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purpli-writes · 3 years

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Danganronpa: Hope Turned Despair

Summary:

Junko Enoshima, the Ultimate Fashionista and the Ultimate Analyst is up against the Mastermind of the Killing School Life.

Except she doesn't really know what she's getting into.

And she's only going to save herself.

You can read it on AO3 here

Junko rubbed her eyes as she watched Kyoko get executed for the murder of Mukuro, her sister.

“Hey, Junko,” Makoto said, walking up to her. “Are you feeling alright?”

“We are doing fine, Makoto,” Junko answered, putting on a crown. “We just do not understand how someone as low as Kyoko could kill someone like Mukuro.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda hard to believe,” Makoto said. “But it’s not like Monokuma would execute the wrong person.”

“It is quite out of character, even for that peasant-like bear,” Junko admitted. “But even if we are to believe Kyoko committed murder, would Mukuro die so easily?”

“Apparently,” Makoto said. “You’re probably just biased because she was your sister.”

“That would be the logical conclusion,” Junko said, putting on glasses. “But you shouldn’t underestimate Mukuro’s talent.”

“Huh…?” Makoto asked. “I’m not underestimating her at all…!”

“Is that so?” Junko asked, adjusting her glasses. “Then you should know that it would take someone of professional skills to defeat Mukuro.”

“Tch,” Byakuya cut in. “Kyoko was one of the only people here who could’ve taken on Mukuro, which she did.”

“Puhuhuhu!” Monokuma laughed. “Just because you find it hard to believe, Junko doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!”

“It’s not that I find it ‘hard to believe’,” Junko cut in. “I find it borderline impossible, actually.”

“Mukuro didn’t have a single injury on her other than her fatal injury,” Junko continued. “Even if we are to believe that Kyoko could somehow overpower her, are we saying that Mukuro wouldn’t have struggled at all?”

“Why would a person struggling have injuries on themselves?” Aoi asked. “Wouldn’t their attacker be injured?”

“Not always!” Junko said, voice going a few pitches higher. “On a murder show, you see it all the time! The victim has self-defense injuries because they’re really trying their hardest!”

“A broken nail, blood on their hands, scratches…” Junko said, trailing off. “They’re all pretty obvious hints of self-defense!”

“What are you implying, then?” Byakuya asked. “That this trial was a farce?”

“I mean, doesn’t it make the most sense?” Junko asked. “With all the evidence we have here, there’s nooooo evidence here that would imply that Kyoko’s the killer!”

“I mean, it has a good basis,” Makoto said. “But we have no evidence to support your idea either, Junko…”

“Evidence is key, Junko!” Monokuma scolded. “You can’t make baseless accusations! Didn’t your parents ever teach you that?”

Junko looked around, although she already knew that no one was going to agree with her.

“Fineeeee,” Junko whined. “For now, I guess I’m in the wrong, huh?”

“It’s normal,” Makoto said, attempting to comfort. “You just lost your sister, it’s to be expected.”

“You’re fuckin’ right, Makoto!” Junko said, sticking her tongue out. “But don’t think I’m just gonna give up right fuckin’ here.”

“Oh?” Monokuma asked. “Do you have a plan of some sort?”

“What, you really expect me to give up the details this fuckin’ early?” Junko asked. “What next, you want me to flash my fuckin’ tits, you perv?”

“A-are you planning on s-selling yourself out to Monokuma?” Toko asked. “G-girls like you always use what y-you’re given…!”

“I wasn’t actually gonna fuckin’ do it,” Junko said. “Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here. That stupid bear is cramping my fuckin’ style.”

The class went back into the elevator, going back to the first floor.

“Junko,” Makoto said, stopping her before she could leave. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ okay, Makoto,” Junko said. “We haven’t seen fuckin’ nothing yet.”

“I know you’re upset about Mukuro’s death,” Makoto continued. “But we already know Kyoko did it.”

“There was no fuckin’ evidence to prove it,” Junko replied. “Unless we’re counting fuckin’ alibies, which is lame as hell.”

“Still,” Makoto said. “There’s no reason for Monokuma to guide us the wrong way.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad, that we have to trust in Monokuma?” Junko asked, looking down with tears in her eyes. “He’s already proven himself to be untrustworthy and yet we have no other choice…”

“Huh...? What do you mean…?”

“Nothing he has ever done has been for our benefit… like most people he only looks out for himself…”

“I guess you’re right…” Makoto admitted. “But still, there’s going to be no evidence.”

“That leaves the hard part up to me…” Junko said. “But somehow I’ll get through it…”

Makoto looked at her, frowning.

“Cheer up, Makoto!” Junko said, putting her hands on her chin. “I mean what’s the worst that can happen? I’m not gonna break any rules!”

“As long as you’re careful,” Makoto began. “You can do whatever you want.”

Junko smiled cheerfully, “Alright, well I’m gonna go to bed! I’ve got lots of work to do for tomorrow!”

Makoto nodded and Junko bounded off, straight for her room.

Once in the privacy of her dorm, the cutesy persona fell right off. Replaced with a look of extreme apathy.

“There’s something odd about the way he carries himself,” Junko muttered, going for her bathroom to clean off her makeup. “He was close to Kyoko yet he doesn’t care at all.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Junko said. “But man, is his optimism or annoying or what?”

After cleaning off her makeup, Junko attempted to go to sleep.

Tomorrow, she’d have to get evidence to prove Kyoko innocent.

It would be a bit too late, but at least they could catch the real murderer.

When Monokuma’s morning announcement played, Junko awoke with a groan. Junko quickly put her makeup back on with a practiced hand.

“Alright,” Junko said, speaking to herself once more. “Where am I going to get any evidence to prove my theory?”

Before she could answer her own question, there was a knocking at her door. Sighing and putting on a crown, Junko met the person waiting for her.

“Finally, you’re ready,” Byakuya said, staring her down.

“Ah, we see you’ve arrived for us,” Junko replied. “But we demand you tell us for what reason you have arrived.”

“Your theory yesterday,” Byakuya began. “I do believe it holds some merit.”

“Ah, so you have come crawling to us begging for answers,” Junko said. “What makes you believe we will give you these answers?”

“Tch,” Byakuya scoffed, looking away. “If anyone needs help proving that theory, it would be you.”

“Oh? You believe that we need help?”

“Obviously,” Byakuya said. “There’s no way you would have any evidence that I haven’t already found.”

“Why do you believe this theory anyway?” Junko said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “You must know that Monokuma has never had a ‘wrong trial’ before this.”

“Even you wouldn’t make an extreme accusation without some merit,” Byakuya admitted. “I am curious to see how this will turn out.”

“In truth, the evidence I have right now is circumstantial,” Junko admitted. “But the true blackened had to have made a mistake somewhere.”

“Even if there was anything,” Byakuya began. “Monokuma has already cleaned it up by now.”

“We already know we’re being recorded, right?” Junko asked. “In theory, someone has to be watching this for some sort of use.”

“And?” Byakuya asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’d be pretty boring if nothing else occurred,” Junko said. “If the Mastermind is keeping recordings for their own amusement, they must want something to happen.”

“That still doesn’t explain your plan,” Byakuya said, glaring at her. “Are you planning on offering the Mastermind an ultimatum?”

“Well y’see,” Junko said, voice going a few pitches higher once again. “If someone were to point that out to Monokuma I’m sure he would try to make the recording veryyyyyyyyyyy interesting!”

“In other words, he’d force a retrial?” Byakuya asked. “And what if your plan doesn’t work?”

“It’s going to work, you just have to believeeeeeeee!”

“Tch,” Byakuya said, turning away. “Why do I even bother talking to you?”

Junko beamed at his back, “Aww, you say such mean things, but you don’t really mean them!”

Byakuya walked into the cafeteria with Junko following him.

“Junko!” Aoi began. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Of course I fuckin’ am!” Junko said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Actually, I’m fuckin’ fired up!”

“That’s a relief,” Makoto said. “We were worried about you since y’know…”

“We were worried about her…?” Yasuhiro whispered to Makoto.

“Anyways, since you fuckin’ losers want to believe Monokuma,” Junko began. “I’m gonna fuckin’ force him to give us a retrial!”

“Oh? Is that so?” Monokuma said, appearing out of thin air. “And what makes you think you could force me to do anything?”

“You’re already fuckin’ recordin’ us,” Junko began to explain. “And this is gonna make for some real lame recordin’ shit if you don’t have some juicy twist.”

“And…?” Monokuma urged on.

“So if you wanna have some real juicy shit,” Junko said. “You’ll have a fuckin’ retrial.”

“You’re right!” Monokuma said. “But we have to up the stakes…”

“W-we’re really going to do this?” Toko whispered.

“You’ll have free reign over the school to do your investigation,” Monokuma continued. “But, this will be your last class trial!”

“Our last class trial…?” Makoto echoed. “Huh…? What do you mean?”

“There’s no need for me to spoil it…” Monokuma said, putting his paws over his mouth. “I wish you all good luck!”

“And so begins our investigation,” Junko said, putting on glasses. “I suppose we best get started then.”

“D-do we really have to do this…?” Toko whispered.

“Of course we do!” Aoi answered. “This is our last chance at freedom!”

“You all better not bring me down,” Byakuya said.

“Let’s do our best!” Makoto cheered.

The class split up and Junko decided to see if anywhere new opened up.

“Yasuhiro,” Junko said, as she saw him standing by a newly opened staircase. “Have you been up there yet?”

“Nope!” Yasuhiro admitted. “That place has a bad aura.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in auras,” Junko said. “Isn’t that part of the ‘occult’?”

“Hey…! Am I not allowed to get bad feelings about things?”

“Of course you are!” Junko said, putting her hands on her chin. “But I was just making sure you weren’t replaced by a clone!”

“Since you aren’t exploring this place, do you want to come up with me?” Junko asked. “We could beat this ‘bad aura’ together!”

“N-no way am I going up there…!” Yasuhiro yelled. “That place is probably filled with gh-gh-ghosts…!”

“If you’re so sure…” Junko said. “But you should get some investigating done!”

“Of course I will!”

Junko smiled, heading up the stairs.

What met her was absolute destruction.

“Jesus,” Junko muttered under her breath. “It looks like Hiro wasn’t wrong after all. This place just screams bad.”

Junko looked around, most of the doors were broken or blocked and dry blood occasionally stained the floor.

Passing by a yellow door with a drawing of a giraffe leaving a locker, Junko decided to attempt to open the door.

Surprisingly it opened for Junko, and when Junko went in she noticed a destroyed locker room.

Only one of the lockers still seemed to be intact, Junko attempted to open it with her e-Handbook but got no results.

“Oh well,” Junko muttered to herself. “Seems like there’s nothing useful in here after all.”

Junko left the locker room as quickly as she came, rolling her eyes at how useless entering was.

“Let’s see if there’s anything up here that’s actually worth investigating.”

Junko made her way to a much nicer looking door, making her way inside, she saw Makoto examining the computer.

“Hey, Makoto, are you lookin’ for fuckin’ porn or something?” Junko asked, putting her tongue out quickly. “There’s no fuckin’ reason for you to be starin’ that hard unless you are hard!”

“H-huh…?!” Makoto yelled, quickly turning around to make eye contact with Junko. “Junko…! You scared me!”

“Really?” Junko asked. “I couldn’t fuckin’ tell.”

“Anyway, you find anything fuckin’ interesting, Makoto?” Junko asked, leaning in to make eye contact. “You looked like you were really fuckin’ concentrating, actually it was fuckin’ lame.”

“Yeah, actually,” Makoto said, guiding Junko to the computer. “Looks like the computer still has some search results left on it.”

“So we’re finally gonna get some fuckin’ information.”

“Yeah, but there’s not much,” Makoto said. “There’s only a little information on the Ultimate Despair.”

“Would you care to read it, Makoto?” Junko asked, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “Any information is good information.”

“Yeah, sure…” Makoto said, looking at the computer intently. “‘The Ultimate Despair isn't one individual, but instead points to some kind of group. That group is responsible for The Tragedy, which happened one year ago. They're the worst sorts of people, whose driving force comes from despair…’”

“Interesting,” Junko muttered. “What are your thoughts on this, Makoto?”

“It’s nothing we didn’t already know, right?” Makoto asked. “But I guess it’s better than nothing.”

“Also,” Makoto said, turning his attention onto an indentation on the wall. “There looks to be a secret passage over there but I can’t figure out how to open it.”

“It’s probably from the original owner of this room,” Junko said. “Whom I’m assuming to be the Headmaster.”

“Huh…?” Makoto said. “How can you be so sure about that?”

“Who else would get such a nice room in a school?” Junko responded. “It seems to be the only logical answer.”

“I guess you’re right,” Makoto said. “But what would the headmaster be doing with a secret opening?”

“Perhaps they were doing something they didn’t want their students to discover,” Junko said. “Perhaps our headmaster is truly the Mastermind.”

“You think so…?” Makoto asked. “What would be their reason?”

“The only other option is for one of us to be the Mastermind,” Junko said. “And do you really believe that?”

“No,” Makoto admitted. “I guess you’re right.”

“Chin up, Makoto!” Junko said, voice going a few pitches higher. “We’ll figure this mystery out in no time at all!”

“You’re right!” Makoto said. “I’m gonna go explore a bit more on this floor, but you can feel free to mess around here.”

“Alright, good luck Makoto!” Junko said, waving cheerfully as he left.

After Makoto was gone, Junko decided to check the computer to see if Makoto missed anything.

“Student File: Izuru Kamukura…?” Junko mumbled, clicking on the file. “What could this even be?”

Opening the file, it was a summary of a student named Izuru Kamukura with an attached picture. Below his information was a quick summary. “Izuru Kamukura, a total success. He is the next Ultimate Hope.”

“What does that even mean?” Junko said, closing the file. “A total success…? Ultimate Hope…?”

Shaking her head and filing that information for later, Junko knew there was nothing left for her here.

“If Makoto has this floor covered I might as well leave it to him,” Junko said, leaving the room.

Junko went downstairs, avoiding the rubble and bloodstains.

As she reached the first floor, she found Byakuya waiting for her.

“Junko,” Byakuya began. “I was told that you would be here.”

“Oh…” Junko said, eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry if you were waiting for long, that would be sad…”

“Don’t start with that personality,” Byakuya said. “I have information that might interest you.”

“If we’re being honest, nothing really interests me,” Junko said. “But, I suppose I should hear you out…”

“There’s a room in the data center,” Byakuya continued, trying to ignore his growing annoyance. “Inside the Monokuma themed door is currently open.”

“That’s so sad that you had to waste your time telling me,” Junko muttered.

“Yes, it is a shame,” Byakuya complained. “Now, get out of my way.”

Junko moved as Byakuya went up the stairs.

“I really have to walk up to the fourth floor, that’s sad…” Junko said, slowly making her way to the data center.

Inside, the data center seemed normal. It still tracked everyone’s movements. But that wasn’t what she was here for.

Trying to open the door, Junko made her entrance with ease.

“Wow, this place looks right out of Star Trek,” Junko commented, right under her breath. “This is where the Mastermind has been controlling Monokuma, then?”

Before Junko could say anything else, Aoi burst in.

“Is Monokuma in here?” Aoi asked. “This is his room… right?”

“Actually, we believe that this is more likely his control room ,” Junko corrected, putting on a crown. “A peasant like the Mastermind couldn’t easily make an AI or tame a black and white bear, it seems.”

“Huh, that’s disappointing,” Aoi said. “I honestly thought he was just an AI…”

“We do declare that isn’t possible,” Junko said. “But it does make us wonder if the Mastermind spends all of their time here.”

“Well, obviously, they don’t,” Aoi said. “They aren’t here right now, are they?”

“Perhaps not, but we cannot be sure of where they are right now.”

“But if Monokuma’s controlled by a person, that makes his reactions a bit weird…” Aoi said. “I mean if he was a robot you could just shrug them off…”

“What are you talking about?” Junko asked, putting on glasses. “He has been in character every time I’ve interacted with him.”

“Well, there was this one time Toko insulted Makoto and Monokuma got all angry!” Aoi said. “At the time I thought he was just glitching but…”

“That is interesting,” Junko said. “I wonder why the Mastermind cared so much…”

“Me too!”

“Perhaps we should get out of Monokuma’s control room,” Junko suggested. “There’s not much investigating to be done here.”

“Alright,” Aoi agreed. “If you’re so sure.”

“There’s no point in being here,” Junko said, affirming herself. Opening the door for Aoi and herself, she took one more quick glance before closing the door.

Shortly after, they heard the door click, signifying that it was locked.

“H-huh…? Did it just lock?” Aoi asked, testing the door.

“Puhuhuhu!” Monokuma laughed as he appeared. “Did you miss me?”

“What the fuck?” Junko asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “How the fuck did you just get fuckin’ here?”

“Obviously the Mastermind was there the whole time!” Monokuma mocked. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice, Junko.”

“You’re fuckin’ kidding,” Junko said, glaring at the bear. “You were in that small fuckin’ hatch?”

“Correct!”

“Hatch…?” Aoi questioned.

“There was a hatch in the control room. Of course the Mastermind would be fuckin’ there,” Junko answered. “God that’s so fuckin’ lame.”

“That may be true, but you’re no closer to solving this mystery!” Monokuma answered.

Looking away from Monokuma, Junko sighed. “Well, we might as well leave this stupid fuckin’ room.”

“Huh…? But the Mastermind is right there!” Aoi protested.

“Behind a locked fuckin’ door,” Junko corrected. “No way we’re gonna get to the lame asshole at this rate.”

Aoi frowned but realized Junko was right.

“We’ll get you eventually, Monokuma!” Aoi yelled, glaring at the bear.

“Sure sure…” Monokuma said, offering a paw. “That’s what you’d like to think.”

Junko left the room while Aoi and Monokuma were still arguing. Now, where was she supposed to go?

“M-master! Please wait up for me!” Toko yelled, running up the stairs.

“Toko, I hate to tell you this, but Byakuya isn’t here at all!” Junko said, putting her hands on the chin. “I don’t know why’d you think that at all, actually…”

“M-master said that he would be up here,” Toko said, breathing heavily as she caught her breath. “I’ll c-catch up to him e-eventually and then he could punish me…”

“Wow, that’s a bit weird!” Junko said. “But I’m telling you Byakuya isn’t here at all~!”

Suddenly Toko sneezed and Junko had no time to react before a scissor was at her throat.

“Now, where am I, and where is my beloved Master?” Genocide Jill asked. “And do answer quickly, I’m not a very patient woman.”

“I already told Toko this,” Junko said. “Byakuya isn’t here at all!”

“You really think I share memories with Miss Morose?” Genocide Jill asked, removing the scissor from Junko’s throat. “That would be sooo bad for my secret boy’s love stash!”

“Wait,” Junko said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “You don’t share memories with Toko?”

“Nope!” Genocide Jill answered cheerfully. “When it comes to our brain, we only share knowledge!”

“That would explain how Toko could still be scared of dead bodies despite your profession,” Junko said. “Interesting.”

Before Junko could say anything more, an announcement started to play.

“My beloved students! I have something bear-y important to show you in the gymnasium!” Monokuma began. “Your attendance isn’t required but it is appreciated!”

“Oh well,” Genocide Jill said. “That’s my cue to leave, ta-ta!”

Junko frowned as Genocide Jill left.

After Genocide Jill left, she noticed Aoi leaving the data center. “So, did you get any information while you were arguing with him?”

“No, he refused to give up a thing!” Aoi complained. “All he said that if I wanted answers, I’d meet him at the gymnasium and then he just left!”

“That’s odd,” Junko said. “Perhaps we should go down and see what he’s offering for ourselves.”

“Yeah, it has to be something good, right?” Aoi asked.

“Probably.”

As Junko and Aoi went downstairs, Junko was suddenly suspicious of Monokuma’s intentions.

As the two made their way to the first gym door, they saw Yasuhiro exiting. As soon as Yasuhiro noticed them, his face morphed into fear.

“Yasuhiro, are you feeling alright?” Junko asked. “You look a little pale.”

“S-stay away from me!” Yasuhiro yelled, putting his hands over his face.

“Huh…? What’s wrong with you?” Aoi asked, trying to get closer to Yasuhiro.

Yasuhiro broke out into a sprint, running away from Junko and Aoi before they could ask him anything more.

“That was weird,” Aoi said. “I wonder what Monokuma showed him.”

“Well we won’t fuckin’ find out until we go in,” Junko said, sticking her tongue out. “Let’s just get this fuckin’ over with.”

“Alright!” Aoi said, walking into the gym excitedly.

When they arrived, Monokuma was already waiting for them.

“It’s a one at a time deal!” Monokuma said as he noticed them. “Aoi, since you were here first, you get your prize first!”

“Prize…?” Aoi echoed. “What do you mean?”

Aoi walked closer as Monokuma handed her a photo.

“Now remember, this one is specifically yours!” Monokuma said as Aoi stared at her photo in shock. “Now, Junko, this one is all yours!”

“Huh,” Junko said as she grabbed the photo out of his paws. It was a photo of all of her classmates except for her.

“That’s fuckin’ weird,” Junko admitted. “Did they have a fuckin’ party and not invite me? How lame.”

“Well it looks like Aoi left you high and dry!” Monokuma announced. “And now I’m going to leave you as well!”

With that, Monokuma left without any of his usual fanfare.

“I wonder if what Hina and Hiro got were similar to what I got…” Junko muttered. “That would explain why they reacted so poorly.”

Before Junko could ponder anymore on the topic, Monokuma made another announcement.

“Students! It is time for our final Class Trial!” Monokuma announced cheerfully. “Now please make your way to the elevator!”

As Junko made her way to the elevator, she could practically see the tension in everyone except for Makoto.

“This is so sad…” Junko said, looking down at the floor. “Everyone fighting… for no real reason.”

“Shut up,” Byakuya said.

“Junko’s right, you know,” Makoto said. “There’s no reason for all of us to be this tense!”

“Of course you would say that!” Yasuhiro yelled. “You’re in on it, all of you!”

“Huh…?” Makoto asked, scratching his cheek. “What do you mean…?”

“Don’t play dumb!” Aoi yelled. “All of you…!”

As the elevator slowly buzzed down, Junko sighed, this was going to be a long class trial.

As everyone made their way to their spots, Junko stared at the 17th podium which was in front of Monokuma’s chair. Usually empty, Junko was slightly surprised to see Monokuma occupying it.

“Now, is everyone ready?” Monokuma asked. “This is the trial we’ve all been waiting for!”

“What’s the point…?!” Yasuhiro asked. “You’re all the Masterminds anyways!”

“Are you goin’ on fuckin’ this again?” Junko asked, putting her arms over her chest. “It’s fuckin’ obvious that we’re all not the Mastermind.”

“You’re lying and I have proof…!” Yasuhiro yelled. “The photo Monokuma gave me proves it!”

“What are you talking about?!” Aoi yelled. “You’re all the Masterminds and I’m innocent!”

“Actually,” Byakuya cut in. “You’re all the Mastermind and I can prove it.”

“So it looks like we’re all being fuckin’ played,” Junko said. “Everyone show their lame-ass photos so we can get this bullshit over with.”

As everyone showed their photos, Junko noticed one thing in common. The person who the photo was given to was missing from the photo.

“So that’s the fuckin’ deal, huh?” Junko asked. “You show us some lame photos with us missin’, and we just assume everyone else is fuckin’ in on it.”

“N-no way…! Are you saying I got duped?” Yasuhiro asked.

“These photos,” Makoto said, ignoring Yasuhiro. “They’ve got to be fake, right?”

“W-well of course they’re fake,” Toko answered. “W-we don’t remember t-taking them, right?”

“Wrong! Wrong and wrong!” Monokuma yelled. “All of those photos are one hundred percent real!”

“But there’s no way…!” Aoi said. “We’d remember taking photos like these!”

“Not exactly,” Byakuya said. “We must assume that our memories have been wiped by the Mastermind.”

“H-huh…?!” Makoto yelled. “Our memories being wiped…?!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Yasuhiro yelled. “Collective amnesia is purely occult and the occult isn’t real!”

“Do you have a better explanation?” Byakuya asked, glaring at Yasuhiro.

“If we are following this theory,” Junko said, putting on glasses. “If our memories were wiped, we must assume that these aren’t the only memories that we have lost.”

“There’s no way…!” Aoi yelled. “We didn’t lose our memories!”

“There is one way we can prove if we have or not,” Junko said. “If I’m remembering correctly, Genocide Jill mentioned to me that she and Toko don’t share memories.”

“Y-you want me to bring out that b-bitch...?!” Toko asked.

“We need her information right now,” Byakuya said, side-eying Toko.

In a few short moments, Genocide Jill arrived.

“Master, did you need me?” Genocide Jill asked, fluttering her eye-lashes at Byakuya.

“Tell me, do you believe that our class’s memories were wiped?” Byakuya asked.

“Yep!” Genocide Jill answered. “Not that I would’ve remembered them, but her head is one hundred percent lighter!”

“H-huh…?” Aoi asked. “You’re not lying…?”

“Just like your milk jugs are huge, I’d never lie to Master!” Genocide Jill answered.

“Stop commenting on my-!” Aoi yelled.

“Shut up,” Byakuya said. “Now that we’ve proven our memories have been stolen from us, we should work on locating the Mastermind.”

“Shouldn’t we assume the Mastermind is the headmaster?” Yasuhiro asked, “I mean they are the only one who would have those pictures and trap us here!”

“I mean, it would be a safe assumption,” Makoto agreed. “We haven’t seen the headmaster at all and we know the Mastermind is stuck here with us.”

There was a sneeze as Toko reappeared, “W-what are we talking about?”

“We’re discussin’ why the headmaster and the fuckin’ Mastermind are one of the same,” Junko said, putting her tongue out.

“Th-there’s no way the M-mastermind is stuck with us…!” Toko said. “They o-obviously fled the f-first chance they got.”

“That’d be fuckin’ smart, but it ain’t the fuckin’ case.”

“W-what…? D-denied so easily…” Toko drooled. ‘Why w-won’t you at least l-listen to me first…?”

“The fuckin’ problem is that Monokuma is lame as all hell,” Junko explained. “The Mastermind needs to be in Monokuma’s control room in order to fuckin’ get him to move and shit.”

“A-and…?”

“That room is located in the fuckin’ data center,” Junko answered. “So there’s no way the Mastermind isn’t fuckin’ here with all their lame-ass energy.”

“O-oh, that d-denial…” Toko moaned.

“Moving on,” Makoto said, scratching his cheek awkwardly. “If we’re assuming the headmaster is the Mastermind… why?”

“And what is the importance of the headmaster anyway?” Monokuma asked. “You’re no closer to ‘solving’ the murder of Mukuro Ikusaba!”

“We hate to admit that he is right,” Junko said. “But discussing the Mastermind instead of the case will get us nowhere.”

“What’s the point…?” Aoi asked. “We already know that Kyoko did it, right?”

“Would Monokuma really be allowing a retrial if that was the case?” Byakuya asked. “In fact, I offer up that the Mastermind is most likely the killer.”

“Huh…? The Mastermind as the killer?” Makoto asked. “Is that really possible?”

“As we see it, the blackened is either Kyoko, Makoto, or the Mastermind,” Junko explained. “Unless you have something to confess to Makoto, there is no other option.”’

“I proved it before, but I’m not the blackened!” Makoto bristled.

“Well then you prove our point,” Junko said. “Meaning the only other option is the Mastermind!”

“You guys must have more proof than that!” Aoi said.

“Well, we do have something,” Junko said. “Remember when all of us were observing Monokuma’s ‘corpse’?”

“Yeah…?” Aoi said.

“Monokuma was not moving at all, and now we know that Monokuma must be controlled in that room,” Junko explained. “Meaning the Mastermind was busy when Monokuma was left out.”

“Huh…?” Aoi said. “I guess that makes some sense…”

“Well even if the Mastermind killed Mukuro, what’s the reason for framing Kyoko?” Yasuhiro asked. “Didn’t they just break their own rules?!”

“Not exactly,” Makoto said. “As it was told to us before, technically a person can kill two people, right?”

“Ah,” Junko said, putting her hair up. “You’re saying that Kyoko was the Mastermind’s second murder?”

“Yes,” Makoto nodded. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“So now that we know that the Mastermind is the headmaster and the blackened,” Yasuhiro began. “Does that mean we won?!”

“I’m not so sure,” Junko said. “There’s something about this that feels off…”

“I have to agree,” Byakuya said. “This seems to fit a bit too well.”

“Are we so sure that the Mastermind is the headmaster?” Junko asked.

“Huh…? What do you mean?” Makoto asked. “Didn’t we just decide the headmaster is the Mastermind?”

“True,” Junko said. “But remember that file you read me on the headmaster’s computer?”

“Yeah…?”

“If the headmaster was a part of the Ultimate Despair, would they really need notes on it?” Junko asked.

“No,” Makoto admitted. “I guess not.”

“Well, that brings us back to the beginning,” Aoi complained. “We’re making no progress!”

“Wait…” Junko said. “May I see all of your photos again?”

The class hummed in agreement, and Junko examined each photograph. Another similarity that Junko hadn’t noticed before was a person who was just barely out of frame.

They had black hair, and that was the only feature Junko was able to make out.

Suddenly, Junko remembered that boy on the headmaster’s computer, the “Ultimate Hope”.

It has to be him, Junko thought. Izuru Kamukura, was it?

“Monokuma,” Junko said, and for the first time, she was speaking without the pretense of a false personality. “You’re Izuru Kamukura.”

“Wh-what…?” Monokuma asked.

“You’re Izuru Kamukura, you’re Izuru Kamukura, you’re Izuru Kamukura, you’re Izuru Kamukura, you’re Izuru Kamukura,” Junko said. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“Who…?” Makoto asked.

“On the headmaster’s computer, there was a file on Izuru Kamukura,” Junko said. “There was also a picture of Izuru Kamukura and this person that’s barely out of frame in these photos matches him.”

“Monokuma!” Aoi yelled. “We’ve got you cornered now!”

“Tch,” Byakuya said. “This was painfully easy.”

“Izuru Kamukura,” Junko said. “Are you going to reveal yourself now?”

Monokuma started to blow smoke out of his openings, flooding the room with smoke. When the smoke cleared, left standing in front of them was no longer Monokuma but a man with red and green eyes.

“My name is Izuru Kamukura,” the man said with a cold voice.

“And my name is Hajime Hinata,” the same man said with more emotion.

“And we’re the Ultimate Despair.” Izuru and Hajime said.

“Oh, so there’s two of you in the same body?” Junko asked, voice going a few pitches higher. “That’s got to cause a tonnnnn of problems for you both!”

“Of course, that doesn’t mean we have to care!” Junko said. “But that’s got to be a bit hard for you, right?”

“You both were controlling Monokuma?” Aoi asked. “But why…? What did we do to you…?!”

“It was nothing personal,” Izuru said. “We were just told to do this and so we did.”

“Someone told you?” Byakuya asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“So even you guys have a boss, huh?” Junko asked.

“D-doesn’t that imply a s-second Mastermind?” Toko asked. “Th-this isn’t good at all!”

“Why are you even following the second Mastermind?” Junko asked. “What’s your reasoning Izuru and Hajime?”

“We will be loyal to them no matter what,” Izuru answered. “They are our one and only.”

“A-are you in l-love with them?” Toko accused.

“Obviously,” both Izuru and Hajime answered.

“We should be worried about this second Mastermind,” Byakuya said. “Is it possible that they are among us?”

“It’s not just possible,” Hajime answered. “They are among you.”

“H-huh…?” Makoto said. “They’ve been among us this whole time…?”

“Damn, that’s a fuckin’ twist,” Junko said, crossing her arms. “The Ultimate Despair walks among us and we’re fuckin’ left to suffer.”

“H-how are we supposed to k-know who it is…?!” Toko yelled, pulling at her hair. “D-didn’t we just spend a part of the t-trial proving that we w-weren’t the Masterminds?”

“Well, there is somethin’ I wanna fuckin’ ask Makoto,” Junko said. “I think it should clear up my fuckin’ doubts on this.”

“Huh…?” Makoto said, scratching at his cheek. “Ask me…?”

“Why’d Monokuma get his panties in a twist when Toko insulted you?” Junko asked. “You don’t have a fuckin’ deal with him, do you?”

“Oh yeah! I remember that!” Yasuhiro said. “He got all angry at Toko and started insulting her…!”

“It was actually kind of scary,” Aoi said.

“K-kind of…?” Toko asked. “It w-was terrifying…!”

“Well Makoto, do you have a fuckin’ answer?” Junko asked.

“I do, actually,” Makoto said. “I have a slight confession to make…”

“I’m the original Ultimate Despair,” Makoto said. “Although I didn’t think I’d be caught this early…”

“You’re the Mastermind...?!” Aoi yelled, glaring at Makoto. “But you’ve been leading all the class trials!”

“Yeah,” Makoto said. “It’s a lot easier to solve something when you already know who did it.”

“It should’ve been obvious,” Byakuya said. “There was no way for a commoner such as you to solve the cases with such ease.”

“Don’t you dare fucking insult him,” Hajime growled.

“It’s fine,” Makoto said, raising a hand in Hajime’s direction. “He’s always been like that, even in our school days.”

“Our school days?” Junko asked, putting her hair into a ponytail. “So you do confirm those photos are genuine?”

“Hasn’t it been confirmed for a while already?” Makoto asked. “There’s no need for me to prolong this trial with needless conjecture.”

“W-why do you care about the trial length?” Toko asked. “I-isn’t this amusing for you…?”

“Honestly?” Makoto said. “I don’t care about how this trial goes, I win either way.”

“W-what does that mean…?”

Makoto smiled, tilting his head. “That’s for you to figure out!”

“What are we even supposed to do…?” Yasuhiro asked. “Makoto turned out to be evil the whole way through!”

“I told him about how I felt!” Aoi yelled. “I thought I could trust him!”

“Tch,” Byakuya said. “It was stupid for you all to open up in a killing game.”

“What is your angle, exactly?” Junko asked, staring at Makoto. “You don’t exactly scream ‘despair’.”

