#and only came back to his senses because all of his friends dogpiled him and then Astolfo shoved his wits up his nose

[miramisaki]

34(???) days until Charlie...

[nightlyteaandpaper]

Please stop calling them Morally Grey, they are just dickheads

No one from the Night Court is morally grey. Their actions are horrible, the narrative justifies them.

Feyre destroys The Spring Court, leading to the destruction of the Summer Court, and the only two people who say something against this are the HLs of those courts, but even then, they don't put up much of a fight. Tarquin, after being disrespected in his home, goes to the HL's Meeting and says "Well, the Night Court were the only people who came to help," as if the High Court wasn't the reason his people were attacked. The narrative does not allow Tamlin any breathing room to make his point, right or wrong, instead, the rest of the people on page opening disregard his opinions (which is insane to me because they were his friends longer than Feyre had been alive, and they just take what Feyre says at face value.) Instead, no one speaks when Rhysand magically violates Tamlin's autonomy and shuts him up. No one spoke when Feyre and Azreal were whooping people's asses, despite the NC saying they wouldn't do it before the meeting, and the literal HL of Dawn putting wards on the room for no magic use (which, again, how were they able to use magic to attack people).

Feyre scrambled the minds and implanted thoughts in the heads of the guards in the Spring Court to destroy it and she never looked back on it for more than three seconds and went "huh, that was weird. It wasn't smart to do that because the wall is literally pressed against the Spring Court's ass..." No, everyone pats her on the back for her work. Lucien brings up briefly his discomfort being used as a pawn in Feyre's game and that she single-handedly destroyed his friendship with Tamlin, that older than Feyre had been alive, and the narrative doesn't even have her linger on that thought for more than one second. The narrative is quick to call out people who treat Feyre and the rest of the IC poorly, but never calls out them treating everyone else poorly. The narrative justifies the pimping of Feyre and her physical abuse by Rhysand (twisting her arm to make her agree to the bargain) as a necessary evil but does not extend the same grace to Tamlin, who did what he did as a necessary evil.

Trauma is understood when the person traumatized is the Night Court but never with anyone else. They constantly go back to dogpile on Tamlin, and the narrative doesn't have a single person stop and say, "Yeah, we should leave him alone." In fact, during FAS, after Rhysand tears into Tamlin, he goes back to Feyre, and she says, "You are always a bigger man" I refuse to say male. This is after Feyre writes to him and says, "Thank you for your help, I hope you find happiness too" and it is known that this man is so depressed that he is in his beast form. He does not have a kingdom anymore. Also, no one told Rhys to go to the Spring Court and harass him. One could say that the things the IC did could be from the perspective of Feyre and thus justified, but when we move to Nesta and Cassian's perspective again, nothing is challenged.

Nesta says that the only reason she hates Rhysand is because he is smug, not because of how he treats her. Nesta was threatened because she, albeit not in the kindest way, told Feyre that she was going to die in childbirth, and while Feyre said it wasn't right, there is nothing longer than a paragraph about the whole situation. It was just over as soon as it started. Nesta gets locked in the house for God knows how long (which, again, doesn't make sense because if she could get down the steps, get tired, and come back up, she should be able to make it all the way down the steps. Walking down the steps isn't what tries people out, it the coming back up because you are going against gravity) and no one thinks, "Hmm, that is exactly what Tamlin did to Feyre." They both locked someone in under the guise of protection. Cassian sees how the IC is treating Nesta, and while he tries to say something, he is always shut down.

And I will close on this. In an interview a few years ago, SJM said that Rhysand was a gift to her and that he could basically do no wrong. She also mentioned that the reason why Nesta was mad at Feyre and Rhysand was because she was jealous of their perfect life. This, my friends, is not how you write a story. This is an example of Authorial Fiat. You may say, "it's just a fantasy story" and I will say "Shut up, we know. I don't know how told tell you this, but: stories have to make sense."

[himboarcher]

reasons i've seen folks say that grad critics hate grad:

they hate travis (in fairness, i’ve def seen some comments of people shitting on trav for the sake of shitting on trav, but it’s not super common and typically gets downvoted into oblivion on reddit.)

it's not balance / travis isn't griffin (???????)

they hate neurodivergent people (again, in fairness, i have seen a handful of comments that could come across this way! but most of the time when travis being ADHD or his NPD is brought up, it's by defenders saying that criticizing travis is ableist because he's neurodivergent or, in one particular comment, infantilizing him bc of it and literally comparing grad to putting a kid's artwork on the fridge. there were some comments early on that pointed to him being a narcissist as the reason for things people disliked about grad, but everyone seems to have realized that that's a shitty train of thought and left it behind.)

they're just toxic haters (again, there are a small handful of people like this because this is the internet, but the genuine criticism greatly outweighs their bullshit. i 100% think that the people, which is mostly just one dude who is also insufferable on reddit, who have been responding rudely to positive tweets under the episode announcements lately are out of line and need to stop. there's been an influx of that lately, presumably because people are frustrated that after over a year of grad going on, there's been no improvement to most of the major issues. that's still no excuse to be a dick to folks, though.)

vs some of the actual reasons i don't like grad:

the racism / racist tropes, and the way that they’ve straight up ignored this criticism and will likely never acknowledge it. pretty wild considering a core tenet of their brand is their willingness to acknowledge when they’ve messed up and do their best to course correct.

clumsy attempts at inclusion that are shallow and often end up being fairly offensive ("...ask me about my wheelchair," anyone?)

on a related note: i don't think that travis had bad intentions, but as an nonbinary person, it feels othering to me that travis only has enby characters give others their pronouns unprompted. i'm thinking specifically of kai here. having listened to their introduction, i don't think it's as bad or awkward as some people have said, but i can't remember travis ever having another NPC tell the PCs their pronouns, especially not a cis character. it's not a huge deal, but it's something that rubbed me the wrong way. admittedly, i don't think it would bother me so much if travis hadn't dropped the ball so much with performative inclusion in the past.

okay i'm putting the rest under a read more because even without getting into all of the problems i have with it, this got Long.

little to no player agency. player choices are ultimately meaningless and have little to no effect on the world. even when he seems to go along with a plan they come up with, it always ends with them having to go back to travis' pre-written script (see: subpoenaing the xorn, but not really because they had to go with travis' original plan of "send the xorn home through the rift".) the players repeatedly get told things about what they think or feel or what they've been doing to an unnecessary degree. fitzroy is the only one who really gets space to play and decide things for himself, and that's only because travis has decided he's the main character.

the NPCs are all too nice and willing to give the PCs anything they ask for and more, unless the PCs are trying to follow their own plan and then the NPCs are completely useless. but honestly, aside from gray, all of the NPCs are just.... nice. travis refuses to even let his antagonists be mean or cruel or even more than just slightly rude, because that'd be a bummer and we don't want that! the "twist" of gordy the lich king actually being polite and chill is not a twist at all because everyone is like that in this world. the NPCs are also wildly overpowered, but then suddenly absolutely useless when the PCs actually want their help.

too many cliffhangers that are dropped immediately at the beginning of the next episode. i feel bad for travis because so many of these cliffhangers actually set up good momentum and seemed like things were gonna get interesting, but almost every single time he just dropped them at the beginning of the next episode. like when althea showed up to interview the boys and the next episode started with travis being like "actually you went to sleep, she said she'll be back tomorrow!"

that time travis specifically said in his exposition dump that the thundermen left their horses behind because they thought the centaurs might be offended by them riding horses, only to later on rag on them for being surprised that the centaurs had horses they could ride.....

also the centaur arc in general, but i already listed racism above, so.

the way that the toxic positivity and parasocial tendencies in the mcelroy fandoms have made a large portion of the fandom take ANY criticism as a personal attack on travis and/or on themselves for enjoying something others consider bad, either morally or just quality-wise. it’s okay to admit that something you like has problematic elements or just isn’t as good as it once was. you can and should engage critically with the media you consume.

related to above: the way travis has handled genuine criticism, which is to throw public tantrums on his twitter or make weird passive aggressive tweets & ultimately ignore all the genuine criticism and advice he's been offered by claiming it's all subjective, even after he specifically asked for it and set up an email for folks to send in genuine, objective advice for him (after he threw a tantrum on twitter and replied to someone's criticism publicly, which resulted in his followers dogpiling on that person bc how dare they insult their internet best friend). while i was writing this last night, he actually announced that he’s taking a break from Twitter and acknowledged that he’s been using it as an echo chamber where he can easily get validation from folks, and honestly i’m happy for him that he’s recognized this problem and is stepping away for a while! i hope he’ll genuinely use this time to reflect on how he’s been behaving and find a more healthy way to use social media. i’m leaving this point in because i think his Twitter being such a positive echo chamber was encouraging him to do stuff like this, and him somewhat acknowledging his behavior doesn’t mean it can no longer be discussed.

rainer. extremely cool concept in theory and i was very into it until that awkward "does anyone want to ask about my wheelchair?" moment. also when travis had her use her mobility aid to RAM INTO A DOOR instead of just fucking knocking???? also all the times travis has tried to force a romantic relationship between her and fitzroy, despite fitzroy displaying no interest in her in that way. also, just to clarify: as an ace person, i don’t think this is aphobic! (and it’s kind of a stretch to call it that imo, especially since griffin never explicitly said that fitzroy's aromantic!) i just think it’s weird and awkward and a little uncomfortable for me personally, mostly because it reminds me of the times i’ve been in similar situations.

less of a problem than a lot of the other stuff and more just bad writing, but the forced emotional moments. in general, nothing in grad feels earned (why are the boys heading a war? when they have multiple actual heroes with combat experience on their side and a supposedly powerful secret organization? and the thundermen are like 21 years old max and have only had like ~10 fights in the entire campaign?) but there've been a couple times where travis has tried to force unearned emotional moments, presumably because he knows people enjoyed those with the last campaigns. but the difference is that in balance, the big emotional moments happened because they were earned. in grad, it's just travis throwing a baby pegasus at us for a few minutes and then the next time she shows up, it's supposed to be a tearful goodbye.

there are absolutely no stakes. remember when the thundermen got told that if they left, gray would kill 10 students? and then they left and came back and it turns out that what gray actually meant was, "i'll tie ten students who are mostly nameless NPCs to a tree and throw some dogs at them that you can easily stop in time, then throw a tantrum because how dare you but i'll leave before you can really do anything to hurt me lol" travis did have fitzroy's magic get taken away, but like. it didn't really do anything? also all he had to get it back was be coerced into using drugs by an authority figure and trip in the woods?

we're told that the school is weird and the hero system is corrupt, but the world of nua is still presented as more of a liberal utopia than anything? althea getting fired because of a corrupt villain is the only time we've somewhat seen corruption, but even then, she was still allowed to get (what seems to me, anyway, but admittedly i don't know for sure bc nothing about the HOG makes much sense) a fairly important job from the very people who stripped her of her hero license or whatever the fuck heroes need?

travis doesn't actually seem to understand how capitalism or bureaucracy works and just chalks up everything to "red tape." also more on the rest of the boys than him specifically, but the "let's destroy capitalism!" thing turning into just pushing some filing cabinets over................... okay.

and one last piece of extremely subjective criticism: it's just kind of.... boring. i think a lot of people, myself included, would be willing to overlook 90% of the problems with graduation if it didn't feel like such a slog to get through.

also people saying that we can't or shouldn't criticize graduation because it's "free" is absolutely absurd for several reasons. first, something being free does not make it above criticism. second, there ARE people who directly financially support the show with monthly donations. three, there's a difference between something being free and something being not for profit. podcasting is their full time job. they make their living off of money made from TAZ and MBMBAM (and probably their other shows to a lesser extent). this not a fun home game that they are graciously recording and sharing with us. it is a product they are producing that they make money off of, both from ads in the episodes and merch & books based off of these podcasts. they have marketed themselves as professionals, and both griffin and travis have been on panels where they are marketed as professional DMs and appear alongside other professional DMs (which makes it incredibly frustrating when people say that travis is just a newbie DM and we can't criticize him because of that. if he's a newbie, then he should not be taking part of panels as a professional DM where he speaks as an expert). TAZ is free in the same way that an episode of NCIS is free. i may not pay for it directly, but the creators are paid to create it and profit off of me consuming this product. so saying we should be grateful for any mcelnoise that the benevolent good boys share with us and that we're not allowed to criticize it "because it's free" is absolutely wild.

[tippenfunkaport]

Did you ship Glimbow from the beginning?

Short answer:

Ehhh... not exactly, but there are reasons for that

Long answer:

The first thing you need to understand about my first viewing of She-Ra is that I watched it with my kiddo from the start, right away as each season aired. This was very fun and I LOVED that I had it to share with her but it also meant that between answering questions and her randomly talking and interrupting I maybe got to hear only about 30% of the dialog and could only half pay attention. So while I got the general gist of what I was watching and enjoyed it, I missed A LOT on that first viewing.

The second thing you need to understand is that I was not involved in fandom at all. So I suspected Catradora would be a thing even before I watched (because I was a big fan of the works of Noelle Stevenson going in and no one is ever straight in those) and the only mystery there was whether it would be explicitly canon or just implied. But, beyond that, I was just vibin’ as the youths say.

Except… Many of my IRL friends were into the show and so I would occasionally see fanart or posts that they were interacting with. Shortly after Season One aired I saw art of Bowfuma and clicked on it surprised that people shipped Bow with Perfuma and not Glimmer, which seemed more obvious to me (mostly bc I loved both Bow and Glimmer as characters so much). What I found was people dogpiling on the Bowfuma artist, telling them that Bow was canonically gay, that the fight he had with Glimmer at the Princess Prom was him coming out to her and it was offensive to ship him with a woman, they needed to respect his canon sexuality.

Now you and I know now this was a load of absolute nonsense but, keeping in mind the two things above, at the time I read this in good faith and assumed I had just missed this coming out scene (not surprising as I was missing a lot bc of my small viewing companion). It made sense to me that Bow would gay given Noelle’s past works. So I mentally took Bow/Glimmer off my list of possible pairings and whenever Glimbow had moments that seemed shippy to me from then on I just assumed I was reading it wrong.

So fast forward to Season 5 when Glimbow confessed their love to each other as I was literally in the middle of answering a kid question and I looked up at the screen and said, “Wait. What the heck just happened???” And afterwards everyone was cheering Glimbow bi canon wooo and I was deeply deeply confused. So then I went back and rewatched first the last season and then the entire run of the show by myself this time so I could actually pay attention and realized, wow, OK so those people I had seen talking back during Season 1 were completely full of baloney and led me totally wrong here.

Which is why, when people say they didn’t see Glimbow coming, I understand that. If you’re not giving the show your full attention, it is easy to miss because a lot of it is subtle. Or if you went in, like I did, with your impressions colored by completely wrong information from fandom, that would be a factor too.

Where people lose me, however, is when they say it came out of nowhere. You didn’t notice it? That’s understandable. But that doesn't mean it's not there. Go rewatch it and pay attention this time because it’s baked into the entire show from the first moments, and it’s obvious.

Anyway, obviously, once I rewatched the series and finally understood WTF was going on, I decided to embrace the Glimbow lifestyle forever, the end.

[julies-butterflies]

“I can tell you’re upset. Do you need anything right now?” for (platonic) Alex and Reggie?

cuddle dialogue prompts  ( accepting!! )                                        ( read on ao3! )

Alex’s friends don’t come over to his house anymore.

It’s a weird change, because they used to. Bobby’s garage has always been home base, but the boys used to go over to Luke’s or Alex’s just as often; and when things at Luke’s started to get weird, tense, like a powder keg on the verge of erupting, Alex’s doors were always open. His parents were friendly, if a bit overbearing. They didn’t even seem to mind the mess his friends brought with them, or the noise, or the inevitable chaos; they just liked seeing Alex hang out with other “boys his age”. Their cabinets were always well-stocked with Girl Scout cookies, and Alex’s little sister (the aforementioned Girl Scout) was a pest, in a way he didn’t really mind. 

The guys seemed to...  like it at his house, for some reason — and yeah, that filled his chest with bubbles and made him feel like coming off the high of a drum solo. Alex liked to be liked. He liked that his place could be somewhere his friends felt safe... even if they all conscientiously toned down the casual physical affection when Alex’s parents were around.

Ever since he came out, though... things have changed.

Everything’s changed, and his friends not coming over anymore is the least of it.

The biggest change is, he’s no longer welcome at church. Pastor Hamilton made that very clear with his final sermon — a fire and brimstone rant against the ‘sins of sodomy and perversion’. Alex sat there for an hour, boiling in his own skin, as the eyes of the rest of his congregation bore into him. He couldn’t get out of the building fast enough... and after that, swore never to go back. He wouldn’t be welcome, anyways.

There was no chance of his parents missing the yearly church retreat, though — and Christina has been looking forward to a camping trip for ages, so Alex doesn’t resent how eagerly she clambered in the family station wagon. She barely waved goodbye, too busy cramming her bags in the trunk; his parents, predictably, didn’t say anything at all. They trust Alex not to burn the house down in their absence, at least, so he’ll consider that a compliment.

Alex almost wishes he was bothered. If he were — if such blatant rejection from his family actually stung, if he could stew in his own hurt feelings and resent how quickly they pulled out of the driveway — then maybe it would actually matter. (Maybe it’d mean he’s a good son after all.) 

Alex is a lot of things, though, but he’s never been good at lying to himself.

An entire weekend home alone, with no one but the dogs to keep him company? Honestly, it sounds like heaven.

By nine o’clock at night, he’s well and truly deep in this teenage rebellion thing. He’s got Sixteen Candles queued up on the DVR, has his legs up on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, and an entire bottle of Fanta threatening to stain his mother’s precious white carpet. There’s something to be said for living on the edge; he relishes every second of doing something forbidden, fueled by the thought of his parents’ faces if they could see him. Just imagining their horror is sweet; almost as sweet as Molly Ringwald’s bubblegum-pop fashion statements. 

The night stretches before him like a promise, calm and comfortable. He’s free to be himself in his own home. It shouldn’t feel as amazing as it does, because it shouldn’t be a novelty... but considering nowadays, Alex feels more like an intruder, he’ll take what he can get.

His first sign of anything amiss is the sound of barking from the front hall. Alex sits up, dislodging the bowl of popcorn from his lap. He scrambles to catch it before it can go everywhere. After a few more seconds of fumbling, he pauses the movie, and springs to his feet.

“You guys! I swear —“

As he trudges into the foyer, he’s thoroughly unsurprised at what he finds. Zoey, giant maniac that she is, is literally bouncing off the front door. She hits, rebounds, and is immediately back at it, scratching at the wood and barking her head off. A few steps behind her, Cooper hovers, his tail hung low. When he spots Alex, he lets out a relieved whine, and paces a circle around the foyer. Alex — who gets it, really, weird noises at the door are even more nerve-wracking than surprise phone calls — gives him a soothing scratch on the head. Cooper glues himself to his side, and Alex keeps one hand on his collar as he steps towards the door.

“Someone out there, girl?”

Zoey hurls herself bodily against the front door. She hits like a wrecking ball. From the other side, Alex hears a noise — somewhere between a gasp and a  “Whoa!”

He knows for a fact he didn’t order pizza; the neighbors are the “keep to yourselves” types; and the Jehovah’s Witnesses are like reverse vampires, never seen outside of daylight hours. There shouldn’t be  anyone at the door. A shiver of anxiety runs down Alex’s neck… but it’s drowned out by irritation at just how loud Zoey’s being. “Hey, hey,” Alex exclaims, hauling her back as she makes another jump towards the door. “Cut it out! Get outta here!”

He’s too busy wrestling with the dogs to be nervous when he throws the door open. (Worst case scenario, he can just let go of their collars, and sic them; let the dogs drown any potential burglars to death in kisses.) The face that greets him on the other side is… unexpected.

