#this stupid fuckin au has gone too far god

[helliontherapscallion]

I'm sorry for adding on to your pile of requests but I just wanted some family fluff with sbi where all of the siblings are having fun on a road trip or vacation

I don't know if that's specific enough for you if you want a little more detail maybe they're just being really dumb and making stupid videos with each other because that's something my sister and I do a lot

(A/N): I hope you don’t mind that I added Kristin and Tubbo (BASED ON THE CHARACTERS, NOT ACTUAL PEOPLE). Real life AU btw (no covid tho)

Okokok so this is deadass something Philza and Kristin is both dreading and looking forward to

1. They love spending time with their family especially now since yall are getting older and don’t spend as much time together anymore/getting ready to fly the coop

2. Have you met the SBI fam? Chaos incarnated.

After packing, yall set out on your trip to the hotel yall rented for a week or so (about an eight hour drive away from the house)

You and your twin Tommy 100% smuggle Tubbo underneath all of the luggage and a blanket

You’ll just ask them for forgiveness when you’re about halfway through

It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission 

Wilbur and Technoblade catching you hiding the stowaway and blackmailing you both into doing their chores for a few week 

Seating: Phil and Kristin in the front, Tech and Wil in the middle, You and Tommy in the back, and Tubbo in the trunk (it’s a mom van)

Before getting too far into the trip, a gas station is raided for snacks and drinks

Philza raising a brow at the amount of food you and Tommy get 

Philza’s eyes were torn off from the refrigerator in front of him by his wife lightly nudging him. Looking at her in question, she raised her eyebrows and pointed at their youngest kids. It looked like they were just looking at the Monster drinks, so why- oh god the last thing he needed was two already hyper teenagers hopped up on Monster trapped in a car for eight hours. Before he could go over there to stop them, Kristin grabbed his arm. 

“They’re up to something. Listen to what they’re saying.”

He strained his ears to hear what you both are whispering to each other. “...e like this flavor?”

Tommy shrugged, “I dunno. I’ll text him.”

As Tommy texted someone, Phil looked back at his wife. She wore a similar wary expression as they both stared at each other. He nodded in confirmation, “definitely. How do you reckon we confront them?”

He watched as his wife thought for a moment before she sighed and looked at him with a hint of excitement in her eyes, “let’s wait to see. It might be a pleasant surprise.” 

“What? Are you mad?” He eyed his youngest gremlins once more. It seemed that they finally decided on a flavor and are now moving on to the snack portion. He looked back at his wife and felt his heart skip a beat at the small grin on her face. “...fine. Let’s just see what they’re doing after they do it.” Oh, the things he does for love.

He kept a very close eye on you two after that 

You both are on your phones for longer than usual

Texting Tubbo so that he wasn’t lonely 

Tubbo has fun with hiding too, never being bored at all

The only thing that he (and you and Tommy) struggled with was holding in his laughter

You jumped as you felt someone gently slap your shoulder. Turning around, you saw Tubbo’s hand peeking over the backs of the seats. You glanced at your parents in the front seats, they were deep in conversation. Good. You saw Tommy stifle a laugh and pull out his phone to record. 

Tubbo made grabby hands at something but you didn’t know what he wanted, so you decided to mess with him a bit. Smirking, you put your earbuds in his hand. It snaked back underneath the blanket before he threw it back at you and did more intense grabby hands. You put your metal water bottle in his hand. He did the same thing before he threw it back at you. It collided with your forehead with a loud bong sounding throughout the car. Tommy started to laugh loudly and ended the video. You followed suit in the laughter as Tubbo’s hand froze midair and quickly slinked back into his lair.

All noise in the car came to a halt as they all looked behind them (well, Phil glanced through the rearview mirror suspiciously) to see you and Tommy laughing your asses off with you holding your forehead. Through blurred vision, you could see Kristin looking at you with worry and Techno and Wilbur looking confused and mildly annoyed.

“(Y/n) honey are you alright? What happened?” You opened your mouth to respond, but only wheezes came out making you laugh harder. You could hear Tubbo silently cackling to himself in the back, the blanket shaking slightly. Without being able to speak, you only nodded your head and gave her a thumbs up. 

Tommy sent the video into the siblings' group chat and you could see over Wilbur’s shoulder as he watched it before starting to cackle and save the video to his phone. Even Techno got a good chuckle out and saved it to his phone making Phil and Kristin even more suspicious. Well, Kristin was just excited for what you two (four? Was Techno and Wilbur in on it as well?) had planned. Phil could just imagine the chaotic things you had planned. And he did not like what came to his mind.

When the rest stop came eventually (about three hours into the trip), you all left the car to stretch your legs and take care of business

Taking separate ways to walk in pairs (same person they sat next to in the car)

You and Tommy wait until Phil and Kristin leave before getting Tubbo out of the trunk

You three vibe walking along the winding sidewalks for a bit before you come back to the car and get Tubbo back into the trunk

You, however, forgot to use the bathroom so you leave Tommy and Tubbo in the car 

“Fuck, I forgot to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Be quick, I’m not fuckin telling em if we forget you.”

“Pfft, they won’t forget me. Stop joking around.”

With that, you left the car and made a beeline to the bathroom. After that, you went back to the car. Well, where the car was supposed to be. There was no sight of a van anywhere in the parking lot. That asshole, he just let them drive off? He and Tubbo’s probably giggling to themselves in the backseat like school girls. You were only gone for like eight minutes. 

Sighing, you walked over to a nearby bench and sat down, pulling up Techno’s contact and calling him. 

He picked up after a few rings. The second you heard the dial tone stop, you spoke to him, “check the backseat.”

“What? You’re taking a nap, why’re you calling me I’m literally right in front of you.”

“Just fuckin check, Tech.”

In the background, you could hear Tommy snickering to himself. You heard some rustling before Techno started laughing, “Dad, we left (y/n) at the rest stop.”

“YEAH YA FUCKIN DID!” 

You could hear loud laughter from your brothers and muffled cursing from Phil. You heard Kristin tell Techno to hand her the phone. 

“We’re so sorry, we’re turning around right now. We’ll be there in about five minutes. Stay in one place and don’t talk to strangers.”

“I dunno Mom, that trucker looks really friendly. Might do some hitch hiking with him.”

You ended up befriending an old lady when she sat next to you on the bench with her husband. She even gave you some butterscotch and those strawberry hard candies that all older people somehow have but you can never find in stores. Her husband was telling you stories about his younger days when you saw the familiar van pull into the parking lot. Waving goodbye, you thanked them and hopped back into the car. 

After profuse apologizing from your family and scolding Tommy for tricking them, you were on the road again. You glared at Tommy with a small smile on your face, “you fuckin prick. Did you seriously make it look like I was sleeping under a blanket?”

“Yeah, I told you that I wouldn’t tell them if we forgot you.”

“You fuckin dick,” you grabbed a few butterscotches and strawberry candies and handed some to Tubbo after ensuring your parents weren’t looking. He took them gratefully and quickly. You heard him whisper a ‘thank you’ and opened them with plastic crinkling. 

“Wha- are those butterscotches? Gimme some.” He was about to snatch them out of your hands before you moved away from him. “No, you left me at the rest stop. You don’t get any. Do you guys want some? I’ve got butterscotches and strawberry candies.”

After you handed them out to your family, Phil looked at you confused in the rearview mirror, “(y/n), where’d you get these?”

“Oh, I just made some friends with an old couple while I was waiting.”

“You what? What if they kidnapped you?”

“Naw they couldn’t’ve. Ethel has hip problems and Charles was in a wheelchair. They were chill anyway.”

“...Just- just don’t do that again.” “Well don’t forget me again at a rest stop three hours away from home and you got yourself a deal.” 

After a while the family was chill again and everything was back to normal

It was getting closer and closer to when Tubbo would make his reveal

You three agreed that Tubbo would just wait for the perfect time 

That time came about three hours later when Phil and Kristin was asking everybody where they should stop for food

“So kids, we have three options: McDonalds, Wendy’s, and Arby’s. What do you want?”

“Wendy’s is obviously the superior choice.” Tommy proclaimed and you nodded in agreement. You leaned back and whispered to Tubbo, “now would be a great time.” You pulled out your phone to discreetly record the front seat. 

“No it isn’t. Arby’s is you heathens.” Wilbur chimed in, glancing at his twin for back up. Techno shrugged, “I’m fine with anything as long as it’s edible.”

“I’m more of a fan of Wendy’s myself!” Tubbo’s muffled voice chimed in from his makeshift hut in the trunk. You snickered as Kristin whipped her head around to look at the back seat and Phil’s eyes snapping up to look at you through the rearview mirror. 

“...Tubbo?”

“Hi Mrs. Tommy and (y/n)’s mum!” You flipped the camera around just in time to catch Tubbo poking his head out of the blanket and grin sheepishly at them. You panned over to Tommy’s ruby red face as he was holding in his laughter before flipping it back to the front. 

“You absolute gremlins, this is what you’ve been hiding?” Phil scolded you and Tommy, his knuckles whitening from gripping the steering wheel. You could see his shoulders bouncing slightly with a slight strain in his voice from holding in chuckles. 

“Honey, have you been in the trunk this entire time?” 

“Yeah, but it’s quite comfy back here! Tommy and (y/n) gave me pillows and some snacks. Got some stretching done at the rest stop.”

“You’ve been back there for six hours?” Phil’s incredulous voice asked. 

“Yep! Don’t worry, I had a lot of room. Anyways, my vote goes to Wendy’s.”

The car was quiet before Kristin started to laugh, “Wendy’s it is. See Phil, I told you it was gonna be a pleasant surprise!”

Tubbo sat between you and Tommy in the backseat for the rest of the trip 

Techno and Wilbur saying that they knew Tubbo was back there but left out the blackmail part

There was no way they’d risk losing their little siblings doing their chores for them for a few weeks

At the hotel, the rooming was the same as the seating in the car

You, Tommy, and Tubbo having the time of your lives alone in your hotel room

Jumping on the beds, checking for hidden cameras and double sided mirrors (well, that doesn’t sound fun, but you had fun doing it), truth or dare, racing each other down the halls at night time, the works

B L A N K E T  F O R T S (but always cleaning up the hotel room in the mornings bc yall are respectful to the staff)

Getting plenty of videos of you guys ding dong ditching Techno and Wilbur’s room

Them getting tired of it so they tell Dadza and Momza and they tell you to stop : (

Walking around aimlessly around the hotel hallways with Wilbur and Techno

Going up and down elevators aimlessly 

Pulling an all nighter with Tommy and Tubbo on the last day

Philosophical late night talks when yall hardly know what you’re saying anymore (and becoming closer than ever before)

“Tommy, Tubbo?” You three were currently sitting on the balcony chairs looking out at the empty parking lot and the occasional cars driving by. It was about three in the morning and you guys were determined to stay up all night. “If you think about it, a hotdog is puréed meat in an intestine casing. When we eat the hotdogs, we turn it back into puréed meat. It eventually goes through your intestines which makes you the hotdog for a solid couple of hours.”

“...What the fuck, (y/n).”

“No no, they’ve got a point. Don’t you understand, Tommy? We are hotdogs.”

“...I’m starting to think you guys need sleep. Speakin nonsense.”

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

“Do you two reckon we’re alone in the universe?”

“What do you mean, Tubbo?” You glanced at the male next to you and raised an eyebrow. He was looking up at the stars with furrowed brows. 

“Like, do you guys think there’s life out there. Looking down at us right now wondering the same thing.” 

You hummed and looked up at the stars. They were twinkling down at you with the occasional shooting star blazing by. Red lights from far off satellites being the only visible sign of humans in the dark expanse of space. “I think so. I mean, nobody knows how big the universe is. You never really know.”

“Honestly I don’t know what’s scarier, being the only lifeforms and being completely alone or having things out there that we don’t know about.” 

You sling an arm over your twin’s shoulders, “that doesn’t matter. As long as we have each other, we’ll never be alone. We’ll face whatever the universe has in store for us together.”

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

“I don’t know, I just hate it when people only see me as the loud annoying one. It really gets to me sometimes and I don’t know what I should do about it. Fuck, even Wil and Tech see me like that.”

“Toms, fuck them. They don’t know you like we do. You’re caring, ambitious, and brave.” 

“Yeah, don’t listen to what they say. We’ll prove them wrong when we form our own nation one day.”

Tommy’s sullen expression slowly melted into a smile, “yeah, I’d like that. You’d be the president.”

Tubbo grinned back at Tommy, “and you’ll be my trusty vice president and (y/n)’ll be our Secretary of State. We’ll rule together.”

“Our nation would be a place for people to escape tyranny and injustice. Somewhere where men could live free, you two would be amazing leaders.”

“What do we call it though is the question,” Tubbo hummed in thought.

“How about ‘Manberg’?”

You looked at your twin with half lidded, exhausted eyes, “I like it, but it needs more… pizazz. How about L’manberg?”

You watched as he smiled widely at the stars, “it’s perfect.”

Watching the sunrise together on the balcony wrapped in blankets

Sleeping on the rest of the way back home

Best sleep of your life

When you wake up (about an hour or so away from home), you see that there’s blankets over you three and you had your head on Tubbo’s shoulder, Tubbo had his leaned up against the seat behind him, and Tommy’s cheek was squished against the window

You stretch out your limbs a bit trying not to disturb the two beside you

Checking your phone to see pictures of you three sleeping sent into the family group chat with Kristin replying with a bunch of heart emojis

You send the videos and pictures you took along the way of you, Tommy, and Tubbo doing stupid things in the hotel room and in the car

If you looked in the middle row, you could see Wilbur watching the scenery pass by out the window with his earbuds in

Techno is reading one of his books (you have no idea how he doesn’t get car sick)

Phil and Kristin are talking lowly to each other holding hands on the center counsel 

Soft radio music is playing in the background

Life is good

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby  @izzybobizzy13  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @bunnyz-pxstel  @averytiredfanfictionwriter  @dcml04  @sparkling-gayyyy  @bbigbbrainn  @thaticecreambish  @kiinokochii  @satansphatass  @bxkubitch  @bxmentchildxx  @roxy3457  @montygator17  @feverish-dove  @the-fictionwriters-hairdo  @jichuuchaeng  @404rynnotfound  @luluwinchester  @laura--444  @the-cult-classic-bitch  @youngstarfishdinosaur  @nottheotheruser

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #tubbo x reader #momza x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #requests #hellion's requests #1k special #hellion's 1k special #tw: swearing

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor. 

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language. 

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here 

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here 

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it. 

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar. 

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp. 

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough. 

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined. 

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull. 

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes. 

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet… 

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall. 

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air. 

The street in front of you was a warzone. 

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe. 

Safe… 

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way. 

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part. 

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention. 

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit. 

The villain. 

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears. 

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.” 

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.” 

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer. 

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way. 

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop? 

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts. 

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar? 

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below. 

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you. 

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood. 

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements. 

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask. 

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.” 

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks. 

You had thought that very brave. 

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire. 

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach. 

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk. 

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows. 

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention. 

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene. 

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm. 

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor. 

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions. 

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view. 

Oh, fuck. That was a person. 

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it. 

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch. 

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg. 

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be… 

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human. 

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye. 

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet. 

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening. 

He was bleeding. 

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes. 

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on. 

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse. 

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut. 

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it. 

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body. 

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it. 

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin. 

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath. 

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach. 

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.” 

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye. 

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment. 

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—” 

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood. 

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain? 

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped. 

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question. 

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.” 

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you. 

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear. 

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion. 

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance. 

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.” 

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat. 

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?” 

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack. 

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood. 

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap. 

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital. 

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five. 

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision. 

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned. 

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest. 

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint. 

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts. 

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum. 

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero? 

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms. 

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion. 

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk. 

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero. 

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp. 

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you. 

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you. 

But was it worth it? 

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie. 

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet. 

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first. 

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure. 

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it. 

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion… 

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again. 

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you. 

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor. 

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in. 

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees. 

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone. 

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window. 

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?” 

“I—” 

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder. 

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?” 

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?!  You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment. 

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first. 

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch. 

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own. 

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown. 

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?” 

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right. 

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?” 

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed. 

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again. 

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?” 

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name. 

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.” 

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing. 

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch. 

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall. 

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?” 

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.” 

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips. 

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing. 

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment. 

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported. 

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability. 

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t. 

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you. 

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this? 

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight. 

“Your hands are all fucked up.” 

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself. 

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty? 

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.” 

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit. 

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.” 

Well, maybe not that carefully. 

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.” 

“Let me see.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me? 

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.” 

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that. 

And none of his current ones would, either. 

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion. 

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder. 

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted. 

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.” 

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you. 

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric. 

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden. 

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you. 

“Hello?” 

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch. 

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize. 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese. 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his. 

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?” 

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all. 

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.” 

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head. 

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows. 

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation? 

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero. 

Was he confessing your secret already? 

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view. 

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and— 

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.” 

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them. 

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood. 

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.” 

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window. 

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street. 

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth. 

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago. 

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.” 

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.” 

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero. 

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall. 

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone. 

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete. 

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you. 

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.” 

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?” 

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum. 

“Okay, hold on.” 

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone. 

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out. 

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people. 

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too. 

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little. 

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief. 

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful. 

But your stomach was still in knots. 

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers. 

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying? 

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped. 

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.” 

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum. 

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears. 

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.” 

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you. 

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life. 

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed. 

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole. 

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.” 

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior. 

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory. 

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.” 

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.” 

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.” 

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over. 

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.” 

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?” 

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.” 

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow. 

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop? 

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?” 

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand. 

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.” 

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded. 

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say. 

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.” 

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel. 

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them. 

“I-Is that all?” 

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?” 

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?” 

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?” 

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?” 

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything? 

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance. 

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.” 

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.” 

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.” 

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression. 

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished. 

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm 

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.” 

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone. 

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found. 

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit: 

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret. 

But I’m going to have to face him again.

#sorry this update took a hot sec #blame my full time job and depression lmao #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x you #bakugo katsuki x you #deaf!bakugou #bakugo/reader #bakugo/you #katsuki bakugo #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo/you #mha #my writings #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #fanfic

[shorkbrian]

Jerk

Oh Jesus y’all I can’t handle these thirsts they’re making em flustered as heck oh no.

oh frick but really doe Bakugou is soooo mean and he’s probably the type that’s into degrading and humiliating his partner, totally has dacryphilia and can’t get off unless you’re crying big, fat, salty tears. He honestly likes you, likes having you around and enjoys your additions in class discussion. But you’re just so easy to bully, he can’t help himself. He tells you it’s your fault, if you put up more of a fight he’d back off. If you didn’t just take his insults and jabs at your character lying down, he’d leave you alone. But he never would. nasty dude.

(College au lol)

TW - noncon, NSFW, handjob, crying, Bakugou is not nice but what's new.

Sometimes he’ll corner you on campus, knows you have evening classes and waits to haul you behind the building as soon as your class ends. Talking to you in a quiet, dangerous voice as he forces you back there, his hot hands gripping your arm (far too tightly), his erection brushing against your ass with each agonizing step.

“Hey (Y/N), you little bitch, did’ya miss me? No? Too bad.”

“You better shut your whore mouth, don’t want the entire campus knowing how much of slut you are. Saying “stop” isn’t going to make me do anything but fuck you harder, stupid bitch.”

“What’re you gonna do, tell someone? Who’s gonna believe a pathetic little extra like you, hmm? I’m their quarterback baby, they can’t afford to lose me. No, you’ll fucking do whatever I say.”

Once behind the building, pressed against the wall, he’ll slap your face, once, twice. Red paints your cheeks, and you’re already crying at the sting. Bakugou just grins, enjoying every second as he squishes your face in his hand, bringing his face close to yours. So close, you can feel each hot puff of air on his every exhale. So close, you can see the beauty of his ruby red eyes, darker maroon flecking the bright iris. Pity Bakugou was so mean.

A beat passed, the two of you just looking at each other, breathing each other’s air. Then he kissed you, mashing your lips together, squeezing your jaw until you opened your mouth, let him inside like you always did.

When he pulled away, you were gasping for air, hand coming up to wipe at the tears streaming down your face. Bakugou huffed, before planting both hands on your chest and pushing. You let out a distressed cry as you were shoved backwards, loosing your balance and falling down into the dirt. You’d probably have bruises later. Who were you kidding, you were with Bakugou. Of course you’d have bruises later.

The blonde crouched down, cocking his head to the side as he watched you, eery smile on his face. You didn’t like that look. You scrambled backwards, pushing at the dirt and scuffing your hands until your back hit a wall. Bakugou stayed where he was.

“You’re so fucking stupid, only thing you’re good at is being a shitty little toy for others to push around. You realize that? That’s all you are. Nothing. Worthless little pussy on legs.”

His words stung, and you had to scrub at your eyes again, wiping away the fresh wave of tears. In doing so, you didn’t notice him stand up, stalk closer, until he was towering over your sitting form. When he “tch’ed” you jumped, looking up.

“Get the fuck up.”

You hesitated.

A hand grabbed your hair, Bakugou’s face twisting into a snarl.

“Now.”

You rose as quickly as possible, finding yourself face-to-face with your aggressor once again. Well, face-to-chest. Then you were flipped around, shoved against the wall of the building as hands began kneading at your chest.

“Mmm, shit baby, you’re always so damn soft.”

A gasp escaped you when he started pinching, grasp becoming firmer and more demanding until it hurt, the man pulling at your chest now. The hard, considerable bulge of his erection was humping against your ass slowly, as if Bakugou was savoring each little thrust of his hips.

“So easy. Bet you would bend over for anyone who asked, wouldn’t you? Slut. You’re just a little cockwhore, ain’t that right?”

He took a few steps back, pulling you with him until he could bend you at the waist, still grinding against you. But in this position, his cock was pressed against your clothed cunt, delivering delicious friction to your clit. You resisted the urge to wriggle your hips in order to chase that feeling. “Hey - “  A slap landed across your ass, and even through your jeans, you could feel it burn. “I asked you a question bitch. Answer me.”

You whimpered.

“Y-y-yes Bakugou..... I am.”

“You’re what? I didn’t quite hear that last part. ”

You could hear the sneer in his voice, wincing at the pressure as Bakugou groped at your chest.

“A-a cockwhore.”

“Fuck yeah you are, I can feel you getting wet down here.” He pulled away from your body, lending you relief for a half a second before he smacked your cunt, hard. “You’re so desperate!”

He was gleeful as he turned you around again, pushing you into the wall. He was always pushing. Pushing over your books the first time he met you, pushing your boundaries, pushing for you to come up to his dorm while his roommates are out, pushing your sanity.

You shuddered as the blond unzipped his jeans, groaning as the zipper pressed against his dick as he pulled it down.

Closing your eyes, you swallowed. You didn’t know what he was going to do next, didn’t want to see the manic look on his face as he decided which part of your body to get off on today.

You weren’t surprised when you felt his hands grab yours. He pushed himself flush against you, and you knew without looking that his cock was standing up proudly, bobbing against his stomach. If you breathed in too far, expanded your lungs, your could feel it twitch against your abdomen. You tried to take short breaths.

His hands guided yours to wrap around his dick, and the second you felt the hot flesh touch your hand, that’s when the waterworks really started. You were crying uncontrollably as Bakugou forced your hands around him, thrusting upwards shallowly, head dropping to your shoulder with a choked-off groan. He wasn’t squeezing your hands too tight, enjoying the soft, loose grip for now.

When the man grew impatient of this, he let go of one of your hands, reaching up at swipe at your face. He was trying to wet his hand with your tears.

‘C’mon (Y/N), keep crying.”

You were bawling, tears dripping off your chin, snot beginning to flow from your nose. Just like Bakugou liked it. He kept on wiping at your face, collecting the tears and snot and drool, before rubbing his hand on his cock. Then he’d make you jerk him, testing to see if it was wet enough for his comfort. The more time passed, the more tears fell.

It took a bit, but finally Bakugou was satisfied with the amount of wetness coating his cock. Grabbing your free hand again, he guided it back to his cock. When you struggled to rip our hands away, his grip just tightened, crushing your digits between his hands and his cock.

There was no preamble, no gentle beginning. Bakugou was thrusting like a mad-man, head once again on your shoulder. You could hear him moaning softly, above the slick sounds of the messy handjob. It was sickening. 

When his hips kicked up another notch, plump balls smacking into your wrists with each thrust, you knew he was close. It took just a few more frantic pumps of his hips before Bakugou was spilling over, hot cum dripping out, leaking onto your hands and dripping down to your shoes.

You tried to pull away again, letting out a desperate sob as Bakugou kept your hands anchored, his hips still moving, almost grinding himself up into your hands. His breath was stuttered, heavy and panting in your ear.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, oh that felt damn good.”

Finally he released your hands. 

Reigning back in your sobs, you looked at them, fingers dripping and palm wet and sticky with the mans cum. You hated him so much.

The sound of pants being zippered drew your attention, head snapping up to look at Bakugou. He was watching you intently, wiping his own hands against his jeans. A sigh of relief. Usually he tried to fuck you, or get you off. It looked like tonight he would be satisfied with just a handjob. You were going to go shower until your skin peeled off, then sleep for a day or two, classes be damned.

“Wipe it onto your slutty little cunt.”

...

“What?? B-b-bakugou you-”

“Wipe it onto your. cunt.”

He leveled you with a glare, hands crossing over his chest. You were frozen.

“Geez bitch, do I need to do it for you? Just fuckin’ wipe that shit onto your pussy, it’s not that hard.”

Trembling, you obeyed, wincing was you stuffed your hands past your jeans, past your underwear. You cringed when you felt how wet your slit was, how inflamed and puffy you felt down there from Bakugou’s teasing rutting earlier. Bakugou watched with a smirk as you pressed your hands against yourself, doing your best to wipe off his cum. 

When you finished, the man looped an arm around your waist, causing you to squeak in alarm. You recoiled from his touch, breathing hard, but he wouldn’t let go.

“What, you thought you were done? Thought a fuckin’ lame excuse for a handjob would satisfy me? God - “ He snickered loudly, beginning to pull you along, forced to walk beside him “ - You really are a stupid slut.”

You bit your lip, tears still wetting your lashes. It was uncomfortable to walk with the amount of wet in your underwear, the thought of Bakugou’s cum just sitting there making your stomach roll, tensing.

