#like he was leaving an unpleasant social situation

[popsiclefloss]

The fact that Impulse is like, consistently the calmest and longest surviving person in JITS and GIGS horror streams is really fun to me. He just goes dead freaking silent and hones in on finding a hiding place. Who has the braincell might be a question, but who has survival instincts is not.

#impulsesv #imp and skizz #jits streams #gigs streams #phasmophobia #the backrooms #i just watched this man walk around a monster butchering his friends in a small room #like he was leaving an unpleasant social situation

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

  You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort. 

  Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door. 

  “Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

 1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it. 

  Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

  The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you. 

  Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

  “Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

  He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

  “Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

  “So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

  The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

  Interesting.

  “No brains?”

  Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

  He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.” 

  Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

  Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

  Why you? What did he want with you?

  You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

  “What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

  He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

  Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you. 

  It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

  Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

  “That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

  He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans. 

  While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals. 

  You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive. 

  “UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

  You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm. 

  With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

  “Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

  You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering. 

  Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

  “So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

  He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up. 

  Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

  Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

  Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

  You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

  “Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

  “I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

  The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

  And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

  “Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

  God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

  Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

  You’d made him cry.

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

  You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

  Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

  You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate. 

  “MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

  You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

  Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

  She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

  You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

  You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

  Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

  Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall. 

  You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

  “There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

  You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

  This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

  He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

  “SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

  You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

  The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

  Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

  “Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers. 

  “Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

  You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

  You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

  “You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you. 

  You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

  “You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

  “Uunngh.”

  You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

  “That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

  You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

  “UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

  “What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

  He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

  “They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

  Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

  You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

  He just blinked, almost owlishly. 

  Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

  “The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

  You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

  Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

  You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

  “Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

  An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact. 

  “Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

  Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

  Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

  “You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

  The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

  You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

  He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

  “You tryna knock me dead, too?”

  When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

  The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

  When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

  If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

  You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

  To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

  Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound. 

  With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

  They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

  “Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

  You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror. 

  “Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

  “Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

  Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound. 

  “Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

  His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

  “I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

  Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

  You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

  Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

  You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

  “WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name. 

  “I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

  Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

  “I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

  He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

  “You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

  Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

  “Me?! I didn’t do this!”

  “Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

  “The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

  “Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

  “Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

  “Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

  “Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

  The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

  “I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

  “She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

  “Daddy…”

  “Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!” 

  You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself. 

  “Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward. 

  Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

  ”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

  “She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

  “No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

  You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this. 

  You’d have a loving parent. 

  You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do. 

  Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

  With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

  You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

  It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it. 

  The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life. 

  Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

  When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

  A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

  With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

  Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

  “I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

  “Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

  “We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

  The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

  “Dang—anything else?”

  “Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside. 

  Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

  You were wrong. 

  The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

  For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous. 

  You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

  “Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

  “You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

  Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors. 

  You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

  So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance. 

  He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

  Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

  Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

  Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering. 

  Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore. 

  You found him. 

  Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

  And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

  He understood the sentiment all too well. 

  Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

  When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

  With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead. 

  And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

  I wish I was with you.

  You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

  Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave. 

  Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple. 

  No sign of his uncle.

  It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded. 

  Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct. 

  He knew where to go after.

  Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all. 

  Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him. 

  He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

  Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

  Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

  Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

  Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests. 

  So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be. 

  The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you. 

  He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery. 

  FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

  What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

  All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

  Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze. 

  It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left. 

  Eddie heard a scoff.

  “How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself. 

  Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around. 

  The fuck was she doing in here?

  It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through. 

  Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings. 

  She was invading your privacy.

  If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling. 

  He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

  And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either. 

  Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse. 

  If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

  Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

  Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip. 

  Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

  Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made. 

  Bitch.

  Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

  He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day. 

  See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of.  Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

  He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

  His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

  “Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned. 

  He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

  “Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

  “Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure. 

  “Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

  “I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp. 

  “EXCUSE ME?!” 

  The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her. 

  Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

  He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

  It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

  Served the hag right.

  With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

  Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream. 

  That one was for you.

  Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

  You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision. 

  While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did. 

  You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive. 

  Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

  Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

  No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

  Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

  “You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

  You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

  Oh, god. Just play it cool.

  “Just some tampons and some chips.” 

  Leave. Walk out. Save face.

  “No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk. 

  You were going for it. 

  “Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

  “I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve. 

  You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

  “Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

  “I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

  “That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

  “And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

  “I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

  “Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

  Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.” 

  Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

  You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

  Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

  It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

  “You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

  Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

  “And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

  You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off. 

  She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

  How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

  “She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

  All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV. 

  You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life. 

  “Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

  Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed. 

  At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

  With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you. 

  You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

  She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

  It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

  But it was yours.

  When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs. 

  You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

  Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

  “Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

  “Uuungh?”

  You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

  “I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

  Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

  “Unngh.” He grunted in thanks. 

  As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

  Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

  “Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

  You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

  “He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

  You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling. 

  “You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions. 

  “There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

  You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

  Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population. 

  “Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

  Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand. 

  “What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

  Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

  “I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

  “MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

  “Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

  He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

  Laura.

  “SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

  You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

  And for once, she scared you.

  “Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

  Stepmother from hell, indeed.

  “Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured. 

  You took a small step back. She took one forward.

  “I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick. 

  “Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

  Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

  “ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

  All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

  Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction. 

  “Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

  “Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

  Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

  Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

  “Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life. 

  Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

  You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

  She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

  “I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

  Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed. 

  “No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

  “It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

  THUNK.

  Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

  You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red. 

  Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

  Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet. 

  You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

  “Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

  Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

  “Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

  When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

  You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

  ”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

  Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs. 

  Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

  You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

  The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it. 

  After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it. 

  “Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you. 

  He shook his head. 

  “Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

  When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

  While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work. 

  Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

  Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head. 

  “Mm-mm.”

  You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

  You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice. 

  He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even. 

  It felt…like you mattered to someone.

  “I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

  Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs. 

  “At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.” 

  He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way. 

  “Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

  Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

  “Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand. 

  “What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb. 

  Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger. 

  “Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you. 

  Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle. 

  A lightning bolt. 

  Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

  An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

  And then it hit you. Lightning.

  “OH.”

  Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

  “But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

  You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

  Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

  Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it. 

  It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

  You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure. 

  You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual. 

  The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

  You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

  He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

  “Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

  Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

  Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

  “Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

  No reaction. 

  “EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

  To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

  Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

  It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

  “Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!” 

  You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad. 

  The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

  You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

  Well, you’d already started. 

  “I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

[gatitties]

Rumors

─ Tenjiku x fem!reader

─ Summary: certain rumors about a powerful girl lead Tenjiku to you

─ Warnings: description of unpleasant ways to die

Part two / Part three / Part four

"I'm telling you again, you have the wrong person…"

You murmured to some boys that had cornered you before you could leave through the great doors of your high school, the head of that small group looked at you, fed up with you denying being who people said.

"Don't be stupid! There is no one else that matches your name."

You groaned in disgust when you noticed his growing anger, you didn't want to waste your valuable free time, you frowned making the hardest look you could, your dark circles dimmed your eyes and you gave one last blank look at the 'leader' of the group. The atmosphere around you intensified, as if it were suffocating, as if you were capable of breaking the necks of these five guys with one move.

The legs of the teenagers began to shake from the personality change, your sinister face and your iron gaze were enough to scare them away, although they said they would come back to kick your ass, you and your so-called gang.

"My God, what's up lately with all the jerks looking for a fight?"

You really didn't understand shit, as far as you knew, this last month there were several groups of people asking about you, they wanted to fight you because apparently you had a powerful gang and your name started to spread like wildfire, you heard nonsense like you had defeated a group of twenty men without ruffling your hair, even while filing your nails.

You? fighting? Do you even want to socialize a bit? If beating people up counts as socializing of course, you had nothing to do with those things anyway, the only struggles you had were with your math problems and if that subject was a person it would have kicked your ass not vice versa.

You had to ask a few people from your class, some who were more or less trustworthy and not swayed by those rumors, yes, rumors about you, not that you paid much attention to them but man, painting you as something inhuman that would be able to dismounting people twice your size with one punch was a bit over the top, wasn't it?

It's not that you looked cute or flirty, that was the main cause of the rumors starting, okay you admit it, you don't have the best fashion sense and maybe you dress a little darker than the others, maybe what sparked the rumors was your impassive demeanor, and your shitty face, because you didn't like to get up early, who does anyway? You just get to class and everyone is greeting each other with smiles on a Monday at seven in the morning, shut the fuck up, you want to sleep.

Looking back, yeah, maybe it was a bit because of your behavior, another reason that you thought would be of weight was your honesty, harsh honesty, you didn't like to beat around the bush and you went straight to the point of the issues, maybe that made your classmates see you as intimidating, geez, if they knew you cry over strangers' stories on the internet every time you open Twitter… Maybe some people were even intimidated by your height? Not that you were a building, but considering the average height of the girls, you were a bit above that.

The truth is that you had to agree with some of the rumors, you are creepy as fuck, not only sometimes because of your disheveled appearance, but also because of some of your comments, you could make very accurate descriptions of painful or disturbing deaths if is that the situation made you think of ways to die doing something everyday. Well, it's not your fault that you're a fan of crime shows, serial killers, etc.

"I hope we're not wasting time with this."

"Calm down Shion, it's not like we have anything to do, we're all here for a reason."

Izana commented as he looked at the others, Tenjiku had gathered because Kisaki had been hearing those rumors, your rumors, they were looking for strong people and if you had what they were looking for you were definitely joining the group.

"Whatever, he could have at least brought his pathetic ass here too…"

"Nu-uh, I needed Sanzu, Mucho and him to do something for me, anyway, I think we're here now."

You were half asleep at recess, getting some rest from another night of tossing and turning, otome games were messing with your sleep schedule. You almost fell asleep if not for a slight jolt, you groaned but opened your eyes finding yourself face to face with lavender eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul, your mind assimilated everything quickly when you saw how they were dressed together, also noticing the others behind of the boy.

They didn't even ask for your name when you put your hands to your head, letting out a cry of despair because you already knew what they had come for.

“I swear to god, I don't have a gang and I can't take down twenty men with one punch."

"Well, most people don't think the same as you."

Ran spoke, balancing his weapon against his palm, smiling sadistically at how you trembled a little. You know that intimidating feeling, when you know someone is angry and they seem like they're invincible? That same pressure the boys felt when you got up from your seat, although it was only a defense mechanism when you were scared.

"Just leave me alone, I don't want or am interested in fighting, I don't care what you think I am."

Apparently the trick of looking intimidating didn't help, the guy with a scar on his forehead that reached down to one of his eyes approached threateningly, grabbing your shirt to lift you into the air. You screamed internally from the looks you were getting from everyone, normally the idiots who came to confront you would get scared ─luckily─ and you didn't have to run away, but it was clear that these guys weren't weaklings like all the others.

Since silent intimidation didn't help, it might help to use your twisted mind, hopefully you might scare them off.

"I would like to lock you in a coffin alive, bury you three meters underground, wait for you to die slowly, gradually running out of oxygen, when your mind fades your bodies will rot, I will dig the bodies up and feed them to the Insects more disgusting than you can imagine."

"What the hell-"

Rin looked at you with a grimace seeing how you didn't blink once in your little monologue, Kakucho's grip loosened a bit, lowering you back to the ground but keeping you where you were. You started to sweat, without letting them recriminate you, you started to talk again.

"If you don't like that death, I can also sedate you, empty all your bodies, without intestines, while you slowly watch each other as you die little by little, I will do it slowly playing with your livers, making your intestines into scarves, I will burn you and I will feed you to pigs."