“Is that so?” Makoto asked. “I mean, I guess you’re right…”

“But,” Makoto continued. “At the same time, doesn’t it make it worse that I haven’t done anything to you guys that you haven’t done to yourselves?”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Aoi yelled. “You’re the one who started this whole mess! Of course, it’s your fault!”

“But I didn’t do anything at all,” Makoto replied. “Everything you guys did I just watched, in fact, I just cleaned things up during the class trials if anything.”

“So you’re implying this is all our doing?” Junko asked.

“Exactly!” Makoto said. “You guys could’ve lived a normal life in the school as friends, just as you all say you want.”

“Obviously we would want to be free,” Byakuya spat. “You trapped us here without any options.”

“Haha, I’m afraid not, Byakuya,” Makoto said. “You’re a bit wrong about that.”

“M-master is never wrong!” Toko yelled.

“And neither is Makoto,” Izuru replied.

“This is really sad…” Junko said, looking down. “Makoto is refusing to tell us anything meaning we have to figure it out on our own…”

“What’s so sad about that?!” Aoi asked. “We don’t need that jerk!”

“He’s been solving all of the class trials for us,” Junko sniffled. “What are we going to do without him…?”

“Are you really giving up that easily?” Makoto asked. “I mean, it makes sense coming from you.”

“Are you going to pretend to be my friend now?” Junko asked, switching back to her real personality. “You’ve got to have more than that up your sleeve.”

“Huh…? Up my sleeve?” Makoto echoed. “Like I’ve been saying, I haven’t done anything malicious at all. Other than starting the Killing Game, I mean.”

“You keep saying that but you haven’t shown any proof!” Yasuhiro said. “So obviously you’re lying!”

“I guess you aren’t wrong when you say you’re thirty percent right,” Makoto responded. “But this isn’t in the thirty percent you’re usually right.”

“Huh…?” Yasuhiro said.

“If you’re not even going to attempt to guess,” Makoto said, sighing. “I guess I’ll have to lead this class trial one last time.”

“I’ve noticed that people never deal with their own problems,” Makoto began. “They always push them on to others with no thoughts of the consequence.”

“You’re all guilty of it too, so don’t worry.” Makoto continued. “None of you ‘Ultimates’ know how to deal with your own problems and you always push them onto your ‘friends’.”

“S-so…?” Toko asked. “You’re a p-person too if you couldn’t tell.”

“And I do have people who deal with my problems,” Makoto said, smiling at Izuru and Hajime. “During my time at Hope’s Peak, I decided I finally had enough.”

“If humanity couldn’t be happy without inconveniencing others, then perhaps humanity didn’t deserve to be happy.” Makoto smiled brightly. “It’s odd how the world clung to me like I was something helpful instead of harmful.”

“The world…?” Aoi muttered.

“Yep! The world easily succumbed to despair,” Makoto said. “Desperate to take anything they’re fed, the world soon fell to anarchy in my name.”

“Outside of Hope’s Peak, there is nothing but pain,” Makoto explained. “Headmaster Kirigiri attempted to keep our class safe, but he didn’t realize my true nature until it was too late.”

“If the world is such a fuckin’ hell hole,” Junko said, sticking out her tongue. “Why the fuck aren’t you just forcin’ us out there?”

“Because I decided to give you all the option to either live here happily or succumb to human urges,” Makoto said. “Of course taking away your memories might’ve made it a bit unfair, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“We didn’t want you to do this,” Byakuya said. “We would’ve never wanted this.”

“But really, you guys had nothing to lose,” Makoto continued. “I mean, your families are probably dead, people will be trying to kill you, there’s no stable government…”

“It’s kinda just bad outside!” Makoto said, informing them cheerfully.

“W-why are you telling us this…?” Toko asked.

“I’m willing to give you all the option to stay or leave!” Makoto said. “If you stay you can live a peaceful life but you won’t be able to leave.”

“And if we fuckin’ go?” Junko asked.

“If you go, well, you get to try to rebuild the world,” Makoto admitted. “But that’s only if you don’t die first.”

“You should also be warned that the world isn’t a fan of Ultimates,” Izuru said.

“For good reason,” Hajime grumbled.

“There’s nothing waiting for you out there,” Makoto said, smiling. “At least inside you all can have each other.”

“Why would we want to stay with you ?!” Aoi spat. “You’re disgusting! You ruined the world!”

“I wouldn’t be staying either way,” Makoto said. “There’s more work to be done that I can’t do here.”

“You should die…!” Aoi yelled. “For justice!”

“Why?” Makoto asked. “I never harmed anyone in the Killing Game and there are currently no laws for the outside world.”

“Plus,” Izuru said. “We would never let Makoto Naegi die.”

“If you wanna try, you’re going to get killed,” Hajime informed in a low growl.

“The choice is yours, guys,” Makoto said. “Stay or leave, it’s up to you.”

The class looked at each other, each uncertain.

“I want to stay,” Aoi said meekly. “It’s too dangerous outside.”

“There’s no need to get ourselves killed!” Yasuhiro said. “Plus I don’t have to pay my debt off here.”

“Tch,” Byakuya said. “Then I am staying as well.”

“W-wherever Master goes I follow,” Toko said.

“I’m going,” Junko said, true personality showing again. “There’s no reason for me to stay here.”

That’s not surprising, Makoto thought. Even if she can’t spread ‘Hope’ she’ll at least look out for herself. That’s just the person she is.

“Well, it looks like the majority of you are staying,” Makoto said, clapping his hands. “I hope this place treats you well!”

“For Junko, however, you can follow us!” Makoto said as he walked for the elevator with Izuru and Hajime following quickly after him.

The elevator felt cramped with Makoto, Izuru, and Hajime in it. But Junko didn’t say anything.

“Why did you decide to leave?” Makoto asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to know everyone?” Junko asked back. “I think my reasons are quite clear.”

“You’re selfish, then?” Makoto responded, smiling cheerfully at her. Makoto hoped that his smile was starting to make her feel sick.

“Doing anything else would be fuckin’ lame,” Junko said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ll defeat all of you one fuckin’ day.”

“Don’t you dare even try,” Hajime growled.

“Keep your fuckin’ guard dog on a leash, Makoto,” Junko said.

The elevator soon reached the first floor and Makoto led the path once again.

Pulling out the button to open the vault, he smiled at Junko. “After this, we part ways for the time being.”

Junko nodded, “Good fuckin’ riddance.”

Makoto opened the vault door and quickly Junko was gone.

Makoto, Izuru, and Hajime all stepped out of the school. Makoto being quickly scooped into their arms.

With one more press of the button, the door was closed, now permanently.

As Hajime nuzzled his neck, Makoto laughed.

“God, you missed me, huh?” Makoto teased.

“Maybe,” Hajime grumbled.

“I was never in any danger and you guys were watching me the whole time,” Makoto said. “You’re just over-protective.”

“With the way your luck goes, you’d be surprised,” Izuru answered.

“Yeah yeah,” Makoto said. “Can my two boyfriends just get me out of the Future Foundation’s reach?”

“As long as you’re near us, you’ll always be safe,” Izuru promised as he began to take Makoto far away.

Out of everyone in Makoto’s class, only one of them had refused to succumb to his despair. He wondered if he had over-estimated them.

Ah well, Makoto thought. It doesn’t matter either way… But I do wonder what Junko has planned.

#kamuegi week #kamuegi #kamuhinaegi #hinaegi #junko enoshima #makoto naegi #izuru kamukura #hajime hinata #mastermind makoto naegi

41 notes · View notes

stunt-lads · 4 years

Note

Sex on a counter/table/desk. But make it a pool table and mmmmmm trashstack? 👀

“Jesus Ben, how much money do you have?”

Ben laughs but Richie is genuinely in awe. He’s been traveling since they reconnected, not the level Mike’s been doing it (Mike flew out to fucking Bill’s house, there’s no way Richie’s gonna do that...yet) but he’s been driving to the nearest Loser he can. He’s already overstayed his welcome with Stan and Patty (not really but Richie knows Stan’s patience is finite.) And Eddie’s been dealing with his own nonsense (his divorce has been hell and Richie’s a nuisance but not an asshole.) And, well, maybe Richie’s been playing favorites. Maybe he’s been visiting the Losers he’s attracted to so he can get the stupid feelings out of his system.

Sue him.

Except not really because he’s well off but not that well off.

And not as well off as Ben either apparently.

“It’s just a basement Richie.”

“Benjamin. Don’t be modest.” He lets his eyes linger on Ben’s ass when he walks by before snapping them up to look around again, “You have a fucking theater in your basement.”

It’s not a home theater like Richie’s seen in pictures from his movie star friends, but there’s a surround sound system and a flatscreen set deep into the wall with a counter on one wall with snacks and a microwave and a couch big enough to fit all the losers and then some.

“And a pool table.” Richie’s mind does a record scratch when Ben slides open a door that he hadn’t even seen, the basement nearly doubling in size. There’s not only a pool table, but there’s a bar and a couch and Richie immediately thinks of some fun activities he could get up to in a setup like this.

He licks his lips and swallows to himself as he follows Ben into the second part of his basement.

“Want a drink?” Ben offers and Richie accepts eagerly. He’ll take any reason to not be sober when he’s around people he’s attracted to.

He wonders, leaning against the pool table and watching as Ben pours them both some cognac (the absolute bastard of course it’s cognac), if Ben would be down to fuck. He chokes on his own spit at the thought and clears his throat when Ben looks up at him curiously.

“You ever play?” Richie asks, choosing not to comment on his own thoughts.

“No one to play with.” Ben says, shrugging and gently handing Richie his drink.

“Shit Haystack, let’s play!” Richie barely, barely, refrains from downing his whole drink in one, but he’s not that stupid, this shit’s expensive and he’s gonna savor it.

Ben laughs, sipping from his own glass, “Yeah, alright, let’s do it!”

Richie didn’t think it through, not really. Because yes, he wanted to play pool with Ben because it’s fun. It’s a fun game. But he did not take into account that he, Richie Tozier, is a horny bastard.

More than once he caught himself staring at the way Ben would lean over the table, imagining how easy it would be to just slide his hands up Ben’s sides and bury his dick in his ass.

Richie is grateful for the crack of the cue ball hitting the others when it happens because it draws him from his thoughts.

He isn’t sure how it happens, just that he’s taking his turn and Ben’s gone real quiet, so he looks over and Ben is staring at him the way he’s been staring all fucking night and oh boy, does that make him feel hot.

Richie can work with this. He stands up, putting on a bit of a show and stretching his back as he does so, walking around to the other side to continue his turn.

“So,” He hopes he sounds casual, “You been seein’ anyone?”

His face heats in embarrassment and Richie revels in it.

“Just,” He clears his throat, downing the last of his drink before he answers, “Just Bev sometimes.”

“‘Sometimes’? What does ‘sometimes’ mean Benny boy?”

“She’ll come over and we’ll...y’know, and then she goes home again.”

“So is it like, an open relationship or friends with benefits?”

“Why’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t, I’m just curious.” The game is forgotten, Richie doesn’t care about it because all he hears right now is that Ben is available to fuck.

“Yeah, well, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you, y’know.”

“Ben, we’re both adults here, you can ask me if I’m having sex on the reg.” Richie is delighted by the way Ben’s face turns red and he barely stops himself from marching over to the bar, he laughs a little before pretending to be interested in the game again, “But, no. Haven’t really been interested in anyone lately, and I’ve never been one to do the whole ‘romance’ thing.”

“I’ve been told I’m ‘too much’.” He punctuates the sentence with his turn, letting the crack of the balls make sound so he doesn’t have to deal with how badly that phrase has always hurt him.

He doesn’t miss the way Ben’s face looks sad for a moment as he comes back around to stand next to him, and he wonders if he should play the sympathy card to get some sex. But, nah, if it were Stan or Bill, yea sure, but Ben is too nice for that.

“Anyway, what I’m hearing is you’re available,” Richie says, downing the rest of his drink, “You wanna fuck?”

Ben’s eyes widen to near comical proportions and Richie laughs. He can’t help it, it’s just so funny to see Ben so embarrassed.

“I—I’m straight?”

“Ben, sweetie,” Richie says it slowly, like he’s trying to explain to a child, “straight men don’t stare at their male friends asses when they bend over a pool table.”

He sees the hesitation and he smiles, a little more forced than before, he can play this off, even if he did want Ben’s dick so far in him he tastes it, or his dick so deep in Ben he’ll feel it for days after. He opens his mouth to joke it off, tell him he’s just kidding, but Ben speaks first.

“No. I mean, I’ve only ever slept with women. I don’t—I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Oh. Oh. Yeah, Richie can definitely work with this.

“Lucky for you I know exactly what I’m doing.” He digs in his pocket, pulling out a small travel sized bottle of lube and Ben scoffs. Richie looks up, suddenly apprehensive but then he sees the fond smile on Ben’s face and he grins to match it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you planned this Tozier.”

“It never hurts to be prepared Benny boy.”

“Where...where are we gonna—?”

“Right here.” Richie says cheerfully as he hops up on the edge of the pool table. He tugs Ben close by his shirt collar and grins like a shark, “First, I need to know if kissing is okay, sometimes people don’t like it for hookups. Bill’s not a real fan of it but Bill’s not a fan of much anything if it’s not Mike’s dick—”

“Richie.”

“Right! Sorry! Second, have you ever done anal with a girl?”

“First,” Ben whispers, his voice low, and this feels wayy more intimate suddenly, “Kissing is nice and I don’t mind it. Second, no. I’ve only ever done uh, y’know...”

“P in V, got it.” Richie laughs, why does he sound so breathless? It’s just Ben for Christ’s sake.

“I was gonna say missionary.” Ben mumbles and Richie wants to laugh, to tease him about it, but then Ben’s kissing him and wow, Ben is absolutely the best kisser of all of the Losers. Richie thinks even Bill would be down to kiss Ben. He feels his cock get hard in his pants, pressing eagerly against the zipper. He’d be embarrassed by how easy he is but he can’t because Ben’s sliding closer as he deepens the kiss and Richie can feel his cock hardening too.

Maybe they’re both a little touch starved.

Richie eases Ben back, breaking the kiss even though he doesn’t want to. He wants to kiss him again when he hears the soft broken sound that comes from Ben’s throat.

“Fuck Ben, we haven’t even started yet.” Richie teases gently, he pulls his jeans down, hissing softly as the fabric rubs against the sensitive head of his dick.

“Richie,” He thinks Ben wants to sound incredulous, like he can’t believe Richie went fucking commando, but all it sounds like is desperation.

“Hold your horses, I gotta—” There’s no lead up before he’s sliding two lube covered fingers into his body. He doesn’t usually like bottoming, strangers are always too rough and messy, but with his friends? Sure. Besides, Ben wouldn’t be ready for a dick right away anyways. This is easier.

He’s careful as he prepares himself and he gets a little lost in it, head tipping back and moans escaping occasionally. He’s snapped back to the present when Ben presses a kiss to his throat, open mouthed and full of teeth. Richie lets out a whine he would deny ever came from him as Ben slides him down on his back. The edge of the pool table digs into the small of his back and he’s pretty sure he’ll feel it later, assuming he doesn’t see it in the bruises this will likely leave on his body.

He doesn’t realize Ben’s sliding his hand away from his ass until his hand is replacing his fingers and oh his fingers can go deeper. Richie keens, arching his back as Ben’s fingers scissor him open.

“For never having done this before,” Richie pants out, toes curling as Ben brushes a knuckle past his prostate, “You s-sure know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve fingered girls to get them ready before Richie. Can’t be much different than that.” Richie wants to snark back but then if he does that he might not get a dick in him and he kinda needs that now or he feels like he’ll die.

“Oh good. Wouldn’t want those ladies to ever have to be torn in half by your, assumedly, massive dick.”

“I wouldn’t say massive but it’s not small if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Ben, fucking, just—!” Richie’s getting impatient, there’s four fingers in him now and Ben keeps accidentally, brushing his prostate, like he’s avoiding it on purpose.

“Bossy.” Ben huffs in the kiss Richie initiates, but then his fingers are being removed and Richie feels so empty he could cry, “Do you have a con—”

“Don’t need one, I like to be filled, hurry up.” Richie whines and Ben laughs at him, “You’re laughing. I’m dying without a dick in me and you’re fucking laughing, how could you Ben.”

But then Ben’s sliding into him and Richie forgets how to breathe. Which he’s only aware of because of the way Ben reminds him to. And then he gasps, panting softly into the air of the basement that Richie was making fun of Ben for not even an hour ago.

“B-Ben I—”

“I know,” He doesn’t even sound smug which makes the whole thing worse somehow. He moves his legs shakily, sliding them around Ben’s waist and locking him in.

“Lets go big guy,” He hopes he sounds demanding but judging by the expression Ben makes he just sounds whiny, “Fuck me up.”

Fucking on a pool table is an experience. It’s too heavy to move across the floor with the thrusts Ben makes into him, but damn if he isn’t trying, each thrust so deep Richie’s sure at any moment he’s gonna taste his dick all the way up in his mouth. Plus the creaking of the wood is a little scary, but the way the pool balls end up rolling into the pockets makes them laugh a little.

Overall it’s not a bad experience, just different.

And then Ben does it. He gets this grin on his face as he leans back to stand up straight, pulling Richie to him, making him hiss softly in pain as the felt of the table rubs up his back, bunching up his shirt and it’s not comfortable but he forgets it all as Ben shifts just enough to slide hard against his prostate with every thrust into him. He cries out so loud that he’s sure people in the neighboring states can hear him. His eyes cross and every exhale has him whimpering and whining, clawing at the felt on the table under him.

His whines become louder as Ben reaches between them, grabbing his cock confidently, “C’mon Richie, come for me.” He whispers it and it’s so filthy, so unlike Ben that Richie can’t fucking help it, he comes hard, painting his own stomach and Ben’s hand with his come, his vision is still blurry and doubled even as he tenses and shakes while Ben continues, groaning softly as he comes shortly after. He leans down and presses a kiss to the side of Richie’s face.

“Feel better?” Ben whispers and Richie nods. He smiles like an idiot. There’s a soft throat clearing and Ben’s eyes glance up towards the doorway. Richie tilts his head back and sees Bev and Eddie there, both looking bored.

“Couldn’t wait?” Bev asks, sipping at her Starbucks.

“He’s needy.” Ben shrugs, and Richie hates him for being so nonchalant about it when he feels like he’s boneless on this table.

Bev sighs and rolls her eyes. “The others are gonna be here soon, hurry it up. Patty doesn’t need to know we’re all fucking sex fiends.”

“Richie more than any of us.” Eddie comments idly, averting his eyes as Richie moans, toes curling and back arching just for effect as Ben pulls out, laughing. He can play that game.

“Fu-uhh-ck off.” Richie draws it out, trying to keep the appearance up but he really is fucked out now.

“Can’t believe you let him top.” Bev says, walking past them to get to the bar, “He’s insufferable when he tops, thinks he’s so cool.”

It takes a moment for Richie’s brain to catch up. “What?” “...Oh my god, Ben, did you lie to this poor man?” Ben has the audacity to laugh.

“He’s been staring at my ass since we came down into the basement, I figured if I was the one who had to initiate it and be obvious then I could top.”

“My ass hurts and I’m leaking come and you’re telling me I could have fucked you?” Richie finally asks as he sits up on his elbows.

“Maybe next time you’ll be more obvious.” Ben says calmly, pointedly looking at the theater area where Eddie is actively trying not to listen as he gets snacks ready.

“...That’s different fuck off.” Bev and Ben laugh at him and he smiles, “You’re all such Losers.” He mumbles as he tries to get dressed. Maybe he’ll talk to Eddie about it. Maybe next time they can all get together or maybe Eddie will wanna just hold hands. He thinks he could do that, for Eddie.

#trashstack #poly!losers #ask #ecks barks back #thelxckblog #I COULDNT HELP IT #POLY!LOSERS GIVES ME LIFE AND I JUST #minors dni #not for minors #notsfw

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littlespoonevan · 4 years

Note

hiii! I really hope I'm not bothering you but... are you taking prompts? 👀 cause I love your fics and this is kinda your fault because I read your post about 9x06 lol but now I can't stop thinking about I&M having a *real talk* like... "I'm sorry I let you go" 🥺?

Sorry it took me a while to get to this - my ao3 fics kept me quite busy the past few weeks! okay so i’ve written about the aftermath of 9x06 quite a few times but never an actual, full “talk about everything” conversation in its entirety so i decided to give it a whirl here!

for the record i 100% believe they had a conversation like this within the first week, if not 24 hours, of being in the cell together and find it absolutely preposterous john wells tried to act like they hadn’t in 10x03 and then again in 10x08 bc all ian wanted to do legit all season was talk things through and that didn’t come from nowhere but ANYWAY, they’ve got a lot of things to sort through but i did my best to cover as much as i could!

I hope you like it <3

The lights have been out for five minutes and Ian just about manages to stay in his bunk long enough for the guard to do his final check of their cell before he’s swinging himself down from his bed to crawl in next to Mickey.

He’s met with kisses and a muffled laugh into his mouth and fuck, he never thought he’d get to do this again. He allows himself to get lost in Mickey’s body for a few minutes, trading hungry kisses while their hands roam wherever either of them can reach, like they’re trying to commit one another’s skin to memory again – not that Ian has any intention of letting Mickey go this time.

He’s been itching to touch Mickey like this all day – they’d managed a hurried, flustered mutual reunion handjob before but they couldn’t risk anything more. Even that had been reckless but he’s pretty sure he lost any and all sense the second Mickey walked through the door of his cell.

He wants more now, wants Mickey whatever way he can have him, but a thought makes him pause and as soon as he thinks it he can’t stop thinking about it.

Is this supposed to be reunion sex or make-up sex?

Ian had done a lot of soul-searching and self-reflection after he’d left Mickey at the border and he just- he wants to talk about it. He doesn’t want them to jump straight into everything again and let their issues fester like they used to. Sex has never been a problem for them, communication on the other hand…

Mickey must notice he’s slowed down because he leans back, a confused smile on his face. “What?”

Ian looks at him and feels nothing but an all-consuming, addictive kind of love envelope him. He loves Mickey so fucking much – he hadn’t been able to stop even when he wanted to – he’s not going to hurt him again. But that means he needs to do this right. “Do you think we should talk first?” he asks uncertainly.

They’d both sort of agreed earlier that they would talk eventually when they’d been catching up and found themselves naturally slipping into deeper territory. They’d said they could worry about it later. But well, it’s later now.

Mickey appraises him for a moment and Ian tries not to panic when he notices his expression shutter the tiniest bit. Cradling Mickey’s jaw, he runs a thumb across his cheek. “Mick, I wanna do this right this time. We should talk about it.”

Mickey’s expression softens somewhat at that. “Talk about what?”

Ian blows out a breath. “Everything, I guess?”

He’s not sure they ever really talked out their issues in the past. He thinks they would’ve when Mickey brought him back home after he took off for the army. But Ian had already been halfway to manic by then and hadn’t exactly been in the most rational frame of mind to discuss the deep shit.

Mickey shifts onto his back, still keeping one arm around Ian, and Ian fits himself against Mickey’s side, head half on the pillow, half on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Well, if we’re talking about everything,” Mickey starts, rolling his head to the side and meeting Ian’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

And that’s- what?

“What the fuck are you sorry for?” Ian asks with a frown – he’s pretty sure he’s the one with a laundry list of apologies to make here.

Mickey huffs out a laugh but it sounds sad. “Jesus, Ian. Did you just block out the first year and a half of our relationship?” He averts his gaze for a second before looking back to Ian with renewed determination. “I’m sorry for all the times I pushed you away or pretended this didn’t mean anything or ended it because I got scared or hit you- fuck-“

“Mickey,” Ian says, cutting him off with a hand on Mickey’s chest. “You think I resent you for any of that?” he says, words quietly disbelieving. “Or that I don’t get why you acted the way you did? Yeah, sure, it fucking hurt at the time but I’m pretty sure you made up for it a thousand times over with everything that came afterwards.”

When I almost burned our relationship to the ground, he thinks, and all you did was try to love me.

Mickey glances away again, looking more bashful this time. “It still doesn’t make it okay.”

“Yeah, well if it wasn’t already clear, I forgive you,” Ian tells him, feeling his mouth tick up at the edges when Mickey starts to smile at him. And he can’t help leaning to brush their lips together – just once before he allows himself to get side-tracked.

It’s his turn now.

“While we’re doling out apologies,” he starts, feeling shame burn through him. Even thinking about half the shit he’s done makes him question how the fuck Mickey’s still here. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mick. Jesus. For all of it.”

Mickey stares at him with something vulnerable in his eyes and Ian wonders if anyone’s ever actually apologised to Mickey for hurting him before. That thought alone is enough for him to keep going.

“I’m sorry for giving you an ultimatum after the wedding. I was just- fuck, I was at breaking point, y’know? I know what happened that day with Terry was a million times worse for you-“

Mickey tenses at that and Ian thinks they’re going to talk about a lot tonight but they probably won’t talk about that. Some scars just run too fucking deep.

“I always wondered,” Mickey interrupts quietly, staring at Ian’s hand on his chest instead of Ian himself. “If that day was your trigger or whatever.”

Ian’s wondered it too, has considered bringing it up whenever he does go to therapy countless times, but he can never make himself say it out loud.

“It might’ve been,” he says slowly. “But if it was that’s Terry’s fault, not yours.”

Mickey nods absently and Ian shifts forward until he can press his forehead to Mickey’s temple. “None of it was our fault, Mick.”

Neither of them speaks for a beat – everything they’ve left unsaid hanging heavy in the air between them until Ian eventually decides to carry on.

“And I know I said sorry for this one before,” he continues. “But I’m sorry for trying to make you come out.”

Mickey shakes his head as if to tell him it doesn’t matter. But it does.

“And for all the fucking bullshit I pulled with you while I was manic. Not even just the big stuff – the cheating, the porno, Yevgeny – but all of it. I didn’t treat you how I wanted to back then.” Ian feels tears burn behind his eyes just thinking about it and his pulse is ragged by the time Mickey finally turns his head to look at him.

His eyes are shining and Ian’s heart is fucking broken. “You were sick, Ian.”

“Doesn’t make any of it okay,” Ian mumbles, closing his eyes when he feels Mickey’s fingers graze against the back of his neck. “Just- I really need you to know that the only reason I broke up with you was because Monica fucking got in my head and I could see how much I was killing you and I didn’t want that for you, Mick,” he says, voice low and desperate, begging Mickey to understand. “The thought of you just staying with me and letting me hurt you over and over again was too fucking much. Especially back then when I felt like I’d never feel normal again.”

Mickey is quiet for a moment before he squeezes the back of Ian’s neck. “I’m not excusin’ shit, Ian. Losing you back then- it nearly fucking broke me. But it’s like what you said about the stuff I did. It’s not okay. But I know why you did it.”

Ian nods, sniffling back the tears threatening to fall and burying his face in Mickey’s neck to press an apologetic kiss against the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Mickey’s arm tightens around him in response and it’s enough to give Ian courage to deliver the final part of his apology.

He leans back, pushing up on his elbow so he can look down at Mickey and meets his gaze while he talks. “I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to Mexico,” he whispers, breath hitching. “I’m so fucking sorry but I wanted to believe so badly that I actually had my shit together and-“

Mickey cuts him off before he can say anymore, lips upturned in a rueful smile. “I’m not mad about that,” he murmurs.

Ian frowns in confusion. “You’re not?”

Mickey nods, blowing out a resigned breath. “You were fucking right, Ian. Where were we supposed to get your meds? I spent two years working for a fucking cartel, that’s not exactly the kinda stress-free, routine life you needed to be living.” Mickey shakes his head, shrugging half-heartedly. “I didn’t think it through, I just wanted to be with you again – couldn’t see past that, y’know?”

And Ian is so fucking in love with him. He can’t believe Mickey still has so much goddamn faith in him.

“Fat lotta good it did anyway,” he huffs bitterly. “Goin’ home. Look where I ended up.”

He’d given Mickey the basics of what’d happened with the whole Gay Jesus thing earlier. But it’s still hard to believe how quickly things spiralled after he came home from the border.

Mickey doesn’t say anything because there’s not much to say really but he links his fingers together with the hand Ian’s still got resting on his chest which is an answer in and of itself.

“Listen,” Ian murmurs, meeting Mickey’s gaze and hoping he can see the sincerity there. “I know- I don’t expect you to just give me blanket forgiveness right now, okay? I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me,” he says, voice feeling thick with emotion. “But let me make it up to you, alright? Let me prove that I’m in this this time. I’m not fuckin’ around again, Mick. I’m not- I can’t let you go again.”

Mickey doesn’t reply right away and Ian watches as a myriad of emotions flickers across his face. Eventually though, his throat bobs and he offers Ian a hint of a smile. “You let me make my shit up to you. It’d be pretty fuckin’ hypocritical if I didn’t let you do the same.”

Ian huffs out a relieved laugh, resting his forehead against Mickey’s shoulder. “Or smart, maybe.”

“When have I ever fuckin’ been smart around you, Gallagher?” Mickey says amusedly and Ian raises his head again, leaning in until there’s the barest inch of space between them.

“I mean it,” he whispers steadfastly. “If it takes a week or a year to make you trust me again, I’ll do it. I promise.”

Mickey’s expression is calm and open as he watches him and Ian revels at being allowed to see the vulnerability behind his eyes – more as a sign of trust than because Mickey can’t conceal it for once. He closes the distance between them and tries to pour every bit of love and devotion he possesses into the kiss, hoping Mickey can feel it.

When their lips dislodge after a minute or so Ian rearranges them until he’s the one lying on his back and Mickey’s head is resting on his chest.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Mickey admits into the cotton of Ian’s tank top and Ian closes his eyes, feeling a lump swell in his throat as his eyes begin to water.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs hoarsely, tightening his arms around Mickey like he could fuse their bones together and pressing a firm kiss to Mickey’s hair. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mickey mumbles and it’s just three words but it feels like fucking salvation to Ian’s ears.

They’re gonna be alright.

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #my fics #mickeys gonnagetrealbitchy #asks #long post #i have NO idea what's wrong with the read more i'm so sorry #i've tried to fix it a million times

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epitheterasedgen · 4 years

Note

Since this might be uh.. your last week of open inbox (honestly i totally respect if you wanna jump ship after season 2 drops, though i personally am excited for it) i went ahead and found my fave hc request. If i want ANY of my requests to be the last one, it's gotta be this one so uhh... redwood run trio having a heart to heart about that one time zora tried killing the other two but then THEY zapped her PRETTY BAD so they're all actually secretly upset about the whole thing?? Love your blog,,

Okay so honestly, the reason I’ve never done this as a HC is because I’ve already talked it over/experienced it with @sundialhunter and @goldbricker-ramsey, but for the sake of the EAM AU, I’m gonna steal snippets of various convos with them to address this once and for all.

(Percy walks into the room. It’s late into the A.M. There’s a very loud crying that would wake anybody up who happened to be in the house— at the moment, apparently just Percy.)

Percy: Is everything all right? I thought I heard cryi—

(She freezes. Zora is hunched over on the counter, sobbing her eyes out. There are several empty glasses nearby and a lot of alcohol bottles arranged in front of Ramsey, who looks like he doesn’t know how he got there.)

Percy: Ramsey, what the—

Ramsey: Perc’, I swear, she made me do it, said her Nova metabolism would be fine and she kinda threatened me, so—

(Zora turns and glares at Percy. Tears are streaming down her face and her tattoos are glowing brightly in the darkness. Percy’s understandably shell-shocked.)

Percy: …Zora, what’s this all about?

Zora: …

(Zora’s voice drops to a whisper.)

Zora: ah… ah tried t’KILL yew. in Redwood Run.

Percy: Well, yes. We tried to kill you as well.

Ramsey: For the record, I didn’t necessarily wanna kill anyo—

Zora: NO! YEW DON’T GET IT!

(She turns to Ramsey.)

Zora: AH CUT OFF YER ARM!

(Then Percy.)

Zora: I tried tah STAB YEW! through the HEART!

(She looks back and forth between both of them, who are silent.)

Zora: wai… wai’d yew ever wanna put up with me after… that… how could yew just… fergive me…?

(She hiccups and sobs while Ramsey looks down at a half-empty bottle of beer.)

Ramsey: …y’know, I’ve done a lot of… (He glances at Percy.) …real stupid stuff during my life. I was always just looking for the next high, the next moment of happiness that’d carry me through, and I never thought about the consequences. Not to myself, or… others. (He pauses.) I’m not sayin’ I’m like you, but… I can get the feeling of not bein’ worthy. For anyone or anything.

(Percy pauses and takes a single step forward.)

Percy: As for me… there is a difference between “dismissal” and “forgiveness.” The very point of forgiveness is that it is undeserved. You do not “deserve” forgiveness, or it would not be forgiveness at all. I choose to forgive you nonetheless.

(Zora SLAMS her glass down, shattering it in the process.)

Zora: BUT WAI?!? wai… why’d…

(She falls into quiet sniffling, wiping her eyes roughly with her poncho.)

Percy: …Perhaps we see more of a potential in you than you see in yourself.

(Percy walks up to both of them and takes their hands gently.)

Percy: Zora, you used to believe Epithets were inherently bad. But you’ve seen now that they have the potential to be good or bad, depending on how they are treated and used. People are the same.

Ramsey: …Geez, Perc’, you got a way of making people cry.

(He rubs at his eyes with his free hand.)

Zora: …yer too good fer this world, Eyebrows.

(Percy shakes her head.)

Percy: I have made mistakes of my own. But that is a discussion for another time. For now, you two need to get to—

(Zora grabs Percy and Ramsey from around the counter and aggressively pulls them into a hug. As she’s a good deal taller than them, they’re effectively buried in her poncho; the sight is almost comical.)

Percy: …bed.

(She slowly and awkwardly returns the three-way embrace, as does Ramsey.)

Ramsey: …yeah. Clearly we all need some sleep.

Percy: And in the morning, you can help me clean up all… this.

(She gestures to the empty bottles and glasses, one of which is now broken.)

