#dunno about anybody else but personally if i hate a character i instead spend my time like...ignoring them?

[novelmonger]

You know it's time to stop scrolling and go to bed when you come across an anti-Steve Rogers moodboard. At least I have a couple more tags to add to my filter collection, I guess ◔̯◔

[greengargouille]

AK RarePair week Spring 2017, Day 5 - Truth

((I can’t seem to get anywhere with the Day 3 prompt, let’s not talk about the RarePair Maker, so let’s all pretend I will have time to come back to those after I finished the other prompts, shall we ?))

Rating: General Audience Characters: Sugaya Sosuke, Mimura Kouki, Nakamura Rio, Fuwa Yuzuki, Okajima Taiga, Kurahashi Hinano Relationship: Sugaya/Mimura

It all started, like a lot of dumb ideas, with Nakamura.

Well, no. It all started with Fuwa, or to be precise, Fuwa and her brother. To celebrate the anime adaptation of one of their favorite mangas, a special limited edition drink had been released - some kind of weird soda, with an exclusive illustration randomly chosen among 5 different for each pack of 3 cans. Of course, as true fans, they had to collect all of them. But, as the girl then explained to Sugaya, a terrible surprise awaited them once they found themselves surrounded by cans, the precious pictures finally all reunited.

Those drinks tasted terrible.

It was then that Nakamura came in the equation. Because Sugaya had been hanging around Mimura’s desk when Fuwa entered in the class and started the conversation with him, the blonde girl have been able to hear everything, and gladly intruded the conversation with an idea as fun as it was terrible.

“You know, ever since Bitch-sensei told us about it, I always wanted to try playing ‘Never had I ever’.”

The organisation of it have been surprisingly fast. Kurahashi, whose desk was near the group, jumped on the idea, which made a total of three girls, so of course Okajima would try to butt in. Mimura kept saying it was a bad idea, yet somehow didn’t try very hard to get out of this - which was... very much like him, actually - like those times when he loudly complained at the erotic magazines Okajima put right under their nose, but never looked away. And, well, Sugaya decided to follow along for the game, since he didn’t have anything programmed for this Saturday afternoon ; those usually ended in an unplanned trip to an exhibit with Mimura, and without the boy around, this wouldn’t be nearly as exciting.

That’s how the 6 of them ended up sitting in circle on the floor in Fuwa’s room, each having in front of them a glass full of a blue soda of suspicious flavor instead of the required alcohol.

“Never had I ever...” The owner of the room pondered the rest of her sentence a few instants, her eyes drifting along the shelves filled to the brim with manga and figurines, before having an epiphany. “...collided with a pretty boy or girl who turned out to be a mysterious transfer student.”

Strangely enough, no one raised their glass.

“...No one ?” Fuwa winced as she emptied her own. “Why is everyone’s life so boring ? -No, I think you just have very weird standards.” Mimura replied. “We’re a class of government approved assassins whose target is a giant yellow octopus able to move at Mach 20, target who happens to be our teacher. I think I’m allowed to have standards. Besides,” she continued on a lower tone, “we’re in a fanfiction, who knows what could happens.”

As usual, nobody understood what she was mumbling about. It’s been like this every time it was her turn - using out-of-left-field ideas she seemed to consider perfectly normal, and ending up disappointed. Still living in her own world.

After a minute, to make sure everyone was listening, Mimura continued, with careful enunciation. He spent the game so far trying to ask interesting questions, while wary of things that could potentially end with his embarrassment. This was not an easy game for him, who wanted to stay honest yet not attracting the attention of the others on some things he might have potentially done.

“Never had I ever thought about what would I do if I was a ghost. -Eh, not bad.” Nakamura smiled as she took her glass along with the others around her. “How about we add a new rule : when everyone drink, it’s just like when only one person end up drinking, we all have to explain in details. -Sugaya-kun didn’t drink for this one, though.” Fuwa responded, ever the one to notice those details. “What- come on, Sugaya, you can’t be serious ! -Sugayan is a cheater~" Kurahashi playfully nodded along, as if she herself didn’t jump on every loophole she could find. “Sorry to have never considered becoming a ghost...”

