#do i have to say stupid shit like sewer slide

[clownstowns]

jinx is gonna be killing herself then ekko s gonna come up and be like no stop you can’t explode shit if ur dead and then she’s like oh shit u right and then they go blow shit up and wear matching crop tops

[steveseddie]

don’t wait for the sky to clear

steddie | rating: t | wc: 1,7k | cw: none | tags: steve has a crush, eddie has no impulse control, flirting, pet names

for @steddie-spooktober day one, prompt “rain”

read here on ao3

Steve almost doesn’t hear the knock on the door— barely audible over the heavy rain that’s been falling over Hawkins for most of the evening. 

Then he almost ignores it, ready to wave it off as the wind making some tree branches knock against the side of the house, mostly because he’s convinced no one would be stupid enough to set foot outside in this downpour.  

But then he hears it again. Louder, more insistent, definitely not a branch knocking against the house.

Frowning, Steve turns off the TV, cutting off the commentators narrating the basketball game that has kept him mildly entertained since the rain started. As he pads over to the door, his eyes dart towards the nail bat resting against the wall and he wonders if he should reach for it, if it’s possible that what’s waiting on the other side of the door is actually monster, flushed out by the rain like sewer rats during a flood. 

Steve shakes his head. “Chill out, Harrington,” he mutters to himself, “Monsters don’t knock.” 

And so Steve swings the door open and is immediately hit by the sharp biting cold— and the sight of a soaked Eddie Munson, shivering on his porch. 

“Eddie?” Steve asks, voice laced with shock. 

Eddie shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “There you are! Thought you were gonna leave me out here to drown.”

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t actually expect anyone to be out here.”

“Well—” Eddie holds his hands out in a ta-da gesture, “—Surprise!”

“I am surprised. What the hell are you doing out here in this storm, man? You’re drenched! Did you fucking bike here or something?”

“Nope, I drove, of course,” Eddie explains, waving a hand at the van parked in Steve’s driveway. “But I spent the last twenty minutes pacing in the rain so there’s that.”

Steve sputters. “Why?” 

“It helps clear my head,” Eddie says with a shrug, like that makes perfect sense. It doesn’t. 

“And you decided to do it in front of my house because—” Steve trails off, hoping Eddie will elaborate. 

“Convenience,” Eddie says, which doesn’t actually explain anything. Then he bites his lip nervously. “You see, Stevie, I have something to tell you.” 

Steve tears his eyes away from Eddie’s pink lips, narrowing them at him. “And you couldn’t, I don’t know, call me?” 

Eddie shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying, hitting Steve’s face. “It’s not something I wanted to say over the phone,” he admits, scruffing his feet against the floor, deliberately not meeting Steve's gaze.

Steve’s eyes dart to the bat again. He tenses up, fear bubbling up inside him. “Oh shit, are you seeing things? Is it Vecna again? Fuck, it’s only been a few months, it was supposed to be fucking over. Christ, do we need to call a code red? Do we—”

“Steve, hey, breathe,” Eddie cuts in, stepping into the house, trailing water all over Steve’s entryway, the wind swinging the door shut behind him. He grabs Steve’s shoulders, digging his thumbs into his collarbones to get his attention. “It’s not Vecna, it’s not the Upside Down, everything’s fine. Stevie, look at me.”

Steve does, hazy eyes taking a moment to focus on Eddie— his limp soaked hair, his drenched clothes, his nose and cheeks both red from the cold. 

“You look like a wet rat,” Steve says, swallowing a few times to get rid of the lump that lodged itself in his throat as he spiraled. 

Eddie huffs out a snort. “I know,” he says, his nose scrunching up in a way that makes Steve want to kiss it. “Not a particularly attractive look, which isn’t ideal considering what I’m here to do.”

Steve disagrees, he finds Eddie plenty attractive like this, but he lets the comment slide to ask, “And what’s that?”

Eddie bites his lip. “Please don’t freak out on me again.” 

“I thought you said it wasn’t the Upside Down—” Steve says, raising his eyebrow. 

“It’s not, it’s— fuck, it’s nothing. I’m just being dramatic. You’re a good guy, you’re not gonna freak out even if you don’t—” He trails off, gesturing vaguely. 

“Even if I don’t what?”

Eddie lets out a puff of air. “Even if you don’t like me back,” he says and Steve’s heart stutters in his chest. “‘Cause what I came here to do— the reason why I was pacing in the rain, probably catching pneumonia or something— was to ask you out. On a date. With me.”

Steve’s stomach flip flops. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees lightning flash in the distance. “Right now?” He asks, glancing at the window as thunder follows, the rain refusing to let up even for a minute. “Because I’d love to, Eds, but I really don’t want to go out in a storm—”

Eddie makes a pained expression. “No, sweetheart, not right— Wait.” He blinks as Steve’s words register. “‘You'd love to’?” He asks, his voice an octave higher. 

Steve nods, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie mutters. His hands, which up to this point were still on Steve’s shoulders, fall to his sides as he stands there, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

“What? You thought I’d say no?” Steve asks, tilting his head. “That I’d freak out?” 

Eddie shrugs. "I just thought that if you liked me too, you would’ve asked me out already!”

“I thought about it,” he says, eliciting a squeal from Eddie. “But Eds, I’ve only ever been in one relationship and I fucked it up. I didn’t want to do the same with you.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says softly, lips pursing as he thinks over something. “Well, I’ve never been in a relationship so technically I haven’t fucked up any so maybe our odds will balance each other out, y’know?” 

That doesn’t sound right to Steve, but Eddie is grinning at him and he just asked him out on a date, and Steve can’t bring himself to care about anything else.

“Okay,” he agrees, unable to stop himself from grinning too. “Then yeah, I’d love to go on a date with you, Eddie.” 

Flustered but obviously pleased, Eddie plays with his hair, water dripping from the wet curls. 

“Can I ask you something too?”

“You just did,” Eddie says with a smirk. When Steve half-heartedly rolls his eyes, he adds, “But yeah, I’ll allow it.” 

“What made you do this right now in the middle of a storm?” He asks, an amused tilt to his voice. 

“Well, I was talking to our favorite redhead on the phone, just shooting the shit, y’know? So after like, the third time I said, um, that I missed you, she told me I was pathetic and that I should drive over here and ask you out already so—” Eddie shrugs, “—I did. I don’t think she expected me to just hang up on her and take off in the middle of the storm, and honestly neither did I, not until I was doing it.”

Steve shakes his head with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, “but hey, I was missing you too, y’know.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, giddy and disbelieving at the same time. 

“Of course, Eds.” 

Eddie giggles, high-pitched and cute. “Well, hopefully you won’t miss me too much now.” He glances at the window, lips pursed. “Since I should probably head back.” 

Steve’s eyebrows knit in a frown. “No way, you’re not going out in this rain again,” he says, “you can stay here and I’ll let you borrow something to wear.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, yielding all too easily.

Steve smirks triumphantly. “Good, now let’s get you out of those clothes.” 

Eddie lets out a squeak, clutching his chest. “Harrington! At least buy me dinner first!”

“Hey, you asked me out, so you are buying me dinner,” Steve says, wagging his finger in Eddie’s face, who pretends to try to bite it off. “Right now I’m just making sure you don’t get hypothermia.”

“How chivalrous of you, sweetheart,” Eddie says, eyelashes fluttering, a pretty pink blush covering his cheeks. 

Steve hates to leave the sight of a flustered Eddie, but since he arrived his shivering has gotten worse and Steve is worried he’s actually going to catch something. 

“Wait here,” he says, heading upstairs to his room. There, he grabs some old sweatpants, a cozy green sweater he’d love to see Eddie in and a pair of fuzzy socks Robin got him for his birthday last year. Fighting a blush, he also grabs some boxers. Finally, he stops by the bathroom to grab a towel so Eddie can dry his hair. 

He goes back downstairs where he follows the water path and finds Eddie, not in the entryway but in the living room, going through the Harringtons’ VHS collection.

“My, my, my, Stevie! What’s this?” He asks when he sees Steve, holding up a tape to him with a playful smirk. 

Steve recognizes it as one of the Star Wars movies— not the one he likes, with the teddies. 

“Oh, that’s Henderson’s,” Steve says, dumping the clothes on the couch and joining Eddie. “He must’ve left it here.”

“‘Left it here’, uh huh,” Eddie says, doing air quotes with his fingers. “Just admit you like it. That you’re a nerd!” 

Steve smirks. “No, but I like you, nerd,” he says, cupping Eddie’s cheeks with his hands and tilting his head forward so he can press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. 

When he pulls back, Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes, his face bright red.

“Cute,” Steve says, out loud this time, which only makes Eddie blush even harder. 

“Jesus H. Christ, if hypothermia doesn’t kill me, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a shaky laugh, tugging some hair in front of his face, “you might.”

“If you die before you can take me on a date,” Steve says, hands on his hips, “I will.”

Eddie sniggers. “Not even death could keep me from taking you out, Stevie! I would crawl out of hell just to have dinner with you! I would brave one thousand storms!” 

Steve laughs, interrupting Eddie’s dramatics and steering him towards the downstairs bathroom, picking up the clothes on the way. “Okay, you weirdo, come on.” 

Eddie doesn’t put up any more resistance and finally changes into Steve’s clothes. Afterwards, they watch the movie that Henderson may or may not have left behind and they cuddle— to warm Eddie up, of course. 

They both agree it doesn’t count as their first date, but when the rain finally stops and Eddie leaves, he still kisses Steve goodnight. 

[twilightkitkat]

I can see like Scott and Jean tring to be like "he kills people" logan who had 100× the body count "he's using you" logan who's had wade care more about him then they ever did "he's....*insert thing here*" and logans just thinking he's never coming to the mashion again because wow, also *points to marry puppins* how would the x-men react to this sweet angle?

Pretty much any reason Jean and Scott use to try to get Logan to change his mind would result in him getting more and more pissed off. Do they think they know Wade more than he does? He's known him for way longer than they have, he's aware that Wade is a mercenary with a brutal streak... and he isn't stupid, he knows that Wade can be a dick. Especially to people he doesn't like.

The worst part is that Logan and Wade are so similar that almost any insult they come up with for Wade will also apply to Logan. They both are murderers, they're both morally grey, they both kill people for money, they're both assholes, they've both had shitty pasts. So anytime they bring something up it not only comes off as condescending but is a painful reminder that the X-men never bothered to truly get to know him as a person. They don't know or recognize his flaws, they only care about the version they had of him in their head and never took the time to differentiate the two.

The only thing they'd achieve by ostracizing Wade is pushing Logan further and further away. Because Logan can tolerate people judging and mistreating him, he's used to it, it's his baseline. But shit-talking Wade? The man he loves more than anything, who he goes out of his way to convince that he's worth something? He will not let that slide. (And Wade's the same toward him, hence him snapping at the X-men if they treat Logan as less than a capable, respected man with his own feelings and needs.)

The X-men's reaction to Mary Puppins would be hilarious. They'd see this deranged little sewer rat of a dog and assume it had to be some kind of stray. Only to watch Wade scoop her up and coo at her before handing her off to Logan, who holds her carefully like he's afraid to drop her. It's definitely a sight to see two fully grown muscled men doting on a tiny deformed dog.

It'd be uncomfortable for them to witness the domesticity of it all. It feels like they're intruding on something private when they watch Logan and Wade with their dog, smiling and leaning against each other. It consolidates what Logan had been saying all along: that he had a stable home now and wasn't planning to leave it.

It'd also clash with the image they have of Logan in their heads. They see him as this macho, aggressive, asshole who takes what he wants. He's the dangerous animal, the bad boy, someone that you stare at longingly but never get too close. He isn't the type to settle down and stay long enough to build a family.

And yet here was clear evidence to the contrary. That Logan was capable and willing to start a family, if someone asked. That they'd let their assumptions and biases dictate how they interact with him. Until Wade was finally able to see it through it all and finally ask Logan what he wanted.

[cody-writes]

MAJOR WARNING FOR SI

Again longer post

I want to start this with, I have not read the book of Bill yet, However with it being all over my feed, the thought of Bill absolutely mind fucking everyone with sewer slide attempts from Stanford, just makes everything about Bill and Fords relationship SO MUCH WORSE and I both love and hate it. From the writing aspect it’s beautiful and 100% makes sense but for my love for all of these characters, it just makes me so upset and sad.

The exhaustion that both Ford and Stan must have felt with Bills shit is even more crazy. Stan being worried about his brother and not being able to do anything about it because Ford won’t tell him anything about what’s happening and especially not where he is and Stan trying to find him and make sure that he’s not dead when there’s radio silence again. It all just makes me sick and I love it.

Again have not read it but my assumption is that all of this is happening after Fiddleford leaves and Ford and Bill are in that “break up stage”. The idea that he also fucks with Fiddleford and Fiddleford knows where Ford lives and CAN go check on him and Ford shuts him out for leaving even though he’s realizing that his partner was right. And the idea of bill exploiting the fact that Ford had feelings for Fiddleford has me foaming at the mouth.

Anyway have a very small tidbit of what’s in my mind.

“I fucking loved you. and the blood from my death will be on your hands for leaving me with this fucking monster” Bills words were slurred from intoxication and the monster of self destruction. The phone was clutched his hand and a smile was plastered on his face as he spoke.

Ford sat on the sidelines, as was normal when Bill did things like this, his hand over his mouth and his sagging eyes filled to the brim with tears. All he could do was sit and watch until Bills terror finally ran its course. It was the third time that week that he’d done something like this, normally it was just reckless behavior, getting really really drunk before pushing his body to the limits or maybe giving Stanley a call out of the blue saying some cryptic shit before hanging up. But this…telling Fords loved ones that he was going to kill himself, at ungodly hours of the night when no one would be awake, leaving a terrible voicemail until they picked the phone up was his new favorite pastime. And Fiddleford was his victim tonight.

“Bill please this is madness…” he whispered to no avail.

“It’s all your fucking fault, and I reaaally hope you can deal with that. I hope that when you see that I’ve shot myself in the stupid face you realize just how much I cared.”

Finally the line clicked on the other side. “Stanford what the hell are you saying?!”

“I’m saying fuck you!” Bill yelled into the phone before slamming it back onto the base.

The sound of the phone ringing hung in the background as Bill turned to Ford. “Look sixer, this can allllll end if you just keep working with me, keep building my portal.” He slurred, throwing his hands into the air and spinning before stumbling into the couch. “God this meat sack does NOT handle anything well does it!”

“I’m not doing that Bill and you know it! I’ve made that perfectly clear.” Ford looked at the phone, wincing as it stopped ringing before starting back up again.

“Ford please answer the phone….i can’t…I’ll come back just, please…”

[moxfirefly]

Okay okay okay I have something. You are so good at writing tmnt so here it goes. What about... Make up sex? ;) I imagine how there has been a huge fight with their girl. So much so that the turtles thought it would lead to breakup. But the SO returns and it ultimately leads to some angsty action. Of course you can imagine it however you want too! Make up your own reasons if need be!!

As somebody who breathes angst this is truly fun. You didn’t specify a turt lad so I hope you don’t mind me choosing and going from there. Just cause I’m intrigued ima go with my orange boi.

TW: Angst/Feels/Arguments

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

His hands hurt so much. When you ball your fists for too long the tendons tend to protest, the digging of nails into palms stings.

Mikey doesn’t like how loud his head feels right now. He sits against the wall closest to his tv, your scent is surrounding him and it only serves to make him more frustrated and gutted. The two of you have never gone past discussion into full blow arguing. He doesn’t like to fight with you, he does enough fighting on a nightly bases anyways.

But you got stubborn and he got selfish. Voices got raised, things were said and each one got hurt. He knows he can’t keep you glued to his shell forever, he’s had to learn the hard way, that there’s a life above that you inhabit and people around he’ll never truly meet. He knows every detail about your home life, knows your mother’s maiden name, how your aunt likes to get drunk at the family reunions and spill gossip. He knows your childhood home’s street name, the first guy you kissed, the first girl you kissed. Every aspect of your life you have told him in confidence, in laughter, in tears.

But Mikey is never gonna be part of it. He can’t really meet your dad and have that ‘if you break her heart I’ll break your legs’ talk. He won’t bond with your mom over their mutual love of cooking and secretly become her confidant. Knowing all these people but never truly knowing them is something he accepts.

It’s you leaving for three months back home. Three months away from him, three months where you’ll be surrounded by nostalgia you miss and love. Where your family will ask about ‘any boyfriends?’ and you’ll have to fake laugh your way through it. Three months of you being amongst people you constantly miss.

Surrounded by normalcy.

And Mikey wanted to be happy for you, he wanted to say fuck it and face time you every morning and night, watch you be happy to be in your hometown and maybe even get a virtual tour of it...

But that little dark part in his brain calls him a freak and reminds him constantly that you’ll get tired of surrounding yourself in craziness, monsters, end of the world scenarios etc. It just can’t seem to allow him to be happy for you. So the entire thing had ended in a fight, where dumb regretful things had been spat and you had marched off pissed and he had remained here equally pissed.

His brothers think he doesn’t get mad, they think he holds himself together through sheer ignorant bliss but it’s never been the case. Cause you’ve seen fire in his pretty blue eyes, you’ve seen those same very pretty blue eyes turn red with tear, you’ve seen so much of what he hides behind his laughter.

And fuck, three months of you away?!

Mikey pushes his knees up against his chest and sighs. His phone hasn’t made a noise despite his efforts to try and call you after he has calmed down. He debated going to your house and apologizing or at least going for a more calmer approach in expressing why this had left him so triggered. He wants to make sure this hasn’t pushed you both to your end, another nagging little thought that hasn’t quite shut its mouth.

Had this been the end? Had you walked out in a fury of frustration and decided this is it? Would you seize all communication and just erase the memories of him and your time together?

He’s hurting himself, he’s also getting angrier. This is stupid, he’s been stupid and immature and so are you for walking off!

It’s two hours before he decides to get up and toss his phone and try to consume his surrounding in order to relax. Mind over matter and all it’s wonderful bullshit. He doesn’t want to leave his room cause he knows the others must’ve heard.

He’s four hours deep into a shooting game when Raph pokes his head in with some food. He doesn’t look up, cause he knows Raph wants to be a good big brother and talk to him but he doesn’t want to when he’s one unfortunate mishandling away from crying. He lets him sit with him, watch him play and run a little bit of commentary that actually makes him smile just a teeny bit.

Even when Raph gets up and runs a large mitt over his head and tells him ‘broads are just emotional, she’ll come around’ he tries his best to not let his eyes betray him. Even when Raph gives the top of his head a kiss and pats his shell, he tries his best to keep it together.

It’s around 4am when he decides to look for his phone, chucked somewhere near his bed and maybe not broken. He finds it under his bed, screen a little cracked and one text message reading ‘r u awake?’ By you, it was sent twenty minutes ago and somewhere between debating calling or texting he hears the curtain in his room move.

You’re there.

Face two parts unreadable and a good topping of frustrated. Your face is bare, a mixture of sleepwear and winter clothing that clearly shows you had tried to sleep it off but couldn’t. “I just saw this... sorry” Mikey wonders if that sorry is related to the unread text or more so this mess. You look away, the energy around you can be felt. That upset way you bite the inside of your lip, how you cross your arms and run through every possible way of starting your side of things to say.

“Why are you really mad about me going back home?” You can’t meet his gaze and Mikey is thankful because he feels an oncoming headache. “I dunno man...” He sets his phone on his makeshift night table and runs his hands through his face, mask being taken off with the motion.

“That’s not an answer, you’re mad about something and I want to know” This time you do look and Mikey’s playing with the shoe string on one of the sneakers that hangs from the bunk bed. He chooses to stay quiet because if he does say something, what are the chances that you’ll understand?

“Mike, talk to me” He huffs a bitter laugh, ‘Mike’ is the he’s in trouble name. But he feels more obstinate than ever because why talk?

He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his feet. “I didn’t come back in the freezing cold to actually work through this if you aren’t going to throw me a bone at least-” Your tone is a mix of exasperation and sadness. “You go back and you forget about me” Mikey cuts through.

You furrow your brows at his statement. “What?” You take a few steps but he side steps you and that somehow cuts you. “You go back home and you realize it’s better to be in a normal environment that isn’t New York, in the sewers, with me-“ He motions to all of him. “And all the crazy shit we do” He glares, not necessarily at you but more so at all of this, the current state of affairs.

Running a frustrated hand through your hair you try to settle your thoughts. “You can’t jump to a conclusion like that and you know it, I’m not skulking off back home and ghosting you! And frankly it fucking hurts you think of me like that” You reach for him because Mikey can’t be still for five seconds if his life depended on it, but he grabs your hands and refuses to let you lull him with your touch. “It’s not a conclusion it’s a friggin possibility! Do you see us actually being endgame in all this shit!” He grips your wrists, you want to get through to him but he’s lost in that terrible negative mindset.

