#just a little itty bitty guy full of rage

[shroomerr]

Quick butters doodle I did while I was working on mysterions sheet lol

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

miscellaneous fellow honest headcanons

These aren't following any prompt in particular, these are just thoughts I had when I saw the guy hammin' it up and then turning on us.

Some of these headcanons are informed by fan art I've seen and discussions I've had with friends, while others are purely me.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

He calls people “little lads” and “little ladies”.

Fellow has a very noticeable laugh. Like, he grunts and snorts and has tears rolling down his cheeks. (He tends to laugh at others’ misery, thinking of it as “retribution” or “payback” for the injustices he has suffered himself.)

Bro shaves using a knife (yes, he shaves because he is a grown ass man) because razors are hella expensive.

He uses that cheap cologne and cakes it on THICK. This, in his mind, gives off the impression that he’s a well-off and put-together individual you should tooootally trust.

Also the type of person that lays it on thick with his words. If he’s trying to impress a date or something, he’ll shower them with so many compliments it almost seems fake. But no, he’s just the type to simp hard when he happens to be genuine 💀 most of the time he’s faking it though—

He’s very street smart, but in a way where he confuses hostile people by talking over them and acting overly friendly. They usually stuns them long enough for him and Gidel to skedaddle.

If he gets dumped, he'd be the pathetic whimpering boyfriend that begs for his ex to take him back. When they inevitably don't, he mopes all day about it.

He chain smokes and aggressively drinks as a coping mechanism on his bad days 😔 and sometimes he gambles (like, on those scratch-off cards) hoping that he'll strike it rich and buy him and Gidel a better life...

Basically, he generally does not have his shit together but tries his best to pass like someone who does (and usually succeeds at it).

Fellow appears in public wearing his full suit, but at home (ie whatever ratty temporary housing their boss found for them before they move on to the next place) he just wears a T-shirt and lounges around in boxers (and sometimes socks with holes in them).

He uses those disposable eyeshadow wands that snap in half at the slightest bit of too much pressure. Fellow acts like the Claire’s kid makeup he uses is the luxury stuff, but Vil can tell the pigmentation isn’t all there and there’s MAD fallout.

He may be broke AF and have his moments of emotional spiraling, but he has pretty decent budgeting skills. Fellow lives for sales and does extreme couponing to stretch their money as far as it will go.

He invests in other cost-saving methods like wearing shoes until the sole is literally flopping off and just adding water to residual soap in a pump bottle to make the soap "last longer".

Fellow is really good at cutting food (bread, beans) thin to conserve it. Yes, this is a reference to an old Mickey Mouse cartoon—

When he was younger, he had dreams of being an actor (and, more specifically, starring in musicals). That's why he's often humming, swinging around his cane, and/or whistling as he's on the prowl for idiots to sucker—they're remainders of his thespian days before his dreams were crushed into itty bitty pieces.

Man looks like he'd be great at tap dancing.

Before his current gig, he tried a bunch of other scams including a MLM at one point to get by. His signature spell came in pretty clutch in those days too.

Fellow’s not that good at reading or spelling—in fact, he was never a particularly strong student. (“I didn’t fail school!! The schools failed ME!!”) He’s easily frustrated by academics and thinks there should be more hands-on and practical skills taught in learning institutions.

I think it's a given that he and Ruggie would be besties since they both want to eat the rich but I also think Fellow would kiss ass to Azul and then rage about how shitty + entitled Azul is (Azul reminds Fellow of his boss)💀 Scammers hate other scammers because they're both competing to scam the same people--

Even though Fellow is an asshole to most others (well, when he’s not flattering them to lure them into a trap), he’s always nice to Gidel and puts him first. If there’s ever a situation where they’re short on something (clothes, food, etc), Gidel gets priority. This is why Gidel has a full outfit (even if parts are patches or mismatched) whereas Fellow himself has a glove that is so worn out there’s a hole in one of the pinkie fingers.

Fellow may not be blessed with a bounty of magic, but he’s quick on his feet and good with words. Because of these skills, he’s talented at spinning bedtime stories, which he often tells to Gidel to help him fall asleep on nights that are particularly cold and nasty.

Gidel still believes in Santy Claws and wishing upon stars, and Fellow doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. He’ll figure it out on his own one day, Fellow thinks. He just doesn’t want to be the one to ruin those childhood joys for him.

Playing pretend is another shared past time of theirs. It helps Fellow get into character before he goes off to swindle people, and it gives Gidel a way to express himself in spite of being mute. They have a routine they do together where Fellow pretends to be a doctor diagnosing a patient and Gidel takes down notes for him as his medical scribe. Yes, this is a Pinocchio reference—

They actually have many more games they play (mainly because they cannot afford other forms of entertainment). Some of the games are clever ruses conjured by Fellow to teach Gidel survival tips and tricks: the who-can-make-their-piece-of-bread-last-longer game, hide-and-seek (from the authorities), etc.

For special occasions, Fellow saves up some money on the side to grant Gidel little luxuries, like a box of crayons to doodle with.

Gidel hugs Fellow’s leg or waist to cheer him up when he’s upset. He also hides behind Fellow when he’s scared or feeling shy.

He’s just really attached to Gidel cuz they have no one else in this cruel world, just them against the world 😔 He sees a lot of his younger self in the little boy… the opportunities lost because of their circumstances… “It’s alright, Gidel. Leave it to Fellow-sama.”

[ryndicate]

Double Down ⨳ Yoshida, Denji

“Didn’t know you were into that stuff.”

warnings: fem body/pronouns, nudes posted without permission, drug use, exhibition, creampie, videos taken with permission, stepcest, infidelity, masturbation, handjob, some spit mentions, premature ejac, implied fuckery, implied theft, if there's more i am just too wacked out to see it so lemme know!

event: @bastardblvd 's slimeball alley collab !! my first submission of who knows how many to come, im gonna try to not go crazy with it, promise

notes: didn't realize until it was done that I could've made it much more slimy but its okay. We'll get 'em next time babes 😩 this idea is expanding on a little blurb I put in cassie's inbox once, i included it in the fic itself with some itty bitty changes

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Blog Rules/DNI

Your fist slams on the bathroom door. “I swear to god, Denji! Where the fuck did you get those! Delete them now!”

“I already told you, Power found them online!” Your stepbrother yells back through the door, keeping his weight against the handle so that you can’t force your way in.

“You’re full of shit you fucking perv! You took them off my phone or something.”

“Wanna fucking bet? The real perv is that prettyboy bastard you call baby,” Denji sneers back, yelping as you get a good shove in on the creaking wood.

Your efforts to break the bathroom door pause. “The hell’re you talking about?”

“I told you he was trouble the day you two met. What—you think I was lying?”

You growl under your breath at the barenecked taunt in Denji’s voice. Yeah he told you, one time before he got high out of his mind. The only reason you even met Yoshida Hirofumi was because he hooked your stepbrother up a couple times, and you begged to tag along once. That situation ended with your brother counting stars on his buddy’s ceiling while you saw them on the backs of your eyelids with the guy’s lips wrapped around your clit. 

One thing led to another, and that “prettyboy bastard” became your boyfriend. He’s a bit of an ass, but Yoshida’s also sweet and funny, doesn’t roll his eyes at your music choices, doesn’t bat an eye when you want to go out with your friends, and is full of sexy, smirky sass that makes him so fun to be around. Sure, you sent him some photos, but he wouldn’t have put them out anywhere.

Your anger deflates, but your indignance does not. You step away from the bathroom door. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

Denji throws the door open with a toothy grin, repeating himself. “You wanna bet?”

“You know what, yeah!” you snap at him, crossing your arms as he leans in the doorway, still looking smug. 

“Your boyfriend put your pics up on OnlyFans, and he’s using the money to pay for his xanny. If I’m right, you two gotta upload a video. Together,” Denji states, his eyebrows furrowed in twisted delight that makes you sneer at him.

“You’re disgusting!”

“Yeah? Tell me what you get if you win.”

Caught up in his childish bullshit, you push at his shoulder. “You gotta start an OnlyFans if you’re wrong, which you are. And you gotta wear lingerie.”

His smirk full drops at that, and he glares at you, cheeks darkerning. “Now who’s a perv.”

“This whole shit was your idea!”

“Lingerie?”

“How is wearing lingerie worse than telling your stepsister to fuck and post a video about it?!”

“Shut up!”

“And since we’re on the topic, I swear to god if you don’t stop taking my shit out of the laundry I’m gonna tell that redheaded lady at the DMV that she’s at the very top of your fap list.”

His blush deepens and he palms your face backwards in a light push. “The fuck she is. Shut up.”

“Yeah well, me and the thin fucking walls in this apartment would have to disagree.”

“Go find your boyfriend.”

“‘M gonna.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck him,” you hiss in barely supressed rage, gripping your boyfriend’s phone so tight you’re disappointed when it doesn’t crack. 

You’d waited for his high to hit him and let him drift off before going through his phone—what’s the point of asking him outright if it’s not true, right? No reason to stir the pot. But your stomach had dropped with unease when the account site was in his search history; you tried to brush it off as maybe he gets off to a set of camgirls, but the moment you saw the login info presaved—as in frequent entry—you began to forget the bet altogether.

Now your jaw is clenched, seething as you scroll through every racy picture you ever sent him. Each have thousands of views, hundreds of comments and jeez—so many subscribers. The heat of betrayal simmers through you. Your jaw drops at the total that’s set to drop into his account at the end of the week and resist the urge to slap Yoshida awake, but instead you set about trying to change the banking and login info, only to get halted by an infowall. Frustrated, you slip off the bed and call your stepbrother, edging into Yoshida’s bathroom so you don’t wake him up.

“You were right, and you fucking knew it, didn’t you? You set me up.” you hiss into the device as soon as he picks up with a mumbled ‘sup. You can hear voices and music in the background, paired with light explosions. You assume he’s out with his friends, probably gaming like usual. 

“You didn’t have to agree. Wait—” there’s the sound of the phone moving around and suddenly the music is gone. “Does that mean you’re gonna do it?”

“That’s besides the point, Denji!”

“Oh fuck, you are!”

“Chill your boner,” you snap, “‘m not gonna do it unless you help me!”

“Help you? What, like you want me to hold the camera or something?”

“Denji, I swear to god—”

“I’m kidding, jeez.”

“I can’t change the account info. They’re my pictures, and they’re already out there! He shouldn’t get to make money off of me.”

“Wait, so you want to keep the account?” He asks curiously. You hear a door slamming and wonder if he’s still moving, or if his friends are.

“Dude, we’ll have rent and anything else covered for the whole month with a single week’s drop from this thing. I don’t see a reason not to. I can quit Mcdonald’s!”

“Shit, for real? Lemme talk to Denki, ‘m pretty sure he knows a guy.”

“Thank you,” you coo into the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, just make sure you pay up.” You can hear his pervy smile, and you grumble a sulky fine at him.

“Ok. But he’s gotta do it soon. It pays out in a couple of days.”

“I’ll give him some cash to see if he can do it tonight. Don’t see why he’d say no—" Denji sounds a lot further away from the phone now, "—Oi! Don't bro! Give it back."

A familiar voice purrs into the receiver and you roll your eyes. "Heyyy, princess. You with that Yoshida guy still or are we allowed to hang now?"

"Byeee, Kiri. Tell Kat hi f'me." You hang up with a smile and leave the bathroom, glaring at your supposed boyfriend still sleeping. You never heard him say he was working and you always kinda wondered where he was getting his cash, but you always just thought he was dealing or something. Not the kind of think you ask about. You obviously should’ve asked.

You crawl into his lap and begin sucking on his exposed throat, admiring the sharp lines, the bob of his adam’s apple as thick lashes flutter open. 

“Mmm,” Yoshida moans. “Damn, was I out long?”

“Nah,” you hum, slipping your fingers up his shirt, smoothing over his waistline. “Got bored without you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, baby?” He grins up at you, dark eyes fuzzed out and sultry, and his hands come up to settle on your hips, easing you into a slow grind. “Wanna do something?”

“Mm. Maybe,” you tease softly, pushing his shirt up his chest and leaning down to wrap your lips around his nipples. He groans at the warm, slick suction, arching into your touch. 

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, his cock swelling beneath you. 

“Maybe I wanna do something…different.”

Yoshida grins up at you, half-lidded. “Yeah? Like what?”

Your nails make pink lines down his chest as you lean in to whisper in his ear. “What if you fucked me, and we let some people watch?”

His fingers dig into the fat of your waist, his dick thumping beneath you. “Anyone I know?”

Yoshida’s pupils have overtaken his coal irises, and you give him an inviting smile. “No one specific. I was thinking more like…a video or something. I wanna be able to see it later.”

“Holy fuck, baby. That’s sexy,” Yoshida grins up at you. “Didn’t know you were into that stuff.”

“Me either,” you breath softly, rocking yourself over his covered erection.

You’re left to yelp as he displaces you from your seat on his lap and pulls you out of the bed by your wrist with a wide smirk. “Come on.”

“Wait, where are we going?”

“Don’t worry baby, I just wanna pick something up at the Malmart first.”

“Fine, I guess,” you pout at him and his smirk only grows.

“‘S okay, baby. I’ll give you something too.”

“This is not what I meant when I said video, Hirofumi!” you gasp out. Your fingers are splayed out on the hood of his car as you try to stay upright. “Someone could actually see us!”

"If you don't wanna be seen, you gotta cum. Cause I'm not stopping til you cum."

"Fuck, fuck please, just hurry up!" You plead, half your words caught between whines and whimpers as he pounds into you from behind, your skirt flipped over your back.

"You think I'm not fucking you like I mean it?" There's so much smile in his voice that you want to call him on his bullshit for once, but the solid smacking of his hips into yours, the head of his dick pressing as deep as it can go with every thrust quickly makes you forget what you're snapping at him for.

"Just‐just, fucking make cum– ‘fumi!" You're desperately telling yourself you don't want to be seen. It's the middle of the night, so even here, parked under the one of the many lightposts that don’t work in grimetown's 24-hour walmart parking lot, the risk of anyone seeing is slim.

But not zero. Especially with the light from his phone camera shining down on your exposed lower half. You’re like a slutty beacon for whoever might be looking this way.

"I'm working on it baby, you gotta relax." His fingers slide around your waist, brushing past your clit and forcing a frustrated whimper past your lips at the neglect, to drag them through the slick dripping obscenely from your pussy lips. It's dripping to the rusted black hood, making it glisten. He aims the camera down at them before moving it back to the way your pussy clings to his cock. "You're so fucking wet for this, you'd think the whole thing was your idea. Well, most of it was."

You don't answer him, trying to work yourself back on him, chasing that fluttering heat twisting itself tighter and tigher with each passing second.

"Good girl, look at you. Fuck, look how bad you want—"

"Oi! Get the fuck out of here before I—"

Your whole body locks up at the tired but authoritative voice that rings across the lot.

Your boyfriend calls back. "C'mon man, have a heart. Let me finish her off and I'll give you a look." Except his last syllable staggers off with a groan, broken with a laugh as his grip on your hips tightens to a bruising pressure. The vice grip of your cunt has him looking down to sees your juices gush around the girth of his cock, dripping down your thighs to dirty the hood of his car even more. The sight pushes pushes him over and he calls out again, his voice tight but smug.

"Nevermind, we're done here."

He gets one last shot of his cum dripping out of you before closing out the livefeed.

“It’s like four in the morning,” Denji grumbles, rubbing one of his eyes as he cracks his bedroom open further at the sight of you. “Thought you were Power or somethin’, jeez.”

Denji blinks the blur from his eyes, zeroing in on your screen, and you just about hear his pupils expanding. He pulls a shaky inhale and you roll your eyes.

“Done. Bet over, and here’s your damn proof,” you grumble right back, slamming your phone against his chest and shoving your way into his bedroom to flop down into his bed. It had taken over an hour to convince Yoshida back to his place and get him to fool around enough for him to pass out and you to sneak back home.

"Also Kiri wants you to call him back. He's mad you hung up on him."

