#I’m on a 20 year not dead streak we can’t tap out now

[sevlgi]

white knight

requested: yes

group: red velvet

pairing: irene x fem!reader

genre: fluff, mild angst

contents: college!au, scaredy cat!irene

warnings: swearing

synopsis: Irene isn’t looking to be saved by a white knight, but she can’t help falling for you when you rescue her. From a spider. In a college dorm.

a/n: i’m sorry for how long this took me 😂 I hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.8k

It’s not a super fun thing to be woken up by a blood-curdling scream at 4 in the morning.

The hallways and rooms of your dorm building are especially echoey, causing the scream to sound like it’s erupting right next to you. Considering that you’re not a heavy sleeper, it’s pretty damn terrifying.

“Shit,” you gasp, fumbling to get out of bed. Your dorm is pitch dark, as it has been for the past week or so while most people in your building have been gone for winter break. You thought you were the last one left, but clearly, that’s not true. “What the hell?”

The scream sounds again, louder and shriller this time, and you wince, stuffing your feet into shoes that you’re sure don’t match and grabbing the heaviest textbook you can find. Your campus is supposed to be pretty safe, but judging by the screams, there’s probably a serial killer on campus, and you’ll definitely die fighting them off.

It’s not hard to find the room of the screamer; it’s the only door ajar at the end of the hallway, bright light spilling out from inside. Honestly, it’s weird for a killer to keep the door open and the lights on, but your sleep-deprived brain doesn’t make much of it, and you kick the door open violently.

There’s an ugly cracking sound as the doorknob slams into the wall, but you’re focused on the fact that there’s definitely not a killer in the dorm. No, there’s only one person inside, a petite girl in a bathrobe and face mask, standing on top of her bed and screaming at the open door of the bathroom. “What- did you crack my wall?” she demands, staring at you.

“I- that doesn’t matter, what the fuck are you screaming at?”

She points a shaking hand at the bathroom, and you’re half-expecting to see a rabid dog or a dead body. Instead, it takes almost a full minute for you to find the spider on the tiled floor. “The fuck- you’re screaming about a spider?” you groan, already wishing you didn’t get out of bed for this.

The girl frowns and crosses her arms. “Well, yes. Spiders are scary. If you don’t mind, could you kill it? You did break my wall.”

You smash it with your foot, scraping it along the floor to leave a streak of spider guts. The girl’s still staring at her gross floor when you whirl around with your hands on your hips, about to give her a piece of your mind. “Why the hell? You gotta be more considerate, it’s 4 in the morning and you’re screaming your head off about a tiny-ass bug.”

“It’s not my fault I have arachnophobia,” she snaps back, and you bristle at the audacity. “I mean, I didn’t ask for some white-knight wannabe to burst in and ruin my wall.”

“Wh-” you sputter. Drawing yourself up to your full considerably unimpressive height, you spit out, “Well, fuck you. Next time there’s an actual serial killer, I’ll just leave you here to be smeared on the floor like that goddamn spider. Again, fuck you!”

“Wannabe,” she calls out behind you, muffled when you slam the door shut. You want to believe it’s a fever dream, but the reality of it is that you have a rude-ass neighbor with a horror movie scream, and you didn’t get enough sleep to survive class.

All a day in the life of a college student, right?

“Pleeeaaasseeee.”

You glare menacingly at Jisoo, who doesn’t even flinch. “No.”

“Come on,” your roommate pleads, tugging on your arm. She’s all too used to your stubbornness to give up on something she wants you to do now. “Please? I really want you to meet Jennie!”

“Come on, Jisoo,” you sigh, still typing away at the essay you started an hour too late. “You’re dating the most popular girl on campus, and you want me to come to dinner with the two of you?” At Jisoo’s nod, you roll your eyes and ignore her pout. “You’re kidding.”

The brunette groans; even her patience has a limit. “Jennie’s so sweet, she’ll love you! Besides, she’s bringing her roommate.”

“Should I care?”

“A really hot roommate,” Jisoo amends. “Absolutely your type. I’ve met her, she’s so gorgeous. Her name is Joohyun, and she’s a year above you, I think. She’s super pretty and super sweet and I’m pretty sure she’s super gay-”

Your hand, clamped over Jisoo’s mouth, cuts off the flow of unnecessary information. Honestly, even the mention of a pretty girl isn’t enough to get you to want to go to dinner with your roommate and her uber-popular girlfriend, but you know Jisoo will just reschedule if you don’t come and nag you until you agree. “Fine. I’ll come, but I won’t be happy about it.”

“Trust me, you’ll definitely be happy,” Jisoo squeals, pressing an exaggerated kiss to your forehead before leaving the room, probably to tell her girlfriend the news.

You don’t pay any attention to your easily excited best friend, simply continuing to type away. The mention of dinner with a pretty girl quickly slips away to the back of your mind, a vague throb in the background.

“I think I see them,” Jisoo tells you with a huge grin on her face. You’re sitting in a booth opposite her, and you’ve been ignoring your roommate’s hands tapping at the table for at least 20 minutes now.

“You said that 10 minutes ago,” you grumble, flipping through the menu. Honestly, one of the only things that got you to agree to the stupid dinner was the promise of food, and your mouth is practically watering at the pictures of ramen on the menu. “Are you sure it’s them?”

Your roommate quickly smooths her hair down, grabbing your face to check your makeup and ignoring your disgruntled noise. “Yes, I’m sure. Can you at least smile?”

Luckily, there’s no more time for Jisoo to fuss over you; you spot Jennie first, recognizing her by her cute gummy smile and expensive perfume. However, when your eyes travel to the girl behind Jennie, your jaw drops in time with hers.

To anyone else, it would seem like you’re simply shocked by how pretty the girl is, and that’s partially true. ‘Joohyun’, as you remember, is absolutely gorgeous, to the point where she seems unreal. Porcelain skin, glossy raven hair, and dark eyes widened in shock make her easily the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen.

However, you can’t help but see a face mask and bathrobe that no one else can see, and you can hear an ear-piercing scream rattling in your ears. Maybe Joohyun sees the oversized shirt you wore that night, a shoe in your hand that you used to smash a stupid spider.

Either way, you’re not letting Jisoo know about what you did.

Extending your hand with the fakest smile you can muster, you introduce yourself. “Hi, Joohyun, right? I’m Y/N.”

“Um, yeah. Hi.” After taking your hand, she slides into the booth next to you, although you’re sure she’s almost hanging off the edge with how much space is between the two of you. You’re the direct opposites of Jennie and Jisoo, who are practically glued together opposite you.

Jisoo’s oblivious, but she’s not oblivious enough to miss the tension between you, and Jennie has practically no tact. Her sharp eyes observe the icy stare Joohyun gives you and she asks, “Do you two know each other?”

“No,” Joohyun answers immediately, her cold expression melting into a sweet smile when she looks to her roommate. “She just looks like someone I met a few days ago. Remember the girl I told you about?”

“Yeah,” Jennie laughs, covering her smile with her hand. “Yeah, I remember. You still haven’t fixed that crack in our wall, you know.”

You pray that Jisoo doesn’t ask for details, but of course, she does. “What crack?” she smiles, eyes lighting up at the promise of a story. Really, Jisoo?

“Oh, you know how everyone was gone for winter break?” Joohyun smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear. It’s not fair how gorgeous she looks. “There was a spider in my bathroom, so obviously I screamed.”

“Are spiders that scary?” you can’t help yourself from blurting out. Jisoo raises an eyebrow at you. “I mean, it couldn’t have been too big.”

“Anyway,” Joohyun continues, fully ignoring you. You bristle at her dismissive attitude, but stay silent to hear whatever lies she’s spinning about you. “This girl busts into my dorm and throws the door open so hard that it makes a huge crack in the wall!”

“Damn,” Jisoo comments. You want to glare at her, but that’ll just be painfully obvious. “Who was she?”

The brunette beside you laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t know! But I fully intend to find her and make her pay for my wall. To be honest, she looked a lot like Y/N, about this tall, with this hair color too. Even her face looks similar!”

“That’s funny,” Jennie chimes in now. “You should try your best to find her then, if you’ve got Y/N as a reference. It’s gonna be expensive to fix up the wall. Do you think we’ll get in trouble with administration?”

Jisoo shakes her head, and you watch on helplessly as your roommate digs you into an even bigger hole. “You won’t if you fix it in time. Y/N can help you guys!”

“Really?” Two sets of eyes turn skeptically onto you. 

“I own a kit to fill in walls,” you blurt out, cursing internally. Honestly, you want to slap yourself. “Yeah, I can help you guys fill in the crack. It’ll look like nothing happened.”

Jennie offers you a gummy smile. “That’d be great! Would tomorrow work for you?”

All of a sudden, Joohyun’s eyes grow wide and she protests, “Neither of us will be home though, maybe we should wait until you have a free day?”

“Nonsense, you’ll be there. You don’t have class tomorrow, remember?” Jennie grins, flapping her hand and looking down at the menu. “You can stop by anytime, Y/N. Now, should we order? I’ll pay.”

As your roommate cooes about how considerate her girlfriend is, you studiously avoid Joohyun’s eyes. Honestly, you have no idea if you’ll survive tomorrow, not if you’re faced with a hot girl with an obvious grudge against you.

Fuck.

“Uh, would you mind opening the door a little more?”

Joohyun stares at you suspiciously through the tiny crack that she’s opened the door. You can’t help but notice how pretty she looks, hair up in a messy ponytail and dressed in a simple white shirt, but you school your expression into a frown to mirror hers. “Step away first.”

“What the fuck,” you sigh, shifting the spackling kit under your arm. “I’m not gonna slam the goddamn door again, just open it and let me in. Or do you want to explain to administration why you have a crack in your wall?”

“Because you’re an asshole,” she mumbles, opening the door just enough for you to squeeze through. “Who the hell barges into someone else’s dorm at 2 in the morning?”

“It was 4 in the morning,” you snap back, although there’s a twinge of guilt in your chest at the sight of the huge crack in the wall. The cracks aren’t wide, thank god, but there’s a lot of them. “And I barged in because I thought you were being murdered! Who the hell screams like that because of a tiny-ass spider?”

She hesitates at that, and you smirk, satisfied. Crossing her arms, Joohyun scowls, “Whatever. So, am I supposed to pay you for this or something? I don’t know how much I’d usually pay to get someone to do this for me, so don’t overcharge.”

You stare at her, at the brown eyes darting to look at anywhere but you. “What? Jesus, I’m not that much of an asshole. You don’t have to pay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the fuck?” you mumble, starting to open the kit you’ve set on the floor. “Did you think that little of me?”

Joohyun rolls her eyes, but you think you can see the tiniest bit of a smile tugging at her lip. “I mean, you did make that crack. It’s the least you can do.”

‘“Look, I feel bad about the crack, but you didn’t need to embarrass me in front of my roommate. You made it painfully obvious that the asshole you were talking about was me,” you frown, looking up at her.

She wordlessly places a cup of water by you, settling down in a chair a few feet away with a thoughtful twist to her brow. “Mm. Whatever, it got you to fix my wall for free.”

“Yeah, and I’m not doing it again. I’m keeping my promise that if you get murdered next time, I’m not coming to save you.”

“Sure you will,” Joohyun laughs, and you can’t help but stare at the way her eyes shine.

Suddenly, you’re not sure you will either.

The next time you see Joohyun is a few days later at 2 in the morning in the communal washing machine area.

“We’ve got to stop meeting at ass o’clock in the morning” is your greeting to her.

She looks tired, you note, although you’re sure you do too. There’s only 6 washing machines in a floor with a couple hundred students, so ass o’clock of the morning is usually when you come to steal two of the machines for you and Jisoo. Whenever Jisoo agrees to do the laundry, she miraculously finds an empty machine at a convenient time, but you’re nowhere near as lucky.

“Hey, Y/N,” Joohyun yawns, rubbing at her eyes. She’s carrying an empty hamper, probably for clothes she washed earlier. You wonder which one of the swirling machines is hers. “It seems that this is the only time of day you’re awake.”

To be honest, you don’t appreciate being teased for your choice of afternoon classes to preserve your sleep, and you tell Joohyun so. However, you do appreciate the small smile that cracks her usually impassive face. “Anyways, need help?”

“What?”

“Need. Help?” you say again, enunciating the words exaggeratedly and earning a halfhearted slap. She doesn’t respond, only opening two of the still machines. “Really, two machines? How many clothes do you have?”

“Some are Jennie’s,” Joohyun scowls, flipping a shirt more aggressively than strictly necessary. “I think some are Jisoo’s too.”

You snort, holding a pink shirt that you’re sure belongs to your roommate. “I better not find any underwear or something.”

“With how often Jisoo sleeps over, I wouldn’t be surprised,” the other girl sighs. “Seriously, how did you not meet Jennie before that dinner?”

“Apparently, Jisoo didn’t want me to get the wrong impression by hearing them fuck in the other room or something.”

“How considerate,” Joohyun says dryly, and you don’t manage to suppress your laugh. When you calm down, you realize that Joohyun’s staring at you, though she quickly averts her eyes. “No, I’m serious. I heard Jennie moan Jisoo’s name enough times before I met her that i didn’t even need to be introduced.”

You scrunch your nose, observing the neat way the other girl folds her laundry and copying. “Gross. I thought Jisoo would be the loud one.”

“No, she’s pretty loud too.”

“Oh, ew,” you protest. “I mean, that can be hot sometimes, but Jisoo probably sounds like a dying duck.”

“And you don’t?” Joohyun shoots back. Almost immediately, her pale cheeks color to a deep pink, even though you didn’t have remotely enough time to make an innuendo in your head. “Oh my god, that’s not what I meant, I don’t care what you sound like-”

“Shut up, I didn’t even think of that,” you snort, still folding laundry. “You’ve got a crazy dirty mind if you immediately connected those two things.”

Joohyun throws a shirt at your face and you yelp, catching it only to throw it back. Somehow, it breaks the tension and you both start laughing, folding laundry while exchanging jabs at your respective roommates.

Maybe she’s not as bad as you thought.

It becomes almost a tradition to meet at the laundry room at 2 in the morning on Fridays. The next time is accidental, but after that, you’re sure that Joohyun’s making changes to her schedule just to catch you doing your and your roommate’s laundry and joke with you.

You become sort-of-friends, although you rarely hang out outside of folding shirts together. Sometimes, when Jisoo and Jennie are being gross together, one of you will escape to the others’ dorm, but that’s about it.

What worries you is the not-so-friendly thoughts you begin to have about Joohyun. Sometimes, you can’t seem to stop staring at the girl’s lips, and you feel the itch to hold her hand. 

It’s weird.

Therefore, you’ve been forcing Jisoo to do the laundry for the last week and keeping out of your dorm to avoid seeing your sort-of-friend.

You’re only home when Jennie comes knocking because Jisoo makes you stay home while she goes out with friends. You really can’t fathom who’s at your door, so you yank it open.

“Um… hi?” Jennie offers, a sheepish smile on her face. “I brought dessert.” True to her word, her arms are laden with boxes upon boxes of sweets, all of them your favorites.

“Is this a bribe?” You wince at the words that come out, knowing that they sound accusing. “Sorry, just…”

Jennie shrugs, placing the boxes on a table. “I mean, you’re not wrong. I am bribing you.”

Shoving a pastry in your mouth, you cross your arms and try not to look smug. “What for? You’ve got me in a good mood, it’s in your favor to ask now.”

Your roommate’s girlfriend laughs, hesitantly taking one of the desserts when you offer them. “Well. Jisoo and I actually had a really nice date planned for Valentine’s Day, but we can’t go. You probably know Jisoo has a family emergency, right?”

You manage to nod sympathetically despite your cheeks being stuffed full of sweets. “I’m going with her, she’s so worried that I don’t trust her to fly across the country on her own. But we don’t want our date to go to waste.”

“Okay, but what does this have to do with me?”

Jennie shifts, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Right, so Joohyun’s willing to go on the date, but I don’t want her to do it all alone. Would you be willing to go with her?”

At your slight frown, she rambles, “It doesn’t have to be a date for you guys, it’s just a nice dinner! You know, it can just be a nice hangout between friends who definitely don’t have feelings for each other.”

“Do you know something?” There’s a slight jump in your pulse; there’s no way Jennie could know that you might have feelings for her roommate, but you’re nervous nonetheless. What if she’s told Joohyun?

She blushes, chewing lightly on her lower lip. “Of course not! So. Will you do it?”

It barely takes a moment of thinking for you to say, “Sure, I’ll go on a date with Joohyun.” You wince lightly at the blunt way you said it, clarifying, “A not-date. With my friend.”

“Good,” Jennie sighs, standing. She returns to her confident popular-girl image with a smile, handing you a little envelope with a time and date written on it. “Have fun.”

“I will,” you mumble, staring at the envelope.

What have you got to be nervous about? You’re just hanging out with your friend, who you definitely don’t have feelings for and who definitely doesn’t have feelings for you either.

Right?

You really don’t know why you spend almost an hour getting ready for your not-date when you usually wouldn’t care what you wore to hang out with friends.

It feels stupid to frown at your simple outfit while piles of clothes surround you. Just on time, you hear Joohyun’s knock, 3 quick raps as always. 

“Hi,” you manage to get out, sounding more breathless than you’d like. She looks perfect as always, but she looks just as flustered as you feel. “Um, let’s go?”

“Right, yeah,” Joohyun mutters, shaking her head and walking faster than she should. “My car’s this way.”

Both of you are uncharacteristically quiet on the way to the car and even more so when Joohyun starts driving. It’s awkward, and you’re sure it has something to do with the fact that you have feelings for her.

You can’t muster up the courage to say something, but you remain silent until the two of you order food. Suddenly, Joohyun groans out, “This is so awkward.”

“Right?” Glancing around you to make sure people aren’t staring, you slump a bit, shaking your head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She raises an eyebrow, sipping at the cup of wine she holds. “It’s not your fault, it’s just weird for us to be on a date when we’re just friends.”

As you frown, you can’t help but notice the slight blush on Joohyun’s cheekbones. “I mean, my feelings for you have got to make it weird, right?”

Immediately, Joohyun spits out the mouthful of unfortunately expensive wine, hacking and coughing as she stares at you. “Wh- feelings!?”

You can’t help the dark red flush rising to your face, definitely less flattering than Joohyun’s own. “Shut up, Jennie told me you knew.”

“I don’t,” she says, looking thoroughly convinced. “I was being awkward because I thought Jennie told you about my feelings.”

“Your feelings? What feelings?” You do your best not to be so loud when the other customers start looking your way, but you can’t help the shocked expression on your face.

Joohyun scowls now, staring anywhere but at you. “The same feelings as yours, idiot. Romantic ones, not-friends ones! Want-to-kiss-you feelings, want-to-go-on-dates-with-you feelings!”

“What…?” Realization dawns over you, your mouth forming a little ‘o’. “Jennie and Jisoo knew. They told each other about our feelings and set us up! I’ll bet they didn’t even have a dinner reservation!”

The girl opposite you groans, shaking her head. “Oh, this is so like them. They’re so meddling, I’m going to give them a piece of my mind once they get back!”

“Same.” You sit in silence for barely another moment before you blurt out, “So, you like me back?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Joohyun scowls, tossing her napkin at your head as if it can block the growing grin on your face. “Now shut up and enjoy the food.”

You do as you’re told, but dinner is definitely less awkward once the truth’s out. A weight is lifted from your shoulders now that your feelings are reciprocated, and you catch Joohyun smiling at you as if she feels the same way.

Maybe you don’t regret getting up to kill that spider after all. It’s still undecided.

[shigarakis-fifth-hand]

Shigaraki x Todoroki!Reader; The Mask

Enjoy the series!<3 one two three four five six seven

Warnings: Extreme abuse, blood, murder, mental issues, cursing

You’ll never forget when your entire life changed for the better. The day you found your purpose, your meaning, your new family.

It all started Friday night, your least favorite night. Your father Endeavor came home early to rest every Friday to check up on your training. Over the week you were required to train 10 hours a day, eat exactly 1700 calories, and to have straight 100′s as grades. Of course, it was almost impossible to maintain such a lifestyle as a 17-year-old, but again, your father was not only the cruelest man alive, but also the 1# hero Endeavor. We’re you almost old enough to leave him? Yes, but at the same time, he would never let you do so. He owned you.

That’s when he first burned your hip.

Your siblings were Natsuo who was 25, Fuyumi who was 27, Shoto who was 20, and lastly your missing brother Touya. Sweet… sweet Touya. Over the years of having children, your father had tried to build the perfect child but had always failed. Fuyumi had been weak, Natsuo had been too kind to hurt a soul, and Shoto was too rebellious against your father. You would be too, but Endeavor had done everything to keep you “right”. 

You were allowed no socializing on the any day except Sunday, you were kept on a tight schedule of modeling, tutoring, interviews, studying, and training, and your father watched you like a hawk.

With you being the last child, he could not mess up with you. You would be the next All Might if it was the last thing he did. He hit you more than any of his children, tortured you more than the rest, and yelled at you more than any of them. And all of your siblings knew that, crying themselves to the sleep at the thought of your bruised and burnt up torso. 

Your father could never touch your face, you did modeling after all. Nobody could know the awful mental issues you had, or the trauma that had scarred you for life. To the public, he wanted you to be the perfect child. Beautiful… brilliant… and powerful. 

God were you ever so powerful.

You took after your brother Shoto, possessing the power to control fire and ice. You could catch things on fire or ice them when you touched things, and once you did, you could control it with your mind. If you tapped the floor with your bare feet, you could start a fire and decide where it went and what it did. You could make it chase someone, make it form a heart, and eventually… kill someone. 

With the power to control it’s movement, you could control the temperature of it as well. You could catch someone on fire and then make it reach over 500 degrees in an instant.

Endeavor loved it, seeing you impress even his fellow pro heroes. Your control over it was amazing, and you were beyond the best they had ever seen. You were a model too, and goodness were you pretty. You had short white hair that went to your shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and beautiful skin. You had been born with red streaks in your hair, but had bleached them out of anger when your father had hit you for not wanting to train. 

You only wanted to have the hair of your mother.

He had knocked the wind out of you with a hard punch to the gut and then burnt your side hip to a crisp when kicked you. “Stand up Shiro. Prove yourself.” He yelled as you used the staircase to pull yourself to your feet, almost falling over in pain. It hurt so much to stand. “Good, now feel the consequences.” As he said that, he pushed you down on your hip, watching as you screamed in pain.

That was the day you ran out of the house, and into the nearby alley, ducking behind a dumpster to breathe. Immediately, you began to switch to a different mindset. You didn’t have DID, but you weren’t normal. One moment, you were crying, and the next you were angry. The next moment, your thoughts would jumble together and you would crave revenge in the form of violence. You had terrible anger issues and a taste of violence, taking after your old man. 

Sure, you were the sweetest thing, but sometimes… you could be cruel, evil, and a demon to be around. But only when you were alone in your thoughts would you allow yourself such cravings as shooting a gun at a bulls-eye in self-defense training, or “accidentally” tripping one of your friends down the stairs.

At those moments, you felt no pity, no love, and definitely no shame in your actions. And outside of those episodes as you called it, you tried your best to ignore it. You weren’t going to stop yourself, because the more you held back, the more destruction you would cause. 

And you didn’t want that, because outside of those episodes, you were sweet, innocent, even fragile. You hated seeing wounded animals, hated seeing your friend get a paper cut, and you never understood your friend’s dirty jokes. You knew what sex was, but why would you want it? 

You had never even felt romantic feelings for someone.

So there you were… sitting behind a dumpster, crying. Pathetic. “Heyyy. Pretty lady. What are you doing out here? Need some help?” A college-aged man started walking towards you, two of his friends following behind. The smell of smoke and alcohol radiating off of them. 

“No, leave me alone.” You insisted, hugging your knees and barely even paying attention as you tried to contain your thoughts about your father, and the searing pain in your hip. It burned like crazy. “But why, you’re pretty and crying. We’re bored and here to help.” 

They kept walking as you looked up at them, shocked and a little scared as they were very close now. “Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you!” You stood up, even though they had you backed up against the dumpster and wall. “Aww, don’t be scared. Now let’s see what’s under that pretty dress of yo-”

In that moment, you sent a spear of ice through the man’s heart, blood splattering all over you in the moment. “W-what?! Hiromi?! Man, this bitch is bat-shit crazy!” As the guys were about to run, you did what your instincts told you. You sent ice spearing through their torsos too, sending them both to the ground. Slowly you walked over to them, rain starting to fall on your head. “I warned you, didn’t I?” You asked, stepping on one of them as they pleaded for you not to kill them. 

“I’m not killing you. I’m just… letting you out of your misery.” Before the rain could start, you set them all on fire. Hearing their blood-curdling screams, you smiled. How nice. They’d be dead before the rain could pick up. Walking down the alleyway, you listened to their screaming of pure music to your ears. You loved every bit of it.

In that moment, your entire life changed. You began your journey on your way to your true passion. You were able to get yourself a custom mask from a shady store in the down-country, and started your new life. Whenever you got bored or your father pissed you off, you would slip on the mask, pull up your hair into your hoodie, and kill. 

Your mask was amazing too. It was a bright red gas mask, which hid your entire face except for one of your blazing blue eyes. It was amazing, watching your victims stare at your one eye as you killed them. They were looking into the same eye as the pro hero Endeavor, your father, and that made you smile. The man who made your life hell had made the latest and greatest new villain in town.