“Can’t wait ‘till we get back to my place; shitty roommates are gone for a few days, thank fuck. Can finally try edging you all night, use your body like a toy and shit like that. Fuck, I’m excited.”

You were going to throw up. 

#yandere #yandere oneshot #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugo x reader #bully #bully Bakugou #mean Bakugou #what's new lol #tw noncon #tw dubcon #bakugou #yanderebakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader

[floorbe]

Mondo x reader where he overhears her reader talking to another classmate about him but they're being horny on main 👀👀 (idk who'd partake in this conversation except for Miu so non despair au ig ????)

yeah! reminder that even tho i wrote miu in this lil fic i dont write for miu for x reader stuff :^) suggestive content under the cut//

“Fuck, Miu, he’s so hot,” Mondo pauses by the door to the empty classroom as he hears your voice. With a grin cracking across his face (and a clench of his fists as he buries his jealousy) he silently presses himself against the wall beside the just barely cracked open door. He may be envious, but Lord knows he can use this information to tease you later and see you all flustered and shit. (And, man, do you look cute when you’re flustered.) “Did you see him climb out of the pool earlier? Nobody should be able to look that good with wet hair,” you lament, and he can hear Miu giggling. 

He immediately searches his memory for the guys who were in class today. A lot of other guys are in your P.E. class, so it’s not as if the guessing pool has lowered by many. He sighs quietly, maybe you were talking about Leon? You always seemed to cheer him on when he’s swimming. Then again, he reasons, Leon is awful at swimming, so maybe you’re just motivating him.

"His hands are so big... I can already imagine them spreading my legs t-to take what he wants, y-y’know” he can hear the wanton whine to Miu’s voice, and he can imagine the dreamy look in her eyes as she drifts off into her fantasy. He’s expecting you to sputter and scold Miu for bringing it up; that’s what you do whenever he teased you suggestively, at least. A smile tugs at his lips at the memories.

“God, I know,” Mondo is snapped from his thoughts as he hears you sigh, and he has to hold back a grunt of surprise at the dreamy tone. Where was this side of you whenever he brought up sex? Come to think of it, have you ever said anything remotely sexual to him? You’d always get so embarrassed and punch his arm whenever he brought anything up. 

“Have you seen his muscles, Miu? That man is strong enough to fuck me against a wall,” Mondo’s eyes widen drastically as he hears you talk so freely. He swallows thickly at your admission, and he can feel himself start to harden as he imagines what it would be like for him to be the one to do that to you. He shakes his head to clear the thoughts before he gets too ahead of himself. Okay, so it’s someone buff. That lowers the amount of people considerably. 

Nekomaru is his top guess. He had come in today to help motivate swimmers into doing more laps, so it would check out that you’d seen him climb out of the pool. Not only that, but he’s visibly strong, so there’d be no way he wouldn’t be able to hold you up against a wall. A scowl stretches across his face as he entertains the idea briefly. He could do that, too. Jealousy starts to burn in his chest as he imagines you moaning out Nekomaru’s name. What does Nekomaru have that he doesn’t? He’s strong, he looks good with his hair down, his hands are-

“What about him fucking you on his bike?” Miu suddenly chimes in, a slight slur to her tone as if she’s imagining it already. 

He pauses. Nekomaru doesn’t have a bike. 

“Oh my God,” there’s a whine to your voice that he’s never heard before, and his breath hitches at it, “He wouldn’t, but that’s fucking hot.” 

He can hear Miu scoff, “Yeah, Mondo cares way too much about his fuckin’ bike to defile it like that, huh?”

He swears his heart stops beating. His jaw drops as he feels flames engulf his cheeks, and he can’t even begin to stop the loud strangled exclamation that falls from his lips. Him? You were talking about him this entire time? You- you think he looks good with his hair wet? You want him to fuck you against a wall? Holy shit. Holy shit. You want him to fuck you on his bike. You want his hands to spread your-

“M-Mondo?!” He’s torn from his heavenly realization by your voice. His head snaps to see you and Miu; you have that cute flustered expression again, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek.

“What, you peeping on us, you fucking creep?!” Miu growls, and Mondo can’t help but quirk a brow, at her drastic change in behavior. She was just talking about fucking him, and now she’s on edge? He sees you fidget out of the corner of his eye and is brought back to the severity of the situation. Fuck, they’d just caught him eavesdropping on a conversation he definitely wasn’t meant to hear. 

“Uh,” he swallows thickly, “...No?”

It’s silent for a moment. He has to tear his gaze away from you, and he shuffles his feet in an attempt to hide his very obvious arousal. Thank God his pants are baggy, because he really cannot get the thought of you moaning his name out of his head, especially now that you’re right in front of him. 

“M-Miu, could you give us a second?” you ask, averting your gaze as she scoffs and nods, sending another glare towards Mondo as she stalks off. It’s silent for another moment as you bite your lip. He struggles to stop thinking about what it would be like to bite it for you. 

“How... how much did you hear?” you finally force out. 

“Ah,” a hand reaches to rub the back of his neck subconsciously, “...All of it?” 

You immediately slap your hands over your face, groaning. “I’m so sorry, God, that must’ve been so creepy-” apologies are spilling from your lips, and before he comprehends it he’s cutting you off. 

“Did you mean it?” his eyes widen as he stiffens, did he really just ask that out loud? He did not mean to ask that out loud. “Sh-shit, uh, sorry, you don’t have’ta-” 

“Yeah,” you suddenly admit; your hands have slipped to cover your mouth, allowing your eyes to meet his as he abruptly cuts off. He can see you just barely shaking as he processes it. You actually want him to fuck you. Jesus Christ, he is so turned on right now. Your eyes suddenly flick away, and he realizes he’s taken too long to respond. 

Before you have a chance to say anything, he finds an impulsive courage and steps forward to sling his arms around you, leaning to press his forehead against yours shakily. He swallows thickly as you look at him almost shyly, eyes wide and hands coming down to lightly grasp his coat. Any confidence he had fizzles and dies. 

He licks his lips as he summons every last bit of suaveness and cockiness he can find within himself (which is... not a lot, because you’re very good at leaving him speechless and stupid). Steady breaths, keep your voice smooth, and... “I-I wouldn’t m-mind doing that shit with you!” Well, that wasn’t quiet. He winces both at his painfully awkward phrasing and at the way you jump at his sudden exclamation. 

“...Seriously?” you nearly whisper, and he’s suddenly hyper aware of how close your lips are. 

“Y-yeah,” his voice breaks mid word, but neither of you notice as your eyes flick to his lips. He cautiously leans forward, breath hitching as he watches your eyes slide shut. Your lips meet, and he’s sure that you can feel him shaking, but he ignores it as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Your lips meld together, and Mondo swears he’s ascended into heaven or something, because nothing has ever felt more right than this. 

He presses himself closer to you, tightening his grip on you as you sigh against his lips. He pulls back when you suddenly grunt, and he worries he’s gone too far until he sees you grinning. “Mondo,” you start slowly, and he’s vaguely aware of how there’s an undertone of smugness in your voice, “So, uh, what’s poking me right now?” 

Poking y-? Oh. Oh no. Your grin widens as he feels his cheeks heat up for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. One of your hands slides down to grab his hand, and he swallows thickly as you draw back to tug him down the hall, a wicked glint in your eyes that tells him that you’ll be fulfilling all of the daydreams you’ve had about him.

#suggestive// #n*sw// #mondo oowada #mondo oowada x reader #danganronpa imagine #danganronpa scenario #danganronpa #thh #Anonymous

[nancylou444]

I forgot if i sent it to u or someone else so i'm sending it again anyway

Please Read this to the end and then judge me.

I do not understand at all why you and all other anti destiels dont ship destiel and think that dean is straight and i hate you for that from the bottom of my heart. i mean cant you see how dean truely loves cas and gives no shit about Sam, his brother?and also jensen and writers ship it.

You are so stupid and do not deserve to live in this world period

Read this list below.it may help you take off your anti destiel colored glasses and Accept the truth:which in fact is that Destiel Will become canon.

Reasons Why Destiel Will Definitely Become Canon Before The Show Ends 101:

1.Jensen Ackles: Destiel Doesn't Exist.

2.Jensen Ackles: Because Dean is a lover of the LADIES.

3.Dean will always choose SAM over anyone else.

4.SAM and Dean are soulmates.

5.Castiel: you chose EACHOTHER.

6.Jensen Ackles' Unscripted Frustrated look into the camera in "Fan Fiction" episode.wink wink

7.Jensen Ackles: there wasn't a whole lot of dean and cas storylines in season 9.personally,i kind of enjoyed that.

8.Jensen Ackles: i think the whole dean and cas thing has gotten a little out of proportion.

9.Jensen Ackles: "destiel is real" is it?? Where?? Where is it real??

10.Jensen Ackles: What? What castiel? Nah just me and my pies!

11.Jensen Ackles: We sit down with the writers in a couple weeks. It boils down to these two brothers, that’s the core and the heart of the show, their journey, their fight for each other.

12. “You are homophobic if you don’t ship destiel!"

13.Dean Winchester is fuckin Straight.

14.Eric Kripke : I'm just really interested in guys, STRAIGHT guys who have a tight friendship,they are really fun to write...

15.Dean Winchester: I'm Dean winchester.i enjoy sunsets,long walks on the bitch and frisky WOMEN.

16.Dean Winchester : I dont swing that way.sorry.

17.Dean winchester : yeah sorry again pal i dont play for your team.

18.Dean sold his soul for SAM.

19.Dean died so that he could meet with Death and get SAM’s soul back which of course Castiel left in hell.

20.Dean gave away the Impala and was willing to die with a Croatoan infected SAM.

21.Dean breathed in the poisonous smoke, so that he would die with SAM.

22.Dean wanted out of an AU with Mary and Jessica alive, because AU!SAM didn’t like Dean that much.

23.SAM and Dean made promise to each other, made vows to each other really, in a church.

24.SAM and Dean choose each other over the world, anything, and everything, EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

25. Dean refers to SAM as though HE is his spouse (”does he want a divorce?”, “Lucy”...)

26.Dean would rather live in a world WITH demons than live in a world WITHOUT SAM.

27.When Dean forgot everything else, including his own name, he still remembered SAM.

28.Dean : I can’t do it without my brother, I don’t want to 

29.Dean to Sam :You’re the ONLY one who could’ve talked me out of it 

30.Dean to Sam :There ain’t no me if there ain’t no YOU.

31.Dean to Sam :“Because whatever we have between us, love, family, whatever this is, they’re always going to us it against us.”

32.Dean to Sam: “You’re my weak spot SAMMY, and I’m yours”

33.Dean or Sam i dont remember: “All that matters now, all that’s ever mattered, is that we’re together.“

34. Dean to Sam :“Don’t you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you!“

35.Dean to Sam : “I made you a promise in that church, you and me, come whatever!”

36.The canon friendship between Dean and Castiel is toxic and borderline-abusive, full of lies, threats, insults, abandonment, beatings, and betrayals.

37. Sam, possessed by the devil himself, took control of his own body and beat Lucifer because Dean was there, because Dean didn’t give up even though he was hurt and covered in blood, because seeing Dean bombarded Sam with the memories of their life together.

38. Dean didn’t leave SAM’s bedside , didn’t bury him, didn’t burn his body, didn’t want to say goodbye, and how later he didn’t hesitate to sell his soul.

39.Dean decided not to go into a box, because SAM asked him not to.

40.SAM and Dean were the ones whom were mistaken with gay couple by several people if that matters.

41.SAM to Dean :“you always put me first. Your whole life”,

42.Dean to SAM: “I know where I am at my best, and that is right here, driving down crazy street next to you”,

43.Sam or Dean i dont remember:“you know what brought me back? You did”.

44.Dean’s siren-as admitted by the siren herself-was a copy of SAM.

45.Dean told a male cop "you're awsome".OMG!! He is bi!!!

46.Dean fanboyed over a male tv character.Holy Chuck!! He is bi!!

47.Jensen or Jared:“At its core, it’s the story of two brothers.”

48.Jensen or Jared:“At the end of the day, this starts and stops with the brothers.”

49.Jensen or Jared:“When it comes down to it, it’s about these two brothers.”

50.Dean told Castiel to get the hell outta bunker for SAM while he knew he didnt have his angel powers.Damn! Dean truely loves Cas!

51.Dean figured Castiel was too far gone to be convinced back into their group and bound Death to do their bidding. Dean’s order to Death was to kill Castiel where he stood.#couplegoals

52.Castiel blackmailed Dean by torturing SAM.oh dear god!!! What a True Lover!!

53.Castiel Betrayed sam amd DEAN with crowley.but that's what all lovers do Right???

54.This isnt some romantic show.

55. Castiel is a genderless celestial wavelength of light wearing a male vessel.

56.Dean's chemistry with Baby the Impala is far more noticable than the one with Castiel.

57.Sam even once asked Dean and Baby the impala to get a room.

58.The possibility of Dean and Baby the impala to get sexually involved and the two of them having sex in the finale full frontal is far more than the possibility of non existant Destiel to become canon.

59.Destiel shippers are only a tiny minority of the SPN fandom.

60.Jensen Ackles is fucking done with this shit.

61.Dean left Ben and Lisa for SAM.

62.Misha Collins is the only one who queerbaits.

63.Dean in "red meat" described SAM as the man he loved.

64.Dean sang in a colorful background.OMFG!! he is bi!!

65.Jesen ackles : because being with his BROTHER and doing that is the happiest he is.

66.Dean to SAM: "because i couldnt live with you dead"

67.What show you've been watching???

68.Jared : because that would have RUINED the show to make it about something it wasnt about.

69.Dean has kissed and had sex with an angel.her name was Anna

70.Sera Gamble said “supernatural is the epic love story of SAM and dean”

71.Cw_supernatural IG: it has always been two brothers and the open road.

.

.

.

*Manic laughter*

*Aggressively drop the mic*

*The door is over there*

*Boom! Suck it*

*It sucks to be destieheller*

You are very welcome

Btw I'm a Proud anti destiew and a logical SPN fan.

If You think I'm right,then Chuck bless your logical souls and if not,let me find some fucks to give....sorry,none was found.

The begining part was an example of a savage destieheller.it wasn't me����ignore it.

Yours truly,anon.

=============================

Holy crap, that is one longass ask. An ask I was thisclose to deleting until I skipped to the bottom. 

💖💖💖💖💖

#i love my anons #destiehellers #destiew #dean is as straight in november 2020 as he was in september 2005 #jensen does not like destiel shit #Anonymous

[writerofshit]

Jerevin au where they both secretly have a huge crush on the other but are trying to repress it because they're friends and coworkers it would be weird. After a heist they end up at a safehouse together for the night that only has one bed and Jeremy's immediately like "I'll sleep on the couch to keep watch!!" and Gavin agrees because if they share a bed it'll be Too Much. It's fine for a while but then in the middle of the night Jeremy gets up to pee and his half-asleep brain (1/2)

(2/2) just autopilots him to the bedroom after and he gets in bed without thinking about it. Cue the next morning when they each wake up and slowly realise they're cuddling/spooning their crush and have to awkwardly escape the bed (once they're done alternating between thinking how nice it is and screaming internally). They get back to the penthouse later that day and the rest of the crew can't figure out why they're being so weird (except Michael, he's got a pretty good idea)

Anon I would appreciate it if you gave me back my one braincell, I've been looking for it all day.

But genuinely, this hits every single idea that I love. Secret, mutual pining? Check. One bed? Check. Waking up mid cuddle, torn between enjoying the moment and panicking over what they think they'll never truly have?? Check! The whole thing being so blatantly obvious to someone looking in? Check!!

Like. Ok. Alright. Let's break this down.

Secret crushes. The point when they reach this is, of course, well past Jeremy being a sort of ~fan~ of the crew, past his initial dislike of Gav, even past 'we can be at least cordial and occasionally laugh together.' No, they're full blown friends, they hang out, they talk about real shit, they trust each other. They've made it this far, and it's great, they're as happy as can be, and then.

Then there's little whisper in the backs of their heads, what if they could be more? And that's terrifying, in a lot of ways, because if it all goes south tomorrow, well. There's so much more at stake now, isn't there?

So they keep it quiet, stay content with the friendship they have. Rather have that than nothing at all. It's fine. They each try to avoid letting too much out, try not to put themselves in situations where they're likely to spill. Try not to read too much into arms thrown over shoulders or lingering smiles. It's fine.

Then a heist goes sideways and everybody is scattered at different safe houses and they're both glad they're not alone, but. But of all people, of course they get stuck with each other. Which is great, because friends or what have you, but also there's that nagging crush that just hasn't gone away.

There's also the fact that it's not so much a safe 'house' as it is safe 'shithole apartment on the other side of town'. One bed one bath, one couch, one twelve pack of beer in the fridge from god knows when. They shouldn't drink it but they do. They spend the night laughing and talking and sitting too close. It's right there, on the tips of their tongues, twin confessions they should have shared a long time ago-

But neither of them has the guys to say it.

So Jeremy offers to take the couch, because that's the best way to diffuse the undeniable energy in the room, right? Gavin let's him take it, because it must be a sign that he's enjoying this all too much, let himself get too close, right?

They go to their respective beds, both stay up far too late dissecting every word and brief touch. They reach the conclusion that they must be imagining it all, that the fact that they're sleeping separately speaks volumes. They're co-workers and friends, best friends, even, and that's all they'll ever really be. And that's enough, really it is.

But when Jeremy gets up in the middle of the night, and this shithole apartment is interchangeable for his last, and he forgets where he is, he just... Goes, he thinks, back to bed, slips under the covers and doesn't give the person beside him second thought.

Until he wakes again, recognizes Gavin, and figures he must be dreaming. There's no other explanation for how Gavin melts against him, how he let's himself be held, for the tiniest of smiles that registers just before Jeremy falls back asleep.

It isn't until he wakes up for the third and final time, somewhat early in the morning, does he realize- no, he hadn't been dreaming. His actual reality is Gavin curled into his chest. It's really Gavin's hair tickling his neck that has woken him up. It's Gavin's arm snaked around his waist, holding them close.

It's actually so much of everything he's been wanting.

But god, what kind of asshole would he be if he continued to lay here reveling in this moment while Gavin has no clue?

Unbeknownst to Jeremy, Gavin has reached the same conclusion, but only he plucks up enough courage to pull away. "Jeremy, I-"

But Jeremy is up and gone, doesn't want to have the inevitable I like you, but as a friend conversation. He leaves the room and he calls Trevor for the ok to go home. He gets it, throws what little he'd had with him into a bag, and waits in the car.

They'd talked the night before about getting something to eat on the way back, whenever it would be. Now, he just wants to get home and try to put some distance between himself and everything he'd been feeling. He blares music the entire way back and there's no chance for conversation.

At the penthouse, Gavin holes himself up with Matt in the basement and says nothing to anyone.

Jeremy's beating himself up for being so fucking stupid, how could you not remember you were supposed to be on the fucking couch and Michael calls him out for sulking.

"The fuck happened with you and Gav?"

Jeremy doesn't answer, because hes not sure what to say. The honest answer is nothing, nothing actually happened because he'd been too afraid. But it still feels like there's been a shift, so maybe he's wrong.

"I mean, did you guys finally fuck? Is that what happened?"

"Jesus Christ, Michael, I dont- no, we didn't- nothing happened." He's not sure why it feels like such a lie.

"Well shit. And i really thought you'd finally figured it out."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Michael just stares at him, like he can't believe what he's hearing. "Come on, dude. You guys have been dancing around each other for months. You're really telling me you don't know you're fuckin in love?"

"That's- we're not-" Because they arent anything. Sure, Jeremy's been harboring some ill fated crush for far too long, but that's his problem. "Gavin and I are friends."

"No, we're friends, J. And as your friend, I've gotta tell you, you and Gav are two idiots afraid of your own feelings."

"Michael-"

"Tell him, Jeremy. He'll be over the moon, believe me."

The thing about it is, Michael is his friend. And he trusts him. Maybe he has seen something Jeremy had missed. Or ignored, more accurately. Maybe he's wrong and they'll have a big laugh over it. Maybe being honest won't be the end.

"I'll uh, I'll do that. Later. If I can."

And they do. They talk, Michael plays mediator because he knows they'll both chicken out if hes not there. Jeremy admits all the thoughts he'd had that morning, why he'd left like he did. Gavin explains that he'd thought Jeremy joining him in the middle of the night was his admission, how he'd been utterly confused by the 180. How he'd assumed he'd misread everything, hid with Matt all day to avoid embarrassment.

And when they've aired all of their confusion and are just... Happy and beaming at each other and once again sitting too close on the couch, Michael sums it up best.

"Fucking finally."

#listen im sorry i took these thoughts and fuckin ran ok #it really turned into a mini fic by the end there #id also like to imagine matt is also in the room #headphones on and ignoring everything #when asked he just #'oh. you guys just figured it out? i thought youve been together for months. well. congrats?' #also i mean it about that braincell #god i just genuinely love every idea you brought to the table #they are my absolute bread and butter #i couldnt help but to run with them #for that i thank you anon #ragehappy #jerevin #ks talks #anon

[sufferingink]

Mixed up Miraculous AU Part3: flaws

a lot of my problems with the current show stem from characters not having flaws, or at least flaws that cause long standing issues throughout episodes. Marinette herself is a pretty good example of this to me, because her flaws are treated more like funny quirks that come up very little. Like with her almost kissing a wax statue because it looked like Adrien, haha so... so funny. so because no one asked for it, I’m going to write a full post detailing the flaws of some characters. (note: started writing this before the specials came out. might be irrelevant now)

Marinette Dupain-Cheng (the big one)

So you know how in canon, marinette tripping over something or walking into a wall is a gag that’s in like a grand total of 12 scenes per season? and that’s considered one of her major flaws??? It’s not! But I’m going to dial it up a bit so the contrast between civilian and superhero is incredibly obvious!! This makes her the one that’s the most cautious but also the one that can wave away injuries the easiest.

One of the more fleshed out aspects of her character is that she is always losing arguments. That sounds weird. It’s more like the reason behind why she loses them is fleshed out. Most of the people she argues with are very good at make people believe they gave them evidence when they really just handed them hot air. Marinette knows what they’re saying isn’t true, but is so lost in anger that she doesn’t even provide hot air. It makes her seem like she just expects people to believe her because she’s... Marinette. the goody two shoes(have you seen how much stuff she’s stolen?). the one that never lies (or is at least semi-okay at it). It’s kind of rude to have the belief that everyone should believe you because you’re you, but that’s kind of always how it goes in hidden role games sooooo... maybe she’ll be fine.

BURNOUT!!yay. marinette is constantly signing onto new projects and throughout this hypothetical series you could see it take a toll on her. she becomes irritable and her anxiety goes through the roof. Pumilio jumps from rooftops half asleep. It worries everyone around her. She is near constantly complaining about her workload but has convinced herself that taking even a day to recharge is being lazy

she carries around fabric and buttons everywhere. just kind of does, for some reason. Jumpp doesn’t care so..

something something kissing a wax statue because it looks like your crush isn’t cute it just makes you look creepy. 

fuckin’ BAMBOOZLED by automatical doors, apparently.

Adrien Agreste

This kid has SO many trust issues and anxieties. He’s constantly aware that everyone trying to get close to him might just be doing it for fame (that’s why he’s more comfortable as a superhero. not much fame you could get from that). He’s constantly aware of his own appearance because he doesn’t want to upset his father. He worries that someday his friends will realize how much of a disaster he is and just... leave. Of course, he has to hide all of this (”worry wrinkles are bad for business”).

This dude can’t properly sit still to save his life. Not necessarily a flaw and more a character trait I guess? That’s why he looks so sad at homeschool. He wants to socialize, sure, but he also wants to climb a damn tree.

(this is one specific to this au) When the group discover the cat miraculous, Adrien was hesitant to take it. Pollen was one of his friends, and the only one he could really talk to about everything. Not to mention Pollen’s own worries, as most of their holders gave them up to become something different. he still took it, because the reasoning was sound and he had no real reason to deny it. But he never properly activated it. He didn’t want Pollen to feel like they were getting replaced.

He lets people off the hook far too easily. Doesn’t want the anger.

Alya Cesaire

For a reporter, she jumps to conclusions far too quickly. Barest amount of evidence and she will go reveal it to the world without even checking the sources (tip: check your sources. I can’t believe i have to say it). That being said, I do like the idea of her slowly piecing together the heroes’ identities. Like at the end of the first season,she makes a small comment about how much Adrien looks like Abeille and there’s little hints that she may be figuring it all out.

Gets frustrated with her friends easily because she knows they’re hiding something but she can’t tell what. Stupid AND terrible at lying? unacceptable.

kind of sort of really used to justifying invading other people’s privacy. She... really shouldn’t be doing that. stop, please.

Alya can’t ever force herself to do something. If she doesn’t like the work she’s given, she will either choose something adjacent to it, or will just straight up ignore it. Makes her grades suffer and her confidence in herself plummet

Nino Lahiffe

This kid just might be the most stable one here. He doesn’t overwork himself, he finishes his work on time, he’s relatively steady on his feet. but where everyone in his class is famous to some extent, nino just... isn’t. the most impressive thing he’s ever done is win an obviously rigged game show. He jealous, most days. When Marinette hands out free croissants, he’s thinking about how much he would have to pay for just one. When Alya’s complaining about how few people liked her posts, nino’s remembering the day where he finally hit 1k. Everytime Chloe uses her father’s influence for something petty, he remembers listening to his parents sob about not being able to afford their tiny apartment. he keeps it to himself.

He highkey feels like an outsider in his own life. (this might be triggering, I’ll put a funny summary at the end) Like maybe one day, he’ll wake up and everything will be perfectly fine without him. Pavonine will still be there, his friends, his family... none of them would ever even notice if he just sat in bed forever. Duusuu would probably notice and try to cheer him up, which would only make it worse.(hey, did I say the end? I meant right here. summarizing two sentences: Nino may or may not have depression. Duusuu may or may not be accidently making it worse.) Ironically, these days come most often when people notice him the most. Adrien straight up hands him four duct taped lunchables because Nino mentioned ants got into his food. Alya jokingly accuses him of being Pavonine for her blog (”He wears a SUIT, dude,” is really the only evidence he gives for it not being him. this somehow works). SOMEONE filled his locker paper frogs and Shrek Devito strickers (real thing. i have one on my desk). No one’s as surprised as he is when Mme. Bustier agrees to put them on well written papers.

kind of overbearing when it becomes to groups, but doesn’t like being the leader.

has this really terrible cough, hmmm I woNDER WHERE THAT CAME FROM.