A small grin curls your lips but you don't respond, wiggling deeper into his mattress until you're comfortable.

He throws himself down in the bed next to you. “Turn on my speakers.” 

“Or you could just wear headphones, you freak.”

“Nah. Turn ‘em on.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you stretch out to reach up to his desk, turning on the bluetooth speakers that he usually uses to be a nuisance when he’s smoking. “If your dad was home, I’d kill you for this.”

“You’re not even breaking up with him, are you?” Denji chortles, ignoring your bickering. His eyes are glued to the screen as he shoves a hand into his loosened shorts. “What the fuck, you guys were outside?”

You shrug. The video’s only been up for a couple hours and it already has triple the views and donations of all the photos Yoshida has put up so far. “Looks like he’s gonna be making me lots of money, so why not? It’s the least he could do to pay me back.”

Your stepbrother doesn’t answer you, his breathing getting heavier. You close your eyes and sigh as the sounds wet sounds and your own whiny moaning starts bouncing off the walls of his room, wondering to yourself if you really sound like that or if part of you was exaggerating because of the camera. The mattress creaks every now and then as his hips jump, his arm brushing your side as he grinds into his own fist. 

You roll to face him, taking in the sound of his stuttered breaths, the muted slick sound of his fist pumping in his shorts. “So what about this gets you so riled up?”

Denji groans, stomach rippling where his shirt is pulled up around his midsection. “I’nno, it’s hot, isn’t it?”

You keep prodding, “What is? Yoshida? Or me?”

He gives a small whine that has your pulse picking up in sick interest, so you continue. “Was Power really the one to find it? Or…you were subbed to the account, weren’t you Denji?”

“Mm- maybe?”

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, listening to your own voice begging to cum, shifting your weight onto your arm so you can look at him. A strange curiosity has taken over your body. He looks wrecked but his eyes are still on the screen. “Denji, look at me.”

Your body tingles as his eyes tear towards you, but he’s still got a hand around himself, hidden from your eyes. “Can I touch it?”

“You wanna what?” he moans, just barely, teeth digging into his lip.

“Can I jerk you off?”

You’re a little surprised when he actually hesitates. You’ve tolerated it all this time; as much as he pervs out on you, and your stuff, yet somehow he’s got a little crumb of morality left in there somewhere. And right now…you wanna kill it.

“My panties, my pictures…is this really any different?” you ask softly, sweetly, as you run with this electric current, placing your hand over his covered groin. You grin as his hand immediately goes slack at your touch and slips out of his shorts, and you get to feel for the first time how hard he is, rubbing over the smooth fabric, feeling out the shape of him.

“I mean…I guess not.” He sucks in a breath as you grip him over his shorts and give a couple experimental strokes. “B-but what about—?”

Denji’s head drops back to the pillows with a groan, phone in a death grip as you tug his waistband down, his dick slapping free. It’s pretty and slender, flushed deep red.

“What about what?”

“What about prettyboy, huh?” He finally gets it out as you spit in your hand and take him up again, stroking him steadily from base to tip, squeezing at the top with a gentle twist of your wrist. Yoshida always seemed to like it, seems like he does too. 

“That’s what you’re worried about? Not the whole stepsister thing?” You shrug. You’re still stung about Yoshida’s betrayal, so this feels like a little bit of retribution. A little bit. You still need to find more ways to make him pay first, but this is a good start. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend, but ‘s not like you and me are dating, Denji. It’s a handjob. What’re you gonna do, marry me?”

Denji splutters and his dick throbs in your hand. “Don- Don’t say stupid shit!”

You coo at him and his lips part, panting hard as you work him faster. 

“What– haa, what if it wasn’t just a handjob? What then?” Denji gives a low moan as you settle over his lower thighs so you can gently cup his balls. They seem to tighten under your touch, before he relaxes and he tries to look at you. 

“What, like my mouth or something?” you ask playfully, leaning over and showing him your tongue, letting a strand of spit drip down to his dick.

A litany of curses tumblr from his mouth as Denji squeezes his eyes shut, fingers twisting into the pillow beneath his head as his cock jerks and shoots a load of hot sticky white into your palm, getting smeared down his throbbing shaft as you slowly work him through his high until only a couple dribbles get pressed out by a final pass of your thumb over his slit.

“Wasn’t expecting you to finish already.” You wipe your hand off on his comforter and try to ignore the throbbing in your panties. You feel like you can still imagine the slick from earlier tonight seeping out of you, but it’s as if it’s no longer enough.

“Holy fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as he calms his breathing enough to raise himself up on his forearms. He watches you as you take your phone and flop down next to him. “I didn’t even get to see the rest of the video.”

“It’s online now, freak. You can watch it whenever.”

“Yeah...” 

You’re too busy trying to go through the account settings to notice the way he’s eyeing up your thighs; he hasn’t even put his dick away yet. 

“Hey,” he mutters softly, ignoring your glare when he puts a hand on your thighs and pulls them open. “If you can touch me, does that mean I get to touch you?”

Your pulse jumps and you try to keep your true thoughts hidden as you hide back behind your phone. “I guess that’s fair. If you wanted to.”

You can hear the click of Denji’s throat as he swallows, and you can’t stop the low whimper as his calloused fingers brush your inner thigh, right at the edge of your panties. 

They’re warm as they brush over the seat of your panties, timid but curious as they explore the surface, stroking over the tempting warmth and wet seeping through the thin fabric. A bolt of pleasure bursts and has your gut clenching as he swirls over your clothed clit

“H-hey, wait,” you say suddenly, nerves getting the better of you as you try to make sense of Denji taking control of your body. “It got switch but this isn’t my banking info. Is it yours?” You flip the screen towards him, and his brown eyes squint in the pale blue light.

“Uh, nah, that’s not mine.”

You mewl as he pulls your panties to the side and traces a finger through your folds, delicate, hungry. “Who did you say– mm, h-hacked the account for me?”

“I told you. M’friend Denki, his buddy did it. That purple-haired guy who works at the smoke shop.”

“The one wi—” you suck in a breath as he sinks his index finger into you. “With the tattoos?”

“Yeah him,” Denji mumbles, hardly paying attention to your words. He’s grinding against the bed as he pushes his middle in alongside it, imagining the tight squeeze around his dick instead.

Your groan is part pleasure, part dismay as you realize just who he’s talking about. “Oh fuck me.”

Denji bullies his way between your thighs in an instant.

“N-no, Den– that’s not what I meant!”

[sincerely-sofie]

45. Since you've said that just about every character you've written is a self insert, what's the character you relate to the most? Or a character that isn't yours?

45. Name a few characters you relate to?

In the TPiaG cast, I relate to everyone pretty equally! They all reflect different facets of my personality and life experiences, at least with how I've written them. As for characters that aren't mine / in TPiaG... Oof. Oh man. I'm going to embarrass myself doing this, I just know it. But here goes nothing. Now presenting the informal Sincerely-Sofie kin list!

Ranboo and TommyInnit's characters from Dream SMP

I'd never heard of Ranboo as a content creator before my friends busted in the door to my DMs to say his character was Literally Sofie and I needed to check these compilation videos of him Right This Very Second. I didn't believe them at first. But then I watched a couple vids and was like "Ah. I see. He IS Literally Sofie."

I had to avoid watching anything put out by Ranboo for his DSMP character because the guy's acting was so good I would feel down for days after watching his lore. That one scene in the panic room where he's talking with the voice in his head hit too close to home, and I couldn't watch anything else by him afterward because it would send me backsliding emotionally. It was very cathartic, don't get me wrong! But psychosis was a bit too fresh of a wound at the time for me to start revisiting.

TommyInnit's character is one that I think people might be surprised I relate to, but his prey animal rage is something I find very relatable. I might be projecting too many headcanons onto him, however. I've written a fair number of fics focusing on Tommy, and I never was certain if he was very in-character.

Hunter from The Owl House

I haven't watched The Owl House in full, and don't have the means to do so, but Oh My Word. Hunter is just me in a different outfit. Geeky little ADHD-having, people-pleasing, dumb-dumb itty bitty trauma-experiencing baby boy. I see him and I see my teenage self. That one scene in that montage where the main cast are in the human world and he gets a haircut because he's having issues with his hair being triggering? I've lived that! I hardly have to project onto him because he's already me.

Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle (the movie specifically)

Book Sophie is too sassy for me to compare myself to, haha. But movie Sophie is pretty relatable! Being hesitant yet impulsive, lacking confidence when it comes to herself but finding it easy to take a leadership role and advocate for others— heck, I even had identical hair to her when I was younger, complete with those annoying little wispy hairs coming out from her hairline! I also used to have a habit of talking to inanimate objects before anxiety beat that trait out of me.

One might assume the name was a contributing factor to me relating to her. Now would probably be a good time to reveal Sofie is just a pen name, not my real one ^^;

My Melody from Sanrio

Take my word for it: this rabbit is my fursona I commissioned from Sanrio. You all need to know that this is what I look like when I'm reading your asks + the tags on your reblogs. I was originally planning to run a blog themed around My Melody. My Melody??? More like ME Melody.

[malimangle]

Logistics of Chickens in The Tower: AKA Kyle Crane Torturing Himself (Again)

In the first Dying Light game, there’s a mini side-quest where you can find this dude Khaliq his glasses. Attached to this quest is an objective to find a gardening book. 

Once you give him those things, the Tower'll gain a goofy little rooftop garden that looks like it flourishes. Which is totally bitching because then folks get fresh produce. Hell yeah! So fun. No scurvy or whatever for these guys.

But I got to thinkin’. Rooftop garden is all well and good. Love produce. Lettuce??? So here for that shit. But you know what makes produce even BETTER?????? Protein! Which must DECIDELY be in short supply, countless human bodies not-withstanding since I doubt the survivors would have any interest in cannibalism. Yes, they’ve got what looks like canned ham, but canned meat is fucking gross. And given that live animals seem like a rare commodity, I was like:

"The Tower would probably LOVE to have a couple chickens since eggs are multi-use and they don't need TOO much to eat (compared to humans) and they do well with produce. Which the Tower is sure to have an excess of. I mean, fuck, I grew cucumbers in AZ heat, dead of summer, and I still had fucking WAGONS full of cucumbers in a matter of weeks. Like, a genuinely unconscionable amount. And as it turns out, you get real sick of those after a hot min. If I know humans, there’s like a 100% chance that after five straight weeks of eating cucumbers for their fresh produce of the day, people would be fucking beside themselves. But chickens wouldn't be."

But then I thought of the logistics of trying to get chickens from bumfuck middle of nowhere all the way over to the Tower, and then up the Tower without anyone being seriously maimed, and I was like, "There's no way they would though. Too much work." 

Then I was like.

“Oh. I forgot about Sir Masochist Kyle "I climbed to the top of Infamy Bridge at ass o'clock for fucking lightbulbs" Crane" and I was like “...He totally would."

So now I have this truly Kyle-torturous idea where he finds a couple bedraggled chickens scampering around a backyard on the outskirts of the slums--near the ocean, past Infamy bridge, past the Ferry station, nearby the Railroad station safe zone where Rais' men were with the dynamite. A VERY specific area.

Here’s how it goes. So he finds these chickens, right. And obviously he radios Brecken like "Hey Harris. Uh. I found some chickens. Live ones. We have shittons of cucumbers and I’m pretty sure these lil guys eat those. Do you think we have a place we can put em? Bcus like, eggs are good. And stuff."

and Brecken's like "You found fucking what"

"Chickens."

"LIVE chickens."

"...Yeah."

Brecken sounds like he cannot fucking believe their luck. He's like "If you don't bring those little bastards back, I will actually stab you. Where are you? Alfie's friends helped fix up a car and I could send em over if it's an accessible location" and it is decidedly Not an accessible location so Kyle, resident try-hard, is like "Nah don't worry about it. It's just a couple hungry chickens. I got this."

",,,You HAVE dealt with chickens before, yeah?"

"Well,,,no, but they're just chickens. I can hold one in a single hand. How hard could it be?"

He doesn't understand why Brecken laughs and laughs and laughs at him. Brecken's just like "No, I'd love to see you try, really, but seriously, just stay there. I'll send some Runners over to help."

Kyle's mildly offended. Yes, he's a city boy. Yes, he's never really encountered chickens in his life. But he is a grown ass man. These are just a bunch of sleepy-looking feathery fucks. They're cute, even! It's gonna be fine. He'll just....meet the Runners halfway, alright? So he tries to pick up a chicken.

Dude.

This is where this chicken goes fucking ballistic. With unadulterated rage held at an intensity that does not, at ALL, seem like it should fit into that itty bitty feather body, this chicken kicks the shit out of Kyle. It takes him thirty minutes to wrestle--LITERALLY WRESTLE--five hollering chickens--two roosters and three hens--into a busted ass cage. He is yelling the ENTIRE time.

By the time he’s done, I’d imagine he could hear several Virals pounding the shit out of the barb wire fence and is Praying that it holds. Once these asshole chickens are securely locked in, they are still hissing and spitting at him, Virals are spitting and hissing at him in equal measure, he is covered in a multitude of cuts, he is just a little faint from mild blood loss and heat exhaustion, and he is embarrassingly close to frustrated tears.

He stabs the Virals through the fence with mute, rage-filled precision, grabs the chickens, throws a couple bags of their heavy-ass feed into his backpack, and off he trots, moving down to the coast and following it to just before the Ferry station (less Infected near the water--fuck that tunnel by the gas station hide-out), hugging it all the way under Infamy Bridge, up the road and all the way to the Fisherman's village, then up the road, up to the cell tower(?) safe house, and then down towards some of the slums, and then towards Zere's research trailer.

By the time he nears the Tower, the chickens are making such a ruckus that he's been relentlessly swinging his sword one-handed at encroaching zombies and he is YELLING at the chickens to just shut the fuck up.

So obviously, Spike is drawn outside by the noise. He comes to a scene of Kyle Crane, covered in blood, holding a writhing crate of chickens in one arm, and battling back easily 20 zombies with a sword one-handed. The guards are frozen, watching the spectacle, so he kicks em into motion and in seconds, the zombies are decimated by bullets.

Crane turns to look at him with a look of SUCH despair and he says, distraught, as Virals immediately start shrieking from somewhere scarily nearby, "Why. Why would you shoot guns?" and Spike feels really bad.

So Kyle books it back to the Tower, makes it up all those stairs in less that two minutes as Virals just start to get their eyes on him, and he all but throws the chickens at Blake, one of the dudes who guards the entrance. Kyle crawls up the wall to the Tower landing. Flops on his back. Does not move. Blake peers down at him, concerned.

"You alright?"

Blake looks warily at the extremely angry chickens in the crate. Kyle just shoots him a look of utter despair. Blake nods, and wanders off to find bandages. Eventually Kyle hauls himself up, and radios Brecken. "The chickens are at the fucking Tower. Tell me where I'm putting these little bastards or so help me GOD, Harris."

Brecken's like "Holy SHIT, Kyle. My runner's have been looking for you for ages. Let me radio em back--we set up a coop for them on the roof."

Kyle scrubs his face. "FINE." and he picks up the chickens. Trudges to the elevator. Goes up to the top, climbs the stairs to the roof, and finds Khaliq, who looks like he's trying VERY hard not to laugh at the look on Kyle's face.

"Let me take those from you, friend." Khaliq says consolingly. "You'll be the first to get some scrambled eggs, I'll make sure of it."

Kyle goes into the fenced in "coop" himself. Puts the crate of chickens in the coop. Stares at it, heaving. "I don't even fucking like eggs. They're gross. They're so gross." One of the chickens does not appear to appreciate this honesty and lets out a particularly loud caw. "Shut UP." Kyle goes, and kicks the side of the crate because he apparently, at this point, has the rage-impulse-control of a twelve year old.

Unfortunately, God shows yet again that He does not like twelve year olds and the crate busts open. Not only do the chickens gang up on Kyle for one last hurrah in beating the living shit out of him, not only is this the scene that Brecken comes to the roof just in time to see, but Kyle ALSO gets to onlook in utter despair as all five chickens make a break for the open coop door, haul ass to the edge of the roof, and fucking jump off.

