#Death-Toy Scissors Bear

[artzchao]

frightfur bear

[spelllingandthemysteryschool]

My Little Pony was a figurine copyrighted by Hasbro and first produced in 1982. Based on My Pretty Pony, a larger and clunkier toy with unimpressive sales, My Little Pony was, despite the singularity baked into its name, always plural. There was no “pony,” never a one. Only ponies—many ponies, always proliferating, mutating, re-accessorized. Earth ponies and sea ponies and winged ponies and, of course, unicorn ponies. Each pony with its distinctive not-to-be-found-in-nature shade, its shimmering corn-silk plastic mane, its rump printed with an allegorical symbol, a.k.a. “cutie mark”: ice cream, clover, seahorse, stars, flowering plants, and on and on, emojis avant la lettre. The ponies’ bodies were plastic. For now, the ponies would not decay, although fire might melt them or a car wheel crush them. Their eyes were round and bedecked with long lashes. The irises were illustrated in such a way that each pony eye appeared perpetually brimming. Highlights, as on a meniscus of dew, were standard. The ponies might weep soon. They might cry for joy. They might look in your direction.  The ponies lived in Ponyland. It is not clear where they came from nor how they reproduced. They were of course inside the television, part of a twenty-two-minute weekday cartoon show called, fittingly enough, My Little Pony, and thus inhabited a visual realm, temporally constrained, yet constantly available if one had a VHS system and knowledge of how to record. They were material, as stated. They were moving images, as stated. They could be purchased and held. They could be watched. They were very smooth, seamless, without any roughness. One might run a hand down their necks, across their shoulders, along their backs. One might brush their plastic-scented, flower-colored hair. The myth-world of My Little Ponies was of a part with other myth-worlds of the mid to late eighties: the land of the Care Bears; the stationery empire of Lisa Frank; the intergalactic realms of She-Ra, of Wildfire the magical horse, of the ThunderCats. These myth-worlds ebbed into one another and got confused; it did not matter that they originated with unaffiliated copyright holders. They had rainbows, lots of rainbows, and craggy cliffs and lush forests and desert planets with buried fortresses, and were elsewhere, always elsewhere, beyond the sky or the solar system. You did not attain these places by walking down the street. They were like heaven, although no god was present. Devils aplenty: deranged scientists and bitter witches and space dictators and reanimated corpses with surprisingly good social skills were available to frustrate bliss. But there was no singular author of the good, no logos. There was only a puffy, sparkling spirit that cheerfully resisted death, corruption, and gratuitous violence—the ponies were mild imps who lived in terror of a Christian Satan. They always won out but it was by no means certain they would survive. These were the terms of the contest: a shimmering tribe of hunter-gatherer horses versus a citadel-dwelling autocracy equipped with what I now take to be early sixteenth-century levels of technology and opposable thumbs. You collected the ponies. You displayed the ponies. You made the ponies move and speak. You had them interact with She-Ra or perhaps Panthro, your favorite ThunderCat. You watched the cartoon series and the mediocre animated movie. You understood the personalities in question, the greater stakes. You sided with the good. You experimented with the struggle of the good and caused the plastic bodies to crash into one another. You brushed their tangled silky hair and sometimes cut it off with safety scissors.

— Lucy Ives, “Of Unicorns: On My Little Pony”

[monelights]

006 / 148. innocent toy — death toy scissors bear

[steam-powered-chaos]

SPG Villain Au (Chapter 4)

{Tw: corpses, puppet imagery, descriptions of death}

"Hold this." The golden automaton hands Violet some fabric, as they avert their eyes from the corpse. Its head rolls down to rest on its chest, almost as if it had simply fallen asleep, and if they didn't know any better and it didn't have an axe in its back, Violet would say the 'puppet' was asleep, or a very convincing doll. They took the dark green fabric without thinking, staring away from him. The Puppeteer frowned at their reaction, grabbing their chin to force them to look at the corpse, their pupils dilating slightly in panic. He laughed at their reaction as they started to gag, taking in the full features of the corpse. The Puppeteer snapped his fingers at Violet, and they shook their head, giving him a hateful glare as they gripped the sheet of fabric. "Focus on the task at hand, little birdie! We should make some clothes for this darling little puppet before I start painting it!" He began to laugh harder, and they flinched. He was completely mad, that was clear, or at least, as crazy as a robot could be.

Violet sighed, holding still as he measured, hmm'd and ah'd, before the golden robot slowly brought out a large pair of scissors. Noticing Violet's fear cross across their face, he chuckled quietly to himself, before The Puppeteer swiftly cut the fabric, taking the pieces from their trembling hands. He paused, a look of concern crossing his face as he gently placed his hands on Violet’s. He tilted his golden head, his curls falling to the side. “What’s wrong, my delightful little assistant? Cant have you trembling whilst I work, can I?” The Puppeteer laughed, although it quickly trailed off as they stared away, and he reached out, cupping their chin to force him to look at them with a freezing cold hand.

“You’re sad, why?” Violet shoved him away, staring down again. He released their chin, crouching to look at them. His optics dilated slightly upon noticing the tears in their eyes and he stood up, walking away into a cupboard, returning after a few minutes with a soft teddy bear in his hands, dropping it into their lap gently. Violet hesitated, before glancing up at him, as he turned away quickly. “His name is Bronzey… I suppose you can hug him until you feel better.” They nodded, wiping their eyes and wrapping their arms around the toy. The Puppeteer continued to work, occasionally asking Violet to help hold some fabric, once the shock of being so close to a corpse had somewhat faded.

The workshop door swung open, and Violet spun around to stare as The Spine walked in, his feet making a loud click as he walked towards them. He paused at the sight of the teddy bear tucked in their arms, and he glanced at The Puppeteer, who had his back to his silver companion. Was that… a smile, that just crossed the automaton’s face? “Puppeteer, have you finished with them?” He asked , with the golden automaton giving a small nod, obviously engrossed in his work. The Spine gestured for Violet to stand, and they followed his direction, knowing it would be futile to resist. They left the bear on the chair, giving a backward glance as they were led out the workshop.

