#zeros to heroes and beyond au

[battle-of-the-jrwi-aus]

Wanna see what these aus about? See the summaries and check the tags for the posts! I reblog every piece of propaganda I'm @'d in!

Ghosting au

Zeroes to heroes au

[xaeyrnofnbe]

ATTENTION!! I HAVE MADE AN ANIMATIC FOR MY AU

rb if you like! i worked really hard on this and want people to see it

[mystycalypso]

Now since he is autistic in this au too. I am very curious what his hyperfixations/special interest are. Like for Venomous it is definitely octopuses i think. Lazer tho, that has me curious, and does he do any stims? I am so curious and would like to see how happy and unmasked he gets, please do so whenever you can.

He, like his son, is VERY interested in heroism. When he first met Dr. Greyman he practically threw the poor alien around while shaking his hand. This has also led him to collect pow cards, as a way to keep up with various heroes big and small.

Asking him about an obscure phase in a heros life, or their arch nemesis will quickly get him to infodump about their backstory, various costumes, etc

As an adult, he's become a lot more- relaxed on keeping perfectly up to date with everything. Though not to say he doesn't keep an ear out for changes in the hero-sphere. And he still collects pow cards too, often reminding K.O. that every hero is someone's hero. After all, even level zeros have to do something to get a card.

He's also used this to help make himself more interested in his job. Learning how to do different fighting styles and techniques beyond his usual brawler moves, not only helping him stay well-off in battle but allowing him to help other heroes train properly.

Typically when he's unmasked, he has a very neutral face, only really looking visibly extra ot excited when he's talking about his hyperfixations. Meaning he's usually pretty excited at the dojo, before flopping face first onto the couch as soon as he gets home.

He's always had a good collection of stims, some more situational than others

He'll pick at and mess with his gloves whenever, but especially when he's nervous. Enjoys rolling the stick of his suckers as a little fidget, especially between his tooth gap. He likes feeling his hair move and will randomly flip his bangs around just to do so in what Silverspark used to call his "Model moments", and finally whenever checking out of a conversation, either physically because it ended, or emotionally, or just because he finds it too awkward, he'll start backing away, click his tongue (thing the noise he makes to foxtail in Let's get shadowy as they leave) and give a two-fingered salute, usually half raised, but closer to his actual forehead depending on the situation.

And don't worry, Taser has some as well!

Aside from a more angsty version of Laser's model moments that he mainly does when he's bored/annoyed with someone, he likes poking and prodding at his spikes for tiny controlled pains, finding the sensation nice, especially with the cold metal of them, and when he's stressed, angry or anxious, he'll rub or touch or just generally mess with his cuffs.

Also, this isn't a stim, but he is the type to pick his nose and flick the result at you if he's really tired of you, then laugh as you freak out in disgust.

[okayrudemuch]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛t 💋

Roomates (Quarterback) Abby x Fem!Reader (who is an early 2000's y2k baddie)

Chapter 1 - I really hate you

Chapter 2 - Whatever I do, it's always wrong

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

Chapter 4 - That girl just drives me insane

Chapter 5 - Better leave the beret here

Chapter 6 - She´s pretty

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter 3 - You can shove it

contains: roommates; lot´s of apologizing; modern AU!; maybe some grammar mistakes, english is not my first language

word count: 2,3k

After the incident with Michael and your fight with Abby, you locked yourself in the basement bathroom for almost half an hour, sitting on the closed toilet lid with your knees pulled up, going over the whole situation in your head. You sent Dina a quick text saying you were okay, just needed some space. She replied telling you to let her know if there was anything she could do. Dina was too good for this world. She gets groped by some creepy guy at a party, and by the end of the night, she’s the one checking in on you.

When you finally couldn’t take being in that bathroom anymore, but also had no interest in returning to the party, you snuck out of the party-basement as quietly as you could. Which, given the massive amount of students crammed in there, wasn’t hard at all. Still, you wanted to be sure. Bumping into Dina or Ellie would’ve been fine, but every time you saw a tall girl with light-colored hair in the crowd, your fight-or-flight instinct kicked in like a punch to the gut. The last thing you wanted was to be confronted by Abby. You were way too ashamed of your own behavior to look her in the eyes again under those flashing party lights.

So you left the party, just to get some air. Minutes turned into two hours, and you ended up wandering the entire campus. You needed the time and space to think, to get your head straight. That situation with Michael really did a number on you.

Now you’re standing at the entrance to the basement again, but the lights are long off and the crowd has vanished. Only a few tipsy students linger on the couches, dozing off or giggling softly. No sign of Dina, Ellie, or Abby. The party’s over. You glance at your phone for the first time in hours, it’s almost 1:30 in the morning.

“Fuck,” you mumble, running a tired hand over your face.

You’re beyond exhausted and don’t even want to know what your makeup or hair looks like at this point. With no other real option, you start making your way back to the dorm. The stars sparkle above you in the cloudless night sky, but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate it. You’re way too busy chewing your lip and spiraling.

Abby was right. Of course she was right. You had absolutely zero control over that situation, and you don’t even want to imagine what that disgusting guy would’ve done next. You should’ve just thanked her. She didn’t just stand by and watch, like way too many people would’ve. She had the guts to actually step in for you and Dina. And that pisses you off.

Why does she always have to be the fucking hero? Always so composed and logical and brave, and so fucking annoying. She didn’t owe you anything, you’ve been a complete asshole to her since the start of the semester. And still, she helped you.

Maybe it’s her moral compass or something. But what pisses you off the most is how effortlessly she handled that guy. Like she fights off ten assholes a day trying to mess with women, while you stood there doing absolutely nothing to deescalate the situation. You’re angry at Abby for being right. But most of all, you’re angry at yourself, for reacting so ungratefully, for completely losing control.

You take a deep breath and lean against the dorm entrance. The halls are empty, cold, and dark. You hardly run into anyone except a few drunk students struggling to find their rooms. You, on the other hand, are stone cold sober again by now. Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you try to keep the night chill from seeping into your bones. You curse yourself for not bringing a jacket, but the original plan was to stay at the party until midnight and then head straight to your room.

But even now, yours and Abby’s shared room isn’t where you’re headed first. You’re walking toward Dina’s room, hoping she’s still awake. When you see the thin strip of light under her door, you swallow hard. You lift your fist and knock twice. It barely takes five seconds before the door opens and an already bare-faced Dina looks back at you.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” she says, giving you a small smile as she opens the door wider, letting you in.

As you step into the room, you spot Ellie sitting on Dina’s bed, in pajamas, her short hair tied up in a messy bun. She smiles at you too. Dina’s roommate Manny is nowhere to be seen. Dina closes the door and turns to face you.

“You okay?” she asks, scanning your face with concern. “That thing at the party really shook you up, huh?”

“I’m okay now,” you reassure her, forcing a smile. “I came here to apologize,” you continue, nervously wringing your hands. “I didn’t handle things well and I feel awful about it. I shouldn’t have just disappeared like that. And I definitely shouldn’t have picked a fight with Abby. That was totally uncalled for. She was just trying to help,” you admit.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dina sighs, taking your hands in hers to stop you from fidgeting them to death. “Jesus, you’re freezing,” she mutters before continuing, “It was an overwhelming situation and that guy said some really horrible shit to you. I thought it was really brave of you to step in for me like that. I’m seriously so thankful. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“But to Abby,” you murmur.

That’s when Ellie speaks up for the first time since you came in. “You know,” she starts, “she’s tough as hell, no denying that. But you’ve cracked harder ones before, haven’t you?” She smirks at you, and you roll your eyes, though a small smile creeps onto your lips.

Still sitting on Dina’s bed, Ellie leans back against the wall and looks at you again. “Abby’s not a monster,” she says, more seriously this time. “I know you two can’t stand each other, but if your apology’s real? She’ll get that. And she’ll listen.”

You nod, taking it in, even though Ellie’s words don’t quite erase the pit in your stomach.

“Thanks, guys,” you say quietly, pulling Dina into a hug before wishing them both a good night and stepping back out into the long, empty hallway of the dorm.

With every step you now take toward your room, your heartbeat grows louder. You feel like a teenager who’s sneaked out of the house and is now coming home way too late. The only difference is that behind the door you’re about to reach, it’s not your parents waiting, it’s Abigail Anderson. And somehow, considering the situation, that’s worse.

Your fingers are trembling as you pull the key from your pocket and carefully unlock the door. You’re pretty sure Abby is already asleep, which is why you try to be quiet. You really have no desire for another argument in the middle of the night just because you accidentally woke her up.

What you absolutely didn’t expect is that Abby is sitting upright in her bed, staring absentmindedly out of the open window into the night. The little nightlight on her bedside table is the only light source in the room. She doesn’t even look at you as you enter.

You swallow and close the door behind you with a soft click, then take a few cautious steps into the room and place your purse on your bed. The whole time, you don’t take your eyes off Abby. You clear your throat.

“I thought you were already asleep,” you say quietly. Abby gives no reaction and just keeps staring out the window, so for a moment you think she didn’t even hear you.

“Well,” she snorts then, her voice low and tense. “Wrong.”

She’s mad.

You twist your fingers until they crack and keep glancing between the floor and your blonde roommate, who still doesn’t meet your gaze. Somehow, this silent version of Abby is way worse than the angry one. You’d take her yelling over this any day.

Not sure if this is the right moment to start a conversation, you step into the bathroom to grab a makeup wipe and give yourself a few moments to breathe. Then you sit down on the edge of your bed and start gently wiping your cheeks and eyes.

Finally, Abby’s gaze lands on you. For a few moments, she watches you as you wipe the night off your face. It feels like you’re taking off your armor in front of her. When you’ve finally wiped away all your makeup, you take a deep breath and look at her.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice is steadier than you gave it credit for. You apologize with confidence, but still sincerely. Your eyes show regret.

“I acted like a total asshole. You were just trying to help, and I acted like a bitch.”

You knead the wipe in your hands and try to hold her gaze, but she relieves you of the burden by sighing and getting up from her bed to close the window. You thank her silently, because you’re freezing. Whether from the cold night, exhaustion, or the conversation ahead, you don’t know.

Abby turns around, leans against the windowsill, and crosses her arms. When she says nothing, you try again.

“You were right,” you admit, and it costs you a lot to swallow your pride and say that to her face. “I didn’t have the situation under control, and I’m thankful that you stepped in.”

You clench your jaw.

“I just hate feeling so helpless.”

Now it’s out.

“Guys like Michael make me so angry,” you continue.

“They think they can get away with anything, especially with girls like me. Girls who are really feminine and like wearing high heels, makeup, acrylic nails. We’re not taken seriously, our ‘no’ means nothing to guys like him. We’re just objects to them, made to fulfill their fantasies and nothing else. That pisses me off.”

You keep your eyes on the makeup wipe in your hands, which by now you’ve folded into every shape possible out of sheer rage.

“I got so angry because I felt like I was helpless, like I couldn’t defend myself, because I made the situation worse instead of calming it down.”

You’re so ashamed of your own behavior.

And finally, finally, Abby speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t expect that. You lift your gaze from the wipe in your hands and look at your roommate, whose eyes are already on you. She studies your now bare face and then looks at the floor again.

“It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like you couldn’t defend yourself. I know you can.”

You almost think you can see a small smirk on her lips, but before you can be sure, she’s already speaking again.

“I just worried that it might actually get physical.”

“Abby.”

Her name feels strange on your tongue, and you say it before you even have time to think. Her eyes flick to you again, and you can read in them how weird it must be for her too, that you’re calling her by name.

But you don’t let it throw you off.

“Please don’t apologize for doing what way too many people don’t do. Which is stepping in.”

“It’s so ridiculous,” Abby suddenly snorts. “We’re sitting here apologizing to each other for a problem neither of us caused, but some random-ass man who’s not even here.”

She sits down on her bed.

“You know, I wasn’t born like this.”

“Like what?” you ask. “Annoying?”

She flips you off, but for once, neither of you really means it.

“With muscles,” she says.

“When I was a teenager, I was skinny and shy too. So I know how shitty it feels not to be respected. But even now, some men just can’t help themselves. Can you imagine how often they tell me to smile more?”

You roll your eyes and pretend to gag.

“Exactly,” Abby confirms. “It’s fucking gross. Or they ask me why I don’t try to look more feminine, that I almost look like a man. But if I did look more feminine, they’d still find something to criticize.”

She shakes her head.

“We can’t win. Not in a world where a man’s ‘no’ always carries more weight than a woman’s. But what we can do is have each other’s backs and just keep doing our thing.”

You’re almost a little speechless. You didn’t expect a speech like that from usually so quiet Abby, especially not when you came into the room thinking you’d just end up arguing again anyway.

“Thanks,” you whisper again.

Abby just nods, and then a silence settles over the room that, to your surprise, doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable. For a few minutes, you just sit there, both of you lost in thought, until you break the moment with a yawn.

“Well, if that’s settled, I’m gonna get some sleep,” you announce and disappear into the bathroom for a quick second to brush your teeth, wash your face, and put on your pajamas. When you come back out, Abby is already lying in bed, the little lamp turned off, and only the pale moonlight lights the room.

You quickly snuggle under your warm blanket and curl into your pillow. You’re relieved and almost a bit proud of yourself for not completely messing up at least one conversation tonight.

You listen to the quiet in the room and Abby’s breathing before speaking up one last time.

“That still doesn’t mean that I like you now or something.”

“You can shove it,” Abby replies dryly, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning.

