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ace-oreos · 3 years

Note

You must be so sick of alpha and Fordo asks but you’re latest fic has given me angst potential- maybe a one-shot with alpha working with the bad batch to find Fordo post order 66 an him just breaking at the seams when he finds his Vod because he thought he lost Frodo like he lost Sev. Tears and man hugs ensue

Oh I am NEVER sick of Alpha and Fordo asks - they’re such a fun chaotic duo to write for. :D Also, Alpha working with the Bad Batch is something I never knew I needed until I saw your ask and I would absolutely write something with all of them again. I cannot express how difficult it was to not go off on a tangent about Hunter.

In true Sev style, I chose Kashyyyk as the main location for this one. It’s just so useful for these kinds of things.

Also. Y’all. I did not realize until I was four pages into this that I forgot Echo. So uh... whoops? 😅 😂 With that in mind, let me warn you that this is WAY longer than the other fics. I have no idea what happened. I have no idea what I’m doing.

Also also, thank goodness for Wookiepedia lmao

Edit with tags: @dudewhynotthis @merspots @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @delta-the-mando (taglist is open!)

“Captain.” The sergeant keeps his distance even now, face inscrutable as he surveys Alpha.

“Alpha,” he corrects half-heartedly, more for the sergeant’s sake than his own.

“Alpha,” Hunter amends. “We’ll be entering the Mid Rim soon - maybe an hour, hour and a half tops.”

“Good to know.” Alpha knows he sounds despondent at best, but he’s hit enough dead ends by now to know all too well this will likely be a fruitless endeavor. There’s nowhere in the galaxy safe from him - not when his brother’s life is hanging in balance.

But it’s a big galaxy, with little regard for individual yearning or emotion. Alpha can vow to upend the galaxy as much as he likes, but the fact is they’ve only so much time, and only so many resources, and...

And maybe Hunter picks up on that, in that way of his as he observes Alpha without further comment. The sergeant is as much his vod as anyone else Alpha has encountered. Still beyond him sometimes, a little too other for Alpha to ever fully mesh with him or his brothers, but he’s a good soldier. A good man.

“We’ve always got room for another,” are Hunter’s parting words as he makes his way back to the cockpit.

If you find out your brother was dead all along.

Alpha doubts it was anything less than a genuine offer, but it isn’t the only route. Not until I’ve exhausted every other option. And even then....

It doesn’t do, to let himself become so intertwined with a brother until he isn’t entirely sure he knows who he is without the other. He’d tried, both for his brothers and for his own peace of mind, to put a stop to it before it went too far. And maybe that was Jango getting in his head more than Alpha ever should have allowed, but he’d thought it was the right thing to do.

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder...

________________________

“ - you know as well as I do we’ve been going in circles for weeks now - ”

“Yeah, you might’ve mentioned that once or twice…”

“You said it yourself - we’ll get ourselves killed if we aren’t careful.”

“So we’ll be careful.” Hunter’s voice holds a note of finality. “We can keep rehashing this conversation, or we can help a vod.”

Alpha doesn’t catch the muttered reply, but it’s hardly amenable, if Hunter’s sigh is anything to go by. He can’t blame them, really - Fordo isn’t their brother, and outside of combat they’ve little common ground. And it’s only natural for Crosshair to raise the questions none of them are yet ready to face. Alpha thinks he could learn to like the man, given time.

He reigns in his thoughts before entering the cockpit. The least he can do is put on a rational front. This whole thing isn’t at all rational, but the Bad Batch seem to understand better than others. It runs deeper than brotherhood here, whatever it is, and Alpha is irrepressibly reminded of Fordo, somehow -

(And osik, does that thought burn, dig under his skin to remind him once again that he failed, that should he redeem himself it will be not on his terms but likely an inconsequential whim of a galaxy that cares nothing for them or everything they’ve fought so hard to hold on to - )

“Y’know, I’m not sure we’ve ever been to Kashyyyk,” Wrecker muses. “That’s a first.” If he’s trying to divert Alpha’s attention from Crosshair, it’s a skillful effort that almost takes Alpha aback. “‘Course, I only remember the fun parts,” he adds as an impish afterthought.

“Anything with explosives, you mean?” Alpha asks drily.

Wrecker grins. “Something like that.”

You and Fordo would get along fine.

What leaves his mouth is, “I don’t suppose anyone has any relevant information about this place?”

Right on cue, Tech pipes up from his position alongside Crosshair. “Actually…”

Tech is just as much of an efficient distraction in his own right. It’s not exactly the height of strategy on Alpha’s part, but once again it redirects attention. He has no doubt Hunter sees right through it; still, the man has enough tact to refrain from commenting.

You understand, I think, Alpha decides, watching exasperation and amusement play across Hunter’s face in turns as his brothers’ bickering fills the cockpit. You would go to hell and back for them, wouldn’t you, Sergeant?

Hunter casts him a wary glance. Alpha holds his gaze.

There’s too much we can’t say. It’s okay, vod - I think I’m starting to understand too.

