#i wish i had time to make nene and darnell

[darnellthefirestarter]

Pajama party! (With a bonus grouchy Pico!)

[gemharvest]

Gf for the character thing ? :] or maybe Nene if you received her already

I HAVEN'T RECEIVED HER YET THANK YOU !!!!!!!!! I'll do Nene too, I'll just make it her own post after posting this. :J

favorite thing about them: I love her dumbgirl swag. There's something so special to me that both her and Boyfriend are fuckin'. Dumb As Rocks. ALSO I LOVE THAT SHE'S CANONICALLY AN ARTIST that's such a sweet thing to me. I would pay one morbillion dollars for a GF commission (because she has no idea how they work).

least favorite thing about them: I WANT HER TO DO MOREEEEHGNJFN.. Like she's probably done as much as BF has so that's not a critique of the game, I just wanna see her do more. Because I love women. Oh also I think they should remake every canon piece depicting her and make her canonically fat. I often forget she isn't fat in canon and then I feel sickly when I look at like, the volume 1 cover and she's thin. W-Whe';re h.er tumm-.my go..,m,l,l,...,, <- sorry for crytyping but it fits.

favorite line: That's how you do it! <- I was gonna jokingly just go up down left right but then I remembered she says that in the tutorial. And I quote it to myself all the time so.

brOTP: Y'know what, similar to BF, I think a GF & Darnell friendship would be fuckin' s-tier. I often think abt this post Keyy made tbh. I know that's specifically the Funkycule AU and pup has them in a QPR but I do think abt it often. Also, before I was a romantic PicoGF guy my interpretation of RGB had Pico & GF as just friends, probably closer friends the longer they're in their relationships with BF cuz like, bonding over a shared partner or smthn LMAO so I'll give an honorable mention to Pico & GF friendship.

OTP: WOag. RGB. Wow I've never heard of that before. How many times can I joke about RGB being my OT3 for this game before it gets annoying LMAO anyways. I ALSO REALLY LOVE GFNENE I wish they had more fics. So bad. I'm actually shocked by how bare their tag on AO3 is. They weren't lying, fandom does hate femslash. /hj

nOTP: Is there anyone out there who actually ships her with Senpai. I think that'd be my only answer ALSO YOU KNOW WHAT. I chickened out on saying it with BF but I also consider BF and Senpai a nOTP but like, I DON'T HATE ANYBODY WHO SHIPS IT. OF COURSE. I don't think it's "problematic" to ship Senpai with either of them it's just, like, the most thought I have on Senpai is that I want to kick sand into his eyes. So that feeling doesn't really translate into a desire to see him shipped with anyone. I'm sorry to anybody who ships Senpai with either of them, I respect your grind, it is just sooooo not for me.

random headcanon: This headcanon is like, so deep into my personal GF characterization/ fuckin'. AU. If you wanna call it that atp. BUT ANYWAYS. Fuck this is gonna need quick background hold on. The canon explanation for her looking human iirc is literally just "true love" or whatever tf. But that's not as fun to play with. So instead I like to write her as being ashamed of being a demon, especially because of her parents' actions, so she masks her demon traits. And she reaaaalllly does not like letting them slip through, especially around a specific person (this is foreshadowing for something idek if I'll get to any time soon Sorry). BUT! She is on a limit for how long she can hide her demon traits until doing so starts to hurt her, either through draining her energy or like, it causing physical damage to continue hiding parts of her. And while she trusts Pico & BF, she's still got shit that she's just. Not. Sorting out. So when she feels she's about to reach a limit with it she locks herself away to rest until she's well enough to continue like normal. Girlie No (guy who is writing her to do this) (don't worry I'm going to also write her getting better abt this) I'm gonna eventually have to make a "Karl's Personal FNF Demon World Building" master-post or whatever just cuz this shit is so fun for me to work with Idk.

unpopular opinion: GEH once again idrk if this is an unpopular opinion but I've been using this to just. Complain. About stuff I have seen and disagree with so whatever I'm continuing the trend. Like Pico, I feel like I see. So many. Interpretations of her that just feel Wrong. Like I see people make her The Smart One or like. Dominant Girlboss with little substance beyond that. And it's like. Cool, yay, I love fandom misogyny. FUCK it's probably still rotting in my drafts but forever and always my reaction to this phenomenon with her is "This girl gets her hand stuck in peanut butter jars trying to eat pb with her hands. This is your Smart One?" and I should get it out of my drafts bc I'm real for that. DO NOT MISUNDERSTAND ME WHEN I SAY THIS BTW. Interpretations that smarten up BF to the same degree do not flag this to me. When making more serious fanworks with these guys, you're gonna have to give them more smarts than canon will. My issue is specifically when I have seen people still write in a degree of stupidity with BF and then just. Don't? Do the same with GF?

song i associate with them: Very basic but I think the sound is cute with her. My secondary answer would be Nelward - "Werewolf" but that's more of a. Specific Instance. That I don't want to elaborate on. grins

favorite picture of them:

Like literally all of them The Fuck you're making me choose? /silly Here's the fruits of me looking through her wiki gallery:

^ If I had to pick a single favorite, it'd be those panels from the Nendoroid comic. She was real for that. Anyways FUCK I love her. Statements improved when you remember I'm Boyfkin LMAOOOOOO..

