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unknownarmageddon · 8 months ago

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Christ Alive

a kross oneshot. in which they go to a party cackles

based on the song skeletone by bones uk rental suits au belongs to me and @psycho-chair

The parking lot was mostly empty, save for two, maybe three, cars. It was dark, the only thing visible in the black murk past the washed out lights of the gas station’s overhang was the passing specks of car headlights.

Cross leaned on the elbow he held propped on the counter, tried to tune out the mediocre mainstream music playing distantly over the store’s speakers, and watched the only customer inside idle about the shelves.

The lights buzzed. two of the fridges against the back wall flickered every so often.

The door chimed as it was opened, and another stranger entered. They wanted 50 dollars’ worth on pump three. And a pack of cigarettes. The door chimed again, then they were gone.

The lights buzzed. The fridges flickered. Everything was delved in a cool colored haze.

The last remaining person in the store bought two drinks. With the dinging of the door as they left, a father and two kids entered. They piled their spoils, a mound of snacks, onto the counter.

There were several minutes of vacancy. Nobody in the store but him. It felt like an eternity, always did. Cross fiddled with the shelves behind him to waste time.

Buzzing lights. Uneven churring from the slushy machine in the back.

The door chimed. Footsteps, sneakers scuffing on tile.

Cross turned, and could practically feel the grin boring into him.

Him again.

He was leaning forward over the counter with his arms crossed in front of him. His jacket had obtained a few new stains, both red and black. The faint, electric sound of music played from the chunky maroon headphones around his neck.

Cross felt himself grin for a moment. He couldn’t help it.

“Hey pretty boy.” He looked at Cross with deep dark sockets.

“Killer.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” Killer quipped.

He pulled himself up to sit on the back edge of the counter, still facing Cross. Cross furrowed his brows.

“I told you to stop sitting on the counter.”

Killer hardly considered moving. His soul hummed like even it was laughing. “You’re gonna have to make me, sweetheart.”

Cross knew that wouldn’t have worked. And he didn’t really care, not enough to force him.

“You miss me?” Killer quipped.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Cross replied.

Killer laughed. “I’m wounded.”

Cross turned back to the shelf, and Killer slid off the counter to stand next to him.

“Ya got any plans tonight? Other than the blast you’re clearly havin’ already.” Killer murmured, hands shoved the pockets of his jacket. The fabric of he and Cross’s clothes brushed as they just almost touched, they were that close.

When did Cross ever have plans? He shook his head.

Killer’s grin got wider. Cross narrowed his eyes at him. What was he planning.

Killer hopped back over the counter and headed for one of the fridges in the back. Cross leaned over the counter on his elbows to watch him.

“Y’know, there’s gonna be a party tonight. At ten.” Killer jerked open the door and crouched, now partially obscured by the shelf behind him. His voice came to Cross echoed by the distance.

“Where?”

“Some guy’s place in town, I dunno, all I’ve got is the address. He was really talkin’ a big talk, I wanna see if he’s full of shit or not.” Cross could tell he was grinning. He had that kinda voice.

“And you want me to go with you.” Cross responded after a pause.

From the fridge Killer retrieved two energy drinks. He stood and the door was closed with a shove from his foot.

“Exactly.”

He hesitated, apparently for dramatic effect knowing him, and waited for an answer.

“…I’m not going.”

“C’monnn, you gotta get outta this boring ass gas station sometime. Have an actual good time.” Killer pressed.

“I don’t do parties.”

“How bad could it possibly be?”

“I doubt I would miss out on much.” Cross responded.

“You’d never know. Unless you go.” Killer persisted.

Cross didn’t respond after that. He stared at the tile in front of Killer’s feet, turning the notion over in his mind. He knew damn well that if Killer wanted something he’d find a way to get it, so he doubted how much good resisting would do.

Killer weaved through the aisles to the middle of the store, then went for the far back. He cracked one of the energy drinks.

“When are you gonna start paying for those?” Cross called to him.

“You think about that party, ‘kay, pretty boy? Think about it.” Killer called back instead and pulled the headphones on. He vanished among the shelves. Cross saw the top of the storage room door as it opened, then closed.

Cross was left alone in the store again. The trickle of costumers came and went, and he worked on autopilot. His mind was occupied by the party and the loiterer in the storage room.

His first reaction was to not go. And he trusted that reaction. All he knew about it was that it would be loud and crammed with people he likely didn’t want to be around. And that he wouldn’t know anyone but Killer. He didn’t think— no he knew it wouldn’t be worth it.

But who knew how well Killer would take that news. And he kind of had a point about getting out of the gas station.

Cross worked for three more hours. Occasionally he would watch Killer slink from the back to steal another energy drink or two, or a bag of chips. Cross pretended not to notice. Every time Killer passed the counter he would toss a smug grin at Cross. Meant only for Cross. The kind that loosely hid all the kinds of things he would say out loud if they were alone. Cross pretended not to notice those, too.

He would’ve stopped him, confronted him again for never paying for what he took. But Cross didn’t exactly want to be on the receiving end of that knife he flashed the night they met. And when Killer was around he had company, and the extra shitty customers never came back. It was a fair trade. So what if a few cans went missing here and there.

When Cross’s shift came to an end he left the counter in favor of the storage room. The smell of smoke flooded his nose the minute he pushed open the door. It wasn’t invasive, but it was noticeable enough whenever you walked in. It’d always smelled like smoke in here, after Killer showed up.

The culprit sat on the floor in the corner beside the door. He had fully tucked himself into that corner, in the gap between boxes and freezers that lined a few of the walls. He had one leg propped on the other, and the magazine he held obscured his face. Cross could still hear Killer’s music blasting through his headphones even from where he stood.

