#shit's so old even the rancid's dried off of it

[loversandantiheroes]

Trying to give From a shot and see if it perks up and this yuppie dude seems to think the un-leavable town with a nightly monster problem is an elaborate escape room set up by his boy/friend (tbh I'm not clear but I'm guessing), and of all things he's trying to look smart by pointing out how it's a "bit of an oversight" that they have fresh eggs and milk and such as if chickens are a thing that do not exist in rural areas, while completely glossing over the fact that this podunk middle of nowhere flyspeck of a town that has been cut off from the rest of the world for god only knows how long still has fresh coffee at the diner.

[queenofbaws]

Hiiii! So this isn’t exactly a prompt and more like a random question (you can answer it as a prompt if you like!) but pretending there weren’t any Wendigos or a cool stranger that owns a flamethrower, what do you think would’ve happened if Josh’s prank had been successful?

well hiiiiiii!!! omg i...love this. i love this question so, so much, and as i've been sitting here thinking about it, an answer HAS presented itself to me, and that answer is, quite simply, this:

mike and jess show up to the lodge the next day and they've never been more confused in their fucking lives. that's it!

...oh who am i kidding, there's not nearly enough rambling in there for me. check the readmore ;)c heheheuHEUHEUHEHUE

so here's how i see it. we have no supernatural forces at play here. we also have no spooky old man/wolfdog c-c-c-c-combo. what does that mean for us here in blackwood pines?

well first and foremost, it means after emily and jess have their Iconic(tm) fight in the lodge, mike and jess are sexiled. they make their way to the guest cabin, and nothing bad happens. at all. literally not one bad thing happens. maybe mike jumps out and spooks jess. maybe he doesn't. maybe it's just...cute. and cold. and then they get to the guest cabin and HERE'S WHERE WE LEAVE THEM FOR NOW.

in irritation, matt and emily also go wandering to look for her *checks smudged writing on hand* b...bag from rodeo drive. they wander around. they too get very, very cold. they do not find her bag. these are both important points that we will ALSO LEAVE FOR LATER.

which brings us to your question in earnest: what WOULD'VE happened if josh's prank was successful?????? well, by all accounts, it WOULD probably work out, huh? he'd definitely scare the shit out of chris and ashley...the saw prank would go according to plan, they'd freak out and start running around like chickens with their heads cut off...and while they were busy screaming and sobbing and having panic attacks together, he'd swoop off and menace sam in her bath towel - as you do.

according to the logic of the game, chris and ashley would still run into matt and emily, who, of course, would try and go get help, only find there was no help to be had. what does this mean??? well, not a whole lot, really, except the two of them continue to be outside. cold. they still do not find emily's bag. the mood continues to sour.

meanwhile sam is now in the bowels of the lodge with nothing but a towel and she's Not Having A Good Time. as she is being chased by what she ASSUMES is a serial killer arsonist in a bad party city mask, chris and ashley are doing their best to be the hartley hardy boys, wandering around trying to SOLVE! THIS! MYSTERY! the mystery of the BISECTED BEST FRIEND! they're also Not Having A Good Time, but for markedly different reasons than sam.

josh, however, is having the time of his young life.*

*THIS IS SOON TO CHANGE!!!!!

matt and emily are able to make it to the fire tower and use the radio. the rangers inform them they won't be able to show up until...........morning, which is a bummer, right? super bummer. mostly because they're fucking cold. and they haven't. found. emily's. bag. only here's the thing, if there's nothing spooky happening, they also get DOWN from the fire tower in the normal, safe way. and then have to walk back to the lodge.

in the cold.

not finding emily's bag.

the vibes at this point are fucking. RANCID. MY FRIENDS.

what do they find when they get back to the lodge? well, a few things actually: (1) a bunch of sexy melted candles, which is...confusing, but like, okay, sure, fine, not their business; (2) a bunch of balloons with arrows drawn on them, which...also, uh..strange, but...okay; (3) MASSIVE POOLS/PUDDLES/TRACKS OF MELTED SNOW AND BATHWATER JUST EVERYWHERE; (4) no one has turned the heat on even though they've been there for FUCKING HOURS.

almost as important as those things is what they DON'T find: (1) any sign of the others; (2) emily's bag from rodeo drive.

they are cold. their moods are bad. matt still has himself a hatchet. emily has a flare gun. what do they NOT have? TIME FOR THIS.

they follow the trail of chaos downstairs to the cinema room, where there has clearly been a struggle. pottery shards everywhere. wet footprints just all over the place. they get down into the basement and now there's MORE footprints AND an overturned wine rack, AND a spooky dollhouse with what APPEARS TO BE NAKED BRATZ VERSIONS OF THEM INSIDE OF IT, and this is where things change ladies and gents, because the INSTANT emily davis sees this she utters five simple words that no one else in that game had the brainpower to string together:

"...this is some josh bullshit."

matt looks at it for all of .0001 sec before going yeah, yeah, uh huh, you're right. sure is.

they have a brief conversation to decide whether or not this is THEIR problem in any way. after some debate, they decide it IS, but only because JOSH is the only one who knows how to get the heat going in that FUCKING LODGE. emily also decides her bag MYSTERIOUSLY going missing???? that ALSO has josh's name written all over it. they now have a grand purpose, and that purpose is getting warm and getting emily's shit, and GOD HELP ANYONE WHO TRIES TO GET IN THEIR WAY!!!

as they walk, they keep seeing little clues of chris and ashley having been there, but MOSTLY their time in the basements/sub-basements is comprised of emily being Done With This. it's even colder down there than it was OUTSIDE, and literally every turn they take down there, she is just pointing shit out and going "josh did that. that's josh. this is all josh." the dead pigs? josh. mannequin dressed in sam's clothes? josh. room full of nothing but pervy security cam footage? JOSH.

as they're walking through, they bump into sam who is, uh, well, she's still more or less naked, isn't she, and for a moment both of them are like ah. yes. okay. we've stumbled across Some Weird Sex Thing, fantastic. sam quickly disavows them of this concern.

"SOMEONE STOLE ALL MY CLOTHES" she manages to get out.

"yeah that was josh" says emily.

"NO, JOSH IS DEAD - SOME MANIAC KILLED HIM" sam pants.

"that was also josh" matt nods.

"i - wait, what???" sam asks.

"yeah, chris and ashley said they saw him die, but like, when we asked if they checked the body they both sort of just cried? so we left."

sam's panic is slowly leaving her, replaced by what can only be called confuceptance: confused acceptance. none of this makes sense to her, but also, faking his own death for the vine DOES sound like something josh WOULD do.

this is when they begin to hear screaming from a nearby room.

they walk into said room only to find chris and ashley tied to chairs, both about to be taken out by saws. chris has a gun - no one is pleased with this development, least of all chris. there's...so much screaming. just so much. only here's the thing: emily is ACTIVELY EXPECTING to see josh somewhere in that fucking room, so when she does in fact see some weirdo wearing a clown mask, she's like I TOLD YOU SO! I TOLD YOU!

ah, but josh has already has his victory, you see. it doesn't MATTER that those three came crashing in, because chris and ash are bawling and having a very panicked conversation about how they would've treated their time differently if they'd known they were about to be cracked open like softboiled eggs in a dark basement somewhere, so he comes out to do his little bow...only who he finds waiting for him is EMILY GODDAMN DAVIS and THIS IS NOT THE RELAXING WINTER WEEKEND SHE WAS PROMISED.

he WISHES she would punch his lights out. she does not.

let's return to mike and jess, huh? it's been a while. let's just...let's check in on them.

after a fun, perhaps even ~naughty~ night in the guest cabin, mike and jess wake up to realize hey, there's...there's no food in this place. they joke about having to eat each other. eyebrows are waggled. there is much giggling. they decide to go back to the lodge and insist the others make them pancakes or something. they walk back the way they came the night before, and wouldn't you know it, nothing bad happens. at all.

well, they get cold. but like. again, there are definitely going to be pancakes at the lodge, whether the others like it or not, so. it's fine!

but when they get back to the lodge, what they find is sam comforting chris and ashley on the couch. both are inconsolable. ashley appears to be covered in about five gallons of blood. she doesn't smell GREAT. she IS ruining the upholstery. chris, similarly, looks pretty beat up and mostly just tired.

sam is wearing workout clothes as she strokes their hair and tells them everything's going to be juuuust fine. when she makes eye contact with mike and jess, her eyes widen and she shakes her head. DON'T ASK! that look says. PLEASE DON'T ASK!!!

they don't. mostly because they are cold. and want pancakes. so they walk into the kitchen to find...uh. well, the thing is, josh has been physically tied to the refrigerator.

"hi" he says, acting like things are fine. (they are not). "how ya doing." there is a handprint on his face so red, so bright, so CLEAR, that mike clocks it from 20 paces that that's an emily davis special.

"so" mike says, neither him nor jess commenting on josh being hogtied in his own home. "guess that's a no on breakfast huh"

matt and emily reappear with just about every blanket they managed to find upstairs, barely giving mike or jess a second look. "we got the heat going, but it's taking FOREVER to warm this place up" emily groans, "so like here, or whatever." she gives them the worst blanket in the pile. the pink scratchy one with the satin trim. you know the blanket.

mike and jess exchange a look. before either of them can say anything, the cops arrive, filling the lodge with red and blue lights. "uh" jess says, looking out the window. "so...what's...that about?"

"oh" matt shrugs. "yeah that. josh cut himself in half hamburger-style while you guys were gone. we thought he was a serial killer or something."

there is a moment of silence. mike and jess look away from each other and towards matt and emily. then they look at josh, still tied to the fridge. he does not appear to be cut in half. from the next room, they can hear chris talking about the movie saw. judging from how hard he's crying, sure sounds like he didn't enjoy it much.

mike and jess decide it's none of their business. they do not ask questions. they also decide they're never hanging out with ANY of these people again.

once everyone's home safe and sound, sam decides to take a 6 month vacation as far from her friends as physically possible. she pretends she lost her phone in a tidepool and because of that, can't answer any texts or calls, oh no. chris and ashley end up dating, so maybe josh DOES win in the end, but he himself ends up in a court-mandated anger management-slash-why going texas chainsaw massacre on your friends is wrong class so fast his head spins. matt catches a cold from being out in the snow for too long, and while he's fine after a couple days, man, he misses out on like. at LEAST five workout sessions, and that's devastating for both his gains and his morale.

but the most important thing that happens once everyone is off the mountain is that emily realizes she left her little bag from rodeo drive in her bedroom the whole time. oops.

thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

original post/idea came from @memes-saved-me

and thank you for encouraging me to write it! i had lots of fun <3

———

Steve Harrington’s parents weren’t around often. People knew that, they were aware. Now, they weren’t home much, yes, but they weren’t not home enough for it to be a worrying case of neglect. They still called in, had the neighbor keep tabs, and came home at least three times a month.

When you asked Steve about his family he’d simply shrug his shoulders and tell you that his father had a firm in the city. When someone asked Mr. and Mrs. Harrington about their son they’d wave a hand and mention how ‘he’s just on his way to graduating’ and then change the subject. Was Steve Harrington the perfect son? Maybe not. Were the senior Harrington’s good parents to begin with? Debatable. But they had something close to functional. They digress.

And so, as children who didn’t have prominent leaders in their life usually turn out, Steve was a lost cause when it came to actually living on his own. He had the money for food and his parents kept up with the bills. But he was horrendous when it came to actually keeping the house up to shape.

Until he had to figure it out to save his own ass.

The first instance was messy.

His first party had been wild. Junior year. Half his grade and then some had shown up. He’d gone all out. The long, fancy dining table had been loaded with foods all fatty and desirable. Kegs had been placed outside for peoples free flow. The expensive stereo which had been installed that spring blasted music from a collection of mixtapes. And by the end of the night, the party had been raging. Raging as in fights broke out, people got reckless, everyone started getting destructive.

That was when Steve regretted not having a plan, he was too sober to just let it go and deal with it in the morning. He knew that wasn’t a good idea. Multiple things happened all at once. Someone dragged a keg in from the backyard, too drunk to find the strength to carry it. And apparently too deaf to hear it scratch up the maple wood floorboards. Then, two seniors bashed their heads into the wall. Successfully denting two very noticeable holes in the drywall. But, oh, that wasn’t all the destruction. Some junior (Steve vaguely registered his name as Jake) was thrown into the wall, actively also breaking a shelf there too.

He had turned off the music and then clanged pots together to get them all out. It worked. A little surprisingly.

And then he’d been left with a damaged house to deal with.

He picked up all the litter both indoors and outdoors, put the little leftover food into the fridge, vacuumed, and then went to bed in exhaustion.

===

The next day he’d then been overwhelmed with many worries over the destruction caused to his home. He was just thankful it had been Saturday. He had the weekend to figure this shit out. He went around the house and made a list of everything that needed repair.

1.) The floor

2.) The holes in the walls

3.) That shelf (REPLACEMENT)

4.) The table

Oh yes, the table. His family’s long, fancy table had an abundant number of scratches engraved into it. Something no amount of waxing could fix.

His first thought was to look for all the tools his prestigious father had to offer. So, he looked everywhere. The basement, the attic, the closets, the offices, the shed. And he did find some. A hammer, two screwdrivers with different points, a tape measure, a wrench, a measuring level, and exactly 28 screws. But even that wasn’t enough and he knew. Next stop was the local hardware store.

Mr. Jimmy was the local handyman and he was nice enough to everyone. But not so much to the Harrington’s.

“What’re you doing here, boy? You know, son,” Jimmy’s neglected beard rustled when he spoke and his shop smelled of anchovies and cheese doodles. “I used to know yer Mama. Back in the day. She was a purdy thing, that woman.” He sighed something fond, “I miss that there woman. She’s not the same. Barely see her nowadays.” Steve was used to Mr. Jimmy’s delays, wasn’t subsided too much.

“Hey, Mr. Jimmy,” he stepped through the threshold of the old shop. “I’m looking for some tools today. Think you could help me?”

Mr. Jimmy regarded him with squinted eyes, “You using yer Daddy’s money?”

Steve blinked, “Yeah?” Mr. Jimmy folded his arms impassively. He had obvious tan lines that peaked out through his sleeveless shirt. Skin red over age.

“I don’t want no money from that bastard’s account!”

“But—“

“I’ll have none of it,” the bulky man stepped forward and Steve’s back hit the cold glass door.

“But, Mr. Jimmy, you’d be taking from him. Wouldn’t that be better than just letting him keep all that money for himself?” Steve reasoned. Adding the suggestive and innocent lilt to his tone, worked his bystander charm.

The scornful eyes grew with joy, “Why—“ he laughed suddenly, loud and invasive just as he was. “You’re a rotten little junior, aren’t yeh!” he galloped over to his counter with the same joyous lilt. Steve stood still in case the man swerved into another decision. He watched as Mr. Jimmy himself walked around his shelves, searching. “What kinda stuff you lookin for anyways?”

Steve struggled to find his voice, “Er- Uhm- Hah. W—Well I have to replace some wood flooring, fix a scratched table, replace a shelf, and patch up some holes in the wall?” He received a raised eyebrow before the man started hurriedly piling supplies throughout the shop into the counter by the cash register. Steve didn’t even want to think about how much it would cost. Although, if he thought about it, replacing everything and then paying someone else to do it all was probably more of a hole. Sure, the emergency cash that had added up over time would be gone, but at least he wouldn’t be disowned for the ruined furniture.

“That’ll be $78.75,” Mr. Jimmy pressed some buttons and Steve startled a little when the loud clang of it opening echoed. He pulled out his wallet anyway and dug around for the cash. He handed over four twenties only a smidge reluctantly.

Mr. Jimmy was giddy at least, “This here money will do me some good,” he nodded to himself as he stored the greens away and started packing the supplies in tightly within big paper bags.

“I’m sure my father will miss it,” Steve fibbed, “Keep the change.” And carried the three hefty loads up and out the door.

===

He had Queen playing the speakers and a crow bar in hand. What he was supposed to do now that he supposedly had all of the materials was a toss up to him. But he had to try.

He got down on all fours and began prying between the first ruined board and one of the unscarred ones. It lifted with a creak and he watched it carefully as he moved the bar up and down repeatedly. At one point it didn’t peel off any more and so he went side to side with it. Still nothing. He tried to push forward but there was too much resistance.

“What the hell? Come on you pathetic piece of wood!” he muttered exasperatedly. He pulled back a little and then slammed the bar back under the board. There was a sharp snapping sound that made him freeze. But the board was unstuck. And, oh would you look at that. He was unceremoniously proud. The floor board popped off. He saw that there was some dried up white lines underneath. He decided that it looked like that stuff in the bottle labeled ‘liquid nail’ and placed the board to the side.

He spent the rest of the late morning tearing up floorboards. By the time a late lunch break was approaching, he had accomplished removing all the damaged floor. He went into the kitchen to wash his hands quick before calling for a pizza when he realized the water accumulation in the sink. And it wouldn’t go down.

“Okay!” he cried in frustration, “What the actual hell now?” He got down again and opened the cupboard doors to the pipes coming down from the sink. There were steel pipes that started from the sink and curved around down into the bottom of the cabinet. There were rings that Steve assumed connected them. So to see what was backing up the sink he’d have to unscrew a couple. Right? He got up and dusted his pants off (a lost cause by this point) and went over to the pile of tools by the front door.

He grabbed a wrench, or at least what looked like one the plumber had used when he’d visited once or twice when Steve was a kid. It took him a minute but he finally loosened the mouth of it and fitted the groves over the ring of the pipe. He twisted and some water started dropping down. It started making a puddle so he hurried and grabbed a pot, placing it right underneath. He twisted again and again and again.