[dracomeir]

I wish I had more free time so I can draw more. Drawing 30 mins - 2 hours a day sucks, and it takes me like 6 - 8 hours per character depending on the outfit/pose. Some days I have to skip since I sometimes get hit by sudden fatigue. Other times I decide to spend my little free time writing instead, and my weekends during the day are always spent playing video games since I don’t have time to play them on work days. I draw/write after dinner on day offs since it’s relaxing to me. It also helps me dream about my blorbos more, so that’s a plus for me.

Or maybe not since they’re consuming my brain, but that’s okay. They make me happy. Especially Darnell and Pico. They are the best couple fr, and I need more. Just letting my brain cook chapter three of The Arsonist’s Garden while I blank out during work. I also need to draw the schoolgrounds trio for this AU. (I forgot to describe Nene’s outfit beyond the danger noodle necklace, so I’ll just use this drawing to show people.)

[zv5x]

Yandere!Pico • Goth Reader

Ask and you shall receive!

(This is a part two / world-building fic to a past post, read it before proceeding!)

//tw for physical abuse

( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

Pico knew all of this had to be a misunderstanding. Every braincell in his mind was telling him you were a traitor, that you were no different than her, but for whatever reason he just couldn't believe it. There was still a chance to save you, that alien bitch hadn't fully tainted your brain yet.

He still had a chance, and he'd pounce on that chance.

With that newfound determination, the red seemed to fade from his vision, allowing him to see his surroundings once more. And there you were, his pretty little angel. You were always a sight to see for sure, your makeup perfectly done and your hair beautifully falling down to the length you preferred it at, Pico felt his heart swell up with love the minute his gaze fixated on you.

It was shocking really, the fear that grazed your soft face, the tears that poured down from your usually bright eyes, but as much as it hurt, Pico had to assume it was her that was making you feel this way. She must had told you some vile things, about you, about him, and it was his job to repurify you. Pico took a deep breath in, calmly releasing his hands from your throat and and moving them to cup your cheeks. Surprisingly, this only made your sobs exponentially louder. Perhaps it was cries of relif? Yeah. They must be, Pico couldn't see them as anything else. "It's okay, (Y/N), you don't have to cry." He hummed, cooing you gently, his hands, while soft, not really doing anything to comfort you in the current situation.

"P-Pico, please, why are you doing this?" You choked out weakly, and Pico, while keeping his smile, couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. What do you mean why is he doing this? Didn't you get it? He's helping you, he's saving you. He's doing everything in his power to make sure your innocent little head can't be tainted by them.

"Oh, baby...." Pico laughed quietly to himself, reveling in your ignorance. "It's all because I love you."

Overly used lovey statements like those usually made him sick, but this time Pico truly couldn't help himself. Sometimes the strongest of love can only be described with sing-songy love clichés and words laced with bitter sugar. It didn't matter if you appreciated them or not, just that his words reached your ears and lingered there for a bit. Pico knows the reason why you're not appreciating him.

You're "goth", as you labeled yourself. Who else used that same label? Her. She did. Her and everyone else who followed her every wish and command. They had you tainted the minute you put on whatever song made you reach this horrific conclusion about yourself. You -

Pico paused his thoughts. His eyes widened. The air felt heavy, your terrified breathing the only audible sound. It took him a moment for it to settle in, but when it finally did, he couldn't contain his laugh.

It sounded sick to you. Insane, wrong, evil even. But to Pico, it was a sound caused by a joyous realization.

All this time, he let himself think that there was no problem. That you were a "good" goth, a different one, just like Nene and Darnell said you were. But they didn't understand. Pico knows what you're like beyond all those sickeningly edgy clothes and that iconic goth makeup look, peaks of you have shone through before. Your kindness towards him, your love for him. All this time, it wasn't that you were one of the "good ones", it was just you crying out to him with the little control you had left.

It wasn't you listening to that music, it wasn't you putting on that goth attire and that makeup, it was her. But thankfully, her control on you wasn't 100%, or maybe Pico wouldn't have realized your true perril so quickly.

Cassandra apparently wasn't satisfied with just murdering his friends and peers right in front of his very eyes. No, she just had to try and use someone like you to aid her, like you were nothing more than a puppet.

That sick bitch. How dare she, how absolutely dare she. It made his blood boil. Someone so sweet and cute, like you, being reduced to this.

Pico wouldn't let you live like this anymore. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did. You weren't goth, you were a tool. And that fact alone made him sick. You deserved better, he can give you better. Only he can. Only him.

Pico sighed as he fixated to you on the floor. You were shaking, crying. It shattered his heart, so much so that he had to refrain from crying himself. "Baby, w-what's wrong?" Pico felt strongly that he knew what was wrong, but asking that was just instinct every time he came across you like this. Getting no response, he took a deep shaky, breath and continued.

"I don't know if you can hear me (Y/N), but I'm gonna save you from her. I'll blow her fucking brains out if I have to, I promise."

You looked up at him with fear. You knew exactly who that "her" was, and it scared you to no end. You were always petrified of being compaired to Cassandra for being gothic, as you know just how he felt about her and what she's done to him. In all honesty, you don't even know why you thought dressing goth around him was even the least bit smart.

"You don't have to be scared anymore. I love you. I love you so much." You could've sworn Pico continued rambling on at this point, but you were too fear stricken to hear him. Around the end of his delusional rambles, he noticed his gun was missing from his usual spot.

