#i just wanted to get some thoughts offa my chest

[mrowsters]

I wanted to discuss some things about tfone and get some thoughts out into the void. Beware it's very long. Also, SPOILERS for TRANSFORMERS ONE.

Ya know I was thinking about TF One today and i realized they are all literally babies. Babies that have never transformed. Who don't know how to use their T-Cog much less take care of said T-Cog.

Babies who were probably never given integral lessons like, say, how to take care of their armor, cause they were miners. And they didn't even have armor (not any armor that was valued in any way because of their societal status as laborers) Besides, they (were) cog-less so why teach them how to care for themselves in any way that matters because they're just gonna get banged up again in the mines anyway. Sure, they're all shiny now (because they have brand-new armor) but they have so much to learn about caring for themselves and their health and what they should and shouldn't do because they're BABIES. LITERAL CHILDREN. AN ENTIRE GENERATION OF BOTS THAT DON'T KNOW INTEGRAL PARTS OF WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A CYBERTRONIAN.

DEAR GOD WHAT KIND OF HEALTH ISSUES ARE THE BABIES GONNA HAVE BECAUSE THEY WORKED IN THE MINES FOR THEIR INFANT-HOOD.

Ratchet and all the medics are gonna have some real work cut out for them. Orion, D-16, B-127, and Elita-One transforming was chaotic, imagine how the thousands of new-builds trying to figure it out together with only the advice from the three miners left that HAVE transformed.

Oh yeah and that racing board, assuming that every bot created became a miner after Sentinel's deal with the Quintessons (big assumption but there's no evidence to disprove it at this point....unless i missed it), Chromia, Cliffjumper, Mirage, Swerve, and everyone on that board is older than the miners. I just find it insane just how many bots are Older the Optimus Prime because he is a Baby. They are all Babies. They know a lot but they don't know so much too and dear God they're all babies. Just kids. Man Sentinel really fucked an entire generation of bots. Imagine all the extra shit they're gonna have to learn. WHAT OPTIMUS PRIME HAS TO LEARN.

Maybe I'm exaggerating, but it really feels like I'm not. Especially considering how the miners were treated by all of cybertronian society. (Ex: Bee getting stuck on sub-level 50 for being himself, the "Tier System," the constant reminders of their inferior status because of their lost cogs, the way regular bots ignore and don't acknowledge their presence (see the small scene of D-16 and Orion walking to the stadium, or the chase scene at the beginning of the movie), how excited the miners were to see Orion and D in the race [because that means if O+D can do it so can they and that means they are more than what others say they are],etc).

I really think it's gonna be an uphill battle for Optimus to truly bring their people together in the future movies. While showing Sentinel as a traitor of the highest regard and using the Matrix to get energon flowing again on Cybertron is a Fantastic start, I just feel like the Society Sentinel built to Separate the uppers and lowers of society can't be overturned in one day. They spent 50 cycles being split apart by what Sentinel deemed appropriate (something very scary to think about because he decided to take away newborns T-Cogs, what else has he decided on?) I honestly don't think that mindset that was instilled in the people, because let's face it, if your Prime, a damn near god-like authority, says its okay to dunk on the miners you're gonna do it to at least some degree because the Prime, and ultimately the Society he built, deems it acceptable behavior (it isn't acceptable behavior and im sure there's nuance because all bots have their own opinions and yada yada but we haven't SEEN these opinions except for maybe Darkwing's and the Prime Guard but they've been exiled so I'm not sure they count?) ((we can maybe count Chromia in this but all we saw her do was run over Orion and D-16 in the race so... Ultimately I would need more evidence to be sure)). And learning you were wrong AND to change your behavior AND the trust issues that are gonna come from this thanks to Sentinel's betrayal is not something that's gonna take everyone a day to achieve.

In the end the babies are gonna get stupid injuries. Ratchet and his team aren't getting ANY SLEEP. And I don't think things are gonna be okay in Iacon for a while, aside from Megatron and the Quints, that is. I'm interested to see where it's taken.

But also remember they are Babies. I also want to see them doing stupid shit because they don't know any better.

Small side note, the baby chevrons of Prowl and Bluestreak were adorable. I think I might've seen Smokescreen but I'm gonna have to watch it again to be sure. Just... Lil baby cheverons. Lil pointy. So cute. I hope they're gigantic now that they have T-Cogs. :3

[gaybananabread]

Hi I love your fics! I was wondering if you could write a lee bakugo and ler best jeanist? If your requests are closed you can just ignore this, I thought it could be cute though!

Have a great day! Remember to take care of yourself!

TickleTober Day 2 - Accidental

Okay, kinda lucked out! I was gonna wait till November to do this request, but I liked the pairing and needed an idea. You didn't request it as TickleTober, but that's what it is now. Changes nothing, just gives me an excuse to write it as such lol. Ignore any sewing-term errors, I don't sew anything. Anywho, I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Bakugou

Ler: Best Jeanist

Summary: Jeanist thought that Bakugou's suit needed some special touches. The blonde obviously protests, leading to some rather giggly measurements.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!!

Bakugou's hero suit was…well, it wasn't bad. It just lacked a certain flair the pro hero was looking for. So, with him mentoring the teen and all, Jeanist thought it his responsibility to spruce up the slightly drab suit.

The rapidly approaching fall season was a decent inspiration for him. With fall comes the changing of leaves, carving of pumpkins and cooler weather. Jeanist made sure to insulate the suit, knowing the blonde needed to sweat for his quirk to work. He kept the theme mainly orange, yellow and black, adding in a few splashes of green for style. 

By the end of his lunch break, he had drawn up a new seasonal suit for Bakugou. It was time for the hard part: getting his measurements without the boy exploding.

“I don’t need a new suit! Nothin’s fucking wrong with it!” Bakugou was not putting up with another change. His poor hair had been the first change. That damn comb over…he’ll never get over it. Now he wanted to switch up his suit design? Fuck that.

The pro hero sighed, expecting this reaction. “No need to be so dramatic. It’s just a little…seasonal makeover. Trust me, you’ll be much happier.” Bakugou huffed, shaking his head. Yeah right, he had said the same thing about the hairstyle…

Bakugou's choice of words wasn't his best idea. He was getting a bit pissy, letting his temper get the best of him. "Fuck off. My suit is fine, no more makeovers!" He glared at the pro, but that temper faded when he saw the look on his face. The look that meant Jeanist was done with his shit.

"Quite the mouth on you. I believe I said something about censoring your f-bombs, did I not?" Threads flew towards the teen, wrapping around his limbs and getting him positioned. When Jeanist was done, Bakugou was standing tall, his arms and legs spread just enough to get perfect measurements. "I would say 'stand still', but I don't think that'll be an issue now."

A bit dramatic, but he needed it. Bakugou thrashed and tugged on the thread, but everytime one broke, three more were quick to replace it. Jeanist was careful not to hurt the boy, just restrain him. "The fuck?! Get these damn threads offa me!" 

The pro rolled his eyes, grabbing his measuring tape and approaching him. "What did I just say?" Jeanist first ran the tape around his chest, getting the bust measurements. He wasn't expecting the other blonde's gasp when his fingers grazed his ribs. "Bakugou…are you hurt?"

Shit… "No, go away! Get these damn threads away from me!" He tried thrashing his way out, but nothing was working. Jeanist was too good at keeping him in place.

"Bakugou, if you're hiding an injury, you're only hurting yourself more. I only think less of you for getting injured if you don't tell me about it." His tone was serious. The pro didn't mess around when it came to his others' well-being. Giving Bakugou a stern look-over, he could tell the explosive teen wasn't lying. But if he wasn't injured, why'd he gasp? Jeanist knew he wasn't getting a straight answer; best to run a test…

Ignoring his protests, Jeanist got back to measuring. He did the bust measurements one more time, his fingers grazing Bakugou's ribs again. The teen was prepared, though, biting his cheek to keep quiet.

Okay, no noise that time…moving onto the waist. He moved the tape down, fiddling with the ends of it to find the exact measurement. He pressed his fingers against the boy's lower stomach, taking mental notes of the numbers. 

Bakugou's breathing was a bit shaky, his cheek starting to hurt from biting it so hard. Why couldn't Jeanist measure somewhere that wasn't ticklish? Literally any other place would have been fine. He just had to start with his ribs. Things only went downhill from there…

Now for hip girth. The tape was moved once again, running around his hips. Bakugou struggled not to react when he felt his mentor's fingers brush his hips. He could feel his cheeks heat up, the embarrassment and stupidity of his situation getting to him. 

Jeanist heard how shaky his breathing was getting, glancing up at the teen's face. What he saw shocked him. A blushing Bakugou, struggling not to smile. Why would he…wait a minute. He got a wonderful idea. And oho, it was perfect. 

The measuring tape was pulled away, Best Jeanist's fingers leaving his torso. Bakugou huffed, sparing a glance at his mentor. He instantly regretted it. The pro hero's smile was as wide as it was mischievous. The measurements were done for now, he could've released him; but he didn't. He knew. Bakugou was fucked. 

"Jeanist I- don't you FUCKING dare! I'll blow you into the stratosphere! Back off!" The blond pulled at his thread restraints, but Jeanist was too good with his quirk. He could barely wiggle around, much less escape.

The pro hero chuckled, shaking his head. "Wow, again with the language. What's it gonna take for you to clean up your act, Bakugou?" He tucked his arms behind his back, slowly getting closer to the teen. He knew exactly what it would take. He just wanted to have a bit of fun with his temperamental mentee. 

"Maybe…something like this?" He went behind the teen, squeezing his side. Bakugou huffed, jerking as much as the threads would allow. How were things as simple as threads keeping him restrained so well? 

"Lemme go! I swear, if you touch me one more time, I'll fucking blast you-" He couldn't even finish his sentence before Jeanist squeezed his side again, cutting his words off with a yelp. "There's that word again. You've really got to stop using it. Children aren't going to want to be near a hero who uses such scary language." 

To be completely honest, Jeanist didn't really care how the boy spoke. It wasn't up to him, he wasn't going to dictate how he communicated. Still, the cursing gave him an excuse to tickle the other blonde. An excuse he wasn't about to let go of.

Deciding to just go for it, Jeanist scribbled across the teen's stomach. He was pleasantly surprised to hear Baku's poorly-restrained giggles. He wasn't putting up much of an effort to conceal them anymore. "Shihit- nohoho! Get ohohoff!" 

It was nice to hear the aggressive, loud teen giggle like that. After all, he was still a kid. A teenager, yes, but still a kid. The boy deserves to laugh. And, by the looks of it, he doesn't really mind. 

"You'd think that you would stop cussing, but no. Honestly, do you ever learn your lesson?" The wiggling fingers move upwards, heading for his ribs. Bakugou's giggling got louder, still lighter and bubbly. At least he was on the right track.

Jeanist slowly moved up Bakugou's ribs, scribbling between each bone. The teen squirmed and thrashed as much as he could, his pink cheeks deepening to a vibrant red. The giggling was now borderline laughter. Just needed that one extra notch to get there.

"Goho awahahay, ohohold mahahahan!" The pro scoffed, pausing his tickling for a second. That kid was in for it now… "Old man?! I'm 35, thank you very much! That's a perfectly normal age for a hero. I think you need a lesson in manners…" 

The pro's hand suddenly darted upwards, scribbling mercilessly on the spot where his underarms meet the top of his ribs. Bakugou all but screamed, loud cackles replacing his giggling. "NOHOHO! GEHEHET- NOHOT THEHEHERE!" 

Jeanist just chuckled as he continued his ticklish fun. He was enjoying himself, seeing his mentee laugh like that. The boy never let loose besides fighting, it was a nice sight. "There we go, improvement. No insults, and not one swear word!" He didn't really have a definite reason for tickling Bakugou, besides the fact that it was fun. Excuses would help, though.

Laughter echoed around Jeanist's office, bouncing off the walls and lively the place up. The denim-clad pro experimentally squeezed Bakugou's hip, smirking at the squawk he got in return. His fingers moved away from the teen's death spot, fully moving his hands down to focus on his hips. 

"OHOHO MY- IHIHI'LL KIHILL YOUHUHU!" Bakugou was trying to continue his sort-of squirming, but he was tiring out. The tickles, paired with that morning's training and patrol, had him beat. He managed to keep his head held up, laughing as the pro went at his hips. 

His thumbs drilled into the boisterous teen's hips, smirking as he pulled laugh after laugh out of him. The kid definitely had a nice one; much better than his normal demented cackling. His eyes wandered down to Bakugou's legs, questioning if they'd be half as his upper body. Lucky for him, he forgot a measurement. 

"Oh, my bad! I forgot to measure your inseam! We'll need to take care of that, now won't we?" Jeanist pulled the measuring tape from his pocket once again, holding it against Bakugou's thigh. Only this time, he actually poked around the area, purposefully tickling him while getting the measurement.

Thigh tickles are a completely different experience from anywhere else on the body (imo). As such, Bakugou's laugh was a brand-new shade of adorable. The fiery teen giggled and squeaked, pitchy laughter replacing his cackles.

"CohOHOme ohohon! Youhuhu AHA- uhum,  j-jeheherk!” To his mentor’s surprise, Bakugou actually filtered his language. True, he had begun to call him an ass, but he took the effort to stop himself. It was kinda cute, even if he didn’t truly care about the other blonde’s language.

Jeanist chuckled, easing up on his student’s hips. “Would you look at that, he can learn. All it took was some tickling!” Said student groaned, his cheeks reddening as Jeanist said the word. Normally, he can hear and say the word just fine. That time, however, he was being teased and restrained by someone he looked up to. It’s waaay harder to stay composed when you’re giggling like an idiot.

Finally, the tickling and teasing got to him. Bakugou actually tapped out. He didn’t exactly say “uncle” or anything, but he did say one word that hadn’t been spoken since Jeanist started. “S-STOHOHOP IHIT! JeHEHEAnihihist noho mohOHORE!” 

And stop it he did. The pro hero pulled his hands away as the threads holding Bakugou in place snapped. The teen fell forwards, a bit dazed from laughing so hard for so long. Jeanist caught the giggly student before he could hurt himself. “Woah, careful. I didn’t go too far, did I?”

Bakugou shook his head, hiding his red face in his mentor’s shoulder. “Sh-shuhuhut uhup…” That was the only response he needed to know that everything was fine. The older blonde wrapped his arms around him, keeping the boy upright and letting him know that there was no judgment. 

“Alright, I’ll stop. Still, you have to admit you enjoyed yourself just a little.” Bakugou groaned, weakly punching his mentor’s side. That just made him laugh and muss up the teen’s hair. “I’ll take that as another yes.” 

A lightbulb seemed to go off in Jeanist’s head as he remembered the whole reason the silliness started. “Oh, I almost forgot! Now that I’ve got your measurements, I can start on your new suit!” He walked over to a nearby couch, laying the teen down to rest. Bakugou wasn’t totally spent, but he could use a breather. He grumbled something, but didn’t protest any. He wanted a quick nap, and knew Jeanist wouldn’t tease him for it. 

The pro went over to his personal work-area, grabbing the fabrics for Bakugou’s new suit. Hopefully, by the time his student woke up, he would have a starting point on the garment.

Their playful exchange had given him some good ideas on where to add extra padding, as well as some pops of color. Bakugou might have been a bit temperamental, but he was a good kid. A good kid deserves a good suit. As he cut the first length of fabric, he thought of the happy smile that was on his mentee’s face as he tickled him. He would have to take measurements more often…

[lildrabbles]

Chapter 6: The Lair

2007! Raphael x Female! Reader

Summary: After returning to the lair in the sewers his family learns where Raph has been this whole time.

Warnings: The usual, swearing

A/N: Sorry this took so long! The chapters to come are probably gonna take some time as well, since school is starting. I also got my first request, so keep an eye out for that in the near future!

Raph didn't know why he was surprised when he got back home. He thought he would just be able to sneak in like nothing happened, but of course that didn't happen. As soon as Raph stepped in, he got bombarded by a hug, getting knocked over in the process as the bag fell onto the ground. 

"Dude?! Where were you?! We were worried sick!!” Mikey clinged onto him.

Raph winched in pain. "Mikey, get the hell offa me! That hurts!" He shoved Mikey off of him and picked the bag back up, straightening himself.

"What happened to your chest?" Donnie questioned, leaning over to look at it.

Raph scoffed, brushing him off. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? It looks like it's bleeding through a bit so it must've been pretty bad -"

"I said I'm fine! Jesus.." Raph rolled his eyes.

"Ooo what's in the bag!" Mikey launched forward to grab at it but Raph lifted it up above his head.

"None of your business, twerp!" Raph growled.

Somehow Donnie had appeared behind him, and had snatched the bag. He reached his hand in and pulled out the piece of paper. "Dude, is this a phone number?" He raised a brow.

Raph snatched the paper back. "No!"

"Whos number is it?!" Mikey snatched the paper out of his hand and read it aloud. "Bro it has a smiley face on it!!" He cackled. "Raphie has a girlfriend, Raphie has a -"

Raphael lunged at him, causing them both to fall to the ground. He managed to put him in a headlock while Mikey begged for mercy before Splinter came through to witness the scene.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded.

Raph immediately let go and got up. "S-sensei, I-"

"Raphael! Where were you? You made us worried sick!" He was beside him in a flash before smacking him across the head.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?!" Raph protested, but only received a harsher smack.

"What have I said about swearing? Anyway, that's not what's important at the moment. Where were you?"

"I-I... well.." Raph didn't want to tell the truth.

Splinter raised his hand to threaten to hit him again. 

"Ok ok! I, uh... may have gotten hurt and this girl took me in and helped me.." He muttered.

"I told ya he had a girlfriend!" Mikey cheered, before Donnie smacked him across the head.

"You mean she saw you? She knows what you are?" Splinter asked with a frown.

"W-well yeah but-" Raph stuttered.

Splinter sighed, looking away while he stroked his beard, deep in thought. After some consideration, he looked back at his son. "Bring her here." 

Raph's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me. Bring her down here, through the sewers. Make sure she doesn't have any trackers on her phone and make sure you aren't followed."

Donnie tried to interject. "But Sensei, isn't that dangerous? I mean, what if she tells someone where she's going-"

Splinter raised his hand to silence him. "If she does, we will deal with it. I want to know if we can trust her."

"I don't want her to meet THOSE twits!" Raphael protested, pointing at his brothers. "Hey!" Mikey pouted.

"Enough!" Splinter groaned, rubbing his temple. "You boys are giving me a headache!"

Raph sighed. "Do I really have to, Sensei?"

"YES, Raphael, end of discussion." Splinter then turned around and left the room.

Mikey then appears out of nowhere and elbowed Raph in the side playfully. "Sooooo, who's the girl~"

He shoved Mikey off of him and grumbled. "I ain't tellin ya."

"Um, Raph, isn't it best to tell him now rather than Mikey demanding her name when she's actually here?" Donnie suggested,

Raph scoffed. "Fine. Her name is Y/N."

"That's a pretty name," Mikey then sang, "Raphie and Y/N sittin in a tree - "

He didn't get to finish before Raph launched at him once again.

Donnie managed to grab him before any punches were thrown. "Ok ok guys, Sensei was already upset enough, we don't need him to be mad. And Mikey, you know not to irritate him, especially when its about his girlfriend!"

He then received a smack across the head from Raph.

He picked up the bag and brought it to the kitchen counter while Donnie glared at him for hitting him, but he quickly got over it once he saw his brother unpacking the mysterious bag. Mikey and Don sat on the other side of the table watching him take out all the goods.

"Did Y/N give you all these?" Mikey asked slyly.

Raph shot him a dirty look. "Yes, shitface, she did." "Bro, no need to get, like, emotional about it." Mikey said overdramatically.

Raph was about to pummel him before winching from the pain in his chest. It was still not fully healed.

"Raph, what happened?" Donnie asked with a worried frown.

"Tch, I'm... fine," He said, he was starting to get dizzy. His knees started to wobble before Donnie quickly stood up and grabbed him. 

"Come on, I think you need some more rest." He led him towards the couch. Mikey stole an Oreo before joining them in the living room area.

"Sooo, is this Y/N hot?" Mikey snickered as he leaned against the couch.

"Shut up, Mikey," Raph growled as he laid down.

"It's better to ask in a more polite way, like ask if she's pretty," Donnie said.

"Oh, right! Raph, is Y/N pretty-" Mikey was cut off when Raph had thrown a pillow at his head.

"Fck off and lemme get some sleep, will ya?!"

"Ok ok! Jeez, someone's awfully cranky." Mikey and Don started to head to their rooms for the night, while Raph sighed and got in a more comfortable position.

His honest opinion? 

Yeah, she is both of those things.

But he would never say that aloud.

[tokiro07]

"For this next round, let's take a little break from the action," Anshin'in-san declared. "Jump is about more than just fighting: it's also about love! We'll pit some of Jump's most lovey-dovey couples against each other to see who lovey-doves each other the most!

"Now, let's meet our first contestant...

"Bondooo Tairaaa!!!"

"Eh?" Bondo's head rapidly shifted side to side, desperately trying to figure out when exactly this podium covered in multi-colored lightbulbs had been placed in front of him. Or, rather, why he'd been placed behind it

"Hold on a sec!" he protested. "I'm not a romantic protagonist! I'm from a gag manga! I don't even have a..." He wanted to say he didn't have a love interest, but his crush, Madoka's face sprang to mind as he spoke. As his cheeks began to heat up, he hid behind the brim of his cap

"Now, now, no need to be ashamed!" Anshin'in-san chimed. "Your partner already eagerly agreed to participate!" She waved her hand to direct Bondo's attention to his left

"Sh-she did?!" Bondo's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. As if being pulled by a string, Bondo's gaze followed Anshin'in-san's hand, and...!

