wsdanon - Tumblr blog

[wsdanon]

Last line rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote or drew and tag some people (borrowing tagger's rules).

tagged by @echotunes \o/ (also i'm not sure why it didn't link, but i did get the notif?)

"Right." She laughs, tension draining from her body, too. "We definitely don't need that."

technically three sentences but oh well…

tagging: @iridescentpull @shikai-the-storyteller @factorialsotherfandoms

[wsdanon]

Hhm.. for the wip game, celltw snippet?

sorry anon for the late response i was trying to space my answers out a bit and then spontaneously wrote a fic in between oops

celltw snippets is basically just like… supposed to a bunch of different scenes ranging from post-fuga to qsmp era of their developing relationship and all that mess. i started and stopped writing it somewhere just after tazercraft got thrown in prison?

anyway take a snippet of one of the scenes:

It’s a little weird to be curled up in Cellbit’s bed at his castle. They haven’t really done this sort of thing in a while—especially not since Cellbit got married. The last time probably would’ve been… those couple of nights after they got Felps back. 

But him and Mike escaped from prison… a couple of days ago. Maybe. After the loss of Walter Bob, Mike refused to go outside, and Pac wasn’t going to just leave him, so he's not exactly sure how much time has passed. 

But earlier today was when they had revealed they had escaped to Cellbit. He seemed anxious to keep them in his sight, and now here they are. 

Cellbit’s arms are wrapped tightly around him, pulling him close. Close enough that he can feel the back of Roier’s arm pressing into his stomach from where he has it thrown over Cellbit’s waist. Mike is practically plastered to his back. He refused to sleep in any other position—an intensity in his insistence that hid a deep-rooted fear. 

Pac thinks the weirdest part about this whole situation is Roier. He had barely even blinked when Cellbit had explained what he wanted—his hand still tightly clasping Pac’s from when he’d dragged him up the stairs. Pac can’t say he knows Roier well enough to know whether he’s prone to serious jealousy, but he had been more than understanding about the situation. 

Maybe it’s because they got married right after Felps was rescued, so Roier’s used to this from Cellbit. Maybe it’s because he’s a therapist. 

Whatever the reason, Pac’s grateful for it. It’s nice to be held.

Cellbit’s arms flex around him, as he stretches a little and shifts. His eyes flick open a little to catch Pac’s briefly, before closing again.

“You’re still awake.” Cellbit murmurs.

“Yeah.”

He’s not sure how. Mike’s been sleeping too much, and Pac hasn’t been sleeping at all. He thought maybe tonight would be the night that changed—his mind content with the fact that if he falls asleep, there’s other people here to look after Mike—but he remains awake.

"It's okay." Cellbit's hands rub soothing circles into him. "I can stay up if you want."

--

i have a few others all roughly this length but this is the only one i want to post right now pfft i don't have the time at the moment to fix them up

[wsdanon]

Hhm.. for the wip game, celltw snippet?

sorry anon for the late response i was trying to space my answers out a bit and then spontaneously wrote a fic in between oops

celltw snippets is basically just like… supposed to a bunch of different scenes ranging from post-fuga to qsmp era of their developing relationship and all that mess. i started and stopped writing it somewhere just after tazercraft got thrown in prison?

anyway take a snippet of one of the scenes:

It’s a little weird to be curled up in Cellbit’s bed at his castle. They haven’t really done this sort of thing in a while—especially not since Cellbit got married. The last time probably would’ve been… those couple of nights after they got Felps back. 

But him and Mike escaped from prison… a couple of days ago. Maybe. After the loss of Walter Bob, Mike refused to go outside, and Pac wasn’t going to just leave him, so he's not exactly sure how much time has passed. 

But earlier today was when they had revealed they had escaped to Cellbit. He seemed anxious to keep them in his sight, and now here they are. 

Cellbit’s arms are wrapped tightly around him, pulling him close. Close enough that he can feel the back of Roier’s arm pressing into his stomach from where he has it thrown over Cellbit’s waist. Mike is practically plastered to his back. He refused to sleep in any other position—an intensity in his insistence that hid a deep-rooted fear. 

Pac thinks the weirdest part about this whole situation is Roier. He had barely even blinked when Cellbit had explained what he wanted—his hand still tightly clasping Pac’s from when he’d dragged him up the stairs. Pac can’t say he knows Roier well enough to know whether he’s prone to serious jealousy, but he had been more than understanding about the situation. 

Maybe it’s because they got married right after Felps was rescued, so Roier’s used to this from Cellbit. Maybe it’s because he’s a therapist. 

Whatever the reason, Pac’s grateful for it. It’s nice to be held.

Cellbit’s arms flex around him, as he stretches a little and shifts. His eyes flick open a little to catch Pac’s briefly, before closing again.

“You’re still awake.” Cellbit murmurs.

“Yeah.”

He’s not sure how. Mike’s been sleeping too much, and Pac hasn’t been sleeping at all. He thought maybe tonight would be the night that changed—his mind content with the fact that if he falls asleep, there’s other people here to look after Mike—but he remains awake.

"It's okay." Cellbit's hands rub soothing circles into him. "I can stay up if you want."

--

i have a few others all roughly this length but this is the only one i want to post right now pfft i don't have the time at the moment to fix them up

[wsdanon]

Hhm.. for the wip game, celltw snippet?

sorry anon for the late response i was trying to space my answers out a bit and then spontaneously wrote a fic in between oops

celltw snippets is basically just like… supposed to a bunch of different scenes ranging from post-fuga to qsmp era of their developing relationship and all that mess. i started and stopped writing it somewhere just after tazercraft got thrown in prison?

anyway take a snippet of one of the scenes:

It’s a little weird to be curled up in Cellbit’s bed at his castle. They haven’t really done this sort of thing in a while—especially not since Cellbit got married. The last time probably would’ve been… those couple of nights after they got Felps back. 

But him and Mike escaped from prison… a couple of days ago. Maybe. After the loss of Walter Bob, Mike refused to go outside, and Pac wasn’t going to just leave him, so he's not exactly sure how much time has passed. 

But earlier today was when they had revealed they had escaped to Cellbit. He seemed anxious to keep them in his sight, and now here they are. 

Cellbit’s arms are wrapped tightly around him, pulling him close. Close enough that he can feel the back of Roier’s arm pressing into his stomach from where he has it thrown over Cellbit’s waist. Mike is practically plastered to his back. He refused to sleep in any other position—an intensity in his insistence that hid a deep-rooted fear. 

Pac thinks the weirdest part about this whole situation is Roier. He had barely even blinked when Cellbit had explained what he wanted—his hand still tightly clasping Pac’s from when he’d dragged him up the stairs. Pac can’t say he knows Roier well enough to know whether he’s prone to serious jealousy, but he had been more than understanding about the situation. 

Maybe it’s because they got married right after Felps was rescued, so Roier’s used to this from Cellbit. Maybe it’s because he’s a therapist. 

Whatever the reason, Pac’s grateful for it. It’s nice to be held.

Cellbit’s arms flex around him, as he stretches a little and shifts. His eyes flick open a little to catch Pac’s briefly, before closing again.

“You’re still awake.” Cellbit murmurs.

“Yeah.”

He’s not sure how. Mike’s been sleeping too much, and Pac hasn’t been sleeping at all. He thought maybe tonight would be the night that changed—his mind content with the fact that if he falls asleep, there’s other people here to look after Mike—but he remains awake.

"It's okay." Cellbit's hands rub soothing circles into him. "I can stay up if you want."

--

i have a few others all roughly this length but this is the only one i want to post right now pfft i don't have the time at the moment to fix them up

[wsdanon]

i feel like this will be quite niche, mostly because i'm not sure how many ordem fans are in my sphere but also because it's not about the main cast lol

but below the cut is an osnf fic \o/! many spoilers for that season. it's based on a canon divergent au me and @factorialsotherfandoms came up with and this one in particular involves the helper and the gatekeeper!

also below the cut for anyone who hasn't seen ordem but is curious about the fic is a brief summary of some world-building elements that will help with understanding the fic \o/ but not the plot because that will take too long lol

reblogs appreciated \o/!! hope you guys enjoy

brief worldbuilding stuff: the helper and the gatekeeper are from a town called santo berço which was a seemingly perfect town apart from the fact that the people are brainwashed to some degree into wanting to stay there and there's a parasite (the saint/a god) feeding on some of them. everyone in the town uses their work titles as their names, and they have an alien-ish appearance (Luzidio) but can switch into a human appearance (Ignaro) at will. the crystals mentioned are healing crystals that have the ability to knock people out if ingested. i can't explain buttery butter. blame felps for this creation

--

The Helper stands in front of the mirror, his Ignaro form staring back. Technically he doesn’t need to be in it right now, but he’ll need to get used to it eventually, so… he’s practicing. 

The eyes are maybe the strangest bit about it. They feel smaller. The familiar blackness now shrunk down and encased by other colours—brown and white. 

He leans closer to the mirror and pokes at his cheek where his markings would be. Maybe if he looks close enough he’ll still be able to see the faint shadow of them—

“Why are you acting like it’s new?” The Gatekeeper says. “You’ve seen this form before.” 

The Helper jumps at the sudden appearance of his voice, and spins around to face him. He doesn’t like having people behind him anymore—an alien distrust crawling through his body at even the thought of it. 

“I know, I’m just… getting used to it. You know?” He shrugs, and tries to force himself to relax. “I never used to use it much before, but now it’s going to be pretty much constant, right?”

“That’s true.” 

Cautiously, the Gatekeeper drifts closer. They don’t have the crystals anymore, and he’s not holding a weapon so it should be fine. 

Really, he wishes his brain would stop thinking so hard about it. He’s one of the few people who actually managed to survive and that was because of the Gatekeeper. 

It’s just… 

It’s hard to put the memory out of his mind of the Gatekeeper approaching him with a knife and wrestling crystals into his mouth.

“It is strange.” The Gatekeeper admits with a small smile as he stops close in front of him. “I only ever saw you like this when we were messing around.”

“And you went on lots of Pilgrimages, right?” The Helper says, knocking their shoulders together gently with a smile that doesn’t quite feel real crossing his face. He doesn’t like it, but no attempts at widening the smile make it feel realer. “So you’re probably dealing fine, huh?” 

“Eh…” The Gatekeeper shrugs. “With this, yeah.” 

He’s in his Luzidio form now. It’s nice. A tiny bit of familiarity to cling onto. 

“What if we lose it?” The Gatekeeper continues, something nervous seeping into his tone. 

“What?” The Helper tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?” 

“This form.” He points to himself. “We only had this because of the Saint’s influence. What if we lose it now?” 

“Well, we—“ He cuts himself off as the full implications hit him, a hollow feeling settling into his chest. It’s uncomfortable. He never used to feel this way in Santo Berço, but now it’s almost all he can feel. “We—We get used to it, I guess.” 

The Gatekeeper reaches a hand up—slowly, but the Helper can’t help but flinch away a little. All he does, though, is settle it onto his cheek. Doesn’t try to pry his mouth open. Doesn’t try to force the anaesthesia down his throat. 

“You should, uh…” The Gatekeeper shifts his thumb to line up with where the Helper’s markings would be. Presses down firmly, but not enough to hurt. “You should get them tattooed.”

“Okay.” This smile feels a little more real. “Would you?”

“Ah, maybe.” He shrugs. “I’m still not… sure how I feel about, uh, all of it.” 

“I like them.” The Helper brings a finger up to trace down one before letting it drop to his side again. “I’d miss them.”

“O-Okay.” The Gatekeeper looks away, his cheeks darkening. “Maybe for you, then.”

The Helper frowns. He misses Santo Berço. Misses the simplicity of it. Everything out here just feels like a mess—the selfish desire to keep at least one thing the same, versus the guilt of forcing the Gatekeeper to do something he doesn’t particularly want to do. 

“Only if it’s for you, too.” He tries another smile. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like it’s about time you do things for yourself, hm?” 

