#shit SUCKS always being the friend asked to take pics of everyone else but not being included in them

[beverageenthusiast]

.

[elsweetheart]

what’s the worst that could happen to a girl that’s already hurt?

🎀 when your best friend ellie stands you up, the man who raised you both swoops in to save the day.

🎀 kittie??? using capital letters?? well i never. i present the much awaited father figure joel fic! it’s also a bff!ellie fic! double homicide. warning: it’s pretty angsty in some places, mentions of your birth father being a shitty guy, mention of alcohol (unrelated to your dad), all around daddy issues, ellie’s kind of a dick in this, fem!reader, reader is a woman luver, this is NOT hate towards dina she is simply just there, lemme know if i missed anything! p.s i’m trying out adding little cover pics to my fic, tried to make this one have the same vibes as like a journal / diary entry with stickers n stuff ? ok bye

Ellie was an everywhere kind of girl. She was strong, capable, intelligent, and always knew what to do. To you, she was truly a superhero around Jackson, always making sure that everyone was safe and doing her best to take on the jobs she thought was too dangerous for everyone else. Her selflessness was what drew you to her in a romantic sense in the first place, not that she had any idea. In her eyes, the two of you were long time best friends who grew up together — experiencing just about everything together, and you were certain to her that’s all it was. You’d liked her since you’d met.

For the most part, it didn’t suck. getting to be close with Ellie made it worth it, smoking together, laughing, and sometimes even playfully flirting (the butterflies in your stomach can attest to this.) There were hard times of course, Ellie getting with other girls and telling you all about them, the fact she probably saw you as a little sister, and most recently — she’d gotten super busy. So busy, that you had to start going out of your way just to say hi to her each day, always running about Jackson to find her. To you, it was worth it. You missed her.

“Boo!” Two hands grabbed you from behind as you swept the hay in the barn making you yelp and turn around with a wide eyed expression. “Totally got you.” Ellie smirked, backing off. She wore her khaki green jacket that you loved over her hoodie, done up with her jeans and her backpack on.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked softly, chest swelling with affection. She stepped around you, going to pat one of the horses as greeting.

“Thought I’d stop by, about to head out on patrol.” She took a carrot from the feeding tray and fed it to the horse.

“You always seem to be on patrol.” You smiled, and you cursed yourself at how it came out. It sounded kind of bitter, and shit — maybe you were a little bitter— but you knew it wasn’t ultimately her fault that you felt neglected. Perceptive as ever, Ellie turned her head towards you quickly wearing guilt on her face.

“I’m sorry, dude. I miss hanging out.” She took a step towards you and you let yourself sulk, turning your back to her and continuing to sweep. “I do.” She took another step closer.

“Don’t call me dude. I’m a girl.” You were being a little pathetic now, punishing her when she didn’t fully deserve it.

“Since when?” She chuckled and you whipped your head to her in shock, a look of anger and disbelief accidentally showcased in your expression. “I mean since when did you care about me calling you dude?”

When you didn’t respond, Ellie sighed— stepping up directly behind you. “Alright, I didn’t wanna have to do this. But I’m gonna have to call in reinforcements from the tickle monster.” She spoke seriously, and before you got the chance to protest this her hands were jabbing into your waist, fingers wiggling up and down your ribs as you squealed, a smile making a breakthrough onto your face as if despite everything your body couldn’t help but enjoy her touch.

“Ellie stop!” You chortled, your hands falling loose on the broom. Before it fell, Ellie reached around and caught it before swinging it round and hiding it behind her back. You spun around to her, lurching forward to try and grab it but instead just stepping right up close into her space.

It seemed like everything froze, just like that. Your faces were close and her eyes were boring into yours — the green of them almost painfully bright today, her cheeks looking like they’d caught a bit of sun, hair jostled in her messy half bun from all the commotion. You blinked up at her, collecting yourself as she smiled back smugly.

“Give my broom back.” You breathed out, confidence slightly lost at the close proximity.

“One condition.” She whispered and you leant on your hip with an attitude, tilting your head at her as if to say ‘what?’. She sucked in a breath, and you swear her eyes flickered to your lips for just a second but you might have imagined it. “Stop being mad at me. Let’s hang out.” She proposed and your heart fluttered. Finally.

“Alright.” You muttered with a shy smile and she tilt her head, grin widening.

“Yeah?” She seemed equally excited, and you felt elated. You had gotten in your own head a little with Ellie being so busy, thinking that maybe she’d been busy for a reason — trying to politely get you off her back. This was the confirmation you’d needed that you were overthinking, as usual.

“Remember how you said you were gonna teach me about skin… care…stuff? Let’s do it. It’s about time I start acting like a girl.” She chuckled, stepping back and breaking the tension of your closeness a little. You stepped back too, a little flushed from the moment and nodded happily. Footsteps approached the barn, capturing your attention for a moment before you rushed to organise your little hang out session.

“Tonight? At mine?”

Ellie’s head was turned towards the door, distracted by Dina poking her head around and realising she had been keeping her waiting. Her head snapped back to you as she wiped her hands down on her jeans nodding.

“Yeah, cool. I gotta get going but I’ll see you, yeah? It’s a date.” She rambled out, walking backwards for a moment to face you before turning around as you bid her farewell. You tried not to overthink the ‘it’s a date.’

Night time rolled around, and you were cringing at yourself in the mirror. It was just going to be a chill little night in with Ellie, the same way it always was since you’d had your own place in Jackson— but you’d put in a little extra effort to look cute, despite wearing just a tank top and pyjama pants. You did your hair all pretty, applying a little bit of makeup you’d made yourself from ingredients, which you’d learnt how to make from a book about female prisoners. You felt cute, and you were hoping Ellie might think the same— but you didn’t wanna get ahead of yourself.

A knock at your door sounded a little while into the night, and you tried to quell the relieved butterflies tearing through your stomach by taking a deep breath, heading out your room to answer it. You swung the door open, expecting Ellie — only to be met with Joel. Your smile faltered for no more than a second, wondering how long Ellie’s patrol was going on for before fixing your face, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

Joel was what you thought every man should be. You’d first met him and Ellie a few days outside of Jackson when they were trying to find Joel’s brother, Tommy. You were headed to Jackson too to find the only person that might’ve been alive in your family, your dad. You were no more than a year younger than Ellie, out there all by yourself and Joel couldn’t let you continue on that way. You were headed to the same place, so he let you tag along — plus, he figured Ellie might want a friend. So it turned out, your dad wasn’t the greatest guy. He was just as neglectful and angry since the last time you’d seen him as a child. After causing more damage, he packed up with his new family and left the safe haven of Jackson to live in a warmer climate (for whatever reason.) You were just a kid, a damaged and lonely kid — and Joel being the man he was, stepped up. He wasn’t just caring for Ellie, he now had you on his hands— making sure your needs were met and you were living comfortably in your new residence. The two of you had grown close over the years, he was the closest thing to a father you ever had.

“Y’asked to borrow sugar for those cookies you said you’d make for Maria’s thing?” He drawled, swinging his backpack off his shoulder to dig through it— having remembered the favour you’d briefly asked of him a week ago. “Got a whole tub of it, right here. Don’t let anyone else see that, they’ll come knockin’ and you’ll be out again in no time.” He presented you with a wooden tub, filled to the brim with brown sugar. Your expression softened, taking it in your hands as you looked up at him gratefully.

“Knew I could count on you, old man.” you grinned, the nickname you and Ellie had so kindly gifted him never losing its charm. He nodded, shy of affection but smiled anyway — your sweet ways poking him right in the soft spot. He stepped back to walk away, and before he could go any further your voice cut through, stopping him in his tracks.

“Joel.” you shot out, almost urgently. God, you felt a little desperate.

“Yeah?” He gruffed, and you paused for a moment, brows furrowed as you started to realise how late it was actually getting. Was Ellie coming at all? He saw right through your expression, knowing that something had to be bothering you. Joel stepped a little closer, tilting his head at your far away expression. “What’s up, kiddo?” Any other time you’d smile at the nickname. Ellie was kid, and you were kiddo. That, or ‘thing one’ and ‘thing two’ from that old Cat in the Hat book he’d shown you.

“Have you seen Ellie tonight, at all?” you gnawed on your bottom lip, trying to hide your concern and failing. Joel seemed to falter, his eyes skimming from you to behind you, noticing how you’d set up your living room. Jars of the skincare, face masks, the lot of it — laid out on the coffee table. Bowls of snacks sat out, untouched, with blankets strewn about to make the couch look comfy and fun. You’d even hung up some fairy lights that had been a pain to find batteries for if he remembers correctly, you begging him to always look for them on his hunts. He was piecing things together a little when your voice dragged his attention back to you, your frown deepening. “It’s just, she said she was gonna come round and hang out with me tonight. ‘Was gonna teach her about skin care. We haven’t hung out in ages and I guess… I just thought…” You trailed off, Joel’s eyes dropping down to his shoes briefly.

“Yeah, uh.” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, unsure how to approach the situation that he was realising to be more delicate than he thought. “Saw ‘er at the bar with that Dina on the way over here. They… were gettin’ pretty wasted.” He sounded apologetic, like he knew just how pathetic you were and you couldn’t stop your face from falling — rejection and humiliation swiftly settling in making your cheeks heat up.

“Oh.” Your eyes widened, before they dropped away from Joel’s pitying gaze. “Yeah, makes sense I mean they were just on patrol together.” You rushed out a chuckle, hand resting back on your door like you wanted to close it. “Well thanks for stopping by with the sugar Joel, you’re the best.” You hurried, backing up so you could send him away, not wanting to give away how upset you were. It was no use though, Joel knew you. He knew the look on your face all too well, that same look of rejection on your face that he’d seen when your dad was still around. You had tells, your face would go all tight and rigid like you were afraid any display of emotion might send you hurtling over the edge into tears. Joel placed his hand on the door before you had even made an attempt to shut it, gazing at you for a moment trying to find the right words to say. It wasn’t often he had to do this kind of thing, a dad duty.

“You uh— you got room for me in there? I’m startin’ to look a little old, maybe I could… benefit from this typ’a thing.” He suggested, voice serious like it always was with a softness to his expression. You stared back at him, slightly surprised but considering it. You could send him away, spend the rest of the night in tears and eating all the snacks you’d prepared, or… “Until Ellie decides to show her sorry ass, of course.” He added, throwing in a jokey smile at the end. Joel smiling was rare, so when he did smile you always found it contagious. You pushed your door open wider, stepping aside.

“Welcome to my spa, mister Miller.”

Before long, Joel’s coat and boots were kicked off at your door and he was sat on your couch, your cold hands smearing your home made face mask over his face.

“You really need to shave. This beard is what’s making you look old.” You joked, the pink goo narrowly avoiding his beard hairs as you rubbed it into his cheek.

“Yeah yeah, you try findin’ a razor that’s worth shit around here.” He shook his head making you tut at his movement obstructing your application. “This supposed to burn?” He frowned, pointing to his face. Your eyes widened, pulling back. You were sure you had made it hypoallergenic, but the book you learnt how to make it from was pretty dated — maybe it was wrong. He chuckled at your expression, relaxing. “m’fuckin with ya, kiddo.”

You scrunched your nose angrily, scooping out some product and smearing it over his mouth so he couldn’t talk, his reaction to this making you burst out laughing. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, glaring at you, scrunching his own face up in disgust.

“Tastes like shit.”

“Well that’s because you’re not supposed to eat it, it’s to replenish the moisture barrier in your skin.” You enunciated, repeating what you’d read in your book proudly.

“To what?” He sarked and you rolled your eyes playfully, prodding his cheek gently to get him to turn it.

“No more questions. Let me finish this, grandpa.” You concentrated, applying the rest of the face mask to his skin. You leant back, admiring his glossy pink mask, all done. “Well, don’t you look pretty.” You held back your laugh, and he reached up to gently touch the sticky layer over his skin.

“What, you ain’t got no cucumbers for my eyes?” he leant back in his seat and you laughed at the imagery as you picked up your hand mirror, beginning to apply the face mask to your own skin.

“C’mon now Joel. You know that cucumbers are a luxury this time of year, I’m not wasting them on you.” You scooped out product, smoothing the refreshing slime across your cheek. He chuckled, raising his eyebrows as if to say ‘fair enough’ before falling quiet. You glanced his way, nodding at the popcorn bowl on the table. “Help yourself to the snacks, or i’m just gonna eat them all.” You chuckled lightly. He didn’t, as expected— arms crossed over his chest.

“So what do I do now? Just wait?” He looked around, taking in the way you’d decorated the place with hopes to impress Ellie. His heart was old and damaged, but it twinged in sympathy for you — knowing her repeated absence was probably weighing on you, the pair of you once joined at the hip.

“Yeah, it’ll dry and then you can peel it right off.” You smiled, your focus now centred in on making sure you didn’t get the mask in your eyebrows.

“Kiddo, I’m sorry you got stood up.” He turned to look at you and your movements froze, turning to look back at him caught off guard.

“Really, Joel— it’s okay, and I really appreciate you being here.” You smile, trying to convince him that you weren’t hurt by Ellie ditching you for Dina, the pure existence of the dark haired girl filling you with nerves and slight insecurity.

“But you’d rather her be here, right?” You wanted to put your defensives up, but his thick comforting accent made you sigh— putting down the jar and mirror, finished on your face. It was hard not to tell Joel the truth, maybe it would feel good to talk to someone about it. You opened your mouth to speak, and he cut you off. “You like’er.” He stated, and your words died in your throat. Surely he wasn’t calling you out like that?

“Of course I like Ellie, she’s my—”

“Not… like that. You love her.”

Your throat closed up and you blinked, how the fuck did he know? You said nothing, confirming his suspicions with your silence and your eyes got a little glassy, sure that this ordeal was making you look even more pathetic than before.

“And, hell— I want you to know it’s alright by me. Not that you need my permission or anythin’ but— i’m… i’m good with the gay stuff, always have been. N’ you two make sense together. I think i’ve always kinda known.” His forehead line deepened as he tried to word things sensitively, being gentle not exactly his forte.

“Well… thanks Joel. i’m sure i’ll just… get over it.”

“What I’m sayin’ is… You can talk to me. Alright?”

“Alright.”

You’d helped Joel peel off the mask, and now you were applying a cooling moisturiser that you’d made to his skin that was a little pink from the peel. “Now you’d better not go around tellin’ anyone I’d had a spa day with you. Don’t wanna damage my reputation.” He weakly threatened you as you smoothed the pearly product into his rough skin. Times like this, when he was going back and forth with you in such a humorous way made it easy to forget what he was capable of, how many people he’d killed effortlessly.

“And what’s your reputation. Grumpy old man?” You raised an eyebrow making him chuckle.

“Watch it.”

You moved on to apply the product to your own face, and he picked up your hand mirror, checking out your handiwork. To him, he looked the same — just a little shinier, though he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A comfortable silence fell over you as you smoothed the product into your skin, reaching forward with your other hand and stuffing some popcorn into your mouth. His chuckle faded into a fond smile as he watched you miss your mouth with some of the kernels, giggling to yourself.

“You and Sarah would’a got on.”

Maybe he was feeling sentimental, it was always harder not to face your emotions later on in the night — and perhaps the ambience of your home that you’d made was reminding him of old times. You slowed your movements, as if you’d move too fast and burst his bubble of reminiscing. You wanted Joel to feel comfortable like he’d made you. You even chewed slower to be quieter, staying silent to let him speak as he stared into space at one of the lit candles on your fireplace. “She always liked doin’ this kinda thing. I always said no. Was too much of a manly man.” He scoffed with a sad smile at the silliness behind his reason, shaking his head slightly in regret.

“I would have liked to know her.” You admit softly, staring at his profile— still glowy from the product you’d applied.

“She was all girly, like you. Always wearin’ pink n’ purple. Would’a been the best of friends.” He finally turned to look at you, his eyes a little sad and glossy at the distant and lost possibility. Yours were too, you couldn’t imagine his loss— Joel never spoke about Sarah. You realised now, that he was sharing something vulnerable with you because you’d been brave enough to fess up to something vulnerable too that night, which made your heart expand in size by ten. For tonight, your Ellie wound was patched up by Joel. You touched his arm, and you shared a smile.

Joel stood with his boots on, pulling his coat on at the door — having just reached midnight and he figured it wasn’t appropriate to stay any longer.

“You feeling like a new man after that facial?” You jabbed with a grin. He chuckled, buttoning up his thick jacket preparing for the snowy weather.

“Damn right.” He went along with it making you laugh. He stood up straight after pulling his backpack on his back, looking down at you with more sincerity now. “You gonna be alright kiddo? Can talk to her if you want but I reckon you… got it handled.” He trailed off knowingly when your eyes widened at the suggestion.

“No, I’m sure me and her will talk… and i’m okay, thanks Joel.” You nod at him with more meaning than you’re both willing to address again and he nods back.

“I’ll see you.”

Jackson was quiet that time of night, watching his step as to not slip on melted ice. Joel’s eyes flit up from his boots to the figure fumbling away from the bar on the path towards the living spaces. Ellie, drunk as a skunk hobbling home, Dina in the distance stumbling her separate way.

“Ellie.” Joel greet, stepping up behind her and she swung around, gleefully throwing her arms up.

“Joel!”

“Let’s get you home.” He nodded, stepping by her side to make sure she didn’t fall and hurt herself. He wasn’t mad at her, she probably didn’t even know — but he couldn’t help but sigh at her thoughtless, joyful mood.

“Why’re you out so late, old man?” Ellie slurred slightly, head bowed to watch her step carefully.

“Don’t you worry about me kid.” He took a hold of her arm when she stumbled lightly, having lost the card game one too many times with Dina. Dina had needed cheering up after a spat with Jesse, and Ellie had stepped up to help being the good friend she was. It was mainly to get her to stop whining about it on their shared patrol trips.

“You had plans tonight. Shouldn’t’ve been in there gettin’ wasted. You know that.” His voice was quiet but meaningful and Ellie’s head rose from its position, staring ahead with a confused expression before it settled in realisation, saying your name.

“Shit.” She swore, wiping a hand down her face as she arrived at her house, right beside Joel’s. The thought of blowing you off so badly seemed sobering and she climbed the porch step, fumbling for her keys and turning to look at the man stood before her, even in her drunk state recognising the fatherly look of disappointment on his face. “Was she mad?” She squint and Joel stepped back.

“No.” He confirmed and she sighed, watching him for a moment. “Make it right, Ellie.” He nodded, before departing to his own house. Ellie sighed once more. She’d fucked up, bad.

♡ ♡ ♡

[ptergwen]

through the lens

w/c: 2.3k

warnings: swearing and mentions of blood (all fluff tho!)

summary: yours and peter’s date night doesn’t go as planned, thanks to his “little” accident and mj’s photography project

a/n: it’s been a minute but i’m back! for now lol i promise i’ll be way more active when exam season is over <3 this was based off the lovely pic above taken by the even lovelier zendaya and i hope you enjoy these… let’s call it random workings of my mind

-

“hang on, can you come closer?” mj instructs you, you promptly stepping towards her. “is this good?” “great,” she affirms and squints behind the camera. “smile really big on the count of three, okay? one, two, three!” doing as she says, you give mj your cheesiest grin with your eyes squeezed shut and all. she snickers while snapping the moment on her polaroid.

mj asked you to be her subject for a photography project. you’re happy to do it, although it’s super last minute. like, barging-into-your-room-and-begging-you-for-help last minute. she was supposed to turn this in days ago. lucky for mj, her teacher was feeling generous and gave her an extension.

you have to work fast because of mj’s deadline and your plans with peter. he’s coming over for a movie marathon and cuddles right about now. well, he’s actually running a tad bit late. that’s typical peter for you.

“just a couple more, and then you’re free,” mj informs you while shaking out the polaroid. “this is honestly pretty fun, you know.” you glance at the photo she’s holding with an eyebrow quirked in surprise. she captures you well. “what made you choose me?” “no one else was free on a saturday,” she snorts and tosses the picture in a pile with the rest.

your mouth falls agape. “i’m not free! peter’s gonna be here in…” you check the time on your phone, much to your dismay. “he’s a few minutes late, but still. i have things to do, too.” a smirk sets on mj’s face as she gets ready for the next photograph. “relax, y/n/n. i was kidding. i’m sure spider-dweeb will be here sooner than you know it.” sighing lightheartedly, you take a seat on your bed.

“don’t call him that,” you shake your head. mj throws her own head back to the ceiling. “ugh, but that was a good one,” she insists, you only humming. “it’s better than penis parker, at least.” “nah, i like the alliteration,” you laugh out and earn a giggle from mj. “you’re lucky parker doesn’t have super hearing, or does he?” winking, you hit a pose for mj. you’re looking at her over your shoulder with smolder eyes.

“ask him yourself, after you get this shot.”

the two of you continue messing around with her polaroid until the film is almost gone, and peter has yet to arrive. you’re starting to worry. you aren’t sure where he could be.

he doesn’t patrol on weekends unless it’s an emergency, and he would’ve told you if there was one already. he’s never this late without sending a text, either. it’s almost an hour past when date night should’ve started. on the other occasions peter has gone off the grid, they didn’t end well.

“i’m freaking out, em. do you think he’s in some kind of trouble?” you ask mj, pacing around your bedroom. she offers a sympathetic shrug. “maybe he just ate some bad yogurt. remember last time?” being the dummy he is, peter once scarfed down an entire tub of vanilla yogurt before he realized it was expired. no one heard from him for days. he didn’t show up to school or answer any calls.

may ended up inviting you over and explaining he’d gotten a stomach bug, which you then tended to him for the rest of. the story was so amusing, and so peter.

“may doesn’t buy him dairy anymore. why do you think he always raids your freezer?” you bring your fingers up to rub your temples. “the kid can empty ice cream cartons in one bite,” she agrees, silently cringing. her curiosity piques at the fact. “is that also a power?” “who cares?” you nearly shout, your fingers curling into fists. “what i wanna know is if peter is fucking okay.”

on cue, there’s a knock at your apartment door. you and mj exchange looks of urgency, both rushing out of your room to answer.

mj follows you through the hall and stands by your side while you fumble with the lock. when your door pulls open, ned has his hand raised to knock again. “ned? what are you doing here?” you don’t give him the chance to speak. “have you heard from peter? he was supposed to be here a while ago, but he never showed.” rather than answering in words, ned takes a step aside.

the sight you’re met with makes you gasp. peter peeks out from behind him, cuts and bruises littering his flushed face. he gives you a lopsided smile.

“you have your answer,” mj murmurs to you and eyes ned curiously. he lets out a nervous chuckle. “here he is.” you push past ned and practically jump into peter’s arms, your hug bone-crushing. “peter, oh my god! are you okay?” wincing, peter hugs you back by your waist. his chin rests carefully on your head.

“hey… i’m alright, baby. still pretty sore, though,” he sucks his lower lip between his teeth. you take the hint to loosen your grip on him. “i was worried something bad might’ve happened to you. i… i guess i was right.” your tone softens, you threading a hand in his curls. they’re completely disheveled from whatever went down with him.

ned heads inside to catch up with mj, the two of them letting you have a moment alone.

“someone’s got a spidey sense of their own, huh?” peter tries to lighten the mood by joking. it doesn’t work, a frown still evident on your face as you try to untangle his once soft locks. “baby, everything’s fine. i just… had a little accident is all. no big deal,” he reassures you and moves in to peck your lips. you’re so shocked that you dodge the kiss.

“little? your whole face is black and blue, pete!” you tug on the white collar of his button up, peter letting out a shaky breath. your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, touch gentle. “how’d you get like this?” he licks across his lips shyly and sets his hands on your hips. “see, on the way over there were these bad guys who-“

“no there weren’t,” ned cuts in, scoffing at the beginning of his friend’s story. peter shoots him a warning look over your head. “yes there were, ned. you weren’t even there!” he catches mj glaring at him before he continues. “don’t listen to him. anyway, i had to fight them because…” when he trails off, you stroke your thumb across his cheek, avoiding any wounds in the way. raising both eyebrows, mj speaks up.

“because why? go on, parker. i’m intrigued,” she encourages him. everyone can tell peter is lying except you. the question really is, what’s he lying about? he gulps down his spit, pulling your body against his for comfort. “take your time, peter. we can wait,” you say only for him to hear. his love filled eyes meet yours, and he nods. ned huffs at the dramatics unfolding before him.

“dude, you’re making this way worse than it actually is. just tell her!” he demands, mj cocking her head to the side. peter’s gaze flits between the two of them. “tell me what?” you wonder softly and tilt his chin, willing him to look at you again. “i… i…” peter’s shoulders slump, his voice lowering in defeat. “there weren’t any bad guys.”

“of course there weren’t,” ned confirms. “no shit,” mj adds. exhaling, you wait for your boyfriend to further elaborate. “what really happened, then? be honest, pete.” peter lets go of you so he can come into your apartment properly, you shutting the door behind him. he scratches the back of his neck as he fills you in. “ok. um, me and ned were hanging out.”

ned is attempting to stifle a laugh for some reason, which mj elbows him for. you take one of peter’s hands. “yeah?” “we were at my place, and… you know those really slippery steps on the sixth floor?” peter pauses for someone to answer, playing with your fingers. “the ones flash almost wiped out on once?” mj questions in amusement. he lets a quiet chuckle out. “good times. yeah, those.”

his gaze averts to the ground, you listening on. “so, i was walking ned out on my way over. we were talking about spidey stuff-“ “as per usual,” mj mumbles to herself. ned raises his hands in defense. “—and i told ned i could always stick my landings. he didn’t believe me.” you playfully roll your eyes, seeing where this is going. “so… i, uh, decided to show him,” peter finishes off.

“i did a, um, backflip. tripped and fell down the flight of stairs,” he finally admits to you, putting his other hand on top of your intertwined ones. “clearly, i was wrong.” his bloody face is now red from humiliation. “you didn’t trip, dude. you freaking summersaulted!” ned corrects him and bursts into laughter he’s been holding back. “idiots, both of you,” mj simply remarks.

“that’s it? why didn’t you just say that?” you almost laugh yourself. groaning, peter rests his forehead against yours. “because it’s embarrassing! i wanted you to think i’m a tough guy or whatever.” placing both hands on his cheeks this time, you nuzzle your nose against his. “you don’t have to be a tough guy to impress me, babes. you’re kind, smart, funny. makes up for you being such a klutz.”

peter cracks a grin, easily capturing your lips in the kiss he didn’t get to before. it doesn’t last long because mj gags and ned whistles at you. you’re both giggling when you pull apart, peter kissing the tip of your nose for good measure.

“you really mean that?” he checks, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. “of course. i have a thing for himbos,” you tease and poke at his bare chest. his eyes widen. “how about i get you some ice and you find our first movie?” you’re already off to the kitchen, beaming at peter. “date night’s still on?” he happily plops down on your couch, mj showing ned her pictures from earlier.

“as soon as those two get out of here,” you call loudly enough so ned and mj hear you. “yeah, yeah. we’re leaving,” mj deadpans, shoving the photos back into her portfolio. peter glances over at it curiously. “what’s that for?” “photography project,” she says and gets an idea. “i have some film left. y/n took up most of it… you losers want the rest?”

while mj coerces her way to a higher grade, you put some popcorn in the microwave for your movie marathon.

“well, i could use a new lockscreen. i’m in!” ned quickly concedes. him and mj both give peter hopeful looks. “i’m not!” he protests, squishing one of your pillows against his chest. “with my face looking like… this? forget about it.” mj walks over to him and places her portfolio on the coffee table. “what? those gashes are gnarly… in a good way, i mean,” she promises.

“painful, too,” peter murmurs. “y/n, hurry up with that ice!” mj demands, grabbing the polaroid camera from its string around her neck. you wave her off. “what i’m saying is, they’ll look sick in my portfolio.” mj forces a smile, ned looking at her weirdly. “uh, what’s the theme of your project again?” “freestyle, baby,” mj casually replies.

peter comes up with a condition that could persuade him. “if you say please, i might consider it,” he concludes, mj perking up. “please be in my project. pretty please?” she instantly requests, ned pursing his lips from behind her. peter rubs his chin. “y/n, what do you think? should i?” you pipe in from the kitchen. “yeah, so she’ll leave my house.”

“you heard the lady. i’ll do it,” peter gives in. all but squealing, mj gestures for ned to sit. “this’ll only take a few minutes. you guys are really saving my ass.” ned gets comfortable next to peter on the couch, who wants to see how far mj will really go. “aw, we are? i believe that calls for a…” ned catches on. “it comes after please…” mj picks up her camera with gritted teeth. “thank you, morons. say cheese!”

that’s the only warning peter and ned get before they’re blinded with the flash. ned does a toothy grin as he leans into peter’s side. peter musters up the best smile he can, hair a mess and cuts burning pink on his face. satisfied, mj snatches the photograph as it pops out.

“pleasure doing business with you two,” she states, you joining the three of them in the living room. you set the popcorn on the table and give peter his ice pack. he presses it to his cheek, kissing the back of your hand. “send me that!” ned reminds mj, helping himself to your bowl of popcorn. she salutes him.

“there’s my star. what do you say, y/n? wanna take one more really quick?” mj suggests, already holding up her polaroid. you take the other cushion next to peter, your head on his shoulder. “can peter be in it with me? since he’s in the modeling mood tonight.” he wraps an arm tightly around you. “let’s do it, sweetness.”

eagerly jumping in front of you two, mj crouches down to get a better angle. “on the count of three. one, two, three!” the camera clicks, and you surprise peter by laying a smooch on one of his cheeks. he’s holding the ice against his other, genuinely smiling for this picture. ned coos at you, mj showing off her work when it dries.

“how adorable,” she says sarcastically but means it. peter nods at her in appreciation, his lips brushing the side of your head. “what can i say, you’re a pro,” you compliment mj. “come on, em!” ned cheers through a mouthful of popcorn.

tonight was an unexpected and exciting mess, even if your date night did get crashed.

[introverted-sugar]

Ugh 😑

Heads up, this is a minor rant! Proceed with caution.

I feel like such a shit friend for what I’m about to express but I have to get this off of my chest because I have no one else to complain to. Also, I know I’m a great friend but I’m very particular about how I do things and I need to be at peace when I’m somewhere

So, my birthday is in a few days and I’m going to Miami/islamorada/key west for 10 days. I’ll be in Miami for 4 days with my girl best friend, and then “Travel daddy” the remainder of the trip.

So me and my best friend are similar in the sense of us being laid back and chill, we don’t do too much, when we go out we’re not twerking on table tops or fighting or any of that ratchet bullshit (now don’t get me wrong, you put the right song on and I’ll shake these cheeks but i just don’t like that type of attention, I sucked as a stripper 😂) But we are also VERY different. I like to try new things, eat at kind of fancy restaurants (if I’m paying, VERY fancy on a “mans” dime 💁🏽‍♀️) , I don’t like to go to clubs and if I do I’m definitely leaving early, lounge by the beach/pool, swim, snorkel, bike ride etc. So I’ve been trying to plan stuff for us to do but it’s hard because I have to take her into consideration (I’m used to traveling alone or with some man that’s trying to please me so I’m usually able to just do what I want )

Here is a list of grievances & concerns I have thus far:

1: She doesn’t really like sushi. Yes, that’s petty but I have dinner reservations the night of my birthday at a sushi place with a tasting menu. She said she was okay with going but eh idk, and then is she going to be cool with the price tag of the tasting menu? Any tasting I’ve ever done all the people at the table had to do the tasting menu

2: Piggy backing off of the first point, her sister is flying in the same day we are to help her friend that’s getting a BBL down there (😑, I’ll explain why I’m not a fan of her sister later) but we arrive at like 12, she’ll be arriving around 8 pm..the time I made reservations at the sushi spot. So earlier we were on the phone and she said “oh yeah such and such gets there around 8 I told her WE would come pick her up from the airport” Pause! WHO? Not I! I said “that’s the time our reservations are for” she was like “oh well she can just meet us there” 🤦🏽‍♀️ now remember I said I don’t do too much, I’m quiet and reserved. Her sister, not so much. She’s not about to embarrass me and she’s DEF not chilling at the hotel with her loud ass. My thing is, how tf you inviting people to MY birthday dinner. I honestly don’t wanna see her sister at all while we’re there, but I’m willing to meet her somewhere for an hour or so and then leave ✌🏽

(I don’t like her sister because the very first time I met her a couple years ago on NYE she basically got us involved in a literal BRAWL at a HOUSE PARTY in the heart of west philly of all places 😑 long story short the whole party beat her sisters ass for walking in and tAlking shit, and then Her sister stole someones whole car at the party, I guess when they were jumping her someone’s keys fell out of their pocket so she took the keys and figures out which car it belonged to and stole it, like it was just a ghetto ass mess)

3: She keeps asking me the same questions over and over. We have had this trip booked for MONTHS, literally, I like to be organized and plan shit out, but every week or so it’s “so where are we staying again” “how much is it” “do you think my hair will last if I get a frontal” to which I replied BITCH NEVER, just get braids or locs, of course she just got a sewin/frontal earlier…okay but I warned you sis😖. now mind you this will be her first time in Miami so she wasn’t really trying to pay the price (half) for the hotel I booked. I’ve been to Miami plenty of times on top of actually living there and there’s no better deal we’re going to get on south beach, with all the amenities that the hotel offers, I’m very good at planning and booking trips and finding the best deals so I was highly irritated when just a week before our trip shes tryna find cheaper places. I told her she can look but it needs to at least •be in south beach •be on collins/ocean drive and •have a pool (unless she could find an Airbnb). Y’all she sent me all these bullshit ass links to places in HOLLYWOOD (which I actually love but I said south beach…), Miami Gardens 🤮, and ft. Lauderdale and they didn’t have any amenities and were MORE money. In my head I was like “bruh nevermind we’re staying where we’re staying, you don’t need to do ANYMORE looking” 🙅🏽‍♀️

4: she doesn’t like the water or swimming. That’s the main reason I even go to Florida so often for the water, like literally. I’m not a fan of most beaches up north (Giants neck beach In CT Is awesome though, Maine has some nice ones too but it’s just so cold even on a very hot summer day, jersey has a few as well but mainly I like clear waters) So anyway, I wanted to book this snorkel/boat tour/key west tour but she doesn’t want to do it because 1: she doesn’t wanna snorkel but 2: we would have to leave at 6:30 am and she doesn’t get up until like 12 🙄 I feel like I’m limited as to what I can do

5: She still hasn’t sent me her half of the hotel fee and we leave Tuesday…it’s Saturday. She’s been saying “imma send it tomorrow” for like 2 weeks now and telling me about her car troubles

6: As I mentioned she wakes up late, which means she goes to bed late. The latest I go to bed is like 12 but when I’m on “vacation” I tend to drink more than I normally would so I go to sleep early. Shit when me and travel daddy went to all those vineyards I legit took naps mid day to keep up 😂 I’m worried she’s gonna keep me up like she did last month when I spent the night at her house, I was HIGHLY irritated and it was only one night

I’m seriously pondering why tf I thought this was a good idea. Lowkey I didn’t think it was a good idea but we’ve never traveled together and she’s never been to Miami (she’s the reason we’re even going to Miami because I’ve BEEN over Miami, it’s packed and overrated but I thought it would be a cute thing for us to do)

It doesn’t matter how cool you are with someone you have to have the right travel buddy and just because you get along doesn’t mean you should travel together. Sadly, I can already tell you this is our last trip together

The irony is I was sooo hesitant and complaining about going on the WPB trip but ended up having a blast, but we also had a huge villa and everyone had privacy, and I only personally knew one person so at first I didn’t feel super obligated to be all chummy with his friends, but I loved all of them they were so much fun and liked to do the stuff I like to do, it really was such a bomb trip I wish I could show you guys all the cute pics and videos we took, REALLY great vibes

I love my best friend to death but I’m so apprehensive about this trip. We don’t even chill that often on the regular, mainly because we’re both just busy or live kind of far from eachother but I’m that friend that loves you…from afar, every now and then she’ll drag me out to some lounge and I’m always ready to go early it’s just not my scene, I wanna be in bed damnit! 😩

Am I just being a brat? What do you guys think?

[honeytea8]

✨✨La Squadra Boyfriend Headcanons✨✨

[Alexa, play Boyfriend by Big Time Rush]

Guys, I spend an ungodly amount of time thinking about La Squadra, so here are some bf headcanons for the sexiest group of assassins in Naples. No one asked but I am bringing it straight to your dash anyway! (under the cut for length lmao)

I’m going to start with Prosciutto, who has recently fallen on my radar pretty heavy! 

He’s a good and decent boyfriend, if not a busy one. Not that he doesn’t care about the relationship, but most of his energy was going to Passione things before you waltzed in and so he’ll struggle a bit between his work responsibilities and maintaining his relationship with you, but only in the beginning. 

If you are also a part of Passione, it’s a hell of a lot easier to manage. 

I see Prosciutto as the gift-giving type: lingerie, sweets, perfume, designers, etc. His salary isn’t the best, but he manages it as well as he can just to accommodate you! 