He laughed nervously, always feeling on-edge when his Uzi wasn't on hand. It took him a few pants pats, and a few head turns, but eventually he looked and found it on the floor across the room. Sighing, he rationalized you must have thrown it across the room in a botched self-defense attempt.

No matter, it's only a few extra steps away. He turned to you and smiled a warm smile. It was sweet and reassuring, but only to him. It was no more than a threat to you.

Pico didn't care to think of what you were thinking at that moment however. You weren't you, you were Cassandra's version of you. And it was up to him to stop her.

It was almost nostalgic, in a way.

After all, this wouldn't be the first time he was the only one around to stop her from her demented bullshit. And knowing her, it probably wouldn't be the last. But he didn't worry himself, soon he'd have you back. And you two could be happy. Settle down, live out your lives, all that shit.

All he had to do was save you.

[jubilantwriter]

The Definition of "Home"

(Previous Part)  (AO3)  (Next Part)

Summary:  What is a "home"?

It's something Pico hasn't had in a long time. (It's something Pico's always had for as long as he could remember.)

It's something he can't wrap his mind around. (And yet, it's something he knows very, very well.)

Word Count:  4296

A/N:  one of my favorite fics so far.  originally it was an experimental piece, but it came out so good that i can call it a success.  let’s call it a narrative driven character study, with a healthy heaping of backstory 

CW:  Implied child neglect, broken families, one scene containing bullying

////

Home.

It's an odd word for Pico.  He knows it by the many meanings he holds to it.  Once, home meant a warm embrace, the smell of freshly baked brownies, and perfectly shaped sandwiches with the crusts cut off.  It's a home he holds fondly, one he keeps tightly wound to his heart.  It's a home he can't go back to, as much as he yearns for that childhood innocence to return.  Before things grew dark.  Before he found out home could have more than one meaning.

After a while, home became "home".  It was the sound of a television always on.  It was a garage door that was open all day long.  It was the sound of silence, the heat of the microwave, the empty spaces on the walls, and the lingering workbooks from a grade ago.  "Home" was cold and empty.  It was living in the empty shell of what was once a warm presence.  It was the start of his questioning, of his wondering about the point of his life, the meaning of his existence, of the reason for his birth.  He sat there, in his room that felt too young for him, and often yearned to fly away like the birds in the sky.

The birds had families that stuck together.  The birds had a mama that could stay, a papa that cared, and siblings so they'd never feel alone.  In moments like those, he'd open his first story window and crawl out.  It wasn't like he'd be missed anyways.  He just had to find new homes to settle in.  Homes that made him feel welcomed.

He found one in Darnell's guest bedroom, with the dresser that slowly filled with his clothes, but never to the brim because it felt like overstaying his welcome.  Home was kicking back on Darnell's bed, listening to the radio on his beat-up stereo and letting Darnell ramble about the latest thing he learned about in science class.  Home was burning his hand on the stove by accident because he wanted to help cook dinner, but he didn't know how since his mom was gone and he barely knew how to cook, and home was Darnell's mom telling him it was okay to cry as she bandaged up his hand and kissed it better.  Home was Darnell's dad calling him "kiddo" and smiling when Pico tried not to ask for seconds, but still got them anyways.  Home was...

That was Darnell's home.  It was a nice home.  A good one.  But Pico felt like an intruder.  Like a little bug that scuttled on their floor that they allowed to stay.  He looked up and saw their pictures of their happy family and realized that he wouldn't fit in.  He wouldn't be in the frames on their walls and tables; he was nothing but a guest they were obligated to keep happy because he was Darnell's friend.

The dresser stayed only a fourth full.  He aimed to one day leave it empty.  It wasn't fair to them, he thought, making them put up with his squatting.  He had to find a different home.  One that suited him.

In his wanderings, he found another in Nene's home.  Home was learning chopstick etiquette, of never knowing the full conversation, of crosses on the wall and a bible in the living room bookshelf.  Home was learning to say grace and Nene's mom’s gentle guiding hand.  It was exploring different flavors and being taught curse words in another language and understanding accents with clarity.  It was laying on the floor while Nene laid in bed, and talking at midnight about things that made them sad, about things that they wished would get better.  Home was covering Nene's ears as her dad yelled from the other room, of trailing behind Nene's mom to make sure she was okay, of keeping track of time and knowing when her dad would come back.  Home was Darnell coming over, and the bright smile on her mom's face when she got to treat them to snacks Nene loved.

It was... not the best home, in hindsight.  But he loved it all the same, like he loved Darnell's home.  The difference was that he was never fully welcomed.  It was okay though.  The feeling was mutual.  While her dad made him feel like a pest in her home, he felt that her dad was like the cracks in the walls - ingrained and unsightly, but Nene and her mom were stuck with him until they had the sense to do something about him.  Countless nights of holding Nene's hand from her floor as she cried into the night were just as ingrained in Pico's mind as the cracks in the walls.  

Another home he bounced from often.  Her mom would often try to pack him extra food, saying he was too skinny and needed to eat more.  It made him want to cry with how often she fretted after him, like he was her own son.

Darnell's mom did the same thing, buying him new clothes and sweaters that magically appeared in the drawer even if he hadn’t shown up in a few weeks.  Moms, good moms, he thinks, are important to homes.  Maybe that's why his "home" never felt like home.  That's the reasoning he had, until he unintentionally found another home.

