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tinyozlion · 10 months

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“True Friends” - Understanding Mr. Treize and the Contradictions of OZ

“Treize himself has a tremendous disdain for any tactic that allows for excess casualties. Ignoble behavior on the battlefield sullies any victory, and civilian death makes a mockery of what a True Soldier fights and dies for. For Treize, there is nothing more hateful than removing the human component from battle, or the cowardly avoidance of responsibility for human death.”

Gosh! What a great quote! I wonder who said that? Oh right, that was me! I did. I wrote that in the entry about “True Soldiers: Aesthetics, Honor, and Chivalry”.

Let’s examine that a little more, shall we?

“His Excellency doesn’t want battles that involve civilians.”

Everyone who knows Treize best, his “True Friends”, who grew up with him, who were trained by him, who understand him, all seem to agree: His Excellency wouldn’t stand for needless casualties. OZ may be ruthlessly pragmatic and underhanded, but that couldn’t be Treize’s fault– no, it’s always Lady Une! It’s his fanatically devoted colonel who always chooses the path of greatest violence, heedless of any collateral damage– she’s the one to blame! Treize would never give an order that risked civilian lives.

…Right?

Surely he would stop her, admonish her, make her face serious consequences for the atrocities she was willing to commit. He’d leave no room for doubt that she had failed him and disappointed him.

...Right?

Yeah, that’s right, a firm slap on the wrist oughta do it. Tell her to try a little harder next time to understand the value of human life. Just do better! It’s alright to use mobile suits to attack a school, but we’re going to put a stop to it because I’ve changed my mind about killing a teenage girl, as a personal favor to a friend.

–Friends of His Excellency would certainly like to believe that he would never knowingly sacrifice civilians, but he sure doesn’t seem to mind benefiting from someone else doing it for him.

How well do Treize’s friends really understand him, when they seem unaware of how wide a margin of error he finds acceptable in pursuing his ideals?

Well, ideals are fine and all, but war is war, and some amount of pragmatism is necessary to stay on top. Treize isn’t the one calling all the shots (yet), and the organization he reports to expects results. You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, right? That’s why it pays to have a Chief Omelet Maker working for you, so she can break all the eggs, and murder school children, and threaten nuclear assault, and you can come away still smelling like roses.

…But what sort of effect does that have on her?

It’s better for a ruler to be feared than loved; being hated is the perfect motivation to stay strong; fighting will never disappear from the world, so the strong should rule it for the sake of damage control; God was too lenient when he gave mankind the free will to rebel; people find comfort in being controlled by the powerful.

--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals.

So Lady Une devotes herself to fulfilling those ideals unflinchingly, no matter how much blood ends up on her hands. Better her hands than His. OZ has to be the strongest. OZ has to win. OZ must be victorious at any cost. Damn the Colonies, damn the politician’s daughter who made herself a liability, damn the wounded soldiers left behind at New Edwards Base– she’s going to make OZ so absolutely unfuckwithable that their enemies shit themselves at the mention of its name, and she’ll do it herself if no one else will. Because THAT is what His Excellency wants. She understands him.

...So why does he keep telling her– ever so gently, ever so gracefully, that she’s wrong? If making sure the strongest rule and the weak obey isn’t what pleases him, then what will?

Killing is simple– anyone is capable of killing anyone, so you mustn't abuse that capability. The Earth is fragile and infinitely beautiful. Human life is fragile and infinitely beautiful. One must always take responsibility for the fates of those who fight for you, and honor the sacrifice of those who die. Tragedy in war is inevitable.

--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals.

So Lady Une devotes herself to fulfilling those ideals with grace and empathy, to bring an end to needless bloodshed. The world needs a strong, compassionate leader, who is capable of loving humanity and guiding them to a peaceful future, where loss and war are tragedies of the past. Order and peace can be maintained without sacrifice, by using technical advancements to replace soldiers on the battlefield and keep them out of harm’s way. That is what His Excellency wants. She understands him.

...So why does he tell her– so sadly, plaintively, that she is wrong? That he is not who she thinks he is, that the future she has so carefully laid out for him is a fantasy of her own making? Why does he plead with her to come back to him, as the person he once knew so fondly?

Civility and honorable conduct on the battlefield is worth more than victory. To fight for something one believes in with perfect clarity is the purest endeavor of mankind. The tragedy of loss is what gives a battle meaning. Honoring the sacrifice of those who have died for your cause means being willing to die for it yourself. To fight, to lose, to die for a noble cause is to move the hearts of all humanity, to touch immortality.

--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals.

And so she does– she sacrifices herself to save the Gundam pilots and turn the tides in outer space, rejecting Romefeller, rejecting the Mobile Dolls. At last, she understands him.

…But didn’t she always?

Except perhaps in the case of using Mobile Dolls to replace soldiers (an idea that was easily manipulated by its inventors to fit into her worldview at the time), her understanding of Treize’s ideals wasn’t ever wrong, just fragmented. She focused on a single facet at a time, each time excluding the contradictions of the other sides– light bouncing off a solid plane without revealing the rest of the prism’s convoluted geometry.

She isn’t mistakenly interpreting him– HE is a mess, and she is representing him accurately, one dimension at a time.

What is more significant is that he finally understands this about her.

Treize is mortified to realize what sort of effect he has been having on someone he cares about, during a period where he is questioning the validity of his own beliefs and significance. He may mistakenly believe that he is responsible for having fragmented Lady Une’s personality– which is not how the condition she has operates– but he is not mistaken in taking responsibility for her distress, and the danger he has put her in.

Losing her, or believing that he has lost her, is devastating. Rather than moving him to action, it moves him to inaction; aware that he has come to represent ideals that are too easily manipulated by people who he fundamentally disagrees with, that the idea of him is too powerful to be used responsibly by the current rulers, he withdraws.

Treize cannot switch off the magnetic field of his charisma or its continuous pull on the soldiers who take inspiration from him, but he refuses to willingly lend himself to a cause that he finds irresponsible. In fact, he refuses to join any cause until one presents itself that he can have complete faith in– and complete control over.

The people whom Treize considers his True Friends are the ones who “understand” him– this includes his enemies, the ones who oppose him but nevertheless espouse values that he can respect. In fact, ANY strongly held ideal, even ones in opposition to him, and ANY display of courage, is more admirable in Treize’s estimation than lip service to his own ideals or those of his organization. The “fighting spirit” that is of paramount value in his worldview is not limited to combatants– he expresses immense respect for Relena Peacecraft, more so even than his respect for the Gundam pilots, who he comes to idolize. What matters is the strength of conviction. What matters is courage.

He respects and admires Lady Une, even when her errors in judgment have megaton consequences, because she is so singularly and ferociously dedicated to her goals. He tolerates the violence and inhumane actions of the Specials and OZ soldiers because they are fanatically ambitious and ready to die for their ideals. As long as the ultraviolence isn’t cowardly or self-serving, then Treize can and will overlook the body count– noble sacrifices, all. He’ll memorize their names later on today.

Treize’s ideals are flawed and contradictory. There is a tipping point in the series where he gains enough self-awareness to recognize this fact. This does not stop him from believing in his ideals– he can’t simply turn away completely from what he values and loves about humanity and its “fighting spirit”– but it does allow him to appreciate those who see his hypocrisy for what it is, and who despise him for it.

“You’re only capable of looking down on others; you’re only fighting to satisfy your ego. How many people have died because of you?”

The fact that Treize has memorized the names of all 99 thousand people who have died for him does not do anything to improve Wufei’s opinion. For Treize, that number is a sacred personal burden; to Wufei, it is evidence of offensive, monstrous egotism.

Wufei, of all the Gundam pilots, is best acquainted with how wide the margin of error is in Treize’s ideal of chivalry. Nataku herself, the namesake for Wufei’s gundam, fell neatly into that margin and died in it. Long before they met and dueled, Wufei knew of Treize as the OZ official jointly responsible for an attack on his Colony. While General Septem of the Alliance (then in control) would have murdered everyone on the Colony indiscriminately with biological weapons, Treize’s solution was more sporting: OZ sent in Mobile Suit troops to directly eliminate the rebel element, who were armed with nothing but a single decrepit prototype Leo and an unfinished Gundam with no ammo-- a much more chivalrous way of sterilizing a Colony, allowing the largely unarmed group of dissidents to die fighting rather than be killed with the push of a button.

Would the deaths of the Long Clan have been meaningful sacrifices in Treize’s eyes? Was exterminating civilians for the sake of convenience a noble cause to fight for?

One could argue that the existence of the then-in-development Gundam was enough of a threat to justify an attack, but at the time the idea of gundanium mobile suits was no more than a rumor. Could Treize, back on Earth, have reasonably predicted its invention?

Not if we are to believe his own words, which clearly indicate that the Gundam’s existence was unknown to him until reported after the attack.

For those who fall outside of his cult of personality it is easier to see past the charisma to the reality: no matter what his soldiers think of him, Treize is not a god. He is only a man, and no one person has the right to decree some deaths necessary to the future.

–And Treize, for his part, would agree. He is a single individual, whose ideals people put too much faith in without fully realizing the essence of what they mean. But the belief people place in him gives Treize a level of power that must be acknowledged and used responsibly, and to the best of his ability, he tries to use it for the good of Earth and humankind.

As a symbol, he is far more influential than he could ever be as a man, and his awareness of that fact leads him to choose the path of martyrdom, knowing that his very existence is a threat to peace. The only way he can neutralize his own power as a military icon is to join the sacrifices to the cause. And what more iconic way to do that than with a duel?

Treize may have resigned himself to being an anachronism and a dreamer, but if he is going to die for the sake of the future, he will at least go out according to his ideals: gracefully, nobly, at the hands of an enemy he respects.

For personal and aesthetic reasons, Milliardo is Treize’s hopeful first choice as a dueling partner, but Milliardo had his own role to play in their final performance, which prevented him from participating in a duel for their mutual actualization. So Wufei is the right choice; Wufei both understands him and has a justified reason to want him dead. Besides, it’s an elegant, symmetrical solution– the continuation of a duel that he predicted they would be destined to finish in mobile suits.

--And what effect does that have on Wufei? Perhaps expectedly, a fracturing one.

It shouldn’t be surprising that Treize’s ideals resonate so powerfully with someone who was raised in a warrior culture, especially someone who only knows how to express his beliefs and sense his self worth through combat.

Wufei, too, lives with contradictions that he cannot fully unify.

Treize Khushrenada cannot live in the world he wishes to see realized.

If he were to win the war against White Fang, the cycle of oppression and resentment would continue. Even if he were to immediately relinquish his power to Relena and demilitarize the Earth Sphere, the end result would lead to more conflict; his refusal to take control of the Colonies would be seen as capitulation, and a betrayal of those who fought for him against the threat of annihilation from space. Even the considerable power of his charisma would evaporate overnight if he were to appear to be turning his back on the soldiers whose fanatic loyalty had allowed the unified mobilization of Earth’s military forces under his banner. But, as a general leading from the front lines in a noble defense of Earth, dying gloriously in battle for the sake of peace lends all that charisma to the future he fought for.

--The message left to the surviving soldiers is not: “His Excellency led us into battle and then abandoned us when he won”, but instead: “this is the peace His Excellency died protecting.”

Indeed, after his death, Treize’s name IS used in an attempt to lend legitimacy to the argument that soldiers have been devalued in a time of peace, and that continuous war to determine the strongest victor to lead humanity is his true legacy. But it doesn’t stick– the would-be dictator who tries to use Treize’s name in service of his military takeover is killed by a nameless soldier, whose change of heart is motivated by the memory of what Treize actually died for.

--It is not a victor who moved the hearts of the people, but a glorious loser.

#Gundam Wing #Treize Khushrenada #Lady Une #Chang Wufei #Endless Waltz #gundam wingtionary #wing watcher's toolkit #tinyozlion pgw #parsing post

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hope-to-hell · 1 year

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The difficulty of taking what you really want. Travis Hackett x Reader. Smut, pegging, implied age gap. It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.

—

When you float the idea he goes all deer in the headlights, blush creeping up from under his collar. He’s not disgusted—poleaxed maybe— spluttering a bit before he gets out a what? I, um. No… no thank you, and so you let it lie. There’s plenty else you can do, after all. And anyway you’re well distracted before long, once he starts peeling off his shirt with that boyish grin that makes him look twenty years younger.

Were you a greaser? I bet you were, leather jacket and jeans, causing trouble down at the drive-in and—

Hey now, how old do you think I am?

Just messing with ya. Still think you’d look fuckin hot in leather.

There’s a span of weeks when he’s turning something over in his mind, now and then making that rumbling hmm over coffee at his desk, or as he’s moving slow and lazy in ya with your back pressed against his chest.

You think too much.

One of us has to.

And so time passes until the question just faintly brushes the back of your mind, until the lights are low and he’s nosing at your neck. I want you to, he says, and you can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

Gonna have to be more specific, T. Pulling it out of him carries the risk of Travis simply retreating into himself, but this is part of the dance: the I want that becomes we need, the shyness spiraling out into abandon— because he is shy, no matter what he or anyone else says; he dreams of rain in the pines and not another soul around for miles— but all this hinges on him speaking his need.

I— aw fuck. I want you to fuck me. His words are breathy on the exhale, wispy almost; it’s that little voice whispering I want, I want, peeling back the ingrained layers of good boys don’t do that, laying bare the part of him that dares to take what he wants. This won’t be a grand event; there will be no rose petals or candlelight; he is a skittish thing and so he will try to stay at the very edge of the light where he can let his needs unfurl. But he is the center of your attention here whether he likes it or not; he takes a breath and lets you lay him down.

You don’t have to say I’ll be careful but you do say easy does it when you’re slicking him inside and out til he’s nearly more lube than man; he’s had a finger in him once or twice but the promise of more has him breathing openmouthed, canines catching at his lip. I gotcha. Here, check it out— and you’re closing his big rough hand over the silicone cock, feeling the tug of leather against your skin as he hefts it, pursing his lips such that you can practically hear the gears turning in his mind.

And if he twitches a little at the way you’re petting at his insides, it doesn’t last because at last he’s drifting in the rare pleasure of being cared for, rocked now and again by the uncertainty of this unfamiliar ground. Feels— weird. Exposed? Like I’m more naked than I’ve ever been. He shifts, canting his hips up just a bit; he could be chasing sensation or trying to evade it, and so you have to ask.

Hey. We still good?

Golden.

Okay, then. Lie back and let me blow your mind.

Smartass, I oughta— whatever he meant to say dies in the harsh wet gasp that punches out of him when you steady the toy against his ass and slowly push inside. It’s not from pain but rather from the sheer overwhelming scope of sensation that he has no reference for, and so all he can do is drop his head back among the pillows and feel.

