#FOLLOWED BY A COMIC OF ME FLIPPING THE BIRD WITH BOTH HANDS AT THEIR DEAD BODY

[timogsilangan]

"They're a bunch of idiots. They all deserve to burn in hell."

"I'm also a SERIOUS Minecrafter."

these are real fucking excerpts from my 2013 diary (i was 10 when i wrote these) i feel ILLLLLLL

[botwstoriesandsuch]

I recently read Shades of blue after you rwcommended it and Oh My God was it worth it. That was beautiful and amazing and do you have any other recommendations?

✨MISSIONS ACCOMPLISHED✨

AAAAAA I’m so glad you read it!!! Honestly I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me for recs for awhile because I have.........a few...

Miscellaneous ships here, not just Revalink but the first lot are

- Pinesong by @a-perplexing-puzzle D-Do I even need to explain myself more??? I talk about this fic every other day of the week..... it’s just great vibes....soft and fluffy and angsty just *chef’s kiss* two gay boys searching through their old memories to remember how gay they are 

- Shades of Blue by @unapologetically-asexual OK I know original anon just said they read this but for you idiots that haven’t read it yet....uhhhh get on that. Nothing I could say would really advertise this fic better than this post

- somebody’s always looking (nothing’s quite as sweet) by @kouzaires One of my FAV Coffee shop AU’s for botw....so sof......so tender...........so warrmmmmm.............they characters are written so well.....just love it...a lot

- Broken Spirits by @legendoftoad It’s just AAAAAAAAAA??!!? My boys are hurting and the malice for half of it is frickin doing things to my boy and then of course you got your PTSD themes meddled in there and hnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhghgh my hurt/comfort itch is sufficiently scratched go read

- Linger On by ICanFlyHigher [idk if they have a tumblr] Ok I actually haven’t finished this fic yet but it’s been recommended time and time again so I’ve been reading this in my spare time I’m on like Chapter 12 or 13 I think but I can say with CERTAINTY that the writing is fantastic and tender moments are off the charts and my boys are so precious and also the Yiga are actually cool in this so that’s nice

- Learning Flight by homewardbound This is just *chefs kiss* *standing ovation* *throws confetti in the air* quality quality Revalink. Just a delicious chocolate cake of botw and Revalink. You got your mysterious Revali waking up 105 years later batter, and your angsty PTSD gay boys duo chocolate chips, and then you can chuck in some engaging sideplot elements as a few tall tiers, and then the cake is all whipped up with the wooden spoon of subtextual writing just mmmm delicious. and ALSO I betaed a thing that is gonna happen and let me tell you shit is gonna happen like VERY IMPORTANT SUPER COOL plot twists be happening so you better read it 

- Conversations After The End Of The World by @bismuthllie Ok this one’s a oneshot but I always go back and read it because...idk it just strums my heart strings a lot...I’ve said Pinesong was my first big Revalink fic I’ce read, but this was like...my first, first piece of Revalink content I read ever so...yeah <3 ....and also the art for this comic is fantastic too even thought it gives me the emotions......hahaha ok Revali it’s time to stop being dead

- I See You Swimming In The Sky by @unavoidablekoishi OK OK I know my logic isn’t the best considering it’s the only Revali/Mipha fic I’ve read, but god dammit it’s the best Revpha fic I’ve ever read I still need to catch up cause I’m like 3 chapters behind but this fic CONVERTED me ok, miphvali went from a “huh yeah the art is nice I can kinda see it” to “THAT FISH IS SIMPING FOR THE BIRD 24/7 AND THEY DESERVE EACH OTHER″ This is some *claps* GOOD. SHIT. Ok? *slaps roof of fic* This bad boy can fit so much charming characterization and interaction (and also has made me scream both happily and not happily on several occasions)

- Guardian of The Wilds by @no-themes-just-memes in which I constantly miscall it “Guardian of the Wild” because I’m stupid This isn’t so much a ship fic but it’s so cool Link is a spirit, Urbosa and Zelda’s mom are a thing, Zelda is HERE and she is AMAZING like no spoilers but holy shit Zelda is here and slaying in more ways than one and riding Satori and hhnnnnhhhhhhhh it’s all about those ~plot twists~ and tone changes ya know? very very very nice...

- Firebird by @paellaplease Oh no, it’s Kip’s obligatory Firebird gush whoopsie poopsie who would have guessed surely not me. This is just my standard for Oc ship content now it’s so good I am gay for one fire girl Maiya is my spirit animal and I just wanna cup her in my hands softly even though I know she would probably burn me for it but it would totally be worth it. The writing is just superb and I am also gay for great imagery and action which this is chalk full of so go read it 

Ok it’s actually 2am right now and I still need to finish a bunch of AP work so I’m just gonna speed run the rest of these recs

@echogekkos writes such cute and soft Miphlink fics that are on my top tier list like this one and oh crap this post made me realize Healing Touch updated crap there are so many things I need to read and catch up on anyways want more miphlink angst? BOOM read the inspiration for eternity by Merakkli and oh what’s that? You want deep lore that was custom made with lots of hot ocs in a fic that spans way beyond BOTW welp here’s Hyrule Bound a universe entirely created by @themisadventurescrew which is yet another fic series that I am behind on crap but oh shit @kittmoon has started a chapter fic called Jaded Seas recently so you should go read that but also all of their oneshots are great as well so you should follow them and did I mention that everyone I’ve tagged are people you should follow because yeah anyhow here’s a crackfic about Goron children that had me shaking out of either fear or confusion for a few days by @angsttronaut ok moving on @thatsnotzelda writes beautifully just take a look at this angsty Revalink thing and also bambambambam you’ve been ambushed by @hatenostorms @going-fancognito @ashrel @lizards-writing-blog so now go request some from them because I said so they’re great also uhhh @idiotic-canadian and @moonchildrenn [Pins_and_Patches on ao3] hate happiness but that’s ok because I get to be emotionally wrecked by their angst and whump hurray! wait fUCK I completely forgot to rec this earlier but my first Zelpha fic was this gorgeous Coffeeshop AU by @theseventhsage called Dreaming of Coffee and Love so go read that *flipping through entire history of ao3* let’s see let’s see... All of the Rito Chronicles by  sturms_sun_shattered is great, and this Teba/Harth one is also a fav and oh CRAP my zelink content is just everything by @fatefulfaerie because it’s just *throws colorful streamers in the air* pretty and I love their writing welp I’m about to collapse lets just end it off with the z’s like @zzariyo and @zeawesomebirdie on ao3  they are some pretty radical french fries if i do say so myself and and ok ok read this other Zelpha coffee au which is also by @kouzaires and this Modern au also by @unavoidablekoishi ok that’s all I can remember right now bye 

[yourdeepestfathoms]

one day, a horn grew from my head (part one)

Beetlejuice, but BJ is more visibly demonic, there’s world building for the Netherworld, and he has a partner helping him...

--------------------

- the whole being dead thing! -

A blue truck rattled up the gravel path, racing to beat the storm beginning to brew up in the sky. Rain was already starting to come down, drizzling over the clouds of dust kicked up by the tires. The headlights shone on the wall of an old house in the distance. From the darkness of the surrounding greenery, sharp teeth spread in a wide grin.

  “It’s almost time,” said the demon. “Took ‘em long enough. I thought he’d never get back.”

There was stirring at his side. He lightly whacked the figure next to him. His suit was sopped with rainwater, making the sleeves dangly and heavy as they hung around his wrists. It was odd to be in such merciless weather after having to deal with the acid rain back down in the Netherworld. Sometimes he couldn’t help but turn his head up to the downpour and let it run over his face in refreshing waves of coolness without it feeling like his flesh was melting off of his skull.

When his partner didn’t get up, he lightly poked her in the ribs with a claw. She squealed.

  “Come on,” he said. “It’s time to wake up.”

The mud-slathered, blood-stained young demon sat up straight from her curled position against his side. She blinked, and the moonlight caught on her bright hazel eyes, making them glow.

  “He’s here,” the larger demon pointed a black-clawed finger at the parked truck and the figure walking to the front door.

The smaller demon flicked her comically large pointy ears at the vehicle, then looked back up at him, eyes shining. A moth landed on one of her horn nubs.

The larger of the two smirked again, alligator teeth flashing. “It’s showtime, kid. Let’s put this plan into action.”

  “So, crazy story,” Adam began, taking off his rain-spattered coat. “I got all the way to Howard’s store, and Howard tells me they’re all out of stock.”

  “Oh no,” Barbara vocalized her dismay.

  “But I asked Howard Junior to check the back for me--”

  “Smart.”

  “--so he sends little Howard the Third and long story short, I got the last bottle of Manchurian tung oil!”

  “That’s great!” Barbara beamed. “Now you can finally finish the crib?”

  “Yup!” Adam said, ripping off the cloth of a shiny, wood-carved crib. It was his pride and joy in a strange sort of woodworking way. “It should be ready before the O'Brien’s baby gets here!”

  “She had it yesterday.”

Adam blinked. “Oh. Well--” He fumbled for just a moment. “Doesn’t matter! They’ll get it soon! They can put the baby in the…sink…in the meantime!”

Barbara laughed. It was a sweet, high sound that made Adam’s heart flutter.

  “That’s definitely a place to put a newborn,” Barbara said.

  “It’s round!” Adam said. “It can hold an infant. Plus, it doubles as a bathtub, so you can kill two birds with one stone!”

Barbara chuckled. She was shining one of her newest pottery jugs- her latest hobby. Last week it was painting. The week before that it was embroidery. And the week before that it was composting. He wondered how long this interest would last.

As Adam was shining one of the bars of the crib, rubbing his thumb over the pristine wood, he said, “Maybe we can keep it for ourselves.”

Barbara dropped her jug and it shattered into a thousand orange shards. Adam jumped, nearly ripping the bar right off of the crib. He stood up quickly.

  “Are you alright?” he sputtered.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Barbara said, haphazardly rushing for the broom. She began sweeping up the broken pieces of clay, then peered over at Adam. “What would we use a crib for?”

  “You know…” Adam gestured vaguely.

  “A baby,” Barbara smiled softly.

Adam smiled, too. “Yeah.”

  “I mean…we do have this whole house,” Barbara said.

  “It is a big house,” Adam nodded.

  “And we already have a minivan.”

  “A minivan is a family car.”

They smiled dreamily, imagining what it would be like to have a baby in their household, babbling adorably, snoozing in their arms, calling them “mama” and “dada”, having toys everywhere, getting in danger as they crawled around, crying, hating them when they grew up… 

Adam swallowed thickly. He shifted, and the floorboards creaked below him. “Oh!” He pointed to the ground. “But-- but the floor! Listen to this creaking!” He stepped, and it creaked again, perfectly on time. “We can’t have a family with floors like this! It can be a safety hazard!”

Barbara nodded energetically. She put the broom away and began walking over. “You are absolutely right! Someone could get hurt!”

  “Yeah! And we don’t want that to happen!”

  “Not at all!”

  “We have to do something about it before we have our own baby.”

  “Among other things. We have to baby proof this whole house!”

  “Yes! Great idea! We should get on that as soon as possible!”

  “You’re so right! As soon as possible! So we can get on that baby right away afterw--”

There was then an awful shriek, and Adam realized it came from below as the wood seemed to fold inwards, dropping he and his wife into the darkness below the house. The last thing he remembered was Barbara’s horrific screaming, and then something cold and hard smacking into the back of his skull… 

…and far above, in the light of the house, two heads peered into the hole, one with spiky lime green hair and the other wearing a red and black helmet.

  “Damn,” Beetlejuice said. “I knew they were going to die, but that was quite the fall.” He stood up straight. “Eh. Still a better death than others I’ve seen. At least their bodies will still be intact. Them being cut in half would make things WAY harder.”

The Jockey nodded at his side. She was leaning treacherously into the hole, so Beetlejuice grabbed her by the back of the helmet to keep her from falling in. He tugged her backwards. 

  “They’ll get up soon,” Beetlejuice said. “So we gotta get ready. Prepare. Where’s the book?”

The Jockey looked around mutely. Beetlejuice learned rather quickly that she wasn’t much of a talker. He had never actually heard her voice before so he didn’t know if she even  could talk, though she did nod when he asked if she could. Whether that was the truth or a lie to save face, he didn’t know, but he didn’t really care because they communicated together rather fine. It was quite a bit easier than he was expecting once he had all of her mannerisms down.

  “It’ll show up eventually,” Beetlejuice said, checking the watch he didn’t have. His sleeves were still dripping with rainwater. “In the meantime,” he gazed around the house. “Pretty big place they got here. And for only two people?”

The Jockey pointed to the crib.

  “Right. They  had been discussing starting their own family,” Beetlejuice nodded. He glanced back into the hole for a moment. The two bodies at the bottom were still in the same position as they had been a minute ago, but the pool of blood gathering around their heads had grown slightly larger. Their lights were definitely knocked out cold. “Hopefully the woman hadn’t actually been pregnant. Nobody likes ghost fetuses. They’re so weird. All crawly and goopy and malformed…” He shuddered.

The Jockey laughed. She was capable of making noises, just didn’t like talking for reasons Beetlejuice still didn’t know.

  “What about you? Did you have a house like this? Big? Small? Rich? Poor?”

She looked over at him, flicking one of her ears. She was quiet, as usual.

  “I only ask because my housing unit back in the Netherworld was terrible,” Beetlejuice said. “I was once chained in this abyss for, like, a hundred years. It was the worst. Really makes you miss normal houses, doesn’t it?”

The Jockey nodded faintly, her lips pursed, eyebrows knitted together as she stared at him.

There was suddenly a  thump  as a thick book appeared out of seemingly nowhere, crashing to the ground on a rather ugly green and brown carpet. Beetlejuice picked it up.

  “The rulebook,” he presented it to his partner. “Let’s see…” He flipped open to the first few pages and began reading,  “The Handbook For The Recently Deceased. Chapter One: The Netherworld. All ghosts should proceed directly to the Netherworld.” He closed it abruptly. “But that isn’t gonna happen! These lovebirds need to stay here with us and haunt their house!”

He thrusted out a hand and the fireplace roared to life, crackling with bright orange flames. The Jockey leapt around to it, the glow making her eyes shine. She followed him over to the mantle as he carelessly threw the handbook into the inferno.

  “Whoops!” Beetlejuice exclaimed. “Damn. There goes the book. Now they’ll never get to the Netherworld.”

The Jockey tittered softly. At the same time, there was the sound of shifting from within the hole.

  “Barbara…? Are you alright?”

  “Oh crap!” Beetlejuice grabbed the Jockey by the arm and yanked her behind the couch with him to hide. They both crouched low, listening as the couple crawled their way out of their tomb.

  “Holy smokes! That was some fall!”

  “I guess the floor gave out…?”

  “I didn’t think it was that weak. Are you alright, huh?”

  “I think so…”

  “Oh my god--”

  “You are like ice!”

  “You’re freezing!”

They must have discovered their body’s drop in temperature. 

  “I’ll make a… I don’t remember making a fire…”

The Jockey’s gaze shot over to Beetlejuice. He shrugged.

  “Had to destroy the book somehow, kid,” he whispered.

  “That’s so weird. It’s not hot…”

  “I think we should consider ourselves lucky. A fall like that could have been bad. I mean, my whole life flashed before my eyes like it does in the movies. I started asking myself the big questions, like… Why are our bodies still in the basement?”

  “What did you say?”

The Jockey grimaced behind the couch.

The couple then began screaming, though Beetlejuice didn’t exactly know why. He couldn’t risk blowing his cover just yet to check.

  “Adam! I don’t think we survived that fall!”

  “…What? You mean… Oh god.”

  “Here we go, kid,” Beetlejuice whispered to the Jockey. “It’s our time to shine.”

  “I know… I know. There’s still so much I wanted to do.”

  “I know, me too, but-- Hey, hey. We’re still together, right? We’re still in our house, all of our stuff is here! So what if we are…dead… That’s bad, obviously, but hey! Maybe nothing has to change!”  

Just then, Beetlejuice and the Jockey popped up from behind the couch. 

  “Hi.”

The Jockey waved.

Barbara and Adam whirled around to them. They all stared at each other in a beat of silence. Beetlejuice held up his hands.

  “Do not be afraid,” he said. His sharp black claws didn’t help the statement very much. “You are dead. I am also dead.” He pointed to the Jockey. “So is she. Maybe we can help each other out. What’s up?”

The Maitlands screamed and scrambled away as he advanced over to them with his hand outstretched. He backpedaled in reaction, pointy ears shooting up. He had  not been expecting them to act like that. Good thing he had a child with him.

  “Work your magic, kid,” he said to the Jockey.

The Jockey did as she was told, slowly walking over to the Maitlands with her hands up, palms out, claws visible, as if she were approaching a pair of spooked horses. The Maitlands seemed to relax slightly in the midst of the young girl, but then got weirdly defensive looks on their face. They bustled around her, forming a barrier of sorts between her and Beetlejuice. She blinked over their guard.

  “Hey!” Beetlejuice yelped. “That’s my jockey!”

  “Who the hell are you?!” Adam yelled. 

  “Help! I am help!” Beetlejuice said. “I’m here to help you both! And so is she! So can I have her back now? Pretty sure we have a whole codependent, separation anxiety thing going on here.”