“Again? God, when I get my hands on you I’m going to make you pay!” Endeavor yelled at the tv in his office, sitting at his desk with his feet held high. You were sitting in the chair against the wall near him, sketching in your book. Your father had brought you to work to meet your future teachers, since there was a villain on the loose and he didn’t want you at UA, one of the main targets. Little did he know she was right next to him. 

“What are you talking about Dad?” You asked, looking up from your book. Unlike your siblings, your father made you call him that, since none of his children had ever called him anything near it. He had said it showed that you saw him as a father figure, respected him, loved him, saw him as a caregiver, and gave you an innocent appeal that contradicted your powerful and aggressive quirk. The word had lost any meaning to it.

“Shiro, this villain will be your competitor when you become a pro hero. Look at them. Sources say they’re known for burning their victims bodies so we cannot find fingerprints, or anything. We don’t have a face to go with it, or even a picture of them in general. The only thing is that they believe it may be a female based on the laugh heard, and that they wear a bright red gas mask to hide their identity. It’s brilliant!”

“This bitch has killed over 75 people, and has burnt over 2 million in property damage. This is next level stuff for one person. If we can’t take them down, you will have to.” Endeavor sat back in his chair, returning to his computer. That was about the amount of conversation you would have with him on the weekly.

That was, until you heard an explosion outside, and yelling. Running to the window and standing on your tip toes, you looked out to see the League of Villains on the streets, all running around. Blue flames circled the streets, and you wanted to go join. You had your hoodie and mask in your back pack, and you wanted to get in on the fun, get some promo on the news. The very thought of people seeing your one blue eye was exciting, and sent shivers down your spine. 

“Dad, let’s go o-” You were dragged from the window and thrown to the ground. “Get under the desk Shiro! Don’t be an idiot!” He yelled, not caring that you had hurt your ankle in that moment. With hesitation, you walked behind the desk, bringing your bag with you. “Good, now don’t move. Remember, you don’t get to fight professional villains until you’re a pro yourself.” Endeavor explained, picking up a few things to bring with him downstairs. 

“I don’t want to be a hero.” You mumbled, rocking back and fourth as you held your legs. “What did you say to me?” He screamed angrily as you looked up, not knowing that he heard you. “N-no! Dad! I didn’t- I didn’t mean to say that. I just- eck!” You screamed as his hand came to hit your face, leaving a large bruise. 

“Don’t you dare bitch! You don’t get to say what you want and don’t want! I wanted a son, but look at what I got! Now you’re going to fucking listen!” His hand came to punch the other side of your face, knocking your head into the desk. 

“Fuck, if I had a belt I would whip you senseless.” He murmured as you started crying. “I-I’m sorry… just stop…” You cried, trying to hide your face between your knees. “Oh I’m not letting you get off this easy! Your brother said the same thing, and I’m not making the same mistake again!” 

As you tried to hide, he grabbed a box-cutter off his desk and sent it into your hip. “Now don’t you try to leave this room.” He mumbled, walking out without hesitation, leaving you to bleed on his floor. 

The cut was deep, and you were loosing blood fast.

Only being able to listen to the outside, you could hear the commotion calm down within minutes before your old man walked in. “Get up. Your future UA teachers will be here in five minutes. Put your jacket around your waist.” He threw it at you as you picked yourself up. “Don’t speak unless you’re told to. Got it?” He asked as you slowly nodded, trying to pull yourself together and wipe the tear marks away before two men stepped through the door. 

One had black hair and a man bun, and the other had long blonde hair that he kept down. You recognized them immediately. Radio sensation, UA teacher and pro hero Present Mic with his husband Eraserhead, who was a UA teacher and a low key pro hero as well. 

“Ahh, Shiro! We’ve heard so much about you! Hello!” Present Mic came to shake my head as you shook his, still shaking as Aizawa looked at my bruise. “Ahh, I… fell.” You hesitated, laughing as the two smiled nervously. These two worked with kids… so could they sense your fear. Could they help you?

“Um, let’s sit. Of course you were recommended, but I’d love to see your quirk in more action.” Aizawa motioned to your father’s couch as you all began to walk over there. But in the moment, your jacket fell off your waist, showing your crisped and bloody t-shirt from your father earlier. You could see the burn mark of a hand print even. “Oh my god! Shiro dear!” Present Mic got up to help you before you pushed him away gently. “I fell earlier! If you’ll excuse me I’ll just be a minute!” You rushed out of the room, leaving the jacket on the floor as you grabbed your backpack and sprinted out. You had to get out of the there, to take a break from your father. 

You didn’t care if it ruined your shots at UA or gave you a bad reputation with your teachers early on. You refused to sit there and bleed while they talked about your future. 

As you were waiting for the bathroom, you looked outside to see the League of Villains within the forest. Without thinking, you ran outside and into the forest after them. You didn’t know why, but it felt like destiny was calling you. That was, until you saw Best Jeanist sneaking up on one of the members. 

He had black pointy hair and wore a cloak-like jacket that was also black. Very emo. Slipping on your mask and hoodie before anyone could spot you, you snuck up behind him. Just as Best Jeanist was about to attack and spit cloth strings around Dabi, you tapped your foot, sending ice to Best Jeanist to freeze him like an ice cube. 

“Look out!” You screamed as he turned around to see the frozen pro. “Huh.” He whispered to himself, before turning to face you. With a clear view of you, he could see the red gas mask and knew that you were the one who the news networks had been talking about non-stop. The lonesome villain with a fantastic kill list. But… then he looked closer. He saw how on your hip was burnt to a crisp from someone’s hand, the bruise on your one eye, your bright white hair, and… the bright blue eye. After adding everything together, he realized something. 

“Shiro.” He whispered in shock, before you feel to your knees due to dizziness.

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found - Chapter 20

Warnings: strong language. That’s about it.

@valkyrie-of-the-light  I put in some soft and fluffy Tyler just for you ;)

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007 @hemmyworthy

He arrives at Mumbai Central Prison just shy of ten am.  The weather is already unbearable;  hot and sticky; sweat dampening the neck of his simple army green t-shirt, the thin fabric sticking to the small of his back.  He checks in at the main office. Using the fake law enforcement credentials Nik had sent him to register as a visitor, turning in his gun and the knife that he keeps in his back pocket.

“Long way from home,” the desk clerk comments, as he holds up the identification next to Tyler's face, verifying that the man in the photo is the same as the one who now stands in front of him. “Australia? The land down under?”

“That's what it says,” Tyler shoves the ID into his wallet and slips the latter back into the side pocket of his tan cargo pants.

“What brings you here? All the way to Mumbai.”

“Business. I'm here to see Mahajan.”

The clerk's eyes widen; the drug lord doesn't get many visits, aside from his team of lawyers.  The kid had stopped coming to visit a long time ago, and they haven't seen the man servant in at least a year. He'd been the last one to come and see the old man.

“Check the book,” Tyler nods at the thick ledger sitting on the desk. It's an old school system; pen and paper when the old and weathered computers decide they've had enough for the day. “I'm in there.”

He taps the toe of his boot against the crack and faded tiles, watching as the other man flips through the thick leather bound book, and locates the proper page; a long, thin fingers trailing through every written word until he comes up with the one he wants.

“What do you want with him?” the clerk inquires. “A cop all the way from Australia?”

“Like I said, it's business. And I'm not a cop. That's not what I do.”

The man arches an eyebrow, cocks his head to the side. Unsure of what to make of the stranger across from him. Tall and broad shouldered; strong and intimidating.  “What is it you do?”

A slow grin.  “A lot of things.”

****

He's led to a waiting area. A long, narrow corridor with faded tiles and peeling wallpaper that reveals the original brick underneath.  No air conditioning.  The temperature unbearably hot.  And he uses the front of his t-shirt to clear the sweat away from his face and his forehead.  A young woman with a baby sits in a chair in the corner, watching him warily.  He's big and scary, as far as she's concerned. A stranger in their country. And as he leans back against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, he gives her a small smile in hopes of easing some of her discomfort.

Several minutes tick by before the opens once again. An armed guard ordering the woman to stay where she is before giving Tyler a nod and jerking his head towards the main body of the prison.  No formalities or mindless chit chat are exchanged as he is led through the central office and back out into the blazing sun. Feeling the curious eyes and hearing the chatter as he follows the guard.  Sunglasses on, hiding his eyes as they survey the surroundings and the throngs of prisoners out in the yard. Always on alert. A stranger like him showing up causes a lot of speculation. And with speculation came worry. Which quickly turns into fear. If they felt threatened or spooked, there was no telling what kind of situation could explode.

“Out,” the guard orders all the visitors and prisoners currently in the visitation area.  “Hurry up and get out. Move.”

He waits as guests scurry past him and the other prisoners file out, then allows himself to be led down to the very end of the room. Nothing more than a simple metal chair and metal bars separating him from the other side. And he is still standing when Mahajan is led in; heavily armed guards on either side of him, their hands on his upper arms as they guide him, handcuffs securely fastened to his wrists. Tyler is surprised. Unimpressed. Not nearly the intimidating figure that he'd been lead to believe.  The years have not been kind to the old man; streaks of gray in his hair and beard, numerous pounds of weight lost. Maybe when he was younger he cut an imposing figure. But now he was nothing more than a pathetic old man who'd spend the rest of his life locked up.  

He sits only after Mahajan has done so and the guards depart; waiting and watching from the door.  Several minutes pass before anyone speaks; he only sounds in the room the ticking of the clock and the low hum of a window air conditioner.  Neither man looks away from the other, Tyler's hands clasped and resting on the ledge in front of him, Mahajan tapping his fingers against the bottom of the frame that holds the bars

“So you're the one,” Mahajan finally speaks.  His tone is unimpressed. Tyler supposes he doesn't fit the old man's bill of what a mercenary should look like.  He's probably younger than he expected. Not as beat up and harried as most.

“Yeah...” he nods. “...I guess I am.”

“That stupid sonofabitch was supposed to take care of you. You shouldn't even be sitting here right now. Had he done his job properly...”

“He died helping save your son. And I should have died.”

“But here you are. Sitting in front of me. Thinking you have some right to come here and demand my presence? Looking for some kind of thank you? Some kind of respect? So you can gloat about what you've done?”

“That's far from the reason I'm here.  You don't have to like me or respect me. I'm far past giving a shit about what others think of me.”

“So it's money you want then? You feel you weren't fairly compensated for the work you done. The one I hired you to do. You work for me. You don't come here in and walk in as if you own the place. As if I owe you something.”

“I don't work for you. And I don't give a shit about your money, mate. I'm here about your son.”

His eyes widen, jaw clenching.  “The trouble has gotten worse? Why are you here then? Talking to me? You should be there. At my home. Protecting my son. Not here talking to me and wasting my time.”

“I've got six armed guards always watching the place. Two that follow him to school. I've been handling things. Taking care of your kid. Because apparently you don't give a shit about him enough to keep your head on straight and stay out trouble. What kind of father does that shit? Chooses the life you had over taking care of their own flesh and blood.”

“How dare you talk to me like that!” Mahajan fumes. “How dare you come and here and question my love and loyalty to my son!”

“A year ago I had to put my ass on the line to save your son. You caused that. Because you couldn't get your shit together and just be a father. So yeah. I'm questioning your love and your loyalty to your son. The fact that you have none.”

“You have a family?”

“A wife.,” he confirms “And a baby. A daughter.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn't do anything to care for them? Provide for them?”

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for them.  I'd lay down my life for them. No questions asked. But I wouldn't do what you do.  Get rich by hurting other people.  Put drugs in the hands of kids.  Sit back counting my money while people around me die.”

“Are we really that different, you and I? Hmm? Do you not kill people for money? Hurt them? Is that not how I found you in the first place?”

“We're nothing alike, mate. We never will be.”

“Killing comes with your job, does it not? When you were rescuing my son, did you not have to kill people?” Mahajan challenges.

“It's not the same thing,” Tyler insists.

“Killing is the same no matter how it is  done. Or who does it. I bet you have taken far more lives than I have.  You have the blood of hundreds of men on your hands. You say you kill them because they deserve it. Who are you to judge them? These people that are just trying to live by any means necessary.”

“By hurting innocent people,” Tyler argues. He keeps his tone low, unaffected. Refusing to let the man get to him. “That's the difference. I help the ones who need it and I hurt the ones who don't. They aren't innocent. They hurt people. People who are weaker than them. Who can't defend themselves. We aren't the same, mate. Not by a long shot.”

“We both have blood on our hands. You say that yours is justified. In the same way I do.”

“You put drugs into the hands of kids. You made people into addicts. You ripped families apart.  I'm nothing like you.”

Mahajan smirks, leans back in his chair, eyes cold and calculated.  “Did the men you kill not have families? Children? Hmm? Were there not innocent people connected to them? You sit here, thinking you're better than me. A white man who thinks he is somewhat superior because of the colour of skin.  You walk in here with your God complex, judging me? Does your wife and your child know what you do?”

“My wife and my child have nothing to do with this.”

“You put them in harms way, do you not? You preach to me about my son and you do the same with your child. Do you think it would stop people? People that want to hurt you? You think it would stop them from hurting her because she is a baby? That won't matter to the people that hate you. The ones that want revenge.”

“Let's get one thing straight...” Tyler leans forward in his chair, trying to ignore how his blood runs cold at the man's words. A chill that starts at the roots of his hair and travels his entire body.  “...my daughter is innocent. In the same way your son is.  We are not the same. I help people. Like your son. And I bring them back to their families. Without guys like me, your son would be dead.  Without guys like you, a lot of innocent people would still be alive. We are not same.”

The older man finally relents. Holding his hands up in surrender.  “You say you're here for my son yet there's been no trouble. So why are you here? Hmm? Wasting my time?”

“I'm here because your son deserves a better life. One where he's not looking over his shoulder all the time. Where he's not constantly paying for his father's mistakes.  He shouldn't have to live like this. Alone.”

'He has everything he could possibly want. A beautiful house to live in, food on the table, an expensive school.”

“He doesn't have a family. And that's what he wants the most. He wants a family. People who love him. Who will take care of him. Who want more for his future than this bullshit existence he has now.  He has no one. All those things surrounding him, yet he's very much alone. Even you must be able to see that.”

Mahajan nods slowly, considering his words.

“My wife and I want to take him. When we leave here. We want to...”

“Take my son away from me?”  he laughs. “You come here with a request like that? My only son? My blood? Hand him to you? A stranger?”

“A stranger that already laid down his life once for him. Who'd do it again. In a heartbeat.”

“For money,” he reminds Tyler.  “You did it for money.”

“That's how it started out, yeah. But it became much more when you decided to fuck me. There was never any money. Not enough to afford me, anyway. That's why you had Saju try to kill me and steal him back. How'd that work out for you?”

Mahajan inhales sharply.

“I could have easily left your kid in the street. When I knew there was no money. I could have handed him  right over to Asif. I had the chance. My part of ten million dollars if I just handed him over. But I didn't. I kept your son alive. And for what? This shitty fucking existence? Always looking over his shoulder, waiting for the next threat? Even you must be able to see it. That he has nothing. He doesn't even have a father.”

“I'm his father!” the other man roars, and leaps to his feet.

Tyler waves the guards off when he sees them attempt to make a move towards them. “You're not his father, mate. You're just the guy who helped make him. There's a lot more to being a father like that. Swallow your fucking pride and think about your son for once. Think about the kind of life he has compared to the one he deserves.”

“You think I can't hurt you from here? That I can't take away everything and everyone you love? That you...”

“I think you need to sit down and shut up.  Don't threaten me. Or my family. Because you're not the only one who knows how to get shit done.”

The older man blinks.  His chest heaving with fury.

“Sit down,” Tyler repeats. “Or you'll see just how far I'm willing to go to protect my family.”

Mahajan sighs heavily, then reluctantly sinks back into his seat.

“We want to take Ovi with us,” Tyler continues. “When we leave here. We want to give him a proper life. The kind of life that he deserves and he wants.  You must have at least one shred of humanity left. Especially when it comes to your own son.”

“I would do anything for him. In the same way you'd do anything for your child.”

“Then do this for him. Let us take him. Let us give him a life.  One where he isn't constantly looking over his shoulder in fear. He deserves that much, doesn't he? We're fathers. You and I.  And don't we want the same thing? Don't we want to give our kids the world?”

The drug lord's face finally softens.  “Of course. I wouldn't be a father if I didn't want that.”

“Then do the right thing,” Tyler implores.  “Give us guardianship. Give us the chance to take care of the kid.  To love him.”

“And you promise to take care of him? That you would lay down your life for him if need be?”

“I've already done it once. And I'd do it again, no questions asked.”

Mahajan gives a firm nod, then waves to the guards signalling that their visit is over.  “I'll talk to my lawyer.”

***

TOMORROW. 1PM. ON THE BRIDGE.

It is a simple text that packs a powerful punch.

She's been waiting for this since the moment Jason left for Dhaka. She was tense. Impatient. Tired of the way Nik seemed to be dragging her heels despite the deal they had made.  Leary that perhaps her friend had never had any intention of actually helping her. Just leading her on and feeding her hope, only to never follow through.  Jason had been anxious to help. He wanted something more than security detail. A chance to prove that he was far more capable of bigger and better things.  The time had seemed to drag since he left; she was constantly checking her cell phone for mixed texts or emails.  But in the end, he had gotten exactly what she wanted.

She hastily makes arrangements. Plotting a way out of the house in the wee hours of the morning. Sneaking the keys to the rented SUV and making her way to the airport. If all went well, she'd be in the air and on her way to Dhaka before anyone even realized she was gone. Securing the help of an old contact that could get her a last minute seat on a small charter flying out of Mumbai.   It was the moment that she'd been waiting for. Longing for. When she would come face to face with the person that had nearly taken everything away from her.

In lieu of text she sends an email in return. Texts were too easily soon and she still had an email address under an account she she hasn't used in years.  Detailing her plans. That she'll be in Dhaka well before noon and will meet him on the bridge. With the kid.

She watches as Tyler steps into the court. That familiar lick of desire that fills her body; the heat and the pressure that builds between her legs.  It's always been that way; the powerful sexual connection between them,  the lust and want and desperate need that consumes her. It was the first time in her life that a man had had that kind of effect on her. Where her breath hitched and her raced. Where a simple touch could send her body into a frenzy. Not even her ex husband had made her feel that way. As handsome and charming that he'd been at the start.  It had taken time for those feelings to develop. Weeks. Even months.  With Tyler it had been near instantaneous. The moment those blue eyes had watched her walk into his little shack in the outback.  Those five days in that Dhaka hotel room had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced.  Completely succumbing to a man that took his time exploring every inch of her body; unselfishly concentrating solely on her and pleasuring her in ways and to heights she never thought possible.

Walking sex. She had called him that once.  And he'd just laughed, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. But it was true. That is exactly what he is.  Broad shouldered and muscular and just so goddamn attractive.  Even in a simple t-shirt and cargo pants.

“How'd it go?” she asks, as she sits on the edge of the pool with her feet submersed, holding Amelia securely around the waist, occasionally dipping those tiny toes into the water.  Laughing every time the baby's bright blue eyes widen when her feet make contact with the cold liquid. There's real smiles now.  Wide, beaming ones that crinkle the corners of her eyes. Her father's smile.  His clone, from head to toe.

“Alright, I guess,” he pulls at the laces of his boots and toes them off, then removes his socks and rolls his pants up past the shins. “Here...” he hands her a small brown paper bag from a pharmacy he'd stopped at in Mumbai. “...for later...”

Tyler sits down alongside of her, placing his own feet in the water. Then leans over and presses a kiss to her ear.  “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi,” she smiles and kisses him. Short and sweet.  “Look who it is, Millie,” she speaks to the baby in the soft, melodic tone that she seems to enjoy the most. “Who is that guy, huh? Who is that handsome man? Is that your daddy?”  She notices the way her husband's entire face lights up;  the smile spreading from ear to ear, his features softening. A big man with an even bigger heart. “Look at the way she looks at you. The way she smiles at you. I do all the hard work and heavy lifting and all that matters is you.”

“She's a daddy's girl. Nothing wrong with that.”

She could see him years down the road. Those hands that can -and have- inflicted so much pain and suffering on those who deserved it, braiding hair or putting it in pig tails.  Maybe even indulging in playing with dolls and being a guest at tea parties. There was something both adorable and amusing at that thought; a man like Tyler Rake allowing a little girl to subject him to such things.  This was a side of him that so few got to see. That she was blessed to witness.  

“Here,” he holds his hands out towards her. “Give her to me. I'm all that matters now. You're just the one who feeds her from here on out.”

“Traitor,” Esme gives her daughter a dramatic pout and places her in those large, capable hands.  Watches the way he leans down to press a kiss to their daughter's cheek, that smile never leaving his face as he fixes the tiny sunhat and then lowers Amelia towards the pool, letting those tiny feet disappear beneath the surface.  “She's definitely yours. She loves being outside.”

“She would have loved living in the shack,” he muses. “Out there with nothing else around.”

“With a dog and a chicken for siblings,” Esme adds with a grin.

“Yeah...” he nods.  “...she would have loved bathroom chicken.”

His friend Koen lives there now. Spending the time on the repairs that needed to be, even adding on an extra room.  Taking care of the chicken and the dog.  He'd stepped up when Tyler had been incapacitated. .  Moving in without hesitation and making sure everything was being taken care of. He would visit the hospital every so often; sitting on the edge of the bed and teasing the shit out of him for being so 'bent out of shape over a flesh wound' and talking about old times. Like their booze filled camping trips and hikes  day he'd scared the shit out of their buddy Raka with a nonchalant plunge off a thirty meter cliff. Koen never asked for anything in return. Just thankful for a place to live and the feeling of doing something good and right.

“I would have made you keep bathroom chicken out of her room,” Esme says.  “That's the last place we would need all kind of chicken shit. And I wonder if he ate her yet. Koen. If bathroom chicken has met her demise.”

“Bite your bloody tongue. That's my child you're talking about.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Sometimes I think you love bathroom chicken more than me.”

“I definitely love you more. You don't shit everywhere.”

“Well that's a hell of a standard to live up to,” she laughs, and pinches his side playfully.  Opening the paper bag he'd given her, she can't help but grin. “Two tests? Are you taking one too? That's not how this works, baby.”

“Just in case the first one gets fucked up.”

“All I have to do is pee on it. It's honestly not that hard.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” he reasons.  “I'm kind of excited.”

“About me peeing on a stick? You have weird things you enjoy as foreplay.”

“I didn't get to be there with the first one.  I didn't even know that you thought you were pregnant the first time around.”

“Well in all fairness, you had a lot on your mind. You were going through a lot. I didn't want to add something else to the plate that you had to worry about.”

He understood it. Her reason for keeping it a secret for as long as she'd had.  But part of him wishes he could have known. That he could have actually been there when she took the test.

“Well this time I get to be there,” he says. “Sounds stupid, I know. Being excited over something like that.”

“I think it sounds beautiful,” she admits, and presses a kiss to his cheek. Beard rough against her lips. And she curls an arm around his waist and uses her free hand to rub his stomach. “Tyler Rake, you big softie.”

“Easy now. Don't say that too loud. I have a reputation to uphold.”

She rests her head against his arm, feet swinging back and forth in the water.  Watching as he dotes over their tiny daughter; speaking to her in unbelievably soft and sweet tones, those huge hands so tender and careful, the smile never leaving his face. “So it went okay? With Ovi's dad?”

“He was a hard nut to crack.”

“But you did? Crack him?”

He grins. “Are you seriously questioning my nut cracking skills, right now?”

“You're more of a ass kicker than a nut cracker But go off.”

“He was pretty pissed. That I had the balls to even show up to see him. I definitely was not what he expected.  I don't think I fit the picture he had in his mind of the guy who rescued his kid.”

“Well, in all fairness, you are devastatingly handsome,” she muses. “So I can't fault him there.”

“He gave me a hard time. Kept insisting that we're the same. That we do the same things. Hurt people. Kill them.”

She frowns. “You know that's not true right?”

“Well it is what I do, right? I do hurt people. I do kill them. My hands aren't  exactly clean.”

“What you do and what he does is entirely different. You do what you do to help people. To keep them safe. He does what he does because an evil asshole. You are nothing alike. Far from it. Don't let him get into your head. His son is alive because of you. You almost died because he's a major fuck up of a father. You are not like him at all, Tyler. Did you tell him? About us wanting to take Ovi?”

“He didn't want to hear anything about it at first. But you were right. There was an ounce of humanity left.  He says he's going to talk to his lawyer. Who knows what will happen after that. But at least it's a step in the right direction, yeah?”

She nods in agreement, then falls silent. Her legs swinging back and forth, eyes riveted on the ripples in the water. She wants to tell him. About going to Dhaka.  Knowing that if he'd just listen to her reasoning and consider what she needed to do to finally heal and move on, he'd agree it was a good idea. Not a great one. But acceptable. Maybe he'd even offer to come along. Just to keep an eye on her. That city was dangerous. Unpredictable. Which had been all too clear during their first foray into city limits.

But she stays silent. The situation is under control. Jason will be there, after all.  

Besides, how much damage could one street kid do?

****

Tyler stands on the threshold of the master's en-suite bathroom; leaning against the door jamb with his arms over his chest. Watching his wife as she sits on the edge of the tub, her eyes riveted on that plastic stick across the room, as it rests on the sink ledge.  She's nervous; chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip, palms continuously running along her thighs.

