cuntfoam-archive-blog

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

dear aro people in the rt/ah/funhaus fandoms

so I’ve been writing this fic for ‘round about a long fucking time now, and it’s got a lot of diverse gender identities and sexualities going on, most of which (i hope) I’ve been able to accurately represent to the best of my understanding. 

However, and here’s where you come in, I really want to write an aromantic character (don’t wanna say who bc it’s sorta plotty?), but I really have no clue how to write one accurately. Let me be specific, I mean simply aromantic, not asexual as well, that doesn’t fit in the narrative i have going on right now. 

So anyway, what I’m asking is, if anybody is aromantic and also in these fandoms and also willing to let me ask some questions about their orientation--things like how they view sex, and like platonic relationships and such--could you hit me up? Either on this blog or my general writing blog or my main blog. 

Please and thank you,

Riv

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

Newbie (pt. 5)

Ao3

Summary:

You mumble curses to yourself as you climb up the fire escape, you're an out of shape little dude. Who decided this was a good plan?

"We're robbing a Chuck E. Cheese?!" Michael asks in disbelief.

"Okay, listen the fuck up, gentlemen." You sit up a little straighter. Since this is your first official heist briefing, Jack has let you wear your binder again. Geoff grabs the plastic fork that Gavin is using to eat fried rice. "This," he points to a building on the map of Los Santos; it's circled in red marker," can anyone tell me what it is?"

"It's a fucking Chuck E. Cheese," Michael answers helpfully.

"We all know that, Michael!" Gavin shouts. No one else was shouting. Why does Gavin always have to make things shouty?

"Well then why's he fuckin' askin' the questions, Gav?!"

"I don't know! But obviously that's not the answer he wanted; is it?!"

"It's not," Geoff agrees.

"Shut the fuck up, Gavin."

Ryan has to lock his arms around Gavin's waist to keep him in Ryan's lap as opposed to brawling with Michael. The Brit flails his arms, and his rice falls to the kitchen floor. Ray--you don't actually know what Ray's--no, wait, Ray's filming the whole thing. And goading Gavin on.

"Will all you cocksuckers shut your mouths!"  Geoff yells over them all.

"You're a cocksucker, too," Ryan argues.

"I sure as hell am not!"

"Wow, Michael," Ray says," You've been sleeping with the boss, and he's not even putting out? You're loyal; I'll give you that."

"Yeah, just not to his wife," Gavin pipes up. Well shit. You didn't know that. You did not know that. You suddenly like Michael a lot less.

Michael stands from his chair, and you start to get worried. He's been edgy since he got back. You figured it was whatever was up with Ryan, but maybe now not so much.

"How dare you," Michael says. "We have a system. I love her, you dog piss."

"Well, wouldn't know to look at you, would ya?"

"You wanna go? Let's go."

Gavin squawks and tries to break free from Ryan's grip on him. "Gavin, you. are. tech support," Ryan reminds him. From what you've seen, when push comes to shove, Gavin always forgets that he's a scrawny scrap of nothing that a stiff wind could carry away into the mountains never to be seen again.

You're gripping your cane tightly now, ready to make a speedy escape if things go south. You can actually walk pretty okay without it now. You might use it as a weapon and limp your ass out of the fight if you have to.

"Ray! Put that damn camera away!" Ryan shouts. "And help me!"

"Fine." Ray puts his phone away. Michael and Gavin are still shouting at each other, but you can't make out anything they're saying. Ray shouts over them. "I really don't think you need my help to hold Gavin still. I know you don't, actually."

A gunshot echoes through the apartment. You all look toward the sound. Geoff is holding the smoking gun, so to speak. You're a little bit worried about where the bullet went.

He speaks quietly, calmly. "The next person who says some stupid fuckery will lose a toe." He slams the gun down on the kitchen table.

Michael, face red, slowly backs away to sit back in his chair. Gavin settles back against Ryan's chest, and Ray resumes his position cross-legged, back against Ryan's legs. Jack clears his throat.

"Now," Geoff says, straightening up and leaving the gun on the table," does anyone else have any more bullshit they wanna say?" Everyone shakes their heads.

"Okay. Good." Geoff runs a tattooed hand through his hair. "Where was I? Right okay.

"It's not a Chuck E. Cheese. I mean, it is, but it's mostly not. Technically speaking it's a knock off called like Cheese Hut or something."

He uses his (Gavin's) plastic fork to gesture to a picture he has pinned up. "Look at this," he says. "Does anyone have any idea why a place like this," fork points to building on map," would have a safe like this?" He gestures back to the picture.

"They keep there finest cheeses there," Ray says sarcastically.

Geoff angrily taps the fork against his thigh. "You wanna be able to hang ten when you don't go surfing, Narvaez?" Ray acknowledges the threat by staring down at his phone.

"So, this is a ruse, a sham, a curtain, a facade--"

"A thesaurus," Ryan mutters.

"It's a smoke screen," Geoff finishes,"to cover up what they really have going on."

"Which is?" Jack asks.

"Drug money, and a lot of it. Here's the plan--oh! But first, code names!" he claps his hands together in front of him, giddy. "Code names, Ryan!"

"Yeup."

"You're GG."

"Oh god," Ryan says, like he knows what's coming. You're not sure if you should be excited or scared.

"Gav is Hax. Ray you're Speed Run; Jack is Mod. Michael is Ready Up. I'm Admin. Robin," he points to you as he speaks," you're Newb."

You're startled. You didn't know you were going to be assigned to anything. You didn't know Geoff trusted you enough for that. To be honest you are kind of used to being the house pet.

"What?" Michael asks. "What's he gonna do?"

"That depends," Geoff says. "How comfortable are you with wearing a dress?"

"No," Jack says. He stands up, putting himself between you and Geoff. "You can't do that."

"Jack," Geoff says calmly," let the man answer for himself."

"You can't do that," Jack shoots back. "Do you have any idea what kind of shit that can cause? Dysphoria and flashbacks and depression; you can't just--"

You stand and limp over to them. It takes you putting a hand on both of their chests to get them to stop arguing with each other. You ask what you have to do.

"Okay so I was thinking," Geoff starts, jumping right back in to his plan," if you're okay with it, I want you to flash them." What the actual fuck.

"Okay, just, let me explain," Geoff says.

----

"I still don't understand what's happening."

Michael shoves Gavin's head into the car window. "Shut up, fuckwad," he orders. "You've had two weeks to go over the plan."

"But why do you have to be the one in a dress, Rob?" Gavin insists. Your quiet correction of your name is ignored. "Ray's all skinny and hairless too, and he's got the puppy eyes, and--"

"You just want to see your twink boyfriend in a dress," Geoff says over the car intercom.

"That is not--!" You think you can see the multiple exclamation points over Gavin's head as he searches for words. "Rob's not even in a dress!" You sigh and correct him again. You're getting tired of it, to be honest.

"His name is fucking Robin, Jesus Christ, Gavin. He's told you that at least ten times today." You might be in love with Jack. He might be a literal angel. You're not sure if it's the environment you've been in for the last couple of months, but you're slowly abandoning your straightness; you're not too worried about it.

"Robin has to be the one in the dress because he's, uh--I mean." You ask Michael to, please, continue. You would love to hear his explanation.

"What, because we can put a wig and some fake tits on him?"

The car goes silent. The coms go silent. Geoff's nonstop singing goes silent. Ray and Ryan's argument about who gets Gavin's ass when they get home goes silent.

"What?" Gavin asks. Jack coughs. You're speechless. "What?!" Gavin asks again.

"They're not fake, Gavin."

Gavin looks at Michael like he's just sprouted wings. "Course they are!" he insists. "What else would they be?"

"Gavin, I'm going to drop this conversation right now," Michael says." Because, I know that Robin has a gun on him, and I don't want to deal with Ryan and Ray when I let him shoot you for being a dumbass."

"Just because he's been wearing them around the apartmen--"

"Oh. my. god," Michael says. "Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. I actually can't believe you."

"What?" Ryan asks, apparently not getting it. You're glad you're not the only one. Michael has apparently latched on to something you're not getting. He's fluent in dumbass Gavin speak, though, so that's to be expected.

"You thought it was the other fucking way, didn't you?" You remind Michael that, while making Gavin feel like an idiot is well and good, eyes on the goddamn road.

"What?" Gavin is not comprehending. You think you might be.

"You fucking thought." Michael is somewhere between anger and hysteric laughter. "You motherfucking--"

"Road!" Gavin screeches. Michael dodges an incoming car just in time.

"Geoff, permission to stall the mission?" Michael requests.

"What?" Gavin exclaims. "You can't just--"

"Granted," Geoff consents. "Straighten him out, Michael."

Michael takes the next turn he can and pulls into a gas station parking lot. Gavin looks perplexed. And scared. Michael turns off the car.

"So let me see if I understand," Michael says. "You know Robin is trans."

"Well yeah. 'S obvious."  Way to be an asshole, Gavin. Gavin squeaks in protest at your statement.

"No, yeah that's an asshole thing to say," Michael backs you up. "But moving on, you think Robin is a designated male trans person?"

"Uh." Gavin has to think about that for a second. "Yes?"

"Amazing. Ryan," the other man answers Michael with a noise of acknowledgement," aren't you a demiboy? How did you let this happen?"

"We don't talk about it," Ryan says. "On the days when I'm nothing I'm just--just nothing. We don't talk about it." Healthy relationship dynamic there, you observe.

"They're all thriving in their respective relationships," Jack says sarcastically. "Completely healthy, totally not codependent, if you haven't noticed."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Gavin asks.

"We're gonna have a talk when we get home," Jack promises. "A very long talk."

"Gavin, Robin is a dude," Michael says.

"Well, yeah."

"Gavin, I will punch you through the com," Jack promises.

You interrupt Michael just before he starts yelling. While you appreciate their defense--er, care? While you appreciate their willingness you punch Gavin in the face for mis-misgendering you, shouldn't you all be getting on with the heist?

Geoff sighs. "He's right," he says. Everyone else mumbles their agreement, and Michael calls Gavin a dumbass once more for good measure, then the car is moving again.

----

You tear the blond wig off your head at the earliest opportunity, shoving it in a dumpster behind the building as you flee the cops trying to arrest you for indecent exposure. You mumble curses to yourself as you climb up the fire escape, you're an out of shape little dude. Who decided this was a good plan? You're just glad Gavin came through on his promise of lowering it for you; no way you have the upper body strength for that shit.

You sit on the roof for a few seconds, catching your breath and hurriedly pulling on the clothes stashed there. The binder is being and uncooperative fuck but it's important. As soon as you have the shoes reasonably secured you're running. You can hear somebody on the ladder; you figure the cops have caught up with you.

They want you to jump across goddamn rooftops. "Just go!" Ray shouts," I'm watching the 'manager' and it looks like they're catching on that their safe isn't so safe anymore." They want you to jump across goddamn roof. tops. Can somebody here please remind you who the fuck go shot in the calf?

"Jump, asshole!" Geoff shouts at you. Oh, easy for him to say. He's been sitting in a van this whole time.

You hear someone swearing on the fire escape, and that motivates you a little. You back up and take a running go, ignoring the pain in your leg. You land on your side on the other building, and it knocks the breath out of you.

"Attaboy," Geoff says. "You alright?" You answer with a cough. You're gonna start running miles after this. You swear. "Good, then hurry up. We're waiting for you."

You push yourself to your feet and bitch about physical activity all in one breath. You can do this. One more jump and then all that's left is to climb down a ladder and stroll leisurely down the street. You give a hacking cough to restart your respiratory system and sprint toward the edge of the roof.

