#but it’s Mike and Will so i think they’ll manage

[camsthisky]

8 and Donnie, Ralph, Mikey, and Leo?

8. "Okay. Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do—fuck."

I didn't manage to fit Donnie and Leo in this, but have the sunset duo.

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

Raph is a big brother to three reckless, insanely talented, chaotic trouble-magnets, and while he would never trade it for the world, sometimes it felt like the world was out to get them with how often they found themselves between a rock and a hard place.

In this case, it’s literal. 

“Mikey,” Raph grits out, arms straining against the heavy load he’s just barely keeping from crashing on top of both him and his youngest brother. 

From underneath him, Mikey groans, the sound upticking into a whine when Mikey tries to move. There’s minimal light down here, but Raph’s got the sense for little brothers in trouble. He watches with bated breath as Mikey twitches, eyes cracking open.

“Raphie?” Mikey croaks. 

“Here, Mike,” Raph huffs. “You hurt?”

Mikey lets out another whine.

“Words, big man,” Raph says. The ceiling drops another half centimeter despite his best efforts. “I can’t—I can’t check you over right now, so I need you to help me out, okay?”

“Leg,” Mikey tells him. “Think ‘m pinned. Dizzy.”

“Okay,” Raph says, brain scrambling for a plan. For literally anything to help him get him and Mikey out of here. Donnie and Leo are much better thinkers, and they’d be out of here within minutes, probably. 

Raph isn’t Donnie. Raph isn’t Leo. Raph is the oldest brother with the brain that’s got one half on the ceiling buckling above them and the other half on his injured little brother he’s hunched over. He doesn’t do plans like his other brothers do.

Panicking, Raph realizes. He’s panicking, and that’s not gonna help any. 

“Okay,” Raph says again, more to himself than anything. He’s gotta keep talking or he’s going to go crazy. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do—fuck.”

Mikey wheezes in response to the ceiling around them starting to tremble. Raph’s muscles bulge against the weight, and he’s forced the drop to one knee. Miraculously, nothing but dust rains down on them.

“Raph,” Mikey whispers. He sounds terrified. “Raphie, what are we—”

Raph grits his teeth when Mikey dissolves into a series of coughs. 

“Don’t try to talk right now,” Raph tells him. “We probably need to, uh, save our air. Can you move at all?”

“My leg,” Mikey says, shaking his head.

Right. Raph forgot about that. Mikey had said his leg was pinned. But if Raph moves to help Mikey, there’s a chance the ceiling won’t hold its own weight. They’ll both be crushed.

“Can you sit up? Try and free your leg?”

Mikey says nothing. He doesn’t move for several seconds, long enough that a creeping sense of dread starts to build up in Raph’s chest. Because he can’t be alone in this. As much as he wishes that Mikey wasn’t in this situation with him, Raph doesn’t think he would last long alone without completely bugging out.

Mikey is his anchor in this. Mikey is how Raph is going to keep his head on straight enough to find a way out of here. 

Mikey pushes himself to his elbows, wheezing again as he shifts. It’s too dim to see any specifics, but Mikey seems to be having trouble staying upright. 

But Mikey is just as stubborn as the rest of them. He pushes himself fully upright. 

The next few minutes are lost to Raph as he struggles against his failing muscles to keep the ceiling from crushing them further. He hears gasps of pain from Mikey, sees jerky movements, smells the coppery scent of fresh blood.

“I’m out,” Mikey says. His voice is weak and shaky, but he’s closer to Raph now. Close enough to lean his head on Raph’s plastron. “What now?”

Raph pauses a moment, and then nods to himself. He can do this. He’s not Donnie or Leo, not smart as a whip or a natural at thinking on his feet, but Raph is strong, and he has a baby brother tucked close to him. 

“Raph’s gotcha,” he says.

And he activates his ninpo.

[driftingvoid-155]

Love the thought of Mike (scooped) causing distortions to the technology around him bc of the remnant in him. Reason number one why no one can get a good photo bc they’ll all, no matter what, turn out blurry. Also why the monitors are so fuzzy & glitch so much. He always used to think Freddy’s security equipment was shit (which it still pretty much is) only come to find out it’s mainly just him having the majority of the problems which is when he finally puts two and two together.

I like to think it’s worse the newer technology hence why the man still has a flip phone in 2023 bc at least it lets him still hear whoever he’s talking to on the other end unlike the new phones which will just glitch & glitch and basically become a useless brick. Automatic doors are the worst bc they will just sit and open and close leaving him having to time it just right it he wants to get through. And least to say, he’s miscalculated a few times. Jeremy just assumes Mike hates all new technology bc of the way the man avoids it like it’s the plague but really it’s bc it will, without fault, always manage to malfunction on him in some way.

[courtingchaos]

Tryouts

Bully Masterlist

Summary: Lucas and Max have a conversation without having one; end of summer signups begin.

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: None

A/N: I was gonna be corny here and talk about the long lead up but like, no one else has been anticipating me posting this the way I have. I’ve been on the edge of my own seat waiting and the muse finally came back from the corner store, surprisingly with the cigarettes she promised. This is a prelude of sorts, a small snippet of life outside of the main story. Expect more of these as it progresses, everyone is up to something.

No Explicit Content but 18+ No Minors

“Wait so you’re gonna actually try out for soccer?” Lucas stops walking out of shock while Max just keeps across the parking lot towards the arcade.

“It isn’t so much a ‘try out’ as it is ‘show up and be interested’.” She stops to wait for a car and shoots her boyfriend a look over her shoulder. “So don’t get too excited, they’ll take literally anyone.”

“Hey! I’ll be excited anyways!” He catches up to her at the door, shooting his arm around her to cut her off from grabbing it for herself. Lucas sees the eye roll and chooses to ignore it. “We can be like, an athlete couple.”

“Oh my god.”

“We could trade Lettermans.”

She tries to hide it but he can see her grin that she pulls off to the side of her face. “Sick. You’re sick Sinclair.”

“Oh come on, you know you want to.”

Max stops at the token machine to dig out her wad of dollar bills. “I don’t even know if I want to play! I’m just…looking for something to get me out of the house.”

Lucas leans on the top of the machine to singsong at her. “There’s always a seat at the table.” He wiggles his eyebrows and she hates that she laughs.

“In Wheeler’s fart infested basement? I don’t think so.” She scoops the tokens out to hand them to Lucas, her own personal coin purse while she keeps her high score for the afternoon. “He doesn’t make El do it so why should I be forced to play?”

“He doesn’t force her and plus, they aren’t talking right now.”

“What?” She whips her head to look at him. “She didn’t tell me anything!”

Lucas gives her a side eye before walking away towards the Dig Dug machine and Max follows him close, hands pulling at his shoulders to get him to stop moving, and when he doesn’t, fingers dig into his side to try and tickle it out of him.

“Tell me! What happened!” If this was anyone else she might consider this bullying with the way she pulls at the hem of his shirt and shakes his whole body when all he gives her for an answer is a laugh at her pretend annoyance. It isn’t until she manages to get a leg up off the stool and onto his back that he threatens to drop her tokens.

“If I get off you, you’ll tell me?” She asks him directly in his ear so he winces away with a chuckle.

“If you get off me I won’t drop your coins.”

Lucas hands her two tokens when she puts both feet on the ground and nods his head at the arcade. A silent standoff for a moment before Max gives up with a heavy sigh, sitting down when the tune jingles behind the screen.

“Okay, this morning Mike called to hang out and I told him we were gonna be busy but he could tag along if he wanted to.”

“Why do you do that?”

Lucas ignores her. “But he said he didn’t want to be around you because you were probably gonna make fun of him all day and if he wanted that, he’d just go over to El’s.”

“So they had another fight?”

“I guess? It sounds like she was teasing him about being in the basement all summer with his Nintendo and he blew up.”

Max frowns at the screen. “Did he say that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard him own up to a damn thing.”

“Surprisingly, yeah. He said that Hopper came in and told him to get the hell out if he was gonna yell like that.”

“He got yelled at by dad? No thank you.” She shakes her head a little to stop the memory of last night from resurfacing and of course Lucas catches it. Try as she might to keep her family stuff firmly behind the front door of their home, it’s been sneaking out lately and waving at anyone who pays attention, Lucas in particular.

“You okay?”

Her eyebrows knit before she can stop it but she’s focused on the game, fingers tapping on the thick buttons. If she doesn’t respond then maybe Lucas will shrug it off and keep telling her about Mike having a tantrum. Maybe he’ll tell her about the Fighter he built for her and try for the hundredth time this summer to get her to play the dumb dice game. Or maybe he’ll double down and bring up her brother’s black eye.

“I saw Billy peeling out earlier.”

There it is, she thinks to herself and holds back the eye roll. “So did half the neighbors. He likes the attention.”

“He stopped long enough to flip me the bird.” He laughs like it’s normal.

“Yeah?” The game means nothing now. Her fingers slap at the cabinet and Lucas just keeps looking at her with pity. “Well don’t feel bad for him, he should know when to shut up.” She acknowledges it but won’t name it, especially when she was there for its christening. Voices that raised over her headphones, the splintering of a mistreated door being kicked in for the twentieth time and a loud smack of knuckles before it’d gone silent. “He pushes Neil for fun.”

Lucas stares at her like everyone else has that’s ever seen her stepdad go off on his kid.

Max feels the lump crawling fast up her throat so she swallows to keep it tucked below her ribs where it can settle until later. “Lucas…” His name comes out soft on the end of a heavy sigh. She doesn’t really have anything to say, nothing she wants to admit to him right now, at least not while the sun is shining.

To his credit he looks uncomfortable in the face of her minor slip but it’s gone as soon as she notices it. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Talking without talking. It’s like their special ability, their mutant powers, not quite mind reading but close. He asks her the obvious question without using the words so she isn’t embarrassed. So others don’t overhear.

She really thinks about it. Tries to remember a time that Neil had ever directed that temper at her and comes up with a blank. It’s always anger by association, always behind Billy when the blame rolls in no matter how loud she’d get about her part in the issue. That had only happened once and her mother had swiftly pulled her out of the room and into the car and they’d gone to the mall for most of the day. Max thinks about all the times she’s come home to a new bruise on Billy or another broken dish in the trash. She thinks about how Lucas has never seen the inside of her house but she’s been all over his, every nook and even through the attic, even through Mrs. Sinclair’s garden.

“Yeah.”

The game jingles at her in a mocking defeat but the wasted tokens don’t matter. She stares at Lucas who does his best to wait for her, his hands shoved far into his shorts pockets until she makes the slightest move for him and he wraps her in a hug, tight and lighting quick. Thankfully it’s lunch time and thankfully the attendant today has wandered off and thankfully it’s just them in the arcade with all its trills and beeps. Cabinet screens flash around them and all that matters is the hug and the quietly whispered “I’m sorry” that Lucas presses into the top of her head.

Lucas agreed to meet Max at the field ten minuets after her drop off time to avoid anymore general jackassery from Billy, but when he’d folded himself out of the backseat of Steve’s car he’d had to brace himself. The Camaro sat idling on the far side of the field with its owner leaning on the hood, a brunette vying for his attention next to him, but no redhead in sight.

“You okay?” Steve asks while pointedly staring at Billy across the field.

“Yeah I’m…he won’t do anything here.”

There’s the trill of whistles and Robin is shooting out of the passenger seat, cursing and slamming her foot into a cleat. “I told you we were gonna be late!” She screeches at Steve as she barrels down the small slope with her bag swinging wildly from her shoulder. She waves both hands at the coach and yells something about traffic and that’s when Dustin gets out of the car finally, his finger pointed to the middle of the group of girls.

“There she is.”

Red hair shines bright in the early morning sun and Lucas can’t help the smile that grows wide. Beside him Dustin nudges him, says something about googly eyes and makes his horrible whip sound but Lucas tunes him out. Max is tucked into herself until Robin pushes her way over and a smile appears, a laugh too when she points up to the three of them on the hill and she grabs Max’s hand to flop it at them in a crude wave.

Dustin waves back with the folded up signup sheet and he elbows Lucas again. “See man? Nothing to worry about.”

“I know. I just—“

“Worry?”

“Shut up.” It’s good natured. Dustin laughs and asks him again if he filled out the papers, if he brought his character sheet and it isn’t until Steve whistles at them and points to the school parking lot that Dustin finally cuts it out. A van has rumbled in and before it can park, a shaggy head pops out and looks around before throwing his hands up and yelling.

“Henderson!”

Dustin takes off, calling Lucas with him over his shoulder to follow, but Lucas hangs back for a minute. He watches Max whispering with Robin, can see her easing up. The smile hasn’t left her face, just faded into the conversation as she nods her head along to something said to her. Beside him Steve sighs when the horn on the van goes off three times in quick succession and Lucas looks over to see Dustin giving him a pointed, annoyed look.

“I’d go over there before he pisses Munson off.” Steve seems to be watching Lucas struggle to leave and he taps him on the arm to assure him. “I’ll keep an eye on her, okay? I promise I won’t let anything happen.”

“Thanks man.”