[ultimate-pacifrisk]

Frisk Items List

Loves

001. Oolong Tea

003. Ginger Tea

013. Bunny Apples

017. Gyoza In the Shape of a Face

029. Wearable Blanket

031. Ladybug Brooch

055. Tattered Music Score

079. Three-Layered Lunch Box

091. Space Egg

093. Survival Flag

Likes

002. Boba Tea

006. Ketchup

008. Olive Oil

009. Astro Cake

014. Rock Hard Ice Cream

016. Candy Cigarette

018. Silver Earring

019. Crystal Bangle

020. Striped Necktie

022. Ultimate Academy Bracelet

023. Workout Clothes

025. Autumn-Colored Scarf

026. Hand-Knit Sweater

027. Cheer Coat Uniform

028. Nail Brush

032. Cufflinks

034. White Robot Mustache

037. Travel Journal

039. Story of Tokono

043. Stainless Tray

044. Tennis Ball Set

045. High-End Headphones

046. Teddy Bear

048. Illusion Rod

049. Hand Mirror

051. Japanese Doll Wig

053. Sewing Kit

054. Flame Thunder

056. Indigo Hakama

057. Fashionable Glasses

058. Gold Origami

059. Plastic Moon Buggy Model

061. Hand Grips

064. Sketchbook

067. Proxilingual Device

069. Potted Banyan Tree

071. Dancing Haniwa

072. Work Chair Of Doom

077. Clock-Shaped Gaming Console

078. Everywhere Parasol

080. Aluminum Water Bottle

081. Jelly Balls

083. Earnest Compass

084. Semazen Doll

085. Weathercock of Barcelous

088. Monkey's Paw

089. Art Piece of Spring

090. Electric Tempest

095. Home Planet

097. Sparkly Sheet

098. Hammock

101. Marigold Seeds

102. Rock-Paper-Scissors Cards

103. Perfect Laser Gun

106. Dangan Werewolf

107. Tentacle Machine

108. Rice Toy Blocks

109. Cosmic Blanket

110. Fully-Automated Shaved Ice Machine

111. Gun of Man's Passion

Neutral

004. Cleopatra's Pearl Cocktail

007. Sugar

011. Maple Fudge

012. Greek Yogurt

015. Sukiyaki Caramel

021. Bondage Boots

024. Mono-Jinbei

030. Beret

033. Dog Tag

038. Dreams Come True ☆ Spell Book

040. Spla-Teen Vogue

041. Fun Book of Animals

042. Latest Machine Parts Catalog

047. Milk Puzzle

050. Prop Carrying Case

062. Commemorative Medal Set

063. Metronome

065. Art Manikin

066. Bird Food

068. Gourd Insect Trap

070. Pocket Tissue

073. 3-Hit KO Sandbag

074. Sports Towel

075. Steel Glasses Case

076. Robot Oil

082. Upbeat Humidifier

092. Death Flag

094. Helping Yacchi

100. Flower for Floromancy

104. Someone's Student ID

105. Bear Ears

113. Dark Belt

Dislikes

005. Non-Alcoholic Drink of Immortality

010. Bubble Gum Bomb

036. Feelings of Ham

052. Photoshop Software

060. I'm a Picture Book Artist!

086. Pillow of Admiration

087. 46 Moves of the Killing Game

099. Cleansing Air Freshener

112. Pure-White Practice Sword

Hates

035. Book of the Blackened

[iamhereinthebg]

I think it can also come from the fact that when Misaki died, Yako had no idea. She was a kid and a supernatural, she didn't even understand what death meant. She thought that Misaki would come back, so she got attached to those scissors, the only thing Misaki left her, in the hope that he would come back.

There is also a chance that a yorishiro can only be someone who had regrets/ like a ghost. Because we know that for example Mitsuba had a ghost but Mei didn't because she already made up her mind :00 so maybe Misaki was content with his life, even if he died rather young!

Hakubo has no idea how to sort out feeling and Sumire is the only person who made him question himself and on how humans worked. So even if he didn't understand what he felt towards her, he felt something really strong. Which ended up with her being stuck in a time loop, in the day Hakubo asked himself so many questions for once(and also the day he apparently died as an oni (idk how it works he is a supernatural since the beginning but he apparently got killed too??)) maybe to see this day again and again, to try to understand

(not sure for this! But I do think Sumire living the day of her sacrifice over and over again has to do with the last words she exchanged with Hakubo :DD)

For the Yugi twins they did own stuff like toys (the teddy bear for their 4th birthday for example!)But nothing much more importance yep. We definitely don't have the whole story we don't even know why Amane killed Tsukasa despite him being the person he cherishes the most :0 so Ig we will see later why he is really his yorishiro when we will get their whole past :DD

I wanted to add this little something here eheh I always love reading your posts they are always so interesting dkdbbd

Hi! I love reading your posts! Something I’ve been wondering is why Yako’s yorishiro wasn’t Misaki himself but an object related to him. Since we know in chapter 95 that yorishiro are simply things they could never destroy themselves and want to protect the most, isn’t Yako’s feelings to Misaki stronger than that to the scissors? Thank you :D

This is a great question! And honestly, my first instinct is to say that AidaIro wanted to save the reveal that yorishiro can be people for later in the story.

But that is extremely boring, so I tried to think of a different answer!

One thing we know about Amane and Hakubo is that they didn't seem to... own anything. And certainly nothing of value to them. Amane had his moon rock, but he gave it away. Hakubo was a servant to the Minamoto clan and didn't appear to care much for worldly possessions. By the time they both died, the only meaningful things they had were Tsukasa and Sumire.

This is in contrast to Yako, who to our knowledge never died like they did (in Hakubo's case he is a supernatural, but he did seem to perish in some way to the villagers.) She has continued to cherish Misaki's scissors for years after he died, never letting them go--while we can argue she cared more for Misaki, we can't say her attachment to the scissors hasn't lead to them having more sentimental value to her than Misaki himself over time.

So basically, we have two ideas: the idea that Hakubo and Amane literally had nothing so the next best things were Tsukasa and Sumire, or that Yako grew a greater attachment over the years to the scissors than Misaki.

I'm ultimately a bit unhappy with both of these options, but I really can't think of any other possibilities... besides AidaIro having written a plot hole, of course X) What do you think?

[kuramirocket]

[ygo-colors]

Death-Toy Scissors Bear/Frightfur Bear - Arc V

[yenphungnguyenqndk]

Death Toy Scissor Bear- Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V - EP 16

[lullabyashes]

“The humans here refer to me as “Toy.” I’m not sure what it means, but you can call me Sora. My name’s one of the only things that I can remember about who I was before they fixed me.”