‘Salright? His answer is in the way he reaches for you, threading a hand between all your tangled limbs til he can grip at your hip, catching at the leather strap. His pale arm tenses bowstring-tight with the force of his need; he’s beyond speaking but his body speaks more clearly than he could, his cock twitching and jerking against his belly. Stroke yourself, gorgeous. C’mon, let me see, you look so fucking hot when you let go. And when he does let go— when he sheds the final scrap of oughtn’t, shouldn’t, mustn’t and clothes himself in pure naked pleasure— when he takes himself in hand and his breaths falter out of rhythm, that’s when it happens.

It’s the smallest change in angle, a shift of your hips that rips a startled, wide-eyed oh from him. There, huh?

I— fuck. Fuck. Again, more— and of course you’re gonna give him what he wants, what he needs— unh— he’s been wound so tight for so long, he deserves this mindless pleasure, the wet sound of skin on skin as you push him hard toward the edge— fuckfuckfuck— the stoic in him has combusted and all that’s left is this mad dash to— ah— to—

and he falls.

He’s still twitching but you’re already halfway out of the harness, wrapping yourself around his thigh, and he slots against you so perfectly, slippery with spilled lube and your own need; the hair on his thigh gives just the right amount of friction and it’s no time at all before you’re following him down.

In the loose-limbed aftermath he’s hazy, drifting; his fingertips brush against your cheek as he’s mumbling cmere. Scootch up. He’s so warm, slick with sweat and fluids but you fit so perfectly against his side. It’ll be worth having to peel yourself off him later; for now he’s slipping into sleep with one arm draped across your belly. For now, there is no thought, no worry— only rest.

#ted raimi #Travis hackett #travis hackett fic #travis hackett smut #travis hackett x you #travis hackett x reader #the quarry #the quarry fic #the quarry smut #my fic

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elvisabutler · 2 years

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virtue

summary: you are the sort of person gladys should have never let her son interact with. elvis will always listen to his mama, except when it comes to you. you like taking advantage of this. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) | elvis presley pairing: austin butler elvis x female reader rating: m. word count: 3058 warnings: corruption kink. religious undertones. religious overtones. comparing elvis to a cherub. defiling a church. sub elvis, tbh. unprotected p in v sex. mild breeding kink implication, i think. author's note: welcome to a late day 21 for kinktober, corruption kink with austin!elvis. okay so. i'm unhinged just a little this month. sometimes you can't pick what you want and then someone chooses 50s elvis ( cough @blurredcolour ) and you think i want to wreck that man then this happens. yeah. i don't mean anything bad by it, so if you are religious, sorry about this. also yes there is a difference in pronunciation of mama and momma when elvis says it in this. one means you, the other means his actual mother. also almost made this gender neutral, didn't because i haven't quite mastered the art of full sex with gender neutral so i chickened out, but i have a few more austin elvis parts of kinktober so don't worry it'll happen. and you know the usual you can imagine real elvis with this i don't mind.

Elvis is a good southern boy, all manners and charm wrapped into a drawling package. You've known from the second you laid eyes on him that he is a good boy. Except, Elvis is also a bit of a brat, and you'd like to blame his mama for that but- well, deep down inside of you there was a good southern woman who knew how to mind their elders lest you get your ass whooped from here to kingdom come so you can't very well talk bad about her. Elvis- he's innocent enough, all blushes and mild stutters as Scotty and Bill and DJ are making lewd jokes. Elvis a good church going boy and you used to be a good church going girl yourself- a different denomination but honestly your daddy would have never taken you to anything but a Catholic mass- but you had stopped a while back, finding it more suffocating than anything comforting. Still, it doesn't stop you from leaning against Elvis's pink Cadillac waiting for him. You know there's a chance his fans will swarm you and him but your plan means you'll take the risk gladly.

"Darlin'?" Elvis's voice is questioning as he managed to force his way through a small crowd of fans at the church doors. His face- his smile at you despite his confusion makes you remember all those paintings of cherubs and you find a grin blossoming on your own face. Your little cherub, pleased as punch to see you just as you're pleased to see him. "What're you doin' here?"

"I came to see my favorite person." My favorite boy. "And I know it's Sunday so of course you'd be-"

"At church. Oh mama, missed me that much?" His cheeks flush as he looks down at the ground, and then up your legs, eyeing how your skirt errs just slightly on the side of too short and gulping. "You know you shouldn't be wearin' somethin' like that. They're gonna- you know what they're gonna say."

Your answering laugh has him biting his lip as he watches the line of your throat. He just got out of church and you've got him thinking every sinful thought under the sun already. "That I'm a loose woman and that you really oughta stay away from me? Please, we both know I'm irresistible to you. Besides, we both know you love how loose I am."

Elvis has to choke back a groan, especially as he feels your hands pull him closer to you, grasping at his butt and squeezing. "We're in public and outside the church, baby." He says trying to gain control of the situation, all while his head nuzzles into your neck. "God you smell wonderful. New-"

"Perfume." You finish his thought before your allow one of your hands to slide up to his head, running your fingers through his hair. There's a hum that comes from Elvis that causes you to smirk as you pull just lightly on his hair. A part of you is aware his fans are staring, the churchgoers are staring, but Elvis is your boyfriend and you'd like everyone to be vividly aware of it. "How was church?"

Elvis's eyes are hooded when he looks at you, all heat and hidden promise, because he knows you're teasing him. He knows you're teasing him right after church because you think it's fun. He wonders if you're going to ask him what you always ask him when you show up like this every month. "Good. Enlightening, they were talking about resisting temptation. How it's hard nowadays especially with me and my gyrations."

Your laugh sounds downright sinister as the last bit of Elvis's fans and the church goers walk by the pair of you. It earns you a few looks and glares but you choose to ignore them, instead focusing on how Elvis is murmuring apologies to them as they walk by. He's not apologizing for you, you know he cares for you too much but he has to keep up appearances or else he'll hear it from his manager. "Resisting temptation?" Your hand that had been used to pull him close moves to his front, starting at his torso before you slide it down to the front of his pants. "From whom, the devil or everyone else?"

Elvis whispers your name and it comes out practically as a hiss as he can't help but buck his hips against your hand. "Baby. Don't- we're in front of the church. They'll see."

The last word, his last word comes out as a whine, and you move to kiss him, allowing yourself to cup his quickly hardening cock through his slacks. You had him inching toward where you wanted him, just maybe a few tiny pushes left and he'd be exactly where you wanted him. You'd both be exactly where you want to be. Your hand squeezes just a bit as Elvis gasps and grabs at your wrist.

"Mama." A pause. "Darlin'- you're the temptation for me right now. It'd kill my momma if she heard I did something like this after church. In front of the church." He sounds almost pleading, but with whom you don't know. He's had sex before, told you in a rush of apologies about the one girl on the road and while you'd have killed him for it, you find it didn't mean anything. Not like how it would mean between the two of you. The road had taken so much already and you'd be damned if it would take much more. It was your job to ruin him, not a Carny manager and Bill's stupid need to a stimulant that he thought your boyfriend needed.

Your eyes dart around the area, noting that in the time you've been standing there people have found their way to their cars and to their paths to walk home. There is- in short no one still left on the property but you and you imagine the priest- pastor- you forget what Elvis calls the person leading the congregation. It is exactly what you want to see, it's exactly what you need to see. Your mouth moves to his ear, nipping at his earlobe just slightly. "Who said anything about being in front of the church. I wouldn't let everyone see you like this. They might think they could make you feel as good as I will."

A gust of wind blows by the two of you, forcing you both to tilt a little toward the door of the church. The next words out of your boyfriend surprise you in ways you hadn't thought he was capable of doing to you. "Don't suppose you think that's God's way of telling us to go in there, do ya?" He asks, his face still the picture of an innocent cherub sent to charm you but with his tone- oh his tone- rivaling that of the Devil himself, sent to defile you and and anyone you wanted.

The second you hear those words you know you've won this one, you get to have Elvis where you want to have him. You get to corrupt this good Southern boy- this good church going boy into what you want- what you need. "I think that's exactly what God wants us to do, sweetheart."

The pastor is- you're assuming- at his house nearby on the property, unlike most priests you had known this pastor refrained from cleaning up after a service until the last minute, something about how he wanted the service to settle, whatever that meant. So you had some time, not that you or Elvis were going to need it from the way he's pushing you up against a bench, his lips igniting a fire in between your legs and on your skin. You're letting him take control for this original space of time- allowing him to think he's the one in charge, that this was his plan all along, that he wanted to fuck his girlfriend in a church. The truth is the exact opposite but as smart as Elvis can be about some things- he misses cues like this, misses knowing that you were the one who planned this that you're the heathen dragging this boy to hell by defiling him in a church.

"Wanna make you feel good, mama. Wanna feel good." He murmurs, his drawl slurring his words together like they're molasses. His hips rut against you, seeking some form of release before your hand moves to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants. "What- you're already undoing my-"

A laugh leaves your lips before you kiss his own, biting softly in order to make them just a hair redder and a little more plump. He looks- he's inching toward looking like the picture of sin. That picture has you groaning softly before you speak. "You can't fuck me if your pants are on, babe. Want my baby's cock in me. Want to feel your cock stretching me. You said you'd let me do this- said you were sorry."

That snaps his focus back from the ceiling where he had been focusing back to you, back to your pouting face and his own face falls. "Oh, mama, I- You know I am, mama, know I didn't- I shouldn't have, you're my girl, you're the only one I want to see me like this- like-" You can see his brain trying to catch up as he forces himself to pause even as his hips keep bucking against you. "Wanted to give it to you, only you, wanted you to have you do all those things to me first, wanted-"

"Me to ruin you?" You finish the sentence, taking pity on Elvis as you moved to try and shimmy out of your underwear. "Corrupt you from the inside out? Make you as bad as everyone thinks I am?"

He nods frantically, trying the best way he can to help you out of your underwear and only stopping when he sees them pool to the floor. His eyes focus on them when he speaks almost making him look bashful and embarrassed. The heat that was already curling in your abdomen grows just a little more as you have to bite your lip to keep from growling at his look, growling at the knowledge that this is all yours to keep.

"Yes." His words come out as a whisper that you can only hear because of the deafening quiet in the church. "Want that. I- Let me fuck you in here, mama. God gave you to me and gave me to you, wanna show him what good he's done."

It doesn't take you a second before you're pushing Elvis onto the bench, freeing his cock from his boxers and sinking yourself down. You're drenched and the noise from his cock entering you is almost sickening in how it sounds. You swear you feel a gush of arousal as he groans, low and making your entire being vibrate. Is this was a religious experience felt like? Was this what you told your father you never experienced at church? You don't know, but you know that Elvis needs to move, needs to buck against you as you ride him.

"Gonna have to help me, baby. Can't ride you and do all the work myself." You murmur against his lips before trailing kisses down his neck, stopping to make sure to suck just against his jaw line, knowing fully well he'll bruise. He is yours and you'd prefer people to know it.

His hands move to cup your chest, touching your breasts through your bra as he nuzzles them. He won't ask you to take off your shirt, not in here, not realizing that you two have to be at least somewhat discrete as your skirt hides his cock pumping into you, hides his hips rutting against your pelvis. "Wanna fuck you like this every night. Gonna marry you, mama ain't gonna like it, but you're my girl. Making me feel so wrong and so right. So perfect- so glad you wanted me- could have gone for those other boys-"

He's whimpering and it's feeding into your own desire to whimper back at him. He's so fucking pure sometimes it sickens you, he's so earnest in what he's saying and it makes you love him so much it hurts you. You kiss him, swallowing both of your whimpers in the kiss, putting all your energy into clenching around his cock, trying to milk it so that you can both finish, so you can tell him that he shouldn't marry you, Gladys would probably die if he did and as much as you want to ruin him, you know he couldn't take that. He keeps talking though- keeps muttering the filth you love to hear him say because it says it so rarely.

It sounds like a prayer, you realize, it sounds like he's muttering a prayer or a hymn onto your skin and you realize that you might be corrupting him, might be ruining him but there's still a part of him that's a good God fearing, church going boy and you can't take that away no matter how hard you try. The rush of arousal you feel after that realization startles you, has you clutching onto his shoulders for dear life.

If he minds your grip he doesn't say anything, instead choosing to buck his hips more as one hand moves in between you two to play with your clit. "She taught me how to do this, mama. I- Can I come in you? Wanna do that- I know I shouldn't but you're- I want it. Wanna claim you like that. You want me like that- don't ya?"

Maybe the road had done more to him than you thought, maybe you weren't corrupting him like you thought if he was playing with your clit like it was his guitar, skillfully earning a sigh and a whimper from you. Or maybe that was from the words he uttered, you don't know, you only know that you feel your walls tightening, feel your cunt fluttering on his cock and you should say no, you should tell him that he needs to come on the floor but you can't utter those words. Instead you utter the exact opposite.

"Come in me, show everyone that I'm yours baby, stake your claim in me like my hickies show mine on you. Show them that I've got you, not anyone else. Show them I've got Elvis- the good boy who loves his momma and his family and would do anything if I just asked. Would fuck me over a church altar if I asked."

He comes with a shout that sounds pained, like it was wrenched from the depths of his soul. You never come with or right after any of your partners but with Elvis, with him right in this moment you feel the warmth of his come and way his hands are gripping whatever part of your body he can grab and you fall against him, coming as quietly as you can, only letting out the tiniest of whimpers against his ear. You can feel his cock twitch afterward, thinking it's going to be interested in the proceedings.

The two of you sit there for a few minutes, attempting to catch your breath and your bearings. You shouldn't have let him come in you, but you couldn't help it. It should be fine, you hope. Elvis speaks first, a quiet whisper against your neck.

"I love you. Meant what I said- wanna make ya my wife. Maybe give my momma grandchildren. Wanna take care of ya like you take care of me." He pauses. "You gonna let me do all those things, mama?"

You sigh, moving to pull off of his cock. "Maybe. You gonna let me turn you into a different kind of man?" A man more suited for you, more suited to be with a girl half the city looks at in disgust.

He looks up at the ceiling and looks at a cross he sees in the distance before he answers with an honesty that startles you. "I think I'd follow ya into hell if that's the only way I could have ya."

In short, yes.

There is a silence that stretches too long to feel comfortable between the two of you until you finally speak, pulling off his cock completely, allowing his release to drip down your legs as you kiss him. "Ask me again next month, Elvis."

He moves to put himself back together, to make himself more presentable to the world as he tucks his cock back in his pants and refastens them. "I'll ask ya next week. I mean it this time, mama. I think- I think ya stuck with me now."

Good. You shrug. "That's just the temptation speaking."