Ramsey: Pfff… yeah… that’s fair.

Zora: Ah can’t promise ah won’t be out cold ’til noon, but if yew feel like savin’ me some… yeah, whatever.

#and tysm for the kind words!! I hope this is a satisfying ending for you :")#requested headcanons #answered fic idea #redwood trio #hurt/comfort #kind words #anon

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mercurryblack · 3 years

Text

Chapter 10: Hattie

The night is but young.

❃❃❃

“Are you done yet? Are you done yet?” Hattie asked, squirming as she repeated her question for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“For the thousandth time, no, I’m not done yet. Stupid three thousand word count.” Cait groaned, slouched over their desk. “I swear, the day I graduate, I’m gonna kick Professor Rook square in the junk… boring old bastard… ”

“Sorry, time’s getting away from me.” Hattie apologized. “You’re still using that trick I told you about?”

Cait shrugged. “Even if I don’t count it as I go, it still feels like I’m never gonna finish it.”

The two had been spending the entire evening in their dorm room; Cait had been working on their assignment since the moment the Armilde sisters had left, and Hattie had been trying to keep herself busy by dusting, staring outside, dusting again, and even going as far as to read a lesson they hadn’t yet covered in class.

Tossing the Modern Remnant History textbook to her side, Hattie fell back on her bed spread-eagled, disappointed at the evening so far. She regretted how she had never really fostered a social life outside of Haven Academy— or much less her team, for that matter.

She had grown up as a ward of the underground Sisterhood, mostly keeping to herself and her small collection of fairytale books back then. Having dwelled for so long down in the habitable mine tunnels that the Sisterhood called home, she had recently found herself wanting to explore the world outside more often, if only to make up for lost time.

Those extracurricular lessons with Professor Gormlaith don’t count, she mentally noted.

Hattie didn’t have many friends, either— ironically, the happy-go-lucky girl could be a lot more introverted than extroverted at times. She knew a few students in their year by name, but not enough to warrant anything closer than a “hello” in the hallways. Plus, she didn’t find it to be much fun going out without her friends, which essentially consisted of LLAC and pretty much nobody else.

Well, there is CMYK, she thought to herself, remembering the team of now-second-years that they had tutored in the previous semester. I bet ol’ Mallow or Kara would have been free at this hour… but they’re all over in Vale helping with the set-up for the Vytal Festival, lucky dogs.

And since Lillian and Amaryllis were out doing their own things, she was left cooped up with Cait, who had been taking their time in writing an essay she had already finished.

“…Don’t you have anywhere else to go, Hattie?” Cait asked, glancing over their shoulder.

Hattie turned, wilting slightly as she did. “Should I leave you alone?”

“Nah, it’s not that.” Cait replied. “I just don’t want you to feel stuck here with me, y’know? You could go if you wanted to.”

Hattie shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t really wanna. I’d prefer to wait for you rather than leave by myself.”

“Fair. Are we going somewhere after I’m done, anyways?” Cait said, turning back to their writing.

“I don’t know. I mean, Ammy said we can come down to her boyfriend’s family’s charity event, but it sounds kinda formal.” Hattie said, then shook her head. “I’m not in the mood for formal tonight.”

“So you don’t have a plan for this evening?” Cait inquired.

“I was kinda hoping you had that part sorted out,” she said with a lopsided smile. Having hung out with them the most, Hattie had always left the ideas up to Cait— they did always know where to go for a fun time. Also, she tended to worry that she’d make a big plan and it would turn out to be a flop.

Lost for any follow-up, she wondered aloud, “What do you think Detective Yuen and the old guys are up to now?”

“Probably living their nice and worry-free adult life.” Cait said sarcastically.

“Do you think we should give them a call? You know, check up on them?”

“Nah. I’m sure they’re doing fine on their own for one night.”

Hattie grabbed her Scroll from the far edge of her bed and waved at Cait, sticking out her tongue. “I’m gonna do it anyways! What if they’ve finally found the bad guys or something?”

Cait rolled their eyes. “Whatever you say…”

***

Sardion paced back and forth in Yuen’s office, his gaze fixed on the vinyl floor. The day had been yet another bust— Rudyard had hung back at Yaara’s house, while Sardion and Yuen, with little else to do, had returned to the precinct.

“I’m just saying, don’t you think we should give LLAC a call?” Yuen suggested. “They’re part of this investigation too, and we could really use some help right now. Plus, they might see something we’ve overlooked.”

“They’re having a night off, Yuen. I’m sure they have better things to do.” Sardion replied. “You don’t want to tire the young’uns out before they even graduate, right?”

“Maybe.” Yuen sighed. “Hear anything from Rudyard?”

“Not yet, but he said he’d call if he found anything to go on.”

***

Rudyard stared up to the inky heavens, taking in the starry night sky from Yaara’s old lawn chair, a half-empty bottle of beer loosely grasped in his fingertips.

In the backyard of her humble home, the Huntress had cultivated a small flower garden. In the back of his mind, Rudyard reflected on the visits he had paid her, how she had meticulously tended to them every day; thoroughly watering them, rooting out any weeds, gently humming while she kept her garden impeccable.

Now, seeing as their owner had been dead for a week, the garden had slowly begun to die as well. The bright petals and leaves of the flowers had begun to fade and wilt from a lack of water, and weeds had taken over a small patch of dandelions.

Rudyard rose to pick up a rusty old watering can on the back veranda, then filled it up with a nearby hose. As he let the water trickle down onto the garden’s parched soil, he let out a long sigh— after all she had done for him, it was the least he could do. Eventually emptying the can, he opted to go back inside, as the night air started to grow colder.

Searching for a spot where the police hadn’t tagged or taped anything of interest, he made himself comfortable in a reclining chair in her personal study. Looking around, a single book lying on her desk caught his eye, the tip of a torn sheaf of paper stuck in the pages halfway through. The title on the cover read Eternal Blue Sky, luminescent gold font on a pastel blue background.

“Of course.” Rudyard chuckled to himself. “You would have hated this, Yaara, leaving a book unfinished.” Absentmindedly, he picked up the book and opened it up to the bookmarked page.

He paused.

Written on the scrap of paper in what was unmistakably Yaara’s handwriting was a short message; 1100 apr 23 for further details - stored on hosaki comm log 1138.

“April…?” Rudyard muttered, squinting at the writing. He remembered that April 21st had been the starting date of the last mission on her and Berilo’s record, and it had been marked as remaining within city limits.

He had never heard of a place called “Hosaki” anywhere in Mistral City.

Frowning, he tucked the sheaf of paper into his pocket and rose from the chair, reaching into his pocket. “Wonder what Yuen’ll make of this.”

He paused, fingers fumbling inside an empty pocket.

“…Where’d I put my Scroll?”

***

“Do you know of any other places they might have escaped to?” Sardion asked as he took a closer look at the map of Mistral spread over Yuen’s desk, doing his best to focus despite his inner restlessness slowly clouding his mind.

“Besides the forest, nothing, and if that’s the case then they’re likely long gone by now.” Yuen said, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe the Manju-Shage District, but I doubt it. The whole thing’s cordoned off by a tripwired security fence. There’s no way someone could’ve broken in without us knowing about it.” She continued, tapping her fingers against the armrests in mild frustration.

“Well, maybe they could’ve snuck in, if they had the right Semblance for the job. At this point, I’m ready to try anything if it means we might find a lead,” Sardion paused, sharply exhaling, “Any step we take, no matter how small, is at least a bit closer to the whoever’s behind this.”

“True.” Yuen said, glancing up at him. “After all, there’ve been times that thugs occasionally get the great idea to break in and squat there, to lay low or whatever… you want to check it out, just in case?”

“Might as well. I’ve already got my weapon on me.” Sardion shrugged. “I’ll call up Rudyard first, see if he’s up for it.” He pulled out his Scroll and sent a call to Rudyard’s contact.

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. A small buzzing hum came from beneath a stack of papers on the right of Yuen’s desk. The Huntsman and the detective exchanged confused looks, before realizing what was making the noise.

“Oh, for the love of…” Sardion muttered, sticking his hand underneath the stack and pulling out a Scroll— Rudyard’s own. “Perfect time to forget this, you freakin’ cueball…” He stuck his Scroll back in his jacket and tossed Rudyard’s onto Yuen’s desk.

“Okay, well, that’s a bust… like I said before, we could call up LLAC.” Yuen suggested.

Sardion was inclined to disagree with her, given that it had been the students’ night off— calling them in for duty at such an hour wouldn’t be the most gracious move. However, he figured that they’d best bring some backup, if only to cover more ground if nothing else.

“Alright, go for it.” he said.

Yuen took out her Scroll and pulled up Lillian’s contact. “Here goes. Hope for the best.”

***

“Why do I always have to be the one to make the food?” Rosario asked, swinging her now-empty basket from one hand as she walked alongside Lillian down the cliffside path.

“You’re a great cook, and I can’t even season my food correctly.” Lillian replied. “Do you remember the last time when I tried to make instant ramen unsupervised?”

“Point.” Rosario said. “You did literally set a pot of water on fire. I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty certain that violates every law of thermodynamics that there is.”

Lillian nodded. “See?”

“Riiiight.” Rosario drawled. “Imagine what adult life would be like. Every night, it’ll just be me greeting you, ‘Welcome home, mi amor! What do you want first? Dinner? A bath? Me?’ And then you’ll go, ‘I’ll have you for dinner in the bath!’”

“I know you’re trying to make fun of me, but you’re drooling, Rosario.” Lillian said, giving her girlfriend a flat stare.

Rosario flushed red, wiping the corner of her mouth. “I am not.”

Lillian snorted.

***

“Damnit, her Scroll’s turned off.” Yuen groaned. “Her sister’s offline as well.”

“Thought so. They have private lives too, you know.” Sardion shrugged, slinging his coat over his shoulders. “C’mon, might as well see if any airships are available and just get this over with.”

Yuen rose from her chair. “Fine. I’ll leave them a message if we do find anything.” Just as she was about to follow Sardion out, her Scroll suddenly vibrated in her coat.

The profile picture that displayed the caller wasn’t Lillian— rather, it was the Lazuli kid calling her.

It’s something, I guess. Yuen thought to herself, swiping to accept the call.

“…Hey, Detective Yuen.” Hattie chirped up on the other end.” How’s it going? It’s Hattie from, uh, Team LLAC. Uhm, we just wanted to check in, and—” She continued, stumbling slightly over her words.

“As a matter of fact, I’m glad you called.” Yuen replied. “Listen, Sardion and I are going to investigate a possible lead down in the old Manju-Shage District, and your help would be very much appreciated.” She hesitated before continuing. “That is, if you’re not already preoccupied.”

***

On the other end of the line, Hattie’s face lit up as she heard Yuen’s invitation. For the moment, she managed to suppress the urge to whoop and cheer out of deference to the still-working Cait. “Nononono, no problem. We’ll be there right away, Detective,” she said, struggling to contain her excitement as she ended the call.

It took her a few seconds before she was able to produce words, since all that was coming out of her mouth were muffled joyful squeaks. “…Cait?”

“Gimme a sec.” Cait replied, holding up a finger.

Hattie paused, her smile falling slightly.

“Cait.” she repeated, her tone becoming normal.

“Wait, I’m almost done.” Cait said, focused on their computer’s monitor.

“Cait!” Hattie repeated for a third time, her voice rising slightly as she grew irked by their dismissal.

“I said wait, Hattie.” Cait said, still not turning around. “…’Make sure to provide footnotes along with citations’? Aw, what the hell’s the point of that?” they muttered to themself as they reviewed their essay.

Hattie scowled darkly, thoroughly annoyed at the brush-off. After a moment, she tiptoed up next to her teammate’s shoulder and leaned in towards their ear as close as possible.

“CAAAAAAAAAAAIT!” she screamed.

“AUUUUUUUGH!” Cait screeched, jumping up from their seat in shock as they spun around to face her. Their brow contorted, startled and frustrated at the girl’s outburst.

“WHAT?!” they snapped.

Hattie’s expression morphed into a tooth-bared cheshire grin, her attempt at emulating Cait’s own habit.

“I know what we’re gonna do tonight~♪.”

#team llac #team llac fic #harriet lazuli #cait miya #team sybr #sardion sarikaya #agave yuen #rudyard millard #lillian armilde #rosario garland #fanfic #fan fiction #rwby fan fiction #rwby oc #rwbyoc #rwby

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haro-whumps · 4 years

Text

Box Boy Plurality: 02

Second whumpee won the poll. Be warned, this chapter’s a longer one

CW: Dehumanization, slavery, creepy + intimate whumper, brainwashing, manipulation, illegal business practices

Tag List: @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @raigash @im-not-rare-im-rarr @spiffythespook @whumps-the-word @frnkieroismydaddy @whumpity--whump--whump @michelleswhumpyreblogs @jo-castle @newandfiguringitout @lumpofwhump @infested-with-blood

Masterlist

Ren looked up from their work computer, eyebrow arched. It wasn’t time for Yanni to come in and complain about the broken clasp on her phone charm, which Ren would ever-so-generously offer to replace for her. She wasn’t due to notice it until her midafternoon coffee break, since she wasn’t overly invested in checking the thing during work hours.

It wasn’t Yanni, unsurprisingly, but it also wasn’t anyone Ren could say they recognized. Oh, sure, they’d seen the man’s face around before, but they’d never spoken with him, and they weren’t even sure what department he worked in.

“Mx. Pavlish, is it?” he said with a friendly, though nervous smile. He was an okay actor, though. They could only discern his nerves due to their practice at it.

“Hello,” Ren said, carefully, pleasantly neutral. “I’m afraid I can’t recall us ever meeting.”

“Ah, we haven’t spoken,” he said, taking the somewhat-cramped office chair they kept available for visitors and dragging it over to their desk. “My name is Mike.”

He offered his hand for shaking, and Ren inwardly cringed at the feeling of his sweaty palm against their own. They took a squirt of hand sanitizer immediately after, and Mike chuckled with a self-conscious little rub to the back of his neck.

“So, Mike, what brings you here?”

“I work in security,” Mike said, and Ren felt every nerve in their body become immediately alert. “I know, uh, about your little ploy.”

Blackmail, then. He was here to blackmail them. They very, very carefully sized him up.

“And what ploy, exactly, is that?”

“You unplug the ethernet cords to Jasmine’s and Cassandra’s computers just so you can be the one to fix them,” Mike stated, and Ren’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’ve been sitting on this for a while,” Ren mentioned, “I haven’t done that in going on three months now.”

“Wait have you been doing something else?”

“Is that relevant to this conversation?”

Mike chuckled again. “I guess not. But hey, listen, I get it. We all want to impress pretty ladies, right?” He gave Ren one of those nudge-nudge wink-wink kind of smiles, and Ren tilted their head consideringly. Maybe not blackmail? His tone and mood weren’t exactly right for it, but Ren couldn’t rule anything out. “Look, my cousin’s friends with Jasmine, I could have her set you two up on a ‘blind’ date, if you want.” Mike even made the little airquotes around the word. Precious.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I’ve kinda got a favor I’d like to ask you?”

Hm. Wishy-washy. The threat of tattling on Ren for the sabotage hung, but distantly, left on a backburner that Ren could be aware of but neither would necessarily acknowledge, while Mike offered a perceived reward instead. Ren lifted their finger to their lips, pressing it horizontally along the line.

“I’m listening,” they stated evenly, curious.

“So, I saw you on the news. And your box boy has been, ha, everywhere. And you’re kinda like, the model citizen of whumpee-ownership, yeah?”

Ren blinked slowly, and said, “I might be.”

“God, ha, kinda cagey aren’t you?”

“I prefer to know what I’m dealing with. Continue.”

“Right, so,” Mike shifted in his seat, hands moving from the armrests to scratch at the side of his nose and then back on the armrests, “the law states that pets cannot be held legally accountable for crimes they committed under past owners. The idea is that the new owners will discipline them better, yada yada, behavioral psychology babble, you get the drift. Anyway. I am in possession of a particularly… let’s say, criminal box boy. Defiant and loudmouthed and it turns out he’s been getting into trouble while I wasn’t looking. Ha, pretty embarrassing for a security guard, huh?”

Yeah, no way in hell this guy hadn’t been using his pet to do the things he was too chicken-shit to do himself. It was a smart move, though, Ren would give him that.

“So basically, I need to do some... let’s call it whumpee-laundering. Change hands before the cops get the dna work back. He’s a good lad, y’know, don’t want anything bad to happen to him, much less for him to get locked up. So, howsabout you, oh model pet owner, take him for, what, a week? Two weeks? Just long enough for things to simmer down. I’ll take him right back off your hands as soon as this whole mess blows over, and I will definitely get you a date with Jasmine. Yeah?”

Ren stared at him contemplatively. Definitely not blackmail, this guy was in a bad way, and didn’t want the cops to have custody of a defiant whumpee that would talk the moment it was taken in. He needed Ren to say yes to this deal. But contemplative silence on a man already squirming in his seat worked wonders to sweeten the deal.

“And hey, I mean, he’ll be legally yours, right? So, like, whatever you wanna do to him while he’s at your place, you can do it. I mean, as long as you don’t kill or sell him, I do want him back. But like, if you wanna, fuck, I dunno, chop off his arm or some shit? Be my guest. As long as I get him back alive I don’t care, no restrictions, right? It’ll be fun, he’s got a pottymouth but if you gag him he’s not a bad looker, all things considered.”

Ren hummed, tapping a finger up and down against the back of their own palm, hands clasped loosely in front of their chin, elbows on their desk.

“Say, Mike?”

“Yeah?” he answered eagerly, body jumping lightly in the chair, sitting up straighter.

“I appreciate the offer to set me up with Jasmine, but I actually have no interest in dating her. You’re right; it is the simple act of showing off that I like the best.” Mike visibly began to panic, and Ren took a small mercy on him. “But there is something you have that I would be deeply appreciative of receiving.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I want full access to company surveillance cameras and audio recorders, on my devices, and no record of my permissions.”

“Oh.” Mike blinked, and then grinned. “Oh! Oh, yeah, of course, easy as pie, I can so do that for you. So you’ll take him? Tonight, ideally?”

“When I meet him, I will assess him,” Ren stated. “If I perceive that he is any threat to my own box boy, the deal’s off.”

“Oh, oh no, I’m sorry, I gave the wrong impression!” Mike said with a much more relaxed laugh. “He’s got a defiant mouth but he won’t act up. His bark is way worse than his bite, don’t worry, he isn’t a fighter.”

“I’ll see that for myself, but very well. Bring all of his paperwork with you,” Ren said as they wrote down their number on a notepad. “Text me. I’ll send you my address. Meet there at 5:30, and no earlier. Bring any disciplinary tools you own along with him.”

“Not gonna use your own?” Mike asked with a glance at Ren’s hand sanitizer.

“Don’t own any. I have the blindfold and sensory deprivation hood that came along with my pet’s box, but I haven’t used the blindfold since unboxing him and I’ve only touched the hood to put it away somewhere in the basement.” Actually, where had they put that thing? “My pet is too well behaved for such things.”

Mike whistled. “Nice. You get an expensive model?”

“Well, he wasn’t cheap. But he was exactly what I wanted.”

“Ooo, custom?”

“In training. His appearance was already precisely suited to my desires.”

Mike laughed and extended his hand again, before seeming to think better of it and he shot Ren a two finger salute. “I’ll see you tonight then.”

Ren nodded in return with a pleased little. “See you tonight.” Ren thought of one last thing. “Oh, and Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you told him that you only plan on selling him temporarily?”

“Ah, no, just recently came up.”

“Don’t tell him this isn’t a permanent arrangement. He’ll be easier to mold, that way.”

“You’re the boss,” Mike said with double pistols, and left their office.

The moment the door closed behind him, they pulled out a notebook and began jotting down a list of pros and cons. Their agreement had been deeply tentative, not that they’d let Mike know that. They would thoroughly scrutinize the concept, and then rigorously test the box boy himself once he was brought over.

The idea of having someone to yank around, though. To punish, perhaps with some of the tools Host had listed in their disciplinary video… Ren swallowed, their mouth watering. Skin that they could pinch and cut and bruise, not deeply, nothing permanent, nothing too mean. Someone they could sink their claws into and throw away in a week or two, leaving their home unblemished and perfect, just Soren and them. Just a quick little fix. Just a nice little treat.

The potential cons outnumbered the pros, but the potential pros were of a much higher quality.

They drove home quickly that night, bidding Yanni a very short goodbye, citing business that needed attending, and they weren’t even lying.

“I bet you just wanna get home and cuddle your boy,” she teased them, sticking her tongue out.

“And I bet you’re going to do the same to your babe,” Ren teased in return, wiggling their eyebrows at her. Yanni giggled and admitted to being guilty as charged, and didn’t whine or cling any longer. See? Convincing her to get her own pet had been such a wise decision. So useful.

“Soren!” they called the moment they walked in the door.

“Exalted!” Soren called back, and they noted the sound of a hair dryer cutting off. “You’re home earlier than usual!” Soren said as he rushed down the stairs. His hair was still a little damp, they noted, as they pulled him into a hug.

“I am. I have a big evening ahead,” Ren stated, handing him their lunch bag and prying off their jacket.

“What’s on the agenda, Exalted?” Soren asked, hanging up their jacket for them and following them into the kitchen.

“Tonight, depending on how introductions go, we will be adding a new box boy to the house.” Ren snorted, pulling down a glass and opening the fridge, digging around for their ginger ale. “Well, a used box boy. I’m taking him off a coworker’s hands.” They “casually” glanced over their shoulder to see Soren’s reaction, and he was white as a sheet.

“E-Exalted? I, I don’t…”

“Soren, baby?” they asked sweetly, pretending not to understand.

“If-If I haven’t,” Soren stuttered shakily, eyes wide and vacant, staring somewhere far past the kitchen tile, “If I’m not, pl-pleasing you, if this, is,” he raised a shaking hand to his hair, a front lock, one of the beautiful portions he might have turned into bangs, “is about, what I almost did, I’m sorry, I can do better, I can be better, please, I don’t--I can’t--please, Exalted, I just need to know, just tell me and I’ll do it, I want to, I, I need to, please, just tell me, tell me anything I’ll do anything Exalted please, please, I can be good, I want to be good! I want to, I want to be good, I want to, Exalted, I want to be good for you just tell me please I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything!”

Ren sipped idly at their ginger ale, not bothering to mask their face with concern or pity when he clearly couldn’t see them anyway. God, he sounded so pretty like this. Tears budding up in his eyes, his hands shaking so visibly, his body trembling in a more subtle, yet equally delicious way. It was all so perfect to watch, to listen to as he broke down. They knocked back the rest of their drink and set the glass down on the counter.

“Soren, angel,” they crooned, face twisted up artfully and voice sweet as honey. They gently pried Soren’s hand from his hair and placed it on his collar, which made him gasp, eyes blinking rapidly, immediately grounding him. They caressed his face, then tilted it up. Petting at the lock of hair he’d just been tugging at, they smiled pityingly. “My sweet little bird, no no. You haven’t done anything wrong, pet. I’ve forgiven you for hurting me so badly, it’s in the past my darling angel, weeks in the past. My precious, sweet Soren, shush now, shush. Nothing bad is happening to you. This will be a good thing! Just because I’ll have a new plaything doesn’t mean I’ll neglect you, Soren, sweetheart. And you’ll have someone lower than you on the pecking order! Won’t that be nice?”

“I--I--”

“Shhhh, Soren, shhhhh, shush now. It’s okay, it’s alllllll alright. You’re my favorite, darling, you’ll always be my favorite plaything, don’t worry.”

“Th-thank you, thank you Exalted, thank you.”

“There, there’s a good boy. So well mannered, saying exactly what you’re meant to.” Ren hugged him tightly, too tight, but only just a little. “Don’t forget, my pet. You will belong to me forever. You will kneel at my feet only, you will eat only when I am the one to give you food, you will never set foot outside this house without me and you will never belong to anyone else. You’re mine, mine alone, and mine forever, Soren.”

“Yes,” Soren said, sounding grateful and relieved, just like he was meant to. “Yes, Exalted, thank you, thank you so much.”

Ren grabbed a fistful of hair and kissed him, and he kissed back eagerly.

“Soren, tell me you love me,” they ordered sweetly, and Soren beamed.

“I love you, Exalted! I love you, Ren!” He leaned against them and they let him. “I won’t ever love anyone as much as I love you, Ren.”

“I know you won’t, my angel, you’re so good.”

And that was when the doorbell rang.

“Right on time,” Ren mentioned with a glance at the kitchen clock. “Come along, pet, let’s go interview our new potential plaything.”

“Yes, Exalted.”

Mike looked no less awkward standing up than he did sitting down, Ren thought, as they opened the door. He held himself like an adolescent trying out for theater who had no idea how to act and was in possession of limbs too long for his body. Behind him and to the side, a box boy carried his box on his back, looking very much like he was about to be crucified or somesuch.

“Come in,” Ren welcomed, “Take off your shoes.” Not that it mattered. The boy was filthy and bloody. Every room he set foot in would need to be thoroughly cleaned. Honestly, Mike couldn’t have even given him a bath before bringing him over? He really was in a rush.

“Set the box down; let me get a look at you,” Ren ordered. They observed the box boy, a young man with short (ugh) brown hair, too short to even grab efficiently. Nothing to yank him around by, and no time to grow it out. Whatever, they'd just have him wear a leash or somesuch. Brown eyes, tan skin, ambiguous ethnicity. Somewhat muscled, but half-starved and visibly exhausted, so he moved with a weakness. He let the box thunk down on the carpet, and when he raised his eye he met Ren's boldly.

“Position two,” they said with a snap of their fingers, and they heard a pair of knees hit the floor before they saw the new boy kneel. They turned with surprise and saw Soren kneeling, which prompted them to laugh.

“Oh no, no, Soren, angel, sweetheart, no. Both of you, position one. Soren, now, listen--haha! You just stand there and look pretty okay?” They pet his hair, admiring the way he flushed with embarrassment over his mixup. “You just stay put right here and watch. I'm interviewing the new boy and testing his behavior, alright? You stay put.” They kissed him and turned back to the boy. He was, at the very least, standing in position one, his chin tilted up just a little too high for submission but that was something that could be beaten into him. “Position six,” they ordered, and he held out his wrists with a silent glower. But, ah, to listen to his breathing, was that fear they could detect?

He was bruised and bloody and tired, in all ways just in a horrible state of disrepair. He would require so much fixing, and honestly that thrilled Ren. They took his barcoded wrist and read off the numbers tattooed underneath it. 843-902.

“02, huh?” Ren mused aloud. “I think that’ll make a fine nickname for you.”

“Oh, his name is--” Mike started, but Ren cut him off.

“Irrelevant.”

02’s nostrils flared. “If I'm going to buy him, and I think I will, then the creature he was before coming into my service is entirely irrelevant.”

“Oh, good, you'll take him then?” Mike asked, sounding nervous and relieved. Ren delighted in how much control they had over him, at that moment.

“I'm not done deciding yet.”

Mike’s flash of nervous panic was so delicious, really. As was 02’s confliction. He didn’t know if he wanted to stay with Mike or be taken by Ren, aww, how cute.

“State your type,” Ren ordered, and 02 snarled. Honest to god snarled. Ren had to swallow, salivating at the thought of how much fun it would be to break that.

“Fff-” 02 choked on his own word, conditioning clearly warring with whatever it was that he was trying to do, and Ren arched an eyebrow. “Fuck you.”

They saw Mike twitch agitatedly in their peripheral, but didn’t pay him any mind.

“Position five.”

02 dropped like a rock, his forehead actually hitting the floor, and Ren chuckled. His Processors had done well with him, whoever they’d been, but not quite well enough. The image was all too clear now. Mike had bought himself a box boy, discounted for his bad mouth, and used his excellent behavioral obedience in order to commit whatever crimes he’d forced the boy into, while tolerating his naughty little words as nothing more than a background nuisance. Or, given the bruising, knocking him around for the disobedience, but never bothering with legitimate training.

“State your type,” Ren repeated, their tone taking a special quality that meant firm disappointment. Soren eeped behind them, and they got to watch 02’s chest seize.

“Combination, Ren.”

“Oh no, darling,” Ren said with a laugh, “You don’t get to call me by name.” They nudged his temple with the side of their foot and stated, “Position two.” Once within range, Ren gripped his chin and forced him to look at them. “You will refer to me exclusively as Exalted, or, if you feel I am in a particularly good mood with you, you may call me Honored One. My name is not to come out of that filthy little mouth of yours. Not until we’ve cleaned it thoroughly. Understand?”

They released his chin but he continued to hold their gaze. “Yes,” he stated, “Honored One.”

“Aww, Mike,” Ren cooed, turning to him. “He thinks he’s cute,” they intoned, sounding very much charmed, like a child had just fallen over while dancing.

“I know he’s got a big mouth but he really does obey,” Mike assured.

“I can see that,” they said airily. “Come join me in my office, we’ll discuss price and the paperwork. 02, take your box down into the basement and stow it in the back corner of the laundry room, on top of the other one there. Take Position two in the center of the room when you are done, and wait. Soren, heel pet.”

They led Mike and Soren away from the foyer, not checking if 02 was obeying and not needing to. He might hesitate or linger, but Ren knew with full confidence that by the time they were done signing the papers and lightly harassing Mike for the evening, 02 would be exactly where they’d told him to be.

“Actually,” they said at the door of their office, turning with raised index fingers. “Soren, baby, why don’t you go ahead and get started on dinner for us, mm?” Ren kissed him and patted his cheek sharply, twice. He nodded, worrying his lip, but scampered off to do as he’d been told.

“He’s beautiful,” Mike commented, before Soren was entirely out of earshot. “Even prettier in real life than in the ads, and I mean, wow,” he said with a chuckle, “you know?”

“I do know,” Ren said, gesturing for Mike to take a seat as they closed and locked the door. They pulled up their surveillance cameras on their computer, turned away from Mike, and got their scanner ready to make copies and digital files of the documents. “Did you bring the tools I requested?”

“Sure did,” Mike said, patting his backpack. “Retractable cane, whip, two different gags and a muzzle, which, heh, he hates so much, let me tell you. Handcuffs, too, those too.”

“And the documentation,” Ren prompted, watching him pull them out of the bag.

“You are, heh, quite the presence, you know that Ren?” Mike said as he pulled out a manilla envelope, a cheap blue folder, and some--GOD--loose leaf papers. The fucking audacity, really. The messiness, the lack of professionalism. He couldn’t have haphazardly shoved them into the cheap folder? He really had to go around carrying official legal documents loose leaf? Their BLAW405: Filing and Organizational Systems professor would’ve made a five minute ordeal of tearing this poor, poor fool a new one. Ren tried to make themself pity Mike’s incompetence, because it was just about the only thing preventing them from feeling an unseemly amount of rage.

“Like really, I’m a security guy, you know? I’m kind of hired because not a lot of people intimidate me but you’ve just got this, uh, aura, I guess? Just sorta the way you talk and hold yourself and--oh, yeah, you just, yeah go ahead,” he cut himself off as they took the papers from him and skimmed over them, sorting them into some semblance of a reasonable order to be holding these files in, and read over them quickly but carefully one by one. They were familiar with most of this--they did, after all, possess a box boy of their own--but it never hurt to be thorough.

“I have a certain way with people, it’s true,” Ren commented idly as they shifted through the papers. “Sign here. You’re quite fortunate I am in possession of a notary’s stamp and can forge an impressive signature, you know that Mike?” Ren asked, pulling the stolen (well, illegally purchased. Their mama was a persuasive woman in her own right, and there was little on the black market she could not or would not acquire for her child, at their asking) stamp from one of their locked drawers.

“Oh, fuck, we gotta get a notary for this?”

“Some countries do not require it, and I hear the American legislation on transfer of ownership even varies from state to state, but our homeland is a little more meticulous in these matters. But like I said,” they took the signed paper from Mike and aligned the stamp carefully, before bringing it down with a satisfying thunk, “you’re in luck.”

“You are,” Mike said, chuckling nervously, kind of breathy and rather high, “really something, huh Ren?” They loved his discomfort.

“Mm,” they hummed, pleased, preening a bit, but hey, they deserved to. “Sign here.”

Four signatures later, Ren tapped the stack of papers against their desk, bringing them all nice and neatly in line, and then set them into their copier. “Now, the access files I requested?” Ren prompted, extending their hand. He unzipped an interior pocket in his windbreaker and produced a thumbdrive. “Perfect. You’ll have 02 back as soon as you’re ready for him.” Their copier whirred to a halt and they took the stack of copies from the tray, then slid all of them into the manilla folder, rather than breaking them up like a moron. They held it out for Mike and flashed him a darling smile. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding a little dazed, taking the folder like it might get up and start moving. “You, you too. Ha, wow, you are efficient.”

“It’s why I have the job I have, and why I lead the life I live.” Ren stood and ushered Mike out of their office, then out of their home. “See you next time.”

“Yeah, thanks again!” he called, and they waved with a bright smile.

“Exalted?” Soren said behind them once they shut the front door, “Dinner will be ready in 40 minutes.”

“Perfect, Soren. I’m going to go greet our new addition, you may come if you want to.”

“Yes, Exalted, I would like that,” he said, wringing his hands anxiously. They placed their palm on top of that worried movement, and Soren stilled instantly.

“Shhh, pet. Remember, you’ll always be my favorite, alright?”

Soren nodded rapidly, but did not appear soothed. Hmm. “A-are you,” Soren hesitated, searching for the words. “Are you going to punish 02 for his defiance, Exalted?”

“I am,” Ren admitted easily. Soren twitched, distress increasing. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re worried for him?”

Soren nodded. “You’ve always been so good to me, Exalted, I don’t want, um, I don’t--I…” Soren pulled on a lock of his own hair, and they shushed him again, caressing his cheek.

“He’ll only get what he deserves, my precious angel. I can treat you well because you’re a very good boy for me, Soren. I’ve rarely had to punish you; you only occasionally fuck up. But my coworker clearly hasn’t given 02 the structure or discipline he needs in order to make him good, so I’m going to have to fix him. And fixing him will require punishing him. Don’t worry, though, pet, I won’t be cruel. The punishment will fit the crime; he won’t get anything done to him that he doesn’t deserve. I promise. He’ll deserve everything that happens to him, baby, sweetheart, I promise, I promise, absolutely all of it.”