[shs-marching-frogs]

Music Taste Headcannons B/C I’m Passionate About This Subject

John: Billy Joel, Scissor Sisters, Vampire Weekend

Rose: Feist, Princess Chelsea, The Dresden Dolls

Dave: Yung Gravy, Gorillaz, MF DOOM

Jade: Hot Freaks, Rosemary Fairweather, Liana Flores

Jane: Lily Allen, Regina Spektor, She & Him

Roxy: Kesha, 3OH!3, Nicki Minaj

Aradia: Tally Hall, Evelyn Evelyn, The Buttress

Tavros: The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Sufjan Stevens, Of Monsters and Men

Sollux: Freddie Dredd, Ice Cube, The Notorious B.I.G

Karkat: The Killers, Weezer, Foster the People

Nepeta: Bambee, Toy-Box, Venga Boys

Kanaya: Pink Panthress, Azalea Banks, of Montreal

Terezi: Charli XCX, The Garden, Cults

Vriska: Bratmobile, Sheer Mag, Mommy Long Legs

Equius: Blondie, Tears for Fears, Michael Jackson

Gamzee: Joey Valance, Three 6 Mafia, 2Pac

Eridan: The Smiths, The Cure, Joy Division

Feferi: Boa, Vanessa Carlton, Natasha Bedingfield

Damara: Gesunokiwamiotome, Radiohead, The Breeders

Rufioh: Hanson, Wheatus, Third Eye Blind

Mituna: Beck, The Neighborhood, Green Day

Kankri: Grizzly Bear, The Lumineers, Death Cab for Cutie

Porrim: Lorde, The Marias, Kid Sistr

Latula: Avril Lavigne, Paramore, 5 Seconds of Summer

Aranea: Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, Yungatita

Horuss: Ween, Talking Heads, Pavement

Kurloz: Eyedress, My Bloody Valentine, Duster

Cronus: Radiohead, Mac Demarco, Tyler the Creator

Meenah: Nicki Minaj, Rihanna, Nelly Furtado

[takonei]

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 3, deadly life (Part 8)

Note of the author: Sheesh, that chapter was a huge mess, but I’m done!

Also graphic depictions of violence. Beware.

Chapter 3: What is beyond humans’ control - Deadly life

...

Shuichi stared at the screen for who knows how long.

He noticed Rantaro approaching Angie, looking furious. He thought the medic was going to harm her but...

He slammed his hand on her forehead.

“... I knew it.”

The girl rubbed her forehead and had now the trace of Rantaro’s palm on it.

“So she had the disease after all?” Kirumi narrowed her eyes at the craftswoman.

The despair disease...

A disease that is capable of twisting someone’s mind to the point of committing such atrocities.

A disease that made her kill Himiko in such a horrible way.

She wasn’t even willing to harm anyone, right?

... Right...?

...

Shuichi’s eyes widened in realization.

Why didn’t he realize sooner?

-

Shuichi didn’t know if asking her about her island was a good idea, but it was worth a shot. “Hey… I know this is probably a touchy subject for you and I won’t force you to talk but… How was it back there, sculpting?”

But when he looked at her, her eyes were empty. She had stopped in her tracks. “… I wish I could slaughter Atua with my own hands for all the shit he put all of us priestesses through. Just cutting him like Monokuma cut Maki with the scissors and watch his-”

The violinist couldn’t believe what she was saying. He wanted to put his hands on her shoulders, but refrained from doing so. “Angie! I-”

He paused. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have talked about this.”

-

Did she...

Did she have the disease from the very beginning?

Did she kill Himiko so she could take revenge on those who hurt her?

All of this could have been avoided if he thought this through.

The signs were right before his eyes and he ignored them entirely.

It felt like she murdered Himiko in front of him and he didn’t even flinch.

He glanced at Kiyo, who seemed to feel the same guilt.

Even after talking to her about her past, he hadn’t judged her suspicious.

Was she hiding the disease that well?

“Angie...” Kokichi muttered. “Why...?”

She stared at him with a deadpan expression... Then giggled.

“Silly Kokichi! It should be obvious by the crime scene~”

The lavender eyed boy froze. “I still... Don’t get-”

“It was for fun of course!~”

Shuichi saw everyone’s expression growing both worried and confused.

“... Huh?”

She approached Kokichi’s face at a high speed and gripped his hoodie with both of her hands.

“She was so fun to play with! The moment she told me she had a fragile constitution I knew she was the one!”

Shuichi frowned. “How... How would that make her-”

“Do you have any idea how much I wanted to see blood flood to the ground and painting the world in crimson red?”

She was only a few centimeters from the small boy’s face, staring at him with wide, joyful yet empty eyes.

“It was so easy to make her go to the shrine! She is so naive, you didn’t notice this?”

“I just had to write that I found a secret passageway outside for us to use! Just that she couldn’t tell the others! And she completely bought it!”

Shuichi could only watch in horror Angie describing her train of thoughts, a strong grip on the powerless boy.

“Have you ever tried to paralyze someone? It took exactly 4 seconds for her to fall to the ground!”

The violinist could only stare at her terrifying eyes.

“First I bashed her head against the ground. Then I twisted her ankles and her fingers.”

“Then I sliced her body into pieces to watch her sweet blood drip to the ground... Did you know she was hemophiliac?”

“When I saw how weak she was becoming, I took the axe to see how much blood would flood before dying... I had so much blood on me afterwards you know...”

She strengthened even more her grip, her forehead touching Kokichi’s and starring at his very own soul.

“Have you ever tried?! You keep repeating your karma killed so many, but have you ever tried enjoying the sight of mutilated bodies?! Of blood flowing beneath your feet?”

“THIS IS TRULY WONDERF-”

*slap!*

Angie fell to the ground, Kirumi towering above her, pure disgust on her face. “... Shut up. Just shut up.”

The craftswoman rubbed her cheek. The slap in her face was violent, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Hahahahah... Kirumi you’re pretty hypocritical, you know? You’re a mercenary, don’t you enjoy the sight of blood, too?”

“... Don’t compare me to you. We’re nothing alike.”

The girl stood up. “Blood... Hehehehehehe....”

She hysterically laughed. A laugh so similar to Kokichi’s earlier, yet so different.

Her laugh was a different kind of madness.

She grasped her head, nails digging her skull so much that the violinist wondered if she wasn’t doing it on purpose to make herself bleed.

“Blood, blood, blood! I could see it flowing all day, from each and every one of you! I could slice all of you into pieces! This disease truly opened my eyes to the art of slaughter! Himiko was my first and last piece after all!”

Shuichi wanted to puke.

Kokichi, who had felt horror when she was describing him the murder, was now staring at the ground with empty eyes.

“I’m guessing you have the bloodlust disease?” Tsumugi kept her distance.

Angie looked at her shaking hands “Hehehehehehehehe... What else would it be?”

Rantaro glared at Monokuma.

“So you had no intention of getting out after all?” Kiyo asked.

“Not really~ It was just for the amusement.” Angie replied like nothing was wrong.

“Monokuma...” the medic clenched his fists. “Was her disease truly the bloodlust disease?”

After a short silence, the bear giggled.

“Puhuhuhuhu... Absolutely! Angie Yonaga’s disease was the bloodlust disease!”

Shuichi could barely mutter “So the real Angie was long gone...”

Silence fell upon the group.

The only audible noise was Angie’s non-ending giggling as she kept mumbling the word “blood” over and over.