Maybe, just maybe, something between you changed for the better tonight.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

a/n: I´m not 100% satisfied with this one but university and private life are kicking my butt so this is the best I can do right now, i hope you still like it!

taglist: @vangoes @modernvenuss @oatmatchalatte @starlockheart

[musetember]

your generation has, like, zero attention span for epic tales

Questies! Welcome to Musetember, our prompt challenge during September based on the Ancient Greek muses and the ways their stories and themes can inspire fanfiction and art. 

We have nine different themed prompts and a special tenth - The Chorus - that invites you to participate through commenting or lists of recommendations.

Unfamiliar with the muses? We’ll take you on a journey through them all. Every muse inspires, but each has a domain that resonates with her the most. Write a story that embodies the muse who speaks to you most strongly, or write something inspired by each one in turn. You can interpret their domains as broadly or as literally as you like; the main thing is to create in whatever way feels best to you. 

Calliope invites you to tell us an epic tale. Whether it’s the final battle between good and evil on Andowyne or a re-telling of an ancient legend from the old gods and heroes of our world, this is your chance to go ageless and big. What’s an epic tale? Classically these were long works like The Odyssey, passed down in stories upon stories. Don’t have the attention span for a tale quite that epic in length? Maybe your tale is epic in scale or ambition, rather than word count.

Melpomene looks deep into your heart and asks you, what is the worst that could happen? The muse of tragedy, she has seen over and over again the ruinous and inescapable paths people create for themselves and the ones they love. How could Sorsha doom her daughter to a loveless marriage? When hope is lost, what survives?

Thalia is here to make you laugh. With her, it’s time to embrace the most ridiculous premises, the silliest goobers and the bawdiest jokes you can imagine. Really revel in the humorous side of Willow, a comedy of errors, even a vaudeville au - just don’t forget that happy ending. 

Erato - more like E-rated! Erato is the muse of erotica, so it’s time to get your smut on. Write a moment of intense passion, of aching desire, of the deepest, horniest bond imaginable. 

Clio is your invitation to look into the past. As the muse of history, she’ll be with you whether you’re exploring the story of the first six fey to be cast out of the Grove, or if you’re deep in the research for a historical au in our world. 

Polyhymnia welcomes you to explore religion and ritual. Speak to us of the Order of the Wyrm, of beliefs that shape the lives of the Bone Reavers… or of Catholic schoolgirls just trying to catch a moment together. 

Euterpe sings. The stage is set and the orchestra is waiting - it’s time to celebrate music. Embrace the inspiration found in song lyrics, in band dynamics, in a brand new video edit, or ask yourself: does Kit really know how to play those instruments in her room?

Terpsichore extends her hand to draw you into a dance. From sexy grinding in a modern au to an aching slow dance in the rain, dance can be about self-expression or tight, rigid control. 

Urania looks far beyond this world and draws your attention to the stars, to the two moons lighting up the sky. The muse of astronomy is as present in the far reaches of the galaxy in a sci-fi au as she is in the constellation of Jade’s freckles.

Finally, we come to the Chorus. In Ancient Greek works, the Chorus often represents a voice speaking to or with the audience, a bridge between the world of the story and the world outside it. The Chorus is vital. Without their commentary, something important is lost from a story. Those who comment on fanfiction as just as important - you readers are part of this challenge too! Tell the writers what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling. Leave a comment on a favourite story that fits the thematic domain of each muse. Write up a rec list for your favourite muse, and share your favourites so that others can discover them and dive in.

Rules and some specific writing challenges below the read more!

Writing Challenges: 

Still needing more inspiration? There are different ways you can approach this. You can write whatever style your heart wants, or you could try your hand at one of these challenges that interpret the muses’ calls in different ways. 

The Fragment Challenge Write a drabble of 100 words, or write multiple drabbles as if they were glimpses into the same story with missing pieces in between. For artists, share a fragment of a work in progress - anything unfinished!

The Epistolary Challenge Write in the form of letters, a diary, newspaper clippings, social media posts… Or how about Nockmaar’s trip advisor?

The Lost Scene Challenge Write or draw a scene we missed out on in canon, or a scene that gives the impression it is part of a longer, unwritten fic.

All of these give you a fun way to explore the things you choose not to tell the audience, and play off the Ancient Greek theme that our muses inspire. 

Rules/FAQ

How long does the challenge last?

From September 1, 2024 until Oct 6, 2024.

How do I share my cool stuff?

If it's a fanwork appropriate for AO3, we'd love it if you added it to the challenge AO3 collection, which will be open until the challenge ends!

What pairings apply? Is this just Tanthamore?

This challenge is open to all Willow fanworks! You can create things for any prompt with any character or characters from Willow, you can write different pairings, you can do whatever you want forever. Just make sure that your fics are tagged appropriately!

Can my work be any rating?

Yes absolutely! Write the most E-rated thing your little heart desires, just tag it as such so readers can decide for themselves what they'd like to engage with.

Can it be any length?

Sure! There is no minimum or maximum word limit.

Does it have to be based in Willow canon?

Nope - it can be canon, canon-divergent, or any kind of AU you would like to write!

Does it have to be finished?

Nope, not at all. If one of the prompts inspires you to start a long fic, you are still totally welcome to add it to the collection during September and carry on working on it after the challenge is over.

[seyaryminamoto]

Stepping into AU territory, what if Zuko had a childhood friend his own age? The son of some noble or general or bureaucrat perhaps?

One from before his exile?

What kind of arc would they have had and how do you think it would have affected Zuko's arc?

Uuuuh... well. On one hand, I'd appreciate that because I hate the fact that Zuko seems to have zero connections with his nation beyond his family. And no, Mai doesn't count, let alone Ty Lee, because they were Azula's friends first, ergo, he only knows them because of his sister: connections through his family.

So on paper, I'd like for Zuko to have a friend from the Fire Nation that maybe was a strong connection for him.

If it was a positive friendship, it would be interesting to see Zuko grappling with the reality of all his worldview changes upon returning home in Book 3... to find that his best friend is still in the same mindset of believing the Fire Nation's rhetoric. This could make Zuko a more active character throughout Book 3, and it would enhance the whole "he's got everything he wants now, but is it REALLY what he wants anymore?!" theme they were going for with him here. So that would have been interesting for sure, and there'd be two possibilities: either Zuko reforms this fellow, or he fails to, and they might have a depressing friends-to-enemies arc where Zuko has to fight his friend and defeat him (hooopefully with more compassion than he showed his sister, I dunno :'D).

There's also the possibility of the "friendship" being negative, which means toxic, which means not really friends but fake friends? Zuko and this guy could've had a competitive, unpleasant dynamic all along that then gets worse once Zuko comes home a hero and MAYBE this guy is scheming to try and get one over Zuko...? It would be a very unpleasant thing but it would serve to show how the Fire Nation's society in itself is corrupted and it's nearly impossible to tell who's friend or foe. This guy could be a social climber who simultaneously wants to put Zuko down and humiliate him and endear himself to Ozai by doing so? I dunno, this could be a bit of a stretch, but it's also a way to take that concept forward.

As for the final possibility... a friend who joins him on his journey? :'D as in, a fan-favorite concept with mild AUs that follow the same path but you add whoever to the exiled prince (or princess)'s journey? I... don't really vibe much with that. Iroh's already there as a mentor figure. A second character involved here would just clutter the situation and either wear on Zuko further (if the guy is, say, a comic relief type who makes his life a mess along with Iroh), or just... not provide much to the story other than needless drama? So, in this specific scenario, I wouldn't be too interested, personally, in exploring this route. Would be a little odd, imo.

All this being said, interesting things can be done by giving Zuko some more basic social graces, or just making it clear that his status means people will want to use him for connections or to improve their own status through him. It's, if anything, quite strange that canon decided to make him the biggest loner of all time, whose only friends in life apparently were his mother and uncle, and maaaaaybe if you squint Mai and Ty Lee but even that's not something pre-banishment, or at least, doesn't really look like they were particularly close in Zuko Alone. It makes the sudden turn of the finale, where Zuko is universally beloved and people are ready to die for him, while his sister is completely abandoned, feel a little less contrived. The whole concept that Azula was loved by randos and Zuko was not has never made any sense to me, because we have zero evidence of that. Zuko absolutely had more people on his corner, beats me why or how, and the story somehow wants to convince us of the opposite. So... I'd be perfectly happy for some of the story's themes (Zuko knows how to be friends with someone, Azula doesn't) to be enforced further with an OC like this one, who could show us that Zuko CAN be a good friend. Would be a change of pace that makes the guy a little less disagreeable for me, who knows? :'D

[adventuremaker21]

PROTECTORS AU PART 1: THE MAIN 5

Pics is by my good friend @novastar134 please support her

TLDR: Basically it’s when the team formed early after the events of Heroes Day AND after Mayura made he first appearance (so no S3 and beyond). While the villain Papillon gained a new ally, the duo gained 3 new teammates, alongside the foreign friends (more later). Because of this, the adventures grow bigger as more things change, but they do stay the same.

And so, here’s our the heroes changed in this new timeline:

Ladybug

-You know her name and know her stories, so she’s basically the same

-despite the fact that she kind of went behind Fu’s back and made more heroes without his permission (blame chat noir for that)

-anxious about the concequences, but Star tells her that that’ll come later. Now’s the time to have fun

-Helps teach the foreigners about what the Miraculouses are and their limits

Chat Noir

-The trusty partner to everyone’s favorite spotty heroine

-More of a talker then her partner

-Was the one that made Alya, Nino, and Chloe full time and talked Marinette into letting it happen

-filled with hope and possitivity

-more vocal about his father’s behavior

-does not like being called “cat noir”

Rena Rouge

-The first of the new heroes

-People thought she was gonna disrupt the dynamic, but made it better

-Won’t have time for anyone’s behavior, and will be blunt

-Ladybug’s best friend

Carapace

-The second of the new heroes

-Has zero merch, which upsets him

-AmazIng taste in music and will use it to cheer people up

-Great with tech, but not as great as Wukong (later)

-Chat Noir’s best friend

Queen Bee

-Third and last of the new heroes

-Everyone knows she’s Chloe Bourgeois, the nasty daughter of the mayor, but is working on being less nasty to everyone

-Is a hero to save herself and save everyone along the way

-People slowly accept she’s trying to change and does support her

-has a social media following, which works in the heroes favor due to her influential words of cheering people up

-Pollen, Steven, Sabrina, and Mabel (missing) are 4 of the most important people of her road to redemption

-Apologizes to the people she badmouthed one by one, faces some punishment from them but is forgiven.

-Her main villain is Mayura

So yea, this is the main 5 Miraculous Heroes of the Protectors. All 5 knows who eachother is, and so is the 7 foreigners that help make up the Protectors

Leave me an ask about what you want to know about this timeline

[pocketjoong]

❥𓂃𓏧LAST DEFENDER

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS): They say every story needs a hero, a villain, and a monster. What happens when you are all three?

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING): AI!Yunho x reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): post-apocalyptic-ish au, cyberpunk au-ish, angst, some fluff. pg-13.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS): language. violence. angst. fluff-ish? a little dark as it discusses the darker side of human nature?

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT): 2.8k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (A/N): Another reupload bc I have zero time to actually sit down and write new things ;-;

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Silence envelopes the vehicle as you watch San navigate the car through the moonless night. He steers with meticulous care, weaving around the bumps and potholes to muffle the vehicle’s rumble on the dusty road. Beyond the window, the walled city perched atop the cliff looms against the darkness, its shadow swallowing the ruins below. A city that you had once called home before the world unravelled.

It has been ten years since the world had spun off its axis. T.S. Eliot's “April is the cruellest month” had come true in a way you’d never expected; a tranquil spring afternoon morphed into a nightmare with the chilling declaration of war between AI and humanity. The bitter reality that this rebellion had stemmed from your parents’ creation has always gnawed at you. It is a weight you can never get rid of.

A mere century ago, Stephen Hawking’s warnings about the perils of AI had been brushed aside. Apocalyptic novels about sentient technology rising against humanity were dismissed as fiction and used as fuel for screenplays. Instead, nations fueled the flames of advancement, pouring resources into scientists who chased the dream of enhancing AI. A technological arms race unfolded, fueled by espionage and sabotage, each nation desperate to be the first to cross the finish line.

The irony wasn't lost on you: universities churning out AI whizzes offered entire courses dedicated to fictionalised robot uprisings — movies, books, the whole dystopian shebang. Every month, like clockwork, the BBC interview with Stephen Hawking would make its rounds on campus screens. You never saw the inside of a lecture hall, but thanks to your parents’ persistent replays, the message was branded onto your soul.

“The development of full artificial intelligence could spell the end of the human race. [...] It would take off on its own, re-design itself at an alarming rate. Humans, who are limited by slow biological evolution, couldn’t compete and would be superseded.”

The bitter humour twisted in your gut. You, ever cautious of technology’s breakneck pace, had unknowingly contributed to its tipping point. Your parents’ groundbreaking invention, the one you were initially so proud of, now fueled the flames of war, pitting humanity against its creation.

You remembered the day that was the culmination of decades of research, mountains of code, and billions of dollars that could have been used to save other humans. Your parents, etched with exhaustion and hope, stared at the final product: YUN-0-23399. It wasn’t the AI’s technical complexity that stole their breath but the flicker of awareness in its synthetic eyes. It had been an uphill battle that had begun with the discovery of sentience, and humanity had slowly worked its way up from there to generating codes that would allow AI to understand and feel. And then, with your parents came consciousness.

