#my hair swatches this year are gonna be so boring :( | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

an0nymousghost · 3 years ago

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simblr asks v2

here are my answers! find the questions here.

i wrote soo much ahaha. like however much you think i wrote, i wrote more than that. imo everything i write is gold though

1. are you going to buy the new pack (cottage living) when it comes out? no, it looks really nice but i legit never ever buy packs at launch, especially cause this one is a expansion and it will probably go on sale at some point

2. do you p*rate your dlc or buy it legitimately? buy it legitimately 👌

3. what’s your favorite world? brindleton bay, it gives like seaside cottage vibes. willow creek is good but it’s boring.

4. if you use a queue, how many posts per day do you set it as? 3 or 4. i used to do like 12 lmaoo what even was wrong with me

5. do you watch sims on youtube? yes, i watch mainly malixa, oshinsims, and msgryphi

6. what are your thoughts on the most recent pack? (dream home decorator) those sectional couches look good! but honestly im kinda annoyed because now it’s even harder to have all the items filled in when i place lots from the gallery. like i’m just saying like a lot of builds will use that pack probably and if i don’t get it then i can’t really use builds/save files

7. how many packs/kits do you own? lemme count

expansion: all - 10/10 game: 5/10 stuff: 9/18 kits: none xo

24/38 - 63%

8. what’s your origin id? is it the same as your url? 🤗 it’s in my title, it’s celeschul. it doesn’t look that nice in my title but i use celeschul in my package files and i’m guessing people search things like, “celeschul penny hair” or something like that in order to find my cc- so i keep it in there so the search results are easier. i do want to change it though..

but no it’s also not the same! well i mean it’s the username i use for cc. my origin id used to be an0nymousghost but i changed it. i wonder if anyone’s taken that one?

9. is your simblr your sideblog or main blog? main blog ✌️ my old blog @stardze is a main blog as well.

my old old simblr was a sideblog but it had like 1 follower and it literally a bot so i don’t think that counts. i have a multifandom sideblog though

10. do you have a cc finds blog? i wish. i was thinking bout it earlier and that would be sooo neat but sometimes i download stuff that doesn’t have a tumblr post attached to it, and also it’s stressful to keep up with so nah

11. are you wcif friendly? yes sir. in fact i bring the trouble of wcifs onto myself but doing them even when nobody asked.

12. what’s your favorite sized household to play with? (ex. 1 sim, 4 sims) gonna have to think on this one, honestly 1 sim is really fun and stuff goes by so fast. doing stuff with astrid when she was on her own, it was much more efficient.

for families, i haven’t done that in a while actually. 5, 2 parents and 3 kids is cute tho. why did i write this this is honestly such a hard question

13. if you have c&d, do you play with pets? i feel like i haven’t played with cats and dogs in forever. honestly i just have no paitence. noelle fae was supposed to get a cat (there’s a food bowl + cat bed in her house) but when summer vacation started, the amount of time i spent playing ts4 decreased a lot. (this doesn’t really make sense, i have a lot more time. honestly it just has to do with my recent obsession with a certain anime/manga and some other personal thing)

i did random nightmares in may though and i had pets frequently. g5 didn’t because sofia scarlett lived in an apartment, but g2/3/4 had cici, and g1 had all the cats. but that was back in march so it’s been a while.

14. what lifespan do you use? i really want to do aging off but then i feel like it drags on. but aging legit stresses me out, sometimes i just want to sit down and do some cas stuff but i only have 2 hours in real time and there’s like 4 days left till one of my sims’ birthdays.

15. if you own a lot of packs, how many of them have you actually played through? just so everyone is aware this question was made for me

i feel like eps require a specific save made for testing them out, but the only save i’ve ever made for an ep is noelle fae’s get famous save.

that is literally a lie - i made a save for island living with one of my 100bc kids, maisie acapella. i did actually post it on tumblr BUT then i deleted all the posts BUT i reblogged them on my alt account BUT i privated my alt account so i honestly forgot about it

i have never played through discover university or watched anyone do it on youtube, i’ve read gerbits’ story about it so i think i’m pretty qualified. i’ve always wanted to do one with periwinkle acapella but i never got around to it

another ep i know nothing about is get to work

i tried doing a eco life playthrough but i hadn’t watched any videos and i was like..what is going on. so i quit lolx d ;;;;; i mentioned it but the whimsy stories legacy was the first time i had played with the eco lifestyle features so technically i think i know what im doing

i got outdoor retreat literally on monday of this week so i haven’t played through it yet.

jungle adventure i still don’t know what’s going on. i remember last year before i bought the pack i was brainstorming, and wanted to do a ja playthrough with luna and cedar, who are a couple who i did a random legacy with and it was all queued to post when i deleted everything (if you’re wondering why, it’s because my queue was literally 200+ posts). except this time i didn’t save them to my sideblog so i lost them.

i still havent had a restaurant in dine out

also never did the vet thing from cats and dogs

i have no idea what that rock climbing thing is from snowy escape but i did most of the other stuff because rn g5

city living i did through psc stage 5 and also it was the first pack i bought anyways

the rest of them are either stuff packs or i ended up playing them through casual gameplay (seasons, parenthood)

16. what do you do as you play sims? (ex. listen to music) i listen to music most of the time, or listen to commentary youtube videos because i am an alpha chad. i also used to talk with my friends on voice call but i don’t do that anymore 🥲

17. which sims challenges have you tried? random legacy, whimsy stories, perfect sim challenge, 100 baby, legacy (just the plain get-to-10-gens one), random nightmares, berry zodiac, astrology legacy, apocalypse

i feel like im forgetting some.. honestly most of the stuff i did before simblr was either 100 baby (i love that challenge) or random saves that lasted for 2 seconds.

18. do you like the new(ish) hair swatches? nah.

i do appreciate that most cc hairs have a true (ish) black, thank god! and the fact that the hair update is what inspired me to update and fix a bunch of hairs with different issues is pretty nice. but will i use them? no.

plus it takes up like 5 gb? depending on how many packs you have.

19. post the latest screenshot you took 📸

i live in cas

20. what is the cc/ingame hair that looks the most like your own? i think that dream home decorator side part hair looks a lot like my hair. honestly i havent see much like my hair but that one is kinda-? close

21. who is your favorite sim of yours and what is their story? noelle and alari fae i think!

link to post

noelle is blonde and has blue-grey eyes. she wears purple contacts pretty often though (because she wants to 😌)

alari has light brown hair that is kinda curly, and she’s got pretty vibrant blue eyes.

they’re sisters, alari is 3 years older than noelle. noelle was 19 and alari was 22 when they got spotted

they worked as models when they were young adults. their jobs involved dyeing their hair blue/pink, and they would model like clothes and stuff. anyways, they were pretty successful. like not ultra famous but they had enough money to not work for the rest of their lives.

their modeling group was made of 4 girls, the others were named paisley autumn and they were green and red, respectively. some things are:

paisley and alari started dating during this

autumn was a single mother to a little girl named destiny

noelle dated many people during this but never ended up finding the one <3

when their contract ended after like 6 years, paisley and alari went to go live together and noelle decided to get into acting. so thats when get famous playthrough started!

there’s more but basically they’re like oc’s with sims on the side. xoxo

22. if you use cc, are there any cc creators that you have like ALL of their items? this is such a good question! i hoard hair very heavily (my folder is 11gb) i so i have like 97% from most of the popular hair creators.

i think i had legitimately EVERYTHING from simstrouble though, i went through multiple times to check and i also have all of her retired stuff.

i have everything from ridgeport i think-? because of the fact that she uploaded all her stuff in one big zip.

i think that’s it.. for a long time i also had everything by clumsyalienn, but then i ended up deleting it and only keeping my faves.

and looking at my collection, maybe ah00b? i might be missing a couple but i at least have like 99%.

23. what’s one pack you think is underrated? dine out, it’s laggy af yes but it’s such a nice thing for my sims to do.

24. what are your favorite sims stories/legacies? melons by gerbits always and forever

this question was inspired by this ask anyways so

25. if you could change one small thing about ts4, what would it be? most of my suggestions are pretty complex but literally just - when you add tray files, they appear at the top. my life would be so much easier

this took me literal hours to answer

#replies #replying to MYSELF

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katsukikitten · 5 years ago

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Rouge 3

A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR DEPRESSION AND SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

×××××××××××××××××××××

"April 20th, I know that's Bakugou's birthday but...but he said...." You swallow thickly your body raging with emotions not sure which you would finally land on. As if it were a wheel of fortune spun, hinting heavily that it would land on either mind numbing despair or burning hot wrath.

Why would he *lie* to you?

And why did you care?

The room flashes in vibrant color and in boring tones of grey. Kirishima's ruby hair and eyes are suddenly too bright before they dull just to blind you again. The red reminds you of something.

Of someone.

Of skin decaying away like caked mud to reveal crimson beneath.

Of scarlet eyes pleading for you to move. To run and far away from what the two of you faced.

Despite him being trapped.

A scene that has since played in your dreams for the past few months.

The world spirals with dizzying color that attempt to swatch into gray.

"Y/N?" Kirishima calls softly, strong hands cupping onto your shoulders as his face leans towards yours. Alchohol wafts into your nose, burning as everything else does.

You clench your eyes shut. Forcing the episode into its place, before letting your face meld into a small smile.

"I guess I really need this drink then." You force a laugh and Kirishima cannot tell otherwise, "Thanks for setting me straight Kiri."

He smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your hair line before whispering in your ear.

"He's been worried about you."

With that he leans over and pours extra liquor into your cup. When he leaves the kitchen you swallow down the whole bottle in a few swigs. A dangerous game to play considering there could be two outcomes when you're fucked up.

One you're giddy, overly happy and laughing your ass off.

Two, the world is so oppressive that everything is tainted in an awful sickly black.

Slolwy the world blooms in distorted color as a smile creeps onto your face.

The music shakes the house with heavy bass as lyrics filter through the massive speakers.

*"I'm only alive when I'm with yoooouuu."*

You sway to the music allowing yourself to be lost in the blinding swirling colors as more and more heroes offer you drinks. Smiling faces as they laugh with you and your stories. Coming alive thanks to booze and the occasional slipped pill. Your head is heavy, yet light as you float across the living room turned dance floor as the bass rings out hard enough it seems to shake the sweat from your skin.

You're not sure who ends up grinding on you first, or who kisses who first but you know you enjoy it. Love laughing, teasing and touching with anyone who's down. With anyone that helps you forget. Further encouraging your high, the colors blinding and so vibrant you can see them even when your eyes are closed, especially so when they're pressed against a soft set of lips.

Mina breaks the kiss first giggling as she does.

"Okay Denki now you've got to take the three shots!" The crowd erupts in a cheer as he does watching him down those three double shots causes you to stare into your empty solo cup.

Reminding you that you need another drink.

But the longer you stare at the blinding bright red, the more it seems the plastic melts in your hand.