Barbara peered at the small form of the Jockey, then at Beetlejuice protectively, not budging. “Are you her father?”

  “What? No!” 

Adam’s eyes somehow got even wider than they already were. “Did you kidnap her?!”

  “How did you even come to that conclusion?”

But Adam and Barbara were already wrapped up in the theory, becoming even more fierce and protective around the Jockey. Not that they were very intimidating. They had about the menace of a pair of pomeranians, and even that was being generous. 

  “You’re not laying another finger on her!” Adam yelled.

  “I didn’t kidnap her!” Beetlejuice yelled back, exasperated. Hints of orange-red were beginning to flicker around the crown of his head like the first sparks of a fire. If these two newly-deads weren’t so damn attractive he probably would have clawed their faces off by now and found a new couple to get a living human to say his name.

Barbara turned to the Jockey, crouching slightly to meet her eyes beneath the rim of her helmet. “Sweetie, did this mean man take you from your parents?”

  “I didn’t take her from anyone!”

  “That sounds like something a kidnapper would say,” Adam said, narrowing his eyes at him in suspicion.

  “I’m not a kidnapper!!”

The Jockey quickly held up her hands again, shaking her head. She weaved around the protective forms of Adam and Barbara and darted over to Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into his side possessively. He glared at the Maitlands for a moment before cooling off, easing his stare. The red and orange fire beginning to light through his hair went down. 

  “I did not kidnap her,” he reiterated. “She is my partner.”

Adam opened his mouth.

  “NOT LIKE THAT!” Beetlejuice cut him off before he even got the chance to say something. “Partner in business. My business partner. We work together.”

  “You work with…a child?” Barbara asked.

  “She’s more useful than half of the adults I know.”

The Jockey stood up a little straighter at that.

Adam looked Beetlejuice up and down. “You said you were here to help us…”

  “Right!” Beetlejuice perked up. “Yes! We are!”

  “Help us with what?” Barbara asked.

  “To learn how to scare!”

  “Scare? Scare who?”

  “The people who bought your house!”

At that moment, two men dressed in delivery outfits came in and began grabbing everything they saw. Barbara and Adam tried to stop them, but their yelling and waving did little to help. Beetlejuice and the Jockey watched on in amusement.

  “They can’t see us!” Adam finally exclaimed.

  “Keen observation, Adam,” Beetlejuice said. He took the crop from the Jockey’s holster and began waving it around as if he were giving a presentation. “The living ignore the dead. We are invisible to them. And they’re so wrapped up in their stupid little lives that they usually just ignore the strange and unusual unless you make them, which is why we’re here.”

  “This is all so much to take in,” Barbara said, running her fingers through her hair.

  “Hey, I get it,” Beetlejuice said. “It’s a lot, but it’s okay! You two are special! You died together! That NEVER happens! Unless it’s a murder-suicide, which makes for a VERY awkward eternity.” 

  “How did you die?” Adam asked warily.

Beetlejuice laughed. “Oh, that’s cute. I was born-dead. Never got to experience human stupidity.”

  “And her?” Adam nodded at the Jockey.

  “Horse racing accident,” Beetlejuice said. He thought it had been obvious from her muddy and bloody silks and the hoofprints branding her body. He tapped a claw on her helmet. “She doesn’t talk very much, so don’t expect an answer from her.”

  “Wait-- how can you be born dead?” Barbara blinked.

  “I’m a demon, Babs, try to keep up.”

Both Barbara and Adam’s eyes widened. Thankfully, they didn’t freak out like they did the last time.

  “You’re a WHAT?!” Adam yelped.

  “So is she!” Beetlejuice pointed to the Jockey.

  “You don’t…look like demons…” Barbara said hesitantly.

  “Well, that’s just rude,” Beetlejuice looked down at the Jockey. “I swear, Breathers read the Bible once and think all demons are the same.”

The Jockey nodded with a tiny giggle.

  “Demons aren’t exactly what you’re used to,” Beetlejuice said to the confused faces of the Maitlands. “If you weren’t already ghosts, my true form could strike you dead simply by being in your midst. I can kill a Breather with a single stare! But I appear in this form,” he gestured vaguely, “to seem less intimidating. Don’t want to scare off any potential clients.”

  “You need to work on that,” Adam said.

  “I can go more demonic whenever I want, though,” Beetlejuice went on, ignoring him. 

He then snapped his fingers and a pair of black-and-white striped horns burst out from the crown of his head. A long, arrowhead black tail slithered out from his waist as his legs painlessly bent backwards into a more hock-jointed position, large talons pressing out from his ratty shoes. The Maitlands stared in shock. The Jockey looked enraptured, her ears fluttering. 

  “Like so,” He presented himself to them. “And this isn’t even what I REALLY look like.”

The Jockey clapped energetically. Beetlejuice grinned at her toothily. 

  “I was born a demon,” Beetlejuice said, looking back at the Maitlands. “Therefore, I was born-dead. She,” he drummed on the Jockey’s helmet, “became a demon. That happens if a ghost becomes too consumed with bitterness, grief, or anger and can’t get over their deaths.”

Barbara and Adam both shot worried looks at the Jockey from the implication behind Beetlejuice’s words. Beetlejuice didn’t blame them for that one. It was uncommon for ghosts to become demons; only if their deaths were REALLY bad. And for a child to turn, no less… 

  “Anyway,” Beetlejuice continued. “There’s a lot of feuds between the two types of demons because born-demons perceive turned-demons as “falsies” or “dirty half breeds” since they used to be humans and weren’t born with their horns and whatnot.” He tapped one of the Jockey’s little horn nubs for emphasis. “It’s just this whole thing.  We get along just fine, though!”

As if to prove it, he and the Jockey smiled innocently, showing their sharp teeth. The Maitlands blinked back at them. Adam glanced over Beetlejuice’s shoulders as the movers continued to haul out furniture.

  “So you can really help us get our house back?” he asked.

  “You bet your sweet dilf ass I can!” Beetlejuice replied animatedly.

Adam’s cheeks flamed to an adorable shade of pink. Barbara looked slightly startled before barking, “There’s a child here!”

The Jockey waved a dismissive hand and mouthed,  “I’ve heard worse.” She then tugged on her filthy silks for emphasis of sorts. 

  “Please say yes!” Beetlejuice said, trying not to beg. “Nobody else can help you! We’re all you got!”

Adam and Barbara cast one more dismayed look at their departing furniture, then said, “You’re hired.”

Electric green shot through Beetlejuice’s hair like the lightning bolts during an acid storm down in the Netherworld. His tail had to be wagging at the speed of light. He shook the Jockey’s arm eagerly. 

  “They said yes!!” He yipped, and the Jockey grinned up at him gleefully. He looked at the Maitlands. “You won’t regret it!”

The Maitlands looked slightly worried. 

  “I sure hope so,” Adam muttered.

--- --- --- --- ---

Jaws dripping with gore, the many-limbed, razor-clawed amalgamation towers over the smaller creature on the street, holding a heart between its teeth. The smaller creature raises its blunted, chipped, and ripped off claws in a sign of weakness, spiked tail tucked between its legs. The abomination devours its heart, then hisses in its ear, “D o n ‘ t e v e r t o u c h h e r a g a i n.”

--- --- --- --- ---

Beetlejuice’s eyes popped open. He stared into the darkness all around him, thick and tall like walls of onyx. Rain was still falling outside. Normal rain. 

There was shifting at his side. The Jockey curled up tighter against his side, finding him warm despite the Dead being deathly cold. Finding his presence comforting despite him being awful.

She didn’t need to sleep, and yet she did. Perhaps to retain a shred of normalcy in her unlife. The Maitlands seemed to be the same way from the soft snoring coming from the other corner of the attic. It was too dark to see them, but they were there.

People were there. 

His tail was still out, so he draped it over the Jockey’s ankle, testing her reaction to the touch. Even in sleep, she stirred, ears flicking slightly. She slumped over completely into his lap, her head cushioned by one of her arms, pointed tongue caught between her sharp teeth. Beetlejuice snorted. He poked her helmet.

  “I don’t know how you sleep in this,” he said.

There was no answer. Even if she weren’t asleep, she wouldn’t give him one. That was okay. He didn’t mind her silence. 

[recurring-polynya]

@trulytaka​ asked: um i’ve always dreamt about a tattoo artist!renji falling for a client AU. it’s okay if you can’t come up with anything, just a suggestion!

How is it even possible that I have never read a Tattoo Artist! Renji AU?? (If there is one, please, send it to me immediately). Anyway, I got way too enamored of this idea, this is not even remotely a drabble, it is 4400 words and it is incredibly self-indulgent, I am absolutely not sorry.

It takes place in America and everyone is Japanese-American, because I am way more comfortable writing about American tattoo culture. I have never actually read a Tattoo Artist AU, I don’t know how they are supposed to go, this is just based on my own experiences getting inked. It’s mostly a story about Rukia and Renji being incredible nerfballs, there are not nearly enough stories about Rukia being a nerfball around Renji.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀     🛹     💕

Izuru Kira found Renji Abarai in the break room, simultaneously trying to cram a burrito into his face and read a Hellboy comic. He was holding the comic open with his elbow in an attempt to avoid spilling guacamole on Abe Sapien.

“Your two o’clock is here,” Izuru informed his distinguished colleague.

“Oh, great!” Renji replied, creasing the foil wrapper into a spout so that he could pour the last of the salsa drippings into his mouth.

“She’s waiting in the consult room,” Izuru went on, watching Renji toss the crumpled foil ball across the room, completely missing the trash can. “Look, have you met her before? A Miss Kuchiki?”

“Just exchanged a few emails,” Renji replied, as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Why? Is she scary?”

“Not in the usual way of Abarai clients,” Izuru replied. “I was just… wondering if she was... in the right place.”

“Her request was very specific,” Renji replied, scooping up his comic and the manila folder underneath it. “In fact, I am quite proud of what I came up with for her.” He whipped the folder open.

Izuru stared at it for a moment. “That is so specific.”

“I honestly think this is one of the best tatts I have ever designed. I hope she’s a real weirdo, because not just anyone deserves a masterpiece of this caliber.”

“Mmm,” Izuru agreed. “Yeah. Anyway, if there’s been a, uh, miscommunication, see if you can just… redirect her. Both Momo and I are in today, okay?”

Renji scoffed and stuffed his comic in Izuru’s hand as he marched down the hall toward the consult room. A miscommunication. Renji wondered what was wrong with her. She was probably mousy and wore glasses. Izuru always assumed girls like that would rather have a sad poem about the sea or a sprig of herbs inked on her wrist (conveniently, his specialties). Plenty of mousy girls with glasses would rather rock some fangs or dripping daggers, in Renji’s professional experience.

“Knock knock!” he announced, as he slid the door open. He took one step into the room and stopped dead.

Rukia Kuchiki was not mousy. She did not wear glasses.

Renji didn’t know much about suits. He did not happen to own one himself. But he guessed that Rukia Kuchiki’s suit was expensive, in part because it fit her perfectly, despite her tiny frame. It was jet black, and didn’t have a single speck of lint or cat hair on it. Her perfectly manicured hands were folded neatly on top of her crossed legs. She was wearing very tall, very pointy heels. Their soles were bright red, which Renji had learned from television meant that they were super expensive. He realized that he probably shouldn’t be looking at her legs, even though they were very nice to look at. His eyes snapped up to her face, but that honestly wasn’t any better.

Renji wasn’t often attracted to women, but she had probably the most interesting face he had ever seen-- heart-shaped, with big, dark eyes, a sharp chin, the cutest little nose. Her make-up was subtle and professional, and her hair was swept up with a clip, although it must be fairly short, because a few pieces hung down in front of her ears, and a thick lock dangled between her eyes.

She looked like a mean lawyer from a movie, one that would drive a fancy sportscar like an act of violence. Scary, for sure. But not in the usual way of Abarai clients, who tended toward the large and beefy, not that sharp and sharklike.

That nose, though.

Suddenly, her face split into a big grin. “Hi,” she announced brightly. “I’m Rukia Kuchiki.” She had a deep voice, a very beautiful voice. “You must be Renji Abarai.” Her eyes flicked to his arms. “I mean, of course you are, who else would have those arms? They’re so cool.”

“My arms?” Renji said stupidly. “Are they… famous?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, well, I follow you on Instagram, and you don’t have any pictures of your face, but your arms are in a lot of the shots and they’re, well, they’re kinda distinctive. Do you think, um, would you mind if I looked at them?”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up. It’s not like he wasn’t used to having his arms checked out, but most people were more… subtle about it. Oh, well, it was her dime. “I didn’t do them myself, obviously,” he pointed out, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt so she could see the baboon skull on his left shoulder. A skeletal arm traced down the rest of that arm, complete with an outline of his own hand bones. On the right side, a snake spine coiled around his bicep, ending with a hissing skull. “I mean, it was my design, but my friends-- the other three tattoo artists here-- all helped ink me up.” He plopped down in the chair that sat catty corner to the couch where Rukia was sitting, and held his arms out. “We’re sort of a full-service studio. I’m the skeletons and monsters guy. Izuru, the guy you met on desk duty today-- is good at calligraphy and watercolors and little, itty bitty tattoos. Momo is our nature girl, she specializes in flowers and animals, and she’s great with bright colors. The snake skull was all her. Shuuhei is really into classic tattoo art-- you need a hula girl or a heart with an arrow through it, he’s your man. He’s also incredibly talented at revamping old regret tattoos, there’s good money in that.”

“Mm,” Rukia agreed, finally tearing her eyes away from his forearms to look up at his face, and abruptly turned even pinker. A lot of people fantasized about getting a tattoo and then got a bad case of nerves when it was time to make the leap. Maybe all this was way out of her comfort zone. Renji was trying his best to be friendly and chatty, which usually helped, but he was not used to dealing with this class of lady. He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too familiar.

“Actually,” Rukia went on, pulling on her fingers nervously. “I picked this place specifically because of you. For your work, I mean. I’m kind of a big fan. I saw some of your paintings at an exhibition over at the Fine Arts College, and I just, you know, fell in love. I’d always thought I’d like to get a tattoo someday, and when I found out that you were a tattoo artist, I knew it had to be you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, and I’m babbling and I’m really sorry, I’m just very excited.”

Renji blinked. “You’re not babbling,” he replied slowly. He was sort of hoping she might say some more things about how much she liked his art in her beautiful voice. “Wait, an exhibition at the art school? That must have been at least three years ago, when I was doing my MFA.”

“Er, right,” Rukia looked a little sheepish. “A friend of mine had some work in the same exhibit, you probably don’t know her. My favorite one of your paintings was the one with the Black Lagoon creatures eating hamburgers at a diner, but I also really liked the one that was like a huge monster with a big bone mask stalking through a city, the way you did the shadows was just incredible.”

That particular painting was currently wrapped in brown paper and stuffed behind Renji’s couch. His last boyfriend had told him it was “creepy.”

“Uh, glad you liked it,” Renji managed. “Who was your friend?”

“Her name is Inoue. Orihime Inoue.”

“Oh, the robot girl!” Renji exclaimed. “Er, I mean she drew robots. Constantly. For every assignment. I didn’t mean to imply she was… robotic. In any way.” Jeez, Abarai, pull it together, he chided himself. “Yeah, I remember her. I didn’t know her well, but she sure could draw some tight robots. Is, she, uh, doing well?”

“She’s doing storyboards for a stop-motion animation studio,” Rukia replied.

Renji smiled. “That sounds perfect for her.”

Rukia bit her bottom lip and Renji’s throat went dry.

“So, um, you said in your email that you would have a design for me to look at?”

Renji realized that he was gripping the folder like a doofus. “Right! I did a couple of variations,” he explained, passing it from one hand to the other. “But you explained the concept pretty clearly, and I’m really happy with how the first one came out. I mean, obviously, it’s your tattoo! Please give me any feedback you have, you won’t offend me, even if you hate it! Tattoo designs often take a few iterations, it’s very normal, don’t hold back.”

She was staring at him, those big eyes wide and sparkling. “Can I… see it?”

“Oh! Right!” He shoved the folder at her.

Rukia opened it up and gasped.

“I especially love the way you draw skeletons,” Rukia’s email had read. “Do you think you could tattoo a grim reaper doing a sick kickflip on a skateboard onto my outer bicep? I do lift, so I am pretty jacked, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” Rukia sighed in a tiny voice.

“Um, in the first variation (that’s page 2) I added some sunglasses, and in the second one, the grim reaper is flipping the bird and also its head is on fire. I guess I thought that grim reapers should be gender neutral but now I’m wondering if you would have preferred more of a… lady grim reaper?” Renji yammered absently.

“Oh, no,” Rukia murmured softly, flipping through the pages. Renji wasn’t even sure she had listened to a word he had said. “These are amazing. I love the sunglasses, but I also like the way you put little flames in the eye sockets in the first one…” She waved a hand absently. “Oh, and don’t worry, I like a non-binary skeleton.”

A small problem had just occurred to Renji. “Hey, um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I… may have overestimated the size of your arms.”

“Oh?” Rukia asked, and abruptly shucked off her expensive suit jacket. She was wearing a pale purple sleeveless silk blouse underneath. She held one arm out experimentally, and then flexed. The muscle definition on her bicep made Renji take an involuntary swallow, but the fact that she was wicked cut did not buy him much in the way of real estate.