The Gatekeeper is still cupping his cheek, so he can feel the moment his hands start shaking. He wonders if they shook when he spilled his blood to fake his death. 

“I…” His voice cracks. He drops his hand from the Helper’s face so he can wrap him in a tight hug instead. “I’m so glad you’re here. My god, I’m so glad you’re here, Helper, I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

The Helper hugs him back.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

For a while they stand there. The Gatekeeper isn’t quite crying, but he is trembling in the Helper’s arms—murmuring things that he can’t make out, but are probably apologies. 

When he pulls away he doesn’t go far. And he’s still trembling a little—his eyes shiny with unshed tears—but he seems more put together than he was a moment ago. 

“I’ll—I’ll figure out how to make buttery butter, okay?” The Gatekeeper promises. 

“Oh, how cool!” For the first time since they got here, a spark of excitement ignites in him. “We can all experiment together! I’m sure we’ll get it right eventually, you know?”

“Hopefully.” The Gatekeeper sends him a watery smile. “I just—I know how much you like it. You did always say it was the best part of Santo Berço.”

That was when he still had Santo Berço. When he didn’t have to miss it. But the sentiment is sweet, and he is clawing for any scrap of familiarity. 

For the Collector and the Nurse it isn’t so bad, he thinks. As much as they might miss it, they know what it’s like to live without it. All they’ll need is a readjustment period. 

The Gatekeeper is in his boat, but it’s different. He’s always hated Santo Berço—apparently. And he’s probably been on enough Pilgrimages to understand how the world outside is. 

“Thank you.” It’s worth being optimistic, though. “I think between the four of us we’ll get close!”

“We will.” The Gatekeeper declares—an intensity to him that the situation doesn’t really require. “I promise.”

They should maybe talk about that. The devotion he feels for them. 

The Helper knows the Nurse doesn’t like it. He’s aware of her wariness every time the Gatekeeper is around. But they all saw the fates of the people still connected to the Saint, and the Helper finds it difficult to hate his friend for his original plan. 

He doesn’t want to open up the discussion and find out she has a reason to still be worried, though. It’s a strange enough thing to know your friend would kill you to prevent your suffering. To not be able to shake the fear that came with the certainty you were about to die by his hands. 

He doesn’t want it to be made worse. He’s lost too much to lose the Gatekeeper now.

“Come on.” The Helper says, nudging the Gatekeeper into action. “The Nurse said you should be resting, and you know she knows what she’s talking about.” 

“If you could say that with less infatuation in your voice I’d be more inclined to believe you, you know?” The Gatekeeper says teasingly. “But you’re right—she’s right—I am tired. Maybe you could carry me?”

The Gatekeeper had collapsed when the Saint was killed. Dropped like a stone before any of them could catch him. It wasn’t as worrying as bursting into flames, but it was still terrifying. 

The Helper had carried him to safety. Held on tightly to him—almost afraid he’d disappear in front of him, just like his dad had. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

And then he scoops him up. 

It’s as easy to carry him as last time, but this time feels nicer. Less terrifying. Instead of being limp and unconscious in his arms, the Gatekeeper clings back to him immediately—his eyes widening in shock.

The Helper laughs. The Gatekeeper clearly wasn’t expecting the request to be taken seriously, but he doesn’t complain or ask to be put down and it’s—it’s nice. 

It’s a short walk to the spare room, but the Gatekeeper is already dozing off. He lays him down in bed gently, but the Gatekeeper grabs his arm before he can leave. 

“Wait, can you—can you stay?” He asks, his voice shaky with something the Helper would label as fear. “Please? Just until I fall asleep.”

“Okay.” 

He was going to wait up until the Nurse got back from her shift, but that won’t be for a few more hours. 

So, he gets into bed, but doesn’t lay down—unwilling to tempt sleep. Just sits there and lets the Gatekeeper curl up against him. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but he doesn’t mind. The closeness is nice, actually. 

“Goodnight.” He cards a hand through the Gatekeeper’s hair. Like this, it’s hard to imagine he could be capable of murder. “Sleep well.” 

“Thank you. Goodnight.” 

The Gatekeeper falls asleep quickly, but the Helper doesn’t leave yet. It’s peaceful. And it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the Gatekeeper’s health. 

The Nurse had said he’ll probably need more time to recover than them, but she had also asked the Helper to tell her if he seemed to be getting worse. 

He was his dad’s assistant before the Blacksmith’s, after all. And while he definitely doesn’t have the knack for it that the Nurse does, he thinks he could at least figure out if she needs to reassess his condition. 

But the Gatekeeper seems fine for now, and he has a couple of hours to kill. So, he grabs the book on the bedside table that the Gatekeeper’s been reading through and starts reading it himself.

--

hope you guys enjoyed \o/!! i'm happy to talk more about the au's details if anyone's curious

[wsdanon]

i feel like this will be quite niche, mostly because i'm not sure how many ordem fans are in my sphere but also because it's not about the main cast lol

but below the cut is an osnf fic \o/! many spoilers for that season. it's based on a canon divergent au me and @factorialsotherfandoms came up with and this one in particular involves the helper and the gatekeeper!

also below the cut for anyone who hasn't seen ordem but is curious about the fic is a brief summary of some world-building elements that will help with understanding the fic \o/ but not the plot because that will take too long lol

reblogs appreciated \o/!! hope you guys enjoy

brief worldbuilding stuff: the helper and the gatekeeper are from a town called santo berço which was a seemingly perfect town apart from the fact that the people are brainwashed to some degree into wanting to stay there and there's a parasite (the saint/a god) feeding on some of them. everyone in the town uses their work titles as their names, and they have an alien-ish appearance (Luzidio) but can switch into a human appearance (Ignaro) at will. the crystals mentioned are healing crystals that have the ability to knock people out if ingested. i can't explain buttery butter. blame felps for this creation

--

The Helper stands in front of the mirror, his Ignaro form staring back. Technically he doesn’t need to be in it right now, but he’ll need to get used to it eventually, so… he’s practicing. 

The eyes are maybe the strangest bit about it. They feel smaller. The familiar blackness now shrunk down and encased by other colours—brown and white. 

He leans closer to the mirror and pokes at his cheek where his markings would be. Maybe if he looks close enough he’ll still be able to see the faint shadow of them—

“Why are you acting like it’s new?” The Gatekeeper says. “You’ve seen this form before.” 

The Helper jumps at the sudden appearance of his voice, and spins around to face him. He doesn’t like having people behind him anymore—an alien distrust crawling through his body at even the thought of it. 

“I know, I’m just… getting used to it. You know?” He shrugs, and tries to force himself to relax. “I never used to use it much before, but now it’s going to be pretty much constant, right?”

“That’s true.” 

Cautiously, the Gatekeeper drifts closer. They don’t have the crystals anymore, and he’s not holding a weapon so it should be fine. 

Really, he wishes his brain would stop thinking so hard about it. He’s one of the few people who actually managed to survive and that was because of the Gatekeeper. 

It’s just… 

It’s hard to put the memory out of his mind of the Gatekeeper approaching him with a knife and wrestling crystals into his mouth.

“It is strange.” The Gatekeeper admits with a small smile as he stops close in front of him. “I only ever saw you like this when we were messing around.”

“And you went on lots of Pilgrimages, right?” The Helper says, knocking their shoulders together gently with a smile that doesn’t quite feel real crossing his face. He doesn’t like it, but no attempts at widening the smile make it feel realer. “So you’re probably dealing fine, huh?” 

“Eh…” The Gatekeeper shrugs. “With this, yeah.” 

He’s in his Luzidio form now. It’s nice. A tiny bit of familiarity to cling onto. 

“What if we lose it?” The Gatekeeper continues, something nervous seeping into his tone. 

“What?” The Helper tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?” 

“This form.” He points to himself. “We only had this because of the Saint’s influence. What if we lose it now?” 

“Well, we—“ He cuts himself off as the full implications hit him, a hollow feeling settling into his chest. It’s uncomfortable. He never used to feel this way in Santo Berço, but now it’s almost all he can feel. “We—We get used to it, I guess.” 

The Gatekeeper reaches a hand up—slowly, but the Helper can’t help but flinch away a little. All he does, though, is settle it onto his cheek. Doesn’t try to pry his mouth open. Doesn’t try to force the anaesthesia down his throat. 

“You should, uh…” The Gatekeeper shifts his thumb to line up with where the Helper’s markings would be. Presses down firmly, but not enough to hurt. “You should get them tattooed.”

“Okay.” This smile feels a little more real. “Would you?”

“Ah, maybe.” He shrugs. “I’m still not… sure how I feel about, uh, all of it.” 

“I like them.” The Helper brings a finger up to trace down one before letting it drop to his side again. “I’d miss them.”

“O-Okay.” The Gatekeeper looks away, his cheeks darkening. “Maybe for you, then.”

The Helper frowns. He misses Santo Berço. Misses the simplicity of it. Everything out here just feels like a mess—the selfish desire to keep at least one thing the same, versus the guilt of forcing the Gatekeeper to do something he doesn’t particularly want to do. 

“Only if it’s for you, too.” He tries another smile. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like it’s about time you do things for yourself, hm?” 

The Gatekeeper is still cupping his cheek, so he can feel the moment his hands start shaking. He wonders if they shook when he spilled his blood to fake his death. 

“I…” His voice cracks. He drops his hand from the Helper’s face so he can wrap him in a tight hug instead. “I’m so glad you’re here. My god, I’m so glad you’re here, Helper, I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

The Helper hugs him back.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

For a while they stand there. The Gatekeeper isn’t quite crying, but he is trembling in the Helper’s arms—murmuring things that he can’t make out, but are probably apologies. 

When he pulls away he doesn’t go far. And he’s still trembling a little—his eyes shiny with unshed tears—but he seems more put together than he was a moment ago. 

“I’ll—I’ll figure out how to make buttery butter, okay?” The Gatekeeper promises. 

“Oh, how cool!” For the first time since they got here, a spark of excitement ignites in him. “We can all experiment together! I’m sure we’ll get it right eventually, you know?”

“Hopefully.” The Gatekeeper sends him a watery smile. “I just—I know how much you like it. You did always say it was the best part of Santo Berço.”

That was when he still had Santo Berço. When he didn’t have to miss it. But the sentiment is sweet, and he is clawing for any scrap of familiarity. 

For the Collector and the Nurse it isn’t so bad, he thinks. As much as they might miss it, they know what it’s like to live without it. All they’ll need is a readjustment period. 

The Gatekeeper is in his boat, but it’s different. He’s always hated Santo Berço—apparently. And he’s probably been on enough Pilgrimages to understand how the world outside is. 

“Thank you.” It’s worth being optimistic, though. “I think between the four of us we’ll get close!”

“We will.” The Gatekeeper declares—an intensity to him that the situation doesn’t really require. “I promise.”

They should maybe talk about that. The devotion he feels for them. 

The Helper knows the Nurse doesn’t like it. He’s aware of her wariness every time the Gatekeeper is around. But they all saw the fates of the people still connected to the Saint, and the Helper finds it difficult to hate his friend for his original plan. 

He doesn’t want to open up the discussion and find out she has a reason to still be worried, though. It’s a strange enough thing to know your friend would kill you to prevent your suffering. To not be able to shake the fear that came with the certainty you were about to die by his hands. 

He doesn’t want it to be made worse. He’s lost too much to lose the Gatekeeper now.

“Come on.” The Helper says, nudging the Gatekeeper into action. “The Nurse said you should be resting, and you know she knows what she’s talking about.” 

“If you could say that with less infatuation in your voice I’d be more inclined to believe you, you know?” The Gatekeeper says teasingly. “But you’re right—she’s right—I am tired. Maybe you could carry me?”

The Gatekeeper had collapsed when the Saint was killed. Dropped like a stone before any of them could catch him. It wasn’t as worrying as bursting into flames, but it was still terrifying. 

The Helper had carried him to safety. Held on tightly to him—almost afraid he’d disappear in front of him, just like his dad had. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

And then he scoops him up. 

