#I cheated a little by leaning forward so the light source would be larger and softer

[sirfrogsworth]

Best light for streamers without a lot of space.

Amaran is the budget line of video equipment for Aputure. And it is surprisingly solid for the price. You can get knockoff versions of most of their stuff from Neewer or GVM, but if you want something reliable that won't break in a year or two, Amaran is a good medium budget option.

They just released what I am callng the anti-ring light.

The Verge Max.

This is a ring light where they fill in the hole and give you an entire light. You can read a long rant about ring lights here. But the short version is, you don't want one unless you put the camera in the hole and are doing a tight close up of a face.

If you aren't doing a close up of a face (like for a makeup tutorial) then you just have a normal light with a giant hole in it.

You will get no magical benefits from a ring light under any other circumstances.

The reason ring lights are so popular (outside of being a fad), is because they don't take up a lot of space. A lot of people are streaming from their computer desk which is usually up against a wall. And you just don't have a lot of room to set up a proper light with a modifier.

Before now, your best option would be an LED panel (with the hole filled in). This one by Godox is pretty good.

It has a little remote and you can add batteries to make it mobile.

But it is small and in order to get soft light, you have to place it very close to your face or set up two of them. And it might get uncomfortable blasting a small light source into your eyes for long streaming sessions.

This new Amaran light is just as thin as a panel light, but its lighting surface area is like a proper studio light.

And it is round so you will get nice catchlights in your eyeballs (if you care about that).

So you can place it a little farther back or against the wall and distribute the light over a larger area. It won't be as piercing and uncomfortable, and you get flattering soft light.

I realize $260 is an investment. You need to be sure you can make good use of this light. But if you are in cramped quarters and need a proper lighting setup, this is a great option.

Otherwise, if you do have a little space to work with, you can buy the Godox panel (or use any decently bright light you have), and tape a $10 umbrella in front of it.

Don't sleep on umbrellas. They work great. They just spill light all over the place, so you have to be mindful of that.

But I took this photo of Chris with a $10 umbrella.

All you are trying to do is make the light source bigger. You can even put the umbrella on a ring light if you already have one.

Or you can bounce the light off the wall behind your desk. If you have a big white wall, use it as a light source.

The gold standard for video lights is always going to be a COB LED light with a Bowens mount. That last part is important. The mount allows you to attach any light modifier there is.

This Godox is pretty good for an entry level continuous light. I like them as much as Amaran.

And then you can throw an octobox on there at the size of your choice.

It even has a grid to help prevent light spill.

This setup is also great for portrait photography.

The Verge Max comes out in June, but here is a video of it if you have any interest.

Good lighting is a superpower. You can be using a webcam or smartphone and lighting can improve your image much more than just about anything else.

Because I have to socialize mostly through video chats, I have a little LED panel set up near my computer. Makes a pretty big difference when compared to the regular room lights.

[zenith-impact]

Riptide - Part Eleven

Read on AO3 here!

[1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10]

The next few days went by in a blur as you waited for the right time to visit your father. Twice you tried, but he hadn’t answered either time, even though you were certain from the lights in the windows that he was home. It also didn’t escape your notice that the Millelith seemed to be patrolling the area more than ever before, keeping Childe very, very far away from the house. You knew your father had some connections, but you didn’t think they were that good. Recruiting nearly an entire battalion to watch his home? That was more power than he’d ever shown you. 

So, as much as you hated it, you had to bide your time, all while preparing for the worst. And Childe was more than happy to indulge in your jitters. Unfortunately, today was just not your day. And after the third time of dropping a literal bucket load of water on your head, your annoyance had bubbled over into enraged frustration. 

“You’re getting better,” Childe said. “But your control needs… a little more work.”

You glared at him. “What gave that away, Captain Obvious?” You twisted your shirt, trying to squeeze out any water you could. It was all in vain, and you soon found yourself pouting even more than before. Childe had brought in multiple sources of water for your sparring session today, as you still couldn’t create it out of thin air like he could. Nearly all of it had ended up splashed in your direction at some point in the fight. Twice you dropped  your attempts at summoning different shapes straight onto your head. Once, he redirected it, throwing all of it right back at you before you could stop it.  

“It could have been worse,” Childe said with a grin. “I could’ve shown you my whale.”

You stared at him. “What kind of messed up euphemism is that?”

He laughed as he snapped his hand open. A small whale appeared, its body moving as if it were swimming through the air. “I’m serious,” He said, his voice almost childish. “I’ve dropped this bad boy on the heads of more than a few enemies.” He tossed it at you, but the water dispersed before you could try and catch it, smacking you in the face. You angrily threw some droplets back at him, but he just ducked before sliding up to meet you. “No need to get so worked up, girlie.”

You wanted to slap him. “Shut up.” 

His hand brushed under your chin before lightly grabbing it. You stumbled forward, your face far too close to his for your liking. But he just chuckled, his voice low when he spoke again. “You let your enemy get too close.”

You summoned an icicle to your hand, pressing the sharp tip against his chest. “Or he’s just close enough.”

He hummed. “You’d miss my heart, and I’d have broken your neck already.”

“We weren’t even fighting,” You argued. “You’re cheating.”

“Your enemy…”

You kneed him in the stomach before shoving him back as hard as you could. He rolled over his shoulder, landing on his feet unbothered. In fact, he looked more amused than hurt. Bastard. You lurched forward, ice blade forming in your hand. He summoned his own dagger, parrying your strike. You didn't let up, swinging with all the practiced precision he'd taught you over the last few months. You danced around each other. He dodged a strike. You twirled out of a jab. You both collided, and you saw him summon his second blade. You pushed back, pulling on the water that had pooled on the floor at your feet. Hydro blade met a surprisingly well made shield. You shoved it toward him, knocking him off balance long enough to twist the water into a new dagger. You stopped short of his neck, but froze when you realized that he, too, had a sword dangerously close to your throat. The two of you were close. You you could feel his warm breath on your lips and noticed that he was breathing slightly harder than normal. 

"Good," He said. 

"But you would have cut my head off?" You said, still not moving. 

"No other enemy would get this close," Childe said. 

You raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?" 

He leaned his head forward. Your lips almost brushed when he spoke again. "Because you wouldn't let them." 

A quiet cough drew your attention. In the doorway was Zhongli, hands behind his back as he stared the both of you down. Childe's blade slipped away the second yours did and he spun around, swinging his arms out in greeting. "Mr. Zhongli! To what do I owe the pleasure?"  

“The Millelith have found disfigured bodies in the backstreets of Liyue,” He told Childe with a pointed glance at you to ensure you were listening. “They brought them to the funeral parlor for an investigation, but I have a feeling that you might know more about it than either of us do.”

Childe crossed his arms. “And what makes you think that?”

“They found broken delusions,” Zhongli said. “And you do not seem very surprised to hear this information.”  

“We may have dealt with this before,” Childe said. “Let me see them.”

And that’s how you found out the funeral parlor had a secret back room. 

It wasn’t a large room, but it was big enough for two silver tables that were both wide and long enough for the largest of bodies. The walls and floors were both made of the same wood as the rest of the funeral parlor and there was only a single window for natural light. There were a few lamps in the corners and a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. You thought it was still a little creepy despite all the golden lighting, but maybe it was just because your eyes kept shifting to the bodies on the tables; one man, one woman. Both were disfigured and larger than a normal human. But they were different from the three Childe had fought in the warehouse. The man had skin that seemed to have split open as his muscle grew.. The woman had a single wing that hung off the table. The first was large and imposing. The second was so skinny it looked like she’d lost all of her muscles. Had she even managed to stand when the transformation was complete? Had the Millelith seen them transform or had they simply found them like this? 

“Well this does confirm something I was curious about,” Childe said. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Whether or not the bodies would last long after the transformation.” He shrugged. “Did the Millelith kill them?”

“No,” Zhongli said. “Both collapsed a few minutes after their transformation.”

”I wonder what drove them to break their delusions in the first place,” Childe said.

“Maybe it was a test?” You asked. 

“If that’s true, I doubt anyone else will try it again,” Childe said. “Rumors were already spreading about the suspicious deaths at the warehouse. Now, there will be no denying it.”

“So that might buy us some time,” You said.  

“Maybe,” Childe said. “Or Shing will speed up his research and we just won’t find the bodies.”

“But who would willingly transform knowing they’ll die?”

“Those who think they won’t,” Childe said. The room went silent for a moment as he stared off over Zhongli’s shoulder, finger on his chin. You glanced at Zhongli, but the elder man didn’t look away from Childe as he crossed his arms. 

“You're getting in over your head again.”

Childe snorted. “The last time was your fault.”

“Childe.”

“Zhongli.”

The two stared each other down, but Childe looked away a few seconds before it got unbearably uncomfortable. “We need to figure out Shing’s plan.”

“We need to talk to my father,” You said. “Stop putting it off.”