“I’ll just shrink it down maybe 25%,” he reassured her. “I’ll have to simplify some of the detail on--”

“No,” Rukia frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t do that.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not committed to having it on my arm.” She uncrossed her legs and hefted one high-heeled foot onto the coffee table in front of her. “What do you think? Is my thigh big enough?”

Renji tried to make words come out, but it just wasn’t happening.

“Er… sorry,” Rukia said slowly, tugging at her hem. “I forgot I was wearing a skirt today.”

“Huh?” Renji scrambled to recover. He needed to say something. She looked really embarrassed. Say something! Say something professional about her leg! “Sorry, I was, uh, thinking!” Good, good, now keep going. “Don’t be self-conscious, I see people’s bodies all the time. Bodies are no big deal, we all got ‘em, right?” This was true in the abstract sense, but he knew these were blatant lies as they exited his mouth. Most people’s bodies were no big deal. He had only known her for five minutes, but was certain that Rukia Kuchiki’s thighs were a very big deal. He studied her leg, stroking his chin, like he was some kind of anthropologist of thigh tattoos. Mostly he was trying to figure out what would seem like an appropriate amount of time to look at a person’s thigh, a person who was your professional client that you most definitely did not have the hots for. “There’s certainly plenty of room,” he declared. “But, you know, people are going to see it less. Which is a selling point for some people! It’s just a personal decision that you’ll have to make. It sounds like you had a big vision.”

Rukia gingerly placed her foot back on the floor. “I had actually been wondering if maybe the upper arm was too public, anyway,” she admitted. “The fact is, I just got full access to my trust fund, and this is sort of a celebration, but I may have been a little overeager to piss off my big brother. He’s very stodgy.” She contemplated the area of her leg that was covered by her pencil skirt. “But so are a lot of people in my field. I can wait until I’m running my own company before I get started on the full sleeve of my dreams, right?”

“Worked for me,” Renji replied, utterly lost by whatever she was talking about. “What… field are you in?”

“Oh, finance,” she dismissed.

Finance. Of course. Renji tried to shoo away the weight of disappointment that was settling in his stomach. He was talking to a friendly client who was clearly loaded, loved his work, and was contemplating thousands of dollars worth of future business. He should be thrilled. He should probably be trying to sell her one of his old paintings-- they were only gathering dust, anyway. Renji would never break the studio policy about hitting on clients. The fact that she would surely laugh at him if he asked her to his favorite burger joint ought to make things easier, right?

“This is so hard!” Rukia declared, and Renji was shaken from his reverie. She was just contemplating his draft designs again, though, flipping back and forth between them.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he reassured her. “You can think about it and email me. If you’re happy enough, we can schedule your session, and we’ll work out the details between now and then. Chat it over with your pal MechaHime, she’s got good opinions.” He paused. Momo always said he was too nice during consults, they were running a business, but he couldn’t help it. “Or you can just call back when you’re ready. No pressure.”

Rukia slammed her fist down on her knee. “No! Let’s schedule it! Do I pay now?”

“20% deposit. Let’s go out front, Izuru will ring it up.”

“Perfect.” She looked longingly at the drawings again. “Can I take these with me? You’re absolutely right, Orihime will know what to do.”

Renji wrinkled his nose. “It’s actually against studio policy but…”

Rukia’s face suddenly became very serious. “Then it’s against policy.” She winked at him and smiled. “You should take care of your intellectual property, Mr. Abarai.”

“I never get over to this part of town, to be honest,” Rukia admitted as they walked back up to the front. “Is the taco place across the street any good?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Renji agreed. “Momo and I painted a huge mural on their wall, so they give us free churros.”

“Are tacos a good post-tattoo celebratory meal?” Rukia asked curiously.

“Well, you actually want to eat beforehand,” Renji pointed out. “It’s important to keep your energy up. I don’t estimate yours should take very long, I’m gonna book you a two-hour slot.”

“Ah, okay,” Rukia agreed, and Renji realized belatedly that...maybe… she had been asking him out? No. Surely not. His brain scrabbled for a response, but then he stepped into the reception area and his brain shut down entirely.

“It’s DONE!” Shuuhei bellowed. “Behold my work, ye mighty, and despair!”

Tetsuzaemon Iba, serial client, yakuza enthusiast, and assistant manager at a doggie day care, was flexing. He was not wearing a shirt.

From behind the reception desk, Kira was wearing a dour frown and shaking his head.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Renji declared. “I admit I was skeptical, but it looks fantastic, man. You happy with it?”

“It” was a massive tattoo, covering the wide landscape of Iba’s broad back. It featured a lucky cat, grinning maniacally, its paw held high. It was on fire. The kanji for “lucky charm” was incorporated somehow. It was a disaster. It was perfect.

“How could I not be?” Iba boomed.

“Whoa,” a tiny voice behind Renji said.

Iba’s face went pale when he realized that he was being Peak Iba in front of an elegant, professional woman whose shoes probably cost more than his entire net worth. “Gimme me my shirt!” he demanded of Shuuhei.

“That’s… amazing!” Rukia exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Wow, how long did that take?”

Shuuhei blinked slowly as he passed Iba his shirt. “Five sessions.”

“Well, it’s so cute!” Rukia announced. “You must love cats.”

Iba lifted at the same gym as Renji and watched Momo’s Pomeranian on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was a regular fixture at the tattoo studio, and all four of them liked to drag him, but no one, none of them, had ever roasted him this hard. Renji cursed that no-asking-out-clients rule, because he wanted to buy Rukia Kuchiki her own body weight in tacos and then ask her to be his wife.

“He’s more of a dog person,” Shuuhei supplied.

“Great with dogs,” Izuru added.

“Shut up, you jerks, I am a lover of all animals,” Iba grumbled as he pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his shoulders. “Is this your lawyer, Abarai? Did you finally get arrested for that hairstyle?”

“I have an MBA, actually, not a JD,” Rukia replied matter-of-factly. “And I am his client. Can you show that large man my tattoo design? Is that allowed?”

Renji chuckled, and pulled out his drawing.

“That,” Iba declared, “is a wicked tatt.”

“Oh, you showed me that email!” Shuuhei recalled. “It came out great.” He regarded Rukia. “He was really excited about that one, you made his day.”

Rukia just beamed proudly.

“Are we booking a session, then?” Izuru asked hopefully.

“Yeah, two hours,” Renji nodded.

“Let me just finish ringing up Iba, and I’ll see when you’ve got an opening,” Izuru replied.

“This your first one?” Shuuhei asked Rukia conversationally.

“Mm-hmm,” Rukia nodded.

“Well, you made a good choice. Clean design, mostly black with just a few color pops, should go on quick and easy, and it’ll hold up really well, too.”

“This is Shuuhei, the one I was telling you about, who fixes a lot of bad tattoos.”

“I have never had to fix an Abarai tattoo,” Shuuhei declared. “He’s great with first timers. Very gentle. I’ve fallen asleep while he was inking me.” Shuuhei pointed to the pair of crossed scythes gracing his upper arm. “This is one of his.”

“Oooh, neat!” Rukia agreed.

“You’re being embarrassing,” Renji informed his friend.

“Always,” Shuuhei agreed. “Nice to meet you! I hope I get to see the finished product.” He waved to Iba as he headed off toward the back. “Don’t forget to moisturize!”

“Everyone’s so friendly here,” Rukia said softly to Renji. “This isn’t at all like I pictured it.”

Renji stretched his arms behind his head. “Nah, we’re just a bunch of goofballs who like drawin’ on people. Very lowkey.”

“I guess I’ve thought a lot about the getting tattooed part of getting tattooed, but I never thought of it as… a job. That people have.”

“It’s a great job,” Renji replied. “I love it. I’m just lucky that Izuru over there has enough business sense to keep the other three of us from running it into the ground.”

“That’s certainly the truth,” Izuru agreed, as Iba headed out the door. “Two hours, you said? Renji’s got a 4-6pm block open on a Wednesday, three weeks from now. The 24th, how does that work for you, Ms. Kuchiki?”

“Do you think that’s enough time to settle on a design?” Renji asked. “If you come up with changes, it should only take me a day or two to incorporate them.”

“Oh! Yes, three weeks should be fine. I thought… it might be a little sooner,” Rukia replied, sounding a tad disappointed.

“Abarai’s a busy man, three weeks is actually pretty quick,” Izuru explained.

“Right, of course!” Rukia nodded. “Yes, I’ll take the 24th!”

She then paid her deposit, a process which involved her taking approximately ten thousand items out of her purse, including a full-sized drawing pad, a single fingerless glove, and a Pez dispenser with a duck head. She was the most contradictory person Renji had ever met, and he just wanted to know everything about her. But instead, they were going to exchange a couple of emails about a grim reaper on a skateboard, he was going to spend an hour and a half two inches from her naked thigh in a state of intense, non-sexual concentration, and then he would likely never see her again.

“Okay, I guess that’s it!” Rukia said, stuffing the last of her worldly belongings back into the purse. “Three weeks, then!”

“Three weeks it is,” Renji agreed. “Unless we happen to run into each other at the taco place.”

Rukia blinked. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Right. Ha, ha, of course!” She’d been walking backwards toward the door, an impressive feat in those heels, and she spun suddenly to pull it open.

“It’s a push,” Renji and Izuru chorused together.

“Ha, ha, of course it is!” Rukia laughed nervously, and ducked out.

Izuru stared pointedly at Renji. “Wow,” he said.

“I don’t know what you have against her,” Renji scowled. “So she’s professional. She was really nice. She’s a big fan of my work.”

Izuru cocked his head. “She’s clearly also a big fan of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renji said.

“Look, I’m sorry I implied that a person who drives a Lotus Exige would not be interested in having your weird skeleton doodles permanently placed on her body,” Izuru held up his hands, “but did you really not notice the little hearts and singing birds floating around her head every time she gazed longingly at you?”

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Renji snapped.

“It looked fancy and I asked Shuuhei what it was, okay!”

On cue, Shuuhei burst back into the reception area, Momo close on his tail. “Are we talking about the hot client who has a crush on Abarai?”

“Did you ask her out?” Momo asked breathlessly.

“She’s not really his type,” Izuru mused. “Very corporate.”

Renji frowned. Did he have a type? If his type excluded people like Rukia Kuchiki, he might need to get a new type.

“Who cares, she was adorable!” Momo insisted. “I woulda asked her out.”

“Renji, if you go out with her, can you get me a ride in the Exige?” Shuuhei added.

“I’m not gonna ask her out!” Renji protested. “What happened to the no-hitting-on-clients rule?”

“The rule is no creeping on clients,” Shuuhei correctly. “This is different. She’s clearly into you, big time.”

“Also, she seems non-terrible, unlike the questionable human beings you usually take up with,” Izuru pointed out. “We could relax the rule if it netted you an actually decent partner for a change.”

Renji scowled judgmentally at Izuru, as if his own dating history had been remotely better before he and Shuuhei finally hooked up.

“Oh!” Momo waved her phone. “Speaking of which, I googled her, like you told me to, Izuru--”

“Izuru!” Renji protested.

“--and you were right! She’s not just one of the Kuchikis, she’s the granddaughter!” Momo thrust her phone in Renji’s face. It was some article about some fancy charity event, complete with a picture that was clearly Rukia, dressed in a dramatic black and gold evening gown.

Renji wanted to push Momo’s hand away, but he also didn’t want to stop looking at Rukia in that dress. “The who?” he asked.

Izuru and Momo sighed dramatically in synchronized exasperation.

“Embarrassingly rich old money family? I don’t know what they actually do, but they’re always in the newspapers, donating money for something or other--”

“Billionaire philanthropists,” Shuuhei intoned in a fake deep voice.

“--I heard they’re descended from some famous clan of samurai back in Japan,” Momo ignored him. She jerked her phone back and started tapping at it frantically. “I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of the grandson-- Rukia’s brother, I guess. He always makes those lists of top ten hottest bachelors.”

“He’s dreamy,” Shuuhei seconded.

“Impossibly dreamy,” Izuru thirded.

Momo flipped her phone around again, to reveal a picture of a very serious, and very handsome man in a classic three-piece wool suit. Renji supposed “impossibly dreamy” was not an inaccurate description.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen pictures of that guy before,” Renji shrugged. “He’s okay. Rukia has a more interesting face, I think.”

Momo and Shuuhei exchanged raised eyebrows.

“You do like her, then?” Izuru asked, his face brightening. “You’re wrong, by the way, Byakuya Kuchiki has the face of an angel.”

“Rukia says he’s stuffy,” Renji shrugged. “And fine. I like her. She’s cute and nice and had good taste in tattoos. What’s not to like?”

“Are you gonna ask her out, then?” Momo pressed.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied. “She’s my client. Besides, as you just pointed out, she’s loaded. What’s she want with a scumbag like me?”

All three of his friends groaned.

“You have good delts and sexy hair,” Izuru pointed out.

“You give amazing hugs!” Momo declared.

“You draw fantastic skeletons,” Shuuhei added. “Which, apparently, is relevant to her interests, and not a thing you usually find on Tindr.”

“Also, we’ve already established that she does like you, regardless of whether she has a valid reason for doing so,” Izuru concluded. “So, if you’re at all interested, you really shouldn’t let that stop you.”

“I think you should go for it,” Momo encouraged.

“Me, too,” Shuuhei agreed.

Renji grimaced. She was an amazing girl, too good to be true probably. If she had any sense at all, she would certainly turn him down. But maybe… just maybe… she didn’t have any sense. “Okay,” he grudgingly agreed. “I’ll do it. But not until I’m finished the damn tattoo!”

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 33 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 32 here. Part 34 here.

Summary: A perfectly normal, innocent car ride goes perfectly normally and innocently.

Words: 4100

Warnings: unsafe driving

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: HELLO, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Honestly, we needed a break from the drama. Sometimes a girl just wants to have fun, and that girl is ME!

Wanted to let y'all know I was overwhelmingly flattered by the response to the previous chapter. I know I can't respond to every comment, but please know that I appreciate every single one, and feel so lucky and grateful for y'all.

Hope y'all are continuing to stay safe and healthy. Love y'all so very very much. Thank you thank you thank you. <3

The crack of thunder jolted you awake and you squealed, snapping into yourself. Underneath the sheets, you trembled into consciousness, awakening to a massive mattress that was devoid of any body but yours. You blinked, rolling for comfort, finding only the rustle of cold sheets, an endless valley of cotton around you. Rain tinkled the windows at the sides of the bed, steel morning sun pouring through the blinds and spilling over the hardwood.  

The walls rumbled again with thunder, and you shivered, gathering the covers around you. Showers were one thing--but you’d never been particularly fond of storms. Swallowing, you glanced around the bedroom, spying light from the adjoining bathroom, running water muffled beyond the door.

“Kylo?” It was strange to call his name, to summon him in familiarity, as if he were a man you were bound to in domesticity and not, lawfully, in slavery.

All the same, the water stopped, and relief trickled over you. Shuffling beyond the door, and he stepped out, toweling himself dry, damp skin silvered in the dim light. The steam had reddened his pink lips, roused flush at his cheeks, and his hair clung in black tendrils to his face, his rounded ears poking through. A streak of warmth shot through you; Kylo Ren was destructive in his beauty, devastating in his power--but he’d never looked so… sweet.

He glanced over the room, ruffling his hair with the towel before meeting your eyes. There was no affection or concern inside of his gaze that you could identify. And he said nothing.

You blushed. “Um. I was--” Lightning flashed outside, and you flinched. “Was wondering where you were.” It was difficult to stop your attention from roaming his body, from settling between his legs. Just looking made your mouth water. “Good morning.”

Kylo stepped forward, deviance flickering across his face. “Poor little bird.” Husk edged his voice, and he drew closer. “Helpless without me.”

Lust thickened your throat, heated your neck. “I just get nervous during storms,” you said with a laugh. “I always have.”

“Hm.” He took another step, hooked the towel on the door, and meandered to the side of the bed. His cock twitched, swelling with blood as he watched you. “What else makes you nervous?”

“The dark.” You wet your lips, shifting toward him, focus dancing between his face and his growing erection. “You.”

He tilted his head, studying you, only feet from you, now. “Me.”

“Yes.” Your heart leapt, your thighs tensing. “You.”

Kylo loomed over you, growing harder with every passing second. “The way you’re looking at me might betray that.”

“Really?” More heat coursed through you, and you bit your lip. “And how am I looking at you?”

His face darkened with desire. “Like you want to take my cock in that dirty mouth.” Strong fingers gripped your chin, wagged your jaw. “Like you want to swallow my cum.”

“Christ.” Air caught in your throat, and you shuddered, staring into his blackening gaze. “Maybe I do.”

He huffed. “Of course you do.” He released you and patted your cheek. “Little whore.” Turning, he crossed to his dresser, even as his dick stood with need. “But we’re leaving.”

“Oh.” Crestfallen, you flopped against the mattress, skin tingling. “Now?”

He didn’t respond, having already started pulling on clothes. You sighed, rolling over, reaching for your dress in the ball of fabric by the side of the bed.

“Do you listen?” Kylo looked at you, somehow knowing what you were doing without having seen you. “I don’t want that on you. Again.”

You frowned, raising a brow. “What do you expect me to wear?” you asked. “You should be well aware that I don’t have anything else but my nightgown.”

