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plasmaapologist · 9 months

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( It wasn't hard to find Colress' lab, really. It was basically the only room in this area left that still had a roof. And the only one with a door. Very subtle, Colgate. Tula took a deep breath, looking at her hand on the door knob; she was shaking like crazy. She bites her lip and opens the door. )

( The lab was... cozy. If you're into mad scientist labs, that is. There was at least something soothing about the soft hum of machinery, but the mega sized test tubes and screaming server towers were ominous at best. Colress stood at the other end of the room, back to the door, furiously typing something into what appears to be a modified laptop. )

"Colress."

( Clearly startled, the scientist shoots up straight before slowly turning twoards the door. For a split second, there's a look of concern on his face until he sees his visitor, and a shit-eating grin replaces it. )

"Oh, my. Now that's a face I haven't seen in a while."

( He throws his arms in the air as if greeting an old friend. There's a decently sized bruise on his hand, and maybe it's just the lab lighting, but he seems a bit paler than usual. )

"Oh dear, you seem confused. We didn't know each other long, but I never forget a name, Miss Gagnon."

( Tula winced, ever so slightly. It's clear that she wasn't a fan of him calling her that. Right hand firmly on her sword, she slowly approaches her former co-worker. )

"Listen here, Cockless, you can drop the act. I want to talk with you. The actual you, not your smarmy little soyboy front, understand?"

( Colress frowns, but in a dramatic, exaggerated fashion. He sighs, twirling a pen in his left hand. )

"My! I know we have our differences, but I expected a far warmer welcome from a nurse! Can't you see I'm beaten and bruised here?"

"Please."

( He scowls, much more genuinely this time. )

"...Say your piece."

"You're a fucking genius, Colress. Plasma, I understand. Ghetsis was filthy rich and throwing money at you. But, this..." ( She gestures at the door ) "Why this? What's the point? What's the end goal? Are you, like, trying to make the ultimate Pokésona costume or some shit?"

( The tall man shook his head, laughing, his plasticine smile returning. )

"I should have expected that you wouldn't understand. It seems that no one here comprehends my vision. Sad, is it not?"

( He shakes his head again, genuinely upset at this revelation. Was he really just now figuring that out...? )

"Call me a skeptic, but I have a gnawing sensation you're not interested in actually hearing me out. A shame, truly. I'm sure my subject would love having such a close friend around."

"I have no interest in helping yo-"

"Tragic. You know, I simply do what must be done. And this must be done."

( He grabs a Pokéball, and with a flash and the grinding of metal, his Klinklang appears between the two Ex-Plasma members. The male lifted his arm, pointing toward his counterpart. )

"Klinklang. Giga Impact."

( From that point, everything happens in a blur. Seconds feel like minutes. Klinklang is slow, slow enough for Tula to just barely sidestep it, taking only a cut to the leg. Painful, but not debilitating. Not with that level of adrenaline. )

"Motherfucker-"

( In a flash, Tula unsheaths her sword. It would be easy, a single lunge, right through the heart. It would be a kill shot. It's just self-defense... but damnit, she didn't go to high school, and it seems she forgot what inertia is. )

( Tula launches herself the scientist, but she stumbles, knocking them both to the ground, the momentum pushing her blade straight through Colress' shoulder. He shouts, though whether it's from the fall or the pain is unclear; the Masterball on his waist shatters under the weight of two adults. Somehow, she removes her sword, preparing to hit the kill shot, and all either of them can see is... prussian blue? )

"Dreaaaaa~"

( The previously hidden Misdreavus flys out from between the two brawlers, eyes glowing, speaking words that neither of them can understand. For a second, theres a sense of neutrality, as they make eye contact, as if confirming that the other is also seeing this shit. But Colress recovers first; and with six inches more than his foe, he easily leverages his height to throw her off. Tula just seems stunned, perhaps by the ghost, perhaps by the weight of what she did. )

( Colress stands, panting, gripping his bleeding shoulder. His left arm now hanging limp and useless to his side, he manages to reach over to his desk, smashing a large button. )

"Hah... Wonderful reflexes you've got... I'd love to study that, but... It seems it's time for me to... clock out. Eugh..."

( The machine behind them screams to life, a bright, swirling portal - no, a wormhole, appearing between the beams. The sound drowns out another; Rune busting down the door, presumably having heard Magic's cry. )

"The fuck's going on in hereeeee.....? That ain't good.

"Ha....! A visitor....! Perhaps you cou-"

( SCHICK! A knife flies past, grazing the injured man's leg. Rune groans.)

"Fuck. Whiffed it."

( He smiles weakly, but there's fear in his eyes. Real, palpable fear. Is he crying a bit? Is it frustration or pain? Who knows! )

"It seems... I am no longer welcome in... my own lab. Farewell."

( Moments before it closes, he stumbles through the wormhole to Arc knows where? leaving no time for chase. And then, silence. Terrifying silence. Rune turns, now looking at Tula, pathetically sprawled on her ass, blood splattered across her face, obviously still in shock. She only manages a single word. )

"Arcfuckingdamnit."

#a cross of strange colors #high stakes pokeblogging #long post #text heavy #blood tw #injury tw #attempted murder tw #stabbing tw #rotomblr

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indecentpause · 2 days

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Sunday Six/Six Sentence Sunday

from The Black & Blues!

cw: homophobia

You talk, low and soft, heads bowed into each other, hidden in plain sight among the chatter on the train. Closer, closer, you keep getting closer into each others’ space, and you know what, fuck it. You’ve been living in fear your whole life. You’re not going to kiss him here, but you’re also not going to let yourself be scared into distancing yourself from a man you really, really like. He seems comfortable enough. About ten minutes into the train ride, Josselin looks up and out the window to see where on your trip you are. The train PA system is broken and isn’t announcing your stops, so you have to trust he’s paying attention. In that moment, you look up, and see a couple a few years older than you across and down the way a little, staring and whispering. The woman looks horrified. The man looks disgusted. And the happy spell breaks, and you’re that lost, terrified thirteen year old again. You look away and pull your leg back in, and uncurl your arm and drop your hands in your lap. Josselin looks back at you. “Meara?” You look up. “Meara, what’s wrong?” You rub the arm pressed up against his with your other hand and shake your head. Josselin’s shoulder moves against yours as he looks around the train to find the source of your sudden mood change. His whole body stiffens when he does. He leans away from you a little to give you space, pressing himself against the plasticine window. “Sorry,” he mumbles. You squeeze your eyes closed to trap the tears. “No.” Your voice catches on the whisper, rough and uncertain. “I’m sorry.” A few stops down, another man at the back of the train with you stands, and as he passes you, he gently touches your shoulder and just says, “Thank you for sitting with your arm around him.” And then he’s gone, and you’re staring, stupefied, at the door closed behind him.