He sputtered as some sprayed into his face, “Awe hell! Disgusting!” but he kept twisting anyway.

Eventually it came off. But the water was quickly overflowing. Not to mention rancid. He yelped in shock and ran all around the kitchen trying to find more bowls. He found one, a china bowl that was his mother’s great aunt’s. He yelled out as he saw the grey water streaming down onto the kitchen floor at that point. He ran back and held the fancy ceramic serving bowl up to the open pipe. He sighed in relief as it worked and when it stopped, finally, just barely brimming the bowl, he saw tons of little pieces of orange.

“Who the hell put orange peels in my sink?” he muttered as he carefully waddled out to the back yard. It was cold out and he didn’t have shoes nor socks on. He jogged on his toes all the way back to the tree line and tossed the gross contents into the bushes there. He ran back shivering with a tight hold onto the rim of the china bowl. When inside he set it on the counter and fluttered about gathering towels. He mopped up the rest of the water mess and went to turn on the sink to check his work.

“Wait!” he jumped down in panic just as he turned the water on and off in the same second. The water inevitably dripped down through the open pipe but it was only a little. He leaned his head tiredly against the open cupboard door, face sweaty and hairline damp. He took the wrench and attached the rings back on snugly. Then, he turned the water on with a quick flick at the knob. He laughed happily as nothing leaked and the water trickled down without blockage. He leaned back against the counter and panted as the slight adrenaline rush flowed away.

===

Some time later he figured that he should probably work on the holes in the wall. He had some sort of paper roll made of one thick strip and a big bucket of smooth and pale mud textured stuff. He took the wide spatula thing that Mr. Jimmy had instructed of him to use and stared at the two dents in the white accent wall.

“Ummm,” Steve looked from his full hands, roll of paper stuff around his wrist and mud bucket in one and the spatula in the other. “Well what the hell do I do now?” he asked himself. He could really use Mr. Jimmy’s insight right now. Or Tommy. Tommy knew this stuff his uncle was one of the local handymen. But Tommy had also been the one to drag the keg in so maybe not him. He stepped up to the biggest of the damages and pulled off a piece of the thick paper. He held it up to the wall and blocked off the hole.

“Oh!” he realized excitedly, “I see,” Steve nodded to himself proudly and crouched to set the bucket on the floor. He stuck the spatula in and took some up with it. “Like paste,” he mumbled to himself and started smoothing the mud stuff on one side of the tape strip he’d measured out. He grinned and stuck it to the wall over the hole so that the top and bottom connected to the uncracked wall. He did that same thing until the whole hole was patched up. He looked at the pale ‘paste’ and looked back at the wall thoughtfully.

He started, then, to slather more joint compound (he’d finally read the bucket) on top of the tape (he had also then remembered the rushed instructions Mr. Jimmy had thrown out). He smoothed it out tediously and left it be to repeat on the other hole. When he’d finished with that task he found his arms and pants speckled with clumps of dried and crumbly spackle. Steve didn’t think it would be this messy. He picked it off his arms as he walked back to the upturned floor. He winced as the dried beads pulled at his arm hair.

Now, to get the new flooring in, Steve grabbed the hammer and the cylinder with the glue stuff. He really had no clue what it was supposed to be. But he did have an idea of what he had to do. So, he laid out all the new flooring, which he was happy to note was just about a perfect match to the old floor, and started patching the right lengths in place. When he had the puzzle figured out he stared at the tube thoughtfully. He scratched at the tip to see if it would give and when it didn’t he went to the kitchen for scissors.

He snipped off the cap and held it upright as he ran back to his station. Steve turned over one of the boards and pushed in the bottom to get the contents out. Which proved more difficult than he’d hoped. A spurt squirted out but then it stopped.

“Okay,” he sighed defeatedly, “What the fuck?” he set it down and went back to his pile of hardware supplies. There was an odd contraption that did have a base with the same diameter of the cylinder canister. He shrugged a grabbed it, “Worth a try.” He fitted it in and adjusted it so it looked somewhat how he assumed it should. He set the point on the board plank and pulled the trigger a few slow times until the glue came out. He laughed a loud ‘AH-HA’ and swirled it around. He flipped it over after setting down the canister and contraption and fitted and locked it in as best he could with the hammer. Sure, there was about two dents because he hit it a little bit too hard. But it was in and he only had five more boards to fit in. He felt happy enough.

Throughout the rest of the installment he had managed to not get the ‘liquid nail’ on his hands and there weren’t any too obvious dents in the floor, nor anymore scratches. He went back to his list to cross things out and check his progress.

1.) The floor

2.) The holes in the walls

3.) That shelf (REPLACEMENT)

4.) The table

He knew he had to use that block thing to sand down the dried compound. and then he had to repaint the wall white. But that would be simple. The shelf though, that was something else. He had seven wood planks that Mr. Jimmy had cut down for him already. He just had to screw them together and sand them down. Mr. Jimmy had said something about stain or wax but Steve waved it off, the only thing that went on the old shelf was little boxes that held his great great great grandmother’s spoon collection (something he had stored away before his party).

He went outside to the patio with the small hand drill, the 3x4’s, and the thin screws that he’d bought from the store. He sat criss-cross on the concrete and set up the little shelf. It took fifty six minutes and a couple minor slivers and scrapes, but he had the shelf put together with the screws just barely noticeable. He inspected the wood and decided that it was fine as it was. A close enough replica. He went back inside with it, not bothering to sand all the little nooks, and placed it against the wall experimentally. If he put it down a little the holes from before would be concealed just fine.

He drew two little lines with a pencil down the line where the original screws had been. He knew he needed a post to screw into, that the drywall wouldn’t hold. See? He was learning. He lined up the backing plank and placed the level on top, shifting the shelf just so the bubble was in the middle of the lines. He then drilled a screw through it and into the wall. Before he let it go he drilled in the second with some struggle since the he kept loosing balance. But eventually, it was in the wall. His arms were sore and he felt a headache coming on but he had the new shelf up and if his mother was kind enough to not go inspecting it, it would pass just fine. He laughed victoriously and skipped a little around joyously. He was almost done.

“Just a few more things, just a couple,” he consoled his aching limbs. Drills were hefty little things and reminded him of those wild horses in movies that always tried to buck the cowboys off. He groaned a little as he spotted the mess of a table on his way to grab a snack.

He turned his nose to the visual reminder, “I’ll be back to deal with you,” he grumbled. “I need a damn Jell-O cup.”

===

It was actually the next day that he finally got to it. His parents would be back home Monday and he still had a few things left to do. So much for an easygoing weekend. Tommy had called that morning and asked him to go with him to a neighborhood baseball scrimmage, but he’d said he was busy and hung up. He had been mid-sanding down the dining table. And after three hours of perfecting and perfecting it all again. After so much time getting sore and sweaty and coughing from dust. The table was finally flat and there was no more sign of scratches. He got the cloth that Mr. Jimmy had thrown at his face the day before and opened the strong chemically smelling can. He gagged but dipped it in and started applying the wood stain carefully, following the lines of the wood on pure instinct. It made sense too even if he wasn’t totally sure if it was actually right. But, either way, within that hour he had the table back to its original color and left it to dry completely.

He stared at the bumpy wall of compound. He knew this would be bad. If the wood dust was bad, this mud stuff was going to be worse. He wasn’t that naive.

And he was right. By the time it was smooth he was coughing and in dire need of a glass of water. He was never having a damn party at his own house again. Tammy and Sara could continue to host them, people didn’t react well to the spaciousness in the Harrington house apparently. In a rush and loss of interest in his work, Steve quickly painted over the patches with white and left it to dry. He got the can of wax and rubbed it on around the table in his final task.

He was tired as hell and he still had to go to school tomorrow. And he really needed to speak with the person who put orange peels down the damn sink.

===

On Monday morning, at approximately 5:48 AM, Steve Harrington sat in the living room watching I Love Lucy while eating toast as his parents bustled inside.

“Hello!” he heard his mother chirp tiredly as she entered through the foyer. She hurried over and he gave her as welcoming of an embrace as he could. “How are you, dear? Foods in good supply?” she pulled away to inspect him with her hazel eyes, “Heating system still working alright?”

Steve nodded and smiled, “Everything’s just fine. But I have to go and meet Tommy before school, that alright?” he stepped to the side and towards the stairs.

“Of cour—“ his mother was cut off by the monotone cords of his father.

“Stephano, what is up with this mess!” In that moment, Steve Harrington didn’t think he’d ever felt as much fear as he had in that moment. He bolted to the kitchen.

“What mess?”

His father pointed to the wrench, screw driver, and tape measure on the island counter, “Away with this mess, Steve. Clutter is nothing to approve of. It accumulates and it’s unprofessional.” If he only knew.

===

Years later, when he was in everlasting love with Billy Hargrove and they had their shared, small and cozy Chicago apartment, his handyman skills came back to great use.

“Steve! Steve!” Billy shouted in a panic.

Steve rushed from the bedroom to the kitchen, socks skidding on the floors, “What is it? What happened?” he flocked around his boyfriend and checked for any injuries.

Billy pointed rigidly to the sink, “Somethings up with the pipes or something.”

Steve rose his brows in bewilderment, “You don’t know how to unclog pipes?”

Billy furrowed his, “You do?” Steve nodded and opened the cupboard, kneeling to check the pipes.

“Okay so there’s PVC pipes here, I don’t even need a wrench!” he peaked back up at Billy’s wide eyes. “Can you get me that bucket I usually give you when you get hungover?” Billy nodded and jogged out of the room. Steve got a hand towel and placed it down, “What did you put down the drain anyway?” Billy almost hit him in the face with the bucket when he turned back. He froze and took it from the nervous man.

“Uhm. Potato peels,” he answered.

Steve scoffed, “It’s always peels isn’t it?”

Billy stepped back when Steve started turning the rings, “What?”

“Nothin’.” He twisted it quick and managed to not get sprayed in the face while the murky water and loads of potato peel flowed out into the large bucket. When the flow stopped he reattached the pipes together and hefted the bucket out to Billy. “Put that down the toilet, Tiger.” He turned back and heard the sloshing in the bucket and the grunts from Billy as he went through the hallway. Steve chuckled to himself and wiped up the small water spillage.

When Billy returned he had opinions.

“First of all, that shit was gross as hell,” he left the bucket by the front door before returning into the kitchen. “Second of all,” he boxed Steve in with a smirk in his face, “I didn’t know you were so good at pluming.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Finish making the calzones, Bill, and maybe I’ll show you how to fix that hole in the wall behind Max’s photo hanging in the living room. It’s suspiciously shaped like that baseball I told you not to throw around.”

Billy fumbled for his words.

Steve shook his head, “Don’t think you can hide that shit from me, Tiger, I’m the one that dusts.”

===

The next time was when Max and Lucas visited.

“William, do not throw that!” Steve scolded as he held a pan with tomato sauce in it. Lucas dropped his hands that had been ready to try and catch the ball and Max turned a page of her book from where she was on the sofa boredly.

Billy grinned and threw the football anyway, of course. Steve sighed and then grew furious as the same football smashed instantly into the rickety bookshelf and the sad, old thing crumbled on impact. It fell over from Billy’s uncalculated, rebellious force and the shelves snapped apart from the sides. Books strewn out in a messy wave. Steve stomped over and only lowered his near growl of scolding when Billy showed himself already terrified. Max grinned and set her book in her lap to watch.

“What did I say?” Steve demanded while whacking Billy’s shoulder with the oven mitt. The other flapped his hands back to stop the assault.

“I’m sorry!” he yelped, “I’m sorry! We’ll just buy another one!” Steve glared and whacked his head, lighter than before, but still with vigor.

“We don’t have the money, William! We bought the last one at Goodwill for $14!” He bustled back to the kitchen and put the pan into the oven to cook the sauce the rest of the way. “I’ll just have to go down and ask Jeffery to use his wood scraps and nail gun. He’s always kind enough.”

Billy, who had followed him in, looked skeptical, “Jeffery Jeffery or creepy Jeffery?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Old man Jeffery. And Jeff isn’t creepy, he’s just anti-social.”

Billy went unswayed, “I want to go with you. Let’s go,” he went to the coat closet and Steve sighed, unsurprised.

Steve took his coat and boots from Billy and called to the kids, “Lucas, Max, the sauce will be done in a couple hours. If we’re not back by then just take it out and let it cool please!”

“Sorry, Steve!” he heard Lucas say sincerely.

“Got it, Boss!” Max answered with another flutter of a page in her book.

===

While Steve attached the air hose to the nail gun Billy watched with creases in his forehead.

“What are you ogling, Tiger?” Steve asked as he applied wood glue to a piece.

Billy stooped forward, “Can I help?” he was almost eager sounding.

Steve grinned, “I was hoping you’d ask.” He lifted his own hands from holding the planks together, “Hold that as I nail it together would ya?” Billy nodded a bit unsurely but placed his hands and pushed just as Steve had. Steve lined up the gun, pushed down, and pulled the trigger. Billy flinched at the loud noise and Steve set the gun down and stood up from his focused crouch.

“Are you alright,” he cupped Billy’s cheeks, thumbs gently smoothed the corner eye crinkles.

The other nodded and pecked Steve’s forehead before shrugging it off, “Was just surprised is all.” Steve nodded back and smiled kindly before returning as he was before and finished the line of nails.

Not too long later, the book shelf was put together and Steve handed Billy a piece of sand paper. He showed Billy how to use it and he got complaints in return due to the uncomfortable noise it made.

But they did return home with a lovely new bookshelf. And they’d made it together so it was all that extra bit of special.

Maybe Steve didn’t disapprove of that party all those years ago after all. Look what he got out of it?

The smile Billy got whenever he looked at that shelf filled with Steve’s mystery romance and his own horror thrillers, that fond and euphoric smile was enough for Steve Harrington in the long run.

[seizethecarpe]

After 9 days || Dave and Rio

Timing: Currentish, end of Versipellis Plot  Summary: Dave begins to feel better Content warning: Self harm, vomit mention, medical blood

Dave woke that morning in piecemeal bites, his skin clammy and cold to the touch, slime dried on in places. It was like a fever had broken, or like he’d been pushed into arctic water and was being jolted awake. He opened his eyes, head pounding as her surveyed the room. It wasn’t in the worst disarray. Two bunk beds had been tipped over in last night’s rage, the door dented and teeth marks on the wall. Rio’s book had been picked up, but in a rare miracle, hadn’t been torn up. Not that he hadn’t threatened to. Not that he hadn’t tried to trick Rio into coming down to a near certain fate more than once. Last night had been the worst, as if the sickness inside him had known it would be its last chance to win. Had he not been here, it may well have been. 

 Dave grimaced at the rancid taste in his mouth. Hygiene hadn’t been a priority the last few days either, he stank like a haul out, but the worst was the smell of human and seal blood still caked into all of his clothes. Nell’s, Mina’s… Dave shuddered. The human girl he’d dragged to the bottom of the river, held underwater so long her lungs had to have been fit to burst. Even once she’d chased him off… Dave wasn’t sure a human could have gotten themselves to the surface and land so safely. Nor could Nell, trapped underwater and tangled in a weighted net. 

 He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, stumbling to the bathroom and threw up  the last contents of his stomach, and slowly began to clean the last two weeks of grime off of him. In the cracked mirror (Dave must have been the one to crack it, yes, there it was, a cut over the knuckles of his fist) he looked properly at the injuries he’d developed. A deep gash in his face, running from the bridge of his nose to the corner of his mouth, warped in ways that made no sense for human skin because he’d been struck as a seal. Claw marks on his arms, deep and showing early signs of infection. Then the bite itself, having been neatly stitched on the first night and abandoned since then. Deep black bruises bloomed across his shoulders, arms and torso. Breathing hurt, and so did everything else. Cleaning himself was slow, agonising work, but it was a distraction from the much deeper horrors lurking in his mind. 

 At some point, Dave would have to convince Rio that he was back to himself for real this time. He just wasn’t brave enough to admit it, yet. Once he was clean, he began to slowly tidy the bedroom, grunting and wheezing as he went.

 It had been a long few days. Orion hadn’t gotten much sleep, only managing to catch a couple hours of shut eye here and there when he could hear the steady beating of Dave’s heart as proof that he was sleeping too. Even then, Rio was so paranoid about all that could go wrong that every single creak of noise jolted him awake. Unfortunately in a building as old as this one, those noises weren’t uncommon. Rio felt a bit lightheaded from the exhaustion, something he was sure was represented in his face in the form of pale skin and bloodshot eyes. For his own sanity, he had avoided mirrors when possible. 

 For all of that, he tried to remind himself that he was hardly in the right scenario to complain. Anything he was feeling, Dave must have felt ten times over. Rio hated being on the other side of the door instead of in there helping the man. On the other side, everything felt like an intrusion. His hearing made sure that Rio wouldn’t miss a single curse, scream or outburst. Most nights, Rio would put in headphones and sit in the hallway outside of the locked door. It was never enough to block out the noise completely, but it helped. What had realistically only been a few days had felt like weeks. 

 Today, things had been quiet. It shifted like this often, loud bouts of angry pounding followed by begging and eventually some quiet. But it only lasted for so long. However, by Rio’s calculations they should be towards the end of their timeline. As long as that Scribe had been right, they should almost be done. Rio crawled across the hall floor and sat against the door again, as he had done that first day. Then he pulled out his phone. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

 Dave froze when he caught Rio’s scent, instinctively holding his breath, bracing for the hunger to tear through him. He grabbed a nearby bed post, knuckles pale with the force of the grip. The pain helped anchor him, give him the few seconds control he’d need before Orion was gone again. 