Kylo considered you while he finished buttoning his trousers. Then, without a word, he turned and left, and you sat, confused, listening while he marched through the hall and down the steps.

A slow sigh escaped you, mind spinning with the realization that your Commander was fetching something from your room. For you. It churned your stomach, in reality, this veneer of--would you call it thoughtfulness?--over him, as if you’d be able to walk out of this home and function as a free woman. Your own personal agreement with him that your existence amounted to more still did nothing to soften the legal definition of your life. Even though the previous night still had your heart flooded with joy, time’s passing had wound new anxiety around your heart in anticipation for it to collapse and smother you like a peat moss ceiling.

When he returned, he brought your nightgown with him--and only that, neglecting to provide another pair of socks, underwear, or really anything else a woman might need. He offered it to you without pretense, and you took it, rationalizing that you’d only worn your underwear for approximately all of a couple hours the previous day, anyway. Both of you finished changing in silence, and when you were finished (bonnet included, obviously), you glanced down at yourself, recognizing that despite its modest silhouette, a bright, white, billowing dress still seemed too conspicuous outside the secrecy of his room.

Kylo held you in an empty stare, and then pulled a coat from his closet--long, black, hooded. You looked between him and the jacket, folding your arms over your chest, the anxiety curling tighter. His acknowledgement that you were not yet free tickled the terror buttons in your brain.

Despite this, you accepted it, pulled it on, and immediately drowned in it. It was almost comical, how big it was on you--you wagged your arms, letting the sleeves flop around, glancing at him with red cheeks. He observed you, expression flat, lingering there for longer than you expected before grabbing his own coat and shrugging it on. It concealed his shoulder holster and pistol, as always--but with the rain, it served its intended purpose for once.

There was no glance of agreement before Kylo Ren exited the room, leading, as always, with the assumption you would follow--and of course, you did.

It must have been early, since no one else in the home appeared to be awake. Another blink of lightning, grumble of thunder; you squeaked and quickened your pace, seeking comfort he appeared unwilling to offer. Outside, you flipped up your hood as you trotted to the Audi, squeaking again and hopping in when the sky flashed; before you even felt situated, Kylo started the car and pulled into the street.

The ride began in silence, as you’d expected--but you were content to watch him drive, mesmerized by the size of his hand on the stick shift, how long and large his fingers seemed, even out of gloves. Your thighs pressed together in reminder of your budding desire--in these untread waters of tentative see-saw equality, anything seemed possible. Anything up to and including getting your Commander to finger you while he drove. Anything up to and including sucking his cock and finally making him cum.

You shook the thoughts from your head. There was a more pressing matter on your mind.

“I was wondering,” you said, “if you’d already read my file, why did you ask for my name?” You looked at him. “You already knew it, didn’t you?”

Kylo blinked slowly, tongue pressing against the top of his palate. “Choice.”

You frowned. “Choice?”

“Your name was yours to give,” he replied. “Not mine to know.”

“If I hadn’t told you, would you still have used it?”

“If you hadn’t told me.” He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “You wouldn’t be in this car.”

You shifted in your seat. “What would you have done?”

He paused, eye twitching, and he stole a glance before refocusing on the road. “I don’t know.”

An ache spread in your chest--this intent to create choice when he’d inadvertently taken it from you, this attempt to offer you ownership of your own identity, this concession that your name was yours--somehow seemed more precious to you than his asking at all. Strange, how there could be such meaning attached to the typical foundation of any relationship, but Gilead had ravaged any former definition of intimacy. Between Handmaid and Commander, it was up to you to forge it on your own.

“So…” you said. “We’re kind of saying forget your Wife, then, huh?”

He didn’t respond.

“I mean that you seem to believe she won’t report us, or anything.”

Kylo exhaled through his nose. “She won’t.”

“You’re really sure of that.” To be fair, after your last couple interactions with her, you seemed convinced of that, too. You glanced out of the grey-veiled window. “I just don’t get why she hasn’t gotten rid of me yet.”

“The more quickly she cycles through Handmaids,” he said, “the less generously she is received.” A pause. “Dead Handmaids have a difficult time producing children.”

You swallowed. Supposably, that was true. Perhaps she’d become willing to let you and your Commander fuck as many times as needed until she got what she wanted. After all, you knew as well as anyone how inverse the relationship between desperation and the tolerance for misery could be. The both of you being gone in the early morning was another tick to her endurance meter.

“She’ll be mad when she wakes up, though.”

He huffed. “She can take it up with God.” His voice was low. “Or take it up with me.”

“Oh.” The acknowledgement of God seemed awkward, given everything you’d shucked together in the past twenty-four hours--you scanned him, more words lingering on your tongue, a desire to know. Anything seemed possible. Up to and including... “Do you think God exists?”

Despite what you considered to be commendable bravery in your question, Kylo Ren was silent. He shifted down, peeling onto a highway ramp, staring through the downpour.

“I don’t think he does.” You looked at your hands, then out the window. The skies were dark for miles. “Or, if he does, he doesn’t listen to me.”

“He exists.”

You blinked, seeking his gaze. “Oh?”

“If as nothing else but an idea. An existence in shared consciousness.” Kylo glimpsed you for a second. “That's existence.”

“It is.” Interesting how his power in shared consciousness had resulted in the complete upheaval of your entire life. “But it would be nice if he were around so he could tell people what he thinks.” You paused. “You know. If he could offer approval or disapproval.”

He paused, brow drawn in thought, throwing the stick forward and back as you cruised down the empty road. The absence was by design, you were sure--less chance of being questioned by anyone else, even if you were in the Lead Commander’s car. A twinge in your chest. Another reminder of your societal place.

“If a person feels conviction in what they believe, then the origin of that conviction matters little.” He paused. “We cannot ignore our destinies, regardless of who created them.”

That word destiny again, as if he were shackled to it in that same hopelessness with which you’d grown all too familiar.

“What is your destiny, Kylo?” You searched his face. “Better yet, what’s mine?”

The knot in his throat bobbed. His jaw tensed. “We’ll see.”

His reticence panged in your chest--you chewed your lip, heart thumping with what you were about to do. “Maybe they’re more similar than we know,” you murmured. “Maybe we get to find out together.” You reached out, placed your hand over his on the gearshift, thumb petting his thick knuckles.

Lightning cracked the sky, and hunger crashed over you, spurred by the connection of skin, leaving wildfires on your flesh. Your chin quivered, thighs forcing friction between them, and you gazed at Kylo. His pupils were dilating--you clenched. He felt it, too.

Pulling your lips in over your teeth, you scooted toward him, guiding your hand over his, tracing the valleys of his veins, the knobs of his joints, following the tendons that led to his fingers. Kylo was silent, stoic, watching the road, the only betrayal of his desire a soft swallow. You grinned, taking a single digit and drawing along the edge of his palm, up the side of his own finger and around the nail, trailing back toward his knuckles, caressing the sensitive tissue there. His chest swelled, grip tightening on the knob, and your cunt pulsed.

Emboldened, you slipped two fingers forward, skating over the tops of his, and loosely gathered his first two digits. You stilled and stroked them in a long, languid motion, grasp tightening as you slid up. Kylo’s breath hitched, and you stroked them again, gliding up and down, thumb dipping into the divot between them, skimming the pads of his fingers when you reached the top. When he sucked in air through his teeth, you whimpered, squirming in your seat.

“Naughty thing.” He was getting hard--you could see the tent forming between his legs. “You’re wet, aren’t you?”

You nodded, continuing to pump his fingers with your own. ”Yes.”

“Yes?”

Your cheeks burned. “Yes, Kylo.”

A short, sharp inhale. “You want my cock.” Said cock was now straining in an urgent bulge. “You need it.”

Swallowing your need, you nodded again. “Yes, Kylo,” you said. “I do.”

Kylo grit his teeth, and he glanced over you. “Fuck yourself.”

“W-what?” You throbbed with excitement.

“Lift up your skirt. Take off your underwear.” He drilled you with his gaze for a brief moment. “Spread your filthy little cunt, and fuck it.” Shifting forward in his seat, he adjusted his erection. “Make yourself cum, and I might let you suck me off,” he said. “Like you’ve wanted.”

Heat suffocated you. The thought of being able to wrap your lips around his dick made your stomach drop with greed. You didn’t need a second prompt--you released his fingers, popped your seatbelt and lifted your hips, sliding your underwear down and leaving it crumpled on the floorboard. Kylo’s eyes darted between you and the road as you eased back, gathered your skirt around your waist, and grazed the lips of your pussy.

“Oh.” Pleasure rippled through your thighs, your heartbeat thumping in your core. You sank into the seat while you teased yourself, glancing over your folds, face hot with the realization of how wet you already were. “Shit…”

“Good girl.” Lust laced his voice. “You wish I were touching you instead.”

You nodded, smoothing your hands over your inner thighs before brushing your cunt again, more demanding in its heat. “Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I…” Whimpering, you peeled yourself open, coating your fingers in your slick. “I want your cock.”

“Mm.” Kylo palmed at himself through his trousers. “You want me in that tight pussy, don’t you?” His breath was shallow. “You want me stretching you open.”

“Yes.” You circled your clit, gasping at the gush of delight. “Fuck, yes…”

“Fuck.” He fumbled with his pants, pulling at himself until he’d released his long, hard cock--he fisted it with his right hand, his left still on the steering wheel, and his hips snapped into his grip. “I don’t think I asked you to stop talking.”

Heat scorched your blood. “I wish this was you.”

You positioned two digits at your pulsating entrance and sighed, head falling back when you pushed in, relishing the soft squeeze of your own walls. Arousal fogged your mind, imagining your core clenching around his cock, massaging and milking it as he thrust into you, how good it would feel to him--and you groaned, curling into yourself, two free fingers rubbing your clit. Kylo hissed in approval, painting pre-cum around the pink head of his dick, working himself in rhythm with your hand.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said. “Tell me how wet you are.”

You shuddered with embarrassment. “I…” The last time he’d been inside of you, it hadn’t been pleasant for either of you. He was looking for undeniable proof that you wanted him. “I’m… really wet for you.” The admission brought a flutter around your fingers, and you flicked your clit faster, panting with delight. “You’d love how it feels.”

He snuffed a moan. “I know I would.” He drew lines along his shaft, making it twitch in need before he gratified himself with slow, deep strokes. “Fuck--I’ve thought about that pussy every night… thought about fucking it.” His hand tightened, and he sucked a breath through his teeth. “Thought about making it cum.”

A blissful groan escaped, and you leaned into your seat, legs spreading wider--you crammed a third finger into your cunt as it thrummed around you, other hand swirling tight circles around your clit. Ecstasy flooded you, and your jaw dropped open, hips rolling, mimicking a reality where he was fucking you. Kylo grunted, focus torn between the highway and your unraveling rationality.

“That’s right,” he said. “Look at that. So shameless.” He growled, jerking his cock, breath quickening. “You want me to fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

“Oh?” You forced a half-smirk through your open mouth. “And how do I--ah--how do I deserve to be fucked, Kylo?”

“You deserve to be fucked like the nasty little slut you are.” He swallowed, smearing more precum down his length. “You deserve to have that cunt pounded so hard you forget how to breathe.”

“Jesus.” You were vibrating, now, heart skipping, one hand fast and slick on your clit, the other crooking and thrusting into your core, bliss engulfing you to near-drowning. Every pass on your nub made it twitch, made your walls tighten, made your legs shake with your rising orgasm. “Fuck, I wish you were in me,” you whispered, “I wish you could feel me clench like this around your cock…”

“Such a whore for me,” he groaned, pumping his dick. “Fucking yourself just to taste my cum.” The car wobbled for only a second. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, whimpering and heaving as you stuffed your cunt full, stretched yourself wide, heat blossoming between your thighs.“Please, Kylo, please, please, let me cum for you, let me suck you off--”

“Earn my cock,” he snarled. “Cum like a good girl should.”

With a cry, you obeyed, every muscle below your waist convulsing with euphoria--you jerked, trembled, eyes squeezed tight as your pussy pulsed and spasmed on one hand, your other rubbing you to squealing. Then it broke, a wave over your flesh, and you gasped, thrown forward, your skin buzzing with the remnants of your climax. To your left, Kylo’s face was tight with restraint while you caught your breath.

“Good girl,” he purred, seizing your head. “Now take your reward.” Jaw tight, he shoved you toward his dick.

There was no argument there--you dropped your jaw and shifted onto your knees, humming as his hot, heavy length drove past your teeth and hit the back of your throat. He held you there, canting into your mouth, and you moaned, lids fluttering, his size straining your jaw, inspiring drool down your chin. You sealed your lips around his girth, hollowing out your cheeks, and sucked, his cock throbbing when you pressed your tongue against it.

God, just to have him in your mouth again was enough to grind your thighs together, sore clit swelling for more--groaning, you clutched his thigh for balance, bobbing your head, swallowing inch after inch with every dip of your neck. Saliva flooded your cheeks, mixing with the hint of pre-cum that glazed his cock, sweat already beading at your hairline.

“That’s it.” Kylo dug under your bonnet, gnarling your hair to halt you, adjusting you so he could plunge into your throat--you wailed, muffled by his length as he drove deeper and deeper. “That’s it--fuck--listen to you. You need me to fuck your pussy like this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t respond--he was slamming into your mouth. Tears brimmed your eyes, and you folded your lips around your teeth, sucking hard against him. He growled and ripped you from his length, holding you by your hair.

“Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Yes,” you whined, shame searing your skin, “yes, I need you to--I need you to fuck my pussy like this.”

“Of course you do.” He sank into your throat again, hips snapping with fierce, angry strokes. “You’re a fucking whore.” The pulsing at your tongue became desperate, rapid--he was close. “You love my cock, you love having it inside of you--”

You moaned in assent, trying to breathe through your nose, writhing with the effort. Kylo choked, dropped his seat back, snagged your hair with both hands and pushed your nose to his base. His knee steadied the wheel while he watched you gag and wretch on him, watched spit dribble onto his skin. Seething with pleasure, his hips thrashed, and he yanked your head free, holding it still while he savagely fucked his fist.

“Beg for my cum.” His voice was ragged, he shuddered as he held off his peak. “Beg for it, bitch.”

You whined. “Please give me your cum, Kylo, please!”

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, “fuck--”

A deep moan choked in his throat and he sputtered your name, his cock twitching as it shot jets of white cum onto your tongue and cheeks--the last load hit you in your closed eye, and you squeaked with faux-pain, recoiling.

Kylo released you, tucking himself away, and you sat, gathering his release from your face and eye. It was thick and viscous in your mouth--you hummed in happiness, swallowing it and giggling as you wiped at your sticky lid. Your Commander had sat forward, still chasing quiet breath, hand on the wheel while he observed you. While you cleaned the last of it from your face, thunder crackled, and you cowered, neck hot with embarrassment.

His gaze glimmered, lip twitching, and he sniffed. “Perhaps you could tell me what doesn’t frighten you.”

“Well, getting cum in my eye isn’t exactly a common occurrence for me,” you replied, pouting playfully.

A tiny smirk twisted his mouth. “Would you like it to be?”

You couldn’t help yourself; you laughed, smacked his shoulder. “You’re nasty!”

“Mm.” He reached over, thumbed an errant glob from your cheek, and swallowed it. “Very.”

You giggled again--in that moment, your eyes met--and the air, the rain, the passing seconds all paused, paralyzed by a breathless, infinite inevitability, something so impossibly imminent, it felt almost like fate.

Like destiny.

Kylo shattered the stare, attention back on the road.

It was as if he’d plucked your heart from your chest and set it on fire--a fire that would smolder and glow in your blood, keeping you warm through the night. A long, shaky sigh left you, and after pulling your underwear back on, you rested your head on the window, watching the watery world wave past, wondering if choice and destiny could exist simultaneously, and wondering, if not, which one had possessed you.

“Are we there yet?” There was a lilt of sarcasm in your voice.

But he only glimpsed you for a second, and did not respond.

The highway stretched for longer than you anticipated--and only one or two other cars passed by on the road--until Kylo shifted into an exit lane, taking a winding ramp down along the edge of a forested area. He coasted through the receiving lane and turned down the road, tossing the car into a high gear as he accelerated through streaming puddles.

It took a couple more turns before he slowed, decelerating with the gearshift to avoid hydroplaning with the brakes, and turned through a grand, broken gate, drifting down an untended path.

Small hills rolled out around you, the landscape consumed by neglect. Foliage had eaten the trees, monuments stained and forgotten. It was only after staring into the wild green valleys that you realized there were hundreds of monuments, which seemed strange, almost indulgent. There were thousands, even, all stone-marble-grey-white, all etched with intention, decorated in lost memory. Then it smacked you: they weren’t monuments. Anxiety streaked through your veins, your mouth dropped dry, chest crushed with dread.

Whatever Kylo Ren was showing you, he’d taken you to a cemetery.

[strangestdrabbles]

First Love

A/N: IT’S DONE AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY

Pairing: Stan Uris x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, a little blood mention

The first tremble of her lip came after Beverly softly spoke “Mrs Uris?” into the receiver, an ache so intense crawling up Y/N’s spine before settling in her chest along with bringing tears quickly to her waterline. Even though she had forgotten her teenage love after leaving Derry, standing under the starry sky in the parking lot of Jade Of The Orient everything came crashing back down on her in a way that felt almost like whiplash. 