You land on your side again, and your calf is pulsing with pain; that can't be good. There's a gunshot and a yelp behind you. You wonder who they're firing at and who is firing. Police will be a lot more hesitant to actually shoot you than gang members who just had their drug money and their actual drugs stolen.

"They're shooing the cops out of there in a hurry," Ray says in your ear. So not the cops behind you then, time to run. You scramble your way to the edge of the building almost on all fours, never actually standing upright. You climb down the ladder as fast as you can, ignoring Ryan and Michael coordinating their getaway in the background.

You're sure that Geoff could have come up with a better plan for a distraction. Sure, what he had come up with worked, worked really, really well, and you don't have to shoot any innocents which is always a plus but not necessary--Jack's words, not yours. But, as you climb into the minivan/get away car two rooftops and an alley away from the hit, you still think there could've been a better plan than you flashing your tits.

"Yeah, but this was way easier," Geoff says. Yeah, you can agree to that. You're still a bit iffy on just committing what was basically sexual assault against a bunch of minors, though.

"Will a few grand ease your conscience?" Ryan asks in your ear. This is a throwaway vehicle, so they didn't bother outfitting it with an in-car com system. "Because that's your cut of what we just pulled out of that safe."

"You guys make it out okay?" Geoff asks. Ryan and Michael confirm they're safely on their way to their own ride with the money. Ray grunts to let them know he's alive.  Jack is sitting in the passenger seat, so he's accounted for. "Where's Gavin?" Code names are meaningless, you've found.

"Isn't he supposed to be with you?" Michael asks.

"No!" Geoff exclaims. "He's supposed to be sniping on the roof with Ray!"

"Ray!" Ryan yells. You hear Michael cursing.

"He was never up here with me!" Ray defends. "I thought he went with Robin for backup!" He was never with you. You thought he was with Ryan.

"Was no one paying attention during the briefing?!" Geoff shouts.

Any defense the others might have made is cut off by a new voice entering the com channel. "How does this damn thing work. No, I don't want you to show me! Gag him, would you? I've never heard a more annoying voice in my li--"

"Uh, hello?" Geoff says.

"Oh, good, it's on. Ugh, I had to stick this thing in my ear, and I don't know where this rat's been."

"If you don't mind me asking, who the fuck are you?" Ray pipes up.

"Me? I'm just a guy with a gun and some missing money," the stranger says. "Oh, and an annoying English rat who doesn't know when to shut up."

"He really doesn't, right?" Michael joins the conversation.

"How many of you bastards are there?"

"Y'know, a few," Jack answers.

"Jesus," the stranger breathes. "Listen, I know you're still around. I tried to catch your whore earlier, but I think I got the jester instead. Either way, how about we make a trade? Or you can keep the money, and, as and added bonus, I'll send all of you a limb."

"If I find one mark on him that I didn't put there I will skin your mother and your dog alive in front of you." Jesus, Ryan's brain freaks you out. "And then I'll drown you in their blood." Really, dude, do not need to get that specific.

"Newb, stay out of this," Jack advises you. So code names are in effect, then. Good to know.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" the man asks. "Did I catch somebody's fucktoy? Sorry to throw a wrench in your plans, but I want my property back, or I'll be damaging yours."

"Admin," Ray says," do you want me to 360 minus 360 this situation? I have the fov." You have no earthly idea what this means. They apparently have some kind of code speak going on here.

"No," Geoff says. "That might just make things worse."

"Admin," Ryan says," permission to abandon post?"

Ryan can't see the approving head nod Geoff gives him, but you can. You see it, you acknowledge it. You mirror it. "Denied," Geoff says. What.

"What?!" Ryan and Ray shout simultaneously.

"Well fuck that," Ryan says. "I was just being polite."

"I'm coming with you!" Ray says.

"Is that really a good--"

"I will blue ball you for a month if you finish that sentence," Ray interjects.

"Okay, everybody shut up!" Geoff shouts. "Let me just think here." There's silence for a moment, then," You! You, uh, uh, hostage holder enemy man."

"Yes?"

"You want your shit back, we want our Brit back. You're proposing a trade. I agree."

The amount of absolute chaos at Geoff's statement is ridiculous. Ray and Ryan start threatening, in order, Geoff, Geoff's wife, Michael, the man in the store, Geoff's car, and Geoff's  entire apartment complex. Michael starts out by calling Geoff a pussy, and he's on a tangent about making Gavin stay chained to Ryan's bed by the time Geoff gets him to shut up. Jack actually doesn't say anything.

"Shut up you buncha cunts." The coms go silent. "We're meeting at the pier in fifteen minutes and that's final. GG, follow standard trade procedure. Ready Up, swap with Speed Run. Newb, stay in the car."

"What should I do?" Jack asks.

"Make sure he stays in the car," Geoff says.

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

Newbie (pt 4)

Ao3

Summary:

Ryan comes home whistling one day when Ray is showing you the finer points of his knife collection. Ray looks like he wants to cut off Ryan's lips with the knife he's holding.

Everything is decidedly not back to normal again, you soon find.

You think you've been transported to the twilight zone. Ray is wearing both a permanent frown and the ring that Ryan had apparently gone on a murder spree for. Ryan himself seems to have become a character out of a paperback romance novel. You swear to god that Gavin is building some kind of magpie nest on the couch in the library with all the shiny trinkets that Proper Gentleman Ryan has brought back as courting gifts. He brought them back for Ray, who's apparently in a snit about something, but Gavin has a way of pilfering shiny things.

Ryan comes home whistling one day when Ray is showing you the finer points of his knife collection. Ray looks like he wants to cut off Ryan's lips with the knife he's holding—a pretty, ornate thing, sharp as hell. Instead, he stabs it into the coffee table, jostling the carefully laid out blades there, and stands up.

Ryan, oblivious as he seems to be now,  smiles at him and walks over. "Hi dear," he says. He reaches for Ray, you think to touch his arm or something equally as intimate, but Ray jerks away.

 "Hello, Ryan," he says coolly. He bends to carefully sheath and collect his favorite knives from the coffee table, cradling them in one arm. He looks Ryan dead in the eye as he yanks the blade from the wood of the table.You're nervous. 

You've never actually seen any of them wield anything but a gun, never seen them fight. You still don't know why they are fighting, and as such you don't know how violent it could get.

Luckily, Ray doesn't seem to want to take things in that direction. He carefully stows his possessions back in the backpack he had brought them in. He says," Goodbye, Ryan," and leaves the apartment. 

Ryan pouts—that's all you can reasonably call it, a pout. He sighs and slumps on to the couch. You ask why they're fighting; he says he doesn't know.

Geoff keeps wandering through the apartment with a glass of whiskey that's always almost empty, but never quite, muttering about raccoons and owls, and, "Seriously, why don't they have a cow?" No one can even find Michael. No one has fucked loudly and in your general vicinity in nearly five days, and that's how you really know something's wrong.

Jack is the only sane one in this place. Throughout this whole thing he continues to monitor your leg, your binding, and how many pills you're allowed to take. Not even 2008 Fall Out Boy singles can describe the levels of not caring that this walking beard possesses inside of itself.

It all comes to a head a week and a half after what you're referring to as The Second Council of Elrond. You wake up and have to piss, so you grab your handy-dandy cane and march your ass slowly yet surely toward the bathroom.

The one nearest the living room is occupied, so you trek on. You have to pass one of the spare bedrooms on your way, and as you draw near you can hear the sounds of someone having loud sex. A moment later you're pretty sure that person is Ray, because no one else here would start laughing and say "Need me to slow down, papa?" while fu—okay maybe Michael would. You could see that, but Michael hasn't been seen in a week so you go back to your original assessment of it being Ray.

Which—good, you were getting tired of Ryan being a kicked puppy and Ray being aloof. You're not sure if Ryan pissed in his weed or what, but you're glad they've kissed and made up.

You make it to the bathroom, and you can still hear them from there. You mourn silently for the wonderful amounts of sleep you had been getting during their fight. They apparently finish while you're in there. At least, they're not still going at it when you open the door out to the hall again.

You're about two feet from the bedroom door when it swings open. A man who you've never seen before steps out from the doorway. He is slouching, tall, and thin, wearing clothes that look like they are Jack's size though he is definitely not. He has a bird's nest of black hair on his head and just a bit of stubble.

The man starts to take another a step out of the room when he gets wrenched comically back inside. You can't see from this angle, but the sounds of loud kissing confirm your suspicion.

"Ray, I have to—I've gotta go." You can see one pale hand gripping the doorframe as the man inside speaks. "B-Burnie needs me back—back at the—I have to be back by one."

There's a beat of silence where you assume they're kissing again. Then Ray says," Go on then, old man. Sorry you can't keep up with me.""You—you're a little bitch."

"Yeah, well."

The man emerges back into the hall, and the bedroom door closes behind him. A moment later he sees you and freezes.You wave the hand not holding a cane at him. He narrows his eyes at you in confusion before cautiously waving back. You introduce yourself.

"I'm Joel," he says once you are done. You ask if he knows Ryan, and he glances around the room nervously. "I-I mean I know of him. We've never—he's-he's never—I've never had the misfortune of meeting him, no. Geoff doesn't need me too much, so I've just, uh, just haven't."

You raise an eyebrow. To be sure, you haven't got a clue exactly how polyamorous that relationship is. And hey, it's his funeral if Skeletor gets pissed. There is a murder break in effect, though. At least, that's what you think is happening, and you assume from the name that that means no murders are occurring for a bit, or—it could be a break taken specifically to commit murders. You'd never thought of that.

You wish him luck and begin hobbling along back to your chair. It's kinda awkward because he's going the same direction as you, toward the door. Except you're going the speed of slow, and he quickly passes you but then doesn't seem sure if he should slow down and try to talk to you or just get out while he can.

He seems to settle for door number one, and slows down to your pace. "So, I've never seen you before. Well, actually I-I have, but you were—you were asleep and I had other things—I was kinda busy."

You tell him that basically all you've been doing for the last—what's it been? three weeks? Four?—is sleep and eat and pop painkillers. He asks about your leg, and you tell him Gavin shot you. How that translates to you being part of their gang now is beyond you. You think maybe it's the same concept as accidentally running over a dog and then adopting it.

You ask him what he does, and all he answers with is," Numbers. I do numbers and lies." You're not sure what that means, but the way he says it scares you enough that you don't ask more.

You both talk more. You tell him about your first impressions of the crew, and he sort of just babbles about whatever. Numbers, he talks about numbers a lot, and gold.

You finally hobble your ass back in to your near permanent residence of a chair and go for a drink of water. Joel makes awkward farewells and heads for the elevator. You find that your water cup is empty just before he presses the button, and, yes, you have just met this man, but Ray trusts him enough to fuck him and let him wander around the apartment by himself, so you don't think it's unreasonable to ask him to refill your water since it's, y'know, kind of a pain to do it yourself.

"What? Oh, okay." He starts walking toward you before he even finishes his not a sentence. You hold up the glass—pink with bunnies on it; there was a whole set; Ray had picked them out—and voice your thanks when he takes it. "Yeah," he says, distracted.

He's looking at the clock on the wall. He looks at it for a few seconds; you can see his eyes following the longest hand. When the minute hand ticks over he winces and starts muttering, but he walks to the kitchen, and you hear water running, so you don't ask.

Joel is halfway back to you with your prized hydration when the elevator doors ping open and Ryan steps in. His hands are tucked in his jacket pockets, and he's humming cheerily. Joel freezes, and Ray chooses that exact moment to call from the hallway," Do I need to suck your dick again before you can leave? " He makes it to the end of the hallway, where he can see Ryan, and his eyes widen behind his glasses.