He didn't like this home much.  Mixed feelings always arose when he thought about it.  That home was base walls and war strategies lining a single room.  Home was calling someone by his last name only, and nothing else.

Home was sneaking off with said man on a good day, crawling into the barracks as the rest of the man’s team welcomed him.  Home was watching the Titanic, but only the first half because they lost the second half somehow.  Home was learning lessons like fighting for something that mattered (like the second half of the Titanic).  Home was a man affectionately ruffling his hair for a job well done.  It was being taught the proper handling of a gun, to never put his finger on the trigger unless he meant to shoot, to use it only against the bad guys. 

Home was learning that it was okay to kill.  Good, even.  Home was developing that bloodlust he's grown so used to having, of having his paranoia and comforting need of a gun justified.  Home was getting dragged to that "school" to learn more about military tactics, of being assigned missions and killing his first target.  Home was collecting scars like trading cards, of being bandaged up by medics and being treated like an adult.  Home was that man watching him from a distance, an indiscernible look on his face before he came over to debrief him on his next mission with a voice that's lost all its humor.

Home was...

Home was accidentally calling that man "dad" once.  Home was getting him a mug that said "#1 Mom" as a joke, and seeing him use it every day.  Home was birthdays celebrated late on purpose, of a huge slice of cake, and getting his very own gun with his name engraved along the side of it.  Home was being taught the art of cock jokes, of learning how to make puns, and relishing that moment of making stupid jokes and watching his friends cringe.  Home was wanting to stay while wanting to run away.  

Mixed feelings.  But it was more home than "home" ever was.  That was the first home he had that didn't need a mom.  His idea of home changed a bit after that.  It wasn't a noticeable change, but it was there if he searched for it.  

And he didn't.  Not until...

Him.

Boyfriend. 

It was accidental, a stumbling upon a scene that he originally had no part in.  There he was, a boy with bright blue hair being bullied for some reason Pico wasn't sure of.  He could have just walked away, just left him to his fate.  But then he saw the kid try to fight back, saw that determined look he wore even though he was outnumbered and smaller than his bullies.  He was a middle schooler, something Pico was supposed to be at his age.  And when Pico saw that bully swing at the kid, all Pico could think of was...

(Guns going off.  Innocent children being killed for no reason other than existing.  It wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair.   Wasn't he supposed to fight the bad guys?)

How unfair the situation was.  So Pico intervened.  Struck at these strangers he knew nothing of.  Learning under Captain finally came to use outside of missions and trainings.  He swung his fist and beat the other bullies back.  The two of them ended up bruised and beaten, the kid worse off than him, but when that kid looked up at him with a proud grin and his hand held out...

And when he said, "Beep!"...

And when he said his name was Boyfriend ...

Pico genuinely wondered if he should have walked away and never gotten involved at all.  This kid was fucking weird as shit.  But he wouldn't stop following Pico around.  Eventually, Pico would just run into him after normal schools ended, and Boyfriend would be looking for him like a curious puppy.  Pico would have ignored him if it wasn't for the food.

(Chopstick etiquette.  New flavors.  Being open-minded.  

"C'mon, Pico, you can handle some spice!"

Rice balls with tuna became his second favorite dish, right after his mom's homemade mac and cheese.)

Turns out the kid was half white, half Japanese.  It showed in his lunches, how sometimes it would be regular ol’ sandwiches with the crusts cut off perfectly, or misshapen rice balls with poorly portioned fillings.  Pico liked the poorly made lunches better.  It reminded him of Nene and her mom, just a bit.  That must have been when Boyfriend wormed his way into his life, luring him in with shared lunches that reminded him of people he was trying to avoid.  And it didn't help that he was so stupid too.  As he munched on Boyfriend's food, he'd help the kid figure out his homework on the curb outside his house.  At first, it was just math problems.  But then it became history, and English, and science...

He traded food for impromptu lessons with Pico, even though Pico wasn't in an actual school himself.  But learning things again was nice.  It was different from listening to Darnell ramble about science lessons.  Actually being able to see a textbook and piece together what it was he's supposed to learn from it was nice.  It made him feel like a kid again.

He began to look forward to Boyfriend hunting him down after his school ended and dragging him over to that familiar curb in front of his house.  Unintentionally, without meaning to, he found another place to be.  Another place he could tentatively claim to belong to, if only for a short moment.  And so home became...

It became more than just a place he could stay at.  Home was the sound of Boyfriend's laughter, the feel of his palm against his.  Home was learning to sing duets and finding pride in the sound of his voice.  Home was a protective feeling, of beating up bullies and meeting up in secret places around town just for the added dramatic feeling.

Home was... a person.  Home was blue hair and bright eyes.  Home was a boy too stupid to understand textbooks and lessons, but intuitive enough to get by in scraps and danger.  And oddly enough, it didn't feel like a take and take situation like it did with Darnell and Nene.  Pico didn't feel like a pest when he was around Boyfriend.  He wasn't constantly taking up space or eating someone else's food.  He was...

He was needed.  He was someone Boyfriend could depend on, whether it be facing off his bullies, or helping him better understand his homework.  Pico wasn't an obligation to someone.  He wasn't someone that needed to be taken in, someone who needed to be fed and clothed and pitied because he can't do it himself.

(Because he shouldn't have to do it himself, but he didn't know that then.  He didn't.)

