#hi everyone. remember how i use blender. its not ENTIRELY for jokes.

[divorcedcastiel]

follower celebration day 2 - asiannatural

a kinda silly retro koreanized bunker kitchen inspired by my halmoni's (and some kdrama/historical kitchens i really love)

i've been working on this for the past few days and honestly it's nowhere near done, i could probably keep adding stuff forever, but this seems like a good point to stop and post it!

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 11: Under Pressure •

TRIGGER WARNINGS: blatant homophobia from Nicklesmart The Beatboxing Jester™️ in disguise as someone you know, internalized homophobia throughout the whole chapter. As usual, will put a skip marker for the heavier scene before and after if you need/want to skip. It is not light, ngl 😔 [trigger words: f*iry + the f slur, each used on exactly one occasion, and (as an insult) queer. I'm so sorry, this was not easy for me either and please do not read this if any of this in any way bothers you, i won't be mad if you skip the chapter 💕]

A/N: Next chapter will be all fluff I promise 🥲, I'm so sorry, but I needed something that could solidify Richie and Y/n's friendship for good, and her helping him through his worst fear is the best way to do that and will be explored in other ways throughout the rest of the series, specifically in the sequel. all that aside, I missed you guys and this series so much!!

LGBTQ+ RESOURCES AND SELF HELP LINKS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CHAPTER

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

- 𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗨𝗦𝗧 -

    Richie keeps his eyes trained on the dried mud on his navy blue slip-ons as he makes his way across town, his mind buzzing twice as fast as it normally did. He felt as if his entire body had been put through a blender; his skull still vibrating in his head turning his brain into jelly. His stomach empty and lurching as it twisted into knots far more impossible than what you'd see from a circus performer and his heartbeat could rival a hummingbird's. Not to mention he was walking with two extra legs he'd grow from time to time, another freaky affect the physical and mental toll these past few weeks had put on him and his eyesight. The caffeine he had been living on hadn't helped him one bit either he reckoned.

    Insomnia had become his best friend in the past few weeks, hence this last-minute trip to the old gravel pit just behind Derry Town dump. At least, this was the lie he told himself to pluck up enough courage to call Y/n up. Richie hoped she could talk him through it, give him some advice. He was never this nervous to talk to her and deep down in a corner he wished to bury forever - that small part of himself that begged to be free - knew exactly why. This small, repressed Richie Tozier that lived locked away in the center of his heart was calling the shots that day. Hell, he probably had been his whole life but he wasn't ready to admit that to himself yet, let alone his true attentions of seeking her help.

    All he knew is he was nervous as all hell, his palms were sweating, he couldn't stop fiddling with his glasses and he was sure one wrong move and he'd shit his pants. For fucks sake, he needed to shake this! He had already freaked Y/n out, that he knew. He could still hear her voice over the receiver. It was soaked in static and every 's', or 'c' sound she made felt like a pencil was being shoved into his eardrums cause of her shitty outdated telephone.

    "You," she had asked with a pause. "want to meet at... the dump?"

    "Yeah," he scoffed, scratching the same spot behind his ear for what had to be the billionth time out of nervous habit. "you got wax in your ears, L/n?"

    "Nope. Just, a little confused is all. You seem kinda... I don't know, squirrely," she said wearily, and through a sharp crackling hiss from the receiver he can make out a nervous chuckle on her end. "You sure nothin' jumped up your ass or anything?"

    He bit his lip. Hard. As if punishing himself for drawing her suspicions this early. What if she somehow caught on to what he was gonna talk to her about? Her walk to the gravel pit would surely give her enough time to get to that conclusion, and Richie wasn't daft. He knew he wasn't exactly subtle about... "insomnia". What with how many times he teased insomnia, called it that special nickname he knew it hated but secretly loved. That forbidden flutter in his chest when insomnia would laugh at his jokes, and the small but precious moments they shared from time to time when the others were late that would stay in his heart and mind for weeks to come. But it didn't matter now, as everyone knew; insomnia kept Y/n's company now.

    Thankfully his mouth was faster than his brain, and it fired a rapid response before a lull could form.

    "You bet your fur," he fires, his lanky arm had rested awkwardly against the wall beside the wall mount. "I am right as rain, toots."

    He of course hadn't seen it, but she had frowned at her phone. Her concern was growing with every word spoken from him.

    "Yeah," she snorts, throwing back a sarcastic remark. "Cause you sound it."

    She had eased a bit, growing soft and falling back into their usual banter. Their special dynamic always seemed to coax down his guard a bit.

    "You're talking like a 1950's gangster in a speakeasy," She straightened a little and had begun pacing as much as the phone cord would allow her. "Ya know... More than usual."

    Y/n smiled when she could practically hear the smirk taking over his face, and she certainly had no trouble picturing his hunched shoulders and intimidating snarl he was most likely dawning.

    "It's a little somethin' called moxie, kid," he spoke with curled his words, imitating all the gangsters he had seen in those cheesy old films. "somethin' you just don't have,"

    Y/n had rolled her eyes again, at least Richie could see her doing so when he heard her respond. "Right, right. My bad Baby Face."

    "Hey!" He barked, snapping his fingers and pointing at the floor as if she could see him. His voice lowered in a thick Chicago accent. "That's mista Baby Face to ya."

    "Mista Baby Face Nelson!" She strained, her annoyed shout tainted with a laugh. "Are we meeting at five or not?"

    Richie released a quick and silent breath, expelling as many nerves as possible.

    "You bet your fur."

    The exchange kept playing over and over in his mind and Richie wondered if the same rang true for Y/n. He hoped not, cause that would mean she was thinking about it too much. Hell, he was thinking about it too much now. A heavy sigh rolls off of his chest as every anxiety collectively manifests into its own dark thought.

    Fuck, he really had it bad.

    How pathetic he was.

    Eddie would surely be horrified to know what Richie really thought of him, that was for sure.

    And as if he hadn't felt crazy enough, the thoughts actually began to feel like voices calling him from the darkest shadows of his mind.

    'And the other Losers? You'll be lucky if they even look at you again.'

    Richie was surprised to find himself fighting back, pushing back as much as he could. Despite all the jokes and jabs, he couldn't be completely alone. A small part whispered in his heart that he wasn't, and he thought briefly of the turtle strangely enough but it was gone just as soon as it had come. All he knew was that whatever was telling him this thing was stubborn. But so was Richie Tozier.

    He treated it as an intrusive thought. Made a decision then and there that it was, never occurring to him what it could be if wasn't.

    No way. Not those assholes, he tells the voice. These are the Losers for fucks sake!

    The more he thought about it the more he was sure of it. God forbid Eddie did find out, which Richie had no intention of, and what would happen was in fact unclear. But no matter how he looked at it, he just couldn't picture the little spaghetti man ever cutting him out of his life completely. Not by choice at least.

    Now Ben, that lovable sappy haystack of his that was too passionate for his own good. Richie may not be the silent type but he does pick up on things, and Hanscom's affections for Beverly Marsh were far from subtle. Always opening doors for her and turning redder than a tomato when she smiled at him. Not to mention Richie was about ninety percent sure there was a poem of some sort involved. And that was just Beverly, Ben was always thinking of the Losers. Now Richie knew for sure that boy had no hateful bone in his body to the point it was fucking annoying.

    Mike, Richie felt, might be a little similar. The kid had a lot of heart, always going on about the animals on his farm. Would even go as far to say he considered them his friends, what with how much Richie knew about Mooriuel the calf and he hadn't even met her for cripes sake! Richie imagined he'd be a bit more shocked but would try some sappy speech when he came around. Would make a whole big thing of it, pat him on the back, and even invite a conversation. He scoffed at the thought, the image of Mike slapping him on the back and his signature grin... Yeah, he appreciated the hypothetical gesture but it wasn't Richie's style.

    He could easily see Big Bill sputtering up a storm, but managing a smile. He'd probably even manage to forget their differences long enough to say something stupid but supportive. And Beverly and Stan were the ones he worried about the least. Stan would probably be too indifferent to care, throw him some snarky ass comment like, "took ya long enough, dipshit," and Beverly? Well, Beverly had always been cool, very laid back. She never took shit, and she never dished it out if she didn't think it was deserved which Richie admired greatly. This was one of many reasons he was so shocked she had taken Bill's side in the fight.

    The thought brings him back down again, and as soon as the memory touches him so do the nerves in his jaw tensing up again where he had been hit. He could feel the punch all over again. And he suddenly remembers why he is here.

    He is here, he realized.

    Just around the bend, coming into view was the gravel pit. Old and crumbling it was, and overrun with weeds and bushes. One could easily scale in and out of it, and at the very bottom Rich had discovered one day was a beaten and tattered leather seat from a car that found its way from the junkyard just a ways over. This was where he told Y/n to meet him.

    Y/n...

    Jesus fuck, what would Y/n say? How would he tell her? Would she still wanna be friends with him? Would she laugh and crack a joke, not taking it seriously? Would she hate him for it? More importantly, why in the ever-loving fuck was he here and willing to tell her?

    His gangly legs tumble into a sprint as he picks up momentum descending the uneven terrain. The rubber soles of his shoes kicking up the layers of dirt and shaved gravel that lay beneath the rocks and he had to put effort into not crashing as he comes to a stop. He manages to avoid a nasty fall, completely ignorant to the fact that his right foot had been only inches away from a root peeking out from the rocks surely would have broken his neck had he made even one wrong move. He puffs out his chest, dusting himself off, and once again tries to dispel the nausea broiling in his stomach like hot tar.

    He closes his eyes tiredly as he drags his feet to the leather bench, letting his backside fall through the air and into the somewhat plush cushion with a deep groan. "Fuck."

    His fingers rub his tired eyes, his fingertips finding bits of crust he hadn't gotten earlier and his knuckles brush his glasses further up onto his forehead. Not quite knowing what to do with the overwhelming thoughts and emotions clouding him, his fingers dig further into his eye sockets until all he can see are inky splotches behind his eyes.