Current taglist: @abalonetea @only-book-lovers-left-alive @poore-choice-of-words @leadhelmetcosmonaut @jasperygrace

@drippingmoon @athenswrites @magic-is-something-we-create @idreamonpaper @winterandwords

@revenantlore

Black & Blues taglist: @lynnedwardswrites

#writeblr #my writing #sunday six #six sentence sunday #writers on tumblr #amwriting #meara ryanne #josselin clearwater #the black and blues #sheraton academy #sheraton academy au

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insane-control-room · 9 months

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Failure

ink demonth day 9

WARNINGS: body horror, existential pain, transformations

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49388095

length: slightly short (500 words)

Shawn knew he was not supposed to be like this. Now he's in storage.

Shawn felt his bones creak- well, joints and ball bearings- and christ, did it hurt. He wanted nothing more than to rot, but he was rotting, and what good was that doing for him? All it did was add the stench of mold and mildew to his rotting wooden flesh.

He was not supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be a success. He was supposed to be alive, a person, a human, not this ersatz pinocchio… thing.

The room was dingy and compounded the rank smell of corrosion. It was small, cramped, uncomfortable and made him want to tear his fabric hair out. He was hardly strong enough for that, thought, especially with his rivets and parts failing.

A puppet without strings is a very dangerous toy, you see. That was why he was locked up in storage. Trying to kill Joey for what he did to him landed him in this dark, horrible room where he had no room to move his broken limbs.

He tried to move once again. It was a marvel he had not lost his mind, if not the use of his breaking body. Maybe this wooden form kept his sanity perfectly intact, even as he crumbled to shavings.

Well, that was a horrible thought. He needed to get out of here already.

He could not see, that was a fact- not with these eyes, these plasticine lies. Another case of pure failure on the part of that stupid businessman.

Shawn pushed once again, and felt his wrist break.

Well, damn that idea then.

He sank back against the wall, jaw hanging loose- even with the stitches over his mouth. It was better to ‘breathe’ through his mouth, so he would not smell the stench of his own, inevitable collapse.

Existing hurt.

It really ached and tore at his innards, if those even were in his body anymore. He doubted it. There was nothing there, only fake limbs and false organs. Was he even really breathing?

Maybe he was losing his mind, and could hardly tell at this point. Maybe he already lost it. Maybe all of this was a hallucination, a scam on his senses. If so, he would be very happy for it all to go away already. Death would be a much preferred outcome to this hell.

Shawn tried pushing again, this time with his legs. He could hear them groan and splinter, but he did not feel it, so he kept trying. A crack made him stop- well, there goes that idea. Another miserable failure. He leaned back again, the smell of ink already long faded from his ability to perceive it, but he could sense it in his orifices and the cracks of his body.

Well.

What else was he supposed to do now?

He was already there for years and years- as far as he can tell. It could have been decades or minutes for all he knows.

He can only hope his life will fail.

#ink demonth #control art #batim #bendy and the ink machine #shawn flynn #body horror #transformation #existential pain #marionette #control writes

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becca-alexa · 9 months

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Ride the Lightning

Chapter Twelve: Starry Eyes

Read on AO3!

01 ┋ 02 ┋ 03 ┋ 04 ┋ 05 ┋ 06 ┋ 07 ┋ 08 ┋ 09 ┋ 10 ┋ 11 ┋ 12 ┋ 13

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Original Female Character

Summary: Will an average trip to the mall turn into something more?

Word Count: 3.8K

Content Warnings: [N/A]

Author's Note: god please forgive me for this taking so long the last update was in may?????? i have been so dead from actually having to do work at my job i am becoming a business bitch and let me tell you nobody told me it took so much work but anyway here you go 💗💗💗💗💗

and as always THANK YOU BESTIE @hellflayer for sticking with me through this 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Lucas wrapped an arm around himself, the other holding the plasticine phone receiver close to his ear, the smile he gave to Eddie from across the street strained and painfully forced; he counted the rings – one, two, three – as he gnawed at his lip to the point of drawing blood, all as he waited for Max to pick up the phone. He couldn’t help the twinge of nervousness that coursed up his spine, chilled his hands; he couldn’t help the guilt he felt as he’d emerged from the Palace Arcade alone, hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn Levi’s jeans, head hung low in embarrassment he’d even gone so far as to jog around the back of the building, checking to see if perhaps he’d find the redhead trying out a new trick on her skateboard, or even trading cards with some of the other kids. But, alas, as the phone continued to ring, he’d long since conceded defeat.

“Hello?” Max’s voice buzzed through the speaker. “Max speaking. Who’s this?”

Lucas scrubbed a hand down his face. “It’s Lucas. You said you’d be at the arcade! Where the Hell are you?” He asked, giving Eddie yet another smile and a nod, signaling that everything was alright.

“I’m home, Lucas.” Max said simply; he could hear her moving around. Was someone with her? “I told you I’d be going to the arcade in the morning, and that I’d be home by noon.” As she spoke, Lucas let out a loud groan - she had said that, he’d simply forgotten.

“Whatever. Are we still good to go to the mall?” Lucas asked, his leg beginning to bounce.

“You’re with Eddie?”

“He’s waiting in the van. I’m using a payphone.”

“Yeah, but ask him if-“

Lucas hung up the call as soon as he’d heard her affirmative response, nearly causing an accident as he bolted across the street, pulling himself into the passenger seat of the metalhead’s rusted van with nothing – less than nothing – to show for his efforts. He was quiet as he pulled on his seatbelt, the vehicle slowly pulling back onto the main road.

“She’s back home, isn’t she?” Eddie asked quietly, his voice gentle – and, yet, Lucas couldn’t help his swarming embarrassment.

“Yeah, I... I’m sorry, man.” he began, throat tight, hands clasped tightly atop his lap, the sound of asphalt crushing beneath rubber tires filling the silence between them, the low hum of the motor a gentle purr compared to the loud screech of Eddie’s music. “I could’ve sworn she told me she’d be here...”

Eddie shook his head; wild, unkempt curls bouncing about his shoulders. His smile was easy, unbothered, his eyes warm as he spared the kid a look, the van rolling to a stop at a red light. “Don’t sweat it, dude. It happens.” He took a turn onto one of the residential streets, the entrance to the trailer park nearly in sight. “I needed to go back, anyway. Forgot my wallet.”

“You sure? I mean, you don’t have to take us-“

“Lucas, it’s fine, seriously.” Eddie drove through the familiar entrance to Forest Hills, bringing the van to a stop in front of Max’s trailer, leaving the motor running as he trotted over to his own abode. “Be back in a sec!” he shouted back, digging into his pocket for his keys as he disappeared beyond the worn, metal door, only to appear moments later with a leather wallet in hand. In truth, the wallet had simply been an excuse to keep Lucas from feeling any worse than he already did for having led him on a wild goose chase – bless his charred, cynical heart.