Soren nodded again, gripping his collar and relaxing, a little. It was so nice to see him keyed up and anxious. It was so nice to make Mike squirm and sweat. It was so nice, knowing that their own personal chew toy was kneeling painfully on the concrete floor of their laundry room, just waiting for them to go down and bloom a few more bruises across his skin. Perfect, perfect, all of this, perfect. Exactly what Ren deserved.

“Yes, Exalted.”

“Come along, pet,” Ren beckoned, and Soren followed them down the stairs.

02 greeted their arrival by spitting on the floor at Ren’s feet.

“Oh, disgusting little bug, aren’t you?” Ren asked mildly, stepping over the splotch. They gripped his chin again and he glared up at them. “Tell me, 02, which do you consider to be worse? Death, or refurbishment?”

02’s eyes went wide, suddenly struck with fear. Ren of course would do neither, this was a temporary arrangement, after all. But 02 didn’t know that.

“...Exalted?” 02 asked in a voice that was very very very small.

“Answer the question. Which is worse?”

02’s chest began raising visibly, rapidly. Hard to miss, with how thin he was. “D--”

“And don’t even think about lying to me, slave.”

02’s breath caught, a delightful little gagging noise escaping him. “Refurbishment, Exalted.”

“Hm. Then allow me to make something very clear to you, 02. Soren outranks you in every capacity. You will not eat until he has eaten, you will not sleep unless he has first gone to bed, you will not so much as speak if he has something to say. And if you decide that that makes you jealous, or angry, or if you just decide you don’t like my precious boy for some miscellaneous reason, allow me to make it entirely understood that if you harm so much as a single strand of hair on his head, I will personally instruct the Processors to make sure you beg for death before they put you up for resale.” They released his chin with a small flick of their fingers into the soft underside, and were gratified by the little jerk, and the way his eyes stayed on them. “Do you comprehend?”

“You--you’re warning me to keep my hands off your pet?” he asked, fearful and yet still incredulous.

“Of course,” they said, placing a hand on the front of his close-cropped hair and slowly stroking his skull, cradling his head. “Soren is my precious little bird. And you?” Ren moved their thumb sweetly, back and forth, against his prickly hair. “You’re nothing more than some worthless mutt.”

#whump #slave #box boy #bbu #dehumanization #brainwashing #manipulation #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #codependent whumpee #possessive behavior #multiple whumpees #defiant whumpee #ren #soren #02 #mike #mine #writing

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years

Text

The Next Best Australian Record - Harold x Reader (Adore)

GIF CREDIT: X Cruel Summer / Magnets

Author’s Note: I like blaming my fics on peoples influences - this one is totally on @mendelskrull - no take backs!! 😉😉

@sufferthesea thank you for staying with this series, 2 & 3 wouldn’t have happened without your support and, of course, this song is yours 😊 Lana Del Ray - The Next Best American Record

Disclaimer: Adore characters and plot not mine / once again I’ve made it far more convoluted! / gifs not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: Now you’re back at University you can both let this affair breathe. But what happens when Harold returns home for the weekend, does what happens in Sydney stay in Sydney?

Words: 5054

Warnings: sexual connotations / small swears / May-December Romance / Student-Teacher Relationship

_______ My baby used to dance underneath my architecture To the Houses of the Holy, smokin' on them cigarettes My baby used to dance underneath my architecture He was cool as heck He was cool as heck

My baby used to dance underneath my architecture He was '70s in spirit, '90s in his frame of mind My baby used to dance underneath my architecture We lost track of space We lost track of time And we were so obsessed with writing the next best American record That we gave all we had 'til the time we got to bed 'Cause we knew we could We were so obsessed with writing the next best American record 'Cause we were just that good It was just that good Whatever's on tonight, I just wanna party with you Topanga's hot tonight, I'm taking off my bathing suit You made me feel like there's something that I never knew I wanted It's you, all the roads lead to you Everything I want and do, all the things that I say It's true, all the roads lead to you Like the 405 I drive through Every night and every day I see you for who you really are ---

Three weeks had passed by exceedingly slow, although you really had managed to get going on your work with no outside distractions. Your friends had thrown one last beach party before you all packed up and headed off, but drinking only led to yearning – so it made you pretty relieved that you had no number to shamelessly drunk text. The university friends you’d been keeping in touch with over the break we’re all itching see each other again, and you couldn’t wait to return to the house you’d been renting together and class, at least some of you we restless for classes to begin. You most of all, for obvious reasons. It would be so great to be with all of them again and gain a little more of your independence. The only real adult influence in your life would be your… uhm… Well, that was the thing, you didn’t exactly know what you were supposed to call him. So you would hold that thought. Your schedule came through and you were already desperate to get back in the classroom and see Harold again. Part of you wanted to email him as soon as you reached Sydney, but you knew it was best to settle in and figure it all out before you resumed seeing him. Besides, it was going to be much more dangerous for him out there. Sure, if you’d been caught here there’d be a lot of questions and falling out; not that you didn’t think you wouldn’t be spiteful enough to call out his wife and her friend, and drag everyone down with you… but in Sydney he was your lecturer. (Not that he wasn’t at home, but, family friends was a different twist to taking advantage of a student). You knew you’d have to be careful, the last thing you would want was to be responsible for ruining his career… or his life. With your car packed up, you were finally saying goodbye to your parents before you started your long drive. You’d planned out all your breaks and setting off this time of day meant you’d make it in plenty of time and daylight. But they were still trying to check on your schedule, telling you to call them at your break points so they knew where you were and how you were doing. Hugging you and asking you to be careful on the roads, as if you hadn’t done this 200 times before. If you had to say ‘I’ll be fine, I promise!’ one more time you’d likely go insane. What you didn’t expect was to find someone else appear in your driveway to see you off. And he certainly wasn’t someone you would consider a friend. Despite still seeing his father around, you hadn’t actually seen much of Tom since you’d broken up. And even your parents were shocked to see him standing there. “…H…Hey…” You walked over, eyebrow raised, “What’s up?” It was strange to say that you felt a little guilty – had you always been leading him on? Was there ever a time you actually wanted the guy standing in front of you? You couldn’t think like that, not really. Tom was good to you, and you had enjoyed your relationship. Not sorry it was over, but for the way you’d let it end. Plus, if you really thought on it – this man had started it. You’d found out he was cheating on you before you’d so much as touched Harold. “Nothing.” Then he shrugged, “No, maybe that’s a lie. I… I just wanted to say goodbye before you went off to Sydney.” Tom couldn’t quite meet your eyes as he spoke; “I guess I didn’t want to leave things bad between us, y’know? Before you left.” “Oh-!” You could count yourself as surprised, “I… guess I understand that.” “Yeah.” He laughed, “I also wanted to wish you good luck, with your next year.” “Thank you.” You smiled gently, “That’s sweet, you don’t have to.” “So… can we… at least be cool with each other?” You laughed, “I guess.” There was a few moments awkward silence before he cleared his throat, not satisfied to end with that; “How’s the guy working out?” You hoped you had as good a poker face as you thought you did; “Yeah, good.” “Will you see much of him now?” “A little...” You quickly changed subject before he got too deep into the detail; “How’s, uh, how’s the girl... working out?” “Good.... yeah. No, uh, no complaints.” “Good…” You nodded too. And the awkwardness set in again, before he reached out to hug you – and you found yourself in maybe the most awkward ‘exes’ hug in the entire world. “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have-” “Tom it’s okay. Honestly. What happened happened. We’re probably… better off with who we’re with now.” “I guess.” He let you go and you stepped back, with a smile “Take care of yourself. Maybe when I’m back we can catch up!” Although you weren’t sure how serious you were, maybe you’d stop by for his father and just casually catch up with him. Tom’d never know. You waved each other off again and you watched him walk away, with at least a smile that clearing the air really might have been a good idea. It was done; it’d make tension at that house a little lower if you did ever turn up for any reason. “Oh!” He turned, walking backwards down the hill, “Say hi to my dad for me!!” You couldn’t help your smirk, it just appeared instantly, “Oh, I will!” Though you’d be doing a lot more than that. *** For the first few weeks you got settled into your routine, getting a feel for your class schedule and the nuances of moving back in with your best friends. You only had one class with Harold this semester, which you counted as a blessing because you weren’t sure how this was going to work now. Though you already knew you had two classes with him next semester, and that was enough to keep you going on. If you thought sitting in class was good for seeing him, and those little knowing looks he kept flashing you – especially when you happened to answer a question right (c’mon, you were eager to please the man. You’d always been like this in Harold’s class.) – it really had nothing on your friends teasing. They all knew you had a crush on him – that was the last few years of being here and sitting in class, so whilst every right answer had a different meaning now between you and he, your friends sat there with the same little smirks on their faces: ‘Ohhhh! Someone’s got a crush! STILL!’ ‘Seriously? No summer romances to yearn and miss – or does that not do it for you!?’ ‘Oh, we should know Y/N! It’s all about the fantasy!’ ‘Y/N, getting all your answers right won’t get you in his pants-!’ - Well, little did they know! And you weren’t about to bring Tom up; in fact you weren’t even sure anyone knew that Harold usually lived in the same town as you. It certainly wasn’t something you were going to say now; less it help people put two and two together if things got suspicious. When you did start seeing each other again – around the time he gave you your assignments and you went to check on him under the guise of ‘wait can you just go through this one more time-!?’ - it was tentative and slow moving. You supposed out here in Sydney where you didn’t have the rush of summer, or have to sneak around both your families, you could really let the relationship just breathe and be what it would be. You didn’t see him on campus any more than you thought necessary, you tried not to run to him after class unless you had a burning question, so most of the time you would leave him with a sweet goodbye smile instead, and he would give you a gentle nod to bid you a good day. Even in his office you tried to keep it focused on your coursework, that didn’t mean he didn’t hold your hand as he took you through something, and he usually gave you a goodbye kiss before you left. You couldn’t lie that it felt a little strange, considering what you’d been used to back home – it’d never really been this delicate. You weren’t sure you didn’t enjoy this a little more. Still, after spending so much time together this summer, even if it was tangled up in sheets, there was still that need to be closer than the University would ever allow. So he gave you his address. At first you thought that was risky, and wondered what kind of excuse you’d have to give your friends… Although they didn’t seem to mind you heading out for your own purposes. You just made sure to never lie if they did enquire. ”Where you heading?” “Oh! A family friend recently moved to the area. It’d be kinda cool to hang out with them!” And they never questioned more than that.

You actually liked working on your assignments up here, his house was quiet and you got to pressure yourself because he was your teacher and instead of procrastinating you should be getting this done for his class. The assignment was simple enough; you had to design a play (based on the theme he’d set) and then write it’s key scene. Producing an essay on why you’d chosen the elements for the piece that you had. You were just glad this wasn’t one of your performance classes – you could get away with anything in the scene if you didn’t have to perform it yourself. Though you were sure Harold would make one or two of you read a little in tutorials. Maybe you could use your relationship to your advantage; Please for the love of God don’t pick me! You knew he would anyway, though. Whilst you were focused on your writing, when he was here and not on campus teaching, he was also typing away on his own composition. When you were taking a break from your own work you got curious enough to wander over and see what Harold was doing, looping your arms around his neck. “What are you working on?” “Oh…” He clasped your hands in his, “Just a pipe dream. It’s been in the works a loooong time…” “Yeaaah,” You pressed your lips to his cheek, settling your head on his shoulder, “But what is it?” “It’s a play.” “Oh? We’re all working on the same thing-!?” You brightened up, scanning a few lines. Even from what was in front of you, you sensed a familiar theme. “Oh my God!” You couldn’t help but grin as you teased him; “Are you just going to steal our work-!?” He laughed, teasing you back, “No-! That’s not it!” You straightened, look disbelieving as Harold tipped his head back to keep his eyes locked with yours; “Ohhh! It totally is-!” “Well only the good ones-! And you’ll get credit-!” You snorted, “Yeah alright, I’ll remember that when I take you to court for copyright.” He narrowed his eyes, “Thing with you is, I could believe you actually would.” “Nah,” you leant down to kiss him, “If you want to steal my shitty ideas that’s fine with me.” “I’m sure they aren’t that bad!” You slipped from his grip, walking backwards and holding his hand until the last second, with a sharp intake of breath. “I wouldn’t be so sure…!” It couldn’t have been more than 20 minutes until he joined you, and you were biting your lip hard again; “Stop watching me!” “I’m here to help you actually.” “Help?” You raised your head, and then tilted it; “A distraction.” “Ahhhh…” He leant forward and brushed his lips to yours, “I hope a welcome one.” You pulled him back to you by his shirt; “Kiss me again and I’ll tell you.” Eventually you did end up throwing ideas around, sitting in his lap with your notebook as Harold held one arm around your waist, stroking his other through your hair. Both thoughts for his play and your own work – Harold just wanted you to be happy with your idea before he watched you spent all your effort on it. Eventually you thought you had it figured out, at least more than just the bare bones that you’d had before – now it had real structure and detail. Although telling him the detail was a step too far, “Don’t tell me! I want a surprise when I mark it-!” You folded your arms with a pout, “Well you’ve basically just told me your entire storyline! Now I’ll know when I see it!” “It’s a work in progress – It’s changed a million times already.” You settled and cuddled into him, peppering his neck and jawline with kisses as you did; “Well at least promise me that I can read it when you finish it? Maybe I could even be in it by that stage!” He chuckled, pulling you in closer; “You’d be the first I cast-!”

*** As at home, your lover had a house in Sydney that wasn’t too far from the beach. It was Friday morning, and Harold was due to drive back for the weekend. You’d started spending more weekends together, although you wouldn’t get the opportunity this one coming. As you weren’t due in class until much later in the day, after class yesterday (your only period, and also his) you’d headed over here. Whilst your assignment was doing a lot better and might almost be complete, his play was still nowhere near finished. Harold liked to recite pieces to you when you were curled up together, sometimes he’d hand you scenes and ask you to read characters and you couldn’t help but see scary parallels between them and conversations that you’d had with him. “Is this… leading somewhere?” “No.” The hand that wasn’t holding the script traced soft patterns over your stomach, “Why?” Your turned your head to him slowly, “Are they us?” “They… are a culmination of… a lot of relationships.” “They talk like we do.” “In this scene, yeah.” He gave a shrug, “In others they’re Roz… and then relationships past.” You shifted visibly at the mention of her name, but understood what he was saying. It was a look at various relationships through the lens of different life stages. Harold drew you closer to him and kissed your forehead gently, “We can stop.” “No, it’s okay, it’s just- The thought of people seeing this or reading it… I guess it’s all a little scary.” You placed the pages on the table and wrapped your arms around his, caressing Harold’s skin as you pressed kisses into his arms. “I promise you if you don’t want this, I’ll take it out,” He continued to kiss your face and you were already smiling again, “still, it’ll be years from now at the rate it’s going.” He finally reached your lips; “I won’t do this without your permission.” “And yet everyone else doesn’t get a say?” “I think that says a little bit more about you, doesn’t it?” You bit your lip gently, before pulling him in again, “Hush, don’t make me yearn for you now…” On Friday morning he woke you early, and suggested going down to the beach while the weather was still good, and it wasn’t so hot and crowded yet. Harold was right, the presence of anyone else was minimal, and you could keep your hand in his almost the whole time you were together. All you could really do was look at him and wish this could in any way be normal. You hadn’t really been joking with him yesterday, you yearned for this to work out. That one day it wouldn’t matter who saw you together, because it would just be that. You’d be together. A dream, and yet one you would never be sure of lasting. Could it realistically last? Even now, hundreds of miles from home he was still wearing a wedding ring, and you were still aware of the fact that he could be yours and still not be yours. You took a deep breath of sea air and closed your eyes, focusing on his hand in yours. On his voice, already planning your next rendezvous… he wanted to take you on a trip somewhere out of the city. Harold’s attention was all yours, all of it was on you, and you needed to remember that; he knew you needed that. How much you craved it, how important his attention was to you when he was about to leave for home again. You could be adult about the relationship you shared, but he knew your emotions were still that of the 20-something you were. Harold knew how to placate that, and the fact he wasn’t about to drop you because of it showed you nothing more than how important this was to him. Maybe for the first time – even though he’d already stayed through your ‘I love you’ confession. By the time you were back to his, the sun was turning up the heat, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity. He’d barely shut the door before you were all over each other – your hands up in Harold’s hair and his kisses all over you. Yet by the time you were to the bedroom you’d significantly cooled off, and it was sweeter, a little slower. You pulled at the strings of your bathing suit to undress for him teasingly; and as ever Harold was receptive to this by the way he whispered your name. Today he loved on you slow and sweet – and it was everything you’d always wanted. He might have had somewhere to be, but there was no time limit here. Not in the safety of his home miles away from anyone that really knew you. No way to be caught out by friends or significant others (who didn’t treat either of you better anyway). You lay together for a while afterwards too, in the gentle afterglow, talking like you always did; about nothing and everything… Until Harold decided that if he wanted to beat any traffic back home he best be heading off and reality dragged you back – as it always did. You may have had him all to yourself here, and for longer than you ever had before, but it was still never enough. By the time you were out of the shower, washing away the tacky ocean air and the heat of the moment, he was ready to leave. With just a towel wrapped around you as you combed through your hair, he entered the bathroom to kiss you goodbye, winding his strong arms around your waist his kisses grazed the shell of your ear before his moustache scratched your cheek as he kissed you again, making you scrunch your face and giggle. “Okay, I best make a move...” Harold’s hands were on your hips and you knew his hesitation. You weren’t in the mood to help him decide to leave you, and so just kept kissing him. But you had to admit to yourself that you were in two minds. Half of you just wanted him to leave so you could get him back quicker, the other half just wanted him to rip this towel from your body and take you to bed once more before he left. You could make a pretty safe bet that both options were going through his head too. Finally he did let you go and pulled away, you were proud of yourself for not whining at him or looking disappointed, you knew Harold had to go and you would let him. Collecting his things up again, Harold paused and turned back to you by the bedroom door; “Lock up when you leave-!” “I will!” “I’ll be back soon, okay, I’m just collecting a few items and checking in...” “Babe, I know, it’s okay.” And it was. Because despite your envy of that wedding band, it was for nothing but show. “Be good.” You couldn’t help but smirk at him; “I will.” “Work hard!” “Certainly-!” “Especially on my stuff-!” “Yes-! Of course! Now go-! Or you’ll get caught in traffic-!” He nodded, and waved you off with one last blown kiss. You gave it a few seconds, but had to call him back, because you’d forgotten something very important; “Oh! Harry!” (for this was the nickname you had designed for him – even though you didn’t use it so often yet… he was warming to it, you were sure!) Harold turned once more; eyes curious. “I love you.” He chuckled, “I know sweetheart. As you keep telling me.” He left you with a soft wink, and you waited to hear the front door close. Somehow that made you smile more. You knew he still wouldn’t say it, not with that ring on his hand… but you also knew he did love you. That was enough, it had to be enough, you had to let it be enough. All you could do now was wait for him to return to you and you could be patient! And yet, you already couldn’t wait to be back in his arms.

All things considered you’d had an amazing weekend hanging with your friends, and in the late evening sunshine you were all sitting in the lounge. There was a movie on but none of you were paying attention to it, more likely to only pay attention when you wanted to chat shit about it. But you were all chatting shit and spilling tea in general – and you’d really missed this all summer. You were lounging on your stomach across the couch, every so often munching on popcorn with your phone sat next to you. Ah, yes, by now you’d exchanged numbers. It was for emergencies only; and you really did mean emergencies. There was no casual texting of any kind; you still didn’t want anyone to be able to trace this. The trail you would leave would be simple texts that wouldn’t mean a thing to anyone else, nothing risqué… not even an ‘I miss you’… It wasn’t even a burner phone; it was your real mobile. And with nothing to take out of context, and nothing to look bad, how could anyone possibly touch you? ‘HH’ flashed up on your phone screen and suddenly hanging out with your friends no longer became fun. HH – for Henry Holland, a designer with a flair for putting H’s on everything, you thought it was about time you wore some of his stuff. Maybe that was a little too obvious. ‘I’m going to be here longer than I thought.’ A million thoughts flashed into your head, and you realised that you couldn’t ask him about any of them. But it worried you instantly – were things okay? Why did he need to stay longer? You weren’t sure what was going on with his family; and you weren’t close enough with Tom to casually ask him how things were, although that was still a number in your phone. Your thoughts began racing – silly things that shouldn’t even be thought about. Had he made up with Roz? Had it all come out? Someway, somehow and everyone back home was firefighting? No – if that was it you couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t get back to your parents, even out of spite. And then your phone really would be blowing up. Maybe he’d move the family out here? You weren’t sure you could see that working either: you’d only just managed to disentangle yourself from your families. You couldn’t imagine either of you wanted to go back to sneaking around (even though you had to admit there was a certain thrill attached to it). What was happening? And why could you only think of every worst case scenario…!? You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, suddenly feeling very dizzy. “Y/N… Y/N, are you okay!?” Your friends suddenly noticed how quiet you were; not to mention your lack of response to their banter. “Y-yeah…” You put on your best smile and turned your mobile over, “Just, overthinking!” You did eventually send a message back, just ‘Okay’ – because it was okay, it was his life. You could sit and be worried and want to call him but you knew you couldn’t. Neither of you were ready for that motion yet. But you didn’t receive anything else, and your first class of the week with him was taken by a substitute. Which had your friends teasing hitting home a little harder than it should; “HAHA! Y/N! What are you gonna do, you can’t drool for an entire lesson?” “Y/N just lost her eye candy.” “Oh my God guys, shut up!!” You laughed, “I can’t help that our best teacher is also hot---!” “That’s about the only reason you pay any attention!!!” “Oh sorry-!” You folded your arms, “At least I actually pay attention!” Although by the end of the lesson they were all agreeing with you – and this was one of the most boring classes you’d ever had the misfortune of sitting in. It made you miss him terribly. ** News of Harold’s return reached you before his text did. Accidently, of course; you were waiting for your tutor appointment when two other lecturers passed you. “I hear Harold got back last night!” “Oh thank GOD-! We can’t afford another week without him-!” “Should be back in tomorrow…” You were immediately elated, and desperate to see him. So when his text came through in the middle of your next class, you couldn’t help smiling like crazy. ‘Hey, I’m back in town. All good here, how are you?’ ‘Good. I’m fine.’ You chewed your lip, and then sent the next part anyway, ‘I’m glad you’re back… I missed you’ It didn’t receive a reply, you didn’t expect it too – you just needed to say it. The first thing you did when you got back on your laptop was book the first appointment with him you could, which had you flying up the stairs to his office the following morning. He laughed as you had to give yourself a minute to catch your breath, “I’m surprised you didn’t drive up yesterday.” “I just wanted to… let you settle back.” “You needn’t have.” Harold cupped your cheeks and touched his forehead gently to yours; you placed your hands over his, unable to stop beaming as the feel of him close to you once more. “Still, thank you for being so considerate.” You stood like that for a further few seconds, comfortable in each other’s presence before he kissed you. Not in the same way as he usually kissed you goodbye in this office. A real kiss, and removing his hands from your face only made you entwine your fingers with his. But you pulled back from him suddenly – which left him more than just a little surprised. Your eyes were wide by this point. You knew what it felt like to hold hands with him; because you always had to contend with a wedding band. You brought Harold’s hands up, removing your fingers from his – you couldn’t have helped your shocked gasp; he was void of one. “Wait, what-?!” He watched your face very carefully, but couldn’t help but smile himself. There was no point in teasing you with this one. “Divorced. Finalising.” You raised your eyes to his; disbelieving. You didn’t hear that – those words didn’t come from his mouth! And even if they did HOW and WHY!? “Shit, what-!?” Harold laughed, “I mean it’s a long story but, more of a test. Something that might sound like one last chance - I said they could move out here. She doesn’t want to leave. I can’t say that it didn’t feel like it was any damn excuse would do.” He shrugged, “Guess I gave her one.” “Wh…What about Tom?” Despite effectively stealing his son’s girlfriend, Harold still had a good relationship with Tom, you didn’t want that to change for him. “He’s a big kid, seems fine. We talked a lot while I was there. Trust me, I think it’s safe to say we all got what we wanted…” He brushed his lips to yours once more, and wound his arms around you pulling you into a tight embrace. “I knew it was over Y/N, I just had to be sure.” You nodded, “I know. I know; I’m not mad. It’s all over… It feels a little, freer now.” You couldn’t be sure it felt like it quite yet, but one big weight had certainly just been lifted off this relationship. If Harold wasn’t married this was no longer an affair, even if it had started that way. He was now free to be in a caring relationship. You were lucky to be that person. You knew that. You were lucky to be the one in his arms right now that he was telling this too. He was yours and you were gonna do your best to take care of him here. Like he always took care of you. Harold couldn’t help but think, as he held you here - your arms around him, holding him like you’d never let go, on where this could be going. On the prospect of planning and building a future with you. It’d be for the long haul, and it wouldn’t be easy – but it was doable. He could see it. It may take time, but Harold hoped you’d see it to. That eventually you’d be ready to talk about things like that… And suddenly he realised, he could say it, he could say ‘I love you’ out loud. He could tell you just like you told him, and he could mean it – although he always had. You were still young, you had time to figure things out. He tipped your chin up so that he could kiss you once more and you gripped him even tighter. It was all about enjoying this moment right here. Harold didn’t have to start again. He already had all he needed.

---

Thank you for reading! 💙💜

#Adore #harold #Harold x Reader #Adoration #163 #Linzi Writes #Laina #Question: Who is more likely to end up happy... This girl or the one with Phil?#Neither? Both?#Smol Bean Drabbles #Part of me feels this is the last part #Part of me really wants to keep going with these two #But don't really know where I can take them that won't end up with a lot of drama!!!

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perfecttimeseleven · 4 years

Link

Perfect Times Eleven Ep. 1 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

REMINGTON

Goddamn it! You really think tying a tie wouldn’t be this hard.

VOICE FROM PHONE

And that, my friends, is how you tie a tie!

REMINGTON

(overlapping)

No! No it’s not! Fuck you!

VOICE FROM PHONE

Hope you found this video helpful. Hit up that “like” button below and don’t forget to subscribe to my channel for more pro bro tips from Menswear Mike! Hang tie-ght. Haha, get it? Just a little joke for ya on this fine Menswear Mike Monday morning.

(REMINGTON grabs her phone and turns the video off.)

REMINGTON

Shit. Ah.. maybe if... nope. That’s worse. Is that a zit? God hates me.

(exhales)

My name is Remington Long and I am here because I hear eleven voices in my head and a teacup chihuahua tried to claw my eye out — no. That’s too on the nose.

(pauses)

My name is Remington Long! How are you? I’m perfectly sane! Fuck. Uh...yeah, no. I’m already talking to a mirror. Who’s gonna believe that? Okay. My name is Remington Long, and oh, heavenly therapist, please bestow the blesséd knowledge upon me so I can maybe, maaaaybe have a shot at normal life. Except, y’know, my life’s already fine, except sometimes animals attack me, I guess, like the chihuahua from yesterday. So I actually don’t know why the hell my parents are paying you. But yes! My name is Remington Long and I’m here for a heaping helping of therapy! Fuck yeah! Ugh.

(1. Therapy Upstate.)

REMINGTON

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

IT’S UNFAIR TO ME. Here, I’ll give it to ya straight —

WELL, KIDS, YOU KNOW YOUR PARENTS THINK YOU’RE REALLY PSYCHO

WHEN YOU’RE FORCED TO HIKE OVER TO DELAWARE COUNTY FOR

THERAPY UPSTATE.

I’VE LIVED FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS LIKE THIS! I THINK I’VE GOT THE HANG OF IT BY NOW.

DON’T NEED SOME PRETENTIOUS PRICK’S USELESS SHIT ABOUT MEDITATION OR HOW

TALKING ABOUT MY FEELINGS WILL MAKE EVERYTHING SO, SO MUCH BETTER!

PLUS, HE’LL PROBABLY BE OLD AND WEAR ROUND GLASSES AND A TARTAN SWEATER.

Ugh, I can see it already, HE’LL SAY

”TELL ME ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS” AND I’LL BE LIKE ”ERR, I GOT NONE!”

AND THEN WE’LL JUST SIT, STARE AT EACH OTHER FOR A BIT

IN SILENCE TILL THE SESSION IS DONE.

Plot twist! WE’LL. FALL IN LOVE

HE’LL TREAT ME WELL BUT I’LL GET HIM FIRED

FOR HAVING RELATIONS WITH A MINOR —

Wait. No. I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. Shit.

A WHOLE ASS ADULT BEING MADE TO GO TO

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

WHERE THERE’S TONS OF TREES AND ALL THE STORES CLOSE AFTER EIGHT.

I’M JUST CONSIDERING EVERY POSSIBLE SCENARIO IN AN ATTEMPT TO PREPARE ME,

SO I WON’T HAVE TO GO TO MORE THERAPY UPSTATE.

SO I’VE GOT VOICES IN MY HEAD! WELL, I CAN STILL HAPPILY EXIST!

I CAN’T EVEN HEAR THEM IF I KEEP THIS TACKY BRACELET ON MY WRIST.

AND EVEN WHEN I DO, THEY JUST...REPEAT ELEVEN RANDOM WORDS.

(REMINGTON unclasps her bracelet and it drops to the ground.)

REMINGTON’S VOICES

(jumbled and overlapping)

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS

REMINGTON

See? THEY AREN’T THAT ANNOYING AND THEY’RE QUITE EASY TO IGNORE

JUST LIKE REAL-LIFE PEOPLE THAT TO ME, KINDA BORE.

WHAT WOULD THIS THERAPIST KNOW THAT I DON’T ALREADY

ABOUT WHAT I’VE DEALT WITH MY ENTIRE LIFE? OH, YES, I’M FEELING PETTY ABOUT

THERAPY! THERAPY UPSTATE.

THEY SAY THIS IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE

BUT I’M AN INDEPENDENT MAN WHO DON’T NEED NO MAN

TO SHARE ALL MY CARES WITH AT THERAPY UPSTATE.

I KNOW I’M A BURDEN! I DON’T WANNA BECOME MORE OF ONE!

STOP THROWING MONEY AT THIS! IT WILL NOT GO AWAY.

SAVE THOSE FUNDS FOR MY COLLEGE, OR, BETTER YET, ACKNOWLEDGE

THAT I WON’T GO TO COLLEGE, AND THAT IS OKAY!

I CAN BE NORMAL! I’LL DO FINE! I PROMISE! I PROMISE! I PROMISE.

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

YOUR PARENTS SEE YOU CAN’T HANDLE YOURSELF...HOW GREAT.

IT’S A MARK ON THE CALENDAR TO CONFIRM THEY’VE RAISED

A DISAPPOINTMENT, A HOPELESS, CRAZED

FREAK WHO THEY HAVE TO CODDLE, WHO AIN’T GOING ANYWHERE AT THIS RATE!

OH, PLEASE HAVE SOME HOPE IN ME!

I DON’T NEED HELP TO COPE, YOU SEE!

DON’T WRITE SOMETHING FRIGHTFUL

ON MY PERMANENT RECORD OR I’LL NEVER GET A JOB I DON’T HATE!

OH, PLEASE, DON’T SEND ME TO THERAPY UPSTATE!

ACT ONE

SCENE TWO

DR. MORELLO

Yes, uh, hello, Remington.

DAISY

Remington? That’s fucking wack! Remy, like the rat!

DR. MORELLO

Daisy. Language!

REMINGTON

Uh, hi.

DAISY

I’m Daisy, Ratatouille!

DR. MORELLO

My name is Dr. Morello.

REMINGTON

Yeah, uh, my parents told me about you.

DR. MORELLO

Good. This wasn’t what you expected, was it, dear?

REMINGTON

Oh. Uh, no. Don’t get me wrong, this is a very nice house, but yeah. Like I was expecting some really clinical looking...space? You are also not what I expected, but, uh, in a good way! This...is also...such a warm color scheme I’d never have imagined...

(catches herself going off topic)

It is very nice to meet you, Dr. Morello! How can you help with the, uh, voices in my head thing?

(pauses)

Shit. Sorry. I mean, shit, oh sh-...sorry. Shouldn’t have cursed. I didn’t mean like you’re seeking me out to help me, I’m the one seeking your help —

DAISY

You’re making it worse, nerd.

REMINGTON

Yeah, also there’s, uh, Daisy? Um, there’s children here. Didn’t expect that. Who? Why? Uh, who’s the other one?

DR. MORELLO

Ohh! Yes —

REMINGTON

Yes, there’s children here.

DR. MORELLO

Yes, yes. Remington, I would like you to meet my other patients. Come over here! Be polite!

JAY

Ugh.

DAISY

I said hi to her already!

JAY

Hi, I guess.

REMINGTON

Okay, I can respect a girl with a well-defined aesthetic —

JAY

Then why are you dressed like a sad lawyer?

DR. MORELLO

Kids, this is Remington’s first appointment, and you both know what that means.

DAISY

(bored)

I’ll get the fear-puke bucket.

REMINGTON

The what?

DAISY

Wait. Hold the phone. Hold on. Remington Long...Are you the kid who got attacked by the...

JAY

Oh, wait, yeah! Shiiiiiit!

(DAISY and JAY try to contain their laughter.)

DAISY

...teacup chihuahua?

(JAY doubles down in laughter.)

REMINGTON

(unamused)

Yeah. Nice to meet you.

DR. MORELLO

Kids, be nice. Okay, now this is Jay.

(DAISY and JAY calm down.)

REMINGTON

Who’s already mocked me twice. Good start. Hello.

JAY

(clears throat a little)

Hey —

DR. MORELLO

(interrupting)

Now that that’s out of the way —

DAISY

(exiting)

Fear-puke bucket time!

REMINGTON

Okay, what does that mean?

