#he hidin in the sewers

[tentapun]

Somebody might need to save All Might, dadzawa is NOT happy

Honestly I really just wanted to draw Aizawa holding the Problem Children like sacks of potatoes.

[anakinsgirlfriendreal]

Ghostface! Sam

Masterlist

ACT 1

Characters are high school seniors, so 18.

Warnings: foul language, murder, blood, sam's super obvious, use of y/n, maybe some spelling errors.

You sat on the table out in the school yard, looking on as some reporters and police officers conducted brief interviews with anyone who'd entertain them. Sam sat on the bench, leaning back between your legs.

Jake shakes his head, "can you believe it? Our town's got its own serial killer."

You scoff, "the guy's hardly serial it was two people and he didn't even have the balls to do it bare faced, I mean a mask? Fucking pussy."

"Yeah but there could be more, I mean he killed people we knew, one of us could be next," Sam shrugged, looking up at you.

"Don't be an ass." You smack the back of his head and he laughs.

"Who do you guys think did it?" Jake asks looking around the group.

"My bet's on Jared, Stacy's ex. He never got over her." Amanda shrugs.

You shake your head, "no way, look at him. He's a mess," you nod towards Jared who was speaking tearfully with a reporter. "Besides he loved her, why would he kill her, though that would be pretty good motive 'if I can't have you, no one can' but my guess is it's whoever she'd stolen Randy from or some one of the other thousand people in this school she pissed off."

Jake laughs, "oh man, I forgot you're into this shit. Your girl's a freak Sammy" he nudges Sam, you roll your eyes.

Sam shakes his head, a hand running up your calf, "we should get to class, see you guys later...or not." He smiles, getting up and draping his arm over your shoulders, leading you away.

That afternoon, Sam dropped you at your house after school, promising to spend the night cause he didn't want you to get hurt, you know with a masked freak running around killing people and all.

You sigh, dropping your backpack on the floor, your parents were out of the country, as usual, God bless diplomats. You shrugged off your jacket and stripped down to just to your tan top and underwear because the place was so darn hot, settling on the couch, preparing to watch however many episodes of Criminal Minds your brain could handle.

You're invested in an episode about someone making real people into dolls when your phone rings, startling you. Assuming it was your boyfriend you picked up. "Hey"

"Hello Y/n" the voice on the other end sounded raspy and distorted, like the one the news reporters had described.

You assumed it was Sam pulling your leg, "Haha very funny Sam."

"This isn't Sam, you stupid bitch!"

You're taken aback by the sudden outburst, silence on your end.

"Oh what's the matter sweetheart? You scared of a 'pussy in a mask'?" The killer mimicked your earlier words.

You swallow, "What the hell do you want?"

"I wanna play a game."

"yeah? What game is that?" You ask warily.

"We're gonna play some horror trivia, I know you love scary movies. Here are the rules, I ask three questions, you get them right and I won't carve up your sweet little boyfriend, that sound good?"

"Fuck you, if you hurt him-"

"You'll what? Kill me" the voice laughs, you feel nervous tears roll down your cheeks.

"First question, you have five seconds. What was the name of the killer in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre? Five-"

"Leatherface" you cut him off.

"Very good Yn."

You feel relief wash over you.

"Second question, Which movie did the kid die in the sewer? Five four-"

"IT"

"Very nice- I love those panties by the way, black's your colour"

Fear fills you, looking around hastily you click the alarm system on your phone, locking the doors and windows. "What?" Your voice trembles.

"Final question and I want you to think very carefully about this one y/n..."

You try to steady your breathing.

"Did you just lock me in or out?"

You panic running to the kitchen to grab a knife, the alarm system disarms and a sob escapes you, as you turn it on again, only for it to be turned off again, you back yourself into the wall, too shocked and panicked to even think of hiding. You watch as the front door knob jiggled, quiet sobs escaping you, holding the knife firmly.

You're about to charge blindly when the door opens, dropping the knife when you realize it's just Sam.

He looks both confused and alarmed when he sees your condition,"baby are you okay?"

You hold onto him tightly, sobbing into his shoulder. He rubs your back holding you close, he kisses your head, "it's okay, it's okay I got you. It's alright"

You sat on the couch watching him barricade the doors and make sure the windows were secure. "I'll be fine."

"You're not fine, you were scared and crying and that son of bitch threatened you." He sat next to you on the couch, your hand finds its way into his dyed hair.

"I just- thank you" you smile, he kisses your lips.

You're silent for a moment staring at the tv, when a thought crosses your mind. "You know, he said- he said, 'are you scared of a pussy in a mask' how would he know I said that?...Unless he was there" you mused. Sam looks unphased.

"Don't over think it you'll go insane," His hand travels up our thigh, planting a kiss on your lips and down your neck.

"maybe, he's one of our friends."

He laughs, "You think the killer is one of our friends? No way, Jake throws up in bio when we have to dissect a frog,Riley's a moron and Amanda well, she's not very bright."

He's on top of you now, positioned between your legs. You smile, "and you?" You meant to tease.

He smirked, "Oh baby, I'm interested in rearranging your guts in only one way."

You laughed, pushing his face away from you, "You're such an idiot, who says that."

His smiles, dipping his head down to kiss your neck, his hand creeping into your panties.

The next morning at school, when you and Sam arrive the reporters are there again, you squint, the bright sun in your eyes.

"Why are they here again?" You ask. Amanda pulls you into a hug.

"Babe, I'm so happy you're alive, good thing Sam got there or that could've been you."

You and Sam look at each other, "What could've been me?"

Riley puts his arm over Amanda's shoulder, "Principal Reed, he got attacked last night. He died on the way to the hospital, his daughter found him too late."

"What the fuck, and they're sure it's the same guy?" You grimace.

"They're pretty sure, small town three murders already. It's likely," Amanda interjects.

You take a deep breath, "Son of a bitch. I actually liked Principal Reed, he was a nice man."

Sam smiled, looking at you. "At least we know you're not the killer."

You roll your eyes, "yeah yeah I'm going to class."

Amanda shoves a flyer in your hand before you could walk away, "Halloween party Friday night at my place-you know memorial for the dead or what not, you better come."

You chuckle, of course she'd use any opportunity to party. "There's a killer on the loose, running around in a mask, just carving people up and you think it's a good idea to gather as many people as possible in one place and get them all drunk?"

She begs, "come on, it'll be fun, and gathering is safer than you sitting at home basically waiting for this psycho to come gut you...for real this time."

Sam takes the flyer studying it, "Party sounds good."

[halogalopaghost]

Not Alone

read on AO3

Leaving Leatherhead alone in that great, dark subway station felt wrong. Raph tried one more time to convince him to come home with them; we can help you, he promised. But Leatherhead was too sure, and the rest of his family was just fine with it.

Alright, maybe “fine” wasn’t the right word. The walk home was short, but it was taken in somber silence. Mikey seemed to have a lot on his mind as he rubbed his sore noggin, and Donnie looked faraway and solemn.

“This is bogus,” Raph announced. “LH ain’t a danger to us. So he got some anger issues, so what? It ain’t anything new to you guys.”

“Leatherhead is so much bigger than us,” Leo reminded him. “It’s lucky that Mikey wasn’t hurt worse, but he still lost consciousness for a moment. I understand him not wanting to take any chances.”

“Which reminds me,” Donnie cut in. “Mikey, I have to check you for a concussion.”

As they entered the lair, Don dragged Mikey away, and Raph followed Leo into the kitchen.

“He called himself a monster, Leo. ‘Scuse me for thinking maybe the guy could use a little compassion.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t give it to him, just that a little distance isn’t a bad thing when he can’t control himself like that.”

Splinter looked between the two of them, brow raised and cup of tea halfway to his lips. “My sons, welcome home. I assume our friend is well?”

Leo sat at the table beside Splinter, sighing heavily. “Yes, Sensei, he’s alright. We had a run-in with some kind of hunter, but we took care of him.” Raph snorted. Leo glared at him briefly. “Donnie got him set up in an abandoned subway station just a few minutes away from here. It needs some cleanup, and electricity of course, but we already agreed to go back and help him in a few days.”

Splinter bowed his head. “He wishes to be left alone, then?”

Raph replied before Leo got a chance. “Yeah, he said he’ll let us know when he’s ready. He wants to be alone.”

“That is his choice, Raphael. But I feel you are not at peace with it?”

“No! Sensei, he’s sittin’ in the dark all alone over there, beatin’ himself up over something that ain’t his fault.”

“Sound familiar?” Leo cut in.

Silence fell over the small kitchen.

Splinter held a hand out toward Raphael. Hesitantly, because he could never deny his father, Raph stepped forward and took his hand. “Your compassion for Leatherhead is admirable, and I am sure he appreciates it. Sometimes these lessons must be learned by oneself though. If he needs us, we will be here.”

Raph deflated with a sigh. “Yeah, okay.”

“Just give him time.”

  Raph tried to follow his father’s advice. They all went back to bed, even though he just didn’t feel tired anymore. He laid in his hammock, wrapped in blankets, and stared at the dark ceiling. Leatherhead didn’t have any blankets or pillows over there. When Donnie suggested walking back over with some stuff, he insisted that he would walk over for his things later. Well, it had been an hour since they left him and he still hadn’t come over for anything. Was he just not planning on sleeping?

With a frustrated grumble, Raph tossed aside his blankets and clambered out of the hammock. He quietly made his way down the fire escape stairway and marched right over to the couch that still had Leatherhead’s borrowed bedding strewn across it. He messily folded the two blankets, tucked a pillow under his arm, grabbed a couple of sodas since he wasn’t getting any sleep anyway, and stomped his way out into the cold sewer.

Give him time. Yeah, Raph gave him time alright, an entire hour and a half.

"Yo Leatherhead!" he called out. He pulled the make shift door closed behind him. Donnie had already offered to replace it with a false-wall door like their own, and he declined. Raph was sure he would build it anyway.

Raph felt a little uneasy in the wide-open, dark space. His instincts told him to cling to the wall and keep one eye on an exit. Knowing what a foul mood his friend was in really didn’t help.

"Where ya hidin' at? It’s cold as shell tonight, so I bought some blankets.” He squinted into the darkness. “I brought some sodas over too. I, uh, thought maybe we could talk."