All he's wearing is Zelda boxers and sex hair. You appreciate that it's a good look for him, but it also makes it very obvious that he was in no way joking.

Ryan stops humming and smiles in a way that you'd have to be blind and dumb to think is friendly, first at Joel then at Ray. You're really not in the mood to watch a murder; you just want your water. You tell Ryan this.

"Give the man his drink," Ryan tells Joel, smile still firmly in place. Joel's eyebrows scrunch at that, and you realize you had forgotten that Jack still won't let you bind. He advances the rest of the way to you and holds the water cup out for you to take.

"I, uh, I have to go?" Joel says. It's clear from his tone that he's asking permission here, looking back and forth between the two other men standing in the room.Ryan's eyes narrow and dart over to Ray. 

"Be my guest," he says, taking a slow step away from the doors and toward the younger man.

"Okay, I'll just—be going then."Joel cautiously makes his way to the elevator and presses the button. The doors open immediately and he steps in.

Ryan, meanwhile, is slowly advancing on Ray. You see the younger man twitching, fingers itching for a firearm that isn't there. He swallows and starts backing away from Ryan, but there are only a few steps before his back hits the wall. A picture clatters to the floor.

 "Ray," Ryan says with a smile," who was he?" He comes to a stop in front of Ray.

"Damn it, Ryan. You already know, okay. Don't make me—"

"No, I don't," Ryan says, he cages the smaller man in with his arms. Ray mutters something you can't make out. "Now why do you feel the need to do that?"

"You know why, Ryan. Stop playing these fucking mind games on me."Ryan slams his fist against the wall; you flinch. Ray smiles for a moment before frowning as soon as Ryan speaks. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he says to Ray.And, okay, you've only known Ryan for maybe a month at this point, but you're pretty sure Ryan would never, ever say that.

"That's the kind of shit I'm talking about!" Ray yells. 

The bathroom door, the one to the bathroom you couldn't use earlier, swings open, and Geoff shambles out of it. He's got the ever present glass of whiskey, though the ice appears to have melted, and he looks fifty shades of hungover, hooded eyes and shambling walk, and half his clothes are either missing or put on wrong. He looks around in confusion. Ryan and Ray either don't notice or don't care that their boss has just entered the equation.

"What's that even mean?" Ryan asks. "I apologized!"

"Exactly! Be a fucking asshole!" Ray yells; you think he shoves Ryan's chest, but you're not sure. "Scare me and hate me, fucking hurt me god damn it. I didn't fall in love with a southern farm boy who calls me 'darling' and tries to court me."

He pulls Ryan close by his shirt and kisses him roughly. Something in Ryan changes and his arms move from being against the wall to grabbing Ray's hips and gripping, tight. Ray slams his head back against the wall and gasps, "Oh, fuck yeah. Welcome back."

Ryan, unperturbed, dives in to bite at his neck. "How long was I gone?" he asks.

"Pretty long this time, couple—shit, do that again, yeah—couple weeks. S—mm—since last Wednesday maybe?"

Geoff turns away from the scene of Ryan and Ray grinding against each other in the front room. He heads down the hallway, pausing to knock on the library door. "Your boyfriend's back!" he yells loudly.

A loud noise, like the clattering of many vaguely metallic things to the floor, and what can only be described as a squawk answer this statement. the door swings open and Gavin flails out of it. 

"Ry!" he shouts happily as he runs down the hall. Ryan and Ray separate enough for Gavin to wriggle in between them. He loops his arms around Ryan's neck and kisses him. "C'mon," he grabs both Ryan's and Ray's wrists and starts tugging them down the hallway.

You sit in your chair and awkwardly look around the room. You sip your water occasionally. You are hungry, but Geoff is far away. Jack usually feeds you, but you don't know where he is. Gavin and Ray brought you your phone, though. It's sitting on the table by your chair, and Jack had taken the time to program all their numbers into it, except Ryan's. Ryan gets a new number every two months so none of them ever have it in their phones.

You call Jack; he says he's out stocking up on supplies. You ask why, and he says he doesn't know; Geoff just told him to be ready to treat some serious wounds. You're not sure you want to know anyway, so you ask him about food.

"Can't Ray get you something? He was there when I left this morning. I know he can't actually cook, but he can pour things and use the microwave." Ray cannot help you because Ray is busy being fucked in the ass by at least one man; you tell Jack this. 

"Oh, Ryan came back then? That's good; I was starting to worry about him. I'll have to let Michael know. " You ask if he knows where Michael is. "Of course I do," he says. "I'm not gonna tell you, but I always know. Anyway, I'll be back in like half an hour. I'll bring food."

You tell him you might be dead by then. You can feel the fat slowly leaving your body. You're wasting away. Your skeleton will greet him when he—

"Half an hour," Jack says, laughing. You hear the static click of him hanging up and end the call yourself. You can do this. You shall survive this tribulation!

You're sitting sideways in the recliner with your leg propped up on some pillows on the side table when Jack comes home. You have been making a nasally wailing noise off and on for the last five minutes. You're hungry, and you can still hear the gaylords having amazing sex like two rooms away. You're kind of jealous.

 Your head whips toward the doors when you hear them open, and very soon thereafter you smell the wonderful scent of drive-thru food. You tell Jack that you love him, and if you were gay you'd totally suck his dick right now. You might still, actually, if he asks; you're that grateful.

 He doesn't ask you too, thankfully, and you happily munch away at your chicken nuggets and continue to sing his praises while he looks at your leg. "They're really going at it, huh?" he says as he starts to unwrap the dirty bandages. You nod, not wanting to talk with your mouth full. You can hear all three of them still. You admire their stamina.

"Been awhile since Ryan's been gone that long, I guess," he says, mostly to himself. You ask why everyone keeps saying Ryan went away. He's been around all week. You know because you've heard Ray shouting at him and Gavin pleading with him; everyone seems to have generally gone insane around here is all you're saying.

You swear when he cleans the wound. "It's really not my place to tell you," Jack says. He digs through his medical bag for clean bandages. "Ryan didn't tell me until six months after he met me."  He wraps the new bandages around your leg.

That really sucks. You hate not knowing things; it makes it much easier to fuck things up. 

Jack puts your foot back down on its pillows and sits down on the couch. He hands you a controller. "Wanna play Geometry Wars?"

You both spend a good two hours killing brightly colored shapes. The sex noises stop about ten minutes in, and you can only assume they've all passed out from the marathon fucking.

The only reason you stop killing geometric shapes is Geoff. He bursts out out of his office with an empty glass in one hand and a map of the city in the other. "Gentlemen!" he yells," We have a heist!" 

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

okay but Fake AH Crew Michael getting smashed and telling people on Xbox Live that he’s in the fake ah crew and could have all their asses dead and they’re like fuckin prove it so he gets one fuckwit’s address and calls Ray and is like Ray i need you to shoot a bitch for me can you do this and the dude like suddenly goes silent mid-sentence and Michael’s like I told you bitches

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

King, Oh, King (2)

Ao3

Part 1

Work Summary:

It's Ryan who kisses him this time. He doesn't know if Gavin is a demon or a wizard or a fucking fairy, but he's always been attracted to power, and the black-eyed man now seems to exude it from his core.

It turns out that Lindsay is the castle's mistress. Gavin trusts both her and her husband implicitly, and Ryan has decided that he's going to vaguely trust anyone Gavin approves of, at least for now. If the being wants Ryan dead he could probably just snap his fingers.

"Why did you tell me to kill your friend?" Ryan asks Gavin as he trudges wearily on toward a meeting with his advisors and general and just really every vaguely important person.

The sun is rising, and he hasn't slept. The being is floating along after him, pointing things out as they go.

("And this is where I go when I'm sad," and "The soldiers blow each other back there. They don't talk about it, but everybody knows," and "Sometimes ducks swim in this fountain.")

"Cause I thought it'd be funny," Gavin says with a shrug. Ryan looks at him with scrunched eyebrows. "Well it was," he says defensively.

"To you," Ryan says. "You're a crazy motherfucker."

"That was uncalled for, king. You wound me." He puts both hands over his heart like he's been shot, hangs upside down in the air, and does his best impression of a dead man.

Ryan keeps walking even as Gavin stops to float dramatically, and after five seconds or so the being has to scramble to catch up with him. Ryan rolls his eyes at the theatrics. Gavin continues to chatter almost nonstop for the rest of the walk.

They've set up the meeting in what looks like a small--by castle standards only--dining hall. Lindsay is there, and so is her husband who's still squinting at everyone. Ryan wonders if he's always this suspicious of newcomers.

"Ryan!" Kerry, Ryan's assistant, pushes through the various official looking people milling about in the room to reach the king. He's holding an armful of papers and scrolls, and in his other hand he has a quill that is slinging ink on himself and everyone around him as he he frantically waves and pushes toward Ryan. At his exclamation, everyone in the room turns to look at the newly crowned royal.

Ryan's men are all staring at the being lounging comfortably five feet off the ground in midair, but all of the individuals who have been at the castle for some time before hand don't spare him a glance. They are well acquainted with the being's shenanigans. He floats over toward Michael, and Ryan considers no longer his duty to watch him.

Kerry, for his part, ignores everything that isn't Ryan and what he's supposed to be telling Ryan. Kerry is a good assistant. Ryan should appreciate him more.

"Ryan, thank god, okay, so most of the servants really don't care about another new king. One of the manservants had a heart attack and died, but we're really not sure if that was us or just his heart, poor old guy. The officials have seen enough coups that most of them don't really--"

He stops his stream of information as though realizing something. He turns and addresses the now silent room. "Go back to your chats, people. We'll call you when we're ready." Kerry waves his hand (the one holding the quill), as though shooing away pigeons, as he speaks. The room begins buzzing again soon after.

He turns back to Ryan. "I like being the king's assistant," he says appreciatively. "What was I saying?" He motions for Ryan to follow him to a corner while they talk.

"The officials?" Ryan prods, following sluggishly. His sleep deprived mind is focusing mostly on absorbing and processing information. Words are nearly beyond his capabilities at this point.

"The officials, right! Okay, so, Joel over there is in charge of the treasury, and I think as long as we let him count coins and don't try to take away his toy he'll go along with us."

As he speaks, the short blond motions to a thin, scruffy man with dark hair. He is tall, Ryan's height or more. Next to him is a shorter, younger man with unruly dark hair. The taller man, Joel, is talking in a constant, muted stream to the shorter, whose hand is resting comfortingly on Joel's shoulder. He nods with understanding as he listens.

"The puppy is Ray. To be honest, I don't really know what he does. As near as I can tell they keep him on call and just sort of aim him at Joel sometimes.

"That's Geoff, and that's Geoff's mustache, the glorious bastard--"

"Kerry! I have not slept since--I haven't slept. Cut to the chase."

"Right. So that's Geoff. He...does stuff. Really I've only been at this for like, an hour? I'm not sure why half of these people are getting paid. I think Geoff's the architect? Or like the architect's drunk uncle? We'll figure it out."

"Kerry, do I need to be here?" Ryan asks seriously. He would really settle for a piece of floor and a towel at this point.

"Not really? I can brief you in the morning. Oh, but I'll need Miles. He takes better notes than I do."

"Then you'd better find him," Ryan says. "I'm goin' to bed."

"Where?" Kerry asks.

"Dunno," Ryan answers. "Gavin!" He yells at the being. Gavin is draped over both Michael and Lindsay, discussing something with the latter while he plays with Michael's ear.