Boyfriend treated him like he was normal.  Like he was another kid in his class.  Of course, he didn't know anything about what Pico actually did.  But he never pestered him and begged for details like Nene did.  He never gave him pleading looks to be honest like Darnell did.  It was liberating, to not have to feel like he needed to hide something from him.

(Even if he was by omission.  But it felt nice to not put effort into it for once.)

So home became staying over in Boyfriend's room, playing video games, and looking through books to better understand subjects.  Home was Boyfriend leaning against him as he leaned back, the two of them looking out his window to stare at the few stars that managed to blink past the light pollution of their city.  Home was a quiet moment shared between friends.  Home was finding someone who could take him as he was, who understood him wordlessly as he broke down and needed someone to cling to.

Home was a boy in a white shirt that was too big for him.  Home was a boy with a grin cockier than Pico's, and a heart bigger than his brain.  

Home was... affection.  Warmth.  It was looking at this boy and feeling an emotion he didn't realize he still had.  It was quiet realizations, confusing thoughts, and messages tapped out in morse code.  It was understanding the meaning behind the nonsense.  It was the one second glances, conversations exchanged through wordless looks, and understanding the phrase, "home is where the heart is".

But home was also fear.  It was the realization that somewhere along the line, Pico's life had gotten beyond fucked up.  It was realizing his actions had consequences, that senseless violence had repercussions.  It was his imagination playing tricks on him, voices nestling in his mind, of seeing blood on a face that should have been protected, of moving a second too late, of humoring the thought of failure.

The thought of losing his home forever broke him.  He couldn't do that.  He couldn't let that happen.  Even though it made him happy.  Even though it made him feel like he was worth something more than his violent acts and broken pieces.  He couldn't bear the thought of watching another home lose its warmth oh so quickly.

(It already happened once before.  He can't stand to let it happen again.  He doesn't want another shell to live in.  He can't do it.  He can't.)

So he did what he always did before he got too comfortable in his homes.

He left.

He left and never looked back once.  Not once at the shell that was his "home".  Not once at the guest bedroom in Darnell's house.  Not once at the dinner table and comfortable carpet of Nene's house.  Not once at the barracks with the single disk of the Titanic.

Not once at the boy who looked after him with such a brokenhearted but hopeful expression.

For a while, he didn't really have a place to call home.  He bounced around from place to place, squatting here and there and leaving before he got too comfortable.  And then he was on the move again, never once settling down.  It felt wrong to call a place his own when it was never his to begin with.  Sometime when he became an adult, he lost sight of what home meant to him.

What was home?  Was it the taste of warm, cheap beers?  Or maybe it was the constant smell of cigarette smoke and blood?  Perhaps it was the sound of plastic bags filled with cheap ramen and ready-made meals.  Was it the guns that laid heavily against his person?  The ratty car seats he often slept on?  The voices that plagued him on his worst days?  The visions that lingered in the corner of his eyes?  Was it his mind constantly beating him up, yelling at him that this was what he deserved?  Was it the familiar feeling of self-loathing, of isolation, and static ringing in his ears?  Was it the shitty, out of the way apartment he found by chance?

He doesn't know.  He can't really remember what home ever meant to him after burying the meanings for so long.  Perhaps he was never meant to have a home.

(Perhaps he never will have a place to call his own.)

That's how it was supposed to be, for someone as fucked up as him.  There is no home for someone like him.

There is no home for someone like-

"Beep!"

...But fate has its ways, doesn't it?

If he looked up the dictionary definition of home, he gets:

"The place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household."

"Relating to the place where one lives."

"To or at the place where one lives."

Where one lives.

Where does he live?

He lives in a shitty apartment that's out of the way.  It's in a place where no one is meant to find him, but somehow, some way, he is found no matter how hard he tries to hide.  And then, what of family?  Who would his family even be?

(Darnell.  Nene.  Captain.  That tiny blue idiot.  And his equally dumb girlfriend.)

Home?  Does he have one?

(It's the sound of his irritated voice bouncing off the walls as a giggle accompanies it.  It's a couch that's too cramped for three people to sit on, and yet they still squeeze together.  It's the smell of pizza fresh from the box, and the sound of a cherry coke being opened next to him.  It's the red of a backwards cap, and the red of a form-fitting dress.  It's the smell of flowery perfume, and the lingering scent of sweet doughnuts.  It's the warmth he carries with him, despite Pico breaking his heart all those years ago.  It's the tranquility she carries with her, despite the constant danger her parents frequently put the couple through.  It's gentle touches and grounding voices.  It's the past returning to greet him, and the present welcoming him with open arms.  Boyfriend taps his temple, and it feels like coming home.  Girlfriend wraps her arms around him, and it feels like he never left.)

Somehow.  Some way.  His home found its way back to him, whether he wanted it to or not.  Mixed feelings rise up because of it.  Wasn't the point of him leaving to keep Boyfriend safe?  To keep his other homes safe?  So that they didn't become cold, empty shells?

(But he misses them.  He misses having a place to belong to.  Of having a home to return to.  He misses them a lot.)

Fate has a way of working against him.  Or perhaps, working in his favor.  He's not sure.  It's not a question he's ready to face the answer to.  What is a home?  What was his home?

Did he ever deserve them?  Was it ever his place to worm his way into their places and carve a space out for himself?  He doesn't know.  It's not something he wants the answer to yet.

