#idk if i'll actually write more on this

[aparticularbandit]

The Road Less-- Yeah, Yeah, You Know: Chapter One

Summary: When Mikan finds a girl collapsed with a head wound, she can't help but help her out. Even if the girl very adamantly does not want to be helped.

For DR Rarepair Week 2024 Day Three: Self Care/Caring for the Other, hosted by @dr-rarepair-week-blog.

Chapter Rating: M for References of Alcoholism, Physical Abuse, and Child Abuse (aka Mikan references her life, so all of these triggers are potentially here). Fic Rating: M for Reasons Listed Above.

AO3

It was a poem they’d gone through in class earlier that day that did it.

Not that anything could really be blamed for this sort of thing.

Of course, if anything could be blamed for it, well, it would have to be Mikan herself.  She did make the choice to take a different route back to her place than she normally did.  Sure, she’d always been told it was the sketchier route, and sure, it went through some shady streets by other people’s estimations, but if she’s honest with herself, the better parts of town aren’t always really better.  If she takes the route she always takes, then she’ll still end up being….

She brings it on herself, of course.  She knows that.  Besides, all of that abuse, it just means they actually like her, doesn’t it?  Like how the boys on the playground used to pull on her hair or throw rocks at her or tease her – boys are only mean to girls when they like them, and some boys (and girls…and other people) never really grew out of that.  It’s certainly better than…than ignoring her, which people only really do when they don’t care, when they would be happier if she didn’t exist in the first place, and if she’s honest, everyone would probably be happier if she didn’t exist in the first place, which is why she’s always been more than okay when they—

They went through that poem in class earlier, and Mikan paid as much attention as she could, and the cute girl who sat next to her carved a few of the lines from it into her arm over lunch, and she’d cleaned her arm as much as she could and wrapped it up afterwards like she always did, and she didn’t say anything like she always did (because sometimes that helps people remember things, and that means they’ll do better in their classes, and how can you forget someone after using a knife to write words into their flesh), and when she started walking back to her place, she looked at the bandages covering her arm and thought of the lines now permanently etched into her skin (she can do her best to prevent the scarring, but that doesn’t mean it might not still happen) and decided it was time to take the road less traveled.

Or more traveled, maybe, just by people other than her.

But the thing is?

Mikan heard about how dangerous and treacherous these streets were from all of the people along her own street, from her mother and her mother’s many (near interchangeable) boyfriends, but it’s actually….

It’s not that bad?

If anything, it’s calmer.  Gentler.  The breeze stirs the leaves on the trees and Mikan smells cherry blossoms instead of sewage or alcohol or vomit from the drunks next door.  (Or blood, but that’s more often hers than not, and if she tries a little harder, she can still smell blood, and it’s still hers – the stain on her bandage, which probably her mother’s newest boyfriend will notice first, when he laughs at her for being so clumsy.)  The sidewalk isn’t cracked and crumbling here, the streets are mostly paved, and the houses look…nice.  If she listens, she can hear children laughing somewhere.

Mikan passes by an orphanage, and she hates herself for wishing it, but she thinks maybe it would have been better to be here.  But that’s…that’s selfish.  And it makes it sound like she doesn’t love her mother, which absolutely isn’t true – she loves her mother!  Even if her mother doesn’t exactly—

A loud schlump sound breaks into her thoughts.

Mikan recognizes that sound.  It’s the same sound as the drunks next door when one of them gets hit over the head and drops to the ground; it’s the sound of a heavy body dropping but not really down.  The sound of injury, usually.

And – as she always does (because sometimes that sound is someone she knows (never her mother, but occasionally one of her new boyfriends), not that that matters because they know her now, know that she can do exactly what she is about to do), Mikan rushes to the source of the sound.

If she hadn’t paid attention in class that day, if she hadn’t let her classmate carve those words into her arm, if she hadn’t paused before heading back to her place and chosen to take a new route, then she wouldn’t be here right now, and none of this would have happened.

Mikan rushes towards the sound, and she finds a girl around her edge, slumped against a wall, her dark hair pulled in two long ponytails, blood all over the top of her head and dripping down her face.