Tikki (Kwami)

Gods, no matter how small and cute, work in absolutes. Their moral standing is no different. Tikki has particularly strong moral compass, and pretty much never sways in her belief. if her holder tries to use a lie she deems unnecessary, she will use her hold over them to voice her opinion in a less than savory manner (she’s a god, and she’s basically been in lockdown for one hundred years. She’s allowed to have a bit of a disconnect from what hurts)

Plagg (Kwami)

You know how in the last one I basically said that all Kwamis are all somewhere in the Good alignment? Plagg’s a straight up Chaotic Neutral. He wants his owners (and tikki) to be happy, but he’s only there for that. will happily leave as people stop yelling at him. He doesn’t hurt his holders, but he is very sarcastic.

Pollen (Kwami)

Very loyal, very quickly. they find their group and protect them to their final breath. Their holders tend to be offered better Miraculous and leave Pollen in the dust. They take this very personally, and refuse to work with that holder ever again. These holders have... not great endings, but Pollen refuses to feel guilt. 

Duusuu (Kwami)

they basically have no control over their emotions, and tend to increase their holders emotions. More recently, their Miraculous has broken, and infects their host with some sort of strange sickness. They’re so determined to spot any symptoms that they miss their current holder’s worsening mental health.

Jumpp (Kwami)

They have gone so long without everything that they cling to it so tightly that they restrict change. When your holder very much needs a change, there’s tension. They try to force their holder to stay transformed, so they don’t throw away their miraculous.

#marinette dupain cheng #Adrien Agreste #Alya Cesaire #Nino Lahiffe #neurotypicals? in MY au? its less likely than you think #I'm trying to make them all on the same page flawed while not rewriting their entire character #might be failing at that #Mixed up Miraculous au #trying to make their characterization memorable and distinct. also failing at that #also.. the kwamis. for some reason. #the fact that they're not human isn't used enough #tikki the kwami #plagg the kwami #pollen the kwami #duusuu the kwami #Pavonine #Abeille #pumilio #jumpp the kwami #GUYS I just realized that jumpp is my oc #I hate this

[kmclaude]

An AU thought, unfinished: Annemarie as a nun. Not a sexy nun, but someone found out about the whole “preggers with her brother’s baby and sent to a convent as punishment” type nun, who may or may not wind up teaching a bunch on unruly kids and has her fellow sisters breathing down her neck to make sure she doesn’t sin again. But hey, guess who’s the priest/confessor for the order? And considering nuns “have” to obey Fr. Tiefer’s authority…! Not smutty but it’s all I’ve got 🤷🏼‍♀️

oh how decadent! oops my hand slipped!!!

Émile is probably the one who gets mad when he finds out she’s pregnant and who’s kid it is because sure he’s white trash and has been bending his daughter over for years but he draws the line somewhere (and part of it is because he knows Emilein is a freak, he knows he wouldn’t want her so it’s obvious she’s the whole reason for being knocked up – and she’s been using the stupid baby in her fat gut as a shield to mouth off to him and run the joint – why not punish her? Besides, no one in that family can afford another mouth to feed…)

So he pulls Emilein aside, says, “hey, you’re good with that priest, yeah?” and Emilein shrugs, says, “maybe I am,” and braces for a nasty shot about how of course he is, he loves being on his knees, but it never comes, just, “so he knows about like…them wayward girl schools, yeah?” and Emilein plays dumb until his daddy plays his hand: send Annemarie off to a convent or wayward school or hell an asylum – she wants to use a baby to get her way, well then she can get out of the way. Forever.

Emilein, for once, is more than happy to help his daddy out.

He talks to the priest, Fr. Michaud, who has offered him chance and again ways out, one in particular though it would mean the priesthood, and reveals his sister is pregnant (not that it was terribly secret: the whole town was waiting for the day she slipped up at this point) and she is…troubled. And is there a place. The Church. Anything.

Of course Fr. Michaud hesitates because yes there is one nearby but it’s practically an asylum, run by an order on their grounds – cloistered – “And, to be frank, we all know your sister is…not exactly saving herself for anyone…but unless she’s a-a maniac it would be almost cruel–”

And Emilein puts his hand lightly on Fr. Michaud’s, smiles in a way that doesn’t meet his eyes, and says, “You know how she hasn’t named the father? You’d think someone like her’d be going up and down the street, demanding a wedding or at least support, wouldn’t you? But she ain’t. ‘Cause she can’t. Now, remember the first time we actually talked, you an’ me, an’ I told you I’d suck your cock in a heartbeat ‘cause that’s usually how things went with me an’ older men an’ not always by force?”

“Difficult to forget,” says Fr. Michaud, neglecting to mention that most fourteen year olds don’t say that.

“So we both agree I’m…funny.”

“What are you getting at, Emilein?”

“I’m sayin’, the reason she ain’t beatin’ down no po’ bastard’s door to help with her own bastard is ‘cause she doesn’t want anyone to know that the daddy’s her own brother.”

Michaud goes pale and Emilein isn’t smiling any more.

“We both know she don’t interest me much. So, Father, please: help me.”

–

Of course, being a good man, Fr. Michaud helps him, and Annemarie is sent away to have her child (and then work off the debt she’ll have accrued – after all, not like her father and brother can afford to pay.)

Her choice is very simple: go as willingly as she can pretend and nobody has to know about who the father is or fight and Emilein tells (with Fr. Michaud as a witness – Émile, of course, is more than willing to rat her out but really, every other word from his mouth is a lie.)

And life is peaceful – until Émile decides he can fully boss around his son like he did his daughter in a house he doesn’t own.

Emilein is having none of it but Emilein is terribly small and Émile has friends too, friends just as nasty as Annemarie’s boyfriends, and Émile ties him to a bed and starves him and lets all sorts of men use him for days and brags about the money he’s made from him – “shit, cher, we should’ve been whorin’ you out years ago! Guess yer cunt sister was just too jealous to share.”

He lets him go, eventually, after a week that feels like forever and Emilein runs to Fr. Michaud, banging on the church door, and when Fr. Michaud answers his request is much the same as it was before: “please, help me.”

Of course, being a good man, Fr. Michaud helps Emilein Tiefer and gets him connected to the seminary.

–

At twenty-five and with the title of ‘Father’ himself, Tiefer is assigned to a convent in Fuckoff Nowhere, Louisiana to be the priest and confessor on the grounds. Segregated from the opposite sex and the real world for so long only to be thrown headfirst into the wide world, some were realizing, was not the greatest idea: so, the younger were sent off to serve their religious siblings first, particularly their sisters.

The Mother Superior is kind when she greets him on his arrival, a stark contrast to all the rumors of the convent here: it was a convent, yes, that made its daily bread with something of a home for wayward girls – part home, part school (for the younger ones whose unfortunate choices and circumstances left them behind their peers as well as their children, for those who had or expected them), part workhouse so the former two could survive – but for years its nickname had been the asylum because, regardless of how long one worked, much like the TB asylums, the only way out was in a casket.

Which is where, Tiefer always figured, his sister was at this point. 

Until, during a tour of the small school on the grounds (as the children would be needing sacraments as well) he sees one of the nuns with the children – though she’s not a nun, not exactly, as she only wears a veil and simple dress and the bangs of her blonde hair peak out and frame her face – and she, in turn, sees him and freezes.

“Mother Superior,” he asks, voice steady as possible, once they’ve passed, once he’s calmed down, “who was that woman?”

“With the children? That’s Sister Anne, one of our success stories – quite a tough one too. She came here, pregnant, no idea who the father was and ready to dare I say fight every one of us sisters who came near. But the Lord works in mysterious ways and eventually He brought her ‘round. She should be taking her vows in a few years.”

“Ah. Do many of your girls usually wind up joinin’ the order?”

The mother superior sighs, sort of pointed in a way that hints that the topic is better put to rest. “Unfortunately, it’s not always part of God’s plan,” she says and then adds, “You sound a lot like she does – how far down South did you come?”

“Very.”

“Hm. She also.”

–

“Sister Anne. A word?”

After all the introductions and required niceties are made, Tiefer doubles back to the classroom of children, led by the novitiate.

“Of course, Father,” she says, the shock from earlier long gone from her face, a little more lined than he’d remembered it, her eyes a little less bright.

“In private?”

He lets her lead the way to a small, unused classroom and locks the door behind them.

“Well. Never thought I’d see you here, Sister.”

She scoffs, the plain novitiate from earlier twisting, like a monster under flesh, into his sister, the way he knew her, cocky attitude and all. “Why not? You put me here.”

“You know what I mean. ‘Sides, he put you here.”

“You helped.”

“Just told the truth is all. You want me to tell the truth again?”

“Can’t send me away again, sugar. Anyway, I’m a changed woman. The success story of these sisters.”

“Ain’t you special, huh?”

“Had to be. Play along or die like the rest.” She looks him over, sixteen years on his twenty-five, sizing him up. “You obviously understand, don’tcha Emi?”

“Father, now, actually.”

“Father, right, Father, now, huh? So Father – what was it? Not enough dicks to suck back home, you had to join the biggest boy’s club around? Or you just get sick of Daddy – bet he was a real sonuvabitch once he didn’t have me ‘round to take his shit out on.”

He cuts her off: “Annemarie. You like it here?”

“You like it where you are?”

He doesn’t answer, simply pulls out a cigarette and his lighter. He watches her reach out, then freeze.

“I’ll share if you tell me what the fuck you’re doin’ playin’ nunnery.”

“I told you. Play along or die. Same as you.”

“You don’t know shit about me or what I been through.”

“An’ you know ‘bout me?”

Tiefer shrugs, lights up. Refuses her one.

“I heard the girls who come here only leave one way.”

“Do I look like I left?”

“Mm.” He offers her a cigarette and a light. Her fingers brush his. He tries not to grab her wrist and crush it. “So this is better? Bein’ a mother to a slew of bastards an’ prayin’ to God who put you here?”

“I dunno, Emi–”

“Do not–”

“Father Emi, you tell me: would you like being worked like a dog to pay off your own existence your fuckin’ family sold off, gettin’ beat ‘cause no one gives a damn about you, and not knowin’ if the priest they brought in to hear confessions this ‘round would rather you suck him off than say you’re sorry. I’m fuckin’ forty-one years old: I wanted something close to freedom, even if it’s from behind a wall an’ veil. ”

Tiefer makes a sound like mock pity. “Sounds like every damn day of my childhood, Annemarie. In fact,” – he grabs her by the jaw, pulls her close, tugs the cigarette from her lips and puts it out against the back of her neck, hidden by her veil – “looks to me like you’re getting off easy, little miss success story.”

“Em–”

“That’s Father to you, now.  An’ come to think of it, I’m sure Mother Superior would love to hear what you really did.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Would they put you back in the work house? Or just turn you loose on the streets like a dog. Where you gonna go, Sister? Y’all take vows of poverty last I heard – gonna finally be a real whore and suck dick in the gutter?”

“Please…”

“Please what, pity you?”

Tiefer lets her go, takes a drag from his own cigarette, blocking the door. He grins, more a snarl than anything else. 

“Oh Annemarie… You’re right: I wouldn’t dare as long as you don’t give me a reason to. I’m your superior now…let’s start treatin’ me as such, hm?”

He unlocks the door. “An’ Sister Anne? If you thought those other priests who put your ol’ ass on your knees were bad, you’re gonna really regret all your earlier sins against me.”

#character stuff #au where annemarie is a nun #pretreetzi #my writing #writing #callistochan87 #kmclaudereplies #kmclauderepliestoask #kmclaudereplies to ask #kmclaudeart

[ladyshandioftheendless]

~Getting Off~

So heeeey remember when I said ‘how about another AU that nobody asked for’? It’s been in the back of my head for a while but I hadn’t found the proper pictures to motivate me. Now that I have..here it is! Enjoy, babies! <3

~Shandi

Paul discovers some..interesting things about himself when he accepts a ride from a handsome biker named Nikki Sixx~ {told from Paul’s POV}

My parents always told me. Stay away from bikers. They were violent. They were dangerous. Their influence corrupted anyone they came into contact with. But there was one thing dear old mom and dad never prepared me for. 

Good looking bikers. Really good looking. 

Honestly it’s a nightmare. It's bad enough I’ve been..questioning my preferences since I started high school. And now they’ve come into the picture. A group of..less academically inclined guys from school decided to get together and form a kind of biker gang. I’ve heard people talking about them more and more. In between classes. In the lunchroom. Outside the school. And once they decided on a name, the Motley Crue was all anyone talked about. Big deal. They were just a bunch of delinquents with affinities for leather and motorcycles. Nothing I should be fascinated with. Until I met Nikki Sixx. 

Nikki Sixx.

I just..can’t seem to get away from him no matter where I go.

He’s younger than me. He’s loud. He’s rude. He drinks. I’m pretty sure he sells drugs to other kids in school. He’s the sexiest guy you’ve ever seen~ He’s dangerous. I can’t allow myself to fall for him. I can’t. But you want to~ 

I try to avoid him whenever I walk home. Today..I’m not so lucky. He and the rest of his gang are out in front of the school sitting on their bikes, trying to get a group of girls to accept their offers for a ride. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re really after. I scoff. At least they’re distracted though right? Makes it easier to get past them. So I take a deep breath and I start walking. The blond guy..I think his name is Vince. He’s a smooth talker. I’m sure he could get a girl to drop her panties on command. He has no trouble getting one of them to say yes. She climbs on his bike behind him and they ride off. I say a silent prayer for her. Almost there. Just a few steps more. I hold my notebooks tightly against my chest as I walk past him. Nearly there..and then.. “Hey~ Where ya goin’ pretty thing~?” 

Just keep walking. Don’t look back. Don’t answer him. “Aw c’mon! Just tryin’ to be friendly~” 

Sure you are. I'd be a fool to believe you. I hear an engine start. Is he going to come after me? Should I run? No..he’ll just chase me down! I don’t know what to do!

“Why ya runnin’ from me? Scared~?” 

YES!!

“L-leave me alone..” 

“What’s that? Can’t hear ya over my loud ass engine!!”

“I s-said..leave me alone!!” 

“Got a mouth on ya don’tcha? Is it that time of the month? I can try again in a few days~” He laughs as he turns his bike around and heads back. Jerk. He thinks you’re pretty~

~*~

The rest of the week is blessedly peaceful. I never expected him to actually keep his word. The week after however..he comes back at me full force. He tries to flirt with me while I’m taking books out of my locker. It’s so much harder when he’s so close. The look in his eyes. His smile. The smell of his leather. Those damn pants of his are so tight I can see..everything. Oh god why am I looking?! “I..I have to go..” 

“Take ya home later~?” 

I don’t answer. I just get away from him as quickly as possible. Damn he has beautiful eyes…

When the last bell rings I pick up my books and sigh. I have to be ready for him this time. I have to be firm with him or else he’ll walk all over me. Just accept his offer! It won’t kill you! Yes it will! Besides I only live a few blocks away from the school. I have no practical use for a ride. And what would my parents say?! You may not need a ride..but you want one. From him~ No!! I don’t like men that way!! Dammit I need to get out of my own head!! Maybe I should..call Gene when I get home and see if he wants to hang out for a while.. He’s good at taking my mind off..troubling things. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I put my books into my bag and head out. 

All my hopes to avoid him are thrown completely out the window as soon as I leave. He’s sitting on his bike waiting for me right outside the door. “There you are~ Ready t’go?” 

“I…” 

C’mon..I’m not gonna bite ya..unless that’s what you’re in to~” 

Be firm! “Now you wait a minute! I never said yes!”

“You didn’t say no either~” 

He’s right~ I would have if he hadn’t frustrated me! “L-look..I don’t even live very far..so thank you for the offer..but no.” 

“All those books you’re carryin’ have got to be heavy..” 

He’s right again~ “I can handle them.” 

“But y’don’t have to. I’m right here.” 

“I…” Oh dammit..why does he have to have good points?! I can’t argue any further. He’s got me. I shake my head. “A-alright..fine.”

“Finally! Y’got some sense in that curly head after all!” He pats the seat behind him. “Hop on, pretty thing~” 

I roll my eyes. “I have a name. It’s Paul.”

“Pretty Paulie then~” 

What have I done..?

~*~

I admit it. I’m scared. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before..never even considered it. Especially not..with someone. I don’t even know if I can trust him. What if he..does something to me..? Hmph. Just let him try. It’s not like I can’t defend myself. Unless he..has a weapon..which he might. Why did I agree to this again? Oh yeah..these damn books that weigh a ton and are killing my back! I sigh and sit down behind him. This feels strange. I have never wanted to be this close to Nikki Sixx ever in my life. That’s a complete lie. You totally have~ He takes his helmet off the handlebar and hands it to me. “Take it. I’m sure it’ll make y’feel safer~” I doubt that. I’ve seen him drive this thing. But I take it anyway. Ugh this is going to murder my hair. 

The engine roars to life and he revs it a few times before speeding out of the parking lot. I immediately grab onto his waist. Why does he have to go so..fast?! He just laughs. “Easy there! You squeeze any harder you’re gonna make me pop!” That is not funny. This was such a mistake. “You gonna tell me where to go or what?” That’s..probably a thing I should do isn’t it? “Like I said I don’t live far. Just keep going down this street until you reach the park then take a right and my house is the fourth one down.” 

“Talk about boring. I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna take you home, you’re gonna drop off those fuckin’ books and then I’m gonna take ya for a real ride.”

“I’ve got homework to do!”

“That shit can wait!” 

“Listen here, Sixx..you may not care about your grades but I do!” 

“And when’s the last time you had any fun?” 

“....”

“That’s what I thought. Trust me, pretty Paulie..I’m gonna show ya a good time~” 

Is that a promise~? Shut up, brain..

So like the complete idiot I am, I do what he says. Once we pull up to my house I go inside, go up to my room, drop off my books.. Make yourself look prettier~ ..and head back out. He has such a smug look on his face..like he’s won some kind of prize. And it’s hot~ I just put the helmet back on and take my seat. Well..here goes nothing. “You better hold on tight baby..cause you’re goin’ for a hell of a ride~” Oh, he’ll go anywhere with you~ I grab his waist again as he revs the engine and takes off down the street. It’s quickly setting in that my life is now in Nikki Sixx’s hands. 

~*~

I still have no idea why I agreed to this. But..as I lay my head against Nikki’s back and watch the world fly by, so much of the fear I used to feel has gone away. He never does any stupid stunts. He actually looks out for the safety of his passenger. Maybe..he’s not so bad after all… The revs of the engine whenever he picks up speed trigger a sensation in me that I’ve never felt before. It’s like..a constant vibration directly between my legs..making me feel.. Aroused~?

Yes..that’s exactly the right word. 

The anticipation is there any time he stops at a light. I can’t wait to feel it again. It’s good..so damn good. I could.. Totally get off on this~ 

Dammit yes..!

I’m more relaxed now. I absently stroke his back and loosen my hold around his waist. “You finally gettin’ comfortable back there, baby~?” 

“Faster..”

“What’s that?” 

“Please..go faster..” That’s more like it~

“Heh..whatever you want~” 

He guns it, and the engine roars, sending a million jolts of pleasure through my body all at once. “Ohhh yes~!!” 

D-did I say that out loud..? I did. I can hear him laughing at me. I can already hear his friends laughing at me too once he tells them. “Damn, baby..is this gettin’ you hot~?”

Say yes~ “I-I…”

“Want me to do it again~?” 

Say yes!! “Y-yes..do it..” 

“Mm..anything to hear that again~” As he speeds up and drives the engine harder, it goes straight to my aching core. God I can’t take much more of this! I throw my head back and moan, making the helmet nearly fly off my head in the process. “Havin’ fun now, arent’cha baby~?” He pulls over onto an empty dirt road but keeps the engine going. That same smug look is on his face when he turns around to face me, pulling the helmet off of my head. “Wh-what are you doing..?” He takes me by the waist and pulls me closer. “I know you’re just seconds away from cumming. I’m not gonna let my bike do the job for me~” 

“Nikki..”

This is what you’ve wanted~

Once his lips are on mine..I can’t even force myself to argue with my brain anymore. It was right all along. Sorry, mom and dad..but I’ve got needs that only a biker can satisfy~

~END~

#Shandi's drabbles #Biker!Nikki #Paul Stanley x Nikki Sixx #yep I'm back on this bullshit #you can't take me off this hill! #this is nooooot safe for woooork~ #Biker AU #I willed this to be a one shot #but I may write a continuation later~ #Bi disaster Paul is back again!!

[foxtophat]

in chapter 3, nick brings john some food and tries to interrogate him, but it doesn’t go quite as planned. john sure is acting weird! i mean, weirder than usual. i mean, usual for john, anyway. i mean... well, let’s just say that nick is as in control as he can be in today’s update!

WHEW i really like this chapter actually, i had fun editing and writing it and all that. soooo i’ve been doing weekly updates but for the sake of consistency i’m going to be changing that to a bi-weekly schedule instead. gives me more time to flesh out these thinner chapters before i get them out to you, the viewer!

speaking of viewers, DAMN thank you guys for the warm ass welcome for this story! i’m so glad to see that people are enjoying my self-indulgent mess. i’ve had so much fun working on it by myself but i’m having even more fun now that i know other people like it!

hey, i’ll slap the text of this chapter below the cut so you don’t have to go off-site if you don’t feel like it. if you read, please consider reblogging, as that’s the best way for me to get this update out there :) otherwise, just like, have a good day and junk!

John is, unfortunately, still alive when Nick goes to check on him. He even seems to be aware of his surroundings, unsurprised when Nick opens the door and downright guarded as Nick approaches him with a plate of vegetables and some smoked venison. The role reversal doesn't sit right at all with Nick, but at least he knows he's in control of the situation for now. Give the bastard a couple of nights of good rest and John will no doubt attempt to get back on top, but tonight he's too sick to do anything but cringe away as Nick unceremoniously drops into a crouch and drops the plate in his general direction.

Tense, with his fingers twisting in the blanket below him, John rasps, "What's this?"

Nick frowns. "Food," he snaps, trying not to let his own rudeness bother him. He doesn't have to feel guilty being short with John — it's fucking John . Nick should be mad at himself for not being more of a dick! Being in a position that would earn a normal person sympathy doesn't mean squat when the guy is a murdering, violent psychopath wearing the thin veneer of a human being! He doesn't deserve anything Nick gives him, besides a swift and merciless kick to the temple.

Nick exhales heavily and reluctantly adds, "You look like you need it."

It's only once Nick rises to his feet again that John reaches for the plate, dragging it into his lap and proving Nick right as he quickly begins to inhale his food. It's alarming to watch John cramming jerky and vegetables into his mouth hand-over-fist, and despite himself he warns, "Slow down, you're gonna choke."

John stops eating like a switch has been flipped, dropping his hands to the plate as though he's been physically restrained. He doesn't say anything, just twists his fingers against the rim and stares at Nick's boots.

Okay.

This, uh. This is weird.

Nick feels his unease chewing at his nerves. "Well?" he snaps, trying to bluster his way through it.

"Well, what ?" John asks in return. There's an edge of annoyance in his voice, an old-world relic of John's normally nasty attitude, but it's not enough to reassure Nick.

"You know what. You're supposed to be dead . Rook put you down almost a decade ago, and I dunno if you noticed, but there's been a nuclear apocalypse since then. There's no way I'm putting you in your grave before you tell me how you got this far in the first place."

It's a lie, but the important part is that Nick sounds tough when he says it.

John clenches his jaw in response and finally meets Nick's glare with his own steely gaze. "They shot me," he says, his ragged voice still managing to scrape together enough attitude to sound vaguely condescending. He touches his gut, fingers prodding gently. "Then, the deputy left me for dead. I assume they returned to your welcoming arms."

Ugh, it is so fucking weird to hear John's passive-aggressive bullshit. Eight years apparently wasn't enough time for him to get over his nasty infatuation, if he's still bitter about Rook picking the Ryes over his own family.

"All of us were happy you were gone," Nick says, unwilling to indulge in John's creepy pity-lust for the deputy. "So, what then? How did you find that bunker? How'd you even know it was there ?"

John picks up a piece of jerky, bending it between his thumb and index finger. "It was my backup plan."

"What, in case the Cult backfired on you?" Nick scoffs loudly as John silently pops the piece of meat into his mouth. "I bet your brother would be real pleased to know you tried to weasel your way out of his prophecy."

John chews and swallows. "I doubt Joseph survived the Deputy at close range. I doubt I'll survive the second round myself. Where... is the Deputy, anyway? Shouldn't they be here casting down judgment, too?"

Nick sets his jaw. "I don't know," he says, folding his arms over his chest. "Nobody knows. They went to confront Joseph, but with all the Bliss in the air... I don't know. We lost track of them in the chaos. If they've had access to a radio, they haven't used it to contact anyone."

If John has any insight into what might've happened, he doesn't share it. He picks at a few pieces of carrot but it seems like he's lost his appetite again. "I see," he says, too pensively for someone who seems half out of their gourd.

"So, you survived being shot down, crawled into a hole with a gut full of buckshot, survived that , and then... what?"

"You saw what," John sighs. He looks tired — all this talking must be wearing him out. It's hard to believe John Seed is too weak to hold a conversation, considering how hard it used to be to get him to shut the fuck up. Nick tries not to spend too much time thinking about it.

"You want me to believe that you spent eight years just sitting there ?" Nick asks. The disbelief in his voice doesn't come close to the incredulity he's feeling. There's no way that John spent the last eight years in a quiet limbo. Hell, Nick's bunker life wouldn't make for riveting television or anything, but he still did more than exist . Even if he was on his own, John had to have some kind of — of backup backup plan, a plot to manipulate the nuclear apocalypse in his favor, something . Right?

"What do you want me to say? The bunker was lacking in entertainment. I was trapped alone, miles away from the Project, with nowhere near enough supplies. I was certain I would die before the first year was over, and from then on I assumed every day would somehow become my last. My being here is as much a surprise to you as it is to me."

He glances up, watching Nick's reaction with a wariness Nick isn't comfortable with. It's too much like a wounded dog, and John has to be playing some kind of angle to be using it.

"I had a radio, but no microphone," he says. "All I could do was listen."

Nick remembers what the radio channels were like for the first couple of months after the bombs dropped. Everyone going through every step of the grieving process over the world they'd known, screaming, begging, arguing, crying all the time. Lots of repentant Peggy idiots cursing Eden's Gate, even more innocent people sending out their last painful goodbyes. Kim would talk to them, sometimes, but for a while, it was safer to just leave the damned thing off.