“My shift’s over. You gotta leave.” Cross greeted him.

Killer pulled the headphones down and looked up over the edge of the magazine. He hadn’t heard him.

“Shift’s over.” Cross repeated.

The music cut off; the magazine was shoved under a shelf. “You got it, boss.”

He pulled himself to his feet and left his corner to push past Cross, who tailed him in return.

The gas station’s front door chimed for the last time as they exited out onto the pavement in front of it. It was cold, Cross zipped up his jacket. His breath clouded in front of him as he watched insects buzz around the precious glow of the station’s lights.

After a moment of standing he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around at the vacant parking lot, awkwardly awaiting for whatever Killer was going to do. He didn’t trust him enough to leave first.

His eyes landed on him.

“What time’s it?” Killer asked.

Cross checked his phone. “Nine forty.”

Killer hopped off the slight incline of the pavement and moved through the darkness. To Cross he became a raccoon you’d see outside your garage. So blanketed in darkness it doesn’t look much like anything at all. Except, his soul provided a red halo around his silhouette.

“You comin’?” Killer called over his shoulder and stopped. It was more of a request than a question.

Hesitation. Cross glanced to his left, then back at Killer. “No?”

“You scared, sweetheart?” Killer replied. He could barely see him, but again Cross could tell he was grinning.

“No.”

“C’mon, just this once. It’s just a party. One time’s not gonna hurt anything.” He said. More firmly, sharply.

Killer gestured with his head, nodding, beckoning Cross to come with him.

“You always say that.”

“Am I wrong? Let’s live a little. Nothin’s gonna happen.” He spread out his arms, turning on his heel to look back at Cross.

Cross scowled doubtfully. He’s known Killer for long enough to at least know going anywhere with him didn’t have any guarantees of anything.

Killer slunk back toward Cross and grabbed him firmly by the zipper of his jacket, pulling him down so their faces were level. His face was warmed by Killer’s breath. Killer looked him over, then dead on.

Killer huffed a laugh. “You’re scared.”

Cross paused for a long time. A car alarm started from somewhere distant in the dark. Then it was quiet again.

“We’ll take the truck.” He decided eventually, flatly.

Killer’s eyes widened. He released Cross and ran for said truck, which was parked back in front of the gas station. It was small, old, and white; one of those trucks that didn’t have back seats, and the front was one long singular bench with seatbelts that just went across the lap.

Killer was grinning, exclaiming to himself, in his triumph. He had gotten Cross to cave, andthey were taking the truck.

Killer rapped on the truck’s side with his palm as he stepped along it toward the door. He tried the door prematurely, eagerly. It was still locked. Then there was a click as Cross pressed a button on the interior of the driver side door and the rest of the doors unlocked. Killer jerked his open to slide into the passenger side; Cross got in after him, with less enthusiasm.

The key met ignition and the vehicle grumbled to life like an aged animal.

Its beige leather seats were long worn, its paint was chipped in spots, it was overdo for a wash, and its windows were dusty and still functioned on a crank, but it served its purpose.

They left the parking lot. Cross heard Killer fighting with the window beside him, but he eventually got it open. Cold air streamed into the cab. Killer leaned against the door with his shoulder out the window. His feet were kicked up onto the dash.

In front of the windshield, dangling from the rear view mirror, hung a silver pendant on a chain and a long-expired air freshener.

With each imperfection in the pavement they hit the cab bumped.

“What’s the address?” Cross asked.

A slip of paper was dug out of Killer’s pocket and examined. He put his legs down.

“Left, up here.” He pointed, the turn signal clicked in time.

“Go for a bit,” He said now. “Here,”

“Right, past here and down that road,”

They drove for a while, mostly in silence save for Killer’s directions and occasional quips or broken humming. Sometimes the headlights of a passing car or a lone streetlight would illuminate the cab; otherwise it was dark.

Killer pointed at the windshield again.

They were here.

What Cross saw was the front of an apartment building, one a few notches nicer than his own. That building immediately set the tone for the whole party in stone in Cross’s mind. It was fucking intimidating. He shouldn’t be here.

He glanced over at Killer, who was already slipping out of the truck. Cross inhaled and followed.

———

Upbeat music he’s heard everywhere a million times blasted through the apartment. Talking, laughing, shouting, all joined it. Lights everywhere, sounds everywhere. So many people were crammed in this single space.

Cross was made hyper-aware of the presence of the other guests. The way they were dressed, the way they held themselves. They belonged here, he didn’t.

He became Killer’s shadow. He kept his arms tight to his side, his eyes trained on his feet and Killer’s stride. He followed directly behind him as his companion sauntered through the apartment.

They collected a few stares. What a sight they must be, two stupid boys wading through somewhere they shouldn’t be, one with stains on his clothes and one in a plain black jacket he’s had since high school. One with oil flowing from his eye sockets, one with an old rusted pickup.

Cross liked to imagine the things they whispered to themselves as the skeletons passed. Exclamations of surprise, of judgement. Eyes glued.

But, in reality, no one said anything. No one heckled them. He even doubted that many people were paying attention to them. Even still he was all too aware.

Finally, he and Killer breached the thick of the waves. Killer was saying something to another guest as he handed Cross a plastic cup of red liquid, which he accepted without much thought.

“Whad’ya think?” Killer asked Cross and leaned against the table. He gestured with his free hand at everything around them like he was showing it all off. He held his own beverage in the other hand, Cross clutched his with both.

Cross didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to think. It was loud. There were way too many people. He’d decide eventually, he thought.

