#as if looking for apartments ain’t more headache inducing

[haruchuiyo]

just remembered I have to wait like 3 months or so FOR SUNDAYS BANNER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎👎

[silkylious]

Funny Way of Saying I Love You (Dabi x Reader)

Pairing: Dabi x Reader Warnings: angst(i have an addiction i swear), fluff Prompts: #9 “That’s a funny way of saying ‘I love you’” and  #16 “When have I ever let you down, babe? Okay, don’t answer that”

A/N: Thank you for the request! im taking my time writing these since im physically incapable of writing drabbles. I hope you like this!!

Shutting the door behind you, a soothing dusk breeze fluttered your hair as you moved farther away from your daily hell. Your boss had made it a point to be a pain in the ass today, well, more so than usual. Working overtime on a Friday evening wasn’t what you’d hoped to be doing but you couldn’t exactly complain, it wasn’t like you had anything planned and the promise of an extra paycheck didn’t sound displeasing. Rubbing your temples to ease the headache (courtesy of your boss’s incessant bitching), you walked on autopilot to your apartment, you couldn’t wait to treat yourself to a bubble bath and maybe even some wine. Little did you know that your plans would be thoroughly ruined by a certain scarred villain.

You made the decision to pass by a nearby convenient store that wasn’t too far from your residence to cop some snacks. Filtering through the brands of alcohol, you grimaced at the overpriced tags of the various red wine brands, you settled for some cheap liquor with a sigh. It ain’t much but it should do the trick. After paying for what little stuff you’d fetched, you continued on your trek to your humble flat. The sun had completely vanished from the sky, a lingering crimson bleeding into a rich indigo. Your thoughts were so spellbound by the beautiful sight, that you just barely heard a strained grunt from your left. Blinking back into reality, you halted in your steps right next to a comically shady alleyway. Just like in those horror movies. You snorted at the thought, briefly comparing yourself to that one character who always dies first in movies. Though your internal jesting was cut short when the same sound propagated through the alleyway again, this time much more haggard, closely followed by violent coughing. Against your better judgment, you treaded forward cautiously. Why were you doing this? You weren’t sure. Maybe it was the unfulfilled dream loitering in the back of your mind resurfacing after many years of suppression, but you couldn’t not help someone out in a time of need.

The deeper you ventured into the alleyway, the louder your rationality shouted, begging you to turn around and book it to your apartment complex. You were stopped in your steps when an aggressive cough broke the quiet, the sound now impossibly closer and blood splattered all over the ground before your feet. Your eyes followed the vermilion trail, skinny legs covered in bloodied up, skin-tight jeans came into view, you were met with familiar scarred features. His eyes were struggling to stay open, though at the sight of you he forced his lids apart, flashing you a bloody, half-pained smirk, red liquid running down his scarred tissue.

You blinked. Dabi blinked. You blinked again and then-

“What the shit, Dabi! Are you okay?!”

You dropped to your knees next to his limp body propped up against the shaggy wall. He gave a humorless chuckle, more blood oozing out of the corners of his lips. Dabi hummed when your hands touched his fucked up face, your quirk already pacifying most of his pain. It wasn’t a healing quirk, you were simply able to transfer emotions, feelings and sensations (to and fro) with skin on skin contact. You didn’t want him knocking the fuck out from sheer pain (heaven knows there is no way you were going to lug this human heater home), so you had to ease him a little before tending to his injuries. Your body twitched as the hurt from Dabi’s body merged into your own.

“I’ve seen better days, sweetheart,”

“You don’t say.” The words came out harsh, reprimanding. Dabi winced, from the pain or from your tone, he wasn’t sure.

The plastic bag that had been temporarily abandoned came in handy, you sorrowfully used the liquor to clean the large gashes on his abdomen (not wanting to risk an infection on the way to your complex), wrapping them up securely with scraps of his shirt. So much for a relaxing bath and liquor. You heaved him up on semi-steady knees and took a different, more desolate route back home. The last thing you’d want right now is for authorities to see you walking an injured Dabi, one of the most wanted villains in the current climate, home. He leaned most of his weight on your shoulder, his shit-eating grin told you he was doing it on purpose. You couldn’t find it in you to retaliate as you usually would, too worried to come up with any snarky comments.

This had become way too much of a ritual for your comfort. You’d find him bleeding by your doorstep at ungodly hours, silently asking for shelter. Each and every time, you’d patch him up, provide him with food and your company. You’d grown attached to the scar faced male, and even if you disdained his line of work, you’d respected his life and independence (as independent as someone who crashes on your couch near daily can be). For the past couple months, his tasks had been getting progressively more and more dangerous. Your heart couldn’t help but clench each time you saw him beaten and bruised. You knew it was risky letting these feelings develop, Dabi had made it quite clear that your relationship was nothing beyond physical, with a level of mutual respect and trust.

But this was the worst condition you’d ever seen him in after one of his missions. Not too dissimilar to the first time you met; bloody, bruised and half-conscious, truly a sight to pity. You’d noiselessly knelt down, pressed your hand onto his cheek, he hadn’t even been able to flinch at your touch, too disoriented to react properly. Though in mere moments, he began feeling the pain ebb away; the injuries were still there, he just couldn’t feel them, he equated the numbing sensation to painkillers and drugs. His eyelids parted, revealing gorgeous teal irises. Full of ethereal beauty, despite being unfocused. You had to actively shun your quirk from relaying your attraction to him as you soothed his pain, his staples and marred skin a stark contrast to your soft fingers. That night you gave him a place to stay while he was on the run, you didn’t know why, but you did. Just this one time you’d said. One time became two times. Two times became countless and the rest is history.

The apartment door was slammed open, you were beyond irate. The more you thought about him, his situation, your situation, the more you felt the urge to knock shit over and scream bloody murder. Turquoise hues followed you with contempt – and mild amusement ­– but mostly contempt. Dabi took his usual spot on your worn-out couch, while you stomped your way into the bathroom to get a first aid kit. With your absence, Dabi was left to his own thoughts running amuck. Dabi wasn’t oblivious. He knew what your silence meant, knew what the look of unbridled worry in your eyes implied. Yet he didn’t want to address the less than subtle growing feelings you have for him. Attachment in his line of work was a surefire way to get hurt, he figured that if he kept whatever relationship you guys had physical, he wouldn’t have any issues to fuss over. But he couldn’t lie to himself, Dabi was conscious of the budding adoration in his heart from the moment you helped him out that first time, in that filthy alley. God, he needed a cigarette.

Much to his pleasure, you came back before his mind could implode in on itself. You sat beside him on the couch, leaving more space between you than usual. Without saying a word, your hands undid his makeshift bandages, slowly but surely patching him up an inch at a time. It honestly felt like a routine at this point. That prompted a sour taste in your mouth, you couldn’t stand how careless he’d been recently, and it was eating you up inside. But you didn’t dare voice your concerns, not wanting another aimless argument with him. If silence would save you another headache inducing fight, then silence it was–

“So, you gonna tell me what crawled up your ass?”

Or not.

“Shut. Up.” You weren’t in the mood for his quips today. Fatigue from work, babysitting a villain and dealing with unrequited feelings severely fouling your otherwise warm attitude. You were just on the brink of throwing caution to the wind and letting loose all the muffled feelings you have for him. One more comment and your composure would shatter. Conveniently – or not so conveniently, he seemed to be in a talkative mood tonight.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” The question was redundant, he knew exactly what was up with you, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Your quietness was killing him. He had to say something. He should have chosen his words a little more wisely though.

“What’s up with me?! Are you being fucking serious right now?! I come home and almost every day find you bleeding on my doorstep. Almost every day I give your reckless ass a place to stay, only for you to go and get yourself hurt again!” Pent up rage exploded from within you, an amalgamation of emotions gushing out of your pores. His eyes blew wide, not only because he had never seen you this angry, but because of the surge of emotions flooding him. In your fury filled stupor, you’d let go of the tight rein you had on your quirk. With a hand still touching his bruised forearm, you began unintentionally bleeding your feelings into him. Rage, sorrow and worry were just a few of the many emotions that rocked his being. But one stood out among the rest, outshining the others with blinding ferocity. And it honestly scared him, how powerful it was, zapping through his body. He figured you had feelings for him, that much was obvious, but he didn’t think they were that strong. Your breathtaking emotions awakened something in him too, pulling it out of the depths of where he tried to hide it, push it down in hopes of abolishing it.

It was too much to handle this, he kept coming back for help when he could easily seek any of his colleagues out, the implication that you meant something to him was so elating yet so damaging. It kept you stuck in place, barred from shutting him out or walking away. You couldn’t keep hanging onto the hope that he might reciprocate your love. It was harming you, no matter how sensuous he was in bed, no matter how gently he held onto you afterwards, he would never call you his lover. He made that crystal fucking clear. You had to put a stop to this. You leveled your shaky voice as much as your vocal cords would allow, barely whispering.

“Get the hell out, Dabi. I don’t wanna see you here again.”

The emotions sifting through him mellowed out, no longer was rage at the forefront. Pain, hurt and heartbreak ravaged him. But that one emotion was still there, despite him being a gaping asshole, it was still present. He smirked.

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘I love you,’ doll.”

“Wha–“ Before you could question his response, he swiftly captured your lips in his own to shut you up. It was a quick, firm peck, but its aftermath amused him greatly. The look of bewilderment on your face was damn priceless. You were, again, transferring your feelings to him. Adoration, confusion, the overwhelming urge to pimp smack him; it was all too entertaining for him. His vibrant teals settled upon your hand still gripping his arm. No fabric to separate them. Your own eyes followed suit. Oh. You immediately stopped your quirk, redacting your palm in the process for good measure. Dabi delighted in the bashful look that overtook your face, his own growing soft. He had trouble accepting his own feelings, but after experiencing yours, he would, at the very least, try for you. Awkward silence ensued. You both knew it was his turn to talk, to finally let out the unsaid words you’d been longing for.

“(name), I… I wanna do this right, take you out on dates and shit,” He cleared his throat. “If you’d let me.”

Your answer came in the form of a crushing hug. Your love was pouring into him again, this time of your own accord. You held onto each other, his hands biting into your skin, your own carding through his dark locks. You didn’t need words. Figuratively and literally. He felt everything in bright, flashing colors, he never wanted this moment to end. But it did. His phone rang.

Clear annoyance shined in both of your eyes. With a heavy sigh, he left your embrace, getting up to answer the call.

Another mission.

With the very recent revelations both of you had come to, the idea of him going on missions carried a lot more weight than it used to. Now in front of your apartment door, he put on his shoes, ready to head out to the League’s hideout. Dabi turned around, breath hitching when he saw you standing there frowning, eyes tearful. For some reason, you had a gut feeling this mission wouldn’t be so easy. You didn’t want him to go. And it was showing.

“C’mon, baby doll. Don’t give me that look. I’ll be back, I promise,” When you didn’t even crack a smile at the nickname he sighed. “When have I ever let you down, babe?” He quickly backtracked. “Okay, don’t answer that,”

You managed a small giggle, shaking your head. You approached him slowly, silently wrapping your arms around him. You relished in his quickening heartbeat. Pulling back, you placed your hands on his clothed shoulders. You edged forward, puckering your lips against his own, the point of contact allowing you to relay your inner turmoil to him. Your hands itched towards his face, fiddling gingerly with the multiple staples aligning his cheeks. “Come back, okay? I love you.”

Breath caught in his throat, Dabi tried to push the words setting him aflame through his lips, but he couldn’t. This was happening too fast; it was giving him whiplash. He didn’t know how to say those words yet, so he opted for calling out to you.

“(name)…”

Without even using your power, the conflict in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you pushed your forehead to rest against his. His love burned through you, so intense, so like him. With a tiny tug at your lips, you lulled the raging storm in his mind. “Shh, Dabi. I know.”

With a parting peck, he was out the door. He didn’t know what was to come out of this mission, but he did know that he now had one more reason to come out alive.

[greensaplinggrace]

trans!Cloud? Please and thank you 💕

Boy I hope this was a prompt fill because I just wrote you 7000+ words of pure trans!Cloud and trans!Barret developing friendship.

*TW for internalized transphobia, referenced self harm, unsafe binding practices, and negative self talk/self hatred.

-If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE!

------

Removing the bandages is almost as bad as putting them back on. So Cloud has simply made a habit of never taking them off at all, aside from the routine cleaning and reapplication of new ones. Yet even then it’s always quick. Always short and panicked and filled with the mind numbing need to not look down and to think about anything else until it’s all over and he can safely go back to ignoring it. Putting aside the growing pain and occasional difficulties breathing is a small sacrifice to pay if it means he doesn't have to change his bandages again too soon.

It’s a good plan; a solid plan - or it was one. Right up until it wasn’t. Right up until he’d been surrounded on five sides by the enemy and hammered with bullets, chest flaring and lungs constricting. Doubled over and struggling to pull in air - to push through the sheer agony - as Barret hollered at him and the others dove out to drag him behind cover.

Right up until he’d almost gotten them all killed.

Cloud can still hear Barret’s furious tones in his head. The cold, steely silence afterwards that was filled to brimming with accusation and suspicion. He can still feel the glare of judgement prickling against his skin even as the next day dawns. 

He sits on his bed and tries not to think too hard about it, focusing on the painstaking effort of peeling the bandages away. His eyes are wet but he tries to blink the tears away, breathing stilted as he winces with every tug and every shift. It feels like his ribs are coming apart - broken and shattered and digging into his lungs - and Cloud has to bite his lip against the sounds of pain that try to escape.

He’d really fucked up this time.

He doubts he’s going to get paid after this.

The only thing worse than money burning a hole in his pocket is having no money at all, and Cloud has never felt the distinct absence of a steady income as strongly as he does in this very moment, with no food and no supplies and - most importantly - no more bandages.

Could this week get any worse?

The heavy, insistent pounding at his door tells him in no uncertain terms that it absolutely can, and if Cloud weren’t so hard up right now he’d probably curse the universe for putting him in this position. Hell, he should have cursed it ages ago for making him like this in the first place.

“Hey merc!” The person at the door shouts, and of course it’s Barret. He’d been the angriest about the whole fiasco. Simmering like a pot ready to explode for the entire two hours it had taken them to ride home.

Cloud wonders what the other man is going to do about it. He’s never seen Barret lay a hand on anybody who wasn’t the enemy, but he also knows that Barret doesn’t consider him anything but one.

“Merc!” Barret continues, the pounding never once letting up, “I know you’re in there!”

Cloud doesn’t answer, instead shuffling hurriedly about on the bed, heart rabbiting as he scrambles for a shirt. His bandages are only half finished but it doesn't even register amidst the chaos, Barret’s yells growing increasingly furious until they cease in one sudden, chilling stretch of silence.

Cloud barely has the time to get the cloth in his grasp before the door is slamming open, ricocheting off the wall and bouncing harmlessly against one of Barret’s broad shoulders as he pushes into the room.

Everything freezes. Cloud’s hands clench uselessly around his shirt, eyes wide and mouth dry, chest aching something fierce as Barret’s gaze immediately lands on the half done bandages. The other man stills as well when he sees them, a massive silhouette in the narrow, battered doorway, face falling at once into something thunderous.

“What the hell is this?” he demands loudly, and Cloud’s breath hitches at the tone, eyes burning.

“It’s none of your business,” he lets out in a rush, trying to sound stronger than he feels, “they’re just bandages.”

“It’s chest binding!” Barret barks, and his voice is so booming it has to be fury. Cloud’s mind is too blank to identify anything else - a white static filling his ears, pulse thready and weak.

“It doesn’t make a difference,” he tries, swallowing roughly.

“It makes all the difference! What the hell are you thinking?!

“Nothing’s changed. I’m not- I’m not different. I can still fight.”

“No, you can’t.”