"Eventually, the radio died," John mutters. "I thought it would be... better, somehow, being isolated. After all, that's how Joseph spoke to God, and I had a lot of questions that He might have answered."

"The last thing we need is another hallucinating prophet," Nick warns. He hopes John tries to sell him on some new-wave Josephism, though — he'd love to shoot the guy on principle and be done with everything. Boy, would that take a load of ethical weight off his back!

John's lips tighten wryly. "Apparently I don't possess the same qualities that made Joseph such an inviting disciple," he says. "I was alone. For... seven years, eight months, three days. Give or take."

"You keep a calendar down there?" Nick snaps, as if he and Kim hadn't quickly sorted time out themselves.

"I did," John replies, somewhat smugly. "Long enough to know when I ran out of supplies, at least. After that, it wasn't long before I had to leave the bunker. I couldn't... I couldn't take it anymore."

Nick waits for John to continue, but he doesn't. There must be more to it than that, Nick's sure of it, but John doesn't seem capable of handling the conversation.

John drops his line of sight to the pistol holstered at Nick's hip. He seems to be waiting for something.

"What happens now?" he asks, once whatever he's waiting for fails to happen. No doubt he expects Nick to brandish the gun in his face, to intimidate him or threaten him or... whatever. Shoot him, probably, because not even John Seed would be stupid enough to give himself clemency for all his crimes.

"Now?" Nick repeats. "Well, I guess that depends on you." He crouches down once more, sure that he's well out of John's grasp as he does so. He wants John to look him in the eye. "See, it's been a while, but I still really fuckin' hate you. After everything you've done, to me, my family, my home ... Honestly, I should've probably put you down the moment I recognized you."

John meets Nick's hard glare with the resolve of a condemned man. "Why didn't you?" he asks.

"Because I haven't had to kill anybody in nearly a decade, and y'know, I'd like to keep that streak." Nick jabs a finger at John, inwardly pleased when he recoils to avoid contact. " You're the one who came to Hope County looking for a fight. So I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet."

Nick figures he sounds pretty intimidating, but John doesn't seem moved by the indirect threat. Of course he isn't. The guy built half a religious movement out of his sadomasochism — he's not going to feel threatened by Nick, not even if he were holding a pair of pliers to his teeth. He doesn't even give Nick the satisfaction of asking what he means — he only stares and waits for Nick to hand down his sentence.

"First, we gotta see if you're gonna make it through the night," Nick says, gesturing towards the abandoned plate. "After that, I'm gonna put you to work. Kim and I, we got a list of things we need to get done. It's back-breaking manual labor, and you're gonna be the one whose back breaks." Nick rises to his feet, trying to seem tough when in reality, his knees are starting to ache, and he can't afford to throw one out over a show of force. "You do what you're told with no back-talking, and I guess we'll find a way to keep you fed."

"And if I don't?"

"I don't think you're in any position to refuse, jackass. Nobody else is going to think twice about shooting you around here. The cult, your followers, family, they're all dead and gone. Anyone left who knows your face is gonna want to smash it to bits, and they aren't going to be inclined to be as generous as Kim and I are being. So it's either this, or I throw you back in that bunker where you belong."

For a moment, Nick thinks that John might try to turn him down anyway. He hopes he does — it'd be nice to get to punch the guy without feeling guilty for hitting a seriously ill man. But John's pale face belies how desperate he is to avoid that bunker of his, and eventually he gives in with a slow, resigned nod.

"You're right," John replies, voice hoarse from exhaustion. "Joseph — the Project — it's all gone. And I..."

John trails off with a heavy, resigned sigh. He looks up at Nick through a thick clump of long, tangled hair that's fallen over his face. "I'm at your mercy," he finally says, dropping Nick's gaze immediately after as though he doesn't expect much mercy at all.

"What, that's it?" Nick asks, honestly fucking confounded at the lack of backtalk. He'd made a good argument, sure, but — what? "No arguing? No negotiating, no defending the cult? No trying to deflect blame?"

"What good would it do?" John replies. Despite everything, he manages to scrape together enough attitude to look unimpressed by Nick's entire deal. It's the first time since realizing John was alive that Nick feels a twinge of that old-fashioned irritation that used to make shooting John seem so appealing. "I have nothing. You've won, Nick. I hope you've been enjoying the prize."

"I ought to punch you," Nick snaps. "Lucky for you, I'd feel bad for giving you a beat-down in your sorry state." He nudges the plate with his boot, sliding it closer to John. "I'll be back with some water so you can clean yourself up. You stink enough to put me off my own dinner. Anything else, well..."

He gestures to the ratty, mildewy pile of junk that they've been collecting in the room, as if any of it could be useful. Broken picture frames, mouse-torn bedding, broken down cardboard boxes and more all piled innocently away in what was going to be Carmina's room. Looking at it fills Nick with a sense of profound sadness that he shoves right back down where it belongs.

"You can figure something out," he tells John, who doesn't seem capable of making another dig at Nick's new position as prison guard. Unwilling to be moved by John's labored breathing as he simply nods in return, Nick quickly about-faces, storming from the room with just enough anger to hide the retreat for what it is.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

[solesurvivorkat]

FAR CRY 5 WEEK, DAY 3: THE RESISTANCE

((My sincere apologies once again - I fell behind in FC5 Week b/c I'm in the process of raising my toddler, selling my house, getting ready to move to a new house, work, toying around w/ a few different writing ideas and possibly a new AU-pairing for Sarah, blah blah blah blah... once more, please forgive me rushed writing & anywhere in which I fall short!))

Far Cry 5 Week, Day 3: The Resistance

'You're watching me. I don't know how I know... I just know.' 

Sarah swallowed a lump in her throat as she reached for the radio clipped at her side.

"This is Deputy Sarah Rook, seeking out Nicholas Rye of 'Rye & Sons Aviation'. I think I found something rather large here at Seed Ranch that may belong to you. Please respond." 

There was no answer at first. After a few seconds of waiting, she glanced to Sharky at her side, who shrugged.

"Maybe his radio ain't on, 'Po-po'," he offered.

Suddenly her radio crackled with static.

"Holy shit, are you fuckin' serious?!" a man's voice exclaimed loudly, forcing her to twist the volume knob down as fast as she could to avoid any nearby Peggies hearing them in the hangar. "Tell me you found my plane, Dep! Give me some good news!"

"Mr. Rye, I presume," she said dryly, eyeing the large yellow aircraft in front of her. "And yes, it appears that the cult stored your plane here - which makes sense, considering there's not too many airstrips in Holland Valley."

"Peggie sons-a-bitches!" Nick hissed. "I swear to God, I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch John Seed if anything happened to my Carmina..."

"It looks pretty intact to me, but I'm certainly no mechanic," she replied over Sharky’s snort of laughter. "I'm not sure how you wanna go about getting it out of here-"

"Well shoot Dep, I'd think that's pretty obvious - you're just gonna have to fly it outta there for me!"

Sarah blinked for several seconds, hoping that she’d misheard him.

"Saaay... what now??"

"You know, fly! S'real easy... if you've never flown before, I can teach you the basic controls in no time flat! I know Carmina like the back of my hand!"

.....No. No fucking way. NO.

Mouth agape, her head whipped over to Sharky, who was staring at her wide-eyed with large pupils.

"Don't look at me, Dep!" He held his hands up in front of him and shook his head. "I had some weird-looking 'oregano' or some shit right before you called me, and like... I really don't think flyin' a plane is what I should be doin' right now."

'...Damnit, Sharky...'

"Just climb on in 'er, Dep!” Nick continued. “They don't call me 'King of the Skies' for nothin' - I've taught plenty of people in Hope County how to fly! Your lesson'll just be... a little more 'accelerated', that's all."

Sarah’s throat immediately went dry. “Nick, I... I can’t fly,” she croaked feebly. “I have this bad thing with heights, and... Pratt and Hudson were the ones who always flew the chopper at the sheriff’s department-”

“Aww Dep, please! I-” Nick’s voice instantly went from cheerful and optimistic to alarmed and pleading. “That plane’s been in my family for three generations! My grandfather bought it after he returned from World War II! It’s our ONLY chance of getting out of Hope County! I'd get it myself, but my wife's pregnant and due any second and... I just don't know what else to do! I mean... without that plane, we're fucked! Please! I- my family needs your help.”

Sarah’s fingers tightened around her radio as if she was holding a grenade without a pin. She drew a ragged breath, heart pounding in her chest.

"...Oh God," she whispered, feeling herself tensing up more and more as her eyes dragged over the entire length of the plane. 

“I'm sorry... I don't like gettin' emotional,” Nick went on. “I know it's a lot to ask, but... I'm desperate, partner."

Sharky raised an eyebrow as she raised her other hand to clutch at the small silver cross dangling from her neck.