It’s as easy to carry him as last time, but this time feels nicer. Less terrifying. Instead of being limp and unconscious in his arms, the Gatekeeper clings back to him immediately—his eyes widening in shock.

The Helper laughs. The Gatekeeper clearly wasn’t expecting the request to be taken seriously, but he doesn’t complain or ask to be put down and it’s—it’s nice. 

It’s a short walk to the spare room, but the Gatekeeper is already dozing off. He lays him down in bed gently, but the Gatekeeper grabs his arm before he can leave. 

“Wait, can you—can you stay?” He asks, his voice shaky with something the Helper would label as fear. “Please? Just until I fall asleep.”

“Okay.” 

He was going to wait up until the Nurse got back from her shift, but that won’t be for a few more hours. 

So, he gets into bed, but doesn’t lay down—unwilling to tempt sleep. Just sits there and lets the Gatekeeper curl up against him. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but he doesn’t mind. The closeness is nice, actually. 

“Goodnight.” He cards a hand through the Gatekeeper’s hair. Like this, it’s hard to imagine he could be capable of murder. “Sleep well.” 

“Thank you. Goodnight.” 

The Gatekeeper falls asleep quickly, but the Helper doesn’t leave yet. It’s peaceful. And it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the Gatekeeper’s health. 

The Nurse had said he’ll probably need more time to recover than them, but she had also asked the Helper to tell her if he seemed to be getting worse. 

He was his dad’s assistant before the Blacksmith’s, after all. And while he definitely doesn’t have the knack for it that the Nurse does, he thinks he could at least figure out if she needs to reassess his condition. 

But the Gatekeeper seems fine for now, and he has a couple of hours to kill. So, he grabs the book on the bedside table that the Gatekeeper’s been reading through and starts reading it himself.

--

hope you guys enjoyed \o/!! i'm happy to talk more about the au's details if anyone's curious

[wsdanon]

i feel like this will be quite niche, mostly because i'm not sure how many ordem fans are in my sphere but also because it's not about the main cast lol

but below the cut is an osnf fic \o/! many spoilers for that season. it's based on a canon divergent au me and @factorialsotherfandoms came up with and this one in particular involves the helper and the gatekeeper!

also below the cut for anyone who hasn't seen ordem but is curious about the fic is a brief summary of some world-building elements that will help with understanding the fic \o/ but not the plot because that will take too long lol

reblogs appreciated \o/!! hope you guys enjoy

brief worldbuilding stuff: the helper and the gatekeeper are from a town called santo berço which was a seemingly perfect town apart from the fact that the people are brainwashed to some degree into wanting to stay there and there's a parasite (the saint/a god) feeding on some of them. everyone in the town uses their work titles as their names, and they have an alien-ish appearance (Luzidio) but can switch into a human appearance (Ignaro) at will. the crystals mentioned are healing crystals that have the ability to knock people out if ingested. i can't explain buttery butter. blame felps for this creation

--

The Helper stands in front of the mirror, his Ignaro form staring back. Technically he doesn’t need to be in it right now, but he’ll need to get used to it eventually, so… he’s practicing. 

The eyes are maybe the strangest bit about it. They feel smaller. The familiar blackness now shrunk down and encased by other colours—brown and white. 

He leans closer to the mirror and pokes at his cheek where his markings would be. Maybe if he looks close enough he’ll still be able to see the faint shadow of them—

“Why are you acting like it’s new?” The Gatekeeper says. “You’ve seen this form before.” 

The Helper jumps at the sudden appearance of his voice, and spins around to face him. He doesn’t like having people behind him anymore—an alien distrust crawling through his body at even the thought of it. 

“I know, I’m just… getting used to it. You know?” He shrugs, and tries to force himself to relax. “I never used to use it much before, but now it’s going to be pretty much constant, right?”

“That’s true.” 

Cautiously, the Gatekeeper drifts closer. They don’t have the crystals anymore, and he’s not holding a weapon so it should be fine. 

Really, he wishes his brain would stop thinking so hard about it. He’s one of the few people who actually managed to survive and that was because of the Gatekeeper. 

It’s just… 

It’s hard to put the memory out of his mind of the Gatekeeper approaching him with a knife and wrestling crystals into his mouth.

“It is strange.” The Gatekeeper admits with a small smile as he stops close in front of him. “I only ever saw you like this when we were messing around.”

“And you went on lots of Pilgrimages, right?” The Helper says, knocking their shoulders together gently with a smile that doesn’t quite feel real crossing his face. He doesn’t like it, but no attempts at widening the smile make it feel realer. “So you’re probably dealing fine, huh?” 

“Eh…” The Gatekeeper shrugs. “With this, yeah.” 

He’s in his Luzidio form now. It’s nice. A tiny bit of familiarity to cling onto. 

“What if we lose it?” The Gatekeeper continues, something nervous seeping into his tone. 

“What?” The Helper tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?” 

“This form.” He points to himself. “We only had this because of the Saint’s influence. What if we lose it now?” 

“Well, we—“ He cuts himself off as the full implications hit him, a hollow feeling settling into his chest. It’s uncomfortable. He never used to feel this way in Santo Berço, but now it’s almost all he can feel. “We—We get used to it, I guess.” 

The Gatekeeper reaches a hand up—slowly, but the Helper can’t help but flinch away a little. All he does, though, is settle it onto his cheek. Doesn’t try to pry his mouth open. Doesn’t try to force the anaesthesia down his throat. 

“You should, uh…” The Gatekeeper shifts his thumb to line up with where the Helper’s markings would be. Presses down firmly, but not enough to hurt. “You should get them tattooed.”

“Okay.” This smile feels a little more real. “Would you?”

“Ah, maybe.” He shrugs. “I’m still not… sure how I feel about, uh, all of it.” 

“I like them.” The Helper brings a finger up to trace down one before letting it drop to his side again. “I’d miss them.”

“O-Okay.” The Gatekeeper looks away, his cheeks darkening. “Maybe for you, then.”

The Helper frowns. He misses Santo Berço. Misses the simplicity of it. Everything out here just feels like a mess—the selfish desire to keep at least one thing the same, versus the guilt of forcing the Gatekeeper to do something he doesn’t particularly want to do. 

“Only if it’s for you, too.” He tries another smile. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like it’s about time you do things for yourself, hm?” 

The Gatekeeper is still cupping his cheek, so he can feel the moment his hands start shaking. He wonders if they shook when he spilled his blood to fake his death. 

“I…” His voice cracks. He drops his hand from the Helper’s face so he can wrap him in a tight hug instead. “I’m so glad you’re here. My god, I’m so glad you’re here, Helper, I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

The Helper hugs him back.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

For a while they stand there. The Gatekeeper isn’t quite crying, but he is trembling in the Helper’s arms—murmuring things that he can’t make out, but are probably apologies. 

When he pulls away he doesn’t go far. And he’s still trembling a little—his eyes shiny with unshed tears—but he seems more put together than he was a moment ago. 

“I’ll—I’ll figure out how to make buttery butter, okay?” The Gatekeeper promises. 

“Oh, how cool!” For the first time since they got here, a spark of excitement ignites in him. “We can all experiment together! I’m sure we’ll get it right eventually, you know?”

“Hopefully.” The Gatekeeper sends him a watery smile. “I just—I know how much you like it. You did always say it was the best part of Santo Berço.”

That was when he still had Santo Berço. When he didn’t have to miss it. But the sentiment is sweet, and he is clawing for any scrap of familiarity. 

For the Collector and the Nurse it isn’t so bad, he thinks. As much as they might miss it, they know what it’s like to live without it. All they’ll need is a readjustment period. 

The Gatekeeper is in his boat, but it’s different. He’s always hated Santo Berço—apparently. And he’s probably been on enough Pilgrimages to understand how the world outside is. 

“Thank you.” It’s worth being optimistic, though. “I think between the four of us we’ll get close!”

“We will.” The Gatekeeper declares—an intensity to him that the situation doesn’t really require. “I promise.”

They should maybe talk about that. The devotion he feels for them. 

The Helper knows the Nurse doesn’t like it. He’s aware of her wariness every time the Gatekeeper is around. But they all saw the fates of the people still connected to the Saint, and the Helper finds it difficult to hate his friend for his original plan. 

He doesn’t want to open up the discussion and find out she has a reason to still be worried, though. It’s a strange enough thing to know your friend would kill you to prevent your suffering. To not be able to shake the fear that came with the certainty you were about to die by his hands. 

He doesn’t want it to be made worse. He’s lost too much to lose the Gatekeeper now.

“Come on.” The Helper says, nudging the Gatekeeper into action. “The Nurse said you should be resting, and you know she knows what she’s talking about.” 

“If you could say that with less infatuation in your voice I’d be more inclined to believe you, you know?” The Gatekeeper says teasingly. “But you’re right—she’s right—I am tired. Maybe you could carry me?”

The Gatekeeper had collapsed when the Saint was killed. Dropped like a stone before any of them could catch him. It wasn’t as worrying as bursting into flames, but it was still terrifying. 

The Helper had carried him to safety. Held on tightly to him—almost afraid he’d disappear in front of him, just like his dad had. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

And then he scoops him up. 

It’s as easy to carry him as last time, but this time feels nicer. Less terrifying. Instead of being limp and unconscious in his arms, the Gatekeeper clings back to him immediately—his eyes widening in shock.

The Helper laughs. The Gatekeeper clearly wasn’t expecting the request to be taken seriously, but he doesn’t complain or ask to be put down and it’s—it’s nice. 

It’s a short walk to the spare room, but the Gatekeeper is already dozing off. He lays him down in bed gently, but the Gatekeeper grabs his arm before he can leave. 

“Wait, can you—can you stay?” He asks, his voice shaky with something the Helper would label as fear. “Please? Just until I fall asleep.”

“Okay.” 

He was going to wait up until the Nurse got back from her shift, but that won’t be for a few more hours. 

So, he gets into bed, but doesn’t lay down—unwilling to tempt sleep. Just sits there and lets the Gatekeeper curl up against him. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but he doesn’t mind. The closeness is nice, actually. 

“Goodnight.” He cards a hand through the Gatekeeper’s hair. Like this, it’s hard to imagine he could be capable of murder. “Sleep well.” 

“Thank you. Goodnight.” 

The Gatekeeper falls asleep quickly, but the Helper doesn’t leave yet. It’s peaceful. And it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the Gatekeeper’s health. 

The Nurse had said he’ll probably need more time to recover than them, but she had also asked the Helper to tell her if he seemed to be getting worse. 

He was his dad’s assistant before the Blacksmith’s, after all. And while he definitely doesn’t have the knack for it that the Nurse does, he thinks he could at least figure out if she needs to reassess his condition. 

But the Gatekeeper seems fine for now, and he has a couple of hours to kill. So, he grabs the book on the bedside table that the Gatekeeper’s been reading through and starts reading it himself.

--

hope you guys enjoyed \o/!! i'm happy to talk more about the au's details if anyone's curious

[wsdanon]

thinking about your dunmeshi beastman cellbit again im so obsessed with him

tried to mimic ryoko kui art style lmao

[wsdanon]

i feel like this will be quite niche, mostly because i'm not sure how many ordem fans are in my sphere but also because it's not about the main cast lol

but below the cut is an osnf fic \o/! many spoilers for that season. it's based on a canon divergent au me and @factorialsotherfandoms came up with and this one in particular involves the helper and the gatekeeper!

also below the cut for anyone who hasn't seen ordem but is curious about the fic is a brief summary of some world-building elements that will help with understanding the fic \o/ but not the plot because that will take too long lol

reblogs appreciated \o/!! hope you guys enjoy

brief worldbuilding stuff: the helper and the gatekeeper are from a town called santo berço which was a seemingly perfect town apart from the fact that the people are brainwashed to some degree into wanting to stay there and there's a parasite (the saint/a god) feeding on some of them. everyone in the town uses their work titles as their names, and they have an alien-ish appearance (Luzidio) but can switch into a human appearance (Ignaro) at will. the crystals mentioned are healing crystals that have the ability to knock people out if ingested. i can't explain buttery butter. blame felps for this creation

--

The Helper stands in front of the mirror, his Ignaro form staring back. Technically he doesn’t need to be in it right now, but he’ll need to get used to it eventually, so… he’s practicing. 