________________________

Kashyyyk is dishearteningly vast, all sprawling jungles and endless island chains set on a swath of ocean that dissects the planet’s hemispheres. Getting in was no easy task, what with the Imperial blockade cutting off the planet from others in its sector. But Tech’s adroit piloting had come through, and they’d slipped past the blockade with little disturbance.

“You really think your buddy is here?” Crosshair asks dubiously, surveying the area with a distinct air of displeasure.

“I’ve seen the records,” Alpha says, as much to reassure himself as the other man. “The Empire’s tighter with the book-keeping, I’ll give them that. Fordo’s unit lost contact not long before Order Sixty-six went down. If they made it out, it would be on record somewhere.”

“And if they didn’t?”

Alpha battles his temper into submission before replying. “Then they would be confirmed KIA. But they’re still listed as missing as of two weeks ago.”

“Sounds like you’re leaving an awful lot to chance,” Crosshair opines. There isn’t malice in his voice so much as an unmistakable note of disapproval. “What’s your plan if it turns out they were just waiting for reinforcements and pulled out days ago? That leaves us here in the heart of Imperial occupation.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Alpha says grimly. “But if they lost comms before the order came through, then there’s a chance they aren’t with the Empire. Their main focus would be survival, not falling in line nice and neat like Palpatine expects.”

It’s clear there are a number of objections rising to the forefront of Crosshair’s mind, but the man keeps them to himself. There’s a conflict brewing there, Alpha knows, but that’s a matter to address at another time.

“There’s an area south of here where all comm signals go dead,” Tech announces, tapping furiously at the device mounted on his vambrace. “According to intel, the Wookies call it the Black Forest.”

“Sounds inviting,” Hunter says. “What’s the deal with it?”

“A prison ship crashed there centuries ago,” Tech relays. “The Wookies believe it’s cursed, so they avoid it whenever possible. It’s possible Fordo and whoever was left were driven back by the Seps - or it was a desperate bid and he was banking on the droids not following somewhere they can’t maneuver well. But why cut himself off from allies…?”

“The forward operating base was set up in Kachirho,” Alpha muses aloud “There was another commando squad deployed here, but they were retasked shortly after Order Sixty-six. If Fordo’s here, I doubt he would hang around anywhere with high Imperial activity.”

If he were operating alone, the decision would be simple. But he has the welfare of four other men to consider now; one wrong move, and they’ll all end up on the business end of a blaster.

With that in mind, Alpha looks to Hunter. “Sergeant. What do you think?”

“It’s your call,” Hunter answers. “If you have reason to think your brother is hiding out here, then I think it’s worth taking a look. So long as we go careful, I don’t see why the Imperials should notice us.”

Wrecker’s chuckle fills the comms. “Famous last words.”

_________________________

For all that they have a reputation for being unorthodox - a reputation that is doubtless justly earned - the Bad Batch can pull off stealth pretty well, too. It comes as a bit of a surprise, if Alpha is being honest, but if nothing else the overarching threat of Hunter’s wrath is enough to keep them in line.

“Keep an eye out for slavers,” Tech warns. “The whole planet has been a hotspot for them ever since the CIS first let them in.”

It’d be just our luck to run into slavers, Alpha thinks wryly. Individually they’re not much of a threat, but a group of Trandoshans spells trouble for anyone. Even without the training to back it up, their brutality can overpower even an ARC trooper. ‘Course, it’d be just like you to get into a mess like that, Fordo…

“We’ll be a bigger target if we travel as a group,” Hunter says.

“If we split up we might as well ask for a death sentence,” Alpha cautions. Typically his first choice would be to operate alone, but between the slavers, the Imperials, and the remnants of the Separatist forces, he’s starting to think their strength might lie in numbers this time.

Alpha mulls it over. Greater numbers means slower going. If we split up, we’ll be able to cover more ground. It’ll be risky, but - payoff is worth it.

“We’ll move faster this way,” Hunter says, echoing Alpha’s thoughts. “Wrecker, Tech, you’re with me. Cross…” He fixes his brother with a stern stare. “Don’t do anything stupid. Alpha has my full permission to stop you by any means necessary.”

Alpha rewards the sergeant with a wolfish grin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He can’t read Crosshair half as well as the others, but the sniper doesn’t appear altogether displeased. He merely shrugs when Alpha jerks his head towards the route they’ll be following, and trails after him without argument.

Silence lays thick over the jungle. There’s an odd rustle here and there, interspersed with faint growls from time to time, but progress is relatively smooth. Alpha takes pains to remain on guard; just because he can’t see a threat doesn’t mean they’re in the clear.

Before long the silence is disconcerting. Given the planet’s Wookie population, there should be regular movement around them, or some sign of existence. But this stretch of the jungle is oddly lacking.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Crosshair mutters.

“Guess no one’s home,” Alpha answers absently, scrutizining the terrain. “Look - there’s no sign of a fight. Maybe no one was here to begin with.”

“Kachirho isn’t too far from here,” Crosshair points out. “You don’t think it’s a little odd that this path hasn’t been used at all?”