"You should not be here."

Raph nearly jumped out of his shell. "Geez! You trying to give me a heart attack or somethin'? Warn a guy." He spotted Leatherhead slouched on the stairs of the platform, little more than a shape in the darkness.

"It is dangerous to be here," he reasserted.

Raph sat on a step beside him and plunked the blankets in his lap. "Why's that? Got a gas leak?"

He got a low growl in response.

Raph popped open both cans of soda and sat Leatherhead’s down on the step in between them. It almost physically pained him to think that LH might not drink it, but the gesture was important. April was slowly acclimating them to the idea that a little bit of food waste every now and then was unavoidable.

"I ain't afraid of you, by the way.”

Leatherhead picked up the can, but didn't drink from it. "Then you are a fool. Did you not see what I did to your brother? What could have been?"

An idea struck Raphael. He smirked and rested his elbows on the step behind him. "So, what—losing your cool makes you a monster?"

He looked at one of his clawed hands. "Yes."

"Do I look like a monster to you?"

He sighed. "Sibling bickering does not count. You couldn't understand."

"What? The helplessness? The anger that builds on itself like—like a poison? Or the feeling that everybody must be pretending to care, 'cause it ain’t possible that they really love someone as messed up as you? Which part don't I get?"

Leatherhead stayed quiet.

Raph took a drink to cool himself off. "I almost brained him with a pipe a while back. I woulda really hurt him if the guys hadn't stopped me."

"I'm sorry." He finally took a sip, maybe just to have something to do. "I did not know."

"Ah, I know you didn't, big guy. Ya don’t gotta apologize. All I’m tryin’ to say is, you aren’t alone, and you’re not a monster. If you wanna talk…or want any tips, you know where to find me." He knocked him in the shoulder with his elbow. "Neighbor."

Finally, a little bit of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

"Ya don't need to punish yourself by sitting here in the dark. What do you say, tomorrow morning I’ll bring the guys over here to get some lights on, huh?”

He huffed a short breath through his nose. "Alright, I’ll allow it. I appreciate your kindness, Raphael.”

He smirked. “Yeah, don’t get used to it.”

LH took another sip of the soda and this time, Raph caught him curling his lip. "What is this beverage? Why is it…tingly?"

Raph laughed "What, you never had a soda?"

"No." He set it aside with disdain "The Utrom eat a very wholesome diet largely composed of fish, greens, and whole grains. They have no dietary need for ‘soda’."

"Oh brother, tell me that diet included pizza!”

Leatherhead gave him a rather blank look.

“Alright. Tomorrow, first thing, pizza and a generator.”

He laughed. His laugh was a deep, chesty thing that Raph could almost feel, sitting so close to him. Hearing it was a nice change of pace from the sorrow in his voice earlier in the night. “Thank you, Raphael. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Raph stood and held his fist out. Leatherhead gently bumped his knuckles. “In the mornin’, big guy.”

[th-ramblr]

[Baldur's Gate 3] Squidhawk - #3

[Cross-posted on AO3]

"I wanna play."

All eyes focused on him, and in his self-consciousness, his hands wrung the bottom hem of his shirt, his lips pursing and head falling a little.

"You?" Their ringleader challenged, a cocky tilt of his head and sway to his steps as he moved a pace or two closer. "You're too slow to keep up with us. Won't be any fun when you're too easy to catch."

His lips pursed thinner, almost disappearing unseen between his teeth.

"I'm getting better," he protested, conviction betrayed by underlying desperation to be believed. He was smaller than the other kids, even some of the ones younger than him. And weaker. And slower. He didn't need to be reminded. He wouldn't let them refuse him just because of that.

Some of the kids sneered. Some of them looked at him with pity. Some just didn't care.

"With those scrawny little legs?" The other boy looked him up and down like sizing him out, and was left wanting. "I doubt it."

"Come on Horus," one of the more sympathetic kids groaned. "Just let him play. I's not hurting anything."

A less-sympathetic kid snorted derisively. "Yeah, let him play. He'll make a good distraction for the rest of us." A jeering glance. "For the few seconds he'll last."

Horus rolled his head back over his shoulders with an inconvenienced groan. "Fiiiine. I'll let the stupid shrimp play, alright?"

A small victory, even if it didn't feel much like one, the small blond shuffling over to where all of the other kids were standing.

"Alright then, you all know the rules. One person's the chaser, th' rest of you get a ten count head start. No hidin' in shops, no hidin' in houses, no hidin' inside boxes or barrels, no hidin' inside hay piles, or anything else someone's gotta open up or dig through. And no sewers!" Horus declared. "You get caught, you join the chasers, an' gotta put on the cloth so's everyone else can tell which side you're on, so no cheatin' and hiding your cloth to pretend to be a runner! All you's got until the bottom of the sun touches the horizon goin' down. If the chaser catches everyone, then chasers win. If the runners get away til the sun starts going down, runners win."

Kytes' eyes shifted from one side to the other between all the kids, staying near the back and listening.

"Now, who wants to be the chaser?"

A few hands shot up, and Horus waved dismissively at them. "Fight for it, then."

The 'fight' was little more than a game of rock-paper-scissors until only one person was left, a little elven girl, cheering as she earned the spot of "chaser" and tied a colorful cloth around her forehead.

"Alright!" Horus bellowed. "Maley's the chaser! On a count o' ten, everyone scatter! An' stay within the lower city, or y'lose!"

Maley covered her eyes and started counting, and everyone immediately took off running. Head darting back and forth, he hesitated a second or two before picking a direction and going, ducking through a narrow alleyway between some buildings to cut through to one of the main streets.

No one else thought much of him, but he planned to not lose this time, and certainly he wasn't going to be the first one caught. No way in Nine Hells.

He at least had one advantage, in a sense. He was smaller and easier to miss, and easily dodged and weaved around crowds of people or through narrow spaces, keeping on the move. Hiding in one place was technically an option... but not in anywhere that really mattered.

So the next best thing was to keep his eyes out for the others and keep changing locations, which is what most of them would be doing anyway, and chances were most would be avoiding him as well unless they were a chaser.

Whatever the case, he was determined to win. The other kids didn't think anything of him, but today, he was going to prove them wrong.

_____________

Daylight ticked by, and he was certain of at least one of two possibilities. One was that he had managed to surprise the others with managing to avoid getting caught, while he knew a few others had been.

It was either that, or they weren't trying very hard to find him, but he preferred the first assumption and decided to stick to it.

Climbing up some stacked crates and tangles of vines, he made his way up onto a rooftop where he could more easily survey things and get a lay of the land, and spot some of the other kids who were busy ducking and weaving through the streets or, like him, over buildings or fences or other obstacles, either in search or in hiding.

For a while he was content to watch, creep, and stalk, never quite spotted and a target... until he was, one of the chasers nudging her friend and pointing.

"Oi! There's one! Get him!"

He frowned and was quick to dart over the rooftop, making his way from one to the other like an agile alley cat while the rest were figuring out how to reach him and where he'd gone. He lost them for a while, but soon enough he was spotted again, changing direction and bolting.

One of the kids tried to make a grab for him and he nimbly dodged with mere inches to spare, ducking and dodging around the small group of chasers that had accumulated over the course of the game.

Slipping just barely past reaching fingers, he quickly stepped out along a narrow stretch of roof connecting two buildings, and at the worst possible time as his pursuer pounced and grabbed a hold of the back of his shirt.

"Gotcha!" Like a taut bowstring, the bit of fabric from his shirt between the other kid's fingers snapped free from their grip and against his back. He stumbled, waved his arms for balance, and tried to twist around to regain it. Instead, he found himself on open air.

The hard cobblestone street below rushed up to meet him as he tumbled head-first, and then-

Darkness.

_____________

When the world swam back into focus, it was hazy and obscure, colors and shapes melting together haphazardly and shadows dancing thick in his eyes. Sometimes he would make out the edges of a room, sharp angles of walls meeting ceilings and pillars sloping along with them.

Lights through the windows seemed to dance and flicker, then fade as his eyelids fluttered shut or his eyes rolled somewhere else, unable to find one place to settle on no matter how much he willed it.

His limbs felt heavy, trying to move his arm, only for it to flop down like a dead fish halfway risen from his side. The rest of him was sluggish and unresponsive.

Consciousness pitched in and out, like glimpses of a sea-faring vessel on the waves of a maelstrom, the stormy black ocean threatening to capsize and drown him. Suffocate him. He heard voices, on occasion, but they were too muddled to make sense of, hazy figures caught in flickering candle light as he only managed to snatch glimpses of the waking world.

Once, he found himself on the cold floor, stones beneath his cheek as he gagged on bile, whimpering into the empty room for no one to hear.

He wasn't sure how long he was on that floor before someone carefully scooped him up to somewhere softer, trying to speak out to them, but all that came out were incomprehensible, slurred noises. Barely something that could be called a word, much less a sentence.

He was periodically aware of the feel of a metal spoon against his lips, forcing him to eat while half-delirious, and he was aware of himself coughing and choking when the food didn't go down quite right.

Existence was a Hell of half-remembered, hazy snapshots, of which he couldn't be sure what was a dream or reality. It all blurred together just the same.

But eventually, the haze did start to clear, little by little, and his environment made a little more sense with each passing day. He was being cared for in one of the temples, those who tended it coming each day to change the bandages around his head, to clean up after him and make sure that he ate.

Today was no exception.

"Eat," one of them commanded, holding out a spoon filled with some unnameable stew towards his lips. He reached for the spoon, but she took it away from him, not letting him hold it or the bowl.

"Eh snnms elf hol'," he slurred, the sounds clumsy off his lips, but he was persistent, reaching out again. " 's foo lem ea-t-tt-t-t-tt-t-kk-k-k-k-k-k-foon b sel..."

The woman pulled it away again, and then tried to maneuver around his reaching hand, commanding once more, "Eat."

When he tried to reach for it, she grabbed his wrist roughly and forced it down, impatiently shoving the spoon in his face again.

"No. Eat."

He tried a few more times, but she roughly grabbed his wrist and moved it back down until he eventually gave up, opening his mouth for her to feed him.