“How long does this take?” he inquires. “It's been like half an hour.”

“It's been a minute and half,” she replies.  “Two more minutes at least. There's quicker ones you could have gotten. Those digital things that pretty much give the results right away.”

“This is the first time I've ever had to buy something like this. I'm a rookie here.”

“A rookie with extremely strong and determined swimmers, apparently,” she retorts.  “Where's the baby?”

“Ovi took her downstairs.  He's playing the piano for her. He swears she likes it.”

“Another male she has wrapped around her little finger. Maybe I won't have to worry about her bringing boys home. With you two around. I can just see you. Sitting on the front porch with a shot gun on your lap.”

“I was thinking more a fully automatic. Or a grenade launcher. Or maybe even flamethrower. Maybe all three. Depending on my mood.”

“You can't keep the boys away forever. You can't keep her locked in the house.”

“You just watch me.”

She laughs at that. More nervous than amused.

“I don't know what you're so freaked out. This isn't your first rodeo.”

“It's scary,” she says. “The thought of having another human being inside of you. That relies on you for everything. I have to actually keep a tiny person alive.”

“Well you did amazing the first time,” he points out. “And considering everything else you were dealing with at the time, I'd say that makes you pretty fucking awesome.”

She smiles at him. And he shoots her a wink before wandering into the room and taking a seat on the ledge of the tub beside her.

“I'm nervous too,” he confesses, as he takes on her hands in both of his own. Her hands are soft, impossibly small within his.  “And scared.”

She looks at him. “You are?”

He nods.  “Not just because this is an awful shitty time to be going through all of this. We can get through all of that. I don't doubt that for a second. I worry about being a dad.”

“You're already a dad. And you've been one for over ten years. If we count Austin.”  And they do. Despite his suffering and his unfortunate passing, his son is still very much a part of their family.  “And you're a great dad, Tyler. An amazing dad. So don't ever doubt that. You see the way she looks at you. The way her entire face just lights up when she hears your voice. She adores you.  No one else in the world matters as much as her daddy.”

“Sorry about that by the way,” he grins. “That she loves me more than you,”

“That's harsh, Tyler. First I spend nine months getting fat and gross and puking all the time and then you go and say something like that.  I do know divorce lawyers, you know.”

“You'd never get rid of me.  And you weren't fat and gross by the way. You were beautiful. You always are. But even more beautiful when you were having her. Knowing that I was the one who helped but her there. That that was my baby inside of you.”

She leans into him, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “I like this side of you. The sappy one.”

“Just don't tell anyone, okay? I'd never live it down. I need people to think I'm a bad ass.”

“I don't think anyone could ever say you aren't a bad ass. You killed a man with a garden rake.”

“Two,” he corrects. “With the same garden rake. I'm just saying.”

She settles against him; head against his shoulder, her hand tightly clenched between his.

“What if it happens again?” he inquires.

“Having to kill a man with a garden rake?”

“No,” he can't help but chuckle. “Although that is always a possibility. Anything can happen. I mean Austin. And his cancer. What if that happens again?”

“The chances of that happening are slim to none.”

“But there's still a chance.”

“There's a chance we could walk out of the house tomorrow and get hit by a bus,” she gently argues. “His cancer wasn't genetic. It just happened, Tyler. It was nothing you or your ex caused. It just happened.”

“I just worry about it. I can't help it. Sometimes I'll watch Millie sleeping and think about it. What I'd do if she got sick. How I don't think I'd be able to handle it. Seeing her suffer. I'm worried I'm going to make the same mistake. Run away like I did. Because I'm a fucking coward.”

“You are many things, Tyler. But a coward is not one of them. It's fight or flight. Your flight drive was stronger than your fight. It happens.”

“But it shouldn't have happened. That's the point.”

She rubs his back; palm moving in slow, smooth, comforting circles. “Think of it this way, if things hadn't have have happened the way they did, we probably wouldn't be here right now.  We probably would have never even met. You would have been on an entirely different path and our lives probably never would have connected. And that's worth something, right? You and I? Millie? What happened was horrible and you didn't deserve that. And Austin definitely didn't deserve it. But we're here. Millie and I. And that has to make up for everything else somehow right?”

“Of course it does.”  If someone had have told him a year ago that he'd end up a husband and father again, he would have told them that they were insane. He had been struggling to find a way to keep on living when all he wanted to do was die. And he'd found a reason to keep on, keeping on. Something...someone...that gave him a purpose.  Now he couldn't imagine his life without them. That feeling of completeness that comes with knowing you matter to someone. That they rely on you.

“You are way too hard on yourself,” she says, and tousles his hair. “Try seeing yourself through my eyes. Just once.”

“I'll try,” he promises, and she smiles and a lays a hand against his cheek, covering his lips with hers in a long, soft kiss. “I think it's time. You ready?”

“As I'll ever be, I guess. You?”

“Not really, no. But I guess we have to find out.”

“You do it.  I got to do it the first time. This one is all yours.”

“That's it, put all the pressure on me,” he teases, and gives her hand one last squeeze and a kiss to the forehead before standing up and approaching the sink.

“Well?” her voice is shaky. Perhaps a mixture of both nerves and anticipation.  “What does it say?”

“I'm not sure.  What does two pink lines mean?”

The tears prick her eyes. Her lower lip quivers.

“It means we're having a baby.”

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 20

Hey so uhhhh, I feel like this took forever?  

Ao3

00000

“I just don’t understand how you aren’t bored.” The first thing Hiccup hears is Astrid’s voice, on edge and at ease all at once, close enough to surround him entirely. When Astrid’s fingers drag softly through his hair, he doesn’t care about the hazy confusion of waking up somewhere other than his bed. He knows exactly where he is. “There are obvious problems in the league—“

“Problems like the Patriots being the greatest and Tom Brady reinventing the game every year he postpones retirement?” Snotlout snorts, slurring the edges of his words slightly. Drunk maybe, but Hiccup doesn’t care because of Astrid’s touch lingering under his ear. “Those aren’t problems from my side.”

“Ok, but you have to acknowledge that in a league of thirty-two teams, the fact that the competition is between one team and everyone else means that there’s something wrong.” She’s emphatic but quiet, one step below a whispered yell, and she twirls a lock of hair at the nape of his neck around her finger, her nail barely dragging across his scalp. He wishes he could fall back asleep before Snotlout’s reply, but he’s not fast enough.

“Or that the one team is just that fucking awesome.”

“That’s literally impossible.” Astrid’s hand grazes along the back of his neck and pauses to rub at the least pressing knot of muscle in his back.   “The entire point of the draft and the salary cap is to keep the league competitive.”

“But that doesn’t apply, because Brady plays for less because he loves the game.”

“Is that another way to say that he married someone richer than he is and he’s a little bitch who cries when he loses?” Her fingers brush across Hiccup’s forehead before she drags fingernails through his hair again, absent-minded and sweeter for how habitual the motion is. His hip and lower back feel like he’s been sleeping for hours without moving and he gets the feeling that she’s been touching him this whole time.

His arm is asleep and his eyes feel sandy and dry, but he can’t remember the last time he was this comfortable.

“You think men can’t be emotional? That’s pretty sexist of you.”

There it is, time to wake up.

He yawns, stretching slowly with a wince and lifting his head off of Astrid’s lap, elbow on the couch cushion to hold him half upright. It takes a couple blinks to detangle his eyelashes and when he does, Snotlout is staring at him, pale but distinctly smug in the way he only gets when he’s winning arguments about sports.

And he’s in a hospital bed instead of on Hiccup’s dad’s chair at the apartment. His shoulder is wrapped in gauze and his eyes are morphine bleary instead of happy Saturday night drunk.

Right, the hospital.

“Morning sleeping beauty, are you done being a spaz?”

“I’m still breathing, aren’t I?” Hiccup looks at the window, trying to judge the time. It’s too bright to be morning, the sun peeking through dispersing clouds. Early afternoon, he’d guess, given he feels at least partially back on schedule.  

“You were snoring,” Snotlout tells him, forever helpful, “and sleep-talking.”

“Oh,” he sits up, looking sheepishly over at Astrid, “what did I say?”

“Nothing coherent,” she shrugs, rolling her shoulders and folding one leg underneath her, probably stiff from being his pillow for however long he slept. Her blue eyes are bright, teasing above the worry, and the corner of her mouth twitches. “Emphatic though. You really meant whatever you were mumbling about.”

She’s too pretty to be here, smiling quietly at him and cocking her head while he sits up the rest of the way and rubs his face. His greasy, stubbly face with gritty tear streaks from crying. Apparently he got enough rest to be embarrassed that this is the condition of the head he rested on Astrid’s lap for hours, so that’s something.

He preferred being half-asleep, her hands in his hair while she and Snotlout argued in useless circles, like this was just a usual night in a world he wishes he lived in.

“How long was I out?” He stands up and twists slowly side to side, willing the deep stiffness in his lower back to fade and losing the argument.

“Long enough to watch the same football game one and a half times,” she glares at Snotlout, standing to take a sip of water from a second glass that appeared on the bedside table while Hiccup was sleeping.

“Hiccup, you should probably get this sore loser out of here before she starts being sexist again.” Snotlout rolls his eyes, hunkering down further in his pillows and Hiccup recognizes the painkiller grogginess in his face.

That’s how Hiccup must have looked in the hospital a decade ago, down a foot and wishing his dad would leave and let him sleep off the dizzy fog in his head, while his dad insisted on staying, gray-faced and worried.

There’s a short list of days in Hiccup’s life that transected reality and made it impossible for him to go back to living how he did before them. His leg. His parents divorce. His dad dying.

Meeting Astrid makes the list, and the anxious twist at the thought of trying to explain the gravity of that to her builds on the depth of the line being drawn right now. On the precipice of a relationship he’s never thought he’d be able to manage after what happened with his parents, he’s here hovering over someone recovering from a gunshot wound, too involved to let them sleep.

Like everyone with a complicated relationship with their parents, Hiccup has of course feared becoming his dad. He always thought it would have something to do with gaining an unfortunate appreciation for bagpipes or the law, and more than that, he always thought it was impossible as long as he kept generally failing. If he didn’t try, he couldn’t come up short.

But even five years of tax dodging unemployment couldn’t save him from becoming himself. Accidentally like his dad enough for it to hurt, but entirely lacking the easy to avoid roadmap of his father’s footsteps.

“You ok?” Astrid asks, hand twining more easily than he deserves with his.

“Yeah,” he lies, “I could use some fresh air, maybe—”

“Like that’s possible until you shower,” Snotlout rolls his eyes, “it smells like the locker room in here, and it’s not Mr. Sponge-bath’s fault.” He points at himself with his good arm and Hiccup takes a self-conscious step away from Astrid.

“Ok, then some not-hospital filtered air. Will you be—I mean, if I go home for a while—”

“If you don’t, I will call Sharon to kick you out.” Snotlout’s hand hovers over the nurse call button, “don’t test me, Haddock.”

00000

It’s bright enough outside that he checks the time, squinting at his phone screen in the sudden sunlight appearing from behind a cloud. A little past two, but that seems irrelevant, considering he’s not quite sure of the day.

“So, shower?” Astrid asks too brightly, her voice snapping him out of his head for the third time in the last hour.

“Huh?” He blinks at her, sure he must have heard wrong. “If my head was so greasy that you feel like you need a shower now, I apologize. Sincerely.”

“Not at all,” she wrinkles her nose, half-teasing and half looking at him like he’s crazy and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Right, and now that I drew your attention to all this,” he waves his hand in front of his face, “I’m assuming you’re not offering to join me.”

“Hiccup!” She smacks his arm, hard but not as hard as he knows she’s capable of, and he doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that she’s laughing. A real laugh, a relieved laugh. At him, absolutely, but not unkind.

“Wait, are you?”

“The concept of a shower was the only thing to get you out of that room in three days, so I reminded you,” she blushes even though her reasoning is sound, maybe because it’s embarrassing to be essentially propositioned by someone who probably looks like they’ve written off soap as a concept. “You seem a little out of it.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Do you need to go back in there and get yourself checked out? Maybe you concussed yourself sleeping on that shitty couch?” The worried lines between her eyebrows make him want to smooth them out, to assure her the way she did him when nothing but the difficult truth could.

“No, I guess it’s just that nearly losing Snotlout is somehow summing up every trauma I’ve spent the last decade avoiding.”

Great, that’ll ease her mind.

“Every trauma?” She smacks his arm again, sort of gentler, “you’ve been holding out on me, I thought I got your whole traumatic past on our midnight tour.”

“I know we said that wasn’t a date, but I was still following the first date rule of baggage dumping.” He snorts, “you know, get the dead dad thing out of the way so you subliminally didn’t worry about impressing a future father-in-law, but the missing leg would have been a lot. I wasn’t looking for pity.” He can say it because he knows Astrid would never give that to him.

He fell on her when he was at his lowest, most terrified point, and she was nothing but honest and solid, and that’s more comforting than he would have ever expected.  

“Well, I would have had more warning when we found your old leg attached to a murder victim,” she nudges his elbow and starts walking, freeing his feet from the pavement they felt glued to. He thinks if she weren’t here, he’d walk right back to Snotlout’s room, compelled but entirely unable to help.

“Second out of three,” he sighs, back internally creaking like a cartoon door when he forces his gait even, “and there was the foot? With the Ryker letter approximation?”

“I haven’t thought about the note in forever,” she shakes her head, pausing to tap too many times at a crosswalk button, “not that I forgot it, I definitely didn’t forget it.” The light changes color and she starts walking again, pulling him away from the hospital in the only way he’d be grateful for. “But no, we’re talking about your trauma, not Grimborn.”

“The letter attached to the foot sent to my apartment isn’t exactly Grimborn, is it?” He understands the blurring line attached but tugs at it anyway, seeing where in the web of Astrid’s ever-fascinating mind it’s connected.

She sighs, shoving her hands deep in her pockets like having pockets is a novelty. Then she looks up at him, biting her lip and refusing to wince at what she’s about to say, facing the truth again like he trusted her to do when it mattered most.

“Snotlout’s really high.”

“That’d be the morphine for his gunshot wounds, plural, what did he say?”

There was a time where Hiccup would have been mortified to leave Snotlout alone with anyone he was interested in, in any capacity. Let alone Astrid, or someone he felt this way about. Except no, he’s never felt like this about anyone, and her Snotlout tolerance is only part of it.

A part that lets her fit into a life he wants but doesn’t understand how to have yet, sure, but only part of the reason he likes her so much.

“He told me about your dad,” she shrugs, sheepish, and he wants to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. A sexy chin grab, she called it, mortified and adorable but he shuts that thought off before he can follow it to blood and police and complication.

“I already told you about my dad though,” he laughs, “back when you thought you’d get murdered on a tour with me, which, I guess geographically, we were both close—“

“This, he told me about this.” She stops and faces him, looking so much like she wants to shove him that he looks away, trying to be distracted. The Ripped Tavern is right there, drawing him in like a perpendicular source of gravity, but he can’t focus on it with Astrid staring twin blue lightning bolts into his face.

“My tendency to change the subject?”

“He told me about how it was when he moved in.” Her voice is as gentle as the grip on his arms isn’t. The grip tethering him rudely to present day Berk, the land of trauma wards and messes he has to figure out. The land tethered to Grimborn through mystery, one important and one ephemeral and endless, a mystery resort for fascination without commitment.

As much as people want to live on vacation, when life’s consequences follow, it gets less fun.

“He told me how you found Grimborn-ology.” Her hand slides up to his shoulder, bracing, a little uncomfortable, and worse because he knows how much he trusts her. How right she always is. “And how before, you hadn’t been leaving the house or…”

“I’d just moved here, ok?” He starts walking because he doesn’t know how to talk while standing still. Because the Ripped Tavern is an eighteen-fifties pub that makes him feel grounded and he wants to be closer to it when he says too much and untethers himself again. “When everything happened with my dad, I’d just moved here to this city that he gave his life trying to protect. It felt hostile, but going back to live with my mom would be letting the thing he died for go. And…Viggo Grimborn was the only thing that made it feel like anyone had lived in this city before my dad died in it.”

The words shed more weight from his shoulders than he thinks they will, but for once, feeling lighter is worse. Dizzy, even.  

“And now someone obsessed with Viggo Grimborn keeps killing people.” Astrid makes the leap he’s glad not to be bold enough to and he sighs, resting his head on the wall of the tavern. It’s old brick, sturdy brick, the kind of brick that weathers things it shouldn’t have to. “Centered around you.”

The bass inside kicks up a notch and the ‘Happy Hour, 3-6’ sign to Hiccup’s left catches his eye when the wall vibrates like it shouldn’t.

“Did…did Heather renovate?”

“What?”

“These walls should be solid,” he grabs Astrid’s hand and presses it against the brick, “they shouldn’t move with bass like this unless someone drilled speakers into the walls. Hundred and fifty-year-old stone walls with some cheap Amazon speaker system crumbling the mortar…” He exhales, voice heavy and tired, “there was no building code, just organized chaos relying on intuition, and when you drill into that...”

“Do you trust me?” She asks, chin set stubbornly forward like no isn’t an answer, and it hurts that she doesn’t automatically know that.

“A frankly alarming amount.” His fingers curl around hers against the wall and she nods.

“Good, come on,” she grabs his wrist and drags him after her, explaining over her shoulder as she yanks him around the corner and through the pub’s front door, “we never finished our private tour.”

He freezes just inside, bending his knees to keep her from pulling him over. It works, barely, and she turns around, head cocking under a row of tee-shirts that say ‘Grimborn 1883-?’ in drippy, red lettering, hanging on a newly installed rack on a freshly whitewashed wall. “What’s wrong?”

“Look around,” he gestures with his free hand, “she painted—is that an Alexa? I was joking about the Amazon speakers—“

Astrid cuts him off with a palm pressed a little less than gently over his mouth and chin and she’s too close for him to be this desperate and floating. He bites his lip to keep from kissing her hand like an idiot or licking it so that she jerks back and he can complain about HGTV and how it’s destroying the city’s landmarks.

“You said you trusted me.” She doesn’t let go so he nods, “then let’s finish the tour.”

“Some of the rafters in here are probably American Chestnut, and they’re coated in enough latex paint to look like shiplap,” he says as soon as she takes her hand away, “it’s—“

“You said it was my tour,” she cuts him off, pointing at the side door, her hair bouncing on her shoulder with the motion, “I want to finish it.”

“You said if you knew it was your tour, you would have specified for me to wear the hat.”

“As much as I like the hat, you don’t need it.” She pulls him towards the side door again and he looks at the old wooden booths, buffed smooth and half re-finished. “Hiccup—“

“Just a second, ok?” He impulsively kisses her too casually on the forehead, stubble scraping over her temple, and stumbles with a right-footed hop up to the bar. He raps his knuckles on the newly smooth wood counter and the busboy looks up, startled that someone is interrupting him cleaning a tap, like that’s not an insult to the impoverished people who once depended on beer drippings for calories. “Do you have a pen? And a napkin?”

The busboy stutters something to the affirmative and hands Hiccup a napkin and a branded pen that he chews on for a second to think of his message before scrawling ‘Drilling through hundred fifty year old mortar to install smart speakers, very Orwellian of you’ and sliding the napkin back across the bar.

“Give this to Heather for me when she comes in, alright?”

“Who do I say it’s from?” The busboy frowns but tucks it into his apron anyway.

“Oh, she’ll know.” He pats the counter and turns around, walking with the only immediate purpose he has left to the side door of the bar where Astrid is waiting, thumbs tucked in her pockets, “so, finishing the tour?”

“Or starting a new one, either way,” she opens the door that he’s never opened in the daytime and a direct beam of sunshine streams through, cutting paint fumes the way it never could the tavern’s usual dust.

Hiccup steps outside and half-wonders where he is, because he’s definitely not standing in the creepy, ancient alley he’s started three tours a day in for the better part of five years.

The alley is idyllic in the early spring afternoon, cobblestones clean from what could be rain if he didn’t know about the crime scene cleanup. The usually weatherized lamp post is glimmering and the crowd of people gathering between quaint, ancient brick walls could be from a picture of the outskirts of a small European city just now being recognized by tourists.

Hiccup blinks twice, his eyes measuring automatic distances from the wall to the storm drain, facts about Mary Johnson flitting through his head.

He remembers the first time he saw this alley, at the end of his first Grimborn tour when he was lucky enough to be standing at the exact spot Mary Johnson was found, just how Astrid did on the tour she attempted when she was deciding whether to have him arrested or not. Both times, it was cold and damp and the alley had a foreboding cloud hovering above the ground Hiccup still sees blood when he looks at, and he struggles to put the two images together in his head.

This alley looks like it goes with the Ripped Tavern as it was, before Grimborn-ology got a hold of it. A place where people live, a street that gets them places.

“So, fourth site,” Astrid elbows a guy out of the way of the storm drain and stands on just the right spot, “what do you have to say about it?”

“Ok,” Hiccup rubs his hands together, trying to find his rhythm with the small but irritated group of people filtering past them and trying to stand on the drain with Astrid. Oh, not people, Grimborn tourists, a phrase which makes his stomach churn like he never thought possible. One jostles her and she glares, looking back at Hiccup to hurry up. “Right. Mary Johnson, the fourth site. She was a prostitute looking for—”

“I know that,” she cuts him off, “I know all about the investigation and her last bar tab and how her murder is what got Ryker off of the suspect list for good. I’m asking why you care about it.”

He snorts, “it was always quiet. Lonely almost, except not lonely, because under that light,” he points up at the incandescent bulb that so accurately mimics the gaslights of a hundred years ago in the dark and sees a slightly cheesy-looking, oversized eyesore, “it was like stepping into a bubble where everything was the same as it was when—”

“Are you doing a tour?” A woman in a sparkly new Ripped Tavern shirt interrupts him, jostling between him and Astrid. “I thought all the tours were at night, I wanted to do one, but with the murderer still on the loose…”

“It’s a private tour, actually,” Astrid turns to stand beside him.

“He’s doing a tour!” She calls out anyway and a plump older man with a well-loved copy of that idiotic Krogan book under his arm steps up beside her. “I told you I’d find a daytime tour.”

“Do you also do a nighttime tour?” The man asks, “I think I’d prefer it with the ambiance, but my wife is scared.”

“Usually, I do, but…” But Snotlout. But the murders. But the fact that somehow in the last few months, giving tours has turned from getting to talk about his favorite thing to deflecting insensitive people away from questions that make him check corners twice before turning around them.

“See? It’s not safe to be out at night,” the woman giggles, grabbing her probable husband’s arm and tilting the book under it to better show its cover.

There’s a silhouette of a man in a top hat, brandishing a long, wicked knife and sneaking up behind a buxom silhouette of a historically inaccurate prostitute at the end of a dark alley. Hiccup bets the dog-eared pages along the bulk of it, spaced into four conspicuous chunks, are about bodies he doesn’t ever want to describe again.

“The Krogan book,” Hiccup flicks the cover with one hand and grabs Astrid’s hand with the other, “not quality research, half the dates are wrong, and he doesn’t know the difference between a ritualistic Jewish slaughterhouse blade and a steak knife at the Outback steakhouse they tore down the old kosher slaughterhouse to build.”

“Well, I’m not paying to be insulted,” the man huffs, tapping on his book and opening his mouth to make a point Hiccup can’t bring himself to listen to.

“You’re not paying at all, because I’m not giving tours,” he clears his throat like he’s doing exactly that, getting most of the attention in the alley before continuing, “you know, the great miracle of the Viggo Grimborn case is that by documenting a volatile period a little better than normal—”

“Deputy Ryker’s documentation is shit,” someone else in the crowd tries to start another argument that Hiccup doesn’t care about.

“Just a second, I’m leaving, I just want to throw something out there for you all to think about.” He pauses and Astrid squeezes his hand, encouraging even though he doesn’t need it right now, “Maybe, if you all thought about Viggo Grimborn as a fascinating window to what life used to be like, instead of fixating on who died here and how disgusting it was, maybe, just maybe, someone wouldn’t be copying it now.”

“Let’s go,” Astrid tugs his arm, half jogging past the crowd of stupid book wavers and laughing when he stumbles after her. A couple people try and follow, yelling something about the tour leaving, and he pulls her sideways into the narrow alley he hasn’t used since the night he found Jennifer’s body by the storm drain.

Two turns to the right down familiar passageways that welcome them with a faint echo of footsteps and the cool relief of damp air and he feels like he can breathe again, maybe for the first time in weeks. Maybe longer.

He’d like to think that the tall brick walls were thanking him for defending their architectural honor, separate from blood. Really, it’s him thanking them for the quiet as he pauses at the next turn, pressing his hand to the solid, cool stone.

“I doubt that counts as the rest of a tour,” he lowers his voice when the first word echoes and Astrid shrugs, a tentative, almost smug smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

“It did what I wanted it to.”

“Which was?” He steps closer, just barely, cocking his head and pressing against the ghost of a boundary when his eyes dart to her lips.

“I have dealt with so many Grimborn-ologists in the last few months,” she pokes the center of his chest and looks so defiantly at him that he can’t help but lean in, “you’re not one.”

He stops short and frowns, “what?”

“You aren’t well-adjusted—”

“We’re doing this now, ok, odd choice, I thought you were trying to cheer me up—”

“I’m not,” she smiles, pressing her hand flat against his chest, “I’m trying to tell you the truth, which is that you aren’t one of those weirdos obsessed with Grimborn.”