‘...Mom... help me out here... give me courage... ‘I can do all things through him who strengthens me’...’

~~~~~~~~~~

The next half hour or so of her life was a nerve-wracking blur to Sarah. She was vaguely away of Sharky saying something jokingly to her as he climbed into the seat behind the pilot’s... she kind of remembered looking down at all of the plane’s numerous controls on its instrument panel and instantly feeling light-headed... there were angry shouts from Peggies as they made their way out of the hangar and into the skies, Sharky whooping gleefully and firing off a few rounds at them all the while... Nick giving her instructions over the radio during the flight, making different comments here and there ("Man, what I'd give to have seen the looks on their faces. Stupid Peggies!", "You got this, keep it steady!")...

Looking back, she wouldn’t remember most of it - just how completely terrified she’d felt the whole entire time. She’d almost lost track of where exactly she and Sharky were - not even realizing that they’d nearly reached Rye & Son Aviation, until Nick suddenly addressed her again.

"Now people say landing is the hardest part, but I'll show ya how to do it just right. Just get the runway in front of you while steadily lowering your altitude."

.....Ohhh. Holy fucking shit, that’s right... she was gonna have to land this fucking thing... 

“You got this, Dep!” Sharky crowed from behind her over the roar of the plane, causing her to jump in her seat, nerves already blown sky high. Her teeth ground together as the airstrip loomed in front of them, and she half-wondered in the back of her mind if she wasn’t about to crack a tooth with the pressure she was exerting on her molars.

Somehow... purely by the very grace and mercy of God... she managed to touch down Carmina’s wheels upon the ground with a soft bump. She gasped at the impact, breathing heavily and trying to ignore her constricting lungs and the frenzied butterflies in her stomach.

"Awesome landing partner! Now bring the plane to me - you'll see me wavin'."

Sharky yelled something as she taxied over to the man - Nick - waving his arms from the hangar in front of them, but Sarah’s mind was too far gone to comprehend much at the moment. Words couldn’t describe her (somewhat) relief when she was finally able to turn off the plane and exit the vehicle, nearly falling head over heels in her haste to get out of it.

Nick ran over to them - a huge grin upon his face, looking like a child at Christmastime as he took in the sight of his rescued aircraft. 

"Oh my God... oh my God, look at her!” he exclaimed gleefully. “Son of a bitch, you did it! You did it! Thank you!!” He clapped her trembling hands in his, oblivious to her quaking as he turned and yelled back towards his house. “KIM! THE PLANE'S BACK!”

Sarah was barely aware of Sharky exiting the plane behind her while Nick turned to face them again. 

“Let's turn it around-" he stopped mid-sentence, his grin vanishing as he did a double-take at her expression. "Uhhhhh... Dep... you doin' all right?"

She opened her mouth, then immediately shut it again when her stomach lurched, the world suddenly spinning around her.

"Aww, man..." she heard Sharky say - though he sounded far away. "I think... I think she's gonna blow!"

Her eyes darted around frantically for a moment until she spotted a nearby bush and raced over to it. She only just made it in time for her stomach to promptly empty its entire contents behind it. 

...Thank God she hadn't eaten a large breakfast that morning. 

"Ooohhh... that can not feel good."

"Aww man... she wasn't kiddin' about the heights thing, was she?"

"Never," she rasped in between wheezes, "NEVER again. No fu-" She coughed and shuddered once more - a dry heave this time, nothing left in her. "...No way," she croaked, hands on her knees as she fought to regain control of herself.

A hand clapped her on the back, and she winced, gritting her teeth.

"Aww, I'm real sorry Dep, honest," Nick murmured sincerely. "For what it's worth - I really appreciate everything you've done for me today. I really don't know what we'd have done if we lost that plane."

Sarah waved a hand at him half-heartedly and straightened up slowly. She turned to Sharky and was about to say something when her radio crackled again.

"Deputyyyy..." a smooth male voice called out to her.

Nick and Sharky's eyes immediately narrowed.

"God damn - that bastard has balls tryin' to talk to you right now!" Nick growled.

"You may think you've done something worthwhile today, but let me assure you - sin has a way of catching up to us all. My people WILL come for you. They will bring you to me... where you belong. And then... you & I can begin to... get to know each other better." 

She could practically see his lips curling upwards then, revealing that cosmetically beautiful but deadly smile of his. The purr in his voice made a shiver run down her spine that she was pretty sure had nothing to do with her body's recovery from the flight. 

"...I look forward to seeing you soon."

#far cry 5 #far cry 5 oc #my far cry 5 oc #far cry 5 week #far cry 5 week 2019 #fc5 #fc5week #fc5week2019 #fc5 week #fc5 week 2019 #sarah rook #deputy sarah rook #female deputy #my deputy oc #deputy rook #nick rye #sharky boshaw #charlemagne victor boshaw #wingman #the book of john #john seed #prequel #the resistance #carmina

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Bracelet Bells & Teddy Bears

BTS

Jeon Jungkook/Reader [F]

Genre: Paranormal, Thriller, Ghost Hunter AU

Words: 10.9k

Jungkook- a stupid, self-proclaimed ghost hunter in college- decided to take his best friend with him to investigate a 2-story old house that has been on the market for ages.  The reason he was interested in it? Well, it hadn’t been rented or bought ever since he was a child. The ‘It’s not haunted!’ attached above the ‘For Sale/Rent’ didn’t help. 

-----------

“This is literally the stupidest fuckin’ idea you’ve ever pitched to me before.  I honestly don’t know why I’m standing next to you right now.  I actually hate you,” Taehyung grumbled as he stood next to his excited best friend of 6 years.  He held a camera around his neck with a bag on his back filled with different lenses to attach on.  

“The only thing you hate is the fear of pissing your pants when we get in there and see some ghosts!” The best friend- Jungkook- in question, quipped back. Having a pocket full of batteries and a ready to go ‘state of the art’ camcorder in his hand he was practically giddy.  Black pants, white tee and a jean jacket over his shoulder with a black cap on his head to cover his messy black hair.  Taehyung, on the other hand, was a bit more creative in clothing with his blue skinnies and checkered button down, a black bandana strapped around his forehead.

“I’m gonna kill you and throw your stupid body in that house so you haunt it for the rest of existence.”  Taehyung seethed.  He wasn’t scared per se, he's used to Jungkook’s ‘ghost hunting’ by now.  It’s just that he had a recital coming up soon and he wanted to be home right now practicing for it.  Not breaking and entering into a property that is no doubt private by now.

Jungkook new this, but tonight was the perfect night for a good ole ghost hunting!  The moon was high, shining brightly with the light of the full moon and not a cloud was in the sky.  The stars speckled the sky and the soft spring breeze was calming and warm.  It wasn’t cold, nor rainy and the full moon so clear had to be a sign!  It was now, or never.  Of course, if he explained why it had to be today to Taehyung, he’d ultimately leave him behind to hunt on his own.  Every famous ghost hunter needed an assistant; even if Taehyung denies that he is.

“We go in, walk around a little bit and batta-bing batta-boom, we’re out.  If we don’t see a ghost in the first 2 hours, then I promise we’ll call it quits and we can go for a late night burger run.”  

“And I expect you to be paying for this burger run?”

“Well, that’s up for debate.” Taehyung rolled his eyes as he hiked his bag up his shoulders more and clicked off the camera’s lens cover for it to dangle. Seeing his fall into submission of Jungkook’s scheme, he cheered and fired up his camcorder.  “Alright!  Exploration and investigation of 12th Avenue’s mystery house is officially underway. Let’s get it!”  He charged off the sidewalk and weeded through the knee-high tanned grass- if you can call it that- all the way up to the porch.  Taehyung followed, taking the walkway up to the door, however, and watched as Jungkook turned and swiveled in every which way to capture anything he could on his cam.

Taehyung sighed as he watched his friend even film underneath the old, broken table that sat on the very unstable, rotten wood.  “I’m leaving your sorry ass behind I swear to god,” he muttered as he looked at the front door.  Or the poor excuse for one.  The hinges were all busted, the door handle rusted and the front oval shaped glass broken.  The wind whistled in through the broken glass.  There was no way the door wasn’t going to fall off if he touched it.

Jungkook stood next to Taehyung and cupped his chin. “Maybe we can just pluck it off the frame and move it?  If we make too much noise, the ghosts may hide.”

“You made enough sound going through the treacherous jungle that is the lawn.  I’m pretty certain the ghosts- if there are any- are already well aware some fuckboy is trying to get in.” Jungkook walked forward and hooked his camcorder to his belt as he gripped over sides of the broke door and jerked.  Once, twice and the third time he nearly stumbled backward.  The door flew off the hinges ti was barely attached to and Jungkook blinked.

“Yo, we wanted to take the door off, not destroy the damn frame.”  Jungkook moved the door to the side as Taehyung examined the wooden, splintered frame.  “That was some force you had, Jesus.”

“It.. no.  It felt like someone kicked the door at me.”  Taehyung ticked a brow up at his friend as he rolled his eyes.  Already not believing him.  “I’m serious!  It felt like someone pushed the door off for me!”  Taehyung just waved him off as he stepped inside.  Jungkook huffed as he followed him in.  “Damn,” Jungkook looked around, “this place is a wreck.”

“No kidding.  It’s been vacant for a while and no one bothers with upkeep around here.”  Taehyung answered back as he snapped pictures here and there.  The flash of his camera igniting the dark room for milliseconds, leaving only outlines of objects behind.  “No doubt the power’s been cut.”  Jungkook unhooked his cam from his belt and switched the camera mood to ‘night vision’ and trotted to Taehyung’s bag on his back.

He pulled out two small flashlights.  There were small and like 4$ at the local drug store, but damn they were bright and the batteries lasted- what Jungkook swore- eons. Not to mention it was a sweet deal when they came in packs of 2.  Just what he needed for only 4$.

He flicked them both on, already stocking it with prime AA+ batteries, and tossing one to Taehyung, keeping the other for himself.  Of course, out of the two colors, he tossed the pink one and kept the blue.  Taehyung only rolled his eyes as he separated from his friend to waltz into the living room.  

“Hey!  Rule #1 in hunting in old, creepy houses is not separating!”  Jungkook scolded.  Taehyung only flipped him a slender, middle finger as he rounded the doorway into the dusty room.  Jungkook swung himself around. “Fine, get molested by a ghost.  I don’t care.”  He walked into the kitchen.

The island in the middle of the open room was dusty and a glass vase filled with cooking utensils caught his eye.  Why would they be here? Did the last family who lived here- whenever that was- leave them?  He shrugged as he filmed the room thoroughly, capturing anything.  

Cobwebs hung and swung in the slight draft in the air from the ceilings, connecting to walls.  The tiles of the floor were cracks or just flat out broken as Jungkook crunched them under his feet or kicked them with his heels. The counters were a mess, dusty, grimy and coated in a thick layer of dirt.  The windows were cracked and covered in a hefty layer of dust. Opening the fridge, he cringed as he saw a dead rat in the lower rack of the fridge door.

Shutting it back, he looked up at the ceiling.  Damaged and moldy.  “Gross,” he muttered as he filmed. Working his way back out into the main room, he followed Taehyung into the living room, seeing his friend capture photos and looked around furniture.  

The house was still almost completely furnished. A love seat and 4 person couch sat adjacent to one another with an old-style box TV the size of a bathroom window sat on an old, open shelved audio tower. The shelves were lined with dusty DVD and VHS players with a small collection of about 20 movies below on the bottom shelf.  Jungkook zoomed on the old piece of technology.  

“Woah, dude.  This is older than I thought.  Just how long has this place been vacant?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t watch back to back Sailor Moon on VHS when you were 5.  It’s not that ancient.”  Jungkook gasped.

“Don’t insult me.  Everyone knows Sailor Moon was the best anime of its era.” Taehyung opened up an old china cabinet, still filled with expensive china.  

“Yeah, yeah.  Whatever weeb.” The two continued to investigate and look around. Directly behind the living room, the dining room sat.  The table oval and fit for a large family with 6 chairs surrounding it.  A vacant fishbowl was filled with far-stale water with stupid rocks in the bottom and things floating in the water that Jungkook would rather not guess the name of.  

The house creaked with each step of the grown men, being an almost all wood floor home.  Rugs placed here and there, basically attached to the floor by grime and some mystery fluids here and there.  Honestly, if some homeless beggar, squatting in the corner popped out at any moment, he wouldn’t be surprised. 

Having gone through the downstairs enough, they set their sights on the staircase leading up.  By now, even Taehyung was thoroughly invested in the exploration of the house.  Not that he wasn’t before, Taehyug literally wrote a report in high school about this house and the weird vague origins around it.  He was hardly able to dig up any information on it, even when he called up the retailers, they just hung up on him and never picked up again.  Jungkook nudged his arm with a broad, shit eating grin on his face.  

“You’re having fun.  Admit it.  I’m a genius.”  Taehyung shoved his shoulder as he started up, testing the wood of the stairs, making sure he wouldn’t fall through with each step.  “Hey!  It’s the team leader’s job to go first!”

“How humble,” Taehyung monotonously replied as he headed up.  The wooden stairs were in the middle of the main entrance by the front door.  Kitchen to the right, living room and dining room to the left.  The stairs themselves weren’t looking so hot. A torn and tattered rug lining each step upwards posed a threat of someone tripping and subsequently dying, but thank god for rotted, old railings, right?  

After a careful hike up, the two looked around the upstairs landing.  In front of them was a large, bay window.  The portion of the window poking out for aesthetically pleasing selfies or calm poetry sessions were covered with a sense of dread.  A lone, torn and stained teddy bear lay face down on the bay.  

Jungkook walked over to the window and knelt, getting a close up on the bear.  “If ever I’ve seen a cursed object,” he muttered as he moved to get another angle of it.  Taehyung walked up behind him, snapping a picture of the window letting in the moonlight as it illuminated the landing on the ground.  Taehyung gently picked up the teddy bear as Jungkook rolled his eyes.  “I just said it was probably cursed, and what do you do?  Pick it up.” Taehyung gave yet another famous eye roll.

“Shut up.  It’s a bear with a hole in the side of it.  If it’s cursed, then surely its eyes would glow red and it'd bite my hand off or something.”

“That’s a horrible picture, thank you,” Jungkook shook his head as he stood.  Taehyung was gentle in setting the bear back down, only now sitting it up and against the wall comfortably.  The bear will surely remember his kindness.

Jungkook moved around and went to the left side of the stair landing while Tae took the right side.  Down Jungkook’s end was one door and the other side was 2. Of course, the unspoken agreement was to open and explore. Taehyung went into the first of the two room and scoffed.  Typical.

There was a bunk bed against the east wall.  The bottom bunk had a hole in the mattress as springs pierced through clumps of polyester covered in grime.  The floor was covered in toys that had paint chipped away or were broken and well worn in time.  Climbing a step up the ladder in the bed, the top bunk seemed oddly in place  A blanket thrown over the mattress and a pillow, albeit devoid of a pillowcase, wasn’t torn at all.  All with a stuffed elephant standing against the pillow.  He snapped a shot and descended to look in the closet across the room.

The closet door was stuck.  Even with digging his heels in the floor and jerking, the door just wouldn’t budge.  So, with a huff and a little fixing of his shirt he had bunched up, he turned and abandoned that hope.  Not realizing the reason he couldn’t open it was the hand holding the doorknob from the other side.

The other room was nearly identical save for the lack of a bunk bed and only a king.  Fit for parents.  The room was lined with shelves with empty or broken frames.  The frames that held pictures of people, the faces were all scratched out or cut out completely.  He’d be lying if Taehyung said it didn’t give him the chills.  This room had the door of the closet completely off, only there was absolutely nothing inside. Not even a mouse trap.

On Jungkook’s neck of the woods, the room he entered was the bathroom.  It was pretty old styled.  The toilet sat against the back wall with a shelf above it where one would place towels.  Next to the throne was a broken toilet paper holder.  Further along, the main wall was the sink with a mirror opening to reveal a medicine cabinet inside it.  When he opened it, old prescription bottles rolled out, crashing into the sink’s bowl and scaring the poor boy.  He shut it back as he took the bottle that fell and read the label the best he could.

“Chlorpromazine,” he read, reading each syllable out he could.  Not knowing exactly what it treated and the label being far too damaged to read, he simply placed it on the side of the sink and turned to investigate further. “What the fu-” he trailed off when he looked at the bathtub.  The tub filled to the brim with water, clear and freezing. The shower curtain lay on the floor under his boots as the shower head dripped with a never-ending water splash into the tub.  “Oookay, right. Moving on.”  He spun, not able to capture the small ripple rip through the water’s surface.

He caught Taehyung coming out of the second room as he waved to him and leaned against the wall.  

“Find anything?”  

“Maybe.  Just the kids and parents room, a lot of dusty shit but there were a few creepy things, not gonna lie.” Jungkook’s face broke into a smile.

“Lemme see!”  He pushed off the wall, ready to rush to his friend to go through the sweet picture he got, but he hardly got two steps in.  The floor gave way under a particularly hard step and buckled under the young man’s weight.  

“Jungkook!” Taehyung screamed as he watched his best friend fall through the floor.  Rushing down the stairs, nearly falling on that damned rug, he stopped at the bottom and looked around and up at the hole above him.  Yet, at his feet, didn’t lay Jungkook groaning in pain.  He wasn’t in the kitchen, the living room, the dining area, the landing, the front yard, he just wasn’t there. Not even hanging pathetically from the hole he fell through. He just… disappeared?

XXX

Jungkook groaned as he rolled from his side and onto his back.  He coughed as a shiver ran up his spine.  Cracking open his eyes, he expected to see Taehyung peering up at him with a hole in the floor where he very clearly remembers falling through.  But, to his shock, he stared at a perfectly whole, wooden ceiling. ��

“He probably just moved me,” Jungkook reasoned as he pushed his sore body up and grabbed the back of his head.  A nice lump on the head and a killer headache are exactly what he didn’t need.  Beside him, his camcorder lay completely busted.  He gasped as he grabbed it.  “Aw, man it’s completely fucked.”  He sighed as he popped open the battery compartment and ejected the SD memory card and carefully pocketed it.  Whatever was recorded on this puppy was all he would have, unfortunately.  

Leaving the broken piece of metal, he forced himself up and thank god for dollar store flashlights.  Seeing the light of the torch he hobbled over to it and picked it up. Bending at his hip to pick it up and then straighten back out his light shone into the face of a someone.  

“AHh!”  He screamed as the person he was pretty sure he just blinded screamed back at his own scream.  Jungkook, ever the baby, fell back onto his ass as he whipped his light back up to see who he just shone his light onto.  But, no one was there.  He took the broken cam and tossed it into the darkness of nowhere, only to wait.  There was nothing.  

Next thing he knew, the cam was flying back at him, skimming past his shoulder as he quickly leaned out of the way.

“Hey!”  He scolded into nowhere.  “Don’t throw my shit!”  Suddenly, a person’s face hung upside down and annoyed in front of his face.  

“You threw it at me first!”  He screamed again as the person, floated above him? Their- her- feet off the ground and body languid and iridescent? “I swear, men are the most pathetic thing.”  She floated around, just relaxing in the air as her body was transparent and she wore older clothes.  She looked no older than 19, and her capris and loose, untucked stripped teeshirt were at least early 2000s fashion.  

“What the- I mean- you’re a-”  An actual ghost was floating right in front of his eyes and his damn video camera was conveniently broken.  God, what awful timing.  He jumped when he heard the squeaking of the floors above him.  Where was he, or rather where was Taehyung?! He was missing all the action!  The ghost girl gasped as she grabbed something and threw it at Jungkook, grabbing his wrist as his body disappears.  

“Shh,” the ghost hushed as he clutched a cube of scented wax in his hand, the thing the ghost threw at him and listened.  The squeaking moved and soon was down the hall, and before he knew it he saw something pass through the floors above and come down.  It was just across the room from him.  It, he didn’t know what it was.  It was tall, completely shadowed, it twitched, red hazy red like unfocused cat lasers.  It was unbelievably tall, hunched as it’s pointed shoulders and chin seemed like it could impale steel.   Soon, the figure who had sniffed around searching for anything-anyone that could be around- phased away.  Where to, Jungkook really didn’t want to find out.

The ghost girl let go of him, as Jungkook became visible once again.  A cold sweat gathered at his nape and traveled down his spine.

“What in the hell was that thing?” He fearfully whispered.  Just looking at it instilled him with pure terror.  He’d never experienced freezing fear before, now he has.  He moved to look at the ghost who had moved to kneel on both her knees in front of him, sitting politely as she signaled for him to look at the cube of wax in his hand.

“That should keep you safe.  It’ll make sure he doesn’t smell you.  His eyesight isn’t good.  If you don’t move and don’t make a sound with that cube, you’ll be safe.” The ghost explained, but that didn’t explain hardly anything at all.  

“Who are you?” Was the only thing he found himself asking.  

“My name is Y/n.  I lived here a long time ago.  My little brother, father and mother lived here with me.”  You leaned closer to Jungkook and inspected him.  His style, his face, his hair, his clothes, his shoes, everything.  “What year is it outside?  Time is kinda jumbled in here.”  He opened his mouth.

“Uh, 2019 just started.”  You gasped.  

“It’s been that long!”  You hushed yourself immediately and looked around, making sure no one, or rather, nothing heard you.  “I’ve been dead for that long?” You lowered your voice significantly, almost in disbelief.  

“So, you know you’re dead?”

“Well, of course.  How else could I logically explain glowing, floating in the air and just conveniently turning invisible.”

“You were also able to touch me. How’s that work?”

“It took me a while to get that down, but with enough focused energy, I can become tangible.  It’s pretty hard to do though.” He shook his head as he blinked and put his hands in front of him.

“Wait, wait, hold the fuckin’ phone.  This is all way too much to process.”  He took a moment, pinching the bridge of his phone, eyes skewed shut.  “Right, so you’re an old, but young, dead girl.  There’s some sort of demon? Roaming around?  And I fell through the floor into a whole other room.”  He opened his mouth, trying to make sense of it, yet it still left him utterly confused.  Then his mind jumped back to Taehyung. “Oh god, Taehyung.”

“You’re friend?” You had seen him?  He nodded.  

“Yes!  Oh my god, is he going to be okay?!”  You nodded.  “You’re way too calm about this.  That thing is somewhere and my best friend also happens to be somewhere and I have no idea what to do about it.  I don’t even know where the hell I am!”

“Calm down.  My brother’s animals will see to it he is kept safe.  He was very kind after all.”  He blinked, falling further and further into confusion.  

“Animals? What, so there are ghost animals too?”

“Not exactly.  My little brother was forced to leave all his possessions behind when Mother left with him.  He cared so much for his little stuff animals, they now possess souls.  Your friend was very kind, so they will keep him safe.”

“Kind? When was he-” Jungkook remembered him picking up and replacing the teddybear ever so carefully. “The bear,” he said in realization.  You nodded as the bear in question waved to you from the far end of the room behind Jungkook, before phasing out.  “That small thing is gonna keep him safe?”  You stood up, hopping up to have your toes brush the ground as you lazily floated.  

“There are others.  My brother had many toys.  His favorite animal was an elephant,” you chuckled as you remembered him running around his room, elephant toy in hand making the most obnoxious sounds.  

“An elephant ghost?!”  You swore you saw the human’s eyes light up, just like your brother’s. He must be rather immature himself yet.  

“Come on, I’ll get you back to your friend.  You two should get out of her as soon as possible.”  Jungkook sprung up, chasing after your elegant, flowing body.  Your hair wisped behind you, like spider webs. If you stood on the ground in front of him, he’d be quite a bit taller than you.  Actually, even for a ghost, you were rather pretty.  

He followed you to a small ramp to a trapdoor above the two of you.  He watched as you phased through the door above and he heard a click of what he assumed to be a lock and small bang on the door.  He crawled up the ramp and pushed the door open. It squeaked with rusty hinges as he pushed it and it fell open.  Peaking out, his hair whipped around, the cap he had lost previous somewhere no long restraining it in place.  He was outside?  Be looked around.  

“The cellar?”  

“That’s right.  This house had an extensive cellar that runs underneath a good portion of the house.  Now hurry, we need to find your friend.”  He stopped you.

“I- I haven’t told you my name yet.”

“Why would I need to know it?”

“I know yours,” that was a fair point.  You turned to him and sat with your knees to your chest as you got eye level with him.  Waiting patiently for his name he was so eager to give.  “My name’s Jungkook.”

XXX

He kept following your back, like a lost puppy.  He felt oddly too trusting, but you didn’t seem like you’d walk him into a dangerous situation. I mean, you gave him a way to hide and stay safe and reassured him his best friend would be alright.  He was worried about Taehyung, he was worried about when he’d get to go home, how long he’s been here and just exactly who were you?

You said you’d use to live here, with your family in this house.  And your reaction when he told you the year out, you were shocked, too shocked for your death to be anytime in the last decade.  That’s to be expected though, this house hadn’t been lived in for as along as Jungkook could remember.  

He had a bazillion questions in his head, but his main priority was to find Taehyung.  He needed to located and secure his best friend’s safety first, then maybe he could ask you a few questions.  

You had led him around the house and back to the front door.  The door had been replaced on its hinges and even locked shut.  

“What the..” he looked at the door.  It was like he never ripped it off in the first place, in fact, it looked better than it did before!  “I- does that stupid shadow thing fix doors?” You shook your head.  

“No.  That was probably a different spirit here.  There’s some here who don’t like it when stupid kids destroy their property.”  

“You mean there are others here?”  

“Of course.  You’ve run into 3 already. Even your friend didn’t realize he was right in front of one before.  Of course, Vivi doesn’t like it when people try to go into the closest without knocking first.  It’s just bad manners.”  Your hand phased through the doorknob, twisting the lock and opening the door perfectly.  Opening like a door should.  “We here aren’t allowed to leave until we’re found.”  

“What- found?”  You nodded as you both reentered the house.  It was just as before, the hole Jungkook fell through still there.  “Oh sure, fix the door but not the floor that’s convenient.”  He spits in spite.  You focused enough to whack him on the head as he cursed your stupid ability to become tangible in the first place.  

His whining was cut off by a scream up above.  It was Taehyung.  You were off, floating in speed up the stairs in which Jungkook followed.  Checking each room upstairs, not to fall through again, he didn’t see his friend. He very clearly heard him up here though!  You stood in front of the bay window, Jungkook joining your side.  

“The- that damn bear is gone!”  You nodded.  

“He probably has your friend.”  

“Well, how do I get him back!”  You looked up at the ceiling.  “What?  Is there something important about the ceiling?”  You rolled your eyes as you floated up and soon revealed a hidden attic door.  Dangling the custy pull, he rushed open and gripped it.  Yanking it, he squawked and backed up as quick as possible before the stairs relentlessly fell onto the floor.  It was like some cheap ass booby-trap.  You flew up into the opening as he carefully climbed the how-ever-old ladder.  

His head popped up the opening and he gasped as he saw his friend backed in a corner, that small teddy bear in front of him while that same shadow man-thing stood around.  Taehyung had his palms clamped over his mouth as his nose exhaled harshly, making the tall shadow try and pinpoint his location.  The bear hovered around Taehyung’s head, dinging like a soft bell.  With each ring, the shadow twitched until it screech.  It was a god awful sound.  

Jungkook almost let go of the ladder to cover his ears, but you stopped him as you covered them for him.  Your hands that you made physical were soft over his own, and it as like he was listening to the ocean waves.  He didn’t realize that ghosts had such a pleasant internal sound.  

The shadow screeched and seethed as it slashed through boxes, torn fabrics, threw anything it could touch in madness.  It was horrific.  What if what he was doing was done to a person? They would be mutilated, ripped, torn no doubt killed.  The thought chilled Jungkook as you felt the change in his atmosphere.  You hung upside down in front of his face and stopped his eyes from reaching that horrid, shadow.  

“Don’t look,” you mouthed but didn’t speak.  Soon, the shadow seemed to have enough and Jungkook once again saw it fade into nothing, leaving nothing but cold behind.  You removed your hands and spoke.  “You’re friend,” Jungkook was quick to get the rest of the way into the attic and rush to Taehyung’s side.  

His hands had dropped to his stomach, holding it like he was going to retch.  The teddy sat at Tae’s side, swaying in the air like it had marionette strings attached to it.  His eyes were wide and he was shocked to see his camera in one piece around his neck yet.

“Tae! Tae!  Hey, snap out of it!”  You floated down to your knees as you knelt beside the frozen young man.  He looked to you. “Can you help him?”

“I’m going to try.”  You looked at the small teddy and asked him for something.  The teddy rung again, a pleasant sound and a small cube sat in your palm.  It was just like his scented one, so the bear is responsible for creating those?  You held it up under his nose and soon he began to cough.  You smiled as Taehyung seemed to come around as he gasped and held at his shirt.  Jungkook smiled as he pat his friend on the back, trying to soothe him.  

“Thank you,” Jungkook whispered to you.  

“What the fuck was that?” Taehyung practically whimpered.  Jungkook looked at you.

“That’s what I’d like to know.  I have more than a few questions for you.”  You nodded as you sat and crossed your legs.  After Taehyung gathered himself, Jungkook caught him up on the situation to the best of his ability.  Though, after that, the questions just kept growing.  

“Alright,” you sat, ready for a questionnaire.  “What do you want to know.”

“Everything,” Jungkook answered.  “What the hell is going on?  Why are you here, how did you die, when and-”

“What the ever loving fuck was Mr. Shadow-beast?”   Taehyung injected in the final question.  You sighed.  It wasn’t a hobby of yourself to revisit your death, much less the last leg of your life, but if it will stop their questions and make sure they don’t come back like horror-driven kids tend to do, you’d tell it.  The full story.  Your story.

“I lived here with my family.  We moved in the early 1990s.  I was only a teenager at the time, and after 4 years of living here, my mother had my little brother.  A family of 4, and we were happy.  For a time, but then my dad started to get sick.  He was ill, not right in the head.  Nothing we did would pacify him.  He’d get angry over any little thing, he’d push us around and scream and terrify my little brother.  Soon, mother wanted out, so she ran out, taken my brother with her and leaving me behind.  I was 19, so I could leave whenever I wanted, but…” you stopped as you looked around at the mess.  

The mess that shadow man-made.

“Father, he became too ill.  He stopped me from going anywhere.  He locked me away in a secret room, told me ‘they’ told him to.  He’d keep me there and I was never allowed to leave.  Soon, I just lost track of time and one night when I fell asleep, I woke up-” you gestured to yourself “-like this.”

“You’re dad... he killed you?”  Taehyung asked delicately.  

“In a sense.”  

“That isn’t ‘in a sense’, Y/n! He killed you.  He forced you into a cage and killed you!”  Jungkook scolded.  “Is that why you can’t leave?  You’re angry at your father?” You shook your head.