“Heya!” Reggie pulls his hand back from the doorknob, and offers a tiny wave. “What’s up, man?”

Zoey answers the question with a running leap.

Reggie’s ready for her. He hits the deck, arms open wide — and when she barrels him over, his whoop of delight rings through the quiet neighborhood. Alex grits his teeth, glancing anxiously around the street. His neighbors mind their own business, but that doesn’t mean they want to be disturbed in the middle of the night; this isn’t Reggie’s neighborhood, where sirens and bonfires are raging at all hours. Of course, though, Reggie has no concept of quiet… and he loses all self-control whenever dogs are involved. He’s too busy rolling around on the porch, ambushed by two giant golden retrievers, to notice anything else.

Alex leans against the doorframe, taps his feet, and sighs. He’s just starting to examine the calluses on his palms when Reggie finally emerges from the literal dogpile. “I know it’s late — I woulda called first, but — aaah, Zoey, that tickles!”

His screeches ring out like sirens, and Alex’s neighbors are  definitely going to call the cops if this keeps up. Alex has to cut in. Wrestling one dog back inside, and then the other, he hauls Reggie to his feet just as swiftly. “Come in then, quick,” he mutters. “Did you come here exclusively to steal my dogs?”

“Alex, I swear, you’re the one I wanted to see the most. Stealing your dogs is just... a fun side quest.” Reggie strides in like he owns the place. As the door closes behind him, he glances around the foyer. “Home alone, huh?”

“Yeah,” Alex replies. “It’s been fun.”

“I bet.” Reggie dodges another jump from Zoey, nearly tripping over Cooper. The dogs both recognize him, even though it’s been ages since he was last here;  animals and Reggie get along like pizza and pepperoni. If he really wanted to steal the Mercers’ dogs, it wouldn’t be a challenge. Thankfully, Reggie’s parents have a hard and fast “no pets” rule, and stick to it. (Reggie was able to hide an injured squirrel in his closet for a whole  three weeks  before anyone caught on — after it got loose, chewed through the wires of the family TV, and wreaked havoc in the kitchen. His parents still don’t know how it got in the house, but Reggie spent weeks mourning the loss of his “Beloved Frank”.)

As Reggie hits the ground on his knees, enthusiastically petting both dogs at once, Alex tucks his hands into his pockets. He’s not used to feeling nervous around his best friends… but suddenly, he’s on unstable ground, unsure of what to do. It’s just Reggie… but it’s Reggie in his house, where Alex’s friends, Alex’s life, are no longer welcome. It’s just Reggie showing up in the middle of the night, without any warning… and he’s acting fine, sure, but this also isn’t like him. Alex’s instincts are thrumming with a sense of wrong, wrong. He can’t help frowning as he steps back, watching his friend play.

Reggie feels his gaze. He ignores it.

“Who’s a good girl? Oh, yeah, you’re the  best  girl, yeah —“

Alex clears his throat. Reggie ignores that, too.

“Come on, Cooper, gimme a kiss — there you go! Did ya miss your old pal Reggie? I missed you!”

Enough is enough. Alex turns to the switch on the wall. The foyer is suddenly flooded with bright light, sparkling through the crystal fixtures overhead. Reggie falls back and blinks rapidly, entire face scrunching up against the glare. When his eyes adjust, he finds Alex crouched at his side.

“Not to be all ‘what are you doing in my house, Reg’, but…” Alex reaches over and pats Cooper’s head. “What are you doing here?”

Reggie’s blank stare lingers on him for a beat too long— a quarter of a second, but still, it’s the only giveaway Alex needs. 

“Just visiting! I knew you were home alone… figured you might want some company.” His friend grins, like everything’s normal, just another wild antic in the life of Reggie… but Alex knows better.

“Okay, that’s real generous, but…”

He drags the word out for a few seconds too long. Somehow, his brain gets stalled on Reggie’s face; the strain at the edges of his smile, the dark circles under his eyes. His eyes are a little puffy — he’s been crying. He holds onto Zoey, not just like he’s happy to see her, but like he needs her — needs something soft and comforting to ground him.

Reggie rode his bike all the way to Alex’s house in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t have done that without a good reason.

Alex sighs, and scratches behind Cooper’s ears. When he looks back up at Reggie, his smile is small, but Reggie’s clearly reassured by it nonetheless. “Yeah, you’re right. Things were getting pretty lonely around here.” Alex nudges his shoulder. “You feel like some popcorn?”

Reggie bounds to his feet. “Always!”

“We can finish watching the best John Hughes movie, and then I’ll generously  give you next pick…”

Reggie’s no fan of the classic 80s teen romances, but he’ll suffer through them for Alex’s sake. Alex, in return, has seen Star Wars fourteen times.  He honestly couldn’t care less about defending the galaxy, or whatever Mark Hamill’s trying to do with the long stick and the gross robes… but it makes Reggie happy, and for that, it’s worth it.

So he’s surprised when, instead of insisting on  A New Hope, Reggie buries his face in Alex’s most comfortable blanket, and murmurs something Alex barely catches.

“What?” Reggie doesn’t answer. “Dude, you’ve got to speak up, I can’t — did I not tell you to keep the popcorn in your mouth?” He snatches a few kernels out of Reggie’s lap before they can fall into the cushions and get lost forever. When he looks up again, Reggie’s cheeks are bright red. Alex nudges him in the shoulder again, prompting him to speak up.

“It’s just — uhh—“ Reggie shrugs. “Don’t really feel like Star Wars tonight.”

Alex’s brows shoot up. “Oh… kay. What do you want to watch, then?”

Reggie clears his throat, and studiously doesn’t look Alex in the eye. “Could we watch the Wizard of Oz maybe?”

Alex stares at him; after a few seconds, he snorts. Reggie’s head snaps toward him, indignant in a second.

“It’s a classic, okay? Iconic cinema! You can’t get any better than Judy Garland, and tell me the Wicked Witch didn’t scare your pants off as a kid! And, and, and the flying monkeys are crazy cool, and—“

“You’re such a dork,” Alex scoffs. 

Reggie’s cheeks flood with heat; he looks down again, picking the blankets with his chewed-up fingernails. “Am not,” he mutters — and that’s Alex’s third clue something’s really up.

Second clue: Reggie will never pass up a chance to watch Star Wars. It’s always his top pick… so, for him to choose a kid’s movie instead, he must need something familiar. Something comforting. Something where the ending is a foregone conclusion.

And a Reggie who doesn’t bounce back from Alex’s sharp edged comments like a rubber-band ball is clearly in one heck of a bad way.

Alex’s smile slowly fades. He leans forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, and studies Reggie sideways. When his friend refuses to look up, he nudges their knees together. When he still avoids him — as stubborn as Cooper at the groomers, god  — Alex inches closer to him, pressing their shoulders together.

“Okay,” he says, “what’s up?”

Reggie finally looks up at him, but it’s no victory. His eyes are wide and guilty. “Wh— what?”

“What’s going on, Reg?”

Reggie shrinks back from him… but there’s nowhere to go. Caught between Alex’s body and the couch, he settles for burrowing further into the blanket. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar… who’s expecting to get spanked for it.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “Nothing, man.” The way he hunches in on himself gives the game away, even if his miserable face didn’t. Alex’s stomach twists. “I just wanted to hang out, I just thought — didn’t want you to be lonely, I mean, it gets quiet here, in a big house all alone, and I know you get nervous, so I just thought maybe, but if you want me to go I’ll g—"

“Reggie.”

His voice breaks through the tidal wave of thought, somehow. Reggie goes still and silent, frowning down at his lap. When Alex lays a hand on his shoulder, he reluctantly looks at him.

“I can tell you’re upset, that’s all,” Alex says… and, as a flicker of something absolutely exhausted passes through Reggie’s eyes, the decision is made for him. “I’m not gonna press. I don’t need you to tell me anything, Reg, but I don’t want you to go.” He pauses, considers, and rubs his hand over Reggie’s shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

“I—“ Reggie exhales a shuddering breath, and shakes his head. “No. I’m, uhh, I’m… good.”

It’s hardly convincing… but Alex suspects it's the best he’s going to get.

Which is okay, because Reggie’s right here. They have the entire house to themselves for the night… and Alex has the Wizard of Oz on cassette tape.

Alex’s house can be a safe place, just for tonight, and that seems like what Reggie needs most of all.

Alex digs the movie out of their cabinet, and pops it in the VCR. As he sits down on the couch once again, curling up at Reggie’s side, he considers his mother’s suede couches — the pride and joy of their living room, which she dotes over and vacuums religiously every Tuesday. The Mercers have a lot of house rules, but Rule Number Two (after No Gays Allowed!) is Don’t Mess Up The Couch.

Alex glances at Reggie, raises his brows, and taps the leather couch three times in quick succession.

“Zoey! Cooper! Up!”

They don’t even have time to brace themselves. All at once, Alex and Reggie are buried under twin lumps of golden fur… and Reggie’s laughter might be the sweetest sound Alex has ever heard.

As the movie starts, and the dogs settle down — Cooper with his head in Alex’s lap, Zoey flopped practically on top of Reggie — a quiet contentment settles between them. The anxiety humming underneath Reggie’s skin quiets so much that Alex can’t hear it anymore… and, in turn, Alex’s own nerves find some peace.

“I’m glad you’re here, Reg,” he says softly, tucking an arm around Reggie’s shoulders. 

“I’m glad you are, too,” Reggie murmurs,.

It might not be exactly what he needs — him, and dogs, and cozy blankets and comfort movies — but as Reggie curls into him with a sigh, Alex hopes it’s enough.

[blazehedgehog]

What was the honest reaction to Sonic 06 back in 2006?

It was a long time ago, so I can only really speak to my own perspective.

Sonic 2006 was the time that Sega’s marketing department really started cranking the hype train really, really hard. Sonic 2006 was announced as a fresh start. A soft reboot. Sonic Team said they were treating it like “the first Sonic game on the Sega Genesis.” You still had Tails, and Knuckles, and Shadow, but it was the start of a new era. A new type of Sonic the Hedgehog. More serious, more realistic, more “epic.”

At this point, there was no reason to necessarily distrust any of that. Yes, Sonic games had been slipping in quality, and yes, Sega was still more or less pretending that everything was “okay.” But that was always in the typical, “we’re trying to sell a video game and not go bankrupt” sense. This felt like a tacit acknowledgement that things weren’t so great and they were going to start over and refocus. Set things right.

Early gameplay footage looked rough. I distinctly remember a Gametrailers hands-on where they were demoing the Mach Speed Zone in Kingdom Valley, and the Sega representative was very clear and upfront that the game wasn’t done yet, and all of the empty space Sonic was running through would be filled in later. (It wasn’t.) There was also the typical debate over the TGS 2006 “Bringing it Home” playable demo, where people argued then, too, that the game wasn’t done yet, and not to judge things too harshly. The final version will be better.

The final version also wasn’t done yet. So, y’know.

I had effectively bought an Xbox 360 for this game. I was broke as per usual, but I’d gotten lucky and won a Gametrailers video competition, which landed me $1000 in Gamestop gift cards. I bought a PS2, a Nintendo DS, and an Xbox 360, plus more than a dozen games between the three platforms. I knew there would be more Xbox 360 games besides Sonic 2006, and I’d even originally wanted a 360 primarily for Elder Scrolls Oblivion, but the simple fact is that once the money was in my hands and I spent it, Sonic 2006 was the only actual Xbox 360 game I owned.

Or was going to own, anyway. I think I’d won the contest in September or October of 2006, when Sonic came out in November. So I bought the 360 a few weeks early with some original Xbox games, and spent the interim with Spider-man 2, Ninja Gaiden Black, and the copy of Halo 2 I borrowed from my cousin.

Sonic 2006 was the first game I’d ever pre-ordered. The second game, pre-ordered on the same day, was The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess for the Gamecube. I still have the tiny pre-order statue that came with Sonic. His gloves and socks, once white, have begun to yellow with age, and the skin tone on his face and body is turning an ashy gray.

Even 72 hours before launch, there was not a clear picture what Sonic 2006 actually was. Sega was deliberately obfuscating certain features; early in development they’d sworn up and down that there were only three playable characters in the game, something that blatantly wasn’t true. Perhaps it was miscommunication from Japan, but it meant they were now going out of their way to hide how many other playable characters were actually in the game. I naively distrusted most (if not all) professional reviewers back then, and the earliest scores for Sonic 2006 were all over the map.

As a Sonic fan, you kind of had to know how to read between the lines on the more negative reviews, because we were definitely in the era where it felt like critics were starting to dogpile on the Sonic franchise now that Sega was a third party developer. There weren’t a lot of professional reviews you could trust regarding Sonic games, or at least, that’s what it felt like. This was the rise of the podcast, and snarky hosts were taking whatever low hanging fruit they could get.

I remember waking up on launch day -- friends had gotten up early and picked theirs up in the morning, when I’d rolled out of bed somewhere closer to noon (or maybe even afternoon). I had plans to pick up my copy later that evening, after sunset. My friends did not sound happy, but again, there was always this vibe of “Wait and see.” They had only just started the game. First impressions were still too fresh to really call.

But I had this moment, this cold spot in the pit of my stomach, where I thought “Maybe I can cancel the pre-order and get Gears of War instead?” Reviews for Gears seemed pretty good. I’d probably be happy with it instead of Sonic.

I couldn’t let myself do that. I was a Sonic fan. This was the first big Sonic game of a new generation. A new start. I bought the console for this. First game I ever pre-ordered. The second Sonic game in the history of the franchise I’d bought on launch day. This was it. This was the event. No backing down. Besides, Sonic 2006 was a big 15th Anniversary celebration game. They wouldn’t make such a big deal about the anniversary without just cause, right? Sonic 2006 was going to be great. I just needed to calm down.

So we drove out to Gamestop -- and it was the sort of thing where I think we couldn’t do the pre-order at my local Gamestop for some reason, so this one was a town or two over. It was a journey. I was nervous the whole way there. Something told me I was making a mistake. But I had to do this.

I think it may have been starting to rain as we rolled up on the store. It was around 8pm, and people were starting to camp out on the sidewalk. Literally camp out, tents and all, because of the rain. Today was the launch date for Sonic 2006, but tomorrow was the launch of the Playstation 3. These guys were here for Gamestop’s “Midnight Madness” launch event. They were going to be some of the first to get a PS3. I was probably the last person to pick up a Sonic 2006 pre-order.

Sonic 2006 might have been the first Sonic game to ever make me angry. I’d had a lot of internet debates on how I felt about Sonic Adventure 2, but most of those amounted to splitting hairs about things that felt disappointing when compared to the original Sonic Adventure. I was not angry then, I was simply let down. I was similarly let down when I finally got a chance to play Sonic Heroes. But again, not angry. Baffled, maybe. A little sad. But not angry.

With Sonic 2006, I slammed head first in to all of my excitement and uncertainty at 200mph. This was a Sonic game unlike anything I’d ever played before, and in all of the worst possible ways. Enough has been said about the quality of the game that I don’t need to describe anything that’s wrong with it -- also because literally everything was wrong with it. Perhaps the first video game I’d ever played, ever, on any platform, that actually fought back against your efforts to play it. A disaster in every sense of the word. A broken nightmare. After finishing Sonic’s story, I was mad. How could they let this happen? What was wrong with them?

I was less angry after having finished Shadow’s story. Shadow had even buggier gameplay than Sonic, but it also felt more complex, more action-oriented. His story was better, too -- instead of the sappy Princess love story, Shadow’s story was about how the world was against him, and the crossroads that brought him to: rise above his past and strive to be a better person, or give in to the temptations of evil? It was still dumb as heck, but it was less dumb than Sonic’s story.

By the time the credits rolled, I had accepted the fact that this game was a mess. More of a mess than any Sonic game ever had been before. It was clearly a deeply unfinished game. Friends theorized maybe they could patch the game, because that was a thing games could get now. Sonic 2006 could still be saved. The PS3 version wouldn’t be out for another month, surely that means they’re working on a fix, right? Some were even theorizing over an achievement called “Nights of Kronos” -- it mentioned a “complete ending to the last hidden story.” Perhaps that meant there was going to be more? Maybe we got the bad ending, and a better, more finished ending was waiting for us on the disc somewhere?

There wasn’t. And no patch ever fixed the game. That was Sonic 2006 -- the kiss, the loading screens, the strange mannequin NPCs, the stiff controls, the glitchy physics, the empty overworlds, the bizarre dialog, the plotholes and time paradoxes, that’s just what the game was, and was always going to be, forever.

Before Sonic 2006, you could say that 3D Sonic games were bad, but there was always a place to defend them from. They had problems, but they were never irredeemable. Sonic Heroes may have had frustrating controls and repetitive level design, but it had great art direction, nice music, and fun concepts. They were always trying, dang it, and it was obvious to see that.

Sonic 2006 felt irredeemable. Offensively terrible. A failure on such a level that it was hard to comprehend. Beyond simply “a new low” for the franchise. This felt like rock bottom. It was the kind of bad that spread like a virus. Even good games, like Sonic 2 on the Sega Genesis, felt notably tarnished by the existence of Sonic 2006. It threatened to ruin the entire franchise by proximity alone. For some, it probably did. I definitely had a moment where I wondered if I would ever enjoy a Sonic game in the same way ever again. They were all tainted now. Infected by memories of Sonic 2006, the game that was supposed to save the franchise, but condemned it to the lowest pits of hell.

In isolation, that might have been the end for me. I might have continued to drift away, bit by bit, until I found greener hills outside of the Sonic franchise.

I’ve said this before, but what saved me was getting hired to write for TSSZ News. Now, suddenly, I was paid to play and write about Sonic games. It was a duty. And it helped that the first Sonic game I reviewed for TSSZ ended up being Sonic Unleashed, a game I continue to openly gush about to this day, more than a decade after its release.

But never forget that Sonic 2006 was such a disaster that it nearly made me give up Sonic the Hedgehog. It really was that bad.

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 408: Desolate Night

Jaune finished doing dishes in the kitchen and then walked back into the hall. "We should probably decided on watches and get some sleep." Nora eagerly raised her arm. "You want first watch?" Jaune asked.

"You know it!" she said, standing up powerfully and augustly.

"Alright," Jaune said, "Nora, Ruby, myself, and then Ren. We'll depart at first light."

Nora glared at him and then stepped forward, staring into his eyes. "Why do YOU always give YOU the worst watch?"

"Eye..." he quietly asked, "shine?"

"But... pfft." Nora tried to say, and then gestured to Ruby.

Jaune shyly looked down for a moment before looking back, "Either way, one of us has to have the worst watch."

"Yeah... but... I mean..." she grumbled.

"I think he just likes getting up early." Ruby stated.

Jaune paused for a moment before vaguely nodding.

"He does seem to always be up before the rest of us." Nora voiced.

"Perhaps we should decide on our rooms?" Ren stated.

"Of course," Ruby said, "the leader has to get up before the common folk."

"I... really don't know how I feel about that?" Jaune asked.

"Oh!" Nora exclaimed. She then turned to look at him quizzically. "Are WE sharing a room?"

"There is more than enough room for everyone." Ren stated.

"Okay... yeah... but..." Nora nervously said, and then nervously looked around.

"We'll be fine." Ruby said as she stepped towards her. Nora still looked about nervously. "We could leave our doors open?" she asked, and Nora eagerly looked up.

"I'll..." Jaune quielty voiced, "Just sleep down here."

"But?!" Nora asked, "Rooms, BEDS?!"

Jaune reached up to tap his antlers. "The ceilings are higher down here."

"Why don't we just bring the beds down there!" Ruby exclaimed. "I mean, like, we could all be together? she asked, visibly shaking, "if we need each other." Jaune moved in to hug her once again. Ren stepped towards them and touched Ruby on her shelter, using his Semblance to help calm her emotions.