He just. He just lays there on the ground, face pressed to the top of the roof, while Brecken and Khaliq lose it.

Thankfully, the chickens are aerodynamic and take awhile to fall. And they fall right into the arms of the runners who'd been called back from looking for Kyle, and--since the chickens are now paralyzed with terror--they are very cooperative all the way back up, and they make it safe and sound into the coop after all.

Now. We are not done YET. Bcus recall.

There is a recurrent easter egg in the Dying Light games where chickens are aliens.

So there is one night. Where Crane is on the roof of the tower, enjoying the air, because he had this awful nightmare of chickens eating his organs and crawling out of his ribcage. He goes over to go angrily pelt them with cucumber chunks because it IS helpful--it feeds them--and he gets some satisfaction out of nailing them on the heads with the cucumbers chunks since it doesn't hurt them--just startles them

But as he rounds the corner to see the chickens, all five of them are crowded around a mysterious looking device and speaking into it.

"Yes, we tested him. His perseverance was most admirable. Anger control leaves a bit to be desired, but he was ruthlessly effective. He may be a good candidate for our blessing."

He stares. Rubs his eyes.

"What the fuck are you guys doing?" He says, shaking his head in utter disbelief. He prays to God that he is hallucinating. God does not answer.

Instead, one of the chickens turns to him, real slow. Crawls onto the side of the coop with very un-chickenlike crawling skills. Looks him directly in the eyes.

"No one will ever believe you." The chicken says. "Ba-cawk!" and it falls backwards into the coop, alongside the others, which are now acting remarkably more chicken-like.

The mysterious device is now gone, having disappeared while Kyle was distracted by the chicken looking into his eyes.

Kyle stares at the chickens for awhile. He wishes he could say he was thinking, pondering, even. But there are literally no fucking thoughts in his head. He has a big capacity for bullshit--his fuckbudget is massive. But somehow. Finally. He has finally encountered something that does not fit into it.

He goes to bed. He never fucking tells ANYONE.

(And when he wakes up one morning with a chicken stood on his chest, face inches from his, he just goes back to sleep. He does not get paid enough for this, or enough to ponder WHY he's a little more aerodynamic after that. No, sir.)

And bam that’s how the Tower would get chickens. 

[octoberobserver]

Life is short(er than Eddie Kaspbrak)

(Read on ao3)

“Life is short. Especially if you drink and smoke as much as I do.”

A chorus of laughter rippled through the crowd.

Richie Tozier waited, microphone clenched tightly in his hand as he took several steps across the brightly-lit stage. 

He focused on a spot in the middle-distance, a shape slightly to the left of the glaring spotlight, and took a deep breath, shoving down the nerves swimming in the depths of his stomach. 

You’re Trashmouth, not pukemouth, Tozier. Keep it together. 

The familiar voice rang in the back of his mind, forcing him to swallow down the bile creeping up his throat with a grimace. 

“I learned just how short life is only last year. When...when my childhood friend died.”

His voice was quieter than he would have liked, but not as quiet as the silence that met those words. 

He waved a hand, trying and failing for dismissive, “Don’t worry, this is still stand-up comedy, not sit-down depression.”

A beat. 

“I know, I know, not my best, but give me a break, I’ve had a rough year.”

He snorted a little, taking a couple of more steps, gaze focused out into the crowd that he could barely see. 

That’s not a surprise, four eyes. 

“This friend, he was such an annoying little turd,” Richie rolled his eyes for affect, knowing that the cameras were broadcasting his ugly mug up on the giant, high definition TV monitors above him.

“He was this tiny motherfucker, like if Marty McFly had even less of a growth spurt and even more of a desire to bang his mom.”

Louder chuckles washed like a wave toward him as he switched his microphone to his other hand. 

“I mean, this kid had more issues than The Walking Dead ,” Richie winked, clicking his fingers toward the audience, “and that was my token joke for the millennials in the room.”

Another chorus of laughs at that. 

He cupped his hand to the side of his mouth and stage-whispered into the mic, “Seriously though, Kirkman, if you’re watching this, from one professional to another, call it a day, man. Zombies just aren’t scary anymore. Gormless idiots with body-odor issues and questionable eating habits? Fuck, that’s just described every hipster in L.A.”

The answering laughter was the loudest yet. 

He shrugged, “But anyway, my friend, he was this itty-bitty rage machine. Like what didn’t get this kid riled up was shorter than Donald Trump’s wang. So, naturally, me being...well, me,” he winked conspiratorially, “I relished in pushing all the little shit’s buttons like he was my favourite game at the arcade.” 

He paused, as if in afterthought, “My actual favourite videogame was Street Fighter, by the way. Top of the leaderboard from ‘87 to ‘89, three summers in a row. And my streak probably woulda continued had I not moved out of my shitty hometown. And you know...not discovered there was something a hell of a lot more interesting I could’ve been doing with my right hand. Cheaper too.” 

A booming laugh from somewhere in the front row made him smirk. 

“That guy knows what I’m talkin’ about.” 

He paused.

“Darts.”

The same booming laugh only grew louder, dozens of others joining it.

“What?” Richie asked, all faux-innocence, “What were you guys thinking? I’ll have you know, you’re looking at Cali’s Youngest Darts Champ—” he snorted, his shoulders shaking with mirth, “Nah, sorry. Even I don’t believe me. Yeah, fine, I meant jerking off. The five knuckle shuffle. Milking the monster. Boppin’ the one-eyed weasel—what, you really thought you’d get through a Richie Tozier gig without at least one joke about my penchant for waxin’ the carrot?”

He snorted as the laughter only kept getting louder, “I’m full of these, folks. Burpin’ kojak, jackin’ the beanstalk, jerkin’ the gerkin, and my personal favourite...punchin’ the clown upside down.”

Richie basked in the jovial sounds of the audience for a moment, eyes lowering to the floor.

“Fuckin’ clowns, man. Always hated ‘em. Eddie did too.”

He paused as the laughter died down, running a hand through his hair. 

“That’s my friend. Eddie. The short kid with a shorter fuse who I loved riling up more than anything,” he smiled gently, “Well, almost anything.”

His hand tightened on the microphone, his palm slick with nerves as he tried to continue, his throat noticeably dryer. 

That’s what the water’s for, dumbass. 

He reached out and clasped the glass in his free hand, taking a sip, willing his forehead to not break out in beads of sweat under the hot stage lights. 

Can’t look like you just got done fuckin’ my mom on your big Netflix show, Rich.

His smile came back as he lowered the glass back down onto the stool, forcing his eyes back out into the theatre. 

“I loved him most.”

The words felt like they rang throughout the room, but deep down he knew that they didn’t. Not any more than the rest of his routine did, anyway. Still, admitting that, out loud, for the first time to more than himself, felt giant. Momentous. Something his thirteen year old self could never even dream of lest he thought it was Pennywise fucking with him. 

But now...admitting what he felt for Eddie Kapsbrak for nearly thirty years, even when he couldn’t remember him, was one of the easiest things in the world. 

Ain’t life a bitch?

“Yeah, I adored that little shithead, right up until the day he died, still do,” the words fell from his lips like a waterfall now, “But we lost touch, me, Eds, and the rest of our group, over the years. But last year—last year, we were brought back together, in a way that if I were more of a hippie and less of a cynical fuck, I would say could only have been by fate.”

He could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, watching his every move. 

Well what else would they be doing, fuckwad? Flying kites?

“And suddenly, there he was. Little Eddie Spaghetti from middle school. Still a shortass, short-fused, hypochondriac, just how I remembered. And it didn’t take us long to fall back into old habits,” Richie paused, scratching his chin, “namely me annoying the shit out of him and him trying not to blow a gasket. Needless to say, we both failed. Miserably.” 

Chuckles melded together in a pretty sweet harmony. One Richie felt like he could listen to forever. 

Gettin’ soft in your old age, Trashmouth? And here I thought you were always rock hard.

“He died a few days later.”

The chuckles abruptly stopped, a silence echoing throughout the room. 

Richie took a breath, gaze more intent on the crowd, seeking out the four familiar faces that he knew were silently cheering him on.

His hand began to shake.

He gripped the microphone tighter until it stopped.

“After nearly thirty years of ‘I fucked your mom’ jokes, and ‘isn’t it hard being a straight, white man in middle America’ jokes, and shitty ‘I got caught masturbating to my girlfriend’s friend’s Facebook page’ jokes, I was reunited with the love of my pathetic fucking life, only for him to die less than a week later. Never knowing how I—”

Richie broke off, eyes stinging even after a year as he gasped in a breath of air, winded from the stream of words that he had kept bottled up for who the fuck knew how long. But he wasn’t done. Its like they say, in for a pennywise—

Pretty sure that’s not how that phrase goes, asshat. 

“And yeah, you heard me right. When I say love, I’m not talkin’ a ‘no homo, I love you man, bromance’ kinda thing. I’m talkin’ full homo. Gayer than RuPaul fucking Elton John on a unicorn made of rainbows kinda homo.”

A surprised burst of laughter followed that, the audience clearly having recovered from the initial shock of one of America’s most ‘everyman’ comedians outing himself to an gathering of nearly a thousand people, while being filmed for a streaming service. 

Richie's heart hammered in his chest, his ears ringing as he continued, a little quieter, “So, yeah. In...in case it wasn’t clear. I’m queer,” he held up his hands, “Sorry, sorry, I could never resist a rhyme. I’m only human. A gay one. Just so we’re all on the same page.”

And there it was. Out for the whole world (or those with a Netflix subscription, anyway) to see. 

His oldest secret. 

It was never dirty, though. 

Nothing about how he felt about Eddie, could ever be. 

I’d never allow it. 

His heart was no longer racing, his palms no longer sweating. 

He felt lighter than he had in years. 

Like my mom stopped sitting on your chest?

“Eddie was the one who gave me my nickname,” Richie smirked with a shake of his head, trying not to let himself get overwhelmed by what he just admitted, “Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier. I hadn’t heard it over two decades, before I got a phone call from an old friend and it all came flooding back.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I threw up that night. Right at the start of my show, I’m sure you guys remember, some of you were probably there. If so, sorry.  Never mix bourbon and childhood trauma—anyway, it was all over TMZ...‘Tozier blows chunks nearly as hard as he does his show.’ Not their most clever title, if I’m honest. But they’re hardly going for a Pulitzer.”

Murmurs of agreement flitted through the crowd. 

“So we all met up, me, Eddie, and the rest of middle school gang. And these fuckers, I swear, talk about giving a guy a complex. One of them, is like a super successful novelist, who writes shit I couldn’t even dream of; another looks like a fucking GQ model and Jay Ryan had a baby that has a talent for building skyscrapers; another is this jacked as shit genius who reads more books in a week than I have my entire life; another is a gorgeous designer with more style in her pinky than I have in my entire body—and then there was Stan, the empty seat at our table.”

He sighed, “Even though he couldn’t be with us, I knew he was still the best. The best friend, confidant, and yeah—I’m dangerously close to Golden Girls territory here, I know, but yeah. That was us. The Losers Club. That's what we called ourselves. ‘Embracing our place on the fringes of society in small town America’ or whatever the fuck we told ourselves back then. Not the most original, I know, but hey,” Richie shrugged, throwing up his hands, “I never was.”

You had your moments. 

He took a shaky breath, “It’s true, though. I never was original. I...I didn’t write my own material. Something Eddie found out pretty fucking quickly. And that—he knowing that, almost scared me as much as him finding out I had a 27 year old, heart-boner the size of Texas for him.”

Richie leaned a little of his weight on the stool, practically feeling his new agent boring holes into the side of his skull from backstage. He had to fight hard to keep that little admission into the show. His unorginality, not his homosexuality. 

Wonders never cease.

“So,” he stood up a little straighter, leveling his gaze back outward, fighting the urge to fold his arms, “when he got in an accident and died a few days later, I made a promise. To him. And to myself.”

He could practically taste the anticipation in the room. Knew that somewhere, out there, was Bill, Ben, Bev and Mike, they the only ones in the know. He thought of killer clowns and R + E and things left unsaid. 

It’s time, Richie.

He stopped at the edge of the stage, stared out over the crowd, blinking against the bright spotlight, and in that moment, he could almost swear his saw a familiar figure in the distance, watching on, seeming so much larger than life than his 5’9” height ever truly showed.

Richie spoke out, loud and clear, hand steady on the microphone, “I promised no more secrets. No more hiding who I am. No more letting others speak for me. So here I am,” he rolled his shoulders, tilting his head, “I’m gay. I didn’t used to write my own material, but I do now. It took a reunion, a death, and a hell of a lot of talkin’ trash, but I’m finally living the life I wanna live.”

Thanks, Eds. For everything.

He took a deep breath, feeling every eye, both human and mechanical on him, the soft presence of pretend-Eddie, that had been a constant, snarky companion since he started this tour, lingering somewhere in the back of his mind, mingled with his own voice, battling it at any given opportunity. Just like he always did.

“So, if you can accept that, can accept Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier and his zany, weird and sometimes sad shit, then I just have one thing to say to you—”

He waited a beat. Then two. 

Overdramatic as always, Rich.

“Welcome to The Losers Club, assholes.”

~*~

Alternate Ending

“Welcome to The Losers Club, assholes.”

A thunderous chorus of applause, laughter and cheering followed those words. 

Richie briefly closed his eyes, letting the warmth, the acceptance from the crowd wash over him. He wished, not for the first time, that he could transport himself back to 1988 and tell his younger self that, as cliche as it sounded, it does get better. Even if it takes thirty years, killer clowns and nearly being mauled to death by a mutant Pomeranian. 

Henry Bowers and all the other fuckwads in Derry could never take this away from him. 

Or Eddie.

“Full disclosure - he didn’t stay dead.”

The audience quietened down as Richie took a breath, shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying not to wince as memories of the worst few weeks in his life, tried to assault him.

“He flatlined on the operating table. Twice. Almost gave me a heart attack, three times, and bitched me out about how unsanitary eating a breakfast burrito at his bedside was about a dozen fucking times - but he didn’t stay dead. Trust Eds to defy the laws of medical science and survive being skewered like a shishkebab through sheer stubbornness.” 

Don’t call me Eds, dickhead. 

He could practically feel Eddie screaming at him from just off-stage, standing where he had stood every night of Richie’s rehearsal, watching more intently than any pageant mom in existence. 

“So yeah, sorry for the emotional rollercoaster, but good news - he’s my biggest fan, now. Not that he’ll ever admit it. And not that he has much choice, considering he gets the bolder, longer and uncut version of this,” Richie gestured lewdly at his body, “every night for free.”

Snickers reached his ears as he turned on the spot, finally meeting those dark eyes that proved more of a calming presence than any bourbon money could buy - that gaze speaking volumes. 

Focus, asshole. You’ve got a job to do. 

Shaking his head, Richie winked at him before he turned back to the audience, “Unlike you unlucky fuckers. Paying sixty bucks to stare at my giant forehead for eighty straight minutes? Sorry, eighty gay minutes. Gotta plug that at every given opportunity if I don’t want my publicist to have a meltdown Monday morning.”

He snorted, waving his hand, “So, yeah, that’s all she wrote. Or, all I wrote, I guess. Gotta plug that more too. Writing my own jokes now. Genital warts and all. So, be gentle. I’m more fragile than Putin’s masculinity.”

He took one last step forward, basking in the wave of laughter before taking a short bow. 

“L.A. you’ve been amazing. Thank you and goodnight!”

~*~

“Your ending needs work.”

“Oh really, Billy boy? You’re one to talk! Didn’t your first book end with radioactive eggs—”

“I think you should have done an encore.”

“Et tu, Benjamin? Engaged life has changed you.”

They were all sat around a circular table, one reminiscent of The Jade of the Orient the night that changed all their lives, again, sixteen months ago. Minus the haunted fortune cookies, thankfully. They still went with Italian cuisine this time though, just to be safe. 