Elvis stands up and moves to touch your stomach as he kisses you. "No, that's me thinkin' God's gonna force ya to let me be with ya after this. Can't have sex wit' ya in a church and not expect somethin'."

You feel as if cold water has been dumped on your head but still you smile. "Your momma won't like it."

His lips curl into a smirk you don't recognize on his face. It startles you and arouses you in equal measure. "To hell with her opinion. I'll ask ya next week. I wanna get an answer this time, mama. Can't keep ruining me like without letting me get a reward."

You open your mouth to say something before you hear a commotion signaling that the pastor is back. The pair of you make a quick escape, running out the opposite end of the church, only stopping when you reach Elvis's car.

"Let me take ya home." He murmurs against your lips as you push him against the car for a goodbye kiss.

"Just this once." You answer back, allowing him to open the door and let you in. "And only this once."

The only response you get is a hum from Elvis. He does ask you again the next week. And the week after. And the week after. You don't give your mostly good Southern boy an answer until the next month.

His momma hates the answer.

#austin butler elvis #austin butler elvis x reader #austin butler #austin butler elvis smut #austin butler elvis fanfic #austin elvis x reader #austin elvis smut #elvis presley #austin butler elvis x you #austin butler elvis x y/n #austin elvis x you #austin elvis x y/n #idk all my tags #ally's kinktober 2022 #kinktober 2022 #ally writes

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scriveyner · 2 years

Text

always summer #20

always summer #20: fireworks | bungou stray dogs |👿🐯 | #kinktober 🔞| ~1100 words

Dazai was perched on the metal guardrail, watching the sea of pedestrian traffic flowing between the park attractions. It was dusk already, and this stretch of the arcade was lit by strands of bare-bulb lights strung between vendor stalls, interspersed with colorful, if faded, pennant flags. The lights on the attractions moved in patterns, under which people clustered for chances to win cheap prizes by knocking over milk cans or popping balloons with darts.

Continue on ao3 or:

Chuuya was a dark figure weaving efficiently through the ever-moving throng of people; he emerged near Dazai carting two covered boxes, a plastic garbage-bag-sized bag of popcorn under his arm, and enormous drinks in his other hand. To his credit, he was managing all of this food without the telltale red glimmer of his ability at work, and Dazai could only be a little impressed at the fact that he was holding both enormous cups in the same hand by their bottoms.

“What’s all this?” Dazai asked as he was handed a box, hot with food inside and the bottom wet with grease.

Chuuya looked around. “Huh, did we lose Atsushi and Akutagawa?”

“They’ve been gone a while now, just like you. Atsushi-kun was hungry, and Akutagawa-kun clearly loves indulging him.” Dazai plucked a perfectly deep-fried piece of food out of a sea of soggy fries. “What is this?”

“Dunno. Chicken, hopefully. They were deep-frying everything in sight, so there’s no telling.”

Dazai bit into it without further inspection and made no noise of distress, so it was at least edible. Chuuya leaned the closed plastic bag of popcorn against the rail before he opened his own box of food. “Glad I didn’t bother to haul food over for them too, then,” he said, and Dazai nodded his head, absently people-watching. “The burger prices here are obscene, they must be making money hand over fist. We oughta get in on it.”

“Opening a food truck in a heavily tourist-infested area and price-gouging?” Dazai chewed on a fry. “Retirement plans are for people who aren’t planning on killing themselves when they finally convince the love of their life to join them in the sweet abyss.”

“Remind me to take you off the liability insurance.”

Dazai smirked to himself and continued to eat fries, still watching the crowds of people and looking to pick out a familiar pair but not seeing them yet. “Hey, how many cheeseburgers do you think Atsushi can eat?”

Chuuya tilted his head back, elbows hooked over the rail. “Total, or in one sitting?”

“I don’t think there’s a number high enough to gauge the first.”

“Point. Counterpoint,” Chuuya pointed at Dazai with a fry, who then leaned over and took it from Chuuya’s fingers with his mouth. “How much money you got, because I’m pretty sure it would bankrupt the Port Mafia.”

They both laughed, the noise lost under the clamor of the amusement park.

~*~

The promenade was the place to be, filling up quickly with people all lining up for the best positions to watch the show. They were far enough away from the wide, paved paths around the lake the amusement park sat on that the risk of discovery was minimal, but all the same Atsushi kept a nervous eye out for movement. “If you were so worried about being caught,” Akutagawa said breathlessly, leg hiked over Atsushi’s hip and shoulders pressed to the bark of the large old tree, “you wouldn’t have initiated.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” Atsushi said distractedly, hands shifting back to Akutagawa’s hips, holding him tight and keeping him pressed back into the tree. “I wasn’t thinking at all, really, I just really, really wanted to kiss you.”

Akutagawa wet his lips and groaned softly; his hand curled in Atsushi’s shirt. “You’ve done more than just kiss me,” he grunted, but he wasn’t chastising, just stating a fact that he was clearly, clearly enjoying. He grunted again and let out a soft little groan as Atsushi changed his stance, which changed the way his cock was pressed into Akutagawa’s walls.

“It’s not my fault you looked so cute coming off that roller coaster,” Atsushi was panting now, bouncing Akutagawa slightly on his dick, half grinding and half thrusting. “Your hair was all silly and you were smiling, what was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to kiss me, ah,” Akutagawa’s legs tightened on his sides. “There.”

“There?” Atsushi found the spot again and honed in on it, and they were lost in each other, shortened breaths and soft moans shared between them. Akutagawa’s mouth stayed open as he panted, hand tight on the back of Atsushi’s neck, and Atsushi’s eyes were locked on his, so close, so close—

In the distance, they both could hear the roar of the crowds and, a split second later, thunder in the night as the fireworks show began in earnest. The brilliant colors lit them up even hidden as they were in the tight cluster of trees, golds and reds and greens dappling Akutagawa’s skin; and he laughed, catching Atsushi’s shirt in both hands and pulling him into a kiss as they rocked together.

“Come on,” Akutagawa moaned against his mouth and Atsushi shifted his grip, one arm now braced against the tree, Akutagawa pressed nearly double as he slammed in again and again, until Akutagawa was sobbing his name, fingers crooked into claws and digging into Atsushi’s skin through his shirt.

Atsushi’s breath was harsh against Akutagawa’s ear, “Ryuunosuke, Ryuuno—ah, fuck…”

Akutagawa shuddered, Atsushi throbbing inside; all the tension built up and released. He could feel his heartbeat so fast, their chests nearly together; finally, Atsushi exhaled low and long.

“Sorry,” he managed, panting hoarsely into Akutagawa’s ear, the flush on his skin drowned out by the faint echoes of color bursting from the sky above. “I didn’t pull out.”

Akutagawa’s fingers tightened on the back of his skull for just a moment before releasing, his heart beating nearly as fast. “You must take responsibility for cleanup then,” he said, finally, and Atsushi laughed, nuzzling his face and kissing him again before pulling out with a wet noise.

“I can handle that,” he said, going smoothly to his knees in front of the wobbly-legged Akutagawa. He let Akutagawa support himself with a leg thrown over his shoulders, and Akutagawa twisted both his hands in Atsushi’s hair as he slid his fingers through his own mess before beginning to clean him.

Akutagawa watched the fireworks through the trees, as the show finally drew to a dramatic finale. “They’ll be looking for us,” he said idly, shuddering as Atsushi’s fingers thrust in deep, then his breath slid over Akutagawa’s sensitive dick.

“Let them look, I’m not done here.”

#bungou stray dogs #kinktober #shin soukoku #sskk #lemony fresh

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slutforstabbings-archive · 1 year

Text

Clean Again

survivor!Corey Cunningham x fem!Reader

After miraculously surviving the injuries he sustained on Halloween 2022 and narrowly avoiding arrest, Corey Cunningham lives in constant fear of being found out. He tries to keep his head down and be as invisible as possible but the first time he sees you, you see him too. Can he have a relationship with you without you really seeing ALL of him? What happens when you eventually catch a glimpse of his secret? Is love worth the risk?

new chapters posted every Thursday between 9 and 10 EST

Chapter 1: ESCAPE FROM HADDONFIELD read on AO3 | tumblr chapter index

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter- gun violence, long hospitalization, prescription pain killers, wishing for death, description of a corpse, referenced past abuse (fuck you joan)

5,668 words

@rebel-blue @heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife @yllcm dm me or reply to this post to be added to my tag list 💕

Beep. Beep. Beep. Whoosh.

It’s pitch black. Corey can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed. He can’t hear anything except a distant beeping, punctuated by occasional whooshing. The sounds feel familiar, but he can’t figure out why. Then they fade away.

God it hurts! Everything hurts, pain like he’s never felt before. Can a person die from pain? Or is this pain what dying feels like? What being dead feels like? What Hell feels like? If he’s dead, and Hell is real, that’s certainly where he’s wound up.

But now what’s this? A new sensation, like being swarmed by ants. And the ants eat him, all the way down to shiny, clean bones. Skeletonized. The places where he’s been reduced to bone no longer hurt.

There are voices. Speaking in a language it seems wrong for him to hear. Something alien, or maybe something lost not long after we started walking upright. They’re warped, and warbling, like they’re being played at the wrong speed. There’s that beeping sound again. Laughter. It’s laughter, and they’re all laughing at him.

Corey sits on the witness stand at his manslaughter trial. The gallery of the courtroom is full of people. But as he looks the crowd over he realizes it’s really all just one person.

It’s Momma, 20 Mommas, only able to comfort him for a few minutes at time before she makes all his problems about herself. No one will ever love you like I do, and this is how you repay me? You’re killing me Corey! Is that what you want? To kill your mother?

It’s Laurie, 20 Lauries. Aiming revolvers at him. Do you wanna do it, or you want me to? She asks before unleashing a hail of bullets. They ricochet wildly around the courtroom, splintering the wood of the witness stand, releasing tiny explosions of drywall, shattering every lightbulb overhead. Riddling Corey’s body with holes, turning him into Swiss cheese. Then the dust settles and everything is normal again.

It’s Doug. 20 Dougs, guts spilling out of his stomach, throat gurgling and full of blood. You’ll be lucky if you make it back to the station. I oughta put you in the ground, you psycho son of a bitch!

It’s Michael. No. 20 people wearing Michael’s mask, but none of them are Michael. One by one they reveal their true face. Corey’s face. Each one puts a finger up to his lips. Shhhh. Then he disappears.

The Corey on the witness stand turns to the judge. It’s Jeremy, neck lolling, blood gushing from his split scalp. Answer the question, loser! Did you kill me on purpose or not!! He screams without moving his slack, dead mouth. Now the judge is Mrs. Allen, and she leans down to him, still screaming in Jeremy’s dead voice. You think you can just have fun with your friends!? You don’t have any friends, you ugly, white trash nerd!

A hole opens in the floor of the witness stand and Corey falls. He falls down, and down, and down further than that.

He lands with a hard thump on the floor of the sewer. Pain radiates through his limbs and he gasps for air. Something crunches and squelches beneath him. He scrambles to his feet and looks at what he was laying on. His own corpse. Rotting and partially eaten, rats and insects swarming it. It’s wearing the silly scarecrow mask.

He removes the mask from his own dead face. The inside is full of bugs. He shakes them onto the ground, then puts it on. As soon as it touches his face, he panics. His fingers skitter over the hard plastic surface, desperate to claw it off, but it’s stuck like it’s fused with his skin.

Allyson pulls the mask off of him. He’s lying in a puddle of his own blood, and she’s hovering over him, holding his head in her hands. She thinks he’s dead. Her tears fall onto his face and slowly dissolve him until he’s nothing but a stain on the hardwood floor.

Corey opens his eyes. He can’t see anything, but he knows his eyes are open.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Whoosh.

Oh. I’m in the hospital, he thinks. He closes his eyes again.

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

The morning of November 2nd has barely begun, but there is chaos brewing in the Warren County Sheriff’s Department. With Michael Myers turned into hamburger, things seemed like they would be calm for quite some time, and yesterday had been a great beginning. But this morning Joe Grillo and Joe Ross came to work with vengeance in their hearts. They corner Richard Wright as he fills the coffee pot with water from the cooler.

“You collected a handprint from a glass door at the Mathis scene, right?” Grillo demands.

“Yes?” Richard replies in confusion.

“Did you run the prints?” Asks Ross.

“No. It was a Michael Myers murder. We only collected the print because we didn’t realize it was him right away. Why would we run it?”

“Did you ever see Michael Myers before he was shredded, Dick?” Ross asks.

“Big guy,” says Grillo. “Gigantic hands.”

“Okay…?” Richard says, still confused.

“Handprint you collected at the Mathis scene looks kinda small to be Michael,” Grillo explains.

“It could belong to Mathis, or the girl we found at the scene.”

“Nope,” Grillo says. “Too small to be Michael, too big to be one of the victims. Could belong to a fourth person.”

“Could belong to Corey Cunningham,” Ross adds.

Richard takes a second to process this information. “Cunningham was a Myers victim too. He was barely clinging to life when we found him.”

“He got in Doug’s face at the diner on my birthday,” Grillo says. “Doug disappeared right after that. Seems suspicious, doesn’t it?”

“Seems like a coincidence,” Richard says. He moves to walk away but Joe Grillo and Joe Ross press in on him. Water sloshes out of the coffee carafe in Richard's hand.

“Oh yeah? Remind me who the victims were at the scene when you investigated,” prompts Ross.

“Tanner Mathis and Deborah Jennings. So what?”

“Jennings worked at the Mathis clinic. Know who else worked there?” Grillo asks. “Allyson Nelson,” the Joes say in unison.

“Great police work,” Richard says sarcastically, trying again to walk away from the conversation. Joe Ross and Joe Grillo just tighten their press on him, until he can smell the unique reek of their combined breath.

“Allyson was with Cunningham at the diner on my birthday,” Grillo growls.

“Joe, this town is fucking tiny. I’m sure everyone in the diner on your birthday was connected to each other and Michael Myers in some way. You’re grieving. We’re all grieving. But you can’t let that cloud your judgement. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Richard finally manages to shoulder his way out from between the Joes and the water cooler.

“Not everyone in the diner that night killed a kid!” Ross says after him.

Richard turns on his heel. “Jeremy Allen’s death was an accident. Cunningham was acquitted.”

The Joes laugh mirthlessly. “Run the fucking prints, Dick.” Grillo says.

“What’s going on here?” Asks Frank Hawkins as he comes into the break room. He hadn’t heard much, but his ears had pricked up at the name Cunningham. Frank numbered among the few in the Warren County Sheriff’s Department who had believed in Corey’s innocence from the beginning. He’d felt a pang of sadness when he’d seen the poor boy’s body crumpled in the foyer at Laurie’s house two nights ago, and he held a tiny kernel of hope that he would survive his injuries.

