#phrog scribblings

[abyssal-endling]

Pst- hey if it’s ok with you before the floor swallows me can I get some more Houston angst

Absolutely!! I actually had one written last night or so when I was Going Through It(tm)

Also i felt the "floor swallowing me" thing, hope it passes soon <3

Would He

The silence isn't as welcoming as it used to be.

Over the months turned to years, Houston has grown comfortable with this odd position he holds in the gang. He's the shadow standing in the corner, and a punching bag for a man with more rage than his mind could cope with (the betrayal of being replaced and abandoned still sparking in his eyes every so often). He's the skeleton from the Chief's closet, following him close, waiting for a moment to catch his attention.

Time didn't heal wounds. It just became easier to tend them.

Off in the main room of the safehouse, the majority of the gang watches movies, celebrating a month of good work. Sangres and Jiro had gone off on their own after the first movie, Jiro deciding to head to bed for the evening, and Sangres just tired of the stuffy air. Houston had attempted to talk with his brother, but Dallas- always more focused on things that weren't Houston, had brushed him off.

Houston gave up and returned to the balcony. His fingers had gone to light a cig, but the desire wasn't there, and he’d put the lighter back in his pocket.

He jumps when the door behind him slides open.

"The 'ell are you doin' out here?" Hoxton asks, the door shutting behind him. "Hate fun?" The Brit pulls out a cigarette, and Houston absentmindedly hands him his lighter.

Hoxton blinks, then cautiously takes it. When he returns it, it's with a quiet 'thank you'.

The silence is the closest to comfortable it can be. Before Hoxton had come out, it was suffocating Houston. Too loud.

Now, it just was.

"Hey, Hoxton." Houston starts, his voice low. He waits for Hoxton to grunt. When he does, the mechanic continues. "Would Dallas… be sad if something happened to me?"

The surprised flinch is unnoticed, and Hoxton turns to him. "What'd'you mean?"

"Would he care?"

The Brit grows somber and looks out off the balcony, standing next to the other man in contemplation.

Eventually… "Do you want an honest answer?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know." Hoxton looks remorseful, worried. "Why?"

Houston stays silent, a part of him not wanting to burden Hoxton with his woes. He shrugs, staring at the ground.

"You two aren't close." Hoxton says.

"No. Were when I was really little, but otherwise, we don't talk." Sighing, Houston rests his head on his hand. "Was just… thinking. Don't worry about it."

"Well, now that you've said that, I'm going to." A sad smile appears on Houston’s face, but it fades quickly.

"I just wonder, y'know. If he would care if I died."

Hoxton makes a noise, wanting to say something. Instead, he pats Houston’s shoulder. It's awkward, not forced, but uncomfortable. "A lot of us would."

Houston nods. Hoxton goes to say more, but a crash inside, followed by incoherent Swedish and a frantic sounding Jimmy, alerts the two. They turn to look in the door, neither eager to go investigate.

Until Wolf starts calling for Hoxton. "Ah, I better-"

"Yeah, probably."

Hoxton opens the door, turning once to Houston to speak, only to be interrupted by Jimmy. More crashing and yelling.

"Oh my God, what did you do?" Hoxton shouts, rushing to the two.

Houston shuts the door, shaking his head. Eventually, he sits with his back against the wall.

He's not sure how long he's out there for. By the time the door opens again, he's gone stiff, body aching.

"You alright?" Jimmy asks. Houston nods.

Jimmy plops down next to him. "When I worked for Akan, I wondered, you know, if anything I did mattered. I was always in pain, and watching everyone around me. I'd go up to the roof sometimes, think about if it'd matter if I died, or vanished, you know."

"Yeah."

Jimmy stares at the sky. "If I had, then I wouldn't have gotten to meet you lot. Never would've stopped Akan." He turns back to Houston. "Out there… there's somethin' for ya. I'm sure of it." Jimmy claps Houston on the back and stands. "I mean it. And if you ever need to chat, you know where to find me."