A rush of anger has Cloud flushing all the way down to his navel, chest filling with a different kind of heat in the face of Barret’s implications. He whips to attention, mouth opening in a vicious retort, but before he can so much as speak to defend himself, Barret keeps going.

“Not with those bandages, and not with that positioning-” and it’s not at all what Cloud had expected, what he's used to and what he’s prepared for- “This is beyond unsafe! No wonder you were staggering about like a blind man yesterday, do you have any idea how damaging this kind of binding can be?”

Cloud blinks dumbly, the wind taken from his sails in an instant. He pulls his shirt into his lap with numb fingers and he looks blankly up at the other man. “What?”

Barret actually hesitates at that, his own anger draining away to be replaced by a small frown. Then his whole face softens in a way that Cloud has never seen directed at him before, and he feels like his mind is going through fifty kinds of confusion trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

“This your first time binding?”

Cloud grits his teeth. “I ain’t an amateur,” he lashes out viciously, “I’ve been doing this for years, so don’t go about acting like I don’t know a damn thing.”

For the first time since they’d met, Barret doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his face transforms into something contemplative, and Cloud doesn’t know whether he should be riling against the scrutiny or if he should keep protesting the implications that he’s a rookie when it comes to his own life, but he glowers all the same.

“You’ve been using medicine bandages specifically, Cloud?”

The use of his first name throws him for another loop, and he finds himself utterly wordless. Unsure whether he wants to admit to how desperate he’d been as a kid, scavenging for any scraps of stray cloth he could find and knotting up his old shirts into binders. Digging around for things to put in his pants and - in one thoughtless instance of true, sickening desperation - sticking a knife to the back of his throat in the hopes of making his voice deeper. 

The shame pushes at something he’d thought long buried, and he struggles to get the memories right, because he knows it hadn’t stopped at Nibelheim. He knows it went beyond Tifa and dreams and practices with wooden swords in the chill of the mountain peaks.

For all the trouble he’d suffered at Nibelheim, things had been infinitely harder at Shinra. Because he’d had to hide it every moment of every day. Because his officers hadn’t known.

...

Had they known?

Cloud flinches away from the beginnings of a headache and focuses on his shirt, picking at the loose threads with fingers he forces to remain steady. 

This is a disaster. A bonafide, level four, miserable disaster, and not a single person in Sector 7 will ever hire him again once Barret spills the beans.

“How’s your breathing?” Barret breaks the silence, and Cloud barely resists the urge to jump, “does your chest hurt?”

Cloud avoids his eyes. “Maybe. It’s fine.”

“Gaia, kid, it’s not fine.” 

Cloud’s almost surprised the man hadn’t shouted this time around, but when he looks up again it’s to see a crease of worry between Barret’s brows. True, solid worry. Not hatred or judgement or disgust.

Just a gentleness, like the way he’d looked at Tifa when he returned home to see her. Or the way he’d spoken to Marlene after she’d run scared from Cloud’s presence. 

Cloud’s never made the mistake of assuming such a look would ever be directed at him, yet here they are. It's more than a bit disorienting - almost panic inducing - and he wonders if he's finally gone insane.

He’d thought not five minutes ago that Barret hated his guts and wanted to murder him in some back alley for almost getting the team killed. And hell, maybe he still feels that way. Maybe Cloud’s reading into things like he always does, unable to grasp the depth of emotions going on in the people around him.

He doesn’t know what to think anymore.

“Okay, you’re coming with me,” Barret decides, and Cloud scoffs at that, some of his indignation returning.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you need help, and I plan on giving it to you!”

Cloud scowls. “Am I getting paid?”

“No-you-what the hell is wrong with you?!” Cloud swallows past the sting of hurt at the words, hands gripping his shirt so tight they’re white from the pressure. He ducks his head to avoid Barret’s enthusiastically sweeping arm motion, and then keeps it ducked as Barret keeps speaking. “You ain’t gettin’ paid, alright?! What you’re getting is a damn health and safety lesson as well as some new clothes! Now get those bandages off and let’s move.”

Cloud’s heart skips a beat, throat closing off in a panic. “What?! No!” he gets out, “I don’t-I can’t- you-” 

He cuts himself off before he can embarrass himself further, heart still racing with the disorienting rise of fear, but Barret’s already reacted. Almost immediately, the flamboyant movements come to an abrupt stop, Barret’s restless energy dying out in a second.

Then Barret speaks; calm and soft as if he’s never been anything but. “Okay, we’ll take care of that at the store, then. No need to worry about it now.”

Cloud swallows chalk and feels weak, but he straightens until he’s standing and pulls the shirt on in one smooth motion, expertly ignoring his ribs’ screaming protests. Then he juts out his chin defiantly and looks up, meeting the startled openness of Barret’s eyes head on. It’s difficult to maintain his anger at the situation when there’s such sincerity there, but Cloud manages.

“What if I don’t want to go?” he challenges.

“Then you won’t.” Barret crosses his arms and levels a stare right back. “But I ain’t hirin’ you again until you’ve got this situation fixed. It’s a danger to you and everyone around you in this line of work.”

Cloud’s lips thin in reaction, but he keeps his tone cold and detached. “I can handle myself.”

“Yesterday proves otherwise.” Barret raises a hand to calm the defensive rise of Cloud’s shoulders, mouth snapping open for a response. “Look,” he soothes, “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. And I may not always like the way you do things, but even I can see that you’re good at your job. That hasn’t changed.”

“Then what-”

“Just come with me, alright? You’ll see what I’m talkin’ about, and if you don’t like it then you can leave.”

Cloud hesitates for only a moment longer, expression carefully neutral, before giving a small nod. He doesn’t say a thing more, afraid to reveal anything personal with the unexpectedly familiar turn in their conversation, but Barret doesn’t seem to mind. He merely responds with his own larger, much more energetic nod and heads for the door.

“Aight! Follow me, merc, and I might just teach you a thing or two.”

“I doubt it,” Cloud sighs, right on the heels of the other man.

Barret only chuckles in response, and soon they’re enveloped in a thick silence as they head down the streets of Sector 7. It isn’t as uncomfortable as Cloud’s silences with Barret usually are, and he’s almost tempted to speak while the other man’s demeanor is open and accepting. Yet it’s hard to form any words when his mind still feels drowned and uncertain, caught in some sort of hypnotic daze as he tries to figure out what’s going on and why this is happening.

Cloud feels like he’s dreaming.

Nobody has ever had such a reaction to him before. They’ve never been accepting. Even Tifa had been surprised as a kid, reluctant to interact with him normally for weeks afterward. Then when she had come back it had been awkward, avoidant conversation topics and the bumbling use of different pronouns. She’d been stilted and uncomfortable, but she’d tried and she’d cared, and for a long time that had been the best reaction he’d ever thought possible. Tifa had eventually accepted him, after all. Unlike most others who learned the truth: filled with either disgust or mockery or suggestive, degrading leers.

Barret hadn’t been like any of those people, though, and he hadn’t done any of those things. What Cloud initially thought to be rejection had been anger...on Cloud’s behalf.

Maybe.

He’s still not so sure, but Barret has taken everything after the bandage revelation in stride. He’d even reacted positively to discovering what Cloud is, and Cloud just isn’t used to it. He certainly doesn’t know how to react to it or what to say.

He wishes Tifa was here.

At the same time, he’s glad she isn’t. Because he’s never before been alone with the man in a space that wasn’t riddled by the tensions of pure dislike or upcoming battle, and the comfortable air around them right now...it feels nice.

Cloud kind of likes Barret, to be honest. Even if the man is annoying and loud and much bigger than any person has a right to be. This respect and easy camaraderie feels good. This understanding - nobody has ever acted this way around Cloud in the past. It almost feels like the first kindlings of a friendship - or at the least a nicer acquaintanceship - and Cloud wouldn’t be...averse to learning more about Barret and maybe...maybe becoming closer. He’s never had many - or any - friends before.

Cloud doesn’t want Barret to get any ideas, though. He’s still in it for the money.

“Ha! Here we are!” Barret exclaims when they finally come to a stop in front of a small, well lit little shop. He gestures to it widely, as if to encompass all of it’s everything - whatever that may be - and then strides toward the entrance. “The best clothing store in the entire sector! Although, uh...don’t tell Mimi I said that.”

He looks back at Cloud at the words, wincing, but Cloud just shrugs. “We’ll see.”

“Ah, you’re the worst,” Barret grumbles, though it lacks the usual heat. He pushes open the door to a small chime and heads inside. “Come on then, let’s get you suited up.”

“I already have a suit.”

“Just get yo’ ass in here, merc!”

Cloud reluctantly follows after him, slipping through the already closing doorway and stepping lightly to Barret’s side. 

Instantly, he’s met by bright, fluorescent lights and a colorful expanse of clothing. Rack upon rack of skirts and shirts and dresses fill the store, with large, well lit displays of stunning dresses interspersed throughout. There’s a section in the back labelled ��undergarments’ for men and women both, and that’s where Barret takes them.

Cloud isn’t sure he likes where this is headed.

“What’s going on?” he finally asks, unable to stay silent any longer, “that’s not-I won’t wear a bra.” The words feel heavy on his tongue, but Barret doesn’t even once pause in his approach, completely at ease with the situation.

“Not a bra, no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It takes an effort to keep his voice deep and chill instead of high and panicked, but Barret must sense something, because he finally slows down and turns to face Cloud.

“I ain’t lettin’ you run around in pain when there’s a nice, comfy alternative right here!” he says, indicating the section of the undergarments labeled ‘chest binding’ with a broad sweep of his gun prosthetic. The expression on his face is excited and expectant, as if he thinks Cloud is going to jump for joy at the sight, but Cloud’s brows merely furrow with even more confusion.

What the hell is going on?

“What…so they’re...modified bras?” Or shirts. All he knows is that they look tight and compact, made of a silken, thick material. Longer than a bra but shorter than a shirt, they almost appear to be a combination of training bras and crop tops. Definitely like nothing he’s ever seen or that he would ever wear, and he wonders for what has to be the hundredth time why Barret has brought him here.

“No!” Barret protests. “They’re binders - for your chest. Here, come get a closer look.”

Cloud approaches, still somewhat stupefied, and lingers in front of the rack of binders until Barret gives in and pushes one into his hands.

“It goes on under your clothes,” the other man finally explains, watching as Cloud runs his hands over the soft fabric. Those words alone help to ease some of Cloud's worries, but he’s still wary. He’s not quite sure where this is going - if it’s even going anywhere at all.

“Why are you showing me this?” 

“Because I think you could use this for your situation.”

Something in him finally gives at that, splintering beneath the confusion and humiliation. Frustration pools rapidly through the cracks, and Cloud barely reigns in his initial burst of anger before he’s speaking in cold, clipped tones. “Use this for what? What is this place and what are these?! Why did you bring me here?”

“Because I know how you feel.”

“You don’t know shit about me!”

“I know enough! I’ve been exactly where you are, Cloud. I’m like you.”

Cloud shakes his head, blinking away the tears. “What?” This isn’t what he’d expected or what he’d planned for and what is going on?! 

There are people like him? 

“No, you...you can’t be. I’m a freak. I’m a- I’m twisted and wrong-” his voice breaks in a humiliating display of weakness, and he stutters through a choked off breath, struggling to breathe as the realization comes crashing down on him.

The only explanation is that Barret doesn’t know. That Cloud’s somehow tricked him into thinking Cloud is someone or something else. Normal like Barret; human like him. Because if Barret did know what Cloud was he wouldn’t be saying these things or thinking they were the same. He wouldn’t be happy about it and he wouldn’t be doing any of this.

Cloud feels like such a fucking fool. Why had he thought Barret accepted him? Why had he assumed Barret knew what was going on when Cloud hadn’t even taken a second to explain the situation to him. 

Gaia what a fool - what a fool - what a damn -

He’d made assumptions and now Barret thinks he understands but he doesn’t.

“It’s not- I’m not-” he tries to keep his tone steady, but the desperation leaks through and even Cloud can hear the tears in his voice because now he has to explain - now he has to lose this and Gaia, he’s so pathetic- he didn’t even like Barret anyway- “You don’t understand. You...you don’t understand, because if you did you wouldn’t-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I-I tricked you, but I didn’t mean to. I’m not a man and I’m in the wrong body and my brain is messed up but I don’t mean to be a freak. I don’t mean to be a freak I swear.” The last word falls apart on a sob as the panic sets in, and finally Barret snaps.

"Enough!" he bellows, voice loud and hard as iron, “There ain’t nothing freakish about this. Nothing!” 

Cloud's heart stops at the tone - at the fact that there isn't a tinge of disgust to be heard. Hell, there isn’t even horror at the realization of Cloud’s wrongness like he’d thought there would be once Barret learned the truth, and when Cloud risks a glance upward, chest still heaving with each strangled breath, it’s to see nothing but steely resolution in Barret’s eyes. No hatred in sight.

Unconsciously, he tightens his grip on the binder, pulling it closer to his stinging chest. The shudders still wrack his frame, but as the seconds tick by and Barret's firm support doesn't waver for so much as a millisecond, they slowly begin to subside.

“There's nothing wrong with you, for that matter,” Barret goes on after what feels like years. Cloud almost expects a jab about his morals after he says it, but Barret merely stops talking again and gives him an intense, determined look, as if he’s trying to bore the fact into Cloud’s skull.

Cloud can only shake his head. He squeezes his eyes shut to block anymore tears that might try to escape, but they just keep falling despite everything.

“Gaia, kid, they’ve got you real messed up.”

“I’m not-I’m not messed up.” Which is a complete 180 from what he’d been saying five seconds ago, but the words are out before he has the chance to stop them.

Barret sighs. “I know.”

There’s a long stretch of silence after that, and Cloud occupies himself with inspecting the binder in his hands, stomach turning with the agonizing curdle of shame as he begins to calm down and return to his senses.

This isn’t how he’s supposed to be acting. Not in front of civilians and not in front of his employers and especially not in front of Barret, who hates his guts and would probably have killed him ages ago for being a SOLDIER if it wasn’t for Tifa.

What must he think of Cloud now?

“I do know, merc.”

Cloud swallows and doesn’t look up. “Know what?”

“What it’s like. I was born in the wrong body too, but I’m a man and I always have been.”

It’s difficult to wrap his mind around. Other people - people like him - who exist in the same world he does and who mean that he isn’t alone. It doesn’t seem possible - it can’t be - but what Barret’s describing...he wouldn’t be able to say it unless he knows.

Maybe he does understand, after all. 

But Barret, of all people. Cloud just can’t believe it. He’s so...he’s so...he’s everything Cloud wishes he could be. Confident and strong and masculine. There’s no way he’s broken or shameful. No way that he was once...that he’s like-

Cloud.

“The man who runs this store? His name is Damian,” Barret goes on, “he chose that name, same as I did. He’s had experience wearing shit like this, which is why it’s the best I’ve come across and the most accessible. It’s a real tight operation.”

Another person like him. Cloud opens his mouth to speak, a question on the tip of his tongue, but before he can another voice speaks up from behind.

“My ears are burning!” A man’s voice chimes out, “Barret, is that you?”

Cloud blinks in alarm and turns to see a tall, dark skinned man approach. He’s lithe and well muscled, dressed in a tight fitting, sleeveless shirt and long leather pants. The array of tattoos across his skin is impressive, but his demeanor is moreso. Confident yet casual as he comes to a stop beside them both, a massive smile revealing sharp white canines as he pushes his multicolored sunglasses up onto his dark hair.

The chuckle Barret gives the other man is more untroubled than Cloud’s heard since he first arrived at Seventh Heaven and met Marlene. Barret even seems to relax a fraction when Damian’s stormy gray eyes land on him. 

“Yeah,” Barret says, grinning and clapping Damian on the shoulder, “it’s been a while, but I’m back.”