--

Y/N and Stan sat under a large oak tree, her head on his shoulder as he flipped through his favourite bird book; Y/N pointing out her favourites just to listen to the boy who had her heart list off facts in a voice that held so much enthusiasm. His hands gripped the book tight as a soft flush travelled up his neck before kissing the apples of his cheeks, the soft breeze cutting through the warm summer day came and ruffled through the couple’s hair; Y/N’s finger pointing out the pretty blue bird on the right page. 

“I really like this one. It’s so pretty.” 

“That is the Cerulean Warbler and yeah it’s pretty but you know who is prettier?” 

Y/N turned her head and slowly blinked up at Stan, feeling slightly sleepy due to the haze of summer so she just snuggled closer. 

“W-What?” Y/N’s voice was punctured by a yawn, a smile settling softly on her lips. 

“You.” 

--

The streets of Derry were lively as Stan and Y/N walked, hand in hand, enjoying the sound of laughter while discussing their plans for the day. 

“Can we go to the comic book store? They have the new X-Men coming out.” 

Y/N turned her head and smiled brightly at the look in Stan’s eyes, holding a galaxy that twinkled in the sunlight, nodding a little too excitedly before they started walking again and Stan slowly gathered the courage to comfortingly trace his thumb against Y/N’s. A warmth spread through both their chests and in its wake left a garden more beautiful than could be comprehended, Stan opening the door to the comic book store before following Y/N while doing his best to contain the overwhelming feeling that was thrumming through his veins. 

--

The dark night sky felt like it was pulsating and beginning to close in, Y/N’s breathing becoming irregular along with black spots flickering in her peripherals. She couldn’t hear the rest of the Loser’s Club or even feel their presence as she felt light years away, Y/N’s knees buckling and before she knew it her head was between her knees as she sat in a heap in the parking lot. Bev’s voice sounded like it was coming from down a long tunnel, an echo of worry shadowing Y/N’s mind and even though she couldn’t feel them the tears fell fast from her eyes and her hands shook; a tense ache staggering up her spine and making everything feel suffocating. 

“Oh my god Y/N are you okay? Come back to us.” Mike said, sitting beside Y/N before holding her close, making her aware of the stuttering sobs catching in her chest. 

Y/N felt light headed as she hiccupped and for a moment the sobs subsided as she sniffled, all Y/N’s bones aching as she leaned into Mike and clenched her hands in tight fists close to her chest. 

“I-It hurts s-so much Mike.” Y/N whispered, her voice catching in her throat painfully and because she was looking at her feet she missed the shared looks between Eddie and Richie. 

“I know Y/N but it’s okay, we’re here.” 

--

It was nerve-wracking for Stan as he sat on a smoothed rock while holding the prettily wrapped box in his hand, the sound of the lake that ran through Derry babbling innocently as the sun blinked of the water and spilling an ethereal halo of light every other moment. 

“Stan?” 

Y/N’s voice erupted a honey feeling in Stan’s stomach as he watched her walk down the short lane, his heart stuttering as he took her in and saw that she was wearing her favourite overalls and soft purple shirt. 

“O-Oh hey Y/N.” 

Her smile rivaled the sun in its brightness as she skipped over and wrapped her arms around Stan’s waist, the smile that appeared on his lips was full of fondness and overwhelming happiness before pressing an innocent kiss to the crown of Y/N’s head. They stood in the sweet embrace a moment longer before Y/N slowly leaned away and looked up at Stan with soft doe eyes. 

“So what did you call me here for Stan the Man?” 

Her voice was punctuated with a smile and soft giggles, Stan taking her hand and walking over with her to the rock before sitting down close enough for their knees to rest comfortably against each other. 

“I- um,” Stan cleared his throat before starting again, “I saw this and thought of you.” 

The wrapped box was placed in Y/N’s hands and as she slowly began to unwrap it Stan could feel his hands become clammy, intertwining his fingers together on his lap to try and control his slowly growing panic. 

“Oh my god Stan it’s beautiful.” 

The necklace was a simple butterfly with pretty purple jewels in the wings, the chain a pretty silver and Y/N was speechless as she continued to look at it, a slow tear kissing her left cheek before she looked at Stan, the boy she had come to love -as much as she could at 13- and before she could stop herself, leaned up and left a sweet kiss on Stan’s cheek. 

“Do you like it?” 

“I love it.” 

Stan’s heart was beating quickly in his chest and his mind was urging him to tell Y/N how he truly felt, to be honest and heartfelt. 

“I love you.” 

Y/N blinked at him with her lips parted, her cheeks heating up slowly. 

“Stan? W-What?” 

“I love you Y/N.” 

“I love you too.” 

--

The sound of Stan’s wife softly crying over the phone hit Y/N’s ears as she finally was able to stop sobbing and clear the ringing that was sounding in her ears. 

“I was wondering if I could talk to Stan.” Bev spoke, looking over to Y/N without the other noticing before concentrating back on her phone. 

“Oh um he passed, he slit his wrists in the bathtub.” 

“In the bathtub.” Bev spoke simultaniously with Mrs Uris and then Y/N felt nothing. 

It was as if everything had froze within Y/N and all the colour had drained from her surroundings, leaving behind a sad grey and a whole body ache that felt almost distant. She felt like she couldn’t breathe and that maybe it would be better if she wasn’t there, continuing to live if Stan wasn’t on the planet anymore. 

‘Maybe’, she thought, ‘maybe it would be better if I was dead too.’

[neargaztambide]

Stan and Ford Pines: A Melancholic Story (Chapter 2)

Prologue, Chapter One

Words: 3.549 approximately: 

2: Happy Birthday!

It is a beautiful day. Outside the birds sang. The sun illuminated everything it touched. It was a perfect day, with a nice breeze, an ideal climate. Little by little, one of the brothers opened his eyes, finally being able to enjoy the benefits of the morning.

Stanford pulls the covers aside as he feels the warmth of the sun settle on his eyes. Stan is still sleeping. The boy gets up and looks at the beautiful clear blue sky, with hardly any clouds in the afterlife, with the people of the district strolling, going to work or taking advantage of the first hours to go shopping. “Wow. Stanley, wake up: you should see ...” He stopped talking. Ford erased his smile. Out of the corner of his eye he began to perceive that in microseconds the sky turned gray, dark clouds making shadows in his room. Laughter, teasing approached his head. Stanley was white as a sheet, his chest full of blood. His corpse was completely violated, as if a true beast had devoured him without contemplation. He was going to scream: Ford was going to scream, he already had it about to do it...

“... Ford, c'mon, wake up. Guess what day is today.” Stanford quickly opened his eyes. He felt cold for a few moments, like he was still in that nightmare. Stanley was alive. It was just a bad dream. "Wake up, Sixer, today’s our birthday!" Saying this, Stan punches his brother in the face with a pillow. Without opening his eyes, Ford searches for his glasses on the nightstand. Upon finding them, they are quickly put on. “You know what your gift is, don't you?” Stan asks in a mischievous tone. Ford leans against the head of the bed. He didn't ask his brother for anything; would it be a joke or something? He remembers absolutely nothing, not even the slightest hint that he wanted something on specific.

Stanley sits on the edge of the bed, putting his hand on Stanford's hair and ruffling it to finish waking up him. Ford is finally ready to listen to Stan, who looked certainly happy. He was looking expectantly at Stanford's possible reaction. He bent down and rummaged under the bed, placing a red paper-wrapped gift in Stanford's hands. –Yup, there is no reason to thank me. Enjoy it. - Ford smiled. The mere consideration made the gift something perfect. He didn't know what to say. He was stunned. -Hey! What are you waiting for?: open it! - Stan shakes Ford's shoulder a little to cheer him up. Ford breaks the paper with force, leaving the paper that was taking out stacked. The result was to bare a case, which when opened revealed a necklace that Stanford took. It was an owl, of tyto breed. He spread his wings like he was going to take flight. It was highly detailed on the head up part. The body disintegrated into a metal vine that firmly held a small capsule of non-translucent plastic. He even had his little legs made down to the last detail. “A few months ago I saw that you were really interested in this when we were passin' by Crab Avenue.” And I thought it would be a good gift.” Stan approaches the curtain to close it.

Suddenly, the owl's body began to flash a soft green light. Shining and accompanying the little darkness that was thanks to the curtain. It was peaceful and calming to see the light illuminate the room. It was as if something was accompanying them. It was weird, but it's as if someone was watching them closely. They couldn't feel it, but a strange presence was with them, watching. The light in seconds went out. “Wait, are you kidding me?” The effect of the necklace stopped working. Little by little it flickered and the light faded. Stan grabbed Ford's necklace, and tapped it a few times to try to activate it again. It didn't work. “Oh, hell. Sorry, Pointdexter: it's just a trinket.” Ford didn't care. Anyway, he liked the gift. He smiled and said: “It doesn't matter, Stanley. I will repair it. I'll find out how. Oh, right- Stanford got up and went behind the nightstand. He gave Stan his gift. The package was slightly larger than Stan's (it was decorated with blue paper). Stan ripped the paper, leaving a photo frame on his legs. It was flipped. "Um… thanks?" The little Ford did was sneak roll his eyes while smiling. He couldn't believe that his brother was unintuitive. Stan finally turned the frame over, only to stop smiling at the photo.

It was Filbrick. He had two lumps in his arms (it looked like his brother and he when they were babies), smiling. Smiling like never before. Smiling at the camera. The blue frame was full of beautiful decorations. For example, some colored crystals stuck in some corners. In another was a pretty seashell. “Stan... do you like it?” Ford asked with a certain tone of regret when he noticed that Stan only stared at the frame without an apparent smile. But, Stan only lunged at him to give him a big hug. “I-it's the best gift you could have ever given me ...” Ford sighed inwardly, and welcomed the hug. “-I'm glad you liked.” Stanford thought. The two separated. “Are you crying?” Stanford asks quickly, to which Stanley raised a fist to his eyes and began to wipe away: “No: asbestos entered my eyes.”

The brothers left their room feeling hungry and after thanking each other. They were in the living room: nice and comfortable. It is years old, with soft yellow wallpaper. Her television was on top of a library (filled with various things: horror books, science fiction in the right dose, comics painstakingly collected by Stanley, and music. Lots of music). In the kitchen was Caryn, who was busy cooking something. They both go to the dining room, and wait for their mother. She is wearing a football shirt, with the number 04 on the back. In addition to pants of different scales of blue. “Well, who's having a birthday today?” Her mother finally looks up to say good morning. Stan thinks: his mother has slightly reddish eyes. Maybe she fell asleep with tears still on her face. Why haven't she told them how she was feeling, or at least to someone else? She must have been the most emotionally charged to deal with. He felt very sorry for his mother. Is she trying to pretend that she is supporting herself for them?

“So, what’s the breakfast?” Asked Stan when it comes out of his musings when they were starting to bother. Her mother tells her that they are going to eat waffles (which they ended quite quickly). Stanford was engrossed in seeing his new possession. “Ford, where did you get that necklace?” Asked Caryn when noticing his son. He said that it was Stanley’s gift. Their mother looked at her children: they always take care of each other, no matter what. It is a relationship of real mutual affection. Stan's light went on and he went back to his room. “–Where is that dwarf going? -” Caryn wondered mentally when the boy left and returned a few minutes later. He gave her Ford's gift. His mother had almost the same reaction as Stan when opening the gift: she was left for a few moments with absolutely nothing to say, and then moved. “Ma...” Stan said suddenly, who looked at his mother, who was already starting to have watery eyes. “Look, boys: I'm going to go get some things for the cake” Caryn says to her children to explain what they could do. “. And so that you don't get bored when you're locked up, why don't you go to the beach? Let's see if you get some color, pair of vampires.” Caryn makes a graceful movement to grab the nose of Ford, who smiles at the little joke. “Do it, or I’ll make you carry all the bags.” After a while, the twins walked out the front door. Stanford stood for a few seconds at the door before following Stan. He turned to see his mother. “Ma...” “What's the matter, honey?” “Are you okay?” Caryn was silent for a few seconds. Her smiling didn’t change. Caryn replied, after shaking her head almost imperceptibly to react: “Of course I am, Mousy. See both sides before crossing the streets, fine?” With this, Ford gives him a bigger smile, and finally, he leaves.

Caryn is undaunted. Sharpen her ear to know if her children finally left home. She finally hears the twins when they close the door. Caryn erases her smile, ceasing finally. She couldn't take it anymore. She didn't want to pretend, but she should. Caryn did not want to worry his children. She ... she honestly tried to be good, to try to be fine for them. But acting like a happy mother was tearing her apart. I really needed to tell them that she ... Caryn sighed. She took a deep breath before getting up. She needed an escape. Caryn went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of wine. A cup, and then she returned to the table. Caryn poured herself a good squirt, and took a sip. For a few moments, she saw her husband's photo. She just couldn't stop thinking about Fil. It was catching her. She wanted to continue: she couldn't stand it anymore because it was too painful for her to remember the facts. But it was constant comings and goings that her own memory used to torment her with the fact: “-Filbrick is dead, and now you are alone.-” With certain bitterness, the widow remembers how her story with her Fil, with her man began. And it was, at Glass Shard beach.

It seemed like a déjà vu: one of the most important places for Caryn was the beach. From that day on, that place took on a kind of magical importance after she saw him, and that same interest for the beach was conveyed to her children in the same way. Caryn took a drink to accompany herself to confront her memories a little better. It was exactly the day she left work. Caryn resigned from The Drunk Clam. Caryn barely received less than acceptable pay for her services -other than that the bar was a dump that preached a bad death.- She walked near the edge, barefoot. She could feel the salty waters of his feet. Caryn was stunned, thinking of one thing: “-now what?-” She walked and walked, until she collided. She hadn't realized it. Caryn immediately demanded: “Hey, don't you see where…” Caryn couldn't finish her complaint when she saw Filbrick: he was there, looking at her. May a lot of people don’t believe that love at first sight exists: it seems to them an invention worthy of tales like Cinderella , Snow White , or any story that wasn’t written by Carlo Collodi. Although, Caryn didn’t care at all that millions thought about the subject: she believed from that moment that this type of affectionateness existed.

After that day, Caryn was only dreamed of by that man: he looked perfect. His body, his broad shoulders, his well-tanned features , all of him incredible for Caryn's taste. For a week, with what can be described as a kind of not-so-healthy obsession, she searched as best she could for the number of that stranger, or at least something that could get her to see him again. She was able to hear from him little by little: he was working in a construction as just another little helper. Caryn more or less knew where to locate him, and when she saw him, Caryn asked if he could make a date with her. To his surprise, Filbrick accepted. They confirmed the day and hour, and separated at the crossroads. When she was alone, the woman jumped for joy: she did it, dammit: she did it. It should be clarified that Filbrick only accepted for one reason; which was that for one day he wanted to escape his tedious routine. He admitted that Caryn was pretty, although the date could help clear his mind. But hey: that, or having to carry concrete bags to the mixer with hot sun stalking. The expected date night came, and they both went to a karaoke bar. Before that, they went to dinner. Caryn was damn nervous: it was her first time on a date since high school, and she didn't want to screw up. Filbrick concealed his boredom as best he could. Between accepting the date, or having an arduous workday, he preferred the latter.

By the time they reached to the bar, the two of them went to a room so they could be alone (Fil, despite being on the point of falling asleep from the bluntness, he had enough chivalry to invite drinks from his own pocket ). Caryn approached the screen. Filbrick looked completely neutral, but to himself he said: “-I'm sure this girl is one of those people who think they sing amazing, but they are a complete junk.-“ “Have any preference?" Caryn asked , and turned around. Filbrick replied quickly: “Whatevah you want.” Caryn felt overwhelmed: she felt Fil's discontent. She quickly searched for a song she might know. And she did find it: Maybe , by Janis Joplin. The woman's eyes flashed upon finding her. She selected it, and began to listen to the beginning of the song.

It all started with that hippie rhythm, the typical rhythm of the late sixties. Trumpets were quickly introduced after strumming a guitar. There, the song became much faster. Filbrick prepares for disaster, seeing Caryn imitate Janis in her smooth, wave-like movements. But, inevitably, Caryn opened her mouth to barf the words: “Maybe ... Oh, if I could pray, and I try, dear, you might come back home, home to me.” Filbrick opened his eyes. His surprise was huge when he saw Caryn sing, but not regular , but incredible. Her voice wouldn’t be the most appropriate for the blues genre, but she was setting the nail in every way: Caryn was feeling it, understanding what each word meant, and taught it with her voice and movements. “Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, dear, I guess I might have done something wrong, Honey, I'd be glad to admit it! Ooh, come on home to me! Honey, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe yeah!” For God’s sake: she seemed wild, rude, and strong, she had an almost unreal authenticity. She contorted with almost every part of his body: neither arms nor feet were indifferent to the emotion . She looked like a reincarnation of Pearl. Caryn just let go. It looked like a lioness.

