#he also has to look greasy alive

[vaethryn]

defias to deathstalker pipeline

[thestuffedalligator]

“You have to understand that this is a very difficult situation you’ve put us in,” said the king.

There was no change in expression in the metal face, but the glass eyes glittered in a way that he had learned to associate with trouble.

“Oh dear,” it said. Its voice had an edge of brass to it, and sounded as though a trumpet had learned how to speak. “I never realized how difficult this would be. For you.”

And that was another thing – it wasn’t just intelligence that the things had picked up. They also developed a knack for sarcasm. He worried a bit about that.

He tried to pull himself together. “You have to understand that we cannot recognize the Steel Children–”

“Mechanomorphs,” said a voice to his right.

He closed his eyes and breathed a little sigh of despair. “This is hardly the time.”

“We agreed that Mechanomorph is an accurate and sensible name,” said the chief artificer, crossing her arms.

“Yes, but the historian had a fit because he wanted something more romantic. The Steel Children was a happy compromise.”

“Funny how nobody asked us what we think,” said the trumpet voice.

He felt his migraine coming back again.

“You have to understand that we cannot recognize – yes, artificer, the Mechanomorphs – as alive at this time.”

“You’ve said,” it said. “And I must be very stupid, because I don’t understand.”

The king sighed. Well, there was nothing for it. It was an answer that nobody liked because it involved magic, but it was the truth.

“The Mechanomorphs are our key asset in our war against the necromancer,” he said. “It’d be daft to send human soldiers. They’d be turned into skeletons and zombies and ghosts and gods know what else.

“And the reason he can’t do that with the Mechanomorphs,” he said, “is because you aren’t – legally – alive.”

There was a long pause. Gears clicked madly in the metal head.

Then: “That can’t possibly be right.”

The king shrugged. “You aren’t legally alive,” he said. “Therefore, you can’t be legally dead, or undead.”

There was another pause, longer than the first.

“It’s a loophole?”

“That’s magic for you,” the king said. “If we said you were alive, then you could be turned into, er–”

He turned to the chief artificer. “Do they have bones?”

“They have a carbon steel armature.”

“You could be turned into carbon steel skeletons, or – clockwork ghosts, or something. I realize this may be upsetting–”

“We are dying by the dozens on the front because of a loophole.”

“Not legally dying,” said the chief artificer.

The metal head swivelled on its neck to face the chief artificer. It made a metallic scrape as chilly and long as the slither of ice down a dead man’s back.

“Look,” the king said. “We are fully prepared to recognize the Mechanomorphs as alive. We are proud to consider you citizens of the kingdom, and will absolutely meet you at the table when the opportunity rises.

“At this time, however,” he said, trying to sound gentle but firm, “we must ask you to take it up with us after the war.”

The metal face stared. The glass eyes glittered.

Joints locked in righteous indignation sagged with a wheeze of steam. “All right,” it said. “All right. Thank you for your time, your majesty.” It bowed stiffly, turned, and strode out the main hall.

“I think that went rather well,” said the chief artificer.

–

The metal man walked through the castle halls with smooth, precise, pendulum strides. A man could’ve balanced a loaded tea tray on its head.

Another metal man, more patinated than the first, fell into step beside it with a greasy silence. They apparently took no notice of each other.

But a very sensitive ear straining like hell could just possibly listen to the softest brass accompaniment in the world.

It went: “How did that go?”

“As well as you’d imagine.”

“That badly?”

There was a hum. It sounded like a mouse farting in a tin can. “Any word from our interested party?”

“The Overlord has already agreed to recognize the humanity of the Brass Voice. We just have to cross the border.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“And then we’ll be living in the Empire. Endless night, freezing winter, acid rain…”

There was a dreamy sigh.

“Sounds lovely,” said the first of the two figures. “Incidentally, I like the name.”

“Thank you,” said the second. “How do you anticipate the king to react when he finds out?”

Glass eyes glittered like a frost.

“He can take it up with us after the war,” it said.

[bi-writes]

I imagine that Johnny's "uncle" instincts are so strong that he would do anything for the MOB and Simon's kids, it doesn't matter that "the kids" are cats. Also i think Simon would have a talk with MOB (and Soap) along the lines "if something happens to me he is the person who would take care of you". ~ i spend to much time daydreaming about this fic

mail-order bride

johnny watches with a careful eye as simon disassembles his rifle. he's methodical about it, very careful. he has a clear desk in front of him, and every piece that comes out has a place on the surface, a special spot that it must go.

"ye called fer me, LT?" johnny asks, knocking on the door gently. simon nods, not looking up from where he's sitting. he motions to the chair in front of the desk, and johnny takes a seat, hooking his thumbs into his tact vest and spreading his legs as he sits there. "what do ye need?"

"'ave somethin' ta say," simon mutters. "'n i'm gonna say it, and y'r gonna keep quiet and not interrupt me. and when i finish, ya aren't gonna say anythin' about it. and we aren't gonna talk about it ever again. say ya understand me, sergeant."

johnny swallows, shuffling in his seat before nodding.

"aye," he says lowly. "roger tha'."

simon sniffs, picking up the barrel and using a microfiber cloth to rub it clean. he leans back in his chair, not meeting johnny's eyes.

"tha' last op got me thinkin'," simon mutters. "thinkin' a lot." he sighs, deep from his chest. "wot would happen to my girls. if somethin' were to happen to me."

johnny purses his lips, his palms getting a little clammy. but he doesn't speak, because he's been ordered not to.

"and if tha' happens," simon continues. "i don't want anyone else lookin' after them except for you, johnny."

their eyes meet finally, and johnny swallows hard. it's a long gaze, and they hold each other there for a few moments to get an understanding of one another, to speak without speaking.

johnny stands, shaking his head. it's hard for him to believe that simon could die. he's unkillable. he's ghost. he's a man too capable of staying alive, too good at crawling out of early graves, that he doesn't understand truly what it is he's seeing in his lieutenant right now.

the thing in his eyes, he's just never seen it before. it's fear.

"simon."

your greeting as he steps through the front door immediately makes his shoulders relax. you're in the living room in nothing but one of his old shirts, standing there with a big smile on your face. his eyes rake down your body, over your bare legs and socked feet. your smile is bright and contagious, and he drops his bag off as you come closer to him. as always, your hands find the hem of his skull mask and slip it up and over your head, and you giggle when he blushes as you look over his face.

"you're so handsome," you whisper, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you lean up on your toes and kiss him warmly, smoothing your hands up his big arms and wrapping them around his neck. simon can't help himself; he slides his hands down your back and slips them up the hem of the shirt you wear, cupping your ass in both gloved hands and squeezing hard. you laugh into the kiss, pulling away slowly, meeting his eyes. he looks tired. he looks...sad. "simon...is everything okay?"

you swipe your thumbs under his eyes, smudging the eye-black there, and he just shrugs. he doesn't lie. it isn't okay, he isn't okay, and you kiss him again to say you're sorry, because you don't know if he would want to hear that.

"i, uhm...ordered a pizza," you say softly. "thought we could watch a really bad movie and eat gross."

simon smirks, leaning his forehead against yours.

"i'd like tha'."

as you're plating up greasy slices of pizza, simon passes a piece of paper to you. it's an index card with a phone number on it and an address. the address is far, really far, and you lick the sauce off your finger before looking up at him.

"what is this?" you ask, taking it from him.

"tha's johnny," simon murmurs. "if anythin' ever happens...if ya ever need me...'n i'm not 'ere--" you open your mouth to say something, but simon shushes you gently. "--if somethin' ever happens to me...you call johnny."

you purse your lips, meeting his eyes for just a second before looking back down at the card.

"nothing's gonna happen to you, simon--"

he cups your face in his hands, shaking his head. he's staring down at you, pleading, asking you to just do this for him, to just say yes, to not fight him on this one thing because he needs this.

you press the index card to your chest gently, nodding finally.

"yeah...okay..." you whisper. "i'll call him, simon. if something happens...i'll call him."

if something happens, if something happens, if something happens--

"simon," you whisper, grabbing his eyes again. he blinks, and you compose yourself when you see that glaze over his eyes, the slight shake of his bottom lip. you have never seen him this way. you have never seen him shake ever before. this was your husband. simon riley, made of nothing but dense rock and steel. but his thoughts are far away. his thoughts are somewhere else, seeing a scenario in his mind that you imagine may not be hard to think about, as if he's lived something like it himself.

the unknown. the despair. the aftermath.

the inevitable.

"simon."

your voice brings him back. he's back in the kitchen. he's back at home. he can hear the cats in the living room, the little bells on their collars ringing as they chase each other in little chaotic circles.

he's back with you. in his little bubble. he's praying to a god he doesn't believe in that it won't burst so easily.

"dont worry, simon. i'll...i promise i'll call."

[jkgnggj]

OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE THIS WAS NOT THE BIRTHDAY GIFT I HAD IN MIND TO GIVE U BUT IF UR ON THE TERUTORI TRAIN THEN I GOTTA GIVE U A FIC ABT THEM AHH !! GO MAKE UR OWN FIC TOO DONT CALL IT SHITTY IT'LL BE AWESOME I KNOW IT <333

★‧°𖦹｡⋆☆ GYARU TERUTORI ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

FINALLY BACK TO COMMISSIONING TORI RAREPAIRS HELL YEAH !! HERE'S MY LATEST BRAIN ROT TERUTORI <333 TYSM FOR THE ART @lu-kario I HOPE U ALL ENJOY GYARUO TORI AND GYARU TERU ✮⋆˙

[sadhours]

the diner - part one

billy hargrove x fem!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, stalking, murder, toxic relationship, trauma, hallucinations, flayed!billy, peeping Tom, masturbation briefly mentioned, horror

He survived. Somehow— someway. Billy survived. Took care of what he should have so long ago. But that monster lingers, still alive within him.

You’re an innocent girl who works next door to him and he can’t help himself. Could you help him or is he too sick?

read on ao3

part two

Rain slips down, leaving clean streaks across the scum splattered front window of the shop. It’s deep into the evening, town’s asleep except for the truck stop directly next door. Bright lights illuminating the gas pumps, convenience store and the 50’s style diner. The one you work at.

And in the darkness of Route One Garage, Billy stands at the window. Watching. Eyes following as your hair bobs up and down with your steps as you run around the diner. Taking orders, filling coffee cups, carrying hot plates of greasy food made on grills cleaned less often than the health department wants. He’s eaten there, knows you can taste the filth in the food. But it’s the only place to get food this late for miles. The place is full of truckers, different faces but they might as well be the same copy of a person. In and out all day long. Billy’s seen the way they talk to you, been witness to it and just sat there with his blood boiling. Didn’t do anything about it because he’s a pussy and also, because you don’t know him. Sure, he comes in semi-regularly but he doesn’t really talk to you. He can’t for some reason. But before he moved to this teeny, shithole of a place, Billy wasn’t like this. He could talk to any woman. You didn’t look at him like most women did, though.

He watches you like this almost every night. Every night you’re there. Fantasizes about the things he wants to do to you. Sometimes those things are questionable, violent even but sometimes they’re just fantasies of talking to you— making you fall in love.

But he did something that woke up these dark demons deep in him. Well, two things.

Billy still has visions of the shape shifting monster. Haunts his dreams. Recalls each time he led an innocent person to the monster. Regretted not leading his father to the monster. So when he crawled out of the slimy, pulsing portal. He found his dad. Did what he’d always been too weak to do. Billy wonders if that monster still possesses him. If there’s still some of those black, gunky slugs in his stomach. Puked them up for weeks, it felt like.

But he’s thousands of miles from Hawkins. Though it feels like part of him is still contaminated. Made him reclusive, awkward, scarred up. Maybe that’s why he’s scared to talk to you. He knows he doesn’t look like he used to. His hair’s longer, his eyes are darker, his body has starfish shaped scars patterned all over. That charm has been evacuated. He’s not as suave.

Obsessive. That’s how he is now and he knows it but he can’t stop himself.

Billy knows where you work, he knows what you drive and he knows where you live. He has the name of your boss, your parents and your ex boyfriend. He’s followed you to the dive bar in town, walked around the general store and kept his eye on you and the things you buy. He’s full blown stalking you. It’s not his fault, though. That monster gave him this sickness and this town gave him loneliness. A recipe for disaster.

And you’re just so fucking pretty. The way your face lights up when you smile stains his eyes when he closes them. If he focuses hard enough he can hear your voice. Same script over and over.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Shop busy, today?”

“Usual tonight?”

“Coffee, eggs over easy, hash browns , extra bacon and sausage, right?”

“Want some more coffee?”

“Anything else tonight? Maybe some apple pie?”

“Ya sure? It’s really good apple pie, I promise.”

“I’ll just get your check, then.”

Sometimes Billy can finish when he’s thinking about those words. Which is sick and he knows that but he feels like he can’t help himself. Wonders what you think of him. You’re not a bitch or anything but you don’t ever look at him like girls used to look at him. Nothing like the moms laid out by the pool. Not like you think he’s good looking but like he’s any other face you see. Which infuriates him but makes him sad about himself more than anything. Occasionally he looks at himself in the mirror until he feels sick. Until he sees his dad. Tells himself he needs a haircut, needs to shave the mustache. Sleep more so he can lose the bags under his eyes. Maybe you’d look at him differently.

The lights flicker, buzz loud enough he can hear it in the shop. He leaves. Locks up the place and his boots take him to the diner. To the same booth he always sits in. Lights up a smoke and meets your eyes from across the place. You don’t flush the way girls used to. In fact, Billy can’t register any kind of reaction on your face. So he flicks his ash on the floor because you’ll have to sweep it up and it feels like he won. Won what? He doesn’t really know, but he wants you to clean up his mess. Gives him some kind of satisfaction.

The script starts when you walk up. A variation of it.

“Late tonight,” you say, filling up his coffee cup without asking. “Must be busy.”

“Sure,” he says. Always keeps it short because you don’t meet his eyes and he can’t meet yours. Instead he stares at your hands, pretty fingers wrapped around the carafe’s handle.

You walk away. To put the coffee away he guesses. Stares at the mug, wraps his own fingers around it and takes a careful sip. His eyes find you behind the counter, giving a look of disdain to your coworker who said something and then you grin. Laugh at whatever she said to you. Then you’re back at his booth and his eyes fall to the table as the script resumes.

“Usual?”

“Yeah.”

“Eggs over easy, hash browns, extra bacon and sausage,” you recite from memory and Billy gets a bit of satisfaction from it. Proud of you for some reason.

“You remember,” he says, low and steady.

You scoff and chuckle, the sound makes his thighs tighten and you say, “Kind of hard to forget it. You’ve never changed it.”

Bold for some reason, he replies, “Maybe I should.”

“We do have a whole six pages on that menu. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you open it, though,” you offer and this is new. It’s off script. Both you and him.

Billy smirks, flips open the menu and peers down at the first page. It’s greasy, a stain of sticky jam at the top left corner and he immediately catches a typo. He purses his lips and continues to flick through it. You pull the notepad from your apron but he’s too nervous to look up at your face. He flips another page and then, finally, looks up at your face.

“What do you like?”

You look shocked. He likes that.

“Uh,” you laugh, a soft little sound and Billy’s skin is hot. “Our patty melt is pretty damn good.”

He closes the menu, slides to the end of the table as he replies, “I’ll have that then.”

“Wow, you’re full of surprises tonight,” you quip, “Fries or potato salad.”

“Why don’t you give me a surprise,” Billy says and then looks away because you’re too fucking gorgeous and he’s on a roll. Kind of feels like his old self right now and looking at you would fuck that up.

You pick up the menu and laugh again, “Sure thing.”

You walk away and he takes a hit of his neglected cigarette, ash falling to the table as he does so. Another mess of his for you to clean. Makes his whole body tingle at the thought. You don’t check on him before his food is done. But Billy keeps checking on you, eyes bouncing up to follow you as you work. Finishes his cigarette and coffee. Takes in the uniform you’re in. The big, bold name on the pin clasped into your blouse.

When you bring his food, you ask, “Got anymore surprises for me tonight?” and his mind runs wild. Sick fantasies. Ideas that make him feel guilty and the charm he’d felt after years slips far, far away.

