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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 5 months

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Revenant!Jazz thoughts Pt.2

Continuing from this post

This time, I’m thinking about Vlad and his reaction to all this. In the show he doesn’t particularly seem to care about Jazz in any way, probably because of his hyper focus on Danny and Maddie. I doubt he’s registered Jazz as a threat of any kind, much less to him.

If Danny winds up Bat-dopted, Jason or classic “Bruce stole another one” and the news catches wind of the new Wayne, Vlad would be livid. Danny is supposed to be his son afterall, doesn’t matter that it was Maddie who severely wounded her own son.

In the midst of Rogues dropping like flies, Jazz sets a trap for Vlad by baiting him with Danny. Her brother is never in danger, not with her around and certainly not with the bat family lurking nearby, but Vlad cannot help himself- he tries to kidnap Danny by overshadowing the adoptive parent. Jazz allows it to happen only until Vlad takes Danny out of the public eye, then straight up punches Vlad out of the person he’s overshadowing, sucking him up into a thermos she stole from the GIW and throwing it into an abyss.

Wouldn’t someone recognize Jazz then?

Beyond the walking dead look that came free with reanimating, Jazz walks, talks and looks completely different then she was in life. Memories shape us and without most of hers Jazz wouldn’t be quite the same anymore. Where she once walked with a relaxed gait and a calm demeanor, as a Revenant Jazz masters the murder strut, because that’s pretty much the only thought going through her head on a constant loop….Other than ‘make Danny Safe’ of course.

Who killed Jazz? (Asked by @someonebored0100 )

Originally I was thinking it would be either the Fenton parents in the GAV or the GIW, but then a delicious angst idea popped into my head….

Batman chasing down Joker led to him slamming into Jazz’s car, which resulted in her death and a new son for him to care for….

Batman says nothing when he brings in Danny, marks down Jazz’s death as a murder and does not go out as Batman again for a week.

Was Jazz autopsied?

Thee death rate in Gotham must be higher than any other city in the world, so the coroners embody (pun not intended) the phrase “overworked and underpaid”.

So no, she wasn’t autopsied, but they did make record of the punctured artery and removed the shrapnel by request of Batman for testing.

What happened after Jazz’s body disappeared from the Crematorium?

Bruce Wayne paid for the cremation personally, so it’s understandable the mortician would be Panicking at the very likely notion that someone stole a dead body paid to be cremated and sealed into an urn by Bruce Fucking Wayne.

If the mortician cremates an unclaimed body and slaps the wrong name on it, we’ll, add it to the list of morally questionable things he’s done as a mortician in a Gotham.

Thoughts about Jason’s reaction to a true Revenant?

Her veiny visage, with the broken sclera and eyes that seem to absorb light and give none back, horrifies Jason to the bone. Did he look like that when he dug himself out of his grave? Did the Pits actually do him a favor? It makes him wanna puke just thinking about how accurate his zombie jokes could have been… then makes him swear to stop telling those same jokes because clearly he’s no longer one of the walking dead if he looks better than this dead woman who looks just… horrifying.

Though once Jazz kills the Joker in the same way the clown killed Jason, he seeks out the Revenant and after doing some digging… swears to do whatever he can for her.

If this is Dad!Jason, then he’s very upset for Danny and Jazz’s tragic history.

No hardcover pairing this time?

Maybe? Doubtful, but it could happen. I don’t think it should though.

Does Jazz have a vigilante persona in this one?

Hmm, not exactly. She’s not tying to hide anything, definitely not her less than living appearance. She wears boots, a canvas jacket, jeans and gun holsters with hair that looks like a drunk toddler attacked it with dull scissors.

She doesn’t save anyone, not directly, but ending the rogues that killed so many earns her the name “Reaper” and it sticks.

What’s Danny’s reaction to all this?

We all know about the dark timeline that resulted from The Ultimate Enemy, Dan.

The Fenton parents are still hunting him down, Sam and Tucker are trying to move to Gotham, he’s been adopted by a Kevlar-clad billionaire furry who acts like a himbo with way too much ease for it to be all an act. He’s got a home that’s not an active threat to his afterlife and the food is the farthest thing from radioactive.

(Alfred Pennyworth nearly had a heart attack at the mere thought of a child eating radioactive food and that a piece of toast on his plate was a punishment.)

But… Jazz is dead.

It’s true that they hadn’t had the best relationship for the last few years, especially after his accident, but Jazz had become his rock. Sam and Tucker were his best friends, but they had no real idea what it was like to grow up a Fenton. Sure they had some context clues (was the giant portal entrance with the on-button inside not a giant warning sign?), but Jazz had kept him alive even as a kid herself.

She worked herself to the bone to make sure he had food to eat, some hours to sleep at night, and a shoulder for him to put some of the burden on her as Phantom. In the end, she hurt their parents to get him out of the lab and away from them.

She had died trying to get him to safety.

He’d seen her car, the wreck, the blood, the still radioactive substance he called his blood… he sat in the driver’s seat and cried for his sister- he wanted Jazz to tease him and call him ‘little brother’ again.

Sure, he had Cass now and several brothers, but nothing could ever replace Jazz.

It’s the thought that Jazz would be upset with him that keeps Danny from turning by his grief into a ghostly wail, to wreck everything and everyone.

Then he meets the Reaper. And he knows.

“Little Brother.”

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What about the ending for Jazz you talked about?

That’s gonna be in another post, this one was getting long enough as is.

#dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #revenant!jazz #dp x dc au #dp x dc #ramblings of an insomniac danny phantom phan #vlad plasmius #Vlad has a very punchable face #Bruce stole another one #and some more of my fan lore for this wacky world #Jason would be both horrified and relieved to meet a true Revenant #how awkward would it be to crack a zombie joke with a walking dead girl in the room #Jazz has neither the crayons nor the mental capacity to explain that Jason’s zombie jokes are funny #Alfred Pennyworth’s cooking is godtier #and we all bow to his greatness

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splat-dragon · 3 years

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She’d learned to trust her instincts.

And something was very, very, wrong.

Her bones itched more than they ached, and her blood boiled in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. Not for the first time that day, she heaved herself to her paws with a groan, and took to pacing again.

Was tonight the night? Were the Pinkterons coming?

But it was storming outside, odd rumblings that rattled her bones and clattered her teeth together, sheets of rain that hit the roof hard enough to be loud even to her ears, and she was sure that they were not that foolish.

She walked from one end of the room to the other, grumbling in discontent, her hips aching even as she kept her lame leg off the ground. “Gin, girl, c’mere,” Abigail beckoned, stooping down and sloshing around the bowl of stew she’d put down for her that morning to try and make it enticing. It was little more than broth, the meat so cooked through that it was all-but liquid so that she could eat it with dull and missing teeth, but like that morning it failed to draw her interest. Unease curdled her stomach, tore away any appetite she might have had. Something was wrong, and she wouldn’t be settled until she knew what it was.