Caryn flew to the following verse: “Please, please, please, please, oh won't you reconsider, babe, now come on, I said come back, won't you come back to me!” And there, in the final part of the penultimate strophe, the presence of the Texan girl known as Janis Joplin in Caryn Pines was felt for a few seconds: that same essence, the same characterization was in her for a while. “Maybe, dear, oh maybe, maybe, maybe, lemme help you: show me how. Honey maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, yeah! Ooh!” The song decreased. It went out, but the spark was still felt in the twist movements of the feet as it turned slowly off. Caryn just felt weightless at the time. She had done the best she could. Caryn stopped playing the dead character, to turn to see her date. Which was applauding her. They were not ironic applause: they were authentic. They both left after a while, and walked next to him. “Wow: you have talent.” Caryn muttered a somewhat shameless "thanks". Filbrick was looking across the street . "So… did you have fun?" Caryn asked. Well, it was the moment of truth. “Well, yeah, of course. It was fun… it wasn’t” Caryn stopped. She thoughts he had ruined it. “: I must admit that I was ... bored.” Caryn's soul fell to her feet, and she began to apologize. Fil interrupted her.

“It wasn’t fair to you: I noticed that you tried your best. I'm sorry that I didn't recognize that. ” Caryn was speechless. So: was it a disaster or not? Caryn was confused as she needed time to swallow those words. Now that Filbrick think about it, he partially enjoyed the date. “But... how do you know how to sing so swell?” Filbrick asks. Maybe he was trying to remedy his pedantic attitude. Caryn replied that she had taken singing lessons as a child, and the talent was completely natural to her. Filbrick listened. Throughout the date, he had not paid as much attention to his companion until that moment. "And ... do you see hope on this?" Asked Filbrick; without wanting interrupting Caryn. And like a lightning, Filbrick was embarrassed by that question. Caryn, however, didn't mind at all. That phrase had a very special meaning, a special intonation. The reason for that question was to introduce them to a moment full of palpitations and excited hormones. “W-what do you mean?” The woman asks stupidly, since her feelings make her completely drunk with confusion. "I mean" Filbrick had started to blush. His ears flushed with his cheeks. “, you are ... pretty, you have talent, and...” Between each word Fil was blushing at every step, and Caryn laughed at the nerves, the emotion ... the feeling of ridiculousness, discomfort -and to be frank- the kitsch of silence that was presented. This is love, this is how it works: it is as unpredictable as the victory of a paraplegic over a professional runner in the hundred-meter-flat . “Well, this is getting awkward...” Caryn joked poorly. Filbrick agreed with her on that point, shaking his head quickly. “Yes it is.” “You asked if this was going to ... work. Why are you sure about it?” Caryn muttered, nervous. Her heart was going to be catapulted out of her chest in a daze. She tried to chill, without success, as Filbrick tried the same. He thought for a few seconds. If it would work, effectively? They barely even had a date, but they could both have some chemistry together. “We… could make it work it out.” He dropped it like a bomb: that melted the woman's heart, and her eyes lit up. There was a simple moment, when they just they drowned in each other's eyes. Some showed true love. Others showed a certain spark that gradually became a powerful flame. It was a silent moment of tension, not of discomfort. The silent between them were so fragile, that it could be cut it by a knife. Filbrick see her. Filled with something.

And it was Filbrick who took the first step. The date perfectly could have been a complete fiasco. It could all have been a terrible mistake, where Caryn could have been smashed. By pure luck he rectified. Caryn's voice and Filbrick's reflection caused them to be given an opportunity. There could have been an awkward silence in the car because of the failed date: so much that it would have been worthy of comedy for misfortune. But, Filbrick made the first step with Caryn. How?: he kissed her. It was a delicate, nervous, fragile kiss. But Caryn liked it: that kiss was full of poesy, full of no enough words to describe love, the great passion. And Filbrick, ridiculously started to blush one more time. His kiss was an action driven by desire, by the pure feeling of a blossoming romance. But, who cared about it?: they were happy. Filbrick noticed it: he loves Caryn as a singer loves the music. She felt like the most pleasant woman in the world: she didn't seem to care anymore. The least possible love, the least realistic love was being fulfilled. With those last memories, recalling the sweet memories, Caryn got up, not without taking another sip of a sweet wine. She was shedding tears. She stroked her husband's face in the photo. Every second seemed to be an ordeal, a very painful burden. Caryn saw the cup: she hardly touched it. She walked away, and left the photo on the nightstand. Caryn remembered that she had to buy to make a famous meal, and… she needed to collect the grades. Oh, the school grades: the executioner of almost any student.

Caryn got ready (she did what she could to hide her dark circles with her makeup), took the car keys and drove away. She drove, and she drove. Caryn had something in mind, but would she be able to do it? Could be, for real? She couldn't go on. Filbrick was like a part of her body she lost in an accident: it was phantom pain that haunted her. She, with all her might, despite everything, misses him ... for every single saint thing in this world: she miss him as a slave miss his freedom, as a flower miss the sun when it gets dark. She miss him. And there was –for her- not enough words to describe that feeling.

So tell me: did you like it? If so, leave your Like, and comment. I plead you, please. XD. If you see a strange word, I apologize. Inform me of that and I will correct it myself (just because I don't have a good command of English it doesn’t mean that I leave a job with mistakes of grammar, however small it may be). From the bottom of my heart, I hope you liked it, and remember to clean your hands, keep your distance, greet like the people of Wakanda, and have your vitamins on hand!  Salvete ignotum est a terra.

[ambiencespectrum]

dave&rose youtube ghost hunters au let’s go

“we’re technically more gen paranormal hunters,” says the caption at the bottom of the video. it’s in brackets and red comic sans. it disappears as the shaky film pans to a girl with pale hair and darkly colored clothes more suited to a trip to a quaint local bookstore and cafe, rather than standing on a dirt road next to a decrepit fence around an even more decrepit building.

“A bit of a cliche to start the season off with,” says the girl, the video zooming in on her face. she raises an eyebrow, smirking. “But the classics are the classics for a reason.”

“who doesn’t love a creepy old asylum?” says the cameraman, and the video blurs and flips around to be too-close to his face. black shades reflect the lens back onto itself, hair pale as the girl’s blustering in the sudden uptick in wind. “it’s a fucking staple in horror media, has been since the dawn of it. nothing scares the shit out of people like the remnants of their fucked up treatment of the vulnerable and neurodivergent.”

“And ghosts,” says the girl off-screen. “And demons. Though, those could be applied metaphors in this context...”

the camera flips around again to focus on the girl, as the cameraman says, “shit, rose, why not both?”

the girl- rose- smiles in the manner of someone who knows more than anyone else present, is aware of that fact, and is feeling pleasantly surprised that a peer she’s deigned with her presence has grasped even an inkling of her thoughts.

“Both,” rose agrees as a bird call shrieks in the distance and the video cuts it off abruptly. it next shows rose walking in front of the camera and cameraman, leading the way into a semi-dark hall. the walls peeling paint, the floor cracking and lifting. the heels of her chic boots click as she walks, the beam of her flashlight swaying gently.

“A distinct lack of incomprehensible warnings scrawled across the walls,” says rose, shining her light upon an old smear that’s turned brown over the years.

“yeah, kinda kills the total package deal hype of an asylum,” says the cameraman. “like, what’s the point even if you don’t get at least a few death threats or cult phrases thrown your way?”

“Perhaps it will prevail yet, Dave. There is always possibility of poltergeist, or an apparition.”

“been there, done that. maybe some specter will finally have the intangible balls to go corporeal and possess your gothic little heart, raven madison.”

“That reference is vampires, dear heart.”

“tomato potato whatever. but, uh... if they don’t like your hentai octopi buddies...?”

“Then they may attempt to establish a connection with you.”

“haha, yeah, sure. come at me bro.”

the feed cuts again, with static this time as rose turns an amused gaze towards the cameraman. it comes back with a new person standing in the frame; sporting dark sunglasses despite the early evening and shadow filled room. he’s saying, “i swear to god, rose, if you drop my baby i’m making you buy me a whole new rig, sound sampler, mic, lens, custom bitchin’ paint job-”

“Do us all a favor and shut the fuck up, Dave,” rose says sweetly and firmly. he stops rambling, lips tugged down in a frown. rose continues, “Now, let’s get on with the part of the program subscribers click on our video thumbnails for.”

“why am i the god damn ghost nip again.”

“Because the Strider charms are irresistible to the common lingering spirit.”

dave scuffs his shoes on the filthy floor, his sigh echoing off the surrounding room. rusted bed frames litter the sides of it, rotted fabric clinging in places and showing traces of animal habitation. dave’s sunglasses glint in the glare of rose’s flashlight, hair a washed out white. “just ‘cause every ghoul from here to canada wants a piece of strider ass doesn’t mean i have to be bait every time.”

as he says that, a figure flickers into existence behind him, looming with hollow eyes and an overextended jaw. the video cuts as it lunges at him.

it comes back at a weird angle, with more red comic sans appearing on screen. “sorry for the shit footage, SOMEBODY couldn’t bother holding off exorcism foreplay.” purple text is quick to follow it, in comic sans as well. “You’re very fucking welcome for that, you enormously ungrateful asshole.”

the camera is clearly on the floor, giving view of only that and two sets of feet. rose’s boots now have scat stuck to one sole, and a handful of burrs on the back of her tights. dave’s hightops dangle suspended a foot off the ground, laces swaying as he hovers, the rest of him perfectly still in the air.

“Now, I understand it’s been very lonely here, Frederick,” says rose’s voice, “but the body you are currently residing within is already claimed for the remainder of eternity. It won’t be open for new tenants until it is well and gone to dust, I assure you.”

dave’s laces shake as his voice responds, all guttural screams far louder than he has ever spoken before.

“Now there’s no need for name calling,” rose says. “We’re two adults, having a civil conversation. The furthest ring’s heralds and doombringers and mindflayers own our family tree, so even if I wanted to give him to you, I quite literally can’t-”

dave’s voice explodes again in wordless sound, and the video is flipped and rolled. the film only steadies again after the camera has been sent skidding across the floor; now offering rose and dave’s full figures within the frame. from across the room, anyway.

dave hovers in the air, like he’s hanging by the neck and swaying gently on a noose. rose is faced away from the lens, fingers tensed into claws.

“That’s quite enough of that,” rose says snappishly, “he isn’t yours to keep,” and she grabs dave by his shirt collar to haul him downwards. she slaps her palm to his forehead and the video is dragged into darkness, extinguishing everything as its audio devolves into whispers and then speaker bursting howls. the silence that follows immediately after is chilling.

picture is then restored. it comes back inside a van, filled with travel bags, pillows, polaroid photographs tacked to the walls, precarious stacks of books and dead things in jars on top, and two disheveled individuals sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“so,” dave starts, voice gravelly, “turns out ghostly possession makes your mouth taste like death’s ass.”

“I told you so,” rose says primly. she has a bruised cheek, hair like a bird’s nest, and her black lipstick is smeared in the rightmost corner. she holds herself like a dignitary for it.

“fuck off, lalonde,” dave replies, running a hand through his even messier hair. his neck has a blooming bruise around it in the pattern of a rope, his shirt collar is torn at a shoulder seam, and black viscous stains the front downwards. “that was demonic conjuring, totally different field of freaky mindbody highjacking fuckery.”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” rose says to the camera, patting dave’s knee patronizingly, “it’s his first body-sharing experience.”

“i shared my body plenty, shared it in ten different states, i just pre-fucking-ferred sharing it consensually.”

“You, and I quote, said ‘come at me, bro’. In the presence of aggressive, tortured spirits, you might as well have writ permission in neon.”

“wow, wow. some feminist you are, victim blaming me for this. new low for you, rose.”

rose rolls her eyes. “Moving on with our review. The trip over had a decent number of well-meaning townsfolk warning us away from here, notably one who started crying halfway through. Unfortunately, I’ll have to dock points for the lackluster atmosphere of the asylum itself. It wasn’t as overtly foreboding as we’d been promised, and, again, the graffiti from its former residents failed to strike even an iota of fear into our hearts.”

“i got possessed though, which is sexy in theory but shitty in practice,” dave adds in a drawl. “kinda like communism and capitalism. got some sick air while i was at it, but i didn’t crawl on the ceiling even once. i did however get to hear the screams of the lost souls bound to the building and i think my new choker will last a few weeks at least. that’s worth a few points.”

“Agreed,” rose says amiably. “A solid 7.5 out of 10?”

dave shrugs. “about there, yeah.”

the video transitions to blank blackness, displaying with purple text “We are not professionals in any manner of speaking, but our death’s are more difficult to ensure than yours. Do not attempt this at home, do not attempt this with friends, do not attempt this if you value your mortal soul and fragile human psyche.” the message below that is in red text and reads “like subscribe and comment”

[mx-fawkes]

Die Historic on The Furby Road

Hey, thanks so much for the support and also for sending me on the most fun story research I’ve done in a while.

Junkrat spent more time in Roadhog's basement than he probably should. There wasn't much of use down here, just boxes of things Roadhog didn't want to look at or didn't think were reusable. He didn't have the keen scrapper instincts Junkrat did though, he'd once found a whole box of good quality cables down here. Roadhog couldn't even remember what they were supposed to be for!

He'd be lying if he said he didn't like the glimpses of what Roadhog had once been like he sometimes found down here. Never anything too revealing, no photographs or birth certificates, but things like a box of maps, carved wooden objects and an oversized mannequin were tantalizing hints of what had been important to Roadhog once upon a time.

Pawing through boxes in the semi-darkness was usually not a good idea, but he was pretty sure there was nothing too dangerous down here. He'd never found any signs of animal life, and it wasn't like- he froze as his hand brushed against something fluffy, taking two deep breaths before slowly pulling his hand away, hoping not to draw attention. Leaning back he flicked on his lighter, staring into the box in horrified curiosity.

Two lifeless eyes stared back at him.

The scream made it all the way to the garage, Roadhog putting down his tools with a sigh. It wasn't the first time Junkrat had freaked out on one of his basement diving expeditions, he'd once mistaken an old dressmakers dummy for an omnic, ready to burn the whole place to the ground before Roadhog dragged it out into the light.

Groans of protest came from the stairs as Junkrat ran for the surface, clutching a dusty cardboard box. "Roadie Roadie Roadie! You'll never guess what I found!"

The mask tilted questioningly.

"I mean I dunno what they are, but you probably do. Some kind of robot birds?"

He dumped the box on the floor between them, throwing it open and pulling out one the creatures, covered in black and white fur. "Pretty weird right?"

Roadhog's sharp intake of breath was audible through the mask, pulling the box closer to look at the contents. He'd forgotten he'd even had these.

Junkrat didn't seem to notice, messing with the one he'd picked up. "So, what are they?"

"Furbies."

"Right. Furbies. What are they about then?"

How to explain a Furby? Weird bird things that had been beloved by children that later found them creepy and annoying. Friends for a lonely kid who never got the hang of talking to people and wasn't allowed a real pet? An old toy that kept a community of fans long after they stopped being made?

"Kids toys. They can talk and respond to certain words." He winced as Junkrat shook the one he was holding.

"Hello?" He poked it when it didn't respond. "It's not talking, reckon it's dead?"

"There's a power switch on the bottom."

Junkrat flipped it over, trying to wake it up as he flipped the switch back and forth. "Still dead."

"Maybe the batteries need changing." Where they were meant to get AA batteries from was beyond him. Obsolete before he was even born, he doubted anyone here collected tech ancient enough to need a supply.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice Junkrat prising off the battery cover until he heard the yell of pain. A glance showed the batteries corroded and leaking, quickly grabbing Junkrat's hand before he put it in his mouth. "Don't. Go wash it."

A trail of curses followed Junkrat as he ran for the sink, swilling his hand in the water. "The fuck was that?" "Battery acid." "What kind of battery has acid in!?"

He shrugged, wiping the base of the furby clean with a nearby rag. "All of them did back before 2030."

It wasn't long before Junkrat strode back over, wiping his burnt fingers on his shorts. "It felt more like an alkaline burn." Like he could tell the difference. "Of course I can tell the difference!" He lent on Roadhog's arm, glaring at the old batteries. "Reckon I could rewire it to fit a proper battery. One that won't melt and burn people." - One dismantled remote control and a bit of solder later the Furby twitched, blue eyes blinking open. "u-nye-loo-lay-doo?" Its voice was rough, the speaker hadn't lasted well. Junkrat sat it on the desk triumphantly., "It's alive!"

The furby shifted, whirring quietly as its ears moved up and down. "Doo?" They both stared at it. "Yoo?"

Junkrat hummed, moving closer. "Do I what?"

"Boo."

Junkrat pointed a screwdriver at it, face scrunched in displeasure. "Look, either you start making sense or we're moving onto brain surgery."

Mako fished a manual out of the box, holding it in front of Junkrat until he snatched it, mumbling to himself as he read the instructions.

"Oh, we have to teach it English?" He shifted into a dramatic stance, raising on arm and closing his eyes,  voice uncomfortably loud in the small space. "We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service—two dishes, but to one table. That’s the end." He cracked an eye open, looking down at the Furby like he was expecting applause. "A man may fish with a worm that has eaten the flesh of a king, and eat the fish that has fed on that worm. "  

It chirped in response. "Me no listen."

"Alright you little-" Roadhog grabbed the hand that went for the screwdriver, pointing firmly at the Furbish-to-English dictionary.

Junkrat took it with a heavy sigh. "Fiiiine, wee tee kah wah tee?"