His head pops up like a squirrel's when he hears Ryan call. Gavin quickly finishes his conversation with Lindsay and leaves the couple. He floats over the crowd to stopping to rest horizontally eye level with Ryan.

"Yes, king?" he asks.

"I believe earlier I was promised a bed, with clean sheets."

Gavin's face lights up, and he chirps happily. "You were," he agrees, crossing one leg over the other and bouncing it up and down," would you like a guide, king?"

"That would be lovely."

Kerry, for his part, is just watching the conversation go down with a sort of vague concern, not noticing that some of his papers flutter from his grasp. He's also trying not to get shocked by the tangible sexual tension crackling through the air, but he seems to be in that position a lot.

Gavin twirls around to be behind Ryan and pushes him toward the door. "Kerry's in charge!" Ryan has the presence of mind to ordain and he is pushed from the room.

The whole crowd has gone quiet again, watching and wondering what shenanigans the new monarch will get up to. They watch as the floating being excitedly drags the king from their midst. Some chalk it up to Gavin's eccentricities; others wonder whether their leader is still of sound mind; and still others know the truth.

Ray, the master of brevity and wit that he is, puts it best. "They're gonna fuck!" he says, loudly, as the large wooden doors close behind the pair.

----

Gavin leads the way to Ryan's new bedroom, which the king has yet to see, and he does not shut up the whole way there. By the time they reach the door Ryan knows where every room of the palace is; Gavin's ranking of the rainbow colors from best to worst; and what is Gavin's favorite organ to eat when people occasionally (once every could of centuries) offer him sacrifices. (It's the penis. Always makes everyone watching really uncomfortable.)

"And here we are!" Gavin says waving his arms to indicate a door that is much bigger than it really needs to be, but is otherwise unremarkable. The being goes to open the door, finds it locked, and then jams his pinky in the keyhole--which is definitely smaller than his pinkie--and wiggles it around until there's the small "clink" of the lock unlatching.

Gavin opens the door and waves his hand to indicate the room in all its splendor. And, yeah, Ryan vaguely notes that this room is pretty fucking nice, but his eyes zero in on the bed, and he is a man with a mission.

The new king marches forward with single-minded determination and falls face down on to the bed. His feet hang off the edge, and he works on wriggling his feet out of his boots even as his eyelids droop and the crown falls off his head and skitters on to the floor. His boots finaly come off, and he's too tired to realize that it's because Gavin pulls them off. (If he had noticed he would've made some kind of "Undressing me already?" quip, rest assured.)

He doesn't even bother getting under the blanket, just grabs a pillow and passes out. Gavin watches him sleep. Not to be creepy or anything, he just doesn't have anything to do. Eventually sometime during the night he starts playing with the crown that fell to the floor.

----

Ryan wakes up with a start, and his gut fills with panic when he can't find his knife under his pillow. There's a weight on his back like someone sitting on top of him, and he's wondering if he can buck his hips hard enough to throw them off when he feels a pair of lips against the back of his neck.

"Woah, what the fuck?" he asks, trying to turn over. Hands push down on his shoulders to hold him in place.

"No, down, stay still you little trumpet."

"Gavin?! The fuck."

"Bored," is all Gavin says, hands running along Ryan's arms.

"No. What?" Ryan thrashes, but only manages to get himself face up under Gavin. The being is still straddling his stomach and holding him down.

"I said,' Stay still,'" Gavin growls, and Ryan is struck by the sight of him. His lips pull back to expose those sharp teeth, split tongue visible. He stares down at the king, those pupiless black eyes narrowed and predatory.

Ryan's eyes widen and he swallows, goes still. "There, good king," Gavin praises and relaxes immediately. He rests both his hands on Ryan's throat, meeting at the wrists, thumbs running over his Adam's apple. "Who's a good little fledgling, hm?" He presses down on the king's throat, and Ryan panics, but stays stock still.

Gavin leans down and kisses him again, but this time Ryan gets the memo and opens his mouth. The duality of the being's tongue is unsettling, but not off putting. He's not really kissing the being back, and it feels like Gavin is just taking stock of his teeth, running either side of his tongue carefully over each one of them.

He presses down quickly on Ryan's throat before letting up again, and Ryan makes a noise of panic in his throat, bites Gavin's tongue. Gavin moans like he's just had three simultaneous orgasms, so Ryan does it again.

Somehow Ryan's first real day as king has begun with him being molested by a masochistic supernatural being, and he can honestly say he was not expecting any part of this. He bites Gavin's tongue again and tastes blood; Gavin keens. Working on a hunch, Ryan fists a hand in the being's hair and pulls. This works out beautifully, and Gavin actually pulls away from the kiss to moan about it.

His tongue hangs down over his teeth and bottom lip, dripping blood on to Ryan's chin as he pants. A few moments later he swallows and smiles down at Ryan. "There we are, love. That wasn't so hard was it?"

Ryan's panting is for an entirely different reason than Gavin's. He's scared shitless. Gavin is grinding whatever sort of equipment he's got in his green pants down against Ryan's stomach, but Ryan's pretty sure he couldn't get it up if he tried right now. The hands around his throat aren't pressing anymore, but they're still there. That by itself is enough to unsettle him, not to mention the whole non-consensual aspect and the fact that he's really kind of not sure where he is right now or what time it is. He is confused and scared and there's a horny, possibly all powerful being writhing on top of him.

"Uh," Ryan says intelligently.

Gavin leans down and bites Ryan's bottom lip, hard. He then sits back up and squeezes Ryan's throat again, a parting gesture. "Be seeing you, king," he says, licking his own lips and leaving a smear of red around his mouth. He grins at Ryan, and then he's gone.

Ryan stays laying on the large bed and tries to calm his pounding heart, tell it that it's okay, they' still trekking. When his breathing finally returns to normal he realizes that he is starving, and has no idea what time it is.

As if on cue, the bedroom door bursts open and Kerry enters, usually stack of papers in hand, quickly followed by Miles who has a more organized looking book for notekeeping in one hand. In the other hand is something that Ryan cares about a lot more right now: food.

"Good, you're already up!" Kerry says, dropping his clutter on to the first raised horizontal surface he comes across; it's an end table by a chair in front of the fireplace. All of these things Ryan is noticing for the first time.

"Food," the king says hopefully to Miles.

"Ah, yes," Miles says, walking over to the bed with the plate of food he's holding. He sets it down on the bed next to Ryan, who sits up properly to get at it. "You've got a little, uh." Miles makes a swiping motion over his own chin, indicating.

Ryan winces, knowing he has Gavin's dried blood on his face. He had kind of hoped that was all some kind of weird dream. "Yeah," he says, doing nothing about the stains on his face and biting in to an apple instead.

"Right." Miles gives a tight smile and goes back over to Kerry.

Ryan watches as he reprimands Kerry's disorganization and starts picking up scattered papers. The two go about moving all of the blond's notes and papers to the more appropriate large desk near the window, and Miles attempts to put them in some kind of order. Ryan mentally starts preparing himself for a barrage of boring but necessary information and chews his apple.

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

King, Oh, King (1)

Ao3

Part 2

Work Summary:

It's Ryan who kisses him this time. He doesn't know if Gavin is a demon or a wizard or a fucking fairy, but he's always been attracted to power, and the black-eyed man now seems to exude it from his core.

Author's Notes:

I wrote lyrics and now a story? who knows man. It's been a while since i like posted stuff. sorry about that. 

It begins shortly after the Mad King rises to power, very shortly. Blood is still flowing freely from the corpse of the previous king, and the new royal has only just donned the crown when a young man enters the throne room.

Ryan is sitting on the throne, crown askew but not willing to fix it in front of the stranger. His clothes are blood soaked and tattered in places, his eyes red from the smoke whose source is impossible to know. He does his best to look commanding, not sure if this newcomer is here to usurp the usurper.

The man is a bit tall and very thin, gangly. The profile of his face and color of his hair are hard to discern under the shadow of his splotched green hood--everything he wears is splotched green in varying shades and hues, reminiscent of those exploding beasts for which everyone has a different name. A long scarf hangs down on either side of his neck.

Ryan sees a bow and quill slung over one shoulder and rests his hand on his sword. He is tired, but willing to defend himself until more of his men can arrive, if necessary. There is no need.

The young man kneels before the throne, head down. His gaze flickers to the dead king, and he smiles.

"Why are you here?" Ryan asks, looking down.

"I held no loyalty for your predecessor," the man says in an accented voice, still looking down. He is well trained, not daring to look a new king in the eye until given permission. Ryan wonders how many times he has done this. "And I shall hold no loyalty for you," he adds. "I come only to offer you a challenge."

"A challenge?" Ryan echoes. "What is your name, trickster?"

"Gavin Free, king." Gavin refuses to call him 'my king.' No one will ever be his king.

"And tell me, what is this challenge?"

"Play a game with me," Gavin says, line of sigh never leaving Ryan's boots. "I played it with old king, and every one before him."

"And what do I get if I win this game?" Ryan is leaning forward in his throne now, elbow resting on his knee, head resting on his fist.

"My loyalty and service," Gavin says.

"You said you shall hold no loyalty for me," Ryan hedges.

"You won't win." Ryan looses a laugh at that statement. "You think I'm useless." It is not a question.

"Prove me wrong," Ryan says, quirking an eyebrow.

In the span of about four seconds, Gavin wields his bow, knocks an arrow, and pierces the jugular of the woman brandishing a knife, unnoticed, not two feet from the new king. Ryan is slightly shell shocked, but really not all that impressed.

"There are many good archers," he says, looking from the woman's twitching corpse back to Gavin. Except Gavin isn't there anymore.

"You're just like all the others," he says. His voice sounds like it is coming from everywhere at once. Then, quick as he was gone, he is back again, this time standing next to the throne. "You have no desire for risk." He leans down and hisses the last word in to Ryan's ear, but he still looks down and away.

"You may look at me," Ryan says, tiring of not seeing the man's face. He glances over, but Gavin is not there. He's moved back to kneeling before the throne, closer this time.

"How kind." He flips back his hood, and Ryan resists the urge to scream. He has no eyes. This man has no eyes, just blackness.

"Do you accept the challenge?" Gavin asks, willfully oblivious to Ryan's inner turmoil. He stands and begins slowly walking toward the throne. "It would be unwise to keep me waiting."

"I-I don't know the terms of it, yet," Ryan sputters, doing his very best to meld with the back of the throne.

Gavin rests one hand on the high back of the stone throne, caging Ryan in with his body. He looks easy to move, but Ryan's not so sure now. He swallows and looks up at his captor.

This close he can see that he was wrong, Gavin does have eyes, behind his unnecessarily large nose. They are pure black and ringed in thick, jagged lines of black paint. Gavin blinks slowly at him, like a cat deciding if the prey is worth the chase.

"The rules," Gavin says eventually," are easy." And Ryan can see that his tongue is split down the middle for a solid inch. He runs both ends of it over his surely unnaturally pointed teeth before he speaks again. "Keep me entertained, or kill me."

"How am I to use your 'loyalty and service' if you're dead?"

"You will have it so long as I don't go bored. Do you accept the challenge?"

"What does 'entertained' mea--"

"Do you accept the challenge?" Gavin asks again.

"I really don't think this is--"

Gavin leans down, eye level with Ryan. "Do you accept the challenge?" His breath fans across Ryan's face, and it's cool. Not at all how breath should be.

"Yes!" Ryan says suddenly, willing to do anything to stop those eyes from blackening his very soul. "I accept the challenge."

A small smile quirks the corners of Gavin's mouth. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Then he does that last thing Ryan was expecting and kisses him.

