Random One Shots:These are little one shot fics just to get you acquainted with the Egos and how I write them! However, a few of the stories might get into more of the lore of the blog, which might require reading some of my other stories first.
The Good Stuff: Now here’s where things start to get interesting. From here on out, the posts are arranged in a timeline for you to follow. Be warned: there’s a lot!
It’s been a great ride, cutie pies! I’m so excited to start fresh and so sad to see this universe go. I’m going to take a few days to properly get my head together, I think, and then I’ll be ready to start the new stories. Thank you for all the sweet goodbye’s, and get ready, buckle in, because it’s going to be a wild ride from here!
I’m so excited to finally sit down and read ALL of this! This’ll be the serotonin boost I’ve needed!
I’m sorry for not posting for ages but requests are gonna be on hold for a while because of school getting in the way. Meaning that any requests sent will probably take longer for me to complete.
The way I physically could not comprehend what he said the first time he said it my whole world just flipped on its head and I am but a fool among this ocean of chaos
In The Morning I’ll Be Better (Descendants of the Trio AU)
“It’s fine.”
It’s hard to trust, after The Wormhole.
Hard to trust others when you’ve faced harm and death from them, over and over again, and they have no idea what they’re even capableof doing.
Hard to trust the world around him, when even before he had full-on Multiverse Attacks he would have spells of confusion, of being lost, of thinking he’s meant to be in one universe and not understanding the one he’s actually in.
Hard to trust himself,when he’s not always sure he’s the right him.Sometimes he’s from a universe where everything’s meant to be black-and-white, and the colors hurt his eyes and overwhelm him. Sometimes he’s from a universe where there’s only woods and woods and woods and trees and trees and trees and his only instinct is hunt.Sometimes he’s from a universe where he’s putting up plastic in an apartment while the owners are out grocery shopping, holding a knife with dried blood on it between his teeth as he works.
But those aren’t right. They’re him, but not him.They’re split off, like trying to print something over and over, but the ink cartridge is low or the paper is crooked and the copy isn’t quiteright. Time after time it’s printed, but the copy never matches the original, until they can’t even really be called copiesanymore, they’re something new and different entirely. Just with a few… connective tissues, leftover from the original document.
They aren’t the same thing. But they all came from the original, and there’s some of each not-quite-right copy contained in that first that existed.
And they can come through. Either tearing, ripping,all the wrong universes trying to fit into his, the only part of his universe thin enough to allow it his own mind and body, or they bleed through, ooze into his life in little ways that don’t sink in until he realizes that doesn’t quite fit.
“It’s fine. I can handle it.”
But there’s a constant. An unmovable, unwavering constant that he can always rely on. The Captain. Always the same, no matter the universe, always the same. And they can take his hand, or grab him by the shoulder, and help ease him back to where he’s meant to be.
The really bad attacks didn’t happen when he had them. Only the confused moments, the mornings where he woke up in what felt like the wrong bed, or the middle of the day when suddenly he couldn’t remember how to navigate the colony. And they’d be there, easing him back to the universe he belonged in.
He doesn’t have them now.
“I’ll be fine, don’t- don’t touch me.”
Because his asshole uncle, or whatever the fuck that Actorcounts as in this fucked-up family tree he’s found himself throw into, took them. He took The Captain, and Space tried.God, the tried to save them, but that awful place, that awful room,it ate away at him, dug into the deepest parts of his mind and pulled up something he’d rather had stayed down, and then it had started, the ripping,the other universes collidinginside of him-
And then he’d been running, leaving, escaping, without them. They’d been left behind, trapped behind some shattered mirror with that demon-
And he’d gotten stuck in a strange mansion in the past- his past, but someone else’s future, if that even matters now, it’s sometime in the 2st century at least- with a bunch of strangers.
A thing calling itself ‘Dark’ that’s apparently his actual biological father, the reason the multiverse attacks even afflict him, the problem inside his veins. An even stranger man who values death even less than Space and The Captain did at the height of their wormhole shenanigans. A former prisoner and son of that death-oblivious man, and the three sons of the asshole who stole his Captain.