"Ss' nee' noh ee me fer..." he complained, furrowing his brows as his words refused to come properly. He touched his lips absently with a soft noise in his throat, flapping his hand for her attention. "Eh eh 's wha' 's noh kk-k-k-k-k-kk-k-k-k-k-k-k-" The sound caught in his throat on repeat, unable to force himself to get past it before he huffed aloud.

When he kept trying, she put a finger to his lip. "Hush."

"Whoh wis wroh sss' tha-t-t-ttt-t-tt-tt-t-t-ttt?" Panic started to build inside him like a stormy wave, his voice rising in desperate pitch. "Eh sppp-ee kk-k-k-k-k-kk-k-kk-k-k-ka-k-k-kkkk-kka-t-t-t-ttt-t-t sall wro-k-k-k-k-kk-k-k-k-k!"

_____________

"Do you think its going to get better?"

"I don't know. A lot of the time, head injuries like that don't. Sometimes they do."

He listened grimly through the crack in the door, still and silent, bare feet against cool stone floors and his shoulder pressed up against the wall to help him keep balance. It had been a chore just to cross the room this far, his balance uncoordinated, and even worse when his head throbbed of late. None of the temple staff would really talk to him, or explain what was going on.

Maybe he was starting to learn why.

"I doubt as much though. Boy like that, born sickly and small as it is? It'll be a wonder if he lives to see adulthood already. Now?" The priest shrugged. "He'll either get better, or he'll be dumb for life. Either way, his odds leave much to be desired. I don't see him getting very far."

"So what do we do?" he heard one of the others ask, hushed, but he was already moving away from the door, not caring to hear more and curling up in his bed when he reached it. A small hand clutched the fabric over his chest as he drew some of the blankets around himself.

He was small, he knew. And sickly. And he didn't have a whole lot of anything, not even a parent or older sibling to look after him. He was born with a weak heart as it was, one that would kill him young. He didn't need to be reminded.

And now?

Well... now all he wanted to do was cry and disappear, burying his face into his knees to quietly sob, his head aching, before exhaustion eventually claimed him and pitched him into slumber.

[ataviisms]

@lgbtcorp said to hide somewhere is not surrender, it is trickery.

most don’t consider him to be clever, and maybe that’s true. he can’t say he’s as sharp-witted as the rest of gotham’s criminal underground; he lacks the aptitude for ingenious traps or complex schemes. the closest he’s ever come to outwitting anyone is when he manages to slip away into the crumbling maze of sewer tunnels that were dug so long ago most have no idea where they still lead. doesn’t really feel right to call it trickery when it’s just memorization on his part. and maybe a handful of instinct.

he lets out a grunt and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. uncertain as to what exactly her words are trying to imply. whether it’s a compliment or an insult, or just some sort of observation on her part. somewhere the tunnel ceiling drips into the pool of water he’s standing in and he feels each minute ripple despite how far away they are. why is she down here?

“ who said i was hidin’? ”

besides, can it really be called hiding when he lives almost every moment of his life down here? when it’s common knowledge that every inch of sewer pipe in gotham belongs to him? which brings him back to the question: why is she down here?

“ but you didn’t come here jus’ to tell me that, did you? ”

𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐗𝐄𝐒 --- not accepting

[doldoldolcetto]

@xinghime “No you’re wrong! From the moment I stepped foot here the chi changed. There is something down here and not just the stinky sewer and plumbing.” Mei was not accepting that as an answer, not at all. When she sensed something especially like this there was no way in budging her until she got answers. 

Taking a step back she shook her head from side to side. “Nuh uh. Not until I get to the bottom of this strange energy I was feeling. Also you didn’t answer my questions so that means you are hiding something....aren’t you?”

This kid was tough. Maybe he could just knock her out and drop her off somewhere safer, like a park or at least another district in Dublith. The area near the nest was definitely not a kid-friendly space.

He stepped forward, keeping his hands off his swords to look friendly. It wouldn't be good to scare her.

"'m not hidin' anything. Like I said, I don't know what you're talkin about. There's a bar above us, if that gives y'the info y'want. Other then that there's gonna be nothin with energy, an' nothin with chi. Whatever that is."

[deadn30n]

care  about  him?  maybe  once  he  might've  believed  that,  but  his bitterness  about  past  events  that  brought  him  down  to  this  place  would  lead  him  to  assume otherwise.  after  all;  who  would  willingly  abandon  the  brother  that  spent  thousands  of  years  mentoring  you,  just  to  go  frolic  with  some idiotic  humans?  what  was  even  so great  about  any  of  them?  for  as  long  as  he's  been  down  in  this  place,  he still  hasn't  even  begun  to  understand  what  Eden  was  thinking  when  they  decided  they  wanted  to  abandon  heaven  and  live here.  this  place stunk  like  death;  reeked  of sin.  of  greed,  of  hatred,  of violence.   (   not  that  Nour  himself  was  any  better,  but  he'd  elect  to  ignore  that  part  of  himself  for  the  sake  of  a  greater  assumption.   )   heaven  was  full  of light  and  joy,  not  unlike  this sewer  of  a  world    (   why  did  God  even love  this  place  and  it's  inhabitants  so  much?   ).   so  many  unanswered  questions,  so  much  for  him  to  try  and  wrap  his  mind  around.

he scowled  in  the  woman's  direction.  flicking  ash  off  his  cigarette,  he  discards  the  used  butt  and  promptly  stomps  on  it  with  his  black  dress  shoes.     ❝    you  hidin'  something?  sure sounds  like  it.     ❞    not  that  he  cares  in  the least  bit,  but  her  words  have  lead  him  to  make  the  open  assumption  that  he  has.  the  way  she  spoke  sounded precisely  along  the  same  realm  of  work  that he  dealt  in.  he  didn't need  to  be  discreet  however;  the  way  he  operated  was  all  on  the  basis;  on  the hope  that  he  could  get  Eden  to notice  him  again.  to  pay  attention  to  what  he  wanted  and  abandon  their foolish  quest  to  be  like  these  vile  creatures.  perhaps  they  had  their  virtues,  but  Nour  couldn't see  that  for  himself.  he  was  far  too  engulfed  in  his  own self-admiration  to  really  see  what  sort  of  things  could  make  humanity glow.     ❝    what's  your  profession  anyway?    ❞    he  doubts  he'll  get  an  answer,  he  just  likes  putting  humans  in  uncomfortable  situations  through forced  confrontations.  there's  something  deeply  satisfying  about  that,  but  he  can't  quite  put  his  finger  on  just what  that  is.

♡          — “ thanks. ” kana replied politely as he obliged by handing her the lighter. gazing upon it with curious eyes as she held it up between nimble fingers to admire. her grip was firm , ensuring it would remain safe in her care. the last thing she wanted was to drop it , although with reflexes as quick as hers , should it come to it , she knew she could catch it before it hit the ground. “ that's sweet. ” the assassin added in response to his sibling revelation. kana , herself was an only child so she wasn't quite sure what that was like. “ i don't have any siblings , only cousins - so i guess it's not really the same but i don't think any of them have ever gotten me something so nice. ” lowering the lighter , kana finally allowed their eyes to meet again as she handed it back to him. “ they must care about you a lot. ”

  kana laughed at his use of the word brat. they may not have been using the term affectionately but it sure came off that way to her. although his use of the word human caused her to furrow her brows but only for a short moment. choosing the skim over it for now , they could circle back to that when she had more information. “ oh , i know i'm not - ” she admitted. she did tend to make quite the lasting impression on a very select group of people. “ but lowkey is generally the point. ” the goth girl aesthetic was cute , but as far as her job went - her real job - it would be silly to draw attention , you know , when you were required to stalk and kill people.

[anon-e-miss]

Where's ostaros right now?

"Y're up!" Jazz exclaimed with surprise when he entered Prowl's treatment room and found him standing, looking at one of the drawings Sunstreaker had done.

"In a fashion," Prowl replied. He was hold onto a metal frame, a walker of sorts that kept him stable. His doorwings were still covered in mesh sleeves and heavily splinted. It was still a marked improvement.

"I didn't expect ya to be takin' even bitty steps so quick," Jazz said. "I shouldn't o' underestimated ya. Never met anyone that bounces back as quick."

"I do not care to malinger," Prowl said. "The Twins appear to be doing well."

"They are," Jazz nodded. "Rung's got a report wit'em. They don't understand all that he did to ya. I hope they never do."

"I as well," Prowl agreed. "I would preferred not to scream, not to scare them but when I heard them, I had to mask them, so he did not hear."

"Prowl, 'm grateful for everythin' ya did to protect them. I wanna talk, maybe ya wanna sit..."

"I am not delicate," Prowl said, staring Jazz down as only he could. Ratchet had matched the icy blue of his natural optic perfectly. The replacement had identical power.

"Ya got... Primus, tortured, eaten, raped, it ain't delicate to sit down to talk 'bout it."

"He did not destroy anything that was mine."

"What do ya mean by that."

"Tarantulas modded my frame, specifically my valve to specifically line up with the fixtures of his spike. He was careful to ensure only his exact spike would trigger lubricant product or pleasure. Vortex could not eat my spike because I have not had one in vorns."

"Scrap," Jazz cursed. Prowl was still standing but he was leaning too hard on the frame, his arms trembled under the strain. Jazz slowly reached for Prowl, put his arm around his back and guided him to the berth. "Ratchet had no idea, or he woulda helped ya."

"I did not want everyone to know I had been his personal frag drone," Prowl replied. "It seemed... once it was decided I had been a traitor, it was easier not to reveal what had actually happened. Especially with Chromedome in the mix."

"He's still talkin' slag, I hope ya know... don't seem right to have ya caught off guard."

"Chromedome is a classical bully. He had no self confidence and must put others down to feel powerful. It enrages him that I ignore him and his rumours. That suits me."

"I like that way o' lookin' at it," Jazz smiled, and he sat on the berth next to Prowl, their legs dangling over the side. It was a quintessential Prowl way of looking at things and Jazz could only now appreciate it, and him. "I didn't actually come here to talk 'bout CD 'n his slag though."

"I would imagine not," Prowl replied, voice soft. He looked tired, mentally perhaps even more than physically.

"I got glyph that Vortex is dead," Jazz explained. "Bit o'm been turnin' up in Darkmount, mostly in his gestalt's habsuite, but his rotors got left on Megs' berth."