Everyone wanted to get out of here, but no one could bring themselves to say anything because they knew what was coming.

Himiko’s death was horrible. They all had stared at the dead body for what felt like an eternity this morning.

They all had wanted justice for the astronomer. And yet...

Did they really want to send Angie to her death...?

No- was it really Angie in front of them, expressing the pleasure she felt by killing her?

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Shuichi hesitantly glanced at everyone.

Kaito was looking away, an expression of both guilt and denial on his face. Was he still thinking about Keebo?

Kiyo had the same expression as the biker. Did he choose to ignore Angie’s unusual behavior? 

Tsumugi and Ryoma were unreadable. Although Ryoma seemed to keep an eye on Rantaro, the lack of emotion on the prodigy’s face was disturbing.

Kirumi was making sure Angie didn’t try anything.

Rantaro was looking away. Shuichi couldn’t even see his face.

Miu felt desolated. Her best friend accidentally killed someone, and everyone else was unable to accept the truth.

They all wondered how an illness could push someone to commit murder...

... And the answer was right in front of their eyes from the very beginning.

No one had anticipated Monokuma to pull out such a move.

And they should have.

As for Kokichi...

He was not responding. Like his spirit was somewhere far away, leaving a body devoid of soul standing in the courtroom.

“Heheheheheheheh... My execution will be wonderful too...” Angie perked up, glancing at Monokuma.

Shuichi snapped out of his panic, his heart racing like crazy. “W-Wait-”

“Looks like you’re already prepared. Now then, let’s get started...”

The bear grinned.

“It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for-Punishment time!”

Angie continued giggling. “Heheheheheh... Maki and Tenko’s executions were so wonderful... Just thinking about it makes me so excited!”

She looked at Kokichi, arms wrapped around herself. “I’ve heard legends that killers have their blood tainted in a gorgeous ebony color...”

"...I wonder what your blood looks like.”

This sent a chill down Shuichi’s spine.

It was just like Rantaro said earlier.

Angie wasn’t even remotely sane.

Not anymore.

“I’ve prepared a special punishment for the Ultimate Craftswoman, Angie Yonaga!” Monokuma exclaimed.

“I can’t wait to see this... I can’t wait any longer...” Angie muttered.

“Let’s give it everything we’ve got! It’s... PUNISHMENT TIME!”

“THIS IS THE BEST I’VE EVER FELT IN ALL ETERNITY!!”

The bear took his toy hammer and pressed the red button.

GAME OVER

Angie has been found guilty.

Time for the punishment!

(BGM)

Angie found herself standing on grass, on what looked like a tropical island, the sun setting in the distance.

However, the scenery around looked fake. The waves were painted wood, and the sun itself was fake too.

Hundreds of black and white small dolls appeared from the ‘sea’, circling Angie.

The girl waited for them to attack, a wide grin on her face.

However, they didn’t. Instead, they formed a path leading to the top of the hill, to a gigantic tree, lianas hanging from the branches.

As an earthquake shook the island, Angie realized it was slowly sinking.

Her only choice was to follow the path the dolls created.

Emissary from Heaven and Hell Ultimate craftswoman Angie Yonaga’s execution: Executed

She ran and followed the path traced in front of her, panting as running on an upward slope started to feel exhausting.

She noticed the dolls were not even trying to survive. Every time she ran past one, it would face the fake sea and try to form a shield to make it stop flooding the stage.

She reached the top plateau, the giant tree towering on the small island.

On a closer look, the tree was fake too, and just as she noticed this, the wooden panels that served as a door lowered, revealing the center of the tree- or rather, an elevator, judging from the ropes on the sides.

Just as she stepped on it, three of the dolls joined her as guards, and the elevator started going up.

The interior was dark, aside from the candles each doll had.

The travel was long, she realized.

Out of boredom, she kicked one of the dolls to see how it would react.

Just as the poor doll fell, the two others reached for ropes and quickly attached her hands.

She couldn’t move, and the third one linked her feet with its rope close enough so she couldn’t try to do anything, but could still walk.

The elevator brutally stopped, and the door opened to reveal the tree’s top branches.

And just as she exited the elevator, a hoard of dolls shot her with darts.

Her eyes widened and after a few seconds, she stumbled on her feet out of dizziness.

When her conscience went back, she looked around in confusion, like wondering where she was.

And as Shuichi watched her eyes on the screen, it hit him.

The darts were the antidote for the disease, and she was now out of it.

She turned to the dolls, panicking and trying to resonate with them, but two of them planted something on her back and her head.

Fake wings and a wooden halo.

The dolls forced her to walk on one of the branches where she could see the horizon.

When she reached the end of the plank, looking down was an ocean of fake waves and giant stone spikes with them.

A doll forced her to jump.

And tears flowing down her face, she did.

As she was falling, the wings and the halo fell off, and her body finally crashed onto one of the spikes, impaling her.

Angie Yonaga, the ultimate craftswoman, was dead.

Shuichi kept staring in horror at the screen that played the execution.

The real Angie still existed but...

... She died not knowing what happened to her. She died not knowing why she was executed.

He looked away, closing his eyes.

What was Monokuma gaining from this? What was he gaining from those killings? 

What was the use of those motives? Was it really entertainment?

What about the mastermind? Were they enjoying this? Were they truly enjoying their despair?

What did they want from them? What had they done to deserve this?

What was the point of putting them through a disease? Of reversing Kokichi’s karma? of making Angie a bloodthirsty killer?

He didn’t know.

... He didn’t know.

The rest of them kept starring at the screen.

Shuichi heard footsteps over the white noise in his head.

Kokichi was leaving without a word.

Kiyo turned to him. “Wait-”

“I’m fine.” he coldly responded.

Shuichi gulped. “But are you-”

“I said I’m fine.”

His gaze was cold and empty. He didn’t even bother completely facing him.

“Himiko is dead. We got it by now.”

“Everyone dies at some point, and her death was sooner than I expected.”

“I’m used to people dying, I don’t need anyone to tell me how I should feel.”

“It’s a killing game after all. People die. Big deal.”

“I was a fool to think anyone would be an exception to the case.”

As he approached the exit Miu took a step forward but stopped immediately.

Then it was Kaito’s turn to leave without a word.

This time Miu didn’t stay silent.

“Kaito wait-”

She reached her hand towards him but he slapped it away.

“... Stop trying to be everyone’s mom. It’s annoying. I’m not your damn kid.”

She stepped away, visibly troubled.

Miu starred at the ground, defeated, as the biker walked away.

Kiyo felt sorry for her. “Let’s just... Rest for now. Everyone is tired and we shouldn’t start fighting in this state.”

Rantaro was the first to move towards the exit. He was clearly furious about the entire trial.