The artist was, to be honest, a bit annoyed the others doubted him. It’s not that he never did anything stupid or awkward ; he had plenty of examples where his lack of thinking about the consequences of his acts got him in trouble. However, his comrades had very particular ideas of what could be juicy material worth asking. He was probably the least perverted boy of the class, making him unconcerned by most of Okajima’s statements. And the stupid things Nakamura asked -‘ever tried smoking’, ‘ever burned your homework’... weren’t his style. Or anyone, for some of those - he strongly suspected her to ask those only for herself to brag about it. He couldn’t be quite sure, for she also was the kind to sabotage herself if that meant she could learn some blackmail-worthy informations on her friends. And then there were Kurahashi’s statements, which was a mixed bag of lighthearted questions alongside the ones made specifically to drag someone -on that Sugaya still anxiously waited for one that would concern him, but for now she preferred her other victims.

As for his own questions, one could say he played safe. He didn’t want to end like Fuwa, having to drink because nobody had ever done anything she asked, but he couldn’t quite grasp how to make the game interesting for everyone -sleazy statements really weren’t to his tastes.

“Never had I ever had full marks in an exam.”

This was the easy way out - he was a terrible student, on par with Terasaka, so it came quite naturally. And if Mimura wasn’t drinking to this one, as a good student but one that apparently had missed the perfect 100 by a few points quite often in his first years, according to him... Well, there was still one person that could not escape this one.

“Wait a minute... are you targeting me ?” Nakamura almost sounded offended, but this was lost in her gleeful smile. “Fine, the war is on, don’t expect me to go easy on you any more !” After a few instants, she quickly added. “No statements about love life, though. I hate those.”

Kurahashi burst out in laughter. “Rio-chan, hating on love affairs ? That’s a first !” The blonde grimaced. “I’m serious. Like, I might have meddled with a few of my comrades’ crushes now and then, but that’s nowhere near the image some of you seem to have from me. Plus, I only teased them around people who already knew about their feelings. Forcing someone to confess in front of everyone like that feels... I dunno, off. -That,” Okajima replied, “seems like a load of bullshit. I think you just don’t want people to ask you if you got a crush. Who was it that Korosensei paired you with during the island trial ? Wasn’t it Sugaya ?” He looked at his friend, raising a brow. “Is it why you’re targeting her ? Is it some kind of lover’s teasing ? -What ? No ! -I’m on Nakamura’s side on this one.” said Fuwa. “In this kind of ask game, there’s a 100 percent chance that someone in the group have a unrequited crush on someone else. -Oh, like in shoujo mangas, you mean ?” Kurahashi seemed intrigued. “Yes, exactly. And that will make everyone awkward. -Hm... That’s suspicious, that you’re pointing that out. Don’t tell me-” Okajima gasped “both of you are in love with Sugaya ?! Why him and not me ? That’s so not fair ! -I’m not in love.”  Fuwa and Nakamura said this in unison. “Awwn, don’t worry, Oka-chin, I’m sure even a sleazebag like you can met their soulmate !” Meanwhile, Kurahashi was more amused than anything by the whole case. “Ah, whatever. Let’s continue the game, if you’re all like that. Whose turn it was ? Mine ?”

As he realised this, Okajima’s lips slowly turned into a smile that announced nothing good.

This, Sugaya realised, made him slightly worried.

Ever since they started the game, the pervy student kept insisting on how this was the kind of game on which you should absolutely never, ever lie. If one lied on this, they would attract bad luck on them, or be consumed of guilt, or other grandiloquent reaction - anything that could push the others to say the truth, which they assured they were already doing. Well, maybe not Kurahashi, it was hard to tell for her. Of course, the only reason Okajima was so adamant on this point was so he could then say the most shameless statement for them to drink on.

But, after this conversation, Sugaya was pretty sure the guy had another idea in mind. An idea he really didn’t like.

The whole discussion of whether one of the girls could actually love him felt... annoying, to be honest. As if his own opinion on the subject was taken for granted, or that the others didn’t care much about that side. He hated being ignored.

It’s not like he was against the idea of falling in love. He had pondered about that ever since he entered junior high - listening to conversations in the locker room during PE, or some of the male students excitedly talking about the chest of some new idol. This was something he never understood, and it made him spend hours thinking about whether he had any interest in girls - or anybody, really. But, ever since the summer trip class E obtained as a reward, he came to grasp things under another perspective. The way Irina talked about seducing people and herself falling in love, it made him felt warm in the chest and tainted his cheeks in a pinkish color. Romance, as he understood, didn’t necessarily had to be paired with more lustful thoughts. Getting close and affectionate with someone, doing things in couples... those ideas were actually tempting.