“I’m not putting it off,” Childe said. “As I'm sure you’ve figured out by now, the Milleleth are patrolling the area. And the Fatui aren’t exactly wanted in Liyue, so I can’t really waltz up to your father’s door without being seen.”

“Then let me go.”

“You’re not going by yourself.”

“I’ll go with Zhongli.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. You didn’t know why you thought that was a good idea. You didn’t know much about Zhongli other than the fact that Childe trusted him. You didn’t know if he could fight if there was someone watching. Didn’t know how he would handle himself if someone did transform. But something about him just made sense. Childe seemed like the type of guy who would only trust people who had proven themselves in battle… or something like that. Surely Zhongli had done something to earn that trust… right? You thought it obvious, but you lost some of your courage when you realized that they were both staring at you. Zhongli even looked puzzled. “Well I wouldn’t be going alone,” You said. 

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Zhongli said thoughtfully. 

Childe snorted again. “What was that about not getting involved in hu-.”

“If it poses a disk to the safety of Liyue then I am willing to help,” Zhongli said tersely. Again, the two stared each other down as if inches from a fight. But Zhongli didn’t seem like that kind of person, even though Childe would probably brawl on the porch if he had the opportunity. Was there some kind of bad blood between them? If that were the case, then why would Childe trust him with you? Or were you just reading the entire situation wrong? 

“So…” You said trying not to sound as awkward as you felt. “Are we going or not?”

Zhongli turned to you first, and you swore you saw Childe pout out of the corner of your eye. “If you believe my presence will help, then I will go with you.”

“You have no idea what you’ll find in there,” Childe said. 

“But we can’t keep waiting and hoping for the best,” You said. “And if my father really is controlling the Milleleth somehow, then he seems to be getting more paranoid. If we wait too long, he might not even talk to me.”

“He might not talk to you now.”

“But that’s a risk I have to take.” 

“She’s right,” Zhongli said. “People are dying, Childe. And if this man has any information…”

“Alright, alright,” Childe said, throwing his hands in the air. “But if anything happens, or if anyone is there that shouldn’t be, run.”

“Don’t think I can fight?”

“I don’t think you should,” He said. 

 “Then what was the point in all the training?”

“This is different,” He said. “You saw what those guys turned in to.”

“Well we both know you’ll be close by.”

“Not tonight,”

“Why not?”

“I need to monitor Shing,” Childe said. “But you trust Mr. Zhongli, don’t you?” He grinned at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You hesitated, unsure what answer he wanted you to give. Slowly, you nodded and Childe looked away. “Then go.”

“Are you sure?” You said. 

This time, his eyes glistened with amusement. “Who’s hesitating now?”

You scowled. “Shut up.”

-----------

It was late when you arrived at your old home and, as usual, all of the lights were on. Zhongli was beside you as you climbed the steps, but stopped one down as you knocked on the door. Silence followed, and you saw how the kitchen light clicked off. You sighed, knocking again. “Dad,” You said, your voice borderline pleading. “Its me.” Another light turned off. You heard feet pound against the wood and you were certain they were going toward the stairs. “Father!” You snapped, ignoring the Millelith that had stopped somewhere behind you. You jiggled the doorknob, willing it to open. But nothing happened. Then, as the Millelith turned in the corner of your eye, you had an idea. You summoned a small bit of water from a puddle on the ground, twisting it into the shape of the key that you remembered. You gently inserted it into the lock, trying your best to maneuver it as if it were real.

The door clicked open and you yanked Zhongli inside, locking it again before the Millelith could reach you. The man pounded on the door, yelling something you weren’t paying attention to. “I’ll stay here,” Zhongli said.

“If they try to come inside…”

“They won’t.”

His confidence was admirable. All you could do was nod and rush further into your house, straight toward your father’s room. You weren’t surprised to find that door locked too. Again, you knocked as you tried to open it, hoping that maybe the lock would come undone. When it didn’t budge, you rushed downstairs to grab some water, ready to break in again. “Sorry,” You muttered as you drew some water from a cup and moved toward the lock. 

Then, the door burst open. You shrieked as you dodged out of the way, barely making it to the side before it crashed right into you. You heard someone call your name as a man stepped into the hallway, his eyes glowing an unsettling green. “Anemo guy,” you thought as you rushed to your feet and summoned a blade of ice. “What are you doing here?”

“You have it,” he said. “The delusion.”

“I said what are you…”

“Give it to me,” He said, holding his hand out. “I won’t fail again.”

“No,” you said. You heard your name again - a feeble sound that made you cringe- and you took a long step back. “What did you do to my father.”

“Give it to me,” The man said again as he followed after you. “Now.”

“I said no.”

“Then you leave me no choice.” He unclipped his delusion from his belt and grabbed a dagger off his waist. 

“Wait!” You yelled. “Don’t you know what will happen?”

“This won’t kill me,” He said. “I’m in perfect control.”

“The others probably thought that too.”

“I won’t fail again!” The man yelled. You lunged forward as he stabbed the knife toward the delusion. You knew seconds before it hit that you wouldn’t be fast enough. But the blast of energy never came. Instead, a pillar of rock spiked out of the floor, knocking the man in the chin. The delusion fell from his hand and you snatched it up before scrambling away. A large rock smacked the man in the chest, knocking him into the wall. You heard a loud crack, but you weren’t sure if it was the building or the man’s rib cage.  

“We need to go,” Zhongli said. You nodded, rushing into the bedroom to find your father lying on the floor, eyes glazed over as he met your eyes. He said your name again, flopping against you as you put his arm over your shoulder and lifted him up. Zhongli was there a moment later, helping from the other side. You heard more pounding from downstairs followed by voices of multiple Millelith. 

“The back door,” You said. “We can head out from there.” Zhongli nodded as the two of you escorted your father down the stairs. You rushed through the kitchen, ignoring how much of a mess everything had become in your absence. You threw the backdoor open and pulled your father out into the alleyway. 

Three unconscious Millelith were the only warning you got when a blast of fire struck the ground at your feet. A pillar of earth snapped up between you and the other vision holder as you stumbled backward, trying desperately to hold onto your father. More fire shot in your direction, but each strike was blocked with pillars and rocks. Zhongli guided you off the stairs, setting your father against the wall as he summoned an ornate spear. “Go,” He said. “I will deal with them.”

“We won’t make it far,” Your father said. “You need to run.”

“But you…”

“I’m sorry,” Your father said with tears in his eyes. “I never should have said what I did.”

“We can make it,” You said. “We can…”

“Shing is only missing one delusion,” Your father said. “One real delusion. He’s been experimenting with them for years.”

“But why?”

“Transformations,” Your father said. “The most powerful thing a delusion holder can do. Those capable of becoming something new… something stronger. They can do anything.” He sagged against the wall and you felt him try and push you away. “You can’t give him your delusion.” He said. “You have to run.”

“But if he has the others…”

“Yours is the last piece,” Your father said. “The last key to his immortality.”

“Immortality?” You repeated. Impossible. But if your mother had been looking for a way to cheat death… Then maybe…

“Go,” Your father said. “Take your friend and run.”

Slowly, you sat him down. More delusion holders flooded in from both sides. Pillars shot out in all directions, knocking many down and blocking off the rest. “Zhongli,” You said, but before you could finish your sentence, his arm was already around your waist and a pillar pushed you both into the air, tilting slightly so you could step off onto the rooftop. The delusion holders descended on your father, but a Zhongli’s tight grip on your wrist pulled you away, leaving him behind for good.

[jay-me-says]

Things Were Different Back Then

CHAPTER FIVE: Midnight Conversations

Masterpost w/ more info on the fic | Note: all SBI-related relationships here are platonic!

Tommy dodges Tubbo’s sword, barely this time. His limbs feel like they have bags full of stones tied to them, weighing down every dodge, parry, and strike. Tubbo attacks again and Tommy only just manages a weak block. His brown-haired friend seems to be tiring as well, but not nearly as much as he is. Where the hell is he getting all of this energy? Tommy wonders, his breaths coming out as wheezes.

The blond attempts an attack with as much energy as he can muster, but it comes out messy and Tubbo parries him with the same ease he would a child. Tommy takes too long to recover and the other boy takes advantage of the moment, hitting the back of his knees with the flat of his blade, making the taller boy lose his balance. All it takes is one final shove and he’s on the ground.  

He’s almost relieved to be flopped on the ground, as exhausted as he is from going to the docks late every night. The boy even shuts his eyes. How nice it would be to just sink into the grass and sleep for a while…

“This is getting too easy,” Tubbo says above him.

Tommy cracks one eye open, squinting against the bright sun. The brunette has the blunt end of his wooden training sword pushed into the ground. His hands are on the pommel, leaning his weight against it. A playful grin brightens his face, spreading to his blue eyes.  

Tommy just groans in response and closes both eyes again. The grass makes a swoosh noise as the shorter boy comes to sit by his side.

