#fucker showed up still having god awful fashion and just left

[lavenderyulu]

happy 1 year anniversary of Alain returning to pokemon after 8 years of nothing, getting his ass kicked and leaving immediately after

[melo-yello]

✨Self-Care Day✨w/ 💥🪨KiriBaku HeadCanons💥🪨

Off Day

💥🪨 You’re hanging upside down on the couch in your shared apartment with a boyfriend on either side of you. Kiri’s hand in yours while Baku’s had one hand on your thigh and the other scrolling on his phone as some cartoon drones on the tv

💥🪨 This is not how you envisioned your first free weekend into the last two weeks going



💥🪨 You sigh loudly before poking out your bottom lip “Suki? Eiji? I’m bored.” you pout dramatically as you throw a hand onto your forehead before you continue “Can we do a self-care day?”

💥🪨 Baku just grunts in affirmation as he stretches before standing. Kiri just smiles “Of course, Pebble. Whatever you want.”

💥🪨 You pop up pecking both guys on the cheek as you bounce off to the kitchen with Kiri’s hand still in yours “Thanks you two are the best!I’ll make tea!!!”

💥🪨 “And don’t you forget it!” Bakugou smiles popping your soft ass as he follows behind most likely to micromanage

💥🪨 You three chat about your week not having much time outside of courses to really talk. Between studying, training, and hero work you guys just didn’t have a lot going of free time.

💥🪨Per usual you and Kiri really carry the conversation Baku only chiming in ever so often to offer up things that he hates

💥🪨 You pop up remembering one of for favorite parts of a good ole fashioned treat yo self day. The cute headbands for you and Kiri to push your hair out of your faces. You return with a pink bunny one, a brown Teddy Bear one, and a plain black headband. Baku takes the black and Kiri takes the bunny.

💥🪨 “How do I look, Peb?” Kiri smirks flexing to show his broad ass built ass frame after putting on his bunny headband. “Ridiculous.” “-ly Hawt!” You laugh correcting Baku

💥🪨 You film in absolute awe as your Manly bf’s pierce Suki’s ear with ease after the off handed joke you made sipping tea. Cue Baku voguing it up with pride and a freshly pierced ear. Bakugou is slightly leaner and a couple inches shorter but just as toned

💥🪨 “Suki, Eiji, you are too manly!” You hype your man up as you post the video to your IG story

💥🪨 It’s your turn now!! Kiri easily pierces your ears with a red stud in your right and an orange in your left. Adding a second set of holes right above your first ones

💥🪨 Next comes high quality and novelty animal face masks Bakugou buys online to compliment his vigorous skin care routine. It rivals half of the YouTube Beauty community’s

💥🪨 Niether of you have any idea of where he buys them or where he hides them for that matter. He stores them away so you guys can’t steal them when he’s not around. Bakugou allows you and Kiri to use his masks on special occasions tho

💥🪨 “Mr. and Mrs. Dumbass.” He smirks handing you a frog and Kiri a tiger. Earning him a playful jab from you and “A Thanks, Babe.” from the red head

💥🪨 You suggest nail 💅🏾 polish next and Kiri is automatically on board. “Oooooo can you make them Red, Babygirl? Because they’d be so manly!” Kiri beams bouncing up and down. Baku will only allow his middle fingers painted. “I want white with bombs or just F U. Whichever is easier for you, Teddy Bear.” Bakugou nods scrunching up his nose from behind his own red panda face mask.

💥🪨 Kirishima’s nails are a simple sparkly red that say 🤍BITE MANLY in white while Bakugou’s middle fingers are white with black bombs with an orange F U on each one respectively

💥🪨 After you peel off your masks, you and Kirishima squeal in nearly perfect sync “Oooooooooooo! Sooooo Soft! Aren’t we hawt, Bakubro! Seeeeeeeeeee!” Both of you placing his hand on your faces

💥🪨Bakugou will just roll his red eyes into the back of his head as you two wrap him in a tight embrace “I’ve told you idiots a thousand times the importance of regular skin care with quality products.” He shrugs nonchalantly even thought he loves when you two are touchie with him. He hates to admit it

💥🪨 As you begin to search you nail kit for your preferred color, Kiri grabs your hand and presses it to his cheek “Can we do yours, Pebble?” He pouts. Bakugou follows suit grabbing your other hand “Pretty please, Teddy?” He whines firmly pressing your hand to his heart.

💥🪨 You buckle so fast it’s not even funny. “Bbbbbbbut...😤😖😞fine.” You concede

💥🪨These two really know how to put on the charm. Especially if Bakugou Kasuki is calling you Teddy instead of Dumbass.

💥🪨 “Great! Y/n, pick out a show to watch before we start.” Baku barks handing you the remote. “Why?” You question snatching it and putting on Criminal Minds. Simply thrilled you were getting to pick (Typically there were mini competitions for such a privilege)

💥🪨 “You’re judging, Bighead. You can’t look til we’re done.” Kiri hums thoughtfully trying to pick a good color combination. Baku already had his colors hidden in his lap before scouting so his hip was against yours sure to obscure your view of your own hand from you.

💥🪨 “Yea, no bias. When I win it’ll because I’m the best! Isn’t that right, Shitty Hair!” The ash blonde smiles cockily at the red head across from him. “In your fucking dreams, Spark plug!” Kiri spits backs just taking all the colors and copying Bakugou’s positioning

💥🪨 “If either of you fuckers, get those polishes on my favorite jeans there’ll be hell to pay.” You warn with a sinister tone to rival even Katsuki’s and the widest smile. The boys shiver at the seriousness behind your smile. Your threat is far from empty

💥🪨 You pretty much figured your nails would probably look terrible with each of your vividly different boyfriends competing with each other. “What do you, dorks, even get for winning?” You muse leaning into Kiri’s broad ass shoulder

💥🪨 “The next date plans and solo cuddles with Teddy Bear for the rest of the night seems fair to me. Huh, Eijirou?” Baku looks up from his work with a self assured grin blowing one of your nails. Vermilion irises float from you to Kiri.

💥🪨 Knowing damn well niether of them could keep you their hands off you. “Deal.” Kiri nods without giving Baku the satisfaction of meeting his gaze.

💥🪨 “Oh and I get shitly painted nails.” You sigh rolling your eyes. You’d be lying if you didn’t find it kinda hawt when they got like this

💥🪨 “There.” Halfway through the 2nd episode Kiri says and finally caps his last polish. Blowing gently across the surface of your nails.

💥🪨 By this time Baku has placed your arm on his lower back and his head in your lap. A firm grip on your wrist so you couldn’t checkout his work until Kiri finished. Your fingers make light circles there despite being held hostage. “Bout time, slow poke.” Baku huffs releasing your arm as you brought both hands side by side.

💥🪨 They had somehow managed to pick colors that didn’t totally clash. Kiri’s hand were mix match rose gold and pink with the teeniest (not to mention even) little white hearts in the middle of each nail.

💥🪨 Baku’s hand was very simple and clean. Black French tips with one red to orange nail with a black X on top as an accent.

💥🪨 You weren’t expecting anything this good. You could barely speak. You hadn’t been this lost for words since they had asked you out. You sniffle a lil bit. Your eyes glass up a little too.

💥🪨 God your partners are so great sometimes. The fact that they genuinely gave a fuck still manages to catch you off guard at times. After so many terrible relationships, effort, in and of itself, is kinda baffling

💥🪨 “Damn Pebs, it’s not that bad if you squint.” Kiri laughs nervously squeezing your shoulders. “Woah there, Teddy Bear, I’ll get the remover.” Baku stands ruffling your curls before you grab his wrist stopping him in his tracks.

💥🪨 “Suki. Eiji. Don’t be mad but I can’t pick! You guys both did really good! Fuck! I couldn’t ask for better lovers. You assholes are so much better than I deserve!” You gush before hiding your face in your hands. A little ashamed you let your boyfriends doing something as simple as your nails make you emotional.

💥🪨 “But Baby you deserve the world.” Kirishima immediately scoops you into a bear hug as he stands spinning you with ease and peppering you in kisses. Kiri places you back down even more gently than picked you up

💥🪨 “Princess, you’re a bad bitch! Don’t you dare forget it!” The shorter ash blonde says unwaveringly lifting your chin so you’d meet his eyes. He softly bops your forehead before kissing it and both cheeks. He pulls you close right as he yanks you up to straddle his waist

💥🪨 “Eijirou, I think our Babygirl needs a reminder of who she is and who she’s with.” His already deep ruby eyes darken lustfully. With no hesitation Kiri is right behind you in seconds

💥🪨 “I know just thing to jog our Pebble’s memory, Katsuki.” He whispers licking the side of your neck just as moves to capture Katsuki’s lips with his own

💥🪨 “Promise?” You moan softly lacing fingers into Kiri’s loose kitchens and trailing a cool hand across Baku’s abdomen stopping only at his joggers waist band

💥🪨 With that the three head to the bed room for some much needed group physical therapy

[evening-starlight]

Daddy’s Best Friend

I tried posting this three times and each time Tumblr crashed so we’re trying again. woohoo

Master List

3

Word Count: 1498

    Amaris smoothes down her dress as a knock sounds from her closed door. Tom walks in after Amaris invites him in. "Your dad sent me to come fetch you." He stops in the doorway, looking at the woman in front of him dressed in a dark red, sleeveless dress. She rolls her eyes with a groan.

    "Thank God it's you," Amaris says, holding out her arms and doing a  slow twirl. "Do I look well enough for the party?" Tom's throat runs dry, and his mind races with all the thoughts he's been trying to ignore the last two weeks.

    "Breath-taking, Darling." Amaris smiles at the compliment. "C'mon, your dad's waiting." Tom offers his arm to guide Amaris into the backyard, where William had set up a welcoming home party for her. "You ready?" Tom asks as they reach the back door.

    The look Amaris shoots up at Tom conveys every annoyance she feels. Tom laughs and has security opens the french doors. Applause erupt as Amaris steps out, her arm on Tom's and a fake smile plastered on her face.

    Amaris would rather be anywhere else but here, in anything else but this. But she'll stand there and greet her dad's colleges and make conversation with the old men for her dad. She did a lot of things for her dad, for his company she's set to inherit. Not that he ever asked her to, but Will went into a deep depression after her mom died, and Amaris was the first to help pull him out. She would do anything to make her father smile like he used to.

    "Amy," an awful, nasally voice screeches from across the lawn. Cleo Hubert, Amaris's 'best friend.' Amaris fakes yet another smile and hugs the woman. They met in junior high, where Cleo sucked on like a leech on Amaris's riches. She couldn't quite shake Cleo off, no matter how many times she's tried. Cleo didn't try to come visit Amaris in Paris either. That year was the best year of their friendship.

    Cleo had a habit of being a total bitch at parties, so Amaris steered her away from her father's high-end clientele. "Hey, Cleo," Amaris greet through gritted teeth. "I thought you were still in Rome?"

    "Well, Daddy William invited me home because he knows how much you love me," She squeals, throwing her arms around Amaris's shoulders with a leg pop. Amaris finds Tom's eyes and mouths for help. Tom looks away with a wicked smirked and goes back to talking with Juno. That asshole. "I'm so glad you're home, Amy Boo. You left me here all alone." Cleo pouts, hands still on Amaris's shoulders. "I missed you so much."

    "Cleo, I've told you many times, I don't like being called Amy. You're allowed to call me Amaris or Mari." Cleo lets out a dramatic sigh, throwing her head back.

    "Amy, baby, you know I call you Amy because I can't say my 'r's." Amaris removes Cleo's hands and holds them between the two women.

    "I'm delighted you showed up, but I need to get back to the party. I'll call you later, okay?" Cleo waves a hand in Amaris's face.

    "Don't worry, girly. I'll just be over there getting a drink, finding myself a sugar daddy." Before Amaris can stop her, Cleo skips off to the open bar. Tom appears next to the worried Amaris.

    Tom laughs as Amaris smacks his chest. "You're a mother fucker, Tom Hiddleston. I can't believe you left me with that." She gestures to the woman getting a pink alcohol drink. Tom's arm finds its way over her shoulder like it belonged there as he chuckles.

    "You think I wanted to deal with her? She's the definition of a hot mess." They watch as Cleo downs her drink and asks for another in a minute flat. "Jesus, I'll fix it," He sighs as she starts to chug the second drink.

    Amaris's eyes travel down Tom's back, focusing on the tight-fitting pants and the way his legs go on for days. She heads back to the small group of businessmen she left, picking up the conversation where it's at.

    Tom's attention slowly drifts from Cleo over to Amaris. The way her white teeth glisten in the sun as she laughs at the jokes being thrown around and the way that the red dress adorning her body hugs in the right places, accentuating her curves. She looks nothing less than ravishing. Tom orders two old fashions, one for him and the girl he can't get off his mind, while Cleo talks his ear off about something he could care less about.

    Amaris smiles as Tom hands her the drink, slipping his arm around her waist as he joins the conversation. She leans up to whisper in his ear, "Did you take care of Cleo?" Tom curses and leaves once again to take care of Amaris's stupid friend, who ruins everything for him.

    While babysitting Cleo, Tom drinks a bit more than he was planning on. So he ends up retreating inside the house to calm down and drink some water. Tom doesn't hear anyone come in behind him, only jumping when someone sets a hand on his shoulder while he fills up a cup in the sink. "Jesus," He curses, turning to see who frightened him.

    "Had a little much there, Tommy?" Amaris asks, a teasing smile gracing her beautiful features. She looked so wonderful standing there, hand on Tom and smile genuine. He continues to look her over, admiring how breathtaking she really looked. How had he not seen this before? She was his perfect girl, standing right in front of him. Maybe he was just drunk. He reminds himself. "Woah, Tom." Amaris laughs, reaching across him to turn off the tap as water overflows onto Tom's hand. "Let's get you downstairs to calm down, yeah?"

    "I'd like that," Tom replies, taking a drink from his filled cup before leaning into Amaris. She giggles and helps him down the stairs, into the basement where guests weren't allowed. "You know?" Tom slurs once Amaris drops him on the couch in the downstairs lounge.

    "What?" Amaris laughs as she bends down to help Tom get his shoes off. He stops to look over her ass, which looks perfect from his drunken perspective. He remembers his train of thought when Amaris sits next to him with a raised eyebrow.

    "You're not a kid anymore. You've really grown into yourself." Amaris laughs as Tom leans over to rest his head on her shoulder. She runs a hand through his hair, keeping him grounded. "I'm sorry I got drunk at your party," Tom apologizes.

    "Don't be. I was ready to be done anyways. I saw you come inside and took my chance to dip. So really, I should be thanking you." Tom nods, eyebrows pull together as he nods, sitting up to look at her.

    "Exactly, you're welcome." Amaris laughs and pats his knee. "You're beautiful," He adds, raking his eyes over her again. Amaris blushes and thanks him quietly. "You know? Since you've been back, I've been baffled. Honestly? You came back a totally different girl," Tom stops himself and shakes his head. "Woman. You're a lovely woman, Amaris."

    "Well, thank you, Tom. I appreciate your honesty."

    "Can I be honest again?" He asks, leaning in closer to Amaris and whispering. Amaris nods, a small smile on those beautiful pink lips of hers. Tom leans all the way in, kissing her. She lets out a small squeak before kissing him back. This was everything she wanted since she was sixteen. But he was drunk. Amaris pulls away and sets a hand on Tom's chest to stop him from coming closer.

    "You're drunk." She whispers.

    "Drunk words and sober thoughts," Tom remarks, eyes hooded as he looks at her. She felt like the only person in the world with the way Tom focused his drunk attention on her. Amaris always wanted to be that girl to Tom, but not like this. He was drunk and taking advantage of that for her own gains would be wrong.

    Tom lays his head back on her shoulder. "Get some sleep, Tom." She whispers, running a hand through his hair while he starts to nod off. William meets Amaris upstairs after she tucks Tom in on the couch downstairs.

    "You alright, Owl? You look like you've seen a ghost." He asks as he pulls her into a quick side hug.

    "Oh, yeah. I'm fine, just feeling a tad tired. Tom passed out downstairs after babysitting Cleo all night." William laughs and shakes his head. "Why'd you invite her?"

    "I promise you I did no such thing. I can't trust her around my clients." He laughs. "Must have gotten word from her mother. You know, the city gossips." Will and Amaris laugh together as they make their way back outside as the sun starts to set to finish out the last hour of the party.

Taglist: @queenofallhobos​

[pallasperilous]

Funny Bone

The other day Supernatural9917 threw out this meme as a cracky Halloween Dean/Cas prompt and I was SO MAD, because I then had to write it:

And so here it is. Goddammit.

Funny Bone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761150 Words: 4930 Castiel/Dean Winchester Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, No Angels AU, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Gore Mature (mentions of lewd acts, canon-typical violence, and some truly horrible pickup lines)

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Discovering the bunker in the first place was a helluva surprise. The whole facility is legitimately batshit; Dead Guys of Letters knew how to live (and, apparently, die. All at once.).

But after plowing through a dozen rooms worth of priceless treasures and crusty boobytraps, even Sam was looking kinda full up on shock and awe.

“We can hit the basement tomorrow,” he said. There was a big smudge of dust across his nose and some cobwebs in his hair.

“Nuh uh,” Dean answered, kicking the door shut with the toe of his boot. “If there’s shit still kicking down there, we gotta clean it out before it cleans us out. It’s that or we’re sleepin’ in the car.”

“Ugh,” Sam said, as if twenty minutes ago he hadn’t been losing his mind over a rare book about werewolf hemorrhoids.

So discovering that the basement included a no-shit actual dungeon felt more like an unanticipated bonus, and stumbling across a skeleton while exploring it barely even registered. Skeletons and dungeons! They go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor, inside a big circle of greasy black ash.  It looked a little mildewy in in places. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland.

It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

“Welp,” Dean had said, holstering his gun and wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re all clear. Let’s head back upstairs, salt the shit out of everything, and then we can pick up some groceries.”

“Do I get to buy a vegetable that doesn’t fit in a bun, or are we still in the refractory period?” Sam snarked from the corridor.

“I don’t see you cookin’, “ Dean started, shuffling back towards the hall, and that’s when the skeleton butted in.

“Are those astronaut pants?” it asked. “Because your ass is outta this world!”

Dean absolutely did not scream, but it’s possible there was a yelp. 

He almost unloaded a clip into it – unclear what that would’ve possibly done, but it’s good to start with the simple, available solutions. Next he nabbed the lighter fluid off of Sam and dumped out half a pound of kosher salt as a chaser and set the fucker alight.

This does not have the intended effect.

“Baby, I’d like to put my meat on your grill,” the skeleton says, greenish flames dancing between its ribs, “because you’re hot, and I’m smokin’.” Then it sits up a little, just enough to shoot Dean some finger guns.

“What the fuck,” Dean says.

Sam makes a little evaluatory noise. “Sexually harassed by a skeleton,” he chuckles. “I think that’s a new one. Even for you. Is that a new one? I know a lot of strange shit went down in Purgatory.”

The skeleton perks up even more at that, grungy eye sockets sweeping up and down Dean’s body. “Are you a time traveler?” it asks. (Maybe he asks, because the voice is pretty deep and dude-ish, although possibly just on account of its vocal cords being leather shoelaces.)

“Wh…no, I’m not a time traveler,” Dean fibs. He’s more of a time trafficking victim, anyway. “Oh, wait, god,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you’re asking that because –“

“– I can see you in my future,” the skeleton finishes, eagerly, and Dean really wishes this thing had eyebrows so he could tell if they’re waggling.

“Yeah, okay. That’s enough for today,” Dean groans. “I need a drink.” He starts to back out of the room as a pre-emptive strike against Bones commenting on how he hates to see Dean leave, but loves to watch him go. Dean’s working on stumbling back again Sam’s left shoe when the skeleton pipes up one last time, this time with a husky, anxious edge.

“I realize that Purgatory isn’t accessible through a simple chronological shift,” it says, teeth chattering. “But it does require travel between modalities, and if you’re capable of that, I would very much like to speak with you again.”

Dean and Sam’s heads slowly swivel back towards the skeleton, like two little pizzas on the same Lazy Susan.

 An hour later, they’re still in the dungeon, working on dousing the skeleton with every possible anti-bad-stuff solution they’ve got, just in case he’s a vampire skeleton or a ghoul skeleton or a witch skeleton or maybe just a wendigo that’s incredibly bad at its job. In between progress reports, he’s still hitting on Dean.

“Dude, don’t you have an off switch somewhere?” Dean asks him.

“Well, Dean, you certainly make me feel like a light switch,–“

“– because you turn me on,” all three of them say in unison.

The skeleton looks a little embarrassed, which is kind of impressive when you think about it. “You’ve…heard that one before?” he asks.

“I spend a lot of time in bars,” Dean deadpans. “Okay, sage is a no-go.”

Sam strikes a line off on the clipboard he found upstairs. “Is this part of a curse or something?” he asks, glancing up at Bones. “Like on top of being a sentient skeleton, you can only speak in horrible pickup lines?”

The skeleton shakes his head, which produces a sound Dean recognizes from his kneecaps on cold mornings. “No, the spellwork allows me to speak freely on most subjects; except who I am, or how to free me. But it’s helpful to use language modern humans can easily understand.”

“Huh. Well, in a way, it is Dean’s native tongue,” Sam says, smirking.

“You shut your face,” Dean hisses.

“When I first saw you, I lost my tongue. Can I try yours on for size?” Bones asks Dean.

“Buddy, I don’t know where you get your information from, but nobody actually talks that way,” Dean tells him. “Nobody sober, anyway. Who isn’t a virgin.”

The skeleton slumps. “I learned from my last visitor. He tried to release me on several occasions, but he either died or abandoned the project.”

Dean arches a brow. “The project being…you?”

“I would be very valuable under the right circumstances.” The skeleton shrugs and casually holds out an arm for Dean to scrape at with the demon blade. “He gave me lessons in modern vernacular as a way to pass our time together.”

“Sounds like a peach,” Dean says, before he can catch himself. “If you have a peach-related pickup line in there, man, you’d better just sit on it.”

“That’s what-“

“I will smash you with a hammer,” Dean barks.

The skeleton relents, but with obvious reluctance.

 They call it quits before Kansas rolls up the sidewalk for the night and leaves them stranded with nothing but two Clif bars and a gross of septuagenarian cans of franks ’n beans. Bones shifts nervously when Dean leaves – “Which is better, pancakes or waffles?” he asks.

“Pancakes,” Dean says, with a sense of grim duty.

“Because I’d like to know what you’re making me for breakfast,” says Bones, his voice trailing off as Dean books it down the stony corridor.

  By lunch the next day (bologna sandwiches, so sue him, he’ll make something good later) they’re pretty sure that Bones doesn’t pose any known, immediate threat – other than to Dean’s sanity – so they switch gears to springing him. Maybe he will be worth something, or maybe he’ll crumble into dust and Be Free, or maybe he’ll just stop being chained to the basement wall, in which case he can become their skeleton butler or something.

There are weird runes on the ankle cuff, so Sam snaps some quick photos and heads upstairs to feel up the library. This leaves Dean in the basement with Bones, some good old-fashioned power tools, and Bones’s ex-suitor’s gross sense of humor.

“You know I can understand you just fine when you’re talking normally,” Dean says. “You’re just reciting some prehistoric shit that idiots say to girls to get a pity-laugh, hoping it leads to a pity-fuck.”

“What’s a pity-fuck?” Bones asks, all mildewy innocence. Dean’s pretty sure the grunge in his eyeball sockets is dried eyeball.

“Pretty much what it says on the tin, my guy,” Dean answers, and reaches for the acetylene torch.

 “Enochian,” Sam says, when Dean surfaces for another sandwich and possibly a beer. He’s really disappointed about the torch.

“Gesundheit?” Dean replies, around a mouthful of bologna. Like everything else here, the kitchen is pretty schwa, although the inside of the fridge required three exorcisms and half a jug of bleach.

Sam paws around the smelly old book in a way that makes Dean feel sorry for the girls Sam dated in high school. “The symbols on the cuff. I think they’re Enochian. It’s a fake celestial language made up by some sixteenth century con artists.”

Dean coughs up a bit of Wonder Bread. “I respect the hustle, but what’s it doing on an ankle cuff in a dungeon younger than Mickey Mouse?”

Sam frowns. “Well, it could be for show. But just because some nutbars made it up doesn’t mean it’s totally powerless. Maybe it does have some kind of…heavenly mojo.”

“Liwl probbem,” Dean observes, finishing off his sandwich. “Def nuh heggen.”

“Huh?”

Dean takes a swallow of beer. “I said: there’s no heaven.”

Sam shrugs. “We didn’t think there was a Purgatory, either.”

“Okay, but if we find out angels are real,” Dean snorts, “then Bones can fuck me in the ass.”

 Sam reports his findings to Bones, who sits placidly on the back of his pelvis, carpals splayed out on his kneecaps. What’s even holding him together? Dean can see what’s left of his ligaments, but they look like petrified gas station jerky.

“Do you know what they mean?” Sam asks him, pointing at the sigils.

Bones’s jaw creaks open a little, then closes again, and then he shakes his skull (something rattles inside.) Finally he makes a little frustrated noise and replies – “Baby, are you a book? Because I’d like to check you out.”

“Hey!” says Dean. “Keep it in your pants, man, I’m right here.”

Sam squints. “I think…Dean, I think he’s trying to tell us something, but the spell on him means he can’t say it directly.”

Bones clenches his fists, releases them, clenches them again.

“Yeah. Keep him talking. Let’s see how close he can get.”

Clack clack clack.

“Uh,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Do I need to, like. Give you some kinda opening?” he asks Bones.

“Sweetheart, I’d like nothing better,” Bones answers, then clacks his knuckles on his brow with exasperation.

“Sorry, Christ. Hit me with your best shot, buddy. Dealer’s choice.”

Bones clears his…ghost throat? and tries: “Tell me, Dean…did it hurt?”

Dean blinks. “When I…fell from heaven?”

Sam claps his hands. “Fucking knew it. It is Enochian, and it does have something to do with this. I think he wants me to check the library for another book. Maybe there’s one misshelved or something that I can actually use to translate. Or I can Google around, maybe there’s a subreddit.”