"Yo," said Roboco, leaning against the podium, flashing a cool salute

"I SHOULD'VE KNOWN!" Bondo shouted, one eye shut and a balled-up fist shaking. "Why is it Roboco?! She's definitely not my love interest!"

"That's strange, she told us you were infatuated with her..."

"Of course she said that! She thinks everyone is!!!"

"There you go again, Master," Roboco said with a smug chuckle, "always with the tsundere act."

"Aaargh! Whatever, I can see complaining won't get me anywhere! Just bring out the other contestants already so we can get this over with!!!"

"Very well, then! Our next pair is..." Drum roll...

Based on everything else I've seen so far, Bondo thought, this author's super-biased towards Medaka Box and Undead Unluck, so I'm probably up against Medaka/Hitoyoshi or Andy/Fuuko, but probably not both...ah, but if Roboco had a say in this, then it might be Taiki/Chinatsu, since she'll want to prove that she's a better heroine than Chinatsu...

"Kenshiro and Yuria!!!"

A blue curtain swished open to reveal an incredibly muscular man bridal carrying a beautiful woman

"Kenshiro?!" Bondo screamed as his eyes popped out of his very skull. "He's the furthest thing from a romance protagonist! And this is clearly some kind of gameshow, he's wildly out of place here!"

"Hmph," Kenshiro grunted as he approached his podium, gently lowering Yuria to her feet. "If you're going to underestimate us...then you've already lost"

"That's not even how you use that catchphrase in canon! Who's writing you?!"

Bondo held his head in his hands, praying that the next contestants would at least be from a legitimate romance manga

"And now, our final pair..."

Whoever it is, they can't be a worse match than Kenshiro....

"Hey, get offa me, wouldja?!" a rough, yet somewhat high-pitched voice complained from behind a red curtain

"...No," Bondo said aloud on reflex

"Oh, darling, there's no need to be embarrassed~!" replied a mature, feminine voice. "You've embraced me before, and this isn't that different~"

"Luffy and Hancock!!!" The red curtain flew to the side to reveal a tall woman with her arms wrapped around a much shorter boy, clinging tightly as her legs clearly trail behind her

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT BY A ROMANCE!!!"

[passerine-writes]

Silent Sparks - Volt 49

Warnings: ⚠️There is a lot of violence⚠️ This chapter is pretty much all angst and violence, I tried to keep it to a minimum but Onryo has no regard for himself so-

Also, next chapter will sum up a lot if you would like to skip this.

Word count: 2784

Notes: Italics - Tsukare signing Bold italics - Family member/friend signing 'Italics with apostrophes' - Thoughts

Masterlist

Volt 48 | Volt 50

Tsukare woke up with a start, immediately hyperventilating at the old feeling of a muzzle on his face. He looked to Bakugou with pleading eyes, his panic already through the roof.

"Take it offa him!" Bakugou yelled, knowing just how much it was effecting him. "You want us to listen, then take it off." He growled out.

"Fine. Dabi. Take it off." Shigaraki ordered.

Tsukare thrashed and squirmed, trying to get free. His body was running on pure fear. Dabi lit a blue flame in front of his face, making him freeze.

"Stay still and you won't get burned." Tsukare tried his hardest to stay still, his body still shaking as tears rimmed his eyes. The muzzle came off and hung by the fire users side. "You use your quirk, it goes right back on." Tsukare panted but tried to nod, scared to focus on what was going on.

"As I was saying. I'm so grateful to the media for all the free publicity lately. Right? Isn't it nice? Bakugou Katsuki and Tsukare Onryo." Shigaraki asked.

"You're fucking crazy." Tsukare spat out shakily.

"Ohhh, I like him too! I wanna cut him up!" The girl with blonde hair and a knife squealed excitedly.

"Sorry, but I'm not into girls like that." He bit back, finally looking up. He froze when he recognized someone that felt like a distant memory.

Bakugou. I think I know the fire guy.

"What are you talking about, ear bleed?" He snarled at his classmate since his hands were bound.

"Dabi. Tie his hands." Shigaraki ordered, the man with staples in his body sighed, got some rope and made his way over.

"A compass. The burnt compass." Dabi's eyes widened in shock, the realization of who this boy was finally striking him.

"What's he talking about, Dabi?" Mr. Compress asked for everyone in the room.

"I don't know. The kids delusional."

"I still have it. It's on the end of my nightstand, I didn't know how to work it so I got lost again. It was cold and I was lost in that rich neighborhood. Don't tell me you don't know!" Onryo shouted, breathing heavily as he stared at the floor. The muzzle came back into view and he started panicking again. Managing to flip the wooden chair backwards and break it. "Get away from me!" His quirk shook the building and he kept an eye on everyone. "What do you want?"

"Simple. We want you to join us. You and Bakugou. We think you'd make perfect additions to our League. You are my Player Two after all." He took a shaky breath. "Someone even joined us to help.. keep an eye on you."

"You told me you wouldn't hurt him." Shiroka's voice emitted from the bar before she came into the light. Tsukare's breathing picked up again and he backed up further, walking through the purple smoke to where his chair was laying in shambles. "Come here, baby. Are you alright?"

"Get away. Don't touch me." He mumbled and stepped back, the fire wielder strapped the muzzle on him painfully tight.

"Stop being ridiculous. Those men have drilled so many bad things into your head about me. But they're all wrong." He shook his head and gripped painfully tight at his hair. "It's okay, Toga will convince you to join us. Shigaraki, would you mind if the kids went in the other room to chat?" She asked in a sickly sweet tone.

Next thing Onryo knew, he was warped into a room with no doors or windows. The blonde girl from earlier standing in front of him with two knives.

"Oh we're going to have so much fun, Onryo!"

Bakugou sat in horror as the two were warped back an hour later, red lines and carvings across his classmates body. A particularly bad one on his cheek, going down his jaw, all the way to his chest. However he didn't stop fighting as they put him in a new chair and strapped him in.

"Toga! That is the only other boy Stain approved of! Don't you care about his ideology?" Spinner lectured the girl, irked that someone would do that to his god-adjacent's seal of approval.

"Mr. Stainy would probably understand that it has to do with my quirk. Besides, I didn't kill him or anything."

"C'mon sweetheart, stop this nonsense. Just join us already and come home with me." He shook his head a received a harsh slap to the face, blood smearing and flying. "Don't make me do this, baby. I just want you home. I'll let you try again. Will you join us?" Shiroka asked softly, a small threat lying behind it.

Whatever you do, don't break. They won't kill me. There's money involved.

Bakugou sent him a confused look but stayed silent.

"What did he say?" Shigaraki asked, irked by the intrusion of the muzzle. But they knew he was called ear bleed for a reason.

"Ear bleed, sign it again. I didn't catch it."

Tell them I'll join if you do. So gimme their worst. This is child's play.

Bakugou snorted and smirked at his spunk, having a new found respect for him but he would never openly admit that.

Oh and I don't feel like listening to Shiroka screech anymore so, my hearing aids are off.

He reached up and turned off his hearing aids, the world quieting down around him.

Bakugou interpreted and watched as Onryo got a broken wrist from Shiroka. He bit back any cries of pain, doing his best to simply endure it.

He endured the torture for three hours before they stopped. Shigaraki getting a great idea. Using Tsukare's cracked and barely charged phone that was idle on airplane mode to get Aizawa's number.

Aizawa's phone pinged at almost four in the morning, right around when he would normally be getting back from patrol. A video, from an encrypted number. He woke up his barely sleeping husband and the two watched in horror. The video starting with Shigaraki setting up the camera.

"Is this thing on?" He asked as he stepped back a bit. "Hello, Eraser Head. You might be wondering how I got your work number. Well, a certain child of yours still had his phone and I would've gone straight for your personal number, but.. there were some issues. So this'll have to do."

"You just couldn't figure out the Pokémon names boss, don't try and sound so cool." A voice chirped in the background.

"Back to the topic. Your son is in great care here. Would you like to see?" He stepped to the side and the parents almost hurled at how their son looked.

He was bruised and beaten, swollen and bleeding, chest rising and falling harshly with each wheezing breath. His right hand looked disfigured and some of his other bones looked close to protruding. A muzzle was on his face and leather bindings held him to a chair.

"Say hello to Eraser Head and Present Mic, Sonus." Shigaraki snarked. "Or should I say, your dads? It was a good effort keeping that secret, but mama bird chirped away as soon as we asked." Mic and Aizawa looked at each other, assuming the same thing. "I wonder how cool Eraser will be this time. Clocks ticking." Shigaraki cut off the camera and the parents sat in shock. Mic stared a little closer and when his husband tried to move him away he grabbed the phone.

"Sunshine, seeing him like that is only going to make us feel worse." Aizawa tried to reason but Mic was already rewinding the video.

"Sho, I know this sounds crazy but watch closely. Please." Shouta sighed but agreed for his husbands sake and he saw it. A shaky hand finger spelling to the best of its ability without drawing attention.

Shiroka. Here.

Baku. Okay.

Bar. No window.

Quiet.

Hurt bad.

"We need to get this to the station and the school immediately. You call Tsukauchi, I'll call Nedzu." Yamada directed, the two of them rushing to the car in their pajamas.

"Shouta. Hizashi. It's unlike the two of you to demand an emergency meeting at this hour. Is it Tsukare?" Nedzu asked before him and Tsukauchi watched the video. The animal principal catching what Onryo signed. "Oh dear. And Shiroka is there?"

"How do you know she's there?" Tsukauchi asked.

"He signed it. He's a smart boy, very clever, those hand movements weren't random. Shiroka is there. Bakugou is okay. So we can presume he is unharmed. It's quiet. They're in a bar, and it has no windows. And.. he's hurt bad." Nedzu sighed and Tsukauchi looked about ready to scream. "Hizashi. Shouta. I can assume I don't need to tell you this, but you aren't going to the rescue mission. It's a conflict and that is the last thing we need right now. I have a plan in motion. Let's get our students back."

Onryo got in a few minutes of half conscious sleeping at a time. Mostly between the violence. His hand throbbed. His head pounded. Everything hurt. But he refused to give in. He knew his family would be coming, someone would come for them. They just had to wait it out.

He was sure he had a broken rib, and if the knife in his thigh was removed, he would probably bleed out. Spinner and Magne were the two mostly decent to him. Spinner apologizing for the harsh treatment and Magne sneaking the two sips of water. The main tormentors were Shiroka, Toga and Dabi, with the ever present threat of disintegrating from Shigaraki.

Bakugou received no harsh treatment so far. A few snapping tones and demeaning words, but nothing physical. They knew better. He was the one they had to win over. And they hoped to psychologically break him into agreeing.

He could somewhat see the television as the news played, showing his Dad in a suit with his hair back talking about the incident. He turned his hearing aids back on just to be able to hear his Dads voice, finding some sort of comfort in it.

"Isn't that strange?" Shigaraki asked. "The heroes are becoming the bad guys. Seems like they're not dealing with this very well at all. So much criticism. But everyone makes a mistake or two, right? It's not like they're supposed to be perfect. Modern-day heroes sure have it rough. Don't you think, Bakugou?"

"Once a hero receives payment to protect people, they aren't a real hero anymore. That's what Stain's actions taught us." Spinner said from the wall.

"A hero in this current system only cares about money and glory. And since society buys in to those idiotic rules, anyone deemed a loser is shoved aside. So let us ask some more questions. What is a hero? What is justice? Is this society truly fair? Soon, everyone will be asking. That's when we'll know we've won. And you like winning. Don't you?" Bakugou growled and Onryo tried his best to keep his eyes open. "Dabi. Let him go." That opened his eyes.

"You know he'll just fight. Just like carrot top."

"It's fine. We're recruiting him, so we should treat him as an equal. Let Tsukare go as well while you're at it. Besides, they're smart enough to know by now that they can't take us all, right?" Tsukare nodded his head in mock defeat. "After all, UA students are so clever."

"Hey, Twice. You do it." Dabi instructed, the ravenet walking over to Onryo and starting with the muzzle.

"Even though our backgrounds are different, everyone here has suffered. Because of people. Rules. And heroes who try to hold us back. I'm sure you're the same." Immediately, Bakugou and Tsukare lunged at once. The blond sending an explosion and Tsukare letting out a horrendous yell of pain that shook the whole building.

"I'm done listening to your endless talking. Can you not get to the point or do you just like your own voice? Basically, what you're saying is you wanna cause some trouble and you want us to join you. You tried breaking me down mentally and you tried breaking him down completely. Well, screw you." Bakugou growled as he got into a better fighting stance. "I like to win. I wanna win just like All Might. No matter what you have to offer me, that will never change, do you understand?" Tsukare could tell that he was using the hatred of All Might to his advantage and got ready to fight as well. Nedzu's voice cut in the background clearly, fueling Bakugou's adrenaline. "Ha! Did ya hear the teachers? They get me more than I thought. We'll never join your league of bastards!" The blond yelled out. "We may not be at camp, but we're still allowed to fight!"

Perfect timing as usual, the hearing aids died and Tsukare was left in the audible dark. He gauged Bakugou's movements and reactions, waiting for a signal of some kind. He could barely stand still, his body wobbling and threatening to fall, but he forced himself to stay up.

"Stay back!" Onryo yelled, using his quirk as much as possible. A few glasses fell and shattered, the villains freezing at the sudden shockwave and blood dripping down their faces.

Bakugou turned and Tsukare followed suit, not hearing the knocking on the door or the call for a pizza delivery. Bakugou pulled Tsukare closer as the wall was punched in by All Might. Kamui Woods binding people, Gran Torino knocking Dabi out, Edgeshot opening the door to reveal the police.

"Ah, you must've been scared. But you stayed strong. Oh no. Young Tsukare?" All Might crouched down in front of Tsukare and went to grab him but remembered not to, trying his best to earn back his reputation fully. Tsukare swayed as All Might went on a tangent, eventually using Bakugou as support. The blond went to yell but couldn't bring himself to.

Nomu began swarming and a grey mud filled everyone's mouth, well, the students and the Leagues. Tsukare keeled over, puking from the awful liquid that just invaded him and brought him somewhere else.

From the sides, Iida, Yao-momo, Shinsou, Midoriya, Kirishima and Todoroki stood in the alley of the building. Everyone encased in fear as a man with a giant mask in a suit stood before them, Bakugou stood coughing and continuing being the support for Tsukare.

"My apologies, Bakugou and Tsukare." The two looked up but Onryo was none the wiser as to what was being said. Slowly, the league appeared around them. Shiroka tried coming up behind Onryo and grabbing him but he pushed her away.

"Don't touch me!" He seethed. "I don't want you in my life, I made that clear at the police station. We don't want to join your stupid gang, just fucking drop it!" His voice was hoarse and most cringed at the sound of it.

The man in the mask held up a hand and kept talking to Shigaraki. All Might soon rushed in again, sending a punch directly to the man in the suit. Bakugou held onto Tsukare's good arm, ensuring they wouldn't get separated as they blew away. The two stayed close to the ground with the air force, learning from the first time around. Red and black tendrils punctured into the warp villain, activating his quirk. Bakugou and Onryo backed up, trying to distance themselves as the rest of the league circled.

They fought side my side, dodging and striking in tandem, having the others back. The knife twitched in Tsukare's leg but he ignored it, they needed to stall. It was six against two, they were screwed either way with Onryo on the fritz.

All Onryo could hear were the explosions but that was enough, he kept using his quirk to tear up the ground and rupture some eardrums. Then the slab of ice came, seeming to touch the stars in their state of exhausted delirium. Bakugou grabbed Onryo's good arm and launched him with a grand scale explosion before flying after him. Kirishima caught Bakugou and Hitoshi caught his brother, Mount Lady and Gran Torino covering their backs. The group landed unceremoniously, Onryo allowing his brother to carry him as he finally blacked out.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Chapter 4

After eating, sleeping arrangements for the time are sorted out— Stanford and Fiddleford share the couch, heads on opposite armrests. Luckily, Stanford has always been the type to curl up, and the couch is long enough that Fiddleford’s feet only reach his chest even when he sprawls. Stanley sleeps on the floor, an arrangement Fiddleford only agreed to after he gathered up enough pillows and blankets to make a decent little nest for him.

The twins fall asleep quickly enough, but Fiddleford struggles to settle down against the noises of other living creatures in his space. Stanley snorts and mumbles softly in his sleep. He's curled up against the wall, near Stanford’s head. Fiddleford can hear him, but if there’s any words in his sleepy rambles, he can’t make them out.

He used to like it, falling asleep to Stanford mumbling equations at his desk, or to Emma-May’s quiet breathing. The sounds of Stanford pacing and ranting and bumping into the walls kept him up once, but in a way, his current restfulness unnerves him all the more. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Stanford to wake up with a wide grin and bright yellow eyes, to grab him and finish in Stanford’s body what he started in his own.

It’s quiet outside. It often is. The beasts here are dangerous, but not numerous. Occasionally Fiddleford will be roused from his sleep by some nocturnal monster, but more often than not, it’s just quiet. He misses crickets. He misses coyotes.

Suddenly, Stanford shifts, one leg kicking out at the backrest as he curls up tighter. Fiddleford sits up immediately, drawing his legs away from Stanford and staring at the hunched form of him in the dark. He’s shaking, little noises of distress spilling from his pursed lips.

Thoughts of Bill’s possession and the danger he might pose are discarded immediately. Stanford, for all that he’s always been bulkier than Fiddleford, looks impossibly small where he’s curled, twitching on the couch.

“Stanford,” Fiddleford whisper-shouts, leaning a bit closer. “Wake up, hun, come on.”

Stanford doesn’t react. His hand clenches against the back of the couch, pushing at it weakly.

“Hey, come on, up you get,” Fiddleford insists, reaching out to take Stanford’s shoulder.

Before he can reach, Stanford’s eye shoots open and a six-fingered grip takes his wrist firmly and twists. Fiddleford yelps, bracing a foot against Stanford’s leg as he scrambles to get away from his iron grip. Stanford follows his movement, sitting up like he’s being tugged along rather than consciously moving his own body.

He’s grinning, and even if it’s hard to make out the details of his eyes in the dim light, he knows they’re yellow, pupils slitted. From his eye, something dark runs down his cheek.

“Heya Specs! Good to see you again! Honestly, I’m surprised you’re alive!”

Fiddleford wants to retort back, say anything that would get that sickening grin off of Stanford’s face, but the words catch in his throat. He can’t say a thing.

“Nice talk, but you’re not the one I want to torment right now!” Bill says from Stanford’s mouth, and he gives Fiddleford’s wrist one final, painful squeeze before shoving him away and off the couch. “Where’s my inferior clone?”

Fiddleford hits the ground hard, unable to catch himself with his other hand. Instantly he turns towards where Stanley was resting. The terms of Bill’s possession are unclear, Fiddleford has no idea how to expel that demon from Stanford’s body without hurting him, or even with hurting him if it came to that.

What is clear, however, is the danger Bill’s occupation poses to both him and Stanley.

Fiddleford rolls onto his hand and knees to make his way towards Stanley— he doesn’t know what to do, but it’s bound to be easier if Stanley’s awake for it— but Bill reaches him first. He tumbles Stanford’s body over the arm of the couch, landing directly on top of Stanley.

“What the hell?” Stanley grunts, “get offa me, Ford!”

“Aw, why? Don’t you miss me, brother?” Bill teases. “Don’t you want a hug?”

Whatever Stanford does, it has Stanley crying out in pain. Fiddleford scrambles to his feet.

“Oh, he got you good didn’t he! Bet it really hurts! I’m jealous!” Bill continues, and Stanley’s shout trails off into the loud, shaky breaths of someone trying very hard not to agitate an injury.

“Ford— what—“ Stanley wheezes.

“It’s Bill!” Fiddleford corrects, looping an arm around Stanford’s neck in an attempt to pull him off of Stanley.

Bill lets out a choked laugh, one hand clawing at Stanley’s shoulder while the other scrambles against Fiddleford’s arm. His nails are short— Stanford always had a bad habit of chewing at them— but there’s enough there to dig into his skin.

“This is all your fault!” Bill wheezes. “As usual, you ruined everything, Mackerel! I tried to tell Sixer here that this would happen, but he trusted you! And look where it’s gotten us! You, branded like a cow, him, stuck in another world, and me without my portal!”

Branded. Stanley’s cry of pain, the way he’d been favoring one arm all day, his wince when Fiddleford mentioned burning himself—

“Let go, you damnable triangle!” Fiddleford snaps, and Stanley scrambles to get Stanford’s hand off of his shoulder just as Fiddleford throws his full weight backwards. It’s hard to keep him in place without support from his other arm, but it’s enough to pull him free.

“You worthless sack of rotting meat!” Bill snarls, wrenching himself free of Fiddleford’s grip now that he’s no longer wasting a hand on tormenting Stanley. “I will get what I want, and Palo Alto will be my first stop once I wipe Gravity Falls off the map! You’re about to miss a lot of birthdays, hick, but I’ll show Tater how to party!”

“You keep his name out of your mouth!” Fiddleford shouts, and before he can think better of it, he throws his full weight into a punch to Stanford’s jaw.

He doesn’t have a lot of weight, even less now than ever before, but it’s enough that Stanford stumbles, falls, and slams his temple into the break room countertop.

Fiddleford freezes, locked in the follow through. Stanley stares from where he’s sitting on the ground, a hand covering his shoulder, wide eyes flicking between Fiddleford and Stanford.

“… Hell of a left hook,” Stanley says faintly.

“Oh my lord,” Fiddleford breathes, and both of them scramble towards the unconscious form of Stanford at once.

“Hey, wake up, Poindexter,” Stanley demands, tapping Stanford’s cheek with an open palm.

Fiddleford grabs Stanford’s wrist, reminds himself that he's never been able to feel someone’s pulse there, and leans forward to rest his head on his chest instead, listening to the steady beat of his heart and feeling the way it rises and falls with each breath.