[campbyler]

THEA!!!

they r so boyfriends! 😭😭😭😭😭😭 it should be illegal to read acswy while being single CAUSE I WANT TO BITE SOMEBODY SO BAD. so im gonna bite u guys. as a revenge for my poor heart. sorry.

first of all will with tote bag!!! mike with long sleeves and shorts!!! yes!! their fits r literally so perfect. i just have to say it.

the fact that will didn’t even bring his car key with him. he doesn’t hate mustang as much as he pretends 😭 and he definitely changed his mind after mikes explanation. can’t wait till will break his stupid rule and they’ll make out senselessly in it.

i got mikes reasoning for buying that car (and ted is an asshole in every universe. sorry that it happened to u thea) but he could choose less pretentious one 🙄 sorry i have a with aversion towards expensive cars. their drivers always think that they better than traffic regulations. anyway.

manual transmission is a crime against humanity and im glad that i never have to use it again. it wasn’t that bad on the road and changing gears doesn’t take much time but traffic lights became my arch enemies cause i always managed to stall on them 😭 i hope ur lessons were better btw. i feel that will will shake like chihuahua😭 plus it like one extra leg on the clutch and i have no idea how to not forget about it if u only drive automatic.

their not-date date cause they definitely aren’t dating they’re barely friends who love kiss each other on the mouth and hold hands and spend time together and tell each other their deepest secrets.

the things i felt when mike dropped wills hand in the car. i Know it was was a reason. and he totally recovered himself by holding wills pinky the entire way to the mall. i know their pinkies Hurt cause where’s no other way.

when they’ll find out that smooches at the center of the cafe is not really platonic. isn’t really platonic with kissing if we’re judging be their standards. The Kiss in the changing room though…. they literally obsessed with each other i can believe guys used to pretend they enemies 😭

someone brought up dwoht on relation to the thrift store and i can’t stop thinking about it

“u (authors) said there was nothing in the world that could stop it

i (i) had a bad feeling”

i loveeee noticing how their humor changed. will doesn’t want to hurt mike anymore he wants to laugh with him instead 💔 and he thinks mikes password is cute and loserish (it is) but he charmed by it omgggg!!!

im so glad that i spent this year with u guys (im finishing my comment in 2024!!!! happy new year!!!) and im excited to follow the story next year too. days if the updates became my favorite and brought me so much joy!!

thea, suni and andi thank u so much for ur talent and passion!! ily!! happy new year 🎉🎄🥳🎊🤶❄️

ALYAAAA i am SO sorry that i am the worst and it takes me forever to answer things but just know i have been holding this ask so close to my chest for the past million weeks bc it is so special to meeee 💗💗💗💗💗

i will accept the biting bc i am also biting someone. it is hard to WRITE it while being single wtf. every time i write a kiss scene i'm like gd who wants to kiss me..............i am here and kissless...........

that and also i think he was so eepy he didn't even Think abt bringing his keys but also lbr he knew mike was going to insist on driving lol. mike fr could have chosen a less pretentious car But i think mustangs are universally cool cars for sure and i think it's very important to mike to have a cool car so even tho it's not necessarily something he would have picked out himself i do also think that he loves it. a little bit. (<- a lot bit)

i've ended up not actually learning how to drive a manual bc me and my sister have both been busy so all of my knowledge for the next chapter is going to be thru research and osmosis so pls call me out if anything is incorrect 😭

sometimes you have to kiss your friends on the mouth!!!!! and go on a not-date date w them!!!!!!!!!! that is so totally normal!!!!!!!!!!!!! their pinkies definitely hurt so bad!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! they are obsessed w each other fr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

dwoht is not on the ch9.2 playlist but it is for suuuuure very will-coded for this stretch of the story if you even care.

we are so glad WEEE spent this year w YOUUU alya ty for supporting us and always leaving the sweetest most thoughtful comments 💗 i hope tht ch9.2 is everything you've ever dreamed of!!!!

[lemonisherelol]

Helloo, I’ve draw stuff so far so now I’ll be talking about what my thoughts are about Monsters at work which are the negative ones!

Ok so for the first starters, I’d love to say the plot twist of Rogers being Mr. Waternoose’s son was surprising, but however I do have one issue is that why haven’t Mike and Sulley told anyone else about it? Sure everyone will think it’s crazy and will think Rogers might be bad but however I feel like they could’ve informed everyone, I don’t know I might be slow but that’s all I can think of.

For Randall’s return, the only thing I have a huge issue is that the show wants us to think Johnny and Randall are working together despite the fact that Johnny kicked them off the team after the scare games..? It’s a strange thing how Disney would just call the two “besties” when they literally missed the point,,I know how Disney would change stories that aren’t canon. Johnny basically used Randall just to win the scare games, already knowing that Randall can go camouflage which is the only thing Randall is good at, hiding so no one can expect a thing. That’s basically what I think when I watched the movie few times before getting to the real point. And as for this, how did Johnny managed to find Randall? How did he just find Randall, did bro just teleported?? 😭😭

For Chet, I feel so lost…I don’t think that’ll actually be Chet because again, that isn’t him. I feel like Chet would be the funny type and Johnny’s best pal, so far I’ve seen the two’s bonding, Chet is the supporting friend and Johnny is the charmer friend. However I don’t know where they get this “bedwetter” from, unless I’m missing something, please make sure to tell me since I’m lost at some points. I also don’t feel for Randall and Johnny being friends since again, tf happened to that…I don’t know, I don’t like it when characters I find funny or interesting would immediately get mischaracterized.

For Pete Ward, I feel so lost like…why is he at Fear Co? Was it because he wasn’t too funny or something? Because I’m pretty sure in Monsters inc you can see him at the ending, and I feel like he’d make a funny monster imo. (He can just make a puppet show with socks as puppets, I’d find that funny!) I also feel confused about how Lanky’s voice changed since yk, bro went to male to female but oh well! They’ll be trans so that’s ok! :3 (I also added the last photo just incase people know or didn’t see Pete!!)

As for the baseball game, I feel like they should’ve added a bit more characters like Lanky, Jerry Josh, Stuart, other characters who were in Monsters inc, I like ‘em! I wouldn’t mind having Javier, Chip, and Reggie work for Fear Co, but however I saw Javier’s card and he’s with Monsters inc side now. (Which I saw in the ending of Monsters university)

I do have one theory I thought about, when I watched ep8 and I thought to myself, what if Rogers was calling Randall? Yes I know it’s impossible, but hear me out,,,what if Rogers had to cover this up by saying his father called him, but it was Randall. We basically know that Randall knows about Rogers so I think it’s interesting, it may be not canon but that’s all I can think of, or is it? >:3

That’s all I can say, sorry if I sound a bit slow or rude but I just wanted to get this out of my head.

Again I’ll rewatch monsters at work just so fanart can come out soon! Right now I can usually talk about my headcanons for the monsters Inc characters! And more lore for my ocs!

Bye bye <3

[goodlucktai]

If you're okay with another fic prompt, maybe Mikey hiding his tears in the rain? And one or all of his brothers (or friends) figuring it out and comforting him.

Can I also request it be in the 2003 verse?

x

Usually it’s Raph who puts his foot in his mouth in a major way, but this time it’s Leo. 

It doesn’t happen often. Donnie thinks he could probably count on both hands the number of times Leo has said something intentionally hurtful to one of his brothers and still have some fingers leftover. Since returning from Japan, that frightening temper that turned their warm-hearted leader into a brooding stranger has been discarded for good, but it left a few scars. And Leo is as much a teenager as the rest of them are, even if he wasn’t always free to act like it. It’s not fair to expect him to regulate his emotions all the time. It wouldn’t be fair to expect that of a non-traumatized seventeen year old, let alone a kid with PTSD and anxiety and god only knows what else.

So really it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is when the words come bulleting out of Leo’s mouth, sharp and seething, “Some ninja you are.”

It shouldn’t be, but Raph whips around like someone struck him upside the head, and Donnie’s hands on Mikey’s shoulders clench tight involuntarily. He’s still kneeling in front of Mikey, still mopping up the blood on his head with a shirt Raph unapologetically ripped off a clothes line, still halfway through mentally cataloging the fatalistic difference another inch to the left would have made, so he has a front-row seat to the hurt that parades across the smallest turtle’s expression. 

That hurt hadn’t even existed when the Purple Dragon threw the knife at Mikey’s head in the first place. He’d been laughing a second ago, shaking off the jitters from the very close-call. Leo’s bitter condemnation stole that away in an instant. Their eldest brother is special and important to each of them, but he’s Mikey’s hero. 

Rain is drumming all around them, cascading off the boarded-up storefront overhang they’ve sheltered under. It’s early May and the recent days have gotten warmer, but abruptly Donnie feels very cold. 

“He don’t got eyes in the back of his head, Fearless,” Raph snaps back, like clockwork. His hackles are up, because as far as he’s concerned, only one person on this planet is allowed to give Mikey any semblance of a hard time, and that person is decidedly not Leonardo. 

“Then how about a little spacial awareness?” Leo bites out, squaring his shoulders when Raph faces him, as if they’ve never managed to mature past thirteen years old. “We’re running drills in the dojo starting tomorrow.”

It’s on the tip of Donnie’s tongue to say the hell we are, but he doesn’t bother. Raph and Leo are starting their unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object routine and they’ll be at it for a good five minutes at least. Instead he reminds himself that his big brothers are keyed up and agitated out of worry and care, that the fighting only started after Donnie gave the all-clear, because it really won’t do anyone any good if all three of them lose their tempers. 

A second later Mikey is leaning out of Donnie’s hands and pushing himself to his feet. He’s looking right at Leo with all that hurt packed away into a neat little box, impossible to find. His orange mask is stained a stomach-turning rust color. The balled-up shirt is still in Donnie’s hand and Mikey is just letting himself bleed. 

“Mike,” Donnie says helplessly. 

“I’ll text you later,” he replies and ducks away quickly, out from under the overhang into the alley. Donnie sometimes wonders at the things his family has normalized over the years. His only little brother, the only person Donatello has always been directly responsible for, is all plastered with rain and walking off with a head wound, and it’s not even in the top ten worst things that’s happened so far this year. And it’s May. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Leo says suddenly. He storms after Mikey, reaching out like he’s going to grab him by the arm, and Donnie has just a second to think yeah that’s not good before Mikey whirls around. 

“Back off!” 

It stops Leo in his tracks so completely that it probably would have been funny in another time and place. He blinks dumbly, like the computer in his brain is rebooting. Donnie knows that this sudden temper of his was triggered by fear—that the sight of a knife flying towards his littlest brother’s head woke up something ugly in his brain that sprang to the defense in the quickest, easiest manner it could, clouding rational thought—but that doesn’t mean his words hurt any less. 

Mikey wipes roughly at his face with the heel of his hand. It’s impossible to tell through the rain, but he might be crying. Then, with an economy of motion that all his brothers have envied since they were clumsy little toddlers, the orange-banded turtle scales the side of the adjacent building and disappears over the roof into the dark. 

“Well done, asshole,” Raph says, but it’s half-hearted at best. “At this rate, I’ll be out of a job.”

Leo’s brow is furrowed beneath his mask. His hand is still slightly raised, like Mikey is still right there within reach. He’s never been here before, Donnie knows. Even when Leo was at his most hateful, those painful weeks after the showdown with the Shredder, Raph and Donnie—and even April, Casey and Splinter—were careful to keep him the fuck away from Mikey on his darker days. There are some things that can’t be walked back. 

This isn’t that. To be frank, they’ve said much worse to each other over much smaller fish. But sometimes hurt can spring up where it’s least expected. And sometimes when you get a knife thrown at your head, you want sympathy from the person you’ve spent your whole life idolizing, not scorn. 

“Why did I say that,” Leo mutters. It doesn’t sound like a question. 

Donnie answers anyway. “Because you’ve refused every single one of my attempts to get you into therapy. Telehealth exists, Nardo. We’re on a very good insurance plan.”

“Since when do we have insurance?” Raph says. He’s peering out from under the overhang into the rain, like maybe Mikey’s going to make a surprise reappearance. “Are you frauding some sleezy millionaire again?”

“Just doing my part,” Donnie says mildly. He touches Leo’s shoulder and says, “You owe him an apology. But he’ll be okay.”

It’ll be a cold day in hell when just that would be enough to make Leo stop worrying, especially in this case, but Donnie still had to try. Sure enough, Leo nods once, mechanically, and then says, “Can you track his phone?”

“Slow down, Mamanardo,” Raph says. “Let the kid have a minute to himself.”

“He’s hurt,” Leo replies like it’s making him sick to think about. Donnie has a comment locked and loaded that sounds something along the lines of “how convenient of you to remember that now and not when you and Raph were ripping each other’s heads off” but he chooses to be the bigger turtle. 

“He’ll be okay,” Donnie reiterates. He tosses the ruined shirt into a nearby bin and then sticks his hands out into the rain, washing the sticky, tacky red away. “Besides, tracking his phone is unnecessary. There’s only one place he would have gone.”

Even Raph raises an eyeridge at that, and Leo is equally clueless, but that’s okay. Donnie has been Mikey’s co-conspirator and secret-keeper since before they could talk in full sentences, and it’s only fair, because Mikey has been all of those things for him, too. Being on the B Team doesn’t have a lot of perks, but this is one of them. 

A couple of hours later, Donnie successfully shakes his brothers off at the lair. Splinter caught Donnie’s eye and helpfully ushered the elder two turtles into the dojo for a convenient meditation session, so Donnie didn’t have to worry about a pair of red and blue mother hens trailing after him. 

He crawls up the side of an apartment building in East Village and sits on the railing of the fire escape to peer into a warmly-lit window on the seventh floor. Inside his little brother and his little brother’s best friend, a human with piles and piles of curly blond hair and dimples when he smiles, are probably minutes away from getting a noise complaint, dancing around a cramped shoebox living room and singing at the top of their lungs. 

“Girl, put your records on,” they bellow, sharing the TV remote as if it’s a microphone. “Tell me your favorite song! You go ahead, let your hair down!”

There’s a big pink bandaid plastered to the side of Mikey’s head, and evidence of Thai takeout on the coffee table that’s been shoved to the side of the room, and he’s in a sunflower yellow hoodie that’s at least two sizes too big. Any trace of the hurt from earlier is long-gone. 

They’ll need to get home eventually. It isn’t safe to stay out in the early morning hours, as the city that never sleeps begins to pick up speed. And Leo is almost certainly going to be waiting up for them, restless until he sees for himself that his baby brother hasn’t been driven away by him completely. They really do need to get that boy some therapy. Donnie makes a mental note to get April on his team for that. 