"Tarantulas," Prowl wheezed. He shook and Jazz did not know if he should put his arm around the other mech. Restraint and empathy warred until Jazz offered Prowl his servo. Prowl took it as he bared his denta. "It is not for my sake, at all, his anger. He does not care at all for my pain, my suffering. He cares that Vortex meddled with his work, ruined his work. I have only ever been a doll to Tarantulas."

"He won't get to ya in Iacon," Jazz promised. "If he's leavin' presence in Darkmount, then he's close. 'M thinkin' he's probably hidin' out 'round the Dead End. He'd have easy fuel."

"He has a preference for building labs in sewers," Prowl revealed. "He told me civilized mechanisms turned their olfactory ridges up at patrolling sewers."

"I'll be deployin' soon as yer outta here," Jazz said, "'n in safe servos. I got my ori 'n town to watch the Twins. He made a good point, ya can't go home alone. Gonna be awhile before ya can really take care o' yerself without wearing yerself to the struts, 'n longer before ya can fight off a freak. Y'll be safe wit Ori as yer watch dog."

"You want me to move into your habsuite when Ratchet releases me," Prowl said.

"No eight-legged freak, or two-legged creep can get passed my security, let alone Ori," Jazz replied. "The Twins'll like bein' yer nurse."

"I did not mean for them to get so attached," Prowl said. "They just needed to get away."

"'M glad they had a place to retreat to wit ya," Jazz said. "'M sorry I didn't see that. 'M sorry I called ya bitlet eater."

"You already apologized."

"Not enough. I spoke to Cheetor. Ya saved 'm from bein' eaten. Ya put yerself in harms way. After that, I said that to ya. I can't imagine how those glyphs hurt."

"I am used to being hated," Prowl replied.

"'N 'm sorry for that too," Jazz said. "Ya don't deserve it."

"Sometimes I do," Prowl said. "I do not care how mechanisms feel, Jazz. Not when the grand scheme of war and battle are at play. I care about survival and very little else. I am too pragmatic to make tactical decisions based on what would be the popular choice."

"They resisted ya evacuatin' the base," Jazz said. "They dragged their peds."

"Retreat is cowardly," Prowl replied. "Or so says Countdown. I do not care if I am called a coward. Better a living coward than a brave corpse."

"Here, here."

[ariana-maryse]

Imagine...

Finding Richie carving your initials in the bridge.

(For anon)

You’d lived in Derry your entire life. It wasn’t a glamorous place to grow up but having the Losers as your friends made it bearable.You spent much of your free time with them; both as a group and with each one individually. They were your closest allies and with them, you felt like you could do anything.

After spending the morning racing Bill on your bike, you decided to go for a more relaxing ride on your own. The scenery on the outskirts of town was pretty when you weren’t being chased by a gang of bullies or a sewer dwelling demon clown.

Spotting a familiar form ahead, you came to a stop and decided to sneak up on him. You found Richie knelt down, carving something into the bridge. You crept up slowly, surprising him by poking his sides. He jumped, dropping the knife he’d been using, and you expected a snappy quip from him. Instead, he fumbled over his words and pressed his back firmly against the spot he’d been working on.

“Oh, hey, y/n, what are you doing here? I was just... uh... what are you doing here?”

“Take it easy, Tozier. Whatcha hidin’ there?”

“What? Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m just standing here. What are you hiding, sneaking up on people like that?”

“You gonna pick that up?” you asked, gesturing to his discarded knife.

He looked down to it then back at you, nodding quickly. You lifted your brows, inclining your head as if to say, ‘well, go ahead.’ Richie sighed, at last moving out of the way so you could see what he’d been doing.

On the bridge was a fresh carving of your initials with his. You thought perhaps it might be a coincidence. Perhaps someone else who had initials like yours? You stepped forward, examining them further.

“R + Y/F/I, huh?”

“Yeah...”

“Whose initials are those?”

“They’re... well, they’re mine and yours, y/n. Those are our initials.”

That summer, Richie Tozier became your very first boyfriend.

[defeatedbyamerechild]

How Guzma and Cyrus became close friends

(The following scene takes place in Giovanni’s mansion, a few months after the Villains had moved in to that place, and therefore happens previously to the moment depicted in our comics.)

-------

    It's around 3PM, Giovanni is in his office, Archie and Maxie left for a walk and Lusamine is knitting in the backyard with her Pokémon. Lysandre is in his room recording a make up tutorial and no one knows where Ghetsis is, but no one really cares much. Cyrus has just finished sweeping the floor. He enters the living room to find Guzma lying on the couch, reading his diary.

CYRUS – Guzma! What the... What are you doing with my diary?!

    Cyrus quickly approaches Guzma and tries to grab the diary from his hands, but Guzma dodges him.

GUZMA – Yo, Relax, Cy-boy! I was just takin' a look! Nothin' much, just readin' a bit of it!

CYRUS – [angry, but trying to hide it] Well, “a bit of it” is already too much! It's a diary, that means it's personal Therefore, you shouldn't be reading any of it. Now give it back to me!

GUZMA – Sheesh... [gives him the diary] Here, don't be so friggin' anxious, dude! What's the matter with sharin' your secrets with a friend after all? Are you hidin' anythin'? [giggles]

CYRUS – [still annoyed] No! The matter is that I did not choose to share anything with you. You just went and... started meddling in my personal stuff. Which I very much disapprove, if you allow me to add!

GUZMA – Tsc...  Meh. Chill! Not doin' it again, if it bothers ya that much! [He winks at Cyrus, smiling].

CYRUS – [in a rather sarcastic way] Thanks for that, although I do not believe you...

    Cyrus sits on the couch one seat away from where Guzma is. Hugging his diary against his chest, he wonders what Guzma could have read from it. There's a brief silence.

GUZMA – Yo...

    Cyrus glances at him, a little bit apprehensive, for his housemate might bring up something from his diary.

GUZMA – Y'know, I was just... thinkin'... Cause, like... You wrote there tha-[Cyrus interrupts him.]

CYRUS – I do not want to discuss anything I wrote. It's personal. And it's already bothersome enough to know that you read it, so please spare me the embarrassment of further explaining whatever it is you want to comment on...

GUZMA – Aw, c'mon, dude! Don't be like that!

CYRUS – Like what?

GUZMA – Like... y'know... Carin' so much about this and all!

CYRUS – [sarcastic] You mean having dignity?

GUZMA – [chuckles] You're so dramatic, bro...  

   Brief silence. Guzma stretches his arms and legs, trying to look as casual as possible before resuming his speech.

GUZMA – [with a carefree intonation] Anyways! You wrote it there that no one cares about ya, and, like... Dude, that's a pretty rough thing to say 'bout yourself, ey? [giggles]

  Cyrus clenches his jaw and stares at his own feet, embarrassed and upset.

GUZMA – Tsc... Like, c'mon, why all that drama? Who broke your heart, eh? [giggles] You can tell ya old boy Guzma here!

CYRUS – [looking up at him] Sigh... Don't turn that into some romantic gibberish, Guzma! It has nothing to do with that.

GUZMA – Yeah? Right, whatever. Still somethin' must have happen'd if you feel like that. So! Who hurt ya?

CYRUS – [Looking away] Why are you asking me that? Why does it matter to you?

GUZMA – Meh. Dunno, dude. I'm curious. Also, like... That's not true.

CYRUS – What is not true?

GUZMA – That no one cares 'bout ya! Like, I do, for example! That's why I'm askin'! Makes sense, right?

CYRUS – [snorts sarcastically] Right.

GUZMA – I mean it, bro! I'm here for ya! [winks again] Now, go on! Tell me about those feels, I know you wanna talk about it!

CYRUS – [out of patience, very emphatic] No, you do not. How would you know that?

GUZMA – [still smiling, folding his arms behind his head] 'Cause why else would'ya write it in your diary? You feel like tellin' someone! That means you need to talk! [winks for the third time]

CYRUS – [looking away, trying to hide his amazement at Guzma's perceptive mind.] Well, even if that were the truth, this conversation is useless. You should know what hurt me by now, if you read my diary.

GUZMA – Yeah, true, but... I didn't read, like... all of it, y'know? As I told ya! I was just readin' a bit of it! 'Cause, y'know, I'm not that much of a passionate reader, like... [giggles] When you start with those huge chunks of text I just skip ‘em! I only read some short parts and that's all!

CYRUS – [not amused] Hm.

  Cyrus glances around, discreetly checking if there's anyone else near. He then glances at Guzma, who is still smiling, as if nothing had happened. He sighs. He knows Guzma will not give up on his curiosity.

CYRUS – OK, so you want to know who hurt me? My parents did. That's all. Happy?

GUZMA – [stops smiling and tilts his head to the right] Ya parents? Yo, really?

    Guzma scratches his chin, as he sits up on the couch.

GUZMA – Dude, that's somethin'... Like, I know how that feels! My old man was also a real son of a Jynx, y'know? Like, real mean AF!

CYRUS – Oh. [frowns] I thought you said you had been raised in a sewer, by Raticates.

   Guzma briefly widens his eyes and stops smiling, but soon goes back to his previous expression.

GUZMA – [giggling, trying to hide his awkwardness and make something up quickly] Eh, yeah but, like... He was a mean Raticate! Totally savage, like, real bad parentin'! Like Ghetsis, y'know?! [thinks for a second and corrects himself] Uh... Actually, no, not that bad. No one's bad like Ghetsis as a parent! Even a Raticate is better.

CYRUS – Ugh. Please do not involve Ghetsis in this conversation, he is the last person I would like to think of now... or ever.

GUZMA – [laughing] Heh! So you also hate old Ghetsis, ey?

CYRUS – I do not “hate”. Feelings are irrational and useless. I hate no one.

GUZMA – [smiling maliciously] Dunno, bro, you seemed to have a fistful of feelings to write about in your diary!

CYRUS – [keeping a straight face, but blushing] I don't know what you're talking about. [brief pause] But I guess  I do prefer to keep my distance from Ghetsis.

GUZMA – Yeah, same. I dead serious hate that dude!

CYRUS – Why?

GUZMA – [Amazed] Dude, why?! Like, why would anyone not hate 'im?

CYRUS – [nodding] Point taken. Still, I do not see personal reasons for you to dislike him. Most of the time, he seems to ignore your presence.