All three of whom seem to have no fonder feelings for Actor than Space himself does.
But how can he be sure that’s real?
He doesn’t have The Captain anymore. He doesn’t have his rock, his Constant, his tie to his own reality, not one some fractured piece of him is living in.
“It’s fine. In the morning I’ll be better, okay? Back off.”
It’s not easy, recovering from the multiverse attacks. It doesn’t just confuse, it hurts.It’s a strain on his body as much as his mind now. It’s like that old, old book he read once in history class, what was the quote? Thin, like butter scrapped over too much bread?
He can usually feel one coming on. Until he can’t.
“Oh, shit. Is he okay?”
“He’s just… sitting there.”
“Guys, move- oh, god, I don’t think he’s conscious.”
“You’re not a doctor. You’re a dater.”
“Yeah, well, you look at his eyes and tell me he knows what’s going on right now.”
“But he’s told us he’s- … Fuck… … Illinois, help me lift him.”
“You don’t even like this guy.”
“I’m not going to leave him here drooling and half-dead, though.”
“I thought youse was all about leavin’ people behind.”
“What, did they bitch to you about that? You’re a prison therapist?”
“Hey, maybe we can do this afterwe get him to a bed?”
“Right, right.”
He’s vaguely aware of his feet dragging along the floor as he’s carried between two of the others. Where’s he being carried off too? It’s never good, being carried is never good, is he going into ADS again? Cryo? The alien fighting pits?
“I’ll go get Dark.”
“Don’t shoot him.”
“Ha-ha, Illy. My dateshot him, so suck on that.”
“Okay, uh… what do we do now?”
“He feels kinda hot. I’ll grabs 'im a towel?”
“As good idea as any, I guess. I’ll unzip his suit? Yeah, I’ll unzip his suit. Illinois, do you know anything about how heartrates are supposed to be?”
“Not a thing.”
“Maybe don’t say that with the same tone as you’d use bragging about your muscles, m'kay? Great.Just uh… I don’t know. I don’t know!”
“I’ve dealt with fevers before, though. Very common, on jungle, and… desert, adventures. His eyes are ah, still open, too. So eye drops, probably.”
“Oh, I’ve got some of those right here! Y/N said there’d be no need foreye drops on a heist,but I said you never know when you might need them, especially when you wear contacts-”
Oh, his eyes feel better. Less sore. Is that good? He’s still not sure where he is. His body feels like lead. Like a corpse. He knows all too well what it feels like to be a corpse. Did he die again? Why hasn’t he woken up yet then?
Oh, his head hurts… thinkinghurts… why’re his thoughts so loud…
“I’s got some cool water and a cloth thing, lemme at 'is forehead. I’ll cool that fucker right down.”
“Um… it’s not a fight?”
“Whadda youse think bein’ sick is?It’s a fight in your body!”
“… He’s not wrong.”
“Shut up, Mr. Collects Cursed Idols.”
“And you’re any better.”
“I didn’t know the box was cursed before taking it! Doesn’t count!”
“Ahem.”
“AH!”
“Out of the way, Heist. You found him in the hallway?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Unresponsive.”
“Thank you for letting me know, Date. Again. Space? Mark? Can you hear me?”
Guh… that ringing… … It’s… almost comforting, actually. In a weird way.
“Let me have the cloth, Yancy. You can all go. It’s best not to crowd him.”
“Okay, Mr. Dark, uh, sir, um-”
“Just go.”
“Yeah, leaving.”
“… You’re lucky they found you. This looks like your worst attack yet. … I understand why you don’t trust any of us. I wouldn’t either. I suppose I passed that down, maybe. … But learn from me. Trying to handle things all on your own… isn’t worth the costs. Even if you think it’s for the best, things… slip out of control.”
It’s hard to trust, after The Wormhole.
But when he wakes up with less of a headache than he’s had after his other attacks, and his eyes not burning and cry and crusty, and his body with minimal ache…
