#There are just a lotta dots that I feel are gonna come back | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shittybundaskenyer · 2 years

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✹ ▬ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 [ THE ART OF THIEVERY PART II ]

rating: Explicit

pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

summary: You miss your meeting with Arthur at the church. He comes to investigate.

warnings: low honor Arthur (low honor arthur but he's too nice here so more like medium), deputy Arthur, reader is a thief, strangers to lovers, lust at first sight, catching some feelings, midnight swim, horse theft, sexual tension, some touching and spicy thoughts

word count: 4532

a/n: so i guess this is a mini multichapter-thing now. i planned 5 parts at least so stay tuned guys! i know i promised more spice and it’s coming!!! i just have to set up things first. you get some feels and some touching until then. <3

PREVIOUS PART | MASTERLIST | ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN | NEXT PART

After that night in the Parlour House you become almost like a duo with Arthur. He chats up the folks in the saloon, plays the part of a good lawman—with his rare charming smiles and that telltale glint in his eyes—while you go and slip your delicate little hands into hidden pockets and heavy-looking purses.

The only problem is, you can't sell everything at the fence now. You know the guy, Clarence, a slimy little weasel who set up shop next to the caravan where your temporary home is. But the thing is, he doesn't buy from you no more. He thinks it's gettin' suspicious, so many pretty jewelry, so many angry rich folk, so you're left with a whole lotta stolen goods stored under your bed and no place to get rid of them.

And you didn't show up at the church yesterday with Arthur's share.

Every time he arrives to that church, dressed up as Gray’s deputy, looking like a goddamn poster-boy for the law—it becomes more and more. The way he coaxes the money out of you—not that you would not give it to him anyway; but Jesus, he loves playing with you. Having you pressed up against the crumbling stone wall with his hands in your skirt, one seeking out the treasure from your pockets and one petting you between the thighs until you yield, until you bite into his lip and draw blood.

Fuck.

This will be the second day in a row you can’t go. Christ, he’s gonna be so angry.

You turn onto your side, kicking down the threadbare blanket from your legs, almost whining from the stuffy heat. It rolled in from the bayou a few days back and got stuck in Rhodes like an unwanted guest. The night is infuriatingly hot. Your hair sticks to the nape of your neck, like a kiss from a previous lover, and you button open the top of the chemise you're sleeping in. Or rather, trying to sleep in.

This is the first night you're spending at home since forever and you can't even close your eyes.

You rise from your bed with a sigh, wiping your forehead with the back of your palm while you reach for a crate that you use as a makeshift bedside table. You feel over the wood until you find what you're searching for—a pack of smokes.

You put a cigarette between your lips and light it with a match you found under your bed.

There’s a mirror to the side, stolen from a homestead back north, a frilly, gold-dusted thing with a cracked corner. You can see the smoke curling around your face in the reflection—and then, a shadow behind you. Moving slowly, shaped like a man.

Somehow you know it's Arthur, even before he picks the lock on your door instead of knocking. He just stands there, looking down at you as moonlight spills into the small room, your face illuminated by the glowing orange dot that is the end of your cigarette.

"Whatchu doin' here, Mr. Callahan?" you sigh and put out the cigarette in a tin cup on the windowsill behind you.

"Told ya to stop callin' me that when it's just us two."

You smile and make a circle in the air with your finger.

"The walls too, have ears, good deputy."

Arthur sighs and leans against the rickety doorframe, grabbing his gun-belt in his usual manner. His hair is a bit messy when he pulls down his hat and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his striped shirt.

"Haven't seen you in two days. I came to check on ya, thought you was sick," he steps closer, puts his hat back on. His gaze lingers on your disheveled form, your bare neck and shoulders and the thin chemise that barely leaves anything to the imagination over your breasts. You doesn’t care. Not when the memory of him between your legs is still so vivid in your mind. You know he’s not here for that. But that doesn’t stop you from noticing the faint rosy tint that spreads over his sun-kissed cheeks, even in the weak, pale moonlight.

"No, I'm just miserable," you groan and stand up, stretching your arms above your head. You tossed and turned the whole evening, restless and angry. There’s no point in pretendin’ to rest.

"What, can't get that pretty lost girl act of yours ready?" he puts a hand to his waist, playing with the end of his gun-belt with a thumb. A few shiny cartridges are missing from it.

"It's the goddamn heat. I haven't seen rain since May," you step beside him and rummage through the small commode he’s leaning on, and you pull out a skirt and a blouse to put on. You might as well go and do something useful now. Maybe ride out early and take the goods to Emerald Ranch. Maybe you knock on Clarence’s window until he gets so annoyed be buys your goods. Or you convince Arthur to share a drink with you.

"Well, you just missed a real nice brawl with them Lemoyne raiders,” he catches glimpses you while you dress, but he looks away, tryin’ to act like a gentleman. Most of the time he is, you realize, besides from that one time he held a gun to your back. “The look on their faces when I pulled out the sheriff star… Put them behind bars, the goddamn bastards,” he laughs and you finish buttoning up your blouse, feeling the sweat already pearling on the small of your back. This damned town and its damned summers.

"I'm glad at least you're having fun," you look up at him and your eyes meet for a second, until he turns his head in such a way that the brim of his hat masks his gaze. It’s too late now. You already noticed the puffy red skin that swelled under his left brow, a bruise you’re sure is gonna blacken til’ morning. "Gave you a real nasty blackeye though."

Arthur huffs, like a mustang caught during his half-hearted escape.

“So, little Miss,” he straightens his spine and now looks you dead in the eye. You’re close enough now that you can see a small smear of blood on his jaw, caked into his beard, but he misses no teeth and that’s good. “Will ya tell me why you’re leavin’ me hangin’?”

“What do ya mean?”

“Are ya settin’ me up, birdie? Do I have to remind ya your place?”

You know it’s all talk. He could’ve shot you and robbed your home blind. He picked the lock of your door anyway. But it’s the game he’s after, the one you’re always willing to take part in.

You know he wants the money. The money you don’t have yet.

"I don't have the money," you blurt out, but you regret it almost immediately when his hand flies to his side. It’s more like a warning, but a few days back you saw how Arthur plucked a bird from the night sky with a single shot fired from hip. "I—I have your share, so don't worry, I just can't sell these to that chicken Clarence McMiller. He says folks are gettin' suspicious,” you step back towards your bed and pull out a chest where you stored all the stolen goods, neatly arranged by what kind they are: silver, gold, pearls, platinum, bone. They glint like flowing water of a river as night falls.

"An' what he gonna do? Call the law on ya?" Arthur scoffs. Now it sounds a bit silly, that you think about it a bit more. Clarence would call the law and the only man that comes would be Arthur. He would play an all high-and-mighty, shining brass-star, menacing righteous eyes and words of justice-kinda feller and you would cower under his gaze and Clarence would smile like the goddamn bastard he is. And later, when the sun dipped low Arthur would take you to that old battlefield and he would have you pressed flush against him and the stone wall of that church-ruin while the wind would make the bell sing above your head.

You shake your head and close the chest back.

"Maybe?"

Arthur lays a palm on your shoulder and looks down at you. He’s not angry.

"I thought you was a smart woman," he gives you one of those rare smiles of his and gestures towards the door of your cabin. You follow him. "So this is why ya didn't show up at the church?"

"Yeah,” you nod while you pick up your boots from beside the steps that lead to your home. Arthur’s already outside, fishing out a cigarette from his pocket and putting it between his lips. He lets it just dangle there while he asks,

"You was afraid, ain't ya?"

You was. A little. He looks real menacing when he wants to, and you’ve had your fair share of bad men in your life, so you didn’t want to make things worse and make him angry at you.

"I—"

"Don't worry, little Miss. We're business partners,” he lights his cigarette with a match he struck against the sole of one boot. His spurs jingle as he makes his way towards the post where his horse is hitched. “I ain't gonna kill ya. Or not just yet."

"Well, that's reassuring.”

Arthur just laughs at that and checks the girth of his saddle with one hand, then the straps on the holster that keeps his rifle always at hand, and then puts his cigarette back between his lips.

"Were you drinkin'?" you ask when he starts to hum a little tune, something so uncharacteristic of the man you get to know until now. He’s strangely at ease tonight, forgiving in the stillness of the night.

"Just a lil'."

He unties the bridle of his mare and pulls himself onto her back, looking down at you with that same lawman-poster-boy look that you always thought he could be perfect for.

"So, care for a ride, little bird?"

Now? With you? Where? You have a lot of questions, but the only one escaping your lips is the most stupid one. Of course.

"What?"

Arthur chuckles. He finishes his cigarette and flicks it into a patch of mud in front of another small cabin nearby. He reaches his hand out to you and gestures for you with his fingers to come closer.

"Ya know how to ride?”

You nod and grasp his hand.

He lets you put your leg into the stirrup and helps you to swing your other one over the horse’s neck. You sit in front of him in the saddle and he cages you in with his arms as he clicks his tongue and urges his mare into a gentle trot.

“So, where to, Madam?” you feel his voice rumbling against your back inside his chest, broad and warm and solid, his breath soft against the back of your head, the top of your nape. Christ, what you’ve gotten yourself into?

"Just take me somewhere cold."

You leave the caravan behind, the little shop of Clarence McMiller and the large oak tree the Grays usually use for public hangings. The dark sky stretches long and wide above you, full of glinting stars and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Night-bugs buzz away beside you, make the horse under you flick her tail furiously. Arthur murmurs sweet words to her to stay calm and you think you’ve never been at peace before in your whole life.

"Can't promise anythin', but I have a nice place in mind," Arthur finally says to you, and it takes a few seconds for you to realize he’s answering your earlier request.

It’s already better—the cool wind, the horse’s rhythmic sway under you, Arthur’s calm breaths pressing into your back. You could sleep, just like this. Memories from a long time ago swim up inside your chest, like treasure from a lagoon’s bottom, faded and broken but still rich in detail. The smell of the mountain air up north, the way you used to ride along the narrow trails of the Grizzlies, the wild horses up there that your father tamed.

Not this stuffy heat, not this town of the ugly and the rich and moonshine and foolery.

"My poor Ginger died last year in colic,” you murmur and Arthur listens, letting the reins lay loose around the horse’s neck. He barely has to hold it. “I'm stuck here since then. She was a real sweet mare.” There’s a sigh and it comes from you. Ginger was a real nice horse. A pretty chestnut mare with a red mane and a white star up on her forehead. "I don’t have the money for a new horse."

Arthur just hums at that. "But you dance around that saloon since a year then."

"Yeah… I guess it's just complicated."

That is something you don’t think you can talk about with him just yet.

"Do ya have a debt or somethin'?"

You shake your head. Not really. It’s not a debt if you never asked nothin’ for you in the first place. The only loan you got was harsh words and merciless fists.

He leaves you alone with his questions and you’re grateful for that.

You just can’t wrap your head around how a lawless bandit is more kind than most of the folk you’ve met in your life. Because it’s jus like he said—you’re business partners, and he treats you fairly.

The road narrows into a trail as you take a turn somewhere in the heart of Scarlett Meadows, and soon trees envelop you from above. It’s already so much colder here, even though the air is thick with water, the shadows are long and the damp ground splatters into cool flecks of mud on the bare skin of your knee, where your skirt is rucked up as the horse trots along. She nickers happily. Somewhere, deeper in the forest a stream gurgles with fresh water.

Only the moon lights your way, and in the darkness you sink deeper into the cradle of Arthur’s body.

He doesn’t protest.

He just grabs the reins with one hand and wraps the other around you middle. There’s nothin’ more to what you’re doing, but the closeness is nice. You trade breath for breath, when you chest hollows, his expands. Your spine to his sternum and sweat between. His stubble close to your neck. His hips swaying, and yours too. Nothin’ more. Nothin’, until you want it to be more.

But it’s gone before it can bloom.

The mare slows to a halt and Arthur sighs into your hair.

You’ve arrived at a small pool that bubbles into a waterfall in one end, the birthplace of the same stream you’ve followed since you entered the forest. The moon ripples into distorted ribbons in the water’s reflection, a lake of silver and ink. Fireflies and moths and dragonflies buzz around, the little stars of the forest. You’re already in a dream world.

“We’re here,” Arthur murmurs and you almost shiver from the rumbling of his voice. You feel him shift behind you, and then the warmth of him disappears as he dismounts.

He doesn’t go far though, he looks up at you and extends a hand towards your thigh, gesturing for you to follow. His hand wraps around your wrist and he holds you steady until you stand on your own two feet.

“How do you know of this place?” you walk beside him towards the steep edge of the lake while he leads the mare with one hand. She huffs and nips on Arthur’s shirt collar, nagging him for a treat.

“I don’t have anythin’ on me, girl,” he pats the horse’s neck and stops to take off her bridle. At least she can graze in peace for a while. “Here you go… So, what did ya say, birdie?”

“When did you find this place?”

Arthur stops at a nice, flat boulder and takes off the bridle and his boots while he answers. “I went fishin’ with a friend of mine. He knows all them hidden gems of water ‘round here.” He arranges his boots in the grass beside the big rock and sits down onto it, looking back at you with an arched brow. “Ya gonna jus’ stand there?”

So this is how you end up in only your chemise with your feet dipped into the lake’s cool water while Arthur works open the top three buttons on his shirt.

“So, whatchu thinkin’, where should we sell all those stuff?” You notice how his gaze lingers on your bare shoulder as he speaks. “I know a feller at Emerald Ranch but he’s… Well I guess we have some bad blood between us.”

“What, you robbed him?”

Arthur gives you a small, almost shy smile, like he’s thinkin’ about a nice memory. But it warps into a smirk, a dangerous one, and his eyes glint cold when your gazes meet. Something wild and clawing flutters alive in your chest. A blue moth, carving it’s way out.

“Yeah, and then some. But I heard he’s okay now. Got a real nasty scar though,” he mumbles the last sentence and you gasp.

“Ya really are a great piece of work, Mr. Callahan!”

“Yeah, well, that’s no concern of yours. I ain’t gonna hurt you, little bird,” he pats the back of your hand that lays still between you on the cool surface of the boulder. You flinch a little. He pulls back and you already regret the reaction. You can’t help it. Heat and sex, you can tolerate. Enjoy. But softer gestures, something as basic as a tap on your shoulder—it’s different. You always wait for the next touch. Something not as gentle. A slap, a fist, a strike. “Sorry.”

“No, I—” you bite back the words. It’s so much easier when he takes the reins and has you pressed tight against him, has his hand between your thighs, his lips on your throat. It’s so much easier when lust clouds your mind. Softness, it’s—It’s scary.

“Can ya swim?” he asks a few seconds later, trying to brush off your reaction. You’re grateful for it.

“‘Course I can,” you nod, pulling your hands into your lap and drawing a circle with one foot in the water. You watch the ripples it creates, how they collide with Arthur's ankle beside you.

Arthur's chuckle makes you look up at him and there's mischief glinting in those sea eyes of his.

“Great, then fly little birdie!” he grins and you’re too slow to stop him. He curls an arm around you—strong as a horse—and he pushes you into the lake.

You do fly a little, a heartbeat of free fall, and you sink under the ink and silver, into the dark pool of coldness. You sink and the air bubbles around you, but you’re not panicking. After days of heat, there’s finally a release.

You swim up and the world rights around you. Water is everywhere—your ears, your eyes, your mouth, but you smile when you spot Arthur dumping his hat and gun-belt, ready to jump at the edge of the boulder you was sitting on.

“Ya okay?” he asks and you hastily nod and then lay back on the water, let it support your weight. You float, like a corpse dumped into a river, but you breathe, slow, steady, just like you learnt all those years ago back home. You weigh nothin’. You’re not more than a petal the wind swept over the lake.

Arthur watches you in awe. You know he jumped in, from the gentle waves that rock you away, and then the bigger ones that he creates with broad strokes of his arms. He swims beside you, touches a palm to the middle of you back under the water.

“You told me you can swim, not that you float,” he chuckles and you open your eyes, gaze up at him with the water still sitting in the nooks of your face.

“You didn’t ask,” you return the smile and swim away on your back while Arthur tails you like a stray dog that wants you as his new home.

When you stop he’s right beside you, peering into your gaze with his hair all around his face, beard dripping, eyes as clear as the water under you. The bruise around his eye darkened, and it makes his face look almost cruel, even though he looks down at you like you’re the reflection of the disappearing moon and the stars that go to sleep.

“Thank you for bringin’ me here,” you murmur and he nods, eyes softening, his mouth opening on words he doesn’t say in the end.

You watch him for a moment, in this vulnerable state, with his palm warm on the dip in your spine again, like he can’t believe that you won’t submerge. Like he doesn’t want you to. A safety measure. Something gets ripped open in your lungs until a meadow spurts out.

The sky turns into the colors of purpled smoke, the first sign of the morning, and somewhere deep in the forest an oriole starts to sing. One hell of a love-song. And one hell of a man beside you. Above on one of the the overhanging elderberry branches a pair of rainbow-blue dragonflies mate. A wheel of lovers.

A strand of hair fall into Arthur’s eyes.

“Sure,” he finally manages to say, voice low, but missing that edge he uses when he threatens someone.

You sink back into the water until your feet touch the soft floor of the lake. You turn towards him, aware of the chemise sticking to your skin, translucent at most places, but Arthur is non the better. His shirt is soaked, buttoned open almost to his stomach, and the hair on his chest glints wet. Rivulets of water drip down the hollow of his throat from his hair, smearing some blood there too, a fleck you didn’t notice earlier.

Maybe it’s the wee hours of the morning doing this to you—the moon dipping down while the sun hasn’t risen, a blessed hour shielded from their watchful gaze. Only a few stars, only two seafoam-eyes are the witnesses of your actions.

So you reach forward and touch a palm to Arthur’s chest. He flinches just like you did before, not used to the touch, to the softness of it. There’s a question in his gaze, in his hand that now curls around the arch of your hip and squeezes. You don’t tremble. You just touch and you get touched by him, his palm skimming your belly, then the underside of one breast. He’s close now—you stepped forward or he did, or something otherworldly force pulled you together like a body mends a wound. Slowly, with time, with something new, something raw as the seal of naked flesh.

His thumb draws a circle around one nipple, a spot of fire, and then many more. Your toes curl into the mud.

You touch his neck, wash away the blood and the tip of your finger turns a muddy pink with it. Arthur lets out a sound—a growl or a groan, or something more akin to what a wounded animal makes. You think you grow wet between the thighs.

He leans in, blackened eye already closed from the swelling, and the other hidden by golden brown lashes. There’s no kiss. Just quiet observation, silent touches, a forest of life to surround the quiet in your chest.

“Little bird—” he whispers, but the rest of it hitches in his throat.

A noise, hoofbeats of a trotting horse break you apart.

“Shit.”

Arthur glances at his mare who grazes peacefully not too far away, and the illusion of peace is shattered. You barely have time to swim back to shore and throw on your clothes before a man rides close, dressed up in an olive jacket and checkered pants with a hat hooked full of lures. There’s a fishing rod strapped on his saddle and he hums a quiet tune as he slows his horse to a halt.

He eyes you for a second, the disheveled look of your hair and the wrongly buttoned up blouse, and then he looks at Arthur who’s drenched completely, eyes burning with a desire to kill.

“Are ya alright, Miss?” the feller asks you, and you can’t find your words for a second.

“Yes,” you mumble, but Arthur gives you a helping hand.

“I was ridin’ by when I heard screamin’,” he explains as he puts his gun-belt back on. “The lady here was drownin’.”

The stranger raises up an eyebrow while he looks at you.

“Mr. McMiller here saved my life,” you nod and hug your hands around yourself.

“And what was a fine lady like ya doin’ out at the lake when even the fishes sleep?” asks the fisherman.

You feel sooner than hear the rumble that erupts from Arthur’s throat. He has his gun cocked in a second, barrel aimed at the stranger’s heart. The man gasps, puts up his hands in surrender.

“That was one too many questions, friend,” he snarls, the tenderness long gone and the outlaw back in place. “Git down from that horse, and don’t make me repeat myself. I don’t want to spatter your brains in front of the lady.”

The man does as he’s told.

“Good. Now you’re gonna wait at that rock while we leave,” Arthur gestures towards another large boulder, a bit away from you and the horse. “Don’t bother goin’ to the law, I’m gonna know about it.”

Arthur picks up his hat and puts it on his still dripping hair, and then pulls the bridle of his horse over one shoulder, all the while keeping the feller still in the sight of his six-shooter.

“Bring the gentleman’s horse, sweetheart,” he says to you, and waits until you mount up. “Now Mister, you are very kind. Giftin’ horses to ladies speaks of great chivalry.”

The fisherman just scoffs, defeated.

You ride away when the sky turns golden. Warmth flutters restlessly inside your belly as you pat the liver chestnut stallion on the neck and urge him towards home. Arthur catches up to you quick, riding without a bridle until you’re out of sight and off the main roads. Rhodes glows red in the distance, bathed in early morning light.

“So, whatchu gonna call him?” Arthur looks at you and slides off his horse to put the bridle back on to not raise suspicion in the waking town.

“He’s mine?” you sound surprised, and it’s because you are. Is this a gift?

“‘Course. Next time you can show me your riding skills and then we can go and sell your goods someplace nice.”

You can’t help but smile at the implication. Christ, this whole thing—this is the first time since years that you’re feeling this much alive.

“Whiskey,” you decide. Whiskey, after that night in the Parlour House. Whiskey, after honey-brown locks.