Tubbo is right, though. Tommy has been slow this morning. Normally when they practice with each other, they end up with a relatively even number of wins and losses. But out of all the practice matches they’ve done this morning, Tubbo has won all of them but one. And that was only because Walter had gotten in the middle of them one round, demanding attention and distracting Tubbo long enough for Tommy to land what they considered a “fatal blow.” Tubbo had mumbled grumpily about cheating but still shot the blond a smile while he pet Walter.

“Is something wrong?” the brunette asks now.

Tommy sighs internally and opens both eyes this time, looking up at Tubbo. His friend is facing the opposite direction to him, so his legs are splayed out near Tommy’s head and his hands, pressed into the grass behind him to keep himself sitting up, are by Tommy’s legs. For one of the first times since the blonde’s return, Tubbo is wearing casual clothes; jeans and a loose green shirt. A familiar red bandana is wrapped around his left wrist, making Tommy want to smile.

A part of him is happy. He’d really missed these simple things while he’d been gone, like sparring and Tubbo just being Tubbo within arm’s reach of him. If Tommy stopped to think about it for too long, he had an urge to grab hold of his friend and hug him as hard as he had at the gate his first day back. The boy stares at Tubbo’s red bandana, perhaps bordering on thinking about it for too long.  

He must’ve been silent for too long because Tubbo pokes one of his knees with a finger. “Tommy, c’mon. What’s going on, big man?” Despite the joke-y nickname, the blond can hear the concern in his friend’s voice. A familiar spike butts its way into his gut. Guilt. He feels guilty for making Tubbo worry about him. His homecoming was meant to be great and happy. And the guy’s a president, for fuck’s sake. He should have more important things to worry about.

The spike drives itself deeper as words fall out of his mouth faster than he can think to stop them. “Nothing’s going on. It’s just…I’m kind of tired, is all. And rusty. I haven’t had a proper fight in a while, so I should’ve expected as much.”

Tubbo fixes a skeptical blue stare on him, so Tommy continues, “I’m fine, Big T, really.” The words taste like the time Techno tricked him into drinking spoiled milk when they were kids. Liar. The spike of guilt grows larger in accusation.

The brunette still looks uncertain but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets up and brushes loose blades of bright grass off of his dark blue jeans. Then, he turns and offers a hand to Tommy, who takes it gratefully, letting Tubbo help him pull himself up.

Letting his hand drop from Tommy’s as he bends to pick up the blonde’s discarded training sword, Tubbo says, “There’s a few hours before we need to be down beneath the Stilted Sector to help light things up. You should get some sleep before we go. I’ll make some lunch and wake you up a while before we have to go.”

Tommy nods. “Alright. Thank you, Tubbo.”

Tubbo nudges him lightly with his shoulder. “Anytime, big man.”

“And, hey, you got lucky today. In another month, I’ll be back to kicking your ass when we fight.”

Tubbo laughs. “You wish.”

~

The water beneath the Stilted Sector is still very shallow. It doesn’t quite cover the tops of most of the sea pickles that the group places down. But when a time comes where it’s high enough, the blue water will glow gorgeously.

When Niki had sent out the call for sea pickles and manpower, the council hadn’t expected most of L’manburg to show up. It would’ve taken about twenty minutes tops with only a few extra people, but with the crowd they’d gathered it would easily take ten. A few barrels and chests full of pickles, mostly from Eret (“Yeah, you’re the type of guy to always have what I need!” Tommy had joked almost affectionately to the tall man) had been carried out as well. Presently, Tubbo is stood by one of the chests, loading his arms up with a fresh supply of the natural light sources. His blue jeans had been rolled up several times before climbing into the crater, but the edges are now dark with water anyways. Mainly from all the splashing Tommy was doing.

At the moment, the tall blond is starting a minor water fight with Quackity, one arm filled with dark green sea pickles and the other scooping water in the secretary of state’s direction. He’s eyeing Fundy, who is placing pickles nearby, like he might be next.

Tommy seems full of energy now- the nap had definitely helped- but Tubbo couldn’t shake his concern. He’d never, ever beaten Tommy while practicing fighting like that. Even if the boy was rusty and tired, it shouldn’t have been that easy. Even on the worst of days, Tommy always put up such a fight. There was always, always a little bit more he could give to the battle. But just about every move he’d made earlier had been messy and poor and so not Tommy.

And besides that, there were the times Tommy had gone all quiet these past few days. He’d told Tubbo on his second day back that being in L’manburg brought back memories, which Tubbo could understand. It had been hard for him this past month or so as well. Memories were everywhere. Schlatt’s tight grip stalks Tubbo from every shadow, and the phantoms of the election day and TNT haunt the Stilted Sector. It’s inescapable.

What he couldn’t understand, though, was how little communication he was getting from Tommy. Normally, they would tell one another everything. Unlike the blond, Tubbo had had other people to talk to during the past month, but it was never the same. No one could match how Tommy sat forward when Tubbo started talking about something eating at him, or the way he always seemed to know when to let him vent and when to try to cheer him up. And even when he didn’t know, he asked and they talked and they got through whatever was bothering Tubbo together. And Tubbo did the same for Tommy. Because they were L’manburg’s favorite dream duo.

But Tommy wasn’t talking to him as freely as he once had. It was killing Tubbo. He was barely resisting the urge, at this moment, to grab his friend by his shirt, drag him to the side, whack with a sizeable stick, and make the blond tell him what’s wrong.

For the second time that week, Niki sneaks up on Tubbo while he’s lost in thought.

“Tubbo?” she prompts. Her voice is like an exhale of sweet spring air.

The president inhales sharply and quickly pivots to look at her, barely keeping a grip on all of his sea pickles.

She smiles a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wondering what you are thinking about.”

Tubbo turns his gaze back to Tommy, who is now fending off both Fundy and Quackity. Water droplets cling to his straw-colored hair and he grins, a mischievous yet joyful glint in his eyes. “It’s just that…he’s been off lately, Niki. I’m real worried.”

She follows his gaze, smile growing at the water fight. “Maybe you should try talking to him about it, Tubbo.”

“I’ve tried that. He won’t speak with me about it. Not really, anyways.”

“If you really asked, he would. In a heartbeat, Tubbo.”

~

It’s late, now. The silver moon has long since traded spots with the sun. Tubbo hasn’t slept yet, though. He keeps thinking about what Niki had said. And Tommy, of course.

After the sea pickles were finished, some people had stuck around and they’d started in on the next few projects. There were so many opportunities for Tubbo to ask while he and Tommy were alone throughout the day. While they were reinforcing some of the supports of the Stilted Sector, while taking a break by the flagpole, on the walk home, and the entire time they’d been home since the walk back. But his nerves turned themselves into a needle and borrowed fear for a thread, sewing his mouth shut each time.

Currently, Tubbo is seriously entertaining the idea of barging into Tommy’s room and talking to him. Just as he’s thinking that he might actually gather the courage and do it, he hears Tommy’s footsteps in the hall. What’s he doing? Tubbo wonders.

He gets somewhat of an answer when the front door opens and shuts- slowly, carefully. After a few seconds of lying in bed, silent and still, Tubbo practically throws himself out of his bedroom and into the living room. He draws back the pine green curtains near the door and watches Tommy, accompanied by Walter, walk off. His sword sways in time with his steps, tucked into a sheath at the boy’s side.

Tubbo stands there for several moments, debating following or calling out to his friend when he realizes something that makes his stomach sink. Tommy has probably been going out every night instead of sleeping.

~

Wilbur wanders to his dad’s room to ask about going on a walk. It’s late, and Fundy had gone to bed hours ago, but Philza’s light is still on for once, and Wilbur doesn’t feel tired. So many nights spent reading and moping until the sun rose had smacked his sleep schedule thoroughly out of whack.

The door of his father’s bedroom is ajar, so Wilbur pokes in without knocking. “Hey, Dad, can we…” he stops midsentence. It feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him when he sees what’s sitting atop Philza’s chest of drawers. Wilbur thinks that it’s a feeling not unlike the time Tommy went a little too far with their light, wooden training swords during a practice fight.

“Is…is that…” Wilbur trails off, the question dying on his lips.

Techno’s crown.

“Yes,” his father says gently, after a moment of hesitant silence.

“Can I…can I see it for a second?” he asks. His voice sounds breathy and soft.

“Of course.”

Wilbur takes a few slow, uncertain steps over to the chest of drawers, then picks up the crown gingerly, as though he expects Techno to jump out from behind the door and yell at his brother for touching his stuff.

The crown, all elegant swoops and delicate (yet severe) points, is surprisingly light. And yet holding it makes Wilbur feel about a thousand tons heavier.

Gently, he turns the crown and holds it against his chest. The spikes only barely poke through the yellow wool of Wilbur’s sweater, but he swears they’ve all grown a foot longer and impaled him. Holding the crown, as dear as it was to his brother, Wilbur can almost imagine Techno encircling him in a protective embrace. Then, he wonders what on earth Technoblade is doing without his crown. Does it feel like a piece of him is missing, just as Wilbur feels like a piece is missing without his brother around?