“Crazy dog,” she grumbled as she returned to her sewing, but her scent had soured some with concern.

God, but she hurt, and for a moment she tried to lay down, to take some weight off of her joints, but agitation had her on her paws in moments. Thunder cracked, and she could feel it in her bones, aching and throbbing, and she couldn’t help but to whine, rising to hobble back and forth, back and forth.

Oh, she wished John and Uncle were home. They’d left earlier in the day, and weren’t back yet. Something was going to happen, she could feel it deep in her bones, and the fact that they weren’t home yet made her fur stand on end.

“What’s wrong with Gin?”

At least, though, Jack was home.

The boy frowned at her, shifting his book to hold it in one hand, scratching between her ears with the other before slouching down on the couch. It felt so familiar, and something niggled at the back of her mind - she should know this. She shook her head irritably as though trying to cast away a fly; normally she’d do anything for a bit of affection, but she didn’t want to be distracted.

“Dunno,” Abigail said, attention on her sewing, “she’s been like this all day. Maybe it’s the storm?”

She scoffed at the thought—as if a storm could scare her! She doesn’t like thunder, sure, but she wasn’t afraid of a little storm.

This, though, didn’t feel like a normal storm. It had been pouring all day, and the thunder was all around odd, didn’t sound right even to her ears, and the lightning looked strange through the window.

“A little storm’s never bothered her before,” Jack frowned, flipping open his book and beginning to read.

The living room went quiet, broken only by Abigail’s murmuring, the clicking of her needles and the rasping of the pages of Jack’s book as he flipped them, engrossed in… whatever it was he was reading.

God, did she miss reading. Sometimes he read aloud to her, but not nearly as much as he used to, and she missed it.

Her ears pricked up and, although her hearing wasn't what it used to be, it was still good enough to pick up the sound of hoofbeats outside, thumping beneath rattling wagon wheels. She hoped it was John and Uncle, and it should be them, but it could have been anyone, even the Pinkertons and, with how the day had felt so far she wasn’t risking it, so she stumbled over to the window, feeling awful sorry for herself as she wobbled up onto the windowsill, struggling to balance on a leg and a half, squinting out into the storm.

Oh, she knew those horses! That Paint, Jack called her Beatrix after an author he liked, and that Appaloosa, John had named her Axle, and they made an odd pair but worked well together. And yes! There was John clambering out of the wagon but—where was Uncle?

And why was this so familiar?

Reassured that it was just John, she dropped from the windowsill with a groan, glad to take the weight off her hips. Still though, agitation rolled through her gut and she couldn’t help but to pace and pace, starting to frog hop, drawing her hindlegs together and stepping with them both at the same time - it hurt less.

‘Oh, John’ll kill you for that,’ she snorted as Jack kicked his feet up onto the couch, shoes and all. But Abigail saved him from a hiding, chastising him into putting his feet back down right before John stepped inside. She wagged her tail at him, then wagged it even harder when he agreed “Something funny’s going on out there.”

“Thank you!” she whuffed, “Finally, someone with some sense!” and then she realized she’d said that John had sense and wondered if she’d lost her mind. He reached down to pet her, “Hey Gin,” stroking his hand down her spine and then between her hips.

She squealed, a sharp pain shooting through them, and they buckled, sending her crashing to the ground. It was humiliating and, even as he said “Oh shit, (“Father!” “Is she alright?”) sorry Gin,” bringing his hands under her to scoop her back onto her feet, she hid her face in her paws.

She wobbled on her paws, hips feeling weak, praying that they didn’t give out on her again, that she could last through the end of the year, took a step and decided to lie down when they ached, hiding her muzzle between her forelegs. She still wanted to pace and pace and pace, but her hips wouldn’t allow it.

“Damn Rufus’s gone crazy, wolves howlin’ and birds flyin’,” John grumbled, stooping to scratch that spot behind her ear apologetically before walking up behind Abigail, who dismissed it as ‘just the storm, John’ again.

“Uncle make it back yet?” he asked, and she groaned, knowing that it’s not just that storm, dammit! and, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, wished that she could speak.

She shoved him away, and Guinevere panted a laugh at the wounded expression on his face, though her words sobered her. “I thought he was with you, off drinking in the fields,” she’d been dozing when they’d left, so hadn’t known where they’d gone, and something about it struck her wrong, “I mean working, as you call it now.”

There was a funny noise outside, and she raised her head from her paws to look at the window. Something moved, but the storm was pelting down so hard she couldn’t pick out much more than the movement itself, the rain so heavy it was little more than a curtain of grey. It was there and gone so fast, though, that maybe she imagined it?

“No, he went into town a few hours ago, after we busted that hammer workin’ in the meadow.” John was kneeling, tossing wood into the fireplace from the sound of it, but her attention was still held by the window. What had that been?

She startled, yelping when something wrapped around her, only to look up and find John carefully scooping her up. Abigail made a joke about Uncle waiting out the storm in a whorehouse as he set her down by the fireplace, and she stretched out with a groan and a thankful thwap of her tail, laying so she could stare out the window, basking in the heat that soaked into her bones.

There was that sound again!

She jolted her head up, barely hearing John agree with her in a roundabout way, squinting: what was that? There was something resting on the window, brownish-grey, there and gone in a heartbeat and if she didn’t know there wasn’t a tree there she would have thought it a tree branch.

There was movement in the corner of her eye and she jumped, flinching, turning only to see Abigail getting to her feet. She snorted, sniffing the air, but the building was, admittedly, well-built and well-insulated and so the only smell was John, filthy and reeking of horse-sweat, and the offness of whatever Abigail had spent the day cooking.

She walked away to work on cooking it and John slumped down into her chair, while Jack remained absorbed in his book. She paid half an ear’s worth of attention as she stared at the window, trying to figure out what she’d seen before, her fur standing on end. Something was very, very wrong, and how only John could feel it was baffling.

“What you readin’?” John asked, and she fought down a groan. Bless his heart, but he couldn’t bond with Jack to save his life. Bless him, really, but he was trying.

“Just some book about monsters,” Jack grunted, and she frowned, feeling as though she’d heard this conversation before.

There was an awkward silence, long enough that she turned her ears back to the window, slowly and carefully stretching out onto her side, keeping as much of her weight off of her hip as she could, until John finally said “Tell me about it,” and she grinned, “Good job John! That’s how you dad!” He was actually showing interest in something Jack was doing!

“It’s kind of dumb,” Jack grunted, and she groaned, “Come on Jack, he’s giving you an olive branch! Stop being such a teenager!”

And holy shit, John actually made a joke back at him, “Well that should suit me just fine,” and she couldn’t help but to laugh, huffing loudly.

“Well, it’s all about in ancient times how Aztec warriors worshiped the sun but, during full moons, some of them worshiped the moon instead.”

Her brain stuttered to a stop. Hold on, freeze frame, pause the movie. Did he say Aztec warriors?