Ryan goes stock still, wondering if this is the part where he's accidentally sold his soul or some shit, but Gavin seems pretty intent on just kissing him. He seems most intent on gnawing on his bottom lip, and Ryan confirms that those teeth are indeed sharper than a normal person's.

Gavin stops his very important work when he tastes blood before the king opens his mouth. "At this rate, you'll have to kill me before the sun rises, won't you."

"What?"

"You're being very boring."

"Well, I--"

"Sir!"

Suddenly, Gavin is not leaning over him. He is, in fact, nowhere to be seen, but an echoing laughter, like a bird call, fills the great hall for a few moments.

Ryan and the soldier are left alone. The latter looking around and holding his sword out toward thin air. Ryan sighs and beckons him closer. "What do you need to tell me?"

The young man sheaths his sword and offers a shaky salute. "We've secured the castle."

"Have you carried out my orders?"

"All who proclaim loyalty to the old king are being disposed of as we speak."

Before Ryan can praise his men's efficiency, another, lilted voice interrupts them. "Nuh-uh," Gavin says, pretending to check for dirt under his nails--he's wearing gloves. He crosses his ankles over the arm of the throne--Ryan's throne. He's sitting on Ryan's lap. "He's telling lies, he is."

"I am not! What kind of--"

Gavin holds one hand toward the offended soldier and makes a shutting motion with his hand. "Alright, he's ignorant, then." He stops inspecting his right hand for nonexistent dirt and looks over. "That okay with you?"

The man, unable to open his mouth, nods with wide eyes. "Good. Glad we cleared that up. Now then. The cook, the gardener, the captain of the guard, and that little hellion who works the stables all owe their lives to old dead and dying over there. They won't 'profess loyalty,' but they've got to go. The cook should've gone ages ago. Find someone who can cook a decent spider eye, would you, dear?"

Ryan is suitably confused by the being--because surely Gavin is no mere man--sitting in his lap and calling him 'dear' and ordering around his men. He seems to have released his hold on the soldier's mouth, however. "Should I do as he says, sir?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Ryan says. "It can't hurt anything." The man scrambles away with another shaky salute, and Gavin's trilling laughter follows him.

"I promise I won't be so forward most of the time," Gavin says, slinging an arm over Ryan's shoulder. "After a few centuries the scrambling for organization grows pretty dull."

"What are you?" Ryan asks, ignoring the way Gavin's fingers are petting along his neck.

"I'm the judge," Gavin says. "Tied to that pretty hat you've got on." He taps two fingers against the black metal of the crown.

"What does that even mean?"

"Tell you later. You'd better be getting off this throne and go make sure everything's going okay. You can sleep in the king's room tonight. Won't that be nice." He grabs a handful of Ryan's hair and tugs his face down, level with his own; Ryan stays silent only by sheer force of will. "They changed the sheets this morning. I told them to. His time was up."

Gavin kisses him again, one for the road, then disappears. "Fix the tax on wheat," his voice says vaguely, then silence.

Ryan stays seated for a moment, processing things. He had heard rumors. Everyone had heard rumors of the demon that stalks the palace halls. Ryan had always just thought it an old wives' tale, told to add some kind of mystique to the hardships of ever changing rulership. But now he'd be damned if they weren't true, in some form, at least.

He needs to find his general. He needs to get someone to oversee the removal of the corpses. He needs to find the mistress of the castle and see to it that the servants are in order, or, if she happened to be loyal to his predecessor, he needs to hire a new mistress and see to it that all the servants are in order. He needs to do a lot of things.

Ryan stands from the throne and takes slow, heavy steps toward the door. He idly kicks at the old king's corpse. He was a young man. All the kings have been young men, none of them ever staying enthroned long enough to grow old, and the revolts are always bloody.

The longest monarch had stayed for ten years. She had been queen when Ryan was young. Now he wonders what she had done to piss Gavin off. He wonders if anyone's ever refused his challenge. He wonders what entertains the being.

Sighing, he chases the thoughts from his head and focuses on more pressing matters. General, corpse removal, mistress--these are pressing matters. What ever the, apparently immortal, being who haunts the castle wants can wait.

----

Ryan doesn't sleep in the king's room that night. Ryan doesn't sleep that night. The captain of the guard got away from the soldiers pursuing him, and Ryan has to spend most of the night organizing searches for him.

When they finally track him down Ryan thinks they've caught the wrong guy. The young man in a bear skin and bright yellow shorts can't possibly be the person in charge of the security of the entire castle. He's in a tree, apparently against his better judgment if the way he's cursing is anything to go by.

"Burn it down," Ryan says, when asked what they should do. The base of the tree is surrounded by a band of soldiers trying to reach one of the lower branches with a ladder. Ryan wonders how the man got up there in the first place. "If he survives, hire him."

"Fuck off; I'm telling you, I don't give a shit about the dead fuckface!" the man is screaming from the tree. Ryan wouldn't be surprised if those in the town can hear him. "If you'd just let me ex--GAVIN YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

That gets Ryan's attention away from the thought of finally getting some sleep in a real bed. He focuses back on the tree. Gavin is floating lazily in the air next to the branch that the other man is perched on. He's lying back, ankles crossed, and he has shed his cloak. The shirt he's wearing is deep, dark green, and his frankly ridiculously long scarf is fluttering up and down as he bobs slowly in the air.

"Aw, Michael, don't be like that," he says, pouting. He twists in the air until his pouting face is upside down in Michael's sight. "It's just a bit of a fun."

"I will shove my sword up your ass," Michael promises.

"Michael," Gavin whines.

"Gavin," Michael sneers.

Gavin pouts deeper at him for a moment. "Fine," he says, put upon. He flips around to be right side up and opens his arms in invitation to Michael. "You're so fussy."

"Oh, well, excuse me for not wanting to be burned alive. Sorry to be a such a fucking burden," Michael snarks. He reaches out and clings to Gavin's shoulders as the floating man lowers them both down to the ground.

"Excuse me, 'cuse me, 'cuse--get out of my fucking way." The unbroken line of soldiers around the tree shifts as a woman with long, deep red hair muscles her way through them. "Michael! Gavin, you asshole!"

"Jesus, Lindsay, has everybody gone crazy around here?" Gavin complains as he sets Michael on the ground.

Ryan, who had made his way to the outskirts of the crowd around the tree, walks toward the trio, the crowd parting for him. Blood is still flaking off of the crown on his head, and something about his face must scream barely contained frustration, because no one even meets his eyes. The sun starts to peek over the horizon, and Ryan's frown deepens.

"What is going on here, Gavin?" he asks, coming to a stop a few feet from the three at the base of the tree. Gavin's face lights up when he sees him.

"Hello!" he says, flipping up into the air so he can loop his arms lazily around and rest his head on Ryan's shoulders. "Michael!" he says excitedly, rubbing his head against Ryan's neck. "Michael, this is Ryan! He's mine now. Been pretty boring so far, but it's only the first night, ye?"

Michael looks Ryan over warily from behind Lindsay, who is simultaneously calling him an idiot and checking for injuries. Ryan thinks that the squinting is because Michael is extra suspicious and mentally marks that as a point in the younger man's favor, but really it's just because Michael couldn't find his glasses before he had to run for his god damned life.

"Ye, all right. He seems okay," Michael says noncommittally.

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

fuckin' somebody tell me what to write i'm out of ideas

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

I did a thing of metalsaddles lyrical study

excuse the shitty quality i recorded this with a webcam mic

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect Two Hundred Dollars

Ao3

Summary:

Play a game with me, oh king. You’ve got something worth exploiting, and I’ve got nothing left to lose.

A lyrical study in the Mad King and his ill advised affair with the enemy.

Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect Two Hundred Dollars

Sit on your stolen throne, Wear your crooked crown and heart of gold. Wash the blood stains from your clothes, Hold your head up high and cleanse those bloodshot eyes. You’ve never met a bad idea you didn’t like. Try this one on for size:

King, oh, King Won’t you play a game with me? oh king, oh King You’ve got something worth exploiting And I’ve got nothing left to lose So king, oh, king Won’t you play a game with me? The rules are easy

Slit my throat before you go, You opt out; I get an extra roll. No poison in your glass I get moved three spaces back Take a look, here’s where we’re at

King, oh, King Won’t you play a game with me? oh king, oh King You’ve got something worth exploiting I’ve got a craving For what you can’t give me. So king, oh, king Won’t you play a game with me? The rules are easy.

Cut my heart out while I sleep Or it’s a midgame penalty. I won’t let the castle burn Means you get an extra turn, And we’re right back to square one.

King, oh, King Won’t you play a game with me? oh king, oh King You’ve got something worth exploiting And I know you’re dying Just to see me under glass King, oh king Please come and lay with me, oh king, oh king. The rules are easy

Cut me open, spill your guts. We’re playing doubles and add-ups. This dance has made us both numb I know it’s not quite how you play, This arbitrary number game But we’re at the point of all or nothing. So king, oh, king Won’t you play a game with me?

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

yo, where all the Lazer Team set fics at

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

Freewood king AU where Gavin's the (young, like 16-18) prince of Geoff's kingdom and they've been trying for years to set up an alliance with Ryan's kingdom, but to no avail. Gavin is finally old enough to sit in on the negotiations, and Ryan's never seen this pretty little blond before. He's suddenly very on board with this whole alliance thing, and maybe he should stay a few days and they can work out some things and arrange a time for more formal negotiations And then Ryan asks if Geoff and Gavin would like to go hunting with him, Achievement City has different fauna than his own kingdom, after all, and Ryan and Gavin 'accidentally' get separated from Geoff and the rest of the hunting party and Ryan totally convinces Gavin to makeout with him against a tree, and from then on whenever Ryan and Gavin are in the same castle together (Geoff's, Ryan's, a common ally) there are lots of secret makeouts and Ryan shoving his fingers in Gavin's mouth to keep him quiet while he fucks him.

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

Jack is the only sane one in this place. Throughout this whole thing he continues to monitor your leg and your binding and how many pills you're allowed to take. Not even 2008 Fall Out Boy singles can describe the levels of not caring that this walking beard possesses inside of itself.

Geoff's in charge but Jack runs things

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

Newbie (pt. 3)

Ao3

Summary:

The return of Ryan the Georgia guy. 

     You are confined to the apartment that seems to serve as their headquarters. Some of them sleep here sometimes, but Geoff seems to be the only permanent resident. He doesn’t talk to you much unless he’s drunk, which is semi often, and then he tells you stuff you don’t wanna know. He tells you about his wife who also happens to be a pretty big name in the drug world, about his daughter who lives blissfully unaware of all of it; he shows you pictures at one point when he’s really drunk and keeps calling you Burnie.

     Jack tells you after the first night that you’re not allowed to ever sleep in your binder or wear it at all that day. You protest, but he fights you on it, and you ask how he joined a gang when he cares so much for others’ wellbeing. He tells you that’s why he’s the doctor and then makes you take off your bidner and give it to him, to be held in an unknown location until further notice. You grudgingly admit that, yeah, it’s easier to breathe this way. The others either don’t notice or don’t care, and it’s kind of refreshing.

     After a few days you’re pretty sure they’ve accepted you in to their ranks. Geoff throws beers at you, and Ray offers you his joint; you’ve never accepted but he still always asks. Two days after you arrive, Ryan, begrudgingly, and at Gavin’s insistance (you can see him in the hallway, watching) offers to teach you how to clean a gun, and you accept quickly. He still scares you, and you’ll jump at any opportunity to convince him that he shouldn’t kill you.

     He asks if you’re any good in a fight, and you tell him that you can shoot a handgun if need be, but your aim is kind of shit. You’re pretty good with a knife, but that probably wouldn’t be much help in this line of work.

