#are his hands really that big good lort

[seasidesandstarscapes]

Via jackmulhernmoon and productionphysiotherapy on Instagram

Interview Pt. 1 on YouTube

Edit:

[aeragan]

ʜᴏᴡʟɪɴ' ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ

✭ pairing(s): boothill x amab reader

✩ inspo: Make U Cum by Ayesha Erotica (yeah. yeah yeah yeah.)

★ in which: Boothill's fresh out of the mechanics with a new mod, and he just couldn't wait to try it with you... Unfortunately, he forget to mess with the settings and turn down his sensitivity.

✧ a/n: THIS WAS AN OLD DRAFT I WROTE WHEN I WATCHED HIS TRAILER AND GOOD LORT. yeah. i LOVE FROTTING!!!!!!

🗒 cw: SMUT, gn! amab reader, porn with absolutely no plot, frotting, mention of anal, overstimulation, praise, he whimpers. a lot. teehee, dumbification (?), not proofread im just so down bad

✎ wc: 1.8k

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY

Boothill, the man you knew as cocky, strong-willed, perhaps even dominant. Reduced to a babbling, whining, crying mess beneath you. Fresh out of the mechanics with a new ‘upgrade’ that he had been waiting years for. He talked so big, about how finally there’s even more of him for you to enjoy, how you would feel ‘so forkin’ good’. And yet, here he is, nearing tears– a function he thought he didn’t even have anymore– at the slightest touch of your cocks. Okay, that is an understatement. You two were already a round in, you had been fully seated on his cock a moment prior.

“Please, p-please, oh— fudge– d-don’t just–” Boothill whines, his voice quivering. You have never heard him so… needy before. His voice is cracking left and right and all he can do is moan even at the slightest touch. It’s quite worrying, really.

Your hand hovers around your cocks, yours leaking precum, and remnants of your first orgasm. His is sleek, a mixture of synthetic skin and silicon, completely black except for some weird tiny barely noticeable gray markings. It was slick, yet there was no cum… anywhere. Aside from yours that painted his lower abdomen. When given the choice for synthetic semen, he said no. Said it was too messy, and it’d be too much to maintain. All that mattered to him was that he got off. If it weren’t for that, you were pretty sure he would’ve cum thrice as much as you have already.

“Do… do you want me to turn dow–?” You pant out, all his whining has you nervous.

“No! Fudge no!” That was the most coherent Boothill’s said since he sank into you, his hands grasping at your waist. You worried that his sensitivity was all off before you two had started, and you were certain you were right. “Don’t– Don’t mess with a-anythin’! Jus’ keep g-goin’... p-please…”

You can’t remember the last time the cowboy had begged you for… anything. Maybe a drink… years ago? Regardless, it’s kind of refreshing to hear such a stubborn man beg you for more. Normally it was you in his position, begging him for more as he lapped lazily at your cock, leaving you teetering on the edge until you (almost) take matters into your own hands.

You snap out of your thoughts at the feeling of Boothill’s insistence, bucking his hips up with a heavy whimper. His face is flushed, lips parted, and eyes glossy. He gives you such a pathetic, needy look, a far cry from his usual toothy grin. His hair is disheveled, a few strands sticking out and some sticking to his forehead. You didn’t even know he could sweat. All of this was unexpected, but very much welcome, nonetheless.

“F-fuuuhhh….” He breathes out, eyes half-lidded and mind hazy. The friction provides quite the sensation,  leaving you breathless. Though, that might be the previous orgasm messing with your nerves, a familiar heat crawling through your body. Boothill doesn’t react differently, still overly sensitive, still loving every second of it. “Th-that’s it… that’s it— nnghh…”

You lean your forehead against his, eyes locked on your lewd actions. You move at a moderate pace, but you yourself feel impatient, bucking your hips and stuttering every now and then. You can’t help but moan, too, the way the underside of your cocks press together, your tip flush and drooling, the pre-cum providing a nice stand-in for lube as you continue to fuck your hand.

“Ungh… S-Sweetheart…” Boothill groans, rolling his head back and bucking his hips up. Underneath all his pants and moans and whines, you can hear his systems going into override, the soft whirring of his body’s fans trying to cool him down from this sensory overload. “S’good… s’good, s’good, s– ngh!”

Slurred praises fall from his lips as he tries to gain some semblance from control, his hands trailing down to your thighs, squeezing gently as he breathes heavily. You lean in and press a kiss to the seam between his human skin and his cyborg body, as you feel both heat up. You can’t help but moan against his skin, causing Boothill to jerk his hips forward, groaning when you pick up the pace of your hand.

You can’t tell what is getting to you faster, your hand, or the way you’ve been bucking your hips up into it. You feel your body temperature rise and your mind becomes hazy, zeroing in on the need to come, to let the coil snap, and by Aeons, Boothill needs it too. You can tell by the way his whimpers become more frenzied, how he slurs your name and drawls out praises and all sorts of pet names for you.

Your head spins as you feel warmth curl up beneath your stomach, your balls tighten and with one more stroke, Boothill’s cock flush against yours, you come, and you swear you can see Boothill’s eyes glitch as those silken tendrils paint his torso once more. You can’t help but moan out his name, too spun up in your wanton desires to stop, continuing to stroke the two of you off.

It’s something you can’t help. You’re drunk off of his moans, how he’s just so sensitive, and it doesn’t help that he begs you to keep going. He’d adjust his sensitivity later, he will, but for now he wants to revel in this feeling. So many years with moments where he wished he could feel something, anything, all of his frustrations built up. He could care less about how much of a whiny ‘snitch’ he is at the moment, all he cares about is that he’s feeling it. It may never be the same, but by Lan, the way your cock feels against his, the way your hand works him so well, he doesn’t care that he’s in a daze.

However, Boothill snaps back to reality, panting heavily as his own high comes down. He regains some semblance of his composure, perhaps even his dominance, though still ‘sweaty’ and flushed, still heady and needy. He urges you back onto the bed by pushing your hips down, and you follow without any protest.

He gives you a sloppy grin, before pressing his lips to yours, the kiss hungry and demanding, panting when your lips part in between moments. Slowly, he starts to rock his hips against yours, resuming your earlier ministrations. He moans into your mouth, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed as he loses himself in the heat once more. The faint tingling sensation in your groin gives way to the same heat that snaked beneath your belly, your hands finding purchase within his hair. You tug at it ever so slightly and he whimpers, before picking up the pace. He couldn’t let you get away from that, even in his hazy state.

You arch your back as he continues to rut against you, the friction delicious in its own right. You can’t help but chase after it, raking your fingers through his hair. You mutter his name once more and he moans a little louder, feeling especially tender. You feel an edge build up to your pleasure, a slight tingling feeling creeping up as well.

“Yeaah… yeah, b-baby…” Boothill groans in a shaky voice, his eyes fluttering open. “One more, g-gimme one more…”

You can’t tell if he’s asking you or commanding you, but he shows no intention to stop, and you sure as hell don’t want to, either. One more round, it is. Your thighs twitch, knees pressing up against his hips, which causes him to moan, picking his pace up. Now, you aren’t sure if he’s doing this for you, or for him. His whimpers and moans have grown scratchy, weak, as if his vocal cords (or whatever substitution) were raw.

Boothill begins mumbling ‘one more’, unable to gather himself and bring himself up from the depths of his wanton desires, only focusing on his sloppy thrusts and your mewls. If he weren’t so incoherent, he’d be doing his best to fluster you, trying to make more pretty noises spill from your lips. Now, his mind was riddled with lust and need, and possibly a virus. You weren’t sure yet.

There’s no time to dwell on it, as the heat bursts forth once more, your cock twitching as you cum. A few measly strands spurt onto your abdomen, leaving you panting as you do your best to regain your composure. Words fail you, opting to simply push at Boothill’s shoulders. The pleasure leaves you cramping ever so slightly, your legs shaking as you reluctantly fall back. Boothill grunts, leaning back up and shuffling away ever so slightly with hesitance. Despite that, and his oddly lustful state of mind, he knew when to quit. He’s satisfied, however, and his face gives way to a grin, eyes heavy with what can only be described as euphoria.

In a matter of seconds he’s back to his old self, pushing off the bed entirely. He pats your thigh, giving it a squeeze, before turning on his heel. Despite his mind stabilizing, he can’t find his own words, so he simply leaves without saying anything. Nor can you, however, watching as he walks into the bathroom, before allowing your head to fall back once more. The ceiling seems like such a wonderful thing to stare at suddenly, as your body starts to cool down and your own mind starts to unblur.

You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at the ceiling, but Boothill’s form hovering over you breaks you out of the most comfortable stare you’ve had in a while. He gives you another sappy smile, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He presses a warm washcloth to your stomach, wiping down the remnants of your release.

“C’mon now, can’t have you fallin’ asleep before I can treat ya,” He coos, his voice gentle and almost undisturbed. “Got a nice warm bath runnin’, would ya like it?”

All you can do is nod weakly, earning a chuckle from Boothill. His hand slips underneath you, helping you up, before his other arm slips underneath your legs. With great ease, he lifts you, keeping you close to his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. Despite the short walk, your skin against the cool metal is enough to help rouse your mind once more, a pleasant hum of satisfaction (despite how spent you felt) ran through your body. You look at him with half-lidded eyes, and he meets your gaze, before pressing another kiss to your forehead.

© sentoooo, 2024 | masterlist | kofi | star header by roseschoices | sfw blog DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[z0mb1epuzzy]

hii again (i sent the josh/chris with a nipple peircing request teehee, i absolutely LOVED what you did with it holyyy)

i was wondering about your thoughts on our characters with a size difference/kink? particularly with a shorter reader? (although mike with a taller reader actually makes me CRUMBLEEE because holy god, he'd be so whipped) also i apologize because none of my asks are likely to be completely gender neutral, i unconsciously write reader inserts as feminine unfortunately 😭

but in particular, mike and chris (chris hyperfixation been hitting hard because of you. it's all your fault, i say with heart eyes)

i wasnt positive if youd already done this, but i thought id ask just in casee

i imagine mike being cocky about it, but not too outwardly. he would more-so just tease you about it, but he makes sure to be gentle as well. hed think its just soooo cute when youre pressed up with your back against his chest, struggling to take just two of his fingers inside of you, you huffing a "fucking hell" in pitiful anger as you curse your genes under your breath, wanting him to just fuck you already. hed chuckle breathily into your neck, kissing the soft skin under your ear sweetly. "you know how this goes, hon. we need to get you all ready for me.. wouldnt want you to get hurt, now would we?"

chris, im a bit more uncertain how he would feel about it. i cant remember how tall he is off the top of my head, but he's taller than mike in game, isnt he? i feel like hes definitely used to people being noticeably shorter than him, almost all his friends are (if not all of them), so he's not usually very surprised when he encounters someone shorter than him. but then he meets you, standing at an almost sad 5'1", and he is WHIPPED. not even sexually, he just wants to hold you. you're like the perfect size for him to spoon and hold, and oh god- have in his lap. he would definitely, when hes sitting, pull you straight onto his thighs at any given moment - with absolutely no struggle, might i add. (i live for beefy!chris)

OMG, and do NOTTT even get me started on sex. he is basically using you to get off. after youve finally taken him inch by inch and gotten comfortable, as soon as he's close to finishing, he's gripping your hips, grinding and slamming you against him like his own personal fleshlight. he really didnt mean to be so rough. he apologizes for it after the fact, of course he does, because he really didnt mean to, you just felt so good and tight around him, and he just lost his resolve... i feel like hed forget his own strength sometimes? leaving bruises occasionally from accidentally gripping your hips too hard, or at least he gets close to it. hes just not used to having someone so much smaller than him. youre like a tiny teddy bear.

- 🙀

HELLO ANON OMG??? we’re gonna kiss rn bc… i am also a size kink enjoyer… i love me a big man!!!!! also it’s okay if ur asks aren’t gender neutral! i am afab myself so i totally get how u can lean a certain way without realizing!! i don’t mind :3

heehee now for the sauce i am so hype for this currently…

for this, i’m gonna focus on the smaller reader x bigger mike/chris, but if any tall babes want me to elaborate for them, i 100% can you beautiful gorgeous lengthy creatures you…

mike!! absolutely reads as a man who would (not subtly) have a size kink!!

if you’re shorter/smaller than him, it makes him feel so strong, definitely an ego boost.. watching you struggle to take him? your little hands on his body?? HELLO??!!?!!!

and even if you’re taller/bigger than mike, that’s a still a total ego boost if you let him dom you… watching someone who’s physically capable or possibly assertive totally crumble for him? LORT!

.

it’s so hot to me when a big ol man is so teasing about his physical advantage, but also gentle with you to make sure you’re okay… Mike is one of those guys, he’s a perfect mix of teasing and gentle, like his words make you expect he’s gonna be rough, but he genuinely does take care to not hurt you!! it’s cute to him when you get all whiny, his big hands on your body, one helping to stretch you a little… y’know, to make it a little more comfortable! it makes him wanna cave a little, hearing you beg sooo sweetly, but he’s gonna make you wait! it’s for your own good♥️

and chris.. drools..

chris wouldn’t realize he has a size kink necessarily.. it’s normal to like how big your hands look on your partner’s, isn’t it? doesn’t everyone feel a little extra riled up at the idea of their partner needing a lil extra foreplay to take them?

so he wouldn’t openly acknowledge it as a kink, but it absolutely is, without a doubt. just imagine… chris’s big hands squeezing your hips and thighs, basically throwing you around like a little ragdoll… bc i AGREE! chris is a strong guy who doesn’t recognize his strength sometimes, he’s just too eager to please!!?! his grip on your hips tighter than he intended, leaving little purple splotches where his fingertips had been before… UGHH!!