Killer lifted his cup to his mouth, then paused and lowered it. He deadpanned at it.

“This tastes like shit.”

Cross half-laughed, Killer grinned.

They stayed at that table for the duration of three, maybe four, songs. Killer did most of the talking. Cross only listened, offering the occasional hum in agreement or comment. Killer would point out people in the crowd he found notable for whatever reason to him. Made jokes, teased, rambled about menial things. He complained about the music, but he still tapped his finger against his cup in time.

Cross kept searching Killer, trying to figure him out. He wondered if he noticed how out of place they were. Or if he cared. But then he thought about it more, and he doubted he did.

The song changed; Cross didn’t recognize this one. It was slower, but not melancholy. Carried by a steady rhythm and smooth electric guitar. Like the pounding of rain on concrete at night.

Killer glanced up. “Fuckin’ finally, something good.”

He set his cup down and pulled away from the table. “Alright I’m tired of standin’.”

He stood with his back turned a moment, surveying the crowd, thumbs jammed in his shorts pockets, before he swiveled to offer his hand to Cross. “C’mon, you gonna do me the honor?”

Cross retracted, set his cup down and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket like he was hiding them.

“I don’t dance.”

Maybe he would, in any other circumstance. When there weren’t so many people.

“Fuck babe, what do you do?” Killer replied. The corner of his mouth ticked up.

He pulled back toward Cross to nudge him with his elbow like he was trying to push him forward.

“Dude,” Cross laughed.

“We’re at a party, you gotta dance at least once.” He argued. “It’ll just be me, don’t worry about them.”

Cross conceded. “Just for this song, alright?”

Cross quickly learned that Killer didn’t know how to dance either. They devolved into a mess of movements, a tangle of limbs. Killer held a hand to Cross’s hip, Cross held one to Killer’s shoulder. Occasionally their hands would intertwine.

They exchanged steps off-rhythm. Killer was quick, Cross took strides to catch him.

Cross continued to be aware of the other dancers, even here. He couldn’t shake them from his mind. He wasn’t nearly as coordinated, and he had a habit of staying too stiff and rigid. But Killer had enough confidence for both of them.

All Cross saw was the carpet, his eyes glued to their feet. Making his best effort not to trip. Or get stepped on. He risked a glance up at Killer’s face. He was grinning with the most actual enthusiasm Cross had seen from him tonight, and it became infectious.

“You keepin’ up, pretty boy?” Killer asked, catching Cross and keeping him from looking back down.

“You’re horrible at this.” Cross replied.

“And you dance like you’ve taken ballet since kindergarten.” Killer scowled, but his eyes were still grinning.

In the last remaining minute of the song they slowed, swayed, leaning into each other. They let the wave of other dancers surge around them. Killer hooked an arm around Cross’s neck, Cross laid his over his shoulders. Cross watched him, awaiting his next move silently.

Killer took Cross’s left hand and pressed a slow kiss to his knuckles.

Cross decided this party wasn’t that bad, at least.

Killer’s song ended. They untangled. Cross followed Killer as he slunk over to the apartment’s kitchen, where refreshments were strewn over the counters. The nearby balcony’s door was propped open, and Cross lingered there in the opening. Cool outside air hit his back.

Now Killer was chatting up another guy at the table. Like he always did when they went out anywhere. As if out of habit. Cross disregarded them; all he heard was Killer say “is that a challenge?”. He would’ve dwelled on it more, been more bothered, but he put his attention on everyone else. He scanned the crowd like he expected to be jumped.

Beside him Killer returned and he felt him press up against him. He knew he was grinning. His hand wandered Cross’s arm, then his back. He smelled like smoke. What was he after.

Cross’s face grew warm. His shoulders tensed. But he averted his eyes, kept his focus on the crowd.

His gaze landed on one woman in particular, not far from the table. She was surrounded by her own group of people, but for some reason she was staring directly at him, both of them. With this look in her eye.

Her lips, which were covered in a red smothering of lipstick, ticked down in a grimace.

What a sight they must be.

A wildfire of anger burst up through Cross. His bones grew hot, like he was being burned by it. She made him so fucking mad. He couldn’t process why.

She hadn’t even said anything. Not yet. But he knew she would. It was a matter of time, with the way she was looking at them.

Cross searched her, trying to gauge her. He knew these kinds of people all too well.

He returned her look in a blank stare. In it, he silently poured out every bit of desire he had to wipe that look off on the wall behind her. He doubted he’d actually do something, though. It wasn’t worth whatever hell would come of it.

Still, it leaked into his voice.

“Someone’s staring.” He said, quietly, and Killer retracted slightly.

He followed Cross’s gaze. His grin fell. The soul in front of his chest flickered, becoming an unstable ever-shifting shape far from a circle. To Cross it resembled a star nearing on a supernova.

He wasn’t being nearly as discrete as Cross; he glared back at her with just as much anger. If not more. Like a dog with teeth bared.

His voice dripped venom. “I’ll deal with ‘er.”

Cross’s companion pulled away from the table and over to the woman. Each step carried a buried intention, buried fury, with it.

Cross felt like someone’s gonna die.

Cross blinked and Killer was already in front of her. She said something to him, and he heard Killer shout back at her. He blinked again and Killer’s fist was flying. The woman’s head skewed to the side unnaturally, awkwardly. Then she fell to a heap on the carpet; A painted lady sprawled across the floor like a body bag.

She struggled to her elbows, coughed blood onto the carpet. The tease of a grimace became a full-fledged snarl. Her pretty prim lipstick was smeared.

Cross didn’t hear anything. Hardly even saw anything but Killer and the woman. Only the pounding of blood in his ears and flashing lights in the corner of his vision.