    Richie doesn't know why he would ever think those things of Y/n. He hadn't ever told her this, not directly at least, but she was just about the only person in the world he trusted most. He knew in his heart of hearts this was why he found himself dialing her number before he could even register what he was doing. Even after their separation and the bitter feelings they took with it, the Losers were and always would be his best friends in the world.

    So why did everything about this feel so wrong?

    From the moment the phone call ended, he felt like he was waltzing into a trap like some putz...

    "Well, look who it is..." snarled a voice from up above the surface.

    Richie's blood ran cold and it felt as if the remainder of the air in his lungs had been squeezed out like air in a deflating balloon. He whipped around at the voice, his head twisting up at the silhouetted figure so fast he was shocked he hadn't broken his own neck. The figure held their hands on their hips, thousands of the sun's rays spilling around them as they blocked out a part of the sun, an advantage they reaped from where they stood before Richie at just the right angle. His breath caught in his throat as he had recognized the voice immediately, but the figure didn't quite match the voice.

    The last thing person he needed to see right now was Henry fucking Bowers, that was for sure.

    The universe agreed so it would seem. The figure shifted, just out of the light revealing the teasing smirk of his best friend Y/n. Her hands snapped together, her palms forming a handgun, the barrel aiming right at Richie's forehead.

    "The jig is up," she snarled. "We knows it was you. You was the ones to steal from Big Bill's dame, and I wouldn't be surprised if yous was in cahoots, neithers."

    Despite the fear that had clutched his heart only seconds ago, a small chortle left Richie at how awful her accent was. Hadn't she learned anything from him? A smug smile overtook Y/n's face as he broke. She holstered her handguns and gracefully descended the pile of gravel. His smile expired not long after, and despite the thin veil of clouds creeping over the sun the light in the sky was much too hard to even glance at his friend without blinking back several painful searing tears from the harsh light. But he could still make her out.

    She was dressed in her usual ratty and eclectic garb; a mix of something far too big for her frame and something that seemed far too tight to be comfortable. Richie was certain she had never once owned even a thread of clothing that had always been hers. Her s/c brow had its usual, light glossy sheen of grease that Richie had learned very early on to not ask about. But there was something about her now, something he couldn't quite place.

    Though one question kept popping up in his mind. One that left an itch in his brain he couldn't quite scratch in his dazed state. And that was how could he have possibly thought she sounded like Henry Bowers?

    He finds himself looking down at the gravel now, wiping away as much of the sun's damage pooling in his eyes as he can. Unbeknownst to him, she watches him studiously, the ghost of her smile still on her lips as if she was enjoying his discomfort. His long and gangly limbs are folded awkwardly, still, onto the leather seat that sits on the ground. Finally, she takes a seat beside him with a huff as he had.

    As he rubs his tired eyes for a second time she takes a long look around, breaking the silence when her trip around the gravel pit lands on him.

    "Well, you've looked better." She quips, offering a smile.

    Richie snorts, pushing his slipping glasses up the bridge of his nose with a friendly smirk. "This comin' from Raggedy Ann?"

    They both breathe a small laugh and for a moment - just one beautiful, fleeting moment - Richie forgets he was ever scared. This is what he needed.

    "So," she says, pulling his gaze towards her, sending him a cocky smile as a knowing look sparkles behind her eyes. "I'm guessing there's a reason I'm here, and not helping you with your summer training?"

    Richie, for reasons unknown to him, feels his muscles tense up again involuntarily. Like a puppeteer suddenly yanking the strings, ripping his shoulders up to his ears and his muscles bracing. He felt rigid and he was, but he was doing all he could not to show it. All his unease came back in steady waves marching up the sand, but what could he do now? He could already feel her eyes burning holes into the side of his head as he kicked around a sizeable rock with the toe of his shoe, studying him. Waiting.

    Finally, his shoulders slumped in a shrug, lower lip in an indifferent pout as he looked around at the sky hanging above the gravel pit.

    "Just needed a change from all those ugly mugs, I guess," he manages a laugh, and he rises to his feet to lazily chase the rock that had rolled out of his reach.

    He can feel her eyes on him still, and he doesn't know what to make of it until finally she breaks her silence with a chuckle and rises to join him. She catches the rock with the heel of her dirtied sneakers. They're worn down to the very last thread and several shades off from the original color. She kicks the rock back to him, and they engage in a lazy game of rock soccer.

    "I can understand that," she says calmly, eyes trained on the rock as it tumbles across the gravel with several chunky clanks. "Reckon it'll be good for you, too,"

    He frowns confused without looking up at her, winding one lanky leg back before one big kick. "Whad'ya mean?"

    "Well, you don't wanna spend your whole summer inside of an arcade, do you?"

    Richie's face freezes in a frown, the rest of his body going rigid. His eyes cement on the rock underneath his shoe, willing away the veil of tears that threatened to fall. Had he not been so caught up on why he was here, Richie might have had a clear enough head to realize Y/n wasn't there for that conversation, nor had she heard about it from anyone there. Instead, all Rich can think about is the small hypochondriac boy that had stolen his heart.

    He can hear the conversation he had with his best friend, all those weeks ago when school let out. And if felt like a lifetime since he had seen that squishable, pouty little disgusted frown Eddie always put on that made Richie's inside melt. As if reading his mind, Y/n spoke.

    "This is about Eddie, isn't it?"

    Her tone is gentle but veiled. Something was concealed about the way she held herself, ever since she had arrived, something that Richie couldn't quite place. And there it was. He was right about her suspecting him, he must be. Richie battles the lump forming in his throat, and he can feel his ears turning pink under her unwavering and unblinking stare.

    Richie does all he can to fight a snarky response, not knowing how else to navigate and survive the intensity of his feelings. All he manages to do is nod.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■]

    "Rich, it's okay," she says, taking a step forward, his gaze is pulled to her eyes. And here it is, he thinks. The moment he had been dreading, the moment he hadn't even allowed himself to think about. "...I miss him, too."

    His face caught in another frown. That's definitely not what he expected her to say. Quickly as he could, he wiped away a spot of snot at his nose. He had managed to keep the tears at bay but now they had found another way out. He felt like a fucking fool, and he wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Of course she didn't know what he was talking about. Why would she - how would she? His spirits were crushed, and he suddenly didn't feel like getting into it now. She seemed off today, not that Richie cared. All he wanted was for this whole day to be over with, not even knowing the worst had yet to come.

    She studies his reaction, almost as if she had been waiting for this and she blinks for what Richie is now starting to realize must be the first time since she got here. Y/n's face screws into a frown, and yet there still lingered an uneasy smile that taunted him. Her eyes squint suspiciously at Richie, her head tilting in an expression he never knew he had always feared would come.

    She laughs finally, a shrill and grating laugh he hadn't quite heard before and she nudges him playfully. "Oh, come on! It's not like you've got some faggy crush on him or something?"

    When he doesn't answer, she scoffs, turning away and shaking her head in disbelief for a moment.

    Richie felt he just might vomit. Or cry. Or both. He had never felt so distraught, so dejected. So broken.

    How could she be saying these things?

    He tries with all his might to conjure a response, any fucking thing at all so he wasn't some blubbering broken chump breaking down in front of her. But for the first time in his life, Richie "loudmouth" Tozier was speechless.

    That fuck-awful grating laugh returns, a sour look screws up her face as she looks him up and down in disgust.

    "Wait, seriously?" She gapes with a scoff, making him feel about two inches tall. "You actually think he'd want to be with some fairy freak like you?"

    "F-f-uck off," he sputters, though he does not feel better.

    The trembling in his voice, the vulnerability, hearing it in himself strips any remaining scrap of confidence he had left. He's crying now and there's no hiding it. And she heard it in his voice, he knew that now as he looks at her. Her lips curl into a malicious smile and she takes another step closer, Richie fumbles a step back.

    "He isn't some," her nose crinkles as she continues to advance on him, the fire in her eyes building as he stumbles back to escape her sudden venom. "rotten queer like you."

    Y/n spits the words out like they were poison on her tongue, and this was true in every way. Her fiery stare never left Richie, it burned holes right through him as she advanced on him like a wolf on a wounded doe. They were nearing the edge of the gravel pit, and Richie had nearly run out of room when her finger stabbed his chest like a sword's final strike to the heart, pushing him to the ground as she spoke those poisonous words.

    Richie felt his backside meet several jagged rocks that brought even more tears to his eyes, though none of them hurt as much as her words. She towered over him now, the sun beating down on her back and pouring over her shoulders, trapping Richie in her shadow. She shakes her head, and he can still make out the pathetic look on her face as she glowers at him.

    "It's girls he likes. It's me he likes." she points to herself, shaking her head. "He was mine the second he saw me, but you?"

    She scoffs again, and her shadow releases him as she kneels to balance on her feet, legs folded before him with a snide look.

    "You've always been the insufferable loudmouth he couldn't get rid of." A sharp laugh escapes her, the clutch on his heart tightening to dangerous amounts he fears it will give out. "Well, I guess he doesn't have to worry about that now, huh?"

    His heart feels as if it has been ripped to shreds, the claws of the wolf had struck and now he was drowning in his own sorrows as pain as the heartbreak filled his lungs. Richie could no longer see behind the thick wall of glassy tears that blanketed his eyes, and the sounds of his own sobs amplified his embarrassment and despair. He was hopelessly broken, and he could feel himself crumble, each piece disappearing amongst the gravel underneath him until he couldn't be found. He blinked only once, but it was enough to send every tear racing down his cheek at once.

    Another malicious smile contorts her face, her e/c eyes burning darker until they looked almost a completely different shade. Her lips seemed to stretch on and on and on in a way only one thing could. And it was then that it occurred to him.

    Not one thing she had said to him is something he could have ever prepared himself for, each word constricting his heart and lungs and swelling his throat with the ever-growing lump.