Oh, oh no. Now she knew where she’d heard this conversion before (“and upset the equilibrium of things.”) There was no way, absolutely no way at all. She’d accept being turned into a dog. She’d accept time travel. She’d even accept falling into a different goddamn dimension.

But zombies, no, zombies were too far! There was no such things as zombies, and there was no way she was in Undead Nightmare!

No way, no how, never ever. She refused to accept it. She was weak, she was old, she couldn’t even protect herself from an angry bunny.

What would she do if there were zombies of all things shambling around in a world where there was no respawning, only horrifically final Game Overs?

#splat #splatdragon #splatdragonff #splat dragon #silent savior #This is it the apocalypse whoa!#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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Dead of Night|| Morgan & Matty

There it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ?”

Morgan seldom left the house with a clear destination in mind, but often she found herself wading through the overgrown grass and mossy angels of the town cemeteries. She liked Eluria best of all, tracing the footpath she’d walked with Deirdre and weaving around the ghosts that ambled through the shadows. They did not speak to her, nor she to them. Morgan imagined they remembered her visit mere weeks ago and understood there was nothing to say. She walked past all the places they had wandered together, off the gravel path, where the weeds were less tended and the stillness was marked with tiny sounds of life crawling on. Sometimes Morgan would continue walking, tireless, but other times she would release her hold on her balance and let the ground catch her as she collapsed. She was getting better at falling just so that the moment of impact burst through the haze around her and made her want to gasp, to breathe. As she hit the ground, Morgan stared up at the sightless stone eyes around her. She lost herself staring into the granite, picking out the quartz from the feldspar from the micah in its makeup, searching for a place inside her for this knowledge to still belong to. Maybe her own decay, maybe her own stillness. She stayed there as the light started to fade and time slipped away from her mind, slurped up in the quiet of death. Even when a strange new sound rippled through the cemetery, Morgan lay in place, dead eyes open.

It had been a long fuckin’ week. A long, hungry week. One of many. And they only ever ended in the same place, these days: some creepy, crawly cemetery, ideally the sort where the bodies didn’t always get, you know, a proper burial. Places people were put to disappear. White Crest had, frankly, more than its likely share of that sort of shit, thankfully. Cold at the edges, sallow with aching, awful thirst, Matty had drifted through the graveyard for a while, like another bit of old newspaper caught in the breeze. He could smell it. Somewhere. Fresh, too. Maybe even still warm. His stomach snarled at the thought.

Or, had snarled. Time got slippery, when he was this starved, when he was feeding, when he was full of blood. Rocking back on his heels, Matty licked his lips, slow, woozy, fingers curling back from the throat he’d chewed open, hidden away in one of the older, lonelier corners of Eluria. They were almost warm. Dead an hour, maybe. His lucky day. Plenty of dinner left in this poor bastard. With a push forward, Matty’s knees hit the dirt, and his hands worked into the gaping hole he’d made. The collarbone snapped forward, horribly - and he had to stop, the sound too damn much to handle. God, he hated this part. In general. All of it. Had to get into the chest, though… with a hard swallow, he kept going, that awful strength rolling back, now that he’d had something to eat. The thinking, too. That came back. Clarity.

Enough to realize that he wasn’t alone. Two ribs in, Matty caught something besides blood on the air. Finally. His head snapped up, and there - there she was. Lady with grass-stained, goosebump-less legs, standing there, staring down into the shallow, abandoned grave he’d found. At the mess he’d made. “Uh -” his throat bobbed, working hard through the aging blood he’d been lapping out. Uh, what? He blinked, squinted. Quiet. Real quiet. Too quiet. No - no heartbeat. Dead lady. He skittered backward, eyes wide. “All yours, man,” Matty cringed, not about to fight another vampire over shit. Not on your unlife, fuck.

It was the sound of flesh tearing that had drawn Morgan up to her feet. She lingered, wondering if she should run back home and hide, but the sound was--what was it? The novelty of being able to identify the sound from her own death, from her first feeding. Maybe it reminded her of how the meat had fit inside her like nothing else. Maybe she just felt better next to death. So Morgan walked, following the sound and stopped, curious, when she saw where it was coming from. “Uh…hi.” The flesh was new and red and dripping. Morgan’s mouth watered to see the gash where the clavicles had been burst free, the skin dangling down the wound. “Nnnhhh…” She groaned for it. And the vampire--Morgan had only seen Miriam and spawn before, but there was no denying the size of his teeth, stained and peeking over the end of his lips. He skittered back at the sight of her. Morgan tensed her muscles. “You don’t have to,” she stammered, uncertain of the protocol. Was there some species turf war over bodies? She shuffled forwards, unable to look away from the glimpses of muscle, from the thin, tender flesh that went up the skull. Morgan descended on the body and tore a fresh piece away, groaning with relief. It coated her, comforted her in her cotton haze and wet her throat as good as water used to. She drew her head up enough to search for the vampire again. “Hey, you um...you didn’t kill this guy, did you?”

Oh. Oh. Not a vampire. Nope. Going for the meat. Zombie. Matty turned aside, quick, wiping at his blood-slimy cheeks - doing his best not to watch, or listen too closely. Not that she was any worse than he was. Nothing personal. Just - he’d never been great with all the gore of this. This undead shit. That moan, though. Fuck, he knew that. The feeling. Being so starved you didn’t know anything else. He swallowed, forcefully, as the zombie looked his way. Bloody-mouthed, a bit of raw, human meat in her hands. “Hi,” Matty echoed, with a weak, sharp smile. Loosening. Just a bit. More for show than out of anything like real relief. If he didn’t have to fuck off, well. Okay. Okay. Wasn’t a vampire. That - that did help. But zombies would, obviously, totally chow down on anything with flesh attached. So. He kept his distance, not wanting to get between the lady and her meal. Shaking his head, bloody hands up, not looking especially innocent. Even if he sounded it, earnestly so. “Fuck, no. No. Promise. I - I’m just out here trying to, you know, avoid that kinda thing.” Cautious - and still hungry - he came a bit closer, boots sinking in the damp earth. “You too, huh? That’s cool. We’re cool. I, ah… don’t mind sharing, or anything, if you don’t…”

Morgan felt like she’d been thrown into someone else’s party without knowing the rules. They were both blood splattered and awkward. Did creatures like them share bodies often? Was this a common courtesy thing? She took another bite, tearing the wound open wider to get a better bite, and gave the vampire another look. “Were, um...were you done or--?” No. She knew that expression. He was afraid of her. She wiped her mouth on her arm to think of something to say. ‘I don’t bite’ was too awful to be funny, not with raw muscle stuck to the corner of her lip. “I’m full, I just...it’s like when there’s three slices of cake on the table. You just gotta…” She shrugged, frowning. Have one. Despite the imagery, she had the ghost feeling of a skin crawl over it. This thing would have made her sick before. This was something to look away from. “I can try to break off a limb if it makes you feel safer. Um...sharing. Or you can break off a drumstick for me. Best part of a chicken, right?” Her hands rummaged in the body as she talked, wrestling more meat away and bringing it up to her mouth. She scooted away, to give the vampire some encouragement but there was only so far her body felt like being away from it. “So...you got a name, or am I gonna keep calling you Hungry Guy in my head?”