But, those two girls, he just couldn’t see himself with them. He liked them, the same way he liked everyone in the class, comrades of similar experiences with who chatting was fun. Peeking at the latest Weekly Shonen Jump with Fuwa while attempting to make her interested in the art magazines he gave her, this was fun. Listening to songs Nakamura choose and singing them with her, before she explained with a grin what exactly the lyrics were talking about, this was... embarrassing, but fun too. Imagining going to museums with either of them, having one sit against him to have a closer look at what he was drawing, being alone in his room with one of the girls, only the two of them, that felt more awkward than anything. He just couldn’t see that happen, yet no one was considering his opinion.

That’s why he felt pretty irritated at Okajima when the boy finally said his statement.

“Never had I ever fell in love with Sugaya.”

At least he could comfort himself knowing that none of the girl raised their glass to their lips.

“Sorry, Sugayan, seems like you aren’t popular enough !” The silence was easen up with Kurahashi’s intervention, and they all relaxed a bit. “You girls really aren’t lying, are you ? -Dude, who the hell would lie during the game ?” Nakamura replied while rolling her eyes at Okajima. “You said so yourself, that would sucks, and if one of us was caught lying, nobody in the group would trust them next time they deny something. That’s a bad move in the long term. So no, I’m not in love with Sugaya - or anyone, for that matter. -Waaaah, Rio-chan, you’re breaking my heart !” Kurahashi took an overly dramatic expression. “Were you lying, when you told me you loved me ? -Awn, you know me, my heart might be made of stone but not even I could truly resist your charms.” Nakamura replied with a playful tone. This was... confusing to watch, but at least Sugaya was glad they were switching subjects. Bless Kurahashi, ever the best one when it came to turn over the conversation. “Okay, I believe you two.” However, once Okajima had an idea, it was hard to get it out of his head. “What about you, Fu-?”

He stopped at the last syllable, his eyes following the young girl’s gaze. Of course, ever the observant one, her detective-like senses had caught something that nobody else noticed.

There was one person that had stayed oddly silent during the whole case. One person that wouldn’t, usually, contain his words when he thought his friends were too nosy or annoying.

Sugaya slowly turned his head to look at the boy next to him. Mimura was tense, paralysed as if being caught doing something truly despicable, his eyes going from face to face, looking at everyone as they finally noticed him. His hands were slightly shaking as they tightened even more on the glass he was holding.

“This,” he stated in a slightly panicked voice, “is a misunderstanding. I just- I took my glass while Okajima was talking- I didn’t think he would - I - I was thinking about something else and - I...” He swallowed his saliva, unable to form a coherent sentence. “I think I forgot to tell my father at which hour I should come home. I. Think I should make a phone call. If you would excuse me.” He talked while getting up in a rush, not even taking time to just put his glass down.

Sugaya would say he was familiar with the way Mimura acted when nervous. His plain face was easy to read, as it would honestly show his emotions. He might be a good movie director, but as for acting he was too easily troubled. There were times when he was surprisingly calm ; times like when the God of Death had kidnapped them and he was able to keep a clear mind to form a plan ; times like when Sugaya had invited him home and when presented to the artist’s parents, he lied with a straight face on how his mother was a housewife and his father an employee, fully aware that Sugaya knew it was the exact opposite. Maybe even times his good friend didn’t even notice. But, on most times, it was just like this, nervously spouting awkward words, his expression showing fully his embarrassment.

He knew Mimura. In that instant, as he was escaping the room, he was clearly lying.

After footsteps were heard descending the stairs, Fuwa broke the silence between them, expressing what they had more of less grasped.

“...He was thinking about drinking his glass, wasn’t he.”

The implications of it were left unsaid, but they all understood.

“And that’s why I said not to make statements on love.” Nakamura seemed like she didn’t know how to handle this mess of a situation. “Of course it would end up like this. -I never thought this could happen.” Okajima was mortified. “I mean, that can’t be it- he would have- okay, maybe he wouldn’t have told me, but... I mean... he likes girls ! -That doesn’t mean he can’t like boys, though ?” Kurahashi blinked, as if it was an obvious fact.