The eyes are maybe the strangest bit about it. They feel smaller. The familiar blackness now shrunk down and encased by other colours—brown and white. 

He leans closer to the mirror and pokes at his cheek where his markings would be. Maybe if he looks close enough he’ll still be able to see the faint shadow of them—

“Why are you acting like it’s new?” The Gatekeeper says. “You’ve seen this form before.” 

The Helper jumps at the sudden appearance of his voice, and spins around to face him. He doesn’t like having people behind him anymore—an alien distrust crawling through his body at even the thought of it. 

“I know, I’m just… getting used to it. You know?” He shrugs, and tries to force himself to relax. “I never used to use it much before, but now it’s going to be pretty much constant, right?”

“That’s true.” 

Cautiously, the Gatekeeper drifts closer. They don’t have the crystals anymore, and he’s not holding a weapon so it should be fine. 

Really, he wishes his brain would stop thinking so hard about it. He’s one of the few people who actually managed to survive and that was because of the Gatekeeper. 

It’s just… 

It’s hard to put the memory out of his mind of the Gatekeeper approaching him with a knife and wrestling crystals into his mouth.

“It is strange.” The Gatekeeper admits with a small smile as he stops close in front of him. “I only ever saw you like this when we were messing around.”

“And you went on lots of Pilgrimages, right?” The Helper says, knocking their shoulders together gently with a smile that doesn’t quite feel real crossing his face. He doesn’t like it, but no attempts at widening the smile make it feel realer. “So you’re probably dealing fine, huh?” 

“Eh…” The Gatekeeper shrugs. “With this, yeah.” 

He’s in his Luzidio form now. It’s nice. A tiny bit of familiarity to cling onto. 

“What if we lose it?” The Gatekeeper continues, something nervous seeping into his tone. 

“What?” The Helper tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?” 

“This form.” He points to himself. “We only had this because of the Saint’s influence. What if we lose it now?” 

“Well, we—“ He cuts himself off as the full implications hit him, a hollow feeling settling into his chest. It’s uncomfortable. He never used to feel this way in Santo Berço, but now it’s almost all he can feel. “We—We get used to it, I guess.” 

The Gatekeeper reaches a hand up—slowly, but the Helper can’t help but flinch away a little. All he does, though, is settle it onto his cheek. Doesn’t try to pry his mouth open. Doesn’t try to force the anaesthesia down his throat. 

“You should, uh…” The Gatekeeper shifts his thumb to line up with where the Helper’s markings would be. Presses down firmly, but not enough to hurt. “You should get them tattooed.”

“Okay.” This smile feels a little more real. “Would you?”

“Ah, maybe.” He shrugs. “I’m still not… sure how I feel about, uh, all of it.” 

“I like them.” The Helper brings a finger up to trace down one before letting it drop to his side again. “I’d miss them.”

“O-Okay.” The Gatekeeper looks away, his cheeks darkening. “Maybe for you, then.”

The Helper frowns. He misses Santo Berço. Misses the simplicity of it. Everything out here just feels like a mess—the selfish desire to keep at least one thing the same, versus the guilt of forcing the Gatekeeper to do something he doesn’t particularly want to do. 

“Only if it’s for you, too.” He tries another smile. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like it’s about time you do things for yourself, hm?” 

The Gatekeeper is still cupping his cheek, so he can feel the moment his hands start shaking. He wonders if they shook when he spilled his blood to fake his death. 

“I…” His voice cracks. He drops his hand from the Helper’s face so he can wrap him in a tight hug instead. “I’m so glad you’re here. My god, I’m so glad you’re here, Helper, I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

The Helper hugs him back.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

For a while they stand there. The Gatekeeper isn’t quite crying, but he is trembling in the Helper’s arms—murmuring things that he can’t make out, but are probably apologies. 

When he pulls away he doesn’t go far. And he’s still trembling a little—his eyes shiny with unshed tears—but he seems more put together than he was a moment ago. 

“I’ll—I’ll figure out how to make buttery butter, okay?” The Gatekeeper promises. 

“Oh, how cool!” For the first time since they got here, a spark of excitement ignites in him. “We can all experiment together! I’m sure we’ll get it right eventually, you know?”

“Hopefully.” The Gatekeeper sends him a watery smile. “I just—I know how much you like it. You did always say it was the best part of Santo Berço.”

That was when he still had Santo Berço. When he didn’t have to miss it. But the sentiment is sweet, and he is clawing for any scrap of familiarity. 

For the Collector and the Nurse it isn’t so bad, he thinks. As much as they might miss it, they know what it’s like to live without it. All they’ll need is a readjustment period. 

The Gatekeeper is in his boat, but it’s different. He’s always hated Santo Berço—apparently. And he’s probably been on enough Pilgrimages to understand how the world outside is. 

“Thank you.” It’s worth being optimistic, though. “I think between the four of us we’ll get close!”

“We will.” The Gatekeeper declares—an intensity to him that the situation doesn’t really require. “I promise.”

They should maybe talk about that. The devotion he feels for them. 

The Helper knows the Nurse doesn’t like it. He’s aware of her wariness every time the Gatekeeper is around. But they all saw the fates of the people still connected to the Saint, and the Helper finds it difficult to hate his friend for his original plan. 

He doesn’t want to open up the discussion and find out she has a reason to still be worried, though. It’s a strange enough thing to know your friend would kill you to prevent your suffering. To not be able to shake the fear that came with the certainty you were about to die by his hands. 

He doesn’t want it to be made worse. He’s lost too much to lose the Gatekeeper now.

“Come on.” The Helper says, nudging the Gatekeeper into action. “The Nurse said you should be resting, and you know she knows what she’s talking about.” 

“If you could say that with less infatuation in your voice I’d be more inclined to believe you, you know?” The Gatekeeper says teasingly. “But you’re right—she’s right—I am tired. Maybe you could carry me?”

The Gatekeeper had collapsed when the Saint was killed. Dropped like a stone before any of them could catch him. It wasn’t as worrying as bursting into flames, but it was still terrifying. 

The Helper had carried him to safety. Held on tightly to him—almost afraid he’d disappear in front of him, just like his dad had. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

And then he scoops him up. 

It’s as easy to carry him as last time, but this time feels nicer. Less terrifying. Instead of being limp and unconscious in his arms, the Gatekeeper clings back to him immediately—his eyes widening in shock.

The Helper laughs. The Gatekeeper clearly wasn’t expecting the request to be taken seriously, but he doesn’t complain or ask to be put down and it’s—it’s nice. 

It’s a short walk to the spare room, but the Gatekeeper is already dozing off. He lays him down in bed gently, but the Gatekeeper grabs his arm before he can leave. 

“Wait, can you—can you stay?” He asks, his voice shaky with something the Helper would label as fear. “Please? Just until I fall asleep.”

“Okay.” 

He was going to wait up until the Nurse got back from her shift, but that won’t be for a few more hours. 

So, he gets into bed, but doesn’t lay down—unwilling to tempt sleep. Just sits there and lets the Gatekeeper curl up against him. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but he doesn’t mind. The closeness is nice, actually. 

“Goodnight.” He cards a hand through the Gatekeeper’s hair. Like this, it’s hard to imagine he could be capable of murder. “Sleep well.” 

“Thank you. Goodnight.” 

The Gatekeeper falls asleep quickly, but the Helper doesn’t leave yet. It’s peaceful. And it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the Gatekeeper’s health. 

The Nurse had said he’ll probably need more time to recover than them, but she had also asked the Helper to tell her if he seemed to be getting worse. 

He was his dad’s assistant before the Blacksmith’s, after all. And while he definitely doesn’t have the knack for it that the Nurse does, he thinks he could at least figure out if she needs to reassess his condition. 

But the Gatekeeper seems fine for now, and he has a couple of hours to kill. So, he grabs the book on the bedside table that the Gatekeeper’s been reading through and starts reading it himself.

--

hope you guys enjoyed \o/!! i'm happy to talk more about the au's details if anyone's curious

[wsdanon]

I’m writing something incredibly niche right now… people who have seen ordem paranormal osnf if you were interested in the relationship between two specific NPCs this fic is for you \o/ it is mostly for me though. and factorial who helped me with the planning \o/!!

[wsdanon]

ooh a hotel california AU? eyes emoji

echo i'm so sorry i forgot i put this in drafts to finish it. but:

Hotel California au--a little self explanatory in the sense that it's based on the song and I'm making the "trapped on an island" "trapped in a hotel" parallel. The bits that are a bit different is that pretty much everyone except the brazilians were already trapped at the hotel, except they all showed up in smaller batches rather than the canon groupings

this is sort of a regret arc au \o/ except like… what if cellbit was going through his regret arc narrative and then got trapped in a hotel lol. basically that. Eventually the other brazilians (minus felps since he was kidnapped prior to this) would show up, too. They were chasing after cellbit and managed to find where he disappeared

other notes: cucurucho and the federation own the hotel but cellbit isn't aware of that. the egg tasks and the mechanics are a thing! except they expand outside of just things to do with the eggs and are what the federation uses to keep the people in the hotel in line. the reason for this is because i wanted to mimic the song's lyrics which meant someone (melissa/roier) would be at the hotel entrance to sign cellbit into the hotel and essentially trap him there. if roier didn't do this, bobby would be in danger

[wsdanon]

among us au please?

hi \o/ firstly i'm going to direct you here for some backstory/information about the au

next: here is a bit of the first chapter \o/! it's 2500 words basically so reblogs are appreciated but it does cut off before a proper chapter resolution

Really, there are better things Felps could be doing with his life. But technically he’s obligated to do this, and he hasn’t found anything else to do, so, here he is. Handing over the fake ID Cellbit made for him. 

The security guard barely even scrutinises it before passing it back, and nodding him through. It’s always a gamble, though. So, he keeps walking until he’s far enough out of view that the other guards won’t really pay attention to him, and lingers until Cellbit catches up. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters. “I don’t even think he read our names.”

“Well, easier is better, right?” 

“So careless. It’s like they’re asking us to kill them.”

“He’s not in the line of fire.” Felps says with a shrug. “Even with all the security crackdowns, no ports have been attacked yet.”

“We should change that.” Cellbit says, far too determined for Felps’ liking.

“I dunno… you know the plan. Cucurucho won’t like it if we deviate from it.”

“Fuck him.” Cellbit hisses. “Any day now I’m going to get you your freedom, and then we can kill whoever the fuck we like.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Felps says it calmly, but he won’t deny that the slight rise in Cellbit’s volume sent a spike of fear through him. Cellbit doesn’t seem to care as much—confident that he’ll be able to break them out of whatever prison—but Felps would rather not chance it. That’s the whole reason they’re doing this, after all. He’s caught between a prison sentence from the Federation, and a prison sentence from the human government.

Ultimately, Cellbit would prefer the latter, Felps is sure. If the Federation finds out he’s travelling with Felps, they’ll probably just kill him. 

Thankfully, though, Cellbit changes the topic to something less incriminating, and Felps spends the rest of the walk through the station feeling calmer. Until they hit the body scanners. 

The ID check is always easy. Even when heavily scrutinised, Cellbit is good enough at making them that they always end up passing through with no problems. 

The body scanner is a different subject. 

It’s finicky. Relies entirely on Cellbit’s ability to successfully use sleight of hand to put in the USB with the code that’ll make Felps look human, and then take it out again. Without any guards noticing. 

One of the reasons they hit this port specifically, though, was that they haven’t been involved in any incidents. No caught aliens, and no departing ships that never arrive to their destinations. The crackdown has been intense, but people are lazy. A persistent, unconscious thought of, but it’d never happen to me. 

This station is fairly busy, too. A lot to keep an eye on, no reminder to keep an eye on it—it’s the best shot they have.

