#just so i can get a better feel for their dynamic once they're on quesadilla island (felpsespecially. im winging his characterization.)

[becauseplot]

Touching Base

Just a little Roommates/Cellmates AU oneshot because they live in my head like how Cell lives in Felps' apartment: rent-free. (Also because I am procrastinating on bigger projects rn.) (What who said that.)

Takes place a couple years after the events of Miss Me? and Shared Living Space. Cell has officially started going by Cellbit, a relatively recent development. He still sleeps on the couch, but that's mainly because the second "bedroom" in the apartment is used for Felps' storage and both of them dread having to clear it out. He has a job and puts most of that money towards groceries, new clothes, and therapy. Felps---finally working at a station where his superiors don't hate his guts---covers pretty much everything else.

(TWs: discussions of killing/murder, light allusions to suicide in a joking manner (they're fine, someone's just being dramatic). they are having a conversation that is oh so very normal for two friends to have yesyes. tbh this was supposed to be way more light hearted but then the angst. the angst...)

Key ring dangling from his finger, Cellbit shoulders his way through the apartment door, juggling a box of redstone bulbs, a stack of spam mail, and the library book that doesn’t quite fit in his over-full messenger bag. “Felps?”

There's no verbal answer, but over the back of the couch, Cellbit sees a tired hand rise and wave. There’s a dull whump when it drops back down.

Cellbit, taking this and the fact that the TV isn't even on, raises an eyebrow. "Long day?" There's a muffled groan in response, and that's all Cellbit needs to hear to get the gist of it. He wiggles his keychain off his finger and into the dish before shutting the door behind him with his foot and heading to the table, where he dumps off his things. Hands free, he slips his bag off his shoulder and sits down to take off his work boots. Once he's got them off, he takes a moment to slump back in the chair, relief washing over his aching back and shoulder, before he picks himself up and heads over to see what the situation is.

The situation, it seems, is as follows: Felps is lying on his back on the couch, still wearing his uniform, with a pillow pressed into his face like he's trying very, very hard to smother himself with it.

Cellbit sits himself down on the floor with his side against the foot of the couch, right by Felps. He plants an elbow on the cushions and drops his chin into the heel of his hand. "So. Who do I need to kill?"

Felps groans again and shifts the pillow off his face just enough to free his mouth. "Me. Kill me, please. Kill me. Literally just kill me."

"Ehhh," Cellbit says. "You know, I did that once, and you didn't like me very much after that."

"Cellbit I am begging you. You'd be doing me a favor."

"Mm, no. I don't think so." He pokes one of the fingers Felps has dug into the cushion. "Now come on—a name, an address. Give me something to work with here, Felps."

Felps sighs and finally yanks the pillow off his face, flipping his hands around and throwing it into his lap. His hair is a complete, frazzled mess, though Cellbit supposes that's the least of his worries. "No one's getting killed. This isn't a problem you can fix by killing someone."

"Except for you?"

"Except for me."

"Okay. So what happened?"

Felps makes a pained noise and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. At least he's not suffocating this time. "Davi," he mumbles.

Cellbit blinks. Usually, he has a hard time keeping all of the names of Felps' coworkers, friends, and acquaintances straight in his head since there's so many of them, but this one registers immediately. He takes this in, looks at Felps agonizing on the couch, thinks back onto what Felps told him the other day, does some rapid mental math, and comes to the conclusion that maybe the situation actually could be fixed by killing someone. Potentially.

But before that thought can properly start, Felps flicks him against the temple. "Hey, no plotting. I'm serious."

"Plotting?" Cellbit echoes, oh-so-perplexed. "I wasn't plotting. Who said anything about plotting?"

"Cellbit."

"Who said anything about plotting the murder of the hot guy at the train station who rejected your friend after he spent two weeks working up the courage to ask him out? I sure didn't."

"Cellbit," Felps says, insistent. Cellbit stops, but only because Felps wants him to, and only because he’s joking. Really. "It's fine. It's my fault anyway. I totally fucked it up. I got the timing all wrong, and—" Felps breaks off into another horrified sound, dragging his hands down his face. "God, it was so bad. I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright. Anything I can do? That doesn't involve killing you?"

Felps pauses. He peeks at Cellbit from behind his hands. "...Grab the remote for me?"