     ”You’d be surprised,” Ryan says, demonstrating a second time how to put the gun back together,” how many situations quick thinking and a knife’ll get you out of.”

     He doesn’t say much after that beyond instructions. He hands you the freshly out together gun and tells you to take it apart like he showed you. You stumble through it while he corrects you and then he tells you to put it back together. This goes on for an hour, off and on, until you’re sure you could take apart, clean, and reassemble this particular gun in your sleep.

     ”Good,” Ryan says after a time. He takes the gun you’ve just put back together—brilliantly put together, you might add—and stands from the couch. “Once you can stand by yourself someone should teach you to shoot.” He leaves.

     The worst part about being shot, besides the pain, which Jack graciously takes care of with little white pills that you don’t question, is being pretty much confined to this, admittedly comfy, recliner. Your leg is propped up on four pillows since you’re only supposed to have it down ten minutes every hour. You don’t strictly follow that rule though.

     You mostly watch TV or play on one of their many Xboxes; they’ve all warned you independantly not to do weird shit on their gamertags. You turn on the news one day out of sheer boredom, and are surprised to see Joe and Margaret’s faces staring back at you.

     ”A week and a half later, and police are still looking for any leads regarding the robbery and double homicide that took place at a local convenience store early last Saturday afternoon,” the woman is saying. Double homicide? Are you assumed dead now?

     ”Joe Fletcher and his wife Margaret were both found dead last Saturday after their store was robbed,” the woman continues,” but what makes this case particularly strange is that Margaret wasn’t killed until after she had filed a police report and gone home.

     ”She was found later that same day by concerned friends who had heard of her husband’s death. In contrast to her husband, who was shot cleanly through the head, her corpse was described as ‘almost unrecognizable.’ This has led to police questioning whether the two events are even related.”

     You change the channel. You’ve heard enough to know that Ryan went back for Margaret. You feel a little sick to your stomach, but overall you’re pretty okay with it? And it’s the fact that you’re okay with it that makes you uneasy.

      Gavin and Ray enter the apartment then. Gavin’s singing some song you don’t know, and Ray is carrying a brown paper bag like a first place trophy, held aloft in awe even as grease seeps through it, while he loudly hums a different song that sounds like a victory march. Gavin has a large black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

      “We brought food!” Ray yells through the apartment, obviously not really sure who’s there and who isn’t.

      You know the drill by now. You announce your presence and hold up your hand over the back of the recliner. Some kind of wrapped something ends up in your hand as Ray and Gavin make their way to the seats around the TV and deposit their loot on the coffee table.

     ”Hey, Rob,” Gavin says, sitting down heavily on the couch next to you. You quickly correct him, as you have done for the past three days. Your name is not Rob. “Yeah, yeah, robin, whatever. Got something you might want.”

     You unwrap your—it turns out to be a chicken sandwich. You unwrap your chicken sandwich and raise and eyebrow at him. He swings the duffel bag around until it’s in his lap and unzips it, pulling out first your favorite shirt and then one of your binders and then one of your boots. Your eyes widen.

     ”Jack had X-Ray and I take him on a bit of a field trip,” he says. “He got some of your things from your apartment—crappy little place you had there—and told us to bring them to you. He had to do some bloody doctor shit I dunno.”

     ”Maybe he’s picking up some stronger shit; whatever he have last time did fuck all,” Ray says.

     ”That’s cause your body doesn’t register painkillers anymore until they’re dangerous,” Gavin scolds, shoving Ray lightly.

     ”Do you two have to be so fucking loud every time you enter a god damn room?” The brunet with the video game tattooes—who you have learned is named Michael—comes stumbling out of…somewhere. There’s so many rooms in this god damn apartment, who really knows. He’s got on nothing but a white, sleeveless undershirt and a pair of blue boxers. He squints and trudges toward where the food smell is coming from, stumbling a bit and flinching at the light as he leaves the darkness of the hallway.

     ”Rough night, my boy?” Gavin asks loudly.

     ”Shut the fuck up, Gavin,” Michael responds. He grabs a sandwich at random, unwraps it, and starts eating it before he even looks at it.

      “Ah, is someone a bit hungover?” Ray asks, shouting the last part just to watch Michael flinch.

     ”Seriously, assholes, shut up. Geoff drank more than I did last night, and it’s only by sheer dumb luck and an alcohol coma that you haven’t woken him up yet.”

     Their demeanor immediately changes, and they go quiet. Ray and Gavin choose their own sandwiches out of the many that are left and bite in to them silently. Geoff hadn’t come across as that scary to you, but then you had never seen him hungover and annoyed so you guess you couldn’t be sure. You follow their lead and don’t say anything.

     After a few moments of silent eating, Ray speaks up. “So like, not that you wandered half dressed of of Geoff’s bedroom or anything but, I thought you two had called it quits, again.”

     ”I thought you knew how to mind your own damn business,” Michael shot back.

      You look at him fully now. You quickly learned that Michael was a lot more volatile—and therefore more dangerous, at least in the short run—than Ryan, and you now do your best to avoid direct eye contact or looking too long. However, he seems to be suitably distracted by his spat with Ray and Gavin, so you look him over.

     His hair is in disarray, more so than usual, and there are suspiciously mouth shaped marks littering his exposed shoulders. You wonder how you missed the outline of hands over Michael’s throat, or the boneless way he practically sinks in to the couch.

     You heard them, you realize, last night. You heard Michael and Geoff, but everyone’s voice sounds the same when all they’re shouting is ‘more,’ and you’ve adjusted to the noise levels in the apartment fairly well. You fell asleep and slept through it.

      “All I’m saying,” Ray tells Michael as you tune back in to the conversation,” is that crawling back to him every time you end it isn’t going to fix anything.”

      “It’s unhealthy,” Gavin chimes in.

      “Is this a fucking intervention?” Michael asks. “Let me eat my damn burger in peace. Robin!” You jerk at suddenly being addressed. “You got some sort of relationship trouble that these two fuckwits can try to help you with? It’s their specialty.”

     Your closest thing to relationship trouble in recent times was when Melissa tried to sleep with you. She isn’t the kind of girl who’s used to being told no, and you understand why. She is pretty hot, and in all honesty you would’ve totally hit that if she hadn’t also been sleeping with your employer and his wife. You had no interest in opening that can of worms.

     You apologize to Michael that, unfortunately, you can’t get the crew’s self proclaimed love experts off his back. He’s gonna have to take it like a real man and talk about his feelings.

     ”Hell no,” Michael says, standing. He grabs his half eaten burger as well as another, untouched, one. “I’m out,” he says before trudging back toward the room he came from.

      You ask if this criminal gang ever actually does any sort of criminal activity, or if they just sit around and circle jerk all the time.

     ”Don’t knock the geometric jerkin’,” Ray says. Gavin elbows him. “Fine, fine, let me see.” He squints his eyes and stares at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. “He got smashed and fucked Michael—what’s that? Bank heist?”

     ”Or an information run,” Gavin agrees. “Probably in the next month.”

     Ryan enters then, a cardboard box tucked under one arm and the other cradled against his chest. “Where’s Jack?” he calls, dropping the box on the kitchen counter.

     ”Hopefully picking up some painkillers than actually work,” Ray says. “And keep your voice down. Papa and bear boy went at it again last night, and apparently Geoff’s down for the count.” Ryan rolls his eyes.

      “What’s wrong with your arm, Ry?” Gavin asks, standing up and walking toward him in concern.

     ”Hand,” Ryan corrects. “Nothin’ major, think I broke my pinky.” He holds up his left hand, and sure enough his fourth finger is bent at an oddly sharp angle to his hand.

     ”Jesus,” Gavin says, alarmed.

     ”It’s nothin’, darlin’,” Ryan assures him, carding the fingers of his good hand through Gavin’s hair to soothe him. Gavin looks anything but. You heard Ray mutter and ‘oh shit’ quietly next to you before he gets up and walks cautiously toward his boyfriends.

      “Ryan,” Gavin says slowly, removing the hand in his hair and holding it in both his palms. “Ryan, you’re on a murder break aren’t you?” he asks cautiously.

     ”Why d’you ask?”

      “Because you’re only ever like this when you are,” Ray supplies, gently resting a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. They’re treating him like a skittish dog, and it unnerves you.

     ”Maybe I am,” Ryan says nonchalantly,” what’s it to ya?”

     ”Jesus, Ryan, you know we can’t do anything when you’re like this,” Gavin says. “And if Geoff’s planning something we need you.”

      “It’ll be a short one,” Ryan promises. “Only like two weeks.”

——

      Your ability to read dynamics is probably why your big mouth hasn’t ended in you dead in an alley somewhere, and this dynamic makes you uncomfortable.

      Geoff is clearly in charge, but only by the very loosest definition of the word. He is in charge of them in the same way that Drew Carey was in charge of 'Whose Line?' But he is in charge, and they respect him to some degree. But they’re not afraid of him.

     Everyone in this apartment is currently terrified of Ryan, where not twenty four hours ago Gavin was trying to see how many Q-tips he could wedge inside the skull mask before Ryan woke up. And things don’t usually change so drastically without a catalyst, of which there seems to be none.

     They tend to have all their important conversations in the big, open space that constitutes the living room, entry way, kitchen, and dining room. You thought it was mostly because six grown men just don’t fit in to the other rooms, but you soon gathered that Ryan also just really likes to fuck against that giant window. Ryan specifically really likes to fuck Gavin against that window while at least two other people are in the room and generally while participating in the conversation they’re having. Ryan is a weird motherfucker.

     But back to the point, they tend to have their serious conversations while they’re all spread out in the open area of the house. Sometimes Geoff has a map laid out and usually Gavin’s upside down on the couch, because he ‘thinks better that way.’ Everything is always in motion and loud.

     It isn't now. Ryan is very calmly sitting on the love seat with Gavin in his lap and Ray sitting stiffly by his side; he has his left hand raised above his head so that Jack can put his pinky back where it goes. Geoff is standing over them, a hand over his mouth like perhaps his mustache can solve all their problems—you’re not even sure what the problems are. Michael is standing by the window watching Ryan carefully.

     Everything is quiet and stiff. And then it isn’t.

     ”How many?” Geoff asks.

      "Listen, I don't know what y'all think the big deal is," Ryan says. He taps his fingers on Gavin's hip. "I just wanna get patched up and go to bed," he gestures toward the box on the counter briefly," but I brought back--"

     ”No,” Geoff shouts, before catching himself and lowering his voice. Ryan flinches, which is something you’ve never seen him do before. “No, Ryan, I am not going to dig through whatever it is you’ve brought back to this apartment just to get a number, when I know you know.”

     ”Twen’y five,” Ryan answers reluctantly. He buries his face in Gavin’s shoulder like that will protect him from further retribution. Geoff looks like he’s going to explode.

     It’s worth noting that Ryan seems to have picked up a light—what is that? Alabama? Georgia? Somewhere down south—accent. You’re pretty sure he didn’t have it before, but then, he didn’t really talk that much to you. It makes the whole situation that much more confusing.

     ”Done,” Jack says quietly, releasing Ryan’s now splinted hand and coming around to sit on the couch. Ryan lowers his left arm across Ray’s shoulders, making the younger man stiffen even more.

     ”Twenty fi—twenty five—twenty five!” Geoff repeats, gesticulating toward Ryan. “What did you bring this time?” No one had yet been brave enough to open up the box that Ryan had set on the counter.

     ”Rings,” Ryan says.

     ”You needed a box for rings?” Ray asks, speaking for the first time since this started.