"Wah Tee!" The low fidelity wail it began to make wouldn't be out of place in a horror film, neither would Junkrat's burst of laughter.  He continued to flick through the guide. trying out new phrases as he went. It was almost comical, both staring wide-eyed at each other making nonsense sounds. Roadhog felt he should have seen this coming somehow, he'd spent his youth with a creature that always stared, always wanted attention and refused to shut up, and now he had Junkrat.

Quickly exhausting the commands, Junkrat dropped the manual. "Is that it? It only knows like five things."

"It's pre-millennium tech."

"Pretty sure they had better things than this pre-millennium."

"It was a kids toy."

Junkrat leant back, staring up at him. "So what, you kept a box full of toys you had when you were a kid?"

The clicking of the toy filled the silence until Roadhog finally replied.

"Only had one when I was a kid, got the rest when I was older."

"Why?"

Roadhog turned back to the box, fishing through until he found the right one. Green with a painted faceplate and a custom-made raincoat.

"People used to customize them for fun. Some people just changed their appearance a little, others changed the shape completely or attached them to other things. Lot of people added better AI."

"Huh. Maybe I would've done that if I was around back then."

Had Junkrat ever had a hobby? He loved building and blowing things up but they were also the closest thing he had to a job. Had he ever done anything without a purpose, anything that wasn't wired to survival in his brain? Hell, it had been a long time since Roadhog had made something just for fun.

"Do you want to do one now?"

Junkrat's eyes shone, bouncing to his feet. "Really? One of yours?" Furbies scattered as Junkrat upended the box, picking out one he liked. "This one!"

"No."

"Why not? It's practically falling apart anyway, not like I can make it any worse."

Because it had been with him for forty years. It had meant so much to him as a kid and even now he couldn't bear to get rid of it He didn't say a word, but Junkrat seemed to get it anyway, looking slightly stricken as he put it back in the box with exaggerated care.

"Hey, no worries mate, I'll use a different one. Wanna pick one out for me?"

Roadhog placed a blue and pink model in Junkrat's outstretched hand. "Paint it, circuit bend it. Do what you like with it."

"Thanks mate. Ooh! I think I've still got some of the gold spray paint left from doing the bricks."

He skipped away, leaving Roadhog to stare at remaining furbies. Well, no reason he couldn't mix this old part of himself with who he was now. They didn't see each other for a few hours after that, both working on their own projects. It wasn't until the next day that Junkrat decided he was finished, proudly strutting into the room and presenting his piece to Roadhog.

"Okay so first I used soot and grease to dye it black, didn't completely work, you can still see the original colours a bit. The fur on it's stomach was too patchy to fix so I covered it with this sack material, then since it had those dots around it#s belly first I did 'em over with some rivets I had going spare. Sprayed the ears and mask bit gold then gave it the goggles we snatched from that prick with the chainsaw a while back." "S'good." Junkrat followed his gaze to the clunky bit of plastic at the bottom.

"That's the second best bit. Basically I was like, what's the point of having a pet that's stuck in one place?" He reached below it, flicking the switch. It cooed as it floated into the air, hovering around his shoulder.

“Used some of the bits from that old assistance drone, the one I made into the scarecrow bot you thought was too creepy?“

Roadhog had never said it was creepy, but he hadn't liked the idea of a humanoid figure floating outside his farmhouse at night, even it was in the hope of scaring away anyone who wanted to try and get them while they were sleeping. He could feel Junkrat's desperate desire for a follow-up question. "What's the best bit?"

It should be impossible for anyone to smile so wide. Junkrat plucked the toy from the air, pointing it towards the open doorway.

"Fire in the hole!"

A tap to the head and it let out a distorted scream,  a stream of flame shooting through its open beak, "Imagine treading on that in the dark!"

Note to self, make sure that's turned off before Junkrat forgets about it and treads on it in the dark.

"So what did you make then?"

Roadhog reached into the box, pulling out his creation as Junkrat gasped in delight.

Its lilac fur had been dyed a vivid orange, face plate sprayed with chrome. The beak had been covered with carved yellowing teeth. A tiny decorated leather jacket sat on its non-existent shoulders, open to show a survival belt with a tiny knife attached. "I love it! Did'ya do anything with the insides?"

A flick of the switch and glowing yellow eyes completed the look, It danced in place before speaking in a clear, deep voice. "kah-boh-dah-kah-way-loh-kah-boh-koh-koh!"

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #193: Battleground: Pittsburgh!

March, 1980

Not Pittsburgh! Inferno, you bastard!

Anyway, this is another cover that's more or less true without being accurate to an actual moment.

Last time: Wonder Man and Tony Stark (secretly Iron Man, true believers!) were touring a steel plant that Wonder Man used to own before he died and that Tony Stark is thinking about buying.

While they were there, a man named Joe Conroy was pushed into the furnace while holding a chip of Uru metal. This caused a bit of a molten steel spill which Wonder Man contained although he had to be rescued from both an industrial press and his own hubris.

A memorial was set up for Conroy but then a giant fire man dubbed Inferno OH YEAH’D out of the memorial. According to the page of recap, Inferno does not know the connection between himself, Joe Conroy, and the Uru chip but doesn’t care because he knows that he has a goal.

Wonder Man and Iron Man tried to fight Inferno but it didn’t go well. Wonder Man signaled the Avengers but the signal suddenly went dead!

Dun dun dun?

And we pick up again with Wonder Man and Iron Man completely fine but Inferno melted the signal device off-panel without damaging Wonder Man’s ensemble at all.

Unstable molecules are to blame, perhaps.

Also, the penciler, inker, and colorist are completely different in this issue. I just think that a two-parter should have the same artist. Inferno looks less kirby krackle and more yellow fire guy.

Iron Man decides that Wonder Man should get the first second shot so Wonder Man tries punching Inferno again.

It didn’t work before but maybe it will work now.

Nope.

Inferno just FRROK punches Wonder Man, sending him hurtling right towards one of the steelworkers.

Iron Man manages to scoop the man out of the way before Wonder Man collides with him, thankfully. Especially considering that Wonder Man put a dent in what he does end up colliding with.

Inferno contemplates for a while. A long enough while to do a recap to the previous issue and then moves towards the office of Vince Paretta.

Tim Turpin, one of the steelworkers, tells Mr. Paretta that the monster is headed his way but Paretta just hands him a gun and tells him that he pays him to deal with stuff like this.

Turpin dubiously tries shooting Inferno with a “beanshooter” when actual Avengers Iron Man and Wonder Man didn’t have much luck.

The bullets just fly right through Inferno. Because he’s made of fire or maybe molten metal. Although he’s apparently solid enough to backhand Wonder Man across the yard. Truly Inferno’s physical properties are a mystery.

When Turpin runs out of “beans” he jumps through the window and flees, with Paretta close on his heels.

Inferno seems to follow Turpin while Paretta runs in another direction.

Vince Paretta: “*Whew* I’d planned on closing out my operations here soon, anyway. But judging from the way that monster seems to have a contract on me and the boys, I think ‘soon’ has just become ‘now’!”

Turpin flees onto a barge loosely tethered at river’s edge. His inability to swim keeps him from fleeing further, even when Inferno comes aboard the barge and burns the rope keeping it tethered.

The barge starts floating down the river and Inferno continues lumbering towards the cornered Turpin.

MEANWHILE, up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! Its another Superman reference for some reason!

But actually its a QUINJET!

A fancy new one, possibly. Its still got a ludicrously huge windshield.

The Avengers are worried about Wonder Man’s emergency signal cutting out and are here to investigate. Obviously.

Meanwhile, on the barge on the river.

Turpin babbles nervously that he’s just a hired lackey but notices the Uru chip in Inferno’s hand.

We also notice it. Because I’m pretty sure this is the first time we see it.

I’d forgotten this detail and have been kind of assuming that the Uru had melted in with the other metal.

Turpin recognizes Inferno as being Joseph Conroy and babbles that he didn’t want to knock him off the catwalk and that he was just following orders.

But in what might be karmic comeuppance, Turpin slips off the edge of the barge as Inferno reaches toward him.

But he won’t drown because he falls between the barge and a bridge post right before the barge was going to scrape along it.

Eesh.

Turpin gets ground between the barge and hard place into a red smear.

Inferno watches this happen dispassionately, to editorialize based on the art because the narration makes no distinction.

Then he walks off the barge toward the shore. “For he knows that though his quest has been fruitful. It has not yet been fulfilled.”

Some blocks away, the Avengers have landed their cool new or perhaps old Quinjet and a random citizen assumes they’re here about the “flame demon” on the bridge.

And since flame demons terrorizing the city is basically Avengers business, they head off to investigate that.

In fairness, what are the odds that there are two emergencies in a single city? Chances are that the thing with Wonder Man is related to this.

Meanwhile Vince Paretta deals with traffic on the bridge. Never fails. You need to get somewhere fast and suddenly “everyone starts acting like the speed limit’s 55 feet per hour!”

Nearby, Inferno is stopped in his random car-melting rampage by a mighty shield FRA-KANGing off his head.

Gotta give props to the SFX. It follows the shield’s trajectory. WE NEED MORE CREATIVE SFX IN COMICS THESE DAYS!

The Avengers figure that this flame guy is what Wonder Man signaled about, like I already speculated that they did.

Coincidentally, just when Beast wonders where Wonders Man is, he and Iron Man show up.

And Iron Man instantly gets his ass kicked by Inferno again.

Like panel 1 oh hey its Iron Man, panel 2 Inferno drains all the energy from Iron Man’s armor.

Which he can do. APPARENTLY.

Meanwhile, Vince Paretta learns that there’s a monster blocking traffic and abandons vehicle to flee.

When we cut back to the Avengers, Iron Man is recharging his armor from some trolley cables.

Which makes me wonder what the point of giving Inferno energy siphoning power even was. It doesn’t take Iron Man out of the fight long enough to matter. He doesn’t do it again. It kind of ruins the ‘giant man made of molten metal’ powerset he already had.

This is as vexing as the time that Thor had the power to shrink people by spinning them very fast but only for one issue.

Anyway, Ms Marvel, Vision, and Falcon all rush Inferno and all get blasted back by the electrical energy that he absorbed from Iron Man.

Which I guess was the point of that weirdery. Although it still feels unnecessary. He’s been pretty much of a juggernaut without electricity.

Wasp flies at Inferno’s face and blasts him with pink energy, which is apparently bio-power.

Its true what they say. Too much bio-power is dangerous.

Anyyyyway. Inferno just hits Wasp with a blast of heat that knocks her out.

Inferno then lumbers off but Iron Man stops the Avengers from engaging again.

They’re not getting anywhere trying to fisticuffs this guy. They need... strategy.

This may take them awhile. Strategy isn’t really the Avengers’ strong suit.

Meanwhile, Paretta continues to flee. He runs off the bridge and gets into a taxi.

And meanwhile elsewhere Inferno keeps lumbering. One can only assume the obvious, that these two meanwhiles are connected.

So Inferno keeps on lumbering and starts climbing the trolley rails that Pittsburgh evidently has. But an actual thought has entered his focused mind. That if these costumed chumps keep trying to punch him, it could threaten his goal.

So he must create a diversion. Which is high level thinking for him, I guess.

So he flips over a trolley car and sets it on fire.

“Inferno no longer has an understanding of death as we know it -- and thus he thinks not of the consequences as he sets the toppled trolley car on fire. His actions are not intentionally cruel; they are not intentionally anything. They are merely necessary... and effective!”

Because yup all of the Avengers detour to save the passengers of the flipped/combusted trolley car.

Possibly it didn’t actually require all of them but would you want to be the one to bring that up?

‘I don’t think these people in danger of burning to death actually require our undivided attention.’

How would that look?

Still though, Falcon and Wasp could easily keep on Inferno’s tail. What are they going to contribute here?

Vision and Wonder Man tear the trolley open since the doorways are blocked by flame.

Captain America and Beast and then Vision jump into the trolley to rescue the passengers.

Wasp does do a pass through the trolley to make sure they didn’t miss anyone but that still leaves Ms Marvel and Falcon not really contributing.

I’m just saying.

Because by the time they’ve rescued everyone, Inferno has reached the top of the incline track and disappeared into a tunnel to slowly shamble toward the Mt. Washington home of Vince Paretta.

Where said Vince Paretta is packing up to bug out. Because surprise surprise he wasn’t on the up and up.

Vince Paretta: “I’ve been walking the tightrope too long -- and I’ve only got my own greed to blame! I knew when I took over the steel mill that it was a front for the Maggia, used to clean dirty money from organized crime -- and the Maggia paid me well to ignore that little fact, but it wasn’t enough.”

“No, I had to go start a crooked numbers racket among the workers -- and then that jerk Conroy, had to start losing too much, get suspicious... and threaten to tell the cops! I’d hoped to sell the mill to Stark and split before anyone got wise, but -- huh? The door! Glowing red hot! What -- Oh, no! NO!”

Quick question: is melting through a door a better OH YEAH than just bursting through it?

Because I’m thinking maybe!

Anyway, Inferno grimaces or maybe wordlessly shouts at Paretta before showing him the Uru chip.

And apparently Conroy showed that thing around to everyone because Paretta recognizes it too and realizes the link between this fire monster and the man he ordered killed.

Vince Paretta: “I-it can’t be! You’re dead! I know you’re dead! I had Turpin kill you! Don’t you see? I had to do it! If you had told the cops or the Maggia about my numbers scam, I would’ve been -- dead.”

And then the Avengers OH YEAH through a window because that perfectly good hole pre-melted for them wasn’t good enough.

Also they heard Paretta’s confession so yes they’re going to save him from a fire monster and then they’re taking him to the police.

Also also, yeah they totally think that THIS TIME is the time that they’ve got Inferno’s number.

Iron Man apparently rigged his power pods for fusion release to blow Inferno to cinders and that sounds completely safe to use in a residential neighborhood. Completely.

But blowing up the neighborhood proves unnecessary because apparently this is good enough for Inferno’s need for revengeance.

He punches through ANOTHER WALL (there are now three separate holes in this building) and walks off.

Wonder Man wants to go after him but Iron Man stops him, recognizing that Inferno has gotten what he’s after and he won’t hurt anyone else until he’s resurrected to fight the Avengers again for no goddamn reason by Grim Reaper. Ugh, that guy.

But for now Inferno walks into the river and lets himself be extinguished.

“Peace? No, Inferno will never have peace. All he’ll have are shattered recollections... images of a little girl named Annie, a laughing woman named Darleen... and a loving husband and father named Joe Conroy. For most men, that would not be nearly enough. For Inferno... it has to be.”

Moving stuff.

Its interesting how Inferno is kept a sympathetic monster. Happenstance and luck mean that he never actually kills anyone. Turpin accidentally killed himself, those trolley people were saved, and the Avengers arrested Peratta.

As long as the ones responsible for his death faced justice, that was enough for him.

I mean, dick move to put those trolley riders in danger but.

Thor really needs to be more mindful of leaving Asgardian stuff on Earth if this is the result.

Like I mentioned, the cast wasn’t used as fully as it could have been. Falcon doesn’t really do... anything here. And he leaves the team next issue!

He leaves the team and he barely ever did anything on the team!

Ms. Marvel is leaving soon too and she also didn’t get to do much!

Sigh.

Still. Its a good two-parter. Probably nobody would put it on their list of top ten Avengers stories but for what it is, it works. My only big complaint is the change in art team. I would have preferred if the two-parter had a consistent look. But it is what it is.

What mostly stands in the way of transcending serviceable into great is that the Avengers roster is pretty interchangeable. You could swap these Avengers out and probably would only have to make minimal changes. There’s no character beats that require any of these guys specifically being here except the excellent Wonder Man stuff in the first issue.

You could also swap this out into a lot of other time periods with minimal changes. Aside from the end of Gyrich’s roster restrictions, nothing ties this to this specific period and even that doesn’t matter in getting the team to ASSEMBLE since its an emergency beacon that gets them off their asses.

That’s not necessarily bad. A long-running comic like Avengers needs serviceable issues that spin the wheels. Still, with Falcon and Ms Marvel leaving soon, you’d think a character beat could have been done with either of them. Time is running out, after all. But at this point I’m beating the dead horse.

Next time: a story called Interlude. So I’m guessing an issue of set-up and small moments.

Follow @essential-avengers. Because I wrote this instead of paying attention to a cat playing with crinkly paper. Isn’t that the kind of dedication that should be rewarded? I don’t know. I just say things to say things in this italicized section.

[clown-bait]

29 Neibolt ST (Monster Roommate AU) Chapter 9

Hi friends! Heres Chapter 9! Got inspired by that post awhile back about Africa by Toto being played in the sewer and Penny jamming to it. Leech is a huge music connoisseur so I head cannon that she plays a lot of Guitar Hero with Freddy. Also theres slapstick/horror comedy in this one! The story is going to get more and more comedic from here because of the characters that are soon to be involved. Bonus points if anyone can guess which monster(s) I plan on bringing in next!