“Just trying to make sure our police work is thorough and complete, Frank,” says Joe Ross.

“They wanna run the handprint from the Mathis scene,” Richard clarifies.

“That was a Michael Myers murder, and Michael Myers is dead.”

“Michael Myers is. But Corey Cunningham isn’t,” Grillo says.

“Yet,” Ross adds darkly.

“Why would it be Corey Cunningham’s handprint?” Frank doesn’t follow.

“They think he had something to do with Doug’s disappearance. Mathis and Jennings both worked with Allyson Nelson.” Richard rolls his eyes, something he’s found cause to do quite a lot of this morning.

Frank doesn’t like this at all. He feels a kind of paternal care for Allyson, as Laurie’s granddaughter. He’s not sure what her relationship with Corey is, but he wants to protect her, protect both of them after they’ve been through so much.

“Michael Myers is responsible for Doug’s disappearance.” Frank says. “Let it rest. We all need to try to move on.”

“You can move on. I’m gonna run those fucking prints,” Joe Ross says.

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

Corey comes to his senses slowly, head unfogging a little bit every day. He struggles to make meaning out of the things happening around him, to remember why he’s in the hospital. It seems like something he should know.

Today Corey feels the best he’s felt since he realized he was in the hospital. He’s still in pain, excruciating pain. He tries to move around but it feels like his body has forgotten how to. His muscles groan and his nerves tingle. His arms and legs are heavy and wooden. But his brain is churning. His thoughts are more than just smears.

The TV on the wall in the room is turned on. Through the blur without his glasses, he recognizes Judge Judy. Ron likes Judge Judy, he remembers. Then he feels sick. Something bad happened to Ronald.

A nurse comes into the room. Corey can’t move his head, but he moves his eyes towards her. Her wavy brown hair is pulled into a ponytail.

“You’re awake! Welcome back to Earth!” She says to him as she putters around the room. “Are you hungry? I can have them deliver some solid food for your lunch now that you’re awake.” She checks his vitals and marks them in his chart.

“Yes, please,” Corey whispers raggedly. His voice is small and unfamiliar to him.

“How’s your pain?” The nurse asks, vial and syringe in hand. He can’t find an answer. It’s awful, but it doesn’t feel like it’s happening to him. This stiff, immobile body isn’t attached to anything. Someone else is in pain in this hospital bed. He rolls his eyes around, trying to see the nurse better without rotating his head. “Well I’m gonna give you some morphine, okay? Right in your IV, and you’ll feel better in a flash.” She plunges the medicine into the line, and Corey feels it move slimily around in not-his veins.

“Thank you, Allyson,” he croaks.

“My name’s not Allyson, hon.” She leans over him so he can see her better and taps her name tag. “I’m Nancy. I’m making sure the TV remote and the nurse call button are within your reach if you need them, okay?” He feels her press two rectangles of plastic into his right hand. Then she leaves and Corey drifts away on the morphine.

He wakes up to someone else coming into the room. A blond boy in his late teens, pushing a tower full of trays. He removes one and brings it over to the bedside table. Corey rolls his eyes towards the boy and watches him uncover the food and adjust the height of the table.

“Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Cunningham,” the boy says as he leaves the room.

Corey looks down at the food. A plate of spaghetti sits in the center of the tray. His stomach turns. Fucking spaghetti. Momma’s worst meal, he thinks. Still, he finds himself suddenly ravenous. He shovels the spaghetti into his mouth as quickly as he can with his heavy arms and frozen neck. It surprises him that it’s not disgusting. Of course Momma didn’t make this spaghetti, he thinks. Momma’s dead. He stops chewing mid-bite.

He’s certain his mother’s dead, but he can’t remember why. How did she die? Motorcycle accident? No, that was Daddy. But then why can he picture her body, slouched and covered in blood? He feels like the answer is in his head, right there, in front of him, but he can’t quite reach it. After a moment trying, he gives up and goes back to eating.

It’s later. Corey doesn’t know what time it is, or what day. Only that it must be evening and it must be a weekday, because it’s dark outside and Jeopardy! is on the TV. He hears voices outside his room, he thinks they’re saying his name. He gropes for the remote and hits the mute button when he finds it.

“Is that the Corey Cunningham in there?” A voice says.

“What do you mean?” Another replies. This one is sort of familiar.

“You don’t know about Corey Cunningham!?” The first voice hisses.

“Can’t say I do,” Nancy answers.

“Oh my god! I heard about his case on this podcast I listen to, Manslaughter Monday . He killed a kid he was babysitting in 2019. Threw him over the railing of the stairs from the third floor! The kid cracked his head wide open when he landed. And the fucking jury let him off! He claimed it was an accident and that the kid was pulling a prank on him when everything went wrong. I don’t buy it for a second.” The first voice giggles.

“Maybe you should listen to fewer podcasts,” Nancy sneers.

Corey hears two sets of feet retreating from his door and down the hall.

Suddenly everything crashes in on him. Memories battering him in unrelenting waves. He remembers how he got hurt. He remembers the bad thing that happened to Ronald. He remembers how his mother died. And he remembers Allyson, cradling his head in her hands, certain he was dead. Ice runs through his veins as he realizes that Allyson is probably dead now too, because he woke Michael Myers up. He promised Allyson he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. But he had happened to her.

Corey sobs, a massive, heaving sob. Sitting in the dark, the glow of the TV on him like a spotlight. The grief builds and builds until it feels like it’s smothering him. Squeezing his throat the way Michael had in the sewer. He screams, but no sound comes out except a faint and rattling rasp. The beeps on his heart monitor accelerate to break neck speed, but nobody comes to check on him. He is completely and utterly alone.

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

While Joe Ross sends the bloody handprint from the glass at the Mathis crime scene through the computer, Joe Grillo calls Haddonfield Memorial Hospital. Grillo is transferred from department to department. No one seems to know what happened to Corey Cunningham on Halloween night. Of course not. HMH administration has always been a shit show. When his daughter was born, Grillo half expected them to give him the wrong baby.

The handprint doesn’t go any better. Four of the fingers are smudged and one is only partial. The computer can’t read them. Ross has to make a special request for a human expert to analyze the prints. That only escalates things with Richard Wright and Frank Hawkins.

“Frank needs to learn it’s time to retire,” one Joe complains to the other.

“He’s only obstructing us because he wants to protect Laurie Strode. Well, fuck Laurie Strode!” The other Joe says.

Doug’s body still hasn’t been recovered. Why should they protect that old broad’s peace when their best friend is missing and it’s the Cunningham cunt’s fault?

The two sides split the Sheriff's Department. Most of the men on the force agree with the Joes. Cunningham got off too easy after he killed Jeremy Allen and they hope he’s still alive so they can have their second chance to fry him. Metaphorically, thanks to Illinois doing away with the death penalty. But there are those who believe investigating the murders and Doug’s disappearance is a waste of resources now that Michael is finally gone for good. Even most of them don’t think Corey is particularly innocent. They just don’t want to deal with the whole mess any longer than they already have.

The tension around the station is palpable. Some deputies have refused to speak to those on the other side of the issue. Joe Ross’s own father Elvis has been short with him since all this started. He’s never said he thinks Joe should end the investigation, but he doesn’t have to. Just as Ross starts to worry that the Sheriff will call everything off, the prints come back from the human expert.

Joe Ross sits at his desk with the envelope in his hands. He taps his foot impatiently as he waits for Joe Grillo to show up. Finally, Ross sees him approaching. Before Grillo even gets all the way to his desk, Ross is unsealing the envelope. His gut is telling him the news is bad, and he wants to rip the bandaid off. Grillo arrives at his elbow just as he slides the report out.

Thumb and pointer finger inconclusive. Too smudged even for the county’s top expert to get anything from. Middle finger, ring finger, and partial pinky — positive identification. There it is, the thing that Ross has been hoping to read for weeks, but was convinced he’d never see. Suspect Name: Corey Cunningham. He turns to Grillo to celebrate just as the other Joe’s phone rings.

“Grillo,” he answers gruffly, annoyed at the interruption. Ross strains to overhear the conversation, but only gets one side. “You did?… Okay, so where… Let me get something to write this down.” He gestures roughly to Ross who shoves a pen and a sticky pad into his hands. Ross watches as Grillo writes down an address a couple hours away from Haddonfield.

“Is this it?” He mouths to Grillo, who waves him away as he finishes his phone call. “Is this it?” He repeats as Grillo hangs up.

“That’s it. He was airlifted. He was only at Haddonfield Memorial to get onto the helicopter and someone fucked up his records. I’m leaving right now to go see if that motherfucker is still alive.” The Joes high five in triumph as Grillo shrugs into his coat.

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

Nancy is sitting by herself at the nurse’s station organizing paperwork when a cop walks up. He’s not dressed like local police, his uniform is green. The patch on his bicep says Warren County. He smacks his badge on the counter and clears his throat.

“Yes?” She replies in a sour voice.

“You got a Corey Cunningham as a patient in here?” The cop asks.

“I don’t know, deputy, do you have a warrant?” Nancy attempts to match his posture and tone.

After Dottie, that vulture from maternity, had come to ask about Corey the other night, Nancy had gone home and done some research. She found the podcast and listened to it, despite her usual distaste for true crime bullshit. The storytelling was garbage and the hosts seemed to derive an obscene pleasure from the suffering of everyone involved, but it gave her a basic understanding of what happened. Afterwards, she found a YouTube channel that posted a video claiming to analyze the psychology of Corey’s police interview. It had been a long time since Nancy took psychology, but she knew most of the claims in the video were bogus, just like the podcast. She tuned most of the narration out, focusing on the footage of Corey. She couldn’t help but care for the boy in the interrogation video. He seemed so small and naive. Completely unprepared for the harsh reality of what happened to him.

The arresting officer was a real piece of work too. Lying to Corey and making thinly veiled threats to his safety. If this is how he behaved when he knew the conversation was being recorded, she could only imagine how he treated suspects outside of the camera’s watchful eye. When Corey turned his frightened face towards the lens, Nancy felt like he was looking right into her eyes, begging for her help.

When the video ended she moved onto news stories, trying to find a less biased perspective. It proved difficult. His trial had to be moved to a different county because he had no hope for an impartial jury in his home jurisdiction. The town had a serial killer problem or something, and Corey’s accident had turned him into the villain they needed. It was sick. And that blabbermouth Dottie was probably telling everyone in the hospital that they had a real life murderer in their midst.

That was when Nancy had first started caring for Corey, when he had just been transferred out of the ICU. She’d felt deeply disturbed while reading his chart, and absolutely astounded that he’d survived. Two gunshots, a stab wound, and a broken neck. Multiple large bruises and massive soft tissue damage, some of which was already old and healing. Mild concussion, also days old. Cuts, scrapes, friction burns. A nasty gash in his palm that looked like it had already been stitched closed once, with a bright red spider web of infection streaking from it.

Was it lucky or unlucky that the knife had passed right between major veins and arteries? That it had just barely clipped his vocal folds? That two of his vertebrae had been fractured, but his spinal cord remained undamaged? Was it lucky or unlucky that, despite the infection already festering when he arrived at the hospital, all his wounds closed with ease, that he was spared sepsis and gangrene? After everything he’d been through, did God love Corey Cunningham or hate him?

“A warrant?” Grillo responds, sounding annoyed.

“Yes, sir. I can’t confirm or deny if someone is a patient without a warrant, it’s a breach of privacy.”

“Can you get me someone who’s in charge around here?” He slaps his badge against the counter impatiently.

“Sure I can, sir. But we’re really short staffed right now, so it would probably be hours before they would have time to speak to you. We’re busy saving lives.” Instead of ruining them, she wants to add.

“Fine. A warrant.” Grillo says tersely. He smacks his badge on the counter one more time before turning away and heading towards the elevator.

As soon as she hears the doors slide closed, Nancy pulls up Corey’s chart. She scans it quickly, trying to figure out how close to discharge ready she can get him, tonight. She can’t let the boy from the interrogation video go through that again. It would really be best for him to stay in the hospital for at least another week, but that is not a luxury he has. Corey Cunningham deserves a break, even if just a small one, and Nancy can give it to him if she acts right now.

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

Corey looks at the ceiling, noticing a cluster of dead bugs inside the light over his bed. I wish I was like them, he thinks. Dead. Turned to paper by time. Forgotten and inconsequential. A fitting end for a short, stupid life.

There’s a small knock on his door, followed by the creak of hinges. Corey attempts to move his head to look, but mostly fails. In the very edge of his vision he sees Nurse Nancy entering. Her arms are full with some kind of bundle.

“How are we doing?” She asks. Corey can’t be bothered to respond. “I’m gonna sit you up, okay? I have something important to talk to you about.”

The bed rumbles to life and folds Corey at the waist until he’s the most vertical he’s been in weeks. “What is it?” His hoarse whisper less jarring to him every time he speaks, getting used to the way he sounds now.

“A cop came by just now, looking for you.” Nancy says gravely. Corey tenses up at this information and it sends pain radiating through him. He winces and Nancy looks at him with pity. “I know who you are. I know about the manslaughter case. They didn’t have a warrant so I couldn't tell them if you were a patient or not. They’re going to be back soon.” She puts her bundle down and stands with her hands on her hips.

“I have a plan,” she continues, “to get you out of here before they come back. You’re not ready to be discharged yet, but I think you have better odds out there on your own than inside a jail cell. It’s up to you if you want to stay or go.”

“What’s the plan?” He wheezes. He’d do anything in the world to avoid going to prison. He remembers the time he spent in jail after the accident with Jeremy, viscerally. No way he would ever do that again. He’s confident that now he could handle the guards and the other inmates much more effectively. But he had spent his whole life in a cage, under surveillance, suffocating. First Momma, then all of Haddonfield. Fuck that. He would rather die than spend another moment on lockdown, in a very literal way. The only thing worse than being alive would be prison.

“You’re going to ask me to discharge you against medical advice. I’m going to beg you to stay for just a couple more days, a couple more hours even, until the doctor can come look you over at least. You’re going to refuse.” She starts to unravel the bundle she brought with her.

“You were so insistent that I had to let you go. So I printed your chart and some care instructions…” She waves some papers around, “and brought you some warm clothes from the lost and found, since what you were wearing at admittance was destroyed.” One by one she holds up a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a sweater, and a parka. “I just guessed your size.”

Corey listens carefully, amazed and confused at the lengths the nurse is willing to go to to help him. She knows about Jeremy but she must not know about everyone else. She would stick her neck out for a kid who caught a tough break, but certainly not for an honest to god, cold blooded killer.

