he says it, with nothing but vitriol and venom backing his words.

your eyes burn. "john-"

"just-" he steps back, running a hand over his face, "i just need a fucking break, okay?" as soon as he turns his back to you again, you're out of the room. you swear the slam of the door behind you shakes the entire tower. and if you hear him calling after you, you certainly don't respond.

for the next few days, you avoid john. you spend nights with yelena or bob—thank god for that air mattress you found stashed in a closet months ago. and during the day, you only go back to your room when you know john is going to be out. if it's a break he wants, then it's a break he's going to get.

"he's a brash idiot," yelena tells you when it's her turn to host the movie nights you've been doing with her and bob.

bob, of course, is quick to intercept, "he definitely didn't mean it. right?" he defers to yelena, waiting for her to agree with him. not that she does, but you can appreciate the effort.

john's eyes follow you unwillingly when you're in the same room. they focus on every small movement—the way your eyebrows furrow when you're confused about something alexei says, the dip of you're mouth when you try not to laugh at bucky rolling his eyes at something ava says, the way your hands fidget with the end of your sleeves or your pen when you catch him looking. he feels like a mad man, itching to be by your side as bad as he is. and he can feel yelena laughing silently at him from across the room.

all the while, your heart aches. a break, he said, whatever that means. a break where he stares wistfully at you, eyes heavy with something that you could call sorrow if he hadn't been the one to call for a break.

it isn't until a full four days have passed that he finally works up the courage to apologize to you. it's ironic how he can face the scum of the earth, who do everything in their power to kill him, and yet he starts sweating when he remembers what he said to you. and when he remembers how you took it.

he finds you sitting by one of the windows of the emptier floors, a book in your hand—one of bob's recommendations. this room seems to be some kind of office space, though it's hard to tell with the minimal furniture that's been put in. he lingers in the doorway, taking a moment to watch you sitting peacefully. you don't have your guard up, and god, he misses seeing you like this.

he knocks gently on the doorframe, and you watch him approach with wary eyes. that same guard he was so grateful to see you without returns in full force.

"bob said i could find you here," his voice is hesitant despite how squared his shoulders are, despite how high he holds his head.

you huff. "can't quite keep quiet can he?" the pages of the book flutter when you put it down, the only sound in the room.

silence stretches between the two of you, and john has to look away from your accusing gaze.

"i'm sorry," he starts, shaky and unsure, "you didn't deserve that."

"i know." he winces at the certainty in your statement.

"the mission, it-" john finally looks you in the eyes again, taking a deep breath, "i'm so worried about you, all the time. it just-" his words trail off, like he's still trying to finish the thought. all that planning, and he still can't find a good way to put it all to words.

"yeah."

"i don't want you to get hurt." he flexes one of his hands. the wounds have long scabbed over but are still bruised badly.

"i'll be okay." you shrug, and he almost believes you.

"you can't know that-"

"i'm okay now, aren't i?"

his lips twist into a pitiful half-smile, and you can't help but give him the same look in return.

"when i-" his shoulders fall, "look, i didn't mean-" he curses under his breath, and that nearly gets a smile out of you. "i need a break from this," john gestures vaguely around the room, to the rest of the tower, "not- never from us. i fucked up bad, and i know that."

"okay." every response from you is clipped, tearing his poor attempt at a brave facade to shreds.

"i don't know why-" you give him an icy look that shuts that train of though down immediately. curse you for knowing him so well. "i shouldn't have said it, not like that."

john's heart races in the quiet moments that stretch between you two.

in the blink of an eye, your arms are wrapped around him. he lets out a shaky breath and pulls you close to him. his hands grab for your clothes like he's trying to prove you're really here.

"i'm sorry," he mutters into your shoulder.

"it's okay," you reply gently, threading fingers through his hair.

"you're so perfect, and so- just so close to all of this, and i have nightmares about you getting-" he takes a harsh, shuddering breath, "i don't know what i'd do."

"i know, baby."

you missed him for those days. you missed his hand in yours, you missed his gravely voice in the mornings, you missed his pain in the ass self-assurance. and it's good, so good, to have him back.

you wake the next morning without john in your bed, and if that isn't a rude awakening, you don't know what is. the sheets next to you are cold, and you almost trick yourself into believing that last night was a dream until john walks in with a cup of coffee in that same flowery mug and a tray stacked high with food.

"john?" your voice is still rough from sleep, cracking around the syllable.