But.

A phone weighs heavy in his hand.  He looks up, and bright eyes meet his with understanding compassion.

He can't keep running away.  It's not fair to them, he thinks.  Not to the first homes he ever ran to.  He picks up his phone and dials familiar numbers.

(The place he once called his school is no more than a military base.  It looks so much smaller now that he's older.  There's new faces he doesn't recognize.  Fresh meat.  New cracks in the walls, new weapons that line the walls.  But that room is still here.  He opens the door with no one to stop him, and it...

It looks the same.  The table is still there.  The old strategies are still plastered on the wall.  But now there's an old filing cabinet in the corner.  Was that always there?  He goes to it, opening it up and pulling out sheets of paper with his handwriting scrawled all over it.  He looks into the cabinet and finds it all organized meticulously by date.  One file stands out from the others.

It’s labeled with his birth date in a green folder.  He pulls it out, and inside it are hand drawn pictures of cakes and presents.  Cards fall to the ground, all dated with the years he stopped showing up to "school".

"About time you showed up."  A voice comes up from behind him, a hand ruffling his hair as his own shoulders hunch up.  "Good to see ya again."

Familiar voices pour into the room as they gather around him.  They pull and drag him back to the old barracks where the old CRT sits.  Someone pulls out the Titanic, and it's with a laugh that he notices that they're still missing the second disk.  They pop the disk in, and the opening scene plays as his vision blurs.  It sounds like home.  It sounds like home.)

(The cracks in the wall are still there, but there's no more yelling.  No loud voice that has him covering her ears.  The cracks are still there, but he can see that they’ve tried covering them up with posters and pictures.  One of the photos even has him in it, when he was younger and more lively.  He has no idea where Nene managed to scrounge that up from, but he straightens it before being pulled into the kitchen.

There's a place for him at their table.  Like he belongs.  Like he always belonged.  Nene's mom scolds him, sitting him down like he never left.

"You're far too skinny!  Here, eat up!  Quickly now!"

Hands are held as familiar words pour from her lips, a grace that thanks some far off god for the return of Pico.  Chopsticks are pressed into his hand.  He remembers how to use them.  Nene cackles and grins like he's never seen her grin before.  It's happy.  Light.  A conversation is spoken in a language he recognizes.  He can make out bits and pieces, but he can’t get the full story.  Nene turns to him with a grin and translates loosely what her mom says.  Her mom makes an insulted noise, and he notices how much freer she acts.  How open her expression is.  She takes his bowl and puts more food into it.  A second serving.  He never got those before, when that man still lived here.  Her mom smiles, like she's been waiting for this moment for ages.  

The rice is saltier than he remembers, but he smiles as he sniffs and wipes his tears away.  The feast in front of him is small and humble, but it feels like so much for someone like him to eat.  He takes a bite and lets the flavors wash over him.  It tastes like home.  It tastes like home.)

(They never bothered to take his clothes out, is what he wants to believe.  But the guest bedroom has new clothes now, all in his favorite colors.  He takes out a sweater, and somehow, magically, it fits him perfectly.  It's soft and warm and feels like a hug.  Comforting.  Cozy.  He never wants to take it off.

"Now, look at you."  He turns, and Darnell's dad smiles with the warmth of a fireplace hearth.  "You've grown up to be a fine, young man, kiddo."

The bed is as soft as he remembers.  Softer, even.  A few of his old things still linger around the room.  A plastic dinosaur.  An old book.  He picks it up and looks over the worn cover.  It was his favorite, back when he was a kid.  Maybe he should read it again.  A weight settles next to him, and Darnell's wide smile greets him.  Kicking it back, just like when they were kids.  But this time, it's on the bed that Pico once inhabited.  The only thing missing is the old stereo.  If Darnell could drag that big ol’ thing over to the guest room, he can bask in the moment and forget that he's an adult for just a moment more.

Pico looks over to the doorway and sees Darnell's mom has joined his dad, and her smile is just as warm.  Just as bright.  A thought crosses his mind.  This room was never a guest room, was it?  The realization chokes him up as three pairs of arms come in to wrap him up in a warm embrace.  It feels like home.  It feels like home.)

What is a home?

It's something the dictionary can't define.  It's something that has too many and not enough definitions to pin down.  It's something that has Pico constantly bouncing from one place to another, because he's always wanted, and they don't want him to forget that ever again.

It's... 

It's two people, always waiting to break down his doors and walls because he's too scared to ever let others in.  It's two people, one boy and one girl, who refuse to leave him alone.  It's two people, always willing to remind him that he has a home everywhere he looks.  

It's two people with hearts bigger than their brains, and he thinks the phrase, "home is where the heart is," matches them perfectly.  They sit down next to him, sandwiching him between them wordlessly as their affection spreads to him with a welcoming wave of emotion.

This.

This is home.

He’s finally home.

[fnf-brain-rot]

[Whitty x Boyfriend]

Chapter 3 - He's dangerous

Pico didn't like the idea of Boyfriend going to see this mystery man, and his gut feeling would only be made worse if his idea of who the stranger was, was correct. He only usually closed himself off in his room when he's in deep thought, or when he's organizing business. Right now, it was the latter.