Cellbit steps on first. The holographic grid climbs up his body, and then back down. He’s waved along. He stops, and leans close to the guard—his elbow resting on the desk, hand lingering past their view. Easily, he slips the USB into the computer.

“I’m just gonna wait for my friend, is that okay?” 

Felps can’t hear him over the crowd, but they’ve gone over the plans a million times. 

The security guard nods, looking bored. Felps steps onto the platform. The scanner sweeps over him, static and nerves following it. But it’s easy enough to keep his cool while his heart is beating in his throat. He’s always been good at that, even without the amount of practice he’s been put through recently. 

He steps off the platform. Doesn’t even get the chance to worry as the computer quickly confirms him as human. The guard waves him through. Cellbit pushes himself away from the desk—USB safely retrieved, and quickly hidden back in his sleeve. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters again. 

“Easy is good.” Felps reminds him again.

When they first started doing this, Cellbit used to revel in all the gaps of transport security, and how easy it was to exploit them. Felps thinks, maybe, Cellbit misses the challenge a little. He doesn’t know a lot about what put Cellbit on that prisoner transport ship, but with the gleeful look in his eyes when he murders, he can take a guess. 

“Do you remember where our ship is?” Felps asks, before Cellbit goes on another rant about lax security.

“Of course I do.” 

Cellbit takes his arm, and pulls him off in a direction. Felps lets himself be led. 

It’s a smaller ship, as usual. Which means it’ll stay in port until they arrive. Felps is tempted to take a detour to eat a proper meal before they leave, but he knows they need to stake out the situation. 

The information on this ship is frighteningly scarce. Usually Cellbit can have a whole crew list pulled up, as well as general spaceship schematics. This one has nothing, though. All they managed to find was a list of potential departure stations so they could sway the choice their way. 

It’s not the kind of mission Felps is happy to take. Cellbit’s eyes had practically lit up the second he realised it wasn’t going to be easy, and had spent roughly the next forty eight hours trying to dig up any scraps of information he could. 

Felps hid all his coffee sometime around hour number thirty nine; when he was too focused on the investigation to remember how much he had in stock, and figured he had just run out. Or, that’s what Felps assumes, considering Cellbit never bothered him about the missing coffee. Either way, he eventually passed out at his desk.

The point is, even though they should be through the difficult part, Felps still feels his unease grow. 

Cellbit stops abruptly, Felps bumping into him. 

“There.” He points over to airlock number six. “That one.”

Felps cranes to try and look at the ship through the window. It doesn’t look like a model he’s familiar with, but he’s a little too far away to tell.

“Let’s go introduce ourselves then.”

They walk over, dodging through the crowd. There’s no one waiting outside the airlock yet, but Felps catches a glimpse of someone with bright pink hair carrying cargo onto the ship. 

He makes a beeline towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cellbit heading to the window facing the ship. Felps knocks quickly on the edge of the airlock to announce his presence. 

“Yeah, hold on.” 

The voice is familiar, but Felps can’t place it. Probably just the accent. 

They place down the boxes hastily, turn around—and practically jump five feet into the air.

“What the fuck?” Mike exclaims, eyes wide. “Felps? You’re alive?”

Ah. That’s why it’s familiar. 

“Oh. Yeah!” Okay, this complicates things. “Hi, Mike!”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m the pilot.” 

“You’re—? Ugh.” Mike swipes a hand under his glasses, and drags it back down his face, clearly annoyed. “These stupid fucking blackout documents. Well, it is good to see you, at least.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” And it is, really. Felps had grown… maybe too attached to him and Pac. “I’m here with Cellbit—he’s my co-pilot.”

“Cellbit made it out, too? Damn, soon you’ll be telling me the murders just completely stopped after we left.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know.” Felps lies. “We took a page out of your book.”

“Good idea.”

“So, you’re working here?” Felps asks, dread curling through him. 

He managed to get Cellbit to leave them alone before, but this ship is a lot smaller. They probably won’t get that luxury this time. 

“Yeah, me and Pac. We’re the engineers.”

“Nice!”

Not nice. Really not nice. Shit.

“Well,” Mike points a thumb behind him, “Pac’s in the engine room setting some stuff up if you want to go say hi.”

He resolutely tries to ignore the butterflies floating through his chest at the thought of seeing Pac again. He’s probably going to have to let Cellbit kill them, now is not the time.

“Thanks. I think Cellbit’s taking a look at the ship.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later.”

As they go their separate ways, Felps quickly messages Cellbit the news. Then he tries to find his way towards the engineering room. 

It’s more difficult than it should be. The ship’s layout isn’t like any he’s been on before, and there’s absolutely no maps, or directions anywhere. But finally, he stumbles into the place. The heat from the engines is overwhelming, but nice. Felps rarely feels temperatures that mimic the types of weather he grew up with. 

There’s a grate on the floor that’s pulled up, and Felps can see a blue hoodie, and black hair crouched down in the space revealed. 

“Hi!” Felps calls out over the sound of idling engines, trying not to startle him.

It doesn’t work. Pac yelps, and there’s the distinct sound of something being dropped. Then he pokes his head out from the space, and grins.

“Felps!” Pac pulls himself up so he can sit on the floor, legs still dangling over the edge. “Mike told me you were here.”

In lieu of taking off the hoodie, he’s just pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Grease covers his arms—there’s spots of it on his face, too. He looks good. 

“Yeah! It’s good to see you again.”

“You too! Man, I’m so glad you’re alive.” Pac winces. “Sorry we didn’t take you with us. It’s just the lights went out, and we couldn’t find you, and then—uh, yeah. We, like, had to get out.”

Felps keeps his eyes carefully trained on Pac’s face, instead of letting them dip down to where his legs are. He’s not supposed to know about that.

“It’s fine.” He says with a shrug. “Me and Cellbit got out pretty much right after you, anyway.”

“That’s good.” Pac clicks his fingers. “Oh, hey, have you met Miss Government Agent yet?”

“Miss—huh?” He laughs, not worried about the fact it sounds nervous. He thinks anyone would be in this situation. “A government agent?”

“Yeah! She’s who we’re transporting. Bagi, her name is.” Pac lifts his legs out of the hole so he can stand up. He’s wearing long pants, so from Felps’ brief glance, he still has no idea what his leg looks like now—how well it managed to heal, if it did at all. “I know, I know those blackout documents are so annoying, right? But, yeah, that’s the reason—safety protocols, and all that. I don’t even know what she does in the government, it’s that top secret! I can introduce you guys, if you want?”

“Oh, sure. Thank you.” He watches Pac shift the grate back in place. “Unless you’re busy?”

“Nah, Mike’s better with all this stuff, anyway.” Pac shrugs, and wipes his hands together as if that would do anything but just smudge the grease more. “He’ll do a check over on my work, and finish up anything I missed.”

“Okay, nice.”

God, he never should’ve let Cellbit accept this mission. A government agent? Who the government is going to these lengths to protect? They’re never going to live comfortably again if they follow through with it—constantly on the run from authorities who would never leave a case as big as this alone. 

Pac grabs a rag near his toolbox, and absently attempts to clean the grease from himself.

“Also, don’t be surprised if you see a kid running around.” Pac informs him. “His name is Richarlyson, and—my god, Felps—he’s so cute.”

Felps feels the blood freeze in his veins.

“A kid? There’s a kid here?”

“Yeah, he’s mine and Mike’s actually.” Pac says, unaware of Felps’ escalating crisis. “We adopted him—totally legally, by the way—hm, maybe earlier this year?”

“Oh, how cool!”

A kid. Felps can’t kill a kid. Well, technically he hasn’t really killed anyone, but he knows that the blood on Cellbit’s hands may as well be on his, too. 

They’ve never been in a situation where a kid was on the line. Felps doesn’t know how to proceed now that there is.

He knows he’s gotten a reputation within the Federation of being brutal, but efficient. All Cellbit, really, but Cucurucho doesn't know about him. Maybe that’s why he was given this mission.  

But he hasn’t even come to terms with the fact he’ll need to let Cellbit actually kill Pac and Mike this time. And now there’s a kid. And they also need to kill a government agent, too, and there’s no way the aftermath of that is going to be pretty.

This is very quickly spiraling out of control—veering heavily away from the kind of chaos Felps enjoys with these missions.  

He needs to talk to Cellbit. Quickly. 

But, for now, he also needs information. So, he follows Pac out of the engine room, and down the confusing hallways. 

“The ship layout is very strange.” Felps comments.

“Yeah, you can thank Mike for that.” Pac says with a laugh. “He designed it.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

“We built it a couple years back. I don’t know why the government wants to use our ship, though. Surely they’ve got better ones at their disposal, right?”

“Must be to do with the whole secret thing.” Felps shrugs. “Like, if people want to attack the ship a government agent is on in the middle of space, they’re probably not going to look for something two random guys built, right?”

Not like it really worked out for them. Somehow Cucurucho still got their hands on the information.

“Ohhh, very true, very true.” Pac sends him a smile, and Felps tries not to trip over his feet at the sight of it. “You’re very smart, Felps.”

“Thanks!” He thinks he’s smiling a little too much like an idiot at the compliment, and quickly changes topics. “Wait, but if it’s your ship, why are me and Cellbit here? Surely you both can fly it.”

“Well, we can, but… I dunno. More hands on deck if there’s an emergency, maybe?” 

“Ah, true.”

“Here, let me connect to your comm—I’ll give you a map.” 

Pac stops in them in the middle of the hallway. While he’s distracted with the task, Felps takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of him—now that they’re closer and he can see all the little details more clearly. He looks mostly the same as Felps remembers, honestly. Still beautiful. If Felps had to point out what’s changed, he’d say that Pac looks less scared.

See, Felps hasn’t been able to forget the expression on Pac’s face when the lights turned out, and Cellbit tackled him to the ground. Even after all this time, he can still conjure the sound of Pac’s screams of pain, and desperate pleas for help clearly in his mind. 

Felps usually likes to let Cellbit have his fun. This was the first—and only—time he’d ever interrupted that.

It’s… nice to see Pac not so scared.

--

and that's what i have so far \o/! hope you guys enjoyed! unfortunately this is way too much of a multi-chaptered fic for me to work on actively right now, but maybe when i finish one of the others i'll come back to it

[wsdanon]

among us au please?

hi \o/ firstly i'm going to direct you here for some backstory/information about the au

next: here is a bit of the first chapter \o/! it's 2500 words basically so reblogs are appreciated but it does cut off before a proper chapter resolution

Really, there are better things Felps could be doing with his life. But technically he’s obligated to do this, and he hasn’t found anything else to do, so, here he is. Handing over the fake ID Cellbit made for him. 

The security guard barely even scrutinises it before passing it back, and nodding him through. It’s always a gamble, though. So, he keeps walking until he’s far enough out of view that the other guards won’t really pay attention to him, and lingers until Cellbit catches up. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters. “I don’t even think he read our names.”

“Well, easier is better, right?” 

“So careless. It’s like they’re asking us to kill them.”

“He’s not in the line of fire.” Felps says with a shrug. “Even with all the security crackdowns, no ports have been attacked yet.”

“We should change that.” Cellbit says, far too determined for Felps’ liking.

“I dunno… you know the plan. Cucurucho won’t like it if we deviate from it.”

“Fuck him.” Cellbit hisses. “Any day now I’m going to get you your freedom, and then we can kill whoever the fuck we like.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Felps says it calmly, but he won’t deny that the slight rise in Cellbit’s volume sent a spike of fear through him. Cellbit doesn’t seem to care as much—confident that he’ll be able to break them out of whatever prison—but Felps would rather not chance it. That’s the whole reason they’re doing this, after all. He’s caught between a prison sentence from the Federation, and a prison sentence from the human government.

Ultimately, Cellbit would prefer the latter, Felps is sure. If the Federation finds out he’s travelling with Felps, they’ll probably just kill him. 

Thankfully, though, Cellbit changes the topic to something less incriminating, and Felps spends the rest of the walk through the station feeling calmer. Until they hit the body scanners. 