Kokonoi and Mochizuki looked at each other in silence with disgust clear on their faces, Kakucho had let go of you taking a step back to Izana's side. Hanma had a small crooked smile, it was his turn to approach you, patting your shoulder.

"What creepy things you say to be a scared cat."

Well, shit, your words hadn't sounded with the usual impassive enough tone or your nervousness had been detected by this damned matchstick. You shrank into your site, feeling smaller next to him, you raised your hands in defeat.

“Non-verbal and verbal intimidation don't work, okay, I give up, but I guess you know that that shit was just rumors."

Everyone was stunned at the guffaw Izana let out after that, he normally kept that serious tone when he was in a group, he usually only let that side out when he was alone with Kakucho, but oh boy, you were too much.

“Look at you, trying to intimidate us while you were all scared! You know, if you'd made it clear, we would have left, but you're so funny."

"What? If you're saying that you're a bad liar, I could see how you wanted to beat me up."

"Oh of course not, I would never hit a girl-"

"Yes, you should break a leg for lying so bad."

You gave your typical blank face, much more relaxed than before, but still a bit uncomfortable with all the attention you were getting, not to mention someone still with their arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, matchstick, personal space."

It was the turn of the Haitani brothers to laugh at the nickname you had given Hanma, he turned away with an offended look, but you didn't care, looking at the brothers, without a doubt their laughter bothered you because they were the ones that scared you the most.

"I don't know what's so funny, eh, Bert and Ernie?"

Kokonoi bit his tongue to keep from laughing, thinking that if he did, he would be the next person to be attacked by your big mouth, however Izana spoke again.

"You go from completely shaking and trying to be brave to messing with us? Every time you surprise me more."

"Nah, I'm just being honest now that I know you won't break my legs, I'm not making fun of you, I'm just objectively saying what you look like."

Now they all fell silent looking at you, feeling as if you were criticizing them with a simple look, imagining characters similar to them to make fun of.

"Wait, does that mean that you associate us all with something or someone?" you hummed affirmatively at Mochizuki's question "can we know-"

"You look like an onigiri if you put yourself completely in front."

"What about me?"

Madarame watched expectantly as you narrowed your eyes at him, analyzing his stance, oh, you definitely knew what he was.

"Gay."

"Wha- THAT'S NOT EVEN AN OBJECT OR PERSON!"

"Are you saying that gays are not people? Pretty disrespectful of you."

"IT'S NOT THE POINT!" he complained for a few minutes like Mochi for their comparison, he looked at you again, pointing to the remaining three; Koko, Izana and Kakucho "What about them? What stupid thing are they?"

"Mmh…" you rubbed your index finger and thumb on your chin, thinking deeply, looking at the three boys "They are just handsome."

"Nah, this bitch is not being serious-"

Hanma prevented the blonde from hitting you for your comparisons, despite also being insulted, the scene was quite funny for him. Ignoring the little spat everyone started to have, deciding you'd had too much human contact for today, you packed up your stuff to leave, only someone stopped you before you left.

"Take this please, let's talk later!"

You blinked at the piece of paper Izana had given you, it was his phone number, you shrugged, you liked the internet contact better anyway, you took one last look at the group before disappearing, briefly greeting Kakucho, who went with the only one you caught eyes with, completely ignoring how his cheeks had some rosy tinge.

"Someone had a crush?"

"Shut up Ran."

#tokyo revenger x reader #xreader #reader #reader insert #femreader #tokyo revengers #tenjiku #tenjiku x reader #kakucho #izana #mochi #mochizuki #shion #madarame #hanma #shuji #anime #manga #kakucho x reader #izana x reader #mochi x reader #shion x reader #haitani #haitanis #ran #rin #rindou #one shot #sfw

[cupiohearts]

OHSHC TWST ! ˖ ݁ ♡ . ⠀ ⠀ (fem aligned reader)

first years, dormleaders, second years, the rest

- going to nrc as a scholarship student who was suddenly dropped into a school full of rich kids who have way too much time on their hands.

- RIDDLE ; tsundere type. azul seems to enjoy capitalizing on this idea of riddle. some customers tend to leave him too red in the face (could go both ways) they all leave it to you to fix him back.

- LEONA ; bad boy type. he was the one who got you in this predicament in the first place since he has urges to take sudden naps in random places. you could recall the times when you get encased in his arms and you sit there helplessly with no one around to help.

- AZUL ; suave type. it was a lie, his persona was all a lie and no one believes you besides club members. azul was more of a buisness man rather than an actual host to the club. his charm makes it incredibly easy to accidentally sign a scummy contract. he almost made you sign a marriage document.

- KALIM ; sunshine type. by far the best person to hang around. kalim often drags along JAMIL who has a club position but he doesnt do much hosting as well. you enjoy chatting with jamil because of his mild manners and his understandment of your current situation. kalim when not at the club tails alongside you when doing your average things. what do you mean you dont know what instant coffee is?!

- VIL ; idol type. everyone knew who vil was, the most loveliest in all of nrc (no one is allowed to mention the ones at rsa), pop idol of the century and by far the most unpleasant to be around when you are a peasant. when interacting with vil he often critizes your appearance, when he does compliment you its so hidden you arent even sure if its just a compliment.

- IDIA ; nerdy type ; he didnt go outside very often, opting to discord kitten his customers instead of social interactions. whenever you have time, try to visit him in his mancave. ortho is getting worried his big brother wont ever get a s/o.

- MALLEUS ; babygirl princely type. malleus was an actual prince which had shocked you severely at first. a prince hanging around wirh the likes of a commoner was certain to make headlines. it doesnt help when hes just so attractive he gets anything he wants. and i mean everything. you met him first when he was just an enigma to you. hanging around daily at night made you two get closer together.

#twst #twst x reader #twsited wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst scenarios #azul x reader #twst azul #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #malleus x reader #idia x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona x reader #twst kalim #kalim x reader #twst jamil #jamil x reader

[case-almost-closed]

Hi. How are you ? Glad that you write for DC. not many people do 🥰❤. Can i request for Furuya? Feel free to ignore if you dont like it. But yeah. So there is this girl who is being verbally assulted/catcalled, and the guy is just being a creepy stalker literally following her (nothing serious, just wants to hook up and her number or social media), so she decided to ask for help from the first person she can find, who was Furuya walking with Conan . And she was like (can you pretend to be my husband boyfriend?). Im sure a person like him would understand the situation based on her body language alone even before she explains it, and im sure if he scans his surrounding he will even find the creepy person within secs. So yeah, Furuya being the gentleman he is, will take matters into his hands ❤🖤.

Guardian Angel

Furuya Rei x fem!Reader Words: 1.8K A/N: Thank you so much for that request, lovely idea, really. Sorry that it took a bit longer, but I was busy. It's not as good as I hoped it would be, but I still hope that it's okay.

She knew she should have listened to her friends and taken the opportunity to return with them. However, she had had so much work to do that she simply hadn't been able to afford to go home earlier, but as she walked home in the dark, the path lit only by the lanterns and billboards, she wished she had listened to them.

Although she tried to take the roads where there was a lot going on and a lot of light, it became more and more complicated as she left the heart of the city for the more secluded, quieter areas she had to cross to get home. However, it hadn't been her biggest mistake to walk home so late, but to decide that nothing bad would happen if she took the shortcut through the park.

"Come on sweetie." The man's voice behind her sounded muffled and raspy, sending an unpleasant shiver down her spine.

Of course, it must have been her luck to run into the only person who was in the park at the time, and of course he had to be the creepiest guy who could have been.

"I just want your number!" She walked on without looking back, hoping he would just stay on that bench and drink himself into a stupor. However, when she heard rustling followed by footsteps behind her, a shiver ran down her spine again and she instinctively quickened her steps, clutching her bag tightly. The footsteps behind her didn't pick up speed, but they were still too close for her liking.

"Sweetie, come on now." His words came out slurred and the thought alone made her feel nauseous. "Please...please leave me alone." Her voice was quiet and didn't sound as firm and sure as she would have liked, so she took another step faster, which elicited a laugh from the man behind her. "Don't be like that, I just want your number, nothing more!" By now she had left the park and was back on a street. Her eyes darted back and forth without moving her head much so as not to attract any more attention from him, hoping to find someone who could help her, but the streets were deserted. So she had no choice but to keep walking and hope that her pursuer would just give up at some point. Which, of course, he didn't.

She briefly toyed with the idea of turning back in the hope of getting rid of him, especially as she didn't feel comfortable with the idea of showing him where she lived, but decided against it. It probably wouldn't do her any good as she was already so far away from the busy part of town.

However, she noticed that her pursuer seemed to have slowed down a little, probably due to the alcohol disrupting his coordination, and picked up the pace again, turning the corner sharply only to almost collide with someone. She stumbled and caught herself in time on the fence of a front garden, the wood digging uncomfortably into her hand and her face contorted in pain. " My sincerest apologies, are you all right?“

Her head shot up and she saw a man and a small child in front of her, the former crouched down to be at eye level with her, looking at her with equal concern. In a matter of seconds, she took in their appearances.

The child was young, perhaps six or seven years old, had typical dark hair and wore glasses that covered half his face. The man, on the other hand, appeared to be tall, athletic and, to her fascination, had blonde hair that seemed to be natural and fell into his tanned face. He gently grabbed her elbow and helped her up, looking at her with concern. "I'm really sorry, I really should have been more careful..." She wasn't normally the kind of person to interrupt others, but she felt it was appropriate at this moment.

"Help." Her voice was no more than a whisper, a breath, and she would be surprised if he heard her, but he seemed to do just that. He furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head, which might have been cute in other circumstances, but her heart was pounding in her throat. "Excuse me, but is everything all right?"

She shook her head, which deepened the worry line on his face, and started to speak again when she heard the shuffling footsteps behind her. Her body stiffened instantly, which was noticed by the man, whose gaze shot upwards only for his expression to darken. "There you are, sweetheart..." slurred the man, whose speech was now riddled with hiccups.

She shivered slightly and turned her head so that he could hear her. "I've already said I don't want anything to do with you." "Oh come on, don't be like that. It's just your number I want. For now." With that, he laughed and stepped towards her, reaching out for her arm. Her reflexes weren't quick enough and she just managed to tear her eyes open, prepared to be grabbed by the arm, but the blond man she had bumped into seemed to have other plans. He quickly pushed himself between her and the man, gripping his wrist tightly. "And what exactly is this supposed to be?“

Her harasser stared at the blond, as if only now realising that he existed. "What do you want, you scumbag?" he blurted out, spittle spraying through the air, but she tensed up when she saw him raise his hand. The little boy next to her, however, only took her hand reassuringly and smiled knowingly. "Don't worry. Amuro-san knows what he's doing." And the little boy was right. The blond, Amuro, blocked the blow with ease, twisted the man's arm behind his back, causing him to let out a painful groan, and pressed him against the nearest wall. "I should be asking you that." Amuro's lips were set in a knowing yet grim smile, giving her goosebumps as he leant forward and pulled his arm up a little further, eliciting another groan of pain from the man. "What kind of scum do you have to be to chase after young women in the dark and molest them?“

"I only asked her for her number, not sexually harassed her!" The man's face was contorted in pain. "Besides, it's none of your business!!!" She winced at his shout and the boy pulled her back slightly so that she had enough distance between herself and the man. "It's enough to make you guilty of molestation," Amuro hissed. He glanced at her for a moment and an idea seemed to occur to him as, unbeknownst to the man, a small smile played around the corners of his mouth. "It would concern me if she were even a stranger. However, it's my business especially because she's my girlfriend. So?" As the heat shot into her face, the man blanched and began to stammer out pathetic apologies.