A needle of sudden anxiety, anticipation, stabbed Cross. Nothing good was gonna come from this.

If they hadn’t been before, everyone was certainly staring now.

The few nearest were on Killer like a pack of wolves to a carcass.

Someone was gonna die.

The surge consumed Killer. Shouting roared over the music. Cross barely saw him as he clawed, fought, screamed. Grinned. The suddenness of it all startled Cross out of his anger.

Two attackers were thrown back, blood streaming from their noses. Two more took their place.

At some point Killer’s jacket slipped, leaving shoulders exposed. And one of his sleeves was torn now. Bits of bleach-white bone were visible like Cross was peaking through a break in the blinds.

For a moment, he just stood and watched. Watched Killer fight like an animal. Admired the fluidity of his movements. Stared into the flames.

God,

He couldn’t help it.

Maybe this is what he came to this dumb party for.

Killer got tackled by two guys much larger than him and Cross, simultaneously, was thrown into the mess by someone behind him he didn’t see. It was like he was in a hornet’s nest. It was confusing, loud, violent. He didn’t know what to do, how to do it.

Somehow, he gathered himself and he and Killer managed to push back the swarm. Everything broke like oil and water, if only for a moment.

Killer now stood on Cross’s right, clutching his wrist tight in his hand. On the other, his left, was a smear of red lipstick. He held it curled in a fist.

Cross’s magic pounded in his ears.

There was a single heartbeat of still, then they were on them again, just as quick. They tore at them, stampeded over them. Except now Cross was in the middle of it. And at that moment he wanted to be anywhere else. But he didn’t really, either. This was where Killer was.

It became war.

Like with dancing, Cross wasn’t as confident a fighter as Killer. And he doubted his skills. But he wasn’t harmless, he hoped.

He tried to stay close to Killer, to not lose him to it all. That became his only goal. To not lose Killer, and to survive.

Cross grabbed another guy by the shirt and pulled him off of Killer, then had to spin to push someone different back with a strike from the elbow. It was overwhelming, smothering. Everyone on every side at all times.

Occasionally he got glances of Killer as he would stumble backward, only to run back in, laughing. He never stayed in range of who he fought, always jumping in and back out. Circling, a wolf nipping at the ankles of an elk. But he hit hard, knew what he was doing.

Warm blood ran into Cross’s eye, obscuring his vision. He must’ve busted an eyebrow.

Even before that, his vision became blurred. All he saw were movements. He focused everything on not drowning. Where was Killer? He had lost sight of him at some point. But the thought was ripped from his mind as he sustained a kick to the back and staggered. He gritted his teeth and returned the hit, pushed someone he didn’t see long enough to identify away. He rammed someone else with his shoulder.

Then he took another, harder, blow. This time to the side of the head. He felt like his whole skull was jarred and he staggered again, almost falling this time.

Someone grabbed his wrist.

It was Killer.

He ripped Cross from it all, fingers dug into his arm. Then they were running. He knew they were being followed. Killer shouted something. At some point they were in a stairwell, descending. Pounding in his skull was all he heard.

Suddenly, cold night air.

They were outside. There was Cross’s truck.

They ran to it and pulled the door’s open so hard he was surprised they weren’t thrown off their hinges. They were slammed closed just as hard.

Cross stuck the keys in the ignition and turned as fast as he could manage.

Six remaining pursuers flooded from the apartment. They tried to follow, yelled curses and profanities.

“Go, go, go!” Killer shouted.

“I’m trying!”

They pulled out and ended back on the road.

Finally, things started to slow back down. But Cross still felt like he wasn’t there. He felt like he was still at that party, busting his knuckles on strangers out for his blood. He didn’t even feel relief yet, that they were in the safety of Cross’s truck now. He didn’t feel much of anything.

The first thing Cross fully registered was Killer slamming his arm on the side of the door four times. “Holy shit!”

He put his hand to his head. “Holy shit.”

He was making an expression Cross couldn’t read, or place. Was it excitement? Surprise? Detest? Fear? Maybe just adrenaline. He was grinning. But he always was. His eyes were wide. Like he had just gotten off a rollercoaster.

Cross glanced at him again after checking the road. “You’re bleeding.”

He was, from the nose.

“So’re you.”

Cross put a finger to his eyebrow and felt warm liquid. The wound stung, he just now noticed. He wouldn’t notice the rest of his pain until much later, when the adrenaline was out of his system.

“Dude that was fucking insane.” Killer breathed. He almost laughed as he said it.

“It was worth it, though.” He added. “God, getting to wipe that look off her face,”

“Mm,” Cross hummed absently. Was it worth it? Part of him agreed silently.

“Showed her. Fucking showed her.” Killer continued, mostly to himself.

“You’re alright?” Cross asked, eyes pinned to the road. He still felt jittery. He hated having to sit here this long.

“Oh, what, me? Yeah I’m fine, I’m fine. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” Killer replied. He wiped at his nose, then cleaned the remaining lipstick from his hand on his jacket.

He was so… unaffected. Like this was an everyday occurrence for him. Maybe it was.

Cross rubbed the blood from his brow again. It hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. He wondered how bad it was. But he didn’t check the rearview mirror for his reflection.

He felt Killer’s eyes on him.

“It’s a look, y’know.” Killer quipped.

Cross laughed quietly. “What, having dried blood on my face?”

They drove in silence for a while. Cross’s soul was still pounding. At some point he collected himself enough to remember to put on his seatbelt. He listened to the occasional clicking of the turn signal and Killer’s mindless tapping. It grounded him, pulled him away from the party.