Turning sticky, thick and much darker.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself as everything floods your senses at once.

Your quirk finally kicking in to sober you after the ungodly amounts of painkillers and alcohol you've consumed.

Suddenly it is as if you've touched a live wire, hearing beyond the ear shattering cheers all the way into the walls of the house where the mice chew on the wood.

As if their teeth are gnawing directly on your eardrums.

The sound competing with the crowd's seemingly collective heart beat with their red cups raised high. The plastic catches in the lowlight shimmering with the sweat of condensation before everything snaps.

Feeling everything so intensely it's numbing.

The room plunges into deep black but no one bats an eye, especially not as you snatch a pack of smokes and a lighter from an unsuspecting bystander right out of his black denim jacket.

You climb the steps, eyes guiding you in the dark, pushing past a kissing couple that you think is Todoroki and Momo but your mind is too warped to tell.

After three tries you finally find a room empty of slapping bodies and drunken moans. You slide open the window, snaking out before climbing onto the upper roof.

Back nestled against cooled shingles beneath the light of the stars. Filter to your lips you flick the lighter and watch the black flame dance before you inhale enough for the tabbacco catch.

The bass vibrates the ceiling below you as smoke escapes your lips and nostrils in a slow hiss.

"I feel like Bakugou would fucking hate this type of party." Is all you can think to say to the pale moon hanging high in the sky.

Silence stretches between you two as you stare into the ancient face of a long forgotten deity.

"Did I miss telling him happy birthday?" You ask the moon and still no answer comes.

Typical for you to ask all the wrong things.

At the wrong time.

And to the wrong celestial being.

Tears prick your eyes as that endless weight settles in your chest, slow blinking hoping that one day your lids will never reopen.

"You're right. I do fucking hate this party." Fear hardly clutches your stomach before the vice is quickly released, spying flecked red eyes.

Your fingers twitch before you light another smoke, half wondering if he is real or just something your ever adaptive mind is giving you to ease the pain.

The heavy loneliness.

Still you sit up and tilt the pack towards the possible mirage despite his sitting more than ten feet away.

He sucks his teeth, using precision to obliterate the offered pack with out burning your fingers.

"That's new..."

"Those are fucking bad for you." He snarls, you manage enough energy to roll your eyes before meeting his again.

Wholly noticing how his irises pale in the soft light, looking more like two blood moons forever suspended over a perpetual snarl.

It makes you laugh how something so breath taking could be paired with such displeasure.

Well that and the fact that he thinks a little smoke is gonna hurt you.

"Uh did you forget my quirk?" You tease, slowly you manage to force some life back into your face.

It's his fucking birthday after all.

Embers burn hot into your skin until shame settles over you once more.

You sigh out gripping the shingles of the roof, trying your damnedest not to break them. Thoughts swirling in your head with every passing second.

Continuously landing on a few.

Like how could you really forget his birthday?

Or more like how could you really think almost a whole year passed since your last failure?

Or how could you even count the days when all you could see was the red of his cheeks as his arms snapped backward?

Of the way his sunkissed skin fell as if it were chipped away by dirty nails?

Of the color beneath the flaking skin solidified before threatening to turn that precious fucking red into soul shattering grey.

The tile shingle snaps coming up to slice your palm causing red to ooze out onto all the shades of black.

The quiet between you becomes suffocating as time ticks by, furthering your spiral.

All the while memories from high school until now flood into the forefront of your mind as you feel nothing but a heated gaze raking across your skin.

Had he always been watching?

He sure did show up at odd times in your life.

At times you were moments away from the edge, even pulling you back majority of the time.

All the while acting as if you were the biggest nuisance to walk the Earth.

But looking back you can see it, subtle yet obvious when it clouded those blood red moons.

Worry and fear paired with a tight grip and even harsher words.

An instigated fight, an encouraged argument until slowly the emotions changed from that worry.

From the fear you hadn't thought the arrogant hot head capable of to something else entirely.

Relief.

That's what flooded his eyes each time he safely brought you back to the dorms or the agency. It feels as if he's been the only one to ever truly worry.

The only one to look hard enough, to see past the fogged glass.

Words claw up your throat, fighting one another as they do.

Phrases and cries for help all the same as all you want to do is reach out for those strong arms to wrap around you.

To openly cry as you pulled on the fabric of his shirt until it took the form of your fist, even when you released it.

You swallow thickly finally deciding on what to say.

"Happy Birthday Bakugou-chan!" You sing song, forcing every ounce of what little happiness you have into the well wish. Hoping beyond hope it makes up for everything you should've said.

His heart hammers in his chest as he watches your lips curve upwards and over your teeth, as your cheeks scrunch up your face, lids closing over such a stunning fucking color.

He would have thought it real if he hadn't known better.

If he hadn't watched you climb from the window with that God damn zombie look plastered on your face.

"Don't." He bites, causing your heart to free fall into your stomach, "I can't watch you fucking lie any more."

His jaw ticks while your nails bite into your fresh wound, keeping it open to keep you seated.

"I..." He growls audibly before going on, "You can show me you know. I can handle it. I can fucking try to help."

You open your mouth to say something but a gust of wind blows through you before a hand is wrapped tightly around your neck.

Half of a lanky grey body justs out from a swirling portal in the sky.

"You think we'd let you get away with that golden quirk? The things we could do with you..." Manic joy oozes out in the form of a grotesque smile. Chapped lips wide enough to be seen from beneath a large hand.

"Let. Go." His tone is primal as he speaks, coming to his feet as you're yanked to your own.

"Oh I didn't realize you had company golden goose." For once fear stays with you as it curls into your muscles, your bones. The grip on your throat tightens as your heart hammers in your chest.

This is it, this would be the last time you ever saw him. Your last opportunity to ever say all the things you needed to fucking say after being so ignorantly oblivious to his actions.

To his heart.

Things begin to go in slow motion, watching him obliterate the roof beneath his feet, fingers outstretched for you as that damn emotion plasters openly on his face.

Fear twits into rage on his features.

But all you can do is smile, wholeheartedly smile as you look at him.

Tears of mixed feelings blur your vision as you say the one thing you so desperately needed to say to him.

"Thank you, Katsuki-kun. Thank you."

Just as he is within arms reach the portal swallows you whole closing as quickly as it opened.

Leaving Bakugou Katsuki to fall onto his hands and knees, slamming popping firsts into shingles that turn into sharp confetti all the while fat droplets fall from angry cheeks.

#bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugo angst #bakugou angst #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha angst

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chiauve · 5 years ago

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The Man in the Dark - 2

“That’s enough TV for today,” Ally’s mother said, glaring down at her daughter the couch potato.

“But it’s a new season,” Ally argued, but at another look from her mom she paused her program and exited to the home screen before the remote was straight up taken from her and she lost her place.

Her mom had that look.

“I got a call from your teacher this afternoon. She says you haven’t been turning in your homework.”

Because she hadn’t been doing it, but Ally knew better than to say that. She also knew better than to argue that it was boring because adults didn’t care that it was boring just that it was important and had to be done. Instead of denying it or arguing Ally just gave a shamefaced pout.

Her mother sighed. “Alright then, until your grades are back up, no more TV and from now on I’m taking your phone and tablet after dinner. You can have them back in the morning before school.”

That got her attention. Ally spun around on the couch, facing her mother with large, beseeching eyes. “But I need my tablet if I’m gonna do homework!”

“You can use the family computer so you don’t get distracted.”

“But—“

“That’s final, Ally. You don’t need to be chatting with your friends or making videos that late anyway.”

Ally slumped back down into the couch, arms crossed and almost ready to throw a tantrum if she wasn’t aware she was too old for that. Spending her night hours stuck at her homework was a fate worse than death. Unless she could fake getting it done first...

“It’s easier to do my homework at Dad’s work. Can I go there after school instead? Until I do better?”

Her mother eyed her a minute and then shrugged. “All right. I’ll ask your Dad if he’s okay with that.”

“So I can keep my tablet tonight?”

“Fine, we’ll see how things go, but no more TV tonight.”

“Yes, mom.”

Back in her room, the door safely shut, Ally flipped through the photos of her recent foray into the basement levels on her tablet, mostly the ones from the bottom-most level. The large, empty room was intriguing in its emptiness; there were slats in the floor for something, and large chains lay discarded. It sent shivers down her spine looking at them even in the comfort of her bed.

Finally she reached the pictures of the keypad with its single little red light. Why was it still active? The entire floor was dead, even the water pipes and air cut off.

What was in there?

While some things remained on the lowest floors, they were items that could be replaced or that were no longer needed. Anything still of value was locked up on the second basement level, everything else below left to be forgotten.

There was probably nothing in that room at all, something was just left on by accident. Like the broken doors.

Or there was something really important in there. Or really scary.

She peered at the photo of the keypad closely, zooming in on the numbers. Some were darker than others, possibly pressed more? But even if she got the combination right, would the door even open? It had been sealed for years now, it could be stuck.

Well she wouldn’t know until she checked it, and she had every intent to try tomorrow. While she still managed to hold onto her bravery.

At the BSAA office building, Ally went to her supposed study space first, waiting until people coming and going settled in for the last few hours of work. When things got quieter she picked up and went straight to the basement, creeping onto the first level and then hurrying through each subsequent one, still remembering her rituals of Descent, until she reached the Last Door.

Ally paused in the doorway, faced with that dank, silent hall.

There was something down there. Something locked away.

Her fear crept in. She’d seen enough movies and heard enough stories in her life to know that things that were buried were never supposed to be unburied and when they were only bad things happened. Her fear begged her to go back upstairs, to stay away from this horrible prison.

But Ally took a step forward. And then another. She came from a line of BSAA folk, whether they were tied to a desk or not, and would not back down. She walked to the end where that tiny little red light blazed in this black place. She shone her light on the keypad.

There were numbers and the largest button on the bottom still had the O for ‘open’ visible. Skipping the numbers, she pressed that. Her finger sunk into a layer of grime and she couldn’t tell if the button actually pressed but she listened.

Nothing. She pressed it again, hard. Still nothing. Frowning, Ally began to run through combinations of the darkened numbers, over and over. She’d gone through so many when she began to fear she’d need a keycard as well, and that whatever was here was going to stay hidden forever.

The light turned green and there was a heavy, slow clunk and a release of hydraulics. The door shrieked and then only moved an inch before it got stuck on the track. There was a shivering noise from within that made the hair on Ally’s arms stand on end. She grabbed the door and shoved and was hit in the face with a blast of foul, fetid air rank with rot and she staggered back and gagged. Her lunch crawled up her throat and much as it revolted her she decided to let it go and turned and puked in a corner.

Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope nope...

She never smelled anything that awful and disgusting in her life. The closest she ever smelled was when a squirrel had fallen down their chimney and died on the shut flue and they didn’t know until it started to rot and the smell got in the house.