He couldn't stop thinking about Boyfriend's surprise visit. Why did he hesitate to tell his name? He wasn't stupid, he could tell the guy was lying, the only problem is without a name, he wasn't totally sure if this target was the same guy he was hanging out with. Lying down on his queen sized mattress, he sighed, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He couldn't help but feel guilt for the plan he would come up with. He didn't like the idea of using his dear, close friend, especially since he quite liked him, but there's no other way to get the info out of him. Speaking of..

He heard a knock on his door. He quickly got up, put out his cigarette, and made his way down to answer. Of course, when he opened it, there stood Boyfriend, holding his beloved microphone. "Pi- oh! Sorry, am I bothering you?" The blue haired's face went red as he noticed Pico wasn't wearing a shirt. "Nope, you're just on time actually." Pico couldn't help but chuckle at the flustered male. "Come on, I'll make some tea." The ginger turned to retreat back into his house, and Boyfriend followed loosely behind him. He's seen Pico shirtless a lot, sure, but he still couldn't get used to seeing him like that. He wondered why. 

"So, you come bearing more news about this mystery man of yours?" Pico's voice echoed from his place in the kitchen. "Well.. Yes and no." Boyfriend made himself at home right on Pico's couch of course, kicking his legs up onto the cushions. Pico noticed he's been in such a happy-go-lucky mood ever since meeting this guy. He was starting to suspect he had a crush. "We haven't hung out recently. I just wanted to you know.. kick it with you for a bit." He stated with a grin. Pico rolled his eyes and returned to the living room, holding a cup of coffee and a cup of tea. "Gee, who's fault is that?" He teased, and Boyfriend sat up with a whine, allowing the ginger to sit next to him. "I'm sorry! It's just.. I just really feel for him you know?" Pico only nodded.

"You barely know him Bee." Pico reminded him. "But I bought him food! He ate it! All of it! Like.. Oh my god.. If you were there you would know how much he ate I ordered one of everything." Boyfriend shuddered a little. He was thankful for him finishing the food though. "With who's money?" Pico snorted, and Boyfriend pouted, almost dejectedly. "Gigi's." He answered honestly. "Well.. At least it sounded like you had fun." The ginger glanced away, taking a brisk sip of his black coffee. The bitter taste kept him awake. "I'd love for you to actually meet him this weekend." Boyfriend then spoke up. Pico blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected it to be handed to him like that. "This weekend? Wh- You could barely tell me his name yesterday." He set his cup down and crossed his arms. "I know! But I'll talk him into meeting you and Gigi and Nene and Darnell and the spooky boys!" The smaller male almost squealed in delight.

Pico didn't like the idea of his information being put out there to strangers-especially considering his reputation-but he guessed that was up to Boyfriend's innocence. Pico found it hard to stay mad at him. How could he? He sighed, looking the blue haired male up and down. "I.. guess it's fine. Just as long as he's not smelly, who knows where that guy's been lying around." He scrunched up his nose in distaste. Boyfriend grinned, thankful for Pico's blessing, then hugged him tightly, an action that made Pico's face go a slight shade of red. "Yeah yeah whatever, just.." He huffed in embarrassment, turning his head as Boyfriend buried his face into his chest. This blueberry had no sense of personal space, did he?

___________________________________________

Whitty hated to admit it, but he had been thinking about that shorty all day.

So much so, he ended up walking around the area they first met. He almost hadn't noticed his feet subconsciously leading him back to that alley. He only realised when he looked at his crude graffiti where he was, and had an immediate thought to flee but.. instead he sat against the wall. He couldn't help but get second hand embarrassment from the simple thought of his break down during their first battle. He looked down and took out a small phone that was gifted to him some time ago. During their afternoon binge yesterday-well his afternoon binge-he had gotten his phone number in case he needed to call or something. Of course, he wasn't planning on calling any time soon. He wasn't the type to ask for anything, but he was tempted to ask if they could hang out again today.

As he opened Boyfriend's contact, he paused, suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings. He set the phone in his pants pocket and stood back up. He could've sworn he heard movement...He stared intensely at the entrance to the alley way. It wasn't the sound of eager yet gentle foot steps by Boyfriend. It was definitely not friendly.

He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. He was starting to take steps back with each sound he heard, only to see about three-four? About four figures make their way into the alley. He was trapped, he had no where to run. This alley was a dead end. "See boss? I told you he would be here!" A small, yet gritty voice exhoed along the walls, followed by a loud "shhh!" with another loud "shhh!!"

Whitty could recognise these voices. He's heard them before. In this same spot, weeks ago. They were part of some gang that was out for his bounty. He didn't bother to learn the name, all he knew was that everyone was an enemy. Well.. except for Boyfriend of course. "Whitty, right?" The tallest male stood to the front. His voice was just as gritty, and he had pale skin, straight brown hair and was wearing what seemed to be casual attire. In fact, all of them looked similar. The only intimidating thing to a normal person would be his demeanor and the fact he's above 5'10. Whitty, however, was no normal person. He was a target. By everyone.

___________________________________________

Boyfriend sighed happily, just leaving Pico's house. He left with some conflicted feelings, butterflies in his stomach, and red constantly plastered on his cheeks. Sure he thought he had a crush on Pico for a while now but.. He might have been distracted with Whitty. The way his body grew hot at every tiny touch Pico gave him. He can't even see the guy shirtless without becoming a flustered mess. He could tell something was up with Pico too. Maybe he should talk to him about it..