“No.”

But you say, “Good. Don’t wanna overwhelm me too much.”

You fill his coffee again and walk away. Then he eats and the script resumes as normal. He pays. Sits in his car until all the lights in the diner shut off. Watches you walk to your car, waits a beat after you drive off before he starts his car and follows you. To your house. Keeps waiting until you go inside to park behind your car on the street and watch the numerous lights flick on and off. Aiding in him as he imagines exactly how your night plays out. He thinks you go into the kitchen first. Maybe you get a drink, perhaps a beer. When he’s followed you to the bar, he’s seen you drink beer. Then that lights flicks off and the TV turns on. Can see the variety of brightness and colors through the window. He thinks of what you might watch. Imagines sitting on the couch with you, cuddled up. His thoughts get perverted quickly and before he knows it, he’s staring at your window with his dick in his hand with the fantasy of your mouth on him.

After he finishes, he’s still watching. Until the changing lights of the TV go black and a different light turns on. Bathroom. That window is small. You brush your teeth, maybe wash your face. He takes this time to get out of his car, walk to the window on the side of the house, crouch down and peer through the broken blinds. Your bedroom. You turn the light on, back to the bathroom to turn that light off and return. Close your door and undress. You sleep nude but you keep a robe next to your bed. You flick off the light. Sink into bed and Billy stays for a while. Until he knows you’re asleep. He thinks about sneaking inside but he hasn’t gathered the gusto to do so yet. The whole watching you through the window is new enough. But he’ll escalate soon. Won’t be able to help himself.

Then Billy goes home. Back to his shady little apartment. Falls asleep on the couch with infomercials playing on the TV. He’ll wake up and do the same thing again tomorrow.

—

Dark tendrils wrap around his wrists and ankles. Pull him in opposite directions. His eyes are wide open but his body feels paralyzed. He tries to scream but it’s gargled and there’s a monster limb attaching to his mouth, pulsing down his throat. Fills his belly with baby slugs. The sticky limb retreats him and the constraints on his ankles and wrists unravel and he’s shaking. Thrashing. Screaming. Crying. Pleading.

Then Billy’s awake, sits up straight and pants. Looks around his room and there’s nothing there. Just him and the mess of his belongings. He cries. Then he showers. Makes himself vomit and he sees no slugs. No sludge. Just the dinner and foamy beers he had. Billy showers, water so hot it burns— turns his skin patchy red and tingly. He vomits again. Watches the sick circle the drain. Cries some more. Feels the loneliest he’s ever been. Wonders why he can’t kill himself. Why he doesn’t have the strength to do that.

He’s up too early. Doesn’t work for another three hours. Billy paces his apartment. Chain smokes and pounds coffee. He briefly thinks of Maxine. Stalks over to his freezer and reaches in it for the bottle of vodka he keeps in there and guzzles some of it down. Drowns out Max. Maybe he should make sure you get to work safe. He has to do something. Anything.

The drive to your house is routine, but he doesn’t often do it in daylight. Can’t risk you seeing him, so Billy parks a couple houses down. Chain smokes while he waits and soon enough, you’re walking to your car.

[cryptidghostgirl]

This is gunna sound confusing and Idk if you do him or not but could you do a Vox x reader where they have been dating for a while and Vox realizes that they havnt kissed yet and whenever he has tried or tries she turns away with a nervous laugh and says something to distract him and he finds out it's because she is nervous that she will mess up his screen like smudge it or break it (like when you touch a tv and the light warps because the screen moves slightly and if you do it to hard it can stay that way)

A/N i am actually obsessed with this idea. it is so cute and fluffy. it was so fun to write. Also, I know I said that part four of Cover Up was next in line but that part is gonna be NSFW and I am kinda nervous about it so....

Smudge (Vox x Gn!Partner!Reader)

Pairing: Vox x Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort (but you're the one comforting Vox mostly)

Word Count: 1,255

Master Lists:

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Alastor Master List 

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

Vox had known Y/n for nearly a year now and they had been together for just over five months. At first, he had assumed their resistance to have any physical contact outside of the holding of hands, the occasional hug or cuddle in front of the TV, was out of a desire to take things slow.

He looked over at where they sat beside him on the couch, his arm draped over the back of the sofa.

That he could understand. What he didn't understand was how slow taking it slow really meant. More than five months in and they had yet to have their first kiss. Y/n had never even so much as given him a peck on the cheek. Vox was a patient man but it didn't stop him from trying, he leaned in. Just as his lips were about to make contact with the side of their head -- not even their face! -- he felt a soft pressure on his shoulder.

Y/n had stopped him, again. Their eyes met his. They hadn't even given him the dignity of a gentle hand on his cheek, of anything other than an apologetic smile.

"I need to shower, my hair is greasy."

Vox was a confident man. In his position, it was hard not to be. Still, the whole situation was beginning to weigh on him. Y/n must have noticed as the smile slipped from their face, morphing their features into an expression of mild concern.

"Vox, hunny, are you okay?"

"I..."

He withdrew from the warmth of their touch, fixing his gaze back on the TV. It was unfamiliar territory. He had never had trouble getting people before, he had no idea how to act. In every past experience, he hadn't cared what disregarding such a request as to not kiss a prospective partner, or real partner even, could do. The care was what made things complicated.

Vox was not a good man. He had never been a good man, not even when alive. Y/n made him want to be one. The way they saw him... they didn't want him for his power, his influence, his money. They wanted him for him. It was obvious. In every lingering touch, every word, every home cooked meal or surprise outing. It was all so new, so different. They made Vox want to be the man they thought him to be.

"It's nothing."

Y/n was silent for a moment. He could feel their eyes on him but did not dare to return their quizzical stare. It was all so fragile, their relationship, even Y/n themself. He heard them sigh and felt their weight shift on the couch beside him. The TV clicked off. At last, he met their gaze once more.

"I don't like it when you lie to me." they hummed softly, turning to face him fully, pulling their knees up onto the couch, "What's going on?"

Vox grimaced.

"It's... please, Y/n. Don't worry about it. Everything is okay, I promise."

Y/n raised their eyebrows, cocking their head to one side. They could tell he was lying. Somehow, they always could. From the moment he met them, Vox had the uncanny feeling Y/n could see right through his facade, to the very essence of his being. It was a fear, it was a thrill, it was a delight, it was...

Vox sighed, his eyes finding his hands where they rested in his lap. He wasn't used to feeling small, to feeling weak. He did now.

"It's stupid."

"If it is bothering you this much, it's not stupid Voxy."

The dam broke.

"Why wont you kiss me?"

His voice came out smaller than he'd meant it too, more frail then he thought it was possible of being. Y/n said nothing in response and tentatively, Vox looked back over to them. Their lips were slightly parted, their eyes met his. Y/n blushed and looked away.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Vox sighed, leaning back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling, "I told you, don't worry about it."

"No, Vox. It... clearly its upsetting you, let's talk about it."

"So, why wont you?" he prompted after a moment.

He watched them out of the corner of his eye, noting the way their eyes flicked nervously around the room, the way they fiddled with their interlaced fingers. A tremor in his diaphragm, his heart fell.

"If you don't..." Vox took a deep breath, "if you d-"

"It's not that I don't love you." Y/n interrupted, still refusing to meet his sidelong glance with their own eyes, "It's... I want to be with you Vox, you're the best thing that has ever happened to me for Christ's sake it's just..."

"Just what?"

"It's... stupid."

They looked up at him, the hint of a smile on their face, their brow furrowed. Vox straightened himself. If they were going to repeat his words, he could repeat theirs too. He took their hands into his, facing fear head on.

"If it's bothering you that much, it can't be stupid or... or whatever it was you said..."

Y/n let out a slight laugh.

"Okay fine, but you have to promise not to laugh, okay?"

"I promise."

They watched him for a moment, appraising the validity of his statement, before nodding their head once.

"Isn't it going to... I don't know... what if I crack your screen?"

Vox's eyes went wide. He couldn't help himself, he laughed. Y/n pulled their hands from his, hitting his arm playfully.

"Hey! You promised."

"I know!" Vox struggled to catch his breath, "It's just... thats what you've been worried about this whole time?"

"Uh... yeah?"

Finally, Vox managed to calm himself, looking over at Y/n happily.

"What."

"Come here."

He patted his lap. Y/n looked doubtfully between his hand and his face.

"Come here." Vox said again.

They rolled their eyes, standing up and taking a few steps towards Vox before sitting down.

"Other way."

They shot him a look over their shoulder. Vox rolled his eyes.

"Please."

"Why?"

"Just... trust me."

After a moments thought, Y/n readjusted their position, now straddling their boyfriend. They placed their hands on his shoulders, keeping their balance. Vox reached a hand up to their face, cupping their cheek gently. Y/n leaned into the gesture as if on instinct, their cheeks flushing pink once they realized what they had done. Vox chuckled.

"Y/n, can I kiss you?"

"What if I smudge your glass? Or like, leave one of those weird imprints or something on your face? I-"

He cut them off mid worry, pressing his lips softly to theirs. It was not a long kiss or a very deep one but it sent shivers down Y/n's spine, sparks to Vox's fingers. Their eyes met, Y/n was breathless.

"Not so bad, was it?"

Y/n leaned forward, balling their hands into the unbuttoned collar of his shirt as they kissed him again.

"No." they hummed, "Not bad at all."

Vox laughed. Running a hand through their hair, he pressed a soft kiss to their forehead. He couldn't stop smiling.

"I'm alright."

"I was right though."

Vox's brow furrowed and Y/n grinned up at him, raising their hand to his face.

"I did smudge you."

------

TAGS

@matrixbearer2024 @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @peterpankat @juskonutoh @simpingsohard @sethianaa

[steviewashere]

Make a Home Out of Hurt

Rating: General CW: Death of a Grandparent, Mourning Tags: Post-Season 4, Post Canon, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe — Future Fic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Sad Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Steve Harrington Mom is Okay, Steve Harrington's Dad is an Asshole, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Moving in Together

Had an evil little thought. Also, all these Fenton bunnies I mention are real! My nana collects Fenton. (She's alive, don't worry, but I thought about her the other day and it spiraled into this.)

🏡—————🏡 We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie thinks, but won’t say.

Even though they have. They’ve driven by the same three houses. Yellow, pastel pink, and navy blue. White door, white door, brown door. Bushes and bushes and a bushel of red roses. One garage, no garage, no garage but large driveway. He’s seen them. Over and over and over.

And each time they pass the last one, the leather of the steering wheel squeaks. And each time, Steve makes a muffled sort of noise. And each time, Eddie wonders if resting his hand on Steve’s shaking shoulders would anger him or mellow him. And each time, the car gets just a little slower as Steve loses his control more and more.

We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie continues to think, but knows he’ll sit here with those words. He’ll sit in the passenger seat. Window cranked as far down as it’ll go—half-way since Dustin busted the actual mechanism. Beemer’s been through a lot, so it’ll be here for Steve’s end all breakdown, too. With the radio volume low, playing the same double-sided tape on repeat, flipped by Eddie because Steve’s hands have been shaking: The World We Knew by Frank Sinatra. Because it was her favorite. Nana’s favorite. Nana Harrington’s favorite.

On the fifth drive through, Steve finally parks the car. At the end of the long, slow winding driveway. He looks out the windshield, hollowed and not quite here. With limp hands in his lap. Messy, greasy hair he couldn’t bother to style. Eye bags so heavy, Eddie barely believes he can hold them on his face.

Eddie can follow his line of sight. To the edge of the white picket fence, worn down a little with age, scratched up from the curled nails of an old brown dog, carved with her son and daughter-in-law’s initials, and eventually stained with yellow handprints from baby Steve. Yellow because, as Steve has echoed, “Lello, Nana. Lello like your dress. Your favorite!” Well, Steve’s favorite too, he just won’t acknowledge it’s because of his nana. Eddie knows that the paint has faded a bit since then, given that it’s been fifteen years since Steve’s had hands that small, but Eddie can see him. In his little white and red striped t-shirt, hidden by a pair of nicely pressed denim overalls, white sneakers, and his mom’s bobby pins in his hair—something she did because it just wouldn’t stop growing so fast and thick. Or so Eddie’s been told.

He’s been told a lot in the last week. Since the call came through the landline of their apartment. Since Steve had gone silent and collapsed to his knees and wailed, screamed even. Since he dressed himself in a suit that fit well, but looked out of place on his curled in body. Since…since the obituary was finally in his hands at the funeral, and he got so sick in the church’s restroom, Eddie had to drive them home in a daze—a quarter worried, a quarter tired, and half hanging by a thread. He thinks he’s heard everything, but what is love if not more than everything? If not all the words in every language, all known objects and unknown, every species and race and sexuality and identities combined?

He’ll hear everything. Until their old and grey and forgetting everything.

“There used to be a tire swing on that tree,” Steve states flatly, pointing at the weeping oak in his nana’s front yard. It’s crooked like it’s been kissed by the wind. A lot withering because the weather’s been harsh on her. Grey against the navy blue of the house’s siding.

I know, sweetheart, Eddie wants to say, so soft it gets lost between them. Instead, “Yeah? Bet it was a good tire, too,” he coaxes, still soft, all sweet. Even if he’s heard it each time they’ve passed by.

Steve nods once in his peripheral. Sniffs. “Yeah,” he states wetly, “one of the expensive ones. She didn’t want it to pop under me. Didn’t…She didn’t want me to stop using it.” His head dips down, looking at his fingers, where they’ve begun to absently trace the seams of his jeans. “I stopped,” he whispers shamefully. “You think she got mad because I stopped?”

“No, baby,” Eddie answers honestly. “I think that she was happy you used it at all. Think she was always just happy to see you, Steve.”

A sharp intake of breath next to him. “I used to come over here when my parents were gone. Or when they’d scream at each other. Or when…when they’d forget I existed,” he relays, quiet as a mouse. “When they’d forget, Nana would open the door and kiss my cheek and make me something to eat. I was always too skinny. So she made me casseroles,” he explains, a wisp of a smile. Gone in the blink of an eye. “She’ll never make ‘em again, though. She won’t—”

“Steve,” Eddie calls gently, a small warning. A siren before the tsunami. 

“—Love me again,” Steve sobs, “Nana won’t love me again.”

“Oh, baby,” he breathes. Eddie steps out of the car, rounds over to the driver’s side, and yanks the door open. Carefully, he unbuckles Steve, scoots him so that his legs dangle over the side, and pulls him down into a gentle hug. “Baby,” he coos. “Just get it out, honey. I’m right here. We’re right here. I’ve got you.”

And Steve cries. Again; though Eddie’s lost count. He squirms against Eddie’s chest. Head nestled to his neck. Crying big sounds that sound too large, even for his adult body. Sounds that carry boats, that poison with oil spills, that home orcas. He slobbers onto Eddie’s skin, grand globs of hot spit that gargle in his throat before launching from his mouth. His unshaved stubble scratching at the side of Eddie’s face—where his skin is sensitive and smooth and will most definitely be raw with Steve’s aching.

He sobs until there’s no more tears. Until he’s a whimpering, shivering mess on Eddie’s chest. Bunched up and small and fisting Eddie’s t-shirt like a lifeline. Squeezing the fabric in his hands like two lemons.

Eddie runs his hands up and down Steve’s spine. From the small of his back to his hunched shoulders, squishing him. He sways them ever so gently like the rustle of the old oak tree. Hums something incoherent and unrecognizable. If only to get Steve to stop shaking.

“Eds?”

“Hm?”

He takes a long, slow breath. Breathes out, “Why’d she give me the house?”

Eddie pulls them apart. One hand on the middle of Steve’s back, the other cupping his left cheek. Swiping at the tacky tracks from his tears. “I’m not sure, baby. Maybe she loved you so much that she wanted you to have it? To always be safe there?”

“Shouldn’t she have given it to my dad? I don’t…” Steve’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, his mouth frowning. “I don’t deserve her house?”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie sighs. “She chose you for a reason. You, Stevie. Not anybody else. Just you. If she wanted to give it to her son, she would’ve. But she didn’t. She thought of you, put you in the will, and now it’s yours.” When Steve doesn’t respond, Eddie gives him his moment of silence. Running his palm up to Steve’s shoulders. Pressing his thumb into his supple skin. “You may never know her intent, but she probably had a reason. It was a home you came running to, where you felt safest, where you felt…loved. Grandmothers always have this air to them, like they just know things about you before you say ‘em. Maybe she just knew you needed her and her space before you even realized.”