Something died in that locked room, was still dying.

Tears rolled down her face and she cried, spitting the taste of sick out of her mouth. She wanted to run; she did her job as an explorer and found something she shouldn’t have. Good enough, get back above, now.

She spat again and then froze.

There was that shivering noise again.

Something was moving in there, a lot of something.

She had to know.

Taking a deep breath of stale air that now seemed fresh in comparison to that, Ally pulled the collar of her shirt up over her nose and crept to the door again, her light dancing around erratically as her hand shook. She shoved the door hard and it reluctantly moved along the track, a few inches at a time. She could finally enter and slid the flashlight beam around the room.

Hundreds of red eyes stared back at her. A large pile of rats hunkered in the middle of the room and shrieked at her as her light struck them before they fled, scattering all ways and vanishing back into the dark. Ally yelped and backed out, making sure the rats weren’t following, and then slowly crept in again.

There was still something on the floor, a pile of black and red and brown that wasn’t rats. It wasn’t moving at all.

The smell was so terrible Ally had to step back out in the hall again, gasping and gagging. When she re-entered the red eyes of the rats were back, watching her. She shone her light at them and they disappeared. She took a slow couple of steps towards the pile in the room and her unease began to grow further.

Whatever it was, it was chained down. Enormous chains as thick as her arms criss-crossed several times over the form, the links vanishing into slats on the floor. It was lying in a puddle of red, thick and dried with rat droppings.

It was wet.

She froze and stared in horror. Open wounds were weeping blood and clear fluids slowly, some exposing the white of bone. What might have once been clothes were shredded to near nothing, bared skin so filthy and infected it was discolored.

It was breathing. Or at least it looked like it was breathing. No, it was her shaking light, playing tricks on her. Had to be. She’d been exploring these dark places long enough to know that’s what the dark did. It was a trickster and liked to play, to confuse.

Against her better judgment, she took another step, her light on the bloody pile on the floor. Her free hand raised her phone for a picture, and the flash went off.

It was slight but unmistakable this time. One end of the pile moved, a swatch of matted, filthy hair shifted and Ally was met with a single eye. It was red and reptilian and, locking onto her, began to glow.

The pile moved now, tensed against the chains, and then there was a clacking and a hefty clunk as the chains were pulled down with sharp force from below, several links pulled into the slats in the floor, forcing the pile, the thing, back down violently. The head, for it was unmistakable that’s what it was now, threw back and a blackened mouth opened in a pain-filled scream, but there was no sound. A rush of air and bubbling blood and remnants of dead flesh splattered the floor in front of its trapped face.

Ally screamed in its stead and ran, nearly slipping on the grime. She grabbed the door and forced it shut, putting as much between her and that awful rotting thing as she could, and then she ran and didn’t stop running until she reached the light of the main floor, until she reached a bathroom. She locked herself in a stall and threw up again, though nothing came up but she kept trying, trying to purge the smell, the rot, the terror from her little body.

Ally sat on the floor and scoot into the corner, clutching her backpack and started sobbing.

She should have known better. She should have.

What was that horrible thing?

She wanted nothing more than to run to her father and beg him to take her home. She’d never explore down below again, honest! Just make whatever that was go away!

But she was too scared to move, too horrified, and after long minutes of crying adrenaline leaked out of her and left her exhausted on the bathroom floor, hiccuping.

She finally got up and left the stall, staring at herself in the mirror. She splashed cold water on her face to try to get rid of the puffiness.

In a strange, relaxed daze, Ally wandered back to her usual place to do homework and sat down. She didn’t even pretend to work, but stared at the shoddy picture on her phone.

The flash lit the pile well enough, but the picture was blurred from shaking. Still, she could make out the form now. There was a head, the large hunch in the pile were shoulders, it tapered down to hips and then legs. A man-like figure, chained down on its side in a puddle of filth.

Ally hands gripped her phone tightly, the very image making her shake not only from her experience but from the horrible stories her grandpa used to tell her.

There was a BOW down there, a trapped zombie forgotten in the basement when all else had been cleared out.

She wouldn’t run to her dad, not yet. She wasn’t a little kid. And she didn’t want to surrender her explorer title just yet. This was still a mystery. She’d solve it first, and then be a good girl and tell her dad there was a monster down below.

She took a long, deep breath, and reminded herself to dig out her old bat from the closet for next time.

#resident evil #albert wesker #body horror #gore #kinda #the man in the dark #fanfic

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radiojamming · 6 years ago

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lil fic for my own indulgence of josie and javier’s first kiss hell ye

also hi my name is DJ and i use the same made up town for every fic and i feel no shame! aaaand this takes place ~1896 ish, so javier’s been with the gang for about a year.

- - -

The lawmen of Copperbell must have boring lives, as apparently they’re hawkeyed enough to see trouble before it even happens. For a tiny, exhausted mining town, it’s not so much surprising as it is frustrating. Scoping for jobs and planning heists doesn’t work quite as well when those oh-so fine gentlemen of the law are hovering only a few feet away.

For Josie and Javier, it means several miserably boring days in the Peacock Hotel, waiting for the opportune moment to do something other than trying to make sense of the gaudy decorations around the hotel room and wiping the floor with drunk folks at the poker table downstairs. Copperbell’s distinctly lacking in an entertainment district (they did have a lovely travelling show come through on Thursday, advertising chickens who could jump through hoops and a goat that could eat and spit up jewelry), so Josie and Javier are mostly left to their own devices. This, decidedly, isn’t for the best.

For nearly twenty miles in each cardinal direction, there’s nothing but scrublands and washes. A train comes through twice a day, carrying the mail and a few passengers who have sought work in other, more fruitful places. Around three in the afternoon, the winds have a tendency to pick up and cause small dust storms that whip up ruddy dust devils on the main thoroughfare, rendering promenades impossible. At night, the sun dips below the violet ridge of mountains to the west and the nightlife that follows is about as lively as a boneyard. The most exciting thing is when a coyote paws through someone’s garbage.

On the late afternoon of their fifth day in Copperbell, Josie worries about the damage that Javier’s done to the left side of the door frame. It’s riddled in knife-shaped pockmarks from practicing his throws. Hours are filled with fhwip-thunk! and his footsteps, then the creak of the wicker chair in their room.

Josie sprawls on the bed and tries to read from the hotel’s limited library. She gets about a quarter of the way through a book about the flora and fauna of the wash before she realizes that she hasn’t retained a single word. After another fhwip-thunk! thump, thump, creaaaaaaak, she decides that she’s about had enough.

“Either we need to try another town, or we do something,” she says, rubbing at her good eye which feels like it’s full of Copperbell’s famous omnipresent dust.

Javier shrugs and thumbs the tip of his knife. “Don’t know what we can do,” he says slowly, still mindful of his developing English. It’s gotten significantly better in the year that he’s been running with them. “Law’s everywhere.”

Josie grimaces and sinks back against the pillows. They’ve tried to play the newly married couple card, opting for enterprising tourists in the glorious locale of Copperbell. As far as a ruse goes, it’s a poor one. No one comes to Copperbell unless they have to, which means the law is probably right to be suspicious. That, and Javier acts like a startled rabbit whenever she introduces him as her husband.

It also doesn’t help their case that she’s apparently a new, blushing bride with an eyepatch and a limp like a pirate, and he looks like a desperado straight from a penny novel.

He throws the knife again--fhwip-th-thunk as it misses the door frame and lands blade down on the boards--and Josie rolls onto her side, staring out the window thoughtfully. Outside, the evening has gone from burning orange to inky blue. The coyotes are probably already yipping a symphony in the distance with only the stars as their audience. It’s a waning moon tonight, so--

She sits up, startling Javier again who almost drops the knife on his foot. He stares at her, and she stares at him, a smile starting to spread across her face.

“I say we do it tonight anyway.”

“What?”

“We do the heist. That big copper magnate fella’s house that Hosea was talking about.”

Javier looks confused, and for a moment, she thinks that he didn’t understand her. Then, he shrugs. “We’ll get caught,” he says.

“Not if we’re smart. Keep to the shadows, don’t use the whole married couple bit, and do a good old fashioned house robbery before the sun comes up.”

He squints at her. “And if the law comes?”

“Then we run.” She cocks her grin like a pistol. “What are they gonna do? Chase us into the wash?”

That’d be ruination for multiple parties, and the officers would probably figure them for dead between the distance and the rattlesnakes. Fortunately, she and Javier are a little better adjusted to great swatches of wilderness than most people.

Slowly, like the crawl of the sunrise, Javier grins at her and slides his knife back into its sheath. “Okay,” he says at last. “What can it hurt?”

- - -

Plenty, apparently.

First of all, the wealthy people of Copperbell are few and far between, and apparently very defensive of every last bit of finery in their houses. So much as an embroidered napkin goes missing and suddenly every dog in Copperbell is up and barking, and every lawman finds liberal use for his whistle.

Secondly, there are only a handful of places to hide in the town. The church is an option, but that’s just asking for a standoff with the law. There’s the aforementioned wash, but unless there’s a big enough sagebrush bush to hide both of them, it’s not something that can be done in under ten minutes. With men shouting, whistles being blown, and mutts braying like bloodhounds, their options are fewer and fewer.

At the very least, Josie’s gotten away with a pocket watch, a solid gold letter opener (with a very charming naked cherub on the top), and a lovely silver necklace. Javier hasn’t had time to list off what little he managed to grab before the shouting started. He’s a little more concerned with navigating through the shadows, as they had planned, trying to find some obscure nook that no one’s found yet. Mostly, he’s performing impressive, long-winded strings of curses in Spanish, hardly pausing to take a breath as he does it. Josie would be even more impressed if they weren’t running for their lives.

They skid around a corner, and even in the dark, Josie recognizes the back wall of the Peacock Hotel. They can’t very well burst into the lobby, covered in dust and sweat, panting like they’ve run a mile (she thinks by now, they probably have). It’s as good as a dead end, and Josie can only hope that Copperbell’s jail cells aren’t as dusty as everything else, and that they’re not fond of the noose as a primary source of entertainment.

Then, Javier yanks them back into the shadows by a pile of crates and unmarked barrels. He’s breathing hard, glancing back and forth like a pendulum in quick step. Finally, he catches his breath and nods to her.

“I have an idea,” he says. At the same time, they hear more shouting.

“Can’t hurt, what ever it is.”

“Can’t hurt,” he agrees.

Pauses.

Looks at her with his eyes just pale flickers of light.

And kisses her like their lives depend on it. (They do.)

Josie staggers back against the wall in surprise. Javier presses her against it, his right hand rising up to her jaw, the other hand pressed against the wall beside her waist. It takes Josie a moment to realize what he’s attempting to do, and she has to give him credit for it-- It’s very clever.