All of this made no sense to Sugaya. He never had considered the idea that someone he was close to might hold this kind of feelings for him. When did this happens ? He and Mimura had grew closer with the months passing, to the point he could say without hesitation that the boy was his best friend. Naturally, their attitude toward each other had changed accordingly - but never Sugaya could have imagined this as anything but... Well, friendship didn’t seem to quite cover it, but some bond that was particular to them. An unique concept.

He needed to know. There was room for interpretation ; maybe this was, indeed, some kind of misunderstanding, something a bit embarrassing to admit that had made Mimura confused in his explanations. Sugaya needed certitude that this was really was everyone was thinking it was.

As for how he should feel if this was indeed, love... He didn’t know.

“You aren’t going to go after him ?” Kurahashi asked innocently.

This was the push he needed to finally deciding to act.

Thankfully, Mimura wasn’t difficult to find. Sugaya had wondered one moment whether the boy would have ran away from the house, too worried to confront the others about the situation. But he was here, sitting at the bottom of the stairs, lost in thoughts as his eyes were fixated on the blue liquid of his glass. He raised his head as he heard Sugaya approach ; it wasn’t on the level of Fuwa, but he was quite perceptive of his environment.

“Ah, I- I couldn’t join my father, so- I just... -No worries, I understand.”

Mimura’s shoulders seemed to drop slightly. Sugaya saw that as a good sign. Still, as he sat down next to his friend, he was unable to find the words he needed. He wished he had access to his sketchbook and his supplies. Everything would fall down naturally if he could express his doubts with pictures, or at least the familiarity of it -having Mimura by his side as he drew- would ease him enough for him to finally ask.

“How are they reacting up there ? Is this... bad...? -The girls are annoyed by what Okajima did, so it’s not to out of the usual.” Mimura snickered at the comment. “He seems actually sorry though. -I see. Well, I hope this won’t blow out of proportions. I’m glad that Korosensei wasn’t there, at least, or I would never hear the end of it. -Haha, yes.” The biggest gossiper of the class would just love this kind of scandal, wouldn’t he. “...Say, Mimura...”

The boy looked at Sugaya, a weird look on his face. His eyes seemed to plead him. ‘Please, don’t ask this.’

Unfortunately, he already had made his mind. “...Do you love me ?”

Mimura just sighed. Sugaya wondered if that was all the response he would get, but then, he spoke, slowly, carefully. As if each word out of place would be used against him. “I... don’t dislike you, I guess.”

This could be considered a negative answer. That how much Mimura valued their relation only amounted to this much. Sugaya knew better than this. The other boy choose those words purposely, not denying it nor confirming it, letting the ones listening interpret the meaning without having to outright lie about it. A disguised truth.

“That’s not an answer. -...You really won’t let go of this, right ?” Mimura lowered his heads, eyes turned to the floor. It was hard to see his expression like this. “I... I can’t say ‘yes’ to this question. Even if we were in a case where I happened to...” He stopped one instant and took a deep breath. “Even if I loved you, it would be difficult to say it. It could potentially ruin our whole relationship. And that’s not even talking of the others at school. -...So it’s a ‘no’, then ?” All those turn of phrases were difficult to process to him. “If you don’t say it clearly, I won’t understand. -Now you’re starting to speak like Bitch-sensei. ‘Why Japanese men have to say things in such a convoluted way, it’s annoying !’.” He smiled at the thought, before regaining a sober expression. “Fine. I will say it. But in exchange, I want to ask a favor out of you. -What is it ? -You have to believe me. Because I will say ‘no’. And, if you start to doubt it, it will be really painful.” Mimura’s tone was calm and firm, but he couldn’t hide a slight trembling in his voice. “Because then you will start to wonder about every little thing I do for you. If I do it because I love you. And I will have to deny it over and over, harsher and stronger each time. I... I can’t do that. ‘I like your smile.’ ‘I want to stay by your side.’ ‘You makes me happy.’ I don’t want to lie about those things.” His last words were quieter, almost a whisper. “Can you... do that for me ?”

The way the boy looked, huddled on himself, lips tightened in a twisted smile and hand clenched around his glass, really made Sugaya want to comfort him. It hurts to see him like that, in this pathetic state, and to think he was responsible for it. He almost agreed to the offer, just so relieve him of the anxiousness visible in his tense body.

Almost.

It would probably be fine to just accept. Continuing to live pretending to be unaware of the truth. He liked the relationship he currently had. They were able to talk and have fun almost every day, and they supported each other in their respective artistic domains. He could see that continuing for a while. Years, even decades.