“I’m confused as to how you came to that conclusion,” he shrugs, gesturing at the alleys around them, “considering how we met and half of what we talk about and where we are.”

“I deal with people trying to steal Grimborn artifacts from the archives every week, at least, more often lately. A Grimborn themed bar just painted over a hundred and seventy-year-old building, to make it more comfortable for tourists to take a watered down walk past places where people died horrible deaths. Someone so obsessed with Grimborn’s methods that they had to replicate them has been terrorizing the city for weeks and murder tourism has only gone up.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me,” Hiccup chews his lip and she sighs, shoving him gently away and crossing her arms.

“Exactly.” She shakes her head, “you have an interest, sure, but it’s like you just said, you’re interested in how people lived, not how they died. And learning that you got into Grimborn because of how much your dad loved this city…”

“So, I spend five years giving tours and you’re saying I’m a fake Grimborn geek boy?” He wants to be irritated just as much as he wants to laugh, but the result of the combination is too flat to echo even in the narrow alley. “At least my hat is an actual antique—"

“I’m saying there’s nothing cruel or destructive about the way that you learn things.” She says it like a compliment, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking importantly at him, like she can beam the meaning into his brain if she stares hard enough.

He doesn’t know how much gets through, but the fact that she means it this much makes his chest ache.

“We finished your tour, what now?” It’s either the exact wrong question or the right one because her expression softens to something like worry and she shrugs.

“I’m thinking I should probably go get my phone so that I can ask Fish if his spare room is still available,” she looks around, trying to see daylight at the mouth of one of the alleys, “how do we get out of here?”

“Here,” he gestures for her to follow him around the next corner, “why do you need Fishlegs’s spare room?”

“Because the twins couch is getting old really quick,” she squints as the sun pours into the mouth of the alley, pausing just before she trips on the low gate at the end.

“What’s wrong with your place? I thought you were pretty determined to fight off the serial killer onslaught with the home team advantage.” He stumbles slightly over the gate and catches himself on her shoulder, not that she seems to notice.

“I still haven’t been back after what happened to Snotlout,” she crosses her arms again but it’s more like she’s hugging herself than keeping him out. “I know I should feel better now that he’s obviously going to be ok, but—”

“He was sh—hurt at your place?” Hiccup feels himself go pale and Astrid’s eyebrows furrow, concerned and determined.

“No one told you.”

“I guess location wasn’t important when they didn’t know if he’d make it.”

“Hey,” she rubs his arm through his jacket, “he’s going to be fine though.”

“He was almost the fourth victim, wasn’t he?”

Astrid was right about Grimborn being destructive.

“But he wasn’t,” she assures him, “and now it’s over, the copycat has four murders under his belt—”

“But Snotlout isn’t dead—”

“How would they know that?” She trusts him to keep up with her logic and he doesn’t want to let her down, so he nods for her to continue. “The last thing they saw looked pretty dismal for him and the news hasn’t said anything about it.”

“It’s a break from method, it’s—all those other slum murders in eighteen-eighty-three that people try to put the Grimborn name on to make it a more gruesome story, we know it doesn’t fit because the injury profile was different—”

She kisses him to shut him up, hands on both of his cheeks when she pulls back, “the other sites are in alleys, even today. The first is in an inhabited apartment building that’s not in an awful part of town anymore, a drive-by was probably the most Grimborn thing they could pull off.”

“I don’t want you to stay with Fishlegs,” he tugs her hands away from his face and squeezes them in his. “He doesn’t like me, remember?”

“I don’t care, because I like you, and you have enough going on with Snotlout, you don’t need me in your hair.”

“You like me now, sure, but after a couple weeks with that moustache?” His lame teasing gets a barely there twitch of a smile before she nods to herself.

“I should still get my phone.”

He could let her go alone, he knows that, it’s the middle of the afternoon and there’s nothing dangerous about it. Especially because it’s Astrid, so she’s right, the murders are over.

She’s been good enough to tell him the hard truths though, and she deserves the same.

“I know I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving you a tour right now, but I think if you stopped telling me what to do, I’d be back at the hospital annoying Snotlout and feeling even more helpless than I do now.”

“Come with me,” she suggests but something about his expression stops her, “if I don’t want to see it, you probably really don’t.”

“I just had the Ripped back alley spoiled for me by sociopathic murder tourists, let me enjoy the ‘All Safe’ wall another day.”

“The ‘Al, I. Safe’ wall,” she corrects and he chooses to cement the image of her courtyard wall behind her, stealing his hat and correcting his tour because she couldn’t stand him thinking he was right when she thought he wasn’t, into his head. He doesn’t think it’ll do much against another pressure-washed, professionally, historically scrubbed patch of the ground, but it’s nice for now.

“Maybe you’re the Grimborn-ologist,” he teases, taking her hand and attempting a step towards his apartment, but she refuses to move her feet, one eyebrow raised. “I’m just saying, you’re awfully smug about a post-murder message.”

“A murder that I don’t even think was connected, by the way,” she insists as she starts walking beside him. The alleys aren’t much quicker than the main roads from here, and they’re close to Gruff’s anyway, so he stays on the main road, crossing the street one intersection early to avoid the alcove that Astrid doesn’t mention either.

“You’re still on that?” He nudges her side and she rolls her eyes, bumping her shoulder on his.

This should feel like taking Astrid back to his place for the first time, and it does, but the butterflies in his stomach are tired, more than tired. Suffering from insomnia, actually, because they absolutely didn’t get any rest while he slept on her lap.

She seems to doubt him for a second when he drops her hand and fishes his keys out of his pockets, taking a step back and looking up at the apartments with wide eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she watches the key easily turn in the lock before continuing, “this is just a nice place, for a guy who couldn’t afford frozen yogurt.”

“It was my dad’s,” he steps back to let her go first up the stairs, “it was paid off when I inherited it.”

“That explains it,” she smiles over her shoulder at him and he stumbles, catching himself on the handrail. They’re too close on the tiny landing as he unlocks the front door but it’s not close enough.

Of course, his phone rings right as he’s swinging the door open, still on full blaring volume from the hospital when he was worried he’d fall asleep in the waiting room when someone needed to reach him.

“Shit, sorry,” he frowns at the Caller ID as they step into the living room and vaguely recognizes the number.

“Who is it?” Astrid looks over his shoulder her face lights up with recognition, “oh, that’s Ruffnut.”

“Oh,” he swallows hard, wondering how much Astrid knows about the last time he saw Ruffnut, “I should get this but um, make yourself at home?”

Snotlout always sounds like an adult saying that to people he brings home, but Hiccup feels like he’s about to have to scramble for an adult to take the important phone call. But he is the adult, and for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he doesn’t want to run from that.

“Sure,” she nods, looking absently at the poster above the couch while he picks up the phone.

“Hey Ruff, what’s up?”

“Is Astrid there?”

“Uh, yeah, I didn’t realize she’d hired me as her secretary though, I definitely didn’t accept without seeing the benefits package.” He shrugs and Astrid holds out her hand for the phone, seemingly understanding what he’s hearing.

“I’ll negotiate for you if you hand the phone over,” Ruffnut sounds almost panicky enough to drown out the suggestion, “don’t worry, you’re in good hands, I know all her terms.”

“Is she asking for me?” Astrid reaches for his hand.

“Yeah,” he hands it over and Astrid holds it away from her ear for a second until Ruffnut is done with her evidently loud usual greeting. She listens for a second before sighing and sitting on the couch, hand over the receiving speaker for a second.

“Sorry, this might take a minute.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He sits on the other end of the couch to take off his shoes and watches out of the corner of his eye as Astrid does the same, punctuating Ruffnut’s chatter with a couple bored ‘uh-huh’ type sounds and rolling her eyes. She bites her lip when Ruffnut says something particularly objectionable and curls her feet underneath her on the couch, fingers of her free hand fiddling absently with the patch on the arm’s old leather.

The comfort he felt waking up in the hospital with Astrid and Snotlout’s gentle bickering above him hits again but harder, closer, purer without hospital antiseptic smells. He wants Astrid curled on his couch, mildly annoyed but flicking impossibly fond eyes at him when she catches him staring more than he’s ever wanted a Grimborn letter he practically bankrupted himself for. He barely stops himself from blurting that out as he jumps to his feet, hands curled into awkward fists at his sides.

“I’m going to go take that shower really quick, ok? Cool, see you in a minute.”

He shuts the bathroom door behind him and sighs, not entirely sure that wasn’t a worse thing to blurt.

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Chapter Forty-Six

I approached the door with hesitation. After all, it was the first time I've delivered a pizza before. But I thought it would be neat to try something new so when I spotted the pizza delivery guy park the car by the curb, I approached and asked if I could try delivering a pizza. So, that's that. Up some stairs above a convenience store (neat complex), right outside the apartment door.

Gee, I sure hope whoever ordered this pizza turns out to be nice. I've heard stories about how tough customer service could be.

Sure, those were my thoughts, but I already had a good idea who I would see.

Once the door opened, I stood face to face with someone I didn't expect to ever see again, even as I hoped I would.

“Blanc? Is that you? Didn't you die?”

“I thought you died!” Then I stopped and thought about it. “Oh! Right! Alternate universe!”

“Wait. What?”

“Yeah, I forgot. The Blanc of this world did die. But I'm not the Blanc you know! In fact,” I shuffled my feet. “I'm like a whole other person, and even then, I haven't been myself in a while!”

“No,” she shook her head and smiled. “No matter what form you take, you're still you.”

“Yeah! You're right!” I grinned.

Velvet rubbed her temples and looked frustrated. Poor thing. Time-travel and universe travel and all that jazz, it'd be enough to confuse anyone.

“Can you hold on just a sec?” She swiped the pizza box and went inside, closing the door behind her. While I waited, I decided to whistle a tune. Something about not worrying about a thing.

As I closed my eyes, I recalled all the things I saw on my travels.

Euphy, you've sure been hard at work.

Was I hallucinating? Did the steam from the shower get to my head?

Maybe it was a grief thing, and when I would come back outside, I would see some random stranger. It wasn't like I wanted them to be a stranger, I just didn't see how the alternative was possible.

“Here's your smelly pizza,” I set the box on the arm of the couch.

“What took so long?” Her voice sounded so zombie-like. “Trying to cheat them out of a tip or something?”

I shook my head. “No. I'll tell you in just a sec. I'm going to confirm something real quick.”

Butch looked up from her game. I could tell she was confused, too.

My eyes lit up when she emerged back out and closed the door behind her.

“So, you work pizza delivery?”

“Nah! I was just going on a walk and asked the delivery guy if I could give it a go!”

“I see.”

“Anyway, there's still so much I want to see while I still can, so, see ya!” I took a step toward the stairs, but then I looked back. “But it was really nice to see an old friend! It really made me happy!”

“Hey! Wait just a second!”

“Hm?” Didn't even make it one step down. Oh well. What was I planning on seeing, anyway? Wasn't like I made any sorta list.

“Is it really you? I mean, I know it can't be because I saw you die back in Area 51, but I'd like to believe it's you. I'm not used to someone I don't see for a while still being alive.”

“WHOA!” I couldn't contain my excitement. “This world's me went to Area 51? That's so cool! Aw, but I guess they're dead now, so I can't meet them.”

Velvet tilted her head. Oh golly-gee gosh! There's just no helping it, is there? Those kinds of things would always be just way too confusing for their own good.

I shook my head in response. “I'm sorry, Velvet. We were friends in my universe, too, but then you died. I ended up going through a bunch of crazy stuff, meeting some new people, and nearly dying a couple times in the process just to come back here in hopes that it would fix things.” My voice started to crack up. Guess even someone like me couldn't stay happy about everything. “Suffice to say, I'm not the one that you're familiar with. I've gone through so many changes, that I'm not even the same person I was a year ago.”

“H-How?”

I shrugged. “Time travel. I don't recommend it, by the way. It jumbles everything up.”

“So I'm just supposed to believe all this?”

Again, shrug time. “I mean, you could if you want. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.”

One step down the stair. However, I didn't break eye contact, and it looked like she was shaking. Even her face.

Oh my. This is what people call blubbering, isn't it?

“I told you, didn't I?” No. That wasn't the correct response, either? “I'm sorry, but I haven't been myself for a while now.”

Before I had a chance to figure something else to say to cheer her up, I was pushed back in an instant and had to act fast and hold on to the railing. Her arms were wrapped around me, squeezing tight, herself pressed against me in a hug.

“Even still...you're you,” her voice broke. It sounded like a whimper.

“Careful, sheesh. You almost knocked  me over. Then I would have fallen off these stairs and been dead for sure.”

“I missed you!”

“Oh, bother,” I tried to look away, or at least turn my head as best I could. “Do you have to squeeze so tight? Seriously, I forgot how strong you were.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine.” I leaned my head in and sighed. “This also makes me happy.”

We stayed like this for about a minute (was it a minute? I don't know. I didn't count. I could have, but I didn't think to. Now I regret not counting the seconds) before she broke away and wiped her face.

“What's with the pink streaks in your hair, by the way?”

“Oh!” I lit up again. What a fun subject that was! “Well, I was thinking of getting streaks in my hair and I couldn't decide between blonde or silver, so I went with pink.”

“I don't really see the connection.”

“You know Kirby?”

“Yeah, that funky lil dude.”

“Yeah! He's a real fat fuck! I got the idea from Kirby!”

“So...” she tilted her head in the direction of the door. “Y'wanna come in or should I say goodbye?”

“Sure! I didn't have anything planned, anyway!”

That Velvet, such an awesome lass! I'd be able to check out her new place! She could bring me back up to speed on everything in the world of Velvet.

She opened the door and announced. “Hey Butch! You'll never believe this! An old friend stopped by! And  they're alive!”

I poked my head in and saw someone on the couch look up, a displeased expression on their face. Short blue hair, small face...small all around, actually. Oh! I knew what those were called! They were pixies. Wait. No. That's not right. That was a human, and a girl. Oh! One of those raver chicks, probably! Or...

“Life sure is strange, hehe,” I commented.

“Yeah, you could say that again, Blanc.”

She, I think Velvet called her 'Birch', pointed in my direction. “Isn't that the person who you said you saw die in --”

“Yeah, it is. But they say they're from another dimension.”

Binch (look, the name would come to me sooner or later) gave a look like Velvet was crazy. Again, not like I could blame her.

“Well, Blanc? Aren't you gonna come in?” Velvet turned to ask me.

“Oh, right! That's a thing I do!” I spread one leg into the apartment and inched my way in. Then I scurried over next to the couch and sat on the floor. You could say I was curious about everything and wanted a good view.

“Ooh! Velvet! You have a girlfriend now! Congrats!”

She remained by the door. Her index finger on her cheek, making scratching motions. “Ehehe...about that...” Her gaze shifted from side to side. “I'm going to go get some snacks and something for dinner! Feel free to get to know each other.”

With that, she waved, then left.

That was when the fun would begin.

Why couldn't I just have a normal day?

Yeah, I already knew I didn't live in a normal world, but come on! Why did Velvet have to pick up some random person and bring them in here? Was this all a part of her “plan” or was she just trying to get to me?

I knew I wouldn't figure it out just by complaining, so I studied the creature that was looking up at me, all googly eyed.

“So I heard your name was Bunch!” They said.

“It's Butch.”

“Bush?”

“Fuck you. I said Butch!”

“Ah, I see, I see.”

They got up and I scanned their movements. Eventually, it seemed like I lost them, but then they came back into view, carrying a stool.

“Since when do we have a stool?”

“Beats me! I just found it here!”

“Grr...this place is a mess, anyway.”

They...Blanc. I could get a name right. It wasn't that hard. Blanc set down the stool in front of the couch, then swayed to and fro, smiling and tapping their legs.

“What is your deal?” I continued to study the creature.

“I just think it's fun to meet new people!”

I squinted my eyes. I could tell something was off. I just couldn't tell what.

“VELVET! GET BACK HERE! DON'T LEAVE ME WITH THIS THING!”

“I don't think she can hear you,” they pointed out.

“This must be one of her practical jokes, I'm sure of it.”

“You would not believe your eyes, if ten million butterflies,” they sang.

“What is your deal? And it's 'Fireflies'.”

“Yeah, but where I come from, it's 'Butterflies'.”

“Look here!” I pointed. “You may fool Velvet, but you don't fool me.”

“I'm not actually trying to fool anyone. I'm sure you're plenty smart.”

I growled. This...I couldn't say kid. They were clearly in their 20s, at least. They were really getting to be a nuisance fast.

“You can't just waltz in and claim to be Velvet's dead friend from another universe and expect a warm welcome. I'm betting you're not who you say you are. Something's fishy.”

The pointed to the pizza box. “I think it's your pizza. Anchovy?”

I opened the box and took a bite of one of the slices. Then, food in my mouth, I continued my interrogation.

“Let's say I believe you. How did you get here, then?”

“Ah! Coincidence! But also, a bit of time travel.”

“Time travel, eh? I'm not saying that's absurd, because I know the technology is out there, but the only ones with access to such technology is The Flashbulb.”

“Ah! So you know about them, too! Yeah, I took one of their thingies. Long story, really.”

My game's battery was going to drain the longer I ignored it, but I just had to get to the bottom of this. Before I could raise my next question, Blanc opened their mouth once more.

“I know how it must seem, but it's also crazy to me, since the Velvet in my universe died. Still, we were friends there, too!”

“Yeah, well My Velvet said you died. She was pretty upset about it, too.”

“Your Velvet?” They leaned forward and gasped, one hand on their chest and eyes all wide. “I knew it! You two are a couple!”

“Wrong.”

“Aw, well I think you'd two made a great couple.”

“Wasn't asking.”

“Hey!” They pointed at my Switch. “Is that the new Animal Crossing game?”

“Yeah,” I grunted. “Animal Crossing: Home Sweet Home. 'New Horizons' got old after a couple years.”

“I used to be into those game videos!” They beamed. “At least until I got here and decided to go traveling!”

“Okay. Also, nobody calls them 'game videos'. What are you, some kinda boomer? Some hippie?”

“No, but I hung out with some stoner aliens for a while!”

“Ah, the Beige.”

“You're aware of them?”

I shrugged. “Aware.”

“Anyway, I think it's fun sightseeing! It makes me happy!”

I grit my teeth. “Don't...don't use that word.”

“Aw, why not?”

“Don't you know what's been going on?!” I spat. “You can't just throw that around so casually!”

“Oh, right! End of the world! It's rather fun!”

“Fun? People are dying.”

“Oh. Was that not the right word? It's fun...ny? Yeah! It's rather funny what's all going on!”

“No! No it's not!”

Did Velvet just invite someone who's infected or something? Infected...was that the right word? Oh, fuck it. Why did I care what the right word was? What mattered was that there was someone staring at me who had no business doing so.

“How is it that Velvet just sees you and trusts you right away?”

“Beats me. Why, are you jealous?”

I crossed my arms. “Not at all. Couldn't care less.”

They smiled wide, such an uncanny smile.

“Not to worry, there's nothing romantic! I don't even like her that way! We're just good friends!”

“Like I care.”

I grabbed another slice of pizza.

“As far as I see it, any friend of Velvet is a friend of mine!”

“Just because you say you're Velvet's friend doesn't mean I consider you my friend.”

“That's okay, I'm used to that being the case at this point! I'm okay with that!”

“You shouldn't be. It's not healthy.” As if I was the paragon of healthy relationships. I decided I wasn't getting anywhere, but if this was some practical joke, I wanted no part of it.

“Let's make this easy for both of us,” I got up and went to my computer. After doing a fair bit of typing, I printed out a sheet of paper and returned to the couch. I handed Blanc a pen and the sheet of paper. “I made you a Questionnaire. If you pass, I will allow you to talk to me.”

“Okay! But I must warn you, I've never been a very good test-taker!”

“No talking.”

They started scribbling in answers and responses. At least it seemed I could have a few minutes of silence. I went back to my game, but as soon as I exited out of the menu screen, they started up again.

“Um, Butch, can you help me with this question?”

“No, and don't you know there's no talking during a test?”

After a few more minutes, they handed the test back to me. What I saw was just a drawing of a sunflower across the paper.

“What the...argh! Never mind! Who cares about a stupid test, anyway?” I crumpled the paper up and threw it behind me. Wherever it landed was of no concern to me.

I got up. There was no helping it. Enough was enough.

“I need a beer. Root beer. Beer of the root variety,” I walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and yelled. “DID YOU HEAR ME? I'M GETTING A ROOT BEER!”

I turned to this 'Blanc' thing. “She hates it when I take her root beer.”

“I doubt she's listening in,” they replied.

“Well, I wouldn't put it past her!”

I grabbed a root beer and popped open the can. Whoever was in the room with me was probably studying me. Probably to see how I would act or react. Maybe this was a test.

“Hey,” I faced Blanc. “You want one, too?”

“Sure!”

“Okay, but you'll have to catch,” I thought saying such a thing would throw them off, but they just said “Okay!” and I threw it. They raised an arm in the air and grabbed it, as if it was nothing.

Fine. But even then, they'll open it, and it'll explode all over the place.

They didn't, though. They just tilted the can from end to end, and smiled.

I walked back to the couch, root beer in hand, and sat down. “There, now don't say I never did anything nice for you.”

“I won't! I think you're a wonderful person!”

“Heh,” whatever that meant, I felt compelled to just nod along. “You're not so bad, yourself, I guess.”

“Aww, do you mean that?”

My face contorted to one of disgust. Ugh. Was not expecting that kind of response AT ALL. What was the deal with this unwarranted niceness?

“That,” I cautioned. “Is yet to be determined.”

Blanc opened the cap, though did so super slowly. Must've been cautious, after all. Whatever. I raised the can and took a sip, one eye open, so I could keep watch of the stranger who claimed to be Velvet's lost friend.

Nothing happened. Well, something did happen. The can opened. That was it. No fizz explosion, just an open can, and then a drink.

Where's the ka-boom? There's supposed to be an Earth shattering ka-boom?

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Wanna have a toast?”

“To what?”

I shrugged. “Beats me. How about a toast to being confused?”

They grinned. “Sure!”

We clanged our cans together.

Yes, I knew Butch would get suspicious. That much was certain. What wasn't was the situation. My head felt foggy, my brain empty. Or rather, the opposite: my brain was so full of thoughts that I couldn't sort a single one.

Is any of this real? Is it just wishful thinking on my part? Is this really something I would wish for? Will this make things easier or complicate things further? Is this some kind of sign that things will start to move forward? Is there any way to explain this? Could I be losing it? Have I already lost it and that's proof that I'm mentally incapable of dealing with this crisis and should just give up on everything and live out my last few days while I can?

Okay. That got dark fast. Not to mention, it wasn't like any of those questions could be answered so easily. So, the easier thing to do would just be to shrug and not worry about it so much.

What was I doing? Like, really doing?

“What am I doing? I'm sitting here, alone at a park in a city that's getting more and more empty by the day, while my friends are back at home. I should be with them.”

I decided to take a walk. Yeah, how exciting. As if I hadn't been taking a walk already, and I just stopped to sit down. That park wasn't very interesting; just some grass, some benches, a play structure or two for children.

Further down from the park, however, was a lake. Yes, a lake. Not a pond, not a creek. Rather interesting, that.

Once again, I sat, this time on the ground by the lake. There was a cool breeze, which would have been more fitting for springtime, not mid-winter. Then again, the weather seemed to be whatever it liked to be these days.

“Hm...what kind of thing makes a lake happy?”

Heh. What's gotten into me? Asking silly questions like that. Asking so many questions in general.

It's all your fault, Mephistopheles. This whole mess is.

I threw a rock into the water, but it did not skip. Never could get them to skip, and it looked like that wasn't about to change. I picked another one up, but the thought of the thing I called Mephistopheles back in the summer cropped back up. Blanc had said that was their friend. But then there was all those strange phenomenon when 'she' was around, not to mention what I later learned from Area 51's data files, and my eyes went wide.

“I wonder if Blanc ever knew just what their friend really was.”

How could they not? Unless they were just really oblivious. But then how does one 'befriend' some kind of shapeless horror? Maybe because it doesn't present itself as a horror. The only 'horror' are the things affected by it, not the thing itself.

But then, if Blanc could put two and two together, then why did I still see them die?

Unless they didn't.

No, pretty sure I knew what I saw. But I didn't think I could deny what I saw just an hour ago, either. Hmm...didn't Blanc say something when we left the pyramids about how they read about an alternate universe version of them, but then just figured they probably died.

Ugh! My head!

I threw another rock. That time it actually skipped. Amazed, I looked around and saw a chubby looking man and a lady with pigtails walking by. For whatever reason, seeing anyone at all made me smile. I didn't know how much time there was left, but it was good to know there were still some people around.

Pizza box by the couch, the pizza gone. Bye-bye in my stomach, right where it ought to be.

“I'm bored,” Blanc whined.

My arm slumped on the arm of the couch. “Hate to admit it, but same.”

What was there to do in such a messy apartment? Board games? Hell no! Off the table!

Usually, I'd just work on things at my desk, but it was a little hard to get work done or want to work when there was someone near me.

“I wanna draw! Or color! Or dance!” They exclaimed, continuing to sway on the stool.

“How old are you?”

“Ooh! That's fun, too! We can ask each other questions!” They started counting on their fingers. Their head shook a few times, then nodded, and kept counting. “I'm twenty-four! Or four!”

“Huh?” I sat up. Any sane human would ask 'how does that work?' but I knew better. “Are you like me?”