GUZMA – Yeah, but dude's a big old friggin' stinky wild hog, like, what's wrong with that dude? He's a son of a Jynx who treats everyone like they're Pidgey poop! I don't need no personal reasons to dislike a guy like that!

CYRUS – That's fair enough.

GUZMA – Yeah, that dude doesn't care 'bout anyone but himself, that's a fact. [brief pause] And talkin' about “carin'”, let's go back to the main point here...

CYRUS – Sigh...

GUZMA – That is... You feel broken!

CYRUS – [offended] I don't- I never put it on those words! Actually, you're definitely over-interpreting things right now...

GUZMA – [Ignoring his protests] Why'dya feel like no one cares about you? [giggling] Do you feel needy or...?

CYRUS – [irrtated] Are you making fun of me?

GUZMA – [Skipping a seat on the couch to sit by Cyrus' side] Nah. I mean it for real. Why do you feel like that?

CYRUS – [annoyed again] Well, I thought it was pretty self-explanatory that when I said “no once cares”, I meant that I think other people don't give a flip about how I feel! Or about whether or not I'm even alive! [Guzma stares silently for a while and Cyrus blushes a bit, then takes a deep breath] I don't feel... appreciated. That's it.

GUZMA – [Suddenly more serious] Hm... That's rough...  

CYRUS – [Slightly ashamed] Look, I only write about those things in my diary because my therapist says it will help me understand myself, all right? Please, stop making a big deal out of it. It's not. It's nothing important.

GUZMA – Dude, like... I ain't the one makin' a big deal out of it...

    Cyrus widens his eyes a little again.

GUZMA – Like... I'm just talkin' about it 'cause it's not, y'know... normal? I mean, to feel that way, y'know? But I'm just chattin', like, casual talk! I ain't making a big deal outta anything! You're the one who's makin' big deal out of it, as if talkin' about that was a problem... Like, what's wrong with just talkin' about it?

    Cyrus looks away.

GUZMA – Wanna know what? I've felt like that before. I'ma be honest with ya, Cyrus, I've felt like that too in the past! I mean, livin' in the streets is not that easy sometimes, y'know? And when you ain't got nothin' and people just walk by and pretend they don't even see ya, how do you think you're gonna feel?

    Cyrus keeps looking to the other side.

GUZMA – But then, like... You end up findin' people who care! Like, I founded my team, made my friends, everythin' was all right! And screw the rest! So, like... Screw your parents, and Ghetsis and all of those Fudge-brained jerks like him! Life goes on and stuff. Things change. Time passes... Y'know?

CYURS – [looking at him with the corner of his eyes] Yeah, I suppose time doesn't usually just stop flowing in our dimension. Any other generic piece of advice?

GUZMA – [chuckles] Quite a sense of humor, eh, Cy-boy?

CYRUS – I don't have a sense of humor. What's the point of humor anyway?

GUZMA – Well, havin' fun!

CYRUS – What for?

GUZMA – Dude... like... for fun? [laughs] The heck of a question is that? There's no point! It just feels good!

CYRUS – Feeling good is just temporary. It will go away and you'll feel bad again later.

GUZMA – Which is just as temporary, 'cause you'll eventually feel good again! And so it goes! Ups and downs! Am I right? So instead of thinkin' about all that until you get a headache, why not just livin' your life?

CYRUS – The amount of cliches is gonna give me a headache, to be honest. What are you, a walking self-help book?

   Guzma bursts into a sincere laughter, leaving Cyrus slightly surprised.

GUZMA – Now that's a better mood! See, you do have a sense of humor, it's just kinda acid! I like that! [giggles] Yeah I like that...

   Cyrus stifles a chuckle and looks away again.

GUZMA – I saw that!

CYRUS – [Looking back at Guzma] What?

GUZMA – You smiled!

CYRUS – Must have been your imagination.

GUZMA – [chuckles] Right. [not that brief silence] But welp. Just to finish what I was sayin'. You had your share of pain in the past, like, you been hurt, I've been hurt, we all been hurt, 'K? Some more than the others, but...

CYRUS – You really don't give up on the cliches, do you?

GUZMA – Shush, let me finish! You had a rough past! OK! But that's over, dude. Look at us! We're livin' with friggin' Mr. Mafia Boss Giovanni here! I mean, dude's rich. Dude's above the law. Dude's nice. Kinda short-fused, I gotta say, but still nice! We got this big old house here... Free food... What else could we ask for, ey?

CYRUS – Aren't you deviating a bit from the topic?

GUZMA – Nah, I mean it! We're all livin' here now! And life here is good, is that not right? and like... You'll never see your parents again! Screw them! They're in the past!

CYRUS – They've been in the past for a long for me. This is not a problem anymore.

GUZMA – You were the one who brought up your parents...

CYRUS – Because you insisted on asking me about my wounds! But it's been a long time I haven't cared about my parents, and I don't intend to change that.

GUZMA – Yeah! Great! And now you've got a buncha people livin' with ya who are totally not like them! Like me and Maxie and Archie and Lusie and Lysandre... I mean. OK. Let's be honest, no one is like Lysandre, right? But still, we're all different from your parents! Just 'cause they made you feel like trash when you lived with them, that doesn't mean we all think you're trash too!

CYRUS – I'm not trash.

GUZMA – Yeah, that's the spirit, bro!

CYRUS – I-... OK. Whatever. Your point is...?

GUZMA – My point? [giggles] Dunno. Stop being an emo prick?

CYRUS – [rather offended] Well, I can be a caustic prick, since you prefer it.

GUZMA – [with a malicious smile once again] Nice, I love caustic humor! Then we kill two birds with one stone: you get your appreciation and I don't get none of your gloomy drama anymore!

CYRUS – What?! You frickin-...  I'm not making any drama, you brought this up yourself! I didn't even want to talk about it!

    Guzma laughs a bit and then taps Cyrus' back, making him a little bit uncomfortable.

GUZMA – Just jokin', bro! Relax!

    Cyrus crosses his arms and looks away once again, slightly grumpy. Guzma quickly grabs his diary.

CYRUS – [turning back at Guzma and trying to grab the diary] Hey!

GUZMA – Now let me just add somethin' here!

CYRUS – [Still trying to get the diary back] What?! Guzma!

GUZMA – [writing with a pencil while dodging Cyrus] And... Here... we... go!

   Guzma finishes writing and gives Cyrus his diary, which he grabs rather aggressively and immediately opens, searching for whatever Guzma wrote.

CYRUS – What have you written here?

  Cyrus gets to his last entry. At the bottom of the page he finds Guzma's handwriting. It reads “Guzma slaps!”.

CYRUS – [sarcastic] How touching.

GUZMA – What? Disappointed? Didya expect a somethin' mallow like “we all wove you, Cywus! Pwease don't feel wejected anymowe!” [laughs].

CYRUS – [Closing his diary and rolling his eyes] Shut up...

GUZMA – Welp. Hope to see some more cheerful stuff next time I grab your diary!

CYRUS – Next time?! [Guzma ignores him]

GUZMA – [stands up] I'm off now. Gonna meet Plum for a beer! But, hey, let's do somethin' together any day, how 'bout that, ey, Cy-boy?

CYRUS – [rather lost] Uh... I...

GUZMA – Do you play chess?

CYRUS – Uh... Y-yes. I do.

GUZMA – Thought so! Let's play a game of chess tomorrow then! Deal?!

CYRUS – Well... I can't see why not.

GUZMA – Nice! [taps his shoulder and leaves, then stops and turns back, giving him finger guns and winking once again] See ya, bro!

  Guzma leaves. Cyrus remains sitting on the couch, silent. He opens the diary again and stares at the bottom of his last entry for a few seconds. He grabs a pen and starts writing.

“Dear diary. Something rather peculiar just happened: I think I just made a friend... … That does not mean I give you permission to read my diary, Guzma. Close it. Now.”

------ (Scene by GabiWaffle)

[aeromuses]

   Ch. 1 Valentine Blues (A Hey Arnold Fan Fiction)

   Notice: This fic takes place sometime between the FTi incident and now. Information may be semi-AU or not fit completely, based on my preferences or an easier “go-with-the-flow” storyline. With that being said, I still always aim to make my stories as canon as possible, or the very least to my standards. Enjoy!

   “Now, now - CLASS...”

   As the school room filled with excitable chatter, Mr. Simmons tried to maintain his importance throughout it all - the large swarms of elementary school children leaning forward in their desks, as he discussed the upcoming Valentine’s Day dance meant to wrap up their very last year at P.S. 118, knowing they would be all too excited, battling the anxious, yet strangely prideful fluttering in his stomach upon the sentimental realization that this would be his very last year teaching everyone. 

   “Class, everyone! Now I know we’re very excited for tonight’s dance, but let’s not forget the importance of slowing down to smell the roses, or oh, say - the snowflakes, since it’s currently a little blustery outside,” There was a light chuckle, until... “OH, who am I kidding? Class is dismissed early, kids! Everyone have a wonderful evening, and don’t forget to pick up your valentine’s on the way out. Wouldn’t want to forget those...”

   “Yeah, yeah...ya-de-ya-de. Valentine’s...sure, right. Looking into MY box is like gazing into the bottom of an empty PRINGLES can.” There was nearly always an almost inaudible muttering at the end of each day, Arnold had noticed, that was Helga G. Pataki, as she marched to the doorway, her voice, however, loud enough to just barely make it to his ears, sure that he could have easily heard past it, if he weren’t the second to last one out the door, observing how it was almost like...almost like she were talking to herself, but hoping someone would acknowledge that she was in the room. Arnold, regrettably, had never even really noticed this, consciously, until the beginning of the year...shortly after-

“Move-IT-”

   With gritted teeth, mind bubble popping like a firm balloon, Helga Pataki was simply standing right behind Arnold Shortman, as if waiting in line, almost resemblant to the way Brainy did, excluding any sensations of her breathing down his neck. 

   “What are you DEAF?”

   There was a hard silence, Arnold’s heart thumping at a noticeable pace, as he tried to shrug off any uncomfortable feelings she had been attempting to instill within him. This was Helga, and the last thing he needed was to admit to himself that she could be a little intimidating, to say the least...not Helga persay, but her proximity, rather, after their last encounter.  