“We both aren’t mind readers! But trust me that leaving you is nowhere on my list of achievements” You manage out of his grip and grasp his face. “You are being unfair and stubborn as fuck but I love you okay?” Your voice sounds almost angry, angry at the very idea of living in a world where you and him don’t coexist together.

“I can’t even marry you! I can’t even knock you up!” Another bitter laugh escapes him, he knows your parents would die for some grandkids. Why is he so different, why does he have to be so fucking different he wonders bitterly.

“I don’t care, I don’t fucking care about a piece of paper or screaming babies, I care about you and I want you and I’m fucking happy with you stop sabotaging it” You press your hands to his hard plastron and scowl. “Stop lying to me then! Don’t pity lie at me when I know you want all that shit” He frowns, eyes watery and not caring if he wakes everybody up in the Lair.

Mikey’s ready for the rant of a life time but then you have to go and kiss him.

Kiss him hard, kiss him with rage bubbling on the skin of your lips. He can taste your words, taste every way you would’ve shut down his words with basic truth and facts. You pull away, forehead still pressed to his and you mutter against his lips. “You’re so fucking insufferable, shut up and listen to me” Your eyes are watery as is, hands at his neck to keep him at eye level.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much” You take a shuttering inhale, fingers skimming up towards his cheeks. Mikey can only watch you, take in every detail he’s been obsessed with for so long. You’re so beautiful to him, even when your angry crying, yelling at him to open his eyes. You’re warm and real in front of him, against his body. You watch his eyes go from that calm before the storm into the aftermath.

He’s so real to you, so lovely and he doesn’t seem to understand it.

There’s a pause. A mere ten second reprieve where only silence and breathing remain. Mikey feels your hands slowly slide down his body, nails scratching his sides. You keep your eyes on him, a hand slides into his shorts, index finger mapping out the slit that encompasses his most intimate part. Mikey shudders, sensitivity racking his body at your touch. He walks you up against a wall, a hand on your neck and another finding it’s way into your own pants.

He teases you, just as you tease him. Knees buckle when he pushes your lips apart and feels your moistening folds. There’s already a bump where your touching him and the way he’s tensing gives way to how he’s trying to hold himself in. “Come on, come on” You weren’t aware just how hard you’ve been breathing till you speak. Mikey’s mouths falls open, eyes closing as he drops down into your warm awaiting hand. You stroke him, teasing the flesh of his head just to make him buck and recapture your lips. His own finger finds its way in you, stretching and making your breath hitch.

The only reason you both pull away is to tear at one another’s clothes, an easy accomplishment when Mikey’s got just his shorts. He isn’t soft with your clothing either, yanking and nearly tearing, his on his knees pulling off your underwear. Your scent hits him and he’s gone, trapped in all that is you. He inhales sharply as he gets back on his feet, arms hooking under your thighs as he picks you up.

You both land on the bed, a huff escaping you and a grunt when Mikey feels you push him so you can straddle him. You don’t quite finesse this, it’s not your usual seductive ways that leave him a mess. It’s rough, there’s still frustration lingering in the air and Mikey’s okay with it because he knows he might go to rough if he runs the show.

So you do.

Sinking down on his hard cock with a long guttural moan. Mikey digs his fingers onto the plush skin of your bottom, just enough to make you sit on his cock and relish it. Eyes closed he just basks, the tightness, the wetness, the warmth. His eyes flutter open when he feels your palms on his plastron, firm and with purpose. His hands know already, they go up and rest on your waist and he swallows a churr when your hips begin to move fast and hard.

That rhythmic slapping of flesh, your rear hitting his lap on each thrust down. Mikey can’t stop churring, eyes on your own or slipping down to your beautiful breasts bouncing. You notice and lean forward, he buries his face between him, arm going around your waist as he lifts his hips to help you cross that line. The sweat of your skin is on the top of his tongue as he sucks a bruise onto your breast, you’re tightening up so much, cussing and begging for him.

You both can’t stop moaning, once you’re cummin and Mikey follows closely behind. He holds you close to him as you ride out the sensations, tightly secured against his strong body, held and loved. You’re a broken record of ‘I love you’s and so is he, filling you up and up.

Collapsed on top of him, chest heaving, you still feel the strength in his arms as he hugs you to him. You bury your face on his neck, body shaking with sobs as he whispers he’s sorry over and over as he kisses your shoulder, neck and head.

You say it too, against his skin.

Where you wish you could stay everyday.

[scaryscarecrows]

I'd Crawl on Broken Glass to be the One That Laughs Last

Gotham’s gone straight to Hell in a handbasket. Scarecrow’s dead, which is no loss, but Bruce is missing, Arkham blew up for reasons unknown, and the Arkham Knight’s Militia is still in control. Oh, sure, there’s a fair chunk of them in lockup, but they’ve been getting steadily more riled as the days wear on (three days since the Asylum, their boss has to be dead, who’s in charge now?), and the tanks are still running patrols, the bombs are still in the road, and there are checkpoints and watchtowers everywhere.

Jim thinks they’re waiting for something. There’s been no assault, not like he thought there might be. The street thugs and any uncaptured Rogues are still allowed to run wild, though the watchtowers have been spotted taking shots at something big flying around out there. Honestly, they’re even leaving the police alone, for the most part...but they will still shoot at the cars if they get too close. It’s like they’re on babysitting duty or something until the Knight gets back. It’s unsettling.

He’s out doing a little exploration-he doubts they’ve killed Batman, or they’d be gone, but Bruce still isn’t around-when something drops onto the roof of his car. He hits the brakes, tires screeching, and narrowly avoids sliding into a tank crossing the road.

Breathe.

Jim has no time to go for his gun before the driver’s side door gets ripped open by what Jim can only describe as the Hulk. The man outside is only a little smaller than Bane*. There’s a rocket launcher on his back and Jim’s sure he’s not the one that landed on the car, because the car would be a pancake.

He’s proven right a second later when the polar opposite of the giant jumps down. That said, this guy might be tiny, but he moves like he knows half a dozen ways to kill you. The cherry on the disaster sundae? Both of them are wearing army fatigues.

Militia. Shit.

“Boys,” he says, already planning on how to get that rocket launcher from the big one, “don’t be stupid.”

The little one doesn’t say anything. The big one laughs and before Jim can move, he’s been pulled out of the car.

“Boss wants to see ya.”

So they have a boss. Who. Who is it? One of their own? Riddler? Penguin? Goddamn Deathstroke? Who is his new problem?

“No.”

“Sorry.” The man does sound mostly sorry. “Not really askin’. C’mon.”

Jim tries to slam his elbow into the man’s collarbone. He doesn’t even really get to move before the little guy grabs his arm and wrenches it behind his back. Not hard enough to dislocate it, but hard enough to be a warning.

“We don’t want to have to hurt you, Commissioner,” the big man says. “We’re just picking you up.”

“Go to Hell.”

A gun presses against his back. Fine. He’ll go. But he won’t like it.

* * *

He’s disarmed, bundled into an APC, and blindfolded. After way too many sharp turns and double-backs, he’s...somewhere in the underside of the city. He’s thinking over near Drescher.

Wherever it is, he’s pulled out of the APC, taken inside somewhere, and handed off to new hands. When the blindfold comes off, his kidnappers are nowhere to be seen.

The men in charge of him now (and only for now, give him time…) are less...unnerving...than the other two. One is wearing the white uniform of a medic, and the other is having a snack. Cashews? Cashews.

The medic is a man on a mission. Jim doesn’t even manage to get out a, ‘you’ll be sorry’ before the man’s turning on his heel, jaw working furiously, and snapping, “Come on.”

“Where are we going.”

“Boss wants to see you, won’t listen to reason. This way.”

He stalks off and the snacker chuckles.

“Cashew?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” They follow the medic down a crumbling hallway. “They didn’t scare you too much, did they?”

“What’s with the good-cop-bad-cop routine?” he demands. “Is your friend up there gonna come back and threaten to carve my face off?”

The man just laughs.

“Probably, but he does that to everyone.”

“Sometime today!”

Huh.

Jim thinks they might be in the old mall. Scarecrow had been driving that way when something had happened, and, well, if Jim were going to have an evil base of operations, this would be a good one. Lot of ways in and out, nobody ever comes down here anymore-too dangerous-and it’s big, big enough to hold tanks and soldiers and whatever else these boys have. When they round a corner, he sees a familiar logo and decides that yes, that’s where they are. Hm.

They round another corner and end up in the back of the building. Jim’s not sure what this was, but there’s a corridor lined with doors. The medic stops in front of one and turns, hands clasped behind his back.

“Twenty minutes and no more,” he snarls at Jim. “You’re lucky you get that many minutes. You try anything, you might live to regret it. Might. You tire him out, out you go, I don’t care if it’s been two minutes. Don’t touch shit, don’t knock shit down, don’t--”

“I think he’s got the picture,” his other escort soothes. “Don’t terrorize him.”

“Humph. With the amount of work I had to put in to keep his dumb ass alive, I’m entitled to terrorize people.”

“Still.”

“And I’ll tell you something else. You lay a finger, one solitary finger on him, you so much as breathe too hard--”

“There won’t be anything left to bury,” the other man says, smiles with all his teeth. “Here you go, Commissioner.”

“Twenty. Minutes.”

And then he’s shoved into a room with--and good God, how--the Arkham Knight.

The Knight is lying in bed. He looks the worse for wear, but Jim can’t quite muster up pity for him. This...this is his fault. Gotham, Bruce, Barbara…

He swallows down the rage. Not because it’s the right thing to do, but because the Knight’s not alone. Jim supposes they wouldn’t just leave him unattended, not with those injuries, but still.

The Knight doesn’t seem to notice Jim. He’s certainly not looking at him. He’s looking at the laptop the other man has. Right now, at this exact second, he looks like a sick kid, wan and tired, eyes fluttering like he’s fighting to stay awake. But he’s not. Robin or not, he’s...the Knight’s not that boy anymore. Robin wouldn’t have done this, any of this. Robin’s dead.

“Sir.” The other man here isn’t wearing a uniform, he’s wearing jeans and a raggedy flannel that hangs open over some sort of band shirt. But his bearing is still that of a soldier’s, and the rifle leaning against the wall by his chair is top-of-the-line. “Gordon’s here.”

“Hrm?”

“Remember? You wanted to see him.” The Knight blinks a few times, heavy and confused, and tries to lever himself up before his companion reaches over to pin his shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

More confused silence. Now that he’s moved his head, Jim can see his pupils are blown wide. That’s not a surprise. He’s pretty sure he was in Arkham when it came down, and he hadn’t looked well before that.

Serves him right, he thinks, remembering the cuts on Barbara’s cheeks and chin. Serves the bastard right.

He keeps his mouth shut. The laptop has been closed and set aside, and the rifle is now in its owner’s lap. It’s casual enough, but the threat’s there all the same: you’ll go through me to get to him.

He wonders, a bit, what drives these men. He doesn’t really care, but he wonders a little all the same. Even the ones in the cells have been resolute that ‘the boss’ will get them out, that he’s got everything in hand, just you wait and see.

...in their defense, Jim had thought he had to be dead, and yet here he is. So.

“S’right,” the Knight finally breathes. He sounds terrible, and Jim suddenly matches the purple swelling on his throat to handprints. That scares him. Not out of pity or sympathy, but because what little he’s seen of the man says he can handle himself. Whoever did that… “S’right.”

“You up for it?”

He’d better be. Jim was kidnapped off the street for this.

“Yes.” Good. “Glad to see you’re unharmed.”

No thanks to you, Jim doesn’t snap, resolutely ignores the memory of the Knight holding up his hands and telling Scarecrow, voice painfully earnest, to take him and let Jim and his men and Robin leave in one piece. He settles for a curt nod, can’t quite muster up a, wish I could say the same.

The Knight pulls in a painful-sounding breath and drops his head to the side.

“Bring up the footage for Commissioner Gordon, would you?”

“Yessir.” The laptop returns, balanced delicately over the rifle. Jim doesn’t know if he wants to know what’s going on. “Hang on...give it a sec to load…”

The Knight moves and visibly bites back a wince, but the new angle means that Jim can see the full extent of the bruising on his neck.

“There we go--you okay, boss?”

“Ribs,” he breathes. “They don’t like it when people zipline into them.”

What.

“Need me to call--”

“No.” He swallows hard and beckons Jim closer. “M’fine. Just sore. And stiff.” He clears his throat, grimacing. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount.”

“M’just not used to being still this long--”

“Deal,” his friend says sharply. The Knight just grins, but that annoys the other guy. “Did you miss the flatline bit?”

“Technically?”

“I--never mind.” He makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Never mind...okay, all set.”

He turns the laptop around and Jim hesitates before perching on the very edge of the bed. Nothing terrible happens to him.

“This is footage from my helmet. How it kept going after that level of trauma, I’ll never know, but my IT department managed to recover it remotely.”

The footage picks up in a dark area, abandoned sewer network or something, probably, and it’s glitchy and stuttery.

Bruce has been caught on camera before, but not like this. This is...savage, animalistic. He comes out of nowhere, dodging gunfire and seemingly oblivious to the shouts of surprise, and moves in via a flying kick to the camera itself, which goes white and static-y for a second. A few of them come up behind him and suffer backhands and powerful kicks for their troubles, and then Bruce fills up the frame, shoulders positioned like he’s got his arms out and...and...

He looks at the Knight, looks at the bruises around his neck, and looks back at the screen in time to see Bruce going down and being dragged backwards.

“He do this to you?”

The look the man gives him is so reminiscent of the little boy Jim remembers that it makes his head spin. It screams, I know you’re not really that stupid...right?

“Well, I didn’t do it to myself.”

“--okay, sir, I’m just gonna…”

The helmet moves and Jim spots the medic from earlier before it gets set on the ground, facing Bruce. Bruce is chained to a pipe, seemingly unconscious.

“Don’t talk, just nod. Can you breathe okay?”

There’s an obvious cut--they don’t want to share it all, apparently--and then Bruce stirs and starts...giggling. Jim knows that giggle.

“What the hell.”

The Knight shudders and burrows under his blankets.

“It’s complicated. We’re reasonably sure he’s been eliminated, or at the very least contained, but--” A hand moves, presumably indicating himself. “I made it out. He might have, too.”

His friend closes his laptop and sets it aside.

“We’ve got teams sweeping Arkham’s grounds to the best of our ability,” he says. “Unfortunately, we are not a rescue team and as such are not fully equipped to handle the more unstable areas. That said, given the police department’s...track record...we would very much prefer that your men stay out of our way until we either find the individual formerly known as the Batman, or definitively confirm his demise. We’re hoping that at the very least, any injuries he may have sustained slowed him down, but we can’t prove that, given the lack of video footage for the incident.”

“It’s our understanding that Batman has, at least for the time being, lost his fight against the effects of J.” The Knight swallows. “Of Joker’s blood. I attempted to contain him--”

“Contain, my ass,” his friend grumbles. The Knight ignores him.

“I attempted to contain him,” he says again, “via...ah…”

“He blew up the goddamn asylum with himself and Batman inside,” comes the sharp interjection. “In case you managed to miss that.”

Jim had not managed to miss that, thank you very much.

“I noticed,” he says dryly. The Knight huffs a painful-sounding laugh and falls silent.

There’s. There’s a lot Jim wants to say. The Knight was Robin, and Joker killed him (and made sure they all knew it, that tape, good God, he’d sent it to everyone and Jim remembers Dove bursting into tears when she tried to tell him), but he’s not dead now, and look at what he’s done.

Much as he’d like to demand answers--or at least bring half of that up--he won’t. He doubts the man with the laptop will react well; now that he really looks, the man’s tense, clearly poised to move if he has to.

Jim can probably take him. He absolutely can’t take the others that will come at the commotion.

There’s a small dinging sound, and silence, and then an urgent, “Sir. Sir.”

“Hrm?”

“We got something.”

The Knight blinks a few times before half-surging up and demanding, “Let’s go, let’s go, then, help me up--”

“Chair or Trent?”

“Neither--”

“Chair or Trent.”

“Chair,” he grumbles after a second. “But I can walk on my own--”

“Yeah, but if the doc sees you, he’ll be mad. Here it is.”

Jim moves, semi-prepared to offer to help but not really wanting to, but they must have a system, because the Knight’s in the chair with a blanket in short order.

“I feel like a cheap Bond villain,” he’s complaining now. “One that rolls down a ramp into an electrified pool or something.”

“Maybe next time, you’ll consider your life choices, sir.”

“They weren’t supposed to come back to haunt me!”

“I know, sir.”

“Christ...what do we have.”

Should he…? Sure, apparently.

What a day. He needs a drink. A good strong one.

“My understanding is it’s better seen than explained, sir. No body, I don’t think.”

“Fantastic...the bastard’ll survive anything.”

Jim privately thinks the same applies to him, but he doesn’t share that thought. He doubts it will go over well.

The computer room isn’t crammed full of people. There’s one guy on the monitors and another one-one of the ones from before, actually, the one with the cashews-lounging in a chair next to him, drinking a Coke.

“What’s going on, you said something turned up--” He doesn’t quite hide a shiver, but when the other people in the room zero in on him, he shakes his head and insists, “M’fine.”

“Boss, I can link this to a laptop if you’re s’posed to be in bed--”

“M’fine. Pull up the footage.”

“You’re not gonna like it,” monitor-guy says, spinning around and wheeling over to make room. “Looks like he got out, same as you.”

“Seriously?”

“Would I joke when it mattered, sir? Here, look. See this?” He makes the screen bigger. “That look familiar to you?”

It certainly looks familiar to Jim. Bruce’s cowl is difficult to mistake, and there it is, crumpled in the rubble. It’s singed, and one of the ears is broken, but it is Bruce’s cowl.

“Damn,” the Knight breathes, and...Jim doesn’t like admitting it, not after tonight, but...he looks so young. A scared little boy, that’s all. “That’s not good.”

“What do we do, sir?”

“We don’t even know for sure if he’s out.” The Knight’s friend leans over the chair to get a better look at the monitor. “Maybe he tried getting out and died, we don’t--”

“I made it out,” the Knight says quietly.

There’s a wave of annoyed grumbling that includes at least one, ‘self-sacrificing dumbass’ and a, ‘in spite of your best efforts’. Jim has to wonder about that one. He can’t muster up that much sympathy, but he does wonder.

The Knight just sighs and adjusts his blanket around his shoulders.

“Fair. Anyways, seeing as I found a way out, it’s not unlikely that he’s done the same, barring the. The possibility of an instant death. I suspect we wound up in a pocket, though, so.”

“You didn’t notice anything on your way out?” Jim demands. “Was he right with you?”

“I was--”

“Concussed and bleeding to death,” a new voice snaps. “And in no shape to be walking, let alone note-taking. What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

“Briefing the--”

“Literally anybody else can do that.” The angry voice belongs to the medic from before. “You don’t seem to understand what ‘flatline’ means, sir, or maybe you’ve just got a death wish, but tough fucking titty, said the kitty, you’re not dying on my watch. Say bye-bye to the commissioner, you’re going back to bed and staying there or on God, I’ll put you in a coma and keep you there until you don’t have so much as a bruise. Do I make myself clear?”

Jim expects argument. None of the Robins ever let Batman boss them around to that extent, and he knows damn well that if he’d backtalked his superiors like that, he’d be in, frankly, deep shit. But the Knight just sighs.

“He’s been here long enough, anyway.” Long enough for what? “Keep your men out of our way, Commissioner. No offense, but Batman existed for a reason. You can’t handle him.”

Jim bristles.

“Can’t handle--”

“You know it’s true,” he snaps, and straightens up, turns to the man with the cashews. “Call everyone back.” All of a sudden that’s no longer a little boy playing Soldiers. That’s the man that crippled Gotham within hours. “I want everyone off the streets and back at base, now. Do not engage under any circumstances.”

“Yessir.”

“Get into the street cameras,” he continues. “If a rat comes out of a sewer, I want to see it. I want whatever drones we have left out and searching, but leave the car alone. That hasn’t worked so far and I’m not losing more--”

He must breathe wrong, because he suddenly starts coughing, harsh, violent whoops from down in his chest.

“Get him back to bed,” the medic orders once the coughs cease. “Or he’ll be Snow White and believe you me, nobody is getting in here to kiss him awake.”

“Jones--”

“We can handle this, sir. We’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“But--”

“You trained us for this, remember? We’re professionals.”

The Knight falls silent, one hand still pressed against his ribs, and finally melts back into his chair.

“Fine,” he says at last. “Bye, commish.”

He doesn’t recognize the men that take him back. The streets are empty, though, barring the patrolling drones, and they make it back to the GCPD unscathed.