She could see that Amuro was far from satisfied, but he seemed to realise how uncomfortable she was, so he snorted, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the road. He stumbled and landed almost face first on the tarmac, but managed to catch himself. He took one last look at them before he took to his heels and fled. Amuro looked after him, shaking his head in disgust, before turning back to her, his expression instantly softening.

Before she was able to thank him, he smiled shyly and scratched the back of his neck. "I apologise if I went too far in calling you my girlfriend. It's just been my experience that most people are more easily put off by that sort of thing, at least in the peaceful way." She shook her head hastily, her face warm with embarrassment, and bowed to the man. "No, no, not at all. I really am incredibly grateful to you for helping me. It wasn't a matter of course." He shook his head slightly. "Which is a shame, because it should be." He eyed her intently and a shiver ran down her spine under his gaze. "Are you all right?“

Only now did she notice the slight throbbing pain in her hand and when she looked down, she realised that a splinter of wood was stuck in her palm. "Just a small splinter, nothing more. You made sure of that." Instead of reassuring him, however, her comment seemed to have sparked renewed concern in him, as he took her hand in his and inspected it without thinking about it.

"It looks big," he murmured, gently stroking the skin around it, making her feel cold and hot at the same time. "You should pull it out carefully at home and disinfect it, otherwise it could get infected. It's not a big wound, but we don't want to take any risks."

He looked up mischievously and gave her a slight wink, causing the heat to rise in her face again and she took her hand back.

A clearing of the throat sounded and she looked down at the boy, who gave Amuro a look that she couldn't interpret, but he could. "We should get going." "Sorry if I kept you," she bowed again, this time a little lighter. "Even though I'm grateful for your help, I don't want to keep you any longer." Amuro frowned, obviously not keen on the idea. "It's not a good idea to walk home alone in the dark." "It's not far now."

"Still," he replied, looking at her with a gaze that ran through her heart and soul. Beautiful, but deadly piercing, as if he knew everything about her. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, and I wouldn't be able to do so with a clear conscience, knowing you were wandering alone." He smiled slightly. "If you don't mind too much, I'd like to walk you home. Just to make sure the guy's really gone."

At that moment, she was grateful for the dim light, as she couldn't remember the last time she had blushed so much. "I...I really don't want to be a bother."

"Not at all." His eyes sparkled and he tilted his head. "If you don't mind: I insist." She was unable to look at him, so embarrassed was she, but nodded curtly, which elicited a pleased chuckle from him and, to her surprise, he even held out his arm for her to hook under. "Thank you very much, my lady. Lead the way."

Annoyed, Conan watched after them as the nervous woman led Amuro, who was obviously thriving in his role as hero, down the path and rolled his eyes. It was obvious that Amuro would insist on accompanying them to the front door, the courteous guy that he was. He sighed and followed them at a distance so he wouldn't have to listen to Amuro, who seemed to enjoy making the woman blush and embarrassed, charm her.

Ran would give him hell for being late home again.

#furuya rei x reader #amuro tooru x reader #bourbon x reader #furuya rei #amuro tooru #bourbon #detective conan #conan edogawa #edogawa conan #rei furuya #tooru amuro #case closed #case closed x reader #detective conan x reader

[froot-batty]

Can you explain how Eddie, Jon, and Jerv's autism manifests itself? As an Autistic comics fan, I love the idea of the Dork squad all being autistic!!

I sure can!! This one's gonna be long, so I'm gonna post it under a cut

Ed

Ed's whole deal can get a little complicated to explain, since he has BPD, ADHD, and OCD along with autism, so a lot of his experiences or behaviors are going to be influenced by all of those

Ed is a very repetition/pattern/organization focused kind of guy. Whether this be repeating routines, having to keep a system that's very specific, or needing things to play out in predetermined ways. If something doesn't happen how he expects it to, he will either repeat it over and over again or have a meltdown, depending on what it is

(He also has a lot of repetitive thoughts about all sorts of things. Some are more unpleasant than others)

They also fixate on things or people HARD. There will be week long stints where they will get fixated on something and be unable to do really anything else until their brain is satisfied. It can be very detrimental to their health (or to the health of the other person)

He also tends to dislike social situations, especially ones that are unfamiliar or crowded. Being unable to predict what will happen in a social situation or location is very nerve-wracking for him, and it's part of the reason why he can be so blunt and rude. Part of that is just how he's built, but it also usually puts people off or at least gives him the ability to analyze who someone is better. He doesn't like meeting new people, and he's found the best way to avoid talking to them is by being annoying (but he's just kind of annoying in general also)

Lastly, Eddie is very touch-averse (for multiple reasons) and moderately sensitive to sensory input. Bright lights and noises don't bother them too much, but the wrong smell or texture makes them want to vibrate out of their skin. They hate being touched, especially if they don't know you very well. Another reason why they wear gloves and a lot of clothing. It isn't as bad if they're very close with you though, so have them willingly touch you, or allow you to touch them for more than a minute or so, is a big sign of trust on their part

Jon

Jon is, as always, repression city, so he masks whenever he can get away with it. He's the type of guy to pretend like he's not bothered by something and then go home and stare at the wall for hours on end. He has a loooot of shutdowns because of this, unhealthy fucker

Jon is very unemotional and (like the other two, but more so) unempathetic. He could be having the best time of his life or the worst and he'd still have a blank "I wish I was dead" expression on his face. The exception is when he's experiencing high emotions, like shock, delight, terror, etc. He also speaks mostly in monotone, with occasional injections of emotion (mostly annoyance or amusement, and even then only barely)

Jon is very sensitive to light and sound. His glasses (or goggles, if he's wearing his mask) are actually tinted like sunglasses to help him deal with some of it. He has tried and failed to tough out being in noisy places, but since he physically can't do it, he's resorted to using earplugs to help deafen some of that sound. It still bugs him, but at least it lets him leave the house

In public, Jon stims in ways that could seem "normal" to other people, in his attempt to mask. Humming/whistling/singing, bouncing his leg, tapping a pencil, etc. He'll also clench his fists when he's not holding something (or tap on that thing if he is). When he's alone he tends to pick at his skin/scars, grind his teeth, pace, whisper to himself, things like that. Honestly a lot of his "not in public" stims unintentionally make him seem kind of scary (which he thinks is funny)

Jon also will have brief periods where he loses speech, particularly when he's overstimulated, but not always. Granted, since he doesn't talk much in the first place, it's not always noticed

Jervis

Jervis is veeerryy talkative when she's able to be! Though she tries to be mindful of it, she isn't the best at social cues (especially conversationally), and can (and will) have entire conversations where the other person isn't needed. Especially if it's about one of her interests, or if she has the chance to explain something to you. You best be ready to settle in for a while if she's decided to talk to you

The only problem is sometimes it's difficult for her to express herself in a way that makes sense, especially to neurotypical people. This is a combination of autism and brain damage. She is really very smart, and the things make sense when they're in her head, but they come out confusing and more like a ramble instead of a weave of interconnected ideas

He also has a bit of trouble recognizing people. He goes by shape, general colors associated with the clothes they wear, and voices, but if those are mixed around or unclear then he can get confused

He's also a very tactile kind of guy. We already know he loves hugging/cuddling/touching people, but a lot of his other stims relate to touch as well. Braiding or running his hands through his own or other people's hair, touching objects that have a texture he likes, scratching things, the feel of certain kinds of clothes, chewing on things, stuff like that

Along with that, she also has a lot of olfactory and visual stims. She has a couple of those stuffed toys that have the scents in them, which both appeal on the smell factor and the touch factor. Some might think it's weird or creepy, but she also likes to smell different people, especially those she's close with! It's just very comforting (even if being sniffed isn't always comfortable for the other person). Visually, she really likes staring at pleasing patterns, or anything moving repetitively, like fans. But she can get real dizzy doing that

Jerv is a biiigggg fan of weight, either being pinned down under someone or under stuff like a weighted blanket. Very very comforting

I think that's just about it!! I hope this satisfies, it was a lot of fun actually writing out how different their autism manifests and throwing in some of my own experiences/behaviors too. My silly beasts

#frootverse #jonathan crane #the scarecrow #edward nygma #the riddler #jervis tetch #the mad hatter #doodles

[overwatchables]

Junkrat/Reader General/Relationship HCS (SFW + NSFW)

'He fills up a big space in your life. All 6’5 of him. Leaves soot on your couch. Dirty underwear in your room. Boba in your fridge. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.'

I've been having major Junker brainrot recently and had to get this one out of my system. Will probably eventually work my way through the hero roster doing similar HC'S.

you might notice I've wrote talon/overwatch in these hc's - that's because I'd like to leave it up to you guys' whichever organisation you think he's affiliated with. I'm not too sure which route they'll take with the Junkers in canon concerning that - so I'll just leave it open ended.

WARNING for some spicy HCS near the end!

Jamie is off-putting. There's no other way to frame it.

He's got sharp features, very intense eyes and takes up a significant presence in every social situation he enters. He talks quick, directly, and brazenly; and if you're a naturally introverted person he's probably going to make you feel uncomfortable at first because he’s not shy at all. He’s just… a lot.

Once you get past the initial bombshell that is getting to know Jamison, you’ll quickly come to realise he’s actually a very friendly guy. Sure – at times he can be wild, unruly, abrasive. A tad stinky. Loudmouthed and raucous. With a significant klepto/pyro-manic streak that always keeps you just a little bit on guard. Not to mention guilty of many crimes and apparently proud of it.

By most people's standards… repugnant. And yet somehow totally magnetic at the same time.

He fills up a big space in your life. All 6’5 of him. Leaves soot on your couch. Dirty underwear in your room. Boba in your fridge. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

GENERAL HC'S

There’s no filter to Jamie’s speech. He says whatever pops into his head which is both a blessing and a curse. And by God, when this guy sees someone that tickles his fancy, he’s inevitably going to try his hand at chatting them up. This has… very varying levels of success. Good thing it seemed to work on you, though.

When Jamie likes someone a lot, it tends to consume him. Makes him irritable and over-excited, brimming with even more pent-up energy than usual. Roadhog always knows when Jamie has taken a fancy to someone because of this.

There's a ton of little idiosyncrasies Jamie displays that Mako picks up on. Mumbling to himself – having full blown, imaginary conversations in which your name will be peppered throughout.

Talking about you, period. How great he thinks you are. Things you’ve done that he's reading into a little too much in an attempt to justify that the feeling might be mutual. Jamie’s not shy to consult his larger counterpart about his interest in you.

Though he finds it amusing at first, the incessant yammering will most definitely begin to grate on Mako’s nerves and eventually culminates in the Hog physically depositing Jamie at your door. (award for world’s greatest wingman goes to Roadhog) :

“Say it to them, not to me.”

 “B-but… but Roadie –”

“You’re all talk,” Mako rumbles, “You want em’ so bad, then do something about it.”

RELATIONSHIP HCS

He's got a real animalistic sort of quality to him. His boundaries are almost non-existent at times. He's raw in a relationship, very unafraid to be physical. Expect a lot of touching; hovering over you in his odd, slouchy way, draping his too-long limbs over your shoulders, nibbling on your earlobes, squeezing your flesh wherever he finds it most enticing (usually your hips or your ass).

Don’t wear white clothes around him. He’s very prone to leaving sooty handprints on your clothing which can be incredibly embarrassing when you're oblivious to it.