"That's a real good name," Arthur pulls himself back up and nods towards Rhodes.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #low honor arthur morgan #middle honor arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #low honor arthur morgan x reader #the art of thievery #part 2 #ao3 #fanfiction

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redwinterroses · 3 years

Note

for requests how about: impulse, encountering some or all of the day one crew and getting Very Uneasy because oh shit, the 3rdlife memories are coming back hard

Hey! Sorry this took me SO long to finish. It was a hard one to write because between you asking this (I think?) and now, Impulse had that whole encounter with Bdubs on the path and I was like "Well I don't want to just write that" and then Cleo showed up? And I haven't ever written her before (except for a few lines in another hero, another mindless crime) so I had to go watch a ton of vids and streams and--

okay. Excuses over. Please enjoy this little "Impulse has a bad time but Friends Are Good" drabble. <3

~~~

Sweet Dreams

The Crastle was bigger than he remembered. Had this hallway always been here? This doorway? This arch that led to another hall…which branched and spiraled and led up stairs and down Escherian ramps in a labyrinth of stone walls and a floor dotted with pressure plates?

Impulse found himself running, breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he dashed down the halls, throwing open doors and darting around corners, leaping over the pressure plates—someone was chasing him.

They were coming for him, glowing red eyes and white teeth—fangs—glinting in the shadows. And over all, the ever-louder beat:

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

It pounded in his ears, deafening, and he stumbled to cower against a wall, hunching with his arms over his head, trying in vain to drown it out. But no—no, it was even louder now, thumping so close it rattled his teeth, and he looked down to see blood spreading across his shirt and at the center where his heart should be: a golden clock embedded in his chest.

“They gave me a clock, Impulse.”

His head snapped up. Bdubs, eyes blank and red like two burning embers, stared down at him, no expression on his grey face.

“Ride or die?” Cleo’s voice came from behind him, and Impulse spun to see her glaring down the length of a crossbow, her eyes as scarlet and expressionless as Bdubs’. “How about… die.”

She fired the crossbow, the bolt exploding into flames that swarmed toward Impulse’s face—

He shot upright in bed, gasping for air. He swallowed hard, rubbing his chest as he gradually caught his breath. His heart pounded so loudly that for one horrible moment he thought it might really have been replaced with a bloody golden clock.

But no. Around him, the night was cool and dark, the silence of the Boatem village broken only by the faint rattling of a distant skeleton and the lowing of cows.

Just a dream. Just a nightmare.

Just another nightmare.

Impulse slumped back against his pillows, flopping one arm over his eyes and letting out a long, shuddering sigh in the darkness. It had been months since they’d moved on from the 3rd Life server, months of good times and laughter and the excitement of new projects and builds… and yet at night, when the voices of his friends faded away and Impulse was left alone with himself—he found himself back. Time and again, his sleeping mind returned to the Crastle, or to Dogwarts, or to the sandy dunes of the Red Desert. And inevitably, he found himself face to face with nightmare versions of his day-one crew: Bdubs and ZombieCleo, red-eyed and vengeful.

“I never betrayed them,” he muttered to the darkness. “Never.”

So why did he feel guilty?

Well. If he was honest with himself… it wasn’t really guilt. Or it was, but not because of anything he’d done in 3rdLife—no, the guilt he felt was because the primary emotion associated with Bdubs and Cleo in his dreams was fear.

These were his friends! Being afraid of them went against every instinct he had, every good memory and inside joke and shared experience. And that was a different world anyway—different rules, different lives. It didn’t change anything here on Hermitcraft.

And yet…

And yet when he saw that clock on Bdubs’ belt the other day, or when he’d come up out of the mines that first morning in Boatem and Cleo had been standing right there, Impulse hadn’t been able to suppress the rising wave of panic that swept over him. Panic over being caught in his web of lies, panic that he might hurt the only people he trusted, panic that they didn’t trust him—

Enough was enough. He needed to get past this; he couldn’t spend the rest of the season (the rest of his life?) having anxiety attacks whenever he encountered any of the other Crastle crew members. Talking with Bdubs on the trail had helped, but… he hadn’t seen Cleo since the first days of the server.

That needed to change.

Impulse threw off the covers and pushed himself out of bed, padding down the stairs to the main level of his house. Grabbing his communicator from where he’d left it atop the crafting bench, he tapped out two quick messages:

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: hey, can we meet up and chat? Spawn egg, around noon?

He set down the communicator and turned to go to bed, but to his surprise, it buzzed with an immediate reply.

<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: everything alright?

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: yeah sure, I just |

Impulse stared at the blinking cursor for a moment, then backspaced and started again:

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: not really. but it’s nothing major. just want to chat a few things over with you.

<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: Impulse it’s 3 in the morning. you wouldn’t be messaging if it wasn’t major. want to talk now?

He blinked. That… wasn’t the response he’d expected. He hesitated, finger hovering over the touch screen.

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: sure.

<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: i'll come to you.

///

Impulse was waiting on the roof when Cleo arrived, swooping in with the dry rustle of elytra wings to land on the cobble-and-slabs rooftop.

He looked up at her with an automatic smile, but she didn’t even wait for a “hey” before plopping down beside him.

“Alright, Impulse,” she said, her brisk tone ordering, rather than inviting him to speak. “What’s going on?”

Pulling his knees into his chest, Impulse wrapped his arms around his legs, the cobblestone beneath him still radiating a bit of warmth from the day’s sun.

“I…” he let his voice trail off, not sure where to begin.

“Out with it.” Cleo held out her hand, palm up, as if waiting for him to drop something into it. “Spit it out. It’s not gonna get any better for stewing on it.”

This was a dumb idea. Impulse closed his eyes and, before he could talk himself out of it, let the words spill out in a rush:

“I keep having dreams. Nightmares. About being back… back there. At the Crastle, mainly. And, ah—” he chuckled nervously and opened his eyes, looking sideways at Cleo. “You and Bdubs are there. And you’re… mad. Yeah, you’re really mad. And you don’t trust me. And—" he took a deep breath. “I keep dreaming that you’re so mad you kill me.”

Cleo tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “But we didn’t. Well,” she corrected herself. “I didn’t.”

“I know, I know—it’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense, and I know that, but…” he swallowed, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I need to get it off my chest. Because even thought I know it’s not real, and I know this is an entirely different world, and I know that nothing from that server really changes anything, I can’t just… turn off what my brain does when I’m not paying attention to it. You guys are my friends and I’m getting real tired of feeling like I need to start running every time I see one of you. To be honest, sitting here right now even is making me antsy.”

Overhead, the stars continued on their paths in silence, and somewhere in the village a couple of sheep baa-ed at each other plaintively.

“Well. That’s… something. That’s certainly something, isn’t it.” Cleo was quiet for a moment, examining him. Impulse looked away, suddenly finding his fingernails deeply interesting.

“Impulse.”

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, and he instinctively flinched away. Cleo raised both eyebrows at him this time, pulling her hand back—then deliberately replacing it, her fingers cool and firm through the thin fabric of his sleeve. “Impulse,” she repeated, her tone gentle but brooking no argument. “You… you know I’m not good at this stuff. But at the risk of getting in way over my pay-grade: we’re good. We’re your friends.” She gave him a shake. “We love you, you idiot. No amount of murdery games on another server gonna change that.”

Impulse gave a little laugh, pretending neither of them could hear the emotion that made his voice catch in his throat. “Wow, Cleo,” he said. “Love. Big word.”

“Bah.” She shoved him away, throwing her hands in the air. “I love everybody, you’re not special.” But there was a grin in her voice. “And anyway—why me? You’ve got a lotta nerve, Impulse, having nightmares about me killin’ you.”

“Hey, you were scary with that crossbow.”

“I was, wasn’t I.” Cleo sounded satisfied about that.

The knot in Impulse’s chest was slowly loosening, and he glanced over to see Cleo leaning back on her hands, staring up at the sky. The faintest tinge of pinkish-grey was starting to appear on the eastern horizon. The Boatem crew would be up and about soon—Grian in particular had a tendency to be up at an ungodly hour of the morning.

“Hey—” Impulse said, lowering his voice again. “Um. Thanks. For swinging by. Sorry for being weird about all this.”

“Impulse if you start apologizing for being weird you’re never going to stop.” She made a face at him. “Because you’re very weird.”

“Thaaaanks.”

Cleo gave him an easy punch on the shoulder. “You know you adore me,” she said. “And if it makes you feel any better, I can promise you this: I will kill you again at some point, I’m sure. And it’ll have nothing at all, whatsoever, to do with Third Life: it’ll be because you deserve it.” She paused. “Or because I just want to.”

Somehow, out of all the things she could have said, a casual threat of violence was the thing that did the trick. Impulse laughed—out loud, for real, a genuine laugh that shook loose the tension in his shoulders and chased away the phantom of Cleo standing over him with a crossbow.

“Thanks, Cleo.”

Cleo stood, and patted him on the head, ruffling up his hair. “There’s the obnoxiously-cheerful Impulse I know and loath,” she teased. “Can’t have you being all maudlin over here—I’m the gloomy one on this server.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Impulse asked, smoothing down his hair and also standing.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. You know me—I don’t do the sleeping thing much. Too much work to do: graves to dig, bodies to—” she grinned darkly “—find. ‘S a lot for an entrepreneuring zombie like myself.”

“Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to it.” Impulse tried to stifle a yawn. He wasn’t entirely successful.

“Go to bed, Impulse,” Cleo laughed, activating her elytra. “And try to only have normal nightmares about me for a while. Ya know—ones where I’m properly zombie-terrifying, not this Crastle nonsense.”

“I’ll do my best.” He watched her fly off, and yawned again, this time wide enough to pop his jaw.

Alright. Let’s try this one more time. Sleep.

He left the roof and reentered his house, which suddenly felt much more cozy and far less empty and cold than it had when he’d first awakened. Sliding back under his blankets, he tugged them up around his ears and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Something exploded outside, and his eyes popped back open.

Maniacal laughter echoed over the hills of Boatem, and Impulse deliberately rolled over, burying his head under the pillow.

Tomorrow’s insanity would come soon enough. For now: sleep.

((sweet dreams, Impulse.))

#here have some impulse hc #as a treat. and because impy deserves it #redwinterwrites #sweet dreams #impulsesv #hermitcraft

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fancycandy · 3 years

Text

Everything’s Alright

Bo Sinclair x Reader Angst, hurt/comfort || Slight verbal abuse, but mostly Bo just being Bo This is mostly self-indulgent, but it was finally time to nut up and post one of my works. And special thanks to @sultrygoblin for being so hype for this. I hope you like it!

Echoes of the front door slamming reverberate through the house and meet your ears. The headache you’ve been haunted with all day worsens, earning a groan as you come to stand at the head of the staircase to greet your husband.

“Everything alright?” you ask softly, sweetly. The way you can’t help but be with him. What kept you alive and safe from the same fate as other tourists. You watch as he storms up the stairs, towards you, with a huff.

“Look like everything alright?” The malice in his voice is unnerving.

So it’s going to be one of those days.

Your fingers rub at your throbbing temple to will away the headache. It’s the only hope you have with the next wave that you know will inevitably hit, what with the way he’s acting already.

He reaches the top to tower over you. You can’t help but reach out for him; there’s been a yearning all day for his touch, his comfort. He shies away with a grunt.

“I’m just wondering if it’s anything I can help you with, Bo.” You try again, but he snarls at your hand. He’s suddenly in your space.

“And what exactly can you do to help me?” You pause at the cruel words, frozen on the spot. The eldest brother always had a mean streak when it came to being defensive, but this is hitting a new low you’ve never reached with him.

“I’m your wife. You’re supposed to be able to come to me for help. But how can I with you slamming doors and--”

“Last I checked, sweetheart, I can slam any goddamn door I want ‘cause it’s my fuckin’ house!”

“That’s not what I was getting at, Bo!” Your voice raises with exasperation. Wrong move.

“Then what is it you’re gettin’ at, ‘cause all I hear is a lotta mouth.” There’s almost a threat behind his words.

Sheer willpower is all that keeps the tears at bay, refusing to allow a glance at your reaction. Red flushes over your face, hot with embarrassment, with fear, with hurt. Your hand finds the banister to anchor yourself from the onslaught of pain, both physical and emotional.

Not wanting to fight any longer, and knowing no matter what you counter with you’ll still be unable to make the situation better, your lips harden into a tight line and your eyes meet the floor in submission.

With another huff that’s closer to a growl, Bo retreats to your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind as a smartass final word. Finally alone, the dam breaks and the waterworks flood. A harsh sob breaks the emptiness left around you.

When you eventually get yourself back together, you understand your place is on the couch tonight and decide to head downstairs. As you start your descent, a new wave of pain hits you. Your pulse is rushing in your temples; it’s all you can hear.

The last thing you remember, the floor is nearing your face. It takes an hour, and almost a whole pack of loose smokes, before Bo’s calmed himself down. Guilt washes over him the more he dwells on the argument. After all these years together, this fight takes the cake. Over something so menial.

He might not make husband of the year, he’s never been the most dotting lover. You knew intimately of his outbursts, his pent-up rage and trauma before you ever decided this was the man you would commit yourself to forever. You barely batted an eye at the town’s more sinister ways.

You honestly were the best wife. A true ride-or-die.

Your face flashes back in his mind to make him feel even worse.

The tears that you held back by a thread. The doubt plain as day across your face as you internally questioned if you ever were a good enough wife for him. Your own pain and issues pushed to the back of your mind as you tried to solve his own.

The sobs he heard through the door and then the banging from what he can only imagine is you throwing things in a rare, hurt rage.

A curse falls from his lips as he puts his cigarette out and leaves to find you and apologize.

You’re not upstairs in the spare bedroom, or even Vincent’s own room away from the boiling basement. He hopes against hope that you’re either crying to his brother on the bottom level, or on the couch.

The sight he finds, however, freezes him halfway on the staircase. His blood runs cold, and it takes a moment for his mind to catch up to his body before he’s racing down.

Unconscious, you lay halfway on the floor, body bent at awkward angles. You’re breathing, which only takes off the slightest edge. He’s gentle in untwisting your body out of the uncomfortable position, pulling you into his lap to get a better assessment.

Nothing seems to be broken, at worst a sprained ankle. A black eye is starting to form along with a nasty welt on your head, and there’s bound to be bruises along your body under his your clothes.

You wake to him moving you to the couch, reaching up to grab his sleeve just over his scarred wrists. You don’t want to make him any more pissed off so you avoid the actual skin altogether. It doesn’t go past him.

It only cuts him deeper.

“Thought ya were still sleepin’.” He’s trying to be light, but you can hear the thickness in his throat, the fear he so easily hides.

“I’m sorry, Bo. i’m so --”

He cuts you off, hushing you as he leans in to kiss you. Fingertips wipe at the tears already forming. “Shh shh shh nothing for you to be sorry for, baby.” Your head shakes violently against his hold.

“I-I j-ju-just wanted t-t-to be a good wi-i-i-ife.” hiccups and sobs make you barely comprehendible.

“And you are, babygirl. couldn’t have a better one if I tried. Now, stop that cryin’, too pretty for all them tears.” He smiles softly, trying to ease your shot nerves.

It works, though not much. While the tears do let up, they still fall in heavy droops. Sniffles and hiccups continue to wrack your frame.

“Hows about we get you on up to bed, get that bump of yours taken care of. Yeah?” You nod, rubbing your eyes and his large arms are lifting you up.

The movement as he walks brings back the dull pain in your head, earning a soft whimper as your face buries into his chest. His lingering scent of menthol and motor oil, masked by the cologne you’d bought him a year or two back, comforts you.

“Head hurt?” You nod into his chest.

“Headache all day. Then you came home and it just hurt so much. Wanted to help, b-but...”

Your lower lip quivers, and he’s settling you on the bed before leaning down to brush your lip with the pad of his thumb. “I just didn’t know how.” It’s so soft, it’s almost inaudible.

Guilt now pours through him, sinking further into his gut than before, soaking down into his bones. Now, thinking back to when he came home, it all made sense; you rubbing at your head, your soft voice and dimmed lights.

The reason you wanted him to stop slamming the doors.

He really fucked up this time, hadn’t he?

“I’m gonna grab something for that headache, alright?” He stands and presses a kiss to the top of your head, mindful of the welt.

A few minutes later your face is cleaned up, and you’ve taken residency in your husband’s side. The tylenol will take time to kick in; but for the time being, the fingers tracing your back and the soft kisses planted on your face and hair are enough to dull any pain.

“Think ya got it in ya to forgive your bastard of a husband?”

He looks down, only to find you fast asleep in his hold. Smiling softly into his chest, a hand clinging to his shirt. And it’s enough to know that everything will be alright.

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #house of wax x reader #house of wax 2005 #angst #whump #bo sinclair imagine #my writing #my stuff

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wxjunho · 2 years

Text

slim shady vc guess who’s back 🤓 too late it’s gemma!! back at it again w another muse 🤪 this time i bring u hwang junho, a brickmason who decided to rebel for the first time in his life and embark on a Journey 2 b the greatest guardian fairy of All Time!!!! ( yes he calls that a rebellion just 2 giv u an idea of how goody-goody-2-shoes he is ) brace urselves for the antonym-of-wtv-a-summary-is of my man junho under the cut and as always, hit that LIKE button and i’ll come runnin 2 plot!! ok thank u 4 tuning in mwah

cap sun, aqua moon, virgo rising, lotta earth in his chart so u know he’s Grounded n Dependable

bg inspo: miguel from coco and a lil teeny tiny bit of mulan

the hwang family has this culture where they’re all super close-knit and just follows wtv the matriarch does

previously, they were literally all winx and specialists until the war w the witches which killed off like... 2/3 of the hwang family

after seeing all the death n loss, hwang matriarch ( junho’s great great grandmother ) basically said yeah nah we not gonna do that no more so they all dipped from that lifestyle and banned it for like every other hwang

the survivors of the hwang family came together to build hwang construction, which is basically just a humble lil family business filled w for hire brickmasons!!

20 dot points later and we’re finally at junho 🤪

he’s born into this family and lit all his uncles, aunties, grandparents, parents are working as brickmasons for hwang construction and ya boi... did not vibe in the slightest

as a kid he was alw sorta adventurous, kinda wanted to do a bunch of different shit but his momma reminded him of his path constantly... like she meant it in a good way but still

growing up in the hwang family, it was real taboo to be saying anyth abt guardian fairies and ofc our junho, the Living Disappointment, was hella curious abt them but he was alw shut down

when he was in middle sch he REALLY learnt about them and really wanted to become a specialist, even started borrowing his momma’s hammer to wield around like a sword cause it was the only weapon-esque tool he had that wasn’t immediately dangerous like a... saw... or something

mom found out and grounded tf outta him, and when he asked about guardian fairies she told him the truth abt his family lineage and how they came from a long line of guardian fairies until the occupation killed basically everyone ( incl his great great grandmother’s mother, the prev matriarch before her ), so it’s a sin 4 hwangs 2 b a guardian fairy

junho is kinda stunned by the news and lets go of it... for now... :))))

fully embraces the brickmason life after high sch, but he really felt like something was missing... like he truly felt in his soul that he was meant 2 b a guardian fairy like his ancestors

sneakily took the pre-enrolment assessment just TO PROVE to himself that he had what it takes and he rlly was gna just leave it at that, go home and be content w the answer

except they tell him he qualifies for BOTH combat and intelligence... so now he has Choices...

after sitting on it for real long ( so like a day? jk fhsd ) junho decided to sneak off to the academy, left a lil note on his momma’s bedside table while she’s sleeping 2 let her know where he went off to mulan style

now he’s here!!!

timeline wise, i would say he just arrived ( so not on opening day even tho he took the pre-enrolment assessment prob at the same time as everyone who joined on opening day... ya boi had to THINK )

personality wise he’s rlly a keep ur head down and work kinda guy, is pretty adventurous deep down but he quashes that part of him A Lot bc family :))) also rlly handy, will help u fix anyth that’s broken and i feel like a lot of ppl would equate him to a rock... boring but dependable hfhsdkjfn

also a lil titbit he truly hates witches espc after finding out that’s how most of his hwang ancestors passed, n this just highlights how the hwang’s strong familial bond still runs in him even tho he... y’know betrayed them

some plot ideas!!

maybe u guys met while taking the pre-enrolment assessment and yall got to talking, junho’s like nah im just doin this to see if im worthy but im not gna join lol... now he’s here :))) call him out

anyth in ur house that’s broken or leaking? junho is ur man!!!

u guys are in class and he’s come super prepared ( think that one kid w like 50 pencils AND a sharpener ) n he becomes ur new stationary shop ( who needs a pencil case when ur man junho is alw there 4 u )

specialists!! he comin in w a huge ass warhammer in versus mode wyd

1a roomies pls holla @ me

anyone he’s met before the academy?? he’s from the south so i assume he’d make some friends there!! doesn’t deviate much from there unfortunately... ya dude was boring asf went 2 work came back rinse n repeat

exes </3

bc im bitna’s mun... someone give me an awkward wink date ( his roomies prob set up his profile w/o his knowledge as a prank and now he feels bad he doesn’t wanna ghost but also he doesn’t know how tf to flirt )

uh... roomies who set his wink profile up who’s gna break the news to him abt the sins uve committed... the one time u see junho losing his Cool

wud b cute for there to be a lil bird that kinda flew into the window and now u n this short dialogue specialist uve never met are desperately nursing this bird back to health n being bird co-parents

as usual i cannot b concise but pls lov me n my new muse 🥺👉👈

#████ OUT OF CHARACTER.#wx:intro #2 all u beautiful peeps who sent me welcome mssgs #i lov yall #catch me in ya dms tmr bc it's 1.30am rn rip

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theskyeandsea · 3 years

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When You Get What You Want... || Cutler & Skylar

Timing: Late January 19th, shortly after this chatzy

Location: Clarke’s Convenience Store

Tagging: @clarkesconvenience & @theskyeandsea

Description: Skylar’s rampage around town continues; Cutler offers a helping hand.

Warnings: Drug use, addiction, body horror, memory loss, medical blood