Philza comes over and gently wraps an arm around his son. They stand there together and share the sorrow.

After several long moments of standing in his dad’s embrace and clutching the crown to his chest, he softly places the circlet back down on the chest of drawers, then turns to face his father. Not for the first time, Wilbur notes that Tommy had, without a shadow of a doubt, inherited their father’s bright blue eyes, while he and Techno had the same brown-almost-black shade. Phil’s eyes look sad, now, and concerned.

Wilbur slides out from under his father’s arm and grabs his hands instead, one in each of his own. He feels a little bad for what he’s about to do, but he needs Philza to understand. “I’m going to go out for a bit. I promise, I’m not going to disappear again. I just want to have a walk.”

Phil’s eyes search his son’s face, brows drawn together and lips curved into a frown. After a moment, he nods. “Okay. A promise is a promise.”

Wilbur leans forward and kisses his father’s head, then gives his hands one last squeeze before letting go and heading for the door. “A promise is a promise,” he parrots back, an old ritual.

~

Tommy goes to the docks again. The first night he’d gone to stand in the company of the sea, it had been by sheer accident. Now, he makes the short journey every night.  

When he arrives tonight, though, someone is in his spot, leaned against one of the logs lining the edge of the dock.

He recognizes the figure in half of a heartbeat. At this point, Tommy reckons he could recognize Wilbur from twelve feet away on the night of a new moon with heavy fog.

For several minutes, he stands at the edge of the dock, wondering whether he should approach or not and worrying Walter will bark and give him away before he’s decided.

Finally, Tommy pushes himself to move forward. Walter follows, uncharacteristically quiet, as though he can sense his owner’s caution and distress.

Coming up on his brother’s left side, Tommy says, “Hey, Wilbur.”

The brunette seems surprised at his appearance, though not unpleasantly so. “Oh, hello, Tommy. What are you doing out this late?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

The two stand in silence, a certain tension weighing down the air. Tommy can still sense the wall between himself and Wilbur, but it almost seems fragile- breakable. If I say the right thing, will it finally come down?

Finally, Walter just can’t take it anymore. He pushes his snoot into the back of Wilbur’s knee and starts sniffing. His tail is wagging at the speed of sound, as though he’s been shoving his energy down for the whole two minutes he and Tommy have been standing on the dock and he can’t hold it in any longer.

Wilbur emits a little, surprised noise, then smiles softly. It sends a bolt of dull pain through Tommy’s chest, reminding him of the early days of L’manburg, before they even had independence from the Dream SMP. Back then, days were hard and yet smiles were frequent- Wilbur smiled like that all the time then.

As his brother leans over and extends a hand to let Walter sniff it, he says, “I’ve been wanting to ask, who is this big guy? He resembles a cloud.”

Walter nuzzles into Wilbur’s hand, letting him pet his fluffy white coat, as though pleased by the comment.

“That’s Walter. Met him in a forest while I was away. He’s been with me for a few weeks now.”

Wilbur hums in response and continues petting the dog, squatting down to have better access to his chin.

Both boys are silent for a while, but the waves fill in for them. Tommy closes his eyes for a minute and just listens. Along with the waves, he can hear Walter’s tail patting a repetitive rhythm on the dock.

Tommy gathers his courage to ask a question. “So, why couldn’t you sleep?” he asks, turning to look at his brother.

Wilbur shrugs before answering, still petting the dog. “I screwed up my sleep schedule. I started staying up late a lot after…” he pauses, a sheen of sorrow passing over his eyes. He tries again, “After…after everything that happened. I would sit up reading and that sort of thing until I fell asleep or the sun came out. Worried the hell out of Dad.”

Tommy almost laughs at that. Almost.

After a pause, Wilbur continues, “I’ve done a lot of things to worry Dad these last few months.” He draws his eyebrows together a little. His eyes have become fixed on the dog’s snowy face. “I talked to them yesterday, though. Dad and Fundy, I mean. I apologized for everything. I put them through so much and I want to fix it now. I’m going to start doing better for them, they deserve it.”

Tommy isn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. But the wall cracks.

Wilbur lets out a half-amused, half-sad laugh. “You’d never believe who talked some sense into me. Just try to guess.” Finally, he meets Tommy’s eyes.

It throws Tommy off balance for just a second. Wilbur is smiling properly now, despite the remnants of sadness that cling to his features. When was the last time Wilbur had smiled at him? Or at least, smiled at him whilst not talking about blowing up their country.  

It takes the younger brother a moment to recover. He shrugs awkwardly and stammers out, “I-I don’t know. Who?”

Wilbur smiles a little wider. “Eret. Out of all people, Eret.”

Tommy can’t suppress a slight smile at that. It is a little funny. He turns to look at the ocean. If he keeps looking at Wilbur, smiling with him, it might blow his brain up. “That’s kind of crazy. How’d that happen?”

There’s silence again. It takes all of Tommy’s willpower to not look at his older brother in the few seconds of quiet before he answers. Softly, Wilbur says, “Things were rough with Fundy and I had nowhere else to go.”

Six words steal the breath from Tommy’s lungs. It’s a harsh reminder of how much things have changed. It makes Tommy miss easier times- even before L’manburg. He would give nearly anything to go back to a time when his biggest concern was how many practice fights he’d won against his brothers and whether Dad was making his least favorite vegetables with dinner that night. Back then, there was never even the trace of a doubt that if Tommy, or anyone in his family, needed something, there were four people that cared within arm’s reach.  

Wilbur stands back up, leaning against a log next to Tommy again, and they watch the waves together. Although he would like to appreciate the moment of peace with his brother, he can’t. Tommy can still feel the wall there, in disrepair yet still looming between them. It makes his stomach twist with nerves and muddles his brain with so many thoughts and emotions, he worries it’ll all overflow out of his ears.

“So, why couldn’t you sleep, Tommy?”

Because of you, Tommy thinks. He almost says it, too. But it wouldn’t quite be the truth. There were several reasons he couldn’t sleep- several figures that plagued his thoughts. There are multiple possible answers, so Tommy picks the easiest one to talk about. (The easiest one to talk about with Wilbur, at least.)

“Tubbo and I are in a bit of a rut.”

He can feel the surprise emanating off of his brother. “Really?” The brunette nearly shouts, sounding utterly shocked.

“Yeah. Things have just been…I don’t know, different, I guess, since I came back. I left to clear my head and it worked but as soon as I came back everything poured straight back in again. Just being here makes me remember so much. I can’t turn a corner without something reminding me of what’s happened and everything I’ve been through- everything we’ve all been through.” Tommy is a little out of breath by the time he’s done talking. Emotion had slipped into his voice, anger and grief mingling on his vocal cords. It’d made him speed up about halfway through speaking, shoving the words out like it hurt to have them inside of him.

“Am I one of the things you’re remembering, Tommy?” Wilbur’s voice is impossibly gentle.

Shit. Tommy quickly tries to think up a response that’ll save him from this vein of conversation.

“Don’t bother lying to me, Tommy. We lived under the same roof for the first fifteen years of your life and we haven’t lived more than twenty feet from one another since. I know your tells. Just answer the question.”

He’s right, but Tommy wishes he wasn’t. He had come out here to avoid his feelings, not confront them.

“Yes, you are one of the things.”

It’s Wilbur’s turn to be silent. They seem to be passing it between them, like a ball in the worst game of catch ever.  

Then, the brunette says, “I’m sorry.”

Tommy’s whole body freezes, making him completely still. He almost forgets to breathe.

“I put you through so much. When things got rough before we took down Schlatt, I went all crazy plans and TNT on you. That wasn’t fair. You were- you are- just a kid and I’m your big brother. I should’ve been there for you; I should’ve been a better role model. If nothing else, I should’ve at least protected you. I am truly sorry for how bad things got. I feel awful.”

They don’t make eye contact once while Wilbur speaks, they just stare out into the fluid blue void together.

Tommy’s eyes sting. A part of him wants to scream at Wilbur, another wants to break down and cry, and yet another begs Tommy’s legs to run.

An apology doesn’t fix all the damage Wilbur did, doesn’t even come near it. But…

“Thanks, Wilbur.”

It’s a start.

Neither of them speak for a while.  Then, tentatively, almost like dipping a foot into a pool of water to check the temperature, Tommy says, “Techno, too.”

“What?” Feeling Wilbur’s gaze on him, he turns to look at his brother. The man’s eyebrows are pulled up in confusion and the corners of his mouth dip in a slight frown.

“I’m remembering Techno, too.”

Wilbur’s mouth forms a silent “oh.” Then, he glances down at the log Tommy is leaning against. He swaps between pressing his lips tightly together and opening his mouth to take a breath. Like he’s trying to decide whether to say something.

“Spit it out,” Tommy says, adding a silent “bitch” to the end. He doesn’t want to go back to their normal rhythm of fake insults, not yet.

“Dad has Technoblade’s crown. I saw it. I- I held it.” Wilbur looks up at Tommy again, eyes flitting over his face nervously, as though searching for any sign he messed up.