He didn’t kill him, thank the lord. Still, a potential brain injury is a potential brain injury and Stanley is right to try to wake him. Still, last time Fiddleford had tried to wake him…

“Stay here, be careful,” Fiddleford says, waiting for Stanley to acknowledge him— a confused glance, good enough— before he darts out of the break room.

Somewhere around here, in some pile of crap Fiddleford never got around to sorting through— ah, there it is. Fiddleford fishes a length of rope from a pile of scrap fabric, then retrieves the reading light from his desk.

Supplies successfully gathered, he returns to the break room. Stanley has moved Stanford so his head is resting in his lap, and keeps poking at him in an attempt to rouse him.

“Gonna need you to tie the knots,” Fiddleford says, handing over the rope as he settles down beside Stanford.

“What?” Stanley holds the rope limply, apparently baffled by its sudden presence in his hands.

“Tie his wrists, Stanley, I know he hurt you and I wanna make sure he doesn’t do it again.”

“Whaddya mean, I’m fine,” Stanley says quickly. “He was pushing you around too, wasn’t he? Are you fine?”

“Don’t even start with me,” Fiddleford sighs, “once we get Stanford sorted out, you’d best believe I’m checkin’ in on your shoulder.”

“What shoulder?” Stanley says, and then immediately winces.

“Just tie your brother's arms, will you?”

Stanley grumbles unhappily, but does so with unnerving ease. It’s not the first time he’s done something like this, Fiddleford reckons.

Once he’s bound, Fiddleford lets out a soft sigh of relief, letting himself rest his hand against Stanford’s chest, comforted by the feeling of his heart beating beneath his palm.

“Come on hun,” Fiddleford gently requests. “Why don’t ya wake up?”

“So, is calling your lab partner ‘hun’ a nerd thing or a southern thing?” Stanley says, absently continuing to poke at Stanford’s cheek even as he looks up at Fiddleford with a shit-eating grin.

“Is now really the time?” Fiddleford hisses.

“Hey, I find my fun where I can,” Stanley says with a tight shrug. He pinches either side of Stanford’s lips, parting them as he talks in a mocking voice. “I’m Stanford Pines, I want to make out with Nikola Tesla, polynomial equations, and maybe my lab assistant!”

“Will you hush up?” Fiddleford snaps, feeling his cheeks go red. Still, there’s something to be said for the redirection of the tension in the room.

Then, Stanford groans softly, and all that tension returns. Stanley pulls his hand away as if burnt. Fiddleford moves his hand down to Stanford’s bound wrists, checking the knots there.

“Nnn… wha…” Stanford‘s eyes open slowly.

As soon as they do, Fiddleford is flicking the reading light on and shining it into his eyes. He immediately hisses and squeezes them shut, but Fiddleford catches a glimpse of his round pupils before he does.

“Wh—“ Stanford grumbles, before he suddenly bolts upright. “Stanley!”

“Right here, Six,” Stanley says calmly, leaning away just in time to avoid getting headbutted.

“He— Bill, he wanted to— he blamed you for ruining the portal, stranding me on this side where I couldn’t help him, he wanted to— and he wasn’t even the one—“

Stanford trails off, looking at Stanley with wide, desperate eyes before he leans his head forward, resting it on Stanley’s uninjured shoulder. After a moment of hesitation, Stanley unties his brother’s wrists and wraps his arm around him, sighing into his hair as he leans his cheek against the top of his head.

“Stanley…” Stanford whines, like a child seeking comfort.

“I got you,” Stanley says carefully. Fiddleford meets his eyes, and sees the uncertainty there. “We’re gonna figure this out, Ford.”

“We’d better,” Fiddleford agrees, and Stanford curls tighter into Stanley’s arms at the sound of his voice. He tries not to take it personally. “We did most of the hard work, if that equilateral bastard can find some other schmuck to break in and finish it off, it’s over.”

Stanford peels himself away from Stanley, turning to look at Fiddleford. His eyes are wet, cheeks ruddy. There's blood smeared down one of them, the few tears he allowed to slip doing little to dilute it.

“I’m— I’m so sorry, Fiddleford,” Stanford says, half reaching for him as well.

Fiddleford sighs helplessly, and catches Stanford’s hand before it can retreat. Despite the bruise Bill had pressed into his wrist with these same hands, the six fingers fitting comfortably between his own are as soothing as they’ve ever been.

It’s not like Stanford never apologizes, but it’s a rare occurrence. He’ll apologize for little things, like waking Fiddleford up at some ungodly hour, but never for the larger strokes, like almost getting Fiddleford killed again and again. If Stanford was actually invested in his actions, getting him to apologize for them was like pulling teeth.

And in the time since their reunion, there was nothing he was more invested in than that portal.

“You— you were right about everything. I should have listened to you, I can’t believe I was so foolish!”

“Dumbest genius I’ve ever met,” Fiddleford agrees, and the resigned hurt on Stanford’s face has him squeezing his hand in an attempt at comfort. “But you’re still a genius. If anyone can figure out how to stop him, I reckon it’s us.”

(Un)happy Reunion

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 3,143 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

Fiddleford reunites with Stanford and meets Stanley after 6 months alone in a post-apocalyptic city in some other dimension.

Chapter 1

see notes for future chapters!

If Fiddleford had to describe this world he’s spent the past 6 months in in a single word, he’d probably choose terrible. Other descriptors such as strange, horrible, post-apocalyptic, and dangerous also come to mind. Lately, though, he’s been putting a lot of thought into the word lonely.

There were intelligent species here, once. It’s clear in the almost-familiar design of this destroyed city, in the tattered books written in a language Fiddleford can’t make any sense of, in every little item he comes across. He even has an idea of what they looked like— he’s seen their art, their pictures, their mangled bodies— and Fiddleford has to wonder if Bill understood the cruel irony of sending him to a world that was once inhabited by pig people.

He wonders, sometimes, if he could have found a way to communicate with them, if any of them were left. Would his throat have been able to form the words of their language, or theirs his? Would they have tried to help him? Just being around another living creature that didn’t try to kill him on sight would be pretty nice right now.

Unfortunately, that’s never been what this planet has in store for him, and when he hears something move nearby, he knows it’s a threat.

It must be in the next alleyway, and it’s fairly big— most of the monsters Bill left here are. Fiddleford goes still, staring in the direction of the alleyway and listening for any other sign of movement. It’s quiet for a moment, until Fiddleford hears a loud crash and what sounds like hushed murmuring. So many things have sounded like human voices lately that he doesn’t put any stock into it, just dips into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to escape whatever is making that noise before it even knows he’s here.

It’s an attempt that fails immediately, as he crashes into a pile of shredded metal like an idiot. It slices through the worn fabric of his pants, but as far as he can tell it doesn’t reach skin. It does, however, make a very loud noise, and the not-voices go quiet.

“Son of a gun,” he allows himself to hiss, and he takes off down the alleyway without any further regard to the sound he’s making.

Something steps out in front of him, blocking his way. It’s taller than the previous inhabitants of this planet, but smaller than most of the monsters he’s encountered. It’s built a lot like a person, and not a particularly imposing one at that, so Fiddleford doesn’t slow his roll for a moment. He fishes a knife out of the tattered pocket of his lab coat, and slams his shoulder into the beast.

It cries out, still sounding a heck of a lot like a person as it hits the ground, breaking Fiddleford’s fall. He presses the knife to what should be its throat, and is almost surprised to find smooth, human-looking skin beneath his blade. It’s a familiar shade, even, and Fiddleford can’t help but let his eyes wander further up to its face—

“Stanford?” Fiddleford spits, downright baffled to see his big brown eyes looking up at him.

Stanford opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Fiddleford is being hauled off of him. Something has grabbed the back of his scarf and pulled it tight, tight enough that Fiddleford gags against the construction, tight enough that he’s reminded of Bill’s hand around him, crushing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he’s being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway and crushed between Bill’s uncaring fingers and—

“Stanley!”

That’s Stanford’s voice, he’d recognize it anywhere, but how is he here?

“Who the fuck—“

A voice, closer than Stanford’s, unfamiliar but definitely not Bill. It’s a person that’s holding him, and even if he’s struggling to breathe against the arm pressed to his throat, he can deal with a person.

Fiddleford kicks out, slamming his knee between the legs of his assailant.

“Son of a—!” he shouts, but he lets go of Fiddleford to stumble back.

“Stop! Stanley, this is Fiddleford! He’s the reason we’re here!” Stanford says, inserting himself between the two of them. “Well, he’s the reason I wanted to be here. You’re the reason you’re here and we don’t know how to get back.”

Yep, that insufferable holier-than-thou tone is definitely Stanford.

“I’m the reason you’re here?” Fiddleford chokes, rubbing his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

“I know that!” Stanford says, turning to Fiddleford.

Stanford looks about the same as he left him, beyond the dark circles under his eyes. Fiddleford knows the same can’t be said about himself.

“Listen, Fiddleford, I—“

“Save it, Stanford,” Fiddleford snaps, shaking his head as he turns towards the other man in the alleyway. “You must be Stanley?”

When Fiddleford first heard about Stanford’s twin, he imagined a carbon copy of his then-roommate. Stanley is not that. They’re nearly identical in the shapes of their faces, the texture and shade of their hair, the slope and color of their eyes, but the similarities end there. Put simply, Stanley looks like shit, with long, tangled hair, an unshaven face, and dark circles to rival Stanford’s, all wrapped up in a ratty jacket over an even rattier shirt. Even the way he holds himself is worrying, the way he’s hunched in on himself like a coiled spring, turned to the side like he’s keeping something just out of sight, eyes weary, teeth grit.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Stanley grumbles, and he draws himself even tighter. Even in conversation he’s locked on the defensive, and with the brief glimpse of an interaction between him and Stanford, Fiddleford can’t say he blames him.

“Nice ta meet ya, Stanley. I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine seems to be missin’,” Fiddleford greets. “Well, not missin’ exactly, I know where it is, but it ain’t doin’ me much good inside the stomach of some rottin’ monster.”

“Your arm!” Stanford exclaims belatedly.

He grabs for Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford quickly smacks his hand away, a shudder running through his body at the phantom sensation of someone grabbing at what remains of his arm. He steps away, eyeing Ford wearily, almost expecting him to try again.

He doesn’t. He brings his hand back, tucking it to his chest for just a moment, hurt in his eyes. After a moment, he clears his throat, straightens up, and tucks his hands behind his back.

“I take it that’s a new development?” Stanley says, watching Fiddleford carefully. The matching scrutinizing gazes of both twins sets Fiddleford even further on edge.

“I would never have allowed such grievous injury to come to him under my care!” Stanford huffs, glaring at Stanley.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“And who’s god-forsaken vanity project brought me here, Stanford?”

“Easy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley cuts in before Stanford can respond. “None of us are happy to be here, but he—“

Fiddleford raises his hand. “Shut yer yap.”

“Okay, rude—“

“I mean it, don’t ya hear that?” Fiddleford hisses. It’s barely audible, not like Stanford and Stanley’s rustling in a nearby alleyway. Something is moving through the main streets.

“I don’t hear shit, except some hillbilly interrupting me wh—“

“I hear it,” Stanford says, and Stanley throws his arms up in frustration.

Click-click, drag, click-click, click-click. Three functional limbs, one dragging along, moving at a gradual, unhurried pace. The time between each step suggests a step length of perhaps a meter. It’s large, too large for Fiddleford to deal with without his arm, but likely small enough to fit into this alleyway. Stanley seems pretty tough, and Stanford had somehow held his own for 6 years in Gravity Falls despite its many dangers, but he wasn’t about to trust either of them in a fight against whatever unknown beast was approaching.

“It’s coming from—“ Stanford whispers, and despite the low volume, Fiddleford cringes at the sound.

“I know,” Fiddleford snips quietly, “follow me.”

Fiddleford doesn’t bother to check if either of them listened— Stanford reacts well to confidence, and with any luck, Stanley would as well— before he’s slinking out of the alleyway, carefully watching his step this time.

“Come on, dumbass,” Stanley hisses, and Fiddleford spares them a glance. Both have moved to follow, but Stanford is hesitating, looking behind him even as Stanley grabs his arm and pulls him along behind him.

“I just want a look—“ Stanford mumbles, shaking Stanley’s hand off.

“This ain’t Gravity Falls, Stanford, an’ I won’t hesitate to leave you ‘n’ your brother for mincemeat if you don’t hurry yer asses up!”

Stanford immediately turns towards Fiddleford, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. Fiddleford glares at him, lets him truly believe he means it (Fiddleford knows he wouldn’t leave Stanford or his brother, damn him) before he turns back around and continues on the way. This time, Stanford and Stanley follow without any further prompting, though Fiddleford hears what sounds like an amused snort from Stanley at Stanford’s sudden obedience.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

For the prompt idea if you want to, So beat with Peter maybe? Like he and his SO are having some alone time, and they try to dance with him but height difference is a thing, might get awkward for them

nonverbal starters

beat dance with them.

aaaaaaaaa my heart tho-

By this point, PETER thinks that (Name) ought to know he’s not some kind of refined gentleman who can do things like waltz. He can barely count to ten, couldn’t write his own name even if someone said they’d give him £100 to do so, and the only soft thing about him is his hair.

Either they’re trying to ‘tame’ him, or asking him to dance is some kind of… foreplay or something. He can’t figure it out.

He almost wishes Wendy weren’t off on a walk with her beau right now. She might be a little better at this sort of thing, and maybe she could clue him in as to whether he’s screwing up or not. Then again, having his sister here would defeat the point of the two of them having some time with their lovers.

It’s not as if he doesn’t like being close to (Name) like this. God, more than anything he adores the skin-on-skin of being near them. It’s just… they’re so much taller than he is. Not only is he bad at dancing already, he thinks it’s twice as hard with someone who’s average height. He only comes up to about the bottom of their chest. Holding their hand to dance is an exercise in compromise, and it’d be a bit strange trying to have his other hand on their waist this way.

Where the hell is he supposed to put his hands? Aren’t they disappointed that they can’t rest their head on his shoulder or against his chest? Isn’t he just a disappointment in general?

A part of him wonders why they haven’t just picked him up and carried him, dancing as one might dance with a child. That the thought even passes through his mind infuriates him.

Nothing can ever just be normal where he and the others are concerned, can it? This is just one more thing that reminds him he’s not like everyone else.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts, ready to simply stomp off in frustration, that he only snaps back to the present when (Name)’s free hand drops down onto his shoulder. He thinks that’s how it’s proper in society, for their hand to be on his shoulder. Their touch guides him to step closer… perhaps a bit shyly.

Dammit. He can’t help but curse himself. He’s so angry all the time, so wrapped up in the bad things, that he very nearly missed all the things that are supposed to make this a good moment.

There’s so much good about it. The way their hand swings lightly in his. The smile on their face when he looks up. The hammering of his heart in his chest that he always gets around them even if he’s loath to admit it. The fact that they want to dance with him in the first place.

That little gesture, being pulled closer to them, is a subtle but much-needed reminder. Whatever else might be true, they chose him.

Fuck everything else. The rest of the world doesn’t matter.

All that matters is what his family and his beloved think.

He tilts his head at them, unable to stop himself from being cheeky. “Look at that, can’t keep y’r ‘ands offa me.”

“… Ah! Haha…” There’s a small stab of pride in his heart when they smile down at him. “I can’t… you’re right. This is fine, then? You looked a bit angry just now.”

A quick shake of his head hopefully dispels their worry. Nope. Not happening. He’s not letting his bitterness ruin this like a clumsy little boy dropping a china plate because he didn’t pay attention.

Peter is paying attention. His bad attitude isn’t going to shatter this moment to pieces.

“Nah, sweet’eart, I’m good.” Even if he wasn’t, he will be, because he’s with them. They can shut everything else out ― the scorn from the rest of the world, the pissed-off voices in his own head, every bit of pain he’s ever felt. A few minutes with (Name), and it’s like all of that bullshit never even existed.

Even though they still seem like they don’t quite believe that, they accept it. “Okay. And this is… you’re comfortable? Do I need to bend down or anything? Is it alright to have my hand on your shoulder like that?”

Oh, come on, he wants to say. You, you could punch me in the face and I’d thank you.

Anyway, isn’t he the one who ought to be nervous? He’s the one who’s… different. They’re dancing in a way they normally wouldn’t because of him.

But, he tries to remind himself, it’s their choice to do so. And they look… happy to do it.

He can almost hear someone playing music outside, just passing by the tents. Jumbo with his harmonica, maybe. Peter isn’t paying too much mind to that part, just the fact that it’s a gentle background noise to this memory he’s creating with (Name).

“Oi... stop fussin’,” he mumbles. “Couldn’t be more damn comf’table if I tried.”

Before he knows it, his feet are moving. Although he’s not certain if he’s doing this right, for whatever reason, that doesn’t even matter. What’s important is that he’s doing it, moving and swaying and being close to someone he cares very much about.

Dancing with his beloved, he even feels like he’s… normal.

He’s not sure what does it; the dancing, or the intimacy with them.

He doesn’t care. Whatever it is, in this moment there’s plenty of it, so he’s going to cling to it for all he’s worth.

[britishassistant]

The Villainous Paranoiac Has Visitors

You’re a fool.

A blind, tunnel-visioned, desperate fool.

There’s no one you can blame for this mess but yourself.

You were moronic enough to think that a promise would’ve been enough to stop Grim from going after more overblot stones.

And now where are you?

Lying in a bed in the infirmary, bandages and gauze wrapped around you from your collarbone to your chin, because the one creature in this fucked up magic world that you were stupid enough to trust unconditionally tried to rip out your throat over a rock.

Your neck aches. You’re so tired it feels like you can barely even move. Your head is a weird weight of white noise, making it hard to think about anything other than your current predicament and how you should’ve seen it coming a mile away. How you should’ve stopped it.

Maybe—maybe it was because you’d made him hold out too long. Maybe that’s it. Maybe you were wrong to make him swear not to eat any more, and him lashing out at you over Vil-senpai’s stone was just-just temptation that had been pushed too far. Why weren’t you looking after him more closely anyway? You’re his supervisor, you’re supposed to make sure Grim doesn’t get into trouble, you should’ve noticed he was gone sooner. Then maybe this whole mess wouldn’t have happened. And it’s not like Grim wasn’t working hard to uphold your deal, you were the one who wasn’t meeting his efforts halfway. After all, he hadn’t eaten anything after Jamil-senpai’s overblot, had he?

...

Had he?

No stone ever turned up after Jamil-senpai’s overblot.

And you were so out of it that night, riding out the aftereffects of the overblot’s venom and the anti-venom warring in your system.

Grim could’ve easily left during the night and eaten it, and so long as you never asked, never pressed him about it, you’d have been none the wiser.

And you didn’t ask. You just trusted him.

You’re a fool. A pathetic, misguided, twisted, worthless fool.

Your family was right about you.

You would grind the heels of your hands into your eyes, but even lifting your arms towards your face feels like more effort than you can spare right now. Luckily it takes no effort to stare up at the ceiling and just hate yourself for your stupidity.

You’d have thought you would have learned that trusting people is an awful idea already. Hopefully this will finally get the message through your thick skull—

“Yuu?”

You tilt your head and blink up at Deuce. He grins, blindingly bright. “Guys, he’s awake!”

You weakly smile back, ruthlessly squashing the urge to correct him.

Epel pushes the divider back as he rounds it, pretty face worried. “Prefect, how are you feeling? Nurse Kamac said you lost a lot of blood.”

“M okay.” You mumble back, your tongue feeling thick and sluggish in your mouth.

“What the hell happened to you, Prefect?” Deuce moves to pull up a chair and sit down next to you, shooting you doubtful looks. “Was it an attack by another overblot or something? Some kind of monster? Did you get jumped by some punks from RSA?”

You wonder what you should tell them. You know that all you have to do is tell him the truth, say the word, and they’ll all be off after Grim like a group of hunting dogs, just like when you used to ask Ace and Deuce to help you catch him back at the start of the school year.

But Grim might get hurt. Or he might hurt them.

Can you put them through that?

Ace collides with the foot of the bed, interrupting your internal debate, eyes wide and panting. “Guys, bad news. Crewel’s outside asking for us, he looks pissed.”

Deuce and Epel stiffen in tandem, darting nervous glances towards the door like the potions and alchemy teacher will burst in at any moment. “What’d you do?!” Deuce hisses.

“How’d you know it wasn’t you, ass?!” Ace protests. “Seriously, we can’t keep him waiting! I think he’s even madder than the time Grim turned his coat pink and green.”

All four of you shudder collectively.

Epel grabs Deuce’s arm, squaring his shoulders. “We just gotta—need to see what Professor Crewel wants right? It may not even be us he’s piss—irritated at. Just gotta man up and face him.”

Deuce nods, even though he looks like he really, really doesn’t want to. He and Ace follow Epel away from your bed and towards the infirmary exit. You loll your head back onto your pillows and resume your staring at the ceiling.

“But Ace, no one’s...?”

“What the—?!”

There’s a bang as the infirmary doors slam shut.

You look over in time to see Ace slide a mop through the door handles, and drag a chair over to prop under them. He then points his magic pen at it all and a padlocked chain loops itself around the whole affair and clicks shut. You can hear Deuce and Epel hammering on the other side, demanding he open up.

“Ace?” You struggle to sit up, your throat aching. “What—”

“Shh, sh, easy, we gotta be quick.” He darts over you, helping you to sit up and pulling up the pillows behind you to lean back against. “Do you need me to get your shirt for you?”

“W-what?” Your brain is still struggling to catch up.

Ace gestures impatiently to your chest.

You look down.

Oh.

Oh.

You look back up at Ace, cold sweat drenching you.