He all but tore open the van door, the thing creaking and groaning under the sudden strain as he pulled himself inside – but, as he settled into his seat, pulling his seatbelt on and looking to the passenger seat, it felt as though he’d sent himself crashing into a wall, his body stopping mid-motion, hands leaded, face burning red at the sight of Veronica seated beside him; Lucas and Max were huddled together in the back seat, whispering something between them that made them laugh. He blinked once, twice, swallowing against the sudden tightness gripping his throat as he gave her a rather lopsided smile. “H-Hey.”

“Hi, Eddie.” Veronica replied softly, her smile just as meek as his, her cheeks dusted with the softest of pinks, her verdant gaze brilliant as she stared at him. His eyes moved over her, noting in an instant the way her hair fell about her shoulders, soft and impossibly silky, tied behind her neck with a thin, red ribbon – he hadn’t seen it down like that since The Fling, and as memories of that fateful night bled into his subconscious, it only served to make his blush all the more intense.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Max asked abruptly, hanging in the space between the two front seats as she turned herself toward Eddie, her hands braced to keep her from falling forward. “Veronica was already at my place when Lucas called.”

“No, it’s... it’s fine.” Eddie recovered quickly, coughing a bit to hide his nervousness, flexing his hands to quell their telltale trembling as he wrapped them around the steering wheel. “That alright with you, sweetheart?”

Veronica nodded, hair flowing over her shoulders – and, had Eddie been paying closer attention to her, he’d have noticed the way her smile brightened at the name, her blush deepening nearly to a cherry-red. “Y-Yeah, I’m good.”

In a single, fluid motion, Eddie tugged on the gear shift and pealed out of the trailer park. “Alright, kiddos – our destiny awaits!”

Walking beneath the burning heat of fluorescent lights in every possible hue, Eddie swore it’d felt as though he’d been dropped into a flowing, moving current of people – at any given moment, Starcourt Mall was always busting with activity, shops and neon signage spreading as far as the eye could see. Cloyingly sweet pop music played over the place’s overhead speakers, doing little to drown out the roaring of voices all around them – and it took him a moment to center himself.

Yet, it was a moment too long. “So, where to first-?” he’d begun to say, only to watch as Lucas and Max ran off into the droves, hand in hand as one of them turned and shouted something at him he’d just barely managed to grasp – We’ll meet up with you later! Eddie let out a heavy sigh, pulling his hand through his hair as he turned, taking in a sharp breath as he suddenly realized he’d been left alone with Veronica – and in a venue he knew to be a popular spot among couples, no less. He felt his pulse quicken, his hands shaking, sweat beading along his brow. Would she want to stay with him? Would she want to walk off on her own? Follow behind the kids? He tried to find his words, certain his face was nearly as red as the ribbon in her hair as he asked, “D-Do you... uh... Is there something you want to do?”

But, Veronica shook her head, hands clasped tightly behind her back as she took a stumbled half-step toward him, someone having brushed her by mistake in their haste to get by. “I don’t really have anything in particular...” she told him, biting at her strawberry-colored lip, lost in thought – and Eddie couldn’t help but follow the movement raptly, nearly losing focus on what she was saying. God, he’d never wished to be lip gloss before, but there certainly was a first time for everything… “Maybe we can just... walk around?” Veronica asked, pulling Eddie from his revelry. “There’s got to be something cool here, right?”

Eddie smiled at her response, settling a hand at the small of her back as he led her away from the main entrance. “Sounds good to me, princess.” His answer was easy, calm – betraying nothing of the way his stomach was in acrobatics, or the way his heart was beating with so much force, he was almost certain she could see it through his shirt. “Let’s go?”

He’d offered her his arm purely in chivalry, thinking it’d be the right thing to do; he’d also didn’t want to lose her through the crowds, so the gesture had made sense in his mind – never in his wildest dreams had he expected her to actually take it, her hand tucking into the warm crook of his elbow. And, unless he was truly fooling himself, he could feel the way she pulled herself closer to him – close enough that he could smell the soft, flowery scent of her perfume. Her body leaned against his, her grip on him tightening ever so slightly as they began to walk.

Linked together, they passed store upon store selling clothing, sports equipment, home décor; Starcourt had anything and everything imaginable, much to their surprise – yet, after nearly an hour of seemingly endless window shopping and half-hearted browsing, they had yet to find a store they actually wanted to go into.

Eddie stood a step behind Veronica, peering over her shoulder as she scanned the mall’s extensive directory, his own gaze trailing over the map in hopes of finding... something. Anything at all; just a single interesting place to go into. “Eddie...!” Veronica exclaimed, turning around sharply – and she found herself pressed chest to chest with him, close enough that she could feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, the thrum of his pulse through his shirt. It took her a moment to remember what she’d wanted to say, so lost in the feeling of him against her. “They... They just opened a record store on the third floor – want to check it out...?” she finally managed to ask, a bit befuddled as to why her throat had gone dry, her hands running cold as she clenched the behind her. What was happening to her...?

Through her inner turmoil, Eddie leaned in close, his smile bright and beaming as he said, “Now you’re speakin’ my language, sweetheart!” With a laugh, he took her hand tightly in his as he all but dragged her to the nearest escalator, practically bouncing with excitement as they made their way to the shop.

He hadn’t realized he’d laced their fingers together, and the thought to tell him never once crossed her mind.

Once they’d found the store, they were floored to find it stacked wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling with absolutely everything – not just with music, but with instruments, recording equipment, memorabilia; it was as though they’d entered Eddie’s personal Nirvana, and Veronica couldn’t help but smile as she watched him dig through alphabetized stacks of records and tapes – a literal kid in a candy store.

She, on the other hand, kept her pace leisurely – it wasn’t as though she wasn’t a fan of vinyl or tape collecting, but she was certainly nowhere near Eddie’s level of apparent fanaticism. He poured over the Rock and Heavy Metal sections as though he were searching for gold, and she quickly realized that she was watching him more than she was browsing the store’s wares, her heart doing this curious little patter every time he found something that made his eyes sparkle in just the right way. Were she being honest with herself, he was infinitely more interesting, anyways. She never wandered too far from him, always keeping him within her line of sight, smiling to herself as something... fuzzy began to bleed through her chest, and the feeling itself was enough to tint her face the softest whisper of pink.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him walking up to the register, a bright red vinyl sleeve tucked tightly to his chest; he bounced atop the balls of his feet as he waited in line, an unrivaled smile on his face as he made it to the front of the line. But, as he handed the cashier the sleeve, the two exchanging a few words, his face fell into a frown; he shook his head and said something she couldn’t make out as he left the line, the vinyl forgotten as he moved to another part of the store. With her curiosity besting her, she walked up to the register, and spotted the sleeve sitting on a shelf just out of reach.

“Hi... uh... Why didn’t that guy buy that?” Veronica asked, pointing to the shelf behind the cashier.