She responds by hooking one arm around the back of his shoulders, and the other hand finds a spot under his coat, right at his waist. If she needs to, she can slide that hand down and grab his revolver, provided either of them stand a chance at surviving a firefight. She inches her legs apart just enough for him to slot one of his between them. As an added thought, she quickly reaches up from his shoulders to knock his hat off and ruffle his hair to make it look like they’ve been at this for awhile. She almost laughs outright when he makes an interested ‘hmm’ sound against her lips (which feels very pleasant) and returns the favor, tugging her braid loose.

There are a few things that she realizes at that moment. One of them is that Javier is far more clever than anyone’s given him credit for. It’s been a little less than a year since Dutch picked him up, and that time has been full of lessons, small missions, and him attempting to find his niche in a gang of strangers. He hasn’t exactly been shy, per se, but he also hasn’t been given much opportunity yet to really let his skills be used to their advantage. He’s a quick thinker, and Josie makes a mental note to pass that along to Dutch and Hosea when she gets the chance.

The second realization is that he is one hell of a good kisser. She doesn’t have much to compare to, but even she knows that this is a good thing. He tilts his head just so, and his lips are warmer and softer than they look. When they finally hear the lawmen start to approach, he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth, which technically isn’t necessary, but is a pretty good touch considering the illusion they’re trying to keep up. She responds in turn, a little happier to oblige than she probably should be.

Someone kicks up gravel near them, and all Josie hears is, “You there! Stop-- ...Oh.”

She doesn’t look up. Javier’s not giving her much of a reason to.

The officer makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “I-- Uh-- P-pardon me, sir and uh-- miss.”

Josie tilts her head back just enough to speak, but Javier just occupies himself by kissing a trail down her jaw to her neck. “Missus,” she corrects. “Just married.”

She gets about three seconds to look at the stunned lawman before Javier’s kissing her properly again, and Josie’s so far from complaining that she might as well be standing on another continent.

“I... W-well, congratulations! That’s--” He clears his throat again. “Yes. Well. Carry on.”

He doesn’t linger long after that, and after another minute or so (a very, very blissful minute), the shouts and barking gets further away. Then, it’s almost completely quiet save for the soft, wet sounds of their kisses and the whipping of the wind in the eaves above them. Finally, Javier leans back and grins at her. She does the same, until both of them finally crack and laugh with relief.

“Mierda,” Javier breathes, wiping at his eyes. “That was a miracle.”

“That was brilliant, Mister Escuella,” Josie corrects. She hasn’t moved her arm from his shoulders yet, and that’s yet to bother her.

And then she sees that little bit of Javier that she’s coming to understand is the real him. That clever fox look on his face that she’s hoping to see a lot more of. “Señora Escuella, it’s been a pleasure,” he says.

They laugh again, at the absurdity of it all, at just about everything about this damn trip. Then, Josie kisses him on the cheek, and can’t ignore how Javier just seems to lean into it. “Come on,” she says. “I’m exhausted, and I don’t think they’re gonna bother us now.”

They stumble into the lobby of the Peacock, arms around each other, dizzy and grinning. For the first time, Josie thinks they probably actually look like the newlyweds they’ve been claiming to be, and that thought makes her laugh again as the receptionist gives them a polite smile.

And honestly, the sleep that follows is probably the best Josie has ever had.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #javier escuella #oc: josie bishop #javier/oc #this was so fun #they're just miguel and tulio tbh

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officerjennie · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara Characters: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara, Senju Butsuma, Senju Hashirama, Senju Itama Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Supernatural Elements, Warring States Period (Naruto), Child Neglect, Child Abandonment, Tobirama doesn't die in this one, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have other stories I should be working on, Why Did I Write This? Series: Part 3 of Tobirama in Mythology

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Itama crouched low on the soft earth, shifting his weight as the moss pressed down at his feet. The plant he examined was small, much smaller than expected, but had the right shape and color to its leaves. He pulled out a kunai, cutting off a swatch and pushing himself back up. It may or may not be what he’s looking for, but it’s been the closest so far.

Sunlight filtered in through the towering oaks and pines, making it easy enough to find his way. The root networks this far west stayed mostly underground as well, unlike the trees that grew nearest the compound - Hashirama had mentioned once that it was on purpose, meant to make ground travel more difficult. Itama was just glad to not stub his toe so much out here.

Sensei hadn’t moved from his spot, too busy gathering his own herbs to follow his student, filling the leather satchel hanging at his side with various roots and snipped stems.

“What did you find?” He picked up a stem, dull eyes unfocused as he brought it close to his nose, pinching the leaves to release its scent. Yasuo-sensei didn’t glance at him once, only shoved the stem into his satchel before moving on, expecting him to follow.

“Rue, sensei.” Having yet to have a decent growth spurt, Itama had to trot to keep up. Working quick was always safer when outside the compound. Even teaching had to be done with haste when at war. Besides, Itama was used to people brushing him off, not giving him much time to learn or speak. Most days, it didn’t even bother him anymore.

Sensei snapped his fingers at him while they walked, his footfalls quiet next to Itama’s own rustling feet. He fiddled with his own small pouch, handing the swatch over as he ducked away from a reaching bush.

“And what do we use rue for?”

Itama had expected the question, just as he had expected the uninterested tone. One sprawling root caught his sandal, making him trip and catch himself on the rough bark of an oak, scratching his palms. He dashed to catch back up, not so much as a hitch in his sensei’s stride at his delay.

“We make an antidote, for snake bites.” Tobirama wouldn’t have tripped. He also wouldn’t be making so much noise as he walked. Itama scowled at himself, wiping his stinging palms on his hakama. Walking silent - like a real shinobi - shouldn’t be this difficult. Everyone else could do it.

His sensei hummed, sounding more bored than anything else. “You are correct, on both accounts. But tell me, Itama-kun,” he stopped once more, squinting at a winding vine cutting into greyed-out bark. The tree looked smothered, as if the vine was choking all life out of it. “What do we pair rue with to cure the poison?”

The clan had only a handful of texts dealing with medicinal herbs. Most were part of Hashirama’s personal collection, and contained detailed diagrams, sketches, details on how to care for and grow each species, alongside the typical uses of the plants in question. Some were admittedly outdated, but Itama had read them all anyway, going so far as to borrow his mother’s candles to read into the late evening.

He didn’t know the answer. Even after all of that, hours spent scouring the scrolls, begging Hashirama to help him for just a minute or two, taking notes until his fingers cramped from the effort - even after all of that, his mind drew a blank.

“I don’t know, sensei.” The words tasted foul. Fouler still when he thought of his eldest brother, how he had such a knack for all things that grew from the soil. Hashirama would’ve known the answer.

Sensei glanced in his direction for a moment, patting his head. It made him feel small. He hated it. “Oleander. We mix rue with oleander. You’ll know it by its sweet scent.” His sensei continued on, flicking his wrist to get Itama to follow. “Always be sure to pair the two together. On its own, oleander is lethal.”

“Yes, sensei.” They pushed through a patch of saplings, reaching the meet-up location agreed upon before beginning their herb search. Hiro was waiting for them already, inspecting the last trap on her patrol, being sure the wind hadn’t messed with the camouflage.

She was their guard. Itama knew enough to recognize that. His father refused to let him out of the compound without several other shinobi watching over him, as if he knew his son couldn’t protect himself. He also knew his brothers left the compound frequently, on patrols with no guards or bored sensei along with them. No one having to slow their stride so his siblings could keep up.

“We need to head back, sensei.” His glorified babysitter stood back up, dusting the dirt from her hands, flicking a wary gaze westward. The forest’s edge stood a dozen or so meters away, marking the border between Senju territory and no man’s land. A few miles of neutral ground was all that separated them from Uchiha land now; Itama shuddered at the thought, moving closer to his sensei. Somewhere out that direction, the savages that stole little Kawarama from him lived. He didn’t like thinking of them.

Yasuo walked right past the shinobi, inspecting a bit of foliage that Itama couldn’t tell apart from the rest around it. “The herb harvest is almost done, Hiro-san. I don’t need long.” He pulled out a kunai, using it to dig at some roots. Hiro scowled at his back, though Itama wasn’t sure if for his words or the gross misuse of the weapon. Her hand fell to her side as she scanned the area, resting on the handle of her wakizashi - or was that a katana?

Great. Something else he didn’t know. Itama kicked at a patch of wildflowers, wanting nothing more than to act like a child and cry. But he couldn’t be a child anymore; he scrubbed at his eyes, peeking over at his sensei and the shinobi. At least they hadn’t seen him get upset.

“Taicho.” Another shinobi dropped from the trees, startling Itama enough to knock him over. Neither Yasuo or Hiro had so much as blinked at the newcomer, though they both spared a moment to look his way. He flushed, beyond relieved when Hiro looked away to address her subordinate.

“Report, Eiko.”

Eiko took a moment to kneel, straightening up to address her captain. She barely stood up to the shinobi’s shoulder, and couldn’t have been more than a year older than Hashirama. But she held herself like a soldier, and Itama was certain she’d seen battle. Even her armor seemed a bit used, though it wasn’t like the full sets he’d seen his parents wear.

“The northern border is secure. All traps are still set, with no signs of disturbance.”

“And the eastern border?”

The younger shinobi shook her head, high ponytail swaying behind her. “He’s yet to check in. Should I offer assistance, taicho?”

“No need. He’s not been gone long.” Hiro nodded in his direction, a deep frown stretching at the scar running down her cheek. “We’ll see him home first. If he’s not reported back by then, we’ll head-”

Hiro jumped back, blade drawn. Clinking metal echoed off the trees, five kunai deflected before Itama even knew they were under attack. He saw Yasuo move as well, blocking the projectiles and dodging another, a thick gash sliced on his cheek.

Eiko wasn’t so lucky. One shuriken hit her neck, and she fell lifeless.

Seven shinobi fell upon them. Sensei pulled him back, intent on protecting him at all costs, but did not last long. Itama scrambled back, kunai gripped too tight in his hand, blood rushing in his ears.

Sensei was dead. Eiko-san was dead. They died just like Yoai had, right in front of him, falling, bleeding.

His back hit a tree, weapon lost to the brush around him. Bark rough at his fingertips. He had to hide. They would kill him.

One step, and the twang of breaking wire. It cut into his skin, wrapping his arms to his sides. Twigs cut his face as he fell, a rock sharp in his temple, and his vision blurred.

The fighting died down, crashes of metal and tearing flesh still echoing in his ears but not fresh in the air. Footsteps disturbed the grass near him, the shinobi no longer caring if they were heard.

A harsh kick to his side, pain spreading like wildfire from his ribs, and he was on his back. He bit his lip to keep from whimpering, daring to open his eyes and look at the man towering over him.

“Huh, looks like I caught one.” He had no pupils, just dark purple pits for eyes. His hair was blood red, and he grinned down at Itama, crouching next to him.

“Hurry up. We need to go.”