“I thought the show went great, Rich. Almost worth the increase in Netflix prices.”

“High praise Beverly, thank you.”

“Almost worth me remembering Bev’s Netflix password.”

“I’m touched, Michael. Thank you.”

The O.G. Losers Club erupted into laughter, each pair of eyes settling on the only member of the group that had yet to say anything - Eddie Kaspbrak. 

Richie felt the tell-tale itch at the back of his neck as their eyes met. The very same one he would get as a kid when he told a joke and waited to see how it landed, his gaze always drawn to Eddie first, his opinion the one that mattered most. 

Guess that’s just another thing that never changed. 

Eddie tilted his head, nudging Richie with his elbow, “Did you have to keep in the shishkebab line? The official story is a car accident, asshole. Who gets skewered in a car accident?”

“You do,” the Losers all replied in unison, not even looking up from their food. 

A slow smile spread across Richie’s face, “Yes, Eduardo, I had to keep in that line. How else am I supposed to work out my deep, emotional trauma?” 

“Therapy! Like a normal person!”

“Aw, but Eds, you’ve been reminding me that I’m not normal since we were thirteen.”

The rest of the Losers snickered as Eddie gaped at him, an indescribable expression on his face. 

Richie pressed on, “Ooh, I could look into getting an emotional support animal—“

“Or a guide dog,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “You are nearly blind.”

“Do you think there are any Pomeranian service animals? Pennywise the Pom just has such a good ring—“

“We are not naming our dog Pennywise, asshole!”

“But Eddie ! We can’t name it ‘IT.’ ‘IT the Pom’ just doesn’t sound—”

“We’re not naming it ‘IT’, either. We’re giving it a nice, normal dog name.” 

“Cujo it is, then!”

“I hate you.”

“You really don’t.”

“I missed this,” Bev piped up over Richie and Eddie’s highly entertaining bickering, “It's like an after-show show.” 

“I’m always tempted to record them,” Mike smirked. 

“Ooh Mikey, you kinky sonofabitch,” Richie threw a bread roll across the table at him, winking, “Want a signed copy of our sex tape?”

“Beep, beep, Richie,” they all groaned in response, Eddie included, his cheeks an adorable rosy-hue. 

Richie held up his hands, “Hey, if Kim K can create a billion dollar empire off hers, I’m sure mine would—”

“Nobody wants to see your pale ass, Rich,” Eddie cut across him, taking a sip of his wine, their thighs pressing together as he leaned further into him. 

“Except for you, right Eds?”

The rosy-hue turned crimson. 

“You wish, dickwa—”

“Excuse me?”

The entire table froze as a new voice quietly called out over them. 

With wide eyes, Richie turned to the voice, seeing a young boy of about fourteen, standing at his side, nervously shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. The Losers exchanged weighted glances, all vividly remembering what happened the last time a fan approached Richie. 

“Yeah, kid?” He forced himself to reply, hoping his voice sounded somewhat normal as he braced himself for the worst case scenario. 

Which, after all they had been through, would probably be Pennywise popping up to throw his two cents in on their dog name ideas. 

“I, uh...sorry, I don’t wanna interrupt your dinner,” the kid cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “I just wanted to say that...um. I saw your show tonight and—and...it meant a lot to me.”

A beat of silence fell around the table as everyone digested his words. 

“I um...I’ve been a big fan for awhile now and uh...seeing you come out like that...knowing that you’re happy and successful, it means a...a lot to someone like me,” he finished, clearly embarrassed at his rambling explanation. 

Richie meanwhile, was busy trying not to cry, his throat tight. The kid, while blond and blue-eyed and not cursed with coke-bottle glasses, in that moment, could have been him at fourteen. All gangly-limbed and awkward, clearly scared out of his mind, and yet, went up to a group of strangers and said out loud who he was, his voice quiet, but never unsure. 

He was braver than Richie ever was. 

Richie reached out to shake the kid’s hand. 

“It…” he swallowed down the lump in his throat, emotion stinging his eyes, “It means a lot to me for you to say that, kid. Thank you.”

The boy nodded, a small smile spreading across his face as their hands dropped. 

“You uh…” Richie glanced around the table for a second, “You want a picture?”

The kid’s smile grew larger, his blue eyes shining brightly. 

“Hell yeah!”

The whole table laughed as he held out his cellphone, Eddie dutifully taking it and holding it up as Richie leaned in closer, he and the kid smiling for the camera. 

Once they heard the camera shutter click, Eddie handed the phone back, his eyes catching Richie’s and holding his gaze for a moment, his expression saying a thousand words that Richie knew him well enough to hear. 

The boy excitedly clutched his phone, gushing, “Thanks so much, Richie. Enjoy the rest of your dinner,” he nodded at the rest of the table before turning on his heel and racing back over to a woman who must have been his mother. 

“Hey kid,” Richie called out after him, “What’s your name?”

The boy turned, grin matching his mother’s as he called back, “Henry!”

A silence fell over the Losers. 

Richie looked to Eddie, eyes tracing the faint scar that marred his left cheek. 

Guess some things do change. 

He turned back to the kid, soft smile on his face. 

“Nice to meet you, Henry.”

~*~

If you had told Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier sixteen months ago that in the near-future, he would be writing his own critically-acclaimed material, just finished filming a new show with Netflix that added a few more zeros to his bank account, and was proudly and openly sharing his home with the love of his life, he would have said you were nuttier than one of Dumbo’s shits. 

Then again, stranger things have happened. 

To Richie and his merry band of misfits more than most. 

Namely, said love of his life, dying right in front of him, only to return several weeks later, reanimated by some ancient ritual bullshit called forth by the murdered victims of a sadistic parasite masquerading as a psychotic killer clown. 

Say that ten times fast. 

“Bill didn’t ask about Georgie this time.” 

That same love had been staring into space for a worryingly long while since they returned from the Italian restaurant after dropping their friends off at their hotel. 

Richie sighed as he sank down next to Eddie on the couch, their shoulders brushing before Richie lifted his arm up to press against the back of Eddie’s neck, his fingers lacing themselves in his hair. 

“I think he knows that there’s nothing else to say, Eds.”

Eddie leaned against him, tilting his head onto Richie’s shoulder with an answering sigh. 

“It—I only saw him that one time. When...when I died. Next thing I knew I was washing up in the sewers, being found by a bunch of kids and shoved into the back of an ambulance. But God, I wish I could see him again, Rich. Just so I could have something, anything , to tell Bill.” 

Richie shifted a little, pressing his face into Eddie’s hair and taking a deep breath. 

“No offense to you or Big Bill, Eds, but I don’t.”

Eddie made a noise of protest, so Richie hurriedly continued, “I get it, I do. But...but if you ever see Georgie in that...place again, it means only one thing. That you’re dead. And I—I can’t go through that. Not again.”

A beat of silence passed between them. 

“I hate to break it to ya, Rich, but I am gonna die someday. For good this time.” 

Richie peppered kisses into his hair, “Yeah, but hopefully by then we’ll both be well into our nineties, shitting our pants and trying to figure out how to turn on the hologram projector that streams Matlock directly into our brains.” 

Eddie snorted out a laugh, turning his face to press more firmly against Richie’s neck.

The comedian failed to suppress a shudder as lips brushed against his skin, mumbled words causing goosebumps to rise in their dozens. 

“I’m proud of you, you know. I—I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier.”

“Uh, dude, you had ample opportunity in front of the Lose—”

Eddie’s hand caught his, squeezing it gently, cutting him off. 

“You’re braver than you think.”

Richie’s heart raced in his chest at those familiar words. 

He winced, “If I—if I hadn’t said that, Eds, you wouldn’t have gone all Gerard Butler in 300 and—”

“And the deadlights would have killed you,” Eddie interjected, reciting his side of the well-worn argument, lifting his head up to look Richie directly in the eye, “and no way in hell was I letting that happen.”

Richie knew his face was doing something soft, something stupid, but he couldn’t help it.

“My hero.”

Eddie snorted, murmuring, “Okay, Bonnie Tyler,” before closing the space between them and pecking his lips in a chaste kiss that Richie very quickly turned into something deeper, tracing his tongue against his bottom lip and pushing Eddie back to lie on the couch, covering his body with his. 

God, he would never tire of this. Touching Eddie, breathing Eddie, hearing Eddie, tasting—

“You know I never meant it, right?”

Richie stared down at him, breathing labored, his mouth agape in confusion as to why the very enjoyable kissing was suddenly halted. 

“That I’m Bonnie Tyler? Uh, yeah Eds, I—”

“No, Rich,” Eddie brought a hand up to the side of his face, his dark eyes shining brightly as he stared up at him, a pained expression marring his handsome face, “You know I never meant it when I said you weren’t normal, or called you weird or...any of the other shit I used to say to you. I was just a dumb kid, I lashed out when you got under my skin. I just...I can’t bear the idea that I ever made you feel like those dickwads did back—”

Richie leaned down and kissed him gently, once, twice, before pulling back, sweeping his thumb across Eddie’s jaw.

“You never made me feel like that, Eds. It was never...it was never you that made me feel like a freak, creep, weirdo, or any other Radiohead lyric,” he ran a hand through his hair as Eddie gripped his hip tightly.

“You made me feel...good about myself. Every time you’d laugh at one of my jokes or roll your eyes at me, I felt...amazing. You were my first proper fan, dude. Even if you’d never admit it.” 

A small smile, a little watery, spread out on Eddie’s face as he rested his head on the armrest of the couch, staring up at Richie, still a little conflicted. 

“But that summer, at the arcade when Bowers—”

“Bowers was a homophobic dickhole. And his cousin doth protest too much, methinks. Being gay in a shitty, small town like Derry, surrounded by small minds and smaller dicks - it sucked, yeah. I was terrified, sure.” 

He cupped Eddie’s face in his hands, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together as he whispered. 

“But it was never because of you, Eddie. It was never your fault. I...I loved you. Some bigots throwing slurs wasn’t gonna change that. And I immortalized that the very same day.”

R+E carved into the Kissing Bridge.

It still brought a smile to Eddie’s face every time he thought of it, and how Richie had been so nervous to show it to him when they finally began getting their collective shit together after Eddie’s recovery and subsequent divorce. 

“I love you, Eddie. I did then and I do now. All that’s different is my feelings are now being streamed onto every TV, phone and tablet in North America, instead of hidden away on some bridge that almost nobody crosses anymore.”

He punctuated that with another kiss, the gentlest so far. 

Just as he went to pull away, Eddie surprised him by pulling him down further onto him, forcing his knees either side of his waist lest he topple gracelessly off the couch altogether. 

“Fuck, Eds,” he gasped as Eddie caught his earlobe between his teeth, his fingers digging into Richie’s hips tightly. 

“I’m still your biggest fan,” he breathed right into Richie’s ear causing him to shiver so hard his glasses slipped down his nose. 

“Yeah ya are. The biggest .”

Eddie groaned at Richie’s suggestive tone, capturing his lips again before gasping against them.

“And I may not have some fancy stand-up to prove it, but I love you too. I always have. Back when you were a lanky, four-eyed, hammock-hogger and when I was a shortass, short-fused hypochondriac.”

“ Was ?”

Eddie shoved him off him, Richie landing on the floor with a laugh, arms and legs akimbo. He lay on the floor and stared up at those eyes that he never could quite forget, even when spooky magic kinda made him. 

“Didn’t you promise me a drink like an hour ago?” Eddie asked him from where he still lay on the couch, slightly leaned over it to regard him with an unimpressed look.

Richie winked, putting his hands behind his head, “Nightcap before sex, huh? You’re living on the edge, Kaspbrak.”

A small smile, soft and private, graced Eddie’s face, then. 

“Might as well. If I’ve learned anything over the last year, it’s that life is short.”

Richie hummed, “Yeah, almost as short as you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself.”

Eddie was up and off the couch, hauling Richie off the floor with a strength that never failed to mesmerize him, before either of them could blink. 

He shoved Richie against the living room wall, leaning up into his space, his eyes almost black as he breathed back, “Only if you ask nicely, Trashmouth.”

Richie let out a groan, eyes practically rolling back into his skull as Eddie pressed their bodies flush together. 

“Just one question, though,” Eddie murmured against his neck as his short and slender fingers deftly undid the buttons on Richie’s loud Hawaiian shirt. 

“W-What?” Richie barely had the semblance of mind to ask as those talented fingers started roaming across his chest. 

“What do we call the sex tape we’ll give to Mike?”

***********************

(More Reddie fics here)

[astaroth1357]

Congratulations!! So happy for you!! Do you mind writing a HC for the Tiny!MC, where the brothers see Tiny!MC in trouble with some lesser demons? Like, the lesser demon is bullying them or about to hurt them, how would the brothers react? You don’t have to write this if you don’t want to tho. Again Congratulations!!!

Demon Brothers React to Tiny!MC Being Threatened by Lesser Demons

You know, my first thought was "Which one of you fuckers lost tiny!MC in the first place?? Bad demons! Worse than usual! Keep better track of your itty-bitty human!"

Pretty much uses the same continuity to the rest of my Tiny!Series, I put this somewhere during the “Lucifer, I Shrunk Myself...” portion.

Warnings: Violence, Overly Protective Behavior

Intro:

Five minutes. Their demonic guardian said they were only going to put them down for Five. Minutes. It shouldn't have been that dangerous, or even risky, because everyone should have known that tiny!MC was under their protection. Sure, an itsy-bitsy human would make a perfect snack... but who would want to provoke the wrath of the student council for no reason??… Okay so, lesser demons aren’t exactly known for their intelligence but still...

This is not going to end well...

Lucifer

Doesn’t that lowlife know who he's messing with? Lucifer almost pities him for being so stupid, really…

He brought tiny!MC out to the gardens at their request because they were getting restless being stuck in his room. It wasn't supposed to be a dangerous area so he felt fine leaving them briefly to answer a call from Diavolo. When he came back he found a lesser demon standing over them... drooling...

What came out was a rather chilling side of Lucifer normally only seen by Mammon. One where he can walk up to a person, demon form out in full, then drag them away by the collar with an eerily calm smile on his face.

Tiny!MC didn't see what Lucifer did to the demon… but they did hear Cerberus get summoned before the firstborn returned to them. Their imagination worked to fill in the blanks…

Lucifer apologized to them rather kindly (a real rarity for him) but they noticed he cut their visit short and took them back to the House quickly. They got the sense he'd rather they be safe but bored in his room than entertained but vulnerable to such a dangerous world…

Mammon

Pfffffft, Mammon is protective of MC even when they’re normal-sized. Them being tiny doesn’t change much.

He had brought them along with him for one of his gambling nights. Unfortunately, he got too absorbed in the game to notice a group of lesser demons getting closer to tiny!MC than they really should have… At least until they shouted for his help.

It's rare to see Mammon mad. It really is. But there was nothing but pure rage in his eyes when he grabbed one of the demons by the throat and sent him crashing through the roulette tables. His speed made it pretty easy for him to round up all the others that tried to scatter and he gave them a similar treatment.

After everyone was thoroughly on the ground, bleeding, he asked the MC if they were hurt. If they were, then that'd just earn the downed demons another round of his fury. No one hurts his human like that! Big or small.

He'll apologize a whole bunch for letting his guard down… but also complain a little on the way back to the House because his luck was just starting to turn around too! 😖😞

Leviathan

Direct confrontation isn’t something Levi finds himself in often… but there can be exceptions.

He and tiny!MC were in one of the few stores in town that sold otaku goods and he had set them down to do some browsing in that hyper, distracted fanboy way he gets.

A couple of lesser demons were just some other patrons who happened by them, but who could pass up such a convenient snack?

Well, tiny!MC was convenient until the guys heard what was probably the world's most unholy hissing sound coming from the other side of the room…

Levi has never claimed to be at the peak of demonic prowess or anything, but just this once he was at their defense at a speed he’s never pulled off before. In practically a blink of an eye, he has one asshole lifted by the collar and the other getting crushed by his tail. It wasn't a pretty sight...