     ”If y’all would just let me explain,” Ryan says, shifting Gavin around so he can reach in his jacket  for something with his good hand. There are three guns on him almost immediately. He flinches again. “Jesus Christ, I’m not going to shoot you.”

     Geoff motions with his hand, and Ray, Michael, and Jack all lower their guns. “Glad you all trust me so much,” Ryan says. He pulls his hand out from his jacket and holds it out on a closed fist; he offers it to Geoff. 

     Geoff holds out his hand, and Ryan drops five or sic little shiny baubles into his hand. It takes you a moment to connect that they’re the rings he had mentioned. He reaches back in to his jacket and pulls out more; Geoff has to bring his other down to keep them from overflowing on to the floor. 

     After a couple more handfuls, he has apparently exauhsted his supply of rings. “Wait, I need that one back.” He plucks a ring from the top of the pile. You can’t see it very well from this far away, but it looks like a thick black band with some kind of brilliant blue stone.

     Geoff looks between the pile of rings in his hands and Ryan’s face several times in quick succession. “What the fuck, dude?”

     Ryan shrugs. “I saw this one, and I liked it. So I decided to take it. I mean, I guess slittin’ his throat wasn't strictly necessary, but,” he trails off.

     ”And the other twenty four?” Geoff asks.

     ”Got bored. You can keep those if you want. I was gonna let Gavin pick first, though.”

     ”You’re a weird motherfucker, Ryan,” Geoff sighs. He walks over and slumps in to the couch next to Jack. “How long did you say this was gonna last?”

     ”Probably ‘bout two weeks?” Ryan says. “Just a little one.

     ”What’s in the box, then?” Michael asks, cautiously coming closer.

    “What’s on the outside of the box,” Ryan says, like it’s obvious. “‘S literally just a new toaster. Gavin tried to make French toast in the other one.”

     ”It has toast in the name!” Gavin squawks, and just like that, everything is back to normal again.

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

me: *writes a story from a singular, limited perspective*

me: why the fuck did i do this

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

     Omg so like there's those posts with fake screenshots of the Fake AH Crew's social media, but it's just like if they all lived in Los Santos but they still have their normal like video game jobs, but with more money, and that seems like such a waste of Fake AH Crew potential.

     Imagine Gavin taking a selfie as he jumps from a helicopter or Michael flipping Ray off as they race to the gun store. Gavin has vines of him and Michael blowing up cars in the middle of downtown, and nobody can do anything about it.  

     Geoff tweets about where they're gonna rob next but not when and sits back and watches the scramble as the gang prepares for the heist two months away. Ryan has a Tumblr with a fairly good following that's just pretty pictures of fields and nature and animals, but then sometimes he's just like "Heyo, i'm on a murder break. I'll be here at this time if you wanna hang out."

     and gah, just, criminals on social media flaunting the fact that they're untouchable so help me god 

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

Newbie (pt. 2)

Ao3

Summary:

You're apparently some sort of god at this game, because Ray and Gavin are taking bets on how long it'll take you to surpass Jack in skill. You think that means they like you.

     You wake up to the sounds of yelling, but they are far off, muffled by walls. Both you an your leg are propped up on some pillows. You blink slowly and look around.

     There are two little white pills and a glass of water on the bedside table, and you assume those are for you. You reach over and pick them up, taking a swig of water and chasing the pills down.

     You wonder idly if you should somehow alert someone that you're awake, but you doubt you would be heard over all the yelling. You count the stripes on the bed sheets instead.

     A few minutes later, the yelling grows rapidly closer, and you can distinguish cries of "Ryan! Don't!" The door slams open a moment later and a man holding a gun enters, followed rapidly by Gavin and four other men. The one with the gun, you think, is Ryan without his mask on. You marvel idly that this is actually the most social you've ever been, learning two whole names in one day.

     Ryan points the gun at your head, and you squeak. It's not your proudest moment, but you'll excuse yourself on account of life threatening peril.

     "For Christ's sake, Ry," Gavin says, walking up to him and pushing the gun away, toward the wall. "Please don't shoot him. Y'already killed the shop keeper."

     "Yeah," Ryan says, the hardens his eyes," didn't get to relish it though. Was gonna take my time with the girl, but that didn't work out." He glares at Gavin.

     You feel a little sick to your stomach, hearing Joe and Margaret's lives discussed so flippantly. They hadn't been your friends, by any means, but you knew them. You wonder what Margaret will think when you don't show up to work tomorrow. All your stuff is still in your bag at the store, including your phone.

     "That doesn't mean you can go around shooting people!" Gavin protests. "I like him. Geoff!" The man he addresses is average height, covered in tattoos from what you can see, and has a truly magnificent mustache. "Geoff, can we keep him?"

     "He's not a fucking stray cat, Gavin," a shorter brunette speaks up.

     "You guys are no fun."

     You clear your throat, and everyone looks to you. You ask if you do not get a say in this decision. It's presumptuous of you, but if it's a choice between staying here, and doing whatever it is Gavin wants you for, or having a bullet between your eyebrows, you'll take the former.

     "Geoff, you were just saying how we needed a new errand boy," Gavin says hopefully. You protest the degrading name, but he shushes you.

     Geoff pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "You know what? Fine, fucking--fine. You can keep him. He can be your fucking apprentice if it'll get you all to shut up."

     Gavin squeals with delight and jumps up and down. Ryan groans and lowers his gun in defeat. He storms off through the wall of men and in to the hallway. The shortest of the company goes after him. You realize that those were the two who were making out against the couch when you arrived.

     "Just don't do anything stupid," Geoff tells Gavin before wandering off. "Don't put weight on your leg," the remaining man tells you. He is large and has a bushy red beard. "I'll come back later and check on it." He leaves. You are alone with Gavin. Swell.

     You ask if you're going to be hazed in to the gang now, and he laughs. "Nah, I'll show you the ropes, and if Geoff thinks you're worth it, we'll keep you around." You find yourself surprisingly okay with this. Your life wasn't going anywhere anyway. Why not join a gang and die in some giant caper?

     "So, I never caught your name," he says. You deliberate whether or not you should tell him your real name, but you know his, so it's only fair. Your name is Robin, and he seems unusually happy about it.

     "Finally someone else with an odd name!" he says, excited. "I mean sure, Kdin's weird enough for three people, but he doesn't count."

     Your name isn't odd. It's a perfectly normal, neutral name that you like the sound of when other people say it. You glare at him, though not with any real ill will.

     You ask what happens now, right now, specifically. "You like video games? Jack could probably move you out into the living room with the Xbox." You do like video games, as it happens, more of a PC gamer, though. "Ry's the same."

     There is a loud thump against the wall right behind your head and a muffled," Fuck, Ray." It's soon followed by a chorus of moans, and you see Gavin's face growing visibly redder.

     "He's doing that just to spite me, he is. Whenever he gets pissed he always takes it out on Ray's mouth. Bugger."

     You, despite your curiosity, decide not to inquire as to the nature of his relationship issues, and instead you prod him about those promised video games, and maybe some pants.

     "Yeah, yeah, I'll go see if Jack's okay with moving you. Sorry, again, by the way about the whole shooting you business."

     You wave him off. It just might be the best thing to ever happen to you. You do hope you can go back and get your stuff though. Whether they know or not you'd feel better with all your gear on.

     He scampers off to find Jack, who you guess is the bearded guy from before. You're left with nothing to do but twiddle your thumbs and try to ignore the sounds from whatever room's on the other side of the wall. You're sure it would be hot if you were in to that sort of thing.

     Gavin returns with Jack a few minutes later. He's also triumphantly holding a pair of pants that you can tell just from looking are going to be too long for you. You appreciate the sentiment though.

     "Jack says we can do it!" Gavin says excitedly. You make a jab about some people doing it already, and he looks confused for a moment before rolling his eyes.

     Jack raises his eyebrows, but catches on soon enough. "God damn it, they're in Geoff's office again," he says. You wonder how often those two fuck around in odd places. "If they break another one of his good bottles of--"

     "Jack," Gavin cuts in, motioning toward you.

     "Yeah, sorry. Just, pissed-off Geoff is hell for everyone."

     "You want me to go move them?" Gavin asks.

     "Yeah, probably a good plan."

     Gavin scurries away again, and you're left alone with Jack. You feel better about this situation than being left alone with Gavin. Jack has yet to prove to you that he has no reasoning capabilities at all.

     The bearded man picks up the discarded jeans from where the Brit dropped them on the floor. "Gavin's the smallest one," he says," I figured his would be the closest fit. They'll probably be too long, though. How tall are you, anyway?"

     You are five foot three and a half inches tall, and you with fuck up anyone who mentions it. You have all the rage and half the space. He laughs and says he won't bring it up.

     He threads your good leg through one side of the pants and then your injured leg, pulling them up your legs are lifting your hips. The pants don't even have to be opened to fit around them. It's oddly intimate, him dressing you, and you don't like it much at all. You ask him how long you'll be bedridden.

     "Actually not too long," he says," Gavin's a horrible shot, thankfully."

     He then proceeds to give you a rundown of how the bullet went in and where it came out. He tells you all the bones and arteries and veins and tendons you're lucky it missed. You stop listening. Medical jargon has always bored you, and it doesn't seem to have improved any since the last time a doctor patched you up for being a dumbass.

     "So you'll probably be almost back to normal in about two moths," is what finally tunes you back in to Jack fm. He's handing you a cane that he apparently kept in the now open closet behind him. You wonder if this is their makeshift infirmary.

     You take the offered cane and slowly ease your leg down off the pile of pillows. You lower first your good then your bad leg to the floor and stand, using the cane in your left hand.

     Jack helps you out to the living room. In the living room the first thing you notice is an enormous--really just an unnecessarily large TV. It's surrounded by comfy yet stylish looking chairs and a couch and some sort of--what is that, a futon? You think it's a futon.

     You move on from the futon(?), to the floor to ceiling, wall to wall window on the west side of the room. You see a breath taking view of the sun setting behind the skyline, oranges and pinks painting the sky as the celestial body is sucked in to the ocean.

     Then you see that Gavin has accomplished his task of getting the two lovers out of Geoff's office. You know this because Ryan currently has the small one--pants undone but fully clothed--bent over, fucking him braced against the giant window while Gavin stands to the side trying furiously to reason with them. It's a loosing battle, looks like, for many reasons. Not the least of which being that the small one has a hand in the blond's pants and Ryan just fisted a hand in his hair and kissed him.

     You ask how anything gets done around here. Jack admits that he's not really sure considering Ray is generally fucking one of those two at any given point in time.

     He leads you to the couch despite the threesome happening ten feet away. You can vaguely hear Ryan whispering dirty things to the small one--Ray, Jack said, but he's too far away for you to make it out, thank god.

     Jack settles you in a large recliner and makes you put the footrest up. You wonder why this man you've just met cares so much for your recovery. You file away that you may owe him many favors down the road.

     Jack turns on the Xbox and hands you a controller. He masterfully ignores everything else going on in the room, and you hope to one day achieve such levels of done-with-your-shit.

     He shuffles through some menus and then a game is loading. When you see what it is, you ask if high blood pressure is bad for healing injuries. You've never played any of the Trials games, but their reputation precedes them.

     He explains how to play and you bumble your way through the easiest level of the game. You're part way through the second level, with Jack's coaching, when a sudden shout from the window--which you had actually managed to forget about--startles you and makes you lose. You look over in time to see three successive orgasms you never asked to see.

     Gavin has one hand in the Ray's (who had started sucking him off since last you looked) hair and one braced a against the widow. Ray seems to be holding on to Gavin's pants for dear life. And Ryan has gone very still, but he's whispering something that makes the smaller man groan.