    Nor was any of it something she would ever dream of saying, he knew this now.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■]

    This wasn't Y/n, this was never Y/n. She had never showed, and if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own fucking head he would have caught on from the second "Y/n" arrived. Especially that entrance, Y/n surely would have fallen on her ass on her way down into the gravel pit never mind the fact her accent wouldn't be nearly as shit.

    But none of this mattered now. This thing that looked like his friend had him cornered, and It knew it.

    A wicked grin overtook the mask of Y/n's face that chilled Richie to his bones, and yet it also reassured him. Y/n was tough and could be scary from time to time, but he knew she could never be capable of the pure evil that now danced in It's eyes. Richie's body was already in motion, his arms and legs scrambling for any sort of grip that could take him up the side of the pit and to safety. But the gravel beneath him was always shifting, rolling out from underneath him when it wasn't raking his palms to pieces and all he was accomplishing was a small plume of dust that clung to his backside.

    Richie didn't know where it came from, but his actions were faster than his feelings as his fist collided with It's nose. And no sooner did the heel of his shoe collide in a painful crack that sent It's head back, did his eyes widen in horrific shock. The painful crack that would surely haunt him for many nights to come, had not been from the collision of his heel on It's nose but It's head - or Y/n's as this was still It's disguise - had snapped completely back and dangled completely off It's/her shoulders.

    The only thing connecting her head to her shoulders was the suit of s/c skin. Protruding from the center of her neck just under the skin was the end of her spine where it had disconnected, giving away a disturbing lack of muscles and veins in her neck as if it had been hollowed out like a pumpkin. Her head rolled back and forth limply, and Richie could feel bile climbing up his throat, ready to burst out his digested mac and cheese.

    His mind was screaming at his legs to run while all was still but a small part of him knew this was all a gambit, that it didn't matter if she was frozen stiff or not. Richie knew as soon as he booked it, It would spring to life with something even more twisted. That now, without his friends, he was as good as dead.

    And It was more than happy to prove Richie right.

    The clone of his friend sprang to life, It's head still rolling around on It's shoulders. Connected only by the skin of It's neck, and moving around like some fucked up slinky toy. Richie was already halfway up the gravel pit, bits of rock and dirt finding their way into his shoes as he kicked up the earth though that was the farthest thing from his mind.

    By the time Richie reached the top of the pit, he could no longer hear the thunderous boom of his heart attempting to break loose from his chest, which was saying an awful lot. His screams echoed out into the air only to be swallowed by the screams of other children and Richie didn't know how he knew this but he knew those were the screams of Betty Ripsom, Ed Corcoran... Georgie Denbrough. The bloodied screams of It's victims were drowning Richie as he ran for the junkyard, and he wondered if he might live to hear them stop.

    The screams were so fucking loud in his ears he could see them. Each of them a blinding, deafening, gut-wrenching, and blood-curdling scream that danced through the air like ribbons as they begged for their lives. Richie cried out and he couldn't even hear his own voice, but he didn't let this stop his legs from pumping as hard as they possibly could. He was nearly to the junkyard, surely he could use something to fend It off but he knew he was just buying time.

    He could taste the blood on his tongue from where his teeth bit into his cheek. In all his short life, Richie Tozier would not have guessed child-eating clown to be the way he'd kick the can. When ever the thought of death began troubling him, he always liked to picture something like a western. Him and his rightful enemy squaring off against good and evil, he'd shoot first and save the day but still sustain an injury and bleed out. But it'd be a hero's death. And that was something.

   But this... this was something born out of darker than evil and Richie was about to be pulled into the gravity well of this black hole and swallowed up. And he knew in his soul, the very pits of his stomach it would reach out with its shadowy arms and pull him into darkness.

    And it did.

    Richie had been rapidly approaching the edge of the junkyard without realizing and within an instant found himself on the ground, caved in on himself as he tumbled in the dirt and rocks accepting he was to join them soon enough. He closed his eyes and waited for death as a hand curled around his shoulder and pulled him around. Another jolt of shock shot through his entire body at the sudden contact, locking his jaw and paralyzing his entire body in fear as he was met with the new threat. He didn't dare open his eyes, and certainly not when he heard his best friend's voice again.

    "Richie! Richie?"

    It was her again, he realized. Y/n's real voice, the one that he heard on the telephone that was dripped in static. The one now dripped in fear.

   "Richie?!"

    When the boy opened his eyes, they were filled with terror and his sobs continued. A lense Y/n never thought she'd see Richie look at her through. Her heart broke in an instant when she realized he was afraid... of her. Instantly, she released him and let her backside fall back into the gravel. She watched through a thick wall of tears as he trembled, crying to himself, and never in all her life had she seen Richie Tozier so broken.

    It tore her apart.

    She didn't have to be a genius to realize what had happened here. Before she had even reached the junkyard on her bike she had heard his screams strangled through the wall of trees gating the area. When she had reached the gravel yard, she was happy to see him still in one piece but he was running for his life from an invisible force. The damn coward had gotten what It wanted and scared him shitless, but why would he disappear just because she showed? She had wondered.

    Now she was beginning to understand. It didn't need to be here to scare her. Just the sight of Richie in such a state was enough to tear her down and it took just about everything in her not to scream into the sky from a mix of fury and fear.

    Besides the tears that race down her cheeks and wet her legs, all Y/n could feel was a painfully numbing fear. Fear that Richie would never be the same. Fear that Richie would never speak to her again. Fear that Richie would never trust her again. Fear for whatever the fucking hell that thing did to Richie. Fear that It would do it again.

    All she felt now was fear for Richie.

    Y/n doesn't bother to fight the sob that breaks loose, her bottom lip quivers violently and her arms fall to the gravely pavement beneath her. As if her head had filled with lead, it grew heavy enough to fall into her chest where her chin landed, shaking several more tears loose.

    "I'm s-so sorry, Richie,"

    Y/n yearns to say more, but her body is physically weak from sadness and shame. Yet still, she repeats it in her mind hoping with everything in her it slips out of her mouth, or maybe if she thought them loud enough he'd hear them in his mind.

    I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry for whatever happened. I'm so goddamn sorry...

    "I'm sorry," she whimpers. "I promise..."

    I promise I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise I'm not gonna hate you. I promise I'm gonna be there for you, from now on. I promise.

    Her sniffles blend with his own, and Richie is unsure why this is the moment he knows for sure this is the real Y/n before him; maybe he was just too exhausted to think it through, perhaps it was the godawful sound she was making trying to keep herself from snotting as bad as he was but he knew It had gone. And the Y/n sitting beside him — crying with him, was the one he dialed up today. This was the Y/n he had been prepared to bare his soul to. His true self.

    So with one shaky hand — the other still tucked in close to his chest — Richie's left hand slid out from under him and across the gravel to Y/n's open palm. Her fingers were digging into the gravel, sharp edges of the rock digging into her skin as if to assure herself she was really real. Suddenly, she felt Richie's shaky palm slide underneath hers, carefully taking it.

    Y/n picked her glassy stare up from the ground to look at their intertwined hands, and she melted a little. Several of those fears — not all of them, but some — were ebbed away and she looked to Richie. He was still curled up in the dirt, his eyes closed and silent tears streaking his dirt-covered face. Each tear paved a path of clean skin, washing the dirt away in wild streaks where ever each tear had fallen. Several large and swollen beads of tears collected at his chin where they dangled, threatening to fall.

    She gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know she was there for him as she had promised him. And she was ready to sit with him for as long as he needed.

    For hours that feel only like minutes, they sit together in tear-filled silence, clinging to one another's presence and the knowledge that they are now all they have left.

    And there was no way they were letting go.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Here are some LGBTQ+ resources for mental health and self help if you feel you need them:

How do I find LGBTQ friendly therapy?

An article on safe ways to find the best sources of help that are right for you

The Trevor Project

Self Care Tips for Trans and Non Binary Folks

+++

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[fairydust-stuff]

Wendy Darling Embodiment of Motherhood

Here’s the thing ,I have never been a big fan of Wendy Darling from JM Barrie’s classic novel Peter Pan. Not only is she a cocktail of every bad stereotype about Victorian women casually thrown into a blender to make the ultimate Grimm’s fairy tale heroines are more bad ass then you smoothie. But Wendy is just straight up the most boring character in Peter Pan. That being said she does play a very important role in Peter Pan. Also it’s gotten the point where I’m a bit tired of seeing this idea that the Never land ladies have nothing to offer. If we don’t change everything about them or let’s just leave them out entirely trend via Hollywood. Seriously when is the last time Tink got more than a cameo and I’m not talking about the sugary princess clone Disney created from her mutilated body. Anyway I want to take a look Wendy Darling how she works, how she doesn’t work what she embodies and how she’s been portrayed in various adaptations.

First let’s take a look at some themes. Peter pan is at its core a coming of age story about accepting the inevitability of growing up. However Wendy as a point of view character is kind of an odd choice for this theme. In the original novel Wendy brings a flower to her mother who declares “Why can’t you stay like this” Then the narrator proceeds to talk about how Wendy knew she must grow up. So we already have a character who accepts the fact she must grow up on page one. In fact Wendy doesn’t run away to Never land as much as take a holiday, and to be fair John and Michel suffer from the same problem. Honestly I think the closest thing we get to a character arch in the novel is George Darling who is a seriously underrated character in my opinion. So Wendy just never struggles with growing up. However another theme of Peter Pan is motherhood and oh boy does Wendy fit into that.

“She used to come to me in my and I’d say pretty mother, now she has come and I’ve shot her” Tootles laments after thinking he shot and killed Wendy. Even Hook want to take Wendy to be the mothers of himself and his crew in typical pirate fashion coveting what Peter Pan and the lost boys have Wendy becomes a treasure for them to steal. Smee when carrying Wendy even promises “I’ll save you if you promise to only be my Mother” Every boy and man child in Never land craves a mother and want Wendy to fill the position. Wendy taking on the role turns her into a kind of ideal in the eyes of everyone in Never land even her own brothers get in on the treating her as the perfect mom.