Disoriented and covered in flour and blood, Skylar stumbled down the road away from the shop, a giddy smile still on her face as her feet began to skip across the pavement. She bounded down the road before turning abruptly, eyes caught by the displays in the window. Staggering forward, she pressed her fingers against the glass and the same sticking sensation filled her. The atoms and molecules and all the tiny parts of what made her a person shifted until she was crashing into the center of the convenience store. With a dazed grin on her face, Skylar began to push displays over. Blood trickled down the side of her face from her ear, a clean jagged section of her earlobe ripped free and stuck in the glass of the convenience store. She barely noticed as the liquid splattered across the clean floors while she shoved at the shelves. Cutler had been mentally preparing himself for a break-in since he had come home. It was bound to happen eventually, as it had for his parents several times over the course of his childhood. When it did, he would handle it the same way his parents had: with calm, slow movements and total compliance.

It didn’t go that way.

For one thing, he had expected it to happen while the shop was open and the money would still be in the register. Instead, the crashing sound of displays being toppled downstairs had awoken him in the early hours of the morning. The cool and collected man of his practiced break-in fantasies was quickly replaced with a groggy version of himself in a wrinkled t-shirt and boxers, squinting in the dim light.

Slowly, he took in the scene before him in pieces. Spidery crimson tracks spilling down pale skin and dripping onto waxed tile, collapsed shelving units spilling all manner of dried goods onto the floor, and a familiar, crazed look behind wide, dark pupils. He had dealt with this many times in the ER. Well, maybe not this, exactly, but he knew intoxication when he saw it. His hand hovered over the light switch to his right and he called out before clicking the buzzing fluorescents on above them, “You need some help.” A statement, not a question; carried with the arrogant weight of medical school behind it. “I can patch that up for you.”

Stepping on bags of spices, Skylar took particular joy in watching as the dried herbs crumbled under her shoes. She ran her hand along the shelves, knocking more and more of the goods onto the ground, blood dripping across the crinkly bags. And then, she realized she wasn’t alone. Someone had entered from the back of the shop. Skylar spun around to look at him, tilting her head at him quizzically. “Help? I don’t need help, I have all the help I need.” She said with a giddy smile on her face, her teeth bright and gleaming in the lowlight. “Don’t want patches, nope, I don’t need another patchwork skin, nuh uh.” She said to herself, rubbing the sores on her arms as she spoke. She could feel something leaking from the raw abscesses that dotted her legs, but the pain was like a distant memory, far far away from her right now.

Bright white light washed over the store, revealing the full extent of the damage. Product littered the floor under the shifting soles of his unsteady guest. Cutler dropped his hand from the light switch and walked forward, sidestepping the lentil spillage by his feet. “Uh huh.” The wheels in his mind ground against each other, desperately trying to wake up in time to process the finer details of the situation that wouldn’t come together. Sharpened teeth inside a lazy grin and his front door still locked and unbroken; pieces of a puzzle that refused to click. “Can I take a look?” The wounds on her body were various levels of depth and severity, ranging from dark and old to bright and fresh. The whip-sharp crack of a brown paper bag crinkling under his foot caused him to freeze in place. He stared, cautious and gentle, afraid she would startle like a wild animal. His hand extended slowly, pale pink underside raised to her in timid surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You know it makes it worse when you scratch them.” His voice continued in a muted string of comforting sound, filling the space between them. “Nothing intensive. Just get something on that ear, stop the bleeding. Do a once over for breaks and fractures, maybe disinfect those sores. If it’s food you want, I can get you some of that, too.”

Skylar watched as the man continued to walk towards her, slow, so slow. She didn’t want to slow down, she didn’t want to pause to stop and think and let all the thoughts she’d left behind catch back up to her. She just wanted to ride this wild, cresting high as far as it would take her and this man? No, no, no, he seemed like he’d put a stop to it. When he asked to look at her, Skylar squinted at him. “Why?” She asked. He took another step and then froze for some reason that she wasn’t quite sure of. There was a muffled sound, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Running her finger tips around her ears, Skylar remembered why. “Oh, that makes sense.” She said, tapping the place where her hearing aids normally rested. Focusing back on the man, she laughed. “You can’t hurt me, even if you wanted to. Even if I wanted you to,” Skylar paused, staring down at the blood that covered her. Looking up at him abruptly, she asked, “Do you think I need help?” Cutler watched her fingers lower from her ears, slick with blood. There was no alarm in her face as they came away, only a laugh that felt discordant and wrong. Even if I wanted you to. When her eyes met his, he felt his heart clatter against his ribcage with deafening irregularity. Something distinctly inhuman looked back at him. Or maybe it was the lack of something. “I do.” He replied, hoping his honesty would cut through the frenetic, animalistic energy to the person behind it. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Accepting help.”

Another step toward her. She was almost within his reach now. He blinked slowly, a prayer running across the back of his eyelids: Please don’t fight me. “At the very least, let me get some gauze on that. You’re bleeding all over my floor.” His hand reached up and touched his own ear instinctively, brushing against his full intact earlobe. He ran his tongue across the flat backs of his own teeth, feeling the square edges. Hers were definitely unnatural. Modified, maybe. “I haven’t even asked your name. How rude of me.” A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, echoing the grin he might have worn in lighter circumstances. “I’m Cutler. And you are?”

He thought she needed help. But so had everyone else and that wasn’t what she’d wanted. Erin and Morgan and Leah and even Shiloh and Rio. They all said they wanted to help, but how could she know that? Skylar mulled over his words, tapping her fingers against her chin, ignoring the way the pads of her fingers stuck to her skin. All of them knew her, they all knew her and they knew what she was and who she was and even if they didn’t know why she was-- Skylar didn’t know why she was even though she could remember every pretty little pill she’d swallowed-- they knew what she should be. And this man didn’t. So maybe that made his help real. “Okay.” She said blithely, not realizing how much tension hung between the two of them. “Oh, but there is. Because people will help you and help you and help you and then one day, they leave. Because they’re too tired of putting up with all your shit and think it’s better to quit while they’re ahead.” She said earnestly.

At the mention of his floors, Skylar glanced down to the mess of crushed herbs and ruined inventory that were spattered with a thick trail of blood. “Oh. Whoops. I have a lot,” She said with a nod, before gesturing around at the mess. “Of blood. Lots of blood. This is… probably okay.” She said with a shrug. Squinting at him, Skylar repeated his name. “Cut-ler.” She let out a slight giggle, wondering where her knife had gone. Cutler. She could make that literal. “I’m Skylar.” She said, before looking expectantly at him. “So, are you going to help me not bleed all over your floors?”

Cutler listened intently. Someone had hurt this girl, and he didn't intend to be the next in the long line of grievances she had suffered. "If people desert you, that's their shame. Not yours." The contempt in his voice bled through and he swallowed it back down into his stomach. "I'm not going anywhere."

He followed her gaze down to the floor, and back up to her nonchalant shrug. "That's me. You ever go by Sky? I've gone by Cut to my friends." His mouth moved on it's own, giving his mind a chance to catch up with the unreality of the situation.

"It is a lot of blood, huh. Whooole lotta blood. Still limited supply, though." A deep sigh shot downward as his hands drifted to the resting spot on his hips where his apron drawstrings usually hung. He focused his gaze back on Skylar, unwilling to think about the cleanup he was going to have to do later. Alone, of course. No insurance company is gonna cover an illegal surgery. "Let's get something on that. I've got supplies back here. Gauze and tape and uh, all sorts of stuff. You need a hand?"

Shrugging, Skylar’s mind wandered to all the people she’d loved, who’d left this place, who’d left her behind because they had to go. Nic and Winston and Remmy, they’d left. They hadn’t abandoned her, not the way Ricky and her parents had, but they’d left this town and they’d left her too. “Sometimes people leave and that’s just what happens. And then you’re left trying to figure out who you were without them.” Skylar said with a nod.

“S-K-Y-E, yup. Just friends, though.” She said as she followed behind him, her footprints leaving thick smears against the linoleum flooring of the shop. At his question, she shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want a hand, nope, nope. Got two right here, don’t need more.” She said. “One of my friends kept losing their hands, but now they’re gone.” Skylar said, mostly to herself. “Gone, gone, gone.”

Cutler led the way to the back of the store, propping the EMPLOYEES ONLY door open with a coffee can of ice salt. “Alright, no hands. No problem.” Beyond the crack of the door, a grey cement room stared back at them, devoid of all the usual upholstery; no shelving, or paint, or tiling. The floor sloped ever so slightly downward, puckering at a large metal drain. Under the naked bulbs above him, he knelt to root through a box, pulling out various medical supplies and glancing over every so often to assess the damage.

“Skylar.” He called back, tendons in his neck jumping with the strain. “What hurts? Can you tell me if anything hurts inside?” As he ambled back toward her, his gaze shifted from sympathetic to critical, mind kicking into higher gear. Silicon gloves rolled down his wrists and his hand paused inches from her lesioned arm, waiting for permission. “Is there any point in me telling you to get rest after this?”

Skylar hadn’t been in the back rooms of many stores before, but she had a feeling that they didn’t look much like this. Staring around as he began to pull things out of a box, Skylar’s attention dropped back to the floor as she watched droplet after droplet of greyish red splash against the tile. They began to form a small trickle, flowing down, down, down the drain. At Cutler’s words, Skylar looked up and looked at him. “Nothing hurts. Nope, nope, can’t feel anything.” She said and, to prove it, she reached up with her fingers and grasped the chunk of her ear and pulled on it. Blood ran down her fingers, but she didn’t flinch because there wasn’t any pain to feel. It was all just light and bright and nothing at the same time. Holding out her arms, she shrugged. “I can rest. Sometimes I lie down in the woods for hours and hours.” She replied.

Cutler's lips parted in protest, too late to stop her from tugging on her ear. They came back together in a constricted wince. Crimson slick coated her hand and he redirected his attention from her unusual lesions to the fresh tear beside her face. "Okay. Alright. Let's clean this up." His voice was robotically measured, practiced bedside matter. Whether he was trying to steady her or himself, he wasn't entirely sure. "No pain is good. This still might sting, though. Let me know if you want me to stop."

The act of cleaning a wound is intimate by necessity. In close quarters, he could see the rise and fall of her chest below him and the heat of her skin under the sanitizing pad. He afforded her a gentle smile. It didn't say everything he wanted to say; that he too, had lain for hours in the forest while intoxicated. That he has, on more than one occasion, injured himself while drunk and mercifully felt no pain. Instead, he opted for a subtler approach. "Mhm. That sounds nice. Peaceful. Stay still for me if you can, Skylar." The skin of her neck started to become visible as he fastened a series of bandages to the area and wiped away the gore with soft, consistent movements. "Do you know what you took?"

Skylar was barely aware of the gauze pressed against her face. She could smell the sharp of the alcohol as it was used to clean her wounds, but the moment it touched her flesh, it felt like nothing at all. There was no pain, there was no pressure, there wasn’t even hot or cold. Her entire existence was just the manic thrum of excitement and giddy happiness that she had no control over. “Nope, it doesn’t hurt. You can keep doing your stuff.” She said and let Cutler wash away the blood. Sitting still was hard, but she managed it, even as her fingers felt like they wanted to sink into the nearest wall. She couldn’t do that, no, he wanted her to stay still. And he was helping her.

“Oh, it’s really nice. Really, really nice. Sometimes I’d just stay out there for days and days, because it was better than having to feel. But this, this is even better than that. Because I’m just so happy. So, so happy. I’ve never felt this happy before.” Skylar said breathily. At his question, Skylar grinned, remembering the way the pills had looked in the palm of her hand, the way the smoke had burned in her lungs, the soft burn of the Bliss as it ran through her veins. “Some pills, something in a cigarette, a mushroom or three and lots and lots of Bliss.” She said, her expression dreamy as she thought about the box of “supplies” she had stashed away back in her room.

Cutler concentrated on not letting his concern bleed through his expressions as he listened, resisting the downturn of his mouth and darkening of his brow. His hands moved from wound to wound, adept at giving them exactly the amount of attention they needed before moving on. When he had addressed everything in his view, he extended the white bundle of gauze toward her. “If there’s anywhere else. Underneath your-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Of course he understood that sores don’t end at the boundaries of his patient’s clothing. It was more than likely that she had significant injuries that weren’t immediately visible. But she hadn’t come to him as a client, and he wasn’t about to start peeling clothing off a vulnerable woman, even to help her. “I need to make a quick call, anyhow. Do you mind?” His thumb was already swiping through a digital rolodex of old work contacts, distant friends, and exes. “I’ll be right over here, and you can call me if you need help. How does that sound?”

Skylar didn’t notice the way that Cutler’s expression shifted, she was more focused on the way her fingers were wrapped in gauze. Already, she could see the tips of white beginning to darken as blood soaked through the cloth. What started out as pinpricks of color blossomed into thick circles and Skylar pressed her fingers against the side of the wall, watching as the blood spread through the gauze. As he handed her another roll of gauze, Skylar looked at it blankly for a moment before realizing what he was saying. That’s right, she had the gash-- a gaping slash, a gash-- on her side. Mm, she should take care of it.

With clumsy hands, Skylar slid her hands under her shirt and pressed the pad of gauze against her bleeding side. It was hard wrapping the bandages around, but she managed it after a bit of effort. At Cutler’s words, Skylar tilted her head. “What are you doing?” She asked, standing back up, the world shifting around her as she did. Her head felt light, lighter than air, as her vision went black round the edges, but she didn’t care. Taking a step forward, Skylar shook her head. “Who are you calling?” Doctors? Hunters? People who’d poke her, prod her, hurt her, kill her? No, no, no.

Cutler’s eyes only flicked down to his hand for a moment, enough to dial but not enough time for his impromptu patient to injure herself further. He hoped. Next to his ear, the phone rang out. Once, twice. In his periphery, Skylar wrapped the gauze around her body. She looked strangely fragile in the unshaded bulbs; white fluorescents piercing sickly pale skin to sharp bone underneath. “I’m just making a call.” His chin tilted upward, speaking away from the still-ringing cell. Before he could come up with a lie that she would accept-not that he thought he had one ready-the soft click over the phone alerted him to the presence of someone on the other end.

He shifted away slightly, hoping the broad slopes of his shoulders would shield the storage room from the soft words he was speaking into the phone. “Hi, it’s Cut. Sorry about the hour. Yeah, yeah, long time. Listen, I need a favour. Do you still work at the Crisis Response Unit? I’ve got a young woman here who’s in distress. No cops, she just needs-” He was interrupted by scuffling behind him, turning just in time to see Skylar getting to her feet. She swayed so slowly that the room seemed to tilt with her. “Skylar-” His protest died in his throat as she lurched forward with surprising intensity, causing him to take a mirroring step backward. She was substantially smaller than him, but something in her eyes caused his heart to leap to his throat. It took another step forward for him to recognize it. Hatred. “It’s just an old friend. She might be able to help you. Better than I can.”

As the man turned his back on her, Skylar’s ears strained to pick up his hushed tones. She couldn’t pick up specifics, but her mind was already buzzing with possibilities of who was on the other line. Her eyes flicked around wildly, looking at the strange utensils that were laid out neatly on the table he’d taken her to. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered that this was… a store. A shop in the center of town. With packets of chips and gum but also scissors and scalpels and gauze and gloves. Lips curling into a feral grimace, Skylar reached out and grabbed one of the shiny silvery tools from the table and pointed it at Cutler.

“Put down the phone.” Skylar said clearly, glaring at him while blood pounded in her ears. She could stab at him, plunge the tip of the scalpel into his chest over and over and over. She could lunge at him and bury her teeth into the soft flesh of his throat. She could rip him to pieces, she could hurt him, hurt him the way that Hunters wanted to hurt her. A trap, was this all a trap? “I don’t want your friend’s help-- I don’t, I don’t even want your help.” She sneered, tempted to rip the cotton gauze from her hands just to prove it to him. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I could. I could want to hurt you.” She said with another laugh, shaking her head. “So just, just put down the phone.”

The voice on the other end of the line began to rise into a higher register, tinny treble crackling through the rectangular mic at the bottom of the screen. “I’m completely fine. No one’s gonna hurt anyone here. Let me call you back.” Cutler spoke the words loudly and clearly, hoping the slight shaking his hand didn’t translate to his voice. Light flashed off the thin reflective blade of the scalpel. It was a tiny little thing, almost dwarfed in her white knuckle grip, but it could do serious damage. He knew that better than anyone.

“I’m putting it down.” The phone clattered to the cement floor, sending a nervous jolt through his body. Nice, Cutler. “I don’t think-” His tongue felt heavy against his sticky-dry lips, struggling to form the words he wanted to say. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. And I don’t think you really want to hurt me. If you did, you would have done it by now, right? You’ve had plenty of chances.”

Skylar watched as the man spoke, her eyes trained on him. The lights were bright and sharp around the two of them and it made the scalpel in her fingers glimmer like quicksilver. Liquid in her fingers, she could let it flash out, once, twice, a hundred times, she thought. She could let it slither from her grasp and embed itself into the man’s body, she could watch the blood flow, so slow, down down down the drain. It would be so easy, so quick. A sliver of silver, a knife, a life. The dull thudding of the phone against the floor brought her back to her senses and Skylar nodded. “Yup, it’s down.” She said before kicking out a foot, sending the phone skittering away.

“I could, I could. Everyone could. Everyone wants to hurt people, everything’s only ever wanted to hurt me. Why shouldn’t I hurt someone else? Why shouldn’t I be just like them?” Skylar asked, though the scalpel was already lowering in her hand. She didn’t want to. She didn’t really want to do that. Her arms felt weary, heavier than they’d felt in… well, she couldn’t remember. But the weight of the sharp blade in her fingers felt as though it was dragging her to the floor, pulling her down. “I never wanted to be like this.” She said gesturing to herself with the scalpel, hands waving wildly. “I thought I was normal. I thought everyone was normal. But it’s not and I’m not and I’m just some… thing. Some kind of monster.” Skylar said before letting out a watery laugh. Swiping at her face with her free hand, Skylar wondered when she’d started crying-- why was she even crying? There was nothing to be sad about, nothing to feel. “I-- I…” She stammered, shaking her head as she backed away towards the door she’d come from. Tossing the scalpel away, she looked at the man, mind caught between the urge to charge at him and to run far, far away from him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” She said, shaking as she turned around and ran.

Cutler watched a thousand emotions pass over Skylar’s face in an instant. One well-placed slash with the scalpel in her hand and it could be over for him. The karmic balancing of the scales; a fitting end for him, maybe. But she wasn’t going to. He could see it even before her arm started to lower. She was at breaking point, tears overflowing their hitch-breath confines and words spilling out of her, stream-of-consciousness. “I know.” He said softly. And he did. He knew that she wouldn’t let him help. That she was leaving, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. “I know.”

For a moment, it appeared as if she had changed her mind and decided to tackle him anyway and he tensed, ready to parry or dodge whatever she threw at him, including herself. At the last second, she pivoted, running by him in close quarters. A quicker man might have blocked the door. A stronger man might have reached a hand out to stop her as she passed. Cutler was neither of these things. Instead, he just watched her go.

#p: wygwyw #tw drug use #tw addiction #tw: medical blood #tw memory loss #tw body horror #//as always if youd like a tw free recap just let me know!#//this was such a cool chatzy to write #p: cutler clarke

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choco-glow · 3 years

Text

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 12

The next waffle was perfect, crispy golden and almost a perfect circle, with beautiful melted pools of chocolate dotting the surface, with two almost perfectly in the Eevee pattern’s eyes, and Jason passed it over to Steph’s plate as he chanted a few Latin prayers, grinning as she burst into cackles at his terrible imitation of a priest. He’d utterly butchered the old prayers, but eh, it wasn’t like he was practicing anymore, and it made Steph laugh, so he still felt it was doing right by a God he’d long since stopped believing in.

“Oh god, you’re Catholic, aren’t you?”

“Eh, technically I’m a Resurrectionist—” She snorted at that, loud and adorable and perfect (everyone always looked weirded out, and Jason had, early on, always done his best to snort the same way. Weird dead Robins had to look out for one another.) He snickered in response. “But yes, I’m a former Catholic. Used to go to St. Maria’s as a kid, before Father John cleaned the place up.”

“…And the chanting?”

“Look, we only fucked up one waffle! Gotta bless it before shit goes south again.” She laughed at that, bold and happy and loud, and he planted kisses all over her face before turning back to the waffle maker and getting it going again. Glancing back over his shoulder, Jason grinned to see Steph holding up a fork with a triangle of waffle, topped with whipped cream and one of the raspberries she’d washed up, and he took the offering with a nom, groaning as the concoction melted in his mouth. Chewing, he gave her a thumbs up, already planning on making one for himself, and she chuckled, spraying on whipped cream and tossing on raspberries with abandon, then diving right in.

“Ooohhhhh this is soooooo good.”

“And somewhat healthy, that’s the lowfat whipped cream and everything’s organic.” He grinned after swallowing his mouthful of heaven, mouth watering already as he watched the waffle maker count down with hungry eyes; together, they switched off and a half-dozen waffles for each later, plus bacon and eggs, they were settled on Steph’s tiny couch and snuggled up close, groaning over their shared food babies. Jason had tucked a warm blanket over them both, because the rain coming down outside was just a little chilly for his tastes, and her apartment was…definitely on the list to be reno’d.

“…mmm…”

“Hmm?”

“This is really nice, Jay…”

“Yeah it is…” He murmured, tucking her head into his shoulder and pressing a kiss to her forehead, scarred fingers gently playing with a long curl of her hair before shifting to comb through the rest of her curls, making her purr against his neck.

