#garbage monkey dump

[cannibalkissies]

staring at the wall rn

#made the mistake of watching my memorial video i made 13yrs ago for my brother #now i'm like trying to process it all again and my monkey brain has to wonder why i cant just call him #or text him #or play games with him #and on top of it all my back hurts and i'm mega dizzy today (ily period + POTS <3) #grief doesnt get easier it just gets easier to live with ugh #holds my hands out for my f/os to help me but they're all evil little bastards that take ppls lives #that and the other ones.. all they know is tragedy #its so hard to cope with the death of my brother when no one and nothing can relate or share support #i'm so #bluh #i originally watched the video to see if i could hear my dad's voice in the background but alas #just brother grief AJDFKLD #and NOW father grief because i realize i uploaded NOTHING of what i had of my father on youtube #i'd be lucky if my mom had tapes of him but she purged everything of our family when my step father came into the picture #ok i gotta stop AJSDLKFASJDF #This is just turning into me needing to hold my hands out to my therapist xD #ugh #sorry i feel like i got no one to talk to about this garbage so i dump it on here sometimes #vent #tw death

[the-monkey-ruler]

Spark: A Space Adventure Spark (2017)

Director: Aaron Woodley Screenwriter: Doug Hadders / Robert Reece Starring: Jessica Biel / Hilary Swank / Susan Sarandon / Jace Norman Genre: Animation / Adventure Country/Region of Production: South Korea / Canada Language: English Date: 2017-04-14 (USA) Duration: 90 minutes Also know as: Spark: A Space Tail IMDb: tt3228088 Type: Appropriation

Summary:

Set in a galaxy where anthropomorphic animal and aliens live together, Thirteen years ago, the evil primate General Zhong overthrew his noble brother to seize the throne of the planet Bana, using a spacetime anomaly known as "the slick", which has the ability to create black holes; slicks were made by a wild creature known as a space kraken. The black hole created from the slick partially destroyed Bana, and swallowed up many subjects. Among the few survivors were a monkey only a year old named Spark, a warrior fox named Vix, and a boar mechanic named Chunk.

In the present, Spark, Vix, Chunk and Spark's forgetful nanny bot, Bananny, secretly live on a shard used as a garbage dump, with Vix and Chunk leading insurgency missions against Zhong, although they constantly forbid Spark from coming along. One day, Spark intercepts an e-mail sent to Vix about a new mission, and decides to take the mission himself without her knowing. The e-mail leads to the Queen of Bana, whom Zhong still permits to live in the palace. After Spark infiltrates the palace and meets the Queen, she hands him a kraken-finder, which Zhong wants to use to find and recapture the space kraken in order to destroy another planet. Spark decides to use it to find the kraken himself; he tames the creature and brings it back to the garbage shard. But he then finds his home raided by Zhong's forces, who then capture both him and the kraken. Zhong forces the kraken to make a new slick into which he hurls Spark, Vix, Chunk and the entire garbage shard.

The trio discover that the slick is actually a wormhole that leads to a desert planet. Vix and Chunk get upset at Spark for causing Zhong to obtain the kraken, and then split up. Spark finds survivors of the first slick, living in the King's old flagship battle cruiser. The Captain of the flagship reveals that Spark is in fact the son of the King and Queen, who entrusted Vix and Chunk to hide and protect him. He also reveals that the King had actually died in an accident some years ago, but Spark has a vision of the King when he visits a memorial to him, and finds a special weapon made for the royal family. Spark then learns from the deceased King that his friends have been captured by giant mutated roaches. Spark, with the help of his father's spirit and his roach friend, Floyd, defeats the mutated roaches and rescues Vix and Chunk. Spark rallies Vix, Chunk, the Captain and his survivors to mount an attack on Zhong, and Chunk figures out a way to use technology to make a slick of their own. In the meantime, Zhong uses the space kraken to intimidate the rest of the galaxy.

The flagship and survivors return to Bana through their own slick, and ultimately defeat Zhong's forces after a prolonged battle. Spark personally rescues the queen from Zhong's own flagship, which gets critically damaged during the battle. Spark decides to rescue his "Uncle" Zhong as well, but the annoyed Queen then punches Zhong into the slick after he "begs" for forgiveness.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spark_(2016_film)

Link: https://myflixer.pw/watch-movie/spark-a-space-tail-56685.5407513

#Spark: A Space Adventure Spark #Spark: A Space Tail #jttw media #movie #animation #appropriation #sun wukong inspired #zhu bajie inspired

[nayialovecat]

DST Base - I'm proud

I think it's time to show off my base in my current main game with Wigfrid… It's unusual for me when I play this character - built base partly in the Antlion desert and partly in the swamp, but Oasis being so close to the edge of the desert… Oh, I coudn't do it other way. Let me show you around ;)

First main part. Where my character is standing, in the future there will be my kitchen for probably 4 pots - for now I have a future fight with shadow chess pieces to win the heart of Ancient Fuelweave - but I don't feel like carrying their pieces for now. In the future there will also be a 4th cage for this sea bird, which resembles a puffin. Starting from the left… the road to the wormhole that leads to the Pig King (but it is not displayed in the preview), my first fig tree (I am planning more, maybe I will do it in the summer). The way to the pig village and, by the way, to the underground, where I have a mushroom farm. I plan to completely cover it with palm trees. The banana farm was supposed to be moved, but I think it will stay here because it looks nice. I definitely plan on replanting the Moon Trees somewhere. I just don't know where yet. A border of reeds and an unfinished border of monkey tails around the unfinished moon sticks farm (purely decorative, but they saved my life 1-2 times in the winter). Below the farm the Cloakroom where I keep various hats and threads, an unfinished bridge to an unfinished corner of magic. A plant-meat farm, sticks farm and a drying room - all sufficient for my needs. A slightly cluttered main part with two bonfires, a lake and "temporary" chests for what I bring from my trips. I am happy with the avenue of leafy trees (lit by fireflies at night) and my marble farm.

We go right. Golden Pig City - it was supposed to be bigger, but it turns out that so many werepigs satisfy my needs, so I think I'll just fence it for them and decorate it… On the left - a gobbler farm (and some berries, but when it comes to bananas, I rather give the berries to the pig for manure ), behind it is a grassgecko farm and a weed farm X'D (I don't need to grow vegetables since I have a mushroom farm, so it's overgrown with weeds, lol) A little below - my Majestic Bisons, and much below - Honey Meadow (also completely sufficient for my needs). On the lower right you have the temporary Las Palmas (the palm trees will be transferred to the road through the swamp), where the road that will lead to the Volt Goats ends temporarily.

Volt Goat farm - and on the left a failed experiment to create a second herd. I'm currently considering what else to keep there… a summer koalefant?

In the place where my character is now, an Antlion spawns, so I plant trees there, and also nearby, so that by destroying them at spawning, she might wake up the Ents… But for now, the trees are stubbornly petrifying :/ Going down there is my forest to fight the Bearger, but in the future it will be a garbage dump (i.e. meaty plants to eat unnecessary things). At the bottom left there are large spider nests, but I rarely visit them lately. Bottom right - McTusk, also unvisited for at least 3 winters…

And finally, my warehouses - also unfinished, some things are lying on the ground, but overall I am proud of them. Above the warehouse - the failed experiment "Ent Forest" - but it turned out that even non-aggressive ents destroy wooden fences, so I have to think of something else to do there. Any ideas? Coming back to the warehouses, I have a nice skin system for crates and beautiful wooden plaques, see for yourself:

I have monster chests for monster drops, bone chests for those from neutral mobs, white chests for everything else, and one gingerbread chest - for loot from gingerbread men. They look lovely.

And the last part: my Armory. Also not finished yet, but it looks great. On the left you can see a Vault for loot from the underground, but I don't know what it's for at the moment (there are definitely chests there for individual amulets). Above this on the shore is a beach where I plan to store shells when I want to move them from Crabby Hermit Island. I also have a square of marble where I don't know what I will build, and on the far left - Molecatraz. For the time being, the number of prisoners remains unchanged because I turn all the moles I catch alive into Guacamole. Oh yes, and winter Koalefant - I need to decorate his place a little... maybe berry bush and flowers? I'll see.

Of the things I plan to build:

exhibition of Christmas trees with baubles;

Rabbit Village (probably somewhere next to merms and spiders);

Reading Corner (I have a new skin for the wood fence) - but here I need skins for furniture from underground - I will store unused Wigfrid songs there and put a cookbook there;

Altars for individual bosses - I saw it from some YouTuber and I really like this idea.

#DST #Nayia plays game #Wigfrid my love

[lilleeboi]

Do I know what I'm feeling? No. Is it a good feeling? No. Do I know how to fix it?

Yes. Haikyuu!! season 4 second cour, episodes "Cats vs. Monkeys" and "Trap", where we take a short hiatus from the Karasuno v Inarizaki match to see Nekoma battling Sarukawa Tech for a hard-earned victory, allowing them to move ahead to the third round of the tournament for the battle at the garbage dump. These episodes feature my favourite little guy, who has several lines such as "nice toss" and "oh". Watching this will fix me.

[misfit-among-the-angels]

∞ !

"Blind man in the box that will probably die

The village kids laugh as they walk by

A psycho is on the edge of this human garbage dump

And the vultures in the sewers are telling him to jump"

Thank you!