Cellbit snorts. "Sure." He gets up (swallows a grunt; fuck, his shoulder's being funny) and grabs the remote off the TV stand. When he comes back, Felps has managed to get his-wallowing-self into an upright position so Cellbit can collapse back into the sofa beside him.

Cellbit clicks on the TV. "What're we feeling?"

"Pain."

"I mean what do you feel like watching, dumbass."

"Literally anything," Felps says with a wave of his hand.

"Right… So if I put on Blood on the Taiga—"

"Parkour tag."

"Okay, parkour tag it is."

They start to chat a little as Cellbit flicks through the minigame channels, looking for one that's broadcasting parkour tag: ("How was work at the station?" "Were the docks busy today?" "Did that warrant finally get processed?" "Is your shoulder still bothering you?" "You should probably change out of your uniform." "You should probably take a shower." "In a bit, my back has to unbreak itself first.")

It doesn't take him long to find a channel, so they end up talking through part of the first round, swapping the work updates they usually provide each other. After that, they settle in, feet up on the coffee table, shoulders pressed together. Cellbit watches the teams trade off "runners" and "hunters." Felps usually roots for the team in the blue and green jerseys, but it doesn't seem like they're playing today. Still, these teams aren't half-bad. The tall one on the red-orange team is a good hunter, Cellbit idly notes. She's light on her feet.

It's at the start of the third round that Felps speaks up again.

"So. Hypothetical question for you."

Cellbit watches the good-hunter spring off a piston-platform. "Alright."

"And this is completely hypothetical. One hundred percent, utterly hypothetical."

"Okay."

"I'd never genuinely ask this of you."

"Sure."

The good-hunter drops down a ladder, missing a tag on a runner by a hair's breadth. The squeak of her sneakers echoes through the arena.

"...If I told you I needed you to kill someone for me, would you actually do it?"

Cellbit tilts his head. The good-hunter whirls around a corner and swings herself up onto another platform. "Yeah."

He feels more than sees Felps startle beside him. "...R...Really?"

"Yeah."

"Just like that?"

"Well, like I said earlier, I'd need, like, a name. An address if you can get it. At least a general location—"

"No, no, I mean..."

Felps falters, and Cellbit takes his eyes away from the game to look up at him. Felps is staring right back, a furrow in his brow.

"...You wouldn't even question it? Or hesitate?"

Ohhh. Cellbit understands now. The morals. He was asking about the morals. "Well," starts Cellbit. He pauses. Then, he drags his feet over to the edge of the couch, legs curled up, in front of his chest. The position makes his back ache, but the rest of him feels better this way. He hangs his arms over his knees. He stares at the TV, but he's not really sure who's hunting and who's running anymore.

He sighs. "...The way I see it—you would never ask me to kill someone unless they actually deserved it. I think it would take a lot for you to decide someone needs to die, then a lot more to tell me to kill them because...you know me. I'll get it done. And I won't half-ass it either."

And if they hurt you, Cellbit thinks, with a sudden, rising fury, I'll kill them dead. I'll make it hurt. Carve their throat out with my teeth. They'll be begging for the Void long before I'm through with them.

But he lets that one go on an exhale, lets it pass wordlessly between his lips, before it can get too far. He flexes his hands, loosening them. "But..." he continues, scraping together the courage to say the rest. "You also know I'm trying not to— You know I'm better about that now. Past it. Moving past it. And you're—" He falters. His tongue darts over his lip. He bites it. "You're generally helpful in that regard, so..."

"...You don't think I'd ask you to do something that would ruin your progress unless it was serious," Felps finishes.

"Yeah." Cellbit tilts his head to either side, cracking his neck, and flexes his hands again. God, his therapist would be so fucking proud of him.

"Okay." Felps clears his throat. "Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, I just—the thought wouldn't leave me alone, and..."

"No, no, it's—it's fine. It's a good question to ask. Making sure we're on the same page, and all that. Touching base. Getting caught up. Just like we always do."

"Right," Felps says. "Just like we always do."

A beat.

"But I wouldn't. Ask that of you, I mean. I'd never ask you to kill someone for me."

"I know," Cellbit replies easily. "I heard you the first time."

(And Cellbit trusts Felps to stick to his word. Honestly, he does. But the issue—or perhaps the best part, depending on how much he wants to disappoint his therapist—is that Felps wouldn't even have to ask. In no universe would Felps ever have to ask.)

"...Oh. Okay."

"Okay."