“And with a friend.” Those gray eyes turn to Cloud next, but he doesn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable under the attention as he usually does. Still, he refrains from saying anything, observing the interaction carefully as he works to school his features.

As first impressions go, puffy red eyes and a wet face probably isn’t the best, but it’s certainly better than looking like a miserable mess in somebody else’s store. And...and this man might be like him.

Cloud doesn’t want to scare him off.

“This is Cloud, we’re just here to check out your binders.”

“Ah! The greatest adventure of them all. You’re in for a treat, my dearest newcomer. Binder shopping is always fun, of course, but mine are the absolute best! And let nobody tell you otherwise.” Damian inhales dramatically after he’s finished speaking, finally stopping to take a breath, and then launches right back into it. “If you’ve got your sizes, I can direct you to the ones that will fit, but I can always work off of an old one if that’s more comfortable for you!”

Cloud hesitates, lifting the one he already has in his hands. “I’ve already found one. Isn’t this enough?”

The dead silence in response gives Cloud the impression that it’s not.

Then Damian explodes, gasping as if he’s been struck and whirling to point at Barret accusingly. “Barret! You’ve brought me a baby!”

“Excuse me?!” Cloud immediately puffs up at the words. “I’m not a baby!” Barret laughs at that - the asshole - looking positively pleased with the direction this is going, and Cloud wants to bash his stupid head in.

“You are! My god, is this your first binder? Barret, what have you been doing to this boy? How could you let it get this far?”

“Don’t bring me into this! I only found out he was using bandages to bind about a half hour ago."

“Oh, you can’t be serious. That’s terrible!”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“Why didn’t you do something sooner?”

“This ain’t my fault, Damian! I didn’t even know he was trans before then.”

“You-”

“...trans?” 

Two heads swivel to face him at that, surprise etched across both, and it takes all of Cloud’s strength to remain composed under the combined force of their intensity.

“Oh my...I see,” Damian breathes, tension melting into something softer as he approaches, his fight with Barret all but forgotten. Not that Cloud had really appreciated the fight to begin with, considering they’d both been talking about him as if he wasn’t right there. “Well you’ve certainly got a lot to learn, but it’s nothing we haven’t covered before.”

“Right.” Cloud glances uneasily at Barret. “I don’t…are you...really like me?” He hates how small he sounds - how stupid. Hates how everything about this makes him feel as if he’s about to burst with joy and drown in confusion.

Hates how he doesn’t just know.

Everything he’d ever thought - about himself as well as the people around him - has been a lie. It was all a lie.

Damian doesn’t react badly, though. He only gives Cloud a warm smile, winking lightly, and says, “were you born in a different body; a body you knew wasn’t your own? Did you struggle your entire childhood with being referred to by the wrong pronouns and being called a girl when you knew in your heart that you weren’t? Did you work every day of your life to change yourself in ways you thought would never happen? Did you ache to be someone else?”

“Yeah,” Cloud says, and his voice cracks again but he doesn’t care because Gaia it’s real. It’s all real. He's not alone.

“That’s called being trans. Transgender, if you want to get technical about it, and there’s a whole slew of different identities out there, but right now we’re just going to focus on yours.”

“...so I’m not broken?”

“No! No. Gaia, no. You aren’t broken or- or a freak or a monster. What you’re feeling - what you are - is completely normal. Thousands of people all over the world feel the same. It’s natural.”

Cloud doesn’t say anything after that, taking a while to process it all. He still has a hard time believing things, but it’s almost harder now to not believe them when he’s got two people here who claim to feel the exact same why.

He’d never thought he would relate so much to Barret, of all people, and he briefly wonders if Barret’s upset about them having this in common. Did he bring Cloud here out of some sense of duty? Or does he really care?

“The binders are meant to be less constrictive,” Barret eventually speaks up, as if summoned by Cloud’s thoughts, and Cloud instantly hones in on the authoritative lilt to his tone. He sounds as if he’s giving a lesson, soothing and gentle and commanding all at once. Like a parent. 

Or a leader, Cloud supposes.

“Bindin’ with the bandages as you were doing is a surefire way to fuck up your ribs and your lungs as well as a shitton of other things. You’re lucky it was caught in time, otherwise your little merc gig would’ve been up before the season’s end.”

That’s daunting, but expected. Cloud had always known the bandages weren’t a good idea, he’d merely never had a better alternative.

He fingers the smooth fabric of the binder again, secretly admiring the bright purple and pink patterns. It’s pretty and he likes the design, but it really isn’t his style. He’s nervous about what Barret would say if it were his style, though.

What if Cloud isn’t trans enough?

“The binder will do a better job of compressing your chest, too,” Damian picks up where Barret left off, “it will be less painful and show less, and it will also be significantly easier to remove and put on.”

“And it isn’t noticeable?” Cloud doesn’t want people to know. He doesn’t want to remind Tifa of his shortcomings anymore than he has to. He just wants it all gone. He wants it to be invisible.

“Not at all! We have some more flamboyant ones if you’re up for that, but a lot of these are meant to blend in with everyday life. Here, how about this!” Damian moves then, pushing closer into Cloud’s personal space and pulling a measuring tape from his pocket like that’s a normal thing for a person to just be carrying around. “I’ll take your measurements, and then you and Barret can go check out the binders. That sound good?”

“I-uh...yeah.” 

“Barret said you’ve been binding with bandages?” Damian asks. He moves forward and starts to work, pausing briefly to skin his fingers over the irregularities on Cloud’s chest.

“Yes.”

“Okay, well I know we’ve said it a dozen times before, but I need to be one hundred percent sure that you know that could seriously damage you. Possibly permanently, if you’re not careful.”

“I know.”

“Okay!” Damian snaps up his measuring tape, stepping back before Cloud can vibrate right out of his bones from the anxiety of someone being so near to him. He waves a dismissive hand and turns away. “I’ll be back soon. Have fun, boys!”

And then he’s gone. Out the door and into the backrooms before Cloud can say a word in response. He turns to give Barret a questioning look, but the man is already heading over to the other end of the binder display, chuckling in amusement.

“That’s Damian for ya,” Barret says, “He moves fast and he has a hard time focusing, but he means well and he cares a lot. World could use more people like him.”

Cloud nods.

The rack extends along the entire length of the far wall, so he puts some distance between him and Barret, skin still tingling from where he’d been touched. He feels tight and trapped, but with his gradual adjustment to the newly acquired space and air around him, the world starts to calm down again.

He gives the massive display of binders a once-over, and an array of blues nearby catches his eye. The darker tones are slightly more comforting than the vibrant purples, so he focuses on examining those instead of the others while Barret speaks beside him.

“I came here a while back. When I was younger and less used to this whole thing. Damian’s work instantly stood out to me. It was more comfortable and more supportive, and the material didn’t chafe or constrict the way bandages do. Don’t think I’d ever actually enjoyed wearing binders before then, but he made it more fun and inclusive - more satisfying. I felt proud to be who I am for the first time in my life after I left his store that day.”

It would be an understatement to say that Cloud is out of his depth, and he has to ask. “You don’t wear them anymore?”

“Don’t need to! Got surgery a couple years back and it was the best decision of my life - well, aside from Marlene, of course. I started on hormones before then, though. Been at it for what feels like decades.”

None of those words mean anything to Cloud. He avoids the mention of surgery with a ten foot pole, feeling nauseous even thinking about it, and runs his fingers along the display. A variety of fabrics catch against his callouses, but there seems to be a recurring theme in regards to what can be used to make the binders at all, because he quickly notices a pattern.

“When did you realize?” he eventually inquires, after Barret keeps silent for too long throughout his musings.

“Ah! When I was real young,” Barret responds. It's almost immediate, and it leaves Cloud wondering if Barret had been waiting for him to speak before he started up again. The thought doesn’t sit right, but Cloud doesn’t know how to voice it, so he simply doesn't. 

“At about seven - maybe eight - my parents talked to me about some of the things I’d been casually saying at the time. Things that I didn’t really know the meaning of. It made me realize that I’d been viewing myself as a man unintentionally, without even realizing I was doing so. That talk and my parents' support allowed me to come to terms with everything.” Barret sighs sadly, going silent for a moment, then, “I had it better than most.”

Cloud can't help but agree. He wonders what his life would have been like if he’d had another parent around. If he’d ever gotten to know his father or had a closer relationship with his mother. She’d tried to be around for him as much as she could, but life was hard and her job was a busy one, and she’d been desperate to put food on the table and pay off the bills. 

He’d never told her who he truly was.

“How long have you known?” Barret asks into the quiet, and Cloud doesn’t really have to think about the answer.

“Always,” he says, and, “I don’t know,” because he doesn’t. There had never been a time when he thought he was anything but a boy, but there had been a time when he refused to acknowledge it.

There’s another silence after that. One that settles Cloud’s nerves and lets him take a closer look at his options. 

Binders; actual clothing just for people like him: more comfortable, better at hiding things, and less dangerous. It seems like a fairytale. Unattainable and inevitably, tragically disappointing. Meant to rip the rug right out from under him - disappearing the moment he truly starts to believe. Yet when Cloud picks out a dark, solid blue binder made of a silken material, it doesn’t disappear in a cloud of fairydust. Instead it falls into his hands and glides through his fingers. Light, thick material and a comforting weight, with no rough edges or sandpaper cotton or suffocating elastic bound around and around like a straightjacket.

Something eases in his chest when he holds it. Something that feels a lot less like dread and self hate and a lot more like hope.

Cloud has never wished more for something to be real.

“See one you like?” Cloud can’t resist jumping this time around, surprised at the volume of the voice behind him. He whirls around to see Damian standing a mere few feet behind him, and Cloud curses himself for not hearing the man's approach. 

“Um...maybe.” At Damian’s quirked brow he clears his throat. “It’s nice,” he offers pitifully.

Damian sighs in exaggerated offense and drops his sunglasses back onto his nose. “You’re a disaster, kid. You’re lucky I like you so much.”

“I’m not a kid.”

Damian doesn’t even reward that with a response. “Is this the only design you want?”

Cloud looks down at the one in his hands again. He really does like it. Hell, he can even imagine wearing it, and the thought alone makes his heart ache in a way he’d never thought possible, but - “how...how much do they cost?”

“The lowest I can go is 500 gil a piece.”

Cloud’s heart drops, hope evaporating in a second. “Oh.” 

He barely even has enough money to buy food at this point, let alone even one of these things. He can't afford it. Gaia, what had he thought was going to happen?

Cloud's face heats with shame, and he feels utterly ridiculous now, thinking about how excited he’d been.

“I don’t…” he tries to get his throat to work, swallowing past the knot that’s formed, “I-”

And then a voice speaks and it's Barret, it's -

“I’ll take care of it.” 

Cloud exhales in a rush, eyes widening, and his body goes so weak that for a second he fears collapsing. “What?” he croaks, voice trapped behind the need to say more but he can’t. He can’t do anything but try to regain control of his mind and his heart and his shaking, fisted hands.

“I’ll pay for the binder. And two more,” Barret says, and he looks at Cloud like he cares, smiling slightly and eyes warm. Cloud shakes his head in denial, but Barret turns and nods to Damian. “Throw in some of those educational booklets, too. For free.”

“Sure thing, my friend.” Damian beams, racing over to the binder rack. He grabs a handful of the same color in a different size before dancing happily back over to the counters to check it all out, and if Cloud wasn’t still reeling from the shock he’d probably think the man needed to calm down.

“I don’t-” Cloud finally manages, “I can’t pay you back.”

“You don’t have to,” Barret tries to reassure, but he’s wrong.

“Is this for the last job?” It’s the only thing that makes a lick of sense, yet when he asks it Barret only hums in the negative.

“No, you’re still getting paid for the last job.”

“I am?” That’s certainly news to Cloud, who’d been sure about a half hour ago that Barret was going to pay him in blood for how badly he’d fucked up.

“Yeah, merc. You did your job. Sure, things went sideways, but it wasn’t just you, and if I punished everybody who fucked up a little on missions then I wouldn’t have any team at all. Hell, I’d say you even did more than most, even with that shitshow at the end. Otherwise we’d’ve been dead before we got there.”

Cloud huffs, clenching at the fabric of the binder again. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“Yes, it does. Now stop arguing! I’m your boss and I consider this a down payment as well as an investment. You’ve done good work and you’re going to keep doing good work on the next mission.”

“The next mission?” 

“You got something in your ears, Strife?”

“No,” Cloud breathes, and it’s probably a testament to the state of his mind right now that he doesn’t have a sarcastic retort on hand, “I just...I thought…”

Barret doesn’t say anything for a while after that, and it gives Cloud some time to breathe. And with the time comes the realization that he has binders now. Actual, real binders that won’t hurt him and that will help him. Chest coverings that he actually likes to look at and feel against his skin and wear.

He doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or scream, but in the end all he ends up doing is crying. He turns away so Barret won’t see it, and he’s glad when the next topic Barret brings up is completely unrelated, although it doesn’t hit any less close to home.

“So why didn’t you tell me you were flat out broke?”

“It didn’t matter.”

“It does when my team members aren’t taking care of themselves.”

“I’m not a member of your team!” Okay, so maybe Cloud doesn’t like this topic after all. Maybe he thinks this whole situation is ridiculous when this man fucking hates his guts. Maybe he’s tired and he’s tired of being fucking tired all the goddamn time.

“I was wrong.”

The world screeches to a halt. “No- no you weren’t. I’m only in it for the money and I’m an ex-SOLDIER, you said-”

“I said some things that I shouldn’t have. It doesn’t matter what you’re in this for, as long as you work with me, up to and until you leave, you are on my team and deserving of my care.”

Cloud can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Is this because of what I am? Because that doesn’t change anything. I haven’t changed. I’m still…” He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Cloud is a lot of things, and he hates every single one of them.

Barret’s expression pinches into an emotion Cloud can’t name, his mouth pulling down into a severe frown. “It ain’t because you’re trans, kid. It’s because I fucked up and I let my feelings get the better of me. As your leader and your...employer, I should never have treated you like that.”

Cloud swallows. But I deserved it.

“If it’s any consolation,” Barret says, “I still think you’re an asshole and a selfish bastard.”

Coughing to cover up a laugh probably isn’t the most subtle move, but Cloud’s emotions are too much of a wreck to muster up much else. “And I still think you’re overbearing and annoying,” he huffs.

Barret doesn’t explode like he usually would, only nodding like he’d expected that. “You aren’t getting any special treatment cause you’re trans, okay? I don’t view you any different. I’m payin’ you for the job cause you did the job, and we agreed on a price. I’m paying for this because I know what it’s like and I want to help. And I’m treatin’ you nicer because...well, you ain’t so bad once you get past the...everything else.”

“Thanks,” Cloud deadpans, but he can't deny that he feels lighter at the admission - more at ease.

“Welcome!” Barret begins to head over to the checkout, waving for Cloud to follow until he reluctantly trails behind the other man. “After this you can change into one of the binders if you want. The rooms in the back are there just for that purpose, so don’t worry about causin’ no trouble.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh huh. And then after that we can talk books! I don’t want you goin’ home with more questions than answers, so I’m gon’ tell you which ones you should read first, and you’re going to listen.”

Cloud sighs.

“Shut the hell up, merc. And then after that-”

“There’s more?”

“After that, maybe we can talk about some of the other people in the community ‘round here that you can speak to.”

“A community? As in a whole group?” All here in Midgar? That doesn’t seem possible. What are the chances?

“You’re actin’ like we’re a rare breed, kid. Sure, not every trans person is exactly like us, some don’t even feel dysphoria, but they’re all apart of the community. Hell, there’s dozens in Sector 7 alone! The whole of Midgar? Probably hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” Cloud asks faintly.