Was he finished? “I mean, there’s… dude’s still got some blood in him, right…” Matty winced, hovering nervously. Cake. Sure. Like cake. He sorta laughed, picturing that. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.” Safer. Why did that feel so - weird? Uncomfortable, in a way that wriggled and nibbled. A zombie, asking a vampire what to do so he felt safer. When she looked… well, not scared, no. Not exactly what he was used to, though, when it came to zombies. He’d met a few. Super strong, super badass, generally. (Usually dickheads about it, too.) Or, you know. Super gnarly, super rotten. This woman, she seemed - kinda out of it, just. Dealing. Not enjoying things.

Relatable.

He shrugged, and perched a little closer. Pushed that smile a bit closer to something real. “Honestly - who the fuck’s ever safe, around here? This town, man...” Like it was no big deal, like… like he hadn’t meant it. The fear, that is. He got ahold of one of those legs, then, and - guts flopping, in a truly nasty way - snapped, twisted, tugged. Took some work. And a flinch, as the bone cracked. But there it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ? Totally confidential, and shit. Cross my heart.” Matty brought his palmful of blood up, and gulped it down. “What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard, you know?”

So his name was matty Matty. Matty was joking with her like they were sharing a pizza or extra rice from a big takeout order in some kind of communal break room. Teasing. Commiserating. Just strangers being friendly. Morgan took the leg and scooted further away, picking back the skin and fat clumsily and gnawing off the muscle tissue. If she kept her eyes up at the stars and less on the mess of flesh before her, she could imagine a giant turkey leg that would’ve made eyes melt at the Ren Faire. But the revulsion was dull and bitter, a feeling over not being able to get anything out of actual takeout. She should feel worse than this, she thought. It was a human body, that thing that supernaturals were measured in proximity to. It’s fine, they don’t eat humans. But there wasn’t any psychosis hiding around the fibula. No sense of humor. No disappointment. He had been a person before, this graveyard guy she was sharing with Marty. But people did things, felt things, wanted things. Death took the person out of you. Morgan understood that too well. “I’m Morgan,” she said. “Is that a real thing? What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard? Or are you just like—” ‘Nice vampire’ suddenly seemed offensive, a betrayal, however easy it might be. “A nice kinda guy?” She smirked and gestured at him to get a glob of blood that had fallen into his hair.

The grass around them rustled. Morgan flinched and turned. No one coming, but there was movement. She looked over at Matty, the question penned large over her open face. Did you hear something? Tentatively she went back to the leg, peeling off more skin like a sticky wrapper. She was up to her nose in it when two tiny critter hands leapt out from the shadow and tried to pull it out of her grasp.

Alright, offering accepted. No fingers lost in the process, so. This could be going worse. Much worse. Morgan. Now everybody had a name, and dinner, and… a mess, between them. Matty winced, catching what she was pointing at. Clot, in his curls. Gnarly. Fussing that out, he flicked it into the dirt with a grimace and tossed his hair, huffing at a few stray ones that tumbled back, wildly, into his face. “Try to be?” Nice. Yeah, he tried. “I don’t know. Seems like a good rule? Do unto others, right? With, uh, some exceptions, obviously, when it comes to...” he waved, vaguely, sheepishly, at the corpse between them. Enough said. Some exceptions when it came to staying fed. With a sniff, and a scrub at his bloody chin, Matty went back to poking around in that ragged thigh. Couldn’t waste a drop, after all. Not that there was much to be had, now that this poor motherfucker had been lying out a while.

Long enough to draw the rest of the scavengers. Rats? They’d twitched together, the zombie and the vampire. Matty’s eyes tracked through the gloom, squinting between the gravestones around them. Hard to smell anything much, besides dinner, and turned earth, and death. There was a breeze, rolling through the morning glory and dandelions; probably nothing. Probably. But he kept watching the dark, lapping a last bit of thick, settled blood from his palm.

Not nothing. The claws lashed out of the weeds, out of the dark, into the meat Morgan was working on. “Shit -” Matty yelped, mostly, before a couple sharp-boned somethings crashed and tore across his shoulders, pouncing him into the clay and the corpse.

Morgan had never seen anything like these critters. Their eyes were glazed like misty marbles and their too-wide mouths, large enough to stretch over half their face were stuffed with too many sharp, serrated teeth. Morgan let go of the leg with a scream and scrambled back. “What the hell, what the hell…” She cried. The critter swiped at her leg drawing a deep gash with claws that did not belong on anything so small and strange. “Matty!” She looked to the vampire for help but it was no good. Two had found their way on him, ready to dig in. Morgan reached for one and pulled-- right. No monster strength after feeding. Morgan staggered up and yanked again with both hands. She could feel another one on her leg gnawing (probably more like tearing) at her ankle, but she couldn’t leave Matty in a lurch like this. Not without trying first. The critter came up with a piercing shriek. Morgan dropped it onto the body and tugged on Matty’s shirtsleeve. “Any idea what these things are?” She tried to shake the one off her ankle but beared down harder and to her bewilderment, it was almost hurting. “We should run, right? Running good?”

Sliding in a fuckin’ nasty combination of John Doe’s busted open chest and the blood-soaked earth, Matty tumbled and rolled. About all he could do, with two of those - two alghoul, talons digging, twisting, in the worn-jean of his jacket, and through. Flailing up, he managed, barely, to hold the one off from snatching at his eyes. (One of their favorite fuckin’ snacks, he’d noticed. After way too many run-ins.) The other - was gone, real suddenly.

Morgan. To the goddamn rescue.

A wild thrash, vampire-loaded, and that alghoul went from snarling in his face to howling through the air. Matty came up gasping, just in time to jerk away from another wicked-sharp swing. And a few bottle-glass blue, mindlessly hungry stares. And those fangs, Jesus. “Fuck, yeah, yeah - run!” With a frantic kick, Matty punted the little shit who’d got ahold of Morgan’s leg. It ripped loose, warbling awfully. Taking some skin. Tasting bile, and resting blood, he pushed Morgan ahead, out of the half-assed grave they’d been crouching in. “Fuckin’ alghouls, man! Just want the leftovers. Go!”

Morgan didn’t wait for her skin to grow back to start running. She began to sprint, legs wobbling under her lopsided weight as she went. “What-ghouls? What does that even mean?” She turned over her shoulder to see if he was still behind her. The alghouls had descended on the body completely, tearing and spitting with a hunger that made her nauseous with familiarity. She had been like that on the first night, when she barely had enough consciousness to rub together to make a thought, when her hunger wasn’t just in the pit of her dead stomach but in her head, in her muscles. It was the core of her, and the sound, what little of it she could stand to remember, was a lot like that. She kept running until they cleared the cemetery and called over her shoulder again, slowing to a jog. “You run into those things a lot? The--all-ghouls? Are you okay?”