"We'll be here." Jaune stated. "That is, if you feel like moving four beds down the stares in the next hour."

"Anyone have any lightning Dust?" Nora asked, and Ren pulled something out from behind him. Nora saw this and developed a wicked grin.

* * *

The four beds lay in the hall, together. Ren, Nora, and Ruby's heads all to the centre, with Jaune's pointing away.

"I've got a question?" Ruby asked. "Isn't there something we can do for the town?"

"Scratch out the names." Jaune said.

"Name-S?" Ruby asked.

"At the gates, on signs, that kind of thing." Jaune replied.

"Nothing more we can do?" Ruby asked. "I mean, there has to be something."

"Not unless we spend weeks burying all the bodies." Jaune stated. "And that would leave us..."

"Vulnerable..." Ren stated, "I doubt the residents would want to see us perish because of this."

"There has to be, I don't know, something?" Ruby asked.

"Stop it from happening to other towns." Jaune stated.

"It is the least and most we can do." Ren added.

* * *

Kali was distracting Sun, and Blake took the opportunity to slip out the back. The guards stared at her as she ran off into the night, unsure of what to do. She did always like her indepedence. They would tell her parents after a few minutes.

* * *

Blake leapt from rooftop to rooftop in the dead of the night, before finding a high vantage point to quietly relax on. She stared off into the night as she remembered what had happened, remembered her friends, remembered all the way back to the Emerald Forest, and the night before. Ruby was so adorable trying so awkwardly to make friends. But even then it was obvious just how sweet, if misbeguided she was. Yang was bodacious, from the very moment she laid eyes on her. Jaune? she thought to herself, Jaune took... a bit more getting used to. He certainly came a long way in their half a year at Beacon.

Blake shuddered as she remembered looking into his eyes. His silent plea to stay, her crestfallen heart betraying her, causing her to run away. As if she had much of a choice. If she had stayed, her friends would be paying the price.

Blake sighed out loud, hunching down as a cat curling her back, and she stared at the dark Kuo Kuana around her. Her ears twitched and then focused behind her, and she sighed even louder.

"You run away?" Sun asked, and she turned around to give him an angry glare.

"YES!" she shouted, "That's why I'm in Menagerie! You think I came to pick a fight, but I keep telling you that's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?" Sun asked.

"I don't know..." Blake stated, "It was the only place that seemed safe? I'm only good at running away. Anyone who gets close to me... is going to get hurt."

"pfft." Sun replied, "That's silly."

"Silly?!" she asked.

"Do I look like a guy who's afraid of being hurt?" Sun asked her.

"Maybe you SHOULD be afraid of being hurt?" Blake asked him. "Did that ever occur to you?"

"Uh... what?.." Sun asked.

Blake breathed in deep, "I'm sorry, but... do you ever take anything seriously?"

Sun stared at her, not sure how to reply.

* * *

Jaune walked out into the dark of night and stretched. He placed his bow on the ground and stepped on it, stretching it to affix the string. He then stood back up and looked up at the roof. He saw a spiral of rose petals in the dim light that landed in front of him. She smiled brightly, if tiredly, and he smiled a gentle smile in reply. They nodded their heads, and Ruby turned to leave. "Sleep tight." Jaune whispered, and saw Ruby's tail begin to wag as she walked into the hotel.

Jaune leapt up to roof, a full two-story leap. He was much better at leaping than he used to be. For a moment he flashed back to the time he was staring down from the cliff over the Emerald Forest. He was so frightened. That didn't stop him, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Still, Pyrrha saved him, he met his team and RWBY... and... because of them, he stood here, now, staring out over the dark of night in a forgotten village destroyed by Grimm. He looked up at the stars and they were absolutely beautiful. One of the good things about being perpetually on the nightwatch. He also felt strangely at home in the night. It might be a Faunus thing. A mammal-Faunus thing?

* * *

Ren walked out in the pre-dawn blush and leapt up to the roof. Jaune grabbed his arm to pull him in for a back clap before jumping down from the roof. He then unstrung his bow and walked inside. Ren crossed his legs on the rooftop and started meditating.

* * *

Jaune collapsed on top of the bed and nearly instantly fell asleep.

* * *

Nora eagerly shook Jaune: "Psst." she whispered, "Leader?" She shook him again a few times before he tiredly tried to shoo her away. A moment later she was shaking him again.

"Ohh!" Ruby shouted, and turned into rose petals, landing on Jaune's back. She started patting him on the back.

"Don't make me..." Jaune quietly said.

"What?" ruby asked.

Jaune reached behind him trying to swat her. She was able to dodge him. He just sighed and pushed himself up, throwing Ruby off, onto the bed. "I am immune to girls trying to tackle or dogpile me in bed.

"Even all of them?" Ruby asked.

"Once..." Jaune voiced, and shook his head. He turned over and slipped to the side of the bed. He stood up and stretched.

"Who, boy have you filled out nicely!" Nora exclaimed.

"Hm?" Jaune asked.

"Like you don't know." Nora stated.

"Know what?" Jaune asked, as he turned away to put on his hoodie.

"Why do you always turn away to put on your hoodie?" Ruby asked.

"I don't know?" Jaune asked, as he reached for his armour, "I'm shy? Maybe I'm on watch?"

"Do you seriously?," Nora asked him, "not realize just how much you have filled out?"

"You guys really think so?" Jaune asked, as he turned around, adjusting his armour a bit.

"Ruby's wagging tails seems to agree." Nora stated, and Ruby pulled her tail under herself on Jaune's bed.

"I don't know what you are talking about." Ruby said with faux pomposity.

"Oh, I know!" Jaune said.

"Know what?" Ruby asked.

"About why I turn to change. I'm used to changing in the same room as girls."

"That DOES make sense." Nora stated.

"Before I met all of you guys, I DID have seven sisters, after all." Jaune stated.

* * *

Jaune, Ren, and Ruby walked along. Nora was standing on Jaune's back... or backpack, grabbing onto his antlers.

"Why does Nora get to rid on Jaune's back?" Ruby asked.

"Backpack." Jaune stated.

"And I can see ridiculously well." Nora stated.

"Why don't you?.." Ruby asked her, "just do what you always do, stand on your hammer and POW yourself into the air."

Nora let out an awkward laugh. "Yeah... I kind of have a tendancy to NOT come back."

"Tell us," Ren stated, "what do you see?"

"Like 20 rabbits," Nora replied, "a family of ducks. A dozen deer. OOH, that's a big one! Kind of like Jaune."

"A caribou?" Jaune asked.

"Maayybbe." Nora replied. "Antlers are different though. Kind of flat..."

"Is that a moose?" Jaune asked.

"Oh!" Nora exclaimed, "That's it!"

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Good afternoon uhhhh I have no idea what to say about this except that I wrote it and it exists and that probably does say something about me as a person. Also you may want to read my last fic (knight in a beat-up green jacket) because it gets referenced a couple of times but it’s definitely not necessary.

Title: can you catch me when I'm falling down

Wordcount: 2450

Summary: Party Poison is trying to have a calm day for once. Unfortunately, Cherri Cola needs help.

For once, Poison is actually helpful.

Warnings: blood, self harm, mentions of suicide, mentions of death/child death. Please be very careful. 

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

Party Poison was alone when the radio crackled to life. It was an ordinary afternoon in the Zones, Kobra Kid was out on his motorbike somewhere, Jet Star was playing with the Girl, getting ready for her nap, and Fun Ghoul was….exploding things, they assumed. Given the loud bangs from out back, it seemed likely. Poison themself was just trying to read a magazine in peace, feet propped up on one of the diner tables, but that was not to be. 

They sighed and reached for the radio. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Cherri Cola’s voice crackled through. He sounded tense, which put them on edge. 

“What’s up, Pepsi?”

“Uh, well, you know how that one time, Ghoul said I was like a knight in shining armor? Right, well, I could kind of use a knight in shining armor right now.”

Poison could see that it definitely wasn’t going to be a peaceful afternoon for them. “What the fuck did you get yourself into?”

“Nothing- nothing in particular. I would just really not prefer to be alone at the radio station today, and everyone else is off doing varying things.” His voice had grown even more strained, sounding close to breaking.

“Fuck’s sake, Pepsi.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Trust me, if I could have asked anyone else for help, I wouldn’t have put this on a teenager’s shoulders.”

“Fuck off, I’m perfectly competent.” They sighed. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Thank you, Poison.” 

Poison swung their feet off the table, pulling their boots and jacket on at the door. “Jet, I’m heading down to the radio station!”

“Okay!” Jet Star called back from the back of the diner. “What for?”

“Cola needs something!”

“Okay! Be safe!”

“I will!” They kicked open the door, shutting it behind them as another explosion sounded from behind the building and Jet shouted something about ‘you woke the Girl up, I just got her to sleep!’. They really had to talk to Ghoul about setting off bombs during naptime. Making a note to do that when they got back, Party climbed into the Trans Am and turned the keys. 

“Alright, let’s go see what the fuck he needs, huh, old girl?” The car obediently revved to life, and Poison took them down the roads at frankly irresponsible speed. Not that they had ever given a fuck about being responsible in the first place, not unless it came to their crew’s safety. 

Party Poison arrived at the radio shack and kicked the door open with exactly as much grace as they had when kicking the diner door open. “Alright, Pepsi, I’m here!”

“Hey, Poison.” The reply was quiet, and they had to look around further before they located Cherri Cola, sitting on the floor against the sofa. A knife was clutched in his right hand, and they thought they could see blood on his arms, dripping down onto the already stained floor.

“What the fuck? Destroya, Cola!” 

Cherri’s eyes were shut tight. “I’m sorry. Please take the knife before I end up doing something stupid.”

“Stupider than this?”

“Stupider as in cutting my fucking throat, Poison.”

“Fuck.” They hurried across the room to wrestle the knife out of his hand, wishing they had made Jet come with them. Jet was actually good at this kind of thing. Thank the Witch, Cherri let go of the knife fairly easily- Poison was pretty sure he would have been able to keep a hold of it if he really tried. They folded the blade away and quickly tucked it into their jacket pocket, wondering if they should bother to check him for other weapons. “Do you have any more knives?”

Cola shook his head, and Poison settled next to him.

“Okay, so why do you want to slit your fucking throat?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know what that means.”

Cherri mumbled something they strained to catch.

“What?”

“Just happens sometimes,” he repeated, a little louder.

“Just wake up and want to die?” The feeling was strangely (and sadly) familiar.

“Yeah. I’ve seen a lot of shit, Pois. Killed a lot of people. I know I act like I’m well-adjusted, but I’ve never been well-adjusted.”

They bristled a little at the nickname, but now wasn’t exactly the time to say anything about it. “We’ve all killed a lot of people, Cola.”

He shrugged a second time. “I guess it gets to me more than you guys.”

Silence settled over the two killjoys for a few moments before Cherri broke it again.

“I knew an exterminator, you know.”

“What?”

“Before the war. She was good at origami, and she liked soda, but only if it was cherry flavored, and chewed bubblegum whenever possible. She had a ring she never took off, our grandma gave it to her. Her eyes were clear blue like the sky.”

“So you knew an exterminator.”

“And I killed her.” Cherri’s voice was very straightforward. “I killed her, not because I wanted to, but because we were on opposite sides and I had no choice.”

“Fuck,” They swore. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah. It’s a truth I learned pretty young: people die in war. Not for any reason, not because they’re bad people or because they deserved to die. Simply because they were there. Because they were forced into fighting, because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, because they were trying to make the world a better place. People die because they’re trying to save their friends or their love. Because they want to make the world better for their children. And those children die too, because they’re children in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because they can’t defend themselves.” His voice was shaking, nails digging into his arms. 

Poison swore under their breath and pulled his hands away to reveal another set of crescent marks, adding to the many already there. “Fuck’s sake. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”

“I’m open to other suggestions,” Cherri muttered.

They almost snorted. “Well, Cola, pleased to announce you’re going to be just fine, seeing as you’re being a snarky bastard again.”

That got a tiny laugh out of him. “Am I ever not a snarky bastard, in your opinion?”

“When-“ Poison hesitated briefly. “When shit really hits the fan, you’re not. So when you’re being snarky, I know shit’s going to be fine.”

“I wouldn’t use me as an indicator.”

“Eh, you’re a decent one. Canary in a coal mine and all that. I think canaries are a brighter yellow than you, though. Probably better fashion sense, too.” They hardly knew what they were saying, only that they had to find something to talk about.

Cherri gave them a glare for their trouble, if not a very harsh one. “Now you’re the one being a snarky bastard.”

“Uh-huh, but where’s the fun in not being one? Plus, my brilliant plan worked.” Party shot him a small smile. “I’ve distracted you.”

Cherri looked exhausted as he leaned back a bit further, running his hands along his bloody arms, but he was giving them a tired smile. “Sure did.”

“See, I’m a genius.” They climbed to their feet and offered him a hand up, trying to think of what Jet would say. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hey?”

“’kay.”

His hands were bloody and rough, the blood sticking to Poison’s own hands as they pulled him to his feet, but they didn’t say anything about it. Instead, they led him over to the sink of the radio station so they could pour some precious water over his arms, sluicing them clean. They cleaned out the deeper scratches with some sort of foul-smelling disinfectant from the radio shack’s first aid kit and bandaged them up, chattering the entire time.

It was meaningless stuff, rambles about Ghoul blowing shit up during naptime and Kobra’s latest antics on the racetrack, but it was a way to fill the silence, which seemed almost crushing. So Poison unleashed all of it, every update about the Girl and her lessons (“-and Jet has her painting beads!”), every random story they hadn’t told him (“-so that was how we almost ended up with no car and a bucket filled with slime-“) and a few they had (“-then Kobra, dumbass that he is, says ‘it will be fine if I touch these wires!’”).

All their efforts were rewarded by another small, fragile smile from Cola, just barely reaching his sea-blue eyes. It was tiny, but it was real, and Poison had never been so grateful for the endless amount of stupid shit their friends got up to. 

They stuck on a final band-aid and closed the kit, glancing over at him as they tucked it away. “So I’m assuming it wouldn’t be cool of me to just abandon you.”

“Not really, no.”

Poison tried to pretend the shakiness of his voice didn’t affect them at all. “So do you want me to stay here until the rest get back? Or should I bring you on over to the diner so the chaos crew can dogpile you into a good afternoon?”

“You’re part of the chaos crew, I hope you know that.” Cherri fiddled with some of the bandages and Poison pulled his hand away. “D’s at his safehouse in Zone 2, he was worried about Better Living tracing the signal back here. Pony went with him, Newsie’s out somewhere and I don’t know if she’s coming back tonight or tomorrow.” 

“Alright, lets go back to the diner, then. You can stay a night, you’re not that insufferable.” They tried to sound like they really didn’t care. “Kobes will be happy about it, at least.”

“Thank you, Party.”

“Of course, Pepsi.”

It felt weird to be in a car with Cola and be the one driving- most often when they were stuck together, Cola was giving them a ride or they were on a run together using Cola’s truck. But now, Poison was sitting in their usual spot in the Trans Am, and Cherri had climbed into shotgun. Mad Gear was what was blaring from their speakers as they blazed across the desert, knowing Cherri could handle whatever speed they drove. Indeed, he seemed unbothered, staring quietly out the window. Poison mostly ignored him, glancing over occasionally to see if he was okay.

When they pulled up to the diner, it appeared that Ghoul was still testing out explosives (or possibly fireworks), given the bangs from behind. Cherri flinched at each one, and Poison stuck their head around the back. 

“Ghoul! Asshole! Stop it!”

“Why?”

“The Girl’s trying to sleep!”

“Ah fuck, sorry, Pois.” Xe pushed xyr hair out of his face as xe came around the side of the diner. “Oh hey, Cola!”

“Hey, Ghoul.” 

Poison shot Ghoul a warning glare as he opened his mouth again, and xe quickly shut it. “Cola’s going to be staying with us this afternoon, maybe tonight too.”

“Alright. Any particular reason?” 

They almost groaned. Ghoul somehow always had awful timing. “Uh. You know. He gets lonely when everyone abandons him at the radio station.” It was a terrible lie, but Cherri shot them a grateful smile that almost made Ghoul’s skeptical look worth it. 

Thank the Witch, xe was smart enough not to question further. “Okay. Guess we’re heading in, then, if I can’t explode shit?”

Poison nodded to them and led the others inside, looking around. It appeared Kobra had arrived back while they were gone, given that he was lounging in Poison’s usual seat, reading the magazine they had set down. Poison spared a moment to flip him off before peeking into the back to find Jet. They were sitting in his and Poison’s bedroom, humming gently under their breath as the Girl snoozed next to them.

“Hey, Jet.”

Jet looked up, putting a finger to their lips in a shh as they spoke very quietly. “Hey, Pois. Back from the radio station?”

“Yeah.”

“What did Cola need?”

“Long story.” They glanced back at the door to make sure that the rest of the Four (plus Cherri) were still in the main room of the diner before deciding how much to reveal to Jet. “He needed me to make sure he didn’t do anything dumb.”

That was all they needed to say for the other to understand. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, but he has to stay with us today.”

“For the same reason?”

“Wasn’t a smart idea to leave him back at the station alone.”

Jet nodded. “Did you leave him with Kobra and Ghoul?”

“Fuck, I did. I’m…sure he kept them from getting in trouble.”

Jet and Poison wandered back out to find Kobra laying across the table, calling commentary across the room as Ghoul attempted to get some of the power pup off one of the highest shelves and Cherri watched with great concern. 

“This is why we can’t leave you alone,” Jet sighed. “Hi, Cherri.”

“Hey, Jet. Uh, Ghoul decided xe should make dinner, I guess.”

“It’s almost dinnertime anyways! I’m making fancy shit!”

Jet rolled their eyes, but they were smiling as Poison turned to Kobra. “And what are you doing, fuckface?”

“Talking to Cola, bastard.”

“We’re siblings, you idiot, if I’m a bastard then so are you.”

Kobra flipped them off most eloquently, and Poison just laughed as they turned to Cola. “These idiots driving you crazy?”

“No, I love them.”

“Bad taste.” They laughed at Ghoul’s face. “I’m kidding, you’re the best crew. Now everyone shut up, I have to show Cola my rendition of Toxic.”

“The Girl is napping!”

Cherri laughed quietly. “Thank you, kids.”

“Sure thing!”

“We’re not kids!”

“Of course, we love you.”

“Yeah, love you, Pepsi!”

Cherri Cola stayed with them once again, this time in the graffiti-covered diner. He ate dinner with them, and the Girl sat in his lap quite happily. Ghoul and Party cracked stupid jokes back and forth until his smile wasn’t quite so fragile, trading stories about dumb shit they’d done even though half of those stories involved each other. Jet gave him a big hug, and Kobra sat down to talk with him after dinner, until finally everyone was settling down for the night. Ghoul half-jokingly suggested he sleep in one of the booths, and Cherri laughed and said he was a little old for that but ended up curled in the old chair they had salvaged a few months back anyways. Poison made sure he was safely asleep before they went to bed themself, and they were there from the moment he radioed to the moment they dropped him back off at the radio shack to a yawning Newsie who had driven through the night to get back home. 

[in-class-daydreams]

Parlay (Kuroo x Reader) | Ch. 3

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (ft. Roommate Kenma)

Word Count: ~2400

Genres: Fluff, angst if you squint, general buffoonery

CW: Some swearing, but otherwise none!

Summary: (Y/N), a first-year student attending Tokyo U, is living with her best friend, Kozume Kenma. Little did she know, her life would be turned upside down after being exposed to Kenma’s volleyball teammate and close friend, Kuroo Tetsurou. One wrong move, and the parlay’s stakes only get higher each time.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next 

Honestly, Kuroo dreaded 2:00 pm every Tuesday and Thursday. His lecture was two and a half hours long, and it was in one of the school’s bigger lecture halls, meaning he spent two days a week sitting at an itty bitty desk in an overcrowded lecture hall. It was always hot and muggy, and there’s always that one guy that you can smell three rows back. It honestly can’t be that hard to take a shower once a while, right? Personal hygiene. What a concept!