Houston stares, watching as the man heads back to his bar. Wolf and Hoxton are asleep on the couch, Dallas throwing a blanket over them.

He should sleep, too.

Houston gets up, stretching as he steps back in, closing the door. Dallas turns to him. "Were you outside all night?"

The younger Steele nods, pulling the curtain shut.

"Are you…" Dallas shifts. "Are you okay?"

"Mhm." Houston walks past him, refusing to look.

A quiet sigh, almost a whimper. "Hey, Derek… I-"

"Don't. Just… just don't." Houston snaps. He keeps walking.

Behind him, Dallas's outstretched arm falls to his side.

He watches as Houston walks away, before turning and going his own direction.

[cupophrogs]

I swear I will see and artist post the most detailed, jaw-dropping, pussy popping pice of art on main with the caption “Just a scribble”

like no, that is the Mona Lisa of Tumblr what are you tALKING ABOUT

[sparrow-the-tired-lesbian]

so, you want loki related asks, huh? taaaake THIS! *Whips out index card, upon which is scribbled the words "loki and mobius dress up as each other for Halloween*

how d'ya like THAT

I like that very much, shmol phrog . Very much.

I think I saw some art about this! I think Loki would do the dumbest impression of Mobius while in the costume, tbh.

this made my morning bro, thank you

[abyssal-endling]

BANGING DOWN UR ASKBOX

Anyways I think it u,,,,, shud write some golfgoat,, perhaps vlad being his very much vlad self n locke like eyeroll alright whatever, but bygod do they both rllyrllyrlly lov eaxhother :]

GolfGoat :) also soup is the name of the goat in the safehouse i know this

No Title

Not a goddamn day would pass where Locke would not wake up to aggressive banging on his door, goats bleating, and a psychopath singing to him.

Not a single goddamn day.

Locke barely even has the door open when Vlad barrels in, throwing his arms in the air dramatically. “Lockeyyyyyyy, I love you so much, you’re my favorite!” Vlad flings an arm around Locke’s shoulder, nearly spinning Locke to the ground as he kisses him on the cheek before rifling through his papers. He’s barely even done wiping his cheek before the madman starts holding a handful of papers out to the goats invading Locke’s home, tempting them.

“Arghhh, stop it!” Locke snatches the papers out of Vlad’s hands, who flings himself to the ground to sigh heavily. “We need these for- what the fuck are you wearing?”

Vlad grins up at Locke from the floor. “Nice, right?”

Nice.

Nice.

Vlad is wearing a fucking bathrobe, weird ass shoes (Neon crocs with rainbows in them. What the fuck. What the fuck.), and heart shaped sunglasses with a… cat print on them.

And he’s describing it as nice.

“Vlad.”

“Do you know Hello Kitty?”

“Wh- no. Vlad, what, where even-”

“Hello Kitty gave these to me.”

Locke doesn’t even have his hands on a bottle when Vlad appears again, and Houston nearly chokes when he sees. “Locke-”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“Is nice, yes?” Vlad says, grinning.

Houston presses his lips together, visibly losing his mind, and he nods. “You know, Chains is better with fashion, let me get his opinion.” He scurries out of the room, a weak laugh escaping him as he does. 

Left alone with the Ukrainian, Locke turns to him. “So where’d this come from?”

“You remember the goats, yes?”

Good God.

“Yes, how could I forget?”

“Exactly, they are so wonderful! You see, my brother-in-law, stupid motherfucker, he brought a bunch of bags while visiting. The goats- oh, they are hungry, always- they started ripping into them! And that’s how I got these.”

The story falls into place in Locke’s mind and he sighs. “Yes, that does make a lot of sense.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

A smile tugs at Locke’s face. “It’s very nice, Vlad."

Vlad beams, absolutely delighted. He throws an arm around Locke’s shoulders, tugging him into a lopsided hug, complete with a kiss on the cheek. Locke rolls his eyes, pressing his lips to the top of Vlad’s head before turning away. “Where’s Soup, anyway?”