The excess of physical contact can sometimes be a little jarring/unpleasant, especially if he’s been out on a job and just got back. He's not always the most hygienic; carries a smell of gunpowder and sweat with him wherever he goes - and sometimes he's got a real case of bad breath.

He'll make a bit more of an effort to scrub himself up when he's in a relationship, however. Partly from your nagging and partly because he's got a performative/self-conscious streak. If he likes somebody, he wants to impress them, to appeal to them. That results in him preening a bit more. You know this man is down bad if you smell deodorant off of him. (and no, the deodorant definitely doesn't belong to him. he stole it from some unsuspecting talon/overwatch member in the communal showers...)

Very involved and sometimes clingy. Wants to know where you’ve been, what you’ve been up to. Not in a distrustful way – it’s more of a ‘I like you a lot and I want to feel closer to you in any and every facet of your daily routine’ way.

I get the feeling that he’d appreciate someone nurturing in a relationship. (cough cough his interactions with Ana… god bless that boy and his mommy issues) He loves the feeling of being fussed over, hands on, a really tender sort of loving. It makes him absolutely melt. Secret mommy kink? Maybe.

More of a general one; but Jamie goes through mobile phones like he goes through bombs. First mistake that you and Mako had learned from was getting him an expensive one. It was broken within the first two days of having it. From then on Jamie is the proud owner of the most ass quality cellular devices on the market thanks to his propensity for destruction. It’s a revolving door of phones. You’ve got so many different numbers in your contacts for Jamie that it borders on ridiculous.

When he hasn’t, miraculously, blown up or shattered his phone screen, he makes it a habit to text or call you throughout the day. (In all caps... with a healthy dosage of spelling errors and emojis.) Sometimes sends only poor-quality picture images with no explanation of what it is he's trying to show you. It’s a fun puzzle, trying to figure it out.

SPICY HCS

Doesn’t take much to get his engine going, if you catch my drift. Very active sex drive, especially after he’s out of Australia and gone ‘legit’ – his body has gotten a lot healthier and as a result his virility has increased.

In fact, Jamie is pretty much DTF whenever, wherever, at a moment’s notice. Just say the words and he’s ready and raring to go. Honestly, he’s almost always a little bit turned on when he’s around you.

Pretty well endowed. Long, thin, uncut. A little messy down there. He doesn’t see the point nor care for shaving and body hair doesn’t bother him much. If you want to go au natural, then Jamie’s your guy.

The pictures Jamie sends can often be… explicit.  If he’s whacking one off then you’d better accept that you’re getting a picture of it, possibly without warning, and that’s that. He likes to feel like you’re involved in that kind of stuff even if you’re not physically present.

He’s a total switch in bed – though I do think it would depend a lot on his partners personality. Jamie is nothing if not adaptable. He can definitely do dominant if he’s in the mood or if his partner is submissive. It’s a huge turn on for him when his partner takes control in sex, though.

He especially likes a little bit of rough and tumble in bed. Fighting each other for dominance type beat. His partner being on equal footing with him is just as sexy as it is for him being dominated/doing the dominating. Very playful, very physical. And he definitely bites. A lot.

He’s got so much excessive energy that it can be slightly exhaustive. There’s three main avenues to which he tends to direct this manic energy: tinkering with his scrap and weaponry, talking for the whole of Oz (and then some), and of course, sex/masturbation.

If he’s especially hyper and you want the guy to calm down a bit, sex is a great way to tucker him out. He’s almost always down for a bit of fooling around and sleeps like a log afterwards.

Personally, I don’t think Jamie’s got a ton of sexual nor romantic experience. He might’ve fooled around here and there back in Junkertown when he was younger – but he’s never had a serious relationship. Though what he lacks in experience he more than makes up for in overwhelming eagerness.

He’s not afraid to try anything. Really, it’s hard to find something he isn’t down for. As long as you’re game too, then he’ll probably be agreeable to giving it a go.

His oral game is crazy. (have you seen that tongue!?)

Alright, he hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing but dude is giving it his all and then some! He’s very unafraid of giving oral and actually finds it pretty fun. He’s messy with it, but so eager and attentive that it doesn’t take long for him to get pretty fucking good at it. After a while he becomes an expert at making you cum with his mouth.

Downright feral when he fucks. When I said he was animalistic I meant it. A lot of stamina, speed, and power behind his thrusts.

Short refractory period. Doesn’t take long for him to get hard again and before you know it, he’s grinding on your ass and trying to mount you like the absolute sex goblin that he is – till he finally exhausts himself and passes out for the night.

His prosthetic leg gives him a bit of trouble when he’s being intimate sometimes, so he appreciates it if you can take the reins and be on top every now and again. Takes him a while to remove the ol’ peg leg in bed with you. He has to be really comfortable in the relationship because it’s sort of an insecurity for him.

#this was very fun #junkrat #more to come soon #roadhog next and then probably poly roadrat #roadhog #junkrat x reader #jamison fawkes #overwatch #my writing #overwatch hcs #hcs #overwatch x reader #overwatch imagines #overwatch headcanons #headcanons

[cdmodule]

In defense of Clock TPOT (and why he’s not ooc)

I’ve seen a lot of people insist that Clock’s character “got ruined” since TPOT but to me, the way he acts perfectly lines up with traits of his character seen since his introduction. Let me explain. (For future context, this was written right after TPOT 3)

Clock’s always been kind of… aggravating. • One of the earliest cases being how quick he is to condemn Liy, Icy, Teardrop and Bracelety and switch up on them, as early as BFB 1. You could look at the whole scene really, but mainly...

Already in his first introduction he’s butting his head into conflict and goes by whatever seems right to him (rather than for example, finding a middle ground or being otherwise helpful). Also going from arguing with Liy to forming a truce with her after. I’ll get back to these later.

• On another point, In BFB 2 and a few times in BFB30-TPOT we see more of Clock carelessly talking to hosts and demanding answers. While he’s not unique to this, It adds a lot of boldness to his character. (Using just transcripts here to save space)

• Looking back at BFB 10 Clock is the first one to not only ask for characters being recovered but also informs Four on who’s eliminated.

To him, enforcing rules is important even If his fellow contestants are mad at him for it. Remember how I said he sticks his head into situations and does what he thinks is right? • Now… we're at the part where Clock disappears for almost the rest of BFB, until coming back in BFB 15.

Not particularly sad, however frustrated at his team and doesn’t wanna hear it and leaves. He’s still hurt, which I feel like a lot of people forget when bringing up his change in TPOT. • Besides being forgotten by his whole team, throughout BFB Clock doesn’t exactly have friends to begin with. Think of another BFB character, and It’s likely they’ll at least have/had one other person. Clock is just kind of there.

Despite that, he’s VERY helpful for his team, often using his powerful clock-hands to win challenges, which is very important to him. The one time he made his team lose in BFB 6 he quickly gets embarrassed and defends himself. Speaking of defending himself….

BFB 1 - BFB 6 - TPOT 3 (Last one doesn't have CC) It seems to be his default answer to confrontation. And It’s a shock to him every single time. Which shows that Clock doesn’t do this maliciously, but rather that it comes from a lack of understanding social situations. He’s restricted to his own ideas of what’s right or wrong (shown by. playing by his own rules, doing what he wants & sticking his head into situations he isn’t part of) and on top of that has difficulty reading others, being surprised by negative reactions because of it. Basically he lacks social skills. Of course that isn’t a free card to act unpleasant around others, but It’s a skill you gotta work on nonetheless. Clock has rarely shown interest in building friendships, like him hesitating to join a truce with Liy. The only time he’s been curious was in joining Loser’s or Winner’s team.

With this in mind, It starts to make more sense why Clock is pushy and doesn’t get boundaries in TPOT. It’s nothing new! Just more blatant. (And also he wasn’t even around for a third of BFB) • His personality has been and is still developing in TPOT. The aforementioned traits have been pushed since he’s around Winner, adding a bit of obsessiveness too. But consider a few things: 1. His team forgot about him and he got frustrated and left. A change to his character after that wouldn’t be surprising 2. He never made friends and now actually found someone he’s interested in, even if that interest is One Sided (and honestly? It checks out w/ his lack of proper relationships) 3. Sometimes… people just act differently around other people. I mean he is a huge fan after all, See Point 2 again 4. We are in the middle of an “arc” and we don’t know how It’s gonna end yet And about that character development… • Something I noticed is that Clock never came off Genuinely sad and regretful (maybe in BFB 6 depending how you see his reaction to losing) until being rejected by Winner and not even getting to defend himself. This time he REALLY noticed he messed up.

I assume this will be a turning point in how Clock acts and will try to be a bit more self aware of how he acts around others. That’s for future TPOT episodes though! But all in all, I think Clock becoming devoted to Winner to the point where It seems parasocial to some (though I’d argue that “parasocial” isn’t the right way to describe this, but that’s a different convo) is par for the course, considering his boldness and lack of social skills and relationships in BFB.  Thank you for reading <3

#character analysis #clock tpot #clock bfb #tpot #mucho texto but like Im sorry i genuinely love his character so much #so its odd for me to see people act the way they do #but ya know

[f4rfields]

i definitely do understand where people are coming from when they really feel for laios during his conflict with toshiro, but i am not looking forward to the social media posts about how he's the worst and bad forever. i got Thoughts on this.

because laios is definitely not free of blame in this conflict. even if it was on accident, he was doing a lot of racist microaggressions towards toshiro almost immediately (assuming his name is "shuro" and introducing everyone to him this way, talking about his looks being "strange", grilling him constantly for information for 5 hours about his home despite him wanting to leave after the first few seconds of their interaction), and his difficulties with reading social situations was making him uncomfortable regularly. and while laios perhaps didn't know the harm of what he was doing and thought it was just them being pals, that doesn't change how laios made toshiro feel.

but toshiro even recognizes that laios isn't doing this out of malice, which makes being upset at him the way he is even more frustrating. even with the aspect of cultural differences making communicating directly difficult, direct communication in any cultural setting seems to be one of toshiro's weak points, and he's aware of it. but having some guy decide that you're besties despite you not really doing much to reciprocate that feeling, having this guy touch you when you are not accustomed to it, having him say shit that is incredibly insensitive, and having him invite himself along to things is understandably shit that would be unbearable after a while.

the world doesn't revolve around laios, and toshiro is not required to sit down and educate him on social cues/the entirety of his culture's social norms/how not to be doing casual racism just because they came in contact with each other. a lot of this built up resentment probably wouldn't have festered were he to have said "we're not close in the way you think we are, so stop it" when shit first started getting out of hand, but toshiro didn't say that and acted according to the norms of his own culture to strongly imply it. he wasn't "wrong" for making the choice to do that, but it went over laios' head.

while the way in which everything exploded between them was terrible and honestly a nightmare scenario for anyone who is neurodivergent, it's kind of a perfect storm situation. while laios had one awful big reveal, toshiro was dealing with being made uncomfortable by laios for the entire time they've known each other. like that sucks to know that not only did someone you thought you were pals with didn't feel the same, you learned that your presence/behavior was bothersome, insensitive, harmful, invasive, or even outright bigoted. he didn't intend for it to be bad, but it was bad for toshiro. that sucks to find out.

him being frustrated that toshiro never told him otherwise feels more like laios is both saying that to toshiro, but also low-key is misdirecting anger he has for himself for not "getting it". laios seems to be a really extroverted guy who wants to make friends but often dislikes that people don't "get" him and that he doesn't "get" them either. it sucks to be shown that yet again, you didn't read the room right.

i don't think that toshiro hates laios as a person (given that he did seem concerned about their well-being before he left them to continue through the dungeon and gave him the bell, as well as their hug moment in the end), but he sure hated how laios was treating him. but even if toshiro would never come to like laios and even if he does hate him, i don't think that makes him a bad guy. some people just don't mesh, and let's be real - laios' first interaction with him was "hey you look weird let me get your name wrong and introduce you to all my buddies after trapping you in this tavern for 5 hours" which is an awful thing to do.

neurodivergence does not make you immune to perpetuating racism, or make people who find you unpleasant immediately ableist. i think toshiro's anger and frustration were, to a large degree, understandable. it sucks how badly it hurt laios to realize that his feelings of friendship were one-sided though, but toshiro was not doing this out of malice either. it was frustration that built up over the entire time they knew each other, and also feeling misunderstood by laios.

laios deserves love and friendship, but he is not owed it from toshiro just because he thought he was being nice and friendly towards him.