[tewwor]

🌵 🍀 ✨ 🌼 🍄🌹 🌴 🌺 🪵

positivity meme ( always accepting )

🌵 recommend a canon rp blog

@lovehungered — rewinding a bit to stick my foot back into op for a sec. i absolutely adore the way you write sanji. it's so clear how much care and thought you put into him. and your writing, oh your writing!!!!!! stunning, perfect flow, amazing attention to detail. and you're such a kind person too!!!!! can say, without a single doubt in my mind, that having you on my dash is such a treat

🍀recommend an oc rp blog

@interxstitial — GET over here ( with much affection ). to be honest, idk where to even start. like jiwon is one of my fav ocs out there. i said it!! and i'd say it again!!!!! he's so silly, so full of hope, so trusting ( please stop trusting these very mean characters in my arsenal ), and so so precious. you've put him through the WRINGER and you're SO mean for that, but it does.... make for very juicy interactions............ ( don't look at me ). outside of rping, you're such a hoot and a holler and everything in between. we have the same ridiculous sense of humor with the tendency to YAP AWAY. gosh, it's been so much fun writing and chatting with you!

✨recommend a multimuse blog

@cordoliae — vic, deeply beloved and cherished friend..... you inspire me to the nth degree. your words can quite literally move mountains, i fear. i mean it moved me For Sure and your headcanons. GOSH YOUR HEADCANONS!!!! YOUR CHARACTERIZATION OF EVERY CANON YOU PICK UP!!!!!!!!! YOUR OCS, YOUR BEAUITFULLY COMPLEX OCS!!!!!!!! you singlehanded made me feel so much more comfortable and confident in portraying j.jk canons specifically and i thank you for that. top tier, ten star review, 20 michelin stars. i will never not sing your praises.

🌼 recommend a blog with beautiful writing

@temporalobjects — typed out this url SOOOOO fast yall don't even KNOW. hi buddy (ㅅ´ ˘ `) how've you been? hope life's been really, really good!! oh, before i get carried away, everyone — there's some Crazy Talent here fr. being completely honest when i say i have such a blast writing back and forth with all of these funky fresh and cool characters AND folklore. there's a definite soft spot in my heart for them! anyways, i miss you and hope life's been treating you well ♡

🍄 recommend a blog with incredible graphics

@hiohaku — okay but it's not just your graphics. it's the way you portray utahime and the enthusiasm you share and the prose — dear lort the prose!!!!!!! sublime, simply sublime, i really don't have the right words to describe just how fond and in awe i am over all of your content. and, personally speaking, you've helped me develop higu specifically and i'm so so grateful. but uh yes back to the original prompt — i think your graphics are so cohesive and aesthetically pleasing and so so so good! ♡♡

🌹recommend a blog that makes me happy

@koseigu — okay, am i biased? yeah, maybe, what of it? i see tsari put something on my dash and i leap for joy, duh? WOEIHGAOWIGH okay, but for real though. i thoroughly enjoy seeing you post literally anything. i mean, the replies and asks you hand out are poppin'. the inspo and graphics are bangin'. and you're just so friendly and considerate and i am Gripping our niche interests with both hands. again, i'm glad to have found you, friend ♡

🌴recommend a blog i haven't spoken to yet but admire from afar

@ichigokurosaki — will not lie! a bit surprised to see someone from the bleach fandom follow, but i'm so glad you did! tbh it made me kind of nostalgic since bleach was one of the first big title manga i got into but anyways! hi •ᴗ• i think your characterization of ichigo is remarkable and your writing has me ogling from afar.

🌺 i'll recommend a blog i've followed forever

@womanlives — ( enter entire orchestra and band and choir of the world ). no one should be surprised. they shouldn't!!!!!!!! qt, you phenomenal goober. you marvelous writer, creator, gamer, and just everything-er. i care you so, so much and i hope you're doing alright— at least okay! i eagerly await your return and can't wait to show you my newest jester dance and song. love you so many ♡♡♡♡♡♡

🪵positive thing about my own blog

... why. i already listed two whole entire things. i'm running out of things to say >:( i think my blog is silly in a Good way. there.

[expirisims]

Kessler/Year 2/Week 4/Day 2

It's Love Day!  I think Britta and Rian may go on a date later today, but I really wanted her to spend some time with her sister and apparently Britta had the exact same idea!

Oooh what's this!?  It has been a year since his marriage to Rebeccah came to an end and it looks like Noel Wright is moving on with a new relationship of his own!  Go Noel!!

OMG!!What is it with Love Day in Thicket!!?? While Britta was outside chatting with her sister Stacia AND Rian were flirting it up!!  Caught red handed!

Lara went home and Britta let them both have it!  She was really starting to settle into her relationship with Rian..WTH!?

To make up for it he gave her flowers, but as soon as she went to the bathroom he pulled out a bouquet for Stacia!!  I switched to his household to check his motives and see if I could get any insight, but his relationship and attraction was pretty much the same with both girls and he had no specific wants with either of them so I switched back and there it was...A love letter in the mailbox from Rian to STACIA!  

Oh no Sir!  We don't play!  Britta has no time for this kind of doggish behavior and dumped him right then and there!

Whoa!  He got really really  mad at first, but then cried and refused to leave!

I decided he could stay there with Stacia (backstabber!) and I sent Britta to the festival with her sister.  Britta is MAD!! And she is not above petty revenge kisses!  That's right!  Guess who's working the kissing booth? None other than Raheem Coon, the guy Stacia's been chasing!  It's just a kiss at the kissing booth, but it's a kiss none the less.  Maybe she plans to rub this in Stacia's face when she gets home if they're even on speaking terms by then that is.

Well, well, well.  Rasheed Schumacher is at the festival!  And he and Britta are into each other!  Wow! Talk about a quick turn around!  

I popped in on Rian to see if he was really that upset about what happened.  He was.  Well, she gave you a chance and you messed up BIG TIME bucko!  Oh Lort!  He is NOT having a good day!  Apparently, he didn't get a work bonus this year either!

I decided to pop in on my "expecting" household's quickly before calling it a night and when I got to the Petersen household Felicity was in labor and on the way to the hospital to deliver little Aiden!  I'll post pictures of him soon.  She was just taking FOREVER to get home so I didn't stick around..lol!

[londonfog-chan]

Passione x Reader: Sudoh Buck AU

This was too fucking good to let it rot in AO3 so now you all have to be subjected to my JoJo thirst. All characters aged up (otherwise how the fuck would they have this job??)

...

“So you’re not working my shift???”

“No... you’re actually my relief.”

Your best friend is clocking out just as you’re going to clock in. She looks dolefully up at you, nearly in tears from how the day has treated her. It’s her last shift for the week at the Passione Street location for Sudoh Buck, but you’re not sure why it was she had such a horrible time.

“He’s so mean!” She whispers as you lean down next to her.

“Who?!”

“The one on drive thru. He kept kicking me off bar because I made too many mistakes. I don’t know what I’m going to do for a whole three weeks with these people. I miss our store.”

The system is unavailable for you to punch in on the computer, so you’ll have to hunt down the punch communication log and you’re not exactly enthralled to be asking the dudes at the front. One of the guys, silver haired giant with neon lipstick, fucking glared you down when you went to the back. Had it not been for your coworker from the old store (Kimmy) walking out to say goodbye you’re sure he would have pummeled you.

“Yeah?” You ask, slightly bristling as your friend continues to look sad. “Well fuck me I guess. I’ll have to find out where that damn book is and go talk to one of them, and then you’ll be out and I’ll have to deal with this shit all by myself. At least you had the luxury of working with our crew...”

You can’t help the bitterness in your voice even though you know your friend is hurt. It’s been one fucking thing after another. You kept asking everyone where to go, and after being ignored and given a gang face, you’re not altogether sure you like Passione location after all... it’s in a location where you used to live as a child, not too far a commute from your current house where you live with your mother, and it’s the newest location established. But the newness is a fucking facade. You already have a bad impression by how they treated your friend, you can’t imagine they’re taking too kindly to being invaded by a new store. A friend working the S. Platinum location told you the other day he heard some blonde bastard of a shift complaining that the Ogre Street crew was stealing all the tips from the regular crew.

From a customer’s perspective, this is a coffee drinker’s paradise. Everything looks bright and new, when you walk into the cafe area, the front where they have the registers and the pastry case is on one big countertop that’s shared with the espresso bar and cold bar. In back of the bar is the drive thru window, and at the end of the espresso bar there’s some seating arrangements where customers can watch their drinks being made. It’s a typical Sudoh Buck color scheme. Lots of greys and white, the customers flock to it looking to get their fix, but under the facade there’s apparently a bastard crew working it. On top of that, the remodel for your location is going to take longer than anticipated. What else can you do but just rough it out with strangers you don’t even know?

“Well... I guess I’ll go home now.” Your friend murmurs sadly.

“Yeah. Bye.”

Your friend gets up and gathers her things, looking at you wistfully before mouthing “good luck”. In a few seconds she’s gone, and you’re standing there in an unfamiliar back office, apron in hand, wondering how on earth you’re going to survive the first day without anyone from your old store to help you.

“Oh hi there!”

An unusually cheerful voice jolts you out of your stupor as you come face to face with an unfamiliar associate. He looks fairly young, black messy hair held back with a bandana, and he looks you up and down with a sly look in his violet eyes.

“You’re one of the baristas from Ogre Street Mall yeah? Are you looking for the book?” He asks, cocking his head to the side as he ties up the strings of his apron. His black metal name tag has green chalk marker on it too small to make out, so you can’t tell his name right away.

“Yeah, I started a few months ago at that location. And yes, that would be helpful.” You tell him your name, and you can’t help the jump in your pulse when you hear him roll it off his tongue.

“That’s a pretty cute name.” He flirts, coming up on you with his fist up. “Nice to meet ya, I’m Narancia.”

You have to smile as you fist bump him (hey, it’s impolite to leave a homeboy hanging). Immediately you feel the strongest connection to him; Narancia is the first helpful and friendly face you’ve met so far in this location. And if he’s this cute and working a shift with you, you fully intend to stick by him wherever he goes.

“That’s not a bad name either my guy.” You smile. “Now about that book...”

“Come with me to front, we keep the book by the register in case anyone can’t get into the system.” He casually drapes an arm around your shoulder and you instinctually lean into him.

Hey, no one’s ever flirted with you before at work, and there’s no harm in it if you’re single. You know he’s probably smiling wider than fuck, but you could really care less at this point. Embarrassment ended when work jaded you. When you’re working 36 hours a week for minimum wage you tend to lose things like dignity.

“Here, make sure you check off this part with ‘New Store Labor’. Want me to get the ASM so he can tell you where to go?”

“That’d be great.” You insist. “I really appreciate you.”

“Stay right there!”

He runs off to the same isolated corner where you can hear the guys running drive thru taking orders. Before you write your name in the book, you notice that Narancia doesn’t clock in on the computer. The entire week is him filling out his punches in the book, one of many indicators that he was a barista who hated the new update for the punch log on the iPads. This indicates he’s the best kind of barista: the lazy fuck who can shortcut anything and come out on top. A few others prefer the book too, and you can’t help but admire the immaculate handwriting of this “Leone Abbacchio”, and you wonder if they’re as nice as their handwriting.

While you write in your punch, some dude with a funny looking orange beanie looks at you from his spot by the convection ovens, and you notice he’s muttering to himself on what looks like a gaming headset. When you make eye contact with him, he looks away as though he’s been caught committing a crime, saved by the loud beeping of the oven. He takes the tongs he’s holding and takes out some croissants, bagging them and putting stickers on the front before running them past you.

Narancia seems to be taking his sweet ass time with the assistant store manager. There’s another young looking guy, a blonde, at the point of sales system, the cafe is dead but bar is bumping, you can see other baristas pumping out drinks like their lives depend on it. Occasionally one will hand a drink off to a counter out of sight (probably to neon lipstick asshole who gang faced you earlier). The blonde leans against the counter, looking at you up and down the same way Narancia did. Vaguely you wonder: why did your friend say these guys were assholes? The blond and Narancia, along with the warming guy, seem perfectly content to check you out, and frankly you’re enjoying the attention. Fuck a duck, the guys here are hot!

“You’re the barista from Ogre Street?”

The question comes from the blonde at the POS system. You nod.

“Yessir. Just coming on board until the remodel happens.” You reply. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Fugo. You?”

He smiles when you tell him your name, but evidently you’re going to have to wait your turn to talk to him. That’s the beauty of working a coffee shop, customers just crawl out of the woodwork and line up at the POS system, and you smile when you hear Fugo’s very lovely “Welcome to Sudoh Buck, what may I get started for you today?”. It’s pretty awkward just chilling out by the pastry case. Typically you just jump into the first unmanned task when you walk into your store, but this is entirely new territory. Even the espresso machines are different here, you heard talk that soon all the new Sudoh Buck locations are getting what’s called Mastrena 4’s, whatever the shit that means. All you know is it’s supposed to make things a hell of a lot easier, and that you have to have it mastered before the remodel is completed.

“Sorry we kept you waiting for so long, you must be so confused.”