‘Before making assumptions about a person who smells - like thinking they don’t shower - consider their living situation and the fact that not everyone has access to--’ A memory from a conversation with Bokuto flashed through his mind. He begged the Bokuto that lived inside his head to please shut his piehole.

In retrospect, he really should have taken an easier class, but no. His academic advisor had strongly advised against taking an easier class to fulfill this requirement because it wouldn’t ‘enrich his academic talents.’ He could just hear his teammate’s irritating tone.

“Don’t worry, Tetsu-Chan! It’ll be a good challenge for you!”

‘Good challenge’ his ass. He really had to stop trusting other people’s judgement.

Despite his admitted hatred for his 2:00 lecture, at least he and Bokuto got to chat beforehand. The frat boy had a class at the same time: Women and Politics in Continental America. According to him, so long as you did your work and ‘are at least a somewhat decent person,’ the class was relatively easy to get a quality grade in. So while Kuroo was dreading the next two and a half hours of his life he’ll never get back, Bokuto could talk Kuroo’s ear off about his “Owlets” without a care in the world, that bastard.

“Bruh, they’re so cute! We played freeze tag for warm ups today ‘cuz they’ve been good all week and, man, little kids are hella fast!” Kuroo cracked a smile at that. Bokuto loved both volleyball and kids, so when he started working as a youth instructor at the sports center, the guy was living his best life. About halfway through hearing a story about the Owlets dogpiling on Bokuto, Kuroo heard a group of girls giggling a little further down the hallway.

There he saw Kenma’s cute girlfriend making an exaggerated sad face. Her surrounding girlfriends were half laughing and half consoling her. They patted her back and he could vaguely hear ‘next time, next time!’ and ‘--boba right after?’

As they got closer, he heard one of the girls chime in, “Hold on, we can’t go right after. That guest speaker for Native American Lit. is speaking in Ballroom One at six.”

“Oh yeah... After that, then?” another girl offered.

(Y/N) shook her head, “I promised I’d pick up a shift at Chisai at 5:30,” she told them apologetically. Her friends collectively booed as Kuroo pushed off the wall he was leaning against.

“I’ll see you at practice, man.” Bokuto paused his story. They gave each other a bro-nod in farewell.

“Okay, ttyl.”

Kuroo halted in his tracks, “...did you just say ttyl out loud?”

“It’s easier that way. My kids like it!”

“They’re nine, Kou, they like everything you do.”

“Nine is a very enriched age and it’s important that we don’t undermine the abilities of--”

“Whoops, gotta go!” Kuroo speed walked in the direction of the group of girls. Bokuto went out of his way to stay “woke” - his words, not Kuroo’s - and it made him a great guy, but Kuroo could only handle so much social consciousness. (Y/N) noticed him before he reached them.

“Oh, Kuroo-san! You have a class in this building?” For someone he’d met only once before, she looked happier to see him than a lot of people normally would. Did she look at everyone like that?

He gave each of the girls a charming smile. Several of them looked from (Y/N) to him, wide-eyed. In all objective terms, Kuroo knew the effect he had on people. He was used to people of all genders’ gazes lingering on him. After all, he was the whole package: tall, handsome, charming, and it was obvious he drank Respect Women Juice every day.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he nodded his head towards his lecture room, “Not my favorite class this semester.”

“Well, I’m in this class, too. If we sat together, would it be less agonizing?” she asked. Before he could answer, she turned to her friends, “I’ll see you probably tomorrow.” They said their goodbyes, and a few of them flirtily waved Kuroo goodbye. In return, he gave them a sly wink, “Ladies.”

“If you have other friends in this class, though, I won’t be offended at all if you sit with them,” his attention snapped to her. He held the classroom door open and gestured her in. She unthinkingly led them to the same side of the room as the one Kuroo usually sat, a few rows ahead of his normal seat.

“Actually,” he said, “All my friends were smart enough to take other classes,” he laughed. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to sit next to a such a cute girl?” he gave her a cute wink.

‘What a flirt,’ she thought.

“Is that your signature move?” she teased.

Kuroo put a hand to his chest in mock offense, “Move? A gentleman doesn’t use ‘moves.’”

“Are you a gentleman, then, Kuroo-san?”

“If you wanted me to be.”

“Cheesy.”

“Don’t worry. I get worse over time.”

(Y/N) mentally cheered. If Kuroo was flirting with her this blatantly, surely he must have a feeling that she and Kenma weren’t serious. Then, Kenma would have to admit that she wasn’t oblivious and she’d win the bet!

Kuroo’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “But don’t think I’m trying to steal you from Kenma. Bro-code is sacred text, you know.”

Oh. Well. That’s okay! He might not figure it out right away, but surely when he sees that Kenma doesn’t care one bit that he was flirting with his ‘girlfriend,’ he’d figure it out eventually! ...right?

“Don’t worry.” She replied, “He couldn’t care less.”

The professor walked in about 2 minutes before the class officially began. The man in about his mid-40’s cracked his RhedBhull energy drink and chugged the whole thing in one go. Crushing the can in his fist, he tossed it into a nearby trashcan and started plugging the projector cable into his laptop. In a way, Kuroo was glad even the professor was having as much of a hard time with this class as much as he was.

While he’d been watching the professor prepare himself, he hadn’t noticed the girl next to him pull out a notebook, two mechanical pencils, a big eraser, a set of highlighters, some gel pens, and some sticky tabs. At first he thought she was the type to make pretty notes and not actually learn anything, but as the class dragged on, whenever he glanced at her notes, he noticed that her diagrams were frighteningly detailed and every bit of information had its place. He didn’t want to be that guy by constantly looking at her notes, but even the comments in the little text bubble she drew made more sense than anything on the lecture slides.

Leaning in towards her, the taller male whispered, “I’m sure you don’t need the help, but do you want to study together sometime?” No answer.

“Kenma can come too, if you’re worried about him getting the wrong idea.” Nothing. Was she ignoring him? Had he somehow managed to offend her? He was nearly offended until he realized that nothing was affecting her at all. Not when someone sneezed or when the glass side door slammed loudly and nearly everyone jumped out of her skin. Save for her hand working like a machine, she hardly moved. Just her hand and her eyes flitting up, down, up, down, up, down from the projector to her notes. A tornado could rip through campus and Kuroo wasn’t entirely confident that she’d move.

‘Cute.’ Kuroo shook his head at his own thoughts. Sure, she was cute, but she was as off-limits as possible.

‘Though,’ he reasoned, ‘Being friends isn’t a crime.’

Lost in thought, the end of the lecture came sooner than anticipated. Twisting in his seat, his spine made a loud crack. Ah, the ripe old age of 21. In his defense, the chairs in the lecture hall weren’t exactly ergonomic.

“I doubt that’s a healthy noise for your spine to make.” She peered at him over her bag as she gently organized all her pens into a baby pink pencil case with little green aliens on it.

‘Cute,’ he thought.

“Thanks! It was a gift,” she chirped. He blinked.

“Huh?”

“The pencil case? I got it as a gift.”

It took Kuroo a moment to register what in the world she was talking about. When the realization dawned on him he mentally kicked himself.

‘I said that out loud???’

They headed outside where the sun had nearly set. She asked him what his plans were later on, and he mentioned his volleyball scholarship.

“Wow! It’s super competitive just to get on the team here. Congratulations!” He chuckled at her enthusiasm and thanked her for being so encouraging.

“So…” she trailed off for a moment, “You’re Tooru’s teammate, then?”

Kuroo gave an ugly, barking laugh.

“Yeah. Not sure if that’s good or bad. He’s the best setter I’ve ever met, but he’s also super cheery and will smile while he roasts you within an inch of your life.”

They both chuckled. (Y/N) looked at the ground shyly and said in a small voice, “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“You know each other?” it suddenly occurred to that she and Oikawa were on a first-name basis. “You a fangirl of his?” he teased.

She squeaked. Waving her hands in front of her frantically, she said, “No, no, no! I just-- We just-- We both went to Seijoh, that’s all.” Kuroo was mildly offended that she thought he’d believe such a poorly delivered lie, but he decided to let it go. For now. Changing the subject, he said,

“So, where are you headed? Practice to watch your boyfriend?” She tensed, then quickly relaxed.

“I’ve never been to a practice since I always seem to have a shift at the same time. I have work at 5:30 today, actually.”

“You’re walking around when it’s this dark?”

“It’s only about a 20 minute walk from here. Don’t worry, I have pepper spray.”

“Mildly comforting, but not much. If you don’t mind, I could walk you there?”

His gesture was rewarded by an adorable eye smile, “Oh, that’s so kind of you. Okay, if it’s not too much trouble.”

On the walk there, she told him all about Chisai Tea House and about Grandmother, the sweet old woman who owned it.

“I worry, though. Gran is getting old. She’s not in a condition to work all day like she does.”

Kuroo looked up at the darkening sky, “When people love something, it’s hard to pull them away.”

“Mm, don’t I know it?”

Kuroo asked what kinds of things Chisai served. Besides dim sum, of course.

“What people order just depends on what they want at the time. There’s no ‘good’ thing to get because everything’s amazing! We make traditional green teas, Korean songpyeon, khao neeo mamuang, and don’t even get me started on the har gao and sumai, and all the dim sum stuff. All of our recipes have been passed down through families for generations.”

Around 5:20, she stopped at a door along the line of shops. The place was bustling with customers, and the air around it smelled of sweet treats and green teas. The whole place had a traditional Chinese feel. Through the windows, the busy place looked busy, but peaceful. On the tables nearest the window, he saw moon cakes and songpyeon that made his mouth water.

“Thank you for walking me to work! If you have some free time, would you like to come in for something to eat? My treat?” she offered.

“I wish I could, (Y/N)-san, but I have practice--!” Kuroo choked on the word. Practice! How could he forget? He’d been going to volleyball practice on weekdays since he started high school!

“Is there something wrong?” the shorter girl asked, concerned. He shook his head.

“Not at all. Thanks for keeping me company,” he winked. He didn’t want her to feel like him being late was her fault, so he waited until she was fully inside the tea shop before he turned tail and hauled ass. The gym was about a 10 minute walk, so there was a chance he could make it.

After some hardcore sprinting, the boy almost cried tears of relief when the building finally came into view. He flung himself through the locker room door. Inside, he saw all his teammates finishing up getting dressed, putting on knee pads, tying shoelaces, the like. Every head turned his way.

“Bro! What’s-- Hey! Why are you all sweaty?” Bokuto shouted from the far end of the locker room. Kuroo meant to respond, but he found himself completely out of breath. Volleyball players might not be cut out for long distance sprinting. At least, he definitely wasn’t.

“Overslept?” Iwaizumi clapped his teammate on the back as he brushed past him through the doorway.

“You know coach doesn’t like it when people are late to practice. Better hurry up, Tetsu-chan!” Oikawa said in a tone all too gleeful to be genuine. Forcing his legs to move, Kuroo stumbled as he yanked his shirt off and ran to his locker while simultaneously trying to shimmy his pants off. Bokuto came up beside him during his frantic clambering to get ready.

“What happened, man? You don’t usually get here this late?”

Kuroo glanced over his shoulder at his friend’s worried expression.

“I’m good, bro, I just...” he panted, “I just lost track of time.”

“M’kay, if you’re sure everything’s Gucci?”

“Yeah, man, I’m good.” The wing spiker nodded and headed out the door. Alone at last, Kuroo stuffed his feet into his shoes and rested his head against his locker for a moment. Next time, he’d stop creeping on Kenma’s girlfriend and focus on making it to practice on time. This wouldn’t happen again.

~~

(A/N): At last! We have tapped into the interactions between Kuroo and (Y/N)! And yes, the Bro-Code is very important! (Well, I'm female, but I’m fully aware of how it works lol). Please continue to give/leave your feedback and thoughts on the story! Be sure to check out the Tumblr/Wattpad for more updates! Thanks and see y’all soon!

- Admin Kiwi-Chan

(A/N): Yeeeaaaaaa boiiiiiiiiiiiiii.

- Admin Mango-Chan

~~

Taglist: @joyful-jimin

[luccislegs]

Hi!!!!! Can I request Lil scenario or hcs of Whitebeard pirates meeting Dadan after Marineford war (assume that Ace and WB didn't die ㅜㅡㅜ), pleaseeeeee? BTW I love your bloggggg ♥️｡◕‿◕｡

of courseeee and thank you ♥️

–

When Ace woke up a week after the fiasco that was Marine Ford, his first fear was that Whitebeard had died. When he tried to get up, Marco immediately pushed him back back down, promising he was alive and well.

His next worry was over Luffy, and again Marco assured him he was fine and had been saved by Law and taken to Amazon Lily.

After being reassured that everyone was okay, he was overcome by immense guilt. The whole thing was his fault, because he didn’t want to listen to Pops about Teach. Everyone he cared for had almost gotten killed and something in him just…gave.

Pops was sitting in his usual spot, looking cheerful as ever. He had survived being stabbed by one of his allies, the assaults of three generals, the sinking of the Moby Dick, and the near-deaths of hundreds of his sons and daughters, and had come out of it looking exactly like one would expect.

Tired and beat up, covered in bandages and tubes. Marco could work miracles, but he couldn’t beat old age.

Hesitantly, Ace stood before him, tears swimming in his eyes before wrapping his arms around Whitebeard, who hugged him tightly in return. The man had fought a war for him; it was the least he could do.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, son,” Whitebeard said, his voice gruff with emotion. He pushed Ace away so he could take a good look at him. Like himself, Ace had had it just as bad, if not worse. Akainu had punch a hole straight through him, and it was only by the grace of every miracle in existence that Marco had made it to him before he died.

It had taken a lot of time and a lot of care to keep Ace alive while Marco worked to close the gaping wound, but he had pulled through and no one could be happier than Whitebeard himself.

But Ace was looking guilty, and not just because of everything that had happened. “What is it you need to ask, Ace?”

He hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts before explaining. “I know…I know I just came back, and we just…just won a war. But I realized that…Dying made me…I want to go visit Foosha Village. Makino and Dadan…they’ll be worried and I haven’t seen them in–”

He got no further than that because Whitebeard grabbed his shoulder, giving him a sharp nod. “Yes, I agree. We should go visit them. I’d like to meet the woman that raised you, and give her my thanks.”

That wasn’t what Ace had expected, and he thought to argue, but changed his mind. He didn’t want to leave his family so soon again, and Pops and Dadan would probably get on like a house on fire. 

Plus, he wanted them to meet. Two of the people most important to him deserved that much, at least.

“Alright. Thank you, Pops.”

–

Ace could hear the screams of children, saw them pointing in terror at the massive ship approaching. Even they knew Whitebeard’s flag, and knew it was to be feared.

But the adults knew better, and knew that his ship approaching could mean only one thing. Everyone already knew about the Navy’s defeat at the hands to the Whitebeard pirates, knew that Ace had escaped. 

But no one knew for sure if he had survived.

Makino screamed as Ace stepped off, tears falling freely down her face as she threw herself into his arms. He wrapped them around her gently, holding her close as a familiar sense of comfort washed over him.

Woop Slap came next, giving his customary scolding about how bad he turned out, but Ace could read between the lines easy enough.

Friends came from left and right to hug Ace, and it was a long time before they finally allowed him to breathe.

Whitebeard waited in the wings, giving Ace a chance to catch up before walking down the ramp, instantly commanding everyone’s attention. The villagers all looked from him to Ace nervously, until he introduced Pops properly.

After that, everyone began to fervently thank Whitebeard for saving Ace’s life, with Ace nodding along. Someone started clapping, and then everyone was, with cheers and whistles mixed in. Whitebeard took it all in stride, while some of the others laughed in the background.

It was several minutes before they settled down again and even then they were so loud it was hard to think.

Ace looked down at Makino, who had latched onto his arm and refused to let go, and asked the dreaded question. 

“Where is Dadan?”

Her face morphed from one of happy relief to nervousness. Before she could answer, though, a loud voice yelled his name.

He turned and found himself faced with the very woman he had asked about, who was barreling towards him like a rhino, looking for all the world like she was going to murder him. 

Ace pushed Makino gently off so she wouldn’t be hurt, and braced himself for the inevitable impact. 

Instead of the punch he had expected, he found himself swallowed up in a bone-crushing hug.

“You stupid, stupid fool,” Dadan choked out, and Ace realized she must be crying. “You absolute idiot.” 

There was more, unintelligible muttering through her tears, and Ace could feel himself beginning to tear up. Unable to help himself, he hid his face in her bushy hair and let them fall, clutching her back as tightly as she held him.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, but finally a gentle hand on his back brought him back to reality. 

It was Makino, and she was looking at him with a misty expression. “Let’s go to the bar for some privacy.”

With Dadan on one side and Makino on the other, they walked hand in hand into the warmth of the bar. Whitebeard and the others followed at a distance, wearing smiles or looking uncomfortable with the affection in turns, but all equally happy to see Ace smiling.

“Dadan,” Ace said once the doors to the bar were closed, “I want to introduce you to Whitebeard, my father.” Turning to Whitebeard, he said, “Pops, this is Dadan and Makino. They raised me and my brothers.”

Dadan got that angry look on her face again, and Ace thought for sure she was going to give Pops hell, but to everyone’s surprise, the exact opposite happened. He could have laughed at the look on Pops’s face as Dadan threw her arms around him and broke down again.

He awkwardly patted her on the back, looking suspiciously red in the face, until she pulled back again.

“Thank you, Whitebeard, for saving this fool. He’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot,” Dadan said, patting him on the shoulder one last time before returning to her seat beside Ace.

Makino had laid her head on Ace’s shoulder, and had yet to let go of his arm, but now she looked up with a warm smile. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

She served drinks with the ease of years of practice, and soon everyone held a mug of something.

Ace stood up, facing Whitebeard and the others and smiled. “To my family, and to Pops. I sure as hell wouldn’t be here without them.”

Dadan and Makino burst into tears again as the rest of the pirates burst into loud cheers and swarmed Ace, dogpiling him, while Whitebeard laughed loudly.

They all knew that right now was a memory that needed to be cherished because, when they returned to the Grand Line, the Navy would hunt them with renewed, if not more terrible, vigor. They had won one war and tarnished the World Government’s image, and they would pay for it. 

Ace himself knew it, which was another reason why he wanted to return home. He knew that the chances of him ever returning were slim, and now was the best time to see them, to let them know he was okay and that he loved them. He didn’t want to die with this regret, and he almost had.

He raised his mug to Marco, who nodded slightly in return before looking to Whitebeard, who was looking at Dadan in amusement. She was regaling him with tales of Ace’s childhood, and all the trouble he caused along with his brothers. Makino was watching her with exasperated fondness, and Ace found he didn’t care all that much.

Dadan looked happy, Pops looked happy, Makino looked happy, and he himself was happy, and that’s all he cared about tonight.

[tslasvegas]

Episode 10: “I ain't gettin fooled a third time.” - Jeff

Darn it. That vote hurt. I mean it's a game, and there's only one winner, but Steph and I had a great time the last time we played, and we played well here too. But our Final 2 tag hurt us. I mean, yes, we had that agreement, but it hurt us. I had to vote her, as there was no other way forward. Even if I used my Steal a Vote, it would not have been enough. Good thing Kailyn spoke up after the vote, so they know it was her who voted with Steph and not me. Hopefully that lessens me as a target. How does Ben have so many advantages. He will be out to win immunity next for sure.