After the threat was dealt with, he snapped right back into the same ol'Levi like nothing ever happened, though. Blubbering apologies and frantically checking to be sure they were unharmed... What a somewhat terrifying sweetheart. 🤭

He pretty much refused to take them anywhere again until they were back to normal. Who needs the real world anyway?? His room is the only place they ever need to be!

Satan

You know this is exactly why he kept them so close in the first place...

Satan had to retrieve a book from the highest shelf in the RAD library so he set tiny!MC down in order to climb the ladder. A small gang of lesser demons decided to strike while he was up there browsing...

When he slid back down and turned to see the demons had surrounded the table that he left tiny!MC at, his shout alone was powerful enough to rattle the shelves behind him...

Needless to say, the Avatar of Wrath made very short work of the threat. And a library ladder can make a surprisingly versatile weapon if you put it in the hands of someone pissed enough to use it... and strong enough to rip it off its sliding track… What was it? Metal? Steel? Eh, not strong enough to stop an angry Satan anyway.

After the dust settled, he double-checked to be sure the MC was okay and apologized for being so careless... But they could tell he was still trying his best to regain his composure post berserker freakout. Someone's going to have to nurse those bloody knuckles for him later...

His overprotective instincts tripled afterward. If you think that Satan was ever going to put them down again then that’s a fantasy. Between the lesser demons and that sly bastard Solomon, tiny!MC was never leaving his hand at RAD again. Period.

Asmodeus

Excuse me?? Some lesser demon was doing what now?! Oh HELL no!! Not to his adorable tiny!MC!!

Asmo was shopping with tiny!MC and set them down outside a dressing room while he tried on a cute outfit. Apparently, a lesser demon was doing the same in the stall next to him and came out to find a little human waiting patiently outside… powerless… vulnerable… and tasty!

Asmo opened the door right as the demon picked tiny!MC up to have a bite. The fifthborn's scream shattered all the mirrors in the store like he was some kind of infuriated opera singer then he ripped the demon a very verbal (and physical) new one...

Once the attacker was pretty much decimated, Asmo tended to the MC like they'd just gotten dragged through an active war zone. He asked them, "Are you okay?!" so many times that the words "I’m fine" pretty much lost all meaning...

The sheer carnage left the store employees too damn petrified to ask him to leave so he bought the (now ruined) outfit he had on and took them right home. His sweet tiny!MC was definitely getting a spa treatment that night as an apology… Poor thing...

Beelzebub

Apparently, some people just want to go bear poking for fun...

He and tiny!MC were outside a food stall and he had set them down to go wait in line. In hindsight, he probably should have known the meals would attract other hungry demons… ones that wouldn't mind a free snack… And tiny!MC got cornered pretty quickly while his back was turned.

Those demons might have thought twice about their plan, though, if they had known Beel would attack them with the entire stall itself. 😰

Poor tiny!MC, by some miracle, barely got out of the way of the wooden structure crashing down on top of their attackers as if dropped by the heavens in a fit of rage... Those not crushed under the wreckage got squashed under Beel's fists...

In the aftermath, Beel was barely recognizable when he picked them back up, holding his bitty human so close that they might have suffocated against his chest. Even the stall's very upset owner just backed away from him after getting a ferocious snarl…

It took him a couple hours to calm back down… Then a couple hundred apologies to Lucifer who has to foot the bill for that guy's ruined livelihood… But hey, no one would ever be dumb enough to touch his tiny!MC again. 

Belphegor

Heeeey! Picking on tiny!MC is his thing! Like he’s going to let anyone else give them any grief…

Belphie likes to hide on the roof of RAD sometimes to take a midday nap so he thought it would be funny to hide tiny!MC from the others by taking them with him one afternoon. Both were peacefully napping when a lesser demon apparently had the same idea and found them.

Belphie woke up when he heard their distressed cries and saw the demon trying to carry tiny!MC away... Oh, he wasn't having that.

Belphie shot up and snapped the scumbag's wrist to get tiny!MC free before he effortlessly sent him flying over the edge in one fell swoop. Give this to the Avatar of Sloth, when he does get moving he’s pretty efficient.

The demon's fall got cushioned by a grove of trees below, which earned Belphie a slightly less severe lecture from Lucifer. He did, however, get a pretty rough one from Satan anyway because he took the MC like that in the first place…

Beel took custody of tiny!MC yet again but even he was grateful to his twin for protecting their little human. Tiny!MC noticed Belphie started sleeping a little lighter when he knew they were around, but he'd deny that any supposed “guilt” had anything to do with it… Whatever he says, I guess. 🙄

[ptolomeia]

Story Time: Restitution

Teen and up

Brotherly/Platonic DRLAMP AU, Clones, psychic powers, Believed Major Character Death, Protective brothers, Suicidal Thoughts, Grief, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Second Chances, Rescues, Brief appearances of first person narration, but we promise they don't last, Everyone Needs A Hug, And surprisingly most of them actually get one

Summary: Story Time: Once upon a time, there was a boy named Thomas who developed psychic powers. Let me tell you, it did not go the way I dreamt it would.

* * *

When Janus learns what the men who made them had done to their progenitor, he knows he needs to get his brothers out. As soon as he can, he defects and starts the work needed to take down the men who made them, and keep his brothers safe.

* * *

After Deceit kills Janus, Virgil is left helpless to watch as Deceit takes his older brothers away from him one by one, until all he has left is the ghost of Not Janus and the possibility of a new brother to hold onto.

AO3

Story Time: Once upon a time, there was a boy named Thomas who developed psychic powers. Let me tell you, it did not go the way I dreamt it would.

* * *

Janus was the first of them to fall to Deceit. He’d been the oldest and smartest and best of them all, and Deceit had killed him.

Virgil knew that made sense. Janus was the most powerful and smartest of them all. Deceit had to know that any plan he made with Janus still around to fight him would have failed, so Deceit had killed him. Ambushed Virgil’s oldest brother on one of his missions, killed him, and started trying destroying everything the organization that made Virgil and his brothers had ever worked on. Deceit was brilliant. Deceit was terrifying. All of their training had been turned towards making Virgil and his remaining brothers powerful enough to destroy him. Apparently they’d done well enough, because the orders had come down last night. Remus would be going after Deceit in two more days.

Virgil bit his lip and tried to keep his worry from even Patton, useless as it was to try to hide what you were feeling from an empath. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Remus could do it—Remus was incredible! Brutal, creative, literally invulnerable, he’d take out Deceit no sweat and be home within the week.

But… Janus had been Janus. And Janus was never going to come home.

Virgil just didn’t want to lose another brother.

* * *

It had taken Remus days to get this deep into Deceit’s lair, but he’d finally managed it. Infiltration was his speciality after all. Well, that and mayhem. It was amazing what you could do when you didn’t have to worry about silly things like “bodily integrity” and “extreme temperatures”. But until he had Deceit right where he wanted him, he could be patient. And then, once Deceit was left in itty-bitty pieces, the Men who’d Made Them would be so distracted by cleaning up the rest of his organization that Remus would be able to grab his brothers and get out. Janus wasn’t there to protect them anymore, and someone had to. Roman would be safe. And so would Virgil.

He just had to kill this bastard and the brothers he had left would be free.

Remus heard steps coming down the hallway he was hiding over and shifted slightly, ready to drop down and destroy. Show time.

He would have sworn the movement was completely silent, but the figure stopped just outside pouncing range. Remus kept his breath as silent as possible, rage burning in his chest. Just a few more steps, and Janus’s ghost would be able to rest easy. All he had to do was wait.

“I know you’re there,” said a familiar voice, and everything inside Remus’s head came to a crashing halt. He was dead. “I can hear you. I don’t know how you made it this far, but you might as well—“

The angle was wrong, and his coordination off, but he still launched himself at the hooded figure not quite below him.

Shadow arms reached out and caught him, throwing him against the wall and pinning him there, and Remus was left staring into familiar brown and yellow eyes. Eyes that were full of things Remus couldn’t name.

“They send you to kill me?” Janus asked, letting go of Remus and vanishing his shadow hands. Remus’s legs refused to take his weight and he kept on sliding right down the wall. Janus was alive. “I wish I could say I thought they were above that,” Janus continued, “asking you to kill your own brother, but I can’t. Not after everything I’ve learned. Not after what they did to Thomas.”

“You’re alive,” Remus managed, not yet able to process anything else. “They told us Deceit killed you!”

“Right, because people who would send someone to kill their own brother—without even telling them—are the epitome of truthfulness,” Janus spat.

“Jan?” Remus asked, and for the first time in years, he let himself sound like the scared little brother no one could ever know he still felt like some times.

“They lied to you, Remus. To all of us. When I found out the truth about Thomas—“

“Who’s this Thomas guy you keep mentioning?” Remus asked. And why didn’t Remus know about him?

Janus looked down at him, thoughts flashing behind his eyes. Remus wished he’d let on what some of them were. “Our progenitor,” Janus finally said.

“Wait, what?” Remus asked. “You know about our progenitor? How? All they ever said was that he developed psychic powers and that’s why they cloned him after he died youn—“

Janus let out a dangerous hiss and Remus froze. Indestructible and immune to physical pain or not, he’d learned young it was really, really dumb to push Janus in a mood like this.

“That is what they said, isn’t it. ‘Died young.’ Well, at least that much wasn’t an outright lie, even with all the truths they hid with it.” Something solidified in Janus’s eyes—he’d made a decision.

“Come on,” he said, coming up to Remus and offering him a hand. “There are things you need to know.”

Without another word, Remus took his—living—brother’s hand and let himself be pulled up. There was no way he was going through with the original mission anymore, and once he had calmed down, Janus would be able to help him figure out what to do. It wasn’t his job alone to protect his brothers anymore. Janus would make sure Roman was never used to control Remus again. That Logan got to relax. That Patton never had to reach into someone’s heart and break them ever again. That Virgil… That Virgil was okay. All Remus had to do was hear Janus out and then they could get started on fixing things.

They walked through the twisting corridors of the base Janus had claimed. Remus’s mind made notes of small improvements that could be made to the already impressive security. He’d tell Janus when he’d calmed down again. Finally, they turned through a door into a small office. Nothing fancy—No pictures on the walls or rugs on the floor or anything. Just a small desk with a single screen on it, attached to a computer, and a chair at the desk. Janus sat down and started typing in commands.

“This room was one of the first ones I set up, when I left. My bedroom is the next door down and I come here when it feels like too much. When I need the reminder of why I left in the first place, and what’s truly at stake.” He got up from the computer. “They’re cued to run one after the other.”

Remus hesitated. His thoughts were too fast, his body needed to move, he didn’t want to—

“Do I really have to sit for this?” Remus asked.

“There’s a lot to take in,” Janus replied, looking over at him. Remus shifted slightly from foot to foot. This was obviously important but he could never focus when sitting sti—

Janus pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to Remus. Remus couldn’t help his grin as he caught the fidget cube, hands immediately going to the clicking side. It might drive everyone else crazy, but he loved it. It was always the first side of his cubes to break.

“Aw shucks, bro. I missed you too,” Remus said, trying for a joke and an easy smile and for once having terrible aim.

“I’ve missed all of you,” Janus said, and he wasn’t even trying to hide how he felt, the confident bastard. “But after you see this, I think you’ll understand why I had to leave.”

Raising an eyebrow, Remus went and sat at the computer as his fingers danced across the cube, clicking and flicking and twirling. On the screen was a familiar face—the same one he saw in the mirror every day, or whenever he saw his brothers, though he didn’t know the subtle differences that distinguished this one. He knew for sure none of his brothers had ever looked that care free and besides, the kid on the screen looked older than most of them. Older than Logan, but younger than Roman or Remus himself. 16 was Remus’s best guess. He could turn and ask Janus—Janus definitely knew—or he could watch the videos and probably get the answers he wanted anyway. He reached up and pressed play.

On the screen, the kid started to move, smile becoming bigger and even more carefree, “What is UP everybody!”

Remus sat and watched. First were the videos of Thomas goofing around and having fun. And then the powers started showing up. Remus recognized them. The rest of their powers might be a lot more subtle, but he’d know Virgil and Janus’s shadow hands anywhere.

The next videos weren’t Thomas’s. They were security footage of familiar corridors and a cell and a kid who’d never been trained in his life trying to escape and failing miserably. Then came the experiments. Baseline stuff—Just tests to see how much you’d improved in certain categories. Lots of them, sure, but nothing Remus hadn’t been doing for as long as he could remember.

The next video didn’t have Thomas in it at all. It was a meeting of the men who ran the facility. The ones who’d ordered all of them made. Remus knew them from their pictures on the walls, but had never seen them in anything else. Not before now. The meeting did not start well. Disagreements. Arguments. Yelling. Finally, agreement. Conclusion.

Back to Thomas, with the experiments getting worse. More intense. Pushing Thomas to do more and more and more—again, it wasn’t anything Remus and his brothers hadn’t had to do, but Thomas wasn’t trained to take anyof this. Clips of Thomas crying in his cell. Thomas begging to be let out. To see his parents. To see his brothers. Thomas didn’t have any brothers in the facility. Remus felt Janus standing behind him, watching the videos with him. Janus who had died. Janus who was alive again. His fingers moved across the cube more and more frenetically. Harsher experiments—Worse than what they’d done to any of them except Remus, and Remus was indestructible—and then—

The explosion.

Thomas losing control or will or something—Remus couldn’t read his expression, the second it all went wrong, besides the fear. Maybe Patton could have, but Remus couldn’t. He just felt—He didn’t know that either.

The last video. A meeting. Blame, anger, (no guilt). A proposal. A ‘solution’. DNA recovered. They could start again, as many times as it took to get it right. They could tweak the sequence, adding and taking away as needed. They could build a team powerful enough to do whatever they wanted done. Experiments could be run to see if more power could be created, harnessed, controlled.

They would start with a single clone—increased senses, increased mental capabilities, some animal traits for senses humans didn’t have. He would teach them much about how to build the ones who came after him. The project was voted on. Approved. Code name: Janus.

The video ended on the smiles of the men. The cube cracked in Remus’s hand.

“You understand why I left now, don’t you,” Janus asked quietly behind him. “I’d long suspected there was something rotten there—the way they used Roman to control you, for a start—but once I knew the whole truth? Once I knew who the ‘Thomas’ I’d heard whispered about behind closed doors was and what happened to him… I had to stop them Remus. They tortured a kid to death—” Remus almost wanted to point out he wasn’t sure if Thomas was older than Janus by the time he’d… he couldn’t pick between ‘died’ and ‘was killed’ to describe it, but he didn’t. Even if he’d been years older than Remus by the end of the videos, he still understood thinking of someone that helpless and alone as a kid. “—and then they made more of us to torture until they could get it ‘right’.”

“I’ll help you stop them,” Remus said, turning to face Janus, the sharp edges of the broken cube digging painlessly into his palm.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Do you think you can stop me?” Remus said, surging to his feet and starting to pace. “After what I just watched? After what I know they’re willing to do? We can’t just keep leaving our brothers at their non-existent mercy Janus!”

“Because that was my plan entirely,” Janus snapped before coming over and grabbing Remus by the shoulders. “You have to understand, Remus. This is dangerous, even for you—“

“More dangerous than it is for you? You forgetting which one of us is invulnerable here?”

“They’ll use Roman,” Janus said, giving Remus a single shake. “You might be physically invulnerable but—They never had to hurt any of you to keep me in line, but they know you fold when they put Roman under pressure. If they think you’re dead, they wont’ have a reason to hurt him. You might be indestructible Remus, but are you willing to risk him?”

“So start a rumour you’ve developed mind control powers or something—They’d believe it! Dammit, Janus, you need me! I get you don’t have the resources to take them head on yet, but I can help you get them faster because we need to get them out!”

Suddenly, Remus had all of his big brother’s attention.

“What happened?” Janus demanded.

Remus pushed down all his panic and the memory of Thomas’s last expression.

“Janus. When you died—when you left… They started experiments on Virgil.”