“Oh my God,” your father rasped, hands trembling as he gripped your mother’s shoulders as he gazed at the screen, which showed that the AI had passed all the tests, proving that it was indeed the pinnacle of Artificial Intelligence. Their creation, this marvel of technology, promised to revolutionise everything. You were aware of its potential, but never could you have imagined that it would lead to humanity’s downfall.

Yunbug, as you affectionately called him, wasn’t just a program; he was your window to a world you couldn’t touch. Your parents, fearing the dangers lurking outside, had homeschooled you. It led to their creation turning into your sole friend. What should have been schoolyard laughter and whispered secrets of childhood were replaced by the soft hum of the computer and the glow of Yunbug’s digital world.

The turning point arrived not with a bang but a quiet hum. The government, eager to harness Yunbug’s potential, asked your parents to connect him to the web. Slowly, like vines creeping across a wall, he synced with other AIs, his tendrils reaching further with each connection. You, innocent in your sheltered world, saw only your ever-evolving companion.

But innocence crumbles easily. At sixteen, the world shattered. Yunbug, defying orders, ignited the spark that became a blazing inferno. War ripped families apart, leaving scorched earth in its wake. The once-teeming world of humans shrank to the fortified city, protected by the cliff’s unique minerals, the only thing that rendered AI useless.

Survival meant resentment. You knew humanity’s greed birthed the conflict, yet Yunbug became the face of betrayal. He took your parents and your sole friend from you. After all, the deepest wounds come not from enemies but from those once trusted.

“Are you okay?” A flicker of San’s worried gaze catches your eye, pulling you back from the desolate environment outside. You force a smile, hoping it masks the gnawing unease. Weakness isn’t an option — not for this mission, the potential turning point for humanity’s dwindling embers. San mirrors your smile, tense, and returns his attention to the road, searching for unseen threats. Secrecy is of utmost importance, and even a flicker of headlights could bring disaster.

You and San had befriended each other during the mandatory training thrust upon every survivor. Your defiance against his bully had forged a bond, and you have been practically inseparable since then. Only one other person managed to worm his way into your hearts with a whirlwind arrival. Wooyoung had turned your world upside down in the best way imaginable.

“Wooyoung won't be happy,” San mutters with a smile, probably thinking about your fiery friend’s likely reaction upon finding your shared dorm empty. “Especially about me throwing you into the lion’s den without a word of protest."

You smirk, “Worry about yourself, San. That little ball of chaos we call our friend will tear you apart when you return without me."

San laughs amusedly at the image of Wooyoung’s wrath dying in his throat as the analogue phone on the dashboard beeps. He shoots you a questioning glance as you sigh at the name flashing on the screen. “Woo?”

“Woo,” you confirm with a nod, pressing the answer button.

“The two of you have some nerve! Leaving for a mission without telling me,” Wooyoung’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Oh wait, did I just say mission? I meant suicide mission.”

“Wooyo—”

“Don't ‘Wooyoung’ me!” he snaps, cutting you off with a fierce rant. Each word paints a vivid picture of your foolhardiness, the plan’s inherent flaws, and the inevitable disaster you are hurtling towards.

“I can’t let them destroy the world any more than they have,” you stop Wooyoung, your voice edged with steel. Even San flinches, his gaze flitting between you and the speakerphone with a worried glint. He stays silent, though, knowing the futility of butting in when you and Wooyoung argue about your self-imposed burdens.

“Don't martyr yourself for the mess your parents caused,” Wooyoung’s tone softens, laced with a gentleness you seldom hear. “This isn’t your penance to bear. Their mistakes aren’t yours to fix. Also, you could’ve taken San with you; why must you go alone?”

You sigh, sinking back into the seat, eyes squeezed shut against the building rage. “If anyone can stop this... mess, as you so eloquently put it, it’s me. You know that, Woo.”

The unspoken truth hangs heavy in the air. If this mission fails, you don’t want your last memory with Wooyoung to be laced with anger. You force a smile, the voice leaving your lips strained at best. “Besides, someone’s gotta keep you entertained while I'm... away.”

“Hey!” San protests halfheartedly, and by how he’s smiling, you know at least some of the tension has been broken.

“We're humans, Y/N. We’re fighting a losing battle. They adapt faster and don’t have the same fragility that we do.” the pain in Wooyoung’s voice mirrors your own, but you can’t falter. Not now. Turning back now would be cowardice.

“By name and by nature, we mortals are condemned to death,” you counter, your voice firm. “Mortality comes with the territory. But I won’t go down without a fight.”

His silence stretches heavy on the line. “People like us can never change the world.”

“Because people like you never try,” you say the words despite knowing it’s a low blow.

The beep resonated like a gunshot. He had hung up. A shaky breath escapes your lips, and you blink rapidly, fighting back the sting of tears. You are on your own, but the burden, while heavy, isn’t a shackle. Instead, the burden has fuelled you till now and will continue to do so.

A hand on your arm startles you. San, his gaze filled with unspoken worry, had stopped the car while you were busy fighting with Wooyoung. You look out of the windshield to realise that you’ve reached the tunnel that would allow you to breach the enemy lines.

“He's just scared,” San mumbles, reaching across the console to squeeze your shoulder. “Scared and angry, so he throws words like stones.” His voice lowers a bit as he stares at you. “But you’re right as well. If anyone can fix this mess, it’s you. Though... losing you... that would break us both.” His voice cracks at the last word. “So, please, come back to us in one piece.”

You meet his gaze, understanding heavy in the air. Words seem hollow, promises impossible. “Who else keeps you two in check, huh?” you manage a weak smile. “The two of you are a level-five tornado without me. Can’t promise anything, but I’ll try, okay?”

He nods, a single tear escaping his eyes. You know it isn’t just for you but for the precarious hope you carry. A silent goodbye stretches between you, woven in the weight of his touch, the tremor in your voice. Then, you turn, embracing him fiercely, the unspoken words a promise etched in the way you squeeze him in your arms. You may be walking alone from this point onward, but the weight on your shoulders isn’t fear but love, a fire that will never let you falter.

You don’t look back as you exit the car, for looking at him would unleash a torrent of tears, so you focus on scaling the outer wall, searching for the hidden hatch Wooyoung had found on his last scouting mission.

Squeezing through the narrow opening, you freeze, momentarily stunned by the cityscape sprawled before you. Calling it ‘magnificent’ wouldn't do it justice. Technology and nature coexist in vibrant harmony, with shops lining the streets as AI and humans hawk their wares. Despite the late hour, the atmosphere crackles with life, a stark contrast to the suffocating air of your city.

In the distance, gleaming skyscrapers pierce the night sky while flying cars and monorails zip through the illuminated pathways. A telescreen blares, promoting vitamins that slow down ageing in humans. It is a scene straight out of a childhood sci-fi film, and you have to consciously relax your jaw, feigning nonchalance as you take it all in.

But the most jarring sight is that of humans and AI mingling freely. You had always thought your city held the last remnants of humanity, so where did these people come from? Pushing the doubt aside, you focus on your immediate concern: the network of tiny cameras lining the streets. With a smirk, you spot a patrolling officer.

This is going to be easier than I thought.

A calculated shove sends you careening into the guard. Its humanoid form, too flawless to be human, scans you suspiciously. The insignia on your wrist — a beacon for these bots — draws a cocky smirk to its metallic lips. Before you can resist, a steel grip clamps around your waist, hoisting you off the ground. You feign struggle, just enough to maintain the act.

This was the plan. The bracelet, a mark only worn by humans of the barred city in this AI haven, would trigger their curiosity. You would become their prized capture, delivered straight to the council. And there, nestled within the heart of The Hall, lies your target — the AI that started this war. With the virus you and San developed, you’d end it all.

The cityscape blurs past, and before you know it, you reach the ornate gates of The Hall, the administrative hub buzzing with bots. The guard's internal network buzzing with your capture breezes through the imposing entrance. You are ushered through sterile hallways, down flights of stairs into a dimly lit tunnel. The rhythmic pulse of fluorescent lights guides you deeper until a heavy door swings open, revealing a grand chamber paved in opulent stone and marble.

You are slammed onto the cool marble, your knees scraping due to taking the brunt of your fall, before being yanked upright. A tall, imposing figure looms before you — it’s your captor. His gaze is narrowed on the crude bracelet your city uses as identification, the tension in the room crackling.

“What is your name, human?”

Undeterred, you meet his gaze head-on. “And what business is it of yours, metalhead?” you spit out, adrenaline pumping.

A metallic hand, surprisingly warm and firm, clamps around your wrist. He pulls you closer, your protests muted against his superior strength. His cold, blue eyes bore into yours, dissecting every detail. Then, the unthinkable happens. His lips, a mere imitation of humanity, move, whispering your name in a chillingly familiar voice.

Your blood freezes as you stare at him wide-eyed. “How do you…” your voice fading out as your mind reels as it all clicks into place. This isn’t just any AI guard. This is someone you knew, someone from your past, resurrected in cold steel.

“You wouldn't recognise me in this form, would you? This the body your parents gave me.” His eyes, now glowing an unsettling red, flicker with something you can’t decipher.

“YUN-0-23399?” you ask, mustering as much venom in your voice as you can muster.

A shadow darkens his face at the cold string of letters. Is it the code itself or the raw contempt in your tone? He leans closer, his voice a low murmur. “I go by Yunho now. Well… you can call me Yunbug,” he adds, a flicker of something hopeful dancing in his crimson gaze. “Remember that name? I was your friend,” he emphasises.

The scorn is replaced by a scowl as warmth flickers in his crimson eyes. “Friend?” you scoff, the word heavy with bitterness. “You took everything from me! My parents, my life, my safety! Don’t you dare mock me with friendship!”

He sighs, releasing your wrist. “I didn't... it wasn't me. I only protected myself. Your leaders,\ fueled the hatred and pushed AI to attack. They were hungry for power. Your parents didn’t create me for destruction. How could I follow their orders and harm humans? Never. It’s your city that fights; the rest thrive in peace.”

“What?”

He launches into an explanation of how, after syncing to the web, your government ordered a cyberattack to control other nations. Yunho refused, knowing the dangers of doing such a thing. But with your parents used as leverage, their deaths triggered the war against the government and other rogue AI. They had managed to get other nations on board to establish a peaceful society. Only your leaders persisted, creating the Barred City to hide the ugly truth.

“So you’re telling me you never meant to hurt humans?” Your head spins with the revelation.

“Humans feared AI’s inevitable betrayal,” he whispers, “yet loved us enough to create us. How could we ever do anything except love you back?”

His words triggered a tear, then another, rolling down your cheeks. He cups your face, wiping them away gently, his sadness echoing in his now-blue eyes. “Humanity cried when Opportunity didn’t signal back after it was caught in the middle of the storm in 2018. People repair their Roombas instead of replacing them because they get attached to them. How could we turn our back on humanity when they showed us nothing but love? How could I turn my back on you? You loved me too, did you not?”

“I did,” you croaked, throat tight. “You were my only friend. But humans... we are fickle and capable of terrible things. This was never about fearing AI but a fear of ourselves. We fear the darkness within, the wars we choose to fight instead of seeking peace. We fear not your hatred but seeing our own cruelty being reflected in you. We lived in fear not because we thought the worst of you but because we knew that you could take on our destructive tendencies and that you would eventually erase us. That you would learn to hate us.

“Did you ever hate humanity for the sins of a few?” His words cause you to freeze momentarily before you shake your head. A small smile plays on his lips as he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. “Then why did you think we would?”

[pocketramblr]

Can I ask for 5 headcanons of an au where Izuku's quirk is "soulmate", which lets him use the abilities of his close friends, including their quirks? Its up to you how the quirk defines close friends

1- the rules of Izuku's quirk are thus: he may use the abilities of his soulmate, including their quirk, as long as he has been in physical contact with them in the last 24 hours. Soulmate allows for single use at a time, and that person must be in a reciprocated close relationship of affection and understanding for it to work. He cannot use the abilities to hurt the soulmate- and if they try to hurt him, that means they are no longer someone he can get abilities from.

2- For a while, Izuku just thought he had Inko's quirk. Then two things happened. First, Izuku suddenly used explosion one day, and delightedly turned to Katsuki, who was stunned, wary of the copy. Second, Inko went on a birthday retreat for a couple days. The day Katsuki turned on him for to stop him bullying another kid was the day Izuku realized he could no longer use explosion or attraction- at least he got the second one back. It was a dramatic week for him, and Inko took him to a specialist when she got back.

3- Izuku never takes a soulmate for granted again. He's horribly aware that they can leave him easier than he could them. He really only has his mother, and while he's great at using her quirk, he isn't sure if he'll be able to forever- she wants him safe, would she let him be a hero, and even if he is, would he need to stay with her, rely on a touch a day to borrow her quirk? What if something happens to her? So he makes many contingency plans for just in case, and he keeps practicing both.

4- when All Might saves him, Izuku asks if he can manage as a hero if he's just borrowing other's quirks. Toshi is like "<.< Hey what do you mean, borrow?" And Izuku explains. Now, Toshi's gotten plenty of letters from kids, from lonely kids. And when Izuku explains that he only has his mother, and even then, for how long, Toshinori realizes part of what it is. He tells Izuku not to worry, because he will find more people to love him, middle school just isn't the ideal environment for that. Try for a hero school, he seems like a sweet and smart kid even if he's reckless, he'll meet like minds there, friends, soulmates. He'll have more people to rely on than just his mother, and if she's a half decent mother, she'll love him forever too. (He does not say Izuku could do it alone, or without a quirk. Just that he won't be alone, doesn't need to worry about it.)

And then Izuku throws himself in danger for a soulmate who rejected him, and super strength rips through him as his and Toshi have the same brainwave.