You’re pulled out of your stupor and suddenly face to face with the most gorgeous assistant store manager you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got what your coworkers would call a “Karen” haircut, but he wears it well, and apparently he doesn’t mind it all too much that you’re staring at him like he’s a piece of meat in a butcher shop. He’s tall, all legs and arms with broad shoulders in a black turtleneck sweater. Narancia is almost overshadowed by the ASM’s beauty (he returns wearing the same headset as the guy on oven duty), but you sneak a glance at him too just for a minute.

“Y-yea... I mean, no it’s cool. I just, it’s like was anyone going to tell me what to do? Or was I supposed to have a sense of purpose myself?”

... Jesus Christ on a crutch... you note that the ASM must really appreciate your blunt humor, because his blue eyes are even smiling as he laughs. Narancia can’t help but laugh too, and with both men looking like snacks whenever they smile you’re about to drop from being so weak in the knees.

“I think you’ll be a great fit here.” The ASM smiles, “My name is Bruno Buccellati. You are...”

Your name rolling off his tongue makes you weak again. Oh lort... how does any barista get work done around here with all this man candy???

“Before we start, what position are you most comfortable with?” Bruno asks.

You’re about ten seconds from blurting out something nasty: spit roast sounds nice, Narancia and oven guy can watch.

“Ok...” you steel yourself, fully prepared with a speech you’d rehearsed in the car only an hour before. “I’m gonna keep it real with you chief, I don’t know how to do anything in a drive thru, and I don’t know how to run the new Mastrenas. If someone can show me I can do bar, otherwise I’m down to help on cold.”

Bruno seems to take this into consideration, looking over at the line that’s forming on front. Narancia looks too, immediately hopping onto bar where he starts steaming milk and pulling espresso shots from the machine without anyone having to ask him. His quick response triggers that look in Bruno’s eyes, and he nods you over towards the bar.

“I think I’ll have you with Narancia on cold bar for now. He’s going to be cafe and drive thru bar, so whatever he needs help with, just pull the stickers and he can show you where everything is. We’ll kill this line, and then I can give you a more permanent assignment. How’s that sound?”

“Gotcha!”

You instantly spring into action, much more confident now that you have direction. Narancia is pulling stickers out of a square machine and pasting them to cups, handing the plastic ones to you where you spring into action. Getting into a sequence, you start a drink, begin another one, work on the first, then start a third, going on like this until you’ve got a rhythm. Pumping out teas, fraps, refreshers, anything iced at all. Your hands fly over your work, and you almost don’t hear the praises that are being showered on you.

“Damn look at her go!” Whistles Narancia, “Hey Mista! Check out bar star over here!”

The guy from warming is over your shoulder as you hand out a drink, calling out Tom’s 20 ounce passion hibiscus tea. He smiles at you for a split second, too dazzling for words, then runs back to the oven when his headset lights up.

Vaguely you wonder how the hell your friend had such a rough time here at this location when there’s so much nice man candy to look at.

[arthurjdrake]

Timing: Prior to the pie contest. Parties: @chasseurdeloup & Arthur Place: Arthur's House. Summary: Wanting to size up the competition, Kaden tracks a rather evasive bird.

Arthur stood in his kitchen, humming along to the tune playing out of the nearby speaker while occupied in the task of rolling out the pie dough, his old wooden rolling pin clacking at both ends with each smooth press and turn of the dough. There was no recipe on the counter, just a collection of potential combinations for fillings that he would test as he went. His baking never had really been about having a plan. Plans often went awry, and part of the fun was figuring it out as you went. It was cathartic and rather soothing, the smooth roll of the wood over the flour-dusted counter. Things had started to get back into a rhythm now that he was out of hospital. There were still jobs around the house that needed doing. Clean-up after the mime attack was still a current issue in the back of his mind in the form of the dark black marks on his white-oak floorboards. It was going to cost an arm and a leg to replace, but it needed to be done. He was just about to begin the process of draping the dough across the pie plate when he heard it - a loud crash outside. His heart leapt, suddenly trip-hammering as he glanced out the window while reaching for the nearby wooden knife rack. He stood silent and vigil waiting to hear if anything followed.

There were too many things going to shit in Kaden’s life. He just wanted to feel in control of one thing. One stupid tiny thing to go in his favor. The pie contest, he might lose, sure, but he needed to know the competition as best he could. And he knew exactly who his competition was. Arthur and his “incredible” pies. Maybe it was stupid to go and spy on the guy to see what he was making but he couldn’t get any intel online. And he was in the area. It was fine. He had an assignment around the corner, nothing about this was suspicious. Kaden tried to peek in the window from across the way, just to maybe see what fruit was there on the counter, one hint. But he couldn’t see much. Just that someone who was vaguely Arthur shaped was inside and doing things. Putain. He’d have to get closer. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, he crept closer to the window. The competition was baking. Perfect. If he had any qualms about getting even closer, they were gone now. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice. And if he did, Kaden would just claim there was a raccoon or something. He found a sizable rock and stepped on top, trying to get a better angle. As he stretched out his body, reaching to see a little more, he felt a sting of pain in his side. Fuck, still healing, he forgot. He stumbled and lost his balance, reaching out for anything to catch his fall. There was nothing, but he did crash into the watering can and other gardening supplies there on the lawn. The clash was not subtle. Shit. Maybe he could sneak away unnoticed. He went to stand up and his side screamed in pain. Well, guess running away wasn’t an option.

Arthur wasn’t one for gardening, spending excessive amounts of time outdoors digging around in dirt wasn’t really his idea of a good time. But Mercy had been insistent on coming over and working on the rather sad looking flowerbeds. Whether this was just another excuse to keep an eye on him, he wasn’t sure, but there was no harm in it and if it kept her from fussing then there was no real need to be concerned. The one thing was, she never put the damn tools away after she was done with them; preferring to leave them out by the side of the house for ease of access the next time she came. He couldn’t always be bothered to put them away and today it seemed they were also another layer of announcement that something was outside. Grabbing his phone off the counter and cancelling the music, he kept the small paring knife handy as he headed for the side door. Slipping on the pair of shoes there he unlocked the door and stepped outside peering around curiously. It was probably just some animal, best to check the bins anyway, he was just walking round the side path when he came upon a very human sized shape on the ground and his eyebrows rose towards his hairline as did the knife just a fraction. “What the--?” He stared at the figure until he recognised just who it was on the ground and the knife lowered, “Kaden? What are you doing down there?”

Kaden was in the middle of trying to push himself up when he saw Arthur running out with a knife. Putain. He almost flopped back over in pure defeat. This was at best embarrassing and at worst very fucking bad. “Uh, hi. Sorry about the,” he started as he got onto his knees and looked over at the flower beds and gardening supplies. It was all a mess to say the least. Pretty sure something was a little trampled. He tried to clumsily rearrange things, fumbling to put the tools back in place, but they mostly just fell and clanged around some more. As he stood, he tried to fluff back up one of the plants and it simply sagged. Right. Fuck. That wasn’t working so he stood instead, wincing in pain as he did. “There was-- Hi. Right. I was called out to look for a, um, a lost… bird. A bird. And I thought I saw it over… there.” He whirled around and pointed off in a direction with almost no trees. Great. “I’m sorry. I know this is private property. I’m overstepping. I just got a little carried away. Thought I almost had him.” It ws then Kaden realized he didn’t have a single fucking thing on him tocatch any animal at all. Let alone a bird. No cage. No net. Putain.

Arthur lowered the knife gripped tightly in his hand when he saw the sprawled form of the other man on the floor outside. He remained in the doorway, looking rather perplexed as Kaden began to try and get up out of the righteous mess of gardening supplies outside. “Ah lort,” he muttered under his breath at the sight of the trampled flower beds. He’d have to explain that one to Mercy. She wouldn’t be impressed even as Kaden tried to pet the leaves back upright where they drooped sadly in place. “A bird?” he repeated giving Kaden a curious look, following the point of his finger towards the distance. “Then if you saw it over there…” he nodded in the referenced direction, before his gaze returned to Kaden by the trampled flower beds “why are you over here?” It seemed rather suspicious. And the slow way he seemed to contemplate the issue seemed to give away his mind was on a similar track to where Kaden had concluded “it’s fine..., But would you not like… need something to catch a bird? A net or a cage or something? They can’t be easy to catch by hand…”

Putain de merde . This was a disaster. Kaden should turn and run. Just run. It’d be easier. But no, he couldn’t without immense pain. Were his wounds bleeding? Shit, they were definitely bleeding a little. Putain. “It, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to explain it. “It was over here. First. Almost had it. Flew away. As birds… do.” He was going to get stabbed or get the police called on him. Sure, alright, he was the police. Kind of. Not sure it counted right now. “You’re right. I do need that. Wow, I cannot believe I forgot that. I am going to go. Now. And go get that. From my car. Which is not here. It’s somewhere else.” He thought he might be able to inch away but, uh, well he was here. “You’re alright, though? Bird was’t, uh bothering you? Are you working on that pie now? Think i may have seen you in the kitchen. Not that I was looking.” Smooth. Very smooth. He should still try to run.

Arthur remained on the top step that led down to the path beside the garden. There was no denying the fact Kaden seemed to be in pain and as he reached a hand back to scratch his neck Arthur noticed some specks of red beginning to faintly stain the material. He noted it mentally but didn’t remark. “Did you get hurt in the fall?” there was a minor note of concern even with the suspicion as to why Kaden was here. Even with the strange way the man was acting, Arthur could rather easily set aside smaller issues for more pressing matters which in his mind injury constituted. What a strange man. “Hm? Oh, yeah I’m fine… No, no didn’t hear anything ‘til your tumble… Strange… I wonder what it was doing over here...” his head cocked a little glancing over his shoulder for a moment before his eyes flickered to the window, the rock and back to Kaden. A quick assessment of how Kaden had fallen considering which plants had been squashed and Kaden’s own very badly concealed self-confirmation gave him all the answers he needed. So he wanted to play it off as a bird incident? Well, two could play at that game. “I was. Decided to keep things simple… Did you want a drink or something? Coffee or tea? That sounded like a fair fall you took… Must’ve hurt.”

“Hmm? Oh, this?” Kaden said as he looked down at his wounds. Fuck, that looked worse then he’d hoped. “Nah, got it on the job a few days ago. Big angry animal. Teeth. Claws. This just reopened it is all.” He tried to step to the side a little. Just one step to angle himself farther away from the house. Maybe it’d give him an out to leave. He could lie. Say he saw the bird. Even though he was fairly positive Arthur would never buy it. Not that he would either if he were in his shoes. Then he saw the realization wash over the other man’s face and he tried not to wince too badly. Damn smart bastard. He was really ready to book it when Arthur invited him in. Kaden’s brow creased and his head tilted slightly. Not what he saw coming. “Oh, uh, I don’t mean to intru--” Too late for that. But then a thought hit him. He could spy a lot easier from inside the house. “Actually, uh, yeah. I would. If you’re sure. It’d be nice to wipe this down at least,” he said, gesturing to his shirt, indicating the wounds underneath. “Sorry to waste your time like this.” The guy was nicer than he expected. Which only dug under his skin a little.

“Ouch,” Arthur winced as Kaden explained about this big bad animal he’d had to deal with, there was genuine sympathy in the look. In all honesty, even if Kaden was here for the reason Arthur suspected it didn’t mean he couldn’t equally be concerned about the blood that seemed to be staining the fabric. “I think we’re a bit past that point,” Arthur waved off the beginnings of his protest, if Kaden didn’t mean to intrude he wouldn’t be a hundred meters from the main road around the back of Arthur’s house without having first knocked on the door to announce his presence. But that was neither here nor there really. “Don’t worry about it,” he backed up, leaving the door open for Kaden to follow. The double french-doors opened immediately into an open-plan living-kitchen diner area, warm and homely with plenty of windows to let light shine in and illuminate the space naturally while offering views of the ocean beyond. “There’s a bathroom just past the pantry, first aid kit’s in the cupboard beneath the sink. Should have some stuff in there you can use.” He made his way back through to the kitchen, taking the time to drape a tea-towel over some of the plates ‘to keep the flies off’ the ingredients set out. “You look more of a coffee than a tea guy,” he remarked moving to grab a moka pot out of the cupboard along with a couple of mugs.

Kaden followed inside and tried not to be too wonderstruck by the sheer size of the house as he stepped inside. Sure, he’d seen it from the outside, but the interior was just as nice. Spacious and inviting. Not empty but not crowded either. His eyes peeled away from the tall ceilings just long enough to follow Arthur’s line of sight and instructions to the bathroom. “Thanks,” he said as he started walking in that direction. “Coffee, you’re right.” The bathroom wasn’t too far off from the kitchen. He rummaged under the sink and started to clean and redress his wounds with the gauze there. With the door open, he could still hear Arthur loud and clear. “Though I have to say, it’s been a while now since I’ve had a truly good cup of espresso. The cafes here are fine and all but the best here barley seem to compare to the mediocre back home.” Possibly harsher than reality, but his love of good coffee bought out strong opinions. “I’m sure you have similar opinions on the tea here. I heard many a complaint about the use of tea bags in certain establishments.” The bandages looked alright enough. They definitely weren’t getting any better by his hands, that was for sure. He could already see Regan having a field day with his handiwork. Once he was done, he put the kit away and headed back into the kitchen. To his dismay, the ingredients on the counter were covered. Putain. He knew he should have paid more attention on the way in, but he thought he’d have more time to scout. He tried to discern what sorts of shapes were under the towels and what could be hidden underneath, but they were too obscured. He’d never know. He considered scooting over to the counter and just subtly taking a peek under the towels.