That’s when the shift happens, if it hadn’t happened earlier – Mikan switching from herself into, well, still herself, but the version of herself she’d like to be all the time, the one who doesn’t have to be scared or afraid or anxious, the one who has control and doesn’t have to resort to anything to be heard.  She makes her way to the other girl, kneels down in front of her, and murmurs, soothing, “I’m Mikan Tsumiki, and I’m here to help you.  I’m the best trained nurse in the area—”  She reaches out to take the girl’s hand in her own.

But the girl snatches her hand away and glares up at Mikan with cold red eyes.  “I’m fi—”  Then she collapses.

Mikan stares at the girl curiously for a moment.  When the girl doesn’t move again, she creeps forward and places two fingers on the pulse point at her neck.  Weak.  Wavering.  Fleeting.  She’s lost too much blood, probably, or that hit on her head did more damage than she’d predicted.  If it’s messed with her brain too terribly much, then there’s nothing she can do about that.  Mikan’s no brain surgeon; she’s a nurse.  There’s only so much she can do.

But what she can do is a lot.

~

It’s quite a bit later before the girl wakes up.

Notably, this is because Mikan has her hands on a lot of medicine that she probably shouldn’t have and wisely, in her estimation, decided to keep the girl out while she carried out all of her other checks and balances (it doesn’t look like brain injury, but she really can’t be sure without imaging technology that she doesn’t have), while she pulled what did not look like glass out of her head and then stitched her skull back up (which was really what she needed the medicine for; the girl didn’t seem like the sort who would stay still while she was doing all of that, and she certainly didn’t want to make things worse), while she bandaged up the other miscellaneous bits and pieces she found during her examination (she was gentle and she was careful and she didn’t do anything untoward), and while she, uh.

Well, she was just the slightest bit afraid of what the girl would do when she woke up.

So she may have, uh.

Strapped her down to the table.

Which of course is likely why the girl glares at her with fire in her eyes when she finally does wake up.

(Mikan was dozing.  She couldn’t just leave her patient alone when she definitely needed her help, and this little hovel separate from the place where she lives is actually....

Let’s just say Mikan likes being here better than she likes being there, and as long as she lets them know later that she was taking care of a patient, usually there’s no punishment for not showing up.  (There’s usually no punishment anyway because that would require either her mother or her mother’s current boyfriend or both of them to notice that she wasn’t there, and that only happens when something goes wrong.  Sometimes she’s grateful to be away when something goes wrong, even if things still go wrong for her when she gets back.))

What’s weird is that the girl isn’t yelling – not at her, not at the situation, not at anyone or anything that might be listening.  She’s not struggling against her straps; maybe she was before Mikan roused from her rest, but if she had, it certainly wasn’t enough to move the hospital bed or the bedsheets or the IV stand or anything, really.  And she’s not….

She’s not afraid.

(Or if she is, she’s really, really good at hiding it.

Mikan’s a little jealous, if she’s honest with herself, but that require being honest with herself, and Mikan’s not as good at that as someone else might want her to be.  She’s very good at deluding herself, actually.  It keeps her sane.)

The girl’s lack of fear sends Mikan back to stuttering, back to anxious, back to uncertain and unsure, and she stumbles over her words, tongue thick with barely waking, “L-l-like I said before, I’m M-M-Mikan Tsumiki.”  She stands and bows to the other girl.  “I-I-I’m—”  She swallows, stands, takes the words she’s about to say and strengthens herself with them, and then doesn’t stutter when she says, “I’m your nurse.  You collapsed with a head wound, and I made sure that you were—”

“I told you.  I’m fine.”

“You’re fine now,” Mikan gently corrects.  “Because I took care of you.”

The girl glares at her unblinking.  “I would have been fine.”

“You would have died.”

“That would have been fine.”  The girl should look away.  She shouldn’t mean that.  She should be softening the steel of those words by refusing to meet Mikan’s eyes, by acting as though she is tough and it doesn’t matter.

Except that this girl, whoever she is, is tough.  She continues to hold Mikan’s gaze with those intense red eyes.  Her tone doesn’t change.  She means exactly what she says.  In her estimation, it would be fine.

Ah.

She knows that feeling.