“No, that’s not it.  Dad, he hid me.  I can’t leave before he’s hidden me and he won’t let me leave.  You saw earlier what happens when I try.” You looked once more at the wreckage.  

“No way, that thing is your dad?!”  You sighed.  

“I don’t know what happened to him, but I don’t really care either.  I’m sure he’s in a lot of pain, but what he’s put everyone threw, he deserves all the pain he’s receiving.  Even after death, he won’t stop.”  You looked at the two boys.  “But, he’s confined here.  He can’t leave this house, this property. He’s stuck here too.”

“When you say he hid you, do you mean your body?” You nodded.  “So, what you said earlier, about being found.  You want someone to find your body so you can finally go?”  You nodded again.  Jungkook shook his head in confusion though.  “But, we were in the house, Y/n.  Where could he possibly hide you in a house you know so well?”  

“I don’t know, Jungkook.  If I just managed to get close to my body- wherever it may be- I’m sure I could sense it somehow. Even a ghost has limits, and finding their own body is a major one. Why else do you think it takes exorcisms or man-lead discoveries for spirits to move one.  We can’t do it alone.”  The teddy that sat beside Taehyung rung once, twice and moved to fly and circle your head.  It was almost trying to cheer you up. You smiled after giving the small teddy a poke as it floated back to Taehyung. You giggled.  “I think he likes you.”  Taehyung rolled his eyes.

“Y/n, what if we found your body?”  Jungkook proposed.  Taehyung looked at him shocked.  

“Woah, what?  Did you hear her, she doesn’t know where it is?”

“I know, but I don’t feel comfortable keeping her here with him.  She’s helped us and with these,” he showed his wax cube, “he can’t see us.  I swear, if we do this, I won’t mess with ghosts ever again.”  Taehyung squinted at him, obviously skeptical.  “I’ll pinkie promise.”  Taehyung gasped.  

“Oh my god, you’re serious.” Taehyung thought it over.  “Well, I suppose we can’t have a full-on horror movie themed adventure without concluding the obvious plot slapping us in the face, now can we.  I’m in, but you’re so giving up your title after this.”  The two clasped pinkies- like real men would- and you interjected.

“But you can't!  You need to go!”  

“Sorry girlie, we’ve already done promised on it.  Do you know the punishment for breaking a pinkie promise?  It’s not fun man,” Taehyung said.  You just huffed as you cradled your forehead, making the boys chuckle in the small moment of amusement.

“Boys.”

XXX

Jungkook lead Taehyung around to the still open door to the cellar.  Crouching and shuffling down the ramp the 2 of them practically sashayed inside.  You floated behind them, silent the whole time.  Now, they were here, but where to look? Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck.

“Just, start looking around I guess?” Taehyung just shrugged as he turned and began doing just that.  That same teddy floating ever near at his back.  You stayed near Jungkook as he looked around.  Behind boxes, barrels, under tables, he even pulled objects from shelves expecting a secret room to pop out from the wall. But, nothing.  You sat on a box, a hopeless look on your face.  You never expected to see yourself again and refuse to get your feeble hopes up.

“Y/n, don’t worry. We’ll find it- er you.”  You shook your head.

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” Jungkook wished you were something, someone he could touch.  He’d hold you, tell you it’d all be okay.  But, how do you comfort someone who has already died while you search their old house for their body? With their demonic father stalking around no less.

Speak of the Devil.

Taehyung froze as he sunk back into the shadows, teddy at his chest to ‘protect’ him. You gasped as the shadow, your father, just barely caught sight of you.  The shadow moved fast- too fast. The walls behind you morphed, sucking in the shadows as they peeled off the wall like twisted arms. THey grabbed your body, sucking you partially into the wall to keep you imprisoned.  You struggled as your father approached, danger in every footstep.

Just as he always did when he saw you.  He’d suck the energy out of you, growing darker- stronger- with each time you allowed yourself to be so foolish you were seen.  Just as he did when you were alive.  He’s taking everything away from you, even in death.

The wall would sink you further and further in, sucking you through space.  Taehyung watched as Jungkook quickly started moving, knocking over anything he could in his wake.  “Idiot!” Taehyung screamed at him before he realized that they were both now side by side, and easily located by the demon that once was your father. The Shadow turned towards the sound, making out the faint, blue, breathing outlines of the two men and the small pesky bear that floated at their side.  

The scream the shadow emitted was very different this time. Directed directly at the boys, they covered their ears and you struggled against the shadows that forced themselves down your throat as you choked and gagged and wanted so badly to scream. Jungkook swore he almost saw what you would look like if your body wasn’t see through- if you weren’t dead.  He thought he caught a glimpse of what or who you would be if you were still alive.  

All before he was thrust away, and found himself and Taehyung none to gently thrown back into the front lawn.  They don’t know exactly how they got back out there from the back of the house from the cellar, but nonetheless, there they lay in the tall unkempt grass.  The bear sat on Taehyung’s leg, latched to his thigh with those stuffed arms of it’s.  The two sat up with a collective groan and endless whining as they rubbed their shoulders, back, arms, head, anything that hit the ground with at least minimum force.

“What the hell just happened?”  Jungkook whined as he looked around the outside.  Still dark as a pupil with the moon covered by clouds that appeared from nowhere.  Masking the once bright guiding light it provided.  “Y/n?” He looked around, you weren’t there.  He quickly stood up, too quickly as his vision blanked for a moment and a wave of dizziness washed over him as he stumbled. Rubbing his eyes as he regained his sense of balance, he looked around the abandoned yard.  Taehyung moved to stand next to him, a much slower pace than his best friend.

“He threw us out,” he murmured.  Taehyung looked behind him at the property line leading to the road and away from the godforsaken house. “He must be telling us to leave,” he looked at Jungkook, “but we aren’t, are we?” Jungkook shook his head.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely not.  Not when we know what’s going on and that people are being hurt.” He looked down at his feet, at his palms and remembering the broken camera and the memory card in his back pocket.  He could go home now, prove so much about ghosts and the dead that roam around this house.  He can’t though, his conscience wouldn’t let him.  He couldn’t leave you without solace.  “We promised her,” was all he said.  

He was going to find your body.  He swore.  Taehyung nodded as he plucked the bear from his thigh and placed it on his shoulder where it sat upright and steady on his shirt.  Was it strange to say a grown man walking around a haunted demon house was comforted by a possessed teddy bear who protected him?  It’s a phrase best left unsaid, for his pride’s sake.

The two men started to go back around, but something stopped them.  When they came back to the cellar door, it wasn’t there anymore.  The door was just gone.  The place in the ground where the entrance would be, was just dirt and mud with a water spigot on the side of the house, dripping with something they both assumed was most definitely not water.

Jungkook dropped to his knees, in a frenzy started digging with his hands into the disgusting mix of mud and the mystery ghost fluid in the ground.  Surely if he dug, he’d bust through into the cellar he knew was there.  Taehyung grabbed the back of his jean jacket as he yanked him up, screaming at him to get ahold of himself when a window from above caught their attention.  

The old, rickety window shambled open and all was silent for a moment as the two boys looked up in curiosity.  Thinking some random ghost who just wanted to smell the good ole night air opened the window, they were quickly jumping out of the way of something that was thrown out.  

It was small, not larger than the palm of Taehyung’s hand, as it hit the grass at their feet.  Taehyung looked at the curtains that were sucked out by the wind’s breeze while Jungkook knelt and picked up whatever was thrown out.  Taehyung tore his eyes away from the window above with caution as he looked at the now rising Jungkook, holding a medicine bottle in his hand.

“This was in the bathroom, I found it when I was in there before,” the familiar word ‘Chlorpromazine’, reflecting in Jungkook’s vision.

“So,” Taehyung drew out the word as he hooked his thumbs in the belt loop of his skinnies.  “We’re going to the bathroom together?  Adventurous.”  Jungkook threw the bottle at his friend who was obviously trying to get Jungkook out of the panic he buried himself in.  The gesture was recognized and greatly appreciated.  No wonder the ghost bear liked him so much.  

The two of them hiked it back to the front of the house where they saw a blurred silhouette of a very blurry dog.  Remembering what you told him earlier about the animals being coherently on their side, he reassured the friend at his side who raised his fist. Yeah, like he was going to throw hands at a ghost, real clever fella he is in the face of danger.  

Walking inside for the third time for the young Jeon, he noticed that there were animals in the rooms.  The living room held a dog, the same dog from earlier as he sat in the doorway.  His ghost tongue hanging from his almost smiling chops. The kitchen was a monkey, Taehyung almost smiled as he saw it’s figure having a ball along the ceiling and the small noises of it swinging to and fro from whatever was in there.  From further back in the house, Jungkook practically fist pumped the air with the loud, vibrating belt of mighty elephant.  He whipped around to an ever confused Taehyung as he looked at the car laying on the top of the landing at the top of the stairs.

“These are the spirits Y/n’s little brother gifted to his toys. Tae, they’re not going to hurt us.”  Taehyung relaxed as he saw his best friend no longer frowning, but smiling at the animals who signified a save zone.  Even if temporary.

The two made it up the stairs as the cat that lay at the landing stretched and pranced around the giant hole in the floor and turned into the bathroom.  Okay, so whatever was in there was harmless- the animals said so after all.  

With care sidles along the wall, the boys came into the tiled, dirty bathroom with the water still dripping one drop at a time into the full tub.  

“Was that always full?” Taehyung questioned as he pointed accusingly at the tub.

“Yeah, it was earlier too,” Jungkook replied.

“Ah,” a rather short, unpleasant response of confirmation. Enough to get the point across that it was both disturbing and confusing for this full bathtub to be a thing when the water has long been shut off. The two watched as the cat sat at the side of the tub and then both boys let out unattractive shouts of terror when someone started to come out of the water.  

The clear water turned murky when a little boy with the shaggiest, wet hair sat up.  The water of the deep tub hit just at his chest as he sat and piddled his hands in the water to make small splashes.  He was just a child having fun and playing at bath time. Jungkook looked at Taehyung as he just shook his head.

“No way,” he whispered at his gaze as Jungkook then approached the tub’s edge in the end. He knelt down and placed his fingertips in the water.  The little boy followed the foreign ripples and looked at Jungkook, and Taehyung with the bear behind him. He smiled so innocently.

“Hello there,” Jungkook softly spoke.  “Do you like playing in the water?”  The little boy nodded eagerly.  “Would you mind if I played a bit too, with you that is?  The boy silently seemed to want to laugh as he turned and motioned to a dirty rubber duck on the edge of the tub where a bar of soap could sit snuggly.  Reaching over he looked at it.

The yellow paint was chipped in places and it was horribly faded.  The face had only one eye still painted black while the blue and purple paint scarf was patchy.  The sailor hat on the duck was still a shade of navy blue though.  It was stiff, not having the warmth and usage of a child for a very long time.  “Is this your favorite toy?” The boy nodded again.  “Well, he’s mighty dirty.  I think this sailor needs a bath too.” The boy splashed happily as Jungkook scrunched his nose cutely to his new little friend and stuck the toy under the water and gently cleaned it.

He thumbed off the as much dirt he could.  Some coming off in chunks other bits smearing and wiping off.  Soon, the duck wasn’t perfect, but significantly better.  The little boy smiled as he reached out for it, wanting to bad to have his toy back.  Jungkook gently placed the toy in his hand and it was like the toy and little boy were alive again.

The little boy's body glowed and his skin was honey tanned and hair dark and damp.  The duck looked bright and newer than ever.  The boy mouthed a happy ‘thank you’ without actually speaking before he disappeared and the tub began to drain. Once the water was gone, at the bottom of the tub sat a hairpin. Picking it up he stood and bowing once to the tub, trying to honor and say goodbye to that sweet little ghost boy as he went to Tae’s side.

“So, you played with a ghost kid. We’re just meeting all sorts of ghosts, huh?” Jungkook nodded as he showed Taehyung the pin. It was thin, black and one of those you could run your thumb over and glitter would suddenly be fused with your skin for the next three days. It was far from a fancy pin, but if a little girl who had long bangs needed to pin them back, it’d be the perfect hairpiece. “So, where too now chef?”

“Y/n mentioned something about a ghost in the kid’s room closet.”  Taehyung though as he cupped his chin.

“Come to think of it, that closet didn’t open for me.  I couldn’t get it open to save my life.” Jungkook nodded as Taehyung took the hairpin from his palm and held it in his own.  

“It’s because Vivi doesn’t like people who don’t knock.”  

The two of them moved carefully to the children’s room.  Inside on the bottom bunk of the bed sat plethora of small animal ghosts.  Small bears, snakes, tigers, lions even a T-rex sat miniature sized on the torn up mattress.  Y/n’s little brother sure had a heart full of love for all his toys, just as you said.

They moved to stand in front of the closet as Taehyung moved forward.  He was the one who tried to barge in earlier, so he’d suck it up and stop being a weenie for once and apologize for his lack of manners: in this case, not knocking. He took a shaky breath, gripping the hairpin in his hand as he knocked three soft times.

The door handle turned as the door cracked open and a little girl, no older than 7 stood at Taehyung’s midsection.  Looking up at him through her long, thick locks that covered half her face.  Her one visible eye a shining blue contrasted to her colorless body.  He knelt down to one knee as the girl’s head followed him as they were eye to eye now.  He smiled to her, making her shoulders drop any tension they once had.  

“Why are you hiding in your closet?  I’m sure all the animals here would love to play with you?” The older man suggested as he gestured to the animals gathered on the bed.  “Wouldn’t you like to play with some friends?”  She nodded but remained in the closet, hands gripping the door handle in fear.  

“They would tease me,” she whimpered.

“Tease you?  A sweet little girl like you?  No way,” he cooed as opened his palm and showed her the hairpin.  “Tell me, is this your hairpin?”  He saw her eye shine in recognition.  “A sweet little boy showed us where you lost it and asked to give it back to its pretty owner next door.”  The little girl peeked out just a bit more to glance over into the bathroom across the way.  

“Did he finally get to play?” Taehyung looked over his shoulder to Jungkook behind him, then back to the girl in front of him.

“He had a blast playing with my friend here.  They splashed and played with his favorite duck.  Now, it’s your turn to play with your friends.”  He slowly reached forwards and the pin was able to clip into her hair, pulling her bangs fully back where the other half of her face showed an empty socket where her other shining blue eye should be. So, she lost an eye somehow.  How tragic for such a small child.  “Is that why you’re too shy to go play?”

“The grown-ups always made fun of me,” she cried as her one eye allowed a small crystal tear run down her ghostly face. “They wouldn’t let me go out and make friends because I was too scary.”

Taehyung shook his head as he poked at the little girl’s tummy and smiled at her when she let out a little giggle. “Well, can I be your friend then? And this little guy will be your friend too,” Taehyung spoke to the teddy still sat on his shoulder. “If we're your friends, then those fun little rascals behind me would love to play with you for as long as you want.”  She gasped in glee.

“Would they play hide and seek with me?”  He nodded.  

“It’s their favorite game. Go on and play now, Vivi.”  She smiled wide as she pushed open the closet door fully and stepped out.  She hugged Taehyung around his neck as she giggled in his ear and placed something in his hand before she ran off to the crowd of animals behind her.  She chatted away before running out of the room, laughing the entire way until the laughter faded, leaving only a gentle, pleasant breeze.

Taehyung stood up as Jungkook clapped his back. “Good job, now we both have some cute little ghost friends.”  Taehyung laughed as he looked at the key in his hand.  It was old, really old.  The end looped like an oval while the front of it was shaped like it would slide into a music box. “Where would there be a music box around here?”

“I think I remember seeing one downstairs on one of the dining room shelves.”  Taehyung recollected.  The two worked their way out of the room, but not before saying goodbye to their friendly ghost companions.  They would surely remember to always mind their manners now.

Just as Taehyung said, downstairs sat a single, wooden music box.  It sat about eye level with the boys as they tried to take it off the shelve, but it shouldn’t budge.  It was like it was attached on. Not wanting to possibly break anything and create a panic or worse stir up more trouble, Taehyung just placed the key in the music box on the shelf.  With 3 good cranks, the key locked in place, sticking out of the keyhole and started turned counter-clockwise and a small melody began to play.  

It was a soft tune, friendly and warm.  As Jungkook listened, the more it reminded him of you and how you were a warm presence, despite you being a ghost. Once the soft lullaby ended the key was spit back out and the wall next to the shelf slid open to reveal a hidden wall.  A secret passage of sorts.  Taehyung picked up the key and placed it next to its rightful partner; the lovely little box of lullabies.  

“Well,” Jungkook chirped, “if ever I’ve seen a horror movie-”

“We’re so going into the new hidden door. Let’s move Mr. Ghost-Professional.”  Taehyung interrupted as he shoved his friend's shoulder and the two began to shimmy through the small passageway.  It wasn’t long before the passage leads to a small opening in the floor with a ladder leading down.  

“This has to go to the cellar.” The ever attached bear of Taehyung’s moved to his head as the two began to descend the ladder without second thoughts.  It’s not like they’d through in the towel now anyways.  The assumption was correct.  The boys had indeed found themselves back to the cellar.

You were held captive against the wall from shadows, but the demon was nowhere around.  

“Y/n…!” Jungkook breathed as he ran to you and touched the black restraining you.  The shadows were just shadows.  They were a strange, disgusting black goop that felt like slime and peeled like tar as he shook his hand away from it’s gross, slimy texture.   Though, regardless of how revolting, he reached your mouth and dug away the grime from your throat.  Once you were free of the black from your tongue, you coughed and hung your head low.  “Y/n,” he repeated, “please, talk to me. Say something.” He pleaded as Taehyung joined his side.  

The bear looked at your ‘unconscious’, dull eyes figure and as it did before when it comforted you.  It shook it’s furry body and rang like a bell.  The ringing reverberated in your head as your eyes came back to life, regaining their ghostly glow as you were finally able to see the two boys- two friends in front of you.  

“Jungkook, Taehyung?”  The nodded.  “How did you get here?” They looked at each other and smiled.

“Vivi and the little boy in the bathtub helped us.  Oh, and the animal’s of course.”  Jungkook chirped.  

“You.. you helped Vivi and Jacob?” The two of them explained how they were able to help make the two children smile and laugh.  “Jacob was a little boy who was drowned by his mother.  She believed her child was cursed since he was born without a voice.  Vivi was a little girl teased constantly because when she was younger, she lost her eye in an accident.  You helped them both?”  The boys nodded.  

“They were very sweet little kids.”  You smiled.

“Thank you,” you bowed your head, best you could.  Then your smiled faded as you looked back at them and turned seriously once again.  “You two need to go.  If he comes back, then he’ll-”

“No.  We promised you, remember,” Jungkook interrupted.

“You don’t understand!  Please, just-”  You stopped short when you stiffened.  “Go back, back away to the walls.  Now, hurry!”  They did so without argument.  Just as they were on opposite walls, the demon pulled himself up from the fucking floor.  From below?  Could there be- was there another section below the cellar? The shadow moved and stood in front of you, your body that was once relaxed now shaking uncontrollably.

Jungkook stood still, staring at your expression.  For the first 2 times, he’s been saved by you, you hadn’t shown your fear.  Now, you were close to crying- weeping rather- as your father disgustingly stood above you. Ghost tears, it was almost an interesting concept if they weren’t being threatened to be spilled by you.

He slowly shuffled to a shelf, grabbing a nearby bottle and quickly throwing it.  The bottle shattered on the ground, making the shadow turn and screech.  Jungkook covered his ears, hissing.  The shadow stepped away from you, just a bit.  He still hadn’t located Jungkook yet.

Taehyung understanding gave his small, stuffed possessed companion a nod.  A shield of sorts surrounded the both of them. Taehyung was officially safe. “Hey!” He shouted. The shadow whipped around.  Seeing the spiritual essence around Taehyung, he marched with heavy steps forward.

“Wrong way!”  Now, it was Jungkook’s turn.  He held that scented wax so tightly in his warm palm, it threatened to begin to melt.  He remained completely still, not moving a muscle. When the shadow turned again, Taehyung sprint to a shelf of alcohol bottles.  Pushing every bottle off, they shattered on the hardwood floor one by one.

“You've had enough beer, pal!” Taehyung chided. You watched the two continue to jerk around and confuse the shadow- your father.  Back and forth, like a game of pong with your father as the ball. While the boys continued to distract the reel shadow demon, the teddy by Taehyung’s side rung, that same rining echoing into the small enclosure of the cellar.  

A loud screech ripped out of the shadow as he turned his back on the sound.  It seemed to cradle it’s head as it screamed and the shadow of its body almost seemed to fluctuate.  It was like bells hurt the beast?  The beast raised it's arms into the air, ready to strike into the ground.  

You forced yourself from the shadow’s harsh imprisonment for the first time ever.  You focused your entire body before you ripped free of its confines.  You were quick to get to Jungkook’s side who was currently in the way of taking the brunt of the soon to come smash of your father’s fists.  Desperate to save him, you made your entire body tangible and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your head next to his own.

Jungkook instinctively held you against him.  It was odd, holding you.  You were solid, but light.  It was like he was hugging a breathing person, but you were so cold.  He didn’t fell the beat of your heart, didn’t feel the pushing of your chest against his when you breathed.  You were a dead person, a ghost, yet he held you.  

The shadow slammed his fists into the floor with utter rage, the wood splitting and creating chaos.  Taehyung lost his balance as he fell against the back wall, the bear floating to his chest, still protecting him with a shield of sorts.  The hole created by the beast was jagged as Jungkook and yourself fell through it. All while the demon faded away for the time being mid-tantrum.

Jungkook groaned, falling through the floor for the second time that night.  He looked at your exhausted ghostly body.  Your spiritual glow fluctuating as you seemed so tired, too tired.  He wanted to open his mouth and ask about your state, but the sound of bells silenced him.  They weren’t the sound of that dumb bear.  This sound was much different.  So pure, innocent in a sense.  

Jungkook got up, following the sound of the bells, leaving your ghostly body to lay on the ground.  He didn’t exactly know how to help someone he could no longer grasp.  He ran until he found a single case hidden in the underneath hideaway of the cellar floor. Inside that case was none other than a skeleton, full body with a set of bells next to the yellow and while colored skull.  

Down the way, your spirit fluctuated until it blew into a graceful wisp of blue. You traveled the wind until you found Jungkook; until you found your bones.  Jungkook watched in awe, it was like your soul was dancing around the body long lost to you.  A bright flame of peace.  He smiled as the bells floated towards him and he reached out with his palm as they fell into his hand.

Your spirit manifested once more- for the last time- now in a beautiful, white sundress. He smiled as did you. You came towards him, relief in your ghostly gaze.  You kissed his cheek, your flame giving warmth and spreading a wisp of blue along with it.

“Thank you, Jungkook.  Give my thanks to Taehyung as well.”  

“I will,” he almost choked.  Your spirit sprung to life, your fire bright as your spirit shot up the ceiling and out of the cellar floor- scaring the poor Taehyung mind you. Your fierce, powerful, free spirit easily located your tainted, evil father in the house and quickly wasted no time in surrounding him. Your fire latched onto his shadows, devouring it as the spirits and ghosts of your comrades, his other victims, joined your plight to finally put your father down.  

“You’ve done enough, Father.” The shadows pulled back from the host form of your father just enough to see his grotesque face once more.  Burned, disfigured and rotten was his flesh from the long age of his demons.  His time was ending, and he would get what he finally deserved.  You seethed and sneered at his face.  “Begone, you wretched disgrace.”  Engulfed by his shadows once more, he was ignited by your pure light and disappeared.  Along, so did you.  Your presence, and those others not gone.  

The house was finally vacant.

Jungkook climbed back up to the cellar, Taehyung helping him as he looked at the motionless bear at Taehyung’s feet.  

“Was she- I mean did Y/n?”

“Yeah.  she’s gone now.”

“Oh,” he spoke with a dip in his voice.  “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”  

“Let’s get out of here, Taehyung.”  Tae nodded as he reached down and grabbed the bear at his feet, not hesitating to take the little guy along with him back to the surface.  Perhaps he had gotten a bit attached.

With the disperse of the demon, the cellar door had reappeared and the two men crawled out onto the lawn outside once again.  They rounded the house and soon took the way walk back up to the sideway at the edge of the property before turning and staring back at the house.  

“So,” Taehyung started, “what was it like?”

“What was what like?  Nearly dying?”

“Hitting on a ghost.”

“Oh my god,” Jungkook left, Taehyung laughing behind him as he held your bells tight and safe in his palm.

XXX

The following week, your remains were found by the police when Tae put in an ‘anonoymous message’ that someone was found going into that house.  Now, somehow that house- your house- was scheduled for destruction within the month. Jungkook sat in Taehyung’s room as he flipped through his newest comic he nabbed at a store downtown.

“You think they’ll rebuild over the property?” Taehyung asked as Jungkook shrugged.

“Beats me.  It’d be nice if they didn’t.  Maybe put a small little cemetery or memorial instead.”  Taehyung nodded with a smile.

“You should pitch that idea.  It’s a good one, and I’m sure the city hall would listen since a body was discovered.”  Jungkook smiled as he looked out the window of his best friend’s room.  The sunny sky devoid of any pesky clouds.

“You know, I think I just might,” Jungkook said.  He wanted to put a grave down for you, and all the other ghosts too.  For Vivi and for Jacob who were just innocent children who hadn’t done wrong; far too young for death’s unfair grip.  

That’s what he thought as he watched over the sewn up and cleaned teddy bear on Tae’s window sill.  The jingling of the two bells around his wrist that had been weaved and carefully placed onto a precious new bracelet he wore wherever he went- without exception- as they always seemed to jingle in approval.

Yes, a memorial was a fine idea.  Maybe he did like you a little bit- just a ghost of a crush.

#bts #bts jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts taehyung #bts kim taehyung #bts v #v #kim taehyung #taehyung #bts au #paranormal au #paranomal #thriller #reader #x reader #reader insert #female reader #reader is a ghost by the by #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #ghost hunter #ghost hunter au #a touch of romance #a crack at comedy

[roseamongroses]

Antithesis: “what do you have? “ I have a kNIFE” “NO”

[Specific-Summary]: They should expect growing pains. For not everything to feel right or make sense. That doesn't mean it'll always hurt, nor does it mean they can't have fun along the way. It's senior year. Everything may be different. It won't be senior year for long. Everything will be okay.

[General Warnings]: Implied Emotional Abuse, Implied Physical Abuse, Bad Parents are Bad Parents, Mild Sexual Content/jokes,Mentioned Homophobia, Mentions of underage drinking (backround), Some Catcalling,Cursing , Self Hate,implied pregnancy talk/inability to become pregnant, adults arguing where the “kid” can hear it, adults drinking,

[Tags/mood:] highschool au,  fluff and angst but its all good, chat fic, teen stress, its flordia no snow we die like men [Pairing:] Roceit (Roman Sanders/ Deceit Sanders), hinted future/possible logince/roloceit/loceit [Characters]Roman Sanders/Deceit (Dmitri) Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, Remy (Sleep) Sanders, Nate Sanders, Dragon Witch (Diana) Remus “The Duke” Sanders (minor/brief)

(Ao3) (Previously)

(8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15)

(16) (17) (18) 

L: I May Have Lost Roman

V: nice

P: not nice :)

V: i feel vaguely threatened

Rem:@L how the fuck did you manage that Rem: nvm i know how just give me details

L:I don’t know ? One second we were at check out L: Next minute he was Gone and Nieve is looking suspicious

L:Hold on lemme ask Dmitri

V: why is he there

L: I mean he’s actually pretty chill L: But he dropped Roman off and Nieve got attached L:I’m...not sure if she’s planning on letting him go?

V:logan, my friend, my buddy, V:the only person in this chat with basic reading comprehension

Rem: that’s pretty fair

P: it really is tbh

V: Send. Pictures.

L: Okay L: Slight Issue

V: you lost the snake too

L: I lost Dmitri too and Nieve is not spilling

Rem: oh they’re defeinately fucking

L:...Where? The bathroom?

Rem: Don’t knock it till you try it ;)

V: not to be that guy but im vetoing this discussion V: cause thats a Yikes even for you Remy

L: Alright time to find them

Rem: check ;))) the;))) bathrooms ;;))))

L: Remy.

Rem: alrighlright too far ill stop

L: Thank you.

V: keep me updated V: i only have silence and physics homework as company

L:Huh L:Found them

L: Roman….found a katanna…

V: im sorry WHAT V: Why The Fuck Does He Have A Sword

Rem: drop the location of that store man

L: 1) It’s a Katanna L: 2)I will certainly Not. L: 3) He’s trying to convince Dmitri why he should have it

L…..and Dmitri looks more amused then concerned

V: if I can't have a tarantula he sure as hell cant have a sword

L:I told him it was probably fake/ poorly made and that he should take the time to invest the proper skill in money in a real one

V: goddamit logan you cant logic roman.

L: It worked. He put it back. L: So I say I can do what I want with roman

Rem: some spicy takes from the chats only brain cell ;)

---

“So you’re turning eighteen, in a few months. ” His aunt said, dabbing her cheeks with a napkin. She still managed to hold an air of prestige despite getting utterly shitfaced the night before. Her appointments have been going well.

Dmitri looked up, masking his surprise and holding his tongue.

Dr. Montag looked over, quieting the running water and placing the dish was he was cleaning down, “Really?” he said, brushing his hands, “You got any plans?” he asked, Dmitri.

“Oh we usually do something small,” His aunt interjected, “But seeing as he’s my father’s favorite grandchild,” Only grandchild, “He’s is flying from Paris to join us. And he was never a man of modesty so I’ve been thinking about doing something special for the occasion.”

Oh.

Dmitri fought the smile creeping on his face, ducking his head. He shouldn’t be surprised that she remembered after all if his grandfather was visiting. It’s how he got his phone, laptop, his car.

It’s probably why she puts up with him, to begin with. Cause it wasn’t guilt.

“--We should get your hair cut,” She continued, and Dmitri snapped out of his thoughts, “Maybe invite Diana--he’d like her,” she murmured.

“Diana and I a-” He closed his mouth, and his aunt’s eyes shot over.

“You broke up?” She narrowed her eyes, examining her nails, “Huh, makes sense seeing as...” she gestured at him vaguely, “So who have you been sneaking around with?”

“I’m not sneaking around with anyone,” Dmitri said, meeting her gaze. And technically he was right, it’s not sneaking if she just hasn’t been asking. And he’s given up on telling.

Dr. Montag’s eyebrows knitted together confused,” Well that isn’t true,”

Dmitri’s eyes went wide, stomach sinking.

His Aunt’s grin spread, “Oh really?”

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck--

