#I have fallen deep into the hyperfixation cave

[softfuzzymannnnn]

To all of my “friends” who told me “not to watch all of Good Omens 2 in one go” because I’m “busy” and “prone to hyperfixation and subsequent fandom hibernation”

[kayte-overmoon]

"Slow Cherry" Chapter 4

(cross-posted on AO3)

Tags: Mild Depressive Episode, Drinking (everyone is of age; no alcohol abuse), drunk texting, accidental face reveal

Snippet: A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

Read Chapter 1 Here

Read Chapter 2 Here

Read Chapter 3 Here

No sexual content in this chapter.

Dream spent the next few weeks losing himself in his schoolwork.

Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of George, heard his voice, saw his smile. It was wreaking havoc on his attention span. His feelings toward the older man were confusing to say the least. It was easier to hyperfixate on school than to try and sort out why he felt this way about a man he’d never even met face-to-face.

Knowing they were only a few short weeks away from living not only in the same country, but the same city made it very, very hard to think about anything else.

Luckily, he had a hardcore coding assignment coming up, so he locked himself in his bedroom with the lights off and drowned himself in Python.

Sapnap noticed something was off and made sure to text Dream whenever he got food (conveniently always with a little more than one person could eat alone). On the rare occasions Dream emerged from his cave, Sapnap looked at him with concern written in every corner of his face, but he didn’t ask what was wrong. He just pushed a bottle of water or a granola bar across the counter to him and told him he looked like shit.

Dream was sure he was right. It was winter, so he hadn’t properly been in the sun in months—for a Florida boy, that was too long. He’d skipped a few showers, and the only time he’d eaten was when Sapnap made sure he did. He shuffled into the bathroom to scrutinize himself under the fluorescents. He squinted in the bright light, so used to the darkness of his room. His hair was a mess, several days overdue for a wash and unbrushed for longer than Dream could remember. He also needed to shave, not liking the scratchy growth around his jaw. There were dark circles around his blood-shot eyes and his skin was paler than it had been in years. He scoffed at himself before stripping and jumping in the shower.

The hot water burned his skin, but it was a religious experience. He hadn’t realized how far he’d pushed himself and how deep he’d let himself fall until it was over. His last final was the next morning, so he was almost done. Thank God.

As it usually did when he had a free moment, his mind strayed to George.

They had still been snapping back and forth, which soothed some of the ache. But it felt like he was looking down the barrel of addiction: he knew that taking one more hit, one more drink, would land him far beyond his limit, pushing him past the fabled Point of No Return. He considered ghosting George, but just thinking about that made his stomach turn. Sex workers got enough shit as it was without their clients pushing boundaries, trying to make something real out of their arrangements, or dropping them outright without warning.

Dream was so fucking pathetic.

He emerged from his shower scrubbed raw, physically and emotionally. He didn’t feel great in his head still, but at least he didn’t stink. He brushed his teeth to cover all his hygienic basics, put on a clean pair of pajamas, and went to bed.

And just like that his semester was over. He did well on his final—not as well as he’d hoped, considering how much time he’d spent studying, but well enough to stay on track to graduation.

He emerged from his final to find a snap from George waiting for him on his phone.

The older man was sitting on his bed, throwing a peace sign to the camera with a huge, cheesy grin. There were boxes stacked around the bed, the only thing left in the room being his bed.

Good luck on your final! Getting ready to put my stuff in the shipping container. Only a few more days.

Despite himself, Dream smiled at the message.

Dream and Sapnap celebrated the end of the semester that night in the only way college kids knew how: by buying as much beer as they could afford and inviting over as many people as they could fit into their apartment. Someone connected their phone to the sound system in the living room, blasting hip hop music over the subwoofer. Dream knew they were going to get a noise complaint from their neighbors, but he was too excited—and drunk—to care.

He got a few drinks in him and danced when he was pulled from the couch. Faces blurred before him, but he knew almost everybody there, so he didn’t mind whenever someone pressed up against him. Someone else pressed another beer into his hands. He was sweating, the heat in the apartment still fighting the December cold even with a few dozen people packed into the cramped space. His jacket came off at some point, so he was only in his beer-stained t-shirt and jeans.

He could happily say he had nothing on his mind. He was just happy, done with school for the next month and surrounded by his favorite people in the world.