There were still odd jobs that needed doing around the house, but for the most part Arthur was starting to finally settle in at his new address. “Yeah, White Crest leaves a lot to be desired in its beverage options… I asked for tea and got given iced tea which is a minor tragedy I still haven’t entirely recovered from…” the memory made him shiver a little “the amount of sugar in that shit is crazy… Makes you wonder how any of them still have teeth.” He had to laugh a little, despite his strangeness it was ironic how similar they viewed certain mundane things of existence. It made Arthur wonder just what Kaden’s gripe really was that they couldn’t somehow get along. While Kaden was busy, Arthur set about getting the moka pot heating through on the stove; a unique little contraption that he’d picked up during his time in italy. If there was one thing that could be said about them they could make a pretty kicker coffee. While that was running he went to open another cupboard and took out a small glass vial filled with a crystal clear liquid that he carefully poured into one of the mugs. The freshly brewed coffee was transferred to this cup, stirred a few times and set out on the center island of the kitchen. Next, he brewed up his own cup of coffee leaving it to steep a while, weak tea truly was the bane of his existence. “Any milk?” He noticed a couple of times in moving around the kitchen how Kaden eyed some of the things out on the counter, hardly surreptitious in what he was looking at. But Arthur knew how to bring a conversation away from a certain focal point, “so what kind of bird was it?”

As Arthur prepared the coffee, Kaden took it upon himself to slowly “admire” the kitchen. Casually looking around at the cupboards, the counter tops, the plates hiding the pie in question under towels on top of said countertops. Just one corner, he could make it subtle. His fingertips reached out to touch the edge of the towel when Arthur spoke again. His head shot up and his hand dropped flat to his side. “Sugar? Tea?” He shook his head and played back everything the man just said. “Right. Yeah, you have to wonder. So many things here are just too sweet I don’t see the appeal. I mean, of course in a good pastry or pie, you want a bit of sweetness. It’s the point. But there’s sweet and then there’s just a mouthful of sugar.” He cringed thinking of one of the danishes he’d tried at one of the cafes. It had been a mistake. He had the feeling Arthur understood. And if he got some insight into that goddamn pie, all the better. “No milk, thanks. I saw how you prepared it. I doubt it needs any help.” He considered faking a stumble and tripping into one of the plates just to find out what was there, but that would sabotage. Not his angle. He wasn’t there to ruin anyone else’s efforts, just size up the competition, see what he had to raise to. If he had to outright cheat to win that wouldn’t feel like a win at all. He sat, eyes still drifting to the ingredients sitting there right out of sight, taunting him, and once again had to snap back to Arthur. “Bird?” His brow creased. Putain . That was right. “Bird. Right. It was, a, uh, a…” He couldn’t even remember if he’d said pet or wild bird before. He took a sip of his coffee to buy some time. It was obnoxiously wonderful. “That’s good. Really. Thanks.” Fairly certain he said lost. “Cockatoo. Lost pet, you know. Really thought I had it.” Another sip of his coffee. Strange. He must have needed to change the dressings on his wounds more than he’d thought. His side wasn’t quite burning with pain anymore. It felt settled somehow. Maybe this was just some damn good coffee.

It was entertaining, to dangle the carrot and watch Kaden jump like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar whenever he tried his hand at the antics he was even here for. “Well, of course but like you say those need to be somewhat sweet, not overly so though of course,” at Kaden’s denial of milk, Arthur nodded and poured a dash into his own before returning it to the fridge. He turned back to lean casually against the counter where the ingredients sat covered, the mug held loosely between his palms kept warm by the constant heat of his natural body-heat. “Best purchase I ever made, I know people take the piss but Italians sure do know the best way to navigate a cup of coffee… I once went to Padua and I tried this Pedrocchi coffee - it’s a regional speciality, mint and espresso - who would’ve thought? But damn, it works so well.” He lifted the mug and took a sip of his tea watching Kaden fumble over the story he’d dropped himself in. “Oh yeah? Who was the owner? I’ll be sure to check in and let them know I’ll keep an eye out as well.”

“Oh yeah. All about balance. All that. Of course.” Maybe if he angled himself just right, Kaden could catch a whiff of the ingredients. Of course when he breathed deep to try, all the could smell were the pungent aromas of good coffee. It really was the best cup he’d had in months. Hated admitting that. “They do. Not that I’d ever tell a single Italian that to their face. I can’t let them feel that superior. They don’t need my help.” Kaden wanted to roll his eyes at the mention of Padua and what not. Did he sound like this when he talked about French wine? Putain, probably. He resisted the urge but just barely. “That does sound good, though. Maybe I’ll try it someday if I ever make it back across the Atlantic.” That necessitated not dying in fucking White Crest, Maine first. A hard thing to avoid. Kaden took an extra long sip of his coffee at the further questioning, trying to make sure his eyes didn’t go too wide and panicked outwardly. Putain. What was a common American name? ���John, uh…” Doe was not the name he wanted. “You know, I don’t remember his last name. Just John. All I got. Real shame he lost it. The bird.”

“No? Huh, I feel it’s worth telling anyone if something’s truly good and enjoyable… Gives that person the best kind of incentive to carry on doing that level of great work.” After all, in Arthur’s mind if you didn’t tell people things were good what was the reason for them to think it was worth it? He did his best to pass gratitude on, knowing the times in the past the thought of things he’d done for people had helped him push through the bad. “I’m not sure they feel superior… I know a fair few Italians who are very grounded.” It seemed a little stereotypical to hear Kaden say that in all honesty, but maybe he hadn’t met many? “I could probably find the recipe if you want it?” Maybe next time there was a community event he’d do that. But talk returned to the bird and Arthur’s features grew thoughtful “huh, I don’t know any John's round here… Did he give you the bird’s name? Any pictures? I’d be happy to keep an eye out if you’d like?”

Kaden wanted to roll his eyes again. What a goody goody teacher thing to say. “Sometimes certain people don’t need their egos boosted. Their heads are big enough already.” Sometimes people needed to be taken down a peg. And if he could just. See. Those. Ingredients. No luck. “Come on, it’s just a friendly rivalry, you know. It’s not about individuals. Just ribbing, that’s all.” He had to wonder if Arthur was the type to joke around much or tease. It struck him that wasn’t really how he operated. Too nice to everyone. Why that dug under Kaden’s skin a little, he couldn’t say. “A name? Um-- Tweety. It was cliche, I know.” He gave a nervous laugh. “At least it wasn't a canary, right?” This was getting to be too much. And oh look, the coffee was gone. Kaden raised his arm and looked at his watch very pointedly. “Oh wow, is that the time? I-- oh wow, this just, it was so great, I didn’t think I’d been here that long. I really have to go. Other assignments. Dogs to find. Cats in trees. All of that.” When he stood and started to walk away, he realized just how little his side hurt. He didn’t even feel like he had to hobble a little or wince too much with each footfall. Guess they were really good bandages. “Thanks for the coffee and not--” Reporting him. “You know. Thanks. Good luck with the pie.” As Kaden left, he felt pretty stupid for the whole thing. Maybe he should just accept that some people were nicer than him and just meant well and had talents. Or he could go home and make the best fucking pie he could posssible manage and win that stupid contest instead.

[fauvester]

7, 9, 29 for humankaiju mosugoji and/or rodorah pls! ;w ;

CLAPS MY HAAANDS thank u

7.  Goji and Mothra usually end up at Monster Island together on Friday nights after work. Sometime’s Mothra’s ambulance shift doesn’t end until later and Goji waits for her and orders takeout so that it’s there when she shows up and they eat in one of the booths and listen to the late night karaoke. Neither of them are very talkative, but they have interesting lives and deep history to draw from.

When they want to do something special together, sometimes they load up Mothra’s old range rover and they drive out into the mountains and spend a weekend hiking and camping. Goji really lets loose when nobody else is around and she and Mothra can goof off and try to cook over a campfire, or splash around in a creek together and look at interesting wildlife.

They’re also big fans of Hanging Around though, since Goji’s pretty lazy and Mothra’s always tired after work. If you ever need to find them, Goji’s porch, lying on the swing, watching the waves, shooting the shit and sharing a beer, is a good place to look.

+ Rodan and the triplets’ date nights are all over the place lol.  Rodan likes going to events, so he’s always on the lookout for parties, concerts and dances, especially downtown. His tastes have mellowed out since his thrasher days but he still likes a good mosh. Since the Ghidorahs don’t, though, he usually takes them out to outdoor music festivals, neighborhood parties and local band performances instead.  They rarely all go out together, since their schedules and tastes can interfere with each other’s, so he can pick and choose who he takes to what.

That’s what Rodan’d prefer, at least, just going out once or twice a week to Hang Out Together, but they Ghidorahs (at least at first) keep trying to take him downtown for lavish dinners at the finest restaurants in the city… at the top of the highest building… places with years-long waitlists… and that’s so not Rodan’s scene (at least not that frequently, but he wouldn’t complain about the free food and great mixed drinks.)  Once they cool down a little with the overbearing courtship, they embrace the art of co-working with their boyfriend, especially since the three are running a multinational company and have to do a lot of paperwork. Rodan comes over to their place for a few days to work on his own stuff and they all sit in the blindingly bright minimalist living room and type away and Rodan scratches everyone’s heads.

9.  Oh god they’ve known each other for so long they’ve gone through too much stuff to be embarrassed hjkhj

Goji had a tantrum about having to wear braces in middle school (she did not ever wear braces, and as such, she has ‘fangs’ where her incisors didn’t grow in right). Mothra threw up in a gutter walking home after she drank too much at a house party in high school and had to strip down to her slip and Goji gave her her jacket and walked her home. It was really awkward for everyone. They broke up like 6 months later.

+ Ichi admitting he slept with Gigan one time is really high up there for him (kidding, but not really.)

The Ghidorahs are all deeply concerned about their image, so being embarrassed is their number-one fear and they avoid it strenuously.

Rodan isn’t actually embarrassed by much. He lives by the philosophy that most things in life are about as bad as you make them, so he tries not to be embarrassed by things. It’s a lesson his partners could stand to learn.

29. They have a very old-married-couple attitude, despite the tenuousness of their relationship at the moment. Now that they’re older, though, different aspects of their personality are emerging. Goji really loves kids, which Mothra never expected from her. When Mothra’s twin nieces stay over Goji always finds an excuse to visit and play with them. Even though she’s not the most smiley person, she’s protective, creative, and loves telling children about explosions and dinosaurs (their two favorite things.)  Mothra melts every time.

Goji used to write Mothra off as being sort of hands-off, delicate and weak – not necessarily in a bad way, but in a that’s-what-it-is way. Goji went to parties, got into fights and had all kinds of trouble, and Mothra’s avoidance of that, her softness and her desire for peace, was interpreted as timidity and frailty.  But after all the things she’s gone through Goji’s had a chance to appreciate how incredibly resilient, gritty and strong she is. When it seems like she’d be crushed or destroyed she comes back stronger, wiser and softer.

The time she stabbed Rodan was also sort of a “OH SHIT NO BABE lol that was so hot though BUT NO THAT’S OUR FRIEND”

+ After a few weeks of faking attention to spite Goji, and out of a morbid sort of interest, Ichi actually finds that he likes Rodan. He especially likes that he has no compunction about standing up to him. The two of them can have some amazing arguments; he likes the challenge. But later he also realizes how soft Rodan can be, especially when he’s scared. Once he gets to know the Ghidorahs better he’s less worried about coming off as weak and he lets himself be affectionate and apologetic and cheesy and instead of being disgusted or put off Ichi’s just like… oh lort I love this little bastard.  San likes him from the beginning, but seeing him throw hands with his old friends to fight for him and his brothers.  Deep down he just wants people to show up for and protect him.  Ni gets used to Rodan eventually, and even though he never has the same sort of passionate romantic love for him that his brothers do, when he realizes that Rodan’s been listening to everything he monologues about – and reading outside material about Danish property laws and cotemporary architecture - he realizes how much he’s underestimated him.

Rodan realizes that he’s in love right at first; he’s been fighting against his feelings since he first found out who they were and what they did, but he can’t help it and he can’t stay away, and the dread and desire are equal.  Later, after the fireworks and the drama and then long after he loses them, he searches for them elsewhere. He goes to Copenhagen and finds the house they grew up in. He reads Ichi’s favorite books and plasters his kitchen table with Ni’s building blueprints, looking for traces of him in the margins and floorplans.  With Gigan’s help he gets access to San’s encrypted personal email and reads all the conversations that they had together.

They didn’t know each other for long enough to find these things out the natural way, so Rodan clutches to each scrap of information, each turn of phrase or picture or detail, preciously.

[fanmaniac]

King Dice Singing

A DevilDice, DiceCup, Normal fic all smashed up together!

Song used: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8mq4UT4VnbE

________________________________________________________________

It’s a slow afternoon around the casino. Customers come around night so there wasn’t really anyone hanging out at the casino, so usually around this time the employees had free time to play a couple games themselves.

“Black Jack!” Cuphead exclaims.

“Way to go bro!” his brother Mugman cheers.

“Again? Really?!” King Dice slams his cards down. That was the 21st time in a row and that can’t just be pure luck.