And because she knows that feeling, Mikan can’t tell this girl that it would not have been fine, no matter how much she may or may not believe that, because that would be like saying it to the version of herself who also believes it would be fine if she died.  (Except that a part of Mikan still desperately wants to live, and she suspects there’s something inside this girl that does, too.)

“W-w-well, um.”  Mikan glances down to her hands, all earnestness lost under that crippling gaze.  “I-I-I didn’t think it would…it would be, um.”  She stops herself.  Shakes her head.  “I won’t ask who…who hurt you, but.”  She licks her lips.  “But if you ever get hurt like that again, y-y-you should come and…come and f-f-find me.  I’ll make sure that y-y-you’re not….”  Her voice trails off, and she swallows.  “I’ll make sure that everything gets better.”

When the girl doesn’t say anything in response, Mikan glances up again, anxious sweat beading at her forehead.  The girl’s expression seems to have softened.  She’s still staring at her, but at least she doesn’t seem to be glaring at her anymore.  That’s…that’s good right?

“What if it’s someone else?” the girl asks, voice soft in the air between them.  “Would you help them, too?”

Mikan’s eyes widen, and she straightens.  “Y-y-yes!!”  She doesn’t smile, although she wants to do so, because the question means that this girl, whoever she is, actually sees some value in her.  Or, at least, in what she’s capable of doing.  “I-I-I don’t....”  Her gaze drops again, and she fidgets, pushing her uneven hair back out of her face.  “Everyone needs help sometimes, and I’m…I’m good at helping people.  E-e-even if…even if maybe they don’t think they should…should be.”

Only then does the girl’s gaze drop.  Maybe she’s considering it.  Thinking about it.  Maybe—

“Are you going to let me go?”

“Oh, oh, oh, y-y-yes!”  Mikan goes to the bed and starts unbuckling the straps.  “I-I-I was just worried you might…you might make things worse if you…if you tried to get out—”

“You were scared that I’d hurt you.”

“N-n-no!”  Mikan flinches.  “I-I-I m-mean, y-y-yes, b-b-but.  I-I thought if I-I explained, th-then—”

“You were right.”

Mikan flinches again as the last of the straps slips off, as the buckle clanks against the metal of the hospital bed, as the girl smoothly sits up, turns on the edge of the mattress as Mikan backs up, and doesn’t glance up at her.  “I-I-I…I was?”  She can hear her own voice growing higher, and she hates it the most when she squeaks.

“Yes.”  The girl pulls the IV out of her arm.  Then she pushes herself off of the bed and stands for the first time at her full height; to Mikan’s surprise, they’re the nearly the same size.  The girl seemed so much smaller than her – not frail, just small.  She still seems small now, but not in a way that makes her nonthreatening.  Just—

The girl meets Mikan’s eyes.  “Maki,” she murmurs.

“H-h-huh?”

“My name,” the girl says.  “Maki Harukawa.”  She doesn’t smile, but she flushes the slightest bit (probably from standing, not from anything else) when she says, “Thank you.”

Mikan blinks, and the girl disappears.

For a moment, Mikan whirls around, as though she might catch a glimpse of Maki again, but there’s nothing, no one.  She takes a deep breath in and crumples into the chair where she’d been dozing before.

She’ll probably never see her again.  That’s…that’s normal for random strangers (not normal for the drunks who live next door to her mother).  And that’s…that’s fine, probably.

(But Mikan wants to see her again.  Which is an awkward thing to want, considering it would mean that the girl was hurt somehow.  She doesn’t really want her to get hurt again.

Except….

Except she does.

(But Mikan is very, very good at lying to herself.  So she’ll lie to herself about that one, too.))

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[ranticore]

nothing else to do so i work on my birdies

[somegrumpynerd]

Does anyone else hc that Nightmare can like, absorb his tentacles back into his body sometimes? Like the way Stitch does with his extra arms?