“Ohhhh yes…please don’t stop…” He chuckled and shifted just a little so that he could bring his other hand up; with both hands, he started working on the knots in her neck and shoulders, on up into her scalp and back down, careful to comb away her soft curls so that they didn’t tangle. Steph melted into his chest, all the tension from the week just falling away as they snuggled to the song of rain and thunder outside, and Jason hummed softly as she whimpered at the release of one particularly bad knot in her right shoulder.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah…fuck…been hurting there for a while now…”

“Why didn’t you say something?” She snorted softly, then sighed.

“You know how everyone is…”Do yoga, work it out, or just deal with it.” Jason heaved a heavy sigh himself at that, wincing.

“Touché, not being a part of the daily Batdrama made me forget about Bruce’s general masochism about pain and aches. Well, tell ya what; whenever either of us is hurting, how about we either work on each other, or go see an expert? I’ll foot the bill.”

“Yes, please. I’m…well, I don’t know how to massage someone properly? I’m guessing you learned from Alfred…”

“Talia, actually, and Nyssa while she was part of the League. Ra’s thinks it’s stupid, because it’s a ‘women’s weakness’ or some bullshit, but Talia and Nyssa both used massage as a tool, among their subordinates and with one another. And me, I guess, I was the odd duck out; most of the men were under Ra’s, while Talia’s personal guard was exclusively female.”

“She knew you, though.” Jason smiled at that, sad at the memories, and nodded, kissing her cheek now as Steph shifted up to meet his eyes. He normally didn’t like making a lot of eye contact with people, hence the hood, but Steph…it was different. Like Nyssa, in a way…Talia I never did, because she would take that as a challenge, but Nyssa and I grew to be good friends, and it was…easy with her. B always thought I was interested in her, but no; she’s just a familiar soul, I suppose. Steph, however, was even easier; there was always something in her gaze that reminded him of his own reflection, and he was sure that could be psychoanalyzed into oblivion, but he wasn’t gonna go that deep.

“She did. Damian…probably doesn’t remember all that well, but I was basically his babysitter for Talia for the short time I was there; she trusted a Robin, even one as much a zombie as I was at first, because even with the Pit madness, I was…well. Protective.” She smiled a little, and he smiled back, stroking her cheek now. “I never shoulda left him there, but…well…”

“You did what you could.”

“Yeah…and Talia was fine with me kiting off; taking Damian would have gotten me killed again. I’m just so glad she turned him over to Bruce…”

“Me too. It’s…B’s not the greatest parent, but he’s really working with Damian, which is huge given the crap he’s pulled with all of us.” Jason chuckled at that, nuzzling her cheek, and she kissed him softly, settling against his side. He tucked her close, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders, and rubbed her lower back now, grinning as she melted back into his shoulder.

“I think Damian reminds him of Dick, in a lot of ways, just more aggression, like me. So, instead of Tim, who’s learned, like Bruce, to control all his emotions in one clean, collected package, he has a Robin with attitude and a whole lotta baggage again, and he’s having to jump through hoops that he could largely train out of both Dick and I. Fortunately, Damian’s just as stubborn as B, and it’s kinda great that he’s been able to force some changes of his own.” Steph chuckled at that.

“Like Batcow, Alfred the Cat, Titus…”

“Fuckin’ Goliath, and lemme tell you, Demon Kitty was not on the list of potential pets B was willing to consider.”

“Which was why Damian just brought him home and didn’t care.” Jason snickered, laughter rumbling through his chest, which made Steph snuggle in more, much to his delight.

“Yup, and the look on B’s face is one I’ll treasure forever.” She giggled, and kissed him again, and Jason melted into the kiss, groaning when her hand started rubbing up and down his neck. He rolled a little more onto his side so that her arm didn’t cramp, and let out a full body sigh, snuggling around her. “Ohhhh baby you don’t have to…”

“I want to, Jay…tell me if I do something wrong?”

“I doubt you will, but yes, if it comes up…fuuuuuuuuuuuck oh hell yeah, right there.” He almost whimpered when she started scritching his scalp, nuzzling her hair with a moan of relief. It was better than sex, in a way; this was…grounding, and comforting, and more intimate. “Ffffucksofuckinggood.”

“This is for making me waffles, you amazing, wonderful, glorious man. I’m not sure I’m ready for sex yet, so hairscritches are at least a decent substitute?”

“Sosogoodbetterthansex.” He mumbled out, and she giggled again, shifting him so that he was facedown in the pillows and Steph was straddling his hips, working her hands up and down his back over his teeshirt, and Jason just went limp, eyes rolling with relief as his scarred muscles were carefully worked free of kinks and knots. Steph had said she hadn’t a clue, but she was gentle on his back, not pressing too hard, nor was she too light on the scars; her hands were softer than his, less callused, and so the gnarled skin over each old wound didn’t tense or ache from too much sensation. She mapped out his back with care, and with a sigh, he reached a hand back and patted her thigh.

“Babe, don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re not a genius, because that is amazing.” He could almost feel the brightness of her smile, and he chuckled as she leaned down to kiss his shoulder, purring at the warmth of her body on top of his. “Seriously.”

“I’m so glad…I hope your scars aren’t hurting?”

“Definitely not, not even twinging like usual from the rain…How about you?” She sighed a little, snuggling in closer, and he craned his neck around, worried. “Babe?”

“I’m…a little achy, but it’s in weird spots…I don’t wanna be gross…” She murmured, nuzzling his shoulder, and he gently rubbed his hand up and down her thigh, ignoring the awkward position.

“…It’s not gross if it’s things that hurt.” He murmured, and she shifted back, letting him turn and face her, green eyes earnest. “Cramps? Period? I can run out and get you whatever you need?” She blushed, shaking her head, then nodded, then sighed, and he gently drew her back into his arms, tucking her between his legs and wrapping the blanket around her, snuggling her close. “The scars Sionis gave you too?”

“…Yeah. I…Look, this is gonna be…really fuckin’ gross, but when he tortured me…he…he didn’t just limit himself to my stomach and breasts…” She murmured, gulping a little, and he closed his eyes, swallowing back the sudden rage. “He didn’t put the drill in me, thank fuck for that, but things are…kinda fucked up down there. And yeah, it’s my period going, so it’s just…extra gross…” Steph blushed bright red, and he gently stroked back her curls, eyes soft, patient. “…I have to wear the disposable underwear that old people use…”

“…Oh sweetheart, that’s okay. Does it work?” She glanced up, eyes brimming with tears, and he gently kissed her brow, her cheek, her nose, her lips, brushing soft kisses all over her face, but she nodded, one lone tear overflowing. He gently brushed it away, cupping her cheek. “Then that’s all that matters to me. I won’t be grossed out, I won’t be upset. Hell…when you do see me naked, you might run away. I’m…not exactly in great shape down there, either. Missing one of my balls and my dick ain’t the straightest.” He followed that with a fake grin, still embarrassed, deep down, but she saw right through him; Steph shook her head and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“If Roy and the others didn’t care…I won’t. Besides…” She huffed out a laugh, and he felt a real smile touch his lips again. “It just means we can be fucked up together. But…thank you for not being grossed out anyway. It’s…you’re the first person to know besides B and Leslie…and B only knows because he hacked the hospital records. And you’re the only person who’s…probably ever gonna see them, which…I’m fine with.” He smiled at that, and she smiled back, kissing him softly. “So long as you intend to keep that proposal available.”

“Baby, it’s all yours; hell, we could go out one of these days and get a set of rings.”

“…You really want a set?”

“Fuck yeah I do, I wanna be a kept man.” The snort she gave was absolutely adorable, and Jason grinned wide at that, feeling their previous good mood return finally, and Steph kissed him, full and happy and perfect, before snuggling back into his chest.

“…So, kept man…could you rub my lower back again? Cramps are hitting me hard…” He placed his hands over her hips, gently rubbing and warming the area, and Steph sighed, dropping her head onto his shoulder, the tension bleeding out of her limbs. “Fuck…thank you…”

“So welcome, sugar…Wanna watch something mindless?” She smiled, and as Jason grabbed the remote, she let out a soft sigh, snuggling in closer, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead once more, running his hand over her lower back and keeping her safe and warm.

Yeah.

He really loved Sundays.

#JaySteph #Stephanie Brown #Jason Todd #tw: past body mutilation #cuddles and snuggles #fluff and romance #discussion of period #supportive partner #waffles #gothambysunlight #solarpunkgotham #rainy sundays

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tothestanders · 3 years

Text

Trading Places

Summary:

"Why’d you harass me about wanting to play video games instead of talking to my friend? You don’t care about that sort of thing.”

Remus’s grin widened.

“Now Thomas, maybe Remus is turning over a new leaf. In that case, we should celebrate! How about we throw a bunch of Babybel cheese at people’s cars so the wax stains them red in pretty polka dots!

”Thomas stared at Patton. “…That’s vandalism. You want me to vandalize people’s cars?"

Or, Patton and Remus swap roles. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Warnings: canon-typical Remus language

Read on AO3 here

Thomas’s back ached from being hunched over so long, fingers half numb from hours of button pressing. Thomas hardly noticed. He was only one level away from meeting the final Boss. Weeks of gameplay had been leading up to this moment. All the lost sleep and forgotten meals were about to pay off in the greatest, grandest, most magnificent battle of all time –

Something ringing cut through Thomas’s laser focus, jolting him back to the real world. He frantically groped for the ‘pause’ button before tearing his eyes away to read the caller ID on his phone. A friend from community theater. Thomas was disappointed for a moment that it wasn’t just ignorable spam, then immediately felt guilty. He quickly accepted the call.

“Hey man, what’s up?” he spoke into the phone. “Oh! Free to talk right now?” Thomas glanced longingly at the paused video game. “Um, well…”

“Are you really gonna hang up on your friend for a video game? Wow, Thomas, I didn’t realize you were even more evil than I am.”

Thomas nearly threw his phone in surprise. Next to him on the sofa suddenly sat the Duke, his face shifting between maudlin disappointment and a suppressed grin.

“What the heck, man! Why you gotta pop up in my blind spot like that?” Thomas yelled, putting the phone on mute while noises of confusion came through the speaker.

“Why you gotta be a shitty friend?” Remus replied without missing a beat. “What if they’re in crisis? What if their family just disowned them? What if they lost their job and can’t afford rent or food and have nowhere to go and you were their last option for help and now they’re going to spend the night on the streets and get mugged and then murdered and so eviscerated that they won’t be able to identify the body and he’ll be tossed into a mass grave where he’ll get devoured by worms at age thirty…”

“Oh my God, stop!” Thomas tried to command, to no avail.

“…and then he’ll turn into a zombie with his mind trapped in his rotting brain and forced to watch as his body kills people…”

“I hope your friend is doing all right!” Thomas whirled around to see Patton sitting on his other side, expression sympathetic. He didn’t seem to notice that Remus was there or still talking. Or maybe he was just ignoring him.

“Oh, thank God, Patton. Do you think it’s okay for me to play my video game instead of talking? I’m just so close to the boss battle and I really wanna finish it.”

“Well, I think your pal sounded fine, but better safe than sorry. How about you can finish your game, but first we say something to cheer him up just in case?”

“…and once all his loved ones have been eaten alive his zombie brain will come back to life and have to live with the horror of what he’s done…”

Desperate to get the Duke’s morbid monologue to stop, Thomas rushed to agree. “Yeah, sure. Any ideas?”

“Oh, you know I’ve always got something up my sleeve. A dad joke is never a bad joke!” He paused a second to think. “What has two butts and kills people? An assassin!”

Without a second thought, Thomas lifted the phone back to his face, unmuted it, and repeated the joke. He snorted at his own punchline, mentally congratulating himself on the pun. Then realization set in. Patton seemed to have the same realization, judging by the look of self-directed horror on his face.

The sound of laughter came through the phone. “Sorry, that was kind of a silly one. But glad you liked it,” Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, I was kinda in the middle of something when you called, but I’d love to catch up later tonight if that works for you?” His friend assured him it was no problem, and after setting up a time to chat later, they hung up.

“What the heck was that?” Thomas said.

“Great teamwork!” Remus chimed, raising a hand to high-five Patton across Thomas’s body. Patton eyed it nervously, then lightly tapped the palm. Then not so subtly wiped his hand on his pants.

“Sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to use potty language,” Patton said, shaking his head. “A dad’s gotta set a good example for his kids! Not my best work, huh?”

“Yeah, that was weird,” Thomas said. “But mostly I meant Remus. Why’d you harass me about wanting to play video games instead of talking to my friend? You don’t care about that sort of thing.”

Remus’s grin widened.

Thomas stared at Patton. “…That’s vandalism. You want me to vandalize people’s cars? And wouldn’t that probably make dents and break the windows?”

Patton’s face fell into a look of consternation. “Oh, yes, sorry. That would be very inconsiderate. Definitely don’t do that, Thomas. Okay, instead, we can celebrate with food! I think we’ve got eggs, pickles, maple syrup, and coffee in the kitchen. Sounds like the ingredients for a yummy soup.”

“Soup?” Thomas repeated in disbelief.

Patton tilted his head. “Yeah, soup. You know, a liquid you can eat! We could add cinnamon too if you want.”

“I love it, Patton! Look who’s finally not being such a fuddy-daddy,” Remus said, drumming his fingers against his cheek.

Thomas looked rapidly between the two of them. “Okay, is someone going to explain what’s going on here or am I just gonna stay confused?”

“You could’ve skipped all the confusion in the first place if you’d just listened to me earlier. I knew you liked boys by age 6!” Remus answered, and Thomas groaned. But then the Duke let out a long, dramatic sigh and stood, spreading his arms wide. “All right, killjoy. I swapped us, of course!”

“What? You can’t do that!” Patton reprimanded. “You switch back with Thomas right now, mister! This is Thomas Sanders Sides, not Remus Sanders Sides.”

Remus blinked. “Uh, right. No. I swapped our roles, Patton.”

Patton’s eyes widened with realization. “Ohhh. Well that’s much better.” He nodded to himself. Then, “Hey! You switch us back right now, mister!”

“Oopsie doodles, no can doozies. This is way too much fun! Now, Thomas, about your content.” Remus turned to face Thomas, a manic gleam in his eyes. “You really love to coddle your viewers, huh? Do you think they can tell? Do you think they click on your channel and get whacked in the face with the patronizing ooey gooey BS you sprinkle over their dainty little heads? They’re probably devastated you don’t trust them to be able to handle anything more meaningful and substantial than the trite twaddle you call videos.”

Remus pushed up his cheeks with his fists, lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. “Aw, poor babies. Their favorite Youtube star thinks nothing of them. That’s gotta cut like a machete to the heart.”

“Okay! Got it,” Thomas said. “So what I’m hearing is you’re my morality now?” Horror rose in his throat. “And Patton is my bad creativity?” Remus nodded excitedly. Patton looked nauseous. “Why would you do that?” Thomas asked, desperate.

“Oh, it’s simple. Dear Virgie didn’t like the bloody death threat I left on his wall earlier. Talk about not being able to take a joke, amirite?” Patton grimaced at that idea of a ‘joke.’ “Anyway, then he went off about how I’ll” – Remus adopted a mocking, bored tone to accompany his air quotes – “‘never be an important Side’ because I ‘don’t know the difference between right and wrong.’ Blah, blah, blah. But that was just too good of a challenge to pass up!”

“Too good of a challenge…so you’re trying to prove Virgil wrong? By being my morality? ” Thomas clarified in dismay.

“Yep! And proving that I could gain a whole lotta influence real quick if I wanted. Good little Thomas would never repress his moral drive.” Remus smiled sweetly at him.

“Sure, okay. This is not happening.” Thomas turned to Patton. “You’re my real morality. Can’t you, like, take your job back? Please?”

“Afraid not,” the Duke answered for him in a voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Where do you think your Sides comes from, Thomas? We’re figments of your imagination, after all.”

Thomas rested his face in his hand, exhausted by the whole situation. “I’m not following.”

“It’s easy. Imagination is part of creativity.” He did a mirror of Roman’s typical arm flourish at the mention of his function. “Therefore, your creativity created your Sides and is the only thing that can change them as it pleases. As I please.”

“Hold on, does that mean you and Roman are, like, literally everyone else’s dads?” Thomas asked.

“Hey now, kiddo. Don’t go stealing my kids out from under me,” Patton said, pointing a stern finger.

“Don’t worry, I’m a deadbeat dad!” Remus replied. Then his expression turned thoughtful. It was the most terrifying thing Thomas had ever seen. “Huh, isn’t it interesting that we’re figments of your imagination but also kinda not? I mean, we’ve got thoughts and feelings of our own. Yet our whole existence revolves around you.” Thomas braced, not sure where this was going but sure it wasn’t anywhere good. “You call all the shots about what we do, and if one of us wants to do something? Well, better pimp yourself out to get on the Big Daddy’s good side –”

“What?!”

“– and hope he graciously agrees. No autonomy for us. Just wasting away in your brain while you fuck around with the body. Male privilege? Please, let’s talk corporeal privilege, Thomas.”

Remus’s tone stayed casual, gaze idly wandering as he thought aloud. But the wave of guilt that came with his words was enough to nearly knock Thomas over, and made his eyes sting with tears. The Duke actually had a point. Was Thomas a terrible person? Oh, God. Was he abusing his Sides?

“Okay, kiddo.” Patton said, holding out his hands in a pacifying gesture. “That’s some pretty heavy stuff. Let’s not get carried away, all right? Don’t worry Thomas, we love being part of your amazing head!”

“Did someone say amazing head? I was wondering when you’d ask –”

Thomas closed his eyes. He could not deal with this. His Morality was suggesting crime, his Bad Creativity was giving him intrusive guilt, except all that was actually the other way around, now. Too much chaos, too many moral crises jam packed into ten minutes, too much Remus. Frankly, at this point he was just surprised Virgil hadn’t popped up to yell at him yet. Thomas was considering just getting up and walking away, irrationally hoping that no one would follow, when he remembered something.

“Wait a second. You said only Creativity could switch you guys back, right?”

“Yeppers! And don’t bother calling Roman, he’s still black and blue from reading Youtube comments earlier,” Remus replied cheerfully. Thomas made a mental note to check on Roman once all this was done.

“But you switched roles with Patton,” he continued, frown sliding into a sly smile. “Which means that Patton is now my Creativity – well, part of it, anyway. Which means he can switch you back!” Thomas turned eagerly to his father figure figment.

“Ah, I’m not so sure about that, kiddo.” Patton’s eyes were wide as saucers. “What if tapping into a” – his voice fell to a whisper – “dark power turns me evil. Like Ursula from A Little Mermaid.”

“Is that Ursula’s backstory?” Thomas asked curiously.

“No, actually! The real one is much better,” Remus said. “She almost got burned alive when her village figured out she was part octopus. Good thing her dear brother rescued her. Oh, except he thought she was a monster too, so he banished her to the cesspit of the sea.” Remus’s enthusiastic tone only made his darkened expression the more unnerving.

Thomas shifted uneasily. Once again, he was reminded just how much he didn’t know about what went on in his own head. But then again, Remus had told him, hadn’t he?

The unloved brother from the Genesis.

He began to spiral back down Remus’s guilt trip about responsibility to his Sides. Thankfully his thoughts were interrupted by Patton. “Aw, poor thing! People can be meaner than a bully burning a baby bunny in a Satanic ritual.” What? “Uh, I mean! A stuffed bunny. Anyway, I hope Ursula is okay now.”

“Nope, she died,” Remus informed him. Patton’s lip started to wobble.

“So that’s good news!” Thomas butted in before things could get any more derailed. He’d have time later to worry about sibling rivalry and possible injustice among figments of his imagination. “I mean, Ursula didn’t turn evil from using dark magic. So Patton has nothing to worry about. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please, I need my good old morality back. No one else can beat the top pop.” Thomas smiled at the giggle that got.

“Oh, all right. I’ll give it the old college try.”

Thomas sighed in relief and watched as Patton squeezed his eyes and fists tight, brow furrowing in intense concentration. A moment later he cracked an eye open. “Did it work?”

“I don’t know, tell a joke!” Thomas urged.

“Um…oh! Why can’t a nose be twelve inches long? Because then it’d be a foot!”

Thomas groaned, but he was smiling. Finally, his Sides were back to normal.

“Or my dick!” Remus chirped.

Yeah, normal. The thought was far fonder than it had any right to be.

“See, Patton? There was nothing to worry about. No spooky magical corruption – hey what’s up with your logo?” Thomas pointed at the heart on Patton’s shirt. It had turned upside down, its shape now looking a lot like…well.

Remus gasped in delight. “Awesome! Taking style inspiration from your favorite Creativity, I see.”

“You’re not my favorite Creativity,” Patton said, and Thomas couldn’t help his flinch. But then, “I can’t play favorites with my kids! You’re all perfect just the way you are.”

The side-eye Remus gave Patton was truly impressive. “Perfect, huh? Even when I do this?” Suddenly he was holding what looked kinda like a bouquet of pale, bloody flowers. Then Thomas spotted the fingernails. He watched as the entire handful of severed fingers slid down Remus’s throat and disappeared with a loud slurp.

“Of course!” Patton replied, seemingly unfazed. “No matter what you do, you’re still famILY.”

Okay, that was weird. Patton, not bothered by that sickening gesture? But wait a second – was it sickening? Strangely enough, Thomas found he wasn’t all that bothered by it either. Like some of his aversion to Remus had faded.

The suspicious look didn’t leave Remus’s face, but something about him seemed…calmer, than it had a minute ago. Softer.

Patton looked back at his shirt with a puzzled expression. “That’s funny, I could’ve sworn the heart was right-side up. Maybe I need new glasses!”

“I wouldn’t call that a heart anymore. It’s totally a pair of dingle-dangles.”

“A what?” Thomas said, unable to believe the Duke had actually used a euphemism. And a downright cutesy one, at that. His gaze fell to Remus’s belt.

“My eyes are up here, you saucy minx. And here,” Remus added, pointing to the eyeball on his shoulder.

“No, look,” Thomas said, pointing to the logo on the belt buckle. The crescent moon at the top seemed to have morphed into a smiley face.

Thomas head swiveled between the smiley face and the – uh, inverted heart – several times. He thought back to what Patton had been worried about. Lasting effects of the role reversal. Oh no.

Patton and Remus, both still engrossed by their changed logos, seemed to have the same thought. In voices heavy with resignation, all three of them spoke at the same time.

“Aw, butts.”

#sanders sides #remus sanders #patton sanders #c!thomas #sanders sides fanfiction #role swap #my writing

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romaniassexdungeon · 4 years

Text

Shattered Romanticism of a God - chapter 13

Pairings: SuFin, NedDen

Warnings: swearing,

Wow, six months without uploading, I update twice in one day.

Read on AO3

...

Tino was going to destroy everyone he loved and held dear and spit on their graves, for they meant nothing to him that day. He was going to laugh as they fell, one by one, to his superior sniper skills. The snow around them would be stained red. And green. And maybe purple too. They would all beg for mercy and receive none. Yes, even Berwald, if he crossed him. No one would stand in his way and succeed.

He half-listened to the instructor, knowing full well how to play paintball. He checked his outfit, his armour vest pinching underneath his uniform. His helmet was still on the bench, for now. Berwald was standing next to him, putting on his gloves. There were a few rounds, throughout the day, with different objectives. Defending places, raiding places, all as a team. That was why everyone had planned this day out: team building. What he was most looking forward to was a hunger games where everyone was against everyone.

He was going to win that if it fucking killed him. There was no "I" in team, but there was one in sniper.