On the other hand, acknowledging Mimura’s feelings... That was scary. Sugaya didn’t know how that would change their way of interacting. He didn’t even know how he felt about it.

But his choice had already been made the moment he had stepped out of the room.

“Sorry. I could tell you ‘yes’, but I think that would be a lie. -Ah. I figured that would be the case. We’re both really bad liars, it seems.”

Mimura looked at the glass in his hand, the one that had started the whole drama. He then raised it to his lips and drank the whole thing.

“...It’s disgusting, isn’t it.”

Sugaya somehow got the feeling he wasn’t talking about the drink.

“...I think it’s okay, personally.”

He was actually surprised by how fine he was with the situation. On the moment, he had been worried. That this bond he felt was so special was different from what he imagined. But, seeing the smaller boy so worried about how this could destroy the relationship they already had... He was convinced. Their connection was genuine. That was what mattered the most to him.

“I still need to think on how I feel about love,” he continued, “but, you know ? I don’t dislike you, either. -...Thank you.”

They stayed silent for a while after that. On the floor above them, indignant noises could be heard - whatever the rest of the group was doing, it wasn’t in Okajima’s favor. Both of them would eventually have to get up and help their friend. But, for now, they just wanted to appreciate a moment together.

[corvid-knight]

Demon Eyes - chapter 15

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740258/chapters/32588199

tw for blood, violence, gore, and character death 

The ride back to that damn mall is a little bit awkward. Both of Roxy's helpers give you wary grins and very obviously try not to stare at Karkat, which is kind of hard given that you're all in a pretty small space together. At least there isn't awkward silence; Roxy and Hal basically don't shut up the whole way, even though she's driving and he's assembling some kind of camera setup in the front seat.

Hal's the first one out of the truck when Roxy parks it in the parking lot, too. The shikigami tosses you another one of those little fancy walkie-talkies, then tosses three more to Karkat as you fumble and try not to drop yours.

"What, I don't get one of your toys?" Roxy asks, as Karkat hands two of the cameras off to the other guys. "Rude."

"You've got the ultimate toy," Hal points out, rolling his eyes as one of the guys—Rick?—tries unsuccessfully to clip the camera to his shirt. "It's a pin, dumbass. Let Karkat help you— but they get tech, you get the tech master."

"I am the tech master," she corrects him, slipping past you to open one of the compartments and pull out a backpack. "Okay, so we know that there's probablynot anything too dangerous in here, since Hal tested the monster blood to make sure it wasn't corrosive or poisonous or anything—"

You have to ask. "When the hell did you do that?"

Hal grins wryly. "It was more of an observation than a test, Dave. You were covered in it, and so was Dirk to a lesser extent. And Karkat told me he ate a few of those fuckers and didn't taste any normal toxic agents, so..."

"Ooh." Roxy cocks her head, regarding Karkat for a second. "Ate like, just vored the whole thing, or partially consumed, took a couple bites out of, or what?"

He just shrugs. "I mean, I usually can't swallow a whole fucking person, but there weren't any bits left if that's what you mean."

"Seems hella useful." Roxy nods, handing the bag to Ethan so she can twist her hair back into a bun, securing it with the hairtie around her wrist before taking it back. "Definitely easier than hauling bodies off for disposal...anyway, we have gloves, stuff to keep you from actually having to touch bodies because they're probably going to be kinda nasty at this point anyway—not as bad as they could be, though. You guys had the courtesy to have the killsite be indoors for once."

"It wasn't exactly our choice," Hal points out dryly.

"Yeah, yeah, it still counts." She shrugs, extricating and handing out a few pairs of maybe elbow-length rubber gloves, pulling hers on once everyone else has one. "Dave, Karkat—you don't actually have to help drag corpses out. That's what Ethan and Rick are here for; they do the heavy lifting, Hal checks everything out for any more info on what the hell y'all went up against here, and I do a lil' bit of both." Karkat just shrugs, examining the gloves for a moment before stowing them in his back pocket. "I'm fine with doing some of the carrying." Before you can say anything, he adds, and no, Dave, you're not even offering to do that. Help out Hal instead.

You feel like you should argue with that, but instead you just huff and tell him, "Fine, alright."

Everyone except Hal gives you a curious look at that. Oh well.