“Soup? Oh, Soup resting.”

There’s a small commotion outside, and the door opens to reveal Dallas and Chains, followed by Houston. Dallas sees Vlad and immediately presses his fingers to his temples, sighing. “Okay. It’s this kind of day, huh?”

Chains grins. “I don’t know, man, it’s pretty on brand.”

“My friend Chains understands!” Vlad says, thumping Locke on the shoulder.

“He doesn’t have room to talk. Never seen him wear anything but fatigues.”

“Hey-”

Dallas brushes past Houston, mumbling something as he does so. Houston snorts, kicking at him.

“So where do I get a pair of those sunglasses?” Chains says, pulling up a seat.

“Hello Kitty gave them to him.” Locke replies.

“Damn, lucky.”

[abyssal-endling]

Tells (3)

The pile of blankets has Dallas nearly collapse with relief.

Hoxton watches from the doorway as Dallas trips over himself to shake Houston, who swears loudly and makes a poor attempt to shove his older brother off. "What the fuck-"

"I was," Nathan tugs Derek into a tight hug, his breaths shaky, "I was so fucking worried, you just disappeared."

Houston shoots Hoxton a bewildered look, to which he responds with a shrug. Dallas had been… jumpy, a bit on edge, something Hox wasn't necessarily alarmed at. Their crew chief has always been well tuned to happenings in the city, and over the years, he'd learned what was insight from experience and what was paranoia from lack of sleep or a few shitty heists.

Dallas's worry about his brother wasn't either, and eventually, Hox had decided it'd be best to let it run its course.

"Had 'im fussin' for a good thirty, now." Hoxton says, walking over to playfully ruffle Dallas's hair.

The Mastermind barely notices, keeping his baby brother in a firm grip. "Literally never had a problem with me doing my own thing until now." Houston grumbles, rolling his eyes.

A heavy sigh. Houston ignores teary-eyes staring at him, choosing to stare at the ground instead. "You were panicking." Dallas mumbles.

"And?"

"I… I don't know. I didn't, I didn't want to leave you by yourself."

Hoxton makes a quick motion across his neck, and the instinctual comment in Houston’s throat dies immediately "I'm fine. Just got overwhelmed." Houston's voice is low, tired. "It's easier for me to just, I dunno, go chill by myself."

"I don't want you to be alone." Dallas says. He sees the look in his brother's eye, and rushes to speak again. "I… I'm not good at this, but I worry."

"I'm fine, Nate. I know you worry," the words feel like a lie, and are mostly one, but Derek pushes on, "but I'm just… not social. It's just a thing, you don't have to worry about it."

Nathan hugs his brother again, mumbling tiredly. The other two know something's going on in the older man's mind, but pushing it has never helped.

Hoxton sighs. "Why don't I bring Chains and Wolfie up? We can have a little movie night here with just us."

Dallas starts to speak, but Houston cuts him off. "Might as well bring Bain, too."

The Brit is out the door, saying something Houston can't quite catch, but figures is a confirmation.

He makes a decision, and hugs his brother. "Thank you for checking on me."

The words sound fake, and they feel fake, but Dallas leans into the hug, smiling.

[abyssal-endling]

Old Outlast Scribblings

Other than maybe a pissed off Murkoff employee or two, Waylon Park was not expecting to see anyone at his door at any hour of any day for sometime.

Definitely did not expect to see a bloody and dark-eyed Miles Upshur standing on his doorstep at two am in the pouring rain. But the world was full of surprises, all of which enjoyed punching him in the teeth.

They stared at each other, Waylon’s heart racing, his hand on a baseball bat that he hid just behind the doorframe. Miles grunted something, and, instead of saying, “What?” or “Could you repeat that?”, Waylon nodded. Miles stood there expectantly before sighing and speaking again in that strange, gravelly voice.

“What?” Waylon squeaked.

“Keys.”

“What do you mean?”

“Keys.”

“Excuse-”

“Keys, dumbass.”