Shuichi just managed to get a glimpse of his face. He didn’t look at anyone and just left the courtroom like Kokichi and Kaito.

The others followed shortly after.

He wanted to say encouraging words but...

They never came.

Even Kiyo was unable to say anything. Or perhaps it was because he didn’t think it was the time to cause another outburst in the group.

Shuichi approached Miu, who had her arms crossed and didn’t even look forward.

“Miu... I’m sure Kaito didn’t mean this...” he muttered.

“No... He’s right.” she mumbled. “I should stop. It’s weird.”

She fastened her pace before he could argue.

They finally reached the dorms and Shuichi muttered a good night, to which the remaining students responded quietly.

He let himself fall onto the bed, unable to think more about it.

...

He could only hope for the...

...

No.

Was there any hope at all?

There was surely a mastermind secretly laughing about their misery.

Someone enjoyed their situation.

And they were going to suffer even more.

There wasn’t any hope at all.

They were already in hell.

--

“...”

“I wish things would have gone differently.”

“But I can’t go back now.”

“And... I have our promise to fulfill.”

“I know this is neither your fault nor mine but...”

“I’m sorry.”

“...”

“I’ll fulfill our promise no matter what.”

[linssikeittomies]

I Won’t Be Your Donkeyskin - A Banana Fish WIP

So about a 100 years ago I was talking with my friend @freakyfeline about fairytale AUs and we were laughing about how Yue Lung would be just the bitchiest princess. I originally imagined a Donkeyskin story with a Banana Fish spin, but it ended up being a Donkeyskin-inspired Canon Divergence - Yue Lung runs from his family and ends up hiding with Sing’s family, disguised as a girl. This is the only finished scene I ever wrote for it, and I quite like it.

--

Yue Lung thought back to the cashier’s words. Everyone’s heard by now. The prettiest hair I’ve ever seen. Boys will be fighting over you in a few years. He toyed with a strand, deep in irritated thought. Staying this close to the clan’s area of influence was a lot riskier than he liked, but it was the best he could manage for now. Biting his lip, he cursed that he hadn’t known how important identification documents were in the outside world. Who would’ve thought he couldn’t be a real person without some piece of paper?

Fussing with a strand of hair, he tried to weigh his options – ideally he would find a place on the other side of the country, even abroad. Canada, at least, but preferably Asia, maybe Mongolia – not Hong Kong, where the Lees were a considerable presence. But he had no money, and he could only get so far walking. And it was still cold enough to freeze to death in the night without even getting out of New York City first. Stealing would solve a part of that problem, but where could he find enough money? Pickpocketing might net him some loose change and maybe a few phones he’d need to sell for cheap, saving up that way would take too much time, and he was likely he’d get caught sooner rather than later anyway, since he had zero practice. The house was a no-go as well, Mrs. Sun didn’t keep a lot of money in the house, partly because they didn’t have much to save to begin with, and Yue Lung wasn’t rotten enough to steal from his saviors anyway. Maybe if they were filthy rich, and their finances wouldn’t be affected by a few thousand dollars going missing, but it still wouldn’t leave a good taste in his mouth.There was always the option of finding work, but who would hire a 11-year-old, who apparently didn’t exist because he had no ID? He could hardly ask Mrs. Sun money for helping around the house. He didn’t know how to do anything, except grow plants. He could have maybe sold medicinal herbs and such, had he a place to grow them and the knowledge how to use them – his education hadn’t yet included much but the most basic poisons. He also had a lot to learn about acupuncture, too. What else was there? If he couldn’t steal, and he couldn’t work, what else was left? Twisting and twirling the strand, twitching his foot, gnawing his teeth, there had to be something he could do! Just anything to run, or keep hiding, think! Think! Considering how much Mrs. Sun was gossiping about her newest “daughter” it was safe to assume Yue Lung’s brothers would soon hear about this mysterious girl who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, running from an abusive family, who just so happened to bear the name of the former patriarch’s deceased concubine! Fuck, what a fucking idiot a person can be! Using his mom’s name! Yue Lung might not have been able to do anything about Mrs. Sun’s benign airheadedness but he should’ve known better than be self-sabotaging dumbass! Okay, okay, what’s done is done, what he needed now was damage control. So, to keep running Yue Lung needed money, and he couldn’t get it yet. Which left hiding. Mrs. Sun was his saftest bet for now, and however talkative she might have been, Yue Lung was dependent on her goodwill and criticizing her would hardly endear Yue Lung to her. It had to be accepted that Dai Yu would be a known face around town, though it would be nice if it would attract less attention. Wasn’t there something he could do about that? He couldn’t change his face, apart from scarring it, and that would only make him more noticeable. It would take several years before he could grow a moustache or a beard, and with his genes it was likely to be a bust anyway. Unless he wanted to make a beard toupee out of his hair, and what would look more natural on a preteen than a hairbeard? One that was tangled to death from nervous fiddling. The strand around his fingers was getting knotted to the point of needing scissors to be solved. Wasn’t there anything Yue Lung could do to stay hidden? The strand twirled, frayed and split. ...The hair had to go. It was too noticeable. Having it shorter wouldn’t stop anyone from recognizing him, but it would cut the number of looks thrown his way. That was the key – stay low, stay humble, stay dull. Under any circumstances, do not attract unnecessary attention. Have average looks, have average manners, have average intelligence, be an all-around average girl and soon enough no one would care if you live or die! Blend in well enough and you might as well not exist. Mrs. Sun trimmed her own and her children’s hair, Yue Lung had seen the hair scissors in the bathroom. They were kept in a sleeve that looked homemade, and at least a decade old. One could only hope the scissors themselves were newer than that, or at least kept sharp – no such luck. Most things in the household were long past their glory days, full of holes or chips and dull as a cloudy day or a newborn’s teeth. The unsteady shhhk of the dull scissors trying to cut through a thin strand and Yue Lung’s frustrated grunts must have been what eventually caught Mrs. Sun’s curiosity. “Heavens! Dear girl, what on Earth are you doing?” Yue Lung thought the answer should have been clear as day, but he answered anyway. Mrs. Sun shook her head in disbelief and affectionate frustration. But, since the damage had been done, she demanded to even out the cut. “Aiya girl, you should have to come me in the first place!” she nagged as she snipped. “I would have cut it. I don’t understand why you would want to, your hair is so beautiful, Dai Yu.” Feeling that Mrs. Sun wouldn’t quit until Yue Lung gave some excuse to his haircut, he decided to play on a bit of admiration. He had found that often a transparent flattery would fall flat and have the opposite effect desired, and it was better to be less direct about the approach. It tended to work best with a bashful admission. “I wanted it to be like yours”, he mumbled quietly, affecting an embarrassed tone. It worked exactly how he had wished it to – Mrs. Sun cooed at him, calling him a silly girl but leaving it at that. Once she was content with Yue Lung’s new haircut, she called her sons to take a look. Yue Lung twirled around, supposedly pleased and proud. Yen Tai just said it looked fine and left like the moody teenager he was, but Soo Ling stayed quiet and thoughtful. Yue Lung thought he might have caught the longing look he had thrown at the long strands abandoned on the floor. He was weirdly silent for a few seconds, before saying “Dai Yu looks nicer with short hair.” Some kind of dam broke inside Yue Lung. He looked at the arm-long strands strewn about, curling around each other in embraces soon to be broken to clean up the remains of a burial. Dignity shed, thrown aside to further the selfish ends of another. A once treasured possession turned to trash. “How could you say that?” said Yue Lung, throat constricting, and his voice wasn’t any easier to mask than the tears falling to the floor. With a sharp inhale he tried to mask as anger, fully in vain, he broke down with a sorry mewl. “Aiya, it’s okay, it’s okay! It really looks nice on you!” Mrs. Sun tried to comfort. “Dai Yu, it’s alright. You look so pretty with your new hair! It makes you look so much softer!” Soo Ling ran to the kitchen and came back a little while later with a few almond cookies in hand. He offered them to Yue Lung, while Mrs. Sun still petted his back and muttered Aiya, poor girl, and I knew you would regret it. “Dai Yu, don’t cry. It’s just hair.” Just hair? Of course a boy would think it was just hair. He jerked at the look Yue Lung threw at him, like it had physically stung him. The Dai Yu he knew was distant and stiff, even cold, but always reserved, so he wasn’t prepared for the concentrated vitriol pouring out of the girl. He hesitated little before wisely fleeing from the girl. All this was hidden from Mrs. Sun, who unknowingly dried the tears of a beast and privately chided her son for being so rude to a crying girl. “Dai Yu, why don’t we gather up this hair and braid it. You can keep it safe until your hair grows back.” Silently, exhausted, Yue Lung nodded slowly. “I’ll do it myself. I’m sure you had something else to do before I disturbed you.” “Oh, it’s no trouble. Go find some pretty ribbon in the –“ “Please let me do it alone.” Mrs. Sun finally understood he needed a moment alone and left to find the ribbon herself. Yue Lung quietly, slowly, gathered the strands together. His neck itched. The short hairs from the last clean-ups had stuck to the skin. The ends of the dead tail of hair were uneven. It was an ugly thing, gathered up from the floor, not bundled together before being cut off. A dead keepsake, a far cry from the real thing, and the pain of it was more pressing than the dear memory. He would give it a proper burial. This one thing would escape the legacy of Lee Hong Lung and gain back some of its dignity in death.