 The hunger never came. It didn’t shred his control, suffocate his mind, or even make his stomach snarl. If anything, he just felt more nauseous. Knowing how much time he’d spent fantasizing about tearing off Rio’s arm and eating it like a chicken drumstick. Relief washed over him like a gentle summer tide, until his phone buzzed, and the ability to ignore the world was lost again. 

 “Shit.” Came the only reply, before Dave put his phone away, stooping over to pick up one of the knocked over beds, but almost immediately his back popped and his body sank to the floor with the effort. Ignoring the half dozen fights he’d been in had been fine when the hunger had been his sole master, but now his body had had enough and felt every bit the 62 years it was. But being inactive let his mind fill with other things. Carefully, he texted Rio back, aware he was the damn boy who cried wolf when it came to saying this monster had let him go. “Like I never want to eat again.” 

 At least so far, the anger hadn’t come. Orion waited for moments too late, not realizing he had been holding his breath. No matter how many times Dave cycled through the stages of his hunger, Rio still got surprised when the man started yelling and shoving things around. Even when he could tell it was about to start. In fact, the only thing that Rio could hear Dave say at all was a short curse word. Was this what the two had been waiting so long for? Had the moment finally come

 “That’s a start.” Rio replied to the text quickly, but didn’t move. As much as he wanted to fling the door open and hug the man who probably had no interest in hugging the small, tired scribe back, Rio stayed sitting on the ground. He had received texts like this before in the past few days. Right around the time the anger would stop, a flood of texts would come in claiming to feel better. Or faking an emergency. Dave and Rio had exchanged very few messages since meeting in the woods and almost getting killed by the monster chickens. Now, there were too many to count. And if anyone saw some of the messages, they might recommend Rio seek legal action. “I don’t know if this is a real text or not.”

 "Smart," Dave replied, making no effort to convince Rio otherwise. He was hardly convinced himself. Hardly believed the whole thing had happened. Dave dropped his head down against the cool metal of the upturned bed, and no amount of cleaning himself or the room up would remove the thick layer of disgust he felt right now. 

“Is there any antiseptic in this room?” Dave messaged eventually. It was already bad enough that he hadn’t taken any care of his rapidly accumulating collection of injuries over the last couple weeks, he couldn’t justify not looking after them any longer, especially when he could start to smell there was something wrong with them. Couldn’t afford to let them fester. Didn’t much have the energy in him to treat everything, but he could make a start. Focus on the injuries, not on the people who might well be bloated corpses bobbing in the waves right now. Sooner or later, he’d have to start looking through the obituaries and missing person’s. Start checking for Nell and the girl with the dark hair. Start checking for Ollie. 

 Orion hopped onto his feet as soon as he got the text from Dave. “Not in there but I should have some in my bag.” He replied as he jogged off toward the library. He hated giving credit to Athena for just about anything, but he had to admit that it was on more than one occasion now that her emergency pack that she forced him to carry around had come in handy. This was the first time Dave seemed to show any vested interest in his injuries at all. That had to mean something. 

 He pulled the emergency kit from his book bag and abandoned it in the library to run back to the locked door. He slowed as he got to it, listening in again to make sure nothing had changed. From what he could tell, all seemed calm. “Ummm” Rio texted first, not sure what the best course of action was to get the supplies to him. Eventually, he settled that a small amount of trust would have to be given. “Can you go to the other side of the room? When you’re there. Knock on the wall. I’ll hear it and open the door.” It was the only plan he could think of. He figured even if Dave did lunge, he would probably be fast enough to shut the door on him. Probably. 

 Dave nodded to himself when Rio’s text came through, pinching the bridge of his nose, just above where the deep gash in his face started. It had been a long time since he had been precious about getting new scars on his face, at least. He did not move, even when Rio’s scent became stronger again as he returned. Dave was always feeling for the hunger, the desire in him. But it never came. His chest slumped. It never, ever came. The corner of his lips had even turned up slightly when he got Rio’s uncertain text, and then the instruction. Smart kid. 

 Dave huffed and grunted as he pushed himself back to his feet, wincing where his ribs protested the effort. He was reminded, suddenly, of how much power he’d surrendered here. His pelt was tucked away in a safe place, but he hadn’t looked at in days. There was no water for him to swim in here, more walls than Dave usually ever let around him, not when he was used to the wide spaces of the ocean and the thin walls of his van. But nothing was as claustrophobic as the fate Rio had described waiting for him if he had indulged in anyone’s flesh. So Dave swallowed the sudden nerves, and banged his fist against the wall furthest from the door, hoping that was loud enough for Rio to hear. Then he turned, and lowered himself down to the floor. Just like Rio, he wanted to be as far from being able to attack the scribeling as possible incase the hunger ambushed him. 

 Orion took a deep breath. His hand was on the doorknob, ready to turn but waiting to hear the knock. When it finally came, Rio hesitated for just another second. His hearing was still far from ideal, but Kaden’s training had helped him come a long way to controlling it. He could tell that the knock was from the other end of the room.He knew he would never know if Dave was better until he opened that door, so he finally turned the knob and pushed the door open. 

 Dave was on the floor, still on the opposite side of the room. And he didn’t look good. Aside from the normal ramifications of being locked in a room for three days, his cuts and wounds had only gotten worse, a bad reminder to Rio that he didn’t have the same healing process as hunters did. Unsurprisingly, he looked far worse than Rio did. “Hey” Rio signed for the first time in days, big still in hand and obstructing his ability to do it efficiently. Rio hovered behind the frame, waiting for any movement. Eventually, Rio held the first aid kit up and tossed it over towards him. “Bad question but… how are you feeling?”

 As the door creaked open, Dave held his breath, just in case. His eyes set on Orion, looking exhausted and drained and even paler than he normally did, which was frankly impressive considering how pale his complexion normally was. Dave exhaled slowly, signing back a half hearted greeting, and then inhaled. Nothing. No hunger, no desire, no inexplicable rage that was just the hunger wearing a new face. Dave almost sobbed with relief, catching the medkit with a grunt. 

 “Like I should be dead,” Dave replied sharply, before dropping his hands back into his lap, carefully unzipping the medical bag and pulling out the bottle of antiseptic and some swabs. “Or one of those Versipellis,” he spelled out the word on his hand before opening the bottle and without even flinching doused the deep scratches on one arm with the stinging iodine. With his hands occupied, he said in English. “Think you’re one of the ones I owe for keeping me from that. Thank you.” His voice was hoarse and strained like the rest of him, and when he poured the antiseptic on the bite he did hiss. 

 Orion stood awkwardly in the doorway as Dave unzipped the bag and started dressing the wounds. Rio wished he could help, but he knew Dave wouldn’t take too kindly to Rio risking closing the distance for that. It was better that the two stayed at a distance. “Well luckily, you’re neither!” Rio signed and spoke, finishing off with a smile. It felt forced, mostly because the scene the two had found themselves in was incredibly sad. Even though it should be a victory. The smile was as genuine as it could be in this situation. “Of course. Anytime. You don’t owe me anything.” Rio shrugged off the compliment. 

 They still couldn’t be completely sure that this was over. Sure, there seemed to be light at the end of the tunnel. But neither of them knew exactly what was happening with the Versipellis. Only what they had read in Rio’s book. He supposed no matter what, they had no way to truly know that this nightmare was over. Not for a while at least. It was an unsettling thought, that Rio realized that even though he couldn’t prove Dave was over the hunger he could tempt him. If Dave didn’t react to fresh blood then it was an even greater sign that the nine days was an accurate estimate. “Don’t freak out, okay?” Rio prefaced Dave, rolling up the sleeve of his hoodie just enough to show off his wrist. Small hints of scars and burns peaked out from the edge, which Rio chose to ignore. He pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed the jagged edge of the object against the side of his wrist and forced it down. The cut was small, but he still winced at the sudden pinch and immediately caught the scent of blood before it poured from the cut and across his arm. 

Dave just frowned. Without the hunger, he was only more certain that coming here had been one of the more selfish decisions he’d made in a week of horrific, selfish decisions. It took even just a cursory glance to see that even though Dave hadn’t hurt Rio by some miracle in the last few days, he’d asked far too fucking much of someone far too young and far too lonely. He wouldn’t point it out to the kid, wouldn’t express his worries, because Rio was so patently happy to help, but it was another lead weight in his gut as he shifted uncomfortably. “Pretty sure I owe you plenty,” Dave disagreed. “I’d feel better with a way to repay you, scribeling.”

 Don’t freak out. Dave pursed his lips, trying to bandage one arm with the other and failing miserably, but it was the sharp smell of iron that had him pause. Dave stared at the dripping rivulet of blood running down Orion’s wrist, then looked up at Rio with a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “Right up ‘til then, I figured you were the smart one.” He sighed. “Blood didn’t make me more or less hungry before. Sure as hell doesn’t make you smell any better. Points for intent ‘n’ noble risk taking, I'll give you. With a key too?” He sighed, eyeing the bloody steel. “C’mon, you need this kit too now.” He picked up one of the bandages and tossed it to Rio’s hand. Then, he signed in a quiet, throw around way, “It’s no effort at all to not eat you.” The deep, shaking breath he took as he signed it gave away just how much a relief that was. 

 “I’m pretty sure you don’t.” Orion reiterated. He had no interest in asking anything of Dave. He had been through enough in the last nine days. Right now, the only thing that he needed to worry about was the infected wounds on his body and getting some rest. Eating some real food might go a long way too, considering the only cravings he had for over a week was flesh. “But if it make you feel better then we can just say you’ll have my back and do me a solid someday if I need it.” Despite knowing that neither were fae, he still tried to edge around using the words anymore. Promise. Swear. Owe. All of them felt dangerous now. 

 In hindsight, it wasn’t a very good idea. The cut didn’t hurt much, just a quick pinching pain as it pierced the skin. The blood trickled down his arm slowly. It didn’t matter. It would just heal anyways. The blood could be wiped away as it always had in the past. Orion shrugged at Dave’s comment and offered a guilty grin, “Thought it was worth a try. I never told you I was smart.” Recently, Rio was more and more convinced that he was actually getting dumber. Like all those years of actively trying to avoid danger and plan ahead had completely flown out the window. He might actively be losing brain cells throwing himself headfirst into danger. “The key was the only thing I had on me.” Rio leaned forward to catch the bandages and took another couple steps forward. He really didn’t have any desire at all to attack or eat Rio? It had actually worked. “Holy crap. Then it’s actually over isn’t it? You beat that stupid curse or disease or whatever it was! This is incredible!”

 Dave’d been about to protest, when Orion offered his alternative. Didn’t feel right to get away with this without at least the idea of an I O U.  “Sounds like a deal,” he agreed begrudgingly, and winced as even that agreement caused pain. Most days, he knew better than to let injuries compound with increased movement, but this hadn’t been most days.

 “You’re a scribe. Kinda comes in the job description.” Dave looked skeptically at the blood trickling down Rio’s arm, twinging in concern. “Hope you heal quick. That looks nasty.” Keys weren’t known to be clean and sharp, exactly. He wouldn’t say anything else on the matter. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe it wouldn’t have, but the young scribe had meant well and… that was more than could be said about Dave’s most recent choices. Like putting Rio in danger to begin with. He breathed shakily as the reality of it all sank in with the kid.

 “Yeah,” Dave said, looking down at his trembling hands. He’d always known that a bite could destroy a life. He’d nearly lost his to the jaw of a mermaid he hadn’t quite outswum. Not to mention the number of lives he’d ended with a bite to an ankle, dragging them below the surface. How many he might have ended in just the last two weeks. The memory of blood on his lips had never tasted so rancid. But he was alive to regret it. His voice was thick and heavy. “Yeah.”

 Satisfied that he didn’t have to immediately think of a favor for the selkie, Orion grinned at the guy and gave a thumbs up. Despite his own exhaustion and the hopeless energy in the room, Rio was beaming. They hadn’t had any choice but to put their faith into this old scribe book. And it had actually worked. Dave, though clearly not quite over whatever he had been through the last nine days, was still here. He was alive and himself and he hadn’t eaten anybody. Thanks to this old scribe, he wouldn’t crave it anymore either. Reading through these old dusty books and scouring the abandoned library, Rio had started losing a bit of faith recently in his goal. He was starting to lose hope that the scribes had the right idea. Things hadn’t been perfect still, but their knowledge had just saved lives.

 “It’s not too bad. Just a surface cut.” Rio was embarrassed that he had done it in front of Dave. He finished bandaging the cut and then kept his palm hovered above it as if that would provide any further cover from Dave’s gaze. Something as small as that seemed so inconsequential to Rio. He hated his reliance on his healing. But it was hardly the time to worry about a tiny cut. All he could do was grin at the man. “I can’t believe we did it.” His voice felt octaves too high because of the excitement. “I guess… You can get back to your life now?”

 “Depends. On what that book says. I mean, that thing was some sort of lycanthrope. Is this gonna be an issue every full moon? I can’t-” Dave pressed his knuckle to his teeth, breathing sharply. Orion was getting too hard to hear as the pitch of his voice rose in enthusiasm. It was infectious, thrumming in his chest like giddiness, but for the first time in a damn while, his fear was even louder. “I can’t be that again. Ever.” Was the book only written by humans? Was it written for humans? Dave felt like maybe it needed to be some sort of common knowledge that he could be turned into something other than a seal and a ghost. 

 “No!” Orion answered a bit too passionately, but he couldn’t help that. Dave sounded so defeated, so… scared. He needed Dave to know that he had already won, even if it didn’t feel like it right now. “No.” He repeated himself, more calm this time around, “I’ve read every entry about that thing that I could find in this library and my-” Mom’s journals was what Rio almost said, but stopped himself just short. He didn’t know how Dave felt about hunters, and didn’t need to add any stress to the man’s life right about now, “my archive. Multiple times. The versipellis can’t change back once they turn. It’s one shot. Either you resist the cravings in the nine days or you don’t. You made it. You’re done. Seriously, you’re done.”

 Dave dropped his head into his hand, staring at the floor as he shook his head. At first, he was silent, as if he hadn’t heard Orion at all. His shoulders began to shake, and then his whole body. Even Dave wasn’t sure which way he’d go until laughter broke the silence of the room, bubbling up his throat and then spilling over. Belly deep rumbles of relief, of disbelief, in the joy of survival. Every laugh hurt, shaking every bruise and battered bone, but that didn’t stop him either. Nevermind that scribes had been wrong before. Slowly, his laughter petered out, as guilt as familiar as his lungs settled back in his chest. “Thank you, Rio,” Dave said, looking back up at the boy. Man. He stood, slowly wavering. “I mean that more than you know.”

 Orion sat beside Dave quietly for a long time. There was a lot that the man was processing apparently. And no way for Rio to continue to comfort him, really. The excitement that Rio felt didn’t seem appropriate, but he couldn’t exactly stop himself from it. Even as he tried to remain stoic and calm, his body was shaking with joy. Something had worked. A life had been saved because of knowledge Rio was able to pull together. He felt like a legitimate, honest to god scribe. And it had helped him keep a friend of his from turning into a cannibal. If nothing else, that had to count for something. Dave broke that silence eventually when he started laughing, a jarring change from the man’s previous mood. It didn’t last long, but it was enough. Rio grinned and watched as the man’s laughter settled. Eventually, Dave thanked Rio, a small act that made Rio’s face heat up and glow a bright red. “Yeah. Of course.” Rio nodded solemnly, too embarrassed to keep extensive eye contact with him, “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Foreign Languages (standalone)

Summary: Rus always thought he was a pretty likable guy. Everyone in Underswap always thought so. So why was it Edge hated him so much?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Enemies to Lovers,Getting Together, Misunderstandings

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

Rus took the wet dish from his brother’s hand and dried it carefully, making sure to get any damp places that would leave spots when they dried. On the counter in front of him were stacks of already dried plates sitting next to the glasses and Rus added the current one to join its brethren. Because despite what some people might think, and say, loudly and frequently, Rus could and did actually help out with the housework.

Okay, it was possible he played up the laziness whenever some people were here, come on, it was funny. That was the joke! And sure, he got some chuckles out of it, but in the end, the fact remained. He helped, thanks, he did have jobs, he put money towards the bills, and he wasn’t some lazy, good-for-nothing jackass sponging off his brother’s goodwill, he wasn’t—

“You can quit brooding about it now,” Blue told him. Rus looked down at him. The sink was at his bro’s level and unless Rus wanted to sit on the floor while he washed, they usually went with Rus at the drying end of the line. Blue rinsed another plate and handed it up. “They’re gone and they won’t be back for another week.”

“they may be physically gone, but i swear, their presence lingers like a rancid fart in an elevator,” Rus grumbled. He rubbed away the droplets of water with more energy than was probably necessary, but it was probably better the plates took the bulk of his irritation than where he really wanted to shove it. “the Fell brothers seemed to bring their version of trouble with them wherever they go.”

“What I don’t understand is why you let him get to you,” Blue sighed. He scrubbed at the casserole dish, attacking the dried-on bits and ugh, gross, there was another reason to be grateful he was tall. “I’m aware you two simply don’t get along, but you’re usually so much better than that! How can you ignore every other Monster in the Underground, all with a smile on your face, except him?”

Rus sighed, sagging against the counter. “bro, i dunno. he’s worse than the mating call of piece of styrofoam.”

That was a kind way of putting it as far as Rus was concerned. His undersized clone from murderworld was flat-out fucking obnoxious. Rus could handle insults, hell, when he was doing standup, Rus could handle any heckler from the stage with the finest level of panache. But somehow, that guy managed to find his very last nerve and pounced on it with the kind of accuracy that Robin Hood would envy.

Ignoring that shit was seriously above and beyond the call of duty. The only other option would be going out whenever they were over, but fuck that. This was his house, thanks, and Rus wasn’t getting chased out of it by some overblown copy of himself that needed heels to look him in the eye sockets.