Barret grins like it’s a challenge. “Oh yeah. Wanna know my guess for the entire world?” 

“No.”

“Thousands. Tens of thousands.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Oh but it is!” Damian is the one to speak this time around, holding out a bulging bag of supplies as they approach. “I took the opportunity to put some other helpful tools in there as well, Cloud.”

“Uh…” Cloud takes it, peeking inside and getting a facefull of different pamphlets and colorful clothing articles and paper documents. “...thanks.” Then he sucks in a breath and glares back around at Barret. “Your plan is unusually thought out,” he accuses.

Barret shrugs shamelessly. “Yeah, well I gotta be prepared if my darling girl ever decides she needs my guidance! Ain’t no way I’m gonna leave her without the proper tools when I struggled so much as a kid.”

“But you said your parents helped.”

“There was only so much they could do. Small town couples like them never really travel a lot, and I was lucky they knew as much as they did.”

“My parents were like that, too,” Damian offers as he rings them up, “we had to do a lot of guesswork and research to reach the point where we understood. Luckily I had a head up on most in my situation, considering they’re both women.”

Neither of them asks about Cloud’s parents, and he’s glad for it, but he can’t help thinking about his mother’s weary eyes and chilling absences. He wonders what it would be like to have two parents who both care so much. 

He wonders if it would be coziness and sunshine and soft touches, instead of gnawing hunger and the drain of loneliness. He wonders if he wouldn’t be so miserable now, had she been there to hear what he was going through.

Then again, he isn’t so miserable now. A warmth is settling in his chest. It’s a steady, gradual process, but when he thinks about it he can feel it and he can almost taste it. Comfort and protection and guidance. Safety. Freedom.

His chest hurts on the inside. Past the tattered bandages and the bruised ribs. And it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind Tifa gives him in shining, startling bursts when he sees her. The kind that he hasn’t felt in years. Since deciding to leave his only friend and the only place he’d ever known. The kind of hurt he thought he’d never feel again. 

Happiness.

Maybe Cloud will finally be able to fit in somewhere. Maybe he’ll be able to find a team and a family - find acceptance.

And Cloud thinks about everything that's happened today and wonders if maybe...maybe Barret wouldn’t mind him sticking around for just a bit longer, after all.

[revengerevisited]

Maddie rambles about Kingdom Hearts: Dark Road

Let’s just get this outta the way: Xehanort is my least favorite character in Kingdom Hearts. Now there are certainly more boring and underdeveloped characters but as far as evil deeds go, it doesn’t matter how ‘cute’ or ‘relatable’ Nomura tries to make Xehanort. I will never forget that he tore Ven’s heart in half, tortured Vanitas for four years, killed his own best friend, possessed Terra’s body for a decade, possessed Riku’s body as Ansem, unleashed Heartless on the worlds resulting in countless deaths, manipulated Organization XIII for years, and experimented on Kairi as a child and eventually murdered her in front of her best friends. Any attempt to make me sympathize with him just ain’t gonna work.

Also, I’m not taking any of these ‘Character X is secretly Character Y’ theories too seriously until they actually happen. Yes, it can be fun to speculate that Bragi or Odin is secretly Luxu or the Master of Masters, or that Brain is Eraqus’s ancestor, or that Demyx is the MoM, or that Ava or Vor is Kairi’s grandma, or whatever other theories are out there. But until there’s conclusive evidence that’s all they are, speculations and theories.

On that note, I don’t know why Xehanort is having dreams about the KHUX Player’s adventures but I don’t think it’s because Xehanort is the Player’s Nobody or a reincarnation of the Player. Reincarnation has never been a concept present in the KH series, and honestly it just sounds like bad fanfiction. Plus, if Xehanort does turn out to be the Player, then I feel bad for everyone who spent a lot of time creating their own unique character only to have it be replaced by the generic default Player in KHDR’s opening cutscene and then re-replaced by Xehanort of all people. Perhaps Xehanort simply has a unique, unexplained power to see into the past like Namine’s memory manipulation or Terra’s precognition.

Either way, this past-sight just makes it harder and harder for me to believe that Xehanort wanted to learn about the Keyblade War in BBS, since it seems he already knew all he needs to know. Xemnas knows that Luxord, Marluxia, Demyx, and Larxene are from the past, young Xehanort lives in Scala ad Caelum which was built over the ruins of Daybreak Town complete with a huge machine explaining Daybreak Town’s demise, Eraqus talks about the Book of Prophecies like it’s common knowledge, the list goes on. Also, I don’t like the implication that Xehanort chose Ventus as his vessel and later as material for the X-Blade only because he knows him from the Player’s dreams. Then again, if his dreams of the Keyblade War end before the Player meets Ven and Lauriam, then Xehanort wouldn’t know about them and would instead be more familiar with Skuld and Ephemer.

I will say that one thing I do like is Xehanort comparing himself to a starfish laying on the beach, both for the humorous imagery and also just a bit of that islander backstory flavor. Xehanort being the outsider of his friends group and not telling the whole truth of how he ended up in Scala is also an interesting Kairi parallel, although him being found unconscious in the middle of a city is kinda overused. I do like that the surrounding cities around Scala are all uninhabited, since trying to wrap my mind around these huge mountain-sized cities with potentially millions of people in them was a little too much for my brain to handle.

I do however find it quite bizarre that it’s taken some worlds so long to recover from the Keyblade War. Not only that, but apparently people just appear out of thin air once their world is restored. Like, how? It just feels weird and uncomfortable, almost like these people only exist for the protagonist and audience’s amusement rather than being independent living beings in their own right. I dunno, there’s just something deeply unsettling about those implications. It also makes me wonder how long ago the Keyblade War was, if places like Agrabah still aren’t finished only 75-ish years before KH1. The characters refer to it as a legend, so it must’ve happened a long time ago, right? Some fans think it’s only been 100 years since the Keyblade War, but that would be like the equivalent of calling World War 1 a legend.

The worlds all being on different timescales is also extremely headache-inducing, both as analyst and a fanfic writer trying to keep track of the plot. Couple that with time travel and the whole thing just falls apart. Of course, if each world runs at a different time, then perhaps this is why Xehanort looks so much older than Eraqus, or rather why Eraqus looks so relatively young when he’s supposed to be 80-ish years old. And if that’s the case, then do any of the characters’ ages really matter? I’ve already proven that their ages have been retconned before. Also, this renders timecodes such as ‘75 years later’ and ‘one year later’ from Re:Mind and other parts of the series completely meaningless. The timeline is broken.

Anyway, I’m not sure how much Norse Mythology will play into the story, but all the new characters have Norse names with two that stand out the most. The first is Master Odin, named after a Norse god who sacrificed one of his own eyes for knowledge, which is an interesting parallel to the MoM. The second is Baldr, the as of yet unseen seventh student who has a missing sister, because evidently Nomura likes recycling his previous plots before they’ve even finished. In Norse Mythology, Baldr is the god of light whose death kickstarts the events of Ragnarok. How this’ll be relevant in KHDR remains to be seen, but after seeing those four gravestones in the timeskip/flashforward, I can’t imagine this ending well for anyone not named Eraqus or Xehanort. 

Now, as funny as I find it that the new characters have all been killed off this quickly, I’m not entirely convinced that those are Urd, Hermod, Bragi, and Vor’s graves. They could actually be the graves of the missing upperclassmen, if some of them turn up dead. Speaking of the upperclassmen, I would hope that Yen Sid is one of them, but I have a feeling he won’t be allowed to show up simply because of Disney’s stranglehold on its own IP. It’s pretty sad and ironic seeing as this series used to be all about Disney, but I assume that’s why Nomura is straying further and further from the brand.

About the four new student characters, I don’t have any particular attachment to any of them, beyond Vor’s name being hilariously unfortunate. I find it a bit eye-rolling that fans continuously snub Kairi but will instantly latch onto any new characters like Yozora and these four despite barely knowing anything about them. It doesn’t help that, and please correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems that any of the four who you choose to be in your trio will have the exact same dialogue in cutscenes no matter who you pick, meaning that these new characters don’t even get much of a chance to develop their own personalities because all of their dialogue has to be generic and bland enough to fit all four of them.

Young Eraqus is probably the best character so far, simply because he’s the only one with any personality. Granted his supposed cowardice has yet to be seen, but it’s mentioned so often that I assume it’s gonna be an important plot point later. However, I’m finding it hard to relate young Eraqus with his adult counterpart seeing as their personalities are just so different. I’m aware there’s a 65-ish year gap between this Eraqus and older Eraqus, but there better be some major character development to explain this, especially since even standing in front of his presumed classmate’s graves he still seems fairly chipper.

On that note, as humorous as ‘Tardy Fleetfoot’ is, just like with Xehanort, don’t think I’ve forgotten that this guy caused Terra’s insecurity and self-doubt with his overzealous anti-darkness stance, probably heavily influenced Aqua’s black-and-white anti-darkness keyblade-first-ask-questions-later thinking, was also probably the one who told her to lie to Ventus about always living with them, and attempted to straight up kill Ven and Terra. Eraqus’s actions aren’t as bad as Xehanort’s, but they certainly aren’t acceptable in any capacity.

Something odd I noticed is that Eraqus knows what the Heartless are called, and even the difference between Pureblood and Emblem Heartless-- well, part of the difference; I’m assuming he doesn’t know that future Xehanort created them. But anyway, my point is that Aqua doesn’t know what the Heartless are called until Mickey tells her in BBS 0.2. Before that she simply calls them ‘dwellers of darkness’, and even mistakes one for an Unversed. Does this mean Eraqus never taught his students about the Heartless? Why? Perhaps after his classmates died, he decided to shelter his own students from the worlds, hence why their Mark of Mastery was so simple? I’m just guessing at this point. Of course, there’s still no real explanation as for why the Emblem Heartless are here in the past. My best theory is that someone used the Book of Prophecies to summon them... somehow. It really just seems like an excuse to gloss over the corner Nomura wrote himself into with the whole ‘Emblem Heartless were made by Ansem’ thing, but we’ll see.

Honestly this whole series is just one big endless death-spiral of constant retcons and nonsensical plot twists and at this point I’m just exhausted. My view on KH has become one of mild and morbid curiosity, rather than expecting anything truly great. Is that cynical? Yes, but I’ve watched other once-great series (Star Wars, Voltron) worsen over time to the point that they just fizzle out and die, and I’m afraid it’s the same deal with Kingdom Hearts. I don’t think I’ve truly enjoyed a KH game since BBS, and if the series just continues down the path of introducing bland new characters every time Nomura gets bored rather than developing the already established ones, I don’t know how long I can stay interested. The Dark Seeker Saga is over and he really needs to let Xehanort go.

To end this on a positive note, I am tentatively hopeful about Melody of Memory. The gameplay looks cute and fun and the story looks like it will have more development for Kairi and her backstory, which is something I’ve been wanting for a while now. Focusing on the original cast is definitely a step in the right direction, and I hope this series can keep moving forwards rather than backwards.

[mischiefandspirits]

Iron Legion (20/?)

Never let it be said that Tony Stark ever does things by half. He might have grown up with little family, but he wasn’t about to keep it that way.

Tony Stark was seventeen when his first child was born, and that was just the beginning.

For Masterpost, Timeline, AO3, and Fanfiction

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arachne Mark II, Part 3

Tony was not having the best day. Ross the Lesser had called in a meeting with the Avengers, including him despite his arguments that he wasn’t an Avenger anymore. Pepper’s stay in Moscow had been extended. He’d had to push back his weekly call to the Keener gang. He wasn’t going to have time to check in with Peter once he got back to New York. And now there was this.

His name was Charlie Spencer.

“She doesn’t know what she was talking about, Boss. She’s just grieving,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said softly, her hologram appearing in the seat next to him.

“She wasn’t completely wrong.”

The AI crossed her arms and shook her head. “V.I.R.G.I.L. caused Sokovia. The only other people that can share the blame are HYDRA and the witch. None of that was your fault. You and the others did everything you could to stop him and save everyone. You worked to evacuate as many people as you could before the attack started and you helped save a lot of others while assisting the relief foundation.”

Tony sighed. “I know, but -”

“Should I bring up the list?”

He shot her a glare. “Alright, you and the doc aren’t allowed to talk about me anymore.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” she said with blatantly faux-innocence.

“‘Remember those you’ve lost, but don’t let the grief control you and keep in mind those you saved’,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Good advice.”

Tony snorted and stood up. “Check our arrival time with the pilot and send it to Ross the Lesser so he can meet Nebula and me at the mansion. I’m going to go take a nap before you decide to sell out my sleeping schedule to the doc too. Or worse, Pepper.”

“I would never.”

“Liar.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tony. You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.”

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind.”

Tony considered pointing out that he had made up his mind. That he, alongside Drew and Nebula, had been keeping a careful watch on the UN’s meetings that had led to the Sokovia Accords and had been working to oust Ross the Lesser from his self-imposed place on the panel for this exact reason. That he had signed the accords alongside Drew nearly a month earlier because they could see the way the tide was turning and wanted to start building breakwaters before the first wave hit.

Instead, he just said, “Boy, you know me so well.”

“Do you know why Father announced who he was to the world when he first became Iron Man?” Nebula asked, dragging the Avengers’ attention to her as he stood up to find something to wash down his pain meds to alleviate his Rogers and B.A.R.F. induced headache. “Accountability. Ever since he returned from Afghanistan, accountability has been his number one priority. He made Stark Industries accountable for its tech by putting in extra security and checks. He made Iron Man accountable for his actions by letting everyone know who he is. Since establishing the Avengers, he has tried to make you all accountable as well using his government contacts and the Stark Relief Foundation, but that can only go so far.”

“The Avengers need to be put in check,” Tony agreed once he’d swallowed the pills. “We all do. If we can’t accept limitations, if we’re boundary-less, we’re no better than the bad guys.”

“We can’t just give up because -” Rogers started and Tony cut him off.

“Who said we’re giving up?”

“We are if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

“That is the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said.” Tony barely held back a snort at Nebula’s blank comment. “The accords don’t shift blame. If anything, they do the exact opposite. They make you accountable for your own actions.”

Rogers gave her a look that reeked with condescension and Tony bristled. “Listen -”

“Careful how you speak to my kid, Capsicle. She can beat you to the ground and I’d gladly watch,” Tony growled.

Everyone except Rhodey, Vision, and Nebula gave him disbelieving looks.

“Ditto,” Rhodey agreed, sending them a glare.

“I would have to agree as well,” Vision added, not noticing the pout Maximoff gave him at the statement. “Nebula’s training and abilities make her a match for the captain, even excluding the additional weaponry Mr. Stark has equipped her with.”

When the others still looked unconvinced, Nebula shrugged. “If you want proof, we can go down to the gym and spar. Maybe I can knock some sense into you while we’re at it.”

“I’m not going to fight you,” Rogers huffed. “We’re getting distracted from what we really need to talk about.” He turned to Tony. “What you did with your company, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“You know,” Nebula started and the coldness in her voice had Tony and Rhodey stiffening. That voice never led to anything good for the one it was directed at. “I once met a man who thought his hands were the best ones to know how to protect a planet.” She held up her hand and it pulled apart to reveal the repulser inside. “He ended up taking my arm and more. Took so much, I can’t even remember his face.”

Finally catching on, Vision shot forward to place himself between her and Rogers. “Nebula,” he said softly.

She dropped her hand, letting it close. “I’m done with this,” she growled, turning to leave.

“I’ll take you home,” Tony said after sending the dumbfounded Rogers a glare.

“What was she talking about?” he heard Wilson ask once they were in the hall.

“Something private,” Rhodey answered. “Drop it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harley whistled. “I’m surprised she didn’t blast him in the face. And a little disappointed. It would have been hilarious.”

“I don’t condone violence, even against super soldiers who can take it,” Tony said before lowering his voice, “but yeah, it would have.”