[disposal-blueeee]

VARGASTOBER - day 1 : memories

[dangerous-advantage]

jin ling, having done some stupid shit: my uncle's gonna kill me!

lan sizhui, serenely: it's ok, your other uncle's a necromancer

[snowysaur]

2024 year in review/art summary. i realized i never made these for 2021-23 either so here's all of them. i think i haven't been drawing as much these past few years, oh well support me on: patreon | kofi | redbubble

[raiiny-bay]

made this & then realized i wanted to make something else instead

[teddybeartoji]

i went to a ceramic class for the first time ever today and it was sooso much fun oh my godd ↓↓masterpiece below

IT'S NOT GLAZED . OBVIOUSLY anyway i really like how it turned out i'm pretty proud of myself hehehehe also i had to add the cat creature........ i had to.......... it does have a tail too btw you just can't see it:3333333 he's just a little guy!!!!

[prince-liest]

One of my 666 extras ideas evolved into something that's almost certainly going to turn big enough to be a whole separate installment, I think!

[wren-kitchens]

i could never let you know

1240 words

it takes a long moment for etho to realise that he’s awake, and longer still for him to notice that the ship is still far too dark for it to be morning. in all honesty, he just wants to close his eyes and go back to sleep, and he almost does until he notices some kind of noise from beside him- somewhat akin to whispering. is that joel? etho lays still for a moment, trying to listen to what the sound actually is before he moves—if it is joel, he doesn’t want to spook him or something. which- he’s not a horse or anything, but still. he can be jumpy. 

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3 - you are here!]

they mean so much to me

it takes a long moment for etho to realise that he’s awake, and longer still for him to notice that the ship is still far too dark for it to be morning. in all honesty, he just wants to close his eyes and go back to sleep, and he almost does until he notices some kind of noise from beside him- somewhat akin to whispering. is that joel? etho lays still for a moment, trying to listen to what the sound actually is before he moves—if it is joel, he doesn’t want to spook him or something. which- he’s not a horse or anything, but still. he can be jumpy. 

against the muffled pillager grunts and soft wind from outside, etho can just about make out joel's muttering- frantic and barely audible, "he’s still here- he’s not gone, he’s still- he’s still here-"

"joel?" etho mumbles, voice gravelly. the muttering stops at once, accompanied by a half-aborted gasp, and etho pushes himself up. "I- are you okay?"

joel is sat upright, knees pulled to his chest, staring at etho with a kind of intensity he would expect from a cornered prey animal. something aches in etho's chest to see him this way- that confident, smug bastard. this- this shouldn’t be possible, let alone allowed. "i’m- it's- i'm okay." he says, far too hurriedly. "don't- I just- nightmare. it's nothing, i’m-"

"i’m not gonna- I won't judge you, or anything." etho says, in some attempt to reassure him. it doesn't seem to work- not that he’s enormously surprised, but he can’t stand the way joel looks right now. he has to fix it somehow. 

joel begins to ramble some- obvious cover up, about how he was dreaming of being in a room with a bunch of chickens, and etho's mind races to find some kind of way to help. in a slightly desperate move, etho tentatively reaches a hand up with the intention of cupping joel's cheek. joel hesitates, stopping mid-sentence to eye etho's hand with a kind of nervousness that etho recognises all too well. something in etho's chest aches, and he realises that it's joel's pain. 

"I- can I?" etho asks, barely a whisper. it's as if his heart has stopped beating. 

there's a stretch of silence in which etho begins to wonder if he’s ever going to live this down when joel is back to himself again. he almost backs down, but joel gives the most minute of nods, and etho feels his own breath stutter as joel leans against his palm, tearing up.

"why?" his voice is ragged, and etho is struck with a wave of protectiveness that he hasn't felt before. 

etho takes a breath, because he's pretty sure he’s on the verge of tears too right now. "I- I don't know." he says honestly.

joel blinks, and tears fall from his eyes. he sniffs, pulling back to wipe his face, and etho mourns the loss as he lets his hand fall back against the bed. "look, I- it's nothing. I didn’t- didn’t mean to wake you, I-"

without thinking, etho pushes himself forward on the bed and wraps his arms around joel, starting to believe that he truly will never get joel to shut up about this. maybe he doesn't care. in fact- he definitely doesn't care, because joel exhales shakily and sinks into etho, and there's no way he'd give this up for a stupid thing like his dignity. 

joel's shoulders still feel tense, even as he lets himself be hugged, and etho has the impulse to rub his back until he softens. he doesn't- he’s not sure if that'd be an awful idea or not. this is all so confusing- there's always been this kind of.. unspoken boundary between them, that they've undoubtedly just broken. etho isn’t quite sure why it means so much to see joel upset or why joel looked so- scared of letting etho touch him, when he so clearly appreciates it. he’s not sure where this leaves them. 