Blue rinsed off a handful of silverware and handed it over. “Things are different in Underfell you know that.”

The forks jangled as Rus tossed them roughly on the counter, “so what, that gives him blanket permission to be an asshole?”

“No,” Blue pulled the plug and wiped his hands on his apron, “but it also doesn’t mean you have to rise to the bait every time.”

“why are you only bitching at me and not him?” Rus whined. Honestly, it was so unfair. Just because he was taller didn’t mean he always had to be the bigger skeleton. He tossed the rest of the mostly dried silverware in with the forks and flopped down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his bro from behind and hauling him in for a hug. Blue snuggled in obediently, but that wasn’t enough to save Rus from the scolding.

“Because he isn't my brother,” Blue said firmly. “You are. And if you're waiting on Red to reel him in, I'd suggest not holding your breath.” That was the fucking truth, Red never joined in on the fun, but he tended to sit back and watch the show with a smirk on his face. That was the Underfell brothers, wasn’t it, the asshole and the whole ass, and they shared the titles between them. “Now, promise me that you won't let him get to you this weekend.”

Rus grumbled under his breath.

"What was that?”

"I promise," he sighed. He really did hate letting his bro down. He let Blue go and sank back on his heels while he tried very hard not to sulk, because that only made his bro unhappy and didn’t solve a thing.

This wasn’t the first time Blue begged him to tone it down for a while, but fuck, it was like that asshole was deliberately needling him, seriously, he was begging for an insult. The real problem wasn’t that he couldn’t control himself, but the simple fact that Edge wasn’t gonna make it easy for him.

This past movie night was a case in point. Nothing but jibes, back and forth, from the second Edge walked through the door ‘till the moment he set those high heels of his back into the snow.

“Tell me, how many piles of filthy clothing did you need to wade through before you found that sweatshirt?”

“only two, edgelord, wanted to make a good impression. and how many emos did you have to kill to put together that outfit, good on you for getting all the dust out.”

“My apologies, I suppose having clothing that wasn’t scrounged from a vomit-inducing dumpster is offending your sensibilities. I’ll be sure to wade through some filth before our next visit.”

“shouldn’t be too hard in underfell, all you have to do is take a stroll outside.”

“Do you think so, I wasn’t sure you knew what a stroll was, considering that the couch cushions are sunken in your shape.”

And that was just what Rus remembered from the top of his head. If he could give Edge grudging credit for anything, it was that he was quick with a comeback. Too quick, and constant to boot. By the end of the night, Rus was seething and Blue was exhausted from playing monkey in the middle, trying feebly to keep the peace.

If Edge had ever pointed any of that shit on Blue’s direction, this wouldn’t even be an issue. Rus would’ve shoved their pointy asses back into the portal so fast, the void would be spinning. Whatever problem Edge had with him, though, it didn’t extend to Blue. They were chummy as hell, thick as thieves, whatever other fucking metaphor the undernet could spit out.

Seriously, though, if he’d been even the tiniest bit as rude to his bro, this whole movie night thing would’ve been dumpstered a long time ago.

Only he wasn’t. And he wasn’t to Papyrus either, or Sans, or any other fucking person he’d seen Edge interact with. Doc Jekyll was perfectly kind and polite to anyone else and only pulled a Monsieur Hyde whenever Rus was close by.

Seemed like Edge saved all his vitriol for him. Lucky lucky him.

Well, this movie night was gonna be different. This time Rus wasn’t letting that asshole get to him and that was final.

~~*~~

If Rus knew that ignoring Edge was going to be this amazing, he would have tried it months ago.

It started from the first moment they walked in the house, like it always did. Edge barely kicked off his boots when he called out, “Have you been wearing that same shirt all week, Swapshit? Are you experimenting on whether it’s actually possible to wear something to rags?”

“Guess so,” Rus said absently. He didn’t elaborate on it, didn’t ask whether Edge shook all the dust out of his ensemble before coming. He only stayed where he was, slumped on the sofa while Blue began the entire convoluted ritual of bringing out popcorn and drinks, chattering about what movies they were planning on watching today and what was for dinner.

Usually Edge would step in and help, but Rus’s lack of reply seemed to have thrown him for a loop. He wavered for a moment then rallied with, “Perhaps you let your brother wash it this week after all, since I doubt you’ve laid a hand on a washing machine in months.”

Rus only shrugged vaguely, and the look that flitted across Edge’s face, a weirdly twisted configuration of confusion, was some sweet shit.

He tried a couple more, adding to the clothes and lazy insults with a coupla digs about his intellect for seasoning and this time Rus didn’t even bother with the shrug. He was a tree in the wind, bending beneath the gales, and laughing it the fuck up on the inside. Now this was entertainment.

Sans seemed to have caught on to the deal and he only settled next to a scowling Red on one of the sofas, watching as Edge stood alone in the middle of their living room, fumbling for another insult for Rus to ignore.

Blue and Papyrus were always tall and smol balls of trying to get along, and when Blue gave him a look, Rus only looked back innocently. Hey, he was following his promise to the letter, not letting Edge get to him. If Edge was gonna get worked up into a froth about it, hey, wasn’t his fault.

Blue still looked like he wanted to give him a kick in the shin, but didn’t seem like he came up with a good excuse for it. He settled for accidentally/deliberately treading on Rus’s foot even as he said, brightly, “Here we go, popcorn and drinks!”

“thanks, bro,” Rus took his bowl and immediately started crunching the salty, buttery goodness.

That seemed to be the ammo Edge was looking for and he latched on quickly, snapping out, “Always have to be first in line, don’t you. Consider leaving some for the rest of us.”

Rus had to resist the urge to scoff, that wasn’t even a good one, boo, all the judges give ones, even the Russians.

“Here you are, Edge, popcorn,” Blue said with almost desperate cheer, thrusting a bowl at him.

That seemed to be enough to call for an intermission. Edge took his bowl of popcorn without so much as a thank you and went to sit between Sans and Red. The movie was an old one they’d all seen before and Rus snuck a couple discreet glances Edge’s way. He was glowering at the screen as if that laser gaze of his might kill all the actors and spare them this nonsense. Every once in a while, Edge sullenly ate a single kernel of popcorn and holy shit, this was the funniest thing Rus had ever seen, and if he laughed out loud now, he’d never get to see the end of the show.

He managed to jerk his eye lights back to the tv and kept the glances to a minimum, the better to savor it, hell, yes. Sipped on the Edgelord’s annoyance like the fine vinegary wine that it was.

Halfway through the movie, Blue paused it and picked up the half-full popcorn bowl, holding it up to ask cheerily, “Does anyone need a drink or refill?”

“I’ll take a glass,” Edge announced. Instead of waiting for Blue to bring it, he stalked over, arms crossed over his chest as he stood waiting, glowered at absolutely nothing.

That got some looks. Edge never drank soda, he always stuck with water. Hell, he’d sneered about the soda before, what was that one, something about Rus drinking so much soda that if he dared eat a Mento, he’d probably explode.

“Oh, uh, of course!” Blue recovered admirably. He poured out a cup and handed it up to Edge. Who took it with possibly the fakest looking fumble Rus ever saw, but there wasn’t time to even wonder what the fuck because the soda was less in the glass and more dumped directly on his head.

Stunned, Rus looked up at Edge through the sticky liquid dripping into his sockets.

“Oops,” he said, blandly. His eye lights were bright, a smirk curving up the side of his mouth. “My mistake.”

“you—” Rus bit off what he was going to say hard enough that his teeth clicked together painfully. He’d fucking promised, and he was keeping his promise, no cheap pleather knockoff clone was going to stop him. He stood up, slowly, and for one long moment he faced Edge. Without his boots on, Edge was inches shorter than him, staring up defiantly, daring Rus to say something, anything. Then Rus turned away and stalked towards the kitchen.

“Papy,” Blue called anxiously as he went through the door. Rus ignored it and went right to the drawer with the towels, wiping off as much of the sticky wetness as he could, ugh.

The door swung open behind him and Rus turned enough to catch a glimpse of black and crimson, too tall to be Red.

Rus wasn’t the fighter that Edge was, but he did have two things in his side. First, the element of surprise and second, he was pretty sure Edge wouldn’t actually hurt him. Blue probably wouldn’t be very happy about having to shake Rus out of the rugs.

That anger he’d kept banked all night under his sense of humor surged and Rus reached out and took hold of Edge’s soul with his magic, turned it blue with a cheery ting and shoving him back against the cupboards. Edge didn’t even struggle or try to fight back and somehow that was even more irritating, what the fuck was wrong with this guy?

Seemed like there was only one person to ask. Rus stalked over to Edge and stood in front of him, his soda-soaked sweatshirt clinging uncomfortably as he snarled out, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Edge had no right to look as furious as he did. “Me?” he spat, “What the fuck are you trying to pull?”

“i’m trying to end all this bullshit!” Rus snapped. His anger wasn’t sustainable, hell, Rus never liked being angry, and it drained away, leaving behind exhaustion. No one else ever got treated to the weekly roast, why the hell was Edge so damned focused on him. He didn’t know and couldn’t even care, let his magic recede so that Edge came down in a controlled slide, his feet back on the floor.

Only, Rus didn’t expect the way Edge’s expression changed along with it, from cold fury to…to…it almost looked like yearning, what the fuck--

“Finally,” Edge breathed, and Rus only stared dumbly as Edge stepped in close and kissed him.

Rus’d been kissed plenty of times before by other, fleshier Monsters and wasn’t that always a learning curve. Somehow this was even worse, mostly because he was cycling through various levels of shock, hands flailing as if he were trying to fly away from this whole awful night.

A skeletal mouth was something different, hard, sharp teeth pressed almost painfully to his own. Rus was pretty sure he only opened his mouth to ask Edge what the fuck he was doing, but the moment his teeth parted, he had an extra tongue inside, long and clever, curling around his own, and for one brief, baffling moment Rus found himself leaning into it. The mouth against his own knew what it was doing, tongue dipping inside, teeth nibbling teasingly, riding the tantalizing line of pain and pleasure.

It was the slightest prickle of those sharp teeth that reminded him of who exactly he was kissing, and Rus jerked away, stumbling back and covering his mouth with a humiliatingly shaky hand. “what the…why would you…what the fuck?!”

Looking to Edge for answers only got Rus more questions. He looked bewildered more than anything, maybe even a little hurt. He reached out, his hands settling on Rus’s shoulders. “But, you said—"

“let go!” Rus tried to lurch away from those grasping hands.

Edge did immediately and Rus scrambled away from him, not looking back as he fled out the kitchen door. The others were still on the sofas, but Red was sitting next to Blue now, of course he fucking was, probably kept his bro out here to let Edge chase after him for whatever the fuck that was.

His shoes were laying jumbled together by the front door and Rus stuffed his feet into them, ignoring the way his boney feet protested the rough treatment.

“Where are you going?” Blue called, distressed.

“someplace to get my dick sucked,” Rus snarled, ignoring the way his bro sputtered at his crudeness. He slammed the door shut behind him hard enough to shake clumps of snow loose from the gutters, the Gyftmas lights swaying as Rus started off towards Muffet’s, already reaching for a cigarette.

~~*~~

Hours later, Rus was still sitting at the bar, alone. Aside from a scattering of greetings when he’d come inside, everyone took one good look at him and let him be. The place was mostly empty by now, only a few regulars clinging on, most of them sitting alone, too, or may as well be, cause this wasn’t the hour for laughter and chatting. This was the time for drinking, and everyone here was getting to the task, tout suite.

Muffet was behind the bar, endlessly wiping the glasses. Aside from refilling his glass, she’d left him alone and that suited Rus’s mood just fine. He was engaging in a particularly useful coping mechanism known as ‘trying not to think about it’ and after three honey whiskeys, he was doing a pretty good job.

Behind him, Rus heard the door open, didn’t think much of it. Until the footsteps headed his way and the stool next to him got a new occupant. Red didn’t look at him, only gestured to Muffet and soon he had a drink of his own, something vile and sour, Rus would sure, to match his shitty personality.

Red looked down at his drink, tipping the glass this way and that in his hands. “i dunno what the fuck you’re trying to pull,” Red said, coolly, “but flaunting it when you’re fucking other people is over the line.”

“who i fuck is none of your business.” Rus drained his glass and held it out silently for Muffet to refill. He hadn’t actually intended to find someone to spend the night with, but the idea was getting more tempting by the second with someone trying to stuff up his ass what he should or shouldn’t do.

The entire bar winced as sharp fingertips scraped across glass, dark liquid slopping out over Red’s hand as his grip tightened. Red finally looked at him and his eye lights were burning like coals in his sockets. “it is when you’ve been leading my brother on for months!”

Rus choked on the mouthful of whiskey he’d taken, coughing it back out. “whoa, back that shit up, what?”

The heat of that glare didn’t drop a single digit, Red glowering as he snarled, “i’ve been keeping back. if you two want to play the long game, it’s no skin off my bones, but you’re playing a little too rough!”

Okay, maybe he’d had enough to drink for now. Rus set the glass carefully on the bar top and glanced at Muffet. Who was only polishing a glass and giving a great impression of someone who wasn’t hanging on to their every word. A quick glance around the rest of the bar got him a lot of matching nonchalant expressions and wasn’t that wonderful. Rus always loved being the best gossip on any given night. “red, i have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

That fiery anger dimmed, morphing into the same bewilderment he’d seen in Edge. “but…come on, you’ve been insulting him for months.”

“So?” Rus said, defensively. “he’s been insulting me!”

“yeah, exactly!” When Rus only stared at him in confusion, Red looked even more agitated, shoving his drink away. “you’ve been getting in each other’s faces, arguing and…” He slowed and trailed off, leaning to peer disturbingly close into Rus’s face, his sockets narrowed. “you really got no idea what i’m talking about, do you.”

“no fucking clue,” His whiskey-clouded thoughts were slow to catch up, but when they did, it was like a slap across the face, sharp and stunning. “you think I’ve been flirting with him??”

Red threw up his hands, “yeah!”

Rus could only shake his head, torn between being amused and appalled. Amusement was currently in the lead, of course Underfell would do things with a weird, assholish tilt. “red, we don’t flirt like that here. ask anyone.”

Red turned to look around the bar where everyone immediately found something better to look at. But every one of them was sitting peacefully, sipping a drink and munching on pretzels.

It made Rus remember the time Red dragged him to Grillby’s in Underfell, where a fight seemed to start every two minutes, attacks constantly flying and Rus was so nervous, he barely finished a single drink. Red seemed unperturbed the whole time, slugging the shots back, business as usual for him. The next time he invited Rus out, Rus decided he had about a hundred other ways he’d rather die than sipping cheap booze in the murder café.

Red was starting to get the picture, too, in high-definition. He looked honestly upset which was probably the most real emotion he’d ever seen in Red, his sharp phalanges clattering against his skull as he scraped a hand over it, muttering out, “ah, fuck.”

“that pretty much sums it up,” Rus agreed. He took another swig of his drink, may as well not waste it, chuckling to himself, “fuck. you both thought i was flirting…and he was flirting…back.”

Oh.

That…was actually not funny. At all. If Edge thought he was flirting by insulting him and he’d been giving it right back hard, going all out until Rus had been in a goddamn rage and—

It turned everything he knew about Edge on its head, meant he hadn’t been an asshole, the exact opposite, actually, he…he’d been…

Yeah. Fuck seemed like a pretty good summation.

Processing all that through his whisky-soaked head wasn’t going so well. Rus sank down, resting his head on his folded arms and staring blurrily at the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar.

Next to him, Red shifted uncomfortably, slowly turning the glass in his hands. “look, i’ll talk to my bro about this,” Red said haltingly.

Rus nodded distractedly. “yeah, okay. that…that’d be good.” Suddenly the bar seemed too hot, claustrophobically so. “i need to go.” He dug a G out of his pocket and left in on the counter, ignoring the way the other patrons gasped in shock. To hell with them, he wasn’t about to let Red start using his tab.

He stumbled out the door, the cold stinging against his hot cheek bones. Wandered in the direction of their house and kept going, until snow faded to slush and dripping water. He was in Waterfall in the middle of the night, echo flowers everywhere ready to repeat his woes to the next person passing through.

Yeah, how about no.

Rus sidestepped into a shortcut and his head might not be on straight, but he could find that secret bench blindfolded and backwards. One of the quietest places Underground, only the soothing rush of water around him. Nice and quiet, too quiet, nothing to distract him from the tangle of his thoughts and Rus flopped down on the bench while his mind started picking at it.

Edge had given back every insult Rus had ever given him, in spades. Which run through an Underfell filter made it sound like Edge had been an adoring suitor, gah, Rus wasn’t even sure there was a name for what knowing that made him feel. A wild blender-drink of emotion turned into a smoothie of confusion.

But that was almost business as usual. He’d always been confused and maybe a little hurt by Edge’s attitude. Why was he so friendly with his brother and so cold to him? Sometimes after movie nights he’d be lying awake in bed, wondering what the fuck he’d done to make Edge hate him so much.

Only to find out now that Edge didn’t hate him. At all. Maybe even the opposite of that.

All that whiskey was settling into his magic sourly and Rus rolled to lay on his side, breathing through a wave of nausea. His thoughts seemed trapped in a circular haze, repeating over and over, worse than the most persistent echo flower, and finally, he fell asleep staring at the lapping water.

When he woke, the amount of artificial light trying to pry its way into his closed sockets told him it was morning. Rus groaned and slung an arm over his sockets, but before he could drift back off came a prickling sense of awareness.

Someone was close by.