Eluria wasn’t one of Matty’s regular haunts, so to speak. But when it came to terrain to scramble over, a cemetery was a cemetery. Around gravestones and across the paths, they booked it hard, as the undead crow flew. Morgan was shouting; had questions. “Alghouls!” Matty hollered back, skidding down a wet-grassed rise. “I dunno, they just - they eat dead shit, they’re fuckin’ gnarly, that’s it!” Like the both of them, sort of. Finally, the dark iron of the fence loomed ahead. Matty was up and over the spikes like a coked-out squirrel. Brushing at the crusted blood and mud on his hands, his arms, he circled around, pacing. Shook up like a can of soda. And - bleeding. Slowly, darkly, from where those claws had punched through the denim, under his collarbone, and down his ribs, and… his back, somewhere. “Ah, fuck…” At least they’d missed that still-healing mark left by the asanbosam; didn’t feel deep, either. Still hurt. “Yeah, yeah.” Matty tossed his head, getting all that hair out of his face. “They’re like… rats. Big, shitty rats. All over the place, in town. They, uh, they aren’t big on lights, but, you start… flashing shit around, after hours, in a graveyard… chances are, you’re gonna get trouble.” The kind with stakes. And machetes. “Best thing to do’s just fuckin’ haul. You fight them, they’ll all jump in. Then you’re fucked.” He poked at one of the holes in his jacket, huffing at the damage done. Too bad. Glancing at - and away from - that torn up leg, Matty gave Morgan a nod. “How’s the ankle? You heal up pretty good, right?” Most zombies seemed to. And she’d just ate, so. Should be fine, yeah? They should both be fine.

Morgan didn’t leap so much as topple and fall, rolling in a mess of limbs, over the fence. She hit the ground with a thumb she only half felt. Gnarly. Dead shit. Like them. Well that was a real boost to the self-image. How many degrees of separation were there between her and those things exactly? Did she even want to know? Morgan got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Yeah that light thing sounds like a great way to get hunters up your ass. Ugh, stars, hunters are a real thing now, and not just the odd bitchy one,” she groaned. She checked her ankle. Good as new. “Y-yeah, I’m...I’m fine,” Morgan said. She didn’t feel all that fine, but there was no harm done and she could still make it back home in time. “Are you? Do vampires, like, regrow things too? Or is that just a brain gang thing?” She shifted uncomfortably, looking over her shoulder just in case more were coming.

Stars? A little, like, outdated, maybe. But, so was he. Matty sighed, with plenty of agreement and a decent amount of aching, really starting to feel those gouges now that things weren’t all helter-skelter. “Yeah, load of fuckin’ psychos. And they’re everywhere, man. You been to the Night Market? They keep eyes on that. Watch out.” Fuck, zombies really did clean up quick. Been a while since he saw that, up close. Kinda grody. Then again, there he was, trying to rub a dead man’s blood off his cheeks. So. “Cool, cool…” Shit, he had to start keeping, like, a bag, or something. A scavenging safety kit. Was too hungry to plan much, when he’d left. His circling swayed, as Morgan got into… that kinda shit. Their kinda shit.

“Uh - sort of?” Matty pulled a sickly sorta face, at the thought. And another one, as his fangs crunched away. “It’s… messier, more involved, like… real surgery, just. Less blood. Then, a lot of blood. To, you know. Make the magic happen.” Magic, sure. That was a word for it. With a couple jaw-cracks, one, two, Matty shrugged off towards the ragged, distant, dim-lit edges of the Bend. “We should probably fuck off. Not because of them.” He cleared up, catching that glance Morgan threw back the way they’d come. “They’ll stay put, where the food is. But, uh. Never know who else might show up...” Really, he’d only seen the overseer once. An experience Matty would rather never, ever repeat. Dude was terrifying.

“Oh, yikes. That sounds...not great,” Morgan said apologetically. And neither did Matty’s implication that the hypothetical hunters they had to be careful of might get a lot more literal if they stayed near the graveyard. She nodded and started off in the direction of home. She stopped her slow walk and turned towards Matty again. “Are you gonna be okay?” She asked. “You’ve got like...a home, right? And people?”

“Mm. Mhm. It’s not.” Not great at all. But. She better get used to it, if she was sticking around town. Matty took another wipe at his face, hoping it was more or less unobjectionable. So far as bloodstains went. As for anything else, well. Wasn’t much he’d ever been able to do about that. He’d come to a stop, putting some pressure on the worst of the claw-stabs, when Morgan spoke up through the thickness of another misty after-midnight. A home. People. Right. Even zombies had that, huh? “Totally. Yeah.” Matty threw her a smile, or most of one, anyway. With a sharp, quick clearing of his too-tight throat, he tossed a wave in, too. For good measure. “You, uh. You take care, Morgan. See you around.”

Morgan stayed to watch him, half swaying on her dead feet in the night air. That didn’t sound very convincing and she had—maybe not a whole feeling but a thought for Matty: the deserved better; that being this way was almost another curse in itself; that they needed more than this to make anything come out fair for them. Then again, maybe they weren’t allowed to have ‘fair’ anymore, maybe the universe was done with all of them, the whole undead mess of them. But what else was there to do? How else were they supposed to cope? Morgan looked at him sorrowfully as he left and worked her way back homeward. She didn’t know what to put in that hole where her balance had been, and she felt all the worse knowing that others like her had felt that ache for longer, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Only that there had to be something.

#wr matty #wr chatzy #wr matty chatzy #dead of night #wickedswriting

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mthevlamister · 7 years

Text

Prom?

Hey so this was written for @stonermurphy it was their prompt, I just wrote it. Enjoy, there is totally cursing. Lots of cursing.

“Tho thith will make me cool?” Rich sat in front of… Some guy? He heard about this, some drug from Japan. This dude was selling it. He wanted to be chill. “Yeah, get rid of the lisp too. You want it?” “YETH!” Rich said, almost jumping in the air. He had a reason for this, he promises. See, there was this kid who had headphones and a red hoodie. His name was Michael, he was really really cool. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he had a PT Cruiser! He didn’t drive it yet, but he had it! Oh that Cruiser. The things that Cruiser did to Rich was incredible. It’s just that Rich couldn’t talk to Michael without the lisp he had. He’d get flustered and embarrassed and he couldn’t do it.He tried.

“Hey Michael what wath the thience homework?” Rich asked that day. “I’m sorry what?” Michael took off his headphones, smiling at the shorter boy that day. “I-I athked–” “A lisp? Ha! Gay!” Rich heard some girl say, he was unsure who. No he wasn’t, it was Madeline. Rich hasn’t spoken to Michael since that day. “Well where’s the money kid?” Rich dug into his pocket, pulling out a small wallet, handing the guy over four hundred bucks. It was terrible, he saved that to buy Michael prom tickets when they were juniors.