You have precisely zero memory of the layout of the mall. None of this is familiar, which is weird as fuck since you know you were definitely in here just a couple days ago.

Karkat remembers, though. He leads right to one of the last doors on the end, opens it and steps out of the way so everyone else can go through first.

You're the second one through the door. Hal runs into you, because you get one look at the blackish-brownish-reddish stains splattered across the white drop cloths and just fucking freeze.

Shit, shit, shit—did I do this? Did I do this? Did I—

Karkat's hand closes on your shoulder before you can manage to break out of your own horrified paralysis, pulling you back out of the room. He steps in front of you, hands cupping your face gently, making sure you look at him and not back in there. Not that you want to look back in there. "Dave?"

"Holy shit, man." You made such a fucking mess. It'd be impressive, if it wasn't...what? Wasn't what? Those were monsters, things that were trying to kill you; why do you suddenly feel so goddamn guilty over the bodies? What the hell?

"Holy shit is right." The demon frowns, letting his hands slip away from your face as Hal steps back into the hall. "How about you stay out of that room, huh? I can feel how much it fucks you up—"

"Yeah. Yeah, man, uh." You kind of want his hands on you again, but you're okay. You're fine. "I don't know why it's like that, but you're right." They're not anybody. I didn't fucking betray anyone, just defended myself, just did my damn job, it's fine, I'm fine...

Karkat frowns and shakes his head, glancing over at Hal. "What're you doing?"

"Getting out of the way before I end up helping move corpses."

"Cool; take Dave with you." And he gives you a gentle shove towards Hal.

"Wait—"

Please? he asks before you can finish protesting. I don't want to have to fix your mind if being in there undoes how I fixed it before, okay? I don't want you getting hurt again.

Well, you can't exactly not do what he wants when he asks like that. So you nod, step over to Hal's side, and watch Karkat slip back into the room with the bodies.

"Question," the shikigami says after a moment.

"What?"

"Can you handle seeing the ones you didn't kill, or do we just need to avoid corpses entirely?"

"I'm fine, man."

"Dave, if you get fucked up when I'm the one with you, several things are going to happen. First, Karkat's going to dismember me. Then, Dirk's going to rip apart anything Karkat missed. Then, if by some miracle I'm still alive-ish, I'll be forced to kill myself for being a fucking idiot." He huffs, giving you a mock-glare that almost immediately melts into a quick smile. "In other words, I'm not letting all that happen. Self-preservation is one of my greatest talents, after all."

"...yeah, I guess so."

"So?"

"Let's go check out the other bodies, dude. Worst case scenario is I freak out and you gotta call Karkat for backup, right?"

Hal just sighs. "...I suppose so, yes."

You don't get the surge of horrified guilt from the other room Hal takes you to. Disgust, yeah—these must be the ones Karkat killed, because the three (you think) bodies are more-or-less ripped apart, blood and chunks of flesh everywhere.

Gross.

You can handle gross.

The fact that you actually have gloves so you don't end up with blood all over you does help, too. Hal spends a few minutes examining the room before shrugging and starting to gather up all the various body parts into a pile close to the door.

You don't miss the fact that he glances over at you every few minutes. Making sure you're okay with moving dead shit, you guess.

He's not just making notes on how you're handling it. This isn't a fucking test. You keep reminding yourself of that, that you're allowed to call a halt if you need to, walk out and not deal with the scent of stale blood and the sticky sensation of mostly-dry blood through thin rubber. This isn't a test.

Yeah. You know. You do know that.

Once the solid component of the mess is contained in one fairly neat pile, Hal strips off his gloves and calls Roxy to have her send one of the guys in to help bag it up.

It ends up being Ethan, with a couple heavy-duty trash bags. He goes right to the heap and starts shoving shit into them.

You try to help. You really do.

What actually happens is that you lean down and get too fucking close to that much bloody meat, and very nearly just puke your guts out. As in, Hal steps away from the section of the wall he's examining and puts a hand on your shoulder out of concern for the sick choking sound you make as you back up.

Ethan looks up at you, and for the second before he says anything you really hate yourself. There's a fucking echo bouncing around in your head, more a tone than actual words—digust, annoyance, maybe a little hatred but mostly just something a little more fear-inducing than disappointment. How Bro sounds—sounded—when you fucked up.