“Hmm?” They beamed. “I could be!”

“So you were twenty when you first went through, and it's been four years. You must have been one of the first.”

“Math is hard and makes me frowny! I don't do it!”

I ignored that. “I've only been alive for a few months. I think seven, so over half a year. Bad luck on my part, huh? Seeing as about half a year ago was when this thing started spreading.”

“It was going to be like this sooner or later,” they shrugged. “Honestly, it started over four years ago.”

“What? What do you mean?”

They shrugged. “That's when the elevator was unveiled in my hometown.”

“Ah! You were one of the first. Yes, back then, they were still testing and it was still new, so the methods were rather primitive. It was believed that the previous body should be disposed of when the copy was created, so they were cut up and thrown down a garbage chute.”

They nodded, already aware. “Yes, I remember that quite well.”

“Wait. How are you aware of all this? Most people don't know that they're copies of themselves.”

“I learned some things!”

“Mm-hmm,” I scowled. “Guess in vague terms, same with me.”

“That's funny! How was it for you?”

“Well, I worked at Area 51, and they had these weekly 'check-ups' where they did...something. I'm not sure what. I must have been a new person with the same identity countless times, all without realizing it.”

“But now you do!”

“Yeeaaah...” My voice trailed. “Wonder if it would have been better not knowing.”

“I think if you didn't want to know, you wouldn't know!”

That wasn't how things worked, but I didn't think I could argue. “Does Velvet know you're a...you?”

Blanc nodded with vigor.

“Bleh. She probably thinks we're some kinda freaks, huh? Not being our original selves, being this...creation. Great, just great. If there's one thing I hate, it's being pitied.”

“I'm sure she thinks of you as human!”

“Oh?” I sneered. “How can you be so sure? You don't even know me.”

They shrugged. “Does she treat you like you're not a person?”

Oh. So that's it. That was also something I hated. That I couldn't disagree.

“No, she does. I guess in her own weird way.”

“If you're a person, you're a person!”

“What about you?”

“I'm not all human!”

“WHAT?!”

They pointed to their arm and poked at it.

“What are you doing?”

“This isn't a human arm!”

In shock, I watched them pull at their skin and a chunk of flesh tore off. No, not flesh. It looked flappy, like flesh, but I started to understand when I saw what was underneath: metal.

“Are you an android? I knew it! You aren't the real Blanc!”

“Bwahaha! No, silly! It's a prosthetic! I lost my arm a while ago, but I lived and got a new one!”

“Don't scare me like that. So what? You're saying you're less human because you have a prosthetic limb?”

As if it were no big deal, they shrugged once again. “I think I'm human, but I also wouldn't mind if I wasn't, too!”

“You're weird.”

“Now I see! We're pretty similar!”

“Huh? Just because of the clone thing? Then you must be similar to the majority of the world, then, buddy.”

“Heh. I probably am! But also we're similar in other ways, too!”

“Like what? What could you possibly know about me?”

Finger on their chin, they tilted their head up and made a “hmm,” and then went “aha!”

“Do you miss working there?”

Ah, I remember I once asked Velvet that question. Well, I asked her if she missed sitting at a computer, working from afar. Funny, me using 'I' to refer to a past self. Must've been a Freudian slip or something.

“Not really,” I grunted. “I wasn't really even supposed to find out. They wanted me dead, since in their eyes, I shouldn't have existed as I am. Fair enough. That place is dead to me, anyway.”

“I see. Did you feel like you belonged when you were there?”

“I guess?” I shrugged. “That's not really something I think about.”

“I used to think I didn't belong anywhere, but then I met the Beige, and I think I fit right in with them!”

Really? What about friends? That didn't seem to make sense. None at all.

“Say, have you ever been to TJ Maxx?”

What a random question. Blanc sure loved to throw curveballs, no wonder they got along so well with Velvet.

“No?”

“Oh! What about Goodwill?”

“I know of it.”

“One time I went to Goodwill and I saw a disc for a thing called 'Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing'! I thought that was funny! I mean, how did a person fit inside a disc and why would anyone need to learn to type?”

No. No way.

“H-How do you know my old name?!” I leaned forward and demanded. “I knew it! Something is wrong here!”

“Oh? Did you make that software?”

“No! But! You know about me, don't you?”

Blanc laughed. “You're overthinking this!”

“No! No way! There is no way I'm overthinking this! When Velvet comes home, I'll expose you!”

“Expose me? Oh my...”

“No time for jokes. There's something you're not telling me.”

“That's true. But doesn't that go for everyone?”

“Fine,” I huffed. “Maybe it's a coincidence.”

They giggled. “So your folks wanted you dead, huh?”

Back on the previous topic, I see.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“It was the same for me. Etna told me I was a mistake and shouldn't exist.”

Ah, so that's what they meant by being similar. Well, shit. Now I felt like the asshole.

“Does it bother you? Do you think of yourself as a mistake?”

“I don't mind being a mistake! If I am, that just means I've been blessed to see all that I have!”

“Say, do you still have any root beer left in your can?”

“Nope!”

“Wanna have a toast, anyway?”

“Sure!”

We clashed cans once again. “Here's to being mistakes.”

Silence set, and we both sighed. Now it was back to boredom, it seemed.

“Sheesh, when's Velvet coming back? How long does it take to get food, anyway?”

“I think it's cool that there's a convenience store downstairs!”

“Yeah, but most of the food's emptied or expired.”

“Is that so? Can I go down and check?”

“Go for it. I could probably use the few minutes of alone time, anyway.”

So down they went. Even as they made their way out of the apartment, they looked so giddy. It was rather unsettling to see, but it shouldn't have been. That was just the world I lived in; all the 'infected' I had seen were so manic, that I felt the need to be on guard.

No sooner did I get back in the apartment and sit at the couch next to Butch (See? Told ya I'd get the name right) that the door opened back up and Velvet entered.

“Hey guys, did ya two get along?”

“What do you think?” Butch grumbled.

Velvet didn't seem to like that answer. “Please tell me you weren't too harsh.”

“We got along just fine, sheesh.”

“Oh!” She seemed surprised by this. “Good! That's...quite good, actually.”

She walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Her head tilted, then she closed the fridge door.

“That's weird. I could've sworn I had more root beer than that.”

“Blanc took it!” Butch accused me. I just smiled.

“I was thirsty!”

Velvet opened the fridge again and counted. “It looks like there's two missing.”

“I was really thirsty and Butch said to help myself, so I took two!”

She shook her head and sighed. “That's fine, though I wish you had waited 'til I got home. Oh well.”

Instead of another root beer, Velvet grabbed a can of grape soda and noticed the stool. She walked over and sat down, her eyes on Butch and I.

“What? Grape soda? Since when is that your thing?”

“Never mind that,” Velvet's gaze shifted between Butch and I. “There's something I'd like to discuss.”

“For real? We've been talking this whole time while you were gone!” Butch argued with her gruff voice.

“It's important to me.”

“Fine,” she folded her arms, still scowling. “But I'm finding a chair and sitting next to you.”

“Uh, sure? Suit yourself. Say, Blanc, are you hungry?”

“I have fruit snacks!” I replied, pulling out a large bag behind me.

“What?”

“Don't worry, I have enough to share with everyone!”

Butch walked around and found a fold out chair, which she did just what a fold chair does. To the left of Velvet was where the chair was positioned, and they both looked at me in a way which made me feel like I was on trial. Mind you, a fun trial, the one I wouldn't mind what the verdict was, but a trial, nonetheless.

“Now, you know me, I'm not one to keep secrets,” Velvet began in earnest. “So I'll just come out with it.”

“HA! Keeping secrets is ALL you're known for!” Butch cackled and slapped her knee for good measure.

“Shush, I'm trying to have a serious moment here.”

“Fine, then! Out with it!”

“Blanc,” she faced me again. “I'm calling you that because I want to believe it's really you. But I'll be honest, and no matter how many times you tell me, it's hard to believe that you're from another universe or something. So, please don't blame me if I'm a little unsure what to think of all this.”

“Unsure? Try suspicious! You could have just doomed us both, you know? This person could be infected!”

Oh boy. Well, Velvet still knew it was me, I could already tell. I wasn't really sure what all this was for, but that didn't mean I wasn't unhappy about it.

“Now, now. Do you really think I would do that? Not only bring potential harm to us, but also someone innocent? If this Blanc is anything like the one that I knew, they were only in that elevator once. So there was no build up, and probably the smallest amount of that thing in them.”

“I can understand the concern,” I raised my hand. “After all, I may be the most affected.”

Velvet's concern grew. Her face told me all I needed to know.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I'm sure you know already, right? While it's true the more times you've been...what's the word...recycled? No, that doesn't sound right...hm...”

“How about 'reborn'?”

“Sure!” Okay, back to train of thought. “The more times you've been reborn, the more of the thing you'll have in your system in a shorter amount of time, and probably the highest chance you have of losing yourself and affecting others around you.” It sucked having to refer to Euphy as 'the thing' but I'm sure she didn't mind. What sucked even more was explaining something they already knew. Like a lecture I didn't need to give. Regardless, I continued.

“So while that's true, and I, having only done so once, you'd think 'cool! They're safe!' But really, I was one of the first, and the kind of thing us clones have in our system isn't just any old antidepressant, as you also already know, and it will still build up over time.”

“So what you're saying is...what?”

“Four years can be a long time to gestate!”

Her eyes widened and she was taken aback, her arms also tucked at her chest as if she was trying to protect herself.

“I'm sure most of the first folks who took those rides must've gone through so many times that they're already dead for good! But I on the other hand, am here, not dead! Though I must say, I've had quite a few close calls!”

“Should we be worried, then?”

“Why worry? It's not the end of the world just because the world is ending,” I shrugged.

“I think that's exactly what it is...”

“Oh yeah, huh? So it's really happening. Funny when you think about it. The world ending because people are feeling too good. Rather ironic, don't you think?”

“I guess when you put it that way, it is kinda funny,” Butch snorted. “And here I was talking about how this is no laughing matter earlier.”

“You gotta laugh a little to stay sane!” I added.

“P'fft. Like any of us three are sane.”

“Good point! Say, Velvet, your girlfriend's really smart!”

“We're not girlfriends,” Butch growled.

“Yeah, about that. Glad you brought that up, actually. See, we thought about it, but in the end, we agreed it was for the best that we weren't a couple,” Velvet explained. Butch nodded along.

“So in the end,” Velvet added. “We're just roommates. Roommates who do romantic things together and have lots and lots of sex.”

Right after Velvet said that, Butch looked down like she was trying to hide her face and clutched her jeans.

“Um, I think she's malfunctioning?” I pointed to her.

“Oh, that? She just gets flustered easily. I wouldn't worry about it!”

Butch's face seemed to grow red (from what I could see of it, and I imagined steam rising to the top of her head.

“Hehe, I see you're just as weird as ever, Velvet!”

“I'm not weird, I'm just open.”

“THAT IS WEIRD!” Butch just exploded. Well, okay, not really, but she spat out her words all at once and her face looked redder than a tomato. Like blood! “THOSE ARE PRIVATE MATTERS! YOU DON'T JUST GO BLABBING THESE KINDS OF THINGS TO PEOPLE!”

“Ow, my ears,” Velvet scratched the side of her head. “I think you got some spit on me, too!”

Butch crossed her arms. “You deserve it.”

“I'll respect your wishes, though. I'll try not to embarrass you so much.”

“It's not just me you should worry about embarrassing, but thanks.”

“...Even though it is fun to watch you get flustered.”

“Hey!”

Heh, maybe if those two kept things up, I could be off the hook and we could just have dinner or watch a movie or play some games instead. But before I could get my hopes up, Velvet turned back to me.

“Is there anything you could say that would assuage our worries?”

“Hm....” Think, Blanc. Think and be honest! “Well, I don't usually yell much.”

“That's it?”

“Think about it: all those people you see who are affected, they tend to yell, and it's like they're out of control. Y'know, be real loud, just like how Butch was just now.”

“Hey!” You-know-who didn't like that I called her out.

“Which isn't to say that won't happen, but it's more likely to happen with those who experience something so distressing that the thing inside of them reacts and tries to make them go manic in a way to counteract whatever's overwhelming the person. That's how this planet is in the state it's in, anyway. Someone must have had a really bad day, and that's a no-no when you're supposed to feel really good.”

Butch once again looked down, but it didn't strike me as the same reason as before. Rather than her face being red, she shook, and it looked like she was about to cry. I wanted to ask Velvet if there was something wrong, but I got sidetracked by what Velvet asked me, instead.

“You mean to say that one person could have been the start of all this?” Velvet gasped.

“Eh,” I shrugged. “I mean, I don't wanna say for sure, because then it would sound like 'one person can make all the difference' and that's too inspirational for my taste.”

“Oh yeah. You're Blanc alright. That's something I know Blanc would say.”

“Is it now?” That was quite interesting. “Now that you mention it, I don't mind being a little inspiring.”

“Now that's what I like to hear!” Velvet held a certain fire in her eyes, an excitement that I had been waiting to see. “Butch, can I tell them?”

“What?” She was still a little misty-eyed but I didn't notice anything unusual. “Why do you need my permission? You're an adult.”

“I want you to have a say in this conversation.”

“Fine. If you want my advice, I'd say no. For all we know, they could be a Flashbulb member. Think about it: the only way to travel to another universe is through The Flashbulb.”

“Wait, really? Is that true?” Velvet faced me once more. “Is that true?”

I shrugged. “Probably. I mean, I did steal one of their time travel devices and I probably wouldn't have been able to do half the things I did had I not.”

“Wait. Really? You did that?”

“Yeah! How do you think I lost my arm?”

I could tell Velvet was even more confused, even though Butch knew what was up.

“I'll tell you later,” Butch whispered to her. Lucky for me, my hearing was pretty decent, so eavesdropping was a cinch.

“So if you did that, does that mean you were at their headquarters?” Velvet pressed on.

“What? Like it's hard?” Oh shit. That could have given them the wrong impression. Time to dial it back. “Well, maybe it's a little hard, seeing as I lost it when I came here.”

“Damn! Right when I thought we might be onto something!”

“May I ask why you're interested?” I asked while shoveling a handful of fruit gushers in my mouth.

“We want to save the world,” Velvet declared. “It was The Flashbulb's meddling with things that brought us here, and if I can make it to their headquarters, I'm sure there's a way to fix this!”

“Ooh!” I leaned in. “I'll be cheering you on, then!”

“Thank you.”

“That's quite a bold goal, though. Are you sure you're up for it?”

Velvet gulped.

“Yes. Yes I am. I think if you asked the old me, she would have said no. That she'd find a way to escape Earth, instead, and leave everyone behind. Later, she would regret it, being alone, and not doing anything, and she would have gone mad until she too died.”

“Interesting...and you're different now?”

“I would like to think so. I think it was the bond you and Conrad had that made me realize that.”

“What? Really? But I don't really have much of an opinion of him.”

“Well, the one that I knew. Even though he would have denied it, seeing as he saw you differently than the one that he knew before, he still thought of the Blanc I got to know as important, and I don't regret saving them and taking them with us when we escaped to Egypt on my ship.”

“You know, that was me, too. The timelines only diverged three years after being with the Beige.��

“Oh. Right.”

Still, I never thought Conrad was the type to think of me as 'important'. What did that even mean?

“Then, as I got to know you, or, the you that I knew, I grew to find them important to me as well. I didn't think I would have, though, and I think that's where I went wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I left them behind so I could go to Area 51, I thought they would be safe on their own, but for some reason or another, I later saw them in the facility, lying down and lifeless. It devastated me and I never thought I would come across them there, especially like that, but I did.”

“They were probably worried about you,” I suggested.

“I wish I had told them that I would be fine!” She sounded choked up. Oh no, that wasn't good. “Even if it wasn't true, I wish I had done something so they wouldn't have felt the need to risk their life! I don't even know if there was something I could have done, but I never wanted them to die for me!”

That hit me worse than I wanted it to. While I knew I wouldn't burst like so many people, I still worried what kind of emotions she might stir in me.

“It couldn't have been that bad. I mean, they probably figured your life was more important than theirs. So it all worked out, right?”

“N-No! Because their life wasn't any less important than mine was! I lost a friend and I can't help thinking that I didn't have to.”

Friend?

I burst into laughter. “But that Blanc was boring! What could've been so special about 'em? They were so ordinary!”

She shook her head, for some reason, smiling, as well. When she opened her eyes, however, she looked no less serious.

“Doesn't matter. They were important to me. Just as you are.”

“Me?” I pointed to myself.

“Yes, you too. You consider me your friend, don't you?”

“Yeah...” I sighed. “I mean, that's why I was so excited to see you earlier. But that doesn't mean you consider me your friend, does it?”

“Of course I think of you as a friend,” she tilted her head all concerned. “Did you ever doubt that?”

“Maybe!” I put on a good grin. “Hard to say! But it feels good to hear it now!”

“Sorry if that wasn't clear before.”

“That's okay! You told me now!”

“Yes, but do you believe it?”

I gulped. “I think I will! I believe you mean it!”

She sighed. I thought of sighing as well. It was a lot, a lot more than I was expecting to deal with.

“Well, regardless, I think I realized that it's probably that way with a lot of people. I mean, someone's got someone that's important to them, and in that respect, it really grinds my gears what's going on. All these lives lost, and I get it, people die, but all of this could have been avoided. We've already lost so many people, but I want to believe that the world can be saved, no, restored even! Even if not, I want to at least try!”

“What is this, The Help?” Butch scoffed. “'You is important'? Really?”

“Okay, first off, that's rude,” Velvet shot back. “Second, you're important to me, too. You and Blanc both are.”

Butch crossed her arms. “Like I care whether or not you care.”

“Hey, just for that, no sex tonight!”

“What?!” She spat. “You can't do that!”

“Threatening to withhold affection...isn't that considered abuse?” I wondered.

“Yeah! What Blanc said! Besides, I'm always the one taking the initiative!”

Velvet brushed it off. “P'ssh. It's fine. I was only joking.”

I really didn't understand what the deal was about that, but if it mattered to them, I suppose it was worth a quarrel. Gosh, relationships sure are weird. Did people really make a fuss about such things?

Three more days. After that night, there would be three days left to figure things out. Oh, sure, the world may have still been around after, but that was the self-imposed deadline. Really, I would have said four more days, but Butch did say “make it four” when I said I'd figure something out in five days. So that's how it would be.

Since the day before at the restaurant didn't go as planned, I decided I would make it up to Butch by making spaghetti and meatballs. Blanc wanted french toast and gummy worms, instead, which I was not about to argue about that. This was a night to celebrate, and celebrate we would.

“Say, Blanc, do you wanna stick around?” I brought up during dinner.

“Sure! I'll follow you guys 'til the world ends.”

“That's not that impressive considering that the world's literally ending,” Butch scoffed.

“So that means you'll stay the night?” I asked.

“Yeah! That sounds like fun!”

“Great! Though hope you don't mind the couch,” I turned to my roommate/not-girlfriend. “That means you and I will be in bed tonight.”

“Uh, duh? That's where people sleep.”

It was only a couple hours later, after doing some dishes, that Butch passed out. On the couch, no less. God damn, I should've seen it coming, but I still let it happen anyway.

“Looks like I'll have to pick her up again,” I sighed. Wasn't looking forward to that one bit. Just because I could carry her, didn't mean I always wanted to. She wasn't a baby. She knew where the bed was. Then again, when she fell asleep, it was kind of baby-like...

“Don't worry, Velvet,” Blanc placed a hand on their chest. “I will make the sacrifice and sleep in your guys' bed, that way you can share the couch with her.”

Somehow that didn't sound like much of a sacrifice to me, but I was too tired to really employ any sort of logic.

“Sure, I mean, she is cute...” My eyes drifted toward her. Why, I didn't know. Just a part of my body betraying me, I suppose. “Even though I said we would be taking the bed, I don't want to have to move her...”

“See?” Blanc grinned. “It all works out!”

“Fine!” I scowled. “But you gotta do something for me in return. Deal?”

“Deal!”

We stood by each other for just a sec before I finally got on with it.

“I want to confide something. It's...about her. Here, let's talk about this in the bedroom. I'm afraid of waking her.”

“Shouldn't she be included?” Blanc tilted their head.

“Usually, yes. It's just that I don't want to make her uncomfortable. Like, actually uncomfortable.”

“Ah, how noble of you. The great and chivalrous Velvet! I love it!”

“Hey! Cut that out! I'm like none of those things!”

“Not even 'Velvet'?”

“Okay, I'm one of those things!”

I cupped my hands over my mouth. Next to me was the couch, and on that couch was you-know-who, who moved a little in her sleep.

“Crap...” I whispered. I waited to see if she would wake up, but she didn't. After I was convinced she was still asleep, I turned back to Blanc. “Okay, come on. You made a deal.”

We walked over to the bedroom, Blanc closing the door behind them. I sat at the edge of the bed.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Sure, I'll listen. But I can't promise I'll be paying attention.”

“Then what's the...oh, never mind!” I gave a slight laugh, though it wasn't my usual rolling on the floor laughter. Seemed false, hollow.

“Here's the deal,” I began. “About the whole girlfriend thing between Butch and I. I'm pretty sure we both want to, or would like to, or at least I would. Trust me, I'd love nothing more to have a girlfriend, and she does mean a lot to me.”

“So what is it, then? Is it just 'cause her denial over liking you? If that's the case, seems silly to me. The writing on the wall is so obvious I don't know how you could miss it!”

I shook my head. “No, that's not it. I wasn't lying when we agreed it was for the best that we didn't.”

“Don't worry! I didn't think you were!”

“It's just...there's something about her that makes it a little hard.”

“Aw, but nobody's perfect. Everyone's got their flaws.”

“Except me!” I declared in a bout of unseriousness. “My fatal flaw is that I'm flawless. If I was a character in a story, I'd be boring because of how perfect I am!”

“Honest as ever, I see.”

I huffed. “Can't get nothin' past you, can I?”

“You are plenty great, though, so I don't blame you for trying.”

“Thanks, but flattery won't get you more candy.”

“Was worth a try.”

“Anyway, no. Her thing isn't a matter of flaws. I can deal with flaws. I can even deal with her, most of the time.”

“Then what is it?”

“You already know, don't you?”

“I could take a guess, but that wouldn't be very fun!”

“She's one of those folks you mentioned. You know, has that syndrome, or virus, or whatever you want to call it that makes people act out in such manic ways that become so destructive that it kills them and turns them into a threat to everything around them.”

“But she's still around, so that's a good thing, right?”

“It should be. She's had moments, where just like you said, she gets distressed, or worked up, and then she does whatever she thinks would make her happiest, which usually involve something violent. Each time, I've managed to bring her down and back to normal, but I'm just afraid.”

“Afraid of her?”

“No. Even when she's like that, I've dealt with much scarier things. I'm just afraid that one day she'll get like that again and I won't be able to save her.”

“That's interesting!”

“What is?”

“If you're able to do that now, that must mean you make her happier than whatever other compulsion she might have at the time!”

“Heh. Maybe. I'm just worried I'm going to lose her sooner or later.”

“You said you've managed to bring her down from it before, right?”

“Yes. After the first time, she told me she was cured and over it, and I believed her, but it happened other times after. I was just glad she managed to come back to her usual self.”

“There's nothing to worry about, then!”

“Uh...Yes there is?” Unless I was missing something.

“Sounds like a guardian angel listened to you a while back ago.”

That struck me. Memories of back when I escaped the facility rushed back to me.

“What do you mean by that?”

They shrugged. “Whatever you'd like it to mean, I suppose.”

Rather than hold any suspicion, I just shrugged my shoulders and got up. “Well, thank you for listening to me tonight.” I headed toward the door and made my way out, turning out the light on my way.

“Goodnight, Blanc.”

They just sat, having taken my place at the edge of the bed, and smiled.

Every room in the apartment turned dark as all lights went out. While true that I wanted to sleep on the couch with her, I opted instead to sleep on the floor. She was already asleep. I didn't want to wake her trying to squeeze in to find some room on the couch for me.

It was hard to tell whether or not I'd get any sleep, but that didn't seem to matter much to me. My only hope was that everything would come together soon.

[our-smooty]

You Wanna Ride My Bike Chapter 2

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: HanniStu

Tags: Flirting, HanniStu, Cuteness, a little violence, reckless driving, first kiss, first date, size kink

Summary: He was wearing a button-down shirt. That alone should have been enough to signal the anxiety and trepidation running through him.“Noodle!” he called over his shoulder and out his bedroom door. He hoped she was still around because he just couldn’t get these buttons done and he couldn’t just wear the t-shirt he had on underneath. Not for their first date.

Chapter 1

He was wearing a button-down shirt. That alone should have been enough to signal the anxiety and trepidation running through him.

“Noodle!” he called over his shoulder and out his bedroom door. He hoped she was still around because he just couldn’t get these buttons done and he couldn’t just wear the t-shirt he had on underneath. Not for their first date.

“I already told you that shirt is fine D,” the teenager sighed, her head popping around the corner. Stu spun around, his hands worrying the fabric of the button-down and wrinkling it.

“It’s not that, I can’t get th’buttons righ’,” he whimpered, looking completely pitiful. He knew Noodle would take pity on him and do them for him if he fussed enough. As expected she rolled her eyes but helped him, going the extra mile and smoothing out the wrinkles.