#text #lauren reads dungeon meshi

[paganminiskirt]

There are a lot of parts of GTA 5 where the creators display storytelling capabilities that one wouldn't expect from a game like this, but I think the scene where Franklin goes to Michael's house after Ending A is one of the most memorable. It's not particularly flashy, it’s not even a cutscene, but the feeling it creates in the player is unpleasant on several different levels.

Because it's tragic to see the main character and his mentor fall out over a choice you, the player, made, but it's also… cringe inducing, upsetting in a way I couldn't identify at first glance. And not necessarily on Trevor's behalf! You don't have to like him or regret killing him to squirm during that scene.

Even when you measure Michael against the twisted, honor-among-thieves system of morality favored by Trevor and his ilk - people who are so entrenched in their lifestyle that they can't imagine rehabilitation, and compensate by trying to inject some morality into the amoral criminal underworld - he doesn't emerge as some gloating, greedy backstabber à la Benny in the deleted content for FNV. He's not really a coward, and he's certainly not a monster. The game never gives any indication that Michael is lying when he says that he was worried about his young family, that he never meant for Trevor to find out about Brad's death the way he did, that Ludendorff was a difficult decision to make, but he ultimately had altruistic reasons for making it.

The first thing Michael does after the heist goes wrong is tell Trevor to run away; a choice he makes on impulse, but still out of good will. By the time he starts actively concealing the truth about Brad, the FIB have already been exchanging heartfelt messages with Trevor as his dead friend for a solid decade, rendering the time bomb effect of the whole lie that much more foreboding when it was already a likelihood that Trevor would do something atrocious if he found out.

Much of the horror surrounding Trevor's crimes is fridge horror, where what happens is implied but never outright shown, leaving the player's imagination to fill in the gaps. For the first two thirds of the game, the prospect of what Trevor will do when the truth about Brad comes out maintains the same aura of gruesome, unseen violence as what he did to Debra, Leon, Wade's friends, and god knows how many others. You can't expect Trevor himself to be happy about it, but you also can't judge Michael for lying to him. Who wouldn't lie to him. You wouldn't want to end up in the stew.

But by the time you get to Michael killing Trevor, all that grandiose reasoning has collapsed in on itself. The FIB just openly crumbled into gangland style infighting, they're not a coherent threat. If Trevor was still sore about Brad, he could've done something already - something like not going out of his way to save Michael from the government agency he ends up killing him on behalf of, an act which renders Michael's willingness to take him out particularly ironic and shameful.

The only reason Michael is alive to kill Trevor for the FIB is because earlier, Trevor stopped the FIB from killing Michael! Trevor's desire to protect his loved ones, one of his only redeeming qualities, is retroactively transformed into humiliating self-sabotage! And Michael goes through with the most overtly cruel & unusual murder we ever see him commit for the sake of corrupt, incompetent bureaucrats who strung him along and tried to kill him. People who he knows aren't worth working for, if you aren't spineless and paranoid. The whole situation is laughable.

From there, after Trevor is dead, it's no wonder Michael leans into the barebones, social-darwinist cynicism of it all. He's already forsaken what is right for what is easy in the most miserably inglorious way possible; what else is there to do but commit to the bit, just like he did when he first started lying about Brad?

So Michael just burned his oldest friend alive in front of his twenty five year old protege. He mocks him afterwards to mask his own obvious discomfort, and when Franklin reacts negatively, he tells him that he "doesn't understand," as if Frank isn't the one who presented him with this solution in the first place. Michael reminds Franklin of Trevor's nastier habits, as if the two of them haven't been actively utilizing his brutality to give themselves a leg up this whole time, rendering them directly complicit. And he spins a whole yarn about survival and the willingness to make unpleasant choices, promises (in so many words) that he'll stay in Franklin's life, then reinforces it later.

Because Michael was the one who put a gun to Franklin's head and got him involved in all of this at the beginning, all the while padding out their professional relationship with a paternalistic attitude that was reinforced by Michael's disappointment with his biological son and the absence of Franklin's biological father. Whether the two of them were codependent or w/e is anyone's guess, but their relationship certainly wasn't balanced.

And after you've slogged through all of this ugliness, after Michael's done all this talking and made these broad sweeping statements, the man just... pussies out. He stops taking Franklin's calls without explanation. He takes the easy way out again. You have to go find him to ask what's up, and when you do, you don't get a big cinematic cutscene: you get bitched at by an old man with a three day beard in his driveway, an experience which feels like being gaslit, even if that isn't necessarily what Mike's trying to do. The sequence is defined by this blunt sense of anticlimax and disappointment, like you should've seen this coming but didn't, and are now left to feel stupid for it.

There are so many things Michael's doing here. He's dodging responsibility for killing Trevor in an especially brutal way, yeah, but he's doing so by shifting the blame onto Franklin of all people. Franklin who handled that situation with infinitely more decency than he did, despite not knowing Trevor half as well - despite being two decades younger than both of them and a surrogate son figure. Michael pulled the trigger, he ranted and raved about how Trevor deserved it, he told us we did the right thing when we could've just as easily killed his stupid ass, and now he's pissy about it. He's wearing black. He's saying with complete sincerity that you need to shoulder the guilt of what he did for him. Burning a man alive. To a twenty five year old.

And we, the audience, know that this whole series of events started with a decision we made through Franklin. Extratextually, we did choose to kill Trevor. So the immediate response is to say that the scene is sad, for the reason that the narrative presents you with directly - that being that Michael is right, that Frank did do something wrong, and he should be allowed to hate him for it. But when you think about it within the universe itself, it becomes this awful new moral low for Michael. One character emerges looking freshly terrible, and it's him.

And it's not just a random act of cruelty; it's a bad end to the arc Michael had been in for the entire game, as a father, a partner, and a man. Trevor was right in a way that he never would've wanted to be right. It takes his death to fully actualize Michael as the kind of person Trevor spent the entire narrative accusing him of being already: a liar and a coward.

And the moment where that becomes clear is... infinitely crueler and harder to watch than it would’ve been if Michael had never cared to begin with. Imo.

#michael de santa #trevor philips #franklin clinton #gta v #gta 5

[bijoumikhawal]

Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Seven

Fic as of this chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence, disassociation, kidnapping

Kardasi: peikirvi- would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

---

At least this time, no one was possessed, and he wasn't trying to treat a dying crewmate with no supplies while being hunted. Or caught in the middle of eternal war on a planet where no one stayed dead.

It didn't make the situation any less frustrating. Really it was stupid, but- Julian was annoyed. He hoped this wouldn't be a pattern for him in the future- this loss of control.

He'd just wanted to go on leave to visit a cousin he hadn’t seen since he started Academy, got talked into seeing a young man back to his quarters on the transport, and then- nothing. Now was also nothing- the room was dark, and eerie quiet, save for the light hum of electricity- but it was a nothing he was awake for.

A tiny sliver of light began to stab through the door. Julian squirmed up out of sitting. There was just enough room to sit or stand, but switching was unpleasant. Joins in the metal weren't smooth, and left scratches on his arms. He could see the red lines of them where the light crossed them.

His internal clock said it'd been around 3 hours since he regained consciousness. It didn't feel right, but it was engineered to be accurate. He'd played tic-tac-toe against himself 47 times, solitaire 5 times, and () once, before getting annoyed. He'd also, of course, been considering who his captor could be- unfortunately there were many options. Barkan came to mind first, then the Order, then someone who'd found him out- then came more random, but still plausible options. A Bajoran extremist group; someone powerful in need of a doctor with him as the unlucky pick; someone from the Delta quadrant; an angry patient; a rival of the Federation- it went on. The man he'd been lured by couldn't give him a hint- he was probably a middleman.

He squinted at the crack the light sliced in through, trying to see beyond the door.

Abruptly, the door opened, and Julian almost fell on his face. He blinked spots away as the much brighter light enveloped him.

A Cardassian soldier with a rifle stood before him- first guess was likely it, then- with the unusual kit addition of a helmet. "Stand up straight." He barked.

Julian stretched out one leg, then the other. He watched the soldier's grip tighten on the gun.

"You've been caught trespassing in Union military facility space. It is in your best interest to do as you're told."

"Have I, now?" Julian stretched his arms. "Shouldn't I be awaiting trial, then?"

"You are under indefinite facility detention." The soldier's fingers tightened on the trigger. "Your death would be unfortunate, but you need not be alive for the investigation when it occurs."

Julian relaxed his posture.

"Place your hands in front."

Julian did as he was told, though not without spite. Absently, he ran his tongue over his teeth- he hadn’t thought to do so yet, as he hadn't felt pain there, but sure enough, there was ragged wetness where a molar should've been. Pure dread shot down his spine- they took it while he was unconscious.

Why did they numb it?

Julian knew it was possible to keep someone under without numbing the pain- especially without numbing it for hours after they woke. Why the effort? Just to keep him confused until they decided they wanted him?

While he thought, the guard led him through the facility, which was quiet. There were no clocks- Julian couldn't tell if it was night, or if this area was kept quiet. After a meander, the guard reached past him to trigger a door open. Sound rushed forth- there were noise dampeners. Odd, for a Cardassian facility.

Barkan Lokar looked up at him, smirk tugging on his lips. "So this is who was on that runabout. My, my, Lieutenant Bashir. Are you making a habit of intruding on Cardassian space?" The smirk was on his face before he looked up- it was all pure farce.

"I'd have to have been awake for it to be a habit."

Lokar laughed. "Oh, is that how it works for Federaji? I wasn’t trespassing, someone else planted a program setting a course for this facility?"

Julian's mouth shifted. Was he… admitting what he'd done while mocking him? The memory came, unbidden, of Garak saying with a smile, Perhaps I'm an outcast spy.

Julian could bear Garak’s superiority- even find it amusing. With him, the fact that they both knew he was full of it often made it fun. "What are you doing here, Lokar?"

"Is this usual as well?" Lokar drank from a cup on his desk. "I'll humor you for a moment, since we have a mutual acquaintance- I work here. Obviously."

"What should we do with him?" The guard spoke up.

Lokar made a dismissive gesture. "Keep him with the general population until the investigation is sorted out and we need him again. Give him a little extra attention, but I doubt he can do anything from there."

---

The only time he, Barkan, and Palandine slept in the same bed was that first week after the ceremony. Always laying in that order, Barkan turned towards one or the other. Always their eyes meeting over his shoulder.