Dean’s pretty sure Bones has never heard of a Google or a subreddit (for that matter, does Dean actually know what a subreddit is?), but it seems like there’s a glimmer of hope deep in those scum-holes.

 Sam gets translations for a few of the words – “obedience” and something he’s fifty percent sure means “millstone” – but the rest is still gobbledygook, and he hasn’t come down with another update in hours. The dungeon is pretty roomy, but it’s not like there’s a foosball table or a cable TV pickup down there, so Dean and Bones wind up lying on the cold-ass ground, staring up into the dark reaches of the ceiling together and, like. Chatting.

Occasionally Bones goes quiet and Dean glances over at him. He really could just be a totally normal, completely dead dungeon skeleton. A good power washing and the right mounting hardware and he’d be ready for a high school biology classroom.

“So if these runes are a celestial thing, does that mean you’re some kinda demonic...thing?” Dean asks. “Cause I gotta say, you’re a much less of a douche than the demons I’ve met.” He snorts. “I know you probably can’t say.”

Bones sighs (how? With what lungs?). “The last person who tried to free me was a demon.” He shifts a little, maybe surprised that he can say this out loud. “It had been so long since somebody had spoken to me…I’m afraid I came close to actually enjoying his company. But he was no better than his kind usually are.”

“Don’t suppose you caught his name? Maybe Sam or me killed him for you already.”

“He called himself—no, I can’t say it.” He makes a sound resembling a harumph.

Then his skull creaks over to look at Dean. “Does your name start with ‘C’?” he says, very deliberately.

Dean is momentarily puzzled, but he works it out by the time Bones wincingly adds “…because I’ve got a D that wants to come behind you.”

There aren’t too many demons under the “C” tab in Dean’s blood-stained mental rolodex, and when he says the name out loud, Bones makes a sound like an entire set of dominos being thrown down a spiral staircase.

  Crowley is pretty pissed, which is fun.

It’s nice that the dungeon floor already has a perfect trap on the floor; they don’t even have to hit up Ace Hardware for paint. A damp shop cloth and a little nail polish (Wet ’n Wild in “Red Red,” don’t leave home without it) brings it right up to working order.

“Why does it smell like a nail salon fucked a bloody wine cellar?” Crowley says, after he’s settled down a bit. He manifested right in the creepy torture chair (in the shackles, even! What service!) and he made some escape attempts followed by angry noises about rust stains. Now he’s recovered his dignity and has kicked back a bit, legs crossed, fingers steepled, oozing maximum levels of 2 cool 4 school.

“How do you know what a nail salon smells like?” Dean retorts.

“I get a monthly mani-pedi. There’s no shame in a little self-care, boys.” Crowley’s eyes trickle down to their feet. “Imagine what fungal horrors those work boots must conceal.” Then he squints, and looks up, finally taking in the whole room. “Could swear I’ve been here before. Little upscale for you, isn’t it? Did we splurge for a vacation rental?”

“Crowley, why don’t we roleplay Titanic?” Bones growls from the wall behind him, and Crowley’s face goes slack. “I’ll be the iceberg, and you can go down.”

Crowley swallows and slowly twists back, as far as the shackles let him. “Feathers, is that you? Well, as I live and breathe.”

“You do neither,” says Bones, with so much gravelly contempt that Dean suppresses a little shiver.

“Oh, I still breathe now and then, when the mood takes me. I’m a sentimentalist.” Crowley cranes his neck a little harder and squints into the dim. “Goodness, you’ve dropped some weight since we last spoke, haven’t you. Finally let go of all that pesky soft tissue?”

Bones tilts forward and kind of clatters onto hands and knees, then tipsily begins to rise up to standing. Dean’s a little concerned he’s gonna topple right over and they’re gonna spend the next two hours collecting him in a basket, but when he moves to help out, Bones waves him off. After a couple false starts he makes it up onto his feet bones and then shuffles out to the end of his chain, right under one of the overhead lights. He’s still a good couple feet off from Crowley, but Crowley looks like he wouldn’t mind a few extra acres.

Bones sways a little bit, just enough for Crowley to wince. “You didn’t come back.”

“I got busy.”

Sam shifts impatiently. “What is he?” he snaps, gesturing at Bones.

“Exceedingly dull,” Crowley says. “I should’ve guessed you were friends.”

Dean uncorks a fresh bottle of holy water.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Crowley amends, quickly. “And even if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do with him. It’d be like giving a laptop to a pair of howler monkeys.”

Dean puts his thumb over the mouth of the water bottle and holds it over Crowley’s head. “Try me.”

Crowley scoffs, rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he is, since he’s useless as long as he’s chained up. And I wouldn’t have left him down here if I had a single clue how to smuggle him out.  I haven’t even been in here since the Bay of Pigs; I’d worked a loophole in one of the defense spells here that let me in. When it broke down, I lost my exploit. Wasn’t worth the bother after that.”

Dean slides his thumb a millimeter north of a perfect seal, and a fat drop of water busts its ass open on Crowley’s forehead and sends up a thin line of steam. “Good thing I’ve got a limitless supply of bother,” Dean notes. “Sam, we still got those syringes in the trunk?”

Crowley snarls. “Go ahead and melt me like the cartoon shoe in Roger Rabbit, it’s not going magically make me come up with a solution.”

Bones grunts and rattles his leg chain. “Do you speak Spanish, Crowley? Because you look like the Juan for me.”

“Did I teach you that one? You absolute xylophone.” Crowley glances back at Dean. “Do your worst, Squirrel, I deserve it.”

Sam frowns. “He uses the lines to get around the spell’s speech restrictions. This is something about speaking languages…were you able translate the Enochian symbols on his cuff?”

Crowley blinks. “What symbols?”

 After a whole lot of faffing around with mirrors and terrible cellphone photography, they confirm that Crowley can’t see the symbols at all.

“More demon-proofing. Clever little buggers, those Men of Letters,” Crowley sighs. “A real shame they were peeled and eaten like bananas.”

Finally Sam just hunkers down with a pencil and pad to transcribe the entire ankle cuff, and Dean awkwardly holds up Bones’s ankle, like he’s being sized for a glass slipper. When they shove the results in Crowley’s face, Dean watches his eyes dart along the words.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, boys. Along with the usual wankery, there are instructions on how to release the cuff. I can translate it,” he finally says, with an unusually low inflection of bullshit, “but I’ll thank you to release me, first.”

Dean is flummoxed. “What, you’re not gonna haggle for a cut of the profits or anything?”

“Activating the release mechanism will free him completely, and restore his…restore him. I’d rather be at a safe distance.” He glances back at Bones, looming in the shadows. “A continent or three should do the trick.”

“If it doesn’t work–“

“I’d be more worried about what happens if it does,” Crowley sighs.  “But feel free to summon me back for tea and sympathy. Here, I’ll even give you my number. But please, no personal photography. I pity you enough as it is.”

  Crowley finally smokes out, and Dean has a beer to celebrate while Sam looks over the list of what they need and Bones clatters his fingertips like castanets. The ingredients are (as always) larded with shit that’s exotic and expensive; Sam is looking crestfallen at some of the items. “I’ve heard of all of this, but I’ve only seen maybe half of it for sale anywhere.”

“Baby, are you a yard sale? Because you’ve got some serious junk in that trunk,” Bones monotones. He’s back to lying on the floor.

At least it’s getting easier to translate this shit. “They’ve got all the ingredients here somewhere,” Dean says. Sam looks skeptical. “C’mon, Sam, no way these dudes would use a lock when they didn’t have the key.”

The ensuing scavenger hunt takes a few pints of elbow grease, but at least by the end they’re both familiar with the Bunker’s floor plan, document filing system, and inventory records. They find virtually everything in-house, though they do end up driving to the nearest farm stand for some hen’s eggs and rosemary (and heirloom tomatoes, because they look bomb).

Dean christens – or maybe exorcises – the kitchen range with some red meat, and they fuel up with burgers before taking the plunge. Dean’s still licking the ketchup off his fingers when Bones pipes up one last time. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

Dean and Sam brace for impact.

Bones sighs. “That’s not the start of a pickup line. I genuinely have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so intent on freeing me? You could have just left me down here. I’m not a threat this way. You only have Crowley’s word that you might profit - or suffer - from my release.”

Sam gives Dean a look; it’s the look that says I sure hope you have an answer, because I think this entire thing has been dumb as shit and half as necessary. It’s a look Sam uses pretty regularly.

“Uh. It’s the right thing to do? As far as I can tell, you haven’t hurt anybody or done anything else to deserve being down here. We went through all those records upstairs, and there’s no note that says ‘by the way, that skeleton downstairs eats babies for breakfast.’ This place is cool, but the dudes who built it were obviously shady as fuck.”

“I see.” Bones sounds a little disappointed.

Sam fake-coughs into his hand, and Dean sets down his paper napkin. “Also, you seem cool. Like, you’re easy to hang out with. Other than the stinky one-liners, and we’re gonna wean you off of those.”

Bones straightens himself out a little. “Thank you, Dean. You know, on a scale of one to ten, I’d rate you a nine.”

“Okay, okay. Why not a ten?”

Bones sets his chin on his knuckle bones with a tidy little clack. “Because I’m the one you’re missing.”

Dean groans, but he thinks the guy might be smiling, somewhere behind that skeletal grin.

 By hour two, Sam’s pretty tuckered out from pulverizing a billion and three mummified dove livers while reciting nonsense syllables, and Dean’s right arm is about to fall off from holding up this giant silver swizzle stick that’s either a really weird short sword or a decorative javelin, but Bones has never looked perkier. He’s lying on a nice white bedsheet and looking fresh as a recently exhumed daisy.

“Okay,” Sam rasps. “Light the candle and we should be good to go. Any last words, Bones?”

“Are either of you religious?” He crosses his arm bones over each other.

“Fuck no,” Dean answers, before Sam gets a chance to launch into it.

Bones shakes his skull fondly. “You should reconsider. Because you’re the answer to my prayers.”

Dean makes a gagging noise and lights the candle.

 What happens next (well, after the cuff pops open) is some of the freakiest shit that Dean has ever seen, and his Freaky CV is pretty fucking impressive, thanks. Bones tells them to avert their eyes, “just in case”, but he takes a peek between his fingers anyway, because he’s an idiot.

For a second Bones is just lying there, and Dean has a second of real disappointment that maybe he’s Moved On Past The Veil or something, but then he starts…foaming. It starts out kind of uniform and colorless, but then it really picks up speed and volume and starts to separate into swaths of distinct and horrible colors and textures. He closes his eyes again for a second to give his stomach a chance to reboot, and when he looks again the foam is gone, and instead there’s a whole lot of angry jelly trying to form into organs.

Just as the jelly is really getting its shit together and looking more like lungs and intestines and stuff, the heart-jelly pulses once and sends out a fistful of big squishy vines…veins? and a fat white worm of nerve scrambles down the spinal column and starts putting out franchises. This is followed by some disturbingly tasty-looking red sheets of muscle that swiftly sheathe over all the whole scene, and then the muscles start sweating out fat and cartilage and this is the point where Dean decides that looking away is actually definitely one hundred percent for the best. Even then, the sounds are tough to handle.

Kinda wild: he’s seen people taken apart, but watching one get put back together is somehow gnarlier. Well, if this guy is even a person. It’s a human skeleton, sure, but god knows even Mickey Rourke has one under there.

Finally everything seems to have quieted down.

“How you doin’ over there, Bones?” Dean asks, and dares to take a peek.

Bones is crouched down in front of them, fists balled up in the bedsheets (it’s a relief that the bedsheets didn’t get accidentally sucked into the muscle layer or something, like one of those surgeons who leaves a sponge behind). Dean sees white guy skin and some dark messy hair and gets the gist of a decent build.

The face slowly cranes upwards, and Dean is really truly ready for anything here; tusks, fangs, Klingon forehead ridges, gingivitis. Instead he gets a faceful of hot math teacher. Bones’s eyes are still closed, but he’s frowning like he’s mentally reviewing his strategy to explain the quadratic equation to a roomful of horny teens.

He slowly rises to standing (yikes! Naked! Dean is a Moderately Bad Man, so he glances, but just long enough to register “nice), uncurling slowly and carefully.

Then he’s all the way up. Bones squares his shoulders and straightens the last kink in his spine, and the frown resolves. Dean’s about to say something, when his eyes snap open, and this cold white light absolutely blasts out of them, and fuck, Crowley wasn’t kidding: this guy is definitely A Thing. The whole room flattens and distorts in the light. Shadows race up the walls like they’re looking for a way out, then snap together into the shape of enormous ragged wings, stretching thirty feet higher than the actual ceiling clearance.

Then the light dies down; the wings fade into regular-grade shadows. Instead of a terrifying unearthly avatar of Oh Shit, Dean’s looking at a buck naked thirty-something math teacher. Who happens to be an unearthly avatar of Oh Shit. And has nice eyes.

“My name is Castiel, angel of the Lord, Seraph of the First Shield,” the avatar says, in a piss-shakingly resonant version of Bones’s voice.

Then: “Do you speak English, Dean?”

“Yes?” Dean fumbles.

“So do I,” says Castiel, and smiles.

Then he makes finger-guns.

  Castiel sticks around for a grand total of five minutes before he’s suddenly gone again, because angels are (a) real and they can (b) teleport? at (c) any moment because (d) fuck you, then he reappears six hours later (clothed) standing over Dean’s bed, having apparently forgotten that humans like to sleep; this time Dean does shoot him, but luckily he doesn’t seem to take it personally.   

“I located Crowley,” Bo- Castiel says. The silver sword-javelin thing is sitting on the kitchen counter in front of him; apparently it’s an Angel Blade and it lives in Castiel’s coat sleeve and can vaporize demons. It doesn’t look like it has any Crowley on it, but maybe it’s self-cleaning.

“Did you kill him?” Dean asks, now that he’s semi-coherent and wrapped around a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

“Not this time,” Cas answers. “He did help, after all.”

“Sure,” says Dean.

“You don’t need to let me fuck you in the ass, either,” Castiel says, and Dean honks some coffee up the back of his nose.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. Didn’t realize you could hear that convo all the way down there.”

“Angels have excellent hearing. Mine wasn’t impacted by the spell.”

Dean can think of at least three very private moments Castiel almost definitely could hear every instant of, and longs for death. Or maybe not, since apparently this guy lives in Heaven and could hear him there, too. “Great. Good to know. Noted.”

“But…” Castiel looks wistful.

“What?” Dean nudges him. Dean Winchester: angel nudger.

Castiel frowns. “If I said…” he stops himself. “This is…what I want to say is very irregular, at least between angels and humans.”

“Jesus christ on a goddamn pogo stick, man. It’s three in the morning, some of us have a circadian rhythm and a limited lifespan. Say whatever it is you gotta say.”

Castiel looks up and drowns Dean in his swimming pool eyes, which Dean has learned belong to a radio ad salesman in Illinois, who Castiel possessed a few years back before jumping several decades into the past to run some errands and getting rope-a-doped by the Men of Letters and then warehoused in their basement; after they all spontaneously bought the farm, he just slowly ran out of the power reserves needed to keep his vessel from turning to mush and hey presto, talking skeleton.

Classic story, really.

“If I said you had a beautiful body, Dean,” Castiel says, solemnly, “Would you hold it against m-“

Dean doesn’t let him finish. {AO3 version}

[neutron-stars-blog]

Love Lies Bleeding | PART I

(whump/hurt-comfort)

Dustin Hallows, an immortal human being whom the world has feared for centuries, finds a mysterious trespasser within his mountain laboratory. So he tortures him. As one does. Except this chapter doesn’t actually have the torture in it -- it just introduces my OCs and some foreshadowing occurs.

Warning(s): Gun, knife, (mentions of) torture, scars (from chemical burns), drugs/sedatives/needles, spiders/arachnophobia, blood (not overly graphic), mentions of a strip search which does not actually occur.

Let me know if you have questions about my content warnings or about my writing in general.

--

PART I

Failed typography: A literary analysis (that’s the chapter title)

Dustin's Point of View

I thought I would be celebrating the red, bleeding colours of the sunset that night. Dining with my closest acquaintances, staring in awe outside the penthouse windows, awaiting the darkness. I thought I would take a break from work. I thought I would sleep that night.

Instead, I spent the first few shifts of that night in one of the basement floors of the mountain, listening to the soft cries of an uncanny figure in the corner of the computer room.

"Please — Please don't come any closer. Stay back or I'll kill you."

I couldn't see much of the trembling thing standing before me, except for his bony fingers holding a vintage pistol to my forehead. His hand was violently shaking. The skin was dry, scratched, and blood-stained, indicative of something awful he must have been suffering through.

Instability. Pain. Trauma.

He was definitely human, but his presence was unexplainable. There was no civilization left outside of the mountain. Everyone else had faded away centuries ago.

Well, almost everyone. The people of the flatlands were still around, but they were as elusive as ever. Sometimes, it felt as if they had died out as well.

"Please," the stranger said, pressing his gun harder against my head. "Please, don't hurt me. Or I'll kill you."

I didn't think he was going to shoot me. From the way his fingers wrapped around the gun crookedly with one hand, it was evident he didn't even know how. From underneath the thin hood draped over his head the faint lights of the computer room glistened in his bloodshot, insomniac eyes.

I didn't speak. The sounds of his shallow breaths echoed through the darkness as he attempted to stifle his panic. Though it was immoral to admit, his fear was starting to evoke all sorts of emotional responses.

Pleasure. Pity. Fascination.

"Please, I swear—" he sniffled. His voice was breaking.

The second I made a step forward he flinched hard and the gun clattered to the floor. His eyes widened. He wrapped his arms around his body. I wanted to sit back and laugh at how scared and pathetic this stranger was, and with a twisted enjoyment watch him as he cried and begged for his life. But instead I selected a more cruel approach, pulling out my pocket knife with the intent to further his psychological pain.

I snatched his arm tightly and twisted it behind his back until his body stiffened, drawing my knife to his throat to threaten his miserable life. He briefly struggled, but stopped at the realization that he was far weaker than I was and any attempt at fighting against me would be futile.

"Listen," I whispered in his ear, pressing my knife harder against his neck. "You will do exactly as I ask, or I will break your bones and skin you alive."

From my grip on his wrist I could feel his pulse and knew that my threat caused further shots of panic to spread through his body. He nodded, but barely, to avoid cutting his throat. Apart from his nods and little trembles, he stood completely frozen.

"Good. Now take a deep breath," I whispered.

He obeyed. Since his back was turned to me, he was unable to see the bloodthirsty, devilish smile plastered on my face, savouring every fragment of this encounter to reminisce about later.

I felt the stranger's body slowly fall limp as I held him there. "God, I have so many questions to ask you," I said.

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry," came a soft, unexpected reply, "I'm sorry for breaking in. I'm sorry for what I did on your computer."

"Shush. It's okay." My head turned to the long message still displayed on the nearby computer screen. The text was too small to read, but there must have been paragraphs upon paragraphs if one were to take a closer look. "Tell me. Where are you from? The flatlands, I presume?"

Another pause.

"What—" He panicked, his heart speeding up. He was so pitiful. "I — I don't even know what that is."

I twisted his arm tighter, forcing a soft, pained whimper from his throat.

"You seriously expect me to believe that?" I asked.

"Please, I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Who else came with you?"

The stranger paused. His breathing was forced and erratic.

"There's no one. I'm alone."

"Liar."

"You can search the whole fortress," he stuttered, "I swear, there's no one with me."

"I know you're not working alone. You're just a frail little thing."

"I have employers, okay? But they're not here," he said. He began struggling to get out of my grip. "I was just sent here to follow instructions. And they said they'd come get me when everything was done."

"And where are they?"

"I don't know."

Would they ever show up? Probably not, my instincts told me. How sweet. A broken, bloodied thing, doing someone else's dirty work, now abandoned by his associates.

At that moment, my plans to celebrate the sunset slipped out of my list of priorities. I was ecstatic, excited for the endless hours I would spend questioning this mysterious, unidentifiable stranger. Finding out every single thing about him. About his motives. About his past. About his deepest fears and desires. Nevertheless, the underlying question haunted me and almost scared me: Where the hell did he come from?

I finally released the knife from his neck and dragged him out of the computer room, leaving his gun on the floor to remain in the bitter darkness.

"Where are you taking me?" He asked.

"The fourth floor. Very deep into the mountain," I said, "I'm taking you as a hostage."

Silence.

As we walked through the long, white hallways, the stranger obeyed my orders without resistance. He cried softly, but didn't speak. If his walking slowed down, I would tighten the grip on his arm and jerk him forwards, causing a sound to escape from his mouth, but no further complaints.

After making several turns we were greeted by the bittersweet light of the outside as we passed by a window that stretched over an entire hallway. The stranger gingerly ran his fingertips over the glass, tracing along the fractal-like designs formed by frost as he admired the icy mountains that surrounded this fortress, continuing to spread far into the distance. The scenic beauty of the northern mountains conveyed the most calming feeling, a shocking contrast to the boy's torturous fate. He stared in awe at the warm, vibrant colours of the sunset, knowing that this was probably his last glimpse of the outside world.

Minutes later, we passed by another window providing us a glance at one of the several artificial ecosystems I had developed — they were often the only way within my estate to experience the outdoors as exposure to the dangerously freezing temperatures of the northern mountains was hardly ever an option. Upon approaching the glass, the boy slowed down to stare inside with wide eyes. Massive, fruit-bearing trees filled the area and surrounded the panoramic, fairytale-like waterfall that towered over the walls. The view was almost ethereal. Mist filled the air and blurred the view of anything far off into the distance. The cold colours of the artificial lights were reflected in my hostage's face and for a second he didn't look like a terrified corpse.

Further into the ecosystem was where food was grown, farmed by those who lived with and worked for me, since I needed the fortress to be self-sustainable in case we were ever cut off from the trade agreement with the flatlands. I currently ordered most of my supplies through broadcasts from the computer room, and they would be shipped to me via aircraft, however I knew these imports wouldn’t last. Especially after the events from the past few hours.

Hell, given the state of this world I wasn’t even sure if humanity would last.

While I held the stranger by his arm, I felt him flinch at the realization that the window was wreathed in dark, monstrous spiders. Overshadowed by the scenery behind them, the little fuckers weren’t noticeable at first, however, a closer look revealed a myriad of the elusive creatures lurking within the glass. Spiders have always been fascinating to me. I love the way they spend hours fashioning the most intricate webs. The way they are so dainty yet so cunning. The way they tie up their prey, leave them struggling and fighting for survival, and inject venom into their helpless bodies until their insides are reduced to liquid mush. My hostage was trembling and I felt him shiver at the mere sight of the countless spiders that nested in the window. I was deeply entertained, wanting to laugh at his reaction to the captivating creatures but I instead only smiled to myself, knowing that he must have been so afraid of them.

How perfect.

Gripping him tighter, I jerked his body away from the window and dragged him inside a clean but cramped elevator. We would be travelling many floors down, heading deep underground. Once the doors closed, I let go of his arm. He immediately backed into a corner, holding on to the glass walls as if he couldn't stand on his own due to physical weakness, starvation, or sleep deprivation. I had no idea what he went through before he came here, but I knew I would find out eventually. As the elevator started moving, his entire body trembled and his eyes stared at the floor, not daring to meet mine.

It was then that I started to notice how small and scrawny the stranger was, and wondered who could have possibly sent him here. Maybe among the group of conspirators from the flatlands, he was the only person capable of completing the particular task at hand—but why would they send him here with no backup, rendering him entirely vulnerable and defenseless? Surely they must have known that I would likely torture and brutally kill him. The more I thought about it the less it made sense to me.

Throughout the rest of the elevator ride, I stood silently, toying with my pocket knife as I savoured the boy's crippling fear. I couldn't help but smile.

Once the doors opened, I quickly grabbed him again and he reluctantly followed me through the labyrinthine basement. The silence was unsettling. The only sounds that could be heard were light footsteps and the boy's rapid, shallow breaths. We soon reached the end of the hallway we were walking through and I scanned my fingerprint over a door labeled 'room 404.'

The electronic door unlocked, and I pushed my hostage inside. When I let go of his arm, he weakly collapsed onto the floor, trembling. As I cuffed his wrists and ankles, he didn't protest or fight back. He simply kept his head down and softly whimpered as I dragged him by the chains until he was lying against a wall.

"Stay right there," I mumbled, "and try not to struggle too much."

I pulled out my communications device and called Cherry, the head of my scientific research department. I requested several things. My laptop. My reading glasses. A printout of the stranger's cryptic broadcast. I briefly mentioned the stranger. Her voice on the other end muttered a quick "okay, goodbye" before she hung up.

I turned towards him, the weird little stranger, crumpled on the floor.

"Hello," I said. I flashed him a quick smile. "Are you excited for the sunset?"

"The what?"

"The sunset. Those pretty colours in the sky. You kept staring at them earlier."

"I didn't know what they were." He took a heavy breath. I noticed he was fidgeting with the chains that bound him. "The sky isn't supposed to look like that. Is the world ending?"

I grinned. "It is for you."

He looked confused. So fucking confused.

Minutes later, Cherry entered.

"Hello, Dustin. Hello, prisoner," she mumbled, placing things into my hands. "Laptop, glasses, printout. Here you go."

I examined the printout of the message broadcasted from the computer room. An unfamiliar location code was printed at the top. Nevertheless, the body of the message was the focus of my attention. Obviously, from scanning through it, it was clear it was supposed to be a copy of one particular research paper from the library: a document from my medical research titled, "The effects of slow-working poisons: Investigations of possible treatments."

The issue wasn't the content, however, but rather how it was composed. Typos and mistakes were scattered throughout the message. Words were missing. Sometimes, letters were swapped out for numerals and vice versa.

It was the most unusual thing.

Cherry was about to leave when I grabbed the sleeve of her lab coat. "Wait, stay," I whispered, glancing back at the prisoner. "I'm kind of creeped out all of a sudden. This kind of typography isn't normal."

"Is it not?"

"I don't think so. These mistakes are too uncommon and too repetitive. It might not be as surface level as we think — maybe he sent them a code of some sort."

"Or maybe his wrists were broken."

I paused. I thought about the way he walked and the way he held that gun. It was like he was broken. "Remind me to do scans of his body. There might be some truth to what you're saying."