     Like a train wreck, you can't look away as it all goes down. Ray gets jizz on his face, and Gavin looks mortified. You can't really see the other two's fronts but you assume the noises mean something's happening. Ryan pulls out and flips Ray around, kissing him in a way that, once again, would be hot if you were in to dudes, especially with the whole facial look going on, and, yeah, somebody's gonna have to clean that window.

     You finally manage to pry your eyes away, and Jack is looking at you like he's restraining himself from laughing. You're blushing, and you flip him off.

     Ryan walks briskly past the TV area and back toward Geoff's office. A few moments later he reemerges, tucking the gun he had had pointed at your head in to the pocket of his jacket. "I'll be back later," he says to no one in particular before he boards the elevator that seems to be the only way in or out of this penthouse.

     Ray hops over the back of the couch directly to your right, startling you, and Gavin follows him slowly. Ray leans forward and grabs a tissue off the coffee table.

     "Dude, you came in my eye," he complains, quickly needing another tissue. He gives up after that one and just grabs the box off the table. Gavin sits down next to him. "

     Ye, sorry about that."

     "You're an asshole; who's he?" he nods his head toward you. You know he knows where you came from and why you're still here; so you assume he's asking for more specific information.

     "He's Robin," Gavin says on your behalf.

     "Pretty name," Ray says. You very quickly tell him that you are straight and have no desire to get mixed up in whatever just happened to that poor window. He laughs. "Damn, we could use another bottom around here."

     You protest that assessment, but say nothing. The dynamic around here is weird and you're trying to feel it out. Plus, considering his role in what just happened, you don't want to accidentally insult a potentially unstable, highly wanted criminal.

     "I've been teaching him how to play trials. He's actually pretty good at it," Jack says, drawing attention from you. You thought you had sucked, but it's hard to tell with that game.

     "Glad you've finally got another freak to hang out with," Gavin says.

      At the same time, Ray says," Kill me," in a monotone.

     You assume there's some history there, but once again don't pry. You pick your controller back up and restart the level you had failed. You're apparently some sort of god at this game, because Ray and Gavin are taking bets on how long it'll take you to surpass Jack in skill. You think that means they like you.

[cuntfoam-archive-blog]

Newbie (pt. 1)

Ao3

Excerpt: 

     "Oi, Ray, c'm'ere and help me."

     "Holy shit tits, Gavin, what did you do?!"

     "Well I shot 'im, didn't I?"

     You think you're going to pass out. You say as much. The last thing you remember before you faint is the man in front of you swearing and surging forward to catch you as you fall.

Otherwise known as "I have a boner for outsider POV and needed it in GTA verse."

     You have a questionable morality and are very easily bored with things. You've had five jobs in as many cities in the last year, and sometimes, just to liven things up, you'll rob a store. You don't consider yourself a bad person; boredom is the mother of creativity.

     You expect you'll stay at this job for another few weeks at least. The store owner is sleeping with one of the female cashiers, and so is his wife. So you figure you'll be able to find some entertainment there.

     You're in the back room, pretending you don't hear the unhappily married couple arguing about Joe drinking on the job, when it happens. The yelling goes quiet as customers enter the store, and you peer out, thinking it might be safe to go out again.

     There's a bean pole of a man with dark blond hair and a button down shirt; he's got an American flag bandana tied over his face. There's a broader fellow next to him wearing the creepiest skull mask you've ever seen. You instantly realize that something's up, and close the door marginally, still watching.

     Margaret screams when the gun is pulled out, and faints when skull guy shoots her husband.

     "RYAN! Why'd you have to go and do that!?" the American flag asks, ironically with a British accent.

     "How many times do we have to tell you not to use our real names?" Skull asks. "Now you're gonna have to go find the surveillance records."

     "Can I take this bloody mask off, then?"

     "No!"

     There's a pause as another voice joins the conversation, coming out of the watches on each of their arms. "Would you two shut up and get on with it? We don't have time for a lovers' quarrel right now."

     "Well maybe if somebody would put their damn clothes in the wash, we wouldn't have these problems."

     "Oh my god, not this again. I was going to burn them."

     "You left them on the bed! I just changed the sheets too!"

     "Seriously, Ryan, your taste in men is really questionable," a different voice says from the watch. The blond one squawks in protest.

     "Would you all stop using my real name!"

     Are these guys for real? You couldn't care less about their relationship troubles, and if this damn place had a back door you would've left as soon as the gun was out. You figure maybe you can hole up here until they leave, stay quiet. You like this plan up until you realize that the surveillance camera feed is exactly five feet from you, on the desk that the safe is under, and they don't seem like the quitting type. You go back to peering out the door.

     They've moved on to arguing about weed and alcohol now, and you wonder how many times these people have done this.

     "Listen, Vav, would you please just go destroy the evidence? We can argue about this at home."

     "What, so you can throw a cat at me again?"

     "That was one time. And that cat still doesn't like me."

     "Ryan, your missus is mad at you. You should pick up flowers on your way home."

     "You know what? Fuck you guys," Ryan says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I'm leaving Gavin here to finish the job all by his god damn self, and when police come for all our asses it'll be his fault." Having said this, he puts his gun back in his jacket and storms out of the store.

     "Jesus, Ray, how do youvhandle being in the middle of that?"

     "Psh, you assume I'm the one getting fucked at both ends?"

     "Ryan's been pissy all week," Gavin says.

     "I can still hear you guys."

     "Oh, piss off, Ry."

     "Fine." There's a slight static noise that you assume means he has turned his communicator off. Gavin sighs and moves around the counter to go through the register.

     "How many, do you think, Michael?" You think this is a new person talking, but it's hard to be sure.

     "After that? I think just one." And that's definitely a new voice. You idly wonder how many people it takes to rob a convenience store.

     "One, really?"

     "Yeah. I think he's gonna find Gav's double."

     "Man, what a hard life. As if looking like Gavin isn't bad enough, now some stranger's gonna kill him cause of it."

     "Hey!" Gavin says in protest, flailing his limbs. He accidentally knocks over the beer that Joe had been drinking earlier, and he squawks and trills as it spills on him. There's a spitting noise and a moment later he says," Oh, sausages." He shakes off his left hand, the one with the communicator on it and says," Hello? Guys? Michael, my boi? Damn it."

     So it's dead. This is good, you think. Sure, he's got a gun, but he doesn't seem all that bright, and you figure you can probably win against him. It's either that or certain death at the hands of his crazy comrades.

     You take a deep breath and slowly open the door wide enough that you can creep through it, crouching low to the ground. He's still at the register with his back turned to you, Joe's corpse and a still unconscious Margaret lying at his feet. You're almost close enough to lunge for him when you bang in to a supply shelf, sending paper towels and window cleaner clattering to the floor. You curse and stand straight, knowing your cover is blown anyway. Like you said, he's not too bright, maybe you can confuse him enough to get away.

     You don't get the chance. He yelps at the noise and whips around with his gun drawn. You don't know if it's by accident or not, but a second later he fires, and there's a sharp pain in your left calf. You crumble to the ground. He shot you. He shot you. You yell at him about how he shot you. What kind of guy just shoots a person? (His boyfriend apparently, but that's not the point.)

     "Oh my god I'm so sorry," he says, dropping the gun and running over to you. He seems to realize his mistake a moment later and stops, looking between you and the gun now on the floor. This is it. You're going to be killed by some stupid ass criminal over a couple grand. This is your life. It was fun while it lasted. Your ex girlfriend and go fuck herself.

     Gavin still hasn't moved. You wonder if maybe he's actually got a conscience under all that bumbling. If he does that's your ticket out of this. You say you won't tell anyone. You say that you've done your fair share of thievery in the past, and as long as he destroys the video he's got nothing to worry about. You can see him considering it. He lifts his left wrist, about to say something in to his communicator, before he remembers that he spilled beer on it like a fucking moron.

     It's not up to him to decide, you realize. There's some sort of power structure going on, and you'd put money on him being somewhere near the bottom. He goes back for the gun.

     "Stay there," he tells you, like you're going anywhere with a bullet in your leg. You nod, assuming he's going to decide your fate while he cracks the safe and destroys the evidence. You tell him that Joe kept the safe combination at the bottom of a can of cashews on his desk, hoping it might sway his decision.

     He's gone for a few minutes, and in that time the adrenalin starts to wear off, and your leg starts to fucking hurt. Like period cramps, but in your calf. You are overcome with morbid curiosity and take a deep breath before examining the injury. You immediately regret this decision and try to get the leftover takeout you had for lunch to stay in your stomach. It somehow hurts more now that you know what it looks like.

     He comes back very shortly after that. He's got a bag in his hand, and he walks past you to the open register, emptying it in to the bag. He slings the bag over his shoulder and comes back to you. "Come on then," he says, holding a hand out to you. You take it and push yourself up with your good leg. He let's you steady yourself on him and starts walking toward the door, leaving you no choice but to follow. It's not until he leads you outside that you realize the depths of the shit you've just slipped and fallen into.

     There's a car. It's an unassuming black car, but on the driver's side door is the thing that makes you wish you had called in sick today. Or actually been sick. You would've taken pneumonia over this. Emblazoned proudly on the driver's side door is a green duck inside a star encircled by four arcs.

     You've only been in this city for about two months, but you know what that means. The Crew doesn't take prisoners. He leads you to the passenger side and helps you in. He slides in to the driver's seat a moment later.

     "I was kinda worried Ry'd taken the car," he admitted. "Right bugger, that one, don't know why I keep him around."

     Maybe the pain is getting to you, but the hilarity of the whole situation suddenly hits you. This British asshole wearing an American flag is a member of one of the most dangerous gangs in the city, and he apologized for shooting you. He is now presumably driving you either to your death or for medical attention, but it's out of your control now, and you're very not bored with the whole situation.

     You ask him if the sex is good enough to justify putting up with Ryan. He blushes and hesitantly replies," Uh, yeah, definitely."

     There is no conversation for the rest of the drive, and you figure that's for the best. The way he drives almost kills you both on multiple occasions as it is, so it's probably not a good idea to distract him. More than once your wounded leg goes banging against the console on particularly wild turns, and each time you scream in pain. You're sweating and about ready to pass out by the time he pulls up and parks outside an apartment complex.

     He turns the car off and gets out, goes around to your side and opens the door for you. You grab his offered hand and wince as you pull your injured leg out of the car. There's a dark puddle pooling on the floor mat, and you hope it's not as much as it looks like. You think, maybe, it would've been a good idea to bandage the wound before you left the store, but, whatever, it's too late now.

     There aren't many people in the lobby, and the few that are there politely look the other way as Gavin helps you to the elevator. You're still bleeding, but the way you have your leg angled means it's mostly running down your leg in to your shoe. Once you're both inside the elevator he presses the buttons for the penthouse, has to type in a little code and everything.

     While the elevator does it's thing, you focus on your breathing, deep breathes, because it's easier than focusing on the searing pain in your leg. When the elevator dings and the door opens, you're ready for anything. Well, almost anything, apparently, because you really weren't ready to see two dudes making out against the back of a couch. That was unexpected, but y'know. You're just a guy with a vagina, no judgement here.

     "Oi, Ray, c'm'ere and help me," Gavin says, supporting more and more of your weight as your head swims.

      "Holy shit tits, Gavin, what did you do?!" the smaller of the two men against the couch exclaims, leaving the cage of the other man's arms to come toward him.

     "Well I shot 'im, didn't I?"

      You think you're going to pass out. You say as much. The last thing you remember before you faint is the man in front of you swearing and surging forward to catch you as you fall.