#jesushatesmyguts #answered

[lonlonmilkfan]

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.infinitycow.eplay

This app is the WORST app I’ve ever used. DON’T SUGGEST IT AGAIN!!! I HATE music apps. Music is stupid. Why does anybody listen to music. My lord Chris-chan would find a disliking to this link, as he does not enjoy E-Play on the google play store. NEVER EVER send me links like this again. How DARE you. looks like someone wants to get on my dark side. Those who do, never go back... you see, I don't care about others lives. They're all meaningless. The tree. The sky. The ocean. We'll all die one day, so it doesn't really matter does it. I might as well enjoy myself... how would I do that, you may ask? Well.. prepare yourself... buddy.... Bro, let me tell you straight up, E-Play on the AppStore is an absolute disaster, like, I can't even deal with it, man. I mean, it's like they took a dump on the whole gaming scene and called it innovation. The graphics are so outdated, I might as well be playing on a calculator from the '90s. And don't even get me started on the gameplay mechanics – it's like they hired a bunch of monkeys to code it. I'd rather wrestle a grizzly bear with my bare hands than subject myself to another minute of that garbage. Seriously, why waste my precious time on something that's lower quality than a Walmart knockoff? I'd rather spend my time crushing it at the gym or partying with the squad. E-Play? More like E-Waste, am I right? They need to step up their game big time if they want any chance of surviving in the jungle that is the AppStore. But until then, I'll stick to dominating in the real world, leaving E-Play to the basement dwellers and plebs. Bro, let me lay it down for you – I'm the alpha of alphas, the sigma of sigmas. Winning? It's not just a hobby, it's my way of life. I dominate every arena I step foot in, whether it's crushing it in the boardroom, tearing up the field, or conquering the digital realm. You name it, I've conquered it. See, being a sigma means I don't follow the crowd – I make my own rules and blaze my own trail. While the betas and the wannabes are busy playing catch-up, I'm already miles ahead, setting the pace and leaving them in the dust. So when it comes to gaming, it's no surprise that I always come out on top. Whether it's strategizing my way to victory or relying on sheer skill, I'm unstoppable. YOU want ME to download this app? NO CAN DO BUCKAROO! Don’t make me show you the pain train ANONYMOUS. Heh… don’t make me show you my dark side… if you were to even get a glimpse of my mind, it’d simply make you insane. You think you've got a dark side? Trust me, I've danced with darkness and emerged unscathed. My mind is a fortress, impenetrable to the feeble attempts of those who think they can intimidate me. You may think you're some kind of enigma, but to me, you're just another player in the game – and one I've already outsmarted. You talk a big game about insanity, but I thrive in chaos. My mind is a symphony of calculated madness, orchestrating every move with precision and purpose. So go ahead, show me your so-called dark side. But be warned, you're playing with fire, and I've got enough ice in my veins to extinguish even the fiercest flames. My heart is cold, and my moves are bold, buddy. Don’t test me.

#joke #i promise I’m not crazy #I HATE E-PLAY!!!

[rayanasanzanaa-blog]

I don’t know how to say this but Malaysia is awful. Now that I have a year left in Ph.D. their EMGS says we have to go back. They dumped us out first because Malaysian lives mattered more, which I understand. But that time you threw us out and did not let our newborn enter. We ended up losing everything. Now after we completely adjusted our research to be able to be virtual, because hello, it is AI, you now are forcing us to go back?! That too on top of the inflation and all? Ticket price tripled and I can’t live behind my small infants. Again Malaysia again. You always exploit international students. On top of it, I have to get special pass maybe for my children and all costs tons and that too for a year. I am having one freaking year left. The system including university is not allowing to even submit our second year review though I have proved that I am doing research. Such toxicity. Really thinking about quitting because I don’t feel like paying so much just for harassment left and right. Plus their cops are something. Immigration there smiles with all teeth out when its a white family; but looks like they smell poop when its africans or brown people. They don’t take a step back to stop even respecting elderly for medical tourism. They harassed indian tourists and do not even apologise. Who are they hiring?! Some people who wanna abuse power?! Now thanks to this absurd system, I may just quit my PhD. Not because I cannot move forward but because Malaysia showed its true colors as I mentioned in my blog during Covid and pre-pandemic, then expect us to keep succumbing. I believe the only reason still humans are being in immigration is for human reasons yea? Like emotional decisions? But if you can’t be humans, I believe it is time to move this whole garbage Immigration and border to AI which will at least not harass. What’s the benefit of having humans in such places then? Are we just paying to be humiliated and be means of someone’s weird pleasure of feeling oh-so-powerful for people who do not do anything wrong? Another thing about Malaysians, the Chinese Malaysian, a CEO apparently, MR. YONG, I don’t remember his full name, as I am writing this before bedtime, is still stealing money from me and blocked Cuckoo from taking their water purifier and stole my air purifier. Till now I am paying for the water purifier that he is using and he blocked all of us. Am abroad so I am having to either cancel the card or just let him take more. I hope all sorts of Chinese omen come true for this person and his family. My prayers will haunt him for stealing. And police report? I am abroad and pfft. Idk how much they changed now but as much as I know, they are the most horrible. Anyways, gonna make that decision. Really do not feel like being monkeys for their show and get humiliated and traumatise my kids just because they simply won’t “reinstate” our student status. Was it our fault, you Malaysia, did those ugly decisions before and literally flipped my life 360 degrees over and over? Divine justice, please make them see what they keep doing. Thanks for being here if you read my rant. I have nothing to lose anymore. Just please pray so what’s best for my family happens.

[wiw3]

I Should Just Go to Sleep

It’s a night of emotional instability when I don’t have something to take my mind off of it. Thoughts get jumbled, wires crossed and soon I’m left with my cobras, as mentioned in a previous entry. I’m putting this here as part of a conscious decision to tell people about subconscious parts of me that I think about and know to be true.

I get baby-upset when I’m deprived of sleep, but with the vocabulary and maturity of a grown man. Sleep is probably one of the most important and sacred times to me. I’ve realized that in my early life, I wasn’t protesting sleeping, I was protesting being alone with my thoughts, the same way I would protest taking a bath when I was little. It was quiet, and I was alone.

My thoughts strike like the Mandela Catalogue in those moments. Intruders become alternates and I get scared of being inside my own head. As I explore more and more of myself, I return here to deposit my findings like a space-explorer dumping stupid rocks that nobody cares about into a bay that shouldn’t even be there in the first place because, contrary to popular belief, we were never meant to leave home.

Space-exploration is the “Adam eating the apple” of inviting aliens into your home. You leave breadcrumbs to your location when you do that, you know. Firing off a rocket and spiraling around the solar system looking for things you can look at, measure, eat, or fight? Extraterrestrials hear that shit, man.

As I clutch a 40oz wrapped in a paper bag, let me tell you about my terrorizing fear of the unknown. I am terrified of potential energy as a concept. Energy, not yet dispersed to kinetic, not yet made that transition. It could do many things, like offer hugs, lay Easter Eggs, or murder me, putting an end to my consciousness.

I know that within due time I’ll learn to confront this consciousness in truth, confront death as I know it and learn to be unafraid, but I’d like to still be scared for a while. I’d like to leave a part unexplored, so that I can do some more work, later. Of course, I’m rationalizing right now, right now I think I’m not lucid and more than a little mentally tender.

I exhaust myself mentally during the day through thinking alone. My internal monologue has a weight limit and I surpass it every day, by being a fat, loathsome piece of garbage with no discernable direction or goal besides wanting to be intensely, and closely involved with the act of comforting, and making people happy. I want to give more than I take from this world, and I am so glad that the thoughts are taking an upswing tonight from where they were.

It feels like the golden briefcase in Pulp Fiction, these thoughts. I’m going to value them and treasure them tonight, these ones I’m ending on. The idea that ideas can change the world is an idea that changed the world, and so on until that fourth wall is getting thinner and thinner. Soon, you can see me, and I can see you, and it’s not a bad thing. We can see each-other, and we embrace each-other, just as humans.

Even though I’m bouncing around from thought to thought like those ADHD-ridden monkeys jumping on the bed in our favorite children’s fable, I have one clear, focused thought, to make people happy. I don’t want to do bad ever again. I can’t bear feelings of remorse like that. The cobras strike when that happens, and every thought, as jumbled as they all are, all focus like a laser into biting me, instead.

The poison is injected, and I have to retract from society, to be alone for a while. I have to turn on something to suck that poison out. In my case, I lay numb for 48 hours, 23 of which are spent watching two and a half seasons of a TV show that I started for research-purposes, but has since become a crutch to my depressingly-idiotic choices, and the depressing idiot attached to them.

The point is that I need to be better, and I can’t say I’ll be better and not be better, not anymore. Bojack taught us all better than that. I have to love, and let myself be loved, even while sober, which I didn’t think was possible. I don’t know why feeling loved is a concept that brings tears to my eyes. The first few things that come to mind are insecurity, and self-hatred. I beg for it, squirming, writhing, rolling my soul belly-up to show you the rotten parts, and I ask you to love me in spite of them, and then as soon as the love comes out, I repulse, and rebuke it.

This has become more of a general update and some roughneck pontificating on my current psychological state, but if anything, it shows that my mom suggesting I have my dad’s bipolar disorder, just undiagnosed, might just be a little more water-tight than I originally thought. More on my parents later when I feel less... floaty. I want to entertain, but my brain is firing back nothing creative at the moment. I’d hate to say that the shop’s closed but... the gift-shop’s open till midnight...

...I should just go to sleep...

#tired #i am tired #mentally tired #mentally exhausted #writing #blog post #update #new post #post #honesty #honest #bipolar #tw #potentially triggering #sorry for the rant #rambling #ramblings

[lesslight]

outer

                  space

#garbage monkey dump #4way tab

[doodliydoos]

after reading the fanfic Touch Starved by @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off

(short summary I don't wanna spoil alot tho: toasty monkey king is rememenacing lessons and is working through trauma with touch from battles, experiences and it all leads up to current times with MK and the crew on the flying ship--please read it I'm terrible explainin justgo)

*dumps art dump garbage can* OK IGOTTOGgotodeliver sum other art of AU's but here u go this was super fun oki that I thanks just here here ya go

#lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid season 3 #lmk fanart #doodles #it was mee #thank you for the angst #I love how if its not Macaque getting trauma its Sun #lego monkey king #lmk sun wukong #Monkey King' guide to physical contact fanart

[lucidityisabsent]

whats the meaning of the tag 'rs scott'?

photos, digital art, etc... by me

[bunjywunjy]

Hello Bunjy! Can I please have a cursed biology fact about Mermaids as it's Mermay? Please? And no 'mermaid's aren't real' pls, as a trusted biologist I'm sure you know SOMETHING about them that we normal people don't, right? ;P

sure thing! 

from the 1840′s into the early 20th century, the Fiji Mermaid (or occasionally ‘Feejee Mermaid’, depending on how creative the proprietor was with their spelling) was a common fixture in the notorious sideshows of America. 

first introduced by PT Barnum and then copied in other shows, the Fiji Mermaid was a taxidermy chimera composed of the back half of a fish stitched to the front half of a mummified monkey, passed off as ‘a real mermaid from the Pacific Islands!’. 

eesh.

they remained popular attractions until sideshows themselves fizzled out in the early-to-mid 1900′s, and the surviving Fiji Mermaids now reside in collections, museums, and garbage dumps across the world.