“He’s been helping me out, hon,” Dr. Montag set down a glass of water and pills beside her plate, “You’ve been so stressed lately,” he looked guilty and produced some tickets, “I thought I’d surprise you.”

Her face softened and like that the tension left the room. Those two got to linger in whatever lovey-dovey spell had taken hold of them in the last few months, but Dmitri was still on edge.

She still kept him on edge, but he could get her back. Even the playing field. Anytime he could leave this—Anytime he could flip this switch and put her on edge and make her—

He stopped eating, setting his plate aside.

He felt sick.

---

R:helllloooo R:anyone up R: sigh R: allll by mySELLLLF

L: Roman?

R: the one and lonely yes hello human contact???

L: Are you alright? It’s 3 am why are you still awake?

R: why are YOU up mm????

L: My parents have newborn twins. What’s your excuse?

R: well fuck got me there

R: i was texting dee but he was rlly tired and i stILL can’t sleep

L: Any particular reason?

R: u m

L: Private chat?

R: please

- [TheTruthAboutTheMoon]

TheWalkingMouth: Okay shoot

Cowboy:it's stupid

TheWalkingMouth: I’ll tell you if it's stupid or not just say it

Cowboy: i just….like Cowboy: it's all kinda….hitting me a ll at once and i Really don’t like thinking about it but i cant bottle shit up either like you bastards so i feel like the human equivelent og a washing machine with too much laundry in it

TheWalkingMouth: Then don’t? TheWalkingMouth: Even if it's too ‘stupid’ for me I’m sure Dmitri wouldn’t mind

Cowboy: yeah but i feel like im going to say something shitty to him i Cowboy: like we should talk about it Cowboy: and i will Cowboy: but not now--later when it's not too stressful for either of us

TheWalkingMouth: Why would you say something shitty?

Cowboy: idk id jst get frustrated trying to explain it Cowboy: like hes smart as hell and probbaly get it without me saying anything but like Cowboy: I have neither the patience nor articulation right now to explain like a civil person and he doesnt need me being shitty about it

Cowboy:like,,,,,for example,,,,, if he fucks up in school, he’ll get recommended a tutor and teachers would assume hes doing his best and hes such a sweet and quiet boy

Cowboy: like he is sweet!!but hes a little shit too!! And gets away with it!!! Half those pranks he pulled on virgil, as Iconic as they were he never got in trouble for them!!!

Cowboy: when i fuck up i

Cowboy: god it's stupid

TheWalkingMouth: Might not get a second chance? Yeah I get it.

TheWalkingMouth:Remember when I first transferred here? None of the teachers would take me seriously bc of my accent and if they did, they were afraid of me. I could repeat something another kid said word for word and still be told I had an attitude.

Cowboy: god i remembered that Cowboy: you answered his yes or no questions in a fuckin montone, quiet ass voice and he legit called in the office cause he got scared of a goddamn freshman

Cowboy: But ye when i fuck up Cowboy: im suddenly the lazy ass brown kid who should spend less time corrupting youth with my feminine hips and curls Cowboy: like it's not like a lot of them say it outright but it feels like if im not perfect im fufilling all the stereotypes

TheWalkingMouth: Ah okay, rant away

Cowboy: OK like like like im not like virgil right?? in a lot of ways and it fuckin shows

Cowboy: he’s been planning on going into engineering since sixth grade meanwhile i only got my shit together in highschool

Cowboy: and like now that im here/???what now??? My mother expects me to have my shit together meanwhile im over here freaking the fuck out over whether not it's worth it to even try Cowboy: like yes mother i want to go to an art/or librel arts school that may or may not accept me that we may or may not afford to find a career in who the hell knows because if i have to sit in a healthcare class or a applied mathmatics class like you did i miight actually shank the professor????

Cowboy: that i dread the thought of not trying to explore my options outside of this fucking state but i dread the thought of going bc i cant stand the thought of being away from home but i cant fucking find a reason to stay cause everyone i love is leaving or planning their own life anyway???

Cowboy: like remys gunna fuck off to who knows where regardless of whether or not he has a plans or money, pattons gunna take care of his grandmother whereever the fuck a canada ,moms moving in with tia, virgils already mentally flipping me off ready to fuck nasa , and i only fucking hope dmitri even getss the chance to choose where he goes but hes g o n e and i die from yearning behind a screen like the gay victorian i am , and you….i actually dont know

TheWalkingMouth: Teaching for either biology or physics

Cowboy: huh it fits but what about chemistry??

TheWalkingMouth: Fuck chemistry.

Cowboy: oh thank god we’re on the same page

TheWalkingMouth: Anyway, I assume you’re more worried about whether you should apply rather then if you could get in?

Cowboy: i think so

TheWalkingMouth: Well if my opinion means anything to you

Cowboy: more than you’re assuming but yeah continue

TheWalkinMouth: Wait

Cowboy: nothing nothing continue

TheWalkingMouth: Okay-- I think you should go for it but you don’t need to dive head first into it and commit to everything 100% like virgil did.

TheWalkingMouth: You’re allowed to keep your options open, to have backup plans for back up plans

TheWalkingMouth: It doesn’t mean you’re not passionate about your art. Doesn’t mean you’re inevitably going to get a office job and abandon all your dreams. It means you’re being smart and not backing yourself into a corner

TheWalkingMouth:It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay not to have it all figured out

TheWalkingMouth: Nobody does.

TheWalkingMouth: Even if no one else gives you a second chance at least give yourself a second chance.

TheWalkingMouth: It’s perfectly normal to be afraid to fuck up and get fucked over TheWalkingMouth: That doesn’t mean you will everytime TheWalkingMouth: And it certainly doesn’t mean it's the end

Cowboy:

Cowboy:

Cowboy:

[...Cowboy is typing…]

---

@daflangstlairde

@ace-anx

@cataclysm-al

#Roman sanders #Deceit Sanders #Roceit #ts sides #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts virgil #ts logan #ts remy #Antithesis

[scriveyner]

Unfinished and Incomplete, Week 1: VLD AU

Good evening, and welcome to “Unfinished and Incomplete Fic Saturday!” Every Saturday for the foreseeable future I’ll post an unfinished, incomplete, and likely never to be done fic so that it stops languishing on my hard drive and haunting me forever.

Tonight’s entree: nearly 2000 words of a Voltron AU that was spun off from Shining Like the Stars that I started, fiddled around with and never actually completed or posted anything for. This series and AU originated in mid-2017, and the background needed is that: Shiro’s a clone, we all know he’s a clone, but what if there are other clones of Shiro roaming about?

[There is a tie-in in slts, where a cage is opened while everyone’s fucking around in that extra-long battle about 2/3rds of the way through - and that cage held a Shiro clone. This one, in fact.]

Anyway this Shiro clone was kept in the gladiator ring after eventual paladin!Shiro escaped, no one knows they’re clones yet, and he escaped on his own and is trying to find the Holts before attempting to get back to Earth. He stumbles across a cargo pilot who decides to help him, and they cavort across the galaxy nearly running into but never quite being in the same place as Voltron until the Paladins faces start showing up on wanted posters.

An important note: this AU was conceived of, and written, before Shiro was officially confirmed as mlm. Given the nature of this fandom, if you don’t want to see Shiro interacting with a female character in a friendly and flirtatious manner, this probably isn’t the fic snippit for you.

Background now established, have some scenes from this unfinished, untitled Voltron AU:

"Nothing ever happens on Listea," Kit repeated dutifully, crouched behind the shallow cover that the metal fence gave her. There was the distinct stink of ozone in the air, the aftereffect of blaster discharge, and she had pulled the bandanna around her neck up over her nose to help counteract it. "It'll just be a quick stop, Kit, nothing to get all excited about." Kit rose up and set her blaster in the grooves of the fence, firing at a cluster of Galra soldiers who were chasing several of the inhabitants native to the planet in their direction.

"I didn't say it like that," Shiro said, sitting with his back to the same fence and slapping a chargepack into the soldier-issue rifle he had grabbed off a Galra sentry during their hasty exit from the dive bar. "You don't have to exaggerate."

She had squeezed off a handful of shots before Shiro finally got the rifle together and rose up on one knee. Like Kit he rested the barrel on the fence-line, unlike Kit he actually aimed through the scope. "What's the count?"

"Seven-four," Kit said. "Any more charge packs?"

"Seven-five," Shiro said, as another of the Galra sentries crumpled, a smoking hole where its head used to be. "And how do I know you aren't fixing those numbers? I've seen you play cards."

Kit's response was lost to the roar of wind as one of the Galra starfighters blew by overhead, flying far too low to the ground. Its passage blasted snow flurries into the air, and before they could recover a second ship followed it with enough speed that the sonic boom nearly flattened them.

She spat snow and pushed herself to her feet. "Great plan," Kit said dryly. "Let's just waltz into Galra-occupied space when your face is plastered on every wanted poster from here to the Outer Quadrants."

"I'm pretty sure that this isn't about me," Shiro said. He had reached out a hand as if he was intending to help her up but had paused, realizing that the hand extended was his right hand. Instead, he pointed up, toward the second craft. "I'm pretty sure it's about them."

The craft that had been pursuing the Galra fighter certainly didn't look like any of the fighter craft she had ever seen before. It was large and red and feline-shaped; it had the wing of the Galra ship in its jaws like a toy. All that remained of the doomed starfighter was a curlicue of black smoke on the distant horizon; the lion circled and dropped the wing, tail lashing as it turned to face the next flight of sentry craft.

"What the heck is that," Kit said, and then dropped back below the fenceline as a spray of blaster fire reminded her that they were in the middle of a live firefight. The ground around them shook again as the lion-shaped craft shot through the air and was gone, a pinprick in the sky just that quickly. "That is the weirdest cat-looking—"

"Voltron," one of the aliens who had taken cover behind the metal fence said reverently, staring at the sky. "That's Voltron, they've come to save us!" Kit glanced over to it, and then back to the once-cloudless blue sky; now streaked with trails of exhaust and thick black plumes of smoke where the sentry fighters had detonated in atmosphere.

"See?" Shiro said, and when Kit looked back to him he was staring back through the scope of his rifle. "Told you they weren't here for me." The passage of another Galra ship flying too low blew more snow into the air, whipping their loose hair about in the wind, but he didn't move from position, firing several precise shots through the flurries and disabling the remainder of the Galra sentries before they could shoot any further civilians. "Seven-nine, by the way."

"Bullshit," Kit said, but she had watched the descent of the Galra craft. That hadn't been a starfighter that went down, it was too big. "Hey, I think a shuttle went down." She braced her blaster on the fence and used it as leverage as she stood up, her other hand grabbing at her belt, looking for her macrobinoculars and coming up empty.

"Not a starfight?" Shiro looked over at her and blew some of his escaping bangs out of his eyes. "You're sure?"

"Positive it's not a starfighter, at least," she said. Shiro glanced back at the milling natives, clearly torn — and Kit rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. "Come on," she said. "Voltron will save them, right? The whole reason you wanted to come to this stupid backwater planet was to try to snag intel from a barely-guarded Galra outpost. Let's go get, you know, recent intel from a downed freaking Galra shuttle."

Shiro nodded. "Yeah, you're right," he said, and got to his feet smoothly.

"Ha, I'm gonna want that in writing," Kit said as they ran from their cover.

The downed shuttle had hit the ground at a hard angle, somehow missing most of the village's outlying buildings and leaving a large scar across the landscape. Natives had fled from the area, although no Galra had straggled their way outside the ship. Thick black smoke poured from the rear of the craft. "Think it's gonna blow?" Kit asked Shiro as they stared at it from a safe distance, back against one of the low-cut buildings.

"We don't have much time," Shiro said, holding his rifle over his chest as he ran out from beside the building. Kit rolled her eyes and followed, keeping a weather eye on their six as Shiro put his right hand on the hull of the shuttle. The surface would still be white-hot, having come through an atmosphere burn, but the sensor plate read the biometrics in Shiro's prosthetic hand and were at least functional enough to acknowledge him and cut the shuttle door open.

***

Shiro sat in the small, cramped bridge of the ship, his right arm braced on his leg. He'd removed the plate from the inside of his wrist and connected the wires to the ship's main computer, studying the output on an old screen. “You're gonna wreck your eyes squinting at that from like, two inches away,” Kit said as she climbed up the ladder from the hold. “Can you read Galra? Is that a stupid question?”

“I can read Galra,” Shiro said without turning from the screen.

“Is that another of the funky brain things they did to you? Because, I still can't read Galra for shit. I know like fifteen languages and the language of our supreme overlords is not one of them.” Shiro still didn't move or respond, and she flopped into the pilot's seat in the forward part of the cockpit. The ship had its navigation locked in currently, there was no need to steer or otherwise interfere with it until they popped out of faster-than-light travel. “You're chatty.”

“Hm.” Shiro wasn't actually paying any attention to her. Kit shrugged and hiked one leg up, dropping her boot on the console and managing to avoid hitting every important switch and toggle with the motion. They were headed for some of the inner planets, a much riskier proposition than their jaunt around some of the quiet parts of the Outer Regions. Galra rule was sparser there – present, but not with sentries at every spaceport scrutinizing every passenger. Things were bound to get more interesting.

“There's nothing in here about me,” Shiro said, sounding a touch disappointed. “Or the Holts.” He sat back from the screen and rubbed his left hand over his face, brushing his hair back as he did so. “Listea was a bust after all.”

“Eh, not entirely,” Kit said, leaning back enough in her seat so that she was looking at Shiro somewhat upside-down. “I got to see what Voltron looked like. A giant fuckin' cat. Who decided that was a fearsome weapon, anyway?”

Shiro made an amused noise as he disconnected his arm from the computer. “I'm glad you're satisfied with our stopover, then. Are we still on course for the inner planets?”

“Two days out at speed.” Kit hit the console with the heel of her boot, targeting the toggle that threw a map up over the forward cockpit display. “Headed for another ice planet. Why can't you take me anywhere subtropical, Shiro?”

“Last I checked I wasn't the pilot of this ship,” Shiro leaned over Kit's seat and looked at the map, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Oh god, you smell like an old sock.” She sat up as Shiro straightened, and grabbed he the front of his shirt to sniff it. “You didn't even get doused in that gross purple goo, I probably stink worse than you, why didn't you say something?”

Shiro furrowed his brow. “I didn't notice,” he said. “Do I smell like a sock? I can't tell.”

“I'm taking a shower,” Kit said. “Watch the sensors and make sure those spot repairs I did on the line don't send us through a star or a planet's gravitational mass or something, okay? I don't want to die in the shower.”

“Wait, that's what you were repairing?” Shiro looked alarmed as Kit hopped up and headed for the rear of the small ship.

"The coolant line, not the navcomputer, Shiro," Kit said. "If the coolant blows we skip out of lightspeed, and if we're in the gravitational shadow of a planet, well." She made a noise that sounded like a garbage disposal coughing up potato peelings.

"Are you sure we're safe at lightspeed?"

"Just for that, I'm using all the hot water," Kit called, and Shiro blinked, turning all the way around as Kit climbed the later to the cramped quarters.

***

"You know, you can just drop me on Yahsa," Shiro said when Kit emerged from the head. "You don't have to keep ferrying me around the universe." He was seated at the table that took up 90% of the galley, both hands wrapped around a cup that was steaming and staring thoughtfully at a screen.

"That's very sweet of you," Kit said, and yawned. "But then I'd feel guilty when you trusted the wrong person and got your ass handed right back to those Galra scientists." There wasn't a whole lot of room to squeeze past Shiro on that side of the table so she didn't even bother, going the long way around to where the sink was. "Did you make coffee? Do you even realize how little of that I have left?"

Shiro made a noncommittal noise and she sighed, pulling a cup from the secured cabinet and pouring herself some, since he'd gone ahead and made it. "So what's on Yahsa?" Kit asked, turning around and leaning against the counter instead of sitting at the table. "More outposts?"

"A research facility," Shiro said, and took a sip from his cup. "It's actually on the ground, too, not on a ship in orbit."

"Shit, that's gonna mean hella security." She watched Shiro scroll through data on the display. He wasn't really listening to her, he tended to tune out everything when he got focused on the research data in front of him. A man on a mission, even if she wasn't entirely sure what that mission was. "You got a plan yet?"

"Outside of just giving myself up? No."

"What!?" Kit almost sprayed coffee. "Shiro, do not just go hand yourself over to the Galra, what the hell—"

"It's not exactly an ideal plan." Shiro looked up finally. He looked more tired than Kit realized, his damp hair forming a bit of a curtain when loose like that. "But with the security measures they have in place, any sort of infiltrating is likely going to result in capture anyway."

#voltron #unfinished and incomplete #untitled #au #everyone wave to shiro he's the only vld character in this bit at least #please don't judge my unfinished fic too much #i hope someone enjoys it at least lol

[yallreddieforthis]

Believer

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language and Richie being Richie)

Words: 7k

Soulmate AU. Takes place in 2004. Humor, banter, first meeting, first date, first kiss.

And wow. Wow and a half. Richie couldn’t have even dreamed up a guy this cute, although admittedly he’d been picturing some dude in baggy jeans and a beanie with a hacky sack this whole time. Which couldn’t be further from this...absolute snack of startled, prep-school perfection.

Oh my fucking god, I hate that song.

Y’know, Richie has seen worse. Some girl in his English class has damn, how you fit all that in them jeans? so really, anything after that is an improvement.

And it’s not like the soul mark is constantly on his mind or anything. It’s on his back—literally, he can’t see it without two mirrors and he had to have Bill read it out to him when it first showed up—but every once in awhile he remembers that someday he’s going to hear oh my fucking god, I hate that song and he’ll just know. Well, maybe more than every once in awhile. It’s kind of like a recurring daydream. That, and what he’d do if he suddenly became Cyclops from the X-Men.

Fifteen year old Richie was positive it was going to be like some punk-ass rocker chick standing outside Hot Topic and reacting to 98 Degrees over the loudspeaker. At least, that was his first thought. And it’s not like it’s going to be a problem if that’s what ends up happening—because no matter what or who else he’s into, Richie is positive he’ll always have a deep-down internal hard-on for punk-ass rocker chicks—but lately he’s had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that… Well, it could just be like, a memory of a dream or some shit. And Richie certainly does not believe in dreams coming true, but it wasn’t until well after he got a soul mark that he admitted to himself that his secret thing for Chad Michael Murray is not going anywhere anytime soon.

Richie thinks it would’ve been easier to admit to being The Bi-est if it hadn’t been goddamn Chad that forced him to realize it. Like if it had been Orlando Bloom in Pirates or something when he’d been like alright, time to fuckin’ fess up . But he explained away his crush on Orlando as like, well, Orlando is cool as fuck. Duh. Who doesn’t want to blow him?

Same with like, David Boreanaz. Richie is convinced that even the straightest of straight guys fell desperately in love with Angel when they watched Buffy. He could stick his stake in anyone and they’d thank him.

But Chad...mm. Richie is the only guy he knows who watches One Tree Hill. He’s sure about that because every joke he’s ever made about Lucas Scott has been met by blank stares by Bill and Bev and even Ben, who, though ostensibly straight, would totally love One Tree Hill if Richie ever got the balls to ask him to watch it with him. The only people in the whole world he has to discuss it with are the group of girls who sit next to him in Physics. So actually, Richie blames One Tree Hill for his D in Physics. If he hadn’t started talking to those girls—and he probably wouldn’t have if they hadn’t been discussing the show—he might’ve been able to learn about science instead of playing Fuck Marry Kill every period. So even though it truly is the worst show he has ever watched on purpose, once a week, like clockwork, Richie sits his ass down in front of the computer to jerk it to Blondie McKenDoll because...what are you gonna do.

It ended up being a blessing in disguise because he decided to let his friends know he’s bi and a One Tree Hill fan in one fell swoop. He only got shit on about the One Tree Hill thing, especially because he was the one who used to give Ben shit about Dawson’s Creek. So really, that was only fair.

Still, that was nothing compared to the shit he got for having a soul mark that’s like...inches from being a tramp stamp. Secretly (and also not-so-secretly), Richie loves it. It’s deliciously tacky, the handwriting is almost as bad as his; really, he couldn’t have asked for something trashier. He might’ve died of shame if he’d gotten delicate, loopy cursive around his forearm like Bill it’s lovely to meet you, finally Denbrough. Anyway, anybody who writes that nicely would never be compatible with Richie. And god help whatever poor guy has a soul mark in Richie’s handwriting somewhere on his body. Richie can only pray it’s somewhere unobtrusive.

The messy printing is only a small part of what has convinced Richie his soulmate is a boy. It’s mostly just a gut feeling, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge because he can’t explain it. It feels stupid to bank on something like that.

Richie is low-key disappointed by the fact that he's never seen the handwriting from his soul mark crop up in any of the school graffiti. He's even gone and tagged the bathroom stalls a couple of times, in the hopes that whatever guy it is will see it. And deep down, Richie knows he probably wouldn't have done that if he'd thought his soulmate was a girl.

They're all reasonably convinced that Bill's soulmate is British, based on the whole lovely thing, and Richie has taken to mimicking the kind of accent he thinks she might have. Bill keeps being like I'm not gonna match with the qu-qu-queen, Richie, but if she's the kind of girl who goes around telling people it's lovely to meet you... Richie's not saying she will be like some kind of aristocratic socialite, just that she might be. He thinks Bill should probably be taking steps to prepare for that sort of scenario, although he's not sure what those steps might be. Cotillion? Cigar smoking? Tea making?

Either way, Bill has time. There aren’t any British girls in Derry. No way is he going to meet her until at least college.

In any case, thinking about what song he and his soulmate can hate together to be a lot better pastime than whatever the fuck Mr. Shulman is writing about on the whiteboard. Richie feels like he can't take a hundred percent of the blame for failing to pay attention. The green marker Mr. Shulman is using is frayed, fading, and praying for the sweet release of the trash can, and it's not like Richie can really see the board from the back of the room on the best of days. His parents have suggested, well, more like insisted he sit up front but like...Bev sits in the back, and sitting up front would put a damper on the bubble gum blowing contests they have when Mr. Shulman isn't looking. Tragically, his parents probably wouldn't agree with his reasoning. But whatever.

Richie has a list in the back of his notebook, which he relies on his inscrutable handwriting to protect from prying eyes, of every song he's ever heard that he immediately disliked. He started it on his fifteenth birthday with a list of past horrors and adds on every time Creed releases a new single.

  Titanic song—My Heart Will Go On

I Hope You Dance

Hero—Enrique Iglesias (although Richie has admittedly crossed out and rewritten this one several times because, you know, Enrique)

Soak Up the Sun—that chick that’s dating Lance Armstrong

Summer Girls

I Knew I Loved You

Your Body Is a Wonderland

I’m Like a Bird

Anything that has ever been on American Idol

 And so on. He's got 37 entries so far, and it's been two and a half years in the making. He's just in the process of deciding whether A Thousand Miles deserves a spot on the list when Bev nudges his shoulder and hands him a note under the desk, written in Ben's even, exacting printing.

  Tuesday: Circle one

- National Treasure

- Mean Girls

- The Passion? (probably not, I know)

- Saw

- Troy

 Richie truly sees no point in reading further because Bev has only circled National Treasure and Mean Girls and there is a zero percent chance Ben won't side with her , but he'll be damned if he's not going to give his opinion anyway. He scribbles a big fat line through The Passion, because although he knows Ben's AP history class will give him extra credit for seeing it, but he's not sure he loves Ben (or rather, Ben's history teacher) enough to sit through three hours of Jim Caviezel getting whumped.

Apropos of nothing, a song begins playing in Richie’s head; a good one, thankfully. Richie has very little control over his internal radio and sometimes it gets stuck on Radio Disney, so some Weird Al is a welcome reprieve.

  And the guide... Richie mutters while tapping on his desk.

  Said not to stand

But that’s a demand

That I couldn’t meet

I got on my feet

And stood up instead

And knocked of my head, you see

Tell meeee…

 From Richie’s other side, Bill’s elbow collides with his ribs.

“You’re doing the th-thing again,” he mutters under his breath. Richie rolls his eyes. He doesn’t understand why anyone— his math teacher included—would not be delighted by a surprise rendition of a Weird Al song, regardless of where in the song he happens to start singing. 

Back to the movie list. Everything else...hmm. Troy looks badass—and stars Richie's one true love, Orlando Bloom. There's a good chance he's gonna be naked in it too. Richie draws a dick next to Troy as part of the decision-making process. He knows Ben only put Saw on the list because he thought Richie would like it. There's no way Ben actually wants to watch Wesley from Princess Bride get chopped up. Richie scratches Saw out and writes you're not fooling me next to it.

He's heard good things about Mean Girls, but still... Bev probably only circled it because she knows it's Ben's first choice. Sometimes being best friends with a couple makes Richie want to spray them with projectile vomit. But, you know, in the best way. He has no particular objections to Mean Girls himself, except that National Treasure promises to be amazingly, spectacularly adventure-y and ridiculous, and Richie is always down for that kind of action. In fact, he would just as soon use the advantage of a half day where his parents are at work to watch Jumanji on the big TV in the living room, but...

Fuck it. He's feeling generous today, and he kind of wants to witness Ben vibrating with excitement when he sees the note so...he circles Mean Girls and passes it back.

Ben's gasp upon receiving it is worth it.

Apparently, Derry High isn't the only school having a minimum day because the mall is fucking packed with teenagers. The concession stand line is super long, but where else is Richie supposed to find a nauseating selection of overpriced candy and a bucket of popcorn that could feed a small village? After dousing the popcorn with butter to the point where Ben almost gags, they make their way into the theater to find seats. Which are shitty almost-front-row ones because it took them so goddamn long to get snacks that those are the only four seats together by the time they get in there. Lucky the guy sitting in front of Richie is super short. Bev and Ben aren't so lucky—the curls of the guy to his left are almost as impressive as Richie's, and the guy in front of Bev is just obviously really tall.

The previews haven't even started yet—it's just the shitty like don't talk in the theater ads and dumb TV trivia questions.

Richie feels incumbent to entertain his friends at all times, but especially in moments like this, where nothing else entertaining is forthcoming.

Uh huh, he whispers, starting up a beat on his thigh. Uh huh. Extra Cheese.

Bill sighs in a long-suffering sort of way beside him.

  Uh huh. Uh huh. Save a piece for meeeee…

 He turns to Bev and starts whispering the rest of the lyrics directly into her ear because he can’t not.

  Pizza party at your house

I went just to check it out

Nineteen extra-larges, what a shame

No one came

We sat eatin’ all alone

You said, take the pizza—

 “Shh!” Bev puts a finger over his mouth. “You’re going to get us kicked out again.” 

That’s fair. Although, in Richie’s defense, it’s not like they missed out on much last time. The Village was supposed to be shitty anyway.

Mean Girls is, as it turns out, almost as interesting as the antics of the people in the row in front of them. Curly and the tall one are  a couple, clearly, and Richie feels for Shorty The Third Wheel, whose face he has yet to get a good look at. His hair is as neat as Richie’s is messy though—the kind of perfect where Richie can’t tell if he tried to make it look like that or if that’s just how it is. It’s just long enough to sweep over the tips of his ears and to almost touch the back collar of the polo shirt he’s wearing. He sits with his legs crossed in front of him, which Richie hasn’t been able to do since eighth grade.

The couple is cute, like stupid cute. The tall one is black and like, easily a ten no matter what your taste is; Curly is white with defined cheekbones and a cardigan. Tall has his arm around Curly, who has leaned into his neck. It makes Richie at least ten times gayer than he was before he walked into this theater.

Halfway through the movie, Richie has finished his monster popcorn and started in on the Milk Duds. He’s getting intense gay vibes from Aaron, who is supposed to be hot but is a little too Mister Muscles for Richie’s taste. Of course, Richie also likes Chad Michael Murray so… Even Richie’s taste doesn’t match with Richie’s taste. Whatever. At least his mouth and brain are in agreement on the subject of Sour Patch Kids, which is what really matters in the end.

But anyway, Richie prepares to come away from this movie a changed man with a new appreciation for Jingle Bell Rock by the time the credits roll. He’s definitely going to have to see this at least four to sixteen more times—or however many he can get away with before his friends threaten to kill him—because he missed a lot of the jokes being distracted by the way Shorty was craning his neck to look up at the screen. Richie pops the last of his Starburst into his mouth without unwrapping it. If there was an Olympics category for unwrapping a starburst with your tongue, Richie would be a gold medalist.

“Did you finish all that?” Ben gasps, leaning over and gaping at the graveyard of candy wrappers across Richie’s lap. Richie nods, burps, and rubs his belly like a proud expectant mother. He spits out the Starburst wrapper and hands it to Ben with a wink because he knows Ben’s too polite to drop that shit on the floor for the ushers to clean up.

“Well,” says Beverly, taking a final, bubbly sip of her Icee, “when you give birth to that thing later tonight, don’t call me to cry about it.”

And because she gave him such a perfect opportunity—and because he absolutely will be calling her from the bathroom later tonight—Richie decides to finally finish his song.

  Why’d you have to go and make me so constipated?

This really is a—

 He doesn’t get any further because a sharp voice cuts in from directly in front of him.

“Oh my fucking god, I hate that song.”

And then Richie’s back is attacked by a thousand mosquitos at once—or at least that’s what it feels like. He overheard a guy on the quad once say that the sensation from his mark when he met his soulmate gave him a boner, but apparently it’s different for everyone because all this does is make Richie want to light himself on fire. 

Which is why when Shorty in the J. Crew polo wheels around to look at him, Richie is awkwardly shifting, trying to find a way to itch his back on the seat. Maybe not the first impression he was going for, but just then, Shorty’s eyes lock on to Richie’s as he locates the source of the song, so yeah. There it is.

And wow. Wow and a half. Richie couldn’t have even dreamed up a guy this cute, although admittedly he’d been picturing some dude in baggy jeans and a beanie with a hacky sack this whole time. Which couldn’t be further from this...absolute snack of startled, prep-school perfection.

Before either of them can say anything else, Shorty yelps and grabs at one of his legs. That’s when he seems to regain the power of speech.

“It’s you?” he says, glaring sharply at Richie. “You’re the reason I haven’t been able to wear shorts for three fucking years?”

People are starting to leave the theater, which Richie hardly registers because he is having a full-on, swear to god Disney moment. This guy is like a...a bear cub. Not like hairy— he’s actually noticeably not hairy—but in the sense that he’s small and huggable-looking and Richie wants to pick him up and squeeze him but would probably get mauled if he tried to do so.