--

I couldn’t find Sing’s mother’s name, so I decided to call her Sun Ci-Hui. Also I’m currently watching a k-drama called Rookie Historian Goo Hae-Ryung, and the prince is one of my favorite characters ever because he’s so sweet and innocent, and right after finishing an episode I go write calculating bitches like Yue Lung and Ivan:D What can I say, I like variety.

[heretyc]

Short & Sweet Small Outlast Character hc’s [excluding Walrider]

By small, I mean the size of Tinkerbell. I used to do these with my friend but for some reason I can’t find the screenshot of us doing it, so I gotta shoot in the dark. Yeet. Val is in here and she’s her own warning rofl. These are two AU’s put together: the antags aren’t murderous fuckheads [at least towards YOU] and they’re small. Apologies for excluding the Ghost Asshole; I really had no idea as to how I’d write for him. Enjoy!

@nicktremblaywayfu

Nicky boye is in here for you 🥴

Protags

Miles

- If you anger him, he’d misplace your stuff. Your toothbrush is suspiciously gone. Where did your pencils go?

- Don’t bring him out into public cause he’d make you laugh your ass off. 

- If someone is a dick to you he’ll throw mini middle fingers to them. It doesn’t do much. But it’s the effort that counts.

- Pretty motivating! You got work to do? He’ll bring you one of your missing pencils [that he totally didn’t take!] and encourage you.

- Hates scissors and anything to do with them. Ensures you use them carefully.

- “Why are you so frightened, Miles?”

- “If Trager sees me, he’ll chop me in half. Recipe for disaster, my friend.”

- “...Fair.”

Waylon

- He doesn’t like how vulnerable he is, so you can bet your ass he’s frightened of everything that could squish him.

- Protect him.

- He’s a total sweetheart.

- If you’re making cookies he helps by licking the bowl, although he can only get through a quarter of the dough before groaning in pain due to how much he ate.

- He can also make cool little designs on them if you ask.

- He can’t hug you properly so he hugs your fingers. 

- He attempts to make you feel better if you had a bad day.

Blake

- His glasses didn’t minuscule themselves, so he has to deal with Barbie ones. They don’t have real lenses so he suffers.

- He’s fine and feels okay with his situation as long as Val doesn’t find him rofl

- Don’t let Val find him. He trusts you. [But what if you’re Val in disguise? Don’t tell him that.]

- He tries to be independent, but the last straw was when he couldn’t reach the ON button on the coffee maker. God forbid.

- He enjoys walks! Just make sure he doesn’t fall off of your hand or your shoulder.

- He’s too wholesome for his own good, bro.

- He’s like Miles when regarding work, but he’s more intense. Get your work done! The both of you can enjoy sweets afterwards!

Antags

Eddie

- He’s okay with his situation for now.

- He can put thread through the needle a lot easier now, so that’s a plus. [Although he prefers sewing machines!]

- If you have any dolls he’ll make clothes for them.

- He’s a gentleman so he tries to kiss your hand. Tries. He settles with your pinkie instead.

- If he needs help he’ll yell out for you.

- Imagine trying to take a nap, but you hear “DARLING!”, and you assume something happened.

- You run in only to see he’s smiling like an asshole. He mentions that he made you something and he wants your opinion on it.

- Bastard.

- If he gets mad, he’s quite harmless. That fact alone makes him even MORE angry. Just put him in the corner and wait. 

Trager

- HAHAHAAA MOTHERFUCKER 

- Ahem. Sorry.

- He gets bored very quickly.

- He can’t do anything that he likes. Including biology work. It’s bullshit. So he complains and drinks one of those mini bottles of alcohol.

- The only thing he can do is help you if you get a cut or break something minor. Like a finger.

- He gets pissed off if he can’t do what he wants due to his size.

- He wants to write “fingers first, then balls, then tongue” on your walls but he can’t ;( 

- Take some Sharpie and assist him, won’t you?

- He will, without a doubt, insult people in public if they anger him. His size doesn’t matter.