In fact Wendy only gets to be a little girl in the narrative when Hook offers his hand to her and she takes it and only because the narrative felt the need to defend her submission to her own capture. But looking back that may very well be the point when you look at Wendy and Peter’s relationship without the shipping googles it’s actually quite interesting. You’ve got two pre teen’s on two different wave lengths. Wendy states in the novel “Peter what are true feelings towards me?” and is displeased with Peter’s answer “That of a devoted son” this seems up their relationship perfectly. Wendy uses the role of mother to try to basically become Peter’s wife something which he is deeply uncomfortable with needing constant reassurance that playing an adult couple is “ Only make believe” now whether or not Peter is flat out not interested or scared of his own feelings is up for debate. I personally lean toward the former because Peter is constantly surrounded by busty topless mermaids who like to flirt with him. So if he hasn’t had his sexual awakening yet it’s not happening ever, but the point is Peter uses the reaffirmation of Wendy as Mother to keep her at a distance. When Wendy returns home Miss Darlings offers to adopt Peter which he refuses. This highlights the fact when given the chance to have an actual mother he doesn’t want one.

Wendy is a reflection of Peter’s warped relationship with motherhood. He confesses to Wendy that he did at one point did return to his mother only to find the window barred and “There was another little boy sleeping in my bed!”  It could be argued Peter’s desire to stay a little boy forever actually steam from the fear of abandonment and being replaced. This shapes Peter’s relationship with Wendy in sense he wants a mother he can actually control. One who never makes him feels too grown up or who challenges him or his choices in a meaningful way. This shows that motherhood is important and that without a proper mom boys will never truly grow into men.

Wendy plays a similar role to the lost boys only she actually ends up helping them. While the lost boys clearly already have mommy craving’s Wendy gives them a taste of what having a mom is actually like or at least what an ideal mom from a Victorian upper middle class family structure would be like. So when Wendy wants to go home the lost boys who getting a taste of what their missing decides to go with her. Where they get adopted into the Darling Family and grow into respectable members of society who all get boring office jobs in the prolog which completely contrast their colorful energetic personalities, moving on. Wendy acts as kind of encouraging benevolent guide for the lost boys and Peter her inevitable goal being to encourage to move beyond the superficial trappings of childhood and take a step forward into adulthood. Peter is the failure, deficient as the novel itself states but the lost boys are a triumph of the power of proper maternal nurturing.

Wendy Darling has appeared in various adaptations and Spin offs though I’m mostly going to focus on Movies and TV because most of the Peter Pan book retellings where Wendy plays a key role just do not fill me with any positive feelings. And I want to mostly focus on the good today with some casual snark thrown in.

So let’s start with Wendy from the 2003 Peter Pan Live Action adaptation. I love this version it makes changes from the novel while still paying homage by using actual lines from the book. Though I have very mixed feelings about 2003 Wendy.

The movie heavily leans into the annoying I’m not like other girls trope. Here Victorian lady Wendy turns fairy tales into gore fests, and has an interest in sword play and pirates. I’m not saying girls from that era can’t have those interests but it just feels like their Wendy is the product of listening to too many focus groups not to mention she learns to be an expert sword fighter who can go toe to toe with adults after five seconds with Peter. And what is with the sudden unexplained blood thirst? Where did that come from?

Though I do like how the film unlike the novel actually gave Wendy an arch. Wendy’s aunt is mortified at her niece’s interest in becoming a novelist who travels the world.  She insists Wendy’s parents separate Wendy from her brothers and allow her to tutor, Wendy to teach her how to be a proper lady.   They also have a school teacher shame Wendy for drawing a picture of Peter flying above her bed. This seems to be subtext for the Victorian shaming of sexual expression from girls as dirty and shameful. This actually makes Wendy feel like her life is changing way too fast and it scares her. Since she is twelve and her family is already talking about marriage prospects.  While the scene where Peter and her meet is pretty much played like in the novel. There’s the added moment of Peter whispering in Wendy’s ear “ Forget them Wendy Forget them all come with me and we’ll never ever have to think about grown up things again” which unlike the novel frames Wendy as running away from growing up.

Then she develops a crush on Peter Pan and this being Hollywood they go with the scared of his own feeling interpretation. I guess her whining and screaming his name for a day was just too sexy to resist.  Wendy contemplates joining Hook’s crew because when your crush rejects you validation by pirate man children is good salve for your wounds. But then realizes she can’t remember her mother and much like the novel becomes scared that her and her brothers have forgotten their parents. Then they all get kidnapped by the pirates and Hook and Peter have a show down which is way better than the novel because here Hook attacks Peter’s abandonment issues and actually brings him to his knees. But then Wendy kisses Peter and he gains the strength to defeat Hook. Basically the implication is Wendy realizes growing up is ok because romantic love is a thing. Hey, I didn’t say it was a great arch but it’s more than the novel gave her or anyone.  I’m not a huge fan of this Wendy depiction but I’ve got to take my hat off to the writers for at least giving Wendy a coming of age narrative.

Disney’s classic Peter Pan pulled a similar move taking the focus from Peter and putting it entirely on Wendy. The implications at the end imply that Wendy’s adventure was all a dream and that Tinker bell and Tiger Lilly were reflections of her own manifesting sexuality. Peter Pan her desire not to grow up and Hook I’m going to guess that he was her daddy issues.

I actually think Walt did Wendy a solid in her characterization. This is one of the few Wendy’s were her concern for her brothers and the lost boys don’t feel tacked on. Since most adaptations do very little to build Wendy’s dynamic with the other kids. Here it’s in every face wipe and tearful good bye and every “Do be careful” thrown over Wendy’s shoulder.

Also the Disney movie does a one eighty from everyone in Neverland worshiping her to Neverland treating her rather badly. It takes Wendy’s annoyance from called her squaw from the Novel and has the Indians bully her into fetching firewood instead of joining the celebrations. Also the mermaids not only try to drown her but Peter thinks is all a big joke. Disney’s Wendy constantly stands up for herself but often gets brushed off or forced to walk the plank. In this version you can one hundred percent understand why Wendy is so done with this place and ready to grow up. Here the reality of what it’s like to experience everyone acting like a self-centered child is here on full display.

Also Disney’s Wendy is not perfect she gets angry and loses her temper attacking mermaids or yelling at Indians. She gets jealous of Tiger Lilly being all over Peter and is sour towards him.  Wendy is dreamy eyed, and polite but this version of her also doesn’t take anyone’s crap and will let you know if you’ve crossed a line or if you’re flat out awful.   But she’s still pleads with Peter on her attempted murder’s behalf. Wendy also reminds Peter that Tiger Lilly is drowning when he gets caught up in celebrating his cleverness. She still makes sure she can say goodbye to her brothers and the lost boys before Hook kills her. Even on her worst day Disney’s Wendy is a kind person even when those around her are less so.

But my favorite portrayal of Wendy has got to be from the 90’s classic “Peter Pan and the Pirates” TV series which aired on Fox was about one season then got cancelled.  While it doesn’t really focus on Wendy a whole lot since its more concerned with the relationship between Peter Pan his lost boys and Hook’s crew. 

She still has a pretty important role.  Wendy often serves as a voice of reason to the group which doesn’t go against her original role in the novel since she takes a cake that’s been left out all night away from the lost boys. Which does present her as the one with the most common sense but the show lets Wendy tell Peter this is a bad idea way more often than the book and blow up at him after he does the stupid thing every one told him not to do. Also Wendy gets to be more of a moral center lecturing Peter for stealing the picture of Hook’s mother in the episode “Hooks mother” and encouraging him to return it and even getting Peter to take care of Hook after he’s injured. This is in a positive change in my opinion because it actually expands on Wendy’s role as a guide to adult hood. Here Wendy Darling encourages a kind of good behavior she helps build moral character in her boys. Wendy has strong ideals and this adaptation actually has her stand by her principals for better or worse. This not only gives her more of a central role in the story but also gives her more chances to be active. Yay character agency!

Also this version of Wendy was the first to have a bit of an interesting relationship with Hook. (Who is voiced by Tim curry and does an excellent job.)  While the writers got rid of the almost pedophilic undertones of Hook wanting to keep Wendy from the novel and the “My beauty” pet name.  Thank god for that even in the novel i thought it was too much.     There’s still a bit of a dynamic even if its way more innocent.

In the episode  In Peter on Trial Wendy not only lands on the ship unharmed but reminds Hook executing Peter without a trial would not be proper form at all. She then hits Hook in the ego by declaring “Surely you don’t doubt your powers of debate against that of a mere girl” And not only gets a trial but manages to win even when the trial is rigged against them. Hook even congratulates her before proceeding to find his own loophole and kill Peter Pan anyway. The point is this suggests this Wendy has a bit of an insight into Hook maybe more so then Peter. She knows he’s obsessed with good form and has an ego that prides its self on being the smartest person in the room.

This cuts both ways while Wendy is capable of manipulating Hook, he also consistently manipulates Wendy by offering his word as a gentlemen when he intends to break it as a pirate. This dynamic highlights Wendy’s flaw of trusting dangerous people and allowing them to hurt her friends. Hook has picked up that she trusts or wants to trust him. In this version Hook actually treats Wendy as opponent vs the usual she belongs to Peter and I want to steal her like in most adaptations. Also despite Hook being terrifying Wendy has no problem being all “There’s no need to get cranky Captain” and I kind of love how comfortable she is with the guy despite him being an enemy.

This proves Wendy doesn’t have to be a sword wielding “Who are you to call me girlie” action girl to be a good character. She can be flawed but still remain a good person and giving her a spine is always appreciated.

Wendy Darling is at her core a guide into adulthood with a strong moral character and a voice of reason who is used to shine a light on how important motherhood is since the result of mothers abandoning or neglecting their children shape the Peter’s of the world.  This makes her important to the overall story and themes of Peter Pan.

[shortmania]

I know people really like the idea of Gertie actually being sane for the most part and just messing with people -- Craig included -- but I’ve gotta be honest. That... bugs me. A lot. And I think I prefer her to actually have dementia.