I just can’t get the idea out of my head that Pro was raised by a strict mama, that’s why he can be a bit of a stickler sometimes. He’ll catch you still lounging in bed at nine am, and be like “Why are you still in bed? Get dressed, we’re going out.” Dude!

I’m sorry to say, but Prosciutto is absolutely the ‘lecturing’ type. (He lectured someone in nearly every scene in the anime, Formaggio once and Pesci numerously and Bucci too) 

He will lecture you when you make mistakes, especially because as his s/o, he has high expectations for you and believes you’re capable of so much more. It’s never, ever out of hate. He loves you, and that’s why he chides you a bit lol. 

This does not negate the fact that he doesn't mind when you lean on him for support. He likes when you count on him, because he always comes through especially for you!

Depending on whether you’re in the mafia or not, I totally see him sparring with you, or working out with you in an effort to make you tough. Prosciutto wants you to be able to defend yourself, just in case. If you complain, he’ll tell you, “Better safe than sorry, tesoro”.

Prosciutto will respect you, period.

A good listener, goddamn! He’s up there with Risotto when it comes to who listens to their s/o more! If you have an issue, he’ll hear you out and offer advice if you want it. If you give him advice, he’ll take it into serious consideration. He’s honestly a good partner, can’t stress that enough.

Finally, sex with Pro is an entire event. Romantic dinner, candles lit, wine, the whole nine yards before he gives you nine inches of something else :) (I’m kidding!! Lmao, kinda). 

But as I said, Prosciutto is quite deliberate, and a bit of a perfectionist. He knows what to do and how to do it, you can trust him.

Ghiaccio is next only because he’s my favorite. 

The ice gremlin is probably the most interesting (and hilarious) boyfriend out of the bunch (I say this with only a tidbit of bias). He isn’t funny himself, but funny shit just happens to him. 

Because of this, he will use you as a soundboard when everyone else refuses to listen to him. He’s got a lot to say, so be prepared for his TEDtalks. LMAO!

It will take some perception on your part to notice when he actually expects a response from you, and other times he’s just ranting to get his point out. 

He will correct your grammar when you text, but barely notices when he makes a similar mistake (his brain moves in mph). Please use the proper names like Venezia, Italia, Roma and Napoli when talking to this man; save yourself from the headache.

When it comes to dates, please have mercy on him, he’s a textbook over-thinker! You’ll just have to plan something simple at home for you both to enjoy. 

He isn’t incapable of planning dates, but he’ll want everything to be so absolutely perfect for his s/o and will throw a fit when it ultimately isn’t. 

Contrary to popular belief, I think that Ghiaccio is a pretty attentive partner. He’s super intelligent and I think a part of it stems from his innate ability to read people (I’m referencing the part in the anime where he deduced what Giorno and Mista had come to look for, while going off very little information). 

The more time he spends with you, the better he gets at it. 

His form of affection will be shown through the amount of time you both spend together. When it comes to sex or anything related to that, be gentle and slow as Ghiaccio will likely be a flustered mess. 

As he becomes more comfortable and confident, he will be bolder and just ask out right if you’ll suck him off tonight or not. The man appreciates directness, so don’t bother being coy. “You want me to give you head? Cool, lay down a towel or something.” is what he’ll probably say.

Very practical 👌🏾👌🏾

Melone, good lord, he’s kind of perfect. 

A bit of a doting boyfriend here and there—very much concerned about your health. Expect him to ask if you’ve eaten, or taken your multivitamin. How are your bowel movements?  LMAO

It can become a bit much, but he really genuinely cares. He’s not asking to be intrusive or nasty! If he was, you’d know. 🤣

But I seriously consider Melone to be the one (at least among La Squadra) who is way, way invested in his relationships. He will know every little detail about you; will ask you lots of questions and expects you to ask him just as many. 

This may be annoying to some, but this dude will definitely bring up your horoscope in an argument. He’ll be like “I honestly can’t fathom why you’re being this way, though it’s to be expected from a libra.” 

Peg this bitch so he can shut up.  

Melone is also touchy as hell, but not in a clingy way. He loves touching, and just to tag onto the headcanon about his partial blindness, I want to say that he’s so touchy because that’s how he ‘sees’ you best.

Just know that half the time, he isn’t touching you to be lecherous, even if he genuinely does like the feel of your skin under his fingertips. Melone will even encourage you to touch him back. 

Rub his thigh or back and he’ll be simping.

He is obsessed with your legs, and will paint your toes if you let him. 

LOVES PDA! Melone will also tongue-kiss you in public if you let him!

Notice how I keep saying ‘if you let him’. Give him an inch and he’ll press you for a mile, so if there are boundaries you would like to establish, please do, cuz he sure as hell won’t, just saying!

When it comes to sex, Melone is a dick and coochie sensei. Oral is his favorite thing to do, probably enjoys giving more than receiving to be honest. I’d say he’s pretty much mastered sex for what it is. 

That being said, if he’s ever talking out of his neck, just invite him to put his mouth to better use. He’ll even thank you for your gracious request.

Formaggio is next 💀 

According to my JoJo compatriots from discord, he’s like the Optimus Prime of fuckboi’s so let’s ride that wave for a bit! LMAO

I hope it doesn’t come as a surprise that Formaggio is pretty shameless. He will send you a dick pic on Sunday morning before church and have the audacity to say “Just wanted to bless you real quick”. 

@autumn-kouhai mentioned him giving his s/o sickly sweet pet names and I just have to agree. 

Expect to be hit upside the head with: baby-boo, sugar plum, honey bunches, sweetums. I can imagine them becoming really ridiculous too like “the last piece of red velvet cake” or “cheddar bae biscuits from Red Lobster”

His catch phrase is “Got nudes?”

Send them, and he won’t be afraid to reply with something equally sexy. 

Be warned though, he will stockpile whatever you send him and then be careless with his phone. If you don’t mind Illuso’s snoopy ass seeing your nudes then by all means, have at it. Otherwise, send them through snapchat, so they disappear later. 

As far as La Squadra boyfriends go, he’s the most fun! Y’all don’t even go anywhere because man’s is broke. BUT, Formaggio knows how to have a good time without any need to spend money (my kind of dude tbh) you guys just crank up the tunes, dance, and get lit until the neighbors complain. 

Formi is also the CEO of jokes/memes, and will have you in absolute tears almost always! I literally tell my friends that funny guys are so dangerous, don’t sleep on them! They will make you laugh until your panties drop, it’s magic, I swear. Formaggio has that same energy. 

No matter how bad of a day his s/o is having, rest assured, he will draw the biggest laugh out of you.

Besides his fuckboi tendencies, his most redeeming quality is the fact that he’s super cool and fun to hang with. You’ll literally have a good time, always, because his energy is right! Very good vibes around this man, I swear! It’ll be exactly like dating your best friend, because essentially, he will be your bestie.

Formi has many moments of tenderness that aren’t sexually charged too—moments where the jokes stop and he’ll just rub your back or feet, this is usually when you aren’t feeling well and need some quiet. 

However, Formaggio won’t let you mope all day, he’ll pull out the big guns and call you his “sweetie baby” and when you try to resist he’ll say “What, I’m just tryna show you some love.”

He’s a good dude lmao I’d date a guy like him irl 😭

Pesci stans wya??! Let’s get into this baby boy. 

Pesci is boyfriend material, idgaf what anyone says. 

He is pretty much the least problematic to be with among all of La Squadra, even more so than Risotto (don’t argue with me). 

Pesci is hyper aware of your likes and dislikes and will literally go out of his way to make sure that you’re well and okay. 

Arguments are basically nonexistent and if they occur it ain’t coming from his side. 

I also think that Pesci has a lot of empathy, so when you’re going through something, he’s right there in the thick of it with you. If you’ve seen that meme that goes ‘when my gf is on her period it’s UterUS’ lmao that’s Pesci’s energy 100%. 

Sometimes, he’s more of a lover and not a fight, that is perfectly okay!

However, if someone tries up his s/o, say farewell to Mr. Niceguy. He will defend your honor to his dying breath. And with you in his corner, trust me, he’s not going down. 

A romantic at heart, Pesci will plan little date trips like picnics in the park or boat trips to Capri, actually, I’d like to point out that he excels in the art of date planning. If you’re the adventurous type, he’ll plan outings where you both will be more active, like biking through the city or renting a mop-ed and going sight-seeing. 

Because Pesci has a sensitive stomach, he’s very much considerate of what you both put in your bodies. If you have dietary restrictions or allergies, this guy knows all about it and will cater to you perfectly. 

A true gentleman through and through, he will never force himself on you, ever. In fact, he really doesn’t like engaging in anything sexual when you’re drunk or high, sorry if you’re into that! 

Pesci is the kind of guy who keeps up with your favorite shows.

If ya’ll have similar taste in media or literature, he will immerse himself in it so that he can relate to you all the more.

If there’s anyone who will entertain anime-related discourse, no matter how nonsensical, it’s Pesci. And he isn’t just putting up with it, he’s actively engaging in the conversation so you are always heard and validated. 

He’s an A+ boyfriend, that’s all I gotta say! Haters can stay mad :)

Goddamn Illuso... idk man.

I really feel like you have to have thick/tough skin to handle this guy, for various reasons. 

The first being that Illuso can be a bit mean at first. He’ll push your buttons on purpose just to see what’ll make you tick. Will tease the living heck out of you, always, kind of a bully lmao but not to the extreme, it’s just his brand of humor—and the thing is, he won’t be mad when you dish it right back, so it’s cool. 

Secondly, Illuso has big dick energy!! 

I mean rightfully so, because he is indeed packing! But my word, he ain’t humble about it at all! 

He is not above making jokes about ‘splitting you in half’. In fact all of his jokes have hidden, dirty undertones! 

His affection is shown through speech mostly. Illuso will drop subtle innuendos and provocations, half to see you flustered and half because he wants you to know how much he wants you. 

Illuso isn’t incredibly vocal about his feelings outside of ‘I’m tryna hit that thang’ but you won’t doubt that he loves you because Illuso doesn’t waste his own time. 

If he’s spending his time with you, you can rest assured that it’s because he wants to. 

Illuso is a voyeur and you’ll just have to understand/accept that and move on. 

He loves watching you and will even creep over to your place through the mirror world just to hang or watch you do chores. Loves to surprise you and give you jump scares lmao it’ll make you a tad paranoid but it’s also fun. 

Illuso is prone to random bouts of sweetness; it’s very sporadic, very touch-and-go. 

One day, you’ll wake up to chocolates on your dresser or new shoes, lingerie, or makeup if you wear it. I imagine that if you’re low on funds, he will even help you buy your groceries that week. 

It’ll surprise the hell out of you, but that’s just how Illuso is. He enjoys keeping you on your toes! 

He’s prideful and smug as hell, so he will definitely expect a thank you, because even if he does it out of the kindness in his heart, he also wants to hear that you appreciate him

Same goes for the bedroom scene. Illuso loves making you vocal, it’s his favorite thing in the world, so he’ll make a game out of doing the things that get the biggest reaction out of you. Like I said, it's that big dick energy at work here, smh.

Sorbet and Gelato in a polyamorous relationship with you? Let’s get it! 

We don’t get anything substantial about these two except that Sorbet follows the money, so these are all personal headcanons for how I see and write them. 

Here’s the juice: when it comes to you as their s/o, these two are possessive as hell. You are theirs and that’s that on that! 😭 Don’t ask questions, just go with it.

Sorbet is the chill one of the duo. He can be a bit smug at times, but he’s mostly a laid back dude who doesn’t get bothered by much.

When it comes to you, Sorbet likes to spend quality time with you more than anything, and will ask you to cook for him at your place so he ain’t gotta spend money. Oh? Did I not mention that I kinda think of him as a cheapskate? Lmao cuz I do.

Sorbet will come by your place just to steal your coupons from the mail then head out; you’re not using ‘em so why should he let them go to waste?

Gelato is the complete opposite; personality wise, I headcanon him as a mix between Melone and Formaggio lmao

But it’s not as crazy as it sounds, he’s cute and outspoken like Melone, while maintaining a free-spirit like Formaggio. One quality that I like is that he’s quite devoted to you and Sorbet. If anyone crosses either of you, goodluck to them!

I like to think Gelato’s also just really boujee and high maintenance. He loves to pamper and be pampered. You and him tag-team Sorbet’s wallet and go on spa dates together at his expense (not that he ever really stood a chance)

While Sorbet is cool with just being in the same room as you, Gelato loves hugging/cuddling with you and Sorbet—will definitely fight for the middle spot between the two of you on the couch during movie nights.

He baby, so let him have it lol

In the bedroom, I would salute anyone with the guts to take the two of them on. They both lay down that work, period. 

Sorbet gets his kicks from teasing and edging you (his sadistic side comes out a bit), while Gelato loves when you give him extra TLC. To put it short, they know how to take care of you, so there are no issues there. 

Last but not least, Mr. Risotto Nero himself.

Man, idc on the lowest of keys, he seems a little bit like a grandpa to me

The type to sit at home and do crosswords, has a bird feeder in his yard and plays old Italian hits while washing the dishes. It’s very domestic 💀 (I find it cute, whatever!)

As a boyfriend, I can’t imagine him suddenly being spontaneous or outgoing unless you drag him out of his home/comfort zone.

Be patient with Mr. Nero, and he can come to surprise you

After a while, it won’t be just you dragging him out and about; one day he’ll ask you to come over and you’ll be greeted with a nice, traditional, homemade meal

Pay attention and you will notice him watching your face to see if you like his cooking 🥺

After seeing his fight with Doppio, I must admit that Risotto is very, very observant, almost scarily so.

I can totally picture him pointing out random things about his s/o that even they don’t know

One night, Risotto may come up to you and say “I talked to your neighbor about the dog, they’ll keep it inside now.” And you’re just staring like 😳 how did he know the barking was keeping you up at night????

He’s sweet, and will take good care of you as a boyfriend should.

Very good listener, won’t talk as much but will hang on to your every word, I promise. He could even recite it to you verbatim.

He’s a big dude, that ain’t news, so expect to be swallowed up in hugs and sometimes even picked up (as a tall girl myself, I simp!!!)

Gives A1 piggyback rides, lol

ALSO RISOTTO IS HUMBLE ASF!

Big dick energy, but on low volume 👏🏾 after all, he doesn’t need to do much talking, because a night with him is more than enough!

Listen babe, you better stretch, do some squats, and prep in whatever way you can before Mr. Nero gives you that work. 🤐

Lowkey a freak, but it’s well hidden behind his ‘quiet giant’ exterior

So, who are y'all dating? Personally, I’m going for Formaggio and Pesci hehe

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night, Ralph. (I think I covered all my time zone bases there). I have been thinking lot lately about all the rhetoric in the fandom about Harry’s health and well-being, and how loud it has felt this year. To be clear, I am not asking for you to weigh in with your own speculations about how Harry is doing, unless you feel comfortable doing so. (I’m not telling you what to do either way, obviously, seeing as I am only a little grey icon in your inbox and have no right or way to demand anything of you.) I’m more looking for guidance or even just your rambling thoughts about what is respectful and appropriate when we’re wondering about a celebrity’s well being, and how you handle your own thoughts and assumptions about this. I feel like over the course of the last year we’ve just been inundated with all this panic and speculation about how Harry is unhappy or unhealthy or otherwise not himself, going all the way back to the Jingle Bell Ball Golden performance. Every time we get any new content there’s a wave of people saying he looks too thin and overworked like he’s not getting enough food or rest, or overweight and out of shape (pick a lane, people), he looks stressed, he looks sad, he looks angry, his eyes have lost their sparkle, his smile is dim, he’s addicted to drugs, he’d addicted to drugs because Jeff is doping him up to keep him going, he’s going to quit music, he’s going to hurt himself, blah blah blah. And the people making these “observations” hide behind the assertion that they’re just worried for his health when they’re faced with any sort of criticism.

This whole ongoing rhetoric feels really…icky? I suppose? to me. I do kind of think he has looked more drawn and intense (“stressed” and “sad”) in the content we’ve gotten this year, but I also think (1) the content we’ve gotten has largely been pap shots and stunt stuff, (2) this year he had to postpone his tour, and we know he loves performing so that must have really sucked, and (3) this year has just been rather shit for all of us, we’re all stressed and sad and scared and frustrated by the larger political and social goings on, and by the ways our own lives are impacted. In the past, the content we’ve gotten where Harry looks the happiest and most at ease has been performance footage or him with his family and loved ones. We haven’t gotten any of that this year. It makes sense that the pictures we do get would feature him looking less than completely relaxed and jubilant. And then there are all the assumptions that he’s lost weight or gained weight and is therefore unhealthy or on drugs or drinking a lot and that just honestly pisses me off. You cannot tell jack shit about a person’s health from their weight, and especially not in random pictures taken at random intervals in random settings. To pretend you can is harmful, and Harry probably won’t see you making these assumptions about his mental and physical health based on the prominence of his cheekbones in a set of pap pics, but friends and strangers who are already struggling with their weight will. And the assertion that someone is dealing with an addiction of any kind (or, god forbid, and I hate even typing this, being subjected to drug use at the hands of someone with power over them) is an allegation that a) you can’t make from one picture and b) has really deep, life altering, tragic and painful and hard consequences for that person and all their loved ones, and deserves more respect and deference than to be treated as something you can just throw out into the great wild beyond and then forget about.

But beyond the fact that people are making hurtful and invasive allegations and assumptions about a real person’s private life based entirely on a very very limited and posed and edited set of content that was hand chosen to be given to us, I think the thing that bothers me the most is it feels like the people who are driving these conversations are doing so because they want something from Harry. It’s never (or rarely, I suppose) “man Harry looks tired in the pictures we’ve gotten lately, I really hope he’s taking care of himself, things have been so hard for us all.” It’s always “Harry has been so withdrawn and sad and angry he’s not communicative with fans and he’s not willing to engage with them when he sees them in public and I miss him. I miss my Harry. I miss happy Harry. I want him back. Give me Harry back.” Which tells me the concern isn’t Harry or Harry’s health, but rather the feeling that Harry owes us something that he hasn’t been giving, and now he must pay up or give us a valid excuse.

Then I do, occasionally though, find myself thinking “am I doing exactly what I’m complaining about? Am I assuming the worst of people based on a limited set of insights into their lives?” And in the wake of the Britney legal battle that has been unfolding recently, I sometimes wonder if maybe as fans we do have kind of a duty to call out celebrities when they seem to be struggling or acting incredibly out of character. Most of the time I follow this up immediately with the thought that I’m not responsible for anyone else’s health and safety, much less that of a 27 year old man I’ve never met and have no connection to beyond liking his music and his face, and I do truly believe that, but there is some part of me that feels uneasy just turning off all my concern, because I am a person who tends to be greatly concerned about everyone, who just wants everyone to be happy and healthy and safe and loved, and who wants to help people feel that way, where and when I can. So I guess what I’m asking, in the incredibly long winded and winding way I ask anyone anything (my poor husband, he gets a novel from me every time I ask what he thinks we should do for dinner) is do you have any of these same feelings and concerns? How do your navigate them? Where do you draw a line? Do you just withdraw completely from this type of speculation? How do you balance being a kind, engaged, empathetic fan with being a respectful, responsible fan who knows their limits? (And man, isn’t that the ultimate question?). Your blog is one I end up on whenever something big happens or a particular conversation pops up, because I’ve found that I really value the way you break things down and are willing to consider them from many perspectives, so I appreciate you even taking the time to read this.

Thanks for your interesting thoughts about Harry anon. I feel like there's a lot to respond to here and I'm going to start by answering the questions your questions - and then I'm going to get distracted and talk about a post I really hated.

I'm always a little bit worried about Harry, and all 1D members. He might be really struggling, that's always a possibility. Harry has lived a very intensely scheduled high workload life since he was 16. He might have had all sorts of responses to the fact that that schedule was removed, or anything else that is happening in his life. But I feel like I'm generally pretty boundaried about those concerns.

I think part of it is because my base line assumption is that boyband members are pretty fucked up. You don't need to know a lot about the history of touring musicians to know that. I think I've said before that if 1D members are eating every day and not doing needle drugs then they're doing better than we have any right to expect (and if they're not eating and are doing needle drugs, then those are coping mechanisms for intense stress and there's no shame in either of them).

I do think it helps with boundaries to be starting from a point that acknowledges how hard it is to be a popstar. I'm all about fantasies of omnipotence and in my day to day life I think I can fix all sorts of things, but I don't think I can make any difference to any 1D member's life.

In addition, I am profoundly affected by having been a fan throughout 2016. We know what it looks like when Louis was going through a horrendous, devastating, trauma - and it looks pretty normal.

None of this means I don't have opinions, or worries, but I am aware that my opinions or worries aren't facts. It's rare that I think that my worries should matter even to people reading my tumblr, let alone other fans in general, and certainly not Harry. You say 'am I doing the same thing as other people assuming the worst about people...', but I'd argue that that's actually not the problem. There's nothing wrong with assuming the worst of people. What is wrong is when fans think their assumptions about a celebrity should matter to anyone else. You don't have to turn off your concern to think that it's not a priority.

I definitely think it would be a very bad thing if people took the moral as the 'free Britney' movement as 'fans should call out celebrities when they think they're struggling'. That sort of surveillance isn't effective or useful. What has been useful for Britney is solidarity in a well documented power struggle, which is a very different thing.

And I can't emphasise enough how important the 'well documented' aspect of this is. What most fan worrying about Harry amounts to is: 'I don't like what he's doing, and there's no way he'd do things I didn't like and therefore there must be something wrong with him'. That's a really controlling way of thinking about people. I really think it's important not to reproduce that abusers logic.

I am pretty well insulated from that sort of discourse from a very well weeded dash. But I saw a post that was mostly about other fandom stuff, that treated assumptions like: "Harry must hate being with Olivia and he's suffering and it's clear he's not happy with his image and his team" as building blocks that you don't even have to argue for (this is the post - and I'm going to come back to one of the things someone said that was even worse in a second).

Lets stop for a minute and imagine that Harry hasn't got a problem pretending to date Olivia, and his main concerns are about the messiness of life and his career at this point in time. It is really fucked up and agressive, and pretty hateful towards Harry, to say 'oh he couldn't possibly want this. It's clear that he hates it.' etc. (I feel like I've been making this argument for years about people who object to Louis doing such things as smoking and not performing middle-class culture for them). When fans trash talk what Harry is doing at the moment, and suggest that believing he could be choosing what he's doing is some how an act of huge disrespect to him, there is every chance they are trash talking him and the choices he's making.

The final thing I want to draw attention to is how often this sort of fan storytelling is combined with a profound lack of interest in what 1D members are actually going through. The tags screen shotted and added on to the post I reblogged actually described Holivia as Douis 2.0. Apparently assuming that there was absolutely no connection between Douis, and Louis and his family's ultimately successful efforts to privacy as Jay was dying. What the fuck is wrong with people that they ignore that, and erase that? There's far more interest in making up 1D members suffering so that fans can continue to tell the stories they want to tell, than actual acknowledgement of what we know that they went through.

Sorry I got distracted. What I'm trying to say is that there's nothing wrong with having feelings about celebrities or telling stories about them. But it's so important to acknoweldge the limits of your knowledge and power, even when fandom discourse encourages the opposite.

[nightcoremoon]

it's evident people haven't watched enough kids media to adequately understand just what constitutes a kids show as opposed to a show that kids can watch and be entertained by

when I was a kid I watched king of the hill and blues clues (among other things). king of the hill is NOT a kids show by any stretch of the imagination; it is an adult animation, replete with fairly heavy subject matter, sexual themes, political humor, cultural references that kids won't understand, discussion of religion in the modern day, depression and suicidal thoughts, adultery, puberty and sexual awakenings, body image, propane, propane accessories, and ultimately above all else what it means to be family. and blues clues is a show about a man who plays with a shovel & pail, talks to his condiments and mailbox, and sometimes he teleports into the felt dimension, all while playing Sherlock Holmes hercule poirot with his dog, and teaching kids how to count and draw and recognize colors and learn their ABCs. do you see the fucking difference? no? then I'll make it more clear.

dora the explorer & go diego go, mickey mouse clubhouse, handy manny, octonauts, bob the builder, super why, wild kratts, zoboomafoo, jojo's circus, wow wow wubbzy, stanley, doc mcstuffins, max & ruby, wonder pets, bubble guppies, ni hao khai lan, backyardigans, little einsteins, caillou (ugh) and p*w p*trol (double ugh), these are all undeniably kids shows. their audience is children (and the occasional adult by age with severe intellectual disabilities) and maybe the parents whose brains are too fried to care what's on the tv. these shows main purpose is to educate while entertaining on subjects one would encounter in preschool and kindergarten. counting 1-10, ABCs, basic color, basic language, basic intrapersonal skills, basic emotional literacy, problem solving, using your imagination, what sounds do animals make, breaking the fourth wall to ask the audience to answer what's 2+2 or tell them a lesson they learned today like I LEARNED TO NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER or some simple message like that. it's always light, there's no edgelord grimdark "what if they were dead the whole time" bullshit. it's just good clean simple wholesome [except for paw patrol] programs for kids to be distracted for a little bit of time, while also letting them walk away having said they learned something. at least half of the time dedicated to every single one of these shows is devoted to the same shit over and over again. I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map WE FUCKING GET IT YOURE THE MAP! backpack backpack I'm the backpack loaded up with things and knickknacks too, anything that you might need I've got inside for you. we did it we did it we did it HOORAY! come on vamanos everybody let's go, come on let's get to it, I know that we can do it,

WHERE ARE WE GOING

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

THESE SONGS ARE BURNED INTO MY BRAIN AND THEYLL BE STUCK IN MY HEAD UNTIL I DIE

say click take a pic, the hot dog dance, CAN HE FIX IT???, pizza! spaghetti!, THE DOC IS IN AND SHELL FIX YOU UP, max & ruby ruby & max max & ruby ruby & max MAX & RUBY RUBY & MAX MAX & RUBY RUBY & MAX, wonder pets wonder pets we're on our way to help the friend and save the day, we're not too big and we're not too tough but when we work together we've got the right stuff, goooOOO WONDER PETS YAAAAY~, yoooour backyard friends the backyardigans (weve got the whole wide world in our yard to explore, thATS WHY EVERY DAY WEEEEERE BACK FOR MOOOORE), were going on a trip in our little rocket ship SOARING THROOOOOUGH THE SKY!!! little einsteins!

I swear to god I've been forced to watch so much children's television in my life it's no wonder there's no room left for serotonin executive function or the ability to speak to morons

point is I know my way around kids shows. my sisters were born in 98, 02, 05, 06, 10, and 18, I think, I don't even know because they're all a blur, I'm literally closer in age to my parents than to my youngest sibling, I never stopped being exposed to kids shows. I know what is and is not a kids show.

adventure time? not a kids show even though kids watch it. it's a "for everyone" show. it's got a target audience of 100% of the planet. steven universe? not a kids show even though kids watch it. miraculous ladybug? not a kids show even though kids watch it. scooby doo? not a kids show even though kids watch it. I'm not discussing the history of adult acceptance of animation, adult animation, or anime, so don't ask. dexter's laboratory. the grim adventures of billy & mandy. codename kids next door. teen titans. fairly oddparents. kim possible. invader zim. AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER. totally spies. courage the cowardly dog. the proud family. SPONGEBOB F*ING SQUAREPANTS. powerpuff girls. foster's home for imaginary friends. oh yeah you know what's coming next. my little goddamn pony friendship is mother fucking magic is not. a. kids. show. even though kids can watch it. it is a cartoon. it is an everyone show. that's why it's disingenuous and fucking stupid to decry any fan over the age of 7 as a pedophile and a weirdo creep; it participates in the infantilization of femininity. why is it ok for 20somethings to keep watching aang and squidward and finn & jake and zim and "return the slab" and everyone's totally fine wth that but when it's twilight sparkle suddenly everyone's like whoa you're a huge fucking loser for watching this girly wussy baby show for girly wussy babies. oh some bronies are sex crazed perverts? I'm sorry have you seen just how much porn there is for spongebob? oh some bronies are cringe? I'm sorry have you met half the steven universe fandom? oh some bronies are fascist rick sanchez kinnies with fedoras and katanas? BREAKING BAD FANS, HELLO!?!?!?

this is such a stupid tiring boring argument. maybe magic talking horses being friends and turning their friendship into magic rainbow nuclear fucking arms and blasting the evil out of a demon and turning her into the coolest fucking half-unicorn biker lesbian in the world is something that brings me, and adult, pure wholesome joy, in between bojack horseman and dark souls and breaking bad and deftones and fallout new vegas and jojo and cannibal corpse and other bleak depressing edgy shit that also brings me comfort. and MAYBE me at 16 starting to watch MLP:FIM becoming finally comfortable with the outward public expression of "traditionally feminine" interests is the main reason why I realized I was a girl when I did, and MAYBE I just like how pretty the colorful ponies look, AND MAYBE I KIN WITH ONE OR TWO OR EIGHT CHARACTERS, WHAT OF IT?

AND MAYBE ITS LITERALLY THE BEST LONG RUNNING FANTASY TV SERIES ON THE MARKET RIGHT NOW* SINCE GAME OF THRONES FUCKING SUCKS

but whatever, kids watch it sometimes so it's illegal for anyone who's not a kid to enjoy it, but only if it's something girly because liking girly things is bad because girliness is inherently bad, and the only things that are good have predominantly male casts*. right? right??? wrong, fucker. g4mlp has so much more in common with adventure time & atla than with blues clues or dora the fucking explora...r.

but keep in mind I'm saying this while hugging a blues clues plushie my grandma gave me for valentine's day because it reminds her of when I was a baby because I may not watch blues clues but it still means a lot to me for nostalgia and is 50% of the reason why I love ray charles. kids media isn't necessarily bad. I still do enjoy watching it with my little sisters. all this is is me being anal about categorization because I'm autistic and I LIVE for categorizing everything.

*besides atla obviously

[mx-in-words]

Monsta x being jealous reaction

I really loved your writing for the Monsta x reaction to you being jealous, could you do it the other way, please?!

↬ Shownu

starting with our favourite leader 

shownu is the type of guy who gets jealous but only tells you IF IF IF IF IF  you notice

THE MEN HAS NO FACIAL EXPRESSION!!!

i MEAN he has but only on stage opsss

anyway he never gets jealous about just guys hitting on you 

he gets jealous of your attention 

so here you were, at changkyun’s birthday and you were helping kihyun and kyunnie in the kitchen

that's was fine 

but you were laughing at the boys

and being gorgeous ( why are you being like this? CAN YOU TRY TO BE UGLY ???? shownu calm down boy) 

so he kinda gets angry and wants your attention

 BUT HE does nOT tell YOU!!!

SO you just keep going like nothing happened 

until you ask him to help you 

and he just looks at you like grrr

you: ?? honey? 

then everything just clicks in your mind 

he is: J E A L O U S 

YOU HUG HIM

give him attention and he will be fine 

sn: >:( 

you : * smooches love and kisses*

sn: :3 

yeah that’s it he is fine now. 

the second they are less jealous they are just... baby boys, right? 

↬ Wonho

BABY I MISS YOU SO MUCH

mbb keep fighting for your love he deserves everything

Anyway

We know he is needy and he is VERY jealous of mbb, imagine in a relationship

He trusts you thought... He just doesn't trust men. ( Who do I mean tf)

YOU are his precious treasure 

nobody can touch you without your permission 

so when both of you were in one of those jooheons party’s and a strange guy started to be touching and flirty with you, he was already all over the guy 

the thing is, he is waiting for your “permission”

you stopped him 

you: I already told you, I HAVE A FUCKING BOYFRIEND YOU IDIOT

you pushed the guy and held wonho’s hands 

you: men are annoying 

wh: that’s right, men suck, sorry for being one

you: I mean if all of them were like you...

wh: would it be better? yes but... you could replace me for someone better

you: Wonho, that’s not such a thing. I will never in my life find someone better and more perfect for me, you're the only one, my love. 

wh: good, because I am all ours. 

will kiss u in front of that asshole just because he can ;)

and bc he wants

I mean, he is very touchy with you in public to not get in these types of situation 

his bigger fear is that your strong personality put you in a big fight and you get hit or worse you know? 

he hates the fact that guys only respect you bc of him and not for the fact that you are a person

and he lives to hate men with you 

and keeps telling that, harassment its NOT your fault and will never be. 

yes mbb, we stan the right men <3

↬ Minhyuk

wjneiwnejeej a little mothafuckr

Follow me on this one

He is a free young spirit who is not controlling or do not wants you to feel trapped at all

bUT

You are H I S girl

Not just like a gf

You are his partner/best friend/ lover

So no!!! he is not sharing the moments you both are supposed to do with someone else

He doesn't care if guys eat you with the eyes ( unless you care, and you do, so rip to them)

So watching a hero movie in the theatre with kihyun because is the movie premiere and he is working as an MC that night? It's a no-no to him

And as every demon Scorpio, you should know revenge is coming

He is basically not hanging with you

At all

You both live together and he is like " oh hey StRanGeR"

So you just apologise bc you miss him

And he misses you too so he MIGHT feel guilty and apologise too

mh: " I hate eating alone and sorry I did use your favourite serum last night just bc I was mad but I will buy another one you know youareeverythingtome just just... Don't hang out with kihyun alone doing stuff that me ME YOUR BOYFRIEND Lee minhyuk should do!!!!! Iloveyousorrysorry"

You can only laugh and kiss him

And ofc you sure him that hanging with kihyun is like taking your old aunt out bc she needs her vitamin c.

He is never letting kihyun live after this

You both good.

:) he is too soft to make you in pain

↬ Kihyun

I honestly hate kihyun sassy ass 

but I love him :( 

he is A JEALOUS BITCH 

a lil bit controlling... just keep him at his place and it will be fine

he gets more jealous of your friends and coworkers 

because in his head, if you already like/love them, they can steal you 

what a smart hamster 

but dumb bc you wouldn't replace him 

and even with a superego, like everyone, kihyun has his insecurities

so yes > afraid of losing you< its an issue here

one day you just keep telling about your friend wooyoung 

and how happy you are for him and his lover

because he made like the cutest things for their one-year anniversary 

and you just keep telling all the details, excited for your friend 

kihyun gets jealous and mad because he thinks you’re saying that wooyoung is better, more romantic 

kh: okay just date him already 

you: ???? what?

kh: you only talk about how is he the most romantic guy right? i get it

you: no its not- 

kh: I might not have a lot time for you bc of the band but I swear I try my very best for you, I mean if you are unhappy with me I understand but 

you: kihyun shut up 

he looks at you, damn he is mad 

you sigh bc this hoe is mad for nothing

you: first of all wooyoung is gay and his lover is san 

kh: ohh

you: yeah ohhh, plus I am very satisfied with you baby why would you say that? I love you bitch, I ain't never gonna stop loving you, bitch

kh: I love you too baby and stopping using old vines to tell you love me 

you: no 

you: I WANT A CHURCH BOY WHO GOES TO CHURCH AND READ HIS BIBLEEEE

kh: that’s it goodbye 

kihyun has left the room

but smiling bc he loves you 

↬ Hyungwon

GOD HE DOES NOT CARE AT ALL

maybe because we know hyungwon is a very straightforward person 

and you two make sure to always make clear each other feeling and thoughts

so Won knows how much you love him 

you love him and he loves you

what's more important than that?

so when the fandom and the media discover about you two 

that was rumours about you cheating on him with your best male friend

and someone photoshopped a picture of you two kissing 

hyungwon saw this and immediately made sure to speak to the press

hw: this picture is fake and y/n is only a friend of the male with her, she is loyal so don't try to break something that is unbreakable

you cried seeing that bc 

your men>>>>>>>>>>>>

you: baby you didn't tell me about that

hw: I didn't want to worry you, it’s okay now 

you: you really trust me huh? 

hw: of course I do 

he kissed you gently 

hw: also, I am a 10 and your friend is a 7 in the max, seriously you must be crazy to even think about cheating on me  

you: you're right, I could never 

you hug him because he is so precious uwu 

And damn he is right

He is a god

Could you tell me where can I find my own hyungwon?