#cursed fact #don't look for pictures if you don't want nightmares #Anonymous

[anotherashley]

Give Me Thunder // 1988

Summary: When you’re part of rival fraternities the last thing you’re supposed to do is fall for the enemy, but then, Patrick’s never known anyone like Jonathan Toews before.

*

In retrospect, Patrick really should’ve known better.

Homecoming is a huge night for most fraternities, including his own, the Delta Chi house. They’re known for going absolutely balls to wall with the planning, preparation, and execution of their parties. It’s an event. An evening to remember if you will. And where’s Patrick? Wedged in some hallway at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon mansion drinking shitty overpriced beer from a keg, sweating his nuts off, and listening to fucking Chumbawamba playing from their high-priced stereo system.

This disgrace of a party deserves no attendees, and yet, the house is packed, every little inch and every single corner filled with Sigma Alpha brothers, their dates, and friends. A house of garbage monkeys. A house of ill repute.

"It's not that bad," Dayna says, exasperated.

Dayna, the reason he’s in this shithole in the first place.

Patrick narrows his eyes, watching her and the room suspiciously. "Oh, but it is, my friend. It is."

“You’re overreacting,” she says and grins.

Patrick frowns. He’s not usually one to get overheated, but it’s like a sauna in this joint. He pulls at his tie to loosen it, listening to some Billie Eilish song come on next. "I can't believe you made me come here."

"And I can't believe you wore a hot pink tie when I told you specifically I was wearing a royal blue dress, so I guess we're even."

Patrick surveys the slinky strapless number she’s sporting and his own shimmering tie. It’s not...awful. "I think it looks good together,” he shrugs.

She snorts. “You would.”

“I'm taking that as a compliment.”

“It's not one,” she fires back.

“Hurtful.” 

Dayna’s fun and gorgeous, wicked smart. They met last spring in Linear Algebra and became fast friends, partly out of necessity because the math department was full of dull assholes, and partly because they got along so easily. There’s this pressure to find dates for every Greek event, someone to hook up with or to show off, and Patrick just wanted - wants - to relax, hang out, have a good time and not be plagued the entire night with what might happen at the end or if his date will be disappointed. It’s why he asked Dayna in the first place - there are no strings. 

He hadn’t really counted on her betraying him in this obscene of a manner, however. Sigma Alpha? Really?!

“I'm sorry,” she says, rubbing his shoulder, but she seems distracted. She’s been looking off into the crowd as if she’s trying to find someone, ever since they arrived. 

Patrick tickles at her arm to get her attention and when she turns, smiling, he says. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“Will you forgive me for ditching you? Because I'm about to do that too.”

Patrick blinks. “What?”

She scrunches her nose, just a little, and takes his wrist as if in apology. “It's not you, it's me.”

Patrick barks out a laugh. “You're not serious. Here? Now?!”

“I know,” she says, and begins patting his hand like she’s his goddamn grandmother or something. “I'm the worst, but it's really not you.”

“It must be a little me.”

“It's mostly Brent.”

Patrick gasps. As far as reactions go, it might be slightly overdone, but still. “Brent Seabrook? A fucking Sigma Alpha. Dayna!”

Dayna manages to at least look contrite. Sort of. She drops his hand gently. “I can see you're mad. Understandable. I'm gonna go...over there. And hopefully, when I see you Monday you'll be less mad. Bye Pat!”

“Bye Traitor!” he yells. He hopes the whole party hears it over the awful music playing in this awful house on this awful night.

Patrick watches her walk over to a table with a group of guys centered around Seabrook. They took up camp there shortly after Patrick and Dayna arrived. And more and more people have gathered around since. People always seem to gravitate to Seabrook, so Patrick really shouldn't be surprised that Dayna is too. The guy is huge in that cuddly bear sort of way, but with perfect hair, and the kind of laid back attitude that most people never really achieve.

Too bad he's a fucking Sigma Alpha.

God.

Patrick hates Sigma Alphas.

He's not joking when he tells this to everyone, and he means everyone: from the freshman rushes to his TA, Marian, from his Tuesday-Thursday biochem lab, to Lee, his favorite delivery guy, to generally anyone who passes him on the street. Sigma Alphas are self-obsessed, shitstain, egomaniacs, that ruin everything and have no concept of fun. They’re the absolute worst.

So, of course, it only makes sense on this wreck of a night that Patrick runs into the very worst one of them all after Dayna abandons him.

“Amazing,” a smug voice says from behind him.

It’s truly unfortunate Patrick recognizes that voice so well seeing how he can’t stand Jonathan Toews. One of life’s evil jokes, apparently, because Toews is the very embodiment of gum under his shoe, or a flat tire on a rainy day, or some other horrible Alanis Morissette analogy.

The point is...he’s terrible.

Patrick turns slowly, already annoyed when he sees the amusement written all over Jonny’s stupid, grinning face.

“It's not you, it's me,” he mocks. “I didn't know that was a thing people actually still said.”

“Well, that’s what happens when no one will go out with you, Toews,” Patrick fires back with a wink. “No one talks to you.”

Jonny’s smile fades. “Says the guy who just got dumped.”

They’re not exactly standing near each other, but the music is loud and to keep from shouting Patrick takes a step closer, having to tilt his head back just a bit when Jonny moves in too.

“At least I had a date.”

“A date that dumped you for one of my friends.”

Patrick clenches his fist at the smug expression on Toews’ stupid face. “What, you think you can do better?”

“I don't think, I know I can do better.”

“Oh really,” Patrick scoffs.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I could get any girl’s number in here before you.”

It’s a ridiculous statement. Inane. Besides the fact that Jonny has a clear advantage since this is his house and he probably knows half of these girls, it’s a dumb bet to make to prove he’s somehow, someway, better at not getting dumped. Which was the original argument? Maybe? Fuck, Patrick isn't even sure any more he’s too pissed off.

But he takes one look at Jonny’s smirking face and knows he’s going to rise to the challenge. He hates himself a little for not being able to just walk away.

“Go ahead then,” Patrick says, sealing his fate. “Show me your moves.”

Jonny eyes him, nonchalant. “You couldn't handle it.”

“Couldn’t handle what? You haven’t even declared a wager yet. That confident in your moves?”

Jonny straightens his back, stands tall, and pauses for a moment like he’s gathering himself, then he looks down at Patrick, down into his goddamn soul and smirks, calm, confident, cocky. “Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” Patrick says, confused.

Jonny moves in closer, the corners of his mouth curving up and up as he leans in. “I’m here now. What are your other two wishes?”

Did he just…?

Patrick laughs, can’t help himself. “Good god that’s an awful pick-up line. F minus. You’re supposed to be impressing me - I mean her, dude. That just makes you look like a stuck up jackass.”

Jonny’s brow furrows, displeased. “Okay, what about: Does your left eye hurt? Because you've been looking right all day.”

Less awful, but Patrick can do better. “Are you a 90-degree angle? 'Cause you are looking right!”

“Was that a math joke?”

Patrick glares. “Maybe.”

Jonny snorts.

“Don't shit talk math.”

He waits for Jonny to say something else, now that Patrick’s exposed a weakness, but instead he taps a finger against his chin, as if in thought again.

“I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?” he tries.

Patrick shakes his head. “Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material.”

This time Jonny laughs, vivid and real, and it brightens his whole face in a way Patrick’s never seen before, not this close up. His eyes are almost black in this dimmed corner of the house and they sparkle when the light hits them. He takes another step in, closer, so they’re just a foot away from each other. When he catches Patrick’s gaze he says low, voice softer, “I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I wouldn't forget a pretty face like that.”

Patrick swallows and pulls at his collar. It’s really fucking hot in this house. It probably shouldn’t be this hot in September.

“That’s um,” he coughs. “That’s not terrible.”

“It’s the one,” Jonny says, lips curving.

He’s more pleased with himself than he has any right to be, the arrogant dickbag. He thinks he’s already won this thing and they haven’t even ironed out all of the details yet.

Patrick purses his lips. “Anyway, what do I win if I get a number first?”

“You have to win first.”

Patrick steps forward, determined, until they’re only inches apart and whispers, “Watch me.”

Jonny doesn’t cede any ground, tall and looming, too casual. He makes Patrick’s skin itch in the worst way. If he could just get Jonny to break,  just a little, it’d be worth all this shitty night has wrought upon him.

He shoulders past Jonny roughly, using his upper body strength to edge Jonny a step back as he passes. It’s a small victory, but he relishes it as he looks around the room for a willing participant. Almost everyone is already clustered in groups or pairs so the pickings are slim. He’s about to turn into the next room when he sees two girls tucked away against a bay window, one texting on her phone and talking, the other, curvy, cute and brunette, looking bored beside her.

She’s wearing one of those side strap dresses that are incredibly sparkly, and her feet are shoeless. When Patrick steps up to her, smiling, she’s still almost as tall as him.

“Hey,” he says, cool, calm.

He’s got this. No problem.

“No,” she says, bored expression unchanging.

“I just-”

“No,” she repeats. She’s not even looking at him, which is a little rude.

Patrick drops the chill guy act and goes for something more sincere, genuine, as he bites his lip.

“Look, you want to maybe-”

“No,” she says again, this time sharper. “No, go away.”

“Well, alrighty then. You have a nice night,” Patrick salutes her, spins on his heel and walks away.

That was a dumpster fire.

He can already see Jonny laughing from across the room. Goddamnit fucking bullshit fuck. A weak-ass effort, and of all the times.

He trudges back to their original spot expecting the gloating of a lifetime, but Jonny has his chin tilted up and is already passing Patrick by, headed for somewhere and someone in particular.

Patrick’s eyes trail him, riveted to the way Jonny moves through the crowd like he owns it, as if the room bends to his will.

There’s a petite strawberry blonde with black gauges in her ears and dark red lipstick painted on her mouth, chatting with some skinny kid that's clearly trying too hard. She turns to Jonny when he steps up, her smile curious, but her arms crossed. Patrick can't look away, watching them talk back and forth, the way her expression shifts from curious to suspicious to amused. He barely says more than a handful of words to her before she’s writing her number on his palm.

And where did he even get a pen? Did he just have the pen on him? Who carries pens on a night like this?!

“How the fuck…,” Patrick murmurs to himself, and receives a weird look from one the Sigma rushes, as they walk by. 

Before Patrick can blink Jonny’s returned, standing straight and smug in front of him as he holds his hand up.