Unfortunately, Jim returns to, quite frankly, a disaster. The officers on duty are tied up, and the militia cells are empty. Not a man left. He’s just freeing Cash when the broadcast screen crackles and the Knight appears on it, face serious.

“I mean it, Commissioner,” he says. “Keep out of the way, or I’ll put you in a cell instead.”

“You--”

“Tell Bullock hey for me, would ya?” He leans forward. “Stay safe.”

Click.

THE END

*I’m figuring Bane is bigger than the Giant Mooks because his boss fight consists of you jumping on him to slash his Venom tubes AND because he can and will run you over, while Giant Mooks of any affiliation are not rideable and don’t run.

[asphodelia-nx-04]

Property of Rachel Elliot Hale (Hideous Destructor)

If you’re reading this PDA, then one of two things has happened.

Either, I’m dead, and you looted this off me, Or I’ve gotten to the source of whatever the fuck AGM is doing, and I’m famous.

...After what I’ve seen so far, I’m starting to hope to Christ it’s the first.

Oh! That reminds me! I’m boobytrapped with 5 M67 fragmentation grenades on a deadman’s switch!~ I would start running if you’re still reading this!

Log0001.UMF File created, 04/19/2108, 12:27:32 PM

So, a recap. About 17 days and 19 hours ago, all hell broke loose from the various AGM genetics facilities worldwide. I will presume you’re already familiar with the monopolistic and hedonistic mega-corporation conglomerate, because if you aren’t, you have much, much worse things to worry about now than whatever the hell you did before.

Heh. Hell. We’ll get to THAT shortly.~

Mind some of the photos, by the way. My glasses are linked with my PDA and I take photos of shit I see with them.

If you’re not from around here, well, let me be the first to welcome you to Oklahoma! Let me also be the first to say, assuming you’ve survived my deadman’s switch, to please grab any firearms and ammunition still on my body and arm yourself to the teeth. Because now, AGM’s research has gone positively apeshit, to put it professionally, and all kinds of disgusting flesh abominations have started pouring through various portals, vats, reactors, and just about anything else that AGM, or their parent company, the UAC, has manufactured, and as you can see by reading this, I didn’t stop them.

Why? I don’t know. I’m just a fuckin’ engineer, man! I fix Pepsi machines and fluorescent lighting for a living, I don’t know shit about genetics. I do, however, know a lot about firearms, which is why I’m very glad to finally get my hands on some of our PMC’s hardware.

To the potential reader who has been in a coma for an extended period of time, and is likely gasping in shock if their coma was for 60 years, or rolling their eyes were it only 25 or so, yes, of course the giant mega-corp has a PMC, every “company” has a PMC now, because they’re all owned by the UAC. EVERYONE is the UAC.

Well, probably not *you*, but I am! And I hate it!!

Either way, AGM’s the genetics branch of the UAC, and they’ve been doing damn near *EVERYTHING*. Stimulants? Yep. Cyborgs? Absolutely. Genetic splicing? You bet. Cloning? Of course. Livable wages and benefits? ...Hah. As fucking if.

I was getting dressed for work, when the power goes out in my apartment. At first, I just kinda shrugged it off and assumed my account got charged by AGM for some stupid shit last minute, and didn’t have enough funds to pay my electric bill.

Then uh, then the building across from me goes out. And the ones next to it. And the ones next to them. And then the street posts. One by one I see and hear EVERYTHING go out. It’s pitch black, and after prying my self out of my sliding door I drive to work in the resulting chaos. At least, I wanted to, but all kinds of disgusting flesh monsters start pouring out into the streets, ripping out through the storm drains, sewers, and god knows where else. Everything was fine at first, but on my way to work, I’d see more and more weird stuff going on. Especially with those giant pink snakes sliding around. Hooooooboy, I’ll get to THOSE annoying little fuckers soon. On my way to the usual checkpoint, I’m greeted by two guards pointing their rifles at me. They’re not like the usual ones, either. I know those guys! If they’re still alive, don’t tell them I said this, but if they’re dead, they’re both assholes and owe me money.

Anyways, no, these guys look the same. Bald, slouching, one of em’s even shirtless. He’s barely even holding his gun right! That’s the giveaway, that he’s one of those weird “Blank” projects I keep hearing about. Blanks are what the guys and I call the new security guards that AGM has started replacing guys like Andy and Jake with. They’re notorious for aggression, being completely nonverbal besides some dull groans, and their weird exoskeletons and tubing. Which is why...

I tried to talk him down at first, but once he sprayed six rounds of 4.26mm past my legs (thank God these things can’t aim for shit.) I reached for my gun. After that, it was a very short conversation.

...God I’m so cool~

Blanks are problematic by nature, which is why most staff are issued a firearm in the first place. Rarely do you get anything standard though, it’s literally just whatever the hell they have lying around. In my case, it was a heavily used 9mm USP. Which is fine by me, I love this damn thing. Blanks are great for keeping civvies (not that anyone really works for a job that doesn’t ultimately benefit the UAC, of course.) out, but they frequently go haywire (Turns out the human brain doesn’t like being reduced to pure chemicals, wires, and exoskeletons controlled by radio waves!) which is why we get a gun, and some decent hazard pay. That is, when AGM decides to actually fucking pay us.

In any case, I look on his body to find any information, an instead I just find his pockets contain three stimpacks, 19 loose 9mm rounds, and three 4.26mm magazines for the G36C he dropped. (I always wanted one of these!~) Regulations say I’m not allowed to keep anything I find on a “Blank,” and the punishments I’d face for doing so are worse than termination. I’ll just say, the company will be taking much more than my job, and my wages.

That said, as I make my way through the checkpoint I find more blanks, and a sentry turret. The turrets are the most stable, reliable thing here if you could believe some shit like that. I would know, I’m the one who works on them! So if something goes wrong, it’s my ass on the line, you can sure as hell bet I’m doing a good job with them. Which is all the more reason why I was extremely unhappy by it firing like 30 rounds in 3 seconds at me, before I dived out of the way. I’m not even mad that it shot at me, I’m way more mad that it fucking missed! Are you kidding me!? Do you know how hard it is to get those barrels to swivel correctly on that stupid ass floor tripod? The gyroscope’s a diva that takes FOREVER to line up with a target, and the motor takes so long to spin up, that anyone else can just pick the thing up and take it home if they wanted to! After flipping the off switch, of course.

Besides, I made all sorts of modifications to this one to make it react faster, shoot even faster, and aim better. And it fucking missed every shot!! Are you kidding me!? Yes, I am mad about my personal project sentry gun not ripping my torso to shreds with high caliber caseless armor piercing rounds, thank you for asking!! >:(

I shoot it right in the battery, causing it to explode. The noise attracts a Blank from around the corner, and as he mindlessly trudges towards me, spewing his bullets in every direction, I liberate his kneecaps, and when he falls...I saw. It. Whatever it was. Body like a human, tail like a snake, and a head unlike anything I’ve ever seen. As I mouthed my disbelief at it, it’s hands catch on fire. No, seriously. I’m not kidding. I caught a pic of it to prove it!

Seriously!

Of course I put this horrid thing down. It’s like, a huge ass cobra-man. I’m gonna call them Snakedudes! Anyways, I put him down, and go to the checkpoint door. It accepts my override, and I walk along like it’s nothing. Going through the second checkpoint, I find it’s just...empty. Completely. Devoid of life, save for the groaning and hissing outside the walls. I open the door, and I quickly piss off like an entire army of blanks, and snakedudes. Ducking my head behind the door as it slides back down, I reload my weapons as I hear them shambling closer towards me. A cacophony of growls ring out as that door slowly opens, and I blindfire that rifle I took from the other ones. I hear lots of groaning as they fall over, and I peek out to take potshots with my pistol at the ones still kicking.

One firefight later, and the facility’s blank and snake free. I walk over to the entrance to the main elevator down into the facility, and I’m greeted with...

This.

This wasn’t me. It was like that when I got there. The trail of footprints lead inside, and judging by the smell and the buzzing of flies, they’ve been like this for a while. So then, if those blanks are there, why the hell were the ones in front of me unharmed? Either something tried to get out and got stopped, or something got in and these things I had to shoot replaced them.

Neither make any sense what the hell so ever, but there’s little I can do wondering about it. I walk over to the sign and take a second to catch my breath, and fill my lungs with what little “fresh” (if you could call this smoggy, tan sky “fresh” air by any definition) air I can, before loading my pistol, and stepping through into what may be hell. I pick up a neato MP7A2 off one of the many bodies, and check it. It’s like, 20 or so rounds. I’m not gonna stick around in corpse-stink and count each fuckin’ one! It’s enough to blow into a monster charging at me, and that’s all I need!

Down I go, light after light trickling past me, as I descend into darkness. The familiar smoggy air and its welcoming scent leaves as the elevator falls, and instead, I smell the rusty, chem-heavy stench of AGM’s inner facilities. Every long shift fills your nose with what I can only describe as molded bottom of the barrel coffee mixed with engine cleaner, rust, and fryer grease all in one. Fun. The lift stops, and the doors open to the receiving area. Those big, ugly letters face me again, just like the years and years of normal work before.

Course, this’ll be the last time I ever see this room again, I hope.

...God I wish I brought an air freshener.

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 3/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Ryuji grips the letter like it was silver and he was a werewolf in the full moon.

He picks it up, skims over the first line before putting it down beside him, feeling worse every time he does it, only able to read the fine-printed lettering from the flickering lamp post above him. The constant change in light would normally bug him, but he doesn’t really care about it now; it’s not like the words would change in his hand, and he’s long since needed to actually read it to know what it reads.

His feet dangle over the canal, enjoying the way a rush of adrenaline would go through him when he looks down into the deep waters. It’s late enough in the night that even with the city lights around him, he can’t gauge how deep it goes.

Soseikawa Park was only a five minute walk from Odori Park, but with the narrow river and steeped hills, Ryuji found it secluded enough to let himself sit. Breathe. Not exist, even for just a few minutes. It’s like having his own bedroom, except it smells faintly like a sewer and there’s an intersection about ten meters above where he sat underneath the overpass. If he can ignore the never-ending rumble of cars and trucks driving above him, it can almost be considered peaceful.

He lets himself fall back, the grass tickling the back of his neck and his spine screaming in relief. They’re heading out again in two days, which means more days of being in an inescapable RV surrounded by his best friends who are keeping an eye on him because they’re good people who don’t know how to mind their own fucking business.

Idly, he lets his hands pull and brings it to his face—blades of grass. He lets it get taken by the wind. After brief consideration, he shoves the letter back into his pocket before he can do the same thing to it.

He is so tired.

Blindly, he hits the vague area of where his pocket is and fishes out his phone, hitting the first speed dial before he can talk himself out of it. As two rings go by, he stupidly hopes that she doesn’t pick up, as if she hasn’t ever missed a phone call from him even when she’s at work.

The third ring gets cut off halfway through. “Ryu!”

Despite himself, he grins. “Hey, ma. Checking in for the weekly call.”

“I was just thinking about you,” she says, and he can hear the laundry machine run in the background. “I was wondering if you had eaten today.”

“Ma, you ain’t gotta worry about that kinda thing anymore. I’m a big boy now.”

“You’re breaking my heart!” He can almost see her, phone tucked in the crook of her neck, work-worn hands folding her laundry as fast as she can so as to not hold up the next person in line. “It doesn’t matter how big you are, you’re my boy. How can I not think about whether my boy is eating or not?”

“All I’ve done on this trip is eat, ma.”

“Oh, and Akira! How’s that handsome boy doing? Still taking the world by storm?”

That pulls a genuine laugh from him—he never needs to hold back when it comes to talking about Akira, at least. “You know it. He’s the only guy in the world who can stand toe-to-toe with me in chowing down. I swear, he’s slipping some of it under the table ‘cause he’s so damn fast. Forty seconds! Forty seconds to inhale an extra large beef bowl! Blows my mind, seriously.”

“Could never do anything in halves, can he?” she chuckles, before the quality of her voice shifts. “And are you enjoying yourself?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, of course. It’s a roadtrip across Japan, how can I not?”

“Good.” There’s some crackling over the receiver, and he guesses she’s probably adjusting the basket full of clothes on her hip. “That’s all I want to hear. As long as you’re happy, Ryu, I’m a happy old woman.”

Ryuji opens his mouth, ready to console her.

I’m always happy!

You worry too much, ma.

There’s nothing to worry about.

“Sorry, but,” he swallows thickly. “I think they’re calling for me? So—”

“Alright,” she says, and he might be imagining the disappointed tinge to it. “Call back when you can, okay sweetheart? I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he clears his throat. “I love you, ma.”

“I love you too, Ryu.”

He hangs up, letting the phone slip out of his fingers. It lands hard on the flat grass

For a long moment, he just lays there, listening to the gentle lapping waves and cars honking with impatience of people who have somewhere to be. He tries to meditate for half a minute, with all the information he had learned from a couple of YouTube videos, and gives up, because of course he does. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can’t do anything about the creeping dread that’s in his stomach getting stronger, squeezing and squeezing until he feels sick. It’s like his insecurities are having this huge fight against each other, feeding off of one another until it gets too big for him to handle and all he can do is breathe and try to do something about it.

And he’s fucking sick of it—breathing. He’s sick of the stupid breathing techniques, sick of counting down from ten and waiting for his own heart to chill out because his brain won’t stop reminding him of everything he did wrong, of shit he’s still doing wrong because at least this way, nobody knows what he did was wrong. It’s just him that can point and laugh at himself, and that’s way better than having the world do it for him.

He doesn’t cry, because he’s not a crier. He’s the type of guy to throw a fist through drywood before shedding a tear, and he hates that about himself. Rather than do something that will actually help, Ryuji lays there, perfectly still. Listening. Waiting for a meteor to fall on him, or for the overpass to crash its entire weight on top of him.

Instead, he hears footsteps.

His heart rate slows by a fraction, and opens his eyes to meet gray ones. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Akira says, a smile in his voice. “How did you know it was me?”

Ryuji almost feels offended. He would know Akira by sound alone, the way his heels would click in the Metaverse. The way the balls of his feet would strike the earth, hardly muffled by grass or cheap sneakers or anything else as trivial. Ryuji would know he was there; no matter how blind he was with hatred for himself, his love for Akira would always guide him back to where he needs to be.

“Lucky guess.”

“One hell of a guess.” He plops down onto the grass and Ryuji lifts his head, allowing Akira to wiggle until he could use his lap as a pillow. “Your turn,” Akira says.

“My turn to what?”

“To ask me how I knew where you were.”

“Oh.” He lets his eyes slide shut again. “I kinda just assumed you could do that.”

“You assume too much of me sometimes.”

“I assume the right amount.” Ryuji refuses to shiver when he feels long fingers start to card through his hair. “You’re giving me goosebumps,” he sighs.

“That’s a good thing, I think.” The fingers pull away and he’s about to complain when he feels something gets thrown over his torso. “Here. You always end up forgetting to wear an extra layer when you go out like this.”

Ryuji rearranges Akira’s jacket over himself. “Sap.”

“You know it.” He resumes combing through his hair, and Ryuji lets himself relax, just a little. It’s strange—it’s hard as hell being around other people nowadays, and even though Akira can make him feel that sometimes, mostly it helps the eternal twisting of his stomach to settle.

“You’re good at that,” Ryuji mutters.

“Thank you. I’ve had plenty of practice with Morgana.” And just to make it worse, he uses a little bit of nail on his nape, sending electricity running down all the way to his fingertips.

His mouth twists unhappily. “Don’t do shit like that while talking about the cat, for the love of god.”

Akira does it again, like the little shit he is. “You still have that weird thing with your neck?”

“Quit it!” Ryuji slaps his thigh and he can’t muster much anger when he can feel Akira’s shoulders shake from silent laughter. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“You’re right.” Gently, softly, like the world’s lightest feather, he feels lips brush his temple. “I’m funnier.”

His eyes open, and his entire vision is obscured by curly black hair and tender eyes. “You’re right,” he breathes. “You’re funnier.”

Akira bends down again, and Ryuji catches his lips, overflowing with something soft but unafraid, and it’s so good that Ryuji reaches for his cheek just to make it last a little bit longer.

When they break off, Akira kisses his temple again, this time on the left side. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh,” he scratches his head, brain a little fuzzy. “Tuesday?”

“It’s Wednesday, and I meant the date. It’s August tenth.”

“Okay?”

Akira thumbs at his collarbone. “I know this might be a little lame that I know it by heart, but I left Tokyo on March 19th. That would mean it’s been—”

“One hundred forty-four days since you moved away,” he finishes. “I know.”

Akira blinks, and then laughs, and Ryuji knows it’s an especially good one because sound actually comes out this time. “Yes,” he says, elated. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

“I told you dude, we’re really on that telepathy shit.”

“We really are.” A pause. “I miss you.”

He’s about to joke—I’m right here, you big dummy—but find that he just can’t. “I miss you too.”

They can’t say what they mean: I will miss you. Summer vacation doesn’t last forever, and two months will always be a hell of a lot shorter than the rest of the ten months that they’ll be apart. Somehow, he dreads seeing Akira gone, and he’ll dread seeing Akira back in Tokyo because it would mean that he’d actually have to see what Ryuji’s really like. Actively pushing away his best friend just so he doesn’t have to see his failures; doesn’t that just make him the worst piece of shit in the world?

There’s a gap, though. A little loophole. A crack in the timeline. A place where maybe he’s allowed to be a hollowed out version of happy; the now.

“Tomorrow’s our last day in Sapporo?”

“Yeah?” Akira replies, surprised at the change in tone.

“Which means Jail stuff is done, right? All your grocery shopping and Sophia Prime’s been ordered and packed up?”

“Yes,” he says, a lilt in his voice. “It’s all done.”

Ryuji sits up and faces him, reaching for his wrists, relishing in the heartbeat thumping against his palms. “Let’s do something. I don’t care what, but let’s do something. Eat at a diner, go to a museum, rob a bank, whatever.” He runs his thumb along the veins there, long since those bumps have been ingrained in his brain. “Let’s do something, just you and me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Sakamoto?” He has a cocky look in his eye, and Ryuji’s half-tempted to kiss him again just to wipe it clean off his face. “You know I’d follow you anywhere.”

He knows. That’s the scary part. Would Akira still follow someone he doesn’t know as well as he thinks he does? “I’ll get us lost,” he jokes.

Akira doesn’t laugh. “I’d rather be lost with you than learn to lose you.”

It’s been ages since he’s been flustered at anything Akira does, but he feels a rush of heat crawl up his neck. “I’ll—” Ryuji shakes his head, willing his embarrassment to go away. “Shit, uh—”

“I’ll pick where to go,” he interrupts, a little too smug for his liking. “I’d say I’ll pick you up at your place, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a comedian,” Ryuji rolls his eyes. “I’ll be ready whenever.”

“Fantastic.” Akira checks his phone, wincing. “It’s late.”

He grips his wrist tightly. “I know.”

Thankfully, he’s never needed to explain much to Akira. “Okay,” he says softly. “Ten more minutes?”

“Yeah.” He lets his eyes slide shut once more, letting out a breath. The world will keep spinning. His stomach will keep twisting. Time will keep marching on, but at least he has this. “Ten minutes sounds good.”

—

The first words that Futaba says as she enters the RV was: “Oh, hell.”

“Hello Futaba-chan, Yusuke-kun,” Haru greets cheerfully from the booth. “How was your shopping trip?”

“...Fine,” she replies, stepping aside to let him in, lugging a four-foot tall canvas in his arms that accidentally hits the ceiling. “Got a new Featherman action figure.”

“I got a canvas,” Yusuke answers from behind the wall of white. “Though I assume you can see that.”

“I can.” Her smile doesn’t falter, and it’s making the hair on Futaba’s nape rise like a nervous animal. “Quick question, since you both are here…”

Haru pulls a tote bag from underneath the table, and it’s so heavy that when she throws it on the table, her teacup nearly topples over. “Would you like to take a guess of what’s in this bag?”

A billion jokes pop into Futaba’s head, but both of them stay silent, terrified and confused. They both knew this was coming, but they didn’t expect her to be so forward about it.

“I suppose that’s a pretty strange question, I’m sorry. Let me try again.” She reaches in and pulls out thick, heavy textbooks, all brightly coloured and consist of beaming, diverse students on the front cover. “Care to tell me why you were both looking at cram books while we’re on our fun roadtrip?”

Yusuke pushes Futaba aside, eyes on the books and wide with shock. “You bought them?!” he exclaims.

“Wait—” Futaba hops repeatedly, trying to catch a glimpse from over his shoulder. “You bought all of them?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Hmm, think about it this way. If Akira’s in charge of the group as a whole, and Makoto’s in charge of the more analytical aspect of things, think of me as a somewhat stern yet loving parent who doesn’t quite know how to mind their own business.”