Garak basted the lining in place for the tunic he was working on. He wished he had more intensive work- it kept his thoughts from wandering. But he didn't.

Barkan had left the station. He'd been gone for a bit, really- days.

After that week, Barkan returned to his duties. He often visited Bajor, and Terok Nor- he had personal and professional interests there, after all- but he had many assignments, including those that took him away from the planet. And where he went, Garak had to go.

The problem with the Lokar family's last scion wasn't a lack of activity.

Garak tried to separate emotion from the situation. Garak didn't know what or how he felt about the situation. He'd never figured out how to feel about Barkan.

He still wrote poetry. Sometimes, he even read it to Barkan. And the memory of that naive garden contentment echoed in him- in both of them. Barkan touched him gently, listening carefully while he read.

He never wrote for Barkan.

Garak was startled out of his thoughts by his door chiming.

He got up and pressed the entry button. "Commander. Are you taking me up on that recommendation of a proper suit?"

Sisko didn't have any humor to his face this time- Garak hadn't expected he would. To be sought out directly hinted at what he was needed for. "Something like that. May I come in?"

"Of course." Garak stepped aside.

---

Cardassians had a very particular philosophy regarding crime. Julian had picked up that much while reading. All crime was a matter of morality. Immorality was a disease, memetic in nature, which had to be quarantined. The closest translation of immorality itself was a word meaning “a soul in possession of bad knowledge”. To treat the disease, there were two methods: aforementioned quarantine, and the removal of bad knowledge.

The latter was expressed through confession (acknowledgment the action was wrong), re-education, and “learning through experience”- or, more simply, forced labor.

Thanks to the mirror universe, this was not the first time Julian got hands on experience with the concept. It was different, then- the Alliance had a synthesis of philosophies about crime and punishment, not just Cardassian. But really the philosophy didn't matter in the moment.

A list of what mattered: both were hot. The other Deep Space Nine was dark. The facility here- Jaiyic, he'd learned- had him outside, in bright sun. The crap on his exposed skin was red instead of black and dark gray. They gave him clothes to wear instead of allowing him what he had on. The work here was different and made some people's hands bleed. There were only a few humans here- the majority were Cardassians, with representatives from all groups within the Union. Vulcans. Klingons. Drinac. Sukdine. The last two still under Union occupation, but considered “civilized”.

The interesting thing about the heat here was after a few hours, you got used to it. Julian didn't feel the heat, or the sweat pouring off him- he only knew it was there when he touched his face and his hand came away wet.

The uniform made it worse. The shoes were gel slippers with no give or breathability, and when taken off, one found little pools of their sweat and dirt inside. The jumpsuit was pocketless, made of slippery material that refused to roll or be cuffed, worse than a novelty pair of “polyester” pants his mother had owned.

It had been a few days. Most of the other prisoners were avoiding him- nothing had been explicitly stated, but he was taken to a separate cell at night, alone. It stood to reason they'd figured out he was of special interest to someone running the place.

He looked over his shoulder again, the third time in ten minutes, his brain helpfully supplied. The guards had stayed in their places.

So far, “extra attention” had not meant guard harassment. There was a more varied group here, but it seemed this was also a similarity with the mirror universe: mostly, he was just apart of the crowd.

He wasn't even the only person who was being avoided. There were two others in his sector, and he could look over to them right now, who everyone gave a cold shoulder.

He hadn't had the nerve yet to try and talk to one of them and see if things would be different.

A few yards away from him, he heard a yelp.

Immediately, Julian looked over. It was a Cardassian prisoner, clutching his foot- the shovel he'd been using had sliced through the slipper.

Julian laid his own shovel down and darted over. “How bad is it?”

The man looked up at him, face contorted with pain and sheer confusion.

Julian repeated the question. “How bad is it?”

“Go away.” He hissed in response, then spat. “Madman.”

It was Julian's turn to be off balance. “I'm a doctor, I can help-”

“A doctor, huh? Well, doctor- get away from me unless you want us both to get a beating.” The Cardassian dragged himself upwards, balancing against the side of the hole he'd been digging to make unfortunately his injured foot.

---

Garak was breathing on the shuttle. He knew there was a point to their size, but-

Nothing made him feel more aware he'd spent years going from room to room to room without never not having a ceiling and walls around him for more than a few hours like a shuttle or runabout did.

He heard the footfalls of his copilot behind him and straightened. "Are you sure you wish to handle this so… personally, Captain?"

"I take the abduction of my senior staff very personally, Mr. Garak. Do you find that objectionable?"

"Not at all. I do, however, worry about what may happen if you get caught."

"This isn't my first time considering that, Mr. Garak, though I always hope it'll be the last." Sisko took his seat.

"Mm." Garak leaned forward, checking the console. He didn't quite have the stomach to make commentary off that- perhaps he'd find it later.

"One could almost get the impression you're waiting for something to go wrong."

"Something already has. It's reasonable to expect something else will." Garak leaned back. For his attempt to push Bashir at a slight distance, enough to make Barkan bored with any thoughts on him, but not explosive and out of character enough to be suspicious, it had been too little and too late. And of course, he hadn't known the doctor was taking leave.

"Hm." Sisko raised his eyebrows. "And by that, of course you mean the abduction, and not Dr. Bashir's report."

Garak smiled. "Of course."

They were both quiet for a moment.

"He did try to keep you anonymous."

Garak sighed. "I'm sure."

"And he was right to bring it to my attention. It saved us both time."

"You need to course correct by 5 clicks." It had its intended effect- Sisko had expected a different reply, and promptly had to refocus.

"Mr. Garak," Sisko said as he adjusted the course, "I do not appreciate that."

"And I don't find your way of trying to reason with me very effective." Garak replied curtly. "I prefer-" He stopped himself.

"By all means. Speak your mind." Sisko, perhaps wanting to avoid a repeat of earlier, didn't press further.

They both kept eyes on the console.

“Remind me why we have to pilot the shuttle manually, given we know where our destination is.”

“All Cardassian facilities have a program that automatically detects objects flying in a manner similar to a vessel with a course program running. They're flagged for investigation and many catch them in tractor beams. Piloting manually decreases our chances of getting caught.” And manual piloting made it easier to stay outside of, or on the edges of, detection systems. Garak could pretend to be an active Order agent, but he'd rather avoid the stress.

“I'd rather have taken the Defiant.”

“I don't feel especially secure in a small vessel either, but I don't know the systems on the detention center, or if something on it could gives us away. I'd rather not risk it.”

Sisko nodded, more to himself than anything else. There were a few quiet moments, then-

“Please.” Garak muttered as an alarm began blaring.

“If only it could hear you.” Sisko leaned forward, scanning the console. “It's not anything to do with the warp drive or engine, thankfully.”

Garak leaned over as well, eyes moving faster over the Cardassian controls. "Unfortunately, it looks like best Quark could procure was a runabout with a faulty environmental system. The oxygen level is depleting."

"Seal off the lab and storage bay."

Cardassian runabouts didn't have a designated lab, but Garak didn't mention it. He sealed off the rooms they didn't need to use.

Sisko kept looking at the console, brow furrowing. "There aren't any leaks."

Garak got up and went to the third chair in the cockpit, feeling for the detachment lever.

"Mr. Garak. Could you-" Sisko paused. "What are you doing?"

"The primary circuit for the environmental system is under the console over here." Garak pulled the lever and dropped the chair over to the side, getting on his knees to open the panel. "There are a few different problems that come to mind if it isn't a leak- it's best if we start here."

"Is there anything I need to be doing?"

"For now, keep an eye on the console and tell me if anything changes." Garak flipped the panel open. The circuits were old- not so old that he immediately saw damage, but old enough that his suspicions intensified. He slid a piece of wire out of a seam in his top.

"There's a change, but I don't know what it means."

Garak's jaw clenched a bit. "I'm going to test that a few more times, Commander." Better not to be over confident that he'd found the problem at once.

Once, nothing. A second time, nothing. A third time-

"Same change as the first."

Garak closed his eyes for a moment. "There's a handle above the co-pilot's chair, on the ceiling. Can you reach it?" He asked.

"I can."

"Pull it down. There should be another set of circuits, and a green wire that's thicker than the others. Disconnect it from the port closest to the window."

Another alarm started, letting Garak know the wire had been found and disconnected. He grabbed a blue wire in front of him and pulled it out as well, soeaking loudly over the alarms. "When I say so, you need to reconnect the wire at the same time as I do."

Garak breathed. "One, two- now!"

The alarm shut off with a silence more startling than when it began.

Sisko jumped to the floor and sat back in his chair with a breathless laugh. Garak gave himself a moment to appreciate how good he looked doing that. Then, he quieted.

Garak got up off the floor, dusting himself off.

Hopefully- no. It was best not to set himself up for disappointment.

"I don't need to tell you who Curzon was." Sisko said after a long moment.

The former Dax, his old mentor. "No."

"But I also never have. You don't know him from me."

Garak looked at him, inclining his head.

"If I were to describe him, among many things, I would say he was somewhat abusive, but charming enough that most let him get away with it."

Garak smiled, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. No one, except for three others, none here, truly knew the phaser graze that statement left in him. "Interesting. Has Lieutenant Dax gotten in trouble for taking a joke too far?"

"Not recently." Sisko didn't bother with the deflection.

---

This morning was different from the others. A guard normally stood at the door, yes- one of the normal ones. Today the helmeted guard from when he first woke up was back.

Julian stood warily. Only a few guards wore helmets here, all speaking very little in comparison to the others. He had come to feel the uniform choice was more about secrecy than armor.

“Warden Lokar has requested your retrieval.”

“Well, isn't that nice. Unfortunately, I have a full day of wallowing in dirt ahead of me- could he reschedule, perhaps for next week?”

“Your usual activities are a lesser priority.” The security field deactivated, and the guard stepped forward to bind his hands. “Do behave.”

Nothing particular happened on the walk back to Lokar's office, though Julian was able to appreciate it more this time now that he was properly rested and hadn't been locked in a closet for hours. Left, left, right, left, right, with two access locked doors in-between. The helmeted guards hand was hidden, but Julian could tell the direction his hand jerked in as he pressed the keys.

“Wonderful prison you're running here. It reminds me of an abandoned construction site.”

Lokar lounged, smiling with a distinct cruelty. “You do realize, of course, that Elim was at my side while I did things you Federaji are far more horrified by than administrating a prison.”

Julian kept his face impassive. “I’ve been through this song and dance before. It’s pathetic, coming from you.”

“Is that what you talked about on your little excursion to Arawath?”

Julian rubbed his chin (it was stubbly, which he hated). “Why have you so graciously given me a reprieve from manual labor, Lokar?”

“I thought you were smarter than to antagonize someone with power over you.”

"Apologies. It's just… you're such a boring conversationalist. No wonder you think I'm antagonizing you."

Lokar's lips pressed into a thin line, still smiling. “Is that the sort of thing you two talk about? My- or perhaps others in general- conversational skills?”

“We talk about anything we please.” Julian got the sense he may have implied something beyond what he meant.

“And however, whenever you please, I expect.” Lokar muttered as though something had been confirmed that he was displeased to have suspected. "I wonder how he reacted when he realized you'd been caught." Lokar mused. "Elijje can be so prone to histrionics."

"Am I to be charged with conspiracy?"

“Oh, don't worry about that yet, Doctor. The future will come at its own pace. Worry about the present.” Lokar's lean in his chair deepened.

“Worry about you, you mean.”

That made Lokar brighten slightly.