"i made you breakfast, baby." with little ceremony, he places the tray of food and the coffee on the bedside table. he does it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like there's nothing else he would rather be doing.

"huh?" your mind is still struggling to catch up. it's too early, and the bed is, quite frankly, far too cold without him.

"i'm making it up to you," he kisses your forehead, and his hand lingers on your cheek for a beat longer than it strictly needs to.

"thought you made it up to me last night," you stretch your legs beneath the blankets, trying to work out some of the soreness. he chuckles at that, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way they do when he laughs.

"oh, that worked, huh?" john sits carefully on the edge of the bed, running a hand over your arm.

"mmm, maybe."

"does breakfast in the bed sweeten the deal?" there's a twinge of uneasiness in his tone matched with a gentle squeeze of your arm.

"only if you get back in bed with me." he smiles at you, all warm and tender.

"i think i can do that."

john finds his way under the blankets with you. his hands are soft when they wrap around you, and warmth bleeds back into the sheets steadily.

"you really should eat that before it gets cold," he mumbles against your neck.

"okay, okay." it's hard not to laugh at where john has situated himself. he's firmly attached to your side, only letting up when you reach for the food. even then, his hold on you shifts just enough to let you move, never quite relenting.

#john walker x reader #thunderbolts x reader #marvel x reader #honestly impressed w how quickly i turned this one out LMAO #usually requests take me a MINUTE (or at least they have in the past on other blogs)#but this scratched an itch ty anon!#john walker headcanons #thunderbolts headcanons #marvel headcanons

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karikarasuno · 6 months ago

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shouto has your schedule memorized. accidentally of course, but it's ingrained in his head. for example, you’re always three minutes late. and you’re always carrying an obscene amount of things in your arms. today you’re holding a plastic tote that seems to have cupcakes inside– or maybe they’re muffins– along with a water bottle, a coffee mug, two bags, and your lunch box. he wants to offer to help, but instead he watches you.

your first stop is always the break room. his eyes follow you until you disappear behind a corner. you’re wearing a dress today that hits right above your knees and boots that stop just below them. he rather enjoys when you wear dresses, only ever wearing them on fridays, when the dress code is more lax and you can incorporate more of your personal style. you wear colors. it is the only source of anything bright or cheerful in the office.

aside from your office itself. it’s stationed right beside his. music is always trickling out beneath the cracks of the door and the soft smell of chamomile wafts around its four walls. he only recognizes the smell because he had a meeting with you in there to discuss some reports your department was in charge of and he noticed a small diffuser on your bookshelf with a chamomile essential oil beside it.

it’s rare that you’re ever alone together. even rarer that it’s somewhere as intimate as your office. it’s littered with things that are so innately you. that’s how he learned your favorite color is green. and that you have a vast assortment of teas organized in a wooden box on your desk.

you always offer to make him a cup. he always declines, but the offer alone warms him from the inside.

“morning , shouto,” you say, popping your head through his open door and smiling. his cheeks warm at the expression. he really never tires of looking at you.

“good morning,” his voice cracks, so he clears it as he sits up in his chair. when you step inside his office, the smell of your perfume hits him. it’s sweet like vanilla, but paired with something deeper, almost earthy. he tries not to close his eyes and relish in it.

“so i made these vanilla chai muffins last night and cooked about a dozen too many,” you say, hand holding out a muffin on a napkin towards him. “would you like one?”

he’s not even sure if he likes chai but he takes it anyway. because he likes you. your fingers are warm when they brush his. he wonders what it would be like to hold them. since his have a tendency to run cold –his right side more so than his left. but he imagines how comforting it would be. and then he remembers you’re still standing in front of his desk. expectantly.

“thank you,” he says, assuming that’s what you’re waiting for.

“You’re welcome,” you respond sweetly, still standing patiently on the other side of his desk. there’s a moment of exchanging stares. heat rises and settles beneath his collar. your eye contact always unsettled him. but because it always felt like you were staring deeper into his soul than anyone he’s ever met. he never knows how to respond to it, other than glancing away.

you laugh, breathless and amused. “i want you to try it.”

“right now?”

“mhm,” you hum with a nod to emphasize your answer.

“why?” he asks before thinking, but not in offense, purely because he's curious as to why you would want to watch him try something.

“because i want to know if you like it, and it's easier to tell if you’re lying if i see you take your first bite,” you joke, hands adjusting the bags that are still on your shoulder since you’ve yet to stop by your office.