“Are you sure this is a good idea 2D? If Murdoc finds out…” He’d confided in her the same night Hannibal had asked him out over text. Since that initial meeting, they hadn’t seen each other but the older was surprisingly open to texting, and--much to Stu’s pleasure and embarrassment--late-night phone calls. The singer felt like he was back in high school.

“No, but I’m gonna do it anyway,” he answered with a big, dumb smile on his face. “Besides, it migh’ be kinda funny if he does. Can you imagine how pissed he’d be?”

“Yes,” Noodle said darkly. 2D didn’t let it bother him though, because for once, he thought things might be turning out his way.

“Don’t worry about, ok poppet? If he asks where I am jus’ tell him I went to my parent’s or somthin’.” Noodle nodded, a small, sad smile on her face. She straightened his collar one last time, wished him well, and left the room, leaving Stu alone in the mirror again.

“I look… good,” he tried, straightening up his back and look cockily into the mirror. Remembering back to the girls he’d met when the band was on break and how’d he’d charmed them, he smiled. “You can do this!”

-

He couldn’t do this.

It was a bit of a drive to Stoke, and Stu was a little rusty since Murdoc had stolen the wheels off his car for the Winne for the last three months, but it was kind of like riding a bike. Only the bike was a few tonnes of metal screaming down the highway surrounded by similarly dangerous machines on all sides. By the time he got to the house, his teeth were chattering with anxiety and his nails dug into the leather of the steering wheel.

He didn’t even get a second to himself, because as soon as he pulled up he saw Hannibal in the drive, working on his bike. With no shirt. He really couldn’t do this. But he was already putting the car into park and getting out, his feet taking him up the driveway automatically.

“H-hey!” Oh God he really should have cleared his throat in the car before trying to speak because what came out was garbled and squeaky. Colour began to gather in his cheeks and Noodle was right, this had been a bad idea.

Hannibal set down the cloth he was using to wipe the bike’s tires and stood. Somehow, 2D had forgotten just how tall he was. “Hey Stu, guess I lost track of time. Why don’t you come in while I get cleaned up and then we can go?”

2D scratched the back of his head awkwardly but nodded. “I migh’ be early, my sense of time is terrible.”

As they walked to the door Hannibal checked his watch. It was an old, tarnished thing that didn’t really suit him. “Nah, you’re right on time. I can get kinda lost in my projects.”

“It’s fine!” Was his voice always this pitchy? “I don’t mind waitin’ for a bit.”

Hannibal led them to the kitchen, which looked about the same as the last time he’d been there. “Good. Give me 20 minutes. And help yourself to anythin’.” With that Hannibal left him alone, and 2D could finally breathe.

Their entire exchange had been awkward because of the singer. He’d been so much more confident on the phone and through text. But in person, he kept getting all jittery and dumb. He hoped Hannibal wasn’t too disappointed, that he wouldn’t get mad that 2D was different in person. Though he didn’t seem like the type to get pissed, he was related to Murdoc. Just because he was charming didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

20 minutes passed slowly. 2D got a glass of water and poked around a few cabinets. No serial killer knives, or dead bodies in the fridge. He fiddled around on his phone but the signal was terrible, so he ended up faffing about with some matching game. Boredom began to set in and he began to tap his feet against the floor to the beat of some of their new songs. Then he started to hum. By the time Hannibal came back Stu was so wrapped up in humming old and new clips of songs, he was far beyond hearing the other man enter.

“You do have a nice set of pipes on you dontcha?” Hannibal said. 2D startled badly, his voice cutting off with a wheeze and his hands flailing up. It wasn’t like Stu was shy about singing but to have the guy he was supposed to be going on a date with listening to him singing like that? His face couldn’t get any redder.

“I--do you wanna go?” Stu asked after much stuttering. Luckily Hannibal didn’t seem to have Murdoc’s impatient streak, and he waited silently until the singer got the question out.

“Yeah, it’s another hour from here and we’re already late ‘cause of me. D’you wanna take your car or the bike?” He truly seemed to want 2D’s opinion, which was a little off-putting. At least he knew his answer easily.

“Uh, the bike? I’m not really much for drivin’...” Honestly, it had given him a little bit of a headache. Not the type that would have him curl up in a dark room, but it was enough to make his eyes squint. He’d deal with Hannibal’s crazy driving if it meant he didn’t have to actually drive.

“I was hoping you’d say that, actually.” Hannibal grinned, sharp and a little hungry. That smile did things to 2D, both in his chest and his trousers. He was in deep. “You think you can handle a whole hour?”

A whole hour wrapped around those muscles? Stu could think of nothing better. “I think so, uh, should I be worried?”

Hannibal shook his head and laughed, his wet hair dripping onto his grey t-shirt. “No, you’ll be fine Stu. Jus’ hold on tight yeah?”

2D tried not to combust as he followed the other back outside. Were those leather pants? He suddenly felt like he wasn’t dressed appropriately in his button-down and jeans. “Where are we goin’? You never did say.”

“The weather’s been nice,” Hannibal explained, straddling the bike, “and I thought we could go up to the South Pier in Blackpool. Hope you like carnivals.”

Stu’s face lit up. “I love carnivals! Used to work the dodge-ems at my dad's back in high school,” he gushed, clambering up on the back and wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s waist. Oof, he had abs.

“Well isn’t that lucky. Jus’ shout if you need anything.” Hannibal grinned again and they were off, tearing down the road towards the M6.

Honestly, it wasn’t so bad after the first few hair-raising turns. Hannibal didn’t weave in and out of traffic too much, and he only went kind-of over the speed limit. Going so fast, rushing around other people, it was all a little bit exciting.

After an hour and a bit, in which Stu tried to focus on the scenery and not the vibrations of the seat under him and the strong back at his front, they arrived. He hadn’t been to Blackpool in years, not since he was a teen. It was busy and crowded but none of that mattered as they were zooming down the street. Hannibal seemed to know where he was going, and quite quickly Stu could smell the ocean air and hear the seagulls. The bike slowed to a meandering pace before they parked in a spot 2D wasn’t sure was actually a parking spot but oh well.

“Well, here we are,” Hannibal said, getting off the bike with practised ease. He immediately turned around and offered a hand to 2D, probably remember what a klutz the singer was.

“T-thanks,” Stu stuttered, feeling his cheeks go warm. Hannibal was acting the perfect gentleman, but something still told him to be wary. There was a desire behind those brown eyes, something darker. It made the singer shudder.

“Don’t want you busting up your pretty face now do we?” Hannibal teased, not letting go of his hand. “I thought we could walk around, cause some havoc, you know.”

The hand holding was making Stu want to titter like a schoolboy. It had been quite some time since someone took the lead on a date with him. Being famous led people to have… certain assumptions about him a lot of the time.

“I could show you how t’cheat at the cup and ball booth,” 2D offered with a grin of his own. He knew all the tricks of the trade from the people who worked his dad’s carnival.

“Oh well, I’d love to see that. Lead on then.” Hannibal gestured forward and let 2D lead them towards the pier. It was a weird feeling, his hand being dwarfed by another but not one Stuart hated. He pulled them through the crowds--which parted easily for the two extremely tall and strange-looking men--towards the games with laser-like precision.

They spent hours mucking around and generally frustrating the carnies. Stu showed Hannibal how to cheat at quite a few of the games and net them an impressive array of colourfull necklaces, free cotton candy, and small stuffed animals. It turned out they worked quite well together as a team, what with 2D’s knowledge and Hannibal’s good aim. Not to mention, the larger man’s willingness to listen to Stu ramble about whatever came to his mind between stalls.

“--and that’s how Murdoc knocked out both of m’eyes and made me into the frontman for Gorillaz.” He’d been talking for at least 15 minutes while they searched around for some food that wasn’t meat (for Stu) and wasn’t drenched in oil (for Hannibal).

“Yeah that sounds like Doc. He really just rammed into your head with his car twice?” The taller adjusted his grip on the ugly blue teddybear 2D had won. “I mean, he didn’t learn after the first time?”

“Guess not. And to be fair the second time I went through the windscreen and it was the pavement that did the trick.” Stu shrugged. He’d told the story so many times it didn’t really affect him much despite it being one of the most important events in his life.

“Jesus,” Hannibal huffed. He gave Stu’s hand a little squeeze as he led them towards some promising food stalls. “Remind me to break his stupid nose again next time I see him yeah?”

“Russel already took care of that, but I won’t say no…” It was nice thinking Hannibal was upset for him. Most people laughed it off or chalked it up to one of Murdoc’s crazy adventures. “Hey are those pretzels?”

The lineup for the salty dough snacks was short and soon they both had another thing to balance along with their other spoils. 2D watched as Hannibal tried to figure out how to hold the plush, food, and his hand all at the same time with a small smile.

“Why don’t we go find a table?” Stu asked. Hannibal nodded, looking relieved and they wandered over to one of the nearby picnic benches to dump their stuff. Sitting down meant they had to finally let go of each other's hands, which wasn’t the worst thing as Stu was beginning to worry about his sweaty palms.

“So,” Hannibal started through a mouthful of pretzel, “tell me somethin’ about yourself that’s not all that crazy Hollywood shit.”

“Uhh, like what?”

‘What’d you wanna be when you were a kid?” Stu had to think really hard for a minute, so hard that he didn’t notice Hannibal watching him with that look again.

“I think I wanted t’be a policeman for a little while, ‘cause I liked their hats. But then I found out you had to pass a bunch of tests. So I decided I wanted to be a football star but I was complete rubbish,” he said, shoving dough in his mouth. “Don’t think I ever imagined I’d be a singer in a band.”

“Well I never imagined I’d be anythin’ but a deadbeat,” Hannibal laughed and Stu laughed with him. At least until he realized that might have been rude.

“O-oh I--” he sputtered, panic evident in the way he tensed. His hands came up to his chest and clutched at the buttons of his shirt: close to his face in case this was the thing that sent Hannibal over the edge. But again, the other man just shrugged and chuckled good-naturedly.

“Calm down, I’m not gonna freak out on you! Besides, I was a deadbeat. Did my time in prison, got out, did more time, and now I’m here,” Hannibal explained casually. “Figured out that being a total wanker wasn’t the way to get on in life, so I cut that shit out.”

“W-what do you do for work?” 2D asked. The man in front of him was a complete surprise even though they’d been talking for weeks. Most of those texts had been silly little things like stupid pictures, flirty one-liners, and random thoughts. The kind of things that help you get to know someone without really getting to know them. So the fact that Hannibal was so… level-headed was not something Stu expected from a Niccals.

“I’m a mechanic, cars and bikes mostly. Been doing that for… 10 years?” 2D tried to do that math in his head but all the vehicular trauma made that a little bit difficult. So he decided to ask.

“How old are you, I mean, you’re Murdoc’s older brother so….” Hannibal didn’t look that old but neither did Murdoc. Except when he was up really early in the morning and hadn’t had time to “put his face on”.

“47.”

“WHAT?” 2D shouted, dropping the last bite of his pretzel onto the dirty tabletop. “I-I’m only 26.”

Hannibal shrugged and balled together his own trash, flinging it towards the trash can. It didn’t make it in. “S’that a problem for you? I missed out on a lot of my 20’s, bein’ in prison and all.”

“No! S’not a problem!” 2D assured him. It might be a little unorthodox but who really gave a shit? He was famous and rich and he could do whatever he wanted. Which was to say, he thought Hannibal was really, really hot and didn’t care about the age difference. “Guess we should go do somethin’ else eh?”

“Feel like walking the pier?” Hannibal asked. He had some trouble getting off of the picnic table seat, due to his incredibly long legs. 2D stood to the side and wondered if he should offer a hand, but he was too shy.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. S’getting late anyway.” The sun wasn’t quite setting, but everything was getting that dreamy sun-down glow. The lighting actually bothered Stu’s eyes, something about the time of day and the low light made him squint. But he could live with it if it meant getting to spend more time with Hannibal on their date.

They walked side by side down the pier, occasionally bumping shoulders. Hannibal was telling a story about a man who had come into the shop with all four tyres deflated and laughing uproariously. It was a little out of 2D’s wheelhouse--mostly since he avoided driving since the accidents--but he laughed along as well, caught up in the way Hannibal laughed so loudly and without self-consciousness. He didn’t even seem to care people were staring.

“Hmm, look at that.” Hannibal pointed over the railing towards the sunset. They stopped to lean over the edge, side by side. It was beautiful, a little bright for Stu’s eyes but he could appreciate it all the same.

“It’s nice,” he said because words--outside of songwriting--weren’t really his thing. “Reminds me of that time Murdoc set the graveyard on fire. Before the fire department came out.”

“He really is a piece of work. Don’t necessarily blame him for how he turned out but…” Hannibal kept his gaze on the sunset. “He’s stuck, you know? That’s kinda what made me want to change. Saw him in an interview and jus’ thought ‘shit, I don’t wanna be like that’.”

2D tore his gaze away from the sunset to admire Hannibal’s profile. The soft light made him seem younger than he was. “You’re not like him, really. I was scared you migh’ be but you’re a really nice person, Han.”

Hannibal grinned. “Well aren’t you a sweet-talker Stu-Pot. S’that how you get all the ladies?” 2D felt his face heat up at the nickname. Of course, that was the moment the older man turned away from the horizon to look at Stu. There was no way for him to cover up the blush. “And is that flush how you get all the guys?”

“Stop it!” 2D whined, though he really didn’t mean it. “Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of a flirt?”

Hannibal threw his head back with a loud, surprised laugh. “Spunky. I like that.” He took a step over so they were very, very close, handing brushing. “Knew I’d like you from the first time you broke into my house and smoked in my kitchen.”

“Didn’t break in…” Stu mumbled, too busy watching the way the small wrinkles at the corners of his mouth twisted when he smiled. “You left the bloody door unlocked.”

Hannibal leaned down. “Are you complaining?” 2D took a chance--though really, they’d been dancing around it all day--and wound his fingers around the other man’s belt loops.

“M’gonna be, if you don’t kiss me soon,” he teased, flicking his eyes up briefly took catch the look of want that flit through Hannibal’s. There was a beat, then Hannibal closed the gap, kissing Stu with unexpected fervour. 2D tried to give back as good as he was getting, but he wasn’t used to being the shorter of two partners and was finding the novelty extremely exciting. It was all he could do to pull Hannibal closer, their bodies attacked from hip to chest. And that was all before Hannibal slipped his tongue past the singer’s lips.

“Oh--” Stuart moaned, parting his lips to give Hannibal more access. Behind them, the sun had completely set and the stars were starting to show through the clouds. Their kiss, while intense and very enjoyable remained relatively chaste--at least by 2D’s standards. Shyly, tentatively, the singer rolled his hips forward into his partners. Just a tiny bit, to see how Hannibal would react. He was not disappointed.

Hannibal growled. It sent shivers up Stu’s back and down his front to his prick. Unfortunately, Hannibal also pulled away, using his grip on Stu’s hips to keep him from following. “As much as I’d like to continue this I don’t think the pier is the place to have this… conversation.”

As if he’d been in a trance, 2D snapped out of it and looked around. There weren’t too many people out, but the area wasn’t empty and they were getting a few funny looks. And a few interested ones. Normally he liked the attention--he was the frontman of Gorillaz after all--but this was a little more personal than he’d usually like to share.

“O-oh, yeah. You’re righ’, do you wanna get out of here?” Stuart asked, also not stepped away. He did remove his hands from Hannibal’s trousers though.

“Don’t know about you but I’m gonna need a minute before hopping back on the bike.” He nodded down to where their hips were still pressed together. Both of them were obviously hard. 2D’s blush deepened.

“We could get a hotel room. I’m not tryin’ to brag but I’ve got the money and you paid for lunch so…”

“A whole hotel room’s a bit more than some pretzels, but I won’t say no. Not if it means I get to get into your trousers sooner.” With a move slick as oil Hannibal gave 2D’s ass a quick, covert grope before stepping back. Stu yipped in surprise and jumped back as well. “Let’s go find one, then?”

They walked back to the bike to make sure they were parked somewhere where it wouldn’t be towed, and then entered the nearest hotel. It was some fancy one with a view of the sea. Hannibal made some cursory protests about the costs but went quiet when 2D stuck out his bottom lip in a dramatic pout. The concierge also informed them that the next closest hotel was a 15-minute walk. So that settled it.

Thanks to Stuart's celebrity status they got a pretty fancy room without much fuss. The hotel even offered to send a driver to pick up Hannibal’s bike and store it in their secure garage, but the mechanic refused. Within 10 minutes of entering the hotel, they were already on their way up the lift to their room.

“That was quick,” Hannibal commented as the lift doors closed. He was standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the right-hand wall. 2D faced forward, though he was eyeing the older sneakily. His eyes did have some advantages.

“S’a perk of being famous. I don’t like to abuse it too much but it’s pretty fun once and a while.” The lift dinged at the 22nd floor and when they exited Hannibal placed a hand low on 2D’s back, urging him out the door. Stu let himself be led down the hall to their room, one of only 4. After tapping the keycard to the door they rushed inside, practically tripping over each other.

“Bed,” Hannibal said, tightening his grip on Stu’s lower back, his large hands just barely brushing the waistband of his pants. The hotel room was opulent, with a huge sitting room that branched into a multitude of other rooms they had no use for. Well, maybe the bathroom, after the bedroom. The room listing has boasted a large jacuzzi tub.

Stu walked as quickly as his shaking legs could carry him. He’d been thinking about this since the first day they’d me. Since the first time he’d gotten a good look at Hannibal’s strong arms and muscled shoulders. There had been more than one occasion on which he’d thought about those things late at night, or in the shower, or really any time he was alone. He’d thought Hannibal might be interested too, but it had been hard to know for sure. It wasn’t hard now, or it was but not in the same way.

They stumbled into the bedroom, which was equally massive and unnecessarily furnished. They made a bee-line for the bed, 2D reaching it first and plopping down ungracefully. Seated he had to crane his neck up at an uncomfortable angle to make eye contact. Luckily, he wasn’t that interested in looking up when he was now at crotch level with the other.

“D’you mind if I…?” Stu ran shaky fingers over Hannibal’s thighs and up to the button of his trousers. A glance upwards told him Hannibal was smirking, previously hidden sharp canines making their existence known.

“I’d love you to,” he purred, one hand coming to stroke 2D’s hair. Not pressuring him, but just touching, admiring. Emboldened by the express permission Stuart popped Hannibal's button and nosed at the skin he exposed there while running his hands underneath the other’s shirt. Oh God the muscles he felt on Hannibal’s stomach made his cock twitch. But that would have to wait, because Stu really, really wanted to show Hannibal how much he appreciated the excellent date he’d planned.

“I wanna suck you off…” he hummed, mouthing over his trousers and cotton briefs. Another rumble from Hannibal as he tugged his own bottoms down, not even bothering to step out of them as 2D gawked. “Holy shit! Uh--”

Hannibal looked both pleased and a little bit sheepish. “I know it’s a little big if that’s a problem…”

“No! No, s’not a problem. I uh--” How was he supposed to think when he was mere inches from the biggest, most delicious prick he'd ever seen. Immediately he was thinking about what it would feel like in his mouth, in his hand, in his arse. “I like it.”

There was a light tint of red on Hannibal’s neck and ears that 2D found extremely adorable. “Well, be my guest then, songbird.”

Instead of focusing on the nickname--because holy shit--Stu focused on getting the read of Hannibal’s cock in his mouth. It was a tight fit, but he managed it with a little effort, the head feeling heavy and warm on his tongue. Hannibal was silent but Stu could see his eyebrows drawing together in concentration. He had done that.

There was no way he was going to get the entire thing in his mouth, so he settled for as much as he could and used his hands for the rest. There was no way to stop the drool pooling under his tongue from running down his face, so he didn’t try. Hannibal went deadly still under him.

“Everything OK?” he asked, pulling back and using his fist to slick the entirely of Hannibal’s cock with his spit. He could barely get his whole hand around the thing, Jesus Christ.

“More than OK, kid. You keep doing that and we won’t make it to the main event.” Hannibal pulled him up so he was standing, then led them back to the bed. “You’re quite a catch.”

“You’re jus’ sayin’ that,” 2D mumbled as he let himself be rearranged on the bed. Hannibal loomed over him, completely covering Stu’s body with his own and wasn’t that a new sensation? 2D wriggled against the bedsheets, trying to get comfortable while Hannibal watched with a hungry look.

“I am not. I’ve been thinkin’ about this, wanted to bend you over the counter and fuck you right there in my kitchen when we met,” Hannibal groaned, burying his face in 2D’s neck and leaving sucking kisses. “When you held onto me on my bike on the way to the record store I could feel you and I wanted to take you apart right then; stuff you fuller than you’ve ever been, make you feel it.”

“Please!” Stu moaned, arching into the older man to get more contact. “I though’ about it too, please!”

Hannibal bit his neck harshly, forcing another moan out of the singer. “And the whole drive here, havin’ you pressed agains’ me was torture. I wanted to pull over and bend you over my bike, show you a really good time.”

2D whined, hearing the exact things he’d been thinking about these long weeks said back to him. Hannibal moved from his neck to his collarbone, never biting hard enough to be too much. “I wanted t’fuck you the first time I saw you too.”

“Well, better late than never, righ’?” Hannibal joked, popping the button on Stu’s trousers and reaching inside. A moment passed where 2D thought he might cum without being touched, but he held on as Hannibal rummaged about, eventually grabbing his cock. It was electric.

“A-ah!” he whined, bucking his hips against Hannibal’s grip. He didn’t get very far because Hannibal was keeping him pinned down with the weight of his body. So he was left stuck, completely at the other’s mercy as he stroked slow and steady. “Come’on, go faster!”

“Be patient, Stu. It’s gonna take a while to get you ready and I don’t like to be rushed,” Hannibal warned, giving 2D’s dick a hard squeeze, then let go. He leaned over the bedside and grabbed his discarded pants, pulling out a tube of lube from the pocket. “You’re lucky I came prepared.”

Stu rolled his eyes but kept still, not wanting to delay things any further. “You gonna undress me then?” He lifted his hands above his head, forcing his shirt to ride up and expose more of his stomach. Hannibal’s eyes narrowed in on that strip of skin, running fingers over it.

“Fine, lift those hips for me pretty boy,” Hannibal instructed, pulling his own shirt over his head and then grabbing Stu’s trousers. 2D tried to help Hannibal wiggle them down and off, but it didn’t seem like the older man needed much help. The singer’s shirt was next, and soon they were both naked in the opulent bed, sizing each other up.

“Holy fuck,” Stuart breathed, letting his hand roam over chiselled muscles and warm skin. “You’re like a dream come true, Han.”

“You’re not too bad yourself. Very handsome in fact,” Hannibal drawled, settling his body over the singer’s again and making him gasp at the close contact. “So how d’you want to do this?”

2D wiggled in pleasure. Hannibal was so good to him, so much more polite and caring than any of the groupies he usually slept with. “If you don’t fuck me this instant, I’m not gonna go on any more dates with you.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Hannibal laughed, grabbing the lube again and pouring some on his fingers. “You’ve done this before, yeah?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Stu rolled over onto his front and propped up his arse. “Yes, I’ve done this before. Rock star, remember?”

“Good.” Hannibal smirked, then stroked his un-lubed fingers over Stu’s arse and thighs. “Then we can get righ’ to it.” And then he was pressing a slick finger in fully. 2D yelped, then quickly cut himself off with a moan.

“More~” he begged, jutting his hips back to make Hannibal go faster. He wasn’t lying, he had done this before, more than a few times and the slow pace was extremely frustrating. The need to be filled and stretched was too strong, and he whined with the intensity of it. “Please, more!”

“Shhh,” Hannibal soothed, adding another finger. “I know you want it baby but trust me, you’re gonna want to be loosened up before you take me.”

2D huffed, glaring back over his shoulder. “M’not a virgin Han, jus’ do it!”

But Hannibal continued to stretch him, adding a third, and then a fourth all without hitting the spot 2D really wanted him to. Even so, his cock was still hard and dripping against his belly, little noises of pleasure escaping his lips with each rocking motion.

“Han, Hannibal, please--!” He was aching for it, had been for the last few weeks in between when they’d last seen each other. It has been all he could think about alone in his bed at night and now it was so close he could taste it. To have it dangled in front of him was torture.

“Are you sure baby? I know you want it but it might hurt a little…” Hannibal didn’t sound as worried as his words made him seem. When Stu nodded and whined again he removed his fingers with a lewd pop and replaced them with the tip of his dick. “Take a deep breath for me bluebird.”

It did hurt, more than expected but less than an unbearable amount. It was kind of pleasant, actually, the all-encompassing stretching and filling. Stuart had to bite back a groan of pleasure-pain as Hannibal eased in, refusing to let himself crumble and fall into the bedsheets.

“OK?” Hannibal asked, his voice strained and slightly shaky. “Fuck you feel--”

“S’good,” Stu slurred, willing his knees to hold up. “You’re big.”

Hannibal laughed and Stu could feel it inside him. “You don’t say? Do you want me to move?”

“If you don’t I’m gonna scream.”

And so Hannibal did, thrusting slowly and steadily. Never pulling out more than halfway before pushing back in with a smooth and slick precision. It didn’t matter if he aimed for Stu’s prostate, because he was so big he hit it anyway. 2D was sure that if Hannibal so much as brushed his prick he’d go off like a firework.

“Oh, oh, oh!” 2D cried, biting his own arm to suppress the embarrassing noises escaping him. Hannibal was fucking him firmly now, rocking into his body with enough force to jolt him towards the gaudy headboard. "Feels so good-- you're so good!"