“I thought that was Ann’s job,” Futaba mutters, heart hammering in her chest.

“Now,” Haru leans forward, and as if to prove her role, speaks in a gentle tone. “I’m not mad at you. That would be ridiculous. But I saw you two looking at these books, and I know how expensive they can be, so I’ll give them to you.”

She blinks. “You would?”

“Absolutely!” Haru smiles wide. “On the condition that you tell me why you need them.”

Futaba and Yusuke exchange a glance, before Futaba makes a T with her hands. “Timeout!” she yells, dragging Yusuke by the collar out of the RV.

“What do we do?” he whispers once the door is shut. “It’s not as if we can tell her.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should?” she pushes up her glasses. “Damn, the things money can buy you. Our vow of silence is getting thrown out the window for two handfuls of yen.”

He looks her dead in the eyes. “I would tell the world my deepest secrets if it meant having lifetime access to a grocery store.”

“Don’t say that, you sellout!”

“I’m not selling out. My art already reveals the deepest portion of my soul, it’s not my fault that the common observers cannot pick up what I’m putting down.” He squints against the setting sun. “She’s waiting. What do we do?”

“Okay, okay, okay, just let me—” her mind whirrs rapidly, and for a second she really feels like Sophia. “Give me a second.”

“I have a suggestion,” he points at her. “If we’re not averse to lying, let’s tell them that you need them for school. You’re struggling with academics, you need a bit of outside help, so we took a look at the textbooks.”

“Good idea! Wait.” She frowns. “They’ll never buy it. Let’s say that you need them.”

“I’m at the top of my class!”

“But they don’t know that!” She balls her fists together, determined. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“I didn’t say yes to this.”

Futaba kicks the door open, making Haru pause wiping her spilt drink mid-stroke. “Inari’s struggling with his classes!”

“I—“ Yusuke stammers. “Yes,” he confirms. “I’m struggling with my classes. They’re mighty indeed, and even I find them difficult. I am...struggling.”

Haru looks at them doubtfully. “Yusuke is?”

“I am,” he answers as Futaba says, “He is.”

“Yusuke,” she repeats, gesturing to the neatly-stacked pile of textbooks on the table. “Is struggling with precalculus?”

They stare at her. “Yes,” Yusuke says, slowly. “I am struggling with previous calculus.”

“Out of curiosity, Yusuke,” Haru scratches her cheek. “Do you know what a parabola is?”

“Of course I do,” he replies with the wisdom of a thousand monks. “It’s a self-contradictory statement.”

“That’s a paradox,” Makoto corrects from the steering wheel.

“What the heck?” Futaba jumps a foot in the air. “Why are you here? Why were you hiding?”

“I like to sit here a few hours before we start another road trip,” she says, before glaring at them. “You two. Does this have to do with Ryuji?”

“T-timeout!”

Futaba makes a beeline to the door again, but Haru’s faster. She slips past them, standing in their way, perfect smile still in place. Sometimes Futaba forgets how strong she is in negotiations; her and Yusuke were probably tutorial levels compared to the upper management of Okumura Foods. “Answer her question, please.”

Yusuke sighs, tired. “You know what you’re asking for, don’t you? If we tell you what’s happening here, it would be breaking the trust of one of our teammates.”

“Yusuke!” Futaba hisses. “Are you really thinking about telling them? It’s not even our secret to tell.”

“No, it isn’t.” He makes eye contact with Makoto. “But she made a point. What would make us better friends: if we kept a secret to the grave while letting him suffer, or tell someone who can help even if it means being some sort of tattletale?”

“But…” she trails off, resolve crumbling. “Dude. It’s going to suck so much.”

“I know.” He pats her head, before moving to Ryuji’s backpack once more. “Don’t worry, I’m willing to take his anger if need be.” Yusuke gestures to the booth. “Everyone, take a seat. It’s about time this finally gets cleared up.”

Smoothing out the envelope in his hand, even more crumpled than when they had it last, he clears his throat, takes one last glance at Futaba to make sure. At her tentative nod, he begins to read its contents in a loud, clear voice.

When he finishes, they sit there, staring at the thick paper in silence.

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “I knew it was bad, but—”

Haru shakes her head. “Not this bad. And he talked about it so much, but we didn’t even…” she glances down at the textbooks, idly rubbing its spine. “I didn’t think much of it.”

“None of us did,” Yusuke says. “But does that make it any better?”

They fall in silence again, but Futaba can hear the answer loud and clear. Hell no.

The door opens forcefully, pulling them out of their stupor.

“What’s up, my beloved friends!” Ann calls, shopping bags in tow. “God, I’m gonna miss Sapporo. Things here are so cheap compared to Tokyo, sheesh!” She sets them down, laughing when nobody says anything. “Jeez, what’s going on? Did I miss something?”

“Ann-chan,” Haru says carefully, all sense of cheer, for intimidation or otherwise, gone. “Take a seat. There’s something you should know.”

—

The Ferris wheel looms over them, blocking out most of the sunset behind it. “Nice,” Ryuji grins appreciatively. “I should’ve seen this one coming.”

“You should’ve,” Akira agrees, tugging him into the open carriage. He goes in willingly. “It was staring at you the whole time we’re in Sapporo. And besides, every romantic movie has a Ferris wheel scene, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah? Name one.”

“Death note.”

Ryuji makes a face, and Akira laughs. “Yeah, I know. Bad example.”

It’s a tight squeeze but they sit next to each other, ignoring the bench in front of them. The seats are hot, and even though it’s nearly evening, the heat barely eases up on them. Still, he finds himself pressing himself against Akira. He runs cold, much colder than Ryuji; narrow wrists are ice, prominent collarbones frost.

The two of them lean over the window, pointing out random scenery as if it were the first time they were seeing them. Restaurants, statues. Weird looking cars and flower beds. Decorated high rises and insects that fly by. It’s like they were tourists, or a retired couple who just want to travel the world. He’s never wanted to be old before, but Akira always has a way of making him change his mind.

Like clockwork—Ryuji makes a joke. Akira laughs. His heart feels lighter.

When he finds himself leaning against him, feet up on the bench, Akira wraps his arms around his shoulders unhesitatingly. Ryuji wonders if he can hear the way his heart thuds inside his bones. He wonders if he knows it's for him. The Ferris wheel stops, right at the very top, gently swaying like it were a giant cradle. They’re not very high up, but it’s far enough that he feels like he’s left the entire world behind.

Ryuji presses his lips against those wrists, relishing in the way he can feel the heartbeat increase. “You nervous?”

He can feel his head shake behind him. “I’m happy, I think,” Akira says in a hushed voice, like it was a secret, like it was a sin.

A breeze flows through, and Ryuji closes his eyes when lips press against just below his ear.

Would it be worth it to have a Palace? A Jail? Would it be worth it to lose himself, just to be in this moment for the rest of time?

Carefully, he flips himself sideways, just so he can press more of himself against Akira. The carriage rocks gently, and the metal bench underneath them is sharp and uncomfortable. Arms tighten around him. Chest to back, knee to knee, they couldn’t be closer, but Ryuji leans back, wanting nothing more than to bottle the rhythm of his breathing and the smell of his soap.

I’m happy, too, I think, he wants to say. If we stayed like this for the rest of our lives, until our skin is permanently tattooed into the hot steel and our bones are the only thing they take out of this bench because the rest of us had already rotted, then I’d be pretty damn happy.

Craning his neck backwards, Akira is already staring.

Then he’s kissing him—once, twice, again and again, and Ryuji realizes that something’s different. This wasn’t the kind of kiss he was used to. There was a desperate air to it, an urgent edge from both of them that neither was ready for. Stealing each other’s breath and giving it back; the cycle continues, the clock keeps ticking.

Ryuji pulls himself up, not breaking the kiss, cupping his cheek and soaking him in like a flower to the sun; an endless yearning, like he’d shrivel up and suffocate if it vanished. The sun framed Akira, and for a split second, he feels like he understands what Yusuke sees on a canvas.

When they part, foreheads leaning against each other, Ryuji lifts a trembling hand to wipe the tear that rolled down Akira’s cheek.

“What’s up?” he asks softly. “Is something wrong?”

“I feel like you’re a miracle, Ryuji.”

How do you respond to that? When the person who said it feels like they’re the one who’s magic, who’s too good to be true?

“Fuck miracles,” he says, pulling Akira in again.

—

The circuit felt like it ended too soon, but it’s night when they finally stepped off, holding hands and faces flushed. He hopes the ride operator doesn’t hate them, but he’s in too good of a mood to really complain.

Ryuji stops in his tracks when he sees who’s in front of them.

“Ann?” Akira questions, taken aback. Eyes dark and brows pulled close together, clutching her purse like a weapon of war—she looks like she’d just seen someone set an orphanage on fire.

Her voice is shockingly deep, gaze fixed on Ryuji. “I’m borrowing him for a second.”

Before either of them can say anything, Ann takes him by the bicep, and he can only glance at Akira before he’s dragged back into the Ferris wheel.

“Did you even pay—?”

“Don’t start,” she hisses, pushing him on the bench, hard. “Don’t you dare start, you damn liar.”

His blood runs cold. “What?”

No. That’s impossible.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She shoves her hand in her bag and throws something rubber at him. “Do you know how long it took me to find a good one here? I spent my entire day in the shopping district—not looking for clothes, or shoes, or whatever the hell I thought would be fun. No, I spent our last day in Sapporo looking for that.”

Ryuji looks down at the hot compress in his hands, a lump in his throat.

“Because you weren’t doing anything to your knee,” she continues, jaw tight. “Despite me trying my best to help you get better. I thought that you must’ve been really fan-freaking-tastic at hiding the pain that you told me about. That I trusted was the truth because you’re one of my best friends and I trust you. I trust you with my life, my secrets—” Ann grits her teeth. “What the hell?”

“How did you find out?” he asks hoarsely.

She knows. If she knows, they could know. If they could know—

“Damn you, it doesn’t matter how I found out!” she throws her hands in the air, voice so hurt that it twists his insides impossibly tighter. “You think I would care? You think that this is important enough to lie to me about? Dammit, I don’t care that you—”

“Don’t say it,” he begs. “Please.”

“I don’t give a single shit that you failed second-year, Sakamoto!”

Her words ring against the steel walls, deafening.

Bile crawls up his esophagus, and he readies himself for another attack. But for some strange reason, his vision doesn’t blur. Instead, anger kicks in like it always does.

“You don’t care?” he asks, incredulous. “This doesn’t even have anything to do with you!”

“It does when you lie to me about it!” she yells back. “Do you not care about me? About your friends who would go to hell and back for you?”

“How dare you—!”

“You lied to me, you hid it from everyone else, you ignored our advice because it doesn’t mean shit to you.” She points a finger at him. “And look where that got you.”

“Shut up.”

“We all noticed, you know! Each and every one of us noticed that something was up, even the literal robot—”

“Shut the hell up, Ann.”

“And for what? All you accomplished was hurt our feelings, hold in yours, and keep it from the love of your life—”

Ryuji stands up, rocking the carriage and nearly toppling Ann off her feet.

“It’s because I fucking hate myself!”

She grips the barred window, eyes wide. They stare each other down for a few long moments, before the ride comes to an abrupt end. The door swings open, allowing a cheery greeting from the oblivious employee.

And then Ann sighs, shoulders deflating. “Come on,” she jerks her head to the door, before stepping out herself. “Let’s go.”

“What?” he asks, puzzled. “Where?”

“If we’re going to delve into the psyche of Sakamoto Ryuji, we might as well do it with some food in front of us.”

—

The cafe Ann takes him to is bright, filled with pastries and crowded with people—stools are pastel blue, baristas are wearing cute bowties, and each cup of coffee comes with an alarming amount of whipped cream on top. Sojiro would have a heart attack if he walked three kilometers of this place, but Ryuji’s glad that the resemblance is far and away than that of Leblanc.

The booth is pressed into the corner of it all; up against the window and far enough from the main bustle that they’d have to really put their all into it if they wanted to take their order. On one side sat Futaba, nervously tracing shapes on the window while Haru sits beside her. The opposite end has Yusuke and Makoto.

They all look up when they hear the bell chime, and Ryuji almost laughs. “It’s been a long ass time since I’ve seen you guys look so serious,” he remarks, sliding next to Makoto while Ann sits next to Haru. “Where’s the food at? Come on guys, food’s good for you.”

He raises a hand. “Excuse me! We’re ready!”

“Ryuji,” Futaba’s voice is brittle. “I—”

“Hold on shorty,” he reaches to pat her head, voice coming out soft. “We’ll get to that. I promise.”

A waiter comes, takes their drink order, and leaves. When he does, Yusuke places a heavy hand on the table. “I was the one who told everyone.”

“That’s not true!” Futaba cries out, and everyone jerks back in shock. “That’s bull! I’m the one who told him to go through your stuff ‘cause he was worried about you, but I’m the one who actually—”

“No, I’m the one at fault here,” Haru casts her gaze downwards. “It was really none of my business, but I forced these two to tell everyone here. I’m so sorry—”

Ryuji sighs. “Guys, it’s fine.” He’s met with an incredulous look. “Okay, it isn’t, but none of this is your fault, you know? I’m not mad.” His gaze shifts to Ann. “But you’re allowed to be mad at me. I know I shouldn’t have hidden it.”

She gives him a weighted look. “Then why did you do it?”

“Ann,” Makoto warns.

“No, I’m not budging on this.” She leans forward. “He lied to me. Lying doesn’t get you anywhere good. That was really stupid of you.”

“Ann!” Futaba cuts in, horrified.

“You’ve seen what happened with Shiho.” Ryuji flinches back like he’s been hit. He knows. Ann knows he knows. But she keeps going anyway. “She lied to me about what was happening, and I lied to her back. It kept going and going, and—” she snaps her fingers. “She’s gone from my life. For how long? I don’t know, maybe until we graduate. Maybe until her rehab ends. Maybe longer. Who knows? All I know is if we had just—talked, or—” Ann shakes her head, frustrated. “From the start. Tell us what happened. And afterwards, let us help you, or I swear to god I’m going to cry, and I know you can’t stand it when people cry.”

The silence is deafening, even with the clamor of people and voices around them.

Ryuji lets out a breath. “Yeah, alright.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You will?”

“I will,” he repeats, idly checking his pulse. Heart rate is a little quick, but in no danger of having another breakdown. “I’ll tell you everything.”

The waiter chooses that time to drop off their drinks; all cold except Haru, nursing a hot cup of tea. They definitely didn’t buy enough to justify the god-knows-how-long they’re going to spend here, but they’re just gonna have to suck it up.

“Alright,” he starts when they’re alone again. “We going from the start?”

“The very beginning,” Ann confirms.

With one last glance at his friends, he sighs, sits up straight, and flashes them the biggest grin he can muster:

“Hi,” he greets. “I’m Sakamoto Ryuji, and I failed my second-year of high school.”

No one’s expression shifts, not even an inch. He can’t help but be a little impressed. “You guys know that I’ve never been the greatest with books. Shit, screw greatest—I’ve ranked bottom five ever since I started middle school. Didn’t help that my leg got fucked to high heaven and everyone started hating me. Nearly dropped out a couple times. Had no one, really. Worst time in my life, hands down.

“So imagine this dumb little kid, middle of April, running into this guy.” Without meaning to, the grin shifts into something more genuine. “Good-looking dude, super smart, real charmer but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by lookin’ at him. And that guy saved my life. Ten, twenty, thirty times over. He was so great that the dumb kid obviously fell in love with him. But what’s even crazier is that the guy fell in love with the dumb little kid, too.

“Crazy, right? Sounds made up, but I promise it’s true.” He catches Futaba’s expression shift to exasperation. “I know, I can’t believe it either.”

“That’s not what I meant, you sap,” she says.

“Yeah, but that dumb little kid,” he explains. “Couldn’t believe it. Literally couldn’t believe it. Thinks that he struck the lottery, struck by damn lightning. I mean—” Ryuji laughs a little. “How can someone so amazing and cool be in love with such a moron? What made it worse…”

He gestures at all of them. “Was that the guy had so many people in his life who was also amazing. His social circle was made up of, and correct me if I’m wrong: a successful journalist, a politician, some dude from the mob, a random child who breaks gaming records on the daily, and I’m not even counting people from this goddamn table. So dumb little kid knows, he fucking knows that somehow, someway, he tricked the cool guy into falling in love with him. The kid sucked, no, sucks,” he corrects. “At everything. Can’t do anything worthwhile.”

“Ryuji…” Haru whispers.

“Almost done, I know it’s running on kinda long,” he promises. “So the dumb little kid became kinda obsessed with the group’s ‘activities’, and it’s obvious why he would, right? If he knows he’s not good enough for the guy he’s in love with, then he can at least try to be. But since he already sucked at school to begin with, dummy over here completely bailed on school and ended up flunking so bad that he failed an entire year.”

An entire year. An entire year.

It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe, but he’d rather get hit by a truck than lose it in front of so many people. Gritting his teeth, he does what he knows is bad, what every google search and YouTube video says you should not do—he pushes his feelings, far and hard away from himself, so far that it’s like it doesn’t even exist.

It works surprisingly well.

“And, uh—” Ryuji clears his throat. “He hid it. Because you know the one, single thing that’s worse than realizing you’re not good enough for the other person?”

No one answers. “Waiting for the day that they realize that you’re not good enough for them.”

“And that’s pretty much the bulk of it.” Reaching for his mug, he takes a sip of his lukewarm lemonade. Damn, he really did talk for a while. “I didn’t want to tell the rest of you because one, it’s really fucking embarrassing that I failed, and two—”

“Akira can’t know,” they all say in unison.

“Exactly, you guys get the point by now.” He drums his fingers against the table, trying to ignore the blatant gloom cast on all of their faces. “Question time starts now, if anyone wants to ask anything.”

Makoto opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “If anyone even thinks about feeling pity, or be all ‘no, you’re smart actually!’, I am walking out of this cafe and I am not looking back.”

“What about summer school?” Makoto asks immediately. “If you didn’t want us to know, then you could’ve taken that without even telling us.”

“Summer school was never an option.”

“And why not?” she slaps her hand against the table. “It would’ve solved this entire situation!”

“Because Akira was coming home for the summer,” he says simply. “And I wanted to enjoy my time with him without this hanging over my head.”

Her jaw drops open. “But...that’s…”

“Stupid?” he offers. “Idiotic? Really dumb? Potentially throwing away my entire future? Yeah, I gotcha. Another part of it was that the thought of staying at Shujin for another minute makes me want to jump into traffic, if that helps make me look a little better in your mind, miss prez.”

Makoto’s expression of confusion freezes, taken aback by the harshness of his words. Ryuji cringes at himself. “Sorry.”

“No,” she says finally. “The fault is mine. I have no right to judge your actions, or to pretend I know what kind of stress is burdening you.” Hesitating, she asks, “May I request another question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were you going to do when we eventually go back to Tokyo?”

As expected of someone who went head-to-head against the ace detective in front of the entire school; her questions are brutal. “I don’t know, honestly. I was planning on ignoring the problem for now and just sort of,” he gestures vaguely. “Enjoy the summertime sun?”

“A moment,” Haru goes through her bag. “It’s a long story, but I have these—”

The second the books peek out of her tote, he recognizes the cover immediately. “Cram books? You bought some?”

“Yes!” she answers, mistaking his reaction for eagerness. “It’s a very small gesture, but I’d love for you to have them.”

“I—” he leans away from them, breath catching in his throat. “No.”

“No?” she blinks.

“Not now, senpai.” Trying out his new trick again, he forces his heart to slow down, forces his breathing to regulate again without any of the techniques, and forces himself not to feel any of the fear that he’d normally have to go through. It works, but barely. “I’m not—I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that yet.”

“That’s fine.” Haru puts them away, and as hard as he tries, he can still see how dejected she was. “I’ll hold on to them for you.”

“Thank you.” He glances around. “Any last takers? Q&A is almost up.”

“I have one,” Yusuke pipes up.

“Go for it.”

“How are you?” he asks genuinely.

Ryuji can’t help it—a laugh gets pulled out of him. “How am I?” he repeats.

“Yes. How are you?”

“Uh,” he laughs again. “Not good, man. Not good.”

Everyone startles when Ryuji stands abruptly. He slams down the rest of his lemonade, relieved at how it helps his parched throat. “Alrighty, that took a lot out of me! Let’s get out of here, I’m sick of being surrounded by fake coffee and poser cafe fanatics.”

“I’ll take care of the bill,” Haru says, following his lead and scooting out from the booth.

“What? No, come on. I don’t care how rich you are, at least let me pay half.”

“Ryuji.” She looks him dead in the eye. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

“...Yes ma’am.”