For now, there’s still some time. Until the end of this song, at least. It’s catchy. 

[randomstranger24]

I’m certain a lot of people think I’m some deranged lunatic and will be skeptical and or just won’t believe anything I have to say. I totally get it and if it were me on the other end, I think I’d draw the same conclusion as well. It’s more than reasonable, but I promise there is a much bigger picture and I think you deserve to at least know another perspective. 

Not sure where to begin. I’ll start off first by saying I won’t be referring to anyone’s names or occupations to conceal anyone’s identity including my own.

I owe a big apology not just to the BoC fans, but also to Mike and Marcus, not that they would even give a shit, but if so, I’m sure they’d hate my guts. Yes, I am the original creator of the “Thrift Store Tape" and no, I am of no relation to the brothers, (no surprise there). I do feel spiritually connected to their music though if that’s of any consequence? (no surprise there either) I’m sure they’ll never see this, but I realize I could be viewed as an untalented hack and a giant piece of shit. This, I understand and I accept it. I never had bad intentions, I promise that, but it’s like they always say, “The road to Hell is paved with good ones”. 

Here’s how this entire thing got started. Regardless of what anyone might assume, I never in a million years set out to intentionally deceive people into believing this was some long lost BoC record. Hear me out and let me explain from the beginning. 

For years prior to all of this, I have been experimenting with recording my musical creations onto VHS and cassette tapes in attempts to capture those warm fuzzy lofi aesthetics, but Sometimes the final product is actually disappointing because you’d be surprised how good VHS tapes actually hold sound. So, fast forward 2018, one of my housemates at the time, who was actually the one who helped manage a Red White And Blue thrift store. This was the catalyst of what sparked this idea in my head after my housemate mentioned all the blank VHS tapes that were being donated.  

I Purchased a whole bin of tapes and started dubbing my music, (both old and new) onto the donated VHS tapes to send back to the thrift stores to be re-donated in efforts of someone finding them. Kind of like putting a message in a bottle and throwing it out to sea in hopes someone finds it. I would donate several of these VHS tapes and would leave my dubbed mixes over top of older shitty movies. I had the idea of rummaging through and curating all of my “Old Tunes” sound-alikes and Vaporwave tracks or anything sounding adjacent and placing them on several tapes.  

I probably dubbed well over a hundred tapes over the years since 2018, both used and blanks

I ended up donating most of them to several different thrift stores. Mostly old generic shitty “dollar-bin” movies that nobody really wants and generic kids cartoons. I would never destroy a collectible VHS or anything of value, so no worries there, but I doubt anyone will ever find the ones sent out and even if they do, they’ll most likely throw it away or something. I have a few tapes that escaped that were made with music that accidentally got deleted years ago and I would pay top dollar to get back, but that’s another story for another day. 

Anyway, So, my other friend (Not housemate), who, (we’ll just say, is an independent filmmaker of sorts) had the idea which kind of spawned from mine to do a found-footage VHS horror film project also known as “Analog Horror” or the genre at least. Now, keep in mind, this is the spring of 2020 during the height of the pandemic lockdown. So, time is all we had. 

I had the idea of using an ARG for people to solve to lead them down a “Rabbit Hole” as part of an interactive movie project. It would start off pleasant and would progressively get more sinister and darker and even more disturbing the further down you went. My main intention and goal was to hopefully have this project be the subject of topic on a big name youtube channel like “Nexpo”. I figured the music and aesthetic would all be “Old Tunes- BoC-inspired” and would give it a more suitable twist. I figured any fans that would ever come across it would take notice instantly that it was “BoC-inspired” or at least the music. I also figured the BoC cover tracks would add a few disturbing layers to the mystique of this “Rabbit Hole” mystery.  especially since we wanted to catch those "Backrooms" "Liminal Space" vibes.

I’m sure folks will be skeptical and that’s okay, but just hear me out on this and yes, I’d be thinking the same way too, so I certainly do understand any skepticism. 

Originally, the inspiration for the name “Strange Soup” Mixtape was used in the original upload in efforts to connect ties to this twisted bizarrely disturbing video titled “Blank Room Soup (Dark Web Video)”.

Now, you can do a google search about this video. It was a strange mysterious viral sensation for quite a few years after emerging on 4chan and has been a part of other “Rabbit Holes”. We ended up deleting the original video so that another one could be uploaded in place of it. 

The idea was to incorporate it as part of this story, but we needed to scratch other ideas altogether because the numbers did not properly equate to the letters we needed to start the ARG and time was running out. We also needed the upload date to fall in line with the project. The creation of these ARG’s are not easy to create. Believe me when I tell you. I’m just some uneducated moron, so figuring this stuff out took trial and error. Even with the help of my friend.    

Now, if all would have gone as planned, we would have opened another account uploading another tape in connection with the thrift store tape. We were in search of materials to craft out costumes like the one’s seen in the “Blank Room Soup” video and wanted to utilize the office space at my friend's school.  

Originally, this is how this should have all played out in order for this horror project to have worked. We needed The first video to be uploaded at a certain date in order to maintain validity for the ARG storyline so it could be incorporated into the film project. The goal from the start was never to deceive people into believing this was a “long-lost BoC record”. I’ll explain more below.  

The next step, after a week or two, was to have all of us post the link to the video in “thrift store finds facebook groups” in order to drum up the mystery. He and I shared the link on a few of the forums online such as Reddit and so on. The forums had absolutely nothing to do with music or ARG’s. Just thrift store finds and VHS collector’s groups. We wanted to build the mystery up and clue people in eventually. The original video sat on youtube for quite some time. It had like maybe 60-75 views after a month. That view count just stayed stagnant. Then one day in, I think late March out of nowhere, I got the messages in the comments. They were friendly at first with some people just mentioning it was “Boards of Canada”. I thought to myself, “Oh shit, they found the video”. Soon the view count just kept on climbing and Soon enough some folks started becoming hostile. I convinced my housemate to make a response video explaining everything. We all thought this was the best course of action because of how unbiased he’ll be for the simple fact, he has no idea who BoC is (Well, he does now lol) and he is not a musician, like, at all haha. 

Me and my filmmaker friend were excited at first that at least we had an audience now and could run with it. So I figured the response video my housemate put out would quell any outrage and save our project in order to move forward but, boy, was I dead wrong.

The views kept climbing up and the comments kept coming. People were becoming hostile and outraged. Things got way too real and I started to panic slightly. I have a bad anxiety disorder and it triggered it for sure. I just had all these thoughts like, “What if I get sued by the band?” I had nightmares of the brothers coming after me and them telling me how much of a piece of shit I am.  

BoC fans are some of the craftiest people you’ll ever come across, lemme tell ya lol.

They had somehow figured out the metadata from the original deleted video that was uploaded months prior. After it was confirmed and revealed to me they could dig this info up, I was in a full blown panic attack. I started hyperventilating. I messaged my buddy and told him what was up. He was against it at first, but I told him, “hey I have to delete this whole channel, they’re going to find out where I live next and who I am!” I just had the worst thoughts imaginable. 

So, I hit the “Killswitch” button and within minutes it all vanished like a bad dream. I was genuinely worried at first that I could potentially face legal backlash, but my friend explained to me that I wasn't out there putting any BoC label on it or even labeling the tracks and attempting to make any money from it.   

Some time had passed and the dust settled a little bit. I was kind of shocked to see people had ripped the original audio from the video and were sharing it to facebook and reddit and soon uploaded to Youtube. The “Dan Fingerman” channel was the first to reupload as I read through the comments and to my surprise they were all mostly positive. Some people thought for sure the music was BoC and others were skeptical, but most of them didn’t believe for a second, but yet still they kept talking about how much they enjoyed it. Even “David Firth” the creator of “Salad Fingers” left a comment at some point stating he liked the music, but didn’t care for the BS backstory. I was so happy that this music that had been sitting around for years on end had finally found a home somewhere. 

This music is only meant for a small niche audience. Most folks will not appreciate it. I think where I really fucked up, was becoming addicted to the excitement of seeing people enjoy the music that I had accumulated over a decade. Believe me when I tell you, there is more where that all came from. It is ridiculous the hundreds of unfinished or hidden tracks I have stored on several harddrives, VHS and cassette tapes, but I am happy to finally put it all to bed today.

Here’s where I need to really step up and take accountability for my ignorance and selfishness. 

Again, I was truly happy that people were actually enjoying the music so I did a foolish thing and ran with it like an idiot. All the hate and backlash that I will receive after all of this is all well deserved. Yes, I’m a giant loser, I'm an idiot, a talentless hack with no life. I’ll take the “L”. I just wanted to purge the last of this music and put an end to all of it once and for all. I think this was much needed and I can now move on with my life and stop obsessing over creating music that sounds like BoC. I can go back to writing and producing dark progressive black and death metal like I once used to lol.     

The day I discovered BoC’s music is the day it changed my life forever and how I saw the world through a new lens. I became obsessed with wanting to replicate their sound. I think it is more than relevant to talk about it to help illustrate my madness. 

Growing up in my teen years I was an extreme metal fanatic. I listened to a lot of black and death metal bands and played in many metal bands as a guitarist. My biggest influences were bands like Slayer, Immortal, Death, Opeth, Dimmu Borgir, Gorgoroth, Deicide, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest. You name it, If it was extreme, I was probably into them. I wanted nothing to do with any music that wasn’t extreme metal. I was very narrow-minded back then. That’s not to say I’m no longer a fan of metal, I’m just not as closed off as I used to be. 

As the years went on, I would watch my favorite front men from the most prolific metal bands give interviews and mention their musical influences and would always be blown away by how far away from metal their influences actually were. One of them would mention Radiohead in multiple interviews and naturally I got curious and started trying out “Radiohead" and soon fell in love with Thom Yorke’s experimentations. I think this is where my taste began to shift. I started getting into the “chill trip-hop’ genres and bands like Portishead, producers like DJ Shadow, Flying Lotus, and J Dilla. So pretty much the recipe for being receptive to BoC was already in the making. 

Eventually I stopped playing in bands after I learned how to play every instrument: Bass, Piano, drums and so on. It just got too hectic with everyone’s schedules to keep the dedication. I wanted so badly to learn how to write, record, and produce my own music. At the time I had a friend who used “Frooty Loops” to make Industrial beats, but that was about it and he would never teach me how to use the program. I wanted so badly to make my own black metal album and perform and record all the instruments as well as sing vocals.            

“Opeth’s” front man Mikael Akerfeldt influenced me in other directions from the metal genre and 

I eventually outgrew those desires and over time I became more interested in collecting vintage things like vhs camcorders, tape players, and record players. This really set the stage for me. Some years later, I was surfing Youtube in 2008 in search of videos on the drug `DMT" and a slideshow video of psychedelic imagery started playing and that’s when I was introduced to BoC's "Roygbiv" for the first time. As I was listening, it was like something inside of me was born. I’ll never forget that day. 

Now, I grew up in the 80’s and I distinctly remember “PBS” and the shows that would air back then like Reading Rainbow and Sesame Street. As I’m listening to Roygbiv, I was in this state of disbelief. How did they manage to pull that off? These sounds of rich warm vintage analog tones of the mid 70’s TV bumpers on public broadcasting networks. It took me right back to my childhood and unlocked this part of me that had been missing my entire life. I had shivers down my spine. From that moment, I instantly fell in love. I just had to find out who the creator of this music was. I did some digging and one comment read the band name and I sought out more of their music. The next track I listened to was “Bocuma" and it buried into my soul even deeper. I had both tracks on repeat all day. It took me back to the simple days of my childhood of the early 80’s. I just had to find out what software they were using. I wanted to learn how one could possibly recreate something of the past with such an unreal haunting aesthetic.  

I eventually found out this music was released in 1998 and that, of itself blew my mind as well.

I was so certain the music was from the present day using “present-day-computer-technology”.

Eventually, I got my hands on a computer and started to dabble in music production and also learned how to convert analog to digital and vise/versa. I had read on multiple forums and interviews of how they could achieve their signature sound and naturally I followed.   

I would damage and degrade tapes to record on them and I had some incredible results and as mentioned before, a lot of disappointment because VHS has such a good HIFI sound. Almost better than any digital. 

I would fall asleep and dream of melodies and try to figure them out. It got to a point where it plagued everything I did musically. Everything I would make would always end up sounding similar to their music. This is why I am happy today, to purge the last of it and move on with my life.  

Am I mentally ill? Perhaps? Am I a lunatic? Far from it, but I needed to get all this out of my system. I am sorry for everything and I hope you can just enjoy the music for what it is. It was never about clout or recognition. I'm not here to profit financially. All I ever wanted was it all to find a home. Thank you so much for even listening and giving it the time. I owe so much to them. They opened my eyes to a whole other artistic realm. Special thanks and gratitude all goes to the brothers for all the inspiration over the many years. Thank you Mike and Marcus. Your music has settled deep within my heart and I will take it to the grave. Thank you so much and Thank all of you for all your kind words that I probably don’t deserve. Thank you for taking the time to read. I am so grateful. 