“Didn’t have enough money.” The man replied plainly, sorting through his things behind the counter. “The sale we have going on right now doesn’t apply to this.”

She nodded, sparing a look back at Eddie, her chest tight. Should she...? “Can... Can I buy it?” she asked before she could think to do otherwise, a gentle smile growing on her face as she cashier rung her up for her purchase, sliding the vinyl into a plastic shopping bag before passing it to her; thanking him, she made her way back to the front of the store, Eddie already standing there, waiting for her. He gave her as best a smile as he could, yet Veronica could still see the disappointment behind his eyes as they made their way through the mall’s carpeted corridors once more.

Distracted as he was, it took him a moment to notice the bag hanging from her hand. “You found something you liked, sweetheart?” he asked her, nodding toward it.

Again, her heart pattered. Pittered, even.

She smiled at him, her eyes bright, nearly sparkling. “You could say that.”

“What d’you mean-“ Eddie couldn’t help but ask, only to be abruptly cut off as she shoved the bag into his chest, the plastic crinkling against him.

“I bought it for you.” Had she said anything else, Eddie didn’t think he’d be as surprised. For him? How could she buy something for him...?

“For... For me...?” His face burst red, heart pounding, his spirits lifting to the highest of heights as he turned to look at her, a hesitant sort of smile stretching across his face. “Sweetheart, you... you didn’t have to...” He peered into the bag, anticipation mounting – and his mouth fell open as he realized what she’d purchased; he tried to hand the bag back to her. “Veronica, no, I... I can’t-“

“Why not?”

He floundered; it took him a moment to work through his whirlwind of thoughts. “T-This was expensive...”

“So what?” She countered, shaking her head, trying to pass the handle of the bag back into his hand.

“B-But-“ He’d pulled his hand away, holding it to his chest in a closed fist.

Veronica let out a quiet sigh as she reached over and took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together, squeezing it gently as their gazes met. “Eds, think of this as a reward for... for doing really well at school.” As she spoke, he visibly began to relax, the tips of his ears red as his fingers flexed around hers, warmth to warmth, palm to palm; his shoulders fell, chest deflating with an exhale he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You deserve it.”

“Y-Yeah..?” Eddie asked, chancing a look down at the bag pressed between them. “You... You really think I do?”

“I know you do.” Veronica’s voice had dropped nearly to a whisper – and, just for a moment, the world around them seemed to melt away, the sounds and sights of the bustling mall pooling at their feet like rain puddles as their hearts began to beat in sync.

A loud sound pulled them to reality, and they both looked away with matching smiles, faces red; Veronica looped her arm back through his, her touch soft as they continued walking, perhaps just a bit closer than before.

“Nope.”

“Come on, Eddie... Pretty please?”

Eddie shook his head, standing his ground against her. “Sweetheart, I’m not trying that on.”

The pair stood in front of the main showcase for a tuxedo rental store – one of the newer additions to the already-bustling mall. The mannequin displayed was sporting the latest in men’s evening wear, the sharp cut and slim fit of the suit having caught Veronica’s eye as they’d been walking by. It was a nice suit – a very nice suit; coupled with the color pairing of red and black, it’d been a no-brainer for her to ask Eddie to try it on.

She hadn’t expected him to refuse so vehemently.

The least he could do was humor her, couldn’t he?

“Why won’t you try it on?” Veronica asked, crossing her arms atop her chest, her gaze narrowing, hands set atop her hips as she gave him as best a withering look as she could – and the sight made him almost nostalgic, in a way. Eddie shook his head, his growing smile only fueling her annoyance.

“I’ll look ridiculous.” He insisted, shaking his head; he motioned between himself and the mannequin posed behind the glass window, as though proving his point – he was certain he’d look like a fool.

Veronica rolled her eyes at him. “Who says?”

“I say, that’s who!” Eddie countered, his voice rising ever so slightly.

Veronica refused to back down, her hand darting to grab his before he could even realize what was happening – and, by the time he’d managed to blink, she was dragging him into the store. “Well, I say you’ll look nice!” She exclaimed, turning around to watch as his sneakered feet left trails through the plush carpeting underfoot. Finding the nearest fitting room, she all but shoved him through the curtain divider, and returned in a moment with a suit in a size that would fit him. “Edward, just try it on!”

Eddie grumbled and groaned as he slipped off his clothes, his heavy belt buckle falling to the ground with an audible thud as he changed outfits; Veronica sat just outside, flipping through a store magazine as she awaited his emergence – like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon, so to speak.

After a few minutes, the curtain was pulled aside – and, out walked Eddie, in what he swore was the most expensive thing he’d ever tried on. “See?” He asked her, his hand making a sweeping motion down his body. “I told you I’d look dumb.”

“You don’t look dumb, it’s just...” said Veronica, rising from her seat and moving to his front, her hands tugging the red dress shirt out from where he’d had it tucked into his pants. “You missed a button, that’s all...” As though she’d done this a hundred times before, her hands worked with practiced ease as she fixed his shirt, working from the bottom and moving her way up, her touch warm as she smoothed her hands over his chest, adjusted the shirt around him. And, reaching up, she flipped over the collar of his shirt and fixed the knot in his necktie, smoothing it back down, her hands gently moving the fabric into its proper place. “See? You look much better.”

Eddie couldn’t help the way his face burned, his heart pounding in his chest, his head. He stared down at her, losing himself in her verdant eyes, his hands moving on their own accord as they laid over hers, holding them to his chest. Leaning in closer to her, his hair fell around them, a canopy pulling them closer together, shielding them from the world; his voice felt almost foreign to him as he whispered, “I could’ve done that myself, princess.”

Having him so close, his breath fanning her face, his nose just brushing hers... The pattering in Veronica’s heart now pounded like the loudest of drums, keeping perfect time to the pulse she could feel beneath her palms, strong and solid, Eddie’s hold on her tightening. She couldn’t help but gasp as she felt his thumbs sliding over the tops of her hands, caressing her, drawing her even closer to him – if that were even possible. Standing chest to chest with him, only one thought blared through Veronica’s mind with an urgency that frightened her, her mouth going dry, her lips parting ever so slightly.

“God, I wish he’d just kiss me.”

She hadn’t the time to blink before two familiar voices rang out from somewhere down the corridor outside of the store. “I found them!” Lucas called out, the thundering of footsteps following his words. As though they’d been scalded, Eddie and Veronica flew apart before either youngling came into sight, with Eddie fleeing into the fitting room before either of them could see the vivid blush painting his face.

“What are you doing in here?” Max asked, following behind Lucas as the pair entered the store.

Veronica pointed to the fitting room. “Eddie was... He was trying some things on.” The waver in her voice gave Max pause, her attention splitting between her and the rustling curtain at her side.