Cherry walked over to him and nudged him with the tip of her boot. "Get up," she mumbled. She wasn't rough or harsh with him, yet he winced and wrapped his arms around himself. "Get up," she repeated, pulling the chains on his wrists and forcing him to stand.

"Cherry, what are you doing?"

"Just examining him. Where's he from?"

"The flatlands," I said, "he must be."

"Oh, how creepy," she said, "a ghost from the dead, forgotten lands."

Cherry sometimes joked that the people of the flatlands had died out centuries ago and that all this time, we had been corresponding with the ancient signals and broadcasts they've left behind. Had it not been for the trade agreement we had with them, I would have accepted her theory as plausible. The civilizations of the flatlands were about as elusive as they could get. We knew nothing about their identity, their exact location, or their history. They didn't allow us to.

She began moving her hands over his arms, starting at his wrists and going deeper under his sleeves. At every spot, she squeezed him tightly, digging her thumbs into his forearms.

He tried to pull away. He cried. "Fuck — it hurts!"

"God, Cherry, what are you doing to him?"

"Nothing, just examining him," she said sharply. "There. Nothing's broken." She pulled down the prisoner's sleeves before I could see if she was too harsh, to see if she had left any marks on him. "He's definitely not from the flatlands. He can't be."

"How do you know?"

"He just can't be!"

"Where else could he have come from?"

"From inside the fortress, maybe?" Cherry suggested, "perhaps someone had a kid and hid him from us."

"What? We would have found out somehow." I mean, I knew the residents of the fortress were scared of us. If they cared about their kid, of course they would try to protect him from us. Who wouldn't? But they would never be able to hide him for so long. For what, twenty years, give or take? We would have found out.

I shook my head. "No," I said.

I looked back at the prisoner. He had already sat back down, face buried in his arms, shielding himself.

"Where are you from?" I demanded.

"I can't tell you!" His voice was cracking.

I approached him, kneeled down, and grabbed him by the hair. I tilted his head back painfully. "If you won't tell me, I'll have to force it out of you."

He flinched. "Please—"

I let him go.

"Cherry," I said, "could you pass me a needle? They're on the top shelf. I want to run some medical tests on him."

She mumbled an "okay" and began rummaging through the cabinets.

The chamber was rather small, but the space was efficiently used, with all sorts of appliances and medical devices arranged neatly in drawers and collections of drugs and surgical tools organized in the cabinets above. Though I found the room to be aesthetically pleasing, it still held an atmosphere that felt cold and sterile.

"What do you plan on doing?" Cherry asked.

"I want to search him," I said, "then take x-rays of him and what-not. He'd be too shaky for that, so I want to put him to sleep."

I put on gloves and prepared a syringe of a weak sedative, making sure the dosage wasn't overly drastic before I approached my terrified prisoner.

He briefly cried out in pain as I grabbed him by the hair again and forced him into a seated position. His breathing quickened but he was far too weak to put up a fight. I picked up one of his wrists, lifting up the sleeve of his hoodie, and immediately gasped in shock at his damaged, mutilated skin.

His entire forearm was covered in dry, irritated, peeling flesh, some parts oozing and infected. It was awful.

"Are those chemical burns?" I asked quietly.

He didn't answer.

"Was it an accident? Or did someone do this to you?"

Again, there was no response.

When he finally saw the contents of my hand his eyes widened and he flinched away from me, making me realize that he likely had a fear of needles.

How precious.

Before I injected him with the sedative I told him to close his eyes, which he fearfully obeyed, and I muttered that this wasn't going to hurt him in the slightest bit. That statement wasn't a lie. I knew that the needle was completely painless and was nothing compared to what I would be doing to him over the next few shifts. After removing the syringe, I rolled his sleeve back down to hide the brutal scars on his arm and laid him down gently on the floor to wait for the drugs to set in.

I had no doubt that he recognized me from the way he looked at me with pure fear in his eyes. He knew exactly who I was. His breaths were shallow and shaky as he brought his hands to his mouth, biting at the skin around his fingernails until I could see traces of blood on his lips. He was terrified and rightfully so. With a sick fascination I observed his pathetic yet intoxicating agony.

"You'll start to feel a little drowsy," I said, "it's okay, it's normal."

Minutes passed until his trembling finally stopped and the sudden absence of fear made him appear almost calm. I pressed my fingers against his neck to check his pulse and felt a slow, steady heartbeat. I also shook him roughly to make sure he was really unconscious and was met with a soft groan but no further movement. He was almost asleep. I knew that he would remain sedated for another hour or so, which provided me with more than enough time to think through all of the horrible things I would do to him once he woke up. A sinister smile started creeping onto my lips.

I really did love my job.

As my prisoner lay there completely unconscious I peeled the sweat-drenched hair from his forehead and ran a finger down his innocent-looking, delicate face.

At that point I took the opportunity to search his outside pockets for any weapons or identification, but I couldn't find anything. Earlier, I had planned to conduct a more thorough strip search, but I changed my mind. Practically violating him while he was unconscious and unaware just didn't sit right with me. I didn't want to touch him. I didn't even want to look at him. Besides, I was tired.

I sat down next to him, leaning against the wall. I noticed that Cherry had already left.

Taking a deep breath, I glanced down at the stranger's frail, unconscious body before looking away. "Hopefully I'll be finished with you before the sun goes down."

I really thought I would be celebrating the red, bleeding colours of the sunset that night. But in the end, I suppose, the red, bleeding wounds of my terrified prisoner would have to do.

[bunnylouisegrimes]

Episode 7 Review (BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH LOW KEY FUCKING UP CHARLIE’S BACKSTORY)

Spoilers, so be ready. Also, this one might be a little longer than my other ones, so just be aware.

This episode was both good and bad, at least for me. Let’s start off with all the bad and get that out of the way:

For starters, Bing’s sudden “I’m so high and moral, I’m so above Charlie, boo hoo he used me” narrative I swear... he’s so annoying. Gtfo with that shit Bing. You’re a rapist literal motherfucker. Charlie uses assholes like you for his benefit and kid’s benefit, then you die in the end, it’s what you deserve. I did love the nod to Dewey Hansom from the book and comic in this episode tho. Dewey was a rapist himself and if I remember correctly, he did stuff to kids, and Charlie made sure he got his in the end too. I guess this attitude Bing had did lead to his eventual downfall, but still... doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying lol.

A question I had, a friend on here had, and I’m sure we all had was: did Charlie get raped by Bing or... what? I mean, at the time, it was implied, based on what Bing said to him which was extremely creepy, but we didn’t know because his body got dragged away like nothing ever happened. Plus, it cut to what happened to him in his childhood around this time (my opinions on his childhood in a moment). The answer is: No, Charlie was not raped by Bing. He was about to be raped by him, but was not. Here is the screenshot from my friend who asked the writer of the episode:

So no, Charlie was not! Thank God... Of course, hitting him was not good, and what happened to him as a child was not good at all, but this would’ve made things a lot worse both writing wise and in regards to Charlie. Credit to @welcometochristmasland for asking the writer, thank you so much for clarifying this for everyone!

I’m especially relieved by this not just because I’m a Charlie fan girl, but this reason: Charlie getting raped AGAIN in his life, and especially by that fucker, would be so unneeded and stupid. There would be no point to that other than shock value filler. Not to mention, wouldn’t it make things extremely awkward between Vic and Charlie? Despite what’s happening with Wayne, I mean, she was almost raped by Bing herself, and if Charlie actually were in this scenario... that would be pretty awkward between the two, right? I know if I were Vic and I found out about that, I would feel pretty awkward, even if he had my kid, because rape is way too strong a punishment over this. We already know Bing is worse than Charlie, you wouldn’t have to show it through this, and thank God the show did not. I was gonna be real angry over that... of course, there is one thing that unexpectedly made me angry at this episode...

I don’t know what the writers’ problem is with Charlie’s backstory and the women in his life hurting him. They don’t make them saints, but they make them out to be like, “Oh, look at us, we love you and we point out your flaws, and you hurt us.” You know what Charlie’s mother and wife said to him all those years ago according to the comic book that reveals his backstory? They told him how much he drained them of their happiness and youth. No shit Charlie has such a distrust in women! He’s been told by his own mother and first wife, who he broke an arm and a leg for how much just to support the family, that he’s worthless. This leads him to snap! His mom wouldn’t have cared he was raped. She hated him. She told him, when he was forced to sleep in a coffin in the back of the inn and mortuary they lived in, that he belonged in one, so it served him right to sleep in one. Real loving mother of the year, am I right? Again, she still wasn’t a saint in the show, but Charlie going off at her like that was just... WHAT??? NO. And making Charlie groom other kids uknowingly while he’s groomed himself? I really don’t like this, and it’s even worse that Charlie gets more mad at his mom and not so much himself in this situation. He blames himself, but moreso blames his mom. Just... why?

In the comic, the guy who hurt Charlie as a kid was a random guy. He was kicked out of the inn and mortuary for hurting his mom while he was her customer. She points out that maybe a woman doesn’t satisfy him, and boy, is she right, because the fucker follows Charlie as he’s walking up a hill to play with his sled, and rapes Charlie. Charlie gets away, his abilities start to unlock just a bit once his head hits a tree, he kills the rapist, goes back into town, kills his mom, and kills one of the owners of the inn and mortuary (probably because he was trying to stop Charlie, and little boy Charlie has snapped). After this, Charlie leaves and ends up in Kansas. He has little no memory of this.

Now, did the episode show us his mom’s neglectful behavior by leaving her son midway through a little show he was doing to sleep around? Yes. Did they show his abilities unlock after his rape and him killing her? Yes. Did they show him get raped in the first place, and is it still horrible? Yes to both. And I think it was a good change in the show to make the man someone Charlie trusted instead of a random guy (its both equal in how horrible and wrong it is, but the fact it was someone he trusted is even more shocking, I think, but the good kind of shocking, not some cheap useless bullshit).

But similar to Charlie’s backstory with Cassie, the writers seemed to have skimmed through the comic and not understand the point: Not only does sexual assault as a child fuel Charlie’s trauma and pain, but so does the feelings of uselessness he felt from his mother hurting him and his wife hurting him. I get it, you want to make Charlie out to be the big bad, but he already is with the questionable ways he saves kids. His backstory is meant to be the place where you see his softer side, not see more of his bad. You see his softness, but then the show turns around and says, “ReMeMbEr, hE’s StIlL tHe BaD gUy.” We get it, writers! Now can you please stop making him unsympathetic? There is that side of him that people need to understand! That’s what makes his character so genius!

Slightly off topic, but I thought of something briefly: I can’t help but feel the show is maybe doing this not only because they really want to make it out like “Charlie’s so evil and if you like his sad backstory and understand him, you’re just wrong UWU), but maybe it’s also because they don’t want to talk about a male victim of abuse story. Of course, yes, they did it with him being raped as a child, and I’m glad that they still covered the topic of a male victim of sexual abuse, especially sexual child abuse. Showing how awful that is is important, and I think they handled that aspect well. However, Charlie is also a child abuse victim with his mother, and a domestic violence victim with his wife. Why wouldn’t they want to show a child abuse victim, and a domestic violence survivor (and a male one at that!) in a way that is important and well handled too? They didn’t make a PSA out of it, no, and they wouldn’t make PSAs out of the other things either, that’s not what I’m saying. But by showing these things in media, it’s important. It raises awareness of these issues that happen in our world, and who knows, it could help somebody find something to relate to. Think of the movie Kill Bill: the movie brings up people, especially women, getting raped in comas. It’s a problem, it happens to people, and Tarantino brought that up. It wasn’t in a PSA fashion, but he still showed you that something as awful as that could happen and does happen in our world. So what’s the problem, writers? Why couldn’t you explore these things with Charlie? Is it because he is a man, so exploring women hurting men is “wrong?”

Because let me tell you all: If Charles were Charlotte, and she were abused by her father and husband the same way as Charles was in the comic and book, I think the writers would praise this concept. “She has a distrust for men because of how much they hurt her in life! She’s a genius villain!” And don’t get me wrong: Charlotte would be. And men abusing women happens way more often than the other way around, it’s still absolutely wrong, and I would fully support Charlotte as a villain. I wouldn’t like her in that way as I do Charles because I’m straight, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy Charlotte Manx as a character and love her genius writing. But here comes Charles, a man abused by women... oh no! We can’t discuss that! Why not? What’s this double standard crap?

I’d like to reiterate that this is only a possible theory for why the writers made these choices, not an official reason. I’m not trying to accuse them of pulling a double standard, I’m just throwing that idea out there as a general, “is this why, because you’re not really giving a reason why.” And before anyone twists my words: Abuse of any kind, regardless of sexes involved, is wrong. I think female abuse stories should be told, and I think male abuse stories should be told, both in real life and in the fictional realm. I am a bit disappointed they did not do the full potential and exploration of Charlie’s very tragic backstory that they had in regards to his relationship with his mother and wife.

Now that I’ve let out my ranting, the positives of this episode:

Bing getting bird shit in his mouth in the beginning was hilarious. What happens to him in the end was fabulous. Charlie’s final words to him and how he left him to rot... oh how wonderful it was! And Charlie’s words to Bing throughout this whole episode were just... excellent. Obviously it was hard to watch him get beaten, but he had quite the guts to still try to trick him. His truthful words to Bing that made him stop when he was about to rape him, and his words to Bing after stabbing him were just... I think the best lines Charlie has said out of the whole series so far. His bad assery shines in this episode.

I find it fascinating how Charlie’s fears are outside of Christmasland and locked in that house. Despite all the nonsense with Cassie’s character I’ve discussed before and how she is not the abuser she is in the book and comic, and how important it is to discuss it and portray it, I do like Millie exploring herself. I suppose her mother does kinda have to be involved to help Millie explore herself, so I guess there is something good coming out of this, even if the take away is an aspect of Charlie being ruined and made less sympathetic when it should be.

Wayne and Craig’s interaction is really sweet, I’m glad he’s here and helping him. The comparison between Millie and her mom and Wayne and his dad is really good, I do like that. And Wayne saving Charlie, I was like HELL YES!!!! You’re doing good and you don’t even realize it, kid!

All in all: there was a part I was about to hate in this episode that was confirmed to not be there by the writer of it (Thank God), there was something I actually do hate about this episode, and then there are a few things I love about this episode. It was definitely interesting. You feel horrible for Charlie, you hate Bing even more, you feel glad he gets what he deserves, and the exploration with Millie and Wayne is good. If you’re like me and you really want Charlie’s backstory to be as it was in book form in regards to his relationship with his mother (and with his wife, quite a few episodes before) because it makes more sense, allows better exploration of concepts in our real world, and allows you to understand Charlie better, you won’t like his backstory entirely even as he was a kid. But if you can look past all that, there’s really no sour taste that will be left in your mouth, except for pity for Charlie (but most of us, if not all of us, feel that for him, that’s obvious, it’s horrible what happened to him).

Sorry this one was very long, thank you for reading till the end if you have! I hope you enjoyed it!

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 8: Somebody's Watching Me •

     Since the day of the rock fight, the Losers had been inseparable. And not only had that day come to be known as the day their bond had been forged but the day they had found a place to call their own: the clubhouse. A small subterranean dugout that Ben had found while playing in the Barrens one day. After many a reinforcement, he had transformed it into a habitable space for him and his six, now seven best friends. After their defeat of the Bowers gang, Ben had taken them into the Barrens, and just across the Kenduskeag Stream to the aforementioned fort where their bonds were furthered forged.

     And apart from their dark confessions at the park and the overcast of fear looming over their heads, Y/n had suggested another trip to the clubhouse as a morale booster. They each found themselves there with one another quite a bit, particularly when things were looking gloomy. It had quickly become a sanctuary for the children. And since their taking residency, the dingy little dugout had filled with trinkets and treasures of their own, slowly but surely growing far more homely with each visit.

     This particular trip to the clubhouse was less than exciting, everyone was still fairly unsettled from their conversation at the park earlier that day. And the journey through the barrens and across the Kenduskeag was considerably silent apart from the trickling stream and the singing birds. And every so often they would hear the scuffle of Ben readjusting his backpack over his shoulder.

     When they had left the park, he had suggested stopping by his house to pick something up and the others complied, curiously. Before they could debate on whether or not to follow him inside, he had returned from his house with a thick brown burlap cloth folded up under his arms. He was unzipping his backpack as he walked across his front lawn, tucking some more unseen things inside before storing the large piece of cloth and ropes in as well.

     "What is that, Ben?" Y/n had asked, balancing herself on her bike as it stood still on the pavement, her toes reaching for the concrete.

     He had closed his backpack and threw it over his shoulder before grabbing his bike.

     "Oh, it's our old hammock." Everyone's face's lit up at his words, the first they had perked since the park. "We had it at our old house, but, we don't really have a good place to hang it here, so I figured we could find a spot in the clubhouse."

     "That's a great idea," Mike beamed.

     Ben smiled at the comment and turned a little pink. He had always found it odd his interest in architecture, the kids at his old school always gave him grief for it. And over time it became an instinct to bury his interest, to never bring it up. But when he showed the Losers the clubhouse, they were enthralled. With the structure and his abilities. Ben was still getting used to their fascination and support in his passions, but he sure did enjoy it.

     And soon enough, the eight Losers found themselves descending the ladder into the place each and every one of them could call home. From the moment they entered, their noses were filled with the overwhelming and concentrated aroma of dust, and fresh layers of earth still damp from previous rains.

     It was intoxicating to the Loser's as it became the smell they associated with the clubhouse, their hideaway. Their hideaway from the Bowers gang, their hideaway from the world, and if they believed hard enough, a hideaway from It. A place where they could be stronger than the world told them they were, a place that reminded them that they were stronger than the world told them they were.

     But even this trip didn't seem to quite do the trick for each of them.

     "I don't see why we're here," Richie snorted, waltzing over to the crooked beam and slapped it gently - learning from Ben's mistakes. "Unless this fucker is demon proof or whatever the fuck that thing is I don't see how this is gonna help."

     "Doesn't mean we can't try and have fun while we can," Y/n argued. "Or at least try and clear our heads, calm down a little bit and collect ourselves. We can work something out some other day if we want, but not today. I mean, look at us,"

     Y/n gestured around the small circle the Losers had formed at the center of the clubhouse. Apart from Y/n, everyone was quiet and closed off, arms either tucked at their sides or they were wringing their hands. It was not the same seven misfits that stood together against Bowers, but the seven lonely children that were isolated and afraid when It had found them.

     "Look, I'm scared too. But somethings telling me we need to enjoy this while we can."

     Y/n sighed, her waving arms falling to rest at her sides in exasperation and her eyes fell to the dirt floor. For some unfathomable reason, she would never be able to explain, the turtle from that day at the quarry popped into her mind, and a faint ghost of a smile dusted her cheeks. She looked around at her friends with a reassuring sense of confidence and some of them seemed to take to her words.

     A similar thought crossed Beverly's mind and she smirked at her best friend and nodded, hands now tucked into her back pockets.

     "Y/n's right, let's just enjoy the rest of the day while we can. It's summer!"

     Bill fought the urge to roll his eyes at the familiar argument, but even he couldn't deny the whole idea of forgetting sounded tempting to him.

     Poor Eddie - who had been clutching his inhaler tightly to his chest in between puffs of the device - looked around the circle, then up at Richie. Richie looked down at his best friend and shrugged, slapping the kids back and the inhaler nearly flew out of his tiny grasp.

     "Whatdya' say, Eddie Spaghetti, you up for some good ol' fashioned repression and denial? Shouldn't be too hard for ya pal, that's what - every Wednesday night for you huh?"

     If Eddie wasn't still holding the albuterol captive in his swollen lungs, he would've snapped at Richie for saying such things, and above all that God-awful nickname again! But instead, he rolled his eyes and looked to Y/n, ignoring that his heart was beating just a twinge faster, and hesitantly nodded.

     "Great" Y/n smiled, relieved Eddie agreed.

     She less than gracefully twirled around - her ankle ached in reply - to look for the boombox Bill had brought last time. Swallowing a wince, Y/n reached the boombox and turned the radio on, giving the room a lighter ambiance already. They soon quickly recognized the song New York Groove, by Kiss as it was fading out.

    Y/n turned to Ben and gestured to his backpack.

     "So, should we hang up the hammock?"

     "Oh! Uh, yeah sure."

     Ben took the faded backpack from his shoulder and unzipped it, retrieving the thick burlap cloth as the radio station announced the next song of the previous decade.

     The Losers dispersed, making room for Y/n and Ben as they unfolded the hammock, the ends of the ropes trailing in the dirt after them. From the boombox in the corner, came the gentle tune of a piano, and a soft voice spilled into the atmosphere as the last rays of the sun shone through the entrance to the clubhouse.

     Ben gestured between two beams structured across the room and the pair made their way over as the song, Our House by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young swelled, giving the rest of the Losers the sense of home and comfort.

     "I'll light the fire

You put the flowers in the vase that you bought today"

     "Come to me now and rest your head for just five minutes, everything is good"

     Ben began instructing Y/n on how to hang the hammock, and the two set to work. Stan and Bev had begun gathering stray leaves that made their way into the clubhouse while they had been gone and set to tidying up. Between the two, it wasn't long before a competition formed to see who could get the most leaves and twigs out.

     Meanwhile, Eddie, Richie, and Mike had begun playing a game of cards with a deck that Richie had left last time. Of course, a game hadn't been decided yet. The three boys - mainly Richie and Eddie - had begun arguing over what to play. It was between Bullshit, Sevens and Mike just wanted to play Palace.

     "Such a cozy room, the windows are illuminated by the

Sunshine through them, fiery gems for you, only for you"

     Ben, Y/n, Bev and Stan had finished with their respective tasks before the trio could decide on a game. Everyone's attention was drawn back to Y/n and Ben when they put the finishing touches on the hammock.

     "Our house is a very, very, very fine house with two cats in the yard,

Life used to be so hard,

Now everything is easy 'cause of you and our—"

     "Alright," Y/n said, dusting off her hands after pushing herself off the dirt floor. "The hammock's all-"

     Before she could finish her sentence Richie had leaped to his feet - cursing profusely under his breath when he bumped his head on a low beam - and ran for the hammock. Making sure to go out of his way to shove Eddie to ground for no particular reason and his small frame hit the dirt with a rather loud 'umph'. Protests were thrown across the room but Richie merely stretched out his long lanky legs and rested his head under his folded arms, sighing in content.

    "Welp," Richie sighed, popping the 'p'. "You were right, toots. Coming down here wasn't so bad after all. And good thinking with the hammock, haystack. You got a good nugget in there."

     Richie winked at Y/n and nodded firmly at Ben. The Losers rolled their eyes in near-perfect sync - a feat easier around one another than one might think - and Richie closed his eyes, ignoring their glares. Eddie was extra furious given he was still feverishly dusting several spots of dirt off himself.

     "Alright, wake me when It's dead."

     "Enough, Richie." Y/n warned, before turning to Ben. "Ben, what I tell ya? Within the minute."

     Ben chuckled and Stan stepped forward.

     "Richie, we're sharing the hammock, you have to get up one way or another" He warned.

     "Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Stanley the Manley." Richie retorted, still never opening his eyes.

     Stan rolled his eyes and stepped around the hammock. Catching Y/n's eye, he gestured silently to the hammock and an unsuspecting Richie. Smirking, she made her way around the hammock and gestured for the others to continue talking. About what, she didn't care. They caught on almost immediately, but Eddie choked. Mike was quick to cover.

     "Eddie, if you really want we can play-"

     THUMP

     "THE FUCK?!"

     Stan and Y/n had flipped the hammock and Richie was pulling his dirtied face from the ground with a wince.

     "The fuck was that?"

     "We all know you weren't m-moving otherwise, Richie." Bill shot.

     "Hey, don't throw a fit just cause you guys were too slow."

     Richie turned to see Stan sat in the hammock, smirking at him.

     "You were saying?"

     "Oh, come on! That's not fair!" Richie gestured widely at Stan, looking desperately around the room for scraps of sympathy.

     Ignoring Richie's protests, Y/n turned to the others and raised a brow.

     "How about we each have ten minutes? That way it's fair."

     The Losers looked at one another and a chorus of agreement rang out.

     "S-s-sounds good."

     "Okay." Mike nodded.

     "Yeah, alright."

     "I call next!" Bev called.

     "Oh, for fuck sake! Don't I get a say in this? Wasn't I the one just violently thrown from the hammock? Eds, come on! Back me up!"

     Eddie wore a deadpan look as he met his best friend's eyes, bits of twig that Beverly and Stan had missed unknowingly caught in tufts of his hair.

     "Oh, don't try that with me, dickhead!" Eddie shot back. "You're the one who threw me in the dirt, why the fuck would I help you, and for fuck's sake stop calling me Eds!"

     Eddie took a deep breath after his small rant and glared at Richie. Scattered chuckles bounced across the Losers, Y/n's loudest of all.

     "Good for you, shrimp" Y/n giggled.

     "So just fuck me then, right?" Richie grumbled from the ground.

    Richie was not quite expecting a chorus of agreements echo off the Losers though he couldn't say he was surprised.

     "Pretty much."

     "Yeah,"

     "Uh-huh,"

      "Yep,"

     Huffing, he sat near the hammock and began finding ways to make Stan's turn in the hammock unpleasant. Stan didn't take this, of course, having many years under his belt of dealing with the loudmouth. Y/n looked at the pouting Tozier boy and felt a smile creep up and a twinge of guilt. She maneuvered around the hammock, and knelt down next to her friend, resting her ankle on the dirt floor where it wasn't strained.

     "Oh, don't look so glum, Tozier. It's not a good look on you," She rested her elbow on the boy's shoulder and he quickly scoffed, brushing off her words.

     "Oh please, everything looks good on me, toots, and you know it." Richie shot back, turning to meet her eye. "And I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted a piece of this either."

     Y/n guffawed, grabbing the attention of the Kaspbrak boy across the room, who was now watching them curiously. Her laughter bubbled into a small chuckle that would be bouncing around Eddie's head for the rest of the day like a catchy song. He watched fondly as the two engaged with one another and he noted how well they always got along.

     Y/n shook her head, trying at no avail to shake the smile from her lips. "You wish, Tozier."