Miles’s eyes flashed for a moment, and the air around him hummed and shimmered.

“Keys…?” Waylon repeated.

“Keys. Yes. Car keys.”

“Wait. Are you- you’re here for your keys, your car keys.” Waylon said, nodding.

Miles stared, a glint of something darker, more sinister, sneaking into the blackened irises before it slithered away again.

[abyssal-endling]

Hey it’s me again the one who was clipping in the floor not there anymore currently in the backrooms but that’s not important

Can I perchance ask for some more Houston angst? For your truest the floor anon

HI ANON !!! :D Thank you for requesting Houston it makes me happy

Yes ofc , I shall always be happy to gift Houston. <3 <3

bonus points for anyone who guesses what i listened to while writing this.

Cry Out

Despite the fact that Dallas isn’t even with them that day- he’s at the safehouse, probably sleeping off his hangover from dinner with the other three the night prior- Houston cries out for his brother when his vision starts going black.

The DCPD had really upped their game, and Houston wondered if they had finally, successfully taken out at least one of the gang as his blood spilled onto the concrete below him.

Over his earpiece, he could barely hear Locke shouting for Sokol, something about dropping the bags, to get out. For a moment, he feels pressure on his abdomen, his eyes focusing on Joy for a few seconds before everything goes dark again. “C’mon, Houston, stay awake!” Locke yells. “We’re getting you out of there, you’re gonna be okay, you just got to stay awake!”

He tries to speak, but blood spatters his mask, quickly refilling his mouth. He coughs and gasps, thrashing as he desperately tries to spit it out. Someone takes his mask off- he can see a chicken head, and God, he thinks he really has died before he remembers Jacket-  and he frantically spits out the blood as best he can. A gravelly, broken, command: “Live.”

Houston thinks that he’s glad he got to hear Jacket speak once before he died, and then the shooting pain is back. His vision returns in a flash of white and blurs, and he’s aware of how much everything hurts. He can’t figure out what hurts more, the burns covering his leg and abdomen, or the piece of rebar splitting through his stomach. What-

Sokol stores away the now-empty syringe, uncharacteristically silent as he turns to Joy, who nods at him. “Hang on, Hous,” Joy says, and suddenly he’s being lifted into the air.

The world spins, his heart dropping as he goes limp in Sokol’s arms. He weakly calls out for his brother again, Sokol’s breath catching as he hears the broken noise, a just-audible “Nate-” before Houston begins wheezing. Blood gushes up again, and-

The blanket is heavy, the room a soft, dim light. Quietly, he can hear Locke and Joy talking, one of Jacket’s vinyls playing underneath the voices.

“Hey-” Sokol smiles softly at him. His voice is low, and he turns over his shoulder and motions before turning back to Houston.

Jacket, Joy, Locke, and Sydney rush over, all looking relieved and exhausted. “Fuck- you’re awake,” Locke exhales, tension leaving his body. “I’m so sorry, I never- never thought those fuckers would plant C4 for us-”

Houston tries to speak, to tell Locke that he wouldn’t have known, but all that comes out is a wheeze. He starts to sit up, quickly being pressed back to the bed by Joy. “You had to be intubated while they operated. Don’t worry about talking right now.” She looks around, fumbling before finding a cup of ice chips, holding them out to him. He signs a thank you as his free hand shakily takes the cup.

The cold feels nice.

Locke sits in a nearby chair. “You are… going to be resting for a while,” he says. “Somehow you won’t have any major, long term damage- from what we know, at least. But I imagine you will be feeling like shit for a while.”

It hurts like hell, but Houston laughs. Sydney grins, gently nudging him. “We were all so worried, glad you’re alive, shit-” She leans down to give him a one armed hug, and he smiles.

“Please ask for any assistance.”

Houston turns to Jacket, holding out a fist, and Jacket tenderly bumps it with his own as Sokol leans on the other man.