“I swear if I hear you made a deal with another demon…” the Devil growls.

“Ah don’t blame me for having actual skills.” Cuphead smugly said leaning back in his chair.

That really got the Devil fired up.

Cuphead and the Devil then went back and forth in a heated fight about what are “actual skills” and poor Mugman was trying to break it up. King Dice just ignores their immature bickering and starts shuffling up the cards. He starts humming an old jazz tune.

“Hey Dice….why do ya always hum?” Mugman spoke up trying to distract the two from fighting. Everyone already quieted down to listen to the humming.

“Eh I just like the sound of my own voice.” He responded nonchalantly.

He honestly never really thought about it before. He always hums. He hums to himself, hums while gambling, hums while working on paperwork…

“If ya like it so much how ‘bout you sing?” the Devil suggest with a mischievous smile.

“Yeah! Sing for us, I’m getting tired of winning to ol’ furball here” Cuphead snickers.

If he doesn’t stop everyone knows that all hell will break loose.

Literally.

“Please…” Mugman barely says above a whisper as he shrank back. There’s fire in the Devil’s eyes and looks like he’s gonna blow.

“Alright fellas I’ll sing for ya. I haven’t had an audience in ‘while.” He stands up and straightens himself before heading to the stage.

The stage is for the casino’s own jazz band. It was an instant smash hit with the customers.  

Of course it was, he did lead the band after all.

He learned from his pop. But he himself never actually sung before; his ol pop was a jazz singer himself but…that was a long time ago.

He still remembers some of his pop’s songs. A good ol’ classic should do.

When he makes it to the center of the stage, he clears out his throat and hope for the best.

“Hey folks, here’s a story ‘bout Minnie the Moocher~”

Everyone knew that song. Even the boys smiled from the nostalgia.

“She was a red-hot hoochie-coocher,

She was the roughest, toughest frail

But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale~

Hi dee hi dee hi dee ho!”

The guys join in.

(Hi dee hi dee hi dee ho!)

“Wooooooaaaah!”

(Wooooooaaaah!)

Even the devil couldn’t help but smile. Cuphead was trying to hold back a giggle himself.

Some customers came in and sat down near the stage when they heard the singing. Then band slowly join in with the singing.

King Dice decided to tease them with a little dance. Getting low and swaying this way and that, as he waves his arms as though they had a mind of their own. No one in the whole audience can take their eyes off of him.

The whole room starts hooting and hollering and whistling.

And loudest ones came from the devil. Dear Lort what did he do to deserve a guy like Dice? That vibrating baritone that you feel in your chest, and the way he hits those notes.That voice can bring angels to their feet.

Meanwhile, Cuphead just was in absolute awe. He never thought King Dice’s voice could be this good. It was just majestic, elegant, loud, proud it was…King Dice.Honestly a blush was forming.

King Dice felt nostalgic. A full house, the band swinging, the hoots and hollers littered throughout the show reminded of way back then.

He was a waiter at the Cotton Club where his dad worked and every night he would see his dad perform. Everyone loved him, they just couldn’t get enough of him. He being the lucky son of the star, got special privileges like going backstage and hanging out with the band and they even taught him how to play their instruments.

Everybody went on and on about how lucky he was to be his son. And how lucky he was. He would stay up after a long show to tuck him in, read him stories with that funny voice he used, and when he grew up, he would talk to him between breaks at work. He knew he loved him to bits.

And he loved his pop to bits too.

“Poor Min, Poor Min, Poor Min~” he bows as he wails out the last note.

The whole house stood up and erupted with applause. King Dice didn’t even see the house was really packed. They seem to really love him, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

The dice-head gets off the stage walks over to the table where the fellas are at and sees poor Cuphead flabbergasted, his mouth hanging and his eyes blown wide open.

Dice lifts a finger,“Close your mouth, you’re going to get flies in there~” and closes Cup’s mouth.

“Dicey! Why didn’t you tell me you had a voice of gold?” The devil patted Dice on the back.

Dice only smugly reply with “You never asked~.”

He was glad that the fellas liked his singing. He was…ecstatic even. He was…

“Dice?! What’s wrong?” Mugman notice tears welling up in King Dice’s eyes. Everyone at the table turned to look.

“Nothing, nothing just… being up on stage reminds me about my pops and it’s been a long while since I-”

A tear or two drops down and spots his suit up but he uses his handkerchief to wipe his face.

He sighs,“Since I last thought about him”.

Suddenly, he felt someone grabbing his leg.

He looked down to see Cuphead hugging his leg tightly.

Then Mugman on the other.

Then a hug from the side from the devil himself.  

King Dice sigh, shakes his head then smiles a genuine smile.

‘These idiots are going to get my clothes all wrinkled’

His hugs them back just this once. He really needed it.

After the hug party was over, the Devil announces his plans.

“Ho ho ho We’re definitely having you perform from now on”

“Boss, I possibly can’t. I have to do too much work to do around here-”

“Your workload will be lighter. Hire as many  employees you need.”

“Boss-”

“Dice! Nothing you can do will stop you from going up on that stage. The crowd loved you! And think about how many customers this will attract; business will go through the roof!”

That and he wants to hear Dice sing again but he won’t tell him that part.

“By golly you’d knock them dead out there!” Cuphead chipped in.

“You really think I was that good?” he asked the little cup.

“Good? You were tremendous! I gamble all my money to hear your voice again.” Cuphead said with enthusiasm. Mugman nodded in agreement with his brother.

He patted Cuphead on the head.

“Ya know that’s all the courage I need to do this. Thanks little cup.” He watches as Cuphead’s face grow red.

“Does that mean-” he said too excitedly “I mean… you’ll do it?” the horned demon asks.

“Of course~ Since I know you’re dying to hear my lovely voice again.”

Thank everything unholy that his fur cover up his blush.

                                                       ~~                                         

 Later in the dressing room that evening, King Dice was preparing himself for tonight’s show.

Everything was ready to go. Everything was perfect. Everything was just fine. So why is he pacing back and forth around the room?

Normal stage fright? Sure but… it was never like this.

‘What if I hit a sour note?’ I haven’t sang in a long time. ‘What if the audience hates me? I’m not exactly a crowd favorite here…’ He peeked at the audience and saw that at least half the crowd were well known debtors. He can get through that but what he’s mostly worried about is…

‘What if I cry on stage?’

He barely has his head above the sea of doubt and the thoughts are like the monsters, hiding just beneath the surface ready to drag him down into the abyss.

His thoughts are interrupted by 6 knocks on the door. Must be the fuzzball himself with his signature knock.

“Heya Dicey! We came by to wish ya good luck.” the Devil greets.

“Who’s we?” Dice looks around.

Cuphead steps into view. He’s holding something behind his back.

“What ya got there little cup?” King Dice kneels down and asks curiously.

“A good luck charm” he said avoiding his eyes. He holds out a little red poker chip keychain.

King Dice picks it up and looks at it for awhile.

‘He doesn’t like it? Man I knew I should of got the-’

“Aww Cup, even though it’s an ugly color…”

‘You ungrateful little-’

“I love it. Thank You for thinking of me” he smiles and puts the keychain in his coat pocket.

Cuphead’s face was as red as his shorts. He rushes out with a quick “You’re welcome” and high tails out of there.

‘Gosh that cup is cute.’

The two remaining in the room just chuckle and move to sit down at the vanity. “Dice, I know what happened to your pop.” the Devil said his voice sad. King Dice isn’t even surprised to to hear that, he expected that he knew everything. “He was a great guy my pop. The best there ever was” he said with a heavy voice. “You are too and don’t ever forget that.” the Devil pats his shoulder. He really appreciates that his boss cares about him. “Aww boss, what made ya ever think that I didn’t know that?” “Nothing. But I can’t have my right hand man running off stage now.” “Oh? You thought that I would abandon my audience?” he puts a hand over his heart, offended. “I bet that you’ll run off before halfway through the show.” The Devil said showing his signature smile. “I bet that you’ll be in tears halfway through the show~” King Dice says right back. “Whoever wins get the remote for a week~” “Deal~” After shaking hands, the Devil walks out of the dressing room, hoping that this is will be one bet that he does lose. As soon as he closes the door King Dice heads right out to the stage. He stops and tells the stagehand to bring the sax out and bring tissues for the audience. He’s gonna make some people cry tonight.

[geminimoonbeamx]

Naive: Part 2

A/N: I’m so freaking happy you guys seemed to like the intro, I wrote this and a few other chapters up in one night! Hopefully I can get you guys as hyped as I am for this story

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Just cursing in this chapter because I have the mouth of a sailor. The stirrings of sexual tension. The big stuffs coming next time though you guys I promise lol

Summary: As the goddaughter of Tony Stark you were no stranger to the Avengers, but when you meet the newest member- you’re a little more then intrigued. Unfortunately for him, Bucky Barnes has caught your eye. 💘💘💘💘💘💘

You’ve been at the tower for close to five-ish days now, and you’re still trying to get reaccoustomed to the enormity of the building.

Had it always been so fucking big?

You’d think since you we’re older now, it should have shrunk a bit. You know, size relativity and all that? If anything now that you we’re older you had the mental capacity to process just how freakishly huge this building was. The man tower is over sixty floors.

…that gave you a lot of opportunity to get totally lost. All the time.

You’d never had the greatest internal navigation system in the first place. You could get lost down the street from your house.

“I don’t know where I am! I’m between a Del Taco and a Walgreens”

You’d made many a lost phone call that sounded just like that.

You’d probably text Tony and ask him exactly what floor the main gym was on but 1) he’d tease you and ask “How exactly do you plan on playing Lara Croft all over the world and you cant find your way to the gym” and 2) it was three thirty in the morning.

You we’re irritated, being up this early when you didn’t have to. Especially when within the next few weeks you’d be starting adult life again and you’d have no choice but to wake up at the ass crack of dawn. It felt like a waste of precious sleep.

But no matter how hard you’d tried, it was no use. You’d smoked an entire joint of indica. Made chamomile tea- meditated until it felt like you we’re going to scream. Everything. And yet you couldn’t manage to get comfortable in the king sized, memory foam mattress.

Starting to come down off of the medication hadn’t been as awful as you and Tony had both been fearing. You we’re a little jittery- your anxiety acting up more then normal but you weren’t all strung the hell out and pale with sunken in eyes. You weren’t crying, hunched up in a corner begging for death or your next fix.

You we’re tired though. Exhausted and yet somehow couldn’t sleep. Your body just wouldn’t let you.

Why? Why lort? Sleeping was your favorite activity in the world. Dreaming an actual hobby of yours.

“This is bullshit” You complained to Tony a few days ago. You we’re going on 48 hours with close to no sleep. “I feel like I did like a kilo of Cocaine”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. You don’t know what cocaine feels like. That’s what I’m going to choose to believe” He had given you a pointed look when the both of you sat in his lab “Look kid, we knew there would be some side effects. It should ware off within the week, as your body gets used to this lower dosage. I can have the doc prescribe you some sleeping pills?”

You’d thought on it for a moment before denying it. You didn’t really wanting to be taking more meds right now.

“Alright, when you change your mind come find me” Tony had sighed. Your head was full of cement. Just like Jamie’s had been.

So since you didn’t take prescription- you figured you we’re going to have to find another way.

Your brilliant idea; run your body down until it had no choice but to crash.

It takes you another close to fifteen minutes before you find the main gym. It’s just a luxurious and lush as the rest of the building; three stories high. The top two floors looking over the large basket ball court. The equipment was state of the art and the various metal machines gleamed. You figured you’d do some cardio and then some weight lifting. Double whammy yourself.

People who have the pre conceived notion that fat people never work out are stupid. Point blank.

What, do they think people like you just sit on couches and stuff their mouths with twinkies while watching Rosanne…well that actually sounded like a good ass time but still.

You’d always been active, always loved going on hikes and exploring zoo’s and Museums and beaches for hours. Plus hadn’t anyone realized that shopping was the most hardcore cardio there was? And you lived to shop. After your mom- you’d needed to do something. To keep your mind clear and that is how your relationship with working out had come to be. You didn’t do it to lose weight, you did it to work on your health. Mental mostly, but your physical health came with that. Yeah you had a belly and thunder thighs. You also had kick ass blood pressure and strong calves.

You slip your headphones in after switching on your “Get it gurllll” playlist and hopping onto one of the elliptical machines, putting your water bottle in the holder before turning on the machine to pick your traction, starting at a decent pace.

The music shuffles from Amy Winehouse to J. Cole, to Lana Del Rey and Fleetwood Mac. Everyone had always teased you that you liked to work out to slow songs. It was something about the melody that got you moving. You go through song after song, keeping up your pace until your legs are screaming in protest and your breaths are labored.

With the blaring music in your ears, you don’t notice when someone else enters the room.

Bucky always came to workout early, usually getting the gym to himself. It’s not even that he liked the quiet or being alone or any of that- even though it was nice to not have Sam’s annoying, booming voice around. No, it was because he didn’t have anything else to do. When he woke up from the nightmares that still frequented him, he figured he should do something with all of that pent up energy, so he’d come to the empty gym and work his muscles until he could barley move.

He wasn’t used to the lights already being on when he got there.

He takes the steps to the cardio machine and stops in his tracks for a moment at the sight infront of him.

Y/N’s there, on an elliptical. He can hear the music in your ears from his spot across the floor, so he knew there was no way you could have heard him come in. Your working hard, your body straining in your skin tight leggings. Your silky ponytail bobs with your efforts, your breaths coming out in little pants. He can feel the look on his face. What were you doing here this early?