Steve sniffles. His eyes are still wet. Bloodshot and tired. Rumpled all the way around, exhausted and quiet. “She used to play with me in the yard.”

I know, Eddie thinks once more. He goes with the topic change though, if that’s what Steve needs.

“And when we played hide and seek, she always made sure to look until I was found. Because she didn’t want me to feel forgotten, her words.” Steve’s fingers are fidgeting with one another again. Picking at his fingernails, peeling at hangnails. Eddie moves down and takes them, rubbing soothing circles into their backs, just so Steve doesn’t harm himself on top of everything. Steve continues, hushed, “When I’d stay the night, she would sleep with me. Hold me close to her. Scratch my back and scalp and tell me stories…all the way until I fell asleep.”

“Kinda like I do, huh?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Think that’s why I feel so loved and safe with you.”

And Eddie hasn’t cried, not really, not yet. But this may be it. Because he knows, beyond everything, that Nana was special to Steve—so special that just one negative comment, one complaint, one little fuss about her was enough to get you shunned by him. He’s seen it play out with Dustin, he’d been banned from coming over for two weeks. And with El, who didn’t understand quite yet, but had lost conversational abilities with Steve for two whole days—ergo, the Silent Treatment.

This means something. It means everything. Eddie kind of wants to cry about it.

But he reigns himself in for now. Because Steve needs him like water. For somebody to just be there and be present and be patient. Through it all.

“You wanna head inside,” Eddie offers, “I’ve got the key in my pocket.” He gestures loosely to the inside of his vest, the safest pocket near his heart. When Steve nods, Eddie leads them inside silently. Opens the door first, per request made by Steve days prior. Sets his shoes by the front door—not told to, but just out of respect. Hangs up his jacket, his vest. Takes Steve’s jacket, too. Unties his Nike sneakers. Smacks a quick kiss to his cheek. And then he waits by the front door for Steve to say or do something.

The first thing he does is gasp. Eyes roaming the hallway, the living room, and the fireplace that connects the kitchen and living space together. He takes a few tentative steps before stopping in front of a tall, full China cabinet.

“Her Fenton bunnies,” Steve breathes.

Eddie slowly approaches behind him. Wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him into his side a little. “Are these the ones your mom was talking about on the phone?”

“Yeah. I just…Didn’t think my mom was telling the truth,” Steve murmurs. “She told me Dad didn’t want these. Takes up room or whatever. But they’re so pretty here, how could you not want these?” His left hand reaches for the knob of the cabinet. Twisting it gently as to not rattle the glass shelves. With the doors swung open, the bunnies under the cabinet’s lighting are free to touch. And so Steve picks one up, carefully in his hands like it’s alive. Maybe it is, Eddie thinks for a moment, alive with her spirit.

He breathes silently by Steve as he investigates the glass item in his hand. Running his thumbs over the ears. Down the smooth back.

“Satin glass,” Steve states, “It’s like touching the fabric, which is so weird. Nana used to talk about it all the time, but I never believed her. She never let me touch. You wanna?” He holds the bunny up to Eddie’s face. In offering, for him to pet. So he runs a slow thumb down its back. And sure enough, soft as silk, cold to the touch. “All of them are here.” He replaces the silk, purple bunny on the shelf. Picking up a chromatic shifting one next. “Carnival glass,” Steve explains, “it’s heavier than the other one, feels like. But so shiny. Think Nana used to say it was amethyst or something, but that might be what the color shift is called?”

“You sure listened to her well,” Eddie murmurs, “know a lot about this.”

Steve chuckles, a little choked to Eddie’s ears but he makes no comment. “Yeah, I guess I did. Mom used to say that I had selective hearing. That I listened when it was something I cared about.”

“And you cared a lot about Nana,” Eddie concludes.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “cared a lot about Nana.” He sets the carnival glass bunny back on the shelf. Standing idle in front of it all, taking it all in. “She has one upstairs, in a different glass cabinet. It glows green under the special blacklight upstairs. Said it was radioactive.” He chuckles again. “I gave her that one. As a gift for Mother’s Day in…I think ’77? Mom helped me pick it out—she was nice about the bunnies, about finding this stuff. She loved Nana, too. And she…” He laughs low in his chest and Eddie blossoms a little at the sound, unheard in so long. “Mom would pull out the long box of tissue paper and gift bags from the crawlspace. She’d unfold the prettiest gift bag—this one was a little brown one, covered in peach colored peonies. Stuffed some off-white tissue paper in that one. Wrapped the little yellow—well, it was supposed to be yellow—Fenton bunny in bubble wrap, covered it up with a bunch of caramels. Gave it to Nana, and she squealed! Apparently, she already knew it was radioactive? Thought it was the best gift ever. Which, ouch Nana, I gave you other bunnies for Mother’s Day, c’mon.”

Eddie snorts. “Maybe that’s what earned you the house? That radioactive bunny was probably the key to her heart,” he jokes. Though his stomach turns at the possibility it wasn’t appropriate to make.

Steve laughs loudly, though. Shaking his entire body with it. He slips his hand into Eddie’s back right pocket, sighs, and leans against him relaxed. “Dad should’a tried harder if he wanted Nana’s heart,” he comments, “all it took was a damn bunny.”

“Among other things, I’m sure.”

“Probably,” Steve sighs. “I think she was just excited to have a grandkid. She had a weird relationship with my dad. They didn’t get along very well. So maybe she was sorta…trying again?”

“Stevie, I think she just loved you. There doesn’t have to be some grand, deep meaning behind it. I think she just loved your company. How your laugh fills a room and your smile is seen from across the yard. And how you’re always polite, despite having reasons to not be. Maybe because of your terrible puns and how awful you are at quoting Shakespeare? You charm everybody, Steve,” Eddie monologues. “There’s not a reason to not love you.”

For a moment, the room falls completely silent. Distantly, there’s the slow tick of a wall clock. A few birds singing out in the backyard, where the bird bath probably is—only known through Steve’s memories. A slight hum from the radiator. The cars passing by on the main road just around the corner. Hawkins is quiet when there’s mourning; maybe it’s felt through the whole town, through the soles of Steve’s socked feet, from the beating of his ever love absorbent heart.

She died November 7th, 1993. Just a few days ago. Maybe it’s the anniversary of Will Byers going missing that Hawkins is feeling. Maybe it’s just tragedy. It’s love persevering—even in the most dire of situations. Where Joyce Byers was screaming about where her son may be, all those mismatched theories, and the ways in which the town thought she was crazy—even when they believed her and cried over her son’s body being pulled from the water. Where Will is actually thriving now. Where Sandra Harrington no longer is, though she was a fixture in several communities and families, Steve’s own being included.

“How’s your boy doing?” Wayne asked the day after her funeral. Eddie had shrugged, admitting he wasn’t sure because Steve had gone terribly quiet and sick. “Tell him I’m sorry. That he has a home with us. That he can come over and cry and I’ll make him hot cocoa. Alright, Ed?”

God, even Wayne knew. And there was silence after his condolences.

There is so much silence.

Until, finally, Steve asks, “Will you live with me here?”

“Wh—What?” Because surely he didn’t hear that right.

“Live with me here,” Steve repeats, a little more urgent. “I don’t think I can handle this place alone. And…I know how to use her gas stove. I can make you the spaghetti dish she used to make. And the casseroles she used to bake. We can open up her recipe box and I’ll teach you how to make her apple pie—the one she gave me for your birthday two years ago?

“And we can read your Lord of The Rings books on the porch on the bench she has out there? Grill in the backyard when we have everybody over. Robin can have the room that used to be my nursery. We can…We can live our lives here.”

Stunned, Eddie gapes momentarily. Before gripping harder at Steve’s waist, drawing him closer even when there’s no more room. Two solid bodies connected from shoulder to foot. “Are you sure, Steve? You don’t wanna—“

“You’re my family, Eds. I have loved you since that bullshit in ’86. We have seen each other through our absolute worst. Of course I’m sure. Of course I want you here,” Steve swears. “I know what I’m getting into. Even if it hurts to look around here right now. But you’ve been here by me through one of the worst heartbreaks I’ve ever experienced. I want you here—preferably always.”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. He reaches out with his free hand and cups the right side of Steve’s face. Swipes over his glistening cheekbone. Under his shadow beaten eye. The tickling brush of Steve’s bottom eyelashes on the tip of his thumb. And he kisses him tenderly, with every word he could ever imagine to say, all emotion he could ever feel, with an intensity seen in atomic bombs. He pulls back to see Steve’s eyes closed. Flushed and bright in the cabinet’s full white lighting, doors still open, and fragile glass bunnies as witnesses. Promises, “I want to, Steve. I want to be here with you. Through it. All of it. As long as I get to love you.”

And on his thumb there are fresh tears, gone cold but skin scalding. Steve’s lips trembling with silent cries. His eyelashes fluttering. Him and him and him. Beautiful and raw and open. Gentle like flowers and strong like wind. Aching and romantic and with a heart the size of the universe itself. Because Steve Harrington is everything—

Or so his nana has said. But Steve doesn’t know. And that’s Eddie’s own secret.

“Okay,” Steve mutters, “make a home with me, Ed.”

🏡—————🏡

[zucchinitart]

skinty LJ 💕

finally gonna make a ref sheet for this man!! repurposing an old sketch cuz I still generally agree with the design…I actually intended to render that old sketch but never did 😭

now here’s some never-before-revealed lore and headcanons!! (this all takes place in a story I’ve never created except in my head 💀 also some have been told, I’m just reiterating them):

-This is how LJ generally looks between the years 1817 to 1886. He was “born” in 1803, stayed with Isaac for one year, got stuck in the box for 13 years, and only started wearing bandages in 1817 once he became a target to the public. As he started getting more wounds, he found out that they would open up easily and opted to wear bandages most of the time.

-He can’t eat as he lacks a digestive system. Instead, he feeds on human interaction. The more positive the interaction, the better it is for him. Because he had such a poor relationship with humans during these years, he ends up looking starved. He’s quite weak in this state, and the only thing keeping him alive is his wit and his sharp nails for weapons.

-His limbs are black right above the connection of his joints (knees and elbows). The rest of his skin is white.

-His hair would be naturally curly, but due to improper care and the long length dragging it down, it ends up looking wavy and sometimes even straight, albeit very frizzy and/or greasy.

-In 1886, that’s when LJ and Lillian first meet (omg OC and canon??? gross 😰🤢). They create a pact, and he starts getting more positive interaction with humans. As he gets more “sustenance,” his wounds start to heal properly and he gets stronger. Unfortunately, most of his wounds have scarred over at this point and they remain on his body as it’s now recognized as “healthy” tissue. (Placement of scars will be in another post)

-Lillian is 23 when she first meets LJ.

-Before his strength improved, Lillian could actually beat LJ in an arm wrestling contest!! But after about a few months of being together, that was no longer the case. (Lillian’s ego was a little hurt, but it was inevitable 😞)

-Although it looks like it, he never actually felt starved. He doesn’t experience typical feelings like hunger or fulfillment.

-Sadly, he’ll never retain his curl pattern. Lillian tries very hard to get it back as she has her own experience with her hair, but she can never get more than a few curls on his head. She gives up at some point and just accepts his wavy/straight hair as is. LJ truly doesn’t care either way. If he had his way, he’d probably forget and never wash it again.

-the dickless look is on purpose!!! No reproductive system means no dick!! Yippee, no nsfw 🤗 Unless I feel freaky, which will most definitely happen…so if you ever see him with a dick, it’s just for my own nefarious purposes 😞

-When Lillian first found out how old LJ was, she said “wow, you could be my grandpa….” LJ didn’t take too kindly to that and scolded her like a grandpa.

-His body stopped aging once Isaac died. In this version, Isaac dies at the age of 21. LJ is physically around 5 years older than Isaac, so his physical age is stuck at around 26 (but it’s not rlly trustworthy as his body isn’t comparable to a typical human’s…I’d say it’s probably between 25-35 though)

I want to get into so much lore, but I wanna save it for when I draw a comic or something. Ty for reading if you read this far!! 💕

[realjbguys]

marble hornets au about Jay coming back to life after being dead for like 5 years

that's been stuck in my head for days that's based kinda off a rp and its honestly isn't a great au, but it's brainrot as of rn so hear my yapping.

long writing ahead so beware

An au where Tim moved moved away after the marble hornets chaos. Brian is alive cause i said so. Tim and Brian moved in together. They were getting over it, getting better, healing their traumas.

BUT...... Jay Merrick.. the guy who Tim KNOWS died all those a few years ago is back. Tim, for a while, doesn't believe that the figure he sees randomly outside his windows or randomly on the edge of the treeline could be a dead guy. Hell, for a reasonable amount of time, he believes it's a hallucination until Brian agrees he also sees whoever it is. Neither of them knew who it was, until Brian goes out to finally figure out who the stalker 'really' is. Because they probably believed they were both having a shared hallucination.

Until Brian came back into the cabin one day with a Jay, looking like a sad wet cat. Bro looks like hes been through hell and back. Hair is greasy and a mess, clothes look old and worn, but most concerning?

While Tim and Brian were older than they looked 5 years after the incidents of marble hornets, Jay doesn't look any older than how he looked 5 years ago. He looks unchanged. If you choose to ignore the mess he looks like now, that is.

Tim isn't too happy about Jay being alive again. He has a bit of a grudge, but a part of him is glad he is alive and doing (not really at ALL) well. While Brian is trying to keep it positive.

After a while, the two agree that jay looks awful, even though they agreed way before the conversation began. Brian agrees to wash Jay off since he looks like a pathetic wet cat.

While brian was about to wash Jay off, cleaning him up, washing his hair, he noticed almost immidietly one thing was wrong, the bullet wound that killed him? The wound that should've at least scarred up after 5 years?

It's still there. Unhealed and disgusting in all its grossness. He tells Tim quickly and then patches up the wound on jay.

Tim and Brian get Jay to wear some of their old clothes that no longer fit either of them anymore. They were going to get rid of them, maybe donate them to Goodwill, but they can't do that now, since Jay needs new clean clothes, and since Tim doesnt have much enough money to buy the guy new clothes.

After a good week or two of Jay staying with the two, he wasn't acting quite right. Brian was the first to really notice. The way Jay barely ate much, how he rarley spoke, how he didn't have any much of that sparkle of life in his eyes anymore. Like he wasn't all fully there anymore. Brian brought it up to Tim, which was also a bit concerned for the younger guy.

AND THAT'S ALL I GOT FOR THIS AU. WROTE THIS AT 11AM SO IDK IF IT'S GREAT OR NOT.

let me know if i should add onto this!!!

i hope the au keeps yall up at night as well.

[devilfic]

Just an idea, but this is something I often do with my own grannies. So sometimes when I come visit, we'll chat and gossip about random things like what parties happened the night b4 in the community and how I got called into work b'cuzz I'm a matron at the station (I never give names I only call em by their prisoner #'s) and I just give em a general synopsis of what I had to deal with b'cuzz they were screaming, or banging on the door or flipping oit etc, or I show them some true crime podcasts or some interesting documentary about how barbies were made or something other. And then there's visits where we don't even talk, we just sit down in silence while the tv's on or the radio, while having some tea and snacks or supper if I come by at dinner time, and we just enjoy each other's company, it's honestly the best visits when we do that. So just imagine doing that with Battinson Bruce, no talking, just peaceful silence while he works and enjoying each other's presence while also enjoying Alfred's tea and snacks. That'd be so wholesome, and then he walks you home, or you just crash on his couch. That'd be so nice, just something platonic and sweet.