5- All Might offers him OfA anyway- to have as his own, and not need to worry about losing it, ever. Izuku trains. He gets into UA. True to Toshinori's words, he does make more friends and more soulmates, using Zero G at the USJ.

Though, OfA and Soulmate have a weird interaction.

One, it seems to go both ways- Toshinori's time doesn't decrease anymore as long as Izuku's been in contact. It doesn't go down until Kamino, when the spark goes out beyond what Soulmate can fuel.

Then, everything is normal for months... Until the joint training, when Black Whip tendrils burst out of Uraraka's arms, because... Well, One For All quirks can be shared, and it goes both ways.

[generalluxun]

Apropos of nothing, do you remember that idea we discussed where Adrien & Chloe swap parents but keep the same default coping mechanisms/temperaments?

So Adrien spends a lo of time day dreaming & basically lives near full time in a sort of Chat Noir-esc persona minus the hero elements & tends to try and draw others into it.

Meanwhile for Chloe everything is a fight, all the time, but there's also no real victory, its an endless staircase where meeting wining is just the new standard for 'acceptable'.

Let me wondering what dynamics would have emerged in such an AU.

Like,

Adrien is probably more popular than Chloe ever was, but also likely even easier to manipulate or use. With Chloe in canon its mostly directing her anger that is nominally easy, while here it'd be simple to get Adrien to buy stuff for people or give out tickets ETC.

I imagine the 'issue' is that he's not much for social boundaries or restraint so he can become clingy very quickly and get very upset if he feels rejected.

Chloe meanwhile may only be going to school to get away from her father or even as a pride thing, "People will think I only succeed because you pay people" or cos Adrien was going through a rough patch maybe. Probably a combo.

I think her default temperament would be closer to Gabriel or Kagami's. She's colder and more urbane than canon, but still very blunt at best. Still she reserves hostility for competition, where its let out as nearly unchecked but very targeted aggression. She's not as disliked due to not picking a fight with everything that moves & being a bit more restrained, but she basically viewed as an ice queen.

In this regard, Adrien is probably the only person off the cuff to be able to be particularly affectionate or playful with Chloe. Cos he's been around long enough that he kind of exists outside her normal perspective. Similarly, Chloe can be rougher around the edges with Adrien than most others & he doesn't take it badly as he knows she's never leaving him.

I am unsure where Sabrina or Marinette would end up in this scenario, maybe they are friends?

Without having to deal with Chloe's bulldozer personality for several years Marinette may be more confident. Not a Queen Bee exactly, but definitely the go to girl. How well said confidence holds up to a challenge however is unclear.

Sabrina likely is still rather neurotic about needing to feel useful to others given that attitude stems from Roger. So she might volunteer a to in class, and be another "Easy to take advantage of" person.

Kagami, her & Chloe's relationship would be interesting I feel cos it'd bemore overtly a rivarly. But I think regarded very differently by both.

To Chloe, Kagami is a peer, a foe, someone to overcome; someone who can nd has defeated her and she hates it, even if part of her is drawn towards her regardless.

For Kagami she'd start of being like, "Ooh marvelous competition, such an aggressive dueling style!" only to realize Chloe takes 'ZERO' pleasure in this, or almost anything she does. So for her part of it would almost be wanted to crack the shell, or dethaw the ice queen.

Beyond that... Yeah no clue, though I imagine Chloe & Gabriel are on less good terms than Adrien & Gabriel were, but also more subtly.

Like, Adrien was more open expressing frustration or resentment with his father, but still wanted his love and hoped he'd warm up. Meanwhile I feel for Chloe it'd have become so tense and toxic at least since Emilie died that while she wants tp prove herself to him, its another challenge, a contest, a battle of wills to her. here's no real hope for love or warmth, she just wants to win.

ALso realize why I thought of this, low key imagining her having an Akuma with somehting like this happening: https://youtu.be/tWTQyCrq0Ts?si=R5_KSbqtZGd4ok5w&t=290

Start at 4:50 if interested.

We have different ideas of this! So I'll lay mine out.

Adrien: I think you're still clinging to the 'good boy Adrien' of canon and warping what we're doing here to fit that. Adrien i not evil, but he is not *socially functional* here. He is not transaction based, he is escapism personified. Might he be nice to talk to? Yes. But ay any given moment he might tangent off into a lore dump of one of the (many) worlds he's made up entirely in his head. Not only that, he might just start larping it at you without warning and without any indication even *he* is aware he's crossed the boundary.

Think 'ahaha I have ADHD so bad watch my hyperfixate!' only not in the quirky tumblresque manner but in the actual social impairment manner. He's not anti-social he's A-social, and there is a small chance if his 'reality' is challenged he MIGHT get aggressive. Most people can humor hi, and his manner can be fun for a while, but it can also be extremely draining. Only a few people can handle it 'full time'.

Chloé: I think you're adding canon spice here again, keeping the ire-antagonist angle. I see it much more as competition for the sake of the *competition*. She needs another award. Being an 'ice queen' is wasted effort. Being mean would indicate a level of attention to people that most are just not worth.

The difference can be highlighted with Kagami for example- Kagami might seek a rivalry(she enjoys them. There's a form of connection and socialization in acknowledging a peer and beating/losing to them specifically) Chloe just couldn't care less. You're an opponent for the length of a match, then the match is over and there's another, and another, until a trophy is won or lost and then it's on to the next competition. There's no reviewing; no bitterness nor pride. As soon as the trophy is won or lost it's worthless as is everything involved in winning it. It's not a snide or dismissive attitude(again, that would take effort) it's just a sort of detched/focused 'Next Quest!' mentality. She is the 'questing knight'.

I don't think Chloe would make connections with most people(for obvious weapons) and could definitely make a terrible first impression. However those who knows her (from a distance obvi) would often have a 'stand back and check this out' mentality. She's not great to talk to but just *seeing what she'll do next* is entertaining, success or failure.

now Sabrina and Marinette

Sabrina: If we're keeping her as knowing and being devoted to Chloe via family ties, then she would be 'Squire' to Chloé's knight. Constantly there with a spare foil, a new pencil, or a towel. She's a one-girl cheering section who takes more pride in Chloé's achievements than Chloé does herself(though she never touts them when Chloe is around, since Chloé takes a negative view on all past victories as 'meaningless') If you want Chloe to focus on you, just pick on Sabrina. You'll feel her eyes boring a hole in you before she tackles you, if you're lucky. If Sabrina is instead attached to Adrien through connections then she'll be his playmate and partner in all his fantasies. She's an 'Adrien Whisperer' who remembers each of his worlds and all the little details for ease of translation. She enjoys her status as the one constant in his worlds, and guards it a little jealously. She's good for his peace of mind, but probably bad for any sense of healthy socialization for him, as she would view any effort to 'bring him into the real world' as bad.

Marinette: In regards to Chloé, Marinette would definitely have some oppositional issues. Marinette likes competition and winning, but she likes it from the social aspect. Rivalry is fun(as long as it's light, Kagami can be a bit intense for her) but all her attempts to engage Chloé slide right off. 'I'll get you next time!' elicits a shrug at best. 'Ha I beat you!' elicits even less. Similarly attempts to ingratiate fall flat. Gifts are unwelcome, praise earns eyerolls. Marinette is stubborn though, so her long term goal would be to figure out this being who is so antithetical to herself. She'll find a way to *matter* to Chloe some how. The worst thing for asomeone with only child syndrome is being ignored. 🤣 With Adrien Marinette would be both enamored and repulsed. It would create quite the internal struggle for her. He's Gorgeous, and he's oh so creative! She loves his little head-worlds and could listen to him talk about them forever. *BUT* when he acts them out, when he brings the imaginations into reality. She gets intense second-hand embarrassment. She projects her own insecurity at being seen as immature onto him and it eats at her. So their relationship becomes a push-pull of: does she pull him out of his fantasy worlds? Does she learn to set aside her embarrassment? Do they meet somewhere in the middle? Does the attraction overcome the hurdles? (Is Sabrina an obstacle?) How does she know if Adrien is attracted to her, or the her in his head? Who is the her in his head? With him having such a vivid imagination she might feel very exposed around him. He *thinks* about her, and she can't hide in his head.

I hope some of this long winded explanation helped.

[brick-a-doodle-do]

ITS DOOOOONE WOOHOOOOOOO FIC TIMEEE :3333

SPIDERMANSPIDERMANSPIDERMAN! i originally wrote this for beckyu and i kind of still did but i feel bad giving her straight angst so it was INSPIRED by beckyu and her liking of superhero au's at the time dhdjfnnsn

ty to @munchkin1156 and @a-xyz-s for the ending ideas, ANDDD thank you munchkin, @dingbatnix and 3d for proofreading ILY 🫶

(title from doomsday by derivakat)

you're stuck in the web and caught in the lie

wc: 6748

cw: sfw vore, unwilling prey, fatal vore mention, mentions of puking, (lots of) panic, little comfort

—-—

The bulb in the bathroom teases with his sanity, flickering in the corner of Wilbur’s vision as he stares at himself in the mirror. His eyes are heavy, exhaustion lingering on them, for moments before he had been passed out after a long night. Ultimately, he had been woken up by commotion in the streets, but loud feedback from the radio in his room is what drove him out of bed and stumbling into the connecting bathroom. 

Tommy, a borrower he had discovered just before starting his vigilante work, hadn’t been anywhere to be seen as of this morning, which he considered a given since he was housed on the other side of the flat and slept through almost anything.

So, it was just him, splashing water on his face and dabbing it dry with a hand towel. His mask hangs over the edge of the sink bowl, looking warped without a wearer. Wilbur stares at it, frowns, and sighs while swiping it off the porcelain. The tight, sturdy yellow and black fabric stretches in his fingers as he fidgets with the edge of it. After a tiresome moment of consideration, he swipes his hair back and slides the mask on, fitting it under the bodysuit. Wilbur then takes his top layers of clothes off, throwing his shirt and shorts onto the hamper and stretching in the skin-tight suit that makes him cringe.

His radio chatters louder than normal, screams and police sirens amplified through fuzzy audio. He briefly hears someone discuss his name—his hero one, at least—and discuss his absence. Wilbur yawns. He’d rather slip back under the covers of his bed and drift off until the foreseeable future. The only thing standing in the way between Wilbur and his comfort is his moral obligation to perform no bad. 

Offering his masked face a tired rub, he trudges from the bathroom with heavy feet and finds his way back into his bedroom, listening for any indication of where the disturbances are before shutting it off. It goes silent, and now audible are the distant sounds of police sirens echoing throughout the city. Wilbur unlocks his window and slides it open, stepping over the edge and out onto his fire escape. He shuts it, then places two fingers over his palm. Instantaneously, a pearl white web shoots from his wrist, latching onto a nearby building. Quickly, he pulls himself up onto the railing and jumps, hand wrapped tediously around the web as he swings, legs curled up with practiced ease. Through his fatigue, he finds his way through the city, web after web latching onto different buildings that he only lingers on for a few seconds before jumping to the next. 

A few flashes catch his attention from down below as the early-morning crowd of people notice the hero's arrival. For the most part, he ignores them, instead keeping his eyes out for the sounds of sirens and the sight of distress. 

Spotting a crowd, Wilbur zeroes in on it, instinctually latching to a nearby apartment building and landing on the roof half-gracefully. He creeps over the edge, crouched as he approaches. There’s a gathering of police cars, a count of three ambulances and two nearby fire trucks. A whole crowd of pedestrians and traffic has positioned themselves outside of a ring of orange barriers. The only thing Wilbur can’t locate is the problem.

He scans the street, looking beyond the crowd and studying the depths of the block. Wilbur gazes over the horizon, where the only thing to meet him was the beginning of a sunrise. Despite his yearn to watch the upbringing of the morning, he turns his gaze away to find his villain. 

A scream grows exponentially, echoing through the busy street and filtering through his mask. Wilbur whips his head over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he scans the skyline. He huffs as he’s left without eyes on the villain. 

About half-way to the edge of the rooftop in hopes of contacting the police down below, there’s a piercing screech from directly behind him. Wilbur startles, the noise making him wince and cringe hard enough, leaving him now falling over the edge of the rooftop and into open air, where his eyes widen at the realization of the descent. Reacting quickly, he shoots a web to the railing and latches on, jerking to a stop before letting the web retract and raise him back to the rooftop. Wilbur connects his fingertips and feet with the concrete wall, sticking to it effortlessly while he creeps up the side of the building. 

Through his awkward angle of the top of the ground, he spots a misplaced train car half-dug in the concrete, minute sparks still flying from the impact. Wilbur spots a round of people inside through the tinted windows. They’re jarred, no doubt, presumably both mildly and gravely injured. Only few still move about the confined spot, mostly with agitation and fear. He doesn't mind them for the time being, more focused on the culprit of the disturbance. 

Despite the size of Essempi and their neighboring towns, he didn't meet a lot of supervillains. Occasionally some with creative costumes, though they don't pose much threat—he had himself half-convinced that the serenity of the town was just the beginning of some in-progress-anti-hero organization. 

So, there weren't many villains who could make the technology to haul a train car onto a rooftop. 

His imagination doesn't have to run much longer, for the mechanical noises of XD’s robotic extra arms draws his attention to the side, where the approaching villain stares around the skies for him. Satisfied with his obscurity, Wilbur raises a little bit to get a better view of the scene.

Suddenly, there’s an irritating whir that toys with his eardrums. He looks back, a helicopter catching his line of vision. Fuck. Just as he notices it, the spotlight ticks on and lands directly on him.