“I heard that,” Tori called, appearing behind her son. “Stop encouraging violent behavior in my kids.”

“Hey, Valley Girl’s all yours. Her violent behavior has nothing to do with me!” Tony pointed out.

“Harley taught her and you taught him,” she shot back.

“She’s got you there,” Harley chuckled.

“Traitor.”

“Boss, I would suggest turning on the news,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced.

“News?” Harley asked and Tony saw him move into the living room. “What station?”

“Any will work, Country-Bro. They’re all talking about it.”

That caught Tony’s attention. “Well, bring it up for me, Fri.”

His stomach sank as he watched.

“Mind your language,” Tori said distractedly when he let out a curse. “Oh, those poor people.”

“Cap’s going to freak,” Harley added as Barnes’ face appeared onscreen.

“Yeah, he is,” Tony agreed, running a hand over his face. “Guys, I’m going to have to call you back later.”

Tori gave him a look over Harley’s shoulder. “Don’t go getting yourself in trouble for him, Tony. He ain’t worth it. He’s caused enough trouble as is.”

“Don’t worry, just got to call Ross and Rhodey. Hopefully, we can get a handle on this before Rogers does something stupid.”

They couldn’t.

By the time Rhodey and the CIA were able to move in and Tony convinced them not to just kill Barnes, Rogers had already picked a fight with German Special Forces alongside Wilson, Barnes, and -- surprisingly -- the Prince of Wakanda.

Once he got the news, he immediately sent Vision a message telling him that he and Maximoff needed to stay at the mansion. The last thing they needed was one of their haters causing a scene that could quickly escalate given the girl’s temper or could result in her visa coming into question.

Then he climbed into a Quinjet and set off for Berlin.

When Rogers reached them, Tony and Romanoff were set up in a room to wait, so they got to watch them get brought in through the security feeds.

“What’s going to happen to him?” was, of course, the first thing out of Rogers’ mouth when he approached Ross and his lackey.

“Same thing that ought to happen to you,” Ross stated. “Psychological evaluation and extradition.”

“This is Everett Ross, Deputy Task Force Commander,” the lackey said.

“We’ve met,” Rogers said, nodding to her before refocusing on Ross. “What about a lawyer?”

Ross chuckled. “Lawyer, that’s funny.” He turned to the lackey. “See that their weapons are placed in lockup.”

Romanoff stood up and Tony closed the feed. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Good luck,” Tony hummed as he decided to finally let Ross the Lesser off hold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is Pepper or Nebula here? I didn’t see them?”

Tony stared blankly at the attempt to change the topic. “Pep’s in Romania helping Rhodey clean up your mess and Nebula has a life. I did too, you know. A few years ago, I almost lost the love of my life so I trashed all my suits. Then we had to mop up after you and HYDRA, and then there was V.I.R.G.I.L. It just never stops, and I’m starting to think you don’t want it to. You’re just like the old man.”

“I knew Howard, he was a -”

“Oh really?” Tony stood up and went to the chair he left his jacket in. As he fixed himself and put it on, he said, “You two knew each other? He never mentioned that. Maybe only a thousand times.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m getting you a bodyguard.”

“Nebula -”

“No, we should have done this the moment Uncle Happy was promoted.”

“I’m Iron Man. I can take care of myself.”

“Your black eye says different.”

“It’s not a black eye, and no normal bodyguard could have helped against Barnes.”

“Maybe I’ll recruit someone from your little next-gen lineup then.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’ll set the new guy up with an interview as soon as we bring in Rogers’ little gang.”

“New guy? You’re going to contact one of them to help?”

“Romanoff seems to think we’re understaffed.”

“She’s got a point. Who are you thinking?”

“Someone with just the right skills to pin those three with minimal property damage.” Tony pushed Nebula’s video chat to the side and brought up the Reborn Algorithm. “Fri, give me what we’ve got on Queens.”

Files filled the screen; videos and pictures of the enhanced alongside plans for a suit Tony had designed to replace their onesie, just in case.

“Queens? You mean that spider-guy that’s been flying around recently?”

“We’re looking at super strength, speed, and flexibility, and the tensile strength of that webbing they use is off the charts. It should be able to hold the super bros.”

“Who are they?”

Tony shrugged. The algorithm kept any personal details it discovered under lock and key. He wasn’t about to pry unless he had to. “Let’s find out. Fri?”

There was a moment of silence where no new files opened.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“It appears the personal file has been wiped clean. There’s nothing there.”

“Wiped clean? By who?”

“Well, evidence would suggest… There aren’t any signs of outside tampering and the only ones with access to the files are myself and…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was a good day.

He didn’t miss his train, he nailed his Algebra test despite not getting a chance to study because of a bank robbery the night before, and Flash was less of a jerk than normal. Everything had been great.

Then Peter got home and saw his dad and Nebs standing in the living area looking angry.

“Hey Dad, you’re back in town! That’s great!” He looked between the two. “Um, what’s going on? Nebs, shouldn’t you still be at work?”

“Sit,” Dad said, pointing at the couch. “We need to talk.”

Peter hung up his backpack and shuffled over. “Talk about wh-”

He cut off when he spotted his suit laying on the coffee table.

“Sit.”

Peter obeyed immediately. “Dad, I can explain!”

“Oh, you can explain?” Dad sat down in front of him on the coffee table. “You can explain why you’ve been sneaking out and hiding things from me and your sister? You can explain endangering your life? You can explain dragging your brother into this mess? This I’ve got to hear.”

Peter flinched and ducked his head. “Jay told you?”

“I forced it out of him, and that’s part of the problem. He should have told me at the very begging. Better yet, he shouldn’t have had to. You should have told me.”

Peter’s hand came up to fidget with the zipper on his jacket. “I know, I just… If I told you, you would have freaked out, and then I would have freaked out, and -”

“You’re right, I would have freaked out, but not as much as I’m freaking out now!”

“I had everything under control!”

“You most definitely did not have everything under control! You are fourteen and you were picking fights with criminals!”

He held out his arms. “I’m fine! Nothing happened! Jay would have told you if something happened! That was our deal!”

Dad threw his own arms up in the air and started to pace. “And what would have happened if something did happen, but it was too late for Jay to call for help?”

“I’m not doing anything big!” Peter said, and yep, they were both freaking out. He knew this would happen.

“You shouldn’t be doing anything at all! Again, you’re fourteen! When I was your age -- Okay, you definitely shouldn’t be doing what I was doing at your age, but you shouldn’t be running around in a onesie either!”

“It’s not a onesie,” Peter huffed. He and Jay put a lot of work into his suit. It was no Iron Man armor, but he was proud of it. “And I have to do something! I… The things that I can do… If I don’t use them, and something bad happens, then that’s on me.”

Dad’s mouth gaped open and closed, then he pinched his nose. “Of all the things you could have inherited,” he said softly before moving over to sit next to Peter. “Kid, no. That’s not on you. Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. Especially if it would put you in danger. It’s good that you want to help people, but you need to be safe about it. And before you say something, either of you,” he added, pointing at Nebs. “I’m a dad. Do as I say and all that.” He focused back on Peter. “Piccino, I am proud of you, but this isn’t what you should be spending your teenage years doing. You should be going out to watch your geek movies with Ted -”

“Ned,” Peter muttered. “You know it’s Ned.”

“- or going to parties or drooling over crushes or… whatever else it is teenage boys do. Sports?”

“I have asthma.”

“Not anymore.”

“But I did, so I can’t now. Everyone would know something was up.”

“That doesn’t stop you from not wearing your glasses,” Dad snorted, tapping him between the eyes.

Peter blushed and swatted his hand away. “No one really notices. And if they do, I just say I got contacts. Besides, I do wear glasses at school most of the time. Jay and I made some that have lenses that shift to help me not get overstimulated.”

Dad’s eyes lit up. “Those weren’t in the files Jay showed me. What else did you -”

Nebs cleared her throat.”

“Right, no, I’m mad.” Dad’s face went serious again. “We’ll talk about that later.”

Nebs shook her head. “Your grounded,” she said.

“Yeah, I figured,” Peter sighed. He bit his lip and stared at his suit. “What about Spider-Man?”

“Spider-Boy is grounded too,” Dad said.

“Spider-MAN, and you’re not going to take the suit away?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Oh, I’m definitely taking it away. You and Jay did a good job, but there are quite a few updates that need to be made. They’re basically pajamas right now.” Nebs cleared her throat again. “But we’re going to have a very long talk about safety and hiding things and turning your siblings against me on top of the grounding before you even get to think about going out to the city in costume again.”

Peter threw his arms around his dad. “Thank you!”

“Yep, I’m the best dad ever. Also, I know you. You’re too much like me. Working with you to put up some restrictions is way easier than trying to stop you flat out. Pepper taught me that.”

Peter gave him another squeeze before pulling back. “So, why were you bothering Jay about me in the first place?”

Dad groaned and stood up. “I’ll tell you on the plane, I still need to get some things together. Pack your bags, we’re going to Germany.”

“What?” Nebs hissed. “You’re still going to bring him?”

Dad waved Peter towards his bedroom. “Unfortunately, he’s still our best bet. He’s not going to fight -- never wanted him to even before I realized he was a fourteen-year-old, let alone my fourteen-year-old. He’ll keep his distance and web them up. And who knows, hopefully it won’t even turn into a fight.”

“Web who up?” Peter asked as he backed away towards his door. He stopped, eyes widening and bouncing in place. “Wait, is this an Avengers mission? Am I going to be an Avenger?”

“No,” Nebs and Dad said at once and Peter deflated.

“Then what’s going on?”

“On the plane. Pack. We don’t have much time left.”

Peter nodded and slipped into his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where’s Dad?” Peter asked, leaning over the front seat to talk to Uncle Happy.

“Seatbelt,” was all his uncle said.

“Father is still at the tower,” Nebs explained, typing on her tablet. “He’ll meet us in Germany.”

“I thought he was going to explain on the plane.”

“He will. Now hush, I need to get this done for work.”

Peter sighed and nudged Uncle Happy. “Do you know what’s going on?”

He pushed him back. “Seatbelt.”

“But -” Peter cut off with a huff when his uncle hit the button to roll up the divider. He dropped back into his seat, putting on his seatbelt. He then pulled out his phone and texted Harley.

Me: Do YOU know what’s going on in Germany

No, I’m Texas!: You mean with cap

Me: What about cap

No, I’m Texas!: Where’ve you been

No, I’m Texas!: Caps gone rogue!!!!!

No, I’m Texas!: He trashed a freeway or something in Romania then escaped from the cia in berlin and is on the run with bird boy and buck boy

Me: They found the winter soldier

No, I’m Texas!: Duh!!!!

No, I’m Texas!: Seriously where have you been

Me: Some of us actually pay attention at school

No, I’m Texas!:

Me: Ok I got distracted working on this new idea

Me: I can see you typing shut up!!!

No, I’m Texas!: Your such a nerd

No, I’m Texas!: Make me ring!!!!

No, I’m Texas!: Runt

Me: RING

Me: RING

Me: RING

No, I’m Texas!: Shut up loser

No, I’m Texas!: Why are you asking about Germany anyways

Peter thought about what his dad had said and what Harley had told him.

Me: I think dads going to fight cap

Me: And I think I’m coming with him

No, I’m Texas!: Sweet!!!!

No, I’m Texas!: Can you ask him if I can come too

No, I’m Texas!: Wait

No, I’m Texas!: Who is he bringing you

No, I’m Texas!: Why!!! DONT YOU EVEN START!!!!!

Me: Sure thing mr owl

No, I’m Texas!: Just shut up and tell me why he’s being you

Me: Spider-Man vs Thugs Youtube

Me: Me

He waited for a response.

He waited some more.

He was just about to send another text when his phone rang and he saw it was Harley calling.

“Hello?”

“Peter, what the f-”

“Harley Nathaniel Richards!” Peter heard Aunt Tori snap.

“Sorry, mom!” Harley called out. “Petrie, tell me your kidding!”

“Nope.”

He heard a door shut before Harley whispered, “Since when did Dad let you have a super-suit!? I want a super-suit!”

“Dad didn’t exactly let me have it,” Peter chuckled and Nebula looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Who are you on the phone with?” Nebula asked, grabbing the phone and turning it on speaker.

“Hey!”

“Did you build a super-suit without Dad knowing!? Why didn’t I think of that!?”

“Don’t even try it, Harley,” Nebula growled.

Harley groaned. “Why didn’t you tell me she was on the line too?”

“She just grabbed my phone.”

“If Peter gets to be a superhero so do I!” Harley announced.

“Grow some superpowers, then you can ask Father,” Nebula said.

“Wait! You’ve got superpowers? I thought that was just the suit!”

“Nope.”

“So that web stuff -”

Peter blushed. “No, th-that’s the suit. But I’m strong and sticky and -”

“Sticky,” Harley laughed.

“Shut up!” Peter huffed. “I can stick to stuff.”

His brother just kept laughing. “Sticky-Boy strikes again!”

When Nebs’ lips twitched up, he sent her a glare and grabbed the phone to hang up on Harley. “You guys are jerks.”

Nebula just went back to her work.

His phone chirped and he looked down to see he got a text.

No, I’m Texas!: Are you going to fight cap?

No, I’m Texas!: Punch him in the face!!

No, I’m Texas!: And record it!!

No, I’m Texas!: Peter?

No, I’m Texas!: I know you’re seeing these!! Stop being a baby!

No, I’m Texas!: I won’t call you sticky-boy again if you record it

Me: Fine 😠

No, I’m Texas!: 😀

Me: 😠

[blue-means-stop]

Unsoupervised

FANDOM: Undertale AO3 LINK: Link CHAPTERS: 1/1 RATING: T WORD COUNT: 1506 words WARNINGS/TAGS: Food mention, awful vaguely sexual puns, a bunch of dorks being dorks, a whole lot of sass, and some light shit posting.

DESCRIPTION: I haven’t felt a desire to really write lately, however that didn’t stop me from harassing the discord chat I’m apart of, with really lousy ideas. Here’s one of them involving the Pap6. Twist belongs to itsladykit and Portugal belongs to sansy-fresh, both used with permission. I’m sorry.

---

Standing in the infamous pasta/Mexican/Asian/Random Non American Food aisle, Fell shifted his stance to achieve better judgment with a cocked hip. He stared at the absolutely awful selection of all of three pastas and tried to ignore the low key building ire. The local grocery store, a generic chain store at that, was severely lacking in a lot of everything. He should have turned around the moment he whiffed bleach and the faint aroma of rotten onions. Why were there two different elbow macaroni? Fell eyed one box than the other with a deliberate frown. They were physically the same thing, only one seemed to be an off brand, claiming to be better than name brand. The cartoony thumbs up did little to persuade him.

But elbow macaroni? He scoffed under his breath. What was he, some soccer mom with a taste for bland, tasteless macaroni salad with olives, trying to pass it off as some gourmet secret recipe at the last PTA meeting. We all know you got it off the back of a Kraft box, Helen.

He’d lost track of time, reasoning and the others, the wild pack of Papyri that had strong armed him in tagging along, only to scatter in separate directions the moment they stepped through the automatic doors. The droning, repetitive elevator music the store piped through speakers that could only have originated from the Stone Age had wiped away his ability to care.  Was that…? He tipped his skull to take in the piano rendition of a Whitesnake classic. Fell hummed. Maybe it was better if he cared even less.

Keeping one clawed hand on his cart to prevent it from rolling away (He always got stuck with the one with a shitty wheel), he eyed his three options for the seventh time and lofted a brow at the abrupt cut of music. There was a sharp, ear piercing shriek of feedback as some seventeen year old, stock boy probably named Steve, breathed heavily into the microphone before pulling it away to stop the shrieking of the damned.