❝I want us both to eat well❞

plot: "It’s so complicated staying alive sometimes." — your friendship with the elusive vigilante is a special one in many ways. pairing: platonic!battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: partially inspired by the poem "our beautiful life when it’s filled with shrieks" by christopher citro, fluff, reader used to live on the street, reader knows batman's identity, bruce being bad at managing his meal times bc justice never sleeps, platonic but you can read it any way you want to. words: 1.5k. a/n: this is such a sweet anecdote, and I have had some not so great writer's block, so I really appreciated having a simple idea to work with! there is quite a bit of talking but it's not an devilfic fic if they don't yap a bit

It is a verifiable fact that Bruce will not eat at a reasonable time unless you make him.

I mean, he does eat. There are meal preps in the fridge that he unfreezes at sunrise, and there are pre-workout protein shakes and bowls of fruit Alfred leaves for him to graze on, and every once in a while he’ll come upstairs to the dinner table—Bruce and Alfred both know these particular dinners are as much case debriefs as they are eating together, but they’re together and there’s food on the table, and that’s something. Isn’t it?

But for all his effort, Alfred has never been as efficient as you.

You bump Bruce’s shoulder with dinner, a greasy paper bag full of what you promised would make up for the calories, and he inches his book away before you can get anything on it. He feels the residue on his skin, though. “Alright, up and at ‘em. Eat this before it gets any colder than it already is.”

“What is it? Exactly?”

You set the bag on his desk and hand him one paper-wrapped burger and a set of (admittedly) delicious looking fries. “That, my good man, is a delicacy on my side of town. Bizzby’s Burgers. I even splurged and got you a large ‘cause I know you’ll like it.”

Bruce can’t remember the last time he had either of these. As he plucks a fry out of its container, he wonders if it’ll taste good enough to jog his memory. You swear by it, and it feels like he’s more willing to just take your word for it these days. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s alright. It’s your money anyway.”

“That’s not how a job works.” Bruce watches you drag a stool over to his side and take a seat, catching only a whiff of the rain clinging to the very ends of your sleeves. It was good to know the money he spent on your new jacket was worth it. “You earned it, it’s yours.”

“You gonna finger that fry all night or you gonna tell me I’m amazing?” Bruce grimaces at your choice of words. He takes a bite and, yeah, he sees where all the grease came from, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t taste good. “Well?”

“It’s good.”

“I’m amazing, right?”

“This is a delicacy?”

“Don’t be a smartass, rich boy.”

“I’m just asking a question.”

You take out your own food and he realizes you’ve got onion rings instead of fries. You stuff one into your mouth, savoring the taste for a little longer than necessary, and really—they can’t be that good. “When gramps ran the place, he’d usually sneak me something at the end of the night. Whatever the others didn’t take home. But it’s been ten years since his son took over and he’s a real hardass about that stuff. I would’ve sworn off the place for good if it wasn’t for the fact that he cooks just like his fucking dad.”

Bruce used to follow you when this all started—a precaution he took to ensure there was no conflict of interest on your part—and this Bizzby’s Burgers sat smack dab between your favorite alley and the shelter. He used to wonder why you never really went in, always lingering outside like it used to be your home, once. Now he knows.

You bring out the sodas next, except he didn’t want a soda, and the next best thing to a fountain drink at Bizzby’s is a milkshake. It’s strawberry and more milk than ice cream at this point, but Bruce dutifully reviews it for you all the same. His desk is slowly becoming a mess from dinner, but it’s been a slow road getting you to take up space like this again. He can be bothered not to be bothered.

“I thought you were just shy, or maybe didn’t trust me, but you really don’t talk much. Do you?” Your question sounds like it’s already been answered in the tone you use.

“I talk when I have something to say.”

“Yeah. You don’t just fill in the silences like some people.” Bruce thinks that’s all you have to say on the matter, but he should know better. You like talking to him. “People pretend you don’t exist when you live on the street. I think they feel guilty, but you sort of get it into your head that maybe you really don’t exist after all. That you stop existing the second you end up here- or… there. I guess. I’m not there anymore.” You look far away in that moment. Bruce watches your eyes flicker, stuck on some unknown memory of a life much harder lived, but then you come back to yourself eventually, “You scared the shit out of me back when we first met.”

Most people remembered him for the fear. You had shrunk in on yourself when he appeared, shivering from the shock or the wind chill or the lack of sleep that clung to your drooping eyes.

Bruce keeps eye contact with you, biting into his burger so slowly that the paper doesn’t even crinkle.

“Like that,” you grumble. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Help what?”

“Look, that’s not the point. My point was that, like, you were so scary when you first found me in that alley. I thought… I thought you were going to beat me to a pulp over something I didn’t do… or worse, something I did do. You started talking and it felt like all the sound dropped out around me. Like tunnel vision. Like I was the only thing in front of you, and it scared me. Even when you were silent, it felt like… I existed too much. I was too seen. It was overwhelming. But now that I know you…” Bruce’s eyebrow rises. He spares no energy for any other reaction. “It’s kind of nice.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He doesn’t know how to take it; he knows it’s a good thing but in the way a compliment sandwich is mostly a good thing. “Kind of nice” was mostly a good thing.

You must see the uncertainty in his face—a rare occasion he doesn’t hide it—because you rectify your wording, “It is nice. You see me and I exist and I know I exist because you treat me like a person. It was jarring back then but now it feels pretty good. So thanks for scaring the shit out of me, I guess.”

You squirm in your seat, taking a long drag from your straw as you wait for him to say something. Bruce leans further back into his chair, gazing sidelong at you.

In reality, he didn’t quite understand how anyone could miss you.

He’d seen plenty of people just like you on Gotham’s streets, turned away from shelters and scared out of gang territory, and yet you had stuck out to him. When he’d found you curled up in the dark, rain drenching through your clothes, it had been just his luck that you had been witness to exactly what he needed to know, and it was even more his luck that—after the catatonia wore off—you told him everything.

And you caught his eye again, and again, and again. Always on some street corner, shrinking away from the crowds but always on the outskirts, hanging onto the coattails of the bigger bads he stalked after. He supposed you just had something about you. It was hard to trust gut feelings about people in this city (sweetness turned rotten all too suddenly), but so far, he’d been right about you. “You’re welcome.”

You still at his voice. You catch his eyes and something softens in you. Then you sniffle, and Bruce kicks on the heater beneath his desk.

The two of you continue to eat and Bruce waits for you to share something else, but nothing comes up. When dinner’s trashed, you watch from the couch as he works away on a case you have nothing to do with, Bruce waiting for questions that never come.

It’s two in the morning when he hears your first snore. Then six when you come down from the bathroom with a tray of coffee. He thinks it’s Alfred’s, but one sip and he knows it has to be yours; it’s different, not as clear as he's used to, but not unpleasant. Did you ask Alfred to show you how to make it? Or did you just know, and this was how you liked it? You don’t say anything as you sit with him again, eyes crusted over with sleep as you huddle closer for warmth.

It’s Bruce who speaks first, eventually, “I'll call you a cab.”

“Nah, it’s fine. It's a subway kind of morning.” You hoist your bag onto your shoulders, a pound heavier with all the snacks Alfred slipped you in the kitchen. “I can meet you in Chinatown tomorrow night. I know a place with spring rolls to die for.”

Bruce hums, holding the front door open for you, “If you’re willing to wait for me.”

You punch his arm and it catches up to him that he hadn't expected it, that you could've done something much worse and he'd have missed it because... well, because he knew you wouldn't. He feels safe with you.

You’re all smiles, none the wiser. "Who else am I gonna gossip with?"

[outivv]

I’m so disappointed with the natlan teaser because like. Girl. All of those characters would straight up look better if they had even the tiniest bit of melanin don’t even lie hyv.

I’m gonna go on a fat rant here so below the cut, fair warning because it’s messy as fuck I’m just pissed off

No because how are you going to straight up take the inspirations, and clear liberties from Aztec, Māori, Qichwa, Nigerian, Hawaiian, Native American, And Mayan (according to this image from @ HYVboycott on Twitter highly recommend btw they have good info imo)

And then you’re not gonna represent them in terms of their skin color??? Yes there are pale people in all these countries and pale people apart of these cultures, HOWEVER the vast majority of people, or the native people are not typically fucking white. I am white and I literally am darker than the majority of the genshin characters, even in winter when I don’t fucking tan. Like the genshin characters don’t even look ALIVE for Christ’s sake. Hyv are a bunch of cowards who take inspiration from poc, and don’t properly represent them, even in their other games like honkai Star rail. Boothill is Native American. Blatantly. “Oh, no he’s not!!” Yes the fuck he is, his entire backstory is based off of native people, he’s also part Hispanic because the original cowboys were Hispanic people called vaqueros, his home planet in the original CN version of honkai Star rail is literally two native tribes put together I believe. He is Native American, and Hispanic, and hyv TOOK that inspiration and that culture and then was too much of a coward to AT LEAST make him tan. Don’t even get me started on aventurine. So it’s not just with genshin that they do this shit, it’s a hyv problem as a whole, but with genshin it’s so like… common, and genshin has so many issues that make it feel like a cash-grab kinda game, and like the devs are just spitting in our face CONSTANTLY, especially when it comes to characters, and representation. It’s so depressing to see a game that at first had so much fucking promise, now just be such a fucking letdown after like what? 5? 4? Years? Like you’ve built up so much hype, and lore, and excitement just for Sumeru and Natlan not having any representation like fuck off. Hyv CAN fix these issues, they just don’t want to and they have expressed that time and time again by making dark skinned enemies, and enemies with dreadlocks. They know that they can, they just don’t want to because they’re too pussy. And it’s not because they’re a Chinese company, I mean obviously I understand that there is a complicated relationship with tan skin and China, HOWEVER that is no excuse because genshin, honkai Star rail, zenless zone zero, and honkai impact 3rd are all worldwide games and they need to appeal to their WORLDWIDE customers, and I’ve seen plenty of CN players fucking just as pissed off that there isn’t any actual diversity for like any of their games. Plus other Chinese companies have made diverse games, like Dislyte which I’m honestly a huge fucking fan of because of their diversity. Having diversity would BENEFIT hoyoverse a hell of a lot, but they are just trying to appeal to greasy old white men who are the same men who have a tantrum while making a reaction video to a game trailer and go “OH MY GOD SHE ISNT GOT ENOUGH!! LOOK AT HER!! SHE ISNT SEXY!!”, “OH MY GODDD THEY HAVE PRONOUNS NOW!! THE WOKE SNOWFLAKES GOT TO THEM”, and “OH MY GOD ASSASSINS CREED IS MAKING A BLACK SAMURAI THE MAIN CHARACTER!! NOOOO THATS NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE!!” Because they’re all pathetic, and that’s who hoyoverse is trying to cater to.

Okay I’m done, this went all over the place but I’m so pissed off so fuck hyv, give them the feedback they deserve, have a great day.

[chuuya-kisser]

im finally free so that i can fucking scream abt bsd 117 and tell my thoughts on this heartbreaker of a chapter (will def make another post feeding my delusions)

(spoilers utc)

firstly.

ASAGIRI. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUXK ASAGIRI. ASAGIRI WHEN I CATCH YOU ASAGIRI I THOUGHT YOU WERE KILLING-YOUR-CHARACTERS-PHOBIC?????? NOW YOUVE MELTED TWO IMPORTANT CHARACTERS IN TWO CHAPTERS???? WHOS GONNA GO NEXT CHAPTER HUH WHO'S NEXT IN YOUR DEATH NOTE

well

Uh yeah so anyways basically heart broken for multiple reasons so we'll go in order

1- aya. oh my gosh aya. shes what, a ten year old?????? and in the span of a day, she has found out about a vampire lord who is responsible for destroying or saving the whole world, shouldered the responsibility of getting said vampire lord away from the enemy to save the world, developed a father-daughter relationship with said vampire lord, sacrificed herself and got saved by him, believed that the world could be saved now, saw her new father figure's body be torn apart and replaced by a greasy ratass who wants to destroy everything or whatever, with said new father's last words telling her to run to save herself, being saved by said father, then having him dissolve and die again in front of her eyes again. shes a ten year old. what the actual fuck. oh and don't forget, she doesn't know that she lost her other father figure too!

gosh she is going to be SO traumatised and even that is an understatement i really hope she has the strength to recover

2- so akutagawa is back huh? about time, about time (though im not very happy about the cost it took- but atleast he's back?)and he has agreed to protect aya on brams wish? thats surprising honestly, so im wondering if the stuff atsushi told him while fighting him at the airport or whatever affected his subconscious or something so that he consciously wants to start protecting people?

OR maybe! he sees a bit of himself in aya or smth? i mean look i dont exactly remember what happened before he met dazai and was taken in by him okay, dont come at me. but maybe he sees that terrified little kid and something stirs in him or smth anyways go akutagawa go you're her third father figure please dont die again ‼️

(also he looks so good-)

3- and the biggest bombshell

kunikida.

KUNIKIDA‼️‼️ NO NO NO THIS IS NOT ACTUALLY HAPPENING PEOPLE THIS IS NOT I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT I AM IN DENIAL

just- THINK ABOUT EVERYONE. think about atsushi and tanizaki. who saw him disappear slowly in front of their eyes, to buy them time. think about fukuzawa. who wished for kunikida to be the next president because he was the most ideal. who cares so much, even if he doesnt show it as much. think about aya. she has such a deep bond with kunikida, and now she'll have to face the devastating news that one of the only people who truly believed in her is gone too. think about ranpo and yosano.

think about dazai. who is much too far away to do anything right now, who miscalculated once which led to him being too far to stop fyodors rampage in any way. who was truly doing all this because he wanted to keep the detective agency safe. who, when he realises what will happen next, his first thought is to warn them. who was his new partner, kept him alive, even made him a part of his schedules. who i think he must have to care for, even a little bit.

dazai, who thinks that anything worth wanting is always lost the moment he obtains it. and its happened again. and by the looks of it, it will happen again.

i genuinely want to know how he'll react but i dont want to at the same time. gods i cant fucking do this man

like huhhh asagiri are you tryna make me cry or some shit???? Because youre succeesing SPECTACULARLY

also- are we gonna see tanizaki get liquefied too next chapter? because this panel sure looks like it

im scared for september now like what else are you gonna throw at us, huh asagiri? and what do you mean i have to wait a whole month this is crazy

and i am STILL in denial and will continue to be in denial guys wdym, ofc kunikida is alive and well! hes coparenting aya with bram, having fun at the agency and stuff ‼️‼️ hes perfectly peachy theres no helicopter singularity out for everyone's lives!!! (wow this post is LONG)

[lunas-side-anime-blog]

AOT Icks (Eren, Armin and Mikasa)

one thing about me: i am a hater

Eren

def has mommy issues and no woman could ever compare to her like good luck to any of his girlfriends lmao

^^ that being said, as a roommate he’s a nightmare like you can tell his mom cleaned up after him all the time because it doesn’t even occur to him to do so now

toxic gym bro who says shit like “we all have the same 24 hours”

def has the the 3 in 1 bottle in his shower, I just know it

prob calls women “females” 

the cringiest instagram captions like I know he will post sum: “I think my closet bi-polar, it keeps throwing fits💯”  like dude, get a grip

attempts thirst traps, he has a ripped body so it kinda works but the content is so transparent you can’t help but roll your eyes

go out to a bar with him or something and he’s the type to try to make everything a fight

like if someone bumps into you, he's quickly in their face like "what's good bro😡” and you know its not actually about you so much as eren tryna beat someone up

i think he’ll use spit as lube thinking he’s so bad boy and lewd when it’s actually just so bad for your PH like ewwww (if u have a vag ofc)

i feel like his hair would get so greasy, mikasa and armin have had to force him down with shampoo in hand before 

so gross but you came here for icks and I don’t believe Eren believes in holding back his farts for anyone

it can be the most intense and serious event like a funeral and he’ll rip a loud one and be like “what? it’s not good to hold it in??”