Please no. Not him too.

Ace reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls something out—!

He holds up your binder. “Figured Kamac might not have let you keep it. It hurts your ribs, right?”

Wait. What?

“H-how...?” You stutter, fumbling with the buttons at your collar.

He shoots you a look. “I basically carried you back here from Dwarf Mines. It was easy to tell something was up when Kamac wouldn’t let me or Deuce stay in the room while you were getting patched up. Plus this was kinda dangling out your back pocket when you came out”

Well. That’s. That’s...

“Look are we doing this or not?!” Ace hisses, shooting a nervous glance back at the door where Deuce and Epel’s voices are being joined by others and growing louder. You think you hear Kalim-senpai’s twittering, Vil-senpai barking orders, and Jamil-senpai’s drawl.

You begin working on your buttons with newfound determination.

Ace helps you get your head through the top hole of the binder without pulling on the bandages around your neck too much.

You struggle your arms through the arm holes, and then shrug the hospital pajama shirt back on. He’s already done over half the buttons by the time you’ve recovered from your discombobulation.

“Feel okay? Not hurting your breathing or anything?” You nod, still disoriented. “Okay, let’s just get you back under the covers, and then I’ll let in the circus.”

There’s another metallic clang from the door and a cry of pain that sounds worryingly like Ashengrotto-senpai.

“W-why?” You rasp, an odd swooping feeling catapulting in your stomach, like you’ve just jumped off the bleachers again. “Why would you...?”

Ace heaves a sigh and gives you a look normally reserved for Deuce and Grim. “Because you’re my friend, you little dumbass. Getting something like this for you isn’t a big deal or anything.”

You gape at him so hard it feels like your eyes are burning.

Something inside you feels impossibly, uncontrollably warm.

Turns out getting a lump in your throat really hurts when you’re recovering from having it slashed open.

“Aw, jeez, what’s with the waterworks?!” Ace leans over you, ungloved hand swiping at the tears on your cheeks. “C’mon Yuu, if they get back in here and see you crying, you know Deuce’ll kill me.”

“Good. ‘S a-all your fault. I won’t f-forgive you until you give me a hug, you big jerk.” You sniffle, opening your arms and holding them out.

He huffs a laugh, before following your orders. “You’re a tyrant, ya know that? You’re as bad as Vil-senpai and Dorm Head Riddle.”

“I’m worse than they could ever be.” You mumble, hiding your burning eyes in his shoulder. “Don’t you forget it.”

“Oi, you better not be wiping your nose on my jacket!” He tries to shrug you off gently. He still hasn’t stopped hugging you though. “Get your snot and tears offa me!”

You cling onto him tighter, unable to stop giggling even as a few hysterical tears slip down your cheeks. “Suffer.”

“Tyrant.” He fakes an exasperated groan, but you can feel him chuckling along with you.

There’s not many things you can think of that would ruin this moment.

“King’s Roar.”

...Being bathed in sand as the doors to the infirmary disintegrate certainly wasn’t one you had in mind, though it does the trick well enough.

Lucky you had Ace hugging you to act as a human shield for the worst of it.

He sputters once the deluge has subsided, shaking his head and rudely dumping the excess sand into your lap. “Ugh, senpai, what the hell?! Would it have killed you to wait one minute?!”

“You take too long.” Leona-senpai shrugs, pocketing his magic pen again and sauntering in to stretch out on the empty bunk next to you. “These guys wouldn’t stop whining until I did something.”

Deuce rushes over to your bedside with Epel and Kalim close behind him, kneeling down next to you. “Prefect, are you okay?! What’d he do to you?!”

“His eyes are all red an’ swollen!” Epel points out before you can say anything. “Ace, you bas—”

“Epel.” Vil-senpai stalks in, looking much better since you last saw him at VDC. Healthier, somehow. “But yes, Potato #1, what exactly were you playing at, locking everyone out like that?”

Ace stammers under Vil-senpai’s cold glare, so you take pity on him, clearing your throat weakly. “Ace just didn’t want any witnesses to him fussing over me. He’s allergic to showing kindness, after all.”

For some reason, being able to say that and have Ace elbow you playfully makes you feel...buoyant, somehow.

Everyone stares at you. The weight of their disbelief is heavy.

Kalim places his hands over yours. “Yuu, you don’t have to be afraid to tell us the truth! You’re among friends here!”

“Oi!” Ace protests.

“Who’re you calling ‘friend’?” Leona-senpai interjects, because he’s still a huge bag of dicks.

Ashengrotto-senpai has his magic pen in its cane form and is leaning on it heavily, limping. “I wouldn’t worry Kalim-san. I’m sure whatever the Prefect experienced can’t be worse than having a cauldron drop on you.”

Deuce inches closer to hide behind you and Epel sheepishly.

“Technically Azul, it was rebounded onto you off the doors of the infirmary.” Jade-senpai interjects cheerfully, switching a bouquet from one hand to the other. “Though I’m sure Spade-san would be glad to reimburse us for damages through labor if necessary~”

Deuce lets out a squeak.

“Eeeeh~~ Crab-chan, were you doing something naaauughty with Shrimy all alone in here~?” Floyd-senpai drapes himself over Ace’s shoulders, arms looping around him. “No faaaaaiiir, I wanna play too~~”

Ace stiffens, face growing to match his hair as Floyd-senpai’s arms begin to tighten. “J-Jamil-senpai—!”

Jamil-senpai cruelly ignores him. “Kalim, make sure you’ve still got your magic pen when we leave. The Prefect might try to add to his collection.”

You shoot him a look. “When are you going to let that go?”

He sits on the end of your bed and smiles sweetly at you. “When you stop making a nuisance of yourself by sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Prefect.”

You try to dissect that statement, then give up and settle for attempting to kick him off the bed. You only end up depositing more sand into your lap under the covers.

He laughs at you, because for all his talk about reputation, Jamil-senpai is also a huge bag of dicks.

The dust and sand irritates your nose and throat, making you cough hard. It’s not as bad as it was after Vil-senpai’s overblot, but you feel the warning tugs on your weakened lungs and torn throat. You gratefully accept the glass of water Epel hands you, gulping it down.

The sand around you gently shifts and seeps out from under and on top of your covers as you swallow, pooling into a large pile at your bedside.

Leona-senpai’s tail flickers as he tucks his magic pen back away and pretends to be sleeping again.

Deuce begins to fret over you, taking the empty cup from your hands and ineffectually trying to fluff your pillows. You let him hover as Ace rolls his eyes and playfully ribs at him for his mother-henning.

Jade-senpai places the bouquet in a small vase on the table next to you with Vil-senpai and Epel fussing over the arrangement every time Floyd-senpai delights in deliberately poking the flowers out of alignment.

Kalim-senpai promises to bring you a carpet next time, maybe even an elephant if you want, much to Jamil-senpai’s dismay. Ashengrotto-senpai begins trying to negotiate for even more presents.

Leona-senpai half-heartedly growls at everyone to shut up and let him sleep.

You’re a fool if you think trusting these people will turn out any better than trusting Grim did.

But somehow, you feel like you’d rather be a fool and enjoy the warmth blooming in your chest right now rather than anything else.

[obae-me]

Upside Down- CH 2

Author’s Note: I swear I don’t hate Mammon, he just happens to be the subject of everything right now, but don’t worry, the comfort will come. Just hold out for the next one, the healing will start I swear!

Tags: Cussing, fighting, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of death, toxic friendships, blackmail (As always, read safely, feel free to ask about any of these tags) 

Word Count: 4683

Previous Chapter                       Next Chapter

An Unlucky Break

Honestly, at this point, you weren’t sure what was worse. The humans? The endless noises? Or the devil-forsaken sunlight?! Groaning, you pulled another blanket over yourself, tugging it up above your head. Taking the pillow, you used it to try to muffle the sounds of the outside world. It was all so much. How did the humans even get any sleep? How could they see with all the blinding sun rays? You cocooned yourself tighter, imagining that you were back inside your home where nothing but endless moonlight existed and you were left exactly how you wanted to be. Alone.

But all those dreams and imaginations were dashed when you heard a single name roar throughout the house. “Mammon!” If it wasn’t his name, it would be another. They always seemed to be screaming at each other for something around here. At least they had the decency to leave you--

The door to your bedroom door opened, then shut itself quietly, the sound of panting followed by whispered cursing invaded your space. “Why’s he always gotta be on my ass? It’s just a little money, he’d spend it all on useless plastic or junk anyway. It was better off in my hands for sure. For sure...” A little bit of pacing, a small chuckle. “Just gotta lay low in here. It’s abandoned and dark as hell, he surely won’t find me.” It was bitterly amusing how your supposed “babysitter” seemed to have forgotten all about you. Although you stayed quiet, not really in the mood for conversation. Besides, you always had a knack for blending in.

The both of you sat in silence--well, relative silence, since it was obvious the human didn’t seem to understand the definition of being still. He kept mumbling to himself. But the two of you listened to whichever brother was on the hunt go rampaging through the house. Doors kept opening, slamming shut, the footsteps pounding angrily against the floor upstairs. Then it all went quiet. The brother of greed seemed as hopeful as you were that it was a sign they’d given up the chase. Mammon sighed, much too heavily. So of course, the handle slammed against the wall as the room was raided. “There you are, you--you---you!” Then the fighting started. A heavy sound of a body hit the side wall.

“Son of a--get offa me, will ya!? I don’t have your damn money!”

The newcomer growled. “That’s the problem!” The scuffle didn’t seem to end. Neither of them really dug too badly into each other, pushing, shoving, slapping. It was hard to tell if you were intrigued or annoyed. Regardless, you slowly took the blankets off of you, getting a better look at the fight. It was immediately disappointing, or maybe this was as intense as humans could take it? Mammon had his brother’s head in some sort of lock, while the attacker was simply tugging at Greed’s hair with two full handfuls. Neither of them were getting anywhere. No, this was definitely lackluster.

You were back to being annoyed. Sitting up, speaking up finally, you were going to ask, ‘can you two beat each other up elsewhere’, but you couldn’t even get that far. “Can you two--” were the only words you managed to utter before the both of them shrieked in startled fear, high-pitched enough to leave your ears almost ringing. The fighting dropped immediately, the humans instinctively grabbing onto each other in a supportive hug. They stayed like that for a good while before one of them broke away to flick the light on. The intense brightness had you blinking away spots.

Bright blue hair, a shirt with some sort of strangely drawn figure with...large proportions, a curved device around his neck, the brother’s previous assertiveness instantly melted. “W-who are y-you?! God, Mammon, call the-the cops or something!”

Sheepishly, Mammon caught his breath and cleared his throat, the look of recognition coming back to him. “Wait, Levi, this is the guest Lucifer told us about.” The one you were supposed to take care of. Not that I care.

“N-nani?!” So this was Levi Morningstar. Everyone labeled him as Envy. The third eldest and third strongest. So many of his demon followers drove themselves beyond mad, jealous that they couldn’t be as envious as the human. And if that was enough to tell you about this brother… “I thought that was, like, a prank or something! How long have they-they-they…” With every word, he seemed to turn more pink, and yet his face looked almost angrier. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” And he was back to fighting, taking Mammon by the front of his shirt. “I’ve been singing the opening song to ‘Kiss Me I’m Your Princess’ in the shower for the past week!” It was true. He had. “That’s supposed to be private!”

Mammon shrugged, his forearms raising with his shoulders. “Not very private if the whole neighborhood can hear ya, and besides I did tell ya! You were just so upset about the money you must’a not been paying attention!” He shoved Levi off of him. “So that’s on you!”

The older of the two really knew--or maybe he didn’t know--exactly how to push buttons. Levi, his anger reignited about the mention of his money, knocked Mammon to the ground. “Scumbag!”

Mammon pushed his brother off with a knee to the gut, turning the tables and getting on top of his opponent. “Fuckin’ weeb!” It was obvious Greed was the more physically capable, his speed and reactions praiseworthy, perhaps even for average demon standards. However, Levi was bringing his own to the fight--if you could even really call it a fight. He was more adept at using his surroundings as well as guessing predictable movements to stay in the ring.

Should you stop it? Human bodies were much more fragile than demon ones weren’t they? While they might have not been digging their heels into swinging, they were still aggressive, and it was only escalating. The binding marks around your wrists left a dull heat across your skin. Like it or not, you had to keep them in decent health to observe them. So you got up, placing your body between them. They quickly put their fists down, although Levi’s got dangerously close to your face, his knuckles so close they tickled your cheek. The intensity of battle fizzled instantly, and Levi touched a sore spot on his chin. Looking right past you, the blue-haired boy scowled. “You’ve got 24 hours, Mammon, you hear me? If you don’t, I’m taking this straight to Lucifer!” He went to leave, but then turned around to add something else in. “I’m sure he would compensate me by letting me sell your dumb bike!” Again, he went to the door...and again, he stopped to add another comment. “And-and forget about me lending you money ever again!” Finally, he slammed the door behind him. Which meant that finally the fighting was over with. Peace and--

Someone took you by the shoulders, giving you a shake. Every nerve in your spine sparked, the feeling of being touched burning you up and leaving you chill all at once. You slapped the hands off your body and took a good few steps back. “Are you an absolute idiot?!” Mammon yelled. 

Who was he to talk to you like that? “Excuse me?”

“Struttin’ up and steppin’ right in the middle of a fight, did you wanna get hit?!” He outstretched his hand, ready to move your head. “Did he land one on ya?”

Blocking him, you used your arm to cover your face. “Don’t touch me.” The words came out harsh and yet desperate. You didn’t mean to sound so emotional. They left your chest heavy, and apparently the human picked up on it. He backed up, his arms dropping. He turned his head away from you with a snap of his tongue.

“Damn it! How am I supposed to pay him back by tomorrow?!” Mammon started pacing, the wheels in his head visibly turning. “First I lose my precious Golide, I can’t lose Ruby!” He really was near crying over this. He verbally shouted out ideas, most of which were getting more loans from others to pay off the one to his brother. Not a smart option. But, somehow he came to an even worse conclusion. “I’ll just have to gamble it back!” Suddenly he looked excited. “Today is a lucky day, I can feel it! That way, I get to have fun and Levi gets his money back! Win win!” Or a lose/lose, if he, you know, loses. But that aspect didn’t seem to even dawn on him. “Come on, get dressed!”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Well, you’re coming with me, aren’t ya? Don’t you want to get out for a bit? I haven’t even seen you out of this room once, made me completely forget about ya!” He laughed, every bit of negative emotion gone from his body once the addiction of gambling was rushing through his veins. Without even really giving you a choice, he was opening your suitcases which you hadn’t bothered to unpack, handing you an outfit. “Come on, come on! I do better with someone there watching me!” Were all humans this into invading personal space, or was it just him? “It’ll be fun! I’ll show you my home away from home!”

Your top eyelid started to twitch. “Don’t you have someone else to drag around?” It was meant to be spiteful, maybe a bit hurtful to get him to go away, but he just slowed. Then a familiar hue clouded his bright eyes, dulling them. A color you knew too well, the color that stained your soul. The loneliness of isolation.

He shook his head, and although you could feel a bit of his aura cry, he just smiled. “Nah, n-not many people are good enough to hang out with the Great Mammon! So-so be thankful I’m inviting you along!” It was demanding, brash, boarding on rude, but yet it came off to you like a beg.

It nearly churned your stomach at the thought of casually spending time with a human...but...those were your commands. You couldn’t hole yourself up in this room forever. At some point you’d be expected to hand in your findings, to try to restore these brothers to see if humanity was capable of change. You turned over the human clothes in your hand, the style of them vastly different than you remembered human fashion being. Sighing out of your nose, you gave in. “Fine.” His expression almost blinded you as badly as the sun.

It was very clear to you that there wasn’t going to be a single mode of human transportation that you enjoyed. They were all loud, bumpy, and the smell of metal and plastic that stayed in your nose and settled on your tongue made you gag. Mammon, however, was extremely enthusiastic about them. He had brought you to a special room of the home called a ‘garage’ , a special resting room for the family’s many...many vehicles. Each sibling seemed to have just one car, but Mammon had a few. He had waved you over to his specific end of the large room, gesturing to--as he referred to them-- his treasures. A bright yellow low-set sleek one that he named ‘Amber’, a tall black one with a carriage for storage attached to it--called a truck apparently, but he just called it ‘Ob’. But the one he adored most was one that looked vastly different to the others. This was Ruby, the one Levi threatened to sell in exchange for the missing loan.

Although, if you were being honest, you didn’t understand why Mammon didn’t let him. “It’s broken,” you claimed.

“What?! My baby?!” He left your side immediately, scouring over it, his eye scanning over every inch of the thing. “What are you talking about? She looks fine.”

Was he blind? You pointed to it. “It’s missing two wheels. All your other motorized vehicles have four.”

Waving a hand at you, he scowled. “Don’t joke around about something like that! I thought you were serious for a second!” I was serious...Oh well...It wasn’t anything you wanted to concern yourself with. He threw his legs up over the bright red two-wheeled thing, sitting on it like one might a horse. After he fiddled with it for a second, it roared to life. The sound pounding in your head, meanwhile, Mammon was thrilled. “Ah, yeah!” The machine continued to make this deafening deep...scream. You brought your hands up to cover your ears. Did they like the noise? Was basic human hearing so dull that they didn’t find it inconvenient at all? “Come on! The sooner we get to a casino, the sooner I can get more monay!” Isn’t it supposed to be Levi’s money? Mammon seemed adamant that you join him on the...Ruby. You shook your head, and with a little frown, Mammon turned the infernal thing off. “What, are you motion sick or something? Usually people would die to take a ride on a bike like this! With me!”

“Do you have something quieter?”

Dismounting the bike, he pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket. He clicked a button and the black truck lights flashed. “I’m already startin’ to regret this. You’re a buzzkill, you know that don’t you? And here I thought Lucifer was the one who didn’t know what fun was like.” He opened the door and hoisted himself up into the car. It already sounded much quieter than Ruby. It still rumbled and made your heart leap, but it seemed steady. It appeared to you that luckily most cars operated the same way, so you remembered how to pull the handle to open the door. Settling yourself in the seat, you shut the opening behind you, trying to calm your already churning stomach. Waiting for the thing to start moving, you braced yourself, but the truck stayed motionless. “Hey, man, I know I just called you a buzzkill and all, but I can’t afford another ticket right now, so seatbelts on.”

You could only understand about half of those words. Trying to blend in with the human world was going to be harder than you thought. Maybe some studying was in order...But you had to come up with some sort of excuse that made it appear as if you knew what he was telling you. “I don’t have one.”

It was practically an insult that he looked at you with such disappointment. “Come on, playing dumb won’t work on me, Lucifer’s already pissed from the last time I got pulled over.” Individually the words themselves made sense, but the phrases were almost gibberish to you. Taking too long trying to piece things together, Mammon sighed, leaned over, much too close to you, reaching behind your head. He tugged on an extending fabric, pulled it across your body and attached it to a clasp near your hip. As it fastened, it clicked. A seat belt. Strange. Why was it necessary for them to restrain themselves like this? “Rule number one about hanging out with Mammon,” the human started pulling a similar belt around him. “When you’re in my car, I’m in charge!” He hit a button, extremely loud music pouring out of every corner of the car, making the entire carriage thump. Screaming to be heard above the audio, he tugged on a lever in the middle. “Whoo! Roulette, here I come!” Your insides lurched as the front of the room lifted open and Ob moved forward.

Off in the distance, two adolescent humans were pushing each other around, speaking much too loudly about idiotic things. The car a little ways to the right of you had a human with long hair and tired eyes sucking on a piece of metal, blowing smoke out of their mouth. And as lines of more vehicles chugged on, and people talked in ways you didn’t comprehend, it started to hit harder how far you were away from home. This was a foreign land, filled with sins and distractions at every corner. And...food dipped in liquid apparently. As you raised the bag, you felt the slick underside of it rub off against your fingers. “Oi, oi, oi, oi, don’t be like my brother and get greasy fingerprints all over the place! I just got Obby detailed!”

You placed the bag in your lap. “I thought this machine was named Ob?”

He smiled to himself. “Ob, Obby, they’re the same. Technically, it’s Obsidian, but I like to give ‘em nicknames you know? Anyways, I ain’t like Lucifer, you can eat, but just be careful, ya hear!” He reached a hand into his own bag while the other hand was on the directional wheel. He pulled out a...fried stick and put it in his mouth. Mammon had stopped by...it was called a drive-through. At least you were starting to get the hang of their fairly straightforward naming system. You didn’t want anything, but apparently he got you something anyway. You didn’t even know what was in here, and honestly you were a little scared to find out. It was...dare you say, rather polite of him to consider feeding you. “Lucifer’s gotta give me my card back for sure! For looking after you so nicely and all! You better be thankful! I don’t do this stuff for anyone, just so you know!” And of course his ego ruined the gesture completely. Every action he made was a move to get him closer to more material gain.

Appetite was lost on you, not that this sickly human food was appealing anyway. It was all too much. The stimuli of everything was driving you mad. You put the bag beside you, leaning against the inside of the car, trying not to notice the seatbelt and how suffocating it all felt.

Suddenly, the deafening music turned down. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? You’re not feeling sick are ya? No being sick in my treasure!”

You were sick. Sick of all this. “I want to go home.”

Something about that must’ve resonated with him. He sighed, turning his head to look out the window. “Ah, geez…” Quickly, the mood turned awkward. “Hey, I mean, I can always turn around if you want.”

“Not your home. Mine.”

Mammon remained quiet at that, something that seemed like a rarity for him. It didn’t last for too long though. “They said your folks died, or something like that right?”

The lie the prince had come up with nearly made you laugh. You let out a single scoff instead. “Something like that.”