↬ Jooheon

SO HAHA remember this lil shit?

with all that “ jealous is for ppl who don’t trust each other”?

haha BULLSHIT 

once again joo trust you of course 

but he gets annoyed 

world please understand 

YOU ARE HIS GIRL 

PERIODT!!!! 

so let's say that some pictures of you being hella sexy were out for the public

nothing promiscuous just

sexy you know?

so these pics were out ( was intentional bc you were promoting for a friend)

but everyone was talking about 

so one rapper commented “ damn that’s hot” 

and well

jooheon is not happy about this 

he knows its only a campaign but DOES PPL NEED TO TALK THAT YOU ARE HOT? 

jh: asshole hot is my fucking hand after slap your ugly face I swear I will cut everyone hand that commented those things about my girl 

you: jooheon

jh: what??? 

you: well forget it, you're mad :( 

he is sorry for being angry 

jh: sorry baby, just tell me pretty baby ~

you: I was going to say... why don’t you do what they want so badly?

he still didn't understand

so you sit on his lap

kissing his neck, you whisper close to his ears 

you: why don’t you show me what only you can do? 

you: why don't you make me scream the name of the only person that can touch my body? 

jh: oh baby, you can bet I will, gladly 

he smirks and...

you know ;)

( I am not weak for angry!jooheon, you are)

↬ Changkyun

he is the most passionate guy 

that’s why Kyun is so confusing in my eyes

he pretends he is cold, but he is soft

he pretends being dope, he is weird

he pretends to be a fuckboy but is romantic 

he pretends he does not care, but he cares, waaay too much 

maybe both of you are jealous 

nobody has ever said about being exclusive at all

but it was an exclusive thing 

both just didn't know ( clowns 🤡)

the game was going to be a draw

but kyun couldn't help himself when that guy was touching you way too much 

taking way to much smiles and laughs of you 

when he could look at you way to close 

and dance way to sensual with you 

no, he couldn't help himself of picking you and find an empty place to talk 

ck: look I just... why are you with him? 

you: kyun I mean, you were with that girl too and, wait, you're jealous?

kyun just keep looking at you like you discover his dark secret  

you: good, I was with him to make jealous 

ck: really?

you: yeah so just fucking kiss me 

and he did 

all night

making sure that from now, you're his

and he is yours 

like is supposed to be 

<3 

[cloveroctobers]

ROBERT “BOBBY” MCKENZIE —

IG info/bio : @/returnofdamckenzie | 426k followers | @/mclitgs2 is my forever boo🤟🏽😍 while @/cardib is my WIFE! She just doesn’t know it yet ❤️ support my work & be part of my family: @/bobbymckcares

24 (25) years young

Born in Dundee, raised in Glasgow, Scotland

Jamaican father named Badrick who is a African studies professor

Caucasian/Scottish mother named Catriona who used to be a au pair but now works as a receptionist in senior living — one eye is honey hazel and the other a dark brown

It was difficult growing up in a school that didn’t accept Bobby being biracial, it resulted in bullying to the point where he needed to switch schools (A lawsuit was also in place) The next school was slightly better but Bobby slowly learned to accept himself as it was not something he could control and not something he would want to in the first place. He was proud of where he came from and never thought he was better or less than anyone else, that wasn’t how he was raised

He’s an only child, his parents thought about adopting (and fostering) but with Bobby they had their hands full and he was just enough for them

His family is very family-oriented so he would never have to feel lonely since they gave him a lot of attention, slightly making him spoiled but he was also around his cousins & spending time with them as well

He’s extremely close to his younger cousin (only by a few months) Femi who he views as his sister. They’ve been through a lot together and are always there for each other so it only makes sense

Most likely an active kid always up to some sort of shenanigans whether it’s by himself or with his group of friends, “why would you do that Bobby?” “Don’t ask why but ask, why not!?”

Definitely suffered some broken bones, concussions, & sprain injuries but would never show signs of pain...guys got a high pain tolerance that’s for sure

Fan of films/series “stand by me” & “the goonies” & “scooby doo” since he feels they relate to his life??

Hospital caterer and loves making those feel better with food that he’s created. If he can’t put a smile on patients face with words then he feels like he can show them with food

Food is an art to him. He went to school for culinary & it’s very important for him to show how much it is to him. He picked up the craft from of course his family, who always used food for numerous of things: to bring people together is one of them

Perfected Jerk haggis, it is now he favorite dish next to desert & breakfast!

I’m struggling to figure out what sign he maybe? He’s very playful which may come off as childish at times, which makes me think of Leo? (Maybe Gemini?) Only because they usually hold onto their childhood as best as they can, very generous, & give their energy to you but I also don’t see him being a fire sign at all? So maybe very little Leo in his chart. I also feel like he might be a bit of an empath? He knows when situations around him don’t feel right, knows how to read the room, and always wants to help others by lighting things up.

Idk but I’m feeling he’s libra sun + Gemini moon + Leo rising? Who knows

Probably lived in a 2 bed flat with his old uni mate. It was small and a bit shit but it was their shit and they made the best of it

Now lives in a stone cottage or farmhouse with MC that was built in the 1900’s & is slightly haunted. He’s decided to call them Duncan??? But he believes they’re a good spirit, maybe even a friendly ghost!? since he got comfortable with the bizarre happenings in the new flat & it doesn’t seem like they want to hurt them

Lottie offered to bring her ouija board next time she visited—Bobby declined

House is mostly neutral based but three of the rooms in the flat are covered in ridiculous patterned walls or furniture much to MC’s distaste but, “what’s yours is mine” right? No. But Gary approves!

Has two dogs: a terrier & a collie since MC wasn’t down for getting a sheep

They do have chickens to raise their own eggs tho!

Definitely the kind of significant other that will ride on the cart when they’re out grocery shopping, will make you breakfast in bed, & will send you memes while he’s at home and you’re out or even when he’s at work and you’re at home, let’s you put his arm to sleep when you’re laying on it in bed (big ass head gang!), definitely chooses the candles from bath & body works that smell like food items (majority of them suck let’s be honest)

Probably smells like cucumber, melons, lemons, and eucalyptus

Has your wedding date in his IG bio & is proud

Annoys Gary & Lottie with his food pics, “oh, Not this shit again! 😡 looks brilliant, but enough!”

Has zoom/FaceTime movie nights with Marisol & MC who stopped feeling like she was third-wheeling months ago

Talks to hope & Noah (in the background) as much as he can. Feels like they’re his inspiration for love, even tho he’s the only one married out of the villa

He values marriage just like his parents do and often has Sunday dinners with them & MC ofc

Probably has relationship guide books and only reads them out of boredom but finds fascinating facts/advice if he pays attention & tries to apply it to his relationship with mc. If it works, it works! & If it doesn’t, you can’t say he didn���t try!

Works long hours but will still come home to cook for MC or brings leftovers from the events he’s catered (most are for the hospital but occasionally he’ll do other events)

Has a separate IG for his work

When WAP dropped, he almost lost his shit. Even tried to get MC to do the challenge with him, he’s pretty bad but MC eventually learned it just for him 😜

Is thrilled that Cardi made the best decision EVER on divorcing offset, “are you thinking of leaving me now?” “... I might.” “BOBBY!” “Haha, I love you!

Absolutely loves Christmas!!! It’s his favorite holiday and he loves giving back to everyone in his life. Usually he’s working overtime for the holidays & it makes him emotional due to the stories he hears & he puts a little extra love in his food

Goes all out for Christmas. Tries to buy/make everyone something. Even if he doesn’t really care for them...he’ll at least send them a x-mas card, if they keep it or burn it it’s entirely up to them—if he knew about it he’d probably be a little sad not gonna lie...he’s a soft king

Once bought Lottie black crocs with spooky pins , “are you joking Bobby?!” He knows she secretly loved them

Uses salt and peppermint in his dark hot cocoa...

Rather make deserts for Christmas than the food, he feels like it’s his duty

King of giving the thumbs up, especially when situations have gone to shit. He’ll still shoot them up with a smile or a grimace

Always inviting someone somewhere. “Bobby, hun. You’re 4-6 hrs away and it’s 1 am.” Hope groaned after listening to his bright idea, thinking something bad happened. “Ah, you could still make it if you tried, lassie.” “I’m gonna hang up now. Good night, bonkers man.”

Needs constant reminding when to get his locs touched up & moisturized

Either has a trampoline or a funhouse jumper in his backyard (maybe both) “we’ve got the space and this is better than a pool, or almost!”

Wants children, a whole footie team! There’s no specific time frame for him, when it happens, it happens

Used to cool & wet temps & loves vacationing in Greenland. Sure the hot weather he experienced in the villa was awesome & something different than what he’s used to but you can’t take the scot out of the man. So he typically sticks to places that are similar in temps, that way he doesn’t have to change his clothing choices much

Loves a good bath. Bubble baths are better than bath bombs to him, PERIOD!

Loves bubbles so much he put too much laundry detergent in the wash (does this on purpose now) and came back home to the dogs and room covered in it. Do you think he cleaned it up before MC came home? No. He decided to have a bubble party in the room with a Caribbean playlist playing in the background

MC definitely posted about it the first time & joined him for a bit, dreading the work that came with cleaning it all up. Now whenever Bobby needs a bubble party, he knows what to do. MC preferred him to have his little bubble party in the tub but 50% of the time he chooses not to listen & they leave him to pout & clean it himself

Likes to hold hands with fingers interlocked. When it’s cold and if you’re both wearing hoodies, he’ll slide his hand inside the arm of your hoodie to help keep you warm

Canon: His version of a snack is spaghetti hoops on toast & can eat that for the rest of his life & be content

If he didn’t end up marrying MC, probably finds his significant other working as a nurse at one of the hospitals he caters to or a volunteer at a old folks home

Never had a serious relationship, very few hookups, was either always placed in the friend zone or there was one person he wanted to be serious with but they rejected him and continued loving someone else who treated them like shit—so he kinda swore off of relationships and just flirted a bunch and kept his love life non-existent

Fav ice cream? Rocky road ice cream with one scoop of cotton candy & one scoop of cookie butter blue

Doesn’t believe in measuring when it comes to culinary. He uses his eyes as his measurement, could be a bad thing, could be a good thing, that’s up to you

If he’s up at night, he’s eating something sweet. A nice glass of single malt scotch whiskey + a splash of coconut milk (🤢) with a slice of angel food cake & he’s out like a light

Absolutely loves shopping for the kitchen, finds immense joy in doing so. If you lose him in a store, one of the places you’ll most likely find him is in the kitchen decor area

Owns a bagpipe & wants to get better at it, even tho he scared the living shit out of his dogs & chickens

Wears his shades quite a bit even tho the weather is hardly sunny and mainly windy & damp

Will hold the door for strangers even if they don’t say thank you

He’s open when it comes to music. Will listen to anything but feels like the music has to be a purpose for something...Everything he does in his day to day life has to feel like a soundtrack to him since in his mind he’s daydreaming about his life being made into a movie. Who isn’t?

He thinks wentworth Miller should play him in a film and that kid from blackish should play him when he was a wee lad, Marcus Scribner

Always keeps a positive attitude because he knows what it feels like to feel low and he doesn’t want anybody else in the world to feel like that so he wants to uplift and if he can try to be someone’s happiness he’ll gladly be that— which isn’t always the right move, he learned

Listens to: Rotimi, Shaggy, Sean Paul, Skip Marley, H.E.R., Jhene Aiko, Jorja Smith, UMI, The Kooks, The Killers, Cold War kids, Milky chance, Blood Orange, The 1975, Vampire Weekend, Bad Suns, BRYSON TILLER, Kilo Kish, & Ella Eyre (although he misses her old music)

Celeb crushes? Cardi B is his mfkin celeb wife okay?! Nobody else comes above her! He also thinks FKA twigs is pretty & super talented, sevdaliza!, Tia & Tamera, Iman, and brandy from the 90s makes him swoon

Anthem = jaden, “Boys and Girls”

[ziracona]

Not That Kind of Person Who

[My half of an art trade with @speckeltail , who requested a fic for the time Joey went to Lerry’s between trials and found Quentin there completely blitzed on morphine he’d taken accidentally, and helped him get back to the campfire that has been refferenced from Quentin’s pov in his lovely ask blog @badham-bedhead (Speck, I want you to know this pic of Joey you did on the blog is directly responsible for much of what you’re about to read >: D .)]

  This was always fun. Fucking with Herman.

A top twelve pastime, here in the fog. There was training, and bumming around with the gang, stealing shit from the Clown, spying on whoever was new, collecting cool new stuff for the lodge, but going to Lerry’s was up there. Honestly, it would have been higher if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d been caught doing it before, and while you got in some real trouble if you killed a survivor or another killer outside of trials, it uh, it sure as hell wasn’t enough to deter everyone from doing it. And Joey had been on the receiving end of that with Herman once.

Still, that was a long time ago, thought Joey, ducking under a fallen chunk of what had once been wall, and slipping deeper into the institute. Herman didn’t scare him.

A noise somewhere down the hall he was creeping along startled Joey, and he jumped on impulse, and then cursed himself silently, placing the noise as he watched a crow that had gotten in take flight far up ahead, and tried to slow his heart back down. …He doesn’t! I’m being “wary”—that’s just smart. I’m not fucking scared of him. If I was, I wouldn’t be here.

Herman was fun to annoy. Because he got angry over the weirdest shit, and had big reactions, and also because if he did catch you, it wasn’t pretty, so it always felt good to win one. And the institute was so big, it really wasn’t hard to get in and out unscathed, so long as you were quiet. If you were quiet, Herman would sometimes even ignore you when he knew you were there—especially if he was distracted doing shit, and had no reason to suspect you were there to ruin his stuff. Joey was sure that wouldn’t have been the case if he was actually allowed to keep anyone he caught, but he wasn’t. If he grabbed a trespasser and strapped them to a chair to see how the inside of their brain worked with barbs sticking out of it, the Entity would make him pay big time.

“Probably has made him pay,” whispered Joey to himself, following the hall and looking for a good place to do what he’d come to do. Library would be choice, but he’d heard what sounded like warning signs of the Doctor himself in that direction when he got here, so he was going to have to settle for somewhere else.

He was willing to bet Herman had grabbed someone back in the day and gotten in a lot of trouble over it. Actually, Joey felt pretty sure that that’s what it would have taken to get The Doctor to not be grabbing someone to experiment on every time he saw a trespasser now. And he was kind of thankful, because the time he’d been killed had been really fucking shitty, even though it had been pretty quick. Honestly, that was part of why he liked coming here so much and fucking with the guy’s stuff. Mini-revenge. That, and boredom. Between trials, there wasn’t so much to do sometimes, and since with…everything really, being the way it was, Joey wasn’t super into sitting down and thinking about how life was going. He needed to constantly be distracted, and if someone else wasn’t there to help, it meant finding something like this to do. Especially after a trial where he’d barely gotten one last-minute sacrifice and been given a pretty harrowing warning about not fucking up again next time. …Shit.

Yeah. It wasn’t great. He was going to be seriously in trouble if he didn’t do a lot better next trial. It was so fucking annoying, too! Stuff always worked out like this for him! He’d gotten Claudette hooked right near the trial’s start, and then literally tripped over her like fifteen seconds after someone had gotten her down, when he hadn’t even been looking for her, and he’d felt kind of bad, even though he knew how stupid that was to do, and how dangerous. They had to hunt, and suck it up, and the survivors would try to live, and if they failed, they failed, and that wasn’t his fault—it wasn’t like he’d asked to be here doing this. It was just how shit was, and it was rough for him too, and it wasn’t his job to feel bad for them. It was him or them. If they couldn’t hack it, and they died, then too bad—that was rough for them, but it wasn’t gonna be his problem. But. He’d been doing well in the trial so far, and feeling confident, and-a-and she had looked so sad—like not even just scared, but sad, because her luck had been so shitty probably, and so he’d been fucking stupid, and felt bad, and left her on the ground instead of sacrificing her, and chased off the person he’d been going for originally instead, and in return for answering that stupid impulse to show a little mercy, he’d lost her completely after that, gotten run around by Zarina, and then only barely managed to down and sacrifice the newest girl who he’d never heard anyone say the name of yet right by the gates at the last second, and now the Entity was pissed at him, and everything sucked.

That’s why he’d come to do this. To blow off steam. Bad day, friends tired and asleep, need to feel a little better? Go sneak into Herman’s place and deface some of his shit. It always made him feel better to do it.

Oh! Here we go, thought Joey, spotting a nicer section of lab up ahead, hospital beds, one of the storage rooms beyond. He took the can of black spraypaint he’d brought with him off his shoulder strap and primed it as he slipped along the hall towards an open doorway. This would be perfect. Far enough away to be safe and give him time, super noticeable, and a big fuckin’ annoyable to the Doctor when he was gone. Joey carefully cased the area inside, planning what he wanted to do, picked a center point on the floor, marked it, thought for a few more seconds, and then started spraying. It took a couple minutes to do, because he’d picked something a little bit fancy, but when he stepped back finally from his last line, he was surrounded by what looked like chaotic nothing. That was, until you stepped about five feet back right down the middle of the rows in the room to the spot he’d marked on the floor, and the pieces would all line up from that perspective to become a grinning skull. Nice, thought Joey, proud of himself because that kind of tagging was a little tricky to do and he really enjoyed doing it, it looked sick as hell, and also largely because he knew it would make Herman furious. “Okay, what now?” whispered Joey to himself, shaking the can again. He glanced over his image, considering.

“You should be saying something,” he decided, liking the idea very much. He picked out an insult in his head and started to form what would be a speech bubble, when the world’s loudest clang sounded from so close on his left that he almost jumped out of his skin and died with alarm, fucking up the line he’d meant to lay down and jerking back, then ducking and sliding beside one of the cots nervously, heart thudding. He ripped his hunting knife out of its sheath and held it clutched tight in his right hand.

Fuck! What was that? He left the library?

There was no electricity pulsing along the wall though. The Doctor was kind of a walking AOE, so you could at least generally sense him coming, and there was none of that.

Fuck, then, thought Joey, slowly standing up again, cautious but calming back down just a little as seconds went from two to nine and nothing appeared to cause him trouble, What was that just now?

It had been on his left, hadn’t it?

Carefully, Joey slipped out of the partially-tagged room and glanced up and down the hall on the left side. Nothing weird in sight. Just empty hall, debris, doors into other rooms. No movement, no more clangs. Nothing. The sound had seemed like it could have come from the next room over though, he thought, looking back, but that one was just one of the big, open, trashed ones—Joey had passed twenty just like it on his way down. Not nice enough to be worth tagging, because the dude might not even notice. What would have made a noise like that in one of those spots?

I guess…maybe part of the roof just caved in? Or something?

That was a weird thought kinda. In reality, for sure it would be an option—buildings broke and shit fell apart eventually. But he kind of didn’t think deterioration worked the same way here. There was one really annoying broken massive window panel in Lerry’s that was always hanging by a thread and banging against the wall in the wind every trial, and every trip out here, and it had never snapped and fallen to the ground like he wished it would. Nothing in Ormond had ever rotted through or something either, even though the lodge was super old and kind of falling apart. So. So maybe that was what it was, but Joey was kind of unconvinced.

Still, I can’t spend forever doing this, thought Joey, mildly frustrated, but hesitating. Whatever it had been, Herman might have heard it too, and uh, he did not want to be here when Herman showed up to find the fantastic work of tagging art he’d just done all over his hospital beds. He had a cool ‘fuck you’ to add to the skull before bouncing, and whatever it had been—

Thunk.

Okay, what the fuck, thought Joey, freezing again on instinct, and then turning his head very, very slowly to the right. It hadn’t been the big open room—it was the one just past it. He was sure this time. Whatever the noise was, it hadn’t been as loud this time, but it was definitely something. Something alive. That wasn’t the sound of a building breaking—that had been the sound of somebody dropping a kind of heavy object—he was like—was really close to 100% sure.

If he’s playing mind games to lure me into a trap because he saw me sneak in, I’m gonna be so pissed, thought Joey, mildly distressed by that hypothetical but sneaking over slowly anyway, curiosity too strong to be beaten down by paranoia now.

When he reached the room in question, he saw through the open doorway ahead that it was some kind of supply room. Small, and as decrepit as everything else, and Joey took it with a lot of caution, ears straining for sound. There was something in there for sure, he could hear it clearly now, but he couldn’t tell what it was. Feet on linoleum, for sure, and shuffling around—he heard things being moved too, and- Wait, was that a voice?

What the fuck? But no, he hadn’t imagined it—whoever was in there was talking to themselves, and not in a God I better be careful to be quiet whisper either. And it wasn’t Herman. It had to be another killer then, breaking in like he was, because whoever it was clearly wasn’t afraid of pissing off the Doc and getting their ass handed to them, but which one? One of the more powerful ones, had to be—it—

Sliding far enough into the furthest entrance from the noise to get a visual of the far end of the little room, Joey froze. And then just stared. Because it wasn’t a killer at all. It was a survivor. He recognized him instantly, but took a second to remember his name. One of the younger ones, one of the guys—Quentin—that’s right. The one who always came back to try to help a teammate even when it was ridiculously stupid, and was an easy kill. Although kind of an exhausting one at the same time, because he fought hard as fuck. It was him, though, plain as day, stumbling around the edge of the room with an armful of junk.

Wh. Joey watched the guy take a couple wobbly steps and bump against a wall he just didn’t seem to see in time with extreme confusion. Did he—did something hit him on the head? Whatever was up, the guy kept going on the other end of the room about fifteen feet away, muttering to himself and trying to pick up various scattered items from the floor and replace them in an open drawer in one of the medical cabinets. He was moving around super unsteadily, but he didn’t look worried about it at all—he was actually smiling to himself.

This is so fucking weird, thought Joey, too distracted by the sight to go back and finish his own work or to actually go over and find out what was up, and not sure he’d have wanted to.

“Okay, that’s the last one, right?” the guy asked himself quietly at the end of the room, but nothing like quietly enough for someone sneaking through Lerry’s and hoping to avoid the Doctor’s wrath, evidenced by the fact that Joey could hear him 100% fine from 15 feet away.

The guy held up a little bottle and blinked at it, then looked at the drawer by him. “No…there’s an empty space. Missed…one…somewhere.” He grimaced at the drawer and then looked around himself, turning in a little circle in the hopes of finding the last bottle, and then sighed exaggeratedly when he didn’t see it. “Where the fuck—” he started to ask himself, raising his hands in exasperation, and then he looked down at his hand again and the bottle still in it and said, “Oh,” sheepishly and set it down in the drawer.

The…hell?

“Okay, okay,” said the survivor to himself, drumming his fingers absently on the cabinet, “What else?” He started humming—of all the wild fucking things to do, humming to himself, and Joey just stayed where he was, staring and lost. The guy kept going through stuff, moving on to the next cabinet and swaying unsteadily as he did, still humming.

Okay, that’s just not normal. Is he…Wait, is he high?? thought Joey, watching the uncoordinated movements and completely out of it disregard for his own safety in the person across from him with something approaching wonder, Oh my God, I think he is. He—

“I took the blame,” came the survivor’s voice from across the room, and Joey’s head snapped up and all he could do was gape at the guy as he kept going. “Directionless so plain to see, a loaded gun won't set you free. So you say.”

Holy shit.

He was. He was fucking singing. Singing in Lerry’s Memorial Institute in the wreckage of torture chambers while rifling through drawers and making a huge fucking racket the owner of this little patch of hell might hear. Oh fuck. He’s gonna hear that for sure. This guy’s gonna die. The Doctor’s gonna come storming in, super pissed he’s being loud as hell while he’s trying to concentrate—I gotta go, or he’s gonna find us both—if he even sees me, he’ll know why I was here—I gotta—

He started to turn and book out the side door again, planning an escape route in his head, and then hesitated, and turned slowly, and looked back at Quentin again. Still humming to himself, between verses now, the teenager was opening a cabinet, and then, seeing nothing immediately promising inside, stooped to go throw open a drawer beneath it. It was so weird, watching that, and for a second he got lost just staring at the guy’s face, and forgot what he’d been going to do at all. He couldn’t look away. And for a moment he wasn’t sure why, and then Joey realized that it wasn’t just that this was such a stupidass place to be being loud that was making this whole moment surreal, it was also that he hadn’t actually ever seen a survivor look…happy, before. Like, okay, well, he’d seen them grin or be pleased or whatever if they won in a trial, or pulled off something smart in one, but like, carefree? Normal happy? Happy like this? Never. Not once. Not happy like they weren’t where they were. Like they weren’t going to die horribly in a couple minutes every day for the rest of their life. And the guy looked so…so happy for real, so chilled out and okay, but. He wasn’t. Something was wrong with him, and he only felt that way because how he felt was out of his control and he just didn’t know that yet, or how bad that was gonna be in a minute here when the Doctor heard him. He had no idea. And he wasn’t gonna. He was just humming and absently keeping time with his fingers to the beat of the song between verses, looking so fucking chill and at peace, and he was going to stay that way until the Doctor showed up and. …

Shit.

A few feet away, the survivor started to sing to himself again, nothing but happy in that little moment of being free from the reality of what was really going on in his life. “We’ll share a drink and—”

“Hey!” hissed Joey, listening to what he really wasn’t sure if was his better or worse judgement, and stepping back into the room.

The guy jolted and slammed his head into the cabinet door he’d left open, cursed in pain, stumbled backwards, tripped over his own medkit, which Joey hadn’t even seen on the floor, and slammed into the ground on his back with a muffled yelp.

“Whoa,” said Joey quietly, holding up a hand and stepping closer, “Are you—”

“-Shit!” said the guy, scrambling up to his elbows and looking for Joey, finding him almost instantly. “Legion?” He froze where he was, on one knee, staring at Joey with huge, unfocused eyes. “W. What are you…?” Something seemed to occur to him then, and his expression changed, and got frantic, and he snatched his medkit from the floor and stumbled to his feet and back two steps, clutching it in front of him like a blunt weapon, eyes fixed on Joey still, but wide with tension and mistrust now. “Look—just back off. I’ll fight you if I have to.”

“Relax,” said Joey, keeping his hand up and stepping cautiously a little closer, “Not here to fight.”

The guy looked surprised, and lowered the medkit a little, believing that way too fast for any remotely sober person.

Jesus, how much of whatever you took did you take? If he’d been close to sure before, he was certain as fuck now that the guy was high—and like, almost completely out of it kind of high too. He was already swaying a little, and his kept blinking and working to refocus his eyes like he was having a lot of trouble doing that. Movements just a little too slow, too off, too uncoordinated and loose to be anything but high.

“O-oh,” said the guy after a second, “Why then? You can’t…” He looked over his shoulder at the cabinet behind him, “Need. Medical supplies?”

“No,” agreed Joey, holding up his can of spraypaint, “I came here to tag. And then heard you sounding like a fucking elephant in here and came over to get you to quiet down.”

“What?” said Quentin, offended, “I’m not—”

“—Yes you are!” argued Joey, taking another step closer and lowering his hand, “You’re making a ton of noise. The Doctor’s gonna come and kill you if you keep it up, dumbass, and he’ll find both of us. Keep it down!”

Quentin stared at him for a second, and then looked to the side at nothing and blinked, thinking hard, then back at Joey. “I was making a lot of noise?”

Uh. Yes??? “You couldn’t tell?” asked Joey, exasperated on his behalf.

“I-“ started Quentin uncertainly.

“—You were singing, in here! Why were you singing?” hissed Joey. He’d gotten close enough that he was a quick lunge away from the survivor now. He wondered if it was weird that his mental units of distance now were all related to hunting people down for sport…

“I. ...It was stuck in my head,” defended Quentin a little uncertainly, looking confused, “Does it matter? Wait—were you watching me?” He took a half-step back, medkit gripped like a weapon again.

“No, you were just super fucking loud—I could hear you in the next room,” whispered Joey.

“…Really?” asked Quentin again, shoulders relaxing a little, thoroughly distracted and caught somewhere between being insulted and kind of worried or ashamed about being a nuisance.

Joey nodded.

“Oh,” said Quentin awkwardly, taking his word for it and pretty visibly out of it and having a pretty hard and disjointed time keeping up, but doing his best through whatever the fuck was in his system. “Uh. Sorry, I guess. I’ll stop. –And you’ll go, then?” He double-checked. “–We’re not gonna fight?”

“No,” assured Joey, relaxing a little.

“…Okay,” said Quentin after considering that for a second, and seeming to find it reasonable. Trusting that for the second time way too quickly for anyone with normal judgement, all things considered. If Joey had caught him stealing supplies from Ormond, he probably would have fucked with him a little before trying to scare him off. He didn’t look scared of him at all right now though, just kind of confused and unsteady. Waiting for Joey to say or do whatever he’d do next, or to leave maybe. When he didn’t make a move, the guy blinked a few times, and then just went back to trying to dig through supplies in the cabinet by him, movements shaky and uncoordinated. Like he had no depth perception or balance or focus at all, even though he was clearly trying really hard to focus. And getting back to his scavenging the guy just—just turned his back on him—on a killer, in a killer realm, in easy melee distance, like that wasn’t a stupid and dangerous thing to do, even if Joey genuinely did have no plans to bury a knife in his back. He couldn’t know that.

Shakily, the guy reached over and pulled open a drawer and started to sort through it, almost collapsing when he took a step to move to get a better view of the contents, and looking confused by the failure of his legs to do their job more than anything else as he righted himself, Joey all but forgotten the second he was out of sight.

God. It. It was super weird to watch this--to see Quentin this way. Why? It shouldn’t have felt so unsettling to him, right? Joey just—he’d never—well, okay, Joey had been around people high before, but this wasn’t even high, this was like, bordering on blitzed completely out of his mind, and usually even seeing someone at a party who had done way too much of whatever was just chill and kind of funny to be around, but here? It wasn’t that at all. It was like…

Joey stopped moving, lost in a memory he hadn’t seen in ages, and forgot everything else. Thinking about a bird in a little wooden pen.

Of all the stupid things to… He tried to stop, tried to re-focus on the present, but he couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t look away. And once he’d remembered that trip a lifetime ago at all, he couldn’t turn off the flood of old images in his head. They just came, and came, and he got lost in them. Once, a-a long, long time ago, there had been a trip he’d gone on, where he’d been driven on a long car ride to go see extended family off in the country away from Ormond, off in a different part of Alberta altogether. Very different. The cousins there were ones he hadn’t seen much before or after, but he’d been excited, he thought. To be doing something new. He’d been a kid at the time—really little, like five or something, and all the cousins out there were all older than him—teenagers, closer to his brother’s age, but he had followed them around everywhere out there just the same, wanting to be included, and they hadn’t forced him to go away so long as he could manage to keep up. It had been new, and exciting, and fun. And the second day he’d been there, they’d gone and met up with some friends, him trailing after, and headed off into someone’s house to play alone out in the backyard with a bunch of other kids they knew, and there had been a chicken. Just a dumb little bird, and Joey had never liked the things, because he was little back then, and chickens were mean, and they’d chase you, and try to peck you, so they’d kind of scared him.

One of the boys had gotten a chicken from somewhere though, and brought it over, and he’d given it something. A sedative maybe, Joey had never found out. But whatever it had been given, it had been disoriented, and confused, and moved slow, and loopy, and he’d watched it as a little boy, hugging the bottom rail of the wooden pen they’d set it in and in a way closer to the action to anyone else there, and seen it suffer. The older kids had gone into the pen and kicked it. They would chase it, and scream at it, and laugh, and sometimes drop stuff like bunches of tangled fishing line or stuff in its way so it would panic, and run from whatever had just scared it, and tangle itself up so bad it couldn’t get free. They had thought it was really funny, watching that stupid little animal try to escape and hurt itself and then forget it was even scared because of how fucked up it was on whatever it’d been given. It would bump into stuff on its own after a little bit—they didn’t even have to help it to get it hurt. Trip around and squak and pull itself up, then run into the same box again head-first. And it hadn’t been funny. He had laughed, before he’d known what was going on, and just thought the older kids were playing some game and gonna run around after one of the mean chickens to spook it, but when he’d figured out it was hurt, and thinking wrong, and never even had a chance, it hadn’t been funny at all.

Things had escalated, bit by bit, while he watched. Gotten worse.

Joey hadn’t done anything to try to save it. Just stood there at five, watching it with huge eyes in silence as it stumbled around in a loopy fashion, trying to avoid old nails the older kids had embedded all over the path ahead of it tip-up in the hope it would eventually step on one, or something else, or simply be betrayed by its own balance while running from them, and fall, and had rooted for it in silence to make it through. It hadn’t. It had made it about two feet.

He didn’t think the boys had been planning to kill it, but they had. And he hadn’t stopped them. Probably it hadn’t been too hurt to save after taking a couple nails through its side. Joey didn’t know—he’d never known—he didn’t know really anything at all about birds. But it had still been very alive when they’d been cursing in a panic and talking about what animal to pin the death on, and a boy had stepped on its head. He hadn’t thought about that day in years, after he’d finally been able to stop thinking about it at all, maybe a year later when the nightmares had finally gone away. He was fucking terrified of chickens. He would never tell anybody that, not ever, but he had been ever since. Which had to be like, the stupidest possible fear a person could have, and made no sense to him at all as a response to that even—he’d seen how dumb and easy to fuck with and little they were! Which should have made him anything but afraid! But. …But any time he saw one, he was always struck by this intense feeling that if he kept looking at it, it would be able to look up into his face with those tiny dead empty black eyes, and see in his own what he’d watched and that he’d just stood there, and that those awful little bead eyes with nothing past them seeing that truth inside him would mark him like a curse forever, and it would only be a matter of time before he met whatever awful punishment the universe laid out in wait for him to make him pay for the judgement it had passed, and as fucking stupid and irrational as that thought was he had never been able to shake it.

Joey hadn’t ever associated doing drugs with that sight from a lifetime ago, not once, but he was seeing it now, and he lost about seven seconds of time doing it, feeling that very specific, long-forgotten fear again, and then he heard a clang and was snapped back just in time to see a drawer the survivor had been using as a foothold to reach a high shelf in the same cabinet must have been pulled out too far to be stable anymore, because it had splintered under the guy’s weight, and as he watched, it ripped out of the cabinet and the survivor went pitching backwards on a collision course with the edge of the heavy desk four feet back with a surprised cry.

Snapped into action, Joey shouted something not very intelligible or useful like “Whoa!” and shot out on impulse to catch the guy and just made it. Knocked to his knees on impact, Joey wrapped his arms around the guy, ducked his head down to minimize damage, braced, and then slid to a stop just shy of the desk he’d expected to ram into breathing hard.

For a second, he held perfectly still like that, listening to things from the drawer go rolling around the floor, waiting for the sound of the Doctor coming to kill them, but the Institute slowly returned to silence. Nothing but the sound of two people breathing.

In his lap, the survivor kind of shakily held out his arms like he was testing his balance, and then tried to turn, and Joey let go so that he could. He moved back and onto his knees to face Joey and blinked, then squinted at him in confusion, like he’d forgotten who he was or that he was there.

“Uhm… Thanks,” offered Quentin. “…Are…?”

Joey didn’t have any idea what to say so he didn’t.

“Uhm…” said the guy, looking to the side and then back at him, kind of at a loss, “W. Where did you?”

‘Where’? Where what? Come from? Learn to do that? He couldn’t even tell if the guy was really recognizing him right now, from the look on his face. God your eyes look glazed over. That can’t be a good sign. How much of whatever had he taken?

Quentin raised a hand like he was going to gesture at something specific, and opened his mouth to speak, and then seemed to forget what he’d been going to say, looked a little troubled by that, and then blinked again and looked to the side, thinking hard, and then back at Joey. “I-I don’t. Uh.” He paused and looked up over his shoulder at the cabinet he’d just fallen from and took in the damage, then back at Joey. “I’m not…sure…why that happened,” he offered unsteadily, “I think—I think it. Broke. Are you okay?”

“Uh. Yeah,” said Joey, not sure how to respond to that at all. It was surreal, because for a moment, the guy looked so genuinely concerned about him, like he hadn’t been the one to almost get brained on a desk. And also because. It. Well. That just wasn’t a way survivors looked at you. Or…anyone did, really. Not in a…long time at least… “Are you?” he asked, trying to tell. The guy didn’t look hurt.

Quentin looked down at himself, and turned his palms over, checking them, and then nodded like that was sufficient to account for any injuries possible. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He stood up shakily and almost fell again, and Joey half-shot to his feet before Quentin caught himself on the wall. The guy looked surprised his legs weren’t behaving normally, and glanced down at them in confusion, then back at Joey after a second when he remembered he was there, and offered him a hand. Not sure that was a good idea, but acting kind of on impulse, Joey took it and let the guy help him to his feet—which uh, was actually more like Joey standing up with way more leg-muscle-effort than usual so the guy could feel like he was helping him to his feet.

“Look, uhm,” said Joey as he straightened up, watching the guy with something close to concern at this point, “Did you maybe take something in here on accident?”

Quentin looked incredibly confused. “…Uh. No. Not on…accident. I-I told you I’m collecting supplies, right? Medicine stuff?”

“No—I mean, not take like ‘pack up’—take like, did you do any drugs,” corrected Joey, “Like, while you’ve been here in Lerry’s—did you use anything on yourself, or accidentally jab your hand on something—or maybe up, I don’t—inhale some fumes, or?”

“Uhm. Yeah. I. I guess,” he said, very confused.

Okay. Well. That sure track. “Do you know what it was?” asked Joey hopefully.

“Uh. I mean—there’s only two options. The bottle’s here somewhere though,” said Quentin.

“Okay,” said Joey, “what are the two—” WAIT. Oh my GOD. Th—You took it on purpose?! Why! How stupid are you! “-Hang on, are you saying you—you took something, like, you on purpose took a drug? Here, in Lerry’s?” asked Joey, and the guy stared back at him and the incredulity in his voice with such an open look of surprise that he knew for fucking certain without him even answering that he must have. “Oh my GOD you did! You dumbass! What the hell were you thinking! That’s crazy!” snapped Joey in disbelief, gesturing broadly, “Who would do that! Did you even read the bottle first?! No wonder you’re in here stumbling around like a blind rhinoceros. What’s wrong with you!”