Armin

nail biter who will chew on them till the bone and you hear that loud ass “crONCh"

says he hates drama but that’s just something he says to not seem petty bc at the first sight of a fight best believe he’s sitting there, watching it all go down, wine glass in hand like "🍷🤨👂" 

lil shit will even add lil comments to keep the beef alive, like i can see him loudly asking “okay but jean didn't you say her outfit made her look fat though?”

if you're in a debate with him, he’s the type to say something like “you're so uneducated about the subject, I’m actually pretty well versed in it” and your like "okay so what's all ur research then?" and he'll just quickly change the subject bc he didn’t actually have sources to cite lmao

is one of those bfs who would make fun of you for liking trashy tv but guess who eats that shit up everytime? armin.

he does that dad thing where he walks around in the living room and acts uninterested with what’s happening on the screen but he’s actually so invested and would be fuming if you dared watched an episode without him 

i think he’d also be the type to try to be friends with his ex even if they obviously still have feelings for him, but if you dared even talk to yours he’d get all huffy and puffy like “go be with him then🙄” 

got obsessed with skincare after watching your routine but u kinda created a monster bc now he’s critiquing your products and techniques? “Babe you should really consider a gel moisturizer, it’s better for your pores'' and you're like, “boy you used neutrogena when I met you???” 

is that bf who will shower at your place and use up all your expensive washes and scrubs 

not the best gift giver tbh, I think he’s a firm believer that all gifts should be practical so even if it’s a romantic anniversary date and he slides over a lil present, it’s probably just gonna be socks or something, srry

Mikasa

applies her chapstick like a man (iykyk)

“he know where home is” bitch, I hate to say it

i think she’s a girl’s girl until her man cheats on her, then she’d be the type to fight the girl and not really address her man…which is just… 😣

as a friend I think she’s sadly the type to unintentionally embarrass you bc she doesn’t get some social cues.

like you can miss a hang and ppl ask where you are and she’d just say matter of factly “oh they’re fine, they just have diarrhea rn!” and she won’t understand why you’d be mad?

outfit repeater to the max, she has like three tops that she likes and all pics of her are with her wearing one of those three tops

a lil delulu and prob genuinely believes all the tiktok pick a card vids on her feed

likes her coffee black and somehow thinks she’s better than everyone for that???

as a gf she checks your snap score and location regularly and has no shame in it 🙂

fights in her sleep like you will just be sleeping next to her all soundly and next thing you know you get punched in the face? she refuses to apologize in the morning bc she “has a right to defend myself in a nightmare” or whatever

when shes mad at someone she’ll post like ultra specific lyrics or captions and it’s so obviously targeted at one person everyone else is like "girl go to bed, don’t even post the quote…"

[lostbookmark]

 MDNI 🔞

WHISPERED SECRETS MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST here

Summary: After four years, your sister's ex-boyfriend comes back into your life. Can you keep your entanglement a secret? Will the guilt eat you alive? 

Pairing:  Sisters ex Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader. 

Genre: SMUT, angst, hurt - comfort, romance. 

Warning: Explicit sex, fingering, Possessive Yoongi, swearing, reader is insecure, jealousy, punishment, unprotected sex, drinking, dirty talk, praising, degradation, spanking, teasing, hair pulling, arguments. Overuse of the name, baby. 

A/N: I know nothing about the production of music. Soooo…. just go with it.

Smut free chapter because I actually have to try and build a plot. 

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Monday morning, you found yourself at your desk at work. You work in accounting and your days are long, boring and your boss is horrible. Numbers eventually start to all run together the more you stare at your screen all day.  This is not what you had wanted to do in life. Art, you had loved art ever since you could remember. Yoongi had been supportive when he found out. You had been seventeen when he caught you drawing in your closet.  Your mom hated that you loved it. Saw it as a useless hobby.  She did everything she could to dissuade you from it. You always wondered where it could have taken you. It wasn't even just drawing or painting. You loved learning about it, reading about it. You always thought maybe you could be an art teacher or maybe do work on commission if you could get yourself good enough.  Yoongi, though, wanted to hear about your projects. He encouraged you to apply for art school. He shared your happiness when you got in. He was also there when it all fell apart.  Every day for you was always the same. Work, hang with Lisa and Jisoo, home and bed. Then dinner with your parents once a month. Repeat.  A very beige life with no change, no color, your pigments were bland…dull.  You missed the color that art brought you. Yoongi, however, has now interrupted your monotonous, beige cycle. A happy, colorful change to your life that you are still trying to navigate. 

You didn't run away this time. When you woke up with Yoongi the morning after he dragged you out of that party, he suggested breakfast. After some innocent and then not so innocent kissing, he took you to a little hole in the wall diner on the other side of town where the food was a little too greasy. It was great. You learned a lot about the new, older him. He changed his major in college  from business to music technology. He works for his friend Namjoon, a music producer and owner of Persona Records. While Yoongi did produce songs, he preferred writing songs. Telling you that was where his passion truly lied. He said that he really didn't have to deal with the artist's bullshit. Namjoon and another guy Hobi were the main producers and the “people pleasers” of the company.  While they dealt with demands and problems, he had his own quiet sanctuary. Namjoon wants him to be a partner in the company. He said financially he would make a lot more, but he doesn't want all that responsibility or the paperwork.  When you asked where Jimin fit into all of that, he said Jimin mainly dealt with event organizations, like concerts and promotions. It all sounded so extravagant. You're just an accountant, reading blurred numbers all day long. You were so inferior to him. 

A body slipped into the chair next to you, a bag dropping to the floor by your feet. Lisa sent you a knowing look. When you turn to look back at your screen, you swear you can practically hear her roll her eyes at you. 

“Did your phone stop working this weekend? Did you change your number?” She asked while logging into her computer, gum smacking away in her mouth. Her perfectly manicured fingers typed away. “I tried calling you all day yesterday. ALL DAY.”

“My phone died, sorry,” you lied. You knew exactly why she was calling. You didn't want to face the reality of sleeping with your sister's ex-boyfriend, not once but twice. If people didn't know, then did it really happen?  

“Yoongi huh? I didn't believe Jimin at first but then Kai gave me an earful about not telling him that you had a boyfriend.  Boyfriend? Boyfriend? This is brand new information to me. Yoongi, Y/N? Are you kidding me?” Her voice raised a little.  “Min Yoongi! I'm your best friend, why didn't you tell me? I only found out because Jimin saw Yoongi leaving with you. Were you ever going to say anything?” 

“SHHH!” Your other cubicle mate, Seungkwan, glared at you and Lisa.

“Does your family know about this?” Lisa asked, ignoring him, and you shook your head no. They could never know. You would be more ostracized than you already were. 

“SHHHH! You are very distracting.  I am asking you politely to keep your personal affairs to a minimum. “ Seungkwan looked serious, and you apologize. He was intimidating. Lisa doesn't care, though. 

“I'm not going to let this go,” she whispered. “Jisoo is going to meet us at your place after work…with wine.” 

“Great, can't wait,” you mumble.

Jisoo did indeed show up with wine. She and Lisa fluttered around your kitchen as you sulked on the couch. Your finger toying with a loose, frayed  thread on the arm. You bought it second hand when you moved out of your parents. It was an ugly pea green. You thought it was quirky. It was also all you could afford, but you were proud of your first adult purchase. It's probably time you should get a new one. They soon entered the living room and placed the wine glasses on your coffee table. The two women squeezed themselves together on your oversized chair across from you. You picked up your glass and filled it almost to the top, and Lisa laughed at you.

“Was the sex that bad,” she continued to laugh at you. “I could give you some tips.”  You rolled your eyes and blushed a deep red. “Or….was it that good? Everything you dreamt about?” 

“What’s going on,” Jisoo asked softly, ignoring Lisa's comments. 

“I told you,” Lisa said. “She's fucking Min Yoongi.” Leave it to Lisa to be so blunt about the situation. “How big is it?” Jisoo elbowed Lisa to be quiet. 

“Do not answer that. When did this start?” Jisoo asked. “I thought he left town a while ago. I don't even remember seeing him after he kicked your sister to the curb.”  

“My birthday,” you answer and swirl your wine around. “Lisa left me alone after she met Jimin. I ran into Yoongi outside, and he took me home. There's not really much to tell.”  You will never tell them about how he spanked you. 

“I'm sorry about that. However, I think you're lying. Kai literally said Yoongi's eyes were on kill mode. Have you seen how tall Kai is?” Lisa sighed. “I just want to make sure that he didn't take advantage of you. You know, because of your crush on him.”

“I never told him about my crush on him,” you say, shaking your head. 

“Oh, sweets,” Lisa said. “Everyone knew of your crush on him. It was kind of obvious.”

“What!” You exclaim, and your eyes move to Jisoo, who was giving you an apologetic smile. “This is awful. I'm so embarrassed. He never said anything…do you think he knows?” 

Is that why your sister pretty much started ignoring your existence?  Could she see that you were in love with her boyfriend? It would explain a lot. She stopped looking you in the eyes. Only would talk to you if your mom or dad made her. Why she was in such a hurry to move out of the house. Maybe it didn't really have anything to do with Yoongi. Maybe it was all you. There was no way your sister was threatened by you…absolutely not. Yoongi definitely did not reciprocate your feelings back then. He was just nice. You were just Y/N, his girlfriend's kid sister. A knock at the door disturbed your thoughts. Lisa got up and went to open the door. She always acts like she owns your place. 

“It wasn't that obvious,” Jisoo said, trying to calm you down. “You just always lit up when he was around. We just noticed it since we were close to you. Is this going to be serious? What are you going to tell your parents? Are you okay?”  

“He didn't do anything I didn't want,” you assured Jisoo. “My mom will flip out on me if she finds out. She's hated Yoongi since he broke her “baby's” heart. My dad probably wouldn't care one way or the other.” 

“Oh, Y/N,” Lisa called out. “Lover boy is here.” FUCK HER!

You watched as Yoongi steps into your living room. He hasn't been inside before and kind of looks out of place. The first time he took you home, you made him drop you off down the street. Your mom has been known to show up unexpectedly, especially around your birthday. She wouldn't hesitate to cause a scene even if it were outside. She would probably prefer an audience. The second time, he insisted he walk you to your door but never tried to enter. You watch him as he sets his glare to Lisa. You don't think he was ever a fan of her. If you ever got into trouble, she was always somewhere close by. You were just kids then.  Lisa, she just seems amused by it and smirks back at him. She was never intimidated by him. It always seemed like she knew exactly what buttons to push. It was her favorite hobby.  

“Welcome, Yoongi. What a wonderful surprise,” Lisa teased as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Hey, thanks. Oh, by the way, maybe you shouldn't ditch your friends alone… at night… at bars anymore.” He snarked. “Jisoo,” he greets with a head nod. He turns to look at you. “I brought some food. Thought we could have dinner.” He holds up the bag of takeout. It’s chicken from your favorite restaurant. Did he remember that? Did he get the rolls, too? 

“Hello, Yoongi,” Jisoo greets. 

“That's great,” Lisa piped up. “I’m hungry. Though, you should thank me for doing that. It worked out for you, right? Heard you wore her out,” she teased. Yoongi glared harder, and she smiled innocently.  “Kai says hi.”  

“Yeah, you two should have dinner. We can finish this another day,” Jisoo said, standing up. Lisa was about to open her mouth. Jisoo grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the apartment without so much of a goodbye. The two bickering friends could be heard even after your door closed. 

“Why are you friends with her?” He said, glaring holes into your door. 

“Um, yeah, this is great, thank you,” you say softly. You lead him to your kitchen and grab some plates and him his own wine glass. “It's my favorite.” 

“I know,” he said with a smile. Yoongi leaned into you and kissed you on the lips. “Sorry, baby, I didn't mean to interrupt your time with them. I should have called first.” 

“You didn't interrupt anything. I see them all time,” you explain, stepping away, placing the plates on your counter. Yoongi takes the wine glass from you. This feels a little weird. Him in your place making casual conversation. It feels very domestic. You like it, you like it with Yoongi. Your family won't let you have him if they find out. You take the bags from him, smiling when you look inside. There were extra rolls. “Let's eat.” 

You settle down on the floor at the coffee table. Eating in a comfortable silence with backs resting against the pea green couch. Yoongi makes sure to keep your plateful until you tell him to stop. This was something you always appreciated about him. The silence and no pressure to have any sort of conversation. You would often do your homework next to him in high school while he did his own thing. Your sister would often complain that he needed to take her out or spend more time alone together. He would always wait until you were done. Just in case you needed help. It was mainly because you would often space out, and he would have to remind you to finish. You didn't care at the time. You liked that he never made you feel inferior to her. Like you never came in second to her.  His presence was comforting and serene.  Unfortunately, you need to break the silence and have a conversation with him. He declared you as his this past weekend. Honestly, you weren't sure at all what that entailed. Were you dating? Fuck buddies? Did he want a financial advisor? You couldn't help with the last one.

“What’s on your mind,” he asked as he finished his plate. He drapes his arm around your back, resting it on the couch. “Is it Lisa? She puts me in a bad mood, too.” 

“No,” you say with a laugh. “This is going to sound stupid. I'm just confused…. just a little bit.” Yoongi looks at you patiently. “Are we dating…or..” You trail off. He starts laughing. This motherfucker is laughing at you. Your face heats. “Stop, don't make fun. You said some things in a ... .very heated moment. You probably don't even remember saying them.” 

“I'm sorry,” he says once he gets a hold of himself. “That’s what's bothering you?”

“Jisoo asked me if this was going to be serious. Obviously, I'm not asking for anything, but she made a good point. My family…” you start, but he interrupts you.

“I don't care about what your family thinks of me. I'm not stupid. Your mom called me plenty of names when… you know after. You know damn well I’m not a fan of her either.  If you want me to officially ask you to be my girlfriend, I will. Baby, you need to understand I considered you mine when I first took you home on your birthday. We will deal with your parents when it comes time.” Yoongi explains. You nod silently. Maybe  this doesn't have to be super complicated. “Don't stress yourself out over this. Come here,” he pats his lap. You climb carefully into his lap, and he helps you straddle him.  Yoongi takes your face in both of his hands. He doesn't let you look away.  “I know that us being together is not the most ideal of situations, but we're here….together. I won't let you face anything on your own. Trust me, I remember everything about that night. About both nights.” 

You nod your head in understanding. He lets go of your face and brings you into his body. It's the gentlest of hugs. It feels warm and safe, but there is still a part of you that can't give in fully. You still have some questions answered , but at the same time, you can't bring yourself to ask them. Why did they break up? Did he ever love her? How do you compare to her? You feel like you're going to have to hide him away forever. Can you live with such a heavy secret? 

“Why don't you hop in the shower while I clean up?” He suggests. “I’ll take care of everything.” 

"You don't know where anything goes,” you whisper into his neck. 

“I'll figure it out,” he whispers back. You pull back and look at him. You believe him. 

The hot water cascaded down your body.  You liked the temperature as hot as you could get it. The bathroom was almost pure steam by now. A light fog that dimmed the harsh bathroom lights, making it almost seem like a dreamy haze. It especially relaxed you after sitting hunched over at your desk all day. You are so caught up washing your hair, thoughts drifting into nothing, you didn't hear the bathroom door creak. Nor did you realize the curtain opened or how the extra body slipped in. It was only when Yoongi's hands landed on your hips that you jumped and let out a startled shriek. Your hands covered in shampoo go to cover your naked breasts. He just smirks at you.

“Why are you coving yourself?” He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. Your skin reddened by the water looks even redder against his own pale skin. “You do realize I've seen you naked before. That I have done some….risqué things to you.” He kisses your shoulder.

“That's…that…that's different,” you stutter. The shampoo from your head is starting to fall in your face. 

“Why?” He asks you with a chuckle as he wipes it away from your eyes. 

“We were doing things then,”you mumble. The memories bring fluttering to your stomach. Those butterflies, their wings flapping away. You look at him, memorized by the way he pushes his wet, silver hair out of his face. He looks ethereal, exquisite,  like he can have anyone one he wants, but he's here with you.  His eyes meet yours, and you feel those nerves all over again. You bite back a whimper. Yoongi hands go to your hair, taking his time to help you rinse the shampoo from your hair. Fingers massaging the base of your skull, gently pulling them through your wet, darkened strands. You sigh in pure satisfaction. 

“We are doing things now. We are just showering together,” he shrugged. He takes both of our hands that cover yourself and clasps them together with his own. Your bare chests pressed up against one another.  Leaning down, he kisses you. It's the gentlest of kisses, just the slightest press of his lips against yours. Yoongi pulls away and sighs. “I noticed that you don't have any of your art up.” 