[sarcasticassian]

Robin, Chrissy, Vickie and Nancy are in a rock band, Robin sings, Chrissy and Vickie on guitar and bass and Nancy drums, Steve is their manager and Dustin, Steve’s little brother is their number one fan and tags along to gigs all the time, Mike is more reluctant but even he can admit his sister is kinda cool for being in an all girl rock band that slaps, Lucas is their best friend and so he comes along for the ride, holding back Dustin when he gets too enthusiastic and underfoot until he also gets too excited and they cause a small amount of chaos and Erica is an admirer of the band so she squeezes her way into events as well

Corroded Coffin are currently the world’s biggest new metal band, Jonathan is their actual manager but Max, Eddie’s little sister, likes to follow him around and tell him what she’d do instead, Will and El encourage her much to Jonathan’s dismay and Eddie’s delight, they’ve just dropped a killer album (Satanic Panic) and they’re organising a tour, Max suggests the rock band she’s always listening to and after checking out the discography Corroded Coffin agree it would be a good fit

Steve switches off his hearing aid before he tells the girls about CC reaching out because they’re all big fans and CC is a small influence on their work, Robin and Eddie share the same raspy vocal quality, and he was thankful he did because they all scream, he snarks that he’s assuming they’re up to be CC’s opener and he’ll get back to Jonathan

Max and Dustin connect on social media before the band’s get together and it’s the meeting of two of the most chaotic minds and they’re already causing trouble, I just want them to cause shenanigans and that leads to them deciding to parent trap several members of the bands and teams because then they’re forever intertwined and Dustin and Max can keep going to both of their concerts for free, Lucas thinks its a little manipulative, Mike and Will think it’s genius and El would just like to go to concerts and learn about girl power and fucking the patriarchy and Erica knows a lot about that

the adults don’t know they’re being moved around like chess pieces until it’s too late and then one day Steve sits up in bed, accidentally elbowing Eddie on his way up from where they were spooning, and he’s like those little shits they did this on purpose, it’s 3AM but he’s calling Dustin and making Eddie call Max so he has them both on the phone because he knows they did this only for the two fuckers to laugh and say they really only meant to get Vickie and Jeff together because the two of them had openly stated that they thought the other was cute, everybody else just fell into place after that so they can’t be punished but they’ll take the credit

Gareth and Argyle, who are both still happily single, neither ready to settle down, will take it to the grave that they helped the kids by passing on info about any crushes or hook ups with in the adult group, they just sip on their drinks that the kids money bought them because the information came at a price as well as their silence and enjoy the peace and quiet now that nobody is moaning about being in unrequited love or never getting laid

it went something like Vickie and Jeff started to date which made Chrissy realise Robin wasn’t in a secret relationship or pining after Vickie and Robin realised Chrissy was interested so they make a move on each other, Steve gives Robin some space to date Chrissy without him hanging around and ends up ferrying his brother to hangouts with Max who just happens to be getting dropped off by Eddie despite the fact that both of them can drive but Steve and Eddie make plans to hang out and they make it complicated because it’s them but eventually they get together properly and while all this was happening Nancy and Jonathan were slotting into place quietly but sweetly and it works and now the kids have four couples for the price of one and their favourite bends are gonna be able to collab forever

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 10

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 9 🟣 Part 11

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Ongoing vampire shenanigans, mentions of blood, biting, throwing up.

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: I'm sorry I can't seem to help myself when it comes to putting these guys through horrible stuff... Anyway: Enjoy!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @teamfan7asy @mis-lil-red @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @livisss

“Mikey?” You closed the door behind you and turned the lights on. You’d learned the guys had a habit of keeping them off when you weren’t home, because they could see perfectly fine, anyway, so the fact that it was dark wasn’t an indication that the house was empty. In fact, you could hear music coming from Marshall’s room. “Guys?”

They should be able to hear you, what the hell was going on?

“Guys?” you asked again, a little louder this time, and you heard some movement. It was August who showed up in the hallway, looking like he’d seen better days.

“I’m fairly sure Marshall and Mike actually can’t hear you. Sherlock isn’t back from work yet.” He walked over to the kitchen and grabbed himself a glass of water. “Tea?”

You weren’t going to say no to that.

“Why can’t they hear me?” You watched as August made you a cup of tea and set it on the table in front of you. He stayed by the counter, casually leaning against it as if nothing was the matter.

“Garlic,” he said. Right. Mikey had mentioned something about it being time to feed. But you’d never noticed something like this before. They were a little out of it, sure, but never to the point where they were completely… unresponsive.

“This didn’t happen last time, did it?” You would have noticed, right?

“Some girl who works at the Bank – the, eh, place we feed – ended up transitioning, and until they figure out if it happened during a shift, or from another contact, they’re upping the dose. That’s why Sherlock is working overtime.”

“The Bank?” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s sort of a blood bank, and then there’s long lines, nothing to do, and you just want to get out of there the whole time you’re there.” Right, the similarities were uncanny. August sat down opposite you and buried his face in his hands. Without thinking, you reached across the table to put your hand on his arm. He was cold.

“It’s my turn, soon,” he said, “I’m getting a lovely little look into my future here.”

“When will they be feeling better?”

“Tomorrow, probably,” he answered. “They’re still going to feel out of it for a week – maybe even two – but they’re not going to be fighting the urge to hurl every second.”

“Why not just…” It seemed counterproductive to fight that feeling?

“And do what? Go back tomorrow? They’ll just fuck them up again. They’ll be worse off than they are now,” You stared at August with your mouth hanging wide open as he talked about it. “It’s like we told you: not exactly a nice restaurant experience.” Somewhere behind you, you heard the door to the bathroom slam shut. You looked at August.

“Mike,” he said. August got up from his chair almost unnecessarily slowly, and offered to go check on Mike, but you stopped him.

“I should go.” You got up from your chair and walked towards the bathroom.

“I really think you shouldn’t, princess,” August tried to warn you, but you were already gone.

You quietly pushed the door to the bathroom open to find a very sad pile of Mikey on the floor. For the first step into the room, you were alright, but as soon as you could actually see what was going on, you almost threw up yourself.

“Tried to warn you,” August said from behind you as he pulled you back into the hallway, “what did you think it was going to be?” He was right, of course, you should have expected to run into a whole lot of blood – you honestly couldn’t tell yourself what the hell else you’d expected him to be hacking up right now.

“I’m alright, Sweetcheeks,” Mike said, but it didn’t sound convincing at all. August laughed when you pointed that out, and told you that he already sounded significantly better than about an hour ago, when he’d come home. Mike couldn’t respond to that, because apparently, he wasn’t done yet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! “ you heard him repeat softly whenever he wasn’t heaving.

“It’s no use holding back now, Mikey.” August took on the job you should be doing; sitting next to Mike, talking to him, telling him it was going to be fine. The only thing he wasn’t doing was stroking his hair – which would have looked weird as all hell, anyway, so you were glad he kept his hands to himself. He closed his eyes, and a look of complete concentration appeared on his face. After a few seconds, Mike relaxed a bit. It was probably August’s doing, but with how cold he’d been feeling, there was no way he’d keep that up for long.

“I’d ask if everyone is alright, if it weren’t such an utterly stupid question,” Sherlock said as he stepped into the hall. “Mike?” He asked when he saw you sitting outside the bathroom. You couldn’t speak, because you feared that opening your mouth would lead to very unfortunate situations of the same kind as the one Mike was going through – but more human – so you just nodded.

“Princess, you need to go. I’m having enough trouble keeping him sane, I don’t need you to make me feel sick, too.” Sherlock picked you up off the floor and helped you get to your room. It was a good thing you didn’t have a vampire-nose, because the further you moved away from the bathroom, the fainter the smell got, and the better you felt. Before you opened the door, you turned back to Sherlock.

“Sherlock, can we talk? In private?” He gestured at you to follow him to his room, and you gladly followed him.

“Can they hear us?” you asked when the door shut behind you. It’s not that you were going to be discussing government secrets or anything, but you really wanted to talk to Sherlock without anyone else overhearing your conversation.

“I’m fairly sure August is otherwise engaged, and Mike and Marshall are feeling so sick they’re hardly aware of their surroundings.” He let out a deep sigh before sitting down in his desk chair. “What did you want to talk about?”

You didn’t wait for Sherlock’s permission to sit down, and just dropped yourself on the edge of his bed.

“I want to talk about… an arrangement.” He didn’t seem surprised at all. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and smiled gently.

“It was a matter of time,” he said softly. “Is Mike okay with this?”

“Mike is puking his guts out because he’s being selfish and stubborn. And I doubt he wants to go through this again. The odds he’ll ask me instead of going back to feed tomorrow or the day after, are through the fucking roof. And I’m not planning on saying no. In fact, if he doesn’t ask, I’m more than likely to offer, and less than likely to take no for an answer.” Your voice was becoming stronger, something desperate seeping into it that you were vaguely ashamed of, and your breaths followed each other increasingly quickly.

“Calm down, darling,” Sherlock said as he sat down in front of you, putting a hand on each of your knees. The weight and warmth of them was comforting – though you noticed that he wasn’t necessarily of a well-fed temperature, either. He went on to explain that the panic you felt was completely normal: Mike’s stubbornness was even beginning to get on Sherlock’s nerves, and he was generally patient to a fault.

“He’s not just being selfish, he’s selling himself short, and it has finally come back to bite him, so to speak,” Sherlock said. It was a stronger statement than you’d ever expected to get from him. “His reasoning makes no sense, either. He says he loves you, which would logically mean that he would like to see that you’re taken care of. Yet he doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge what the four of us could do for you.” You told Sherlock he was going to have to explain that last bit.

“Again, I will try to structure this as much as I can, but I make no promises. I have a few recommendations, and a myriad of reasons for those recommendations,” he said as he moved back to his chair.

“And what do you recommend?” It was exactly why you’d come to talk to him, if you were being honest.

“First, I’d recommend thinking about what we’ll be asking. Do you remember?” The conversation you’d had about that was weeks ago at this point, so; no. You didn’t quite remember what it was that they wanted. Food, but other than that...

“Feed every two weeks, no abusing the protective reaction we have,” Sherlock said, “now, that may not sound like a lot, but you need to consider the implications.” That sounded very serious, and you had to admit that you hadn’t exactly considered what the implications might be.

“First of all, we’d be going from the culinary equivalent of doing your taxes, once every month, to… I can’t think of anything to compare it to, but it’s infinitely better, please believe me.” There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Sherlock was speaking the truth, to be honest. “You’d be saving us time, an incredible amount of frustration, the horrid feeling of the overdose of garlic, and quite a bit of money.”

“Money?” This was the first you’d ever heard of it saving any money… Of course, it made sense. The people who worked at the Bank – to use August’s words – had to be paid, too. And the boys chipped in quite a lot for the ungodly amounts of normal food they ate. Sherlock nodded as you voiced these thoughts, and then continued: “Exactly. The reason we eat so much, is because every last one of us tries to last as long as possible before feeding again. We don’t always manage to feed enough in one go to tide us over until the next feeding, sometimes other things come up… You saw what happened to Marshall last month.” Yeah, that wasn’t something you were going to forget anytime soon.

“So you see, despite the fact that it may seem like a small favor. I’d really like to remind you that it isn’t. Besides, you…” For a moment, Sherlock seemed unsure of how to finish that sentence.

“I’m tasty?” He smiled when you said it, telling you that your remark was spot-on.

“Well, at the risk of sounding incredibly insensitive, you really are.” His eyes went wide shortly after he finished his sentence. “As far as the taste of your blood is concerned, that is. I didn’t mean you were, I…” It was funny, seeing him this way, apologizing as if he’d just suggested the most outrageous thing on the planet.

“Don’t let Mike hear that, he’d be quick to disagree.” Your laughter seemed to be a signal for Sherlock that it was okay to stop apologizing. Instead, he laughed too. It was soft and polite, and incredibly attractive, for some reason. It wasn’t long before his tone turned serious again.

“I haven’t said this, but I really appreciate that you’ve been going out of your way not to hurt him.”

“Sherlock, I can’t protect him forever,” you said.

“You don’t have to. It’s not your responsibility.” Easier said than done… “I know you love him, and he loves you… He’s a grown man, darling. He may not be old for a vampire, but he’s old enough to know he’s being ridiculous.”

It was the first time you’d heard Sherlock speak out – explicitly – about what he thought of Mike’s attitude in the whole situation. You had always gotten the idea that he thought Mike wasn’t making a smart choice, but he’d never said as much. He sighed deeply.

“I don’t mean to choose sides, and I don’t want you to think I’m trying to sway this discussion one way or another.” He paused and shook his head while trying to arrange his thoughts. “I have nine hundred years of feeding behind me. Pleasant and unpleasant ones. I don’t think I need to tell you which ones are more abundant. Mike is used to what we have now. He doesn’t know any better… He wants to keep you to himself in every possible way. It’s going to be the cause of a lot of resentment.”

“It’s really going to tear you guys apart, isn’t it? Break up the family?” Sherlock didn’t quite nod, but the gesture he did make was clear enough. Yes, it would.

“There’s a strong possibility it will tear the two of you apart,” he said softly, “you were – quite literally – made for this. To deny you that would be… I don’t want to say cruel, but I can’t seem to think of a better suited word.

“Mike also hasn’t been alive long enough to see that…” For a moment, it seemed as if Sherlock was going to backtrack on even opening his mouth about that, and you raised your eyebrows to urge him quietly to go on. “Humans have a far greater capacity for love than most of you will allow yourselves to experience.”

“You’re suggesting I just date everyone in the house?” you whispered. Your voice was so low you could barely hear the words yourself, and judging from Sherlock’s soft chuckle, he had understood you perfectly. It was a challenge to keep your voice flat and free of the judgmental scoff that bounced around in your brain.

“I’m suggesting nothing of the sort,” Sherlock said. So he wasn’t outright suggesting you start a harem. Good. Comforting. “I’m merely suggesting you don’t close yourself off to the possibility.” Oh. No, he actually was suggesting just that… You were fairly sure that if you opened your eyes any further, they would fall out of their sockets.

“You think just screwing all of you is the solu-“ You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence, which was probably for the best, because your voice had gradually become louder as you went along with it.