“I didn’t know you could fight like that.” Killer said eventually. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“I was just trying not to get killed.” Cross responded dryly, like it was a fact. He hadn’t thought it was that impressive.

Killer laughed. Even though it was the truth.

“Wasn’t too bad, either. I could teach ya a thing or two, though. If you wanted.”

Killer offered with a grin.

Cross considered it just for a moment. “I think I’m fine.”

“Your loss. You think about it, ‘kay?” Killer replied. “I’d love t’see what you could do if you knew what you were doin’”

Cross just hoped he wouldn’t find himself in a situation where he needed to know what he was doing.

Killer leaned forward to start messing with the truck’s radio. He flicked through stations and static.

“I didn’t expect that many people to come after us.” Cross said.

“Yeah, god, it was like everyone at that party was pissed.”

“What’d she say? I saw her say something to you.” Cross asked.

“What d’you think? Some stupid shit about us. I dunno, I don’t remember.” Killer said, scowling at the radio. Cross knew he remembered, but he didn’t press.

Killer eventually found a station he was satisfied with and leaned back. Now a loud, quick, shouty rock song Cross hadn’t heard quietly filled the background of the cab.

Killer stretched out his arms. “Well, I’d consider tonight a success.”

Cross stared at him.

Killer laughed. “Eyes on the road, sweetheart,”

———

After what felt like an eternity they ended up at Cross’s apartment. Cross fumbled with keys to unlock the door and they stumbled inside. Everything was dark, lit only by the lights of the street and a standing lamp near the door Cross bothered to flick on as they entered.

The first thing Cross did was go for the fridge in the conjoined kitchen. It was mostly empty, but he found a cold canned drink and tossed it to Killer. He pressed it to limbs, to his face, soothing the bruises he had acquired.

He had a faint, dark ring around one of his eye sockets in the start of a black eye. Cross took his wrist and slowly, firmly, guided his hand to the socket.

“You caused a lot of trouble.” Cross murmured, sighing, as he held his hand there.

“You saw the way she was looking at us.” Killer replied sharply.

Cross retracted his hand, stood there to look at him. “Still,”

“She was basically just askin’ for it, anyway. No one else was gonna do it.” Killer argued.

“I think I’m gonna have a headache for a week. Thanks to you.” Cross said, though he was just barely smiling.

“You’re welcome.” Killer grinned.

“Mm.”

After, the can was handed back to Cross. It was just barely warmer, just barely flecked with blood. He pressed it to his own bruises, and to his eyebrow. The start of a headache stabbed at him.

Cross watched Killer as he fixed his jacket from where it had fallen off his shoulders. Just as closely as when he had watched him fight.

He felt both of them linger there, unsure. Awkward. Mutually asking “what now?”

“Well, it’s been a hell of a night, but I better be gettin’ outta here. I’m a busy man, y’know.” Killer said finally, flicking up his hood over his head.

“Already?” Cross asked.

Of course.

“Don’t worry, you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be back.” Killer said, brushed up against Cross as he headed for the door, grinning up at him. He caught Cross’s hand and held it in his for just a moment.

‘I’ll be back’ could’ve meant a myriad of things. Cross could see him tomorrow. Maybe in a few hours, even. Or he could see him next in however many days.

Cross’s mouth teased a smile and he shook his head. He followed him to the doorway, where Killer lingered, holding the door open with one hand.

It sounded like it was raining outside.

For some reason, in that moment Cross remembered what Killer had said at the gas station, before they left.

His eyes widened, then narrowed at him. “You’re such a liar. You said nothing would happen.”

“Your favorite liar.” Killer grinned.

He leaned farther through the doorway toward him and pressed a kiss to Cross’s teeth, as if it was some kind of weird apology. It tasted like smoke. And blood. Cross let it happen, didn’t want it to end as quick as it did.

“We should do this again sometime.”

Then it was over, Killer was gone, and all Cross saw was the door as it clicked closed.

#wowowowow kross oneshot moment #read my writing boy /silly /nf #this one im like feeling mixed things about but that always happens so y’know how it is #armageddon’s fanfics #rental suits au #cross sans #killer sans #cross x killer #killer x cross #kross ship #criller #utmv #mostly i just hit the point where if i kept editing i was gonna go insane so im posting it Now #also trying out posting fics directly onto tumblr just to see how that goes #and also cause i do not want to deal with ao3’s tagging weeping

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gentil-minou · 1 year ago

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Btw guys I locked all my fics. I wish I didn't have to do this and honestly if it was just the software bros scrubbing the site for fics I wouldn't have cared but im realizing I can't even trust the people reading it not to feed my hard work into a generator.

I'd like to unlock them again some day but the day it's safe to they'll stay locked. I highly recommend getting an ao3 account and most of all I hope people stop treating fic writers as no better than a machine

#bushy rambles #i kept going back and forth on this but yeah i think i have to #i still have plans to finish my fics and post new ones when my life calms down a bit but i have no desire to do so if my work #is just gonna end up as another cog in a corrupt heartless machine

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desperatecheesecubes · 4 months ago

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Every time I see a post making fun of people being afraid to get into comics I think about how when I was first getting into comics I thought it would be fun to read Infinite Crisis because it was a HUGE event and it would give me an idea of what a whole slew of runs and characters were like. I made a post about some panel pretty early into the event (I think it was a build up comic that wasn't even officially part of the Road To Infinite Crisis so EARLY early) and some blog I didn't know made fun of me for not knowing the greater context of the panel I was commenting on. And while I was naively typing up a quick little 'ah sorry I'm new to comics and didn't know that. Thanks for the context!' they had gone through my blog and started doing the same for a bunch of other comics I'd read, and then mocked me for reading IC when I clearly new so little about comics.