     Richie held a smile of his own as he looked to her, that was until he glanced past her head and across the room to see the captivating gaze Eddie was held in. His big brown eyes focused on the girl beside him and that familiar pang that always returned when he caught Eddie staring at her like that. Richie swallowed thickly, his quick wit and sharp tongue taking over and he returned his attention to Y/n as if nothing happened.

     Richie shrugged, clicking his tongue. "No need to be shy, babe. Everybody wants a slice, and there's plenty for you."

     He puckered his lips and exaggeratedly smacked his lips at her and it was enough to do the trick. Her smile was gone, quickly replaced by her lips pressing into a firm line as she shoved his head away playfully. The Losers chimed in almost immediately. Various disgusted and disgruntled 'Beep beep, Richies' rang out after that comment and Y/n finally rose to her feet with a simple grunt.

     "Ech, I told you not to call me that, you dick." She grumbled, though she bit back a defeated smile, as she walked away.

     "That's my name, don't wear it out-" They said in sync, Y/n joining Bev on the bench on the far wall. "Yeah, yeah, I walked right into that one."

     Richie sniggered triumphantly, and with his new burst of confidence, he returned to his attempts to aggravate Stan. Ben meanwhile, had begun making plans for another seating arrangement in his head, to divert some attention away from the hammock. He remembered he had some spare rope he kept with him in his backpack for such occasions - spur of the moment projects - and there were some sturdy enough boards laying around the place. By the end of the day - hopefully, with help - he could fashion a small swing seat for him and his friends. Not to swing, of course, there wasn't enough stability for that, but for sitting.

     He shared his plan with Bill and the two got to work. Bill thought it was a terrific idea, given how much fuss was being made over the hammock. Occupying the far corner of the room, was Mike and Eddie sat at the low coffee table the Losers had found last Wednesday. Mike had made the discovery, passing through one of the smaller neighborhoods in Derry when he saw someone had left it out on the street for the taking. The Losers gathered that morning and hauled it to the clubhouse, took all day to get it there but at least they had a surface for cards and such. Between Mike and Eddie, it was a bit easier to decide on a card game. They landed on Palace, and Eddie was finding he was having loads more fun than he did with Sevens.

     In between turns, he would find his eyes wandering past Mike at the bench on the wall. Y/n was thoroughly invested in Beverly's story, she was nodding along eagerly with a smile creeping up on her face. Eddie hadn't realized one was creeping up on his own, but he jumped slightly when she burst out laughing. Perhaps he was startled by the noise or he was just on guard from staring. Eddie looked away but he cursed himself when he realized she was looking at him.

     She had seen it.

     As for Y/n, she felt her stomach do a small flip when she felt a certain pair of brown eyes on her. Still smiling, she looked past Beverly, and on the ground, sitting curled up on a mat at the coffee table, blushing profusely and attempting desperately to avoid eye contact was Eddie.

     A small hum of a laugh vibrated through Beverly's chest, and without looking at him, she knew.

     "Is he looking at you again?" A smirk painted her face.

     Y/n hummed a response she knew Eddie wouldn't notice. With a fleeting burst of confidence, Y/n looked at the small boy, meeting his eye, and winked. She returned her attention to Bev, smirking yet she couldn't help but keep an eye on him. The poor boy blushed instantaneously, his neck and face grew hot and when Mike returned his attention to his friend - he had been too caught up in what cards to play - became very concerned. Eddie was now completely red. But this time he didn't look away, and despite his racing heart and raging blush, he allowed himself to meet her eye once more and much to his surprise, the ends of his lips even twitched into a smile.

     Y/n was attempting to hide blushes of her own, but not much time passed until the topic had changed along with the music. Each of them was swept back up in their own conversations in no time, though their minds replayed the small moment over and over. By now, several songs had come and gone, filling up the minutes of the time that wasted away in the company of the Losers.

     The eight misfits were not fully immersed in their own activities, but still very much engaged with another. And it wasn't long until the looming threat of their previous subject at the park was briefly forgotten. For now, they were safe, tucked away in their own private corner of the world, lost in the blissful moments of childhood.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

     Bill inserts the last tack into the wall, the large map reading 'DERRY SEWER SYSTEM' now hangs in the garage. As usual, the Losers had arrived at slightly different intervals. Mike and Stan arrived first, and Mike helped set up the projector while Stan was hanging blankets over the windows to prevent as much light as possible from entering. Ben had arrived shortly after, be had brought the slides that Bill had requested, and the last to show was Bev and Y/n who had left their complex together and ran into Richie and Eddie on the way.

     He could hear their conversation coming up the driveway, and the sounds of Bev eagerly greeting Ben and the others - seemingly happy to get a break from being the fourth wheel.

     "What's the matter, Eddie? Don't tell me you're afraid of the shape-shifting clown, are ya?" Richie spoke, as the three came to a stop near the garage where they discarded their bikes.

     "Oh, fuck off, Richie!" Eddie huffed.

     Y/n laughed, but it was very weak and sounded almost forced. "Don't worry Eddie. Richie and I have your back. Right, Richie?"

     Instinctively, her hand found Eddie's back and she pats him gently. Y/n smiled weakly, and it was clear she was just as nervous. Her hand fell from his back and immediately, Eddie missed it being there. Eddie didn't know how to respond, all he could muster was a shaky smile in thanks. It wasn't much, but he knew she had gotten the message.

     In turn, Richie began ruffling Eddie's hair and the boy flinched trying to escape his friend's grasp.

     "Hey! Hey, what the hell are-?"

      "Why, of course, we got to protect ol' Eddie Spaghetti! In fact," A light bulb went off over Richie's head and he looked to Y/n who was listening amused. "Y/n and I, are the proud co-founders of... P.E.K.S"

     Eddie finally manages to escape from Richie's torment and he huffed, attempting to adjust his hair. Eddie looks up at Richie, giving him an odd look, unknowingly Y/n was just as taken aback.

     "The what? What the hell are you talking about?"

     Richie swung his arm around Eddie and the three continued their journeys into the garage, finally joining the others. The rest of the Losers were just finishing laying out chairs and pillows for them to sit on.

     "You don't know? It's P.E.K.S, that is 'p', 'e', 'k', 's' my friend, P.E.K.S. Protect Eddie Kaspbrak Squad and we take our job very seriously, don't we toots?"

     An honest laugh escaped Y/n and for once she was relieved she had stayed quiet and went along with Richie's antics to find out, cause she agreed wholeheartedly. Swallowing her surprise, a smile found it's way onto her face and she looked to Eddie.

     "Damn straight, shrimp."

     Mike reached the garage door and reached for the handle, he paused taking one look around the room at his friends.

     "Everyone set?"

     Mike was met with scattered confirmations and with one swift tug of his arm, he pulled the door shut. All remaining sunlight - apart from a few weak rays peaking through the roof slats and the edges of the blankets - had vanished. All that illuminated the garage was the pale white light of the projector where Bill had just put in the slide Ben had brought of Old Derry. The same slide he had found in Ben's room the day they had gone to the quarry.

     The group dispersed, getting situated around the projector. Unfortunately, they weren't able to find many seats so that left Mike and Bill standing near the back and Y/n opted for a floor pillow in front of the projector where she could see.

     It also didn't hurt that she was near Eddie. But she did feel a bit exposed, she was front and center and the others were tucked in with one another in a way. However, it did give her the benefit of stretching out her bad leg. And yet, Y/n could not quite shake the feeling rooted deep inside her. To her it felt eerily similar to a common phenomenon experienced by millions of people around the globe, to her it felt as if she - and her friends, in their anxious huddle - were gathering around preparing themselves in front of their screen. Accompanied by the sickly feeling of dread and anxiety, mere butterflies - the special kind of butterflies - in her stomach that migrated only when a scary movie was about to start.

     And decades in the future her brain would tell her it was nothing more than that. That that awful, nauseating feeling that had bubbled in the pits of her stomach that day was nothing more than a product of special effects and a cheesy plotline. And anytime coworkers would talk about movie nights they had as kids, and engage with her about such things, her mind would show her nothing more than a hazy ersatz memory it had painted for her.

   Of her, under blankets and pillows, surrounded by kids - she would never stop to realize the faces were fuzzy, people she didn't know, she always felt alone in these memories. Her at the front of the pack, all crowded around a white television screen, her and the blurry kids, jumping back in fright at the blank white picture of static. This is all she would come to remember. A scary movie, with some blurry faces, five or six at least - one of the faces always stuck out stronger than the others, just a little bit clearer and wildly familiar but the thought would never linger long enough for her to recognize them. Y/n wouldn't remember that she was in fact with Stan Uris and Beverly Marsh, or even Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon, and Ben Hanscom all stuffed in Bill Denbrough's garage on a hot summer day in July, investigating the darkest mystery of their small hometown.

     But at the moment, all Y/n knew was that they were simply looking at Bill's projector, and he was sharing his theory and where It lives. Truthfully, Y/n did not know what to expect beyond that, but she could not shake that pit in her stomach. The pit that reminded her of the sickly feeling one gets when they are about to watch a horror movie. When the harsh violin plays, and the thunder strikes and one can feel the adrenaline coursing through their veins and they're trembling in all the excitement.

     Y/n didn't like that she felt this way, but she tried to dismiss it. Even if there was credit it to it - she didn't want to admit there was but if she did at least she was surrounded by her friends. The slide came into the focus, and the words 'MAP of the city of DERRY' appeared in the corner. Suddenly, all the details of Derry were splayed out perfectly in line with the Derry Public Works system Bill had hung up. The children could now see the entire town of Derry, including the interconnecting pathways and tunnels below, represented by a strangely ominous bright red line. It branched out from the far left corner of the map, skewing off into many different branches, touching every corner of Derry.

     "Look," Bill said, gesturing to something he had scribbled on his map. "T-T-That's where G-G-Georgie disappeared."

     Everyone's eyes fell on the small 'x' marked on a red line on Jackson street. Scratched in black ink next to it were the words, 'Storm Drain'. Bill gestured to another familiar location that overlapped a red line.

     "There's the Ironworks. And The Black Spot."

     Sure enough, sprinkled across the map of Derry were the mentioned locations of Derry's biggest disasters. Each of them bordering the sewers.

     "Everywhere it happens, it-it's all connected by the sewers," Bill said.

     Every red branch, every red line, all came from one spot, one source on the map where everything overlapped. The pits in everyone's stomachs bloomed and they all knew.

     "And they all meet up at the-"

     "The well house." Ben realized aloud.

     Eddie looked back slowly and tentatively towards the screen. Much like his friends his heart was pounding faster and faster. But Eddie could feel the familiar grasp around his lungs, and it only tightened at Stan's words.

     "It's in the house on Neibolt Street," Stan said, in a similar realization.

     Eddie remembered all too well the last time he had been there. But part of him had hoped it was all a nightmare. Some sick and cruel elaborate scene his mind had conjured up.

     "You mean that creepy-ass house where all the junkies and hobos like to sleep?" Richie asked.

     Shakily, Eddie pulled out his inhaler and gave it a good shake before bringing it to his lips. He tried his best to keep the medicine in his lungs long enough for it to take effect but he choked down a gasp, as he hunched over. Y/n moved closer to Eddie and her eyes fell to his free hand. Cautiously, she took it, looking to him for silent confirmation, he seemed too involved with steadying his breathing to notice it seemed.

     "I hate that place," Beverly mumbled nervously, unaware of the pair in front.

     Y/n assumed he was too frightened to notice her acts of comfort. That was until she felt the muscles in his hand relax, only slightly, and gave her palm a gentle squeeze in thanks.

     "It always feels like it's watching me." Bev continued.

     Letting out a shaky breath, and slowly but surely regaining his composure, Eddie sat up. Though he neglected to release Y/n's hand, and he was sure in any other moment he would be a blushing mess but this felt stable to Eddie. It felt like a lifeline, a reminder he wasn't alone. Not like Neibolt.

     "That's where I saw It." He gulped. "That's where I saw the clown."

     Y/n hadn't realized immediately that she had been tracing circles into the back of his hand with the pad of her thumb. It was a habit she had developed since that first night of summer, anytime she was nervous she would tuck in her legs against her chest, and her fingers would absentmindedly find their way to her bandages. The pads of her fingers fidgeting with the frayed ends just to satisfy the creeping feeling of restlessness.

     "Tha-That's where It lives," Bill said.

     Eddie took another sharp breath of his inhaler, and this time around had better luck holding his breath. Y/n continued to stare at the big red dot on the map, it almost felt as if she were to look away it would disappear. Like finding a spider and leaving the room to find something to kill it with, only to return to find it had crawled away.

     "I can't imagine anything ever wanting to live there," Mike said shakily.

     Eddie jumped from his seat suddenly, his hand leaving Y/n's and they all watch as he scrambles to front, the projector illuminating his small frame.

     "Can we stop talking about this?" Eddie yells, gasping for air his arms waiving desperately as panic overwhelms him. "I-I-I can barely breathe. Th-This is summer. We're kids. I can barely breathe, I'm up here having a fucking asthma attack. I'm not doing this."

     Eddie whirls around and grabs the map of Derry's Sewer System and rips it off the wall.

     "What the hell? Put the map back." Bill snaps.

     Eddie shakes his head firmly. "Mm-mm."

     A loud click grabs their attention, and the screen over Eddie darkens briefly before it changes to another slide.

     Y/n turns around to look between Bill and the device.

     "Bill, what are you doing?"

     "N-nothing, that w-wasn't me."

     Another click.

     And another.

     The projector began clicking forward on its own, and it had now reached the beginning of the reel. Photos of the Denbrough family on vacation began to play, the photos changing at a regular pace.

     "What's going on?" Stan asked impatiently.

     Eddie backed away slowly, his eyes never leaving the projector. Y/n cautiously shifted back on the pillow, farther away from the wall.

     "I got it. Hold on." Mike offered gently.

     He fiddled with the projector, he pressed every button several times but it was no use. It must have been jammed. At the very least, he hopes it was.

     "Guys," he mumbled nervously, words dying on his tongue.

     Several photos had come and gone, and the projector now focused on a shot of the four Denbroughs in their Sunday best. They were all holding hands and Mrs. Denbrough's red hair was being whipped around in the wind, blocking her face.

     The projector clicked again, but the scene did not change. The shot was brought closer to Georgie, and Ben was instantly reminded of his trip to the library before he met the rest of the Losers.

     "Georgie," Bill croaked, as the image zoomed closer and closer to boy's toothy grin.

     "Bill?"

     By, now Y/n had risen from the pillow and scrambled back into the stool Eddie had previously occupied.

     The speed picked up and the pictures grew faster and faster as the projector flew through the slides. The picture moved more like that of a stop motion animation than a movie, every other movement caught on film. The camera angles itself up and changes focus to what is supposed to be Mrs. Denbrough. The red tendrils of hair begin to move, rapidly increasing until it isn't every other fragment but more like a regular picture movie.

     And to their horror, the hair is cast aside and underneath is the painted white face of the clown. It's unnaturally buck teeth sinking into the flesh of It's own bottom lip. A wicked smirk drawn all the way up to past It's yellow eyes.

     Y/n jumped back, her arms outstretched behind her and she began herding Stan, Eddie and herself away from the wall.

     "What the fuck is that? What the fuck is that?" Richie hollered, pulling Eddie and Y/n toward him.

     Eddie nearly tripped over Richie's chair as he was pulled into his grasp and Y/n still had her arms out herding them backward. She could hear Eddie's shrieks clearly from behind her.

     "I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"

     "Stan!" Y/n cried.

     Stan had somewhat frozen in place, much like Ben, Bev and Bill had but even they were backing away slightly. He didn't seem to hear her and looked around frantically at her friends. Beverly, Stan, and Richie had not seen the clown before even though they had each encountered it. It had never appeared to them before as a clown and if she wasn't in immediate danger Beverly would have stopped to think about how this thing was in the living room with Y/n while she was asleep.

     "Turn it off!" She shouted quickly. "TURN IT OFF!"

     Y/n's top priority was ensuring Stan's safety, so she lurched forward and grabbed Stan by the back of the shirt, and yanked him back. He crashed into Mike and Eddie she glanced at the projector, trying desperately to bury the overwhelming thoughts and possibilities. Her eyes landed on the cord and she ripped the plug from the socket but the picture kept moving and she could feel the clown's eyes smiling at her, smugly. Her now in It's direct sights, It began to mimic that night, the clown blinked and the white's of It's eyes had disappeared. Nothing but dark chasms and two glowing yellow irises floating in the center.

     It all became infinitely more real to Y/n. And It pissed her off. She raised her good leg, and with a forceful grunt, she kicked the crate and the projector toppled onto the ground. Light from the machine had bounced all around the room on its journey to the floor and it landed upside down, picture crookedly aimed at the wall behind her and to the right of the four boys.

     Everyone froze, too fearful to move. Y/n most of all. She had gotten Stan to safety - she could only hope - but now she was in his place when another click echoed throughout the silent room. Frozen on the screen was the clown. It was blurry and It almost looked stuck but all Y/n could do was try and catch her breath, and calm her racing heart. Another click. She felt as if she was stuck, her body not her own and just like a nightmare no matter how much she was begging her legs to move they wouldn't budge. Another click. The image went blank, and several shaky breaths were released.

     Another slow click and the gigantic clown popped out of the picture, barely missing Y/n. She shrieked, and only then did her limbs catch up with her brain's signals. She cursed herself and her dumb fucking luck when she felt her footing slip out from underneath her. One of the dozens of slides had scattered the garage floor around her and caused her fall. She landed squarely on her backside and she scrambled back as far and fast as she could as the clown crawled forward after her. It's unnaturally giant size took up the entire garage.

     There wasn't a Loser who didn't scream after her. Richie snapped into action and while Y/n had made it pretty far on her own for It's speed and her aching leg, Richie quickly hooked his arms under hers and dragged her across the garage, not bothering to waste time by stopping to drag her to her feet. The others were tumbling across the garage to get the door tripping over one another as they ran and Y/n watched in horror as the clown reached out it's long and thinning twig-like arm after her. It's sharp talon-like claws soaked with her blood - as it had been that night - reached for her and as her legs were scrambling across the pavement. Trying desperately to retract them from his grasp and the last thing she saw before a flood of light engulfed her vision was the clown's black eyes glaring at her as it reached for her legs.

     Y/n felt as if her lungs might explode from how fast she had been inhaling air. Before she could process what had happened she found herself looking up at the ceiling of Bill's garage, several faces looking down at her. Sunlight was flooding into the room and she could barely register that the garage door was now open.

     "Y/n!"

     "Oh, my God"

     "What the fuck was that?"

     "Y/n? Y/n!"

     "I don't know, man!"

     Y/n could feel herself shaking horribly, and she suddenly noticed several hands on her shoulder and back and she realized she was sitting up. She flinched at their touch and she looked around the room quickly, afraid she would find It lurking somewhere.

     "Y/n, are you okay?"

     "Jesus, fuck!"

     "Y/n?"

     Blinking several times she looked around and saw the scattered faces of her friends. Everyone was panting heavily. Her face collapsed in the palm of her hands and she was breathing frantically, reminding herself to at least try and slow her lungs and heart. Her body rocked back and forth slightly, her adrenaline still pumping, needing an outlet. Needing to move. Finally, her breath began to slow and she looked up, nodding at her friends to ease their minds.

     "Thanks... Richie," she managed between breaths.

     "No problem," he panted, just as jarred. "Just for fuck sake, run next time, will ya?"

     Beverly and Eddie came into view and extended their hands for her and she gladly accepted both. Y/n hissed slightly at her aggravated leg and when she looked down she was relieved to see no further damage had been done. Shakily, Stan spoke up.

     "T-thanks, Y/n," His eyes held relief, but also a hint of guilt.

     A weak and broken smile was all Y/n could manage. Eddie had finally gathered enough air in his lungs to speak and he did just that, albeit quite shaken.

     "It saw us." He panted. "It saw us, and it knows where we are!"

     "It always did," Bill said, striding out towards the pile of bikes in the driveway. "So, let's go."

     "Go?" Ben asked, dumbfounded.

     Bill turned to see his friends still in the garage, rooted in place and looking at him incredulously.

     "Go where?" Ben asked again, this time his voice wavering.

     Bill couldn't believe what he was hearing.

     "Neibolt." He shot. "That's where G-G-Georgie is."

     Stan angrily threw his arm back, gesturing to the remains of their previous encounter.

     "After that?"

     "Yeah, it's summer. We should be outside." Richie said timidly, a tone they had scarcely heard him use if at all.

     Bill felt anger boil up in his chest at the words, his stutter flaring up with it as it usually did.

     "I-If you say it's s-summer one more f-f-fucking time..." He snapped, and he felt the anger redirect itself.

     Neibolt. He was going to Neibolt with or without his friends. He was going to get his brother. Bill shook his head, dismissing the conversation. He picked up his trusty bike and hopped on. He took off down the long driveway, leaving his friends behind.

     "Bill!" Beverly called. "Wait!"

     The seven friends look around at one another in disbelief, as Bill disappears around the corner on the back of Silver. He was going to face it alone, and in turn, he gave the Losers no choice less they surely lose their friend.

     They had to follow him.

+++

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J.JK Soul Ink - Chapter 12

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¬ Walk The Line - Halsey

For hours you and Jimin sat in the living room catching up on the years you had missed with each other.  Jimin had told you that an old woman had took him when she noticed him wandering the streets with silent tears streaming down his face. She had held him in her arms reassuring he was safe with her and she will keep him safe until he was able to care for himself. He still visits her when he has the time.

There was a lot of tears and a lot of laughter. But your hearts were heavy as you realised you both had lost the chance to grow up together and that you had lost your parents. You were each others only blood family and you intended of protecting each other.

"So what was life like for you?" Jimin asked as your laughter settled. The smile fell of your face and Jimin knew it wasn't easy. The atmosphere filled with tension. You looked down nervously and shrugged playing with your fingers.

"The first what? 5 years I think, Beom-Seok would just ignore me, give me the cold shoulder, I was a kid I didn't know what I had done. At first I thought it was because he was mourning Mom but then it progressively got worse as I got older and I just knew he had a problem with me. By the time I was 15 I was arguing back, it'd earn me a hit and the same saying, 'don't talk back to your superior bitch'. Made me realize how very sexist he was. Thought women were and should be maids, stay at home and look after kids and follow orders of men. The typical old fashioned kinda dickhead." You explained still not looking up.

You feel Jimin place a hand on your shoulder and you look up and he gives you a small smile and you continue,

"As soon as I turned 18 that was it, abuse got worse, the control got worse, choosing the way my life should be to satisfy him like who I should marry, when I should have kids, making sure it was a boy once I was pregnant. I always turned it into an argument, rebelling A LOT some things to piss him off, some to just feel some control over my own life. I felt like a marionette and he was the marionettist. I was slowly losing my mind. Irene was the only thing keeping me grounded."

You let out a laugh as you remember how you met Irene.

"I met Irene when were 19, I'll never forget it, that's a story for another day."  You chuckle.

"I know it's been 3 days since I met you all b-but I feel like meeting you all kind of saved my life and I don't know how to thank you for that. I-I'm so scared of him Jimin" You say nervously.

Jimin pulls you into him and hugs you tightly and shakes his head.

"You don't have to thank us Butterfly. We were planning on taking Beom-Seok out for ages, we would of met eventually. The rest may not show much but they about you a lot. You're bangtan now, whether you want to stay with us after everything calms down or not. We're always gonna have your back. Besides you're stuck with me for the rest of your life, I have a lot of years of big brother responsibility to catch up on." He teases.

"Oh yeah? And what might the big brother responsibility be?" You say raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms and he chuckles ruffling your hair making you whine in protest.

"Being annoying as possible. Protecting you from dickheads, making sure you never get laid again." Jimin smirks. You gasp and shove his shoulder making him laugh out and throw his head back almost falling off his seat making you burst out laughing.

The laughter settles and he places both of his hands on your head, leaning it down and pressing a kiss to your head making you smile. You look back and he's smiling back at you.

"I love you Butterfly, don't ever forget that okay?" He says softly. You nod and hug him tightly.

"I love you too Mochi."

You both sit in silence until you break as realization sinks in. Your eyes widen and you struggle to get out of your brothers hold.

"Wha-"

"Jungkook! Oh my god he confessed that he cared for me, I need to talk to him!" You say quickly cutting Jimin off, trying to get off the couch but Jimin stops you shaking his head.

"No not yet. I know that kid. He needs to cool of for a while. And he's not great with confrontation. He'll lose his shit as soon as he sees you. He'll be in the gym anyway he ignores everyone that goes in. I have to speak to him too kid." Jimin says. You nod slowly and sit back down reluctantly before glaring at him realizing what he had called you.

"I'm not a kid, I'm a year younger than you." You saying glaring at him. He shakes his head and smirks,

"Don't care still a kid to me."

"Jimin, does Jungkook mean what he meant or was it a spur of a moment kind of thing?" You ask beginning to feel insecure. Jimin purses his lips and shrugs. You pout and nod sadly making Jimin sigh and run a hand through his hair.

"The thing with Jungkook is, he has a lot and I mean a lot of penned up anger so he basically has anger issues and is a ticking time bomb. It makes him unpredictable and impulsive. He'll spew a shit ton of words and the leave you clueless as to if he actually meant them or not but the thing is after he calms down and goes over what he has said, he doesn't even know himself if he meant it or not which knocks him back into a temper tantrum out of frustration which is why I told you to leave him so he can gather his own thoughts and try and realize if he meant them or not. You kind of just learn not to take anything to heart and laugh it off. Jungkook may be 23 but the guy is still a kid in some ways. His childhood was took away from him, he's making up for it in some ways. He was so young when he lost his family. He's had it worse than us all. I can't tell you his story, it's not my place to but he's really sensitive to it. If tells anyone about it, he trusts you with his whole heart that's how we know we can trust a certain person. He's like a little fake or no detector" Jimin explains.

Your heart feels heavy hearing how much turmoil Jungkook has within himself, it makes you slightly guilty that you sometimes pushed him to flip. You bite your lip and nod guiltily.