“When I asked how you were getting home, if you had anyone to look after you, you refused to tell me. I did everything I could to keep you here, and everything I could to discharge you safely when you wouldn’t stay. What do you think of that?”

“I think you better discharge me, right now. I’m ready to go the fuck home, and I’m not waiting for the doctor.” He tries to muster an insistent tone.

“That’s what I hoped to hear,” Nancy says with a smile. “I’ll be right back to remove your IV and all that.” She practically runs to the door.

Corey sits uncomfortably in the truck stop diner booth, chewing a piece of leathery bacon. It takes great effort to sit up straight, his muscles weakened so much by his hospital stay. If he can catch a ride with one of the truckers in the parking lot, hopefully they’ll let him lay in their bunk. And maybe they’ll have drugs, he thinks, the last of the painkillers from the hospital leaving his system. He doesn’t know where he’s going, or what he’ll do when he gets there. He just knows he needs to get the fuck out of Illinois as quickly as possible.

Nurse Nancy had unhooked all the wires and pulled out all the tubes that helped Corey stay alive, then got him dressed. She brought him his work boots and his father’s ring, the only two things that hadn’t been cut off by medical personnel on Halloween. The only two things in the world left from his old life. Someone had already scrubbed the blood out of the crevices in the ring, destroying the evidence that Corey was not merely the victim of another tragic Halloween in Haddonfield. Then Nancy ordered him an Uber and gave him all the cash in her wallet. A total of $78.

He swallows the last sip of his chocolate milk, sludgy with undissolved syrup, then slides awkwardly out of the booth. He doesn’t leave a tip. He only has $65 left after the food itself. He stumbles on unfamiliar legs through the diner, past the coin operated showers, and outside. He scans every face he sees, looking for someone who feels right. Friendly, or else easy to intimidate. He spots a gangly young man who looks about his age, maybe younger, hopping down from the cab of his truck. Corey doesn’t know much about fashion, but he thinks this guy looks punk or something. Like the dudes in high school whose girlfriends all dyed their hair purple, who he had always wanted to be friends with.

“Hey man,” Corey says to him, trying to sound casual. “Can I catch a ride with you?”

“Where are you trying to go?” The punk driver asks.

“Wherever you’re willing to take me.” Corey tries to shrug but it hurts too much.

The driver agrees to give him a ride. He says his name is Evan. Corey doesn’t offer a name. Evan tells him they’re hauling a load of cheese from Wisconsin southward to Georgia. Corey has to get out before Evan makes the cheese drop though, because he’s not supposed to have anyone else in the truck with him.

Evan turns the volume on his cacophonous music down to talk. From his friendly chatter Corey deduces it’s sometime during the week between Christmas and New year. Holy shit, he was in the hospital a long time. In October he’d hoped he could kiss Allyson at midnight on New Year’s. He’d never done anything to celebrate, and they would be in a new town, starting their new lives together. Now Corey would be alone for the holiday. Starting a new life by himself, while he can only assume Allyson’s life is over. He looks out the window so Evan won’t see his grief.

As they barrel south, they pass through miles and miles of empty fields, waiting, dormant. The flatness of the plains gives way to hills and then mountains. The elevation changes make Corey’s ears pop, and the tight curves in the road jostle him from side to side. He doesn’t ask Evan if he can sleep in the bunk, or if he has any drugs, and Evan doesn’t offer. Not long after they exit the mountains, they enter the tangled web of Atlanta, the highways and interstates knotting around each other, ensnaring cars like thousands of insects. Then they emerge into central Georgia, and Corey sees the south as it’s represented in cartoons, tiny little nothing towns separated for miles by woods and family farms.

Evan pilots the truck through endless decrepit historical downtowns with mostly empty storefronts. These places aren’t dissimilar to Haddonfield, slowly becoming more abandoned and rotten in the wake of Michael’s rampages. The familiarity is bittersweet. Corey wonders if these towns have their own boogeyman legends. He wonders if their boogeymen are real. A hard, dark part of him hopes they are. That these towns have all felt the wrath of the monsters they personally created.

They come to a truck stop on the edge of a city. Even from here, just barely within the limits, Corey can tell it’s the biggest town they’ve seen in hours. Evan informs him that his destination is nearby, so this is where they must part. Corey thanks him for his kindness then slips out of the truck.

Late December in south Georgia is much warmer than in Illinois, and Corey starts sweating in his parka immediately. But he keeps it zipped, with the hood up, to obscure himself as much as possible. He shambles across a parking lot to a motel that looks like it was frozen in time 60 years ago. He spends all of his remaining money on a room for the night. The towels are scratchy, the bed frame is creaky, and there’s a mysterious stain on the carpet in the corner of his room. None of it matters. He peels off his parka and falls straight to sleep.

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

A few days after Corey’s escape, Nancy is once again seated alone at the nurse’s station when the cop comes in. This time he slams a warrant down on the counter.

“Corey Cunningham,” is all the asshole says. Nancy takes the warrant from him and makes a big show of reading it. Grillo’s face starts to turn red.

“Checked himself out against medical advice,” Nancy says, biting back a smile.

“Where the fuck did he go!” Grillo demands, half shouting.

“I need you to keep your voice down, deputy. This is a hospital. Patients don’t usually make a habit of telling me their plans after they leave, especially those who are adamant about leaving before their treatment is complete. I can give you his chart, but your guess about where he is is certainly better than mine.”

Nancy prepares the information requested in the warrant, feeling victorious. She smiles the rest of the day. Good luck, Corey Cunningham. She tries to think loud enough for him to hear her, wherever he is.

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

When Grillo gets back from his second trip to the hospital, Ross can see all over his face that the news is bad. Fuck, is all he thinks.

“He was there. I got his chart,” Grillo tells him

“That’s what we wanted?” Joe Ross says, confused.

“He was there. Past tense. He fucking checked himself out against medical advice! He’s in the fucking wind!” Grillo roars.

“Well, put out a fucking APB then!” Ross yells back. But he knows before he finishes his sentence that an APB won’t be happening. Nothing else will be happening, because here comes the Sheriff, striding towards his desk with a stern look on his face. And just like that, Doug Mulaney’s disappearance and the murders of Tanner Mathis and Deborah Jennings go cold.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends #fan fiction #mine #fan fic #writing #cc

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ckret2 · 1 year

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How is ford handling all of this

(Referring to my human Bill design—maybe I oughta come up with a tag for this AU.)

I already promised to answer the second half of @dykefnctl's question:

also, like, wtf does stan and ford think? i'm invested.

—and I separately covered the Stan half of it—so now here's Ford!

I mentioned in my post about Stan's reaction that he only doesn't kill Bill on sight because somebody points out that might just unleash his full triangular form again. No point for guessing that Ford's probably the one who brought up the possibility. Ford goes into full consider-all-the-risks paranoid scientist mode and he's also probably the one who immediately decides the best way for the Pines to contain the threat of Bill Cipher is to do it THEMSELVES, in their own home, rather than risk putting Bill in the hands of somebody who wouldn't be careful enough or appreciate the exact nature of his threat.

Ford's so inclined to handle threats alone—keep everything he knows to himself, dole out intel to his own family on a need-to-know basis, play his cards close to his chest, let NOBODY get involved. Trust no one. That works fine for Bill, who thinks that he's got better odds of escape in the Pines family's hands than he would with either local police or any federal agency.

So. Ford wants to keep Bill contained, and agrees with Stan that containment should only last until they can figure out a surefire way to destroy Bill for good. There's paranoia. There's fear. There's anger.

But there's also a lot of sorrow.

I'm a fan of the idea that, before Ford figured out Bill's scheme, he really did consider him one of his deepest, closest, best friends, and one of his few trusted confidantes. When he looks at Bill now, he doesn't just see someone who lied to him and exploited him; he sees a dear friend. A dear friend that manipulated him, abandoned him, and tried to kill everyone he cares about. He sees all of it at once.

It was a lot easier to ignore that history when Bill was either busy destroying the world, or invading Ford's dreams to taunt him about destroying the world. It's harder now that Bill is just there, all the time, knocking around the shack and being an incompetent human. Prattling on about unhinged alien things and ancient history like he does. Making passing comments about Ford's current research that imply he knows more about the topic than Ford does. Bringing up thirty-year-old inside jokes.

Not being threatening. Just being the person that Ford had thought was his friend. Oh, it hurts deeply, hearing this omnicidal maniac who tortured him and his family talking the way his friend used to.

It isn't hard for Bill to pick up on this conflicting view Ford holds of him. He tries to exploit it—lightly imply he might have a few regrets about that little apocalyptic whoopsy last summer, act a little more friendly when they're alone, suggest he could help with whatever Ford's working on now—no "deals," no quid-pro-quo, just a friendly casual consultation role, answer any big questions Ford has that Bill happens to know the answer to. If Bill gets his foot in the door, he can find a way to leverage Ford's soft spot to find a way to escape later.

Ford doesn't buy it. Ironically, even though he sees Bill as a (former, backstabbing) friend, it's when Bill's acting friendly that it's easiest for Ford to hate him. He's not as naive as he was in the eighties, and he knows too much about how Bill's manipulation works, with false kindness and flattery and tantalizing helpful offers. Ford shoots down all Bill's overtures of "friendship" consistently and without hesitation. They reek of future betrayal.

It's when Bill isn't trying—it's when he's using a glass of prune juice to unsuccessfully illustrate to the three-dimensional kids how gravity flows in six-dimensional space, or when he's casually referencing world events that won't happen for another few decades, or using a parallel universe to cheat at cards so he can pick what the family's watching for movie night (it's Flatland), or bringing up the author of the Voynich Manuscript as if he knew Enrico personally, or making a pun that only works if you know two dead languages but is hilarious if you do—those are the times Ford most misses the friend he used to have.

Bill knows he's making progress when Ford lies that he's got no idea how Bill could have cheated at cards (but maybe they ought to just watch Flatland like he wants so he'll finally stop asking about it). Bill just doesn't know how he's making progress. For now, he just hopes it's enough to inspire Ford to procrastinate on finding a way to kill Bill for real. (It is.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #stanford pines #grunkle ford #gravity falls #headcanons #anonymous #dykefnctl #ask #bill goldilocks cipher

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9w1ft · 6 months

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Hi, I know this is a very relevant topic but I've been following your blog for several years and your words and wisdom have always resonated with me, so I was hoping to have your thoughts.

I've always been a shy and quiet person with a very low self-esteem and a poor understanding of social cues. Not much is charming about me. Then we had the pandemic and my socialization set back by a thousand millennia. During this time I became what many would say "chronically online."

I just saw it as my regular life. On the Internet, I was somehow lucky and made a lot of online friends. We are like-minded, they are nice and funny, and it's great to see different perspectives. During this time, I also found a sense of belonging within the Kaylor community, and I still consider you all near and dear. My online friends and social circles have been there for me at my loneliest, darkest times when people physically next to me happened.

However, I think now I'm kind of growing out of that for several reasons. The Internet is a wasteland. Lots of drama and toxicity. Social media is becoming unusable. Also now that the lockdown is long gone, I need to be able to focus on my work but I can't get anything done because of my attachment to my phone where my online friends are.

Also in real life I don't know when or how it happened but I'm actually talking to people and going out of my way to socialize. I still don't think I have any attractive qualities but I am making friends regardless. I don't know if I am even confident but I do feel a lot more comfortable with myself.

With these real incidents, the risks and effort are more but it is also just as rewarding. With my online friends, I feel secure with them because I know what their beliefs are and I know they aren't homophobic or anti-atheists, whereas my secret identity would be a problem in real life. With my online friends, I access dopamine 24/7 anytime I want and I have the liberty to vent to anybody anytime. With my real life friends however I have to act like I'm fine and that venting might get me judged. However online there's just a lot of unnecessary pessimism everywhere.

With all of this context, I want to simply say that I am perhaps growing out of my online life, that a part of me wants to move on and focus on my real life forever. But I also think some of my online friends are really nice and wonderful people, and if I say goodbye to one of them, I oughta say bye to everybody because the cycle will simply repeat if I go from one social media to another.

I also really enjoy Kaylorism as a hobby. I engage with it up to the degree it makes me happy, as I'm following your advice.

I understand that this isn't an all or nothing situation. But do you have any advice for me? I want to know if there's way I can sustainably have the best of both lives.

hi anon ♥️ i hope you don’t mind that i posted this in full because i think there are others like you out there and i think what’s on you mind might resonate.

i think it’s so amazing that you’re finding successes and growth in your real life and it sounds like focusing in on that might bring you a lot of joy and fulfillment. at the same time, online life seems to be draining you a bit. i hope i’m understanding you right. if so, i think you already know what would be best for you.

but if changing up your regular way of living is making you apprehensive, i think it’s important to remember that as we go through life, we are going to need and want different things at different stages, and that there are a lot of things at our disposal to help us out along the way. i really believe social media (and by extension the internet) is one of these things— a tool. maybe right now, you don’t need to use that tool. and it’s okay to put it away and just have it as something to use as needed, if seasons change for you again.

there’s a conversation that might be had about choosing how to use the tool, or to drop the metaphor for a second, re-evaluate the content you are consuming or ways that you interface with people online and adjust the experience to you etc etc. but i know that’s easier said than done.

so if you need some encouragement, please do not ever feel as though you need to keep up appearances online to the detriment of your actual life. i know fomo is a real thing and wanting to be connected to the world is also an important thing, but there are also many things you can do on a local level that you’ll find will both fulfill those needs, and provide you with chances to expand the size of your toolbox.

plus! you can come back anytime you’d like. i think for a lot of us, especially on tumblr, we’re the kind of people who could go without talking for years at a time but still pick up and chat as if no time has passed. first and foremost, we’re rooting for you!

#go forth and prosper!#feel free to stop by when you feel like it!

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youre-in-big-trouble · 3 months

Note

I guess I never thought about dildo penetrating creating a risk for UTI… the more ya know I guess

I-um I kinda am really feeling my bladder and need to go pee again…. 🥴🥴

-🥟

for some reason, my anatomy makes that an Issue lol. my ive gotten a couple of UTIs just from internal masturbation, probably because of where my urethra is?? so, i always try to pee after that kinda play - masturbatory or play with another partner. i got a SYSTEM lol

aww, you poor thing! i guess you oughta go drain your little bladder before it pops, right?

#asks #ask #live hold

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da-bestest-writer · 9 months

Text

Baki next gen part 3

After getting back from the Tokyo dome, Kozue was quick to scold Yujiro, Calling him all manner of names, Only stopping short of slapping him, Even in his advancing age, Kozue knew that putting one's hands on yujiro hanma was a death sentance.

"What do you have to say for yourself! Yujiro."

"I already spelled it out to bake" Yujiro spoke with his usual blase arrogance. "I'm not going to do it again."