“Here ya go, slick.”

Slick? This guy is so lame. 

Patrick sighs. “Double or nothing?

“No way,” Jonny says. “Don’t filch on the bet now, Kane.”

It was worth a shot.

“Fine,” he shrugs, mentally preparing himself for whatever humiliation is about to come his way. “What do you want?”

Jonny hums. “Loser gives winner a blowjob?”

Patrick tries to replay the words Jonny just said, again, like it’s a recorded message and if he can listen to it closely enough he’ll understand. They’ll make more sense if he can hear them one more time. 

There might be a 404 ERROR message currently running through Patrick’s brain.

He needs a rewind button. 

He can’t...

He...

Patrick coughs his way into a laugh. “Uh...what?!

It's not that it's a secret either of them are into guys. Patrick's seen Jonny around campus getting friendly with both men and women more than a few times. Still, it's quite the leap to assume Patrick, a Delta Chi, and therefore a superior species is interested in him, a mere peasant.

“Are you serious?” he asks, still laughing. It might be a bit of a hysterical laugh. It’s pretty high pitched.

Jonny doesn't look insulted, the cocky asshole. His expression is more impatient, if anything, as he steps into Patrick's space and says, “Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”

Not yet, Patrick thinks and feels his dick twitch. Jesus. It's too goddamn hot in this house. Sweat gathering at his temples and his tie too tight around his neck. He pulls it looser and tries to shake off his jitters.

“That's a bold assumption you're making, dude.”

“Are you saying you don't want to?” Jonny asks.

The truly gross part is how Patrick only hesitates a second before looking him over, really takes a moment to let his eyes wander up and down the length of Jonny’s long body, his muscular arms, the broad shoulders, the ruddy tint to his cheeks, the sculpted jaw, his pink lips and dark brown eyes. The kind of eyes that are warm and so so intense, and currently trained all on him.

On Patrick.

Patrick’s traitorous dick thickens in his pants, his own body enacting a mutiny upon him.

He swallows roughly. “Uh...no.”

“Let’s go up to my room then,” Jonny says.

Patrick should leave. He should leave.

Instead, he follows.

*

Walking up the stairs to Jonny's room the only thing Patrick can think about is that he wishes he'd had more to drink. He’s not even buzzed enough to realistically blame this error in judgment on alcohol. But he refuses to blame himself either so it's pretty obviously all Dayna’s fault, and Brent Seabrook’s. Which means it's Sigma Alpha’s fault. 

So there, the world makes sense once again.

The upstairs is less crowded than the rest of the house, most of the bedroom doors shut, probably locked to prevent outsiders from fucking on house members beds. Jonny’s room is at the end of the hall, tucked away next to the bathroom. Jonny lets them both in, ushering Patrick inside first and flipping the lock behind them.

It’s a single, which shouldn’t be surprising since Jonny is the Sigma President, but it catches Patrick off guard all the same. He has to take a few beats to gather himself as his gaze travels over the room. It’s every inch what Patrick would’ve expected, from the collection of Apple products scattered over his desk to the trophies and medals pinned to his bookshelf. There’s an econ textbook on his dresser beside his overpriced watch and Armani cologne. Sports gear looks to be thrown in a pile by his closet almost artfully. It’s like his bedroom is a set for a fucking Abercrombie and Fitch ad. Patrick gags a little. Almost.

If that was all there was to Jonny in this room Patrick wouldn’t be surprised one iota. But it’s not.

There’s also framed photos of his family everywhere, pictures of him fishing with his brother, of their family dog, of his grandma knitting him a Christmas sweater. The floor is a mess with socks and crumpled paper, a thousand post-it notes of things he’s written to himself tacked up everywhere. He’s got anatomy posters on his walls and a signed Canadian hockey jersey framed over his bed, the forest green sheets are rumpled and soft to the touch when Patrick takes a seat on his bed. It’s a bit much to take in all at once especially with Jonny’s attention still on him as he removes his tie and unbuttons his shirt at the collar.

“I need a drink,” Patrick says, warm everywhere and restless.

Jonny pulls an unopened Absolut Vodka bottle from his dresser, unscrewing the cap, and handing it over.

“Here,” he says, and begins rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I don’t have any clean cups.”

“Anything to chase it with?” Patrick asks, staring at the veins running along Jonny’s toned forearms, the skin golden and his hands large.

“You need a chaser?” Jonny says like it’s a dare.

“Oh fuck off,” he mumbles, shrugging out of his own jacket. He fists the bottle by the neck, using his free hand to wipe at his sweaty brow, averting his attention. He takes a breath, in and out, feels the way his stomach flutters. “Bottoms up!”

Jonny snorts as Patrick takes a long pull. It tastes horribly bitter and burns all the way down his throat. He takes another drink, and then two more, and then again one last time for good measure.

When he hands the bottle over to Jonny he licks his lips, catching a stray drop of vodka at the corner of his mouth and utterly staggered by the way Jonny’s staring at him, eyelids heavy and pupils blown wide.

The overhead light is turned off, just a small desk lamp left to softly illuminate the room, everything a soft yellow glow.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Patrick mutters, even if the idea of it all seems less crazy now with a glass of vodka in his system and Jonny’s bare forearms in view.

“Or you can’t believe you lost?” Jonny volleys back, taking a few swigs of his own.

“Do I have to choose?”

Patrick reaches for the bottle again, wiggling his fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture. Jonny holds out the bottle for a moment, offering, but the instant Patrick actually touches it Jonny snatches it back, teasing, baiting.

“No,” Jonny says, low. “But you could come closer.” He tilts his chin up, gesturing Patrick to him, movements like dripping honey.

There’s this tension in the air, something that’s always been between them, but it’s different now. No less heavier, but still challenging, still stuck deep underneath his ribcage and tight. It’s sizzling through his skin now, making goosebumps pop up all across his overheated skin. He waits, just long enough to see Jonny shift on his feet before he stands - until they’re both standing. It’s a little victory, but he enjoys it, even more for the way Jonny meets him in the middle, stepping into Patrick’s space again and slotting a leg between both of his.

Jonny’s legs are long, full of thick corded muscle and his thigh hot to the touch. When it presses up against Patrick’s dick he can’t help the way a small gasp escapes his lips.

“This is so stupid,” he says, even as he pushes closer.

“Is it?” Jonny murmurs, rocking forward until they’re chest to chest, faces only a breath away.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate you,” Patrick says, huffing out a laugh at the absurdity of the question, of this entire night.

“Well,” Jonny, says, nose barely grazing the edge of Patrick’s jaw and the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I hate you more.”

Patrick shivers. “Impossible.”

“You wanna bet?” he chuckles.

He’s so goddamn annoying Patrick wants to shove him away and storm out. He wants it so bad he can taste it, the tips of his fingers practically tingling. So it makes absolutely zero sense that he fists his hands in Jonny’s dress shirt, yanks him close, and spins them both around to tumble back onto the bed.

“Just,” he groans. “Just shut up and let’s get this over with.”

Jonny stretches his arms wide, crosses them under the back of his head as he spreads his legs. “Pretend all you want, Kane, but I know.”

“Know what?” Patrick asks, settling between Jonny’s tree trunk thighs and unable to keep his eyes off the considerable bulge in Jonny’s pants.

“You’re hard too. You want this too.”

His voice is a deep timber and it slides over Patrick like a silky wave. Almost calming despite Jonny’s provocative words. He wishes he could deny them, flip the script on Jonny and show him he’s not as hot as he clearly believes he is. The truth is he can’t. His own dick is a hard line inside his boxer briefs, the need to rub himself over the bedding becoming a problem he won’t be able to avoid for very long. Especially not with the way Jonny’s stupidly perfect body is right within reach of taking.

“Stop talking,” Patrick snaps, fitting his hands over Jonny’s hips and moving them up. He can feel the buzzed flush at the tips of his ears spreading down his neck. Jonny’s own throat is covered in a glossy sheen of sweat and smooth enough to lick. Fuck.

Patrick frowns.

Jonny mimes zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key. It’s disgustingly endearing and Patrick gives up any pretense right then, gives all the way in. 

He reaches for Jonny’s pants, opening them up and then peeling Jonny’s silver-gray boxer briefs over his hips and the plush curve of his ass, his cock slapping back against his stomach. There’s foreskin, which is new. Not much, just enough to cover part of the rosy-colored crown. Patrick's never been with an uncut guy before. That's not what causes him to pause. Jonny’s cock is long too and so so thick, fat enough it’s difficult for Patrick to get his fingers around. The tip is slippery wet and perfectly shaped. It’s an unfairly gorgeous dick, as far as dicks go. Patrick wonders if he can hate a guy for being so well endowed while still wanting to see exactly how far he can deep throat him. It’s not a question he thought he’d be asking himself on Homecoming night.

When he takes Jonny in hand he’s pleasantly surprised to see the way his hips arch up off the bed, just a tiny sign of need. Patrick runs his hand up and down the smooth length of him, dragging up the foreskin and pulling it down as he goes, then thumbs over the slick slit. Jonny hisses, moaning in the back of his throat and Patrick grins to himself evilly.

He could do this all night, he thinks, as he works Jonny up with the twist of his hand and the tongue that’s swiping out over his lips. Leaning down to lick a stripe up the length of him from root to tip he relishes the way Jonny keens, reaching out and then digging at the sheets instead. Patrick does this a few more times, just to see the way he silently begs for more.

All of it has his own dick leaking inside his pants, balls tight and snug. He presses into the mattress for relief as he mouths at the head, breathing over it hotly, but not taking it inside.

“C’mon!” Jonny growls, impatient.

Patrick hums wickedly and doesn’t move. “Ask nicely.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, propping himself up on his elbows.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Patrick sings, biting at his lip. He tries not to imagine another time, another deal, where it could happen, where Jonny could be the one pressing Patrick down into his mattress right now and filling him up.

Jonny whimpers a little, hand coming up like he wants to yank Patrick down on his cock, before falling to his side again. “Will you just...please?”

He says it almost sweetly, his expression shifting into something soft, earnest. It could all be a play to make Patrick do what he wants. It’s embarrassing how well it works.

Sucking Jonny down is overwhelming. He tastes salty and hot and he’s heavy on Patrick’s tongue. He can only take so much inside, working by half inches as he bobs up and down in a continuous rhythm. When he can feel Jonny at the back of his throat he’s still got one hand inelegantly stroking the base where two could fit. He can’t take much more, even with his truly enviable skills.