DR. MORELLO

(ignoring her)

— let’s get down to business. Now — That bracelet on your wrist. It’s the accessory you use to block the voices out, yes?

REMINGTON

Yeah.

DR. MORELLO

And when you take it off, can you describe what these voices are like?

REMINGTON

There’s like, a lot of them, and they just say words, I guess. It’s overlapping and each voice says a word, and then that just repeats, like, I don’t know, over and over, like —

JAY

Like a broken record in your brain.

REMINGTON

...Yeah. What she said.

(turning back to DR. MORELLO)

Wait, so all your patients have the same problem?

DR. MORELLO

Essentially, yes.

(pauses)

Of course, I do too.

REMINGTON

What?

(DAISY enters with a big yellow bucket, which she plunks in front of REMINGTON.)

DAISY

Fear-puke bucket time.

JAY

It’s always more like panic attack puke, if anything —

DAISY

Yeah, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it.

REMINGTON

What’s this for?

DAISY/JAY

Just in case.

REMINGTON

Of what?

DR. MORELLO

Remington, this isn’t some disease or disorder. You see, ah, living things have a soul, right?

REMINGTON

Okay, yeah, I guess?

DR. MORELLO

Well, souls don’t die with the living thing. They go on to inhabit another body.

REMINGTON

Reincarnation?

DR. MORELLO

Yes, some call it that. A transference of energy. A shift of...ah, physical matter around an entity, a...crowding of energies for space, a—

REMINGTON

Wack.

DR. MORELLO

Wack indeed, Remington.

REMINGTON

So my voices are some byproduct of, like, reincarnation?

DAISY

Sorta.

DR. MORELLO

If the soul lives a good, fulfilling, pure life — at least, as the books say — such a thing -- a “pure life” -- is hard to define, it gets reincarnated as human.

REMINGTON

And if it doesn’t?

JAY.

It turns into an animal.

REMINGTON

Damn, that’s rough.

DAISY

(to JAY)

She’s taking this surprisingly well.

DR. MORELLO

People who hear these voices are people whose souls have been reincarnated as human for several lifetimes in a row. The voices are remnants of previous human lives.

REMINGTON

So what you’re saying is voices mean there’s, like, dead people in your head?

DR. MORELLO

That’s putting it a little crassly, but...yes.

REMINGTON

So...there’s dead people in your head?

DR. MORELLO

Yes.

REMINGTON

All of you?

DAISY/JAY

Yeah.

REMINGTON

Me?

JAY

(a little irritated)

Yes!

REMINGTON

So this is some kind of therapy for dead-people-in-your-head...people? Fine. But why do these dead people say random words? Does it all mean anything? Am I just really stupid and not connecting some obvious dots?

JAY

Yes.

(DR. MORELLO stands up. 2. Dead-People-In-Your-Head People.)

DR. MORELLO

NOW, A SOUL MOVES FROM BODY TO BODY,

BUT EACH LIFE LEAVES ITS TRACE.

A SINGLE WORD FOR EACH HUMAN

TOO OFTEN THOUGHT ABOUT TO ERASE

NOW WHEN SOULS HAVE BEEN REINCARNATED

AS HUMAN SEVERAL TIMES IN A ROW

IT GETS TO THE EXTENT WHERE THE SOUL IS SO HUMAN,

ITS HOST HEARS ECHOES OF LONG AGO.

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

EVERYONE’S GOT DEAD PEOPLE IN THEIR HEADS, PEOPLE!

JAY

ONLY WE’RE THE LUCKY BASTARDS WHO CAN HEAR ‘EM.

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

THERE’S NO WAY TO MAKE ‘EM GO AWAY!

DAISY

NO MAGIC PILL, POTION, OR SERUM!

JAY

SO USE THEM TO YOUR ADVANTAGE IF YOU’RE NOT A LITTLE BITCH —

DR. MORELLO

Jay!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WE’RE ALL DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE

DAISY

AND THOUGH IT SOUNDS A BIT DARK,

WE’VE JUST INHERITED SOULS FROM PURE AND WHOLESOME

FOLKS WHO’D CLEAN UP LITTER IN THE PARK!

REMINGTON

OH, SO USE THEM TO YOUR ADVANTAGE SINCE THEY’RE ALL LITTLE BITCHES —

DR. MORELLO

No! WHAT JAY MEANT IS WE CAN LEARN FROM THEM.

YOU’LL FIND THEY’RE NO MYSTERY!

IF YOU

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

CONCENTRATE ON ONE WORD,

DR. MORELLO

YOU CAN UNLOCK A HISTORY.

WE’RE TIES BETWEEN GENERATIONS

WHO OBSERVE AND PRESERVE

THIS SOUL’S UNTAINTED PURITY

SO WE GET THE NEXT LIFE WE DESERVE!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WHEN YOU’RE DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

No pressure, but your past lives all were really good...

WE’RE SORTA RARE, SO WE’D SORTA CARE

TO NOT GO EXTINCT...UNDERSTOOD?

DR. MORELLO

SO WE ALL CONSIDER BEING MORE SELFLESS...

JAY

NOTE THE KEY WORD THERE IS “CONSIDER”!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WHEN YOU’RE DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

YOU’RE WORKING FOR A HIGHER PURPOSE!

THERE’S SO MUCH MORE TO EXPLORE;

WE’VE BARELY SCRATCHED THE SURFACE!

BUT, BEFORE WE START, HERE’S THE MILLION DOLLAR QUESTION...

DR. MORELLO

How many voices are in your head?

REMINGTON

Eleven.

DAISY

Holy shit.

JAY

Are you sure you’ve counted right?

REMINGTON

Yeah, I’m fucking sure I’ve counted right after 18 years of counting! What’s so weird about eleven?

JAY

Nothing. You just beat my record of ten.

REMINGTON

SO I GUESS I’M A

DEAD-PERSONS-IN-MY-HEAD PERSON!

I’M GLAD TO BE JOINING THE TEAM.

I’LL TRY TO CALMLY ACCEPT I’M AN ANOMALY

AND NOT FEAR-PUKE OR SCREAM!

I’M READY TO GET STARTED WITH THIS THERAPY!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

Yeah!

SHE’S A DEAD-PERSONS-IN-HER-HEAD PERSON

JAY

Having eleven isn’t problematic at all!

DAISY

SHUT UP, YOU CUCK!

PETER

IT’S JUST OUR LUCK

THAT YOUR PARENTS GAVE ME THAT CALL

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

‘CAUSE NOW, YOU’RE HERE WITH US!

ALL

AND WE’RE ALL

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE!

EACH HOUSING A VERY NICE SOUL.

THOUGH WE’VE GOT DIFFERENT NUMBERS,

WE’RE ALL PARTS OF A WHOLE!

DR. MORELLO

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

DR. MORELLO/JAY

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

DR. MORELLO/JAY/DAISY

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE...

REMINGTON

THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN MY HEAD!

DR. MORELLO/JAY/DAISY

OH YES, THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

WHY STRESS? THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

GOD BLESS! THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

#transcript #px11 #perfect times eleven #Remington long #Rupert morello #jay mazziotta #daisy noxx #episode 1

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thehomeforthehopelessromantics · 4 years

Text

After All This Time Part III:

Blu’s POV

Too far, bro. Way too far.

A irritated look crossed over my face as I watched the movie The Perfect Date on Netflix. The main guy was being a jerk and it was getting on my nerves. I knew it would get better, but still I couldn’t stop annoyance from running through me.

I grabbed another handful of popcorn and stuffed my mouth as Cole came out of his room, fully dressed.

“Where you going?” I asked as I swallowed the popcorn.

“I’m gonna get him another bag of gummy bears. He’s out and we both know he needs them,” Cole said, glancing at Dalton’s shut door in worry. Honestly, I was so used to being the one with a miserable love life that seeing Dalton like this was bothering me more than anything. He’s done nothing but go to class, come home, lock himself in his room and eat gummy bears, the only thing he claims makes him feel better when he’s sad. All I can think is that he won’t feel better when he has to go to the dentist for cavities. Still, I wanted him to grow up and talk to Neo, but I tried suggesting that and almost got my head ripped off so I learned the hard way to butt out of it.

Cole went to the door and opened it before letting out a shocked, “What are you doing here?”

I craned my neck to see who he was talking to, but the door was blocking my view. Who is that?

“Oh thank god, you guys still live here,” I heard a distinctly female voice say in relief while every bone in my body tensed up. “Can I come in? Please? This is really important.”

On autopilot I stood and started towards the door.

There’s no way.

“I don’t think that’s a good-“

“Please, Cole. You know I wouldn’t have shown up if it wasn’t important,” I heard the voice beg and I finally saw (Y/N) standing there in a baby blue sweater with a faded dog on it and a pair of jeans. Her pleading eyes looked over at me and it knocked the wind out of me.

“No way,” I whispered in awe. She was here. Standing outside my apartment. Asking to come in. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“(Y/N), I really think that you should g-“ Cole started and abruptly stopped at the sharp look I cut him. “Actually, I-I’m just gonna go to the store. I’ll be back soon.” He buzzed past her, obvious not wanting to be apart of this conversation anymore.

My eyes went back to her, standing in front of me suddenly looking very nervous. We stood there in silence for a while, her staring at her feet and me staring at her.

“I umm..” she started, before swallowing thickly. “I didn’t... it didn’t occur to me that you’d be home. I really didn’t think this through.” Her hand dove into her curls and I had to stop myself from thinking of playing with her hair in the early morning or when we were watching a movie, or pulling on it during-

Jesus get it together, Blu.

“If you didn’t think I’d be home then why are you here?”

“I came to talk to Dalton.” Unintentionally my heart sank. So much for hoping she wanted to apologize and try again, huh? Stupid thing to wish for.

I tried not to let it shake me too much as I crossed my arms, leaning against the door frame. “Dalton? What do you wanna talk to him about?”

***

Y/N’s POV

“Dalton? What do you wanna talk to him about?” He asked, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms, looking effortless gorgeous to a point where it was slightly irritating.

“About Neo,” I finally said, after I forced myself to stop gawking at him. “He’s miserable and I’ve tried everything else, and I don’t know what to do now. So I’m here.” I let out a deep sigh, eyes moving around to look at anything but him. I really, really hadn’t thought this through. If I did it’d have occurred to me that Blu would be here and that I might have to talk to him and that all this was a bad idea in the making.

“Neo is my best friend in the whole world, Blu. And he really likes Dalton and...” I raised my eyes to look at him and he stood there in the same position as before, face unreadable. “Neo shouldn’t be hurting because I can’t get my love life together. Dalton had every right to call me a bitch and-“

“He still shouldn’t have done it,” he said almost bitterly, clenching his jaw. “You’re not a bitch, Y/N.”

I need him to never say my name again. It sounded too soft and pretty leaving his lips and it makes me wanna kiss him and he needs to not say it again but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to hear it again.

“That isn’t the argument I came to get into, but for the record, any girl who does to you what I did will always be a bitch in the eyes of your best friends.” And to herself.

“Y/N, stop. He still shouldn’t have-“

“Can you please stop doing that?” I almost begged, screwing my eyes shut to contain myself.

“Stop doing what?”

“God,” I said exasperatedly, eyes still shut as I threw my head back slightly. “Please. Stop. Saying. My. Name.”

“Stop saying your name?” He asked and I open my eyes to see that he was no longer against the door frame, but was bracing himself on it on either side of him. “Why?”

“Just... Stop. Please,” I scowled at the rawness that had found home in my voice. A look that I wasn’t sure what it meant crossed his face and I decided I’d had enough. I took a deep breath to reset myself before setting my face into a hard look. “Look, I came here to talk to Dalton. Not you. So are you gonna let me in so I can do what I came here for or not?” I snapped, putting a hand on my hip.

He paused for a second, looking me up and down before meeting my eyes with a smirk. “Not.”

Before I could comprehend what he was saying, he was trying to shut the door in my face. Without thinking I jammed my foot in between, grinding my teeth at the pain that shot through it as the door made contact with my foot.

“Shit,” I winced and the door was promptly opened again. I knelt down and held my foot in my hands as if that would help.

“Are you crazy? What the hell are you doing? I could’ve just broken your foot,” he scolded, looking at me like I was insane. Maybe I was, but I really couldn’t bring myself to care.

“I’m well aware,” I seethed, through gritted teeth. “I hope now you understand just how far I’m willing to go to get in and talk to him.” I flexed my foot a bit, before standing to see if I could still stand on it, thanking the gods that I could. “I’m not messing around when I say that if you shut this door on me again I’m gonna break it. I’m not here for me, I’m here for Neo and that makes all the difference in the world.”

“You’d really do anything to get in here and talk to him, huh?” he said in awe, with a look in his eye that should’ve made me more nervous than anything, but instead I was intrigued.

“I think the foot that you almost broke is a testament to that,” I agreed, crossing my arms under my chest. I saw his eyes flash there for a moment before coming back to my eyes. “So? What’s it gonna take? You gonna let me in or not?”

“I want 10 minutes,” he said with absolute surety and I scrunched my face in confusion. “I want 10 minutes. I want to talk to you about what happened between us.”

“You’re bullshitting me,” I said almost immediately. There’s no way I could do that. I’d managed to stay away from him for over a year now. 10 minutes? It’d totally destroy everything I fought myself to do.

“That’s my price for getting in here. You wanna talk to Dalton, I want 10 minutes. Deal?” He offered a hand for me to shake and I just eyed him skeptically.

“No way.” I slapped his hand away and rolled my eyes at him. “You’re crazy. That was a year ago. What’s left to talk about?”

“A year and seven months, actually,” he corrected and I felt my jaw drop. Why does he remember that? He stepped outside of the door frame and closer to me, so close I knew I’d leave here smelling like his cologne. “And something tells me that you know as well as I do that there’s a lot left to talk about.” His voice dropped an octave as he spoke. He slowly reached out and tucked a stray curl behind my ear and my skin felt like it was on fire.

“Blu,” I whispered breathlessly. Seeing that I hadn’t shied away from his touch, he took it upon himself to place a gentle hand on my cheek.

“All I’m asking for,” he stepped even closer to where our bodies almost touched. I could have leaned up and kissed him if I wanted to, “is 10 minutes.”

I slapped his hand away again and stepped back, needing the dizziness of being that close to him again to go away. Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. Trying to rid myself of the haze. “Fine. You get 10 minutes.”

A grin wider than I’d ever seen spread on his face.

“But,” I continued, seeing the happiness in his eyes falter for moment. “You only get them if Neo and Dalton make up. If I leave here after talking to him and nothing changes then no dice. Deal?” I offered a hand, ready to get this over with and finally go talk to Dalton.

A satisfied smirk crossed his face as he grabbed my hand. “Deal.”

***

“Get out of here,” Dalton snarled at me as I tentatively entered his room.

“Dalton-“

“I said leave.” His face might’ve been buried in a pillow but I could hear every ounce of seriousness in his voice. A small part of me recoiled. I hadn’t had a proper conversation with Dalton since me and Blue stop speaking. I remember him being goofy and friendly, instantly making me feel welcome wherever we were. It made me miss the days when we were friends. Y’know before I went and broke his best friends heart.

“Just listen to m-“

“Get the fuck out!” He screamed, finally moving from being face down on his bed to face me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I screamed back, straighten out my posture and staring at him firmly.

“How the hell did you get in here anyway?”

“Blu let me in,” I said, trying to keep my resolve under his hateful glare.

He let out a loud scoff and rolled his eyes that I noticed were slightly puffy. Had he been crying? “Of course he did. God,” he ran a hand through his already tousled hair, “I wish he’d get over you already.” He paused to look me square in the eye. “You’re not worth it.”

Clenching my jaw, I shut his door and leaned against it. “I agree,” I said calmly, shrugging my shoulders, moving to sit cross cross on the floor near the door.

“What?” He asked roughly, sounding thrown off.

“I said I agree.” I looked at him firmly. If I remembered anything about Dalton it was that he doesn’t take well to someone who cowers at him. If you want to talk to him you’re gonna have to put your foot down. “I don’t think I’m worth it either. We both agree that Blu would be much better off if he forgot about me entirely.”

“You... believe that?” He asked disbelievingly. I know he intended upon hurting my feelings (and definitely succeeded) but he couldn’t hurt me too bad when I agreed with him.

“Try not sound so shocked,” I mumbled. “Why else do you think I left him? You really think it’s cause I wanted to?” I said softly, a trace of regret and sadness lingering in my voice. The words left my lips before I could stop myself. Dalton was always easy to talk to and it appears that old habits die hard. I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip as Dalton stared at me with surprise written on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I chastised. “Besides that’s not what I came here to talk to you about.”

“It’s not?” He asked, voice lowering from his previously raised tone.

“I have other people I can cry to about my poor love life choices, Dalton.” I deadpanned.

“Then why are you here? To see me hating the world? Alone and miserable,” he mumbled the last part to himself, probably thinking I wouldn’t hear it.

“I’m here to talk about Neo,” I said, staring at him to gauge his reaction to Neo’s name. To my delight, I saw a flicker of interest in his eyes.

Bingo.

“What about Neo? Is he okay?” He drew his eyebrows together, face contorting in concern.

“Not at all,” I sighed. “He’s been walking around for the last month moping. He’s stopped eating as much, he barely talks to me anymore when he comes home, he just goes in his room and blasts sad music for hours and I just can’t take it anymore.” I let my head bang against the door as I lifted my eyes to the ceiling. “All I want is him happy and right now he isn’t and I’d do anything to change that.”

“(Y/N) what are you trying to say?” He asked, voice barley above a whisper. Looking back at him, I saw he was now sitting on the edge of the best, gripping his comforter for dear life, breathing getting more and more shallow by the second.

“He misses you, Dalton,” I said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like c’mon, why else would I show up here if it wasn’t for Neo?

“Bullshit,” he hissed almost immediately. “If he misses me so much why hasn’t he called?”

“For the same reason you haven’t called him,” I fired back and he closed his mouth staring at me, looking conflicted.

After a few beats of silence and a mini stare off, he let his whole body sag. “He really misses me?” He asked, sounding sublimely insecure. A part of me wanted to go and give him a hug, but I knew that he’d have my head on a silver spike.

“Would I have come here if he didn’t?” A sarcastic laugh escaped my throat. “I wouldn’t have put myself through seeing Blu again if it wasn’t for a good reason, Dalton.”

He stared at me for a second before nodding his head. “I believe you.”

I felt a small smile grow on my face. Him believing me meant that my coming here wasn’t a waste of time. It meant that there was a chance that him and Neo would make up and I could stop feeling like the worlds worst best friend.

“I have a question,” he asked, sounding more hesitant than he had throughout this entire conversation. “And don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Don’t say stuff like that. You’ll make me nervous,” I joked, trying to stop my head from racing with all the questions he could ask right now.

“I’m serious, (Y/N). This isn’t a joke to me.”

“You’re seriously making me nervous now. What is it?”

“Do you still love him?” He asked it as if it was the simplest question in the world meanwhile I couldn’t even breathe. I clamped my jaw shut and stared at him hard, silently begging him to take it back. To not ask me that. “You do, don’t you?” He asked again when he felt like I’d take too long to respond.

I shook my head wordlessly before letting my head drop. “Yeah,” I whispered, defeatedly. “I’ve tried not to, but don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to stop.”

“If you love him then why did you leave him?”

The question hung in the air and he might as well have put his hands around my neck and squeezed because breathing was the only thing I couldn’t do at the moment.

He let out a weary sigh and my eyes flicked to him. “When we came home that day he was just standing there, frozen. We finally got him to talk to us, he just collapsed and starting crying and saying ‘this can’t be happening’ over and over again. You really hurt him, y’know.”

“I know,” I whispered, seeing Blu’s devastated face from that night flash before my eyes. “Dalton, I know you probably hate me for what I did, but you should know that leaving him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Both mulling over our friends and love lives. “Can you...” I started, pausing unsure if I should ask this of him. “Can you not tell him what I said? I really don’t want him to know any of this.”

“You don’t want the guy you’re in love with to know you’re in love with him?” He asked incredulously. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not joking. He really doesn’t have to know this.”

“He’s my best friend, you know I have to tell him.”

“You really don’t.”

“I’m not you, I can’t hide stuff from my best friend.”

“Don’t even go there,” I glared, thinking about if it’d be worth it to slap the smirk off his face . “You have no idea why I didn’t tell Neo.”

“Then enlighten me.”

“Since when do I answer to you?”

“And since when do I have to follow your requests?”

“Since I started begging,” I bargained. “Please, please don’t tell him. If he really has to know any of this can it at least come from me?”

“How do I know you’re not gonna just lie to him and say you don’t want him again?”

“Because lying to him a second time might kill me.” I ran a hand through my curls. “Just promise me you’ll let me tell him.”

He contemplated it for a moment before silently nodding his head. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I got up off the floor and grabbed the doorknob, satisfied and prepared to leave.

“I’ll uh...” Dalton started and I turned to look at him, puzzled. “I’ll see you around... bug.”

A smile spread across my face at hearing the old affectionate nickname. “I never thought I’d miss hearing you call me that.”

“I never thought I’d call you that again,” he countered with a small smile. “Now get out of here, before I throw up with the sappy look that you’re giving me.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, shaking my head and opening the door. I almost expected to see Blu waiting in the living room for me but instead it was Cole.

“So did you get what you came for?” He asked with a knowing smile.

“You sly bastard, you were listening weren’t you?”

“Possibly,” he shrugged, leaning back on the couch, spreading his arms out over the back. “Don’t worry, Blu isn’t home. He left saying something about needing to distract himself.”

I gave him a relieved look. “Thank god... so I’ll see you around?”

“If all goes well,” he mused. The grin on his face made me smile without meaning to. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. But you better tell him.”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice anymore, huh?”

***

Blu’s POV

I’m gonna kill Dalton. It’s been two weeks since (Y/N) showed up here and he hasn’t called Neo. Two. Weeks. He starts talking about him everyday and talks about how much he misses him, but won’t freaking call him.

Today he came home from class giddy and I’d thought that maybe he’d grown up and called him finally, but nope.

He saw him.

Across the quad.

And didn’t say anything to him.

I’m. Gonna. Scream.

Maybe it’s selfish how much I want him to talk to Neo, but it’s not just for my good. It’s for his. The fact that I get to finally talk to (Y/N) when they do make up is just a plus to my best friend being happy.

I had every intention of talking to him and telling him to grow a set basically but when I went into his room he was staring at a something on his phone. Moving quickly before he could turn it off, I snatched it out of his hand.

“Hey,” he exclaimed reaching for the phone that I pulled out of glass. “Give that back!”

“Dalton,” I sighed, shutting my eyes in disbelief. “Are you really in here staring at Neo’s contact instead of just calling him.” I looked at him and he cowered slightly, letting his eyes drop. “This is pathetic, dude. Just call him.”

“I can’t just-“

“Yes you can.”

“No I-“

“Yes, you can,” I emphasized, sitting down on his bed next to him. “15 seconds of insane courage man. See what happens.”

“What if he doesn’t answer?” He debated, looking down at the phone in my hand. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it if he doesn’t answer. It’d be even worse if he did and didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Dude, (Y/N)’s his best friend. What would she tell you to do if she were here?”

“(Y/N) has her own battles to fight,” he said pointedly, suggesting that she should be more worried about me and not Dalton and Neo’s relationship. I silent wished that that’s how it was but it’s not and I glared at him for reminding me of that.

“Well she won’t fight that battle unless you and Neo make up.” I shoved the phone back in his hand. “So if you won’t do it for yourself, call him for me. I can’t get my girl back if you two don’t make up.”

For a second to thought he was gonna slap the taste out of my mouth for calling her my girl, but to my surprise he didn’t. He just sighed. “Fine. I’ll call him.”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, practically jumping off the bed, pumping my fist in the air.

“But you’ve got to get out of here. This conversation isn’t gonna need witnesses,” he gulped and I know I shouldn’t be I just grinned at him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be fine,” I beamed and for the first time in a long time, I believed it.

With a shaky breath, Dalton nodded and I gave his shoulder a squeeze before leaving the room to go sit in the living room. I wasn’t moving until I heard if they made up or not, so I turned on the TV and tried to watch something, but instead my mind kept wandering back to (Y/N) and holding her in my arms and being happy and in love and kissing her.

God, I missed kissing her.

She was so soft and sweet and tasted like peaches because of the lip balm she uses. I miss her desperate grip on my hair when things got heated and her soft moans when I kissed her neck and just the feeling of her on top of me-- or under me.

I really need my girl back.

I don’t know how long I sat there losing myself in the thought of her, but Dalton finally came out of his room, fully dressed. I raised an eyebrow, silently asking him where he was headed.

“I umm...” he blushed, scratching the back of his neck. “Neo asked me to come pick him up from the library. We’re gonna go to Delights and then catch a movie.”

A wide smile came across my face. “So, you’re going on a date?” He nodded shyly, everything about him oozing excitement. He threw on a jacket and threw a simple, “see you later” over his shoulder and that’s when it hit me.

Jumping up, I got dressed in the first thing I could find in my closet and darted out the door.

***

(Y/N)’s POV

5 new messages

OMG! DALTON CALLED ME! GOING ON A DATE TONIGHT! HAVE TO RAIN CHECK SPA NIGHT! LOVE YOU!

I smiled at my phone as I went as I threw on an oversized t-shirt and shorts before going to my room and turning on some music. Around 15 minutes into my dancing around the apartment, the doorbell rang. I scrunched my face trying to think if I had ordered food or something.

Opening it, I was met face to face with a hopeful looking Blu, who seemed to just be bursting at the seams. I couldn’t stop a shocked look from crossing my face as I stared at him.

“W-What are you doing here?” “I’m here to collect.” “Collect?” I tilted my head in confusion and the smile on his face only grew if that was even possible.

“Neo and Dalton made up,” he said confidently, shoving his hands in his jean pockets, “I’m here for my 10 minutes.”

// @jermeeeeee

#imagine #crush #crush imagines #crush x reader #angst imagine #i love him #i love her #I love you #best friends #ex lover #lovers to strangers #strangers to lovers #imagines

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bionicdragonguardian1 · 4 years

Text

Ranma 2/4

Part Two: Chapter 13 - 25

Unless someone comes up with a better name I’m sticking with this one

HOW tf is the principal crazier than before?!

Yup, spreading out the Kuno-Principal thing

Is Sasuke seriously an anime-only?!?

Like I said Ryoga needs to chill a little first

Main reason I don’t like Ukyo That scene where she blatantly states she’s fine with turning Ranma into something he’s not rather than helping him

(Ignoring the near constant amount of undermining his abilities)

“I’m gonna cheer him up” as she holds a sword! Why?!

Ranma you dummy, hug Akane!

I hate this demon/ghost cat

Shampoo, you manipulative bitch

Akane learns to swim like a normal person

The lifeguard in me can’t do it

The principal is background shenanigans

Totally forgot about the kid who wants to play video games and is “weak” bc of it

Definitely need to find a different reason tho

Lazy little shits are a pain

Also his mom is crap

Akane… why you be dumb?

Weird Happosai is Santa plot…

What is with the Excalibur meets lucky 1000 meets fairy godmother?

Good news is, with what I’ve done to Kuno’s understanding of Ranma’s curse Ranma knows Kuno wouldn’t give him that wish and calls it quits sooner

Someone just needs to explain Ranma’s really confusing sense of morality to me

Cuz it’s either on 110% or it’s nonexistent, now normally nonexistent is for Kuno but still

Look Ranma’s got ego problems but he ain’t stupid

No betting the Tendo Dojo at five!

On what planet is that a legal document?!?

Some1 tell me why Shampoo using Ranma as a stop ramp bugs me so bad

That mo when you can’t remember if the Hot Spring Challenge is when Ukyo met Shampoo in the anime…

I don’t think so…

Akane you made me need to google a word

That like never happens Ranma you idiot

So close but so far

So much more logic, thanks

I mean more insanity, but it explains why Ranma swapped clothes

Finally! Ranma apologizes

Jesus Christ someone would think I won the goddamn lotto with how loud I cheered when this happened

600% approve of this over what happened in the anime

Oof poor Ranma

Hahahaha in your face Shampoo, but I also think I know why Ranma chose it

Poor Ryoga

I KNEW this guy was coming I still hate it

YEET you can’t PAY ME to do this arc

Look, is it the fact that I had etiquette and dance classes as a child and everyone assumed this is what it was like? Probably.

It wasn’t so I won’t.

Any1 else notice how Nabiki is one of the few ppl that uses she/her when Ranma is in his cursed form no matter what?

Why does this bug me?

Akane, stop beating Ranma up, honestly

This is closer to abuse rather than teasing

*sighs*

Gotta work that out of the narrative, intentional or not

Every1 sayin she’s violent isn’t helping

Like I said really fucking morally GREY Nabiki

How grey can you go before you get black?

Let’s find out together

Can everyone PLEASE stop treating Ranma like an object?!

I literally can’t tell if Nabiki is fucking Aro or not…

STRESS

Why is this so hard?!

I hate seeing Akane cry

I know she’s playing Ranma like a kazoo, but the point still stands

WHY ARE YOU TWO SO DUMB?!

Nope, nevermind it’s just Ranma that’s a fuckin idiot I blame Genma

No, I’m not kidding

*sighs* I don’t condone Nabiki doing this in any way just for the record THAT’S not an apology Ranma!

This mess is totally your fault Nabiki

STRESS

am I intentionally pointing out where this work of fiction is stressing me out since I’m now online schooling and suffering for it? Yes, fuck off.

Actually, don’t.

But Fuck Covid19

Aww his hat’s back!

Why do I love his hat so much?

No, seriously Akane’s so cute!

Oooww tree

y’know the sec she realized what Ranma was doing Nabiki should’ve TOLD him!

Congrats Ranma ya got the wrong sis- I mean the right- but wrong- dammit y’know what I mean

Some1 give me a logical explanation for why Ranma goes on a date with a panda doodle, PLEASE

I do appreciate the epic battle background fight for the anime

Further proof that Happosai sucks

Manga name’s somehow less believable I think it’s the use of “snowman” rather than “yeti”

Did Soun just find out that Pchan is Ryoga, and say nothing?

Ooo, Imma commit arson

Remember when I said obey Physics and Medical, I meant it

Arson is wrong and I know this but “transgender bitch” crosses the line

I will do it

Shampoo is a fucking yandere psycho

Just sayin “we’ll see who can get him first”

honestly, any other group and I’d be annoyed, but these four can’t work together for shit I

’m still pissed at Taro, but he can kill Happosai, please

I can’t tell if Shampoo, Mousse and Ryoga are being purposefully obtuse or not

I just reread their names I know the answer to at least two of them

Idk how I feel about Kuno-amnesia we’ll see

yep, Kuno gives me the creeps w or w/out his memories

kinda wish this was anime

jesus christ, poor Ranma

press f to pay respects for Ranma’s stomach

InstaRegret

Also Ukyo’s assumption that some1 can make Ranma doing anythin he doesn’t want to is crap

Like HELLO! Wake up moron!

Nabiki, I mean this in the nicest way possible, shut the fuck up

You’re making it worse

Also TALK to each other you ding dongs!

OH RIGHT! I almost forgot about the biggest fucking insult that Ukyo said of her own freewill!

It also proves that she doesn’t know Ranma as a person AT ALL!

It’s not a pick one or the other kind of thing

The fact that she thinks Ranma would accept that is insulting

The fact that she thinks that is insulting and makes me hate the patriarchy

Again, treating him like a prize than a person

*tries not scream, sighs*

Nabiki, you’re the cause of at least 30% of the stress I get from this

You having feelings ain’t the fucking problem here Ukyo, you not acknowledging Ranma’s is

I hate fake criers, anyone who does this I hate you

Always let others in on your plans, kids

When’s every1 gonna realize Ranma’s “wishy-washy” cuz no one’s ever committed to HIM before?

This episode confused me, I’m prepared to be MORE confused

Less confused, I’m surprised

Gonsunkugi, you creep

There is SO much wrong with this

*shudders*

WHAT?!

Y’know I didn’t think Gosunkugi could surprise me, I was wrong

Happosai still sucks unfortunately for all of us he’s now weird on top of it

I love how much Ranma needs to be kicked in the teeth to get any character development out of him

Ryoga is my #1 choice for it, always

Ranma… why are you like this?

Genma, emotional range of a goddamn wall

I am jealous of Ranma’s brain

I could be SO mean with the Shishihokodan

Also, are they implying that Ryoga has depression?

Gimme Ranma’s brain

I won’t ask for his confidence cuz that’s impossible but I want his brain

In Akane’s defense, given what she knows she couldn’t’ve known how badly that would affect Ryoga

I ain’t gonna say “leave Shampoo” cuz that’s cruel

I like the “turn into a Cat” rather than the “Can’t Cross” & the use of New Year’s rather than random but this still brings around the fact that she doesn’t LISTEN to him

Mousse you’re NOT helping in fact you’re actively making it worse did you miss when he said blatantly “I don’t wanna”

oh, sure, NOW you’re ok with it

ugh Mousse, you have a brain, I’ve SEEN you use it. Do so now.

This entire episode weirded me out

IDK if it’s the age-dff or the fact that he was makin it up and somehow everyone thought this was okay …

I won’t YEET it but MASSIVELY change

heheheh

Light bulb

NOPE I’m keeping this surprise to myself

it was a rather sweet end tho

Oh, this episode is a mess and a half, honestly

Also Nabiki, congrats you’ve literally enabled a stalker S

o many laws are broken here

okay, so Kodachi not being in on Ranma’s secret after so long makes sense purely because she doesn’t go to their school

however, with what i’ve done to make Kuno marginally less dumb it makes a little bit less sense…

I literally hate Kuno with what I’ve done to his logic of Ranma’s transformation, but that’s the point Kodachi… how do I handle you… oh, duh!

Ok, so Kodachi is now also terrible

I’m trying to figure out where this is in the plot since there is ZERO

Ok, there’s a LINE, Nabiki

This one would be touching, if it didn’t end the way it does

TALK gentlemen!