The ID check is always easy. Even when heavily scrutinised, Cellbit is good enough at making them that they always end up passing through with no problems. 

The body scanner is a different subject. 

It’s finicky. Relies entirely on Cellbit’s ability to successfully use sleight of hand to put in the USB with the code that’ll make Felps look human, and then take it out again. Without any guards noticing. 

One of the reasons they hit this port specifically, though, was that they haven’t been involved in any incidents. No caught aliens, and no departing ships that never arrive to their destinations. The crackdown has been intense, but people are lazy. A persistent, unconscious thought of, but it’d never happen to me. 

This station is fairly busy, too. A lot to keep an eye on, no reminder to keep an eye on it—it’s the best shot they have.

Cellbit steps on first. The holographic grid climbs up his body, and then back down. He’s waved along. He stops, and leans close to the guard—his elbow resting on the desk, hand lingering past their view. Easily, he slips the USB into the computer.

“I’m just gonna wait for my friend, is that okay?” 

Felps can’t hear him over the crowd, but they’ve gone over the plans a million times. 

The security guard nods, looking bored. Felps steps onto the platform. The scanner sweeps over him, static and nerves following it. But it’s easy enough to keep his cool while his heart is beating in his throat. He’s always been good at that, even without the amount of practice he’s been put through recently. 

He steps off the platform. Doesn’t even get the chance to worry as the computer quickly confirms him as human. The guard waves him through. Cellbit pushes himself away from the desk—USB safely retrieved, and quickly hidden back in his sleeve. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters again. 

“Easy is good.” Felps reminds him again.

When they first started doing this, Cellbit used to revel in all the gaps of transport security, and how easy it was to exploit them. Felps thinks, maybe, Cellbit misses the challenge a little. He doesn’t know a lot about what put Cellbit on that prisoner transport ship, but with the gleeful look in his eyes when he murders, he can take a guess. 

“Do you remember where our ship is?” Felps asks, before Cellbit goes on another rant about lax security.

“Of course I do.” 

Cellbit takes his arm, and pulls him off in a direction. Felps lets himself be led. 

It’s a smaller ship, as usual. Which means it’ll stay in port until they arrive. Felps is tempted to take a detour to eat a proper meal before they leave, but he knows they need to stake out the situation. 

The information on this ship is frighteningly scarce. Usually Cellbit can have a whole crew list pulled up, as well as general spaceship schematics. This one has nothing, though. All they managed to find was a list of potential departure stations so they could sway the choice their way. 

It’s not the kind of mission Felps is happy to take. Cellbit’s eyes had practically lit up the second he realised it wasn’t going to be easy, and had spent roughly the next forty eight hours trying to dig up any scraps of information he could. 

Felps hid all his coffee sometime around hour number thirty nine; when he was too focused on the investigation to remember how much he had in stock, and figured he had just run out. Or, that’s what Felps assumes, considering Cellbit never bothered him about the missing coffee. Either way, he eventually passed out at his desk.

The point is, even though they should be through the difficult part, Felps still feels his unease grow. 

Cellbit stops abruptly, Felps bumping into him. 

“There.” He points over to airlock number six. “That one.”

Felps cranes to try and look at the ship through the window. It doesn’t look like a model he’s familiar with, but he’s a little too far away to tell.

“Let’s go introduce ourselves then.”

They walk over, dodging through the crowd. There’s no one waiting outside the airlock yet, but Felps catches a glimpse of someone with bright pink hair carrying cargo onto the ship. 

He makes a beeline towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cellbit heading to the window facing the ship. Felps knocks quickly on the edge of the airlock to announce his presence. 

“Yeah, hold on.” 

The voice is familiar, but Felps can’t place it. Probably just the accent. 

They place down the boxes hastily, turn around—and practically jump five feet into the air.

“What the fuck?” Mike exclaims, eyes wide. “Felps? You’re alive?”

Ah. That’s why it’s familiar. 

“Oh. Yeah!” Okay, this complicates things. “Hi, Mike!”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m the pilot.” 

“You’re—? Ugh.” Mike swipes a hand under his glasses, and drags it back down his face, clearly annoyed. “These stupid fucking blackout documents. Well, it is good to see you, at least.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” And it is, really. Felps had grown… maybe too attached to him and Pac. “I’m here with Cellbit—he’s my co-pilot.”

“Cellbit made it out, too? Damn, soon you’ll be telling me the murders just completely stopped after we left.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know.” Felps lies. “We took a page out of your book.”

“Good idea.”

“So, you’re working here?” Felps asks, dread curling through him. 

He managed to get Cellbit to leave them alone before, but this ship is a lot smaller. They probably won’t get that luxury this time. 

“Yeah, me and Pac. We’re the engineers.”

“Nice!”

Not nice. Really not nice. Shit.

“Well,” Mike points a thumb behind him, “Pac’s in the engine room setting some stuff up if you want to go say hi.”

He resolutely tries to ignore the butterflies floating through his chest at the thought of seeing Pac again. He’s probably going to have to let Cellbit kill them, now is not the time.

“Thanks. I think Cellbit’s taking a look at the ship.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later.”

As they go their separate ways, Felps quickly messages Cellbit the news. Then he tries to find his way towards the engineering room. 

It’s more difficult than it should be. The ship’s layout isn’t like any he’s been on before, and there’s absolutely no maps, or directions anywhere. But finally, he stumbles into the place. The heat from the engines is overwhelming, but nice. Felps rarely feels temperatures that mimic the types of weather he grew up with. 

There’s a grate on the floor that’s pulled up, and Felps can see a blue hoodie, and black hair crouched down in the space revealed. 

“Hi!” Felps calls out over the sound of idling engines, trying not to startle him.

It doesn’t work. Pac yelps, and there’s the distinct sound of something being dropped. Then he pokes his head out from the space, and grins.

“Felps!” Pac pulls himself up so he can sit on the floor, legs still dangling over the edge. “Mike told me you were here.”

In lieu of taking off the hoodie, he’s just pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Grease covers his arms—there’s spots of it on his face, too. He looks good. 

“Yeah! It’s good to see you again.”

“You too! Man, I’m so glad you’re alive.” Pac winces. “Sorry we didn’t take you with us. It’s just the lights went out, and we couldn’t find you, and then—uh, yeah. We, like, had to get out.”

Felps keeps his eyes carefully trained on Pac’s face, instead of letting them dip down to where his legs are. He’s not supposed to know about that.

“It’s fine.” He says with a shrug. “Me and Cellbit got out pretty much right after you, anyway.”

“That’s good.” Pac clicks his fingers. “Oh, hey, have you met Miss Government Agent yet?”

“Miss—huh?” He laughs, not worried about the fact it sounds nervous. He thinks anyone would be in this situation. “A government agent?”

“Yeah! She’s who we’re transporting. Bagi, her name is.” Pac lifts his legs out of the hole so he can stand up. He’s wearing long pants, so from Felps’ brief glance, he still has no idea what his leg looks like now—how well it managed to heal, if it did at all. “I know, I know those blackout documents are so annoying, right? But, yeah, that’s the reason—safety protocols, and all that. I don’t even know what she does in the government, it’s that top secret! I can introduce you guys, if you want?”

“Oh, sure. Thank you.” He watches Pac shift the grate back in place. “Unless you’re busy?”

“Nah, Mike’s better with all this stuff, anyway.” Pac shrugs, and wipes his hands together as if that would do anything but just smudge the grease more. “He’ll do a check over on my work, and finish up anything I missed.”

“Okay, nice.”

God, he never should’ve let Cellbit accept this mission. A government agent? Who the government is going to these lengths to protect? They’re never going to live comfortably again if they follow through with it—constantly on the run from authorities who would never leave a case as big as this alone. 

Pac grabs a rag near his toolbox, and absently attempts to clean the grease from himself.

“Also, don’t be surprised if you see a kid running around.” Pac informs him. “His name is Richarlyson, and—my god, Felps—he’s so cute.”

Felps feels the blood freeze in his veins.

“A kid? There’s a kid here?”

“Yeah, he’s mine and Mike’s actually.” Pac says, unaware of Felps’ escalating crisis. “We adopted him—totally legally, by the way—hm, maybe earlier this year?”

“Oh, how cool!”

A kid. Felps can’t kill a kid. Well, technically he hasn’t really killed anyone, but he knows that the blood on Cellbit’s hands may as well be on his, too. 

They’ve never been in a situation where a kid was on the line. Felps doesn’t know how to proceed now that there is.

He knows he’s gotten a reputation within the Federation of being brutal, but efficient. All Cellbit, really, but Cucurucho doesn't know about him. Maybe that’s why he was given this mission.  

But he hasn’t even come to terms with the fact he’ll need to let Cellbit actually kill Pac and Mike this time. And now there’s a kid. And they also need to kill a government agent, too, and there’s no way the aftermath of that is going to be pretty.

This is very quickly spiraling out of control—veering heavily away from the kind of chaos Felps enjoys with these missions.  

He needs to talk to Cellbit. Quickly. 

But, for now, he also needs information. So, he follows Pac out of the engine room, and down the confusing hallways. 

“The ship layout is very strange.” Felps comments.

“Yeah, you can thank Mike for that.” Pac says with a laugh. “He designed it.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

“We built it a couple years back. I don’t know why the government wants to use our ship, though. Surely they’ve got better ones at their disposal, right?”

“Must be to do with the whole secret thing.” Felps shrugs. “Like, if people want to attack the ship a government agent is on in the middle of space, they’re probably not going to look for something two random guys built, right?”

Not like it really worked out for them. Somehow Cucurucho still got their hands on the information.

“Ohhh, very true, very true.” Pac sends him a smile, and Felps tries not to trip over his feet at the sight of it. “You’re very smart, Felps.”

“Thanks!” He thinks he’s smiling a little too much like an idiot at the compliment, and quickly changes topics. “Wait, but if it’s your ship, why are me and Cellbit here? Surely you both can fly it.”

“Well, we can, but… I dunno. More hands on deck if there’s an emergency, maybe?” 

“Ah, true.”

“Here, let me connect to your comm—I’ll give you a map.” 

Pac stops in them in the middle of the hallway. While he’s distracted with the task, Felps takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of him—now that they’re closer and he can see all the little details more clearly. He looks mostly the same as Felps remembers, honestly. Still beautiful. If Felps had to point out what’s changed, he’d say that Pac looks less scared.

See, Felps hasn’t been able to forget the expression on Pac’s face when the lights turned out, and Cellbit tackled him to the ground. Even after all this time, he can still conjure the sound of Pac’s screams of pain, and desperate pleas for help clearly in his mind. 

Felps usually likes to let Cellbit have his fun. This was the first—and only—time he’d ever interrupted that.

It’s… nice to see Pac not so scared.

--

and that's what i have so far \o/! hope you guys enjoyed! unfortunately this is way too much of a multi-chaptered fic for me to work on actively right now, but maybe when i finish one of the others i'll come back to it

[wsdanon]

among us au please?

hi \o/ firstly i'm going to direct you here for some backstory/information about the au

next: here is a bit of the first chapter \o/! it's 2500 words basically so reblogs are appreciated but it does cut off before a proper chapter resolution

Really, there are better things Felps could be doing with his life. But technically he’s obligated to do this, and he hasn’t found anything else to do, so, here he is. Handing over the fake ID Cellbit made for him. 

The security guard barely even scrutinises it before passing it back, and nodding him through. It’s always a gamble, though. So, he keeps walking until he’s far enough out of view that the other guards won’t really pay attention to him, and lingers until Cellbit catches up. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters. “I don’t even think he read our names.”

“Well, easier is better, right?” 

“So careless. It’s like they’re asking us to kill them.”

“He’s not in the line of fire.” Felps says with a shrug. “Even with all the security crackdowns, no ports have been attacked yet.”

“We should change that.” Cellbit says, far too determined for Felps’ liking.

“I dunno… you know the plan. Cucurucho won’t like it if we deviate from it.”