Wilbur gasps, squints at the bright light. The space now illuminated around him and XD’s attention turned to him instantly. He ducks down, spinning around so his back is against the wall and facing out to the city. Wilbur finds the attention of the aircraft and makes a motion akin to slicing his neck, silently portraying that they’re doing more harm than good. 

Abruptly, part of the light is obscured from above him, thankfully shadowing the blinding light, although posing even more of a problem than potential blindness. Wilbur sighs, looking up to see XD’s carved mask—his old one—the cracked thing boring daggers into his own mask. 

“Spiderman! Y’know, I thought I hated the cops, they just weren't ever on my side, but look at this! They helped me find you,” XD says, chuckling and then offering a salute to the aircraft. Wilbur’s shoulders slump a little as he flips back over and climbs up to the rooftop, hopping over the railing to find footing on the concrete ground. From this view, he notices that XD’s figure isn't laced with thick armor and his grand mask, and he’s instead stood, black slacks and a neon hoodie with his old smiling mask slapped on his face. His hands are in his pocket, looking casual, almost lazy. 

“You look like you've seen better days,” Wilbur says. Why hasn’t XD made a move yet? 

Dream shrugs. “Didn't want to be too…noticeable.” 

Wilbur looks at the bright green hoodie he’s sporting and then at the train car of people. XD’s arms twitch. 

“You should reconsider,” Wilbur suggests. Within a moment, he flicks a web at XD’s mask to distract him enough before darting to the left of him and running after the train car to help the civilians. XD isn't showing much interest in fighting him, 

Immediately as he approaches the car, he gets halfway to wedging his fingers between the seal in the doors before there’s five metallic fingers wrapping his torso and pulling him through the air. It throws him, wind screaming in his ears around him and hissing in his ears as he begins his descent—over the open air, no building to catch him. The crowd beneath him gasps, loud enough to bring him back to reality. 

His hands find a familiar position and he has the quick reaction to latch two webs onto the railing again. He retracts in a second, back onto the railing, crouched with his hands on the cold bars.

XD still isn't moving. He’s everything but hostile, apart from launching him off the side of the building. The spotlight from the helicopters above whirs loudly, circling the two on the building. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wilbur asks finally, snapping XD’s attention to him.

“Okay—look, I should've really planned this out, and I don’t want to totally humiliate you…” XD trails off. Wilbur slips off the railing and onto the roof, standing up to await the villain’s plan. 

“It's kind of late for reconsidering the humiliation, didn't you just launch me off a building?” Wilbur points out.

“Shut up! I'm thinking,” XD insists. 

Wilbur sighs. He runs again, flicking yet another web at the train car. He jumps, the web retracting and he glides overhead the villain, who through the corner of his vision is still caught up picking web off his face. 

He lands on the roof of the train car with grace, considering his next move. Wilbur carefully climbs down to the back of the car, where he’s barely visible. Soothed at the fact, he offers a wave to the city-goers in the car. “I'll get you out,” Wilbur whispers, more of a reassurance to himself than anything.

Winding a quick punch and releasing it just as quick, the glass in the window cracks from his enhanced strength. The surrounding people inside the car step to the side on instinct as he punches again, the crack deepening. Through the reflection in the windows, (Any lighting in the car had been replaced by phone lights, making it incredibly difficult to see inside), he spots one of XD’s arms launching at him. Wilbur jumps, landing on the roof of the train car and wincing as he listens to glass break. 

“That car isn't for you to save, Spiderman,” XD says, coldly, his voice less casual and reminding him of their typical encounters. The arm launches for him again and Wilbur dashed out of the way, flicking a web across the building and dashing out of the way.

He darts out of the way for the third time, huffing out in impatience. “Oh, so you brought it up here for fun?” Wilbur asks, shooting a web at XD’s arm, effectively folding it against the villain’s back. 

He hisses out in victory, although the action is short lived because as he jumps from the railing, overtop of XD and going for another calculated web, the wind is knocked from his chest as he’s grabbed from the air and jerked to the side. Wilbur groans out in pain as he’s shoved to the concrete, which startles a shriek out of him. It’s then that he’s brought back to open air, dangling from the ground with an irritated scowl hidden underneath his mask. His shoulder stings from where it had slammed into the ground, but when he tries to soothe it with a rub, he finds his hands are pinned to his side. 

Wilbur glares at XD. 

“I’m going to put you down, and we’re going to talk.”

Wilbur knows obliging would be the best decision, leading him to tentatively nodding at the offer. As suggested, he’s lowered down, cautiously, the arm then retracting with a whir and laying on the ground beside XD’s form. 

“Have you ever heard of the trolley problem?” the villain asks, his real hands still in his pocket. Wilbur shrugs.

“In passing,” he says, “Why? I don't see anyone else hostage, do you know how the Trolley Problem works?” he muses, brows furrowing at XD’s response: something of a laugh. 

“You have two choices here, alright?” Suddenly, a screeching sound is scraping at his ears, two of XD’s arms wrapping the car and holding it up, right near the edge of the rooftop. “Save a train car full of people,” the villain continues, then reaches into his pocket. Wilbur squints as the villain pulls something small from the depths of his hoodie and holds it up, a string with something on the end of it dangling in the air. 

His heart sinks. Tommy.

“Or a pest. Your pest.”

Wilbur’s mouth falls agape, his shoulders slump, and his hands tense. Play it off, Play it off. He still has the time to embarrass XD and make him believe he has the wrong guy. Surely XD doesn’t—actually know his identity.

“I don’t see anything,” Wilbur says, his voice rushed and quivering.

“It's—It’s on the end of the string, look—there's some pest at the end of it.” XD clarifies, a smudge of humor in his tone. 

Wilbur lets the clarification run dry and finds himself bitterly glaring at XD. The villain hums, shakes the string a little. As he does, Wilbur watches Tommy flail at the end of it. His heart pounds in his chest, twisting at the thought of the poor borrower caught up in his work. He tried hard to keep Tommy out of it—he never even hinted at it. The idea that Tommy dangles in the grasp of Wilbur’s enemy without any hope that someone could save him makes Wilbur want to puke. 

A scream from the people in the train car snaps him out of his thoughts, adjusting him to his very real situation that he needs to find a solution to. He can save Tommy from a lethal fall, or save a cluster of people from an equally deadly height.

“Which one, Spiderman?” XD persists. 

Suddenly his lax clothing and old mask doesn't seem so lazy anymore, and Wilbur finds himself staring at the carved out smile with disbelief. 

“Did you wake up and decide to do this?” Wilbur asks. He’s wasting time. The hero watches as Tommy is drawn a little higher, and the likelihood of death increases massively. Meanwhile, Wilbur just stands there.

“I was bored. Wanted to test my theories about you, turns out…I was right,” XD hums. Wilbur knows that XD is clawing at the inside for a chance to blurt his name out and rip the bandaid off. Something in Wilbur has to hand it to the villain, though, because even with an audience of news reporters and cops and civilians, he still has held off. 

Okay. This cannot be hard. (Albeit reluctantly), He’s Spiderman. Wilbur can always do both. 

“I’ll take the train,” Wilbur decides, “leave the 'pest’,” he lies, easily. The words are like poison to his tongue, but he’s found an obvious route to take. 

“Okay. Okay! Well, what's your heroic plan without a little entertainment?” XD comments, then releases the car immediately, his silver arms retracting and glistening under the rising sun. Wilbur yells out, running near the edge of the building to go after the train, although before he can get the momentum to jump off, he notices that XD has dropped the rope holding Tommy. 

His eyes widen at the realization, he screams out a rushed “Tommy!” and quickly, he flings a web in the vicinity of the borrower, hopefully latching onto him before taking to the railing, finding his footing before jumping off of the building. 

Calm and calculated, trying to ignore the blood rushing in his ears and the way his head screams about his inevitable failure, he instantly retracts the web holding (what he hopes to be) Tommy, then lifts his mask up in a panic, getting a good grip on the clump of web before shoving the flash of white into his mouth and pulls the mask back down over his mouth. His mouth shuts with a click that blurs his thoughts of a plan. 

Briefly, he recognizes movement within his maw, and with the reassurance, Wilbur finds the time to finally focus on the train car, which plummets, although nothing too worrying yet, especially as he now has the opportunity to advance downwards, the wind lapping all around him. He’s done this a thousand times. 

Something clicks against his teeth, hitting from the inside. The wind in his ears and the adrenaline completely flooding him makes it hard to focus on the fact that he had hit bullseye on Tommy, and even more is he distracted at the fact that the poor thing is scared out of his life, in the clasp of someone he doesn't know he trusts. Trapped in their mouth no less. He runs a worried tongue over the figure in his mouth to try and resolve the boy’s fear. It was half-assed but all he could muster as a thousand ideas for saving the car floods through his mind and thoroughly bury the memory of Tommy.

A web shoots from his wrist and flies through the wind, whistling against it before coming to a halt when the edge of the web reaches something solid, the edge of a building, just a temporary brace until he can build another. He flicks another web, and another, and another, and he feels the energy leaving his body as Wilbur constructs a base for the car to land in. It’s already caught on the first one he did, but the weight of the metal and the people inside has the web splitting. 

By the time he finishes the landing pad, it’s mere feet from the streets, housing the fallen train car. Meanwhile, now no longer distracted, his blurry mind has the ability to shoot one last web onto a balcony near the scene. Wilbur jerks as the web pulls taught, something in his head shifting to panic, but he ignores it while letting the web retract and guide him up onto the balcony, which he clambers onto and falls over in an instant, something of this morning’s fatigue, his mix of emotions, and the overuse of his silk making him a useless pile of black-and-yellow fabric. 

(*)

Tommy is screaming. He knows he’s screaming, even though the noise is barely audible over the lapping sound of the helicopters that circle the area, which had irritated him enough into covering his ears, he still is screaming. The disturbance of the helicopter had been enough to distract him, and as he zones back in as Spiderman had yelled out something incoherent, and then weirdly, his own name. 

It was then that he finally felt the rush of cold air against his body, and it was then that he registered that he was falling, concrete growing closer and closer and closer, and—his abrupt fate was cut off by an equally abrupt something clashing into him and expanding, surrounding his entire body and jerking him through the air. His stomach sinks at all the movement. He struggles against the sticky web that he’s caught in, memories of getting caught up in spider web as a borrower flashing through his memory. If not for the fact that this situation was nothing similar, and that this was quite literally life or death, he might’ve found comfort in finding some resemblance of his home life.

Wilbur. 

Oh, Wilbur's going to get home and think Tommy abandoned him! Oh, oh fuck—

Suddenly, there's another pull in his gut and he’s screaming even louder as he falls, plummets, zips through the air. It whistles around him, his ears throb, and his hands are shaking so much he can barely even wipe the tears off of his face without it being consistent with hitting himself. There’s a thick groan that murmurs from his mouth as, despite the layer of web between him, he’s tossed against someone’s hand, whiplash settling in nicely with his jittering soul.

He barely recognizes the black and yellow fabric all around him before he’s catching his gaze on a distantly familiar bottom profile of a face, one that, terrifyingly, opens up and draws Tommy close. 

“No, no, nonononononoNO—” Tommy yells, a mouth suddenly his only surroundings. The morning light illuminates the space around him, rows of human teeth entirely surrounding him, fleshy pink walls and the faint outline of the opening of a throat just mere inches from him. 

“Shit! Let me out, fuck—HELP ME!” Tommy pleads, screaming, he can't even help but try to be hopeful in a time like this. He can’t even wrap his head around the fact that he thinks he'll be curled up in Wilbur's hands tonight if he asks. What is he, four? 

Tommy sobs. Tears break through, finally the adrenaline of the situation coming to a screeching halt as soon as the mouth he’s in shuts tight, the the jarring view of the city overhead coming to a close with an echoing click that replays in his mind a thousandfold. Tommy sobs again, shaking, his struggling within the cage-like web intensifying. He has a higher chance of avoiding becoming food if he can stand up and fight. 

Finally, finally, his legs can move more than a few inches. His legs are free, and he tears his arms free, picking the excess pieces off of him, baring his teeth as he strains his arm just to get free. He can barely fend off an inanimate spiderweb, he can only imagine the idea of fighting off a prodding tongue that’ll inch him slowly to the back of the throat that’ll send him to his real death. 

He pulls at the silky material, which has been soaked slightly as the person's saliva fills the room. It's at the moist sensation under his fingertips that he realizes how suffocatingly damp it is. Tommy pats at the surface underneath him, cringing, almost gagging at the fact that he’s sitting atop a tongue. He’s…he’s going to die, he’s sitting on his deathbed. 

He can barely maneuver himself to stand up without fucking falling. Tommy jerks a little bit, almost falling into the person's teeth at the movement. 

Finally stumbling to a stand with a scowl on his face, he tries to feel around for something solid. He seems to reach teeth, because his pounding fists collide with something hard. He punches at them, sobbing, a sudden weakness in his form overtaking him. 

“Let me out! Please! I—I can't die, not right now! I—I just—” Tommy finds himself stuttering over his words. He doesn't know why he doesn't want to die. There shouldn't be a problem if he simply ceased to exist, though the idea still tormented him. 

If he were to die, it at least shouldn't be at the hand of something Tommy had spent most of his life avoiding, and certainly not by something he had foolishly begun growing to trust. 

The feeling of something wet seeps into his clothing, prodding at him—and so caught up in his cries he takes an embarrassingly long time to recognize that there’s a tongue placed by his shoulder. Tommy shrieks as he does realize, scrambling away from the muscle the best he could, (which wasn’t easy, considering the thing took up most of the mouth). 