“It’s all okay,” Sokol sighs. “You’re alive, it’s all okay.” He speaks more to himself than anyone else, but no one seems to mind.

Houston then realizes something, and the odd happiness he felt shrivels away. He signs, and everyone glances at each other.

“Uh- what does that mean?” Sokol says, turning to Joy and Jacket.

“Brother.” Locke says quietly, a bitter look on his face. “We… we haven’t heard from Dallas.”

In a horrific way, Houston doesn’t… feel anything about that. He’s not even surprised. “How long?” he signs.

“It’s been… over a day.”

Ah. Now that-

He doesn’t even notice the tears that drip down his face, or that Locke quickly hands him tissues, or how long passes after that. How could Dallas not…

Over a day?

Dallas had to have seen the news. Or someone told Bain, who told Dallas. Or Bain found out immediately and told Dallas. Or someone had to have contacted Dallas-

Why wasn’t he here?

Two days later, Sokol and Jacket help Houston get into the safehouse. His leg doesn’t move as much as he’s used to, restrained by a burn cast and bandages. The moving is slow, even with help, and when Houston is in his own bed, he grunts in exhaustion.

“Okay, water, snacks, phone and charger- you promise you will call if you need something?” Sokol asks sternly, crossing his arms. 

“Yes, I promise, Sokol.” Houston sighs. “I promise.”

Sokol nods before squeezing Houston’s shoulder. “Hopefully you sleep like a stump.”

“Log, but thank you.”

The sound of someone knocking on the door cuts through the air, and Houston locks eyes with Dallas.

If he were able to move, Houston would have crossed the room to beat him into a pulp in an instant.

Instead, he fixes his brother with a blank expression, forcing any emotion to the side. Jacket and Sokol glance back at the door before seeming to come to a decision. “I have some extra blankets and pillows in my room. I’ll grab those and you give Jacket that list of games you want to play. We’ll get all set up, if you fall asleep then at least we’ll be right there when you wake up.”

The barely restrained rage leaks out of Sokol’s voice as he turns and shoves past Dallas, not bothering to even look at the older man as he walks by. Dallas blinks (how fucking dare he have the audacity to look hurt-) and turns to watch Sokol before turning back.

Jacket stares blankly at Dallas, his thumb moving to press play on a cassette.

“Do you require assistance?”

Dallas opens his mouth, glancing at Houston. “I… wanted to talk to Houston.”

“Do you require assistance?”

Dallas stares at Jacket.

“Do you require assistance?”

A challenge, one that Dallas… is not backing down from.

“I need to talk to Houston, Jacket.” Dallas says firmly. It’s not a request. Leave. We are talking.

“Do you require assistance?”

Houston has spent enough time around Jacket to recognize that Jacket is amused by this- that is, simply repeating the same phrase at Dallas. Hell, he could tell the man was forcing himself not to laugh. He’s tempted to let it continue on, see how long it could go for.

“Jacket. I am going to have a conversation with him. You need to leave.” He sounds cold, calculating. Sizing Jacket up for a bargaining chip he could offer for him to just step out of the room, but there wasn’t really a way to argue with a brick wall.

“Do you require assistance? Do you require assistance? Do you require assistance? Do you-”

Houston starts laughing, coughs interspersed as he cackles at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Jacket would play that tape until it died, and then he would simply make noise to block out the sound of Dallas talking until Dallas gave up and left.

The coughs get worse, and Houston stops laughing, the pain shooting through him as he grabs onto Jacket’s sleeve. Jacket is at the bedside immediately, steadying him as he holds out a cup of water.

In his peripherals, Houston sees Dallas step closer, and-

“Fuck off.” 

Venom and vitriol drip from the snarled words, and Dallas stumbles back a bit, eyes wide as he stares at his baby brother.

“Der-”

“You never came, you have never come to help me. Do not pretend to care now.”

Dallas blinks, and Houston grits his teeth as he sees his brother’s eyes water before he turns and quickly leaves.

The second Dallas is out of the room, his own tears fall, and another set of hands grabs his arm before pulling him into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” Sokol says quietly.