“Do you even—oh, sorry,” Shorty says, apologizing to the person who is trying to scoot past him. Then he turns back to Richie and flicks his eyes over him; just like a quick once-over. It’s impossible to tell if he likes what he sees. Richie notices he is still rubbing his calf.

“Itches like a motherfucker, doesn’t it?” he says, giving up on his seat-wiggling and reaching behind himself to scratch at his soul mark. Unfortunately, it turns out to be one of those itches that hurts when you scratch it, so he pulls his fingers back with an, “ow, son of a bitch!”

Shorty hisses.

“What’s wrong, Eddie?” Tall leans over Curly to ask Shorty—Eddie. Eddie.

“Fuck,” says Eddie, then he takes in a deep breath, rubbing his leg like he’s dying to scratch it. “This asshole—” he points an accusing finger in Richie’s direction, “—is the reason I’ve had those Weird Al lyrics about being—sorry, excuse us—about being constipated on my leg since before the goddamn song even came out.”

Tall and Curly both swivel around to stare at Richie. That gets Bev’s attention.

“Wait, Richie,” she says, grabbing his arm. “Is this—” 

“The love of my life,” Richie announces proudly, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “Eddie.”  

There is silence for a second during which Richie can almost see smoke coming out of Eddie’s ears.

“Fuck,” he says again. For all his preppy khakis and neatly combed hair and pristine white sneakers, he sure has a potty mouth. Richie couldn’t imagine anything better.

Bev gapes too, tapping Ben rapidly on the knee to get his attention. Curly’s eyes narrow as he examines Richie critically.

“Eddie, are you sure this is him?” he asks, still staring.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, pulling up his pant leg and peering at his leg. “Yeah, cause—you know what? You can’t really see it in—”

“Excuse me,” calls an usher from the end of the aisle. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Richie calls back cheerfully. “This is my soulmate! Isn’t he—”

“Right,” says the usher, blank faced in spite of this being the greatest of all possible happenings. “You think maybe you can move this party out to the lobby? I need to get the floor cleaned before the next showing.”

Eddie practically disappears into his friends during the awkward group shuffle out of the theater, but Richie walks backwards, keeping his eyes on all five feet and...four inches? three? of the gorgeousness that is Eddie.

Out in the light of the lobby he’s even better. Soft-looking brown hair, lightly freckled cheeks and arms, and—once he pulls up his pant leg—a soul mark that looks like the logo for someone’s z-list death metal band. The skin around it is pink and blotchy, but Richie can see the lines already fading. The only word that’s really fully legible is constipated. Which is hilarious, so Richie can’t understand why Eddie seems so ticked off.

Not that it fazes him in the slightest. It is actually written in the stars or the Book of Fate or whatever that he and Eddie are meant for each other. They’re destined to fall in love. If Eddie is mad at him now, he won’t be later.

“Whoa,” says Curly, tracing his fingers over Eddie’s soul mark. “Yeah. There it goes.”

“I’m Mike,” says Tall, who, now that they’re all standing, is actually the same height as Richie. He extends a hand, which Richie takes and then uses to yank him in for a hug. He smells amazing.

“Richie,” he says into Mike’s shoulder, before next trying to plaster himself to Curly. He hears Ben start to make introductions with Mike before Eddie’s voice cuts in.

“Stop,” he orders, running both hands through his hair, which bounces immediately back into its immaculate style. “Okay? Just—this is not happening right now.”

“Tell that to my heart, cutie,” says Richie. “And by my heart I mean my—”

“My mom?” Eddie says, like he’s name-dropping—like that should mean anything to Richie.

“God, if she’s half as cute as you, then hell yes.”

“No,” says Eddie. “I mean like, my mom. Does not know. That I’m gay. Fuck. Like, she has no fucking idea. And she’s gonna have a shit fit when she finds out. I keep telling her I don’t even have a soul mark yet—she never would’ve let me out of the house again if she’d seen it.”

“So?” says Richie. “Now it’s going away; now she doesn’t have to see it.” Seems more like a solution than a problem if you ask him.

“Honestly I was hoping not to even have to deal with any of this shit until like after college,” Eddie says. He looks like he’s considering just making a fucking break for the door. Like, don’t want to deal with this now, bye! Which, fair.

It’s a lot to roll with, especially just out of fucking nowhere like that. Richie probably should be freaking out way more than he is right now.

The idea of not seeing Eddie again until after college sounds terrible, but he doesn’t want to admit that. Going around like, yeah, I met my soulmate but he had a meltdown and ran away so… Like, he could do it if it’s what Eddie wanted. But he really hopes Eddie changes his mind.

“Do you want me to just like...fuck off?” he asks Eddie, quietly enough that the others won’t hear him.

Eddie frowns. “I don’t—”

“I mean...I guess we don’t have to like, you know, go for it now. Like. If you’re not into it, it’s cool. No offense taken. Maybe I’ll… I dunno, find you on Friendster in a few years? When things are easier? Or you can look for me. It’s Richie T-O-Z-”

Eddie cringes, checks his phone. “Shit, I have to go. My mom left me three messages; she’s probably already in the parking lot.”

And before Richie can even get upset about the idea that his soulmate is about to walk off into the sunset without so much as a dramatic monologue about how he’ll never give up on their eventual theoretical love, Eddie bites his lip and looks up into Richie’s face. His eyes are big and brown and make Richie feel like his ribcage is liquefying.

“Gimme your phone,” he says. Richie’s heart leaps into his throat as he pulls it out of his pocket.

Eddie takes it from him. “You should really get a case for this thing,” he says, clicking away on the number pad.

Their fingers brush as Eddie hands back his phone, with one last long look back as he scampers away.

Richie starts typing before he’s even left the lobby.

 From: Richie

hi its richie, the actual love of ur life

 From: Eddie

jesus i havent even reached the parking lot

dont text me too much its 15c a text, my mom will catch on

 From: Richie

can i see u again

i miss u already

 From: Eddie

i can probably get out again saturday

 From: Richie

saturday? what about tmrw?

 From: Eddie

im lucky if i get saturday

saturday, yes or no

 From: Richie

YES OF COURSE

meet me in front of the arcade 1st and Adams

…

ok?

 From: Eddie

Yeah 2pm stop texting me 

Eddie—god even thinking his name brings up a rush of butterflies—is standing outside the arcade looking about as comfortable as if it were a strip club. He’s wearing shorts, apparently for the first time in years. Something tells Richie that Eddie’s not going to be one of those people who gets their soul mark tattooed on after meeting their soulmate. The jury is still out on Richie—he kinda misses his already.

In the five days since they met, Richie has outlined itineraries for at least three different honeymoons and started a shortlist of names their adoptive children. He hopes Eddie also dreams of naming his sons after the kids from South Park.

“So,” says Richie, leaning down and looking Eddie in the eye, “yes or no to kissing on the first date?”

“Who said this was a date?” Eddie scoffs, opening the door to the arcade and rolling his eyes.

Richie has as much of a plan as he’s ever made in his life for this afternoon. First it’s the arcade where he can show off his bitchin’ Dance Dance Revolution skills, then to Johnny Rockets next door for a burger to remember, then hopefully back to Richie’s car to make out if they really hit it off.

Richie honestly cannot wait to show Eddie his car. It’s super impressive, even though it’s missing a bumper and the back passenger side door is held on with duct tape. Is a handjob too much to hope for on the first date? He doesn’t want to pressure Eddie or anything, but Richie is ready to give Eddie a handjob yesterday. So as soon as Eddie’s ready to rumble, they can get down.

Richie brought both his windshield covers just in case—the blue one and the Ren and Stimpy.

Turns out there’s a long line for DDR, which Richie probably should have counted on since it’s Saturday. Perfect opportunity for getting to know each other though. If Eddie would just like, you know, talk. He’s silently chewing on his lip instead, brow furrowed.

“Come here often?” Richie asks him.

Eddie shakes his head. “More like never. My mom won’t let me. Says the arcade is full of germs. She thinks I’m at Stan’s house watching High Society again . ”

“What’s High Society?”

“Really?” Eddie looks up at him. “You haven’t seen—like, with Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra? Bing Crosby? No?”

“So it’s like...a super old movie?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says slowly. “What—I’m just curious—what’s your favorite movie?”

“Definitely The Big Lebowski,” says Richie right away. “That’s easy. Best movie of all time. Oh, except maybe White Chicks. Pulp Fiction. Scary Movie 3.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie whispers, apparently to his shoes.

“Please don’t tell me you preferred Scary Movie 2. That might be a dealbreaker. Soulmate or not.”

“But you do like scary movies?” Eddie perks up a little. “Have you seen Wait Until Dark with Audrey Hepburn? It’s super scary.”

“Audrey Hepburn? Ohhhh, that chick in The Philadelphia Story? My grandma makes us watch that every year when we come over for Thanksgiving.”

Eddie purses his lips. “That’s Katharine Hepburn.”

“Are they sisters?” Richie asks.

“No.”

Richie isn’t worried. Eddie probably just hasn’t seen, like, Dude Where’s My Car yet. Easily fixed. His parents will be out of town next weekend; Eddie can stay over and they can watch it. That and definitely Catch Me If You Can.

He pitches the idea to Eddie, whose eyes light up at the mention of Catch Me If You Can.

“Oh my god,” Eddie groans, “Leonardo DiCaprio was like, my sexual awakening.”

“For sure,” says Richie. “He was such a badass in Gangs of New York. Which one did it for you? Was it The Man In the Iron Mask?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s being an idiot. “Uh, you’re guessing The Man In the Iron Mask before Titanic?”

“Really?” Richie winces, super disappointed and unable to hide it. “Titanic, Eddie?”

Eddie smirks. “No. Romeo and Juliet. You’re up.”

Richie tries to decide whether Romeo and Juliet is a better or worse sexual awakening than Titanic as he chooses a song. Richie practices DDR every weekend the way some people faithfully go to church, so he’s pretty confident he’ll blow Eddie away no matter what.

Still, just to be safe, he picks easy mode when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. Eddie’s never been here. He doesn’t need to know that it took Richie six months of practice before he finished a song without failing out. It’s gonna look cool either way.

And, okay, in hindsight...these brand-new Dickies are still kind of stiff. They might not have been the best choice for DDR. He just figured they’d make a better impression than the old ripped ones he was wearing when they met. Eddie strikes Richie as the kind of guy who doesn’t wear the same pants two days in a row; he doesn’t need to know that Richie (up until the day before yesterday) only had the one pair. Richie has decided he might even be convinced to break his strict rule of not throwing out pants until they’ve worn through in the crotch. All for love.

Eddie smiles brightly at his abysmal score. “Wow, that was pretty good. Can I try?”

Damn, that smile. Whipped already and they haven’t even kissed yet. Richie steps down with a bow.

Eddie stands tentatively on the DDR platform.

“Um…” He looks at the screen. “This one?”

And before Richie can stop him, he’s picked a crazy song on hard mode. If it were Bill, Richie would settle in and prepare laugh his ass off. Maybe even try to grab his camera from the car.

“So you just like, step on the arrows when they show up on the screen?” Eddie asks while the game loads.

“Uh, yeah,” says Richie. “But you know—don’t worry if you fail out. Took me awhile to get the hang of it.” He winks. 

“Okay,” says Eddie. He rolls his neck and shakes out his arms and… Whoa, why does Richie suddenly feel like he’s about to pop a boner?

And then, uh. And then Eddie is nothing but a flurry of legs, jumping, twirling, hopping back and forth. He claps and snaps with the beat—god, he knows how to use his fucking body. Thank god for Richie’s stiff new pants. He bends a little at the knee, letting his sweater drape down over his lap. Other people in the arcade are stopping what they’re doing to watch—he’s that good.

After what could have been either ten seconds or ten years—but nothing in between—the song ends and Eddie bounces lightly off the mat. Richie’s throat goes dry.

“How’d I do?” Eddie’s little smirk is positively edible.  

“Marry me,” Richie croaks. “I was gonna offer to teach you to play but, uh…”

Eddie laughs. “Mike has that game,” he says, still smiling. “We play it all the time at his house. It’s even harder with the shitty fold-out mat.”

“Well there go my plans,” Richie says, throwing his arms in the air. “It was gonna be a DDR lesson. A sexy one. And you’ve gone and totally schooled me, so now I’m just gonna have to try to impress you with Halo.”

Mercifully, Eddie turns out to be absolute shit at first-person shooters, so Richie isn’t totally humiliated on his home turf. But Eddie creams him at the driving games almost as bad as he did at DDR. 

“Jesus, dude,” Richie says, watching Eddie punch his initials into the hi score list. EFK. “What kind of car do you drive?”

“Pffft,” Eddie shakes his head. “My mom won’t even let my get my permit yet.” 

“Wait,” says Richie. “How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen,” Eddie tells him. Shut the fuck up. No way.

“You’re older than me?! But you’re so short! I thought you were like sixteen.”

Eddie shoots him a baffled glare. “You know that’s not how it works, right?”

“Well, how old did you think I was?” Richie asks. 

“I guess I thought you were eighteen too?” says Eddie, shrugging. “I mean…” he gestures vaguely upward.

Richie raises his eyebrows.

“Alright, touche,” Eddie admits. “But seriously, how old are you? I’m gonna feel really weird if you’re just like, the world’s tallest freshman and you’re hitting on me.”

“Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen next month. So we’re practically the same age.”

Eddie nods. “But as far as driving, yeah. I don’t like, have my own car. So yeah, technically I could get a license but I don’t have anything to actually drive yet.”

“My dad gave me his old car and basically let me destroy it while I was practicing,” says Richie. “Your parents don’t trust you with their cars?”

Eddie hesitates for a second before looking away. “It’s just me and my mom,” he says quickly.

“Oh,” says Richie stupidly, feeling like an absolute tool. “Oh yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie tells him, and it sounds like he mostly means it. “I was so young when he died, I don’t even remember him. It’s just that my mom…”

“She sounds like a hardass,” says Richie, drumming on the Whack-a-Mole console while Eddie grabs the mallet.

“It’s not— wham— that,” he says, eyes darting between the moles. “It’s like… My mom acts like she wishes she’d never even —wham— given birth to me.”

“Ow,” Richie grimaces. “Harsh.”

“No,” Eddie corrects. “I don’t mean it like— wham —that. Just that like I think she would rather they’d never— wham —cut the umbilical cord. Like she wishes we were still— wham wham wham —attached.”

“Yikes,” says Richie, because that’s all he can think of to say. 

“Big yikes,” Eddie agrees.

“I’m guessing you don’t go to Derry High, then,” says Richie, resting his head against the machine while Eddie continues to annihilate moles. “Makes sense that I never saw you around, cause I totally would’ve remembered seeing that ass before.”  

He hesitates before adding, “I even wrote some graffiti in the bathroom stalls so you’d recognize my handwriting.”

Eddie’s nose crinkles adorably at that. “First of all—no. I’m homeschooled. Maybe because my mom doesn’t want me making too many friends, or maybe even just to keep me from using public bathrooms.” 

“How do you know Mike and Curly then?” Richie asks.

“Cur—Stanley? Shit,” Eddie says as he misses a mole. “Mike and Stan are homeschooled too. We go to the same testing center in Bangor. And—ha!—I dunno? I sensed their gayness?”

“Yeah I sensed their gayness too,” Richie says. “By the way they were all over each other.”

“No, actually. It wasn’t like that. I knew both of them before they knew each other,” says Eddie. “I was there when they met.”

“Wow.” Richie uses his fist to hit a mole he thinks Eddie’s about to miss. “soul mark surprise?”

“Not really,” says Eddie. “Stan had a thing on his wrist that said, hi, I’m Mike , in Mike’s handwriting, so I kind of connected the dots and introduced them.”

“I’m the third wheel with Bev and Ben all the time,” Richie tells him, leaning over to collect tickets from the Whack-a-Mole.

“They’re not usually too—wait, what’s that?” Eddie asks, snatching something out of Richie’s back pocket. He unfolds the piece of paper.

“Oh, well, uh,” Richie says, thinking for the first time that it’s kind of embarrassing that he kept the list in the first place, “I just… Well, my soul mark said oh my fucking god, I hate that song, so I kind of like kept a list of songs I thought he—they might be talking about.”

Eddie snorts. “I have every single one of these on my iPod,” he says. “And that’s like, my all-time favorite song.” He points at I Knew I Loved You by Savage Garden. Oh god.

“Do you really hate Weird Al?” Richie asks him on their way to the air hockey table. “Cause I gotta say, I don’t know if this,” he gestures between them, “is gonna work out if you don’t want to hear the Angry White Boy Polka at least three times a day.”

“No,” says Eddie quickly. “Weird Al is great. It’s just, you know, the soul mark thing. Like I got it and I was like, what the fuck is this shit? And I guess it was kind of a relief when the song came out because I really hadn’t figured out like...what context I might hear that in. But then I just got sick of associating the song with like...true love. Cause it’s like, ridiculous and gross, you know?”

“I guess,” says Richie. “I dunno. I thought that was pretty fuckin’ romantic.”

“Yeah, I bet you did,” says Eddie. “That’s the kind of romance I’d expect from anyone who hasn’t watched Bing Crosby serenade Grace Kelly.”

“Damn, Eddie. You’re a pretentious little dick, you know that?” Richie says, picking up the puck.

“And you’re a goddamn mess,” Eddie shoots back without pausing. “Your serve.”

Richie is already balls deep in love by the the game ends. To be fair, he’s not sure how he was supposed to concentrate on the game with Eddie giggling and doing a little dance every time he scored. Eddie may have kicked his ass, but Richie walks out the door of the arcade feeling like he’s the one who came out on top. 

“What’s next?” Eddie asks, backing out the door of the arcade, catching his new sticky hand toy on Richie’s glasses on purpose.

“Road head?” Richie asks hopefully, jutting his chin in the direction of his car and grabbing onto his glasses to keep them from being pulled right off his face.

“You wish,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I haven’t even decided if I want a second date yet.”

“Ah ha!” Richie points at him. “So you admit this is a first date?”

Eddie laughs and raises his eyebrows. “I dunno. Is it?”

“Let’s ask Johnny Rocket,” says Richie, cocking his head to the right. “Got time for a burger? We can split a milkshake.”

Eddie gives him a considering sort of look. “I could probably squeeze it into my schedule.”

Ohhhhhh the things Richie wants to squeeze… With great mental fortitude, he refrains from commenting. Instead Eddie opens the door for him and they grab two menus and a booth. 

“What are you gonna get?” Richie asks.

Eddie peers at him from over the menu. “Depends who’s paying. But we’re definitely not sharing a milkshake. I can already tell you’re a dessert hog. I’d end up getting like one sip.”

Richie laughs, running a hand through his hair. “God.”

“What?” asks Eddie, eyes already fixed back on the menu.

“Honestly? You.”

“Me what?”

Richie hesitates because it’s something he’s never talked to anyone about before. And for good reason—it’s fucking stupid. But right now, sitting in this Johnny Rockets…

“You know…” he starts, drumming his knuckles on the table, “I’m like, super bisexual. But I knew my soulmate was going to be a guy.”

Eddie puts the menu down. “Huh. Really? How?”

Richie shakes his head. “I dunno. It sounds really stupid but like… I don’t know if it was a dream I had or… you just. Like when I heard your voice and then you turned around in the theater…”

It’s so corny. He can’t say it. He’s playing with the straw dispenser on the table like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. How do you say you make me feel like, gooey inside and it’s fuckin’ nasty but also I don’t ever want it to end? Without sounding like a pussy, of course.

“Thanks? I guess?” says Eddie. “I mean, I still have no idea what you’re talking about but—”

“I’m really glad you’re my soulmate,” Richie blurts out. “Not just to have one, I mean. I’m glad it’s you. You’re awesome. Like...you’re totally knocking me off my fuckin’ feet here. And I hope you��”

The rest of his sentence is drowned out by Eddie leaning over the table and kissing him. Not like, full-on tongue kissing or anything. Just kind of a peck. But longer. Something in between. Soft, but definitely real.

And afterwards Eddie draws back, a little pinker than he was a second ago and then digs into his pocket, fishing out some quarters. He puts two in the little jukebox at their table, punches in a number and letter combo, and then sits back in his seat, shredding a straw wrapper between his fingers.

  I thought love was only true in fairy tales

Meant for someone else, but not for me

 Eddie looks like he’s trying as hard as he can not to grin, going even redder. Richie leans in and offers his hand. Eddie drops his straw wrapper.

  Love was out to get me, that’s the way it seemed

Disappointment haunted all my dreams

But then I saw her face—

 “You know,” Richie says, looking Eddie in the eye, “I like the Smash Mouth version better.”

  Now I’m a believer

 Eddie laughs and takes his outstretched hand. “I think I can live with that.”

#Stephen King's IT #It (2017) #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #so says sam

[csauce-and-chips]

The Tipsy Side

Word Count: 2,032

Featured: Thomas Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Remy Sanders

Pairing(s): Prinxiety, Logicality (though not mentioned).

Universe: Human AU

Synopsis: Thomas has to make sure his friends have a safe time drinking at a party. What he discovers about his intoxicated friends is shocking.

_______

Thomas had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

Being the youngest amongst his group of friends had its advantages and disadvantages. One disadvantages is not being old enough to drink. Of course this sucked for him, and Patton had apologized about it many times before the party really kicked in, but Thomas had just said it was fine.

"You sure, kiddo? I can just hang out with you if you want!"

"It's ok, Patton. I want you to have fun! Someone's gotta be responsible."

How naive he was.

It took only half an hour for the party to really kick off. If you could call it a real party. There was at most 20 people there, however, that didn't stop them from getting wild. Particularly a certain group of four Thomas kept his eye on.

Shockingly, the very dramatic and Disney fanatic got drunk first. Thomas wouldn't have expected him to be a lightweight, but it only took him two shots to get him going. At first, he was laughing and shouting at the house's Alexa to change it to different Disney songs. And then, Thomas delved into the madness of his drunk friends for the first time ever.

A usually flashy and ambitious Roman stumbled over to Thomas at his spot on the couch. It had been about an hour and a half since the party had started and Roman was a mess. Thomas, of course, was a little concerned.

"Roman-" Thomas took his hands to carefully sit the older man next to him, trying to make eye contact with the wasted prince. "Woah, hey now.. you ok, Ro?"

For a moment, all Roman did was blink at Thomas like he was talking in rhymes. Then a goofy, soft grin spread across his drunk face. Thomas stared at him in confusion as Roman flopped against his shoulder, laughing softly.

"Hi Thomas~ you're warm.."

"Uh.. Roman?" Thomas chuckled as his concern mixed with his amusement. "Maybe you should take a nap?"

"Whaaaaat? Thomash- Thomas??" Roman paused in confusion as he squinted at Thomas' jeans as if they contained all the answers. "What was I sayin..?"

"I said you should take a nap?"

"..." Roman broke out in a slurred giggle fit, patting at Thomas' leg like a silly child. "I love you, Thomas~"

Thomas chuckled as he tried to think of what to do next with Roman to take care of his silly drunk friend. That was, before he heard a very loud shout from the kitchen.

"FUCK YOU- NO, NO, SHUT YOUR STUPID MOUTH!"

Thomas let out a soft sigh as he stood carefully, moving a pillow to where he was sitting so Roman could lay down.

"Stay here, bud. I'll bring you some water, kay?"

"Thomas, you're so nice to meeee," He could hear Roman start up again as he had already left to push through the small crowd to the kitchen.

Knowing his friends, Thomas was pretty sure that Logan was behind all the screaming. Though Logan was a really intelligent and calm person, he had a temper he's seen jump out on many occasions. Different shouting sprees, but he always managed himself quickly. So this had to be Logan, unable to contain himself with alcohol in his system, right?

Wrong.

Stepping into the kitchen, Thomas was surprised to see Patton, who was pushing at a familiar face with an usually pissed off look on his face. He had a bottle in hand and it was clear that he was drunk.. still... this was a bit unbelievable for anyone who's met Patton.

"YOU'RE- YOU ARE SO FUCKING MEAN!" Patton was half shoving, half swatting his victim into the counter behind him. "YOU JUST MAN- MANIPULATE EVERYBODY AND IT'S SO FUCKIN RUDE-"

"Patton- uh- friendo-" Deciel had his hands up defensively as he bared the brunt of Patton's drunken rage. Can't say he didn't deserve it for what he's done in their high school days, but he's proven himself better since then. Patton seems to have forgotten about.. All of that.

"DON'T FREE-ENDO ME PAL! DO YOU WANT ME TO FIGHT YOU?? I'LL FUCKIN FIGHT YOU RIGHT HERE, IT'LL BE PHYSICAL-"

"Uh, Patton?" Thomas placed a hand on his friend's shoulder carefully, unsure of what his friend was capable of in this state.

"WHAT-" Patton turned quickly, maybe too quickly, but catching himself on the counter at the last second. He squinted angrily, his bottle clanking against the counter.

Thomas sighed as he rested a hand on his friend's arm and cut him off. "Patton, it's me, Thomas. You're getting aggressive-"

"THOMAS HE HURT-"

"I remember, I remember, that was back in high school, remember?" He made eye contact with Patton and rubbed his arm. "Remember how it's been six years since you've been in high school, dad?"

One thing that really seemed to draw him back into the moment is the way Thomas called him dad. Patton opened and closed his mouth a  few times before he let go of his bottle and he sighed heavily.

"..'M drunk."

"That's right. You got it pops." Thomas lead Patton to the kitchen bar and sat him in a seat, grabbing two glasses and filling them with water. "It's ok. Just try to take it easy, kay?"

Patton nodded as he took one of the waters. "M'kay.."

Thomas gave him a smile and a pat on the back. "Thanks Patt."

"Thomas!" Thomas looked up and was surprised to see Remy, who looked pretty drunk himself- however, Remy was excellent at handling his liquor. "Hey Rem. What's up?"

"What's up is that your friend has been in the bathroom for like-fourty minutes and I'm seriously going to snap his neck if you don't get him out of there!"

"Friend?" Thomas circled around the counter to Remy who lead him upstairs. His first idea was that it was Virgil, because his anxiety probably got to him, and he decided to hide out in the bathroom. Of course, just his luck, he was wrong again.

"Logan?"

Logan sat in the bath tub, curled up into himself. He had his face buried into his arms which were wrapped around his knees. His hair was a mess and his tie was dangling from the edge of the sink. So, yknow, it was weird to think that this was his friend Logan.

"Thomas..?" Logan lifted his head out of his arms but still had to rest his cheek against his forearm. His face was caked with tears, his eyes red and his skin blotchy from crying.

Thomas felt awful seeing him like this. Remy had already abandoned the bathroom for now, so he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Lo.. what's going on? What's wrong?"

It was clear by the way his bottom lip quivered at the question that that alone had bothered him. Thomas plopped himself on the toilet seat, prepared to listen to his drunk friend.

"I'm drunk Thomas.. imma mess"

Thomas waved it off and put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Don't worry, Lo, everyone else is a mess too-"

"B-but that's just it!" Logan's voice cracked ad he looked desperately at Thomas through half-lidded eyes. "I'm- I'm supposed ta' be reshponsible! I'm supposed ta' be everyone's mom! What.. what am I supposed ta' do if I can't- can't-"

At this point, Logan was a bumbling mess of sobs and drunken slur. The bottles in the sink and on the counter surface suggested that Logan's drank the most so far. It hurt Thomas' heart to see his friend like this, to see him try to drink his troubles away to only get hit 10x harder with it in this state.

"Logan. You don't have to be responsible for the others all the time."

Logan sniffled as he frown heavily at Thomas, looking ready to cry again. "What'aya mean..? I need.. I need to know you-" a hiccup, apologies "-you, you guys are all acc- accounted for-"

"Look Logan, it's ok if you aren't being the responsible one all the time. We appreciate everything you do for us, you don't need to stress yourself out with us all the time."

His glossy eyes stared at Thomas' clear ones with drunken surprise as a "really..?" Slipped. As if he didn't know that they all appreciated him.

Thomas smiles gently. "Of course, Lo. We may not say it all the time, but we appreciate you. We love you so much. You do know that, right-?"

He fell quiet as he saw Logan had his eyes closed, his breathing still shakey but evenly rhythmatic. Thomas sighed as he stood from the toilet seat, adjusting his friend so that he was laying down in the tub rather than bent over and worse for his back when he inevitably awoke. A towel yo substitute as a blanket wasn't that bad either..

Just as he had placed the deep green material over Logan, someone crashed head-first into the bathroom.

At first, Thomas expected it to be a party-goer he didn't know that was hurling in the toilet he had been sitting on moments ago (thank god for wanting to get up). But instead he found the face of his final drunk friend, hair messier than usual and his shirt.... gone?

"...uh, Virgil?" Thomas asked in lingering surprise as his friend finished loudly vomiting, just the sight of it making him sick to his sober stomach. "You ok?"

Virgil huffed over the toilet bowl as he turned his head to look at Thomas. Every move he made seemed to make him dizzy. However, he didn't seem mad, or upset at all from hurling. What surprised Thomas the most was the perverted grin plastered all over his friend's face.

"Mmm.. hey Thomas~" Virgils voice was the heaviest with alcohol, a hum of pleasure behind it. His eyes were dazed and intent on looking over Thomas' entire figure like he was a hungry animal. "Mhmmm, I'm fuckin' faaaaantastic!"

Before Thomas could say anything, Virgil had shoved himself to his feet. However, it wasn't very steady as the boy stumbled, practically throwing himself into Thomas' arms as he pushed his hands onto his younger friend's chest with a look of stupid desire.

"Virgil..!" Thomas had a red tint to his cheeks as he tried to hold up Virgil's weight so suddenly, while feeling extremely uncomfortable by his actions. "Virgil- please just-"

"Jus' what, pretty boy~? Ya.. ya seeeeexy peice'a meat, hmmm?"

My God, if this wasn't the most uncomfortable thing ever, Thomas wouldn't know what was.

Thomas took a breath as he pulled on a stern tone. "Virgil, your boyfriend wouldn't be so happy if he found out you were flirting with me. Or am I wrong?"

Virgil fell quiet and his smirk dropped. Something seemed to shift in his eyes as he frowned, gripping slightly at Thomas' shirt.

"Wha's- where's Ro?"

"He's on the couch." Thomas sighed ad he realized what was going on. He hated seeing Virgil anxious again, slipping back into himself, but it was much better that when he was being touchy-feely. Plus, he knew Virgil wouldn't want to hurt Roman like that on purpose. "I'll take you. Here.."

Thomas adjusted himself so that he had an arm around the slightly smaller man, flushing the toilet on the way out. He made sure his fumbling, highly intoxicated and highly anxious friend got down the stairs and to the couch safely, glad to see that Roman was well passed out on the couch- oddly curled up with an innocent expression he never seemed to wear.

Virgil seemed to focus more when he spotted his sleeping boyfriend. Thomas let go as Virgil stumbled a little to lie a tad awkwardly next to Roman on the couch. Virgil seemed happy enough but well on his way to passing out hard.

"Mmm.. thanks, Thomas.." Virgil mumbled softly as his eyes closed contently. He would be glad the next morning when he figures out he didn't do anything unscenely with his youngest friend.

Thomas couldn't help but smile, relieved. He glanced around at his friends on the couch and in the kitchen. All asleep, all taken care of and accounted for. He made sure that he had set out a water bottle for each of his friends, along with ibuprofen, for when they all inevitably awake the next morning.

Needless to say, taking care of drunk idiots isn't easy. You never know what to expect. But if there's one thing that Thomas learned tonight was that no matter what surprises come his way, his friends were still his family- still the people he loved more than anybody else in the world.

Thomas made a mental note to scold them all in the morning, anyways.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #au #csauce-and-chips #ficlet #my writing #ts virgil #virgil sanders #logan sanders #ts logan #roman sanders #ts roman #patton sanders #ts patton #sympathetic deceit #ts deceit #deceit sanders #remy sanders #ts remy #human au #human sides #drinking #tw: drinking #cursing #tw: cursing #prinxiety #logicality