Strike that. I do prefer it. I really prefer it.

This has been bugging me for a long time. I never said anything about it for a lot of reasons, but now that Craig’s just outright stated it in interview and made it impossible to wave away as a mere headcanon, I feel like I kind of have to. Maybe I’m just being sensitive, but the idea that anyone would fake that level of instability for the hell of it is....

I’m trying to be delicate about this because I do understand the mindset Craig has and the logic behind it and I want to be respectful of his creation, but it hurts. It’s actually painful to think about. It doesn’t make me mad. It makes me upset. And maybe I really am the only one, but I’d like to explain why anyway. Beyond the intensely personal reasons, because frankly, fuck those.

Explanation under the cut.

I don’t wanna be that caustic tumblr asshole who says something really trite like “mental illness isn’t a joke” and completely bypasses the reality of what’s going on with the situation -- the reality being that both Gertie and Phil are meant to be living parodies of elderly stereotypes, and Craig of course only has the best intentions -- but I’ve got to be honest with myself. The joke, when played to this extent, isn’t very funny to me, so it’s hard for me to shrug off as just another headcanon-y thing I was wrong about and move on.

Maybe it would’ve been easier at one point. Craziness is funny as an objective idea. It’s wacky and off the wall and in direct opposition to what’s considered socially acceptable and that’s what makes it fun. And to that extent, I get it. I used to like faking craziness when I was a kid, too. My friends and I would “overdose” on smarties and walk into walls and make dumb faces and fake amnesia, and from an adult’s perspective it sounds dark, but we were just kids. And HEY ARNOLD!, for all its fundamental maturity, is a kids show. I guess I always just saw Gertie’s behavior through that lens--of us only ever being shown what was appropriate for children. What children would be able to understand and enjoy without having to worry about any of the deeper implications. Much the same way Miriam mumbling to herself, stumbling around and hugging her blender was played for laughs.

But then you get older, and things like that stop being funny because you’ve known someone with dementia. You’ve known someone with schizophrenia. You’ve known people with alzheimers. You’ve seen people actually knock into walls, and actually overdose, and make dumb faces that they don’t know they’re making and not remember things they promised at one time they would always remember. You’ve known alcoholics. And it isn’t particularly funny, and you couldn’t fully get that as a kid because you were a kid.

But you’re an adult now, and when you’re an adult, you see things differently.

Gertie is an adult, so. I guess the long and short of this is: if Gertie is capable of faking dementia because she thinks it’s funny and she likes acting ridiculous 24/7, enough to willingly sacrifice her loved one’s emotional well-beings -- including her orphaned grandson’s -- then I hate her. I think she’s a horrible person and she shouldn’t have children, let alone grandchildren.

I guess it really is as simple as that. I get why it’s supposed to be funny, and I get how it might be fun as a concept, but it’s not funny or fun to me. It’s really just not, and I can’t get past that.

Gertie is delusional. Gertie dresses up in elaborate costumes and takes time to fashion her hair into complicated updos and talks nonsense and frequently looks confused. Gertie has moments of lucidity where she does understand that something important is happening, but these moments are brief and she is unable to hold full conversations so she leaves those up to Phil in spite of his incompetence. Gertie has never had a single conversation with Arnold that lasted longer than a few minutes and remained grounded in reality. Gertie is an intelligent and imaginative woman, so her delusions have intelligent and imaginative foundations, but at the end of the day, they are still delusions.

Gertie interrupted dinner during The Family Man with an announcement that she was Marie Queen of Scotts, thus destroying any chance Mr. Hyunh had of getting a promotion. Gertie regularly ruins holidays and events by insisting they are an entirely different holiday, forcing everyone to go along with her plans in spite of their unhappiness. Gertie has lost all sense of self-preservation. Gertie has stolen the Packard before and driven with Arnold in the car despite not having a license. Gertie got thrown in jail and thought it was a game. Gertie makes Phil angry, annoyed, exasperated and sometimes just plain distressed on a regular basis with her loud proclamations, melodramatic rambles and grandiose antics. Gertie sleeps in a separate bed from Phil. Phil flirts with and propositions other women because his wife hasn’t been his wife in years and he’s given up on her ever being fully herself again.

It is messed up and I’m sure it must bother some people to think of it this way, but it never bothered me. I could laugh at Gertie in spite of her mental illness, for two reasons: 1) frankly, watching her isn’t unlike watching Eugene fall down a manhole or get hit by a bus, and 2) because that’s a way of dealing with the trauma of life. You laugh at it. You laugh, because it lessens its weight and lets you breathe. You laugh, because you can’t do a damn thing to change it. That’s just the way things are sometimes, and it can be sad, but once you’ve accepted it and learned how to smile in its face despite having this understanding, it becomes much easier to live. I think this is an important lesson. Arnold recognizes his grandma’s illness, and it frustrates him sometimes, but he can still smile and laugh with her and love her. Eugene probably falls down a hundred manholes a week and breaks at least one bone every day, but has anyone ever seen him stop smiling for longer than a few seconds? These facts, fictional as they are, are precious to me, and though I do regret calling Craig out like this, I won’t apologize.

...Okay, honestly, Eugene has some emotional problems, but my point stands

This is the way I see it and this is the way I will continue to see it in spite of this interview and any passing comments made in TJM. I don’t like going against canon or Craig, but this is one point I can’t budge on. Because I guess I am a bit of a tumblr asshole in spite of myself, and I don’t want to hate Gertie. 

That’s about the size of it.

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Hi uhh can I get some... B O N E L E S S djd relationship headcanons with a human s/o.

*At first I was gonna do separate headcanons for all the members but then I remembered that poly is a thing and then I thought that hey, why not do that? So here it is! Also, by boneless I think you mean SFW but send in another request if you want something with more… boners in them.*

It’s a mystery how you charmed them and won over their sparks but here you are, in a relationship with the most notorious psychopaths in the universe. Your parents would be proud. Or terrified. Probably terrified. But hey, you are free to make your own choices, no matter how bad they seem.

Cuddle piles is a must. It happens at least once a day and once you’re caught in one you can’t escape. Better give up trying and just go with it. Usually you end up in Vos’s arms (because he’s the fastest to snatch you) and Vos lies is Tesarus blender stomach (no fear) while Tesarus leans against Helex who’s holding Kaon, who is his turn have the Pet lying across his legs and Nickel is leaning against Kaon while holding Tarn’s head in her lap. You’ve got this all figured out by now. Helex is perfect to cuddle because he’s always so warm and he takes advantage of that so that everyone (especially you) cling to him.

Game nights are also a thing, believe it or not. Your favorite game to play is surprisingly enough from Earth, Uno. How Kaon can see what’s on his cards you have no idea but somehow he does. He’s also quite good. But the best player is without a doubt Nickel. She owns you all and your wins together don’t even match half of hers. She refuses to tell you how she always wins. Tesarus believes that she’s secretly a physic. Vos simply thinks she’s cheating. He’s tried to catch her doing so but he have never succeeded.

Speaking about Vos, he likes to carry you around on either his shoulders or in his arms. He enjoys that he is taller than you and uses it to his advantage. Sometimes he takes your stuff and holds it out of your reach when he wants your attention. When this happens someone else usually takes your thing from him and keeps it out of his reach so that he can’t touch it. It’s quite hilarious to watch and Nickel have a bunch of videos and photos of this happening that she invites you to laugh at with her all the time. It’s become lan inside joke between the two of you and sometimes you send each other pictures of it during meetings. It’s like a bad meme.

Tesarus jokes with you a lot and he laughs with you more than he does with anybody else. You often watch movies together, both cybertronian and from Earth, and it doesn’t matter what kind of movie it is, it’s always turned into a comedy with the two of you. This is mostly because Tesarus keeps joking about the plot or the actor and he’s actually pretty darn funny. Helex often joins you in watching movies and while he doesn’t joke as much as Tesarus it’s apparent he’s enjoying himself with how he smiles. He gets a bit emotional sometimes during movies, especially dramas, and you once saw him shed a tear during The Green Mile. To be fair it’s a really sad movie.

It’s not uncommon for you to ride around on the Pet’s back to get around the ship. You are one of the few people it will actually obey and it always wags its tail when it sees you so it’s evident that it likes you a lot. If it ever feels excluded or forgotten it will not hesitate to pick you up by your cloths with its fangs and carry you off to cuddle. Of course Kaon is cooing the entire time and thinks it’s adorable. One time he walked in on the Pet trying to groom you and he legit started to cry. Come on, you’ve fought in a war, you torture bots for fun, why are you so soft all of a sudden?

You introduced Tarn to classical music from Earth and now he finds himself a big fan of Mozart, Beethoven and Bach. Never did he think something made by humans could fill him with such emotions (other than you of course, you’re special). His favorite is Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 since it’s filled with such raw emotion. Meanwhile Vos heard you playing some pop once and now he’s obsessed with Lady Gaga. Congratulations. You’ve walked multiple times on him (trying) to sing Poker Face. He’s not even ashamed. It’s his new theme song after all.

Nickel cares about your health a lot (of course) and she frets over you all the time. Organics are so frail, especially humans, who knows what might happen!? Gives you a bunch of vitamins pills everyday and makes you exercise frequently so that your body is in tip-top shape. Sneeze and she will force you to rest until you’re 100% better. She’s working on a way to make you live longer and everyone except you knows about it. They’re not ready to let you go and they don’t think they ever will. Because they don’t know how you will react if you learned about it they keep it quiet and will only tell you after they have succeeded. You will have the rest of eternity to forgive them then.

[seperis]

The Once and Future King

For Down to Agincourt fans, an early Christmas present.

Notes: consider this something like an apology.  To be fair, I didn’t see my mental health deciding to rapidly degrade over the summer and become a thing, but seriously, two chapters to edit, it’s gotta be frustrating, and I am so sorry for that.