Houston leans into the touch, unable to stop himself or the tears that fall.

[abyssal-endling]

golfgoat snippets

posting these for . idk why i just want to (i have no idea when I will actually work on the long fic, these are just collections of pieces)

cw: mildly sexual content

(from long fic)

Locke takes a heavy, wobbling breath, nerves twisting and firing within his chest. Vlad grins at him from the bed, cooing and fucking giggling like always, openly oogling-

Oh, fuck’s sake, he’s laughing at Locke’s nervousness, the bastard.

A snort escapes Locke as Vlad’s laughter turns to a sort of humming, an undertone of adoration within it. The man hasn’t stopped staring, and Locke blushes deeper. He’s only taken his shirt off, yet Vlad is visibly obsessed, delighted even.

“You are slow-”

“Vlad-”

“I am laying here, waiting to be ravished, yet no one-” Locke silences him, pressing his lips firmly to Vlad’s own. A dreamy sigh echoes past their lips, and Vlad tugs him closer with his left hand, smiling, content.

The other hand grabs onto Locke’s belt.

(Vlad making Locke tie his tie)

"Ah, but it is so hard for me to do this, you make it look so nice, Lockey." Vlad whines dramatically. He breaks into a smile as Locke sighs and begins to tie Vlad's tie, shaking his head.

"What would you do without me?" Locke grumbles.

"Oh, Vlad would simply die."

"Uh-huh."

"Who would tie my tie for me-"

"Yes, who, indeed."

"Who would make me smile so happy?"

Locke bursts into laughter. "You'd find a way. You have the goats."

"Oh, I do have the goats, don't I? They are so wonderful, yes?"

(Hello Kitty nonsense)

Locke wasn't ready for the morning.

He definitely wasn't ready to see Vlad in a Hello Kitty sweater, complete with The Glasses.

"Vlad."

"Oh! Good morning, Lockey!" Vlad jumps up, pressing a wet kiss to Locke's cheek. "How are you?"

"...was doing well, until I came down here."

"And now it's so much better, yes?"

"Oh, yes, for sure." He's lying.

[abyssal-endling]

short wip

Entry One

There is always something moving outside of the cabin at nighttime. Were I in any other place, I would not worry about shooting and sending it into the dark. I do not know how long I have been here at this point, time never seems to work now, but I know I cannot find supplies reliably. Fuel is scarce, and I have yet to find ammo. Luckily, I have food. The meat is poor quality and I doubt it’s entirely safe to eat, but it’s food. Something about those mushrooms… I do not think I should eat them. Not until I find out more about them. I was able to find a map, so a book should-

I heard someone outside talking about a merchant. I wanted to 

I could not find it in myself to look outside for whoever it was. I do not even know if it was real, or one of those things mimicking a voice.

By God, how did I end up here? I can barely remember anything before this.

Mother had told me stories of horrible forests that steal souls away. I wanted to believe they were only stories, but if I am here…

I miss her. I miss cooking alongside her, roasting potatoes on the fire. She would always sing while we waited.

Something is knocking on the door. I have to be more alert-

One of the doors, barricaded with useless scrap wood and bent nails, bends and cracks under a heavy thud. Footsteps shuffle away, back outside. By the window, Dragan can hear raspy, spittle-filled breathing. Claws scrape against the barricade there, a low groaning, snuffling, and then-

The screams erupt around him. Dragan slaps his hands over his ears, desperate to shut out the sounds. The lanterns flicker, off and on, one close to the door barely lit as the sounds whirl around the rickety cabin, a hurricane that hollows out Dragan's chest.

He doesn't know how long it's been when the shrieking stops, nothing left behind but the sound of a woman sobbing, distant, yet so close to home.

[abyssal-endling]

(cw for death, drowning, abuse, ableism)

.drown.

In the bottom of my childhood's swimming pool, a figure in all black hugged me before pushing me away. My lungs heaved against pressing palms, eyes swollen in confusion.