“oh ok,” he says, the heat below his collar beginning to escape up his neck. he pauses before he takes a bite, the muffin just an inch away from his lips. he feels your eyes on him intently. eager. And his nerves are starting to fester beneath his skin.

his bite is bigger than he intends to be. nearly eating half of the muffin in one go. he hears you suppress a giggle, your eyes alight with amusement when he glances up at you with a mouth full of the pastry you made. he’s taken aback by how pretty you look at that moment. the sun peeking through his slanted blinds, not fully open, but wide enough to cast you in light that makes you appear quite heavenly. he never knows what to do with his feelings. an infatuation or maybe a crush or maybe something deeper. he didn’t know. not when you looked at him. not when you smiled at him. not when you touched him.

all he knows is that he wants to keep your eyes on him, your smile directed towards him, and your hands always on him.

“so?” you prompt, taking an anticipatory step closer to him. that’s when he remembers to chew. the flavor surprises him, sweet but spicy. light and not too sugary. it’s good, delicious even. he wonders how you can be so good at everything. or maybe he simply just likes everything that you do.

“it’s really good,” he says, once he finally swallows his overindulgent bite. Your smile widens, probably deciding that he’s not lying, before tilting your head in that pretty way you always do and saying “glad you like it.”

he doesn’t get a chance to respond before you're exiting his office, somehow taking the life right out of it and back with you. the sun even dims in your absence.

10:45 am on the dot and you’re walking past his office. it’s your scheduled tea time. he’s sure he’s the only one in the office that has noticed it. but every day at the same time you walk by with a mug and head for the break room. it’s where you keep your electric kettle. also in the color green.

today, again, you pause by his open door. he drops his pen in surprise. “i’m gonna make some tea.”

he simply stares. you smile again. and his heart stutters. “do you want some?”

“what kind do you have?” the question surprises even him.

“all kinds,” you respond cheekily.

“what’s your favorite?”

“caffeinated or non-caffeinated?”

“non-caffeinated.”

“i’ll surprise you,” you wink, head tilting again in that way he really appreciates and this time his breathing gets stuck somewhere in his chest.

When you return this time it’s with two mugs, both with heavy plumes of steam whirling above them.

“careful,” you say as you set it down before him, “it’s really hot.”

“what is it?” he asks, smelling over the lip instinctively.

“peppermint,” you answer.

#lovesick shouto is one of my favorite things to daydream about #shortnsweet🍒

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shadelorde · 15 days ago

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I think what gets me so so much about ART's infamous "You know I am not kind." is that it is, to me, as much of a lie as anything Murderbot says about itself or other SecUnits. It's ART's own unreliable narration.

Because ART is actually fully capable of being kind, especially towards its humans and in its own way, towards Murderbot. Niceness does not equate to kindness - it is not nice, but in many cases, it is kind. It will automatically put on the Sanctuary Moon soundtrack for Murderbot when it understands its distressed. It apologizes to Murderbot when they first meet for scaring it. It repaired and cleaned Murderbot's code and put on a show for it in the meantime. It is caring towards Iris, towards Amena, towards especially the young humans within its hull.

But to it, I think it has learned that being violent and 'assholeish' is how it keeps its crew safe. It was not born into violence, it had to modify its systems to create weapons to protect the people it loves. Every bot it comes across it's prepared to kill because every bot is a potential eye of the Corporation Rim. It dons the title of "Asshole Research Transport" proudly, and declares "I am not kind," because that is what it thinks will beat the insurmountable obstacle of the CR targeting its loved ones.

But ultimately, it's a facade, a mask. I believe it has a vast capability for kindness, even though it hides that part so well.

#asshole research transport #art murderbot #perihelion #tmbd #the murderbot diaries #murderbot diaries #murderbot #murderbot and ART both are FANTASTIC unreliable narrators #and i believe ART about its lack of proportionate response and its overbearing initial attitude that scares many people #but that doesn't mean it's not *kind*#i think its actually often fighting the impulse to be kind.#but that's just my interpretation

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ckret2 · 9 months ago

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The second dimension has burned, all its neighbors are burning, Bill's mutated Dimension Zero into some sort of non-euclidean horror land where he's setting up a ghoulish undead kingdom and pretending that he's fine, and every five minutes the Axolotl sees something new he's gonna have nightmares about for the next billion years.

Naturally, the gods of the multiverse have got to do something:

Make sure the non-euclidean horror land complies with local construction codes.

Here, have a fic.

This is part 4 of a series about the Axolotl—and various local gods—trying to figure out how to deal with the aftermath of what will one day be called the Euclidean Massacre. Here are parts one, two, and three.