But not his favorite person in the world.

No, that person wasn’t here.

He stumbled to the bathroom at one point to piss, wobbling a little and struggling to aim. He washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked much different than he had the previous night: he was flushed from the alcohol and dancing, for one, but he also felt lighter. Maybe it was the beer talking, but he felt good. He always liked life better when he wasn’t in school. And that message from George made him so, so happy.

Only a few more days.

George.

Just thinking about him made Dream smile.

He pulled out his phone just to look at the photo, which he’d screenshotted. They’d agreed they could save anything they sent each other except for nudes, which they had to get permission to keep. But innocent little messages like that one were free game. Dream was thankful for that, since it let him get a fix whenever he needed it. He found himself pulling out his phone to look at pictures of his camboy whenever he had a free moment to twiddle his thumbs.

He wrote a message to George, not really paying attention to what he said. Mainly he just wanted George to think of him while Dream was thinking of George. He sent the message and pocketed his phone. The music became unmuffled as he opened the bathroom door and someone immediately grabbed him and pulled him back into the fray.

Dream had… many regrets come morning.

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew how much of a doozy this hangover was. His head was pounding with the beat of his heart, his mouth felt packed with sand, and his stomach was turning. He felt like he needed to puke, but he was too numb to get up. Besides, he had a feeling he’d only end up dry heaving.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, debating going back to sleep. Something on the bed shifted next to him (much bigger than Patches), alerting him to the fact that he wasn’t alone.

After some coaxing, he squinted his eyes open and blinked against the scarce light peeking around the curtains—it wasn’t much light, but it was enough to make him want to die. He turned to see someone’s back facing him in the bed, a dude. Dream sent up a silent prayer of thanks that both the dude and Dream himself were fully clothed. He levered himself onto an elbow to see who was next to him. It was Skeppy, of all people, and he wasn't alone. Puffy was there too, curled up against Skeppy’s chest at the edge of the bed. Dream had no clue how neither of them had fallen off yet, so tightly wound together on the ledge. But they were there, snoozing happily.

Someone was snoring, but it wasn’t either of them. Dream sat up further and poked his head around to find Bad sprawled on the floor beside the bed. It seemed he’d wanted to get in with Skeppy and Puffy, but there hadn’t been enough room with Dream there as well. Skeppy’s hand was dangling off the side of the bed where Bad was; they must have fallen asleep holding hands. Despite his head and his stomach trying to remove themselves from his body, Dream smiled. They were all so sweet together.

He extracted himself from the bed slowly, not wanting to disturb them, and grabbed his phone charger from the power strip at his desk. He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself carefully. His phone was dead in his pocket, so he plugged it in at the bathroom counter as he set about cleaning himself up. He contemplated trying to throw up but decided against it. It might only make him even more sick. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. He definitely needed a shower and a change of clothes, but he didn’t have the energy for it yet.

A soft ding told him his phone was back on. He dried off his hands and picked it up. He had a couple of missed notifications. Karl left one saying he was taking Sapnap back to his place because someone had already taken Sapnap’s room. There was one from his next-door neighbor asking him to turn the music down or they would call the cops. Dream assumed that was a bluff, considering he didn’t remember the cops showing up at any point.

The last notification caught his eye.

It was a Snapchat message from George, received around 3 a.m.

Dream, call me when you get this. I don’t think you meant to send that. I need to talk to you.

Dream’s heart sunk.

What had he sent George? Had he drunk texted him? What had he said?

Oh God, he hadn't told him anything... incriminating, right? Had he said anything about wanting to be more than a sugar daddy, a friend with benefits, a casual observer?

There wasn’t anything saved in their chats above George’s most recent messages. The last message before that was Dream’s response to George’s “good luck with finals” message.

Wait. No it wasn’t.

The time stamp was wrong.

Dream had sent George a picture around 2:30 last night, when he was several drinks deep. He remembered going to the bathroom and texting George, but he couldn’t remember what he’d said no matter how hard he’d tried. He thought it had been a typed message in chat, not a picture.

Maybe he’d sent a dick pic? He hoped not. He had been too drunk to get it up at that point. If that’s what it was, it had to be horribly unflattering. And if not a dick pic, what had he taken a picture of?

His blood ran cold.

He was hitting the “call” button before he could overthink it.