[hearthwitchhome]

Story Time: Restitution Ch 1

Teen and up Brotherly/Platonic DRLAMP AU, Clones, psychic powers, Believed Major Character Death, Protective brothers, Suicidal Thoughts, Grief, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Second Chances, Rescues, Brief appearances of first person narration, but we promise they don't last, Everyone Needs A Hug, And surprisingly most of them actually get one Summary: Story Time: Once upon a time, there was a boy named Thomas who developed psychic powers. Let me tell you, it did not go the way I dreamt it would.

* * *

When Janus learns what the men who made them had done to their progenitor, he knows he needs to get his brothers out. As soon as he can, he defects and starts the work needed to take down the men who made them, and keep his brothers safe.

* * *

After Deceit kills Janus, Virgil is left helpless to watch as Deceit takes his older brothers away from him one by one, until all he has left is the ghost of Not Janus and the possibility of a new brother to hold onto. AO3

Story Time: Once upon a time, there was a boy named Thomas who developed psychic powers. Let me tell you, it did not go the way I dreamt it would.

* * *

Janus was the first of them to fall to Deceit. He’d been the oldest and smartest and best of them all, and Deceit had killed him.

Virgil knew that made sense. Janus was the most powerful and smartest of them all. Deceit had to know that any plan he made with Janus still around to fight him would have failed, so Deceit had killed him. Ambushed Virgil’s oldest brother on one of his missions, killed him, and started trying destroying everything the organization that made Virgil and his brothers had ever worked on. Deceit was brilliant. Deceit was terrifying. All of their training had been turned towards making Virgil and his remaining brothers powerful enough to destroy him. Apparently they’d done well enough, because the orders had come down last night. Remus would be going after Deceit in two more days.

Virgil bit his lip and tried to keep his worry from even Patton, useless as it was to try to hide what you were feeling from an empath. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Remus could do it—Remus was incredible! Brutal, creative, literally invulnerable, he’d take out Deceit no sweat and be home within the week.

But… Janus had been Janus. And Janus was never going to come home.

Virgil just didn’t want to lose another brother.

* * *

It had taken Remus days to get this deep into Deceit’s lair, but he’d finally managed it. Infiltration was his speciality after all. Well, that and mayhem. It was amazing what you could do when you didn’t have to worry about silly things like “bodily integrity” and “extreme temperatures”. But until he had Deceit right where he wanted him, he could be patient. And then, once Deceit was left in itty-bitty pieces, the Men who’d Made Them would be so distracted by cleaning up the rest of his organization that Remus would be able to grab his brothers and get out. Janus wasn’t there to protect them anymore, and someone had to. Roman would be safe. And so would Virgil.

He just had to kill this bastard and the brothers he had left would be free.

Remus heard steps coming down the hallway he was hiding over and shifted slightly, ready to drop down and destroy. Show time.

He would have sworn the movement was completely silent, but the figure stopped just outside pouncing range. Remus kept his breath as silent as possible, rage burning in his chest. Just a few more steps, and Janus’s ghost would be able to rest easy. All he had to do was wait.

“I know you’re there,” said a familiar voice, and everything inside Remus’s head came to a crashing halt. He was dead. “I can hear you. I don’t know how you made it this far, but you might as well—“

The angle was wrong, and his coordination off, but he still launched himself at the hooded figure not quite below him.

Shadow arms reached out and caught him, throwing him against the wall and pinning him there, and Remus was left staring into familiar brown and yellow eyes. Eyes that were full of things Remus couldn’t name.

“They send you to kill me?” Janus asked, letting go of Remus and vanishing his shadow hands. Remus’s legs refused to take his weight and he kept on sliding right down the wall. Janus was alive. “I wish I could say I thought they were above that,” Janus continued, “asking you to kill your own brother, but I can’t. Not after everything I’ve learned. Not after what they did to Thomas.”

“You’re alive,” Remus managed, not yet able to process anything else. “They told us Deceit killed you!”

“Right, because people who would send someone to kill their own brother—without even telling them—are the epitome of truthfulness,” Janus spat.

“Jan?” Remus asked, and for the first time in years, he let himself sound like the scared little brother no one could ever know he still felt like some times.

“They lied to you, Remus. To all of us. When I found out the truth about Thomas—“

“Who’s this Thomas guy you keep mentioning?” Remus asked. And why didn’t Remus know about him?

Janus looked down at him, thoughts flashing behind his eyes. Remus wished he’d let on what some of them were. “Our progenitor,” Janus finally said.

“Wait, what?” Remus asked. “You know about our progenitor? How? All they ever said was that he developed psychic powers and that’s why they cloned him after he died youn—“

Janus let out a dangerous hiss and Remus froze. Indestructible and immune to physical pain or not, he’d learned young it was really, really dumb to push Janus in a mood like this.

“That is what they said, isn’t it. ‘Died young.’ Well, at least that much wasn’t an outright lie, even with all the truths they hid with it.” Something solidified in Janus’s eyes—he’d made a decision.

“Come on,” he said, coming up to Remus and offering him a hand. “There are things you need to know.”

Without another word, Remus took his—living—brother’s hand and let himself be pulled up. There was no way he was going through with the original mission anymore, and once he had calmed down, Janus would be able to help him figure out what to do. It wasn’t his job alone to protect his brothers anymore. Janus would make sure Roman was never used to control Remus again. That Logan got to relax. That Patton never had to reach into someone’s heart and break them ever again. That Virgil… That Virgil was okay. All Remus had to do was hear Janus out and then they could get started on fixing things.

They walked through the twisting corridors of the base Janus had claimed. Remus’s mind made notes of small improvements that could be made to the already impressive security. He’d tell Janus when he’d calmed down again. Finally, they turned through a door into a small office. Nothing fancy—No pictures on the walls or rugs on the floor or anything. Just a small desk with a single screen on it, attached to a computer, and a chair at the desk. Janus sat down and started typing in commands.

“This room was one of the first ones I set up, when I left. My bedroom is the next door down and I come here when it feels like too much. When I need the reminder of why I left in the first place, and what’s truly at stake.” He got up from the computer. “They’re cued to run one after the other.”

Remus hesitated. His thoughts were too fast, his body needed to move, he didn’t want to—

“Do I really have to sit for this?” Remus asked.

“There’s a lot to take in,” Janus replied, looking over at him. Remus shifted slightly from foot to foot. This was obviously important but he could never focus when sitting sti—

Janus pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to Remus. Remus couldn’t help his grin as he caught the fidget cube, hands immediately going to the clicking side. It might drive everyone else crazy, but he loved it. It was always the first side of his cubes to break.

“Aw shucks, bro. I missed you too,” Remus said, trying for a joke and an easy smile and for once having terrible aim.

“I’ve missed all of you,” Janus said, and he wasn’t even trying to hide how he felt, the confident bastard. “But after you see this, I think you’ll understand why I had to leave.”

Raising an eyebrow, Remus went and sat at the computer as his fingers danced across the cube, clicking and flicking and twirling. On the screen was a familiar face—the same one he saw in the mirror every day, or whenever he saw his brothers, though he didn’t know the subtle differences that distinguished this one. He knew for sure none of his brothers had ever looked that care free and besides, the kid on the screen looked older than most of them. Older than Logan, but younger than Roman or Remus himself. 16 was Remus’s best guess. He could turn and ask Janus—Janus definitely knew—or he could watch the videos and probably get the answers he wanted anyway. He reached up and pressed play.

On the screen, the kid started to move, smile becoming bigger and even more carefree, “What is UP everybody!”

Remus sat and watched. First were the videos of Thomas goofing around and having fun. And then the powers started showing up. Remus recognized them. The rest of their powers might be a lot more subtle, but he’d know Virgil and Janus’s shadow hands anywhere.

The next videos weren’t Thomas’s. They were security footage of familiar corridors and a cell and a kid who’d never been trained in his life trying to escape and failing miserably. Then came the experiments. Baseline stuff—Just tests to see how much you’d improved in certain categories. Lots of them, sure, but nothing Remus hadn’t been doing for as long as he could remember.

The next video didn’t have Thomas in it at all. It was a meeting of the men who ran the facility. The ones who’d ordered all of them made. Remus knew them from their pictures on the walls, but had never seen them in anything else. Not before now. The meeting did not start well. Disagreements. Arguments. Yelling. Finally, agreement. Conclusion.

Back to Thomas, with the experiments getting worse. More intense. Pushing Thomas to do more and more and more—again, it wasn’t anything Remus and his brothers hadn’t had to do, but Thomas wasn’t trained to take anyof this. Clips of Thomas crying in his cell. Thomas begging to be let out. To see his parents. To see his brothers. Thomas didn’t have any brothers in the facility. Remus felt Janus standing behind him, watching the videos with him. Janus who had died. Janus who was alive again. His fingers moved across the cube more and more frenetically. Harsher experiments—Worse than what they’d done to any of them except Remus, and Remus was indestructible—and then—

The explosion.

Thomas losing control or will or something—Remus couldn’t read his expression, the second it all went wrong, besides the fear. Maybe Patton could have, but Remus couldn’t. He just felt—He didn’t know that either.

The last video. A meeting. Blame, anger, (no guilt). A proposal. A ‘solution’. DNA recovered. They could start again, as many times as it took to get it right. They could tweak the sequence, adding and taking away as needed. They could build a team powerful enough to do whatever they wanted done. Experiments could be run to see if more power could be created, harnessed, controlled.

They would start with a single clone—increased senses, increased mental capabilities, some animal traits for senses humans didn’t have. He would teach them much about how to build the ones who came after him. The project was voted on. Approved. Code name: Janus.

The video ended on the smiles of the men. The cube cracked in Remus’s hand.

“You understand why I left now, don’t you,” Janus asked quietly behind him. “I’d long suspected there was something rotten there—the way they used Roman to control you, for a start—but once I knew the whole truth? Once I knew who the ‘Thomas’ I’d heard whispered about behind closed doors was and what happened to him… I had to stop them Remus. They tortured a kid to death—” Remus almost wanted to point out he wasn’t sure if Thomas was older than Janus by the time he’d… he couldn’t pick between ‘died’ and ‘was killed’ to describe it, but he didn’t. Even if he’d been years older than Remus by the end of the videos, he still understood thinking of someone that helpless and alone as a kid. “—and then they made more of us to torture until they could get it ‘right’.”

“I’ll help you stop them,” Remus said, turning to face Janus, the sharp edges of the broken cube digging painlessly into his palm.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Do you think you can stop me?” Remus said, surging to his feet and starting to pace. “After what I just watched? After what I know they’re willing to do? We can’t just keep leaving our brothers at their non-existent mercy Janus!”

“Because that was my plan entirely,” Janus snapped before coming over and grabbing Remus by the shoulders. “You have to understand, Remus. This is dangerous, even for you—“

“More dangerous than it is for you? You forgetting which one of us is invulnerable here?”

“They’ll use Roman,” Janus said, giving Remus a single shake. “You might be physically invulnerable but—They never had to hurt any of you to keep me in line, but they know you fold when they put Roman under pressure. If they think you’re dead, they wont’ have a reason to hurt him. You might be indestructible Remus, but are you willing to risk him?”

“So start a rumour you’ve developed mind control powers or something—They’d believe it! Dammit, Janus, you need me! I get you don’t have the resources to take them head on yet, but I can help you get them faster because we need to get them out!”

Suddenly, Remus had all of his big brother’s attention.

“What happened?” Janus demanded.

Remus pushed down all his panic and the memory of Thomas’s last expression.

“Janus. When you died—when you left… They started experiments on Virgil.”

[trensu]

Episode 4: or the One with that Many Minutes of Wangxian Screen Time

Not too many long wangxian scenes, my friends, but let’s hit the highlights

MOMENT 1: wwx catches lwj’s eye during class and gives him a cute little grin paired with an equally cute little wave and duck of the head. 

But LWJ IS NOT CHARMED! Not our precious ice prince. No, this guy gives him a cold, immediate shutdown because LWJ is a Disaster Gay™ at this point in his life. Also bc the only reason he noticed wwx here was because wwx was whispering with nhs

He’s very annoyed. Because wwx is being rude in class. Not for any other reason.

Boring lecture happens, boring plot stuff happens, blah blah, wen chao exists suddenly and we all hate him blah blah

Okay, one non-wangxian note here because i just noticed this: LWJ WAS READY TO THROW DOWN WITH WEN CHAO. LIKE, HOW DARE YOU INSULT OUR LECTURES??

THAT'S WHAT GETS YOU RILED UP, LWJ?? REALLY?? INSULTING YOUR STUDY MATERIAL???

LWJ IS SUCH A NERD LOLOLOL

Okay, Moment 2: outside of class, wwx says hi to lwj loudly and with biggest most sunshiney grin to have ever existed, waving his arm all big and exaggerated to catch lwj’s attention because lwj is walking purposefully to somewhere, who knows/cares where

HE’S SO ENTHUSIASTICALLY SAYING HI TO LWJ?? LIKE SO EXCITED!! LIKE SOMETHING THAT’S NOT A PUPPY BC DOGS, AS WE KNOW, ARE HORRIBLE (according to wwx; i have no strong opinions on dogs. I’m a cat person)

I cannot emphasize enough how adorable wwx is here. 

LWJ just Nopes right out of that greeting, tho

He was hit full force, point blank with that sunshine smile and storms off at a different direction than what he was originally walking towards (which happens to be opposite of where wwx is)

And he’s so angry about it too? Like, his expression doesn’t change but it definitely radiates annoyance

“I HATE THIS STUPID AWFUL PRETTY BOY WHO STOOD UP TO WEN CHAO, THE GUY I WAS GONNA SUCKER PUNCH FOR INSULTING MY FAMILY’S ANCIENT FANTASY CHINA SUMMER SCHOOL.”

“GOD WHAT A NUISANCE HE IS. IT’S DEFINITELY HATE THAT I’M FEELING. LOATHING, EVEN.” *insert Wicked the Musical reference here*

This all happens in like, the span of a minute, btw. That’s the entire length of the wangxian moment here. We’re getting table scraps and it hurts

Lol, WWX immediately decides that LWJ must have bad hearing bc who on earth would ignore him, the ever so charming and handsome wwx?

Also, can i just say that the blue sash wwx has to wear for their school uniform IS UNSeEMLy?

YOU CAN’T JUST DRAW MY ATTENTION TO WWX’S ITTY BITTY WAIST LIKE THAT

MY NERVES CAN'T TAKE IT.

I’M NOT AS REPRESSED AS LWJ. I CAN’T JUST IGNORE IT.

mOVIng ON

Moment 3: TURTLE TIME. WWX, that rapscallion, pins a hand-drawn cartoon turtle on lqr’s back. Which ofc mortally offends LWJ, who shoots him a glare that can level armies as he snatches the drawing and disintegrates it with the weight of his Disapproval

Almost immediately after this, we get...

Moment 4: OUR FIRST PAPERMAN  (okay that's a lie bc we saw a type of a paperman in ep2 but this one is the first one in his chronological life time and DEFINITELY the first wangxian paperman)

Cute little red paperman that wwx sends to CLIMB ALL OVER LWJ

Like, NOTICE ME LWJ LOOK AT ME LWJ LWJ LWJ LOOK I’M HERE

Little Red Paperman makes it to LWJ’s shoulder before LWJ heartlessly grabs it and crumples it into a little ball of Repressed Gay Rage

Okay, so Moment 5 is actually a series of stolen glances .

Lqr calls on WWX to answer some questions in that way teachers do when they think you’re slacking off and not paying attention.

LWJ starts sneaking looks at the first correct answer WWX gives, like “oh, he’s clever??”

WWX ofc is preening at each question he gets right

LWJ sneaks another glance, Grudgingly Impressed.