It won’t kill you

Fuck a parent that says they’re not your parent for no reason, EVER

I am going to make this hurt

Also gonna take out Genma’s fail at stealth

Remember I said Akane’s going to learn to cook

heheheh

sorry, I just love this idea

Oh this is SO against the rules it’s not even funny

tiny adjustment so they actually have quasi-competent referees

Crazy wants crazy?I won’t stop ‘em

I reiterate: CHEATING!

I am aware that the “ending” apparently sets them back to the start in terms of their relationship but I swear to God if they pretend shit like this didn’t happen I will scream

Someone ships something other than Akane x Ranma PLEASE explain why/how

don’t ship bash but I would insight when you explain

STICK TO CANON

please trust me, I’m a multi/poly/crack shipper

(for frame of reference to a bnha I ship DabiHawks)

I understand the appeal of Fanon

however, I would like to stick to Canon here

so no Fanon

Canon Only

Fully love that high kick

Genma shows Ranma’s secret here, but they already know… so… I shall find out

Ooo, you’re not getting out of this Ranma

Do you know how tempting it is for Akane to at least tell Ranma she’s a girl- oh wait gendered sports… right…

Ranma…

if you didn’t realize it was Akane when she hit you for calling her klutzy I can’t help you

I want to commit arson at some of the comments…

but can confirm that these are HS boys

Doesn’t mean I gotta like it

I was wondering how long I was going to have to wait before tearing into Nodoka

FINALLY

Took me WAY too long to remember that Nodoka calling Ranko tomboyish is due to how he speaks in Japanese

I’ll need to figure that out since… English

Can I explode on Genma’s choice to take Ranma at TWO?!

Can I further explode on both of them for making a TWO YEAR OLD “sign” a Seppuku Pledge?!

I hate both of them, honest

ALSO communication!

Genma! Just fucking TELL HIM!

Making her transphobic is SO tempting

I don’t mean in a “i hate you” way I mean in a “I sheltered my whole life” way

It’s still bad, and painful, but she can easily learn from that

Or be worse, this could go 2 ways

I feel so bad for Akane for this entire conversation

Also poor Ranma like ouch…

Awkward

I’m going to make this hurt something fierce

Slight change since I’m hoping Ranma isn’t as “peak fight or flight” by this point

Genma don’t be an asshole for FIVE MINUTES

Please, that’s all I want

If she doesn’t learn the truth before the end I will make a bad decision

Really, I will

Don’t kill Genma, you can’t

Akane, don’t say like you wouldn’t… honestly

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, honestly, just look the other way Ranma

*sigh*

Ranma…

See, this kind of crap here is why I really don’t like Cologne

any other day Akane’d be right

oof, that means he self aware that girls flock to him

I’m quite frustrated by that if I’m honest

Ranma is clueless about all the wrong things

I love him but God I wanna punch him sometimes

Why is there a swing from the ceiling?!

I had a jolt from the way they set that panel up, thanks

Are you trying to kill me?!

Thank you Cologne, now fuck off

Oh thank God, at least he learned

This is nonanime stuff so I have no clue what’s happening but anything to make Happosai miserable

I’m enjoying this immensely

ugh, “think of it as a compliment” ghost

Eat me

okay, yeah, as much as I want him dead, that’s worse

I’m glad he’s not a one-and-done character

I will forever ONLY call him Taro when it is NonDialogue

Wait Saffron as in big-bad Saffron?

I literally only know pieces of the end so I’m just pulling from what I know

Lol, wait… was that soldier Anime only too?

I almost liked you there for a sec Taro

Now I’m pissed again

bravo

Oh, YIKES

… if Ranma falls into the Spring of Drowned Twins would he split?

I’m not going to DO IT, obviously!

I’m just curious okay…

that answers that… and kills anyone other than Ranma’s plan to turn back to normal I hope everyone is aware of that

oof

Since when is there a castle on an island in Japan

tis just a scratch, I’ll admit that was funny

Ranma… your stomach gets you in so many problems

ok, that was wholesome

I approve

Okay, so my understanding is that Mrs. Tendo got sick, so I can understand the reactions to Kasumi

BUT I still find it odd because… well… anyone in my house gets sick and you mostly can’t even tell I mean, minus a worse attitude and a mask, other than that though, nope we keep ‘er movin’

I’m moving this section sooner EVEN IF IT KILLS ME!

I like her mom’s cookbook tho

I could make a Ranma x Ryoga joke here, but I won’t

I also won’t make a Ranma x Ryoga joke chapter cuz I’m nice like that

Actually I might have no choice

I’m FINE just dying

Help

my multishipper heart is dying here

I love this

InstaRegret for THREE people

If nothing else, I’m impressed

(well three once Ranma’s back to normal)

I need help

Fangirling/Fanboying/Fanpeopling is dangerous folks, remember that

Poor Ryoga

Though I too feel that right now like where do I look because everything coming in at mach 6

I’m changing that one scene tho cuz I can’t justify the aftermath without it

This… is… weird to say the least

I feel like I should just expect anything with Gosunkugi remotely involved to be weird at this point

okay, not as weird as I expected

glad it was short tho

I think I am officially out of anime terf

YAY, new content!

This is why I ask about any ship that isn’t Ranma x Akane

Also, names?

That- that- that can’t...

I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW THAT!

EWWW

gross

WHY?!?!!

also, biology, that’s not how that works!!

You two ARE idiots

Ryoga you die I’ll kill you

Well… that hurt to see so quick…

Ranma, get up!

I officially hate this Herb guy

ok, so if you put HOT water in the ladle do you stay that way forever?

Alright! Way to go Ryoga!

I need to stop shipping Rivals it’s bad for my health

fucking eat it you dick!

Poor Akane

nevermind, Ranma you idiot

awwwww

ok, so that whole no more Anime-content… I was wrong, and I admit that, but still

I’m just thinking of my bff when they realize she’s an adult cuz, yeah, she’s like that too

except like physically an adult unlike tiny-Hinako

oh MY GOD Ukyo you’re driving me up the goddamn wall I swear!

THANK YOU AKANE!

“You’re all Ranma’s fiancées” when only one of them actually is

GIANT SIGH OF ANNOYANCE

Ranma, learn to communicate, PLEASE!

Okay… so is this where they figured it out or are some ppl still in the dark?

TIMELINE!!

Honestly, mood Ranma, mood

This entire plot line confuses me if I’m being totally honest

I mean I live for the Akane focus, but there are so many better ways to do this

#ranma ½ #ranma 1/2 #ranma saotome #ranma #akane tendo #nabiki tendo #kasumi tendo #soun tendo #genma saotome #nodoka saotome #tatewaki kuno #kodachi kuno #full series au #bc I know no restraint #I'm doing this to distract from stress shut up #don't judge me #COVID19 binge watch

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jmeddows2 · 5 years

Text

Everything I do, I do it for you (Roger Taylor x Reader)

It’s now time to give @veriloquently my present for ‘A night at the fandom’. Be prepared for a 2,6k+ fic filled with lots of fluff (some may even call it cringe, so sorry about that).I also tried to create a visual for some of the scenes which you can catch on the ‘moodboard’ :) anyways,I gave it a go, I hope you’ll like it - your secret santa @dtfrogertaylor ps: I’m sorry for any mistakes/weird grammar, english is not my first language, but I’m always trying my best :) Summary: It’s 1971. You’re John Deacon’s roommate, he joins a band, read for for more ;)

“Y’know, I’ll never get your taste of music“ startled as you were applying some makeup,when a quick glance in the mirror in front of you revealed Roger peeking into the room. Being John Deacons roommate was everything you could have ever wished for, it was very relaxing in fact. He was kind, attentive, strong, sane and quiet, so there were no wild college parties that could have kept you awake at night. John was also one of the most intelligent and independent people you’d have ever known and also witty and not as afraid of speaking up, once he warmed up to you. He was a morning person, even woke you up in time when he noticed you might oversleep and of course,the table always already decorated with breakfast every single morning, which he prepared beforehand. John was very fond of the football club ‘Queen’s Park Rangers’, but another passion of his was music. He wasn’t entirely obsessed with it though, so it surprised you when he told you about auditioning to be the bass player of a band, which you couldn’t quite believe at first, until he introduced you to his new band mates about two weeks ago. Freddie, the lead singer was somehow like John. He was shy at first, but as soon as he was on stage, Freddie turned into something else. He had the audience in the palm of his hand, which most people didn’t even realize at that time. Brian was the most caring one of them, he accidently stepped on your foot helping you reach for something on the top shelf of your kitchen and kept apologizing for two weeks afterwards, because the guilt was eating him alive. Oh Brian. And then there was Roger, the most annoying person you’d ever encountered. He was nosy and had been hanging out in John and your flat every single day now, since you’d first met. John even got quite annoyed by it, but didn’t have the heart to tell him off yet. “What do you want, Roger?” you spat playfully at him. He didn’t answer, instead he stepped into your room, admiring the posters of artists he wasn’t familiar with, or simply despised. Rock’N’Roll was the only thing that mattered to Roger, it was basically running through his veins. Almost causing him to abandon his own biology studies because of music, as he only ever started revising a week before big exams. “Who even listens to that? Or these hippies” he took a step toward the poster and squinted his eyes “Fleetwood Mac pfff” “Alright blind melon Taylor, are you done? Then leave!” you pointed towards the door. “Ok, I deserved that” he stepped back hopping onto your bed making a few of the pillows fall to the ground, as he was digging through some of your magazines that were lying on the bed, while constantly cringing because of the record that was playing in the background. You continued doing your make up. Being completely lost in thoughts, you didn’t even notice Roger staring, as he was lying on his tummy watching you intently apply some makeup along the waterline of your eye. “You’re really good at that huh?” Roger said with his elbows on the bed, hands rested under his chin as he admired you and you looked at him through the mirror in front of you when he continued: “uh with the makeup stuff. I’m sure John told you about our first gig that’s happening pretty soon? and I uhh.. Could you maybe do my makeup for it?” His sudden nervous being made you smile, as he had always been rather cocky, but you agreed to do it anyway. “Now let’s see what else you got there” he jumped up to roam through your collection of records, expecting him to pick one from the few (hard) rock albums you owned which were ‘worthy’ of his time. Once he found the right one, he placed it on the record player and put the needle on. The record started spinning and Roger watched you, waiting for a reaction on your face when a voice started saying: “Fellas, I'm ready to get up and do my thing I wanna get into it, man, you know I wanna get into it, man, you know Like a, like a sex machine, man, Movin', doin' it, you know Can I count it off? (Go ahead)” Then the music started. Get Up I Feel Like Being a Sex Machine by James Brown. He wiggled his eyebrows at you as your serious gaze turned into a smile. “Roger” “Hey, it’s not my record” he laughed. “I think I could get into your style of music” winking at you “I’m only kidding” He nudged your side and serious look was painted on his face. Roger was just inches away from your face when suddenly the door burst open. John. “oh uhm dinner’s ready” he awkwardly stumbled out of the room. “Did he come on to you or something?” John asked handing you another plate to dry off with the cloth in your hand, doing the dishes. Roger had dinner with John and you, but the awkward silence continued throughout,until he left. “You know, I don’t have to join the band, especially when it includes a guy creeping on my best friend or not treating her right” John continued, scrubbing another plate clean. Reassuring him was quite easy, at least you thought so, but John made sure to keep an eye on him every time Roger came over, or when you joined their band rehearsals. Every time Roger came over. Not a single day passed, where the blonde boy didn’t knock on your door. It was odd. He started making up little excuses for coming over. One time he claimed that his oven was broken and he couldn’t make something to eat, that’s why you thought he was just trying to scrounge around, looking for free food. Your assumptions turned out to be wrong though, when he called wanting to come over to study for uni, because there apparently had been a construction site right below the window of his living room. Of course it was a lie, which quickly proved itself when he turned up without any textbooks on him and joined John and you in watching some movies instead. It was 10pm and you were asleep, still able to make out some quiet noises from the tv, with your head on Roger’s shoulder, his arm around your shoulder resting on your back, the feeling of his soft, warm skin on your cheek and your nose lightly brushing against his soft, long hair, taking in his scent. It was a mixture of nicotine and faint cologne and it fit his whole persona. Your hand was resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Your heart clenched when he brought his other hand to your cheek, drawing circles on it with the rough pad of his thumb. Tracing along the features of your face, he audibly sighed: “If only you’d feel the same way”, continuing he brought his free hand to your long, dark hair to caress it. His soft touches were enough to make you relax and cuddle even further into his chest. “She still asleep?” John whispered from the kitchen, as he prepared a final ‘good night’ tea for him and Roger. “Yeah” “You can stay over, wouldn’t wake her now though if you want to continue staying alive” John chuckled thinking about how you weren’t a morning person at all, the complete opposite to him, as he sipped away his tea Roger smiled, thinking about how it would feel to wake up next to you, having you wake up in his arms, when John brought him back down to earth: “I see the way you’re always looking at her. Listen, Roger we haven’t known each other for very long now, but I know that look! I’m sure she’s the only reason you’re always over, but she’s not another conquest!” John said in a serious tone, almost warning his new band member. “Don’t play with her if you don’t mean it! She’s a special girl! One of the kindest, most beautiful people inside and out I’ve ever met!” both taking a sip from their tea. “I doubt she’d like me anyway, so you don’t have to worry, Deaky” Roger took a front strand of your hair, softly twirling it around his finger, then releasing it while his eyes were fixed on your face, admiring your beauty. “Better be telling the truth, Rog, or else I’ll have to punch you in the face. I wouldn’t be so sure about her not liking you though” John got up, reaching for both empty mugs. “Quite like the new nickname. Deaky.” John smiled wishing him goodnight. You could have sworn that it was all just a dream when a soft snoring into your ear woke you up. Roger. His arm draped over your waist, legs tangled with yours holding you tight. You were in your own bed now, as he had carried you all the way to your bedroom and and you kind of felt like a little kid again, that’s been carried there by their parents. The thought alone made you smile, so you pulled back a little to get a full view of his beautiful face. Roger was still wearing his jeans, but no shirt. He wasn’t really muscular at all, while his soft dark blond hair fell in waves to his shoulders, a few locks hanging in his face. You decided to carefully brush it out with your hands and the goal not to wake him up, without success. He slowly opened his shining blue eyes and you pulled back. “Good morning” he mumbled with a smile on his face, quite unsure of how to handle the situation without making you feel uncomfortable, removing his hand from your waist. “Morning” you were staring at the ceiling, trying to hide the fact you’d been staring at him, your heart beating fast, then looking back at him again. “You didn’t have to carry me here last night” “Wasn’t going to let you have a sore back, love, besides, it’s not very gentleman like leaving a beautiful lady on an uncomfortable couch” he smiled. “well, thanks, Roger” you placed your hand on his bare chest, leaving it there a little longer than intended, when his eyes dropped down to look at your hand, then back to your lips, biting his own. Roger slowly leaned forward to put a gentle kiss on your lips when you pulled back with concern. “I have morning breath” you managed to say. “I don’t care” he placed another kiss on your lips “but you have it as well” you laughed. This time he pulled back, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink, but you couldn’t resist him anymore. Reassuring him that he was fine, you moved on top of him, crashing your lips against his, earning a moan when your hands found its way into his messy hair, his hand placed on your hip and mouths moving in perfect sync. Since then you decided to keep your little affair? Hook-ups? private. You didn’t even know how to define it, but it was hard to hide your affection/cravings for one another. It was especially harder when the other boys were around, for example when you were doing his makeup for their first ever gig, not trying to get caught when he shamelessly placed kisses on to your face, every time you leaned forward with your makeup brush. It all changed when one night Roger invited you over to his flat for dinner. Opening the door it revealed him in a black shirt that was halfway unbuttoned and black trousers with little white bows along the outside of each leg. He greeted you with a passionate kiss, handing you a little bouquet of roses, then leading you into his flat. “That was just the first present of the night.” He winked. “Food’s going to be finished in a second, but first” he quickly disappeared into another room, only to arrive seconds later with a ball of fluff in his arms. “This is Dusty, my neighbour’s cat” he held the cat’s paw out for your hand to take and greet him . It was hilarious, yet adorable. His loving way of patting the cat oh so lightly made your heart clench. . “They asked me to watch him while they’re in Australia, visiting their family” he continued patting its head, but suddenly remembered the food on the stove. You took the cat from him when he headed off into the kitchen. “I didn’t know what you’d rather enjoy so I made two different meals, number one an Alfredo chicken bake and number two a pumpkin and spinach cannelloni” after placing the plates on the table, you were digging into your food, not expecting Roger to be that much of a decent cook. The dining table was also beautifully and romantically decorated with a vase of roses and tiny heart shaped décor all over the table making it seem like Valentine��s Day, and 100 percent unlike Roger. Dusty jumped on the chair right next to you, also joining in on dinner , when Roger grabbed a tiny plate to put some chicken on it for him. “Maybe we could also adopt a cat? Or a dog? “Roger asked looking up to read your reaction. “ I love animals, but dogs own my heart.” You admitted with your mouth full of food, bringing your hand to your mouth, trying to cover it. “I thought I owned your heart, do I have some competition here?” Roger cheekily smiled. “Y’know we’d make great dog parents” he continued, shoving yet another fork into his mouth. His comment made you blush considering you’d been ‘together’ for about three months now, but eventually talking about ‘children’ even if it was just in the form of animals. “Never took you for such an amazing cook, Rog” you hugged him from behind placing a kiss on his neck as he placed the plates into the sink. “I’ll take it as a compliment, but now moving on to the next surprise.” Roger took your hand leading you into the living room. “I know I’ve been giving you quite a heart time about your taste of music but..” “Roger” you interrupted. “No, please, let me finish.” He took your hands into his, looking deep into your eyes “as I said, your taste in music.. It’s different, but so are you” brushing your hair behind your ear “ you make me such a happy man, supporting me no matter what, being always there. You were putting up with me when I was being an annoying shit, trying to get your attention. That’s why I’m asking you now. Will you be my girlfriend?” he nervously pulled out two tickets from the back pocket of his pants, which happened to be for the Fleetwood Mac show at the Marquee club in the following august. He smiled at you waiting in anticipation for an answer when you pulled him into a tight hug. It was such a sweet gesture. You knew he hated the music, but still got the tickets, knowing they were your favourite band. “Yes, yes ,yes, Roger!” you took his face into your hands and kissed his soft lips passionately. “I love you, Lucy” “I love you too, Roger” And it was true. Roger would do anything for you. He would leave the light on for you, even if it was too bright for him. Listen to records he didn’t like. Take you to concerts of bands he didn’t like. Watch the worst and cheesiest romantic movies. It didn’t matter to him, as long as you were there with him.

#a night at the fandom #roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor x reader #John Deacon #Queen #queen + Adam Lambert #Brian May #freddie mercury #fleetwood mac

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romaniassexdungeon · 5 years

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Stars in your eyes

My part in the @aphgenficexchange for @tikola-nesla! Sorry it’s late, but here’s part one, with part two coming up soon, hopefully. I went with space+criminal prompts to make a sorta space-pirate thing, though there doesn’t seem to be much pirating, and all your relationship prompts.

Anyway, hope you like it!

Characters: Eduard (Estonia), Logan (Australia), Tino (Finland), Erzsebet (Hungary), Gunner (Denmark), Lars (Netherlands), Luca (Luxembourg), Laura (Belgium), mentioned Oscar (Hutt River) and Charlie (Wy)

Warnings: mentions of drugs, child abuse and violence

“This is Logan Apari Cooper, medic of the Waititi. The date is December 21st and I’m on the other side of the galaxy to my family. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll see them in a few… years. Maybe. Right now, I gotta focus on keeping everyone alive, take one day at a time and hope that specky cunt keeps this piece of shit ship in one piece so I can get outta here one day.”

Logan sighed, then deleted the recording. He promised himself he’d stop getting emotional over his situation, but birthdays and Christmas were always hard. He’d already missed Charlie’s birthday last month - she’d be 12 now - and he’d never abandon his crew, but if he could, he would be on Ediacara in a nanosecond.

He started a new recording. “Morning - or what counts as morning here - has broken on the 21st of December, my babies are so, so far away, and I am so fucking alone.”

He threw his tablet across the room and flopped onto his bed. Fuck the log. Fuck these stupid days where either nothing happened or he was doing shit that would get him killed.

Logan had always wanted to go on an adventure. He’d wanted to explore the universe, have near-death experiences, discover new planets and bone aliens, but his desire for adventure was now losing against his hatred of being cooped up inside, especially inside a tin can full of his crewmates’ farts for months. He wanted fresh air, his home planet, his parents, and his brother and sister.

He punched his pillow, then turned to face the wall and sulk until he was called for breakfast.

Eduard was making his morning rounds, checking every little nut and bolt to make sure the very ground beneath his feet didn’t fall apart. They hadn’t gotten round to press-ganging an assistant for him, so he had to do everything himself, even the boring, messy stuff that was technically beneath him.

He didn’t particularly mind, though. It was something to keep his hands busy while his mind worked, and he’d rather do it himself than with someone held here against his will. It took a while for new people to break, psychologically, and start seeing them as their new crew, and he didn’t want to risk the integrity of the ship over it.

Pirates really sucked, he had to admit. If his cousin wasn’t the captain, he’d probably hate it here.

Be that as it may, he absolutely loved exploring space. Not only did he wake up to it every day, but he got to live in a real spaceship, tinkering and studying every day. It was what he’d wanted since he was a boy. An escape.

Things would be better without the raids and danger, though.

He heard a sniff coming from one of the rooms. A sigh. It seemed to be coming from Cooper’s room. He wondered if he should check on him, but the man was so big and tough and strong and maybe he wouldn’t appreciate Eduard butting in.

But he wanted to help.

But talking to people was scary.

He mustered up all his courage and knocked on the door. It fell away, revealing Logan Cooper, curled up on his bunk. When he heard him enter, he turned to glare at him, eyes red. Eduard winced.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “just… I heard something, and, wanted to see if you’re okay. I’ll- I’ll just leave, if you-”

“No, it’s okay, stay.” He sat up, patting the mattress. Eduard sat down, back stiff and unsure of what to do with his hands.

“Something up?” he asked. He got along with the crew, but they still intimidated him. He was weedy, skinny and not tough in the slightest, whilst everyone else looked like they could break him in half with their bare hands. He didn’t want to get on their wrong side, even if they all technically relied on him to survive in space.

Logan shrugged. “I just… it’s embarrassing, but I miss my family. I haven’t seem ‘em in - I dunno - years now.”

“Doesn’t sound embarrassing at all. I imagine I’d miss my cousins… after a while.” Logan snorted. Eduard decided not to mention he certainly didn’t miss his parents; it would sound bad, complaining about them to a guy who apparently liked his family. “Tell me about them.”

“You wanna hear about them?” He seemed genuinely surprised at that.

“Yeah. You seem to really care about them.” If it wasn’t for his cousins, he’d have no idea what that would be like.

Logan smiled, and- okay, they were hugging now. It was a one-armed hug, but still more affection than he’d gotten from his parents. He let go an entire five seconds after Logan.

“Thanks, it means a lot,” Logan smiled at him. “I got a little brother and sister, back on my home planet. Back living with our parents. They’re both smarter than me already.”

Eduard looked at him. “You’re the medic.”

“Yeah, but they have more common sense than me.”

Yeah, he couldn’t argue with that; it was a miracle this idiot was still alive, given how reckless he was.

He was smiling as he began speaking. “Oscar… He’s… smart. A bright kid, bit of a dick, but a good guy. He’s probably gonna take over the farm. He likes farming. And the good things in life, I guess. Complete opposite of me. He’s going places, y’know?”

Eduard smiled. “And the sister?”

“Charlie, little kid. Loves getting into trouble and running around, climbing trees and stuff. Always getting mud on her. And she loves art, too. She’s great at painting. Like, she can paint on anything: shells, rocks, little bits of bark. Our whole house is just full of things she’s painted.”

“They sound lovely,” Eduard nudged him. “I’m sure they’re in good hands.”

“Yeah. I miss them, though. Don’t you miss your family?”

Eduard winced. “My family is my cousins. I don’t need anyone else.”

Now it was Logan’s turn to wince. “Well, you and your cousins are always welcome on Ediacara. My parents would love you, and probably try to adopt you.”

He laughed, but a sad kind of laugh like he was masking a great pain.

“Sucky parents?” asked Logan.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He probably would, though, at a moment’s notice. And enough alcohol. Like that time he broke down crying at space McDonalds and told the cashier about how his parents found out he was claustrophobic and started locking him in a tiny cupboard as punishment.

“Well, my parents just adopted you.”

“Your parents don’t know me.”

“Doesn’t matter, they’re your parents too now.”

He started crying. “I would die for them.”

“Hey, man- oh fuck you’re crying,” Logan held him in his arms, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he sobbed, “I just- your family sounds so nice.” He wanted Logan’s parents to hold him in their arms and tell him they were proud of him.

“Your cousins are nice too. And hey, it must be fun living with them, right?”

Eduard nodded. “Yeah, I love them. They’ve always looked out for me. I’m, well, they’re tougher than me, and I’ve always been an easy target. You know, for bullies and people looking for a hostage. They keep me safe, and alive.” He smiled. “I couldn’t imagine being apart from them.”

Logan nodded. “They’re good people. You hold onto them.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

“Is everyone still mad at Lars?” Gunner looked from one crewmember to the other.

“Yes,” said Luca, immediately, not looking up from his accounts.

“Not mad, just disappointed,” sighed Tino next to him, picking at the beaten up sofa and wondering just how to get out of what would probably be an awkward conversation.

Gunner sat down opposite them, twiddling his thumbs. “And how long are you gonna keep being mad at him?”

“Indefinitely,” said Luca.

“Aw come on, man! He didn’t hurt anyone!”

“That doesn’t changed that he hotboxed an escape pod!” cried Luca. “And, if I recall, you were right there with him.”

Gunner winced. “I was hoping you’d forget. His idea, though.”

“Moron.”

“That’s fair. But, in our defense, we didn’t wanna smoke all that space weed around everyone else, not in such a confined space such as this ship. We were trying to be responsible.”

Tino tried his best not to laugh. Luca, however, looked less amused.

“Very noble of you, I’m sure. Except when your dumb, high asses opened the door to go get space snacks and flooded the place with smoke.” Gunner giggled at that. “It’s not funny! Eddie started crying because he suddenly realised he was white!”

Tino burst out laughing. Luca tried his best to keep a straight face, but even he was struggling.

“It’s hardly the worst thing he’s done,” Gunner pointed out.

“That’s the thing. He was a dick when we were kids, and he’s still a dick now, and I couldn’t wait for him to only be someone I had to see at family gatherings. Now I’m stuck working under him.”

“I know, I was his best friend through all his dickishness.”

“I have no sympathy. You had a choice. I didn’t.”

“Yeah, and I kept him in my life because he’s a good person. Deep, deep down. He has moments of tenderness.”

Luca raised an eyebrow. “To anyone besides the rabbits he thinks we don’t know he keeps under his bed?”

“There’s the cat Laura keeps in her room,” Gunner tried, “and yeah, he really loves you. He’s just not good at expressing his emotions. I’m working on him, I promise. I’m certain I’m gonna get him to open up while sober any day now!”

Luca and Tino stared at him for a long moment.

“Any week now!” Gunner corrected.

#aph estonia #aph australia #aph denmark #aph luxembourg #aph finland #are the characters featured so far #hetalia #aph #aph fanfiction #HETALIA FANFIC #Hetalia Fanfiction #space au #pirates au #there's ozest if you squint #could be interpreted either way

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 7 years

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You’re My Best Girl (Requested)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2656 // Rating: Gen

Warnings: none, fluff

Summary: Bucky’s about to head off to war, he wants to make his last night count.

Note: This was requested but without a pairing, opted for Bucky Barnes because it seemed to fit best with the quotes.

I’m another Anon who doesn’t have a Tumblr account. I hope it’s ok to request through the submit? Anyway, I don’t know how this works but I would love to see you write #39. I don’t know if you want to combine so I’ll send another submit for the other. Thank you!!!!!! #44 please :)

39: “ I wish we could stay like this forever. ”

44: “ I’m going to keep you safe. ”

After a long day at the office, you were weary so you walked slowly through the streets, with home seemingly further away with every step. It’s not that your job was a manual one, it’s just that the hours were long, so even sitting at a desk all day made you tired. It was worth it though, as a young girl in 1940s Brooklyn the possibilities were limited so when you applied for a secretarial post and got it you were overjoyed. Your parents had been so proud too. Finally, you reached the block where your apartment resided. It was early evening, and you were likely to be the first one home with your father being at work and your mother usually out running errands. Climbing up the steps you walked across the outside terrace where your apartments lined up in a row. Knocking on Steve’s door you heard no movement, so assuming it was empty you moved to your door and slotted the key in the lock.

‘Hey,’ said a deep voice from behind you causing you to turn around in fright. ‘James Buchanan Barnes! Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a girl?’ you chastised but Bucky merely smirked. He was dressed in his army uniform, a sight that made your stomach churn. Bucky was one of your best friends with Steve Rogers being the other. You had grown up with Steve, his mother often had to work and so he had been left in your mother’s care almost every day which formed the deepest bond. Steve was like your brother, to be honest, you liked him more than your actual brother, and always looked out for you. Though over the years you’d probably rescued him more times than he’d done for you. He was the reason you met Bucky. During your early teens, Steve had chosen to pick a fight with a rather large gang of boys who’d been harassing you. Noble though the act was it was utterly stupid and Steve had found himself, as usual, being beaten to a pulp. Luckily Bucky had stepped in and saved Steve and since then the three of you had been closer than ever. But Bucky wasn’t like your brother the way Steve was. He couldn’t be, your feelings towards Bucky weren’t at all familial. You were in love with him.

‘Sorry, doll. You just finish work?’ he asked and you nodded, your formal attire being an obvious giveaway, ‘Steve home?’

‘Doesn’t appear to be so, what’s with the get-up?’ you asked gesturing to his clothing although you already knew the answer.

‘Got my orders, 107th, Sergeant James Barnes at your service,’ he said watching as your face fell. ‘I erm- ship out to England tomorrow. I’m looking for Steve because there’s this expo thing I was gonna go. Y’know with it being my last night and all,’ he explained as you sighed, your heart weighing heavily in your chest as you watched the mixture of emotions on his face, you knew exactly what he was feeling. Pride was probably his strongest emotion as he was finally following in his father’s footsteps and fighting for his country. But you knew how guilty he was feeling too, especially once Steve found out. It seemed that Steve was going to be the only guy in New York to be left behind as his health and other ailments had stopped him short of his dream.

‘Congratulations, I’m proud of you,’ you said walking towards him so you could give him a hug. Standing on your tiptoes you leaned up wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling his arms wrap around you. You turned your face away from him so he couldn’t see the tears that were now glistening in your eyes, threatening to brim over. He pulled back first looking down at your face.

‘I should find Steve; this expo thing starts at seven I don’t wanna...’ you nodded and allowed him to walk a small distance before he turned and looked back at you. ‘I mean you can tag along if you want to. I mean it’s my last night, I want to spend it with my best friends.’

You nodded but excused yourself so you could change and leave a note for your parents so they wouldn’t worry. Discarding your clothes, you changed into your favorite blue tea dress and added a hint of lipstick. As you locked up your apartment Bucky whistled, a thing he often did to tease you. You blushed deep crimson as always, the fear of him knowing your true feelings causing a flutter in your stomach. It didn’t take the two of you long to find Steve. You found him down an alley, taking on a man twice his size. Bucky instructed you to stay out of the way and went to intervene. Your heart soared as you watched the scene unfold but panic hit you as well. Who would help Steve with Bucky not around? You watched Bucky and Steve chat and

You watched Bucky and Steve chat and rough house until the two of them got to where you were waiting. ‘See how I saved the kids ass yet again, Y/N?’ Bucky teased and you chuckled, though stopped short at the stern look Steve gave you.

‘Just cause he’s a sergeant now he thinks he can give me crap. And anyway I’m not a kid, I’m older than both of you so you should show me some respect,’ Steve whined, to yours and Bucky’s laughter.

‘Yeah, well, adults don’t forge their enlistment forms, do they?’

‘Steve!’ you scolded but you were met with an eye roll. He really was incorrigible when it came to enlisting. This had to be the 4th time he’d faked his papers and it was only a matter of time before he got into big trouble.

‘It’s not a big deal Y/N, anyway don’t we have some place to be?’ he asked attempting to get you off topic.

The three of you reached the expo in good time. People milled around the booths that were present whilst your group looked around. Bucky was craning his neck around to look through the droves of people. ‘Look I don’t know what your problem is. You’re about to be the only guy left in New York with 1 million women, I thought you’d be happy.’

‘I’d settle for just one,’ Steve sighed.

‘Good thing I took care of that,’ Bucky said as he raised his hand to wave at two girls stood in the distance as Steve groaned, ‘What’ve you told her about me?’Bucky said nothing but just picked up the pace leaving you two in his wake as your face fell into a scowl. Of course, this was a date. What an idiot you were! He’d wanted to have a little bit of fun on his last night and he’d invited you out of pity. How embarrassing. Steve watched as your face grew sad, his eyes filling with compassion. Steve knew how you felt, as he did everything else about you. In fact, he’d encouraged you to tell Bucky how you felt but you had refused. He was a ladies man and the type of girl he went for wasn’t exactly like you. You all made polite conversation. The girls seemed nice but

Steve knew how you felt, as he did everything else about you. In fact, he’d encouraged you to tell Bucky how you felt but you had refused. He was a ladies man and the type of girl he went for wasn’t exactly like you. You all made polite conversation but even though the girls seemed nice you had no time for them like you did for all the other girls he’d dated. And your apprehension didn't go unnoticed. Over the course of the night, the group seemed to take a natural split. Steve tried to mingle but mostly spoke to you with Bucky entertaining the ladies.

After the expo, you wandered the stalls for a while before Steve drifted to an army enlistment stall. You held back watching from a distance respectfully before you felt Bucky at your side. ‘I’ll go,' he said, nudging your arm in an effort to cheer you up before he disappeared up ahead leaving you and the girls stood together in awkward silence.