So.  I offer repentance in fictional form.  Consider this a prequel to In the Hall of the Mountain King.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931455

*****

The Pit argues every fucking hour of what passes for a day here and he's getting pretty goddamn tired of it.  Especially since it shouldn't be able to argue.

"Not yet," he grates out, ignoring the seared landscape and occasional corrupted soul at the very edge of the Pit's domain, borderlands made of the tortured dead too crazy even for Hell, and he's one of them.  He's been running forever, barely ahead of the shits sent to make him kneel for the fucker they call master.  Not happening: in a straight fight, he knows right now he could win, but not yet.

He just wishes he could remember why. Why he's running, why he's waiting, why he can't take it all.  Not yet. There's something else he's got to do first, and it would sure fucking help if he could remember what.

The Pit hides him.  At least, he thinks it does, grinding its displeasure like the sound of gravel in a blender, but it's doing something, that much is clear.  Not that he's risked it anywhere near the rack or where the fucker sits in state since he got away.  The Pit's resentment of the fucker's becoming a problem, or would be if he noticed: not too bright.  He could--not yet.

It's also not entirely happy about where he's going, but it's not fighting him, either, and that's enough.  Enough to keep control of himself: he's got plans, and he can't afford to indulge the rage and betrayal yet for making him wait, but--but that's for after.  After, he's gonna teach his recalcitrant buddy a lesson in loyalty, and he'll start by chopping it up and let it spend the next millennia with its pieces buried all over the goddamn Pit in solid--

Not yet

--stop.  Plan. First, get it, fix it (at least enough to do its goddamn job), and go from there.  The rest--it'll wait. He's patient.  Fuck knows he's learned that much.

Coming around the curve of a shaved cliff he doesn't recognize, he stops short, fighting down the desire to rip apart the figure slumped against bare, rust-red rock, stone of the same color spread out beneath him.  There's a long moment where he's not sure it noticed him yet, but the dark head turns, exhausted, red-rimmed blue eyes meeting his.  There's a dangerous moment where he thinks it just might run--and no way can he control himself if it does that, fuck--before it slumps back against the cliff.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says pleasantly; this is gonna be done with a pair of pliers, shredding, barely enough to even bury, he can already feel them in his hand and hear it screaming.  "Got lost?"

"Alistair," it says, and the Pit surges forward eagerly--no, not yet--though he can't remember why he's waiting, he knows he has to.  It stares at him for a long time before it frowns, blue eyes widening. "Dean?"

He staggers, grabbing for the cliff: Dean.  That'd be it. That's what he was waiting for.

Swallowing in a dry mouth, he feel the thrum spread through him and hopes the Pit's hiding him because no way would even that fucker could miss this.  Breathing through the shock, he pulls himself together again piece by piece before he loses it again, what they took: Dean.

"It worked," he breathes.  Dean: that's his name, and that's everything.

"Dean?" it--no, he says again, and Dean takes a deep breath and smiles at him, ignoring the flinch; it's fine, whatever, everything's back on track.

"Yeah," he agrees, looking Cas over: filthy and exhausted and hurt, his first impulse now is to track down everything that fucking touched him and introduce them to the once and future Master of the Pit.  It's gonna happen, soon; he'll let Cas watch.

Crossing over to him, Dean drops in a crouch, relieved that Cas doesn't flinch again when he reaches out to tilt his head up, fighting back rage: soon, he tells himself and feels the Pit hum in anticipation. On a guess, whoever's been after him is in a lot worse shape; he'll have to ask about that.

"What have you been doing to yourself?" he asks, turning Cas's head carefully, reading his condition by touch and liking nothing he's picking up.  Running on empty and even that's almost out: nowhere in Hell to hide and no one to protect him, with a price on his head the highest ever offered.  He remembers laughing on the rack when he heard about it, choking on his own shredded lungs and unable to stop: best joke he ever heard, catch Cas?  Tell the mountain to bow, shithead: tell the moon to fall and the sun to rise and end the universe with a big bang all your own, your chances are better doing all three.  The only time anyone catches Cas is when he wants to be caught.

"Dean?" Cas breathes in disbelief, then shakes his head, belatedly trying to pull away.  Dean tightens his grip but doesn't make the mistake of turning this into a competition. Cas may escape with a broken jaw, but he will escape, and he can't risk that, not now that he's here. "No. You're not--"

"I am," he says, testing it; pretty much, give or take, but that shit he didn't need anyway, not here.  "It worked, Cas.  I told you it would."

Cas shuts his eyes.  "I'm sorry--"

"I'm not."  Though he wouldn't say it was fun; he got someone who couldn't break a goddamn serial killer and it got assigned him?  Bullshit: they're gonna learn about standards and soon. He'll get Cas to teach 'em.  "Cas, look at me."

"Stop it!"

"You're being stupid," Dean says fondly; Cas doesn't get it, that's fine, he'll learn, they got time now.  All of it, come to think.  "Can't run forever, you know that. You came here, didn't you?"

He really wishes Cas would look at him.  "I didn't know where I was going."

"Funny," Dean says, mouth quirking.  "All of Hell, and you come to the one place in the Pit I'm hiding after I get off the rack."  Cas's mouth tightens, and letting him go, Dean shifts to sit beside him. "It's hiding me, anyway. What a coincidence, huh?"

Drawing up his legs, Cas drops his head onto his knees, and Dean waits, easy; he planned for this, after all.  Moving slowly--he doesn't pretend Cas can't do some serious damage to him even now--he reaches to tug up Cas's sleeve, hissing at the open sores, rings of bruises, scrapes marring all that skin; he's taking payment for all of it in full, soon.  Cas doesn't lift his head but doesn't fight him either, shivering when Dean traces the binding cut that survived even death; his own shivers in sympathy, relieved not to be stretched so far anymore.  That means something, and Cas knows it as well as he does.  

"I'm tired." Dean holds himself perfectly still.  "I felt you break.  I wasn't--I couldn't get to you in time.  Again."

Which might explain the incompetence of his particular torturer; everyone else was guarding the Pit and never coming back. Not an excuse, but he gives them credit for knowing how dangerous Cas was, at least.  "How many did you take out?"

The blue eyes flicker up, and Dean catches the cold blue rage, unhealed, unhealing: he likes it.  Can use it, too.  "Not enough."

"It's okay--"

"How?" Cas looks at him, eyes wet, tears drawing pale lines down filthy his cheeks, and Dean reaches out without thinking, wiping them away with his thumb.  "I don't understand, how can you be so much like Dean---"

"I am Dean," he interrupts; okay, he got this. "How long has it been?"

"One hundred and eight years, three months, one week, five days, sixteen hours, twenty-seven minutes, eighteen seconds." Cas's voice breaks.  "Five years, one month, six days, twenty-eight hours, two minutes and forty-one seconds since you broke."

Felt like longer, but when you have to do half the work for your goddamn torturer, time gets weird.  "It was supposed to be this way," he says, hushing Cas when he starts to protest. "It had to be, Cas."

"It's over," Cas says. "We failed."

Distantly, Dean feels his recruits circling closer and sends a warn-off with prejudice; from the agonized response, he thinks they got the 'not the fucking time'.  "No we haven't," he says.  "We haven't even started. We're gonna win, Cas.  Here."

Cas stiffens, but the instant rejection is absent; he's tired, yeah, and probably stopped thinking around the time Dean broke on the rack. Which is pretty much what he hoped for; he couldn't plan this part, but sometimes, things just work out.

"Hey."  Carefully, he draws a finger down Cas's arm, following the open wounds (can't wait to find out who did that and where to find them). "Gonna fix this up?"

Cas snorts softly.  "You know I can't."

He can, he just doesn't know it yet; Dean's got so much to teach him.  "I can."  Cas stiffens belatedly and Dean adds another check to his side--their side--of the board. He was never gonna do this without Cas, that was a given, whatever happened; he told Cas they were in this together and that's never changed. "Come on, let me help.  You wanna run, fine but at least let me fix you up so you can."

Cas turns his head against his knee, and the incredulous look almost makes Dean laugh; fuck, he missed him.  "You'll let me leave?"

"I'll never let you go," he answers honestly. "But it'll give you a fighting chance, at least."

The cracked lips part in a soft laugh: check. "You sound like him--"

"I am him," Dean interrupts.  "You can feel it, Cas, come on."  

Watching Cas carefully, he calls in the knife, blade sharp enough to cut air, and lets go of Cas's arm to draw a short cut near the elbow of his left forearm.  Cas's expression is a few novels, all contradictory--revulsion, rejection, horror, disgust, terror, and the only one that counts--hunger. Check.

"No," Cas says, but the blue eyes never leave that cut, blood welling suggestively.  There's power in blood given freely, but here, at least, there's just as much in accepting it; he wonders if Cas realizes that.  "I won't--"

"You want to run, you're gonna have to." Cas flickers a look at him, and he knows he won. "It's me, Cas. Come on, it doesn't have to be this hard."

He can make it easy, though; shifting closer, he holds out his arm and watches Cas bend closer as if drawn, waiting, and finally, the sweep of Cas's tongue against his skin before his lips part around the cut and he starts to suck.

He expected everything but the sheer rush; catching his breath, Dean just manages not to tumble over like an idiot, and he realizes he's got a hand in Cas's hair, holding him there with no memory of actually moving.

Fuck: here he thought Ruby was just getting off fucking up Sam.  He just didn't know.

"That's it," he breathes as Cas fastens a dirty hand around his wrist before doing what Dean almost did; he's ready for it, though, bracing himself when Cas collapses against him.  It takes a long moment to remember what else he's supposed to be doing, but check it out; he doesn't need to do anything but let it happen. Like it's supposed to: of course it is, what was he thinking, this is him and Cas, this is them.  "There we go.  Take all you want."

If he had the Pit behind him, this might be faster, but Alistair couldn't do this any more than Lucifer could or anyone else; the only one who can corrupt Castiel is Dean.  That's why he needed his name first; names are powerful, wrong one and you just might become them.  He may have to use Alistair's name, but he'll keep his own when he does.  