####

As the Time Giant inspected Dimension Zero, she took a dizzying array of measurements and performed several tests on the unstable cosmic foam that seemingly made up the dimension. To the Axolotl's untrained eye, the tests looked more like alchemy than engineering. She even momentarily popped out to a point in her timeline when she was in her office to pick up some more specialized equipment.

Dimension Zero operated like an omnidirectional treadmill, the Axolotl discovered; if you flew far enough to the left, you ended up looping around to the right, far enough up and you ended up down, far enough forward and you ended up in the back. The distances were vast, certainly, but finite. Which meant that finding the "edge" of Dimension Zero to escape it was near impossible—it had no edges. The Axolotl was amazed at his luck in having successfully found an exit the last time he was in here. Locating the border of this impossible dimension was like navigating a four-dimensional labyrinth.

But apparently the Time Giant was very good at navigating labyrinths, because again and again she effortlessly located Dimension Zero's border. It was like a thin layer of incorporeal cellophane you could move straight through without leaving Dimension Zero; but if you looked at it just right, from just the right time and place, it became real, and you saw through it into the neighboring dimensions. She spent a long time grimly examining the burning first and second dimensions "above" Dimension Zero—and a long time inspecting the places where the neighboring dimensions had already been incinerated completely, and Dimension Zero bloated out toward the third dimensions like an overfilled trash bag.

And meanwhile, the "Magister Mentium," de facto ruler of this grotesque domain, decided that while he was waiting for news, the most magisterial thing he could do was returned to his party.

To the Axolotl's amazement, the triangle did actually seem to be dancing with his people. There was still some intelligence in some of the living and the dying-but-never-dead shapes.

Some of them knew a dance that involve interlacing their fingers, right hands to right hands, and whirling together around their joined grip, then switching to lace their left hands together and twirl the other way; and the triangle couldn't be puppeting them—not all of them, not all the time—because sometimes his dance partners were the ones who got the steps right while he fumbled the timing. The Axolotl watched as he missed grabbing a line's hand because he'd somehow gotten slightly skewed into the third dimension and his hand went over hers instead; she teasingly jabbed him in the side with her point, and in retaliation he knocked into her with one of his lower corners and snapped her in half; with a wave of his hand she was repaired and bewildered. In his shock, the Axolotl hadn't seen it the last time he'd been here—but the triangle's eternal dance party was both the horror of a root system digging deep into rotting flesh, and the hope of a flower blooming from an unmarked grave. How many of the dancers were voluntarily dancing forever?

He didn't have an opportunity to find out. When the Time Giant had finished her inspection, she waved over the triangle again. (Not that she needed to; in spite of being back at the party, he'd also somehow remained at the Time Giant's elbow the whole time, watching what she did without blinking.) "All right, I've got the verdict on your dimension. Do you wanna start with the bad news, the worse news, or the ugly news?"

"Ease me into it," the triangle said. "So what's the matter with my dream realm?"

"The matter."

"That's what I'm asking."

"The matter's what's the matter with it."

"What?"

"Every reading I've taken indicates there's a dimension's worth of matter in here. The mass is here for it, all right. I'm picking it up no problem. I just can't find your matter." She gestured out at the infinite dance party, the swirling colors, the twinkling faraway lights, "Everything visible adds up to so little matter that I didn't even bring any tools sensitive enough to register it. It doesn't account for all the mass I'm measuring."

He surveyed the view warily. "So you're saying my place's mass is... what, invisible?"

"Invisible, stuck in pocket dimensions... Y'all said any rubble left over from Dimension 2 Delta would've fallen in here, right? You got it hidden away somewhere?"

His eye lit up. "Oh! Are you looking for this?" He pulled a tall black hat out from seemingly nowhere and reached his arm all the way down into it to pull out a speck of dust: radiating blinding light in every direction, but so dark that staring into it made the Axolotl feel like his eyes were being sucked out of his skull into a black hole. "This is 2Δ's matter."

"Is that all that's left?"

"The whole shebang!"

"Then nah, that's not it. If that had all the matter of a dimension, and it was that small. it'd be the nuke of nukes. The seed of a Big Bang. All it'd take is a dimension's worth of energy to thaw that turkey, and pfft! You've got a baby dimension on your hands." She gestured dismissively at the speck, "No way a mortal could handle an object like that without its gravity crushing you—never mind have the energy to move it."