Itama tried to lift his head at the voice, to see how many there were, but he was stopped by metal on his cheek. The blade of a kunai, tip splitting his skin. He couldn’t stop shaking.

“Are you gonna cry, boy? Piss yourself?” The man mocked him, pressing the weapon deeper his skin. Watched the blood well there, trickle warm down his cheek. Laughed when Itama whimpered, eyes lit with a dark interest he didn’t understand.

“Mai.” The name had the man’s head snapping to the side, dark eyes narrowed and a sneer at his lips. “Either finish the boy, or I will.”

Itama could only see the man above him, shadowed by the trees. A breeze ruffled the blood-red hair, for a moment making him seem almost human. But his muscles were tensed, jaw tight, eyes focused and burning with irritation.

He withdrew the kunai in a flash, making sure to cut Itama’s cheek deep as he did, drawing a hiss from him. “Ruining my fun.” His tone was almost playful as he pushed himself up, disappearing from his line of sight.

There was a heavy thud. A body hit the ground, followed by curses and drawn weapons. Itama’s eyes widened, and he squirmed, trying to roll onto his side despite his body’s pained protests.

He hadn’t seen Hiro fall. Hadn’t heard her die. Was she still alive?

Something snarled, the sound feral and wild. Agonized screams followed the sound of flesh being rent from flesh. The smell of blood, the sounds of terrified curses and slick tearing of skin.

Itama stopped moving, and held his breath. The men who attacked him were being slaughtered only a few meters away. He shut his eyes tight, feeling hot tears prickle at the corners.

All he’d wanted to do was make Father proud. To see his brothers happy again. And now he was going to die for sure, eaten alive by whatever monster had just delayed his death.

The stench of copper and blood overwhelmed him, something wet touching the gash on his cheek. A sob tore out of him, uncontrollable and weak. He had tried. Tried so hard to be strong and brave, just like his brothers.

“Itama?” A gentle hand cupped his cheek, and his eyes shot open.

His armor was splattered in blood, exposed cloth soaked through and sticking to his skin. Thick streaks of red across his face, hair beginning to matt, stained pink and scarlet. His eyes were wide, breaths shallow, hands shaking.

“Tobira-” He choked on the name, a storm of relief and fear and confusion overtaking him. The wire fell from him, cut loose, and Tobirama clutched him tight in his arms, his grip near painful in his desperation.

On some level, he knew they had started moving, his brother picking him up and carrying him with ease. By the time Itama had finally calmed himself, they had arrived back at the compound. From what he could see over his brother's shoulder, they were in a bedroom, tucked into the corner furthest from the door. He squirmed a bit, trying to look around to properly see where they were, but Tobirama's grip tightened with each twitch, as if determined to not let him move even an inch away.

That was how Akamu found them, huddled in a corner, covered in blood. Itama heard her gasp, his mother rushing over to see him - he tried to break free of Tobirama's iron grip, knowing it was childish to want his mother so badly, but part of his brain reminded him that he was a child, and he needed his mother, needed to feel her arms around him to feel safe again.

Her attempts to gather him were met with snarls, and Itama stilled, feeling his brother shaking from the noise ripping out of his chest. It sounded feral, sounded like the monster that had slaughtered the enemy shinobi - he refused to connect the two, to let the image of his doting, loving brother be tainted with the blood drying on both their skins, staining their hair and clothes.

It took an hour to calm him, to loosen the hold he had on Itama. By then, Butsuma had come rushing in as well, hearing reports of an attack and falling to his knees in front of them. It was Father that calmed his brother, hushing his fury and fear, gently removing Itama and placing him in his mother's arms, where he buried himself in the crook of her neck.

That night, after the blood was washed from both of them, Itama wanted nothing more than to crawl into his parent's futon. But one look at his brother, at how close he stuck himself to his side, how Tobirama could barely tear his eyes away from him for more than a moment - and he took his nii-san's hand, leading him down the hall and crawling under the covers next to him, drifting off to the steady beat of his heart and brushed fingers through the white half of his hair.

They both woke up only an hour later, to a sobbing Hashirama. But he had always swung between moods easily, and calmed after only a few minutes, laying himself across his two little brothers and keeping them warmer than any blanket ever could (and snoring loudly in their ears the entire night).

#madatobi #fanfiction #senju itama #itama #tobirama #hashirama #butsuma #original senju characters #mywriting #also on ao3 #midfic #took way too long #also i hate writing fight scenes #slow burn fic

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skeletonscribbles · 7 years ago

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At Least It’s Not Sports (Part Four - Senior Year, Second Semester)

and here’s the grand finale! thanks for hanging out, theatre nerds, and happy Richie Tozier’s birthday!

Title: At Least It’s Not Sports (High School Drama Club AU)

Pairings: Reddie, Stanlon, Benverly, Bill x Audra

Rating: less explicit than last time but still a quick sexy moment

Summary: Richie interrupted his thoughts. “So. You wanna talk?” Eddie didn’t want to talk. He wanted to kiss Richie so hard that they both forgot everything about what had happened between them, and then he wanted to start over from there. He reined back his imagination and nodded slowly. “I think that would be a good idea.”

Warnings: excessive sappiness, straightforward Stan

Freshman Year / Sophomore Year / Junior Year / Senior Year First Semester

Read on Ao3!

They didn’t talk to each other for a little while after The Incident.

Everything else was normal. They both ate at the same lunch table, both continued to socialize with their friends, both went through the motions of school. They just...didn’t talk to each other.

It fucking sucked.

Eddie missed Richie with everything in him, to the point where it was physically painful to even look at him most days. He knew he was the one that had fucked up - if he hadn’t had so much to drink, then things wouldn’t have escalated in the first place - but for the first time, it really, truly felt like Richie hated him, and that was almost unbearable.

More than that, it meant that Eddie didn’t have anyone he could talk to. Richie had morphed, over the summer, into not only friend and crush but confidante. Eddie trusted him implicitly - always had, even when things were rocky - and though he loved the rest of his friends, his relationship with them wasn't the same. Even Bev didn’t get him like Richie did - didn’t listen and understand like Richie could.

He found himself on the phone with Stan a lot.

“I don't know if you should talk to him, Eddie, I really don’t.” Stan sounded tired. He always sounded tired. College seemed exhausting. “You probably really freaked him out. I can’t imagine hooking up with someone only to realize after the fact that they weren't really in any position to consent.”

“I did consent,” Eddie insisted, cradling his cellphone to his ear and willing his mother to stay out of his room. “I wanted it. All of it.”

“Did you tell him that?”

Eddie sighed. “No. But he won’t even look at me.”

“If you tell him that, he might.”

“But--”

“Don’t call me if you don’t want my advice, Eddie,” Stan said, and hung up.

“I applied to NYU--” Eddie tried, hoping that a subject change would keep Stan on the phone, but he was already gone.

The winter play rolled around much like it always did - too quickly. Bill was absolutely beside himself with making sure that everything was running smoothly...no matter how many times Eddie assured him that yes, everything was running smoothly. Bev’s costumes were sublime, Ben’s set design was sophisticated and easy to work with and around (which Eddie very much appreciated, as SM), and Richie was brilliant in a part that had literally been written for him.

In short, it was perfect, and Eddie absolutely hated it.

He hated that every single thing on stage was a visual reminder of the fact that they were leaving; that it was their last straight play together. He hated Bill’s obsessing, and Bev’s incessant swatching, and Ben’s need to focus and refocus the lights.

Most of all, he hated having to watch Richie. The stage was where Richie belonged; where Eddie had fallen in love with him, and now, it was where Eddie came back to have his heart sliced open again and again and again.

Sometimes, Richie would catch him looking. Those were probably the moments that sucked the worst. Neither of them had any idea what to do, so Eddie would end up angrily returning to his clipboard and Richie would shove his hands in his pockets and look down.

Stan was still on winter break through their final dress rehearsal, and so decided to come in to assess the play’s progress. (Eddie was pretty sure he was actually there to check out attractive, older Bill, but that was apparently neither here nor there...and besides, Stan and Mike were still going strong.) When he saw what was going on between Richie and Eddie, he all but ripped out his curls.

“Why didn’t you tell me that things were this bad,” he hissed once Eddie had given his end of show notes. Eddie had been careful not to include Richie in them for the last couple of runs because he didn’t want to seem vindictive...but there were some major prop switches that Richie needed to make, and Eddie knew that Stan had noticed each and every one. “It’s impacting the show.”

Eddie sighed. “I did tell you. Obviously you’re not listening to the shit I tell you over the phone.”

“No, I’m not,” Stan acquiesced. “Well, shit, Eddie.”

“Well, shit,” Eddie agreed, pulling the strings of his black hoodie tight enough that his face was enveloped in his hood.

“So let’s fix it.” Stan was not in the mood for pity parties (not now, and really not ever). He stood up once Ms. Starrett was finished giving acting notes, and crossed down through the sea of departing actors. Eddie watched him, frozen with panic.

“You mean right now?!”

“Right now,” Stan confirmed. “If the audience has to watch Richie Tozier walk onstage tomorrow with a dagger that looks like it came out of a Polly Pocket set, it will be your fault, and I will be sure to murder you personally. We are talking to him right now.”

“Tyrant,” Eddie moaned, shuffling reluctantly after him.

Richie’s face lit up when he saw Stan, and Eddie felt an ugly pang of jealousy - it had been weeks since Richie had looked at him with anywhere near that kind of excitement.

“O Stanny boy, the pipes the pipes are calling!” Richie pulled Stan into a hug, which Stan returned with minimal enthusiasm and mild disgust. “What brings you back to hang with us lowly folk?”

“First and most importantly, I hate you,” Stan began, counting off on his fingers. “Second, grab a different knife from the prop table at the beginning of act two, for the love of God.”

Richie’s face fell. “I like the pink one, though.”

“Third,” Stan continued, plowing through at a rate that was making Eddie’s heart hammer, “I’ve got someone here who’d like to talk to you.”

“Mike?” Richie looked around with interest.

“I wish.” Stan took a moment to look wistful, and then reached back to pull Eddie forward. “Ta-da.”

Eddie swallowed hard and willed himself to sink through the floor.

Richie was pretending to look pleasantly surprised, but his switch to a shitty Russian accent betrayed the fact that Stan had actually put him off of his game. “Zees eeez...veddy unexpected, Comrade.”

“That’s me,” Stan said, purely monotone, “Mr. Unexpected.”

Richie and Eddie blinked back at him.

“Well, okay.” Stan ran a hand through his hair matter-of-factly. “My work here should never have started, but it did, and now it’s done, and I’m gonna go to Mike’s. Use protection if it comes to that, please.”

Neither of them felt like they were in a position to respond to Stan’s insult, so he was met with silence. This was clearly very satisfying for him; he walked away with a smile on his face. Richie and Eddie watched him until he reached the door.