The conversation hangs in the air, gradually dissipating. Slowly, Cellbit manages to recenter his attention on the game of parkour tag. Round four. She's hunting again, though this is her last hunting round. After that, she'll be stuck as a runner for the rest of the tournament. Felps rests his head on Cellbit's shoulder as the alarm blares and the competitors are released from their chambers. Cellbit nestles his cheek in Felps' curls. The final hunt has begun.

#i need to watch more cellbitvods and felpsvods of the early days on the server #just so i can get a better feel for their dynamic once they're on quesadilla island (felpsespecially. im winging his characterization.) #tho this is still a couple years off from the start of the canon story (if my math is right. which it may not be. it's late.) #tbh what i have down for their ages is still kinda iffy but as of rn c is 20 and f is 22ish during Miss Me? #theyre like. practically babies. for the shit they've gone through. if you think abt it. #my writing #lord knows if i'll put this on ao3 #Cellmates/Roommates AU #Little Dagger AU #my fics

[masschase]

for the ask meme (for matt and casey): general - 8, love - 9, domestic - 9

Ship ask meme

General - 8- Who gets jealous easier?

So this is one of the things where we see some serious character development in Casey with regards to the two different points in time I write her in my fic. In 2016 she seems a little jealous of Matt and Viola (she has no clue Viola is a lesbian) and extremely jealous of her future self, with regards to the way Matt talks about her/has to go back to her but also everything else she believes is right in her future self's life. 2022 Casey is internally even more jealous as her feelings towards Matt are a lot stronger than the past self that's been fooling around with him for a few days. But she's much better at controlling it so she doesn't seem as bad.

There's also a slightly different dynamic when we look at when Matt was involved with Asha. It's a running plot point that Casey gets uncomfortable around things she can't have, hence the frequency of teasing, making vomit noises etc. despite the assurance she hopes it all works out for them. When you look at how enthusiastically she cheers on other couples, it's clear something is different.

Matt, too, acts casual about it but confirms that he does get quite jealous when he sees the way she dances with Pierce and so on. But he has this firm "she's not mine" mentality so he's a little more chill about it.

I think once they're in a relationship, he'd have far more instances of slight jealousy due to the way people interact with her, but she'd feel far more jealous if she had cause to, so overall I'd say that makes her the jealous one.

Love - 9- What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

God they're terrible for this 🤣

Casey consistently calls Matt "Matty" from that moment I've discussed before onwards where he assures her about how it kind of heals his trauma around Killbane. Before they're in a relationship that's only really when they're alone. Once they're together she uses it more freely in front of the others as well as the standard sweetie and baby. She uses all three of these a lot because she has that tendency to use people's names a lot when she's talking to them.

She will sometimes call him Miller when trying to keep things professional or when they have a work dispute and he will call her Boss/Emperor for the same reasons. Sometimes she straight up calls him Matt Miller usually in a vaguely alluring tone. Nyte Blayde is even more effective.

He's one of few people allowed to call her Cassandra (she just likes how it sounds in a British accent) and if he's using it teasingly she will often call him Matthew in return.

His main nickname for her is Cass and he doesn't use pet names as frequently as she does  but he uses a wider array of terms of endearment than she does. Babe/baby, sweetie, my darling, love/my love, cutest little mass murderer ever, blondie. Oh and princess but only in the bedroom...

In deliberately cheesy moments, the words "cyber god" and "gang boss goddess" may have been used 🤦🏼

Basically, anything *but* thier usual names will suffice 🤣

Domestic - 9- Who’s the better cook?

Matt by a fucking mile, and he's not even like *amazing*, he's just standard level can make half-decent pasta, burgers, quesadillas, shepherd's pie etc. but Casey is laughably bad in the kitchen so to her he's amazing. Even before they were together she called his pasta "That Italian restaurant shit.'. He definitely teaches her some stuff once they're together but for the most part he cooks and she cleans up afterwards.

I do still think it's super cute (some would say contrived but these "some" sound like haters to me) that pecan pie, the one thing Casey can cook thanks to her sister's very simple recipe and the fact it doesn't matter too much if it's burnt, just so happens to be Matt's favourite pie though. He's not really one for baking but I'm sure in time he'll learn to whip up a good lemon meringue in return. :)

#matt miller #sr boss: casey clark #saints row boss #saints row #matty x cass #asks #anon #thanks for the ask!