Slowly, they all start filing out, some exiting the cafe while Makoto goes to the till with Haru. Ryuji reaches for Ann’s elbow before she can leave. “Hey.”

Turning her head, it’s as if her lips were permanently stitched downwards. “Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry I lied to you,” he says, somber. “That was shitty, and it doesn’t matter what I’m going through—you can’t deal with lies. I get that. I won’t put you through that again.”

Ann kisses her palm before slapping it against his forehead. “You better not,” her voice drips in affection. “You said not to console you—”

“I did, and I meant it.”

“But I’m here for you,” she rubs his skin harder, and he winces at the chafing. “You know that, right? No matter how crazy the shit inside your head gets, I want you to talk to me.”

“I know it,” he says, not just because he wants the friction to ease up. “I know it now, for sure.”

“Good.” Ann releases him, and goes to join Haru and Makoto up front. “You might want to head out. Someone’s starting to make a fuss.”

“What?” he turns around, making direct eye contact with Futaba, nursing a blank expression on her face. “I see.”

The bell chimes once more when he steps out, relieved at the cool summer air that hits him. “Shorty,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “What’s good?”

“Here.” Ryuji glances down at her, who’s holding a familiar, now very-crumpled envelope between her fingers. It’s weird seeing her hold the letter announcing his failure like a bomb, but he understands the sentiment. “I had to show Ann because she wouldn’t believe me until I got some proof.”

“Thank you,” he says, shoving it in his pocket. “I’m not mad at you, you know.”

“I know you’re not.” She swallows and stares down at her shoes. Her laces were covered in little beads and stars, something he had bought for her during a weekend hangout once. “This isn’t me pitying you, or showering you with some kind of boohoo potion.”

She swallows again. “I failed my first year of high school. It was for a completely different reason—guilt for who I thought I killed rather than wanting to be something else. But I know. I know so much about what you’re going through.”

Futaba looks up, and his heart wrenches when he sees the tears in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry if I made you sad, or that I kept calling you stupid back then,” she sobs. “I don’t mean it, and I’m so mean to you all of the time but I don’t mean any of it. I told everyone your secret because I wanted to—” she hiccups, and she pushes her glasses to the top of her head. “I wanted to give you your own version of what the Phantom Thieves did for me, but I reached out to you guys back then. No one forced me to do anything, but I took that choice away from you.”

He pulls her in his arms, and her tears are hot even through his shirt. “I know, Futaba,” he says, patting her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She hits his chest weakly. “Me taking care of you?” she sniffs. “I’m literally the one crying right now.”

“Just for now though,” he shrugs. “Next time I cry, you’ll be the one handing me tissues, I swear.”

They stand there, the two of them standing in the middle of Sapporo while people give them weird looks—Futaba, unable to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks, and Ryuji, refusing to ever let his emotions make things worse for everyone else again.

—

When they get back to the RV, each of them emotionally exhausted, Ryuji goes to kiss the top of Akira’s head. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Akira looks up from his card game with Morgana and Sophia. “You look like you had a wild night. Ann take you all somewhere fun?”

“Totally,” he says, sliding the letter back in his backpack. “Best night ever.”

“Take me next time. Sophia’s kicking our ass.”

“She is not!” Morgana denies, tail swishing. “Just a little,” he relents.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Ryuji announces, hiking his backpack on his shoulders and heading out, before running into Ann outside.

“Oh my god,” she says, disturbed. “He really, really doesn’t know.”

“Yup,” he moves past her. “And we’re keeping it that way.”

[hewwocopter]

As Fate Would Have It

MK has doubts about his soulmate, but he’s certain that it’ll work out for the best.

Until he meets him.

On Ao3 (2112 words)

Soulmates were thought highly of in society.

Their customs were normally respected. If one wanted to cover their soulmark with an article of clothing, so be it. It was for the owner’s eyes only.

It had led MK to cover his right wrist with a bandana not unlike his headband.

He knew what it said. Many nights had his fingers traced over the words, longing to hear his soulmate’s voice. Even if they were to yell at him.

Because, he presumed, that was probably what they were going to do, considering the nature of his sentence.

He laid in his bed, fiddling with the bandana. It had been a long day at work today, and it was still slightly damp from the sweat his arms had accumulated from noodle deliveries.

Ah, well.

MK slipped the band off, already knowing what he would see.

Get off me, you idiot!

What gratifying first words, right?

It seemed as though their relationship would have a rocky start. MK knew this, he was fine with it.

He was good at getting people to open up, Pigsy proved that fact. What once was a grumpy pig who nearly called the cops on MK for being too rambunctious in the streets…

Well…

Now he was a grumpy pig man who had hired that rambunctious street child. When the man saw that MK needed a place, he took him in.

So yeah, MK could probably handle his soulmate. Plus, they were his soulmate- the one destined for him. So they would eventually like each other, even if they started off hating each other, right?

There was always that small voice in the back of his head that told him to doubt. That no matter what, his soulmate would reject him. They would hate him. That his strength was also his weakness. MK’s energy was just too much, he was way too over the top.

But he had to keep hope. He seared that sentence into his brain, knowing that they were out there. That they were alive, and that there was hope.

…Probably.

A yawn edged its way up his throat, causing MK to stretch and fall back into his bed.

He’d just have to see how it went, he supposed. MK had no way of knowing for certain.

Deciding that his energy was best spent on sleeping instead of debating with himself, he set his Monkey King themed alarm clock to its usual time and slipped under the blankets, his eyes quickly sliding shut.

—

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

MK’s arms wobbled dangerously as he balanced precariously on the pipes of the sewer system.

Maniacal laughter echoed from beneath him, as green smoke erupted from the mountain. The Demon Bull King had been freed.

Son of a…

If his life were a show, this definitely would qualify as one of those record-scratch-freeze-frame moments, saying ‘hey, you’re probably wondering how I got here’.

He knew damn well how he got here. He was delivering noodles like a good delivery boy, although he was supposed to be on his break, which also begged the question:

Who ordered noodles in a sewer?! Where were the construction workers?!

How was he holding on this long?!

Although MK was surprised he hadn’t lost his grip yet.

The strange bird glanced over at him again, with a mischievous glint in its golden eyes.

His luck had been pushed to the limit with that last thought, it seemed.

He glowered, but wasn’t about to give up yet. MK waved the bird off. “No, shoo, go away!”

It hopped closer despite his warnings.

MK’s eyes only widened as what happened before him transpired in slow motion. The bird bent down and began to peck.

The incessant poking at his hand causing his grip to falter, and MK to become more panicked. Before he could shoo the bird away, he finally lost his grip and-

“No, no, no- aaaaaaaaugh!”

MK slipped.

Luckily his twenty to thirty foot fall was softened by his landing, which was on top of- oh, oh shit. He was going to die.

Before he could properly process that reaction, the giant Demon Bull King stomped up to him.

Their eyes gleamed an eerie green, casting a dark shadow onto his surroundings.

In this sort of situation, seeming it was a live or die one of the sort, MK decided he should probably de-escalate it. He let out a nervous chuckle, and lifted the noodle bag.

“Someone ordered some noodles?”

There was an awkward pause, as the villains stared at him, seemingly not expecting that reaction- they probably thought he’d be terrified- which he was, but sometimes his stupidity outweighed his sensibility.

A low growling rumbled from beneath, and MK flinched as the boy under him began to struggle, his hair flickering with flames.

“Get off me, you idiot!”

MK’s heart stopped, but only for a moment as he was sent flying and it was thumping wildly once more. While it was because of the actions occurring at the moment, what the boy- Red- had said also had a part in it.

Did he just-?

The boy tumbled to the ground, grunting.

“Do you know what you just did?” He turned to face MK fully, snarling. “You ruined my moment!”

MK could hardly process what the family was saying. Red Son- that was his name, probably- he had said what was on his wrist.

That right there was his soulmate.

He blinked, as a shadow was suddenly cast over him. MK visibly shrunk back as he saw that DBK was about to squish him, oh dear gods. All because he had zoned out over…

Speaking of. The boy slid in front of him, halting his father’s murder in progress. Thank goodness.

“Wait, father.” Red Son placed a hand on DBK’s heel, nudging him away.

MK’s eyes widened at the sight. Was he sparing him?

Then another stuttering thought.

Did he know?

He hadn’t said anything to the boy, had he? All he had done was scream so far.

“What is this?”

“Waste not your energy on this peasant. Please, allow me to show you how powerful I have become in your absence!”

MK drooped, and he nearly face-palmed. Great, so now my soulmate is going to kill me!

“As you wish.”

Well, fuck this. MK was going to escape, call the cops, then buy ice cream and cry over the fact that his soulmate was a villain. That probably hated him, considering the fact he was going to kill him.

MK turned away slowly, and began crawling away. Only halting at the sound of Red Son’s voice, internally cursing himself that he was caught.

“In some ways, you’re very fortunate, noodle boy.” Now Red Son was smiling, and were those fangs?

Oh gods, that was hot.

The thought ran through his mind a few more times before MK realized what it was, his face flaring red before he could stop it.

Are you kidding me?! Evil soulmate who hates me, and now I go and think he’s hot?!

No, no, he could not let himself get attracted to that. MK rapidly accelerated his inching away, only backwards now, only to bump into a pole, now lying discarded on the concrete.

A voice in the back of his mind whispered the truth of what it really was.

Monkey King’s staff…?

“Not many insects are lucky to be stamped out by the Demon Bull family-“ His eyes narrowed, probably at the boy’s expression which by now was a deep cherry red. “Are you even listening to me?!”

Yes and no. Red Son’s voice had no right being that hot, smoky yet matter of fact. But MK was too distracted by the staff, as well as escaping to properly pay attention to what he was articulating.

Where had these feelings even come from…?

The boy growled. “I, Red Son, will not be disrespected! You’re history!”

He raised his gauntlet, igniting it with his flames and rushed towards the delivery boy who was still stuck in his internal panic. MK’s eyes snapped up as he realized just what was going on.

Oh fuck-

MK instinctively grabbed the first thing near him- the staff- and raised it in front of him as his defense.

A loud clanging noise echoed throughout the chambers, along with a huge gust of wind.

“N-no way.” MK’s eyes peeked open upon hearing the other’s disbelief at him not being dead. “How could you possibly lift Monkey King’s staff?!” Red Son backed away from him, eyes wary but wide.

MK could only stare at the staff in awe, nothing else registering in his brain.

Red Son stammered. “I- I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m about to end it! That staff is mine!”

MK was snapped out of his trance at the appearance of the Bull clones and DBK. He let out a little whimper- one villain he could take on but fifty?! “I’m supposed to be on my breeEEEAAK!”

He swung the staff in a wide arc, a golden light erupting from the motion towards the enemies.

Through the brightness, MK saw Red Son’s expression pale, although that could have been the light. His mouth was slack jawed, eyes wide, and then he was struck with the incredible power of the staff, sent flying.

The bull clones retreated, but the superiors managed to stay standing. Oh crap, I just managed to piss off a bunch of powerful villains. I’m so dead.

“Aah,” He stumbled for an explanation, “That was way more explosive than I expected.” He then coughed, some of the soot (?) from the explosion (?!) having found its way onto his face.

A thud from Princess Iron Fan’s weapon caused the boy to jump. From her expression, he could tell that the woman was not happy.

MK gulped, and began to thrust the staff around wildly, hoping to scare her off. “Stay back! I don’t know how I’m doing this stuff!”

“That staff doesn’t belong to you, little boy. Hand it over.” Like a chiding mother to her child, the woman then held her hand out expectantly. Like she was expecting him to comply.

For a split-second, he considered it. Then promptly threw that thought out the window, because one- these people were villains, two- they were probably going to kill him either way, and three- it was Monkey King’s staff, how could he give it away?!

So MK wasn’t going to comply.

He grasped the staff protectively, holding it up against his cheek. “Mmm… no…?”

That was the moment when the staff chose to wobble, sticking itself into the ground which was absolutely not of MK’s volition that time. “Okay, I didn’t even move that ti-“

The next moment he was up in the air, the staff carrying him away, and all he could do was scream.

—

Red Son pushed some rubble off of himself, his mind still reeling.

“I’m supposed to be on my breeEEEAAK!”

The words replayed in his mind, although they were uttered only a few seconds ago. As Red rubbed at his head, still sore from where he had hit it against the wall, his eyes narrowed in thought.

He couldn’t believe it. The one who plagued his thoughts, the one whose words were written on his left shoulder… it was that stupid noodle boy?!

Son of a bitch.

Fate would have it be this way.

Red had to go after him. One, to beat the everloving shit out of the boy and get the staff. Two, to demand to know why it was him. Why the gods had chosen that stupid idiot for him.

Red Son didn’t need anyone. He had himself and his intelligence, and he deemed that enough. It would get him where he needed to be.

Red Son also wasn’t an idiot. He was a facts person, that much was true. He ran on logic, feelings were just icky and out of place. Predetermined love? Yeah, fuck that. He was his own person, Red Son didn’t need anyone to tell him who to love.

But he had to know.

Noodle Boy had answers.

He halted his father once more, who was in the middle of intensely describing how he would skin the noodle boy alive. “Father, allow me. I won’t fail you a second time.”

“See that you don’t.” He snarled. “My patience is past its end!”

“Of course, father.” Red Son vanished into a plume of fire, only to appear at his vehicle. He quickly hopped in and sped after the boy, already getting a reading on him on his radar.

He was going to get his answers, one way or another.

[liathgray]

Ranking fmab characters worst to best

(Please don’t take this seriously)

1. Khymbleigh

- Lives in the sewers

- Committed mass murder

- Has a silly idiot hat

- Called me a dyke :(

2. Shou Tucker

- fuck this guy.

- Electric chair

- Also hes balding what a loser

3. Dwarf in the Bong

- mike wazoski lookin ass

- Literally the greasiest motherfucker on the planet

- Was one of the only characters introduced by NOT beating up Ed or Al..??

- Smells like rotten cabbage

4. Moy Rustang

- Incel

- Has stupid hair

- War criminal

- Teen dad

- Canon fat tits

- Useless🥰

5. Envy

- a bitch

6. Whorehenheim

- deadbeat

- Has never taken a shower in his life

- Only wears glasses because he thinks its quirky and cute

- Took the fattest bong rip of all time

- Also killed thousands

7. Tim Marcoh

- doctor and deserted the military

- honestly pretty chill

- But his name is Tim so... *cocks gun*

8. Bradley

- :/

- Killed a lesbian and thus is homophobic

- He wears an eyepatch despite having both eyes.

9. Elicia and Gracia Hughes

- tax evaders

10. Jean Havoc

- cool dude

- Cohntry boyy i luv youuu

- Did not look respectfully

- Smokes. Must be executed

11. Gluttony, pride and Sloth

- assholes but also what the fuck

- This boy like 10

- Wheres his babysitter

- fast????????

12. Armstrong

- his arms are strong

- Lil bitch

- Got his ass beat my his hot lesbian sister

13. Lust

- is sexy

- Murderer :(

- Big tibbies so she gets extra points

- She was just checking if roy and havoc were cake

14. Scar’s brother

- Truth took his cock.

15. Truth

- took Scar’s brother’s cock

16. Barry the chopper & the slicer

- criminals

- Almost killed Ed and Al

- Kinda sexy tho 😳

17. Greed (OG)

- greasy garbage man

- Got cucked after two eps

- Has dumb hair

- Was funny

18. Yoki

- He yo the ki or whatever

- I dont remember him

19. Fu and Lan Fan

- Legs for days!!!

- Breaking and entering

- Lan fan smugly cutting off her arm and saying “I beat you” awakened something in me

- Fu got shanked :(

20. Rose Thomas

- Maybe im gay. What of it?

- Almost shot Ed lmaooo

- Probably owns a ukulele

- Local

21. Greed 2.0

- stupid

- Beats the fuck out of Bradley

- Might’ve eaten dirt

- Went camping for five months instead of being helpful

- Aphobe :/

22. Ling

- freeloader

- Diabetic??????

- Smells like broke

- Gay little bitch boy

23. Sheska

- haha nerd

- I’m in love with you

- Was only in two episodes :(

24. Captain Buccaneer

- Off his shits always

- Took ten years to die lmfaooo

- MLM but a gatekeeper

25. Major Miles

- His facial hair is atrocious

- Otherwise? King

- Sunglasses indoors... ur on thin ice

- Turn around bright eyes...

26. Father Cornello

- So theres this middle aged man...

- Won the sexiest character poll on twitter

- Re🤢🤢 l🤢🤢. r-r-religous🤢🤢🤢c-cor🤮🤮 religious corruption

- Got gunched lol

26. Kain Fuery

- Has watched pulp fiction

- Haha glasses

- Probably volunteers at a animal shelter

27. Vato falman

- Skinny legend

- Genuinely cool and has development at briggs

- Go white boy go

28. Heymans Breda

- Has a moped

- Could crush my spine but wouldnt ❤️

- Crew cut 🤢🤢

29. Xiao Mei

- small and filled with rage

- Has good taste

- Gunch??????

- Literally so small please be careful

30. Gay chimeras

- TWO MEN

- WE’RE BURLY

- WE’LL DO WHAT YOU WANT

- cottagecore

31. Pinako Rockbell

- has been high off her ass for the past three years

- Sultry doctor who lives in a faraway town 😳😳😳 hello ma’am 😳

- Hair is definitely a weapon. Shits pointy

- Home wrecker

32. Sig

- wide

- Very wide

- Kiss kiss

- Only eats potatoes

33. Riza Hawkeye

- big arms big arms big arms biG ARMS BIG ARMS

- Would kill roy on sight

- she should kiss me

- rn

34. Maes Hughes

- had a band in highschool named frog soda or some shit like that

- Pretty cool! Nice to ed and al and winry

- Good dad

- Dead lol

35. Olivier Armstrong

- goth gf

- Sword.... sword hot.....

- Killed a dude for being annoying and I respect that

- Snorts snow and says its coke to freak people out

- Gay ass....

36. Ed Elric

- ok gay boy

- Makes everyones life hell. Good for him

- NERD????? A FUCKING NERD???

- I’d steal his lunch money

- No tiddies?

- :/

- Short king

37. Maria Ross and Denny Brosh

- wlw mlm solidarity

- maria ... hold my h-hand...

- literally had nothing to do with this but got McFcuked anyways

38. Scar

- acab

- Was right

- Dilf

39. Al Elric

- likes cats so he’s automatically superior

- Malnourished 😔✌️

- Cha cha slide in full armour

- Mean but only to Ed ❤️

- I love when he *king noises*

40. Izumi Curtis

- kiss me sexy woman

- Stole from briggs because fuck the military

- .. m...milf..

41. Paninya

- fucking superb you funky little lesbian

42. Winry Rockbell

- NERD!!! NERD !!

- Curb stomps her enemies

- Acab but also stole Riza’s look so 😳

- Is she.. u kno💅

43. Mei Chang

- her life is a YA drama

- gained a dad by being perfect

- bullies Ed

- is better than everyone

And finally..... the best character in fmab...

Resurrected Trisha

- 😳😳😳

- Yes i do the cookin yes i do the cleanin

- 😩😩😩

[crashingmeteorz]

jinjetsongko headcanons

in other words i love the idea of the jinxjetxsongxzuko brotp and want it to be real, desperately (based off of @azenkii’s awesome post)

first and foremost, jet never spots iroh firebending his tea. he simply does not see it. this prevents a whole host of other disasters.

jet visits zuko c o n s t a n t l y. he’s desperately trying to start up a ba sing se chapter of the freedom fighters, which ticks off longshot and smellerbee, who wanted a new life.

jet stays friends with longshot and smellerbee by pretending he’s cool with that, but by night he’s meeting up with zuko, sharing conspiracy theories about the dai li and ideas on how to break into the upper ring undetected. zuko flat-out rejects the ideas at first but he starts itching for something, anything to do, so he goes along with it.

jin thinks they’re both cute but is also pretty sure they’re in love with each other (they’re really not sure, tbh. jet is into zuko but in the way that everyone is - zuko’s hot, guys. zuko’s still figuring out how to be a normal teenager and all this attention is weird. either way, it’s something they need to figure out and jin absolutely does not want to get in the middle of it.)

zuko seems like the more stable one between the two of them, though, so jin asks him out. jet hypes him up the night of, so right before he meets jin zuko’s just bombarded with proverbs from his uncle and a lot of inappropriate advice from jet. the date goes pretty much the same since zuko chooses to ignore both of them.

jet absolutely loses it on zuko when he finds out that he actually managed to kiss the girl and then just ran away. jet believes this reflects poorly on him, and he begs jin to give zuko another chance.

jin can read the room, though, and, frankly, does not care to get in the middle of their homoerotic tension. after all, she’s pretty sure zuko cut the date short because he’s not ready for a relationship, and she’s basically right.

it should also be mentioned that at this point, jin’s figured out zuko’s a fire bender, and she kind of assumes his uncle is, too, and even though she doesn’t give a shit since they’re clearly refugees, she can tell there’s some weird backstory going on there and she is NOT going to be the fix-it girlfriend, no way.

so she tells jet she’ll hang out with them as friends.