“I—what? No—I—I’m not blind,” defended Quentin, confused and looking a little attacked, “—or a—Why are you angry? You said you didn’t need supplies. We do. It’s not like I use them all. I bring most of it back, just, I usually take one or something when I find them, especially if I’m—”

“—WHAT! You go get high in killer realms and do drugs all the time?” exploded Joey in a very angry hissed whisper, some of the sympathy or concern or whatever it had been he’d felt before turning into a surge of blind disbelief and irritation. What kind of fucking dumbass? “Why would you do that! You’re gonna get yourself killed!” he snapped, waving a finger and stepping forward. “You unbelievable dumbass! Do you just not care if that happens?!”

Quentin took a step back as he advanced, looking a little threatened by the sudden burst of anger along with confused now, and he glanced around for where he’d left his medkit, then back at Joey as he defended himself. “No! Of course I do—I do that because I don’t want to get killed out here!” He finally spotted the case back inside the cabinet he’d fallen from and started backing nervously towards it. “The only injectables ever in Lerry’s are adrenaline and hemorrhagics. And I always need both of those! I don’t take too much of them—I use one and take everything else back to the campfire. Or, maybe on a really bad day if I’m out a long time and need it, I use two. Usually if I’m—I’m out scavenging, I’ve been out for a while—and—”

“—And? Why the fuck would need to jam a hemmor—” started Joey, and then he stopped mid-sentence, only just then actually looking at Quentin for real. He’d noticed the blood on his jacket and shirt as soon as he came in, but. …Is…? Joey stopped and looked down at his own arms and hands, and his gloves and black sleeves were wet. He stared at them for a second, then back up at Quentin in confusion as the guy stared back at him with the same completely lost expression he must have had on.

“Are you bleeding?” asked Joey in a totally different tone of voice, stunned.

Quentin stared at him for a second, eyes big and sort of glazed over, but trying to stay trained on him and focus through that fog, and then he looked to the side for a moment, thinking and confused and a little nervous still, and then finally he looked back at Joey, and his expression was completely different when he did, like he was…wary suddenly, for some reason. “…Yeah,” he said really quietly, eyes on Joey’s.

“Why?” asked Joey, totally lost, “Did the Doctor see you on the way in?”

For a second, Quentin was silent again, just watching him, expression unchanging. Then the line of his mouth set a little and he glanced down and away. “I’m always bleeding,” said Quentin very quietly.

“W—you’re always wounded?” asked Joey. Had he been? He’d seen him in trials, and he did kinda always look like this, but he’d thought those were blood stains. Not still-bleeding wounds! Why the fuck would—? Didn’t they heal? He—he could have sworn that— “I thought you guys healed when you got killed and brought back?” said Joey.

“Yeah, but,” started Quentin, and then he stopped. He glanced down, and then up at Joey again and swallowed. “Uhm. Why?”

“Why?” echoed Joey, arms lowering at his sides now that the anger and irritation was gone, and feeling about as confused as Quentin looked, “Because you’re fucked up outside a trial apparently all the time, and that’s not really supposed to happen. Are you okay? Are you dying?”

“…Uh,” said Quentin, looking harried, “No. I just.” He thought for a second and looked out the nearby window at nothing past a far hallway wall, then back at Joey. “You know how…we—all of us, uhm, we go into a trial looking like we look, right? L-like we do naturally?”

“Yeah,” said Joey, nodding.

“Well, if we get hurt outside of a trial, we have to have time to heal right. And. If you die, you get reset to how you were before the trial began. And if you…” He stopped for a second and looked down, kind of sad, and quiet. “…Die. In almost all of your trials. Or all of them. Then…you lose a lot of. Of time. And things don’t. They don’t really have much chance to heal. Not at a normal rate, at least. Because you keep being…set back. So it might take—might take a whole month, to heal like a week should have done, back home. And…the Entity. It. The way it sees us, and ‘puts us back’ when we die. That can-can change, over time. You. You get a little older, in here. Eventually. If you start running between trials, you get better leg muscles—lift weights, better arm strength, that kind of stuff,” offered Quentin, glancing back up, “But other things change too. My uhm. I uh. I die a lot, in trials. And I…get hurt sometimes, out doing this. One time really bad. And. Somewhere along the line the Entity just decided I was, uhm, a little bit older than when I got here, and that I…” His shoulders lowered, and he looked away. “…Just. Spend all of my time. Kind of injured. Because I just kept being injured. All the time. From out here, and for way too long from that one time, and in trials, over and over in a lot of the same ways. More than is uhm.” He risked a glance at Joey’s face. “Is normal. In too many trials. So this uh.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “This is what it th…what it sees as my Default State, now. Hurt become more how it remembers me than…how I…was when I was okay. So. Now it’s how I heal back.”

What the fuck?

Joey gaped at him in a kind of slow building horror. “So…You’re just injured all the time now?”

Quentin considered for a second, and then nodded.

“Is—are all of you like this?” asked Joey.

“Nnnno,” said Quentin slowly, thinking about it, “Uh. Some of us are a little bit. Jake’s leg is always hurt. I think so is Laurie’s arm. Minor stuff. But uh. This whole,” he gestured at himself and gave Joey a kind of smile, like he was making a self-deprecating joke about this situation that Joey wasn’t really finding funny at all, “uh. Mess thing. With like—fifteen injuries and always about to pass out—that’s just me.” He grinned, and then when Joey didn’t smile back, the expression faded and went neutral, and then suddenly looked almost panicked.

What?

“Uh,” said Quentin nervously, suddenly seeming agitated and for the first time since Joey had walked in like he might have some small awareness suddenly that he wasn’t totally thinking straight and was concerned about that, “You’re not gonna use that, are you?”

“Use it?” echoed Joey, lost.

“I-I –I already die so much,” said Quentin, almost like he was appealing to Joey’s humanity or his honor or sense of decency or something. He brought his hand up to his left eye, which Joey had noticed for a long time had slash mark scars across it like he’d been raked by a claw, but was only just now realizing didn’t open all the way anymore too. “I’ve only got like 50% vision on my left side already—please don’t like, start fucking up my other one every trial to try to get it to stick too. I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I see even worse. It took me so long to get used to fucked up depth perception. And I just—I’m so tried, all the time, always, I-I—I know that you—”

“—No!” said Joey, kind of horrified and holding up a hand to stop him there, “I-I’m not gonna—fucking rip out one of your eyes every trial to try to get the Entity to make you go blind—why would you think that?”

Quentin looked at him for a long couple of seconds just a little sad, his deep blue eyes holding Joey’s brown ones, and not saying anything, and Joey felt a kind of sinking feeling in his stomach as he actually thought about the question he’d just asked the other person and the way their relationship—if you could even call butchering someone every time you crossed paths a relationship at all—had only ever been.

“I wouldn’t,” said Joey, lowering his arm when Quentin still didn’t answer, feeling shitty in ways he really wasn’t used to. “I’m not gonna do that. I’m…not that kind of person.”

For a second, Quentin watched him in silence, too unguarded under the influence of whatever he’d taken to be thought of exactly as ‘studying’ him in the way Joey was used to thinking of people trying to read you and sense sincerity, but he thought trying to tell if he meant that, and then he smiled at him. “Okay.”

That would have felt good. It started to, and then Joey remembered it was just the…LSD, or Opium, or whatever the fuck was in him talking.

“You’re not as murderous as I thought you’d be,” offered Quentin like a genuine friendly compliment, giving him another smile before turning back to the cabinet, and then looking down at all the scattered supplies on the floor blankly, lost and distracted immediately in figuring out what to do about them.

Yeah, thought Joey kind of sadly, watching him, Only. I don’t think you’d even be looking at me long enough to know which one of us I was if you were yourself. We’re only having a conversation at all because you’re too fucked up to remember you should be scared of me.

“Uh—you said you did take something though, right?” said Joey, clearing his throat and circling back, needing to say something, and that was kind of important to pin down.

“Huh?” said Quentin, glancing back at him. People looked weird when they were high. Had they always? Or was it just whatever he was on? It was…uncomfortable. Joey hadn’t noticed it before on other people he’d been around, the couple times people had done drugs at parties, or out behind the school late at night, and he’d been lucky enough to be invited to the event. But Quentin’s eyes were glassy, and he was looking at him, and not looking at him at the same time. It made him almost sad for some reason. Why the fuck do I even care? Why am I talking to him at all? I should get out, and fuck off, and let whatever happens happen. I’m not supposed to buddy up to a survivor. If he wasn’t blazed out of his mind, he’d run away from me, and hate me, and there is no way this could possibly go but badly! I don’t need to help him. He can help himself. I’m just gonna get myself in trouble and get nothing out of it if I stick around. It’s not like he’d help me if he found me tripping balls in here. He’d probably kick the shit out of me and steal my knife and maybe kill me like the Doctor did.

“Oh!” said Quentin, remembering and turning back to face him for real, still acting really friendly like he had been a second ago. Whatever had flipped the buddy switch in him seemed to have taken root and stayed. “Yeah—yeah, uh. I didn’t even look to see if it was adrenaline or a hemorrhagic. My shoulder’s always fucked up now, and if I inject adrenaline into the muscle there, it’s as good as anywhere else, so if I find a syringe to use, I just plunge it in half the time, because it’ll work for me either way, and I’m usually in a rush.” He glanced around the room like he was casing it and passing on some little-known information to Joey. “You don’t want to stay around Lerry’s too long. Or any of the killer realms. Gotta be fast and careful.”

Yeah, I know, dumbass, but you’re not being either.

“Do you still have what you took?” asked Joey, choosing to be nice this time because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t sound too smart that fucked up on drugs either.

“Uhh, yeah, I guess—I mean, I don’t have the stuff—I took it, but I saved the syringe. Even when they’re empty, they can be pretty useful sometimes—might need ‘em later,” offered Quentin. He took his medkit out of the cabinet and opened it and took from it a small cardboard package with an empty plastic syringe hastily jammed most of the way back into it from on top of a kind of depressing and meager supply of gauze and little boxes and bottles. It had been such a big medkit case, Joey had expected it to be full of stuff. I guess he brought it to fill up.

“Here,” said Quentin, handing him the syringe, and then as he watched him take it curiously, “What do you want it for?”

“Oh—I’ll give it back,” said Joey, glancing up at him and then turning the syringe in his hand, looking for a label, “I just want to know what you took.” It took him a second, but he found the old faded print on the tiny label, topped, squinted at the decayed words for a moment, and then succeeded and felt his eyes bug out. Ah geeze no wonder you’re a fucking mess. You stupid dumbass! It’s a wonder you’re still standing! 50mg/mL concentration?? Holy FUCK that’s high. Dad was on 10 after surgery! He’s right—the Entity’s fucking with him—goddamn. FIFTY. Jeeze! Poor guy. Damn that’s a lot of opium to take. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse. I’m amazed he’s still standing! –wait, I wonder if that just means it hasn’t really taken effect yet…

“What?” asked Quentin, interested, trying to read the label too, upside-down and from a distance.

Joey held it up for him. “It was morphine.”

“What?” asked Quentin, blinking like that might help him process the news. He took the syringe and cocked his head, studying it.

“You took morphine,” said Joey, “A shit ton of morphine.”

“…Oh,” said Quentin with a note of worry now, face falling. He stared at the syringe without moving for a few seconds reading it, and then exploded and swung a hand angrily at nothing. “Fuck!”

“I don’t think it’s gonna kill you,” offered Joey, trying to dial him back.

“No—it’s not that,” said Quentin, turning to him distressed, “It’s morphine! That’s what fuck’s about! It’s a painkiller. A great one! Do you have—have any fucking idea how rare those are? Finding a bottle of Advil is like scoring a fucking gold mine out. A-and I had a whole syringe worth of morphine and I just used it all? On me? B-because I was too rushed to read the fucking label?” He’d started pacing and gesturing compulsively as he talked, and when he backed up far enough he bumped into the wall by the cabinet, he just slid down against it all the way to the floor and put his arms up over his head and folded in towards his knees miserably. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I wasted that. I-I could have saved it. We should have been able to split it! Fuck! …fuck…”

Not sure what to do but feeling bad for him, Joey watched for a second, trying to think, and then walked over and slid down carefully beside him. When he got there, Quentin glanced over at him from beneath his arms.

“It’s not so bad,” tried Joey encouragingly, trying to think of what might be good to say.

“No, it is,” said Quentin, depressed, and with his voice muffled from his sleeve. He lowered his arms and folded them over his knees instead, then buried his chin and half his face in them. “Morphine’s such a … …. ….fuck!”

“What?” said Joey, confused.

“I can’t think of the word,” said Quentin, visibly distressed.

Yeah I’ll bet. I’m amazed you’re still kind of coherent at all, considered Joey, who thought better of saying that out loud and instead said, “…Important? Uh. Useful?”

“No,” said Quentin, hung up on this, “Not easy to find—like rare—OH! Fuck! Rare—that was the word.” He went right back to overwhelmingly depressed the second the word was found, like he’d flipped an internal light switch, and kept plowing straight ahead down the depression line, gesturing as he spoke and looking miserably over at Joey. “It’s such a rare find! I’ve never gotten morphine before. Or opium, or anything really good for pain. I could have saved it; we could have taken a little bit to make really bad days better when they hit—it should have been for all of us! Or saved for an emergency! I-I –fuck, a, a whole syringe full? A lot of us could have gotten enough to help at least once. But I fucked up. That’s all gone, and I’ll probably never find one again.” He stared forward for a second and then smiled sadly and leaned his head forward against the side of his arm and stared unfocusedly at nothing. “I wasted the whole thing on myself and, I don’t even feel good.”

Joey watched him and swallowed. He had no idea what to say. “…Maybe, since it left some once now, that means the Entity will put more morphine in the realm?” he suggested after a second.

Quentin looked over at him somewhere between a tiny bit hopeful and about ready to cry over how little he thought it was true.

“It might be,” said Joey encouragingly, hoping the one plus side to being absolutely wasted on morphine might be that he’d be easily swayed into avoiding a depression spiral. “You said you never found one before. The Entity adds stuff sometimes. I bet it’s just a sign you’ll find more now.”

For a second, Quentin watched him, expression unchanging, and then he smiled at him and looked a lot better. “You think?”

“Yeah, for sure,” lied Joey.

“…Yeah, maybe,” decided Quentin after a moment, cheering up. He glanced over at Joey and smiled at him again and then started to uncoordinatedly pull himself back up. “You’re right. I’m being stupid and just wasting time feeling bad for myself like an idiot—I should keep looking.”

“Uhhh---I don’t think that’s such a good idea!” said Joey quickly, hopping up after him.

Quentin gave him a confused look.

“You heard what I said, right? –Before the more morphine thing. You’re super fucked up,” said Joey, “You’re on like, a fuck ton of morphine and making a bunch of noise in the Doctor’s home base. If you don’t leave, he’s gonna come find you.”

Quentin waved the concern away with a hand and turned back to the mostly ransacked cabinet. “Nah—I’m fine. Just don’t feel pain right now.”

“Dude, you are not fine,” argued Joey, following after.

“I really am,” said Quentin in the voice of someone who was definitely not not 80% out of it on drugs. He turned around and put a hand on Joey’s chest, started at it for a second, and then moved it up to the shoulder he’d been trying to aim for and missed, and patted it reassuringly. “I’m good. Thanks though.”

Joey just stared at him as he turned back to the cabinet. Quentin looked down at the drawers and noticed the broken one and its scattered contents and blinked at it in surprise.

“Oh yeah,” he said to himself after a second, “I guess I should pick that up.”

He took a step forward, lost his footing, and rammed headlong into the cabinet. Joey winced as Quentin bounced off it and fell to his knee, and then looked at the big wooden thing in confusion. The guy held up his hands and watched them shake for a couple of seconds, and then, looking supremely lost by all of the things happening, made it to his feet again and tried to get his wobbly body to stay still, confused and clearly trying to remember or figure out something in silence as he did, and having a hard time doing it despite the absolutely complete focus he was giving to the task.

“See what I mean?” asked Joey.

At the sound of his voice, Quentin glanced over with a look on his face like he’d completely forgotten Joey was there.

“You’re not fine,” said Joey again.

“I’m good,” promised Quentin, not even really responding to what he’d said in a way that made complete sense. He looked even more fucked up now than he had when Joey had come in there. More than a couple seconds ago even. Shit, I was right about it having not totally set in before, I think.

Joey stared through the floor for a second, trying to guess how long he had before the Doctor had them both, and to figure out what to do. He felt something bump his chest and looked up.

“Hey, Joey, could you hold this?” asked Quentin, holding out the broken drawer.

How the…fuck? Where did-? I’ve never said my own name in a trial, so who did he hear it from?

“Uh. Why?” said Joey, taking it anyway because he didn’t think not to, still kind of stuck on the fact that apparently at some point Quentin had learned his name.

“I can’t get it to go back in, and I don’t know where else to put it,” said Quentin as if that made perfect sense.

“You want me to hold it forever?” asked Joey in disbelief.

“Can you?” asked Quentin, surprised, taking that for some reason as a 100% genuine and doable offer.

“No!” said Joey.

“Okay,” said Quentin, seeing the choked back urge to laugh on Joey’s face and grinning in return, even though he pretty clearly didn’t get what had been so funny to him, “Then just find somewhere good to put it, I guess.”

As soon as Quentin turned his back, Joey hocked it onto a nearby hospital bed to deafen the thump.

Over by the cabinet, Quentin opened the second-to-bottom drawer, and gave a tired sigh. Joey scooted a foot closer and saw it was completely empty. He watched as the survivor tried again with the last one, and got the same results.

“Is stuff usually empty?” asked Joey, genuinely curious. Other than stealing alcohol from the Deathslinger, he’d never like, actually really gone somewhere looking for supplies.

“Uh, kinda,” said Quentin, glancing up, “I mean. There’s always good stuff somewhere, but it can take a long time to find it.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Joey, watching and then following as Quentin made it shakily to his feet and took several swaying paces over to a little desk about six feet to the right and started to go through its drawers too. “I mean—don’t people usually find you and…” He made a slashing motion over his throat, but Quentin turned away just as he started to do it and didn’t see, so he added, “uh—kill you? Or. I know we’re not really supposed to kill you if we find you out here, but. I’m sure some of them do. Or at least fuck you up.”

“Hmm?” said Quentin, auditory-processing on a delay, and then before Joey actually had a chance to repeat himself, “Oh. Yeah—they do.” He picked up what looked like an empty can of something and gave it the world’s most displeased look, then kept digging. “Uh, I mean, it’s risky. But if we don’t come get good supplies where it’s dangerous between trials, we’ll only have shitty ones in the trials to use when we get hurt. And I’m kind of a medic, so it’s my—” He paused, holding up a little package and turning it over a few times trying to figure out what it was, seemed to recognize the object that was completely foreign to Joey, opened his medkit on top of the desk, dropped whatever it was inside with the other meager supplies he’d collected so far, and went back to searching. “—Uh, my responsibility kind of, to have stuff to help people,” he finished, “Sometimes you die out here and lose everything, or you get hurt, and slowed down in trials for a bit because of it, but.” He shrugged. “The alternative is…”

“…Not great?” offered Joey, seeing him struggle to recall a word again.

Quentin glanced up at him and nodded, then flashed him a little smile and kept going.

It still felt so weird to get smiled at by a survivor. It…made him feel guilty, like he was tricking someone into doing what he wanted while they were fucked up. Which he didn’t—he wouldn’t have…

“Hey, gauze. Not great, but I’ll take it,” said Quentin to himself, taking a big roll of gauze from the last drawer on the desk and putting it in his still mostly empty medkit. He stood up and swayed, then caught himself on the wall, looking almost too blitzed to even be confused or surprised by that this time, and glanced over at Joey. “You see anything good on your way through here?”

“Uh—” he actually tried to remember. Had there been? I didn’t look in anything. I have no idea. “Dunno.”

“Okay, well, good luck tagging,” said Quentin, words friendly and a little slurred, coming in at the wrong cadences as he started to walk past him. “You know—Nea really likes that. I bet you two would have fun doing that sometime,” he offered, pausing to glance at Joey again. “You should ask her.” He stepped on past then, heading for the hall, and almost immediately his foot hit a little jut at the place the floor of the hall and the floor of the room met and didn’t quite connect right, and that was enough to take him down again, but Joey shot forward and caught him this time, saving him from crashing headlong into an old cart out in the hall.

“Whoa—” said Quentin, trying to get his balance back a little. And then, flashing him a smile, “Thanks.”

“Dude, you have to stop,” said Joey urgently with his voice hushed, “You’re gonna—”

“It’s okay, really,” said Quentin with great assurance, thumping him on the shoulder again as he tried to straighten back up. “I feel fine.”

“You are not fine, dumbass!” hissed back Joey.

“Wow. Rude. Seriously, though—I’m pretty sure I’m good,” said Quentin, not worried at all. He started to walk again, thoroughly nonplussed, and began humming to himself, a melody Joey had never heard, swaying a little as he walked, and seeming about the most happily contented Joey had seen somebody in years. Joey stayed frozen, gaping at him as did a few really bad what Joey was pretty sure had been dance steps crossing to the next room, and started singing, “Oh my God we’re back again. Brothers, sisters, everybody sing—gonna bring the flavor, show you how. Got a question for you, better answer nooow.”

He made it into the far room and started getting louder. He’s lost his mind! thought Joey in a panic, breaking out of his initial shock and sprinting after him.

When he made it through the doorway, the dude was still kind of uncoordinatedly bobbing while he turned in a circle and scanned the room for potential storage areas, blissfully carefree as fuck. “Am I original? Yeeeah. Am I the only one? Yeaah. Am I s—”

“—What the fuck are you doing!” hissed Joey, bolting in and catching the surprised teenager by the arm.

“Uhm. I—wait. Didn’t we have this conversation before?” asked Quentin, like he was genuinely trying to parse some surreal deja-vu.

“Yeah! And you said you’d stop singing!” said Joey.

“…Oh yeah,” said Quentin in surprise, remembering. “Huh.” He immediately started to sing again, eyes focused on nothing at all like he’d gotten so lost in his head in the 0.4 seconds since agreeing that singing was off the table that he’d forgotten Joey was even there. “Am I sexual, ye—"

“—No you’re not!” shot back Joey, and Quentin stopped singing and looked at him kind of betrayed.

“It’s—that wasn’t a question—it’s a Backstreet Boys song,” said Quentin, a little hurt.

“A what?” said Joey. No idea what the fuck he was talking about.

“What?” asked Quentin with a huge amount of intense incredulity in his slightly slurred tone. “Y. You don’t know them?”

Joey just have him a disbelieving look.

“Everybody? I Want it That Way? As Long as You Love Me?” When Joey said nothing, he tried, “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart?” like it was the last bastion on earth and Joey would just have to know that one. Quentin waited a second for an answer that didn’t come and took in the completely lost look on Joey’s face. “Holy shit, really?”

Joey made a hopeless gesture, not even sure which part of this to respond to.

“Ah, that sucks!” said Quentin with incredibly genuine sympathy, “I wish I had an album. I guess it’s kinda fun though,” he added with a grin, like something amazing had just occurred to him, “because that means you get to hear them for the first time now.” He looked up at nothing, thinking. “They’re not really the kind of music I listen to, but Everybody and I Want it That Way are catchy, and I’ll give them that, and I wouldn’t usually tell people this, but I actually really like Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.”

“Dude, you have to stop singing,” pleaded Joey.

“Well, I will now,” promised Quentin, “Sorry—didn’t know I was spoiling the song. I thought everybody’d heard it.”

“That’s not really the problem!” whispered Joey.

“It’s—that’s cool,” decided Quentin, not listening at all. He looked off at nothing and then back at Joey, smiled, and slung an arm over his shoulder. “I like people who want to hear songs for real the first time they hear it—man, music’s so fucking cool. I have a record player back home—there’s just nothing like hearing a vinyl for the first time. Really! It’s like, magical what a difference it makes! I wish I could show you—”

Joey pulled Quentin’s arm back from over his shoulder and moved back a half-step. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“W…” Quentin looked at his arm, and then Joey in confusion. “It’s a friendly gesture,” he offered. “You were nicer than I thought, and we were talking about music, so—”

“—Yeah, we’re not friends,” said Joey, crossing his arms and feeling a way intenser reaction to this than he’d expected. His heart was thudding. Why the hell did you just blow up at him? He doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

“… I know,” said Quentin, drawing back his arm slowly and smile fading, looking kind of genuinely hurt for a second, “I said ‘friendly’ gesture, not a friend one. Like. When you meet a nice classmate and you’re hanging out the first time. So people can tell you don’t want to stab them in the back.”

“What?” said Joey.

“Yeah well, maybe not at school,” said Quentin, following his own logic path, “But you know. Here people are…harder to be sure—because half of them are always trying to kill you. Well. If you’re one of us.”

I guess, thought Joey, saying nothing.

“You know,” said Quentin, glancing up at him and smiling again, earlier hurt forgotten, “I’m really relieved, actually. I thought when you showed up, I was gonna have to fight you off with my medkit and probably get killed again.”

“Does every killer you’ve ever met out here try to kill you, even though we’re not supposed to outside trials?” asked Joey, genuinely surprised, and un-crossing his arms.

“No,” said Quentin, thinking about that, “But I figured you would. You hate me.”

“What?” said Joey, taken aback, “No I don’t. Why would you think that?”

“W…because you always kill me,” said Quentin, confused, working hard to find the right answers through the fog in his head.

“Don’t all of us?” said Joey, almost insulted. I’m not worse than anyone else! I’m probably one of the nicer killers! I’m not super cruel, or—

“Yeah, I mean, none of you are really merciful or anything, you’re all kind of monsters,” answered Quentin very serious and sincerely, “But most of you let the last one go at least sometimes. All of Legion does. But you’ve never let me take the hatch. Julie lets me take hatch sometimes if I did well in the trial and she’s in a good mood. Susie lets me take it. Even Frank’s let me go before if I’m the last one. But you never have. Not even one time out of so many trials, so you must really hate me. I’ve never known why you do. …Did I do something? That I just don’t…remember? If I did something really bad to you to make you hate me, I’m sorry.”

“I—” Joey stared at him, kind of bowled over by a feeling it took him a second to realize was a mixture of distress and horror. “No. No, you—I don’t hate you—I. I do that because you’re so easy to catch,” he tried to explain, stepping a little closer. Quentin watched him take the step and didn’t back up, but he wasn’t looking at him like he had been before anymore either. Not at all. “That’s all. You come back in at the end in trials if anybody else is still in there—always, no matter how stupid it is, or how obviously it’s a trap. Even if you know you’ve got no chance of saving them, you’ll try. So when you’re there, even if I have a really bad trial, and no sacrifices at all by the time the gates are up, I always know I can get at least two kills if I can just manage to down even one person before you’re all out, because you’ll always come back for anybody I get, no matter how suicidal it is, and then I’ll be okay. Free kill. It’s like a safety net. I can always count on you to try to come sacrifice yourself to save someone, and I pretty much always get both of you, too. I don’t kill you all the time because I hate you, I just do it because it’s…easy.”

He lost steam on the last word, thinking for the first moment for real about what he was saying.

Even with the haze of drugs in his system, Quentin was working hard to listen, glassy eyes fixed on his, and Joey could tell that he’d heard it all and understood what he’d said, but the guy didn’t say anything at all. Just looked at him in silence. Looking kind of sad, or wounded, or some other emotion Joey didn’t even know the name of that was hurt and sad and lonely and a lot of other quiet, painful stuff all at the same time, and he just held Joey’s gaze with that emotion in his eyes and said nothing. Just looked at him.

Fuck. Fuck! I—

After a few long seconds, Quentin looked slowly away and nodded.

What did I say? I—shit. I. Joey had thought it would make him feel better—why the fuck did you think that? Fuck! Idiot! He wanted to say he was sorry, but there was no way he could. He didn’t even know if it was true. It—it was just practical, killing him. Joey was alright, but he wasn’t the best at hunts, and sometimes shit went south in trials. He liked getting Quentin in his trials, because that always made them easier. Even a worst-case scenario was pretty much always gonna be a 2-kill for him. But he-

“I’m gonna go back to searching,” said Quentin very quietly, finally glancing his way again for a moment, but he was barely looking at him anymore, “You can go back to tagging now. I’ll be quiet. …Thanks for…giving me a warning, instead of murdering me this time.”

“Quentin-“ started Joey as the survivor turned and began working towards the other end of the room unsteadily, using the back of a long bench for support, but he stopped, and let him go. What would he have said anyway? Joey looked at the ground for a second, not seeing the dirty carpet at all. Shit. Shit! Why-? I didn’t. It’s just—I-I don’t have a choice—I. Fuck! Why did I even follow him in here? Why did I talk to him at all! I should just go back, and finish up if I have time, and then get lost, or book if I hear him making noise again. If he wants to get found by the Doctor and tortured for a couple—

He stopped, mind flashing him images of a death he had been working hard to repress since the day it happened. That had been the first time Joey had ever died, and it had been awful. Usually he could just not think about it so much, and just be angry it had happened, but he was feeling electricity run up his backbone like a shiver, remembering the way that smelled, and burned. He had thought he knew what the sound of his own voice screaming sounded like before that, but he hadn’t. Not a real scream. He just hadn’t known how different the sound could be. Joey felt sick with the memory, seeing the Doctor’s grinning face in his head and shuddering involuntarily at the sight of it so close to his face in his mind’s eye, and then hating himself for doing that like a fucking coward—like the guy was better than him, or stronger, or anything. He’d just gotten lucky that last time—they were all strongest on their own turf. But, fuck. It—

Joey turned his head and looked for Quentin, and saw him easily, walking unsteadily towards the far end of the room. Something more off about the walk than before. He was moving…it was almost like he was nodding off on his feet or something. Quentin made it to the end of the bench, though, and behind a big secretarial area against the wall near it, and started to try and look through shelves, and Joey heard him start singing again, very quietly this time, words barely decipherable from where he was about fifteen feet off.

“…step outside. An angry voice and one who cried, ‘We'll give you…everything and more. The strain’s too much, can't take much…more.”

Oh come on, thought Joey desperately, You’re gonna go sing a sad song now? You’re doing this on purpose!

“…Oh I’ve…” Quentin stopped singing and took a couple deep breaths like he was short on it before he kept going again. “Oh, I've walked on water…run through fire. Can’t seem to…feel it. Anymore…”

Wait. Something was wrong.

“Can’t seem to feel it anymore,” whispered Quentin again, staring blankly at nothing, struggling to keep his eyes open. He looked down at his hands and held one of them up in confusion and tried to focus on it.

“Quentin?” asked Joey. He didn’t even glance up, just stayed staring at his hands. Joey didn’t think he was even aware he was still in the room with him anymore. Wait, were you sweating before? What the fuck? What was he looking at?

Quentin didn’t move at all. He just stayed standing there, breathing shakily, eyes fixed on his fingertips. Joey took two steps closer carefully and tried again.

“Quentin?”

He turned this time, surprised—no. Afraid. And found Joey, and his eyes—what the fuck? “Oh no,” whispered Joey. Gaping. Quentin’s pupils were so small he could barely see them at all, like they’d drowned in his huge blue eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone’s pupils that vanished. That was wrong—that was really, really wrong, especially from someone who was scared. Okay-okay—he was staring at his hands—why. Joey looked frantically and saw why immediately. His fingertips were blue.

Joey started to bolt forwards, and Quentin reacted with alarm, stumbling back from him and losing his balance immediately, falling against the back wall.

“S-Stay away from me!” managed Quentin frantically through desperate breathing Joey didn’t think had anything to do with fear. Joey didn’t stop. He vaulted the low wall sectioning off the secretarial area and landed inside it only a few feet back. Quentin tried to struggle up and get away from him, and collapsed halfway though the effort, arms giving out, and rolled onto his back and crawled back on his elbows instead, looking up at him with such intense panic and terror it was kind of sickening. It was like he wasn’t the same person he had been a minute ago at all.

Fuck—fuck—he’s really fucked up—this is really bad.

“Calm down,” tried Joey, starting to go towards him while holding up his hands, palm-out, “I’m just trying to help you.”

There wasn’t even a fraction of belief this time in the person opposite him. He just kept trying weakly and horribly to get away. “No you won’t!” he shot back desperately, pupils tiny pinpricks of black in vacant eyes as he tried to keep away from Joey without the ability to really do it anymore at all.

“I am—I am,” promised Joey, keeping his hands up, “Remember? We were just talking a minute ago—I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“You always do!” argued Quentin, hitting the side wall of the little secretarial area and, with nowhere else to go, desperately reaching blindly for a weapon and comping back with a pen leveled at him like a knife, “Don’t come near me!”

Fuck, he’s getting too loud! The Doctor’s gonna hear that! His impulse was to jump him and get a hand over his mouth to shut him the fuck up before it was too late—that pen wasn’t gonna do shit. But. But he could tell that was exactly what Quentin thought he was gonna do, and he had no fucking idea what morphine did to you if you overdosed, but what if he had a heart attack, and—

…and he’d just come back, wouldn’t he? Like he did any other time he died. So it wouldn’t really matter. Right? What was one more. What were any of the deaths. No, thought Joey, feeling overwhelmed and sick in a way he’d never felt before, remembering the one and only death he had experienced so far, No. What were all of them.

“Okay,” said Joey quietly, stopping about three feet from Quentin, crouched, hands still up. “Okay. I’m just trying to help. I know I’m a killer, but we met a few minutes ago, remember? We’re both in the Doctor’s realm, so we’ve got a kind of temporary alliance thing going. Both have to be quiet, or we’ll both get caught, and we’re both gonna die.”

The shaking teenager opposite him watched him in confusion, breathing raggedly, pen still leveled like he really thought that could protect him.

“W-what?” he asked, searching Joey’s face desperately, “I-I don’t—”

Right. Okay—okay maybe… He held up his right hand, and with his left, slowly pulled his mask off. Quentin stayed still, constricted pupils locked on his face, trying to find some sign of familiarity he wasn’t going to find, because he never had seen Joey’s face before, but at least it was a face.

“See?” said Joey calmingly, hand still up. “Remember me? Joey?”

“…Y-yeah,” said Quentin after a second, lowering the pen a little. He swallowed hard. God, he looked so bad. He couldn’t have been sweating for very long, but he’d sweated so much since it had started that he was soaked in it now, and disgusting. This is really, really bad.

“You need help,” said Joey, gesturing towards him, “Look at your fingers.”

Quentin did, and then looked confused and worried to find them blue again and shaking. “Sh-shit,” he managed. He looked up back up at Joey worriedly. “A-am I dying?”

“I-I don’t know,” said Joey, “You took morphine. I think you must have overdosed. Do you know if there’s a way to fix it? Do you—do you need to throw up or something?”

“Oh. Oh, that’s right,” said Quentin shakily, blinking, “I-I. No, I. I took it in a syringe. I can’t throw that up. It’s in my blood.”

“C-can I help you?” offered Joey, a horrible feeling in the pit of his gut. Fuck. Fuck—I’m gonna watch him die from an overdose. I don’t want to know what that looks like.

“I-I don’t. I don’t. I don’t….I don’t know,” said Quentin, voice deteriorating as he went, like he might cry.

Joey looked around, as if he might spot something that would miraculously help, but there was nothing—he wouldn’t have even known a cure if he’d seen one. He didn’t know what that was! He had no idea what to do.

Quentin was breathing more desperately now, and his arms went lax at his side, not fighting anymore at all. He looked up at Joey and he was scared. Really, really scared. “I,” he tried, struggling to talk through shallow, frantic breathing, “I can’t breathe right. I’m-I’m choking. I can’t. I can’t breathe. And. And I can barely see you at all.” He teared up, and Joey felt sick. “With either eye. Not just my left one. I’m-I’m…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” promised Joey, moving close to him and putting his hands on his shoulders. He didn’t shudder or try to pull away, just kept trying desperately to breathe, and when he looked back at Joey, he was looking at him like a friend, and that just made everything so much more awful, and somehow he was glad for it at the same time as if felt like a knife in his gut. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Quentin shook his head.

“You don’t know anything about what to do?” asked Joey, desperate for the answer to change.

“I…” Quentin swallowed hard, thinking. “I’ve. W-we don’t ever get painkillers. It’s. It’s supposed to come with an antidote, m-morphine, in case you do what I did, b-but I don’t remember any when I got it.”

“Okay! Okay—Where did you get it?” asked Joey.

Quentin tried to point to something, and when he saw that his arm was shaking too badly to obey him, he said, “There’s a—another. Nother room. I…”

“The one I found you in first?” asked Joey.

Quentin shook his head.

Fuck! “Which one? What did it look like?” pressed Joey.

“…A hospital room,” said Quentin in a whisper, eyes filling up. Which had to mean he was too out of it to think right and remember, but still there enough to know that wouldn’t be enough for Joey to ever find it, and failing to remember meant there was no way he could be saved. Which was so fucking cruel.

“Maybe it’s not so bad,” tried Joey, taking his hand and closing his fingers around it, “Maybe it’s not a fatal dose.”