“Will a Mr. Fell...” The awkward pause promised so much. “Hot Topic, please come to the front of the store. Your son is waiting for you. A Mr. Fell Hot Topic. Your son is waiting.”

The sudden return of music did nothing the quell the sudden loathing of taking any of his idiots with him on errands. With a rueful sigh that trailed off into a low sound of the undead, Fell shoved the box of pasta back on the shelf, straightened it, and stalked off with his click clacking cart.

It was Slim waiting for him, because of course it was. He stood leaning against the small freezers filled with bags of ice and looking unnecessarily smug. Fell contemplated walking out the store and leaving the others to whatever their fate decided. Instead he settled with catching Slim across the ankles with his slow, creaking, runaway cart.

Unbothered by the vicious attack, Slim leaned into him conspirator like, voice quiet as if he was about to impart some mildly decent wisdom. “i have to show you something.” His breath smelled like butterscotch and he nodded gravely before padding off, hands in his coat pockets that crinkled with penny candy wrappers.

“DO I EVEN HAVE A CHOICE?”

Fell knew he shouldn’t have followed, but he found himself abandoning his cart in favor of doing just that. He had no ties to it or the lone box of cereal and can of crushed tomatoes laying inside. If it was meant to be, they’d be there when he returned.

Slim led him past the gauntlet of empty checkout stands, finding only one open, no matter how many people were in line, to a group of people Fell had been actively ignoring. If there was anything he’d learned in his life, large group of humans meant trouble. Slim nodded to the group and Fell wasn’t sure what he was suppose to do. He nodded again, making a show of canting his head to the ground as if to make a point.

Before Fell could gripe at him to just tell him what he wanted, he spotted a familiar pair of orange sneakers on the floor and his soul skipped a beat. Shouldering his way through the group, magic crackling at the ends of his phalanges, not caring how close and how many they were before he stopped short.

Stretch laid sprawled on the ground, pointedly refusing to acknowledge he had one arm stuck inside a claw machine game, looking entirely nonplussed at the gathering crowd. Two workers stood next to him, keeping the curious onlookers back as one unsuccessfully tried to free him. Stretch didn’t seem to mind them, his attention directed toward Twist, who’d taken residence atop of the nearby pallet of stacked dog food.

“-i am one of the smartest monsters you will ever meet.” Stretch countered, Fell having missed the beginning of whatever irrational dispute the ashtray was trying to argue.

“Uh huh.” Twist tucked his legs under him, sitting cross legged. 

“i have a PhD!”

“‘Kay.” He rested his chin in his hands, hunched over with the softest grin.

“so i don’t need your attitude.”

Twist nodded, agreeing with ease. “So why is yer hand stuck, sweetheart.”

“becaUSE I WON THIS CUPIE DOLL FAIR AND SQUARE.”

Fell sighed painfully, scrunching his nasal bridge and couldn’t decide if he wanted to rub his temples to ease the sudden and completely unprovoked headache or fold his arms in utter disappointment. He tried for both.

“babe!” Stretched cried happily, leaning forward only to be stopped short by his predicament.

“Do you know this gentleman?” asked one of the workers, two seconds away from taking a crowbar to the machine.

Stretch beamed at him “…I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS MONSTER BEFORE IN MY LIFE.”

“rude.”

He wasn’t going to dignify that with a response, especially when Twist chuckled fondly at them both. “I EXPECTED YOU TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM, TWISTED.”

Twist gave a light shrug, content to watch as Slim sidled up beside him, long enough to snap a picture and type out a message on his phone. He reflexively smiled without looking up as Twist settled an arm over his shoulders. His phone pinged as his message was sent and slipped it back into his pocket, offering a loose candy to the other who gave a light shake of his head.

“ARE YOU QUITE DONE?”

“no,” Stretch muttered, stubbornly, folding his one free arm across his chest.

Fell fought the urge to sigh again. “IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, YOU’LL LET GO OF THAT RIDICULOUS TOY.”

“are you gunna spank me if I don’t?”

Could a monster dust of an actual annoyed induced soul attack? Did that kind of thing even exist? Fell pinched the bridge of his nasal bone. “YOU ARE KILLING ME,” he growled. “YOU ARE KILLING YOUR ONLY RIDE HOME.”

“Aww, sweetheart, it ain’t that bad,” Twist interjected.

“i clitterally don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stretched reclined back, tucking his arm behind his head to cushion it against the claw machine.

Fell stilled. “DID YOU… THAT’S A COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE PUN IN A PUBLIC SETTING! THERE’S LITERALLY NO BUILD UP TO IT.” He wasn’t sure if he was actually more bothered by the awful pun or zero reasoning behind it.

One of the workers, Bob by the nametag, cautiously raised the crow bar in his hand. “Do we still need to get him out?”

“snatchurally.”

“I WANT A DIVORCE.”

“we aren’t even married, felly.”

The slow, quiet hum of a motorized scooter denoted the arrival of Cash, sitting quite at ease as it crept forward, regardless of who’s toes were in the way. He stopped once he cleared the group of amused humans and glanced at everyone in turn, phone in hand and one eye silently judging over the mountain of cigarette cartons in his basket. Slowly without breaking eye contact, he backed up, scooter beeping before he drove on, heading for the front door in one very surreal moment.

“Sir, you can’t take that outside,” the other worker started after him, exasperated, “Sir. Sir!”

Fell was fairly certain this was what having a stroke felt like.

“Aaaand he’s gone,” Twist announced before sitting up straight. “Anyone see P?”

A sharp toot of a horn resounded from behind the closed sliding doors, momentarily becoming louder as the worker walked after Cash, ensuing a slow speed chase through the parking lot. The horn honked again, longer and impossibly louder, drawing the lingering curious to look.

Portugal leaned impatiently out the passenger side window of their vehicle, glaring back at the group. “Get a move on, fuckos. I ain’t got all day!”

Fell patted his pockets for his car keys, finding them mysteriously missing. “WHO THE HELL GAVE HIM MY KEYS?” At the chorus of shrugs, he refrained from dragging his hands down his face and marched toward the entryway. “PORTUGAL! GIVE- DON’T YOU FLIP ME OFF RUNT!”

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Hopeless

Cuz I love Reika even though she gets shafted. Poor poor poor her. She gets the best line here tho. Just after the events of Winter. when Mikki and Hiro are  the golden couple. With a bunch of you guessed it. Halsey songs from Hopeless Fountain. 

Reika woke up with a start. She had the most amazing dream. That Hiro had wanted her back. But she proudly swept him off. That she wasn't going to stand for his nonsense. 

He said, "Please don't go away" He said, "Please don't go away" I said, "It's too late" I said, "It's too late"

If only she could follow through on that dream. Whenever she saw Hiro now, she felt the overwhelming urge to hug him, ask about his day, see his smile, act like how they used to be. 

Said we're not lovers (we're not lovers)And when you start to feel the rush A crimson headache, aching blush And you surrender to the touch, you'll know I can put on a show, I can put on a show Don't you see what you're finding? This is Heaven in hiding, oh 'Cause we're just strangers I'm finding it hard to leave

Reika laid on her bed sighing, as she looked out the window of room that showed the hills of Japan. The other world where Watchers and Deliverers lived when they weren't at work. 

She could see them now, lying on the hills, arm wrapped around each other.  I miss the mornings with you laying in my bed You wrote a hundred letters just for me I miss the memories replaying in my head And I find them in my closet in the pockets of my jeansI miss the thought of a forever, you and me

Hiro leaned to Mikki and whispered something in her ear, making the brown haired girl smile and snuggle closer to him. Now if I keep my eyes closed, she looks just like me But he'll never stay, they never do Now if I keep my eyes closed, I can feel you But I've been replaced You're face to face with someone new

Reika was tempted to go over there and remind them that there were better things to do they lay in the hills all day. But it probably wouldn't go over well. She would just look like the insanely jealous ex.

'Cause they talk and drink and laugh 'bout things And fall in love in my backyard I hide and cower in the corner Conversation's getting hard

Which she kinda was. It wasn't her fault she missed him. He was hers in the first place. When they had first been assigned together, they grew closer, they started a relationship. He had been the one thing she dreamed of.

Her perfect match. He agreed with her ideals, and her with his. Both serious, driven, hardworking, never breaking the rules.Those stupid rules had changed.

Just like Hiro did. He broke up with her for the sake of those rules when he went to Earth to do his mission alone. She thought it was a temporary breakup. He would come to her again. 

But then he met Mikki and it all went to hell. He saw her differently, not as sweet, not as naive as his precious Mikki. You said I'm too much to handle You said I Shine too bright, I burnt the candle Flew too high She had thought Mikki was a nothing. Which she was. 

She was a mortal for goodness sake! How could she compete with her?

A silly schoolgirl that constantly questioned their job and the ethicalness and idiocy. Apparently Hiro liked that. He totally fell under her spell and actually doubted and started agreeing with Mikki about how they had to fight the system for what's right. 

The system was fine! Sure, it wasn't perfect, but it had been running well and humans were fine no one died. They kept love alive. It was a selfish excuse that they needed so they could change the way things were and get to be together. A Deliverer and a mortal. Claiming that love should be free for all, that people deserve a chance. 

She should have deserved a chance with Hiro!

But you're in a different town than meAnd we both hope there's something But we bo-both keep fronting And it's a closed discussion And I'm thinking, "Damn, if these walls could talk" We've been through it all But you could never spit it out for me Tryna talk to a wall But you could never tear it down for me, yeah

(Oh-oh-oh) Well, they'd be like (Oh-oh-oh) "Shit is crazy, right?" (Oh-oh-oh) "That ain't your baby no more" Reika didn't get out of bed until nighttime.

A new Watcher, Deliverer match-up. Similar to the one she went to years ago. The one where she met Hiro. 

She remembered that night, she might regret that night for the rest of her days. She had been so young then. Thrilled to be matched up with someone. And she had gotten Hiro. 

She remembered how it felt like she would never stop smiling. She would come to the following ones too. Introduce the rookies to their partners and listen to the orientation where the Council would tell of their mission. Plus talk about highlights and outstanding Delivereers. 

Usually Hiro and Reika were among them. The top, the best of them all.  I used to be a darling starlet like a centerpiece Had the whole world wrapped around my ring I flew too closely to the sun that's setting in the East And now I'm melting from my wings

She entered to see Hiro and Mikki surrounded by Watchers and Deliverers alike as they regaled them with their tale of heroism and danger as they fought the Council. Miki was dressed in a frothy pink tulle dress with Hiro at her side in a light blue tux. They looked so pathetically happy as if they had just found each other after spending years apart. 

Hiro and Mikki barely glanced at the new arrivals entering in. They just focused on each other. They didn't seem to see anyone in the crowd, they were just a meaningless blob compared to the lover in their arms.

Reika was just another person to Hiro now. No history between them, no love.

Said we're not lovers (we're not lovers) 'Cause we're just strangersYou and all your friends all hate me, oh Thinkin' that you're better when I'm not around With the same damn hunger To be touched, to be loved, to feel anything at allHear me on the radio and turn it down, oh I can't help the way you made me

Reika had to note that they didn't seem to mention when she helped them. She helped them by warning them of the Council coming. She had to, not for Mikki's sake but for Hiro's. 

She offered him another chance to stop his love-induced madness. He refused. Breaking her heart in the process. Reika was about to say something, announce her arrival, say something to the happy couple and pretend she was totally fine with how everyone adored them and her life wasn't in an upside crap storm but she felt a dryness swallow her throat. 

‘Cause nobody seems to ask about me anymore And nobody ever cares 'bout anything I think And nobody seems to recognize me in the crowd In the background screaming, "Everybody, look at me"

She followed all the rules. She was following the new rules. She wasn't antagonizing them. But she was just forgotten. Not even part of the story as she tried to get Mikki to leave Hiro alone. Did they not even care about that part since their "love" was so strong? She felt like she did the strongest, most painful, heart ripping thing. 

She let Mikki have Hiro. She could have fought harder, but her instincts as a Deliverer told her that Mikki and Hiro were meant for each other. 

She took herself out of the equation. She let Hiro have the love he deserved. 

I'm standing in the ashes of who I used to be And I'm faded away, you know, I used to be on fire You know, I used to be on fire You know, I used to be on fire Well, I used to be on fire

No one seemed or notice her, or remember how important she was. At least how good she was. She had been the best. She had been upstaged by her ex and his stupid mortal girlfriend! 

Reika didn't care they made her a full deliverer like anyone else. She was still a mortal through and through. Didn't anyone know how hard she worked?

Reika went to the corner and slumped against the wall. fine, she wouldn't do anything. She would be quiet, she would be meek which seemed like what Hiro preferred. After all, he felt she was too serious, she came off as to intense and intimidating. 

I won't take anyone down if I crawl tonight But I still let everyone down when I change in size And I went tumbling down tryna reach your high But I scream too loud when I speak my mind

Reika looked Hiro. What was it about Mikki? was it her courage to go face to face to the Council while Reika had supported them. 

Was it that Mikki was all about Hiro and insisted on doing everything for him even if it meant risking her own life. Reika would have done that too. She just never had the chance to because she never questioned the Council. Hiro never did anything so wrong that she had to defend him. 

If he had. Like he had gone to jail she would have stayed by him. 

The only thing stopping her from standing by him before was that he fell in love with a Mortal girl.The mortal girl wasn't her.

So tell me where I went wrong Would've gave it all for you, cared for you (My lover, my liar) Would've traded all for you, there for you So tell me how to move on Would've traded all for you, cared for you

Reika opened her eyes and saw Hiro walk toward her. She quickly straightened up to look like she wasn't miserable and that she DID NOT want his stupid pitying face. The jerk finally realized that she didn't like watching him flaunt around with Mikki. Shocking. 

Probably was going to open some lame conversation on missing their friendship. That he hoped she was doing well. That he was thankful she wasn't dredging up harsh feelings against Mikki. Oh she had some harsh feelings for Mikki all right! 

I don't wanna fight right now Know you always right, now Know I need you 'round with me But nobody waitin' 'round with me Been through the ups Yeah the ups and the downs with me Got a whole lot of love But you don't wanna spread it 'round with me, yeah

Hiro looked a bit nervous as he approached. "Sorry Reika, I know you don't want to see me but all this talking is so nerve-wracking. They keep asking all these questions, asking why I did it. I feel foolish saying it was for love. I mean not that I'm ashamed of loving Mikki but people are talking and criticizing her. I mean you understand what I was doing. The Council's actions were unethical." 

Reika, thank God Someone who understands what I’m Struggling here to do

Reika pursed her lip for second, making sure her reply wasn't going to sound unnecessarily catty. "Just explain it.""I'm trying But..."

“But what?" Reika said impatiently. Though she liked he had to go to HER for advice instead of his mortal girl-toy, she was annoyed that he was struggling. "I don't have all night you know.I have plans."

“I know, I just need to put it in words." Hiro stammered.  She swore he was never this annoying while they were dating, maybe it was the Mikki effect.

Tryna take back what you say to me I don't give a damn what you say to me There ain't no time for games with me 

He asked only for a minute! He was taking a lot longer, Like she was going to spend time waiting for his every word. Maybe Mikki would, but she wouldn't. He cut her off a long time ago, she was allowed to do the same. 

“You know I’m not here for you. I know you like I know my own mind. I will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. I loved you than anything in this life

I chose your happiness over mine every time" she said

“But." Hiro protested.

“You don't agree with them, Reika? Is this about Mikki because I swear if you're just choosing them for the sake of fighting..." He looked at her with anger and slight disgust. Like he couldn't believe she was trying to fight with him on this. Like he wished he could change her to do what he wanted 

Baby, as soon as you meet me You'll wish that you never did (You'll wish that you never did)

Cause I'm tryna give the impression that I get the message you wish I was dead Reika could have strangled him. 