Eddie didn’t want to be the first one to break the silence, so he turned back and looked at Richie’s hands instead. They were way bigger than his, and obviously not paid much mind to (there was a callous on the inside of his right pointer finger from his pencil, and there were pen scribbles up and down his arms from when he was bored in class), but Eddie had always thought that they were kind of beautiful.

Richie interrupted his thoughts. “So. You wanna talk?”

Eddie didn’t want to talk. He wanted to kiss Richie so hard that they both forgot everything about what had happened between them, and then he wanted to start over from there.

He reined back his imagination and nodded slowly. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“I think so, too.” Richie took a deep breath, and gestured to one of the rows of auditorium seats. “Wanna sit?”

“Sure.” Eddie sat in the space that Richie had gestured to, feeling awkward about how formal this all suddenly felt. Richie looked like he felt the same way, which was a small comfort.

Once they were both situated, Eddie geared himself up, and began.

“I guess I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, picking at his shoelaces.

Richie crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. “I’m not super sure what you’re sorry about. I’m the one that did the fucked up thing, remember?”

“No.” Eddie couldn’t bring himself to look at Richie. “No, Rich. I, uh, planned the getting drunk and talking to you thing. I planned it.”

“Okay, what.” Eddie knew that Richie’s eyes were on him; could almost feel them, like they were laser beams. “I don’t think I get it.”

“I wanted to be with you, and I didn’t think I was going to be brave enough to be honest about that if I was sober,” Eddie said, so quickly that it was basically incomprehensible. He forcibly jerked his head up to look at Richie - he didn’t want to know how much Richie was going to hate him, but he had to deal with the repercussions of all this properly or he’d be kicking himself for years, probably.

Eddie could practically see Richie deciphering and then processing the information he’d been given. His eyebrows went up, and he knitted his brow in concentration. “Okay. I mean - am I really that scary?”

“Sometimes,” Eddie admitted, feeling the tips of his ears go scarlet. “Mostly, I think I’m scared of myself.”

“And why is that?” Richie started to bounce his leg. Eddie was starting to feel anxious by proxy.

This crazy, stupid dancing around each other shit needed to stop. Eddie was going to put an end to it, right this instant.

“Because I want you so much,” Eddie breathed, looking Richie directly in the eyes. “I know you’re gonna break my heart, and I want you anyway.”

Richie inhaled softly and flexed his fingers, seemingly debating whether or not to touch Eddie. He ultimately withheld his hands, but he kept his eyes on Eddie, combing up and down.

“I didn’t date April because I liked her,” Richie finally said, tapping on his leg. “You know that, right?”

Eddie thought about it - remembered the sick, churning jealousy he used to feel when he saw Richie and April together. “I didn’t at the time.”

“And I didn’t leave you at the cast party because I didn’t want you,” he continued, closing his eyes. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since that first fucking day, when you sassed me back at the Workshop.”

“Oh.” Eddie didn’t know how to respond to that. His stomach was tied in so many knots that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to eat for weeks. He’d always assumed that Richie was joking - at least in the early days. “Why, um...why didn’t you tell me?”

Richie turned a little bit so that his upper body was facing Eddie. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re scary, too. And it’s hard, you know...when you’re a little shit who can’t fucking hold it together when his crush starts flirting back.”

Eddie didn’t know what he was talking about...and then suddenly, he did.

“Is that what happened sophomore year?” Eddie asked, genuinely curious. Richie chuckled.

“Yeah. My feelings were kicking my ass, and I saw something happening that I felt like I didn’t deserve, so I...bailed.”

“Are you gonna bail this time?”

Eddie didn’t know what prompted him to say that, but he was a little mortified that he had. He buried his head in his hands, face burning red.

Before he had a chance to cool down, one of his hands was being tugged away from his face. Richie took it and held it between both of his own, like it was something precious.

“I’m gonna do my best,” Richie said softly.

This time, when he leaned in for a kiss, Eddie didn’t pull away.

----

“So are you guys like, dating?” Ben squinted at the two of them, confused.

It was the next day at lunch, and Richie had just finished recounting their post-rehearsal conversation to their friends...which was embarrassing as fuck, especially because Richie kept trying to embellish the things that he said to make it sound more badass...but it felt like stuff that everyone else needed to know. The group had put up with their shit for a long, long time.

Eddie shrugged. “Something like that.”

Bev stared between the two of them with murderous eyes.

“Something like that?! I listened to both of you asshats whine about your feelings for years! You’re dating, and that’s final! I deserve this!”

Richie sipped at his water bottle. “Yeah, okay.”

Still fuming, Bev pushed herself up and over to the hot lunch line. Richie and Eddie watched her go, and as soon as she was gone, put their joined hands on the lunch table.

“You know, me and Bev are dating,” Ben said, trying to add relevant information to the conversation.

“We know,” Richie, Eddie, Bill, and Audra chorused.

“Oh.” Ben thought about that. “Shit.”

“We’re all coupled off, now,” Bill said, giving Richie and Eddie a warm smile. “Fucking gross.”

“Fucking gross,” Eddie agreed, feeling almost serene for the first time in his whole adolescence.

----

Sonia took the news considerably less well.

Eddie had turned eighteen back in September, and so was an adult and legally able to leave Sonia’s house should the need arise. This was the primary reason he decided to tell Sonia that he’d been actively disobeying her all year - if she tried anything, he could leave, and Richie had already offered his house as a sanctuary of sorts. Richie’s parents knew and understood the circumstances, and seconded Richie’s offer enthusiastically. (They’d met Eddie at cast events before, and when Richie brought him back to his house for the first time, Maggie Tozier had taken one look at the two of them, thrown her head back, and let out a big, hearty laugh - Richie’s laugh - and said “Oh, FINALLY, Richard.”)

Eddie would have loved to have had Richie there for the big reveal, but that would only have made things worse, guaranteed.

“Mama,” he said, on one otherwise unremarkable night in mid-March, “I have news.”

“If it’s to say that you got into that New York school, put the thought out of your head,” Sonia said irritably, “you’ll catch something awful in those disgusting subways.”

Eddie had, in fact, gotten into NYU’s College of Arts and Sciences for prehealth, but that wasn’t the conversation he was looking to have at the moment.

“It’s about Richie Tozier,” he said, bracing himself.

Sure enough, she whipped around, eyes glinting. “What about Richard Tozier, Edward?”

Eddie took a deep breath, looked her dead in the eyes, and bit the bullet. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Sonia genuinely didn’t know what to do with herself at that. Her face changed colors several times before settling on an unattractive purple, and she gestured wildly with her hands. It would have been funny if Eddie weren’t absolutely terrified.

“I knew he’d lure you back in,” she finally hissed. “Boys that...evocative...are nothing if they’re not preying on younger, nicer--”

“I’m older than Richie,” Eddie said, anger bubbling up in his throat, “it was his birthday last week...and he’s a good person, mama. I’m with Richie because he’s a good person.”

“He’s corrupted you.” Sonia reached for the landline, which was on the table next to her chair. “I’m calling the doctor.”

“I won’t go.” Eddie stood firm, even though his nerves were all but begging him to buckle. “I’m eighteen now, mom. I won’t go.”

They glared at each other for an uncomfortably long time. Eddie could see the fear in her eyes - the lack of understanding, the hatred - and he wondered, not for the first time, how he could have possibly grown up to be the person he was while living in her household.

“Go to your room,” she said once the silence became unbearable. “Don’t come back down.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie muttered, climbing the stairs with great relief.

She stopped acknowledging him after that, for the most part. Eddie counted it as a win.

----

The musical was a joyous experience, especially compared to the icy treatment Eddie was getting at home.

Ms. Starrett had picked a comedy for Richie, and he was absolutely thriving in his role. Every time he got to pratfall or do an exaggerated voice, his eyes would flick over to Eddie for a split second, and Eddie lived for those moments - lived to bask in that joy.

Well, really, actually, Eddie was living for every single moment he spent in Richie’s company. Eddie had quietly loved his time stage managing for the drama club since his freshman year. Losing himself in cues and notes and schedules was so easy, and he loved seeing the finished product and knowing that he’d played a central role in making things come to be.

There had only been one piece missing, and now that he had it, Eddie was loudly loving his time stage managing. Mrs. Starrett couldn’t believe how drastically his mood had changed, and was being really nosy about trying to figure out the reason. (Eddie was pretty sure she already know and just wanted to hear him say it, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction after last year’s ‘Richie and Eddie bit’ debacle.)

The rest of the cast found it...extremely annoying.

“You know, I thought I wanted this,” Bev said after she caught Richie with his hands down Eddie’s pants in the costume closet for the fourth time, “but so help me God, if this happens again, I will castrate you both.”

“Does Ben know about your interest in our dicks?” Richie asked, not removing his hands from the bare skin of Eddie’s ass. Eddie closed his eyes and prepared for swift death by way of Beverly Marsh.

“Just make it quick this time, dumbass.” Beverly turned on her heel and left, obviously disgusted. “But then, it’s always quick for you.”

Eddie giggled against Richie’s lips as they listened to her leave. “She got you.”

“You got me,” Richie mumbled, groping Eddie’s ass with renewed interest. “You got all of me.”

“I did,” Eddie said, in wonder and amazement, kissing him fiercely. “Holy shit, I did.”

Like all joyous things, though, the musical was over far too soon. Before Eddie knew it, he was watching Richie, Bill, and Bev take their final bows, wearing matching togas and crying. (Eddie may also have been crying, but nobody needed to know that.) Richie looked offstage for a moment and blew him a kiss, eyes sparkling with tears and emotion, and Eddie flipped him off in return, heart full.

“You okay down there, Eddie?” Ben’s voice came cautiously over the headset. He was a junior and there was no need for him to shed any tears yet, so he was rather alarmed by his friends’ emotional outbursts.

“I’m not crying, Ben, shut up,” Eddie hissed into his headset.

“I didn’t say--”

“Shut up,” Eddie repeated, switching off his headset and turning back to the stage, trying to memorize the way Richie’s curls haloed in the stage lights.

Eddie skipped out on the final part of crew cleanup (he’d been in this program for four whole years; he deserved a little bit of leeway, and besides, Stan had done the same thing his senior year) to go greet Richie in the lobby after the show. He had pretty much stopped crying by then, so he figured he was safe to appear in public without anyone questioning his red eyes.

He was so wrong. As soon as he saw Richie standing with his parents, looking gleeful and absolutely wrecked, his eyes immediately started to burn with happy tears.

“Richie,” he called, reaching into his bag to grab the comic books and candy he’d bought as a congratulatory present. (Richie always killed flowers, so that was out.) “C’mere!”

It took Richie a moment to locate him, but once he did, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. He bounded over to Eddie in four neat strides, reached out, and swooped him up in his arms, spinning him crazily. “Eds, Eds, Eds!”

“Oh my fuck--put me down, idiot!” Eddie banged on his shoulder, trying and failing to pretend to be upset. “I’ve got stuff for you, and you just made me drop it.”