Only to be immediately broken by his chair letting out a loud creak, a snap! and sending him sprawling to the floor.

Julian let out a loud, ugly laugh before clapping his hands over his mouth. He hasn't thought it would actually break.

The helmeted guard gripped Julian’s shoulders, pressing him down into his seat.

Lokar rose from the floor, hair in disarray. “Well. It seems you aren't very good at worrying, Lieutenant.” He smoothed a hand over his hair. His words sounded calm, but his voice shook, betraying his barely controlled rage. “A good worrier- a smart man- would know better than to laugh at another's misfortune. That's asking for some of your own.” As he spoke, he went around his desk.

At least Julian knew to brace himself.

The first hit wasn't too bad. Lokar was too angry to think about how form- it had the force of his anger, but it was sloppy.

That was less and less true as it went on.

#ds9 #Garashir fanfic #Ds9 fanfic #Garashir #Cipher talk #Fic: Bite the Hand that Starves You

[theamityelf]

If you will can u give us more on the Warriors of Hope as Kamukuras??? Especially how Izuru acts w them?? I’ll take anything abt them that you can give

Okay, I'm going to start from the beginning. As far as how they got to be Kamukuras, I'm thinking the school already wanted to use young children, they were scouting Hope's Peak Elementary for kids who could feasibly go missing, and, when they found out about the UDG kids' home situations, they realized they had enough blackmail on their parents that they couldn't object to having their children used for the Kamukura Project.

Masaru would be a lot lower-energy once he's been Kamukurafied. His emotions have been suppressed, after all. He still has inklings of a "sporty" side, but after spending so much time in medical restraints, he only expresses that side of himself when no one is looking. And when he does, it doesn't resemble play at all. Most of the time, he moves slowly and languidly from place to place, his neck slack with boredom, but then when no one's eyes are on him he'll break into a sprint or climb. He makes regular escape attempts. The prospect of escaping the labs is the one thing focusing his energy. He doesn't really have a plan or objective for once he gets out; he just needs to get out. He needs to be where he isn't at anyone else's mercy.

He's hostile to the scientists, but it usually manifests harmlessly; most days, he's more obnoxious than anything. He'll correct people when they're incorrect about even the smallest thing. "You didn't know that, did you?" is pretty much his new catchphrase, as he's often rattling off highly specialized information they didn't ask for. When they do ask him questions, he'll answer in another language just to be inconvenient.

But also, every now and then, he will attack them, if they leave a syringe or scalpel in grabbable range of him. A few of them have been stabbed or slashed in some pretty important arteries. He might have killed some doctors.

His default expression is an angelic grin, because he knows it unsettles them.

Jataro I think would be highly introverted. He'd ignore the scientists more than anything. Most of his interactions with them would be swiping things from their pockets to take apart; his room is filled with disassembled pens and penlights that used to be theirs. Whenever he gets to hold an object in his hands, he feels compelled to strip it down to its base components. If he ever got his hands on a plant, he'd pull the leaves and petals off and generally rip it to tiny pieces. Same for small animals, etc. It's just something he does. He wouldn't say he likes it; he just does it.

He's not nearly as socially-inclined as Masaru. He doesn't talk to the scientists pretty much at all, but he talks out loud to himself a lot. Murmurs, really. Just a vocalized stream of consciousness. Sometimes he talks about the scientists, to himself, but he doesn't answer when they speak to him. He doesn't believe there's a point. He's nothing to them, after all. No matter what he says to them, they'll hurt him if it occurs to them that the project might benefit.

His default expression is blank. Sometimes he laughs, but it's more an energy outlet than an expression of any emotion.

Kotoko is always tense. She often hides. Like Masaru, she lashes out at the scientists, but unlike him, her goal is to cause them as much suffering as possible. She's not targeting the circulatory system; she's targeting the nervous system. She's breaking expensive equipment in expensive ways. Like Jataro's destructive streak except, again, her goal is to have as many unpleasant consequences for her captors as possible.

She is no longer triggered by the same word as before; now she is triggered by her old name.

Her default expression is just a haunting Kubrick stare.

Nagisa is pretty much exactly what they were trying to make. He answers their questions completely, truthfully, and clearly. If they ask him to kill someone, he'll do it. He has completely bought into the established power dynamic in which he is a tool. He is calm, emotionless, and excellent.

His default expression is normal, because he's learned how to do that.

And Monaca imitates. She copies the speech patterns and facial expressions of the scientists when she's with them, and does the same with her fellow Lil Kamukuras when she's with them. She's similar to Makoto, as far as being more focused on understanding others than being a person herself, but she doesn't reach the conclusion that things must matter because someone else cares; she feels they're all wrong to care about such pointless things.

The Lil Kamukuras all like each other well enough. In fact, they're quite attached to each other. The other Lil Kamumuras are the only ones who can get Jataro to eat, the only ones Kotoko won't hide from. They're often placed in the same room to observe what they'll do. They understand each other and get along much better than any of them gets along with the scientists. Except Nagisa; he considers himself a tool, doesn't feel a need to socialize with the other tools, and will not join in any escape attempts.

Monaca doesn't care about escaping in and of itself; she's just mirroring the other Lil Kamukuras.

Mahiru or Izuru is the one to find out about the Junior branch of the program. They go to break it up and free the subjects without the others; Nagito is a bit too chaotic, and there's an unspoken reluctance to involve the younger ones unnecessarily.

When the older Kamukuras free them, killing a lot of scientists in the process, they earn a bit of respect from the kids. Nagisa takes it in stride that the people he was made to serve are dead, so he should obey their killers now. Kotoko and Masaru get in on the killing as soon as the opportunity arrives and so have already fought alongside Izuru and Mahiru by the time they are formally introduced. Monaca goes with the flow as always, and Jataro goes wherever his friends go.

That said, Kotoko doesn't agree to go with them right away. She doesn't want to be locked up in a new place with stronger captors this time.

"If Blue Hair is adamant about going with our predecessors and Pink Hair is adamantly opposed, it means it's impossible for all of us to stay together," Jataro murmurs to himself.

"Do you want me to drag her?" Nagisa asks their predecessors.

"No," Mahiru answers. "We won't force any of you to come."

Izuru makes eye contact with Kotoko. She will have difficulty surviving on her own, and he has thus far had a perfect record of keeping his successors safe and close. He doesn't like leaving her. But if she dislikes being controlled this much, he supposes he can just watch out for her from a distance. He turns away.

And he only walks a few paces before he hears another set of footsteps join the children following him; Kotoko has decided to come after all. She just needed to know she wouldn't be forced to.

Despite the many rooms in Byakuya's mansion, the children share a room. Nagisa follows Izuru around, waiting for orders. Monaca, Masaru, and eventually Kotoko follow Nagito and join in his chaos. And Jataro sometimes secludes himself, sometimes tags along with the other children, and sometimes sticks to Makoto. He's a good listener.

Often, Jataro will just sit down with one of Byakuya's books, systematically tearing every page out of the binding. Nagisa takes to going behind him and mending them, since Izuru doesn't give him any orders except "Go play with your friends," and Mahiru just tells him, "Try to self-actualize." (And if he asks Byakuya, he'll tell him to fix the books.)

Nagito gladly becomes the one who gets the kids clothes, especially since they're constantly growing out of them. They aren't as willing as Makoto is to wear whatever he picks out, which adds an element of challenge, tailoring his choices to their tastes.

Izuru can tell from across the room if someone hasn't brushed their teeth.

"If I get a cavity, I'm qualified to give myself a filling," Masaru says.

"Brush. Now. Or no dessert tomorrow."

"Do you want me to brush his teeth?" Nagisa asks.

"No."

Kotoko finds a stray cat and keeps it in the room she shares with the other kids. She manages to keep it under wraps for about forty-eight hours (down to keeping herself and her friends completely clean of cat hair) before Izuru asks, "Is there an animal in this house?"

Makoto says, "Let her keep him. He's nice," casually revealing to everyone that he knew the whole time.

#danganronpa #kamukuras au #kamukura babies au #monaca towa #kotoko utsugi #nagisa shingetsu #jataro kemuri #masaru daimon #izuru kamukura #makoto naegi #byakuya togami #mahiru koizumi

[galadriel1010]

Reasons I think Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson will probably get married sooner or later:

1. It’s the 1930s.

You can be the most modern woman in the world in love with the most modern man in the world, but unless you also want to have the most modern life in the world (which they don’t seem to. They want to maintain their positions in society where she can push for women’s rights and they can solve crimes together) you will eventually have to flex to world you live in. And in the 1930s, that means that if they want people to acknowledge their relationship, it has to be a marriage. 

We see in S3 a bit of what their life might look like if they don’t, because multiple people assume them to be a couple. Sure, Jack is probably high ranking enough that he won’t lose his job and divorced enough that he can probably get away with having a mistress, and Phryne doesn’t give a fig what anyone thinks of her as long as it doesn’t get in the way of her doing her thing, but eventually it’s going to start to grind that they have a relationship that no one outside their immediate chosen family will acknowledge openly. Suspects may try to use it against them (like Angela Barnes in Game, Set and Murder) or to appeal to them (like Eric Edwards in Death and Hysteria), but that’s as far as acknowledgement is going to go. Jack will be invited to Phryne’s intimate parties, and possibly Aunt P’s, but he won’t be her plus one to any public events that don’t require a police presence. If anything happens to them, the other will be acknowledged as a good friend, like Mac was in Death by Misadventure. And Phryne has a lot of friends in that situation, enough to know what it looks like outside of an accepting and understanding intimate friendship group. They will spend their relationship treading a fine line of how much acceptance they can demand before it becomes too much and compromises their lives, at which point they will come back to the same choice - marry, or end it.

They may well decide that it was fun while it lasted, but they’d rather walk away. I doubt it, but it’s possible. I’m not sure I can see them going back to being just friends at this stage, and I don’t think it would help. The rumours will persist unless they cut off all contact, and probably Phryne leaves Melbourne completely. They are both demonstrative, affectionate people. Maintaining a secret relationship would be unpleasant, maintaining a friendship when they’re still in love would be awful.

Personally, I think that Phryne is softening on the position of marriage. She’s always understood why other people marry, but not how it could apply to her. Jack is different, but she’s also incredibly pragmatic. Marriage is not going to change her, but it can protect her. The one thing she does not want is for people to believe she has married purely to avoid a scandal. Not for her sake, because she doesn’t give a damn what people think of her, but because of how that reflects on Jack. If they do marry, it will be the biggest social event of the decade, and she will make people acknowledge that she has married ‘below her station’ and done so for love.

And if the Chief Commissioner thinks that it’s going to mean she leaves his crime scenes alone, he can whistle.

Because at the end of the day, she might now be Mrs Phryne Robinson (and surely one of the perks of marrying is getting rid of her father’s name), but she’s still the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher and she will kick you from here to Darwin if you look at her husband wrong.

2. At some point the Fleurie sisters are going to present Phryne with a vague concept for a wedding gown for her and she is going to lose her mind over it.

#mfmm #meta #on marriage #historical context #and love

[apollo18]

Ah angst hc+plot bunny time

C.C. and his brother Ebenezer greatly resemble one another, even if E is older. When Billy turns to Cap, he looks just like his father. But he was very little when parents died, so as far as he knows he only looks like his uncle. Now add a nosy Batman and a reverse identity reveal.

Tw child abuse

Also lots of abrupt awkward stops and starts if that specifically bothers anyone.