- “FOR FUCKS SAKE LINDA. MOOOOOOVE. GET OUT OF OUR WAYYYY.”

- “Calm down, Ri-” 

- “NO.”

- Then Linda looks back at you in shock and doesn’t believe the fact that a little asshole was screaming at her. 

- TO THE CORNER WITH YOU, TRAGER

Chris

- He’s not that scary anymore!

- He is to small animals, though. Mice begone.

- He’s a big boye so it feels like you’re holding a small bean bag :3c

- His nails might give you a small scratch. Have fun trying to cut them rofl

- Beheads your dolls. Barbie is now headless and Ken is planning her funeral ;(

- He still breathes quite loudly, so if you’re in a quiet place you can hear him.

- He’s a nightmare if something goes wrong outside. He wants to resolve the issue by death

- He can’t wrap his hands around anyone’s neck, so...have fun Chris 

- Do not tell him about the Walrider rofl

- You wanna see two minuscule assholes battling it out? Then please do mention Walrider

Val [EXCITEDLY RUBS HANDS TOGETHER]

- Affectionate. Too affectionate. It’s suspicious, ig

- Hugs your fingers whenever she wants to, cause honestly, would you deny tiny cultist hugs? No? Didn’t think so.

- Tries to hug your face. And lick it. She has a lot of skin to lick with her tongue being the size of a gummy bear’s ear. Have fun, honey 🤪

- [too sexual to list but she takes advantage of your fingers. enjoy your imagination you PERVS]

- Going outside isn’t an issue. She chills on your hand and doesn’t say anything.

- Bad day? That’s illegal. She’ll take care of you as much as she can.

- If she has her heretics, you’ve got an army of fairy-sized individuals wanting to vibe with you.

- Your hands won’t be able to fit em all. :(

Marta

- For someone being fairy-sized, she’s still quite tall.

- Her axe is now toy-sized, so make sure you don’t step on it by accident!

- Still would chase after things. 

- If Val is around, she will be relentless. Do not tell her anything ╰（‵□′）╯

- Stepping on her axe would be like stepping on a Lego. OW

- She likes incense sticks, so give them to her if you can :D

- Her size won’t stop her from liking incense!

- Break off a bit and she can put it in her weapon for floral-scented violence!

- YUM!

- She’ll read with you and turn the pages for you. She’s so nice  if you exclude her rampages rofl

Laird & Nick

- Laird’s arrows don’t do shit so he can’t hurt anybody

- LAME

- And you don’t let them go near fire. DO NOT LET LAIRD WITHIN REACH OF MATCHES

- OH GOD OH FUCK

- Syphilis is a pain in the ass so you have to wear gloves handling them, in case their sores pop.

- Laird is an ankle biter [finger biter?] while Nick won’t give you much trouble.

- NICK HUNTING CRICKETS WITH A TOOTHPICK. PICTURE THAT!!

- You help him make salted crickets once he’s done :D

- Give Laird a bible and some bandages and you’re fine

- I know it’s too late but attempt to give Nick penicillin. God knows Nick deserves it  

- Knowing Laird he’d make a cross out of popsicle sticks and hang something on it

- DIY Crucifixion

[eddiekasp]

Got any hcs for r + e realising that they like each other?

I loved this prompt so much I actually wrote a fic for it instead of HCs, hope that’s okay!

Btw, I felt like Richie’s love for Eddie was so inherent that it was almost second nature for him. I didn’t go into it that much in this fic, but you can assume Richie is ferociously in love with Eddie throughout the entirety of this fic LOL 

Read on AO3 here. 

– 

Eddie felt a lump in his throat. He was still trying to figure out whether that was from the distance he had biked from his house to Richie’s or a reaction indicating his body was betraying him. His mind had been itching all day. It started with, perhaps, an off-hand comment from his Ma. Nothing completely out of the ordinary, but there are days where her comments were taken better than others. 

She had been sitting in their plush living room while Eddie was rifling through a drawer in the kitchen nearby. Her thick legs, snaked with bulging blue veins, outstretched to the leg rest of her brown Lay-Z-Boy chair. The television blared loudly, a news anchor in a pressed suit and muted tie announced the death of a teenager in Florida. Ricky Ray, 15 years old, had succumbed to AIDS and “died peacefully” in his home after exhibiting a courageous battle with the still-mysterious disease. Eddie’s ears twitched towards the broadcast, listening just enough to hear the basis of the story. He shuffled uncomfortably, and continued to search for the good pair of scissors in the kitchen drawer. 

“Eddie Bear, did you hear?” came his mother’s voice in the other room. As though avoiding his grasp deliberately, the scissors seemed to slip further down into the drawer, further into the collection of pens, plastic floss toothpicks (Eddie had always thought they looked like mini slingshots), and extra wooden chopsticks collected from countless orders of Chinese takeout. He picked at the skin on his thigh absentmindedly. Fingers finally grasping the cool metal of the closed blades, he pulled out the scissors and walked to his Ma’s calling voice.

“That boy that’s been all over the news, the one with AIDS. He died,” she trailed off, clicking her tongue. After a moment’s thought, “Serves him right. There’s a reason God created that gay disease.” She flicked the remote to a channel showing some hospital soap opera and grabbed another powdered donut from the box she had purchased at the supermarket.  

“Want to watch with me, Eddie? I think Dallas is on next,” Sonia hummed, mouth rimmed with white sugar. Eddie swallowed thickly and didn’t say anything. He walked over to his Ma, kissed her on the cheek, and retreated to his bedroom upstairs.

He finally got the box he had been toying with open and sat back on his bed, heart racing. If his mother knew about him, about the things he was feeling and the things he thought about every night before he fell asleep, would she wish he’d gotten AIDS too? His palms felt clammy. He wished he didn’t have to go to church with her on Sunday.

His hands subconsciously reached for the phone receiver as he got up. Without a second thought, his thin fingers dialed a number he knew by heart. After two rings, a familiar voice, comforting in the same way grass tickling bare feet in the summer is comforting, answered.

“Why, if it isn’t my little Eddie Spaghetti. To what do I owe this pleasure?” said Richie Tozier, voice having grown more confident and strong after the start of high school. Why did Eddie’s hands seem to get even clammier? He wiped them on the side of his shorts, grossed out.

“Shut up, asshole. Can I come over? I’m sick of being here right now,” Eddie replied, his voice growing quieter in the last sentence. Richie sensed Eddie’s anxiety over the phone.

“Anytime. I’ll unlock the front door, so just come in.” Richie instructed, and Eddie mumbled a word of thanks before hanging up the phone.