“If you think that’s what I’m trying to say, then I suppose we’re done here, because that conversation is going nowhere, and I want no part in it.” Sherlock said. His tone was sharp, his eyes almost vicious. Part of you wanted to end your conversation right there, but another part – the part that eventually spoke up again – wanted to know what exactly he was suggesting.

“I’m suggesting you let the chips fall where they may,” Sherlock responded to your question. “Feeding itself isn’t an intimate act for us, I’m sure you’ve realized that by now. That said, we do all live in close proximity. We get along – usually. There’s a lot of potential for greater intimacy, especially since the four of us would be at your beck and call.” You looked at him, no doubt in complete bewilderment.

“The compulsion to take care of and protect you steadies over time. It would still peak after feeding, but it would be present, always. That doesn’t mean that intimacy would be of a romantic or sexual nature.” You almost choked on your own saliva when he said it – and so casually. “You and Mike have something special, we can all see that.” It was an interesting addition to his earlier remarks. ‘Mike and you have something special.’ What did that mean?  It was enough for Sherlock to admit that none of the others would ever dream of jeopardizing it – at least not on purpose.

“Any further recommendations?” Despite his warning that your housemates might turn into your harem, you still really wanted to do this… Maybe not just because you felt compelled to feed them, but also a bit because you were hoping for the other thing?

Mike was still in the bathroom – you could hear him whine from time to time, August was exhausted, Marshall was effectively roofied beyond recognition, and Sherlock didn’t have a mental gift that allowed him to snoop around in your brain. For the first time since you moved in here, your thoughts and feelings were completely your own again. There was no need for feeble and ultimately unsuccessful attempts to hide them from anyone. No, you didn’t want things to drastically change between the five of you, but you assumed it was something you’d grow into. And there was no way you could keep living here and deny them the thing they were after – you know… your blood – because it was genuinely uncomfortable to watch them suffer every time. A radical third option would be moving out, but if you were honest to yourself, that was absolutely the last thing you wanted. You were attached to these guys. Even August, despite his being a dick – although that was steadily becoming less and less of an excuse as he slowly learned to behave.

Sherlock looked at you with a gentle smile. “I would certainly recommend scheduling the feeding. It can be flexible, of course. After all, that’s part of the appeal. However, try to avoid two of us feeding too closely together, to steer clear of… let’s say: territorial issues. Although I feel like we would be more than able to work those out, after so many years together.”

“Anything else?” “Not that I can think of right now,” he said. “Is there any information you need right now?”

“I don’t think so,” you replied. It wasn’t long before something popped into your head, though: “This mess right now…”

“I think you can set that straight by means of an exception,” Sherlock said. That was great news, because the whole vibe in the house was giving you the creeps right now. Mike and Marshall were suffering, and August and Sherlock were actively dreading their near future. It was almost painful to be home right now. You were more than glad you could help.

“Alright, and last but not least – and this may sound a little bit weird…” “I doubt it.” There it was again; that soft chuckle you occasionally heard from him that caused a weird storm in your stomach. It put you at ease and did exactly the opposite of that, all at the same time. In the end, however, there was no one you would have been able to ask this question without feeling silly. Sherlock never made you feel ridiculous no matter how strange you felt a question was.

“Can I give Mikey like… boyfriend privileges?”

“Are you trying to bribe him into this by making him feel special?” Sherlock laughed softly. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, by the way. And I’m fairly sure it would work flawlessly.”

“Not a bribe, per se, but something to make him stand out, yeah?”

“Darling, you can’t sway me on my position. It’s a bribe no matter how you dress it up. I just said I wasn’t opposed to the idea. We all need a little incentive sometimes.” Could he stop laughing so your brain could reboot? Please?

“Alright, fine. Just help me out, please?” You couldn’t help but laugh yourself.

“I could suggest an array of wildly in appropriate scenario’s,” Sherlock said with a devious smile. Your heart made a weird little jump you didn’t recognize. “But I’ll leave you with the knowledge that some of us – and I mean Mike – have a preference for feeding from the neck. Or the opportunity to feed whenever they feel like it. Let him have both.”

[about-faces]

I was just wondering, are there any particularly good Elseworlds or AU stories that involve Two-Face/Harvey in them? Are there any in particular that you'd recommend actually picking up and reading? (I've been thinking about actually reading Masque and Two Faces lately, but was wondering if there were any others worth checking out!)

Ah, Elseworlds,: DC’s venerable AU imprint. As is the case everywhere else, these were a mixed bag of good, bad, weird, and forgettable, and Harvey’s appearances in them was no exception. The two you cited are perfect examples (in addition to being his two most prominent Elseworlds stories):

Two Faces is, pound for pound, the very best Harvey Elseworlds story. Not surprising, since it comes from one of the greatest comic-writing teams ever, Abnett & Lanning! Bruce is a Jekyll figure who “Hydes” himself in the name of finding a chemical cure for Harvey, who has become an airship-flying, bowler-hatted Two-Face.

It’s great, and the conclusion has long been one of my favorite looks at their friendship and the lengths they’ll go for one another. How I wish we’d gotten a sequel with that particular Batman. In terms of Victorian Batman stories, I vastly prefer this to “Gotham By Gaslight,”which I’ve always felt has been rather overrated.

Masque, by contrast, is not very good but still worth reading. I think of Mike Grell as an artist who sometimes writes, and this is very much an artist’s story, using both Bruce and Harvey as Phantom figures with the opera swiped out for ballet, presumably for the purposes of comics being a visual reading medium.

But as both a story and a Phantom tribute, it’s rather thin, with little to say. Still, it has Harvey as a flamboyant, romantic, murderous ballet danseur, so that’s worth checking out on its own.

Beyond those two, there are a few other Elseworlds worth tracking down. The first is in the vein of Masque, in that it’s a thin take on Harvey that entirely coasts on his concept and physical appearance.

In this take on The Scarlet Pimpernel, Harvey is the French Revolutionary Hervé Deinte, who clashes with the mysterious Bat-Man seeking to fight against Robespierre.

Mike W Barr has never been a good writer of Two-Face, but Jose-Luis Garcia-Lopez’ incredible art more than makes this worth reading, especially for the unusually dashing and dangerous take on Diente.

The next recommendations are a pair of noirish tales that came out around the same time. The more famous of these is Nine Lives, which was published sideways to presumably replicate letterbox cinema format.

Harvey in this story is Bruce’s friend and lawyer, but get this: he’s two-faced! In that he sells out Bruce to try getting rich with the Joker stand-in. Plus he uses his coin to con people, not a fan of that.

Still, his face-turn (pun not intended) at the end to save Bruce helps redeem these flaws, and the story is pretty solid noir all around, albeit a bit dry for my tastes.

I strongly prefer the other noir Elseworlds, Gotham Noir, by the impeccable team of Brubaker and Phillips. It’s more hard-boiled (more like pulp compared to Nine Lives' literary noir), and not afraid to be a bit more outlandish, and I love Harvey’s role here as the DA, which is more in line with his role in Year One. Brubaker also gets to play with a concept he introduced elsewhere, that Batman is credited as a myth that Dent cooked up to scare criminals.

Next up are two Lovecraftian takes on Batman with prominent Harvey roles. The first and far more famous is Mike Mignola’s The Doom That Came To Gotham, which somehow manages to make Harvey suffer even more than usual.

It’s a rare take on a Harvey Dent who is purely good and purely a victim, where even his transformation into a Two-Face of sorts is just… sad. It’s great!

“The Crawling Hand,” however, is far more obscure and for good reason: it was included in the infamous Elseworlds 80-Page Giant which was initially scrapped and pulped before release because of Kyle Baker’s story about Superman’s babysitter. As a result, this story is still a little-known curiosity with Bruce and Harvey trying to survive eldritch takes on DC’s stretchy characters, with Harvey ending up as a surviving casualty lost to madness. Fun!

Finally, the last Elseworlds I’d recommend is one that has no reason to be an Elseworlds at all: the Daredevil/Batman crossover. Seriously, why the hell was this an Elseworlds? No one dies, there’s nothing to indicate an alternate setting… literally the only reason I can even imagine why DC slapped on the AU label—seemingly at the last second!—is because they didn’t want it canon that Harvey and Matt Murdock were rival-friends back in college!

Granted, it IS a bit weird to have a story with Matt being the one who believe in Harvey Dent while Batman is a hardline jerkass who hates Harvey, but that was hardly out of place in this era of Bruce being a grim prick. I’m baffled as to why it’s an Elseworlds at all, but hey, it technically counts! Definitely worth checking out either way!

All in all, a mixed bag of good and interesting. Seeing these again makes me long to see the Elseworlds imprint revived, especially now that we're getting new Elseworlds projects in film and TV thanks to James Gunn. Maybe we'll finally see some cool, interesting new takes on Two-Face in the near future!

[noxexistant]

FLUFFY NEWSIES THOUGHTS

:D oh, i would be more than happy to provide

specs’ eyes get strained/tired easily, since his glasses aren’t exactly the right prescription, so sometimes when he says as much, boots and splasher will insist on reading to him like he reads to them. they’re not especially good at reading, and more often than not just end up making stuff up to fill the gaps in what they can’t read or understand, but specs finds that far more fun to listen to than the real plots of the dime novels the boys manage to get their hands on and share amongst themselves. (most of them are jack’s, and about cowboys.)

the bowery beauties all know all the newsies that come in often - though they rarely speak with them - and will ask after someone if they haven’t been coming for a while. albert finds out one of the girls asked after him and won’t shut up about it for weeks. (he omits that, as finch told him, the girl called him “the little red-haired one”.)

les is a terrible teacher, but is adamant that he’s going to teach the newsies how to read regardless. he really does do his best, even though his teaching is largely “um, just…look at what the letters say and put them together and read the word!”. some of the other newsies, in turn, help les with his schoolwork - elmer loves doing maths with him, and finch loves studying poetry. if he mentions particularly liking a poem, davey will copy it out for him and give it to him to keep. sometimes, finch will then give them to albert if they’re ones he thinks al will like too.

mike and ike have their own secret made-up language. they share a bunk, and whenever they’re sat together on one of their mattresses at night before they go to sleep, they can be heard talking animatedly in that nonsense tongue. they’ll never tell anybody what any of it means (but they’ll sometimes whisper to the kids if they ask. reveal that they just called race some silly childish name, or that they’re gossiping about jack and davey.)

katherine brings the newsies little treats whenever she can - sweets and pastries. henry helps her choose them by saying things he remembers trying and loving, and he’s as delighted for the opportunity to try them again as he is for the opportunity for everyone else to try them for the first time. also, jack really does always deliver the morning paper to her personally - he buys his papes and stops by her place first thing.

crutchie ties the laces of the newsies that don’t know how. they lift their legs up for him since he can’t crouch down, and he ties them up quick and efficient with steady hands. (he’s also tied morris’ laces for him before. they were at the circulation office and oscar was busy serving the last of the newsies, and crutchie could just see morris staring with mounting distress at his laces which had apparently come loose. so he just marched over and silently tapped the low wall to direct morris to put each leg up in turn, and tied them with the same efficiency he uses for the kids. morris ducked his head and mumbled his thanks, shyer than crutchie thought he was capable of being. crutchie’s so smug about it.)

stray will tell any and all of the newsies about stray animals she met that reminded her of them. this ranges from telling crutchie how she met the most tenacious little cat with a bum leg who was adamant on climbing a wall (which it succeeded in doing, eventually, though she watched just to make sure), to telling sniper she met a cat that was a total asshole and swiped her across the nose with effortless accuracy.

[parkitaco]

hi!! i just wanted to say i love your fics and i love you so so much for writing them and i hope you’re having the best day ever if it isn’t too much of a bother can i ask for 19, 22, (taylor swift reference fr) 27 and 55 for the touch prompts?? i’m sorry 😭😭 that’s so many but thank you!! have the best day ever!!

thank you so so much <33 ficlet below the cut :-))

Will has long been adamant that school dances are pointless and boring, and prom is no exception, but he has to admit, this one is maybe slightly less so.

This fact is mostly to do with the fact that he’s here with Mike Wheeler, aka the cheesiest, sappiest person on the planet, who also happens to be Will’s boyfriend, and that’s- that in and of itself is probably enough to turn any typically-shitty experience into something magical. 

They can’t dance together, of course, not in the way Will wants to, because this is Hawkins and two boys dancing together is basically a death sentence, but he can lean into Mike’s side, and he can shoot him small, secret smiles when their friends aren’t looking, and it’s not a lot, okay, but it’s more than he’s ever had before so he’s willing to take it.

They argue mindlessly with the Party about something, and when the two of them ultimately win out over Dustin and Lucas, Mike holds his hand up for a high five that lingers a beat longer than strictly necessary. If they were alone, Will thinks, locking eyes with Mike and shooting him a small smile, he’d lace their fingers together, maybe tug Mike in for a kiss, tuck his face away against Mike’s shoulder. But they’re in public, and it’s prom night and their friends aren’t even supposed to know about them, so he settles for the glancing contact of Mike’s palm against his, and everything is okay.

They dance to bright, poppy music together, arms brushing as they jump around with their friends, and Mike sings along in a loud, obnoxious voice, and Will rolls his eyes at him, and it’s okay.

They chat with classmates side-by-side, arms bumping, and Will wants to wrap his arm around Mike’s waist, but he can’t, so he presses his elbow against Mike’s instead, and Mike presses back, and it’s okay.

Then a slow song comes on, and Lucas and Max pair off, and El and Dustin arrange some sort of platonic dancing deal, and suddenly it’s not okay. There are couples everywhere, boys in stuffy suits and girls in flowing dresses, and they’re dancing, and Will doesn’t care about prom, he really, truly doesn’t, but there’s a lump in his throat anyway, and he mumbles an excuse about needing air before fleeing the scene.