Quentin looked up at him for a few seconds, struggling and sick and shaking, and then looked slowly away at nothing past the floor. “…What does it matter,” he whispered, expression changing. Despairing. He grimaced then and choked back a sound of pain, wincing and pressing an arm to his stomach, and then looked up at Joey again with something between hope and desperation in his eyes. “Y-you have a knife?”

“Yeah,” said Joey, reaching for it, ready to try anything.

Quentin watched him for a second, breathing shakily, eyes becoming increasingly glossy and wincing at pain that hadn’t got bad enough yet that he had to vocalize it, then choked out, “Kill me?”

“What?” asked Joey, horrified, drawing the knife back like he thought Quentin would reach out and snatch it from him to do it himself.

“It. Please,” Quentin managed. So fucked up and out of it and lost. “It hurts so much. It’s getting worse. I. I can’t…I can’t see anything. It’s all blurry. I can’t breathe. I-“ He looked up and took a second to find Joey’s eyes, then held them, fingers digging into the hand Joey had given him to hold. “I’ve died before, but I. I don’t even feel like me. It’s all…It’s all wrong. I don’t—I don’t like feeling like this. I don’t wanna die like this. Please.”

“I-I. I can’t,” whispered Joey, sickened.

“Why not?” asked Quentin brokenly, “You have. But you—?” He looked so hurt and betrayed and hopeless, and Joey felt his grip on his hand slacken. “You won’t? The one time I. I want to…” He started breathing horribly then, like he couldn’t get his body to do it at all, and looked panicked, and started gasping, and then as fast as that had started, he was suddenly barely breathing at all, chest refusing to rise and fall like his brain was only getting the signal to breathe on a delay, picking up one-tenth of the signals he was trying to give it. It would be nothing for several seconds, and then a ragged shallow gasp, and he could see him trying to breathe through all of it, trying so fucking hard, and failing.

“Fuck! Fuck—I want to help!—Isn’t there something I can do?” Joey pleaded, grabbing his hand and trying to think, but Quentin couldn’t answer him anymore. His skin was changing color, and he was shuddering, struggling to keep his eyes open. FUCK! Fuck! Isn’t there something I can do? Anything? He was fine a minute ago! What the fuck!

Joey felt the fingers on the hand he was grabbing close around his, and looked down to see Quentin clutching it weakly. He looked at Quentin’s face and for a second they met eyes and the other guy looked so out of it he was barely there at all, but he was there enough—enough to be aware how wrong it was, and to be terrified.

“No-no, come on,” said Joey frantically, “You said there’s medicine to fix it—right? Just tell me what it’s called! I can—”

Wait! Wait—when he walked in the room—the first time he saw him today—Quentin had been looking for a bottle he was already holding, right? Maybe. No—but that was a pill bottle. No way it’s what he needs. Fuck! No—no wait, but—but he is remembering badly. And maybe if he’s remembering badly. He’s scavenging, right? H-he could have taken it—he would, right? He doesn’t think so, but he f-forgot the bottle, and he forgot me! It has to be there, right? He said he didn’t even check to see what he was taking was, because there’s only ever two kinds of drugs in syringes he finds here, and he keeps both, so it has to be there it has to be, right? He would keep it! Right? thought Joey desperately.

Moving urgently fast, he tore his hand away from Quentin and shot the two-feet over to where he’d left the medkit on one of the shelves in the secretarial area beside them. He felt him try to hang on to his hand when he ripped it away, and thought he tried to say something, but there was no time—he—

“Hang on, hang on,” called Joey without looking, ripping the case open, “I think—” Fuck—fuck. Syringes, pill bottle, gauze, band-aids, thread, thread, fuck! –there—package—no—bandaids again—shit! It would be near the top, it!

Desperate, he snatched the same container Quentin had taken the used syringe he’d given him earlier from, hoping for a miracle, and it had weight to it. Weight he thought might be beyond just the empty syringe Quentin had put back in there, and— Fuck! Yes! There! The top was ripped open, where he’d gotten the syringe out, but there was a partition about 2/3rds of the way though the case, and the last third was still sealed, and Joey ripped it open with a vengeance and snatched up the little syringe waiting inside—there—on the label. ‘Naloxone. 2mg.’ Fuck! Is that the right drug? He had no idea, but it had to be, right? What else would have been in there? There were no instructions on the stupid fucking box or the label or in the container at all, but it had to be, it had to. It is—I know it is.

“Okay,” said Joey, hurrying above Quentin again, ripping the cover off the needle tip and trying to figure out where the fuck to inject him. F-fuck, a vein, right? That’s where doctors do it—in your arm, right? Kinda by your elbow, or up by your wrist? He couldn’t see a fucking visible vein that wasn’t tiny in his wrist, so he grabbed Quentin’s left arm and tugged it straight and readied the needle, eyes on the thick blue vein there on the inside of his elbow, praying to God that he’d do this right. Not too deep not too shallow fuck fuck fuck come on, you can do it.

Below him, Quentin’s skin had gotten tinged with purple and blue, and he was choking but too weak not to be doing it frantically anymore, just weakly, and it was like watching someone drown, except it was so much fucking worse, because he couldn’t just pull him out of the water—there was no water—there was air, and he just couldn’t make his body take it. He was soaked in sweat and looking at Joey with pinpoint pupils and glossy eyes, and he tried to say something, but Joey couldn’t tell what it had been, only how distressed it was making him that he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” promised Joey, sliding the needle slowly into his arm and trying to force his own hands to quit shaking, “I got the drug—you’re gonna be fine.” He pressed down on the plunger, and watched the liquid go in, desperately hoping for a miracle.

Beside him, Quentin stopped breathing.

Joey didn’t register it at first, because he’d been struggling so hard, and he was focused on getting in all of the drug, but when the tenth breath that should have finally gone through and given the teenager a gasp of air didn’t come, and then didn’t come on an eleventh, a twelfth, a thirteenth beat, Joey felt it. He turned his head and stared at Quentin in frozen shock, almost as still as the body beneath him had suddenly gone.

“No,” said Joey quietly, not ready to believe it, watching, waiting for him to breathe again. Fuck. What if it was. What if that’s another pain killer? What if he could have made it through that if I’d just helped him and done nothing. Fuck! I thought—I.

Slowly, he pulled the needle back out of his arm, feeling sick, eyes still on Quentin’s face, and then there was a motion—a—he hadn’t been looking, but he thought his hand had twitched. Wait—

“Are you not dead?” asked Joey desperately, feeling a tiny spark of hope. The body didn’t respond. But he— “No! No way! Fuck it!  I did everything right! I saved you!” argued Joey to the form beneath him he refused to believe was anything but unconscious, “You’re not dead!”

He’s just not breathing! If the drug works, it probably takes it a minute—I can keep him breathing for a minute. Fuck you! You’re not dying now—not after all of that! Come on!

Joey shoved Quentin’s jacket and necklace aside, wincing at the fresh claw marks still there, placed his palms over each other in the center of his chest like he’d learned in highschool, and started compressions.

“Come on come on come on,” he whispered, keeping time to a 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, all the way up to 30. He hit thirty, moved an inch to the right, tipped back Quentin’s head and held his nose, then breathed into his mouth twice. Come on come on. Again. Back—1 through thirty. Mouth open, breathe for him, again. Again. He hit 120 and kept going. Again. 27, 28, 29, 30—breathe. Head back, mouth open, nose closed. Breathe. Take a deep breath, blow in. Breathe for him. Th—

He was halfway to ramming the full force of his palms against the guy’s ribcage, already mentally ticking off 1 in his head again, when he saw it was moving shakily up to meet him, and he stopped, staring. The chest lowered weakly, and rose again, and he looked over at Quentin’s face and saw the tiniest mist in the cold air of Lerry’s Memorial Institute as he exhaled.

Joey fell back onto the floor and sat still, watching, a huge smile spreading slowly across his face, and then he laughed, overcome with relief. He looked at Quentin’s still features and smiled at him. “You scared the shit out of me.”

For a few seconds, Quentin just kept breathing, and then he coughed weakly and groaned, and slowly opened his eyes to little cracks and blinked weakly, trying to make out the ceiling above.

“…Ow,” whispered Quentin to no one and nothing, still out of it.

Joey grinned.

“Hi.”

Quentin heard him this time, blinked again, and slowly turned his head and looked over at Joey. For a few seconds he just squinted, no recognition or emotion attached at all, no familiarity, or fear, or gladness, or hate, just trying to figure out who he was. Then he said, “…Lee.g…J..Joey…?”

“Yeah,” said Joey, smiling at him.

“Did you kick me?” asked Quentin hoarsely.

“What?” asked Joey, trying not to laugh because of the absurdity of that question to him.

“My ribs feel like shit,” groaned Quentin, turning his head and looking back up at the ceiling again.

“Yeah, well, you quit breathing,” said Joey, proud of himself, “Before the antidote kicked in. I had to give you CPR. It’s better to push too hard than too soft if you’re trying to get someone to breathe. Sorry it hurts—I don’t think I broke anything though.”

“…What?” asked Quentin, turning his head to look at him again.

Joey grinned and opened his mouth to echo himself, and then stopped, a sinking feeling stabbing him in the chest all of a sudden. Oh, Joey, you fucked up here. You should not have done this. This was bad.

What the fuck was he doing? And why? Why—I mean—okay, sure, they were supposed to not kill a survivor outside of a trial. Leaving him alone was fine, shutting him up so the Doctor wouldn’t come—totally normal. M-maybe even trying to warn him off—after all—they weren’t supposed to be friends, but like, that didn’t mean he had to like watching them die. Didn’t have to…to not let a guy so fucked up he didn’t even realize he was high know he was going to get electrocuted to death really slowly for making so much noise, right? Yeah. Yeah—that—that was fine. Anybody might have done that. But. But this? He’d been about to die, hadn’t he? Probably? He’d been unconscious, so if he’d just done nothing, Quentin would have just ended up dead on the floor here and gone back to his campfire again without his meager supply of medical shit he’d collected so far, and start over. No harm done. He hadn’t even been—been like, saving him from pain. The painful part had been over. He’d been out. Why did you do this? Why not let him die this time? What did it matter?

Right. …Right, Quentin had. He’d said that too, hadn’t he. Asked what it would matter if he died one more time.

Shit. … Shit! Was it—was it always like that, for—for all of them? He couldn’t…couldn’t imagine watching Frank get ripped up by a chainsaw, day after day—his best friend? While he—he couldn’t do anything, or knew he was about to be next? Trial after trial after trial? Could something like that happen so many times it didn’t even matter anymore? Could you get used to that? And if so, then why? Why do you always come back for the people I catch in trials, if it doesn’t matter if I get them one more time anyway? If death is just—just fucking nothing anymore. God, it couldn’t be nothing anymore, could it? He was scared of it, and he’d died—only once, but. But.

But you were too, thought Joey desperately, remembering the terror in the other teen’s face when he’d been choking to death. You were scared. You were so scared you wanted me to mercy kill you, because it would be quicker, even though you were scared of me killing you at all a few minutes ago. So it has to matter to you, doesn’t it?

But maybe it didn’t. Maybe it couldn’t. And he was suddenly, immensely, deeply afraid of that. Not all the deaths themselves. Joey felt like…like those could only matter. He’d only been killed one time so far, but he didn’t think he’d ever have be able to get used to the way that had felt—there were just some things in life you couldn’t—like getting punched. It didn’t matter if people fought you a lot, or you got picked on and beat up every day at school—maybe you got used to the idea of bullying, but you never got used to the way a fist stung against cheekbone or felt rammed into your gut. You just didn’t. Other things too… But. But maybe this didn’t—hadn’t—not at all. Maybe it couldn’t anymore. Maybe if you died so much, got cut down and carved up and electrocuted and drugged and burned and eaten and ripped to shreds one too many times, it stopped mattering at all if there was ever a time that you didn’t. Because why would it? Death would just be back for you the next hour. So it. It probably hadn’t even done anything at all. Except fucking made him all confused and angry and—fuck! He didn’t even know how he felt except bad. How could it not matter, he thought desperately, still saying nothing, and watching a semi-conscious guy his age who might have been a classmate or a friend or anything at all in another life blink back at him in confusion, still waiting for an answer he no longer knew how to give. How could it not matter that I saved you! It should! It should…

But fuck. It didn’t. And he got that now.

I never should have done this, thought Joey, feeling a little nauseous suddenly and like the room was swaying around him, I didn’t do anything at all for you, and I fucked up my head doing it. I should have just kept walking and let what happened happen. I should never have talked to you at all.

“Are you okay?” asked Quentin. He looked concerned now. Of all the possible stupid things. Concerned. Voice all cracked and dry and weak and scratchy from choking to death, and he was asking Joey if he was okay.

When you think I hate you, thought Joey hopelessly, I didn’t even think I was one of the mean ones, but I’ve been making you miserable for months, and didn’t even see it, because I didn’t have to care or to even know. I could just do anything I wanted, no repercussions, unless I fucked up killing people too much. What the fuck. And.

“What happened?” asked Quentin. Slightly more awake now. Still out of it, but pupils slightly larger than the tiny specks they’d been before, and struggling to focus on his expression. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows and grimaced and stopped only partway there and looked over at Joey again.

“You almost died,” said Joey barely audibly, because he couldn’t keep not answering him at all, and there was nothing else he knew to say.

Quentin looked confused by that, and thought for a second, looking at nothing, brow ridiculously furrowed. “…morphine?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at Joey very unsure.

“Yeah,” answered Joey, no energy in the word.

The survivor thought for another moment, trying to pick up pieces in his head, Joey thought, then met his gaze again. “…You found the antidote?”

“Nah,” said Joey quietly, not looking at his face, “It just wore off.”

For a second, Quentin was quiet. “But…you said you did,” he said after a moment, “You said you…gave me CPR.”

Joey stared at him, feeling cornered. Fuck—I thought you didn’t hear that all the way. Quentin was watching him in unfocused confusion. What am I supposed to say?

He didn’t know, so he didn’t say anything, and Quentin glanced at the ground around him after a few seconds with no response, and saw the syringe and the package where Joey had left it, and picked up the empty needle and shakily brought it towards his face to read the label. “Nal…Naloxone—you did,” said Quentin, glancing back at him.

Joey shrugged. For a moment, they just stared at each other in complete silence, Quentin still only half propped up, Joey maybe a half foot back, sitting above him on the ground. Joey didn’t really know what either of them was waiting for, but he was afraid to be the first one to speak, or move, so he didn’t.

“…Thank you,” said Quentin finally, and he smiled at him. Like he meant it. And Joey knew it was really the drugs that were still in there that meant it, and not the teenager at all, but the guy thought he meant it so much that it was hard not to smile back, and so he did for just a second before he could stop himself.

Quentin looked at the ground for a second then, blinking slowly, breathing more regularly now, but eyes still glassy and movements irregular and off, and Joey tried to guess from a distance how high he still was. Not dying at least. His skin isn’t blue anymore, so. That’s the big one. That and uh, breathing.

“Why did you do that?” asked Quentin, looking back up. Just curious. No accusation or suspicion, or anything in the tone but the desire to know. “-Save me?”

“…I don’t know,” said Joey quietly, because he didn’t, and he knew that another fifteen seconds of thinking before he answered later, he still wasn’t going to. And he didn’t want to lie. Not here, not to that question.

Quentin tilted his head and watched him for a few seconds curiously, and then laid back down on the dirty floor and smiled at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Well, thanks. I don’t remember all of it, but that seems really good of you,” he offered.

Joey didn’t say anything.

After a second, Quentin shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths, then started mumbling something to himself, hummed a few bars of one of the songs he’d been singing earlier under his breath, and then sat up. He made it this time too, still a little unsteady, and he turned and glanced over at Joey and offered him a friendly smile and said, “Thanks again. I think I can get up now if I go slow, so I’m gonna go ahead and try to get back to searching,” then grabbed the side of the desk by him and started to attempt to pull himself up.

“WHAT?” exploded Joey in barely hissed indignation, shooting halfway to his feet because he expected the other guy to collapse in about 2.4 seconds at most.

“Supplies,” said Quentin, who had made it up to one foot and one knee with the help of the desk, wobbled a little with an arm out, and then glanced back at him once he got his balance, “I should look for some more before I go back to the campfire.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” hissed Joey, losing it, “You—you fucking unbelievably stupid dumbass! No! You’re still high, you just almost died, you’re already making too much noise again, and you’re gonna get caught if you stay! –And you want to keep going? You’re fucking insane!”

“I am not,” replied Quentin kind of indignantly, “I’m okay—you gave me an antidote, so my head will clear up—is clearing, and I’ll be good to keep going.” He started trying to make it all the way to his feet with a lot of arm strength and effort because his legs weren’t super dependable right then.

“Why!” asked Joey, “What’s wrong with you! Why are you so set on killing yourself to get stupid medical supplies! They won’t even help you much anyway!”

Quentin stopped. He turned his head and looked at Joey and he had a look on his face like a friend of his had just smacked him and he didn’t even know why. Shit—I shouldn’t have—

“They do help,” said Quentin quietly, like he was trying to make it more true just by the way he was saying it.

Joey thought about saying nothing, because he was pretty sure he’d sort of hurt his feelings before, but the stupid fucking dumbass survivor was going to stick around and get himself killed, and then come out again the next day and the next, and for what? It just—It wasn’t worth it! He was wrong!

“They don’t,” said Joey, shaking his head, “Not enough. You’re risking your life out here all the time for no reason.” He picked up the medkit from the floor, and Quentin watched him in what was almost alarm, and tried to reach out and grab it back, and just about lost his balance without both arms propping him against the desk, and had to stop to keep himself standing. Joey held up the case, watching the kind of frantic look on the other teenager’s face as he watched him, obviously afraid he was going to chuck it across the room or something, or break it. Like people looked at you if you had their paper and were holding it up above a running sink at school. Like he was going to take this one stupid flimsy fucking piece of nothing the other guy had and break it for no reason. And you would care. That would hurt you—it’d be so easy. Why the fuck do you care? You shouldn’t! God it’s—it’s nothing!

“Joey, please, I—” asked Quentin, eyes still on the case.

“—It’s not worth it,” cut in Joey, shaking his head again, “It’s not gonna help you. Coming out here all the time? It’s a waste. None of this is gonna be enough to really matter.”

Quentin stared at him.

“Come on, Quentin, think!” said Joey, “What’s one more roll of thread gonna let you do? Stitch up your leg a little bit better so it’s fresh for the next beartrap? Extend how long it takes you to bleed to death? That’s nothing! It’s fucking nothing! You could have gotten caught by the Doctor out here and tortured to death—it’s not worth the risk!”

“—It is!” said Quentin.

“Why?” shot back Joey, desperate for him to reassess the situation and just fucking go home. “How is this possibly worth it?”

“…Because… I don’t have anything else I can do,” said Quentin. He didn’t look great. His expression was hurt, and his voice was kind of…broken, when he spoke. “Y-you don’t understand,” he tried, still looking from Joey to the case like the worst possible thing in the world would be for him to take that shitty little piece of metal and crush it under his foot, or hock it out a window into somewhere he would never be able to get it back. “We. We go into trials every day, and you—you can’t get used to that. To being hurt. To-to dying. And it’s not fair—it’s stacked so we can never win against you, even when we try—even if all of us try—not in a fight. We can only live if we run away, and make it out in time, and even on a day all of us have a great trial and all four make it out alive, there is never gonna be a day where there’s a trial where you don’t end up hurt. You can’t save anybody. You can’t. Can’t kill, or hurt, or punish any of the things hurting them. You can’t really escape, or go home, or even have time to recuperate and heal enough for that to actually mean something—it’s hell.” He looked up into Joey’s face and held his eyes kind of desperately. “It’s. It’s not much but suffering, not ever. So I—I always go back in, because I might be able to save somebody, even if it’s a trap, and I go out here to get meds, even though y-you’re right, they won’t ever do much—It’s cause I have to. I have to. I have to try. If I’ve got tape and gauze and a needle and thread, I can find somebody hurt in a trial, and tell them we’re gonna make it out together, and I can help them—I know it’s nothing—I know it is, but I. I can try. I can say that, and I can sew up a wound, and let them know they’re not alone, and if I’ve got good supplies, I can make that a little less painful—I can stitch it up faster, I can—I can go more even, so it hurts less. I can stop the bleeding a little faster. I can give somebody hope, maybe—maybe that at least. I have to.” He was struggling to talk, and the look in his eyes and the way he sounded choked up made Joey feel sick in a way he hadn’t known before. “I have to do that, at least, because it’s all I can. I go back, because it might work this time—I might save them, I c-I can’t do anything else. I’ll attack any killer I see, and I’ll try to make them pay, and try to stop them, try to be the one who dies instead, but it’s never enough. I have to—have to try though. Because the second I stop. … The second I stop, none of it’s gonna matter anymore. And I c—” He couldn’t for a second, and he looked away, and swallowed, and tried again. Tried to look at Joey again. Pleading with him for the little box of rusted nothing in his hand. “I can’t…keep going, once it doesn’t. I need it to. We all need it too. Fuck, it—it’s the only thing we even have left. We can’t run, we can’t hide, we can’t fight, or win, or rest, or go home—if we can’t even matter anymore, we’re just.” That was too much, and some of the tears he’d been choking back spilled over and he stopped, broken down and angry and hopeless and ashamed at not having stopped himself from that in front of Joey, and he looked away again, breathing shakily, trying to pull the emotion back inside where it was livable again.

Joey didn’t look at him, because he could see Quentin didn’t want him to, and he would have felt the same way if he’d been the one crying, so he slowly lowered his arm and looked at the medkit instead. These things always looked the same, pretty much. Basic objects. A few different sizes, and shapes, but with little variance between them. But this one was different. He’d painted over the little Medic + that was always on the outside of these, and put a red heart there instead. Like that might somehow fucking matter too.

“Here,” said Joey quietly, holding the case out.

Quentin looked over at him in surprise, and then took it shakily. Once he had it securely, he glanced back over at Joey and took an unsteady breath and then smiled at him again. Like all of that shit that had just been said and the side of it he was on had just been forgotten. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you can… Are you sure that the morphine wore off enough you can get it done, though?” asked Joey.

Quentin nodded.

“—Look, I understand you need it to matter, and why you think you have to do this,” said Joey kind of desperately, and he actually did, probably not the same way, probably not really at all, not like Quentin, not like any of the survivors—probably he couldn’t, but he’d at least understood it barely enough that just minutes ago he’d thought almost some of the exact same things he’d just heard Quentin say, and God, the alternative was too fucked to really even understand, but… “—but it really doesn’t have to be today. You’re kind of hurt, you should go home. Try again tomorrow instead.”

“I’m doing much better,” promised Quentin, appreciating the sentiment and trying to reassure him, “I’m thinking fine now; I’m sure.”

“How sure?” asked Joey nervously, watching him test his footing and prepare to take a step on his own again, “You know it-it won’t help you to find more supplies if you get killed on the way back.”

“I know, but I think I’m okay,” said Quentin sincerely, glancing back at him. “The antidote must be working really well, because I don’t think I’m high anymore at all.”

“Really?” asked Joey.

“Yeah,” assured Quentin, “I feel fine now.” He took a step and immediately slammed face-first into the floor on top of his medkit with a surprised cry, and Joey winced at the impact.

“Yeah, uh, you sure about that?” asked Joey, trying not to find that funny just a little bit, and failing somehow in spite of everything. His legs hadn’t even held his weight long enough to buckle.

“Uh,” came Quentin’s muffled voice from the floor.

He stayed there for a second. Joey cocked his head and watched him.

“…If you’re high, while you’re high,” asked Quentin, voice still muffled. “how can one tell?”

Joey rolled his eyes and smiled, then walked over beside him and crouched down. “Hey Quentin?”

Quentin turned his head to the side so he could see him and blew some of his curly brown hair out of his face, then sighed. “Yeah?”

“You’re still really fuckin’ blitzed,” said Joey.

“…Fun,” said Quentin miserably. He pressed his face against the floor again. Joey tried not to smile.

For a moment, he let him just deal there on the gross Institute floor, then tried again. “So uh, how about this,” offered Joey, “We go ahead and get you out of here before the Doctor comes and kills us. Huh?”

“But I barely got anything. All I did was waste a bunch of fucking morphine,” came annoyed Quentin’s muffled floor reply.

“Well, some is better than nothing,” offered Joey.

Quentin made an incredibly unhappy sound.

Joey considered that, thinking hard. “…Okay. What about this. We go back now, and on the way, anything good you see in a cabinet we pass or something, I’ll run and snag for you. Does that seem fair enough?”

“…Really?” asked Quentin, turning his head to see him again.

Joey nodded.

Quentin squinted at him for a second. “Why are you being so nice to me today? It’s weird. I mean. I. I appreciate it, and I don’t know if it’s normal me thinking normally doing it, or the morphine making me paranoid, but I’m also kind of…I don’t know. Expecting you to be pulling some big trick to make me think we were friends before you stab me in the back.”

“What?” said Joey, too many points in that sentence to hit at once and mostly just stuck on the last one. Smiling at the ridiculousness of doing that to him right now. “No.”

“We are then?” said Quentin, propping himself up a little on an arm and giving him a hopeful look when he saw Joey had smiled.

“Are?” echoed Joey.

“Friends,” said Quentin.

It felt like being punched in the stomach. Joey felt himself starting to lose the smile, and was suddenly afraid for some reason of how this fucked up on morphine stranger his age would act if he saw the smile go, and tried to keep it instead. Feeling sick. You are lying now if you say yes. You’re a monster. Don’t do that—I know it’s complicated. I know we can’t stop. But you can’t tell him we’re friends it’s too fucked up—you can’t.

“Yeah,” said Joey, managing to keep his smile.

And Quentin believed it. He smiled back, in a way that, fucked up on morphine or not, was so much more real than Joey’s was, and said, “…Wow. Good. I-I hoped so. Huh. I never thought I’d say that to a…well, a killer. Are you coming over to our side?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” managed Joey, struggle to freeze his smile and keep it there. He offered Quentin an arm, desperate to change the subject to anything else. “Come on—let’s get going before we’re in trouble.

Quentin took the arm and Joey pulled him up. “You should,” continued Quentin, unfortunately not having been distracted into missing a single beat, “I mean—you’re…weirdly cool, and, good, and it’s not like you can keep killing people and, uh,” he gestured to himself and the arm Joey was supporting him with, “This kind of stuff too.”

“…Yeah,” said Joey. He put one of Quentin’s arms over his shoulder to more easily help support his weight.

“I’d—” Quentin started to offer.

“—And uh, maybe actually keep it down a little this time, dumbass?” Joey cut him off, trying to sound jokey, but desperate to stop whatever he’d been about to say, because none of this was fun. It was fucking unbearable. “You do remember there’s a sadistic serial killer somewhere in here, right?”

“You mean another one, right?” grinned Quentin.

“Thanks,” said Joey sarcastically, giving him a look and pretending to be miffed. Losing that and smiling at the rib in spite of himself too then, because it had been kinda funny. He’d really walked into that. “Okay, let’s get you back to the campfire,” said Joey, in position to be ready to help him walk and ready to bear pretty much all of Quentin’s weight now if he had to. They took a first step and started off together then, and it was pretty easy. Quentin was bearing some of his weight fine this time, it felt like—just couldn’t steer on his own. He flashed Quentin a teasing look, “And do you think maybe you could stop ripping me apart at least while I’m being your volunteer taxi service?”

“Wow,” joked Quentin, grinning at him, “I didn’t know you had such thin skin.”

“At least I have the common sense not to jab myself in it with every single drug I trip over,” shot back Joey with a half-suppressed smile, “Unlike a certain local maximum dumbass I know.”

“Owww,” said Quentin, not really hurt at all, “In my defense, every time until now that I’ve done that, it’s worked out really well for me.”

“You’re such a fucking dumbass, you know that, right?” said Joey, shaking his head and grinning, “You’re really not gonna take the two seconds out of your life you would need to read a label, and just play God with your ability to be alive like that, then defend it?”

“Okay, okay,” said Quentin, smiling back at him and starting to get a little bit goofy-high, “I should not have done that. I will be more careful now that I have to, apparently. And I’m sorry for hurting your feelings—it’s not totally true anyway; you’re not sadistic.”

“That partial redaction’s not as nice as you think it is,” said Joey, amused and trying not to grin as he glanced over at him.

“I mean, I feel like all things considered I should get to tell a couple kind of mean jokes at your expense,” said Quentin, “You have killed me before.”

Joey snorted. They made it back into the hall and Joey began retracing his own steps, because Lerry’s was kind of a fucking maze, and going out the way he’d come in like an hour ago was the surest way to not get lost. “Okay, fine—but put a hard limit on the number.”

“…Thirty?” offered Quentin after a second.

Wow, kind of a low-ball if you think about it. “Yeah, okay, thirty,” agreed Joey.

“Thirty,” echoed Quentin quietly as they went through the far end of the room he’d first found the guy in, “…I better think of some really good ones to use that on, then. …Thirty starting now, or am I at twenty-nine?”

“Thirty starting now,” said Joey, not caring either way, “Be easier to remember.”

Back in the room he’d not quite finished tagging, Joey found the center isle between the hospital beds and started down it. At his side, Quentin hummed quietly and turned his head slowly to watch their surroundings go by.

“This is where you were spraypainting?” asked Quentin.

“Yeah,” said Joey, kind of surprised he was lucid enough to notice, the way his voice sounded all out of it and he was still blinking at everything and smiling contentedly the whole time like he was hanging out pretty close to blissfully high.

“What where you making?” asked Quentin, studying one of the squiggly lines on a bed with great fascination as they passed, “A bunch of chaos?”

Joey snorted again, insulted. “No. It’s a picture.”

“Of what?” asked Quentin, looking around them at the completely unintelligible back smudges and lines on things, “It just looks likes you came in here and were mad.”

RUDE. Well. I guess he’s not wrong, but he’s just not looking at it right. “That’s because it’s an anamorphosis,” said Joey.

“A what?” asked Quentin, gaping at him. “An animorph?”

“No!” said Joey, “Dumbass! I said ‘anamorphosis’—it’s an anamorphic picture—only viewable as what it is from like, one specific angle.”

“Oh—a perspective art thing,” said Quentin, excited at getting that, “Can I see it?”

“W—see the picture?” asked Joey, stopping.

“Yeah! I want to see,” said Quentin with incredible interest.

Really? Nobody was ever excited to see shit like that. It was fun to make, and Joey was good at it, and the things never lost their charm for him, but most people, they saw one once, they’d seen them all, or something—he didn’t get it, admittedly, but it was true. For whatever reason, for most people, anamorphic art seemed to be something they lost interest for pretty fast. At least, any of the times he’d made it. But then, I guess he hasn’t seen his one. Joey glanced over his shoulder, trying to tell how far back he’d have to go to be in the right spot again to see it right, and Quentin started to too, and Joey saw him going for it and reached over and covered his eyes with a hand. “Stop!—Don’t do that! It’s cooler if you walk into view from the side than the back,” said Joey.

“Uh. Okay,” said Quentin, “I can shut my eyes on my own, though.”

Joey moved his hand, and Quentin obliged and kept his eyes closed. Joey squinted at him suspiciously. “Yeah, but are you gonna peek, though?”

“Pff—what am I, four?” asked Quentin indignantly, “I don’t want to spoil the art for me either.”

Satisfied, Joey turned them around and walked back, found the perspective point easily since he’d marked it on the floor earlier, and then took a step to the right. “Okay, open.”

Quentin did, and blinked, then squinted at the almost comprehensible shape he was just out of line with. “Oh—you weren’t kidding,” he said, kind of excited, “They—is it a face? It’s almost like one.”

“You’re close,” said Joey, moving to the left again and stopping them so that Quentin was dead center.

“…Whoa,” said Quentin. He stared at the skull with his still morphine-influenced over-glossy eyes and too-constricted pupils, trying through that fog to take it in. He watched it for several seconds, absorbing the lines and detail, and then leaned as far as he could to the right, and then back to the center again, snapping the image in and out of perfect alignment. He turned and gazed at Joey in excited wonder. “Holy crap—I knew it would be cool, but that’s amazing.”

Joey felt his face get hot and looked at the skull picture too, to be looking away from Quentin. It wasn’t bad, for sure—he liked it. A nice skull. He’d never gotten to do the speech bubble though. It wasn’t even finished.

“No, really,” insisted Quentin with conviction, taking that reaction to mean he didn’t believe him, “How do you do that?”

“Uh, the—perspective?” asked Joey. The other teen was looking back at him with huge eyes and so much interest he didn’t know what to do but answer. “Uhm. Well, you pick an area first, and visualize what you want, and you’ve gotta be able to remember that image, and then move the image in your head kind of 3D so you know how to paint it when you look at it from another angle—or—if you can’t do that, you can draw pictures, starting with how you want the end result to go, and work from there. It’s kind of mental math stuff, I guess, but once you’ve done it a bunch, you can mostly sight-read what you need for stuff unless it’s super complicated.”

“That’s…incredible,” said Quentin really sincerely, kind of gaping in wonder at the skull, and looking from it to him with big eyes, and even though the guy was high enough his speech was still a bit slurred, and probably he wouldn’t have been so impressed sober, it felt pretty nice, and Joey smiled. Quentin gazed at the skull for a couple long seconds. “Wow,” he whispered finally. He turned his head back to Joey. “Could you teach me?”

“T—what, to do that?” asked Joey, stunned.

“Yeah! I mean—I’d probably be really bad at it,” said Quentin quickly, probably morphine-induced oversharing a little bit while trying to get to his point, “I did art before, like drawing—drawing type art—uh—took some classes, in high school—I was never super good at it, but I haven’t done nothing—like with art. I could try. I could—I bet I could at least do a shape! Like a triangle. Or a cross, or a circle—or—or like your little smiley face on your pin,” he suggested, tapping the pin on the belt Joey had thrown over his shoulder, “I mean—if—if I could learn,” added Quentin, still talking at break-neck speed, “I don’t know how hard it is, and I haven’t even really used spraypaint before, but I’d like to. It’d be cool to-“ He glanced back at the skull again and smiled at it. “-make something. You know. Something good. If you think you could teach me.”

“Yeah,” said Joey, excited and happy at the prospect, “I could—” He stopped. Fuck. Stupid—you-

Quentin glanced over at him, curious about the sudden pause.

“Sorry. Thought I heard something,” lied Joey, trying to make his voice sound urgent, “Doctor. We better go quick. Stay quiet, okay?”

“Oh,” said Quentin, lowering his voice drastically, super out of it and probably not actually feeling the fear through all that morphine, but doing his best to look and act urgent too and giving Joey a fervent nod. “Okay.”

They kept going, winding quickly back through the room the way Joey had come originally, passing hospital beds and cracked floors, blinking fluorescent lights, on their last leg. Quentin stayed quiet through that room and the next, but Joey also started to have a harder and harder time keeping him upright. Mostly he would do fine walking, but every so often he would just kind of forget to use his legs, or trip over nothing, or something, and they’d both almost go down, and they actually were getting a little closer to the last place he’d heard the Doctor on his way in, so he didn’t want to end up crashing into something. Well, it’s not far, anyway. Joey glanced over, trying to tell how coherent the other guy was. He looked like he was having trouble not falling asleep now—kept kind of slow blinking, and nodding off, then jerking his head back up and looking around.

“Not doing so hot?” asked Joey quietly.

“Mmm? Oh,” said Quentin, “Uh. I don’t know. I’m just tired.”

“You look…more high than a few minutes ago. Uhm. Does the stuff I gave you wear off?” asked Joey.

“For morphine? Yeah,” said Quentin with a thoroughly unworried look on his face, smiling sleepily over at Joey as they went, “It uh—it blocks your head receptors from absorbing the opium, but once it stops, if the opium is still there,” he made what Joey could only guess had been meant to be some kind of gun firing motion with his free arm and a matching Pshooo sound with it. “It comes back.”

“…” Joey stared straight ahead, low-key panicking. Fuck. So. In fifteen minutes or something he’s just gonna start to die again? “Uh. Okay. How long does the antidote last—and the morphine?”

“I dunno,” said Quentin, thoroughly unworried, watching the room they were going through with interest. “Oh—hey—cabinet! Bottles on the top shelf.”

“Bottles of what?” asked Joey, “—Something that’ll help?”

“No—what?—‘help’? I mean, I guess they’ll help somebody. You said you’d get stuff,” said Quentin. He waited a second, but Joey still didn’t get it. “On the way back? If I—”

“—Right, right, right, right,” said Joey, “Yeah—okay.” This might help anyway. He got Quentin against a wall with a windowsill for him to lean on and let go. “Uhm—about the morphine. Is there anything other than naa…naaa-whatever-it-was that I gave you that would help a morphine overdose—something that’d last longer?”

“Uhhh, I guess,” said Quentin, thinking hard, “There’s activated charcoal.”

“There’s charcoal?” asked Joey in disbelief, turning his head to gape back at him.

“No—activated charcoal,” said Quentin, giving him a look, “It’s not the same thing.”

“Then why the fuck do they call it that?” said Joey, going over towards the cabinet to fulfil his promise and check for useful shit, apparently hoping to find whatever the fuck ‘activated charcoal’ was too now. “That’s just confusing. Because charcoal is already a word. What is it, then?”