“So sweet,” Richie cooed, getting in one more good spin before putting Eddie back down, “Spaghetti Kaspbrak really thinks that I’d want any gift but a date with his mo--”

“Shut UP,” Eddie groaned, pulling himself up on his tiptoes, “shut up, shut up.”

“With pleasure,” Richie agreed, pulling him in for a terrible (wonderful) kiss with too much teeth and Richie’s glasses pressed uncomfortably into Eddie’s face. Eddie heard Ms. Starrett give a little excited cheer behind him, and couldn’t help but giggle into Richie’s mouth. For all of her poking around, it was nice to know that they had her support.

“Edward.” Eddie jumped back at the sound of a second, uncomfortably familiar voice. Richie opened his eyes and peered out through his glasses, looking confused and a little hurt, but his expression morphed into extreme concern when he saw who was behind Eddie.

With a shudder, Eddie turned around to face his mother.

“Mom?”

Sonia looked uncharacteristically pensive. She wasn’t dressed as fancily as she usually did to leave the house - she was wearing a tracksuit and no garish jewelry - and her eyes were trained on the ground.

“I wanted to say,” she began, “that--”

“Mama don’t,” Eddie pleaded softly, looking anxiously between her and Richie.

“That I thought the show was very amusing,” she finished, looking up - not at him, but at Richie. “You performed very well, Richard.”

Richie shoved his hands into his pockets, stunned. “Uh. Thanks, Mrs. K.”

“I hope you’re proud, Edward.” Her eyes fell on Eddie, now, and it was all Eddie could do not to cry. He’d never imagined she’d make an effort - never in a million years thought that she’d be nice to Richie, or appreciate any of the things that Eddie enjoyed.

For all of the shit she’d put him through - and all of the shit she’d put him through in the future, because this wasn’t totally fixed yet, not by a long shot - she did love him, at the end of the day.

“Thank you, mama,” he whispered.

She straightened up. “I expect you back home by ten.”

“Yes,” he said numbly. “Okay.”

“Have a nice night, boys,” she said, turning to leave. “Be appropriate, and Eddie-bear...take your medicine.”

“Okay!” Eddie said, at the same time that Richie said, “You’re one in a million, Mrs. K!”

After she exited the door of the lobby, Eddie turned back to Richie. “Am I dreaming?”

“Fuck if I know.” Richie smiled, soft and sweet. “All dreams are good dreams when both me and your mother are involved, though--”

“Choke on a thousand dicks,” Eddie laughed, and kissed him again, dizzy with hope and disbelief.

He couldn't have asked for a more perfect closing night.

----

By the time the drama awards happened, they all knew where they were going off to college - except for Richie.

Eddie had sent in his paperwork to NYU, and was incredibly excited to be able to start fresh in a place that was so...not Derry. His mother wasn’t thrilled about his decision, and was, alarmingly, looking for apartments just outside of the city so as to be nearer to him, but Eddie was handling that. It was nice to feel like he could handle that, now.

(Stan was kind of upset that Eddie hadn’t chosen to join he and Mike in Boston, but given that Bill was enrolled in Boston University’s playwriting program, he couldn’t complain.)

Bev was headed to the city, too - she was going to study fashion at Parsons, which Eddie thought was just perfect. Ben wasn’t graduating until the year after, but he was already looking into NYU (or Columbia, as a reach) for architecture and design.

Richie had gotten into some schools - SUNY Pace and Purchase for acting, as well as Emerson in Boston (Stan had voiced some concerns about having Richie in Boston, but Eddie was pretty sure he was secretly hoping for it to happen), but he was still waiting to hear back from his first choice, NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. He and Eddie were both going a little crazy over the lack of response - Richie because it was his future, and Eddie because he felt like they deserved to be in the same place for the next four years, after all the shit they’d gone through to be together.

The letter came on the day of the awards, and Richie all but had a nervous breakdown.

“I was already terrified of not getting anything tonight, but now this?” Richie brandished the letter at Eddie like it was on fire. “This?!?”

The letter was tellingly large. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“They don’t send all this shit to people who don’t get in, you absolute nerd,” Eddie sighed, taking the offending object from Richie’s hands. “You want me to open it?”

“Please,” Richie mumbled, bouncing on the soles of his feet. “Just...rip off the bandaid.”

Eddie tore open the white paper and extracted a folder. He opened it, and felt his own nerves melt away.

“Congratulations, Richard Tozier,” Eddie read triumphantly, “you’re gonna act at NYU!”

Richie leapt at Eddie so ferociously that the two of them went toppling down onto the grass of Richie’s front lawn. Eddie couldn’t bring himself to care about the inevitable grass stains on the back of his polo - instead, he reached for Richie and kissed every inch of space on his face that he could reach. Finally, finally, finally, the universe was giving them a go-ahead.

“This is the best day of my fucking life,” Richie crowed, grabbing Eddie’s face and kissing him back firmly. “Which program did they put me in?”

Eddie re-opened the folder. “Uh. Experimental theatre wing?”

“Yesssss,” Richie breathed, “the weird shit. Oh, Eds, the future’s gonna kick ass for us, isn’t it?”

“It better,” Eddie said, curling himself against Richie and burying his face in his shoulder. “No, it will. We’ll be together, so it will.”

“Cute, cute, cute.” Richie snaked his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Hey, do you think you’ll pick back up with stage management when you’re there? You know...for me?”

“Don’t ruin it,” Eddie warned, words half-muffled by Richie’s shoulder.

Richie laughed. “Just a thought. You know...for youherrrrr considehrrratiohnnnn,” he finished, moving into an unplaceable accent.

“We’ll figure shit out when we get there,” Eddie said, giving Richie a halfhearted shove for using a stupid voice.

Whatever happened, it would be okay. They’d figure it out together.

----

And if Eddie was considering continuing to stage manage, well...Richie didn’t have to know that until later.

----

Eddie Kaspbrak loved theatre.

There were a lot of things about him that he wasn’t super sure about, but that much he knew was unequivocally true. He loved the lights, the sets, the way the mood changed when the lights went down. He loved knowing that everything was in its place; he loved being the person that called the shots to make the magic happen. He even loved the people - he knew that all of the friends he’d made there over the years were friends that he’d keep forever.

Most of all, though, Eddie loved watching Richie Tozier do theatre. He loved seeing Richie perform, he loved watching him win the award for ‘Best Overall Acting’ at their senior drama awards, and he loved the fact that Richie was going to be able to move on and do the thing that he was so absolutely tremendous at.

Eddie Kaspbrak loved theatre...and Richie Tozier, and that was that.

End scene, blackout.

#reddie #reddie fanfic #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stanlon #stanley uris #mike hanlon #benverly #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #audra phillips #bill x audra #the losers club #it 2017 #it movie #stephen king's it #theatre au #it's done and it's gross rip

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paybackraid · 7 years ago

Text

Hero of Ishval

HEY GUESS WHAT I FINALLY DID!! Remember that Ishvalan!Elric AU teaser I wrote a while back for FMA AU Week? Well, I finally got around to posting the first chapter!! I’d appreciate if y’all could read and reblog, or go to my FFN or AO3 pages and review!

Summary: There are many reasons that Roy Mustang is known as the Hero of Ishval. But the very first reason is one that most people in the military don’t even know about. Ishvalan!Elric AU. Big Brother Roy.

Words: 3004

Warnings: War themes, strong language

The men came into the district, all with not-red eyes and not-white hair but not without an intent to kill.

“No!” screamed a boy, standing before his mother and little brother because there was no father to protect them, not anymore, and the boy refused to listen to his mother when she said to get back. “Stay away! You dirty Amestrians don’t belong here, go back to your cities! Leave Mom alone!”

“Oh?” said the man with the long hair and the grey eyes. “Little Ishvalan scum has a little life to him, does he?”

“Don’t call me little!” said the boy with fire in his eyes.

“I wonder… how quickly can we drain the life from you? You’re coming with me!”

The little Ishvalan boy was dragged away from his mother’s arms like a common criminal, dragged kicking and screaming through the district, and loaded onto a truck.

None of the Ishvalans could stop the man who made explosions from his palms, most were too frightened to try. The only one who did, the mother, quickly had a gun pointed to her forehead and had to be held back by her fellow countrymen. The truck drove off, a child still calling for his mother from the back while his mother cried for him.

“ZEDEKIAH!!!”

Chapter 1

When Roy Mustang was 18, and he joined the Military Academy, his naivety had him dreaming glorious dreams about going to war. Yes, people died he knew, but they died with honor, fighting for their people and their country. He had never really dreamed of becoming a war hero (although some nights the thought would flash through his mind for a fraction of a moment), but he dreamed of going to war and returning alive.

His foolish self, of course, had never experienced the true horror of war, all the blood and death. He had been surrounded by war all his life—the military was in at least one almost every day of the year for the past fifty years. It was something that most everyone was a part of in one way or another, and the military was the biggest employer in all of Amestris, so imagining himself in the military wasn’t so odd or unnatural. There wasn’t one boy or girl that he knew of that didn’t imagine that in one way or another, they would be part of a war.

Even imagining being in the military, his thoughts could never come close to the real thing.

Death was in the air, death and dying, at all hours. He feared his enemies, he feared his comrades.

He feared himself.

This was why Master Hawkeye hadn’t wanted to share the secret of flame alchemy with him. Somehow, Master Hawkeye had known the ruin that Roy would bring with a snap of his fingers.

“Yo! Mustang! Move your ass!”

Roy kicked at the desert sand beneath his feet, heat bearing down on his neck relentlessly. He looked toward the voice—Hughes was hailing him forward. It was mealtime, they were just returned from a mission in one of the southern districts, and even though he was damn hungry, he didn’t even want to think of eating.

“What do you want, Hughes?”

Hughes, Roy’s academy buddy and longtime rival, jerked his head toward the wash station. Roy rolled his eyes, assuming a new batch of nurses or some such nonsense had come in. Hughes was happily taken, but he never hesitated to attempt to set up Roy, or one of the others in their squad. The man made sport out of watching them fail, Roy was sure of it.

Still. Hughes was obnoxious when someone paid him attention, but worse when they ignored him. He walked slowly to the man, glancing at whatever had caught Hughes’ attention.

A crowd of men surrounded one of the flagpoles, all of them jeering and laughing. Roy sneered at them; that was rarely anything good.

“What do you think they got ahold of, a nice t-bone?” Hughes wondered loftily, turning to Roy.

“I don’t know, man, I was on the same mission as you. Come on. If they’re all busy with this, I bet the line’s clear and we get first pick.”

Hughes grinned and laughed, hooked an arm around Roy, and lead him toward the mess.

Roy and Hughes beat a hasty retreat when the mess started filling. Most of the men had appeared to grow bored of whatever had kept their attention, and now wanted to appease their angry stomachs. Hughes carried a napkin full of what could best be called dry gruel. It was the sort of junk you could only stomach a little at a time; Roy hadn’t been able to finish his, and it got too crowded for Hughes to finish. They chatted as they walked—well, Hughes chatted, while Roy walked alongside and listened halfheartedly.