   It had been 4 months...4 months since Helga had spilled her guts out to him, and even though they had brushed it off like it were an accident, Arnold had a hard time looking at her the same again. Deep down, he was just a little...freaked out, to be honest. 

   1....

   2....

   3...

   Seconds passed, until...

   WHAM! 

   And with a kick to his backside, he had hit the floor, hands extending, as valentine’s from his collected box flew everywhere.

   Everything...yet nothing had changed...

   An involuntary groan, and Arnold was rubbing the side of his head, feeling humiliated for letting it happen, again. That is, things escalating with Helga, her usual cackle and sneer as she abandoned him beneath the door frame.

   “See ya later, sucker.” 

   Frowning, Arnold had to wonder...Why did he have to freeze up like that, anytime he saw Helga’s assaults coming? Wasn’t he used to it by now? Would it just always remain the same? Helga, getting away with everything she did? 

   There was a sigh, until Gerald appeared, as if a knight in red hooded armor, always seeming to pop up at just the right moment...or the worst one, depending on how you looked at it.  

   “Aaar-nold, you know I love you man, but WHEN are you gonna STAND UP to the MAN? I hate seeing you push over to her like this. I oughta...oughta-” 

   Raising a hand in defense, there was a harmless shake of blonde hair. “It’s alright, Gerald. Really, i’m fine.” He wasn’t the one who saw Helga that summer ago, after all. It was he who had to live with that burden, not Gerald. “It only makes her-”

   “-look bad. I know, I know. I’ve heard it a hundred times...” A red sleeve wrapped around the boy’s shoulder, as his best friend pulled him in, so they were now shoulder to shoulder. “C’mon man, let’s get out of here and talk about somethin’ else.”

   “Slausen’s?” Arnold would smile at his invitation. 

   “Slausen’s, and then it’s game on!”

   Arnold frowned however, knowing what that implied. “You going with Phoebe?” 

   “I’m sorry, Arnold! Hey, it’s not like you don’t have time to ask anyone! What about Ruth or Lila or, or-”

   “No, it’s okay. You know what Gerald? I think I may actually head straight home...thinking of taking a nap, or maybe just forgetting the dance all together.”

   Besides, Ruth was graduated already by now, and Lila was only a friend. Arnold had gotten over her a while ago, and Gerald knew this. He couldn’t blame his friend, getting excited and going desperate measures. After a pitiful silence, Gerald spoke up once more.  

   “A nap huh? Are you...sure Arnold? I mean sure-sure?”

   “Yeah, i’m sure...” Forcing a small smile to convince his friend, Arnold began going his separate way.

   “Maybe you do need a nap.” He smiled, and then Arnold smiled back, waving goodbye, only to hide the indifference on his face as he turned the corner, a distinct look of apathy there, as his eyelids draped down halfway, displaying a new expression.

   Man, they sure do spend a lot of time together...

   Losing Gerald to Phoebe had been hard for Arnold, who had been feeling especially isolated lately, another sigh escaping him. He missed his best friend. The funny thing was though, he knew that if he told him, he would happily cancel plans. He supposed, deep down, that was about the worst part of it all...

   Arms stretching out wide, Arnold let his lithe frame collapse onto his bed, as he entered his room in the boarder house, rolling to his side only to set an alarm for an hour or so before the dance, in case he decided to show up.

      And before he knew it, there was his alarm, going “Hey Arnold, Hey Arnold!” signifying it was already time to hop back to reality. 

    MEANWHILE...

   Gosh, i’m so stupid, so hopelessly deranged, so horrible to that football head. How could I do something like that to the guy on Valentine’s Day? What’s wrong with you, Helga? Miriam must have had something slipped into her drink before I was born, for cryin’ out loud! What did I DO?

   Arms flailing out in every direction of the bed in desperation, as Helga lie in her adolescent bedroom, nearly kicking the covers right off and onto the floor, fists clenched, as tears were nearly welling up in the corners of her eyes. 

   “How dare I...must I...” An emotional sigh, turning into a scowl, however, as the young girl was interrupted. 

   “HELGA, how many times do I have to tell you not to lock this door!?” There was a loud rattling coming from the other side of the room, growing increasingly more aggressive, until Helga’s face had no other option but to go deadpan. 

   “Well jeez, he actually got my name right, the one time I don’t want to be noticed...nice goin’, Bob...” 

   Feet hitting to the floor lazily, Helga gets up like a zombie, slumping herself to the door. “Cripes, it’s not my fault these doors are busted! Weren’t you or Miriam supposed to call that one in or fix these or somethin’ - OUCH!”

   With some rattling of her own, the door finally busts open, Helga nearly pinching herself, on who knows what, as it swings open full force, just barely missing her head.

   “I don’t know, but things are going to start changing around here, young lady...” Bob walks into the room like a ‘friggin’ dictator’, for lack of a better word from Helga, noseying around the entire room.

   “Yeah, okay Hitler.” She rolls her eyes, as he begins popping open draws and scrummaging, eventually swinging open the closet door too, causing Helga’s eyes to pop open wide. “Hey, what gives!?”

   “HELGA, what is this mess!? Rotten watermelon? You better clean this up pronto! I’m looking for the remote to the TV! Thought you might have been hidin’ it up here.”

   “Dad, since when do I watch TV?” A whine, only ever emitted in the company of her parents, or when she was in the presence of something really scary, such as a sewer rat, suddenly vocalizing across the room. She couldn’t help it - Big Bob and Miriam were irritating!

   “And for your information, BOB, I don’t have it! I’m getting ready for a dance, actually, so if you would just EXCUSE yourself this way, rrrrrgh!” With all of her force, Helga tried pushing him back out the door, only causing him to turn and growl in more anger, harmlessly swinging at her pink bow. “You gotta go, dad, and you gotta go now! I don’t have much time to get ready and impress Arrrr, uh-uh artichokes!” 

   Artichokes! That was a good one! Why didn’t I ever relay that code name to Phoebe?

   And before she knew it, all she could hear was her dad’s mumbling about nut jobs, before something came crashing down abruptly, hitting her dead in the face, like your typical Helga G. Pataki epiphany.

   “WAIT a minute - did I just say impress Arnold? No, I can’t do that! Not after that stupid confession! He knows WAY too much. I can’t have the spotlight on me. That would just overwhelm us both! I gotta come up with a plan! Something solid...something...” 

   Eyes widening, scanning the room, stopped at the stand in closet, where all of Helga’s different outfits were kept, gasping to herself. This included disguises, of course.

   “Phoebe?”

   A squeak emitted from the other line, indicating her best friend and trusty sidekick had picked up.

   “Keep your eyes peeled, because tonight Cecile is making an entrance at the Valentine’s Day Dance.” 

   There was a smirk, and that was it, before Helga Pataki hung up the phone, leaving her friend to peice out the rest. 

[thechurchofv]

Binding with Briars Chapter 1

Slow burn, flirting, Canon Divergence, V is only V, NSFW will be included.

“Hey! Rise and shine there, sleeping beauty!”

You made a weak attempt to shield yourself from the blinding sun as Nico yanked open the van's small curtains, and gave a groan. You buried your face in your pillow.

“Nico, didn't Nero say something about how I'm supposed to be 'recovering’?” Your voice was muffled as you made a bolder attempt to reclaim sleep.

Your head abruptly smacked against the bench you had been sleeping on as Nico yanked your pillow out from under you. You bolted upright.

“What the fuck--” Your pillow came back at you, hitting you square in the face. You tossed it aside to see the mechanic already dressed, her dark hair pulled back into a pony tail, a hand on her hip and brows knitted together.

“Nah ah, don't you give me none of this 'recovering’ nonsense, you've been layin’ about for the better part of three days.” Nico handed you jeans and a plain shirt, and as you struggled to move your arms above your head to put the shirt on her stern expression softened.

As you finally stood you heard, “Look, girlie, we're all real sorry about what's happened to ya and all, what with being stuck in that hellhole for a few days, losin’ your family to that damned houseplant”.

You winced at both the pain in your arms and at the mention of Redgrave City. You didn't want to think too hard about what you had seen and the people you loved and lost when the Qliphoth emerged. You tugged on your jeans and stood, tiny jolts of pain running up your arms from where the injuries to your joints were still on the mend. You tried to remind yourself you were lucky just to be alive, but somehow it still wasn't very cheering.

Nico sighed, moving back to the makeshift kitchen to pull together a cup of coffee. She turned back to you, setting her mug down on the counter with a thump.

“But cha gotta get up at some point, gotta get back at it! That bastard demon tree that caused all this ain't gonna kill itself, and you got a stake in this here fight now too”. She gave you a firm nod and waved her coffee cup at you. “The sooner ya start back at it, the better.”

“How can I even help? I didn't do much of anything while I was in Redgrave but run and scream.” You were more than a little embarrassed that you hadn't risen to the occasion as a hero, and instead scrambled wildly for survival. You grabbed a cup of coffee from the pot, savoring the first hot thing you've had to drink since you were rescued.

Nico shrugged. “Well shit, those buildings you were hidin’ out in were basically mazes, and even without a whole lotta fightin’ you made it out alive. I'd say that makes you our resident strategist.” Nico nodded to herself, proud of her own leap in logic.

You sputtered as you choked on your coffee, gasping as it scalded your tongue and splashed down your shirt. “A strategist? Nico, just because I found an escape route for me doesn't mean I can find one for 3 or more people.” You shook your head as you attempted to wipe your shirt clean “it's just too much for one person.” Your head spun at the overload of information.

Nico rolled her eyes, shook her head, and moved past you toward the front of the RV. “Quit your whinin’, it's already been decided, Nero and I talked it all over ‘fore you even woke up. We all earn our keep round here, fightin' demons, and since we did the hard part-- saving your ass, mind you--, and you got nowhere else to go, you'll stay and help us out.” She smiled and rested her hand on the headrest of the passenger seat. “ 'Sides, you won't be strategizing for all of them boys, just one of them”.

You pulled off your now coffee soaked shirt and went digging through the nearby laundry hamper for a new one, pulling it half on as you called out “Well, I guess that's more manageable, then. All depends, who am I paired with?”

A smooth voice split the silence. “You'll be joining me”.

You gave a little cry as you frantically pulled your shirt on the rest of the way, scrambling to cover yourself as a dark haired man rose from sitting in the passenger seat. His carefully neutral expression didn't give away whether or not he had seen anything.