Even though you hadn’t been around Mammon for too long, he ended up surprising you. “That sucks, man...Listen...I-I know what it’s like.” The tone of his voice sounded uncertain, like this had been the first time in a long time that he’d been honest, vulnerable. The pitch was unsteady, struggling to try something on that he hadn’t worn in ages. “Losing someone...it stays with ya. Broke my family apart...if you can even call us that anymore nowadays. Once she was gone, we all found a different way to fill in the gaps.” There was humanity in him yet, buried deep beneath heavy sorrow. “But you know what helped me out the most?” You raised your head, actually wanting to look at him for the first time since you’d known him. Mammon pulled up into a lot littered with a bunch of other human cars. Just as you glanced at him, the goodness and seriousness in him retracted. He glanced out the window at a large shiny building. His particular “fill” he had mentioned had such a tight grip on him, it was hard to tell if he understood how much it controlled him. The lights of the casino hypnotized him, erasing any sense of despair that lingered in him. Or perhaps covering it up was a better explanation. This was no cure. “There’s nothing quite like a casino! Trust me,” He patted you on the shoulder. “Play a few games and you’ll forget that you wanted to go home in the first place!” Ob turned off, the shudder of the frame dying. Mammon hopped out of the car without a second thought, treading towards the entrance, leaving you behind. For a moment there had been awareness, a connection. Now, there was only one thing on his mind. Greed.

There were two options for you. Stay in this stuffy thing or follow the human inside. Neither were great options, unluckily. However, now your curiosity was piqued. Was it truly possible for this Morningstar to change? But did you have the patience to try? Maybe this was your own gamble. You landed on the solid grown below, making sure to remember to shut the door behind you. The bright white hair of the human was in your sights for only a second before he was engulfed in a crowd. At the worst, it might be fun to watch him fail...So inside you went.

If you thought outside was overstimulating, you were drastically underprepared for the contents of a human casino. Screens were flashing, noises rang out from every single inch, the carpet was almost louder than the buzzing in your ears. The aroma of tainted beverages and smoke sent your vision swirling. People bumped into you, some blind from crying, some far too lost in their indulgences to notice you were there. Mammon was gone. But even amongst all these attacks on your senses, there was one feeling that rose among them all. The presence of demons. You should’ve known a place like this where people sold their soul for the rush of a Jackpot would be where your kind thrived.

Knowing your luck, today would be the day Mammon lost more than the pot. You had to find him, quickly.

A circle of hell…this is what this had to be right? An hour had passed and still no sign of the cursed human. The only thing you kept note of was the same dumb sign that promoted some sort of membership that was obviously a borderline scam. You had seen it three times already…you were walking in circles. It wasn’t your fault! This place was a maze, a blinking, haze filled maze. You were running out of options, as well as sanity.

A large bulky man stood against the wall, keeping an eye over the many glossy-eyed consumers. You headed up to him. It took a second for him to notice you staring. “Yeah?”

“Have you seen a white-haired man, about this tall,” you moved your arm to about where he was against your own height. “Wearing a brown jacket?”

The man huffed out a laugh. “You think I remember everyone that walks past me? Listen, I’m just here making sure people behave. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Useless. Turning your back on the human, you walked off again, head on a swivel. Your eyes spotted a woman, still sober, also looking around for someone, maybe she’d spotted who you were searching for instead. Coming up behind her, you didn’t wait this time for them to notice you. “Excuse me?”

“Hm?” Brown curls bounced across her forehead.

“I’m looking for someone. Have you seen-“

The woman’s attention left yours, looking up past you. “Oh, there he is!” Following her gaze, you looked over your shoulder to see someone else entirely. Someone who was without a doubt not Mammon. Without listening to the rest of your question, she brushed you off, matching strides with the person she had found. So annoying…

Then a warm sounding voice pricked your ears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help but overhear.” A different human man approached, someone with shaggy light brown hair with eyes to match, the shadow of a fresh growing beard darkening his jawline. His black leather jacket hung loose off his body, a few sizes too big, like it wasn’t his. Not to mention it smelled of cologne and cigarettes. “You’re looking for someone? I might’ve seen them, I’m good with faces.” His smile was wide and spotless, so flirtatiously perfect you had your doubts about him.

But any help would be worth it at this juncture. “White hair, golden brown eyes, a -“

“Mammon Morningstar, right?” The answer was so sudden. “He’s in here all the time, it’s hard to not remember him, you know? Well, that and he happens to be a good friend of mine.” The lungs in your chest stopped as soon as he put his arm around your shoulders. “Tell you what, why don’t we go find him together?” The mysterious helper started dragging you forward, and as he did, a few other people pulled away from their spots in the background, carefully weaving through the crowd, trying not to seem as if they were following you...but they were. Everything in you was tempted to tear the human off of you by his arm and chuck him into the nearest machine...but that would garner attention. “You know, it’s weird…” your escort wondered. “I’m really good with faces, and yet, I can’t seem to recall seeing yours. Where are you from?”

As blandly as you could, you gave him a completely honest half-answer. “Not here.”

The man laughed. “Oh, good!” Then he turned his questions in a different direction. “How long have you known Mammon? Because he hasn’t...ever mentioned someone like you before...and Mammon tells me everything.” The amusement was sour, bitter, just like this human’s soul. Simeon had been shocked when he’d discovered you’d never taken a mortal soul. But how could you when they were always so...revolting?

Your fondness for humans had already sunken to the bottom, but somehow you found yourselves wishing to be annoyed by Mammon rather than this…human in devil’s clothing. ”You’re asking all about me, and yet, I don’t know a single thing about you. What’s your name?”

Never give a magical being your name, that was the first thing legends taught humans, at least, the last time you visited they did. Either legends had long but died out, or this human was cocky enough to pass out his name to you on a silver platter. “It’s Cory.” As soon as he handed himself to you, demonic insight did the rest. Glimpses of terrible secrets, of all the wrong he had done in his life. What greed and anger had encouraged him to do. He was dangerous, and this human had Mammon centered in his focus. “But all my friends just call me Cash. So feel free to call me that too, yeah?” You opened your mouth, ready to finally get rid of this pest and drag Mammon to his house if you had to, but Cody’s arm left you. Outstretched, he moved away from your side to greet another familiar face. “There’s my Golden Boy!”

Standing in front of a table, rattling around dice in his palm, Mammon stopped himself from rolling them. At the sound of Cody’s voice, his shoulders tensed, his expression losing it’s playful tone. Cody’s hand’s gripped Mammon’s shoulders as he came up behind him. “C-Cash, fun-funny seeing ya here!”

It was obvious ‘Cash’ also wanted to avoid unwanted attention, although anger started to darken his eyes at the sight of his ‘good friend’. Ignoring the stuttering, Cody smiled. “How’s it going? Winning anything?”

Confidence faltering, Mammon tried to chuckle. “N-not yet.”

Three of the bodies that had been shadowing you and Cody stood directly behind you, far too close for comfort. There was something odd about their presence...You were picking up a smell, something you were sure human’s couldn’t possess. Yet, each of the humans behind you possessed something that was shockingly similar to dragon’s breath… Leaning in a bit closer to Mammon, Cash let some of his true colors show. “Well, I sure hope you start winning something soon.”

Another loaner had come to collect his dues.

Tag List!

@rayanicaraynbow

@inkyy

@designatedbreadbox

@qrowsofafeather

@crystal-freak24

[its-toasted]

July 12, 2013

I.

I snap to sitting straight. Ooow.

I'm up. Oh, I'm in bed. Good bye.

No. I need to write down the dream.

Can't remember. It's hot. I'm shleep. I'm sweating. Some haunted version of grandma's house, again, I hate it.

It still felt like bad wallpaper and tomato eggs and saturday cartoons until June. Now I never want to think about it. I'm not even scared of witches, I don't think, but it's different in the dream. I'm always alone. It's like I'm being hunted.

Chased by some raggedy hag who looks like she could be Hansel and Gretel OG. She's never quite the same, but the skin is gray and the eyes are black. There's just nothing there, fuck that.

She's been getting closer lately. The garden or windows were bad enough. One time, I open the door and she's crouched on top of the fridge. One time, she has no legs and just lunges. One time, she crawls fast over creaking wood and it sounds like more than four limbs. One time, I hide behind the master bedroom door, holding my breath, and she waddles heavy through the hall with a lamp, and the hurried rhythm makes me shiver.

There it is. I write it down. That's how you do that.

Not that the scrawling is very legible anyways. I started recording dreams to remember the good ones, but I figure it doesn't make sense to stop just because they suck. There's something nice about writing as soon as you wake up, though.

Phone at 8%. Almost 6:30 AM. Why do I do this to myself? Sometimes it's like I'm averse to putting myself in a position to live normally.

I put down the bane of my existence, and for a minute just breathe. Just a dude in bed. It's mid-summertime. Things are good. I got a car last month, a maroon Subaru sedan. I try to focus on that. This witch has been ruining my mornings. I've never been prey.

My door nudges open and I legit jump.

Tsuni's head peeks through. Motherfuckin' dog. She's all smiles.

Tsuni is a middle-aged mutt now. She's a Yorkie-Schnoodle, two-toned deep brown and cream like a wolf, but with big droopy ears. A barker, of course. She's our lil bougie genius. You can often find her in some tasteful sweater, we treat her well.

Her last owners didn't, and it showed for a long time. I remember the first day mom was waiting at the bus stop with a puppy in her arms. Home changed after that.

II.

The first night Tsuni came home, she messed up the floors bad. I guess more like the first couple years.

Anytime a grown man towered over her, she shrunk into fear and started to leak. One night in December, her eyes went buck wild instead, and she bit pa's hand so hard that umma had to sew him stitches. I haven't seen blood in the foyer otherwise.

It took us a while to grasp her defensive reactions. If you want her to be comfortable, approach honest. Always come correct.

So don't shout. Or hide shit in your hands. And your laugh might startle her. She doesn't like to be touched while resting. She hates a camera in her face. Don't give her anything you want back. Just don't be on any bullshit, she'll suss you out quick.

Tsuni vaults onto my bed, all grace. I sit up and snap once. I thought she wanted a rub down, but she puts her paws on my chest and stretches low like she does. Then her snout's grody in my face, tail brushing my shin.

I know she wants out. Fine, fine. Git offa me.

We got her at one year old, and she knew no tricks. By year two, she knew everything in the book. The smoothest criminal finessing us for treats. Always so clever, we could never say no.

How to explain her smarts...

Once, after bringing her back inside, I wash her feet, take off her sweater, and go upstairs to clean up. Few minutes later, I'm at the sink and she comes to my feet with a different sweater and sits proper patient. She must've pulled it from the cubby. I mean, c'mon. I am puddle.

I guess a lot of pet owners can understand, but she is truly family. If we can't find her for five minutes, then hell is absolutely upon us. I wrote a poem about this once.

We speak the same language. She's basically a bumbling toddler, but too fast. And sharp, I think she can read a room as good as anyone.

Her trauma didn't fade for mad years, because things take time. But these days you couldn't tell. She falls asleep on my lap and lets Mac throw hands. She adores umma most, no doubt. And pops pretends like she's such a burden, but might treasure her company more than all of us. When I see him play with her, I remember how good he was with us when little.

She moves like a yung queen 90% of the time. I swear, she mirrors umma's mannerisms. I only see echoes of her in pain when we raise our voices, or it's storming something fierce outside.

Thunder really gets her down. I used to think she got shook, but now I know she just gets sad. Like a person might when it rains. I'm glad to have a thunderbuddy when it's brisk.

I know the father of the family friend we got her from. There's no way it's the mother. I see him across the pews in church. I haven't smiled at him in years. Sometimes I bet I'm glaring because I want to destroy him. Mac gets me. Our gut says his kids wouldn't mind.

III.

I'm not ready to get out of bed. I didn't see Jay had texted me late last night until now.

"Yo mom gone batshit. Lemme slide"

Sent at 2:36 AM. Fuck. Jay's a clown, I know she's sleeping somewhere in her car right now. It's humid as hell. I wish she'd just use our basement key, she doesn't have to ask but insists she's imposing.

Jay (not to be confused with J) is my neighbor. Well, four doors down. We didn't really get to know each other until we started high-school, but we've been close ever since mid-freshman year.

Jay's pretty enigma. South-type gorgeous. Sunkissed, maybe 5'10. Super athletic, got a strong second gear. I think I'm tryna keep up if we running a 400.

Kind as a baseline, but really hard on herself, like you wouldn't believe. Her therapist put her on benzos, and she went under for a minute. But she was in rehab half of sophomore year, and we wrote each other letters every week. Junior year was mostly good. I'm hella proud of her.

I'm not sure I've had many anchors before her. I always have my brother Mac. I have my boys, and even if we don't talk about everything, we know what we mean to each other. Everything else that seems good cracks under enough pressure. It's true that most people can't be trusted, but I try not to look at them that way.

But I never worry about me and Jay. Doubt I'll ever need to.

And don't get it twisted -- she has an objectively fantastic mother. And she she gets it. Any kid would be so lucky, I do envy her. Like, if I was in jail, I'd call Mama Smurf before umma. Not that I'll ever get caught.

But family is family and it's different, I can get that. I text Smurf that Jay's here so she stops worrying, only because I know where to find her. I think.

I don't know where dog went. Oi! Where you at. One dipping whistle and she jingles to my feet. I grab my earbuds and keys and her leash, and we slip out the open garage.

IV.

I can't even remember what life was like before dog. What did I do all day? Read books, play gamecube, play ball. I guess a lot of novels, and more cello and piano.

I guess this summer is when I really stopped practicing every day. I haven't thought about it much, it just happened, and umma for once has said nothing.

I'm taking Tsuni to the farm park. It's the closest non-residential place to home. We used to run the wood trails, but this summer we've only been cruising the half-mile loop. We usually lap twice, she's getting old-ish.

Sometimes I don't think I treat her well enough. Like when I know she's jonesing for a massage off the lates because she nuzzles my calf, but I'm too busy writing or texting or watching or playing. So I try to make it up to her like this. She doesn't get my full attention, but I think anywhere outside home is pretty swell to her.

Country radio on low, as it goes. Her head is a hazard out the window. She'll only come in if the car stops or I call her name.

It's a brisk 6-minute drive to the farm park. They host bluegrass festivals here a few times a year, and corn maze and pumpkin picking in the fall. This place is such a labyrinthical gem, and very few come here on a normal day. I didn't know places like this existed still. Everything good always seems so, taken.

After pulling into the park's long winding road, we ride toward Ellie's faded truck and a bump. I don't know much aside from her name, but she looks really sweet. It's mostly the same faces around here. She smiles and waves, and Tsuni looks down Jojo and Bonnie (or Donna?) in the backseat.

It's all big sky and foliage until we pass the three red barns. We pull up to the first big lot. I'm scanning for a gold RAV4. I see Vic with his pitbull, about to enter Sycamore.

At first I think Jay's not here, but then I catch her tucked at the far corner of the clubhouse, under the shadiest tree. I can see she's still asleep, with the windows quarter-rolled and a bright orange Clemson cap over her face. 60% odds there's a lit citronella candle in there, because I saw her do that once.

I pull up next to her hella quiet. There is a candle, but near the right window. I reconsider. I put the car in park. Big Green Tractor by Jason Aldean is crooning quiet like a lullaby, absolute classic. One of her faves.

I crank it all the way up in one twist.

My eardrums erupt. Jay's body shoots awake, I bet worse than mine did this morning. So sudden her boob hits the horn. Tsuni barks like an alarm, and I'm laughing so hard I'm crying.

The candle is fine. She blows it out.

Her voice is smooth and light, like a blackbird. "Fuck you, dude."

V.

After I recover, Jay steps out, stretches, and yawns wide as wheat field. She falls into my passenger seat. Tsuni starts to smother her cheeks with checkup vibes, but doesn’t like citronella. Jay wants to spark, but I say after I walk and drop off dog. Then we can grab brunch.

"Can't complain about a good-ass plan."

"So what happened with Smurf?" Her eyes stay locked on fur.

"You know. She doesn't want me to have anything good in my life."

AKA she still can't work at the pool bar with us, I assume. Her parents are members of the country club, so I guess that might be weird. I wonder if Smurf knows we drink on the job.

Some new chick finally quit after Tony went ape-shit on her for mixing terrible cocktails. He overdid it, which is in-character. I think savagery is a legitimate career path in most industries. Honestly, I'm not sure what the fuck he expected from a 16-year-old homeschooler.

I really thought this was an easy dub for Jay, but her mom must've said no. "Whaaat? Why. What's the move now?"

"You could've just asked one of those. Ionno, don't wanna go home. Her face is gonna piss me off. Let's smook. Tsuni wants some too!" Jay tries on soft puppy eyes.

I look at dog. Dog looks at me.

"No she don't. Come walk with us."

She scowls but grins. "Y'all are fuckin' weirdos. Nah I wanna sleep more, I got here at like 3. Come find me in your basement later."

Word. I kiss her on the cheek and kinda taste dog before she steps back onto the concrete. I think people think it's weird, but it's just been a thing of ours since she came home last year. It's nice having things of ours.

We never talked about it, it just felt right the first time, and still does. Don't entire European countries do this anyways? I could dig it.

There are some stables with historic exhibits and equipment, and a large fenced "shade garden" where I like to light up occasionally when no one's in sight. I've learned so many flower names there, whoever wrote them all is my hero.

There are three marked trails, but seven total if you know where to look. We're hitting the Belgian farm loop again, it's most convenient anyways. We repark next to nobody and hike up the old oak stairs.

I look back and Jay's SUV is slinking out of the shade. I raise three fingers high, I guess as a gun. She wipes her windshield back.

VI.

Why didn't I charge my phone? What's wrong with me? I was in my car for like 20 minutes. I wanna use my earbuds, but my phone down to 4%.

The walk up to the trail crossroads feels strangely like the trek from gym to sanctuary at Seacroft retreats, both in terms of distance and elevation scaling. I cherish Seacroft, it's just a big vacation with some of my faves and hyungs and nunas. I think those cabin sleepovers made me love church. I might've had a couple firsts there.

I like worship music too. Judge me less. Still love gospel from a 5-piece band. Their fifth is actually a violist, that does not say violinist, and my girl Liza (lie not lee) can play. She stays perfect in the background. The music means more to me than praise these days. I think worship feels pretty empty now, but it doesn't really bother me anymore.

We did kiss right once. Jay, not Liza, she's too pure. Keeping her off my mind can be hard. It was just a few stretched seconds outside a house party. I don't remember what we were talking about before it.

Bliss until the door swung open and we left trance and cooled into laughs. Now every time we get that close we just smile.

She blushes damn good. Sometimes I kind of ache for her.

I have to stop thinking about her this way. I'm talking to someone else! Why does this happen. Tsuni zigzags in front, rarely dipping into the tall grass on the edges. I'm on autopilot. I love getting into grooves like this, no matter what for. That's why I like weed.

I think I only go to church for the people, and for Mac and umma. I think she goes for the people too. Even Jay has a blast when she joins for outings. If you can find a place that looks past antiquated bullshit and focuses on accepting people, it's not bad. Even if it's run like a dirty business.

I wonder if I should feel bad for not feeling any divine experience there. Or for how much time I spend chasing what parents and pastors and pricks label as sin. But exploring only feels sinister when an adult says so. Otherwise, why would weed be wrong? How is it worse than liquor? Or coffee? Or cigs? Or soda? I don't think it is, I think it's always what you make of it.

I'm still thinking about Jay's mouth. I don't think we should, and she'd probably regret if we did. I guess that makes sense. We need each other too much like this, so we'll call it a one-time thing.

This is how I feel on a good day. It's deep July, and right now I could be a canvas. All I see are lush greens and golden rows and open blues. I wish I brought my notebook. Tsuni stretches the leash 'til there's no slack.

There's one scarecrow, standing high in the heart of the wheat field. He has a ragged cape and a pointed black hat. I could never believe that shit works. How could a bird in flight fall for something like that.

[arrowflier]

arrow!!!!!! the x-men AU idea! yes, yes, yES. 🙌

Twisha my dear, thank you for giving me an excuse!  This got a little dark (warnings in tags), but it was fun to try.

Spikes and Quills May Do Me Ill (but your hands never hurt me)

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?” the hedgehog boy growled at Ian, and Ian backed away, hands raised.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, then hesitated.

“Well?” the kid pressed, quills perking up in agitation.  “What is it?  Spit it out!”

“Your neck!” Ian blurted out obediently, and immediately closed his eyes with a wince.  He shouldn’t have said that.  He should not have said that.

He waited for the blow to come.  Hedgehog guy was notorious for his short temper, and the only thing Ian was unsure of was whether he’d be getting a fist to the face, or a spike to some other part of his body.

Probably his eyes, since he’d been caught looking.

He just couldn’t help it, though.

Ian had always sort of had his eye on the other boy.  He didn’t even know his name, but he’d seen him around school.  The guy would show up wearing like fifty layers of clothes—long sleeves, cut-off gloves, a hat and scarf no matter the weather—and he always stripped off as soon as he was in the door, shedding clothes like a snake sheds skin, until he was down to a sleeveless tee that showed off all his most unique attributes.

And unique they certainly were.

The first time Ian had seen him, he’d almost thought that they were tattoos.  Some sort of major piece that covered his back, his shoulders, and his neck, carrying down the backs of his arms but fading away from the front, from his chest.  He’d been trying to get a better look at the pattern when some idiot had come up behind the guy and tapped him on the shoulder, resulting a sudden flare of quills that had everyone around them stepping back in alarm.

It was beautiful.

That wasn’t the only beautiful thing about him, but it might be what Ian liked most.  Plenty of other boys had dark hair, or blue eyes, or a muscular stature.  Plenty of other boys walked through the halls like they owned them (even though none of them did).