Packing his bag and hoping his mom would allow him to stay the night, Eddie ran downstairs. He had been attempting (thanks to the encouragement of the Losers– Richie especially) to act more assertive towards his mother. Rather than whispering a request and relenting the second he got a “no,” he began to simply state what he was doing and try to leave before his mother got a chance to answer. When he got downstairs, he told his mom he was sleeping over at Richie’s house and would be back first thing in the morning. Through her discouragement, she finally subsided and he got on his bike.

When he got to Richie’s house, he slowly entered through the open front door to find that both of Richie’s parents had yet to return home. He climbed the carpeted stairs and knocked on Richie’s bedroom door. Since they had been kids, the wooden door had been laden with stickers, caution tape, and a piece of paper onto which “RICHIE’S ROOM! KEEP OUT OR AWAIT PAINFUL DEATH!” was crudely written.

“Come in,” Richie answered in a softer voice than usual. Eddie came in, taking off his shoes and putting them by the door as he closed it behind him. He noticed Richie peer up at him, and then quickly look back down at the bass guitar he was holding on his lap. Richie had recently taken up playing bass, and Eddie didn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him how cool he thought it really was.

Eddie sat on Richie’s bed and Richie came to join him after putting his bass back on the stand. Richie sat close enough to Eddie that their knees brushed, and Eddie felt a shiver go up his back. Richie, taking a deep breath, turned to look Eddie straight in the eyes and asked him what had happened.

“What makes you think something happened?” Eddie retorted, and Richie could see there was something he didn’t want to talk about.

“I won’t press you if you don’t wanna talk about it, Eds. But if you do, well… y'know.” Richie mumbled and stretched his arms up. Eddie tried not to peer at the way his t-shirt lifted slightly, and at the trail of black hair leading down from his belly button. It wasn’t that Eddie couldn’t confide in Richie. He knew that if it was something serious, Richie knew how to turn off the voices and annoying nicknames and listen and comfort. In fact, Eddie thought (maybe other than Bill) that Richie was the person who was the easiest to confide in. He wanted to let Richie in. He wanted Richie to hug him and tell him it was gonna be okay. Why did he want that?

“Just… my Ma. As usual.” Eddie choked a bit on his words, finding it hard to talk about the particular comment that had snagged onto him like a bur. He knew why his mother’s comment had gotten to him, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to express that to Richie yet. God forbid Richie thought he was… well. He was. But God forbid Richie found out.

As though reading his mind, Richie put a long, thin arm around Eddie’s neck and pulled him in for a quick peck on the cheek. This was not unusual for them, but Eddie’s face burned hot as Richie pulled away. Richie thought he noticed Eddie lingering for a moment too long.

“I’m always here for you, Eds. You know that,” Richie whispered, a bit too serious for comfort. Eddie’s treasonous heart skipped a beat and he nodded.

Eddie had nearly given up on his physics homework when Richie came out of the shower later that evening. With nothing but a navy blue towel wrapped around his thin waist, he walked over to his drawer and dug out a pair of grey sweatpants. He pulled them on without a second thought and joined Eddie to sit on the edge of his bed. At once, Eddie began to complain about the difficulty of his homework, and dramatically fell back onto the bed. Richie laughed his bright laugh, and told him to forget it.

Eddie knew Richie couldn’t do anything without music playing in the background and observed as Richie dug through a box of CDs he kept under his bed. His mother hated the rock music he listened to, but usually respected Richie enough not to rummage through his things as she cleaned his room. His fingers finally landed on a CD, and he popped it into his player. After a few clicks, a song Eddie had heard Richie play as he drove them both to school came on. Richie kept the volume on low, however, rather than the absurdly loud volume that was typical for his driving.

Eddie felt his hands twitch as he observed a bead of water that hung on a ringlet of Richie's black hair. It grew heavy and fell, cascading down his pale and freckled back. Eddie’s eyes followed it’s trail as it sank further, between his shoulder blades and down the protruding bones of his spine. He sat back up.

Richie turned back around, nodding his head to the beat of the song. Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ “Suck My Kiss” streamed out of the small CD player, and Richie mimicked both the drums and the bass line of the song in time. Richie really was a pretty good musician, Eddie had to admit. Still, Eddie couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled in his throat as he watched his best friend pretending to be a rock star in nothing but a pair of sweats.

Richie laughed alongside Eddie, groping his nightstand for his glasses and telling Eddie that he’s been trying to learn this song on the bass for a couple days. Eddie told him he wanted to hear him play. Richie smiled blindingly and said he’ll show him once he gets it right.

Richie threw on a worn t-shirt and laid back on his bed. Eddie rolled over and pressed himself into Richie’s side, and Richie threw his arm around him again like it was nothing. It was as if Richie’s side was molded perfectly for Eddie after so many nights in the same position. Richie’s hair, freshly washed, smelled clean and Eddie scarcely held himself back from putting his face into the curls. Through the clean, a prickly smell of cigarette smoke lingered on Richie’s sheets as they always did. He wondered if Richie’s mom noticed when she changed his bedding. He felt a wave of warmth rush into his stomach. He wanted to stay like this forever.

He was in love with Richie Tozier.  

*****

When Eddie got the phone call from Mike Hanlon from Derry (fuck, was that still foreign), memories flooded him like sick waves of sewer water. Flashes of moments, some bright as sunlight and others red as blood, seemed to list through his mind like a dead man’s last moments on Earth. He reached for the aspirator that was searing a hole through its permanent place in his jeans pocket, thinking that if he didn’t get some goddamn air in his throat he’d burn from the inside out.

The flicker of sunlight reflecting off a pair of coke-bottle glasses.

The buzzing feeling in your ears after loud music is turned off suddenly. A bead of sweat tickling your temple. The glowing heat on your cheek after a peck.

The quick beating of your heart after your first real kiss.

The feeling of falling asleep in your jeans, your face against a warm back and the smell of cigarette smoke.

Richie. Richie.

Walking into Jade of the Orient, Eddie picked at the fabric of the jeans near his thigh, a habit he hadn’t indulged in since high school. He was about to see his childhood friends, people he hadn’t thought about since he left for college more than 20 years prior. He was going to see Richie.

“Holy shit,” was all Eddie could utter when he stepped into the private room and saw Bill and Mikey. His blood ran cold as he rushed in to hug the two of them. The hug was deep and consoling, and yet Eddie could not quell his rushing heart beat, nor the goosebumps that rose on all of his exposed skin. It was more than sheer nervousness; it was terrible fear.

And then Richie came in, sounding the large decorative Chinese gong that stood by the doorway. Eddie couldn’t prevent himself from jumping a foot into the air at the sound, his nerves already standing on end. When he turned around, his heart rose into his throat.

His and Richie’s eyes connected and he felt like he couldn’t breath. Was this what it felt like to be in love? He seemed to have forgotten.

He remembered now.

[yugioh-lovers]

}