“It is,” Alpha allows, “but look at it this way. We’re traveling the way we’ve been trained to in this kind of setting. The Wookies probably have their own methods for getting around.”

“It’s still weird,” Crosshair decides. “And if your brother really was here, we’d have found evidence of that, too.”

He isn’t wrong, but it nonetheless stings to hear the man voice the doubtful thoughts that have been creeping up on Alpha. Still, we’ve come this far. What have we got to lose?

(More than he’s willing to surrender. But Crosshair doesn’t need to know that.)

“Let’s keep moving,” Alpha says, sharper than he intends.

“Hang on,” Crosshair says suddenly. “Contact - ”

Alpha pivots in time to see a Trandoshan emerge from the surrounding foliage. The lizard is taller and more solid than he previously anticipated; instead of hitting it head-on like he initially planned, Alpha redirects in order to avoid being gutted on the lizard’s knife.

He hears the shot and the telltale thump of the lizard falling to the ground. As Alpha picks himself up, Crosshair scans the area through the scope of his rifle.

“Oh, shab,” the sniper hisses.

It doesn’t take long for Alpha to locate the cause of Crosshair’s disgruntlement. A group of Trandoshans lurches towards them. Alpha does a rapid assessment: each lizard is packing some sort of ranged weapon - including slugthrowers, he notes unenthusiastically - and most are carrying an assortment of knives.

“Ideas?” Crosshair asks tersely.

“They’ll just follow us if we run,” Alpha says. “It’ll save us trouble in the long run if we take them now.”

“I can see why Hunter likes you,” Crosshair says, oddly nonchalant considering the circumstances, and fires.

With Crosshair covering ranged attacks, Alpha elects the more up-close-and-personal option. The slavers have the advantage of size, but Trandoshans aren’t renowned for their intelligence. As long as he stays in motion the risk of having his throat slit is greatly reduced.

Alpha targets a straggler first. He hits low, knocking the lizard off balance and sending it staggering into another. The other makes a grab for him, but Alpha is already ramming his vibroblade into the first slaver’s exposed neck. Using the limp body as a buffer, Alpha pushes against the other lizard, trying to force it onto its back foot.

Just as he feels his opponent’s defense start to give, another three descend on him. Cursing, Alpha throws himself aside before they can hem him in. One of the slavers has enough presence of mind to bring his knife down on Alpha’s unprotected back; the force of the blow has him crashing to the ground.

Alpha scrambles for a foothold, but one of the lizards seizes his leg in a vicelike grip. He writhes instinctively, kicking out with his other foot. He feels the impact more than sees it and wrenches himself free.

Just as a third lizard fills the other’s place, there’s a crack from Crosshair’s rifle, and the lizard topples. Alpha springs to his feet to avoid being crushed by several hundred kilos of Trandoshan. The others are wary now, trying to divide their attention between him and Crosshair.

Alpha doesn’t give them time to choose. This time he uses his blaster to put a round through the closest target. It’s not quite enough to put the lizard out of commission entirely, so he follows up with a quick succession of bolts.

It’s not exactly an even match, but things aren’t going as badly as he first feared, Alpha thinks. No sooner does the thought cross his mind than his helmet flashes a warning. He turns to deflect the attack coming from behind, but he moves too late and steps directly into the strike.

The slaver’s curved knife skids off Alpha’s breastplate and sinks into his bodysuit in the gap between the cuirass and the shoulder bell. Alpha manages to pull away, but not before the knife catches the underside of his arm and slices a gash halfway down his bicep.

A line of pain sears through his arm. There’s no doubt the Trandoshan cut deep into the muscle. That arm is effectively useless now; Alpha grimly switches his knife to the other hand.

He doesn’t have eyes on Crosshair from his current position, but the rasping breaths and occasional curses over the comms suggest the sniper isn’t having an easy time of it either. Time to fall back and reassess.

“Let’s pull back. We might be able to lose them.” Alpha bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a hiss of pain when his wounded arm is jostled. “We can’t take them now, at any rate.”

“You might want to rethink that, alor’ad…”

Crosshair jerks his head to indicate the slavers pouring into the area. There’s a slim chance they’ll be able to slip by, but not without risking serious injury. Slowing down to accommodate a bad hit would mean certain death or capture.

Pinned down. Shabla brilliant.

Alpha makes an effort to keep his rapidly rising alarm in check. “We’ll have to hold them off, then.”

“There’s no way,” Crosshair objects. “We’re outnumbered eight to one.”

Alpha sends a slaver sprawling rather than answer. He can see it as plainly as Crosshair, but he’s not going to lay down and die, not when his brother is still out there somewhere, not when there’s still a chance they could pull this off -

He hasn’t been this close in weeks and it isn’t his place to gamble anyone else’s life but his own, but even now he can’t bring himself to give in and he understands in a sudden flash of clarity that this is where he will always fail - because he has a foothold, now, and even though all logic points to turning back for once he can’t give in -

An arm clamps around his neck. Alpha thrashes, trying to throw his attacker off, but now that he’s been caught off guard the lizard has an advantage. His vision begins to blur at the edges and he redoubles his efforts, fueled in no small part by panic at being unable to draw breath.