Will slips outside quietly, the cool night air welcome against his reddened cheeks, and takes a deep breath as he leans against the outer wall of the school. It’s been months of this, the secrecy and the stolen glances and the sweet moments behind closed doors, and some part of Will almost doesn’t mind it. He likes having Mike all to himself, likes having such a wonderful secret to share with him, but there’s a big difference between having a secret for the sake of having one versus having a secret because you don’t have any other choice.

And Will’s lucky, he knows - his family knows the general idea of the thing, even if maybe not so much the Mike aspect of things, and they support him. Will knows that, eventually, when he and Mike tell their friends the truth, they’ll be supportive too. He just- he gets tired sometimes, of having to question that support in the first place.

“Hey.”

Will jumps, leaning away from the wall as Mike appears in front of him, hands tucked into his suit pockets and smiling sympathetically at him.

Will huffs out a breath, managing a small smile back, and Mike steps closer, in the safe darkness of the outdoors. “Hi,” Will murmurs, as Mike reaches out and links his pinky finger through Will’s, just lightly enough that he could play it off if someone walked out here right now. 

“You okay?” Mike asks, because he is sweet and kind and perfect and Will- Will wants to shout his love for him from the rooftops, in all honesty. It kills him a little that he can’t. 

He takes a shaky breath. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he gets out, and feels it when Mike’s eyes narrow at him, seeing through him like always, “I- sorry, I’m being stupid.”

Mike presses his lips together, glancing back at the gym doors, unmoving and solid, and all at once he’s lacing his fingers through Will’s properly and pulling him close, public environment be damned as Will’s chest bumps against his lightly. “You’re not stupid,” Mike says, with a quiet sort of conviction that leaves no room for argument, “This sucks.”

Will huffs a laugh, pushing aside and anxieties about being spotted as he lifts a tentative hand to Mike’s neck. “Yeah, it kind of does. I mean, I don’t even care about prom but it’s-”

“The principle of it,” Mike agrees with a grimace, free arm wrapping around Will’s waist, “I know.”

Will hums in agreement, and he tilts forward to rest his forehead against Mike’s shoulder, pushing down the lump in his throat and focusing instead on the sweet scent of Mike’s cologne, the gentle sway of him in Will’s arms as they move just slightly to the music drifting from under the gym doors, not dancing and not not dancing but something in between. Boys like them always have to exist in neutrality, Will thinks bitterly, before deciding it’s not a productive thought and pushing it away. 

Mike releases a quiet breath, hand pressed firmly against Will’s side. “One day,” he says softly, lips brushing the top of Will’s hair, voice soothing every last one of Will’s nerves, “We’re going to leave Hawkins, and we’re going to go to some big city that has way bigger things to worry about than whether two boys are dancing together, and we’re going to be- free, okay? Three more months of this shit and then we get to be done with high school forever, and I know that it doesn’t make up for the bad stuff right now but- one day we’re going to go to some event, and we’re going to wear suits that aren’t hand-me-downs from family members and we’re going to dance together and- and the world is going to be better, so. We just have to make it a little longer.”

Will takes a shaky breath, face pressed firmly against Mike’s shirt, and a few stray tears escape into the fabric as he nods, clinging to Mike’s hand like a lifeline. “Yeah,” he whispers into Mike’s chest, and he’s not going to cry for real, he’s not, but- it just sounds nice, is all. Being free. “Yeah, we’re- we’re gonna be okay.”

“Of course we are,” Mike murmurs, a smile in his voice. “We’ve survived way worse, right?”

“Right,” Will laughs, lifting his face from Mike’s shoulder, and Mike smiles sweetly at him as he lifts their joined hands to his lips, kissing Will’s knuckles as his thumb traces gentle circles over the lines of Will’s palm, and it’s-

-not enough, Will decides, and just for tonight he’s reckless, pulling Mike in by the front of his jacket and, after one more quick scan to make sure no one’s watching, presses their lips together.

It’s short and sweet, because it has to be, but it still feels like a small victory when Mike hums against his mouth, swiping his tongue over Will’s lip before pulling back and smiling at him.

“I love you,” he whispers, hand still in Will’s, “It’s gonna get better.”

“I love you too,” Will replies, quiet in the night, “And I know it is.”

---

Will’s only half-awake to hear the Party’s conversation later, when they’re all curled up in Mike’s basement half-watching a movie and recounting the night. His head rests on Mike’s shoulder, remnants of the bravery from earlier manifesting, and it’s- a good place to be, he thinks. Mike is warm, and his hand rests just beside Will’s knee, close enough to brush his thigh but not quite, not daring. They’re being incriminating, probably, but Will can’t find it in himself to care as he drifts in and out of sleep.

“Are they asleep?” Dustin murmurs quietly, shifting on the floor near Will’s feet, and Will can only assume that Mike is drifting off too, from where his head is resting over Will’s.

“I think so,” Max replies quietly, more somber than usual, “Don’t- let’s not bother them, okay? Not tonight.”

There’s soft murmuring, and if Will were more awake he’d try to parse out the meanings, figure out if he’s been found out, but he’s relaxed, with Mike beside him, and it’s just their friends. He lets this one go.

“-tell us eventually,” El is saying, from where she’s seated beside Will on the couch. “When it is safe, right?”

“Yeah,” Lucas agrees quietly, and then there’s a soft weight being placed over Will and, presumably, Mike, one of the throw blankets that’s kept in the corner of the living room. “Let’s- give them some space.”

Dimly, Will’s aware of the sounds of four people climbing to their feet, switching off the light and heading up the stairs to head home, and the anxious, scared part of him wants to wake Mike, to tell him that they know or maybe we should tell them or something along those lines, because he wants to tell the Party, actually, he realizes. He wants them to know for certain. He shifts, Mike’s breath warm against his face as he readjusts into Mike’s side, scooting closer now that their friends are gone, and he’s about to speak when Mike’s arm wraps around him, and he draws him in closer, and Will forgets what he was so stressed about.

“Love you,” Mike mumbles, half-asleep.

Will can stress in the morning, he decides, and settles more comfortably into his boyfriend’s side. 

“Love you too, Mike.”

[eriquin]

The Prophetic D&D Game, Part 23

Eddie hits a crucial part of the game and can't get past it.

(master post)

“Is this really all happening at the same time?” asked Gareth. 

“Close enough,” Eddie said. “Make me a, hmmm, wisdom check to break off your distraction with enough time to not get eaten.”

Gareth rolled well, and Eddie ruled that they made it back into the barricaded dwelling just in time to avoid the bats. “Oh, thank God,” Gareth said. “I thought for a second that you were going to try to do three separate combats simultaneously.”

Eddie grinned, and both Grant and Jeff groaned. They reached over to smack Gareth.

“Why did you say that, dumbass?” Grant asked. 

“What did we say about giving him ideas?” said Jeff.

Eddie kept grinning. “Hey Gare-bear, remember when I asked you about double-checking that the barricade was secure?” 

“Oh, no,” said Gareth.

“Yeah, there are definitely cracks in it that are small enough for the little demobat heads to poke through.” 

“Shit,” Gareth said. 

“Roll for initiative.”

“Oh, fuck you, Munson.” Gareth rolled crap, but Eddie rolled a good check for Quinn and had him start blocking the holes in the ceiling. 

“Quinn can only manage to stop up so many gaps before the bats start to swarm,” Eddie said. “What’s your move, Gare?” 

“We have an escape route, right?” Gareth said. “We can go back through the portal?”

Eddie nodded. “You can certainly do that. It’s on the ceiling, and there’s ropes to get through. In fact, that was probably your plan if the bats hadn’t started coming through, right?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Gareth said. “We’re the distraction, not the attack team.” 

“Of course, this means the attack team has no backup,” Eddie said. He stroked his chin. “You’re not sure how long they’ll need, and there’s no way for your second summoned animal to get a message to you if they get into trouble.” 

“We’re not gonna get in trouble,” Mike said.

“Uh, we still haven’t made it past the vines,” Grant pointed out. “Also the house is on fire. We might.”

“Well, it’s not like Gareth and the NPC can get to us in time if we screw up,” said Mike.

“Yeah, but we can keep distracting the bats,” said Gareth. He grimaced. “Also, they’re flying. They can just fly through the portal, can’t they?” 

“Sure looks like they can,” Eddie said. “So, what are you doing?” 

Gareth rubbed his face. “Shit. I mean. We’ll have a better chance if we run, I think.” He looked around the table, but didn’t get any answers there. “Ugh. I don’t know!”

Eddie stood up and looked at what was laid out on the table. They weren’t using the battle map for any of the concurrent combat sessions, but they had put all their minifigs out to show which team was going where. He could picture it in his mind very clearly. “Quinn sees your dilemma as well. He says it’ll be better to go through the portal and try to help Sadie, and he thinks he’ll be able to sense it if something happens to his summoned animal companion.”

“Is that true?” Gareth turned to Dustin, who just shrugged at him. “I don’t know why, but I don’t fully trust Eddie’s NPC here.” 

“It sounds like it’s the best you’ve got,” Dustin said. “And, like, not to metagame? But I could really use some help against the captain of the guard here.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think I can get there in time, either,” Gareth said. “But maybe I can start sounding the alarm in the thieves’ quarter and get the city guard to come fight these bats. Okay, let’s go through the portal.” 

Eddie looked back behind his screen and rolled some dice. “Quinn gives you a hand climbing the rope, since you’ve got shit for dex,” he said.

“Oh, nice. Thank you. So do I get through, even though we’re in combat?” 

“You do. First try.” He stopped and looked back at the group. “Quinn tells you to run for help, and that he’s going to buy more time as a distraction.”

Gareth frowned. “Wait, what?” 

Eddie reached over and split up the two minifigs that represented Maya and Quinn. “With a flourish of his rapier, he cuts the rope in half where it’s close to the portal. Both ends fall to the group on their respective sides.” 

“Well, shit,” Gareth said. “I should probably go after him, right? Or should I just let him have his tragic sacrifice moment?” 

“We’re all about to have tragic sacrifice moments,” Erica muttered. 

Gareth groaned. “I’m so bad at athletic things, though. I should just keep going with the original plan.”

“That’s up to you,” said Eddie. “Quinn has run out the door, into the demon realm, and the bats seem to be following him.”

“Maybe he’ll be fine,” Gareth said. The rest of them groaned and put their heads in their hands.

Eddie couldn’t get his heart to stop racing. “What are you gonna do, Gareth?” he asked, leaning over the table. “Are you going to let Quinn face the bats alone? Maybe as payback for getting you all into this situation in the first place?”

Dustin scoffed. “That’s not what happened,” he said. “Quinn was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Gareth glanced over at the freshmen and Erica, who all looked properly spooked now. “I’m going to stack some furniture up and try to climb back through the portal,” he said. “I’ve got spells left, and I could probably cast a better illusion to distract the bats than that dumbass bard can do on his own.” 

Eddie grinned and ruled that his checks were good enough to get back into the demonic realm, though Maya took a little bit of damage when she landed. “The bats have all abandoned the gate. You step outside and see them swarming on the hill, with Quinn valiantly trying to fight them all.” He threw his arms out to the side and stepped back, gesturing like he was stabbing at bats. “He takes down a few, but then one of them gets a tail wrapped around his arm and yanks him to the ground. Then another, and... another...” 

He choked a little, like he could feel their tails around his neck. The lights overhead flickered, but none of the players seemed to notice. He couldn’t catch his breath to keep describing the scene, and his heart was racing like he’d been running up a hill. 

The rest of them all looked completely unimpressed. Mike gave him an evil little grin. “And then he drops dead,” he said. “Whatever, one more useless NPC down.”

Eddie froze and stared at him. He still felt like he couldn’t breathe right. “What?”

“Yeah, it’s not like we care,” said Dustin. “No one cared when you died, so why would any of us care when your character does?” 

There was a soft roar in his ears. Eddie couldn’t even get the words out to ask what the hell Dustin meant. He knew what Dustin meant. He could feel it. 

“And you’re just going to kill all our characters off next,” said Gareth. His face looked paler than it had a minute ago. Ghostly pale, like he’d been drained of blood. “First our characters, and then us. Right, Eddie?”

“Is it some kind of revenge for you?” asked Grant. He looked sallow as well, with sunken cheeks and eye sockets, better effects than the Thriller video. It kept happening, though. He was decaying before his eyes. “We didn’t save you, so now we all get to die?”

Eddie couldn’t move. His feet were frozen to the ground, and he was scared that if he looked down, he’d see roots growing into them. This was wrong. Everything was very, very wrong.

“Me especially, right, Eddie?” Erica asked. As he turned to look at her, her eyes clouded over. When she spoke again, her voice had a deep echo to it. “You want to see how I die, Eddie?” A line appeared in the skin of her neck, just above her collarbone. It parted and blood started to flow freely, staining the blue collar of her sweater and soaking into the American flag that she still had tied around her neck.

His eyes stung with tears as he watched his friends sit there and decay before his eyes. It had to be a trick. Someone must have slipped him something, like a tab of acid in his drink, and he was hallucinating now. He was having a bad trip. He would wake up and be humiliated, but they would all be fine. It would all be fine, if he could just shut his eyes or look away. If he could even blink.

The drama room door opened and in walked a corpse. That was the only thing it could be. The corpse of a tall man, flayed of its skin. It was walking slowly towards him, and Eddie couldn’t move.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you, Eddie,” the corpse said. It stroked his cheek with its peeled finger, grossly misshapen into something like a claw. “I want to know all the things that you know.”

Eddie choked a little while trying to speak. “This isn’t real.” He was fully crying now, and he could hear the echo of flapping wings. He tried to step away from the corpse, and his sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as he forced his legs to move. “None of this is real. It’s a game.”

“Yes, it’s a game,” said the corpse, “but it’s also very real. You know what’s going to happen, and soon, so will I.” The muscles around his mouth pulled back in a gross imitation of a smile. 