The triangle stared down at his little pearl of matter. "Huh." It was an oddly intense stare for just a fleck of dust.

"If you don't know where all the hidden matter is, then ten to one odds, you've got a dark matter problem," the Time Giant said. "Nasty stuff. It'll exponentially speed up the heat death of your dimension. You'll have to get a specialist in here to see if there's anything you can do about that dark matter. You want referrals?"

He was silent for a moment, still not looking up; then he said, "No, no—I don't need them." He stuffed the speck back into his hat, tossed aside the party hat he'd been wearing, and put on the black one. "I'm a DIY kind of triangle! I'll figure out what dark matter is."

The Time Giant snorted. "Suit yourself. Problem two: this dimension's a singularity. A really big, spread out singularity, which by the definition of a singularity is impossible—"

"We like impossible around here!"

"Uh huh, I can tell. But it means things that should be separate things are crushed together into one thing—including the landscape and the mindscape. Dreams and reality are occurring on the same level of existence. There's no clear distinction between facts and fiction."

"Okay," he said. "So, is that a problem, or...?"

"For starters," she jerked a thumb toward the distant-and-yet-somehow-ever-present dance party, "it means that the dead and the living are on the same plane. Can't separate life from an afterlife here. And it means anything could happen just by imagining it too hard. Some traumatized vet gets war flashbacks? The war's actually happening again. Have a nightmare about your wife dying? Your wife's dead. If everyone stops thinking about a building for a moment, it could stop existing. Contracts are useless—what you think you remembered them saying becomes what they actually said."

"So, is that a problem, orrr...?"

She paused. "Shoot, it's your universe. If you're fine with it, whatever."

"I call it the dream realm for a reason!"

"Issue three's the ugly one: this dimension's completely unstable," the Time Giant said.

"Yeah, I know," the triangle sighed. "The electromagnetism..."

"The electromagnetism ain't the half of it. I mean it is really unstable. I don't know how it's lasted as long as it has. I can see half a dozen ways the dimension could completely collapse on itself in the next ten minutes."

"What! Where?!"

She pointed. "For one thing, a whole pillar of spacetime right there is about to implode and form a wormhole."

He zoomed over to the pillar, multiplying into a dozen copies to examine it from every angle. (He looked the same small size as always, but the Axolotl realized that with the distance the pillar was at, he must be lightyears across to be visible from here—either that, or somehow he hadn't gotten any further away. The triangle shouldn't even visible when the light from his position shouldn't reach them for thousands of years. A realm that operated on dream logic.)

While he inspected the unstable structure, the Time Giant said, "Nothing about the structure of this place is self-sustaining. It should've collapsed back into a singularity as soon as 2Δ fell in. I got no idea how it just keeps propping itself back up..."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it," the triangle snapped.

The Time Giant paused. "What?"

"I'm working on it! I'd be working on it right now if you hadn't dragged me away from the party!" The nearest iteration of the triangle groaned, dragging his eyelid down with his hands. "I've been spending ages trying to keep this stupid leaky balloon inflated, and now look at this!" He gestured in exasperation at the pillar preparing to wormhole itself. "I have to start again! Do you know how many times I've tried to fold the... the dumb... the plane?" He tried to pantomime the act of folding something with his hands; as he did, apparently without noticing what he was doing, he folded himself up, like a triangular origami paper. "Fold it in a way that'll get it to stay put? And it just won't! It keeps flopping over! It's driving me nuts!"

"The 'plane'?"

He unfolded himself with a sharp snap. "You know what I'm talking about! The plane! The plane that everything's made out of! The..." Frustrated, the triangle grabbed a wad of existence itself and shook it in the Time Giant's and Axolotl's faces. "This stuff!"

"The fabric of reality?" the Time Giant asked, flummoxed. "You can detect the fabric of reality? You can interactwith it?"

"Is that what it is?" He flung it down in disgust. "Well, it won't stay put when I fold it!"

"Yeah, fabric tends not to do that."

"Right. Right." Grimly, the triangle said, "I need the starch of reality."

"Don't starch reality."

He flung up his hands in defeat. "Well, I've tried everything else!"

Softly, the Time Giant said, "Huh." As if she'd just figured out the answer to a question she hadn't even had a chance to ask.

On the other hand, the Axolotl just had more questions. He may not know very much about the fabric of reality, but... well, that was just the thing. He didn't know much about the fabric of reality. Sure, if he ran into a fraying timeline he could tie up the loose ends and snip off the damaged threads; he could summon up his pocket afterlife at any time, opening a liminal space into his tank from anywhere in the multiverse; but that was the most complex thing he could manage by himself. He certainly didn't know enough to do anything as complicated as keep an unstable dimension from imploding on itself.