Eduard said he was too competitive, and that was why he never joined in with anything involving Tino. Especially Tino and guns and teams. He wasn’t even after the prizes, just the glory of winning. Maybe there was a darker, psychological element to it, about how his dad would constantly push him to be the best at “manly” things, but Tino didn’t like thinking about that. He preferred to call being so competitive it took the fun out of things for everyone just one of his “quirks”.

The first event was a simple two-person team game, with the last duo standing declared the winners. Of course, he and Berwald were going to be a team. And they were going to win.

He finished getting dressed, and the instructor finished explaining the safety procedures. The group were all led out of the tent and given directions to their starting positions. Soon enough, Tino and Berwald were alone, crouched behind a bush. Uncomfortably close. Or comfortably, as long as Tino didn’t pop a woody.

There were still a few minutes before the starting klaxon would sound, so he decided to familiarise himself with his surroundings. Every advantage counted here. The area looked fun, woodland made of tall, straight, evergreen trees and patches of grass. The forest floor was covered in pine needles, stretching as far as they could see. He’d have to be careful with that; the rustling of leaves could mask the sounds of approaching danger, or he and Berwald could give away their positions by constantly stepping on things. There were wooden cutouts, model castles and shallow trenches dotted about the place, thankfully creating cover for them. It looked like a fun place, all things considered. He’d have loved to have had a birthday party here as a child. Or an adult.

Nearby, there was a little dip in the ground, where a mud patch had pooled from the morning’s rain. Easy to miss, but vital.

“Perfect,” he muttered, discreetly pointing to it and winking at Berwald. He crawled over to the mud, scooped up a handful, and began smearing it over his face and helmet. Berwald gave him a strange look. “You want to get camouflaged, right?”

Berwald whined, shaking his head. “Messy.”

“Okay, but keep your pasty head down or the light will be bouncing off it into our enemies’ eyes.” He crawled back behind the bush.

“Enemies? Y’mean friends ‘n family?”

“Not here, not today.” Tino sighed and gently, but firmly, pulled Berwald down to eye level. "Okay, listen up. Do not blow this for me. No mercy, and no making yourself a target. I know that'll be hard, but just assume you're tall enough to be visible at all times and stay down."

Berwald nodded.

"I don't give a fuck that half these people are your family. If you show any hesitation in shooting them, you're dead to me. Understood?"

Another nod. "M'scared n' horny."

"Roger that. Make me proud out there, and there might be a treat for you." He winked. “I’ll roger you.”

Berwald shook his head. "M'not ready. Jus' horny."

"Reading you loud and clear, my man. Your treat is now a big, fat kiss in the privacy of my room."

"Thanks." He smiled and kissed his cheek.

"Hey, don't worry about it," said Tino, feeling suddenly very tender. "We're gonna be a great team, okay?"

The klaxon sounded, and Tino pulled away.

“Showt’me,” muttered Berwald.

“Showtime? You are truly the gayest man in history. This is war, Berwald, not theatre.” Tino blinked. “Wow. I sounded a lot like my dad there. Sorry.”

“S’okay. Kinda funny watching you get so inta this.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll probably ruin the mood soon enough. Now, let’s find Gunner before someone else gets to shoot him.”

Berwald nodded, very enthusiastically. “Let’s f’ck him up.”

...

Luca and Tolli, meanwhile, were busy hiding in a trench, huddled together and praying they wouldn’t be found. It wasn’t the first choice of activity for either of them, but everyone else had been super excited about it. Hopefully, they’d get to shoot someone at some point. At least they’d be going for a nice drink in a warm pub afterwards, and after there’d be a bath.

The two teamed up together, because Tolli didn’t want to be on a team with Vidar or Gunner, and Luca was closest to his own age. But they weren’t close enough to do anything but sit in awkward silence. There were probably things they had in common, but Tolli worried he looked like a little kid to Luca, or if Luca hated small talk. He had to try, though, or things would just get even more awkward. He could try a compliment, he supposed. They tended to go down well.

“I like your hair, by the way.” Tolli tried to rub some warmth into his fingers.

“Thanks,” said Luca, smiling sheepishly. “I like your eyeliner.”

“I like yours!”

He nodded, looking rather guilty. “Hey, can you keep a secret?”

“Sure.”

Luca lifted up his mess of hair to reveal the eyeliner on his right eye wasn’t as good as his left one. In fact, it was nothing short of a blotchy disaster. “I can never get the other eye right.”

Tolli giggled. “I hear you. It’s a weird power I have; I have to do Vidar’s makeup before going out, maybe I can do yours too, if you want.”

“You can be the band’s official makeup artist, maybe.” Luca nudged him. “And you’d get to hang out with your cousins more.”

“Ew.”

“Aww, don’t be like that. They talk about you all the time. Gunner’s super proud of you.”

“Gunner has his own siblings.”

“Really? Oh, yeah, I forgot.”

A blast hit both men in the chest, Luca, then Tolli, with no time for them to react. Tolli tried to scream, winded, but all that came out was a whimper.

“Gotcha!” Tino allowed himself a small jump for joy, from the cover of the woods he’d been spying them from. He high-fived Berwald, then ran over to the trench, ducking down until he was safely inside.

“That hurt,” Luca whined.

“Yeah, they do,” said Tino, “that’s why you have to try not to lose. Have either of you moved since you got here?”

Tolli shrugged. “We were just having a nice chat.”

“You’re not here to chat, you’re here to play!” When Tino attempted to teabag them, Luca punched him in the balls. Tino doubled over with a grunt. “Yeah, I deserved that.”

A second pair of shots sounded, both hitting Luca in the arm. This time, they’d come from Berwald’s gun.

“What the fuck?”

“Aww, my man got all protective,” Tino smiled at him warmly. “Anyway, there’s gotta be some better targets round here. Ones that are more of a challenge.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you fuck off and find them, then.” Luca rubbed his arm. “Leave us alone.”

“Will do, you pair of noobs.” Tino hobbled off back to Berwald, leaving Luca and Tolli to lie in the dirt, nursing the sore spots where bruises would soon be.

...

“Dude, how many weeds would we have to smoke to hotbox this thing,” Gunner looked around the crumbling, little hut they'd chosen to shelter in.

Adriaan gave him a withering look. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, “we’d probably need like 30 weeds. Lotta jazz cigarettes. Some dank blunt kush.”

That got a laugh out of Adriaan. “You're adorable.”

“Am I even using hotbox in the right context?”

“Sorta, I guess. It needs to be an enclosed space, and this isn’t really enclosed.” He nodded over at the doorless doorway and holes for windows. “A car or small room would be better.”

“So all the weeds would escape here?”

He sighed. “Yes, Gunner, all the weeds would escape.”

“See? I know about the Mary Jane. How could I be surrounded by all these green trees and grass not know about the Devil’s Lettuce?”

Adriaan snorted. “The Devil’s Lettuce might be my favourite word for weed. My sister always used to call it that.”

“She know you’re a super mega pothead?”

“Yes. I do have other qualities, y’know?”

“Like what?”

“That’s enough personal questions for now.”

Gunner looked at him. “We’re dating.”

“You have to work to unlock my backstory.”

“We’ve been friends for years.”

“And in that time I have remained cool and mysterious. Now, we should get moving. I’m not hiding in here with you when there are people to make miserable out there.” Adriaan stepped outside, glancing around and peering through the trees. Then, without warning, his head snapped back as green paint splattered across his vision. “Fuck!” He cried, ineffectively wiping the paint on his helmet.

“Who dare shoot Adriaan!?” Gunner ran outside, gun at the ready, only to get shot in the head. He stumbled, but the bullets kept coming, exploding across his chest and legs until he was knocked onto his back.

“Thanks. I feel very avenged.” Adriaan looked around for the source of the hellfire, and found Berwald peering out from behind a wooden wall, painted to look like cobblestone.

“Of course,” Gunner groaned, then lifted his gun to return fire.

Another paintball, fired from a different position, hit him in the shoulder.

“Don’t try it, cheater,” called Tino, “you’re out. No more shooting.”

“We didn’t get to shoot anyone!” Gunner cried back.

“Get better, and don’t just sit around making noise! We heard you, like, a mile away.” Tino peered around, then began crawling over to Berwald. “Nice shot, baby. Any ammo left?”

“Bit.”

“You think they’re taking this too seriously?” asked Adriaan. Gunner groaned and nodded. “Wanna go find some of the others and have a shootout instead?”

Gunner wiped dirt off his uniform, before groaning and lying back. “If you mean bullying Luca and Tolli, absolutely.”

...

It was just Gilbert and Vidar left, and they’d heard the others fall, one by one. They’d heard the screams, the gunshots. Neither knew who was next, and if it would be them. Probably them. And probably soon. They knew the Shite Death was on their tail. If they were being honest with themselves, they knew they didn’t have a chance of winning. Or escaping. They weren’t competing; they were being hunted. Despite all the cover of the forest, and despite the fact that both pairs of eyes hadn’t spotted anyone coming near them, the pair couldn’t help feeling like someone was following them.

“I don’t like this,” whispered Gilbert. Vidar shushed him.

They kept moving on, further into the map, and most likely towards danger. But the sooner the game ended, the sooner they could move on.

Gilbert slipped his hand into Vidar’s, and Vidar gave him a strange look. “Sorry,” he pulled away, “I’m tense.” He sure looked it.

Behind them, a twig snapped, followed by the rustling of leaves. Vidar picked up the pace, constantly glancing behind. The second he saw that little fucker, he was blasting paint like he was at a bukakke.

He almost shot a tree branch for moving too quickly.

Gilbert’s head was darting in every direction. This wasn’t supposed to be so scary, but even Vidar was on edge. He didn’t want his beautiful body bruised with bullets, paint or otherwise. It would hurt.

Another rustle, and they picked up the pace. There was nothing behind them, though. Vidar didn’t like this.

Another twig snapped, and Gilbert burst into a sprint. He lept over a trench, ducking past trees and firing wildly. Vidar cursed, and ran after him. The forest veered and swam in front of him, but he dared not stop. Just ahead, Gilbert threw himself over a hay bale, and immediately let out a scream. There was the sound of gunshots, and Vidar was helpless, unable to react as he watched Berwald jump up and start firing.

It was like being punched in the heart. Except he was shot in the heart from a metre away.

“Damn you, Berwald!”

Berwald gave him the smallest, but smuggest smile. Vidar walked around the bale to find Gilbert sprawled out across the floor, groaning and covered in paint. Tino was next to him.

“How the fuck did you manage to get ahead of us?” Vidar bent over, panting.

Tino frowned. “You ran right into us. It was a little ridiculous.”

“So it was Berwald stalking us through the forest?”

The pair shook their heads. “Nope. We were just sitting here, planning our next move,” said Tino.

Gilbert frowned. “So what was following us?”

Everyone turned to look behind them. There was nothing there. The forest was deadly silent, everyone frozen in place. Vidar smacked Gilbert’s arm.

“Idiot, there was nothing chasing us. We got freaked out over the wind.”

“Ow, sorry. I panicked.”

“Yeah, we all saw.”

...

Despite Tino doing everything in his power to kill the fun for the rest of the group, it had been a good day overall. The games where they were just allowed to let loose and shoot everyone were the best, since Tino tended to take out everyone. Even though he was a sore loser and worse winner, the rage and/or gloating tended to evaporate soon after each game ended.

But now it was the last event, the Hunger Games, and Tino was hunting, gun clutched to his chest. The klaxon had just sounded, and he was already on the move, peering through the trees for any sign of the enemy. He kept low, not the most difficult task for someone of his height. He felt like a wolf, moving in silence, looking for prey. He could hear very distant shouts, shrieks and gunshots, but no visuals just yet. Only trees and props.

But it wasn’t long before he found his first target. Oh, beloved Berwald, so blind. So oblivious. He was crouched behind a pile of logs, unfortunately, he had his back facing Tino, and that was his exposed side.

Tino shot him without hesitation.

Berwald made a strangled noise, turning around and giving Tino the most poisonous glare possible. He almost felt bad.

“Sorry, baby,” he tried. Was Berwald actually mad at him? Was this the end for them.

“Y’bastard,” Berwald joked, “y’cruel, backstabbin man.” He didn’t get up, instead lying in the dirt, pretending to choke on blood.

“I am, and you fell for it,” relieved, Tino crouched down next to Berwald, taking off his helmet and stroking his hair. “You fell for me, the homme fatale.” He kissed his nose.

“D’ya, regret it?”

“”No”, I lie.”

Something very hard, and very painful, hit Tino’s arm. He screamed, not from getting shot, but from the rage of losing so quickly. He threw his helmet on the floor.

“Ha!” cried Luca, “finally! Get rekt, noob!”

#sufin #APH Sweden #APH Finland #aph nordics #nedden #aph denmark #aph netherlands #aph luxembourg #APH Iceland #APH Norway #APH Prussia #shattered romanticism of a god #Hetalia fic #hws #Hetalia Fanfiction

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midnightmemes · 4 years

Text

Shinedown ATTENTION ATTENTION Starters

DEVIL

‘ you said it yourself - you’re scared of being alone ’ ‘ don’t play the prima donna ’ ‘ you said it yourself that you would never stop until you felt the needle drop ’ ‘ everyone can tell that you’re poisoning the well ’ ‘ but there are no mistakes - except what you create ’ ‘ you need to know your place ’ ‘ ‘cause i was sent to warn you - the devil’s right beside you ’

BLACK SOUL

‘ who’s the victim now ? ’ ‘ face everyone you disrespect ’ ‘ so who’s the asshole now ? ’ ‘ holier-than-thou, you’re not ’ ‘ you’ve made a mess of your life ’ ‘ now you play roulette with a water gun ’ ‘ speak up ‘cause no one heard your name ’ ‘ watch you double down hard, and take it too far ’ ‘ and you know you’re in too deep ‘cause you’re running out of time and you’re talking in your sleep ’ ‘ it might take forever to put you back together ’

ATTENTION ATTENTION

‘ the stories i hear are the stories i tell ’ ‘ intention, retention, it’s all in your head ’ ‘ nothing ‘bout me is ordinary, my friends all say i’m going crazy ’ ‘ they’re just villains in my mind doing time ’ ‘ they’re just matches burning holes in my soul ’ ‘ if you’re a shiny new penny, i’m a hundred dollar bill ’

KILL YOUR CONSCIENCE

‘ everybody’s taxing my soul ’ ‘ they say it’s all the rage, to never act your age ’ ‘ so why you wanna do me like this ? ’ ‘ you call each other sick - yet you’re coming back for more ’ ‘ you can’t stop - cause it’s already too late ’ ‘ kill your conscience - better you than me ’ ‘ do your best, do your worst - show me where it hurts ’

PYRO

‘ you better watch your step, the wicked, they don’t ever rest ’ ‘ i bet the fuse is live, i feel it when the doves cry ’ ‘ what can you do ? where can you go ? ’ ‘ it’s never one and done, it’s only just begun ’ ‘ am i a hypocrite to say i ain’t feelin’ this ? ‘cause i ain’t feelin’ this ’ ‘ they just wanna light it on fire and they just wanna let it all burn ’

MONSTERS

‘ good for you - you fooled everybody ’ ‘ good for you - now you’re somebody ’ ‘ leave your weapon on the table ’ ‘ don’t get angry, don’t discourage, take a shot of liquid courage ’ ‘ my monsters are real - and they’re trained how to kill ’ ‘ there’s no coming back and they just laugh at how i feel ’ ‘ there’s no going back, if i get trapped i’ll never heal ’ ‘ good for you - you hurt everybody ’ ‘ good for you - you love nobody ’ ‘ call a doctor, say a prayer, choose a god you think is fair ’ ‘ leave a light on if you’re able ’ ‘ ‘cause we both know you’re unstable ’

DARKSIDE

‘ can you hear me ? am i speaking clearly ? ’ ‘ do you need a savior ? some bad behavior ? ’ ‘ face forward and don’t come unhinged ’ ‘ block out the actors and all these bastards that took all the fun out of rage and revenge ’ ‘ don’t be so quick to judge, reign havoc from above ’ ‘ you enter at your own risk, so don’t be surprised ’ ‘ welcome to the darkside ’ ‘ i tried to play nice, you were baptized in ice ’ ‘ the symptoms are contagious - so please be advised ’

CREATURES

‘ i wouldn’t wish this on just anyone - but you seem to share my impulse ’ ‘ but you seem to like the results ’ ‘ i’ll connect the dots and you can tell me to stop ’ ‘ i’d rather keep on going than be something that i’m not ’ ‘ we’re creatures or habit, we can’t live without it ’ ‘ nothing’s ever gonna change - ‘cause i ain’t gonna run away ’ ‘ we don’t have to answer to anyone ’ ‘ i will defend you when you’ve used up all your chances ’

EVOLVE

‘ opinions are biased, shut up and be quiet ’ ‘ i’m trying to make you understand - this is what you’re up against ’ ‘ i had to take leave of my senses to draw my own conclusion ’ ‘ in a world gone mad, it’s all so sad, look what we’ve become ’ ‘ conditioned to fight it, so bring on the riot ’ ‘ raise a glass now for the damned ’ ‘ i figured it out - in a room full of mirrors, there’s only one way out ’

GET UP

‘ i know you’re clinging to the light of day to tell you everything’s a-okay ’ ‘ medication don’t do much, yeah, it just numbs the brain ’ ‘ guess you might say i’m a little intense ’ ‘ i’m on the bright side of being hellbent ’ ‘ so take it from me - you’re not the only one ’ ‘ if you’re ever in doubt - don’t sell yourself short, you might be bulletproof ’ ‘ i believe you can be whatever ’ ‘ i agree - you could do much better, trust me ’ ‘ ain’t nothing normal when it comes to you and me ’ ‘ i’d rather twist myself in knots than watch you give up on your dreams ’ ‘ i don’t know why i never talk about it - i guess that’s part of the problem ’

special

‘ you see life’s too short to run it like a race so it’s never gonna matter if you win first place ’ ‘ stop waiting on your fifteen minutes of fame - cause you’re not special ’ ‘ i’m not trying to rain on your parade - but you’re not special ’ ‘ i’m not trying to bring you down, i’m not trying to sound so ineffectual - but you’re not special ’ ‘ if you take it down a notch and you let me explain ’ ‘ we all live to love, we all fall apart ’ ‘ instead we’re condescending, there are no happy endings ’ ‘ i won’t hold my breath, i won’t cast a doubt, i’d never sell you out ’ ‘ i’ll give you one last chance to own it ’

THE HUMAN RADIO

‘ i got a four-letter word for ‘i don’t care’ and a whole lotta drive to get me there ’ ‘ i’ve seen a whole lotta wrong, to say the least ’ ‘ spent a whole lotta time staring down the beast ’ ‘ keep your eye on the prize and your feet on the ground ’ ‘ if you tell ‘em you’re the king, you’re probably not ’ ‘ got a brand new approach, and i ain’t done ’

BRILLIANT

‘ never knowing who to trust can make me insecure ’ ‘ let me clear my throat, let me catch my breath ’ ‘ let my heart bleed out til there’s nothing left ’ ‘ it’s my day to be brilliant ’ ‘ better once you realize finding someone you can trust gets results ’ ‘ this ain’t a game and i’ll never stop ’ ‘ to whom it may concern, i won’t crash and burn ’

Headcase

‘ ammunition, all i need is ammunition ’ ‘ yeah, you got a real condition ’ ‘ i hope you don’t regret it because you’re born to lose ’ ‘ i’m already convinced you’re an oxymoron ’ ‘ it’s hard to be happy when you don’t know how ’ ‘ yeah, i got a premonition - that you need a ton of supervision ’

ANWTD

‘ keep your hands where i can see ‘em ’ ‘ the myth don’t make the man ’ ‘ i hope you paid the bill - cause this shit’s about to get real ’ ‘ tell them pretty little lies ’ ‘ truth is you look strung out and i ain’t takin’ it ’ ‘ not gonna lie, i ain’t sold ’ ‘ you know there’s consequences, you seem a little defensive ’ ‘ i hope you got your thrills - cause this shit just got real ’

#rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters

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wereallsaloonaticshere · 5 years

Text

Fight blackmail with blackmail

Summery: Eduardo blackmails Edward and Thompson to steal money for them, but Juan feels bad about it so he gives Edward and Thompson blackmail to use against Eduardo.

Tw internalized homophobia, blackmail

Fandom: Eddsworld, Saloonatics

Word count: 3144

This was a collaboration I did with @aubdawgdrawz, they made a drawing for the story and I wrote it basically.

It’s quite a lovely night. Twinkling silver lights glow above them, highlighted by the pitch black a lack of sun causes. These nights are a constant for everyone in the town of Spit bucket, including a certain detective and sheriff.

“I quite liked that one.” Edward says, walking side by side with Thompson, “I felt it had a nice flow from scene to scene, and the character’s romance wasn’t forced at all.”

“I liked the horse.” The two men paused and looked at each other. Then chuckled and continued walking up the steps to their house.

“I liked him too.” Edward takes out the keys and fumbles, looking for the right one, “I was surprised he turned out to be the killer in the end. Even I didn’t find any signs for that.”

“I think they just wanted ta shock the audience. The people who made it aren’t ‘xactly what I’d call geniuses.”

“Oh, and I am?”

“Nope.” Thompson says, then directly after Edward breaks out in giggles.

“Oh, how sweet. My eternal love.” Edward places his hand on Thompson’s shoulder and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Make it a real one.” Thompson teases, and pulls Edward down by the collar, kissing him on the lips.

“Oi, Thompson!” Edward says, after they’ve pulled apart, “Someone might see us!” He smiles as he opens the door, and the two walk into their home.

It would’ve been a perfect night, had Juan not overheard it from the other side of the house. Had Juan not taken pictures of their kiss with his new camera.

A fist slams onto the counter, and Eduardo smirks as Thompson turns to face him in his chair. Thompson tackles him, pinning him to the floor.

“Lotta nerve ya got, ta come back here.” Thompson stretches his arm toward his desk, trying to reach the handcuffs. “Why are ya smilin’, anywho? What’re ya planning?”

“I know about you.” Eduardo said

“What’re you-”

“I know about you and Edward.” Eduardo says, and with that, Thompson freezes. “Disgusting.” He adds for unneeded clarity.

Gritting his teeth, Thompson lets go, and they both stand up. He leans against his desk, trying to stay cool.

“What do ya mean?”

“My partner in crime took photos of it.” Eduardo takes a few out of his pocket and shows them to him. Thompson bolts to grab it but Eduardo holds it high above his head, and grabs Thompson’s arm.

“Give ‘em ta me. I’ll do...I’ll do anything.” Thompson says, with his eye wide open. Eduardo’s lips curls. He crosses his arms.

“Anything? Is that so?”

“Man, I sure do love being a bandit!” Eduardo says, lying on top of a literal pile of gold coins and paper money.

“Yo también.” Marco says, cleaning a mirror with his shirt, angling the reflective part away from him to avoid seeing his reflection.

“What?” Eduardo asks. As Eduardo complains about Marco only knowing Spanish, Juan tinkers with his camera on the other side of the room.

Recently, when a professional cameraman moved to town, wanting, “...a breath a fresh, countryside air...”, he left his door unlocked. The three bandits saw their chance and ransacked the place, taking everything they could see. The cameraman was devastated, obviously, but for Juan it was one of the best things to ever happen to him. He got his very own camera! And a good one at that; the latest model.

“Pose!” Juan says, taking the camera in both hands and pointing it at his partners.

“Juan, you don’t need to take pictures of everything!” Eduardo says, sitting up and crossing his arms.

“Lucky I do though! ‘Else we wouldn’t have all this stuff!” Juan takes the photo. Eduardo runs a hand through his hair, and turns to Marco, continuing his mildly racist one-sided conversation. “I’ma head out and take more-”

“Bye.” Eduardo says, still looking at Marco.

Juan rolls his eyes and walks out. He wanders here and there, without a real destination in mind.

A blue butterfly in the corner, just about to land on a leaf. A cactus with pink flowers dotted across it. A house with two men talking through the window, which probably wouldn’t turn out too good, considering the time of night. Time had flown by, apparently. You wouldn’t really be able to see anything other than a clouded swirl against a black backdrop.

Wait. The two men were the British man and the Sheriff! And they were talking...Juan could just about make out what they were saying.

“I just feel so guilty.” Edward says, running a hand through his hair, voice tainted by exhaustion.

“Don’t be. They’re savages, the lot of ‘em.” Juan frowns as Thompson says it.

“Maybe we should just...let them tell the public.” A pause as Thompson stares with wide, judgmental eyes. “I just think-”

“What? You think ruinin’ our lives is the right answer? How?”

“How could it not be? I know it’ll be rough-”

“Rough? We’ll get killed! You already know how harshly people treat people like us! Or were the bandits ruining our lives not enough evidence for you?”

“Well, my apologies if I don’t like stealing from the bank!”

“And I do?!”

As they continued arguing, Juan started to break into a cold sweat.

Cops don’t like stealing. This is information he already knew, of course, but...they were doing it anyways. To keep each other safe, even though they hated it.