"He's never been angry at you, you know? Irritated yeah but never angry. You'll know when that kid is angry. It's mostly bantering for him with you. May not feel like it because he takes it too far sometimes but he's really trying. He panics with his emotions, he never knows if he has the right emotion at the right time, like if someone is hurt and he's sad, he wouldn't think that was normal. He has his reasons and we're trying to teach him feeling any emotion is normal. I can assure you though he feels something for you. Whether that be an urge to protect you or he genuinely thinks of you as someone he sees himself with, I don't know. He probably doesn't even know." Jimin says with a small smile. You smile slightly feeling like some weight has been took of your shoulders.

"I guess that's why we can clash. I'm always angry and I can take things too far." You laugh humorlessly.

"Do you care for him?" Jimin blurts out taking you back and blink rapidly.

"What?" You ask in confusion.

"Jungkook? Do you care for him?" Jimin elaborates.

You sigh and shrug.

"I don't know Chim. I look at him and sometimes I'm like, god, I could just strangle the fucker." You laugh shaking your head making Jimin snicker and then you turn back serious.

"But then sometimes I look at him and my heart flutters and I feel warm and really nervous and all I can think is, god I just want to kiss him. Then I remember I've known him for 3 days. I can't like him that fast, there's no way. This guy has tried nothing but to piss me off, I should hate him. B-But I can't." You explain lying your head on Jimin's lap and he begins to play with your hair.

"Ever heard of fate? Love at first sight? You love that brat don't you?" Jimin says smiling.

"I've never believed in love at first sight but I might start having to b-because I think I might love him." You say mostly to yourself but Jimin hears and smiles.

Your conversation ended and you sat in silence just enjoying each others presence, eventually both falling asleep. But little did you both know...

The focus of the conversation was stood right outside the door listening to every word.

He slides down the wall, his hands covering his face, knees to check and he whispers to himself finally letting his denial go,

I love her.

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

A week.

A whole week Jeon Jungkook had been avoiding you. At first you thought it was him gathering his thoughts just like your brother had told you but now you were beginning to doubt that. In fact you knew he was just avoiding you on purpose, you had noticed he had very quickly solved things with Jimin and your anger was slowly boiling. Each time he'd see you, he'd walk the opposite way, if you called out his name, he'd pretend he didn't hear you.

You had done nothing wrong that day for him to avoid you this long. Sure may feel embarrassed about the sudden words he spoke but leaving the situation to build worse ones was a stupid idea. You needed to talk to him and solve things. Even if it means locking in him a room.

And that's exactly what you were going to do. You were done being ignored and left questioning yourself. The boys had noticed the peace in the house and the tension between you both. They had refused to get involved in fear they'd lose their lives to you or the maknae. Maybe even both of you. And as weird as it sounds, you were kinda missing your bickering with Jungkook.

It was late and you lay in bed unable to sleep. You sit up and check your phone,

3:26 am

You groan and fall back down. You lie silently staring up at the ceiling until you remember Jimin mentioning a gym that was downstairs. You sit up and put on some shoes, grabbing your water bottle, before silently walking out your room hoping you don't wake anyone.

Once you found the gym you look around in awe. It was like any normal gym except there was a target practice in the corner. You find a punching bag and some hand wraps lying next to it untidily. You pick them up and wrap your hands just like your coach in kickboxing hand taught you. Once they felt tight enough you throw a practice punch at the bag before progressively making them quicker then more effort.

You were bouncing on your feet and then you began to kick it making sure to use all your strength. You were so concentrated you didn't notice you had company until you span to do a reverse roundhouse kick. You gasp and hold a hand to your hand to your heart.

"Jungkook." You say panting. He stares for a minute before trying to silently walk out but you stop him. You weren't letting him get away.

"Jeon Jungkook you better turn your ass back around and talk to me because next time I have to try talk to you, I'm not gonna be as nice." You say firmly and he freezes before slowly turning back to you and not looking up.

"We need to talk." You say taking a sip from you water wiping some sweat from your face. He nods and mumbles,

"I know..."

You toss your water aside and cross your arms staring at him waiting to talk but he doesn't say anything so you sigh.

"I'll start then shall I?" You say and Jungkook shakes his head rapidly.

"N-Not here, come with me to one of our rooms? There's cameras in here and I don't trust my hyungs."  

You nod and pull the hand wraps off and grab your water before following him back upstairs and he walks into your room making you realize he wanted to talk as private as possible since the boys rarely come in your room. You shut your door silently and then turn to Jungkook who sat on the edge of your bed. You take him and your cheeks redden slightly as you finally realize he's sat with just shorts and sneakers on. No shirt. You try your best not to check him out but Jungkook notices and smirks.

"Take a picture it'll last longer."

You glare at him and he clears his throat and looks down.

"I didn't mean to upset you by avoiding you. I-I was just, I didn't know how to approach you and mainly because I'm shit with facing stuff like this head on." He says nervously and you nod.

"I understand I just wished you actually spoke to me. I thought I'd done something wrong." You sigh and he nods.

"I don't handle emotions well if you didn't notice. I-I don't know what to do half the time. I wanted to talk I did but I thought I was doing what was best for us. It pisses me off so much that I don't realize until last minute that I'm wrong." Jungkook says growing frustrated and you try to calm him down not wanting him to wake up the other and break something.

"It's okay, we're talking now right?" You say softly taking a seat next to him.

He nods gulping and looks down to his hands.

"W-when Jimin hyung and I was arguing last week I could feel my anger rising and I just blurted it out. I didn't know I said what I said until Jin hyung called me out on it, that's when I realized what I had said. I didn't  even know if what I had said was true. I always force myself into denial for ages because I'm stubborn and don't know if what I feel is true or a spur of the moment thing." Jungkook says.

"I feel this kind of love hate towards you, some days I just wanna piss you off and then some days I just want to pin you against the wall and kiss you." He says biting his lip ring. Your breath hitches and you look down cheeks going rosy.

"I get conflicted and I end up pissing us both off and nearly kissing you. I'm surprised you haven't punched me yet from my mood swings." Jungkook laughs dryly.

"I-I heard you and Jimin hyung talking last week about me. Not intentionally, I was getting myself some water and I heard the two of you. It made me finally realize," Jungkook says nervously turning to you. He looks into your eyes and your chest tightens.

"I do care for you. So much. I think that's why it pisses me off because I've never felt like this towards someone before. Y/N I-I think I love you." He says nervously his doe eyes staring at you. Despite exterior being tough from the tattoos and piercings you could tell is interior he was just this big ball of fluff who's innocence was ripped away from him to young.

You both sat in silence for a minute and Jungkook begins to get nervous thinking he had took her love for him the wrong way. He goes to speak but his eyes widen when he feels your soft lips on his. His heart flutters and lets out a sigh of relief against your lips. His lip ring cold against your bottom lip. His eyes flutter shut and he pulls you onto his lap, legs wrapping around his small waist, arms wrapped around the back of his neck tugging his hair lightly making him groan.

His hands rest on your hips and he squeezes them making you gasp. He takes this opportunity and slips his tongue into your mouth and you both fight for dominance. You got a little surprised when he let you win you expected him to win. He slides his hands up your body making you shiver as he made contact with your bare skin. His hands then begins to slip under your crop top and you arch your back moaning at the feeling of his calloused hands. His grip tightens as he feels you push your chest against his.

His hands go back to the edge of your crop top and he tugs it, wanting you he wanted it off. He pulls it up and you lift your arms up so he can pull it off. He throws it to the floor and stares at you in awe. His begins to kiss down your neck, he stops at the base of your neck and begins to nip and suck on the sensitive skin making you let out a small wince from the pain. He stops when he satisfied and continues to kiss down to your collarbone making you gasp and tighten your grip on his hair making him stop and let out a whine. Okay so he likes his being pulled you thought to yourself.

He starts to sniffle and then you feel your skin of you shoulder getting wet. Your eyes widen as you realized he was crying. You grab the sides of his face and your heart melts at the sight of his red nose and eyes. You caress his cheek and he leans into your touch still sniffling.

"Jungkookie..." You coo placing your forehead against his and he sighs in content, his arms wrapping around you, wanting to hold you close.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm just overwhelmed. I-I haven't felt this loved in a long time and I-I've never really loved anyone before." He stutters. You pout and shake your head.

"Hey it's okay, don't apologize, I understand you baby." You say softly. His eyes lighten at the sound of the nickname you had called him.

"You called me baby." He says smiling making you giggle and nod. You felt honored that he was showing you this side to him.

"I've not had an easy life and I still have demons that haunt me to this day and I hope you accept me for that." He says quietly and you press a kiss to his forehead.

"We all have our demons Kook, it's okay."

"I-I want you to know me better if we're gonna be together Y/N. I want your trust." He says. You give him a small smile and shake your head,

"You already have it."

He smiles and nods but continues and the smiles fade off your faces when the conversation became serious.

"I was only 5 when I lost my parents. I didn't have an family to go to, I-I got chucked into an orphanage and then took in by my estranged uncle a year later when he found out my mother and father had died. I thought that now I had family to go to I'd be okay but boy was I so wrong. From day one he tried turning me into a stone hearted killer. Feel nothing but anger and pleasure of killing. That's why I'm so shit with emotions I was taught to not feel, to switch them off. It almost worked too." Jungkook says tears welling up in his eyes.

"Beom-Seok had locked us up for ages. He'd beat my father making us all watch. Then he'd turn on my mother, then me. I thought I was gonna die. One day though he had really beaten me up, I couldn't move, it hurt to breathe. I remember my mom holding me and my dad holding us both, they thought I was going to die that night. My mom was crying telling me take small breaths instead of big ones. My dad hand on my head saying everything was going to be okay, that he was going to get me out of there. My mom and dad knew they were going to die. They didn't want the same fate for me. They told me to play dead and once I had the chance run. When the one of the workers came in, I lay so still in my moms arms as she cried. She was pretending to mourn me but I knew she was crying because it would be the last time she'd see me." Jungkook whimpers.

Your eyes begin to tear up hearing his voice strain and break as he reminisced. He tries to avoid eye contact but you hold his face in your hands and mumble,

"You don't have to carry on if it upsets you too much."

He shakes his head and carries on,

"My mum and dad were mumbling they loved me so much and that they hope I stay safe. I remember being ripped out of my moms arms. I felt sick. Once I felt the breeze and cold breathe the fresh air, I elbowed the worker in the stomach and ran as fast as I could a-and you know the rest." He croaks and fresh tears streaming down his face. You sit in silence as you let him calm down. He stares at you and whimpers out,

"Please don't leave me. I've lost to much. No matter how much of a dick I'll be, please don't leave me."

You shake your head biting your lip to stop yourself crying. You pull him into a hug and he lays his head on your chest and kiss the top of his head and rub his back and whisper to him,

"I'm not going anywhere."

[poppythewitcher]

SPN hell binge Episode 1

Yippe kayay Mother Fuckers, Let’s do this! (edited in the morning or grammar)

Should I watch the recap?

Is that cheating?

I mean It’ll set up the season?

But it it cheating?

Like I’m supposed to get context like when you start a comic half way through

I’m gonna watch the recap just cause I know I won’t even understand that

Aw the cw logo, lets you know you’re getting into some shit

oooo decapitations

what how many of them are there

their voices don’t sound like I imagined

Fuck i kinda forgot Jeffery Dean Morgan was in this

You expect me to take these fuckers seriously where their father, the root of their daddy issues, is Denny fucking Duquette

I’m still confused who the fuck is Jack

I think he’s the antichrist

Listen the practical FXs tho

why is half the recap just a zombie fight

is this the beginning of the this episode or like the end of the last?

oh wait it was the last

listen I get continuity but the fucking font the credits are in makes me want to die

Gay angel can commune with the dead that’s nice

Why did they think that flimsy ass thing will hold the door

“He said welcome to the end what does that mean” the network is finally pulling the plug on this shit show

i love the casual discussion of smiting

I relate to dean in that I too have daddy issues and hate sky-daddy

Is Sam the only function one on this show?

Nope he let the zombies into the crypt

oooops the antichrist is awake

oh its a demon not the antichrist

demon with fashion sense

a demon talking about being a demon the way I talk about working at Starbucks

I like how Sam’s like yeah Cas, give your blood to the minimum wage demon who just met that is currently inhabiting the body of some kid we all really cared about

Nothing could go wrong with that

wait what that fucking worked

how did the minimum wage demon fix God’s mess

okay random teens because horror tropes of violence against young “stupid” women who are just enjoying their lives because it’s easier to enjoy the thing when the male gaze and patriarchal culture not only fetishizes violence against women but it makes the horror easier to watch because it’s not as scary when the victim is a vapid and brainless teenage girl, thus making the male viewer feel secure because his ego tells him that he is stronger and smarter than these weak female and therefore would not fall victim to the monster even though that makes no sense in this context when their main demographic is gen-z girls,gay and theys.

also who gave the camera to the guy with hand tremor what was that shaking

When you have to kill a character but the actor still needs to pay the bills

are they literally just gonna spend the whole season tracking down runaway ghosts this is gonna be worse than I thought

Like is that really Jensen Ackles’s voice is doesn’t sound real

ooo spooky car crash

Wait woman in white wasn’t that the fucking pilot i watched that

oh god really all the fucking monsters of the week are back fuck me what have I gotten myself into

Why is this show trying to be a fucking 80s horror movie now we have a poor housewife and her daughter being haunted by ghosts really

and its not just that its the cinematography and the lighting like the whole fucking mise en scen

its a fun aesthteic but goddamn did they really milk 15 season out of this shit? did anyone actually watch after season 12?

motherfucker a killer clown wow

Like I feel like they’re making they’re voices deeper on purpose

I’m sorry what in the living fuck is this dumb ass FBI shirt that Sam is wearing that does not look real you are not fooling anyone honey has this really been your shtick for 15 fucking years and you look like THAT holy fucking hell it genuinely looks like the costume department is barely trying

Mr. Trench coat honestly looks more believable

wait is minimum wage demon a neanderthal

And he;s hitting on one half or the queer baiting wonder twins great

Minimum wage demon: “who was he”

me: “wouldn’t we all like to know”

I mean me. I would like to know thank you minimum wage demon for getting me this info

So he’s they’re kid that’s nice

Wait

So the queer baiting wonder twins had a FUCKING CHILD TOGETHER

holy fuck they weren’t kidding this really is hell

the blood stains are really good like a little bright for being old dried blood but still the practical FX slaps and I’m already starting to think that’s the show’s one redeeming quality

That child is defffffff possessed

This thing is giving me flashbacks to early quarantine when my ex made me watch killer klowns for outer space on Netflix party would not reccomend

I mean I wouldn’t reccomend this either but

Who’s Rowena

Why is the angle that low and harsh on the minimum wage demon being a fan boy like really why

Why is it a dutch too

I just want to talk to the cinematographer and see if he’s okay

Like It went to a stand eye level over the shoulder and then nack to the super harsh low dutch what’s going on

Also Who’s Micheal

Like Micheal the angel?

Is Micheal an angel? idk

why does Cas readily hand out the info that he’s an angel

Sam shot god and honestly fucking mood

is it just Sam or does every one get fucked up if they try to hurt sky-daddy cause that’s kind of a dick move

I feel like I’m supposed to recognize the MILF in white but I haven’t seen the show so IDK

What’s with the whole human sacrifice heart thing like is that standard here

I thought they were going door to door they literally only went to the one house

the killer klown from outer space is back and he has friends

I love how Cas is just like offend and exasperated over being shot

and then just fucking La Llorona makes an appearance

are the spell in fucking Latin on this show

this is why I’m a Witcher stan like at least Sapkowski’s creative an used a different dying language

why does Sam have to stay be hind like in theory they could just sprint

and he picked up the kid he’s like the one functional one here

Sam just told the killer klown from outer space to shut up and honestly same

I have 5 minutes left and it feel like it’s been an eternity

how many times have they been uncomfortably thanked by a little girl on this show cause I feel like the answer is too many

Why is the pie man such a bitch to his husband like way to press against the whole queer baiting wonder twins thing we get it you’re uncomfortable with your character’s repressed bisexuality please maybe chill you made the gay angel sad

even the minimum wage demon gets it

that looks infected

oh yeah dean’s oldest daughter syndrome is back that’s nice

I feel like I see the appeal of this show and how it could be good but then it went to hell

Wait are they actually god now what the fuck

like is this whole season just some Nietzsche bullshit okay

why does dean say just you and me? You also have a gay angel and a minimum wage demon

Final thoughts: I’m going to bed. I’ll do more tomorrow. This really is a dumpster fire. What have I gotten myself into

[sjbuchananbarnes]

The one where she finds out

Steve rogers x reader 

W.c: 1814

-

“Ok we have the steak ,rice,chips,tortillas,salsa and guac.” Nat pointed at each of the items of food. “What else are we missing?”

“Nothing, beer is cooling along with the tequila, will take everything out once everyone is here.” Wanda assured, looking down to see if she got any stains on her high waisted shorts and white tank top.

“Alright where's the girl of the hour?” Sam walked in the kitchen with Bucky not far behind.

“She had a quick phone call ,she’ll should be done any minute now.” Natasha threw her apron and smoothed down her mini cotton white dress and fixed her tan sandals.  

“What’s up bitches!” You walked into the kitchen, in a cute mini red floral dress and white sandals.

“Congrats babe!” Nat and Wanda made there way to hug you, which ended up being a big group hug.

“400 missions how does that feel,hot stuff?” Bucky asked his arm still around your waist.

“Amazing.” Smiling up at him. “Now what do we have here?” You looked around the kitchen.

“We have your favorites.” Wanda voice was filled with excitement since Nat and her self cooked dinner.

“Thank you girls.” Hugging them once again.

“Anything for our favorite girl.” Nat pinched your cheeks.

“So when are going to eat?” Sam rubbed his belly.

“Just waiting on Steve.” And right on cue the blonde came walking in with a duffle bag in his hand and a small gift in his hand.

“I got called in for a last minute conference call in DC.” He sighed,sad that he had to leave you. “I’ll be back in a week,I’m sorry sweetheart.” Saddened that he couldn't be here with you tonight.

“It’s okay Steve, will go out to dinner, just me and you when you come back.” You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around him, resting in his arms for a couple of seconds.

“I’d love that.” Steve mumbled into your hair, hugging you tighter, and earning teasing thumbs up and winks from the group,which he only rolled his eyes at. As much as he dread pulling away he finally let you go and shoved two neatly wrapped box into your hand.

“Steve, you shouldn't have.”

“It was nothing.”

“Should I open it now?”

“No!” He yelled but tried to play it off “Maybe later, with everyone else's.”Scratching the back of his neck.    

“Mr.Rogers, I’ve been told to inform you that the quinjet it ready.” Fridays voice interrupted you.

“I have to go know.”

“Thank you Steve.” Giving him one last quick hug he walked out.

“It’s always a pleasure, pretty lady.” He walked out.

“Now, let’s feast!” Wanda clapped her hands in excitement and soon you only heard laughs and plates clattering together.

-

“My god I’m stuffed.” Tony groaned and plopped next to heavily pregnant wife,whose swollen feet  rested on the coffee table.

“Me too, everything was delicious, thank you girls.” Laying your head in Bucky’s lap and quickly his hand was giving you a scalp massage. “Buck, stop.” You mumbled,but made no effort to stop him. “ ‘M going to fall asleep,Buck!”

“Ok stop,stop.” Wanda got from her spot next to Vis and made her way to you, with her hands behind her back. “Close your eyes.” Excitement filled her voice, quickly doing as you were told you sat up and closed your eyes. “Tada, open.”

“Wanda you shouldn't have.” You got up to hug her and opened up your gift, it was a photo of the team, in front of the new Stark facility,the one up state, all giving a toothy grin, cuddled up next to one another,happy, you never got to see how the picture came out and this was the first time seeing it.“I love it.” You gasped and held it up to your chest. “Thank you,Wanda.”

“Okay, okay me next.” Nat handed you her gift, it was a small display box that held a scrap of metal along with a bullet and underneath it read. ‘Kabul, Afghanistan,2009.’ “Our first mission.” The two of you were driving a nuclear engineer out of the city , but you were ambushed by the Winter Soldier, both of you shot by him, she worse than you, left for dead.

“ I would've died without you.”

“And now I think I’ll die without you.” You latched onto her.

“Sorry about that,again.” Bucky murmured.

“It’s okay,Buck. We know it wasn’t you.” Resting a hand on his lap for reinsurance. After opening up the rest of the gifts, which were really thought full you were only left with two gifts, Steve’s gifts. Going for the smaller box first, you opened it contained another small black velvet box, after opening it up you let out a gasp.

“He remembered.” You whispered, eyes filling with tears as you traced ever so lightly the bracelet.

“What? What is it?” Natasha was basically jumping out of her seat, everyone around you was just as eager as there redheaded friend.

“One time we went to the mall, you know we were trying vamp up his wardrobe.” Chuckling at the memory of Steve standing in front of your door, asking for fashion advice, which Tony scoffed.

“Why didn’t he ask me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.”You have horrible sense of fashion.”

“Anyways.” You threw a playful glare at Tony. “He asked for my wonderful taste in fashion and we walked by a Tiffany and Co and I saw a bracelet, and it was exactly like the one my mother had, the one she was buried in.” There were tears down your cheeks, memories of your mother flooded your mind, her laugh filled your ears. The horrible sight of your dad holding your fifteen year old hand as she was lowered into the ground.

And before you knew it, you were engulfed into a big group hug as you cried into Sam’s chest.

“I’m sorry.” After a couple more minutes of crying you pulled your self of Sam’s chest, but was still begin surrounded by the group.

“No need, sweety pie.” Pepper gave you her award giving smile.

“Can we see the bracelet?”

“Oh yeah.” You handed them the black velvet box.

Tony let out whistles as examined the bracelet. “ Capsical really out did him self.”

“That must of cost him a fortune.” Wanda couldn't keep her eyes away from the bracelet.

“I can't believe he did this.” Pepper was at ‘aw’ with the gesture.

Bucky quickly let a snort,”C’mon it’s like you guys don’t know him, one time he blew out so much money for a Walther PPK/S, for Peggy because he was so in love with her.” He snorted at his friend.

The whole team stared at Bucky with wide eyes.

“What did you just say?” You questioned him.

Bucky’s eyes widened at shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “ U-uh a W-walther PPK/S, that’s what he got her.”

“No, no, the love part.”

“Uhhh, uhh.”

“Bucky?’

“No, no, no.” He mumbled rubbing his temple.

“Yeah, that’s helping, keep doing that.” Sam patted his thigh.

“So your telling me all you fuckers knew he was in love with me yet decided to tell me nothing?” You paced back and forth through the living room, biting on your thumb.

“It wasn’t something for us to say, sweetheart.” Pepper spoke up.

“Pepper we literally told you that Stark was in love with you, because you were to blind to see.” You threw a questioning look.

“True.” She pointed her finger at you.

“So do you like him?” Bucky aked.

“Of course I do you idiot, It’s so painfully obvious, I thought I was going to have show up naked in his room.” You threw up your hands in frustration.

“What stopped you?” Nat smirked as she leaned back on the couch.

“I kept thinking he didn’t like me, I mean I know he likes me as a friend but I didn’t think it went further than that.” You mumbled and played with your fingers.

“Oh c’mon, your telling you never knew?” Sam questioned.

“Samuel.” You raised your eyebrow at him.

“Okay, okay.” He threw his hands up in defence.

“It’s just that.” Letting a sigh out, “If we were to go on a date, it would be like if we were on our twentieth date. We know everything about each other, if we do go out and then break up it’s going to be so awkward.” You were talking out loud but you were basically talking to yourself .

“But what if you do work out, and live happily ever after.” Tony lifted his brow.

“Yeah, look at us.” Pepper rubbed her belly and laid her head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Fuck it, I’m going to talk to him.” Declaring and standing up.

“He’s already asleep.” Sam informed.

“I’ll just call him tomorrow then.”

-

“No luck.” Wanda asked as she threw herself on your bed.

“I had one second with him before they called him in again.” You sighed and massaged your temple. “He told me he’s not going to be able to talk to ‘till he gets back.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to wait for him when he gets back.”

-

“He’ll be arriving soon, so I’ll tell you how it goes.” You decided to go with  miniable makeup and threw on a pair of jeans and the other gift Steve gave you, a plain white t with a small pocket on the left breast, and it smelled just like him. It was his and he knew how much you loved his clothes felt on your skin and how it smelled so much like him.

One last look on mirror you tied a knot on the shirt so it showed just a bit of your stomach and put on your shoes.

“Good luck.” Wanda and Nat threw you a thumbs up.

“Thanks.”

-

“You got this girl.” You mumbled to yourself as you paced back and forth in the room before going to the actual departure room and before you knew it Maria came running to you out of breath, resting her self on your shoulder.

“Wow, you okay?”

“He’s -He’s not-Woo.” She clenched her side. “Wow I can’t breath.”

“Maria what is wrong?” You stared at your friend who was freakishly out of breath for begin an agent.

“He’s not alone!” She whispered yelled at you not sure who could hear.

“Who Maria?”

“Steve.” She finally stood up straight, and then you felt your heart drop.

“What?” Devastation filled your voice.

And right on cue Steve walked into the room with a very smiling Sharon Carter wrapped in his arm.

“Hi Y/n, I missed you, how was the party?” He gave you a side hug.

“Great.” You threw him a fake smile, you were late.

-

The one where Steve finds out

[grim-faux]

4 - Committed to Survival

Rather fix the camera in its hoister now, I’d wait until I wasn’t around the water.  The path out of this place felt long and oppressive, the sharp smell of mildew at this point drilling a painful ache in my head.  I shut the mesh door behind me and trudged up the stairs to the first landing, where a tolerable light source awaited.

MKULTRA program, CIA document no. 190691, p. 1, excerpt  To: File  Subject: Hypnotic Experimentation and Research, Febuary 10, 1954  On Wednesday, 10 Febuary, 1954, hypnotic experimentation and research work was continued in Building 13 of the Mount Massive Preserve in Colorado using the following subjects.