Already, he can feel it working into Cas; all those subtle cracks everyone has, widening them slowly and carefully, but those wouldn't be enough, not with Cas.  This is about him; him, working his way into Cas, lighting up all the places in Cas that are his, have been since this started. Infinite mind of an angel: might scare anyone else, but not Dean, never has, and he needs to know if he's right about how this is gonna work. No margin for error: this is Cas, and he's gotta get everything right the first try.

Then Cas jerks back--tries to jerk back, but he doesn't get any farther than leaning against Dean's chest, lips smeared red. That wasn't enough--not nearly enough--but Dean seals the cut for now; might be better this way, let it work in him, offer more.  Cas won't ask this time, or the next, but he will after that, and then he won't need to ask ever again. He'll figure it out.

"I'm so tired," Cas whispers, and Dean gathers him closer, resting his chin in the dark hair and feeling Cas's body shake. "When you broke, I thought--nothing I did mattered."

Dean nods, but he's got to know.  "What'd you do with the fucker's minions?  None ever came back."

"I put them to good use," Cas says in a different voice, and Dean pulls back to look down and sees a faint smile. "It took time to decide on the shape, however.  Their screaming was distracting, so I stopped it."

Now that he's thinking about it, it's quiet over here. The rest of Hell is a cacophony of noise, but here.... "Where are they?"

"Beneath and behind us."  Cas looks up, and bewildered, Dean follows his gaze to the cliff, then the stone floor.  "Ah, I forgot." Raising a hand, he snaps his fingers, and Dean gets a secondhand rush from Cas using his blood-borne power; they're doing that again like, yesterday.  "What do you think?"

Like turning up the volume on the radio, the screaming starts, and it takes Dean a second to work out where it's coming from: everywhere.  The cliff behind them, the rock beneath them--Dean presses a hand against the ground and the screaming intensifies; it's beautiful.  He can feel the Pit hum approval--not a surprise, this is fucking art--and from the way Cas stills, he feels it, too: perfect.  He's gonna be incredible when Dean's done with him; Cas'll be the best he's ever made, he know it.

"Amazing." He kisses Cas and tastes blood; with it comes the memories, a breathtaking flow of images of five years when nothing mattered: only Cas would create a monument to it.  Five years....  He jerks back, startled by the edge of something else.  "You were waiting for me.  Here."  

He waits for Cas to deny it, but he just looks back. "My death was not my own," he answers.  "Like my life, it belongs to you."

A monument to his once and future death at Dean's hand. Christ. "That was never gonna happen," he says fiercely; how could Cas think he'd ever--

"Maybe I hoped it would." Before Dean feel anything but horror, he shrugs.  "At least, I thought I did.  As it turns out, that's not what I wanted after all."

Dean realizes he's clutching Cas hard enough to break bone and with an effort loosens his grip. It never occurred to him that Cas might not--that he....  "Do you even know what you want?"

"The only thing I ever wanted." The blue eyes meeting his.  "You."

Dean breathes out, relief so strong it feels like pain.  "You have me, Cas.  Always."

There's a long moment of silence.  "Convince me."  

"What?"

"Convince me."  Turning his face against Dean's chest, he makes a broken sound, and it's all Dean can do not to claim the Pit now so he can take care of everything that made Cas sound like that.  "I don't care what it is, just convince me to do it."

That, he can do. "I have a plan."

Shifting them back so he can lean against the cliff, Dean gathers him closer and tells him everything.

*****

Just before they start, Cas says,  "Don't stop until it's done."

Dean nods.  It's not like he doesn't know the risks here; he just doesn't care.  Cas is worth anything.  "I know."

"If you can't break me--"

"I will," Dean says; he won't believe anything else.  "Don't worry about it."

"--I don't leave this room," he continues like Dean didn't say anything.  "Not ever."

"I can do this," he says, checking the restraints again; he designed this room a thousand times in his mind just for Cas, and it's everything he imagined.  Smooth volcanic rock that reflects as clearly as a mirror, so he can see Cas from any angle, and just as importantly, Cas can always see him.  He shaped the rack to Cas alone, everything in it everything that Dean knows about him, and Cas made the restraints himself, designed to bind an angel.  Not really required here, though; nothing and no one can hold Cas when he doesn't want to be.  It's gonna take both of them to do this; he doesn't doubt Cas at all and he can't, won't doubt himself.  They can do this.

"One more thing," Cas says, and Dean looks up and drowns in blue eyes.  "Promise me I won't hate you."

"You won't," he says, picking up the first knife.  The only way to break Cas is to make him want it, and the only person that can make him want it is Dean. He can do this.  Pressing the tip into the hollow of his throat, he kisses him one more time.  They have forever now.  "You'll love me.  I promise."

[bwicblog]

>KUANFU: Bother Alexar.

After Kuanfu starts bragging about sleeping with Kyviar, one of Alexar's terrifying exes - and matesprit at that time - in the public chat, Alexar gets curious and tries to ask Kua his name and age. Kua responds by lying, requesting the same - and taking it to PMs when Alexar won't give him the answers he wants.

-- ayeayeCaptain [AC] is now messaging grantonCleaver [GC]! --

AC: haha, holy shit, what a name. GC: {uh} AC: i was totally going to make a joke, but you know what, dude? no. no, that's pretty cool. AC: good on you. bloodthirsty.. but adorable. adorabloodthirsty? man, my name feels totally lame, now. AC: but wait, shit, let's stay on topic. AC: how are you? GC: {uh} GC: {im fine} GC: {just you know} GC: {chillin} GC: {uh how about you} AC: awww, dude. am i making you nervous? because that is, like, totally not my intentions here. i am sorry. AC: i am currently raiding a boat! i should be doing paperwork while i am stuck down here, but. well. AC: there's nothing like the wind in your hair and blood on your deck, right? GC: {dude i dont think i know your name beyond kua and weve had like one conversation} GC: {i dont know why youre messaging me right now} AC: huh, the uh's cleared up pretty quick. AC: and i am pretty sure we have had way more than one conversation, dude. AC: isn't that why you were asking my name? GC: {pretty sure we havent} GC: {and i was just curious} AC: dude, you are so rude. like, on every level. and i know i should not take it personally, but at the same time, i am kind of hurt, considering i have been nothing but really friendly and helpful. AC: what flarp group are you part of?(edited) GC: {uh i dont remember its been ages and we changed captains and names a ton} GC: {i think once we were something like the raging boars once or something or other} GC: {yknow just flarp stuff} GC: {why} AC: because kyviar was kind of a huge fucking monster, so it's sort of weird anyone was hanging around discussing her schticks. AC: or did you all just, like, have a thing for genocidal mutants?(edited) GC: {well i mean you sort of answered your own question} GC: {she was a huge fucking monster who was a genocidal mutant} GC: {so you tell me how that didnt get the fuck around} AC: i gotta say, i never sat around talking about what the leviathan's get are up to, with their giant murder snake. everyone's always just been like "oh, shit, it's a giant snake and their horrible owner!" AC: not, like, "oh, damn, let's discuss the means of their murdering everything they can put their pink hands on!" AC: but don't get me wrong, that's a cool hobby. AC: what all did you hear about her? GC: {uh well} GC: {first of all i dont really see why youre asking me about all of this like i was just a shitty pirate flarper okay like i did that for a few sweeps and then ducked out and now i work in a bakery} GC: {second of all well i mean i heard a bunch} GC: {heard she was a mutant and wasnt afraid of it and usually tried to get people to kill her i heard she slaughtered nearly every town she went through unless they could pay up money} GC: {heard she liked to paint things black to match her blood and set shit on fire} GC: {you know the basics} AC: i don't know, dude. why'd you ask me my age and name, then refuse to give yours? AC: it makes people curious! GC: {because i was trying to remember if she had any allies or anything and that was what like} GC: {ages ago or something right} AC: and oh jeez, that's a lot. holy shit, you're a big fan. probably for the best you never met her, she'd have been so mad. GC: {at least three sweeps before she disappeared off the waters} GC: {didnt she get killed or something} GC: {its a bit murky} AC: haha, where'd you hear that? GC: {rumors} AC: nah, dude, she's totally still tooling around in space, like everyone our age. and she totally had allies! loads and loads of them. AC: but i guess that didn't get put down on your creepy fansites, right? GC: GC: {seriously?} AC: uhhh. AC: i said like three things there, dude. GC: {shes still fucking alive?} AC: haha, why do you care? GC: {shes a blackblooded mutant who got her kicks off of pirating and killing people the fact that shes still kicking it is baffling}(edited) AC: half of us got our kicks off of pirating and killing people, i just don't think that's very outstanding. GC: {you know what i mean} AC: you know what, i totally don't. AC: could you explain? GC: {wow okay fine} GC: {let me bold it} GC: {blackblooded mutant} GC: {still alive} GC: {kicking it} AC: because just between the two of us, i have to admit, i kind of am sur AC: oh shit, hold on, someone gave this pupa a gun and that's just unnecessary. GC: {haha what} AC: there we go! AC: sorry, we are back from these brief technical difficulties. AC: and it's not that weird, dude, she shouldn't have even got out of the caverns. GC: {did you just cull the shit out of a pupa while talking to me} AC: but tell you what! since you are such a fan, and you are so flabbergasted, i will AC: AC: what the fuck, no. AC: why would you even ask that? GC: {i am currently raiding a boat! there's nothing like the wind in your hair and blood on your deck, right? } AC: what sort of an asshole kills pupas? GC: {kyviar did and didnt you bang her} AC: no, i put him in the hold, and someone will put his lusus in there with him when they find it. jeez. AC: what i was going to say, before you hopped on that awful train of thought, was: AC: tell you what, i bet i could totally get you her autograph for your weird planetary fanclub, if you want. GC: {uh} GC: {sure why not} AC: great! who should she sign it to? GC: {just do gc that works well enough} AC: yeah, no, i am not going to go up to her and be like hey, please don't shoot me, i have a great idea! why don't you sign this photo and put it to gc? AC: i definitely am not going to smudge out a line and make it ac, so i can keep it on my mantle like a creep. AC: that is just something i would never do. GC: {fuck fine okay} GC: {put down something like idk} GC: {ronado} AC: you want an autograph from her to.. a fake name. AC: okay, wow, you are just steadily making this weirder. GC:{oh yeah sure im making this weird!} AC: i did not think that was possible, but that's okay. you've achieved it. good job, i think, except imagine I am totally saying that in the most concerned way possible. AC: jeez, dude, can't you even let me fujoshi transcribing before you're interrupting? GC: AC: finish. GC: {fu} GC: {fujoshi} GC: {okay so now youre the one making it weird here} AC: look, it gets ahead of itself, sometimes. GC: {you just took it into weird territory} AC: why do you even know what that word means? GC: {should i be getting an ash in here to help moderate things i feel like im being poorly pitchflirted with now} AC: i don't know what it means. AC: also, ew. i am sixteen, thanks. GC: {yeah so youre only sixteen} AC: only sixteen? AC: well, shit, how old are your usual pitchflirts? GC: {uh like ten and up usually} GC: {i dont date pupas} AC: haha, wow, i thought you were a pupa, dude. AC: are you saying you are not actually eight? GC: {no im not eight thank you very much} AC: so you are older than ten. AC: but younger than sixteen? GC: {why do i feel like im getting interrogated here} GC: {quit it!} GC: {why are you so interested in me!} AC: well, you accused me of terrible pitchflirting, dude. if that's the case, i can actually pitchflirt, and defend my pitchy honor, but i will feel morally questionable if you're under eleven.(edited) AC: that is just my own personal standards. GC: {take your pitchflirting elsewhere} GC: {im good in my quads} GC: {thank you im flattered youre interested} GC: {hit me up in like a sweep or two maybe ill have a free quad then idk idek} AC: haha, okay, you're making this weird again. GC: {you made it weird} AC: but i am starting to think that's your specialty, so that's okay. AC: you accused me of pitchflirting, man. badly. AC: all i am doing is asking questions about someone who is a creepy fan of someone that i knew, and attempting to further the fun social connection we have built. AC: after all, you have my name, my age, my creepy pirate pal's name, and my hobbies, i just thought it would be nice to know something about you, too. GC: {ok how about this we just kind of take all of this weird pitchflirty goodness and shove it into a box and close up the box and duct tape it shut and i dont know} AC: doubledots sad underscore face doubledots GC: {throw it into an industrial blender and move on} GC: GC: {what} GC: {double dots} AC: holy shit, how can i pitchflirt with you over the internet? i am not even fucking with you, i am genuinely curious. GC: { :_(: ?} GC: {oh wait} AC: like, i don't know what you look like. you could be hideous. GC: { :sad_face: }(edited) AC: no, you know - AC: yes! GC: {it doesnt fucking work} AC: yes, so why do you keep assuming it? GC: { :cry: } GC: {is that what youre trying to make} GC: {because its : cry :} AC: i don't want it crying. you do not, sadly, invoke that much emotion. GC: {also what did i just fucking say} AC: i want it frowning. GC: {put the weird pitchflirting in the box and sacrifice it to the blender} GC: {no if ands or buts} AC: AC: AC: i am not AC: AC: i am genuinely just very thrown right now! i don't even know what to say! like, honestly, i am supposed to be checking the last areas, but instead, i am standing here, one hand on my mouth, kind of just marvelling at the sheer levels of what the fuck i am feeling right now. GC: {what did i just fucking say} AC: i am not pitchflirting, holy shit. AC: what do i have to do to convince you this is entirely platonic overtures of friendship and camadery? GC: {stop being weird at me} AC: okay, fine. AC: are you going to continue hiding your name like a huge weird coward? GC: {whats yours} AC: mighty. GC: {ronado} AC: dude, you flat out admitted that is not your name. GC: {dont fucking diss my name} AC: so now we have moved onto weirdo coward who can't lie. GC: {what the fuck} AC: that is cool, i will totally just ask someone else. i'm sure someone in here knows it, right? GC: {ill go asking around too why dont i} AC: yes, sure, go ask aa. i have been pretty consistent with the mighty thing. given, you know, it is my name. AC: it's funny how not lying works.