Then Ethan says, "Hey, I can do this part, you know. I'm used to bagging up, anyway," and gives you a sympathetic grin. "Puking all over and then having to clean that up is overrated anyway."

"...yeah." Shit, you need to calm the fuck down.

Hal still has one hand on your shoulder, and he uses that to steer you over to the wall he was examining. "Look at this."

"At what?" He's just pointing at some dark splatter on the wall—not really anything new. There's blood pretty much everywhere, after all. "It's blood."

"No, under the blood. Wait." He takes a step back, digs around in his pocket and comes up with a little flashlight, clicking it on and focusing the surprisingly-bright beam on the wall. "That's some kind of summoning setup, I'm pretty sure."

"Huh." He's right. Under the blood there's markings, just a shade darker than the white walls, almost invisible unless you really look. You look them over, finding the edge of the circle, and slide one glove off, reaching out to ghost your fingers over a section of the boundary that doesn't have blood on it.

It buzzes under your fingers, a hell of a lot more than the wards at the house do when you pass through them. Enough to sting a little.

You pull your hand away as soon as you're sure that there's power in the thing, and look back at Hal. "Dunno if it's a summoning circle, but it's live."

"Hm." The shikigami frowns, blinking as he stares at the wall. "...that's not really good."

"Yeah." Having active magic that you don't know what does is kind of bad. Leaving it for somebody else to find and trip off is a definite no. "Are we destroying it or trying to activate it, though?"

"I'm not sure yet." Hal hands you the flashlight, digging in his pockets again to pull out a handful of what could be random objects—a small crystal, what looks like a USB memory stick, and some kind of small animal's bones. "Maybe both. Overcharging it and breaking it that way is a definite possibility, if I've got enough power stored up here."

You have to point out the problem with that plan. "Isn't that just gonna activate it if you don't have enough, though?"

"...yeah." Hal moves the memory stick to his other hand, closes both hands around their contents, and looks over at you with a slight frown. "There's about a four percent chance that'll happen."

"Only four?"

"I've got a lot of stored power right here." He shrugs, turning his attention back to the wall. "But yes, four percent that I accidentally activate it and summon whatever it's set to call. Twenty percent that it needs a vocal component and absolutely nothing happens—"

"It doesn't."

"Oh?" He glances at you, raising an eyebrow, and you shrug. You don't know whyyou know that; you just do. Something about the feel of the power against your skin. "...okay, so removing that possibility, there's about a thirty percent chance that the wall catches on fire or loses all stability or destructs in some other way—which would be fine; it's not a load-bearing wall, I don't think. Hm...sixteen percent chance there's some kind of explosion."

"Why, exactly?"

"Because magic is hard. Forty-six percent chance that I overload the thing and the power feeds back into these—" he opens his hands again, letting you see the three talismans for a second— "which is how it's supposed to work. It's good enough odds, I think."

You really can't argue with that. The circle doesn't include a warding or binding component, so it can't be that bad. "Yeah, probably. Even if you can't fucking add."

Hal just grins. "The extra four percent is margin of error. Hey Ethan, heads up—I'm about to do something."

The look of mingled curiosity and dismay on the poor guy's face is kind of funny. "That's vague."

"Well, odds are you won't notice anything happening. Just in case, though, maybe you want to be weapons-out for the one-in-twenty-five chance something does."

Ethan shakes his head and gets to his feet, taking off one glove and hiking up his shirt enough to get at the pistol at his waist. "Just in case."

Yeah, you should probably have brought a gun in the first place. I'm a fucking idiot.

Well, it's only a four percent chance you'll need one. Cross your fingers.

Hal takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, holding his hands up to the pattern on the wall but not quite touching it. You wonder if Ethan sees the faint, almost-not-there nimbus of light that seeps out between the shikigami's fingers. You're pretty sure he doesn't feel the sense of gathering power you're picking up, though; it's like lightning getting ready to strike.

You catch yourself edging closer to the door. Fucking coward.

Hal opens his hands, palms out and parallel to the wall. They're full of light now, the little items at the center of it lost completely. He flattens his hands against the wall, and the light's sucked into the pattern of lines there, scorching away the blood that lies over said lines.

For a second, nothing happens.

Then Hal takes his hands away, and the three talismans fall to the floor.

"Is that a 'it worked' or a 'it didn't work?'" Ethan asks.

Hal shrugs and looks over at you.