They were freshman.

“Thanks kid, take it with Mountain Dew. Green, okay? No other kind will work.” The dealer said, handing him a pill. “What elthe would I uthe? Red? That'th been dithcontinued thince the 90'th!” Rich joked, seeing the guy tense. “Wait doeth that thut it off?” “Yes. Now leave.” Rich hopped to the nearest 711 he could find, walking to the fridges with Mountain Dew.

“Green is good but red is better.” Rich heard behind him. He turned around to see the boy of his affection behind him with a huge slushie.

“M-Michael!” God did he just stutter?! “Hey, what'th up?”

“Not much, junk food run for the aftermath of pot. You should join me and Jeremy sometime.” Michael smiled– Rich loved that damn smile– and left. Maybe he didn’t have to take the pill, he could just get high with Michael right now right? No. He paid for this pill. He would do it.

He paid for the Dew, walked outside, and took the pill. Nothing happened.“Rip off.” He hissed until he felt pain in his head, grabbing it he heard a voice and all of sudden the pain was over.

Why was Kermit the Frog in front of him?

I’m not Kermit Richard.

“What the hell–”

Don’t talk aloud, I can hear your thoughts just think.

‘Okay, what are you?

’I’m your SQUIP, the pill you just swallowed. My job is to make you popular. Starting with that lisp. Actually first your name, you’re Rich now. Not Richard, now to the lisp. Rich felt an electric shock ripple through his body, he yelped and grabbed his arms.“Richard?” Michael? Why was Michael in front of him?! “You okay?"

"Yeth–” another shock sent him wincing. “Y-yes.” Holy shit.The SQUIP is curing his lisp.

This is the boy you want?

'Yes.’

No, he’s a loser. Tell him you think his car is shit.

'I like his car!’ Another shock.“What kind of car is that? That looks hideous.” Rich lied, faking a laugh.

“Oh… It’s a PT Cruiser. I like it, is it not cool enough?” Michael did an eyebrow wiggle, making Rich laugh silently. Another shock.

“No. It makes you a gay loser.”

Good, now leave. Rich turned and left.

~ ~ ~

The SQUIP turned out to be less than perfect. Here he was in the hospital, SQUIPless.

He was rooming Jeremy Heere and who else would visit except Michael Mell himself. God how much did Rich make Michael want to kill himself?

“Hi Jeremy, hey Rich.” Michael said, walking in the room with crystal Pepsi and a bag of cheese puffs.

“Hey Michael.” Jeremy said. “I-I am so sorry about the whole SQUIP thing, you’re not a loser! You saved us and I– I just– I’m doing this for Christine. God I’d be lucky if she still wanted to talk to me–”

“You’re fine, tall ath.” Rich mumbled, eyes closed. “Thhe would be thuper happy if you athked her out.” His stupid lisp he hated it.

“Do I not get a hello Rich? I’m hurt. Very hurt, I thought you appreciated my company!” Michael mocked a pout, which was adorable, and sat in between their beds.

“No I like theeing you. Hello Michael, how are you?” Rich asked, looking at the 'riends’ on his bag.

“Still driving my gay loser car so all is well.” Michael joked, but stopped smiling when Rich winced.

Right.

That was the SQUIP.

“Hey you were right though, I’m a loser. Never a better time to be a loser! Did I tell you that I told Jeremy about how humans stopped evolving?”

“Tho there'th no reathon to get thronger right? I heard about that!”

“Jeremy?” All three boys turned when they heard a voice. It was Christine.

“Hi Christine!” Jeremy said, voice lacking confidence.

“Wanna walk to the cafeteria with me?” She asked, smiling.Jeremy nodded and left with her, leaving Michael and Rich on their own.

“Michael? I’m… I’m really thorry. About everything I did I mean. I wath a dick.”

“Yeah, you were, but hey you won’t be anymore right?”

Rich nodded, looking at his bed sheets.

Michael frowned. He walked over and put the Crystal Pepsi to Rich’s mouth. “Take a sip.” Rich did as he was told.

“Oh my god thith is good why don’t they make it anymore?!”

“Because god is dead.” Michael said in a solemn voice. He cracked a smile and touched Rich’s faded red streak. “In honor of it I think you should die this white.”

“Nah, purple blue and a reddith pink.”

“That’s the bisexual flag–”

“I’m bi.” Rich blurted. “I’m totally bi.”

Michael stared him dead in the eyes. Rich became worried Michael would walk out. “Hi totally bi, I’m Michael.”

“Get out. Leave. Never come back.” Rich laughed, snorting in between giggles. He looked at Michael who was now smirking.

“And I’m gay, so there’s that.” Michael walked closer. “Not for Jeremy, so I will have to get rid of that beautiful 'riends’ if you don’t mind.”

Rich snorted again, smiling. “I worked hard on that, but fine.”

“Did you… Work 'tho’ hard on it?”

“Thtop!!” Rich groaned, hitting his head on the pillow.

“Well I’m gonna go. Jeremy is getting let out today and I’m his ride so I’ll wrestle him away from Christine.” With that, Michael made an exit and went to find Jeremy.

Rich was sure he’d never see Michael until he came to school, but he was wrong.O

h how wrong was he.

“Michael makes am entrance!” Rich heard while he was laying down, daydreaming of his crush.

“Are you gonna do that each time you enter a room?” Rich sat up, faking a scowl. He thought it was cute, if he was honest.

“Yes–I mean yeth. But for real, in all seriousness, how are we today? I brought a present~” Michael sat down next to Rich and pulled out a red Dew.

“The THQUIP is gone Michael.” Rich deadpanned.

“Yeah but you never got a taste and when we were freshman I said it was better than regular so here you go!” Michael pushed it towards the shorter boy, smiling. Rich stared at it, debating whether or not to drink. His curiosity got the better of him and drank a sip, then a gulp. He ended up chugging the whole bottle. It was great.

“WHY HAVE I NEVER HAD THAT BEFORE?!” Rich cried, throwing the bottle to the ground and grabbing Michael’s arms.

“Cmon dude that was my drink–”

“IT WATH REALLY GOOD MICHAEL!”

“I know Rich, that’s why I gave it to you.”

Rich smiled, jumping in his seat. “I need ten gallonth of that. I really need it.”

“Oh god I turned you into a Dew junkie, didn’t I?” Michael frowned, making a praying gesture with his hands as a joke. “Oh why did he have to get addicted so young?”

“Thut up.” Rich laughed, punching his shoulder lightly.

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to 'thut up’ but I can shut up.” Michael teased, touching Rich’s hair.

“Boo. Bad joke!” Rich batted at Michael’s hand, but somehow ended up leaning into the touch more (who knows how).

“Well, if you’re gonna be friends with Jeremy without the SQUIP you’re gonna have to deal with bad jokes because I’m gonna hang out with him.”

“Great, that thounds fun.” Rich said, his voice sounded awkward and scrambled.