Cautiously, Rus lifted his arm and squinted out into the day to see Edge standing in front of him. At least he thought it was Edge, Rus wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Edge in jeans and a plain t-shirt, and his boots were simple with a low heel. None of the elaborate wardrobe he usually showed up in. With a sickening jolt, Rus realized that every time Edge came over, he’d been dressing up to see him. How did that make his typical hoodie and track pants seem, was the insult of not dressing up part of the flirting? Who the fuck knew.

The clothes weren’t the only thing different about him. Gone was the arrogant Captain who marched into their house on movie nights. This skeleton’s hands were tucked into his pockets, his expression bleak, like there was a deciding battle lost and now he was trying to deal with the aftermath.

“hnng,” Rus managed, groaning as he sat up. He cleared his throat, trying to work a little moisture into his mouth as he mumbled, “um. hey.”

Edge looked past Rus at the stony wall behind him with determined focus and said stiffly, “I’ve been made aware that there has been a misunderstanding.”

“yeah, a little.” Only a fucking lot.

He nodded tiredly, “My apologies. I won’t trouble you any longer.” Edge started to turn away and that was abruptly the last thing Rus wanted.

“wait!” Rus blurted. He reached out weakly and wasn’t even sure why, but somehow seeing Edge, arrogant, asshole Edge, looking so downcast, so damned broken, it…it hurt, worse than the hangover throbbing in his skull.

He remembered Edge coming over a few weeks ago to work on cooking with his bro. So patient and understanding with Blue, who could be a little overzealous at times, okay, maybe even a lot and Edge was never anything but kind to him, as kind as he’d been vicious with Rus and if he could swap that around, change it, flip it on its head and why not, they were in Underswap.

Edge hesitated, some unnamed emotion flickering across his face, and Rus added, coaxingly, “please? sit down, okay? can we talk while we’re both on the same page?”

He looked like he was considering making a break for Underfell, even glanced in the direction of the path. But finally, he sighed heavily and sat on the opposite side of the bench, spine held so rigidly he looked like he might shatter with a single touch.

They sat there with the sound of falling water around them, Rus struggling with what to say, fuck, he didn’t even know how he felt. His head ached and Edge looked so damned sad, and he’d seen those smiles of his before, usually directed at Blue or Papyrus, but still, he knew they were in there somewhere.

Maybe…maybe Rus could find one?

“look,” Rus ran a hand over his skull, fingers clattering against the smooth bone. “um, we’ve been flirting your way for months. maybe we can try my way for a change.”

Edge jerked, his head turning Rus’s way and his sockets wide. Guess that wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. Haltingly, he said, “I’m not sure how but…I am willing to try.”

He sounded so damned hopeful. Rus’s soul twisted in his ribcage. He took a deep breath and reached over to take Edge’s hand in his, twining their fingers together. Edge’s phalanges were soothingly warm, slim and scarred.

“let’s start with this,” Rus said softly. The fingers around his own tightened cautiously, a thumb tracing down into Rus’s palm, making him shiver.

“This is nice,” Edge admitted. And there, there it was. He smiled, little more than a faint curve upward at the corners of his mouth that sent an unexpected flutter through Rus’s soul.

“yeah, it is,” Rus hesitated. Welp, in for a G, in for a bundle, “can i…?”

“Yes,” Edge said immediately. Probably didn’t even know what he was agreeing to and Rus smiled a little himself, helplessly.

They’d already had a first kiss, couldn’t get that back. Rus was hoping a second would be just as memorable, for a different reason.

He leaned in, carefully brushing his mouth over Edge’s. The teeth beneath his own parted in invitation and Rus took it, tongues gliding lightly together as Edge moaned shakily, his free hand coming up to clutch at the back of Rus’s neck, and yeah, okay. He could work with this.

One kiss became two, three, each one a little more desperate than the last and holy shit, he’d been cockteasing for months and hadn’t even known it. Or maybe some part of him had known, and Rus hated it for not cluing him in sooner because he wanted more of this, wanted to sink into Edge’s kisses, lose himself in this desperate eagerness, the urgent little noises that Edge was starting to utter.

Only, that would probably be a bad idea right out of the gate and Rus regretfully pulled away, shelved the temptation.

And almost snatched it right back up because Edge was unfairly enticing, teeth parted as he panted and a bright flush of crimson tinting his cheek bones.

Rus licked his teeth, watched as Edge’s eye lights followed that little movement. “i think, um. maybe we could go on a date. together.”

“If you can drag your lazy ass out of bed.” Slipped out, and Rus saw Edge wince, fumbling for a way to take it back. But hey, this was a language Rus thought he could learn. Maybe if they kept this up, they could both learn a thing or three.

“i can get moving when i’m properly motivated,” Rus smirked. “real question is can you get the stick out of your ass long enough to enjoy it.” Edge’s eye lights flared, nearly filling his sockets and by the Unnamed Angel, Rus must’ve been blind not to see that for what it was. Excitement, delight, eagerness, and shit, good or bad, this was going to be something, wasn’t it.

‘Enjoy it,’ Came from the solo echo flower sitting nearby, its ghostly voice encouraging.

Yeah, okay, Rus decided, cupping Edge’s face in his hands as he leaned in for another kiss. That seemed like a good enough place to start.

-fin-

[theotherbloodfart]

Pennywise x Reader

Yo got this on main and gonna post the one shot here. I decided to play with this idea a bit. Penny is a virgin for this 😂😂 the song I wrote this to was the chain by fleetwood mac. Enjoy yo thirsty ass one shot anon! It's my longest so far!

You feel the rancid heat in your blood. It boils like fever. Making beads of sweat form on your skin. The chill of the air in this giant dark place does nothing to cool it. Nothing to calm.

You know he is here. The cave air is damp with the smell of him. It swirls with the scents of spun sugar, the hot popping oil for frying funnel cakes, and an animal smell. It is predatory, territorial. And the powdery smell of old decay. Oh he is here alright. And you want him.

“Pennywise!” You call out. Your voice echoes in the vast space, cascading up the walls only to meander around and back down to you in the form of an echo. At the conclusion of the hundreds of clown names a discreet hiss bubbles around as well. At the sound of his confirmed presence you feel your heart begin to jackhammer inside your chest. You struggle to hear any other noise aside from your own heart. Your own breathing.

The feeble light from your flashlight doesn’t penetrate far. Maybe 20 feet or so. And what you can see is otherworldly, even if it is already familiar to you. You are in a very large cavern. The only sounds now are the echoes of water dripping into pools near the edges of this cavern.

You head for your favorite spot. The monolith of standing spikes right in the middle. They are sharp looking, splayed like splashing water, as if something had heated the very rock into liquid form before dropping a stone in, and covered with a viscous black fluid which you know not to touch. It makes your skin numb and tingly. In the middle of this formation is a smooth, round, flat surface which you stand in the middle of.

You enjoy being here. You have no idea why this creature allows you to come and go from this place as you please. But you do not question. And you come here daily, always staying until he chooses to leave. Or simply staying for hours if he isn’t here. Sitting in the dark on this smooth surface, simply thinking about him.

He never touches you. You rarely even actually SEE him. He usually stays in the darkness beyond your flashlight’s glow, asking what seems to be pointless questions. Answering pressing questions from you as if commenting on the weather. Or simply watching you while you talk about your day. No response other than riotous cackling laughter when you describe something that has irritated you…. Which of course will irritate you…… and in turn inspire more laughter from him. He is infuriating.

He is beautiful.

And you want him. Now.

“Pennywise?” You know he’s here so this call is quieter. Questioning.

“Yes (Y/N). I am here. Tell me sweet thing. Tell me why your scent is different. Your scent stinks of dogs writhing in heat. You smell like you want to fuck, (Y/N).” Haunting laughter follows this and you feel ire rising within you. The taunting in his words and laughter is obvious.

“So what?” you snarl feeling shameful, hot tears spring into your eyes. “So fucking what clown? I mean ….. What do you expect? You’re………” you hesitate.

The laughter is explosive now. “Little pet wants to play with the clown!”

“Yes! You’re fucking beautiful okay? I wanna fuck the shit out of you!” You felt a strange sharp feeling in your chest. This had been a mistake.

Only silence now. Marred only by the echoes of dripping water.

Suddenly you hear a piano. The music chimes away beautifully as it circles the cavern. A tiny but strong sound. Sad and yet hungry. And yet it does not echo. You know instinctively that you are hearing it in your mind. He's used illusions on you before. He’s made you hear all sorts of terrifying things. He rather enjoys scaring the daylights out of you. But he has never done anything like this. The song is nameless and familiar, soft and comforting. He is trying to comfort you. Another sharp pain in your heart.

“I like this song. And I swear I’ve heard it before. What song is it?” your voice sounds frail somehow.

“It has no name. It is simply what your mind sounds like when you are here.” The answer is said in the usual, flippant, uncaring tone he always uses. He continues, without pause. “I have no use for breeding. I do not need it. It is unnecessary.” You can practically see him wave off the subject inside your mind. You feel embarrassed and shameful for ever having thought of it.

Your shoulders slump and your chin drops to your chest. “Yeah. I guess it is Penny.” You suddenly, and for the first time, no longer wish to be here. You turn to leave.

And walk right into his chest. You jerk, startled, the flashlight clattering to the ground, spinning around and landing the beam on the 2 of you. Remarkably it still works as it casts it’s light up, giving Pennywise a low set eerie almost monstrous glow. The light refracts in his eyes, making them burn vermilion out into the dark. Into you.

You feel a little breathless as you finally are allowed to admire him, all shame momentarily forgotten. His mouth is slack, his nostrils flaring, as if he is tasting your scent, as a line of saliva trails to a drop from his lower lip. His buck teeth protrude, nestled between much sharper fangs. His normally perfectly coifed ginger hair appears mussed and disheveled as it falls to frame his face. The silver of his suit glows in the light. His brow is furrowed in a demonic crease.

“I said I have no use for breeding (Y/N). Not that I would not try it.” The line of saliva finally breaks from his lips as he speaks and flutters down into the darkness near his feet.

Suddenly all you can hear is your rabbit heart. It’s pounding so fast you can feel it throbbing behind your eyes. Your mouth dries. Your skin breaks in gooseflesh as heat burns to life deep inside your gut.

The clown stands motionless, a dry groan bubbling in his chest, as you reach forward to his chest with trembling hands. But you hesitate, suddenly feeling more nervous than you’ve ever felt about anything ever, your hands shaking so badly you can barely control them. You feel shame swooping in again as You realize that you have no idea how to proceed. And you waited for the taunting laughter.

But none came.

A sharp snarl bursts from his mouth as his arms snap forward to grasp your own arms, bruising and painful, forcing you to him. A large gloved hand snakes into your hair. You can feel his nails leaving indentations in your scalp, thru his gloves, as he wrenches your lips to his. Sweet pain couples with the taste of blood as some of his fangs press thru your flesh. He is stronger than you’d realized.

You’ve never been kissed like this. You feel his saliva mixed with your blood smearing on both of your chins. His kiss is not human at all. There is no finesse nor gentleness. There is only ardor. He is taking everything he wishes. Bloody wet growls from him make your cheeks vibrate. No. This kiss is inhuman. And it’s the best kiss you’ve ever tasted.

Any shame, any remnants of human shyness, are stripped away before him. You no longer care. You are shameless now as your hands run along him.

There is pain along your scalp as he pulls your head to the side by your hair. You feel his drool on your neck before his mouth reaches it. Then more sharpness as his fangs scratch your skin. He’s suckling your skin. Hard enough to make you jerk and gasp.

His other hand reaches down to twist itself in your shirt and yank violently. Your shirt isn’t giving at first. More pain along the seems as he tanks harder. You sigh as his tongue swipes your tender neck and your shirt seams finally give way. Your shirt is not torn completely away, but hangs loosely in a limp circle around your waist.

The clown brings his lips back to yours. Smacking sounds ring out as he tries to move his lips with yours. As he tries to be more gentle. And you realize that he understands and registers that he’s causing discomfort. That he’s not sure how to do this. This knowledge makes any doubts of what you want vanish. You boldly grasp into the material of his trousers, seeking his cock. Closing your fingers around it you slide your fist up and down slowly, stroking it thru the silk.

His large body stiffens as he freezes, his lips still on yours, his fiery eyes so close to yours that you cannot focus on both at the same time. You moan quietly and bring your other hand around him to massage his ass.

A hiss brushes your torn lips as he pulls away from you then drops down, ripping your pants and undergarments off as he goes. Your tattered shirt continues to hang at your waist, entirely forgotten.

His eyes bore into yours as he leans forward to nip one of your thighs sharply, then inhales deeply. Jesus! He’s sniffing you! Like an animal! You know you SHOULD feel shame…… but you only feel yourself become wet under his warm breath.

Pennywise stands and picks you up by the flesh of your bottom, not seeming to need anything to lean on or otherwise support himself. You cry out as you feel his cock penetrate you quickly, no preamble. He then turns himself to prop you onto one of the large rocks.

You wrap your arms around him, the fingers of one hand brushing along the sharp pleating along the spine of his costume, the other hand grasping with white knuckles into the ruff around his neck. You cling to him.

He freezes again, his wet lips tickling your ear as he croons to you.

“Hold still (Y/N). I do not wish to harm you.”

You try to hold still. You really do. But you cannot help the rocking of your hips as he uses his hands to bounce you along his pulsing cock. The cock itself is moving. Thrusting into you as his hands move.

You watch his face slacken and relax, as his eyes roll back exposing only his whites. He’s so fucking beautiful. You bury your face into his neck ruff as you feel yourself beginning to stiffen in orgasm. His chest rumbles on your ribs as he speaks again.

“Yes, my doll. Cum for Pennywise. Do it! Do it now!” his voice breaks into a guttural snarl and you feel heat inside you as his cock thrusts his orgasm into you.

As you calm down and your panting slows, you enjoy the feeling of the quivering muscle structures underneath his suit.

Behaving oddly, he nuzzles into your neck, gently licking the puncture wounds he’d inflicted earlier.

You found yourself giggling.

“Penny did I just pop your cherry?”

The licking stops and a low growl vibrates your body.

“Enjoy walking home with no clothes little doll.”

[winterblues]

prompt response to: andreil trapped in a small space scenario

As much as all these late night practices aided Neil in strengthening his form, some nights he felt so incredibly drained of energy that by the end of them he almost cursed his own resolve. 

Neil let out an exasperated breath as he tucked his helmet under his aching arm and trudged; zombie-like into the empty locker room. Kevin followed, taking long, agitated strides and muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he disappeared into the showers without sparing Neil a second’s glance. Neil didn't have the energy left to satiate Kevin’s relentless appetite for grief. Not in the moment, anyway. 

Neil’s body felt like cotton candy, soft; pliable, limbs worn pink and sore. Neil was halfway to his locker when he heard Andrew moving behind him. Neil peeled his gear off carefully and stuffed the majority of it into his giant locker before slamming it shut and turning on his heel to look at Andrew, who was slumped against the lockers on the other side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, pale hair wild and eyes bleary from a crucial lack of sleep.

“Go and shower. You fucking reek.” Andrew prompted. It had been a long day for them all, Neil could sense Andrew mirroring his own exhaustion.

“Yeah. I’ll make it quick,” Neil promised, before breaking into the slightest smirk. “I mean, unless you want to help me out.”

“Help yourself,” Andrew replied, dully.

Neil knew better than to take offense to that as he merely shrugged and made a beeline for the showers.

“Offer’s on the table if you change your mind. I’ll keep the stall unlocked.”

Neil showered as hurriedly as he could, knowing that Andrew would be waiting. The hot steam from the shower abated the stinging pain that reverberated through his sore bones and he felt himself tilting his head back towards where the force of the water was most concentrated. Newfangled bruises bloomed along the back of his elbows, the bottom of his left knee, across his inner wrist. He didn’t pay them much heed. Every injury he garnered on the court was a testament to how far he had come, how far he would go. They hurt less when he thought about them that way.

They reminded him he was alive.

Neil dried his hair off with a towel before pulling his clothes back on, rather clumsy-handedly. By the sounds of it, Kevin was still in the shower. Neil headed straight for the lockers. He frowned when Andrew wasn’t within his direct line of sight. He could hear shuffling coming from the storage room towards his left. 

He wandered in to find Andrew attempting to keep a stack of old exy racquets from toppling over each other in what could have turned into one completely unfortunate domino effect.

“Scavenging for scraps?”

“Your helmet,” Andrew muttered. “You ruptured your chin guard. I was checking if they had any replacement parts collecting dust here.”

“Any luck?”

“No.”

“I’m just going to put it on Kevin’s tablet,” Neil replied. “He aimed that last shot at my jaw on purpose.”

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD LEARN TO DODGE LIKE ANY COMPETENT STRIKER WOULD!” snapped an irked, disembodied voice from the distance.

Sometimes Neil forgot how thin the walls here really were… Maybe Kevin just had the ears of a vampire bat, to have been able to hear them over the gushing of the water.

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!” Neil roared back, scathingly, before rolling his eyes and slamming the door closed behind him. Andrew stared at him, dead-eyed. “What are you doing?”

“What? I want to relish in dissing Kevin in relative privacy.”

“You’ll lock us in, idiot.”

“I didn’t—“

“These hinges haven’t been oiled in years. They’re flimsy.” There was a sudden, unspoken urgency in Andrew’s voice at that final word that made Neil’s insides twist. “Okay,” Neil said, hand curling around the door knob. 

He turned at it and—shit. Was Andrew about to be proven right? He gave it a hard yank and then another, and then a couple more for good measure. At this point, Andrew took a step forward, nudging Neil hard enough from waist to shoulder that he stumbled and felt his spine meet the cold expanse of wall. 

Andrew then maneuvered to inspect the door himself.