But there was only one boy in school with all of that and more, only one boy that Ian wanted to touch.  To see if those spikes felt real.

Only one boy who…still wasn’t hitting Ian?

Ian squinted one eye open, then both.  The other boy was just staring at him, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.  He looked angry, but also…curious?  That couldn’t be right.

“The fuck did you say to me?” hedgehog boy asked quietly, the kind of quiet that was dangerous.  The kind before he threw that other kid across the bleachers last year for calling him a mutie to his face.

Ian wondered if that kid had ever regained the full use of his legs.  Or his facial muscles after they got all the quills out.

It had sure been something to see that happen.

But now wasn’t the time to reminisce about watching this fine specimen in front of him picking up some asshole like it was nothing, quills rippling down his muscled arms and back as he tossed him aside like a bag of potatoes.  Not unless he wanted the same thing to happen to him.

Well…

No.  Never mind.

“I said I was looking at your neck,” Ian muttered quietly, torn between answering and self-preservation.  He wasn’t really sure which one won.

“And what,” hedgehog boy hissed, stepping closer, “is wrong with my neck?”

Um.  Was he serious?  Ian had been able to tell from the across the room that something was wrong, even under the flickering hallway lights.  The other boy’s neck was red, and not in the fun, blushing kind of way.  

No, it was red like a bloody bruise.  In fact, now that Ian got a closer look, it actually was bloody—smears of dried blood covering an oddly smooth area that looked wrong next to all the quills spiked up around it.  

It almost looked like he had been plucked.

“What happened?” Ian asked instead of answering the question.  “Did you do that to yourself?”

“No, I didn’t…” the other boy sputtered and paused, clearly caught off guard.  He eyed Ian warily for a moment, but whatever he found in Ian’s eyes must have calmed him, because then he was backing away again, quills smoothing down into his skin.

“What’s it to ya?” he asked, glancing around.  There were only a few other people left in the hallway, most having already made it to class.  

It made Ian weirdly brave.

“I could help,” he offered, and tried not to shrink back when those ice-blue eyes fixed on him again.

“Yeah?”  Hedgehog boy stepped closer again.  “How you gonna do that?”

“I, um.”  Ian paused, swallowed.  Tried again.  “I can heal?”

The boy’s eyes rose.  “That a question, tough guy?”  He sounded incredulous.

Ian shook his head.

“No, I mean, I can,” he confirmed.  He lifted a hand awkwardly, reaching for the other boy, who pulled back out of reach before Ian could touch him.

“I just need to…” Ian trailed off, reaching out again.  With another glance around the hall and a shallow nod from his companion, Ian stepped forward.

He got his hand on that reddened neck, soft under the skin of his fingertips.  After a single breath of hesitation, when he wasn't pushed away, he flattened his palm against it focused.

It started as a warmth under his skin.  Almost soft, not unpleasant, just a brush of heat to tell him it was working.

Then came the pain.

Ian hissed between his teeth at the first sharp feeling, like a pinprick on his own neck.  If he looked, he knew it would be red like the other boy's, a tiny fleck of blood rising to the surface.

"Hey, wait," came that boy's panicked voice.  "What are you--"

"Shh," Ian urged, and pressed his hand tighter to that injured throat.  "This is how it works."

The pain kept coming.  Pull after pull of quills that didn't exist coming free of his skin, each one sharper, more real than the last.

And with one particularly rough pang, the visions started.

Come here, Mickey boy

Fear.  Anger.  Shame.

No son of mine...

Heightened heart rate.  Breath catching. A hand on his shoulder.  Around his throat. Pain.

Get that from your no good mother...

Pain.  Pain.  Tweezers in a gnarled hand, plucking.  Cold eyes, staring.  A girl cowering in the corner, watching, crying.

"Stop!" the boy cried, yanking back out of Ian's hold.  "The fuck are you doing?"

I’ll teach you to...

A door opening, hands dropping.  Metal instrument falling to the floor.  His neck is sore, but his legs burn more as he runs, runs, runs.

He sounded frantic, afraid, but Ian was too far to stop.  There was more healing to do.

He ignored the now raw wound on his own neck and reached out again.  The other boy went to slap him away, but hit his palm instead with his own, and Ian was once again lost in pain, and memories, and feeling.

His neck was healing, now.  But his palm was bleeding, crescent shaped marks from untrimmed nails digging in as he saw his own eyes staring at him across the hall.

Bright green eyes.  Pale skin.  Red hair.  Lips that looked like--

"Get offa me!"

Ian let go, panting, disoriented.  The eyes he gazed into weren't green like his own, but blue and sharp and wide.

"Mickey," Ian breathed, and the boy bolted.

🦔🦔🦔

Ian didn't see Mickey for the next two days.  Not at school, and not around the neighborhood, either.

He wanted to see him.  Wanted to apologize.  It was how his mutation worked, and he wasn't sorry for that--he had to feel something to heal it, take it into himself, live through it.  But he should have warned Mickey of what that meant.

That it meant he would see everything.

Ian was walking home after school, starting to wonder if Mickey would ever show his face again, when they jumped him.

Two older boys and a girl, all wearing anti-mutant propaganda shirts with bandanas over their faces, tugged Ian back into a narrow alley by the straps of his bag and threw him up against the rough brick wall.

"Heard about your little stunt with the Milkovich brat," one of them hissed in his face.  His breath was rank even through the cloth covering his mouth, and Ian tried to twist away.

Another one punched him in the gut, hard enough to make him wheeze.

"Don't you look away while he's talkin to you, mu--"

He was cut off by an arm wrapped around his throat.  An arm covered in bristling, sharp quills.

"You wanna say that again?" Mickey growled behind Ian's attackers, voice low and dangerous.

"Shit!" the third one yelped, and took off running, nearly knocking her own companions over as she ran for the opening of the alley.  Ian fell to the ground as his first attacker followed close after, and rubbed a hand over his ribs.

"Uh, hey there man," warbled the boy Mickey still held up.  "Just a misunderstanding, I swear, we were--"

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey ordered, shaking the arm around the boy’s neck so the longest quills rattled dangerously close to his face.

Ian wondered what he was going to do to him.  And whether he should care.

Mickey looked at him over the other guy’s shoulder.  Whatever he saw in Ian’s eyes had him relaxing his arm, and shoving his prisoner away so hard he stumbled.

“Don’t let me see you again, asshole,” Mickey said to his back, aiming a kick at him on his way to the street.

“What made you come back?” Ian asked from his position on the ground once they were alone.  Mickey turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow.  The quills along his back flared once and settled, calm.

“Why do you think?” he returned, like it was obvious.

Maybe it was.  But Ian needed to hear him say it.

“Thought you were avoiding me,” Ian challenged, and watched Mickey roll his eyes.

“Yeah, well.”  Mickey rubbed a hand over his lip, the quills on the back of it sticking out over his fingers.  “Us muties gotta stick together, right?”

Ian smiled.

And though he’d definitely deny it later, Mickey smiled back.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

airhorn sounds in your ear as you try to sleep ITS FIC TIME, CHILDREN

His father’s first reaction is, predictably, nervous. They’re sitting in the living room as a family, all sort of hanging out, but doing their own thing. Hoarders is passively playing, Lydia is tucked under the couch with a book and flashlight, Emily is in the corner with her laptop, and BJ and Charles are each sitting on opposite ends of the couch, going through their phones. He gets a very sweet text from Adam, showing that the other teen has put the photo Lydia took of them in a frame, and he grins, and holds the device to his chest, feeling giddy and flustered. His dad notices. “What’s got you in such a good mood?” Charles smiles, and BJ figures this is as good a time as any. “I got a text from my boyfriend.” Charles stares. From her chair in the corner, Emily’s typing slows, and then stops, as her brain catches up with that sentence. His phone pings again, and he looks back down at a message from Barbara, then back to his parents. “And my girlfriend.” Emily closes her computer. Her smile is enormous. “Shut up.” “No, seriously!” he grins back at his mother, and then notes the color Charles is going. “Adam and Barbara?” Emily asks, knowingly, and he nods. “We made it official yesterday. I took em to th’ Smallpox Hospital.” “Awww! That’s so romantic!” “You’re dating?” Charles finally finds words. “Unclench your everything, dad, jeezus.” “It’s just… do you think that’s a good idea?” “I think it’s a great idea,” BJ says, a little defensive. “What, I’m not allowed to date? M’too weird for it?” “That’s not what I meant, BJ,” Charles frowns. But he can tell it kind of is.

“Charles, honey, he’s sixteen. He’s going to date,” Emily says softly, and Charles looks back at her. “But two people at once? And they’re-” “They’re what, Chuck?” “Humans. They’re human, BJ.” “Holy shit, they are? Here I thought they were just really crappy demons.” “I just don’t know if you’ve thought this through. Wouldn’t you be happier dating another demon?” “I don’t know any other demons, dad,” he growls, temper flaring. “Unless you want me to date Sam, an’ look like a total creep, since he’s stuck at like, ten.” “Stop it, BJ.” “You stop it! Just be happy for me!” “I am.. Happy. For you.” BJ sits back, crosses his arms, and scowls. “Got a funny way of showin’ it.” His father stands, and takes to pacing. Christ. “We should lay out ground rules.” “Me an’ Adam an’ Barb did that already.” “No, I mean, house rules,” Charles says, rubbing at his beard. “Things you’re allowed to do, and not. Oh, god, first things first, I’m going to get you a box of condoms.” Betelgeuse feels himself flush, and then Lydia finally pipes up, sticking her head out from under the couch. “Gross.”

“You’re seriously blowin’ this out of proportion. We’ve barely held hands!” “I was a teenager. I remember how things escalate. The last thing we need is someone pregnant. Especially with whatever a human and a demon would make.” “Th’ anti-Christ, maybe,” he says, unhelpfully, and he sees the way his dad’s expression twists into further worry. “It was a joke! Oh my god!”

His mother, bless her, swoops in, just then. “BJ’s just told us good news,” she says, standing, and putting a hand on Charles’ arm, which stops his pacing. “I need you to reassess how you’re making him feel, right now.” Charles looks from his wife to his son. BJ rubs at his nose, embarrassed and upset, and probably purple, and he sees his father make a choice. “BJ, I’m sorry,” Charles comes over, hesitantly reaches down, and Betelgeuse responds by throwing his arms around his dad. Chuck rubs his back. “Tell me about them,” he says, “and I promise to be cool. As cool as I can be, at least.”

That’s at least something. He can tell his dad is still worried, but he does listen, as Betelgeuse describes his two partners. “We spend a lotta time together,” he tells his father. “An’ they’re both goody two shoes. Seriously, they’re borin’, nice people.” “Tell us how you met them, BJ,” Emily smiles. He regales them with the story of Barbara and the flower, and then Adam in the library, and by the time he’s done, he’s back to feeling green, all smiles and excitement and stimming hands. It feels really, really good to not be alone.

Monday comes a day too soon, and he sort of misses the atmosphere of the library, because at lunch, he’s forced to pick up trash, with Honeywell watching him intently from a bench. The only consolation prize to this is the vice principal’s time is also being wasted. He doesn’t miss how a few kids walk by and intentionally throw things at his feet for him to pick up. They don’t get away with it, though, because either they trip and find their shoelaces are mysteriously tied together, or for those unlucky ones without laces, they’ll find a snake in their lockers. The miserable part is, Adam and Barbara aren’t allowed to hang out with him while he’s working. They’d tried, and were told in no uncertain terms to leave him alone, leave him to his task, or they’d be sent to the other side of the campus to do the same thing. A little bit of punishment, he understands. But he draws the line at threatening Sexy and Babs. He’s absolutely plotting exactly how he’s going to ruin the overbearing adult’s day when he feels a strange sensation in his chest, like a slight tug. He pauses. It’s not a pain, not really, more like a pull away from himself, which doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what it is. He has to assume it’s another demon thing.

He glances at his watcher, who seems engrossed in paperwork.

Man, if only this guy would fuck off, he could be enjoying lunch with his friends- The pull away from himself is stronger, this time. He concentrates on it, and then remembers how physical the summoning of clones is, requiring a motion like he’s tossing something, and he gives that a try, this time, gently lobbing nothing at a student passing by. The kid looks surprised, and then goes rigid, and he thinks maybe he’s killed someone for the first time, but then the teen straightens up, and stands, stiff, facing him, and BJ feels mentally split, between two bodies. He raises his right hand. The student mirrors the action, eyes wide, confused. He lowers it, then kicks his leg out to the side, and again, he’s copied. Not copied.. Followed? The other student is like a marionette, and his mind is the strings, or something close to that. “Possession,” he grins, wickedly, and then he pulls himself back all to one body, and the kid falls on his ass, confused, and scrambles away.

Oh, he is so going to use this new power for evil.

“BJ Deetz! I don’t see this quad getting any cleaner!” Honeywell has looked up from his paperwork to find Betelgeuse standing there, grinning to himself, and the teen responds by spinning around, and throwing nothing at the overbearing authority figure. Honeywell also goes rigid, and BJ lifts his hands, directing the VP to stand, and the hapless adult does so. “Looks clean enough to me,” he mouths, and hears that sentence come out of Honeywell’s lips. “Clean enough to eat offa!” With a swiping motion, he forces the man to knock his own hardly touched lunch to the ground, and then BJ crouches low, and the adult follows, shoving his face into what was clearly leftovers from some night’s dinner, and coming back up with a mouthful of noodles and dirt. The big man’s eyes are wide. He’s scared, confused. It’s thrilling. With a hand motion, BJ forces the breather’s face back into the mess of food and dirt, and doesn’t let him up until the muffled cries become truly panicked. Possession out in public might be a bit too noticeable, though, because there’s a gathering group of kids watching what the teacher is doing, their phones out, taking video, and he doesn’t need them connecting his own strange movements back to Honeywell’s. He makes a final hand motion, releasing the adult, and shoves his hands in his pockets, just in time for Adam and Barbara to appear as faces in the crowd. Honeywell, freed, sits up, coughing and sputtering, and looking horrified. “What the heck happened?” Adam asks, and BJ shrugs. “He started throwin’ a fit, outta no where,” he lies, but he feels the vice principal watching him, staring up from the dirt, where he’s still sat, dazed. He gives the adult a grin. “Totally fuckin’ weird.”

The rest of his lunch period is freed up, suddenly, as Honeywell goes to clean himself off in the men’s room.

This fun new ability requires further testing, but not right now, now when Adam and Barbara are around. Soon, though. Very soon. “I’m really bummed we can’t be in the library anymore. I tried to pop in to grab something this morning and the librarian chased me out.” Adam looks genuinely sad, at that, which startles BJ out of his downright vicious thoughts. “By the way,” Adam adds, “They put up the casting sheet today. Want to guess who got that dentist part?” Barbara is grinning wide. “Me?” he croaks. A few other kids tried for it.. He didn’t think he’d get picked, honestly, thought that maybe someone more likable, or more friendly, would be chosen over him, but Barbara squishes his cheeks in her hands. “You!” she cheers, and he blushes. “You’re going to be amazing! But that means,” she tells him, suddenly serious, “-that you have to actually try.” He nods, as much as he can, her hands still on either side of his face. “Effort,” he grunts. “Got it.” She leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose. He scrambles to throw his hood over his head, and cinches it closed, knowing for a fact he’s gone pink from the tips of his hair down to the roots. “BJ?” Barbara giggles, as he peers out at her from his hood. “Should I not do that?” “NO! No, no, I, uh, just.. Warn a guy, next time.”

He hadn’t thought through the logistics of this, clearly, because he can’t be scrambling away from them every time one of them kisses him, just because his stupid hair won’t behave itself. God, he’s going to have to start wearing a beanie, or something, until he can get this color thing under control. Annoyingly, his dad was right. He really hadn’t given this much thought, beyond, Adam and Barbara pretty, wanna kiss them. Now he’s got to work out the logistics of how he’s going to actually achieve that goal, without basically, for lack of a better word, outing himself. He doesn’t want to think that something like what happened with Kevin could happen again, but he hadn’t really seen that situation coming, and it had ended about as poorly as a budding romance can, with parental murder. So yeah, he’s not exactly confident he can trust them with this secret. Better to keep it to himself, play his cards close to the chest, not let them all the way in. That’s safest for all of them. Good plan, BJ, he thinks to himself, watching Barbara dust wood shavings out of Adam’s hair, a leftover byproduct of his shop class. No one gets hurt. No one has to know anything. He can keep playing human with his cute new partners for as long as they’ll let him.

Stretching before him, suddenly, he foresees a lifetime, several lifetimes actually, given the span of existence for a demon, lifetimes full of deceit and lies and partners who age without him, and it all makes him very tired, and sad. This is going to be how it is, he realizes. He’s going to pretend and mimic and do his best to fit himself into a template that he wasn’t made for, and he’s presumably going to be doing it forever, maybe until the minute the last human takes their last breath, because playing human is as close as he can get. It's easier to play pretend, throw a glamour on and act along, than to be himself and risk the pain and rejection, or the truth that maybe his worth is tied into what he can do, not who he is. It all leaves him dizzy, this sudden moment of unwanted clarity. He pushes it down, far down at it can go, to somewhere deep in his chest, and tries to come back to this moment, right now, because his boyfriend is looking at him. “You going to stay in that hood all day, shy guy?” Adam smiles, and BJ peels the hood back, and runs a hand through the mop of green mess that passes for his hair, and smiles, like he didn’t just have a mini existential crisis in the middle of a Monday afternoon. “What do you guys do for lunch when you’re not being wooed by an errant library assistant?” Betelgeuse forces an extra bit of pep that he doesn’t feel into his voice, and Barbara brightens. “You can come meet my friends!” She says, and he lets her lead him by the hand, across the quad, a corpse playing pretend at being alive, holding hands with the living.

They find Barbara’s friends at the lunch tables. He’s never sat over here, never really had reason to be over here at all, actually, because each table is always claimed by a friend group, and he’s never felt welcome enough to try and squeeze in with any of them. But he sort of has a group now, he supposes. If three can be a crowd, it can be a group. He does feel eyes on him as he’s directed on where to sit by Barbara, other kids at other tables watching him, maybe confused on how he’s ingratiated himself enough to actually have a place to sit. Barbara arranges where they sit, seemingly very intentionally, with herself between Betelgeuse and Adam, and Allison and Blair on the other side of the table, and they begin eating. The air is a little tense. He picks at his lunch, leftovers Charles packed for him. It smells amazing, but he doesn’t want to scarf it all down, not when he’s feeling watched, the way he is. And he is being watched, very intently so, by Barbara’s friends, who are apparently also Adam’s friends. Everyone but him seems to know so many other people. It’s almost insane, like, how do they keep them all straight? He’s only vaguely aware of which one of these similar white girls is Blair, because he’s spoken to her, at least once. Allison might as well be a balloon with a face painted on it. “So,” Blair puts down her fork. She’s eating a dry salad with little chunks of chicken in it, low carb, low cal. He’d be worried for her health if he gave a shit. “So,” he copies her instinctively, tilting her head the same way she does, holding his hands in front of himself in a mirror of her own movements. Barbara catches what he’s doing, and gives his arm a gentle pinch. “Is this for real?” Blair isn’t asking him, she’s looking between Adam and Barbara, who are both looking a little surprised at the sudden question. “What do you mean?” Adam asks, unsure, and Blair gestures between the three of them. “This whole.. This! When Barbara said she suddenly had two boyfriends, I had to check my calendar, make sure it wasn’t April Fool’s. And then it turns out to be you and..” Her eyes fall back on Betelgeuse. “Him. You, Adam, I get. You and Barbara together, that makes sense. But, like, BJ?” “Sure, if you’re offerin’,” he says, and Blair makes a face. Go on over to Ao3 to read the rest!! There's more waiting for your hungry eyes over there

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

New World CH. Eighteen

Title: Alive

Words: 3001

Warnings: Strong language, talk of rape and past assault (no actual rape or assault), talk of killing

A/N: Enjoy!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter 

New World Masterlist

Daryl Dixon Masterlist

The Walking Dead Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

Dean

Dean was running along the fence when he saw Daryl and Merle. Heart pounding in his chest, he quickened his pace until Merle was on the ground, face in the dirt.

 “What the hell are ya doin’?” Daryl said angrily.

 Dean didn’t answer and just dug his knee into Merle’s back, causing him to let out a yell of pain.

 “The fuck is he doing here, Rick?” Dean asked Rick.

 “They came out of the woods and saved me,” Rick said. “If they weren’t here, I’d be dead.”

 “He’s not coming inside,” Dean spat.

 “He is,” Daryl said. “Now get offa him!”

 Dean shook his head. “No! He hurt [y/n] and Glenn! And you decided to leave! So why are you here, huh? What brought you back?”

 “We had a talk,” Merle said, voice muffled.

 “Dean, let him go,” Rick said. With a huff, Dean got off of Merle and stalked back to the prison, not giving any of the men a second glance.

 ---

 When Dean got back inside the safety of the intact fences, he gave Glenn a look.

 “What’s wrong?” Glenn asked. “Is Rick okay?”

 “Rick’s fine.” Dean glanced at the prison and clenched his fists.

 “They’re both here, aren’t they?” Glenn said. Dean nodded and neither of them said anything, turning to go back inside.

 ---

 Sam 

When Sam saw Sophia get shot, he didn’t even think before his feet were moving and he was crouching beside her. He took his shirt off and was pressing it to the wound as Beth opened the door and Carl was covering them with his rifle.

 Quickly, he got Sophia into the medical cell and sat her on the bunk. She was crying and even though it hurt Sam to see her like this, he knew it was a good sign.

 “This is going to hurt,” Sam said before he gently peeled his shirt off of the wound. Sophia let out a muffled scream and Sam gently shushed her.

 “I need to cut your shirt, okay?”

 “Okay,” Sophia whimpered.