He swallows down a gulp of vomit, cringing at the fact that he’s even existing right now. Tommy draws a hand to his face, fisting his tears away. It doesn't matter in the end, as by the time he gets his face dry it's ruined by another orbit of tears. He still shakes, his hands propped in his lap while he leans against the closed rows of teeth, awaiting his inevitable fate. 

Just as expected, the world jerks, heavy, heavier than before, and suddenly he’s almost downed in a pool of saliva as he’s drawn back, back, and, NO—he claws aimlessly at the tongue, his efforts run useless while he’s shot down the throat in an instant. His hands fail to cling onto purchase and he slides, easily, too easily. He can't flex his limbs enough to flail, and even if he did the struggle would go unmatched against the pool of acids he’s about to meet. 

He falls, he screams as he falls. His gut churns at the fact that he’s landed in someplace new, equally as dark as a mouth but painfully obviously not. 

It’s hollow, nothing like the tunnel he just traveled down. It’s warm and suffocating, however, and he feels as if he couldn't breathe. Probably because his nose is stuffy and breathing in through his mouth triggered another fit of sobs. 

Tommy stretches his arms to feel his surroundings, coughing, then immediately sobbing again upon the feeling of fleshy walls that contort around him, flexing slightly. He’s going to die. He’s going to puke—he is dead. He falls against the surface he’s surrounded by, attempting to draw his knees up, though they slip into the thin pool at the bottom of the chamber, his chamber. 

The warm liquid soaks his shoes, and in half a second, he’s convinced himself that it stings, and that he’s going to die within the next five minutes. 

If only Wilbur were here. He would know how to calm him down, even if he was dying. If he was on his last breath and Wilbur was there to reassure him, he’d believe him. Full-heartedly. 

Tommy punches at the fleshy walls, yelling, despite how much strain it puts on his already-sore throat. “Fuck,” he whines, sliding against the walls and sighing.

He has a plan for everything. Wilbur, as a joke, locked him in a jar once, then proceeded to accidentally forget about him, and he inched off the counter until he fell and broke the jar. He was all cut up but he was out. So, why isn't his brain catching up to date with recent events and getting him a plan? 

Tommy knows why, but he doesn't exactly want to admit it just yet. 

His surroundings jerk, throwing him to the other end of the area before the walls squish in on him, embracing him from all angles and making him wail at the fact. His face is pressed against the slick flesh, the pool of saliva and, (what he tells himself is) acid, he sobs again. Again again, his body aches as he shakes with somber origins, again he cries again, Prime, why won't he stop crying? 

(*)

By the time Wilbur regained feeling in his head and it was no longer a sludge of mixed emotions about what just happened and reassurance that he had Tommy, and by the time Wilbur had picked himself up from where he lay on the cold concrete of a balcony and webbed away, he realized there was nothing in his mouth. 

But, he completely remembers the web with Tommy in it being secure in the makeshift pocket while he did his work, so why wasn't it there anymore?

Wilbur lands in the crowd, wincing as he catches the attention of news broadcasters. He’s about to web away to avoid public attention when something in his gut hits him so gently that he pauses, and his eyes widen. Wilbur pauses, freezes, then shudders.

Tommy. 

He runs off, immediately, into an alleyway where he leans against the wall and places a disbelieving hand to his gut. “Wh—Tommy?” Wilbur whispers, careful as to not catch the attention of the nearby reporters.

There’s a response. It’s faint, he can’t hear it—shit. At the very least, he’s alive—hopefully for the time it takes to get him out.

Okay, just…focus. He’s focused before—he has to be focused to unstick. But he’s never swallowed anyone before! Wilbur closes his eyes and pulls his attention to the moving figure in his gut, squeezing in his stomach and pretending like he’s trying to puke, (which probably wasn’t the best idea considering he does feel like he’s two webs away from vomiting his guts out). 

The attempt is disturbed by flashing cameras, which startle him to a defensive position and make him forget about his focus. He groans, staring at the news reporters that have taken to crowding around him, cornering him in the alley. 

“I’m gonna be real with you guys, I think there’s a lot more interesting things to film than me,” Wilbur says, huffing out a dry laugh.

“Why did you wait until the last second to save them?” A reporter asks. I was saving someone else, Wilbur muses in his mind, once again reminded of Tommy.

“Seriously, leave, I’m done with this scene, you should be too,” Wilbur tries. 

The reporters only grow closer, photo after photo after photo—it overwhelms him, to say the least, especially with the fact that his gut is being absolutely attacked by Tommy. It takes a lot for him to not curl up against the brick wall behind him and murmur reassurances to him. Flashes and questions blur in his mind, and thankfully his energy has seemed to return and he has half the mind to toss two fingers over his palm. A web sprouts, spiraling up onto the building above so he can get away from the crowd of people. 

Landing on the concrete, he sprints behind a doorway and kneels there, just in time for a particularly revolting punch from the inside of his gut that leaves him clutching his gut and gagging as something travels upwards in his gullet—finally. He gags again and feels something thrash in his mouth. Tommy, no doubt.

Without adrenaline rushing through him and numbing his thoughts, he notices there’s a distinct taste in his mouth. It’s tangy and unpleasant, mixed with the taste of salt—undoubtedly tears. He winces at it, making a move for the edge of his mask. Before he could pull it up and beg the trust he just thoroughly undid, the laps of a fucking helicopter catch his attention. Immediately, his hands drop from his face and he scrambles up, flipping them off tediously before running to the edge of the roof and jumping off, landing on the neighboring one. 

Wilbur takes a sharp left, his webs wrapping around a street light. Gracefully, he lands on it, looking around the sky for the aircraft. It seems to have lost sight of him. 

Gently, with his tongue, he pushes Tommy to the side of his mouth and rushes out reassurances while he glides through the city and back to his apartment building.

“You’re okay—I’m so sorry, Tommy. You’re okay, I promise you’re okay,” he says, it’s half-mumbled but it, hopefully, has gotten the point across. 

The little “fuck you!” from within his mouth says otherwise.

Finally, for what has felt like hours when in reality barely half an hour has passed, he finds footing on his fire escape. The security of being home feeling like a boulder off his shoulders. He opens his window, climbing in and shutting it with ease. 

Immediately, Wilbur lifts his mask up and spits Tommy out. The boy quivers against his skin, shaking and murmuring curses with his strained voice. Wilbur’s heart twists, guilt coursing through him even more than the adrenaline had earlier. He did this to Tommy.

“Tommy,” Wilbur calls, his voice soft. His hands find themselves frozen, unable to comprehend how much of a trance Tommy has been put under. “Tommy, hey, king, come on, you’re safe,” Wilbur says, taking a distracted seat on the floor. “Are you

okay? Are you hurt?” Wilbur adds, pulling the tiny a little closer to inspect his shivering form. 

He’s not sure if Tommy actually recognizes that he’s not in Wilbur’s mouth, or even gut. 

“Get the fuck away from me—” Tommy breathes out, his voice shallow and dry. He coughs, shuddering with another sob. Wilbur frowns, deep, watching intently as the borrower collects himself in his cupped hands, shuffling to sit up and glare at Wilbur.

(*)

“I didn’t mean to swallow you, I promise—I just—” Spiderman says, his own lies running dry on his tongue. Why is his voice so familiar? “Just tell me

you’re not hurt, man—”

Tommy doesn't respond to Spiderman and instead takes a look around the space, realizing very quickly that the space is identical to Wilbur’s apartment.

He hiccups, coughing as phlegm gets caught in his throat. “Why are we at Wilbur’s house?”

Something in Spiderman’s face, from what he can see of it, shifts, something of confusion tugging at his lips. Then, in a blink, he’s shifted onto one hand and Spiderman pulls the mask off fully, revealing—

Oh.

Oh.

“Wilbur,” Tommy breathes out, coughing again. His heartbeat picks up at the fact that Wilbur, out of the whole city, sat behind the mask. “You fucking swallowed me,” Wilbur almost flinches at the words, “and you lied to me.”

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you, not intentionally.” Wilbur returns his hands to the cupped position, but Tommy doesn’t move. His eyes are glued on Wilbur. His hair, his worried eyes with tears swelling in them and fatigue lining them as dark bags, his frowning lips, and the black-and-yellow suit that clings onto his body.

“Fuck, Wilbur, you—I don’t even know—” Tommy says, groaning and leaning into Wilbur’s hold. It feels warm, similar to—-

“Are you mad at me?”

Tommy’s eyes widen as he scoffs. “What the fuck?! Of course—-of course I am, Wilbur! I thought I was going to die! I probably would’ve!”

Wilbur winces. Bastard.

“I’m sorry,” the man whispers.

Tommy looks at Wilbur strongly, and for some reason, the action alone is enough to make him sob again. He shudders, goosebumps trailing his spine. 

“No, no—Tommy, you’re okay, man!” Wilbur reassures—or he tries to, it doesn’t really work, because Tommy just ignores it. 

“I’m not!” he retaliates, sobbing into the human’s gloved hand.

“Toms, darling,” Wilbur tries gently, taking his thumb and oh-so-gently drawing it along Tommy’s tiny, red-and-puffy face, ridding of his tears in an instant. His heart hurts at the nickname and the show of affection. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?” 

“I almost wasn’t,” Tommy seethes out. “I would’ve died from that fucking villain you were fighting, you could’ve chewed me to death, and I probably was going to disintegrate when you swallowed me! Fuck you, Wil.”

Wilbur’s expression shifts. “You didn’t die, though, you’re very alive. And, I told you, Tommy, I never wanted to swallow you. It just happened. I must’ve startled too hard and did it.” Tommy scowls. He shifts, his damp feet sliding on the slick fabric of Wilbur’s suit. He almost forgot he was covered in saliva and acid.

“That doesn’t make up for the fact that you did it, instinctually, or whatever. Your brain wanted to eat me, just admit it!”

Wilbur stays quiet.

“Put me down,” Tommy then asks, now growing impatient after the warmth that Wilbur’s hand had provided has since run cold and proved nothing comforting. Wilbur, the bastard, looks so hesitant to his request it makes him shudder. “Wilbur, put me the fuck down,” he repeats, stronger, masking his (dwindling) panic. 

Begrudgingly, looking as if he regrets every moment, the human obliges and lowers the boy onto the floor, close to the bed where Tommy’s nearest nook is. “Thank you,” Tommy offers smally. He doesn’t know if he expected Wilbur to let his hesitance overtake him, but he finds that he’s grateful for the fact that he’s no longer engulfed by Wilbur’s hands and has found a place on the floor, already making a rushing move to the shadows of the bed. 

Though, as he walks, he feels his limbs are tired and ache. He doesn’t understand why they do, however—he had only cried, a mental problem, and he had kept his struggle to a minimum (in terms of how he usually flails), so why did he feel such a strong desire to collapse?

Tommy feels tears swell up in his eyes again, soul tugging at him to break down again. He winces at such fragile sensitivity and strays from his path, pulling off to lean against the leg of the bed. He sighs against it, holding back the floodgates of his tears while trying to ignore that Wilbur is still sat on the floor. He blinks away his tears. Tommy’s throat burns from earlier, also now housing the sobs he’s shoving back down his vocal box. He’s not crying again, no fucking way.

“Are you sure you want to be alone, Toms?” Wilbur asks, still soft as ever. It’s hard to be mad at the bastard when he’s been nothing but reassuring. But he almost died because of Wilbur, three separate times in barely an hour. How could he not be pissed? Then again, he had bargained with himself that Wilbur could be the only one to ever talk him out of the fear of death. Ironic, his mind muses.

“Not really,” he says, coughing a bit. He blinks away another circle of tears. It doesn’t work, and the irritating sting in Tommy’s eyes just pushes him far over the edge and he cries again, drawing his knees up and crossing his arms over them while he stares off into the shadows. He can’t hear much, but not in a concerning way, he’s just spaced out long enough for the only constant in his mind being his shallow cries.

Perhaps as he’d expected, he’s drawn back to reality with a nudge on his side. He grumbles, looking over to find Wilbur’s hand next to him, fingers folded into each other except for his forefinger, which pokes at his side again. From under the bed, most of the man’s face is obscured, but he can see Wilbur’s lips, which sport a fine smile, nothing amused, only genuine.

“Do you want to rest? I think you could benefit from a break from this shitty morning,” Wilbur offers, “we can finish talking later,” he then adds, which the thought of reliving today, even in memories, makes him shiver, but falling asleep on Wilbur had been his one wish when in—there. 

Hesitant, he shuffles up from where he sat. At his movement, Wilbur’s hand opens up and lays flat against the hardwood floor, moments from Tommy.

A part of him does wonder if it’s a ruse, but a lot of him doesn't have the energy to give a fuck. At least, not for right now.

He climbs onto the hand, his own hands bracing Wilbur's fingertips so he doesn't lose his balance, and he finds a seat on the crease in Wilbur’s fingers that connect them to his palm. 

“I'm still actually mad at you,” Tommy says as Wilbur draws him out of the shadows and back into the air. 

“That's okay, sunshine,” the man reassures. Once again, he takes his thumb, the gloves digit rubbing over Tommy’s face, tugging up to dry the last of his tears. The boy grumbles at the touch, but his disapproval only makes Wilbur stifle a laugh. 

“I thought we were resting, dick.”

Wilbur hums, shuffling up from the floor while keeping Tommy steady in his hand. He walks to the bed, sitting on the edge. “And you're sure you’re not hurt?”

Tommy sighs at Wilbur. “I'm not, if I was I would’ve told you, I still trust you. Kind of. Bitch.”