“Fuck him.” Cellbit hisses. “Any day now I’m going to get you your freedom, and then we can kill whoever the fuck we like.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Felps says it calmly, but he won’t deny that the slight rise in Cellbit’s volume sent a spike of fear through him. Cellbit doesn’t seem to care as much—confident that he’ll be able to break them out of whatever prison—but Felps would rather not chance it. That’s the whole reason they’re doing this, after all. He’s caught between a prison sentence from the Federation, and a prison sentence from the human government.

Ultimately, Cellbit would prefer the latter, Felps is sure. If the Federation finds out he’s travelling with Felps, they’ll probably just kill him. 

Thankfully, though, Cellbit changes the topic to something less incriminating, and Felps spends the rest of the walk through the station feeling calmer. Until they hit the body scanners. 

The ID check is always easy. Even when heavily scrutinised, Cellbit is good enough at making them that they always end up passing through with no problems. 

The body scanner is a different subject. 

It’s finicky. Relies entirely on Cellbit’s ability to successfully use sleight of hand to put in the USB with the code that’ll make Felps look human, and then take it out again. Without any guards noticing. 

One of the reasons they hit this port specifically, though, was that they haven’t been involved in any incidents. No caught aliens, and no departing ships that never arrive to their destinations. The crackdown has been intense, but people are lazy. A persistent, unconscious thought of, but it’d never happen to me. 

This station is fairly busy, too. A lot to keep an eye on, no reminder to keep an eye on it—it’s the best shot they have.

Cellbit steps on first. The holographic grid climbs up his body, and then back down. He’s waved along. He stops, and leans close to the guard—his elbow resting on the desk, hand lingering past their view. Easily, he slips the USB into the computer.

“I’m just gonna wait for my friend, is that okay?” 

Felps can’t hear him over the crowd, but they’ve gone over the plans a million times. 

The security guard nods, looking bored. Felps steps onto the platform. The scanner sweeps over him, static and nerves following it. But it’s easy enough to keep his cool while his heart is beating in his throat. He’s always been good at that, even without the amount of practice he’s been put through recently. 

He steps off the platform. Doesn’t even get the chance to worry as the computer quickly confirms him as human. The guard waves him through. Cellbit pushes himself away from the desk—USB safely retrieved, and quickly hidden back in his sleeve. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters again. 

“Easy is good.” Felps reminds him again.

When they first started doing this, Cellbit used to revel in all the gaps of transport security, and how easy it was to exploit them. Felps thinks, maybe, Cellbit misses the challenge a little. He doesn’t know a lot about what put Cellbit on that prisoner transport ship, but with the gleeful look in his eyes when he murders, he can take a guess. 

“Do you remember where our ship is?” Felps asks, before Cellbit goes on another rant about lax security.

“Of course I do.” 

Cellbit takes his arm, and pulls him off in a direction. Felps lets himself be led. 

It’s a smaller ship, as usual. Which means it’ll stay in port until they arrive. Felps is tempted to take a detour to eat a proper meal before they leave, but he knows they need to stake out the situation. 

The information on this ship is frighteningly scarce. Usually Cellbit can have a whole crew list pulled up, as well as general spaceship schematics. This one has nothing, though. All they managed to find was a list of potential departure stations so they could sway the choice their way. 

It’s not the kind of mission Felps is happy to take. Cellbit’s eyes had practically lit up the second he realised it wasn’t going to be easy, and had spent roughly the next forty eight hours trying to dig up any scraps of information he could. 

Felps hid all his coffee sometime around hour number thirty nine; when he was too focused on the investigation to remember how much he had in stock, and figured he had just run out. Or, that’s what Felps assumes, considering Cellbit never bothered him about the missing coffee. Either way, he eventually passed out at his desk.

The point is, even though they should be through the difficult part, Felps still feels his unease grow. 

Cellbit stops abruptly, Felps bumping into him. 

“There.” He points over to airlock number six. “That one.”

Felps cranes to try and look at the ship through the window. It doesn’t look like a model he’s familiar with, but he’s a little too far away to tell.

“Let’s go introduce ourselves then.”

They walk over, dodging through the crowd. There’s no one waiting outside the airlock yet, but Felps catches a glimpse of someone with bright pink hair carrying cargo onto the ship. 

He makes a beeline towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cellbit heading to the window facing the ship. Felps knocks quickly on the edge of the airlock to announce his presence. 

“Yeah, hold on.” 

The voice is familiar, but Felps can’t place it. Probably just the accent. 

They place down the boxes hastily, turn around—and practically jump five feet into the air.

“What the fuck?” Mike exclaims, eyes wide. “Felps? You’re alive?”

Ah. That’s why it’s familiar. 

“Oh. Yeah!” Okay, this complicates things. “Hi, Mike!”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m the pilot.” 

“You’re—? Ugh.” Mike swipes a hand under his glasses, and drags it back down his face, clearly annoyed. “These stupid fucking blackout documents. Well, it is good to see you, at least.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” And it is, really. Felps had grown… maybe too attached to him and Pac. “I’m here with Cellbit—he’s my co-pilot.”

“Cellbit made it out, too? Damn, soon you’ll be telling me the murders just completely stopped after we left.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know.” Felps lies. “We took a page out of your book.”

“Good idea.”

“So, you’re working here?” Felps asks, dread curling through him. 

He managed to get Cellbit to leave them alone before, but this ship is a lot smaller. They probably won’t get that luxury this time. 

“Yeah, me and Pac. We’re the engineers.”

“Nice!”

Not nice. Really not nice. Shit.

“Well,” Mike points a thumb behind him, “Pac’s in the engine room setting some stuff up if you want to go say hi.”

He resolutely tries to ignore the butterflies floating through his chest at the thought of seeing Pac again. He’s probably going to have to let Cellbit kill them, now is not the time.

“Thanks. I think Cellbit’s taking a look at the ship.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later.”

As they go their separate ways, Felps quickly messages Cellbit the news. Then he tries to find his way towards the engineering room. 

It’s more difficult than it should be. The ship’s layout isn’t like any he’s been on before, and there’s absolutely no maps, or directions anywhere. But finally, he stumbles into the place. The heat from the engines is overwhelming, but nice. Felps rarely feels temperatures that mimic the types of weather he grew up with. 

There’s a grate on the floor that’s pulled up, and Felps can see a blue hoodie, and black hair crouched down in the space revealed. 

“Hi!” Felps calls out over the sound of idling engines, trying not to startle him.

It doesn’t work. Pac yelps, and there’s the distinct sound of something being dropped. Then he pokes his head out from the space, and grins.

“Felps!” Pac pulls himself up so he can sit on the floor, legs still dangling over the edge. “Mike told me you were here.”

In lieu of taking off the hoodie, he’s just pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Grease covers his arms—there’s spots of it on his face, too. He looks good. 

“Yeah! It’s good to see you again.”

“You too! Man, I’m so glad you’re alive.” Pac winces. “Sorry we didn’t take you with us. It’s just the lights went out, and we couldn’t find you, and then—uh, yeah. We, like, had to get out.”

Felps keeps his eyes carefully trained on Pac’s face, instead of letting them dip down to where his legs are. He’s not supposed to know about that.

“It’s fine.” He says with a shrug. “Me and Cellbit got out pretty much right after you, anyway.”

“That’s good.” Pac clicks his fingers. “Oh, hey, have you met Miss Government Agent yet?”

“Miss—huh?” He laughs, not worried about the fact it sounds nervous. He thinks anyone would be in this situation. “A government agent?”

“Yeah! She’s who we’re transporting. Bagi, her name is.” Pac lifts his legs out of the hole so he can stand up. He’s wearing long pants, so from Felps’ brief glance, he still has no idea what his leg looks like now—how well it managed to heal, if it did at all. “I know, I know those blackout documents are so annoying, right? But, yeah, that’s the reason—safety protocols, and all that. I don’t even know what she does in the government, it’s that top secret! I can introduce you guys, if you want?”

“Oh, sure. Thank you.” He watches Pac shift the grate back in place. “Unless you’re busy?”

“Nah, Mike’s better with all this stuff, anyway.” Pac shrugs, and wipes his hands together as if that would do anything but just smudge the grease more. “He’ll do a check over on my work, and finish up anything I missed.”

“Okay, nice.”

God, he never should’ve let Cellbit accept this mission. A government agent? Who the government is going to these lengths to protect? They’re never going to live comfortably again if they follow through with it—constantly on the run from authorities who would never leave a case as big as this alone. 

Pac grabs a rag near his toolbox, and absently attempts to clean the grease from himself.

“Also, don’t be surprised if you see a kid running around.” Pac informs him. “His name is Richarlyson, and—my god, Felps—he’s so cute.”

Felps feels the blood freeze in his veins.

“A kid? There’s a kid here?”

“Yeah, he’s mine and Mike’s actually.” Pac says, unaware of Felps’ escalating crisis. “We adopted him—totally legally, by the way—hm, maybe earlier this year?”

“Oh, how cool!”

A kid. Felps can’t kill a kid. Well, technically he hasn’t really killed anyone, but he knows that the blood on Cellbit’s hands may as well be on his, too. 

They’ve never been in a situation where a kid was on the line. Felps doesn’t know how to proceed now that there is.

He knows he’s gotten a reputation within the Federation of being brutal, but efficient. All Cellbit, really, but Cucurucho doesn't know about him. Maybe that’s why he was given this mission.  

But he hasn’t even come to terms with the fact he’ll need to let Cellbit actually kill Pac and Mike this time. And now there’s a kid. And they also need to kill a government agent, too, and there’s no way the aftermath of that is going to be pretty.

This is very quickly spiraling out of control—veering heavily away from the kind of chaos Felps enjoys with these missions.  

He needs to talk to Cellbit. Quickly. 

But, for now, he also needs information. So, he follows Pac out of the engine room, and down the confusing hallways. 

“The ship layout is very strange.” Felps comments.

“Yeah, you can thank Mike for that.” Pac says with a laugh. “He designed it.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

“We built it a couple years back. I don’t know why the government wants to use our ship, though. Surely they’ve got better ones at their disposal, right?”

“Must be to do with the whole secret thing.” Felps shrugs. “Like, if people want to attack the ship a government agent is on in the middle of space, they’re probably not going to look for something two random guys built, right?”

Not like it really worked out for them. Somehow Cucurucho still got their hands on the information.

“Ohhh, very true, very true.” Pac sends him a smile, and Felps tries not to trip over his feet at the sight of it. “You’re very smart, Felps.”

“Thanks!” He thinks he’s smiling a little too much like an idiot at the compliment, and quickly changes topics. “Wait, but if it’s your ship, why are me and Cellbit here? Surely you both can fly it.”

“Well, we can, but… I dunno. More hands on deck if there’s an emergency, maybe?” 

“Ah, true.”

“Here, let me connect to your comm—I’ll give you a map.” 

Pac stops in them in the middle of the hallway. While he’s distracted with the task, Felps takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of him—now that they’re closer and he can see all the little details more clearly. He looks mostly the same as Felps remembers, honestly. Still beautiful. If Felps had to point out what’s changed, he’d say that Pac looks less scared.

See, Felps hasn’t been able to forget the expression on Pac’s face when the lights turned out, and Cellbit tackled him to the ground. Even after all this time, he can still conjure the sound of Pac’s screams of pain, and desperate pleas for help clearly in his mind. 

Felps usually likes to let Cellbit have his fun. This was the first—and only—time he’d ever interrupted that.

It’s… nice to see Pac not so scared.