Neil’s insides caved in on themselves. The storage room was tiny. Smaller even, than an average walk-in closet. Not to mention it was brimming with a maw-full of junk. It was also crowded and dark and smelled like an abundance of dust.

There was a dull bulb that flickered like an eighties horror film in the top right corner of the closet and Neil was half convinced he could hear something skittering behind the shelves. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of ambiances, but he knew better than anyone that there were worse places to get trapped in.

Andrew had now taken to straight up kicking at the door and pounding his fists against it hard enough that Neil could feel the vibrations in his teeth.

“It’s no big deal,” Neil said, gently. “Kevin will get us out.”

“Kevin—“ Andrew snapped, his pupils blown wide as he turned to meet Neil’s gaze. “Probably thinks we’re hooking up.”     

Neil wanted to say that Kevin wouldn’t abandon them, but then again, he wouldn’t put that kind of an assumption past Kevin, especially when he was feeling frustrated. 

Andrew’s head snapped back up. “Do you have your phone on you?”

“It's in my bag,” Neil pinched the top of his nose. “Outside.”

“Shit.”

Neil watched Andrew for a quiet moment. His heart beginning to pound in alarm. He took in the wild, emancipated flicker in Andrew’s eyes, the calamity in his tone of voice. His gaze was capering everywhere like cat’s eyes to lasers. He looked as if he was imagining every wall in the room closing in on them all at once. “Andrew,” Neil’s voice was the barest suggestion of a whisper.

Andrew’s eyes flickered up to meet his, he was attempting to keep his lips tightly pressed together but there was a prominent strain to the curve of his mouth. His expression feral and bottomless; a consequence of the fear that was threatening to take over.

“What.”

“Are you claustrophobic?”

Andrew said nothing, but the torrent in his gaze was confirmation enough.

They had to give up after fifteen solid minutes of incessant banging against the unrepentant door and every cry for Kevin falling on deaf ears.

Andrew was beginning to look very pale and his breathing had grown ragged. 

There was a tremor of misery rising up Neil’s throat as Andrew slumped against the door with his knees pressed into his heaving chest.

Neil was not used to Andrew making himself so small, it set something alight within him. Andrew compensated for the inconvenience of his height by having an overwhelming presence—the sort you’d do better facing head on rather than just flat out ignoring. If it was even humanly possible to ignore.

This… This was terrible and new.

Neil could taste iron at the back of his mouth, thinking back on one of his worst memories of Andrew.

Even back then, lying defeated on bloodstained sheets, Andrew hadn’t tried to make himself scarce. His nonchalance, his disdain, his fear for what might’ve happened to Aaron… It had been an ugly cocktail of emotions (or a brittle lack there of) but it’d been larger than life. Neil could still feel the sheer animosity rolling off of Andrew, stiff and defensive and horrible. 

His laughter had been a warning.  

It had been so loud it had taken up the entire room.

Neil looked to Andrew again.

He remembered Andrew facing his fear of heights on their rooftop: Andrew’s knuckles, whitened from a hindered blood flow, the slumped ridges of his shoulders, the way he stared down at the ground, as if the ground would erupt from beneath him, extend its jaws and swallow him whole.

“You know,” Neil began, crouching down next to Andrew. Neil felt the need to keep talking. “When my mother and I were on the run, I spent a lot of time in compact spaces. In closets, airport bathroom stalls, beneath motel beds. Mom would ask me to stay extremely still and close my eyes as tightly as I could. She wasn’t very good at consoling me, I don’t think she even knew how to begin with; but she would ask me to turn the world off, like it was that easy to just wield my brain like a switchboard. To hone in on a single, conquerable thing.” Something nauseous crawled its way up his windpipe, something he’d once mistaken for fondness. “See, she said when it comes to entrapment, helpless animals thrive in the little victories.”

“You are a study in helplessness,” Andrew sucked in another strangled breath.

Neil continued. “She demanded I find something to clutch onto. It could be anything. The rancid smell of a cigarette, the sound of her voice, or something physical that I could touch,” Neil’s eyes met Andrew’s with intent, awaiting certain affirmation. Andrew picked up his gaze instantly. 

But only if you let me...

Andrew managed a small nod.

At this, Neil let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding to begin with and wrapped his hands over Andrew’s, which were busy digging into the soft material of his track pants over his knees. Andrew’s fingers were cold, limp. Neil brought their entwined hands towards his mouth and blew at them, gently. His breath warmer than the temperature of the confined room. “It’s not about finding your happy place or some unhelpful bullshit like that. I think it has more to do with cognitive response, we breathe subconsciously, right? So if you just find something else to focus on, your body naturally complies.”

“Shut up.”

Andrew’s breaths sounded sharper now, shorter. His fingers dug into the skin of Neil’s palm before clutching for the back of Neil’s head. He dug his fists into his hair and pulled, every gasp hissed in between clenched teeth. It hurt, but watching Andrew crumble in this way hurt more. 

“It’s okay,” Neil insisted, pressing slow, breathy kisses to every single one of Andrew’s knuckles. “Just focus on me. Look at me. Everything else is just everything else. Andrew,” Neil said. “Look at me. Nothing else.”

“I thought you were nothing.”

“That’s right. I’m nothing. It’s easier to concentrate on my nothing, right?”

“God. Stop talking—“

“Tell me what’s happening. How difficult is it to breathe? Can you feel your heart rate escalating? Do you feel clammy?”

“I’m going to kill Kevin Fucking Day.”

“I’ll help you dispose of the body,” Neil replied, approvingly, before resting his forehead against Andrew’s and closing his eyes for a brief moment. He could feel Andrew shaking against him. 

“My fourth home,” Andrew said then, in between harsh, heavy breaths. “It was a game.”

“What—?”

“Get locked in a dark broom closet and search for the key.”

The words were distorted by a familiarly casual lack of concern. The sort that drove Neil to his wit’s end.

Neil felt a sudden pang of unbidden rage whorl up inside his chest. Now he was imagining a young Andrew. Probably no older than ten, locked within the dark confines of some asshole’s dusty old broom closet, utterly afraid and completely alone. Another onset of pain, the kind of pain that was more than just physical and Neil could feel clogging up his brain. It was beginning to get volcanic. Neil felt his nostrils flare as his grip on Andrew’s hands tightened, just slightly. Their fingers were now slick with sweat but Neil couldn’t care less.

“They should pay,” Neil’s voice was hoarse, throaty. It was as if a knife was growing within his stomach, large and serrated. “For what they did to you. They should all pay. I want to tear—“

“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew’s voice was still ringed with panic, but strangely enough, his gaze had become more solid; rapt on Neil’s own. 

As if reminding Neil of the reach of his own apathy mattered more than the fear rapidly possessing him, voice a faultless escaped breath.

“I don’t care.”

“You never do,” Neil replied, tone still frantic despite half-assed attempts to throttle the fury. “I’ll just have to amp up my own contempt tenfold—for the both of us.”

“Fucking junkie.”

“What can I say? I’m hooked,” Neil said, the corner of his lip tugging up to form a grin that left him rather surprised by himself. So hopelessly hooked. Andrew didn’t look too amused, Neil could feel his pulse racing at his wrists, beneath the press of Neil’s fingers. “Hey, hey. Stay with me now. We’ll get out of here. It’ll be okay. Breathe, okay? Try to breathe.”

Andrew did so, all the while staring Neil down begrudgingly. 

“I hate you.”

“You really outdid yourself with that. I mean groundbreaking revelation.”

“You’ll break my percentage meter.”

“Before you take another shot at breaking me? Sounds unfair.”

There was a look in Andrew’s eyes at that, one Neil couldn’t exactly place. It was something conflicted; at war with itself. It sank into Neil’s skin.

Andrew’s grip on Neil’s hair finally loosened as he untangled one of his hands from Neil’s in favor of fastening it around the nape of Neil’s neck and reeling him towards him. “Yes or no?”

“It will never be no,” Neil waited for Andrew’s lips to engulf his own. He watched Andrew inhale (his breath still wary but less labored than before), watched his eyelashes flutter shut and then the unparalleled heat of Andrew’s mouth.

The kiss was a hard, steadying press like a paperweight. An affirmation of trust. Andrew was letting Neil knead the tension out of him. Neil kept his movements gentle even as Andrew’s tongue hungrily scaled his throat. Andrew’s other hand left Neil’s to venture underneath his shirt and Andrew pressed a hand flat against Neil’s stomach, where the scarring was at its coarsest. Neil sucked in a shivering breath at the destabilizing touch. When they pried their lips apart, Neil brought Andrew close until their chests were pressed flush against one another. He could feel Andrew’s heart beating against his own, every cataclysmic breath. Andrew’s pupils were wide and there was almost a certain brimming exhilaration within them. Neil netted his fingers in the soft expanse of Andrew’s hair and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Block out all those rotten memories. Burn them. We’ll make new ones.” 

“Oh?” Andrew said, dryly. “Is that your attempt at an assurance?”

“That’s a promise.”

“Careful,” Andrew drawled. “That’s still foreign dialect for a pathetic little runaway.”

“It’s your language,” Neil replied. “So I’ll learn it.”

At this, Andrew blanched.

Only this time, Neil had a feeling it had nothing to do with panic.

Neil awoke to a jolting pain riding up his left ankle, Andrew’s face pressed into his neck and Coach Wymack looming over him with an incredibly dangerous look on his face.

“I swear I will kick the shit out of you until you whimper,” Wymack imposed.

“Coach!” Neil cried.

“I know I said I don’t care what you maggots do off court but bedrooms exist for a reason,” Wymack grumbled. “Next time, use them. Now, would you care to explain to me what the fuck you two were doing cooped up in here? Keep it PG, yeah?”

“It isn’t what it looks like,” Neil snapped, cheeks flaring. “I shut the door too hard and locked us in.”

Wymack’s expression changed, albeit marginally as his gaze dropped to Andrew. “Is he—?”

“He’ll be fine.” Neil reassured, with a small sigh. When Wymack shot him a doubtful glare, Neil immediately remedied his phrase. “Not my flimsy definition of fine—Genuinely fine.”

For a moment, Wymack said nothing, before clearing his throat and looking Neil square in the eye, expression hardening once more. “Wake him up, get yourselves freshened up and get the fuck out of my sight.” He said, pointing at Andrew, who was still curled up against Neil like a cat.

“Yes, Coach.”

He turned on his heel to leave, before halting abruptly. “And Neil?”

“Yes?”

“Thank fuck you were with him.”

Neil felt a prickle of something sad stab at his throat, but he nodded.

“Get plenty of water and some grub in your systems. Don’t think I’m letting you off easy. It’s gonna be a grueling day ahead.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Don’t ‘yes, coach’ me.”

“Yes, Coach. Er— Alright?”

Wymack groaned audibly, stared up at the ceiling like what-will-I-ever-do-with-this-good-for-nothing-little-shit before skulking off. Next to him, Andrew stirred.

“You’re awake,” Neil said, softly.

“Keen observation,” he responded, voice still groggy like early morning honey.

“Wanna get the fuck out of here?” Neil asked.

“Wanna get the fuck off of you,” Andrew said, pushing himself up and off of Neil. He was a little wobbly as he rose to his feet and had to extend an arm up against the wall to keep himself upright. 

He stared at the door blown wide open and the barcodes of light pooling in from outside. Stray voices floated up from the foyer. Neil pulled himself to his feet and stretched to work out a kink in his neck. 

Andrew was out the door before he could finish. 

Neil followed him out, equally eager to be free of the dry smell of mold exposure and cardboard boxes.

Andrew turned to him, expression unreadable. Neil halted just in time to keep himself from walking straight into his back. 

“I will say this once and once only so listen closely if you care to hear it.”  

“Hm?”

“You know I don’t care for useless sentiments,” Andrew said. “What you did, I won’t forget it.”

Neil felt something warm and unnamable bloom behind his ribs. Neil didn’t think Andrew understood, or maybe he understood perfectly and just didn’t want to admit it. Knowing Andrew, it was probably the latter. Either way, Neil didn’t require an acknowledgement or a worthless show of gratitude. He hadn’t done it out of courtesy, he’d done it because he couldn’t bear the thought of what might’ve happened otherwise. Couldn’t bear the thought of watching Andrew fall victim to the weight of his past. Time upon time again.

“It was nothing.” Neil replied quietly, but he hoped Andrew heard the underlying notion within his words. 

It was everything.

Andrew’s face was a blank canvas while Neil’s was a mosaic of abstracts.

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“I know.”

[olivrr28]

ahh, this reminds me of Kmart. it was my first and best job by default, but god damn did the pizza incident leave a mark on my sanity. why not tell a story today:

so i p much owned the home section, especially towels and rugs and shit right? right. anyways, some shithead kids came into our store one day, and decided to cause absolute chaos because their parents probably gave them a whiff of the crack they were snorting. we didn't pay much attention, really- boss got pissed because they played with wheelchairs and my overtly nice and awkward explanations of "please don't do that" didn't work as well as her going ballistic, but that was the day's highlight. we thought the yelling scared them off from doing dumbassry and went on with our day.

six days later, got pulled from the register to finally fix the mess that was towels. i swear to god, 98% of the population could not fold to save their life, and i had to go fix their mistakes every few days no matter how great i leave the sector.

i find a piece of pizza shoved in a $30 bath rug and have to explain to our manager. she bought us all pizza that week bc some good thing i can't remember happened, and immediately we figured some employee probs did this.

no one ever fessed up. the pizza was melted into the bathrug and the pepperonis were rotting, so it smelt horrid. manager took that one out and p much side eyed everyone for the next two days

month later, dude finds a slice in one of the couch cushions of a chair he was trying to sell.* i wasn't there, but i heard it was disgusting. roughly 3-4 slices were found by the time the last month rolled around (this was a liquidating store btw) and it all sucked so much ass. unfortunately, i found piece 5.

it was crammed into the bottom shelf of a toy display that didn't sell a lot. it was rancid and i despised every customer who walked in the door that day. pizza crust partially liquifies. i bet you didn't know that, and i wish i didn't know that, but it wasn't even a triangle anymore so that's my best explanation. most of the pepperonis were eaten by mold and the cheese looked like dried and dead skin out of a horror movie. it combined the wonderful smell of old books with fresh cow manure, and added a touch of foot fungus. i had to dispose of it and i nearly flat quit.

anyways kids at the beginning are relevant bc one of the shitstains comes in the store last day. i mostly recognize him because not every kid has a dyed afro. i hate him, but at least he's stylish. anyways kid follows his mom through line and stuff and i hardly notice him, but before he's forced away by his impatient mom, he leans up on his toes and asks "did you find the pizza?"

fucking love retail but the horror stories suck

(*troy did not sell it)

Hey guess what?

Don’t leave food in the not food aisles.

Sincerely,

A person who just got melted ice cream all over their hands and had to clean it off a bunch of the merchandise AGAIN

[iphoenixrising]

Heavy in Your Arms con’t

@satire-please wanted the finish. I just can’t say no.

**

I’m so heavy

Whirl of colors. The spasm of his gut and throat, bile and cold sea water. Fist in his diaphragm, forcing the rancid waterfall out.

Pain racing up his spine and his fingers form claws even in the sodden gloves, ready to start tearing at the flimsy silk covering wood and plastic trapping him, ready to start from the inside:

—Screaming until he’s spitting blood, torn something there (that’s why his voice is fucked even now)

—Crying for Bruce: save me, don’t leave me in the ground to rot (but you fucked up, didn’t you? Why would he come save the Robin who failed? Who would?)

Heavy

—It’s dark and I’m scared (and now he’s forgotten how to fear the night, never fucking again)

—Where...Why? (because you should have never went after her. If you’d have stayed, the clown wouldn’t have taken your stupid ass the fuck apart. Shoulda put a gun in your mouth instead, not like you don’t always chicken the fuck out)

—Broken, bleeding fingernails (but getting through all that earth, and the first breath of tainted Gotham air was like salvation)

—Air...have to have air (no, asshole. You should have just fucking stayed dead)

Heavy in your arms

In and out. Things are flashes and snatches when he gets snippets. Movement kills it because his leg is muted but still a mess with inevitable pain waiting on the outskirts with a whole lotta lemme talk at ‘chu for a minute.

The blood loss might have made him slightly more insane than the Pit. Slightly because he’s seeing things in starks and spectrums. He’s the guy what always saw shit in shades of grays.

I’m so heavy,

Seeing things in color, just like him, his boy. Always had to be on the opposite ends of the scale because in some way they both got it— that bitch, Justice? Blind as fucking bat, yeah?

He snorts at it while the wind dries his hair and fuck he’s getting hit in the face with the battering of a cape, telling how far gone he’s got to be at this juncture.

B wouldn’t come for him, that shit is just plain stupid.

Heavy

But as stupid as it is, the kid in him buried in some dark corner, some un-fucked inch of his soul, the kid that coulda, woulda, shoulda been the right Robin...the part he can’t carve out, no matter how sharp the knife is, how strong the steel, how covered in gore it’s gets in his hand, that part still fucking hopes.

—Save me, Bruce.

Stupid little punk. Didn’t cha learn any better? You already done proved you ain’t worth the effort.

Heavy in your arms,

Out.

Back with it to the low, dulcet tone of a wrought-iron fire escape. One of the sturdy ones built back in the twenties when they intended shit to last. He can place himself by that noise alone— it’s the block of apartments on 152nd, his side of Gotham. He knows every building and bolt hole, all the old trolley stations (from back when it was the talk of Gotham, before it became the Narrows and dilapidated into drugs and low-income housing) and closed entrances to the subways, he knows the niches.

He knows where sin lives. Just another mark in the book, baby. Ya know I got it in spades.

And is it worth the wait?