On the ride home, the group sat in order of drop-off – Lucas and Veronica were in the back, and Max took the passenger seat, with Eddie manning the helm; Lucas was the first to leave, thanking Eddie to high Heaven for having taken them to the mall. Eddie saw him off with a smile, waiting until he’d gotten inside before driving away.

Veronica was next; Eddie had parked in front of her house, waving her off just as he’d did Lucas, waiting for a while before leaving – but Max could tell that something was different. From the way he’d said his goodbyes, to the melting look he’d given her, to the way he’d lingered at her house just a moment too long, she knew that something was... wrong? No, not wrong – happening.

Something was happening – and whatever it was, it involved Eddie and Veronica.

“What’s in the bag?” Max asked, pointing to the plastic bag Eddie had insisted on keeping atop his lap – for safekeeping, he’d told them, the plastic crinkling every time he moved his legs.

“A gift.” He replied, his smile almost shy, the faintest of pinks gracing his cheeks – which, of course, Max didn’t fail to notice.

“You bought yourself a gift?” She sounded almost disbelieving.

Eddie shook his head. “No, I-“

“So... Veronica bought you a gift?” Max continued, quickly having put the pieces together – the pair were alone the entire trip, so if Eddie didn’t buy it…

The metalhead’s blush deepened, spreading all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Y-Yeah.” He replied quietly, his smile ever-present, perhaps even growing a bit. “She did.”

And, as Max settled back into her seat, staring out the window as they drove through entrance to Forest Hills, she was left with more questions than she’d had answers for…

Something was definitely happening.

Tag List

@lulukings92 @i-me-mine @kaitebugg03 @enchante-em

#becca.fic #ride the lightning #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x original character #stranger things fic #YYYEAAHHH CHAPTER 12 #did not intend to have it take so long to write #but it's here #bone apple teeth my dudes it's real fluffy and it'll only get worse from here #💗💗💗💗💗

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chorusgirls · 7 months

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𝙸𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙺𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚈𝙾𝚄, 𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄.

… FULL NAME … efigenia santa-maria idella coelho.

… NICKNAMES … predominantly genie, occasionally gen, g, nia, or effie. to family alone is she efigenia.

… ALIAS … the white rabbit.

… AGE … twenty-eight.

… GENDER … cis woman.

... PROUNOUNS ... she & her.

… SEXUALITY … bisexual. kinsey scale 3.

… CIVILIAN OCCUPATION … dancer at gravity nightclub.

… CRIMINAL ASSOCIATION … hanging man soldier.

… NOTABLE ATTRIBUTES … exceptionally lean, sculpted body, which lends to a taller appearance. noticeably soft, bouncy hair - never dyed & meticulously maintained.

… CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS … wendy darling ( peter pan ). blossom ( powerpuff girls ). janet colgate/the jackal ( dirty rotten scoundrels ). daphne kluger ( ocean's eight ). elle woods ( legally blonde ). cami ( coyote ugly ). danny ocean ( ocean's eleven ). linus caldwell ( ocean's eleven ). moneypenny ( daniel craig bond films ). mia toretto ( fast & furious series ).

( + ) warm, daring, lighthearted, witty, efficient, intrepid, observant.

( - ) blunt, irreverent, dishonest, informal, unconventional.

𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂.

* trigger warnings: none.

WE ARE THE CHILDREN OF AN ANGRY GOD, mother says, stroking her hair with a pearlescent whalebone comb passed down through the ages, telling the stories of mayan gods and peoples who will not be forgotten to history. YOU ARE THE DESCENDANT OF AN ANCIENT & MOST NOBLE BLOODLINE, father says. he chucks under her chin as she finishes the last of her popsicle, catching falling lime juice with the bow of his finger. it curves around his index like a noxious light green emerald - the second on that finger. and how did nobles take their place, my girl? he asks, turning to place a key into a lock, the drawer clicking as it opens. by the tip of a sword. the remainder of her popsicle, chewed down to the last stub, melts onto the exposed surface of deep blue velvet. as it softens and spreads, the little girl reaches a sticky hand down and brushes her fingers over the gold embossing on the handle of a pistol. this is our sword. this is how we keep our honour.

you would be forgiven for not recognizing the coelho family by name, though you know their face ⸺ or, at least, the ones moulded in plasticine and paint. too many mornings to name for people all across the globe, they awaken to grainy shots pulled from security footage, sitting pretty under various headlines: CRIMINALS STRIKE AGAIN. the coelho family are the whispers you've shared over coffee, the breaking news you've held your breath for: elite thieves you've known for decades, their mark left in animal masks and figurines.

she grows up a child of illicit luxury, living in a sprawling old-mediterranean style villa, wherein elaborate portraits of the virgin mary hanging above cabinets full of tightly-packed criminal accessories - grappling hooks and glass cutters - alongside a collection of firearms hung on the wall. the oddity of her childhood rests not only in the strangeness of her family’s occupation, but in the way it would walk hand in hand with the general trappings of youth: she attends a catholic private school, only to be driven each morning in a black town-car with a personal driver; her mother teaches her to braid hair sitting cross-legged in her bedroom,are and after completion turns around to instruct her in the art of lying without raising your heartbeat; the entirety of the family sits at the dinner table each night, sharing laughter. there is no way to call efigenia's upbringing normal, but their family is. love is a coagulant that persists even through the strangest of tides.

the criminality of their family lineage began before her parents, but they choose to continue the legacy: her father, the wolf; her mother the cat. they bare children, each of their own skill and purpose: her brother the stag, resolute & unyielding; her sister the owl, wise & knowing; and finally the rabbit, efigenia, quick & uncatchable. they're encouraged into the family business not only by trade, but by operation. you'll find .

there is no king that exists without an axe looking to separate its neck from its crown. the coelho heists span decades, continents, and priceless objects, and after all that time, the world begins to close in on them. the cia has finally found a thread to grasp, and they tug until it begins to unravel. to escape the capture, the coelhos are forced to abandon their south american throne. rio de janeiro, once their personal kingdom, is exchanged for the court of another - a safe place to hide among those like them. new york, in the noose of a hanging man.

the coelho's are welcomed into the fold of the gang seven years ago and brandished as crown jewels. genie's parents assume high level positions within the organization, and the children are offered freedom of choice: to assume a life of normalcy in a new country, bolstered by familial wealth, or to continue the path they've always known. to genie, these choices are one and the same. there is no normal to her without the thrill.

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂.

something of a wendy darling figure to lost boys - a den mother who walks the line between nourishing and authoritative. she'll make sure you look presentable and listen to your problems, clean you up or give you a shoulder to cry on, but she takes no shit. expect a versace heel cramped down your hand if you put it somewhere you shouldn't.

has a cat named mercutio.

her family is, technically, an aristocratic line, though all titles were abolished by the 20th century.

her skills lay largely in being immaterial: persuasion, flexibility, reconnaissance, the ability to appear and disappear like a rabbit in a magician's hat. while her physical combat capability exceeds that of the average individual, genie will use every trick in her book before resorting to participating in hand-to-hand combat.

there is absolutely 0 need for her to be working at gravity. she doesn't utilize it for hanging man, and money is a non-issue. it's literally because... she's a people person?? she likes having fun??

𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂.

regulars & favourites at gravity!

tba.

#lawlessintro

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beastofwant · 2 months

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every joint of mine feels as if it's been rended apart and back again like sticks of plasticine and my leg hurts badly and I'm so tired but running on nothing but raw fear and what's really fucked up is that I'm honestly worried they'll think I'm not really disabled bc I didn't use my cane and could carry heavier things than them but I was masking the pain and barely even in my body the whole time. I pushed myself above and beyond my limit because if I didn't I'd of sat around useless like a fucking child.

like at least allow me the dignity of moving my own fragile things. I really hope my things aren't completely destroyed but they threw so much shit around with no regard for its label? I saw several things break outright and it just feels fucking awful. I'm tired of losing my things bc moves and breaking things and yeah I know HOW to repair it but why should I have to? My shit should not be constantly broken by other people regardless. It's less about the actual items and more about the disrespect, disregard, and denial of dignity. It makes me feel like an insect.

I should be grateful in some sense and I tried to express and display my gratitude but I'm just tired, and it should not have been like this. I cannot do this, like this, again. I cannot handle another frantic traumatic fucking move. Every single one has been a mad dash to safety that quickly turns wrong and I'm wanting more than anything for this next place to break the cycle but I'm so fucking scared of it being taken away from me.

I wish I could just be fucking induced into a coma and kept in a closet until this is over. It was like I was puppeting myself around, all day. But I'm worried I won't be believed now because of that. I mask too well but every time I've been able to stop something has happened that forced me back into the mask. idk, what if I didn't humanize myself to them at all? I feel like half of them viewed me as a fucking tar pit as if this wasn't a slow descent into recreating my worst traumas

#mad scrawl

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asheewrites · 5 months

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Sick Call for Healer 3

After two failed tries, Raphael finally managed to turn the doorknob. And then started to climb the stairs behind the door. The walls were… painted. Creative, in a way, certainly full of birds. In trees, bushes and other greenery.

Certainly not done by someone with much expertise in the matter. Simply glancing at them, the creatures were anatomically correct. But had no sense of artistry.

It looked like a sketchbook on a wall. Unfinished.

Quite a few different species, sometimes with annotations for proper identification or close ups of wings. On a wall.

The hungry-looking cardinal over the door on the upper floor was something else.

Asmodeus certainly had enough time to look at everything, since his ‘host’ was moving in a bit of a snails pace, holding up a finger to take a break, leaning against a wall.

This angel certainly was not healthy. And definitely had a fever, judging by the temperature she emitted alone. The second door was opened in one try. And they stumbled into… a room.

It had high ceilings, plants crawled up the walls, the whole ceiling was made of glass. It already felt cold just seeing it. It was cool, too.

At least there was a sofa on the side of the room. Clutter-free except for pillows and a blanket. A perfect place to deposit an ailing angel with a desperate need to sit down. He gently led her down to she cushions and sat down next to her, made sure she had a blanket to curl up in.

With a confused expression, she did take the blanket and wrapped herself in it, legs pulled up against her chest. The shoes fell on the floor sometime later.

Raphael might be able to talk a little bit later. Which presented an opportunity to observe… the room. The pull-out couch – facing a TV and some electronics - was the only place clutter-free. The room was not untidy – everything seemed to have a place. But apparently Raphael had hobbies.

The couch table was filled with half-filled journals, magazines and…a laminator. The first shelf was dedicated to textiles with a sewing machine, countless needles, a miniature loom (of all things), enough wool to produce several quilts, many unfinished projects – and quite a few finished ones. The next shelf? All kinds of artistic material – pencils, coal, acrylics, watercolours, canvases, scraps, scissors, glue. Next up: Pottery, airdrying plasticine. Funnily enough, he also spotted a 3D printer. It made him smirk. But there were lot of painted figurines next to it. The next shelf was filled with so many books. With annotations… Several pieces of sports equipment… something like a greenhouse… and that was only what he spotted at first glance.

And then there were other rooms – one actually had a door. It went into a laboratory, she had said something along the lines. The other rooms simply had no doors. One was a bathroom, at least the tiles said so. One was a bedroom, at least according to the many pillows strewn about…

No kitchen.

A light cough next to him brought the attention back to the angel, she looked intensely miserable and said: “I… did not realize that letting you in… means you see this place.” She blinked slowly, looking very unhappy with herself. “It’s… it’s not for visitors.”

Asmodeus looked at her, looked at the mixture of certainly well used equipment all around them and chuckled: “The couch is big enough for two, is it not?”

Some tension left her already weak frame.

“Are you going to paint the walls in here, too?” They currently were still white.

And just like that, she relaxed completely, looking feverish, but more like her usual wide-eyed self and said: “Wanted to get… better before. Got distracted. I’m better with music than with pictures.” She coughed into the blanket, groaned and put her head on her knees.

“Well, time for soup”

#mercuryreddies asmodeus #my raph xd #648 words #*coughs herself*

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k00265221 · 1 year

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Temporary Project - Claymation (03/11/22)

Meet Mush

Mush is my temporal friend made out of wire, polystyrene and plasticine. His plasticine body is temporary like our human body as it is always changing. He is inspired by Aardman's first character 'Morph'

I will have to make him multiple sets of eyes, arms and legs as I want his eyes to move and blink, and from researching Wallace and Gromit and other plasticine stop motion animations I have learnt how these reusable plasticine figures are prone to breaking (temporary) . I have also noticed how dirty Mush's plasticine exterior gets after i film with him. I plan to change his exterior layer after each filming sessions to preserve his pure innocent white look :

Before cleaning: After:

I gave him new big eyes to make him more appealing and loveable for the audience. I also added eyebrows to allow me to express Mush's emotions in future animations

#temporary #everything is temporary #lsad #temporal art #temporary art #stop motion #animation #body art

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sixpossumsinatrenchcoat · 1 year

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Four More Years

wanted to post this very silly snippet from my Omori timeskip! suntan w/ a ton of platonic sunflower, a real soft cozy time had by all. CW for weed, truancy, & excessive tomfoolery 🌿🏀🔪

Basil sprinkles some balsamic on the veggies and looks at Sunny ruefully. “I’m not going to get any work done today, am I?”

Sunny swipes a cucumber and shakes his head. No. Probably not.

“Ah, well.” Basil doesn’t sound too bothered. He looks down at the platter and sighs. “I want to get high before I eat this, but I’m afraid of what I’ll see.”

“Totally,” Sunny agrees. “...I could text Kel?”

Kel is the ultimate mood hack. He’s so dense that he’s completely immune to other people’s panic. Everyone else just syncs up with him. And he's so grounded in his body that you can always trust him to know what's real. Sunny and Basil are a little more... suggestible.