“Uh. It’s a powder. It’s super porous, and it stops toxins by like, sucking them up in it like a sponge if you swallow some,” said Quentin, struggling to remember, “You make it by burning stuff at a really high temperature—”

“-Wait,” said Joey, whirling on him and incensed at the scientific community at large, “So it is charcoal?”

“Uh. No, it’s—it’s burned way hotter and—” started Quentin.

“—It’s just fucking superheated charcoal?” said Joey, “Superheated fucking barbeque, campfire, burned wood shit?”

“…I. …I guess it is,” said Quentin after a second as if the most mind-boggling realization was dawning. He stared at nothing, and then grinned and looked at Joey like his discovery was the funniest thing in the world.

“Then why’d you look at me like I was a dumbass when I asked if it was charcoal?” said Joey, as he opened the cabinet and took things out to check.

“Because I didn’t think about it,” said Quentin, “I just. But you’re right. It’s just fucking superheated charcoal. I can’t believe it.”

Joey watched him for a second and then smiled too at the mind-blown look on the other dude’s face.

“Medical science in the modern era sure has advanced into wondrous new territory, huh?” said Quentin, grinning at him.

Joey snorted.

“Anything good in there?” asked Quentin, indicating the supplies.

“Uh. Package of medical tape, some old scissors, a bandage that’s super gross and I’m not bringing over to you, and three bottles. We got Aspirin,” said Joey, holding up a fairly large bottle, and he saw Quentin’s face light up and instantly felt guilty as shit because he hadn’t been trying to lead him on in the way he’d phrased the sentence he was saying but he super had, “—which is empty,” he added quickly, trying to indicate he was sorry about that in his tone.

The happy look on Quentin’s face instantly became a disappointed, tired one instead. “Bastard. I swear to God, the Entity does that shit all the time just for fun. Fucking hate finding empty bottles of good stuff.”

“Well—the other two have stuff in them,” said Joey hopefully.

“What are they?” asked Quentin.

“C… Cipro…floxacin?” tried Joey, “It’s a little bottle, and it’s only got two pills left in there, but it’s not empty.”

“Huh. I don’t know what that is,” said Quentin.

“You don’t know?” asked Joey, genuinely taken aback.

“Hey,” said Quentin, “I’m trying my best—I’m not a real doctor or anything. I’m figuring this out as I go. But yeah, I’ll take that—maybe Adam will know what it is.”

“Alright,” said Joey, filing that information away, “The last one says on the bottle that it’s burn ointment. It’s pretty full.”

“Oh—hey—that one’s actually a pretty good score,” said Quentin, cheered up a little, “Burns aren’t the most common wound, but it’s good to have just in case. I’ve only found one of those a few times. Usually if we need something like that, we just have to hope Claudette can make some with whatever plants she has on hand.”

“Cool,” said Joey, walking back over. “Give me the medkit.”

Quentin immediately looked concerned, and did not. “Why?”

“Look I’m—not gonna take it again,” promised Joey, “I’m just gonna put this stuff inside. You try to do it, and you’re gonna drop shit and make noise.”

Finding that believable, Quentin relaxed and handed him the medkit. Joey took it and set it open on the back of a bench and put stuff inside haphazardly, looking for the little box from before again. He found it immediately and picked it up, checking for anything he might have missed, like the package of activated charcoal he was hoping to miraculously find. Shit. Nothing this time.

He became suddenly aware of another presence very much in his personal space and looked to the left to see Quentin had leaned waaay over the kit from the other side and brought his head right night to Joey’s to try to see in too.

“What are you looking for?” asked Quentin turning his head to look over at him, and suddenly like half an inch from his face.

“Nothing!” said Joey on absolutely nothing but panic impulse, almost smacking his head on the windowsill behind him with the speed he jerked backwards away from Quentin and back into his own personal space again. His heartbeat was running a mile a minute. Oh—geeze, fuck—what? He—the. What had just-? He tried to swallow. Still over the medkit Quentin was watching him with surprise. “Uh—activated charcoal, I guess,” corrected Joey, regaining his ability to think and feeling his heartbeat calming down again.

Quentin blinked at him, trying to process that through the fog in his brain. How the fuck were his eyes so big?

“Oh. Right—you were asking about it,” said Quentin, “I don’t have any.”

…fuck.

There was just nothing, then. He would die anyway, and he’d have to do it twice now, because Joey had tried to help. Fuck. …I…

“Do you need some?” asked Quentin, seeing the distress on his face and looking confused and kind of worried about him.

You are so fucking stupid on morphine bro—like I appreciate it but you’re like the dumbest piece of shit when you’re high—you’re gonna get killed if I look in the other direction for six fucking seconds. How the fuck did this happen to me? Why was he so upset? “Yeah. I kinda do,” answered Joey, subdued.

“Well, I can get you some if you really need it,” said Quentin with concern.

“Wait, really?” asked Joey, hope blossoming again.

“Yeah—Adam has some,” said Quentin, nodding.

Ad—oh—the—okay. “You mean back at your campfire?” checked Joey.

Quentin nodded. “I’m sure he’d let you have some, though. If you need it.” He looked like he really thought that, too. Joey wondered if Adam would, if he’d needed it. If having done them one good turn would be enough for that kind of small favor. If Quentin would have even offered if he’d really been aware enough in there to know what was going on.

…Probably not.

Didn’t matter though. If he got fucked up on morphine again when stuff wore off because the antidote hadn’t been enough, or the overdose had just been too high for it, then his friends would be smart enough to give him the medicine he needed. So long as he got him back to the campfire, he’d be fine.

“Nah—I don’t need it,” said Joey, “I was just curious what it looked like.” That was the beset fucking lie you could come up with??

“Oh,” said Quentin, buying it completely. He smiled at him. “I can show you sometime.”

Joey closed the medkit and got his arm around Quentin again so they could keep moving.

“I could teach you how to patch up wounds too,” offered Quentin as they started off again, “Trade you, for lessons doing spraypaint.”

“Yeah,” said Joey, looking straight ahead, “That sounds nice.”

They were getting close to the edge of Lerry’s now—almost out of the danger zone at least—fucking blessing. Though then he’d have to navigate the fog all the way to the campfire. Or. However close to the campfire he could get. He hadn’t actually tried before. He had no idea how close he would be able to go. I wonder if I actually could go all the way up there? Nah, that was stupid, though. It had been a fun idea, but no way the Entity would make it so killers could get withing range to take a shot at survivors outside trials in their home base at all. And. Well. I am a killer. And I still will be in an hour, after I’ve dropped him off. ...

And then forever after that.

“There.”

Joey had been walking on auto pilot, but he came back out of his head at the sound of Quentin’s voice and glanced where he was pointing. “What?”

“Supplies,” said Quentin, pointing at the desk by the entry way they were coming up on.

Joey looked at the desk. “…Where?”

“There!” said Quentin. “By the—phone thing.”

There was nothing on the desk except the old phone and a Styrofoam cup and some old pens. “…The coffee cup??” asked Joey.

“No. What?” said Quentin, “The—needle….and the—the bottle…it’s…”

Uh. “There’s nothing on that desk but a coffee cup and some pens, man,” said Joey.

“Really?” asked Quentin, staring intently at the desk.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure,” said Joey.

“No. But…I saw them. They were just there,” said Quentin, huge eyes fixed on the desk. “I know they were. I just saw them. They.” He looked up at Joey. “I saw it—I did. I’m so sure!”

“I mean…?” said Joey, relenting a little and walking them closer. Yup. Definitely nothing there. Beside him, Quentin turned his head from left to right, scanning the whole desk with intense, almost frantic scrutiny.

“...Where did they go?” he asked Joey with 100% sincerity, like the most insane thing in the world had just happened and some medical supplies had walked off.

“Okay,” said Joey, turning them back around and making a B-line for the exit, “That’s enough hanging out at Lerry’s for you. Hallucinating’s never a good sign. Its’s time to go.”

“No!” said Quentin quickly, “But I barely got anything on the way back! I-I forgot and I kept almost falling asleep, and talking to you, and not looking.”

“We’re not going back in,” said Joey, pausing in the doorway because Quentin had started trying to go back the other was and was pulling against him and suddenly making it really hard to walk.

“But I can’t go back with nothing,” pleaded Quentin, “I wanted to do a good job.”

“You got some stuff and you didn’t die—that’s a pretty good job,” contended Joey. That argument did not seem to do it for Quentin, who kept weakly struggling to tug Joey back into the terrifying old institute with its long hallways and flickering lights and horrifying owner somewhere deep in the bowels, but he was making about as much headway in that as he would have trying to drag a cement support column. God damn it, you have the tenacity of a bulldog, you know that! You’re really not gonna stop trying, are you? He was certainly showing no signs, despite the impossibility and complete lack of success he was having. Joey sighed. Okay, if he won’t stop, then it’s either find a way to get him what he wants so he’ll leave, or just pick him up and drag him off fighting, I guess. And Joey was pretty sure which of those two options he definitely did and did not want to do.

“—Okay, look. What would be a good enough find to leave?”

Quentin paused in his efforts to get Joey to move and looked at him hopefully. “Uh. I don’t know. Pain medication, a couple hemorrhagics, or some gel dressings? Something we don’t get much.”

Joey considered that, giving the institute past Quentin a dubious look, and then shook his head. “That would take forever.”

“Please?” said Quentin, looking at him with his huge fucking eyes. God, and he was giving him the world’s saddest, most sympathy inducing face too. How the hell was he doing that so well! That look was miserable! It made Joey want to die—he felt like he’d just accidentally kicked a dog—t-the only thing that had ever been able to give him a look as critically effective at pleading as this before had been a dog! This was pressure levels on par with his pet lab putting his head in his lap while he munched on a burger and somehow conveying in its big sad eyes the message that it hadn’t eaten in four years and if he would please just pass some of that burger on down here, even just a crumb, it might live and be eternally grateful, and would cry and sadly starve miserably to death in his lap if he didn’t.

Beside him Quentin was still just standing there, waiting for a response and looking at him like his heart was gonna be crushed to dust if Joey didn’t say yes. Fuck—come on! That’s not fair! How the fuck are your eyes so big? We can’t go back into Lerry’s—I’m not trying to be an asshole!

“You don’t understand,” said Quentin when Joey stayed quiet, fighting an intense internal battle to not be swayed by the most pitiful puppydog eyes he’d ever seen, “I need this stuff to be able to help people. It’s important.”

“—No, I get it,” managed Joey, clearing his throat and looking away because he finally couldn’t take the face any longer, “You explained it before.” He risked a glance back over again after a second, and Quentin still had the exact same expression and it was like getting suckerpunched in the ribcage by a bowling ball. FUCK! “Okay, okay—uh,” said Joey desperately, turning back to him, “Look. Uh.” Fuck fuck fuck—think. “We can’t go back in there—we’ll both die—but you just want supplies that make your people die less, right? And even if you don’t find much stuff, if you get even one or two super rare things that help your people really well, you did good, and you can go home.”

Quentin considered that, a little confused, huge eyes still on Joey’s face, and then nodded.

“Okay. Then how about this,” said Joey. He reached up with his free hand and unfastened the little smiley face pin on his shoulder strap that Quentin had tapped earlier and got it free after a bit of a struggle, then held it out.

At his side, Quentin blinked down at the object, then looked back up at him in confusion.

“It’s a token,” said Joey, “You take that, and then, any trial you choose to give it to me in, I’ll quit chasing whoever I’m on for two whole minutes. Seem fair?”

Quentin stared at him.

“—I-it’s a really good deal!” argued Joey, because it was, “Think about it! Two whole minutes? That’s a lot of immunity in a trial. What’s the best you’d get out of a hemorrhagic? Stop some bleeding faster? If you think about this as a health item, it’s better than a whole pile. You could prevent somebody the pain of a whole bunch of wounds entirely, instead of just fixing them faster.”

“O…okay,” said Quentin, following that slowly. He reached out and took it, cocked his head and looked at the button, and then tried and failed several times to clip it to his jacket, before finally getting it to stick, and Joey tried not to grin watching. Once he had it in place, he looked back at Joey and gave him a reassured smile.

“We can go?” asked Joey.

“Yeah. Let’s go home,” agreed Quentin.

Immensely relieved, Joey lead him out of Lerry’s and to the edge of the surrounding border, where the fog waited. Hmm. I haven’t gone to the campfire before, so it might take me a little while to navigate in the fog. The fog was tricky. It was how they navigated between mini-areas in the realm. Killer home bases, unused trial areas, the campfire. It was this murky patch of foggy woods that was at the border of everything, and it would just kind of, creep up and render in when you got closer to it, leaving somewhere else—like a video game. Once you went into the forest and started walking, you’d get wherever you meant to go eventually, but it was kinda complicated, and it was easier to go home than anywhere else. It was…sort of like swimming in an ocean, to get from realm to realm--if like, walking was swimming, and the fog was the ocean, and the realms were islands, except that ocean was a whirlpool that changed directions all the time and was confusing as fuck, so it took a little bit of work. The actual direction you went in the woods didn’t matter. Maybe if walking was swimming in that analogy, it would be accurate to say there were tethers in the whirlpool too, swirling around and past you, attaching to all the realms and each a little bit different in shape and size and feel, so you could learn to recognize which was which to help you where you wanted to go. Because if you focused on where you wanted to go, you would get there eventually, walking through the fog. Like you were pulling yourself hand over fist along a rope towards where you wanted to go, intent and experience making you get there faster. But it was always easier if you knew the place than if you just like, kinda knew of it. And how long it took you to travel tended to correlate pretty directly to how well you knew the place you were heading. Joey had never been to the campfire before, so he could definitely find it—he’d had to find everything but Ormond for the first time once—but it might take him like ten—fifteen minutes to navigate like that route on his own. I guess I could ask him to lead us. He looked over at his travel buddy. Quentin had his head bent over ridiculously far, trying to look at the pin again and not considering that moving his jacket collar to a different angle would have been the easier option as far as giving him a close up view, and he was humming that Backstreet Boys song from earlier again while he was at it. Yeah, no, that could only go terribly. Me it is.

“Alright, let’s get you home, dumbass” said Joey in the same friendly way he would have said it to Frank if he’d been helping him home sloshed after a wild night, and it felt nice, saying it and seeing Quentin glance over and smiled back in the same amicable way he’d been spoken to, and Joey stopped thinking this time before it could change, and feel rotten, and he stepped into the mist.

After only about three steps, Lerry’s was gone, de-loaded in like it had never been, and they were in deep woods. The massive, ancient kind of deep woods that was so big it was heavy with silence. So dark you couldn’t make out more than about three feet in any direction, and full of fog. It had kind of unsettled him the first time he walked it, but Joey was used to the Fog now, and really, he was just incredibly glad to be out of Lerry’s. This place was much more familiar, and less hostile.

Quentin went down hard with no warning, and Joey had been mid-step, so he lost his balance too and went with him, slamming forward into the hard ground with a cry, and not thinking to let go of the other guy in time to save himself. No idea what had just happened, but fairly unhurt at least, he dragged himself up to his arms as fast as he could.

“What the hell?” he asked the survivor laying on his chest next to him.

“Ow,” came Quentin’s muffled voice.

“What happened?” asked Joey, sitting up.

“Your pin is stabbing me,” came the reply.

“No, to your legs, dumbass—why’d you go dead-body on me?” said Joey, kind of relieved because the fall didn’t seem to have hurt him at all either.

“I don’t know,” said Quentin sadly with a sigh, turning his head and looking over at Joey.

“Like—you don’t know why you did that, or it wasn’t on purpose?” asked Joey.

“Not on purpose,” said Quentin, “They just stopped working. I have no idea why. –Sorry about that. Did I fall on you?”

“L—three seconds ago?” asked Joey, “You don’t remember? No—I—you haven’t moved yet–how could you have fallen on top of me when you’re on the ground?”

“I dunno,” came the muffled reply as Quentin put his face against the earth again, “Can we stop and take a nap maybe?”

“No!” said Joey. He reached over and got him by the shoulders and flipped him over, and Quentin squinted up at him and grimaced, then looked up at him for a couple of seconds with interest and got a goofy grin on his face. “What?” said Joey.

“I just like your face,” said Quentin happily, “It’s not scary at all. And it’s really funny, because nobody at the campfire’s gonna recognize you. They’re expecting a skull face.” He started shaking his head, still smiling contentedly up a Joey, “Not a guy.”

“Oh my God,” said Joey, feeling his face get hot and trying to power through, “Come on—we have to keep going!”

“But I’m super tired,” said Quentin, shutting his eyes, “I’m just gonna take a quick, like, three-hour nap.”

“No you’re not!” said Joey. He tried to pull him up by his arms, and Quentin didn’t stop him, but he was 110% dead weight now, and that was so much fucking harder to lift than anything else. “Come on!” said Joey, “Work with me a little.”

Quentin opened his eyes and looked back up at Joey and started to say something, then his brows furrowed. “…Wait.” Whatever he was thinking, it took some time to make the full circuit with it in his head, but he had sounded almost worried or something when he said ‘Wait,’ and still did when he spoke again—Joey thought even more than before. “Your button.”

“It’s still there,” assured Joey, “It didn’t come off.”

“No. You. Said you’ll leave somebody alone, if I give it to you,” said Quentin, his words spoken with even more difficulty and slurring on the ends than before, eyes still glazed over like and just as out of it as he’d been all day, but still working as hard as he could to connect dots.

“Yeah?” said Joey.

“…W…you’re still…doing trials?” Quentin asked. He looked up at Joey with those huge blue eyes, nothing but open confusion on his face, like he had just said something that just couldn’t make sense. Joey stopped moving.

Fuck.

“…No…” said Quentin after a second, looking away, thinking even harder. “…No, okay. Right. You said we were friends. For sure. We’re good friends now, and we’re gonna do painting stuff. And I’m supposed to show you how to stitch a cut up. So no.” He looked back up at Joey again then and smiled in a relieved way, like everything was fine. “Sorry. I guess I’m still kinda high.” Joey couldn’t say anything, so he hurried to add, “—not thinking right,” trying to explain his actions in case he’d hurt Joey’s feelings by saying the first thing, and looking up at him so clearly worried that he had.

“…It’s okay,” managed Joey after a few seconds, his voice barely audible.

And Quentin looked so relieved. And happy about that. And smiled up at him again. “Thanks.”

“Do you think you can walk?” said Joey, trying hard to keep his mind blank of any thoughts at all.

Quentin tried to sit up, and made it, then teetered, looked confused by that, and started to collapse sideways with 0 attempt to save himself, and Joey shot out his arms and caught him in the nick of time.

Quentin blinked down at his body in surprise, then looked up at Joey. “So that’s a maybe.”

“Okay,” said Joey, trying not to smile, “I’m carrying you.”

“Is that really—” started Quentin, and then Joey got the guy’s arm over his shoulder and hefted him up in a fireman carry, so that Quentin was held up across his back and shoulders, one arm keeping hold on Quentin’s right arm, his other around his legs, to keep him from slipping, and Quentin stopped talking as Joey stood up, using his leg strength to make it to his feet with the teenager slung over his back. “Oh. Okay,” said Quentin, and he gave up and just went ragdoll again on Joey’s shoulders. “Wow,” he observed in a slurred voice, “You’re really strong. Am I heavy?”

“Not compared to a lot of you,” said Joey, starting to walk again, and kind of proud of himself because of the compliment.

“Good. Don’t want to break your back,” said Quentin. He hummed to himself for a second and then said, “This isn’t super comfortable. Did you know that?” like he was sharing a genuine discovery.

“Uh—I’m not surprised,” offered Joey.

“Backsteet’s Back Alright!” sang Quentin loopily to no one, not even listening to the answer to the question he’d asked.

Joey grinned at what he could see of Quentin’s face. This was kinda familiar—like taking a buddy who’d got super plastered home after a party. The fun kind of fucked up—the kind he was used to seeing.

“—Hey—do the verse with me,” said Quentin.

“I don’t know the lyrics,” said Joey.

“It’s super easy,” insisted the thoroughly wasted teenager, “It’s uh—'brother sister everybody sing.’ Uh. ‘Something something, bring the flame’—no wait—‘oh my God we’re back again, brother sister everybody sing, gonna bring the flames and show you now, have a…have’—okay that’s most of a verse.”

“You go ahead,” said Joey.

“Come on,” pleaded Quentin, “It’s…ssuuper. Easy. ‘Brother sister’—no. ‘Oh my God, we’re back again.’” There was a very definitely Now You flavored pause.

Joey gave in. “Oh my God, we’re back again?”

“Yes!” said Quentin ecstatically with all the energy he had left, hanging limp over his shoulders, “Yes! Perfect! Okay, now it’s ‘brother-sister-everybody sing.’ But like sang so it—for rhyming reasons.”

“Yeah, I heard you doing it,” said Joey.

“K. You got it, or need to hear it again?” asked Quentin.

“I think I got it,” said Joey.

“Same time,” said Quentin.

“Brother-sister-everybody sing,” sang Joey with him at roughly the same time.

“Yes!” said Quentin excitedly halfway through the word ‘sing’, “Ah! You learned it so fast! Then just ‘Backstreet’s Back, Alright!’”

“That’s the whole song?” asked Joey.

Quentin thought about that for several seconds. “No. But we’re gonna go one verse at a time.

“Okay,” said Joey, trying not to laugh.

“Everybody sing,” repeated Quentin, setting them up, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” said Joey.

“Okay,” said Quentin, “Backstreet’s-“

“-Back, alright,” sang Joey with him, grinning.

“Yeah!” cheered Quentin happily over his shoulder, “Hell yeah! We’re awesome. Fucking nailed that! That was really good. You’re cool. Cool at…stuff. And singing.” He was losing coherence real fast now.

Joey would have started to feel worried about that, considering the OD had almost killed him earlier, but he had just spotted light up ahead in the distance, and that could only be the campfire. That meant they were close. Almost there. Maybe just a minute now. And with that worry gone, he just took in the compliment and grinned at it. “Thanks. You too,” said Joey.

“Thanks!” said Quentin, mumbling now, “Man. I never knew you were nice.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone,” joked Joey.

“I’m gonna tell everyone,” slurred Quentin happily in reply. After a second, he asked in the voice of someone who’d forgotten something they were supposed to know, “Why did you decide to walk me out of Lerry’s?”

“Because I thought you were gonna die,” said Joey, eyes on the light up ahead.

“Why?” said Quentin curiously.

“Because you’re super fucked up on morphine, dumbass,” said Joey, “Okay, we’re getting pretty close now. How close do you think I need to get for your friends to hear you if you call?”

“Uhm, I don’t know. Depends on how loud you yell,” said Quentin, smiling and shutting his eyes.

“Hey! Don’t fall asleep on my shoulder!” said Joey, trying not to smile, “Wake up and call your friends.”

“Right now?” asked Quentin, super confused and only half conscious, “Why?”

“To come get you,” said Joey.

“Why don’t you just walk up to the fire,” said Quentin, shutting his eyes again.

“Because I don’t think I—” Joey had been going to say can, but he smacked headfirst into an invisible barrier he hadn’t had any idea was there and pinged off so hard he went ass-over-tit backwards and slammed into the ground with the breath knocked out of him and the fear of God in his heart.

Holy SHIT—what the—oh my God. Ow. Fuck—oh!

“Quentin!” he called, sitting up, looking for where he’d dropped him. He didn’t see—Wait. Joey looked behind himself and saw Quentin laying in the dirt where he’d just landed and realized he’d slammed ass-over-tit hard into the cold unforgiving surface not of the ground but of Quentin. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry—are you okay?” He asked.

On the ground, Quentin let out a desperate wheezing sound, and Joey was horrified for a second thinking he was fighting to breathe again, and then he realized he was just trying to laugh with no air in his lungs. The dude barely had any air in there at all, after Joey slamming the shit out of his ribcage, but he just started wheeze-laughing uncontrollably anyway and didn’t stop for a good fifteen seconds, completely losing it down there in the dirt, and then he looked up at Joey with tears in his eyes from how hard he was laughing, and Joey started to laugh too.

“What!” said Joey with a grin.

Quentin tried, couldn’t get a word out, wheeze-laughed for another six seconds, and then tried, “How d—” He lost it again, and struggled to keep going, “—how did you do that?” He completely lost his ability to speak for another few seconds and couldn’t say anything, tears rolling down his face, then gasped out, “Did God just come out of nowhere and backhand you in the forehead? What the fuck! That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“No,” said Joey, grinning at the sight of absolute merriment on the other dude’s face, and relaxing a little and slumping to a more comfortable sitting position behind him. “I hit your stupid fucking campfire barrier—it’s just invisible. Apparently.”

“So you can’t go over there?” asked Quentin, finally choking back the laughs a bit.

“Yeah, you’re on your own,” said Joey, “Think you can walk it?”

“Uhm,” said Quentin, looking in the direction of the fire. He pushed himself up on to his arms and then started laughing again and collapsed. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” he managed after a second, “I can’t stop now. I’ll get up. Just give me a second.”

Joey waited, smiling. Quentin took a few deep breaths, then tried again, and again immediately started to laugh and collapsed. “Dude,” said Joey.

“I’m trying!” pleaded Quentin, managing to choke the laughter back again, laying on his side, “God—what did you say I took again?”

“Morphine,” said Joey.

“How do you know that?” asked Quentin with curiosity.

“I looked at the label,” said Joey, “You don’t remember?”

“No,” said Quentin thoughtfully, “I remember singing with you though.”

Joey stopped and looked over at him very carefully. Feeling a very, very intense emotion at painful levels that he had no idea how to describe. “…You. But you remember stuff before the singing too, right?”

Quentin took a deep breath and smiled and thought about that, staring up at the sky, and then back over at him. “You called me a ‘dumbass,’ a lot,” he offered in a friendly way. He watched Joey for a second and then smiled at him with those huge fucking blue eyes, all glossy, and not seeing anything, like Joey was realizing for the first time now they hadn’t been all night. “When did you take your mask off?”

Fuck.

“Don’t remember,” lied Joey, not sure he could say more the right way just that second.

“Oh. You too?” asked Quentin.

“No,” said Joey quietly, “Not like that. I remember the rest fine.”

“That’s good,” said Quentin, shutting his eyes. “Why did you help me?”

Joey didn’t answer.

After a few seconds, Quentin opened his eyes and looked up at him again.

Joey met his gaze and swallowed hard, then said very quietly, “I thought it mattered.”

Quentin just looked at him for a few seconds, then gave him a little smile, and said, “Thanks. It does to me.”

“You better get going,” said Joey, “Back to your campfire. Before you get yourself into even more trouble, dumbass.”

“Okay,” said Quentin in a friendly way, “You don’t have to be mean about it.”

Joey offered him a hand, and Quentin took it, and Joey pulled him to his feet. They went forward together again, Joey supporting Quentin with one arm and with his other hand out this time, very careful approaching the place he’d been taken the fuck out before, and when he found it, he stopped, and shoved Quentin gently across the barrier that was only there for him. The guy almost lost his balance when he did that, but managed to keep his footing this time, and glanced back at him in confusion.

“I can’t go any further,” explained Joey. He pointed to the light not far now, past Quentin. He could ear voices coming from there. People talking together. “Get going. It’s a straight shot.”

“You’re not coming?” asked Quentin, looking kind of surprised and hurt, and for a horrible second Joey was sure that he did remember, and he was painfully happy about it, even knowing how stupid that was, and how it didn’t matter, because remembered or not, the little fake friendship they had had tonight was over the second he was sober again. But then Quentin tilted his head and added, “I know you gotta go back to your place, but you could come chill out for a minute first, and I could give you a flashlight or something for walking me back,” and he knew that he didn’t.

“I told you,” said Joey, struggling to smile, and hoping to God Quentin was fucked up enough to see the look on his face and buy it for what it was pretending to be, “I can’t go past your invisible wall. It’s survivors only over there. Now get going, and don’t be a dumbass and get into trouble like that again! Or you’ll die of a morphine overdose or something. I don’t want to have to bail your stupid ass out of a bad trip again—I have my own stuff to get done. And I might not even be there next time! So don’t have one.”

“Okay—I’ll try,” said Quentin, still smiling a little. He gave him an unsteady wave. “Thanks again.” Goodbye said, the survivor turned to go and started staggering unsteadily towards the light waiting for him up ahead.

Joey watched him go for a second, then started to turn to head home himself and caught a flash of moonlight on something, and stopped. There in the dirt by his feet was the little smiley face pin he’d given Quentin as a bribe—it must have come off when they fell or something—must have rolled, and—

He opened his mouth to call out “Hey! You left your button” at the retreating figure ahead of him, and then stopped, and slowly closed it instead. It wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t even know what it was. Besides. It was probably better this way. Maybe definitely better. This way, he doesn’t know I lied to him. I’m still a killer and a monster, but at least I’m not somebody who betrayed him when he thought they were his friend.

Yeah. That was better. It would be better. Maybe things would be normal again. And he could forget about this. It had all been stupid to do anyway. He still didn’t know why he had—why he’d made bad decision after bad decision over and over tonight. Why he’d thought any of it would matter, in the end. The guy didn’t even remember it now. It was hard to think of anything that could matter less than that. You should go home. It’s been a long day.

He took a breath and turned to go, then paused, reconsidering, and reached down to retrieve his pin, and his hand hit the invisible wall he’d already forgotten the location of hard enough to sting. Shit. He took a knee, hoping maybe close the ground he’d have just enough space to reach it, but it had rolled maybe just six inches past where the realm would allow a thing like him to go, and it was stuck there now, just past his fingertips, out of reach, and where nobody would ever find it or use it or want it again, even if it was there, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Hey!” It had been Quentin’s voice, coming from ahead of him, towards the fire, and Joey looked up. The survivor had paused and glanced over his shoulder, still just in sight, and was looking at him. He sounded happy—almost excited. And even from a good twenty feet off in the darkness, Joey could see he was smiling at him like he would have a friend. “I’ll see you around, Joey.”

Joey watched as Quentin turned and headed for the campfire again, and then very slowly stood up, leaving the pin where he could never get it, and watched the survivor disappear until he was well and truly gone, lost to sight through the nearest line of trees, and then he turned back and headed towards his own home, off through the fog, back to the old rotting lodge in Ormond with three other killers where he belonged.

No, thought Joey, No, you won’t.

[mcwriting]

Starstruck (9)

hello it’s me again. Second to last chapter :( but I’ve got bigger things in the works

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Fandom: Tom Holland

Ship: Tom x reader

Setting: LA, London

Word Count: 2230

Warnings: mild language

Rating: K+

                            __________________________________

Tom dodged cameras and wove through crowds as he made his way through London Heathrow Airport.

He finally was home in London, but only for about a week since he’d be coming back to LA for you.

The news had obviously broken that Tom had left South Korea, so now he was being bombarded with paparazzi who still wanted to know everything about you, especially your speech four days prior.

He continued to ignore them as he got to where Tuwaine was waiting to pick them up.

The car doors slammed shut as all four boys settled themselves in, Harrison up front and the Hollands in the back. Tuwaine locked the doors, then turned around.

“Seems like we’ve got a lot to talk about, boys.”

“You have noooo idea,” Tom muttered as the others nodded eagerly.

The drive back to their south London house was comfortable to Tom after everything that had happened. They mostly strayed from talking about you in the car, instead sharing funny stories from the long-lived press tour. 

Sam decided to head back to his parents’ house after they arrived at the other boys’, ringing up an uber. He just wanted to sleep in his own bed. Their parents and Paddy had come home from the premiere before Tom went to Korea.

Once the boys were showered off and settled in, they told Tuwaine everything from the pre-release press tour before the premiere to meeting you to everything since. 

“That’s mad, Tom. So when are you going back? And how do you plan on going unseen?” Tuwaine asked.

“Well we’re gonna get back to LA on Thursday to have time to adjust again and get everything settled. I’ve paid for a couple private planes to keep things off the radar as best as I can. All of you can come if you want.”

After further discussion, they decided for only Harrison and Harry to join Tom since the others had prior commitments. 

After a couple more hours of catching up and reflecting on the past weeks, everyone finally decided to retire to their beds and hopefully get some rest.

As Tom layed down, he thought about the plan to see you again. He was nervous and excited at the same time, and went to sleep thinking one thing.

I’m coming to get ya, y/n.

                             __________________________________

As always, news of Tom’s travel back home was all over the internet with clips and pictures of him dodging through the airport being shared, you of course being tagged in those pictures by fan accounts wanting attention.

“Ughhhh I’m so tired of people tagging me in this shit like I actually care! I’m not even remotely involved in these pictures!” you exclaimed to b/f/n, who was sprawled on your bean bag chair as you laid on your stomach across a rug. 

You showed her a fan edit of Tom someone tagged you in, which was just a video transitioning between pictures of him from his press tour.

“I know. It’s so dumb like, he’s even likely to see stuff if you just pester his friends, or in your case… whatever you guys are.”

“Give me a break. We’re nothing. We just met and yeah. That’s all there is to it.”

“I don’t buy it, but whatever. I need to use your charger.”

You pointed to the bed.

“It’s over on the other side if you want it.”

B/f/n sighed dramatically, then rolled her way off the bean bag to flop onto your bed, plugging the device in. After a few minutes of silent scrolling on your phones, she piped up.

“Yo. Why does your bed smell so good? New detergent or something?”

You blushed, realizing you never told her about that little detail.

“Uh, well. It’s cologne.”

She turned her head to look directly at you, eyebrows raised cheekily.

“And why do you have cologne on your bedsheets?”

You avoided looking directly at her for a second, cringing a little.

“Well… I may have kind of left out the part of the story where Tom gave me a whole bottle of his cologne and it smelled really good so I sprayed it all over my sheets… but like no biggie right?”

She sat up.

“Yes biggie! You know exactly what Tom Holland smells like and didn’t think to tell me?”

“I forgot about it until the other day when I found the bottle in a bag of my stuff. Didn’t seem important.”

“Okay, if it’s not important, then why did you douse your bed in his scent?”

“I told you, I think it smells good. That’s it.”

“You’re really going to sit there and try to convince me of that? Everyone knows that scent memory is a really big deal, not to mention that he literally gave it to you.”

You stared each other down for almost a minute before you cracked.

“Okay, fine. It helps me sleep, alright? It takes me back to the night he spent here, which honestly was one of the best nights of my life. It just felt so nice talking to him about vulnerable things, you know? At the time I thought I could trust him, and maybe a part of me wants to remember that side of him.”

B/f/n nodded as you finished.

“I get it. What he did sucks, but you can’t let that ruin the good memories you do have. Things will work themselves out. They always do. You just need to remember that you’re a boss bitch and no matter what happens, you’re gonna be alright.”

“Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

“Anytime. Now let’s forget about him and figure out where we want to get our nails done next week.”

                             __________________________________

It was now Tuesday, and you and b/f/n sat in adjacent pedicure chairs, trying to lean back peacefully as yours vibrated violently in the name of a “massage.”

After you both struggled to not laugh while the nail techs exfoliated your feet, you were now relaxed and still as they began to actually polish your toenails.

You looked over to see b/f/n smiling at her phone.

“Who’s got you acting up?” you asked. She looked up in surprise.

“It’s no one. Catherine just sent me something funny on Instagram.”

“Oh, okay. Send it to me.”

In reality, she had been talking to Harrison and Tom about Friday, sending them pics of you in your dress the prior week and learning of their plans to get to LA on Thursday morning. 

To cover for herself, though, b/f/n scrolled through her dm’s with Catherine, looking for something she’d received but never sent to you.

                             __________________________________

Wednesday in London, Tom, Harrison, and Harry sat around the dining room recapping the plan for the rest of the week.

“Okay, so we’re gonna get there pretty early tomorrow morning and then I arranged for us to stay at an AirBnb under b/f/n’s name but obviously I’m paying for it. Since none of us are 25, I couldn’t get a regular rental car, but I talked to Audi and they said they’d loan me another car as long as we post some pictures with it.”

“Won’t that defeat the purpose of laying low if we’re plastering our faces with the car online? It won't be hard to distinguish London from pretty much anywhere else,” Harry claimed.

“They said as long as we get the pictures up before we leave town, we’re good. We’ll just have to put it in the calendar so I don’t forget.”

Harry took that as his cue to put it in the calendar right then.

“What about the actual event? I know you said you got in touch with them,” Harrison brought up.

“I’m glad you asked, mate. They were down for letting us make our appearance a surprise, so they’ll have staff sneak us in the back and wait until b/f/n gives us the go-ahead. They’re gonna introduce me and I’ll give a quick word and then… hopefully y/n will let me talk to her.”

The group got everything in order and loaded their bags into Tuwaine’s car once again for him to drive them to the private jet hangars.

After saying their goodbyes again and loading up onto the plane, the boys were in the air, headed west. They would be stopping in New York to change planes, and got comfortable for the almost 8 hour flight.

By the time they got to New York, the boys were exhausted going through customs. They were happy to find that so far no one had seemed to leak the fact that they had left London and were now in the states.

They boarded the next plane and prepared for the 6 hour flight, this time planning to get sleep as it was overnight and they’d be arriving in the morning.

The sun was beginning to rise over Los Angeles as the plane touched down.