Warnings: Fluff, Horror, Alcohol

chapter 9

Africa

Pennywise climbed the basement stairs of the Neibolt House in annoyance. Leech hadn't come to see him yet today and as much as he hated to admit it her visits had become the highlight of his day especially when she had the weekend off to spend all her time with him. he had noticed that the more he was around her the more her scent changed, it was something that initially drew him to her in the first place. Her scent started out faintly sweet, but ever since they became intimate it was becoming overwhelming to him. A human would probably describe the scent similar to that of a freshly baked cake or pie being shoved right up against your nose. When he first noticed it, he had caught her looking at him while they had been both been casually chatting doing their chore wheel tasks. Something about her smell changed when she smiled at him. It got worse that night she got drunk while watching movies with the gang. Leech was sitting next to him on the couch and that sweet smell drifted into his nose when she reached over him for the popcorn in his lap. It would get stronger and stronger as their interactions increased Pennywise noticing that he could draw it out of her by doing certain things like putting his hand on her shoulder, or giving her certain looks.

He tried desperately to cope with the strange new feelings, he stopped eating for a bit and avoided her as much as possible. When Dracula finally confronted him he was a confused mess and he was even more confused when the elder vampire helped him realize that this new feeling was lust. After Chucky found out about his terrible affliction the two had begun bugging him non stop about it. Their “helping” him ending up feeding his obsession and he eventually gave in, fully accepting that he had feelings for this nearly human girl. These awful feelings are even worse now having started this…..complicated thing. He found himself with a whole new mess of emotions that he had no idea what to do with other than bury them deep and hope she didn't notice.

When usually he found her Leech would be listening to music or messing with her phone in her room where he'd promptly scare her before flopping down onto her bed to annoy her further. Today however he could hear her shouting passionately at Freddy in the living room, a hobby that they both shared.

“Your ass is mine Kruger I spent an entire week perfecting this solo.”

“Sweet cheeks you weren't even born when this song came out”

The two were in front of the old tv violently playing with fake guitars in their pjs. Leatherface was behind them gleefully hitting a toy drum-set and Dracula sat amused on an old chair.

“Does anyone want to explain this to me?”

“I don't quite know what it is but they have been at this for at least 12 hours now” the vampire exclaimed motioning for the clown to join.

“Have they even slept?”

“I do not think they have, my young apprentice hasn't even fed or bathed yet. Her determination to crush my roommate at this strange musical game is quite admirable.”

“Speaking of, Drac need refreshments!” Freddy called over his shoulder as the song Free Bird headed into its big solo.

“You cant do that! I haven't had anything to eat all day!”

“You’re just mad because you're all alone in this battle. THERES NO ONE TO SAVE YOU LEECH GIVE UP” Freddy shredded on the rock band controller aggressively

“Bite my nearly undead ass Freddy”

“I’m sure the clown does that plenty for you already bitch.”

Pennywise cleared his throat.

“Oh hey Pen, you wanna be a peach and get me some fuel.” Leech said glancing over her shoulder.

“Do I look like your servant? You're perfectly capable of getting it yourself you're just too lazy to go out and practice apparently.”

“OH HE BURNED YOU GOOD BLOODSUCKER”

“There are more pressing matters at hand Penny, asses need to be kicked right now”

“More pressing matters than not starving to death?”

“I’ll live”

“Barely. You look half dead, go sleep”

“Sleep is for the weak” she said turning to him with an absolutely feral look on her face.

“You're taking a break” the clown said as he scooped her up before she could protest. He carried her off to the bathroom where he turned on the shower and pushed her in still wearing her clothes.

“PENNYWISE what the hell!”

“Get clean.”

“But?

“No you can kick Freddy’s ass later” he crossed his arms and watched her expectantly.

“Um….. are you gong to leave?”

“Need to make sure you listen dear. Come now out of those wet clothes.” he said with a lusty tone, shit eating grin now forming on his face. Leech rolled her eyes and shut the curtain causing the clown to groan in disappointment. He nearly began to leave when the curtain reopened he turned back around quickly. Leech was now holding her wet clothing in a nice little ball and a drop of drool left the clowns lips at the sight.

“Hey Penny~” she said with a seductive voice

“Y-yes?”

“Hang these out to dry douchebag” she chucked the ball at his head wet clothes landing smack on his face before the curtain shut again.

“you torture me.”

“Its my favorite hobby.”

Pennywise growled in annoyance and left to find some extra hangers. He knew he kept some somewhere in his clown room where he kept a collection of circus memorabilia. When he opened the door and was greeted with a puff of dust causing him to scrunch his nose in annoyance it'd been a while since he was up here “I’ve been slacking off” he thought aloud to himself as he rummaged for hangers. After finding what he was looking for he decided to try to tidy the place up a bit grabbing a mix tape he had acquired from some poor soul standing outside his ex girlfriends window with a boombox. The clown never really liked the songs on the tape at first but lately they've been growing on him due to….certain circumstances. A few cheesy love songs had gone by and he was halfway done, Pennywise felt himself getting carried away with the current song playing singing along while dusting off an antique mannequin. He removed the clown wig from its head glancing fondly at it now as it was reminding him of a certain almost-vampire a few doors down. The clown found himself serenading it as if it was actually her, picking it up and beginning to dance to the song Africa by Toto. Freddy walked by the door just in time and froze to watch the scene unfold before him in amusement. “My darling little Leech you know I have grown quite fond of you” the clown growled into the mannequins cheek. Freddy had to bite down on his hat to keep quiet. “Whats that? You've fallen for me as well?” The clown dipped the mannequin down kissing its chest as the song came to an end. Freddy gave him a round of applause wiping away fake tears doing everything he could not to explode in laughter. “That was beautiful Jingles.”

Pennywise dropped the mannequin. “H-how long were you s-standing there for?”

“How long have you been in love?”

“I’m not in love. I don't love.”

“You just admitted it to your doll there jackass.”

“WAIT HE FINALLY SAID IT ALOUD?” came Chucky’s voice from down the hall

“NO I DID NOT AND SHUT UP PLEASE”

“This is great, I'm going to tell Dracula he's going to flip out.” Freddy began running for the stairs

“I wish those kids actually killed me in the 80s.” Pennywise mumbled

Just then a scream of terror could be heard from the bathroom followed by a series of curses of the clowns name. “PENNYWISEEEE”

Freddy and Chucky both came back out to look at him.

“What? I'm not doing anything?”

The three monsters eyes grew wide.

“oh no…. I'm not doing anything….”  The clown whispered

He bolted to the bathroom busting down the door “LEECH! What hap-” he slipped on a puddle of…. something and comically landed on his back. When he sat up she was covered in a weird black sludge that was shooting out of the shower head and bath tub faucet. The curtain had been yanked off and she was using it as a shield from the strange substance.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT” yelled Chucky

“Also, nice butterfly tattoo under your boobs there Leech” Freddy added

“Its a moth!” Penny said from the floor.

“CAN WE FOCUS ON THE GOO PLEASE?? PEN MAKE IT FUCKING STOP”

“I told you I'm not doing it!”

Leech flopped out of the antique bathtub still clutching the curtains to herself and scrambling backwards into Pennywise as the tub began to overflow.

“AH Leech! You’re getting it all over me!” he yelled .

“PEN STRANGE BLACK GOO IS EXPLODING FROM OUR BATHTUB AND SHOWER HEAD. YOU LIVE IN THE SEWER! STAINS SHOULD BE THE LEAST OF YOUR WORRIES.”

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOUR SINK CLOWN” came a scream from downstairs flowed by frantic stomping up the stairs from both Leatherface and Drac

All the boys plus Leech were now staring at the massacre that was the upstairs bathroom.

“JINGLES MAKE IT STOP” screamed Chucky

“I CANT I’M NOT DOING IT”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIFF WILL DO TO ME IF SHE COMES HOME AND FINDS ALL HER BATHROOM SHIT COVERED IN BLACK SLUDGE. I. WILL. DIE.”

Leech reached a trembling claw up to her head and pulled out what looks like a piece of scalp with long hair still attached to it her eyes began to grow wide in horror.

“IS THIS HAIR? WHY IS THERE HAIR IN IT? WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT” Leech turned around and grabbed Pennywise ruffles.

“DO NOT LET IT GET ON ME THIS IS AN ANTIQUE OUTFIT” shrieked Dracula

Leatherface was hooting and crying. He Began smashing a hole in the wall in panic. Chucky did his best to calm him but ended up being thrown down the hall screaming out in pain.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOUR HOUSE CLOWN” Freddy was shouting.

“EVERYONE SHUT UP AND STOP BEING AFRAID I CANT FUCKING THINK WITH ALL THIS FEAR IN THE ROOM”

“YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT FOOD AT A TIME LIKE THIS??? WE ARE GOING TO DROWN IN BLACK GOO THAT HAS PIECES OF SCALP IN IT! I’M THE ONLY ONE HERE THAT CANT RESURRECT YET! IM GOING TO DIE PEN! IM GOING TO FUCKING DIE!” Leech started hyperventilating and twitching claws out now tearing at the fabric of Pennywise’s costume.

Everyone was frantically “trying” to do something to stop the sludge oozing out of the bathroom Freddy ran up to the shower with a towel in an attempt to plug it up, Dracula was backed up against the corner on the ceiling, Chucky was attempting to stand back up after being thrown like a rag doll and Leatherface was chucking anything he could at the bathroom (mostly hitting Freddy.)

“SHUT UP ALL OF YOU” Pennywise roared rising to his feet, a door materialized behind the clown and he disappeared into it slamming it shut.

“YOU FUCKER! YOU CANT LEAVE ME PEN. DONT YOU DARE ABANDON ME. GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE IM NAKED AND AFRAID AND I FUCKING NEED YOU RIGHT NOW! PENNYWISE THE DANCING CLOWN GET YOUR PASTY RUFFLED BUTT BACK HERE AND STOP THIS BLACK SLUDGE.” Leech was pounding at the wall were the door had appeared still on the floor making big black hand prints on the wall.

Suddenly everything stopped. The boys and Leech all were frozen and panting in fear and confusion. The door reappeared and Pennywise walked out sludge splattered on his costume. “Did ANY ONE here think to turn the fucking water off? No? Just Pennywise? WOW imagine that! I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO FUCKING DIDNT FREAK OUT AND MAKE THE SITUATION WORSE!!! WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT???? NOW EVERYONE GET OUT SO I CAN FUCKING FIGURE THIS SHIT OUT WITHOUT HAVING YOU SCREAMING BANSHEES TAINTING THE AIR WITH YOUR PANIC AND FEAR!” The usual yellow of the clown’s eyes were almost completely red. He was livid. Not only were his fangs and claws on full display he seemed to be even taller than before looming over everyone in the room. It was truly terrifying to behold. The gang went silent.

“C-can I at least p-put some clothes on?” Leech asked still covering herself with the shower curtain

“OUT.”

“Leaving!” she and everyone else scrambled for the door slamming it behind them.

-------------------------------------

Poor Penny he’s having a hard time. I totally head cannon that Pen is a secret plumbing expert since he lives in the sewers. Next chapter is going to have terrifying monster hate fucking so get hype for that friends! 

[twentyseven27twentyseven-blog]

Go-Pro Hero

So this is my first real oneshot on tumblr, so enjoy!

“Babe? Can you grab the door?” she called out, too lazy to move from her desk.

“Got it.” responded her boyfriend faintly, a moment before she heard the front door open.

“Uh, babe? You expecting a… present?” his amused voice rang out across the apartment.

“In April? No… why?” she said, turning away from her homework to look at him before freezing in confusion.

Nino was standing in front of their doorframe, where what appeared to be a wall of black covered the doorframe behind him. As she walked over to him, she realized that the blackness was in fact a gigantic cardboard box covered in black wrapping paper. It was extremely light when they lifted it, and with the help of Nino they managed to wriggle it through the doorframe before cautiously placing it face-down on the ground. On the back, a comically oversized neon green bow was attached to it, with a large gift tag hanging next to it.

“What the hell is this?” she said, gesturing at the towering object.

“Looks like a gift.” he said, smirking.

Lightly punching him in the arm, she flipped the tag over and groaned as she saw the name.

TO: ALYA

FROM: CHAT NOIR :3

“Hand me a knife.” she said to her boyfriend, with a scowl.

“Whoa!” he said raising his arms dramatically. “I didn’t think the joke was that bad, babe!”

Not wishing to feel her wrath as she scowled at him, Nino quickly retrieved one from the kitchen, before standing off to the side and watching with interest.

As she carefully sliced the packing tape open, she was greeted with the sight of hundreds of mint-green packing peanuts. Nestled in the middle was another box; this time it was wrapped in red and black polka dotted gift wrap, sans bow.

“Must be delicate.” she said, before removing the smaller box, and ripping it open.

“Probably a dead bird or something.” Nino chuckled.

“I am going to skin that cat.” she whispered to herself.

“What is it?”

“Another fucking box!”

Sure enough, another box sat in the center, this time with purple wrapping paper.

As Nino burst out laughing from the sidelines, Alya groaned as she realized what was happening to her.

Sure enough, this pattern continued when no less than 7 more boxes of slowly shrinking sizes emerged, with each new box slowly enraging Alya more and more.

“What the fuck? Did he put glitter in this one?!” she groaned.

By the ninth box Alya was fuming, as their living room floor was covered in Styrofoam packing peanuts, multi-coloured wrapping paper, and a small amount of glitter. Finally, after 10 boxes, she was left holding a small ring box in her palm.

“I swear if he put a Ring-Pop in here I’m going to lose it.” she said.

Opening it cautiously, she was surprised to find a small flash drive embedded in the silk pillow.

Frowning, she walked to her computer and sat down as Nino followed her.

Upon opening the drive, she was greeted with a video file titled “Cat’s Eye View”. Clicking it, she turned up the volume on her speakers before hitting play.

As the video started, Alya gasped as she was greeted with an up close image of none other than the famous Ladybug on a rooftop. She wore a small grin as she looked into the camera.

“So you’re really going to wear that?” she asked, shaking her head.

“Why my lady, I never knew you took such an interest in looking at me! Although, who can blame you?” a familiar voice said smugly.

Suddenly, the camera turned towards a nearby window and Alya was greeted with the reflection of a familiar blonde haired superhero. Attached to his head with a headband, he wore a small GoPro. As he pointedly flexed his biceps, Alya could hear a snicker come from beside him.

“I’m just saying you look ridiculous.” Ladybug said.

“Hey, ridiculous is a small price to pay to see the smile on our number one fan’s face, right?” he smugly replied “But we should probably stop the- what did he call himself again? Bedhead?”.

“I think it’s Living Nightmare” she said, shaking her head.

“Hawkmoth sure is getting aggressive with the names huh.” he replied nonchalantly.

Suddenly screams broke out in the background of the video, and both superheroes immediately tensed.

“Usual plan?” she said quickly.

“I’m on it.” Chat said, as he peered over the edge of the rooftop, taking a look at what seemed to be a man with an assortment of pillows strapped to his hip, an old fashioned nightcap on his head, slippers, and a pair of neon-orange pajamas.

“YO MORNING BREATH!” his shout echoed along the empty street below before leaping to the next rooftop as a pillow sailed over his head and shattered a nearby chimney.

Alya sat there transfixed. She remembered the battle well, as she herself had arrived late to the scene only a few days prior. It wasn’t as dangerous an Akuma as usual, but experiencing it from Chat Noir’s perspective was shocking. Despite knowing how it ended, Alya was on the edge of her seat the entire time, flinching at every pillow that came close to the pair.

As the battle continued the camera caught a quick glimpse of Ladybug on a nearby rooftop, looking around while holding a comically oversized jar of black and red marbles. But as Ladybug was distracted with how to use her Lucky Charm, Living Nightmare noticed, and fired a pillow directly at her.

The camera was focused on the pillow sailing through the air, arcing towards the back of Ladybugs head, before Chat flung himself into it’s path. As it struck him in the chest an audible crack could be heard, along with Chat’s muffled cry of pain as he landed hard on the rough rooftop.

After a moment of being face-down and breathing heavily, Chat picked himself up off the roof with a groan, before slowly moving back towards the action. As he made his way to the edge of the rooftop, the camera angle had a noticeable slouch to it, as Chat limped forward. Looking to the street below, Ladybug was spotted plucking the nightcap off of an apparently unconscious Living Nightmare, with thousands of small marbles littering the street.

As Chat descended on his staff to the street below, Ladybug went about cleansing the Akuma, before turning back towards him and giving him a large smile. Crouching down to pick a single marble from the road, she tossed it high into the air, and shouted her Miraculous Cure. Immediately, the camera angle rose to full height as Chat was swarmed by tiny ladybugs healing him.

“Glad we didn’t have to pick up a few hundred marbles to use the cure, huh?” she said with a smirk.

“Definitely, my lady. Pound it!” he replied, holding his fist out to her.  

As the video cut out Alya sat there with Nino looking over her shoulder, both gobsmacked at what they had just seen.

“Did you see that?” she exclaimed wide eyed as she turned to her boyfriend. “This is amazing! I can’t believe that they think I’m their number one fan!”

Standing up, she couldn’t stop shaking with excitement as she ran her hands through her hair.

“I need to post this to the Ladyblog right now!” she practically shrieked.

Nino wrapped his arms around her, giving her a big hug.

“Congrats babe, this is awesome! But, uh, we do have a small problem to deal with first.” he said, turning her towards their disaster of a living room.

Ayla’s face fell as she surveyed the damage of Chat’s ‘gift’. Shaking her head, she muttered under her breath.

“I changed my mind. I’m going to skin that cat.”