Bucky found Steve pondering the enlistment, punching him on the arm he said, ‘Come on, you’re missing the point of a double date. We’re taking the girls dancing,’ but Steve dismissed him.

’You go ahead, I’ll catch up.’

‘You really gonna do this again?’ Bucky asked exasperatedly even though this argument was like a broken record. Bucky wished Steve could help in the war but he just couldn’t and he had to accept that. Bucky was half glad he couldn’t, a war was hard enough so the fewer people you had to worry about getting hurt the better. He heard the faint calls of the girls, who were becoming impatient waiting for him to reappear. He called back that he was on his way to them.

‘You should get back to your…dates,’ Steve said. Sighing he looked Steve who seemed to be resolute in not listening to him. He knew it was a lost battle and went to leave, ‘Make sure you don’t do anything stupid before I get back,’ Bucky warned but Steve rebutted.

‘How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you,’ Bucky chuckled and came forward to embrace Steve.

‘You’re a punk,’ he said smiling, he would miss his best friend immensely.

‘Jerk,’ he said in Bucky’s ear, as Bucky walked away he shouted to him. ‘Buck, make your last night count? Tell her will ya,’ he said to Bucky’s annoyed face. Bucky rolled his eyes and then, smirking, he walked off to join the girls and Y/N where he’d left them waiting.

‘Ugh,’ Bucky’s date sighed, ‘What’s he doing? He promised we’d go dancing,’ she said to which her friend tittered in agreement. ‘He’s helping his friend,’ you said through gritted teeth.

‘What’s he helping him with? I mean it’s not as if he could actually join the army,’ she scoffed which enraged you but she continued, ‘He’s not exactly well-built like Bucky, is he?’

‘Steve Rogers is one of the best men I’ve ever met and just because he isn’t built like other guys doesn’t mean that this war wouldn’t be lucky to have him!’ you spat.

‘If you love him so much why don’t you go out with him, huh? I mean Bucky promised me a friend for my friend, from what he said I thought- ‘

‘Oh, just shut up will you!’ you spat, holding back so you didn’t punch her. At that moment, Bucky appeared at your group and said ‘Problem ladies?’ The girls batted their eyes and denied any problem but you weren’t relenting, and you certainly weren’t going to spend time with girls as nasty as this, even if it were Bucky’s last night.

‘So, who’s up for dancing?’

‘Actually, I think I’m going to go and find Steve,’ you announced, seeing Bucky’s face fall for the fraction of a second. ‘There’s no point, he’s gone and you’re not gonna talk him out of it, might as well just leave it Y/N,’ he reasoned understandingly as your eyes scanned around for Steve.

‘Then I think I’m just gonna go home,’ you said.

‘C’mon Y/N, it’s my last night. I can’t have both my friends bail on me! And besides, you love dancin’,’ he said with a cheeky grin yet your stern expression didn’t falter.

‘Sorry Buck, anyway I’m sure you’ve got enough dance partners to keep you busy,’ you quipped leaning up to give him a brief hug but Bucky pulled away and asked the girls to wait a minute before dragging you out of earshot.

‘Y/N C'mon don’t leave.’

‘I’m sorry Bucky, I know it’s your last night but I don’t want to spend it with your floozy’s.’

‘So, you’re just going to walk all the way home on ya own?’

‘Yes,’ you said adamantly but Bucky shook his head and looked at you like you were the most idiotic person he’d ever laid eyes upon. He muttered ‘Wait here,’ then returned to the girls. You watched as he spoke quietly causing them to look furious and stomp off into the crowd. Turning back, he joined you and linked your arm forcing you to walk alongside him.

‘What did you say?’ you asked meekly, secretly overjoyed he’d chosen to walk you home than stay there.

‘Told em’ that I couldn’t let you walk through Brooklyn at night and hoped they’d understand. They didn’t.’

‘Sorry,’ you apologised but Bucky looked down at you and smiled, ‘Don’t worry ‘bout it. I don’t even know ‘em. Besides, couldn’t let my best girl walk home all alone.’

The two of you chatted casually as you walked home, hoping to keep away from the topic of his inevitable departure to an unknown war. He asked you to watch Steve and try and ‘keep the kid outta trouble’ and you promised you would. Once you were a few blocks away from your apartment you both grew silent, trying to prolong the night as long as possible. Bucky glanced at you every so often, Steve’s words playing over and over in his mind. You see for a guy with little experience around women, Steve knew a lot. And he’d been able to recognise that you were in love with his best friend almost instantly.

Bucky had met you when he was young and immature so he assumed his attraction towards you were simply because you were a girl. But as he grew up he realised it wasn’t simply attraction, it was something deeper. Bucky had always had a lot of luck with the ladies yet when it came to you he was stumped. He almost thought you had a thing for Steve for a minute until Steve had informed him that he was a complete idiot and it was really him he was in love with. Yet he still couldn’t make a move.

Bucky felt you leaning against his shoulder as you walked, and moved to wrap an arm around you lovingly. You sighed and whispered ‘I wish we could stay like this forever.’

Bucky murmured in agreement and your heart swelled. You broke apart as you rounded the corner to your apartment building. Climbing the stairs, the two of you came to a stop outside your front door. Your emotions were running riot now, and as you turned to look at his handsome face you could feel tears stinging your eyes again. Coming towards him you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your cheek against his chest, the dull thud of his heartbeat tapping underneath the scratchy material your ear rested upon. His arms wrapped around you and he rested his chin on top of your head and closed his eyes. He was so content in this moment.

Pulling back, he looked at your face which was adorned in a sad smile. Without thinking he placed his hand on your cheek and leaned down capturing your soft lips with his. Your heart raced as he did and your breathing quickened. Exiting the kiss, he pressed his forehead on yours and smiled. You smiled back before whispering, ‘what was that for?’

‘I don’t know-,’ he hesitated, pulling back to look at you, ‘I just-. I guess I didn’t want to leave without kissing you at least once. Y’know in case,’ he said but you placed a finger on his lips shushing him.

‘Wait here,’ you said before slipping from his grasp and going inside. Bucky stood there confused until you returned with something in your hand. Grabbing his hand, you placed a small picture of yourself in his palm and beamed at him. ‘Here,’ you said wrapping his fingers around it.

‘What’s this for?’

‘I’ve waited years for you to kiss me, there’s no way you’re heading off to war and forgetting about me.’

‘You really think I could?’ he asked bemusedly, holding you close once again, ‘Like I said before, you’re my best girl.’

‘Good,’ you giggled, ‘Even so, you need to keep hold of that.’

‘How come?’

‘I’m going to keep you safe.’

‘You think it’ll work, huh?’

‘Of course, it will,’ you smiled, ‘I’m your best girl.’

#requested fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fic #marvel #captain america #my writing

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cursewoodrecap · 4 years

Text

Session 9: City of the Dead

We investigate Mornheim, the city of apples and graves.

We begin where we left off, meeting with Aubrey von Mornheim inside the walls of a city where the dead have risen.

We try to figure out the relative ages of Aubrey and our friend Ser Balderich, with whom she shares a last name. She’s in her early-to-mid-20′s, so he’s the right age to be a dad or uncle.

The citizens of Mornheim have retreated from its farmlands, withdrawing inside a hastily built wall around the city center. Inside the wall it’s pretty crowded, as the townsfolk have had to make room for the farm people to stay. Clem has seen towns like this in warzones before; it’s fairly standard Hunkering Down procedure. Seems like they demolished some of the houses on the outer edge of town and used the materials to build up the wall. Some of wall is actually made of broken gravestones and slabs from mausoleum walls.

It’s not a total disaster; it’s a fairly functional town. We can see that during the daytime, braver citizens are still venturing outside the wall to tend and harvest what crops they can, though the plant life is withering. The biggest building in the walled city by far is the cider mill - Mornheim is known for its apple orchards and cider production, and it looks like the mill is still operating.

In the distance, outside the walls, we can make out the old von Mornheim manor house and a large stone temple. Inside, there are small cannons and ballistas sent up on makeshift watchtowers, which are mostly bunkers set up on the rooftops of taller buildings.

Aubrey escorts us in, handing Feivel some rings and jewelry as payment. “You know where everything goes,” she tells him. “Food to the inn, building supplies to the shed, medicine to the doctor. Find Crabber. If he’s drunk, sober him up. If he’s sober, tell the innkeeper not to serve him until he looks at those ballistas. Meanwhile, I’m gonna sort through our loot.”

She opens a sack she’s hauled out of the mausoleum, and immediately pulls out a bottle of wine. “Spoils of hitting the wine cellar,” she tells us.

Mercedes, the pyromancer goblin, nudges her. Aubrey looks back at us. “Oh, right. Come with me.” She leads us into the cider mill.

Parts of the mill are operating, but it’s clearly not at full capacity. Much of it seems to have been turned into an impromptu war headquarters – we can see an armory of weapons and maps pinned up on the walls. Aubrey plops down in a wooden chair and hands her sack of grave treasure off to a clerk. “So, what can I do for you?” she asks us.

Valeria is always ready to get down to business. “Ser Quentin sent us to find out what happened with the Red Hand. You said some of them are still here - do you know what happened?”

“I know they went to the von Menzer family crypt,” she tells us. “I told Q I’d heard weird chanting around there. He showed up with the elves in tow. They went in. He returned alone. Said they’d gotten cut off from one guy and had refused to leave man behind. Idiots. They returned the following morning, looking worse but alive. Then they just quit his service. Some headed out, a couple stayed around.”

“I spotted them lurking around, and I’ve heard from my cousin Leah, who told me they’ve taken up residence along with some others in the manor house, up where we keep the epitaph records. Y’know, the listings of all the people buried here.”

We need to get the basic lay of the land. She points to a map on the wall, passing us a similar-looking copy. (Valeria’s player adds one map to her Map Collection, which is now a thing.)

“There’s no central location they come from. The worst come from Gallows Hill, obviously.” Gallows Hill? “Undead couldn’t rise in Mornheim, right? So rich people would get buried here, sure. But you know, there are certain types of people who have a habit of coming back as nasty undead. And people like that might die in way that would make ‘em come back angry, yeah? So you’d bury ‘em in Mornheim. And now they’re all coming back.”

The von Menzer family crypt is circled in red. “We first heard about the cultists there. Since shortly after Q went, we’ve seen more happening in the east wing of the house. Stay out of the west wing, though.” She pulls a glass from under the table and pours herself a generous slug of wine. “You might be fine there, but. Well.” She takes a long drink.

Shoshana has to get clarification: “Um, is this a Spooky Ghosts kind of thing, or an ‘it’s my house, don’t wreck it’ thing?”

“Ghosts, mostly,” she tells us, and conspicuously fails to elaborate.

Maybe a topic change would be wise. Looks like there’s Penitents labeled on the map? “Cousin Leah was an acolyte working at the temple, a low-level cleric. After things got really bad, she took up with the Penitents. Got a whole crew of them in the temple there, now. Every so often they come by. Stand outside our gates, say we’re living a horrible debauched life without the gods. Apparently, I personally need to go to the temple to do some kind of penance that will purify Mornheim of its sins and stop the undead tide.”

Um, #doubt.

“Yeah, you might notice how I’m not at the temple getting purified. At least they distract plenty of shamblers.”

We’re pretty wary of the Penitents, but she seems mostly just aggravated about them. “I’m not worried they’ll attack us or anything, but I’m kinda worried Leah’s given her goons standing orders to drag me back to her.

Are they something we need to take care of while we’re here? She shakes her head. “Look, if they wanna be ghoul food, that’s on them. So far all they’ve done is hand out pamphlets and stand outside yelling at us. They’re welcome to keep to it. If you’re stuck out there and night’s falling, best to make for temple. It’s not a GOOD bet, but I’d rather deal with them than try my luck being out after dark.”

So: what can our paltry crew of protagonists do to help, besides just assisting in holding them off? Is there some big plan or strike we could help with?

She laughs bitterly. “Against WHO?”

“Well, this all started with those cultists, right?” Valeria asks uncertainly.

“It started YEARS ago! It began real slow, which was already pretty shocking, given our history. It was just a handful at first, but they just kept rising.”

“Is there any kind of pattern or organization to the undead attacks?”

“Not really, no. Most just wander, or attack the nearest thing they see. Some die trying to get into the temple; others attack the town and we take ‘em out. Some slip into woods but don’t get very far, what with all the other shit lurking in there. Not our problem, once they’ve gone that far. Some fight each other. Some seem to be working together? The cultists definitely have some under their control, but not all or even most of them. It’s a big spooky graveyard full of undead, welcome to my home. Sure, a big military strike, we could kill every rotter we see. Doesn’t matter! They keep GETTING UP!” She takes a long chug from her wine glass.

“So it’s more important to get info than to kill shit,” we observe.

There’s not a whole lot else to discuss, other than to go over the map and pick our next move, so Shoshana picks this moment to ask the question that’s been hanging over all our heads.

“So, uh, I don’t want to pry. But we’ve been traveling, and we met this guy. And he’s, uh, definitely in the business of Fighting Evil Things, and he has kind of a familiar last name, so I gotta ask: ...why isn’t Ser Balderich here?”

Aubrey glasses her in the fucking face. As Shoshana shakes wine and glass shards out of her hair and tallies her Actual Hit Point Damage, Aubrey stabs her knife into the table with an ominous thunk. “DON’T. MENTION. THAT. FUCKING. COWARD.”

“So, uh, I definitely have ques-”

“GET OUT.”

We take the hint and skedaddle, as Aubrey starts drinking straight from the bottle. The door slams behind us.

Mercedes intercepts us as we tumble haphazardly out the door. “So that is two people you have upset tonight?”

“Who else-”

“The Doctor.”

“...yeah, that’s fair.”

“What did you do?”

Shoshana sheepishly admits, “I...said a name I shouldn’t have?”

“Ah, her father.” Mercedes nods. “That is a very sad family tale. If you want to hear it, it is not my place to share someone else’s family drama. You’d have to ask family.”

Shoshana stares at her. “Uh, seems like I should NOT ask, actually,” she deadpans, picking a shard of glass out of her chin.

“Ask the old groundskeeper, he’s basically family.”

Valeria starts helping Shoshana pick the last of glass out of her hair, adding a Lay On Hands to erase her cuts. “No no no stop putshkying stooooppppp” Shoshana whines, gratuitously Yiddishing as she bats Valeria’s hands away like a proper embarrassed teenager. Valeria, both in and out of character, Does Not Know What That Word Means.

Mercedes ignores the slapstick. “Yes, Lady Aubrey has issues, but the last couple of years have been rather stressful. She blames her father. I do not. He is very nice. I originally came here as a favor to him; I was planning to stay about a month.”

“...why didn’t Ser Balderich ever come back to help?”

“Different types of fear take different forms,” she says cryptically. “I’m gonna go keep an eye on her. You can find the groundskeeper out behind the mill, if you really want to know the story. Also, if you see a man with a burning hammer on his shoulder - If he is drunk, send him to me. If he is sober then send him to the front. I think he’s hiding from me.”

She turns to leave, muttering to herself in Goblin, and then turns back for one last aside.

“Oh, and if you see a person in a bird mask, run.”

We’ve met Sturmhearst guys, so that seems ominous???

“The doctor is not evil, she just want to kill you right now. I know the rumors you have heard about Sturmhearst. She is Sturmhearst trained, but hasn’t been there in years. One of the old school, before things got so strange.”

She heads in to where Aubrey is no doubt drinking at a highly unsafe rate. Meanwhile, we parley a moment to figure out our next move.

So the Red Hand has apparently joined up with this necromancy cult? What the hell?

Gral notes that the Prisoners recruit cultists by enticing them with what they need, the way the Key drew in the artists with promises of knowledge. “Clem, you know the Red Hand. The Astronomer said something about overcoming death, or reversing it. Would that have been tempting to them?”

Clem looks uneasy. “As much as any soldier, I guess? We’ve all lost loved ones. The Red Hand was basically family to me, and we lost plenty in the war. Who wouldn’t want to see their loved ones again?”

“Maybe it would be best to talk to the Red Hand at the manor house first?” Valeria asks. “And then maybe we’ll have a better idea what we’ll be up against?”

Clem nods. “I agree. We’re making a lot of assumptions about them. I admit the whole situation looks damning to my former comrades, but we don’t have the full picture. There’s nothing stopping us from going up and just talking to them.”

Gral shrugs. “IF they’re friendly.”

Shoshana is pretty distrustful, as a rule. “Yeah, that’s a big if. They’re hanging with necromancy guys. What if they send skeletons at us?”

“Well, that’ll happen everywhere in Mornheim,” Gral interjects reasonably.

Clem’s quite insistent. “They could have a good reason! We don’t know they’re totally evil.”

Valeria sees what Clem’s driving towards. “There could be some kind of magical influence or something, something that we could fight!”

Gral’s amenable to this. “We approach with caution, looking out for ambushes. Clem does the talking, we stay back and provide support. I would like Lady Aubrey not to be angry with us; we’ll inform her of the plan beforehand.”

Shoshana looks uncomfortable, like she’s going to talk, but thinks better of it. Some things are better kept private.

It’s getting on afternoon, though, and we’re all well aware that the necropolis is a much more dangerous place after sundown. We resolve to set out in the morning.

Clem sighs. “I’ve waited a long time to see members of the Red Hand again. I can wait another couple hours.”

In the meantime, Valeria wants to go apologize to the doctor about losing the medicine, and we’re all absolutely dying of curiosity to go get the groundskeeper’s story. We head into town and perception check around, and Shoshana’s player drops a die on the floor and rolls a natural floor twenty. Blaze it!

The town is gloomy, even though the sun hangs unobscured in the sky. The shadows are long and twisted. Yet one is sort of misshapen - wait, that’s a dude on the ground.

We wander over to find a fella passed out against the back wall of the cider mill, a dribbling bottle clutched limply in his hand. He’s wearing the kind of clothing that would usually be layered under full plate armor, with a burning hammer insignia pressed into the corner. He’s got a warhammer on his hip as well. It’s familiar to the soldiers in our party - that’s a symbol of Lethe, the Forge Goddess, and specifically it is the crest of the paladin Order of the Hammer.

Valeria, who knows paladins, and Clem, the experienced soldier, immediately notice something is wrong, if this guy is really a paladin of Lethe: his equipment looks battered and heavily worn. Clem has SEEN the Order of the Hammer fight. Until the Orcish berserkers joined the fight, these guys were the ultimate shock troopers. Flaming weapons, celestial steeds with sparking hooves, heavy EVERYTHING. And most importantly, the Paladins of the Forge Goddess always had pristine equipment, as if it had been freshly smithed. This man’s armor? It’s decidedly NOT.

Valeria wonders if Lay On Hands can sober people up. Alcohol IS technically a poison, right? Might as well try it.

Valeria cures one (1) poison or disease and gives the poor man an insta-hangover. “Are you all right?” she asks pleasantly, and probably too loudly for him. “I’m Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

“A Kyr? ….Rose?” he mumbles. She’s very shiny, and that’s definitely making his hangover worse. “...Didn’t think any of you survived.”

Valeria’s attention is instantly captured. “D’you know anything about what happened to the others?” she asks.

He squints up at her toothy face. “I was detached. Got left behind to rebuild a town, while everyone else went forward. More of a builder than a fighter, y’know? Heard what happened to the rest of ‘em after…”

He picks up his bottle and tries to take a slug, looking vastly disappointed when he finds it empty.

We notice he did NOT introduce himself as Kyr, the title of an active paladin. “Horatio Crabber,” he mumbles, by way of introduction. He has a Galwan accent. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Ser Morozov hired us to figure out what happened in his previous expedition,” Valeria tells him helpfully.

“Uh, I think Mercedes was looking for you,” adds Shoshana from somewhere in the back.

“Shit, the ballistas,” he sighs, pushing himself heavily to his feet. “I’ll go take care of that. I know what she wants.” As he fruitlessly tries to straighten himself up, he looks back at Valeria with haggard eyes.

“Take it from me, Rose. Do what you came here to do, and get out. You look like a good knight. Armor still shiny. Just…don’t let this….you gotta get out of this wood. There aren’t many of your kind left, and this place will chew you up.” He slumps away.

Valeria chirps at his receding back, “I don’t think it will. 😊”

We have completed Side Quest: Rouse the Fallen Paladin.

Valeria would know what likely happened to this man: Usually, in order to Fall, a paladin would have to commit evil deeds. But paladins of Lethe can Fall due to despair alone. If they give up and lose faith, their powers desert them. As Falling goes, it’s relatively more easy to come back from – they don’t need to redeem themselves from evil, but they truly Gotta Believe. Lethe does not tolerate quitters. (We assume her legions are made up entirely of hot blooded shonen protagonists.)

(Also, is everyone in Mornheim an alcoholic? They live in the zombie apocalypse and the only major business still running is the cider distillery. Of course everyone’s an alcoholic.)

Time to find the groundskeeper. We follow the river up to where it flows through a grate in the city wall. It looks like there was a house up against wall that was partially deconstructed and gutted. Next to it, there’s a massive, hulking figure sitting there, its feet in water. Holy shit, my dudes, that’s a big old Troll! One arm is oddly shriveled, like it didn’t regenerate properly. Trolls can usually grow limbs back like it ain’t an issue, so that’s not a good sign. It’s unusually well-dressed for a troll, wearing a stitched-together brightly colored leather vest and pants and a big straw hat.

Valeria’s claws immediately go to her sword. She knows the amphibian sea trolls who hit fishing villages, and what a terrifying menace they are. A troll attack from within, on a city this weakened, would be disastrous. Gral knows that the more mountain-living orc tribes have had to fortify heavily against mountain troll raids. Clem’s heard horror stories of the frost trolls of the northern steppes.

Shoshana takes one look at all of them gearing up for a fight and complains, “Really? Who raised you?! Can you be polite for, like, three fucking seconds?!”

Valeria is baffled and defensive. “Trolls attack people! It’s what they do!”

Shosana rolls her eyes and tells everyone to wait here for a fuckin’ sec. She ambles up toward the troll, telegraphing her movements like someone apologizing for intruding. She gently knocks on a piece of wood from the gutted house, starting to...sing? She does a couple lines of a dumb little nursery rhyme about a fumbly bumbly-bee.

The troll stirs, and speaks in a deep calm dopey voice. “This isn’t my bridge, you didn’t have to sing, but I appreciate it. Hi. What can I do for you?”

“We were looking for the groundskeeper?”

Gral whispers an aside: “I think we found him.”

“The one in the mask is right,” the troll says placidly. “I am Skelbor, groundskeeper here for past 83 years.”

Shoshana can see he’s an old troll, but not especially healthy. There’s an odd greyish discoloration to his skin, and his left arm is withered & especially pale. He tips his hat with the withered arm.

Gral is confused, and tips his mask in return. “Hello! We are not from here, but-”

“Yup, I could tell. I woulda seen her before,” he agrees, pointing to the Large and Shiny Valeria.

“We’re friends of Ser Balderich,” Shoshana volunteers.

“Oh huh! How’s he doing? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s doing well! ...I mean, he’s wounded, but he’s healing up. He’s...actually staying in my house right now?”

“Mmm. Is it a nice house?”

Shoshana shrugs awkwardly. “Sure? It’s small, but it’s not bad. It’s full of weird cats?”

“That’s good, that’s good. He liked dogs better, when he was a boy.”

We awkwardly manage to stammer out that Mercedes sent us to ask what happened to Ser Balderich, why he’s not here to help the defense.

“Oh yah. Now that is a sad story. Come in, sit down.” He gestures to the hollowed out house; we realize it’s not been destroyed, just hastily renovated to fit a troll. It’s still pretty cramped for him, though.

“My apologies,” he intones in his deep slow voice, leading us inside. “Lady Aubrey convinced me to leave my very nice lair. I can’t stay there no more, it’s too far outside the walls.”

“Your new house is...very nice?”

“It’s a dump, but it’s mine. It is what it is.” He shrugs, and begins his story.

“So. I knew Ser Balderich a long time, since he was just a boy. I knew Rosalind, too. She was a gardener here, or she was, as a young girl. Even up ‘till the end she was always workin’ with the plants. Kept the flowers and things nice for the graves.”

“Did you work with any of that?”

“Oh ya, I helped with all that stuff. Fixin’ up the graves and mausoleums and such. Good stonework ‘round here. I’d help out with the liftin’ and carryin’.

“Soon enough, Rosalind and Baldy caught each other’s eye! Bit of a scandal, the noble heir marryin’ a commoner, but we’re not so uptight as to make a big fuss ‘round here, not like other towns. And then I don’t gotta explain to you where li’l Aubrey came from.

“And then one day all the dead people stopped bein’ so obedient! One tried to chew m’leg off. Had to give it a good smack. I told Baldy, he told me to keep an eye out. Kept getting worse. Soon myself and Ser Balderich and some of the guards had to patrol every night to keep ‘em down. Back then that was workin’ quite fine.

“Until Lady Rosalind got sick. Went up the river to the old trollstones, one of her favorite spots. I found her collapsed in the water, an’ she was mighty cold. I brought her back to house and she got real sick. Didn’t last much longer, after that. It happens, sorry to say. Buried her in the family tomb. And then the tragic bit was, she came back. And, well. Ser Balderich couldn’t take that.

“First night she came back, well, uh, I took care of the corpse, as it were. And he went and was sad, but the next night, the ghost appeared. And that was too much for him. I can’t take care of that with these,” he says ruefully, holding up his meaty fists. “Ser Balderich’s the one with the magic sword.”

“Rosalind was seen out in the hills, shoutin’ his and Aubrey’s names. He went on out to confront her, and...he couldn’t. Heart as big as a mountain, that man, but some things ain’t about courage. He couldn’t do it. That was when he left Mornheim. Left his brother in charge, left Aubrey, and took the oath of a Beggar Knight.

“His brother was good man, but he didn’t last too long. Same with the cousin, Aubrey’s aunt Josephina. Been tryin’ their best, but dead folks have been gettin’ mighty rambunctious out there. ‘Fore long it was just Aubrey. Well, and Cousin Leah, but she went off tryin’ ta get some help from the Archcleric. Came back claimin’ she had a solution, but I don’t like it. Somethin’s wrong about her these days.

“Aubrey had to abandon the homestead, the ol’ manor. When I went back out there latest, I thought I heard Lady Rosalind out there, in the western wing. That was their old livin’ quarters.”

“Aubrey’s mighty upset at her father for leavin’. We don’t talk about Ser Balderich, but it’s good to hear he’s doin’ well. Knew him since he was a boy, an’ he always treated me right. Bein’ a Beggar Knight’s not the easiest life, but none are these days. We are tested by the times we live in,” he finishes sagely.

We quietly contemplate Ser Balderich’s personal tragedy, and thank Skelbjor for telling us. In an effort to make everyone feel a little better, Shoshana tells Skelbjor all the news she has of what Ser Balderich’s been up to lately.

He nods. “I’ll tell those what knew him, except for Aubrey. Hope he makes it. Good to hear he’s upholdin’ the oath, good to hear he’s still walkin’. Still breathin’, anyway. Lotsa things here walk but don’t breathe.”

We ask him if he’s heard of the von Mentzer tomb, the one where Ser Quentin got separated from the Red Hand.

“The von Mentzer tomb? Musta been years ago I was out there - it was ‘bout a year ago that Lady Aubrey got me outta my den under the bridge. Now that tomb, it was a good tomb. Worked on it myself. Beautiful sculpture. It even had scrolls! Hard to do scrolls, but it was a family of scholars, so it seemed appropriate. Imported marble, very pricey, worth it for something like that. Well, the outside was marble - the inside was honest Valdian granite. Most of the family was in there, ‘specially accomplished ones.”

No clues there. Maybe, as the groundskeeper, he was familiar with the manor house?

"Well, I didn’t go in there that often, for ceiling and floor-based reasons, but yeah, as familiar as I could be. When I first showed up, I could usually squeeze through the doors, but I’ve gotten bigger in my age, and you can only break so many frames before people start askin’ ya to keep outside. They were real nice about it, we had an understandin’. Had all the staff parties on the ground floor outside, so I could join.”

Skelbjor is lovely company, and we’d love to make our DM do a dopey troll voice forever, but it’s probably about time for us to get going.

“Well, I wish ya the best, good luck out there. Headin’ out in the mornin’, I’d guess?”

He hands each of us a pouch of something white and powdery, before we go. We don’t know what it is.

“You’ll need somma dat in case you encounter specters. Don’t worry, I pulverized it myself, it’ll flow nicely. You sprinkle it over ‘em. Or throw it at ‘em, the pouch will burst. Then they’ll be vulnerable to smashin’ and slashin’ and such things. Lady Aubrey heard that trick from the Cursebreakers, and we got plenty of wizard bone here. You can go and make some more in the field, though I don’t recommend it. Works best with a li’l holy water and silver dust, but you do what you can do. Saved my life more’n once. Lady Aubrey made sure I had plenty. I can’t do much against a specter without it.”

“Fortunately for the town, they seem less inclined than most to come through the walls. We mostly get rotters and shamblers, the bony types. But if you’re goin’ into the necropolis, bring yer powdered wizard bone.”

We add our Bags of Powdered Wizard Bone (1 use, negates ghosts’ resistance to physical damage) to our inventories.

“I’m mostly here, unless there’s a wall breach they need me to hold, or need me to fix somethin’. Now I’m gonna go rest up, they might need me at the walls tonight. You’ll know if there’s an attack, we’ll sound the bells. Maybe my arm will come back!”

We hadn’t been tactless enough to ask about the shriveled arm, but he brought it up himself, so we do. “Yeah, a couple ghouls gnawed on it, an’ then a ghost got to it. So I chopped it off, as ya do, had a real nice meal. And then it didn’t come back right. That was ‘bout a year ago. It was what convinced me to give up my den. A troll with two arms can take care of himself, but one-armed not so much.”

As we wave goodbye and head back towards town, Valeria whispers aside to Shoshana, “I didn’t know land trolls were so civilized! Sea trolls are The Worst.” Gral and Clem nod in agreement, still honestly a bit unnerved by the whole scene.

Back in town, Valeria still feels pretty guilty about losing the medicine, so she stops in at the makeshift hospital to see if there’s anything she can do to help. The doctor is pretty mad at her! In our defense, we didn’t know there was a disease. Also we tried to defend the Stuff, but our plan didn’t work. (Well, our characters thought it would work, the players are self-aware of our own idiocy). Gral turns out to have been guiltily skulking behind. Wait, no, all of us want to be in the scene now.

Valeria offers to help by Laying On Hands; Clem has been a battlefield medic, Gral has assisted in war zones, and Shoshana has some knowledge of herbal medicine. Between all of our various expertises, the DM tells us: these people aren’t taking HP damage, they’re Sick.

Valeria can heal 2 people using her Lay On Hands to “cure a disease.” She does so; she has suppressed the symptoms, but there is no way to know if the cure is permanent. Using her Detect Magic, she can tell there is something faintly magic about the sickness here. It’s necromancy-ish, natch.

Clem’s training tells her that what we’re seeing is a pretty usual mix of diseases you get when lots of people live in close proximity eating bad food. Y’know, war zone stuff. On top of all of that, though, there’s some kind of extra x-factor. Everyone is more drained? Some fatigue is expected, but this is hard to put a finger on. Everyone has this consistent level of drained-ness. A lack of life? And it’s consistent no matter the severity of the patient’s disease. Clem would not have noticed if Valeria hadn’t pointed out the magic. Places like this do not need help getting people sick.

Clem: “These people have trench foot for the soul. Trench soul.”

Gral raises the sick folks’ morale with a lovely Performance check, and Shoshana rolls a Useless on helping out.

Valeria and Clem don’t point out the magical malaise to the doctor. What would she be able to do? Better not to put another impossible burden on her.

We find a place to sleep. Our overall impression of town isn’t totally post-apocalyptic. If you stay away from the manor and the necropolis, the undead really only come out at night. People are still working the farms and orchards somewhat, they’re just sleeping in the walled town because of the nightly undead hordes.

Gral is awoken in the night, hearing something outside the walls. There’s a commotion out by gate. (We hope it’s free cheese.) Gral untangles himself from the snoozing adventurer heap and heads over to the gate. Guards are looking out; we see the fallen paladin and the troll there as well. Skelbjor is standing at his full height, holding a ballista with his one functional arm. “Looks like that’s the last of them for tonight,” the fallen paladin sighs. “Oh, here come the helpers. You want me to take the shot?”

“No, we’ll hear their piece and let ‘em leave,” Aubrey yells back.

A magically enhanced voice booms over the gate. “Citizens of Mornheim! This night the Penitents have delivered you from your attackers, but you will not be truly free until you have unburdened yourselves of your crimes in the eyes of the gods! Any who wish may be escorted to temple and absolved of their sins, so they may be granted the divine protection of Rack. Carry our words: the Lady Aubrey von Mornheim can end this horror if she submits to her penance! We shall wait one hour for her to surrender herself.”

Predictably, nobody opens the gates. Skelbjor takes a look. “They’re just standing there. HIIIII, PENITENTS.”

Crabber looks at Gral, significantly less hungover than the first time they met. “Hey. …are you an orc?”

“Yes, Gral Omokk’duu, pleasure to meet you.”

“Horatio Crabber. They do this most nights. We usually stay behind the walls, but they’ll send a squad out to deal with the nasties. We’re not ungrateful, but then they do this bit afterwards and wake everybody up. More of a nuisance than a threat.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Honestly, we’re probably done for the night, except waiting for these idiots to leave. You can head on back to bed.” Gral takes his advice.

We wake up in the gloomy morning. This place is, unsurprisingly, still oozing goth.

Shoshana makes a point to get Clem alone while we’re all still getting ready.

“Hey, I just want to warn you,” the young sorceress starts awkwardly. “I know that you want to talk to the Red Hand and get their side of the story, but...look. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to accept the possibility that they’re gonna be, y’know. Too far gone to talk to.”

“Shoshana, I know you believe you have to immediately ‘put down’ anyone affected by the curse, but I need to hear them out.”

“That’s not - Clem, I just....don’t want you to get your hopes up. They might attack us as soon as they see us.”