Kozue sighs, and sits down, Before going to address her daughter. "Tomoe.... "

The girl froze up, She had a certain degree of fear for her mother, Kozue was nothing but kind of course, But she was also stern, The kind of woman even her large, And clearly very strong dad seemed to fear the wrath of, One who hid stone with silk.

"I'm proud of you." This caused some visible surprise in not just her and her dad, But her grandfather as well.

"I still don't like the idea of you fighting, But i saw you on the screen, Dodging a kick boxing professional's punches and kicks, And then returning them even better than he threw them."

Tomoe was surprised ."Better?" She asked, As her mom nodded.

"I've watched your father from the sidelines ever since i was sixteen years old. i may not be a fighter myself, But i know technique when i see it." Kozue explained as baki chuckled.

"Awh babe! You're makin' me blush!" he said sheepishly, Joking around even despite his wife's serious tone.

"You said this is something you really want to do right?"

Tomoe nods. "Yeah, Of course. When i say something i mean it."

Baki smiled lazily as he leaned back. "What's got you changing your tune all of a sudden, Kozue?" He asked looking her way.

"I never said i changed my mind, I really don't want Tomoe fighting, Especially not the way you did when you were younger."

Tomoe was perplexed, They kept on going on and on about 'back then' and 'when you were younger' and 'in my day' None of it meant anything to her, And her father quickly caught onto it.

"Hey koz? I think that with all this talk about way back when, We oughta come clean yeah? Our girl looks like she's about ready to pop a gasget finding out what's going on."

Kopzue sighed, It... wasn't like they could hide this any further,

but before she could even open her mouth, Yujiro highjacked the conversation.

"The hanma family is a liniage of proud and powerful fighters, Dating back to the earliest days of japan. Antire nations have quicered before our family name!"

Baki would interrupt his father. "And now... we're middle class suburbanites. Dad there's no reason to get so deep into thing right away." Yujiro snarled at his boy.

"What was that ya damn brat? this is family history! Your kid deserves to know where she comes from!"

"You're just gonna confuse her more if you start from the beginning old man, Leave this to me, okay?" He turned to Tomoe, and got on her level, Bowing to a knee

"See, Tomoe, Your old man wasn't just 'some amateur who didn't make it big.' He was the one that made the ones that did go big feel small. I fought men stronger than anyone you've ever seen."

Tomoe looked...Doubtful, Her dad was a mild mannered salaryman, Sure he was pretty strong and athletic, but a fighter? There was no way.!

"I can see the doubt in your eyes... But it's true, I've beaten loads of people, Street gangs, Men with a strong enough grip to crush bone, Private military contractors, Escaped death row prisoners, And even a caveman! But the most dangerous man i ever fought." Baki pointed to Yujiro. "Was that guy right there, The ogre." Yujiro smirked , Happy to be known as his son's greatest opponent.

"But every one of those fights was dangerous, Life threatening." Kozuie continued from Baki's point. "Your father could have easily died if something went wrong... I hated seeing it all, But i loved your dad more than i hated it. I didn't want you risking your life for little more than pride and a bit of fight money... But " Her look of sadness and worry turned to one of knowing contentment. "I should have known better than that. You're a Hanma by blood, Afterall, you all are drawn to fighting like gravity draws people to the earth..."

Baki sighed. "It's not like that Koz, She just wants something she can be good at, Something she can call her own. She doesn't have the 'pure love' for fighting like dad and i have. For the time being at least i'm sure it'll just be a hobby."

Tomoe wasn't even paying attention to them, But seeing her dad so sincerely say things that were so completely ridiculous made her feel like there was a degree of validity to his words. The next thing that caught her attention as the world she saw and heard blur around her were these following words.

"Training strarts tomorrow."

#Baki the grappler #fanfic #Baki hanma #Yujiro Hanma #kozue matsumoto #Oc:Tomoe Hanma

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cr0g-0 · 1 year

Text

Here you are fellas! You get tiny badass good dadza content hope you enjoy lmao-

Anyway I really hope yall enjoy the fic! And i encourage you to send me some asks about it!!!/gen

——————

I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you(Take me back to the night we met) [I]

Tw-Blood, Injuries, Self Deprecation

Word count-4084

——————

At the mouth of a cave, Phil stood with his best friend and partner in adventuring and treasure hunting, Techno. The two had been traveling for hours upon hours and it was much much later than either had thought they’d be out for.

Phil grit his teeth and gripped at his green overshirt anxiously. It was far past curfew for the kids in Esemtria and now that he didn’t have to worry about kids getting snatched up-

(Especially his own son-)

-By saints knew what-he could rest easier. That also meant he wanted to go home to his wife sooner.

This meant however, convincing his best friend for the umpenteenth time that they needed to go home was practically fruitless.

“Techno can we pleas-“

“Phil, I need to look in that cave and you know it. We gotta make sure there aren't any dangerous creatures in there. That's our job and you know Governor Bad wouldn’ be too happy if we didn’t do what he asked.”

Techno was watching the cave. Phil could see the way his friend gripped his sword and how his feet were firmly planted. He was digging in, so transfixed on the cave.

“And I’m asking you to stay out of the cave. Those warning signs aren’t there for show mate. Bad won’t be angry if we don't go in.”

The woods were cold, densely packed with trees and a variety of wildflowers, mainly lilies, chrysanthemums, poppies and a variety of others though neither were paying attention to the flowers.

No, their focus was on the cave that loomed in the distance. The village was only a few miles back. It wouldn’t hurt to turn around.

Techno would never do that though.

Phil knew that. Yet here he was, wasting time and moonlight trying to get Techno away from the gloomy cave of which foretold death and misfortune galore. Techno was always the more headstrong one. He was brash. Foolish even.

Reminded Phil of when he was a younger kid but that's probably why he was so hellbent on keeping Techno alive and well.

Phil was very unhappy about these circumstances and his odds of winning this argument.

“Techno please-I think we oughta go home. Kristen will share our dinner with you alright? I think she’s making pasta or something like that.”

Of course the pinkette graced him no response and of course Phil tried again.

“Tech please-whatever glittery gold bullshit and crystals-whatever is in that cave isn’t worth the risk. Kristen and I have told you that you're allowed to stay with us and I know our son would accept you as a big brother immediately. The kid might be small and young but he has a big heart.”

He infused his voice with nothing but love, kindness, warmth and affection as much as he could.

Techno remained unmoving although he could tell by the way his shoulders slouched that he was losing a bit of momentum here.

Great.

“P-“

“I’ll only be a moment Phil. I just gotta do a bit of lookin and I’ll be right out ok? And if your worried you have legs y’know-“ The kid shot back as he began to walk towards the cave.

“You’re free to join me….If I find anything worth keeping though you aren’t getting a lick of it unless you come in-That’s just the rules-“

Before Phil could further his pleas and offers Techno ran deep inside the dark and ominous cave, the echo of the other’s footsteps being the only thing he could hear as he vanished into the darkness.

The blond man closed his eyes in frustration and groaned. Techno just haaaad to be like this tonight. He couldn’t pick a worse location to be stubborn about as well.

He glanced at his legs for a moment. He swore to the saints Techno was calling him old in some way…but then again he was right. If he wanted he could go after him and drag his dumbass out, scold him a little and then bring him back to dinner.

But kids don’t learn if you don’t let them make mistakes.

So of course, he stood there and waited.

And waited.

The waiting of course, was getting his legs feeling stiff but he’d hold out. That kid would regret going in, he’d tell Phil and that would be the end of it.

He paced back and forth and back and forth and then back again, the ornate sword held in his hands dragged across the ground in a shallow dip it formed. He waited still though.

A Craft didn’t give up when they had their mind set on something-he would know considering his brother managed to make a thriving village that had never had many issues aside a few pranks gone out of hand.

He glanced up and he stopped his pacing, the sword in his hand was gripped tighter as he bit his chapped lips.

The moon had already begun to start setting back down to welcome the new day and he was still there waiting as if something was going to happen despite nothing having happened for the past several hours.

Kristen would be worried. Hell, she was already most likely. She was probably assuming the worst of Techno and him-

Hell-he was assuming the worst of Techno and him and he at least knew he was accounted for!

He sighed before looking at the cave and then to his sword. He could leave his best friend there. Could leave him for dead but why would he?

He wasn’t a monster.

With a final glance back. Back towards where his home was. Back to his family.

He took a step forward into the dark cave. Because a Craft wouldn’t leave someone, who may not be blood family but was still family, behind.

The first thing of note was that the whole area was fridged. The summer harvest was wrapping up, the fall harvest upcoming meant that yeah, it was getting a bit chillier but it should not be this…cold.

This…This temperature was cold enough to where he craved warmth…

Yet it was off enough and just weirdly warm enough to make his insides writhe uncomfortably.

He blew out some air from his mouth, watching as it curled into a fog that dissipated. He kept walking and going further and further, glancing for any coves and crevices that the pinkette was hiding in or near.

As he went deeper the temperature went from an uncomfortable chilly cold to a warmth that was prickling and tense.

‘Where the hell was he…?’ Phil thought anxiously, eyes darting around the dark.

“Techno! Technooo….! Where the fuck are you Mate? It’s been hours!!” He shouted out into the dark. No response.

He would have responded…

Unless…something…happened to him…

No. Nothing would. Techno was incredibly capable of keeping himself safe! Sure, Phil was more experienced but Techno was strong and he would have called for help. He may be head strong but he wasn’t that dumb.

He took one more step into the dingy cave. He took a sniff of the air and gagged. Smelled rotten and humid.

That’s when he heard a scratching from the cave floor. He tensed up and held his sword tightly as he glanced around with narrowed eyes. He rotated around in a small circle to ensure he wouldn’t get crept up on, the warmth in the cave making his skin crawl.

And that’s when he heard the growl.

He readied himself into a fighting stance as he saw dark shadows approaching him and he prepared to fight off whatever was there.

Until he realized they were bats. He watched the creatures fly to the cave entrance, screeching and cawing in the strange way only bats could.

He let out a sigh while he turned to look out at the entrance that the bats had flown too.

Maybe Techno found a way out already? Was there another entrance? Was he just being paranoid? Surely that was the case

It was probably the fact that he didn’t want to lose who he fully intended on being his son’s godparent. He was paranoid. Kristen would be worried and he had dinner and a son to tend to back at home.

Phil looked tiredly at the entrance before taking a few steps toward it. He needed to go home. He’d ask around to see if Puffy-hell-maybe even Sam could help-

Sure the sheriff didn’t like Techno, he didn’t even really like Phil, but he’d surely help if Phil asked enough times and bribed him.

His boots quietly clicked as he slowly headed to the entrance before something dripped onto his head. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, silently cringing. Gods it was slimy and disgusting-

He wiped it on his pants and turned around, looking up before his blood ran cold.

Looming up above his head, was bright, white eyes with shining, saliva glistening teeth. Every other detail of the beast was shrouded by the darkness of the cave.

His hand went down to his sword hilt and he took it out in one fell swoop, narrowing his eyes. This is what he trained for.

So he cleared his throat, got into stance and charged as the creature attempted to grab him. He took a heavy swing over his head.

The beast let out a pained cry and Phil barely dodged the swipe as he rolled to the side, his hat falling off. Phil made another advance towards the monster.

He had to slay it-after all, it must have been the thing to hurt or kill Techno-that’s why he hadn’t responded to him.

He took another swing, slicing into the beast's thumb web, it snarled out in pain and retaliated with a swipe at Phil’s face too fast for him to evade.

He dropped his sword once the burning pain registered in his mind, the clang of metal hitting the floor was the one thing he heard in his ears.

He stared at the beast, blood getting in his mouth and filling it with its hot iron taste as he licked his lips.

His mind felt surprisingly clear as he looked into the snarling creature's white, soulless eyes. The two of them were seemingly locked in a stalemate, both breathing heavily.

Phil wasted no time regaining his bearings as he bolted from the cave, collecting his sword into his hand quickly as he sprinted at full speed to the breaking daylight.

He didn’t dare look back.

He could tell the beast was chasing after him, the loud growling and footsteps were a damn good indicator as his own footsteps were drowned out.

He needed to get away from the cave but he also needed to move in such a way that didn’t get anyone in Esemtria mauled-

The blond nearly stumbled as he finally made his way into the freezing cold air, goosebumps forming on his skin. He dared to look behind him for a split moment to see a giant hand reaching out, growls spouting out of it before it began to keep crawling out of the cave.

Phil didn’t wait for it.

He kept sprinting into the woods, the blood on his face long forgotten aside for the taste in his mouth and smell in hitting his nose.

The sun was rising behind and he silently cussed, hoping to make it home before people left their homes so he wasn’t seen by worried faces.

He began to weave between trees and bushes, sword still unsheathed as he slid throughout the muddied grounds. He needed to reach the border-

He forced his tired and aching body to push onward, his muscles feeling like they were being torn apart. Still, he knew he needed to keep going-for Kristen-For his son.

Everything felt like a blur as he kept mindlessly running despite the protests of his limbs, not daring to stop, look behind or even rest a second as he aimed to get home.

When he reached the border his chest was heaving and he stared out at the dimly lit city he and his family called home. The streets were silent and covered in a sheen of morning dew. The streets had a few people beginning to leave their houses to set up at the market.

He numbly began to walk over to his house. It wasn’t hard to see-the lights were bright and all on compared to their neighbors. Kristen must not have turned them off. It probably annoyed them to no end but honestly? Phil couldn’t give a fuck.

He reached the door and barely got one knock in before the door swung wide open and before him was a very angry looking Kristen.

“I swear Angel do that to me again and I’ll-“

Her voice trailed off. Phil could probably take a good guess as to the reason why. He sheathed his sword and gave her a sad smile, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I know my love. I won’t…”

She started to grab a handkerchief from her pocket but Phil simply pushed the offer to clean his face away. “I’m ok Kristen.” She hesitantly lowered the cloth and he laughed quietly before adding on. “Now may I enter my own home or will I be getting kicked out for the day?”

Honestly the kick to his shin was welcomed and totally deserved. He could see tears in her eyes as she pulled him inside and into a hug.

“Not the time Phil. Me and your son have been worried sick-“

Phil just let her hug him and he looked about the house. “He’s still up?” Gently, he pushed away from Kristen and glanced around more uncomfortably.

“Yes he insisted on staying up till you and Techno returned. I tried to get him to bed but he nearly crawled out the window in his room to go find you so I gave up.”

Phil was immensely glad Kristen had caught him before his boy was snatched up by any beast. He headed into the kitchen carefully, checking for any sign of his son.