“okay,” jet says easily, sliding into the booth across from her. “friend, do you ever want...i don’t know, more than the lower ring can offer?”

from behind the counter, zuko audibly groans because if the failed date wasn’t enough, now jet’s gonna recruit this girl into their stupid gang which zuko didn’t even want to be part of in the first place, JET!

jin doesn’t have any particular skills, but she’s quick on her feet and knows basic hand-to-hand combat. i headcanon she’s grown up in ba sing se, maybe coming to the lower ring as a little girl, and, since it’s not exactly a safe city, most kids either learn how to fend for themselves, or they disappear.

most importantly - she knows the city like the back of her hand, and she knows how to avoid the dai li.

around the same time jet’s cajoling her into joining their “stupid goofy not cool gang” as zuko calls it, even though he’s basically a co-founder, a quiet girl and her mother move into the same tennement building as jin.

i imagine jin lives alone or with distant family, so song and her mother are a welcome pair. song and jin immediately strike up a friendship, with song being impressed by jin’s outgoing nature and worldliness, and jin being endeared to song’s kindness and hopeful attitude, despite the fact that her home was burned down for a second time.

(something about the fire princess herself on the hunt or something, song and her mother didn’t really stick around long enough to find out.)

jin really wants to introduce song to her other friends, but hanging out with zuko and jet is shaping up to be something very dangerous, and sweet song doesn’t strike her as the type to be interested in that kind of thing.

until, one evening, jin is followed home by a strange man. she doesn’t even notice, she’s too busy laughing at some idiotic stunt jet had pulled and thinking maybe his stupid gang would be kind of fun, and she’s about to reach her door when the stranger grabs her.

she screams, but it’s quiet and dark and no one’s around to care. she struggles, bites at him, but he’s stronger and he’s dragging her away. just as she’s certain this is the end, the man collapses behind her and his hold is released.

there stands song, a long, thin needle in her hand, a terrified expression on her pale face. the two girls stare at each other, illuminated by the light of the open door to their building. suddenly a tall shadow pours over them, and song’s mother is there, looking deadly serious. she checks on jin and song, checks the man’s pulse, and then looks between the two girls.

“we’ll need to get rid of the body” song’s mother tells them. “jin, you know this city. where can we dump it?”

jin’s mind is blank for a few seconds, and then all at once is starts working again.

“stay here” she tells song’s mother, as they drag the body inside, for now. “in case we need an alibi, we were with you. i know a place”

the place is the tea shop, where zuko and jet are fortunately still loitering. jin barely explains the situation and the boys are running after her and song. it’s dark, and the situation is urgent so they don’t really take the time to get acquainted with song or bother to look too long at each other.

it’s not until they’ve wrapped the body up that zuko looks at song properly, and song looks at zuko, and they both freeze.

“what’s with you two?” jin asks, desperately trying to act normal and needing her friends to do the same. there’s a beat of silence. and then-

“nothing” they say at the same time, and get back to business.

in the end, the four teens dump the body in the sewers, strip it of any valuables which they toss across the city, and hope the anonymity of the lower ring will keep them safe.

they’re in this thing together, now. jin is in shock that she just covered up a murder, song is grappling with the fact that she just committed a murder, zuko is freaking out that song’s gonna out him as a thief to his new friends (which is a whole other can of worms because he has friends now?), and jet’s just excited that he has a new gang.

they start hanging out regularly, switching between the tea shop and jin’s and song’s building, and one evening zuko finally can’t take the tension anymore and privately asks song and her mother why they haven’t said anything. song and her mother look at each other, and seem to have a mental conversation.

finally song’s mother says “you helped my daughter. your debt is repaid” and she leaves the two of them alone.

“and besides” song tells him, patting his cheek on the unscarred side, “it’s always good to have a deep dark secret to hold over your friends!”

“you have no idea” zuko thinks.

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  masterpost

[heyheydidjaknow]

Three cheers to publishing on time. Can I get a what what? Anyways, here’s the next chapter. The previous chapter is at the bottom of this chapter. Go figure.

Chapter 3

“Okay, I think I got it.” It is possible you are going stir crazy. You would not be surprised if you were, but you have more pressing matters that, ridiculously, involve the timeline of fucking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2012. You had not just stood the headassery of season four and five, but conquered it, tamed it, if you will. You do not remember the last time you ate. “So the only way I’m going to survive this series is if I somehow, through some sort of spiritual bullshit, get to become at least somewhat adept at ninjitsu.” You sigh. “But the only reason he trained her is because of her psychic bullshit.”

You stumble towards the kitchen to eat for the first time in days. “Actually, you know what? Fuck that.” You open the refrigerator, salivating at the food. “I’m just gonna buy a fucking gun. Dodge bullets, bitch.” You pull out a large slab of meat, tossing it on the counter. “If they aren’t going to actually incapacitate people, I will.”

A sudden thought stops you in your tracks. “Wait, so, what timeline am I on?” You feel your heart drop. “Because if we’re doing the whole thing…” You shake your head. “You know what? Prepare for the best and accept—that’s backwards.”

You put the meat back. Something about the existential dread kills your appetite. You crawl back into bed, close your eyes. ‘How long have I been in here?’ The time had admittedly swirled in on itself, your brain completely fried from all the contemplating death. ‘At least long enough to be in the no-man’s-land where I’m not hungry.’

You freeze up at the sound of knocking on your window.

Your eyes slowly pan over to the covered glass. You rise to your feet.

You shake your head, trying to remember to think rationally. ‘This place is very high off the ground for a stalker.’ Despite yourself, you quickly go to the kitchen, grabbing the largest frying pan you can find and slowly approaching the window.

‘There isn’t even a proper ledge out there. You’re being paranoid.’ Slowly, you reach for the curtain, yanking it open.

You scream at the sight of the hanging figure, only realizing you recognized said figure after a couple seconds. Thoroughly embarrassed— ‘Yeah, I could never be a ninja.’—you slide the window open, face red. “What do you want, Raphael?”

He wears a shit eating grin. “What, scared?”

“Of a shadowy figure in my window? Yes.” You sit back down on the bed, voice cold. “You gonna just hang out there or what?”

He climbs inside. “Alright, so here’s the situation.” He sits on the windowsill; you feel the secondhand vertigo. “Donnie—first of all, where have you been?”

“Binging the most traumatic part of your lives so far on my phone so you and your brothers don’t get killed by swole Shredder.”

His face went pale. “Shredder?”

You blink, a factor you had admittedly completely forgotten becoming apparent. “You don’t know he intends to come to the city,” you remember. “That’s—”

“He what?”

You sigh. “He is the least of your concerns at this particular moment. What about Donatello?”

“No, back up.” His smile was completely gone. “When is he getting here?”

You shrug. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

You put your hands up at his obvious rage. “Dude, it is honestly not that big of a deal right now. He doesn’t even get close to killing your dad until the end of season two.”

You are decidedly not helping matters. “He gets close to—”

“Are you gonna repeat everything I say or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m gonna—what?” Raph is quite clearly not taking this news well.

You try to calm him down. “Take a deep breath, alright? It might not get to that point, but you have to tell me what’s going on first.”

He growls in frustration but follows your instructions. “Mikey found out that he can apparently talk to people online, and he found this site where he can talk to—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” You pick up your phone, typing away. “You can’t, under any circumstance, let him go talk to Bradford.”

“Well, I know it would be bad--”

“You misunderstand.” You get up, starting to grab your things. “Bradford is working for the Shredder.”

This seems to be news. “He’s what?”

“Working for Shredder.”

“But he’s—how?”

“You have bigger concerns than the how, currently.” You read the page you had pulled up again. “How long ago did he find this guy?”

“Yesterday, I think.”

“Then… hold on.” You read the summary of the episode in question more thoroughly. “Okay, so we aren’t totally fucked, but we gotta make sure he doesn’t see him again.”

“Wait, hold on.” He walks after you as you try to find your jacket. “Why? How could Shredder—”

“If he goes, he’s gonna talk to him about general shit, right?” You slip it on. “At some point, in return for learning his secret bullshit, he’s gonna want info on you and your dad.”

“Then the Shredder will know where we are!” The horror in his eyes is apparent.

“Exactly.” You pull on your shoes. “That, and you’ll have to confront foot soldiers, which isn’t good for anyone.”

“Wait, is Mikey gonna be alright?”

“I mean, he gets kidnapped, but—”

“We’re going. Right now.”

“Awesome.” You were already one foot out the door. “Close the window on your way out.”

You rush down to the first floor of the building, nodding acknowledgement to the door man as you look up and down the street. ‘He has a dojo or something, right?’ You try googling his dojo, only to find that, not only is it a chain, but that they are all incredibly spread out. ‘It’s at times like these,’ you contemplate, running towards the closest one, ‘that I wish I could drive.’

It takes you about 10 minutes of running to get to the place, only for it to be closed. You feel tempted to throw your phone.

‘Wait, when does it—hold on.’ You already hate timelines. You sit down on the curb, pulling your phone out again to find some clips. ‘So, Chris and Mikey meet up some time after patrol, order pizza, and then it’s sunrise.’ You look up at the slowly lightening sky. ‘Okay, so that means they’re currently ordering, right? Because it was clearly dark in that last scene.’ You put your head in your hand. ‘I mean, it is, right? Because those are just wall separator things, not windows, since the sky was very clearly green in that next scene.’ You get to your feet. ‘So I just need to find that billboard with that specific graffiti and main message and we’re good to go, right?’ You groan. ‘But there have to be a thousand billboards in fucking NYC.’

You stop, smiling slightly at the graffiti. ‘Is that not a purple dragon?’ You grin, going back to running. ‘I just need to get to Chinatown, right? Is that their territory?’ You swallow, turning a street corner. ‘I guess we’ll find out.’

The buildings tower around you as you wander the streets, the quiet desolation ringing in your ears with the force of a gong. The pounding of your feet against the pavement does little to stifle the silence. The gang in question may not be a challenge or concern for vigilantes, but to you? You are barely a flower now, bright and beautiful and oh so easy to crush. But you cannot and will not stand still for long. The walls of the alleys you run crush your sides and the darkness strangles you, but despite the beating of your heart begging you to stop, you cannot. How can you?

You can stop what comes next. That is what fuels you. Never mind the fact you must stumble to a halt to vomit into the nearest dumpster who knows how many times, the taste of acid staining your tongue. You can rewrite history.

But you cannot.

You walk around for approximately too long before correctly citing that this is, in fact, futile. You start to panic.

You turn back around. ‘He goes back to talk to his brothers, right?’ You feel your body start to shake. You keep your phone to your ear, pretending to talk to someone as you run around like a headless chicken so as to not get bothered, hopefully. ‘Then I still have a chance to catch him before he leaves, right? At least he won’t get kidnapped.’ You look around quickly, slipping into an alleyway and prying off a manhole cover, climbing into the sewer. You pull the cover back into place and start running along them, the smell nauseating in the darkness suffocating. ‘Please tell me I remember where this stupid lair is.’

You laugh in relief when you see the abandoned subway, sprinting down the tunnel. ‘I can catch him,’ you promise yourself. ‘I can catch him before—’

You slam into someone. They grab your wrist before you fall. “Yo, are you alright?”

“Mikey!” You feel your whole body relax, but the relief is quickly squashed. ‘Thank fuck.’ You grab his shoulders. “You can’t see Bradford again.”

“Wait, what?” He groaned. “Did Raph set you up to this?”

“What? No!” As the adrenaline and panic start to wear off, you feel your body begin to falter at the excessive strenuous physical activity, panic, no food or water for two days and sleep deprivation. You dig your fingernails into your palms to try to keep yourself grounded. “He just said that you were friends with him or something and I went looking for you!”

“Look,” he sighed, letting go of you and not noticing the obvious slur in your voice, “I get it, alright? Not all of us can have a super awesome friend like Chris—”

“He’s working for Shredder, dipshit.” You feel the ground spinning as your skull rips itself apart. “Coolness be gone, that bitchass Dogpound fucker.” You have no idea what you are saying. ‘Huh,’ you muse, struggling to stay on your feet. ‘Usually, it takes longer than this to shut down.’

“Shredder?” You cannot feel things, so you have no idea what his actual reaction is. “He’s here?”

“Yep.” And with that, you collapse.

--

Suffice it to say, when you wake up, you feel like absolute shit, with a pounding headache, extreme fatigue, and an obvious desire to not move from the bed in which you lay.

Thinking hurts. You decide against it for the time being.

You hear typing, soft muttering, the scratching of pencil against paper. You do not want to open your eyes; whatever you are laying under is warm. You try flexing your fingers. You can, but it is barely worthy of being called a twitch. You feel sick and gross and sticky and like you are eating yourself from the inside out, but you are also very aware that moving will not help matters. Besides, what small part of you is not covered is absolutely freezing.

You let out a soft groan from a particularly egregious pound from your head. You hear the typing stop.

“Y/N?” Donatello’s voice is incredibly soft. “Are you alright?”

You do not answer. Your throat feels like it is filled with sand.

“Oh, right.” You feel the mattress shift under you. “You—right.” He clears his throat. “You, uh, probably want to know what happened, right?”

You find yourself in between sleep and consciousness. You do not exactly understand what he’s saying, but his voice is pleasant to listen to.

“Mikey carried you back,” he explains. “He said you started talking about Chris Bradford working for The Shredder and collapsed.” A pause. “Leo thought it would be a good idea to go take him down since he already spilled the beans.”

‘You aren’t helping.’ “Everyone got out alright.” He is writing something. “We don’t know how much Shredder knows or how he found us; Master Splinters said that the war has just begun or something to that effect.” He pauses again. His voice is almost hesitant now. “If you spoke, I’d ask how…how this ends, who wins the day.” He chuckles dryly. “Now that I say it out loud, I guess it’s pretty clear that you wouldn’t tell me, would you? Rightfully so, I guess; I don’t know exactly how that sort of information might change things. Still,” he sighs, “it is so… so frustrating, having information just out of reach, especially for someone like me. But you—… you probably know that too, don’t you?”

It is not as if you can refute what he says.

He clears his throat. “A-anyways,” he rambled, voice tight with awkwardness, “sorry for ranting. This would be totally embarrassing if you weren’t so clearly incapable of coherent thought.” You hear the shuffling of paper. “As far as your health is concerned,” he continues, “without being able to take a blood test for obvious reasons, I can only conclude based on a totally-not-creepy physical exam that you’re just incredibly malnourished and exhausted. I don’t really have anything to actually prescribe you, but ya know… eat. Drink, too; just perform basic bodily functions.”

He looks down at you from his seat at the foot of his bed, your eyes having fluttered shut again. “I…” he took a breath, starting again. “Remember what you said the other day? About me being able to kill you with my bare hands?” He looks back over at the line of code he is working on, ignoring the minute shaking in his hands. “I remember… do I kill someone?” He swallows, eyes focusing on the letters in front of him. “I can’t really imagine it, why I’d want to.” He covers his face with his hands. “I know I’m a ninja, but it’s just—” He feels his voice start to rise. His eyes focus on your sleeping face; he calms back down for your sake. His words are slow and deliberate. “I always thought that we were doing all this for a fight we’d never have, that we would never have to do something like that, because… well, I don’t remember why, but I just—…” His voice dies in his throat.

‘Staring at her like this is creepy.’ He stands up, gathering his things. ‘You can’t get yourself worked up over something like this. You just met her, and your hesitance is not anyone’s problem but yourself.’ “Just…” Despite himself, he mumbles out a soft plea. “Please, don’t let me do something stupid.” He does not know who he’s talking to

He slips out of the room.

You would not remember this happened.

He would.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

[slywrites]

Best Two Out of Three (CH. 1)- Leon Kennedy/Reader

Here it is my first Leon Kennedy fic!!! You can read chapter one below or on AO3. (I’ll be posting chapter two later on this week or early next week)

Set right after the ending of RE2 Remake you, Claire, Leon, and Sherry come across a lone motel with a generous owner who gives you two rooms for the night. One for Claire and Sherry, one for you and Leon. Only there's a single bed and a lot of emotions to overcome...

Based on the imagine from imagineleonkennedy on tumblr "Imagine Leon making love at 21, not super experienced yet, he gets shy and is a little clumsy. But very respectful and honest, and a fast learner."

Warnings: Strong Language, Cannon typical violence

A motel was a fucking blessing after the hell you, Claire, Leon, and young Sherry went through. The outside wasn’t too shabby, a lot better than what you expected in the literal middle of nowhere.

Really anything was better than Racoon City.

The lady at the front desk was more than understanding considering you all were covered head to toe in blood, guts, and smelled like a sewer. She also heard that you were from Racoon City and her eyes went wide. It was on the news, she said, that there was a terrorist attack. A pipe exploded. Many excuses and no one could confirm nor deny those allegations. It was too early to tell what exactly happened, or why. It was only a few hours ago you left the city on foot. The sun was just setting then and now the moon replaced it as you stood in the lobby. All you knew was you had to kill many infected people, but you weren’t about to tell this nice lady that.

She just handed you the keys and said it’s on the house. As you left towards your two rooms, she mentioned she’d bring you some extra clothes and towels. It was hard to believe that there were good people in the world after what you all went through.

Sherry and Claire took one room and you and Leon in the other.

A single king bed in each room, with a door in the middle to join the rooms together. For the moment it was left open.

Neither you or Leon acknowledged the single bed in the room.

You all were exhausted, but the thought of a shower powered through the intense need to pass out at this very moment. To be clean again, to wash away the horrors. It sounded magical.

A light knock on the door startled you. Instinctively you raised your pistol to the door, adrenaline pumped through your veins. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leon do the same. He nodded to you, and you returned the gesture. You both moved together, guns pointed at the door. Leon peered through the peephole and saw the lady from the front desk. You watched Leon relax and unlock the door.

He mumbled a thank you and closed the door. A pile of fresh clean towels and what looks to be sweatpants and shirts in his hands. Leon held them at a distance to not get them dirty against his blood-soaked police uniform. He set the clothes on the table.

“Who gets to go first?” He asked.

You holster your pistol, put the chain lock on the door and slide the deadbolt, “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Leon let out a little laugh, “Fine. But , best two out of three.”

You two squared up in the middle of the room. You leaned into a pose, as you tried to be as dramatic as possible. Leon mirrored you, as he extended his balled fist resting in his palm. A smile spread across your face at how stupid you two looked being this dramatic over a simple game to take a shower.

You won back to back. You did a victory dance and laughed at the pouty face Leon put on.

“I can’t wait to be clean! As for you , sit at one of those chairs. Can’t have you dirtying up our bed.” You sing-song as you skip over to the bathroom.

“I’ll make sure to lay all over your side while you’re in there,” he smirked.

“Leon Kennedy, don’t you dare ! Don’t make me get Claire to watch you like a hawk.”

Leon put his hands up in defense, “I won’t do anything.”

You shot him the meanest look you could, and all he did was stifle a laugh. You watched as he took a seat at the table and started to remove his boots, just to make sure he was going to keep his word.

You shut the bathroom door. You sat on the edge of the tub to strip your shoes and socks. It felt like years since you last showered, which in reality was only a day ago. Your feet were covered in a slick layer of grim, probably from the foot or two of sewer water you and Leon waded through. Honestly, you wanted to toss the shoes, but the front desk lady didn’t give you an extra pair. You’d have to survive till you got back home if there was still home .

That’s when it hit you. At the most inopportune time. There was only one bed in the room. It was the last thing on your mind. The sweet call of the shower drew the realization out of your mind. That would mean you’d have to share. You could always pop into the other room with the girls. It was a king bed and you were sure all three of you would fit.

I’m being ridiculous, you chided to yourself.

You continued to strip from the blood-soaked and torn clothing, the reality of what you experienced came to the forefront of your thoughts instead. Your mind went into autopilot as you turned the water on to the hottest setting and waited for it to heat up. A particular corner of the shower caught your attention, and you couldn’t help but focus on it. The day's events replayed in your mind like a fucked up horror movie.

It was just a normal day, then all of a sudden it wasn’t . The screams from outside the precinct, as you helped lock the gates. You couldn’t help those people who you swore you would protect. Watching as they were being attacked by other people with some crazy bloodlust you’ve never seen or heard of before. Then the precinct .

Fuck .

The steam from the shower made it hard to breathe. The hand that was under the water started to turn red from the heat. You didn’t even register the pain till it was too late.

You adjusted the water and stepped in. The dirt, blood, and God knows what washed away from you. You watched as it spiraled down the drain. Once the water finally became clear as it washed over you, you grabbed the travel size shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You lathered up your hair first, trying to not go back down the rabbit hole you were in moments ago.