Tommy’s mouth hangs open. He’s shocked speechless. Then, a little jealous. Never, in a million years, would Techno ever let Tommy, or anyone, come near that crown. It was the eldest brother’s most prized possession. He kept it in excellent condition and never went anywhere without it. And Wilbur had gotten to hold it.

The brunette, seeming to know what he’s thinking, lets out a short laugh. “I know, right? He would murder me if he found out.”

Tommy snorts. “Damn right. You wouldn’t even see it coming. Just a flash of pink and then game over.”

They both laugh at that. Smiles adorn their faces, but it’s bittersweet. A cloud of something dense and sad hangs around them, reminding the brothers that they are still so far from where they used to be. They might never really go back to how things were between them, either.

And yet there’s a light hope, too, interwoven with the sadness. The possibility of their relationship, at the very least, getting better. If they just keep trying and want it badly enough.

There is so much more to be said. So many big things they still need to talk about. But, for now, they discuss all the little things they never got to say while they weren’t speaking to each other. And it feels as though the wall is filled with hundreds and hundreds of cracks, leaving Tommy with little holes to peek through.

~

The brunette stirs from his position on the couch, half-asleep and spine curved uncomfortably, when he hears the front door open. He blinks his eyes sleepily at first, wondering what’s happening, then scrambles to sit up properly when he remembers what he was doing before falling asleep. Tommy.

The boy has come home, finally. Walter trots off to the guest room, but the blond stands in the doorway, stopped in place halfway through the threshold. He looks surprised.

“What time is it?” Tubbo asks, stretching.

Tommy moves again, walking the rest of the way into the house and softly shutting the spruce door behind him. He doesn’t answer his friend’s question, instead asking one of his own. “Did you try waiting up for me?”

The president rubs his eyes, the rough sleep in the corners scratching at his fingertips. “Yeah, keyword being try. I figured I would let you have your walk or whatever, but I was worried. Have you been doing this every night?”

Tommy turns his gaze to the floor. He’s silent.

“Tommy,” Tubbo prompts.

The blond sighs and says, “Yeah, Tubbo. I- I have.”

“Why?”

Silence again.

It suddenly all becomes too much for Tubbo. He’s done his best to stay collected these past few days, giving Tommy the space he needs to process, but he can’t handle it anymore. Before he can stop it, all of the worry and frustration and sadness fills him up, driving him up off the couch to stand. The sudden movement causes Tommy to look up at him again.

“Tommy, please!” The shorter boy gestures wildly while he talks, emotions taking the driver’s seat. “I’ve been so insanely worried about you these past few days- this past month. I want more than anything to help you, Tommy. You are one of the most important things in my life. During the war against Manberg, I would’ve up and left everything if you had asked. I know I’m not one of Phil’s sons but you, Tommy, are the closest I will ever be to having a brother. Please, talk to me.” His voice catches a little as he speaks, his eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

Tommy looks a little shaken, and sort of guilty, which makes Tubbo feel guilty in turn. He hadn’t meant to snap at him like that. He just wanted Tommy to confide in him again like he always used to. He opens his mouth to speak again, to apologize, but Tommy interrupts him.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo.”

The other boy slowly closes his mouth, the words caught in his throat. He has no idea what to say, so he opts for silence instead.

Tommy crosses the room in a few quick strides and grabs Tubbo’s elbow as he begins to speak, gently pulling the boy to sit on the couch with him. “I’ve been weird since I got back, I know. Being here reminded me of everything we lost. And I do mean everything.” The blond’s eyes drop to his lap as he squeezes his hands together.  

“It kills me how things ended with Techno,” he continues, “the way we treated him. It’s so easy to label him as a traitor and be done with it but I know, I know, it’s not as simple as that. And just the fact that he’s gone and we might not see him again. I…” He trails off for a moment, squeezing his hands harder, making the knuckles turn white. A pang shoots through Tubbo’s chest. After so long with Technoblade in his life, the notion that they might never see him again seems insane. But after everything that had happened, it was a probable reality.

Tommy takes a deep breath and continues, “And Wilbur has felt like a completely different person for so long. When he started getting paranoid, back in Pogtopia, I had to watch him forget what we were fighting for. He might as well have left me alone, and he was the adult! My big brother meant to watch over me. Even after we’d won back L’manburg, it felt like I had lost. I was down two brothers and I had no idea how to get either of them back. It hurt- it still does. It hurts so, so much, Tubbo. But as much as it’s hurt to be back in L’manburg and remember all of it, I think I needed it.”  

He looks back up at Tubbo again. His bright, blue eyes are so full of emotion, it sends a shock through the brunette’s gut.

Tommy saves him from responding by going on. “I think I needed to see it all and accept what happened and accept that people have started moving on. It’s time that I start moving on, too.” There’s a brief pause and the boy’s mouth hangs open for an instant, as though considering whether or not to say something. “I- I spoke with Wilbur earlier.”

Tubbo is still trying to process all the words Tommy just threw at him, like catching one hundred balls in quick succession. Just as Tubbo thought he had a handle on it, Tommy throws that one final, larger, flaming ball at him.

The brunette manages to avoid stammering and asks, “What did you speak about?” The question comes out gentler than he intended, laced with a certain inquisitiveness.

“How we miss Techno, how he’s sorry what he put me through. He told me about Fundy and Dad, too. He said he’s trying to be present again and be there for them. It really seems like the Wilbur I followed into war is coming back. And I think that’s a version of Wilbur I can forgive one day.”

There’s a beat of silence and before Tubbo can speak again, Tommy says, “I really am sorry, Tubbo. I should’ve been more transparent with you. I guess I just didn’t want to bother you with my problems. But that wasn’t right of me. I’m sorry for worrying you. No more sneaking down to the docks every night, I promise.”

Tubbo smiles a little. “Pinky promise?”

Tommy looks down at his friend’s extended finger and wraps his own around it. “Yeah, pinky promise.”

“Good.” Tubbo settles back onto the couch, and Tommy follows suit. Now that everything has been said and taken care of, the late hour is catching up with them. They end up with Tubbo leaning over so his head is resting on Tommy’s chest, neither realizing that their pinky fingers are still lazily looped together between them. Tubbo vaguely notices that he can hear the steady beat of his friend’s heart.

“And Tubbo?”

The brunette, eyes closed, fights off sleep to hear his friend’s words. “What is it, Tommy?”

“I think of you as my brother, too. I love you.”

Tubbo smiles, a warm glow spilling into his chest. It makes him feel all fuzzy and warm- and happy. He inhales and exhales slowly, appreciating the moment. “Love you too, Tommy,” he says.

Tubbo lets sleep consume him, then, feeling happier than he has in a month.

‘

You can also read this on Ao3! | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed! <3

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Find The Word Tag (Larger than any word Mary Poppins could come up with)

I let them get away from me and now I have a billion (86!) words :D These words are courtesy of @indecentpause @forlornraven  @reeseweston  and @riftversus

Basically to make this easier on myself (I say after delaying so bloody long and accumulating so many words) The Games We Play is going to be in bold and Dark Magic will not.

Shall I tag people? I think so! TAGGING: @reeseweston @indecentpause @forlornraven @riftversus @type-writings @westywrites to find: Curse, figure, blunt, ache, flower, worn, clear, melody, music, game. (feel free to pick from the mammoth list below too!)

Words: oven, blanket, lake, wings, candle, cat, comfort, strange, gone, manage, book(s), sculpt, dress, smile, want, hungry, leaf/leaves, hand, night, circle, spun / spin, face, please, handle, palm, cough, inch / inched, edge, habit/habits,  teeth, center, eight, refuse/ refused/refusing, between, autumn, fire, round, fence, dusk, close, drop, grip, away, warm, over, score, thunder, growl, throw, slide, faint, dirt, hard, love, proud, round, shake, tower, anchor, next, grasp, fall, year, lost, time, edge, front, above, plant, break, tomorrow, yesterday, hug, end, suffer, year, sun, play, type, strap, swing, crown, beautiful, bright, mother, glass.

oven: Nope

blanket: Nope

lake: The surface of the lake rippled upon impact. Though small, it was one of the larger bodies of water the city had to offer.

wings: Caden sat steadily on the branch, his eyes tracking the tiny bird hovering in front of him. Its wings beating faster than Nathaniel’s heart.

candle: Nope

cat: “You came alone then?” Zachary nodded. “Are you going to come down and talk to me?” Without a word and with a grace Lukas would have expected from the cat, Zachary made his way down the fire escape.

comfort(able): Zach slipped his arms into the jacket properly and tapped Lukas’s knee. He obliged, moving his legs apart and Zach settled between them, leaning against Lukas’s chest. If he was being forced to sit on the ground at least he’d be comfortable.

strange: For the first time in a long time, Zach felt content. With his head on the pillow and Lukas’s fingers tracing strange, and probably random, patterns across his back, the tension of the past six months eased just a little.