George answered a few rings later. “Dream?”

“What did I send?” His voice was rough. He was trying to keep quiet so he didn’t bother his guests, and his mouth was dry even after brushing his teeth. He sounded like shit.

George sounded uncomfortable when he spoke. “Dream, I’m sorry. I don’t think you meant to—“

“What did I send, George?”

He knew the answer in the silence before George spoke. His stomach dropped when he said it anyway. “You—you sent me a picture of your face.”

Dream hung his head. Perfect. Of course. He’d had grand plans to pick George up from the airport and reveal his face then, or he’d at least make it sexy over their video calls or something. He wanted to make it a spectacle. Instead he’d drunk texted him a selfie.

“It wasn’t bad,” George tried to reassure him. “I couldn’t see it too clearly anyway. It was in the mirror, and you were very drunk. You were a little blurry.”

“What was I doing?”

“You were, like, leaning on the counter. You were smiling. You had a, uh…”

Dream frowned harder. “I had a what?”

“You had—have—a hickey on your neck.”

“What?” Dream stood up straight and pulled the collar of his shirt. Sure enough, there was a dark red mark on his neck, barely hidden by his shirt. “Huh. How the hell did that get there?”

George snorted. “Sounds like you had a fun night.” There was something bitter in his tone.

Dream scrambled for a response that wouldn't put him in the metaphorical dog house. “I don’t—I didn’t sleep with anyone. I would know. It just—my friends are super touchy. One of them probably did it while we were dancing.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Dream,” George said softly. “I’m a big boy. I know I’m not the only person in your life.”

“I do have to explain myself, though.” Dream ran his hand through his hair. “I care what you think about me. I don’t want you to think I sleep around. I don’t. Not really. Not anymore, at least. And I wanted to surprise you when you saw my face. I wanted it to be a thing.”

“Dream, calm down.” There was something calming about the British man’s voice, especially when he used that tone, like he was soothing a spooked animal. Which, for all intents and purposes, Dream was. “It’s okay. I’m not upset. I was just worried about you. I know it’s a thing for you, people seeing your face.”

“Oh.” Dream’s heart was thundering in his chest. It was making his head throb harder, but he didn’t particularly care at that moment. “Thank you. That’s—you’re really considerate. And did you—I mean, did…”

“You’re very handsome, Dream.”

Dream was dumbfounded. That wasn’t what he was going to ask, but he’s glad George said it. He wasn’t really concerned about that particular aspect of this whole ordeal, but it was nice to know. “Oh. Thanks. That’s… you too. I mean, I think you’re—fuck.”

George’s laugh echoed across the line, settling Dream’s frazzled nerves. “I know, honey. You’ve told me before. But let's continue this conversation when you’re not so hungover, yeah?”

Dream hummed in agreement. “You can tell?”

“You were sloshed last night. I could tell just by looking at you. Partied hard, hmm?”

Dream snorted. “Just a little. I don't even want to see the state of my living room right now. And there’s, like, two-thirds of a thruple in my bed right now.”

“Oh?” Amusement and interest tinged the older man’s voice.

“No, not like that,” Dream laughed. “They passed out in there. Their third is on the floor. They’re good friends of mine. No clue when we all fell asleep though.”

“Sounds like you need to get started making coffee for everyone, then. Be a good host.”

“Probably. I thought about ordering pizza. I have no clue how many people stayed over though.”

“Celebrating the end of term, then?”

A yawn worked its way out of Dream. “Yeah,” he said. “We all finished up yesterday so we just bought a bunch of beer and invited folks over.”

“Sounds fun.”

“We’ll invite you next time,” Dream said, his tongue loose from his hangover. Oh well. “I think you’d like my friends. They’re all… absolutely insane. But they’re the coolest, nicest people you’ll ever meet.”

A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

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[fishoutofcamelot]

I am once again thinking about a BBCM Mystery Skulls AU. Now, for those of you who are so woefully unaware of what Mystery Skulls is, allow me to set the scene.

(This ended up WAY longer than I was expecting, so I decided to put it all under the cut-off)

Merlin, Gwen, and Arthur have been friends since high school. Gwen is a spunky yet affectionate employee at a book store and despite her cutesy pastel aesthetic she has a bizarre interest in the occult/paranormal.