It doesn’t seem to matter anyway as the movements he’s making are enough to have Jonny arching off the bed and groaning deeply as he comes. There was a half-assed warning in the flapping of Jonny’s hand, but Patrick doesn’t let up, sucking him down until he’s jerking weakly. He's not really sure why he swallows, he certainly doesn't owe it to Jonny after all. That was never part of the bet. But it might be the way his own dick aches when that first splash of come hits his tongue, filthy and tangy, so clearly all of Jonny. Or it might be the way Jonny's eyes roll back in his head when he sees Patrick suck harder on the crown, instead of pulling back, shuddering all over and letting out a breathy punched out ‘fuck’. He’s not sure why and he’s not going to question it further. Instead, he eases back lazily, wiping at the edges of his mouth and watching Jonny stretch out across his bed, murmuring happily.

“You're welcome,” Patrick says, heart pounding and skin prickly.

“Oh yeah, thank you,” Jonny smiles, eyes closed. “That was great.”

“I know.”

“Mmm. Made me all sleepy.”

Patrick watches him settle back into his pillow, body slack, relaxed even with his shirt askew and his pants still unzipped. “Are...are you actually falling asleep?”

“I could.”

“Right now?”

“Why?” Jonny asks, breezily. “Did you want something?”

Was this guy for fucking real?

“Nah, man. I'm good. See ya later,” Patrick bites out, twisting to move off the bed. He doesn’t make it far.

“Shut up and c’mere,” Jonny laughs, looping his arms around Patrick's middle and pulling him back down. Then he kisses Patrick long and bruising, stealing all the air from his lungs and licking the taste of himself off of Patrick’s tongue. “Your breath smells like dick.”

“Your dick.”

“Mmm yeah, it's good,” Jonny says, and sucks on Patrick’s bottom lip for another few long beats.

“You're a weird one, Toews, but you're hot as fuck.” It shouldn’t be said, but Patrick can’t not say it. His buzz is really starting to kick in now.

“Thank you?” Jonny asks like he's unsure if Patrick's insulting him or not.

Patrick nods, dizzy drunk and skin tingling. “You’re welcome.” 

A large hand settles hot over his cloth covered dick, rubbing in circles that make Patrick whine with the need for skin on skin. Luckily Jonny doesn’t make him wait, flicking open his pants and shoving his hand inside until he can grasp Patrick good and tight. He’s a sticky, wet mess, precome slick all over his boxers. Jonny uses it to ease the way, grip firm and surprisingly deft. He leans close to bite at Patrick’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth again as Patrick shudders out his release. It’s better than it has any right to be.

When Jonny pulls his hand free he licks some of the come from his palm, lapping at it slowly, making a show. Patrick's so mesmerized he doesn't realize Jonny's wiped the rest of the jizz on his thigh until he feels it start to seep through the material.

“You're fucking rude,” he spits. Or tries to with the way he’s attempting to catch his breath.

“You liked it,” Jonny grins, still smug as ever.

“That second rate handjob? I've done better with a bottle of Jergens on my own, pal.”

Jonny flips over onto his front, throwing an arm over Patrick’s middle as he pushes his face half against his pillow, lips just inches from Patrick’s temple. “You know how I know you’re lying?”

“Mmm?” Patrick mumbles, limbs heavy and the room a little spinny. Maybe he needs a quick nap before he hikes it the fuck out of here. Just a quick catnap.

“Every time I touch you...you tremble,” Jonny whispers.

Patrick doesn’t shiver.

He doesn’t.

Because if he did that would be embarrassing and this night has already ruined him.

He’s wrecked and he can’t think about it.

Patrick lets his eyes flutter shut, let’s himself float into the hazy warmth of it all and doesn’t think, only murmurs, “You wish.” And then he’s blessedly asleep.

*

Patrick wakes the next morning to a buzzing in his pocket and a dull headache. Jonny’s knocked out beside him, breathing deep and pressed heavily along Patrick’s side. His face is soft in sleep, all of his edges rounded out, gentle. There’s no conceivable reason why Patrick should spend any time looking at Jonny or even be in Jonny’s bed. He shouldn't have landed himself here in the first place, and yet here he is, still, easing himself out of the enemy’s bed, and his room, and making the walk of shame home stained in disgrace.

It’s lucky Sharpy called him when he did, early enough that Patrick can escape the Sigma house without being detected. He’s not even sure what he’d say if he was caught or what they’d do to him, especially if Backes or Kesler were the ones to cross his path.

There’s other people out walking at this hour too, if only just a few. Patrick passes a couple of them on his way down the block. They look as unkempt as he feels, hair ruffled and clothes out of place. The sun is too cheerful bright the sky too blue for his dehydrated mind to process and he realizes he’s still got a come stain on the side of his pants, chalky and stiff to the touch. Awesome.

The Delta Chi house, when he walks through the lawn to the front door, looks a bit worse for the wear after last night. There are streamers and Solo cups strewn across the yard and trailing inside. Patrick kicks past some glittery confetti shit, pulling his phone from his pocket as it buzzes. It’s Sharpy again. His tenth text since last night and three missed calls. Yikes. Who’s about to get a lecture? Two thumbs for this guy.

Patrick considers trying to evade him for a few hours, maybe take a nap first. Unfortunately, he only makes it to the staircase before he’s caught.

“Where the fuck were you last night?” Sharpy says, face pinched and a mostly empty bag of trash in his hand. “You were supposed to help me with the pledges or did you forget?”

“Oh shit,” Patrick sighs. “Sorry, man. I...yeah. I totally forgot. Dayna dragged me to a Sigma Alpha party and well....”

Sharpy’s eyes go comically wide. “Sigma Alpha?!”

“Yep. And then she sorta bailed”

“The hell?” Sharpy says, stepping up to him.

The house has brothers scattered all over it in various levels of passed out, most of them too drunk to know better because if they did they’d be up safe in their rooms and not out in the open where anyone could mess with them. Shawzy’s plastered on the leather couch in front of the flat screen, some cartoon on that he’s probably seen twenty times before, Chaunette’s head pillowed on his lap. Phil’s smoking a cig by the window, even though he knows he’s likely to incur the wrath of their house mother for it. Buff is spread eagle on the floor, underneath the fancy shag rug that Soupy left them before he graduated last fall, a girl on each side of him. What a pimp. And on the green couch is G-Money, drooling from the corner of his mouth, and a dick in the shape of a J, for his first name, scrawled across his cheek.

Patrick’s going to have to wake him up in a minute. Hopefully, he doesn’t puke everywhere. 

“Yeah,” he shrugs in Sharpy’s direction. Then he sighs.

Sharpy chucks him on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. But wait. Why didn't you just come back here then? Did you...you got laid, didn't you? Aww Kaner, good job, buddy.”

His smile is so weirdly proud that Patrick has to shove him away with an eye roll. “Stop acting so surprised, shithead.”

“Was she hot?” Sharpy waggles his eyebrows.

“He was...very,” Patrick admits, even if he’s not sure why.

“Nice. Name?”

“Uhhh.”

The thing is Patrick could tell Sharpy, probably. That it was a Sigma, that it was Jonny. He’d catch no small amount of hell for it, but Sharpy wouldn’t actively judge him like the rest of the brothers would, at least not in any real way that would have consequences. The downside of telling Sharpy would come when he inevitably opened his fat mouth and told everyone Patrick’s business, probably by accident, but that would be moot once it slipped out.

So Patrick knows he can tell Sharpy, but he won’t. Instead, he shrugs, mind still too fuzzy sleep worn and foggy from the alcohol.

“Did you at least suit up?” Sharpy asks, like he’s Patrick’s father.

“Umm,” Patrick says, fidgeting under Sharpy’s scrutinizing stare. How's he supposed to tell Sharpy no, they had not, in fact, used a condom, because Patrick didn't want latex between his tongue and that gorgeous cock? But he’s pretty sure if anyone is squeaky clean on this campus it’s definitely Toews' lame ass.

Sharpy frowns and digs in his pocket, pulling out at least five foil packets. He shoves them into Patrick’s hand. “Hey! No glove no love, okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Won't happen again.”

They break off after that to begin cleaning, Patrick shuffles to the kitchen to grab a few black garbage bags and collects empty Solo cups and balled up napkins off the floor. Other brothers slowly join in, if a bit reluctantly, grumbly and moaning about headaches and begging to know where the Tylenol is located. Once the majority of the mess is under control Patrick leaves the rest of the pledges to it and escapes upstairs for a long needed nap. On his way he passes a framed picture of the unofficial house rules.

RULES TO NEVER BREAK (EVER!) (unless you’re shawzy and don’t give a fuck)

don’t sleep on the green couch. you’ll wake up with a dick drawn on your face.

never let a Sigma in the house

don’t leave your shoes by the door, they’ll be thrown out.

laundry days are on friday. wash your fucking clothes you, filthy animal!

the strawberry yogurt is kaner’s. don’t touch or he’ll glue your ass to the toilet seat. right, shawzy?

sharpy gets the TV every thursday from 7pm-9pm for The Bachelorette. no, you can’t watch your shitty Cardinals game. DON’T ASK.

I repeat, never let a Sigma Alpha in this, our home and refuge

if reggie is around feed reggie.

stop putting forks in the microwave, you morons.

david backes is satan. never look him directly in the eyes.

312-664-7440 Dominos Pizza - ask for Malynn NOT Bree for the 25% discount

DON’T ASK ABOUT THE GRASS

don’t give carbomb grey goose after midnight. or you’re cleaning the second story bathtub.

Seriously. Under pain of death DO NOT let a Sig into this house or you will forthwith be banished from the kingdom.

He taps his finger against the glass of the frame as he passes it by, a reminder to himself where his priorities lie.

In his room he face plants on his bed and dreams weird dreams of being kicked out of Delta Chi, then college, then his parents' house to live a lonely, shameful life on the streets of Chicago all because he let Jonathan Toews put his dick in his mouth. When he wakes, more clear-headed and less hungover he makes a vow to forget last night and never think of it again, like it never happened.

It’s for the better. It has to be.