Hannibal groaned himself and leaned down, his body totally covering Stu's and the singer hadn't thought it could feel better but it did. "You're taking me so well, baby. I'm gonna ruin you."

"Mmm, stretch me out, make me no good for anyone else's cock," Stu grunted, finally letting his arms give out and pressing his face into the soft pillows. "Don't want anyone else's but yours."

"I'm not gonna argue with that. Flip over babe, I wanna see what you look like while I fuck you open," Hannibal murmured, biting the singer's shoulder hard before pulling out. 2D immediately flipped over, letting his legs fall open and wanting. He took his dick in hand and stroked it, writhing on the bed and hoped he looked enticing enough to get the other to hurry up.

“I’m so close Hanni.” Hannibal’s eyes flashed and in an instant, he was over Stu again, his forearms bracketing the singer’s head, their hips flush. The slap of skin against skin picked up in speed and intensity as Hannibal began to really give it to the singer. 2D cried out at every thrust, bracing his hands against the headboard to avoid banging his head. “Fuck--fuck me--!”

“Beautiful,” Hannibal breathed. He nosed in close to the singer’s neck, right under his ear. “All for me…”

2D twisted and moaned, though Hannibal’s large hands on his waist kept him pinned. “Y-yes, yes, oh--fu-fuck!” he screamed, feeling himself reach his peak, shooting past it into a mind-numbing, pleasure-filled ecstasy. It went on and on, extended by the feeling of Hannibal’s cock swelling then releasing inside him. He barely even noticed the desperate sounds he was making or the way Hannibal’s teeth had found purchase in the soft skin of his neck.

They both wound down, hips slowing and hearts pounding. Hannibal eventually kissed the raw, red marks he’d left behind on Stu’s neck, and Stu smoothed his hands over the scratch marks on Hannibal’s back. Eventually, their breathing settled and Hannibal rolled off of 2D, landing on his back amongst the messy pillows and sheets.

“Well,” Hannibal sighed, reached over the side of the bed for his trousers and the pack of cigarettes in the pocket. He lit one to hand to 2D, then one for himself, relaxing back against the headboard while Stu continued to gather himself.

“Holy shit,” 2D breathed, sucking down smoke like it was air. “I don’t think I can move my legs.”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Hannibal sounded far too pleased with himself and 2D huffed. “You’re not to sore, are you?”

Stu did a mental once over, then smiled. “Feels nice. Achey, but the good kind.” Hannibal smiled as well, turning on his side and draping an arm over 2D’s trim waist to brush his fingers along his side. The singer hummed happily as he swivelled his head, asking for a kiss. Hannibal obliged.

“So, good first date?” he asked once Stu had pulled back to take another drag. He sounded softer and more relaxed than he’d been all day. Maybe 2D hadn’t been the only one who was nervous.

“Very good,”  he answered, raising an eyebrow. “So good that maybe we should go on another one tomorrow.”

Hannibal chuckled, pulling Stu closer so they were really cuddling. It was too early to go to bed, but neither of them felt like getting up. “Why wait? We could order room service and watch somethin’ on that gigantic TV we passed.”

“Oooh, d’you like zombie films?” 2D began to wiggle with excitement, thinking about getting to cuddle Hannibal on the sofa while eating fancy food. Like real chicken fingers.

“I don’t mind them, especially not if it means watchin’ them with you.” 2D wanted to roll his eyes at the sappy line, but he was too happy. It had been a long time since he’d felt this type of happiness, the kind you get when you’re warm and content and loved.

“Me too. Well, uh, I always like zombie films but I’d like to watch them with you even more. But maybe in a little while.” He glanced up at Hannibal to find the older looking down at him, listening intently. “I’d kinda like to stay like this…”

“You won’t hear me arguin’,” Hannibal rumbled, nuzzling deeper into 2D’s hair.  Glad that they agreed, Stu got into a more comfortable position--one touching as much of Hannibal as possible--and closed his eyes. He was already trying to think of things they could do tomorrow, things that mostly involved not leaving the hotel room, or even the bed.

[yeppeojiwrites]

beauty and a beat 1: she’s even prettier up close//multigroup crossover

summary: when people think that you can’t understand them, they tend to say bolder things. 

word count: 2,736

pairings in this chapter: hongjoong x reader and yunho x reader 

yoyoyo what’s up!

i’ve been noticing a lack of diversity in kpop group x reader fics, a lot of stuff is for people (mostly girls or female presenting people) who are caucasian or have fair skin and have straight hair and stuff but i want to change that. this story is going to have a female black protagonist, and if that’s okay with you, feel free to keep reading! if not, feel free to move along, you aren’t hurting my feelings. 

if you see this fic as “excluding a group” please be sure to think about how us non-white/non-fair skinned people feel about having little to no representation in the fanfiction community, especially considering we make up a large part of the people who read fanfiction. 

alright, rant over

to all of my black kpop stans, this one’s for you!!

normal text is spoken english

bold text is spoken in korean

bold italicized text is korean with honorifics (noona, hyung, oppa, unnie, etc.)

--

As you walked down the hallway with Ateez’s manager, Jiyoung, to one of KQ’s training rooms, your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

You were nervous and scared out of your mind even though you had no reason to be. KQ Produce obviously thought very highly of you since they hired you to help out with Ateez’s album production after listening to a lot of your demos for songs later used by groups like G(I)-DLE, Stray Kids, and Loona and artists such as Chungha, Sunmi, and Crush. 

As the youngest non-idol producer and composer under KQ at the newly-turned international age of 18, you had a lot to prove. Sure you’ve had a lot of big-name artists use your songs  and work with you on tracks but you had to prove that you could work with others in the real industry. 

It’s only your third day in South Korea and you’re already meeting the people who had the potential to make or break your career.

--

As you neared closer and closer to the room where the boys were, you could hear people running around and yelling. When Jiyoung finally opened the door, your eyes widened at the scene in front of you. 

A pair of boys tangoed in the middle of the room while another three ran throughout the room screaming, another pair was trying to outsing each other, one of them splitting an apple in half while a single boy was trying to get everyone to calm down. 

Their manager cleared her throat and all of the commotion ceased, eight pairs of eyes looking back and forth between you and Jiyoung. 

“This is LVNDR,” Jiyoung said, gesturing to you. “But she said that you all can call her...um...” she leaned over in your ear, “I already forgot what your real name is. What is it?” she asked in English. 

“(Y/N),” you whispered in her ear. 

“She said that you guys can call her (Y/N).” She informed the group, smoothing shirt down before crossing her arms. 

“Does she only speak English?” a shorter boy with silver hair, Wooyoung, asked the manager. You looked at the manager and the corners of your lips lifted a bit.

When you first met with Jiyoung you told her to only speak to you in English in front of others despite your fluency in Korean. In the short amount of time that you’ve spent in South Korea, you realized that people have a lot more to say about you when they think you aren’t listening or can’t understand them. You wanted to be able to hear everything that people around the company were saying about you - the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

“No, not really. She had translators help her when she helped produce songs for non-English speaking idols,” Jiyoung said, lying through her teeth. You heard a few noises of understanding in response to her statement.

You looked down at your shoes for a second and looked back up, meeting the eyes of a short, honey blond haired man, who may or may not be Hongjoong. He gave you a quick smile before turning back to your manager as she continued to talk to the boys. 

“Hongjoong, she’ll be working with you on Ateez’s next album,” Jiyoung said in English. 

“Okay,” the blond haired man you smiled at earlier, Hongjoong, said. He walked over to stand in front of you and both of you were a little shocked when you both found that you were a bit taller than him. 

“I forgot foreigners are so tall,” a taller boy with dark hair, Yunho, said. 

“I thought she looked tall standing next to our manager,” a shorter boy with red streaked hair, San, responded. 

“Wow...guys, she’s even prettier up close,” Hongjoong said after he looked at you for a few seconds, causing a few of the boys behind him to laugh in response. You resisted the urge to smile at his statement.

“Hey,” Jiyoung warned and Hongjoong bowed to her in the form of an apology. 

“Sorry, Jiyoung,” he said. She nodded at him. 

Hongjoong reached out to shake your hand while you attempted bowed. “Oh,” you both said nervously. You reached out your hand to shake his. “Let’s make your next album great,” you smiled shyly. He nodded in response.

“Let’s do it!” he cheered, a smile spreading across his face. He walked back to his spot next to his members. 

“I’ll leave to let you guys get to know each other since you will be seeing a lot more of each other in the coming months,” Jiyoung said as she walked to the door and opened it. “Be good to her or I’ll make her give you guys high notes or inhumanely fast rapping verses,” she said to the guys before she left the room. You watched as a few of the boys shuddered in response to her words. 

“I saw their reactions. What did she say?” you asked Hongjoong innocently. 

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he lied. He waved the guys over and had them sit down in front of you, pulling up two chairs for the both of you to sit in. 

“Please sit here- I mean, you can sit down here,” Hongjoong said as he gestured to the chair behind you. You smiled a bit at his mistake. 

“So...tell us about yourself. Don’t worry about speaking Korean, I’ll translate what you say for the guys.” he said to you. “I’ll translate for you guys, don’t worry.” he assured the seven boys who watched the two of you expectantly. They nodded in understanding. 

You ran your palms over your jean-clad thighs and took a deep breath before speaking. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous,” you laughed dryly. Hongjoong translated what you said and you saw a few of the guys smile a bit and you heard an accented “Don’t be nervous!” come from one of the boys, which slightly calmed your nerves. 

“I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N) but feel free to just call me (Y/N) or LVNDR, whichever is easier for you guys,” you said. Hongjoong translated what you said easily and accurately.

“I used to live an hour outside of Chicago, one of the United States’ largest cities, so I’m quite comfortable with large cities.” you said before Hongjoong began translating. “I graduated high school a semester early so I could come to South Korea and help you guys and hopefully other artists out with music production.”

This started a steady cycle where you would say something in English and Hongjoong would translate it into Korean, until you ran out of profession-related things to talk about. 

“Do you guys have any questions for me?” you asked, looking back and forth from the boys on the floor to the one sitting next do you. 

“Hongjoong, tell her I like her hair.” Wooyoung said. Your orchid colored hair reminded him of the hair color he had when they debuted. 

“Wooyoung said that he likes your hair.” Hongjoong said. One of your coffee toned hands reached up to touch one of your orchid-colored curls as you smiled. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

“Hongjoong, ask her how tall she is!” the taller boy from earlier said.

“Yunho wants to know how tall you are,” Hongjoong told you. 

“I know my height in the American measuring system but I think I’m around 174 centimeters,” you said. Hongjoong halfheartedly translated what you said for the boys which caused the room to erupt in teases aimed towards Hongjoong. 

“Even girls are taller than Hongjoong,” San laughed. Hongjoong turned to look at the boy, a wild look in his eye. 

“Choi San, say anything else and you’re dead,” Hongjoong said, effectively silencing the boy who you now know as San. 

You leaned towards Hongjoong in his chair. “What did they say?” you asked innocently. He waved his hand to dismiss the question.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. 

“How old is she?” Wooyoung asked. “I know she said that she graduated early but I forgot the age that most Americans are when they graduate high school.” . 

“Wooyoung wants to know how old you are,” Hongjoong said.

“I just turned 18 internationally last November,” you said. “Before you translate for them, how old are most of you guys?” you asked. 

Hongjoong hummed and tapped his chin as he thought. “Five of us are turning 20 internationally this year and the rest of us are turning either 21 or 19.” he said. 

Your eyes widened a bit. You had skimmed over the part of the video that mentioned their ages and date of birth and had a feeling that a few of them were older than you but you didn’t think that all of them would be older than you. 

“So that would make you and everyone else here...an oppa? Like my oppas?” you asked hesitantly. Hongjoong choked on his spit and had a coughing fit and you smacked his back to help him stop choking.

“Wait what did she say? I swear I heard her say oppa!” Wooyoung exclaimed.

“Me too,” Yunho agreed. 

After you were sure that Hongjoong had coughed up part of his lung, he stopped to catch his breath. 

“What did she say?” Wooyoung asked. 

“She just turned 18 last November,” Hongjoong said between breaths.

“What else did she say?” Jongho asked. 

“She asked if we were her oppas,” Hongjoong said, a light pink spreading across his fair skin. Someone from the group snorted before the entire room filled with laughs. 

“He’s flustered! (Y/N) managed to fluster our leader on her first day!” San teased. 

Hongjoong frowned a bit, trying to hide his reddening cheeks, “San, shut up,” he said, a warning in his tone. 

“Why? It’s not like she can understand us anyways?” San said. 

“He’s not upset because you said it in front of her. He’s upset because it’s true,” Yeosang corrected San. 

“Can all of you please shut up,” Hongjoong pleaded.

“I guess I shouldn’t have asked,” you said to Hongjoong. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, putting his face in his hands promptly after responding to you.  

“Hongjoong, I don’t know why you’re upset. I’m glad she’s trying to assimilate to our culture. I think it’s cute.” Yunho said. “You can call me oppa if you want to,” Yunho said in English. 

You smiled as Hongjoong’s head snapped up. “Let’s not get too crazy, guys. We’ve all just met her.” Hongjoong said. 

“You’re the one that got flustered because of a word,” Yeosang mumbled under his breath. 

“When we get to the dorm, all of you are dead,” Hongjoong said. The members stiffened immediately.

“Should we talk about something else?” you asked. Hongjoong nodded.

“Please.” said before turning to his members. “Do you have any other questions? Questions that aren’t related to her love life?” Hongjoong asked his members.

“Does she still listen to any of the music that she produced?” Seonghwa asked. 

“Seonghwa wants to know if you still listen to any of the music that you have produced?” Hongjoong asked. 

“Of course! I listen to Loona’s ‘Favorite’, Chungha’s ‘Gotta Go’, and Loona member, Kim Lip’s “Eclipse” all the time. “Eclipse” was one of the first demos that was used by a K-Pop group and I had just turned 16 when Blockberry Creative asked if they could use it. My favorite production was ‘Dalla’ by (G)I-DLE and the song I’m the most proud of is ‘Endorphin’ by Crush.” you smiled. After Hongjoong finished translating, the boys looked over to you in amazement. After the initial shock, Jongho asked a question. 

“Jongho wants to know who your musical influences are and which genre you like to produce the most?” Hongjoong said. 

“I really liked F(x) and Shinee’s sound and how every song was different from everything else that was being released and how experimental everything sounded. A lot of their songs were released ahead of their time and started a lot of trends and that’s the kind of music I want to make. Trendsetting music.” you said. “In terms of genres though, I like making electronic music and music with really intricate melodies or stuff that you would hear in an American club in the 1990s.” Hongjoong managed to translate everything you said. 

“Any other questions?” you asked. 

“Have you ever seen any of our music videos?” Yunho asked in English. 

“I’ve watched all of your videos with the exception of the reality shows,” you said. Hongjoong translated what you said, Yunho immediately following up with, “Ask her what her favorite video and non-title track song is!” 

“Yunho wants to know what your favorite video and non-title track song is,” Hongjoong said. 

“I really like ‘Hala Hala’ and ‘Desire’. The vocals and rap are amazing in both songs.” you said. As soon as Hongjoong translated, you were met with a chorus of ‘thank you’s. 

“Hongjoong, can you ask her who her bias is?” Wooyoung asked. Hongjoong froze for a second before sighing. 

“Wooyoung wants to know who your bias is,” Hongjoong said. You could sense everyone lean in your direction to hear what you had to say. Even Hongjoong leaned in a bit.  

“For the sake of professionalism, I don’t have a bias.” you said. Everyone in the room groaned. They didn’t need to know English to know what you just said. To be fair though, you didn’t have a bias. You think that they’re all handsome and talented but you figured that it would be more professional to not have a favorite to avoid showing favoritism. 

“There has to be someone she likes,” Yunho mumbled in a frustrated tone. He had hoped that you would say his name. 

“Not even someone you think is handsome?” Hongjoong asked. He too had hoped that you would say his name. 

“I think you’re all very good looking,” you said. 

“That’s an acceptable answer for now,” Hongjoong said. 

You pulled out your phone to take a look at the time, 12:45 in the afternoon. 

“Guys, it’s been fun but I have to go soon. I have to meet up with someone in a half hour.” you said. Hongjoong sighed and nodded before translating for his members. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow though, right?” Hongjoong asked, his sparkly eyes meeting yours with an expectant look on his face. 

“Of course you will,” you smiled. You turned to face the rest of the boys who were starting to stand up. “It was nice meeting all of you guys. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” you said before bowing and leaving the room.

“Album production is going to be really interesting,” Hongjoong said the second after you left. Seonghwa laughed before swinging an arm around his younger’s shoulder.

“Seems like it.” Seonghwa said. 

--

You sighed as you exited your taxi, glancing up at the building you had only ever seen in pictures. You entered the building, immediately greeted with banners of the company’s artists. Stopping in front of one and smiling at a face on one of the banners. After looking around the lobby you walked over to the receptionists desk. “Hello,” you said, your native-sounding pronunciation surprising the receptionist. “I”m here to meet with someone.” 

“Who are you here to meet?” the receptionist asked before glancing over your shoulder at something, or someone rather. 

“(Y/N)?” you heard a familiar voice behind you. You turned around and smiled immediately when you saw who is was. 

“Fancy meeting you here, Changbin.” you said opening your arms for a long overdue hug. 

“You can’t be too surprised to see me considering you’re at my company building and you’re the one that wanted to meet.” Changbin said as he pulled you towards him, hugging you tightly.

“We probably shouldn’t do this here, a fan might see you and think that we’re dating or something,” you said. He hummed, thinking. 

“You’re right,” he agreed as he unwrapped his arms from around you. “Let’s go to one of the practice rooms.” He signaled for you to follow him to wait in front of the elevators.

“So how has my favorite rapper been?” you asked him as you waited for an elevator. 

“Very tired but also very excited to finally physically meet the person who has helped us produce our past two albums,” he smiled. You smiled at his statement as a door to one of the elevators slid open. You both step into it and watched as the door closes.

--

(previous / next)

[transassbuttwriting]

My 27th Birthday: Haven

Word Count: 3, 062 Warning(s): Drug use mentioned, depressing narrative

All Geoff could feel was a huge headache. His head was pounding as if his heart replaced his brain. He sat up and covered his eyes from the bright sunshine beaming through the car windows.

Wait a minute. Wasn’t I…

His thoughts trailed off. His attention was drawn to the driver of the car. He was old with a white mustache and frail matching hair. He didn’t take any notice to Geoff and continued to drive down the road.

Geoff leaned onto the back of the driver’s seat, gently poking the old man’s shoulder.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” The old man chuckled.

“Excuse me, but who the hell are you?” Geoff asked.

The old man laughed again. He didn’t turn to Geoff at all, his eyes stayed on the road.

“I suppose it is a bit daunting to wake up in a strange place with a stranger. You have nothing to worry about.”

Thanks for answering my question. Geoff thought as he rolled his eyes.

“What’s with the attitude, young man?”

Geoff scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows. He didn’t say that outloud...did he?

“I’ll answer your questions soon enough. For now, just sit back down and enjoy the scenery.”

Obeying the man’s orders, Geoff turned to the backseat windows. He was treated to the sight of mountains and miles of pine trees. The road they were on steadily climbed up a hill and on one side, there was a deep ditch, following the decline of the hill while the other side was a rock wall. They passed a short clearing and Geoff saw a large, clear lake surrounded by a rocky shore.

A rush of nostalgia ran down Geoff’s spine and he looked to the front of the car. The radio was on, but no sound came out. No music, no static. As he continued to stare, noise began to come out of the radio. It was too soft to make out at first, but soon Geoff recognized the song.

I just gotta call my drug dealer Maybe he’ll help you with a high I just need to call my drug dealer I understand you need to get by

He wrote the song when he was sixteen. He couldn’t remember what he was thinking due to him being high most days.

“Hey, could you turn off the radio?” He asked, tempted to reach over and do it himself.

“Sorry, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t control the radio. It’s just silence when it’s on. What are you hearing?”

Geoff hesitated, “I hear one of my songs. Look, I don’t want to hear that shit song.”

“Hm. That’s interesting.” The old man mumbled curiously.

Geoff shook his head and leaned forward, slapping the power button. His eyes widen as the music continued to play. The lyrics haunted his mind. Why did he write that stupid song?

I just gotta call my drug dealer Maybe he’ll help you with a high I just need to call my drug dealer I swear he ain’t a bad guy

“Wonder what the inspiration was.” The old man mumbled.

“Okay. Enough is enough. Who are you, where are we, and why the hell am I hearing my song on a radio that is off?”

The car turned to a smaller road and they passed a large, wooden sign. Letters were engraved on it and the most notable word was “Haven.”

“Alright. Settle down and I’ll give you your answers.”

Geoff slowly leaned back into his seat. His gaze didn’t leave the back of the old man and the song had finally ended.

The old man started, “Who am I? I’m Death.”

“What?” Geoff’s voice went to a whisper.

“I’m the guy who guides people’s souls to Heaven. People call me different names to comfort themselves, but I’m always the same guy.”

Geoff rubbed his face. He’s dreaming obviously. Susie on top of him was a nightmare and this was just a dream to calm him down.

He might as well humour the situation, “Do you always appear as a...senior citizen?”

To his surprise, Death replied sincerely, “I appear as whatever comforts the soul. My appearance changes all the time. I just look like an old man because it makes you feel comfortable.”

He had to admit Death reminded him of all of his grandparents’ friends. All were old and wrinkled with liver spots covering them. Geoff was never rude to them, up until his teen years, and they all treated him as if he was their grandson. Besides the old familiarity of Death’s look, nothing really came off as comforting.

Death continued, “Where are we? Well, we just passed the sign so, you tell me.”

“Haven? But that’s not Heaven.”

“Haven means a safe place. That’s what Heaven is. A safe place for the dead. Haven is Heaven.”

Alright, old man. You got me there. Geoff thought as he scratched his beard. Death chuckled softly as if he had just told himself a joke.

“For the radio...I can’t control it. What plays is what you want to hear. What you are familiar with.”

“But, that song was awful!” Geoff nearly shouted.

Death raised a brow, “Oh? Why is that?”

Geoff spat some unintelligible words. He composed himself and tried to explain.

“We were young. We had no real rhythm! We were following other hair metal bands with subjects like drugs, sex, and violence. I-I didn’t even have a drug dealer! It was my band mates who got the drugs! We just shared booze and smokes!”

“You seem to have a negative view of your younger self.”

He sighed, “I was a dumbass! I’m not proud of who I was. Look, I don’t want to talk about my teen years. I’m trying to get better.”

Death didn’t reply. Geoff found it unsettling, but he would prefer the silence instead of a poor attempt of comforting words.

I really am dead. The thought made Geoff shiver. Why did Susie kill him? He knew she was upset about the break-up. That couldn’t be the only reason. Did his band mates know he was dead? Did anyone discover him? What if nobody found him?

He rubbed his face again, clearing his mind. Maybe the silence was worse.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to your new home. After that, someone will take you to a club.” Death replied.

Geoff straightened up, “What?”

“You say ‘what’ a lot, you know that?”

Geoff found himself stumbling over his words again.

“No, no, no. I am not going to a club. Did you not hear me-”

“Hey, quit your yelling!” Death interrupted. He turned around for the first time which made Geoff shoot back into his seat. “You have to go. We’re almost at your home so, for the remainder of the ride, just shut your trap.”

Nothing happened during the last bit of the ride. As the car continued down the road, buildings started to appear and soon Geoff saw a hill side view of a town. A lake sat beside the town with piers and boats. A thin river cut through the middle and bridges went over it. There was a sense of familiarity yet aloofness. Geoff felt as if he had been here before, but he didn’t recognize any buildings or people’s faces. It was strange.

“Here’s our first stop.” Death said, parking the car.

The split-level house sat in a wide yard with lots of empty grass. A garden sat at the front of the house with short bushes, enforcing some privacy. There was no direct sidewalk to the front door, but a small concrete trail connected to the long driveway.

“That’s…” Geoff said in a low voice, “that’s the house I grew up in.”

“Everything is ready in there. You’ll feel at home.” Death replied.

Geoff stepped out of the car with caution. How long was it since he last saw this place? He walked onto the driveway and turned back to Death. He was still sitting in the car, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Aren’t...aren’t you gonna come with me?” He asked.

Death softly shook his head, “I have other souls to attend to. It was nice to meet you, Geoff. I hope you enjoy your stay in Haven.”

With that, Death drove off, disappearing down the street.

Stepping slowly, Geoff made his way to the front door and entered the house. He was greeted by two sets of stairs, one going up and the other going down. He went upstairs into the living room. The fireplace sat in the far left with the television just beside it. The couch sat across from the love seat and in between them stood the coffee table. On top of it was a vase of iris flowers, daisies and white roses, and a photo album.

He sat down on the couch and grabbed the photo album. As he opened it, he saw cursive writing on the first page. Taking a closer look, he saw it was information about him.

Geoffrey Eric Matthew Wood was born June 20, 1970 in Vancouver, British Columbia and died June 20, 1997 in Seattle, Washington. This was his life.

Intrigued, Geoff flipped through the pages. He recognized some photos as ones his father and mother took when he was young. He chuckled at the photo of one-year-old him with chocolate cake all over his face. As he continued to look through the book, Geoff noticed more photos he never seen before, like the one with him and his band mates when they first met.

Jesus Christ, we look so young, he thought.