He decided to run and stop at his favorite cafe. He wished he could sit with Whitty in the place. He thought Whitty would like the decor inside. It's warm, quiet, and they give tasty snacks. Boyfriend smiled at the thought of Whitty. He wondered what he was doing. Taking care of himself he hoped. He should probably stop by that alley they first met in, check to see if he left anything there possibly. He did leave in a hurry. Maybe he left his favorite.. thing?? Okay, he'll admit, he had no real reason to go. He just kind of... wanted to think about the taller guy. That's fine, right?

___________________________________________

Whitty had been trying his best to stand his ground. His main advantage, and disadvantage, was his height. He found it hard to get back up after being knocked down, so the plan was to stay on his feet. "Why don't you scumbags fuck off somewhere?" The bomb man scoffed, feeling the heat in his head begin, and his fuse started to light. "And miss out on this opportunity? No. You're lucky we want to take you alive." All four of them advanced. They planned to rush him. Whitty's been in a tussle a couple of times, but never with more than two people. Their first plan was to surround him, and take him down that way. He tried to focus and not panic,  taking his hands out of his pockets and balling them into fists. They lit ablaze as if he were holding fire, and he turned around, throwing a punch at the guy to his left, catching them all by surprise. They honestly though he was the flight type.

"AH!! SHIT!" The male yelled in pain, but Whitty could care less. These guys were here supposedly to kidnap him or something. The other two goons went in, one grabbing his arm, thinking he could simply flip him over, and the other on his leg to catch him off balance. The big male stumbled, but forced himself to the side instead of on his back, pushing against the alley wall. He growled, an angry growl, before picking up the smaller guy on his leg by the neck. His hand seared the skin around his hold, and the other male tried to get him to drop him since he was practically cooking his throat.

The man who received the first punch finally recuperated, and dashed over to help. Shame, these three were gonna get killed by the hands of this thing. Everyone knows the leaders tend to make the smartest decisions. He's the leader right? This fight wasn't winnable with only four guys. Not with this big ass creature that seemed to become more and more unhinged with every second, almost as if he were taking pleasure in burning these men alive.

Whitty threw away the severely burned man and turned to the guy on his arm, who had tried to stab him with a needle, but the moment he touched the bare arm, it was like touching a burning stove. Whitty couldn't help but laugh, grabbing this man by the wrist with one hand, and catching the other by the arm as he tried to jump onto him. Yeah.. This is karma right? Their screams of pain, agony, they deserved more than to burn alive.

___________________________________________

Boyfriend was almost skipping down the sidewalk, but scrunched his nose at the smell of something burning. It seemed like it was coming right from where he was planning to go too. Was Whitty there? Granted it could just be a hobo using a fire to cook or something but... this was a different smelling burn. A smell he's never smelled before, and it formed a pit in his stomach, though he could never explain why.

He didn't rush popping his head around the corner. The sight made him pale, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Was that.. Whitty?

No way, had to be an evil twin or something..

No, it definitely was Whitty. He was crying.. and laughing? The burning smell was because of him. It was burning clothes, burning flesh. Two men were out on the ground, seeming to have accumulated severe burn wounds, singed clothing.. he almost thought they were dead. "You fucked with the wrong guy. Four dudes?? That's all you got?" He heard Whitty laugh. The laugh wasn't like any Boyfriend had heard. When he saw the man he was holding, he had to step in. "W-Whitty!" He choked, and Whitty stopped almost immediately. He stopped everything. He stopped crying. He stopped laughing. He was no longer heated. It was like his brain had to process what the fuck was going on, and he knew what it was when  Boyfriend hesitantly stepped within his radius. "Whitty.. Put him down." The blue haired male demanded in a shaky voice. He felt like he was gonna vomit. Whitty dropped the guy, then looked at his hands. There were burned things sticking to them.. Hopefully he wasn't looking at human flesh and blood.

"B.. B-Bee.." Whitty's hands began to tremble. His eyes went wide and the black, inky substance began to leak from his eyes again. He did it again. He.. he hurt people again.. "Oh.. fuck.." Whitty breathed out shakily, beginning to back away from the short male. Boyfriend didn't know how to react, but.. he could feel the remorse in Whitty's actions. He had a feeling Whitty wouldn't want him to see him like this. Not like.. a monster. "Whitty.. c.. c-calm down.." Boyfriend didn't let him scoot away too far, tugging on his jacket sleeve. "Don't! Stop!" Whitty exclaimed, causing Boyfriend to jump a bit. "You're not gonna hurt me. "

"You don't know that!"

"Yes I do." Boyfriend stared into Whitty's eyes with intent.

The bomb crouched down, allowing Boyfriend to give him a look of permission, then hug him. "It's.. It's okay, I'm sure you had a reason to." Boyfriend tried to comfort him, while Whitty began to mutter "I'm sorry" Over and over again. Boyfriend only shushed him, hugging the bomb shaped head in his arms. His fuse was short. He's glad he caught him before he exploded. "Let's get out of here, okay? Don't worry about these guys, I'll.. I'll handle it. For now, let's get you somewhere calmer." Boyfriend muttered softly as he pulled away. Whitty was surprised he could still look him in the eyes and not scowl. He nodded and stood straight. Boyfriend took his hand and led him out. He would simply call an ambulance for these guys. For now, he wouldn't allow Whitty to worry about any of it. They were gonna sit by a tree for the rest of the day.