I am actually really sad that we voted Stephanie out. I think there were better options but I guess it had to happen. It’s interesting that is spread so rapidly to everyone else in the game. I didn’t speak to really anyone and yet everyone knew what was happening. There’s definitely some connections going on that I’m unaware of. But also! One step closer to making it to single digits! I just have to survive two more tribals and I’m officially a flop no more! With the Super Idol, technically I can be “voted out” once before leaving the game, if Liv still decides to play it on me. So I’m feeling pretty good about my chances moving forward. The meninist group is a solid 5 I think. That’s almost half the tribe remaining. At this point, I really don’t think there’s a path for me to actually win the game. Unless I take control and start some big moves right away. But we will see. 

Okay so it's been a while, and there's a lot to unpack. Merging: In regards to the merge itself, I have very mixed feelings about how the people in the merge are, and how things generally shook out in regards to the tribe divisions. Getting sent in with an instant 7-3-3 should, in normal circumstances, be pretty damning in how an early merge goes. People have a tendency to play safe, lay low, and just ride out the game a little bit before really going for anything. As far as the people we merged with that I had not met yet: Jaiden - Really cool guy, I spend all day talking to him, shooting the shit, just having a good time. Easily top 3 people this season for me. I want to go far with him. Xavier - Kinda neutral on him. I speak to him sometimes, but the conversations do not really have much in the way of depth to him. John - Meh. Doesn't speak a ton, just kind of minding his own business. Kailyn - Doesn't speak to me much at all. We've exchanged a couple of messages, but nothing too substantial. Whatever I guess. Ben - Literally refuses to speak to me. Not sure what his deal is or why he acts the way he does, but whatever I guess. So as a basic assessment, pre F13 tribal, the people I feel best about are Jake, Jaiden, Keegan, and Joey. These are the ones that I should be able to trust, that should be able to get me farther into the game. I feel with this that I'm in a better spot than I was in my previous 2 seasons, because I seem to have alleviated the issue of only having real connections to people on "my side". In Svalbard I was very isolated with Nathan/Rachael/John, and got burnt because the rest didn't want to play with me anymore. In Finland, it felt like more of a dice roll really, but I never got going with Tom/Drew/Bodhi/Zoe, so I was the first to get burnt because my connections just weren't good enough. But now, I should have the means to protect myself on both sides, and make it farther based on that. First tribal comes around, Palazzo has numbers, things should be simple. Ben doesn't talk to people, no one has a problem if he were to get sent home. Easy enough. Andrew makes people a bit wary, but its first tribal, he's not causing any particular harm, and we can deal with that issue later. But then Andrew slips up, he tells Jake that Keegan is the one pushing his name. I'm not sure why he did this, but he did. I confirm with Jake that it was actually Andrew that threw his name out first, but Keegan and I shifted it on to Ben. Whatever, mess is made, but no one says anything, vote should still be Ben. Get to tribal.... Andrew, 9-4. Not one, not two, but three people flip on us at the first tribal, sending Andrew home, and blindsiding myself, Pat, and Stephanie. With this, we're clearly on the outs, and Keegan/Liv/Joey blatantly lied to us. We confront them about it. Get some stories of, "weren't sure how people were feeling, didn't want anything to go wrong with the vote. Andrew was causing problems". Like yeah, okay, I know that that happened, but I had already expressed to both Keegan and Joey that I had strong reservations about how Andrew was approaching the game, and didn't want to have him be in long. I didn't think he's go right away, but clearly I was alright with the idea, yet they let me out. Fool me once, shame on you. Next time, okay votes gonna be simple. No one likes Ben, he doesn't talk to anyone, he just ignores me, he's gonna go home. Fine, everyone's happy. Well of course, we get to tribal, and he plays SWOP. I knew something was up, the way he was acting just wasn't right. Andrew said he was a good player, and I knew something was up when he was just giving up and having needless outbursts. Not the type of play that you'd expect from a "good player". So okay, we go back to OG Palazzo chat. Everyone says "lets vote John". Okay fine. Pat and I get to talking, because we're both close with Jaiden and Jake, and entertain the idea of voting Steph. Figure that we can get ahead of the curve because Palazzo is a mess, set ourselves up for the future. Pat can't change his vote cause he already casted, oops. I vote and play an extra vote because I thought a tie could be risked because I can't count. Vote goes 10-2 on Steph. Yet again, Joey, Keegan, and Liv opted to not say a word about anything to Pat and I. They don't care about us. They expect us to just do what they say, go along with whatever story they tell us before bed, but I ain't havin it anymore. Fool me twice, shame on me. I ain't gettin fooled a third time. These fuckers ain't gonna walk all over us and act like we ain't actual players. If they don't want to work with us, tell us anything, then I don't need them. I'll go with Jaiden and Jake, who are much more fun to talk to anyway, and curbstomp all of them. People already took Rachael from me, I ain't lettin them get any more W's on me. 

Stephanie is gone! I can't believe I made it through that cracked ass tribal council, but I used the limited information Ben was providing to me to my advantage. The moment Ben told me what was going on, I swooped to Keegan and John and told them to prepare for the worst - tbh I thought he was going to have an idol or something and we would need to throw votes elsewhere. I think Keegan was the one who said he thought Ben's got a safety without power from his statements and it made so much sense to me. When it came time to scramble, obviously I didn't wanna be the first person to throw a name out there, but once the opportunity presented itself I tossed Stephanie's name out and it basically caught on like wildfire. I told Joey first, then the Meninist alliance chat. There definitely was some push back at first from Keegan, which I'll get to in a bit, as well as I think Livingston a little bit. Then it just caught on FIRE. Suddenly Stephanie's name was going through everything it felt like and every single person was down for Stephanie. For a minute there was a brief insurgence of John names, but I think me throwing Stephanie's name out first was the best thing to happen because once a name was out there, it basically ignited the power keg and there was no way to stop it. I think it could've gone the other way had John's name gone out first tbh... It is just such a relief to have some sort of affirmation that my targets are going home. I feel a lot stronger now than ever before, almost like allowing Andrew to go over Ben last round is giving me an edge like I've never had before. Tbh as much as I dislike Ben as a player, I do kinda hate this circlejerk kind of group hate for the guy because I don't think he's done anything so bad that it makes him a bad person... maybe not the kind of guy I'd associate with in real life... but I'm sure he's chill outside of this. I also don't wanna come across like on this moral high ground where I'm better than anybody because I definitely talk a lot of shit about everyone else, but as somebody who was in the same shoes as him once, I can empathize with how it feels right now. I can empathize because when I played Tumblr Survivor starting out I definitely was really messy for the fun of it and it slowly started to become un-fun when everyone made it their mission to kinda be shitty to me. I don't know what Ben's goal is here and I'm not a specialist trying to diagnose him, but... yeah. I just feel bad that he's being dogpiled by all of us with hateful attitudes is all. ANYWAYS, back to something that matters - me! I finally survived the dreaded second tribal council of the merge. I've already beaten that part from India, now I just need to make it past the next two votes and I've made it to my first goal - single digits!! I know that I'm competing with a lot of people for single digits right now lol but I hope that people wise up and start taking care of the real threats in the game, namely Livingston, John, Kailyn, and Joey. Getting a dark round, I think this is the best thing we could've asked for because like I said before, I think Keegan was holding himself back from really pushing his agenda. I think Keegan is aware how big of a threat John is in these games, so if I can sort of use Keegan's mistrust in John against him, I might be able to swing for a much bigger target this coming round - Livingston. I kinda feel like Livingston is REALLY well-connected on this tribe, he's basically best friends with everyone from Jake to Joey to Keegan to Pat. If I want to free some of those bigger names up, I really need to go for Livingston because his position is SO desirable right now. I think people are cognizant to the danger posed by those four guys, but no one is really looking at Livingston because they love him so much. If I can somehow convince John that getting rid of Livingston benefits both of us, I might take that shot. It's going to come at a huge fucking risk though, but doesn't everything when you're playing in the dark have a big risk associated with it? Then it just kinda takes getting Ben, Kailyn, and Xavier on my side as well and then the shot is literally so close I can taste it. HOWEVER! Before I start hyping myself up right now, I have to focus on what really matters to me - getting to the end. Resume building doesn't need to start at the final eleven. My biggest error in all of my past Tumblr Survivor games is that I start playing the game REALLY hard way too early. I've learned maybe a couple lessons in subtlety along the way, so planting seeds is gonna need to be the way to go. If I start saying things like, "isn't Livingston so cool? He's basically friends with everyone" and "I would like to see Livingston win if I'm not in the end, he's a really cool guy" it'll 1) be super obvious that I want to make a move against him and 2) maybe start giving people the idea that their best friend is their biggest competition in the end. Something doesn't need to happen tomorrow. It's about the long game, too. I just hope for my sake that I'm doing enough to keep my head above water. If tonight was proof of anything, it's that this game is going to get a lot more difficult. 

I can't believe that worked so perfectly. Ben does everything I tell him to do, even down to interrupting me during the challenge. He's public enemy #1, and that's another meat shield for me. Stephanie goes - truthfully I feel horrible because she is so sweet - but that's the last person who I wasn't directly aligned with. Also, the Dark Round couldn't have come at a better time. If Ben or I win immunity, I have a plan to get out another big threat. And this is one of my favorite flash games. But at this point I need to act like Ben and I aren't tight. If I make it to the end everyone is gonna hate me. Oof.

[minyoongleschimjoongles]

Preordained IX

Pairing(s):Poly!BTSxOC, Sub!BTSxOC,

Warnings: Implied sexual situations, Mentions of sexual situations, implications of Dom/sub relationships.

Masterlist

“You cut the purple out of your hair! And you’re so tan!” Namjoon cooed, observing Zara through the laptop screen. Zara chuckled, looking at her own arms. They were indeed, far more tan than they had been two weeks beforehand, and she’d chopped the dead hair off her head days ago.

“That’s what happens when your parents move to Hawaii and decide to live by the beach instead of on-base.”

Namjoon’s lips split into a grin. 

“We miss you,” he said.

Zara’s own lips turned up at the corners. “I miss you, too.”

They chatted for another hour, before Namjoon went quiet, biting his lip. Zara’s eyebrow rose, along with her anxiety.

“What?”

“Do you remember that video Jin-hyung posted to his youtube channel for the project? Of the singing?”

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Lee sent that clip around to an old friend who founded an Entertainment company called BigHit. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t think it would go anywhere, but...”

Zara’s eyebrows had completely disappeared into her hairline.

“But?”

“But he called Mr. Lee back and said he wanted to sign us to BigHit. As an Idol group.”

Namjoon watched the emotions pass over Zara’s face, and was more relieved than he’d like to admit when she settled on amusement and burst out laughing.

“Congratulations, but now I’m going to have to fight off a bunch of thirsty teens that want to sink their teeth into my Soulmates! And Yoongi? An Idol? Jesus, fuck.”

An indignant, “I heard that!” came from the background, and that sent Zara into another fit of laughter.

“BangPD-nim wants to have a meeting with you when you get home, Zara-ssi,” Namjoon said, which quelled Zara’s laughter. “About the Soulmate thing. Jin-hyung’s videos have all been made private already.”

“Ah,” Zara understood now, their hesitance to tell her their news earlier. Idols and boy bands, typically, ‘weren’t allowed,’ to have Soulmates, and if they did, than that Soulmate needed to remain hidden from the public. It wasn’t a very fair rule, and it was a rule that tended to put a lot of stress on relationships, but it was a rule that was intended to keep Soulmates safe.

In the case of Zara and the Seven, there was a bit of a wrench in that plan because of Jin’s YouTube project, which clearly pointed towards Zara being not just the Soulmate of Jin, but all of them. It made sense that their new manager would want to have a meeting with her to figure out what to do.

“Okay,” Zara agreed easily. “So tell me about this new boy band I’m going to have to listen to.”

Namjoon gave Zara a relieved smile and leaned forward.

“So, they’re calling us Bangtan Sonyeodan, BTS for short, and it means...”

xXx

Zara received a flurry of text messages the second she stepped off the airplane in Seoul. Mostly from Yoongi, who, in an All-Caps-Rage was telling her that the choreographers wouldn’t let them go from practice long enough to pick her up.

Zara snorted. Leave it to Yoongi to completely fly off the wall about something as trivial as picking her up from the airport. She’d already known before taking off in Honolulu that her Soulmates wouldn’t actually be there to pick her up from the airport, since Namjoon had been told the day before about the intense choreography lesson, and had told Zara about it. While it meant she didn’t get to see the boys right away, Zara wasn’t too upset by it. BigHit had even been kind enough to send her a ride.

The driver that had been sent, Gunwoo, was a perfect gentleman, putting Zara’s bags in the trunk and chatting with her as they drove. He asked her about school, she told him she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d actually go to school if the boys weren’t going anymore.

“Becoming a citizen won’t be a problem if your boys make it big,” Gunwoo said. Zara smiled.

“Ah, it won’t really be too difficult anyway. I’ve lived here for so long already.”

Gunwoo nodded his head, smiling slightly.

“Now, don’t be nervous about meeting BangPD,” he encouraged as they pulled into the underground parking structure. “He looks tough, but his bark is worse than his bite.”

Zara quirked an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, I’m not worried about that, either.”

Gunwoo smiled back at her in the rear view mirror, pulling into a spot and letting Zara out. He led her through the building, stopping at the service desk to get Zara an access pass to get in, in the future. Then he brought her up to the top floor of the building, stopping at a door that read “Bang Si Hyuk,” on the nameplate.

“Just come back down to the lobby when you’re done, and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.

And with those parting words, Gunwoo retreated.

Zara took a deep breath, turned to the door and knocked.

xXx

The silence had stretched on for nearly 20 minutes already, neither Bang Si Hyuk nor Zara willing to start the conversation or to break the staring contest.

Zara, confident despite her less than professional wardrobe of a gray hoodie and black leggings, had her ankle hooked on her knee and an arm propped on the back of the chair she sat on.

BangPD mirrored the posture opposite her, his white dress shirt crisp under his black blazer and tie.

This was a battle of Wills, and both were determined to win. They both knew what he wanted to ask her, but he wanted her to bring it up.

Zara glanced at her watch before raising one eyebrow, tilting her head and lacing her fingers together. BangPD shifted in his seat.

Intimidating men didn’t scare Zara. She could do this all day.

Finally, after another 10 minutes, BangPD cleared his throat.

“Underwood Zara-ssi, I’m aware of your unique situation with Bangtan Sonyeodan, however, those of us at BigHit think it would be beneficial for you to hide that connection from the public eye and separate yourself from the Boys as much as possible.”

“Mm,” Zara straightened her head again, but didn’t move from her lax position. “Hard no. Both of us know Yoongi’s little temper tantrum was a case of Soulmate Separation Syndrome. How is Tae doing? Behaving himself? How about Jungkook?” BangPD shifted in his seat again, but didn’t reply. “It’s been weeks since they’ve seen me, I’m sure they’re absolute joys the be around, all Seven of them.”

More silence. Zara smirked. 

“Would you like to try again?”

He sighed. “It would still be best if your relationship with the boys was kept a secret, for everyone’s safety, but we could hire you on as staff in order to keep you close at hand. Kim Namjoon-ssi says you’re double majoring in Fine Arts and Psychology, and he said you have a knack for languages. That gives us a lot to work with; Makeup for music videos and concerts, counselling the Boys and staff, translating interviews if they make it big after their debut.”

“Keeps me busy, keeps me close.” Zara nodded. Power in the room had shifted to her, she was going to run with it. “Fine.”

BangPD relaxed back into his chair, sighing. He hadn’t told her this, of course he hadn’t, but whether or not the boys stayed on with the company depended on whether or not he and Zara came to an agreement. If she’d said she was out, all Seven of them would have walked out of the program.

“Understand, Zara-ssi, that cover stories only work for so long. Eventually fans will figure out the truth, and when they do, a whole lot of hate will be coming your way.”

“Bang Si Hyuk-ssi, I grew up surrounded by Soldiers and Drill Instructors. I can handle a lot.”

“Ah, Zara-ssi, I hope that’s true in the end.”

xXx

At first, the boys didn’t notice her standing at the door to the dorm that the Seven of them had been sharing, all of them sprawled out, resting or asleep, exhausted from training. From where she stood, she could see that it was a cramped space, barely large enough for two people to live comfortably, let alone Seven. She could see the kitchen, dining room and living room area easily from where she stood, and everything about it shouted disorganized chaos. Jin was probably losing his damn mind.

Still though, there were accents of her in the space already, despite having never been in the dorm. A few pairs of her shoes on the shoe rack, some of her blankets on the small couch, her winter jacket on a hook by the door. They even had a coconut scented candle burning, which made her smile.

When she had, had enough of just looking, she waved her second key card of the day through the air.

“They should be more careful who they hand these out to,” she said, and Jungkook’s head jerked up from the back of the couch, “some horny chick from Hawaii could walk in at any moment.”

Jungkook practically tripped over the half asleep Yoongi to get to Zara.

“Noona!” he dropped to his knees when he reached her and pressed his face into her stomach, arms wrapped around her legs.

“Kookie,” her hands found purchase in his hair, only prompting him to tug her closer.

Jimin was next, Jungkook’s body the only thing stopping him from plowing Zara over as he rushed to get his lips on hers.

“Noona,” he murmured, kissing her repeatedly. Then the rest reached them, and suddenly Zara was at the bottom of a dogpile.

“Fuck,” Yoongi’s voice was rough from sleep as he spoke directly into her ear as Namjoon kissed her next. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Zara grabbed his hair and yanked him into a kiss as well. She felt Hoseok maneuver himself between her thighs.

Taehyung tore Zara’s t-shirt over her head, planting his lips on her collarbone.

For the next several moments, there were hands and lips everywhere as they all recovered from the Separation Syndrome.

Afterwards, Zara cuddled into Jin’s chest, and the rest of her Soulmates found some way to snuggle into her. She was gently scratching her nails over Yoongi’s scalp, almost making him purr.

“As absolutely fucking glorious as this is, we should probably talk shop,” Zara said. She felt Jungkook nod against her right thigh.

“We’re not dropping out of University yet,” he said, attempting to snuggle even closer. “But they wanted us to stick together so they moved us into this dorm. There’s lots of bunk beds in one of the bedrooms, but we left the other bedroom open for you.”

“For me?”

“Mmm,” Taehyung replied against her stomach. “We kind of wanted you to stay with us, if you wanted to. If not all the time, than maybe just every once in a while?”

Zara’s eyes flashed again over the small, cramped space, to her stuff scattered around the dorm. They had wanted her with them so badly while she was gone that they had filled their home with things that reminded them of her, possibly at the risk of not having enough room for themselves.

“What about Ji-yoo?” Zara asked, “Did anyone see if she was okay with you guys stealing her roommate?”

“I did,” Hoseok grinned at her, “she said if you didn’t text her and tell her about all the wild sex we have alone in this dorm than she was going to hunt you down and strangle you.”

Zara’s lips tilted into a smirk.

“That's approval,” she said. “Okay, I’ll move in with you. Now let’s see about making some space in here.”

Zara knew it was the right answer when Yoongi’s arms tightened around her.

@babyboytae1 @snowythellama @bewitch3dforivar @peachy---bangtan

[thehelleniclunarwitch]

31 Days of Halloween (Day 27)

Blood Moon Rising pt.2

Prompt: Stake

Diego Hargreeves x Reader

Part One

                      xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Vanya paced outside of the vault. She hated the vault. There had been too many times where Luther had locked her away in there. Vanya wasn’t an Alpha and it wasn’t something she ever wanted to be, but she particular strong for being an omega. Luther was afraid of her. He was afraid of the things she could to do to him and his precious Allison. 

Now locked away was Y/n. Removing the venom didn’t work. She had changed. Physically and mentally. Y/n was never the same after that. She had become a danger to herself. Sadly, on too many accounts Y/n had tried killing herself. This wasn’t what she wanted. Vanya’s heart broke for her. She wished there was more she could do for her. 