 Sam cut the shirt and turned her so he could see both sides of her shoulder. Thankfully, there was an exit wound and Sam managed to stop the bleeding. Sophia had passed out due to the pain and Sam worked on stitching her up.

 “Is she gonna be alright?” Carol said softly from the doorway. She had a bottle of water, a bowl, and some spare towels in her hands.

 “She’s gonna be fine,” Sam said as he took the things from Carol. “I just have to clean and wrap it. We’ll have to keep an eye on it for a while, make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

 “Oh thank god. Beth took Adeline and Carl to Judith. They’re startled but fine.” Carol sat down next to her daughter and that was when you came skidding to a halt outside of the cell.

 “How’s she doing?” You said out of breath. Sam repeated what he said to Carol and you let out a breath of relief, your body sagging slightly.

 “Good. I’m glad to hear that she’s gonna be okay.” You turned to Carol with teary eyes. “I’m so sorry. I thought I was getting them out of harm’s way but I only managed to get Sophia hurt.”

 “It’s not your fault, honey,” Carol said soothingly. “You weren’t the one to shoot her.”

 “Still.” You choked back a sob and walked out of the cell. Carol watched you go with sad eyes before turning her attention to her daughter.

 ---

 It wasn’t long before everyone else filed inside. Merle was locked in the common area while you and everyone else, minus Carol and Sophia, were in the common area. Daryl had climbed the stairs to stand near you and Beth, but without even as much as a look in his direction, you went down to the lower level to stand near Michonne. You didn’t miss the slump of his shoulders or the little breath he let out, but you found yourself not caring.

 “Rick, we need to leave,” you said, breaking the silence.

 “We’re not leaving.”

 “Well, we can’t stay here,” you shot back. Glancing up, you saw Daryl holding Adeline and you shook your head.

 “What if there’s another sniper? Wood pallet won’t stop those rounds,” Maggie said.

 “We can’t even go outside,” Beth chimed in quietly.

 “Maybe not during the day, but we can at night.”

 “If Rick say’s we’re not running, then we’re not running,” Glenn said.

 “No. Better ta live like rats,” Merle said. You glared at him before turning your attention elsewhere

 “You got any better ideas?” Rick said. “I’m all ears.”

 “Yeah, we should’a left already. Lived ta fight another day. We lost that window though, didn’t we? I bet that he’s got scouts on every road outta this place by now.”

 “We ain’t scared of that prick,” you heard Daryl say. You scoffed loudly and shook your head.

 “We should be,” you said. Dean gave you a worried look but you didn’t see it.

 “Sugar’s right. That truck through tha fence thing? That was just a welcome ta tha neighborhood from him. We might have some thick walls ta hide behind, but sooner or later he’s gonna come back. He got tha guns and tha numbers.”

 “He needs to go in the other cell block,” Maggie said.

 “No. He’s gotta point,” Daryl said.

 “He might have a point, but I don’t want to see or hear him,” you said sharply. “This is all his fault!”

 “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is!” Beth said, coming down the stairs. “What are we gonna do?”

 “I say we should leave. [Y/n] thinks so too. Now both Axel and Oscar are dead and Sophia got shot. We can’t just sit here,” Hershel said. Rick said nothing, turning around and walking away when Hershel yelled at him.

 “You’re slipping, Rick,” Hershel said when Rick stopped walking. “We can all see it and we understand why. But now is not the time. You said that this wasn’t a democracy and now you have to own up to that.”

 Rick turned to face Hershel and you propped yourself up against the wall, watching the show.

 “I put my family’s life in your hands. So get your head clear before anyone else dies. You need to do something before anything else happens.”

 Rick gave one last look to Hershel and his gaze landed on you. You met his gaze with your hardened look and Rick was the first one to look away before he walked out of the cell block. With a shake of your head, you pushed yourself off the wall and went to your cell to grab something. Walking back out, you almost ran into Daryl. He reached an arm out to steady you, but you flinched and stepped back.

 “[Y/n], can we talk?” He asked you quietly.

 “We have nothing to talk about. Now please move so I can leave.” Your voice was harsh and you saw hurt flash in Daryl’s eyes. He moved out of your way and you walked back down the stairs, sitting on the last step.

 A few minutes later, Rick came back inside, sending Maggie on watch. Your brothers, Glenn, Michonne, Hershel, Daryl, and Rick stood near the other staircase and started making plans. You didn’t go over to them, knowing one of your brothers would fill you in later. It didn’t take long before Daryl was storming up the stairs, angry at Glenn for dissing his brother.

 Soon after, Dean came up to you.

 “What’s the plan?” You asked him, knowing full well there wasn’t a plan.

 “We don’t have one,” he said with a sigh.

 “Figured.”

 “[Y/n], I’m gonna say something and I need you to listen,” Dean said after a moment.

 “I’m not talking to him,” you said sharply.

 “You have to, [y/n]. He’s back and sure, he brought the asshat with him, but you know Daryl.”

 “Not as well as I thought. He left when we needed him. When I needed him. He just left!” Your voice was getting louder, not caring who could hear.

 “It was his brother, [y/n]. Don’t say that you wouldn’t have done the same if it was me or Sammy,” Dean said, crossing his arms.

 “Don’t. Don’t compare yourselves to a man who helps his buddy almost rape someone!” You were yelling now and you didn’t notice Daryl standing at the top of the steps, Carol right next to him.

 “The Governor did what?” Daryl said, voice low.

 “So now you care? Didn’t seem to when you left,” you said, whirling around to glare at Daryl. “You chose that douchebag over your real family.”

 “I didn’t know.”

 Everyone else decided that it was a good time to make themselves scarce and soon it was only you and Daryl in the cell block.

 “Do you want to know what he did to me? Your brother and the Governor?”

 Daryl said nothing and you took it as your cue to keep talking.

 “Your brother held me at gunpoint, threatening my life to make Glenn do what he wanted. He hit me on the head when I tried to get out of his hold. Then, he locked me in a room and tied me to a chair. That’s when I had to hear him beating the shit out of Glenn. Merle sicced a walker on him, Daryl. For a few minutes, I thought that Glenn had died. No sound was coming from that room anymore. That’s when the Governor came into my room.”

 “Did he r—“

 “Rape me? No. But he came damn close to it. The sick bastard forced me to take my shirt off. Said if I didn’t, he’d bring me Glenn’s hand. He touched me, slammed me down on a table. He pointed a gun at my stomach to make us say what he wanted, knowing I was pregnant. That’s the man your brother took us too. The man he’s friends with.”

 “They ain’t friends no more, [y/n].”

 “Doesn’t matter,” you said, shaking your head. “You still decided to leave with him, Daryl.”

 “And I realized that I chose wrong. I came back.” There was a desperation in Daryl’s voice that you had never heard and you looked into his eyes.

 “You’re right. You came back. But the trust that we’ve built up is gone. It’s gonna take a lot to get it back to where it was.”

 ---

 The next day, you got a surprise visit from someone you thought you’d never see again. Andrea. When Carl had come into the cell block and announced that Andrea was here, you furrowed your eyebrows.

 “Andrea? She’s alive?” You asked.

 “Apparently,” Rick said.

 Everyone got guns ready and you watched as your brothers followed Rick and Daryl outside. You went onto the catwalk with Glenn and Carol, rifle at the ready. Andrea was leading a walker by the throat and you felt no pity for her when Rick held her against the fence and checked her for weapons.

 Tearing your eyes away from her, you scanned the tree line, looking to see if she was alone or not. You saw nothing out of the ordinary and when you saw nothing, you walked back inside with Carol, Glenn close behind.

 You stayed up on the second level while Andrea was reconnecting with everyone. You were glad to see her alive, but something about her felt off.

 “Where’s Shane?” She asked. Rick shook his head and Andrea asked, “And Lori?”

 “Lori didn’t make it. She had a girl,” Hershel said.

 “Neither did T-Dog,” Maggie said.

 “I’m so sorry.” She looked at Carl with pity on her face. Carl hung his head and Dean squeezed his shoulder. When she tried to talk to Rick, he backed up slightly and Andrea thought it might be good to change the subject.

 “You all live here?” She asked.

 “Here and the cell block,” Glenn said.

 “There? Can I see?” Andrea went to walk inside but Rick and Sam got in her way.

 “I can’t allow that,” Rick said quietly.

 “I’m not the enemy, Rick.”

 “We had that field and courtyard completely clear until your boyfriend tore down the fence and shot us up.”

 “You’re the Governor’s girlfriend?” Dean said, voice sharp. He looked at Rick. “Why is she still here?”

 “Why would I not be here?” Andrea said, looking at Dean with a confused look.

 “Well, let’s see. Your boyfriend assaulted me, tried to kill Daryl, and shot up our home,” you said.

 “Assaulted?” Andrea shook her head. “No way. He wouldn’t do that.”

 “You keep telling yourself that, honey,” you said with a cold laugh. “Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

 Andrea just glared at you and turned her attention back to Rick.

 “He said you fired first.” Andrea said, ignoring you and you rolled your eyes.

 “He’s lying,” Rick said.

 “He killed two inmates who survived here and shot Sophia,” Hershel said.

 “We liked those inmates. They was part of this group,” Daryl said. “And [y/n] ain’t lyin’.”

 “I didn’t know anything about that. Any of it. I came as soon as I found out.” She turned and looked at everyone. “I didn’t even know that it was you in Woodbury until after the shootout.”

 “That was days ago,” Glenn said.

 “I told you, I came as soon as I could.”

 No one said a word and Andrea whipped around to face Michonne.

 “What have you told them?” Andrea accused.

 “Nothing.”

 “I don’t get it. I left Atlanta with you guys and now I’m the odd one out?”

 “He almost killed Michonne and he would have killed us,” Dean said. “My little sister and Glenn were almost executed on his orders.”

 “With his finger on the trigger!” Andrea pointed at Merle. She turned to Glenn. “Isn’t he the one who kidnapped you? Beat you?”

 “At least it wasn’t my boyfriend who assaulted someone, almost killed two innocent people, and had one of his men shoot a child,” you said. Andrea looked up at you to see you casually leaning against the wall, rifle in hand.

 “Look, I cannot excuse or explain what Philip has done. But I am here to bring us all together. We have to work this out.”

 You snorted and she sent you glare.

 “There’s nothing to work out because we’re gonna kill him,” Rick said. “I don’t know how or when, but we will.”

 “We can settle this. There’s room for you all at Woodbury.”

 “Ya know better than that,” Merle said.

 “For once, I agree with the douchebag,” you said. Sam choked back a laugh and you cracked a smile.

 “What makes you think he wants to negotiate?” Hershel asked Andrea.

 “Did he say that?” Sam asked.

 “No. He didn’t.” Andrea shook her head. You rolled your eyes.

 “Then why’d you come?”

 “He’s gearing up for war,” Andrea said as she looked at Rick. “The people are terrified, they see you as killers. They’re training to attack.”

 “Tell ya what. Next time ya see Philip, tell him I’m gonna take his other eye,” Daryl growled.

 “We’ve taken too much shit for far too long. He wants a war? Then he’s got one,” Glenn said.

 “Rick, if you don’t sit down and try to work this out, I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Andrea said, trying to stop the fighting.

 “No matter what, people are gonna die,” you said.

 “You’ve lost so much already, you can’t be alone anymore.”

 “You wanna make this right? Get us inside,” Rick said.

 “No.”

 “Then we got nothing to talk about.” Rick walked back into the cell block, not listening to Andrea trying to keep him there.

 “There’s innocent people!” She called after him.

 “There’s innocent people in both parties,” Carol said.

 “They have kids, we have kids. They also have people who don’t care who they hurt, as long as they get what they want. All we want is to be left alone but your boyfriend is crazy,” you said, walking down the stairs. “He’s not going to leave us alone and he’s going to keep trying to kill us. To keep my family safe, to keep these kids from dying, I will do anything I need to do.”

 You were now almost two feet away from Andrea.

 “Now you need to make a choice. Help the people you’ve gone through so much with? The people that consider you part of their family? Or help the man you’re just fucking to feel something. Your choice.” Giving her a salute, you turned on your heel and walked into the cell block.

 ---

 When Andrea was finally leaving, you were up on the catwalk with Hershel, Adeline hiding behind you. Andrea had waved bye to Adeline, but she just gripped your hand and hid herself behind your legs. Andrea’s face had fallen but you didn’t care. Adeline might be young, but she was smart enough to realize that Andrea was on the wrong side and didn’t like her for it.

 You could barely hear what they were saying below you, but you didn’t care anyways. Andrea gave you bad vibes and you knew the rest of your group, they felt it too.

 You had heard what Carol had suggested she do and you already knew she didn’t have the guts to do it. Watching as she took off in the car Rick gave her, you shook your head and walked back inside, Adeline trailing behind you.

 For the rest of the day, you opted to stay inside your cell with your daughter instead of hanging around with everyone else. You could hear Beth singing when night fell and the sounds washed over you. Closing your eyes, you fell asleep to her voice.

[splendidly-secret-sick-fics]

THANKS FOR ANSWERING MY PROMT I LOVE IT CAN'T WAIT FOR PART 2!!

The Biggest Idiot of All Idiots: A Miya twins sickfic (Part 2)

Characters: sick Atsumu, caretakers Osamu & Mama Miya (lol)

Word Count: 2,418

Warnings: swearing, vomiting, and Miya-family fluff

Part 1

————————————————————

I’M SO EXCITED THAT YOU LIKED IT!! YAY!

I’m back with Part 2 a lot sooner than expected. So yay me. I did this instead of working. Oops.

————————————————————

Osamu was lulled into a sense of false security.

Atsumu slept for over an hour. With how out of it and overheated Atsumu was earlier, it was no surprise that he zonked the minute his head hit the pillow.

So Osamu thought, maybe there was no other shoe. Maybe his twinstincts were wrong this time. He even felt good enough about this deduction that he told his mom to stay out and finish her errands. That he had things under control.

It only took another twenty minutes for him to fully regret that decision.

The video game he was playing, mindless though it was, kept him distracted from the fast devolving situation on the top bunk right above him. It wasn’t until Tsumu called his name weakly that he registered that the whimpering he’d been hearing for the last 20 minutes was his brother and not the video game.

“Samu,” Atsumu wheezed. The sound of his ragged breaths dropped a small rock of worry into Osamu’s stomach, but he tried to remain calm; to ignore his gut. Maybe if he did, things would be fine. He didn’t need to blow things out of proportion when it came to Atsumu, the self-titled Biggest Drama Queen.

“What?” He called, continuing his game.

“Too...too loud,” Atsumu moaned.

“The volume is barely loud enough for me to hear. Don’t be so dramatic,” Osamu replied.

“No…” his voice shook, “it’s pound-pounding.”

Osamu rolled his eyes, but turned the volume down nonetheless.

“Anything else, Princess?”

“Hot...s’hot… les go go insi-inside,” Atsumu whimpered. At that, Osamu immediately went on high alert. They were inside, had been inside for a couple hours now. He should know that.

In one swift movement, he paused his game and hopped onto his bed to check on Atsumu. The rock of anxiety quickly turned into a boulder at his twin’s appearance.

Atsumu was panting, his breaths shallow, and his face was an almost ashen grey color, save for the red flush spread across his cheeks. He was curled into a tight ball, his arms wrapped around his stomach protectively. Worse than anything else, the unmasked pain that was etched into every inch of his face made Osamu grab at his own stomach, suddenly very sick with worry.

“Tsumu,” he said gently, because Atsumu was dramatic, yes, but those theatrical tendencies stemmed from an obscene amount of anxiety that he shoved deep into the locked safe of his mind. Calm, soothing, gentle, those were the things Osamu needed to be right now.

“Hey, Tsumu, look at me,” he demanded as softly as possible. He reached for Atsumu and put a hand on his cheek. Atsumu winced away, but not quickly enough for Osamu to miss the heat radiating off of him. He cursed under his breath.

“Samu, wanna go inside,” Atsumu nearly slurred. Osamu bit his lip. Slurring was absolutely no good.

“We are inside, Tsumu,” he tried, putting a comforting hand on Atsumu’s quivering shoulders.

“‘S too hot,” came the reply. Osamu jumped off his bed and crossed the room to turn on the ceiling fan.

“Can ya tell me what else is wrong?” Osamu asked when he got back to Atsumu’s side. He ran his hand through Atsumu’s hair like their mom did. Like he did when they were kids.

Atsumu shook his head, “I feel ba-bad.”

In that moment, all Osamu could see was his stupid, sniveling little brother upset and in need of consoling because some jackasses on their elementary volleyball team called him mean names. The trembling, crying, whining teenager before him resembled nothing more than that little kid who hadn’t learned how to ignore other people’s opinions yet. It brought every ounce of protectiveness that Osamu held for his brother flooding forward with full force.

“Okay, alright. Hey, it’s fine, Tsumu. ‘M gonna help ya. Just hold on,” Osamu got off his bed and grabbed his phone. He needed to get his mom home to help. He also needed to bring down Atsumu’s fever. His brain told him he needed to get the sweatshirt off his brother and try and get him into a cool bath.

As he climbed the ladder to get to Atsumu on the top bunk, he called his mom.

“Hey, sweetie! What’s u—“

“Ma, come home now,” Osamu interrupted, trying to convey the urgency of the situation quickly.

“Osamu? What’s wrong? Is yer brother o—“

“No, Ma. No. He’s got a wicked fever and he’s hurtin’ but I don’t know why. I can’t help him because I don’t know why. I don’t know what’s hurtin’ him,'' Osamu reeled. Talking to his mom, he noticed, for the first time, the knot in his throat and the burning of tears behind his eyes.

“Okay. Calm down, Samu. I’ll be home as quickly as I can. In the meantime, just keep him calm and cool, alright?”

Osamu nodded, took a centering breath and squeezed himself between Atsumu’s back and the wall.

“Alright. Okay. See you soon.”  He hung up and turned his attention back to his brother. The warmth coming off of him was palpable. He steeled himself and put a hand on Atsumu’s arm.

“Tsumu, I’m gonna pull ya upright, okay? Gotta get this sweatshirt offa ya,” he said as steadily as he could. Atsumu only whined in response.

He took that as a go ahead though and gently eased Atsumu into a seated position. As soon as he was upright and before Osamu could even blink, Atsumu’s stomach gurgled, his cheeks puffed out and he forcefully vomited all over his bed.

(Osamu thanked every god ever that he sat adjacent to Atsumu, and not in front of him.)

“Shit, Atsumu!” He exclaimed. If Atsumu heard it, he didn’t register it. He only heaved again, wheezing and hacking. Sympathy pains rattled Osamu’s chest at the sight and his stomach turned over itself.

“Sam—“ Atsumu tried, grasping at his brother’s arm frantically. He was cut off by another mouthful of green puke exiting his mouth violently. Osamu grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed.

“It’s alright, Tsumu, it’s okay. You didn’t mean to. Just get it up, okay? I’m here,” he soothed. The hand not holding Atsumu’s found his twin’s sweaty, shivering back and rubbed calmly between his shoulder blades.

Atsumu gagged again, his whole body shuddering and Osamu’s face contorted in sympathy.

“Fuck, Tsumu. How’d you get so sick so quick?”

Atsumu belched wetly in response. Nothing more came up, thankfully. His head hung limply over his lap, which was unfortunately covered in puke, and he panted, catching his breath.

Osamu let him calm down for a minute or two and surveyed the mess in front of him. Almost the entirety of the top bunk was covered in vomit and there was absolutely no way that Osamu could get his brother off the bed without dragging him through the mess. Not even he was that cruel.

Atsumu whimpered and Osamu returned his attention to him.

“Samu, ‘m sorry, I didn-- it jus--,” he cut himself off with a whimper. Osamu heard that subtle crack in his twin’s voice that signaled a bigger break down on the way. He needed to prevent that  meltdown, or it would just make things worse.

“Hey, no it’s fine,” Osamu reassured,  “Obviously it wasn’t on purpose, ya idiot. Don’t cry or it’ll make things worse.” He hugged Atsumu, trying hard to ignore the vomit that was inevitably going to get all over his shirt.

Atsumu shook his head and whined again.

“Tsumu, really. It’s alright, okay. ‘S not even that bad.” Atsumu inhaled shakily, whimpered as he did so. This wasn’t working.

“For real. ‘Member that time I puked all over the living room? We were watchin’ a movie with the team and I was already sick, but insisted that I wasn’t? Then I got squeamish durin’ the gorry part and threw up everywhere. You and Kita-san had to drag me to the bathroom. That was way worse than this,” he offered, cringing at the memory. Maybe his own embarrassment would lessen Atsumu’s.

“Here, it’s just me and I already know yer a disgustin’ piece of crap. This ain’t gonna change my opinion at all,” he finished. Thankfully, Atsumu chuckled a little and Osamu knew that he was in the clear. At least for now.

He pulled his brother away from his chest and used the bottom of his already ruined shirt to wipe off his face.

“Got quite the fever, there, Tsumu,” he sighed.

“I really don’t fee-feel good…” Atsumu muttered, breathless and hoarse.

“No shit, idiot.” Atsumu only frowned deeper in response.

“I need ya to sit here for just a sec, okay? Just gotta get these nasty ass sheets off the bed and then I’ll help ya down. You should take a cool bath to get yer temp down.” Osamu carefully gathered the blanket and took it down the ladder. He grabbed the trash can in the corner of the room and handed it up to Atsumu before taking the soiled material to the guest bathroom where he plopped it in the bathtub with a sickening splat.

Before he went back into his room to face his sick brother, Osamu took a second to collect himself. He dropped down to his knees, holding onto the bathroom sink for stability and inhaled slowly.