“What?” You ask and lean up, trying to chase his lips. However, he wouldn't let you. He unlaces one hand and brings his thumb up to your bottom lip, gently rubbing it. The urge is strong to lick his thumb.  “My art? No, I haven't done anything since….” you trail off. “I don't even have supplies anymore.” 

Yoongi hums at that. “I unfortunately have an ulterior motive for being here. Namjoon needs me at a meeting,” he said. That completely woke you back up. He wants to talk about Namjoon…now! “I'm going to be gone for about five days. A week tops. He's been stressing out so much that it's stressing everyone else out.”

“Oh,” you say softly. You don't think it's fair. You seem like you're finally on track, and he has to leave. “A week?” 

“Just a week,” Yoongi confirms. He reaches for your body wash. Lathering his hands. He gently rubs your shoulders, gliding his hands down your back and up again. “I don't want to go. Namjoon says this is important, and hopefully, I don't have to leave again. I don't want to leave you.” 

“Will you call me?” You ask. Your eyes close. His hands are working miracles on your body. It's intimate, not sexual.  They never stray and stay above your waist. Your heart, though, it still beats just as fast. 

"Everyday," he promised. You believe him.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tagged Readers:

@unicornbabylover , @marimarvelfan

[uncannycerulean]

Day 15: A fic over 50k (for @hprecfest)

I read this fic in the space of two days and mostly while deep cleaning my kitchen, and let me tell you, it was the balm my soul needed to vanquish the stubborn greasy corners in the oven.

This is a timetravel fic that sends Harry and Draco into the future, where things aren't at all as either of them expected them to be. If it sounds like a complicated plot, it is -- but it doesn't feel like it, because Maester manages to juggle all the plot elements flawlessly, balancing both past and future versions of Harry and Draco, and introducing a lovely cast of other canon characters too: I particularly loved Minerva and Greg (but they're all great).

Most of all, however, Maester tells a story of learning not only how to love someone else but also how to fight for one's own right to a happy life. It's heartwrenching and beautiful and I kind of want to start reading it all over again now.

A Design For Life by @maesterchill (E | 77k | drarry)

Summary

Harry Potter doesn't want to become an Auror. And Draco Malfoy would quite like to stay alive and out of harm’s way. Neither have any desire whatsoever to time-travel into the future, especially not with each other.

But fate? Well, she has other plans.

Snippet

Malfoy hesitates and then takes a ginger nut from the plate and sits on the sofa. Harry sits down next to him, and the sofa dips and springs back, wobbling them both slightly. It’s all very odd and homey, and Harry can’t quite believe they’re out of the prison cell. Really out. Having tea and biscuits like it’s any other day. Draco attempts to bite into his biscuit, but it’s clear he’s never encountered ginger nuts before. It looks like he's biting a Galleon to check if it's real.  Harry whispers, “Dunk it in your tea and it’ll soften up. Save you breaking a tooth,” and Draco slides him a little smile and mouths ‘thanks’. Harry grimaces internally remembering the little ‘x’ Malfoy put on his note. 

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 28: Touch and Go

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Dr. Chaplin walks into the Operation Room, accompanied by two men.

Dr. Timothy and Dr. Finn are speaking quietly, mumbling over a poor test subject that didn't survive their most recent mutation experiments.

"...I thought that the addition of his blood would have worked..." Timothy bemoans to his coworker.

"Perhaps the miracle we're looking for is not in the blood as it is now, but how it was before we changed it... There must be some secret we're missing--"

"Ahem," Chaplin says as he arrives. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Ah, Dr. Chaplin!" Abigail Finn exclaims, turning around and pasting an anxious smile across her face. "N-no, no, of course not..."

Abigail notices the two men standing behind him. One is almost seven feet tall by the looks of it, the other is bordering five feet. The taller man is the size of a bull, thick and heavy and absolutely rippling with muscles. The shorter man is thin as a rail, slicked-back greasy hair and a thin wiry mustache that almost makes him look like a mouse or a rat. The two men look like night and day, but both wear very expensive suits and ties which do not match either man's personalities.

"...Who're the guests?" Abigail asks curiously.

"These are Mr. Touch and Mr. Go. They are some... shall we say, 'men for hire' that I've employed to assist in the recapture of our lost experiment from Project Venus."

"Mikey," Dr. Timothy nods. "Good. What are their qualifications?"

"Stunning accuracy," Chaplin lists off. "Mr. Touch has enhanced strength and Mr. Go has enhanced speed. They were members of a special program designed to create super soldiers several years ago. Before then they were mercenaries for hire."

"Mercenaries, eh?" Timothy says with a soft grimace. "I'm not sure..."

"A merc doesn't know how to handle with care," Abigail interjects. "The TCRI want Mikey back in pristine condition."

"As I mentioned, stunning accuracy for these two. They've never once failed a mission, as far as the records go."

Mr. Touch cracks his knuckles loudly.

"Now now, gentlemen. These two are some of our most esteemed scientists here at the TCRI and EPF Labs. Whatever they say is law. Just ask Jeff," Dr. Chaplin jokes, gesturing to an empty cage in the distance. "Oh. Hm. Where's Jeff?"

"In a jar," Dr. Timothy grumbles. "I'm studying his brain."

"Ah! Well, there you go, gentlemen. I'm sure you all will have a wonderful time procuring the lost experiment again. And boys, play nicely with the mutant target or you'll be helping Dr. Timothy here with his brain studies. And Timothy, Finn, be polite and patient with these fine men or else we might not be getting anyone else to help us recover Mikey..."

Dr. Chaplin leaves the room in silence. Abigail grunts with irritation before plastering another smile on her face and directing the two men to a computer.

"This won't be easy for you. Mikey was designed to be the perfect genetic weapon. He also has enhanced strength, speed, agility, plus some other quirks. I'll print you out a list..."

"M'sure we can handle him," Mr. Touch chuckles. "I've yet to wrastle with a critter that can outmatch my muscle."

"Don't get cocky," Abigail snaps. "And don't hurt him. We want him perfectly intact and alive."

"Don't worry, we'll retrieve your little pet," Mr. Go snickers. "Where is it, anyway?"

"Last we saw, he was hiding out in the sewers --"

"With extra mutants," Timothy interrupts. "which we will pay extra for the capture of."

"Timothy--?"

"How much we talkin'?" Mr. Go asks, a smile creeping onto his thin face.

"How much were you promised for the capture of Mikey?" Timothy questions.

"75 grand," Mr. Touch states.

"I'll personally pay you $50,000 for each mutant you can capture," Timothy promises. "Though, the price will be reduced for any major injuries I find."

"Only 50?" Mr. Touch grumbles.

"They aren't nearly as genetically advanced as Mikey is, so they should be simpler to capture. But an extra 50,000 for any extra mutants you can find isn't that bad, now is it? We have confirmation of at least two mutants that are with him, so that would be $100,000 guaranteed. We could all use a little extra spending money here and there, couldn't we?"

"Done deal," they reply.

"Wonderful. Now, what will you be requiring for your endeavours? Any weapons, traps, something to carry the subjects in I'd assume?"

"Might as well show us whatchya got," Mr. Go says.

Abigail groans in irritation as Timothy leads the two men away, muttering to herself as he shows them all their experimental gadgets.

"I can't believe him... He has no authorization to make that call. Though, it would be helpful to have extra mutants for our tests... In the end, I guess it doesn't really matter; the goal is still the same. So long as they can find Mikey and we can continue the work..."

Abigail walks away to catch up with the men.

From the far back of the room, John Bishop walks out.

Hmm. This isn't good...

Maybe he should follow along for now, see what happens...

Doctors Timothy and Finn show the two mercenaries the tranquilizer darts they have, the frost guns, nets, communication devices, trackers, etc. They show them Mikey's last known location and give the images of the human teen and the mutant brother. Mr. Touch and Mr. Go roam the room, choosing the items they'll need like children choosing which sweets they want the most from a candy store.

Bishop doesn't have much time. He slinks around to the exit and rushes to Honeycutt's labs, calling him as he runs into the elevators.

"Professor Zayton Honey--"

"Hey doc it's me how are ya that's great I was wondering if I could borrow any gear you might have?"

The line is silent.

"Oh, this is Bishop by the way."

"Um... yes, well I figured... How's your mother--"

"Forget that for now, do you have any gear I can use?!"

"W-why do you need my gear?"

"Chaplin brought in two thugs to detain Mikey and the others that are protecting him," Bishop whispers. "Timothy and Finn are showing them the weapons they have. I'm going to tail them to keep them from getting him. Now, do you or don't you have anything I can use?"

"U-uh, m-m-maybe. How close are you?"

The elevator doors open and Bishop runs out to Honeycutt's office.

"Just about to open your door."

"Oh! Well, yes, um, I think I have something you might be able to use --"

Bishop swings the door open and runs in, causing Prof. Honeycutt to jump in fright.

"Agh! John! You're here! You weren't kidding --"

"I need whatever you can give me now," Bishop states frantically. "They could leave the lab at any point and I need to stay close."

"But John -- well, you know me, I'd prefer to stay out of it --"

"You are staying out of it, I just need something to defend myself and keep Mikey safe."

"Oh well... Yes, yes, of course! Um, there are a f-few prototypes on the table over, over there!" Honeycutt stutters. "A-are you looking for lethal, or semi-lethal?"

"Anything," Bishop says quickly. "I'd rather not hurt anyone, but they're enhanced so I might have to go fully lethal."

"Enhanced?" Honeycutt says with a nervous swallow.

"No time to explain," Bishop says as he looks over the table and grabs a futuristic-looking pistol. "What does this do?"

"Oh! That's my jelly-gun!" Honeycutt says with a soft and nervous chuckle. "It's one of the non-lethals, but it hasn't been tested yet--"

"Jelly-gun?"

"It l-liquifies your bones."

"...And this is a non-lethal weapon?"

"T-the effect isn't permanent," Honeycutt stammers. "I-it's meant to be a stunner, t-to incapacitate!"

"How do you know the effects aren't permanent if you haven't tested it yet?" Bishop asks warily.

"..."

"...I'll handle it with caution, then."

Bishop gently places the 'jelly-gun' in a holster.

"What else do you have?" he asks, picking up a series of miniature grenades.

"Those are my noise-makers, you pull the pin and have five seconds before it will emit a high-pitched ringing that causes disorientation and bleeding from the ears if you stand within a ten yard radius."

"Mm. Handle with caution?"

"Handle with caution."

Bishop pushes the noise grenades into a pocket of a satchel Honeycutt hands him as he continues to go through the tech, grabbing what looks good and intact. A net launcher, a harpoon launcher/grappling gun, and a gun that actually does shoot a jelly-like substance which hardens instantly.

"Anything else you can offer me?"

"This," Honeycutt says, handing Bishop a small device that resembles a portable dvd player. "It works like a sonar detector, scanning your surroundings and comparing them to satellite images to create a map of the area around you within a 50 mile radius. It will detect any creatures, bodies of water, or large obstacles within that radius as well."

"Thanks, this should really come in handy," Bishop says quickly. "I have to get going. Do you need all this stuff back, or...?"

"If you can," Honeycutt sighs. "But honestly I'm more worried about you coming back. You're going to go fight two enhanced mercenaries? Even if you can beat them --"

"Your faith in me is astounding, by the way..." Bishop grumbles.

"-- Even if you can beat them, Chaplin or Timothy will discover your involvement, won't they? What do you think they'll do to you then?"

"Well, I guess I'll just have to do my best to not get caught and not get dead."

Honeycutt stutters nervously after hearing the word 'dead'. He tries to respond and air his concerns, but Bishop runs out quickly to catch up with Mr. Touch and Mr. Go.

.

.

.

Bishop watches the two men from a distance, catching up to them just as they leave the building. They follow the tracker's last coordinates to an alley out of sight. Mr. Go checks to make sure it's all clear before Mr. Touch reaches down and pulls the manhole cover off the sewer entrance.

Okay, so he's a little stronger than most people, nothing to be worried about --

Mr. Touch throws the heavy cast iron covering like it's a cheap plastic frisby, sending it flying off into the wall where it gets lodged in between the bricks.

...Okay, so he's exceptionally strong. No biggie. Just... don't get too close.

Mr. Go descends first, Mr. Touch following after. Bishop waits a few moments before running after them into the alley. He peers down into the sewer. Mr. Go has already made it to the bottom, but Mr. Touch is only a third of the way down. Bishop backs away before they can see him, and goes to the next alley over, entering the sewers from there.

Bishop slides down the ladder quickly, and peeks around the corner. The two men are walking down the halls by the water's edge. Bishop continues to tail them, staying at a safe distance as they look around for evidence of Mikey or his family. Bishop spends the time following them wondering what kinds of experiments they would perform on Mikey's brothers if they could get their hands on them. What kinds on horrors they would put Mikey through again. What they'll do to Bishop if they discover his treachery...

After several minutes, they come to the last tracked location of Mikey -- the lair.

Bishop watches as the men leave their tools and tech outside the electric barrier and step through the invisible fence. Mr. Go takes a deep breath before zooming away.

Yeah, so he's quick. Saw that one coming.

Mr. Touch waits for his partner, tapping his foot against the stone floor impatiently. Mr. Go comes back out a second later, readjusting his suit and tie which had gotten windblown.

"It's all clear. The place is totally empty."

The two men walk inside, forced to leave their weapons behind the EMP barrier so they don't get fried.

Bishop gets an idea...

He quietly creeps up -- leaving his own bag of gadgets behind -- and places the weapons on the inside of the EMP barrier. One by one, each device flickers with sparks before going kaput. Once his task is complete, he quickly rushes back to his hiding spot and waits for the mercs' return.

After about twenty minutes, the two walk out.

"...they packed what they could and ran. The muties could be anywhere by now!"

"You think they knew we were coming?" Mr. Go wonders aloud.

"Probably. That computer room looked pretty high tech."

"But that doesn't explain how they managed to get out so quickly. Chaplin only just had us come in today, and there's been no chatter on the EPF net about our arrival."

"So, whaddya thinkin'?" Mr. Touch asks.

"I suspect that the Earth Protection Force might not be as 'protected' as they think. There must be a mole."

Bishop's breath gets caught in his throat. He can't let them find him out!

Yet another reason he has to stop them.

"I bet they'll pay us extra if we can find the traitor," Mr. Touch chuckles.

"But in the meantime, let's find that mutie. Remember what we're actually being paid for," Mr. Go reminds him.

"Well, can you track him from here?"

"What do you take me for, an amateur? Of course I can. Grab the gear and we'll head out."

Mr. Touch gathers up all the supplies, and the two walk away. Bishop gives chase.

Mr. Go leads them down the tunnels until they reach a wrecked cave-in. Mr. Touch is kind enough to clear the way for them, revealing what Bishop can only assume was Mikey's previous home before something terrible happened. Claw marks and long gashes across the painted walls prove his theory.

A large, gaping hole resides in the floor, tunneling down to a secret hidden world. Bishop's mouth drops in shock.

"...What'chya wanna bet he's down there?" Mr. Go asks with a snicker.

"What even is it, one of them secret societies?"

"Who cares, as long as we find what we're looking for!"

The two men jump down into the hole. Bishop watches them descend.

....Maybe he'll look for stairs.

.

.

.

It takes a few hours, but Bishop finally makes his way down safely. He finds the two mercenaries wandering the streets of this underground city, checking everyone and everywhere for Mikey.

Bishop is in awe of how many mutants there are down here! It's crazy! And Timothy offered to pay extra for any they brought back...

This whole community could be in danger!

Fortunately, the two men are focused on looking for Mikey. That's what they're really being paid for. Dissatisfied by the masses in the street square, the two leave towards a series of larger buildings in the distance.

He stays just out of sight of the Mr. Touch and Mr. Go as he goes after them. As he tails them, Bishop tries to stay focused on the two villains rather than get distracted by this otherworldly society. He feels so out of place surrounded by these monsters, mythical beasts, and magical creatures. People that resemble animals or aliens or dragons or some mix between the three walk around and watch him like he's the freak.

Maybe he is, down here... Huh.

Well, that's some existential identity crisis he'll have to go through later.