“How long has he been--”

Nico waved her hand and cut you off. “This is V, y'all might've met before, but I don't think anyone would blame ya for not remembering. You were pretty banged up for a while”.

One hand gripped a cane, and V's other hand gave a polite half wave. A subtle smile played at his lips. “It's good to see you that you've recovered”. Your cheeks burned as you tried to focus on something other than the intricate tattoos that spanned his torso and arms, left visible by the long black vest and low slung jeans he wore.

V cleared his throat loud enough to get your attention, and the blush you were fighting crept up your face as you looked down at the floor.

You took a breath to refocus. “Thank you, I'm fine.”

V's tongue caught the edge of his canine tooth bringing his lips into a smirk; he arched an eyebrow. “So it would seem you are.” By the time your eyes had reached his face it was once again carefully neutral. You shook your head slightly, you had to have been hearing things.

V stumbled as Nico clapped a hand to his shoulder.  “Well the way I see it, V ain't too great with fighting neither, 'cept with them fancy shadow demons of his, so he'll need all the help he can get”. V leaned on his cane and stood upright, moving more toward the door.

“And we've got a mission this morning, you and I”. V pushed open the door, letting in blinding sunlight in large streams. Your stomach dipped at the mention of you both as a team.

“Just keep an eye on me, watch my back, and everything should go smoothly” V lead the way out of the RV as the door shut behind you. As you hurriedly yanked on your shoes leaning against the van, you looked up to find V already a few steps ahead of you.

V looked over his shoulder, a smirk on his face. “Though it doesn't seem you're able to watch much of anything else, hm?”

The blush on your face might as well be permanent it's so frequent. Your reply came out as a stammer.

“I don't know what you mean. I'm just nervous for the mission, it's not like I've ever been one before anyways.” You ran to catch up to him, struggling with the uneven pavement.

V chuckled, giving a quiet “hmm” of consideration. “How good it is to be a lady's first”.

You opened your mouth to reply when V's hand wrapped around your waist, abruptly yanking you closer to him as the ground beneath you gave away. A shriek of surprise left your lips as you both fell to the pavement away from the gap in the street.

When you sat up V was flat on his back, and to your mortification you realized you were essentially straddling him, one knee on either side of his hips. He arched a brow at you.

“For someone who is supposed to excel at strategy, you seem to be a little... distracted.” He gestured with a free hand to your position and his other hand grabbed his cane.

You hurriedly stood up, blindly moving forward down the path where the road collapsed down to meet the earth. You jumped as V crept up from behind, his voice low and smooth in your ear, “Perhaps we'll save that for some other time”. You tripped over the uneven pavement, your focus lost as your cheeks burned. You gave a groan as V forged the path ahead once again.

“Can you stop for one second?” You snapped. V scaled down into the sewer system extending a hand to you.

“And what exactly do you want me to stop doing?” V's face betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

“All of that... talking! Or whatever it is you're doing. Stop trying to throw me off.” You looked away from him as he took your hand and helped you down into the sewer tunnel.

V looked irrationally calm. “I'm afraid I fail to see what you mean. It's no matter” he waved a hand, cutting off your dissent. “Now the real mission begins”.

“What are we hunting down, exactly?” You had forgotten to even ask, and you cursed yourself for following blindly.

Any hint of humor that had been there prior was gone from V's expression and replaced with a serious face that sent a chill down your spine.

“We're going to kill the Elder Geryon Knight and his steed.” V's voice lowered conspiratorially. “What they don't know is you're also going to help me find the Devil Sword Sparda, to end this war with the Qliphoth and it's king, Urizen.”

As you both headed into the sewer system and away from the light of day, V whipped around to be face to face you, walking backward just to keep ahead of you. The tunnel grew darker and darker. “And they don't need to know. It shall be our little secret.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Is this whole fight some kind of game to you? I lost family you know, friends, and I'm not here to--”

You stopped as V pressed a finger to your lips. His voice had gained a new edge, something dangerous lurked beneath his words. “A horse misused upon the road calls to Heaven for human blood.”

You blinked, more confused than anything. You thrashed your head, freeing yourself from his grip. “I don't know what that means, and I'm going to need some answers if we're supposed to be a team.” You spat the last word as if sarcasm could be a curse.

“It means don't test my resolve, little wanderer. I want this war to end more than you could possibly ever understand.” His hand encircled your wrist, yanking you forward into the dark, his pace much quicker now even with his cane.

“Punishments await those who those who fail me. You have yet to prove yourself as a capable strategist.” You shivered as you followed hurriedly through the dark. V chuckled, though it sounded humorless.  

“Here's a good chance for you to prove yourself now. Unless you'd rather see the punishment, that is.” Light leapt forth from V as a large panther sprung into existence, a smile that was all teeth on V's face. In the glow he seemed almost predatory. You gave a cry as the light revealed a horde Empusa demon, shrieks rising up as they squirmed under the magic glow.

V looked over his shoulder and smirked. “Now's a chance to put your staring to good use, little wanderer.” He gestured with his cane to a higher ledge. “If you please, watch over me.”

[loganscanons]

not a tantrum

Characters: Britney and Quest

Summary: Britney being moody and angsty and Quest checking up on her.

@romecanons

As far as Britney was concerned, there was nothing wrong with her. The self-induced isolation had nothing to do with an inability to process through confusing emotions. She’d ditched the team after the last heist because she wanted some much-needed alone time. No one could deny that the team was infuriating and a complete pain in the ass at times, and it was perfectly reasonable for Britney to hole up in a motel for a little while. She wasn’t throwing a tantrum, though. She wasn’t. And that billboard she’d doused acid slime? That wasn’t an outburst of rage. If anything, she’d improved the advertisement. The cracking and smoking mixed with the smell of acid and burning metal and plastic was incredibly satisfying. She watched as the acid ate away at the oversized photo of that smiling white woman with flawless skin and straight, perfect, shining teeth, and long, full eyelashes, and glossy lips, and hair that was too fucking shiny and smooth to be real, and—

Okay, maybe she’d been a little pissed at the billboard. But, other than that, she was fine.

Wearing an oversized sweatshirt, with the hoodie pulled forward to hide her face in the dim yellow lights that hummed above the reception desk, Britney exchanged a wad of cash for a cheap motel room. The bored woman behind the counter smelled like cigarettes and hairspray, and she barely glanced at Britney as she typed, the long nail on her forefinger clacking against the keys.

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said nasally, giving Britney a dull look. There didn’t seem to be much life behind those blood-shot eyes. Britney took the key without a word.

She had to walk back outside to get to her room, and up a flight of steps to a veranda that lined the second-floor motel rooms. A group of drunk men, surely stumbling to the next bar or strip club, yelled a jumble of intelligible words at Britney. One voice called out above the rest.

“C’mon baby, whatcha hidin’ under there?”

Britney curled her lip in disgust. She pulled back her hoodie, revealing the yellow-green tint of her skin and her colorless eyes. If she had to spend the rest of her life looking like a monster, she might as well put it to good use. The joyful hollering of the men morphed into startled confusion and fear. Britney wanted to pelt them with some slime for good measure, but that would cause too much of a scene that she didn’t want to deal with right now.

The motel key protested going into the lock, but eventually gave way, and the door swung open with a horrific whine. Britney flicked on the light and closed the door behind her, taking in the room. Once there may have been color, but by now everything was dull yellow or brown. The wallpaper peeled in the corners and stains patterned the ceiling. The light on the nightstand flickered uneasily, sending shadows dancing across the walls.

With the number of heists the team had pulled over the past few months, Britney could afford a much nicer place to stay. She could be in a penthouse suite, overlooking a beach and crashing waves, the lights of the city dotting the peripheral. A room with fluffy white towels and soft cotton sheets. An enormous high definition television and a bathroom with tiles that gleamed and reflected anything that passed.

Small and cheap was better for a girl like Britney. There was no chance of seeing herself reflected in the dulled, dirty tiles of this bathroom. No television to broadcast beautiful men and women overreacting about menial problems that could never compare to the shit she’d been through. The greenish tinge of her sweat would be indiscernible on the already-stained yellowed bedsheets. Mutant sweat might be the least gross bodily fluid on that bed.

Once this place would have disgusted her. Now, she could think of nowhere more fitting. Except maybe a sewer. A sewer where the slime of the walls could match the slime that slipped off her in her moroseness. Maybe she’d make friends with the supposed alligators that lurked in the disgusting water, or a pack of oversized rats.

There was a chance she was being dramatic right now, but if she’d spent a second to dwell on that possibility, she would’ve decided that dramatics were completely justifiable.

Britney dumped a duffle bag full of stolen magazines and make-up onto the plain desk against the wall. Only about a foot and a half separated the desk and the full-sized bed that took up most of the room. She plopped down into the plastic desk chair and set to work, opening the first magazine her fingers touched. Stealing full purses worth of make-up would never be as enjoyable as destroying entire warehouses full of make-up products, but it brought her some satisfaction. Especially when she used the stolen products as an outlet for her anger. She stabbed the point of a knife into palettes of eyeshadow and blush, assaulted and marred the smiling faces in her magazines with eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick, turned each flawless face of beauty into something monstrous. Something like her.

Turning the page of her third magazine, Britney was greeted by another smiling face. This triggered something in her that the others hadn’t. All of the airbrushed smiles infuriated her, but this one was the worst yet. The rage hit her with a jolt. The woman, a young woman, probably not yet twenty, looked like Britney. Not Britney now. Britney with clear, human-colored skin, and soft, strawberry blonde hair.

With a small shriek, Britney stabbed the magazine repeatedly. The knife tore through the pages and sank into the desk, leaving marks in the cheap wood. She didn’t care. She stabbed until the woman on the page was nothing more than shredded glossy paper. For good measure, she spit on the page, leaving a glob of green-ish saliva.

Britney reached to toss that magazine into the trash. There was nothing left of it to destroy. She had her wrist bent to chuck the magazine aside when she heard a noise. Tensing, she froze, listening carefully. This motel didn’t reside in a nice area, so disturbing noises had reached her ears since she’d arrived, but this one was different. The noise of someone or something trying to be quiet, followed by too much silence, like a teenager sneaking back into their house after a night partying, and freezing when the second to last stair creaked beneath their foot.