She came up with the idea for the three of them to form a ghost-hunting troop, and they call themselves the Mystery Skulls. And while Merlin and Arthur aren't nearly as invested in the idea as she is, since this is pretty much her hyperfixation, they are both very supportive nonetheless and enjoy going on adventures together.

Gwen has a pet lizard named Kilgharrah, and it's been in the family for a very long time, since before she was even born. Are lizards supposed to be able to live that long? She's never really given it much thought, but sometimes it seems almost...intelligent. Unnaturally so. Nevertheless, the weird and unexplainable is kinda their whole brand, and Kilgharrah has become something of a mascot for them, so they all let it slide.

Arthur is the Fred of the group. Muscular and almost-but-not-quite-a-himbo, he's the one driving the van with a cocky grin. Fearless, popular, everyone loves him, and besides some family issues he's got a good life. He and Gwen are in a relationship, and they're very lovey-dovey about it. He doesn't know much about the paranormal, certainly not as much as his girlfriend, but the idea of punching a ghost in the face is very alluring to him.

And then there's Merlin. He lives with his uncle Gaius due to...unexplained family drama, but the two of them have a good thing going. Gaius runs a mechanic shop on the edge of town, but his age is starting to catch up to him so Merlin has slid in as his replacement. Which makes sense, considering Merlin's near prodigy level of skill with machines. He's the one who fixed up an abandoned beat-up van and offered it up for their ghost-hunting endeavors. He quite likes Kilgharrah, ever a fan of pets and animals and the like, and Kilgharrah appears to begrudgingly return the sentiment.

Merlin has been third-wheeling Arthur and Gwen since high school. But he's not bitter about it, really he's not. He definitely doesn't feel left out, doesn't feel like an outsider, doesn't constantly worry that they would prefer it if he wasn't around, doesn't constantly feel forgotten and cast aside as he watches them get so absorbed in their two-way whirlwind passion. Not at all. So Merlin sits and smiles, because he truly is happy for his friends, and he pretends the loneliness doesn't bother him.

One day, they decide to investigate a mysterious cave. There are rumors of it being haunted by some kind of demonic entity. Merlin, as always, says it's a bad idea and they should turn back. Arthur, as always, teasingly calls him a coward. Gwen and Arthur exchange excited grins at the prospect of facing a real ghost. Merlin watches them wistfully, longingly. He fails to notice the way that Kilgharrah is getting increasingly anxious the closer they get to the cave.

Merlin has a really bad feeling about this cave, and a gut feeling tells him to go back to the van and head home. No one heeds his instincts.

There are two diverging paths in the cave, and Merlin dreads the moment that Arthur will inevitably suggest they split up. They usually split up between Merlin and Kilgharrah, and Arthur and Gwen. Because of course Arthur will want to pair off with his girlfriend.

Arthur notices that Merlin is scared, which makes sense because Merlin is always scared during their investigations. Gwen is sympathetic yet encouraging like she usually is - but notices that Merlin is more frightened than usual, so she suggests that Arthur pair off with Merlin instead this time, while she takes Kilgharrah. This doesn't make Merlin feel any better.

Arthur and Merlin head down one path in the cave, which eventually leads them to a cliff. All the while, Merlin keeps hearing whispers. Whispers that speak of horrible, macabre, terrible things, and all those whispers keep rattling in his mind like sharp-edged marbles. Arthur says he hears nothing at all, and they both conclude that Merlin is just hearing things.

He is not, in fact, just hearing things.

Arthur comes to the edge of the cliff and peers over to see the sharp, jagged stalagmites at the bottom. He beckons Merlin to come over and check out this cool view - but Merlin can't.

Merlin is...frozen. Petrified. Unable to move because of all the whispers attacking his mind from all angles, pounding into him with a righteous headache. His thoughts have turned to static, and his vision is quickly growing dark. Starting at his fingertips, his arm begins to go numb. The numbness gradually crawls deeper and further into his body, until he knows no more.

The spirit of the cave, the demon, the entity, whatever it is...it sapped into him through his misery. Through his loneliness. Through his pain. His pain has made him vulnerable for possession, and the demon plans to take full advantage of this.

The possession begins at the fingertips, its demonic wispy presence infecting him from the hand up. By the time its control has reached all the way to Merlin's face, it has enough strength to surge Merlin's body forward while Merlin himself is unconscious.