"Uh..." This time, when you hold your hand up to the wall, the sharp buzzing sense is gone. There's still something there, though—less a buzz than a hum, something deep and almost exhausted, fading with every second. Or maybe not fading, maybe more like it's draining away. Being drained. Shit.

"Fuck—Hal, something's—"

Something's coming, you mean to tell him. Before you can finish, something behind you screeches and Ethan starts to shout something. Just starts, though; before he can make anything like a word, before you can turn around, his voice cuts off with a choked sound.

Hal spins around, staggering just a little, and you turn and almost trip as something hits your ankle.

It's humanoid, but not a vampire. Not a siren, either, but pretty damn close; more reptile than mammal, long tendrils like lizards' tails in place of hair. Thisone's intelligent, sentient, whatever—you can read the look of fury on its not-quite-human face as it glances down at the bloody mess at its feet and tightens its chokehold on Ethan's throat.

Shit—that's the mom, isn't it, we killed her kids and she knows it and she's pissed—

Hal's hand goes down to his hip—he's got a weapon too, doesn't he?—and the creature he summoned screams again and hauls Ethan up a little higher, ignoring his attempts to pry its arm off his windpipe. He's a fucking human shield right now, and there's no way Hal can or will shoot through him.

We're so fucked.

Hal raises his hands and opens his mouth to say something. Before he can, the creature starts to wail.

It hurts. It physically hurts. The sound's like a dirge and it's like a knife, and it slides in past your ribcage and wraps around your guts and just fucking clamps down, twists and doubles you up on yourself, brings you first to your knees and then shoves you down to curl shaking on the floor.

Like having my goddamn lungs ripped out, you think, as far as you can think, and force yourself to uncurl, at least try to get the fuck up and go down fighting, make a fucking effort even if it's a worthless one, even if you don't have a weapon—

Your hand hits a familiar shape. Cold metal, angles curved into the kind of grip that you're very used to. You close your fingers around it, and the years of training that's been beaten into you since you were old enough to hold a gun takes over, overriding the pain and confusion.

You force yourself up to your knees, raise Ethan's pistol and sight for the creature's open mouth—from this angle it's a close shot to not hit Ethan, but not impossible—and pull the trigger, three times.

The first shot takes the thing right in the face—messy as fuck, a great image that you'll be seeing in your nightmares. In the half a heartbeat between the first and second, the creature jerks, changing position just the slightest bit.

Either the second or the third bullet takes Ethan right in the throat.

No. Oh, fuck, no—

Something about your perception goes weird for a second, and when things straighten out, you're kneeling next to Ethan, hands soaking wet and too hot because this blood's fresh, still flowing. He's bleeding, there's no real way that you're going to be able to fix this—

Another one. I killed another hunter.

The door slams open and Karkat's beside you, his hands shoving yours out of the way to cover the ruined mess of Ethan's throat. The demon doesn't even look at you, but you can feel the wave of reassurance he sends at you in the second before he focuses completely on what he's healing.

You can feel him trying.

Then you feel his frustration, desperation, and anger that's not directed at you and still makes you flinch. That whole progression in maybe three seconds.

Then Karkat takes his hands away from the open wound, sits back on his heels so he can wipe his hands on his jeans, and says very calmly, "I can't."

"But—" Karkat, what—

He still doesn't look at you, but something shuts between you and him. It's like a wall or a a door, something heavy enough that he can keep you out with it.

You're still trying to figure out how and why he did that, baffled enough on top of the rest of your serpents' nest of emotions that you're about to fucking cry, when he gets to his feet, stoops to lift Ethan's body, and heads out the door.

Hal's saying something. Not to you. To Roxy, over the walkie-talkie. Then he gets ahold of your arm, tugging until you get to your feet. "We're done, Dave. Come on."

He sounds completely neutral, and that terrifies you. I killed a hunter, you think again, and wonder how fucked you are. "We—"

"We're going home." He pushes you towards the door, only taking his hand away when you're moving in the right direction.

"The bodies." You're pretty sure Roxy's going to want the thing that almost killed Ethan, and there's still a fuckton of dismembered bits not yet in the bag.

"I'll get the banshee. Don't worry about the others. Go." There's emphasis on the last word, but no emotion.

Because you don't want to be in this place any longer, and you do want to do whatever you're told (maybe if you don't resist the punishment will be less) you do what he says, and head for the exit.