Should he leave? Was that weird, if he left after seeing that you was there? Surely this place was big enough for the two of you.

He thinks it’s probably smart to make his presence known, he’s just about to call for you when you stop and turn your head.

“OH HOLY FUCKING FUCK!” You cry in shock, your eyes wide with surprise as you yank the headphones from your ears before grabbing your chest, almost falling off the machine.

Bucky stands there, his own eyes big and his hands shooting up in a “sorry, I’m harmless” kind of way. A wordless surrender.

When your bell like laughter echo’s around him he relaxes a little bit “Bucky you scared the living crap out of me”

You accuse, good naturedly, still holding your hoodie clad chest.

“I’m sorry, It’s usually dead at this time so I kind of just barged in. I didn’t realize anyone is here” He explains himself. Leaving out the fact that he’d taken a moment to look at the way your thighs joggled in the spandex, of course.

You don’t know why you feel so…hot. Are your cheeks burning? No? It’s just your body reacting to the heart attack you’d almost just had.

“No, you’re good. Just give a girl a little warning next time, okay?” You chuckle as look down at the touch screen of the machine. You’d been on it for over an hour. You grab your water bottle and hop off. He hides his smile at how short your legs are.

“I’ll make sure to do that. So what are you doin’ up so early?” He hopes his attempt to make conversation didn’t sound as forced as it felt.

“I couldn’t sleep so I figured I might as well come try to run myself until I can knock out. You? I thought that you and Steve and Sam have some sort of fitness club?” You walk over to him, giving him a small smile before passing him on your way to the weights section. He shakes his head with a low chuckle and follows you,

Not because he was - like- following you. But because he was going to warm up with some lifting anyway.

You plop down on one of the leg lifts “You an insomniac like me?”

“Somethin’ like that. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep and figured somethin’ the same” Bucky goes over and lays out flat on one of the work benches, adjusting the weights.

“Hmm great minds think alike then” You croon. You hadn’t really gotten the chance to get to know him yet. Yeah, the two of you had talked in passing. At dinner. When you we’re messing with Steve. But never alone like this.

Damn. Did he look GOOD in those gray sweatpants.

“They do. How long have you been here” Bucky inquires as he grabs onto the weight bar and begins to lift. It’s nothing major. Not to him. Just three hundred pounds- on each side.

You watch him with wonder at the ease his arms move with.

You know its weird, but its hot seeing someone being able to bench that much with little effort…you wonder how easily he’d be able to bench you…

“Like an hour?” You answer him, tearing your eyes away from him.

Huh, he thinks. You’d been working out like that on the elliptical for an hour? You didn’t even look that winded.

“You work out a lot?” He feels like an idiot the moment it comes out of his mouth and your laughter doesn’t make it any better.

“What are you trying to say, huh?” You’re not mad, mostly just seizing the opportunity to tease him.

“Nothing! I just meant that you- uh- looked good up there. Like you don’t even look tired” He tries to unjumble his words, feeling like a total fucking bozo all the way.

“Yeah? Thanks. I spent the summer sight seeing in Europe which meant hiking like everywhere. I sweat I climbed like a gazillion steps. I guess it strengthened my core”

“Where in Europe did you go exactly?” He decides to go with a safer topic. Hoping he wont continue to make a total ass out of himself. He’d happened to have done his fair share of hiking that continent.

“All over but I mostly Italy. I spent a few weeks in Greece though, those we’re my favorite” You sound wistful. And that’s how it starts.

Bucky used to be able to spark up a conversation with just about anyone. Back before- back when he was younger, he could keep a conversation flowing like no one’s business. Steve had always idolized the way the people just seemed to like the guy. But it had been hard to get back to that now. Yeah, he wasn’t nearly as quiet as he’d been back in Romania, but he still didn’t talk. For hours. With near strangers.

Which is why he’s surprised he’s able to with you.

The conversation was bubbling, like a brook, ebbing and lively. He found himself wanting, almost needing to hear your little stories and opinions and jokes. You’d both abandoned working out and just sat on the machines, laughing and talking.

He learned that you liked to tease- a lot. Nearly everything was a joke with you. Your sense of humor sharp and sarcastic. Your nature playful and inviting.

You tell him stories from Europe and then about the tower and being here when you we’re younger with Tony. And in turn, surprisingly, he tells you a couple of his own stories back. A couple that he could actually remember. What it was like living in Romania- not knowing a lick of the language before hand. How fucking awkward he still felt as he adjusted to the 21st century.

“So lets get this straight, you’ve been de-iced for almost three years and you haven’t watched Harry Potter?” Your tone is dead serious and he grins and shakes his head.

“Nah”

“Or Lord of the Rings?”

“Negative”

“Or Star Wars?”

“Is that the one with the little green guy?”

“Yes!”

“I caught a little of it when Tony was watchin’ it”

“Oh my god, Bucky. I can’t. This is fucking blasphemous. I mean Lord of the Rings and Star Wars I guess could wait, I GUESS…But Harry Potter?! Harry Potter is the best thing this generation has to give! It will change your life!” The pure passion in your voice is almost palpable. Why cant he stop smiling?

“I guess I’ve been really missing out, haven’t I?”

“Yes! You have! Ugh, okay we’re going to have to have a movie night ASAP. It is just unacceptable for us to be living under the same roof and you haven’t seen a single Harry Potter movie” He thinks your kidding but your really not.

You don’t play about Potter, okay?!

When you check your phone and see the time your eyes bulge a little. You’d been sitting talking to him for nearly three hours.

“Oh shit, is it really almost seven?” You cant believe it. It really didn’t feel like you’d been here for that long.

“Is it?” Bucky sits up a little, not believing it either.

“Yeah” You bite you lip as you look at him for a moment, before standing “I should probably go and see if I can get any sleep at all”

He masks the small disappointment he feels at your words “Of course”

“It was really cool talking to you. I’m serious about our marathon! I have to school you on the most important stuff” You’re voice is flirty. As fuck. You don’t even know if you mean for it to be as you look down at him. He tries to tear his eyes from your face- and fails. Twice. Before he’s able to.

“Yeah uh, just tell me when”

“Definitely. Goodnight Bucky…or I guess Morning?” You giggle on your way out. He watches your retreating figure until your out of sight before he lets out huff and reclines hardly back. The machine sighs in protest. He fixes his eyes on the ceiling as he deals with the stirring in his head. The one though he can clearly decipher is…

Fuck.

Because although he’d liked having Tony not at his throat, he doesn’t see how he’s going to be able to stay away from you. No wonder Steve had gotten caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

—–

So I just had to pump out another part for you guys! I hope you like it! Tell me what you think? Do you like the dynamic between them yet? Does Y/N just seem like a little hoe? Do you want to be tagged. Tell me ya'lllllllllll.

@devenrenee @skeletoresinthebasement @kendallefire @mellifluousbabe @toniinhere @agentmstark @purplekitten30 @bellaballanda @yslbucky @arabellaaurorabarnes @prinxessofspace @supernaturally-lucky @sngforme @kyritha

[imultifandomstuff]

My Hero

A/N this one took me so long to write, good lort. I hope you guys like it though!! Prompts number 38, 41, and 61 from this prompt list.

Pairing: Richie Tozier X fem reader (although there's only one thing that indicates reader is a girl, so you can imagine otherwise if you'd like)

Summary: the Losers find reader after a bad run in with Henry

Warnings: bullying, blood, some unwanted touching, and cursing 

Richie Tozier

You made a mistake. A big, big mistake.

You were being bullied, as usual, when Henry pulled out his signature knife. You begged and pleaded for him not to use it on you, to no avail. He only laughed evilly, glancing over at Patrick who smirked largely.

Belch looked unsure, and went to question Henry when you finally yanked one of your arm's free from his hands, slapping Henry in the cheek. "Leave me alone, asshole!" You screamed at him, although you immediately regretted your decision as anger covered his features and he went rigid.

Your eyes widened and your mouth opened slightly in shock at what you had done, and you immediately tried to apologize. "Henry, p-please. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- ah!" You couldn't finish your sentence, as a first came barreling down onto your face. You would've fallen, had Belch not grabbed your arm once more while Victor held the other tightly.

You felt blood drip out of your mouth, and tears sprung in your eyes. "What'd you say, bitch?" Henry spat, holding his knife close to your face. He slid the flat side down your cheek, causing you to squeeze your teary eyes shut.

"I'm sorry!" You cried. "Please, I'll do whatever you want." You felt his movements stop. "Anything? Really," he chuckled, and your eyes opened lightly to look at him. You gave him a short nod, watching as he looked between all of his friends. He smirked wildly, waving his hand at Patrick and Belch,"Turn her around."

Your eyes widened once again as the two forcefully turned you around, shoving you against the railing your back had been pressed against just moments before. "No, not that! That's not what I meant! Please, please," you begged, turning your head awkwardly to face Belch. He was the nicest out of all of them, – well, as nice as anyone in the Bowers gang could be – and if any of them was going to stick up for you, it'd be him.

You caught his eyes for just a moment, but he quickly looked away in shame at what he was doing. Sure, he bullied kids all the time, but hurting ladies wasn't his favorite thing to do in his spare time.

"H-Henry, maybe we shouldn't-"

"Shut up!" Henry screamed, lifting your shirt up and dragging the flat side of his blade against it. Your breath hitched when you felt it, and suddenly the sharp side was pressed into your skin. You shouted out in pain, feeling the blade lifted from your skin only to press it down once more.. then again.. and again.

Only the last time, he pressed down deeper than before, and you screamed and sobbed and begged him to stop. "Okay, Henry. That's enough, dude. I think you proved your point," Victor said, nudging Henry. "Yeah, if you go too deep you'll kill her," Belch agreed.

Henry thought about it, running a hand over his creation. A shallow 'H' was carved into your back, along with multiple deeper cuts that oozed blood. Blood was smeared along your back from his hand, which was also covered in it. He smeared the blood from his hand onto your jeans, running a hand over your butt as he went.

He took a step back,"Alright, let's go."

Patrick huffed as he let go of your arm, looking at Victor and Belch,"Sissy's." The two ignored him, Belch letting you go as well. They all went back into Belch's car, speeding off quickly. You fell to the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest as you sobbed. What did you do to deserve this?

"Y/N? Are you- Holy shit! You're bleeding," you heard a familiar voice shout, and multiple bikes falling to the ground. You looked up at your friends that were running toward you, sobbing loudly. "H-Henry," you sobbed, unable to speak properly. You didn't have to, though. They understood, they knew.

"Oh, shit," Stanley muttered once he got a good look at you, seeing the blood that had seeped through your shirt. "We have to get her help!" Eddie exclaimed loudly, already beginning to panic as he looked at you. Richie pulling you against his chest, stroking your hair.

"Richie, c-come on. W-w have to tuh-take her somewhere," Billy said, laying a hand on his friends shoulder. "Um, okay, uh, take her home and I'll go to my house and get the supplies. Her parents aren't home, right? Just take her home, and I'll get the stuff and bring it to you. My mom would have a cow if I brought her home," Eddie quickly said. He lived close to you, and knew that he had all of the supplies needed to bandage you up.

"Oh shit, okay. I'm gonna toss you over my shoulder and book it okay," he told you, looking over at his friends,"no way I'm trying to fight these fools. Not on this." You nodded weakly, your sobs subsiding. The others helped him pick you up over his shoulder and walk you to his bike, setting you down on the seat as he climbed up. You weakly wrapped your arms around his waist as he began to peddle, having to stand on the peddles as you were on the seat. The others quickly climbed onto their bikes, and they all began riding toward your house.

"Don't bleed out onto my back, 'kay?" Richie said over his shoulder, feeling you lean your head against his back. Within a few minutes, you'd arrived at your house. He helped you off of the bike, holding you close against him as he helped you walk to your front door.

The others shoved the door open, and took you to the bathroom. Beverly looked through the drawers and cupboards, looking for a towel and some rags, as Richie gently set you on the edge of your bathtub. Finally, she found some, placing it under running water and pushing Richie out of the way. "Hey, Y/N," she gently spoke, causing you to look up at her. "I'm gonna wipe the blood off of your face, okay?"

You nodded, and she got to work. She wiped around your mouth, seeing Richie pacing out of he corner of her eye. Mike went to find something for the bruise on your cheek, and Ben and Stanley watched with sad eyes. Neither of them knew what to do, they hated seeing you like this. You were the sweet, innocent Y/N who wouldn't even hurt a fly.

"Where's Richie and Bill? They're taking forever." He stressed. "You're gonna stress her out even more, Rich. Calm down," Beverly said, scowling at him. You sniffled, and Richie looked over at you. He grabbed onto one of your hands, intertwining his fingers together with yours as he thought of all the ways he could torture Henry.

Mike finally came back to the bathroom, a bag of frozen peas in hand. He gently pressed it to your cheek, causing you to jump. Soon enough, Eddie and Bill came running through the front doors of your house and into your bathroom, supplies nearly falling out of their hands. They gently lifted the back of your shirt, and got to work. You hissed as the alcohol fell into your wounds, the stinging almost too much to bear. Tears sprung in your eyes at the pain, but it was over quick enough. You were now in your bed, one of your pillows clutched in your arms.

It was almost dark, and all of your friends were sitting in your room, just staring at you. Bev stood and walked over to you, running a hand through your hair,"You okay,  Y/N/N?"