He doesn’t know where Crosshair is anymore. He can hardly see beyond his own hands, scrabbling desperately at the arm locked around his neck.

No sooner does his vision begin to fade than the crushing pressure on his neck abruptly loosens. Alpha hits the ground gracelessly, coughing violently as he tries to inhale. His breath rattles in his throat, but his vision gradually returns.

He lurches to his feet and assumes a defensive stance as best he can. He’s lost track of how many slavers are still standing - too many is his best estimate.

But the man standing before him isn’t an enemy. He’s -

“Vod,” Fordo says softly.

Alpha can only stare at his brother in stunned silence, momentarily deaf to the ongoing struggle around them. Fordo....

“Later,” his brother promises.

______________________

“So how’d you end up running with them?” Fordo asks with a nod towards the Bad Batch.

“It’s complicated,” Alpha says lightly. “Too much to unpack now, at any rate.”

Fordo laughs. He’s battered and weary, with something lurking in his gaze Alpha can’t quite decipher yet, but it’s Fordo, and that’s more than enough.

“It’s quiet here,” Fordo remarks. “I like that.”

“‘S nice,” Alpha agrees.

They’re still hovering just above the surface. Tentative. It’s not exactly what Alpha is accustomed to, but for Fordo’s sake he lets his brother take the lead.

“Everything’s gone sideways, hasn’t it,” Fordo says suddenly.

“It has,” Alpha admits. There’s no use pretending otherwise. “But we’ll find a way through.”

Fordo flashes a small smile. “You’re good at that.”

Alpha merely shrugs. There’s a thousand other things he wants to say, but he hasn’t the faintest clue where to begin. Finally he ventures carefully, “Y’know, for a while now I thought this mission did you in.”

Fordo lets out a long sigh. “I was starting to think it might, myself.”

“I…” Alpha breaks off, startled by the sudden pressure behind his eyes. It worsens when he tries to continue. “I don’t know what I would’ve - ”

He falters again. I care more than I should. I never should’ve let that happen, but even now I don’t know if I regret it.

“Alpha,” Fordo says softly, and pulls him into an embrace.

Alpha doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally disentangles himself from Fordo as gently as he can and scrubs at the hot trails on his face. He can’t quite bring himself to feel any shame over it. He’s never been given to such displays, but… Fordo is his vod.

“So what’s the plan, alor’ad?” Fordo asks with a familiar note of mischief in his voice.

Alpha smiles despite himself. “It’s a big galaxy.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” Alpha laughs. “We have time.”

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #captain fordo #the bad batch #bad batch #clone force 99 #the clone wars #star wars #fic prompt #thanks for the prompt!#this was really fun #and i would absolutely write for them again #hunter specifically but shhh #if you make it through this post good on you lmao #my askbox is open!

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 3 years

Text

Shattered Skulls and Tampered Timelines

A/N: Two things!

1) I'm probably not the first person to come up with this, but i personally haven't seen anybody else talk about so if you see someone else with this idea, then that's pure coincidence

2) It's in the tags, but content warnings for blood, a bit of gore, mentions of broken bones, and death.

***

Drifting.

That was an accurate way to describe it, he thought. Drifting. Floating aimlessly through the world, mindlessly going through the motions, doing everything he was asked as simple as muscle memory. The nothingness of it all twisted his stomach and ate away at him like he was nothing but a corpse, rotting away on the ground.

Like the limp and bloodied body of the child laying in front of him.

He never really wanted to kill him, truly. It was the heat of the moment, a quick decision, a thought as sudden as the sickening crack of the boy's skull as it slammed against the wall or the scream ripped from his throat or the way he slumped onto the floor, eyes still open, and totally, undoubtedly dead.

He was supposed to play with his food. The same way cats do, tugging on the mouse's tail, clawing at its fur, batting it with its paws. Only difference was, he had never intended to let go.

Drifting. That's how he'd described it. Carried slowly by a current of air or water. Carried to build the community house by his friends, carried to steal the boy's discs by spite, carried to kill him by anger.

Carried to stumble across the prison cell as a blinding flash of light suddenly burst from the corner of the room.

He was met with a shock of neon colours, first. Purple, cyan, yellow, and what seemed to be a million more hugging the figure of a man with his back turned. Then was a mop of brown hair on his head, pale skin, and then finally a book in his hands, leather with gold strips on the spine and a cyan spiral on the cover.

The figure paused, then looked around the room. He perked up, held the book close to his chest and spun around, meeting his eyes.

"Oh my god, finally! I made it!" he whooped, grin stretching ear to ear. His eyes shone brightly with something more than just excitement.

He hummed. "Nice of you to join us, Karl," he mused. "Not many people have visited."

Karl narrowed his eyes. "And nobody should." He peered over his shoulder and grimaced. "Tommy... you really killed him, huh?"

"I thought Sam already told everybody."

"He did, I just..." He trailed off, as if not wanting to say it. "You're disgusting, Dream."