“Speaking of Techno…Phil what happened? Where is he? I know you’d never leave someone alone-especially your best friend…”

She entered and Phil tensed, feeling tears bead in his eyes. He wouldn’t break yet. He could tell Kristen when he wasn’t as vulnerable.

“Can you get me some rags, disinfectant and water? I don’t want our son to possibly see me covered in blood.”

The kitchen was silent and the only sound Phil could hear was the sound of his wife sharply inhaling before heading out the room, presumably to get him the things he requested.

He ended up sitting down, pulling out a chair and getting settled at the table. He was exhausted and he just wanted to sleep yet he was on alert. Staying quiet to listen for the loud, careless footsteps of his son just in case the boy figured out he was home.

He’d need to teach him to quiet himself and move less loudly and rambunctiously. It’d get the kid into trouble. Trouble Phil wouldn’t be able to get him out of.

He tapped his boot nervously against the ground. Somehow the thought of his son being in trouble terrified him more than anything the gods could throw at him. And they had thrown that-that beast at him-

Kristen came bustling back into the room and sat parallel to him, placing the medical supplies down in front of him.

“Once your cleaned up I need an explanation Philza Hart Craft.”

‘Fair enough. You know what’s not fair? Having had the ability to save your best friend but failing because you were too lenient-‘ his mind bitterly snarked at him. He just forced himself to take a deep breath.

He began to douse the rag in disinfectant and rub gently at the blood coating a sizable chunk of his face. He made sure to go over the wound gently, not wanting to agitate it.

He knew it would scar. He knew he’d be asked by everyone in Esemtria and Hermitville what happened to his face. Where was Techno.

He didn’t want to share this though. It hurt so much. He didn’t want to tell anyone-no one could know that he failed to save Techno-no one would believe he was capable of keeping anyone safe again-

And that’s what he feared. Because if he couldn’t keep Techno safe, who was to say he wouldn’t be able to keep Kristen safe? To keep his family safe from harm when he already failed to protect his brother in arms-

He hadn’t really noticed he was sobbing and hiccuping until he felt reassuring hands on his shoulders and he just let it all out, letting the blood soaked rag fall to the wood table as he let another ugly cry rip it’s way from his throat.

Kristen stayed there and just listened to him cry. He felt bad for just breaking down. That wasn’t very Phil of him. Usually he could keep it in.

He silently prayed to the gods to avoid making this any worse but he was just a hair too late as the soft, uncharacteristically quiet footsteps could be heard approaching the kitchen.

“Dad, why are you crying?”

He glanced from behind his hands, hiding the wound and blood best he could.

He looked tired and defenseless. The boy began shuffling closer, eyes shining with worry but he was ushered away by Kristen quickly.

“Honey please go to bed now dad’s home now.” Kristen barely let Phil get in a word but he could tell she wouldn’t let Phil convince her it was okay to let the boy stay here.

With a loud sigh, she leaned to look at him. “My angel, are you going to be ok?”

He nodded to her and smiled the same sad smile from earlier. “Hopefully….Kristen I’m…I’m not going to go hunting for monsters or treasure anymore.”

From the look on her face, she looked confused, joyful and sad all at the same time. “Wha-but Phil! You love exploring and searching for that shit!”

She paused a moment before lowering her voice, Phil smirked internally. Swearing was not something they’d be teaching him for a long time.1

“I would love if you stopped but I know you love doing it-so-so if your doing it for me-“

“-I’m doing it for our son.”

The silence that filled the room was light, comforting-like he’d shaken a weight he no longer needed nor wanted.

He gave Kristen a reassuring look.

“I’m doing this for the sake of our family. You see what has happened to me-I’m a walking scar collector-not to mention I miss out on spending time with the two of you…and I want to spend as much time as possible with the both of you before the gods decide it is our time.”

He turned so his whole body was facing her.

“I will not let any more lives be lost based on stupid adventures and treasure hunting. I’m…I’m a changed man….I want to be there for you-for our son-for the whole of Esemptria and beyond.”

Phil looked into Kirsten’s eyes and saw understanding and sympathy. Neither needed to exchange anymore words as he stood up and pulled her into another embrace.

“I’m going to go say goodnight to our little brat and then go send a quick prayer to the gods.”

She nodded. “I’ll be most likely asleep when you get to bed. I’m tired after worrying for you all night.” Although it was meant as a tease, Phil couldn’t help but feel horribly guilty.

He made his wife worry so much if made her feel physically tired. What good husband did that?

She had already headed away, leaving the blond to stand in the kitchen alone. He sighed before slowly walking towards his son’s room. He hoped that he was asleep. Then he could avoid mentioning anything about the whereabouts of Techno.

The kid always was curious about Techno’s adventures-he was probably more interested in treasure hunting and monster hunting more than anything.

He walked to his door and gently knocked, gently pushing open the door to see the boy blinking at him owlishly.

Curse the gods-

“Dad, why were you crying and-and why is there a scary thing across your face?” The boy got up out of his bed and ran to Phil. He crouched down and scooped him up in his arms.

“I just had some dust in my eyes. And this thing?”

He pointed to the cut running jagged along his face.

“It’s just an oopsie that I got when I was in the woods today.”

He forced a smile as he carried him to his bed.

“Now can you promise me some things? It’s important, ok?”

His eyes stared into his and he nodded his head in understanding, giving Phil the silent ok to keep going.

“Promise me you won’t be reckless and dangerous like I am ok? And I don’t want you around anymore hybrids unless Kristen or I are with you.”

His son didn’t seem pleased by this news.

“B-But-But what about Miss Puffy and-and Mister Sam and-“

“Honeydew you have other people you can go too for help.” They were certainly not the only people that could protect his son….but they were the ones he somewhat trusted and knew-

Still. What if they could become monsters and hurt his family? He…He’d make an exception for them and no one else.

“I’ll let you go to them if you need anything but otherwis-“

“But what about Uncle Grian!?!”

Right. The whole of Hermitville. His face became strained but he just kept a soft smile as he settled his son into his bed.

“And any of the Hermi-“

“But what abo-“

Phil gave up he could just monitor him all day since he was never going to hunt for shit ever again-

“Ok fine you can talk to any hybrid you like-so long as they don’t make fun of you or hurt you ever.”

His son grinned bright and wide and hugged Phil rib crushingly tight. He laughed and hugged him back, running a hand through his hair gently.

“Now can you please go to sleep honey?” He softly asked, gently pulling away from him and grabbing a blanket for him.

The boy eagerly grabbed the blanket and crawled under the covers of his bed. Once nestled in, Phil tucked the blanket under his son before gently kissing him on the head.

“Good. Get some rest now…”

The child huffed a little before closing his eyes and nestling more into the blanket. Phil smiled softly before sighing as he walked out of the room, gently closing the door.

Once that was done he headed to the backyard and kneeled down in front of a stump. He closed his eyes and clamped his hands together, bowing his head towards the rising sun.

“Please gods, please keep my son and wife safe. Safe from harm. I will do anything that you will ask. Any quest-any mission-I will accomplish it if you keep my family safe.”

Phil kept praying as long as he could, hoping for a sign that they heard him. It wasn’t until Kristen had gotten tired and worried about where he was. Phil had startled and tensed a bit but relaxed as he murmured an apology to her.

He headed back inside as he entered Kristen’s and his room, kicking off his shoes quickly before removing his sword hilt.

He removed the sword and opened up his closet before hanging the sword up, looking in his reflection.

He felt different. More than just physically. He brought a hand up to his shoulder, lifting up the sleeve before running his hand along the scar left by Techno’s and his first encounter.

He loved that day, even if he hadn’t known it then. A warm smile fell upon his face before he grabbed an emerald from his pocket, running a thumb across its edges.

He’d take it to a jeweler. It wouldn’t replace the missing other half but it would be closer to him. Close. Close enough to remind him of the life he let be lost.

His fingers closed around the stone and he held his close as he walked to his bed and laid in it, closing his eyes and forcing himself to fall asleep, grip on the gem tightening.

Tomorrow.

#smog writes #smog ramble #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #night we met au #nwm au #tiny!phil #tiny!techno #tiny!kristen #the other character are mentioned but not seen #all of them; however; should be assumed tiny

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lessluck · 2 months

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@luminarot // " i don't really care what they think. i'm not letting you go alone. "

It'd always been a risk he took, whenever he spent the night with a man. He wanted to think things weren't as bad as they'd been when he was a kid, but the fact was, not much had changed. In fact, in some ways, things had gotten worse.

There was a lyric in his mind that hadn't grown into a song yet, about how sometimes time didn't go forward the way you might want it to. Sometimes, progress slipped backwards. Sometimes it fell off a cliff.

The rumors had got bad enough that they'd made it back home. Of course, his parents hadn't said anything. It was his brother who called and told him he's tearing them apart again. Why are you so goddamn selfish, Ray? Don't you know what it's like for those of us who stayed home? What you do reflects on all of us. Mom's terrified you're going to get sick.

He'd been doing all right at letting it roll off his back until now. Even after that guy he'd spent some time with in Georgia did that interview with the gossip rag, and Ray couldn't say anything about it because it was true... He'd found a way to laugh it off whenever it came up. People come up with the damnedest things, don't they? Anybody who knows me knows I like women to a fault. Because that wasn't quite a lie.

It's something he's thought about, too, that he might lose Wesley over this. He doesn't really know how he feels about all that, but regardless, being around somebody with these kinds of rumors? It can rub off on you. He's already had some friends back off, but none of them were all that close to begin with. Wesley's different.

In any case, he can't answer right away, because it means something. It means more than he could put into words, in no small part because he's never let himself really talk about this before. Not with anyone. He'd tried to say something to Clint early on, but Clint had told him, if he cared about his career, he'd never say anything about it to anybody. Not even someone he trusts with his life.

"But you should... I don't want you getting a reputation because of me. If my parents know about this, uh, rumor. That means everybody's heard something, because they don't pay attention to all that." He's tried to hide it around Wesley, but he's sure he already knew. He's found him in his hotel room with half dressed men before. He never said anything about it, but he didn't say anything about the women either. "Nobody else oughta have to deal with all this. It's my own damn fault. I've always been such an idiot when it comes to-- Just, no sense at all. I oughta know better."

#luminarot #luminarot // wesley #t // raymond #can't seem to write anything two days straight then write a full novel idek

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portaltothevoid · 10 months

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For Whom the Bell Tolls - Chapter 27 - Breaking the Law

Pairing: Eddie Munson x OFC (Kat Ramsay), sequel to Foolin’

Summary: Eddie helps get their plan in motion by getting them a ride so they can get weapons to fight Vecna.

Warnings: stealing, grand theft auto

Word count: 2.4k

Chapter song: Breaking the Law by Judas Priest

Tag list: @munchabunch @madaboutmunson @earl-greater

Everyone’s mouths dropped open. “Wait, what?!” Dustin asked.

“How do you know?” Steve questioned.

“Because that’s what I was staring at in the kitchen. It was her. She was doing the remote traveling thing we do,” revealed Kat.

“So she’s gonna help us, right?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, I mean, once we actually have a solid plan, I can communicate with her and… I don’t know, maybe we do have a shot at this.”

“That’s fine and great, I’m so happy we have Eleven back, truly. But what do we do about weapons? We’re already harboring not one, but two wanted fugitives as it is. I doubt we should go around raiding the nearby neighbors for guns,” Robin quickly added.

“Uh, I think I know of a place,” Eddie shared, his face lit up with the sudden idea that popped into his mind. He started shuffling things around where Max’s phone was as a plan started formulating in his mind. “Hey, you got a phonebook lying around?” he asked Max. She nodded and went off to grab it and then handed it to Eddie. He began thumbing through it and when he landed on the ad he wanted, he slammed the book down on the kitchen table. Everyone crowded around behind him. Steve was leaning in closely on his right who had Dustin peaking through next to him. Nancy and Lucas were at the heads of the table. Robin was peering over Eddie’s left shoulder. Max stayed behind the group, simply listening in on the plan, knowing exactly what her unfortunate role in all of this was. Kat was across the table from everyone, already having guessed where Eddie’s plan was going.

“Check this out. The War Zone. I’ve been there once,” Eddie said, tapping the page. He quickly glanced up at Kat, who returned the fleeting smirk. “It’s huge. They’ve got everything you need for, uh… killing things, basically?” As he spoke he switched his weight between legs causing his shoulder to bump Steve’s chest. Kat had to keep her facial expressions to herself as she noticed Steve lean into it ever so subtly.

“Do you think fake Rambo has enough guns there?” Robin asked. “Is that a grenade? I mean, how is any of this legal?”

“Well, lucky for us, it is so… This– this place is just far enough outside of Hawkins. As long as we steer clear of the main roads, we oughta be able to avoid cops and, uh, angry hicks,” said Eddie.

“If we’re trying to avoid angry hicks, maybe we shouldn’t go to some store called the War Zone?” Erica pointed out with her signature sass.

“Normally, I’d agree, but we need the weapons, so I think it’s worth the risk,” Nancy said.

“Me too,” Lucas agreed. “Especially since Kat can hide any or all of us.”

“Yeah, but even with Kat, is it worth the time? It’ll take all day to bike there and back,” Dustin pointed out.

“Who said anything about bikes?” Eddie said.

“What, you got some car we don’t know about?” Steve asked, seeming confused.

Eddie finally stood up straight to look him dead in the eye. “It’s not exactly a car, Steve. And it’s not exactly mine, but uh… It’ll do,” he said with the most mischievous cheshire cat grin. “Hey, Red, uh, you got a ski mask or a bandana, something like that?” he asked as he turned around to face Max.

“Eddie, really?” Kat scoffs as she walked over to him and pulled the bandana out of his pocket, which somehow managed to stay put all the way through to the Upside Down, and waved it in front of his face.

“That is a signature Munson accessory, sweetheart. Easily recognizable around here. Plus I have other plans for that,” he said snarkily as he plucked the bandana from her hand and stuck it right back in his pocket.

“I’ve got… something like that,” Max shrugged before she walked off to her room.

“Okay, so what is this super stealthy plan of yours?” Robin inquired.

“Well, see those neighbors over there enjoying this lovely weather?” Eddie said as he walked over to the window. “That, right there, is a Winnebago. While they’re sitting outside, chain smoking and pounding down a six pack, we’re gonna climb in through the back very quietly. I’ll get her started and we’re outta here.”

“Wait, why do you need a mask? Couldn’t Kat just hide us?” Steve asked.

“Here,” Max said, handing a Michael Meyers mask to Eddie. “This should work.”

“Oh yeah, super inconspicuous,” Dustin said sarcastically.

“Wait, why do we even need that?” Steve asked again.

“I don’t want to use my powers. I don’t know if it sounds a beacon to Vecna, so if we can do this the simple way, we should.”