Ever since Five and Diego had made the decision to lock Y/n up for her safety, Vanya had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on Y/n outside of the vault. For a few days after being placed in the vault she raged. They were all worried that her newfound strength she’d break the door down, but it was Vanya tested and Vanya approved. That door wasn’t going anywhere. 

Diego was lost. He loved Y/n. There weren’t many options left. Y/n didn’t want to live life as a werewolf, but Diego couldn’t bring himself to killing her. Vanya couldn’t blame him. She would never be able to be in the position that he was in. Diego couldn’t force herself to keep living a life she didn’t want, but he couldn’t sit back and do nothing. 

“V,” A soft voice called out. 

Vanya turned around to see Y/n looking out the small window in the door. 

“What is it?” Vanya asked. 

“Can you get me a glass of water?” Y/n asked. 

“Sure, I’ll be right back,” Vanya softly replied before disappearing out of the room and up the stairs. 

Y/n sighed and leaned against the door. Five stepped out of the shadows. He had been waiting for Vanya to leave. Y/n was his best friend. He couldn’t lose her. Diego couldn’t lose her. Hell none of them were prepared to lose her. She was their family. 

“Y/n,” Five said. 

Y/n pushed off the door to look through the window once again. 

“Five,” She said. 

“Are you really going to make Diego kill you?” Five asked. 

Her face darkened. 

“I’ll do it myself,” She said. 

Five sighed and hung his head. 

“Why hasn’t she been killed yet?” Y/n asked. 

Five knew exactly who she was talking about. He looked back up at her and her eyes were already changing color. 

“Don’t be dumb, Five. I can hear her erratic heartbeat. It’s never changed since Diego brought her back here,” Y/n said. 

“She’s our sister,” Five began. 

“Diego killed Luther without a second thought. She did this to me, she is the reason why I’m like this,” Y/n snarled. 

Five kept his hands clasped behind his back as he moved closer to the vault door. 

“There’s a myth about how to reverse the effects of being a werewolf,” Five started off. 

“You guys already tried removing the venom,” Y/n shot back at him. 

“I know, but there’s one that my siblings won’t even consider because it has never been proven and that would mean Allison would have to die,” Five said. 

He noticed the way her eyes returned to normal color and her facial features softened. 

“What are you talking about?” Y/n asked. 

“The myth goes that if the victim that the wolf wrongfully bit were to kill the wolf that attacked them before their first full shift they would break the curse,” Five said. 

She was only days away from that. The next full moon was coming and everybody knew that the full moon would force the change. Her growl rattled the door. She watched Five carefully bring his hands forward from behind his back. He was holding a silver stake. The black gloves he wore that protected his skin stood out against the silver stake. 

Their eyes locked. 

“What if it doesn’t work?” Y/n asked. 

“Then if you truly want to die then I’ll do it,” Five said. 

Her heart skipped a beat. Five walked over to the vault door and opened it. Slowly, the door swung open and then he held the stake out towards her. She pulled down her sleeve so she could firmly grasp the stake. She hesitated slightly. 

“Go. Before the others realize what’s going on,” Five said. 

Y/n’s hand grasped the stake carefully. She looked at Five once more before rushing out of the room. Five let out a shaky breath. He would keep his promise and kill her, but god, dear god, he hoped this worked. 

Using her newfound heightened senses it didn’t take Y/n long to find where they had tied Allison up. Allison looked up when Y/n pushed open the door. Her brown eyes widened, but then a small smile tugged at her lips. 

“I wondered when Five would fully betray me as his sister,” Allison said. 

“You know, I don’t even care if this doesn’t work. I’m going to enjoy piercing your heart with this,” Y/n said. 

Allison moved and squared her shoulders opening her chest. 

“Give it to me. I can’t wait to be reunited with Luther,” Allison said. 

“Enjoy hell,” Y/n snarled lunging forward. 

“Y/n! No!” Diego shouted. 

It was too late. Y/n landed on top of Allison and before Diego could even react she shoved the stake into Allison’s chest. She screamed and began thrashing around. Y/n was knocked off. She easily rolled to her knees and turned to watch the life fade out of Allison’s eyes. 

Five, Vanya, Klaus, and Ben came running up behind Diego. All eyes were on Y/n. She was scared. She didn’t feel any different. It didn’t work. Tears were already welling in her eyes. Slowly, she turned towards Diego and the others. She took a step forward but then screamed in pain. 

Y/n fell to her knees. Still screaming. Diego rushed towards her side. She began withering in pain. Diego locked eyes with Five. 

“What did you do?” Diego snarled. 

“What you didn’t have the balls to do. I’m going to save her,” Five said. 

“Now isn’t the time to argue. She’s in pain we need to do something,” Klaus said. 

“There isn’t anything we can do,” Five said. 

“What do you mean?” Ben asked. 

“Y/n kill the wolf that bit her. Either this is going to completely force her into a wolf now or she’ll return to being a human,” Five said. 

“I can’t believe you would do this to her,” Ben said in disbelief. 

“Y/n made the final decision,” Five said without explaining further. 

The siblings stayed standing in the room surrounding Diego. Diego continued to hold Y/n against him as her body spasmed. After a while, her screams faded and her tears stopped. Eventually, she passed out in Diego’s arms. 

“How do we know if it worked?” Diego asked. 

“When she wakes up we test her with silver,” Five said. 

Vanya hissed behind him. 

“It’s the only test that we can do that will give us immediate results,” Five explained. 

Y/n didn’t remain unconscious for long. Her eyes fluttered open to look at Diego. 

“Hi, baby,” Diego greeted. 

She gave him a soft smile. 

“Hi,” Her voice was weak. 

“How do you feel?” Ben asked. 

Y/n looked over at the others. “Normal,”

Klaus laughed. 

“We have to test her,” Five said. 

Diego looked pained. 

“What’s the test? I’ll do it,” Y/n said. 

Five pushed off the wall and started to pull on his gloves. He removed the silver stake from his sister’s chest and walked over to Y/n. He held it out to her. Y/n sucked in a deep breath and then grabbed a hold of the silver stake. 

There were no screams of pain. No burning and searing of the skin. Y/n happily dropped the stake and wrapped her arms around Diego’s neck. He gripped her tightly and then inhaled her scent. It was back to normal. There was no wolf hint to her. She was completely human again. 

“It worked,” Y/n cried. 

“Yes, it did,” Diego said as he rocked her back. 

Y/n pulled back to look at him. 

“I love you,” Diego whispered. 

She leaned up to kiss him. 

“I love you too,” She replied. 

Diego crushed her in a hug and then she looked over to Five. The others were coming over to join the dogpile. She mouthed a thank you to Five. He winked at her and then disappeared out of the room. Five’s claws trailed against the wall as he walked away and his red eyes faded into the background as his plan was finally in action. 

[daesungindistress]

This isn't in response to anything in particular, no "new" news, just something that's been building for a while.

For my own mental and physical -- yes, physical -- health, I need to take a few steps back from everything. At least until this controversy re: Daesung is resolved.

After renting for all of my adult life, I just purchased a home for the first time. If I've been a little quiet here the past few days, it's because I've been in the process of packing and moving. There is a lot of work that needs to be done now that I'm finally here, not just around the house itself but with my small business that I've picked up and relocated as well. With this move, I'm essentially restarting my life in a new area and I need to be charged and ready for anything and everything life throws my way.

As a first-time homebuyer, the last month has been stressful; throwing oneself into something totally new usually is. The day I made an offer on the house, we experienced a sudden equipment failure at work and lost months' worth of customers' orders. It wasn't my fault, but I felt responsible nonetheless. That night, desperately needing to decompress, I came home to the realization that something was wrong with my cat. I took her to the vet for bloodwork, fluids, and antibiotics, and spent the next 3 days trying to syringe feed her... but ultimately could only look on, powerless, as she went from not eating or drinking to struggling to swallow, drool dripping from her chin, unable to rest, fighting for every labored breath. On July 1st I made the decision to end her suffering and let her go peacefully.

She was my constant companion. My only pet of the last 10 years and a daily presence in my life for over a decade, by my side through so much change. She slept beside me every night and was there to greet me at the door every evening when I came home. She was such a comfort to me. Every fic I've written for this fandom, she was curled up on my lap throughout it.

Died of cancer, it turns out. I didn't even know she was sick. She seemed fine right up until the day she suddenly wasn't... and it had to be right during a time when I was more financially stretched thin than I've ever been. $1,100 in diagnostic tests later and all I had to show for it was a dead friend and a crippling sense of guilt. I cried for her every day for nearly three weeks straight. Everywhere I looked I saw her still, in all her usual spots around the apartment, staring up at me. She was only 10, almost 11. I thought we would have more years together. More time.

We always fall into that trap, don't we? Thinking we have time.

Meanwhile, things with the house were moving along. The day she was euthanized I had to rush straight from the clinic to the bank to wire my earnest money. Told the banker with a teary laugh not to worry about my red eyes or my sniffling. "I'm not sick or contagious, just had my cat put down." The next day home inspections began and the reports and addendums came pouring in. I was in a state of near-constant communication with my realtor and my lender. I had to tell my loan officer about the vet bills to make sure it wasn't going to be a problem; you're not supposed to incur any large expenses just prior to purchasing a home as you risk the loan being rejected. I won't lie... this was a factor in me letting her go when I did (one of many). I couldn't afford to keep treating her. It wasn't until later, post mortem, that I got confirmation that it was cancer, and with it, a measure of closure.

I was finally working through it, or past it, no tears for almost a week when this bomb with Daesung dropped. Woke up to the worst ask: "What do you think of Daesung's new scandal?" In the 5 days that followed I was anxiety personified. I was back to crying incessantly. I'd get chills every time the thought of what was happening crossed my mind. Waking up every morning sweating and shaking. I was weak and hungry but couldn't bear the thought of eating. Choking down a slice of cheese seemed impossible; I had to take my nausea meds that I save for migraines just to keep it from coming back up. I thought, 'What the hell is going on? I'm not like this, this isn't me!'

One night I noticed some clothes were looser than usual and had the thought to weigh myself. I was shocked to find that I had lost around 17 lbs -- almost 13% of my body weight. I haven't weighed this little since high school. I have no idea how long it had been declining as my weight has always been steady enough that I don't need to check it regularly. Of course, I then began worrying about potential health issues besides "just" grief and stress. My cat seemed fine until she wasn't, I had no idea about the tumor in her lung until it was the end... could it be...?

Then I closed on the home on Monday, despite a few last-minute, headache-inducing setbacks that I won't go into here.

Over the last few days I have been so busy and so focused on the task at hand -- moving out and moving in -- that I've finally gotten my appetite back, and with it some of the weight, so that's one less thing to worry about, along with the homebuying process and the move itself. It helps that my parents are visiting so I'm not totally alone with my thoughts. I'm not thinking about the loss of my cat as often either, though the memory of her final days still moves me to tears here and there.

That leaves this ordeal with Daesung.

I'm handling it a lot better now than I was near the start, but I still feel a stab of fear every time I think of him. Fear for him. Every. Damn. Time.

More than anything, I want him to come out of this okay. I want to believe everything will be okay in the end. But I can't keep scaring and stressing myself sick over him, literally, at a time when I need to be strong for the sake of my own future. I've stopped challenging opinions on reddit, asianjunkie, etc. I've stopped checking entirely. It accomplishes nothing and I always end up at the bottom of a dogpile anyway, fending off opponents on all sides. Let's face it, fighting with strangers on the internet will have no tangible effect on the outcome of this. All it's doing is dragging me under.

And if I know one thing, it's that Daesung would not want that. "A singer who brings people happiness." That is what he aims to be, that is what he successfully became after clawing his way back from the events of 2011. "Let me protect your happiness," he sings, and says, on the regular.

But this is a far cry from happiness. This is anxiety and dread seemingly without end, fearing the worst, trying not to dwell on it yet trying to prepare for it. It's the exact opposite of everything he's ever wanted. And it would torment him to know how those who love him and want the best for him are hurting because of him.

So it's time to get some distance. I'll still be around, just less than usual, maybe. And to those of you who've been sending me asks, I appreciate them all, even if some of them don't get a reply.

That being said... I stand with Daesung. And I stand strong. I'm not swallowing this nonsense the Korean media is going all out to force down our throats. I believe in Daesung, and when this has passed, I will still be here for him, happy -- no, overjoyed to welcome him back. He is still a member of Big Bang and I expect the others -- Jiyong, Youngbae, Seunghyun -- will stand by him too when the time is right.

And if he leaves? Just to get it out of the way, I don't believe he will, because if he does that's it, Big Bang is officially over. But let's just say he does, hypothetically. If, after this, he decides to give Korea the middle finger and focus his efforts in Japan instead? I'll be here, on this same blog, still cheering him on in his solo career.

As for the fans who've lost their trust and turned their backs on him, fine, whatever. I'm used to the fandom ignoring him, overlooking him, seeing him as little more than a big voice and a bright smile. People like to say Seungri was the "least popular", but outside of Japan, that honor goes to Daesung. Especially in the English-speaking side of the fandom. Don't believe me, go scroll through English Big Bang fanfic and let me know how many feature him. Or should I say how few. I've tried to keep quiet about it, tried not to complain. Do you know how vanishingly rare active Daesung blogs have been in my 3+ years here? Since the beginning I've been over here in my little corner of the internet, surviving on scraps, so in a way, this is nothing new. Drop him if you want to -- and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.

I've never needed anyone's approval or agreement to be fond of him. I came to like him on my own, without anyone's persuasion, and if that changes it won't be because of anything his newest critics have to say. The lack of support for him in this difficult time saddens me, but it won't stop me. And I sincerely hope that, for the sake of this entire fandom, it won't stop him either.

Stay strong, Daesung. I will try to do the same.

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 21

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 21: The Big Day

9:00

Flug and Martin met at 9:00 on the dot, right in front of Dementia’s cell. The intern had his hands in his pockets but it was obvious he was fidgeting with the fabric inside.

“So, we’re actually doing this today. Holy shit,” he whispered in a jitter. “I’m going to prank my boss, holy shit!”

“Okay, easy, d-don’t go announcing it to the neighborhood,” Flug cautioned. He took out his set of keys and unlocked the door as quickly as possible. “This is a just a normal therapy session, on a normal day. Okay?”

That statement was proven wrong – or right, depending on the point of view – when Dementia sprang from their left side and knocked both doctor and intern off their feet. Their clipboards went flying.

“Heyyyyy guys, did you miss me? I missed you! Well actually no, that’s not true, I only missed Flug. I’d say sorry Martin, but I’m not sorry. At all.”

She was sprawled across the floor with her head and shoulders resting easily on Flug’s flattened collarbone. He would have tried to get her off, but he was too busy trying to get the wind back into him.

Martin had fallen too. He sat up quickly, not stuck underneath a hyperactive inmate like his supervisor, and looked between the dogpile in front of him and the still-open door behind them all. The teen shifted closer to Dementia and she stopped talking immediately to glare at him.

The message was clear: don’t touch me. So instead Martin scooted away and closed the cell door with his heel. Dementia went back to rambling as if she’d never stopped.

“So I was thinking a lot last night about us three, and what we’re doing today, you know, and I’ve decided it’s not fair that you guys get all the fun! I mean I already hooked up with my inmate buddy so don’t worry he’s gonna help us out, but am I supposed to just sit here and be the looney girl while you guys are out there having fun? I don’t think I like that at all!”

“Dementia…off, please…” Her doctor patted at her weakly.

“And I know you can’t really let me out without losing your job or whatever, so then last night I was thinking some more and came up with an amazing plan! How about I pretend to escape? Then you guys have alibis cause you’ll be looking for me, and then I can hide somewhere safe, like the vents or something I don’t know, and then we can all meet up at some secret place and then we can go prank that Bautista guy together!”

“Dementia, suéltame, por favor,” he tried again, a little stronger this time.

“Oh, lo siento Flug, I didn’t realize you were dying, hah!” Dementia wiggled backwards so her head was on the ground, pressed against his shoulder. Her hair spilled everywhere.

Martin took this chance to grab ahold of his supervisor’s arm and pull him gently into a sitting position. Flug clutched at his chest as he took long, deep gulps of air. He turned his irritated gaze down to his patient.

“Oooh, you got that scary goggle thing going on again,” she giggled. “I was thinking about that too, you know. How you can get all dark and creepy like that. We should totally use that! Like if we run into a guard or something, I can do my crazy person act and you can just, like, stand there doing that without saying anything! And I don’t know what Martin can do, maybe he can be our hostage? I’ve always wanted to take a hostage, this will be great!”

“I’m not gonna be your hostage,” the intern grumbled.

“Oh don’t be a party pooper, it’ll be fun! You won’t even have to do much, just let me stand right behind you with my teeth at your neck! Fun, right?”

“Why the hell would I think that’s fun? Who even thinks that’s fun?!”

“Of course it’s fun, you just –”

“Did you…were you awake the whole night last night?” Flug cut her off. He stared, concerned, at the impressive dark circles under her eyes.

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous,” Dementia turned her head away from him, mashing one cheek into the padded floor. “You’re just projecting your problems on me.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re sleep deprived, Dementia.” He twisted sideways to look at her face again. “Were you just too excited to sleep?”

“That was, that was part of it, yeah…” The inmate trailed off, eyes not meeting her doctor’s. She wilted just a bit.

“Do you want to tell me the other part?”

“I…” She chewed her lip. “I just had a nightmare, is all. It wasn’t that bad. I’m fine.”

“Did you want to talk about it?”

Dementia only looked away, so Flug laid back down so she was on his right side. He gestured for Martin to do the same on his left side. The intern complied, and the three of them stayed there silently for a solid minute before their patient spoke again.

“There were birds.” Her head was hidden by her hair. Flug couldn’t see her expression.

“Birds? Like domestic birds?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Dementia turned to look at him. “Someone shot them and it hurt.”

“Hurt you? It hurt you to watch them get shot?”

“It hurt,” she repeated. Her eyes unfocused. “It really hurt.”

“Okay. Okay, I understand. Dreams aren’t fun.” He backed off. “So, I only caught about half of what you were saying earlier, after you tackled me so nicely.”

“Heh, yeah, I should be a football player.”

“But I did catch that you wanted to be let out, and I can tell you right now that’s not gonna happen.”

“What?!” She jolted up. “Why not?”

“First of all, because I would probably lose my job regardless of whether you escaped or I let you out. You’re my patient and the institute doesn’t take that kind of thing lightly. Second, I’m starting to realize that I’m probably not going to do any actual pranking. My office is in the opposite direction of Bautista’s, I’d have no reason to be anywhere near his door.”

Martin sat up at this, and both teenagers stared at Flug in disbelief.

“So, you’re gonna…are you calling it off?” The intern stammered out.

“No I’m not, especially since your friends are still coming and probably have something planned.” He reached up and tugged at his bag. “But I don’t think I’ll really be much help. I had some ideas, sure, but there’s not a way for me to carry them out without getting caught. Or at least without becoming a suspect. I really, really didn’t think this through enough.”

“No, you really didn’t.” Dementia said, bouncing one knee against the floor. “So now what? I can’t call off my buddy either, it’s too short notice. He’ll be pissed and I’ll be out of a favor. That’s gonna suck.”

“You don’t need to call anything off,” Martin declared suddenly. He shrank a little when the other two looked his way. “I mean, your biggest problem is that you can’t do anything directly, right? So just…tell me what you wanted to do. I can relay it to my friends. They’ve probably figured a plan out, they’re really excited for this.”

Flug tapped at one corner of his headwear. “Are you sure? You realize that if someone gets caught, it’ll most likely fall on you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” the intern straightened his back. “But I trust my friends. They’ll figure out a way, they always do, and they won’t rat me out. And besides, I’m really sick of that guy pushing me around. Pushing us around. I can do this.”