But the rabbit hole was the only thing you could see in your mind. You’d have to face the reality of what you did. What Leon and Claire did. What happened to Racoon City, a place you just started to call home. What the fuck were you supposed to do now?

Tears spilled out of your eyes and blended in with the water that cascaded down your face. You brought your hand to your mouth and choked back a sob that shot through your whole body. The shock made your knees wobble sending you crashing to the cool porcelain of the tub. Your back collided with the wall and the air left your lungs in a gargled gasp.

Instantly, there was a loud knock on the door.

Leon’s voice was muffled by the water and the door but it was the only thing you could focus on, “ Are you okay? What happened? ”

You sat up, light-headed. You were barely able to shut the water off.

“ Yeah ,” your voice shook, “I’m fine, just tired and ...and I slipped.”

“Do- do you need help…. or …” Leon left the question hanging awkwardly, “I could get Claire..”

You laughed, “No I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

You curled your knees up to your chest. You just needed a moment. The tears still fell, silently. Sooner or later you’d have to get up. You’d have to keep moving forward.

The bathroom started to feel suffocating as you absentmindedly stood and wrapped a towel around your body. You were greedy and wrapped your hair in another. You pushed your dirty clothes onto the ground and just left them there too tired to give a shit about it.

The cool handle of the doorknob brought you back to reality for a second. You turned to look at the mirror that was still fogged over. With a swipe, you looked at your eyes to see if they were as bloodshot as you imagined. Fuck , they were. Oh well.

Your eyes gazed over the bathroom. Shit, you left your clothes on the table. You shook your head, you didn’t want to try and get Leon to get your change of clothes. With a sigh, you’d just have to go out there.

You pulled the door open and walked out. Leon sat at the edge of the single chair in the room and shot up as soon as he saw you. A deep blush flushed his cheeks as he averted his gaze.

What a cute boy, you smiled. You held the towel closer to your body.

“It’s all yours,” you smiled.

You stepped towards Leon and he immediately froze. He stood in front of the table where the extra set of clothes laid.

You bit your lip to hide the smile. You feared if he saw it he’d turn into a tomato. With a step, you grabbed the clothes and sat at the edge of the bed.

Leon let out a strained cough and mumbled he was going to shower.

Once he closed the door you let out a small laugh. He’s too cute for his own good.

You shook your head and looked at the pile of clothes. An oversized plain blue t-shirt, black sweats, and some holiday socks. It wasn’t ideal, and not your size but it was way better than the alternative. No underwear though.  

You’d have to see if the hotel had a laundry room. Though your old clothes were more than likely trash, if you were to face…those things again you didn’t want to get caught because of your oversized shirt.

A shiver shot through your spine as flashes of fighting and surviving  came to the forefront yet again. More tears brimmed in your eyes and you let out a shuddered breath. Before a tear could drop your attention was brought to the bathroom door. Your brows furrowed as you heard Leon singingin the bathroom. You didn’t recognize the song, you weren’t even sure he was saying any real worlds. But it was the change in his voice that brought you back . Leon was more wholesome than you’d ever expected from the rookie cop.

You smelled the clothes and they were divine. The fresh linen scent was so foreign to you it felt almost illegal to smell something this nice. You stood. Your body is freshly clean and dry from sitting on the bed. You dropped the towel to the ground, slipping into the sweats and shirt. This felt like a lazy Sunday attire as you laid out on the bed.

A light knock on the adjoining doors made you turn. Claire stood in an outfit similar to yours and you laughed. Though her hair laid damp on her shoulders, finally being free of her ponytail.

“Look, we’re twins,” you said.

“Not a bad look, right?” She smiled, “How are you holding up?”

You gave her a flash of your teeth in what you hoped was a smile, “I’m okay. I could sleep for a week!”

Claire nodded, “I was just coming in to say goodnight actually, Sherry’s already in bed fast asleep.”

“Oh, good idea. We’ll probably do the same, Leon’s still in the shower.”

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Tell Leon I said goodnight.”

“Will do Claire, night.”

Claire gave you a small wave and shut the door with a silent click.

You stared at the closed space and moved to lay back down on your back. The shower just turned off meaning it was closer and closer that you and Leon would have to share a bed. It wasn’t a big deal right? You both were exhausted, both needed some rest. And the bed was a king, plenty of room for both of you to stretch out and not touch each other.

Why were you thinking about touching each other?

You couldn't rid your mind of that thought quick enough as Leon exited the bathroom in just a towel wrapped around his waist. Water still dripped from his hair as it cascaded down his bare chest drawing your eyes to how toned he was. Your eyes were drawn to the bruises that peppered his torso and the large wound on his left arm that needed to be rebandaged. The old one is still tight on his arm, though wet now.

Leon clearly flushed at you blatantly staring at his chest. He moved his weight from one foot to another unsure what to do, then he coughed and moved towards his clothes on the table.

“I-I forgot these, um I’m just going to-” He didn’t finish his sentence as he turned back to the bathroom.

You wanted to smack yourself for staring like an idiot. Now it was going to be awkward , great!  

You sighed and quickly called the front desk to ask if they had a first aid kit. The lovely lady who gave you the clothes said her son will be up in a minute. And she wasn’t wrong. The knock was light and you jumped up to get the door. You quietly thanked him and bid him goodnight.

Leon was still in the bathroom probably dying from embarrassment as you had moments ago. You sat at the edge of the bed and laid out the contents of the first aid kit. After a few more minutes, Leon peaked his head out of the bathroom. He saw your attention was on the bed and made his way out.

You looked up, “We need to change that bandage, Leon.”

He looked down at the yellow bandage that Ada had put on.

“You’re right.”

“I try to be, come sit,” you smile and pat the open bed next to you.

Leon obliged and sat down. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt just like you. He pointed his left shoulder towards you.

You rolled up the sleeve and started to undo the bandage. “You could have taken this off you know, and cleaned the wound while you were showering.”

“I didn’t want to mess with it…” he replied quietly, almost unsure of himself.

You bit your lip, you wanted to scold him but decided against it. You let the rest of the old tattered bandage fall to the floor. Dried up blood and dirt-stained his skin. Poor thing.

“Stay here,” you got up and moved to the bathroom.

You grabbed an extra washcloth and soaked it under some warm water. You rang out the extra and walked back to the bed. As carefully and gently as you could you cleaned up the area around the wound first. Leon winced a little when you got too close to the bullet wound.

“You’re lucky it went all the way through,” you mentioned, “I don’t think we’d find a good doctor back in Racoon City.”

Leon hummed his lip stuck between his teeth, biting down to not make a sound. You finished with the washcloth then moved to the alcohol and cotton swabs that were necessary for the actual wound. You doubted Ada was able to clean the wound before wrapping it, especially in the sewer. Leon only briefly talked about it when you brought it up. You two got separated. You were alone, trying to find your way to either Leon or Claire. You couldn’t even imagine the horror he faced down there, even though you saw the same disaster yourself.

You dampened one cotton ball with some antiseptic and started cleaning around the wound. Leon held back a cry of pain as his body tensed up.

“ Sorry ,” you murmured.  

“It’s not your fault,” he breathed.

“I know, it won’t take me long. Promise.”

Leon nodded his head and you kept your promise. You quickly cleaned the entrance and exit of the wound. Luckily it stopped bleeding long ago. Leon would have to see a real doctor at some point, but you could easily stitch the wound together for now.

You threaded the needle that came in the first aid kit. You set the needle on the bed and grabbed some numbing cream. First, you snapped on a glove and ripped open the packet to rub the cream around the wound.

“This will help,” you reassured him.

Once you were done, you let the cream settle in first before starting. You gathered the gross bandages, and trash from the bed to throw away in the trashcan across the room.

“How are you doing?” You asked as you took your position back on the bed.

“I’ve been better,” Leon looked at the wound then to you and tilted his head to the side, “I think it’s working.”

You picked up the needle and pushed it into his skin and threaded the entrance shut. You were not about to tell Leon that this was the first time you’d ever given someone stitches. You had practiced once in a medical class a long time ago but that was on fake skin, never a real human. Though you only practiced, you still were able to stitch him up well enough to last until you could see a real doctor. You did the same with the exit and it was all done. Not expert craftsmanship by any means, but he’d survive and his arm wouldn’t need to be amputated.

You took out a large bandage and removed the sticky backing to cover the front, and did the same to the back. He wouldn’t need his arm wrapped like before, the two large patches should suffice.

“ And… All done,” you smiled at your handiwork.

Leon glanced at it, his fingers ran over the stitches beneath the bandage. Then he rolled the sleeve down to cover it easily.

“Thank you,” He smiled.

“Anytime,” you nodded.

Slowly you packed up the first aid kit. You got up and sat it on the table.

“Are you ready for bed?” You asked.

Leon’s eyes moved from his newly patched shoulder to you, and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, you?”

“Yup,” you smiled then you looked to the bed.

The dread from your shower started to rise in your chest.

“Uh-Do you care what side…?” Leon asked he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

You forced a laugh and walked up to the left side, “I guess I’ll take this one, it doesn’t matter to me. Does it matter to you?”

“No! No , not at all,” he pulled the covers back.

You nod and do the same. You both lay down in your respective sides and pull the covers over yourself. Before you fully laid down, you leaned over and turned off the light on the side table.

“Goodnight,” you said as you laid your head on the soft pillow.

“Goodnight,” he replied, the exhaustion evident in his voice.

You faced the wall, away from Leon acting like you were some school girl instead of two consenting adults sharing a bed after surviving literal hell only hours ago. You wanted to slap yourself over your reaction but you were too tired to even care. You snuggled into the pillow and willed yourself to sleep.

[zombieratt]

Alright so forewarning this is LONG as FUCK specifically because i came up with this idea in early high school and was just today POSESSEd By the Spirit Of Musical Theatre to put it to paper— er Tumblr.

So without further ado:

DEAR EVAN HANSEN BUT EVAN ISNT A TERRIBLE PERSON AND CONNOR LIVES.

the beginning is the same, canon diverges just after waving through a window.

*this ended up getting written is script format? i also just sorta ignore alana’s whole exsistance bc in this version of the play she’s unnecessary*

In the moments before he talks to Connor evan decides to omit Zoe from his letter, having resolved himself to move on from her. (instead of being a hella creep.)

Connor: “dear Evan Hansen,” what are you writing letters to yourself? *he laughs*

Evan: its, uh, its for my therapist. its just a stupid little assignment that she says is supposed to help me process my feelings or— uh or something

Connor: hm. here. * hands Evan the letter*

Connor: your cast. no one’s signed it.

Evan: uh no. no one has.

Connor: gotta sharpie?

Evan: huh?

Connor: gotta sharpie? im gonna sign it.

Evan: *handing the sharpie to Connor* w- whuh uh why?

Connor: *shrugs* feels right.

Evan: i wish i could do that

Connor: what?

Evan: UH, IMEAN—

Connor: no wait- dude.

Evan: i mean uh, i meant that i wish i could just be, y’know impulsive like that.

Connor: Why Cant you be?

Evan: i uh, my heads pretty messed up, and stuff like that just, makes it worse i guess.

Connor: well theres some thing we have in common— were both fucked up in the head.

*the bell rings*

Evan: oh shoot! i missed the bus—

Connor: i’ll give you a ride.

Evan: are you sure i mean i can walk its not far-

Connor: all the more reason, i probably have to pass it on my way home anyway, cmon.

——

they meet Zoe in the parking lot

Zoe: I have Late practice today

Connor: whatever, gotta passenger.

Zoe: who the fuck would be crazy enough to trust your ability to drive?

Evan *being Brave*: Me Apparently?

Zoe: Uh, Evan Right?

Evan: yeah, uh, yeah.

Zoe *holding her hand out to be shaken*: i’m Zoe, we’ve met though right?

Evan wipes his hand on his shirt and shakes it: yeah, uh, nice to formally meet you, Zoe.

Zoe: i’m off, don’t kill him stoner.

Connor: i wont Princess

Evan breathing heavy: that was,, an eventful ten minutes.

Connor: oh fuck— you cool? or—

Evan: Panic Attack.

Connor: Right, uh

Connor: can you get in the car?

Evan: yeah

*car nonsense*

Connor: Can i start driving or do you want me to wait

Evan: Distractions are good,, Can Uh, Can you Talk about Stuff?

Connor: What stuff!??

Evan: any Stuff!

Connor: Is Zoe okay??

Evan: Sure?!

Connor: Uhh we don’t get along as well as we used to?

we were really close as kids, shes a huge asshole now but *fully venting now*

i kind of miss it you know? having someone to talk to and care about— and i still care about her— but its scary and i always fuck it up! not to mention the fact that our parents hate me— make her see me as some alien and not just a fucked up kid who wants to talk and — (more ranting that i dont feel like writing, but its a whole monologue bro)

Evan: Connor

Connor snaps his mouf shut: yeah

Evan: thanks

Connor: oh that, uh actually helped?

Evan: yeah focusing on your voice and whats real and stuff— it makes a difference.

Neither of them noticed that Connor was just sort of Driving. they end up at the park where in canon Connor commits Sewer-slide.

Evan: i didn’t know there was a park here.

Connor: huh, oh, yeah i guess i just sorta auto piloted, i come here to think.

Evan: About stuff?

Connor: Yeah, Stuff.

*the convo lulls*

Connor: do you have a laptop?

Evan: no, i uh, i left it at home? why?

Connor: give me a second

Connor walks to the car and grabs his back pack out of the back seat

Evan watches Quizzically from the swing-set

Connor pulls out a Sketch Pad and Pen, flipping to a clean page.

Connor: So tell me how to write one of those letters of yours.

Evan: uh, well you start like any other letter- just addressing it to yourself

Connor writing: Dear Connor Murphy,

Evan: and uh, my first one was supposed to be about my ideal summer vacation? since i started in middle school- but you don’t have to—

Connor: thats perfect.

Connor starts to sing for forever,

eventually Evan joins in there is a minor gay moment where they’re holding hands face to face.

the song ends with Connor hugging Evan.

Evan: its- its pretty late.

Connor obviously crying: just— just a couple more minutes.

Evan lets go and grabs Connors sketch book of the ground, closing it and handing it off to him: then how about this, labor day weekend- we actually go.

Connor: what are you talking about?

Evan: being spontaneous?

Connor: o-okay.

and it cuts to black.

theres a small montage here, as the set changes to Connor and Evans bedrooms

sincerely, me is a lament in this context, Connor and Evan are duetting from their respective rooms, writing to themselves.

(the lyrics are completely different and i will not be writing them here because thats too much fucking effort.

but they’re duetting from their bedrooms about making a connection to another person, feeling seen, for the first time. what it felt like and how they really want to keep it up but are afraid of making a mistake and ruining it.

its got some themes of waving thru a window, and a little bit of for forever, but its still largely the same notes just in a different key.)

after wards, Zoe knocks on Connors door to tell him dinner is ready to find him peacefully asleep.

requiem is the same, Zoe sees Connor as Dead to Her instead of actually dead, so some of the wording changes, so and so about how a monster doesn’t deserve peaceful rest etcetera.

school day happens, Connor doesn’t die, but the hot goss is that everyone saw Connor and Evan go home together after school, jared makes a shitty homophobic joke to Evan and Evan kind of tells him off about it. they argue and it culminates in Evan saying “well god forbid I’m friends with someone who isn’t YOU!” or smth like tht and it hits jared right the fuck at home man.

Connor says from the side lines: damn that was pretty hard core dude.

Evan: you have, no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that.

Connor honest to god l a u g h s, theres a number of people who hear it and lose their shit, Zoe being one of them: i have a pretty good idea, wanna get some lunch?

Evan: yeah, sure.

this general routine continues until labor day weekend, when they plan to go on their little escape. theres a short scene of Connor leaving the house with his keys and a backpack.

Connors mom confronts Zoe about his oddly upbeat attitude and hows he’s seemed differently lately Zoe Shrugs but decides to investigate his room.

she finds the letters. the first one is for forever, the theme plays as she reads it frantically, and is signed “Sincerely me (connor murphy)” so she knows its him, i f i could tell her begins but its a real duet between Connor and Zoe and at the end she resolves to try harder to connect to him.

Evan sings disappear to Connor after breaking into a formerly public park, in this context its him confessing that he broke his arm attempting su!c!de. Connor records it, for personal reference.

jared hacks Connors phone and steals the video, posting it to yt, in an effort to ruin their friendship.

Evan and Connor get in a little fight about it, and in the meantime Evan is called to the school to give an assembly because hes a phenomenal speaker and Disappear got like 1000000 views over night.

Zoe and Connor bond a little bit in a short scene before the assembly

Zoe: wheres Evan what happened?

Connor: Kleinman Did!

Zoe: what?

Connor: Why Do you care?

Zoe: because! you look happy around him!

Connor: i, i do?

Zoe: yeah? he could tell the worst joke ever written and you’d crack up. i haven’t heard you laugh like that in years Connor, maybe ever.

Connor: oh.

Zoe: Come back inside?

Connor: y, Yeah.

they all perform You Will Be Found together.

end act 1.

(no more dialogue from here i got tired)

to break in a glove is Connor’s dad trying to reconnect with him, it goes mediocrely, but Connor feels like hes being seen by his dad for the first time in years. its said in metaphors, but this is Connors dads way of saying that if Connor is willing to put in the work, so is he. they hug at the end, things are looking up. some talk of therapy is sprinkiled in the dialogue as they walk of stage together.

Only Us is Evan and Connor saying that they saved each other. its loosely romantic, as its a love song, but they don’t out right say that they’re in love or anything, they don’t know if theyre ready for that. its a promise. the song ends with Connor finally apologizing for pushing Evan over at the beginning of the show.

good for you is sung by jared only, as a power ballad, about losing people you didn’t treasure. its his attempt at an apology, but it ultimately fails, since jared is unable to take responsibility for his own actions. this is where jared and Evan go their separate ways.

Evan’s mom comforts him, as he sings words fail, which is about specifically jared, and how their rocky friendship is ruined and Evan pegs himself as the cause, instead of parents or perfect girl he uses metaphors that apply to best friends— maybe more. and talks about how he didn’t try, he was happy so he ignored that jared was hurting, and how that was really shitty of him. but instead of it being a generally somber song the end is lighter, because Connor is there— waving through his front window.

Evans mom sings So Big/So Small as Evan steps out the front door to embrace Connor and they mime talking about jared, hug and take hands. the house moves off stage in preparation for the finale.

Connor and Evan open the finale saying each others names, and sing it together as the test of the cast (minus jared) joins in, Evans mom taking his hand and Zoe Taking Connors, Evans mom the Murphys and Zoe break off to the back where Evan and Connor finish the final “all i see is sky for forever” while looking into each others eyes, and finish the musical by embracing (maybe kissing if thats ur jam).

[unicyclehippo]

Prompt~ since the crush-reveal nott has been watching more closely and can see the cracks in beau’s facade (Also sidenote love love love your work mate sending good vibes from across the ditch ☺️)

ay mate, all good vibes yeah? how’s it hangin?

//

‘that went well, i think!’

jester. nott would’ve guessed it came from her even if the words hadn’t been so distinctively painted by her accent. they’re not just optimistic, cheerful; in the face of the absolute shit show - literally - that just went down here in the sewers beneath the city, it’s borderline pathological to be so optimistic. unless, of course, the person were jester and they were lying through their teeth in an effort to cheer up their friends.

‘yeah,’ beau calls from where she’s leaned against the slimed walls. she doesn’t seem to notice the slime, or maybe it just doesn��t matter when she’s already kinda coated in shit. ‘definitely could’ve gone worse.’

‘how?’ fjord groans.

‘one of us could’ve died.’

‘okay, good point, fair point. help me up?’

it’s hard to hear over fjord’s whining, but nott thinks she hears a wheeze, a stifled little something from beau when she offers him a hand, hauls him to his feet.

‘you good?’

‘no need for the tone,’ fjord grumbles, drops her hand, wiping the slime onto slime covered pants. ‘i didn’t see you half drowned to distract the fucking thing.’

beau grins a crooked grin, red staining between her teeth. ‘it had two heads, fjord. you know that, right?’

his shoulders slump. ‘so i didn’t even distract it. great.’

‘i mean. you distracted half of it,’

‘super. super great. just what i wanted to hear. great. count on you, beau,’ he says with a mocking little wag of his finger, ‘to give it to me honestly. nothing but blunt fucking honesty from you, eh?’

if she weren’t watching as closely as she is, nott would miss the flash of guilt and confusion and, so so fast nott almost think she imagines it, hurt. and then beau is shaking her head, clapping him on the shoulder.