"this- this is stupid." joel mumbles, thick with emotion still, but he doesn’t make any moves to let go. 

"why's that?" etho says, and he’s surprised to hear how soft his voice has become. 

joel gives a little scoff, and etho can almost see the expression he has on his face right now—tearful but exasperated at nothing in particular. "I just- i’m not a child. I shouldn’t- this is all just-" he huffs, apparently not finding the right words. "it's stupid."

"I don't think it's stupid." is all etho can think to say, because- well, he doesn't. he rubs a thumb against joel's hoodie, who gives an almost inaudible sigh. 

"well. you’re stupid then." joel says, and there's a note of humour to it that etho can't help but relish. 

etho laughs quietly, and joel seems to relax a little more against him. "i’m- i’m okay with that."

there's a pause, and etho can feel joel beginning to relax ever so slightly into him, and- it- to be honest, etho kinda loves it. just- just because it means joel is feeling better, not- etho doesn’t necessarily wantjoel to hug him, it- it's just evidence that joel is opening up. yeah. 

"um. I might fall asleep on you." joel mumbles, and etho finds himself thinking that maybe that wouldn't be so bad before he can stop himself. 

"do you want to lie down?" etho says. joel doesn’t say anything for a longer moment than etho anticipated, and he wonders if he has somehow already dozed off. "I- joel?"

joel gives a quiet hum of acknowledgment. "I- yeah, I probably should." 

etho stifles a laugh as joel stays completely still. "you- are you gonna?" he grins. 

"probably not." joel says, and etho does laugh this time. he shifts slightly, and etho realises that he’s trying to get more comfortable whilst falling asleep upright and leaning against etho. 

"i'll- we can, y’know- we can do this and be lying down." etho tells him, suddenly a bit embarrassed now the situation is less dire. "probably more comfortable."

joel sighs, and pulls back a little. "fine." 

etho lays down and watches as joel makes a face like he’s trying to convince himself to do something- which is a little funny. after a moment, joel huffs, and settles against etho's chest, as if he were a pillow- which is.. not something etho can put into words, actually. etho puts his arms around joel almost hesitantly, mind reeling ever so slightly as the tension finally seeps from joel's shoulders.

"yeah, this is more comfortable." joel's voice is low and gravelly with tiredness, and it somehow feels more intimate to hear it than- whatever it is they’re doing right now. there's a kind of nervousness in etho's throat and he's going to pretend it's just joel's. "you’re.. a good pillow."

there's a bizarre impulse to press a kiss to the top of joel's head, and etho swallows it as he closes his eyes (not quite managing to suppress the smile that makes its way onto his face). "i’m gonna take that as a compliment."

joel hums sleepily, and within minutes, etho can hear his breath even out into the way it sounds when he’s asleep. with joel's warmth and the rhythmic way he breathes, it doesn’t take very long for etho to follow suit. 

and etho- he hopes this.. becomes a little more frequent. 

[flieslikeamoron]

For the ask meme, if you're still doing it! I wish you would write a fic where either Eddie or Steve can read the other's mind, or feel their emotions, or are otherwise psychically linked in some way. :)

Hiiiii! At one point I was thinking about writing a soul bond type of thing where the bat bites create a hive mind that Steve and Eddie share. Your ask reminded me of the idea so I wrote a little bit of what that could have been like. Some dicks and stuff behind the cut.

-*-

It’s not that weird.

Sure, it’s a little strange Steve always seems to know when Eddie pulls into the parking lot at Family Video. Even if he’s in the back room, couldn’t possibly have heard the rattle of the van’s rusted muffler. 

And yes, he can tell when Eddie’s hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Can tell without asking if he’s craving a burger or spaghetti. Can tell where Eddie is in a room without looking. Can feel it like a magnet pulling. But he knows when Robin’s hungry just by looking too. Or when she has a crush on someone. He knows when Nancy’s fed up or trying not to laugh. He knows when Dustin’s about to go off on some nerd rant before he starts talking. 