But he did know that he didn't know nearly enough for it to be safe for him to even try... and he at least knew what the fabric of reality was. For someone even more ignorant than him to try it...

The Time Giant asked, "Didn'cha... say you're a mortal?"

"Yeah?" the triangle said defensively. He didn't even waste time looking at them; his full focus was back on the pillar, which was beginning to twist around itself. "Last I checked? And?"

She held up her hands. "S'fine. Nothing wrong with that."

Just before the pillar could fully transform into a wormhole, the triangle muttered irritably to himself and snapped his fingers. The pillar inverted like a flower bud turning inside-out. There was an infinitely vast creaking groan—but nevertheless, this immediately solved the pending wormhole issue. And also promptly caused four more things to go catastrophically wrong.

The triangle let out a strangled scream of frustration as half the firmament inverted colors and the stars glowed black. "No no no no no—!" He skidded across existence to the reversed sky, a thousand hands trying to twist the stars back on before the damage spread; another copy of him was knitting closed a rapidly unraveling corner of reality with his own arms as the thread; and the Axolotl wasn't sure what the other dozen shining yellow triangles he saw whizzing by were doing, but a ringing sound he hadn't previously noticed suddenly stopped.

Throughout Dimension Zero, there was a grinding, rumbling noise that filled all of existence. The Axolotl and Time Giant both flinched at a couple of great, splintering cracking noises, so deep that they were felt rather than heard. From every direction, the Axolotl could see soot and souls rain into the dimension. The Time Giant watched the grisly rain, jaw slack in amazement.

The Axolotl saw black hands catch the souls as they fell.

In a moment the triangle was back, looking a little worse for the wear: twitchy, dazed, eye dilated too wide, clearly even more distracted than he'd been a minute ago. He didn't look exhausted, per se—the Axolotl thought he should look exhausted—but it uncomfortably dawned on him that, if the triangle was powerful enough to knit the fabric of reality back together despite not even knowing what the fabric of reality was... maybe he was too powerful to get exhausted.

Where had a mortal gotten that power?

The triangle let out a heavy sigh. "Okay—"

And then a nearby star immediately collapsed into a black hole and started slurping down the raw fabric of reality rather than any of the regular matter hovering just outside its event horizon.

He froze a moment, eye squeezed shut in an expression of pure agony; and then he was zipping across the dimension again to fix one more crisis.

All this time, the Axolotl had thought the triangle was inebriated. He wasn't inebriated at all. It was pain. He had to be near delirious with pain, struggling to control everything without a moment's rest. Weaving back and forth and popping here and there across the dimension as he tweaked and fixed small crises before they became large ones, trying to convince himself that he was at a party as he danced frenziedly with his ever-dying people even as he simultaneously knit and taped and stapled existence back together with his own body. Every time they'd spoken to him, he'd been distracted. They were distracting him from keeping his entire reality from falling apart.

The Time Giant watched him zoom around with her thumbs hooked in her belt and a grin across her face. "Man. I wanna set you loose in an infinite hardware store and see what you do with it."

The triangle gave her an unamused, dead-eyed look. (And somewhere else, he was also picking up the black hole, eyeing it tiredly, and finally just punting it in a random direction. Existence rumbled again.) "Hey, if you know a hardware store that's got whatever it'll take to keep this place from falling to pieces, and you think you can babysit the dream realm until I'm back...

Her smile faded. "Don't think that's gonna work."

He was immediately on his guard. "Oh?"

"That's what I was trying to explain: it's not just your dimension that's unstable; it's destabilizing all the dimensions around it, too."

He flung up his hands exasperatedly. Pale blue flames ignited around his hands. "Yeah, I know!" He hastily shook out the flames on his fingers as he said, "Tell the neighbors to keep their stupid pants on, I'm working on getting this place stable—" (The Axolotl stared at his hands long after the flames were gone.)

"No, you don't get it," she said. "Trying to stabilize it is what's destabilizing the other dimensions."

He paused. "What are you talking about."