When I walk in the lake, the tides call to me. Echoing in my skull, saying "not yet, don't forget", until I turn away once more.

A stapled packet of test papers sends a man I barely know into a rage, and my head into the water with a fist on my neck. The rippling faucet cries, "no, no, not yet!" until he leaves me there to shake.

I let myself sink under, to remind myself of warmth for a moment. When I come up again, her voice echoes on:

"No, my child. Not here. One day, but not yet."

[abyssal-endling]

Myshka writing because i am. in a Mood and State of Mind

cw: flashbacks, implied self harm, suicidal ideation, unhealthy attachments, grief

At some point, hands pull the blade from their fingers, quickly applying pressure to the wounds. They haven't stopped chanting, angrily repeating past orders to themselves an they tremble, tears and spit falling to the floor as they work themselves into a state of hysteria.

"Shh, you're safe, little mouse, he's not here," Vlad's voice murmurs distantly. At the sound, the walls of the prison they called home fall away, and they're brought back to the floor of Vlad's living room.

"He's gone?" they ask softly.

"He's gone." Locke confirms, brushing the hair from their face.

"And... am I... am I alive?" they whisper, voice weak.

"You are alive."

A broken sob leaves them, and they collapse, pressing their hands to their head, fingers gripping on the hair and pulling. Quietly, Vlad sings, carefully detaching their hands each time they begin to pull again. Locke repeats the same things to them, "It's okay. He's gone. You're safe. You're alive. We love you, we love you so much."

Myshka can't describe the feelings properly. They don't have the words. But deep within them is a discomfort. The one person who was always around them is gone. The twisted sense of stability they'd had is gone. The one constant in their life- the chaos, the pain, death and rebirth, the torture, the one King. Gone forever, while they remained.

They hated it.

They wished they were dead, too.

Bring him back bring him back bring him back bring him back

Rage fills them, and they scream before bursting into tears again. Vlad gathers them in his arms, letting them wail and kick.

He knew. He knew the emptiness. He knew the confusion. The despair.

The grief.

Despite it all, Myshka had always had death and its Healer. And now, in a way, there was nothing.

[abyssal-endling]

Promise

When Houston left, the safehouse's shift to an uncomfortable silence was near immediate. It was easy to see how hard Dallas was taking it, less focused, more irritable- especially within that first week.

Chains would find him sitting by the van, staring, like he could will Houston to return if he waited long enough. Hoxton found Dallas staring at old photos of the two of them from their childhood and Houston's gear- mask, suit jacket, tool box- constantly in his office. Once or twice, Hoxton tried to get a rise out of him to shake him out of his apathy. When Dallas barely responded, the Brit's heart lurched, the twisting in his stomach refusing to settle.

When the third week started, Hoxton started feeling the absence more. He'd spent a good amount of time poking fun at the younger Steele brother- a distraction from prison and feelings it had left him with. Now, he was left without that distraction, forced to face the betrayal he'd felt more head on, look the trauma of it in the face. He became quieter, butting heads with the others if they pushed him to talk. Not even Wolf was spared.

Clover wouldn't say anything, but she'd seen Dallas and Hoxton's tears before on the cameras. The one that got to her the most was Chains's.

She had never known Chains to be sad, and seeing him sob quietly in the garage...

Clover wasn't as technologically literate as Locke, Joy, or Bain, but she knew a thing or two, and Joy was easy to convince. Clover hadn't known that Houston and Joy were close, playing old video games together and sitting in silence, listening to music or going over stealth techniques together. Joy missed her friend, and she wanted to know he was okay.

As the two worked, Joy seemed to be lost in thought, her hands stopping as the time ticked on.

"What is it?" Clover asked.

Joy swallowed, turning. "I just realized... Myshka. I've barely seen them since, since we told them Houston left-"

Clover's blood ran cold. "Maybe... Maybe they went with Vlad?"

The two stared at each other for a moment before both frantically moving to call Locke.