Now, obviously, that behavior is ridiculous, and I just blocked them, but it did stick with me. It was one of my earliest interactions with comic fandom and I never forgot it. Most of the people I've intereacted with have been lovely. Even when I have gotten comic cannon wrong corrections are normally very kind. But not all of them are, and the ones who aren't are so vocal about it.

So i actually don't think it's the comics themselves that make getting into comics an unappealing prospect.

#Think about how people have to defend their newness to comics when asking for clarification.#'Help I'm new to coimcs' you shouldn't have to defend that to get an answer actually #I think the people who act like you NEED to be an expert on a character before saying you're a fan are just wrong to be clear #I can be a fan of a character without having read every issue their in ever #You can write a fanfic for a character without knowing their entire history if you want. It's fanfic. The actual authors dont bother #And sometimes you just gotta remind yourself of that #Reading a fan comic with a scenerio that would never happen in canon isn't a sin if it's fun for the people involved.#I've said before that I really like post resurrection fics that focus on Jason and Bruce's relationship because it lets me live vicariously #through jason in having parents who accept me for who i am despite our differences and still loving me #That's pretty explicitly not the relationship they have in cannon and thats fine #I can still look at their relationship and go 'oh damn this has some ingredients to make this scenrio really emotionally satisfying'#Like yeah yeah the concept that comics themselves are gate kept is a little ridiculous when reading comics online is so easy #but how many times have you had a negative experience in a real comic shop #because I know that i have!#How many times have you seen a blog get aggresive about someone being perceived as a non comic reader like thats a slur #I love comics. Obviously because I run ablog where i talk about them all the time.#but I'm not gonna dox someone who only watches the movies or the shows #there are forms of media where I've only consumed the adaptations #So when people say 'you're gate keeping comcis' REALLY think about how you talk about people who haven't read many comics #Becauase as far as I'm concerned if you constantly treat people like shit unless their in your little pre approved circle of #'Actual Comic Readers' then yeah you are gate keeping comics and its fucking weird #mine #No way in hell I'm tagging this as anything lmfaooo #sorry for the rant in the tags I have many feelings about this #not me going off in the tags

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icaruspartharmony · 4 months ago

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Nobody tells you actually how funny it is to run into someone when they're waking up. Because my sleep schedule is more of a sleep plan, there's no set times but it's probably gonna happen. My brother was getting up for work and saw me and was like "??why are you awake?? Why aren't you asleep?"

#my posts #the sun has risen the birds are chirping #i cant stop listening to nails hair hips heels by todrick hall #its like the cha cha slide for queer people #the only other cha cha slide for queer people would be chop chop slide by insane clown posse #anyway #i keep listening to it because i saw that edit of reigen #its ruining my life #anyway part 2 #i accomplished many things today #played some piano #drew some stuff #made 2 6 row kandi cuffs #and i kept FUCKING UP the orange on the second one #like i kept going and didnt notice and now guess what!!!!!!#i need to pull out 6 rows because oops!!!!! wrong bead!!!!!#anyway other than that i started a new painting on a canvas #and wrote a couple paragraphs for a new fanfic in my notes app #speaking of fanfic i finished a BANGER fic when i snuck out to use my phone at like #1:30 until about 2 #like it was fascinating like i am gonna study that guy under a microscope #oh and did my makeup a little!!#just a little to keep the happy funtime going #6:23 isnt a time where people can get mad at you for doing things right #hmmm #ALSO ALSO #HEAVEN OR LAS VEGAS BY COCTEAU TWINS #OHHRHJFJFJSHSGGG #ITS EVERYTHKNG #EVERYTBING

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oddtheweird · 7 months ago

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hobby called sitting in bed until dinner

#i just played on a friend groups minecraft realm for like 2 and a half hours #would've been less but i got lost in a mineshaft and kept going in circles #gonna keep reading a fic i've been thinking about since this morning #oddtheweird

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crossbackpoke-check · 11 months ago

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56 and any Yamo pairing! 🫶

i just wheezed so hard when i saw what the song was i almost snorted coffee out of my nose i am so sorry for this one

#56 - kyoto phoebe bridgers + yamo

the story of how this song ended up on my wrapped is too long so it’s going in the tags but. let me set the scene for you.

2026 NHL GLOBAL SERIES™️ JAPAN - Presented by YPPI

November 13 & 14, 2026: Dallas Stars, Montreal Canadiens, Seattle Kraken, Vancouver Canucks

Saitama Super Arena, Saitama, Japan

It’s a pitiful excuse of a consolation prize for not being able to go to the Olympics, but Kailer’s not going to look a vacation horse in the mouth. The arena’s cool. It’s huge. The people are cool. There’s so many more of them than he thought there’d be with jerseys that have his name on the back, and a lot more that have the familiar orange and blue. He takes a picture of the fifth Oilers Yamamoto jersey he signs—this one’s the good Reverse Retro—and texts it to Connor, says,

no one here has even heard of mcjesus

and gets a moon face emoji in response. Leon’s influence. Kailer’s still never really deciphered what that one means, and he doesn’t think Connor knows either.

They don’t have a lot of time off between games, but Kailer’s trying to be a good tourist. His dad had been so happy when Kailer had told him about the series that Kailer’d had to stop him from trying to book a flight a year in advance, and his mom’s been just as bad, sending him every article she sees about Best New Spot in Tokyo! Cool Restaurant! Have You Seen This Japanese Cat Café? that she scrolls across on Facebook since June. Suzy’s in the same boat, so they’ve been crossing off their compiled travel-guide list together, looping in as many guys as they can. Everyone’s been pretty game. All the teams are crammed into close quarters at the same hotel, which means everyone wants to spend as much time as possible outside of it, and it helps that Kailer’s gotten pretty close with all the other guys that the NHL picked up as Global Series figureheads. Robo’s memes? Absolutely fire. The groupchat loves them.