LQR then calls on LWJ to answer a question that stumps WWX so ofc LWJ shows off his brain for a bit too. He’s all smug about it, like so what if wwx is clever, i’m smarter and therefore superior to him

BUT THEN WWX challenges LQR with a question of his own (it’s foreshadowing, but whatever we don’t care about that rn)

And SHOCKINGLY LWJ cuts off his uncle to righteously answer WWX’s question (I’ll SHOW HIM TO ASK WEIRD QUESTIONS THAT MIGHT MAKE ME QUESTION THE WAY THE WORLD WORKS)

LWJ then sneaks ANOTHER look at WWX because HE CAN’T KEEP HIS EYES OFF HIM FOR SOME MYSTERIOUS UNKNOWN REASON 

The only reason he stops sneaking glances is bc his uncle kicks wwx out of class, thus ending Moment 5

But then lqr immediately gets the ball rolling for Moment 6 by sending LWJ after WWX to make sure WWX doesn’t skip out on his punishment (writing lines, no kinky sex stuff)

Moment 6, our last wangxian moment of the episode: Sword Fight by the Waterfall.

Okay, maybe fight is too strong of a word. It’s more like LWJ startles WWX, who is in deep thought for plot-related reasons, so WWX whips out his sword to attack before he really thinks about it

LWJ blocks it (gracefully) and pulls out his sword as well. There’s a couple of sword clashes (against A GORGEOUS BACKDROP IN THE FORM OF A WATERFALL, LIKE SERIOUSLY EPIC ROMANCE LEVELS OF BEAUTY)

And the episode is over.

Like, okay, there’s Six Moments of Wangxian content but they’re all, like, barely a minute long?? Except maybe for Moment 5, but that’s because i squished together several tiny moments of stolen glances

SHOW, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, WHY ARE YOU NEGLECTING MY EMOTIONAL NEEDS. THIS IS A HATE CRIME, I’M CALLING THE COPS

Return to Masterpost

[hargrves-blog]

Like What Friends Do [ 2 ]

PART ONE || PART THREE

pairing → billy hargrove x reader

summary → billy’s life is on the line after making a mistake.

word count → 1.8k

warnings → swearing, gun use

a/n → sorry if this is terrible. i was writing on writer’s block.

(not my gif)

You see, the Reapers run like a family. If someone messes with a Reaper, you mess with the whole gang kind of deal. If there was a raid going on, no one is doing it by themselves and no one is left behind. Sometimes you forget that this is a crime-ridden group because you’re surrounded by so many people like you who act like siblings, and that’s beautiful. The only thing that’s terrible is people get uneasy when someone in a mob decides to get close to a person who isn’t.

A few of the Reapers your age enrolled in Hawkins High a few weeks into the new school year. Although you all weren’t close, they still kept a close eye on each other including you. They found it odd that you prefer to be alone in school rather than stick together. Despite their protests, you respected them and they respected you.

The sun was setting behind the trees as you and a few members sat around the campfire, their motorcycles parked a few feet away. They passed around rolled blunts of marijuana while they talked about which girl had the tightest pussies or the biggest tits. It kept you silent yet observant, since you didn’t see why you should partake in immature conversations.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” Hunter teased and took a swig of Corona. “Maria’s tits are way bigger than Jean’s.”

Daniel sucked his teeth. “Sure, but Jean has a tighter pussy.”

Peaches, James, Hunter, and even you laughed. Daniel rolled his eyes and took a drag of his blunt, then letting the smoke flow past his lips. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re a virgin, dumbass,” Peaches giggled and snuggled closer to James, letting his hand run through her hair.

Daniel sneered at her. “No I’m not. I definitely screwed girls more than once, including your mom and your sister.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he smirked. “I don’t even have a sister,” she jabbed.

“Speaking of screwing,” James interrupted. “What about you, Y/N?”

Eyes filled with curiosity turned to you, waiting for an answer. You felt heat rise to your chests and your heart stopped for a brief moment.

“What about me?” you asked.

“Are you knocked up with someone?” Peaches twirled a strand of red hair around her finger and smirked, her olive gaze meeting yours.

Your nose wrinkled at the thought. There were times where you had some close calls, but not full-on sex. “No. I don’t even have a boyfriend.” “Liar!” Daniel exclaimed and wagged a finger at you. “I saw you talking with someone after school the other day.”

James and Peaches let out hoots and whistles, and you rolled your eyes. “I’m not that interested in him. Besides, I don’t even know him like that.”

Daniel scoffed.

Peaches inched closer to you and cocked her head to the side. “So, what’s his name?”

You remember hearing it somewhere, and the memory of you and the two boys in the bathroom popped. “Pretty sure it’s Billy.”

“You mean that blonde kid who thinks he has a big dick?” James asked sourly.

“Yeah,” you said and raised a brow. “Why?”

Peaches clicked her tongue and shook her head. “The kid’s no good,” she answered. “He’ll move onto you, screw you, and move to another bitch.”

“I’m not interested in him!” you exclaimed. Peaches and Daniel gave each other a look.

“Y/N likes Billy-Willy! Billy-Willy wants to stick his itty-bitty-willy in Y/N!” Daniel howled and jumped up from his seat. Walking over to you, he ruffled your hair and tugged at it, and you swatted at his hands like they were flies.

Peaches joined him and laughed, sticking her tongue out at you. “You like Billy-Willy and his itty-bitty-willy,” she teased.

“Fuck off guys,” you hissed at them, but they kept laughing. “Not funny.”

James chuckled and you glared at him. “Relax Y/N. They’re just messing with you.”

You roll your eyes and continued finishing your beer, hoping the alcohol with distract you from their teasing remarks and nicknames.

---

The thought of staying out there during the night didn’t sound safe, so you all drove to downtown Hawkins out of boredom.

The chinese restaurant that sat on the edge of town was one of the few places that was alive; the others being a bar and a small store. With the new drinking age law in place, no one under the age 21 could drink. There was nothing to do at the store anyways.

You parked your bikes in the alleyway and waited until the others caught up. Their bikes rolled up behind you, their engines shutting off.

“Let’s tag this place,” Daniel said and rummaged through his bag.

“Are you crazy?” James sneered and got off his bike, Peaches following after him. “They’re gonna catch us here.”

Daniel shook a spray paint bottle and took off the cap. “As long as no one sees us, we’re fine.”

James and Peaches each took a can and started to tag the brick wall, using the lamp hanging on the roof as their light. You leaned on the wall parallel to the other as you watched the others draw various sizes of dicks and faces in different colors. You just wanted to go home. Your eyelids felt like they were weighed by sandbags, and blinking it away nor pinching yourself didn’t work. Although covering the wall with graffiti did sound fun a few minutes ago, it was about time you started to go home.

“Y/N?”

You and the others stopped what they were doing and turned to look at whoever called your name.

“Well, look who it is.”

Billy goddamn Hargrove.

You pushed yourself against the wall and slowly strided towards him, arms crossed. “What are you doing here?”

He held up a take-out bag that smelled of Chinese food. “Getting a late-night snack,” he said with a grin. Billy’s smile then faded when he noticed your friends, motioning towards them with a nod. “Those your little friends?”

“Yeah,” you replied and glanced at them. “Just a few of them.”

Peaches looked at you with a cheeky grin while Daniel and James stared at Billy with a suspicious gaze. You gave them a reassuring smile.

Billy nodded. “They don’t look very happy to see me,” he mumbled lowly.

Daniel was the first to step up. “Is he bothering you, Y/N?” he asked you without taking his eye off Billy.

“No, I’m fine,” you replied. “You should get home, Billy. It’s late.”

“I’m fine. I wanna to meet your little gang friends first.” He extended a hand out to him. “Name’s Billy.”

Daniel looked at it skeptically and didn’t take his gesture. “You think I care, hotshot?”

“Daniel!” you hissed. “Don’t be rude.”

Billy put his hands to his hips. “And I thought your friends would be a bit nicer than you,” he said.

“Yeah, I thought so too.” Daniel clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white as he tried not to put up a fight. “Go home.”

The blonde-haired boy swiped his bottom lip with his tongue. “You know, I don’t remember saying ‘hi’. Pretty sure I was talking to Y/N, not you,” he snapped. “Let’s start again. Hi, my name’s Billy. Who are you?”

Daniel had enough. He grabbed Billy by the collar of his shirt and pinned him against the wall with a loud bam, hovering him a few inches above the ground. James was about to rush at him but Peaches held him back, telling him that ‘it’s not your fight’. Despite his numerous protests, James held his place.

His face was so close to his that Daniel could feel Billy’s short breaths on him. “Mock me again, and your ass is grass, Hargrove,” he snapped. He slammed the boy on the wall again, making him gasp in shock.

You tried to pry Daniel away from Billy with all your strength but he wouldn’t budge. “Daniel, let him go!”

After a few silent moments, he let Billy go. Daniel shoved him back, making him stumble backwards but eventually regained his balance.

Billy grew his shit-eating grin. “This all you got? Huh?” he called out and outstretched his arms. “Bite me, bitch.”

In a matter of seconds, Daniel and Billy were rolling on the ground, throwing punches at each other. Blood splattered on the ground and your stomach dropped at the sight of Billy’s bloody nose. You froze. You wanted to stop them, you wanted to stop Daniel from hurting Billy any further, but you just froze.

Peaches held James back from getting involved. Their objections were faint and covered by the sounds of you yelling and Daniel’s curses.

“You two, stop!” You finally got the courage to step up. You tugged at Daniel’s shoulder but he just shrugged you off like a piece of dust. “Stop hurting him!”

Daniel finally let go of Billy after giving him several punches to the nose. He glanced back at you with a raging fire in his dark eyes. “So you’re sticking up for him now? What happened to being loyal?” he yelled. A knot in your throat tightened.

Billy stood up and wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Blood trickled down his chin, and his face was covered in purple bruises. He flashed his cheeky grin, his teeth stained red from all the blood in his mouth.

He spat onto the asphalt. “That all you got?” Billy asked as he caught his breath.

“You two need to grow up and stop,” you commanded. “Daniel, you need to go.”

He ignored you. Daniel kept staring at Billy, his hand slowly sliding up to the inside of his jacket. “You’re going to regret ever laying your hands on me, you son of a bitch,” he hissed.

He pulled out his Glock 19 pistol and pointed it straight at Billy.

“Daniel, stop!” You pulled his arm down, but Daniel dodged your grasp and shoved you onto the ground with his shoulder.

“Stay out of this Y/N.”

Billy was wide-eyed and silent, unsure of what to say out of shock.

“Daniel-”

“Stay out of this!”

You were done. You couldn’t afford to lose another friend, even though Billy was just a nobody. After years of people disappearing from your family from deaths or arrests, you got tired of losing people from your life. ‘You’ll get used to it,’ they said. ‘It’s part of life when you’re in a mob.’ But you didn’t get used to it. You didn’t want to.

Reaching under your shirt, you pulled out your pistol and aimed it at Daniel’s head, your finger on the trigger.

“I said, that’s enough.”

---

Taglist: @missblasphemy @dacremontgomerylover @wearemightyghosts

[mamoro2202]

Ache

@jhalya

so you submitted “ache” to my itty bitty drabble challenge, and it’s funny, because “ache” was the second story I ever wrote. It’s a bit cheap, but I didn’t write a new one, just posting the original. 

Remember, it’s old.  :)

***************

Manga!Kenshin actually really enjoys needling Kaoru about her cooking. I was surprised when I re-read the manga and noted this, but he really does. He comments pretty often about how bad her food tastes, and he has this huge smile on this face every time he does it. For a guy as kind hearted as Kenshin, that's pretty strange and gave birth to this little plot bunny.

Kaoru was sewing tonight. Kenshin loved to watch her while she did. She always did it at night, after dinner, dressed in her sleeping yukata and jacket, sitting in the main room, stitching away by lamp light. Tonight, Yahiko was already in bed, the work was all done, and the night sky was cloudy and not terribly interesting to watch. She had been mending a kimono of his, but she now seemed to be adding a bit of embroidery to the sleeve.

He'd been surprised at first that a woman like Kaoru-dono enjoyed such a feminine task, but it seemed that she really did. She always smiled as she sewed and sometimes she hummed little songs under her breath. Really, some day he should ask her what about it made her smile so, but not tonight. Tonight he would pretend to drink tea and watch her as she worked.

It was easy to forget that she was conventionally pretty, sometimes, but it was never more apparent than when she indulged in this lady-like work. Her eyes were downcast, dark lashes smudging high cheekbones. The curve of her cheek was velvety smooth. Her chin was cutely pointed, her lips were a pretty blush pink. Her neck was long and slender, and really didn't bear contemplation for the sake of Kenshin's sanity. Her hair was softly braided and down over her left shoulder.

It was like a secret between them, this quiet beauty. Kenshin knew that he shouldn't allow this, shouldn't savor it so, but he was unable to deny himself. He knew that no other man had ever watched her thus, had never seen this private gentleness.

Kenshin was only staying here for little while, just a little rest, and this was the height of stupidity. Baka deshi, indeed. But he couldn't seem to stay away, and this would make his leaving all the more difficult. He watched her sew, and pretended to drink his tea, and tried to understand why his chest ached.

.

.

.

Kaoru was yelling at Yahiko. Kenshin loved to watch her while she did. Her eyes flashed, and her cheeks flushed, her lips turning a darker pink. Her gestures were large and wild, and her expression fierce.

He'd been surprised at first that a pretty young woman, obviously descended from samurai, so eschewed the feminine virtue of modesty. Kaoru-dono had no care for whether she drew attention, and more often than not, she demanded it.

There was precious little pretense to her, and what there was, was poorly and half-heartedly done. When Kaoru-dono was angry, the whole world knew it. Her emotive eyes and expressive face screamed her intentions, and her strident voice cleared up any further misconceptions.

Absurdly, her anger made his shoulders relax. With this one small woman, there was no need for vigilance. No effort was required to assess her motives, no tense awareness of hidden sorrows needed. He enjoyed provoking her, turning all that glorious rage in his direction. He would make an unprovoked remark about her cooking, then stand and admire her while she exploded.

It was like watching a summer storm, all thunder and lightening, fierce and natural. It made his breath catch, it made his stomach tight. It made him think of things that should only be recalled during night time hours. It was stupid of him to have allowed this, to have become so tangled here and so tangled in her and the thought of leaving this place now made his chest ache.

.

.

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Kaoru was singing. Kenshin loved to watch her while she did. She always sang as she nursed, and she always petted Kenji's tuft of red hair. Her expression was besotted, her eyes loving, and her face soft. She was full of woman's mystery, her body curled around the baby.

Her hair was down, straight and shining, and she was still in her sleeping robe although the sunlight in the room was bright. She had bled so much, a terrifying amount of blood, and Megumi had prescribed bedrest for a month after the baby's birth. Two weeks later now, her cheeks were still white, her lips the palest pink.

She was stronger today, sitting up while she gave Kenji his lunch, and Kenshin was glad. The medicine Megumi had left seemed to be working well. Kenshin knew that this would be their only baby; he couldn't bear to risk her to the dangers of childbed again.

For now, all was right in his world, and he watched his son's tiny mouth work at Kaoru's breast. She always welcomed him here, seemed to know somehow what watching his miracle did to him. I will never leave this place. And his heart was so full that it made his chest ache.

[meshugana1]

Could you do a guy who's being a dick insults a woman in a massage parlour and ends up as a horny stereotypical asian hooker with DSLs

(I changed this one up just a super small, teensy-weensy, itty-bitty bit. Sorry if I ruined it.)

Darren sat in the chair of the parlor, his irritation growing with every passing second. He received his bonus pay after a long series of arguments with his boss and wanted to treat himself to a relaxing afternoon of pampering, if ladies could enjoy it why couldn’t he? However what he got was a test of patience at the crowded facility. Apparently three of the masseurs were out with a cold and everyone was being serviced by a single woman.

Darren didn’t much care about her plight though, he had a nasty habit of losing perspective when he got irritated and he was only getting more and more miffed. He stood as the thirtieth person in line and the woman was taking her sweet time. She at least gave the crowd something to look at when she did come out and grab the next person with her fat Jap ass and a skimpy uniform, the skirt of which was just tight enough to frame and compress her bottom into the perfect apple shape. Her tits weren’t missing a beat either and they jiggled and jumped with every step she took.