They watched him quietly, but Martin locked his jaw and did his best to look more confident than he felt. Dementia was satisfied first, because she snorted and scooted over to him like a snake.

“Congrats, pal, you’re officially a delinquent. Welcome to the delinquent club.”

The psychiatrist continued to stare at his intern. His goggles betrayed no emotion. Then he gave a longsuffering sigh and reached for his forgotten clipboard.

“Well, now that we’ve decided to throw ourselves to the wolves together, how about we get on with this therapy session like normal doctors and patients, yeah? Dementia, was it just the dream that unsettled you or was there anything else keeping you awake?”

….

At the end of the session, Martin trailed behind his supervisor all the way back to Flug’s office. Neither one spoke beyond a few questions and answers about interacting with inmates. At his door, the psychiatrist turned and appraised his intern one more time.

“I’m not kidding about this, you know. Best case scenario if you get caught, you’ll lose this job. Maybe be barred from working here. Worst case is that you get sued. Or arrested on vandalism charges. I really don’t know what else to say.”

“I, I get it.” Martin said, clenching his hands. “But I’m in this all the way, Dr. Slys. I won’t let you down.”

That expressionless look came back over Flug’s face. A closed-off, calculating demeanor that made the teenager shiver for a reason he couldn’t place.

“Alright then. See you in the aftermath.”

Flug disappeared into his office without another word.

.

.

12:00

Martin sat at an open desk in the front lobby and pretended to work on his paperwork. His hand gripped a shaking pen, and he stared down at words that hadn’t made sense for over ten minutes. He couldn’t back out now. The group would be here any minute and he couldn’t back out now.

The front doors opened with a rush of crowd conversations, making the intern jump and nearly snap his pen. He watched as a solid twenty to thirty college students came into the building all at once, abuzz with excitement. There was a professor and a teaching assistant leading them.

Someone in a navy ballcap met Martin’s gaze, his eyes widening in recognition. Martin pursed his lips and shook his head just a little. The last thing he needed was for his coworkers to realize that he knew anyone in the group.

Then three people in institute uniform came out of another door to the right, and stepped up to the tour group with professional smiles. One of them was a woman Martin didn’t know. Another was Dr. Rorschach herself.

The third was Bautista.

“Hello, students of Ituriel University! I’m proud to welcome you here at the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane. I’m Dr. Lauren Rorschach, head director of this institute, and…”

Martin zoned out of the director’s speech, choosing instead to scan the crowd for other familiar faces. The one in the navy ballcap – that was Sidney, he realized – had grouped up with four others, who were alternating between staring around the lobby and staring at Martin. He risked tapping the pen to his lips, once, twice, and they got the message quick enough.

Eventually Dr. Rorschach beckoned towards another door, and the tour group followed close behind. Martin waited until everyone was gone before standing up swiftly and gathering his paperwork in his arms. He entered through the same door and kept pace about four meters behind the students, scanning blankly over the top page in his stack and acting all the world like he wasn’t paying attention.

The group turned the corner, but when the intern followed he nearly smacked headfirst into Sidney, who grinned and didn’t say a word. Martin peered over his shoulder and saw that Bautista had stopped the tour in front of his own office door, explaining what was required of the psychiatrists when they weren’t actively working with patients.

Sidney took an easy step backwards, closer to Martin, and his four friends shifted towards the back of the group at the same time. The teenager’s eyes darted to each of them. John, Esmerelda, Abdullah, and Leslie.

“Hey,” Sidney whispered, smile in his greeting. “That’s the guy, right?”

“Yeah, and his office.” Martin whispered back. “My boss said he can’t help you directly. Sorry.”

“Eh, I figured.” The student’s mouth quirked as if he found everything very amusing. “Anything we need to know?”

“You’re visiting a group session at some point, and I’ve got word that someone there’s gonna help you. Don’t know how. Also, my boss said no property damage, he’s worried about vandalism charges.”

“Cool. I’m sure something’ll come up. You better clear out before they see you.”

“Good luck,” Martin said as he swiveled the other way. His four other friends all gave their own smiles or nods, silent as phantoms.

They could do this. He trusted his friends, and Flug trusted him. He just needed to go about his day, and stay away from the tour group, and wait for news. His stomach roiled with stress, but he squashed it down and buried his mouth against his workload. They smelled strongly of paper and ink, and Martin wondered if Flug smelled something similar with the bag over his face.

He shook his head and continued on his way. No one noticed he’d ever been there.

.

.

14:30

The tour was set up to go for nearly four hours. They visited the indoor gym, the outdoor gardens, the medical ward, the empty orientation rooms on the first floor. They stopped for lunch at 13:30 in the staff break room, eating and talking and chattering over the impressive facility.

Abdullah mentioned how the office hallways all led to either the front lobby or the break room, and how interesting that set-up was. Leslie guessed it was probably an easy escape route if an inmate got out and came after anyone. John thought it was dumb, that it was more of a maze than a real floor plan. Esmerelda didn’t say anything.

Sidney just grinned.

At 14:30, Dr. Bautista and his associate came back in and announced that Dr. Rorschach wouldn’t be joining them on the remainder of the tour due to a meeting with another psychiatrist. He then announced that the institute had given them permission to show the students a group arts-and-craft session for less dangerous inmates. It would be starting very soon, so everyone needed to pack up their food and grab their stuff.

The session was held on the second floor, which meant that each student had to have their body scanned for metal objects and their backpacks searched for suspicious items. Nothing could be allowed that might give an inmate a chance for, well, anything.

Over twenty of the students had writing utensils, rulers, and various other sharp objects that couldn’t be taken upstairs, but none of them wanted to leave their bags out in the open, too used to guarding their things from potential thieves on-campus. So the institute staff compromised and took everyone’s stuff back to the break room, which was locked from the outside and safe from harm until the tour came back.

By the time everything was sorted out, it was 15:11 and they were running late to the group session.

Dr. Bautista, thoroughly irritated by the hold up and lack of foresight, hurried the group upstairs to a large room guarded by three men in security outfits. He turned around to address the tour before they went inside.

“I don’t need to remind any of you that being in this room is a privilege. You are all very young, but you’re also psychology students from Ituriel University, which means that I expect you to do exactly as I tell you without argument. Do not interact with any of the inmates unless we explicitly say it is okay. Do not approach an inmate unless we say it is okay. Do not do or say anything in this room, unless we say it is okay. Do I make myself clear?”

There was a various assortment of verbal assent from the students, and Dr. Bautista turned around without acknowledging it. Near the back of the group, Leslie rolled her eyes and whispered, “what a douche”, just quiet enough that the tour leaders in front couldn’t hear it.

Half the students snickered.

Everyone sobered up quickly, however, as they stepped through the doorway. About eight long tables were in the room, lined so that four of them ran parallel to the other four. Inmates sat with simple crafting tools – nothing sharp or hot – and were working quietly amongst themselves. Twelve guards lined the walls.

Dr. Bautista walked up to the nearest table and looked down at the beaded necklace a patient was making. He murmured something to the man, whose face tightened but didn’t stop working. The group watched quietly as their tour leader faced them.

“As you can see, the patients here are very well-behaved. Most of them have either been on the 2nd floor for their entire incarceration, or they have been rehabilitated enough that their privileges extend to having session on this floor. But at any time, that privilege can be revoked. We, as psychiatrists, are here to make sure that these patients will not be a danger to themselves or others, and offering incentive to change is one of our tried-and-true methods of rehabilitation.”

As he spoke, an inmate from two tables down stood up with a jar in his hands. He was a giant, burly man with a bull tattoo visible all the way up his arm. He shuffled in the direction of the group with his head down and eyes on the jar he held.

Esmerelda stiffened where she stood, watching the man. Sidney glanced her way, then coolly set his eyes to Dr. Bautista, whose back was turned to the patient coming their way. None of the guards seemed concerned by the man’s behavior – he looked only as if he was going to refill his art supplies.

But then, less than two meters away from the oblivious psychiatrist, the inmate suddenly took a few giant strides and lifted his jar high above Bautista’s head. Security shouted to warn about the threat but it was too late.

Sparkling pink glitter fell from the upturned container like fairy dust, covering Bautista with a shower from hell. He spluttered and staggered forward as the glitzy stuff got into his eyes and mouth, just in time to miss three guards grabbing at the inmate, who calmly dropped the glitter jar and held his hands above his head.

The other patients burst out laughing as one unit, cheering and whistling at the bizarre sight of a sparkling, stumbling psychiatrist who left a literal trail of pink glitter in the air behind him as he moved. The tour professor looked horrified, and his teaching assistant had clapped a hand to her mouth to keep her snort to herself. The students had no such qualms about hiding their amusement.

Everyone was ushered out of the room and downstairs in a heartbeat by several red-faced guards while the rest tried to sort out the chaos.

Sidney tilted his head to the left as the tour group was pushed back into the staff break room. A guard apologized and asked for patience, and promised that once things were straightened out, then the tour would go on as usual. She pointed to an opposite door – also the same door that led to the staff offices – and reminded them that restrooms were in that direction. The professor followed her out, arguing about wasting valuable time and asking what the head director could possibly be doing that was more important than the pandemonium going on right now.

Soon it was just the students and the teaching assistant, and Sidney tilted his head to the right, catching the eyes of his friends. He smiled with all of his teeth. Someone smirked in reply.

They had work to do.

.

.

15:00

When Flug stepped into Dr. Rorschach’s office, she had already set up the video call on her computer, and was waiting at her desk with her hands folded over a pencil and paper.

“Not one second too late or too early as usual, Doctor. Your dedication to punctuality is amazing.” She said pleasantly, gesturing for him to sit in the chair next to her. He wasted no time in doing so.

Inspector Daniels stared at both of them from the screen. Only his top half was visible, and he wore the same Interpol uniform from the day Flug had met him, back when this entire fiasco had started.

It felt like months ago.

“Dr. Slys,” the Inspector nodded cordially. He glanced down at something unseen, then lifted his gaze back up. “Before we begin, I have to ask if either of you have any cellular devices or anything that can be used to record conversations.”

Flug blinked twice, then pulled out his phone from his coat pocket. Dr. Rorschach brought out two phones and then opened a drawer, out from which came a walkie-talkie. They placed all the tech on the desk.

“Is that everything?” Daniels asked. They both nodded. “Alright. Now I must ask you to turn them all off, please. This meeting is confidential.”

The doctor did so easily, but his boss’ face became pinched.

“With all due respect, Inspector, these devices ensure that my employees can contact me in times of emergencies. I can turn off some of them, not all of them. I have to be available for any situation.”

“I understand your position, Dr. Rorschach,” the inspector said smoothly. “But you also have to understand that, again, this meeting is confidential, and Interpol cannot risk having information leak through. We cannot even have the potential of a leak. I’m sure you realize how dangerous this individual is.”

They stared at each other, with narrowed eyes and set jaws, until Dr. Rorschach relented and switched off all three devices. Daniels made a ‘hmm’ noise and looked down again.

“Are there any audio or visual recording devices set up in this room, such as a security camera?”

“No,” the director said, completely honest. “I don’t believe require staff to have cameras in their personal offices. Nothing is in this room that could compromise or record our conversation.”

“Good, good.” The inspector studied Flug a moment. “How have you been, Dr. Slys? I received your report and was pleased that you hadn’t, ah…sustained any major injuries yet.”

Flug tactfully ignored the tacked on ‘yet’ and sat back in his chair. “I’ve been well, thank you. Progress with the patient has been slow, but so far every encounter has been meaningful, even if it doesn’t appear that way to the naked eye.”

Or to me, he thought, considering how much I’ve been pissing Black Hat off lately.

“I’m aware you were the one who requested this meeting, correct? May I ask why?”

“I was,” Flug considered his words. “I was under the impression that the patient’s collar was a shock collar, from the…way he has reacted sometimes when it beeps. But recently I was in a conversation with a member of our security force who implied that, that Black Hat has…supernatural powers? And that his collar b-blocks it somehow?”

Daniels’ face didn’t change from its stony neutrality, so Flug continued.

“So whatever the case, I – it would help me greatly if I understood exactly what I’m working with. Lowering potential for a leak.”

The inspector remained quiet, and Flug exchanged a confused glance with his director. But as he opened his mouth to ask another question, the Interpol officer cut him off.

“Have you ever seen the aftermath of one of Black Hat’s crimes?”

Flug’s mouth clicked shut. He thought about the report on the last psychiatrist who had tried to work with Black Hat. The visuals made him shudder.

“Yes, I have.”

“I’m not talking about the photos from the case file we sent you, Dr. Slys. I’m asking if you’ve ever seen what happens after that creature decides to go on a rampage.”

“I…no. I haven’t.”

“I thought as much,” Daniels looked at both of them. “Did you know that Black Hat once killed fifteen American SWAT members in less than a minute?”

No, he didn’t know that.

“Are you aware that after he did so, Black Hat then proceeded to phase through the wall of a nearby government building and decapitated five United Nations representatives in a single instant?”

No, he wasn’t aware of that, either.

“Do you know how we know he did it?” The inspector leaned forward. “The SWAT team carried body cameras. That government building contained state of the art surveillance. Everything glitched out in his presence. The only reliable video footage was near the end of the killing spree, when Black Hat reverted to the form you know him as, and the cameras came back online just in time to catch him straightening his tie. Do you want to know how we know he did everything else I mentioned?”

No, no, I don’t want to know. But tell me anyway.

“Because of the blood. The clearing where the SWAT team was stationed looked like the filming site for Saw VII. They were torn apart like nothing we had ever seen before. We know Black Hat phased through the wall because he left a blood trail that couldn’t phase with him, so it left a near-perfect replica of his silhouette against the vertical concrete. We know he killed the UN representatives at the exact same time because our forensics team found matching rates of body cooling and lack of blood coagulation in all five bodies.”

Dr. Rorschach was white. Flug’s hands clenched at his lab coat under the desk.

“I’m not a religious man, Dr. Slys, but I can say openly and honestly that whatever that creature is, it’s not Earthly. That collar around his neck is the only thing keeping him here. Forget the straitjacket, forget the reinforced titanium walls, the guns, the guards. Those are just precautions to keep him at bay as an almost-human thing. Because without that collar, everything else means jack shit.”

“So h-how,” Flug managed, “how does the collar do it?”

“I’ll tell you, both of you, but I need to remind you that what I say in this room stays one hundred percent confidential. Don’t tell security. Don’t tell the other psychiatrists. Don’t tell your friends or family members. No one. The last thing we need is for this science to be replicated by anyone with more dubious morality. Or worse, for Black Hat to learn any more about it than he already knows.”

Flug looked down at the pencil and empty sheet of paper he had brought for this meeting. Slowly, he crumpled it into a ball and dropped it into the waste basket by the desk. Daniels gave him a tight smile.

“Alright then. This collar is state of the art technology. You’ve probably noticed how bulky it is, right? That’s because of its contents. It’s programmed to measure body mass.”

“I’m sorry, what? Body mass?” Flug felt his brow visibly furrow.

“That’s what I said. Down to the picogram. And it’s not like those high school chemistry scales either. It doesn’t get altered by movement, or, say, if someone set an iron ball in Black Hat’s hands. It’s programmed to his body mass only, in as near as accurate as we can get. You see, most people have their own body mass, and it can be altered only with layers of clothing, or changes in weight or height. Black Hat’s body doesn’t adhere to those rules.

“When he shapeshifts, or phases through things, that’s what changes his body mass. It shouldn’t, it goes against almost every physics law we know, but that’s what it does. That collar acts as two things. The part around his neck measures his body mass, and it keeps the thing in place so he can’t jolt it. The bulkier part, in the back? It contains a needle that’s connected directly to his spinal cord.”

“What?! Isn’t that, doesn’t that violate his rights?”

“That creature doesn’t have rights.” Daniels replied, eyes grim. “He doesn’t have an age or origin we can track, he holds no citizenship that we know of, and any rights he might have been able to claim have been tossed out the window for decades now, with his criminal record.”

“This is insane,” Flug said aloud, slumping in his seat. “This is absolutely insane. Shit…”

“I’m going to continue, if you don’t mind.” The inspector didn’t wait for their confirmation. “As I said, it’s connected into his spinal cord at the base of his neck. If and when the collar recognizes a change in body mass, no matter how small, that needle is automatically plunged deeper, which cuts off his ability to move or feel most of his body. It usually only lasts about ten seconds, but we know from experience that if need be, the paralysis effect can stay upwards of six hours.”

Flug grit his teeth. “So, d-did you just provoke him into trying to attack you after the ten seconds were up?”  

“No, of course not,” Daniels looked mildly smug. “We have a remote device that can increase the time span of how long the needle remains injected.”

“If that’s the case, why didn’t you use it during his transfer to this institute?” Dr. Rorschach asked coldly. “If I recall, one Interpol officer’s life was at stake in a confrontation between you and Black Hat. Not to mention, letting Dr. Slys walk into his cell without this device to back him up seems extremely negligent.”

“It was your decision to allow Dr. Slys to do so, Dr. Rorschach.” The inspector replied, eyes narrowed. “In fact, you assured me he was well equipped to handle this creature. If anyone can be accused of negligence, it would be you and your institute, wouldn’t you say?”

“You still haven’t answered either of my questions, Inspector.”

Daniels sighed. “I was worried Black Hat would kill someone, to be frank. The last time we used this device, it was simply to test that it worked, and after the trial was over Black Hat went into a frenzied rage, without setting off the collar, that killed three soldiers. It was by this we learned that the only way the device worked was if Black Hat had already set off the collar on his own. Our scientists are still trying to fix this issue, but we think it might be related to the effect he has on technology in general, especially radio waves and cameras.”

Dr. Rorschach and Inspector Daniels continued discussing this problem, and what could be done to fix it, but Flug had stopped listening. Because he was still hung up on that little detail about being stripped of your free will for six hours.

No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it, the psychiatrist realized. What a horrible, humiliating thing to have to deal with every day. I’d be pissed too.

He looked over to his boss, who was still arguing with the inspector that having the defective remote was better than having nothing at all. Flug didn’t really care either way; he had gotten this far without getting mauled, he’d be fine for a while longer. And the idea of having such a twisted little thing in his pocket when he visited Black Hat was making him feel sick.

“Excuse me? Inspector Daniels?” The doctor asked, getting the attention of both superiors. “You, uh, mentioned that Black Hat doesn’t know everything about the collar. How much does he know?”

“Not enough to be dangerous,” Daniels said. “He knows that it’s a restraining device, and he knows about the needle because he can feel it in his spine. I have no doubt he’s figured out that it’s related to activating his powers, although we never explained that to him. And I’m almost certain he doesn’t know about the remote control’s restrictions. We’re very lucky that Black Hat has never been well-versed in technology.”

Flug’s hands twitched. “Thank you, Inspector. I’ll be sure to u-use this knowledge carefully and to the best of my ability from now on. I’m afraid I have other things to attend to today. Is there anything else you needed to tell me?”

Daniels shook his head, and Flug thanked him again before getting up on unsteady feet. Dr. Rorschach stared up at him, obvious protest in her face, but he just shook his head.

“I’m sorry for leaving so soon, but I think there’s not much more I can learn from this meeting. If you come to a decision about me receiving the controller, then please let me know when you can.”

“Actually,” the inspector said, looking down again. “My time is about up for now as well. Dr. Rorschach, I feel that you and I can continue this conversation at a later date. You seem to have things handled well over there, and your psychiatrist doesn’t appear concerned. I’ll bid you both adieu. Dr. Rorschach, Dr. Slys.”

With that, Daniels cut the transmission and left Lauren fuming and Flug in deceptive silence. Without a word both of them turned on their phones again, and the director made a surprised noise that had her employee look her way.

“What’s the matter?”

“There’s been a situation on the 2nd floor, come with me.”