“Unless he leaves me again. At least you didn’t outright leave me after years of knowing me, it hurts you know? He’d much rather be with Christine or-or Jake or you!” Michael was shaking, it made Rich’s heart ache slightly.

He couldn’t say that he left Michael for the super computer too, even if it was the truth.

“Michael, why don’t we hang out when I get out of here?” Rich’s voice cracked at every other word. He was nervous, very nervous. “We can play games or something?” That wasn’t supposed to be a question, but it came out like one.

“… Dude, have you ever played apocalypse of the damned?” Rich quietly listened to every word Michael said about the game, it seemed to be a game full of zombie and place puns but it would be fun to test out.“—and I still haven’t beat level ten and I need a new player two because Jeremy isn’t going to play anymore!” Michael finished, taking gulps of air into his mouth.

“I’ll be your 'player two’ if you want.” Rich said, smiling. Since when did his smile come unnaturally?

“Aw, I’m honored. Now I guess you won’t be… Bi yourself?” Michael smiled.

“That wathn’t horrible, I’m proud.”

“I’m glad.” Michael said, leaning on his hands, fluttering his eyelashes. Rich blushed, much to his dismay.

“Well then get ready for bad oneth, I tell loadth!”

“Tell me one.”

“I didn’t pan thith out well!” Rich emphasized the “pan” and smiled a lot.

“A replacement of plan?” Michael asked. “Classy.”

“Very!” Rich confirmed.

“Very what?”

“Very clathy– you jutht wanted to hear the lithp didn’t you?” Rich’s eyes widened in horror.

“Yes. It’s cute.” Michael grinned, winking at the shorter boy.How many times was Rich going to be confirmed short?

“O-oh really?” Rich leaned on his arm, tripping as he missed the bed and fell face first to the floor. Michael howled with laughter, trying to lean down and help him up only to laugh harder and fall next to him. Rich smiled and began to laugh too, ignoring the pain.

“I’m sorry you just fell! That was amazing!” Michael looked at Rich, noticing how close they were. It would be a lie to say Michael didn’t like Rich. He always appreciated the way he bullied him (was Michael a masochist? Probably), he loved the way Rich would joke in the hallways, how he’d gossip about Jake’s “latest conquest”. But Michael also liked– no loved– Richard. The nerdier version of Rich. He used to stalk him, if he was honest. He followed him in a 711 once in freshman year and judged his choice of Mountain Dew! He pretended to get food for his high! No he loved Richard and his lisp and his bad jokes. He loved the way he’d trip in the hallways and mess up. He also loved bisexual Richard, not straight Rich. So yeah, Michael was blushing insanely.

Rich was still doing his little giggle snort laugh, ignoring the obvious tension and passion there was. Michael moved closer and closer and–

“Why is Rich on the floor?” Both boys looked up.Jake was standing there, grinning. “So you finally made out? Good, because Rich will–”

“No! Hey, thup Jakey-D?” Rich sat up. “Came to vithit me?”

“Yeah, I did. But I see Michael is already making moves, should I leave or stay?”

“Nah man, you can see your buddy. I’m leaving anyway. See you tomorrow Richard!” Michael left, ignoring Rich’s “it'th Rich”, and getting to his PT Cruiser (would he ever change his car?) and drove all the way to Jeremy’s. He needed to talk about this. It’s too bad Jenna was on the phone with Jeremy when Michael busted down his door screaming “I ALMOST KISSED RICHARD JEREMY MY BUDDY ASK HOW IT IS HANGING BECAUSE IT IS NOT BANGING! IM FREAKING OUT!”

It was silent until Jenna squealed.

“DONT TELL ANYONE JENNA!” Michael grabbed the phone, practically crying. Jeremy uttered a quick “Jenna don’t, got to go” and hung up. He turned to Michael and asked him to explain.

“Do you think he’d actually be interethted in me?” Rich asked Jake, moving back onto the bed. “I jutht don’t think he liketh me!”

“He offered for you to be his player two, didn’t he?” Jake said, smiling. “I forgot how awkward you where pre-SQUIP. Did you really fall trying to lean like you were cool?”

“Yeah, I did.” Rich avoided the word 'yes’ and looked away.

“That’s amazing.” Jake snickered, punching Rich’s arm lightly.

“I’m thorry about your houthe.” Rich mumbled. “You can thtay with me if you want.”

“Nah I’m staying with Chloe, her parents are cool with it.” Jake waggled his eyebrows. “Speaking of, I got to go. I’ll see you at school right?”

“Yeah, you will.” Rich said, knowing Monday would be his doom. Then everyone would know he was still a nerd.

~ ~ ~

“So Jenna says that Michael said he almost kissed Rich.” Chloe said to Brooke and Jenna (even though Jenna was the first to know).

“Jenna?! You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” Jeremy walked up, eyes wide. “Michael is going to be so pissed!”

“We won’t tell anyone Jeremy.” Brooke smiled. “Except Christine, we told her. We also told Jake, but he promised not to tell Rich.”

Michael walked up, some weird hipster drink in his hand, smiling. “What’s the beeswax friends?”

Jeremy laughed. “Nothing Michael, just something Madeline did.”

“Oh my gosh, so Madeline–” Jenna went on this huge rant on what the poor girl did recently. Michael pretended to be interested but looked at the clock. It was Friday, he would visit Rich after school. He knew it was almost a matter of time until that clock showed he could leave.

“–Michael?” Brooke’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Yeah?”

“Are you wearing crocs?” Brooke looked at his feet in disgust.

“…. Yes?”

“Oh my gosh you poor boy. We need to buy you actual shoes!” Chloe gasped, shaking her head.

“Never. Crocs five-ever.“ Michael said, walking away.

”… He’s wearing socks with them!“ Jenna cried, hitting Jeremy’s arm. "Help him!”

“Nah, he won’t listen to me. Only if I insult him which I’m not doing again.”

“Fine.” Jenna huffed, going back into her story.

~ ~ ~

“You’re wearing crocth? Really Michael?” Rich raised an eyebrow.

“Oh don’t be a Jenna! You know you love my crocs!”

“I do.” Rich said, meaning every word.

“Okay, don’t lie they’re hideous.” Michael said sitting on his bed.

“Okay firtht of all, they’re not. Thecond of all, why do you wear them then?!” Rich moved to sit next to Michael.

“Someone has to like this stuff, and they’re comfortable. One day, my little Rich, I’ll get you crocs and make you wear them to school!”

To prom! We’re wearing crocs to prom. That’s final!

“I’m not little!” Rich said, instead.“You’re shorter than me. Remind me when I get you in crocs I should give you my hoodie.” Michael said, smiling.

“I thould take your glatheth too. Become a thmaller Michael.” Rich hated saying “glasses”. Michael wasn’t smiling anymore. “Michael? Are you upthet?”

“N-no. Not all.” Michael was picturing Rich in all his clothes. It was really cute.