#a little bday fic in honor of the bday boy #jonathan toews #patrick kane #1988 #my fic #1988quarathon #mine #mygraphics

[shinycorvidae]

How Vic and Hiro Ended Up Sharing a Brain Tapeworm

(cowritten with @smilepal)

Part 5: Vroom, Vroom Bitches We Are All Going to Hell

TW: gore, character death

Takemura leads Hiro out behind the motel, pulling a squirming, gagged and tied Deshawn out of the trunk and tossing him on the ground like a bag of rocks.

Hiro yanks the gag out.

“Deshawn.”

“Oda! Heyyy we can work this out, there's no need for this-”

“Where the FUCK is V? What did you do with her?”

He hauls the man up by his collar, and gives him a shake. Takemura had said he hadn’t needed Hiro’s help but wisely decided not to say anything. Hiro’s eyes are intent. He hasn’t interrogated someone in a long time but ingrained habits are hard to break.

“Easy, just chill man!” His hand is reflexively inching towards the gun in its holster and Hiro’s eyes dart to it--he reaches out and gets a grip around his wrist and squeezes--Takemura can hear the sound of metal crumpling and a howl from Dex.

“Start talking.”

“Alright! I’ll show you where we dumped the body! Just let go!”

He’d hoped by some miracle V had gotten away or was safe somewhere/in hiding. If anyone could pull that off it’d be her. He dropped Deshawn’s wrist--the cybernetics mangled, hanging limp

“Well? Get going.”

Find V first. Find V first. --it’s a struggle not to throw himself at the other man, to break and just keep hitting until his blood cools, but he’ll wait, can wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If there was any doubt in Hiros mind that Deshawn was going to die today, it vanished when they reached the junkyard. He can't have tossed V away, like, like she was some trash he was done with. Even he wouldn't be that stupid-

At first he doesn't even see her. Just mound after mound of garbage. Then he rounds a corner and there she is, stretched out across the ground, a couple feet away. A broken tv is hiding most of her lower body, and her face is turned away from him, but it's unmistakably her. Her blue hair is almost completely brown and matted with dried blood. She's not moving, she's not breathing, shes- She's just sprawled there as if someone had just tossed her in with the rest of the garbage.

They just tossed her. His V was dead and Dexter. Deshawn. Had disposed of her with the trash.

Hiro didn't remember when he'd dropped to his knees in front of her but he can remember getting up. The mixture of a wail and a yell as he launched himself at Deshawn. Takemura dropped the fixer, nudging him towards Hiro.

He can remember screaming at Deshawn but not what he said. And he can vividly remember the look of horror in Deshawn’s eyes as he grabbed both sides of his head and started squeezing. Deshawn had nowhere to look except directly into Hiro’s furious eyes. Deshawn’s mouth begging, scrabbling at Hiro's metal hand and arms until his nails broke.

He remembered the smell of piss as Deshawn realized he wasn't going to stop. And the final moment when Deshawn’s skull gave under his fingers. Hot blood sprayed across his face, and he didn't flinch, didn’t look away. He just took in every bit of life draining from Deshawn’s broken eyes until there was nothing left. He remembers crunching the last remnants of the skull in his hands. Pulling them out of Deshawn's cranium, and letting him drop. He remembers flicking the bone and viscera off, as one might flick errant drops of water off their hands.

He doesn't remember walking a few feet away after and dropping to the ground. He just knows he's on the ground and staring listlessly at the mound of garbage in front of him. He feels cold despite all of Deshawn's blood on him, still warm. Deshawn is dead. Jackie's dead. V's dead. What's left?

Nothing.

There's nothing left for him to hurt, to maim. There's nothing left inside him except ice creeping through his veins. He doesn't notice his hands are trembling until he looks down at them.

Takemura stands quietly, watching the younger man shake. His bloodlust was distasteful but it was in the name of loyalty and revenge. Takemura could understand that.

Unfortunate that his witness is dead, perhaps her corpse could be-

Impossible. His eyes must be desperate. He swore she just-

She's breathing.

"You. Mercenary."

The man continues staring at his hands, no sign he heard him.

"Oda."

He doesn't respond, forcing Takemura to stalk over and shake his shoulder.

"ODA!"

He raises his head and gives Takemura an empty stare.

"V. She's breathing."

Oh. So he finally snapped. It was only a matter of time. A matter of time until his heart was just too wounded to function anymore and started creating its own reality.

Takemura slaps him across the face. It hurts. This is real.

He can't move fast enough, half running, half scrambling over trash to get to V. He scrapes up his knees and it hurts, he feels hurt again because there's hope. How? She had a bullet through her-

He should have known, he should have checked, if anyone could survive this of COURSE it'd fucking be V.

He came to a sudden halt next to her and slowly lowered himself. He took her pulse, feeling it beat, slowly but surprisingly steady beneath his fingers. He turned her over, lifting her gently, gently, upright, cradling her in his arms.

Vs eyes flutter open. They’re unfocused and in pain but still have her sharp look.

"Hiro....that...."

"V, oh fuck, V shh shh just let me-"

"....better not....be your....blood."

Hiro just lets out a choked laugh, hiding a relieved sob. There's tears streaming down his face but he doesn't give a fuck. She probably won't remember this anyway.

Takemura steps up to him, and Hiro is suddenly aware of the fact that the man in front of him has been hunting V just as desperately as him and he has no clue why.

"Oda. We need to move"

Hiro covers V with his torso, snarling at Takemura.

"GET AWAY FROM US."

"You fool, I don't want to harm her! I need her alive!"

"Leave. Us. Alone."

"And how are you going to get her to a ripperdoc? I drove us!"

"...Fuck! Fine. But if you touch her-"

“I will not. We must leave quickly. Arasaka is on its way.”

“What?! How did they find us already?”

“I called them. Get in the car, this place smells like shit.”

“YOU WHAT?!”

Takemura just turns away from him and starts walking back to the car.

“GET BACK HERE YOU- fuck, hes not listening. V I’m going to have to pick you up now, alright?”

“Nova...”

Hiro gently lifts V into his arms, making sure her head is supported. V’s hand curls weakly into the fabric of his shirt. She feels so light and fragile when he's holding her like this. Has she always been so small?

The walk to the car feels long. No matter how careful he is, every step he takes jostles V’s head, causing her to flinch. Her hand stays clenched against his chest, grounding him in the fact that she's strong. V’s a survivor, she'll be fine. She has to be fine.

Easing her into the front seat of the car is easier than expected. For some reason one of Arasaka’s top soldiers drives a fucking convertible, completely open to the air. V crinkles her brow at it as Hiro secures her seatbelt.

“This. is a stupid. nrgh car.”

“You are not in a position to be complaining, thief.”

Hiro bends down to pick up Deshawn's pistol before vaulting into the backseat. V arches a brow at him. He hates pistols almost as much as she does.

“Getting the feeling I might need it in a moment here.”

“Seatbelt.”

“I think I'm going to need the mobility V. Thanks though.”

They only make it about ten minutes from the junkyard before Arasaka drops on them, materializing out of nowhere. A perfect ambush. V has faded back into unconsciousness and Takemura immediately takes a bullet to the side. Hiro does what he can to cover their asses, most of his shots going wide.

"Of course it'd be a fucking car chase. COME CLOSER YOU CORPO COWARD FUCKS, I’LL GIVE YOU MY FUCKING FIST."

Vs slight gasp of air, a barely there laugh makes Takemura study her more deeply. Her breathing is shallow and irregular, tanned skin is paler than before. And yet, her eyes track every enemy that crosses her view.

He's barely keeping the car intact. The over-muscled monkey isn't helping. Shit, he might be making it worse. They need more firepower.

"Thief. V."

Her eyes turn towards him while her body stays motionless. They're starting to glass over, focusing in and out on his face. She's fading.

"You hear me? We need your help!"

He pushes an airhypo into her hand, curling her fingers around it himself so she doesn't drop it.

V is barely here. She knows she's in a car. A strange man's driving. There's an airhypo in her hand. Why is there a hypo? There's someone screaming...what...

"I'LL RIP YOUR INNARDS OUT THROUGH YOUR THROAT YOU RAT BASTARDS!"

The voice fades again. There's an airhypo in her hand... something about Hiro. Hiro. Hiro needs help. The strange man needs help. The airhypo. It's in her hand.

Just as Takemura is about to take the hypo back and try to do it himself, V snaps into action. Her whole arm jerks out, then in, slamming the hypo into her chest.

Vs sudden loud gasp and heavy breathing distracts Hiro for a moment, eyes more focused on her than the ensuing firefight. Takemura shoves a pistol in her open hand.

Vs brow wrinkles in disgust. It may be a desperate situation but it's definitely not her favorite tool.

"Ugh."

Hiro lets out a full blown laugh, before turning back to the fight, relief and resolve coursing through him.

"Good to know you're still in there V"

Enemies start slowly dropping instead of swarming them, red holes opening up in their chests.

Hiro can finally split his focus and check on V. Keep her talking, keep her here.

"Wow, you're still a better shot than me"

V gives a small snort in response, using her second hand to steady her trembling pistol.

“Not hard."

"Wow, so much for any praise for saving your life. You're welcome."

"Who's he?"

"An ally. For now."

".... assassin."

"I know V, I know. Don't worry, I can take him"

Takemura glares at him from the corner of his eye, but there's no time for an argument.

"Go for his throat. Cyberware deactivated."

Takemura spares V a look of shock, surprised she would know. There's no visible difference, she shouldn't be able to tell.

It doesn't matter though, because a mantis bladed freak is launching himself at the hood of the car.

V manages to empty half a clip into him before Hiro launches himself over her, grabbing the freak’s blade with his palm before he can impale V on it. They wrench it free and bury it into the hood, anchoring themselves.

The second blade whips past Hiro's face, passing so close to him that a couple strands of hair are sheared off.

Takemura unloads his entire clip into the now flaming soldier.

"Die already!"

The burning freak persists, hitting Hiro with the back of the blade, throwing him into the backseat. The blade raises above V poised to slice her open. Takemura slams the accelerator.

"Hold on. Burn in hell!"

The car careens into the pole, and V loses her unsteady grip on consciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world is on fire. Her head hurts, she can't breathe, what is....she cant-

Someone is dragging her. There's....arms around her shoulders. The fire disappears. Everything's blurry. There's voices but she can't understand them. Someone runs a hand across her cheek.

The voices get louder. They move away from her. She's not paying attention anymore. Her visions clearing. There's a bad man. He's moving. He's a threat.

Threats must be removed.

She doesn't feel the recoil but she sees her hand jump, and the bullet hit her target. The threat stops twitching.