--

and that's what i have so far \o/! hope you guys enjoyed! unfortunately this is way too much of a multi-chaptered fic for me to work on actively right now, but maybe when i finish one of the others i'll come back to it

[wsdanon]

so curious about all of these but ill stick to asking about the among us au for now. im intrigued

okay among us au would be a multi-chaptered fic and i have about half of chapter one written and a tiny bit of chapter two. unfortunately a big part of it is a character i no longer want to write. fortunately, i wrote up a lot of backstory notes that don't involve him. some things will be kind of awkward because i haven't fixed the absence yet

i'm just going to put all of this under the cut because it's quite long but quickly i'll say that this is using a very basic framework of among us and i have kind of expanded the universe/politics from there. i think this is what a lot of among us aus do, too, but yeah the actual story of the fic is not inherently based around the gameplay--that's more backstory stuff if anything

(please keep in mind there will be spoilers here, but i will try to keep them minimal. also keep in mind i have no plans to write it out fully right now, but i may come back to it later)

Felps: actual imposter. Doesn’t really kill. prefers to just kind of watch the chaos but doesn’t want to work for it. Became friends with cellbit and hid + kept him safe from other imposters and now just smuggles him around on every ship he gets sent to. He’s the pilot of their ship in the plot

Cellbit: Human. was on a prisoner transport ship when he met felps (10 years ago). Cannibal and murderer. Happy to murder people on behalf of felps. Throughout their years of doing this he’s become more adjusted than at the start and he's mostly now just killing to keep cucurucho off of felps. On the side working at ways to get out from under cucurucho's thumb

Tazercraft: engineers for the current ship. First people to find out about felps being an imposter (and make the connection that cellbit must be too) but keep the information to themselves because pac is queer--love wins \o/ Mike as an anarchist is going to be important but i need to figure out the politics more (helps him connect with cellbit a little)

Bagi: officially she’s here on government business. Unofficially she’s continuing her investigation into finding her long lost brother. Not sure whether the amnesia is going to come into play or not but she can’t recognise cellbit as the person she was tracking down. Knows her brother disappeared in an imposter attack and is trying to follow that lead

I'm uncertain entirely of the politics with both the humans and imposters but to mimic the regret arc: cucurucho is part of the imposter government--they are not aligned at all with the human government

fuga backstory:

Pac e Mike were on a prisoner transport ship (8 years ago) at the same time as Cellbit and Felps (imposter duo) (not the one where cellbit and felps met). Tazercraft + JV + Guaxinim were trying to use the escape pods to escape--not because of the killings originally just to get out of going to jail. Cellbit and felps try to hang out with them a bit for marination reasons. Cellbit kills JV because he gets too suspicious lol. Felps falls in love with pac and when cellbit goes to kill pac he only manages to get his leg before Felps stops him. It was dark so pac doesn’t know it was them (otherwise there'd be no mystery in the actual plot oops). Tazercraft + guaxinim manage to escape and cellbit kills the rest of the people on the ship

this fic would have three povs for the three different "factions". Bagi's for the government/investigation side of things, Felps for the imposter side of things, and then either mike or pac for tazercraft's side of things--not sure yet

i don't want to spoil the entirety of the actual plot so i'll leave it here! also someone else asked about among us so i might try and clean up a snippet of the wip to post for them so keep an eye out for that if you're interested \o/!

[wsdanon]

so curious about all of these but ill stick to asking about the among us au for now. im intrigued

okay among us au would be a multi-chaptered fic and i have about half of chapter one written and a tiny bit of chapter two. unfortunately a big part of it is a character i no longer want to write. fortunately, i wrote up a lot of backstory notes that don't involve him. some things will be kind of awkward because i haven't fixed the absence yet

i'm just going to put all of this under the cut because it's quite long but quickly i'll say that this is using a very basic framework of among us and i have kind of expanded the universe/politics from there. i think this is what a lot of among us aus do, too, but yeah the actual story of the fic is not inherently based around the gameplay--that's more backstory stuff if anything

(please keep in mind there will be spoilers here, but i will try to keep them minimal. also keep in mind i have no plans to write it out fully right now, but i may come back to it later)

Felps: actual imposter. Doesn’t really kill. prefers to just kind of watch the chaos but doesn’t want to work for it. Became friends with cellbit and hid + kept him safe from other imposters and now just smuggles him around on every ship he gets sent to. He’s the pilot of their ship in the plot

Cellbit: Human. was on a prisoner transport ship when he met felps (10 years ago). Cannibal and murderer. Happy to murder people on behalf of felps. Throughout their years of doing this he’s become more adjusted than at the start and he's mostly now just killing to keep cucurucho off of felps. On the side working at ways to get out from under cucurucho's thumb

Tazercraft: engineers for the current ship. First people to find out about felps being an imposter (and make the connection that cellbit must be too) but keep the information to themselves because pac is queer--love wins \o/ Mike as an anarchist is going to be important but i need to figure out the politics more (helps him connect with cellbit a little)

Bagi: officially she’s here on government business. Unofficially she’s continuing her investigation into finding her long lost brother. Not sure whether the amnesia is going to come into play or not but she can’t recognise cellbit as the person she was tracking down. Knows her brother disappeared in an imposter attack and is trying to follow that lead

I'm uncertain entirely of the politics with both the humans and imposters but to mimic the regret arc: cucurucho is part of the imposter government--they are not aligned at all with the human government

fuga backstory:

Pac e Mike were on a prisoner transport ship (8 years ago) at the same time as Cellbit and Felps (imposter duo) (not the one where cellbit and felps met). Tazercraft + JV + Guaxinim were trying to use the escape pods to escape--not because of the killings originally just to get out of going to jail. Cellbit and felps try to hang out with them a bit for marination reasons. Cellbit kills JV because he gets too suspicious lol. Felps falls in love with pac and when cellbit goes to kill pac he only manages to get his leg before Felps stops him. It was dark so pac doesn’t know it was them (otherwise there'd be no mystery in the actual plot oops). Tazercraft + guaxinim manage to escape and cellbit kills the rest of the people on the ship

this fic would have three povs for the three different "factions". Bagi's for the government/investigation side of things, Felps for the imposter side of things, and then either mike or pac for tazercraft's side of things--not sure yet

i don't want to spoil the entirety of the actual plot so i'll leave it here! also someone else asked about among us so i might try and clean up a snippet of the wip to post for them so keep an eye out for that if you're interested \o/!

[wsdanon]

hmmm mike and felps bonding perhaps? For wip game?

okay you know what you can have my whole wip for this fic \o/! i'll put it under the cut--it's supposed to end with mike helping felps dye his hair and them talking about things other than just pac but pac is a focal point of this first bit here

(context is: this is a few years after fuga where they've met up again and are on good terms, but it's maybe still a little shaky)

since this is a solid amount of words despite being a wip, reblogs are appreciated \o/

"Would you keep a secret from Pac for me?" Felps asks.

"No." Mike doesn't even need to think about it. "Probably not."

"Hm. Okay." Felps nods to himself, like this is what he expected. "Would you… not tell him something for me, then?"

This makes Mike set down what he was messing with. He turns to Felps. Who looks nervous.

"What do you mean?"

"Like… if he doesn't ask, you don't tell?"

Mike does have to think about this one. He draws his consideration away from where his and Pac's thoughts usually mingle, and Pac sends him a curious feeling, but doesn't prod.

"Sure." He settles on, turning back to his project. "But keep in mind, he'll probably ask."

"Okay."

Felps doesn't say anything else. But he doesn't leave, either. Mike looks up at him again.

"So… were you going to tell me something?" He prods, and Felps sighs defeatedly.

"Yeah, okay." Another sigh. "I really like Pac."

"Well, I'd hope so." Mike frowns. "I thought we were all friends at this point."

"We are." Felps confirms, as he rests his chin on his palm--his elbow propped up on the table. And his expression is troubled, but there's something else to it--a combination Mike sees on Pac frequently. Things click into place. "But I really like Pac."

"Oh, you mean romantically?"

"Yeah." Felps shifts his hand in an attempt to cover his face, but his blush still shines through. Mostly because Mike is looking for it. "I think so."

"Huh. You know, I thought you and Cell were--" Mike cuts himself off as the embarrassment on Felps' face quickly disappears and gives way to disinterested surprise. His eyebrows raise, while his hand shifts again--falling into a thoughtful position. Mike continues, "Well, I guess I'm the last person who should be making those kinds of assumptions, huh?"

"We are kind of like you and Pac." Felps agrees.

But he doesn't sound committed to the idea, so Mike silently disagrees. Besides, no one can be like him and Pac--they literally share a brain.

"So, you and Cell aren't dating, and you like Pac romantically." Mike recaps.

"I think so?"

The question in his response has Mike briefly looking down at his project in despair. He's not getting this done any time soon.

Pac prods at him, confused, and Mike waves him off. He wants to at least try to honour Felps' request, and that means he can't have Pac stumbling across his thoughts right now in an attempt to see if he's okay.

"Why did you come to me for this?" Mike asks. "I'm shit with romance."

"And you think Cell would be better?"

"Okay, good point." Then he frowns. "Wait, hold on. Wasn't Cell exes with some of the guys in prison? JV and Guaxinim, at least, right?"

"Mike," Felps says with a tone that he's about to say something obvious, "I'm not going to tell Cell I'm into his ex."

"Pac and Cell aren't…" He trails off. Even with the link between them now, Mike isn't sure what Pac and Cell are, let alone what they aren't. Which is mostly because their relationship is so confusing Pac himself isn't even sure. "Whatever, that's not the point. I just don't know what you expect me to do."

"Nothing." Felps picks at the peeling paint on the table absently. "I just wanted to tell someone."

Felps seems kind of in despair, too, right now. So, Mike forgives him for interrupting his workflow, and attempts to throw him a bone.

"Look, I'll try and keep this from getting to Pac." Mike offers. "But, like…" He taps at his head.

"Yeah, I get it." Felps smiles at him. "Thanks."

There's a high chance that Felps becomes Pac's crush for the month, and Mike can do a bit of matchmaking. Or, equally as likely, someone else will catch Felps' eye and it won't matter anymore. Either way, Mike would say he only has a month tops to keep his promise.

Which is… manageable. Maybe. He doesn't try to keep things from Pac often.

"If Pac started dating me… would I be dating you, too?" Felps asks, drawing little lines with his finger on the table to demonstrate the connection.

And the honest answer is yeah, probably. For all intents and purposes. But people don't always really like that answer.

"I mean… kinda? If you're okay with that?" Mike shrugs. "I don't know, man, it wouldn't be the same thing."

"That sounds cool."

And he sounds genuine. Mike goes back to his project, but he doesn't get too into it in case Felps wants to continue the conversation.

"Can I paint your nails?" Felps asks.

And, okay, not what he was expecting.

"I'm kind of doing something." Mike says, gesturing to the project. "Maybe, uh… later?"

"I have green."

Felps pulls out a bottle of nail polish, and sets it on the table between them. Mike stares at it. It is indeed green--a nice bright green.

"Okay, sure."

"Nice!"

Mike moves his project to the side, and holds his hands out. Felps' hands are warm. The nail polish isn't.

He's quick in his movements, but focused fully on his task. Mike lets his fingers be moved for better angles, and shakes his hand to dry it when Felps starts on the other.

"So, what are you making?" Felps asks.

"Something to help with the mobility for Pac's prosthesis." He wants to gesture around and explain the mechanics, but he doesn't think Felps would get it, and his nail polish is still too wet for him to feel comfortable touching things. "Once I get this right, I'll probably try to open up shop for custom orders. Then hopefully we won't need to rob banks for more money."

"Aw." Felps pouts. "But robbing banks is fun."

"Weren't you a cop?"

"I was a prison guard." Felps shrugs. "And that was just so I could hang out with Cell after he got arrested."

Mike laughs.

"And then he killed you."

Felps' hands twitch like a mostly contained flinch.

"It wasn't my favourite time with him, no."

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

"It wasn't my favourite time with him, either."

This time Felps laughs.

"No, I guess not."

He finishes up the last nail, and packs the polish away. Mike kind of misses the casual intimacy of it, but shakes his hands out to try and dry the nail polish quicker.

"You know, Pac falls for people pretty easily." Mike says. "If you flirt with him, he'll probably reciprocate."

"Oh, thank you, but I don't really mind." Felps shrugs. "I just like being around him."

"Me too."

--

And this is where I got to \o/ I've had this written up for ages, but I've never had time and motivation to go back and finish it oops. hope you enjoyed!