You sent her a tight lipped smile,"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks, Bev." She nodded,"Of course. I've gotta go, but I'll come and check on you tomorrow morning, alright?"

"Alright," you agreed. All of your friends, one by one, came and bid you goodbye. Some kissed your forehead, some squeezed your hand, and some only sent you sad looks. But all promised to come by in the morning. You didn't know how you got so lucky.

Richie was the only one left, and he was sat on your desk chair across from your bed. You stared at him, and he stared at you. For some reason, tears sprung your eyes again.

"Why me, Rich? What'd I do to deserve that?"

Richie felt like his heart was being squeezed, and he wanted to cry as well. He jumped up from the chair and moved to sit next to you on your bed. He wiped a tear away with his finger,"You didn't do anything, Y/N. Henry and his stupid friends are just stupid fucking assholes."

You nodded, slowly and carefully scooting over in your room so that there was more room,"Will you lay with me for a few minutes? I don't wanna be alone."

Richie's mouth parted, but despite his shock he nodded and kicked his shoes off. He moved under the covers next to you, and your hand slowly moved to grab his. Richie quickly, and shyly, moved forward and kissed your forehead.

"You're safe now, I've got you," he muttered, looking more sincere than you'd ever seen him.

You smiled softly,"My hero."

[itskindofablur]

Christmas came early--it’s time for another Movies I Watched Because, William Fichtner!

Ho ho ho-o-o-oly shit, do I have some good ones for you, this time!

Contact

This is the very first movie I remember watching him in. I was like, 'who is *THIS*???' His striking good looks and the kind, gentle demeanor of his character stood out for me in a big way: I was in love. I remember making a note to look him up later. Alas, this being the days before Google, and me not having access to the Internet at the time, said research never really occurred. (Having never seen Fichtner before I actually thought they'd cast a blind actor in the role of Kent. Then again, I'd never heard of David Straitharn before "Sneakers", and thought the same thing, so I think I'm just incredibly naive when it comes to movies.) Anyway, I was not looking forward to re-watching this, as my only other memories are of how very much the ending pissed me off, and I hated the Matthew McConaughey character. But, naturally, Fichtner was wonderful. I loved the moment where Kent told James Woods it was "nice to smell him again", muttering "Never figured him for a Polo man" with a shrug after Woods leaves.

The Amateurs (aka The Moguls)

I've posted about this one before, but not really in depth, though my original take of "character actors doing small-town quirkiness" still stands. And I LOVE Fichtner as Otis, the church custodian whose contribution to his friend's porn movie is "guy who stands around and watches" (i.e., executive producer). He's not the brightest of the small-town friends (but not the dumbest, either), and he looks damn fine with his wild hair and in his tee-shirt denim vest ensembles. Also, Fichtner is SO. GODDAMNED. CUTE in the special features--the film of him hanging out at Jeff Bridges' "sleepover" at the beach house, talking about his character--and, especially the part where the cast is asked about their first experiences with porn. He just stares for a minute, then grins, then looks away and laughs softly. I fucking died. Also, apparently, a bunch of the crew made tee shirts with his high school senior picture on the front (oh lort, the 70s hair), and a picture of him from his time in the high school gymnastics team (WHAT????!!!) on the back. All I gotta say is, if I had a TARDIS, I'd go to that school. Goddamn.

(Front photo. There is so much going on, here.)

(Back photo. Couldn't find the exact picture from the back of the shirts, dammit.)

...that got a bit off topic, huh? Uh, anyway--

Drowning Mona

OMFG, that hair. In this black comedy, Fichtner plays Phil Dearborn, the battered (and philandering) husband of the titular Mona. Phil is not a smart man, and in some flashbacks (it's that kind of movie), not a kind man. His tightly-permed hair, long sideburns, and terrible polo shirts are not an attractive look, but it fits the small-town lunkhead perfectly. Fichtner is very funny in the movie, and I'll admit, most of my laughs came from his readings of lines like "Don't kiss the dog's ass!" (while calling Casey Affleck's character a 'kiss-ass'), the way he barks out “KISS-ASS!!” like a savant while the family, as a whole, berates Affleck, and his response to his wife's question of the type of salad you make when life hands you shit ("Shit-salad?" he cluelessly suggests, blinking at a glaring Bette Midler). I will also never hear the song “Wheel Watcher” the same way, again. Most every role I've seen him in gets an enthusiastic "Still would!" from me, no matter how altered he looks (helloooo, Butch Cavendish), but this character gives me pause.

(who am I kidding; of course, I still would.)

Thanks for reading! I’ll be back next time with more Movies I Watched Because, William Fichtner!

[seasless]

OK, I SWEAR TO THE LORT that someone posted about a Marvey/Beauty and the beast crossover thingy on @parabatez about a library and I wrote this for that, but I cannot find the post, so if it was someone else, or you know what I’m talking about, please let me know so I can credit appropriately!

Anyway. Here’s the shmoopiest hurt/comfort fluff. 

--

Mike checks his phone for the fifth time in twelve minutes.

”Come on, dude, it’s eleven o’clock. PM, you douchebag!”

"What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“You told me to ‘go the fuck away.’ You don’t get to be pissy now, princess.”</i>

“I am your goddamn boss. I will be however the fuck I want. This is as much your case as it is mine, and you’re the one who screwed the pooch, so you get your uppity little ass to my condo with those notes or you won’t have a job to come back to.”

Mike breathes deeply. “I’ll be over in thirty.”

It hadn’t even been that much of a fuck up. He’d get the signature. He just hadn’t gotten it today. Harvey’s been avoiding him so much he hadn’t managed to mentioned they were on a timeline. How was Mike supposed to know?

It’s not the kind of neighborhood where people sit on doorsteps, but Mike’s feeling salty about being chewed out, threatened, and then stood up on a Friday night, interrupting a standing date with his ratty couch and a six pack of shitty beer, so he plunks down on the edge of one of the giant pots holding the plants that guard the building’s entrance with a huff, which is when a rough voice says, “Get your goddamn ass off my planter.”

Halfway through, “Technically it’s not your planter,” Mike chokes. “Oh my god, what happened?”

Harvey sneers. “I tripped.”

“...In front of a bus?”

“Go away.”

“You just threatened me into coming over!”

“Kind of obvious plans have changed,” he grits, struggling to dig his keys out of his pocket while holding his ribs together with the other arm.

“Here.” Mike jumps up. “Let me.” Harvey jerks away from him, but jars something in the process, badly enough that Mike doesn’t even have to be quick about reaching into his coat and withdrawing the keycard. “After you, princess.”

Mike's pretty sure he's not invited in after Harvey. He goes anyway.

The front desk guy is nodding off so Mike flashes him a smile and steps forward, blocking his groggy view as Harvey limps to the elevator. Pissed as he is, Mike’s not about to leave Harvey alone.

“Go home, Mike.”

“Make me.”

The desire to throttle answers from his is nearly overwhelming, but Mike abandons that tack, knowing it won't do any good, instead doing his level best to gauge the severity to Harvey's injuries from sight alone. He’s pretty sure it was a mugging -  Harvey’s brow is bleeding freely, blood tracking the line of his jaw before dropping down to stain his lapel, his lip is split, and he looks to be having trouble breathing.

The knot in Mike's stomach tightens.

With a hushed sigh, the elevator opens and Mike beelines to the bathroom, past one beautiful bookshelf, a few paperbacks peeking out. When he reemerges, bottles tucked under his arm and rag draped over one shoulder, Harvey's peeling his suit coat from his torso. Mike pokes the books back into alignment as he asks, “How bad are your ribs? They didn't stab you, did they?”

 Hissing, Harvey drops the coat to the floor. “They?”

“Oh come on. If it was just one you’d be crowing about how you beat some guy’s ass. It had to be at least three.”

 Harvey fiddles with the button on the cuff of his sleeve before muttering, “Four. And no. Just a few bruises.”  

 Mike nods and goes to the freezer. He’s not surprised to find a medical grade ice pack in the door, though if it were his place, or any of the other apartments where he’d patched people up, it’d be a bag of frozen peas. “Sit down.”

“No thanks.”

“You’re bleeding on the floor.”

“If you’d leave, I could take a shower.” 

Mike places a glass bowl in the sink and begins filling it with warm water. “Twenty bucks says you can’t even unbutton your shirt without help. Sit down.” 

“The hell you think you’re going to tell me what to do in my own -”

“Fine,” Mike bites out. “Catch,” and he tosses the ice pack in a soft, slow arc. Harvey extends a hand and gives a shout, face contorted in pain, as the ice hits his hand and then the floor with a thunk. “That’s what I thought. Now Sit. Down.”

 Harvey grunts onto a stool at the bar. He rolls his eyes hard enough to pull something else, but he goes.

“Jesus. You big baby.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Mike slides the bowl across the island and plucks the ice pack from the floor. “You heard me.” He hands over the pack. “Onto your ribs. And hold still.” 

“You’re awful pushy for a fake associate who fucked up a contract negotiation today.” 

“Oh fuck you.” It stings, all that accusation in one simple statement. “You never fucking told me we were on a timeline.”

 “I definitely did.”

“No, you were too goddamn busy avoiding me, so don’t act like that’s anyone’s fault but your own.”

<p>“I am <i>not</i> avoiding - ow!”</p>

“Would you quit moving around so goddamn much? You’re such a goddamn pain!”

Something cracks behind Harvey’s eyes and he roars, “Then why don’t you fucking leave!”

It’s a good question, and Mike comes closer to answering it than he ever has before.

He wrings the cloth and takes Harvey’s chin in hand to stabilize his face, observing him quietly for a long moment before dabbing away a few errant streaks of blood. “If I left right now,” he says softly, “I’d spend the whole night staring at the ceiling and praying to a god I don’t believe in anymore that you’re ok. I don’t know how much staring at the ceiling you do, but let me tell you, it’s even worse than getting reamed out by your boss who’s finally decided he hates you.”

It takes until the blood is gone, turning the water pink, before Harvey murmurs begrudgingly, “I don’t hate you. I just -”

Mike shakes his head. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Harvey.”

The way the older man is chewing on his lips suggests he thinks that maybe he does.

Mike takes a break from cleaning to take a look at Harvey’s ribs, popping the button closest to Harvey’s throat easily, but as he works his way down, he notices his hands shaking. Hopefully Harvey misses that part.

There are a smattering of bruises across the tan skin, but most are concentrated on his left side. Mike wrings the towel and wraps it around the ice pack so Harvey can hold it to his bare skin.

“You’ve done this before,” Harvey observes quietly, and until then Mike hadn’t really noticed how close they are.

“Yeah. My friends tend to be idiots.” Harvey looks up quickly at the use of the word friend, but Mike’s focusing desperately on the task at hand.

“They were harassing this kid,” Harvey says finally, wincing as Mike butterflies his eyebrow back into one piece. “She couldn’t have been more than twenty one, and they were just…” He trails off, looking genuinely unwell for the first time. “Anyway. What?”

“I can’t even be mad at you.” Mike huffs. “You literally probably saved that girl’s life.”

“I don’t think you can be mad at me for being late, but there might be some other shit,” Harvey grumbles, twitching one shoulder in a shrug.

“Are you admitting you’ve been a dick?”

“No,” he protests tightly. “I’m just saying you’re not the only one who’s been doing some ceiling staring.”

Cautiously, Mike cleans out a cut over Harvey’s cheekbone. “Watch out, old man. Someone might think you have feelings.”

Harvey sighs tiredly. “Now there’s a scary thought.”

“Worse than staring at the ceiling?”

Harvey doesn’t answer, but he almost smiles, making it even more difficult for Mike to complete the impressive task of applying neosporin to Harvey’s lip without licking his own, but he manages. It’s the last of the injuries, and as loathe as Mike is to stop touching him, he can’t really justify staying, so he stands with a groan.

“You sound like an old man.” 

“My boss is putting some years on me. Where are you going?”

“Couch,” Harvey yawns. It takes him several minutes to kick his shoes off, and Mike finally takes pity and shucks his socks for him. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’ll finish the paperwork right now. You should get some sleep.”

“It’s fine, kid.”

“It’s ok, I’ll just do it right he-”

“Mike. Stop. It’s ok. I don’t care. Leave it until tomorrow.”

“But you -”

“I was being a real piece of shit.”

Mike can’t help but smile at that, though he hides it by fetching blankets from the hall closet - one for Harvey and one to roll up beneath his own head where he sprawls next to the couch.

The knot in Mike’s gut finally loosens enough that he can breathe again, and he uses the time to scan the bookshelf along the wall for something to read. He’s read most of them at one point or another, from the library as a kid, or stoned in Trev’s old apartment, or to Gram when she’d been sick. It’s hard to come by a book he hasn’t read, so he finds a title he enjoys and begins sifting through it in his head, skipping the long-winded forward.

He thinks Harvey’s asleep, listening absently to the measured breathing when the older man says, “What are you reading?” 

“Huh?” 

Harvey reaches down with scraped up fingers to take the hand suspended by Mike’s hip. He stills, frozen and aflame at the contact. “When you read,” Harvey says softly, running a gentle thumb down the line of Mike’s knuckles. “You track the words with your fingers. On paper and in your head.”

MIke blinks. “I never noticed.”

“I did.” In the low light it’s hard to decipher the expression, but there’s no ignoring the fact that Harvey’s watching him, tonguing the split in his lip thoughtfully. “I notice a lot about you.” 