  <material abridged> 

1. A posthypnotic of the night before (pointed finger, you will sleep) was enacted. Misses Jackson and Pierce immediately progressed to a deep hypnotic state with no further suggestion.  Miss Pierce was then instructed (having previously expressed a fear of firearms in any fashion) that she would use every method at her disposal to awaken miss Jackson (now in a deep hypnotic sleep), and failing this, she would pick up a nearby pistol and fire it at Miss Jackson. She was instructed that her rage would be so great that she would not hesitate to “kill” Jackson for failing to awaken. 

2. Miss Pierce carried out these suggestions to the letter including firing the (unloaded pneumatic pistol) gun at Jackson and then proceeding to fall into a deep sleep. After proper suggestions were made, both were awakened and expressed complete amnesia for the entire sequence. Miss Pierce was again handed the gun, which she refused (in an awakened state) to pick up or accept from the operator.  She expressed absolute denial that the foregoing sequence had happened.” In the least my little souvenir was interesting.  Hypnoses to cure fears, or force a person to perform a desired function.  I read files on this but the fancy didn’t strike me, people liked to read those sorts of articles but I wasn’t prime on reporting them. I left the file on the landing and made the ground floor.  I exhaled a breath of relief to see my surroundings unchanged, whether good or bad.  At least the big fucker had left most of the building intact.  I made my uneventful trek back to the Security room, I didn’t like the idea of a gaping hole behind me at this point, but I wasn’t about to prop that heavy metal door up with that little rolling chair. Call me lazy, I just wanted to get the doors open and put a fuck lot of distance between here, and the remnants of my healthy psyche.  I wasn’t going to be normal after this, alright? The terminal looked like it would still function, some of the monitors seemed to be spazing out from the abrupt shut down.  The main root, system controls, was up and ready to go. I managed to type in the first half of Security before someone crashed into me from behind, I didn’t even hear them enter.  I tried to push back and throw them off but they had braced a knee into the back of my leg, the edge of the terminal bit into my bruised thigh.  I already knew who it was even before he braced his arms over my chest, pain rippled up my side as he wrenched my head up.  Something metal flashed across my vision.  A needle! It was jammed into the base of my neck, my vision flashed as whatever the hypodermic was filled with drowned my senses.  He released me and I collapsed against the desk, my forehead started to tingle and I immediately worried over what was in that needle.  I leaned against my arms struggling to drag my failing strength back, but it was impossible.  The blue chair rolled over the clean portion of the floor as he nudged it aside, and moved close beside me.  I turned my head to watch his movement, his foul black robe swelled along my peripheral vision.  Getting hard to focus.  Felt like my legs were turning into jello. “I’m sorry, my son, I didn’t want to have to do this to you.”  He revealed the needle and grasped my hand.  “But you can’t leave, not yet.”  I jerked my hand away from his clammy grasp and brushed him off.  I tried to turn, push him away.  I want nothing to do with you.  Nothing!  Just let me Leave!   Without the support of the desk my legs gave out.  The Priest caught me under the arms and lowered me to my knees.  My shoulder pressed into the side of the metal desk as I stared up into his face.  He was bald, with wild eyes that frightened me.  “There is so much yet for you to witness.”   Oh god. “Will you see it?  Can you?”  With one arm latched to my side, he used the other hand to turn my head towards a gray video feed.  My thoughts were muddled, it was a room.  Camera looking down in a room, with a desk, wall with windows.  Bright windows.  Everything in that room was bright.  A symbol.  Rings on the floor.  Sharp ovals.  People in the room.  Holding guns.  Looked like MHS cops.  The guy I watched die.  I tried to get out…. “Our lord the Walrider, tearing His truth into the unbelievers.”  They were dying.  My eyes drooped but I fought to keep focus, what was killing them?  Dragging them off, throttling them, blood everywhere.  This place was turning red, full of blood.  Blood up to my knees, I was running from my shadow.  What did they see?  What was killing them?  What did he put into me? “The only way out of this place is the truth.”  My head rolled back to him.  The drugs made me weak and heavy, and I couldn’t care less for what he was saying.  The lights dimmed and I sank to my side.  His last words rang through my mind.   “Accept the gospel and all doors will open before you.” The dark. There was safety in the dark.  There was comfort in the dark.  The dark was the unknown.  The dark was all encompassing.  The dark was unmovable. Unless there was light.  That terrible light. I awoke once, enveloped in white, everything was bright and painful to bear.  By my side was a dark shape, the Priest.  I blinked and he was outside the door, it looked like he was speaking to a man with ants crawling on his face. Maybe it was a dream.  The road was very long, and it was already night.  It didn’t matter what time visiting hours ended, I planned to snoop around the grounds anyway and pick up whatever looked incriminating.  But I had to film something concrete, or my contacts would just scoff. When I arrived, the patients were wandering the front lawn in white shrouds.  Something without form was tearing through them, tossing their bodies like broken toys against the walls, muscle and lungs were tangled in the barbed wire.  Amidst them was Chris Walker, the other patients had bowed before him.  It didn’t look like he cared.  His face was splint back in a cruel grin, but his eyes were milky and dead. Once I had gotten away from the Asylum, I collapsed in the woods.  Everything hurt, my body was broken.  Death wasn’t the punishment anymore.  I didn’t have to worry about paying the bills, a boyfriend, my next job - nothing mattered.  The fight was over.  I curled up in the wet leaves and sank into a deep sleep, the dead of winter closed in, but not even the cold could reach me.  There was just the indiscriminate black that awaited at the end of it all. A soft groan escaped me as I roused, clearing the short rest from my stiff lungs.  I opened my eyes to view murky shapes, odd lines in the white walls.  The damn light was too bright, I turned my head and felt the dull pain in my neck reminding me of the previous events.  Everything felt muggy and pointless to my mind, but at least I was alone.    It felt like I had slept on the world’s hardest substance, the material crinkled nastily as I shifted.  Smelt like a retirement homes bad day, but at this point I didn’t give a damn.  Same scenario if you were drunk off your ass, you didn’t give a damn where you passed out.  I put a hand to my collar and brought it back.  No blood.  Probably bruised like hell, but otherwise fine.  My brain was still working out the crap that guy injected me with, should probably be the least of my worries.   For a while I lay on that stiff cot, staring at the walls until they came into focus.  Crosses and words scrawled everywhere.  Some of it in blood.  I took it this was His cell. I didn’t feel ready to resume my personal vendetta for freedom, but options were a luxury I feared I was now banned from.  Time was my worst enemy, and my chances of walking out alive dwindled the longer I wavered.  Either way, I didn’t want to be here when He returned. Slowly I sat up, making mental note of the injuries that had set into my body.  I coughed a bit of blood onto my sleeve, but that didn’t alarm me.  But I would check in to the hospital first chance I had.  A real hospital. Very considerate of the Priest to leave the camera, but he had reinforced his desires into me that I was to be his Apostle.  I flipped the visor open and raised it to the walls. “The priest, FATHER MARTIN brought me here to show me something. Thinks I’m going to be a witness for whatever batshit crazy he’s trying to sell me. This DR. WERNICKE is at the center of whatever went wrong here. But he died more than ten years ago. ‘Rest in Peace,’ says the blood on the wall.“ Fuck the story, when I get out of here I was going to write a New York Times best seller.  “How I Survived the Worst Tip in my Career.”  By Miles Upshur.  In your face, Oprah. The door had no visible lock or latch mechanism.  How did I get out?  Maybe if I pushed. That didn’t seem to work, but as I peered out of the small window a face shot into the lens of my camera startling me.  A click echoed, and the figure darted off.  Though the door was now wide open, I waited.  I had no idea what was out there, let alone where the hell I was NOW.  I hadn’t seen much before he unlocked the cell.  But the question I needed answered immediately, where was I in this god awful place?  Far from the safest exit, of course! Tentatively, I crept forward, but what was I going to do if someone decided to come in next?  I wasn’t hiding in here. This was better than Disney land.  I think every ghost hunter in the world would donate a kidney, just to spend a night in this place.  It was the main ward of the asylum, its heart, where all the crazies hung out.   Below, I saw a few of the frequents.  One man patrolling, smashing his skull into blood stained concrete with bone cracking force.  I winced with each impact. “Back!  Get back!”  To my right a man lunged at a segregation gate rattling at the bars, shrieking his lungs out.  “Get the fuck away from me!  Rrah!  Huh…don’t look at me.  Don’t you dare….” I whirled away from him, relying fully on the doors capacity to withstand his violence, even if fate did not favor me this hour.  I walked along the bland and gray wall, glancing down to the people on the lower floor.  Had they been this messed up before Murkoff got ahold of them?  They were using dream therapy to alter their higher cognitive functions of the mind, didn’t look like these people had that treatment.  Even if they had, I still wouldn’t be able to distinguish them from your typical lunatic. I shuddered to think if Murkoff had been trying to cure their mental deficiency in order to use them for further experimentation later on. The smell.  Like all the filthy alley ways and slums in every city in the world.  I could hardly breathe without gaging, filth was everywhere.  It was a miracle these people weren’t dead from contamination.  Or maybe it was some sort of curse.  This was no sort of life for a human. The window parallel to my face burst open and a hand shot out, grabbing for my head as I ducked.  I smashed against the rail and stared up as the arm continued to grope blindly for nothing, then withdrew.  The shock wore off quickly and I stood up to gaze on the face that met mine. Skin had been cut and moved, tacked down in cruel areas.  It looked like his right eyelid had been removed, the eye now a shriveled sack in the socket.  Despite his earlier ‘attack,’ I think I felt sorry for him. I was still glad his door was locked. The next door was open, but I could change that. “Said he shouldn’t hurt you,” a voiced hummed from within. Inside, opposite to a blood splashed corner, stood a man pawing at his face.  He too had been mutualized by some form of surgery, one eye stitched shut and his face scarred by malpractice.  “Is what he said.” I glanced around, then turned back to him and raised the camera.  “Father Martin?” “Our Father,” he corrected.  “Told him not to hurt you.  But when the cat’s away….Hmmmm….Mmmmm.” Everything in me screamed, slam that door now.  But I didn’t.  Quietly, I backed away and left him as he was.  If he was a danger, he was the least of my concerns.  Shutting the door might agitate him, and there were people on the floor below that seemed to not have noticed my presence yet. I slipped around the pillar of the next corner and walked towards the metal door on this side of the level. “Who’s this?” I stopped in my tracks and stared at the speaker, cloaked by shadow.  That was all they were cloaked by. “Maybe…Farther Martin’s man.” “Maybe.”  The first seemed excited by my presence.  My hair stood on end and I knew without a doubt, I should not be near them. The thick metal gate stood between us and presumably was locked, but I couldn’t make that gamble.  Even without the NV I could distinguish their lack of apparel, their shapes were tall and sinewy, and they appeared to be identical twins.  Splattered with blood. “He looks nervous.” “I would like to kill him.” I hid behind the pillar a little more. “As would I…”  His voice made the task sound tedious.  I really didn’t want to be here at this particular moment. “The preacher asked us not to.” “It would be impolite.” “Not here.” They paused. “We give him a running start?” “There’s an idea.” “And when we kill him, we kill him slow.” “Such patience.” I was done.  I was gone.  I was staggering down the steps searching for a way out of this mad house.  “I want his tongue.  And liver.” “They are yours.” Was there a way out?  Not from down here, the only route I could see had the camera shy freak and my new fan club.  They were giving me a running start.  What the FUCK did that mean?! “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  Said the man staring at a pillar.  I decided from this point on, for the safety of my psyche and my body parts I did NOT need to speak with ANYONE.  They could talk to me, I was not going to converse back. Someone darted from the group into an open door, and slammed it.  One less to worry over.  Two men still roamed, there was a third sitting in a wheelchair.  I didn’t trust anyone in a wheelchair anymore. The two rooms on either side of the stairs had nothing to offer, no tools or messages, or items of interest.  I had a fear of standing in the doorways, unless someone opened the door from the outside I could be locked in.  The man staring at his pillar, he had been the one to let me out in the first place.  I didn’t want to ask if there was a way out of this area. The Priest had brought me here, how the hell did he get out?  Unless, he was still here…. “Don’t trust them.”  I jerked away from the man in the wheelchair, I had given him his distance though it was doubtful he could do much.  His mutilation went beyond the laws of humanity, scars and broken flesh healed over.   I raised my camera and knelt down, but I refused to get too close.  “They’ll tell you it’s science but it’s not.  They were…waiting for us.  In this place.  Billy understood.  They’ve always been here.” I wanted to ask him about Billy.  About the experiments and the Walrider, and what he meant by ‘they.’  But I was frightened by what he might say.  If he said any more.  Uttering this information had seemed to exhaust him, and his head wilted to his shoulder.  Briefly, I wondered if he had fallen asleep or had he finally escaped this place. I shivered and stood.  A way out that involved my body and I escaping together, and in one piece.  That seemed like a naive dream. I didn’t bother with the door behind him, or the one after that.  Though, as I passed by a face appeared in the glass.  I stared, and ‘he’ stared back.  My mind was attempting to fathom how someone without a mouth could survive, unless there was a tube in his nose, but even his nostrils were compromised.  It looked like there was an opening in his throat, reminiscent to smokers that suffered cancer and had their larynx removed. This place was god awful.  I had to keep reminding myself that, the more I looked around, the more I felt.  Even for a clutch of crazy people, murderers, whatever.  I think the worst ones were the men and women that consciously decided they were going to mangle the part of them that wasn’t broken beyond function.  Then, crack their minds open and figure out to what extent they could fuck their thoughts up even more. I was between feeling terrible and feeling like bitter justice was served.  Everything was a whirling mess of gray with globs of black. One room I entered on the far side had a patient curled up on his cot, trembling.  I knelt down to film him through the nightvision feed, taking in the details of his misshapen face.  Many of the patients I had encountered thus far had scars or wounds of unknown origin, from experiments Murkoff was performing on them.  It was briefly mentioned in Chris Walker’s file, many of his injuries were self-inflicted, but the report indicated not all.  Were the patient’s the one mutilating their bodies, prior to Murkoff’s fall?  Not all of them shared these injuries, some appeared almost normal or unharmed.   It must have been a part of the process Murkoff was putting them through.  But what sort of process I couldn’t begin to imagine.  Some of the scars appeared almost like chemical burns in theory.  What sort of monster would give an order to maim humans? “Too many voices.  They followed me back.”  He stumbled into me as I swayed to get out of his way.  “No more sleep.”  He grabbed my collar and forced me aside, and then continued on toward a bloody spot on the wall without pause.  Wack. Smack! Crack! Clack! “They’re in my blood and they want to get out.  Can feel….” I continued to back away until I was a safe distance, concealed in shadows.  My back pressed against the cold wall and I slid down to sit. “We angered Him with our science.  He only wanted faith.” The voice sounded very close, but when I turned my camera to find him, he was a few feet away curled up tightly in a corner.  I sat there for what felt like a long time observing the habits of these people, lost in madness.  Eventually the man whom stared at pillar did move, at first leaning on his subject matter, then slipping down until he was on his side facing the cold concrete structure.  I turned my attention back to the man in wheelchair, but he had not yet moved since he spoke.  I wondered if he did indeed die.  It made no difference to me, not at this time, but I did feel a unique chill in my veins at the thought.  How many people have I watched die today? “Voices in my head follow me back!”  When the head banger made his third round, I decided it was time to find a way out. Without a word of farewell to the squatter, I crossed to the other side of the wall to doors that had not been examined.  I was beginning to despair, surrendering resolve to the idea of returning to the upper level, to the twins. It was very likely they would open the door only to murder me.  There was no place for me to run, or hide.  Especially with the two of them, they’d corner me with little effort if I tried.  My heart thudded against the stress, and that persistent pain in my chest.  I needed a doctor. A door I opened finally offered some promise, the back of the room was shattered revealing a crack into an open work space.  A shred of concern did remain in me to enter a room in which I could not open from the inside, but I didn’t give a damn at this point.  I squeezed through the gap and pulled up the nightvision, it sounded like someone was struggling. I wasn’t confident in facing the source, if I had someplace to run I might felt more assured.  Truth was safety was an illusion in Mount Massive, my only hope for survival was my capacity to elude danger.   There wasn’t much to see in the work hall, pipes for water, pipes for gas, I couldn’t tell which from the static green NV feed.  The noises were muffled but grew louder as I moved through the work space.  I didn’t like the sound of them.  Overhead the cement had been torn out, where the debris was removed to remained a mystery but it was a direction to take. I climbed onto a crate and made sure it was sturdy before leaping up to an overhead ledge.  For a span I was completely blind in the dark, the camera strap I stuck in my mouth rather the case so I could reach it quicker.  Once I had pulled myself onto the floor I knelt and took it up, looking immediately into the visor. A face covered in ants stared back. I gave a sharp yelp and toppled sideways, catching the jagged edge with my elbows before I fell through, my legs swung beneath me and I struggled not to drop the camera in my hand.  Groaning, I pulled myself back up and crawled away before checking once more. “Agh!  God damnit!  What the fuck is the matter with you?”  One of the patients had plastered himself against a wall and was fixing his shirt.  He wasn’t wearing pants.  On the floor across from him was a bloodied and decapitated body, nude, in a…suggestive position. “You weren’t invited to this, you god damned sicko.” Just….This place needed to go to hell.  Some of the people here did deserve what they got. “What, you like to watch?”  He pointed directly at me and reaffirmed his diagnosis.  “It’s sick.  You’re sick.” And thus my pledge, not to speak to any of these people, was solidified.  You couldn’t stage better propaganda. “Fuck this place. Seriously, just fuck this place. Dying keeps moving lower on the list of the worst things that could happen to me here.” I jogged down the hall, an otherwise good mood literally—No, no.  I needed to forget.  Positive thoughts, healthy thoughts.  I was terribly fucking lost, had no map, two naked men were admitted into my fan club, and dying was no longer top of the list of shitty ways to ruin this day. Or night.  I had no fucking idea. “Hey!  Hey!”  I stopped in an intersecting hall when someone called for me, and rattled a gate.  He was on the other side, which made me happy.  “You… Oh.  I….”  By the time I had my camera zoomed in he had already spun about and was running away.  The small event had me smirking despite everything, who did he think I was?  A friend? Lord give me strength, I was just mistaken for a loony.  And I thought it was funny.

[essieeeeeeeee]

FUCK IT, i’m posting part 1. no title yet, so it’s just “bad touch villain fic” for now until I can get my act together enough to come up with one.

may I just start by saying that I love how we all as a fandom have collectively taken one look at our guy Shaw and thought: this boy needs to get fucked.

on a separate but equally important note, Transporter 2 may have been an absolute train wreck of a movie, but it gave me the gift of some quarter-dressed villain chick licking up the side of Jason Statham's face while he exudes such gay "I'd rather be literally anywhere else than here in this moment" energy, so there's that.

i’m fucking wheezing, man. his face.

anyways, in case it’s not obvious, I’ve stolen the T2 villain couple and threw them into here instead, so if you’re curious about what they look like, feel free to look them up (Gianni Chellini and Lola). this isn’t a crossover, it’s just me being lazy and stealing characters from other movies and playing with them.

a’ight, here we go with part 1. will get part 2 out relatively soon, I think. hopefully. god, I’m so slow at writing, guys.

----------

The bell above the door chimes merrily as Shaw pushes it open and steps into the diner, breathing in the homey scent of grease and caffeine that wafts out at him the moment he crosses the threshold. He lingers in the entryway - tucking his sunglasses carefully into his front left suit pocket, and letting his eyes drag over the establishment in a quick, practiced once-over.

American, is the first thought that comes to mind. Tacky, the second, though he supposes that’s a given, considering the first.

To be fair, it isn’t the worst diner he’s ever stepped foot in - that dubious honor went to a crusty hole in the wall in New Jersey, the name of which he couldn’t and didn’t really care to recall - but even so, the place isn’t exactly what he’d expected from a meet and greet with the CIA.

It's… lively, for starters. 

Shaw skims his gaze over the laminate red and white booths, the worn looking tabletops sticky from dots of leftover syrup. Bright sunlight peeks through the big windows, now that the storm clouds are dissipating in the frankly oven-like California weather.  Patrons chat loudly from each corner of the room. It's open and cheery and packed with parents and their tiny screaming sprogs, and all of it's already giving him a very sleep-deprived headache.

Shaw can pinpoint every word of the conversation that’s happening six booths to his left, too, which means privacy won't be much of a concept here either.

Strange choice in location, he thinks, for a debrief with top secret government information regarding a world-ending cyber death cult.

Deckard shrugs off the discomfort of it all, though. Partly because he honestly can't muster up enough of a fuck to give, and partly due to the fact that the smell of freshly brewed coffee has been relentlessly beckoning him forward since the initial whiff of it hit him from the doorway. He takes a quick moment to map out the visible exits, more habit than anything - front door, side door, likely a back one through the kitchen if needs must - and, once satisfied with his perusal, makes his way towards the bulky figure in the back right corner that’s stuck out like a mountain among mole hills since Shaw first walked into the place.

“Hobbs,” he mutters wearily, and spares a grimace at the grungy empty seat across the table. He resignedly lowers himself into it anyways.

The lawman’s eyes flick up from the plate in front of him, and he doesn’t look all that surprised; but Shaw knows it’s because he caught Hobbs’ gaze since the moment he stepped out of the rental car in the lot outside.

They’re both just a couple of paranoid bastards like that, he supposes.

And Hobbs looks - good. Better than the last time Deckard's seen him, awkwardly parting ways at a terminal in LAX, the both of them littered with bruises and scrapes that were only a small testament to the absolute shitshow they'd somehow just survived. Now it seems the bigger man's nicks are less than scabs, and the large bruise Hobbs had been sporting across his left temple at the time is nearly gone.

Shaw grudgingly notes that he's also been nursing his own wounds, and steadily healing, if slowly. His right shoulder still twinges when he moves it the wrong way, paracetamol continues to be a three times a day affair, and the spastic tick in his left hand hasn't quite let up since Brixton's electroshock therapy session, but overall - things are better.

His ribs still ache something fierce, though. Fractured, likely. Not that he's about to whine about it.

“Tinkerbell,” Hobbs greets, and then blithely stuffs another bite of the fried monstrosity that sits on his plate into his mouth. Shaw’s grimace deepens. “You’re late.”

“Blame your shitty weather. Flight delay.” Deckard ignores the insult; he's too fucking tired to pick up Hobbs' volley today. Instead, he leans forward, careful to avoid the greasy stain at the edge of the table, and gets straight to the point. “Where’s your contact?”

Because that was the obvious missing piece here, wasn’t it? Shaw didn’t come traipsing all the way to Los Angeles just to witness the Hulk stuff his oversized mug with substandard diner fare.

Two weeks out from Samoa - two weeks of very different, yet equally consequential family reunions, of settling affairs that only a forty-eight hour hotseat on every major news channel in the world can cause - and now it was time to get down to business. Hobbs’ CIA friend had promised intel. Shaw may be reluctant to forego his solo status for another team-up with Ms. America here, but he wasn’t an idiot. Information on Eteon didn’t exactly just rain from the sky.

Nine years of hunting the bastards down on his lonesome taught him that much.

Besides: the fact that Hattie’s life wasn’t on the line with this one left Deckard feeling a mite less prickly. Hobbs may be an annoyance, but he's at least a tolerable one.

“Also late,” Hobbs says, glancing down at his watch. Then the man sighs, and rubs at his temples in a way that makes Shaw wonder exactly what he’s getting into, here. “But he’ll probably show up -”

“- fashionably late and with Starbucks? You bet your perky muscled ass I will, Rebecca.”

Deckard startles a little in his seat, because where the fuck did this arsehole just come from, and his hand reflexively slides over the utensils on the table in front of him, but he smothers the instinctive urge to lodge one into the meat of the thigh that's suddenly appeared at his side. The scruffy, grinning man it's attached to seems to catch the movement, from the way his eyes dart down to the table. He shifts, just slightly, away from Shaw.

Smart fucker.

And no sensible shoes, either. That was interesting.

"Locke," Hobbs says, resigned, scooting in to make a little room as Scruffy slides himself into the seat left behind.

"Aw, don't be like that, Becky," the man whines, and Shaw can't help but mouth a bewildered 'Becky?' at Hobbs with raised brows. Hobbs only drops his head and rubs at his temples a little harder. "You know my delicate emotions can't handle the strain."

"You brought Starbucks. Into a diner."

"Never judge a man for his grande quad nonfat one-pump no-whip mocha habit, Lukas. Gosh, have I taught you nothing?"

"I can sincerely say," Hobbs grinds out, and Shaw is somewhat delighted by the disgruntled twist in the other man's features, "that the only thing you've ever taught me is the true meaning of patience."

"Don't you sass your father like this in front of company, young man. Already in the rebellious teenage phase, Christ, they grow up so fast, don't they?"

"Like mold," Deckard drawls. The disgruntlement on Hobbs' face grows deeper.

"Ha," he says, flatly. "What'aya got for us, Locke?"

"Don't rush me, sweetums, I'm famished," CIA titters, enthusiastically waving down one of the bustling waitresses. Deckard's somewhat grateful for it; he'd murder for a coffee, and that wasn't a metaphor. "And, what, no introduction? The manners on you today."

Hobbs sighs. Shaw honestly can't help but be somewhat amused by the balls this bloke must have, riling up the lawman like this. He's not sure quite yet what to think about Chatterbox - intriguing or just downright irritating - but he can at the very least admit that anyone who can put that level of utter frustration into Hobbs' eyes was worth looking into.

"Shaw, meet Locke," Hobbs says, waving impatiently at the agent beside him, who wriggles his fingers at Shaw in greeting while slurping loudly around his straw. "Locke, meet Harry Potter's uglier cousin."

Deckard scowls.

"Well fuck me sideways, but Dudley sure grew up nice, didn't he?" Locke says, and - Shaw’s actually a bit flattered to see the agent’s eyes flick over him lasciviously.

But before he can quite unravel that one, a server appears at the table edge, shooting a wide, familiar smile in Hobbs' general direction. "Can I get you boys anything?"

Locke straightens in his seat. "I'll take one of everything."

"No he won't," Hobbs snaps, smacking the idiot’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

"You're so right, snookums, gotta watch that girlish figure." Locke rubs his arm with a wince, beaming at the woman, who's started to look a bit flustered at this point, poor dove. "I'll take a number two, extra syrup, extra mayo."

She nods slowly, and turns to Deckard, as though hoping to re-establish some sort of normality.