gone: [Kayla] kicked a large chunk of porcelain, that looked like it had once belonged to a mug. “You should be thanking me. If I hadn't shown up when I had they'd be gone, and we'd have lost the contract. Then Sevrin really would kill you.”

manage: [Cal] chuckled and dropped their arm. Zach spun around, wrapping them in as tight a hug as he could manage. “Good to see you, Cal.”

book(s): The story was a fair way into the book and only a handful of pages. Zach tried to follow the words as Lukas read them, but each time he turned the page long before Zach reached the end, so he settled for listening to the low melodic hum of Lukas’s voice.

sculpt(ed): Zach wandered down the garden path, gravel crunching underfoot. He stopped by one of Cal’s sculpted shrubs, spotting Axel sitting alone on one of the benches, his ever-present coffee cup nowhere to be seen. 

dress: A slight woman in a patchwork dress, picked her way through the wreckage. She knelt in front of him, whispering calming words, wiping the soot from his cheeks. Zach didn't need to hear what she was saying, he simply watched her kiss the fire from his palms without flinching and scoop him up.

smile: She shot him a brief but tense smile and shuffled the papers in front of her, pulling one from the middle. “Are you aware of the charges against you, Mr. Donovan?”

want: Nathaniel sighed. Finding a foothold halfway down the wall, he eased himself back to the ground. “What could my stepfather possibly want at this hour of the morning?”

hungry: “Come on. I know you haven't been eating. You must be hungry?”

leaf/leaves: (cheating a little) Keeping his eyes on the beast before him, Lukas considered his options. He could stay and wait for it to finish him off, or he could run and still risk being mauled to death. Either way, he doubted he’d be able to jump anywhere in time. Instead, Lukas let a thin strand of shadows curl from the palm of his hand, figuring he could bind the panther and leave without hurting it.

hand: “Thomas!” Caden rushed the cell, hand outstretched. Their fingers barely met before something wrapped around Caden's neck and threw him to the ground.

night: Benjamin frowned, handing Nathaniel his discarded jacket. “That boy they caught last night, he's to go in the arena against more than a dozen infected.”

circle(d): “Too many,” Zach muttered. He circled a large cluster of names. They’d been killed relatively close together and Zach was convinced they were connected. The other names, from earlier years, he couldn’t make sense of.

spun/spin: “Wait!” Lukas took a deep breath and held the knife over his hand. He glanced up at Zachary, who'd spun around, watching the shaking tip of the blade. Lukas brought the knife down, hissing as he dragged it across his palm. Blood began to pool in his hand and he watched it, breathing through the sting. 

face: Nathaniel groaned and leaned back towards safety. The ground was higher up on the Limbus side of the wall and he could easily see the scowl on Benjamin's face. 

please: “Thomas? Thomas, say something.” Caden stretched through the bars his fingers barely grazing Thomas's disheveled hair. “Please …?”

handle: [Caden] welcomed the silence that followed her departure. The dead were so much easier to handle than the living. 

palm: “Cut your hand.” Zachary held up his own hand, pointing to a spot just above the center of his palm. “Right here.”

cough(ing): He fumbled through the cupboards for a glass, still coughing. 

inch(ed): “No.” Zach inched away. He couldn’t fight back and Lukas knew it. Any spell he cast would render him unconscious and he’d most certainly wake up with that thing clamped tight around his wrist again. This way he had a chance.

edge: Zach took a breath, his eyes stinging at the thought that someone could care this much and go to so much trouble. He sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands.

habit(s): His knees buckled and hit the ground. Johnathan’s shadow fell across him. Caden kept his head bowed, whether from habit or exhaustion he wasn’t prepared to know.

teeth: With his teeth, he undid the knot on his bracelet. He didn’t want to use it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He could fix it later. Undoing just enough of the bracelet he tore a small piece from it and shoved the rest in his pocket. 

center: [Caden] pulled on the first draw. For a second he thought they were locked, but he gave it a hard tug and the draw came unstuck, rattling to the end of the tracks. Little letters lined the center of each section. He skimmed the lines and found the letter he was after. Some garbage about renewable energy sources for Limbus, not that any of it would ever be put into action.

eight: “I'll explain later. Just find it. The code is five eight five two seven.” Zach reached for the key around Lukas’s neck. The chain was gone.

refuse(ed)(ing): Nope

between: “What?” Zach looked between the eight council members, none of them prepared to show him any sympathy, or mercy. “No. No you can’t! I’ll die!”

autumn: Nope

fire: [Zach’s] aim sucked but the fire was large enough that if he missed he’d save the wolves the trouble of killing him and die of embarrassment instead. He inched towards the edge of the clearing, making sure he was still concealed by the shadows, and lobbed the pouch into the air.

(a)round: Caden pressed himself against the metal, curling his fingers around the bars. “I promise, I’m gonna get you out of this, okay?” 

fence: Nope

dusk: Nope

close: Zach doubled over, whimpering at the pain coursing through his body. Lukas leaned down and scooped Zach up, cradling him close. He turned back to Emily. “Get Sophia set up in the guest room. I’ll be there in a moment.”

drop(ping): “No, I mean me. You're not supposed to be here. Remember?” He held out a hand, eyes dropping to where he knew she'd concealed the gun.

grip: Zach tugged his arm from the Shadow’s grip and moved closer to the bar.  “Since I no longer have a place of residence, consider me surprised.”

away: “Hey.” Zach pulled his attention away from the marks. “You don’t need to treat me like I’m fragile, okay? I can take a hell of a beating before I break. These,” he indicated to the bruises, “aren’t the work of someone who hates me.”

warm: Lukas dropped Zach's wrists. One hand moving behind his head, the other snaked under his shirt pressing against the small of his back pulling him closer. The contact sent a shiver up his spine and his body buzzed. For the first time in months, he felt warm.

over: “Mr Abernathy, prompt as usual.” Zach looked for the speaker. All eyes appeared to be on the council woman at the centre of the line. She turned her attention to Zach, peering over the top of her glasses. “And the ever-elusive Mr Donovan. We meet at last.”

score: Nope

thunder: Nope

growl(ed): “Lukas,” Zach growled, “we will die here if you don't unlock this.”

throw(n): “Oh, Zach.” [Sammy] rested a hand atop the monitor, flicking the switch. The screen buzzed to life, static cutting the silence. Zach squinted down at the over-exposed image. In the centre of the screen lay a twitching figure. Their head thrown back in a silent scream. The image darkened, light no longer flooding the screen. Zach lurched forward pressing his hand to the glass. “I found your little friend trying to break in. Seems he’s rather fond of you. Well, almost as fond as I am.”

slide (I got a lot of slid but not slide, so have some slid): Lukas pulled several books halfway off the shelf before finally finding the right one. He slid it across the table. “You sure you’re good to do this now?” 

faint: Nope

dirt: He scanned the pack and found his target on the furthest edge of the clearing. On her wrist was the reason he was crouched in the dirt. A thin bracelet woven from thread that shimmered in the firelight, changing colour every time the light hit it. It was all the proof Zach needed of her guilt. 

hard: Axel closed his eyes, breathing hard. “You can’t promise that. You don’t … you don’t even remember!” Axel wobbled precariously, his foot slipping before he regained his balance.

love: Sammy ran a hand under Zach’s chin, lifting his head forcing Zach to meet his gaze. “Now, who do you love?”

proud: Johnathan crouched beside the post. “Not so proud now, are we?”

(g)round: Nathaniel groaned and leaned back towards safety. The ground was higher up on the Limbus side of the wall and he could easily see the scowl on Benjamin's face. 

shake: Nope

tower(ed): “Not used to healing normally?” Lukas peered over the top of his book. Somehow, the stack in front of him had grown in the last hour and now towered precariously above them both.

anchor: Nope

next: “You so much as bring a spider into this apartment I will kick your ass from here to next Sunday.”

grasp: His skin crackled with the absence of his magic. The more he fought the block, the worse it affected him. But he didn’t care. He just wanted it to stop. Lukas was there, prising his fingers away from the band, holding them tight in his warm grasp. 

fall: “Dark Magic is not something you want to fall victim to, by an enemy or a lover.”

year: A year of searching for him and now the only thing that stood in the way was the cold metal bars. Caden longed to close the gap between them. To know he wasn’t hallucinating or in some kind of cruel dream. 

lost: Lukas had lost contact with Zachary after their first meeting. He’d begun to suspect the worst when Lyra showed up at his door, closely followed by the young witch himself.

time: The councilwoman held up her hand, silencing them both. “Tragedy aside, it does not excuse your actions. You’ve admitted your guilt and while the council has taken into account all factors, we hereby sentence you to two years imprisonment, during which time your powers will be left under a block.”

edge: “Chasing down another lead. Got stuck on the edge of the Glitch dealing with infected.” Caden nudged the nearest body with his toe. “You leave anyone alive this time?”