Threat removed.

A hand closes around her gun. Trying to wrench it from her.

No. Dropping your weapon is death.

V pulls it back, refusing to surrender this fight. She has to hold the line.

"V. It's okay, you can let go."

Hiro. He....He can take over.

He'll protect the clan. She can let go now.

The gun falls from her hand.

"Don't you dare faint again."

Someone tries shaking her but it's so far away.

"V. V, stay with me. Keep your eyes on me, please-"

She's so tired. The clan is safe. She can rest now.

"V!"

#tw: gore #cyberpunk 2077 #V #Hiro Oda #goro takemura #dexter deshawn #Arasaka #...so this is just outright fanfiction now #oops #V's alive! #for now 👀 #Hiro just wants to hit things #Hiro cant aim for shit #v can but she likes her big honking rifles #takemura is just done #haha there's a decent dose of angst in here #tw: character death

[brianc521]

Late

- Better Late Than Never - {Part 1}  A/n: This is my first time posting only OG characters. I’d love some feedback, and truly appreciate the support. Meet, Jacob, Jason, Ellie, and Hadley! Thanks so much!

“Okay,” Jacob claps his hands together, “So her favorite movie is already in my Xbox.” He points to the gaming system in the storage compartment under the TV in the living room. “It just needs to be turned on after her play time. If you’re lucky she’ll fall asleep to the movie, might make bedtime easier, so I would suggest turning it on like a half hour before bedtime. Chicken nuggets for dinner, they’re already in the oven. They still have like 15 minutes or so, just give her a warning at 5 minutes so she can clean up her toys and wash her hands.” He nods, looking around to make sure he didn’t miss anything. “Oh!” He points to the green beans on the stove. “She needs to eat all of her green beans and cornbread to get a snack okay? I mean it, all of it.” 

“Dude, you literally do this every night. I know how to take care of my niece.” Jason rolls his eyes. 

“I just, it’s the Dad in me okay? I just have to go through the list to make sure her routine isn’t that much off with me gone for the night.” 

“I understand that. But we’ve done this long enough now that we have our routine. She’s playing with her Barbies right now, at 5 minutes before dinners ready we’ll both clean up her toys and wash up for dinner. We’ll use her Frozen plate that has the sauce spots so she can have ranch and barbecue without them touching. Then we’ll both do the dishes and clean up the kitchen so that way we can play fairy princess together before jammies and Monsters Inc. Ice cream when the movie starts, brush teeth and hair after ice cream and then we finish the movie after that. Bam she’s asleep by bedtime.” Jason ticks off his nightly routine with his niece by memory.

“Okay.” Jacob breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, you’ve got it.” 

“Go, you’ll be late. The new girl starts tonight, so you know it’s gonna be crazy. Teri’s gonna have your ass if you aren’t there on time.” 

“I know.” Jacob nervously runs his fingers through his dirty blonde locks. He’s styled his hair up in a cute but messy manner. He’s just recently gotten it cut, way short on the sides but long on the top. It’s become really popular with his patrons at the bar. “Ellie! Come give Daddy a hug and kiss goodnight! I’ve gotta go to work now Baby.” He calls out. 

His four year old bundle of energy comes racing down the hall. The plastic tiara adorning her messy golden hair is falling halfway off her head. Her blue princess dress hangs off her right shoulder since the velcro has come undone on the back of the dress. Her white shirt underneath reads ‘To Cool for School’ with a cartoon monkey hanging off the O’s in ‘Cool’. 

“There’s my Gorgeous Girl.” He smiles, couching down to catch his daughter. He chuckles when she collides with his chest, her giggles spewing from her bright pink lips. He takes the opportunity to re velcro the back of her dress. “There, a Princess must always wear the best dress.” He pulls back, placing a kiss to her forehead. 

“No!” She huffs, flexing her shoulders and bringing her elbows together to pop the velcro back open again. “Dad, I can’t play with it velcroed, it’s too tight. I can’t move.” She explains, brows furrowed. 

“Time for a new dress already?” He sighs, tilting his head at his adorable girl. She looks at him with her bright blue eyes, dark lashes framing the doe eyed look. 

“No.” She shakes her head, nose scrunched. “This one fits just fine if I don’t velcro it.” She shrugs, as if that solution is the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well can I at least fix your tiara?” He asks with a small smile, trying not to show how his heart is breaking at her words.

She nods her head, making it droop that much further off the side of her head. He laughs softly, quickly catching the bejeweled plastic and righting it. He makes sure the small little comb like features on the ends brush into her hair. He’s learned that those are there to help hold it in place. 

“You’ll be here for breakfast? She asks softly, sparing a glance up at her Uncle Jason who’s burnt pancakes more times than not. 

“I always am.” He grins, leaning forward to kiss her nose. “Be good for Uncle Jason okay?” 

“Okay.” He nods, jumping, making her dress poof around her legs. “Have a good night at work Daddy!”

“I’ll try just for you.” He smiles, caressing her cheek. 

Jason stands behind them in the kitchen, arms crossed while he leans against the doorframe. He watches the interaction between the father daughter duo, like he does every night, and can’t help but be in awe. He’s never seen his twin brother so in love with something before. Watching Jacob’s infatuation with his daughter brought a whole new perspective of life over Jason. It truly was watching someone mature overnight. Something everyone thought would never happen to Jacob. 

“I love you.” Jacob whispers to Ellie, a soft smile on his face. 

“I love you too Daddy.” She whispers back, mirroring his smile. 

“Okay, I really have to go.” He stands, looking back to Jason. “I mean it with the green beans and cornbread.” 

“Yeah yeah, I got it.” Jason waves Jacob off.

“No more ‘Cool Uncle Jason’ who lets her have anything she wants. I’ll be checking the garbage in here, in the bathroom, outside, and the clever little spot you have on the side of the house.” Jacob raises an eyebrow at his brother. 

Jason’s eyes go wide, face blank now that he’s been caught dumping her uneaten food. 

“Okay, I got it. Go!” He pushes his brother into the garage. 

Jason and Ellie stand in the driveway waving at Jacob as he gets in his green 1995 Toyota Camry. How does the poor car still run? No one knows, but it was all Jacob could get when he traded his bike in. 

**

Teri is standing in the doorway that leads to the back break area when Jacob rushes in. If looks could kill, he’d be dead 80 times over by the look Teri is giving him. He’s 5 minutes late. He thought he’d have enough time to rush into the local Walmart before his shift, and he would’ve been on time if some group of 15 year old boys hadn’t been fucking around in the self checkout and slowed him up. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He acknowledges, putting his hands up in surrender as he rushes past his supervisor. 

“It’s 6:07.” She says, eyebrow raised, hands on her hips.

“It’s 7 minutes.” He sighs, stuffing his sweatshirt into his locker, leaving him in his black work shirt. It’s a tight cotton shirt that stretches nicely over his biceps. It makes it easy to extra tips with a simple flex to the right customer. Who says girls are the only ones wearing tight shirts to get tips?

“You’re training the newbie tonight Palmer, I needed you on time.” She says, with a harsh voice. He wishes that she’d stop calling him by his last name. The last person who did that was his football coach, and that just brings up a slew of bad memories. 

“I’m here Teri, I’m sorry I’m late.” 

“What was the hold up this time?” She asks, tilting her head as she waits for his next excuse. A man’s late a few times and now he’s got a reputation. He rolls his eyes before he turns to look at her. 

“Stopped by Walmart.” He answers lamely. 

“Palmer!” She hisses. “I can’t accept that answer!” She looks over her shoulder watching out for Fletcher, the owner, who’s still in his office with the door open. 

“I needed to get Ellie a new Princess dress okay?” He hisses back, watching her face soften. “The one I got her a few months ago is too tight and falling apart from how often she wears the damn thing. Before I left she was reassuring me that the one she has is fine as long as she doesn’t velcro it. Teri, that’s my baby girl, you know that. I can’t give her much right now, but the least I can do is take last nights tips and get her a new fucking dress.”

Teri’s eyes go wide when he spits the information out. She narrows her eyes, pointing at him as her hip juts out. “You were gonna put last night's tips towards an oil change on that piece of shit you drive that precious girl around in! We had a deal Jacob! You told me you’d get the oil change.” 

“Tonight's tips will go towards that.” He lies through his teeth, rushing to dump his phone and keys into his locker as well so he can get out of this conversation. 

Teri sighs, knowing that’s not the truth. “Let me talk to my brother in law. He’s got a little shop a few miles out of town. He might be willing to do some work off the clock for a case of beer or some of your family moonshine.” 

“No, Teri no.” He shakes his head. “I’m not using your family like that. I promise, tips from tonight go to the oil change.” He says as he clocks in.

“Yeah?” Teri challenges. “Then what money are you going to use on Monday to get groceries?” 

He sighs, looking down at his holey shoes. “I just wanted to get her a new dress Ter.” He shuts his eyes before looking up at her with a sad face. “She’s four and she already understands what living without means.” 

“Then let me talk to my brother in law. I want Ellie to have everything she wants. I want her to live the most amazing life, and to have the prettiest of Princess dresses. Just make sure you have a batch of moonshine handy and I’ll make the call. You then can hug me and thank me for it. But most importantly that car is getting a fucking oil change or I won’t schedule you until it does.” She threatens.

It’s an empty threat, they both know it. Teri would never not schedule him, this is the most secure job he could ever have. 

“Thanks Ter.” He sighs, nodding at her. It can be so defeating for him to be living this way. He wishes he could give his Gorgeous Girl everything she wants, without having to break bank to do so. 

“It’s now 6:12 and we’re still not on the floor. Get your shit together Palmer, it’s gonna be a long night.” 

With that Teri walks away from Jacob, head held high, heels ever higher. Jacob follows, looking like a kicked puppy on his way to more punishment. He stops by the sink to wash his hands before joining Teri and the new girl standing next to her. 

Looking at them is almost comical. Teri is very Joan Jett. She’s got dark jett black hair, teased and messed up. She’s never been caught dead in the bar in anything other than her lucky black leather pants. She usually pairs them with a dark blood red tank top, that shows off her very big and very fake boobs. She’s got a full sleeve of tattoos on her right arm. Her eyes are always lined thickly with her famous black liner, shadowed with a silver shimmer, and the look is finalized with the longest lashes known to man. 

The new girl? Polar opposite.