Roy glanced back to the flagpole as they walked past, the same place all those men had been crowding around earlier. A few remained, but most had disappeared into the mess. Somewhere near the ground there was a red swatch of fabric and a little foot, but Roy couldn’t make much out of that. Some of the guys made a habit of bullying some of the younger ones. Maybe they had got ahold of some poor bastard who made some small mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time.

There were some quick words from the crowd, words that he didn’t recognize and when he glanced at Hughes, he found that he hadn’t either. He knew some of the others spoke Aerugan, Cretan, or even the occasional Drachman—since they were surrounded on all sides by these great nations, it made sense for someone on their side to speak it. It was possible that it was one of those who spoke foreign tongue being tormented, but Roy doubted it. Some of those words sounded sort of like Xingese.

Then, a loud call, a sharp cry, and a child’s voice: “No, No!! Mama!!”

Beside him, Hughes stiffened, his eyes narrowing, and Roy felt a shudder pass through him. What was a child doing here? No one in their right mind would sneak their child into the middle of an active warzone. The only other possibility was—

Yes, they realized as they approached. A little, Ishvalan child. No more than six.

It was a boy, very small. He had shaggy white hair and piercing red eyes, skin darker than the sand around them. He was covered in a red shawl, and wore no shoes on his little feet. His eyes darted all over the place, looking for an escape, but Roy quickly realized that the poor child had been bound to the flagpole.

What the hell was he doing here?

“Awww, what’s the matter, you baby? Are you gonna cryyyy for your mooommmyyyyy? Go ahead, see if she can hear you.”

Oh, and of course, why was Roy not surprised? Solf J. Kimblee, the truest psychopath in the entire military, was leading the show.

The kid blinked his eyes hard and sniffed hugely, swallowing back any tears that were left. He looked like he was trying damn hard not to cry—like he was trying to be stronger than Kimblee, stronger than what was happening.

“Kimblee,” Roy said, grabbing the Crimson Alchemist’s shoulder and tearing him from his victim. “Leave him alone, he’s just a kid.”

Kimblee tore his shoulder from Roy’s hand, glaring at him. “What do you want, sand-fucker? You’re apart of this war too, what’s one brat to you?” Kimblee scuffed his boot into the sand, kicking some up right into the kid’s face. The boy squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to stop the sand from getting into his eyes, grimacing and turning away.

Roy scoffed, but didn’t otherwise react to the insult. He’d been called it before, and it had stopped affecting him. It first started in the military academy, when he’d been surrounded by people hardly out of high school (if they had even gone) who were still practically children. He came to the aide of his now-friend Heathcliff Erbe, and from then on, became known as a sand-fucker—an Ishvalan sympathizer.

If the opposite of being a ‘sand-fucker’, was being Kimblee, then he didn’t mind being a sand-fucker at all.

“Where did you get the kid? He doesn’t belong here.”

“Plucked the brat fresh from his mommy’s arms. He had a couple things to say, and I wanted to, uh…” Kimblee laughed, “teach him about his betters.”

“His betters? Who do you think—”

“Mustang! Kimblee!”

Roy flinched and glanced over his shoulder to see a general approaching looking unamused. Roy and Hughes snapped into a salute, and with a little reluctance, Kimblee did too. General Raven inspected the boy bound to the flagpole, then ignored him and turned on the two soldiers. “What are you doing, lollygagging? If you’ve got time to start arguments, you’ve got time to clear the ten o’clockers for a lunch break. March! Both of you!”

Mustang scowled inwardly but kept his face impressively blank. Seven o’clock guard. Was there anything less interesting? He glanced down to the kid, who glared all around at everyone he could see, offering no warmth or anything. Roy smirked to himself just a little. He was quite the kid. “Yes, sir.”

Once night rolled around, the entire camp fell into almost total silence. The only ones still awake and about were the night guards, who only watched the perimeter and had no care for the happenings inside its borders, and the boy, who was silent with his tormentors no longer about.

It was this fact alone that allowed Roy to sneak out of his tent at half past pain-in-the-ass o’clock, canteen around his neck and napkin of not-so-goodies in hand. His tent wasn’t far from the flagpole, so it only took ten silent seconds to creep across the camp to the little boy.

He couldn’t, in his heart, leave this boy to his fate. He knew that no one had fed the poor thing, or even let him off to relieve himself, and no one had tried to shade him from the unrelenting desert sun. If he wasn’t sunstroked when Roy got to him, he would be surprised.

“Kid. Hey… kid, wake up,” Roy said under his breath, crouching beside the boy. The kid’s neck was craned awkwardly forward, like he had fallen asleep like that. He had reason to suspect that the kid wasn’t asleep at all, but he didn’t want to startle him.

Indeed, the kid quickly shot his head up, eyes bleary. He pressed back against the flagpole and glared at him weakly. “Go away.”

Roy chuckled a little and sat beside him, crossing his legs to try and appear as friendly as possible. The poor kid had had enough fright in this place. “You won’t say that when you see what I’ve got for you.”

That piqued the kid’s interest for a moment, nervous curiosity flooding into those crimson depths. He flickered his eyes from the ground up to Roy, lowered his head to his toes, then hesitantly wondered, “...what?”

“Shh, you have to stay quiet. We could both get in trouble if we’re not careful. Are you hungry?”

The boy nodded blearily, and Roy knew with the flush in his cheeks that this was true. He was probably starving. He didn’t know when the kid had been collected, but it was probably at least since then when he last ate.

Roy set the napkin down in front of the kid, revealing its contents. It wasn’t the best stuff, and if he had better he’d give it to him, but it really was all he had for today, and he couldn’t go stealing rations, not just for a little kid. “Here. Open your mouth.”

“Do…” The kid coughed and opened his mouth, licking his dry lips. “D’you have any water…? Please…”

“They… haven’t even given you water? All day?”

“No…” the boy croaked. “You have some, right?”

Roy’s heart constricted for a moment, then he sighed and stooped his head, grabbing for the strap of his canteen. “Yeah. I have some. Move your head away from the pole.”

The boy did, so Roy unscrewed the canteen and cupped his head. He pressed the canteen to his lips and tilted back. Water spilled from the corners of his lips, but he didn’t seem to mind, drinking greedily. When the canteen was pulled away, he licked at the water on his face.

“Ready for food?”

“Yeah.” The boy opened his mouth as he had asked earlier, and Roy patiently fed him everything that Hughes, bless his soul, had saved.

The night passed on in silence while Roy stayed by the boy’s side. He noticed halfway through what barely constituted a meal that the kid was shivering mightily. The kid must have been freezing cold after he spent all day burning to a crisp in the sun, and then hastily being introduced to the chill of the night air. Whatever skin was burnt, which had to be everything exposed, had to be horribly irritated.

“Are you cold?”

The boy shivered again, and through the shiver Roy noticed a very small nod. Yeah, the poor kid had to be freezing.

He slowly unbuttoned his jacket and slid it off his shoulders, pulling it around to lay over the boy. His little naked toes stuck out of the bottom, but he wiggled around a little and crossed his legs beneath the fabric, covering his chilled toes.

“...Thank you,” he said. His voice sounded better now that he got some water in him, at least. More like a kid and less like a decrepit old person.

Roy shrugged awkwardly; he had never been good at taking thanks and he doubted that he ever would be. “Sure,” he said, finding his feet. The kid was taken care of, at least, and Roy couldn’t do anything more for him without running the risk of getting in trouble. He could check on him again in the morning.

“W—wait!” the boy cried when Roy stood, looking up at him with nervous red eyes. When Roy looked back, he looked down to his feet, as if he was ashamed of his outburst.

“...What?”

“Don’t…” The kid struggled with his reservations for a moment, kicking at the fabric of the coat. “Don’t go.”

Roy stood by, blinked once, twice, three times. He didn’t know… what to say. An Ishvalan kid asking an Amestrian soldier to stay by him? He supposed that he had only been mistreated since he had arrived, and Roy was probably the first friendly face he’d seen all day.

But he didn't really have much of a choice. He was already pushing it, being out here past night bell without direct orders. He couldn’t stay out here much longer without facing possible consequences.

He opened his mouth to respond truthfully—I have to, I can’t stay, go to sleep, you’ll be fine—just in time for the child to whisper, “please, please don’t go. Please don’t leave me alone. The other soldiers, they’ll come back, they don’t like me. They… they hurt me and spit on me, and what if they come back and do it again? Please…”

Roy felt each separate word like a slap to the face, and looking to his face, desperate and frightened but willing to trust him, might as well have been a sucker punch. Roy had always been a sucker for the underdog, a sucker for kids like this one. He was no good with them—being raised in a brothel didn’t help matters, especially since when he did go to school, he stuck out like a sore thumb because of his slanted eyes and his upbringing, and it set him very far from kids his own age—but that didn’t stop him from sympathizing with them, from wanting to protect them and from never wanting to see the exact face this little boy was making…

He cursed to himself, quietly enough the child didn’t hear. His mind was made up before he was even aware of it. And screw anyone who said even a word of it in the morning.

He turned back to his tent without a word to the boy. If he was going to be sitting outside all night long, he might as well make himself comfortable, make it more bearable.

He collected his sleepsack and pillow, ignored the grunt of confusion from one of the bunks on the other side of the tent, and stepped back outside. He ignored all thoughts of foreboding and instead looked to the child, who looked even more defeated than before. Perhaps a word in before he left would have been good…

Oh well. Perhaps next time. It was too late now. He approached the boy who stared down at his toes, still cloaked in Roy’s blue jacket, and scuffed a little sand by him so he knew he was there.

The boy started and looking up to him, clearly expecting some sort of reprimand judging by the fright filling his eyes. The fear in them dulled and surprise flitted in when he recognized Roy again and saw the sack in his arms. He didn’t say a word when Roy turned and sat beside the boy, leaning as much of his shoulder into the pole as he dared, and he didn’t say a word when Roy shook out his sleep sack and laid it over both their laps, nor when he fitted his pillow behind him against the pole to act as a cushion.

In fact, he didn’t even say a word when Roy put his arm around the kid and told him, “go on to sleep, kid” and then leaned his head back like he would fall asleep right then.

The only other movement, then, that passed between them was when the boy, oh so cautiously, leaned his head into his companion’s side, and when Roy couldn’t fight back the smile in response.

#creative aces #fma #fmafanfic #roy mustang #yes zedekiah is ed #ishvalan elric au #my writing #tw war themes #tw language #this is gonna be about sixteen chapters if everything works out right #my second chapter isnt written yet but its planned #im moving this week so idk how soon ill be able to update #before thanksgiving is my goal #please reblog #hope you like it #lmk if the links dont work i hate tumblr

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