It’s just because they’re friends now. That has to be why he feels so much better when Eddie’s around. Like something he didn’t know was missing clicking into place. That’s friendship, isn’t it? 

It’s not that weird. 

Not compared to all the shit they’ve been through. It’s nice, actually, the way Eddie smiling at him sinks deep into him like sunshine on his skin. The way Eddie’s pacing footsteps or the drumming of his fingers on the counter thumps in a rhythm against Steve’s chest. Even when Eddie’s pissed, it rattles like rain on a tin roof in a way Steve kind of likes. 

It’s just because Steve likes him. It’s not a big deal that he hasn’t felt exactly like this about any of the other people he’s friends with. Any of the people he loves. Different isn’t bad. There’s no reason to mention it. What would he even say? Do you know when I’m thirsty too? Do you feel like a lock turning when you touch me? That does make it sound weird. And what if Eddie says no. What if Eddie has no idea what he’s even talking about. 

No, Steve will just give him a Coke when he knows Eddie wants a Coke. And bask in the smile that gets him. There’s no reason to bring it up. To make it weird.

Until.

It comes out of nowhere, heat building low in his gut when Steve’s in the middle of putting his laundry away. He’s got the phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder, Robin on the other end giving him a play-by-play of her latest not-date with Vicki. He puts the rest of his jeans away, trying to ignore how turned on he is for no apparent reason. But there’s something fucked up about having Robin’s voice in his ear while he’s popping a boner. 

“I gotta go,” he interrupts. “Sorry, I forgot I have to-” He tries to think of something he could be doing that’s not jerking off.

“Am I boring you?”

“No I just-” He stops again. This time because he has the oddest feeling. Almost the feeling of a hand on him. Of fingers pinching into his nipple. It’s never really done much for him, having his nipples played with. But a pulse of heat goes right through his balls. He curls a hand thoughtlessly against his boner, feeling the needy weight of it. “I’ll call you in a sec.” He can hear Robin protesting as he hangs up and tosses the phone aside. 

She calls right back, but he lets it ring. Too busy tugging his pants down. He can’t explain anyway. That he just really needs to get off right now. It’s rude as hell. He doesn’t know why he’s- But he’s so turned on. He’ll make it up to her after he gets this out of his system. 

He tugs his underwear down enough to get his dick out, starting to stroke himself with one hand, the other braced on his dresser. He likes to start slow normally, get himself worked up, but he feels strung tight as if he’s already been at it for a while. He spits in his hand, spreads precome down the shaft. Watching his hand move, the head of his dick red and slick in the circle of his fingers. 

There’s something wrong with his vision, something sort of blurry like a double exposure in a photograph. He blinks. It’s like the almost there of another hand, that’s not his hand. Of a dick that’s not his dick. He can almost feel it ghost against his skin when that hand moves, off rhythm with his. It’s making his dick throb, gut snarled tight with heat. It’s making him dizzy. He closes his eyes, and tries to focus on the slide of his hand. Just his hand. Tries to picture Phoebe Cates getting out of the pool. Perfect boobs and a slo-mo smile. But the picture in his head feels impossible to hold on to. Feels like he can’t- 

And then he’s seeing himself a little hazy and far away like looking through clear water. It’s him pulling himself out of the pool in his swim team speedos. Muscles flexing. Water streaming off him. Hand running through his own wet hair, and a cocky grin on his face. 

And okay, he knows he’s a good-looking guy. But he’s not- His ego isn’t this big. This isn’t the him he sees in the mirror. It’s sort of- Everything a little better than he actually is. The him he wishes he was. 

He didn’t- The shape of it feels wrong inside his head, like it doesn’t fit right. But he’s watching himself sitting down now, at the edge of the pool. And there's someone still in the water. There are hands on his thighs. A mouth on his cock. He can’t see much of the other person but long, dark, wet hair. He can almost feel it, the heat of that mouth on his cock. The sizzle of it through his mind going straight to his balls. And every time he strokes himself it’s like he feels it in his dick, and then he feels it again somehow like an echo throbbing through him. An overwhelming feedback loop of want and need and how good it feels. God. Fuck. I’m gonna come. He is gonna come, but he hears it against the inside of his head, and it doesn’t sound like him. It sounds like-

“Eddie?” he says cautiously. Out loud and in his head too.