"Why thank you, that's a very nice compliment." He hesitated. "Why are you here?"

Karl tapped the book. Its yellowing pages and colourful bookmarks ruffled under the leather case. Wordlessly, he pushed past Dream, kneeling beside the boy's body as it stared blankly up at him. Its jaw was dislocated and its temple was bleeding in three different places, the blood masking a third of his face. The back of his head was practically caved in.

"You didn't even have the decency to close his eyes?" Karl hissed, setting down the book. He reached out and touched the boy's arm. Cold as the leaking obsidian walls.

Dream shrugged. "Pretty sure I punched one of his eyes out of its socket," he hummed.

Karl could have vomited. But instead, he pressed the boy's eyelids down, and that lifeless grey stare was gone.

He put one arm under the boy's knees and the other on his back. Slowly, he hoisted the body until it sat slumped on his body, its head lolling on his chest, and tried not to look at the blood now staining his perfectly good hoodie.

Dream stared. "What are you doing?"

Karl flipped to a page in his book, one hand propping up the body, the other following the trail of words from paragraph to paragraph. "Fixing the past," he said simply.

Dream stepped forward. "Karl, you can't do that."

"It's what needs to be done." He flipped another page.

Dream stepped again. "I'm gonna bring him back anyway. He's not dead forever."

"That doesn't matter. I need to make things right."

"This is wrong."

"You're wrong!" He thumbed through a stack of pages. "C'mon, c'mon, where is it...?"

"What are you–?"

"I need to go back to when it all started," he hurried. "Before everything, before the discs, before Wilbur. Before you got a chance to hurt anybody."

"Karl–"

"I need to make things right!" he snapped. "Tommy needs to be okay again. This server needs to be okay again."

"You don't know what you're doing, Karl," Dream said softly. "Give me the book."

"No!" He snatched the book closer to him, rifling through the pages of bookmarks and trinkets and notes scribbled beside the paragraphs of spells and alternate timelines.

Dream leapt. Karl scrambled put the way, leaving the boy behind and jumping to the other side of the cell. His eyes flitted frantically across the pages until they landed on what he needed. "Found it!"

"Found what?"

"Tommy will be fine, I don't know and don't care about what'll happen to you." He skimmed over the words. "Turn back the hands of time, restore the form..."

Dream pounced at him. "Karl, give me that book–"

Karl sidestepped the attack, running as he read. "Things will go back to how they once were..."

Dream growled. "Give me the book!"

"The subject must not know about the original timeline..."

He went to strike his face, but Karl was quicker. He ducked out the way and the wall shook with the impact. "I'll kill you, Karl!"

Karl read faster. "...guide the subject and ensure their safety, otherwise the timeline will collapse–"

"Karl!"

"–and the traveller will forever be stuck in the Inbetween."

"Give me the book–!"

Karl slammed the book shut and dove to the floor. He pulled Tommy closer to his chest and closed his eyes.

And when he opened them, Tommy was gone, and Karl was lying on a patch of grass. He bolted upright so fast that he probably pulled a muscle in his back, but he didn't care.

"Tommy? Tommy!" he called out, frantically whipping his head around.

Good news: the spell had worked, and they were back.

Bad news: Tommy was nowhere to be found.

He looked around again, until his gaze settled on what looked like a dirt cave. Well, less like a cave and more like someone had blown up a couple TNT mounds into an otherwise perfectly normal slope, but still, it was something. Outside it sat an oak path snaking through the majority of the buildings and in front of the cave.

Karl sprang to his feet. "Prime Path!" He turned to the cave. "Tommy's house..."

Hopefully nobody would be watching as he entered a child's home while he was probably sleeping. He slipped through the entrance (the kid didn't even have a door) and took in the view..

The place was so different, now that he could really see it. Crafting table floor, no windows, dirt walls... for someone who was "married to the grind", he had a pretty shit living space.

Now, if the spell had worked how he'd planned, Tommy would be asleep in his bed. And sure enough, when he turned, there he was, sprawled out on his bed without so much of a scratch on him.

Travelling through different time periods, Karl had certainly gained a new appreciation for his life. But that was nothing compared to the wave of relief he felt once his gaze landed on Tommy. The kid was fine, if a bit younger, with his eyes closed peacefully and not a bruise on his face and his chest slowly rising and falling as he snored.

Karl sighed. Travelling was already tiring on his own. Having another person travelling with him was a whole other story.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "My name is Karl Jacobs. I have the ability to travel through time. I have two fiancés, Quackity and Sapnap. I travelled back to give Tommy another chance and to help the sever not downgrade to how it is now. If Tommy dies again, the timeline will collapse. My job is to help him. His memories should still be intact."

He nodded. That sounded about right.

He pulled out his journal and scribbled a note in one of the blank pages. He ripped it out, folded it and laid it down on Tommy's chest.

Tommy just needed to wake up.

Karl slinked out the exit, staying as quiet as humanly possible as not to wake him up. And he was doing perfectly well, not making a single sound, until he was met face-to-face with a white smiling mask and he nearly screamed until his vocal chords went out.