Basil rolls his eyes. “You just want him to pet you like a little cat.”

Sunny shrugs. Is that so wrong?

Basil looks down at his veggies, and then up toward the windowsill where they keep the bong. Hornet, as she’s named, isn’t one of those towering, multi-chamber affairs. She’s small and unassuming, honey-colored glass with just the faintest swirl of gray. But she gets the job done.

Sunny can pinpoint the exact moment when Basil’s resolve crumbles.

“...Okay, okay. Go ahead and text Kel. I don’t have any classes today, anyway. And— And I won’t bug you about cutting class, but you have to let me dress you up.”

“Deal.”

Sunny will never understand why Basil takes so much pleasure in dressing him up. But he doesn’t really mind. It’s not un-fun to play dress-up for a day. Especially when your roommate dresses like an 18th-century gardener fell through a purikura booth.

Where Sunny favors clean lines and sharp angles and black, always black, Basil lives in shorteralls and culottes and loosely woven cardigans. The only jewelry Sunny owns is the kind you shove through a wound, but Basil has chunky rings and elbow chains and a hundred different hairpins, each one shaped like a specific, taxonomically accurate flower. (Sunny borrows some of the hairpins, sometimes. But only the poisonous ones.)

A half a bowl later, Sunny is dressed in powder blue shorteralls over a cropped yellow tee, and his hair is a tiny plasticine flower garden. Basil bought the rights to do his makeup in exchange for not telling Kel that Sunny's skipping school, so his eyelids are dusted in just the faintest shimmer of pearl.

When Basil reaches for the eyeliner, Sunny’s ready to get in on the action.

“Let me do you, too,” he demands.

Basil can barely hear over his own giggling. “Ehehehe! Ehe, hehehe… Ohhh, Sunny, look at you!! Oh, my gosh… You could look so cute if you wanted!!!”

“You just want everyone to dress like a My Little Pony,” Sunny grumbles. “Come on, it’s my turn.”

By the time Kel raps on the door, Sunny and Basil are elbow-deep in a full-on roleswap. Basil cuts an austere figure in black skinny jeans and Sunny’s favorite Docs, the monochrome florals with the red soles. (“How do you even walk?” Basil asks pitifully, stiff-legged as a colt. "It feels like my legs are in a straitjacket.”)

“Sunnyyy!” Kel shouts through the door. One of these days, Sunny is going to have to introduce himself to the neighbors, just to make sure they don’t call in a noise complaint. Maybe Basil can buy their forgiveness with vegetables. “I’m coming in!!!”

When the door swings open, Kel does a huge, cartoonish double-take. “W-Woah!! Sunny!”

“Yes?” Basil says, as dry as he can manage while still hiding a laugh behind his hands.

“...Basil??”

Sunny clears his throat, digs deep for all the anxious energy he can muster. “Y-Yes???”

“Woah!” Kel yelps. His eyes flick between them, uncertain with an undercurrent of something almost wistful. But it doesn’t take long before his nature wins out. “Hehe… Sunny, you got taller!!”

He scoops Basil up by the armpits, making him squeak, and plunks him down on the kitchen counter so they can see eye to eye. Sunny’s mouth tugs down. Kel used to do that with Sunny, before he started acting all weird.

“Hmph,” Basil huffs. Or at least, he tries to. He keeps breaking character to giggle.

Sunny turns to Kel, stonefaced. “Tee hee,” he says flatly.

Basil laughs so hard he falls off the counter.

For another few minutes, Kel is still carrying that weird, buzzy energy, like he’s playing musical chairs and they’re all out of chairs. Eventually, Sunny gets fed up and kicks Basil in the foot.

“Ow!! Oh—Kel, who do you want? Me or Sunny?”

“Huh???”

Basil, intimately acquainted with choice paralysis, chooses for him. “Here, you can be Sunny. I’d rather be you, anyway.”

Sunny gets it. It does seem more fun, being Kel. He’s so tall and long that he can grab the best snacks off the highest shelves, the ones that Sunny or Basil would have to climb on the counter to reach. His hair is fluffy and his eyes are warm, not black like Sunny’s but a soft sort of brown, sunlight through maple syrup. All the light in the room seems to curl around him, like even the sun loves Kel best.

“O-Oh! Right! Haha, yeah, of course! Yeah, I’ll be Sunny. Um.” He looks down at Sunny. “...I don’t think your pants will fit me, though.”

“Ugh, me neither,” Basil says, with feeling. “I really think we’re going to have to cut them off. S-Seriously, Sunny, this can’t be good for your circulation.”

Sunny huffs dismissively. His pants aren’t that tight. Basil is just spoiled from dressing like an Anthropologie catalog.

The bong circles the room a few more times, until Basil is swimming in a basketball jersey and shorts that go all the way to his ankles and Kel is standing in front of the mirror, breathless with laughter at the way Sunny’s biggest sweater vest cuts off above his belly button.

“Th–This,” he wheezes, gasping for breath. “Oh, guys, I don’t th-thihiheheheee, I don’t know, you guys!! I don’t think it’s supposed to fit like this!!!”

Sunny, splayed out across the couch, smirks at him. “No, no,” he drawls, upside-down and languid. “That’s exactly right.”

He watches with interest as Kel colors violently. Is Kel attracted to him, like Aubrey thinks? He still can’t tell. But he likes thinking about it.

“Come here,” he decides, nodding at Kel. “I’ll do your hair.”

Kel is so pliant in Sunny’s hands. Like a doll, except that Sunny can feel the thrum of his pulse in his throat. When Sunny nudges at his eyelids, Kel closes his eyes easily. Trusting. Like a sacrificial lamb. He stills and lets Sunny pin and brush and tuck his unruly curls into a state of artful disarray.

It makes Sunny feel—afraid. He feels afraid.

He doesn’t like it. Fear is Basil’s domain. Sunny is afraid when his back is to the wall and there are monsters at the gate. He doesn’t look at the people he loves and feel afraid. Mari was fearless and he should be, too. But Kel is so trusting, so loyal. It would be so easy to snap his heart in half.

Sunny has a violent flash of cutting into Mewo. Soft fur and the stretch of sinew. The way she trusted him, until she didn’t. But that wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It isn’t—

“Sunny?” Kel asks, almost shyly. “Can I open my eyes?”

Sunny thrusts the feeling away. He isn’t afraid. And he isn’t going to hurt Kel. He’ll die before he does.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “You’re perfect.”

The bong goes around a few more times. Basil remembers about the platter of veggies and, at Kel’s prompting, leads them all on an impromptu food tour, instructing his avid audience on what to look for in the flavor profile, which dressings will complement it best.