“Tom, we’re here,” Harry said, shaking his brother awake as the plane taxied. 

Tom blinked his eyes a few times to adjust to the light, looking out the window. 

The boys deplaned on the tarmac and sat tiredly in the small airport’s lobby as they waited for someone to drop off the car. 

Tom noticed one woman at the desk looking over at him frequently. He was afraid she would end up putting him all over the internet, so he got up and came to the desk.

“Hi there.”

She looked at him, startled.

“Um, hello.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you looking over at us. Would you happen to be a fan?” Tom asked politely. She blushed.

“Yes, actually, I am.”

“Would you like a picture?” Tom offered. He knew he looked horrible from his long journey but needed to know she wouldn’t go around telling everyone about meeting him.

“That would be incredible! I was too afraid to ask.”

Tom called Harry over to take the picture on her phone, then took it from the younger brother. Tom noticed Harrison carrying a couple bags out the door to a car.

“That’s a good one! I only ask that you try to keep this to yourself? At least until tomorrow evening? I’m on a bit of a secret mission, and I don’t quite want the public to know I’m here, yet.” 

The girl’s eyes widened.

“Of course! I’d hate to ruin anything for you.”

“Awesome, thank you so much. And it was quite lovely meeting you, I look forward to seeing those pictures again one day.”

With that, Tom was out the door and on his way to the spot they had rented out for the trip.

                             __________________________________

B/f/n woke up Thursday to work out again and saw there was an Instagram notification on her lock screen. It was Harrison (or maybe Tom, who knew who she was actually talking to).

We made it to the AirBnb. Thanks again for putting it under your name.

She saw it had been sent about an hour prior, so she replied.

No worries. I haven’t seen anything online about you being in the US, so it seems like you’re good so far

We’ll try to keep a low profile. We’re mostly trying to adjust to the time again so Tom isn’t falling asleep at the formal tomorrow night

B/f/n snorted. She figured it really was Harrison that she was talking to.

At the boy’s rented house, they were sitting around drinking black coffee to stay awake for the day. Eventually, they ran outside and took pictures with the car, being careful to watch that no one was looking at them.

As the morning went on, they quickly came to an unfortunate realization.

There was no food in the house, and they couldn’t just go out and get it. Delivery wasn’t the best bet either considering someone would have to answer the door.

So with stomachs growling, they messaged b/f/n again, asking her to pick up some groceries to hold them over for the day.

You’re lucky I’m not with y/n right now. Just send me a list and I’ll bring it over asap

It took her over an hour to get to the store, find everything on the list, and take it to the house. Her stomach fluttered when she pulled into the driveway as she was finally meeting her idol for real.

The door swung open before she could knock.

“Oh thank God you’re finally here, I’m starving,” Harrison said , taking the bags from her hands. “Come in, come in. Don’t need anyone seeing us.”

She stepped in the door to find the other two sitting on the couch. They greeted her starstruck self. 

“Oh, wow. Hi. It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” she eventually spit out, looking at them in amazement.

She ended up spending almost an hour conversing with them, Tom paying her back for the groceries and them finalizing the details for the upcoming day.

She stood in the doorway preparing to leave.

“Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow. I don’t know what she’ll do, but good luck either way.”

“Thanks, b/f/n, that means a lot. And thanks for all the help you’ve been. Without you, I don’t know what I would have done.”

                            __________________________________

A/N: honestly I’m kinda sad that this is almost over. I started it over a year ago now and I’ve really enjoyed writing it. Hopefully I’ll put out the last chapter next week and then will begin scheduling “the marriage project.” Love you guys!

TAG LIST: @marvel-lously, @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @dreamyvans, @lisannehus, @honeymoonpeter, @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven, @chenellearose, @photoshopart15, @parkeret, @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch, @racewife2004, @joyleenl

To be added to my story or permanent tag list, pls send a message or ask

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 249: Todoroki Taco Night

Previously on BnHA: Nothing happened at all, because the manga was on break last week! Fortunately the anime had finally resumed after a billion years (estimation; exact length of time may be slightly off), so we had that to take the edge off in the meantime. Except we didn’t, because the anime also ended up going on break due to a rugby game or some shit. So that was nice. On a related note, when I die I’d like the Basement arc to lower me into my grave, so it can let me down one last time.

Anyway, Endeavor did some mentoring and gave Shouto and Kacchan a power-up assignment and told Deku to work on Air Force to help him master the fine control he needs for the Bloop. Then Fuyu called a week later and was all “HEY DAD, DINNER, OUR PLACE, TONIGHT, BRING THE KIDS.” And then as previously mentioned, we waited two whole fucking weeks and MY GOD, my body is ready, on to the new chapter we go!

Today on BnHA: Shouto, Katsuki, and Deku are cordially invited to Todosmith Farms for an evening of food and fun! They make it approximately six minutes into dinner before Natsu loses it and exits with more theatrics than a spurned reality TV show contestant. Baku and Deku spend the next hour being all “!!!” at each other back and forth, and whispering about how fucking dramatic the Todorokis are, which fully kills me and is my favorite thing ever to happen in the world. Deku then begins to guide Shouto through his personal healing process like fucking Mufasa booming at Simba from the heavens, and meanwhile Endeavor listens in while quietly kneeling before HIS DEAD SON’S PHOTOGRAPH, IN THE SHRINE THEY BUILT FOR SAID DEAD SON IN HIS BEDROOM, and sorrowfully wishing he could do more for his family. Anyways so I’m in ruins now, but otherwise fine. How are you?

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

well it’s Thursday morning, and I have just seen the picture of baby white-haired Touya because no one in this fandom knows how to fucking spoiler tag (and that’s on me too for browsing the BnHA tag on a Thursday; I know better, but I was just curious how this new group chat thing was working out), so here are my immediate thoughts

we never actually confirmed that the hair color correlates to their powers, huh. we just assumed. but come to think, there’s no reason why someone couldn’t have mom’s hair but dad’s quirk. it’s all Shouto’s fault for being a perfect 50/50 split and thus making everyone assume that THAT’S JUST HOW IT WORKS. damn you Shouto and your dramatic character design

anyways I tried not to look at the pic for too long -- once I realized what I was looking at, I averted my eyes -- but he does look like Dabi, I think. oh shit guys. it’s really fucking happening

and I also didn’t get a good enough look to determine whether this was a photo of Touya (that Deku or whoever happened to spot while visiting the Todochester Mystery House for the much-hyped dinner) or a flashback image (in which he is just standing really fucking still for some reason and staring directly at the camera), so I guess we’ll see. but anyways, Deku and Kacchan didn’t come all the way down to Todoroki taco night to not have their evening peppered with intricate family drama and reopened wounds and hysterical conspiracy theories, so you had better keep them goddamn entertained! lord knows the Todorokis don’t do small talk. this is literally their only way of spicing things up so their guests don’t die of sheer awkwardness while Endeavor sits in stony silence and Shouto just stuffs his face with soba all night

also aren’t we due some popularity poll results soon? just getting in all my random thoughts now before we dive in. anyways Horikoshi, so you know what I want to see now and you better deliver

aaaand now it’s Friday! so Happy Birthday Aizawa, and LET’S GET TO THAT CHAPTER

and we’re opening with Endeavor’s Redemption Arc: The Page. omg

holy fucking shit BnHA. you sure do have a way of making me wait WITH BATED BREATH!! FOR TWO WEEKS!!! ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT!!!! for the new fucking chapter only to have me immediately suck in a deep breath through my teeth and seriously reconsider whether I am in any way emotionally prepared to handle this. “you think you know what you want?!” Horikoshi demands. “YOU HAVE NO IDEA.” sob it’s trueeee

okay. okay. we can do this. hell, if we made it through Tomura’s flashbacks then this should be child’s play. so all right, let’s go

-- oh wait, but before I click to the next page, I just want to note that Endeavor isn’t the only one who’s nowhere to be found in this pic, though! boy you have three sons. uno dos tres

“the hellish Todoroki residence” lmao this legitimately sounds like the title of a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode

ARE YOU TELLING ME ENDEAVOR PROVIDES LUXURY APARTMENTS FOR ALL HIS FUCKING EMPLOYEES OMFG

SO MY THREE SONS HAVE ALL BEEN ROOMING TOGETHER UNDER ENDEAVOR’S ROOF!? THE FANFIC ENDEAVOR AGENCY RESIDENCES?! WHAT KIND OF OT3 SHENANIGANS HAVE BEEN ABOUNDING THIS PAST WEEK OH MY GOODNESS THIS IS LIKE A DREAM

OH MY GOD

okay I have like... ten different notes I want to make about Katsuki and I don’t know where to start SO I’LL JUST START SOMEWHERE!

I’ve legit wanted to see how he would look with his mask pushed up into his hair like a headband for the longest fucking time (I don’t know why! I just wanted to see it!) so this. is. Christmas for me omg. if only he wasn’t making one of his (◣д◢) faces and was instead making a normal face. but that’s probably too much to ask of him at THE CRACK OF DAWN, which brings me to my next point,

I thought he was a morning person?? [furiously checking headcanon notes] kid you go to bed at 8pm. you have your full eight hours by four in the fucking morning. and the full nine and a half hours that GROWING BOYS ACTUALLY NEED by 5:30am, which is when I always assumed you typically woke up in order to get in your morning workout and BEAST IT UP IN THE PIT or whatever gym people do. yet here you are, half dead, while Deku and Burnin’ are raring to go. were you just burning the midnight oil and that’s why you’re grumpy? WAS IT THE FANFIC AGENCY RESIDENCES SHENANIGANS, OH MY GOD I CAN’T

lastly, look at that unzipped collar. why is it that the more disheveled he looks the more I want to pile him up in a headlock and give him noogies. I love him so fucking much, this is ridiculous, he was only gone for two weeks but it felt like SEVENTEEN YEARS anyway

so Burnin’ is all “catch any villains faster than Endeavor yet, LOL, LIKE THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN!!” and they’ve been putting up with this trolling for a fucking week now huh. no wonder Katsuki’s ready to pack it in and sleep for the next year

motherfucker holy shit

sure thing coach. Todoroki Shouto out here ready for the morning huddle. BRING IT IN! ONE TWO THREE PLUS ULTRA

meanwhile Katsuki better keep his hair like that for the rest of the arc now. the collar too. I am living for this

what is Shouto doing with his hands

are you blowing a kiss. or beckoning toward her like Neo in the Matrix. are you channeling your inner Iida. wtf is this

this one panel perfectly encapsulates everything I love about this OT3 dynamic oh my god

Katsuki screaming at Todoroki that he’s better than him (based on impeccable, flawless logic). Shouto completely disregarding this and calmly continuing to have a normal conversation at a normal person volume. and Deku ignoring them both while sending the chipperest, most positive energy in the world out toward this other person because he loves everyone!!

and now there’s three closeups of the boys showing how worn out they are

they’ve been working so hard I’m so proud of them and also they totally deserve a night off to go gorge themselves on soba at Toderly Manor

and then there’s a whole nother page continuing to establish that it has been a week! and they’re working hard! and YES, WE KNOW, though

yep yep yep we get it now WHAT ABOUT THAT DINNER oh my god. it’s been four pages! and if we’re only getting thirteen again then this is precious real estate we’re just wasting here, come onnnnn

so Endeavor is continuing to show off how great he is while the kids look on in frustration

heh but I like this panel because LOOK AT THEM

ALL THREE OF THEM CAN FLY (basically). I love it. yes. just let them be airborne for the rest of the series

meanwhile Endeavor’s thinking agitated thoughts about how Fuyu wants him to try and CONNECT TO THE CHILDREN ON AN ACTUAL EMOTIONAL LEVEL, like what do you think he is?? a human being??!

lol he’s got that look like “WHY DON’T YOU JUST KILL ME NOW AND BE DONE WITH IT.” things he would rather do than have a family dinner with his kids and his two new apprentices: literally. anything. else. ah, but Endeavor. no one said the path of Not Being A Bastard would be easy

he’s thinking about how happy Fuyu sounded on the phone, though. “the thought of us finally becoming a real family...” c’mon Enji you can’t just let your only daughter down like that

and also me. you better not fucking let me down. I was promised dinner at Todoton Abbey and DAMN IT THIS IS HAPPENING

lol he’s getting all fired up and the kids are just mindlessly yelling back like “FUCK YEAH”

even the guy in the background’s like “YEAHHHHHHH LET’S DO ITTT.” the best part is how not a single one of them has any clue what they are loudly agreeing to

OH MY GOD

TODOLAND RANCH, AT LONG LAST. YESSSSS

lmao Kacchan

“it’s not too late!” he is so desperate, bless him. all he wanted was to curl up in his room with a bowl of spicy ramen after a long day and watch old All Might clips on Youtube while blissfully not interacting with a single other soul. and now instead they’ve dragged him to fucking Todo-a-Lago for dinner with his boss, his two best friends who he hates, and SOMEONE’S SISTER. what a nightmare

FUYUMIIIIII

worst part is, I don’t think Kacchan will be able to resist Fuyu’s Kind Elementary School Teacher Energy at all. he’s totally screwed. -- OH MY GOD, IS HE HIDING

like, I know this is the Todoroki drama chapter and that’s where my focus should be, and I’M SORRY, but you guys all know what you signed up for by this point, right? you can read a million other Todo hot takes on tumblr today, but this will forever be the blog that spends paragraphs and paragraphs obsessing over Kacchan hiding behind the door frame and sulking and asking “why though?” in increasingly petulant tones like a four-year-old because SOMEONE DRAGGED HIM TO A SOCIAL EVENT and this is his personal hell! Fuyu’s gonna end up having to manually feed him chicken like Satou did at the party

meanwhile now that I’m actually READING THE REST OF THE PANEL LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, I have to pause for a moment to let my heart break over Deku saying that he hardly ever gets invited over by friends. hey Deku come here for a moment, I just have to give you a dozen hugs real quick and then you can continue as you were

anyway so guys I literally owe Todoroki Fuyumi my life and I want to send her flowers with a “THANKS FOR SAVING THE MANGA” card but it’ll have to wait until the chapter is done. let’s continue

NATSU’S HERE TOO, SHOUTO SAW HIS SHOES, OH M Y GO D

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: shout out to Natsu for wearing the greatest shirt of all time and taking Deku’s rookie-tier gags to THE NEXT LEVEL!)

I LOVE EVERYTHING. I’M SOBBING. BLESS YOU HORIKOSHI. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!!

holy shit Deku

Alton fucking Brown over here. chill my dude

NATSU BRINGING THAT DRAMA YESSSS

and look how oblivious Deku is to the general vibe settling in here

what the fuck do you see. you just literally had no idea how else to respond to that, huh

oh my god oh my fucking god

(ETA: I’m laughing so hard and I’ll explain in the tags. sob.)

guys let me just break down these two panels for you

1. Fuyu is all “NATSU YOU COOKED TOO”

2. Shouto is all “WTF, I ATE NATSU FOOD AND NO ONE FUCKING TOLD ME”

3. Natsu is all “YOU PROBABLY DIDN’T BECAUSE... THAT MAN PROBABLY WOULDN’T ALLOW IT”

how the fuck is there drama brewing over the fucking cooking. this fucking family. and Shouto’s face is two seconds away from being my new icon omg

LMAO

SO YOU TWO FINALLY FUCKING CONNED ON TO THE DANGEROUS SITUATION YOU’VE FOUND YOURSELVES IN, HUH. that’s right bitches. welcome to Todo’s Landing

and now Fuyu has finally made a FATAL ERROR IN JUDGEMENT oh no. that error being trying to fall back on Shouto of all people to ease the awkward tension. that boy literally is made up of awkward tension. right down to his atoms. Fuyu what were you thinking??

FUYUMI: [SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE] “SHOUTO WHAT KIND OF FOOD DO YOU EAT AT SCHOOL!!!!”

SHOUTO: [LEAPING TO HIS FEET] “AT THE CAFETERIA!!!!”

someone help me I’m fucking dying. actually, you know what, help them

“yo Deku, do you wanna get the fuck out of here right now.” “yes, yes I do.” turns out, they didn’t really need that internship anyway. maybe they can still convince the centipede man to take them instead

holy shit

like, I feel so bad for him, but also Fuyu looks so fucking sad and I can’t?? this is too much, and things haven’t even gotten spicy yet. this arc is going to leave me a wreck

DSFKSLDFJLK

“it’s okay,” Horikoshi says comfortingly, “here’s a panel of your two good boys helping clean up.” WELL THANK YOU, EXCUSE ME FOR A MOMENT, I’M GOING TO GO SIT. and think about Katsuki being a fucking gentleman whose momma raised him right and who helps clean up the dishes after being invited over for dinner. never mind that he didn’t even help clean up the Christmas party. but he saw Fuyu being sad and immediately went MY GOD, I’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING TO HELP THIS STUPIDLY NICE LADY

anyway so are you two going to ask Endeavor why his kids hate him so fucking much. or just ignore it because you pretty much know the gist already because Shouto can’t keep a lid closed on anything

OH MY GOD THEY’RE HAVING A SECRET CONVERSATION ABOUT IT

FFFFFFFdfsLK -- “YOU GUYS WERE TALKING ABOUT IT RIGHT NEXT TO ME, ON ACCOUNT OF I WAS STANDING RIGHT THERE, IN THE SHADOWS, BECAUSE I WAS EAVESDROPPING, SHUT UP”

anyways so did you guys know that Deku and Kacchan having whispered conversations about how dramatic the fucking Todorokis are is my all-time aesthetic. I didn’t know either actually. but it is

Fuyu why are you apologizing to Shouto for making him help clean up

AND WHY ARE YOU PERSISTING IN MAKING THAT FACE. SON OF A BITCH. GIRL I’M BRINGING YOU SOME ICE CREAM AND SOME DVDS. WE’RE GONNA HAVE A SLEEPOVER AND FORGET ALL ABOUT THIS SHIT. PLEASE FEEL BETTER. I’M SORRY YOUR TWIN BROTHER IS DEAD AND YOUR WISH TO HAVE A NORMAL FAMILY IS NEVER GOING TO FUCKING COME TRUE BECAUSE WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS OMG

oh my god she’s having a heart to heart with Shouto about how he feels about Endeavor. oh my god I see Horikoshi aiming a bow right at my fucking heart. he’s notching the fucking arrow, this is it, it’s been real you guys

that look in his one visible eye. god. there it is. oh god. hurts

(ETA: do you suppose all of the Todorokis have secretly had that exact same dream. we know Fuyu has, and Rei as well based on her letter. I’m starting to think that Shouto has too. it only makes sense that a boy who was denied a real childhood for the first fifteen years of his life is going to have some part of him that secretly longs to just have a normal family. in related news, Shouto had better get some fucking hugs in this arc!)

-- ARE YOU SERIOUS

WHAT IS IT WITH HORIKOSHI LATELY AND BEING DONE WITH JUST IMPLYING THINGS AND NOW VERY INTO SHOWING THEM IN EXPLICIT HORRIFYING DETAIL. HERE’S A DEAD DOG! HERE’S A DYING CHILD! HERE’S A SIX-YEAR-OLD WHOSE MOM JUST POURED SCALDING WATER ON HIS FUCKING FACE AND SHE DIDN’T MEAN TO BUT IT’S TOO LATE AND NOW THEY’RE BOTH TRAUMATIZED. AND SHE’S USING HER QUIRK TO HEAL HIM AND HELLO, THIS ONE PANEL IS ABOUT TO MAKE ME START CRYING. KATSUKI YOU WERE RIGHT. WHY, THOUGH

(ETA: yeah this does not bode well for an upcoming flashback in which a child was presumably burned the fuck alive. feels like Horikoshi was testing the waters to see how much he could get away with. we may be in for some brutal shit pretty shortly.)

OH MY GOD A LETTER

they’re going to discharge her soon!?? IMMINENT FEELINGS INBOUND. I HAVE NO MORE SPACE TO PUT THEM!! MY HOUSE IS PACKED WITH FUCKING FEELINGS ALREADY, PLEASE

ahhhh he says he doesn’t know

this is the most realistic fucking thing I’ve read in this manga to this date. not knowing how you feel about the abusive parent who did so much harm but is now trying to change. boyyyyy howdy I feel that in my fucking bones. Horikoshi is out there delivering the real shit. goddamn

KATSUKI MY HERO

it’s as though Horikoshi placed his hands on his shoulders and said “listen up sonny boy, I’ve got an important job that only you can do. defuse this tension. in any way you can.” and Katsuki looked him dead in the eye and said “I got this”

meanwhile Deku’s hoping he can spontaneously develop another new quirk which will open up a hole in the ground to swallow him up

DEKU: “I HAD PERMISSION!!!” KACCHAN: “I DIDN’T HAVE SHIT!!”

HE IS BITCHING LIKE A DISGRUNTLED HOUSEWIFE HOLY SHIT I’M LOSING MY MIND

“A NORMAL, PLEASANT EVENING!!” yes of course, that’s why you spent the entire ride over here clinging to Todoroki’s shirt and repeating “WHY” ad infinitum. anyways as usual this child is a nightmare whose fickle tirades absolutely no one deserves to be subjected to, god bless him and I adore him so

and Deku is again apologizing for him like they’re fucking married. this chapter is filled with so many highs and lows for me, it’s wild

this, to be clear, is one of the highs. god I love it

oh shit it looks like Deku’s getting ready to say something! SOMETHING WISE, I BET

YESSSSSSS

IS HE?? sometimes this kid can just peer into other people’s souls with perfect clarity, it’s uncanny

oh my god Shouto’s face

genuine shock. he doesn’t even know how he feels, but somehow Deku is able to cut right to the heart of it

oh my god Katsuki’s there to chime right in too and say “but if you feel like he doesn’t deserve forgiveness that’s fucking fine too”

this is actually incredibly fucking supportive? anyway so guys have I mentioned within the last five seconds how much I love Bakugou fucking Katsuki. I have? well that’s okay I’ll just say it again anyway. and also I love Deku and Shouto too oh my god. bless this chapter

oh lol nevermind that still Deku talking while Katsuki is just making faces. well he’s doing his best. anyways so like I said I love Midoriya fucking Izuku

(ETA: [chinhands] do you guys think. that perhaps. Midoriya Izuku might be harboring some unresolved feelings regarding his own absent daddo. maybe. ??? why does this chapter have so many layers??)

ah I see, Katsuki spied Natsu just STANDING THERE LISTENING IN THE DARK, as one does, and that’s why the face

and also YES, Shouto is like the kindest fucking person in the whole series possibly. thank you for acknowledging that?? I’m in the process of arranging all of these new feels into a comfy little pile now, so maybe I can curl up in them. if Horikoshi insists on delivering more and more

SLDKFJSLDKFLSHGLKJKLJSLGKJSDLFKSDLFKJLSDKJFLKSL

“THE OTHER CHILD WHO’S NO LONGER THERE” RED ALERT, RED FUCKING ALERT, IT’S REALLY HAPPENING, HOLY FUCKING SHIT. REMINDER TO SELF, NEXT THURSDAY I’M GONNA HAVE TO GO ON A SELF-IMPOSED INTERNET HIATUS FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS BECAUSE FANDOM’S GOING TO LOSE THEIR FUCKING SHIT WITH THE SPOILERS NEXT WEEK AND I’M NOT EVEN MAD

sdfhk. oh my god. and so it was a photograph! but one which appears to be a segue into a flashback! and the law of escalating tragic flashbacks states that Touya’s is somehow going to be even more horrific than our last flashback, in which, let me just think back for a sec, oh yes, an entire family was massacred and torn into bloody chunks including a six-year-old girl and a dog, and the surviving child was then adopted by a psychopath who adorned him with severed hands and was all “NEVER FORGET HOW FUCKED UP YOU FEEL ABOUT ALL THIS” and then the child murdered some people to feel better about himself. so this is somehow going to be worse than that. well that’s just. ...I don’t even know. I literally can’t think of a lighthearted way to end that train of thought lmao. WE ARE FUCKING SCREWED. get ready to burn, baby

but meanwhile, parting thoughts

so they really do believe he’s dead. that’s confirmed. and he died (or, well, “died”) young, too, based on this picture and on the toys on that shelf. fffff

Endeavor kneeling at a family shrine to pay respects to his dead son and miserably wishing he was still alive is just. repeated stabbings of my already mutilated heart. thanks. thanks for that

he heard EVERYTHING and he’s saying nothing, because what can he say?? I meanwhile have already said “oh my god” about 1600 times in this recap, but I’ll go ahead and say it again anyway one last time because oh my god, the fucking Todofam AND THEIR FUCKING DRAMA!!!

what can I do for my family at this stage? the last plea of a desperate man struggling to make amends and piece together something he’s already shattered into a million pieces. he keeps dreaming of them being happy together, even if he’s not in the dream. he wants to do right by them, finally. but he doesn’t know how. anyways so people have been saying and saying that this arc so far has been death flag after death flag for this old coot, and you know what, they’re fucking right. this does not have a happy ending. this is going to be fucking devastating. and here I am, fully obsessed with it. fuck me

anyways I guess that’s finally everything I can think of to say. this recap is already a million fucking words so that’s fine lol. why though

[punkscowardschampions]

Zelda & Zach

ihatemyguts: Good thing you told me how bubble boy posi Robyn’s ‘rents are

ihatemyguts: ‘cos that felt like such a brush-off

ihatemyguts: I feel kinda bad, it’s low-key just upset her with no shopping trip pay-off 😬

inandout: your first date was today

inandout: the insane jealousy must have forced me to forget

ihatemyguts: Obviously

ihatemyguts: moping and staring out of open windows would be bad for your health

ihatemyguts: probably

ihatemyguts: can’t have that

inandout: mope hard enough and fling myself all over the house, they’ll call it exercise

ihatemyguts: I’d let Rob know but her parents would probably sue me

ihatemyguts: I did some research

ihatemyguts: and yeah, flare-ups fucking suck, but if she was struggling that bad rn she’d be in hospital getting her 💉 on

ihatemyguts: makes me ⁉️ if the meetup will happen

inandout: makes me wonder if her brothers are allowed out

inandout: if they are maybe they can help us smuggle her to the meetup

ihatemyguts: not just a pretty face

ihatemyguts: that’s a damn good idea

ihatemyguts: I can slide in their DMs

inandout: Cranking up the jealousy metre to give me a full work out, I see, are you gonna be a PE teacher when you grow up?

ihatemyguts: *prays they aren’t like 12*

ihatemyguts: imagine if that was my life’s ambition

ihatemyguts: wear unflattering sportswear and give kids complexes

ihatemyguts: even without the potential life-shortening illness, I’d reconsider that

inandout: it tracks that you’d wanna make them 💩 and bringing back the bleep test could work

ihatemyguts: okay I’m not 🦹‍♀️ or 🐯 levels of sweet but is that what you really think of me? 😏

inandout: I think there’s only one rebel teacher coming to mind and I haven’t watched that film so all I know is they stand on desks

inandout: probably not a perfect fit for you

ihatemyguts: I could force you to watch it for our first date

ihatemyguts: and ask you, what your dream job would be

inandout: Netflix and chill or cinema screening of the ‘classics’?

inandout: we could do a drive-thru

ihatemyguts: hmm 🤔

ihatemyguts: there are pluses to ‘em all

ihatemyguts: cinema, we could laugh at all the snobs and 🤓s

inandout: Cool, reach out to me with the time + date when it’s showing

inandout: Are you allowed 🍿?

ihatemyguts: oh hell no

ihatemyguts: have to find another way to hold my hand

inandout: 🦸‍♀️ said she was gonna look up ice breakers and stuff, hopefully it was a fruitful search and she won’t mind sharing the info

ihatemyguts: do you think she legit didn’t realize how thirsty that boy was for her

ihatemyguts: or is it all uwu coy-ness

inandout: It’s hard to tell

inandout: but if I remember my glasses I’ll do my best to decode her body language from 6 ft away

ihatemyguts: aside from hospital, have you ever met someone else with cf?

inandout: Nope

inandout: jokes aside, it really is discouraged

ihatemyguts: that’s a hard one to get your head around

ihatemyguts: far as adjustments go

inandout: getting Robbie at this meetup won’t be easy

inandout: separate ones mean we might not have her there

ihatemyguts: I reckon we can trust you and Kara to keep the teen love story fictional

ihatemyguts: for all our sake’s

inandout: She’ll get her man

inandout: it’s not like bad advice and dating pitfalls are just a click away

ihatemyguts: cosmos never steered ANYONE wrong

inandout: Yahoo answers neither

ihatemyguts: might be confused as to why they’re not related

inandout: [I like to think he’s just sending his fave yahoo answer answers now for the lols]

ihatemyguts: [meme back and forth lads]

ihatemyguts: if she gets her date we could go into the matchmaker business

ihatemyguts: start at home

ihatemyguts: 🤖 don’t last forever

inandout: Rob’ll need to be next or she won’t forgive us

inandout: and we’ll soon get tired/guilty of seeing the amount of 😿💔 spam the chat

ihatemyguts: we’ll have to liberate her first

ihatemyguts: in a literal way

ihatemyguts: not the pretentious, free your 🧠 type of vibe

inandout: Kidnap’s playing into her parents’ fears but we don’t have a better option

ihatemyguts: now it’s my turn for a potential 💡

ihatemyguts: what if that is exactly what she should do

inandout: jump scare them?

ihatemyguts: if she did some actual wild shit to show them they’re being suffocating, ‘scuse the mention, then they’ll have to compromise and let her do normal kid things and everyone will win

ihatemyguts: I realize getting her to wild out might be a problem

ihatemyguts: catfish it though?

inandout: 💡⭐️

inandout: getting her to agree to do it for real would take longer than we have but you’re right, faking it wouldn’t take any time at all

ihatemyguts: get Lauren to picture whatever the hell she’s up to

ihatemyguts: sorted

inandout: + there’s your next photo challenge ready to be accepted, dressing as if you were going on a date with 👵🌈✨ instead

ihatemyguts: hold my neon

ihatemyguts: and think, do we clue Rob in on this plan now or do it on her behalf first, ‘cos we could hit up her house phone with some madness to get ‘em sus now and when she’s like wuuuuut it’ll sound even more

ihatemyguts: or is that a bit evil genius instead of 🦹‍♀️

inandout: Does she even have a house phone? We don’t

inandout: you’ll have to find another way to trick my parents into believing I’m a badass

ihatemyguts: I bet they do

ihatemyguts: can’t trust a mobile

ihatemyguts: and I bet they don’t have a microwave, they’re that sort

ihatemyguts: obvs I’ll just direct them to Lauren on your friends list with a 🤔

inandout: We should probably warn her, in case she takes it the wrong way

inandout: or decides to stand up to them for her YA movie moment

ihatemyguts: yeah, you’re right

ihatemyguts: if she doesn’t go for it, her brothers might be of use still

ihatemyguts: have to focus my evil energy elsewhere

ihatemyguts: such as…

ihatemyguts: 🥁

ihatemyguts: [one of the crazier lewks from babyteeth for the photo challenge]

inandout: 🤞🏻 one of them is old enough to drive the people carrier

inandout: Uhh… that was a suspiciously fast transformation

ihatemyguts: didn’t know you was challenging a pro?

ihatemyguts: and someone with a lot of time on her hands

inandout: I do now

inandout: and I’m guessing it’s not every day you get stood up based on what else I know about you

ihatemyguts: it’s a first

ihatemyguts: not that I constantly ask people out

ihatemyguts: but that is what I’ve put across so fair enough

ihatemyguts: what am I interrupting for you?

inandout: I’m waiting on friends

inandout: this could end in both of us being stood up

ihatemyguts: am I a drag you down with me type?

ihatemyguts: hmm

ihatemyguts: nah, I’ll cross my fingers that your friends aren’t flaky

inandout: Late, but I’d be too if it wasn’t my house

inandout: What are you gonna do now shopping’s off?

ihatemyguts: life is one big photo challenge, right

ihatemyguts: yours is ‘whatever will make your friends double-take when they open the door’

ihatemyguts: it’s a good question

ihatemyguts: we’re going to virtual shop tomorrow but she wasn’t up for it today

inandout: Wait for it and their faces

inandout: + you’re virtually invited to watch movies and play games, you won’t be the only one who isn’t here in person

ihatemyguts: 👍

ihatemyguts: cool

ihatemyguts: meeting new people is my new thing, as long as your mates are down/not the level of nerd that they might get a nosebleed if a girl is about

inandout: Some of them are girls if that helps

inandout: and my brother won’t be there to bring down the cool

ihatemyguts: low-key a shame

ihatemyguts: have to meet him before the first date though

inandout: I’ve got a father you can ask for permission if you’re feeling old-fashioned

ihatemyguts: full set

ihatemyguts: fun

ihatemyguts: mines in scotland so we’ll let you off that trek

inandout: But a road trip is a coming of age movie staple! 😫 Has Netflix aired any YA without one + are you willing to take that risk?

inandout: mine’s a workaholic but we’ve got years to catch him

ihatemyguts: forget the meds, see who gets fucked up first

ihatemyguts: it’d be a journey, for sure

ihatemyguts: do you know what he does? ‘cos so’s mine and I couldn’t tell you, tbh

inandout: Or mix them up and see what happens when you take the ones for my 💩

inandout: He’s a sales manager, he says, but why so vague?

ihatemyguts: sounds like something they’d do at cool parties

ihatemyguts: and that sounds suspish

ihatemyguts: they should have this 🤓 but with a moustache instead of the buckteeth

ihatemyguts: dads are elusive creatures… conspiracy time, what are they all up to

inandout: Not sure that’s the topic Rich has been watching vids on but I’ll ask

ihatemyguts: he can always tactfully ignore you if he’s 😳

ihatemyguts: like he does with 👵🌈✨ when she’s extra

ihatemyguts: more than usual

inandout: Be harder to do that in person

ihatemyguts: I think everyone will still get on

ihatemyguts: unless fibrofog shows, then that’ll be teen show worthy drama, of course

inandout: I think he’s genuinely blocked, he’d need a 2nd account to find out about it

ihatemyguts: hope he’s seen catfish too

inandout: He’d be a fan of the one where the man refused to believe it wasn’t Katy Perry

ihatemyguts: it does seem like the sort of thing she’d do

ihatemyguts: poor bastard

inandout: 😂

ihatemyguts: ultimate photo challenge, catfishing everyone and then going for the ruveal

ihatemyguts: might need more than just a wig 🤔😏

inandout: Dressing like her would make my friends do a double-take

inandout: [pics of some of her outrageous lewks with his head put on]

ihatemyguts: 😂😂😂

ihatemyguts: you suit the 🍦🧁🍭🍩✨

inandout: We’ve probably got a can of squirty cream lying around for hot chocolate

ihatemyguts: inhaler but make it ~sExxxIii~

inandout: [a lil video of his failed attempt to re-create that in her insta DMs or wherever because idk if they can send stuff like that here]

ihatemyguts: Katy dat you 😍😍

inandout: I’ve agreed to only string you along for 4 years not 6 and I don’t have any savings to spend 25% of on a 💍

inandout: looks like the comparison starts and stops with our black curls

ihatemyguts: not much of an orlando bloom clone myself so it’s alright

ihatemyguts: pirate is always an excellent disabled-friendly costume though so add that to the ideas board we should start

inandout: If we decide the next meetup is fancy dress, Lauren will never go back home

ihatemyguts: that’s the mood

inandout: [sends her whatever he did for the photo challenge and his friends reaction to it because why not say they’ve arrived and there’s a similar feral mood here]

[presenteyesonyou]

Happy 1st Anniversary Ahgase Nation!

OK so my plan was to send messages to everyone seperately, but tumblr is an ass and doesn’t let you type much. I already typed everything out though... I’ll tag you all here and the messages will be in the read more. Thank you all for being in my life I’ll forever be thankful, sending lots of love to you all 💖

@yeabeom @dawnofus @01fly @jacksennn @exo-saranghaha @recyclednamehere @fuschsiaflowerrising @donutwhattodo @jinyoungcore @elviras-angel @thelilyshope 

Hanna: Hello my dear Hanna and Happy Anniversary of the gc! Of course, there’s a lot of things to say to you, although it may not be as articulate as your letters to me. Thank you for creating the gc, I am forever thankful because now I know 11 other beautiful souls are cheer each on through anything. I’ll never forget seeing your face for the first time irl, when I kinda jump scared you at Victoria Station, I still feel bad for that 😅 I truly feel like we’ll be friends for quite some time, I’m so glad I took the plunge and messaged you. I downloaded Snapchat for you! That’s gotta be something right? Our conversations have actually been life changing, thank you for sticking around with me.

Kathia: Hello Kathia Wang and Happy Anniversary of the gc! Your devotion to Jackson fills me with awe you have no idea. You’re more than that though, you’re funny, smart, and your makeup is always on point like how?? If I bothered with makeup I’d be asking for pointers! You’re also so creative whether it be making gifs/graphics or your paintings. Your paintings!! Should be!! In a museum!! I miss doing a liveblog for you whenever I watched Gangnam Beauty, that was fun while it lasted. Anyway, you’re one of the most talented people I know and the reason I started keyboard smashing, you’ve had a great influence on me.