Mike swallows hard. “Harvey…”

“Do you see the words in your head?”

“More or less.

“How many books have you read?”

“Thousands, I’d guess.”

“And you still love it.”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“I - haven’t thought about it in years. Reading for pleasure isn’t something I give myself much time for.”

“That’s a shame.”

Harvey nods slowly, stroking Mike’s palm. “But I’m working on making time. For things that matter.” His fingers travel down to Mike’s wrist as he adds, “I really am sorry for being such an asshole. I’ve been trying to figure some shit out, and to be honest with you, I’m doing a crap job of it.”

Sitting up on his elbows, Mike asks, “Anything I can help with?”

“You already have.” 

--

“Is the building remodeling? There’s a bunch of shit in the hall. I still don’t see why this edit couldn’t have wait until tomorrow. Also,” Mike barrels past Harvey into the condo. “Whoa. Are you the one renovating?” 

“Yeah.” He fidgets his hands into his pockets. “I - uh -”

“You didn’t mention that.”

Mike’s kind of surprised. They’ve been better, the past few weeks, than they ever were before. They eat lunch together every day, and Harvey seems to have gotten his head out of his ass enough to cultivate the friendship that really only they could have, two brilliant, stubborn, freaky idiots. It hurts beautifully, but Mike thinks he’s doing an ok enough job at hiding the adoration in his gaze. Enough that Harvey hasn’t been suspicious, anyway.

“It’s. Um.”

“Are you having a stroke?”

 Harvey cuffs him on the shoulder. “Come here. I uh - got you something.”

“Why? It’s not my birthday.” Through the living room, down the hall. “Are you bribing me? Gonna sell me to Louis or something?” They stop outside a door that hadn’t been here the last time Mike had visited. Harvey opens the door, then steps out of the way. “Or make me - Oh my god.”

The carpet is a soft, creamy gray, but there’s not wall color to comment on, because one wall is floor to ceiling windows, and the other three? Well.

Some are new, but many are worn, old copies, originals, well loved. Law. Science. Art. So much science fiction. Lovingly, Mike walks the perimeter, letting his fingers dance over the spines. Two Years Before the Mast. He’s never heard of it, but the worn cover and yellowing pages extend a welcome. Walden. He can’t believe he’s never gotten around to that one. “Wait. This is - it’s for me?” 

Nervously, Harvey nods. Excitement builds in Mike’s chest like a bubble. A million tales, new characters, unknown or reframed information… He walks on.

Kitchen Confidential. It’s been on his to-read list for years. Stories in the Stars. It looks fascinating. He’s never seen it before.

Mike freezes. “I’ve never read...any of these.”

Harvey looks inordinately pleased with himself. “Good.”

“How is that possible?”

“I know a gal.”

“Who knows what books I’ve read?”

He shrugs. “Who got me a list of library book you’ve ever took out. Every credit card slip from a bookstore. Every book at your Gram’s. I’m sure a few slipped through the cracks but - what?”

“This must’ve taken weeks!”

“A month or two.”

“Hundreds of hours.”

“Yeah.”

“For me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Here. At your place.” 

“About that…” 

“So you don’t hate me?”

Surprised laughter spills from him. “Remember that thing I was trying to figure out?” 

“Yes?”

“Well, this infuriating, beautiful, brilliant kid I know clarified a few things for me when he refused to leave my condo…” 

“So instead of calling the cops you built me a library?”

Harvey’s smile slides away as he says softly, “I didn’t know how else to tell you.”

“Tell me?”

But the explanation appears to be lodged in his throat, so Mike stops talking and tries to listen instead.

Harvey spent thousands dollars building a new room in his condo. A room he spent even more time and money stocking with things he knew Mike would love and appreciate. It’s the most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever extended to him, and the fact that it’s Harvey is even more mindblowing. Hesitantly, Mike steps forward until he’s inches from the other man, close enough to watch the light dance in those dark eyes. 

“Harvey Specter, are you trying to con me into living with you?”

“Is it working?”

“Honestly, I would’ve settled for a french press and a decent blowjob, but hey, I’ll take it.”

Harvey throws his head back and shouts a laugh, but Mike catches it in his mouth. Without hesitation, warm hands pull him in, cradle his jaw, hold him close in this magic room in a home he’d have chosen a hundred times over but never thought he’d be able to have. A little breathless, Mike pulls back to say, “Harvey. Thank you. This is -” His throat closes up then, so he leans in for another kiss, which Harvey returns so sweetly it makes it worse. “I can’t believe you did this. That it’s mine.”

A gentle thumb brushes the line of Mike’s jaw as Harvey says, “Just about everything that’s mine has always been yours.” 

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

@personfullofplotholes​:  “Do you ever think about Jim recognizing the survivor’s guilt in Hikaru and helping him through it because he had to deal with it from Tarsus, and though these situations are wildly different there are such horrible, twisted parallels between them?”

---------------------------------------------------

Alright, ya’ll, good lort, coming for the throat tonight. I touched on this concept (Sulu’s survivor’s guilt) ever so briefly in “Going Beyond”, but since it’s told through Jim’s POV, it’s very nuanced and not well explored at all, just hinted at vaguely. 

So, let’s explore this a bit more closely, shall we? 

----------------------------------------------------

Hikaru has always been good at compartmentalizing, focusing on the here and the now, on solving the problem at hand before moving on to the next one. It’s served him well as an officer, a navigator, a fighter, but with this? 

 He’s able to ignore it, sometimes. To shove away the guilt and the anxiety, the memories and the trembling hands that accompany them. Not always, but most of the time, he’s able to push it to the side and deal with the tasks assigned to him, but sometimes…

 Sometimes, he can’t sleep because all he can hear are the echoes of muffled screams-- his crewmates that were sacrificed to fuel Krall’s eternal youth, Uhura begging for Syl’s life, distant and desperate. 

 Sometimes, when they survey a new planet, the jagged outline of cliffs in the distance or the rough crunch of rock beneath his boots sends him back there, and it’s all he can do not to vomit. 

 Sometimes, he has trouble eating, lack of sleep and the relentlessness of memory churning his stomach. 

 And sometimes, he wonders why he bothers. 

 It’s on those nights, the ones where he can’t quite come up with a reason to keep going when he’s still here and so many others aren’t that he calls Ben. He calls Ben, and he doesn’t say a word, and his husband-- his beautiful, loving, amazing husband-- just knows, and he tells him about his day, about Demora’s school, about the story she’s writing, anything and everything to remind him that he has a family and he survived for them, if nothing else. 

 He forces down the nagging thought of all the families who lost someone, and the even more persistent thought that he could have-- should have-- prevented that from happening. 

 He does his best to hide it, but they see it. He knows. 

 Chekov smiles a little too big, greets him a little too happily, on the bad days. And he loves the kid for trying, he really does, but it does nothing to abate his guilt when he can barely manage a quirk of the lips in return. 

 Spock sees more than he lets on, and the inquiring raise of his eyebrow, the silent and subtle asking after his well-being means more to Hikaru than the first officer will probably ever know. 

 Scotty still doesn’t come up to the bridge much, but apparently he was just as rattled as the rest of them, because Hikaru finds that the engineer is inebriated just a bit more often, and tends to make more time for socializing after everything. And apparently his love language involves feeding people. He starts popping up with food every so often, and with his kind smile and lilting brogue, Sulu finds it hard to say no. 

 McCoy pulls him aside after his physical and reminds him that counseling is always available, and that if he needs something for the nightmares he’ll have it. Hikaru asks him how he knows, and finds he has more questions after the doctor smiles sadly and says, “This ain’t my first rodeo, Sulu.” 

 Uhura tries, she really does, but on the bad days he finds he can barely look at her. She’s a reminder of it all, and there are days when he finds her presence comforting, a reminder that he wasn’t alone there, and he isn’t alone in this. But there are days, too, when he can hardly stand to be in the same room as her, because he knows what she saw, he knows what she went through, and he can’t help but wonder if he reminds her of some of the worst days of their lives, too. He can practically feel her confused disappointment when she tries to start a conversation about it and he barely manages a strangled, “I’m sorry, Nyota, I can’t,” before brushing past her out of the room. 

 Jim, though… he runs into Jim, sometimes, in the middle of the night. In the gym, the mess, the observation deck… not every night, or even every other night, but enough. The first time he stumbled into a room at 3AM, hoping to escape the nightmares and distract himself enough to at least relax a little before his shift and found someone else already there, he had been caught so off-guard he just turned and walked right back out. The second time Jim saw him, he knows, but again he left before the captain could say a word. The third time, it’s almost like Jim is waiting for him, and before Sulu can blink he says, “You can stay, if you want,” and Hikaru finds that he does. 

 He seats himself on the floor opposite Jim. The captain stays where he has wedged himself up against the observation glass and the wall, back fitted into the corner and watching the stars pass by. He never even looks Sulu’s way. 

 After a long silence, he says, “The ‘what ifs’ are always the worst, aren’t they?” but something in his tone tells Hikaru that it’s not a question that requires an answer. He blinks hard in confusion, turning his gaze to Kirk, his face pale and illuminated only by the dim safety lighting above the door across the room. “You can drive yourself crazy wondering… what if I had just? Done more, tried harder, been better… what if I had just---” 

 The captain trails off with a sigh, and Hikaru realizes he’s been nodding along as he spoke in unconscious agreement with the captain’s words. 

 After yet another long silence, Jim turns his head to face him. 

 “Don’t let this destroy you, ‘karu. Don’t let this eat at you. You did what you could with what you had. You did what you had to do.” 

 Sulu stares at the floor, twisting his fingers together and swallowing against the lump in his throat. 

 “But what if I-- was it…” he fades without finishing the thought, unable to voice it. 

 He glances up when Jim’s hand clasps his shoulder gently, meeting the captain’s eyes. “It was enough, Hikaru. You did everything you could.” 

 And for a moment, just a moment, he believes it. 

Kinda want to write a bit. Send me drabble prompts or headcanons or ask me character questions?

[loqis]

proxnotxaxfool​:

what the absolute fuck?

how long had he been in the cartography hut? had world war four broken out while he’d had his head buried in maps? sure, they’d never been the closest friends, but jesus fucking christ, this was like trying to get wheaty to talk to an edener … no, reno was about ready to try his luck with getting the whitetail to sit down and have dinner with an edener over this shit.

shooting loqi a glare when he registered the switch in languages, reno had to bite his tongue hard to stop himself from calling him out on the dick-move. instead he moved to grab a hold of carmina’s elbow when she headed for the door, ‘ we’ll talk later, alright? i mean it - this conversation ain’t over. ’

letting go of her elbow, reno offered the teenager a tight smile before turning his attention back to loqi … loqi and his complete and utter toddler-tantrum.

‘ what the fuck is wrong with you? ’ 

oh, he was pissed off. and it had been a hell of a long time since reno had felt this angry with his younger brother - didn’t want to work with carmina because she was inexperienced? well shit-balls, wasn’t as if they had a choice in the matter. it was inexperience with a willingness to learn or nothing.

‘ she’s a fucking kid. a kid who’s doin’ her best to learn as quick as she can so that she can help protect her home and her family. ’

across the little hut in a few steps and reno had his hand against the wall next to his brother, barring him from making an exit out the other door of the hut. 

‘ tror du ikke, jeg har nok lort på min tallerken, uden at du også tager et dump oven på det? ‘

[do you not think i have enough shit on my plate without you taking a dump on top of it too?]

‘ where are you going to go, huh? the highwaymen? is that it now, loqi? you’d jump ship across the waters because you’re not getting your way - the highwaymen attacked the train. not prosperity. not carmina. not new eden,’ taking a breath, he jammed one of his fingers against his brother’s temple, ‘ get that into your fucking head. ’

@loqis·

Oh look, the princess was acting graciously. Just like with Bean. Always acting like a badly-behaved sailor but then putting on the good-girl-manners in front of Reno. Even if he wanted, Loqi couldn’t eat enough to vomit as much as he wanted as he glared after Carmina leaving.

And then Reno showed on whose side he truly was.

So much for ‘I’ll always fight your corner’.

Loqi just glared up at his older brother, lips tight and thin and with every word Reno flung his way, Loqi’s scowl only deepened.

A kid. Great how that was always their excuse to her behaving like an idiot and yet being protected by all consequences. How convenient. But when she wanted to play with the big boys, she was all ‘mature enough’.

He could feel his cheeks redden from shame and anger when Reno scolded him for... for what? For trying to look out for him? For not wanting an incalculable risk around him? For wanting to have more time with him?

Really?

And he threw the Highwaymen in his face?

The ones who had taken him captive while Carmina and Reno had fucked off? While their family had been killed and burned all around them? Reno fucking smiled at Carmina while he only had shaming for him?

Loqi missed them. He missed Garrett. And Elena. And Rude. And Aranea. And Cissnei. And Caligo. Even Tseng. All of them and many more. They were all gone.

And instead of Reno being Reno, he… was whoever Prosperity and Eden wanted.

Lowering his head when Reno jabbed his temple, Loqi gulped down the threat of tears, before he just ducked away beneath Reno’s arm and went for his rucksack that he had kept here. Sifting through one of the crates to take an older map of Hope County and the surrounding that they wouldn’t miss. Stuffed it into the bag and shouldered it. He would get his weapons and go. Walk back home if he needed to.

“You made your choice clear then.”