The half of Merlin's face that is still free from possession remains slack and unaware, but the half that has fallen into the demon's clutches is alight with a grin. It pushes Merlin's hand into Arthur's chest and gives a powerful shove.

As Arthur falls from the cliff, he doesn't have time to notice how Merlin's normally blue eyes have turned a sickly green, nor to notice the jaundiced hue pervading his friend's flesh, nor the spectral mist clouding all around Merlin's body in a haze.

No. As Arthur falls, as Arthur crashes into the ground and feels a stalagmite rip into his chest, all he sees is the half of his friend's face that has been contorted into a demonic smile.

Meanwhile, Gwen and Kilgharrah's path led them down a different part of the cave, and eventually they reach the bottom of a deep chasm filled with stalagmites.

Gwen spots Arthur at the top of a nearby cliff and waves up to him, but her excitement is short-lived as she watches him fall. Watches a stalagmite pierce his chest. Watches blood splatter everywhere.

It is said that if someone wishes for something passionately and profoundly enough as they die, then their dying wish might be granted. In this case, Arthur wishes more than anything for Gwen not to see him die. To not remember this. To just forget.

His wish is granted, and Gwen faints from the sheer force of his dying wish turning all her thoughts into static.

Kilgharrah sees the demon at the top of the cliff. Sees the wretched beast puppeteering Merlin's flesh, and snarls.. How dare that horrible thing possess one of his humans!

You see, Kilgharrah is no ordinary lizard. But rather, a very ancient and very powerful dragon masquerading as such, tasked with the protection of Gwen's lineage - the reasons for which only he is old enough to know or remember.

But while he is supposed to look after just Gwen, he has taken quite a liking to her friends as well. All three of them are under his protection, and it would be a disgrace to let this pitiful demon steal Merlin away under his watch.

So Kilgharrah unfurls from his false lizard form and embraces his true form - that of a massive dragon - and does whatever he can to purge the demon from Merlin's vessel.

Unfortunately, there's only one thing he can do. Since the demon has so vehemently lodged itself in Merlin's arm, quickly spreading out through the rest of his body, Kilgharrah has only one option left to stop the demonic infection.

Hating himself for it all the while, Kilgharrah bites off Merlin's arm.

A day later, Gwen wakes up in the hospital. Not only can she not remember watching Arthur die, but she can't remember anything to do with Arthur at all. She wakes up in the hospital with no recollection of how she got there, her pet lizard a blood-spattered coil on her lap, and with everyone telling her that her best friend Merlin is in surgery.

When Merlin wakes up, he also has no recollection of what happened to Arthur. He remembers going into the cave, splitting up...but everything goes blank after that. He doesn't know where Arthur is. Doesn't know what happened to his arm.

And he certainly doesn't know why he has become so debilitatingly afraid of Kilgharrah. Kilgharrah, who is by all accounts an ordinary lizard, but in Merlin's dreams transforms into a massive beast with bloody teeth.

Gwen gets a glazed look in her eyes and suffers horrible migraines whenever anyone mentions Arthur, so Merlin eventually gives up trying to remind her. Her memory problems have made her a lot more...scatter-brained, and although Merlin gets easily spooked he's willing to go to a thousand seances if it'll help Gwen act like her old self again.

He also tries to go back to the cave, but it has mysteriously vanished from where he knows it was meant to be. Gwen says that if a place is haunted by something powerful enough, it can change its own location, or can make it so that it will only be found if it wants to be found.

But Merlin refuses to give up. He uses the spare parts lying around his uncle's shop and builds himself a mechanical prosthetic, and loses himself in a never-ending quest to find his friend, to figure out what happened to his arm, and to find a way to restore Gwen's memories.

When Arthur wakes up, he discovers he has turned into one of the same ghosts he and his friends used to hunt. He looks down and sees his body, bloody and broken and cold as it lays impaled on a stalagmite. He can't look at it for long without feeling sick.

He also feels angry. Very, very angry. While his death had happened fast, too fast, he can clearly remember Merlin pushing him. Merlin, who he thought was his best friend. Merlin, who he grew up with. Merlin, who has always been there for him.

Surging with betrayal and fury, Arthur's now spectral body floats out of the cave. He has only one objective on his mind: vengeance.