He slapped a hand over his mouth. "Uh– h–hey, Dream!"

Dream smiled softly. "Karl? You're not supposed to be here, are you?"

"Nope! Yeah, sorry, I was just... returning something to Tommy. I'll be out of your hair now–"

"No, I mean on the server. I never whitelisted you."

Crap. He's forgotten about that.

"Yeah you did!" he blurted out. "You did, uh, ages ago! I just never really came here, uh, a lot, so, yeah."

If Dream believed that, then Karl was either the most charismatic person in the world, or Dream was the dumbest man to ever live.

"...huh. Okay, then," Dream said slowly.

What.

"Yup!" Karl said. "Okay, well, uh, see you 'round!"

He bolted off before Dream could reply.

Now for Tommy to wake up, and for the operation to begin.

***

Tommy awoke with a scream.

It was the last thing he'd done before his head cracked against the wall; scream for Dream to stop and then scream in the agony.

Then suddenly, everything had gone black, and he was with Wilbur again.

His time in the afterlife had gone by in a blur, he could hardly remember any of it. All he recalled was a tall brown blot, the smell of blood and gunpowder, and now suddenly he was awake.

He looked down. A folded piece of paper sat on his chest, and he opened it up.

Tommy,

I can't tell you who I am, but I can tell you that you're safe and that everything's fine for now.

You're probably confused, so let me explain. Everything you remember wasn't a dream. You founded L'Manberg, got exiled twice, got killed by Dream, everything. I've brought you back in time so we can fix everything that went wrong and hopefully change the server for the better.

Hopefully you're where when I want you to be, but if not, then we'll just have to work with it. Here's the rundown: Wilbur's alive, L'Manberg hasn't been founded yet, you and Tubbo are still on three lives, and a lot of the server hasn't been whitelisted yet. That means no Quackity, Ranboo, Schlatt, everything.

It's better if I don't tell you who I am, otherwise it might affect the timeline. All you need to know is that I'm here on the sidelines if you need anything. Write me a note and I'll find it.

Good luck. You're gonna need it.

~Traveller

...well, that probably explained a few things.

He hardly had any more time to think when a knock sounded. He whipped his head around and was met with a familiar face.

"Wilbur!" he grinned, and raced forward to embrace him, burying his face into his shoulder. Wilbur stumbled back, mildly concerned.

"Woah woah woah– hugs? Tommy, are you alright?" he asked gently. Tommy nodded, but made no move to pull away.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, I just..." He pulled away slowly. "I... I had a dream that I lost you, is all."

He grinner. "Aww, Tommy...!"

"Alright, shut up, you sappy bastard. What do you want?"

Wilbur looked around. "Why is the floor crafting tables, Tommy?"

His mind raced. Fuck, why was his floor full of crafting tables?

"Eret," he said suddenly. "It's– it's Eret."

The puzzle pieces clicked together. That's right, Eret had done it.

Tommy frowned at the thought of him. Maybe he could stop the betrayal this time around.

Everything else went by in a flash. Tommy's head swam with thoughts, painstakingly trying to remember what he had said, what he had done, where they had travelled. He didn't even know where exactly in time he was!

Then Wilbur said something that set off every red flag and blaring alarm in his head.

"So, Tommy," he said nonchalantly enough. "Have you ever seen the TV show 'Breaking Bad'?"

Tommy's stomach turned. "Sort of." It wasn't a yes or a no, a balancing act.

"Imagine what would happen if we could get every brewing stand off the server," he continued, "and then we, make an empire out of producing all the potions on this server."

His head span. He felt sick. His chest hurt with the memory of the arrow that hadn't even been crafted yet. He remembered the towers, the TNT, the button– everything. The heartbreak, the nightmares, the downward spirals, everything leading up to that fateful day when his head shattered like glass against the obsidian wall.

He remembered everything, and he needed to stop it.

#submission #dream smp #dream smp au #dreamwastaken #karl jacobs #tommyinnit #tw death #tw blood #tw gore #tw broken bones mention #shattered skulls and tampered timelines #fanfic #song--fox

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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

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Yule Log

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: With Christmas quickly approaching, Loki finds himself missing his favorite time on Asgard. If he can’t go back home to celebrate, you’re determined to bring the party to him. Warnings: just the tiniest bit angsty, but mainly just fluff. And a lot of kissing A/N: We’re already halfway through December, can you believe it? To continue the spread of holiday cheer, please enjoy my latest fic! Happy reading :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs @gaitwae

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

“Thank you for coming,” you said to some of the last guests as they made their way out into the chilly night air.

Being Tony’s personal assistant was no easy feat, and sometimes it meant you had to be in full work mode at parties rather than being able to let loose. So many times your boyfriend tried to pull you away from all the seriousness, but you would only be able to enjoy a dance or two before having to do something else. It was yet another reason why Loki was not a fan of Stark’s shindigs.

“Darling,” he called as you made your way back into the room. “Come sit with me now?”

“I can’t. There’s still people here.”