Juan had told Eduardo and given him the picture because he knew that would get the gang more money. But seeing how it affected them, how it broke apart something special and private...Juan didn’t need all that gold, and neither did the others.

But Juan isn’t as stupid as he looked. He knows just asking them wouldn’t work at all. His mind wandered a tad, as it tended to do, and he thought of the phrase ‘fight fire with fire’. The thing to fight blackmail with was more blackmail, clearly. But what would convince Eduardo to give the pictures back?

Juan’s blood ran slightly cooler. The sketches. Juan, of course, still had them all. He knew what the right thing to do was. He ran back to base.

Back at base, Eduardo and Marco were already asleep. Juan doesn’t bother walking on his tip-toes, since both men are heavy sleepers. He uncovers two floorboards in the corner where he slept, and gingerly pulls out the box, opening it.

Eduardo used to be an artist, until he stopped, along with other things, drawing. He’d draw whatever he wanted to remember. And boy, did Eduardo want to remember Juan exactly. The slope of his jawline, his crooked smile, his soft yet calloused skin.

So he drew him, filled entire sketchbooks with Juan and him. Holding hands, kissing, other things. Anything he could think of. At first they were drawn few and far between, but when Juan thumbed through one of the books and said he loved them, it seemed like Eduardo had a dip pen attached to his hand.

But it didn’t last. Eduardo’s dad found the books, and he wasn’t exactly okay with what was in them. The two were just younger than 18 when that happened. A few years later, after Juan decided to become a bandit, they met again. Juan went to hug him but got shoved away. Eduardo acted like he had never met him before. It hit Juan in a soft spot, but he went along with it, knowing whatever Eduardo’s dad did to him wasn’t the greatest. But Eduardo was a different person, harsher, meaner. There were still times when his old self would come out, but it would so quickly be stifled Juan would wonder if he imagined it.

Juan looks in the box and pulls out a thin pad of paper, about 20 or so pieces. Juan, throughout the years, had probably seen these a million times, but that didn’t stop him from looking again, blushing at his past, at the feelings he used to know. At the boy he once loved, and the man he wasn’t sure he knew. Each drawing, each stroke of the pen, was carefully done, the signature in the corner of every one.

He put the pad in his coat pocket, closed the box and put it back in the floor, as if nothing has been or ever was there. He looked across the room at Eduardo. He hadn’t been the nicest, or least hypocritical person lately. He deserved this.

On his walk back to the sheriff’s house, he thought about their time together, all those years ago. The jokes, the spats, the love. Juan had loved Eduardo, and these drawings had love written all over them.

He wondered if Eduardo even remembers making them, or if he forced himself to forget.

There’s a knocking on the door, and Edward gets up first to answer it.

“Hel-” Juan shoves past him and walks over to their dinner table, placing the sketchpad on it, face down.

“I’m really sorry, I am. So, so here,” Juan points at the pad, his other hand clenched in his pocket, and walks back towards the still opened door, “tell Eduardo that if he puts the film out you’ll put the drawings out. I really didn’t, I really didn’t mean to, to hurt you guys.” Why were tears flooding his eyes?

Thompson, a little taller than him, blocks the exit.

“What’re you sorry for, boy?” Thompson says, balling his hands into fists.

“I...I told Eduardo about you guys.” Juan added quickly, “But I’m making it right! I gave you fire to use against his fire!”

“He’s going to burn our house down?” Edward asks, with more disbelief than fear.

“No, no, I-I just meant...”

“You’re helping us get back at him?” Thompson says and squints.

“Yeah, ‘xactly!”

“Pardon, but I find it hard to believe you’d help us when you’re the one who got us here in the first place.” Edward glared.

“Yeah, and how’d we even use these? It has his signature, but he could just say he didn’t draw them and that it’s another Eduardo. He ain’t famous or nothin’, no one’s gonna recognize it.” Thompson says, walking over to the table and inspecting them. He raises his eyebrows. “Though, if he did make ‘em...”

“Then...I could vouch for you, ‘cause I saw him draw them. Eye witness, right?” Juan tries to bargain.

“...The man in these drawin’s is you, bandit.” Thompson says, slowly. “Ya know that’d-”

“Put me in danger. I’m okay with it.” Juan stands straighter. “I just feel...guilty. I shouldn’t’ve let this go so far.”

“You shouldn’t have done it in the first place.” Edward says, and crosses his arms.

“Yeah, I know, but...I dunno. I guess I just did it because it’s us against the world, and I wanted to win.”

“That’s incredibly childish.” Edward rolled his eyes.

“So ya try an’ ruin our lives? We could lose our jobs, or get murdered over this!”

“I’m sorry.” Juan says, and inches toward the door. “But just...when ya show Eduardo that, don’t tell him I gave it ta you guys.”

“Hey! We ain’t done yet here-!” Thompson started, but Juan had already started running out the door.

Edward began looking over the drawings .

“These are actually...we could use these.” Edward says.

“I think it’d be kinda-”

“We would never actually publish them, of course.” Edward says, closing the door. “But we could simply bluff. I mean, they held it over our heads, why not return the favor?”

“I like the way you think, Ed.”

“Thank you dear.” He kisses him on the forehead. “Do you want to go fuck up that bastard’s life now, or shall we wait ‘till sunrise?” Thompson, slightly taken aback by Edward’s swearing, smiles.

“Hmm...I reckon we should wait until the next time we meet up for demands. Then spring it on him.” Thompson grins.

“Swell idea, love.”

A knock on the door.

“Oh?” Edward asks, “Who is it?”

“It’s me.” Eduardo says from behind the door.

“Oh, right!” Edward opens the door, “Come in! Come in!”

“...Why are you being so pleasant?” Eduardo glares, crossing his arms, “Ya know what? I don’t even care. So, what I want you two-”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Edward slams the door shut.

“Oh?” Eduardo laughs, “Then, I guess I’ll just have to-” Edward whips out a certain drawing pad.

“What?” Eduardo’s eyes suddenly widen, and he takes a step back. Just as he’s about to pounce, Thompson jumps on him, pinning him to the floor again. “What’s-”

“Hand over the pictures, or we release these,” He waves the book just above Eduardo’s head, “to the press,” Edward states, standing over him.

“What do I care what the public thinks of me?! They already hate me!” Eduardo thrashed against the man, but Thompson had a strong grip.

“Maybe they do, but will fellow criminals? What’ll they think of ya then?” Thompson spits, “No more help from fellow gangs.”

“...How did you even-”

“Juan.” Edward and Thompson say at the same time. He might’ve helped them in the end, but he did start this whole thing, after all. Some anger was still harbored for the short man.

“Ugh!” Eduardo yelled. “...Fine. I’ll give you the pictures by sundown. But destroy those in front of me first.”

“That’s not how things work around here.” Edward crouches down, “You give us the pictures first. We wouldn’t lie to you - we’re cops after all. You’re more likely to con us then vice-versa.”

“...Fine. I’ll do it.” Eduardo says, “Just don’t tell anyone. I’m not like that anymore.”

“...Go.” Thompson lets go of Eduardo and he walks out of the house, frazzled and angry. Betrayed.

“Hey, Juan?” Eduardo says through gritted teeth. Marco knew this tone; he walks out of the base and goes for a quick - or long - stroll.

“Uh, yeah?” Juan focuses his eyes intently on his book, not looking up from it. He swallows.

“May I have a word?” Fists shaking with white knuckles, Eduardo glares with all that’s left in him at the man across the room, staring at his book in the corner.

“Sh-sure. Just, um...just…” Juan’s hands start shaking. His eyes scan for Marco. He isn’t here. No one to help him if things get out of hand.

“JUST WHAT?!” Eduardo stomps his foot on the ground and storms over to Juan. Juan stands up, but it’s too late to move. On second thought, perhaps the corner of the room wasn’t the smartest place to hide. Eduardo lifts him by the collar and slams him against the corner. Juan’s trapped. He cowers, pressing himself further into the wall. “YOU...”

Tears prick Eduardo’s eyes. Oh, how he hates it. He squeezes his eyes shut, his teeth grind together.

“You ruined everything.” Eduardo seethes, “You’ve always ruined everything. You ruined. My. LIFE!”

“Hey! I didn’t - I didn’t ruin your life!” Juan defends himself, “Your dad did!”

At that, Eduardo’s blood turns to freezing cold slush. He drops Juan and takes a step back.

“You...” Eduardo begins visibly shaking now, and crosses his arms as a short-hand to hugging himself. He shakes his head, “I-”

“We could’a ran away together, just you ‘n me! I swear, ‘Duardo, you were the best thing that’d ever happen ta’ me.” Juan gripped his arms, “But then you had to leave, and when we met again, it was like you were a different person!” He took a step forward and gestured that he wanted to hold Eduardo’s hands. Eduardo puts his hands in his pockets, then crosses his arms again, taking a step back. “You were - we were so happy back then. I guess I kept them because I wanted to remember that for a while.”

“Maybe you were happy,” Eduardo paused for a second, “but I wasn’t! Maybe I never wanted you, maybe you just heard what you wanted to hear!”

Juan narrowed his eyes at him. “I know what I heard. I know all those times we’d talk for hours about our future, about anything, about each other.” He clenched his fists, “You didn’t say platonic things to me, bunny.”

“...Whatever I did when I was a punk-ass kid means nothing,” He tried to keep his voice from shaking, “you betrayed me, and went behind my back to the cops! What we said to each other years ago is worthless, so get out of my face about it.”

“No, I won’t, because I refuse to believe those dozens of books filled with drawin’s don’t mean nothing to you, because throughout the years, they’ve always meant somethin’ to me, whenever I’ve looked at ‘em.”

“...what?” Eduardo asks.

“Uh...the drawin’s?” Juan squints. “I still look at ‘em all the time.”

Eduardo sucked in a breath at the realization. He couldn’t believe he had kept them. All of them. And still cared to look.

“Did ya really think I’d just throw ‘em out?” Juan says to fill to gap in conversation. “They really are pretty-”

“Just, shut up.” Eduardo runs a hand through his hair. He’s blushing, slightly. Then, in a much softer voice that resembled defeat more than gentleness, “...Please.”

Juan opens his mouth to say something, but cuts himself off. He almost offered a hug, but stopped himself there, to. He hears Eduardo mumble something about his habit of drawing biting him in the ass twice, and he pauses, and decides to sail into uncharted territory.

“What your dad did ta you must’a been awful. I…” Juan can’t quite find the right words, “I don’t know how to make it better, but...can I try?” He stepped forward and again held out his hands for Eduardo to take. Eduardo just stared at them with a fixed gaze. “You-you don’t have to if you, if you don’t-”

Eduardo pulls Juan into a hug, and before either of them really have time to process it, Eduardo pulls out.

“...Sorry for, uh, hurting your head.” Eduardo looks at his feet. He adds softly, “I’ll...try to not get so angry in the future.”

“It’s fine -”

“No, it’s not.” Eduardo massages the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”

“...I accept. I just want you ta be happy.” Juan says, and smiles, “Like when we were kids.”

“I don’t think I can ever be that person again.” Tears fall from his eyes just as fast as he can wipe them up, “I just can’t. Not after everything.”

“Well…” Juan says, “then I’ll settle for happier.”

#shipsworld #tw internalized homophobia #tw blackmail #tw cursing #fanfic #my stuff #stuff i made #My writing #fanfiction #tomedd #jonuardo #juan x eduardo #im not all that proud of this honestly #maybe i should stop writing at 1 haha #but i dunno one of my mutuals liked it #fight blackmail with blackmail

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pynkhues · 5 years

Note

Ok, so. First of all, I freaking love your writig, its *chefs kiss* delicious. Second of all I have this theory. Its that the only way they will say anything seriously nice about the other is if they are not saying it to each other. Could you write something about Beth defending Rio to someone (maybe a PTA mom or Ruby) or Rio defending Beth to someone (maybe Dean) and the other one overhears? Kinda the opposite of 'eavesdroppers never hear nice things' kinda thing. Sorry for the ramble!

Thank you so much! You’re so sweet!

So, I’ve had so many requests for fic in The Center and Circumference / domestic fic universe, I didn’t realise that that wasn’t in your request until I’d already finished this prompt, haha. I hope that’s okay! Anyway, it’s pretty long, so I hope you like it :-)

He’s halfway through a meeting with one of their newer clients – some watery-eyed, broad-faced fuck with a propensity already for overstepping – when Rio’s cell buzzes in the back pocket of his jeans, and shit, he thinks, gaze flicking to his right on the table where his work cell sits uninterrupted. It’s ain’t that.

“I can manage the extra cars,” the client says across from him, unperturbed, shifting forwards slightly in his seat, and Rio arches an eyebrow, feeling his cell quiet down, then the tell-tale buzz of a voicemail left after it. There are only a few people it could be on this line – Elizabeth, probably about dinner tonight or somethin’ (she’s careful about calling his work cell for work-related things after all), his mom, probably about dinner on Sunday night, or - - his jaw already twitching in annoyance - - Glenvale Elementary School.

“That’s a lotta product,” he tells the client, while telling himself it could be Danny’s teacher – Elizabeth had kept him home sick yesterday with what she was sure were the early signs of an ear infection, and she is usually right about those sorts of things; or Emma’s teacher, maybe – giving her another prize for highest raised hand or cleanest desk or some shit, but damn, who’s he kidding?

If it’s the school, he knows who it’s about.

“I can move it,” the client insists. “It’s only three more than my guys are already doing, and I’ve got a few new territories I’m exploring for distribution.”

It’s the way the guy says it more than anything that makes Rio train a lazy eye back on him – the tone just the wrong side of desperate. Rio knows that tone – the tone of somebody who’s promised someone more than he can offer.

Rocking forwards a little in his own seat, Rio knits his fingers together, drops them as one to the table in front of him, his brow furrowing in faux confusion as he does it, and he’s about to ask exactly why this dumbass needs three extra cars worth of pills when his cell starts buzzing again in the back pocket of his jeans.

And just - -

If it is the school - -

If one of them is sick or hurt or something, just - -

Fuck.

He lurches to his feet.

“We’ll start with one,” he tells the guy, already reaching for his cell, and when the client opens his mouth to try and haggle, Rio silences him quickly with a look. Once he’s sure the guy isn’t going to make trouble, he drags his gaze away just long enough to make eye contact with Demon, who’s standing, folded-armed, by the door.

“Demon’ll take you through the, ah –” he rolls his free hand out at the wrist, making a show out of considering this, his other hand still occupied with his buzzing cell. “Paperwork, dot the I’s, cross them t’s. You do okay with the one, we can talk about two next time, yeah?”

And at least even the mention of Demon is enough to shut the guy up for real.

What can he say? Demon’s got a rep, and what sort of boss would Rio be if he didn’t know how to use it? He smirks a little, watches as Demon moves to sit down on the edge of the table, inches away from the client, looking down at him, and when he’s sure Demon’s got it, Rio slips easily out of the room.

He’s still walking down the short hallway of the warehouse to his current office when he finally actually looks at his buzzing cell, feeling equally pissed off and vindicated at the Glenvale Elementary number blearing back up at him. And sure, maybe he’s pinching his nose as he answers the call, elbowing his way into his office – expecting what exactly, he has no fucking clue. He’s given up on guessing when it comes to Marcus and Jane. If they’ve started another fire though, he swears to god - -

“Mr Vela,” the administrator says, a little breathless, her voice cutting through his thoughts. “Thanks for taking our call. We understand you’re a very busy man.”

Rio just hums, folding down into his desk chair.

“The kids aight?”

“Um, yes, yes, the kids are all fine, we were just - - we were wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming in? Now? Or whenever soonest you could get here?”

He checks his watch, rocking his jaw in irritation. He’s not sure he can sit through another meeting with Marcus and Jane’s teacher, watch him make cow eyes at Elizabeth, blush like he’s fourteen when she laughs at some joke so lame it may as well be leavin’ his mouth with scuffed loafers and a sweater vest.

And - -

Wait - -

He purses his lips a little.

“Yeah, ain’t you got some PTA mom bake off on right now?” he asks. “My partner should be there already. In your cafeteria and whatnot.”

Despite his best efforts to get her not to be. There were better uses of her time after all, but she kept insisting it was good for the kids to see her there, for the school to see her there too, and they’d fought enough about it, because yeah, sure – Rio was down for the recitals and the games and even the family mixers (which - - ugh), but it wasn’t like the kids were even around for the PTA shit, and besides, Rio (and Elizabeth, in name at least) had donated half a library to the damn place. Enough that the school would turn a blind eye to any of the shit Rio did if he needed to (namely taking the kids out at no notice if shit went down. Or if it didn’t. Whatever. Sometimes he just wanted to take ‘em to LegoLand).

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling,” the administrator says a little nervously. “There’s been an incident with some of the parents. In fact, with your partner. If you could come in as soon as you could, we’d be grateful.”

***

And really, this shit is just hilarious.

He’d gotten a few of the details over the phone from the administrator, but honestly he doesn’t think anything will really beat walking into a first grade classroom and seeing Elizabeth on one of those tiny little plastic seats, a handful of scratches at her temple like someone’s tried to gauge out her eye and missed, some more at her chest, the neck of her pink blouse torn open and her neck and chest smeared with frosting.

Rio arches an eyebrow at her as he steps in, and Elizabeth puts her nose up and everything, a blush dusting her cheeks, all prim like they ain’t gonna be finding blood and frosting when she pulls her bra off later, but then - - he bites back a grin. That sounds kinda fun.

She’s doing better than the woman beside her anyway – some Bargain Bin Barbie, who has two cotton balls shoved up her bloody nose, the start of a killer black eye (and damn, when had Elizabeth’s right hook gotten that good?) and cake in her peroxide blonde hair. Some Ryan Seacrest-type who’s gotta be her husband sits beside her, arms folded over his chest, looking for all the world like it’s the last place he wants to be.

No imagination, Rio thinks, his jaw rocking in amusement, eyes shifting back to Elizabeth.

He can’t think of a place he’d rather be.

“Ah, wonderful, we’re all here.”

The voice sounds from behind the desk, and Rio jerks his head around to see some guy who must be a part of the faculty – tall and lanky wearing the ugliest fucking tie Rio’s ever seen. The guy gestures him out vaguely towards the back of the classroom. “Would you mind taking a seat.”

Striding forwards, Rio grabs one of the little plastic chairs from where they’re stacked in the corner, dropping it beside Elizabeth and sitting heavily down in it. As soon as he’s seated, the guy looks between them, ringing his hands a little nervously, shuffling in his own seat.

“I’ve called you in today because your wives –”

“They’re not even married,” Bargain Barbie snips, and Elizabeth’s head rotates around so quickly she’s like that little girl in The Exorcist.

“It’s 2019, Tania, marriage hasn’t been a measure of a relationship’s worth in at least twenty years. Something you’d know if you read something other than the back of your box-mix cupcakes.”

And, well, damn, Rio thinks, sucking in his lips to swallow a laugh as he looks back at Ugly Tie. Vaguely he can see Bargain Barbie (or Tania, he supposes, but whatever, he doesn’t care) make a noise of abject outrage – whether at being called out for her apparently dated ideas or the insinuation that her cupcakes aren’t made from scratch, Rio has no idea. Maybe it’s both, with the way she turns about nine different shades of red. Beside her, her husband suddenly grabs her hand, dragging it into his lap to stop her from hitting Elizabeth again.

Or, well, trying to. No matter how funny this whole thing is, Rio’s not exactly inclined to let anyone touch her.

“Your partners,” Ugly Tie corrects nervously. “Were involved in an incident in the school cafeteria ahead of this afternoon’s PTA Bake Off.”

“We weren’t involved in an incident,” the blonde hisses, flailing her free hand out in Beth’s direction. “She attacked me.”

“I did not attack you,” Elizabeth replies, and Bargain Barbie snorts while the colour drains from Ugly Tie’s face, like he thinks fists are about to fly again. He teeters nervously at the edge of his seat.

“Witnesses did say you pushed her face first into the cake display, Ms. Marks.”

Witnesses, Rio thinks with a grin. Like this is an episode of CSI. These people really are a trip.

Elizabeth looks at Ugly Tie at that and then quickly paints on that Stepford look – the one that’s all Bambi Eyes and Molly Manners – the one that, despite himself, still makes his dick twitch.

“Maybe I moved a little suddenly,” Beth allows. “But honestly, it was an accident, Ed - - can I call you Ed?”

Ed pinks a little, stuttering out a yes, and Rio has to resist the urge to snort.

“I guess I was just a little swept up in the moment of it – you really do just run the best PTA fundraising bake off – and I mean, I’d know, because I’ve participated in more than my share, being an active member of the school community - - ”

“You’re so full of shit,” Bargain Barbie snaps, arm flailing out of Seacrest’s grip, and honestly, Rio thinks, amused, she’s kind of got her there. Still, Ugly Tie holds up a hand to both of them, as if finding his train of thought again.

“The reason we’ve called your partners in, is it seems like the fight stemmed from broader tensions between your families.”

And that shuts them both up.

Rio glances curiously over at the other couple, racking his head to think of any time Elizabeth’s so much as mentioned a Tania, but he comes up blank. He knows there’s a Margot who’s trying to get the school on a raw food diet, and a Penny who always fights it when Elizabeth tries to move the school away from celebrating religious holidays (“It should be all or nothing,” Beth insists. “If the school is going to keep celebrating Christmas and Easter, why can’t they celebrate Eid and Diwali too? It’s 2019!” – apparently that’s her buzz phrase at the moment), but - - no Tania.

“Anyone?” Ugly Tie asks them all now, and Elizabeth and Bargain Barbie both sit up a little taller, pointedly maintaining their silence, and damn, they’re more tight-lipped than half Rio’s boys. He eyes them both with a vague interest as Ugly Tie sighs.

“Fine. A two week ban on all PTA activities,” he says, and Rio could almost laugh at the look of abject horror on both Elizabeth and Tania’s faces. “And you need to apologise to each other and to the other members of the PTA.”

“Mr. Hollander, the Spring Fling Dance planning committee nominations are next week,” Bargain Barbie cries, and Elizabeth opens her mouth probably to say something equally embarrassing, and Rio figures that’s probably their cue. He grabs Elizabeth by the elbow, lurching to his feet and dragging her up with him, and before she can dig her heels in in that way she does, he’s nodding at Ugly Tie in acknowledgement, saying a quick “Sounds fair,” and dragging them both out of the room.

***

Turns out her sister’s shitty car had croaked again that morning, so Elizabeth had lent her the mama van on the condition she drop her for the bake off and pick up the brood after school, which is fine, he figures, pulling out of the school carpark, Elizabeth all tightly wound beside him in the passenger seat, her cheeks red and her posture stiff.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asks as he gets onto the main road. He really should go back to work, but fuck it, he thinks. There’s nothing on Demon can’t handle, and if there is, he knows how to reach him anyway.

“No,” she snips, and Rio casts a look at her out of the corner of his eye, and it takes him a minute to realise that the red of her cheeks isn’t embarrassment like he’d figured, but rather that it’s still anger. It’s enough to make him shift in his seat – it ain’t like she doesn’t get mad, just she doesn’t usually get mad about PTA stuff, at least not like this – more just tense and exasperated and sometimes frustrated in a way he can usually diffuse if he looks at her or touches her right. But this - -

He ain’t seen her like this recently.

The car slows at the traffic lights, and he uses the opportunity to reach over, push her hair out of her face, run a thumb over one of the scratches at her temple.

“Want me to call my sister? Get her to bring over a rabies shot?”