Geoff and David were sitting on the sidewalk as Randy and Chris stood over them. All of them were smoking cigarettes and talking about whatever came to mind.

Randy became the bassist of the band and the father of the group. He always made sure none of them got into any serious trouble. His wrinkles weren’t there and his hair was blond without any grey streaks of stress. Did Geoff really stress him out that much?

Chris was the drummer and the dumbest of all of them. He was smiling as if he had nothing to worry about. His hair was a random mix of blond and black which he insisted was going to be a trend someday. He didn’t have any track marks on his arms or any scars over his face. What did Geoff do to him?

David, his childhood best friend, decided to be the guitarist and did he know how to play a guitar. He had an arm around Geoff as he faced Randy, gesturing to something across the street. He was in a rebellious stage and wore quite revealing clothing. He looked free and without worry. Why did Geoff have to bring him into this life?

Geoff looked at himself. The young singer of the stupid band. He remember not giving a shit about the conversation. All he wanted to do was smoke two cigarettes at a time in peace.

You were such a little shit, Geoff thought.

Beside the photo was more cursive writing.

Needles, the early days (1985)

He turned the page. Photos of their early gigs appeared. The entire band was covered in bright makeup and had giant hair. They all had intense looks on their faces as if they believed the couple hundred people were a crowd of thousands. They were kids with a dream that was impossible to achieve.

Geoff started to skip pages, seeing glimpses of familiar scenes of his life. Meeting their manager. First album. First tour. Meeting Susie. Geoff’s path to drugs...Band arguments...Geoff’s overdose.

He shut the photo album and threw it back on the table. He didn’t want to think about that night. He just wanted to forget about what he saw. Why the hell did Heaven give these goddamn books to people? Why would anyone want to see their life?

The ringing of a phone interrupted the silence. Geoff got up and walked into the kitchen. He remembered asking his father why the phone was in the kitchen and not in a more reasonable place. He never got an answer.

He picked up the landline, “Hello?”

“Your ride is here!” A sweet, coarse voice replied.

That was fast. Geoff thought as he hung up the phone.

As he walked back to the front door, Geoff thought about who was on the phone. The voice seemed familiar. He may have heard it during his childhood. He got his answer as soon as he opened the door.

Sitting in the front seat of a red Cadillac was Bon Scott. Geoff wanted to shut the door and open it again to see if he would still be there. Maybe if he pinched himself, he would wake up.

“What are you waiting for?” Bon called out, waving Geoff over.

Geoff jogged to the car, hopping into the passenger seat. He couldn’t help but stare as Bon started to drive. He never thought there would be a day in his life -or afterlife- that he would be able to meet Bon. What could he say? His mouth was agape and he sat still, afraid to make a move.

“So, you’re Geoff Morphine? Didn’t expect to meet you so soon.” Bon said. He smiled and Geoff couldn’t help but smile back.

“Geoff Woods, actually. I don’t go by that name anymore.” Geoff explained.

“Well, it was an interesting stage name.” Bon complimented.

Geoff shook his head, “I’m sorry, but it’s you. It’s actually you!”

“It’s...me?”

“You! Bon Scott! Singer of AC/DC! I grew up on your music, I wanted to meet you in real life! You were the reason I got into rock n’ roll! I was so sad when you died! I mean-I barely left my room for the next three days! You were fucking young!”

Bon chuckled at Geoff’s last comment, turning at a corner.

“I didn’t fuck any of them.”

As Bon continued to laugh, Geoff rolled his eyes and hit his forehead.

“I meant you were so young! Thirty-three!”

“I know it wasn’t the greatest way to go out, but I lived my life. Besides, you’re younger than me! You died young!” Bon countered.

Geoff took a moment to think. He was definitely younger than he expected to die and the way he died wasn’t exactly how he pictured it. He thought he would have died in his forties or fifties due to some heart condition or drugs a doctor prescribed him.

Then it dawned on him. He died at twenty-seven.

He turned back to Bon, “Wait...Am I part of-”

“-Club 27? Yep.”

Geoff stumbled over his words, “But that club doesn’t exist! It’s just paranoid people trying to make connections!”

“And Heaven is just a concept to comfort people.” Bon replied.

The car stopped in front of a black brick building with one-way mirror windows. A side light sign flashed bright red letters reading “Club 27.” It stood out on the street and it sat tall with a balcony.

Intimidated by the building, Geoff sank into his seat. It was like if he took one step into the door, the club would have consumed him. His stomach turned as he thought about the bar and the alcohol. He didn’t think he could handle that atmosphere.

“Are you alright?” Bon asked, his smile faded and his brows furrowed.

Geoff sighed, “I’m gonna be honest. No, I’m not.”

“I know it’s scary, but the members are nice. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not the members. It’s the alcohol, it’s the drug-”

Bon interrupted, “Trust me. No one will force you into taking or drinking. You’ll be fine.”

With a soft gulp and a deep breath, Geoff exited the car. Bon gave a reassuring thumbs up and Geoff gave a pathetic wave as he drove off.

Entering the club was easier than expected, especially with Geoff’s lack of willpower. Inside was dim and the dark walls didn’t help. The only bright lights were coming from the left and up a flight of stairs. Geoff assumed that’s where the bar and lounges were.  At the front was a podium with a large book on top. He was tempted to pick it up and look through it, but he decided not to.

A door behind the podium opened and a man walked out. He was pale and had a stiff mustache under his nose. His clothes were stuck in a century earlier, but they were clean with no sign of a wrinkle.

“Bonjour! Bienvenue au Club 27! Je suppose que vous êtes Geoff Morphine. J’ai tellement entendu parler de vous.” He greeted.

Geoff never knew French or even tried to learn any language, but somehow he understood the man.

“Yeah, it’s just Geoff now. Who are you exactly?” He asked.

The man hit himself in the forehead and made a silly face.

“Quelle impolitesse de ma part. Je m’excuse. Je m’appelle Alexandre Levy. Je suis le propriétaire et le premier membre du Club 27. Laisse-moi te cocher et je te ferai visiter.”

Alexandre opened the book and searched for Geoff’s name. A sense of dread washed over Geoff as he saw the list of names. There were so many. Once Alexandre found Geoff, he took out a pen and wrote a checkmark beside his name. Around his name, Geoff saw some familiar names. He couldn’t think of a Richey Edwards or a Kristen Pfaff, but he had an idea who Stretch, Fat Pat, and Freaky Tah were.

The book was slammed shut, making Geoff jump. Alexandre gestured to his right, beckining for Geoff to come along. They entered into a well lit room with the same dark walls. Photos and ornaments hung from the walls, making them artistically cluttered. Looking around, Geoff recognized only a few faces. One man sat on a chair, air guitaring as if he was listening to music in his head. Another man, well dressed with a hat, was sitting along a bar that matched the wall. He was talking with a different man with curly hair and a drink in his hand.

With a bright grin, Alexandre started to address the room. He pushed Geoff forward into the middle of the room.

“Tout le monde! Accueillez Geoff Wood!”

Everyone turned and looked at Geoff.

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 80 - NSH - Didn’t Suck

John Vogl of the Athletic wrote an article last week called “How a Tuesday Night in December set a fateful tone for the rest of the Sabres’ Season”. It’s another excellent work by one of the better elder statesman of Buffalo Hockey media but more importantly it helps one in having an honest conversation about what this season is, was, and will be remembered as. One might look back on February 20th as some kind of turning point this season as well when Jason Botterill said he supported Coach Housley and a coaching change was not imminent. The post-vote of confidence part of the season, roughly Game 60 on (Buffalo has been 3-14-3 in that time), has been so bad it’s forced even optimists like me to swim in the deep ocean of miserable Sabres takes. I hate doing that if that hasn’t been clear and I was the kind of guy who didn’t think their playoff chances were really dead until that four-game losing streak earlier in February. I’m rehashing all these turning points for a couple reasons. For one, I’ve already spent one of these blogs covering an Amerks game and another entirely on coaching. I’m running out of shticks and there are still two games left. The other reason is that facing Nashville tonight got me thinking about turning points. The only other time the Sabres faced the Preds this season was an early December loss three games removed from the end of the winning streak. At that point we all knew nothing except for joy and happiness; I was strung like a loaded coil to go to the first Leafs game in Buffalo. I recall the other Nashville game clearly: it was a neutral zone battle that made me proud to be a Sabres fan, but it ended 2-1 in favor of Nashville. I was still so pompous at the time I was prepared to make a sign for the Leafs game to follow that referenced there almost being a team in Hamilton, Ontario! What a different time that was. This whole trip down memory lane I just took would’ve been a little monotonous and stupid, kind of like the Sabres season at this point, if I didn’t lead off with a bump for John Vogl. He is worth your time and money so go subscribe to the Athletic Buffalo. I guess I have to talk about the game we had tonight now… ugh, okay: The Sabres lost again. This time they didn’t seem completely lost.

The Nashville Predators have been the subject of some discussions of playoff readiness. The defensive juggernaut that isn’t too bad on offense either has been just ok lately. The 2017 Stanley Cup Finalists have been outmaneuvered or outright smashed in several games in March resulting in some upset fears going into spring. The Buffalo Sabres playing with Nashville as close as they did, particularly for the first two periods of this game, is in some degree attributable to this sagging Preds team. Nashville’s Craig Smith opened up the scoring in the first frame at a little under 9 minutes into the game. As the game continued the play of both teams opened up a bit; chances became more plentiful for both as each team kind of tripped over their own defensive schemes. It was the Preds defense struggling to get into to position that allowed for a tic tac toe pass play in the offensive zone for the Sabres. Kyle Okposo ended up getting the puck behind Pekka Rinne and tapped it in. It was 1-1 through the first intermission but that changed awfully quickly in the second period. P.K. Subban got out all alone against Carter Hutton and shot it past the former Predator in net. It was practically off the faceoff. It was 2-1 for a very brief time again before Conor Sheary thought he evened it up about three minutes into the middle period. The ref said it did not count. Before we go on it’s worth mentioning this was probably the best effort the Sabres have completed in several weeks. Jack Eichel, Sam Reinhart, Casey Mittelstadt, really all the guys, even the ones who aren’t big names did good tonight. The key follow-up there is they didn’t win. You guys got to figure out how to do that more consistently. Nonetheless, it felt nice to not watch another skating clinic.

Jeff Skinner evened up the game at 2 after gathering a nice rebound off the back boards with mere seconds left in the second period. I tuned into the third period full of hope Buffalo would make a real game out of it. They did but Ryan Johansen snuck a puck high on Hutton: it was one of those bounce in bounce out goals that gives Philadelphia Flyers flashbacks to the 2010 Stanley Cup Final. I built that up like it was a momentous play, but it was just a goal and it put Nashville up 3-2 where the game would end. The boys in blue and gold put up a good late effort to tie it, but the third equalizer never came and this one will look like just another regulation loss in the history of this season. This game didn’t suck and that maybe the summation of the only things that make this game watchable. It was so refreshing to see Jeff Skinner scored again that I wear a smile thinking about this game; maybe that’s a sign of just how far we’ve fallen. The Skin Man Skinner is now being treated as a departing hero by some and free agency seems like an inevitability with him at this point but silly optimists like me will continue to concoct ways he stays. The rumor mill has been so silent on him lately it feels like no one will even tolerate us being hopeful about the situation. On the other hand, I heard a theory Skinner is waiting for Phil Housley to be fired to sign. That’s probably some smelly bullshit but if that were true how quickly would Jason Botterill drop Housley? Immediately? That leads me to the considerations of everyone’s favorite weekly hockey column: 31 Thoughts by Elliotte Friedman.

This time we look at Friedman’s writings with a little skepticism. He states in thought number 8 that Jason Botterill doesn’t want to do a coaching change because there have been five coaches of the Sabres since Lindy Ruff left back in 2013. That doesn’t meet the smell test by way of the simple fact Botterill has only been here for one coach. If he has been indoctrinated with the concerns of ownership that’s another story but I don’t see him worrying about past bench bosses. The other half of the thought is that if the Sabres can’t get one of the big names this offseason following firing Housley (cough Joel Quenneville cough) than it makes since given Jason Botterill’s history in the Pittsburgh Penguins organization that he’ll promote Chris Taylor. Firstly, I want to point out I called it and have now been vindicated by Elliotte Friedman and second, why not? There is a glut of good AHL coaches and NHL assistants soon to be finding new jobs. Imagine this: The Rochester Americans win the Calder Cup after a hard-fought season and as reward Chris Taylor is announced as the replacement for the vacancy in Buffalo (because we know they’re firing Housley, right?). This allows you to hire one of half a dozen great AHL coaches to fill that void instead of taking another risk with an unproven guy for the NHL job. I will continue building this case until it comes to fruition. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

You know what to do: like, comment and share this blog around with friends and family. There is a certain dark-side of Sabres fandom that has reared its head in recent days that I have relegated to the P.S. of today’s blog. Instead of talking about that stupidity with any degree of credence we’re going to have a little talk about women’s hockey. I am an asshole, or at least I feel like one. I have only really mentioned the Buffalo Beauts or women’s hockey in passing this season and that’s not great considering the real titan of a team we had in Harbor Center this year. Now with the sudden folding of the Canadian Women’s Hockey League (CWHL) the whole professional outfit of women’s hockey in North America has suddenly gone into crisis mode. NWHL looks to be expanding to Toronto and Montreal to help the cause but this is really an issue all hockey fans should be screaming from the rooftops about. I waited far too long to do so myself. So that’s all for tonight folks, we only got two more of these Sabres games left! Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. He is everything and definitively not the problem. Stop. If you bring up the Eichel-hater discussion going on right now in the Sabres Noise-o-sphere I am going to block you immediately. Just an fyi.

[coppermarigolds]

20. Eyes, Miller/Muss :V

So, this bit of ridiculousness is obviously show!Muss and Miller, not book!Muss and Miller. Set pre-canon.

-

This was it. This was that moment, that hurdle every relationship reached, if it lasted long enough. Frankly, Octavia was surprised this one had. 

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she winced. It wasn’t that Miller wasn’t a great guy, it was just…

Well. Miller actually wasn’t that great of a guy. He was lazy as hell on his best days, a crooked cop on his not-so-good days, and had a drinking problem every day. 

Octavia’s frown deepened. She stared hard at herself in the mirror, watching wrinkled furrows dig into her face and wondering just how many Miller himself had put there. 

“Okay,” she muttered aloud, planting her hands on her hips. “We’ve established he’s not a great guy. So why are you even contemplating taking the relationship to the next level?”

The next level. Ugh. What did that even mean, anyway? It was just one of those cheap, meaningless phrases people threw around when they were trying to avoid confronting issues head-on. Which was exactly what she was doing right now. 

“Think, Muss,” she commanded herself. A little voice in the back of her head sniggered at her for standing alone in her apartment, talking to herself in the mirror. She told it to shut up. Firmly. 

Miller wasn’t all bad. Obviously. Otherwise she would never have started seeing him in the first place. He had a stubborn streak that, while exasperating most of the time, could be endearing when he applied it to something worthwhile. He could be sweet when he wanted to, in his own…unique way. And the sex was actually pretty good, when he wasn’t too drunk to–

Octavia cleared her throat, cutting off that line of thought before it could devolve into a string of less-than-optimal memories. 

The fact was, at the end of the day, nobody was perfect. God knew she herself had her own collection of flaws and closeted skeletons. And it wasn’t like she was going to propose to the guy. Just…casually ask if maybe he had considered the notion of them moving in together. For the water-ration benefits, if nothing else.

Casual. Right. “You’ve got this, Octavia,” she told herself, lifting her chin and smoothing down her clothes. “You can do casual.” 

It wouldn’t be that bad. Worst case scenario, he laughed in her face. Wouldn’t be the most awful thing a boyfriend had ever done to her. 

She wasn’t entirely sure if that was an encouraging thought, or not.

- 

Even though they didn’t live together–yet–she’d spent enough time in Miller’s apartment to know it almost as well as her own. As he opened the door for her and she stepped over the threshold, she could see every piece of furniture, every knickknack, every item he owned and know whether they were in their proper places or not. There was his table with his service pistol carelessly tossed on top. There was a tumbler half-full of booze. There were the dishes he hadn’t bothered to put away after eating. There was–

She stopped dead in her tracks. 

“What the hell is that?” 

Miller followed her eyes, wearing his usual bored expression, as though he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“It’s a coffee pot, Muss,” he said, in a well obviously tone of voice. “Need your eyes checked, or somethin?’”

“I can see it’s a coffee pot.” She took a deep breath. “Why is it sitting on your counter? You don’t drink coffee.”

“Nah.” A look of faint disgust passed over his face, and Octavia held back a snort. The man could drink a fish under the table, yet the thought of a sip of coffee repulsed him. What a catch. 

“You can’t live without it, though,” he was saying. It took a moment for Octavia’s brain to process the words. Miller was looking at her expectantly. 

“Okay,” she said. “So–wait. I can’t live without it? That seems like a bit of an exaggeration.” 

“Not an exaggeration.” He ran his fingers through his hair, giving her a pointed look. “I’ve seen you before your first cup of coffee, and after. Like night and day.”

“We live on a space station.” Octavia crossed her arms. “Technically there is no night and day.” 

“Technically. You’re trying to change the subject.” He waved a finger at her. 

“I am not–”

“It’s all in the eyes, Muss.” All of a sudden he was in front of her–damn those long Belter legs of his–and his thumb was on her jaw, his fingers tapping gently beneath her right eye. 

She swallowed. “What are you talking about?” 

“Before you get your coffee in the morning.” He was slipping back into that aggravating tone like he was explaining something to a five-year-old. “Look into your eyes, and it’s all dead in there. Then after the coffee, you’re a different person. Like a light going on. And you can’t tell me that sludge they have at the office is any good. So.” 

Octavia opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“So…this is your very twisted, roundabout way of giving me a gift?” 

He grunted. “Yeah. Sort of. I was thinkin,’ you could use it when you’re living here.”

She could feel her eyes bugging. If she was the religious type, she might be praying that they didn’t drop out of her skull and roll under the couch. 

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

He shrugged. She knew it meant yes.

She couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. It built and built until she was nearly doubled over, gasping for air, irony and relief cresting over her in waves.

By the time she could breathe again, Miller was giving her a familiar wounded look.

“Could’ve just said no,” he muttered. 

“No, that’s not–” Octavia smothered another ill-timed burst of laughter. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying yes. I’m laughing because I came over here intending to ask you if you wanted to move in together.” 

Miller looked at her under his brows, but one of them was slowly inching upward. “That right?” 

“Yeah.” She grinned, pushed up on her toes, and kissed him. After a moment she pulled away, still grinning, nimbly dodging his attempt to pull her back in.

“And now that we’ve got that taken care of,” she said, backing toward the kitchen, “I’m gonna make a cup of coffee.” 

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 37 - ANA - Still Kicking

Two teams come into this game with two straight regulation losses: only one will come out with a W! I did some digging into past blogs and I discovered something weirdly encouraging: the Sabres came into this game after losing two games in a row in regulation. That’s not the encouraging part. The encouraging part is that this is only the second time this season the Sabres have lost two in a row in regulation and the last time was the 6th and 7th games back in October! Yea, there was that five game losing streak right after the big olde ten dubs but the Sabres played good in four of those and collected points in three. Kind of like Friday night in Washington when Buffalo played well but was just not rewarded for it. Last night in a tilt against the Anaheim Ducks the Sabres looked good again, this time in they looked good the kind of way that makes you excited for the postseason: the consistent way. Maintaining a narrow lead for most of the game the Mighty Sabres of Buffalo pounded out a hard fought win in front of a very merry sellout home crowd. Last game I just asked for a nice sendoff before the Christmas break and evidently my letter reached the North Pole because I got what I wished for! I must be a good boy. Of course it’s fair to say it’s the Anaheim Ducks and in spite of where they sit in the Pacific Division their just not that great a team. Yea, that’s fair. But within that shaky framework are a few pieces that won a Stanley Cup more than a decade ago the year the Sabres should’ve been there to meet them. And it’s also Christmastime so maybe just let yourself be happy about a win for goodness sake!

Having gone home for some Yuletide prep with the Fam I watched the first period on MSG TV next to my dad like it was 2011 all over again. Jolly. The Sabres came out immediately throwing the pressure on the Ducks, shots after shots after shots, and the visitors just kind of held on through it. John Gibson was clearly a big part of it. Jack Eichel got a chance, Tage Thompson got a good chance, friggin everyone hopped on the sleigh and got a chance. The Ducks did get to testing Linus Ullmark a little bit as the period went on. Then the Buffalo Sabres gave us their Christmas present to us: a rare gift that, barring another wicked win streak, is a truly meaningful gift to those of us who watch this team a lot: a powerplay goal. Set up in the offensive zone Jack Eichel got the puck to Rasmus Ristolainen who continues to be on a line with the other big Rasmus: Rasmus Dahlin to make Rasmus Squared. Risto got it to Dahlin who you could tell sized up a quick pass back to Eichel but instead skated toward Gibson and just rockets it in five hole. The noise of the home crowd was very audible. Funny thing, I think Dahlin happened to also go five hole on Reinhart who was doing an excellent job screening Gibson. That goal came a tad over three minutes left in the first period and nothing terrible noteworthy happened before the first horn sounded except an almost fight. Jeff Skinner must have been doing some trash talking with Ryan Getzlaf (which makes a ton of sense btw) because Zach Bogosian came rushing over like Getzlaf was about to punch a puppy. No puppies were punched and the second period began similarly with volley after volley of Sabres chances.

Ondrej Kase had a scary breakaway early in the second but didn’t get past Ullmark. There was an almost goal for Jack and Jeff that you could see how pissed the two were that they didn’t finish it. I don’t know about you but as the last minutes of the second period ticked by and the Sabres took a 1-0 lead into the third period there was a nervous energy. Now I’m listening to the radio broadcast en route back to Buffalo and I can’t help but get that feeling something is going to go south. The Sabres were on the penalty kill to start the period and once again the kill was strong under the guidance of Chief Killer Bogo and his newly returned co-conspirator Jake McCabe. Adam Henrique almost sneaked in a wraparound as the PP died but no line was crossed. The Ducks started to pour it on now. Three straight regulation losses is rough and they didn’t want it either. Linus Ullmark really got into the zone facing shots from just about every angle. And then, like getting the gift you’ve been asking for on Christmas morning, Jeff Skinner got the puck and skated in around the outside of the net and roofed it close quarters short side on John Gibson. 2-0 Sabres with 8:48 left in the third period. Insurance if I’ve ever seen an insurance goal. Small but massive note: that’s Jeff Skinner’s 26th goal this season. With that he beats the most goals a single Sabre scored last season at 25 whom Jack Eichel scored in an injury shortened season. Pretty unreal, eh? Seven or so minutes later as the Sabres increasingly push back against the Ducks the visitors pull their goalie and Conor Sheary finds the empty netter. The time ticked down to zero and Linus Ullmark’s second NHL career shutout and eighth win of his first season working part-time in Buffalo. The Buffalo Sabres win 3-0 over the Anaheim Ducks sweeping the season series with quacks for the first time since 2010-2011.

Now as the Sabres navigated that perilous 1-0 lead as the Ducks came at them hard early in the third period there was something far more worrisome afoot in Key Bank Center. The play-by-play call by Rick Jeanneret went more or less silent with a confused sounding Rob Ray trying to do color commentary and play-by-play for a time. Eventually, well known Sabres social media guidepost and pre/postgame host Brian Duff took over the color commentary somewhat awkwardly, but RJ did not return for the duration of the game. While officials for the team said an update on him would be given once more was known a few folks at the game said they saw RJ carried out on a stretcher. WGR 550 reported shortness of breath and heart problems. It was a difficult night trying to think about writing this while worrying about someone who embodies this franchise perhaps more than Gilbert Perrault or Alexander Mogilny. RJ is literally the longest serving NHL play-caller in league history having been with the Sabres since 1971. Think about that, if you’re under 20 then one or both of your parents were probably not born yet when RJ first took the microphone as their guy. He may deserve a banner in the rafters more than Danny Gare. Well, the update the Sabres delivered this morning was very encouraging saying he is resting, doing well and looking forward to being back after the Christmas break; but what he apparently texted to the Athletic’s John Vogl this morning is perhaps the most heartwarming message and weirdly accurate of where the team is at on the ice right now as well:  simply “Still Kicking.” Incredible.

Now we go into a Christmas NHL break and a roster freeze to go with it. The Sabres play again on Thursday in St. Louis where they will meet Ryan O’Reilly in the better situation he was looking for… oh wait. All kidding aside, I want the best for O’Reilly. I have tickets to his return to Buffalo on St. Patrick’s Day because I know fun games when I see them. I will post a Amerks Angle for December after Christmas but before that game so if you just cannot wait for more content then you got something to look forward to: but if you are that person, well why haven’t you commented your words of yuletide encouragement!? Yes: comment, like and do share this blog on social media and amongst family and friends with holly jolly spirit! And just think about where you were with this team at Christmas last year: probably just about tapped out considering the season was pretty well dead already. What if I told you then the Sabres would be third in the Atlantic division nine points up on a playoff spot in spitting distance of the Maple Leafs? You probably wouldn’t believe me but if you did you would sign up for it in a heartbeat. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and very glad tidings to you and your kinfolk! Let’s go Buffalo!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. Conor Sheary joked about his empty netter not counting after the game. If he starts scoring again after Christmas maybe it will count a lot in retrospect.