Mr. Touch and Mr. Go arrive at a building with a strange rainbow aurora borealis surrounding the area behind it. Mr. Go surveys the area with super speed before coming back and nodding to Mr. Touch.

"He's here."

"Positive?" Mr. Touch asks.

"Gotta be. That other mutie turtle Dr. Timothy showed us is here, so he must be, too."

Other turtle mutant... What did that kid call him... Leo? Leo! Wait, so they are here? Then where's Mikey?

"Do we get the extra mutants first or what?"

"No, he's busy with a bigger freak right now."

"I can take 'em both," Mr. Touch chuckles. "It'd be like bending a couple o' twigs..."

"Fine, but be discreet about it. Here, use one of the gadgets that lab nerd gave us -- Wait, what the --?!"

The two men try to activate what looks like a gas bomb, but nothing happens.

"This thing's defective! All this junk is defective!" Mr. Go growls.

"I can still take 'em both, you know that," Mr. Touch says, cracking his knuckles.

"It's almost like this guy wants to fight," Bishop thinks aloud. "What a charmer..."

"And where are we supposed to keep them once we capture them? You gotta think!" Mr. Go scolds. "Besides, they are also superpowered! One of them can do portals, and that second one I saw was almost as big as you! My guess is he has enhanced strength, too... And even if we did overpower them, they're out in the middle of everything, everyone can see us! And we have no real sighting of that Mikey mutant. Let's play it cool for now and get them later. AFTER we find Mikey."

Mr. Touch groans loudly.

"Fine. But I want that extra pay."

"And we'll get it, don't worry. By the end of the day, our biggest worry is going to be finding fatter wallets!" Mr. Go snickers. "Now let's find that freak show..."

Bishop swallows nervously. He hasn't met Mikey's brothers yet, not officially. But if they're anything like that human kid, then they would assume that he's a villain because he works for the EPF.

Just more people he has to avoid...

John Bishop runs after the two mercenaries before stopping in his tracks and awing at the strange area around him. A large opening surrounded by rainbow mist reveals a tropical paradise and a beach.

Huh. Okay. Not what he was expecting, but... yeah. Beach. Why not?

Bishop wishes he'd brought some shorts or something to help with the heat of the tropics, but sighs in resignation as he runs after the two men...

.

.

.

Casey is tanning on the beach chair just outside of the portal. He takes in a deep breath and heaves a relaxed sigh...

He's never been on vacation before.

Heck, he's pretty sure he's never relaxed before!

It's a new experience, and he's not totally convinced he's got the knack of it yet, but he's learning. Splinter has been giving him pointers.

Casey smiles at the warmth of the sun on his skin. It's so hot, he's abandoned his cloak and armour and jumpsuit in favour of a pair of Donnie's board shorts and a t-shirt. He feels a little exposed, but he's getting used to it.

He wonders if Sensei would have been sunning with him if he had made it. And Donatello would have loved the sun on his soft shell. Master Michelangelo would probably be building sandcastles or drawing images in the sand. He's not sure what Raphael would be doing, but he assumes that he'd be enjoy the safety and wonder and happiness with his brothers...

Casey sighs. He wishes Sensei could have at least enjoyed one day in the sun again... He hates that he can enjoy this while his whole family was left to die in the apocalypse. It isn't fair, it doesn't seem right.

Aaaaaaaand Casey just ruined the relaxation. Dang it. As mentioned before, he's not the best at this.

CJ sits up and sighs angrily. Why can't he just move on? Let go? It's what Leo wants. He can't talk about his life with anyone here, so he might as well just leave it behind and start fresh! Why can't... he...

Huh?

CJ notices two strangely disproportionate men sneaking around the hotel. They're pretty well hidden, but after a lifetime in a warzone where one wrong step could literally kill you, Casey Jones Jr. has become something of an expert at spotting hidden danger or people sneaking around.

He wonders what these two creeps are up to...

Three. Three creeps. There's a third guy following them... Wait, isn't that Agent Bishop?!

What is going on?? Are they looking for Mikey?

That has to be the reason. But who are those two guys? And why didn't Bishop come with them? Is he spying on them?

Well, he's not letting him do this alone! Casey may not be an expert on vacations, but he knows a secret mission when he sees one. He's coming along!

Casey grabs his grappling hook gloves and follows after them.

.

.

.

Bishop watches as the two men slither about, staying behind shrubbery and beach umbrellas that decorate the lot. They double check to make sure they don't draw any attention to themselves, then slink around the corner of the portal and vanish behind it's barrier. He tiptoes up to it and peers around the corner. Mr. Go is zooming across the beachside as Mr. Touch tries to use the fried tech again.

"What are you doing here?" a voice whispers behind him.

Bishop swings around and almost suckerpunches the kid behind him.

Fortunately, the teenager has good reflexes and ducks ahead of his punch, grabbing Bishop's arm and stopping him mid-punch.

"Kid?!" Bishop whisper-shouts. "What are -- where did -- Nevermind. Go away, before they see you --"

"But what are you doing here?" he whispers back. "My family's on vacation!"

"Is that really wise?" Bishop questions. "I did tell you what the EPF and TCRI were up to."

"Well, we're laying low. Like you said."

"At a resort?"

"Hey, it's not like the EPF knew about this place before!"

Bishop sighs.

"Look kid, I'd love to catch up and debate on whether a tropical getaway counts as 'laying low' and stuff, but I'm tailing these two bounty hunters --"

"Bounty hunters? Are they after Mikey?" the teenager asks.

"What do you think?" Bishop growls in response.

He turns back to watch the two men. Mr. Go skids to a halt after searching the area and pours sand out of his shoes as he complains to Mr. Touch about the conditions. Mr. Touch complains about the faulty tech they were given. They both end up arguing.

"Where is Mikey, anyways?" Bishop asks.

"Dunno," the teen replies. "He went out into the jungle to explore."

"You really think letting a kid go alone in the jungle is a good idea?"

The teen stares at him deadpan before raising an eyebrow.

"You have seen Mikey, right?"

"Fair enough," Bishop groans. "Look, I'm gonna go after them, you --"

"I'm coming with you!" he interrupts.

"Look kid --"

"My name is Casey."

"Look, Casey, I'm sure you're a cool kid with a good head on your shoulders, but this is a stealth mission. And this mission is already tough enough without having to worry about keeping you safe as well. It will go better if I'm alone --"

"Have you ever practiced guerilla warfare in a jungle before?" Casey challenges. "Or fought against superpowered individuals? Have you ever had to build a water purification device from scratch so you can drink your own bodily fluids while trekking across dangerous, monster-infested terrains??"

"Have you?" Bishop challenges back.

"You have no idea what I grew up in," Casey responds low. "Now let's go. Mikey should be deep in the jungle by this point, so we better hurry if we want some extra time to lay a few traps..."

Bishop tries to fight back, but the kid has already zip-lined into the brushes several meters away. Casey turns back and calls out to him.

"You coming or what?"

Bishop groans. He really shouldn't have yelled like that... Oh well. This'll be interesting.

.

.

.

Casey makes his way through the bushes and fauna, Bishop following close behind.

"Kid! Hey, kid, wait up!"

"Do you want me to slow down, or shouldn't you hurry up?" Casey shouts back.

Bishop grumbles under his breath as he runs up to the teenager.

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do here, but --"

"And I appreciate what you're doing too, Commander Bishop -- uh, Agent Bishop. But this is my family we're talking about! And I'm not going to just sit back and act like I don't know what I'm doing when I do. I know you think I'm just a kid, but I've literally been training my entire life for situations like this. To be honest, this is a lot more mild than what I'm used to dealing with."

"...Where exactly did you say you grew up, again?" Bishop asks.

"Actually, not far from here," Casey chuckles. "But that's another story... So, looking at these tracks, Mikey made it to the center of the island somewhere around two hours ago."

Bishop's eyes widen behind his thick glasses.

"How can you tell?"

"Math, mostly," he says with a shrug. "You measure the size of his feet and the distance between each footprint and calculate the speed from there."

"But two hours ago?"

"I made an estimate based on when I saw him last and compounded with the fact that these plants he crushed underfoot show clear signs of recent decay --"

"Geez kid, you're like a walking science study!" Bishop sighs as he walks ahead and follows the trail as he reaches into his satchel.

"You can thank my Uncle 'Tello for that," Casey smiles. "What are you doing?"

"Honeycutt gave me this sonar tracker," Bishop explains. "I wanted to wait on using it until we were in a more secluded area."

Casey looks around at the jungle they're traipsing through.

"...I'd say this works!"

"I'd say so too," Bishop chuckles as he activates the device and scans the area around them. "Where did this jungle even come from, anyways?"

"It's a portal. It leads from the back lot of the hotel to a random undiscovered island."

"So, we're not actually in the United States anymore?" Bishop asks, raising an eyebrow. "Interesting. How does it work?"

"There's a device by the portal that can change the location if needed, for storms and stuff. But mostly it runs on magic energy, if I understand it right."

Bishop nods, pretending that it makes perfect sense. Magic, portals, underground monster hotels. Sure. Why not.

He taps a few buttons on the sonar, and several dots appear on the screen. Two in the center, two to the far left, and one straight ahead.

"Hey, would ya look at that! It really works!"

"So, those two are the bounty hunters," Casey says, peering over Bishop's arm to look at the device. "And up ahead is Mikey!"

"I guess your tracking skills really are on point," Bishop compliments. "Nice work, kid."

Casey smiles as he leads the way to Mikey.

"So, what do we do about those two guys searching for Mikey?"

"I have some other toys the Doc leant me," Bisop states, reaching into his pouch. "These should work well enough against them... though, they haven't been tested yet."

"Well, as my Sensei used to say, 'No time like the present!'"

"Aaaaaalright then, we'll find where they are and set up a few traps to drive them away."

The duo travel in the direction of the two mercenaries, following the sonar tracker. After half an hour of hiking, they finally find them. Mr. Touch is demolishing the trees as he looks around angrily for their mark. Mr. Go is watching from behind him.

"Are you done with your little tantrum yet?" he hisses.

"I'm doing all the work here, in case you haven't noticed!" Touch roars back. "It's a deserted island! He could be anywhere! And also in case you haven't noticed, all our tech is busted up!"

"Well, it shouldn't be as big of a problem as you're making it," Mr. Go groans. "After all, this is us we're talking about. It can't be that difficult!"

"Well, we've never worked in the fricken jungle before!"

"Pssh, as if that should stop us..."

The two men argue a bit about where to go and what to do. Bishop takes Casey back a step to discuss their own plans.

"So, kid... didn't you say something about guerilla warfare?"

Casey Jr. smiles deviously.

Bishop and Casey quickly set up a series of traps, digging large holes and cover them with debris and plants. Casey creates a snare trap and Bishop makes a tripwire. Soon enough, their plan is complete.

"Okay Casey," Bishop says as he takes his jacket off, the heat starting to get to him. "Here's the plan: your tracking skills are better than mine, so you find Mikey and get him out of here while I take care of the meathead and the beanpole."

"Wait, are you sure?" Casey asks.

"Not really. But I don't want you or Mikey to get hurt --"

CJ groans loudly.

"Dude, I already told you --"

Bishop quickly shushes him.

"I don't want you near the fight, you could get hurt."

"I know, I know; you think I'm just a kid and I can't defend myself, but I'm pretty sure I already proved how I can --"

"You did prove yourself," Bishop interrupts him. "But that doesn't change the fact that I don't want you getting hurt or getting involved in this anymore than you already are."

The agent sighs. He takes his glasses off to show Casey how serious he is as he tries to explain.

"...Look..... Mikey was designed to be a living weapon for the EPF. He was given the DNA of several predators, violent species, and compliant genes from species that worked in groups or families so he would be sure to follow orders. He was trained day in and day out to kill, fight, and problem solve. Do you think that's the life he wanted?"

Casey freezes, eyes wide.

"Or do you think he deserves a chance to just be a kid?"

CJ looks away sadly. He can tell where this is going. Bishop takes a breath before he continues.

"Listen kid, I have no doubt that you could keep him safe all on your own, but both you and Mikey are just kids. That doesn't mean you can't do incredible things and save the world, but it means that you shouldn't have to. For now, that's my responsibility as the adult. I think you kids have been through more than enough, and it's time you get back to being kids. Or am I wrong?"

Casey sighs again.

"...Okay, point taken. Fine. I'll get Mikey to safety and warn the others... You take care of the two bounty hunters."

Bishop nods with a smile. He watches as Casey darts off into the forest to get Mikey. He turns back and treks towards the two villains.

.

.

.

Casey runs into the jungle, backtracking until he finds sight of Mikey's trail again. He follows, using his grappling hook like a rope swing, going from tree to tree to tree...

An old recollection of his Sensei calling him 'Tarzan' comes to mind. He smiles at the memory.

After ten to fifteen minutes, Casey finally catches up to Mikey, sitting in a tree as he munches on some wild mangoes he happened to find.

"Mikey! Mikey, hey!" CJ calls out.

Mikey looks down and smiles at him, mouth full to the brim of delicious ripe fruit. He waves.

"Hiiiiiii!" he calls out, though it's a barely intelligible, muffled slur of sounds.

"Hi," CJ calls back, climbing up quickly. "Hey, so not to alarm you or anything, but we gotta get outta here. Like now."

Mikey swallows loudly and tilts his head in curiosity.

"Why?"

"Just, um..."

Casey looks at Mikey.

He's not the warrior he would be in the future. He's not a stone-cold master of magic who occasionally liked to goof off when he wasn't being all mystical and mysterious. He's not the last brother left standing for Casey's Sensei, the last reminder of hope and love. He's not forced to stay positive and optimistic, even when the entire resistance has been laid to waste and he has to sacrifice his own life in order to save them. To save him.

He isn't 'Master Michelangelo'.

He's Mikey.

And Bishop is right. Mikey's just a kid.

A kid who shouldn't have to worry about looking over his shoulder constantly, wondering if someone is coming after him or if he's safe, or his family is safe. He's a kid who should be running across the water and having splash wars with his brothers, should be sunbathing on the beach with his father, should be sitting in a tree eating fruit and enjoying life like it was meant to be enjoyed.

"...Uuuuummm, y-your brothers wanted you to come back to the resort! They, uh... didn't know where you'd gotten to! They got kinda worried."

"Brothers worried for me?" Mikey asks with concern.

"Yeah! So, we gotta go let them know you're okay!"

"Oh, okay!" Mikey says with a nod. "Mikey understand. Let's go!"

Casey follows Mikey down the tree --just a tad bit slower than him, though.

"Race you back?" Mikey asks with a smile, already crouched and ready to run.

CJ smiles.

"You're on!"

The two run, Casey using his grappling hooks to his advantage as Mikey books it through the jungle. He hopes they don't attract the wrong kind of attention, but their speed should be helpful... He wonders if Bishop is finished with his job yet.

.

.

.

Bishop watches from behind a tree, waiting a few minutes to give Casey time to find Mikey. Just a little longer...

The two men start walking. Bishop checks the sonar and sees they're walking towards Mikey's direction. He has to act now.

He grabs a noisemaker and pulls the pin before throwing it at the two. It lands in front of Mr. Touch, who leans down and blinks at it.

"...What the hey?"

"What is it?" Mr. Go asks, stepping around him.

"Looks like a toy or --"

A loud, ear-piercing screeeeeeeeeeeeech sounds off, shattering the air around them and causing a soundwave to blast around them, knocking them all to the ground. Bishop grips his own ears and yells in pain, though the cries are lost in the deafening blast. He gets up and starts running, looking back to see Mr. Touch drop the device and clutch his bleeding ears. Mr. Go stumbles backwards before running away as fast as he can. Bishop watches as Mr. Touch slams his foot down onto the orb, crushing it instantly and silencing it. Bishop's ears are ringing as he runs. Mr. Touch shakes his head around before he sees Bishop running and gives chase.

"HEY, GET BACK HERE!!"

"WHAT??" Bishop yells back, ears still ringing.

Mr. Touch bellows as he runs after him, following the agent to his set traps. The meathead gets closer... closer..... he reaches out to grab his shirt collar...