“And they are occupied talking to Stark and Captain Rogers,” he pouted. “Certainly you can rest for a minute. You deserve it, after all.”

“Ok, I guess,” you replied, walking over. He pulled you down onto his lap before you could change your mind, kissing you quickly but passionately. “Well if that’s what you mean by rest, I would have stopped working hours ago.”

“Duly noted,” he said, nuzzling into your neck, enjoying your scent. “I will be sure to be more specific next time.”

You giggled against his lips as he kissed you again. The whole scene was picturesque, really. Sitting with your boyfriend on the couch, a tree in the background, snow falling outside, and a fire crackling nearby; it was like something right out of a painting. Or maybe a dream. Then again, that’s how you felt about every second you spent with Loki.

Just when you were getting settled against him, your boss called your name, and waved you over with a smile. He probably needed you for another scheduling problem. At least you would be getting a break for Christmas soon. You sighed and pecked Loki on the cheek, wiggling out of his grip, much to his protest. With a promise to meet him in your shared room as soon as you finished up with the last few guests, he let you go.

Roughly half an hour later, you were stumbling into your quarters, feet sore and eyes tired. Walking into your bedroom to change, you saw Loki standing by the window, his shirt in his hands as if he just forgot what he was doing halfway through changing. You hugged him from behind, resting your forehead between his shoulder blades. His hand immediately alighted on your arm and began rubbing slow circles on your skin. You’d noticed he did that anytime he was pensive or working through a lot of emotions.

“Hey, are you ok? Do you need to talk?” you asked.

“I am alright, my angel. You need not worry,” he told you, turning around to hug you and kissing your forehead gently. “Now, I believe we were going to watch a movie.”

You frowned at the way he changed the topic, but decided not to push the subject. You could always try again in the morning, but you didn’t want to make him talk if he didn’t feel like it. You got changed while Loki set up the film, something he was still very proud that he’d learned how to do. Settling on the couch, Loki rested his head on your lap, and you played with his hair as Rudolph began to play on the TV.

You looked down at the beautiful god, wondering what was going through that beautiful mind of his. There was no doubt in your mind; you loved Loki. The thing was that he could be so guarded sometimes that you felt left out. Like he was keeping things from you. It was more out of concern for him that it made you worry, not because you didn’t trust him. In fact, you trusted him with your life. You only wished that he would do the same with you.

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The next morning, you woke up in the bed, wrapped in Loki’s arms. You didn’t quite remember getting off of the couch last night, and you knew Loki must have carried you after you fell asleep. His eyes were on you, as you laid there. You could feel his loving gaze even before opening your eyes. You liked to do that sometimes, pretend like you were still asleep and bask in the joy of Loki admiring you. Whether or not he told you everything, he obviously adored you, and this was a nice reminder of that. Though, now that you thought about the issue of communication, you cracked open your eyes, determined to get him to tell you what is wrong.

“Good morning, darling,” he said, smiling warmly at you. “I love you.”

It always made you flustered when Loki told you that so soon after waking, like it was the most important thing. Like he had to make sure you knew before anything else happened. Before you could even get up most days, he was saying those words. They always made you snuggle further into your chest, resolving to stay in bed a bit longer, rather than getting up and starting your duties for that day.

“Morning, Loki. I love you too.”

Still laying together in a tangle of limbs, the two of you chatted for a bit longer, and you were carefully working your way up to the question you wanted to ask. It was a delicate topic, for sure, but maybe he’d be soft enough after all the pillow talk to share.

“Loki, can I ask you a question? And can you answer me honestly?” you asked.

“Of course. I will do my best, my angel.”

You frowned a little at the response, but plowed on anyway. “Last night you were upset about something. What was it? You know I worry about you. It’s ok, you can tell me.”

“Well,” he sighed. “It is nothing much, really. It is just with all these Christmas festivities, I am reminded of my mother’s favorite celebration. The winter solstice ball was always around this time. She loved planning the Yule celebrations. It was why she put up with the planning of every other ball, just so she could do this one. It was always the most fun, for her love of the holiday shone through every minute detail of the day.”

You looked at features, peaceful and happy, a small smile tugging at his lips. You wanted to be happy for him, too, but it made your heart break as you read deeper into what he was saying. It wasn’t just the holiday he was upset over.

“Oh, Loki. You miss your mother,” you cooed as he sadly nodded.

“It is nothing you need worry yourself over, really.”

“Yes, Loki, I do. Because I love you. If you’re allowed to worry over me, I can over you, too.”

“That is... fair,” he conceded, though he was frowning a little. “So what are you going to do? Nothing too over the top, I hope.”

“I’m not exactly sure yet, but I’ll start with this,” you admitted, cupping his cheek and kissing him. You started on his lips, but then moved to placing little pecks all over his face. His smile had returned by the time you finished. “Better?”

“Much,” he confessed as he pulled you closer, earning a giggle. “But you are not done trying to fix this, are you?”

“Not even close.”