Nes: Hello Nessy and Happy Anniversary of the gc! You have a heart of gold. I love that you’re a passionate about getting Youngjae a solo as I am. Spending time in London laughing with you was a trip and a half, we got an extra half hour to hang out because the tube got stuck and I remember teaching you how to say Tzuyu’s name correctly 😅 You have a heart of gold, you’re so true to yourself and I’m happy you share that with us. I’m proud of you for getting this far in medical school, and will support you in whatever you do. 💖

Lizzy: Hello Liam Payne and Happy Anniversary of the gc! For once I’m not gonna kill the gc because I’ll be blabbing on about how awesome you are! Oh and we’re not in the gc… oh well 🤷‍♀️ Anyway Lizzy you suit every hair colour and I’m jealous. Every time you post a pic I’m in awe of your makeup too, you’re so pretty no matter what you do 💖 if you ever need a pick me up I’ll be here ready with a jar of compliments ok??

Elia: Hello Mama Bird and Happy Anniversary of the gc! You live up to your name, I’m thankful for your advice, and that you’re ready to beat up whoever crosses us, I love that. I’d do the same for you, by the way. You’re such a pure person, I hope you’re doing well given the situation and if you wanna talk to me don’t hesitate to drop me a line 👌

Escher: Hello kpop mentor and Happy Anniversary of the gc! Thanks for putting up with my probably annoying questions about kpop. Instead of telling me to shut up you answer them all and then some, thank you ☺ I loved our weekly Going Seventeen hangouts, freaking out over the same things I swear we’re connected somehow! Apart from Wonwoo, we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one… either way you’re awesome keep going 👌

Hunter: Hello Hunter and Happy Anniversary of the gc! The creator of YoungThot! I wish we talked more, hopefully after you finish school you’ll be talking more. When you do pop in though you’re lovely to talk to, and you’re a great dancer, I remember your dance cover I loved it! I also remember you saying you were shy in the gc, and honestly, I was too at the start but once you start talking you might never stop! I’d love to hear more from you, I hope you’re doing well and I’m sending lots of love 🥰

Abby: Hello Ice Bear and Happy Anniversary of the gc! I didn’t give you that nickname but it’s what came to mind first. You’re so sweet and the moral compass of the gc it seems, once I got to know you, I realised you’re just as bad as the rest of us 😂 I’m glad you joined the Carats well, and look forward to freaking out on their next comeback with you. I love talking to you and hopefully there’s more great conversations to come 🥰

Melda: Hello GOT7’s manager and Happy Anniversary of the gc! Meeting you was a honor, sucks that we’re not together right now ☹ out of the four of us I thought I’d be the one losing my voice at the concert but you proved me wrong 😳 sitting in a hotel room and crying in laughter at me being a dumbass in those concert videos… creating fun memories at my expense was worth it! One of my favourite moments of the trip was you asking me if I was OK after Jinyoungs dance… I WAS NOT OK. But you were there to pick up the pieces 😂 You were better than the staff at the museum by the way, you’re so smart and articulate. I’m very happy that you’re in my life 💖

Eve: Hello Maître ‘D and Happy Anniversary of the gc! I call you that because everything you make looks delicious 💖 I adore your laugh by the way. You’re so kind and considerate of everyone in the gc, you also hype everyone up including GOT7 which I love! Your LINE icon is actually iconic, who else has the power to get a pic with Jackson?? EVE DOES!! I hope you’re taking care of yourself during this trying time 💖

Kae: Hello dear Kae and Happy Anniversary of the gc! We should’ve met by now it’s a real shame… I look forward to that day – we spoke it into existence! Thanks for being you, for helping me when going through shit and I hope I did the same for you, if not I gotta take it up a gear 👉👈 I look forward to meeting you and giving you the biggest hug (if you want one of course), and going to Kew Gardens, it better be worth the wait!

[shewritestheblues]

The Elevator Bae | Chapter NINE

Chapter NINE - PART ONE

EIGHT

Erik Stevens x Black OC (Phoenix)

Word Count: Idk. 5k... I think.

A/N: I didn’t want this chapter to be too long, so it’ll be broken up into two parts. | Song lyrics referenced are not my own. They are from Mila J x Friend Zone. ** Major S/O to my good sis @liyahshaeking​ for helping me figure out how I wanted to start this and proofreading this for me. You are a Gem! and reminder: this is my side blog and all further chapters and other fics will be posted from this page. 

Erik’s face beamed with joy as he looked at his phone. Phoenix had just sent him a mirror video, showing off her bright, red bikini. She whips her box braids off of her shoulder, revealing a familiar gold chain around her neck. Music was playing in the background and just before the video ends, Erik spots one of her friends dancing behind her, photobombing her video. Without a second thought, he saved the video before playing it again, making sure the sound isn’t on. But that wasn’t enough for him. He needed to see more of her. He bit his lip as he shamelessly goes right to Phoenix’s instagram. Ironically, she had just uploaded a group picture with all of her friends on the beach. Each of them looking perfectly tanned as they glowed under the sun. They were cute, Erik could admit that. But his baby girl was the cutest. He used his chubby thumbs to zoom in right on her. The smile she wore, made his heart flutter. She was happy. Her being happy, made him happy. Just as he was about to tap her profile picture to get caught up with her story, a voice brought him back into reality.

“Damn, E! She’s cute.”

Erik was suppose to be hanging with ‘the boys.’ They were currently at TJ’s house smoking, talking shit and playing 2k. Well… that’s what everyone else was doing. Erik was currently, laid back onto TJ’s couch, cuddling with his phone. He was so caught up in Phoenix’s video, he didn’t even realize that he was the topic of the shit talk. TJ, Mario, Ken and Ken’s girlfriend, Stephanie, who was deemed ‘one of the bros’, were going in on him. Without even noticing, Stephanie had made her way behind Erik and was watching as he pretty much drooled over Phoenix.

Erik whipped his head around to see Stephanie leaned over the couch, watching his every move. His nostrils flared at how comfortable she seemed behind him.

“Do you know what privacy is? Damn!”

His friends burst into laughter causing Erik to realize that this was a set up. Stephanie was chosen to spy on Erik to see who in the hell was on his phone making him grin and cheese like a kid with a grade school crush. He glared at all of them as they fell over.

“Y’all childish as hell.” he says, shaking his head.

TJ walks over to Erik, sitting next to him. “So is this a new one?”

“Mhmm. I ain’t never seen this one before.” Stephanie chimes in.

Erik cuts his eye at her. “Why does it matter?”

“We’re just trying to find out which one of your hoes finally got you stuck.” Mario says from the kitchen.

“She ain’t a hoe, so watch your fucking mouth.”

Stephanie continues to lean over the couch, scrolling on her phone. She was able to see Phoenix’s IG name from when she was towering over Erik’s shoulder, watching him examine her latest upload. She was currently scoping out Phoenix’s page. “Where you find her at, E? She looks like she has morals.”

Confused, Erik looks at Stephanie. “Fuck you mean?”

She holds up her phone, displaying a selfie that Phoenix had on her page. TJ snatches the phone and starts looking through the pics, prompting Mario and Ken to join.

“Damn, E! She’s nice.” Ken says.

Erik tries to take Stephanie’s phone from them but TJ grips it tighter to stop him. “How the fuck did you even find her page?”

Stephanie laughs, “I peeped it when you were zooming in on her ass.”

“I fucking hate y’all.”

“You need to be plugging me with one of her friends.” Mario says, licking his lips at some of the group pictures Phoenix has with her friends. He points to Camren. “She looks like she needs me.”

TJ shows Erik who Mario is referring to and Erik sucks his teeth. “She gay. She doesn't need or want yo’ ugly ass.” He reaches for the phone again. “Are y’all done?”

TJ moves back quick, giving Stephanie her phone. “How long you been fucking with her?”

Erik doesn’t respond. He sits there looking forward. His face is blank. He’s annoyed that they now know about Phoenix. He wanted to keep her to himself for as long as possible and now they know. Now, they would be asking about her. They have her social media info and knowing Stephanie, she would reach out to introduce herself. She was always ignoring boundaries. A part of it is because the guys were her only friends. So, when one of the guys had a new lady friends, she would insert herself, trying to make friends with them. This has happened to Erik three times now. But of course, those girls were just fuck buddies. This was Phoenix. Big difference.

“Aw, it’s her birthday?” Stephanie says from behind him. Erik looks back to see what she’s talking about.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m watching her story.”

--------

Phoenix and her girls had made plans to go out to dinner at a local restaurant. They were all in their rooms, getting ready. Music is blasting through their villa home as she slipped on her navy blue, floral romper. She unwrapped her braids and put on Erik’s gold chain. She figured she’d give it back after her trip since it seemed to go with all of her outfits. Applying some mascara and her Fenty highlighter, she just needed to decide on what shoes to wear. Wedges or Sandals. She picked up both pairs of shoes and heads up the hallway to see what her friends would think.

Peeking into each of their rooms, she notices that they are all missing. In true Phoenix nature, her mind takes her to the worst case possible. They were kidnapped and killed and because the music is so loud, she didn’t hear a thing and now she has to escape before the killer gets to her. She tiptoes down the marble stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible to listen out for anything going on downstairs.

Suddenly, she hears movement coming from the kitchen and the music stops. Phoenix is internally freaking out. She stopped in her tracks to peek around the wall and releases the breath she was holding when she sees Ava’s back, standing at the kitchen island. She walks in, shoes in hand. Tiana was the first to see her and yells, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Queuing Ava, Mica and Camren to start yelling Happy Birthday at her and popping a few confetti cannons. Big silver balloons hung over them, spelling out BLUE 28. Phoenix’s heart is glowing through her chest as she smiles so big at her friends. Her eyes begin to water when she sees a cake on the counter. “Oh my God. Y’all didn’t have to do this. This is Camren’s trip.”

Phone in hand, recording the entire thing, Ava grabs Phoenix with her free hand to hug her. “Did you really think we weren’t gonna do anything for you?”

“This is both of our trip.” Camren adds.

Phoenix hugs and thanks each of them. Mica pulls out a tiara and a Birthday Girl sash, putting them on Phoenix. “You look so pretty.” She looks down at the shoes that Phoenix is still holding on to, “And wear these.” She points to the sandals. “You’re getting fucked up tonight. You won’t be able to walk in those wedges.”

“SHOTS!” Camren yells. Ava lines the shot glasses up and Tiana fills them up that they overflow.

One shot. Two shot.

“Let’s go eat.” Phoenix says. The car arrives to take them to the restaurant and they go. Her birthday was the only time Phoenix would eat steak, so she ordered the biggest one they had. As they enjoyed their food, they drank drink after drink and had three more shots, each. With liquor pumping through their bodies, the women were hyped and ready to move their bodies. Mica lead them all to the dance floor on the other side of the bar and they danced. The natives of the island danced with them, cheering them on as they twerked on each other. A few native men joined them. One in particular noticed the tiara on her head. “It’s your birthday, love?” he asked.

His accent intrigued Phoenix. “Yes it is.”

“How old are you?” he smiled. His teeth were the purest white. His skin was a beautiful mocha. He whined his hips with hers as they danced and talked.

“I’m 28.”

“Can I show you a good time for your birthday, Ms…?

“Phoenix.”

“Oh, Phoenix. I like that.”

Phoenix nods in approval. The mystery guy motions to the DJ and a new song begins. The man places both hands on Phoenix’s hips, bending her over and grinding on her to the beat. He turns her around, picking her up.

“Oh, bitch!” Mica yells eagerly, recording the pair. Ava cheers them on. When the song was over, Phoenix’s covers her smiling face in embarrassment, walking back to her friends.

The mystery man then sends each of them another round of drinks on him. They raise their cups to him in gratitude. They continued to dance on each other.

-------

Ava did her best to stay awake to make sure they made it back to their villa safely. The rest of them were knocked out. Mica would come to every few minutes and then pass out again. The sound of a phone vibrating, stirred Phoenix. She sat up, digging in her bra for her phone.

INCOMING CALL ERIK

“Hello.” that one word was slurred.

“You got me fucked up.” Erik’s voice boomed through the phone.

“Erik…” she dragged his name like a song, “Hey babe.”  Mica’s head snapped up when she heard his name. Phoenix can barely hold the phone up to her face so she puts it on speaker, not at all expecting what was coming next.

“Don’t fucking babe me when you down there showing yo’ ass. Who the fuck is this ugly ass nigga you letting feel on yo’ ass?”

“What?”

“Oh you wanna play stupid now? Like you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“Is that Erik?” Camren lifts her head from the car window, “Tell him to shut up.”

“WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?”

“Erik. Relax.” is all Phoenix could get out.

“Yo’ ass need to relax. Letting random niggas fuck on you.”

A group of voices is heard from Erik’s background. “Is that Phoenix? Hey Phoenix.”

“Who is that?”

There’s a pause on Erik’s end.

“Hello? Erik. Who is that?”

“Nobody.” his voice is now low compared to before. Almost like he’s whispering.

Mica rolls her eyes. “Can this nigga go find something to do? We’re busy.”

“I can find something to do, alright. I’ll fly down there right now and drag all y’all thot asses back here and ruin all that shit. Think I’m playing.”

“Erik…” Phoenix calls to him.

“Let me see you dancing with another nigga, Phoenix. I promise you that’s yo’ ass.”

That was all that Erik could get out before Phoenix’s phone dies. She stares at the black screen for a moment before putting it back into her bra.

-----------

The next morning was rough. As the women sat and ate breakfast, Phoenix sat with her plate on the floor next to a plug to charge her phone. She didn’t remember her phone dying but when it turned on, her heart dropped. Four missed calls from Erik and six text. He had never blown her phone up like this before. What happened last night? She thought.

Erik: Phoenix! Answer yo’ fucking phone.

Erik: Yo’ shit better be dead.

Erik: On Bast, I will fuck you and that nigga up Phoenix. I’m not playing.

There’s almost a  two hour wait before the next set of messages.

Erik: Philly.

Erik: I’m sorry baby girl. I shouldn’t blown up on you like that. I know you wouldn’t be down there on some crazy shit.

Erik: Just call me back.

He’s sorry? Really? Phoenix’s palms grew hot reading the messages. This screams red flags for her and she’s not with any of it. Her thumbs moved quickly texting him back.

Phoenix: Wow Erik. You are really full of shit. Don’t you ever crack open your lips to talk to me that way. I’m not one of these basic bitches that you’re use to fucking with. I won’t deal with any of that kind of disrespect. Keep your stupid ass sorry because I don’t want it. Do me a favor and don’t call or text me. Leave me alone.

Phoenix figured Erik would still try to contact her after that, so she proceeded to put her phone on airplane mode. If he wanted to be this way, he’d have to deal with the consequences of it. She slammed her phone down, gaining the attention of her friends, sitting at the table. They watched as she joined them at the table, sharing a few glances. They could read the frustration all over her face. She silently added more food to her plate and angrily stabbed her fork into her waffles as she ate.

“Is everything okay?” Ava asked.

“I am done with Erik.”

---------

**the night before** 

After more stalking of Phoenix and her friends pages to see what they were doing on the trip, Erik sees a video of Phoenix and the mystery man on Mica’s page. He stepped away from his friends, into the kitchen to call Phoenix. Although the kitchen wasn’t secluded from them at all. He planned on being rational about the situation but when she answered, his emotions took full control and his mouth started moving faster than his brain. Barking out, “You got me fucked up,” which drew the attention of his friends sitting just feet away in the living room. Hearing how her words slurred, he knew she was drunk but that didn’t stop him from continuing to lash out.

His friends, not realizing the seriousness of Erik’s feelings, yell out, “Hey Phoenix.” Erik snarls at them, getting the message through to them that right now isn’t the time for their bullshit. When Phoenix’s phone hangs up on him, his rage reaches a new level for the night. He calls her again and again, reaching her voicemail. His thumbs smash his keyboard sending her messages. Not receiving any responses from her, he decides it’s time for him to leave. He begins storming out of TJ’s home. TJ follows behind him.

“Aye man. E!” TJ calls out to Erik as he approaches his car in TJ’s driveway. Erik turns around without saying a word. “What the fuck just happend?” TJ continued.

“Nothing. I’m good.” Erik tries to avoid this conversation. He opens his car door, but TJ closes it shut, prompting Erik to glare at him.

“Do I look stupid to you? How long have I known you?” TJ asks.

TJ and Erik grew up together. They both lived in the same building before Erik’s dad was killed. TJ was his closest and only friend after that. He was the only person he stayed in constant contact with during his stay in foster care. Erik would sneak out most nights and stay with TJ and his mom at their place. These two ran the streets together until Erik went away to school and the NAVY. They were like two peas in a pod. TJ knew Erik better than any person on the planet ever could. He knew when something was wrong with his friend.

Erik stood there between TJ and his car. He had nothing to say, but at this point, he knew TJ wasn’t going to let it go.

“You know you tripping, right?” TJ continued.

“I’m tripping? Nah, fuck that. She’s tripping! Letting some nigga be all on her like that.”

“E! C’mon man, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down.”

“You acting like she was fucking the nigga or something.”

“She might as well had been.” Erik stepped closer to TJ, bringing them eye to eye.

“See man, that’s your problem.”

“My problem?” Erik cuts him off, “What’s my problem, huh?”

“Just snapping for no damn reason. You’ve always done this stupid shit. Shoot now and ask questions later. That shit might work out on the field but that’s now how shit works in real life, E. You’ll run that girl off just like you run damn near everybody else off with that shit.”

Erik kissed his teeth, “Man, fuck on.”

“I always told you that you needed to calm the fuck down. It’s gon’ come back and bite you in the ass.”

“Oh, I guess Kayla leaving your bum ass made you a relationship expert.” Erik spat.

Kayla was TJ’s ex. They were together for five years until Kayla broke up with TJ about six months ago. TJ was always putting work first and cheated on Kayla while doing so. When she had enough, she left and never came back. The breakup was still fresh for TJ, so it was a low blow for Erik to bring it up.

“Yeah, E! It fucking did.” Erik could see the anger in TJ now. He had triggered him. “I fucked up and now I’m not trying to see my nigga fuck up his own situation. I ain’t never seen you act like this over no female, so clearly you like her. But honestly, I wouldn’t even blame her for getting rid of your dumb ass. You got too much baggage.”

Erik was done listening to what TJ had to say and started getting into his car. This time TJ didn’t stop him, he just continued to talk.

“Go ahead and walk away. Just like you always do. You can never face your shit, Erik. You can’t run away from your demons.” he shouts as Erik starts his car and pulls out of his driveway and driving off.

Erik raced through the semi empty streets of LA. It was pretty late so not many people were on the road. He dipped in and out of lanes, making his drive home a quick one. He entered his penthouse and headed straight to the bathroom, stripping out of his clothes and getting into the shower. The video of Phoenix dancing with another man playing in his head over and over followed by TJ’s last few words to him. You can’t run away from your demons. He stepped out of the shower and laid his bare body across his bed. As if a wave of calmness rolled over  his space, he suddenly felt… foolish. He knew he overreacted. He replayed the nights events over to see where everything went left. He sent Phoenix another text, apologizing before closing his tired eyes and drifting off to sleep.

-----

When Erik woke up the next morning, he hadn’t  received anything from Phoenix. Was she pissed? Was her phone still dead? Every kind of scenario possible ran through his mind. He barely got through his morning workout because of his overthinking. He would stop between sets checking his phone for any new notifications, even though his phone wasn’t on silent and would alert him if he had any. He decided to turn his phone off, leaving it in his bedroom while he locked himself in his office to work.

Hours had passed before he finally stepped back out of his office. The urge to check his phone hit him immediately after stepping out of his office, but the sounds of his hungry belly forced him to head downstairs to the kitchen. He took his time cooking up some salmon croquettes and cheesy grits. He picked around at his food. He needed to check his phone. He traveled upstairs to grab it and watched the apple sign glow as he made his way back down, sitting back at his kitchen counter. His phone came to life, with One New Message: Baby Girl and a missed call from TJ. He didn’t even bother to think about calling TJ back. He slid open the message from Phoenix.

Heat began to form in the pit of his chest as he read her message over and over. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, trying to think of something, anything to say back. But she made herself clear: Do me a favor and don’t call or text me. Leave me alone. Not able to come up with anything to redeem himself, he decided to do as she asked and leave her alone. He closed the message and locked his phone. Erik finished the rest of his food, put on some fresh clothes and headed out the door.

-------

Phoenix and her girls rented some ATV’s for the day and spent the day exploring. They shopped at some small shops and got food at a local cafe before returning back to their villa. They all had been tired from partying the night before, so this night would be spent chilling and relaxing. As the night came to an end, everyone headed to their rooms to get some rest.

Phoenix laid in her bed for what felt like hours, trying to fall asleep. She flipped her pillows countless times to feel the cold side, she tossed and turned, and she even tried to count backwards from a hundred. Nothing worked. She reached for her phone and for the first time since that morning, she took her phone off airplane mode. Her first action was opening her messages and tapping Erik’s name. She just stared at her last message to him. Not knowing what to do, she exited out and tapped her IG app. She scrolled and scrolled, liking a few pictures until she found herself mindlessly tapping through Insta Stories. She stopped when she got to Coby’s story. He was in the studio and playing a snippet of a beat and it sparked an idea in her.  “I need to write.” she whispered to herself.

Phoenix got up and pulled out her trusty notebook from her luggage. She wasn’t supposed to bring anything work related with her but she knew at some point, inspiration could hit her. She dug into the bottom of her purse for her airpods and headed downstairs. She made her way outside into the backyard of the villa. The pool lite up blue and she found a comfy spot on one of the cushioned chairs. Popping in her headphones, she turned on a beat and let the music sing to her. She closed her eyes, feeling the warm, midnight breeze and hummed until she found the words.

Ride these hips like some handle bars // Do it on top of the car

No matter baby, I don't care // We can fuck anywhere

She sings as she writes her lyrics in her notebook.

-------

Mica stands in the dim kitchen, with the refrigerator open, looking for something to snack on. Nothing looked appealing but her sleepy mind made her believe that if she stared long enough at the food that maybe something tasty would just appear on the shelves. As she stood there, she heard the faint sounds of a voice. She closed the door of the fridge, trying to listen to where it was coming from. Her eyes followed the sound and she spotted one of her friends sitting outside. As she walked closer to the cracked open, sliding door she could hear very clearly now, Phoenix singing. She listened as Phoenix sung to herself. But what really caught her up were the x rated lyrics. How could someone so innocent be singing like this.

Now see normally, I do not do this shit // But ooh, I'm so ready to do your shit

Throw it back for ya cause you know the deal // When I hit ya back with that Netflix and chill

Mica stepped outside and started walking toward Phoenix. Naturally, as she walked, she didn’t make a noise. Phoenix having her earbuds in and eyes closed, she didn’t notice when Mica sat down in the chair next to her.

Let me tell you how I want it // Tell you just the way to hit // when you tryna push up on it

“Sounds like somebody missing that D.” Mica laughed, adding emphasis on D.

Phoenix jumped so hard, one of her earbuds fell out. “Oh my God!” She grabs her chest, feeling her heart pound. “What the fuck, Mica?”

“My bad. I ain’t mean to scare you.” Phoenix took deep breaths trying to calm her nerves. “Why are you out here though? You ain’t scared a lizard will pop out and attack you?” Mica continued.

“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to be by the water and I actually never thought about a lizard or any other creatures popping out, but I am now though.” She rolled her eyes, peaking over her shoulder. When she looks back at Mica, she finds Mica grinning at her. “What?” she asked, with a bit of attitude.

Mica shakes her head. “Oh, nothing.”

“Mica… why are you looking at me like this?”

“I peeped your lyrics. Yo’ ass can’t sleep because you’re probably due for a dose of dick.”

Phoenix rolls her eyes. “I’m not due for anything. It’s just a song.”

“Girl, bullshit! All of your music reflects how you feel.” She watched as Phoenix anxiously bites the side of her mouth instead of responding. “It’s okay to admit it Phoenix.”

“There’s nothing to admit.” she snaps. “I’m just writing music.”

“Yeah, about getting your guts ruined by Erik.”

“Erik ain’t ruining shit.”

“Okay. Now you’re just lying.” Mica moves closer to Phoenix, snatching her notebook from her. Phoenix gives a small fight for it but Mica’s small frame is strong and she blocked Phoenix’s attempts to get it back. Mica read through the lyrics. Her eyes growing big as she realizes something. “Oh my goodness. Im tryna take you out the friend zone,” she reads. “You and him haven’t done the do, but you want to. You still want Erik to be your man.” she gives Phoenix a mischievous look.

Phoenix’s face heats up and tries to hide it from Mica. Mica jumps up and squeezes into the same chair as Phoenix. “Can you chill before you wake everybody up?” Phoenix says, covering her face with her t-shirt.

“I knew you were blowing smoke about being done with his ass earlier.” Mica snatches Phoenix’s t-shirt down from her face. “C’mon girl, talk to me. You ain’t let him break you off?”

Phoenix shakes her head no.

“Has he tried? Have you tried?”

“We’ve almost… like twice, but both times he stopped and said he didn’t want to.”

“Why?” Mica asked.

“The first time was after my show and we all went to In-N-Out. He walked me to my door and dropped the bomb on me that he would have to leave like the next day for work and be gone for two weeks. He didn’t want me to think he was having sex with me only to disappear.”

“Oh, like he did Sydney?”

Phoenix cut her eye at Mica. “He didn’t have sex with her.” Mica threw her hands up in surrender, motioning for Phoenix to go on. “And the second time is when he got back from his trip and he said he wanted to do things the right way and court me because he’s never done it for a woman.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean? He’s never actually dated a woman?”

“Nope! He’s never had a girlfriend. Just fuck buddies.”

“Hm.” Mica sounded impressed. “I’m going to need him to teach me his ways because I don’t really want these niggas. I just want the dick and that sounds perfect for me.”

“Mica!”

“What?”

“You know damn well you want Jimmy to be your man.”

“Aht! Aht! We are not talking about Jimmy right now. We are talking about you and Erik.” Mica pokes Phoenix’s chest.

“Actually,” Phoenix says matter of factly, “We’re not because there is no more me and Erik.”

“I get why you’re mad at him. I do! But I definitely think y’all can come back from this. From what you just said, I don’t think he was trying to be a disrespectful, wild nigga. If he’s never had a girlfriend then he’s never had those moments where you see the person you like, talk to someone else and your brain is all telling you to be heartbroken and you get that weird feeling in your chest. He overreacted, yes, but that man likes you, Philly! Maybe he didn’t know how to handle the thought of someone else knowing you the way he wants to know you.”

Phoenix bit her lip in thought. Does Mica really have a point right now? Mica was never the type to vouch for any guy. She was proudly Team Fuck These Niggas. So, this was new for Phoenix to hear from Mica. Mica grabs Phoenix’s face, looking her in the eyes. “I’m not saying to text him or nothing like that because it’s Fuck These Niggas for life. He should definitely suffer for talking to you like he lost his mind. But when you’re ready to talk to him, let his ass have it and make sure he knows that if he pulls that shit again, you will block his ass and go on like you never knew him. Once he bows down to you and kisses your feet for forgiveness, you snatch his soul.” Mica smiles which causes Phoenix to smile and Mica kisses her forehead.

“One problem, sis.”

“What?”

“I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“The dick.” Phoenix whispers.

“Are you serious?” Mica laughs.

“Yes. Stop laughing at me.” she pushes Mica off of her, causing Mica to slip from their shared chair. “It’s been a long time since I did that.”

Mica catches herself and swiftly moves her body into the other chair. “I completely forgot that you’re a born again virgin. I would be scared too.”

“You don’t understand, Mica. I really don’t think I even remember what to do with a dick.”

“You want me to give you some tips?”

Phoenix nervously looks at Mica. “Tips? From you? I don’t know about that.”

“Fine! Lay there like a sponge then.”

“Wait, I don’t wanna be a sponge. I’m sorry. Help me.”

Mica hands Phoenix her notebook and pen back. “Open a fresh page and take notes.” Phoenix does what she is told and waits for Mica to begin. “Okay! Let’s start with oral. How you suck a guys dick is how you set the tone. Wait, you’ve given head before right?”

“Um, once. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Girl,” Mica palms her face. “I’m sure it was terrible.”

------------

Phoenix followed Mica’s advice on letting Erik suffer. For the rest of their trip, she didn’t text or call him. In fact, she kept her phone on airplane mode the majority of the time and never posted anymore pictures or videos on her Instagram. That didn’t mean Erik didn’t see what she was up to. He had no shame in checking in on Ava, Mica and Camren’s pages. He tried to see what was on Tiana’s page but her page was private. He needed to show Phoenix he knew he messed by handling their situation like he did. The fews days of them not being in contact, he had plenty of time to think about his actions. With Phoenix returning soon, he needed to figure out a way to get her back.

He sent a message to Shawn.

Erik: Aye man, this E.

Shawn: What’s up bro.

Erik: I need you to do me a favor. Give Coby my info. Tell that nigga to hit my line.

Shawn: Bet.

---------

Jetlag was creeping up on Phoenix as she sat in the backseat of her Uber. They had landed safely back in Los Angeles and she was headed home. The sun was setting and Phoenix took a beautiful picture of the sky as it glowed pink and orange. This being the first photo she uploaded to her InstaStory in days with the caption, no place like home.

Just as she hit upload, Erik watched as her picture popped up at the top of his screen. Seeing the photo confirmed that she’s home and his plan is set to start any minute now. He sat on his couch, waiting patiently for her to get to her apartment.

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[quidfree]

hi! hope you're well and that you're having a good day:) I absolutely adore LMV - I genuinely think it's the best fic I've ever read. anyway, the point of this ask was that I was wondering whether you had any thoughts about sirius as a godfather? like, was he suited for the job, did he actually do a good job... idk, maybe you've answered that question before, in that case, sorry! and ofc don't stress abt answering:))

this is so nice of you ty!!!

ive never talked about dogfather sirius, actually!! what an interesting pair of questions.... i would have to say a qualified yes to both?

was sirius suited for the job: personality-wise, maybe not entirely (raising a child alone in the event of jily deaths would have been Rough, and he’s not exactly a stable parental unit, not to mention he would have spoiled harry rotten), BUT he has the most important prerequisite, which is undying love and loyalty for the potters and for harry, and that means he would have done everything in his power to be a good parent figure to him, which is what really matters, so. not to mention that jily realistically weren’t contemplating he would have to be godfather alone for the majority of harry’s life- with jily around he could have been just The Coolest Godfather Ever instead of harry’s first living parental figure who didn’t treat him like shit.

did he actually do a good job? i would say a resounding yes. bearing in mind he was stuck in azkaban for twelve years (let’s not get into that), we only actively see him godparent harry for three years (plus when he was a baby). obviously baby harry was spoilt v much by his dogfather; what we see of sirius + teen harry also speaks favourably of him, i think. ok, little bit of a rough start what with the unhinged prisoner vibe, but the FIRST thing sirius does when free is go check up on harry- and he keeps tabs via crookshanks etc once at school, knows his interests well enough to send him the firebolt, and he values harry’s opinions enough to not murder peter on the spot despite his thirteen year revenge vendetta. obviously, the fact harry is the spitting image of someone sirius hasnt seen except for in his nightmares for over a decade doesn’t hurt, but he’s just so awkwardly sweet to harry afterwards- when he offers harry to come live with him, expecting him to refuse and completely understanding of it, it’s so endearing (and it always broke my heart how excited they both were about it- i bet sirius was thinking about another time a potter asked to live together). and from the start sirius ALWAYS speaks to harry like a whole person, not a child to be kept in the dark (which, if everyone else had done, looking at you dumbledore...)- the speech he gives him before he escapes is so important for harry to hear, especially from someone who knew his parents. sirius is always so careful to tell harry things about james and lily. now, it’s not that sirius treating harry like an adult would be ideal on its own, and i do think in part the issue is that he skipped his entire childhood and harry looks so much like james, but i also don’t think sirius actually treats harry too much like a grown man, apart from slipups- just like a grown teen. he advises him against threats, tells him the edgy backstories harry SHOULD know (and no other adult ever wants to tell him), looks after him as best he can (HE LIVES IN A CAVE EATING BONES TO LOOK OUT FOR HIM), listens to his teen melodrama. even when he’s fucking up by encouraging harry’s risk-taking i don’t think he’s treating him like an adult- he’s treating him like a *marauder*, because at that age, that’s what he or james would have done; being able to make informed choices is what sirius would have wanted at his age. i don’t think molly or sirius necessarily have the better argument- both make good points; sirius gets what harry wants and molly gets what harry might need even if he doesn’t want it, but that makes perfect sense- molly is an older woman who’s raised seven children, and sirius is in his early thirties and lived with kids for (1) year. james and sirius were order members by age /eighteen/ and sirius was in azkaban at /twenty-one/- he was basically a kid HIMSELF before he got put in the torture prison. i always found it so unfair that literally none of the other adults ever mention the debilitating mental issues he must be suffering from- remember the lifelong PTSD hagrid got from a MONTH there???- and that’s without even mentioning dumbledore’s purposeful exacerbating of them. not to say that mental health excuses poor parenting, but sirius both /isn’t a parent/ and really does very well at filling that role anyways, on the whole, so i think he can be cut some slack for once in his life. harry loves sirius SO MUCH and sirius loves him right back- and sirius teaches him some of the most important lessons in the whole series, even if he himself never managed to learn them- lessons that i really think shape the adult harry becomes, and the kind of lessons his parents might have taught him. so overall i’d give him kudos- and considering the absolute bullshit he’s living through, with james and lily dead, azkaban sucking the light out of him for over a decade, peter running free, and dumbledore QUARANTINING HIM IN THE HOUSE WHERE HIS ABUSIVE DEAD MOTHER IS (?!?!), i would say he does a stellar fucking job.

anyways harry & sirius’ relationship is so important to the series- even the GP was upset when sirius dies in OOTP, largely because everyone could see how bad it hit harry. that scene in dumbledore’s office? oof. they just care about each other so v much and we were robbed of a lifetime of sirius as harry’s absolute fav adult. if sirius had held onto harry that day- if dumbledore hadn’t decided to place him with abusive bigots for a plan which would only pay off by OOTP- i honestly think sirius would have outlived the series. because with harry he’d have been less unhinged by grief, able to testify properly, gotten support from other order members, not gone to azkaban- and with harry he would have had a reason to live. thirteen years of raising harry would have made harry the snarky little fucker he is at his core by age eleven, confident and happy and very good at quidditch indeed; thirteen years would have made sirius as whole as he can get. they would have patched things up with remus. there’d be no OOTP tragedy of errors. sirius would have punched dumbledore at some point. harry would have sent a pic of him and his new friends over week 1 of hogwarts and sirius would have punched through a wall and then calmly strolled over to hogwarts and taken ron’s pet rat over to minerva mcgonnagal, where unspeakable things happened to it. he would have gently butted heads with hermione (but won her over via crookshanks if nothing else) and gotten on very well with ron; snape would barely have been able to be such a dick to him because sirius would have gleefully sent him howlers for every minute of his day until he cracked. lucius on the school board terrorizing the other parents? not on sirius “billionaire heir to the toujours pur line” black’s watch- he’d happily invest even more obnoxious wealth into the school fund to get first call, not to mention lucius’ imperius excuse would not get very far with sirius around. “who’s nicholas flamel? we can’t ask adults- we’d get in trouble with the teachers and our parents are either muggles or wouldn’t know- oh wait nevermind, sirius, who’s nicholas flamel?” no more expelliarmus-ing for four years; harry Trained Duellist By Age 11 more like. dobby the house-elf? oi dobby sirius is family too- now spit it all out, won’t you? chamber of secrets? yeah, sirius knows what that is. parseltongue? yeah, sirius is familiar, and fuck those other kids for being weird to harry about it, does he want to come home for the holidays? weird creepy diary? oh, sirius’ family will have Magicke Moste Evile around somewhere. book 3 is just Harry’s Holiday: The Book because there’s no sirius subplot. you think snape would have dared treat remus the way he does with sirius hovering around paying half his checks? i think the fuck not. you bet your ass they had box seats for the whole of gryffindor house at the Quidditch World Cup. barty crouch? yeah, sirius knows THAT asshole- and remembers his son. catch harry whizzing through all the challenges minus the nerves ahead of time while sirius and remus do half the investigating for him. yule ball? no sweat, just go with ron; that’s what james and sirius would have done. if the maze went the way it goes in the books, “moody” wouldn’t even have been able to drag harry off without sirius intervening. and sirius “ptsd” black would have been The One Person who Got harry’s feelings in OOTP- not to mention sirius Skilled Legilimens black could have coopted that shit from snape and gotten harry up to scratch. sirius-raised-harry would have given umbridge twice as much shit. no kreacher lying here- and harry has sirius’ mirror anyways. so no massive drama in the ministry, and no suicidal recklessness / desperate first taste of freedom on sirius’ part means no veil incident even if they got there. hence book six through seven going Quite Differently. sirius shows up book six to be DADA teacher, why not. him and remus think it’d be funny, and besides he’s petty enough to steal the job from snape. move over firenze, new hot teacher in town. half the books are avoidable.