Mikki! Mikki! Mikki! She knew Mikki was his whole universe but she wasn't Reika's. 

She actually agreed with the criticisms. She felt the Council wasn't entirely unethical. She thought things were fine they were. Maybe things could have gone differently but she was most angry about Hiro's attitude of this.  Did he not think his actions weren't going to have consequences? Harsher consequences than getting to have Mikki?

That people were going to talk, they were going to criticize the reasoning. She told him and told him, that something bad wasn't going to happen. Or at least make him uncomfortable. 

He wanted to get the girl, brush everything under the rug, be the golden boy and be happy. Life doesn't work that way. He can't get it all. He would just have to deal. 

From what Reika could see, there might be a few criticisms but a lot more who adored Mikki and Hiro and what they did. He was whining about a few rumors. Put what we had aside I’m standing with that side You could never be satisfied God, I hope you’re satisfied Reika stormed out without giving Hiro the answer he wanted. She shook her head in amazement. 

Had he always been like that? Wanting everything pristine and perfect?

That he couldn't handle a few rumors. Everything had to be ethical?

She loved him so totally but this guy who was impulsive, and exclusive and a user considering that he just asked her for help out of no where after days of ignoring her. She wished she never had been so hung up on him. 

And now I can't stop thinking that I can't stop thinking That I almost gave you everything And now the whole thing's finished and I can't stop wishing That I never gave you anything And I can't stop thinking that I can't stop thinking That I almost gave you everything (I said, "It's too late") And now the whole thing's finished and I can't stop wishing That I never gave you anything

Reika froze where she was. She just realized that she did it. 

She stood up to him and she was quiet possibly over him. 

She smiled until she saw Hiro walking out with Mikki again and felt her heart drop. Hiro saw her but dropped his eyes quickly, shifting his head to Mikki's adoring gaze and light, tingly laugh that grated Reika's ears. 

Someone will love you But someone isn't me Okay, so she wasn't completely over him. I'm bad at love (ooh-ooh)

They told me once, "There's a place where love conquers all" But you can't blame me for tryin'You know I'd be lyin' sayin’

A city with the streets full of milk and honey You were the one (ooh-ooh) That could finally fix me Lookin' at my history I haven't found it yet, but I'm still searching I'm bad at love

[jamesbuckfastbarnes]

Sober pt.1

Chibs Telford/OC (Anastazja Kozik)

WARNING: this story does contain a shit ton of substance abuse, so you have been warned in advance. Also, I’ve never been through heroin addiction so if you feel as though anything I’ve wrote is incorrect then please feel free to message me so I know where I’ve gone wrong. - red-w00dy xoxo

Slapping at the inside of my left elbow, I scanned my pale skin in search of a vein but failed miserably. I removed the homemade tourniquet from my arm and threw it to the floor in frustration, beginning to pace back and forth in my kitchen with a needle full of heroin in my hand as I debated how I could get my fix. There was no way a vein was going to show up in either arm anytime soon, I had been trying for the past hour and a half without any success. With a heavy sigh, I sat on one of the kitchen chairs, lifted my leg and removed the sock from my right foot, pulling my big toe to the side to separate it from the others and a smile formed on my face when I caught sight of it. A perfectly healthy vein. I grabbed my beloved needle and pressed the tip into my skin, pushing down to inject the heroin into my system. By the time I had emptied the needle into my body, euphoria took over me like a spirit possessing my body, feeling as though my entire body was burning in a pleasurable way. I slumped to the cold floor after ten minutes or so, the needle discarded next to me as I gazed up at the cupboards above me and succumbed to the numb feeling that took over.

 I hadn't always been an addict. In fact, if you had told me six years ago that I'd be injecting myself with heroin in my kitchen aged twenty five then I'd have probably laughed at you and called you an idiot. It all started when my brother, Herman, and I had gotten hooked on meth when I was twenty and he was twenty four. It had taken him over three years to kick the habit and, as much as I tried, I never managed to stop. Instead I went chasing after a better high, something to make me forget completely, which is when I discovered heroin. I had fallen in love with the rush and the numbness that followed after the second or third time I tried it, resulting in me spending the last two years wasting all my money and stealing from people to carry on the everlasting high. I'd done several stints in rehab but it never lasted long. I would spend two weeks being sober before craving the euphoric feeling I could only get from inside a needle.

 “Ana, wake up. Come on, Anastazja, I need you to wake up for me now,” my brother’s voice broke through the drug induced haze I was in, my eyes opening and taking a few minutes to focus on the multiple faces that stared down at me. “Come on, let's get you up and onto the sofa. Can't be comfortable lying on this cold kitchen floor, can it?”

 “I love you, Hemmy, you know that? Why don't you get high with me like the old days, it feels so good, you know? Like I'm floating on a cloud and everything's just a lovely dream,” I slurred, barely feeling him lift me up and carry me over to the sofa where he lay me down. I allowed my head to rest against the arm of the two seater, staring up at the ceiling with a soft smile.

 “Christ, bro, she's really out of it this time, huh? Are we gonna just leave her here like this or are we taking her back to the clubhouse?” a raspy voice I knew belonged to Kozik’s best friend, Happy Lowman, asked quietly, my head turning to see both of them standing there next to me. I reached out to grab Happy’s hand and squeezed, receiving a ghost of a smile in response.

 “No, not yet, we'll wait for her to sober up a little first. I ain't taking her anywhere in this state, she could end up freaking out and going under if we move her too soon,” Herman sighed, his words barely audible due to the heroin dulling my senses. He stepped forward and gently raised my head, resting it in his lap once he'd sat down and began to run his fingers through my tangled blonde hair. It felt nice, calming even.

 “Why don't you just check her into rehab or something?” Someone I didn't know suggested, my entire body going tense at the thought of going cold turkey again. Herman and Happy noticed my stiffness immediately, Herman beginning to whisper soothing words in fluent Polish into my ear whilst Happy shook his head at their friend, his face looking like a blurred mess due to the drug-induced haze I was in.

 “Not right now, Tig. Why don't you boys go back to Charming? Kozik and I will be back later when Ana’s sobered up a bit. We'll be back before the party tonight,” Happy mumbled to the man named Tig, glancing down at me with a worried frown before turning back to his group of friends that were standing by the kitchen door. They all shrugged and headed out of my apartment, ignoring me waving goodbye to them all from my place in Herman’s lap.

 Four hours later I found myself in the tow truck between Herman and Happy, several blankets wrapped around me due to how cold I felt and my head resting against Herman’s shoulder, my eyes half open. My stomach was cramping and the pain was unimaginable, signalling that the withdrawal symptoms were starting to kick in. Along with the shivering and the cramps, I was feeling incredibly nauseous and my head was pounding like someone was smashing a hammer repeatedly into the back of my skull. I huddled closer to my older brother in an attempt to soak up some of his warmth, his arm immediately slipping round my shoulders to pull me close to his side. It must have taken an hour or so to get from my apartment to the clubhouse in Charming, although due to the fact I was still relatively high, it felt like we'd been driving forever. We pulled into the lot for Teller-Morrow Automotives just as it started to get dark, Herman and Happy wrapping their arms around me to basically carry me into the clubhouse because I was still struggling with the use of my legs. They sat me down on one of the sofa's by the wall once we were inside, Happy covering me with two more blankets he received from a short man with mechanical hands whilst Herman went in search of a man called Chibs. The sweats were starting to kick in by the time my brother returned, followed by a tall man with scars on his face, and Happy had wrapped his arms around me in an attempt to make me feel warm, the shakes starting to get progressively worse as time went on. Herman introduced his friend as ‘Chibs’ and dropped down on the sofa next to me, Chibs crouching down in front of me and passing Happy a bottle of Gatorade and two Tylenol pills to help with my cramps. Herman shook me slightly to snap me out of where I was staring at the pool table in front of me, causing me to blink a few times to focus properly before flashing him a weak smile.

 “Alright, lass, I'm Chibs,” Chibs said kindly in a thick Scottish accent, balancing himself on the tips of his toes as he bent down in front of me and looked up at me with his dark brown eyes. “We're going tae help ye get through this. I just need ye tae drink some of this fer yer sugar levels and take these pills, they'll help with yer cramps and the headache ye've no doubt got.”

 “I'm fine, I don't know why you brought me here,” I rolled my eyes when his attention directed to the track marks covering my arms, turning away from the Scot to face my older brother. “Herman, is there any way can you lend me some money for a cab home? I haven't got any cash on me right now but I can give it back to you once I'm able to get to the bank.”

 “We both know I can't do that, Ana. You're here to sort yourself out. That means no money, no drugs, nothing for the next few weeks until you've completely detoxed. You're staying with us and you'll have someone watching you at all times,” Herman told me, his blue eyes swimming with determination and a hint of sadness.

 “This is fucking bullshit!” I screamed at him, standing up on shaky legs and whipping round to glare down at my older brother. He stared back at me like he was expecting this to happen, expecting me to flip out at what he was trying to do. “I'm a grown fucking woman, I don't need help. If I needed help then I'd go to rehab. I'm fine, why can't you just accept that?”

 “We care about you, Ana, we wouldn't be doing this otherwise. Take the painkillers, drink your gatorade and we'll talk again when you've calmed down a bit. But for now, we're going to lock you in Chibs’ room because this place is gonna be full of people in about ten minutes,” Happy sighed, holding the Tylenol and Gatorade out to me, watching like a hawk until I choked down the pills with the sugary drink.

 “Now I've done what you asked. It was nice to see you all but I'm off home, I ain't staying in this shithole anymore,” I hissed, grabbing my blankets off the sofa and starting to make my way towards the front door to the left of me. I'd moved about five steps when Happy’s arms slipped around my waist, lifting me off my feet as he carried me down a hallway with the other two. “Get the fuck off me! This is kidnapping, you know? I'll call the cops!”

 “How are supposed to call the cops when you sell every phone you get for smack?” My brother smirked as Chibs pushed open the bedroom door, leaving Happy to drop me down on the bed and leave the room before I could escape. The click of the door told me they had locked it from the outside, causing me to start pounding on the wood and screaming to let me out.

 “Please! I promise to get clean if you just let me out, I'll go crazy in here!” I begged, hammering my fists against the door for several minutes until eventually I gave up, sliding down the door and resting my head against it with a heavy sigh. I heard the others talking about me in the hallway, Herman’s voice louder than everyone else's which didn't surprise me in the slightest. He'd always been a loudmouth for as long as I could remember.

 “You can't trust her,” Herman’s voice drifted through the crack under the door, my heart breaking slightly at his words. I wasn't that bad, it's not like I'd kill to get a fix or anything. “She'll lie, cheat and steal to get junk, she's an addict after all. Just keep your wallets close, don't leave her alone and lock your doors if you're not in there. And please, for the love of God, don't give her any money. She needs to get clean or she's going to end up dead.”

 "We've spent more money bailing her out of jail than the club has spent on bond funds overall. Even prison didn't sober her up for long, that's why we need to do this now or she's going to end up back inside. Or worse. This is our only shot to sort her out, we can't fuck it up, not again,” Happy added, referring to my six month stint in Stockton last year after I'd been arrested for stealing.

 Their voices faded, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps, which told me that they were leaving the hallway to join the party that they were throwing in the main part of the clubhouse. The withdrawal symptoms were getting worse and I couldn’t help but think that I would never wish how I felt on anyone, not even my worst enemy. All I knew was that I needed a fix. Just one more hit to help me get past the nausea, to stop my skin from crawling and help me stop shaking like I had just seen a ghost. I focused on nothing but getting a fix into my system for the next few hours. My head felt like it was going to explode if I didn’t take anything soon, and I just wanted one measly needle’s worth to help me get over the worst of the withdrawal symptoms. Around four in the morning, I could hear nothing but the occasional moan from the room next door to Chibs’ and someone snoring which sounded as though it was pretty far away, most likely in the main room of the clubhouse. I took a long swig of my gatorade before pulling myself into a standing position, glancing around the room for something I could use to break the lock and escape the place I was being held captive in. I was becoming desperate, and quite frankly, I’d do anything to experience that blissfull feeling just one more time.

 My gaze fell on a lamp on the bedside table, my feet carrying me over to it on their own accord and next thing I knew, the bedroom door was swinging open like I had unlocked it with a key. I tiptoed down the hallway as quietly as possible, stepping into the room to see everyone had passed out in various spots around the room. One of the prospects, Filthy Phil, was unconscious with his wallet poking out the top of his jeans, and I couldn’t help myself. I needed the money to get to my dealer, Charlie, and I doubt Phil would miss the money, I only needed around fifty dollars after all. I crouched down and slowly wrapped my fingers around the leather, beginning to tug it when a small cough broke me out of my actions. I quickly stood up and span my heel to see Chibs standing there, a disapproving look on his weathered face and two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. I dropped the wallet to the floor as he stepped closer towards me, passing me a mug with the Scottish flag printed against a white background and sighing heavily. I raised it to my lips and took a sip, frowning a little at the bitter taste but relishing in the taste of it all the same. It had been so long since I was able to taste anything properly because of the heroin, and coffee had been one of my favourite things before I’d fallen victim to the addictive drug.

 “I’m nae going tae tell anyone aboot what ye’ve just tried tae dae, but dinnae ye think ye’ve hit rock bottom at this point, lass?” Chibs sighed, swigging from his own cup and leaning against the doorframe which I assumed led to the kitchen. “Yer stealing from yer brother’s friends and ye’ve just broken the lock on me door, just so ye can some skag in ye. By all means dae what the fuck ye like, but what I cannae understand is that I thought ye loved yer brother?”

 “I do love Herman, more than anything else in the world. You wouldn’t get it, Chibs. I just need one more hit then I’ll quit for good. I know Herman would understand that, he was exactly the same when he was taking crystal,” I croaked, hanging my head in shame and picking at the broken skin around my fingernails in attempt to avoid his disappointed expression.

 “If that’s what ye have tae tell yerself tae justify stealing from a lad tha’ has absolutely nothing, then by all means go ahead, but what happens when ye eventually overdose, eh? Ye leave yer brother behind tae clear up all yer debts and bury his little sister? Ye cannae love him tha’ much if yer willing tae hurt him like tha’, love. Now ye can take tha’ money and go, or ye can come back tae me room and sort yerself oot once and fer all. I’ll be waiting in there if ye decide tae stop poisoning yerself and keep digging yer own grave. Night lass,” he shrugged, walking away down the hallway and leaving me standing there, feeling like the worst person in the world.

 I must have stood in the middle of the untidy clubhouse for well over half an hour, debating what to do. If I took the money and left, I’d be able to forget that everything in my life was utter shit and probably destroy my relationship with my older brother once and for all. If I stayed then I could live life to the fullest and finally sort myself out before I ended up killing myself. Before I knew it, I was standing outside of Chibs’ room and gently knocking on the door, waiting several seconds until he opened it and invited me in with a sympathetic smile. I perched at the edge of the bed once I was inside, my hands gripping the mug tightly in a feeble attempt to direct the pain away from my head. Chibs obviously noticed that I was in pain because he disappeared into the bathroom for a minute before returning with two Tylenol tablets in his hand and retrieved a fresh bottle of Gatorade from his mini fridge. I continued to stare at the large Scottish flag on the wall as I washed down the pills with the Gatorade, barely acknowledging that Chibs had sat down on the bed next to me. We stayed in silence for ten minutes, only breaking it when Chibs lit up two cigarettes and offered me one. I flashed him a grateful smile and took a long drag on it, subconsciously thinking that although the nicotine hit was good, some heroin would feel a million times better at that current moment.