His feet weren’t stuck to the floor. He knew this, and if he could just make them move, he could run away. The left hand of the corpse was gigantic, and it came up to hover over his face. There was still time for him to run. He just had to make himself do it.

“Are you going to run again, Eddie?” the corpse asked. “Running is what got you into this. Don’t you remember?”

There was a brief flicker of something in the back of his mind, like the dream he’d had when he’d come up with the idea for the campaign. A girl in his trailer, floating up to the ceiling and breaking, and then him running to his van. But that wasn’t real, either. That was just a dream. “What other dreams have you had?” the corpse asked. “I want to see all of them. And then I will know what to do to make them come true.”

Taglist: @weirdandabsurd42, @10moonymhrivertam, @blueskiesandstarrynight

[genuine-wrestleboy]

the attraction (2/4)

words: 3,9011

((here on ao3))

You stare at your reflection in the dingy bathroom mirror as you scrub the blood from under your nails. Whatever it’s made of, it clings like the real thing; you’re pretty sure poor Mike’s sweatshirt is a lost cause, and you’re really trying not to think about how much of it might still be inside you. Water gutters miserably from the tap, tepid and not-quite-clear. Exhaustion drags at your shoulders like sodden clothes.

When you're done with your hands, you take a clump of wet paper towel to your face, moving carefully downwards. Under the blood, your neck is vivid, angry red, a sunrise of a bruise crowned by scabby pinpricks and tender to the touch. You prod the edges of it gingerly and wince. That's going to be nasty later. You can already make out the discernible shapes of individual fingers, his perfect handprint the only thing left behind when Springtrap up and vanished like a ghost. A lurid reminder. A gift.

You try to match your hand to its shape, but you don't even cover enough to hide what it is. Your thumb grazes a scratch under your chin, stinging and new, and heat pools between your legs.

You wonder if Mike would have been so generous with you if he knew the full truth of what you'd been getting up to in that room. Fingering a customer on the clock is definitely the sort of thing a person gets fired for—even if said customer was really, really into it—but you can’t imagine things would have fared all that much better for you as the one on the receiving end. Not that it matters one way or the other, you certainly don’t have any intention of ever telling him. If you’re being honest, the consideration is mostly an excuse to keep thinking about it.

Maybe Mike can pass your number along in a way that doesn’t make you seem too desperate. Maybe you can even manage to be sort of subtle about the request. You card your fingers through your hair and shake out some of the dregs of remaining adrenaline. It’s worth a shot.

Mike seems antsy when you exit the bathroom, flicking his flashlight back along the corridor the way you’d come, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looks up at you, and though it’s pretty obvious that he’s scanning you for obvious harm, you can’t guess at anything else about his expression.

“Better?” he asks finally.

“Loads,” you confirm. “Thank you.”

He nods. “Not a problem. We, uh, really should get you out of here now, though.”

“Right,” you say. “My friends.” You don’t even want to think about how long you’ve kept them waiting. You’re sure they’ll let you know.

Mike sheathes his light in a loop on his belt, makes a sort of spiraling motion with his hands. “For what it’s worth, you seem alright,” he tells you, and though it sounds like he wants to say something else, he pauses a bit too long for comfort.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask warily.

He pauses a beat longer, then shrugs. “It means that your friends are assholes.”

You have no idea how to respond to that. It’s probably telling though, you think, that you don’t make any attempt to deny it.

You follow Mike out into the parking lot, and though it can’t be much more than an hour past opening, it’s almost deserted. The only people you see are actively getting into their cars and leaving, and they all seem to be varying degrees of pissed off.

“We’re closing early tonight,” Mike says by way of explanation. “Short notice.”

That explains why he went through all the trouble to come find you. “How come?”

He glances back at the building. “There were some, uh, unforeseen circumstances. You see your friends?”

“I—” You look out across the lot, scanning the thinning crowds for a familiar car. Concern and then panic, and then shame floods through you, angry and sad and humiliated. “No, I don’t.”

They left you here. Nobody even bothered to text you. Horribly, you’re not even that surprised.

You expect an I told you so, but all Mike offers is a tense exhale. “Assholes.”

Yeah, you think, but well. None of them had the night you've had, so maybe it balances out. What you say is, “You know, I think maybe they’re not my friends anymore.”

Mike barks a laugh at that. “Fair enough.”

You sigh, remembering how long the trip here took. “How much d’you think I’ll have to pay to get a lyft out here?”

“Like a taxi?” asks Mike.

“I was just gonna use the app," you tell him. You’re not that far out of the city, there must be a demand in the area.

Mike makes a noncommittal noise. He glances back at the building. “Tell you what, if you can give me five, I can give you a ride home.”

“Dollars?” you ask.

“Minutes,” says Mike like he can't tell if you're being serious. 

“Oh,” you say, “yeah, that makes more sense. Wait, you don’t even know where I live.”

The little crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes again. “Where do you live?”

You tell him the town, and he tips his hat back, thinking. “That’s what, an hour away? Hour and a half? Not too bad.” When you hesitate, he adds, "Listen, I’ve got something I have to take care of real quick, you can give me an answer when I get back, okay?"

"Sure," you say, and Mike nods and glances out once more over the lot before disappearing back into the building.

A thin trickle of people wanders out in his wake, joining the sparse milling crowd. You try to catch a few eyes, but nobody gives you so much as a second look. Not that you'd know who you were even looking for, but if Springtrap’s actor is in the crowd, he's clearly not interested in finding you. Then again, maybe not all of the employees leave when Mike does. Maybe he's still in there.

You sigh and wag a mental finger at yourself. It's ridiculous, you going all goopy and moon-eyed over some stranger like this at your big age. Even if he was a sexy mysterious stranger who'd made you come within an inch of your life. You can be normal about this. You can.

The pressing question right now is whether you’re about to get into a car with stranger number two. He seems like a good guy, but you suppose they usually do, right up until the second they don’t.

As if summoned by the thought, the door opens behind you, and Mike slips out.

“Did you finish your thing?” you ask.

He slides a key from a crowded ring on his belt and locks the door. “I hope so. You want that ride?”

You let yourself get a good look at him. He’s still wearing the surgical mask, but you can tell that his face is long and thin behind it—he’s thin all over, really, sharp, stooped shoulders and knobby wrists in a boxy uniform that makes him look like a wire hanger. You’re pretty sure a stiff enough breeze could reduce this guy to a fine mist.

“You can say no,” he assures you. “I won’t take it personally.”

Man, you’re going to be so bummed if he ends up killing you.

“I would love a ride,” you tell him. Later, you remember to add, “Thank you,” but MIke waves off the gratitude, watching the rearview mirror as the two of you pull out of the lot. You do the same, curious, but all you can make out is the squat dark shape of Fazbear’s Fright getting smaller and smaller. 

It isn't until Mike turns out onto the main road that you see the first of the flames. They seem to come from nowhere, roaring up in the long front windows as the glass explodes outwards. Light spills its flickering reflections onto the pavement, a mirror box of red and gold. Thick, dark smoke belches out behind it, quickly obscuring the facade from view, and you spin around in your seat, fingers gripping the headrest until your knuckles go white.

"Mike," you say urgently.

"I know." He's staring straight ahead now, his voice perfectly calm.

"You know? Shouldn't we do something?"

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "The best thing we can do is let it burn."

What the fuck? "What if someone's still in there?"

“What were you doing in there?”

“What?” Panic sinks its icy teeth into your veins. “Just, in general?”

“The room I found you in.” Gone is his gentle, genial tone, but he doesn’t sound angry, not exactly. It’s…careful. Defensive. “Why were you there?”

“I was–I thought it was the way out,” you tell him truthfully.

"It was employees only. There was a sign on the door."

You gesture vaguely, embarrassed. “I thought it was, you know, part of the thing. The door was already open, there were spooky sounds playing.”

He glances at you sidelong. “What kind of spooky sounds?”

You try to remember the specifics. “I don’t know, like footsteps, maybe? Uh, some kind of–maybe a scream?”

“A scream,” says Mike hollowly. You wish he would take the mask off, you’d give anything to know his expression right now. All you can see are his eyes, and even those are still hidden by his contacts, wide and glassy and black.

Something is happening here that you don’t understand, and you feel hopelessly set adrift by it, barely keeping your face above water while some great shadow grows in the deep beneath you.

You tread carefully. “Yeah, why? Is that not on the tape?"

"There’s no tape,” replies Mike.

Realization starts to rise like bile in your throat, alongside the bile rising in your throat. "Who did I hear screaming?"

Mike pulls in a breath and holds it, glancing over at you again like he’s trying to make up his mind about something. Finally, he says, "The other night guard.”

“What?”

Mike clears his throat. “He was a cool guy,.”

“No,” you say, because that can’t be true. “No, I—”

If that’s true then you—in the same room as a dead body, you—

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you announce.

“You were back there,” presses Mike, “safe as houses, covered in his blood.”

Covered in his blood. Pain pounds in your temples, your thoughts spinning madly around the inside of your skull until you're dizzy just sitting there. Breathe, you think, in and out, but your lungs seize as you fight to fill them, shallow and tight.

“You think I did it?”

“No,” says Mike, voice gentling, “but I think you saw the person who did.”

You rub your palms down the length of your thighs, then wrench them away when you feel the stiff drying patches that still stain your jeans.

The shadow in the deep, rising, rising; the dark, surging water; the hungry, sucking waves. Cold fingers around your ankles, the ghost of an emotion that feels horribly like grief.

“You’re talking about Springtrap.”

Mike touches his throat, bandaged from collar to chin. Then he gestures in your direction. “That was him, wasn’t it?”

You put your hand over the fresh red bruise. The memory still kindles the shadow of desire in you, and it curdles in your stomach. This can’t be happening. “I don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Mike assures you. “Did he say anything to you?”

He said a lot of things to you, but you’re certainly not going to repeat any of them now. “N-no, no, he left when he heard you come in.”

“Did you see where he went?”

You shake your head. “It was too dark. He was there, and then he just wasn’t.”

Most of that is true. You don't know where Springtrap is now, and you have no idea where he might go, but would you even tell Mike if you did? You only have his word that any of these horrible things are real, and you really don't want them to be real, you want—

 You want to see Springtrap again.

“I’m sorry that I can’t be more helpful,” you say, and Mike shakes his head.

"If I were you," he says, "I would forget that this night ever happened."

"Yeah," you say. You probably should.

You won't, of course. How could you?

The road stretches on in the windshield, a long, sleek streak of black under the waxing moon, flat and uninterrupted until it meets the harsh line of the horizon. Belying its events, the night is beautiful, all plums and silver, the sparse, coarse roadside flora gilt and still. You reach down the door and literally crank your window open, just a crack, just enough to let the cool air reach you.

You and Mike drive on in a silence that feels shared—tense, but not uncomfortable, the both of you simply lost in thoughts neither of you choose to voice.

Then, up ahead, a light cuts across the asphalt. It’s the blinding, blueish cone of those annoying LED headlights, glaring up from a ditch on the opposite side of the road. As you approach, you can make out the shape of a car, nose-up on the embankment, the tires still spinning. Thank god there’s no smoke, you’ve had enough smoke tonight to last you a lifetime.

“Shit.” Mike slows and pulls the car into the shoulder by the wreck. You stumble out after him and shield your eyes against the headlights as he climbs over the ruptured guardrail and calls out.

“Can anyone hear me? Is anyone hurt?”

You hear a low murmur of voices, and a scuffle of movement from behind the car—"No you go check.”—and you recognize the voice and the car in the moment right before your friend’s face pops into view. They squint in your direction, and you watch their eyes go wide as they see you. Then they disappear again. You hear your name, and the voices of your other friends.

“—with the creepy security guard! Well, how am I supposed to know? You ask, it’s your turn! Ugh, fine.”

Your friend reappears, hoisting themself off the ground with apparent difficulty as they come a little ways up the embankment towards you and Mike. They lean heavily on the car, clutching an arm to their side.

You call their name, and they at least have the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Are you guys alright? What happened?”

“We’re fine,” they say, not quite a snap. “Something ran out into the road, we had to swerve to avoid hitting it.”

“It wasn’t something.” Another friend, the driver, climbs up in your direction, bleeding from a gash near their hairline. “It was the Springtrap!”

Mike goes very still beside you just as your heart leaps into your throat.

“Dude, it wasn’t the Springtrap, you have a concussion. It was a deer or something.”

“Fuck you, a deer ripped the door off the car? What do you even know, you were in the back seat! I’m telling you, it was him.” They turn, jabbing a shaky finger in your direction. “He was looking for you.”

A messy, heady wave of emotions rolls over you, stunned panic and disbelief and giggly, giddy joy. Relief like the hush of seafoam left behind, and suddenly you’re blinking back tears.

You barely know him, and if what Mike said about him is true—but you can’t help it, can’t stop the bright feeling that fills your chest at the news. Something has thrust its roots down into you, and you can’t tear them out, don't even particularly care to try.

He’s looking for you. He’s looking for you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mike throw a glance in your direction. “We can talk about this later. Right now I’m bringing you to a hospital." There’s a firmness to his voice that forbids argument. “Wasn’t there another one of you?”

“Over here.” An arm waves from behind the car. “I, uh, don’t think I can stand?”

Your third friend, presumably riding shotgun, has fared the worst. There's a burn on their face from the airbag, and one of their legs is at an angle that no leg is meant to be. You crouch to get their arm around your shoulders and heave them to their feet—well, foot.

"One, two, three! Alright, up we go. You can put your weight on me," you tell them, and they let out a hiccoughy sob.

"I'm sorry we ditched you."

You don't want to get into that right now. "What happened?"