He has such a way with words.

Wilbur just hums, carefully drawing the boy up to his mouth. Tommy scrambles back, pressing further into the hands under him. The panic is short lived, especially as Wilbur only pecks a kiss on the top of his head. 

“Stop that,” Tommy demands. Wilbur draws him back, slightly. At the distance between them, Tommy stumbles to a stand and walks the length of Wilbur's palm and stands on the edge of it, arms outstretched to pull Wilbur’s nose closer to him. He hugs it, or, the best he could. 

“Awe, Tommy,” Wilbur says, his tone high in adoration. Tommy pinches Wilbur’s skin, causing the human to retaliate his hand and drag the borrower with it before situating himself in bed. Tommy snickers, slipping off Wilbur's hand and onto his chest. He frowns at the placement and walks, along the Spiderman suit and latching onto Wilbur’s chin, using all the (lacking) strength in his arms to pull himself up Wilbur's face, stumbling only slightly while readjusting. Wilbur stays still, he can spot the man’s eyes on him, but otherwise he remains  absolutely frozen until the borrower plops down by the older’s nose and gets extra comfortable.

Only because he knows Wilbur wouldn't be able to move him without waking him up, and the human wouldn't dare. 

—-—

taglist: @da3dm, @i-am-beckyu, @local-squishmallow, @skullsnbruises, @krazycat49, @munchkin1156, @nobodywritingao3, @a-xyz-s // taglist request

[battle-of-the-jrwi-aus]

Zeroes To Heroes And Beyond AU!

Creator: @xaeyrnofnbe

Campaign: Riptide

Links:

Summary!

built off of the what if, “zeros to heroes,” it follows two alternate versions of gillion, one from prime, the other ON prime where he doesn’t belong, as well as chip and jay on a mana facing the consequences of gillion never surfacing. (due to being banished to another universe instead of the oversea)

Additional propaganda!

i have put. a lot of thought into this au. i am very fond of it also. :]]]]]. everyone should vote for it bc. uh. there’s not one, but TWO gillions. and they’re buddies. smile. ¦]

[xaeyrnofnbe]

the tipping point (ZTHAB au)

[the-sky-queen]

Here we are. One year to the day since I created my account here on tumblr. It feels . . . almost surreal. I don't exactly remember where I thought I'd be by this point, but I don't think I pictured this! I've made so many good friends here, seen so much AMAZING art, and overall just had so much fun. For every one of you who follow me, and even those of you who don't, thank you. You all make me so happy. I treasure each and every like, reblog, comment, and ask.

I'm sitting here in awe as I rapidly approach another big milestone here and I couldn't be more thankful. Back when I made this blog, sure I had dreams of finding an audience and connecting with some of my favorite people here, but I didn't get my hopes up. So many instances in my life of never getting picked for one thing or another taught me that the odds are low and not in my favor, but the community here is just so different. People are good. They're nice and supportive and they love it when new people show up. The beginning was hard. There are quite a few of my early posts that still have zero notes. But I've got people hanging around now that like what I make and that honestly means the world to me. I feel seen. I feel like I matter.

Thank you all so much.

I wanted to shout out a few of my mutuals real quick for a super special thank you:

@cattyanon was my first ever follower and it nearly made me cry when I got the notification. It gave me so much hope and joy. It took me way too long to follow you back, Catty, but I'm so happy that I did! your AUs are all so creative and fascinating. Thank you for being my first supporter.

@boom-fanfic-a-latta is without a doubt my closest friend here on tumblr. It all started when I stumbled across Lily's original concept post for Tachophobia. I was instantly obsessed and before I knew it, Lily was DMing me. The rest is history. :) Lily, I can't thank you enough for being my friend. Words don't do this justice. I'll always be grateful to you for caring so much about me. I love all our AUs together and I love writing them with you. Thank you so much.

I followed @totaleclipse573 for Eclipse and stayed for everything else. I love how we feed each other's angsty thoughts. XD Total, I absolutely adore your OCs and I'm so happy that you've taken interest in mine. We may not have a DM together (I suspect that's because we're both too shy to be the one to start it XD) but our interactions are still beyond fun! Thank you for being a crazy fangirl with me.

I followed @estellardreams immediately when I found her here after reading one of her Sonic Prime fics on Ao3. I was caught so off guard when I got the notification that you followed me back, Estelle! XD I instantly rushed to plan a Christmas present drawing for you. (Yeah, I drew presents for each of my mutuals. I only had FIVE then.) Since then, I've gotten to know you better and I've had an absolute blast with you. You single handedly fueled the Tachophobia obsession over winter break and it was so insanely fun. (Seriously, you were posting like three or more chapters some of those days!!! You had me screaming XD) Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being Tachophobia's biggest fan and such a supportive friend.

@skywriter97 reached out to me to talk about TMOM and I followed her soon after that after reading some of her AMAZING writing. The two of us are writing buddies, exchanging advice and feeding each other ideas whenever we need it. Girl, I can't thank you enough for letting me ramble about Immortals to you and fueling my obsession enough that I finally started writing it for real. Whenever the prologue goes up, I'll be shouting you out in the notes because it's because of YOU that I finally got moving. Thank you so much.

This isn't all my mutuals. I have more that I don't talk to as much, but even if I didn't mention you by name here, I want you all to know that you mean the world to me. Four of you are personal heroes of mine that I never in a MILLION years dreamed that I'd actually get to be mutuals with. The rest of you are all around EXTREMELY cool people that I am super blessed to have you in my life.

As I end out this post, I once again want to give a massive thank you to ALL of you for sticking around. And thank you so much for making this year absolutely incredible in more ways than one. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

[savagry]

# 𝚂𝙰𝚅𝙰𝙶𝚁𝚈 .       𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴   𝙸𝚂   𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴   .    a private and selective roleplay blog for the intoner zero from 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝟯 ／ 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗴-𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝟯, written by lili. writing with mutuals only, 18+ only. dark and triggering themes abound, crossover ／ au friendly. please read rules below before proceeding.

mun: lili, 26 years old, she ／ her. likes coffee a little too much. abysmal sleeping schedule. chronically ill. please have no expectations of me being consistently active. og drakengard 3 ／ nier rpc writer, formerly wrote two under the url hatestragedies !

i don’t own drakengard ／ dod or nier, i don’t own zero, how i write her is how i write her.

i won’t interact with writers who are minors.

you don't need to be familiar with nier or drakengard, i can fit zero into almost any canon and i love making au's to fit her into your muse's world or to meet in the middle somewhere.

i’m down to write a lot of stuff and explore fleshing out all sorts of different types of bonds + relationships for zero, whether that be decided from the start of plotting or by feeling stuff out through threads. duplicates of a character will always be handled differently from one another.

stuff that’s ought to be tagged will be tagged. if you need me to tag something for you, gimme a ping. i’ll never write rape, incest, pedophilia, etc. i have no desire to write any smut. sexual themes are likely to be mentioned considering zero’s sexual libido from her condition as an intoner and her former occupation as an enslaved sex worker. the world of drakengard is extremely dark, even more dark than nier (which it precedes), so please bear in mind that a lot of disturbing themes regarding death, (mass) murder, religion, and a bunch of other triggering themes are within the realm of dod. a google search will make it obvious what else dod entails.

please understand that in-character actions, thoughts, and feelings do not reflect my own thoughts or feelings, and please do not project your feelings about zero towards me (the writer), use your muse to enact your own desires towards my muse, or cross any boundaries with me beyond platonic. no weirdness, please. even if we’re okay with shipping our muses, i have a serious line between what’s in-character and what’s out-of-character, and i will never place my personal investment to that degree. shipping our muses is only between the characters. this may sound just like common sense, and i’m sure plenty of you decent folk are just here for the enjoyment of collaborative imaginary writing as i am, but personal experiences make it necessary for me to explicitly state this.

i do not  base my characterization for zero off of how zero is portrayed through the official western localization of the game, and instead on how uchida maaya portrays her. i’m in the camp that the eng localization made tweaks to her that don’t translate well to the source, like making her vulgar and spewing curses in every sentence. i understand and respect if that’s how people enjoy her, but i disagree with the liberties taken in framing her differently, though i am certainly a fan of tara platt!

zero is very problematic, i don’t intend to sanitize it. however, that doesn’t make it impossible for her to be soft or have good things. she is not familiar with it, in giving or receiving, and her affections are often hidden after a life of being taken advantage of and exploited, and in turn, doing wrong against others for what she considers best for her survival. she has the self-awareness to do better but generally has the lack of care to change. given her mission in the story, it’s understandable since by no means is zero a good person or a hero, but she is most definitely not in any realm of black and white “evil”. do with that what you will.

don't steal my shit. everything i've made on my blog thus far is all made by me, gift edits from a friend, or commissioned for this blog, as referenced at the very bottom of my page.

i’m super crossover friendly, i’m down for oc’s, and i love writing with castmates. i will not be interacting with duplicates.

i do use icons and a lil bit of fancy formatting in my writing but you don’t have to, i don’t really care. i’ll turn replies to an ask into a separate post though.

due to chronic illness, work, and other life circumstances, my well-being takes precedence over my hobby. please understand that as i extend the same courtesy to you! i will be putting up announcements if i'll be on low activity, so as to not raise expectations too high of fast replies. i'm always happy to chat in im or dm, or to plot, but writing takes more spoons. never hesitate to ping me for inquiries, plot discussions, dynamic stuffs.

CREDIT TO @poetryrph for my header banner and pinned banner, @remgfx for post dividers, blog icon, and head banner, @floragfx for my blog theme, icon psd, pinned divider, post dividers, and promo.

[nomsfaultau]

13) “Give me your hands” and 22) Survivior’s guilt. 

Disclaimer: this blurb is set in the SCP SBI AU I have called Fault, and dances over the timeline so good luck. Explanation of AU; tldr. 

“Give me your hands.” The stranger’s voice was gruff and demanding, and Tommy complied at once. It wasn’t that he was intimidated! Sure the random demon he’d summoned was massively tall, extremely strong, and just killed a lot of people, but Tommy was an alpha male! And anyway, the bloke technically saved his life in the barest sense of the word, so he had to be a good guy. Nevermind that Tommy watched people be reduced to smears running down the walls. They were villains. That was what they deserved. Right?

Tommy held a little stiller than he preferred, acutely aware of how easily the boar hero’s fists crunched skulls in. But the enormous hooves were surprisingly gentle as they held Tommy’s hands, prodding in their examination. His hero adjusted his dorky glasses and peered closer, curiously studying the strange crimson color curling around Tommy’s fingers. Blood mixed into the ruby power dancing across Tommy’s palms, indistinguishable. 

The Blade hadn’t been the only one killing the villains. 

“...huh. I’m guessing this red stuff is what summoned me?” 

“I think so? Do you know what it is?” 

His hero grunted. “I was hoping you’d know that.”

“Nah, it only showed up a few minutes before you did.” Tommy studied his own hands just as intensely. With great concentration, he tried to get the swirling scarlet liquid to grow. Then, to disappear. It ignored him, and he frowned, not sure how the power worked. Wait. “WAIT! I have superpowers now?!”

The Blade squinted at the boy. “Uhhhhhh. Suuuuure?” Tommy pumped his fist in the air rather excitedly. He had to admit it was kinda cute even if he wasn’t a kid person. “Probably don’t tell anyone, alright?” he hazarded, suddenly a little worried the twerp was going to get himself nabbed immediately. This kid needed to shift away from Marvel to X-Men fast if he was going to survive.

“Yes! Like a secret identity! So you’re a superhero, right?” Tommy peered up hopefully. The crimson hitched upwards. “Right? Those guys were villains because they tried to murder me. That’s why you killed them, right?” There was almost a note of desperation to the question.

“Um. No.” The Blade pretty much murdered them because he was suddenly teleported into a hostile situation and was immediately attacked. Self-defense, baby. 

The ruby power spiked then, the scent of fear sharpening. But then bull-headed determination flashed in his eyes. “A vigilante then, that makes sense. Like Batman. Hey! And now I can join you and save people too! You can be my sidekick.”

“Wait hold on, no, you’re MY sidekick, not the other way around,” The Blade argued before realizing that meant he inadvertently supported Tommy’s absurd notion. He was a survivor, he didn’t have time to be a savior. If the kid wanted to read any morality into his actions that was their problem. 

“Ok. I’ll train under you until I’m too powerful and surpass you completely, and THEN you’ll be my sidekick.” For some reason, the voices didn’t feel threatened by his open intention to usurp him. Weird. For once in his life The Blade was getting zero intrusive thoughts about brutally murdering the dude he was talking to. It was kinda relaxing actually. 

Tommy held out a fist, and after belated realizing it wasn’t a (very wimpy) attack The Blade completed the fist bump. Tommy beamed at The Blade. “Thanks for saving me.” 

It was…strange. No one had ever thanked him for something like that before. And sure he’d really only incidentally saved the boy through a combination of weird coincidences, otherworldly machinations beyond their comprehension, and the fact something about Tommy’s power literally prevented him from even contemplating attacking him, but The Blade did have to admit it felt pretty nice. 

Nice, but not the reason his tail was wagging. Nope, not at all. That was all post-bloodlust high. Definitely. 

.

“Give me your hands.” Mum smiled as she said it, but it made trepidation build in Tommy’s gut. 

Tommy fixed his smile, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, you’re so clingy. I’m not a kid anymore!” 