He takes pity on her. "Coffee, thank you. Black.”

"To match his soul," Hobbs mutters around a sip from his own cup.

"To match my shoe," Shaw corrects with a tight smile. "Going up your arse."

Hobbs snorts. "Think you got that one twisted, son."

"Think you might want to start ponderin' the merits of a wing-tipped enema. Son."

"Jesus, you two are adorable," Locke interjects, resting his chin in his hands as the waitress pours out the coffee and shuffles nervously away. "Like some sort of walking, talking, opposites-attract, enemies-to-lovers, sixty-nine kay slow-burn. Is there a kudos button hiding around here somewhere?"

Shaw can't interpret even half of that. He has a strong inkling that he should probably just shoot the man for it anyway.

"You wanna get to the point, chuckles, before I put your head through this table?" Deckard says. He drums his fingers casually against said tabletop, just to make his own point that much clearer.

Entertaining as Hobbs’ little motormouth of a friend has been, Shaw has just spent the better of his last twenty-four hours on a transatlantic red eye: he's exhausted. Even a verbal spar with Hobbs isn't quite giving him the usual spike of adrenaline it deserves. The only thing he wants more right now than the coffee in his hand is his head on the pillow of a hotel room bed, and CIA here was the last obstacle standing in the way of that particular goal.

Not a safe place to be, generally speaking.

"And oddly in sync with your threats, too," Locke muses. He shifts back in his seat, though, and quickly raises his hands in surrender when Shaw leans forward menacingly. "Right, yes, ok, the point! I, ah. I definitely have one of those."

Finally, he digs into the bag at his side, hastily pulling out a few manila files. He slides them across the table towards the two of them. Shaw lets the murder in his eyes simmer down a bit as he snatches up his own.

“So, the Snowflake,” Locke starts. “Turns out the late professor wasn’t the only one with his hands in that diabolical cookie jar - ”

Scruffy keeps talking, but Shaw stops listening the moment he opens up the folder and skims his eyes down the first page.

Oh, shit, he thinks.

His stomach makes a very abrupt descent to his knees.

Because there, tucked under a paperclip in the top right corner, is a set of photographs. Generic, really. Black and whites, likely mugshots from the look of them. A man and a woman - staring straight towards the camera, little smirks nestled in the corners of their mouths like poorly hidden secrets. Shaw’s gaze traces over the sharp curve of a cheekbone, an aristocratic nose.

The faces staring up at him are jarringly familiar, in the worst possible ways.

The kinds of ways, in fact, that suddenly makes it very tempting to get up from the table and walk away, as quickly as possible.

“-ellini and Lilian Nuata,” Locke says, pointedly tapping the photos in his own file, and it’s as though the world’s volume has abruptly turned back up again. Shaw blinks, then snaps his eyes back up to the two men across the table from him. He blanks his face to cool disinterest when he finds Hobbs staring back at him.

Deckard’s not sure what kind of expression worked its way across his face while he took in the literal goddamn nightmare in his hands, but the perplexed look Hobbs shoots him makes Shaw think it wasn’t as subtle as he would have hoped.

"You know 'em?" Hobbs asks.

And fuck, but that's a loaded question. Shaw can feel his face twist like he’s sucked a lemon. It's completely involuntary, and he hates himself for the tell.

“We’ve… met,” he answers, somewhat honestly.

As if 'met' could ever sum up the amount of sheer overwhelming fuckery their run-ins entailed. Shaw covers his discomfort with a fortifying sip of his coffee.

It curdles in his stomach.

"Oh, good," Locke says, almost obliviously cheerful. "Then you probably know just how pants shittingly insane our Harley Quinn and Joker duo here are."

Bit more than you'd think, Shaw muses with faint dread. 

"Nuata's the big brain behind our little Snowflake," Locke continues. "Andreiko may have invented the capsules that carried it, but the whole organ-melting, blood-spitting, eugenics genocidal virus shebang? That's her bouncing bundle of joy." The man takes another flippant slurp of his latte. The sound grates on Deckard's nerves, but he's feeling a bit too numb to give much of a shit about it.

"And Chellini?" Hobbs asks. The lawman's still shooting curious glances Deckard's way, and Shaw figures that's his cue to stop acting the part of nervous wallflower.

"Muscle," he finally speaks up. The word somehow comes out normally, despite the fact that Shaw's throat is feeling drier than the Sahara. "But also happens to have a brain, unlike someone else I know."

Hobbs' semi-concerned expression falls back into an irritated scowl. That’s good. Deckard doesn't need the man's cautious hovering. 

They may have a somewhat decent, if not entirely amicable working relationship now, but Shaw wasn't about to dump his sordid histories into Hobbs' lap. They weren't friends. 

Deckard didn't really know what they were at this point, actually, but it certainly wasn't that. 

"Nuata can take care of herself, but they're… formidable, together," Deckard continues, before Hobbs can open his mouth. "They're sadists. Like to play with their food before eating it."

"And you've… met, huh?"

Something about Shaw's voice must have been slightly off, because the concern is creeping its way back into Hobbs' eyes. It makes Shaw's skin itch in irritation; he's not some child to be coddled and fretted over. Best to cut that nonsense off right here and now.

"Worked with 'em on a job once." Deckard shrugs, nonchalant, and leans back in his seat. "Briefly. Didn't quite appreciate their methods, so we parted ways."

It's the truth, if a heavily edited one. Either way, the mission is accomplished: the concern vanishes immediately.

"Of course you worked with them," Hobbs snorts bitterly. "Looney tunes here sound just your speed. What kind of job they end up luring you in with, anyway? Selling poison to toddlers? Murdering puppies in Tokyo?"

Ah. Well - ouch.

That one hit somewhat closer to home than likely intended, going by the expression of mild regret on Hobbs' face moments after the words leave his mouth. The sting of it is sudden, surprisingly unexpected, and altogether earned, really. It’s an abrupt reminder that even in the wake of Samoa, there’s still a decent amount of unpacked baggage between the two of them. The kind of baggage that comes with literal skeletons in closets 

Or in fiery, crumpled sports cars, smoldering vengefully on a busy street in Tokyo.

Shaw considers himself a reasonably self-aware person; he already knows he's a piece of shit. Doesn't mean he'll tolerate Hobbs shoving his nose into the fact like some misbehaving dog.

"Fucking hilarious," he snaps, narrowing his eyes. "Don't think that's any of your business, is it?" 

He leans forward, and suddenly Deckard finds that he's angry. The irrational kind: no specific target, no specific cause. Angry at Hobbs - angry at Locke - angry at every little shout and laugh in the air of the diner around him. Absolutely, completely, furiously angry that this file, with those pictures, has been dropped into his lap like a fucking grenade when he least expected it.

"You sure seem real interested though, Tiny. Maybe you get off on that kind of thing, huh? Puppy murder? Kiddy killing?" Hobbs' mouth twists, as though he knows he deserves the retort, but that it's pissing him off nonetheless. Shaw smiles grimly. Good. "'Cause I know a few people who could give you some details -"

“Yeah, I’m sure you know plenty of people -”

"Maybe we could table that steaming pile of inhumanity for another day," Locke interrupts suddenly. "Fascinating as getting in touch with our inner Cruella de Vils sounds, we're on a bit of a time crunch, darlings. Your flight to Spain to bag us Bellatrix Lestrang and her boytoy is in five hours, and we’ve still got some ground to cover here."

Shaw cuts himself off, and reigns in the bright spark of rage still flickering in his head. Closes his eyes for a moment.

What is he even doing?

He opens his eyes again, lets them flick back down to the photographs in front of him with the morbid helplessness of watching an imminent disaster just waiting to occur. Knows, with swift clarity, exactly where the anger is coming from.

Tired or not, Shaw’s aware that the abrupt flare of resentment is an unreasonable reaction to what was meant to be an innocuous comment. He attempts to tamp it back down a bit; difficult, with Hobbs’ narrowed-eyed gaze staring at him from across the table, but do-able.

Professional, he thinks. You’re a fucking professional.

"Spain, huh? Always liked Spain. Good memories," Hobbs says suddenly, voice far too innocent to be anything but deadly. Shaw watches with sharp eyes as Hobbs takes a very pointed sip of his coffee, staring Deckard down. The bigger man places the cup back on the table with a quiet thud, and smiles. "Like when we blew up your brother’s plane, for instance."

On second thought, fuck professional.

"Whoa now,” Locke says, hastily grabbing at Shaw’s wrist with a nervous laugh as the Brit's fingers spasm hard around the cutlery on the table in front of him. Lucky timing - Deckard had half a mind to jab the butterknife in his grip straight into Hobbs' hand, crowded diner be damned. “Let’s just take it easy there, Scarier Spice. We’re all friends here.”

Shaw very deliberately glances down at the hand on his arm, before letting his eyes drag back up to the agent’s.

“You’re gonna want to let go of me,” he says, slowly. “Friend.”

The hand is instantly snatched away, with frankly satisfying speed.

“So aggressive,” Locke says with another nervous little chuckle, fanning himself. “I gotta say, the fearboner I’m getting right now? I’m kinda into it.”

The ache in Shaw's temples gives another sudden, violent throb, and - yeah, no.

He wasn’t throwing himself back into the wreckage that was Chellini and Nuata for the sake of the two men in front of him.

Deckard rises from his seat. "Have fun with your little mission, Hobbs. You go enjoy knocking a couple of pissant nobodies' heads together in Spain like a good dog, while I go find some useful intel to work with."

"Yup," Locke mutters quietly. "Definitely aroused in this moment."

"Locke, shut your goddamn mouth," Hobbs snaps. "Shaw, just - sit down."

And oh, but that's rich. "In case you haven't noticed, steroids," Shaw sneers, leaning forward on the table, "you ain't the boss of me."

Hobbs just rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid, jackass. This is our best shot at getting these bastards, and you damn well know it."

The DSS agent leans forward himself, hardly backing down from the challenge in Shaw's eyes. And usually, that would get Deckard going - really throw some fuel on the fire - but now it just makes him hesitate.

"Besides," Hobbs adds, and his mouth quirks up into the beginnings of a wry grin. "Can't knock some pissant nobodies' heads together without my sidekick tagging along."

… goddamnit.

Shaw didn’t feel guilt very often, but Hobbs’ playful, friendly little smile was causing an avalanche of it. He falters; stands at the edge of the booth, half-turned towards the doorway, towards freedom, towards his ticket out and away from not-so-old wounds he’d rather take a bullet to the head for than let Hobbs be an audience to.

But. But.

He also wasn’t quite monster enough to allow Hobbs to wander into that horror show on his lonesome.

Slowly, grudgingly, Shaw sits back down.

He does not flush when Hobbs beams at him like the giant fucking golden retriever he is.

“Wonderful!” Locke says, clapping his hands together cheerfully. “Gosh, isn’t this exciting? It’s like we’re a team. Like the X-men or something. Ooooh, I call Wolverine.”

“Locke,” Hobbs says forlornly.

“Yeah, no, you’re right, Shaw definitely pulls off the brooding loner better. I think I’m more of a Jean Grey myself, too.”

“What’s the plan?” Shaw asks brusquely, flipping open the file again. He slides his gaze past the photos this time, and further on to the information on the page beneath.

The pictures still manage to haunt him out of the corner of his eye.

“They’re holed up in Chellini’s private chalet in Almeria. Real fancy stuff,” Locke says. “These two may be balls to the fucking walls bonkers, but they're not stupid. Guards and security out the ass, I’m tellin’ ya. We’ll need you two to go in, extract them, and maybe not destroy half the city in the process, because Big Daddy Government isn’t thrilled at the thought of covering your usual laundry bill.”

“Get in, get the marks, get out. Simple,” Hobbs says, leaning back in his seat.

“You’re simple. This is not,” Shaw snaps, tapping at the folder. “We need an actual plan, not your usual smash-and-grab theatrics.”

“Pretty sure my ‘theatrics’ are what threw your ass in jail.”

“Pretty sure your incompetence is what got me out of it -”

Somehow, an hour later, the smallest semblance of a strategy comes together. The stability of it helps soothe the tension buzzing at the edges of Shaw’s mind, but even so, it lingers, like a bad taste on the back of his tongue. He traces his fingers along the black and white images in front of him for a brief moment as CIA pays the food bill, before forcefully flipping the folder shut.

"Still one thing I need to get straight,” Deckard says, gaze suddenly pinning Locke to his seat. “You had me fly to Los Angeles, from London - just to fly back to Spain?"

The murder must be back in his eyes, Shaw thinks, because there's certainly a new hint of fear in Locke's.

"Ok, to be fair," Locke starts, edging back in his seat slightly, "one: I didn't actually know you were in London, because two: you're a very naughty, sneaky boy who happens to be incredibly difficult to track down, and did I mention I have a very delicate bone structure?"

Locke's voice climbs increasingly higher as he presses further back into the booth - likely because Shaw was leaning across the table with the intent of strangling him.

“Shaw, stop scaring the rabbit,” Hobbs says, shoving at Locke’s shoulder as the man pushes himself into Hobbs’ space. “Locke, let me the hell out of this booth.”

Shaw slips out of the booth himself, but not without a withering glare in Scruffy’s direction.

They make their way out of the diner, Locke scurrying off with rambling goodbyes that Shaw doesn’t bother listening to, and the sudden wave of heat as he steps out of the doors with another chime of bells above them is almost nauseating. Deckard grimaces at the bright blue sky as Hobbs siddles up next to him.

"You good?" Hobbs says, and bumps his shoulder awkwardly against Shaw's own.

And the move is just - so fucking Hobbs, so endearing (though Shaw would commit a fantastic amount of homicide before admitting that fact), that Deckard slowly, reluctantly deflates. The still-smoldering anger finally winks quietly out of existence, and just leaves him feeling exhausted in its stead. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine," Deckard mutters, glancing away with an irritated little sniff. "Just -"

He looks down at the file in his hand. Thinks of the photographs.

Trepidation hits him like a roundhouse kick to the gut. 

"- tired," he finishes dully.

Hobbs pats him on the shoulder with a big hand, and then just. Leaves it there. Like they're pals, or something. Shaw hesitates, but decides not to shrug it off.

It's ridiculous that it helps his nerves somewhat.

"Yeah, well. I've got a guest room, if you need to crash for a couple hours before the flight."

The offer is unexpected - possibly for both of them, going by the slight discomfort Shaw can pick out of Hobbs' posture, and the way he won't quite meet Shaw's eyes after - but Deckard honestly considers it for a moment. 

Only a moment, though. "Already booked a place," he lies through his teeth.

Fat fucking chance he'd be able to get any sembleance of sleep, with images of mugshots seared into his mind. Shaw knows himself; in all likelihood he'll find a place to kip out, with enough caffeine to hotwire an elephant, and drown himself in research for the next three hours.

Preparation never really helped when it came to Chellini and Nuata, but it sure as hell would make him feel less like he was throwing himself into the lion's den. Again.

"Right," Hobbs says. He gives a little squeeze to the shoulder under his hand, before letting it fall back to his side. Shaw refuses to let himself acknowledge that the sudden lack of pressure there is a disappointment, because he's not a fucking child. "I should head out. Gotta find someone to watch Sam while I'm gone."

Ah. The daughter. Strange, to suddenly remember that Hobbs was a man in charge of nurturing something. "Wheels up in four, then," Shaw says, slipping his sunglasses back onto his face in the California sunshine. "Just don't bitch to me about your leg room this time, Gigantor."

"Not all of us suffer from being vertically challenged, short stop."

"Just mentally, in your case," Shaw says, and can't help the corner of his mouth from ticking up slightly at Hobbs' snort of laughter.

“Sure,” the big man says with a huff. “Guess I’ll see you in España, tonto.”

And with that Hobbs walks off with cheery little wave, Shaw following him with his eyes as the lawman hefts himself onto the motorbike and departs with a roar of the engine. Shaw just shakes his head, and sighs.

Chellini and Nuata. Jesus fucking Christ, he thinks.

Well.

If nothing else, at least he'll have back-up this time.

[hyphypmic]

@significant other of babe asked: hypmic bois in the pokémon universe please :3c

Okay just saying, I don’t know as much as you do so we’re keeping it to Kanto/Jyoto/Sinnoh/Hoenn  yay but idk abt who goes where so anyway!

Ichiro

Fire type! He loves the fire type Pokémon

And he would definitely choose Charmander as his starter because he’s Ichiro like that

And later on in life he’s like Red (if you know him) or like a very strong trainer

Because he had his Delinquent days (and he highkey detached himself from his brothers so he could go around and win battles and get money for them you know kinda like TDD) so he had his edgy fire squad

And like he explored everywhere, kind of being a general badass and earning his reputation by beating the gyms and all that

but then he matured over the course of his journey (and he learned a ton of new shit) and went back to go around with his brothers and willingly goes through the journey with them so he can help them out

Plus he missed them so he needs to make up for it and they forgive him later on yay

But yes, loves fire type and is very very skilled when it comes to training, battling, motivating, LOVING, and taking care of Pokemon

And okay like I rly see him being a mentor for his brothers and just one day showing off his moves with his fucking charizard and letting saburo uwu ride on it AHHHH

I don’t think he would go for gym leader because he’s more of an adventure boy

Jiro

He tries to live up to his brother and stuff even if he’s kinda resentful he left for a bit, but he’s over it you know

Ichiro would give him the starter pokemon

Like tbh I think Ichiro would give him a Piplup (I’m basic I’m sorry) and like really give him tons of advice

And yes he does challenge saburo on a near daily basis

And ichiro allows this because training, though Jiro won’t get it through his head that a full out offensive isn’t the way to go, though Ichiro figures that he’ll get over it

Anyway, moving on, that’s basically Jiro’s arc and like the buster bros would become like a unit and it would be so cool to see them battle around

And he’s also an adventure boy and really hates it when Saburo delays for some knowledge pursuit

Like he would bring out his also eager Pokemon to drag saburo away like even the piplup gets unto it and tries to drag saburo away from the pursuit of knowledge

Saburo

Quite literally a Pokemon nerd

No really he would probably be the first of the bros to complete his Pokédex like he would finish it

And his goal isn’t like to BATTLE BATTLE BATTLE or WAR WAR WAR it’s literally to gotta catch them all because he’s in the pursuit of knowledge that way

I rly see him having like an Eevee (if any of you play let’s go Eevee) or just not a typical starter Pokemon you know

Ichiro would probably end up giving him an eevee anyway because he knows an Eevee would appeal to like Saburo because it’s an extraordinary type of pokemon

He would love his eevee to the death and would dress it up in all these cute outfits

And yeah he’s a tough guy to battle, but you’ll more likely find him just enjoying the actual pokemon instead of battling

And he’s also p good at strategising when it comes to pokemon and he helps out his brothers

Is very happy with the journey and all that  

Samatoki

Definitely a gym leader, like really because reasons I rly see him being one

And oh my god I see him with a fucking Lucario like!!!!!

And he would love his pokemon to the death and all

And yeah he would be in charge of a fighting type of Pokemon or like that would be his specialty because he’s Samatoki sama aka mr ha ko on the microphone

And yeah he would probably have a side job as a yakuza, but like gym is life and he’s really aggressive but also very very smart when it comes to his attacks

Like even if he’s up against a higher level or like a psychic type, he will come out on top and beat the opposition

Anyway, his origin story is like he just wants to show everyone how strong he is and how that no matter how many times you get beat down, you have to keep going back up

And when he roams around or like helps people train in his own gym, he has a strict way of teaching, but also somewhat understanding and his tips really do help those who visit his gym

Very much open to receiving challenges because he needs to fight oh yeah

He also explored a lot of places and has a shit ton of influence, but the gym and his city is really his home

Team rocket aint fucking with him

Jyuto

Electric type! Is his type!

And yeah srsly just imagine him in that blue Pokemon police uniform hmmm

Also glasses are tilted and touched a lot because that’s the Pokemon trope with the eyeglass glare and everything

Though he’s a kind of corrupt cop, but doesn’t associate with team rocket because you know, exploitation of Pokemon

Though he spies a lot so he has a lot of connections and he’s like the in10se police spy that would be able to find his way in the underground

Like a spy with a position in team rocket oh yeah

And how he meets Samatoki is that Samatoki got into a fight with a team rocket and Jyuto had to subtly subdue said team rocket member

Anyway, yes electric type Pokemon and I really see him with a Luxray because he be cool like that

But seeing him with a shinx you can RIP my soul and send me to heaven because that shit is adorable

Riou

He’s probably also a gym leader

Basically MTC consists of two gym leaders and a cop

Literally Lt. Surge and except he would most likely love grass type pokemon or bug type, or anything you can find in the woods because survival life

Because he’s a woods kind of boy and he spends most of his time with wild pokemon and befriending them before catching them

DO YOU SEE HIM WITH A FUCKING BULBASAUR???? Like???? I really do and it would be so fucking cute to see him with all the little oddish and the Butterfree and the Beautifly and the weedles

This man can have my soul because I can really see him with his flower Pokemon like Venusaur and Meganium and a Vileplume and a Tropius (I know banana but still)

He would love him the grass Pokemon and the bug type

Anyway, yeah he’s all about that survival so his gym is quite the labyrinth, complete with traps

And sometimes he just goes out to roam and spend time with the Pokemon while shirtless :>>>

Ramuda

“Anything cute!” Like he would have a cue Pokemon out and walking with him

But when he brings out his arsenal it’s like really strong Pokemon, though he would probably favor fairy type Pokemon, though there would be a mix of dark type also

I really see him with a Gengar and causing little mischiefs because why not

He also loves fashion so he would really be the champion of those beauty pageants with all his deceptively cute Pokemon like wigglytuff and everyone thinks he’s just superficial and can’t battle for shit

But then face him off and it’s just a complete disaster and you’re going to be wrecked

Like he knows how to deceive and use his Pokemon’s weaknesses to their advantages and he knows the tricks of the trade, all while looking great

i don’t think he would be in the elite four, he would just be one of those freakishly strong trainers that would just pop in every once in a while

Mostly occupies his time with designing, but yeah, pretty good in battle as well

Gentaro

Ghost type!!!! Like he would love the ghost type pokemon or the psychic type because he’s mysterious that way

Or like psychic

Because I see him with an Alakazam and in general probably live in a quiet house with all of his Pokemon

And he would have a soft spot for his mimikyu because he’s the type

Probably would stay in Lavender town because he’s lavender jk no it’s because he’s the type to chill out in the outskirts and have these mystic Pokemon

Still pretty focused on his writing and some training philosophy and what not

And he would be really just calm and cool, but very defensive of his Pokemon because he will protect them with his life

But he houses this garbage rat (dice) who is completely hopeless but yeah Pokemon

And he would be p respectful of Pokemon and be pretty spiritual about it

But in battle he’s pretty dangerous because he’s an author and knows what he’s doing

Dice

I see him having a Persian or a Meowth because he’s nyaaa that way

But in general he would favor normal type Pokemon because there quite intriguing

Also I rly see him chilling around with a rattata because he’s such a garbage rat himself

And he probably doesn’t have a lot of Pokemon because he’s broke and can’t afford poke balls

But very much like Riou, he makes friends with the stray Pokemon or those neglected by their owners

Can do well in battle, but is unfortunately addicted to the gaming places even if his Pokemon try to drag him away from it

It doesn’t help that meowth is dragging him inside and everyone is just trying to stop him

Though dice would have a very unorthodox fighting style and would probably nickname all his Pokemon because he’s dice that way

Jakurai

I see this fucker as an elite four member so they become elite five

And like okay basically!!! You know how you have to fight all the elite four, he would be like the surprise level at the end and he’s very much god tier, like he would specialise in psychic/dragon/dark/flying type, you know that kind of mystic vibe

And he’s just on a level of his own!!! So like he’s very cool and that, and he’s kind as well, like he doesn’t spend most of his time in his seat of power or whatever and he goes around helping people and being a doctor because he likes helping people and Pokemon

But srsly, most people are in such awe of him and he’s just slaying by walking around with a Salamence or a Dragonair or a Dragonite or a fucking Charizard but rly anyway its just me

Or also like an Absol that would be awesome too

Anyway, yeah he really looks so cool, but if you get to meet him, he’s very down to earth and will sit down with you if you want some advice

Doppo

Dark Pokemon like, probably or ghost type of pokemon

I see him with a houndoom! Or like something like that

And he’s pretty anxious and unsure of battling

But if his Pokemon are threatened you have unlocked the beast and he will go on a rampage

Mostly a stressed worker that needs some time to sleep

Usually sleeps with his snorlax or on his slowbro

Like I rly see him just collapsing with a snorlax and sleeping for the entries day

But he would also run and his ghastly would chase after him and his houndoom would prevent him from falling on the tracks and impaling himself

He also shares a room with Hifumi, with his fairy type Pokemon

Srsly, this household has the polar opposites getting along together like the houndoom would take care of the little Pokemon and its pretty wholesome

Probably not that invested in collecting Pokemon and he’s happy with the ones he has

Hifumi

“Anything cute!” No legit he would really have beautiful and cute pokemon like rly pretty but also freakishly strong Pokemon

His clefairy is a thing of legend

And he’s into all that beauty pageant stuff too

And in his club he has his cute electric type Pokemon do their thing along with fairy sparkles and what not

Hifumi with a minun and plusle that’s all that’s all you need to know

Anyway, he loves dressing up his Pokemon, but in host mode, have fun trying to best him in battle because he is really confident in his Pokemon and all that

He might wipe your ass on the floor, unless you’re a girl of course and he’s out of host mode

But in general, all he wants to do is cuddle and play with his Pokemon along with sleeping on the snorlax that doppo sleeps on after a long day at work

[killian-whump]

OUAT 2x14: Rewatch Blog

Hey everybody! Here I am, once again, with a liveblog post for a Once Upon a Time episode! This one’s called “Manhattan” - which strangely enough, I had to look up to make sure of, because I could’ve sworn that 2x15 was the one called “Manhattan”, but when pressed to remember what 2x14′s name was... I could only come up “Also Manhattan...?” which seemed wrong.

Anyway! Let’s settle in and watch Manhattan Part 1...

Hmmm.  Okay, so Rumple’s all “I wanna fight!” and Milah’s like “Oh, no, the war” and this just seems weird to me, all of it. I’m making that Fry face at my screen right now. Not sure if full of shit or full of shit...