Then a scraping noise came from the same area, near the window. Britney rotated the knife in her hand, holding it with the sharp edge of the blade angled away from her. In her other hand, she produced a glob of slime, the shape of her fingers melting away into an oozing green liquid. She tip-toed across the room and plastered herself against the wall, beside the window.

--

Quest hadn’t thought twice when Britney unexpectedly vanished two weeks ago. She could be the poster child for angsty teenagers, and he figured she just wanted some time to let off steam. It happened to all of them. One of them would go missing for a week and return in better spirits. If they were worried, they could track one another by the carnage they left in their wake, keeping tabs to make sure their team member wasn’t dead or in danger. Which is one of the ways he found Britney. The acidic, steaming holes left in billboards were useful breadcrumbs.

If anyone else had gone M.I.A., Quest wouldn’t have paid so much attention. This was Britney, though. From his first day on the team, he had an affinity for her that he couldn’t quite explain. At first, it was fascination. Britney resented her powers and everything she’d become. Quest admired her power and found it interesting that she didn’t. The fascination evolved into genuine liking. Quest enjoyed Britney’s presence, even with all of her moaning and complaining. So, when a week passed and Britney still hadn’t returned, he decided to go looking for her.

Following the destructive breadcrumbs, and a few leads from his family’s underground network of spies, Quest found Britney easily enough. She’d committed some petty thefts at Walgreens and CVS pharmacies, as well as some make-up stores, hopping from motel to motel as she did so. At each hotel he’d been just a little too late, but this time, he’d found her before she left. He slid the motel room window up and climbed gracefully inside the room.

Only to be met with a knife in his face and a raised fist of oozing slime. Not steaming slime, so he was in no danger of losing his skin, but it would still be unpleasant.

“It’s been a while since anyone has greeted me with a knife,” Quest said. “You sure know the way to a man’s heart.”

“Through his ribcage,” Britney quipped flatly, lowering her arms. “What the fuck, Q?”

“Nice to see you too,” he said, closing the window as Britney stepped back to let him in.

“You couldn’t have just knocked on the door?” she asked. “I could’ve stabbed you.”

“Eh, I’d be fine,” Quest said. “Would you have let me in if I knocked on the door?” he asked.

“No,” she said flatly. She didn’t want to see anyone, including Quest.

“That’s why I didn’t knock,” he said.

Quest crossed the short length of the room, his eyes drawn to the mess on the desk. Britney felt a ripple of anxiety, followed by a wave of anger. He was invading her personal space and examining things that were supposed to be her secret way of venting. Why was he here? He needed to leave.

“Nice art project,” Quest said, touching his forefinger to a destroyed eyeshadow palette. A residue of purple, glittery dust covered the tip of his finger. He rubbed the dust away with his thumb, watching with what Britney thought was a weird amount of interest as the eyeshadow fell away.

“Will you leave.” It wasn’t a question the way Britney said it.

“I just got here,” Quest said, picking up a magazine.

Britney was beside him a second later, still brandishing the knife.

“Maybe I should just stab you anyway,” she suggested, pressing the tip against the side of Quest’s neck. He leaned back slightly but made no indication of fear or concern.

“Stabbing. That’s romantic,” he said, with a distracted air. He placed the magazine back on the desk and then peered closely at the photo that was stabbed into ribbons.

Britney rolled her eyes, pretending that her heart hadn’t started to beat a little faster, and then said, “Fucking leave, Q.”

“I came to see you,” he said, touching the destroyed magazine.

“I don’t want to be seen,” she said. “I want you to go away. An-and stop looking through my shit!”

Britney pushed him away from the desk and blocked the mess that covered it with her body. The action broke his reverie and his eyes didn’t drift back to the table. Instead, he gazed at her face, eyes moving slowly over her features. He always looked her right in the face, and it unnerved her. Never with disgust. Usually with what seemed to be mild interest. Britney felt like Quest was taking her apart and figuring out every secret she’d ever had when he looked at her like that.

This time though, he looked concerned. Quest was a master at masking his true emotions and replacing them with anything that would help him get his way. But this didn’t seem like a mask. Britney spent enough time around him to accurately guess what he might be feeling. It helped that he was more candid around Britney than he was around anyone else. He still never showed exactly what he was feeling, but enough that Britney was learning how to read him.

There was a slight, angled bow of his brows and a glimmer of softness in his eyes, suggestive of concern. Quest made no effort to hide it. The silence grew heavier and thicker for Britney the longer Quest gazed at her like that. No more than a foot separated them, and Britney wasn’t used to having anyone so close to her, unless it was Will or Dev making an effort to annoy her, or one of the girls showing some gesture of sisterly affection. And occasionally, Quest, with a flirting, possessive intent.

Britney was about to snap or yell at him, anything to dissipate the silence, when Quest’s expression turned neutral again, any trace of emotion melting away. He stepped back and sat down on the bed.

Quest started spending time with the team more out of curiosity than anything else. He wasn’t raised to work in team settings or to trust anyone else’s judgement. Joining the team offered him a challenge. To his surprise and horror, he started to care for the train-wreck teenagers, especially Britney. There was just something about her. Quest prided himself on his ability to remain detached. In hindsight, he should’ve known the day he met Britney that she was going to ruin that.

Britney was never happy, not really. The closest she got to happiness was the high that hit her when she destroyed things. But right now, she was worse than usual, and that bothered Quest. The sickly tone of her skin was more sallow, and the color of green bruises marked her under eyes. The muscles beneath her black, long-sleeved leotard were taut and tense. Not like she was ready to attack. More like she wouldn’t know how to relax her muscles if she tried.  

Except for the rare occasions when Britney was in a truly good mood, her reactions could be unpredictable. Anything could set her off. Quest knew that, and he’d learned to read her moods and could usually guess when he’d only make things worse. He wasn’t sure now. Clear indications of her current anger covered the desk behind her. But she hadn’t kicked him out yet. Risking ticking her off, Quest stood again, and reached his hand to her face, gently pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. His knuckles brushed against the spot where her chin met her neck. Britney jerked her head up, a defiant gesture, but she didn’t push his hand away.

“Britney,” Quest said softly. He almost asked her what was wrong but changed his mind before the words could reach his lips. “This place is a dump. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Now she did bat his hand away.

“No,” she said. “I’m fine here. It’s a good place for me.”

“This isn’t a good place for anyone,” Quest said, glancing around the cramped space and wrinkling his nose. “Actually, it might be a good place to torture someone. Just being here would be a form of torture. Other than that, it’s no good for anyone.”

He looked back to her face. The horrid flickering yellowing light wasn’t doing her any favors. Even so, he found himself drawn to her. Her lips, the purple-ish black color of blood pooling under the skin after death, were downturned and pouting. She frowned at the floor.

“I’m not going back to the theatre,” Britney said, glancing up but keeping her chin down, so her colorless eyes glared up through her eyelashes.

“Okay,” Quest said. “I have somewhere else we can go.”

“Of course you do,” Britney grumbled.

With a grimace, Quest added, “I can leave you there if you want to be alone. I just don’t like the idea of you being in this disgusting hellhole.”

“Fine,” Britney said tartly. She didn’t know the grimace was because Quest wanted to stay with her.

[bastardsculs-a]

“Dumbasses really think hidin’ in sewers is a good idea, huh?” there’s an exhaustion to Joel’s tone as he stands over the manhole, an annoyance at the fact that people really seemed to think they could get away with not paying him. He was a good guy, reasonable enough, he thought; why not talk instead of run? No matter, he’d dropped the grenade down into the deeply unpleasant smelling hole and jogged on over to his companion by the time it went off.

When the ground had stopped shaking, Joel placed a fist in the palm of his hand, grin just barely starting to tug at the corner of his lips, “Rock, paper, scissors. Whoever loses has to go down there and grab the money.”

@flawedhearts​

[jarofloosescrews]

RatTrap for Lost Light Fest day 24. He hidin’ in the shadows.. (honestly I almost did an IT version in the sewers lol)

[residentclown]

Appreciating the distance put between them, she seemed to relax more. He seemed nice - and she felt no ill intent from him at all, so she came to the conclusion she was safe.

Though, when he brought up her wounds and visibly stared them up and down, a self-concious feeling spread over her and her expression became a bit uncomfortable. But, soon after, she found herself smiling a bit and chuckling at his near-constsnt stumbling over himself. It was cute. Watching as he places down the kit, that's when she reached forward to grab it. Opening it to observe its contents.

" Yer' mighty kind, Donnie. But unless yer' some kinda doctor, I'll check up on ma'self. " Taking out some cotton and what she presumed was a bottle of rubbing alcohol, she got to work on dabbing her small cuts. Hissing now and again at the sting before she continued talking.

" Why'd ya save me? For all you know ah' could be dangerous. From the looks of it, you been hidin'. " To emphasize, she looks around the room. It seemed she was quite observant. " Sewers right? Anywho...I'd hate to decline good hospitality. I ain't ate since..... " She pauses. Eyes staring blank at the arm in which she was dabbing at, before shaking her head and resuming. Deciding to go silent.

The Turtles and The Dragon

[ CLOSED SL RP starter for @teatortle ]

“ AGH! ” a cry echoes out into the night, followed by a loud ‘clank’ as Tsunami blocks the punch of a Kraang droid. Pain burned like hot iron through her muscles, straining every last bit of strength she had just to get away from her persuers.

“ Mutant subject will surrender to Kraang. ” The droids voice drawls out. The female stumbles backwards a bit, before taking off into a different direction once she found an opening between the aliens attempting to circle her. She ran, and ran, and ran. Nothing but escape being on her mind. She had to get away. There was no way she’d be able to live another minute in their captivity. Blue eyes dart towards a nearby fire escape, and hope swells in her chest. ‘The rooftops!’ she exclaims in her mind. Making a beeline towards the steps, every part of her body screamed in agony as she made her way up. Upon reaching the top, her ears swivel about, listening for any sign of her attackers.

“ Nothin’… ” she whispers. It was as if on cue, her body shut down and she collapsed face-first. Unconcious, and vulnerable to prying eyes.

/ / Ayone NOT tagged in this starter, please do not reply to it! This is reserved for myself, and those I tag. Thank you! / /