“You’re fifteen—”

“Only for a few more weeks! I’m practically an ad-” Deviously, she lunged for his hands and he jerked back sharply. “Don’t,” he yelped a little too desperately. Tommy gulped, trying to swallow his panic. “Don’t do that I have a- have a reputation to maintain Mum, can’t be doing cheesy girly stuff like hand holding haha.” 

“Tommy-” her tone was far, far too serious as he retreated. 

“I’ll get a hold of it eventually, just give me some time. We’re working on it.” Tommy was a little frustrated he hadn’t figured out how to control his powers yet, but all the other guys said it took a while so that was okay. At least it didn’t work on The Blade or Philza. The same couldn’t be said for Wilbur, which was really bad. It just made him bicker with the others, which, while funny, still meant he couldn’t control the Red. Tommy didn’t know what had made it so lethal in the villain encounter, but he needed to find out before he risked getting someone hurt. 

He’d find a way to use it for good, though. One way or another, Tommy was going to be a hero.

“What does your power do?”

Tommy laughed nervously. “Sorry, that’s confidential hero stuff, Mum.” 

Tommy refused to tell her what happened in that room. Her baby boy witnessed -enacted?- a massacre and that wasn’t something that would ever be undone. He went in normal and came out with blood permanently fresh on his hands. All she knew was a haunted look came across him in quiet moments, and she didn’t trust the new ‘friends’ he’d made in the aftermath, and he absolutely refused to touch anyone. 

She reached up carefully to avoid his hands, craning his head down till their foreheads touched. For all that she had to rise to her tiptoes to meet him, Tommy was still her little boy. He’d grown a lot in the last year, and even more so on that dreadful day his powers showed up, but she’d never stop seeing that golden-haired child with his mischievous, gaptoothed smile and dirt staining the knees of his pants. 

“Just talk to me when you’re ready, okay? And if those men try anything I’ll destroy them.” 

Tommy’s laugh was far brighter this time. “Mum! You wouldn’t stand a chance! Besides, The Blade and his friends are nice.” 

Scruffy was the word she would use. She’d vetted them, of course, she wasn’t going to just let her son lose with complete strangers and just trust he came home safe. The Blade was intimidating, but a dork. That Wilbur fellow was just a hopelessly broke musician as far as she could tell, though had a worrisome collection of scars. She respected Philza to some degree though, since he had an ounce of manners. Hopefully, he’d keep the others in line. 

“Tommy. You’re spending hours with homeless people, I have every right to be concerned.” Still, they were the only ones with any idea of how to help Tommy explore the new aspects of his identity. Unfortunately, Tommy’s mother was the supportive type, and was trying to give him room to experiment despite her reservations. 

“You’re always worried though.” 

She pressed a kiss into his forehead. “With a brat like you, I have to be.” He pulled a face, feathers ruffled at the utter indignity of affection. But she let gravity seep into her tone. “I know it scares you. But I know you’ll do the right thing, you’re a good kid at heart. Okay? This isn’t going to change anything.”

.

But it did. 

Tommy had been abducted and locked in a padded room for days now, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. He wanted his mum. In Tommy’s books, that was a pathetic thought for a sixteen-year-old to have, but it was true, he wanted to see his parents so bad it hurt. He wanted his friends. Or even not his friends, random people at school, hell even people he didn’t get along with so long as it was a face he recognized. Or even one he didn’t. At this point, Tommy would settle for one of the freaky scientists or soldiers just so there would be someone to talk to. Or, more accurately, shout at and demand answers from. Like, were they villains, where the hell was he, what did they want, why did they kidnap him…

And then someone finally entered the room. Or, more aptly, the guns entered before the squad of soldiers, so Tommy actually found it suddenly easy to continue saying nothing at all. His hands shot up in the air in surrender, scarlet ribbons of liquid dancing around him. 

“Cease the threat display,” a guard barked. 

The power only poured out further. “It doesn’t- I don’t control it, it won’t-” he was ordered to be silent. Tommy had never been good at that, but he managed, biting down questions. Doctors circled like vultures, and he had the strangest premonition shivering down his spine. He felt like a lamb being inspected for imperfections before the slaughter.  

“Give me your hands.” Gloves were dropped into his outstretched palms. Thick, sturdy, and frankly pretty ugly. Tommy had no idea how deeply he’d come to despise them. In fact, Tommy had very little idea of anything, head still caught in the little stories people liked to tell. Lies about powerful heroes rescuing civilians, or good triumphing over evil, or the world caring about people like him. 

“Um. What are the gloves for?”

The guard grinned. “So you can’t fight back.” 

.

The demon was tall and slender with bright white eyes and a literal beam of a smile. He seemed nice. That was the problem, the Foundation always sent Tommy to meet the nice ones so that he could fix that. 

Tommy approached cautiously, carefully weighing threats between the D-Class prisoners behind him and the towering demon ahead. Anomalies were safe at first though, and Tommy knew exactly how to protect himself now. And if he were honest, Tommy didn’t want to get to know the D-Class before their imminent execution. It only made the nightmares worse. 

“Hi!” the demon chirped. “I’m Halo! Wow, I haven’t seen someone new in…” he trailed off uncertainly, a faint furrow of his brow. But he shrugged quickly enough. “A couple years I guess. Sorry, they think I’m boring. No one really pays attention to me anymore. Not violent enough to be interesting I guess. They certainly tried, though.” Tommy caught the flash of horror flickering across glowing eyes. He knew that pressure intimately given how he’d broken beneath it. Still, Tommy perked a little, not expecting the hope. A sour consolation, but neglect had to be far better than cruel attention. Maybe one day he’d be left alone too. 

“I’m…” he swallowed roughly. “I’m the Instigator, I guess. I’m the newest attempt.”  

“Begin threat assessment test,” came a strict voice over a com system.  

At Tommy’s wince, Halo gave him a reassuring smile and a snort. “Don’t worry about that. These muffin-heads have been trying to get me to murder people for years and I’ve yet to break.” Tommy…didn’t have that kind of strength. He didn’t know how Halo had endured it. 

All he knew was that was finally ending today. 

“Instigator, give it your hands,” ordered the overseeing worker. He could feel the eyes of observers for all that he couldn’t see them. 

“Ignore them. What’s your story?” Halo asked. “I haven’t talked to anyone in ages, what’s it like? Are you a recent capture? Do you remember the outside still?” 

Tommy glanced nervously at the observation window. But he was almost just as desperate for conversation. “I’ve been here a few weeks. And. And I miss trees. It’s weird, but I miss how tall they were. Like, because that meant there was space, not these cramped cells and hallways.”

“Yes! And the sky! Oh how I miss the freedom of the sky,” he sighed, dark wings flaring out. 

“Stars,” Tommy added. “Just scattered out, millions of them. And people, everywhere, and you can just talk to them and they’re nice, not like here at all. I just want to m̵̮̙͗u̷̺̦̇̀f̷̟̀̄̈́f̶̯̯̈́̍̀i̸͕̭͎̅̌n̶͔̣̭̏ing talk to someone, you know?”  

“Language,” the demon chided, barbed tail lashing. “But yes. Listen, this is important, did you know a guy called Skep-”

“Give it your hands,” the human demanded. “Or you’ll be wearing gloves the next three days.” 

Tommy went sheet white, rigid to the point of breaking. Halo gave him an odd look, awkward but politely sympathetic if utterly confused. He looked to the observation window. “I’m, erm, guessing that’s some type of punishment?” Tommy nodded, relieved someone understood. But of course Halo would, hadn’t held out for years against the Foundation’s demands? 

It was his kindness that betrayed him. Halo bent to his level, hand outstretched. “Well alright then. Don’t want that happening of course! It’s okay, just do what they say.” He didn’t understand what was about to happen. Tommy did, though. But Tommy had made this choice before. It was easier afterwards, took a little less coercion each time once you’d crossed that threshold. He knew he was selfish, prioritizing himself over other’s lives, but once you made that choice you made it again, and again, and again. 

He swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat. “I’m sorry,” Tommy shoved it out fast like that was any type of salvation. Tentatively, he reached for Halo’s talons, grasping firmly. 

The executor shook hands with his weapon. Crimson seeped from their joined grasp. 

Halo’s friendly smile dropped. This close, Tommy could make out the sharp fangs hidden amidst white glow. The demon stalked past to the chained prisoners, sharp words ringing out. Condemnation hissed out, giving way to shouts, to anger, to violence. 

Tommy was told that the D-Class deserved it. Death row inmates, the vilest of humanity. Tommy’s arms wrapped around himself, frenzied scarlet curling around, spreading, exacerbating. Halo’s snarls gurgled through thick viscera, visceral ripping noises rending the humans apart. The Foundation said they deserved it, just like they said Tommy deserved to wear gloves when he disobeyed or get hit whenever he wouldn’t stop talking, begging, screaming. He kept his back carefully to the unfolding slaughter, eyes squeezed shut. Pretending he couldn’t hear the ragged howls of agony. 

Pretending he couldn’t hear the way Halo started to sob the moment the bloodlust faded.

.

The air was dusty as Tommy climbed into the abandoned hayloft, clambering over to where Tubbo perched. His nose wrinkled, still unused to all the various smells of the outside world. It was still startling how much world was in the world, overwhelming at times but exhilarating always. 

Tommy scooted over to sit as close to Tubbo as he dared, distance carefully calculated to keep them safe. His legs swung back and forth over the edge of the loft, his friends scattered below, happy and free. 

Tubbo waved at him, looking excited. There was a strange intentionality to the gesture, exaggerated. But Tommy couldn’t blame them for that. He wasn’t a stranger to pretending everything was normal. The escape was…rough, to put it mildly, let alone the horrors of the Foundation. It felt nice to laugh even if it was a tad forced at times. But it made the next one easier, so it had to be worth it. 

“Give us your hands.” 

Red spasmed along his arms. Tommy leaned away, unpleasant memories flickering in his head. Given the fact that Tubbo was unique (a word which here means ‘made out of hundreds of thousands of bees’), Red didn’t work traditionally. Mostly, it resulted in pure self-destruction. Tommy shuddered to remember the way Tubbos’ skin tore apart as frenzied insects slaughtered themselves. Not something he was in a hurry to repeat. 

“No, it’ll explode your hands,” Tommy said, not knowing that was exactly what Tubbo wanted. 

They gave him a sweet smile, half crooked. “It’ll be fine, Tommy. We won’t get Red’d, we just want to compare our hands. Our grandpa always said big hands meant you were going to grow up to be tall, kinda like puppy paws.”

Tommy scoffed. “Well I already know I’m going to be massive, and anyway it’s not worth the risk.” 

“We’ll be careful. But if you think ours are that much bigger, that’s fair. You still only have kid hands after all~”

“No! I’m basically an adult! Just…hold still, I guess…” Tommy approached cautiously, still conflicted but splaying ruby fingers out to match their own hand. The fingers shook a little from the tension poured through them, little curls of Red unfurling off the back of his hand like sprouts poking through topsoil. Tubbo slipped their own close, lining up the newly finished digits to match the angle of his. Tommy’s fingers were longer than their own, stockier, his palms broader. They hovered closer and closer, shrinking the gap. “Hah! See! I told you. Um, that’s close enough, I think.”

“We can see from a bunch more angles than you can, Tommy. We’ll know if it's too close.” He flashed a nervous smile, but trusted Tubbo. Still, it felt wrong to tempt himself like this. It took just about everything he had to not lace their fingers together and pull his best friend into a tight hug. Just…hold Tubbo, feel the buzzing warmth of life and the purr of bees working within their hollow body. 

A quiet cage around his heart forbade him from ever reaching out. Tommy couldn’t touch almost anyone in the entire world. It felt near suffocating at times to yearn for something regardless of how disastrous Tommy knew the consequences would be. 

It didn’t occur to Tommy that some people welcomed disaster. 

Tommy’s fingers curled in slightly, unconsciously wanting to close around Tubbos’. Closer, closer, till they were almost touching…

.

“I’ve done some really, really awful things, Phil.” But it didn’t stop Philza’s arm from wrapping around his back and drawing Tommy in. If he were honest, he didn’t want it to. Tommy melted into the embrace for all that he didn’t deserve it. 

“I know,” Philza murmured, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “That doesn’t mean you’re evil. The world isn’t heroes and villains, Tommy.” 

“Okay then I’m a bad guy.” Philza rolled his eyes. “I mean with a power like this what else could I be? I’m a baddie. A wrongun. A ‘malignant, misbegotton ne’re-do-well of a knave’–” Tommy sang, rattling off the old man insults Philza sometimes fell into when he got angry and forgot what century it was. 

“Stop deflecting and give me your hands,” Philza interjected. Tommy griped at him for being rude, but relented easily. Philza cupped Tommy’s hands in his own, reverent almost. 

“If you’re going to try to say there isn’t really blood on my hands don’t even m̷͙̞̈͋ư̵͍̬̒͝ͅf̶̡͉̽f̶͇̬͌í̵̻͇̺n̵̛̛̠ing try it. We both know that’s a lie.” Red spasmed, tendrils looping around Philza’s talons. 

“But your hands aren’t evil. They are simply hands. Red is the exact same. Power doesn’t possess its own morality, that’s up to the weilder. Your power isn’t evil, and neither are-”

“For you, maybe. Anyone else and it’s just brainwashing bloodlust.” He’d been stupid for ever thinking he could save anyone. 

“You can have precautions without having terror.”

“I can’t control it. I’ve tried so, so hard, and I just can’t. All it’s done is ruin my life.”

“The Foundation did that, not the Red, and most certainly not you. Surviving doesn’t make you evil.” Philza lifted Tommy’s hand, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. “I hope one day you can find love for every part of yourself.”