The safe house is one of his. He knows it by the way the creaking mattress shoves a spring into his ass cheek.

Death seems further off since his leg is set in a complicated splint and elevated. Bodysuit is gone and his ribs wrapped just this side of too much. Someone was pissy about picking him up off the pier.

When he gets an eyeful of the slumped bird beside his shoulder on the bed, he gives a rough huff because some assholes have to show up like the motherfucking cavalry or some shit.

(Lemme go. When it’s time, Timmy, it’s time.)

He has enough in him to lift the hand just enough to fit at the back of Tim Drake’s neck, being smooth and easy with it. His fingers work up to scratch lightly at Tim’s scalp just like he’s seen his boy do a hundred times, knows it’s Red’s weakness.

All this killing time?

“You. Fucking. Asshole.”

Sounds about right.

“What do you think he would do if he heard half the made fucking ramblings I heard last night?”

Pacing, moving, doing because Timmy gets that kind of pissed off. You know, royally. He’s still in the Red Robin body suit, thrumming with energy now that some of them are going to live like the rest of the shithead population. At present, he’s cutting up a banana with feeling. One he apparently ain’t shy about sharing.

“Fucking up your second chance? Just giving up and I’m sorry.”

He winces for the banana.

Are you strong enough to stand?

“Timmy, c’mon, calm it down. Coming close...ain’t easy fer me. Gets my head all jacked-up with the…” and is he really going to do this? He and Baby Bird are good now, can work together, can snark, can siddown and have a burger on the ledge of the Wallstone. He has his own code into the Perch, got a coffee mug and set of pajamas.

But he’s never—

Only with Kory and Roy. Only with his boy.

And only when it tries to cut itself out. When it’s poison in the back of his throat.

Protecting both your heart and mine?

But it’s got Timmy turned away from the counter, facing him in the dim dawn starting to eek through the blinds. And Baby Bird is calm, rant tuning down, giving him the weight of his stare and full attention.

“It’s like,” and he has to look away, to stare up at the ceiling, to blink and keep himself away from the final moments, to gather a whole different kind of strength, “alla the bad comes first ‘cause....’cause I don’t remember enough of the other side to know if it matters, you feel me? The first time I was a shithead, but I died as Robin, trying ta save my mother, and...it was fucking noble. But when it comes again...Timmy, when it comes for me again, what if the good don’t outweigh the bad?”

Who is the betrayer?

“What if the scales ain’t never gonna be square now? ‘Cause I got ta come back.”

Who’s the killer in the crowd?

“What if I don’t get anywhere but gone. Maybe you don’t get the choice again. Who fucking knows?”

The one who creeps in corridors

“And the only good things I got to offer up...the only thing I done right this time...is that I made it square with you...and...and with him.”

And doesn’t make a sound

He must be hitting shock or something because he doesn’t even hear Timmy move. There’s just warmth when he’s already so fucking cold inside and out. Just like first waking up when all he could see was darkness and the inside of that casket wasn’t as comfortable as it looked to the meatbags on legs lookin’ down.

But his hands can move just enough to grip Tim’s shoulders from behind, he can lay his face in the side of that neck and be fucking grateful.

My love has concrete feet

The window gives under real strength, banging fast and hard.

He comes up enough to snag the .45, not screaming when the pain train hits full speed ahead. Tim’s already got pellets, even though he’s holding the younger of them to his hurting chest with his free hand because he ain’t gonna let Timmy go down that path before it’s his time—

When Nightwing leaps through, fast and furious, a whirl of feral destruction. Every muscle in his body is tense, a beautiful picture in that suit, and he must be feeling the glad-ta-still-be-breathings because he can appreciate his boy animalistic grace when he’s utterly pissed the hell off.

It’s always a sight to behold.

Tonight? It’s even better.

My love’s an iron ball

And the slow roll of those hips is the start of something utterly terrifying, the first Robin, former Titan, former Batman, and a whole lot of sexually charged vigilante powerhouse could be gearing up for a massive roundhouse to start the fight or could be a breath away from ripping your fucking clothes off to give you the ride of your life.

Or.

Could be hitting the wall with such stark relief that’s an inescapable hold and lips on his forehead, always a soft Romani prayer a litany against evil, a plea of protection and strength.

But his boy knows. Knows him down to the bone. Is achingly soft and easy, the whiteouts up on the mask so those blue eyes are overwhelming.

Wrapped around you ankles

“M’ sorry, sweets,” is rough because almost drowning had that effect, but his boy is a sucker for the real pet names, always has been.

“You asshole,” Nightwing pulls off the domino to becomes his baby, his sweet, his sugar (his redemption, his avenger, his guardian angel), and the arms get tighter, making the pain arch in his abdomen, but it ain’t all that. Naw, there’s always worse.

Over the waterfall

“You should have waited. I said I was on the way.”

Wouldn’ta mattered. We both know that.

“I was almost too you when the warehouse exploded. Jesus, Jay, I thought— I thought…”

“Aw, naw, sweets,” and he’s pressing his mouth under his boy’s watery eyes, “I’ma hard motherfucker ta kill. Ain’tcha figured that out yet?”

“Fuck that, we both know better.” And those eyes spill over, making tracks through the dirt of Gotham still on his face.

This will be my last confession

If only...if only he could be the man his boy deserves.

Instead, he’s the man he knows how to be, and draws the older vigilante down to fit their mouths together in a sloppy rendition of what might be a kiss, but is more breathing each other’s air, gripping each other to make sure it ain’t just a dream.

And he don’t have ta see it ta know his boy is gripping Timmy’s hand like a lifeline, like he’s a part of them.

He also knows Timmy’s gripping back just as tight.

I was a heavy heart to carry

My beloved was weighed down

My arms around his neck

My fingers laced to crown

None of them bitch when the two mobile vigilante strip down to boxers and crawl in bed with him. Tim’s cheeks and upper chest are a disturbing shade of red, but they don’t comment on it, not when they can’t let go of him any more than they can let go of one another.

They bracket him easy-like so the knee under his restrained leg takes some of the pressure off, and two fingers push hard enough to make the nerve clusters blissfully silent instead of radiating to his pain receptors.

His face is nestled in the crook of his boy’s neck, those long fingers rubbing soothing circles on the back of his neck while they all ignore the shamefully wet hitches in his breathing.

His grip is tight in Tim’s hair again, his shaky hand scratching against Baby Bird’s scalp to punctuated the point.

I was a heavy heart to carry

But he never let me down

When he held me in his arms

My feet never touched the ground

And it’s a crazy thing, one that strikes him at dark places where he stores the old pain and remorse, how he never thought he’d be worth this kind of grief. How no one would be stupid enough to mourn a piece of shit like him. A stupid punk-ass what got himself offed.

But while his phone lights up with worried texts from Roy and Kory, while B is on his boy’s comm demanding to know the Red Hood didn’t bite the big one again, while Alfred is stress baking and B is pleading for them to put him on so Alf will just chill the fuck out, while Timmy grips him, nuzzles a warm nose into his cold jugular, and his boy holds him in the present, those dark corners get...just a little bit of light.

Not too much to taint the darkness in his soul, just a slice enough so he can see how bright and white it is, so he can remember how warm it was to move into the first time, so he doesn’t have to be as afraid when the next time inevitably rolls around again.

I’m so heavy…

So heavy in your arms...

[ecotone99]

[MF] New Beginning

The signs were always there. Every piece of evidence pointed to the fact it was going to happen, but no one bothered to follow the trail of crumbs. The people in charge said it was impossible to predict. In truth, they didn't want it to be true, so they didn't bother to act. For most of us, it came as a surprise. We didn't know how to adapt and deviate from everyday life. Some people went full batshit right away and hoarded everything they could. We called them "Preppers". They were the first to die when the raids started. See, we all think we have so much control over what happens to us. Only when it gets ripped away do we realize we can't control anything.

It wasn't long after the raids started that society fell apart. Everyone's life turned to shit. Even then, some people were still waiting for things to go back to "normal", whatever the fuck that was. I was a kid when it all happened. I watched the world crash around me before I even knew what it was. I still remember the wide-eyed looks of terror on my parents' faces. Eventually, everything shut down: power, utilities, the stores, consumerism, the market economy, civilized life. Everyone stopped listening to the government, and they stopped trying to govern. That's when raiding became more frequent, and people who had guns became "Raiders." A lot of people decided to end it all there. Some people with guns just used them to blow their brains out.

People were dying off for too many reasons to count. At that point, no one counted how or why people died anymore. Who the fuck even cared? If you wanted to survive, the only thing to do was to scavenge or raid. We were "Scavengers". First, we dug through the trash. Half the fucking world was dead, so when we lost all of our old-world inhibitions, we started scavenging through houses. Scavengers and Raiders became mortal enemies. Raiders stock-piled all the weapons, so they usually won the fights. They had guns, and we had spoons we turned into shivs. Not that any of us were organized in any way. Everyone took care of their own.

The raiders killed my dad when I was 12. Or maybe 13, some shit like that. My mom and I carried him down to the river, and put him in. We watched him float away. She cried, I didn't. He looked like every other dead person I'd seen, and he wasn't my dad anymore. We just kept scavenging. When I was old enough to grow some hair on my face, my mom got sick, probably from all the rotten food we ate. She died a few weeks later. I leaned her up against a tree in what was someone's back yard. I kept scavenging alone.

People started to form groups after a while. They tried to organize into little communes. They used broken houses and fences to make walled off villages inside of ruined cities. They even gave themselves names. Most of the time, they ended up getting sacked by raiders. Everyone would die, then I would scavenge. I'd say I'm not proud, but no one has pride in anything anymore. Pride was something they had in the old world. People with guns then started to try and help form communities. I recognized most of those fuckers as Raiders who shot at me. They called themselves "Villagers". I guess the older they got, the more they wanted redemption. Some of them called themselves "Renegades" who went and shot at Raiders. Like that's any fucking better. I never went to live in a village, and I never will.

One thing I kept from the old world were books. My folks made sure of that. I guess they still hoped things would go back to "normal", so they made me keep reading. I must have been mid-twenties, and I was still reading about a hungry caterpillar. It passed the time. One day, while scavenging, I wandered across a library. It looked empty, so I went in. It was full of dead Raiders, probably shot up by Renegades. They had burned some of the books to keep warm in the winter, but a lot of them were still there. I scavenged the place, and found a vending machine in a room at the end of a hallway with a bunch of offices. Stale Fritos, Doritos, and Lays. There was even water in the water cooler. Pretty good haul. Behind the front counter was a key. It was marked "Restroom". There was no running water left in the world, but it was pretty nice to sit on something to take a shit every now and again. I opened the bathroom door, and inside was more guns and ammo than I had ever seen. Fucking jackpot.

I holed up in that library for a long time. I read a lot. There were a lot of books about growing food. Some of them explained how to catch rain water in a barrel and use it to water plants. I decided I was going to try and scavenge for seeds. It wasn't likely there would be many I could use, but it was possible. Fuck it, I didn't have anything else going for me. I took a gun from the stock, and loaded, just like one of the books showed me. I fired at a few of the dead Raiders for practice, and it seemed to work. I took the gun with me to find a nursery, like the book said. As a Scavenger, I had a gun. Did that make me a Raider? I don't think I was either one.

I wandered through the city, until I found an old nursery. There were some plants outside, but they were all starting to die. I went inside. I found two women who had been shot not too long ago. I searched through some of the shelves and storage areas and found some seeds. I stuffed them all in my pocket. I didn't know what they were, or if they were rancid, but I could find out back at the library. That's when I heard footsteps and a guy's voice.

"The fuck do you think you're doing? Where the fuck did you come from?" I fired the gun and ran. I didn't even look to see who I shot. I ran all the way back to the library.

Once I got there, I read a few horticulture books to find out what seeds I had. It looked like some kind of squash, dried corn kernel, and some carrot seeds. Now, I needed something to catch rainwater in. I searched around the outside of the library and found a trash barrel big enough. In the back of the library was a garden. It was overgrown with weeds, so I started tearing them all out. I planted the seeds there, using my own shit as fertilizer. I waited a while, what felt like forever. I watered every day it didn't rain. After probably a month or two, some of them started to grow. I made life happen in a world where everything was dead. I cried all night after I saw that green coming up out of the ground.

I survived eating vegetables from my own garden for years. I set up traps all around the outside of the library and used my guns sparingly. This worked to kill dozens of Raiders. There seemed to be less and less of them. One day, I left to scavenge, and when I came back, there were a man and a woman standing on either side of the door to my library. Both of them had more than one gun and were wearing padded clothes on the outside of their clothes. I think it was a bulletproof vest. They were even fully dressed, head to toe. I waited a while to see what they would do. They just stood there like they were guarding something. I pulled out my gun and walked up to them.

"Excuse me, sir, what are you doing?" the woman asked me. I had never been called "sir" in my whole fucking life.

"This is my library. What are you doing here?" I said. They looked at each other and laughed.

"This is your library?" said the dude. He was a real dick about it, too.

"Yeah, it's mine. I've lived here for years."

"Wait, so you grew the vegetables in the back?" the woman asked. They stopped being assholes for a second.

"Yeah, that was me. I want to get back in. I live here."

"Sorry, sir. This library belongs to the Citadel now. You'll have to find somewhere else to live," said the man. He was an asshole again.

"The Citadel? The fuck is that?" I was really getting pissed.

"If you can grow vegetables like that, you should join us," the woman said.

"Join you? Like just you two? Are you 'The Citadel'?" I said. Now I was being a dick.

"See that gold-domed building in the distance?" said the guy, pointing to a building down the hill from the library.

"You mean the old college?" I said.

"Yes, sir. That is The Citadel. You could learn more about growing food there. We even have a lab," said the woman. Like I'm supposed to know what that fucking means.

"I just want to go home. Can you leave now?"

"No, but you can. Fuck off, or we'll shoot," said the guy, taking out a pistol.

"Fuck you!" I said, but I turned to leave. I knew I wasn't getting in the front now. I'd have to try and sneak back in later. As I walked away there was something on the ground that caught my eye. I picked up a piece of paper folded three times. On the front, it said in big blue letters, "The Citadel". There was a picture of the same gold-topped building the guy pointed out. I opened it up, and on the inside, it said, "If you can read this pamphlet, you should consider joining The Citadel. We are a community of the literate and the scholarly. We offer protection and resources like other communities, but also knowledge and power. We'll give you the New Beginning you've been waiting for! Here are some of the things we can offer to you:" There were more pictures. Some had people looking into this weird thing that looked like binoculars, but they pointed down over a little square tray. Another had people dusting off a bunch of things, like cups and bones, covered in dirt.

"Fucking Villagers," I said, and I threw it into the closest trash can. It was the first time since the old world I threw something away. I waited under a bridge in an old park nearby until night came. Then, I sneaked behind the library and down the concrete stairs in back to the gray double doors. I unlocked the pad lock and took the chain off slowly. I cracked the door a little, and the basement was dark and quiet. I crept inside with my gun drawn. There was no one in the basement, but a light was coming from upstairs. I hadn't seen a light like that since I was a kid, but I knew it was a flashlight. How in the fuck..? I moved closer to the stairway at the edge of the basement. I heard two people talking, but it wasn't the two people out front before.

"...mostly old books, not terribly useful to us. We should clear them out anyways and bring them back to the campus," said a woman's voice.

"Yes, Lieutenant. Do you think that Scavenger who lived here will be any trouble to us?" said a man.

"Ha! I doubt it very much, Corporal," said the lieutenant. Fucking bitch.

I had a failsafe. It was dicey, but it was all I had. Once I saw the light move away, I slowly went up the stairs. The two people were still in the stacks, which was where I needed them to be. I moved over to the end of the stacks by the bathroom and pulled a rope and a road flare down off of the top of the last bookshelf. I lit the flare and threw it into the first row of stacks in front of me. The two people ran over to the flare. As they did, I pulled the rope. The sledgehammer I rigged up from a hardware store I scavenged swung down and hit the first metal bookshelf. It fell forward on top of the two people. There was no sign of movement at all from them. The road flare kept burning and set a couple of the books on fire. "Shit, did not think that through."

Before I could put them out, I heard the front door open. The guy from outside was running in, gun drawn. I ran to the back of the stacks where it was dark. I hid in an alcove and waited. He started firing through the stacks. One bullet hit the wall to my left, one broke the window behind me. I got down low and waited. He started walking through the row of stacks. As he walked up the row in front of me, I sited his head and fired. He fell down dead. I moved forward to take his gun and ammo. As I did, I felt cold metal on the back of my neck.

"Bet you didn't think we knew about the back entrance, did you?" said the woman from the front door. I didn't say anything. "You know, you're pretty good. You almost took us all out. You can shoot, and you can grow veggies. We could use someone like you. So, what'll it be? The Citadel, or..." She cocked the gun.

"Fine. I'll go," I said, lying out my ass. I hoped I could get a shot in once she let her guard down.

"Drop the gun. Miles! Anita!" Fuck! There were more of them!

They brought me back to The Citadel that night. Now, I grow vegetables in their hydroponics "lab", and I have for months. They cleared out all of the books I had and took all of my veggies. They call me one of them, but I fucking hate them. I just want my library back.

submitted by /u/riddles_in_the_dark1 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3bII6Lp

[xottzot]

2018-09(SEP)-03st--September--Monday---5am before dawn--imbecile Robert gets up REFUSES to let poor Sam & Max outside then he leaves.

2018-09(SEP)-03st--September--Monday---5am before dawn--imbecile Robert gets up REFUSES to let poor Sam & Max outside then he leaves.

People wonder why the fuck I get up ln before dawn EVER FUCKING DAY.....

And I NEVER EVER am allowed to sleep.....