It works like he’d wanted it to. Beth exhales a laugh, her gaze drifting over to him, watching as he takes his hand back to the steering wheel of the car. They get another couple of blocks when he feels it, the slow boil of her anger again, simmering beside him in the car, and they’re not even that far from home, but fuck it, he thinks, he doesn’t like the idea of her going straight into one of her furious cleaning or cooking frenzies, so he pulls over.

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t react, not even when he turns in his seat to look at her, taking in the tight lock of her shoulders, the tighter one of her jaw.

“Elizabeth,” he starts, and she looks out the window, away from him. “Come on, ma.”

She rolls her eyes at him, like he’s the one being ridiculous, and he pointedly pulls the keys out of the ignition, watching as she turns enough to scowl at him, folding her arms across her chest. Whatever. No skin off his nose, he thinks, leaning back against the driver’s side door, his eyes not leaving her, he’s got all day, and it’s only another minute, maybe two, before she’s flailing her arms in the air, her cheeks reddening all over again.

“She called you a drug dealer,” Beth whisper-yells at him, like anyone can hear them in his car, and shit, is that all? Rio just laughs.

“And you upset about that?”

He knows she is – can see it in the heave of her (still frosting-covered) chest, in the way her lower lip quivers, her eyelashes clump. Can hear it in the tightness of her voice, and maybe he should’ve gotten her home first, gotten her on her back in their bed, breathless, legs trembling, made her forget about it the best way he knew how, but - -

“She meant it as an insult,” she says hotly, interrupting his train of thought, and Rio pops an eyebrow at her, because no shit. “And it’s not like she knows you are one. She thinks you work flipping cars with me.”

“So what?” he asks, shrugging, and Elizabeth frowns over at him, finally turning around in her seat to face him. She’s still all flushed, flustered, and she seems pissed at him now when she flails her arms out at him, and voice shrill, says:

“So what? So - - so what if she says that sort of thing in front of her sons, who go to school with your son. What if they tell all their friends about what Marcus’ daddy does for a living?”

Shaking his head, Rio can’t quite take her eyes off her, because seriously – sometimes he thinks she figures he popped out of the ground the day he showed up in her kitchen, like Marcus did that day in the park.

“Trust me, it won’t be nothin’ Marcus ain’t heard before.”

And at least that shuts her up, her mouth closing, her posture sagging a little back against the passenger side door. He just watches her, briefly considering putting the keys back in the ignition and driving them home, but then - - he knows her enough to know that that ain’t all it is bothering her. He frowns at her, drums his fingers on his leg, and then looks away, something sharp spiking in his gut.

“You worried about your kids?” he asks, voice a little tighter than he wants it to be, and when Beth shrugs, his frown deepens.

“It’s a part of the deal,” he says. “Shit, you know what I look like, ma.”

And she doesn’t reply to that either, and that sharpness in his gut peaks into something uncomfortable. He rocks forwards a little in his seat, using the momentum of it to sit back harder, to bump his back back against the door.

“This a problem?” he asks her. “You want me to talk to the kids about how their new stepdad’s gonna make ‘em whispered about on the playground?”

“I don’t care about the kids!” she yelps, and he blinks, unable to contain his surprise when she suddenly backpedals. “I mean, of course I do, that’s not - -”

She exhales, the sound harsh in the hollow of his car, and she won’t look at him when she says:

“She can’t talk about you like that. She doesn’t know anything about you.”

And that’s - - not what he was expecting. He blinks at her, that sharpness in him dulling, squinting a little at her as he takes her in.

“She can do whatever she wants, ma."

Because shit, she can. Rio wouldn’t have wasted his time talking to her anyway, but hell, if she ain’t gonna pretend to make nice with other parents, he sure as hell ain’t either.

“Fine,” Beth says finally, sniffing a little. “But actions have consequences, isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

He could almost laugh at that, because she’s right, he is always telling her that, but he means it more in the context of handling a slippin’ employee, or her own tendency to steamroll into situations like she’s - - hell, like she’s one of their seven-year-olds.

“And what? Talkin’ shit gonna get her hit?”

“Yes,” Beth tells him firmly, nodding, sitting up a little straighter in her seat, her chin up, all defiant, and Rio snorts.

“You all about defendin’ my honour now?” he says it patronisingly, expecting her to get embarrassed in that way she does when she thinks he’s making fun of her, but that’s not what happens at all.

“Yes,” she says emphatically instead, and Rio blinks, surprised, and then before he can say anything else, she keeps talking.

“I told you. She can’t talk about you like that, and I’m not going to let her. And just for the record, I like the way you look, so.”

She stops then, looking over at him briefly, then quickly turning around in the seat, facing forwards again, all prim again like there ain’t cake in her hair, and Rio can’t quite stop his grin.

“Yeah, I knew that last one, ma,” he says, and Beth pinks, but she smiles, gaze finding him again. She bites her lip a little, looks up at him through her lashes, and Rio just - - shit. He can feel how goofy his smile is, quickly tapering it into a smirk as best he can.

“You really push her into that display?” he asks her after a minute of quiet, and Beth wrinkles her nose, blushing for real this time, but still. Something in her face, it’s a little proud.

“Punched her too.”

He arches an eyebrow, looking dutifully impressed, and she preens before she can help herself, holding up a hand at that so he can see the start of the bruises on her knuckles. He laughs, shaking his head, grabbing her hand to inspect it, and shit, if he doesn’t find them cute too – all dainty like her, little blooms of purple, like flower buds, and ugh. Even thinkin’ that, he shakes his head at himself, but presses his lips to them all the same, and he doesn’t hear it, or even see it, but some part of him feels her breath hitch, and it’s a relief really – that he can feel just how sprung she is too.

“Okay, bruiser,” he tells her, twisting back in his seat, pushing the keys back into the ignition, and he goes to drop her hand, but she threads their fingers instead, and he holds it there, against his thigh, the whole ride home.

#beth x rio #nbc good girls #the center and circumference #my fic #prompt fills #welcome to my ama

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n00dl3gal · 4 years

Text

Sweeter Than a Cupcake (McCree x OC)

A commission for @junko-brewer! A challenging but fun story for me to write, than you again for your support!

Commission Info | Archive of Our Own

McCree didn’t consider himself to have much of a sweet tooth. It wasn’t that he was against candy or desserts, he just tended to favor savory food more. There were, of course, exceptions. If there was a plate of biscochitos in sight, he’d devour them quicker than Tracer could Blink. And if he found himself passing through Cincinnati, he’d always find himself opening Bunny’s door.

Bunny looked up from the counter she was wiping. “Jesse McCree,” she said, voice exasperated. Her hands were on her hips like a cross mother, but her smile was warm. Despite her voice, McCree could tell she was glad to see him. The feeling was mutual.“You have a lot of nerve showing up here again.”

McCree tipped his hat in response. “And a good day to you, Miss Bunny. If this is about the tab at the bar down the street-”

Bunny laughed. “I mean waltzing in like there isn’t a bounty on your head,” she chastised, setting her rag aside. “If I had known the first time you came by just what kind of trouble you were, I would’ve refused service.”

He shrugged, looking over the case of cupcakes. “Now we both know that’s a lie. You’ll always hold the door for a paying customer,” he teased. Bunny blushed slightly, lips downturned in a pout. “And maybe it is dangerous coming back, but with cupcakes as good as yours… well, I’ve always been a bit reckless. What’s good today?”

The baker smiled, still flushed, and reached into the case. “I think you’ll like this one in particular,” she announced, setting it on a plate. “For a man as fond as whiskey as you, a Jack-and-Coke cupcake. All the flavor, none of the booze.” McCree reached for the cupcake, but was smacked back by Bunny. “Hey! Pay first, food second.”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, reaching for his wallet. The bell above the door jingled again. Bunny looked at the new arrival and paled, prompting McCree to turn around. “Ah, speak of the bounty…”

“For someone with that much money on your head, you do tend to attract attention,” the bounty hunter said. “It’s pretty easy to track down a man in a serape in Ohio.”

McCree tipped his hat. “Gotta keep up appearances, ya know? You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Naomi?”

The bounty hunter- Naomi- flicked her ponytail back and cocked her gun. Bunny squawked at the sight, shaking. “Drop the cupcake and come with me, McCree. I don’t want to involve any innocents in this.”

“Funny. Neither do I.” In a flash, he had jumped onto Naomi and had her in a stranglehold. She choked, giving McCree ample time to pry her gun away. Naomi managed to elbow him the gut, however, and used his exhale to free herself. She tore her gun back from his hands and pistol-whipped the side of his head.

McCree was seeing stars, barely able to roll out of the way. Chairs fell over in the chaos. Naomi was lining up her shot again when he used one of his flashbangs to blind her. For a moment, it seemed like it worked, but McCree wasn’t able to pull her weapon away before her eyes refocused.

He was staring down the barrel, knowing full well a shot at this range would be instantly lethal. With a grunt, he placed his metal arm over the gun and punched Naomi in the face. “I hate beating up a lady, but if they make the first move…”

Bunny had long since ducked under the counter, knees to her chest. She held her hands over her ears as she shook. A fight, in her bakery! All she had wanted to do today was test out the recipe for her new lavender-and-honey cupcakes and make a few sales, not fear for her life!

Naomi staggered back, holding her nose. “The rest of my team isn’t far behind, McCree. We’ve been staking this place out since Tuesday… awfully nice of the baker to confirm you’re a repeat customer.”

Bunny gulped. She didn’t dare poke her head and look at McCree’s expression. Was all of this her fault?

It didn’t matter. McCree had taken the opportunity to tackle Naomi head-on. In a panic, the bounty hunter’s finger slipped, firing the gun. It flew off towards the glass case Bunny was hiding behind, and the sound of shattering glass echoed across the room. McCree held Naomi down to the ground, hand over her throat, until she finally passed out.

He stood, surveying the store. Aside from some upturned chairs and tables and the cupcake case, it remained intact. Good. He hated adding to the sum on his head. McCree leaped over the table to find- “shit!”

Bunny was clutching her arm, bleeding. Some shrapnel from the case must have hit her. “I- is she- did you kill her?” Bunny cried.

“Just passed out,” McCree reassured her. “You have bandages anywhere?”

“B-by the sink in the kitchen,” Bunny said, gesturing with her foot. McCree found the first aid kit easily, crouching next to Bunny. “Should I go to a hospital or-”

“Lemme take a look,” McCree interrupted, guiding her arm away. The cut was long but not deep. Stitches probably would help, but a wanted man taking an innocent woman to the hospital was sure to stir up additional trouble. Bunny looked traumatized enough as it was, eyes darting around the place. “Bandages will do for now. This may sting a bit,” he warned, opening a wipe.

Bunny didn’t hiss when the wipe traveled across the wound, but McCree could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Some part of him wanted to wipe them away. He was quick; years of working with Deadlocke and Blackwatch had trained him well. Gauze was wrapped around the cut quickly, secured with a safety pin. “There, all finished. Stay right here, I’m gonna make sure nobody else is here to mess up your store.”

He stood and made his way to the door. There were no suspicious vehicles outside, or people with unusually large backpacks or coats. It was entirely possible Naomi was bluffing. McCree flipped the open sign around and told Bunny it was safe.

She stood on shaky legs, eyes still searching like her namesake. “I-I don’t think we should stay here. Either of us.” “Couldn’t agree more,” McCree answered, tucking Peacekeeper back in his holster. “Lead the way back to your place, Miss Bunny.”

“Wh-what?” Bunny choked, trembling even more. The blush from earlier had returned, stronger than before. “B-but- you should go! What if there really are more b-bounty hunters looking for you?”

McCree shrugged. “Then I’ll deal with ‘em when they show their ugly mugs. I’m not about to let a lady in your condition walk home on her own, ‘specially with dangerous folks out for blood. Speaking of which…” He began straightening the chairs and let out a soft sigh when Bunny joined him. Good to know that, despite her anxiety, she was still able to tend to her store. “Never mind. We can discuss it once we get you home.”

. . .

Bunny’s apartment was small, but cozy. McCree was surprised to see there was a balcony; he wasn’t sure how much Bunny made, but usually a balcony like that would hike up rent considerably. It was small, though, and covered in foliage. Potted plants, both green and flowered, dotted the railings and the floor. McCree had never been to the rainforest, but he imagined it was similar.

The inside was just as much of a menagerie, just for fauna, not flora. As soon as Bunny had unlocked the door, an overweight house cat had come to greet her before running off at the sight of McCree. Bunny explained that he was skittish around guests, especially men. McCree wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. He did think the bearded dragon lounging on a hammock was better company.

Bunny was headed for the kitchen when McCree intercepted her. “Just tell me where everything is and I’ll make ya a cup of tea,” he said kindly. “Unless if doing somethin’ll help you keep your mind off things.”

“I think it might,” Bunny replied, reaching for the cupboard. “Is there anything you’d like? I realize they don’t compare to cupcakes, but… I think I have some, uh, stronger stuff.” She pointed towards the top shelf.

McCree pulled out his flask. “I’m fine, but I appreciate it.” Bunny nodded and busied herself with preparing the kettle. While she worked, he sat at the kitchen table, watching her work. She was a pretty young thing, wide eyes and dirty blonde hair. Short, too, making her look even younger than she was. McCree couldn’t relate. “So… what Naomi said. About you sellin’ me out.”

Bunny sighed. She didn’t answer as she set the kettle on the stove. “I didn’t realize,” she eventually began, laughing bitterly. “I didn’t even know about the bounty. They came, asked about you, and I thought maybe they were friends of yours. I try to assume the best in people, but maybe… maybe I shouldn’t.”

McCree shook his head. “No, it’s good to be an optimist. But ya need to be careful. There are bad people out there,” he said slowly. “But for every single bad folk, there’s at least three good’uns. Trust me, I’ve met a lotta ‘em.”

Bunny nodded and finished making their tea. “It’s just lemon flavored, I hope that’s alright. Sugar?” she offered, passing a cup to McCree. They both added their sugar, Bunny pouring in a small portion of milk. McCree did the same, but with a shot from his flask. They both drank in silence, letting the warmth of the tea calm them down. “How did- never mind, it’s probably not something you want to talk about.”

“If it’s about my arm, then yeah, that’s a bit personal,” McCree replied. “But if you’re wonderin’ about the bounty… well, it’s a long story.”

“That’s alright,” Bunny told him. “I’m patient and we have time.”

“Alrighty then, where to start… how much do you know ‘bout Overwatch?”

Bunny stroked her chin, thinking. “They were a military-like group who rose to prominence during the first Omnic Crisis, and were recognized as heroes… but something changed and the public turned on them. I was a child when the last of them were disbanded. Why?”

“See, I was part of Overwatch,” McCree explained. “Not at first, mind you. When I was around your age, I… well, I was one of the Deadlocke Gang’s founding members.”

“A gang?” Bunny gasped, nearly dropping her cup. “You- did you-”

McCree sighed. “I ain’t proud of what I did back then, not anymore. But at the time… Deadlocke was my family. If it felt that right, it couldn’t be wrong. But then we got busted by Overwatch and they gave me a choice: join them or rot in jail.”

“And you chose the former,” Bunny concluded. Her shoulders were haunched, like she was still prepared to run. Maybe explaining this wasn’t the best idea. Too late to stop now.

“Bullseye,” McCree said. “Put me in Blackwatch, Overwatch’s covert ops group. Second to Gabriel Reyes. Now Reyes… hoo, that man. He could shoot like the best of ‘em but had a temper a mile wide. Both he and Jack Morrison were in the runnin’ to be Strike Commander. Basically the head honcho of the whole organization,” he elaborated at Bunny’s blank expression. He paused to take another gulp. The burning on his throat reminded him of his cigars. Maybe he’d sneak off to the balcony for a smoke later. “Morrison got the job, and Reyes was shipped to the rejects in Blackwatch. And then… things got nasty.”

“What do you mean, ‘nasty?’”

“I don’t remember all the details, but there was another Blackwatch agent- Moira. She and Reyes did some science-y stuff I still don’t understand, and at some point both became double agents for Talon.”

That got Bunny’s attention. “Talon- the terrorist organization? The ones responsible for Mondatta’s death? I was watching his speech on TV when… oh my gosh,” she whispered, gnawing at her lower lip.

“Shit hit the fan, as it were. Overwatch was disbanded, and I… well, I had years of covert ops under my belt. And I was a former gang member. Still, sixty million…” McCree took another sip of his tea. “Gosh, it sure build up quick, don’t it?” He laughed, but there was no humor behind it.

Bunny rubbed her arms. “I’m harboring a wanted criminal. A very attractive criminal, but I’m sitll-” “Hey now, don’t think of me like that,” McCree teased. “I’m just passing through. A houseguest for the night. Not even that, if you don’t want. Don’t stop with the compliments, though.”

Bunny looked away shyly. “Just for the night… and s-say I did want you to stay the night.” Slowly, delicately, she reached across the table and took his flesh hand in hers. “And maybe future nights, too.” “Oh darlin’, you flatter me,” McCree said earnestly. He felt a little warm. “But you’re not doing all right in the head right now, that incident must be playin’ with your mind. Savior complex or somethin’, Winston would know what it’s called.”

“It’s not- why do you think I was so eager to talk about you in the first place, Jesse? When they said that you were coming back, I was so excited- I made those cupcakes especially for you. I mean, I was planning on testing the recipe soon anyway, but-” Bunny grew more animated as she spoke, blush spreading across her face. McCree had a feeling his was a mirror reflection. “But I wanted you to be the first to taste them, Jesse.”

Hearing his first name was a lot for him. Most people only ever called him McCree, especially after Overwatch ended. “Ah, shit… you’re gonna make this ol’ cowboy soft yet, Miss Bunny.” He stood from his chair, teacups rattling as he pushed away from the table. Bunny blinked owlishly as he approached. He quickly pulled off his hat and set it on her head. She pushed it up with one finger, giggling. “Alright. I always thought I was coming back for the food, but I guess there was another reason I kept visiting… and while I can’t stay for long, that means we gotta make the most of our time, right?” He picked her up, bridal style, and spun her around.

Bunny laughed, hat flying off as she threw her head back. “J-Jesse! Put me down!”

“Whatever you say, pumpkin,” he answered in the most arrogant voice he could muster. He carried her to the couch and laid her down, kneeling beside it. He kept his hand in hers. Bunny smiled up at him, using her free hand to caress his cheek. “You know, I’ve never met a bunny as cute as you. Real rabbits’ just don’t compare.”

“Is that supposed to be an attempt at flirting? Or are you trying to make me laugh?” Bunny joked, stroking his jaw.

His metal fingers danced across her stomach, eliciting a number of giggles. “Nah, if I wanted to make ya laugh, I think I have a few options. That was a genuine compliment.” He kept tickling her until she threatened to fall off the couch. Distantly, he heard the cat meow in irritation.

Between her laughs, Bunny managed to guide McCree’s face closer to hers. “I could think of a few compliments for yourself, Jesse,” she said in the air between them before pressing a kiss to

his lips.

She tasted sweet, with a sour undercurrent that threatened to sweep McCree away. Lemon and milk filled his nostrils and he breathed her in. It was an innocent kiss, in all honesty, with only the barest heat behind it. Still, the touch of another human so intimately was something he craved. He kissed her back, just as tenderly as she did.

He pulled away slowly. “As wonderful as this is, kneelin’ like this ain’t do my knees any favors. You mind scooching over?” She did, and McCree joined her on the couch. “Thank you. Now, where were we?” He was still cupping her cheek, smiling like she was the only thing that brought him joy. Her eyes were half-lidded with desire, pupils wide.

“Oh, I think I remember,” she teased, kissing him again. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they kissed, pulling gently. McCree hissed at the sensation, letting Bunny slide her tongue in. They stayed like that for several minutes, kissing and pulling each other close, until Bunny was basically straddling him. “I don’t… even if we just have tonight,” she whispered, kissing his jaw gingerly. “Even if it’s just tonight, I don’t want to rush this. I don’t-”

“Hey now, darlin’,” McCree reassured her, rubbing her back. “We don’t have to do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with. But it’s startin’ to get late… should we head back to your bedroom? Again, don’t need to do anything. You can always say no or change your mind.”

Bunny nodded. “No, I’d like that very much. Please… promise me you’ll still be here in the morning. I know you have to go, but I don’t want to lose you just yet.”

Another quiet kiss. “I promise, Bunny.”

And he stayed. And he always came back.

#noodle writes #my commissions #jesse mccree #mccree x oc #female oc #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch mccree #overwatch oc

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fiannalover · 4 years

Text

Our first dragonyule

Happy Dragonyule, @trainzelda! Hope you enjoy this fic!!!!!!

“Dragon… Yule?” Melsa repeated, trying to get the sound of the word properly understood.

“That’s right! It’s a holiday that the people in the cities have!” Sarisse explained.“We also exchange gifts and stuff with our friends! It has some more stuff about Ilia, but I’ll admit I don’t quite remember all of that. But, yeah, you should join us in the Halidom to celebrate it. It’s two weeks from now!”

“W-well… I’m not sure I should-”

“Nah-nah-nah! Remember our agreement, Melsa!” Sarisse stated, wagging her finger in front of the other Sylvan. “We are gonna have tons of fun together, and that includes this! So, please, spend it with us.”

“... O-OK! I will, Sarisse!” Melsa agreed. “Together, we’ll have the best Dragonyule ever!”

… Now, how would Melsa ensure that would happen?

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

“Heeeeeeeey, Luca? What is this Dragonyule deal everyone is talking about?”

“Oh! Hey there, Laranoa!” Luca replied, not missing a beat to start explaining. “See, everyone gets stuff decorated real, real pretty, and eat tons of yummy food! We also exchange presents and stuff. Ah, man, I’m sure last Dragonyule was the best moment of my previous year. Lara, you GOTTA make sure you come! Specially with your cultural exchange junk!”

“Hey! Not junk!” She replied, although her voice let it clear she took no offense, and, more importantly, she was scheming.

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

Melsa walked through the Halidom, lost in thought.

Similarly lost and wandering, was Laranoa.

With the later Sylvan being far taller and more musclebound, their meeting ended with Melsa being knocked to the ground while Laranoa clutched the spot on her abs that the other sylvan hit.

“Ohohohooooooow… My stomach…” The Village Chief groaned, before realizing she knocked a person to the ground. “Ah! Sorry! Are you ok!? And… Hey, aren’t you that friend of Sarisse?”

“Meeeeeeeeeeeep……” Melsa finished groaning, finally looking up. “U-u-um… Yes. T-That’s me. My name is Melsa. And, you… You’re a friend of her and Luca, right?”

“Yup, that’s me! The three of us go waaaaaaaaay back! Although, these recent days are the most time we have spent together.” Laranoa said, not quite on a somber note, but most certainly a thoughtful one. “Hey, you got any idea what you’re doing for them, for Dragonyule?”

“Oh! Actually… No, I don’t.” Melsa replied. “What about you? Any thoughts?”

“Well… Dragonyule is super new to me, too. I know! They talked a lot about food! I’ll make something for them to eat!” Laranoa concluded, before adding. “Except I’m only so good at cooking or baking.”

“I can, however. I’m not as good with chores as Cleo or Sarisse, but I can do some baking. However, I’d still need ingredients for that…”

A moment of silence was shared, before Laranoa finally connected the dots in their situation. “Aaaaaaah, I got it! We can help one another! I’ll go get the ingredients, fresh or store bought, and you can whip something up! What do you say?”