He feels a quick stab of shock, fear. It feels like the rest of it. Sort of the wrong shape inside his body, inside his head. And then it’s like he’s got a song stuck in his head, but it’s a heavy metal song he’s never heard before. 

“Eddie?” He thinks it harder. Tries to make it a scream, send it out past the inside of his own head. But the music keeps going, the noise of it so loud he can hardly think past it, can’t hear past it to whatever Eddie’s thinking behind it. That is Eddie behind it though, he’s pretty sure. That was Eddie just now. The things Steve was feeling. That was what Eddie was thinking about while he was getting off. He was thinking about Steve. 

Steve should be more weirded out by that, probably. Knowing he’s starring in Eddie Munson’s wet dreams is a bit of a surprise. He didn’t even know Eddie’s gay. He waits to feel shocked or upset, but outside of being kind of confused how any of this is even happening, he doesn’t seem to mind it. It’s a compliment, really. If that’s the way Eddie sees him. He kind of likes it, actually, in a deep down, self-satisfied way that makes him wonder if he does need to work on his ego after all. 

He feels vaguely guilty that he accidentally ruined the guy’s jerk off session. He looks down at his hand on his dick. He’s not sure if he should finish now. It’s like stolen valor or something. Is he even horny or was he just piggy-backing? However he got here, he’s still pretty close. He gives himself a couple careful strokes. Can Eddie feel that? Or was it just a one way connection? He heard it when Steve thought his name though. The heavy metal is still fucking blasting, so maybe he can’t hear or feel Steve past that just like Steve can’t hear him. He doesn’t know if he should risk it though. 

It’s pretty fucking weird.

The kind of weird he can’t ignore. 

He takes a cold shower, the heavy metal stuck in his head starting to give him a headache. Could you turn it down a little? he tries thinking. If it gets through to Eddie, he ignores it. Steve tries to figure out if there’s a way to turn down the volume on his end. Putting his fingers in his ears doesn’t help. He tries counting backward from a hundred and that seems like it does something, sort of. But as soon as he stops counting he can hear the music just as loud. Maybe Eddie will turn it off on his own if Steve gives him a little time to stop freaking out. 

He’s got to be freaking out. Having the dude you’re jerking off about pop up in your head has to be the nightmare scenario of all time. But how is Steve supposed to tell him it’s cool if he won’t stop putting up a wall of sound?

Or maybe Steve could try something a little less direct than whatever this head to head connection is. He tries calling Eddie’s trailer. No answer. He tries the walkie. No answer.

He wonders if Eddie can tell he’s pulling into the trailer park like Steve can always tell when he’s pulling up the street to Steve’s house. Steve can feel it. That magnet tug as he walks up the stairs. That feeling just underneath his breast bone that always seems to orient toward Eddie like a compass pointing north. He wonders if Eddie can feel that too. 

But maybe he can’t, because he looks shocked when he opens the door. Wide-eyed for just a second. The music breaks apart in Steve’s head enough that he can feel fear, just for a second. Less than that. Barely long enough to notice if he hadn’t been paying attention. And then the music starts up again, and whatever Eddie’s feeling is hidden behind it. Behind the easy laugh as he reaches out to thump Steve on the chest with the back of his hand like normal. Says, “You couldn’t call?” like Steve didn’t. Says, “You’re lucky I don’t have a life,” and tugs Steve in through the doorway. Like normal. 

For a moment Steve thinks maybe it was all in his head. Maybe he’s just like- Losing it. Maybe he's making up weird shit and thinking he and Eddie have some kind of psychic connection and hearing things that aren’t there and seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe none of it is real. And there’s nothing weird here except him. 

But there’s music in his head. And he doesn’t know this song.

[sympathytea]

So this is a sequel to this post mainly because there was some crucial details in the finale that I missed, but this is specifically going to be focusing on Parrot rather than Evbo, although Evbo is still going to be part of this whole theory. Lets start.