front: “Fair point.” Zach knelt in the grass staring straight ahead. If his hunch was right, and he was sure it was, the coven would be somewhere in front of them. He released the mouse and watched it stagger before running forward. Keeping his eyes on the mouse he straightened up and asked, “How many witches have you dealt with?” 

above: This facility hadn't been authorised for anything Infected related. Caden reached for the file only to stop, hand hovering above the paper. 

plant: Nope

break: No, he was labelled a murderer the second people saw him. He’d naively thought he’d get a break from the accusatory staring with Lukas.

tomorrow: Nope

yesterday: Nope

hug: Lukas dropped his hands and pulled Zach into a hug. Zach tensed.

end: He pulled on the first draw. For a second he thought they were locked, but he gave it a hard tug and the draw came unstuck, rattling to the end of the tracks. Little letters lined the center of each section. He skimmed the lines and found the letter he was after. Some garbage about renewable energy sources for Limbus, not that any of it would ever be put into action.

suffer: “Have you heard the story about the witch and her shadow? Of course, you have. It's the reason your people suffer, after all. She loved her Shadow. Whoever said opposites attract was a fool or a liar.”

year: “What was I supposed to say? That I'm doing her uncle on the regular? I don't think that's really appropriate conversation for a five-year-old.”

sun: “A shadow who loves the sun, who would have thought.”

play: “These are the games we have to play to survive.”

type: Em smiled. It was a kind smile, the type only a mother could give. “Come into the kitchen, we’ll let these two talk a moment.”

strap: Nope

swing(ing): “No. Neither is Sophia.” Emily smiled at her daughter. Sophia was swinging her legs, scribbling across her colouring books, not paying the slightest attention to their conversation. “I’m a telepath. But you already knew that.”

crown: Nope

beautiful: Caden hovered in the door listening to the melody Nathaniel coaxed from the piano. As beautiful as it was he couldn’t let it continue. Caden cleared his throat and the sound faded.

bright(est): “It’s a big one.” Zach had to admit, it wasn’t his brightest moment. Every other book was what anyone would class as ‘big’. To save himself further embarrassment he added, “It chronicles all witch deaths. There’s probably a few volumes.”

mother: “And who do you think taught your mother that recipe?” Mr Abernathy shouted from sitting room.

glass: The cell didn’t offer much in the way of privacy, with four glass walls and constant fluorescent lights shining down on him, his pain became a spectacle for everyone who hated witches.

[blame-canada]

Tempt a Demon, Pay the Price

Craig Tucker was not religious in any sense of the term, but money was money, and Eric Cartman was convincing. Becoming a cheesy sideshow of a falsified church was not his idea of a good time, but a wild encounter he’d never have expected might turn that around. 

Hey guys so uhhh I definitely wrote this. Imp Tweek x Youth Pastor Craig has kind of exploded and I wanted to join in on the fun but since drawing isn’t really my thing, I figured writing would have to do. I actually like this one despite it being cracky so hopefully you guys do too! Link to AO3 here! Here’s some uhh, yeah. Some of this. Special thanks to Phone Destroyer for gifting us these ridiculous AUs.

Note: alternatively titled ‘The Gayte To Hell.’ I loved myself too much to actually go through with it, sorry.

Performing fake exorcisms and reading off the same script twice a week in a rotation of four major themes was not how Craig expected his adolescence to go. Surely, he thought, there would be one or two summer flings which would end in melodramatic heartbreak, and a few obsessions to cycle through in ridiculous phases he’d insist were not phases. Yet here he was, stuck in the sweltering heat of a church’s atrium, fanning himself with a promotional pamphlet and doodling in his notebook that was supposed to be filled with notes. It wasn’t; it was filled with more doodles.

“And Butters, I want to hear those bells next time, got it? The bells are important. Everyone loves the bells!”

“U-uh, yes Eric, sir,” Butters stuttered, and Craig huffed as he rolled his eyes. He could have been getting drunk at Clyde’s right now. He could have been stuffed in a closet with someone hot right now. He could have been losing his virginity right now. Those were fantasies, though, and right now, Craig liked money, and he liked cheating people out of said money. Cartman’s undeniably for-profit church fit that bill, and so here he stayed, seventeen and devoted to a God he did not believe in.

Truthfully, Craig had never set foot in a church in his life when Cartman made the initial offer. ‘We’ll be making bank, Craig!’ Cartman had insisted, and though Craig knew those words meant absolutely nothing positive when considering their history, he was feeling particularly moody and impulsive that afternoon, and something as idiotic as falsifying an entire church for cash definitely fulfilled the primal teenaged urge to do something reckless. Most kids scribbled on walls or did drugs to rebel. South Park kids started wars and Ponzi schemes.

Every couple of weeks or so Eric Cartman would make them gather ‘round in the atrium of the church to discuss any changes to the routine and make sure everything was in working order. It meant inspecting the fog machines and the motorized furniture, which was the best part, and listening to Cartman gripe about having lost a negligible fraction of money in the past week, which was the worst part. Any moment now and it’d be Craig’s turn to get yelled at. Wonderful.

“Craig, I’m thinking your routine is getting a little stale,” he sneered, a hand to his chin in what he probably thought looked scheming when it just looked stupid, and Craig shrugged at him. “Maybe we should amp up the bullshit, you know, make it cheesier.”

Craig snorted. “How do you get cheesier than, ‘open your heart to salvation!’?” He imitated the bad kind-of Southern accent he usually did with the opening line of his act, and Cartman scrunched up his face in an ugly frown.

“I don’t know, asshole, just play it up! Get more fog machines, fuck! Your job is to be convincing.” He was scowling, which was always a terrible expression on him, which made the whole conversation suddenly amusing.

“We both know I’m a terrible actor,” he countered. He crossed his arms and hoped Cartman’s face would start turning purple.

“You’ve been doing this for over a year and you’ve gotten much better than when you started. Figure it out,” Cartman insisted, an accusatory finger jabbed in his direction. Craig flipped him off and sighed as he leaned forward into his notebook. There wasn’t much more to the meeting, and he wanted to finish his sketch of a dragon. It was pretty messed up, and he was probably going to take a picture of it to post on twitter. He had the handle baddragons and he used it to post pictures of poorly drawn dragon sketches on the corners of his papers. He got a lot of angry DMs looking for the dildos of a common name. He thought it was a pretty good joke.

Cartman wrapped up the meeting five minutes later, and dictated that Craig check all the door locks this time before leaving. The building was a dump, but it was the foundation on which they’d built their lies, and they needed a church for people to come to if they wanted to continue making incredible amounts of money. This month was funded by donations to a non-existent homeless shelter for kids with cancer, and it was astounding that none of the churchgoers bothered to look up the organization they claimed was real and just dumped their cash in the collection buckets. Tithe had been taken to a whole new level, and it was as ugly and stupid as the dragons on his troll twitter account.

The church sometimes felt creepy at night, and that was especially true when no one else was there with him. His colleagues had escaped as soon as Cartman had ended his spiel about the importance of proper fog machine use (to embellish the mysterious effect they were looking for). Craig was supposed to be removing the evil spirits from the souls of their planted audience members. Obviously, this meant there had to be smoke coming from the walls. The regulars ate the shit up, and it was frankly embarrassing that they’d refused to catch on. Humanity was such a waste.

He was halfway through blowing out all the over-the-top candelabras at the altar when a creaking sound squeaked underneath his feet. Craig shuffled his weight between legs to try to trigger it again, but he felt nothing out of the ordinary in the flooring that could have caused the squeaking in the first place, and he shrugged and moved on.

A few moments later the floor did it again, and this time Craig turned around to look for a source of the sound. The church was so dimly lit he could hardly see a thing, but what he could see looked normal. He was about to turn around and return to his candle-snuffing when the floor did it again, but this time louder, and it sounded more like a groan than a creak.

Craig tensed. He refused to die in some fucked up church when he didn’t even believe in God in the first place. Absolutely not. He carefully shifted the candle extinguisher to brandish it like a baton should he need to strike a threat. He waited.

A rush of hot air flew through the building and put out the remaining candles one by one, and at the same time, the ground below him began to shake. Craig bent his knees in a defensive stance to keep his balance. From the floorboards came what started as a groan and turned into a wail, which turned into screaming that made his ears feel like they were bleeding and felt like claws gouging at the flesh of them at the same time. In his surprise, he dropped the extinguisher, and brought both palms up to his ears to try to drown out the cries. It sounded like thousands of horrified voices moments before death, and even though Craig couldn’t care less about that part, it must have had some sort of magic to it because his eyes welled up with tears that he couldn’t control or understand.

From the place in the floor that the screaming exploded grew a light, warm and orange which turned to a blinding yellow the louder the voices cried. His hands weren’t helping, and he was resisting the urge to scratch at his ears in an attempt to stop the horrid sounds. The light and sound disappeared for one blissful second where Craig thought it might be over, but as soon as the silence in the air began to ring, an explosion burst from the floorboards in the center of the aisle.