“Hu-hum… Alright!” Melsa agreed, a bit nervous, but most certainly determined. “Do you have any plans?”

“Luca loves apples, so… You know how to make an apple pie?”

“I do! And, Sarisse has been wanting strong flavors, recently, so… I’ll add a bunch of cinnamon!”

“It’s a deal! With our experiences together, they’ll get the best gifts ever!”

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

“... So… You DO know how to cook, right?”

Laranoa had plenty of faith on her new friend. However, looking at how she hesitated in front of the ingredients, the village leader couldn’t help but hesitate.

“Y-yes, I do! Don’t worry, I have excellent memory! I just wanted to make sure I remembered everything.” She explained. “... Is there something different in these apples?”

“Ooooooh, yes! They’re from a special tree in the woods! Luca told me about it, but still took me quite a bit to find! They’re super delicious! You can get one, I got enough for us to make two pies!” The archer explained. “Heck, I much prefer plums, but I still found them great.”

“Maybe… I’ll try later. For now, let’s finish this!”

“Right!”

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

Looking at the beautiful apple pie that rested in front of them, the Sylvan girls felt the happiness that came from a successful job.

“You… Think this will be a good enough gift?”

“Of course! We put a whole lotta effort in this!” Laranoa said, comforting the more insecure Servant. “Just you wait! This gift shall knock their socks clean off!”

“Yes… Yes, it will!”

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

With the day of Dragonyule finally arriving, the new pair of Sylvan buddies delivered their gift, full of happiness and confidence.

After taking a bite, Luca and Sarisse savored the apple pie for a bit, before obtaining the specific face of ‘this is not bad, but is certainly unexpected’.

Noticing how quickly Melsa’s face fell, in answer, Sarisse quickly comforted her. “Oh my gosh, please don’t worry!!!!! The pie is great! It’s just… I think you missed something?”

“In my case, it’s WAAAAAAAAY too much cinnamon.” Luca replied. “I could feel the sodium apples, but, whew! Cinnamon!”

“Oh! Maybe it’s that!” Sarisse pointed, with the satisfaction of reaching the conclusion of a mystery accompanying her voice. “Sodium apples have an unique taste, so maybe something in the recipe had to change! And, uh, yeah, cinnamon. I don’t really mind, but WHEW, it got strong due to it.”

Hearing the explanation, Melsa gave up and knelt, looking to the ground under her in despair. “I’m sorry, Laranoa… I ruined our gift for them.”

“Aaaaww, come on buddy, you haven’t!!! This pie is still good, they said so themselves!”

“Y-yeah, but…”

“Hey, Melsa.” The bunny finally raised her head again, looking at Sarisse, who crouched to get closer to her. With a warm smile on her face, she said. “We still have plenty of the holiday to enjoy. So, please. I promise you, just spending time with me is the best gift I could ask for. Always.”

“... A-are you sure?”

“Of course I am! So, you’re ready to go see my gift for you?”

“Yes! Yes I am!”

“Great! Come on, Sylvia is waiting!” At that point Sarisse held the other woman’s hand, and got up, only to find Melsa still stuck into place when she pulled her forward. “Melsa?”

Said pink-haired sylvan stood there, completely crimson-faced, before letting out a meep and starting to go forward, while Luca gave a healthy amount of quality plums to his own friend.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Yes, this will go well. Melsa tried to comfort herself.

Yup. This night couldn’t be better. Sarisse thought, humming to herself as she walked onwards.

#dragonyule2019 #dragalia lost #melsa #sarisse #laranoa #luca dragalia lost

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snappedsky · 4 years

Text

Fanatics 70

With the Battalion home on Earth, all they wanna do is nothing. But will they ever have a chance to relax again? Previous! Next!

Whole Lotta Nothin

Squee: After the year we had I kinda wanna do absolutely nothing today

Dib: Sounds like a plan

Gaz: Im down

Pepito: way ahead of you

Zim: Then it’s settled. Today we will do absolutely nothing. Check in later.

Squee closes the group chat and stretches, smiling contently. He quickly finishes his cereal and, after washing his dishes, starts to head outside. Johnny and Granny Cammie, who were both sitting on the couch with him, watch him pass by.

“Big plans today?” Cammie asks.

“Yup,” Squee replies as he opens the front door. “A whole lotta nothing. I’m gonna see if Colton wants to join.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Nny comments and sinks deeper into the couch.

Squee heads down the yard and sits on the curb. A moment or two later, Colton joins him.

“Sup,” he greets.

“Wanna do nothing today?” Squee asks.

“Every day,” he smiles and they both lie down on the cement, sighing happily.

The sky is a bright blue, dotted with puffy, white clouds. Birds are singing as they fly overhead. Around the city, kids are running around, enjoying their last week of summer before school starts again. But as per usual, Grave Road is quiet, which is perfect for the two lazy boys.

“I bet the Earth sky is pretty boring after what you’ve seen,” Colton remarks.

“Space is amazing,” Squee comments, “so much…space. But the sky is nice in its own way too. Space is endless; Earth has a horizon. Both boast freedom.” “I like clouds.”

“Clouds are nice too.”

Across the street, a neighbor girl Emily leaves her house with her friend and Colton’s sister, Kay. Giggling, they race over to the boys and stand over them, blocking their view.

“Squee!” they exclaim.

“Are you shouting my name or just squealing?” Squee asks.

“Both,” Emily replies.

“Is it true you were in space all year?” Kay asks.

“Yup,” he nods.

“What was it like?” Emily demands.

“What did you see?” Kay asks.

“What did you do?”

“Did you fight aliens?”

“Did you go to a lot of planets?”

The boys both grumble with annoyance from the constant questioning before Colton interrupts them. “Girls, please. Squee just got back yesterday. Give him space.” “Pun not intended, I hope,” Squee grunts.

“Uh, yeah, no, sorry.” “Awww, but we wanna go on an adventure,” Emily whines.

“Huh?” Squee questions.

“You guys are always going on such awesome adventures,” Kay points out, “we wanna too!”

“I never go on the adventures,” Colton argues, “I just hear about them.”

“Well, I’m tired of just hearing about them,” she whines, “I want adventures!”

“Me too!” Emily shrilly agrees.

“Well, why don’t you go find some?” Squee suggests, somewhat impatiently.

“Huh?” they question.

“You don’t need me to go on adventures,” he explains, “adventure is everywhere, around every corner. Who knows what you’ll find.” The girls share a surprised look before beaming with excitement.

“Let’s go find adventure!” Kay exclaims.

“Yah!” Emily cheers before they go racing away.

“Finally,” Squee sighs with relief.

“Now you know what it’s like to have a little sister,” Colton remarks. They both sigh happily from the peace and quiet and continue their packed schedule of nothing.

Meanwhile, Emily and Kay race down the street and through the neighboring blocks, giggling and excited.

“Where should we go? How do we find adventure?” Kay asks as she peeks around every corner they pass.

“Hmmm,” Emily muses before spotting the city bus. It just arrived at a nearby stop and a couple people are filing on. “Let’s take the bus!”

“Okay!” Kay exclaims and they both laugh excitedly and skip to the bus stop. They slip inside behind a random businessman and since they’re both young children, the bus driver doesn’t even notice them.

They settle down on an empty seat, giggling feverishly as the bus takes off.

“Where do you think it’ll take us?” Kay asks.

“I don’t know,” Emily snickers, “definitely somewhere we’ve never been.” “Somewhere adventurous?”

“Yeah!”

They both laugh into their hands, getting strange stares from the other passengers.

They watch the scenery pass by with wide eyes and big smiles as they get farther and farther away from their neighborhood than either of them have ever been. The filthy city streets covered in litter and panhandling addicts might as well be paved in gold with the way the girls are staring in awe. And when the bus gets stuck in traffic, they both beam excitedly at the new, colourful language they hear from the surrounding drivers.

Their sightseeing is interrupted when a middle-aged bald man in loose, filthy clothes covered in sweat stains approaches. “He-hello, little girls,” he says in a heavy, panting voice.

“Hi!” Kay chimes.

“Where are you off to this-this fine day?”

“Adventure!” Emily exclaims and they both giggle.

“Really?” he smiles crookedly, “y-you must be very brave girls to look for adventure.”

“You think so?” Kay asks excitedly.

“I-I do,” he nods, “and I know a great place for adventure if you’ll come with me at the next stop.”

For the first time since they’ve started their adventure, Kay and Emily feel hesitant.

“I don’t know,” Emily replies, “my mom says I shouldn’t go off with strangers.”

“That’s a very good idea,” the man nods, “but-but adventurers need to be brave and take risks, right?”

“I guess,” Kay replies, somewhat unsure.

“So be brave, take a risk, and come with me,” he smiles, a little bit of drool dripping out of the corner of his mouth as he reaches for them. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Before he can touch them, another hand lashes out from his side and grabs his arm, twisting it around.

“Ow! What the fuck!” he barks and glares at his perpetrator: a young, black haired woman with a nasty glare.

“I suggest you go sit on the other end of the bus,” she growls, “before I change my mind about being PG.”

The man starts to say something but stops when the woman snarls, revealing very sharp vampire fangs. She lets go of his arm as he winces back and he scurries away like a frightened dog.

The woman sighs and sits on the seat across from the girls. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You two are looking for adventure?”

“Yeah!” they cheer.

“Well then, let me give you some advice, as a seasoned adventurer. We need to be brave, sure, but we still have to make careful risks. Otherwise, you might end up not being able to go on adventures ever again.” Emily and Kay both cock their heads, quizzical looks on their faces.

The woman looks them over analytically. “You must be far from home. Where do you live?”

“Grave Road,” Emily replies.

The woman’s eyebrow rises with interest. “Really. You know someone named Squee?” “Yeah, he’s our neighbor,” Kay nods, “he’s the one who told us to look for adventure.” “Oh, he did, huh,” she grins with amusement. “I doubt this is what he meant. He’s gonna owe me big time.” “Huh?” the girls question, cocking their heads.

The woman leans forward, smiling. “I’m Serena. What are your names?” “Emily!”

“Kay!”

“Well, Emily, Kay,” Serena says, “I know of an amazing, safe place to have an adventure. I happen to be going there right now. Wanna come?”

“What kind of place?” Emily asks, eyes shining excitedly.

“An amazing, alien vessel filled with wacky characters that you would only find in a cartoon.”

“I like cartoons,” Kay beams.

“I thought you would,” Serena grins, “but do you also like clowns?”

They spend the next couple hours riding the bus through the city. Kay and Emily are amazed by Serena’s seemingly endless knowledge of the city, as she always has something to say about something they pass. She also seems really tough and scares strangers away with just a glare and a snarl.

Finally, after about two hours, they arrive at their stop and Serena leads them off the bus. They walk for a couple blocks before arriving to another, smaller bus that’s bright pink. The young girls are immediately ecstatic.

“It’s so pretty!” Emily chimes.

“Really? I always thought it was kind of gaudy,” Serena comments as she opens the side door. “I’m back.”

Inside is pink too, with fluffy carpeting and leather seats and a hammock hanging from the ceiling. Spread out on the seats are four very odd looking characters who do a double-take as the girls walk in.

“What!” D-boy exclaims and falls out of his hammock.

“Uh, Serena…” Sickness trails off, pointing dumbly at the young girls.

“What did you do?” Reverend Meat asks accusingly.

“Relax,” Serena grunts, waving away their concerns. “I saved them from some perverted creep on the bus. They’re Squee’s neighbors.”

“Really?” Eff asks as he kneels in front of them.

“You’re a clown!” Kay exclaims.

“Very perceptive,” he remarks.

“Can you make balloon animals?” Emily asks.

He shrugs. “Sure, why not.” He reaches into his hat and pulls out a long, deflated pink balloon which he quickly blows up. After a bit of twisting and pulling, he makes Emily a balloon poodle and she squeals with delight.

“I want one!” Kay exclaims.

“D-boy, you make this one,” Eff orders.

The other Doughboy groans with annoyance but pulls a red balloon out of his hat, which he twists into a giraffe. Both girls cheer excitedly.

“They’re adorable,” Reverend Meat beams.

“They’re too loud,” D-boy grunts as he rubs his ear.

“Where’s Aron?” Serena asks as she looks around.

“In class,” Sickness replies.

“Damn,” she sighs, “I wanted to drive them home right away but I guess we can’t just leave without Aron. If he comes back and the bus is gone, he’ll break.”

“Wait, you’re gonna take us home?” Kay snaps, “you said you’d take us on an adventure!”

“Was this not enough of an adventure for you?” Serena asks, gesturing to the Night Terrors. “You even got souvenirs.”

“We want real adventure!” Emily shouts, “with danger and…and…exploring and…and monsters!”

“Yeah!” Kay agrees.

“Ugh, this is why I hate kids,” Serena groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“So, you guys want adventure, do ya?” Reverend Meat purrs as he kneels before the young girls.

“Yah!” they cheer.

“Meat,” Serena says suspiciously.

“Relax,” he grins and stands up. “I was just gonna suggest that we walk them home.”

“Across the city?” Eff exclaims, “that’s like five hours!”

“And the perfect adventure for a couple budding adventurers,” Reverend Meat adds, “who knows what we’ll see, who we’ll come across. And they’ll probably get wiped out before we even get them home.”

“Fine,” Serena shrugs.

“Yeah, alright,” Sickness nods, “could be fun.”

“Pass,” D-boy yawns as he lies down on his hammock. But before he can get comfortable, Eff yanks him off and they all leave.

“I guess we better stop at a store and pick up drinks and snacks,” Reverend Meat muses as they walk down the street, the girls skipping ahead of them with excitement. “Wouldn’t want them passing out from hunger or something. Serena, you got any cash?”

“Uh like ten bucks,” she replies.

“That should be enough for them but what about us?” Sickness asks.

“Don’t worry, I got a plan,” Eff smirks.

They go inside the nearest store and Eff hands them the ten dollar bill. “Alright, girls, go ahead and buy ten dollars’ worth of snacks and drinks.” “Cool!” Emily cheers and they race off. They carefully pick out their treats while Eff and D-boy follow, seemingly like diligent guardians. But as the girls pay, the Doughboys slip outside with the others.

“We got gummy worms and fizzy pop!” Kay exclaims excitedly as they join the Night Terrors.

“Hey, us too,” Eff replies as he and D-boy reach into their hats and pull out cans of soda for everyone.

“Hey,” Emily says accusingly, “where’d you get those?”

“We’re magicians,” D-boy shrugs plainly, “we definitely didn’t steal them while the clerk was busy with you.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Eff nods, “now let’s go.” The girls stare at them suspiciously but follow nonetheless.

It’s a beautiful day for a walk and the girls are in awe of everything. It’s even more amazing than what they saw on the bus because now they’re actually within it. The Night Terrors keep them from stopping and admiring though, but also tell little stories about some of the stuff they pass.

“That’s the alley where Serena tried to drink my blood once,” D-boy says.

“Oh, yeah, when we first met,” Serena remarks.

“Why’d you try to drink his blood?” Emily asks, grimacing.

She shrugs. “Blood has lots of iron.” “Eeewww,” both girls reply shrilly.

They eventually leave the shopping area and pass into a middle-class neighborhood. Kids their age and older are outside, playing around and enjoying the nice summer day. But there’s one house that everyone seems to avoid and Serena points it out.

“You two will like this; that’s the Membrane house.” “Like Dib and Gaz Membrane?” Kay exclaims excitedly.

“Well, I was thinking more like their dad,” Serena replies, “you know, The Professor Membrane.”

“But Dib and Gaz are the ones who have been on all the adventures with Squee,” Emily points out, “Dib is a genius with ghosts and monsters and Gaz is super strong and dangerous.”

“Wow, you guys really know a lot about Squee’s adventures, huh?” Sickness questions.

“So you must know us then, right?” Reverend Meat asks, “the Night Terrors.”

“Ummm, I don’t think my brother ever talked about you,” Kay replies.

“But we’ve saved Squee dozens of times,” Eff points out.

“Yeah, he’s our Little Boss,” Sickness adds.

Both girls shrug apologetically.

“Hmph,” D-boy snorts, “guess our adventures aren’t good enough to talk about.” “Whatever,” Reverend Meat whines, “we’re way cooler.”

“Guys, shut up for a second,” Serena snaps and points down the street. “You see that?”

“What? What?” Kay and Emily question. They can’t see it but the Night Terrors do: something or someone on a building across the street from the Membrane house. They’re hiding in the shadows and doing a pretty good job. If Serena hadn’t noticed a glare from the scope on their gun, they never would’ve been spotted.

“What are they doing?” Sickness asks.

“Looks like their pointing some kind of weapon at the Membrane house,” Reverend Meat replies.

“That’s suspicious,” Serena comments.

“What are you guys talking about?” Emily asks, “we don’t see anything.”

Eff smirks at them. “We’ll show you just how cool our adventures are. Come on, D-boy.”

The Doughboys suddenly leap up onto the roof of the closest building, to the shock and awe of the two girls.

Meanwhile, Dib and Gaz are relaxing on lounge chairs on the roof of their house. Both of them are smiling blissfully, enjoying the peace and quiet. Across the street, an Irken in a black body suit points a scoped laser rifle at them, taking aim at Dib’s big head.

He starts to pull the trigger when his antennae twitch. He whips around and fires his rifle.

Dib’s eyes crack open at the sound. “Did you hear that?”

“Huh, I don’t care,” Gaz replies, not even looking up from her GS3.

“Hm. Yeah,” Dib agrees and closes his eyes.

The Irken growls defiantly but is completely immobilized as Eff holds the barrel of his gun and D-boy squeezes his antennae. With his free hand, Eff rubs the little spot of charred flesh on his cheek where the laser grazed him.

“You ruined my make-up,” he grunts.

Without another word, Eff reaches into his hat, pulls out a machete, and carves the Irken to bits.

They soon join their friends back on the ground, after disposing of the Irken in a nearby dumpster.

“So?” Reverend Meat asks.

“Looked like some kind of Irken assassin,” Eff replies.

“An assassin? After Dib and Gaz?” Sickness questions, “but Squee hasn’t said they’re being hunted.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know,” D-boy shrugs, “we almost didn’t notice them.” “Oh! Oh!” Emily exclaims, frantically waving her hand in the air.

“Yes, Emily?” Serena asks.

“What if assassins are after Squee’s other friends too?”

The Night Terrors share a curious look.

“Well, we’re already walking through the city,” Reverend Meat muses, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check on them.” “And the Little Boss would definitely appreciate it,” Eff adds.

“Well, looks like you two are getting more adventure than we thought,” Serena grins at Emily and Kay, who beam excitedly.

The group hurries through the city. With a set goal in mind, even Emily and Kay don’t get so easily distracted. And soon they arrive at Zim’s cul-de-sac, and stare at his house from down the street.

Inside, Skoodge, Gir, and Minimoose are enamoured by a silly cartoon playing on the TV. Behind them, Zim is lying face down on the couch, relaxing for the first time in over a year. He forgot how nice it felt to just shut down for a while.

Outside, on the roof of a neighbor’s house, an Irken reaches into her PAK and pulls out a small, round device with a display and a red button. She presses the button and a countdown begins on the display. She starts to toss the device towards Zim’s house when a flash of purple rushes by her eyes. Before she can react, something grabs her antennae and yanks her off her feet.

Sickness lands back on the ground with her friends and holds out the immobilized Irken like a trophy. “Behold: an Irken.”

“Whoa!” Kay and Emily exclaim.

The Irken says some nasty things in her alien language which thankfully the young girls can’t understand as Sickness tosses her over to the Doughboys. “Here you go, guys.”

They both giggle excitedly and disappear down a nearby alley to finish her off in private while Sickness hands the device she had to Reverend Meat.

“She had this too,” she says, “I’m guessing it’s some kind of bomb.” “Hm,” he muses as he examines the display. “It’s in Irken. No idea what it says. Oh well.”

He grips the bomb, pulls his arm back, and whips it into the sky strong enough to break through the atmosphere. But it doesn’t make it that far and explodes ten seconds later.

Zim’s antennae twitch at the sound. He lazily lifts his head, glances around, and lies back down.

“Well, that was a lot quicker than I thought,” Reverend Meat comments.

“That was so cool!” Kay exclaims while Emily nods agreeably. He chuckles bashfully and rubs the back of his head.

“Okay, we’re done,” Eff says as he and D-boy return. “Let’s get going. It’s a long walk to Pepito’s house.”

“Yeah, too long to walk if he’s gonna be assassinated,” Reverend Meat agrees then smiles at the girls. “You too wanna go for a ride?” They stare at him in confusion.

A few moments later, they’re squealing with delight as they hang onto his shoulders and the Night Terrors leap across buildings. They’re moving much faster now, even faster than the bus, and they cover way more ground. A five hour walk is quickly shortened to barely an hour.

In his house, Pepito has barely moved from the couch all day, except to get a snack or use the bathroom. He’s been watching whatever cooking shows his mom has playing on TV and finds that he’s retaining quite a lot of it. He’ll have to try these tricks later when he’s not determined to do absolutely nothing all day.

On his roof, an Irken removes a small explosive device from his PAK and begins to activate it when he senses multiple presences appear behind him. Before he can react, a hand roughly grabs his antennae and turns him around to the Night Terrors, with Kay and Emily peeking excitedly over Reverend Meat’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Eff nods while D-boy draws a sledgehammer from his hat and smashes the Irken’s face in.

The noise is audible through the house and Pepito glances up curiously before shrugging apathetically.

Back on the roof, Serena quickly wipes the pink Irken blood off Kay and Emily’s faces, who are both stunned.

“I told you to not do that in front of them,” she hisses at the Doughboys.

“Sorry,” D-boy shrugs, “got excited.” “Ah, they’re fine,” Eff scoffs, “right, girls?”

“Yeah!” Emily exclaims.

“That was awesome!” Kay cheers.

“See?” Eff says to Serena. “It’ll just come up in therapy later in life.” “That was everyone, right?” Sickness asks.

“Let’s see: Zim, Dib, Gaz, Pepito.” Reverend Meat lists them off on his fingers. “Yup. All that’s left is the Little Boss.” “Good. We can drop these two off at the same time,” Serena declares and looks at the girls. “You ready to go home?”

“Okay,” they chime.

“Good,” she nods, “let’s go.” The hot summer sun has passed over the sky and just begins to set for the day, and Squee and Colton haven’t moved an inch. They’re still lying on the sidewalk, legs stretched out onto the road. Their glazed over eyes blink heavily as they both smack their dry mouths.

“Hey, Colton,” Squee says.

“Yeah?” he questions.

“I’m starting to think that spending all day lying on cement wasn’t a good idea.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

Squee squirms painfully, his back aching. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again.”

“Squee! Colton!” Kay and Emily exclaim as they race down the road.

“Oh, look who it is,” Colton groans wearily.

“Wonder where they’ve been all day,” Squee muses.

“Probably just playing in the backyard,” he replies as the girls approach.

“You’ll never guess the adventure we just went on!” Kay yells excitedly.

“First we took the bus, and then we met this really cool girl Serena who took us to the bus she lives in with clowns!” Emily explains enthusiastically, “and they took us through the city while beating alien assassins that are trying to kill your friends!” “That’s nice,” Squee mutters, barely registering what she just said. Then it hits him like a brick and his eyes fly open. “Wait, what!”

An Irken’s mangled, lifeless body hits the sidewalk right by Squee’s and Colton’s head, startling them to jump to their feet, squealing. They hold onto each other, panting as they stare with bewilderment at the body and at the Night Terrors as they land before them.

Serena grins and leans forward, flicking Squee’s nose. “You’re welcome.”

“Duh-um-uh-g-good work, guys,” Squee stammers, pointing at the Night Terrors before slipping past them and heading to his house. “I gotta call Zim.” Everyone watches him leave before the Night Terrors look at Colton.

“So apparently you don’t like telling your sister about our adventures?” Reverend Meat questions accusingly.

Colton flinches beneath their glares while Kay and Emily dance around, giggling and cheering about the day they just had.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #johnny the homicidal maniac #johnny the homicidal maniac fanfiction #iz jthm crossover #myart #myocs

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