“You thtopped thmiling.” Rich frowned.

“Sorry, I was thinking I can’t see without my glasses so you’d have to take a picture.” This was a lie, Michael would be able to see Rich clearly. He just wanted a picture.

“Okay, I’m fine with that.” Rich smiled again, he began to bounce. “Gueth what! I’m getting out Monday! I can’t wait to hear all the drama from Jenna and Chloe and Brooke! Jake wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Oh, oh drama yeah! Yeah there’s been a lot.” Of my drama. “Madeline has been crazy.”

“I’m really looking forward to her drama.” Rich admitted.

“Yeah, well prom is coming up too. Lots of drama there, Jake is probably going with Chloe. Brooke has no date, Jeremy will ask Christine. Hey if you’re into Brooke you could take her.”

“Nah, I-I have my eye thet on thomeone.” Rich admitted, hoping Michael got the hint. He didn’t, and he was upset.

“That’s good! I bet they’ll say yes.”

“Are you going with anyone?” Rich asked, hoping the answer was–

“No.” Michael said. “I’m not a prom person, I wouldn’t get a date. I’d probably go and be in the corner eating all the food. No, probably getting high out back.”

“Ah, I thee.” Rich felt no courage, shrinking into his bed.

“Shit what time is it? I have to go home, I’m sorry Richard. I’ll see you, okay? Here’s my number, text me!” Michael left.Rich, for some reason, liked it when Michael called him Richard. That wasn’t his biggest concern though. He had Michael’s number! Wait, that wasn’t the biggest concern! He texted Jake.

Rich: Hey Jakey-D, how do I ask Michael to prom?

Wait.Shit that was the SQUIP group chat.

He was screwed.

Jenna Cakes: OMG you want to ask him?!

Brooking it to class: Rich, you have to be fancy with it.

Valentine’s Day: Can we help?!

He’s Heere: I can tell you for a fact Michael would say yes if you just gave him a slushie. Better hurry, he’s been talking about some JD he met at 711.

Jakey-D: yo, I gotchu I’ll message him!

Rich: NO! I WANT TO DO IT! I JUST NEED IDEAS! STOP ALL OF YOU!

Rich was hiding under his blanket, mostly because of the pun names but also because he was nervous; that’s what he did when he was nervous.

Brooking it to class: why not flowers?

He’s Heere: he loves chocolates, get him weed brownies. Do it, I dare you to.

Jakey-D: I double dog dare you.

Valentine’s Day: triple dog dare you. Can’t not do it now.

He’s Heere: write 'prom?’ with icing! Make it Mountain Dew Red icing!

Rich laughed. That would be amusing.

Brooking it to class: I’ll help you pick out flowers. NOT WEED JEREMY!

He’s Heere: boo.

Brooking it to class: this’ll be a fun project.

Rich: cool, I get out Sunday so we can do it then.

Rich opened the calendar and made his plans with Brooke. Sunday would be fun.

~ ~ ~

Sunday was not fun, because Rich had to text Michael saying he was busy with Brooke. Michael said it was fine, but Rich thought he was lying.

“So I suggest we get yellow acacia. It signifies a true friendship but a secret love. We’ll get him a couple of those and also some white dittany! Those show passion and love.” Brooke was saying, pulling Rich through some weird flower shop. Some guy with curly hair and glasses was at the counter with a blonde girl. The name tags read 'Seymour’ and 'Audrey’.

“Okay, tho thethe two?” Rich grabbed the bouquets. He smiled a bit.Perfect.

“Oh, are those for your girlfriend? How lovely! I wish my boyfriend did that! He’s a dentist, you may know him!” Audrey, the female flower seller, smiled. Seymour frowned at the mention, staring at a bruise on the woman’s arm that Rich noticed.

“No. He’s asking someone to prom though!” Brooke answered excitedly.

“Y-yeah. I am.” Rich mumbled, paying for the flowers.

“Okay, so you put those in water and you’ll give them to Michael. Let’s find pot brownies for him.”

“Ah, Jeremy thaid he’d get them, tho it'th okay!” Rich smiled. “I thould go home."

"Alright, if you say so.” Brooke smiled sweetly before leaving. Rich sighed, heading home. He was just sneaking to his room when he heard his dad walk in the hallway.

“Flowers? Asking a girl out?”

“Yeah, I am.” Rich lied.

“Put them in a vase at least.” His dad smirked.Rich nodded and went to the kitchen, putting them in separate vases. He brought them to his room and texted Michael.

Rich: I’ll see you tomorrow right?

RMD: of course! You’d willingly talk to me in public? I’m honored.

Rich was about to say yes when he saw his username changed.

Richard: Michael.

RMD: yes?

Richard: why

RMD: because I can Richard, fight me.

Richard: How’d you even do that?

RMD: I’m a beautiful hacker fight me.

Richard: change it back!

RMD: never.

Rich sighed and put his phone down. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

~ ~ ~

“Richard, hey–” Jenna snickered, before being cut off.

“Don’t call me Richard. I’m Rich.” Rich mumbled, leaning against his locker. “Michael changed my thtupid uthername thomehow."

"Do you have the flowers?” Brooke asked.

“Yeth. Where'th Michael?”

“Wait! Here!” Jeremy gave him tupperware with brownies in it. “He’s at his locker.”

“Thankth.” Rich walked over as cooly as he could to Michael’s locker.

“Hey Richard!” Michael smirked. His eyes fell upon the flowers. “Are those for the prom person?”

“Yeah, here.” Rich placed the flowers in Michael’s hands. He carefully opened the tupperware where the message was written. It just said “prom?” but there was only five brownies. Rich wasn’t complaining.

“That’s cool I bet they’ll love it!” Michael said, giving a thumbs up (as best as one could while holding flowers).

“Do you?” Rich asked.

“Well yeah, I’m jealous of the person– oh these are for me? Oh… OH!” Michael’s eyes widened as he looked at the brownies, then flowers. “OH MY GOD! HOLY SHIT!”

Rich let out a nervous laugh. “Ith that a no?”

“ITS A MCFRICKEN YES!” Michael screamed.

“Never thay "mcfricken again”.“ Rich deadpanned.

"No promises, but yes! Of course yes! Totally yes!” Michael was gonna cry, he really was. “This is amazing!”

“I’m glad, I got nervouth.” Rich admitted.

“I’d be too, I’m pretty awesome I’ll be honest.” Michael teased, slinging his free arm around Rich. “Now, Richard, is this an invitation to date?”

“Yeth.”

“Okay good now I can do this.” Michael said.Before Rich could ask what “this” was Michael swooped down and kissed him.

It was going to be a great prom.

I do accept notes (GET IT! HA!). Thanks for reading. I may write one for their prom.

#be more chill #be more chill musical #be more chill novel #be more chill michael #be more chill rich #expensive headphones #jeremy x christine #chloe x jake #musicals #be more chill fanfic #be more chill fanfiction #be more chill fandom

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