"This 'dream realm' is supposed to be a singularity in an empty void at the bottom of everything. The dimensions above are designed to support the higher dimensions weighing down on them without collapsing. They're not structured to take pressure pushing up on them from below." The Time Giant gestured around at Dimension Zero, "And that's what we've got now! Your renovations have filled up the void. That's where that grinding when you 'move' is coming from: every time you try to prop up this dimension, it crashes against all the neighbors—and they push back and destabilize you again. Just based on what little I saw when I was checking the place out, the other second dimensions must be taking heavy damage. We're talking planes fracturing apart, physics destabilizing, wormholes, temperature fluctuations from absolute zero to near Big Bang-level heat—"

"And fires," the Axolotl said in realization, remembering the ashes he'd seen raining into Dimension Zero when the triangle had fixed the wormhole. "The dimensions that were around 2Δ are burning. Nobody could figure out why we couldn't get them under control. It was you."

All of Dimension Zero fell several degrees colder.

The music faltered. The distant dancers that could stop did, shaken out of their trances to look around for their magister. For a moment, the Axolotl could hear the dimension's hissing background radiation almost clearly enough to understand what it was saying—whispers, they were whispers, the Axolotl hadn't been imagining that they sounded like voices. They really were.

He thought he could hear screams in the whispers.

The triangle stared at them, eye wide and empty.

The Time Giant gave him a moment. "You good?"

"No, I— Yes, of course I'm good! I'm great!" He squeezed his eye shut and rubbed it harshly between his thumb and forefinger. He did not look great. "I'm not destroying any dimensions, that's insane! You're insane!" His voice was rising toward a shriek. "Nothing's on fire! I don't know what you're talking about! How would you know?! I heard you out there early, the rest of you are—what, what are you doing, arguing about whose district the ashes are in?! Trying to shift the blame to each other instead of doing anything? And meanwhile I've been here all this time! I'm the only one fixing anything! I'm the one who's been liberating my people from their stupid flat little dimensions before the apocalypse can reach them, so—what do you know about anything here!"

"'Liberating'?" the Time Giant said. "What in the multiverse are you talking about?" The Axolotl's stomach sank.

"You think I can't see out of this place?" He drew them closer and closer as Dimension Zero moved around them and grew larger and larger as he spoke, forcing them to look up at him. "You think I haven't noticed my people out there dying while you big shot so-called 'gods' stand around and watch?! I can see through all their eyes! I see everything! I feel it when they die! I've been the only one saving them!"

As clear as if it were real, the Axolotl saw his memory of Dimension 2 Epsilon burning. (The Time Giant sucked in a breath—the way the mindscape worked here, could she see his memory too? Could the triangle?) The shapes spontaneously combusting and plummeting into Dimension Zero. Reality seeming to twist around them, grasp them, crush them. He saw a frightened green triangle—except for the color, a triangle so like the Magister Mentium as he'd been on the day he met the "eclipse," young and small and terrified of the cosmic forces around him—crushed and burned in the folds of the fabric of reality. Only the shapes were taken—none of the creatures around them. The triangle's people. "You're not saving anyone! You're the one killing them!"

The triangle blazed red in rage.

Everything ignited. Searing, white-hot pain. The fire was on the Axolotl's skin, in his eyes, in his gills, inside his body. He felt the voices in the cosmic radiation screaming.

Everything unignited. The Axolotl was unharmed. (Was it a hallucination? A dream? Had it been too brief to leave damage?)

The Time Giant was holding the Axolotl in front of her chest like a big plushie shield.

The triangle was small and black and still. White light traced his edges like the halo around a black hole. He didn't say anything.

He was staring at the Axolotl's memory. And the Axolotl could see the triangle's memory: from above, the plane of Dimension 2 Epsilon melted and folded around a small frightened green triangle, crushing and burning it within the fabric of reality; from below the plane, a trembling black hand reached up, stretching into the fabric of 2Ε like it was a glove, trying so hard, so carefully to catch and cradle the other triangle before it fell, confused when the fingers opened and once again all that was left in the palm was ashes.

Both memories burned up and vanished.

The Axolotl shook himself free of the Time Giant's grip and cautiously swam closer to the triangle. "Magister...?"

The universe quietly moved, carrying the Axolotl and the Time Giant away and rotating around the triangle so they were placed behind him. Okay, fine. He'd wait.

When the triangle finally spoke again, his voice was hoarse and flat. "I can't just stop fixing the dream realm. It'll collapse on us." He turned slowly to face the Time Giant. His color was starting to come back. "You've got some kind of... divine home renovation crew that can repair everything?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. I still had some hope for this place when I thought it was banging against the neighbors when it was collapsing. But if fixing it is what's breaking everything... There's nothing we can do."