It is because of imbecile Robert now....as if all the fucking crime and criminals aren't fucking bad enough.....

Today,.....Monday, a weekday......

Poor Sam and poor Max are so wound up all the fucking time and are anxious and angry and prone to attack EVER FUCKING DAY.....oh except for Saturday and Sunday apparently.......(because despite NOT working (he never ever works weekends and has not done so for literally DECADES)...imbecile gets up early on weekends and 'sometimes' lets poor Sam and poor Max outside but only if he 'feels' like doing it or 'remembers'...most of the time he doesn't...depending on how much booze he has drunk......

Then on Monday like today, the toilet reeks of a rancid old drunk having used it....and he has stenched it out.....because of imbecile's foul effluent of drunk so much booze that he has done in there....but he STILL does NOT let out poor Sam and poor Max outside....oh no, no, no....he refuses to let them outside and so them having being woken from sleep by him, NOT ME, they become desperate to go outside and pee but of course he does NOT let them outside......

He HATES ever cleaning up their ablutions and so refuses to clean any up, almost ALWAYS leaving it all to just me to do.....and instead he often just drives over it and so scatters it all through and out the driveway via his wheels that all the dog poo gets stuck on after he has run it over in the darkness......then he sits outside past the gate and just runs his big 4WD ute loudly after he has closed it IF he remembers to close it, because a LOT OF THE TIME he does NOT! and he just idiotically assumes by making all his noise that he has awoken me by it all and I will then be awoken from sleep and HAVE to deal with poor Sam and poor Max being so desperate just moments after I am awoken no matter what the weather.....

They become frantic and wake me up....

By then he has 'warmed up' his ute vehicle and roars off down the street and leaves......

And of course he has NOT said a word to me not ever does he, not for decades has he done so......let alone telling me about poor Sam and poor Max still having to be let outside because as he has yelled at me more than once..."THEY'RE NOT MY DOGS THEY'RE YOUR RESPONSIBILITY...YOU GO AND DO IT ALL!"

And he abuses the dogs and totally refuses to do ANYTHING for the dogs good, NOT even filling their water bowl if empty.......always making sure I have to make sure it always empty no matter how thirsty they are even in the depths of deathly over 100 degrees summer and hovering about there (THAT HELL IS TO COME TOO).....no he REFUSES......

NO FUCKER UNDERSTANDS ALL THIS HELL WHEN I TELL THEM ANYTHING ABOUT IT AND THEY BLAME ME...ALWAYS ME FOR IT ALL...ALWAYS...FUCKING ALWAYS!

And when I ever try to tell anyone anything...NO fucker believes me...and because shithead drunk Robert NEVER talks to ANYONE....(people think I actually live alone here in this hovel of a house because he does NOTHING AT ALL AND REFUSES TO EVEN MOW THE GRASS, OR CHECK THE MAILBOX (as Robert has said countless times in his rampant sesions of violence....WHY SHOULD I CHECK THE MAIL IT'S ONLY FULL OF BILLS ALL THE TIME! (and then he often launches into yelling at me for soemhow creating all the bills just on my own, the power, the water, the shire rates, EVERY FUCKING BILL.....which I PAY whilst he sits on his arse all the time and does nothing....and he will launch into yelling about having to go to work 'ALL THe TIME' and 'PAYING FOR EVERYTHING'....despite him getting a hefty wage he never wants to spend ANY of it all let alone ever paying bills......

He has brand new very expensive big offroad tyres on his ute but he never goes offroad.......

AND.....he HAS been pulled over MORE THAN ONCE OVER THE YEARS BY POLICE AND FINED for driving whilst drunk.......

In his insane mind he blames ME FOR BEING CAUGHT BY POLICE FOR DRIVING WHILST DRUNK......AND FOR GETTING CAUGHT BY POLICE.....AND FOR HIM BEING HEAVILY FINED FOR MONTHS OVER THE YEARS......

He REFUSES to EVER talk about THAT...and his anger just festers in his head all teh time because apparently EVERYONE IS OUT TO GET HIM AND HE IS NOT ALLOWED TO DO ANYTHING..... (therefore he does NOTHING for anyone or anything and is utterly selfish, always angry, and takes it out on anything if he is so inlined because he is so entrenched in all his bad habits and behaviour that it rules him and he sees nothing wrong in ANYTHING HE DOES and he has been like that for decades since he had a breakdown from his affair with Jane F. years ago....which he blames on dear Fliss in his insane brain.....)......

And he uses HIS insane behaviour for determining that HE can do ANYTHING he wants whilst he makes everyone's life hell........any creature...any object.....any person he does not know......

And he drives whilst drunk of course......

(he talks to himself A LOT...ANOTHER thing that upsets poor Sam and poor Max)...he does this at anytime.....having entire conversations with nobody......

(This terrifed poor dear Fliss.)

AND PEOPLE FUCKING BLAME ME!

For fucks sake........

I'm SO FUCKING SICK OF BEING THE WHIPPING BOY AND GETTINGTHE BLAME FOR OTHER SHITTY FUCKERS WHO SEE THEMSEVES AS BEING TOTALLY BLAMELESS NO MATTER HOW MUCH SHIT THEY CAUSE OTHERS!!!!!

------------------------------------------------------

Oh......it's fucking HELL......

As if all the crime and criminals aren't bad enough at this hellhole......

This morning I've had to get up BEFORE 5am and take poor Sam and poor Max outside in the VERY cold pre-dawn temperature because they were desperate to go outside and pee. (Robert of course REFUSES TO)

And then as were outside and I'm having to watch over them and make sure it doesn't suddenly rain since rain is so unpredictable here and poor Sam and poor Max get wet (he never ever dries them in any way but just lets them stay wet and get sick if they're wet and cold......and he ALWAYS makes sure he closes and secures his bedroom door...unless he is so drunk that he 'forgets'.......and if poor Sam and poor Max ever go into his bedroom and upsets things he goes utterly beserk and almost foams at the mouth....

------------------------------------------------------

Since dear Fliss left here, Do YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I have woken up from sleep and found poor Max and poor Sam have wet the floor inside the house!?

So MANY TIMES!

It is NOT their fault and it is NOT my fault...GUESS who's fault it is huh!?!!

Initually I could never understand why this was occuring......and so NO MATTER WHEN I WENT TO SLEEP, THE SHITTY WEATHER, NO MATTER HOW MUCH PAIN I AM IN AND ARE SUFFERING FROM EVERY DAY AND NIGHT AND NEED MY SLEEP......NO MATTER WHAT, I GET UP AND LET THEM OUT AND MAKE SURE THEY RETURN AND ARE SAFE AND DRY AND ARE COMFORTABLE AND SAFE AND THE HOUSE IS SECURE FROM CRIMINALS........

But shithead drunkard Robert has been FORCING ME TO GET UP AT 5am by virtue of the shit the does and doesn't do.......and so I am up even before any neighbours are, and so I have to wander about in all weathers cleaning up after poor Sam and poor Max and feeding them (he NEVER feeds them or gives them water)........

And the STENCH that drunkard leaves in the toilet........FFS.....

------------------------------------------------------

Got the picture yet!?

Oh, and as soon as he has left....and I'm freezing cold.....and the poor innocent dogs are trying to get some sleep let alone me, along comes the fucking VERY LOUD jet aircraft from Perth Airport taking off and flying over this hellhole non-stop nose-to-tail MANY times per minute.......

SO NO MORE SLEEP IS ALLOWED.......

AND......loud vehicles nearby start up and drive off......

AND......soonit will be loud vehicles nearby starting up and driving off......and tearing about from the Koongamia shops area...literally spining their wheels on the roads and leaving black tyre marks all over the place and outside my bedroom window......

Then of course there will be the old guy who stations himself by his front fence and LOULDY yells out, or he will bang his big green sheet metal fence (or kick it?) and yell out as he skulks away unseen.....or he will do the same YELLS from his open front door.....

I AM IN A FUCKING HELLHOLE

I AM NEVER EVER ALLOWED TO RECEIVE KINDNESS NOR GIVE IT NOR LIVE QUIETLY AND PEACFULLY AND SEDATE AND NOT FUCKED AROUND

So many shitheads about this hellhole do ANYTHING THEY WANT, even CRIMINAL THINGS........

Am I am not allowed to speak up or complain or say a word to anyone and I get ridiculed if I do with unbelief from all (including Police and authorities).

You see, I am SUPPOSED TO BE JUST LIKE ALL THIS FUCKING MADNESS AND INSANITY.......AND I'M SUPPOSED TO LIVE IN AND LIKE ALL THIS SHIT AND DIE AND SAY NOTHING...

AND JUST DO WHAT EVERYONE WANTS AND STILL BE GOOD TO EVERYONE AND NEVER EVER TO SAY A WORD ABOUT ANYTHING.......

Dear Fliss also was asailed by all this shit...and THAT is why she had a breakdown......

WHICH I WAS FUCKING WELL BLAMED FOR!

And she took off and has not been back and has left me in this hellhole that we were always trying to escape from for YEARS.....

THIS FUCKING HELLHOLE THAT SO MANY HAVE LEFT AND FLED FROM AND NOTHING GOOD TO SAY OF IT ALL.......

The crime, the criminals, the shitheads......the feral kids of them who next are due to start up when the change in seasons occurs......

The VERY VERY criminal aboriginals and their VERY VERY criminal kids have done so much for so long....and despite them having currently been 'away'...those fuckers will return or 'new' ones will replace them and become just as bad as the previous and making all others live fucking hell.....

ANY time I ever trying to tell anyone else about my fucking HELL they utterly refuse to believe me and say I'm lying or say oh no that could not be happening or they look in the NEWS and see nothing about anything and so they make false judgements.........FFS.......

Oh...there was loud Police sirens overnight for AGES......as they sped along Great Eastern Highway...the sirens would stop for awhile...then just as you trying to get back to sleep again...they would restart......

SO MUCH FOR FUCKING SLEEP!!!!

This fucking hellhole........

The fucking others that make life just utter shit.....

I wish I was with dear Fliss away from this hellhole......

.......or if not....then fucking dead......

------------------------------------------------------

I GET BLAMED for EVERYTHING, ESPECIALLY ANY AND EVERTHING THAT IS NOT MY FAULT

------------------------------------------------------

Poor Max returned inside from the cold and was EXTREMELY upset and louldy crashed his way into the house as if he was about to be attacked......

But both poor Sam and poor Max despite BOTH growling and being VERY upset...both have had a sleep upon the bed that is denied me from going back to sleep in.......

And I am going to AGAIN try to got back to sleep......I have a terrible headache.......

FFS.....ANYONE would from the shit I have had this morning......

I have had to put the gas heater on because it so fucking COLD...but I KNOW imbecile Robert will get violent about that......

And I WAS going to get some bare bread to eat for breakfast......but even THAT requires me to stay awake and go out into the very COLD and then take poor Sam and poor Max outside AGAIN after I have feed them and they will need to do their ablutions and I will have to clean all THAT up responsibly (like I always do)...and by that time it will be parades of shitheads everywhere on foot or in cars or big 4WDs and spewing out fumes to join the jet plane fumes and noise and sleep will be denied even if I need it...so I'll be forced to stay awake....and on and on and on and fucking on.....

This fucking hellhole.........

And of course SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN TODAY...IT ALWAYS DOES......AND THEN TOMORROW AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON.....

And I will be blamed and told to fucking well say nothing to anyone...and I KNOW nobody fucking well believes me about ANYTHING.....

And I have fuckwit hopes which ALWAYS end up in vain an suffering to me.....

It is better for me to NEVER EVER have ANY hope.......

I am just to continue living and fucking well suffering and never have anything good in my life because OTHERS have decided that and OTHERS keep making that happen......

Tell me I'n not in hell........

------------------------------------------------------

I HATE being fucking well honest and kind and gentle and caring......

It gets me NOTHING but shit and grief and suffering and being exploited and abused and then abandoned and left to rot in this fucking hell.....

------------------------------------------------------

THERE IS NO FUCKING END TO THIS SHIT IN HELL

------------------------------------------------------

I love you dear Fliss wherever you are and I want to be with you. I truly hope you are okay mentally and physically.

But I am never allowed to have ANY hope or hopes......

I shoulder so much for so many, none of whom deserve it...and I'm ridiculed for it all and never ever believed about anything.......no matter that it IS the truth.......

I love you dear Fliss and want to be with YOU, just as we were so happily for so many years.......

But I am never allowed to have ANY hope or hopes......EVER.......

...AND THEN TUMBLR VERY GREATLY FUCKS ME AROUND........AGAIN......

......AND THE FUCKING VERY LOUD JETS KEEP FLYING LOW OVERHEAD......

This fucking hellhole...........

[dimenovelsfromoblivion]

Where Does the Time Go?

“Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that can happen to a man.”―

Leon Trotsky

The phone hammering against the nightstand accompanied by a high pitched digital jingle was Mitch’s wake-up call and his notice the time allocated for sleep had officially come to an end. He opened his eyes and moaned his disdain for this century's version of roosters and church bells.

Mitch rolled out of bed and meandered into the kitchen.

“Ah, shit.” He grimaced while taking his first step onto the cold kitchen tile from the relative warmth of the plush carpeting. In the midwest during winter 6:30 am is as dark as midnight. Mitch opened the refrigerator, and the yellow light spilled out into the room. He reached for a half empty gallon of milk on the top shelf. He studied the plastic container with squinted eyes.

SELL BY 2/7/2017. That was only two days away. Mitch congratulated himself for thinking to use the remainder of the milk before it spoiled.

He poured the milk over the cereal and listened to the crackling of the wheat. He yawned before dipping his spoon in the bowl. He pulled out a heaping portion of the soggy cereal and let the overflow of milk spill back into the bowl.

He put the spoon in his mouth and gagged. He spat the contents back into the bowl and stuck out his tongue in disgust. His nose was struck by a rancid vapor rising from his breakfast. The milk was a discolored mush composed of curdling dairy matter and murky water.

“What the fuck?” Mitch groaned. He grabbed the container and looked at the date again.

“It should still be good,” Mitch growled

His phone vibrating phone lurched across the surface of the table. Mitch picked it up there was a text alert and the date on the home screen read 4/19/2017.

“How the hell did that happen?” Mitch sighed. He started tapping through the settings menu. He was focused so intently on his screen he hadn’t even noticed the early afternoon sunlight flooding in from the kitchen window. It wasn’t until he finally got frustrated and decided to restart the device that he could hear children playing, dogs barking, and sound systems blaring. He raced to the window.

The cold dark winter morning had transformed into a warm summer afternoon. The compacted layer of murky slush had vanished, people leisurely strolled along the street in shorts and thin cotton tops, a light gray haze infused with the scent of beef wafted up to the window screen. He looked at the cat themed calendar hanging from his fridge and saw two orange tabbies watching a sunset on a beach; the month said June.

Mitch’s phone vibrated and played the commercially patented jingle it always plays when it’s powering on. Mitch picked up the phone, and the screen went blank. The backlight must have been powering the world because when it flickered out so did the sun and Mitch once again found himself in cold dark silence. He looked out the window. The neighboring houses were adorned with Christmas lights and a fresh powdery snow was blanketing the quiet street.The two tabbies basking in the twilight on the beach had been replaced by a grumpy Maine Coon kitten wearing a Santa hat that was noticeably too small for his head.The month was DECEMBER

Mitches guts tied into a knot and imploded. His shaking body couldn’t support itself, and he collapsed onto the floor and buried his face in his hands while he mumbled and whimpered.

A thundering boom shook the kitchen window and pumped a sudden shot of adrenaline into mitch’s veins. He panted like a frightened dog. He looked out the window and saw multicolored bursts filling the sky.

“Fireworks?”

The snow was gone, and once again the street was crowded with people dressed in breezy summer clothes admiring the pyrotechnic display. The calendar on the fridge now had a shot of a pug on a surfboard.

July 2018

He covered his ears to muffled the booms of the fireworks and the oh and ahs of the spectators. He tried to take a deep breath, but his heart felt like it was trying to burst out of his chest. He clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth and silence returned.

He cautiously took his hands from his ears and opened his eyes. The kitchen was dimly lit by cloud smothered light. He looked outside and saw a tapestry and red and yellow leaves covering the ground. A low wind picked the ones that weren't pressed into the air and carried them off down the street.  The calendar said October 2020, this time featuring a hamster dressed like a pirate.

Everytime time Mitch blinked the calendar changed, and so did the composition of the world outside.  Every time he opened his eyes he found himself in a new month, in a new year, and a new animal in a themed costume.

“What the fuck’s going on?” he wailed. The tempo was increasing. The years were lurching forward with greater and greater rapidity. Dog, cat, dog, cat, October, July, December, August. He pulled the calendar off the fridge and started tearing it into a shredded glossy pile.

He saw his hands were starting to wrinkle up like dried fruit. Pale green spots appeared on his flesh.

“Oh God no,” he said in a low, frightened tone.

He dropped the calendar and tried to bolt for the bathroom. His knees buckled and his feet ached. He could only muster the strength to achieve a slow shuffle. He couldn’t straighten his back, and he could feel a prominent hunch between his shoulders. He was wheezing now, and pain comparable to a thousand hot needles pressing into his flesh bolted up and down his left side.

He managed to hold himself up in the bathroom doorway. He struggled to catch his breath for a second before reaching for the switch. Even with the light, everything looked distant and hazy. He felt his knees shaking again and he fell forward but managed to catch himself on the sink.

He composed himself and squinted into the mirror. He was face to face with a frail old man, with pruney spotted skin with nothing but a simple poof of snow white hair on the crown of his head. Mitch blinked. This time his eyes did not reopen. The incessantly shifting world settled into static darkness.