Kel keeps darting glances at Sunny-dressed-as-Basil, ineffectively furtive but appealingly bashful. Sunny likes it. He likes Kel looking at him. He likes Kel, probably. Romantically. It’s a little more than he can think about right now, so he won’t, but. It’s. Sort of hard to deny, at this point.

There’s a shifting of beams, a creak in the wood. Someone is coming up the hall.

Basil’s eyes go wide. “S-Someone’s coming!!”

“It’s just Kel,” Sunny yawns.

“Kel is right next to you though??”

Sunny blinks. Right. So he is. There’s only one Kel. A shame, that.

“D-Did you lock the door??”

“Yes?” Sunny guesses, then checks himself. “No. I don’t know. Sorry.”

There’s a click of metal on metal. A key, slipping into the lock. Basil squeaks.

“Don’t worry,” Sunny says darkly, tightening his hold on the steak knife. “I’ll protect you.”

Kel’s eyes bulge. “Why do you have that???”

Ah. Right. He forgot he’s not supposed to do that. “...Habit.”

“That doesn’t—!!”

The doorknob turns, and the door swings inward. All three of them scream and, in the process, scare the living shit out of Hero.

“Jeesuschrist!!!” he squawks, fumbling a bag of something that clatters against the ground. “What the f—ffrick are you guys— Wait, Kel?”

“O-Oh! Haha! Hey, bro!”

“What are you wearing?” Hero asks, starting to snicker. He sniffs the air. “Are you high?”

“Are you a cop?” Sunny shoots back.

“Why do people keep asking me that??”

Sunny shrugs airily, like he wasn’t a half a second away from pissing in Basil’s favorite shorteralls. “Seems like something you should ask yourself.”

“Wh— No!! Why are you even here? Don’t you have class right now?”

Ah. Damn. Sunny bought Basil’s silence, but that sort of subterfuge is useless against Hero, who has Sunny’s entire academic schedule carefully penciled into his own calendar. “...I’m playing hooky.”

“Gasp!!!” Kel shouts.

Hero drops his head into his hands. “God. I’m not here to drag you to school, okay? Though you should really go to school. It’s… really expensive. No, I’m just here to drop off leftovers, you ingrates. I thought you could use a few easy meals.”

All three of them sit up straighter.

“Oh, so that’s the magic word, huh?” Hero shakes his head. “Honestly… Sunny, how often do you cut class?”

“I d-don’t have any classes today!” Basil squeaks.

“That’s good to hear, Basil.”

Sunny shoots him a dirty look.

“A-And Sunny really doesn’t do this very often at all!!” Basil adds hastily. “It’s just a l-lecture today, and they put those online after a few days, so…”

Hero holds up both hands. “Wait. I seriously didn’t come here to give you a hard time. I have to run, anyway. Glad you kids are—” He rolls his eyes. “—having fun. At two in the afternoon. On a school day.”

“Thanks, dad,” Kel mutters.

“You can sass me when you get off your shift at Hot Topic.”

Basil chokes on a laugh. “Y-You can’t say he doesn’t look good, though!!”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, I really do have to run, this was just supposed to be a drive-by. Can you get this stuff in the fridge? You’re not going to forget, and let it all spoil?”

“We’re not kids,” Sunny mutters. He’s still sulking about the truancy thing. He doesn’t like being told what to do, but, if he’s really honest, he also doesn’t like disappointing Hero.

“I know,” Hero tells him, giving him a friendly whack on the arm. “See you guys tomorrow.”

All three of their heads tilt.

“For Kel’s game,” Hero says, exasperated. “Kel, it’s your game.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s not like I was gonna forget!! I’m just—I have a lot on my mind!!”

“I’ll bet. See you, guys.”

The door falls shut behind him.

“Six bucks he’s getting in a van,” Sunny says automatically. Hero's been claiming for weeks that his van-dwelling not-a-girlfriend is on her way out of town, but Sunny's yet to see the proof.

“No one’s going to take that bet, Sunny!!” Basil huffs, at the exact same time as Kel says, “Done!”

Silent, Basil scurries to the window. He looks at Kel. He shakes his head.

“Dammit!!” Kel bursts out. “Why would I take that bet! We don’t even know anyone else with a car!”

Sunny looks smug. “You just want to give me six bucks.”

Everyone’s a little keyed up after getting caught in the act, so they retreat to the couch to watch a movie. The couch is very obviously big enough for everyone, but Kel looks like he’s thinking about dragging over a kitchen chair, or something similarly desolate. The thought is honestly too grim to bear.

Sunny takes the choice out of his hands by flopping down on the carpet in front of the couch, leaving a massive, inarguably more-than-sufficient amount of space for Kel and Basil.

(“Oh!” Kel says, surprised. “You, um… You don’t wanna sit?”

“I like the floor.”)

Basil isn’t very good at sitting still. He only makes it ten minutes into Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party before hopping up to flit around the room, wiping surfaces and organizing shelves and arranging his crochet hooks by color and then size.

Kel’s eyes are locked on the screen. The man loves hobbits and, really, who can blame him. But he’s fidgety, too. Sunny can see Kel’s hand drift toward him then away, toward him and away. It’s… annoying. Kel wants to touch him. Sunny wants to be touched. What’s the problem?

After a few minutes, he loses his patience and headbutts Kel in the knee. “What’s wrong with you? Pet me.”

“O-Oh. Right. Sorry.”

At last, there’s a tentative pressure at the nape of Sunny’s neck. Kel’s fingernails ghost over his scalp, uprooting a few plastic flowers. Sunny leans in with a contented hum.

It’s enough for a while, but Sunny can only spend so long on the floor. Especially when the couch is so big and soft, and his friends so nice and warm. He knows that Kel is being weird right now, but that doesn’t mean Sunny has to buy in. Kel is just wrong. And stupid. And he always runs about ten degrees warmer than Sunny, who starts shivering when the temperature drops below 70, so. Really, he’s just being selfish.

Sunny slithers up the couch and tucks himself under Kel’s arm.

It’s good. It’s so much better. Kel is like a huge, gangly hot water bottle, if the hot water bottle could also pet you and ruffle your hair and tell you that you’re doing a good job.

“You’re so warm,” Sunny mumbles, nestling into him.

“Y-Yeah.” Kel sounds a little strangled, but that’s not Sunny’s problem. Sunny’s not a mind reader. If Kel has a problem with Sunny acting the same way he’s been acting for the past twenty years, he’s going to have to use his words.

But to his relief, after a minute, Kel relaxes, too. The tension seeps out of him and his arm comes to rest where it belongs: on Sunny’s shoulders, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of Sunny's (Basil's) cropped shirt.

Basil has too much energy to watch movies. Sunny is the opposite. By the time Frodo and Sam set out from the Shire, he’s at least 60% asleep.

#omori #omori suntan #omori sunflower #omori caprisun #suntan #college AU #timeskip #post-good end #omori fanfic #omori photobomb #(but fair warning ch 2 is pretty photobomb-light)

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