“I was told a man named Sokolov would be there. I don’t want to fight my former unit, but I need to have words with Sokolov.”

Shoshana can definitely grok needing to talk to someone just to get closure, even if you have no hope for them. “I mean, I get that, I really do. I’m just worried.”

“Thank you for trying to help. I know you have the best intentions. But I’d say that my time with the Red Hand robbed me of any optimism I had,” the actual war veteran diplomatically reminds the 19-year-old who’s barely ever left her village. “I’m just being even-handed. I know there’s a good chance we’ll have to ‘put them down,’ as you would say, but I want to go in as even and level headed as possible. I’ve learned that it’s better not to fight when you don’t have to. I want to hear them out. If I see Sokolov, though, things will be different.”

“Please understand: these people were basically my family. So going in there swords blazing is not an option.”

“That’s not really what I-”

“I’ve spent a few years looking for these people, since seeing my actual family is a far-off possibility. It’s very bittersweet that this is how we meet again.”

Gral pipes up: “I’ve gotten my own bittersweet closure. I understand.”

Shoshana: oh my god other people are here

We scoot in opposite directions, Clem trying to appreciate support even if it’s misguided, and Shoshana convinced that the buff lady is about to get her heart broken.

AAAANYWAY. How are we going to get to the manor, where the Red Hand and their cultist friends are occupying the eastern wing? According to the map, we could go either over land or through the catacombs.

We find Aubrey, who is drinking water and looking wan. Her advice is to go through the catacombs. It’s how she and Mercedes usually go, though the two of them are stealthy enough not to draw attention, and our party has a couple of clanky tanks. “The undead can only come at you from two directions, in a tunnel. The biggest threat with the crews of shamblers and rotters is getting mobbed. In the catacombs, they can’t really surround you. Break through one side, and you’re free.”

Aubrey makes us a rough map of the catacombs. They’re used regularly enough by the resistance for transportation, so there’s signage up. The bigger routes are easier to find, although it’s easy to get lost trying to get to the smaller passages. She points us to a route that will take us up through the manor’s wine cellar.

We ask if she wants us to bring her back anything from the wine cellar. She requests her favorite vintage: purple and made of grapes.

(A side conversation ensues, regarding what kind of wines we’re all familiar with. Shoshana, being from a small and very Yiddish village, is clearly only familiar with Manischevitz, or homemade moonshine. Moonischevitz? MAN-SHINE.)

Aubrey gives us a few tips on navigating the tombs. “Look out for specific symbols on the tombs: a tree means a Knight of the Greatwood, this rune here means they were a spellcaster, a bird mask means a Sturmhearst graduate, and this symbol means they were executed. You see a bunch of THOSE, you’ve hit Gallows Hill. You end up there, get OUT. Nobody is buried with anything good, and they’re pretty angry.”

As we head into the catacombs, the DM has us draw a couple cards from his deck. Shoshana draws The Faith. Clem draws The Tome.

Valeria navigates first, rolling a 16. We do not end up in Gallows Hill.

Deep inside the tunnels, we find a small chapel to Rack. (Thanks, The Faith!) There’s no real guardian of the dead in the Oberian pantheon, but Rack is the most commonly used for funerary rites, since he’s in the Pit and the afterlife tends to have us all thinking about suffering vs. mercy. The Curse is quiet/lessened here in the tiny chapel, and Valeria can feel the presence of Rack. It’s a free short rest area, basically. For Gral and Clem, the statue of Rack upside-down in chains upside down is kinda creepy. The chapel also serves as the tomb of a couple clerics of Rack. They are seemingly undisturbed by undeath.

We travel on. Once we’re out of range of the chapel, Shoshana, with a good Perception roll, feels the air grow a bit cold as something spectral shifts out from behind a corner.

(Clem’s player’s Roll20 name is blocking the map, since he has put Clem’s entire very long name as his handle. “Dude, can you shorten your name for me? It makes it hard to scroll.” -DM

“I’d rather die.”

He immediately makes his name in chat EVEN LONGER.)

We can hear voices from the direction of that cold ghostly wind. No, it’s just echoey - this is more like a singular rather cultured voice. “Now. Calm yourself and let’s be as reasonable as we can.”

“Grahh,” something replies.

“Now there’s no need for that! I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this, including your current behavior, which is VERY rude.”

“grrAH,” the something says aggressively.

“Um. Oh dear. Help?!”

Clem turns the corner and can see four shapes in the darkness, accompanied by the sound of rattling bones. A-Luxor, our floating light-beetle, floats around and light spills on four skeletons and some sort of skeletal specter looming over them. The skeletons look hastily assembled - the bones aren’t matching; one has a leg much shorter than the other, one has 2 right femurs. Clem can tell, she went to enough med school to know what bones should look like.

“UM, HELP, THEY’RE BEING QUITE UNREASONABLE,” the voice yelps.

It’s time to fight Bones Malone and the Spooky Boys. The distant trousle of bones begins to play on somebody’s laptop speakers.

As Gral hits the bony boys with Faerie Fire and Valeria unleashes her frigid breath weapon, the eyes on the Eyegis begin to roll in every direction. It’s as cool as it is creepy.

A terrible voice hisses, “Slaaay them, they will serrrrrve.”

The first voice, which seems to be coming from the wall, shouts, “Is somebody out there? Help!”

Valeria calls back, “We’re trying!”

“Thank youuuuu!”

Shoshana crits one skeleton with thunder damage and EXPLODES it. Her other beam nat 1s and thunder damages the wall, everyone taking a small amount of rubble damage as rock splinters from the wall and ceiling. Clem stands up too fast and bonks her head on the wall. Clem swings, but the skelly trousles away. Gral smashes one with his sickle. Valeria stabs and twists with her trident, getting a bony boy between the ribs and just stirring.

The ghost poofs over and begins to drain Shoshana’s life essence away. The sorceress rolls good enough CON to avoid losing any of her spell slots, though she temporarily gets her max HP cut. It hisses, “powerrr…mine….give it….I need it…” Shoshana’s retaliatory swipe goes right through it. You can see bony bits floating in the ectoplasm.

Valeria hustles on over to the talking tomb and investigates, but badly. It’s the tomb of someone named Dr. Leonard Wendell. There’s bird masks carved on tomb, and the inscription says “Healer, Leader, Teacher, Founder”

Valeria is like, cool, and pulls the lid off the stone casket. There’s a body in there, as well as a ghost crouching in there, looking like a transparent person in fancy robes and a much older style of bird mask. “Oh, dearest me!” he cries.

The evil ghost points at Clem and hisses. She feels her bones trying to lock in place, but it doesn’t work. Clem tries to hit the ghost but just KEEPS WHIFFING, what is the DEAL with her dice, seriously.

“Goodness me! Is Doctor Rial still out there?” asks the Sturmhearst ghost.

“There were a bunch of skeletons and a ghost, I didn’t catch any of their names?” Valeria admits.

“My colleague, Rutiger Rial, he was acting quite beside himself and irrational. He wanted me to come with him and see something, and I didn’t think that was a good idea! And he got very upset at me!” the ghost huffs.

Valeria blinks. “…you certainly seem more civilized than other ghosts I’ve seen.”

“Well, Rutiger was as educated as I, although in a different field. I always said the study of the arcane would lead to irrationality! To a point. I admit it can be very useful in certain contexts.”

“Uh, I’m Kyr Valeria Argent….at your service?”

“A pleasure to meet you!”

“You were calling for help?”

“Ah, yes. Rutiger and his skeletons were threatening to drag me off! And I called for help, and you graciously assisted. I say, are your friends okay back there?”

Smash cut to Gral getting smacked by a ghost.

Shoshana channels her Primal Savagery and claws at the specter, tearing through the ectoplasm, getting a good grip on its remaining cervical vertebrae, and RIPPING them right out. It shrieks horribly, and falls to the ground. Its ectoplasm evaporates, and the bones fall to the floor, bounce bounce bounce clatter.

“…They seem to have it under control,” Valeria says.

“Yes, well, we woke up some time ago,” the transparent Dr. Wendell tells her, as the rest of us brush bone fragments off our clothes and come over to talk. “Rutiger was considerably less coherent than he was in life; he went off, saying he heard something calling. I, however, am a man of science, who knows better than to go exploring strange tombs, even if they’re my own!”

“If it’s your own, isn’t it not a strange tomb?”

“Well, I’ve never seen it! The last thing I remember is treating plague victims!”

Shosha takes a biiiiiiiig step back.

(“He died of Serious Stank,” Gral’s player quips.

“Yes, overcome by miasma is what we called it in my day,” the DM responds in-character.)

The ghost looks sheepish, as much as one can while wearing a big ol’ plague doctor mask. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know how much longer I would last here, before I degraded like Rutiger there. Might I leave with you? I can’t really offer anything except my experience, and companionship, I suppose.”

“I’m not really sure how to- well, Rutiger there WAS a specialist in necromancy, and we shared rooms often. I was no caster in life, but I think I can get away with it by – ah, yes, that should do nicely,” he mutters. “What year is it?”

We haven’t actually come up with a calendar for this campaign, so Clem’s player guesses. “...1965?” Suddenly we all have Mad Men haircuts, and the Orc homeland is Vietnam.

“Last I remember, it was 1843. If I recall my instructions upon burial, there should be a scalpel in there!”

Valeria indeed spots a scalpel, on a small shelf above his body. “Ah,” Dr. Wendell sighs, “we saved many lives together.”

The inert skeleton in the tomb is in in pieces, separated neatly in little alcoves. “Ah, perfect! Just as I asked for in my will. I was fully dissected upon death, of course! I’d be something of a hypocrite, with all the trouble I went to acquire cadavers.”

“Anyway. There appears to be an influence in this place I’m not fond of. I can reside in this scalpel, until perhaps I can be ensconced elsewhere. I’m safer in the scalpel than out there.”

We have acquired the haunted scalpel of Dr. Leonard Wendell, Founder of the Sturmhearst College of Medicine.

We short rest in the chapel. We take no taint, due to the holy ground.

During the short rest, Gral reflects on how orcs don’t really have a problem with ghosts or hauntings. Because once you’ve sent a spirit to the Allsoul, it kind of stays part of the Allsoul. He kinda finds it irresponsible of these foreigners to just leave ghosts lying around like that, instead of consolidating them into a giant ghost-powered memory blob.

(Orc ghost stories are a bit different than human ones – generally some warrior gets lost, and you defeat them by singing the death song and sending them to the Allsoul. The ghost’s appearance is what lets the heroes know that “Oh, they’re dead, not missing.” We want to know about Orcish murder mysteries that start with a ghost attack, but the DM gets us back on track.)

“So, as a scalpel of science, did you see anything that would have caused such a change in your colleague?” Clem asks Dr. Wendell.

“Apparently, we had all been chosen to serve in some sort of army? I’ll have you know I was in life a strict pacifist. Until the day I died I swore I would Do No Harm. That doesn’t really apply anymore, but. It’s the principle of the thing.”

We explain to him that there’s, like, a curse going on. It’s looking like “Serve” and “Chosen” are its buzzwords in Mornheim.

“Well, I conscientiously object!” he huffs.

(We do not tell him about the Key, just in case. Do the Prisoners get along well enough to share custody? I guess we’ll have to see.)

Time to keep traveling. We head back out into the catacombs, and the DM has Gral draw one more card: the Madness.

Clem must immediately make a WIS save. She does bad.

As we walk through the chill of the catacombs, something about the tunnel – Clem could swear she hears whispers. Looking at the names on the alcoves, they’re not Valdian…they start looking Elven. Which is weird, ‘cause she’s in Valdia. She looks, and she starts to hear voices of her fallen comrades. Those that died in the original charge, those that died in the winter that followed, those that died in the years of war. Help us…help us return….you can help…find them…..

As the group passes a statue, and she looks up, it’s a figure holding an axe. ...It’s Her.

Clem, the DM asks, how do you react to you-know-who?

Clem stops dead in front of the statue, confronted by a terribly familiar face. Her sword slips from her grasp as helpless tears begin to drip from her eyes, and she collapses to the ground.

We all hear the enormous greatsword clang to the ground. Clem’s looking at a statue of “Ser Marina Ivanovna.” It’s an elf woman wearing a cloak - an old Kevan soldier’s uniform. There’s a story inscribed on the pedestal. Looks like the person interred here was part of the elven forces during the Kevan occupation, but she was considered a hero in Valdia after she fought some dragon that took over a huge section of the wood. Clem is staring up at the stone figure, the usually stoic drow sobbing openly.

Shoshana snaps fingers in front of Clem’s eyes and shoves at her shoulder. Clem’s enormous form doesn’t move.

Valeria assumes the statue is doing some kind of mind effect on Clem and gets her weapons out. The statue stands there, foot on a dragon skull, looking vaguely heroic at us. Valeria pokes it with her trident. It is stone.

Eventually Clem comes to, a bit. She looks at the statue again, now that A-Luxor has floated over and cast a better light on the figure. It’s not Her.

Yes, it’s an Elven Greencloak, holding an axe, but the face is different. Clem can see the name now, with its granted Valdian title. Clearly a different woman. The axe is different, the uniform is different. Clem suddenly becomes aware of the situation, and is WAY EMBARRASSED. She pushes herself to her feet, scrambling to get herself together. “I’m – sorry, I’m fine, I, uh, thought it was someone else-”

Shoshana rolls Insight. Clem is clearly upset by what just happened, and is trying to pretend everything is okay. It has to do with the statue? Clem’s doing double takes at the statue and mumbling “I-I could have sworn it was her...”

In Clem’s distracted mumbling, Shoshana manages to pick up a name that the others don’t seem to hear. Private Messaging, the digital equivalent of passing notes.

We all agree that there must be mind magic going on, and hurriedly press forward.

We follow the signs that the resistance has put up, and eventually emerge into a basement. Clearly this was once a lavish, well appointed building, but it’s now dusty and dead. This is a pretty nice wine cellar – there’s much imported Demish wine and a setup clearly suited for hosting fancy parties.

Valeria’s noble enough to pick out a good vintage. Valeria wants to take one that seems like there’s a lot of, or might be significant to the house of Mornheim. She finds a “Chateau dePas” and stashes a bottle for Aubrey. Clem grabs a bottle at random and takes a slug to deal with the ordeal she just went through. She’s not drinking enough to get drunk, and is also huge enough that it would take a whole lot for her to get there.

We find some stairs up and find ourselves in a crumbling, once-opulent and imperious house, in the Grand Foyer. Animal heads adorn the walls, covered in webs and dust. Appropriate for all cliches, there’s a big painting on one wall over a fireplace. It’s of three people: clearly a younger Ser Balderich, a woman standing next to him, and in proper cheesy pic style, they’ve both got their hands on the shoulders of young girl. They’re smiling, standing in front of the hills north of house in a little garden area. We can see the ancient trollstones framing them. (Trollstones are ancient standing stones - perhaps not as elaborate as Stonehenge, but the general idea is similar.) There’s lots of other art of dusty ancestors, portraits, and maps. It looks like there’s been fighting here - there’s battle damage and a few arrows stuck in the rafters.

The peasant among us gapes at all the artwork. Do rich people just paint picture of everyone they know???

“Not everyone, usually just family. And they hire someone,” Valeria tells Shoshana.

(We decide that in traditional Dragonborn portraits, they are surrounded by their Unusual Hoard – their prestigious collection of their favorite thing. Thanks for the inspiration, iguanamouth! Valeria doesn’t have a hoard yet. If she’s got a painting, it might be her with her parents’ hoards. Family ones tend to be their industry, or thing they’re king of, etc. Maybe Valeria’s can be her collection of souvenirs and gifts for NPCs? Her player’s already started a tally of how many maps we get...)

We’re in a big foyer. We don’t see anything immediately; it’s kind of a big mess of a room. Time for Investigate checks! Shosha investigates in case the cult left shit lying around. She finds, in a closet, hanging up, a cloak. It’s well made, with the Mornheim crest on it. The cloaks next to it are damaged, but this one isn’t at all - definitely a sign of a possible magical object.

“Guys, is it poor taste to loot the house of a person you know?” she calls back to the others.

“I mean, Aubrey’s technically a graverobber,” Clem tells her.

Shoshana feels weird as a kind-of-guest taking Aubrey’s shit, but she takes it nonetheless. Loot!

She puts it on and it’s a Cloak of Protection! +1 to AC and all saving throws!

The DM decides to roll on a table of item quirks and we get lucky: “This item whispers warnings to its bearer. You receive +2 to Initiative.”

However he also gives it “While you wear it, it’s constantly muttering.”

Apparently the cloak was enchanted to warn the wearer of danger, but it’s in the friggin’ Cursewood, which is absurdly full of danger, and it’s been trying to warn for soooo long, that it is Constantly Muttering. Like running through like five years of voicemails you can’t skip, except they’re about potential doom. DM, you gave a perfectly good cloak anxiety.

It’s embroidered nicely, though, with Mornheim’s iconic apple trees. The DM’s rolls tell us it was given as gift to a Mornheim noble who went on a quest of some sort

Clem, meanwhile, finds a purse of gold + jewels – 100g worth of jewelry. Score!

Valeria crits her Investigation. She finds a Secret Door, which looks very old. Valeria grew up in noble households and manors, she spent her entire childhood looking for fun secret doors. She pulls on a candlestick, just for old times’ sake, and it goes click!

There’s a secret passageway that goes west, into a small room. It’s set up as some sort of wizard’s lab. She finds a spell scroll! There’s many notes with it, written in a fine hand. This....doesn’t look like a standard spell scroll. For one thing, it’s written in Old Valdian. Holding it, Valeria’s sense of the arcane tells her it feels like a highly advanced and modified version of spell Purify Food & Drink. The notes in Old Valdian, too. This must be a custom spell somebody had developed.

Looking around the wizard lab, it’s full of magical plants and herbs, but they’re all long wilted.

Shoshana, in a mirror, sees something moving, coming from the direction of the ghost’s wing. There it is - the ghost itself, phasing through the door. The eerie spectral form glides into the room, weeping.

SAD GHOST ALERT.

With a natural 20 roll and her natural attunement to the Curse, Shoshana can feel power RADIATING from the ghost’s sobs. This is a seriously powerful spirit.

We all scoot into the secret room, popping our heads out in order of height, Scooby Doo style. We instantly recognize it from the portrait: indeed, this is the spirit of Rosalind von Mornheim. Her ghost is weeping thick black tears that hit the ground and poof into dark smoke. She floats into the foyer and slowly gazes up at the portrait of herself and her family. The sound of her weeping washes over us like a tangible wave; those of us who fail our saves instantly take Taint, as watching this spirit in utter despair makes the fear of death curl an icy hand around our hearts. Eventually she makes her slow, mournful way back towards the living quarters of the manor, phasing away through the wall.

Once she’s gone, Valeria hands Shoshana the spell scroll, since the sorceress is the only one who speaks Old Valdian. She skims it quickly. It seems to be a ritual of divine magic, druidic in nature but could be cast by any cleric, druid, or paladin. It’s some kind of supercharged version of Purify Food and Drink, but with a much wider radius. It wouldn’t fix poison, but the effect would be much longer-lasting and wider-range.

The spell components are decidedly druidic-type ingredients, rather than holy ones. It’s low on silver, holy water, or the rattling chains of Rack – more rare flowers, the horns of a mountain ram, crushed spider legs, (a bit of cilantro, black pepper to taste?)

It seems like the intended use of the spell is for purifying a water supply. Looks like it culminates in some kind of stone or blessed object, which is placed into the water supply.

We should put that in the water near the trollstone!!! Where Lady Rosalind got sick! That’s the same river as the water supply into the town; it might be carrying something that’s causing the necromantic illness in the townsfolk.

Shoshana skims the accompanying notes, too: the writer thinks something has happened to the local water and intends to inspect source; she is worried about Skelbjor under the bridge. (We are unable to find a name, but we can tell it’s a female author.)

Valeria finds a map detailing Mornheim’s irrigation systems, dated about 10 years ago, and takes that as well. She’s excited. If this is a spell paladins can cast, she could fix the water supply, and Save The Town, and Be A Hero!!!!

But we’ve got a cult to fight first.

We open the door and head to wing the cultists have taken over. From Audrey’s description, we know the main feature of this side of the house is its library, the Epitaph Library. In addition to being a regular fancy library, this was also where the epitaphs and records of the notable dead were kept. If you want to find a particular tomb or learn the history of those who were buried in Mornheim, this is your ticket.

In the library, many of the books have been pulled from the shelves and scattered around, but in organized piles, like someone has been doing research. There are candles lit in various places around the room. (Yes, they have glass covers, for fire safety. The players insisted, because we’re book nerds and we’re sad for Witness Bea.)

Gral and Clem, in the gloom, can see a couple of sickly, thin figures – cultists. On either side, there are skeletons standing guard. As we open the door they turn to look directly at us. The cultists turn, too, and we realize – they, too, are suffering a late stage form of the sickness from town. They’re gaunt, pale, and weak. One’s in robe, but the others are in regular clothes.

A thin, reedy voice shouts, “WAIT!” and then devolves into hoarse coughing. The source limps out from behind shelf, leaning heavily on a halberd like it’s a walking stick. “THEY’RE EXPECTED! Grigor said they were coming!”

And Clem sees: his skin is pale and gaunt; he’s limping, barely holding himself upright with the halberd. He wears elven armor, like the suit Clem used to wear, and his withered hands wear worn red gloves. He’s coughing heavily; this elf is clearly deeply unwell.

Private Sokolov smiles sheepishly and says in Elven, “Hey, Sarge. Glad you could join us.”

#session recap #mornheim #aubrey von mornheim #balderich von mornheim #clem haxan #gral omokk'duu #shoshana bat chaya #valeria argent #private sokolov #the pale king #leonard wendell #skelbjor #mercedes the pyromancer

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darthrevaan · 7 years

Text

RvB Bingo Fic - Bodyswap

Title: no te metas con templos alienígenas, idiotas

Summary: Lopez is 100% done with the Red and Blue idiots’ stupidity when they’re themselves, let alone when they switch bodies.

Word Count: 2360

Notes: For the @rvbficwars Bingo Wars, representing Red Team! A little last minute entry to show at least some team spirit xD Lines in italics are in Spanish.

Also available on AO3

Night was Lopez’s favourite time of day. Finally all the pendejos who haunted him during daylight hours would go to bed, and he could enjoy the peace and quiet.

Morning – when they all woke up again – was his least favourite time.

Today his peaceful nightly repose was broken by the pink one crashing unnecessarily loudly into the armoury and yelling, “Lopez, where’s Sarge?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Lopez said, keeping to his usual flat monotone.

“This is important, Lopez! Where the hell is he?”

The pink one did sound a lot more agitated than usual. Strange. “In there,” Lopez said, pointing to the workshop. “He fell asleep while he was fiddling with that new alien device,” he added, despite knowing he wouldn’t be understood.

Donut brushed past him into the other room, and for some moronic reason began to yell, “Grif! Wake up!”

How much of an imbecile was he? Lopez had clearly just told him where to find the red one. He’d even asked for him by name!

Something fishy was going on.

“I’m up, I’m up, Jesus,” he heard Sarge’s voice say as he entered the workshop. “Wait. Why the fuck do I sound so weird?”

“Look at your hands,” Donut instructed.

Lopez watched as Sarge looked down at his hands, started in surprise, then turned them over slowly. “These aren’t my hands,” he said.

“No shit, genius.” That was rather more acerbic than Donut’s usual. What the hell was going on?

“You’re Sarge,” Donut said, “And I don’t mean you got a promotion.”

“Oh.” There was a beat of silence. Then the red one let out a long, despairing wail. “Noooo! I don’t wanna be Sarge!”

“Grif! Stop whining! You’re still you, you’re just stuck in Sarge’s body.”

“What if it’s permanent, Simmons?” Sarge – or Grif? – wailed. “I don’t want a Southern accent!”

“You won’t- Wait, how did you know it was me?”

Grif gave Simmons a look, an expression that was slightly weird on Sarge’s face. “You’re clearly not Donut, Simmons.”

“Point.” Donut – wait, no, Simmons – sat down at the workbench opposite Grif. “But yeah, I am Donut – or I’m in Donut’s body, anyway. It’s fucking weird.”

“You can say that again,” Lopez said. He was, as usual, ignored.

“At least you’re not fucking Sarge,” Grif said with no small amount of venom.

“At least I’m not ‘fucking’ you,” Simmons shot back.

After a second, Grif grinned slyly at him. “Well, you actually ar-”

“Jesus, Grif, right now?!” Simmons interrupted. “That brings an unpleasant image to mind with, y’know, this going on.”

“Fuck.” Grif put a hand over his eyes. “Now I seriously need brain bleach.”

“Where are the others?” Lopez asked.

Grif and Simmons started, like they’d forgotten he was there. “It didn’t affect Lopez,” Simmons said, narrowing his eyes.

“It didn’t? How can you tell?”

“Look at him,” Simmons said, “He’s clearly still Lopez.”

They both stared at Lopez for a moment, before Grif nodded. “Yep, I see what you mean.”

“Besides, I’ve already seen Sarge and Donut. That’s how I knew you were in Sarge.”

“That means they’re out there running around in our bodies!” Grif said. “Please tell me Sarge doesn’t have mine.”

“No, he’s got mine,” Simmons said. “When I left him he was crushing things with my robotic hand.”

“That means Donut has me,” Grif said grimly. “Tucker’s probably taking video.”

“I guess.” Simmons leant forward, now much more interested in the strange device lying on the table. “I bet this is what caused it,” he said, gesturing at the small machine.

“Cool, but what the fuck is it?” Grif asked.

“I… yeah, I have no idea. Sarge said he didn’t know what it was or how it worked, either.” Simmons paused for a moment, then turned to look at Lopez. “Hey, maybe Lopez knows how to fix it.”

“Obviously I can fix unfamiliar alien technology at the drop of a hat,” he said, his hilarious deadpan lost on the two idiots in front of him, as usual.

Different bodies, same idiots.

“Lopez, can you fix this, yes or no?” Simmons asked.

“No,” Lopez said flatly. That was the one word these morons seemed to consistently understand.

“Well, that puts us back at square one, I guess,” Simmons sighed. “I wonder if anyone else was affected?”

“If we go get breakfast, we can find out,” Grif said, trying to hide the hopeful note in his voice.

Simmons sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Lopez followed them to the mess hall, admitting – at least to himself – that he was curious.

The mess hall was pandemonium.

Groups of soldiers were gathered everywhere, all talking, arguing, crying, or just staring into the nearest reflective surface in disbelief. There was no sign of anyone trying to calm or organise the chaos. Lopez did spot Grif and Simmons – now Donut and Sarge, of course – sitting on the opposite side of the hall.

“There you are, you no-good rotten bodysnatcher!” Sarge said as soon as they sat down. Even using Simmons’ body, his voice was still gruff and stubbornly Southern. “Why I oughta-”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t take your fuckin’ body on purpose,” Grif snapped.

“I think it’s kinda fun,” Donut piped up. “And kind of exciting. I mean, I don’t know who most people are yet, and I haven’t found Doc-”

“No,” Grif snapped, pointing a finger at Donut, “No doing weird shit with my body.”

Donut put a hand to his heart. “Grif! I would never! I’m going to take great care of your body!”

“Probably better care than he takes of it,” Simmons said under his breath.

It was at that moment that Wash suddenly sat down unannounced at their table. This wasn’t unusual; the fact that he was completely shirtless, however, was. For a moment they were all shocked into silence.

“Don’t worry,” Wash said, leaning back in his seat, “Lesser men than you have been stunned into silence by the sight of my abs.”

There was another moment of silence. Then everyone drew in a breath nearly in synch, preparing to unleash numerous variations of what the ever-loving fuck. But before anyone could speak, a huge crash echoed through the hall.

Caboose was standing in the doorway, clutching the doorknob of one of the mess hall doors in his hand. The door had been ripped entirely out of its frame, hinges swinging loose.

“Tucker!” he yelled. “Come back here with my body!”

“Alright,” Kimball said, her hands on her hips. “I know this is going to be a testing time for everyone. For now I just have to ask you to grin and bear it until we can work out what the hell happened.” She paused, and then sighed heavily. “And yes, for the moment, I am Private Matthews.”

There were a few conspicuous coughs, but no one outright laughed. “I’m honoured to lend you my body, General!” Matthews called from the back of the room. Doctor Grey’s voice sounded squeaky rather than cheery when he used it.

“…thank you, Matthews,” Kimball said. “Anyway, on to the issue at hand. We need to work out what caused this…bodyswap, and how to fix it.” She turned and looked Simmons. “You said you had some idea of what happened, Captain.”

“Possibly,” Simmons said. “I mean, Sarge was er…fiddling with some unknown alien technology in the workshop last night.”

Kimball looked from face to face. “Colonel, maybe you could tell us more…wherever you are?”

“Right here, General,” Sarge said from Simmons’ body. “Don’t know what that bamboozling bit of alien techno-garbage is, but it sure didn’t seem to be doin’ anythin’ when I was experimentin’ on it last night.”

“When you fell asleep it still hadn’t responded to anything,” Lopez said, “It hasn’t given off any recognisable power readings at all. I doubt it has anything to do with our current problem.”

“Er… what was that?” Kimball asked.

“He said the alien device probably isn’t the cause of our problem,” Andersmith’s deep voice said. When everyone turned to stare at him, he added, “Oh, Doctor Grey speaking, by the way. And can I say I am loving the experience of borrowing your body, Lieutenant Andersmith! I’ve never been able to lift several pieces of lab equipment at once!”

“You’re welcome, Doctor,” Jensen’s voice said from the other side of the room.

“Alright, so if it wasn’t the alien device in the armoury,” Kimball said, “What was it?”

Resounding silence filled the room. People exchanged glances, but no one seemed willing to speak up.

“There was some kind of energy pulse at 3:36 last night,” Church said eventually, flickering into being above Carolina’s shoulder. “I didn’t think it was important at the time – didn’t look out of the ordinary – but I guess I should take a closer look at it.”

“Please do that,” Kimball said. “In the meantime, we should search for any other alien tech on the base, especially anything that looks like it’s been activated. We’ll organise into search teams now.”

In the resulting hubbub, Lopez slipped out of the room and made his way back to the armoury.

It would take those idiots days to find anything on the base, if their previous record was anything to go by. If there was some weird tech here, he’d find it quicker than anyone else.

He logged into a computer terminal and got to work.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

The rhythmic banging had been going on for at least half an hour. Clang, clang, clang, every strike reverberating around the huge room, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve,” someone said. The voice belonged to Locus, but the intonation was clearly not his.

“I am just,” clang “very” clang “frustrated.” Clang.

“I can see that.”

“Look doc, I don’t need you in here psychoanalysing me.” A pair of eyes turned to look at him, one dark brown, the other entirely black. “Especially not when you look like fuckin’ Locus.”

“I’ll come back later then,” Locus – actually the Counsellor – said softly, before turning away and retreating back into the hallway.

Felix, unwillingly and very unhappily trapped in Sharkface’s body, went back to hammering at the strange alien device in the middle of the room, hoping his repeated strikes would make it reverse somehow.

Or break it. That would be fine too.

Outside, the Counsellor found Felix’s body and, disconcertingly, his own sitting side by side on a low wall. Locus had – much to his displeasure – been forcibly ejected from the Temple by Felix, who was apparently extremely uncomfortable watching his own body move around without being able to control it. Sharkface seemed equally uneasy – probably from the loss of his muscles, Aiden thought unkindly.

“He’s still in a mood?” Locus asked.

“He is. I would let him work it out, but I fear he will irreparably damage the alien device if we allow him to continue.”

“He’s the one who fuckin’ set it off in the first place,” Sharkface snapped. His growl didn’t sound even half as menacing in the Counsellor’s soft voice.

“And we’ll all be fucked if he breaks it.” Locus stood up, faltering a little as he did. He was clearly still getting used to being a lot shorter than usual. “Let’s deal with it.”

“With what? These noodle arms?” Sharkface flopped both arms around to demonstrate their apparent weakness. “You’ll have to take doc over here, or go it alone.”

“I suppose I should thank you for being so concerned about my body’s welfare,” the Counsellor said drily.

“More I ain’t in a hurry to get punched in the face,” Sharkface shrugged.

Locus eyed him with consideration. “Do you think you’d be of use?”

Aiden snorted. “Me? No. I don’t think suddenly having muscle will help a man who barely knows how to throw a punch.” He gave Locus a penetrating look. “He’s your partner. You of all people should know his weak spots.”

Locus glared right back at him. “Usually I try not to hit them.”

“He will understand, when everything is fixed.”

Locus hesitated, glancing between the entryway to the Temple and the two of them waiting for him to come to a decision. Then he squared his shoulders. “Wait here,” he snapped, and he disappeared inside the Temple.

“…and if they kill each other?” Sharkface asked a few moments after Locus disappeared from sight.

“Then we’ll have less to worry about,” Aiden said flatly. “And we might be able to start fixing the alien device. Or attempting to do so.”

“Can’t come quickly enough,” Sharkface muttered. “No offense, man, but I hate your body.”

“Unfortunately it was the only one I had to offer,” Aiden said with a raised eyebrow.

There was a yelp and a thud from inside the Temple. They both tensed, waiting; when no more sound was forthcoming, Sharkface said, “I think that’s our cue.”

“Right.” They made their way into the Temple together.

It wasn’t hard to navigate; soon enough they came to the main room and found Locus, standing over Sharkface’s crumpled body. “You better not have done permanent damage,” its temporarily separate owner growled as he entered the room.

Locus cracked his knuckles slowly. “I know my limits. He’s- you’re- you know what I mean. You both are fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” Sharkface turned to the central feature of the room, the strange alien device sticking out of the floor. “Now, I haven’t got all day, Counsellor. Can you fix this thing or not?”

“Me?” The Counsellor smiled. “Oh no. We’ll have to call in an engineering team. Better settle in for a long wait, gentlemen.”

Locus cursed under his breath. “This is the last time I let him wander in alien temples unsupervised.”

#red vs blue #rvb #lopez #rvb bingo wars #red team #one day we'll cruise down blood gulch avenue #mine

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