“Exactly,” Eddie said. “You got a toolbox or something with pliers in it, Red?” Max nodded. She went to the kitchen and grabbed a small duffle bag from under the kitchen sink. Eddie inspected it, nodding. “Yep, this’ll do.”

“I don’t know how I feel about all these risks–” Robin started.

“If shit goes south, I’ll step in. But for now, this is our only option,” Kat cut her off.

“Here we go again. Child endangerment,” Erica sighed.

“Alright, let’s go,” Eddie said, his voice muffled as he put the mask on. He started towards the door with Kat following behind him. He opened it, peeked his head out, and looked both ways before pointing a finger gun to lead the group on their way.

Quickly and quietly, they moved from trailer to trailer. They all ran directly behind the couple who was sitting outside of their home. Had they looked back at the right second, this plan would have all been over. For the moment, luck was on their side.

They all crowded around behind the Winnebago. Eddie hastily reached his hand up to try and open any window. Thankfully the very back window slid open with ease. He hoisted himself up through the small opening which just so happened to be big enough for him to slither through. Landing on the couch, he ripped off his mask. “That was suffocating,” he breathed. Kat rolled in right behind him as he shot up and darted to the entrance to swiftly lock it. Steve dove through the window, followed by Nancy and the rest of the gang.

After securing the door, Eddie settled into the driver seat up front. He threw the bag down and grabbed needle nose pliers. Shoving them in his mouth, he went to work finding the wires near the ignition. Kat leaned on the side of the seat, “Oh, finally get to see the delinquent in action,” she whispered. He flashed her a brief look and wiggled his eyebrows. His chuckle was muffled from the pliers. When he yanked them out from the dash, Steve made his place next to Kat. She moved down the first step so that she could get a front row view and so that Steve could too.

“Where’d you learn how to do this?” Steve asked as Eddie snapped two red wires.

“Well, when the other dads were teaching their kids how to fish or play ball, my old man was teaching me how to hotwire. Now I swore to myself, I wouldn’t end up like he did,” he recanted, twisting two wires together, “but now I’m wanted for murder, possibly kidnapping, so why not add grand theft auto to the list of charges. So, uh, I’m really living up to that Munson name.”

Robin flew up to the front and watched over Steve’s shoulder. “Uh, Eddie, I’m not really sure I love the idea of you driving?” she shared.

“Oh, I’m just starting this sucker. Harrington’s got her,” he said as he leaned in close to Steve making a reprised impish smile. “Don’t ya big boy?” With that, he flicked the frayed wires together and the engine roared to life.

As it backfired, the couple who owns the mobile home shot up out of their lawn chairs. “What the hell?! Hey! Open this door!” the woman yelled. All four of them turned their heads as the man started banging on the door. “They locked the door!” she continued screaming.

“Shit! Go!” Steve said as Eddie flew out of the seat and Steve hopped over to sit in the driver seat. “It’s just a car,” he whispered to himself before turning around and yelling, “Everybody hang on to something!”

Robin had rushed towards the back to find her seat. Kat and Eddie had crawled to their spot, while Nancy went up to take her place next to Steve.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Go! Let’s go!” Lucas said anxiously.

“Pedal to the fucking metal! Woo!” Kat cheered, having the time of her life.

“Drive, Steve! Drive!” Dustin screamed from the very back of the vehicle.

“Go, go, go!” Robin hurried as Steve threw their new set of wheels into gear and punched his still barefoot on the gas.

Lucas kept telling Steve to “Go! Go! Go!”

Dustin was watching out of the rear window as the couple were still yelling and throwing their arms in the air. “Shit, they look pissed,” he observed.

“I mean it’s not everyday you lose your house and your car in one fell swoop,” Robin said, holding onto the sides of her seat.

“Hold on! Hold on! Hold on!” Steve yelled as he made a sharp right turn, running over some garbage bins in the process.

“There’s a place up ahead and I’m goin’ just as fast as my feet can fly! Come away, come away if you’re goin’. Let’s leave this sinkin’ ship behind!” Kat started to sing at full volume.

“Kat, what are you doing?” Nancy laughed.

“Come on! Road trip songs! You know you wanna sing along,” she gleefully said. She looked down at Eddie and nodded. He shrugged and together they both sang, “Come on the risin’ wind! We’re goin’ up around the bend, oh!” and with the second verse, soon enough, they had everyone singing Creedence Clearwater Revival as Steve hauled ass to War Zone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Eventually, when the songs and the adrenaline died down, a silence befell the group. Everyone was either wrapped up in small conversations of their own or zoned out from exhaustion.

“Hey,” Kat whispered, gently nudging Eddie with her elbow, “what’s going on with you and…” She jutted her chin toward their getaway driver.

A puzzled look scrunched Eddie’s features. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Kat started, her eyes looking up at the ceiling and her head tilting back and forth as she counted her points on her fingers, “You gave him your battle vest ‘for his modesty.’ You confessed how cool you think he is, with an Ozzy reference no less. You practically nuzzle into his personal space. I’d recognize that shit-eatting grin anywherel. And! What the hell was up with calling him ‘big boy’?” she chuckled quietly.

Eddie curled his lips in and his eyes grew wide as his cheeks reddened. “I– I– I… uh,” he stuttered trying to get his bearings. “What?”

“If you ask me, those are tell-tale signs that Munson has a little crush,” she said with a smirk.

“I have a… What? No, no, no. I mean. He’s a dude and I–”

“So what if he’s a dude? You can have a crush on a guy,” she shrugged.

“But it’s–”

“Always a little weird when you first realize. It’s okay, babe. Been there, done that. Here to help ya through it, big boy,” she giggled and winked as she ruffled the top of his head.

“‘Been there, done that?’” he repeated.

“Mhmm. I’m telling you, life is very different in LA. Plus if you weren’t so annoyingly persistent when I first got here, probably woulda batted my eyelashes at,” Kat moved her eyes in Robin’s direction. Eddie followed her eyes and then his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he slowly turned his head back to her.

‘Really? Buckley?’ he mouthed.

“Yeah, you had no idea, did you?”

“Nope,” he shook his head quickly, his curls zipping side to side.

“Of course not. That’s because it’s called being subtle. Something which you have not yet mastered. Oh, hey, wait, I know someone you could practice on!” she said, bumping her shoulder with his.

“Hey, I am very much with you. Have I told you that I love you? Because I love you. Very much in love. Runs real deep,” he said speaking quickly.

“I know, babe,” she nodded with a breathy laugh as she patted his knee.

“Hey, Kat?” Max called to her from the back. “Can I, uh, talk to you for a sec?”

“Of course!” she said, getting up to switch places with Lucas. “What’s up?”

“Well, I sort of came up with a plan. I just… I mean, you know Vecna so I wanted to run it by you, I guess,” she said nervously.

“Yeah, tell me what you came up with,” Kat nodded as she sat down, crossing one leg under her.

“Okay, so, he uses my darkest memories against me. Which, you were there when it happened with Chrissy, right?”

“Yeah, a couple times actually. If those were her actual memories… They had to have been her darkest ones. Is that… is that what he did with you?”

Max nodded. “It’s like he only sees the darkness in us.”

“No, not just in people. Honestly, he only sees darkness, period.”

“Exactly, so I figured I’ll just run in the opposite direction. I mean, that’s what I did when they started to play Kate Bush. I saw them at the cemetery and I just ran towards it. So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll run to the light again. And maybe he won’t be able to find me there, you know?”

Kat stared out the rear window pensively. She started to nod. “Yeah, yeah. That could work. Eleven has her powers back. And if I’m there too… Wait, do you already have a specific memory in mind?”

“I do,” she said with a half smile, her eyes darting to Lucas and back as her cheeks turned rosy.

“Max, this could work. If you show me that memory, I can find you there and hide you. I don’t know if… I don’t know how long I can hold him off and keep you safe, but maybe it’d be enough time for them to obliterate that son of a bitch…”

“Really? You think this could work?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said confidently as she walked up to the front of the camper.

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson au #eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfic #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steve harrington #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair

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maddogofshimano · 2 years

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Saejima Character Story

Major spoilers for Yakuza 4 and Yakuza 5

This one’s relatively short and quick, but they sure crammed it full of things to hurt Saejima (and me). It was in the game when it first launched, and I know I read through it way back when, so it was nice to do a fresh translation that was relatively easy compared to how much I struggled back then! Here’s the three Saejima cards the game launched with, all of which unlocked this same story.

Back then all the cards were animated, which I still miss dearly. You might notice that the sprites in this one move around to varying degrees, it’s particularly apparent on Majima who has a hypnotic wiggle he does.

Summary:

Immediately following the ending of Y5, Saejima knows he’s on borrowed time and has a few stops he wants to make before he gets hauled in by the cops once again.

December 2012. At the time when the spectacular debut concert of the new idol group "Dream Line" was finishing up at the Japan Dome....

Majima: ...It's over. Kyoudai.

Saejima: ...Yeah. Majima: This is the end of the play Kurosawa had written up, too. All that's left is whatever Kiryu-chan needs to get done. Saejima: Seems that way. .....Well then, I better get hurryin'. Majima: Haw? Saejima: Sorry kyoudai, I gotta dip for a minute. I'll be right back. Majima: Oi, where ya going! I'm gonna get lonely!

Saejima: ....First of all I gotta grab a taxi.

Kurosawa Faction Remnant: Saejimaaa!!

Saejima: ....A Kurosawa man, huh. The fight's already over. Kurosawa got caught. Kurosawa Remnant: What....!? What the hell are you talking about..... we'll just fucking kill you!! Saejima: Tch. Talkin' ain't gonna work on this guy! <they fight, Saejima wins> Kurosawa Remnant: Sh-Shit....!

Saejima: Sorry. I'm in a rush. Saejima: First, I gotta get to the hospital.....! <end part 1> Continuing in December, 2012....

Saejima: ....Room 807, this is it.

Saejima: Forgive me for intruding so late in the evening. .....Boss Sasai. Sasai: ............. Saejima: He's sleeping, huh..... Well, nothin' to do about that. Boss, I'm goin' away for a while. It's Saejima. Saejima: I think I'm... goin' back to jail. I wanted to tell ya that I won't be able to say hi again for a while. Saejima: .......... Saejima: Since I got out, I've been doin' this and that, and before I knew it I was head of a direct line family.... Saejima: But even now, I'm still see myself as a member of the Sasai Family. Saejima: Hell, just the other day I got a call from the Motoyama captain. They wanted to know how you were doin'. (Tl note: 本山 is the Motoyama here, it can mean head temple but it seems to be a Tojo Clan family) Sasai: ............. Saejima: .....I oughta get goin'. Pardon me again, boss. Be well. (Tl note: the really depressing music has been playing the ENTIRE TIME and does so basically the entire story) <he leaves> Saejima: .....Well, I don't got a lotta time. I gotta hurry to the next place.....

Kurosawa Faction Remnant: There he is! It's Saejima!!

Saejima: More of these guys.....! Oi, the war's already over! We don't got a reason to fight! Kurosawa Remnant: Shut up! That don't matter! This is about savin' face, so this war ain't over yet!! <another fight, another win for Saejima> Kurosawa Remnant: Guh....! Fuck man....!

Saejima: ...Sorry. I can understand your feelings, but it's not worth throwing away your life over. (Tl note: the phrase Saejima uses is 命あっての物種や which has translations ranging from "Where there is life, there is hope" to "It's not worth risking my life for" to "Life is what you make of it") Saejima: Don't waste this life you've struggled to keep. <he runs off> <end part 2> Continuing in December 2012........

Saejima: .....I've haven't been able to visit for so long, so it's gotten all dusty.

Saejima: I'm sorry.... Yasuko. I've had a few minor inconveniences come up. I got here late. Saejima: Because of that, your big brother's gotta take care of some foolish work again. ...I ain't gonna be able to come back for a while. (Tl note: not sure I got that first line entirely right, it's そんで、兄ちゃんまたお勤めいかなアカンのや。) Saejima: Sorry I'm such a bad brother... At the very least I can make sure your grave is beautiful before I go. <fade to black as he cleans> Saejima: ...Whew, that should do it. Heh. You're sparklin' now, Yasuko. Saejima: Time for me to move on. Keep an eye out for me, if ya can. ....See ya. <he leaves> Saejima: ....Wellll, I did all I needed to do. Nothin' left but waiting on the cops.

Kurosawa Faction Remnant: What's gotcha lookin' so glum, Saejimaaa. (Tl note: this guy is dragging a bunch of his words out, in what I presume is a mocking tone)

Saejima: ....Stubborn bastards, ain't they. Police'll be here soon too. Ya oughta stay outta the way. Kurosawa Remnant: Shut up. The war may be over, but there's no harm in bumping off a Tojo Clan bigwig, yeah...? Saejima: .....If ya think ya have a shot, take it. Saejima: I'm only standin' here cause a lotta people have kept me alive... I ain't gonna die easy!! (Tl note: this is the first time his sprite has changed all character story)

Kurosawa Remnant: B-Bring it! Die!! <third fight, third win, and he leaves> Saejima: Oh, kyoudai, you're still here huh.

Majima: You took so long~. My stomach's freezin' now. Saejima: Heh. That's cause of how you're dressed. Majima: ....Have ya finished your errands? Saejima: Eh. More or less. Majima: Alright. ...Then let's go meet up with Kiryu-chan. Apparently he collapsed on the side of the road and got carried to the hospital. (Tl note: I didn't think about this the first go around, but after seeing Haruka hauling Hamazaki around I think she probably just carried Kiryu herself) Saejima: Woah, is he okay?

Majima: As if he's got the balls to die that easy. Hell, he's the same as you 'n' me. (Tl note: Majima finally gets a sprite change and it's to talk about Kiryu's balls)

Saejima: Well..... That is true.

Saejima: ....Yeah, I can't die easily. Please watch over me. Boss, Yasuko.... <end>

Bonus time:

Not a whole lot to say on this one! Sasai isn’t shown since he didn’t (and still doesn’t) have a card. The original SSR Saejima used to be the defense card, it was basically mandatory. Now there isn’t even a Saejima on the top 10 for defense. Okay well there is one but it’s Yasuko who has remained the premiere defense unit for an absurd amount of time. Hamazaki is number 1, so proximity to Saejima seems to be a winning factor here.

There’s an event coming up that looks to be the Y4 Majima and Saejima fight that I am VERY excited for, so look forward to that translation too! Those don’t tend to be too beefy, but I will take any scrap they wanna give me on how Saejima or Majima were feeling before/during/after that fight!!

#yakuza #yakuza online #rgg #rggo #ryu ga gotoku #ryu ga gotoku online #Saejima #Majima #Saejima Taiga #Sasai #Yasuko

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