[Transcript Start] Evbo: -My iron sword, so their swords will never break. Thats why I have to get out of here, so that I can prove to people that there is a way out! Obviously, to do that, I need to make it to level 4. But its a bit tough to do that, since theres no way to rank up apparently. Parrot: ...Wait, what do you mean theres no way to rank up? Evbo: Oh yeah! I probably should've mentioned that every time I try to rank up to a golden sword- Woah, getting up close and personal. But..yeah, theres no water at the bottom, I've died-

[End of transcript.]

This exchange to me, at first, read as rather inconspicuous. Other players have killed Evbo before, or straight up hit him. So it didn't particularly click with me that this was something to pay attention to, but it was a bit weird considering how Parrot is first characterized. His whole introduction with Evbo and Tabi, and him talking about the iron sword layer being peaceful, and trying to protect Evbo's immortal identity, being depressed and isolating himself in a mansion.. It seems odd that this would suddenly shift when the situation becomes "Theres no way out" and him almost getting violent here, like every other character in the series. But he shows restraint in his anger rather than lashing out. Good right? Well... Next time we "meet" Parrot the implications are less than ideal. We learn he is a bow, and that he attempted to tell Evbo this, but the message about Tabi's betrayal got through to him too late. Then something else happens. Evbo, post betrayal and probably wanting to let off some of the stress that has most definitely been bubbling under the surface, Kills the entire iron sword layer. Or atleast very heavily implied that he did, along with Parrot's help. In Evbo's words, he "Killed all the people that were against me." which could either mean like, two people or the entire layer, and I don't think Evbo was particularly keeping track of the "bad" iron swords that came into his cell depending on how populated that layer actually is. The way someone would typically twist this, is that Parrot is willing to do terrible things for his friend's safety and comfort. Which is fine, but hear me out. Considering that Parrot got very close to snapping at Evbo back in episode 4, and was pretty absent throughout the arc where Evbo trains until he gets to the diamond sword layer, and then out of nowhere, helps with a murder spree despite him being one of the more peaceful residents? One that doesn't appear to get into fights, nor is seen going into Evbo's cell for kills? Evbo lets something slip near the end right after describing the massacre that he and Parrot did together. Parrot says:

"I will do my best to make a difference in this world."

Now, this sounds good in theory. Great, even! But consider the stuff we learned from him up until this point, the tiny details that you could easily miss or disregard entirely. Now, what does that phrase imply? Especially with the surrounding context being Evbo and Parrot killing a layer together?

What difference does he intend to make in this world? We don't get more than what Evbo tells us in the narration, but he does mention that he isn't willing to see Parrot just yet, and needs to piece his feelings towards him. What went down between these two that went unseen that left Evbo not wanting to talk to him let alone see him? Fishy, fishy, fishy.

[anoant-haikyuu-dump]

thinking about a Nekoma band au... Fukunaga as the bassist because you don't really notice it's there despite it being one of the most important instruments. Fits with his under-the-radar powerhouse thing

[king-candybug-backup]

I'm noticing an uptick in comments complaining that most of the current WIR fandom content is Turbo instead of the other characters and, like... you guys know you can search other characters by their specific tags, right??? Or exclude Turbo from search results by temporarily blacklisting him in your filtered tags?

Idk, it's just weird to me to be discouraging towards people making fandom content just because it's not the specific content you want to see, like, it's ok to want to see other content, but complaining about how other people aren't catering to your tastes enough instead of just making the content you want to see yourself is kinda bad vibes, y'know?? (And that's not to say that I think those comments are intended out of malice of course, I really don't think they are, I just wanted to point out that it can come off as a little entitled, as well as discouraging towards people who just want to draw Turbo, which is something that should be fine if that's what they want to do. Fandom should be fun for everybody, and there's lots of tools available to curate your experience with it!)

[rosylix]

i love that yall scream with me abt felix and stuff lolllll. i feel weird sometimes like i shouldnt post if im not writing cus yall are pretty much here for my writing.. so if im not writing like no one cares abt me lol but idk its still fun and it makes me so happy that yall still think of me even when ive not been active like thats so sweet?? jdnsjfjjs IDKK i cant articulate my thoughts correctly rn but i just wanted to say ily guys! 🤍🤍