Emma asking, “Is this the right place?” AND HE SAID YES. Like, how does he know?! That globe was a hell of a lot more useful here than it was in Neverland. Or did they just toss the globe overboard when they went through the portal? “Welp, we don’t need this plot device anymore.”

Hahaha, Emma. “Well, who doesn’t love a surprise?” Should I start the list, or is someone else gonna do it? Rumple’s face is hilarious. He looks like he’s thinking, “Me, actually. I don’t like a surprise...”

That’s a really boring title card, Once. Really boring.

“Back? From where?” OH MY BABY. Incidentally, I forget he’s in this scene every single time I see this scene, and then I hear his voice and I’m like “OH, MY BABY” like, you know, what literally just happened 2 sentences ago.

Aww... You vengeance-hopped-up bondage bunny, listen to your Dommes and be a good boy <3

CHASE SCENE, IT’S A CHASE SCENE

RUN, EMMA, RUN

CRASH!!!!!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH PLOT TWIST

I always did like that plot twist. One of the better ones, I thought.

“I am the only one allowed to be angry here!” Yeah, you tell him, Emma.

This face is great:

Kinda sums up the entire scene, doesn’t it?

I love the subtle AND COMPLETELY OBVIOUS change in Gold and Henry’s interactions now that the audience is thinking, “Oh, wait... If his dad is... and his son is... OH MY GOD.” A gentle approach as always, show.

WHY WOULD HE NEED AN ENTIRE TYPEWRITER IN A FANCY WOODEN BOX WITH A SINGLE SHEET OF PAPER THAT SAYS “I KNOW YOU’RE BAELFIRE” ON IT? HOW FUCKING EXTRA CAN YOU BE?!

Pictured Above: THE LITERAL HEIGHT OF FUCKING EXTRANESS

“...because Pinocchio told you to?!?!” One of the best lines ever XD

Oh, come on, Neal. Man up for once and just talk to your father. Geez.

Like, I know he’s pissed that his dad didn’t follow him into the portal, but all of this hiding and nonsense? Acting like he’s terrified of the man? Like, did I miss the part where Rumple EVER presented an actual threat to Baelfire? Because I don’t remember that. Honestly, if I’m forgetting something from S1 where Rumple threatened or harmed his son, someone please remind me. Shitty dad? Sure. Dropped the ball? Definitely. Worth running and hiding from for fucking centuries? You’re a goddamn pansy, Neal.

“Rumplestiltskin...” Oh, that’s not a creepy voice at all.

Oh, that’s not a creepy girl at all.

Oh, that wasn’t a creepy scene at all.

Can I go home now?

“The truth about your parents - Emma, you of all people should know how important that is.” Umm... yeah. That’s a really good point.

“Are you sure this is about protecting Henry... and not yourself?” Aw, Snow... Such good advice in this phone call. Also, nice sweater. Very soft.

Ahhh... And good acting by Jen in here, too.

AW, GEEZ, EMMA, SNOW JUST GAVE YOU SOME GREAT ADVICE AND NOW YOU’RE JUST GONNA IGNORE IT ALL. GOSH DARN IT.

Oh, look. It’s the mild-mannered mayor here to visit the amnesia-stricken woman in the hospital. There’s no way this could go badly!

Umm... Regina, I love you and I love your magical ways, but you could’ve just, like, rifled through her purse. “Magic always comes with a price” but apparently not if you just want to wave some objects through the air instead of, like, reaching in and moving shit around like a normal person. That shit’s free.

Like, there is just no reason for this. It’s pointless. It’s weird.

Library scene. One of my favorites :D Well, not this one. The next one.

Hahaha, this “touching” mother daughter moment is so weird and dysfunctional and borderline creepy. I love it.

Seriously, Hook, you’re so fucking impatient. Just cool your heels, bro.

Hey, Gold, here’s an idea. Maybe when you’re hiding your dagger somewhere, and your arch nemesis is a pirate, maybe don’t leave a pirate map to where it’s hidden for that pirate to find and follow. I mean, you might as well have left it in a toolbox in the garden she- Nevermind. Let’s not talk about this.

Emma: Don’t do this. There are things called laws. Henry: I’ll be lookout. :D

“I don’t think he’s listening.” Henry is brilliant in this episode.

YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, NEAL. You finally manned up. Must've found some balls in the alley and tried ‘em on for size.

Aw, geez. I’m just... Wow. I really shouldn’t say anything about this whole scene, but... Yeah. Wow. I honestly can’t like Milah after some of the stuff she says in this scene. Sorry, guys. Like, she is literally telling her husband and the father of her child that the kid would’ve been better off if he was dead - and not just once, but, like... It’s like she’s engaging in a single-person competition to see who can find as many different ways as possible to say the same terrible thing over and over again, and it somehow manages to sound worse every time.

AHHHHH HIGH DRAMA!!!

I really do like everything about this scene with Emma and Neal and Gold and Henry and everyone trying to figure things out and/or hide things and/or... Oops, now it’s all out in the open and we’re all a big happy family fucked.

Ugh. Now it’s Greg. I really, really don’t care about Greg. At all.

Regina, goddammit, I told you to just rifle through that purse like a normal person. SEE what happens when you don’t listen to me?!

Actually, I totally forgot about this moment entirely, and now I’m laughing... Leave it to the show to put a “Why the fuck would you do this in this way?” moment into the show... that turns into a convoluted plot twist.

Son, I am disappoint totally not surprised, actually.

That map really DOES look like a child’s scribbles, though.

HOOK, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO DO WITH THAT... keyring? scissors? dohickey? I don’t know. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, it’s time for one of my favorite things ever!!!!

SUPER CASUAL VIOLENCE!!!

They’re both just so... so casual... and so flippant... and so... oh gosh, hahaha. He’s all upset and angry and foaming at the mouth, and Cora’s just like ~fling~! and LOOK AT THAT FUCKER FLY The violence is so ultra super casual and amazing, hahaha. And then they just walk off like Mean Girls: Storybrooke Edition and I fucking love them and I’d better rewind and watch it again. Hold on a second, guys.

ARE THOSE FUCKING TONGS, THOUGH?! why?

The books falling over like dominoes, haha, they always make me laugh. Better rewind again. I love this shit so much.

Old-fashioned compass, I guess? Some kind of... dohickey? I’m gonna go with dohickey, guys. I mean, it looks like a dohickey to me. Still, like, dafuq you think you’re going to do with that dohickey against two ladies with magic, boo? You adorable fucking idiot. IT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A SHARP EDGE.

WHOOP, THERE HE GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOES

See, there. Bae had no fucking reason to be running and hiding from Rumple for fucking centuries. He just handled him just fine right there. 

“Or what you did to me.” Valid point, Emma. Well made and- ARE YOU FUCKING LAUGHING, YOU LITTLE SHIT?!? Where’d that fucking dohickey go?! YOU ARE SO GETTING RUBBED, YOUNG MAN.

Well, what do you know? The seer who said the future was hard to discern clearly has now given you her powers... AND YOU’VE LEARNED THAT THE FUTURE IS HARD TO DISCERN CLEARLY. Shocked. I am shocked.

PLOT TWIST. The boy will be his undoing!!! Except... umm... I mean... he kinda never was, though? So, I mean, I don’t... uh...

Aw, fuck it. Let’s rewind and watch the super casual violence again.

WHEEEEEEEEE LOOKIT HIM FLY!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D

[jusadode-blog]

:0 whats the tea?

I don’t know which tea you’re referring to but I’m having an emotional breakdown over vocaloid so I’m dumping vocaloid tea. Huge rant below.

The year is 2012, the vocaloid community is in a weird phase. V3 has been out and going steady for a bit, and a lot of the fans are demanding remakes rather than new vocaloids. The exploration of new languages is a new trendy thing in V3, however, people are mainly demanding remakes of lesser-known V2′s and even underappreciated V1′s. Miki is a popular candidate, as she has a stable fanbase, a decent voice, and her design is manifique, however, many companies are currently popping out new vocaloids who are beginning to grow individualized fandoms of their own. The big 5 (or 6 or 7 depending on if you include Luka and/or Gakupo in the major leagues) are getting their V3′s, but there’s a definitive copy-cat style going on of the big 5 with a lot of the newer vocaloids. However, someone new comes into the fray.

The greatest vocaloid in the history of mankind has just been released. The beautiful, the one and only Aoki Lapis, has graced the world with her perfect demo, her perfect design, and her perfect name. Her voice is crafted like that of an angel, and she is ready for all your basic vocaloid needs. She can sing cute, happy songs. She can sing painful, sad songs. Her voice is like that of a lonely puppy, ready to make or break your heart at a moments notice. Will she smile? Will she cry? The choice is up to the fans. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT THEY FUCKING DID?

THEY IGNORED HER.

FUCKING INSTEAD, A YEAR OLD VOCALOID WHICH HAD NO FUCKING FANBASE UP UNTIL THAT POINT DECIDED TO START PICKING UP PACE.

Tone Rion, WHO’S INITIAL FANDOM WAS COMPRISED OF MANY FUCKING LOLICONS [aka PEDOPHILES] DUE TO HER FUCKING RIDICULOUSLY CHILDISH YET SEXUALIZED OUTFIT, started gaining traction despite her initial rocky start, ENDED UP WITH A LONG-STANDING FANDOM WHO STILL PRODUCE MUSIC TO THIS FUCKINGDAY. And I mean HER FACE IS EXACTLY LIKE FUCKING KAAI YUKI, A FUCKING KINDERGARTEN AGE VOCALOID. Tone Rion sounded so fucking bland, so fucking generic. Her voice is like that of if you put a hundread different fem vocaloid voices through a neural network and made it produce one of it’s own. It’s so fucking bland and has no emotion in it, AND YET GUSSS FUCKING WHAT?!?

SHE GET’S A FUCKING V4, AND THEY REDO HER WHOLE DESIGN BECAUSE THE WERID SEXUALIZED SCI-FI MAGICAL GIRL KID WITH TIDDY WINDOWS WAS KINDA A BAD IDEA. NOW SHE HAS A SUPER FUCKING CUTE DESIGN AND A NEW (IMRPOVED) VOICE BUT YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO AOKI???

SHE’S FUCKING DEAD, SHE HAS NO FANDOM. SHE HAS NO SONGS. THE ONLY SHIT SHE GET’S IS FUCKING COVERS AND TO WORK WITH OTHER VOCALOIDS. MERLI COULDN’T EVEN SAVE HER ASS, AND HONESTLY I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW MERLI GOT FUCKING RELEASED BY HOW LITTLE THE COMMUNITY PICKED HER UP.

They did my fucking girl SO WRONG.

So yeah, FUCK TONE RION. FUCK ALL HER INITIAL FANS. And FUCK EVERYONE WHO LEFT AOKI TO DIE.

IT’S 20 GODDAMN 19 WHY IS TONE RION POPPING UP IN MY GODDAMN YOUTUBE FEEDS?!!? I DON’T WANT THIS SHIT.

Especial shoutouts to FUCKING MEW, WHO Y’ALL FUCKING ALSO DROPPED LIKE A DEAD RAT, Cul (who’s fanbase was actually pretty solid for a while but fizzled out), and finally Galaco and Chika who everyone seems to have forgotten existed despite some somewhat proficient producers using her.

Also I’m still bitter Miriam wasn’t as loved as she should have been. It’s like everyone forget’s she ever existed.

SO YEAH THAT’S THE TEA. FUCK TONE RION’S NEW V4. Apparently she’s been out for a year but I just hadn’t of paid enough attention while scrolling away apparently.

ONE MORE THING SINCE THIS HAS ALL JUST BEEN ABOUT MY HATE ON V3:

Y’ALL FUCKERS DIDN’T PICK UP SACHIKO ENOUGH FROM V4. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL SHE SOUNDS SO GODDAMN AUTHENTIC?!?!? Like GODDAMN Sachiko is fucking god-tier like Aoki and y’all sleeping on her. HER BOX ART? GREAT. HER VOICE? GREAT. HER EMOTION, HER EVERYTHING??? FUCKING ON POINT. She’s got that rougher, deeper voice y’all loved about Luka, BUT LOO KWHAT YOU DID TO HER. Y’ALL LEFT HER FOR DEAD. Sachiko is EONS ahead of Luka in terms of rough, deep vocals, and god she sounds so fucking realistic because of it. It makes her emotion in depressing songs or creepy songs SO MUCH BETTER.

[Please note I’m angry at the community as a whole, and not individualized people and you should not feel in any way responsible for my anger. It is not your duty as a fan of something to show appreciation for lesser known characters or aspects of it. The vocaloid fandom, however, has a trend of picking up lesser-quality vocaloids in favor of the more robotic voices. Look at fucking SONIKA, one of the worst vocaloids to date MECHANICALLY WISE, NOT EVEN JUST VOCAL WISE, with her strong fandom and usage. And yes, the power of a producer using lesser-quality vocaloids and still making jams with them is a testimate to their skill, but it’s still painful to see the fans in turn also pick up said vocaloids because they want to be like their favorite producers rather than experiment with something new.

I used Maika fans as a example of “unproblematic fans” as most Maika songs are from Spanish! Vocaloid community, who really don’t have enough vocaloids to start discourse about lol. The only real discourse I saw on the spanish vocaloids was from the English and Japanese communities, who were super fucking shitty on Bruno and Clara but for ~some reason~ loved Maika. Honestly, Spanish Vocaloid community I’m so sorry y’alls first vocaloids went through such a hard time. Hope y’all get more vocaloids soon, y’all are such an awesome fanbase and I see y’all with all the subs you guys make. Keep being loud! Be seen! They’ll remember you’re a epic market!

Please note most of my critique is on the English vocaloid community, however also partially on the Japanese vocaloid community. It is very common for English producers to use non-english voice banks, however there’s a definitive trend to it all I hate. The Japanese vocaloid community is a lot harder for me to critique, however as a consumer of both english and japanese community creations I can fucking say that both of y’all assholes left my favs to die.]

TLDR: Tone Rion was initially a loli-bait style character who was made as if a mix between “robot magical girl” Miku, and Kaai Yuki with one of the most generic voices to date, but managed to get a V4 (and a VERY WELL NEEDED redesign I actually approve of as it’s more just to look cute rather than to be creepy) and a steady community while my fav Aoki just was thrown away and not even the underground community picked her up enough. I will reinterate here though, most Tone Rion fans now are not creeps. They’re just digging the cute remake of a vocaloid they may have some kind of nostalgia for just because they were hyped for all the new V3′s coming out at the time. Like, modern Tone Rion fans I’m more jealous of you rather than angry at you. Old fashion Tone Rion fans (especially those who didn’t like her new design) can go choke, that was a shit-tier design and she had an awful voice. Her new one is actually not bad, but still pretty dead in comparison to our lovely Lapis.

I will say a reason that most vocaloids “die” is caused by fans liking producers who make funky songs, and then buy  the same vocaloids of their favorite songs to mimic their producers rather than to explore new vocaloids. This leads to a cycle, ultimately leaving barely any room for new vocaloids to be explored. If a popular producer doesn’t pick up a vocaloid, or even if they did but didn’t utilize them enough (often because the vocals don’t mix well with their style or because the mechanics behind the voice are shit. Despite Circus-P getting a copy of Galaco she still died pretty hard, and she actually had a pretty alright voice and cute design. I think that one Yandere-style lolita-fashion vocaloid, can’t remember her name despite loving her, also beat her in popularity as she’s still being used quite decently.), and so that vocaloid’s popularity will be almost nothing.

Also my fav V4, Sachiko, was also discarded despite her BEAUTIFUL voice and design, because of her extremely rough voice not fitting the ~cutsy~ style of most vocaloid fans. For fucks sakes she’d be perfect for the Hagane fandom but we’re pretty fucking dead right now. Not even Yandere! vocaloid fandom picked her up and that’s such a disappointment man.

Thanks for stopping in for the tea anon! Hope you have a lovely day :D

[yoshimickster]

Rwby Volume 5 Episode ten-ITS GOIN’ DOWN Y’ALL-Micksterecap(spoilers)

HEY Y’ALL-sorry I’m late, I just saw the new Star Wars, SUPER good, although I feel Mark and Carrie stole the show from the newbies(may she rest in piece)-NOW LET’S SEE WHO DIES!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-the episode STARTS WITH-

ANGSTY COFFEE TIME! Qrow’s coffee I should mention most likely NOT full of booze, as its been shown he’s a happy drinker not a sad drinker...kind of...the BETTER version of alocholism, but still...

The two have a conversation that is BASICALLY this:

Qrow: We’re fucked.

Ozcarpin: Now we’re not.

Qrow: YES-we are.

Ozcarpin: NO-we’re NOT!

Qrow: ALL OF MY CASUAL FRIENDS ARE DEAD OZ! 

MEANWHILE IN THE RWBY ARTISTS ROOM

ArtguyA: You think killing off all of Qrow’s colleagues is a cheap way to not show what they looked like?

ArtguyB: Look the animation people BARELEY have enough money to do a full crowd anymore of a new town, BARE MINIMUM YO!

3:00 RUBY-then walks on in to ask the VERY pertinent quesion of if the Beacon Academy relic was stolen by Cinder-BUT-t’aint. Ain’t blaming her for worrying though, you can’t be too careful around the Legion of Salem’s unnamed faction(seriously RT, its been TWO SEASONS-give them a NAME).

4:00 She THEN asks his cane is a relic-AND-it ain’t-SORRY FAN THEORISTS! And NO-this isn’t the episode where we learn what the hell that stupid thing DOES! FIVE FREAKING SEASONS!

Well that was a fun little informative scene, now to get the other students and get this show on the-

4:22 *BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ*

DAMMIT QROW-don’t answer your scroll in a meeting, that’s just RWDE!

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY-its going DOWN-the trap is straight up mother-fucking going DOWN! ALSO-anyone else find it weird how all photos are 2-D  paintings? Its gotten so I can’t tell what’s an actual painting or just a photograph in this universe.

Thankfully both Oz AND Qrow realize its probably a trap as they have fully functioning brains.

5:17 A CUT TOO-

Raven and Leo having one of their CLASSIC bull sessions. I’d also make a joke about the two having an affair but...yeah Raven can do better than this wuss, and considering how much I hate her that SAYS something.

Leo “Cowardly” Lionheart reveals he betrayed Oz because he’s afraid of Salem and FUCK HIM-unless he redeems himself. Yeah, FUCK HIM UNLESS HE REDEEMS HIMSELF!

ALSO-did anyone else think the reason he was working with Salem was because Vernal was his daughter? That’s what I thought, but I guess I was wrong.

CLOSE IT OUT-with Salem trying to tell Leo he was doing right by him while OBVIOUSLY talking about her own cowardly ass-AND BACK TO THE BELLADONNA HOUSEHOLD! Man I was expecting we’d have to wait 10 minutes for that, PHEW!

WE THEN SEE-Kali isn’t dead-HUZZAH! ALSO-

6:58

Angry cat mom is judging you.

Seriously, when the person you’re protecting can defend herself better with a damn TEA tray than you can, yoooooooooooou suck. Seriously these guards are like those faceless rebel soldiers in Star Wars Rebels-GET IT IN GAME YO!

NANANANANANA-BAT FAUNUS! ALSO-bunny dude is still alive, good on him! Well...alive for NOW at least.

Thankfully though-

7:08 Mama Belladonna don’t TAKE none of that shit! THIS IS HER HOUSE MOTHER FUCKER! All while the OTHER gaurd is in the background being all “WAH-I’m INJURED!” SUCK IT UP LADY-we got amputees in this show gutsier than you! So chop off your arm, robo-up, AND GET BACK OUT THERE!

7:13 Look at that face, that’s the face of someone thing “Seriously? I’m going to get killed by a TEA TRAY?!”

But enough about whether Kali survives or not-WHICH NONE OF US ARE PARANOID OVER-A CUT TO-

7:15 THE END SCENE FROM LAST EPISODE! One would THINK this would be where the ep starts, but we just REALLY needed confirmation that Lionheart was a pussy, THAT wasn’t something we couldn’t get from subtext alone!

7:36 Blake than pisses off Ilia which prompts her to LUNGE down-

BUT THEN-

7:37

7:38

HO-LEE-SHIT, that was some NINJA stuff right there! Kudos Baby Belladonna, kudos.

Its then a CUTTHROAT BATTLE of angtsty whip sword faunus VERSUS angsty whipsword faunus!

7:56

OH SHIT-she did an Injustice 2 Clash! Risky move, if successful  you take away 30 percent of their HP, in not YOU can lose HP.

Blake LOSES said clash(like I said risky), prompting ILIA-*

8:36 To go FULL ON faunus ninja mode! Okay its SCARY how much these two have in common, I can not stop being sad that they aren’t on the same side.

8:46

Ilia: Why couldn’t you just LEAVE?!

Blake: Because I run away too much.

DAMN-good self-burn, and during a DEATHMATCH no less.

Blake THEN figures out the BEST way to smoke out Ilia-

9:01 IS BY SMOKING HER OUT! FIRE-gloooooooooooooorious fire! ALSO-can Ilia’s camoflauge work against Blake’s nightvision? If so...DAMN-that’s some X-men shit right there.

ALSO-I can’t believe I never noticed this before-

9:10

9:11

HER SUIT CHANGES COLOR! THAT IS AWESOME! Must be like, specialty cloth made special by U.A’s support class, because what CAN’T a supersmart busty teenager do?

Ilia than gives a bunch of “Bla bla bla-terrorism gets results” BS-UNTIL-

9:54 AW-HA-SHIT-Blake froze your whiiiiiiiiiiiip sword! Into what looks like a candy cane even! HAPPY HOLIDAYS from this racially charged deathmatch!

Blake than KNOCKS THAT SHIT AWAY-and then pounces on her-

10:01 Iiiiiiiiiiiin the most SHIP-baity way POSSIBLE! HAVE FUN WITH THAT-Blackcammo shippers! And yes that’s the ship name-SO SAYETH MICK THE NERD!

But seriously though, the two than have a REAL good cray-RIGHT BEFORE-

10:36 He is Ghira Belladonna, the High Chieftain, and he’s the best he is at what he does, but what he does, ain’t that nice!

BUT THEN-

10:40

OH SHIT-please don’t do him li-

10:46 ZOOP-nevermind, judo throw! Look at Fennec’s face here, is mother-fucking SURPRISED!

10:49 AND HE JUST PULLS THAT SHIT OUT-I fucking LOVE THIS GUY! 

Ghira THEN PROCEEDS to take on BOTH Albain brothers at once because of COURSE he fucking does!

SUN THEN DASHES ONTO THE SCENE-to fight Ilia and protect Blake! ALMOST BOYFRIEND VERSUS ALMOST EX-GIRLFRIEND-let the battle begin!

11:51

D’aw, he initiates clash just like Blake does, that’s cute!

Ilia then tries to zap him again-BUT AW SNAP-all out of dust cartridges! See this is what happens when you raise your kids on action films, conditions them not to reload bullets, AND THEN you get mess-ups like this.

The two are neck in neck, Ilia RIGHT UP AGAINST a breaking support beam-RIGHT BEFORE-

12:09 The SADDEST of sad Blake faces. She could stop a WAR with those tears.

BUT THEN THE PILLAR BREAKS ANYWAY!

12:17  It was at this point Ilia realized, she fucked up. SHIT-what if she dies, I don’t see ANY way of her surviving tha-

12:21 HAIL TO THE MOTHER FUCKING HIGH CHIEF! MAKE STATUES OF HIM-people will buy the SHIT out of them!

BUT ITS NOT OVER-

12:39 Ilia escapes-BUT-its too heavy for greatest person ever Ghira-SO-Sun gets his golden boys to help-WHILE-

12:55 Officer Nick Wilde than goes DOUBLE DOWN on the dust blades-CHARGING RIGHT AT THEM, BUUUUUUUUUUUUT-

13:00

Blake pulls away Ghira-RIGHT BEFORE-

13:03

Fennec falls under it and THEN-

13:04

BUDDA-GOD DAMN BOOM Y’ALL! Oh...oh my lord...that was amazing. That fight scene both took away AND gave me life.

But enough about that, WHAT ABOUT KAL-

13:11 ZOOP-nevermind she’s good. Man, why do they even HAVE bodygaurds, the Belladonnas plus house-guest did WAY more of the fighting than those scrubs they hired. 

13:19 D’aw, cute little mama/cub hug. I’m sure NOTHING will unsettle this sce-

13:31

“EVERYTHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!”

GAH-holy crap! I guess we can scratch HIM off the list of possible reformed villains. He is gonna have QUITE the vendetta if he survives.

He then LUNGES at them, in typical Albain fashion-BUT

13:40 ILIA ZAPS HIM...wait she had more bullets? GIRL-you gotta figure out proper reload times! I know I shouldn’t be complaining given you helped take out a bad guy, but damn girl.

Ilia then gives herself a good cry and CUT TO-

14:01

RIGHT OUTSIDE BELLADONNA MANOR...HUH-I’m so used to cuts transitioning from random scenes I figured we wouldn’t see the direct aftermath until next ep. Good change up guys!

14:25 HEY-look, its Rat guy! I didn’t know he was a cop! Nnnnnnnnnnneat!

14:43 ...hey wait a minute, how come Ilia ain’t in handcuffs? You know she STILL helped in premeditated murder, that should count. CLEH-we get a possible new gay friend, so that’s cool.

After all that...things get...even more tense when Blake...makes the most poignant speech of the year about hatred and letting others speak for you. I was going to quote it, but its just too damn poignant and beautiful that I can’t do it justice.

AND THEN THE REST IS GLORIOUS-Ilia says she’ll stand with Blake, Blake than forgives her, faunus left and right joins the cause-THIS SCENE-

18:12

“You stabbed me!”

Ilia: I-

*PINCH*

Ilia: OH!

Sun: There, let’s just call it even.

CLOSE IT OUT-with Ghira mentioning the attack is 2 weeks away, they need to army the SHIT out of their new recruits, and Blake makes a cute reference to the sea captain-BEST EPISODE EVER! SERIOUSLY-this was FUCKING amazing! Oh sweet satan how are they gonna top THAT?!