‘shut the fuck up,’ she laughs. ‘un-poison yourself, oh paladin. cad looks like he’s two seconds from begging to heal you, go on.’

‘huh? oh—hey caduceus, would you?’

with jester tending to caleb and yasha, and caduceus with fjord, nott sidles up beside beau.

‘he didn’t mean it,’ she finds herself saying.

‘huh?’

‘fjord. that whole honesty thing,’

‘yeah he did.’ beau doesn’t look upset that nott was trying to lie; if anything, she looks amused. ‘it’s fine, it’s whatever. he’s not wrong.’

‘hmm.’

‘what hmm?’

‘nothing, nothing.’

beau sighs. ‘i’m not in the mood for guessing games. say what you wanna say or go fawn over caleb.’

‘i’ll go make sure he’s okay, definitely,’ nott corrects her.

‘great. go on.’

‘in a moment. are you okay?’

‘i’m fine,’ beau lies. she shifts. hisses. clutches to her side and as the fabric shifts, nott can see the great claw marks in her flesh.

it’s strange, to be privy to beau’s weakness. not that being injured is a weakness, gods know every one of them has been close to or over that line before. but beau never shows it if she can help it. it almost fills nott with a weird sense of pride, knowing that beau sort of trusts her of all people; and then it makes nott’s stomach drop down down down so fast she’s sick with it and her hands come up, to defend, to fight, to fix whatever she can.

‘holy shit! beau,’

‘it’s fine,’

‘no it’s not! that’s the opposite of fine!’ nott shrieks.

beau clamps a hand over nott’s mouth, careful of the teeth. ‘shut up! do you want to attract more of those things?’

nott shakes her off. pitches her voice low again. ‘you’re fully two centimetres from being fully gutted! that’s not fine! that’s like saying a cyclone is fine weather! that’s like saying avantika was pleasant! that’s like-‘ beau waits for a third analogy, vaguely expectant and even more vaguely amused. ‘you need to get that healed.’

‘it’s fine,’ beau insists. ‘i’m still on my feet, aren’t i?’ she takes a few steps, hands spread wide as if to say, see? ‘besides, cad does his best healing when we’re unconcious.’

‘so you’re, what? just gonna wait until something knocks you down?’

‘i mean,’ beau shrugs. ‘yeah.’

‘that’s stupid.’

‘gee.’

‘no, i mean it, that’s a terrible idea.’ judging from the way beau’s eyes slide away to the side, away from nott’s prying stare, she knows it too. ‘are you punishing yourself for som-‘

‘no,’ beau snaps.

nott squints and stares and slowly nods. ‘alright. i believe that. then why?’

her cheek ticks, jaw clenching. when it happens again, nott realises that the girl is chewing on the inside of her cheek. it’s weird for that to be the thing that does it but the gesture is oddly familiar, reminds her of a young and nervous veth, and staring up at this girl literally covered in shit and blood, face pale beneath the muck, nott realises again that beau is all of twenty something and, as far as she knows, has had shit all in her life until the nein came along. nott can understand that, to a degree, but she at least had had her family and her husband until the goblins took her away.

‘they’ve got limited spells,’ beau says. ‘i keep track of this shit. tactics, y’know.’

‘so you’re playing the sacrificial knight, are you?’

‘i don’t intend to die,’ beau scoffs. ‘i’m just making sure that when we actually need a heal, there’s one for us.’

nott narrows her eyes. ‘you’re worth a heal, beau.’

‘that’d be a first.’ beau didn’t mean to say it. nott can tell by the way she flinches, then winces. she reaches toward nott. ‘don’t - you can’t - i didn’t mean that,’

‘i won’t tell a soul,’ nott promises. ‘if you ask her to heal you right now.’

‘nott,’

‘you’re of no use to us dead. go on now. shoo, shoo,’

//

she’d nearly forgotten about the shit monster and her sudden shitty understanding of the girl a few weeks later when it became increasingly clear they would have to head to kamordah.

beau had disappeared partway through the revelry of another job well done for a lovely amount of coin, and it isn’t until the wee hours that she returns, a fat lip and bloody knuckles the only sign of what she might’ve been up to.

nott sets her tankard down with a thump, watches as beau’s human eyes try to peer through the darkness to find her.

‘have fun, did you?’

‘nott.’

‘detective nott brenatto,’

‘that’s new,’

‘trying it out,’ nott tells her, words and fear of it mellowed a little by the sweet and very ineffective mead she’s been drinking. ‘get it all out of your system?’

beau slides onto the stool next to her. presses a brutal thumb to the split skin on her first knuckle. ‘most of it.’

‘wanna talk about it?’

‘nothing to talk about.’

‘wow. wow. lying to your best friend. i get it. wow.’ nott allows herself a small victory smile when the comment makes beau snort. ‘kamordah, huh.’

beau goes still as a statue. casts a sideways look nott’s way, who catches it, a raised brow her only reply.

‘i’m scared,’ she says.

nott barely contains a flinch. seeing it, knowing it, is one thing. beau saying it is quite another. ‘i’ll kill him for you, if you want. just say the word.’

beau snorts again. reaches over the bar top for a mug—not seeming to care whether it’s clean or dirty—and from a wine skin on her hip she pours herself a glass. it smells like the worst wine, a copper a barrel type casked wine, and beau drinks it down like it’s fresh water in a desert.

when she speaks, her voice is a little hoarse and nott doesn’t know whether that’s from the wine only a step above acid, or because she really doesn’t want to say what she’s saying.

‘it’s not him. it’s me.’

‘right. i’ll believe that never.’

beau treats her to one of those rare smiles, the actual nice ones. not the ones she practices with fjord but the real ones. a little awkward, a little crooked. jester smiles, nott has been thinking of them as, since she only smiles like that for jester. nott’s eyes gleam as she takes in the rarity, tucks it away mentally with the rest of her treasured items.

‘i don’t mean he’s not an asshole. he is. i’m just—‘ she swipes her fingers in a ring of whatever liquor has been left on the counter, drags the circle outwards into two horns and a little tail. ‘i’ve been trying really fuckin’ hard to be better or whatever, leave every place better than we found it, and—‘

‘you don’t think you can do that there.’

beau shrugs. ‘i don’t want to.’

nott hums in sympathy. ducks a little to take in the entirety of beau’s scowl. ‘that doesn’t make you an asshole, you realise.’

‘kinda does. if i’m picking and choosing the places i get to leave better.’

nott considers that for a minute. then sighs, reaches up to pat beau’s shoulder. ‘mollymauk was a lot of things,’ she says, ‘and he talked a lot of shit. but he was a good guy.’

‘yeah. he was.’

‘and i think if he were here, and listening to this, he’d say fuck that place.’ her vehemence startles a laugh out of beau, brings a little glint to clouded eyes. ‘fuck that place, fuck thoreau, and fuck kamordah. you’re one of the mighty fucking nein! you’re the only thing in kamordah worth a damn thing! and if you want us to burn the place to the ground, we’ll fuckin’ do it!’

‘the wine is actually really good, and pretty expensive,’

‘okay, well, steal the wine first and then burn it to the ground. i can improvise, i can adapt.’

beau shakes her head, laughs again. it’s a snotty laugh and nott doesnt bring attention to it, or her suspiciously wet eyes.

‘thanks. i’ll keep it in mind.’

‘you do that.’ nott pats her hand. jumps down off her stool. ‘see you in the morning.’

‘yeah. see you.’

[billhaderlovebot]

beep beep (3) - richie tozier.

(how fucking babey is this man?? i??? hhhh???)

@ceruleanrainblues @the-star-above-you @a-second-hand-sorrow

ok! so! some like, violence type stuff? some fluff, some angst, richie being babey, bad language, sex references. here we go lesbians.

---

it had taken richie everything in him not to break when he had returned from the arcade. not to just unravel in front of you and let himself go.

but he didn't. he couldn't.

and he couldn't, now, either.

when pennywise, with gnarled, elongated hands and fingers that almost looked barbed, lifted you from the ground.

ripped you from richie's arms and held you struggling in the air.

"always the hardest to scare." It said, and you groaned in discomfort as It's hot breath fanned the back of your neck, its clawed, twisted hand tightening around your waist. "always the fighter."

"you get the fuck off of her, right the fuck now." richie gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists. yeah, he was probably going to throw up.

--

richie loved you.

obviously.

he had loved you every single day of his life since he was fourteen fucking years old. every single day.

he knew, now, staring at you, your body curled around his protectively even though you were so much smaller, that his wretched heart would continue to love you for every moment of the rest of his life (plus two or three weeks, for good measure.)

often, when you were kids and you'd nap together in his bed because his parents were out (they were always out) and you needed to be near each other, he would fall asleep after you, just so he could lay awake and watch you breathe. watch you exist so serenely and look so fucking soft in his arms that he could have cried. you looked frightfully vulnerable when you were asleep, though, which always bothered him.

now, years later, you were no different. breaths coming slow and warm and ghosting across the crook of his neck where you had buried your face. so small. so vulnerable.

richie subconsciously held you a little tighter.

he would do anything for you, good lord.

even if it killed him.

you'd been asleep for about a half hour, but richie couldn't drift off.

richie hadn't told you about his artefact because the guilt that came with it sat on his chest like a fucking dumbbell. guilt, because he hadn't told you something very, very important.

you were not his first love.

but eddie kaspbrak was.

and he was guilty. guilty because he had moved on and because he had hidden such a huge part of his life from you. you, who wasn't his first love, but would undoubtedly be his last.

you, who was the love of his life.

eddie had been the first person he'd ever felt any sort of love for. when they were young, before you, and eddie would obsessively straighten the collars of his hawaiian shirts and clean his glasses for him and put band-aids on cuts and scrapes and used curse words that rivalled his own. eddie was the only one to care about him when his parents didn't. richie loved him so, so much and it had awakened a part of him he'd been ashamed of ever since.

it had been a sort of relief when he had met you, really, because he could pass himself off to the world as a normal guy with a normal girlfriend and a normal life. normal.

and oh, how he would do anything for you.

the girl who swore like a fucking sailor and held him tight and got so stoned she couldn't walk while listening to the cure on her portable radio. you'd been his distraction, to begin with, but he found himself falling fast and hard for you.

it scared him, how much he loved you. he'd never fallen so hard. he'd never given so much of himself to another person, bearing his soul to you because you were the only person he wanted to see it.

he'd come to you for solace and comfort, and had ended up loving you so much that nothing else mattered to him. and the day he'd kissed you in the clubhouse was perhaps the best decision of his life. the towering tsunami that was his love for you, crashing over him in almost overwhelming waves, kept him going for two fucking decades.

there was a smaller wave, though, too. smaller, but potent, lapping at his ankles and reminding him that he was not, by any stretch of the imagination, as normal as he wanted to be. as normal as he willed himself to be. because... he loved you, but once upon a time, he had loved eddie kaspbrak. so much.

he had carved your initials onto the kissing bridge the same day he had kissed you for the first time, bigger, and far away from eddie's, as if it would erase what had used to be.

it couldn't erase it, of course. erase what was, and always would be, a part of him.

richie tozier was...

he was different.

and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why it had happened to him. he had always been told it was wrong.

wrong, wrong, wrong. run, you fucking fairy.

and he had run. so fucking far. even now, when his job was to be controversial, he couldn't fucking say it. he could think of nothing more controversial than being b...

than liking both.

i mean, he could, but after years of being told how fucking weird and perverted and wrong it was by people who didn't even know him, he expected a certain reaction. richie glanced over to his jacket hanging on the back of the door, where the arcade token sat in the pocket. well, fuck.

you stirred a few minutes later, looking up at him with sleepy eyes and a tired smile, and, in that moment, everything was okay.

he kissed you, then. softly. ever so softly and almost like he was afraid you would break.

"what was that for?" you asked after he pulled away, heat rushing to your cheeks.

"i just... love you. that's all." his voice was quiet. "im so fucking in love with you."

you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until tears welled in his eyes, his lips shaking as he held something back.

"richie? what's-"

"marry me." richie whispered, wiping his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours.

"huh?"

"let's get married, baby."

"yeah. yeah, okay."

----

you had gone absolutely fucking mental when richie had been caught in the deadlights, his eyes clouding and his face devoid of any emotion. beverly had had to hold you back to stop you from going right after him, screaming for him at the top of your lungs because he was floating.

he was floating away and you were going to lose him to the jaws of hell.

"RICHIE!"

"stop!" bev had pleaded. "stop it, you can't do anything! he's too far up!"

you hated her for that. for just a split second, you hated her. and you were kicking and screaming and crying, hot tears sliding down your face faster than you were sure you could make them.

and before you knew what was up:

"BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER!"

eddie had yelled, launching the monster-killer right down Its fucking throat. and then richie was on the ground, disoriented and spluttering, and, bev, with a sigh of relief, let go of you. out of the corner of your eye, you saw It, struggling and vomiting what might have been actual lava but also looked strangely like blood. your mind cast back to richie and then you were by his side, shaking him awake.

"richie! fuck!" you were aware of just how loud you were sobbing, grabbing him and holding his head to your chest. "you fucking idiot, oh, fuck, i love you." and he was wrapping his shaking arms around you, panicking and probably crying because he had been caught in the deadlights and what the fuck.

"rich!" eddie was ecstatic, kneeling beside the two of you. "i did it, richie. i think i killed it, guys!"

"EDDIE, LOOK OUT!"

you didn't know what was going on, really, until a colossal, razor sharp claw dug itself into the rock where eddie had just fucking been.

and you were sure you'd never been more thankful for ben hanscom and his intuition.

"holy shit, eds." you just about shrieked.

"it's not dead!" richie was suddenly alert, dragging the three of you to your feet as pennywise crawled up from the ground, the spikes it had fallen on making a wet crunching sound as It tore itself off of them.

everything was happening so fucking fast, and you must have zoned out or something, because all of a sudden you were in the fucking air, torn away from a screaming richie. the sharp, jutting bones of it's long fingers dug into your torso as you were lifted, flailing.

"always the hardest to scare. always the fighter." pennywise all but giggled.

"you get the fuck off of her, right the fuck now." you knew what it sounded like when richie was trying to keep his cool, and right now, he was not doing a very good job.

"are you scared now?" It asked you, grinning from ear to ear. "are you scared, richie's girl?"

"FUCK OFF, YOU BIG DUMB ASSHOLE!" any attempt to kick and struggle was cut short by It's tightening fist, and the sharp ridges of It's fingers cutting into you.

oh, and, yeah, ouch, that was a cracked rib. fuck.

"you are." It growled. "i can smell you."

the losers on the ground stared up in frantic horror, flocking around richie and eddie.

"maybe i should take him, instead. your richie."

"YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!"

"i told you i'd get you, richie's girl."

it flicked a long, black tongue over its razor teeth.

"AND I TOLD YOU THAT IM NOT FUCKING AFRAID OF YOU, YOU STUPID CLOWN."

it's face dropped.

its eyes rolled back into its head.

it fucking smiled.

and then, as if you were a ragdoll it was tired of playing with, it tossed you aside.

richie heard it. the fucking sound. the crunch as your body collided with the jagged rocks at the other end of the sewer. he retched and heaved and his legs didn't seem to be working anymore.

he saw your body crumple, and the scream that erupted from his throat wasn't quite human.

---

"you need to wake up." richie held your hand in his own, the wires protruding from your wrist making him feel sick. "you gotta wake up, baby." the steady beep of your heart monitor was the only thing stopping him from going completely fucking insane. "cmon, we're getting married, so... so you gotta come back to me." richie ignored the bile rising in his throat at the sight of you with tubes and wires spilling from every part of you that wasn't cast in bandages. you looked so fucking broken. "we've already lost so much time... and we need to catch up." richie couldn't find it in himself to crack a joke. this was the first time he'd been really, truly happy since he was seventeen, and now it was all hanging in the balance.

richie had heard from bill the morbid account of your injuries. the doctor wasn't able to tell richie, directly, as he was going on a fucking rampage outside, throwing trash cans and yelling and such.

you'd almost died in the operating theatre twice, he had also heard from bill.

"sh-she had uh, bad in-internal b-b-bl-bleeding. they almost c-couldn't stop it."

but they had stopped it. and now you were here. you were alive. but you'd been out for a good three days, and every hour that passed, richie was less and less sure you'd wake up again.

beverly had had to coax richie into a bathroom to clean himself up, bringing him a clean outfit, because he flat out refused to go back to the inn and shower and change. he wouldn't leave you here. she allowed him to cry on her shoulder, and she knew that he only cried in front of you, which threw her, but she held him and let him cry until he couldn't anymore.

"mr tozier?" the nurse who came in regularly to change your feeding tube and medicine and such was stood by the door, clipboard in hand.

"yeah?" he croaked, not making a move to stand up.

"there's someone here to see you."

richie was sure it could have been the queen of fucking england, or freddie mercury risen from the grave, and he would have told them to fuck off.

"will you, uh, send them in?" richie requested. he hadn't left you for more than ten minutes the whole time you'd been admitted. "i don't wanna-"

"of course, mr tozier." said the nurse, nodding sympathetically and backing out of the room. the door clicked shut behind her.

moments later, richie heard a voice.

"sorry, but, who exactly are you?" said the voice. richie looked up from your hand, which he was still holding, by the way.

a smallish, mousy brown-haired man stood at the door, his hair slicked back with far too much wax that didn't do anything for his terribly receding hairline. "and why are you holding my wife's hand?"

ah. the husband. fuck.

"oh, yeah. right." richie didn't let go of you. "you must be, uhh... umm..."

"timothy. timothy milo." the man said with an air of superiority. richie would lay this guy the fuck out.

"oh, yeah, of course." he nodded, squeezing your fingers gently.

"forgive me," said timothy, pulling up a chair. "forgive me, but, my wife has been missing for almost a week, now, and i get a call saying she's here, in... in derry? is it? battered, and... and comatose."

richie had only known the guy for all of thirty seconds, but he'd knock out those perfect, sickeningly white teeth in a heartbeat. "yeah, there was... an accident-"

"and richie tozier, big-shot comedian from malibu, is holding her hand and looking like... his whole world has been torn down."

timothy was becoming increasingly irate, and richie found it more than a little bit funny. he raised his hands in defense.

"look, man-"

"i ask you again, tozier, who exactly are you? to her, i mean."

and richie had... no idea what to say. for once in his life. no sarcasm, no witty comebacks. nothing.

"well... i fucking love her, man." was all he could think.

and then, with a crunch, timothy milo's manicured fist collided with the side of richie's face.

---

you didn't remember much.

the only thing you could fathom was a faint beeping sound, and a warm, calloused hand on top of yours. you cracked one eye open (with great difficulty) and sighed in relief. it was him.

your richie. disheveled and distraught, but your richie, all the same.

"r-r-r-" your throat was so fucking dry. it hurt to speak. "rich..." was all you managed, your fingers twitching under his hand.

"holy fuck." the smile that lit up his face was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. he had a rather large bruise on his left cheekbone, and his eyes were red and puffy, but he grinned so big and so bright that you could have burst into tears. "you're awake."

"and y-you're... beautiful." you croaked.

"woah, how hard did you hit your head?" he joked, sniffling, a tear slipping down his cheek. he kissed your hand, mindful of the tubes.

"that... that looks like... a punch, richie." you noted, eyeing the purple bruise that started on his cheekbone and ended below his eye.

"you should see the other guy." richie sniffed, a sad smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. it hurt you.

"wh-who?"

"timothy fucking milo." richie scoffed, rolling his eyes in a manner that reminded you of stanley.

"he was... he was here?" your head fucking hurt.

"yeah. gone now. after i told him what was what. fucking asshole."

"wh-"

"another time, babe. you're not up for it."

and you knew he was right. you'd only properly processed about half of the words he'd said.

"i've been outta my fucking mind waiting for you to wake up, yknow. don't do that again." richie said, dragging his hands down his face and rolling his shoulders. his back hurt from sleeping here for just under four days, leaning over the cot and holding your hand.

"it wasn't... my fucking fault... you asshole... it was... oh my god. It."

"we won't dig that up now, huh?" richie interjected. "you rest up a little, i'll chat to you about boring shit, you'll perhaps give me a sympathy hand-job, and when you're a little less drugged up, we can talk about the heavy stuff."

"okay." your attempt at a nod was feeble as fuck. "and... sympathy hand-job?"

"yeah. for making me fight your husband and cry for three days. in no particular order." richie explained, as if it were obvious.

"do you want me to... pull your dick off with my medicine tubes?"

his eyes widened.

"no, ma'am."

"then... shut up." you whined, breathless. your chest burned and your side hurt and you didn't even want to talk about your legs.

"i need more drugs, trash-mouth." you groaned, and he leaned over you to press the red button to alert the nurses.

"believe it or not, you've said that to me before." richie snorted. "no chance of a hand-job, then?"

"beep beep, richie."