Atsumu was really sick. It wasn’t a usual occurrence (usually it was Osamu who got hit first; Atsumu cared too much about missing volleyball and was a borderline germaphone because of it) but it’s not like it’s never happened before. It was just so…shocking. Osamu needed to find some sense of grounding and push aside his worry for a little to be more effective at helping his brother until their mom got home.

When he felt calmer, he went back to their room, only to find Atsumu heaving into the trash can.

“Tsumu…” Osamu frowned.

“Samu,” Atsumu cried, “I feel-feel so bad. I just want to-want to sleep.”

“I know,” Osamu said, crawling back onto the top bunk. He rubbed Atsumu’s back again and waited for the spell to pass.

“Let’s get ya cleaned up, okay?”

It wasn’t a fun process and Osamu would have punched Atsumu more than once if he wasn’t so sick, but eventually and after much struggle, Osamu got himself and Atsumu cleaned up. At some point, their mom got home and started gathering all the necessities for the Certified Atsumu-is-a-Whiny- Baby-When-He’s-Sick package in their room (it included the latest manga, his baby blanket, those nasty green sports drinks, and a few other things that the Princess desired).

Osamu sat in the bathroom with Atsumu while he cooled down in the bathtub, though his twin told him he could leave. He made up some excuse about making sure that he didnt drown and sat against the wall of the bathroom.

With the curtain shut and Atsumu currently calm and not puking, Osamu allowed himself to relax for a bit. He didn’t realize how much tension he held in his shoulders and jaw until then and slowly loosened everything up. He scoffed at himself. Atsumu was the only person in the world that could make Osamu that tense with worry and yet still pissed him off to the point that he was practically begging to get punched in the face.

About half an hour later, Miya-san and Osamu settled Atsumu into the bottom bunk (“no freakin’ chance you can sleep in yer own bed, Tsumu. We ain’t cleaning up the top bunk again”). A thermometer hung out of his mouth limply while he pouted.

Even before the thermometer beeped, Osamu could tell his fever was lower. Not gone, but at least lower than before. It settled more of the tightness in his shoulders.

“No volleyball fer ya fer a few days, Tsumu,” Miya-san declared after she checked the thermometer.

“Figured as much,” Atsumu huffed. He was putting on a tough bravado, but Osamu didn’t miss how he was already half-asleep again.

“Gee, thanks Tsumu. Now I’m gonna have to play setter and wing--” Their mom cut Osamu off with a hearty guffaw.

“As if yer goin’ to practice, Samu. You think yer safe from this? If I have learned anythin’ about bein’ the parent of two boys as close as you two, it’s that when one goes down, the other goes down right after him.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about? I hate this guy.”

“Mhm, sure. I’ll go ahead and call yer coach. Good thing it’s summer break and ya don’t have classes!” Miya-san said smugly as she left the room.

Osamu glared at Atsumu who only smirked tiredly back. A second later, he closed his eyes and groaned, squirming around in bed.

“You okay?” Osamu asked before he could stop himself. Atsumu smiled lazily and peered up at his brother.

“Yeah. Thanks, Samu. Fer bein’ my brain and catchin’ this before I did.” Osamu blinked at him. If he wasn’t an asshole himself, he would smile and say it was no big deal.

But they were twins after all, and so Osamu was indeed just as big of an asshole as Atsumu.

“Ya better be,” he scoffed. Atsumu opened his mouth to protest, but closed his eyes suddenly.

“Tsumu?”

“Just got dizzy. It’s fine.” He exhaled and opened his eyes again. They were still hazy and half-lidded with fever.

“Just go to sleep, dumbass,” Osamu muttered and sat on the bed by Atsumu’s ribs. He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, just like he did when they were kids. Even if Atsumu no longer looked like that tragic, pathetic child, a part of Osamu would always feel the need to shield his brother from the harsh world. Deep down, he hoped Atsumu felt the same way.

(Sometime later, their mom walked in the room to find her two sons sound asleep together on the bottom bunk. Osamu lay across Atsumu’s middle, one arm stretched by his face and the other stretched towards Atsumu’s hair. She laughed to herself at the fact that, no matter how old they got, they always seemed to fall asleep in this exact position if they were near each other.

The next day, Osamu cursed out Atsumu as he threw up in the bathtub. Atsumu swore at him from his position over the toilet. Their mother secretly delighted in getting to take care of her baby boys again and brought them their blue and green sports drinks.)

[crimehat]

Husk and Angel + Talking about Husk's last love

send me prompts for mini hazbin hotel and/or helluva boss fics!

☕ support me on kofi! ☕

a/n: you know, anon, I doubt this is what you had in mind when you sent this ask, but apparently Husk didn’t wanna talk about that, and Angel’s coping mechanisms are poor at best, and so this is what we got.

“Soooo,” Angel starts, leaning up against the bar in a way that should have been eye catching, but Husk doesn’t seem to notice or care. If anything, the bartender looks annoyed, but that doesn’t deter Angel. 

“What do you want?” Husk asks, and his tone definitely confirms that annoyance. It shouldn’t, but it makes Angel grin. 

Angel takes a seat on one of the new bar stools Alastor had magiced in. With unnecessary flare, one long leg crosses over the other, and he leans his weight onto two elbows. Biceps are pressed in against his chest fluff, making it stick out just that little bit more. His grin turns into something a little more playful, both sets of shoulders shrugging. 

“I just wanna get t’know ya a little better, that’s all,” he explains. 

“Uh huh,” Husk replies. “Get your tits off my bar.” 

For just a second, Angel falters. That wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for, and it was only a small victory that the cat demon had noticed his chest at all. 

“I ain’t interested. In paying for it, or otherwise. So you can stop anytime now,” Husk continues, all but slamming a glass he had been cleaning down onto the bartop. 

Angel leans back, brow furrowed, taking a good look at this disgruntled demon across from him. He’s far from an expert in matters of the heart, but he thinks that maybe all of Husk’s cold personality and rough exterior is a defense mechanism. 

He drops the act and offers a weak chuckle, holding up two hands in defense. “Alright, alright. But I was bein’ serious. I wanna get t’know ya better.” 

Husk sighs, and then gestures quickly to himself. “What you see is what you get, kid. I don’t know what else you want from me.” 

Angel purses his lips together for a moment and hums in thought. He knows that can’t be right. 

“That ain’t true. I heard ya say t’Charlie ya lost the ability to love years ago,” he points out, and Husk visible tenses. “So if you really were just… this,” he takes a moment to gesture at Husk - and eye him up and down - “then what was the point of sayin’ that?” 

“It’s none of your business, is what it is,” Husk replies quickly. 

“Oh c’mon! Did some broad fuck ya up that bad while you were alive?” 

The fur on the back of Husk’s neck raises. “Enough with the fuckin’ questions. I ain’t here to play 20 Questions with some twink hooker who can’t take no for an answer. And I sure as shit ain’t here to make friends. So whatever you’re tryin’ to do, take your game somewhere else and to someone else, capice?”

Angel sits there in stunned silence - but only for a moment. He collects himself quickly and easily enough, shrugs it off and stands. He’s been called much worse, and told off in harsher ways - and if anything, he thinks that Husk’s defensiveness just proves he may have been on the right track. He just doesn’t want to talk about it.

Angel gets it; he has things he doesn’t want to talk about, either. Not yet - but maybe one day. 

Maybe Husk will get there one day, too. 

“Hey, look. I didn’t mean t’ruffle your feathers,” he snorts, and his apology sounds half-hearted but it isn’t. “I get it. But if ya ever do need, y’know, t’get some shit off your chest…” 

“You don’t, and I don’t,” Husk interrupts, and maybe it’s for the best he shot that down before it got too far. 

“Well then remember that cheap liquor ain’t the only thing in this hotel that can get ya mind offa things ya’d rather not be thinkin’ about,” Angel say, sliding two hands down the curve of his body with a grin. He winks and blows Husk a kiss before he walks away. 

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Your demo in a relationship headcanons were simply aaaaaaahhhh!*chef kiss* could we maybe have some for everyone's favorite aussie stringbean?

I absolutely love Sniper...he’s one of those characters I can just fall back on. I also just like Australian accents, especially when he speaks in a low, intimidating voice. Gets me every time. Makes me either blush or happy stim whenever I hear it.

First Date:

You find Sniper on a dating app after a particularly bad break-up.

His profile picture is of him shirtless, holding a huge gun next to him. However, instead of looking sexily into the camera, he’s looking off camera with a bewildered look on his face.

His bio says, “My friends put me up to this. Don’t expect too much. If you go on one date with me maybe they’ll shut up. Who bloody knows?”

You get curious, and you decide to start a chat with him.

“Your friends put you up to this huh? 😏”

“yeah. what of it?”

“What, are you some lonely wolf type or what?”

“you could say that.”

He was texting back almost immediately. Even if he wasn’t a lovey-dovey person, he was certainly interested.

“How would you like to get those friends off your back?”

“i’m free wednesday.”

You make plans, which, despite only seeing this as a one-night stand, you gradually get more and more excited for.

You meet Sniper at a nicer restaurant, wearing a new black dress that you hadn’t worn yet.

When you finally see him at the lobby, you realize that the picture didn’t do him justice, even thought he now had a beige suit on.

His lankiness showed a bit more, but his arms were very strong despite his frame. He was wearing sunglasses, which added an air of cool refinement.

At first you thought he was British because of his texts, but when he spoke, you knew right away he was Australian. You are far from disappointed.

You are still waiting for your table when all of a sudden, Sniper takes out a huge knife. Before you can react, he quickly slices something out of your vision and then brings it before your eyes. You had forgotten to take the tag off your dress.

“I’m flattered. I didn’t think you’d get all shinied up for me.”

You breathe out shakily and rub your neck. Sniper’s eyes furrow.

“I didn’ nick ya, did I?”

“N-no...just s-scared me...”

You thought maybe you had met up with a psycho, and all your suspicions were not put to rest yet, but the close encounter seemed to awaken something in you.

The date continues as normal. Both of you are pretty awkward at first, especially since the knife incident. But before the main meal is brought to your table, you’ve started up a conversation.

Sniper told you he was in the military, but his base is very lax with dress code and schedule.

You start telling him about your job as a graphic designer when all of a sudden a scream interrupts you mid-sentence.

There’s a guy holding a gun about eight tables from you, pointing it at the many patrons. He doesn’t seem drunk, but just enraged.

“WHAT’S A GUY GOTTA DO TO GET SOME DAMN FRIES?!”

The manager tries to talk to him, but ends up getting shot, most likely dead.

The yelling continues for about fifteen minutes. You are very uncomfortable, not to mention terrified, but Sniper seems oddly nonchalant.

Suddenly, Sniper yells, “OI! THEY’RE BRINGIN’ OUT YOUR FRIES! RIGHT THERE, MATE!”

The guy follows Sniper’s finger, and all of a sudden there’s a gunshot. But it wasn’t from the madman’s gun...it was from Sniper’s.

The guy falls over on top of the bleeding manager, writhing in agony.

Before you can even process what’s happening, Sniper grabs you by the arm and drags you out of the restaurant.

“Dishes it out but can’t take it, eh luv? C’mon, we’ll go to my place. It’s real nice.”

You get into his van, which smells like a mixture of old leather, beef jerky, and...something else. However, your terror quickly trumps your logic.

“First Time”:

Despite your fiasco of a first date, you still decide to stay at Sniper’s until it’s all blown over.

His apartment is covered wall to wall with guns, memorabilia, and sticky notes, usually with names and dates written on them.

On the far wall was a cork board filled to the brim with pictures, yarn, and Xs made in thick red Sharpie.

“If I woulda known it would go this far, I woulda tidied up the place. Sorry about that, luv.”

You brush it off, and you both sit on an old leather couch with bits of stuffing sticking out of it.

You take this as a cue to get around to what this whole date had been about: some sweet, sweet rebound. It seems awkward now that you had gone through so much - besides, you hadn’t expected to connect with Sniper the way you have...

But you still manage to spit it out.

“Er...yeah. That’s what people usually do, right? Yeah? I dunno. I’ve been off the playin’ field awhile.”

Sniper puts his hands around your neck and let’s you begin to kiss him. But it was clear after a while he wasn’t into it, so you pull away and ask if he wanted to wait another time.

“Aw, no, shiela. Look at me, lyin’ ‘ere like a dead fish...I just...I’ll try ‘arder, luv, I promise.”

You pull away completely. This had trauma written all over it, and you weren’t about to force someone into it...you were better than your ex.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

You asked him what was wrong, and why he was being so passive about what was happening to him. Why didn’t he say anything? Do anything?

Sniper sighed, pulling his hat way down in front of his face.

“I like girls, don’t get me wrong. It isn’t that. But I never felt...that way about ‘em. Or anybody else, honestly. I tried it once in college...I just ended up feelin’ sick. Tried it with another girl, then another, then another. I even tried with my guy roommate. But I always ended up feelin’ like I was gonna puke. Sometimes I did. It just never felt right. It wasn’t magical, it was bloody disgusting.”

“But every girl I’ve ever been with expected it, and to keep ‘em, I ‘ad to do what they wanted. Sometimes I’d just lie there, tryin’ not to vomit, trying to at least move a little, act like I was into it. They said they’d change my mind, that this time would be different. At the end of the day, it never was, and I lost ‘em. And now I’m gonna lose you too, ‘n I’m gonna halfta tell the guys...they’ll never let this go...”

Back At The Base... :

Spy called the entire team into the security room to watch the entire date go down. He had placed a bug on Sniper’s suit while helping him adjust it, and now everyone was here to watch the show.

Everybody cheered when the guy was shot, though Spy made a mental note to call Miss Pauling in the morning.

The whole team, Scout especially, was excited to see some action when Sniper brought you to his apartment. Well, everyone except Medic. He stood their with his eyebrows creased. He knew exactly what was going to happen.

“Aw, c’mon Snipes, what’s the hold up?! She is so inta you!”

There wasn’t any sound, so no one exactly knew why Sniper paused for so long.

Finally, you two came back together again, but after about thirty minutes of just kissing, the other mercs got bored really fast.

Scout was especially disappointed.

“Man, this was whole thing was a bust!”

Spy shrugged. “Not quite a waste of time. Look at her. She’s smitten. I never thought I would say this, but gentlemen - we have found Sniper a suitable suitor!”

Medic, eyes wide, kept his Sniper’s medical history too himself - not for HIPAA, but for the drama of it all. He wanted to see how this would play out.

Love At First Shot:

On a casual date at his place, Sniper catches you admiring one of his weapons.

“That’s one’s a beaut, ain’ it? That’s one ‘a my oldest guns. She’s outta service, the old girl, but she don’t look a shot over thirty.”

He picks it up and cocks it, nodding approvingly.

“Got this offa real bloody fruit seller. The muzzle ‘ad stains all over it, rust in some places...the bloke obviously had no idea how to take care of it.”

You suddenly feel a pang in your chest.

“Oi, luv, not a fan ‘a guns?”

“No...I...it just made me remember something.”

Sniper puts down his weapon, sits on the sofa, and pats his leg.

“‘Ere. Tell me about it.”

You hesitate for a moment before shyly sitting on his knee. You’re on the smaller side, but you were still afraid you might hurt him.

“Aw, it’s alright. Put your full weight on. These babies can ‘old an Aussie an’ an AK-47.”

You giggle, letting yourself get a little more comfortable.

“Now, luv...what’s on your mind? What’s that pretty lil’ head a’ yours thinkin’?”

You sigh.

“My boyfriend...or, my ex-boyfriend...we broke up for a reason. Or, well, I dumped him. We had been dating for almost three years, and I didn’t see it coming.”

“Crazy train crashed inta the station, huh?”

“He almost did. He...he had hit me before. I just didn’t say anything because I didn’t want him to get in trouble. But one night...it got really, really bad. He wasn’t even drunk. He was still in his work uniform. I stayed with a friend, and I told him it was over with a text - I was just so scared he’d find me. He knew my friends. He knew my address. And so I just wanted to find someone to protect me. It was more than just rebound...I just didn’t want to be alone. I wanted one person in my life he didn’t know so they could protect me.”

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, but you bit them back. You didn’t feel like sobbing in front of your new boyfriend. Sniper, though, started laying down, taking you with him.

Your head was now under his chin, and you were laying all along his body. The sudden show of affection caught you off guard. You started to cry, burying your face in his chest.

Sniper wrapped his arms around you, supporting your entire weight easily.

Neither of you spoke for a good fifteen minutes, except for Sniper saying an occasional, “Aw, sweetheart...”

Finally, you calmed down, feeling safe in your boyfriend’s embrace.

“Y’know, luv...”

Sniper hesitated.

“I...could teach ya how to shoot. If it’ll make ya feel safe.”

You sniffle and look up.

“I know ya probably want some big, strong man to protect ya, an’ I will. God, if anybody even touches a bloody ‘air on your ‘ead, I’ll kill ‘em. But I wan’ you to go to the movies, or the store, or just ‘ave a nice walk an’ not be lookin’ over your shoulder. I wan’ ya to enjoy your life, luv.”

“I...I can’t shoot a gun...”

“Why not?”

“I can’t...aim or shoot...I don’t think I’ve even held a gun before...”

“Well, we can fix that! ‘Ere...”

Sniper leans over and picks up his old gun again, laying it in your hands. It’s a bit heavier than you expected.

You run your hands over the muzzle and barrel, not even daring to touch the trigger.

Sniper puts his hands over yours and guides them over the gun, giving you more confidence about handling the weapon.

“A gun is like...like a dog. You train it right, an’ you train yourself, you’ll be fine. You’re no kid, so you know ‘ow dangerous these can be. But fear doesn’t shoot the bullet. Fear doesn’ aim for ya.”

Every time you went to his apartment, he would do this. Sometimes you two would be talking, and he would nonchalantly hand you the gun, which, after a while, you took without thought.

Now it was time to take you to the range.

He gave you that old gun to use as practice, but promised a newer, more compact gun when you had gotten the hang of shooting.

Hands on your shoulders, hands over yours, he taught you how to target a person’s more sensitive areas.

Over the next few months, you grew better and better at hitting your mark. You weren’t perfect, but you could definitely defend yourself.

One night, Sniper went to go get you both Chinese food, and you were hanging out at your apartment.

You heard a knock on your window. You ignore it, thinking a bird had flown into it by accident. However, as the knocking grew louder and more insistent, you lift your head, startled.

It was your ex-boyfriend.

He was in a suit, but his face wasn’t nearly as neat. His eyes were red and wide, and his hair was messy.

He had walked up the fire escape to your balcony, and was leaning against the rail, relaxed.

You stayed inside, but you knew that the door was unlocked - he could come in any time he wanted. And he knew this.

He spoke, and you could hear him through the glass.

“Still single. Just like I thought.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I came back because I was worried. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you...I thought maybe something had happened. You were so depressed when you left. I couldn’t help but think that maybe...well, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here, and I am more than willing to be with you again. I think we both have cooled off, right? We’ve had some time apart, and now we’ve realized we’re madly in love with each other and can’t be apart for another minute...”

“I have a new boyfriend!”

You blurted it out so suddenly you even surprised yourself. But your ex was unmoved.

“Oh, right. Sure. How much are you paying him, this boyfriend of yours? Do you have to pay extra for sex, or do you have a pity discount?”

“He...he’ll come back...and...”

You looked beside you. Your gun was laying on the floor beside you. Sniper had just taken you to the range, and you hadn’t had enough time to put it away.

You remembered what he said...

“I wan’ ya to enjoy your life, luv.”

You put your hand around the gun, grasping it tightly.

You swallow.

“Come back and what?” your ex jeered. “What’s your new boyfriend going to do? Beat me up?”

You are still trying to make your decision when you hear the glass door open.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, angel. I want to see your beautiful face.”

You whip around, the gun in your hand. Your ex immediately recoils, his hands flinging up.

“Woah woah woah...!”

“Please. Leave.”

Your voice is hoarse, but you try to sound as firm as possible.

“Even if I didn’t have a boyfriend, I would never get back with you. Ever. You...you made me feel so helpless, scared, alone...I can’t feel that way forever. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I want you to leave and never come back. Please. Just leave me alone.”

Your ex smirks, albeit shakily. “You can’t shoot that. You’ve never touched a gun in your life.”

“My boyfriend wanted me to be safe. He wanted me to be happy. He wanted me to be able to deal with creeps like you.”

You get up, gun still in hand, and your ex backs away.

“He did more than you ever did.”

“What, so you’re just going to shoot me? End up on the six o’clock news?”

“No. I won’t. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want you to leave. For good.”

“I bet that thing isn’t even loaded.”

You show him a half-full magazine and point to the fire escape.

“Like you know how to -!”

You quickly turn to a picture of a seaside landscape, shakily aim, and manage to shoot it, shattering the frame to pieces.

“Get. Out.”

Your ex practically runs out, yelling that he was calling the police.

Sniper comes back a few minutes later, and when he asks you what the hell happened, you start telling him between trembling breaths what had occurred.

Sniper turned bright red and tipped his hat down.

“That bloody wanker...fruit sellin’...”

He starts to walk towards the fire escape, but you stop him.

“I scared him off, please don’t...he said he was going to call the police...”

Sniper took a few deep breaths, calming down.

“We’ve got th’ best lawyers in the country. I’d like to see ‘im try.”

The police was never called - you think it was probably a pride thing, since you had overpowered him so easily - but you weren’t sure you had seen the last of him.

But with your own experience and Sniper’s, you had some piece of mind.

However, you were soon going to find out that Sniper had more power on his side than you thought...

*****************

Long time, no headcanon! Well, good headcanons, anyway. I rushed my last post, so I tried to go all out with this one. I might write a second part when headcanons are open again, but I think I prefer leaving some things up to the imagination, hm?

Anyway, more headcanons on the way! Same bat time, same bat channel! The next one is about siblings, though I may post shorter headcanons before that, since it’s such a fun idea to write.