So he went with her, and stayed quiet as she called someone while they walked.

“This is Dr. Rorschach, I just finished with my meeting, what’s – what? Slow down! Bautista was attacked by an inmate?”

That had both of them halting in their tracks. Flug stood awkwardly as his boss listened to a voice he couldn’t make out. Then she snapped “I’ll be right there” and hung up the phone.

“What’s going on? What happened?”

“An inmate assaulted Dr. Bautista during the university tour, and they’ve been trying to get ahold of me for over half an hour. Supposedly it was Inmate #244, real name unknown, alias Metauro. He dropped a ‘glitter bomb’ on our coworker while he was showing the arts and craft room to the tour group.”

“O-Oh? That’s b-bizarre.”

“It’s about to get more bizarre, because while he went home to change, someone wrecked his office.”

Flug tripped on air and nearly faceplanted. “I’m sorry, wrecked his office?!”

“That’s what I’ve been told. Security hasn’t figured out who did it yet.” Dr. Rorschach’s heels clicked on the flooring with urgency. “They think it might have been some of the students, but haven’t found any evidence yet.”

“Ah, okay, uh…why am I coming?”

“Because you have an amazing eye for detail, Doctor, so you’re going to help security comb through the wreckage while I talk to people.”

Too soon they were at Bautista’s open door, where several guards were standing, taking pictures and arguing with each other about being lax on security. Everyone stepped to attention when they saw the head director.

“Dr. Slys, do whatever you need in here. Take pictures, ask around, anything. Try not to disturb the scene too much but otherwise I’m giving you free reign until I can find our chief of security.” She peered into the room and her face went carefully blank.

“What? Is it bad?” Flug was really, really hoping it wasn’t too bad.

“Huh,” Dr. Rorschach said. “Well, now I know why they think it was the students.”

She turned around and grabbed the nearest guard, dragging him with her in whatever direction the students were in. Flug headed to Bautista’s door and was very grateful that the noise he made sounded like shock.

The office wasn’t wrecked as he’d feared. Instead, blank lined paper balls covered the floor, leaving no trace of carpet anywhere. A lamp near the left corner had its shade switched out with the waste basket. A bookshelf on the right had its contents rearranged so that the first letters of several titles spelled out the word ‘asshole’ in a more subtle but still noticeable message.

The window was filled with sharpie penises and the Cool S, making it extremely difficult to see in or out. The computer had been covered by the waste basket’s liner. There was a single piece of paper on the desk with something written on it, so Flug waded into the room to look at it.

Beautiful Bautista Bastard

Underneath that was a rushed sketch of a tall man wearing a tutu, with fairy wings and a glowing wand. Small penciled dots littered the page behind the mand and the doctor snorted as he realized it was supposed to represent fairy dust. Or whatever that ‘glitter bomb’ had been.

Without blinking, Flug took his phone out and held down the camera button. He panned around the office from the left to the right, making sure to catch everything. His boss had told him to take pictures, so he was taking pictures.

She’d never said he couldn’t keep them. She’d also never said he couldn’t show them to two certain someones.

Really, he was just doing his duty.

.

.

.

(And maybe Black Hat would have some input to give as well)

Heyyy it's out! Sorry for the delay, this was a doozy of a chapter and some of the scenes weren't coming out like I wanted them to. I hope you all enjoy this update, because there are some important info drops here. Sounds like Flug is more concerned about Black Hat's rights than his own safety, hmhmhm.

[eddiespaghettio]

here’s your quote! “i get scared and start to think of you. is it true, do you think of me too?”

Eddie has nightmares and thinking of Richie always helps.

TW: homophobic slurs. 

The anniversaries are the hardest.

None of them talk about it, how the nightmares comes back tenfold and with a bloodthirsty vengeance every July. They don’t have to. It’s evident in the dark circles under everyone’s eyes, how they are all exhausted but secretly too afraid to sleep. So they stay out as late as they can, until the streetlights come on, spending more time at the quarry and Mike’s Grandad’s farm than anywhere near the Barrens. Because even though they defeated It, the trauma doesn’t go away, and the nightmares have the facility to twist and warp themselves into terrors that are somehow worse than that of what they saw down in that sewer two years ago. There’s a semblance of reality to these new night terrors that seems to put them all in a chokehold, gasping for breath long into the morning hours; that seems to haunt them regardless of how many times they remind themselves that It’s gone.

They had only spoken about it once, last summer, in the questionable hours between night and dawn, bundled up in sleeping bags in Denbrough’s living room, just days before what would have been Georgie’s eighth birthday.

“I-I still have n-n-nightmares,” Bill said, staring down into his lap at his torn cuticles, where the skin around his fingernails had been picked until it was red and painful. A stillness settled around the room, a collective held breath that asked are we actually talking about this? Even beneath the yellow lights of the table lamps, Bill looked ashen and pale.

“Me too,” Beverly whispered, and a few congruous, sympathetic sounds followed.

“Henry Bowers is always in mine,” Mike said, with a sad, encouraging smile in Bill’s direction, and no one had to ask to remember what had happened between the boy and their infamous bully to know what haunted Mike’s nightmares. “And my parents, of course.”

Bill lifted up his head, “T-these new ones,” he said, staring unseeingly at the group of them, sitting in a halfhearted circle in the middle of the room, “My p-p-parents are t-there.” There’s a forlorn, faraway look in his eyes and Eddie knows that that Bill’s reliving the nightmares over again in his head. “They…they b-blame me. They t-tell me that they w-w-wish that I had…that I’d d-d-died instead,” Bill forced out, voice cracking, eyes shining with unshed tears in the lamp light.

The temporary paralysis that had seemed to befallen them all shattered then, as they all moved at once to swarm around Bill, pulling him into a suffocating group hug, murmuring reassurances in the gaps between them all. They eventually fell asleep, dried remnants of tears on their cheeks, in a grouping best describes as a dogpile, and promptly never spoke of it again. Eddie hadn’t shared that night, too afraid to bring his terrors into the light, secretly ashamed of what not-entirely-out-of-the-realm-of-possibility tinged fears he harboured.

Eddie has nightmares all year round, but they are never quite as frequent or so vivid as they seem to be around the anniversaries. He can handle the typical bad dreams; the ones where he forgets to wear pants to school or the ones where his mom catches him doing or saying “inappropriate” things and bans him from his friends again. Those are easy, a cake walk really, by comparison. They’re nothing like the anniversary dreams.  

Eddie’s imagination has never been all that spectacular, his dreams always hazy and blurry, the details undefined like he’s purposefully unfocused his eyes, everything running together like a drippy watercolor painting. But Eddie’s anniversary dreams are almost lucid. He knows he’s dreaming, that they’re not real, but they feel real, sharp and vibrant like they’re happening in real time, and that’s what makes them terrifying. Not terrifying like child eating shapeshifter clown that feeds off your fear scary, but scary in the sense that it’s all the things he worries about in the back of his mind come true. And that’s where we finds himself again tonight, terrorized by his subconscious on a stickily warm July night.

Eddie’s sitting in their usual semi-circle in the dirt surrounding the quarry, perched on a weather worn boulder. They’re all together; even Beverly is there, having returned the summer before after convincing her aunt to move to Derry from Portland, her red hair bright like lit flames under the afternoon sun. Eddie can smell the earth, the sweet scent of the wildflowers that grow in resilient little tufts out of the rocks, and the tang of the pixi stix powder on Richie’s hands beside him. He can feel the heat of the sun bearing down on them, the almost cool breeze blowing across the water on his skin. He’s been here before — in real life, undoubtedly, but also in both his dreams and nightmares. And this is a nightmare, identical in every way as it was two nights ago and a icy ball of dread forms in the pit of his stomach.

Eddie feels the words bubbling up inside him like the fizz in an over-shook soda bottle and he tries to force it down, to swallow the words once he feels them on the tip of his tongue, but he blurts it out anyways: “I’m gay.” Everyone stills around him, Mike stopping mid-sentence from recounting some interesting tale he learned from one of his books, and they stare at him with large, judging eyes. Eddie desperately tries to jerk himself awake — if he could just move a one finger — because he knows this is going to get ugly really fast.

“I’m not surprised,” says Stan, his face screwed up in a sour expression, like he sucked on a lemon, “I always knew you were a faggot.” The reactions are always the same as the time before, like these nightmare shadows of his friends are reading off a script. But it hurts every time.

“That’s disgusting,” spits Beverly, and she pushes herself up from her seat in the dirt and stalks away, only glancing back to glower at Eddie in utter revulsion. Ben follows her out without a word.

“They still execute gays, y’know,” Mike says as he turns to leave, the expression on his face a mix of hatred and something akin to pity. “Maybe the should.”  

Bill towers over him. “I’m s-s-sorry, Eddie.” Bill always apologizes, but somehow it just makes it all the more painful. “B-but we can’t be f-f-friends with a f-fag. It’s j-j-just wrong.” One by one, his friends stand up and walk away, leaving Eddie to sit alone awash in his own self-hatred.

The last one to leave is always Richie, and he stares at Eddie with a barely constrained fury in his eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses, his mouth twisted in an hideous scowl.

“How could you?” Richie demands, and Eddie flinches at the acid in his voice. “Look at me, Eddie!” Eddie didn’t even realize that he had turned to stare at his shoes. “How could you let me hug you? How could you let me sleep in your bed? When you knew all this time? How could you take advantage of me like that, your best friend? That’s so dirty, Eddie.”

Dirty. Dirty. Dirty.

The words begin to run on a loop, Richie’s voice fading in and out as the sound warps, growing more feminine, veiled with a thin veneer of forced cordiality, the sickly saccharine tone his mother always uses when something’s “for his own good.” Queers are dirty, Eddie-Bear; the words reverberate through his skull. So impure. They all go to Hell, Eddie. But we don’t have to worry about that. You’re my good boy, Eddie, you’re clean.

Eddie jolts awake, flying upright in his bed, the blankets pooling in his lap. He dry heaves over the side of his bed, the phantom of his mother’s words still ringing in his head. His face is red, cheeks wet with tears he didn’t realize he was crying. Eddie wheezes, struggling to breathe, and he scrambles to grab his inhaler off the nightstand. He knows it’s all fake, that he’s not actually asthmatic, but it always helps loosen the fist of anxiety and panic clutching his lungs. He stuffs the inhaler in his mouth, breathing in the acidic taste of the salbutamol like it’s his last lifeline.

Eddie cradles his inhaler in his hands in the fetal position, the angry and disgusted faces of his friends flashing in his mind. It’s not real, Eddie reminds himself. It’s not real. His friends wouldn’t treat him like that. They’ve been friends for so long, been through so much. Eddie racks his mind for any memories of his friends responding with that must hostility. They were probably that mean to Bower’s gang, maybe that fucking clown, but they deserved it ten fold. Eddie doesn’t deserve that sort of treatment, right?

He recalls a moment back in the spring when he and Ben came across crude signs pasted on the side of the Pharmacy, HOMO SEX IS IMMORAL, and GOD HATES FAGS, handwritten on white paper in red marker. Ben had stopped in front of the signs and frowned deeply, the corners of his mouth turning down so far it was almost comical.

“I don’t understand,” Ben had said, turning to look at Eddie who had froze beside him. Eddie tried to school his face into an expressionless mask. He probably just looked constipated.

“What do mean?” Eddie asked, and closed his eyes, almost afraid to hear what Ben said next. The words burned on the inside of his eyelids like they were a brand.

“Why does it matter? Why do people care so much?” Ben said, genuine confusion in his voice. “Why do people care if others are gay?”

Eddie exhaled in a puff, “I-I don’t know, Ben.”

Ben, the ever hopeless romantic, smiled a small smile and said, “One can’t help who they love.”

Thinking about that moment gave Eddie a small semblance of hope, flickering in his chest like a firefly, but it’s short lived;  the nagging voice in the back of his head interjected. Ben’s always been more of a follower. If everyone else walked, especially Beverly, then Ben would, too. Eddie curls in on himself a bit tighter, as if he could protect himself from his own mind if he makes himself as small as possible.

Unbidden, a voice is back, louder this time, but it’s not the voice of his friends. It’s crazed and angry, all over the place in pitch. The voice of that goddamn clown that Eddie can never seem to fully forget even though they defeated It and it’s been two years since. It bounces around in his head like an echo in a cavern. I’m every nightmare you ever had! I am your worst dream come true! I’m everything you were ever afraid of! Eddie laughs, a painful, broken sound, in the darkness of his bedroom. They may have beat Pennywise but Eddie’s still afraid. They beat It but he’s still scared. Eddie wishes he could fearless now.

Another memory pushes itself to the forefront, wielding a baseball bat. It’s Richie, from that day. In his imagination, Eddie envisions Richie beating the other thoughts away, the other memories. Eddie would never admit it, but thinking of Richie always helps — with his bad jokes and even worse impressions. Richie with his fierce loyalty, who is always there when it really matters, and even there when it really doesn’t. Eddie wants to believe that Richie wouldn’t hate him for being…that. Wants to believe that none of them would, but Richie most of all. And Eddie knows why, but he can’t even bear to voice the thought even in his own head.

“But soft what light through yonder window breaks wind.” It takes Eddie a solid ten seconds to realize that Richie’s voice wasn’t coming from inside his head. When he opens his eyes, he finds Richie crouched precariously outside his bedroom window, one outstretched arm hanging onto the roof shingles above. Richie shoves the window open from the outside and tumbles into Eddie’s bedroom.

“Richie?” Eddie asks dumbly, as though he isn’t staring at him from across the room. “What are you doing here?”

“Your window was open, Juliet,” Richie replies, pulling off his dirty sneaks and dumping them on the floor beneath the window sill. “Were you expecting me?”

“No, I was expecting the other weird teenage boy that crawls through my window,” Eddie says, and he can hear the rasp in his voice from crying. He hopes that Richie doesn’t notice.

“Hey.” Eddie can tell by the softness in Richie’s voice that he definitely did notice. Richie crosses from the window to Eddie’s bed in three long strides and then plops himself down at the foot of the bed, narrowly missing sitting on Eddie’s feet. The room is bathed in the yellow light of Eddie’s table lamp as Richie tugs on the chain. Eddie feels exposed under Richie’s searching gaze. “You’ve been crying.”

Eddie futilely scrubs his hands against his cheeks and eyes to try and rid his face of any evidence.

“Nightmare?” Richie asks, his eyes huge and warm, and impossibly soft behind his glasses.

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles. He scoots over and Richie moves to fill the space beside him in Eddie’s tiny twin sized bed. Richie’s grown long and gangly in his few teen years, folding up beside Eddie like his limbs are too long and he doesn’t really know what to do with them.

“I have them, too,” Richie states in a surprisingly soothing tone and reaches over to straighten the collar of Eddie’s pajama top.

Eddie wonders briefly what terrorizes Richie in his nightmares. If he still is scared of werewolves like he was when they were kids, or if he’s still afraid of clowns like he was then. Somehow, maybe intuitively, Eddie feels that Richie’s probably scared of something worse, something more visceral, more nuanced. Like Bill’s nightmares of his parents wishing he had died instead. Like Eddie losing all the people he loves the most just by being true to himself.

Richie gives Eddie a small, reassuring smile that looks entirely out of place of his face.

“You do?” Eddie asks, and looks down at his inhaler still tightly gripped in his hands.

“Definitely,” Richie says, “Your mom and I break up and I can never see my Eddie Spaghetti again.”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie’s mouth before he can stop it. It’s not even funny, really, but it breaks the stiffness in the room. “I’d miss you, but I’d miss your mom’s swee-”

“Gross!” Richie just flashes Eddie a wide, crooked smile.

The lay in silence for an immeasurable amount of time ― five minutes, thirty, and hour? Eddie can’t tell ― pressed side-by-side, Richie’s bony elbow digging into Eddie’s spleen. Until Eddie can’t ignore the pressing need to just say something, the nightmare still dancing at the edges of his mind, snippets of dialogue flitting around.

“They just keep getting worse, you know?” Eddie says and it feels way too loud for the silence of the room. “The dreams, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Richie agrees. “Sometimes your mom doesn’t even give me a kiss to remember her by.” Eddie knows that Richie’s just using bad humor to evade, but he doesn’t say anything. Richie surprises him then, as though he has some sort of sixth sense and somehow knows. “We’d never leave you, y’know.”

Eddie turns and stares at Richie with wide eyes. How does he know?

“We love you, no matter what, Eds,” Richie keeps looking up at the ceiling. “I mean, unless you go all Zodiac Killer on us or somethin’.”

Richie turns and meets Eddie’s eye then, sees the questioning, half-scared look on his face.

“You talk in your sleep,” Richie explains.

“What…what do I say?”

“Uh…once you said, ‘guys, please don’t go,’ and ‘I thought we were a family.’” They’re both back to looking at the ceiling at this point. “You cried out for Bill once, during a sleepover.” Eddie remembers that night. Same nightmare, but he put up a fight then, trying to keep them all from abandoning him. Bill had awoken that night and sat up through the night with Eddie until just before daybreak. They hadn’t spoken of the dream, just sat in Bill’s living room and watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle reruns with the closed captioning on so as to not wake anyone else.

Eddie shakily exhales. Richie didn’t know. Eddie doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.

Would you still talk to me like that if you knew?

“I…I get scared and start to think of you.” Eddie blurts out, and wants to take it back as soon as he says it, embarrassment flooding his cheeks. He wishes the lamp wasn’t on so he could hide in the dark, but if he turned it off now it would be too obvious. Richie doesn’t respond for just long enough of a time for it to feel uncomfortable and Eddie debates taking it back, make a half-assed joke out of it, ‘cause your face is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.

He opens his mouth to speak but Richie beats him to it.

“Is it true,” Richie says slowly, in this gentle, almost imploring tone that Eddie’s never heard him use before. “Do you think of me, too?”

Eddie feels like his throat is closing up, his face burning. His fingers twitch on his inhaler but he doesn’t dare lift it to his mouth. His head swims. “Yeah,” Eddie whispers. I think of you all the time, Eddie’s heart yells at him. I think of your stupid jokes and they make me feel better. Eddie refuses to say that aloud. Richie would never let it go. I always feel better with you here. What he actually says, however, is: “You…think of me?”

“Yeah.” Richie says breathily, like he’s in awe of this new information — Eddie knows the feeling — but then quickly recovers. They fall back into familiar territory like it’s a refuge. They won’t speak of any of this in the morning. “I think of this cute Spaghetti face and, poof, all better!” Eddie smacks Richie’s hands away as he tries to pinch at his pinkened cheeks. “Cute, cute, cute!”   

“Spaghetti face? Are you serious?” Richie just laughs and moves to ruffle Eddie’s hair. Eddie shoves him back as far as he can go until Richie’s back hits the wall beside the bed.

“Hey, Eds?”

“What? I hate when you call me that,” Eddie says instinctively.

“C’mere?” Richie’s turned on his side facing Eddie still, his arms spread open wide in invitation, looking hopeful. Eddie hesitates.

How could you let me hug you?

How could you let me sleep in your bed?

That little reassuring smile is back.

“I won’t bite,” Richie says, and makes grabby hands at Eddie, followed by a wink that’s a few beats too long. “Not unless you want me to.”

We’d never leave you, y’know.

We love you, no matter what, Eds.

Do you think of me, too?

Eddie takes a deep breath and decides to be selfish. He scoots across the small space between them and lets Richie wrap his gangly noodle arms around him, ignoring the fact that Richie’s still wearing the same outfit he wore the entire day before, and the way that he smells like old sweat and cigarette smoke.

If — when he tells them, he decides,  he’ll let it happen. He’ll face the music. Eddie’s faced worse things, right? But for now he’s going to pretend that none of it’s possible; that Richie’s right and they’ll all still love him regardless. For now, he’s going to let Richie hold him.

When Eddie falls back to sleep, it’s dreamless.