E was never a great uncle, he wasn’t even halfway decent. If he was Billy would had never run away(or so that’s what Billy tells himself, ignoring the distinct memories of his heavy handed uncle screaming at him from the other side of his locked front door on a cold winter night, telling him to leave and if he ever came back he’d kill him.)

Imagine how startled and sick he felt when he caught his reflection after becoming Marvel and saw the spitting image of his uncle.

That’s why Billy spent years building his persona, always striving to be the inverse of his uncle to the little kids that would run up to him to be saved and rescued. Smiling big and wide, speaking to them softly when they were afraid, being the adult he never had in his life and never ever letting himself get angry when he was near one. (No matter how much some situations made him feel the sin of wrath sing it’s sirens call. It’s why when it came to the father of one Bobby Bronsky- well it was handled without the other boy’s knowledge. Intimating someone to behave isn’t something he’s fond of and he’d never forgive himself if he scared Bobby.)

One day after a league meeting Batman asks for Marvel to come meet with him for a word. Billy get heckled by the heroes that sat nearest to him about being in the dog house.

He’s expecting Batman to go over his recent fumbles in the field, he did get thrown through a skyscraper a few days ago.

It comes as a shock to Billy when Batman begins set down printed out images from a file, laying out picture after picture of someone who he thought was his uncle E for a moment- but wait? His uncle was smiling? He didn’t know uncle E could do that.

“I don’t understand what I’m looking at,” he tells Batman, stunned and honest.

Terror rakes it’s icy nails moments later as it occurs to him that Batman knows, Batman knows…

He expects yelling, expects to be kicked out of the league. He expects vehement and heartbreaking rejection over lying to the league about his age, he-

His eyes catch on a photo, a family portrait. His uncle, a woman, and two very very little kids. A girl and a boy the same age, maybe three, maybe younger? His confusion grows… his uncle doesn’t have-

What he doesn’t expect is the dark knight to sigh, voice modulator making the human sound unnatural and unpleasant.

Wisdom of Solomon catches ticks and tells, the way his stiff cowl lifts and moves with the expression of his brow or the micro expressions of the corners of his eyes and lips.

There is no dishonesty or hidden truths when his gift of wisdom has absorbed all it could from the individuals around him. (He likely knows his coworkers better than they know themselves.)

Batman is far from angry, the terror of being so close to a potential mad adult ebbs as quickly as it came and the other hero’s… sadness and grief.

He’s looking at Marvel like Billy’s social workers used to look at him before he ran off that final time. Like he’s something to be pitied. (Billy hates it.)

Billy glances back to the family photo. He doesn’t understand it, it doesn’t make any sense.

Batman notices his fixed gaze and slides the picture closer.

“Does anyone in this photograph look familiar to you?”

“I- I’m not sure.” He lies, eyes fixed on his uncle in the portrait.

“I thought this might be the case. Now, Marvel, can you tell me the name of the man that’s in every one of these photos?”

Batman begins place the photos with the best face shots forward to Billy.

“Eb-Ebenezer?” Billy said uncertainly.

Just saying that man’s name…

“This man isn’t Ebenezer Batson,” Batman says gently. “But it is good that you seem to at least be aware of him.”

“This man is Clarence Charles Batson. I can’t say it comes as a surprise you mistook him for Ebenezer. The resemblance between you and your brother is striking, I thought he was you for a few hours after I discovered him. It became quickly apparently this wasn’t so.”

“What- I don’t-” He stands abruptly. “I don’t have a brother. I don’t understand, what kind of sick joke is this?”

Batman doesn’t move, he just continues gently.

“Marvel, please listen, its okay. I know you don’t understand but I couldn’t sit on this when I came to the conclusion you weren’t aware of your own identity. Your real name is C.C. Batson.”

“What?” He gasps out, panicked. That’s his dad’s name, what’s going on?

He glances back down at the family photo.

The little boy and the little girl…

Oh.

Batman thinks…

Billy’s brain finally catches up with the rest of him and several realizations happen at once but only one shakes him to his core.

It never occurred to Billy he looked like his father, because, as Marvel, when he looked in the mirror, all he saw was his angry, mean, drunk of an uncle.

Every thing he never wanted to be.

#billy batson #sorry about any spelling/grammar errors but ​not bad for something I cranked out in like an hour after getting the idea #rereading this it’s longer than I thought it was oops

[dragon-business]

Majima's freedom and Kiryu's naivety

So, Kiryu has a way of coping with his social difficulties by adopting strict rules and beliefs to guide himself through human interactions. This helps him out a lot, but also makes him very resistant to change and hard-headed sometimes. And sometimes even cruel.

Like, for instance, let's take Majima. Kiryu really admires him, and trusts him, and believes that Majima is very capable and can handle anything life throws his way. And technically this is super sweet, and amazing, but Kiryu believes it so wholeheartedly that it becomes cruel naivety.

And one of the first times we properly see this is in Kiwami, in the scene on the pier. After helping Kiryu out big time all through the story and in that momrnt, Majima got shot in the stomach, and fell into the freezing December waters of the Tokyo Bay. And Kiryu sees this and just… leaves. He has more pressing matters to deal with. Majima-san will be fine, he's Majima-san, after all. He can survive anything. Even swimming out of cold waters alone while bleeding his guts out, apparently (oh, the desire to punch Kiryu in that moment, we could barely contain it).

And in our playthrough this happened almost right after we finished Majima Everywhere, so it was twice as gutpunchy of a dick move.

Nevermind that Majima survived this. Of course he did, that's all he does in his life when he's pressed against the wall (or depth of the ocean). The point is that he shouldn't be put in these situations, especially by people he trusts.

(This thing with Kiryu thinking that Majima can handle anything and doesn't need any help at all will keep going on and on in the future, each time becoming more and more of a shitty thing pull. It includes things like, let's say, making Majima come back to Tojo in y3, leaving him to deal with the Nishikiyama family, and so on. But there's bit more to it at play than naïve beliefs by that point, We'll get to it in time.)

And yes, this was a long winded intro to saying that Majima had all the rights to be pissed at Kiryu after that and ram the bathhouse with the truck at full speed. It seems that he threatened the girl there just for show. He talked politely to her and let her go immediately when she said she's in love with someone.

Kiryu deserved this ass whooping, 100%.

(We also strongly believe that after this incident Majima bought Shangri-La. Like, both the building and the business. But, since it was connected to unpleasant memories and he just really didn't like the place, Majima left it as it is. Didn't touch it at all since then)

(And this is why even as far as y6 Shangri-La is still standing there, boarded up, empty, the place where the truck hit the building still clearly visible and only getting more decrepit with age)

So, anyways, Kiryu and Majima don't see each other for a bit after that. Majima has time to cool off, think about it more… and then news come in. Shimano is dead, and in an indirect way he's dead because of Kiryu. Shimano who put Majima through the worst hell and then back. Shimano who Majima stayed with, even after all that, pretending to be unruly and free. Shimano, who Majima was unable to break away from, almost freezing each time he was around. It's been over a decade of mad dog barking on a leash. And then bam, Shimano is gone. Thanks (somewhat) to Kiryu.

Imagine what this does to a man. To Majima. After all these years. After Majima Everywhere.

And he sends Kiryu this text. 

And it is already a lot. But with this context, knowing the story of y0, I doubt my or Majima's heart will ever be still.

He'll need some time to process all this. To really grasp that he is really truly free now. To realise that Kiryu somehow helped him get his freedom. To understand what being free even means.

So Majima will not be available, will be out of it for a while afterwards. Missing the finale of the game and some context.

But, get this, there’s even more – later everyone learns that Kiryu didn't kill Dojima. And, see, Majima already kinda made his peace with it. He had to live for 10 years knowing Kiryu, with all his big words about honour and not murdering people, still did it. For whatever reason he had, it doesn't matter. He got down from his idealistic horse and got dirty like the rest of them.

And it's not like Majima cared. Not like it meant something to him, this small corner of his heart that sorta maybe felt good seeing Kiryu stubbornly prevail with his beliefs intact even in the most gruesome places. Whatever, amaright? Majima is fine. He moved on, and can still appreciate Kiryu's company even with this smal pang of something not being the same anymore.

And then. It turns out Kiryu never stained his hands with blood. At all. He went through prison to help his brother, not that this sounds familiar to Majima, and- 

Majima will be processing all this for a while.

– before / navigation / next

#kazumaji #kiryu kazuma #goro majima #rgg kiwami #yakuza #this is canon now

[teatitty]

Hold on I have meta I want to do about Aizawa's choice of alcoholic beverage when he's with Hizashi [gin tonic] versus when he's meeting with Yagi [strong beer] and how that correlates to his comfort levels

So let's just give some background first and compare this to Hizashi: in the Drama CD, Aizawa meets up with Hizashi in a private room believing this to be a "just the two of us" situation and, after asking Hizashi what he's drinking [a strong beer], he orders them both food and drink. He gets Hizashi another beer but orders himself a gin tonic and gin tonics are drinks that you can make as heavy or light as you wish, depending how much gin you put in in relation to the tonic water

Unfortunately we're not told how strong he takes this drink, but we can assume he had it fairly light considering the scene I'm about to get into and the fact that this was just a simple out of work meetup [it was actually a ploy to get to him to talk to All Might more but we're not here for that]

In his second drinking scene, however, we have to go to the light novel,s wherein Aizawa is the one to plan the outing. We know he's drinking strong beer throughout the night here because of the official illustration in that chapter, and we also know he and Yagi haven't been sat together for very long before Hizashi calls Aizawa's phone, finds out where they are, and joins them - at which point Yagi infamously points out that Aizawa immediately relaxes upon seeing his husband friend

We also know from this LN that not only was Aizawa quite drunk from the start of that scene, thanks to Hizashi's private talk with Yagi in the bathrooms, but that Hizashi seemingly has the highest alcoholic tolerance of the teacher faculty, since he not only survived one of Nemuri's deadly cocktails [it only took him out for about a minute at most and in the Drama CD there's implications he didn't actually pass out drunk but was simply feigning sleep] but he's also been drinking beer with everyone else and yet is still sober enough to have a fully coherent convo with Yagi in which he tells him about everyone else's drinking habits

So we know from these two scenes that Hizashi likes to drink strong beer, but is known to drink other beverages since Aizawa asks him in the CD about his drink of choice before ordering for him. What these scenes also tell us, however, is this: Aizawa's preferred drink is a gin tonic. He only touches beer when he's meeting with All Might privately, and since we can assume he showed up first, we can also assume he was drinking prior to Yagi's arrival, and given that Hizashi tells us he was already drunk during that first threeway conversation they have, it's easy to guess that he was drinking beer specifically to get himself drunk enough to make it through what he wanted to say to Yagi

Compare this to when he ordered himself the gin tonic [and a shitton of food] when he was in a much more relaxed setting with only himself and Hizashi, and the little meta I'm getting at becomes really simple! Aizawa's drink of choice when he's relaxed and with friends is a gin tonic, because you can control the strength of the drink to be as weak as you desire, but when he's dealing with what is - to him - an unpleasant social interaction, he chooses strong beer to give himself drunk courage so he doesn't just up and rudely leave [which he tried to do in the CD before Hizashi stopped him lol]

Which to me is just a really cute character trait and hella fucking relatable. I, too, would prefer to get drunk when dealing with unpleasant social interactions than go through the whole thing sober if I could

#bnha #aizawa shouta #meta post #have no clue if anyone else will care about this sort of thing #but I love examining the drink choices of my faves #for those curious: all might doesn't drink alcohol at all he's stone cold sober lol