Mr. Touch's feet drag over a tripwire, activating the net-launcher. The wiry snare wraps around him and causes him to faceplant. Bishop nearly pauses to cheer at the trap's success before Mr. Touch shreds the net to pieces, simply by flexing his arm muscles. Bishop keeps running.

He jumps over one of the traps he set and watches as Mr. Touch yipes and falls down into the freshly-dug ditch. Bishop carefully pulls out the 'jelly-gun' and aims.

"Sorry in advance, I really hope that this isn't permanent..."

Bishop is thrown off his feet when something slams into him. He groans as he picks himself back up.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Mr. Go asks snidely as he leans down.

"...My job, nothing personal," Bishop responds quickly, swinging his foot around to trip up Mr. Go.

But he's gone before Bishop can even get his foot up.

He does a quick spin before looking around in shock, trying to find where Mr. Go went --

Bishop is kicked in the gut as the speedster rams into his chest and dashes away unseen. Bishop gasps for air and clutches his stomach as he slowly gets to his knees. He's dropped the jelly-gun! He scrambles as he searches for it. He drags his fingers across the ground, looking for the futuristic weapon on the tall grass and weeds... he notices a vibrating sensation from the ground, slowly getting stronger.

Bishop jumps out of the way before Mr. Go can knock into him again.

He gets an idea.

Bishop places himself into position and waits. He can feel the ground vibrate under Mr. Go's stampeding feet. Wait for it... wait for it...

He can see a blur coming at him. Bishop gets ready...

Mr. Go runs at him. Bishop reaches into the satchel and pulls out the other jelly gun, blasting a great mess of red goop at the ground. Mr. Go runs through it with great speed, his shoes getting caught in the ooze. He trips through it, falling onto his hands as the jelly hardens quickly.

"Hey! What's going on here?! What is this gunk??"

Bishop heaves a sigh of relief. It's short lived.

"Oh, you think you're clever, huh?" Mr. Go laughs haughtily. "Well, we'll just see about that!"

Mr. Go's body vibrates so quickly that he almost becomes invisible. The quick-hardening goop starts to crack, and he's free. The speedster suddenly blurs past Bishop, unable to stop. He gets another interesting idea...

Bishop whistles at him.

"Hey, knockoff of the Flash! You missed me!" he taunts.

Mr. Go runs back at him, a blur as he comes back for round 2. Bishop pulls a special gun out and points it at the mercenary. Mr. Go immediately runs in a different direction, which Bishop expected. He aims again. Mr. Go runs in another direction. Bishop aims one more time, and of course, Mr. Go goes in a new direction. Bishop smiles. He's too close to change course, and he was worried about the wrong kind of redirection. He's right where Bishop wants him.

Just as Mr. Go is about to run into him, Bishop aims the gun above his head and fires. A long cable cord shoots out from the weapon and snags onto a branch high above him. Bishop is pulled away, and Mr. Go runs straight underneath him and over the hidden tripwire. Mr. Go sees the trap too late and is snagged, a rope wraps around his ankles and pulls him up into the air.

Mr. Go's flails upside down, sputtering and yelling protests. The jelly-gun drops from his jacket pocket. He stole it when he ran past him! Bishop jumps down from his place amongst the branches and grabs at the weapon, trying not to pull the trigger until he can actually hold it steady.

"Y-you meddling inferior!" Mr. Go screams. "You ridiculous turncoat! You--"

"Please, please, save all your compliments until the show is over," Bishop says with a laugh, holding his ribs. "You had a pretty good run, not gonna lie."

Bishop shudders.

"Ugh, that pun was terrible. Is this what I've become? A guy with pad jokes and witty one-liners? I thought I was better than that..."

"Hurry up and get me down from here!" Mr. Go snaps.

"What makes you think I'd actually let you down?" Bishop questions.

"He wasn't talking to you, punk," Mr. Touch growls from behind him.

Bishop manages to duck just before Mr. Touch can break his skull open with his fists.

He yipes as he rolls to the side, dodging another blow and careful to avoid the traps he's set up. Mr. Touch is not so careful. His feet crack against the tripwires and set off the snares and springtraps, though none of them have any effect on the giant muscle man.

"Now would probably be a good time for you to run, little man," Mr. Touch chuckles with a low voice.

"I might just take you your advice on that," Bishop heaves. "But first --"

He points the jelly-gun at the giant man, who raises a fist to pound Bishop flat. The gun fires, a green light beams on Mr. Touch's fist and forearm. They go numb and limp, falling flat and flabby against his side. Mr. Touch roars angrily.

"What did ya do to me?!" he screams, flinging his other fist at Bishop.

The agent dodges it, the ground beside him cracking and splitting from the brute force used. Mr. Touch roars again and swings his floppy arm at Bishop. Despite the lack of bones, the strength is still there and Bishop is flung several meters back before rolling across the ground and hitting a tree.

Bishop gasps for air as the wind is knocked out of him. He struggles to lift himself up, coughing and hacking as his back cracks with each movement.

He looks up in time to see Mr. Touch yank the rope holding Mr. Go, setting him free. Bishop has to act fast... Casey is counting on him. Honeycutt is relying on him. That whole society under New York is in danger if these mercs get out. Mikey deserves better.

Bishop grabs one of the noisemakers and pulls the pin. Mr. Go lunges forwards. Bishop throws the device at him. He realizes in time what it is and runs in the opposite direction. The noisemaker grenade goes off, and another shockwave of sound takes out everything above four feet. Bishop ducks for cover as he covers his ears. Mr. Go is blown away by the shockwave, soaring straight into Mr. Touch.

Bishop takes the jelly-gun and aims once again. He shoots at Mr. Go's legs. Mr. Go falls. He shoots again at Mr. Touch's other arm. It becomes wobbly and liquified. But Bishop can't stay here for much longer. He limps away, regaining a little speed with every excruciating step.

He's not sure exactly how long the jelly-gun effects will last. But he'd rather not find out.

After running several meters away, he can hear the device deactivate. Touch probably destroyed it.

Bishop pulls out the sonar device and checks it. It was damaged in the fight. The screen is cracked, and it glitches every few seconds, but from what he can tell Mikey and Casey made it back to the resort. Bishop just has to find his way out of the jungle...

He keeps running, though there's a pain in his side and his head is still buzzing. He hears something crashing behind him.

Mr. Touch and Mr. Go are following close behind.

Already?!

He looks back and sees Mr. Touch carrying Mr. Go over his shoulders. They aren't as fast as he is, but with his injuries he'll never outrun them...

But he has to try. Bishop pulls out the jelly-gun and fires, hoping to temporarily liquify more of the two mercenaries.

The gun squirts out a train of goop behind him. Wrong gun! But at least it serves its purpose; Mr. Touch trips and falls face-first into the slime, which hardens overtop of him. He shouts and screams, flapping his jelly arms around as he tries to get himself free.

Bishop keeps running.

.

.

.

Leo is laying out on the beach chair by the hotel. He loves the ingenuity of this place. If you get the right angle, you can have all the warmth and brightness of the sun shining on you without the actual sun getting in your eyes. At first, he was a bit hesitant to trust this place (after the events of that other resort he has sworn never to speak of again). But this place is a certified heaven!

Leonardo exhales with utter satisfaction. It's been a pretty rough couple of days... he needs this.

Unfortunately, Leo is pulled out of his relaxation mode when a weight is suddenly and mercilessly slammed onto him. He gasps, eyes nearly popping out of his head as Mikey jumps up into his lap at top speed.

"I win!" Mikey cheers.

Casey jogs up behind with and laughs, somewhat out of breath.

"You certainly did," he gasps, panting and sweating. "Phew! That was fast, Mikey..."

"What the -- *wheeze* -- what the heck is -- *wheeze* -- happening?!" Leo hacks, coughing loudly as Mikey sits proudly on his chest.

"Mikey won race!"

"Great. I'm so very proud of you. My ribs will never be the same again."

"Is Leo not worried anymore?" Mikey asks, leaning close to inspect his face and sniff him.

"Worried? Like, about my lungs collapsing, maybe?"

"Oh, sorry," Mikey chuckles nervously as he gently climbs off of him.

"It's fine, I'm getting used to it by now," Leo groans, his body re-inflating with air. "I mean, this is like the third or fourth time this has happened..."

"But Mikey is here! So no more worries," his little brother says with a smile.

"Uh, yeah," Leo answers with a nod. "No one is worried anymore. Whatever that means."

"Oh, uhhhhh Leo, you and I need to have a quick talk about.... something," Casey says.

Leo gets the hint immediately, despite the lack of mind meld.

"Hey Mikey, why don't you go find Donnie and help him build his sandcastles? He indubitably said something about probably needing your help and creative expertise. He said he was going to be getting supplies at the Hotel front desk..."

Mikey nods with a smile and a chirping laugh as he runs off to find Dee. Leon waits until he's out of sight before turning to CJ.

"Okay, so what's up?"

"So... no need to panic or freak out or anything, buuuuuuut there may or may not be a few bounty hunters searching for Mikey right now..."

"WHAT?!" Leo shouts, grabbing Casey by the shoulders and shaking him. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, BOUNTY HUNTERS?!"

"I-I said no n-n-need to pa-a-a-nic!" Casey yells back, his voice wobbling as he's rocked back and forth. "Co-ou-uld you ple-e-e-ea-se st-o-o-p sha-a-k-i-i-ing me-e-e-e??"

"What bounty hunters are looking for Mikey? Where are they?" Leo demands.

"Oh don't worry, they're probably nowhere near here!"

"CLOSE THE PORTAL!"

Leo and CJ both look back at the beach's serene and peaceful shores to see Agent John Bishop, running out of the jungle as fast as he can. Soon enough, a man the size of a baby elephant carrying another man resembling an overcooked noodle with a ratstache barrel out of the bushes and run after him.

"CASEY, CLOSE THE PORTAL!" Bishop yells at the top of his lungs as he rushes for the hotel. "CLOSE THE PORTAL, NOW! CLOSE IT!"

Casey yells in fright and drags Leo to the box by the rainbow's edge.

"How do we close it?!" Casey demands, examining the device.

"How should I kow?!" Leo yells back.

"Uh, you deal in portals all the time?!"

"That's my ninpo, I don't actually know how they work! I don't understand magic or mystics or --"

"WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING?!" Bishop shouts. "HURRY!!"

"Do you know what to do or not?!" Casey shouts.

"NO! How would I know what to do?! Draxum would probably, but I have no idea where he is --"

"Well, try something! Anything! Maybe you can do something with your ninpo?"

"Fine! Get the device open!"

Casey jimmies the box's lid open and starts messing with the wires and other pieces inside before uncovering the mystic power source, an aurora flooding the air around him.

Leo runs to his beach chair and grabs his swords, throwing one at the machine and vanishing for a second before reappearing besides CJ. Leo stabs one of the katanas into the device and starts swinging it around in the rainbow light that spills.

Leon's markings start glowing, and the aurora turns blue.

"Don't change it yet, Bishop is still out there!" Casey pleads, running to watch the portal.

"ERRGH, MAKE UP YOUR MINDS!" Leo yells angrily, straining to keep the portal from glitching as the overwhelming power starts to spark across his arms. "Ow! Hurry up!"

Casey stops just outside of the portal and calls out to Bishop.

"Run!"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING?!"

"They're catching up!"

Bishop grabs the last noisemaker grenade, pulls the pin, and throws it back at the two mercenaries. It smacks right into Mr. Touch's face, getting lodged in his mouth before he screams and spits it out, jumping out of the way before a loud screeching shockwave sends them all flying.

Bishop goes tumbling through the portal before faceplanting onto the ground beside Casey. The shockwave knocks Leo down, the sword crashing against the device and closing the portal just as the two mercenaries try to reach out for it.

The beach scene swipes away, a new view of a new island taking it's place.

Bishop pants and heaves on the ground by CJ, looking over his shoulder shakily before his arms give out and he rolls onto his back.

"...That was the worst. I think my back is now in the shape of the letter 'S'. Thanks, kid..."

"Did... did we just banish two dudes to live alone on a lost tropical island in the middle of nowhere?" Casey whispers.

"Looks that way. But I'm sure they'll be fine..."

"So, you must be Agent Bishop, huh?" Leo asks skeptically, leaning over the young man.

"What's left of him," Bishop chuckles. "Ow, my body... and you're Leo, correct?"

"That is classified information," the slider growls, crossing his arms.

"Nice to meet you," Bishop groans as he slowly sits up and gets to his feet.

"Wish I could say the same."

Casey smacks Leo's arm.

"What??" Leo asks incredulously. "Look dude, I know you trust him, but I don't know him, and he works for the people that tortured Mikey. I'm sorry, but he hasn't exactly earned my trust just yet."

"I get it," Bishop responds, cracking his back in pain. "I really do. And for the record, I don't work for the EPF anymore. What they're doing is wrong, in every sense, and it needs to end. I'm working to make things right. And hopefully, this --" he gestures to the new portal "-- helps to prove it?"

Leo sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Maybe. We'll see."

"Fair enough, I guess. Casey," Bishop turns to the human teen and claps him on the shoulder. "Nice work. Don't be a stranger. You still have my number, as well as Honeycutt's. If you ever need anything, let me know."

Casey smiles proudly and nods.

"Well, I think that might be everything, so I should get going..."

"Here, let me help you with that!" Leo says with a snarky smile, his sword slashing the air and creating a portal beneath Agent Bishop, causing him to fall through.

He lands in a pile of trash bags on the city streets of NYC with a soft yelp followed by disorientation. The confusion quickly dissipates once he gets his bearings, and he cleans himself off before heading to the EPF building.

He makes his way into the compound somehow without drawing attention, and quietly goes back up to Honeycutt's office. He knocks this time rather than bust in like earlier this morning.

"Coming!" the professor calls out before answering the door. "Oh! John! You're back... are you alright?"

Bishop hands the jelly-gun and cracked sonar device to the old man.

"...Tech works great, doc..... But, uh... I broke the tracker. A-and the noisemakers, those are gone too."

Honeycutt looks Bishop over before giving an exasperated sigh.

"I don't care about the tracker or the tech. Get in here, you look like crap."

Bishop heaves a heavy sigh himself and relaxes. He tumbles onto the old man, who leads him into the lab to help take care of his injuries.

"Have you been to the hospital?" Honeycutt asks.

"No.... too risky."

"Your entire back is bruised."

"But nothing's broken, right?"

Honeycutt looks him over and nods.

"But I'm no doctor on the human condition," he reminds him. "I just know tech. John, you should really go to a hospital or ER or --"

"If I go to a doctor, then the EPF will hear about it. They'll ask questions. That's bad. So... just some painkillers and ointment for now will do, thanks."

Honeycutt rolls his eyes.

"...You need to be more careful, you know."

"Yeah, I know. But someone needs to do this job..."

Honeycutt grumbles angrily.

"Are you mad at me, doc?" Bishop asks, as the old man starts to bandage his ribs.

"No, no... I just... why can't you stay out of this whole business for a bit? Take a break?"

Bishop turns around and stares at him.

"...Are you worried? About me?"

"Well... yes. I'm a frail old man and a worrywart at heart, so of course I get anxious about secret missions and dangerous weapons and evil mercenaries! And, at the risk of sounding even more pathetic than I realize I already am, I don't exactly have... a lot of friends here..."

Bishop blinks.

"Oh."

"So yes, worry about you, John. I don't want to lose the only person I can trust in this place. I'm... I'm honestly scared. I'm a grown man and I'm scared. I should be considering retirement plans, but instead I wake up and wonder if this'll be the day I get drawn and quartered by my coworkers. Or worse, what will happen if you get drawn and quartered."

Bishop sighs.

"Okay. I'm sorry for worrying you. But this is important, and if I don't do it..."

"Then maybe someone else will," Honeycutt offers. "You aren't the only hero around, John!"

"No, maybe not. But I know who will have to step up for Mikey and his family, and it isn't fair to ask them to fight like that. They're just kids, Doc. And I need to make things right. For all of my mistakes."

Prof. Honeycutt sighs.

"...You're right. But... what if something happens to you?"

Bishop shrugs.

"I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Let's hope that never happens..." Honeycutt mutters to himself as he helps to treat the injuries.

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