Shotgun wipes their nose noisily on a sleeve. "It really was the Springtrap. He came out of nowhere, I don't know, I—I thought we were gonna, like, actually die," they confide, voice hoarse.

"No one's gonna die," you insist, and they let out another sad little sound and focus on guiding themself along using you as a very patient crutch.

You watch your friends in the rearview mirror on the drive to the hospital, driver and backseat jostled shoulder to shoulder with gritted teeth. From their pinched expressions it's clear that it's taking everything within them not to complain. Shotgun has both legs laid out carefully across their laps, roughly the color of spoiled milk and grimacing in pain.

Springtrap hadn't known your name, they say, but he knew that you'd been with them, knew your face. Your pretty friend, he'd called you, and you try not to take too much satisfaction in that. Mike fires off a few more questions, but it’s quickly clear that none of them know any more than they’ve already said.

Shotgun meets your eyes in the mirror, gives you a wobbly thumbs-up. You offer the best smile you can muster and return it.

The hospital is mercifully quiet when you arrive. A series of crisp, friendly nurses descend on your friends, hurrying them back into examination rooms while you and Mike hover awkwardly in the background. A final nurse, a brisk older woman in pink scrubs, approaches you with a clipboard and a concerned expression.

“Alright, my love, let’s have a look at you, too,” she says, waving you over.

“Oh,” you say, “Oh, no, I don’t—I wasn’t there, I’m fine. Thank you though.”

A deep line of concern appears on her forehead. She looks at your neck, and then between you and Mike, brows raised.

“It was a costume party,” you tell her, and she nods, obviously unconvinced.

“Okay, honey. If you have a question about your friends, you go over to the nurse’s station and ask for Laurie, alright? You and I can have a good chat somewhere.” She gives Mike another long appraising look and adds, “Back in my day, we didn’t have all this sort of stuff, you know. We were cats and witches, we didn’t need to be gruesome to have fun. That awful new place up the road—I remember when it used to be a lovely little family place. Probably before your time, all anybody seems to talk about now are all those awful rumors. It’s a real shame. My baby brother wanted to be Foxy for Halloween every year until it shut down.”

“Me too,” offers Mike, voice tight.

Nurse Laurie frowns. “Well, you’re welcome to wait here. We’ll let you know as soon as the doctors have something to say about your friends.”

“Thank you,” you say.

Next to you, Mike lets out a snorting, dismissive laugh. Discomfort radiates from him like heat, and you hover a touch uncertainly just above his sleeve.

“Are you alright?”

“Gruesome,” he says, like it’s a joke that you should understand. “Listen, I’ll, uh, be back in a sec, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, feeling lost.

Mike shies further away from your hand, tugs his hat low over his eyes, and strides out of the room.

You squirm in your hard plastic seat and try not to think about how badly you do not want to be alone right now. Quick, a distraction: what do you want to think about? A nap, a shower—hot water and your nice lavender soap and the most abrasive washcloth you can find. Scrubbing until you’re down to the next layer of clean new skin. Maybe a bath, long and languid and drowsy, feeling your muscles melt like thawing ice into the water, heat inside and out, a trailing hand between your legs—

It is truly a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit, you think miserably, that despite everything else that has happened tonight, you still manage to be horny.

You drop your face into your hands and just focus on breathing, for now. It’s how Nurse Laurie and, later, Mike find you, seeing how many times you can count backwards from a hundred before you start to lose your grip on reality.

“Here.” Mike holds out a cup of gritty vending machine coffee, and you take it with bleary thanks. He drops into the seat next to you, bringing the smell of cigarette smoke with him. “Holding up?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m golden, remember?”

Mike laughs. “How could I forget?”

You take a sip of coffee, recoiling at the scalding temperature and bitter taste. Then you take another. “The doctors say everyone is gonna be fine. They were all lucky, the broken leg is the worst of it. They’ll be good to leave in the morning.”

Mike makes a thoughtful noise. “Are you—did you want to stick around until then?”

“Do you think I should?” You’ve been considering it; it seems like the Good Friend move.

“I think,” says Mike carefully. “I’m gonna leave, and I think you should come with me.”

You've considered that, too. "No offense, but I don't know you. How do I know I can trust you?"

"Have I given you a reason not to?"

He hasn't, is the thing. In fact, he's gone way above and beyond what you could've expected of a stranger for you tonight, to the point where it almost loops back around to suspicious, again. Almost.

Mike knits his long bandaged fingers together and takes a breath, like he's bracing himself for bad news. It twinges in your chest, and you feel the decision make itself. Fuck it, you like this guy. You can afford him a little honesty.

"You've told me a lot of horrible stuff that I don't really want to believe," you admit.

He makes a breathy sound that isn't quite a laugh. "Fair enough. But something horrible is going on whether you want to believe it or not. You know it, don't you? Deep down."

"Is this about Springtrap again?" There it is, a flash of irritation. "What makes you so sure he's done anything wrong? He's just an actor in a suit. For all you know, he could've just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he's probably out there hurt and, and scared, and—"

"He's my father," says Mike flatly.

A high, buzzing whine fills your ears. "What?"

"The man in the Springtrap suit," says Mike. "Whatever's left of him. He's my father. And I'll tell you one thing: he's a very good actor. But he's not acting now."

[thebigshotman]

*…WELL. I SUPPOSE THAT IS ALL OF THE TIME WE HAVE TO INTERACT WITH THE PAST FOR THE TIME BEING. I AM SURE MORE OPPORTUNITIES TO DO SO WILL PRESENT THEMSELVES…HOWEVER, MY HOLD ON THE RIFF GROWS THIN.

*I TRUST ALL OF YOU HAVE SAID EVERYTHING THAT YOU WANTED TO HIM…AND SEEN HOW BETTER OFF HE WAS BACK THEN, TOO. YOUR ATTACHMENT AS AN AUDIENCE TO A BROKEN PUPPET FASCINATES ME. TRULY.

*BUT NEVER MIND THAT FOR NOW. IN THE MEANTIME, I SHALL TAKE MY LEAVE BACK TO…ELSEWHERE, SHALL WE SAY. WE WILL MEET AGAIN SOON. FAREWELL FOR NOW.

The connection to the past is severed, the image of a rattled but still somewhat confident Spamton fading from view in a glitching swirl of purple, pink, and yellow. Through it all, distorted fragments of time stick out audibly as you are gradually returned to the present.

*Thank you!! Thank you, everyone…I’m thrilled to have been rated the number one salesman this past year!! I’d like to thank…thank…

*W-What? Don’t get cocky?? Mike, I think I can afford to be a little cocky right now-

*…Huh? Arguing with someone on the p-phone? T-Trust me, you were mishearing things! Everything’s [[100% certified]]…I-I mean, fine…what the hell was that?

*…Please. I don’t know if you can [[F1]]-Help, me, but…a Lightner made you, right? I don’t know what else to do…

*You “understand what I’m going through”?! No you don’t, ‘Delia!! Your success has never been hung on teeny tiny little [[$5.99 door hinges]] that could fall apart at any moment!! …Please, leave me alone for now. I just need to call him back…

*…Huh? What’s this little thing doing in here? Looks like…some kind of jewel…

*Mike. I know you’re there. I saw something. I saw Heaven. How do I get there?! How do I get back everything and keep my-

*WHAT [[store-wide savings are happening now!]] T0 M3?!?

*H-EY HEY, SWA[[Easels]]…IT’S…ME!! YOUR [friend request-] FRIEND, SPAMTON!! LISTEN-

*SWATCH, [[don’t leave me here!]]!!! MANAGER, QUEEN, [anyone…]!!! I’m burning!! Don’t let me—

*HA…HA…HAEAHEAHEAHEHAEHAEHAE!!! 1’LL GET THERE ONE DAY!!! I’LL G3T THAT [workout ready body] AND GET TO [Heaven] 4ND THEY’LL ALL [[you’ll be sorry~]]!!! TH3Y’LL SEE I’M ST1LL A [[BIG SHOT]]!!!! JU$T U WAIT…

There’s another manic, sped up cackle, much more like the ones you’re accustomed to, before everything goes silent and dark. And then…

The roof’s finally finished loading, separating himself from that always dark sky he hates so much. Although, lately it’s seemed just a little less oppressive. All that’s left is for the rest of the store in fix itself. Considering ruined shelves are still clipping against the ground like that were just destroyed, that could take a while…

*…[Hazelnut] HASN’T [stop on by!] T0DAY…SHE 4LWAYS DOES ON HER WAY [[homes outside the city]]…

Despite that disquieting thought, Spamton G. Spamton-occasionally known as “Spaul”-doesn’t move from the spot behind his desk. He’s back to being the broken, plastic puppet that’s familiar to you, with a glitchy voice that’s unable to properly form coherent sentences. His wide smile seems a little strained, though, and his glasses have a certain glimmer to them. He’s not moving-because what would it look like if he showed up to her job unexpectedly?-but is absolutely concerned for her.

That’s when a headache inducing pulse of garbage noise, static, and memories pangs through his head suddenly, making him throttle backwards with an uncomfortable glitch and onto the floor as a result. Knocking his systems offline as they process whatever just happened for just long enough for a certain someone to speak through him.

*…Is anyone listening? If you can hear me, please, help-

The static is forcefully booted out of his systems, and he jolts upright while rubbing his head. Everything’s fine-well, relatively, anyway-but there’s something just a little different. In his head, in his memories. A certain section of the garbage and out of tune nonsense has cleared, and it’s as if a few cherry picked moments from his past, from his height as a big shot, happened only a day ago…

He weakly turns to the audience, squinted marbles appearing in his glasses as he points at them.

*…WH4T DID YOU [[chaos enjoyers]] 0F AN [studio audience] DO TH1S TIME…??

[agiantnerdthefirst]

FNAF THEORY TIME: PRESSURE IS ABOUT MICHEAL AFTON

Okay, time to be insane (or sound really stupid one of the two). This might also kind of get repetitive and sound really confusing because I am bad at wording things but I just need people to hear me out on this, okay? Okay.  More below the cut because I talk a lot

SO, first thing first, a recap/telling for those who haven’t read Pressure. Pressure is a tale from book three of the Pizzaplex books. In the story a highschool student known as Luca goes to the Pizzaplex with three of his friends, Asher, Nolan, and Maddy. They pressure (hehe) him into wearing a Springtrap costume for a “roleplay scenario” where they’ll be thrown into a recreation of Fnaf 1 where “Springtrap” will chase three other people around.

Luca doesn’t like the idea of being Springtrap because he doesn’t like the idea of dressing up as, to him in his universe, a real serial killer. Also he doesn’t like the idea of being Springtrap because even if the missing kids he “killed” were simply “ghost stories” or “rumors” he has a deep empathy for the topic because as a kid he had a friend named Kenny (who, to him, was like a little brother), who died. The death is something he blames himself for even though he couldn’t prevent it even if he wanted to.

Luca still gives in to peer pressure (haha) though and puts on the suit reluctantly so as to not soil his reputation and appear as a loser. However, it turns out that the costume is an actual springlock suit. The suit, throughout the story, slowly kills Luca as he tries to reach out for his friends' help only to get abandoned by them. In the end, a group of children enter the area in hopes to play out a completely different scenario. However, a man dressed in the worst Springtrap costume known to man appears and is lurking around with disgusting intentions.

Luca, despite bleeding out everywhere, manages to save the kids and strangle the other Springtrap to death before dying himself. 

This story, if you couldn’t tell, is one of my favorites simply by having someone dressed as the “Real Springtrap” kill a pedophile in a fake Springtrap suit. Really drives the point that William Afton never did nasty stuff with kids and only killed them and that he would kill a pedo on sight.

However, there is more. That’s right, I am looking beneath the surface a bit more than people have already. By that, I mean that this story is one hundred percent (to me and my silly little brain) about Micheal Afton.

How?

Well first, let’s state some basic similarities. 

First, the past. As I have stated before Luca had a friend named Kenny who went missing for a bit and was then found dead and ever since then Luca has been tormented by this loss. I believe this is meant to parallel Elizabeth and Mike.

“Erm, wouldn’t it be Mike and CC-” No. That comes later. And later is right now. Luca is peer pressured by the rest of his friends to participate in being Springtrap for the roleplay. This represents Mike and his “friends” bullying CC. It also shows that he is following the path of his father by putting on the Springtrap suit.

When he puts it on, before the game begins, Luca can feel the metal of the Springlocks poking at his skin. Later in the story he brings up that the moment he felt the pricks his brain immediately realized that they were probably Springlocks. Despite this, Luca lied to himself and went ahead with what he was doing anyways.

This shows that Micheal knew that tormenting CC was wrong but went along with it anyways despite the consequences that may come to him.

As time goes on in the story, the suit begins activating, leaving Luca with fatal wounds that will be his end. He tries to beg his friends for help but they think it’s all an act and thus Luca is left by himself in the fake Fazbear’s in a desperate attempt to chase down a freedom he would never achieve. 

Micheal’s life, as time went on, fell apart after CC’s death. Leaving him down a path that will also be his demise. His goals are not his own. After all, William is the one that leads him to Circus Baby and Rental where he gets his organs removed. He tries to help the spirits his father had wronged which had led him to keep returning to Freddy’s over and over again.

Their friends have left. The only thing remaining for Luca and Micheal is Freddy’s and the will to protect the people inside it. 

Luca and Micheal’s actions lead to the death of a horrible person who would have continued to cause pain and suffering for others had they not given their lives for their cause. They both died satisfied with their final actions.

“Although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be.” - Henry, FNAF 6

“The last thought Luca had before thoughts were beyond him was that his inner compass was working again. His final act had not been someone else’s idea. It had been his own.” - Pressure (Tales of The Pizzaplex 3, page 147).

I may be wrong or I may be right. No matter what, this ends the theory/though process for all of us. End communication.