She stands out with her auburn hair. The neon in the lights makes it change color from how it reflects off. In one angle it’s gold, in another it’s bright red. Her hair is pulled back into a tight, professional ponytail on top of her head. Her bangs are clipped back in the middle of her head, she’s given them a little poof to add some height to her hair. She’s also in a tight black shirt like Jacob, but she’s modified hers. She’s cut the bottom, making it a crop top. Accompanied by blue jeans. They’re decorated with rhinestones on the back pockets, and they’re distressed looking. 

Either way Jacob can’t help the way he appreciates the look. They cup her ass quite nicely, and it takes him a minute to remember what being a gentleman means. He snaps back to reality when Teri calls his name. He looks up with pink, embarrassed cheeks. It was suddenly like he was back in high school again. 

“Palmer, this is Stevens.” Teri says, pointing to the new girl, whose back is still to him. 

“Ter, I think it might be easier is you said our first names?” He jokes, shaking his head at the fact that she’s so determined to call everyone by their last names. 

“Okay,” She rolls her eyes. “Jacob meet Hadley.” 

Hadley? He thinks to himself. Unique name, something he’s only heard once in his life. There was a girl he went to highschool with. One he had a major crush on. She was cute, very small compared to him. She always wore her hair down, as if she was hiding behind it. His favorite part about her was how she always had a book in her hands. He never saw her without one. She was quiet, smart, a little nerdy. He never really spoke to her, mainly because their circles never mixed. She never spared him a second glance, and he didn’t blame her. He knows now, and knew then that he was a douchebag in highschool. 

He walked around like he ruled the school, because, well he kind of did when it came to social status. He was all the cliches rolled into one. The quarterback, the bad boy, the cute blonde hair blue eyed boy, and a twin. Him and Jason were the kings of campus. Jason dated the head cheerleader, he dated all the others, at the same time. 

So he never ever blamed Hadley for not looking his way. She deserved so much better than him. 

“Jacob Palmer?” Hadley speaks up, snapping Jacob from his flashback. “That’s funny I went to high school with a kid named-” All words halt on her tongue when she finally turns to greet him. Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops a bite.

Jacob just about passes out. There standing in front of him, looking better than he remembered is the girl of his dreams.

“Hadley Stevens.” He breathes out.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #shawn mendes series #shawnmendes #shawnmendes imagine #shawnmendes fluff #shawnmendes angst #shawnmendes smut #shawnmendes blurb #shawnmendes blurbs #shawnmendes series #raul mendes #raul mendes imagine #raul mendes fluff #raul mendes angst #raul mendes smut #raul mendes blurb #raul mendes blurbs #raul mendes series #raulmendes #raulmendes imagine #raulmendes fluff #raulmendes angst #raulmendes smut #raulmendes blurb

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Keeping Me Alive

Chapter 8: I Am Machine

By @dracusfyre

On his first day back from Afghanistan, the portrait of Howard seemed to stare at him accusingly as Tony let himself into his workshop. It looked like it hadn't been touched since the day he left. The rest of the empty, echoing house was pristine, no doubt visited by cleaners the minute Ms. Potts got confirmation that Tony was coming home, but the workshop had always been off limits; there was even a film of dust over his cars, Tony noticed. Everything was as he left it with one exception: he found the blueprints to the armored suit on his desk along with a note. Looking forward to seeing what you come up with when you’re not in a cave – Stane. 

“Fuck you,” Tony swore, then balled up the note and threw it in the garbage. He stared at the plans for a moment, the ragged edges and stains from repeated handling, the notes along the edge in Yinsen’s neat handwriting, the crisp creases that came from Stane. With an explosive sound of rage, he shoved them off his desk, along with his tools and a mug from MIT that he used for pens and pencils; it shattered on the cement floor with a sharp crash. He sat down heavily in his chair and buried his face in his hands.

Tony realized he had been staring at his empty desk for some time when Ms. Potts tapped on the glass door to the lab. When he glanced up and saw her, she waved at him with a smile and pointed at the plastic bag she had in one hand. “JARVIS, let her in,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face and plastering some sort of expression there that approximated normal, whatever the hell that was these days. “Hello, Ms. Potts, what can I do for you today?”

“Hi, Mr. Stark, welcome home,” she said, eyes running over him with worry. She started to come around the desk to set down the carryout bag, and came up short when she saw the mess on the floor. She looked from it to Tony, who avoided her eyes, and with a soft sound she just nudged everything out of the way with the toe of her shoe. As she pulled out the food - Italian, from the smell – Tony suddenly realized he was starving. With a grateful smile, he pulled out the plastic fork and started to eat. She found a stool and pulled it over, stealing a warm breadstick from the bag. “You just got home, are you sure you should be back to work already?” she said with concern, tactfully not bringing up the mess on the floor at her feet.

“It’s worse when I’m just sitting around,” Tony answered, shrugging as he took a bite of manicotti. “I like to be busy.” The truth was, he wanted to go out his front door and walk until he couldn't walk anymore; his house felt like just as much of a prison cell as the cave had.

She looked dubious but didn’t argue. “I have your mail, if you want to take a look at it,” she said, pulling it out of her bag. “Mostly social invitations, once people heard you were coming home.”

“Just leave them, I’ll look at them later.”  He expected her to leave, but instead she lingered, chewing on her lip like she wanted to say something but was afraid to. “Was there something else?”

“Just…are you sure you’re alright? I thought you’d be, I don’t know…happier? To be home. If there’s anything I can do, I would be...” She trailed off as Tony put down his fork, eyes stinging and throat too tight to swallow. “I’m sorry, I overstepped, I’ll just-”

“You’re right, I’m not okay,” Tony said, glancing up to meet her worried gaze when he thought he could do it without breaking down. “But it’s nothing you can fix, so I’m just - for now at least – going to build things so I can pretend everything is okay.”

Ms. Pott’s gaze softened, and Tony had to look down at his food because she looked like given the least provocation she would give him a hug, and right now Tony wanted that more than he wanted to breathe. After a moment, he heard her sigh, and she said, “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Stark.” Tony smiled faintly when he saw her take another breadstick from the stack as she stood.

“See you tomorrow, Ms. Potts,” Tony said to her back as she walked away.

Stane gave him three days before he came by to visit, bearing pizza and talking about board meetings and shareholders. Tony played along, nodding and offering comments in all of the appropriate parts, chewing the greasy pizza and waiting for him to get to the goddamn point already.

“So, Secretary Pierce was impressed by your little idea from Afghanistan,” Stane said as he got up and helped himself to some of Tony’s liquor. “He asked how long it would be until we had a prototype.” Tony knew what that meant: what Pierce wanted, Pierce better get. The man didn't rise to the top of Hydra by tolerating failure. 

“I don’t know,” Tony said, lying only a little bit. He didn’t know precisely how long it would take. Even though he hadn’t put pen to paper, the design had been running through his mind at all hours; just last night he had been brushing his teeth and realize SI had the patent to a gold-titanium alloy that would be lightweight but strong enough for the armor plating. Breakfast had reminded him of Howard’s repulsor technology, developed for the flying car project and since mothballed but much more efficient and effective than combustion propulsion. “This is something entirely different than what anyone has ever done before,” he pointed out. “The plans from Afghanistan were shit; I don’t even know if it was going to work.” That was a bigger lie. It would have. Not well, and not for long, but it would have gotten the job done.

Stane nodded thoughtfully, tapping his heavy gold class ring against the glass. “Of course. Well, we will be keeping an eye on you. I would suggest making this your priority, understand?”

“Yeah.” Not for the first time, Tony wished Stane would just fucking say what he meant. We are watching you. Do it now, or else. Suddenly done with the pretense of civil conversation, Tony got up and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “Well, I guess I’ll get to it, shall I?” he said sarcastically, saluting Stane with the bottle as he took a drink, and left Stane in his living room as he went down to his workshop.

Tony resisted working on the suit for as long as he could, sick to death of being Stane’s dancing monkey. But the ideas in his head were driving him crazy, coming so thick and fast that he couldn’t think or sleep or even take a shower in peace. Finally, after a coffee fueled all-nighter, Tony was studying a 3D holographic rendering of the sleek, powerful suit that he’d been building in his mind for days now. As he watched the projection rotating slowly, he thought that there must be a word, in German or perhaps Russian, for the feeling when you are both proud and terrified of your own creation.

“Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds,” Tony muttered. The suit was the most impressive thing Tony had ever designed, armed with all the weapons that Tony could miniaturize and able to run indefinitely on the power from Tony’s new and improved arc reactor. It was fast, maneuverable, and immensely destructive; with JARVIS on board to automate flight calculations and targeting, it was easily a one-man army. Brilliant, beautiful, and awful, all at once.

Even as he admired it, the thought of Stane seeing this was a sharp stab of icy terror in his chest, difficult to even breathe around. He thought of an army of these darkening the sky, flown by Hydra agents. They wouldn't sell these, he knew; they were too powerful. Hydra would want to keep these all to itself. He didn't even want to imagine what Hydra could do with even one of them, much less ten or a hundred. Just thinking about it threatened to give Tony a panic attack, and for the first time in his life he realized that this time, it might be better to let Hydra kill the people he loved than to give in to their demands.

His finger hovered over the delete key as he wavered. He couldn't risk Hydra finding these blueprints, but it had occurred to him more than once that with this suit, he could stand a chance against Hydra, against their STRIKE teams and even the Winter Soldier. The same plan he'd had to escape the Ten Rings, but with higher stakes and much higher risk of discovery.

After a long moment, Tony exhaled, and scrubbed his hands over his face. He closed out of the program without deleting anything, hiding and encrypting it on JARVIS’s secret servers. He knew that Stane also had SI’s R&D branch working on one of these suits as well, and theirs was predictably prosaic and uninspired – overlarge, cast iron, required huge batteries to power, and relied on combustion propulsion. Basically, exactly what Tony was going to build in the cave, but bigger and more polished. It was as different from Tony’s design as a dump truck from a Ducat but Tony wasn't going to tell them that.

Stretching, Tony noticed a bottle of whiskey he'd grabbed earlier and forgotten about sometime in the middle of his work binge. There was still a corner of liquor left in the bottle, so Tony didn’t bother with a glass as he took a sip and climbed the stairs to the main floor. Now the question was, how stupid could he play with Stane before Hydra lost patience with him and started sharpening their knives?

#tony stark #Bucky Barnes #tony x bucky #winteriron