Craig choked on a gasp and hacked as he backed away as quickly as he could without falling. His back pressed against his podium, and he watched as the cheap wooden floor panels splintered and broke apart to leave room for a hole split right through the earth that glowed an angry red-orange, like the flames of a fire. Never in all his life had he ever felt so compelled to talk to God. 

He was about to start awkwardly reciting lines he’d learned in his pseudo-studies when out of the hole popped a ragged, fiercely clawed hand, which spread its pointed tips to dig itself into the wood. Craig shrieked, and any semblance of confidence or security fled from him at such a supernatural sight. The hand braced itself, and it pushed down with all its might to make the slab of wood collapse under its weight and heave to the surface a body curled inward.

Craig covered his mouth to prevent his panicked gasping for air from making sounds. In front of him, in front of the hole that undoubtedly led to Hell (which Craig had not believed in until personally witnessing its existence just now), was what looked like a boy.

At first glance he seemed normal, but from his back spread two huge crimson wings, leathery like a bat’s, and Craig spotted two matching horns sprouting from within messy golden locks of hair. The wings grew larger as they unfolded, and soon they were easily surpassing the width of the aisle, splayed fully out. Behind him a tail like a rat’s swung back and forth like a dog’s, a telltale spade at the end of it twitching. “A demon,” Craig whispered, and he yelped when the creature’s head shot up to meet his gaze with piercing cat’s eye pupils in fiery yellow irises.

“An imp, actually,” he said, and with each flap of his lips Craig saw canines sharp as daggers lining his gums. He gulped, his throat suddenly feeling dry as a desert, and the demon boy tilted his head slowly, carefully.

“You’re not like the others,” he said, and it took a few moments for Craig to compose himself before he realized the boy was staring at him, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m not really a pastor!” Craig held his hands up in the air as though it might help prove his innocence. His gut twisted and he fought the urge to vomit with all his being. The ground was still screaming, and he was finding himself drawn to staring at it instead of the demon in front of him.

“Oh yeah, s-sorry about that, hang on,” the boy said, and with a snap, the hole was gone and the screeches were completely silenced. Craig looked up into his intense eyes again and found that even with the gate to hell closed, there was still a sound that surrounded him, almost like a low chanting or hum that represented his raw energy. He stood up straight, and that was when Craig realized that the second half of his body was not human, but furry and cloven hooved. Dear God.

He tilted his head again, and leaned on the pitchfork Craig hadn’t noticed he had. “You say you’re not a servant to the Lord?”

“I-I honestly don’t even know what that means,” Craig said quickly. “I don’t even believe! Well, okay, now I might, but. Before that, no. I do this for money!”

The demon nodded. “I knew that much, and that’s why I came here to drag you to Hell. I don’t know, though…” He trailed off, and raised a clawed finger to press it to his lower lip in thought. “Y-you’re pretty cute, nnh, for a human.” He twitched to the left and frowned.

Craig stuttered, lost for words or what to say really, but when he did finally speak, it was not at all what he wanted to say. “You too!” he exclaimed, and he covered his mouth immediately afterwards as though it could rescind his statement. What an embarrassment.

The demon boy chuckled. The sound was melodic and shook with the humming of his energy so that it reverberated in the church’s echoey chambers, and it was beautiful. Craig wasn’t sure if he was supposed to find it beautiful. Demons were supposed to be the worst, after all, according to his made-up scripture. Craig was supposed to be banishing demons. This one seemed pretty okay, though, and even though Craig was shaking so badly he felt like he might fall apart at the seams, he wasn’t all that threatening. That is, if he could get past the teeth and claws and wings, and horns, and hooves. He was particularly fixated on the cherry-red appendages sticking out of his back.

“Y-you like them?” the demon asked, and he made one flapping motion with his wings for good measure. The wind of it brushed Craig’s hair back and nearly ripped his hat clean off. Luckily he was still crouched against his podium, or else he probably would have stumbled from the wind force.

“Who are you?” Craig finally asked. The demon’s head tilted even further to the side in a way that made Craig think it must hurt his neck, but he seemed content.

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” he started, “but I like you, so I’m Tweek.” He smiled, and it would have been sweet if he didn’t have terrifyingly sharp fangs taunting him behind his lips. The demon boy named Tweek was pretty, Craig would admit, with high cheekbones and elongated features that made him look lanky but somehow beautiful, like a dancer. His eyes were proving just as incredibly sharp as the first time he met them, and they danced on their own with their own fires. He was fascinating to look at, and Craig was mesmerized. The way Tweek giggled made Craig think he’d been caught staring.

“So...yeah. Hell, I guess. You really shouldn’t do this, y-you know,” Tweek lectured, gesturing at the church. “The only reason I can come in here is that your church is so illegitimate, you have no protective worship energy surrounding it. None of you believe at all. I-isn’t that sad, t-to just, not believe in something?” He frowned slightly. “It seems lonely. If I was allowed to like God, I probably would. He seems nice.”

Craig shook his head. “Okay, I’m sorry, but I have no idea what’s happening. Am I dreaming? What the fuck did I take?” he asked, and Tweek laughed at him again.

“You didn’t take anything. You just fucked up and I’m here to make you pay.”

“Oh, good,” Craig mumbled. “I always wanted to become a martyr.”

“I don’t think this counts as martyrdom. You’re not even religious. You’re just a shitty person.” Tweek looked surprised, his cat eyes blinking slowly. “You don’t want to make your case before I toss you in, then?” Tweek stepped forward, his wings rising to glide over the pews. The closer he got, the grander they became, until Craig was so enamored with them that he wanted to reach out and pet just one finger on the skin that webbed Tweek’s wings together.

“I don't really have a case. I know this is wrong.” Craig shrugged. He was starting to feel more comfortable, and his shaking had been reduced to adrenaline-fueled tremors. Now that he looked closer, Tweek seemed to be shaking slightly too. “Are you afraid of me too?” he asked, but he instantly regretted it the moment Tweek snorted at him.

“N-no,” he smirked, “I just shake. God made me wrong so Satan took me instead. He’s very, ngh,” Tweek twitched violently mid-sentence, “nice! You'd like him, I think. Most do. Let's go!” Tweek snapped and the hole in the ground reappeared, squealing at full-force.

“You want me to get in that?” Craig yelled over the cries, and Tweek gave him a confused look.

“W-well, you don't really have a choice.”

“No?” Craig asked, and Tweek shook his head. Craig rubbed his hands together and did what he did best: scam his way through a tight spot. “You're a devil, right?” Tweek nodded slowly. “Wouldn't the more devilish thing to do be to… I dunno, defy your orders and steal me away for yourself?” Craig crossed his fingers behind his back.

Tweek’s eyes practically glowed. “Wow, would you really let me do that?” Craig nodded, very subtly as he was still very uncertain, but he did. “That sounds fun!” He shrieked and the high pitch of his voice rattled the windows and pierced Craig’s brain like an instant migraine. “O-oh, sorry. I forget you're so fragile.” He looked sheepish, which was not a description Craig thought he would ever give a demon. Then again, Craig hadn't believed in demons until one quite literally showed up in front of him. 

“You still have to get in, though,” Tweek said, frowning. “I can fly but I don't want to fly out of here in such a small town. Satan doesn't like when we’re spotted. I want to teleport a little ways out. Is that okay?”

“No,” Craig said, his stomach flipping again at the sight of the flames beneath the floorboards. “But I guess I have no choice.”

“Nope!” Tweek said cheerfully, and Craig sighed.

“Okay,” he said, feeling as though he'd either horribly regret or fondly recall his decision, “take me away, demon boy.”

“I'm an imp,” Tweek corrected, but Craig rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, imp boy. Let's go.”

His stomach erupted into butterflies at the excited gleam in Tweek’s eyes as he held out a clawed hand for him to take. Craig slowly placed his palm in his, and the pad of his hand was surprisingly soft to the touch. It was warm, but not clammy, and Craig relaxed into his hold as he was tugged gently forward. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” he muttered, but Tweek gave him a reassuring smile that was much gentler without the deadly fangs poking out of his lips.

“I won't hurt you,” Tweek said, and somehow, for some idiotic reason, Craig believed him. For a moment he recalled his family, his friends, and his coworkers who would find his notebook discarded and the floors ripped to shreds without any idea of what had transpired, but something about the imp holding his hand made him less worried about the life he was likely abandoning for a long time. 

Tweek led him forward and he gulped, staring down into the flames that screamed. “They won't burn you,” Tweek said, “they’re just warm.” Craig still feared them. After a moment to collect himself, he nodded, giving Tweek permission to lead him in.

“So, are you familiar with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah?” Tweek asked, grinning, and Craig choked on his spit before he was pulled forward and began a free-fall through a wormhole leading to God knew where.

When they resurfaced it was in a dark shack in a town Craig didn't recognize, and Tweek had the same grin in place as when they hopped through the portal the first time, and Craig had to wonder just how familiar he was with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah and how much it was going to relate to the hours of sex they would undoubtedly be having in the very near, very enticing future.

THE END