Kuanfu does, in fact, go to ask someone else - Merrem, over in #highbloods.

AC: hey, what's gc's name? AC: if you don't know who that is, he is one of the greens.(edited) CC: who. AC: iunno, he's one of the jades! hackon cleaver. AC: wait, no, it has a g. AC: grafting cleaner? AC: grafting.. cleaver. AC: there we go, that sounds right. CC: ...huh. CC: no fucking idea who that is. CC: let me go and back read that for you. CC: aint like ive got a thing to do thats better. CC: ...why you wanna know? AC: see, this is why you are my favourite person in this chat, as of this exact moment, right now. AC: he keeps asking me questions and then, like, refusing to answer mine? it's really rude. AC: and weird. AC: he also said i am pitchflirting, and, wow, no. how are you supposed to pitchflirt on the internet, merrem? AC: it just doesn't work. AC: that's how you end up in a back alley with scabies. AC: that is a bad end. CC: damn. CC: aint that some flattery. CC: you sure he aint flirting pitch with you, and trynna accuse you of the same? CC: cause its sounding like it. CC: and alexar. BI: Scabbies... that's a new one. :thinking: BI: You leave social circles for like, two whole minutes and you miss out on all sorts of new things. CC: like the scabies? AC: god, i hope not! AC: or i guess it could be i hope so, if he's attractive, but, like, he stuttertypes. i just don't know if i can hate a man that stuttertypes. AC: and yeah, scabies are a real danger to shady internet hookups, i am told.

The discussion of scabies, shady internet hookups, and whether or not BI/Bijoux is a pale floozy continues, but in PMs:

GC: {sure why not} GC: {wait which aa} AC: uh, the brown one? GC: GC: {which aa} GC: {i think theres two brown ones} AC: AC: wow, brown is an uncreative colour. AC: the one with the really shitty quirk, dude. AC: are you a dude? GC: {theres like a billion trolls that are red or brown or yellow} GC: {also they both have shitty quirks} GC: {and yeah} GC: {im a dude} AC: and you're a jade? seriously? GC: {yeah} GC: {so what its not so weird} GC: {im living with another male jade right now} AC: uh, no, it totally is weird, sorry. GC: {or well not right now right now im somewhere else at this exact moment but you get what i mean} GC: {what} GC: {no its not} AC: are you sure you're not actually teal? AC: or olive, those blend together, too, i guess. GC: {uh yeah no im pretty sure im jade} GC: {like right smack middle jade} AC: huh. GC: {like this is our standard chrome for jade jade} AC: post pics, because that totally sounds like bullshit, and i am betting you are actually teal. AC: which, it's okay to be teal, dude. AC: is it an ugly colour? yes. GC: {only if you post pics first} GC: {im not fucking teal} GC: {im jade} AC: but it's your colour, so you should embrace it. GC: {super jade} AC: of course you are, dude. GC: {jade as jade can be} AC: i am just saying, it's okay to have a little green in your veins. it doesn't mean you're not blue. GC: {im jade} AC: doubledots sigh doubledots GC: { :sigh: } GC: {listen you fucking suck at this}(edited) GC: {thats not a real emoji either} AC: at least i am trying to accept myself for who and what i am, a proud cobalt who cannot use a computer, unlike some of us. AC: that is a cutting reference to the fact you hate your own blood colour, by the way. GC: {what are you illiterate or something} AC: or are ashamed. GC: {i dont hate my blood color} AC: shame is an option, too, i guess. GC: {okay hold up asshole} AC: more sad, but. GC: {hold on} GC: {because fuck you fuck you is why}

--grantonCleaver sent fuckyouiswhy.png, of a picture of his unbandaged hand that got spiked during his fight with Hadean. It's looking a bit gross because you know, WOUNDS but it's clean and also unmistakably jade.--

AC: huh! AC: nice filter. is that a wound the nine sweep old gave you, or are you fighting with other pupa's, too? GC: {oh holy shit} GC: {i just gave you photographic proof} GC: {and youre still calling shit on me} GC: {kua} AC: what can i say, i know enough about computers to call bullshit when i see it. AC: and i just don't think i know you well enough to be on a last name basis, dude, i am going to have to ask you to stick to mighty. GC: {might fucking sucks} GC: {so does kua} GC: {get better names} AC: wow! AC: at least i have names. AC: did you have everyone on your ship call you ronado, too? GC: {yeah absolutely} AC: man. so cabin jade ronado. that's kind of a mouthfeel. AC: can i call you ronnie? GC: {weird but sure} AC: was the work hard? GC: {uh on my flarping ship?} AC: yes, being a cabin boy.(edited) GC: {wasnt a cabin boy thank you very much} GC: {it was good and hard yeah no different than being on any other flarping pirate ship} AC: hahaha AC: suuuure. AC: what did they call it, then? ive only been on real ships, so i don't know the terms. AC: deck swabbed? AC: lookout? GC: GC: {its literally the same terms} GC: {literally the exact same terms}(edited) AC: uh, no, sorry. AC: maybe they tell you that, to make you feel better about playing pretend. GC: {i was first mate asshole} AC: huh. AC: so a glorified cabin boy. GC: {ok now youre being a dick and stupid} AC: you're right, alexar. that was just me being a total bulgemunch, and it is also a sign that i should probably go sit down, take a breather and wash this blood off, because it is unkind of me to take my frustrations out on you, an innocent, complete stranger on the internet. AC: it is wrong, and i am sincerely apologetic for having done so, dude. AC: so, like, light. GC: GC: {uh light}

-- ayeayeCaptain [AC] is no longer messaging grantonCleaver [GC]! --

-- ayeayeCaptain [AC] is now messaging grantonCleaver [GC]! --

AC: also, i totally do know you, you dumb fuck.

-- ayeayeCaptain [AC] is no longer messaging grantonCleaver [GC]! --