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A few days later you were setting up the common room for a solstice party, much like the Asgardian ballroom would be looking soon. You’d asked Thor more about how the holiday was celebrated on his home planet and, together with the rest of the Avengers, you were getting ready to surprise Loki. Though you had Bucky and Peter keeping him busy and out of the way right now, you were sure that Loki suspected something was up.

“Are you sure this is everything Thor?” you nervously questioned, giving the room a once-over. “Everything has to be perfect.”

“Do not worry, my friend. You were very thorough.”

After combing through your notes one last time, just to make sure there wasn’t anything you were missing, you called Peter and Bucky to bring Loki back. In true surprise party fashion, you turned the lights off and got into hiding places. When he walked in, you all jumped up and screamed “Happy Yule.” For a second he didn’t move, and the silence was kind of awkward as he stood there with a sort of stunned but otherwise unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he gently said your name.

“You don’t like it, do you?” you said, feeling like you might cry.

“Like it? No, no, I do not. Darling,” he said, shaking his head before breaking out into a huge grin and crushing you in a hug, using his godly strength to pick you up and spin you around. “I love it! I was certain you had some trick up your sleeve, but this? This is beyond my wildest imagination. It is perfect! Thank you, love.”

“Really?” you squealed in excitement. “Loki, that means so much to me.”

“And the fact that you went through all this trouble means so much to me.”

He kissed you then, not caring about the reaction from the rest of the Avengers, which was a mix of whoops and groans. Even when you broke away from each other, you still stood there for a minute, just gazing at each other. The look in your eyes said everything that words couldn’t.

“Well then, what are we waiting for? Let us party,” Loki announced.

He swept you onto the dance floor as the music began to play, enjoying waltzing amongst your friends. After a few songs, you led him over to the thrones at the front of the room. He nearly cried tears of joy when you said it was for him. Long ago, he’d given up on the notion that he’d rule, let go of the desire to do so. He did not need it if he was king of your heart. But to be offered one, even just for the night, it meant more to him than he knew how to express.

It was late into the night after a number of Avengers had moved past tipsy and into drunk, when Loki asked you take a walk with him. You bundled up before stepping into the cold night air, but afraid of his little mortal catching a cold, Loki draped an extra cloak on your shoulders. It was so soft you wondered if he’d cast some kind of spell on it. He took your hand and led you away from the Tower and into the city, lit up even more than normal by all the Christmas decorations. Eventually, you reached Central Park, and Loki slowed to a stop so he could cup your cheeks and kiss you yet again that night. You lost yourself in him, losing track of time as you stood there, lips locked together. When you finally separated, he was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“My sweetest angel, thank you so much for cheering me up,” he said.

“It was no problem. It was totally worth it to see you so happy. Did I miss anything that you were looking forward to?”

“Darling, you simply must stop worrying yourself. The party was amazing.”

“But?”

“Did it sound like there was a 'but' coming? I assure you, you have done everything perfectly.”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I just feel in my gut that there’s something missing, and I know you won’t tell me of your own accord. Please, Loki, if there’s something else, let me know.”

“Admittedly, there is one other thing I miss. But you have done more than enough already.”

“Will you please stop that?” you snapped a little, surprising the god. “Stop pushing your feelings aside, especially with me. I care about you, ok? I want to trouble myself with what’s bothering you. Because if we deal with it together, it’s not so hard for either of us. We love each other, Loki, I know that. So just open up. Tell me.”

“Are you done?” he inquired with an impressed and amused smirk as you nodded, a little flustered and embarrassed after your outburst. “Good.”

Once more, Loki kissed you, catching you completely by surprise. Usually he liked to show his love through little things, but tonight he couldn’t seem to keep his lips off yours. Not that you were complaining, of course. The displays of affection were certainly as welcome out in public as they behind closed doors. You tenderly caressed his cheek and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes.

“The Yule log,” he said. “It was the one night a year I felt like we were truly a family. Father, mother, Thor, and I would sit around the fire into the late hours of the night, laughing and telling stories.” He zoned out for a second and you let him reminisce before continuing. “I remember when I was just a small child, father even let me fall asleep on his lap sometimes. And then as we got older and things became more tense, there was still always that night.”

“Loki,” you whispered, “that’s lovely. I would love to light a Yule log for our little family, if you’ll allow it.”

“I would love nothing more, my angel.”

Then you excitedly whisked him back to the Tower, where you promptly told everyone the plan. They gathered around, and Loki conjured a log which you lit together. You snuggled with your prince in an oversized chair, safely tucked under his arm.

“My angel,” he whispered, “I really cannot thank you enough. And I vow to be more open with you from now on. Because I trust you and love you more than anything else in the Nine Realms and beyond.”

“You’re welcome, Loki. I love you, too, though I never could say it as eloquently as you can,” you chuckled. “Happy Yule, my love.”

“Happy Yule, darling.”

You began to doze off against his side. Loki listened to the conversation and laughter flowing all around him. Soon, everyone followed your lead and began drifting off to sleep. He smiled as he realized he got to keep his favorite tradition of sitting around the Yule log with his family, after all.

“Happy Yule, mother,” he whispered into the night before falling asleep, too.

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