For every item he crosses off the list, Kailer takes a picture and keeps it tucked in his phone notes. It’s like speed-running a scavenger hunt—they’re only here for four days—but he’s doing a pretty good job. His favorite so far has been all the gardens. They’re stunning, trees shining bright red and yellow, and every vendor has been selling maple candies, maple cakes, and even fried maple, though the official maple festival doesn’t start until next week. The second garden he visits, he does it on his own after practice, buying two cakes from a cart near the gate and walking until he loses the bustle outside. It’s easy to get lost in the winding pathways, heading deeper into the quiet, and there’s dozens of benches underneath the burnished leaves where young couples are tucked away on dates, or old friends are laughing and catching up. In some of the little clearings, there’s small shrines where people leave offerings, a prayer for good luck or good fortune.

Kailer stops at one without any people and sets the second maple cake on top of it, then sits and scrolls through all the texts that he’s missed. His mom gets replied to with a picture of him outside the garden gate, grinning and surrounded by other travelers. He sends his brother a picture of a trashy graphic I Love Japan t-shirt with the threat that he’ll buy one for him, and Kailer’s dad gets a picture of the meticulously arranged and cut bonsai that are across from the bench where he’s sitting. The Seattle groupchat gets a recycled meme from Robo, and he gets two thumbs up and an “LMAO” before he can even exit the thread. Finally, Kailer takes a picture of the half-eaten maple cake in his hand, holding it next to a fallen maple leaf on the bench, and gets halfway through typing another message before he thinks better of it.

(On the plane over, Drieds was reading them a story about how when they first introduced the high-speed railway, people were afraid to use it because they thought it would be too fast for their souls to keep up.

“Bro, if that were true, you just left your soul in the middle of the Pacific,” Ebs had laughed. “Planes are faster than trains.”

“Are they?” Matty asked. “Isn’t the train in Japan the fastest in the world?”

Drieds couldn’t make it through the rest of the story over the sound of everyone ripping Matty to shreds, so Kailer didn’t get to ask whether or not they found out anything about planes. Kailer’s not worried about his soul, but the logic makes a strange kind of sense; after all, he traveled 429 miles in five and a half hours once, and that was a little too fast for his heart to keep up.)

Fuck it. Kailer’s been trying to write a response for the past ten days, and he’s sick of swiping in and out of the message, staring at the keyboard so long he starts to see swirls in his vision.

Kailer drafts the text again and sends it, no context, no caption. A text travels faster than a high-speed train or a jet. Maybe it’ll pick his heart back up on the way.

#I don’t know how this song ended up on my Spotify wrapped because phoebe bridgers is too emotionally damaging for me to listen to like.#at all unless i am In It HOWEVER. there is this one silly video that brings me so much joy and made me feel semi-reasonable about listening #to kyoto & it’s the one video of the two painter guys painting the room & the lil guy is being a menace & the other guy just looks at him s #fondly & so lovingly & is that not the thesis of kailer yamamoto. be small be a menace be beloved by everyone. ANYWAY #liv in the replies #look this was going to be such a different thing and then. my brain went HEY BUDDY GUESS THE FUCK WHAT kyoto is a city in Japan.#day off in kyoto. guess who’s Japanese. guess what the nhl loves to do as HIFE publicity. also growing the AAPI audience is HUGE and i thin #they should. like originally i had NO idea what this was going to be (i’m so lying. the line ‘i’m gonna kill you’ but incredibly fond a la #the two painters video kept replaying in my head and i was like l m a o. klimmer & kailer. no plot all vibes it’s klimmer & Kailer that’s i #there is no real plot there is no actual idea the amount of googling that i did to write just this is UNREASONABLE i would love to be norma #about anything ever but i ALSO invented so much backstory to this that has no way of appearing in the actual fic and also jokes for ME #for instance. YPPI is the american manufacturer for yamaha motorcycles and. suzuki. yamamoto. (it’s not my brainworms it’s due to a fancam)#respectfully also i cannot write this fic. i have never been to japan and i think it would take me eight years to google enough #to be relatively comfortable like y’all have never seen the extensive research i put in to fucking phiLLY and a whole other COUNTRY???#where the premise of the fic is learning how to be a tourist in your life and sometimes you have to grow out of things?#yeah i AM going to make something with the idea of Momijigari and life is ephemeral. is that a plot? no it’s vibes.#kailer goes to japan in the fall and realizes he’s a liar. who lies. (he misses [redacted]) (the redacted is because i haven’t decided)#also also. the garden reference is because a) i spent WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON GOOGLE and found out things to do in saitama and also that #kailer’s grandpa had a meticulous garden and i just think that’s neat #hiding-from-reality-56 #random ficlet is unbeta’d un-anything’d i don’t know WHERE this came from or the real plot of it at all. ok thanks byeeeee

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queenangst · 2 years ago

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DARE I REQUEST… 1 & Neverafter? In my head im thinking Pinocchio and his father, but im also thinking of PIB and Tomás, but I’d be very psyched for more Neverafter pieces

sorry about the blood in your mouth i wish it was mine + pinocchio & geppetto (and mother goose) | read on ao3

Pinocchio doesn't know why he goes to Tim.