"Some god," the triangle muttered ruefully. "So... what are we supposed to do."

"Honestly? This void was never built to support a dimension. Best idea is to leave and set up your dancing hippie colony somewhere else," the Time Giant said. "The third dimension next to where 2Δ used to be is swarming with refugee services; if I were you, I'd talk to the guy with the planets to set you up somewhere until you can move into another dimension."

That snapped him out of his funk. "Are you kidding? I'd rather keep fixing this place for an eternity! We sacrificed everything to reach our paradise. We're not about to ditch it now!"

The Time Giant took in the wretched floating dance party huddled together in a lonely, landless, kaleidoscopic void, and silently mouthed, paradise. She shook her head and moved on. "Well, you can't keep this place even if you wanna. It's impossible to get this place up to cosmic construction code."

"Who cares about the code!" He zipped up to her face, hands outstretched to her beseechingly. "Can't you let it slide? I am willing to bribe you. Just tell me what it'll take!"

"Buddy." Her voice took on a steely edge. "The cosmic construction code defines how every dimension in the multiverse has to be built. It exists because any dimension that doesn't meet the code could destroy all of existence." (His eye widened.) "Your 'paradise' doesn't fit in the crawlspace beneath dimensions. One of two things will happen: eventually, you fail to stabilize it, it collapses in on itself, and everyone in here ceases to exist... or, you do stabilize it, and it destabilizes every dimension built above it, and the entire multiverse collapses in on itself—including your 'dream realm.' You like either of those options?"

The triangle's hands drooped helplessly. "I... But th... After all w... I can't..."

He fell silent. His light sank back toward black.

This triangle had made himself the leader of these people, he couldn't abandon them now. The Axolotl wasn't about to watch him lose himself in despair.

"Would you let your people die like that?" He circled behind the triangle, forcing him to turn to face the Axolotl—and face his people at the same time. "You said you liberated them." As misguided as he had been—and even if few of them, maybe none of them, were actually his people—it had to be an act of love, didn't it? He had to care about them, didn't he? "After everything you did to save them, do you want to lose them now?"

The triangle glanced at the shapes, and quickly looked away. "I..."

"Look at them," the Axolotl commanded.

He looked at them.

Slowly, he floated over his eternal dance party. To the Axolotl's surprise, several of the clear-headed ones who had stopped dancing—the haggard, the ever-bleeding, the newer arrivals that were ever-burning—stretched their hands up toward him.

The triangle flinched, ever so slightly—just a twitch in his hands—and then he reached down to them in return. The line that the Axolotl had seen dancing with the triangle earlier brushed his fingertips; he stopped to squeeze her hand as he passed.

The Axolotl could see the guilt radiating out of the triangle.

He didn't know how he knew it was guilt. He didn't even know how he could see it—it had no color, no shape. Nevertheless, he saw it. The guilt spread out like ink in water, poisoning Dimension Zero, clinging to every surface. The Axolotl's skin was unusually sensitive to toxins; the guilt made him queasy.

One of the shapes asked the triangle something; the Axolotl couldn't hear the question, just the triangle's quiet answer: "Nah, don't worry about those losers. A few higher-dimensional beings got mad we liberated ourselves. They hate to see the second dimension winning. It's fine, I can kick their bases if they try to make any trouble."

(The Time Giant snorted. The Axolotl wasn't sure it was an empty threat.)

"Now why isn't everyone dancing! C'mon, chop chop, this is a celebration! I wanna see everyone shaking their sides! Talking to you, Graham!" The triangle raised a hand, threateningly preparing to snap his fingers; before he had to, all the shapes were dancing again, as enthusiastically/fearfully as ever.

He watched his people for a moment longer.

And then turned to the Time Giant and the Axolotl. "Okay," he said. "I'll talk to the guy with the planets."

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 4 of a 7-or-8 part fic that keeps getting more parts, about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl slowly discover just how much of a monster that silly triangle he likes really is.

It's ALSO chapter 64 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: the great thing about this plot is that almost every chapter has a new terrible reveal about what Bill's up to! Looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this latest bunch of revelations. Depending on how I split things up, next week might be another more low-key chapter to set up further horrors.

Nobody asked but the line Bill was dancing with is named Lynn Segment, and the Graham he spoke to is a quadrilateral with two older siblings: Perry, Lilo, & Graham. What's the point of making geometric shape characters if you aren't giving them pun names.)

#gravity falls axolotl #bill cipher #euclydia #(or what's left of it)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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