Some old fuck was up next and Darren just lost it. “Goddammit will you hurry up you fat ass Jap slut!” Darren said to the overworked masseuse. A look of restrained rage came over the woman but she looked over to him and it began to dissipate. “I’m sorry sir. Why don’t I jump you ahead of the line as an apology?” She said waving him forward. Darren was a little embarrassed by his outburst but happy that it produced results. He slowly walked forward past all the pissed of patrons. Both pissed off at Darren for his unjustified outburst and from how he was apparently being rewarded for it.

He arrived at the front and got a much better look at the young woman and truly found her to be beautiful for a Japanese chick. Her dark hair was in a respectable ponytail and her face was angelic with its soft asian features, her eyes colored hazel completing a picture of cuteness especially with the provocative uniform they wore here. It made the young girl look like a prostitute, it was akin to a sexy nurse costume but a beige color. It was very tight on the waist and lifted and separated her breasts creating a large valley of cleavage, it flared into a skirt that would’ve been obscene if she wasn’t also wearing a pencil skirt that hugged her ass and made her mince around so seductively. He hardly noticed as she lead him into the private area and closed the door.

It was as typical as any massage parlor but what made it stand out was the elaborate assemblage of oils he saw lining the entire wall. There must’ve been over 500 bottles of different lotions and oils and other such things. “Please sir, disrobe and lie face down in the chair.” She said, phrasing it more as an order than a polite direction. Darren complied not wanting to make himself seem like more of a jackass, removing his white shirt and jeans when he heard her say “Your underwear too, sir.”

Darren was reluctant but quickly wrapped a towel around himself and then dropping his pants, safely covered buy the towel as he prostrated himself on the table. He turned his head and saw the young woman pacing about the wall adorned with the lotions and oils, carefully considering her options. She finally settled on a cherry colored bottle of oil and walked over to the table. “As a warning sir people find this massage to a bit intense, so any strange feelings of discomfort are normal and will pass.” She said vigorously rubbing the oil into her hands.

Darren was a bit caught off guard by this comment but he had heard Japanese massages were pretty intense. He felt that discomfort instantly as she worked the oil into his shoulder blades, but like she said it quickly passed and he began to appreciate her soft hands working the flesh of his back. Everywhere the oil touched he felt the weird feeling, like his skin was being twisted and manipulated with every knead and push. If Darren had listened to his feelings he may have avoided his fate, but of course he didn’t. The masseuse was well learned in her craft and knew how to make the change as painless as possible, she should after three hundred years of practice.

She normally did her job honestly but when assholes like Darren came in it was a real treat. As she worked his torso it began to change, softening and compressing into a more petite shape. Her hands traveled to his butt next, Darren thought this was crossing some line but didn’t mind her soft hands. She manipulated the flesh of his ass and gave the young man a very plump and scrumptious looking rear. She moved down his thighs and his calfs all the way to his feet until he had wide, delectable hips and tiny adorable feet.

Having finished the lower half she commanded her victim to flip over. Darren felt like his hips were being pushed forward but thought that it was the weird feelings she mentioned. She then brought a hand towel from a cabinet and placed it over his eyes. “This is to help you relax” she said. He didn’t question it and just continued to breath and relax as she continued to mold the young man into something else. She tucked his tummy in completing the petite figure, then next came her favorite part. She kneaded and pulled at his pecks, working the flesh out and forming it into loverly teardrop shapes.

She left her hands on his new chest, admiring her work. She had given the dick a wonderful pair of double D’s, but on second thought he could use a little more. She pushed and pulled at his chest again and this time left him with an obscene pair of double H’s, that should do it she thought. Then she massaged his shoulders and throat, by her estimate he should have a teakettle voice. She gave his face a few touches, especially careful to give him a pair of fat lips which should come in handy later, and now he was almost as pretty as she was, but there was still one thing to take care of.

She squirted a little more of the special oil onto her hands and slipped her fingers under his towel. Darren jumped at this sudden contact, put off slightly by unfamiliar motion on his chest. But before he could say anything she put a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry, this is on the house for the long wait. Just sit and relax, and keep the towel over your eyes please.” She said. Darren was not one to turn down a free handjob so he complied. The weird feelings once again pervaded his dick but he could hardly concentrate as her skilled hands worked his cock better than he ever did. The woman molded his cock like clay and continued to distract him with pleasure. After a moment Darren no longer felt like she was stroking his pole, but like she was putting a finger inside him. He didn’t care as this felt better than anything he ever felt before, it built up more and more until he felt an explosion inside him and he heard a high pitched moan escape his lips.

He had no idea that his voice could go that high. “That was incredible” he said, hearing for the first time his new voice. He was confused and tried to grab his throat to help clear it but hit a new fleshy mass on his chest. He reached his other hand up and felt a twin orb, he shot up and the hand towel had flown off producing another scream as he saw his new body. He had tits! And they were massive! As big as the biggest strippers he’d ever seen. He hopped off the table, the towel around his waist falling off revealing the full extent of his new change.

The young masseuse looked over the frightened “man” and smiled. “The hair is a bit short, but you’ll grow it out in time. Ah, I do love my work. Don’t you?” She said.“What the hell did you do to me?” Darren said, fueled with rage.“Well I thought I fixed that attitude of your’s but it looks like I have more work to do.” She said, her smile turning into a sneer.“No please don’t! I’ll do anything just change me back!”“Sorry, I don’t know how to change you back. That’s the owners speciality, but I’m pretty sure she’ll agree with my decision. I might know a way you can curry her favor though but I’m sure you wouldn’t like it.”“Seriously! I will do anything!” Darren said on his knees.“Well all right.” She said. She moved over to a closet and pulled out an incredibly slutty looking outfit he’d ever seen. It looked more like a skimpy swimsuit, it was a single piece but divided in the middle and left exposed skin almost all the way down to his new snatch. Only his nipples would be covered by a two inch line of beige fabric that would pass over the shoulders and wedgie itself in between the wearers ass cheeks.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” Darren said.“Wear it of course. All the other ladies are out sick so you’ll be filling in.” She said smiling at the unintended joke.“But I don’t know how.”“Its easy and besides, with that body the massage won’t be lasting too long anyway.”“Wait, are you suggesting that I…”“No, I’m telling you that you will give everyone you service a very happy ending. However they want. It’ll be fifty dollars on top of the standard fee. And start speaking in engrish, you stupid americans really seem to get off on that shit.”“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” Darren said.“You can call me Kijo, Ms. in front of the customers. Now get YOUR fat ass out there or the Madam will keep you like that for a good long time.” Kijo said walking back out to the front.

Darren was overwhelmed, she was going to make him some cheap slut in a massage parlor. He looked himself over in the mirror and couldn’t help getting aroused by his own image. His fat lips looked sculpted to take dick and his body looked like a trap for men, which he supposed was the whole point. He resigned himself to defeat, hoping that this mysterious Madam would go easy on him. The outfit was uncomfortable and really dug into his slit and gave him a serious case of camel toe. His ass fared no better and wedgied the outfit firmly between his cheeks. He nervously tiptoed out onto the floor in the heels he was given. He eyed the crowd, only now noticing it was filled with men. Kijo gave him the evil eye as she passed him with a customer in hand. He did his best to smile and turned to the next in line, a middle aged man with a strong jaw and salt-and pepper hair. “Herro! I make you feer good now?” He said, inwardly screaming.

The end. Hope y’all like it!

[norton-addiction]

About the play “Bug”, review of the Russian spectator

Original language of the text is Russian. Translation to English made by fan community “Norton-addiction”.

In this article you can read about the play “Bug” starring James Norton which took place in a tiny event hall Found111. 

James Norton and Kate Fleetwood, Bug performance

London, April 22, evening

Complete lack of sense of direction and total absence of the Internet (sure, addiction to it becomes critical) made me exit on Charing Cross station of any reason. The theater (pretty tiny studio) was located on Charing Cross street, abut the street is extremely expanded. When I realized how short time I had and how long would be my way no matter how – on foot or by the underground – I caught a cab, again. And I was in time (in 20 minutes before start) even though I hardly raced past an unnoticeable door at full steam.

I've never been in such a little theater in London. First, you should do a long climb upstairs to a theater bar. When you finally say to yourself “huh, now I can lead forward to the main hall” (there was an encouraging poster on the wall, something like “Nearly here!” on it) but you find out that you should walk up another couple of stairwells. And only after all of that stairs you get into the “Hall”. In quotes because it is a itty-bitty room with a low ceiling and tightly set mismatching chairs and benches round about the “platform”. It's very suitable for fans but not for those who want to get a perfect vision of a performance, so you'd better take your place as far as possible from the platform.

However suddenly I found myself too close to the platform. I stumbled into the bar and ordered a glass of wine at once, then found a place for myself near the broken grand piano and put a rose on it (yes, as you could remember, I wandered around the town with the rose all the time). The whole picture could be seen in a rather off-hand way but I didn't care a curse and set down to get dry. Faster than a flash in the pan a huge crowd of Norton's fans got into and made a thick checkout line in the enter of the hall. Those fans were pleasant but unshakeable english lineups always scare me: it is a perfect monumental formation which leaves no chance to anybody to bore way through the crowd.

For some unfathomable reason I found myself in the hall on the second row - smack up against the bedside table with plates and dishes, bottles and radio on it. This extemporary bar and space near it as it turned out was recruited into the performance. So I, with my rose, felt out of place there. Someone from the crowd catched sight of the rose even joked on me during the intermission: “Oh, lady did fundamental preparation!” I must have dumped Norton with NOT presenting him the rose. Sorry, James, the rose left for Moscow with me, after travel to Stratford and back. And no, I did not wait for James, who, by hearsay, simply hanging around the bar. Sorry, no photos of the prince's autograph there.

The performance

Do you know the feeling when you need some time to grow into the book, movie or show, but it seems a little bit strange and tough in the beginning? This little hall intensified such emotions in me. I even needed to make an effort to overcome the conventionality and get lost in the story. It gets on you nerves when actors over and over again runs up to your bedside table (every item in the 5 cm distance is automatically included in my private space) and then they do something with it. It would be a different matter when it was women (Kate Fleetwood was awesome!) but when beautiful, bare-chested James Norton runs up again and again too close to you... God bless me I'm not a real fan of him))

It is a very strong play established under all principles of good thriller with creepy, growing in pressure suspense and increasing degree of absurd which seems in common with McDonagh's plays (or maybe even Shakespeare's). In the tensest moments comic relief happens to be, and spectators nervously giggle and can't stand laughing in contradiction to puzzleheaded mess in front of them. And could it be that all good plays (plots, books, pictures and movies, and whatever) should have such a mad combination of humor and horror, as... as it appears in the real life?

Similar to McDonagh, it's difficult to review this performance without spoilers. In fact, even trying to translate ambiguous title will be a spoiler (so, our local content “Glitches” fits more or less). So if you haven't read the play or watched the American movie (pretty trashy, IMHO) yet, please, read the following text at your own risk.

With all James Norton's strong points and the key-role of his character, there is a woman in the center of the story. It's great because of the deep dipping into atmosphere of contemplation of the vulnerable paranoiac mind. All this vulnerability due to the desperate lust for love, and it makes all things more dreadful.

Entirely young woman, with marks of the stormy past and everydayness on her face, lives on borrowed time in abandoned motel. The bed, the “bar” (that same old bedside table closer to me), the kitchen, the radio and strategic reserves of all-type relaxants – that's all she needs. In the parlance of medicine, the girl is in state of chronic depression, but, of course, she doesn't know about it. She has unlucky marriage with domestic violence and lost son in her past, and now and there she has only a bottle, a cigarette, a bong, a line of cocaine, a single randy female friend, loneliness and fear.

All the facts which I've shoot out in the previous sentences, brings to the audience slowly and ropy like sticky flypaper. The ceiling will be all covered with such papers in the end of the narration. And for now... now the phone is ringing. Nobody answers on the other end of the line whatever and no matter how frightened Agnes shout into the phone handset. She thoughts she talks with her ex-husband. Speaking of, we won't know who was calling all that times.

And here, in all that very... unfortunately, common little world, Peter (Norton) appears. He is absurdly nice, prudish duffer. Many funny situations based on his clumsiness. He is literally disarmingly plainspoken guy: it's hard to resist such words as “I like you” told in the face (and lately “I could make love with you” - oh, who can resist it). So Agnes can not. And there they already crawls together on the flour in search for the invisible bugs (the first alarm signal was when “the bug” turned out to be a broken fire-safe). So there the mysterious stranger modestly stays overnight on the flour, which causes wave of adoration in the audience. And then, in the morning, he disappears. Instead of Peter Agnes meets her husband Jerry in the bathroom. The dreadful plot starts to spin around in thick and fast tempo.

Jerry. It was a hilariously funny scene of his second entrance which ends pretty scary as every scene in the play.

Peter lures Agnes into the mounting paranoia which begins from very innocent and funny searching for invisible bugs (“bug” as in the main title) in the bed after sex-scene, and then materializes into complete terrifying conspiracy theory in the end. The point is that by this time all that schizoid but consistent delirium is said by Agnes not Peter. Spiritual affinity and human warmth with at least someone near her are more important then real world for Agnes (“I'd better talk to you about bugs than stay silence alone by myself”).

It's painful to watch towards the end of the performance (and that's the difference between this play and McDonagh's ones) because the consistent delirium takes place in full of your view. It is unavoidable and unstoppable like a upcoming trucker. There is nothing left to help characters. McDonagh always leaves some penetrative tiny flash of hope, humanistic points in his works always sounds in high tone upon the most frightening low pitch. On the contrary, Tracy Letts drops to an all-time low of loathsome naturalism. Every more or less empathic person literally wants to close his eyes when after several attempts Peter in highly authentic manner takes out a tooth with pliers by himself (cause the capsule with bugs is hidden in it).

Norton in the dressing room. There are more and more "bites" of non-existing bugs toward the end until the whole body comes to an open wound.

One more difference from McDonagh's – Tracy hasn't such virtuosity ability to write when important sense appears ABOVE text absurd. He makes a request on global topics: Peter is not only unblest paranoid, he is a veteran of Gulf War. Reasonably it should add more tragic in the story, should make watchers thought over (and in one moment you are really think: “For God's sake, maybe he is right with all of his microscopes and rage assurance what he sees things that other people can't”. But Tracy fails in clearing this height as distinct from McDonagh and his The Pillowman and Hangmen.

Speaking through thoughts face to face – that's not how good text works (“There was a time when people though the safety exists, but not now. Today nobody can feel safe”).

Nevertheless the actors were brilliant and took everything they could from the play. They perfectly hold out a hysterical rising pitch with the help of great light and sound work. And once again... God damn, why have I set on the second row! I could see Norton's play only when he was in the other side of the platform; just he appeared near the bedside table, there was only his... waist in my eyesight))) Or I was in need to crane my neck but in this case it looked like I was starring at him face to face, and that was... spooky.

The murder happens in all-сovered in foil paper room. The expected end takes place – main heroes suicide with “I love you” phrase on their lips. But there is no catharsis, only relief that you can finally run out from this self-absorbed world of despair, loneliness and – bugs.

 * * *

... And the more beautiful contrast was on the curtain call when stage staff put bathrobes on half-naked and wet head-to-toe Kate and James, and they “came” on bend (they didn't went away in fact). I swear I've never seen such look of pleasure on the actor's face during the bend, never! Norton truly beaming, he squinted, and even my cheeks tired from toothy smile. It seems if he had a tail that tail would fawn upon in the fullness of his happiness. Kate was smiling too, but it was a sheepish smile, while James... oh, he has such a great charisma I know what his fans feels like!

 This photo provides guidance on what they look like during curtain calls.

And one for the road: lunch break on the roof of Found111 — so cute))

For finding photos thanks goes to blog: norton-addiction.tumblr.com

The End.

Original text in Russian: http://www.dtbooks.net/2016/04/shakespearlives_28.html