 “I’m a little surprised that ye came back if I’m honest with ye, lass. I dinnae mean any offence by tha’, it’s just Kozik and Hap told us just how bad ye got whenever ye tried tae give up skag in the past,” Chibs said suddenly, his comment taking me aback slightly. Was I really so bad that my brother had felt I’d do something drastic to get a fix? Then again, I had just broken the lock on Chibs’ door and tried to rob his friend so he wasn’t wrong.

 “Have you ever done it?” Chibs shook his head, his eyes trained on me as I turned to face him and take a long swig of coffee to warm myself up. “Take the best orgasm you've ever had in your life, right? Multiply it by a thousand and it still comes nowhere close to how heroin makes you feel. Just one hit and all your worries disappear. You know nothing, not even your own name, all you know in that moment is pure ecstasy. Why the hell would I ever want to stay sober when I can feel like that for twenty bucks a hit?”

 “What aboot yer brother though? Surely ye realise just how much yer hurting him by doing this shit? And Hap, he’s just as cut up as Kozik is from seeing the state ye were in earlier. I ken I’ve only known ye less than twelve hours so I have no right tae guilt trip ye like this, but if ye really loved Kozik then ye’d sort yerself oot,” Chibs breathed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and hugging me gently when he saw the tears beginning to form in my eyes. “Ah, lass, I didnae mean tae upset ye. I’m just trying tae tell ye that ye can dae better than waste yer life and yer money on this shite.”

 “I know I can,” I sniffled, swiping my tears away furiously from where they had began to run down my cheeks and peered up at the Scot. “I was going to be a doctor, you know? I was at medical school, training for my degree, when Mom got killed. Herman couldn’t cope with it all, started drinking more than usual and started smoking crystal. I couldn’t help but think, when I saw him high, that it must be nice to have something to make you forget, so I tried it. Then he got clean. I tried, I really did, but I loved how it made me feel. Eventually it didn’t give me the rush it used to so I went chasing after something better, that’s how I ended up taking junk for the first time. It was amazing, all my worries just faded away as soon as the needle pierced my skin and I didn’t want that to stop. I still don’t if I’m honest.”

 “I understand it makes ye feel grand, hen, but ye dinnae see how it’s slowly killing ye. I’ve seen men twice the size of ye overdose on tha’ shite, so imagine what it could dae tae a wee thing like ye if ye take too much of it. Now is a better time than any tae sort yerself oot before ye end up killing yerself. Why dinnae ye sleep on it, and then we’ll talk aboot it more later when we’re both feelin’ a little better, because I’m fuckin’ knackered if I’m honest with ye, hen,” he yawned, stretching his arms out and chuckling a little when he saw me yawning into my coffee.

 “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” I laughed, frowning slightly when I realised that I didn’t have any clothes or toiletries with me. “I don’t suppose you have a spare toothbrush and a shirt or something I could wear? I wasn’t exactly in the best state to pack a bag earlier on, and I highly doubt Herman or Happy thought to bring any of my stuff with them. Their hearts are in the right place but they’re not pulling a full wagon if you know what I mean.”

 “Aye, I ken exactly what ye mean, love,” he chuckled, pushing himself off the bed and moving towards the dresser where he pulled out a large, bright green shirt from the top drawer. I held it out in front of me when he passed it to me, wondering who on earth the Celtics were. “My home football team back in Scotland, best team if the world if ye ask me. There’s a spare toothbrush in the cup in the bathroom, just dinnae use the green one ‘cause tha’s mine.”

 I nodded before heading into the bathroom with the t-shirt draped over my arm, closing the door behind me once I stepped inside and scanned the en-suite to see a dark blue toothbrush where Chibs said it would be. After preparing myself for bed, I exited the room to find Chibs already fast asleep on top of the duvet with his shoes off and his jeans unbuttoned. A small chuckle escaped my lips as I climbed into the bed next to him, burying myself under the sheets and praying for sleep to take over soon so I wouldn’t have to keep on enduring the withdrawal symptoms. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of coming off heroin was insomnia, causing me to lie in the room and listen to Chibs’ soft snores as I proceeded to lose myself in my thoughts. I must have lay there for an hour, familiarising myself with Chibs’ snoring so I would know if he woke up before I hauled myself out of bed and threw my clothes back on, flashing a small smile at the sleeping Scot before tiptoeing out of the room and closing the door behind me. I felt like I was on autopilot as I took Phil’s wallet off the floor, along with a burner phone, and left the clubhouse where I rang Charlie to come pick me up from down the street.

 Charlie arrived after twenty minutes or so, laughing to himself when I climbed inside his old beat-up Cadillac and relaxed into the leather seat, thankful that I hadn’t been caught by my brother or one of his friends. He handed me his belt and a needle that had already been prepped, continuing to drive down the main street of Charming as I wrapped the belt around my arm and waited for a vein to appear in the torch light of Charlie’s mobile. Relief filled me when I saw a faint blue line appear under my pale skin, discarding the cap on the end of the needle before inserting it into my skin and pressing down on the pusher, flooding my vein with the sweet, sweet drug. Once again, the euphoric feeling washed over me like a wave and I slumped down in my seat, allowing my eyes to flutter shut and a moan to escape my lips as I dropped the needle to the floor of the car. Little did I know, back at the clubhouse, my brother was screaming at Chibs for being so dumb as to believe the whole ‘wanting to change’ act I had pulled on him and Happy was calling up all the dealers he knew in Oakland to see if they’d heard from me. But all I cared about in that moment was the heroin swimming through my system, somehow managing to make me feel somewhat human again. Herman would find me again in a few days, he always did, and then I’d be in for a royal telling off but I didn’t care, I was happy and that was all that mattered to me.

[dietarysalad]

Street War – Chapter 18

Sougo carefully placed the paper bag down on Hongou’s bedside table, taking care not to crumple any of the cranes inside. He was about to leave when his phone vibrated. He groaned. Is it Hijibaka? Ah, is he gonna yell at me for running out of school today? As he took his phone out of his pocket, he noted the time. It’s getting pretty late. The China girl should hurry up and get home before any weirdoes come out. At the thought, he smirked a little. Though I suppose I should be more worried about them than her.

Hitting ‘answer’ on his phone, Sougo sat down on the chair beside where Hongou’s bed once was to listen to Hijikata’s lecturing. However, no lecturing did come. Sougo narrowed his eyes. “Oi, Hijikata-san?” he questioned into the microphone. He heard a low grumble from the other side of the line, but could not make out a word that was being said. “Hijikata-san?” he tried again. There was no answer, only some noise in the background. Did he butt-dial me…? Before he had a chance to hang up, he finally heard something that sounded like a human speaking. A muffled human, but a human nonetheless.

“Hah? What’re you sayin’, brother? I ain’t got no int’rest in none o’ that.” The voice sounded slurred and suspiciously similar to that of the Yorozuya boss. If it weren’t for the fact that Sougo was listening into the conversation through a phone, he was sure that he could smell the alcohol in Gintoki’s breath. What’s going on over there? “C’mon, now. Tensions’ve been buildin’ up in the gangs. I reckon it’s time to settle things, don’t you?” Sougo noted that as Hijikata’s voice, which only served to confuse him ever the more. What’re those two doing together?

“Tensions in your gang, maybe,” Gintoki slurred, his tone accusatory. “None o’ the guys in the Yorozuya are pitchin’ fer a fight, y’ hear? I git that the whole gang is stewin’ o’er the passin’ of that nice, older Okita, but dis ain’t any o’ our problem, yeah?” Sougo flinched a little at the mention of his sister’s name. It had been true that the Shinsengumi’s morale hadn’t been good lately – Mitsuba’s death had taken a toll on everyone. “Yeah, yeah,” Hijikata dismissed. “But listen, let’s stake it this way. We have one big fight, the loser disbands. We beat you, everyone blows off their steam and it’s all good. They need a good fight to get it out of their systems – the usual ones ain’t gonna cut it. You beat us, you never hafta deal with us again.”

While Hijikata was definitely more level-headed than Gintoki was, there was no question that he also had some alcohol in his system. Sougo could not believe his ears. A big fight? With the loser disbanding? Hijibaka, are you out of your mind? C’mon, boss, you’ve gotta say no. However, it seemed that the alcohol had far too great of an influence on Gintoki’s brain for him to make a rational decision. “Sure, sure, whatever,” he slowly managed to get the words off his tongue. “Tonight, then. Usual time ‘n’ place. Now leave me ta drink.” “Don’t get yerself too inebriated,” Hijikata sneered. “We’re gonna be dukin’ it out, tonight.” “Dun’ need a brain to beat you senseless.”

Usually, Sougo would rejoice at any form of insult towards Hijikata. At the moment, however, he could only think about what had happened. Did our idiot bosses just order an all-out war in their drunkenness? For fuck’s sake. He scratched his head in disbelief, turning his phone off. This isn’t how sis’ would want things. What was that idiot thinking?

In the midst of his quiet thinking, Sougo heard the door open. He shifted an eye to peer at the visitor, and his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “Oh?” he remarked. “I thought you had some business?” He turned towards Kagura as she approached him, her eyes focused on the paper bag that he had just set down on Hongou’s bedside table. “Yeah, my brother’s coming to pick me up,” she replied, looking up at him. “Just wanted to make sure that you didn’t throw my cranes away.” “Hmph, I didn’t. I should’ve, though.” “Is that so? Well, I’m outta here then. If Hisashi-kun doesn’t get all of my cranes, though, you can bet that I’m gonna send you to the Moon at our next fight.”

Sougo gulped, turning tensely away from her. “Uh, actually…” He paused. I don’t need to be telling this to the enemy. His eyes looked back at Kagura. Even if she is kinda cute. Oh, well, she’ll find out eventually. “Nothing,” Sougo finished. “Huh? What’s up with you?” Kagura‘s tone was suspicious as she questioned him. “Nothing, hurry up and get going. I’m not looking forward to what that brother of yours will do to me if you don’t get home on time.” “Alright then…?” With a bit of hesitation, she turned and left, leaving Sougo to sort out his thoughts on his own.

When Kagura finally made her way outside, she found her brother waiting for her. “Alright, then,” he cheerfully stated. “Let’s get ‘ya home.” “Hmm, ah – Kamui?” Kagura spoke. “Yeah?” “Why do you think Gin-chan didn’t pick up his phone when I called him?” she asked, placing her knuckles to her bottom lip in though. “What is this, a father-complex-?” Kamui barely got the word out before Kagura socked him one in the gut. “Gah…!” he groaned, shaking a little in pain. “It seems you take after me with strength, huh, lil’ sis?” Kamui rubbed his abdomen before continuing. “Gintoki did say that he was heading out for a couple o’ drinks. Maybe he was too intoxicated to answer?”

Kagura made a face at her brother and groaned. “We just cleaned the carpet,” she complained, a whine at the back of her throat. “He’d better not throw up all over it.” “Correction, dear sister,” Kamui raised an index finger. “I cleaned the carpet. You laid on the couch and read Jump.” Deciding that she did not want to listen to her brother’s rabble for any longer, Kagura promptly stalked off, leaving her brother to chuckle and follow along behind her.

Ten o’clock. Gintoki groaned as he walked out of the bar, only half-sober. His footsteps were unsteady as he walked along the footpath and he found it difficult to avoid bumping into anyone who was walking in the opposite direction to him. He furrowed his eyebrows. The gang fight was due in two hours and he had not yet notified anyone, nor was he in any fighting condition. Hijikata had left the bar about an hour earlier, much less drunk than Gintoki was. As he continued along the footpath, heading home to his apartment, he groaned and took out his phone to send a group text to the Yorozuya. However, when the screen to his phone turned on, Gintoki’s eyes narrowed at what he saw.

Five missed calls from Kagura and a message from Kamui? What could have happened? Countless ‘worst case scenarios’ flashed through his mind, further agitating his alcohol-induced headache. He quickly unlocked his phone and opened up Kamui’s text, the throbbing in his head lessening as he read through it. “Your daughter is home right now, ‘n’ the hospital stuff went okay. Please don’t throw up on the carpet.” Gintoki sighed, relieved, then promptly moved to send a message to the Yorozuya members.

“Meeting over at the usual hideout immediately. Drop everything, kinda urgent.” Reading over his message a total of zero times to check if he had gotten all the details correct, Gintoki pressed send and, immediately, his thoughts were cut off by a ringing sound in his ears. He had thought that his headache could not get any worse, but it seemed that he had thought too soon. The whirling in his head stirred up his stomach and he gripped an arm against his abdomen.

Moving to the side of the footpath so as to get out of everyone’s way, Gintoki grasped onto a streetlamp pole and hunched over. He could feel his stomach begin to lurch, and his awful headache did nothing to help him. It was pathetic of him to have gotten so drunk, but Hijikata had offered to pay for the night so he had not given much thought to hold himself back. Big mistake. Plus, this ringing is awful – don’t think I’ve ever gotten so drunk that my ears started ringing this bad. And is it just me? Or is the ringing getting even louder-?

“Gintoki?” He looked up to find Tsukuyo standing a couple of steps away from him, her phone in hand ringing with the sound of the notification from his earlier message. So I’m not going crazy. “Ah, Tsukky?” he managed to slur out. Tsukuyo grimaced, opening her mouth to yell at him. However, she was cut off with the contortion of Gintoki’s face. “I think I’m gonna-!” Though it was dark, the light from the streetlamp showed Tsukuyo enough of Gintoki’s face for her to understand the implications behind his words. “Hold on!” She quickly dumped her groceries out of their plastic bag, holding it out for Gintoki. He gratefully grasped it, feeling the rush of alcohol, half-digested food and acid quickly ascend from his stomach.

Tsukuyo gently rubbed at Gintoki’s back while using her free hand to fetch a water bottle from her groceries which were littering the ground. After he had finished heaving, Tsukuyo opened the bottle and lifted it to his lips. Gintoki welcomed the feeling of the fresh, cool water as it slid smoothly down his throat. Once he had finished drinking, Tsukuyo took off her cloak and used the remaining water to dampen it. She wiped carefully at Gintoki’s face, cleaning off the spew that hadn’t made it into the bag and had landed on Gintoki.

With a slight daze in his eyes, Gintoki blinked a couple of times at Tsukuyo’s kind gesture. “Maybe I should take Kagura’s advice and make you her mother…” His words made Tsukuyo flinch, a blush creeping across her features as she furrowed her brow in embarrassment. “Don’t say things like that when you’re drunk, Gintoki,” Tsukuyo snarled as she spoke, her words shaky with anger and mortification. “Maybe.” Tsukuyo growled a little.

“Also, what exactly is this?” Tsukuyo questioned, lifting her phone towards his face, the light blinding him momentarily before he was able to read the message that he had sent only moments earlier. “Ah, yeah,” he nervously responded. “I think maybe I’ve been played…” “Played?” Tsukuyo reiterated. “Mm. That mayo-freak called me out for a couple of drinks. Said something about wanting to thank me for accommodating Okita Mitsuba’s health the past couple of years.” “Okay…?” “Not quite sure what happened, but free booze is free booze, y’ know?” Gintoki sighed. “Next thing I know the guy’s calling an all-out gang war, and I’m sayin’ “oh, sure, let’s go”.” “You did not.” “I did too.”

After a slight pause, Tsukuyo gulped down her fears and continued her line of questioning. “I’m afraid to ask, but… What are the stakes?” she slowly drew out. Gintoki hesitated for a few moments. “Disbandment,” he eventually managed to utter. “Disbandment?!” Tsukuyo repeated, incredulous. “Well, we’re gonna have to deal with it. We’ll run over everything at the hideout, so we should hurry.” As he began to walk away to find a bin for the plastic bag containing his regurgitation, Tsukuyo stepped toward him and smacked him on the back.

“You’re such an idiot, Gintoki!” she yelled.

Author’s Note

Uh-oh, what’s gonna happen eh? Also, sorry if you aren’t a fan of GinTsu – but I kinda dig the ship so… Eheh, couldn’t help myself.