Maybe it's 'cause, like, Mother Goose is one of the only adults in their little crew. Maybe it's because all of the times Tim will put a hand on Pinocchio's shoulder—not hesitating for a moment for his fingers to rest on wood—and say a little word of encouragement, or maybe it's the way Tim tells stories, steady and just the right way.

Maybe it's the greying hair and the smile. Maybe it's that Mother Goose is a dad, and Pinocchio is a kid. Not his son, not his kid. But:

"So, uh," Pinocchio says. "Hey."

Tim smiles easily. "Here, come on, why don't you sit."

"Sure."

"You find any good hot dogs?"

"What? Oh," Pinocchio says, and holds up his empty hands. "Not really. Guess they got eaten. I kinda wanted to talk to you or whatever. That's all."

Tim turns fully. He's a pretty transparent guy, not a particularly good liar really, but Pinocchio likes that about him. That there's someone who gets it—lying is necessary, to survive—but who's still bad at it, in the kind of way that means he doesn't like it. It means he doesn't really hide the surprise that flits across his face, or the warmth.

"Not about the hot dogs."

"Not about the hot dogs," Pinocchio agrees, and tries to figure out how to say it. "It's about my dad, actually. Um."

Everyone knows about Mom, now. Ugh, not Mom. Stepmother, with a The in front too, apparently. Her. And they kind of know about Dad from that snatch of memory they'd shared, which is honestly a pretty bad impression, 'cause Dad was just upset even though Pinocchio had tried to do the right thing, lying.

He must be silent for a little too long, because Tim goes, "...Pinoch?"

"Yeah. I guess I just wanted to, well, there's just some stuff I wanted to say to him when I can see him but I don't—I don't think that's gonna be anytime soon. So maybe we could workshop a tight five?"

Tim laughs. "Sure."

In the same way everyone kind-of-knows about Pinocchio's dad, everyone also kind-of-knows about Jack. That story was told quick and tied up neatly when Tim brought it up. A book, a wish, and a Gander. The end.

Pinocchio thinks there's blood in that story that got left out. There's blood in his.

"What do you want to tell him?"

When Pinocchio was a real boy, real-real, he'd picked up a few habits. Mostly bad ones, of course; but one of them was cracking his knuckles. He saw Candlewick do it and thought it was cool. Something about the feeling, and the sound.

Even after he turned back, he still does it sometimes. It doesn't work the same way with wood, doesn't crack, but he's carried it over anyway. He cracks his knuckles. Left, then right.

"I'm sorry about lying, I guess," Pinocchio says.

He twists his nose in his hand. On his face, under splinters, there's a dull ache.

He is sorry about lying. That it was one of the only things Dad asked of him, to not. He is not sorry about lying to save Dad. Or lying to get a ride, or a little money, to survive.

My son, Dad said, when he saw Pinocchio as a real boy. Tears welled in his eyes.

"You needed to," Tim says gently. "I would've lied too."

"Yeah." Not that the lie had saved Dad, in the end. Just spared both of them some time. "But I'm still sorry, anyway. I just don't regret it."

"It's okay if you tell him that, too, you know."

Pinocchio swallows. Another human trait.

"I miss him. A lot."

Darkness swallowing him. A low, throaty sound that sends vibrations right through him. A flickering candle at the bottom of the ocean.

The whole time, Dad said, I was only worried about you. If you were safe, and okay. If you were hungry. If you'd gotten into trouble and I couldn't help you.

Tim sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. "I get that."

"I don't really wanna go back," Pinocchio says, not to the life of worrying about every single little thing, about performing, about being good and whatever that meant. Back doesn't mean simpler, either, just different.

And even if Pinocchio could go back now, if Tim's book could magic up some spot in that story... he'd know. That things could be different. That the story was a story. That most of it was never really his in a way that mattered.

Won't it hurt him? Pinocchio asked. Isn't there any other way?

If you want us all to be happy, you need to help me. If you're going to help me, you need power. If you need power, you need blood. And you don't have blood.

So—be good, Pinocchio.

"I want him to be safe," Pinocchio mutters. He leans, without thinking about it. He's a little too old to play pretend even if he closes his eyes, pretend that it's not Tim but it's Dad instead. "I know even when- when he messed up he just wanted to take care of me. And I want to, I need to make sure he's okay."

There are still a hundred, a thousand, versions of Dad, he thinks. But not his dad, the one who held him gently even as a puppet to layer lacquer on him; the one who took the coat off his back, shivering in the cold, and sold it for a single school book Pinocchio doesn't remember the contents of. Not the one who wrapped his arm around Pinocchio as they stood on the tuna's back and headed home.

"We'll find your dad," Tim says.

"Pib says we got a long list of bullshit to do."

"We'll add it to the list. It's important."

His nose is still dark, stained in this world with blood from the last. His dad's sacrifice. His love. His care. His pain.

There's one more thing he needs to tell Dad. He doesn't say this one out loud, just thinks it, I'm sorry you hurt for me. I wish it could be me.

He's not sorry for lying. But he's sorry the lie took his blood away, so Dad had to bleed instead.

"Right," Pinocchio says. "Okay. I'm trying to figure out how to tell this joke right, but I don't think it wood work. You know what I mean?"

Tim throws his head back and laughs. He squeezes Pinocchio's shoulder.

"We'll workshop everything," he says, "and the next time you say all of this it'll be to your dad, okay?"

#screams #i was gonna do pib and tomas TOO and then this one just kept Going #sorry i know its pinoch and tim but its really ABOUT pinoch and geppetto frrrrr #asks #siken fic prompts #d20 #d20 fanfic #my fanfic #d20 neverafter #neverafter #pinocchio #geppetto #timothy goose

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