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bloodyknucklesforme · 5 months

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Red Summer | Ghoap x F!Reader | Slasher!AU

After breaking up with your long term boyfriend you take a job working as a camp counselor in Northern Vermont. Seven weeks of swimming, volleyball, archery and hiking. There's even a hot lifeguard. It seems perfect until you find something evil is lurking in the woods

Tags: Slasher AU, Ghoap x Reader, intro chapter, nondescript reader, dark fic

Chapter 1: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

5.5k words

It smelled like Summer. Ozonic and earthy, carried into your car by the breeze as you drove North through winding roads. Montpelier was two hours behind you now.

Despite the eighty degree heat, Vermont was lush and green. Only a couple more miles of shaded forest roads before you reached camp. At least you hoped so. Your maps app had been slow to load the last twenty miles.

The place was North, nestled between the border of Canada and the New Hampshire state line. It was gorgeous though. Anytime you thought about moving out of New England to somewhere cheaper the next season changed your mind. The trees just didn’t look as pretty in fall or the snow as splendid in winter. You just wished it was cheaper.

Suppose that’s why you took this job, as much as it didn’t appeal to you. Camp counselor for seven long weeks, the pay was shit but your food and board came free. After a bad breakup you didn’t have time to find a new lease so your life was packed up into a rented storage box with anything valuable shoved into the back of your car.

A friend of a friend recommended it. She’d been working here for years, attended for even more. She was an old money New Englander. Boarding school outside of Boston and all that. She was nice though. Got you the job over any qualified candidates. It wasn’t nepotism but whatever it was called you wouldn’t complain.

Your car dinged. Low gas. Shit.

Scrolling quickly through the map you saw a gas station up ahead. You’d just make it… hopefully.

You let out a sigh of relief as you pulled into the station. It was older with dusty windows and sun-faded posters for cigarettes.

A piece of paper was taped to the pump.

“Reader broken. Pay inside” scribbled in sharpie.

You sighed and headed inside.

It was dusty inside too. A couple aisles of brightly packaged food and walls lined with fridges filled with beer and soda. The man behind the counter glanced up from his book when you walked in.

He was handsome. Black with dark, short cut curly hair and big brown eyes. Much too handsome to be working in the middle of nowhere. He’d look more fitting in the corner of a bar, buying you a drink. He smiled up at you and your heart might have skipped a beat.

“Pump three? How much?” He was English… strange.

“Just…uh… ten bucks.” You stumbled out.

“It’s the accent,” he chuckled. “It throws everybody off the first time.”

“It’s a strange place for an Englishman to be, I guess.” You swayed awkwardly.

“I go to Middlebury. Easier to get a summer job than fly home.” He shrugged.

“Understandable.” You weren’t an expert on Vermont geography but you swore the college was on the other side of the state.

“Ten on three.” He said, nodding his head towards the window.

“Oh yeah. Thank you.”

“You still got to pay, love.”

“Oh fuck, yeah. Sorry… uh… Kyle.” You read his name tag before digging through your tote bag, finding the last bit of your cash.

“No worries. What brings a girl like you out here.”

“I’m working at the camp.”

“Weldon lake, right?”

“Yeah. First time… I’m going the right way, right?”

“If you continue up the road. There will be a sign when you need to turn.” He handed you your receipt.

“Thank you.”

“Hey!” You were half way out the door when he called. “Stay alive out there. Heard the campers can be down right evil.”

“I’ll try!”

The rest of the journey was smooth, there was a sign just like Kyle said. Another one after that taking you down a long gravel drive and into a dirt parking lot. A couple other cars were there already.

You made sure everything important was locked up in the trunk before grabbing your duffel bag and tote. You hoped you brought enough sunscreen.

The sun was warm on your back as you made your way up to the main building. Two other girls were hanging around on the porch. They each wore matching white baseball shirts with red sleeves and trim, each labeled with STAFF on the back.

“Hey, you’re Sophia’s friend, right? I’m Janie.” She jumped down from the porch fence. “I love your braids by the way.”

You’d done your hair before leaving, figuring it’d be easier to keep clean braided than fight for limited shower time.

“I’m Natalie,” The other girl greeted. You introduced yourself, thanking Janie for the compliment.”

“I think your cabin is next to mine. I can take you over once you check in.” Janie said.

Check in was easy enough. Sign a couple more papers, show off your ID to prove you were you and get your cabin assignment, key and two staff shirts. Tomorrow was orientation before the campers arrived Monday morning. Tonight was for getting to know everyone.

“So, where’s this cabin?” you asked, walking outside.

The girls grinned and led you down the path. Everything seemed to branch off from here. They pointed out where the dining hall was just past the main office next to the nurse’s station.

“Don’t expect much. They’re still recovering from when Covid almost killed this place.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. They had to raise fees and a bunch of parents freaked out. Guess an extra hundred dollars really threw all the millionaires off.” Natalie laughed.

Next was the pool, fully fenced in and surrounded by two tennis courts and two basketball courts on either side.

“Hey lasses!” A man called from the pool, leaning over the chain link fence. Natalie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’s the new girl?”

He had a thick Scottish accent. Lots of transplants for the area, you guessed. He was also handsome. Muscular with a dark mohawk and light eyes. He was shirtless with very short and tight red shorts on and a silver whistle around his neck. He was dripping water over the ground.

“You say that like you aren’t also the new guy, Johnny!” Natalie called, clearly annoyed already.

“Nat hates him.” Janie giggled.

“It’s been three hours and he’s already tried to fuck half the counselors. He’s a dog.”

“One I’d put on a leash.” Janie laughed.

Johnny walked over, still dripping wet. His crocs squeaked with every step.

“Johnny,” he grinned, holding out his hand to you. You introduced yourself as he shook your hand excitedly. He had a tattoo on his side, up by his ribs. You couldn’t see all of it but it looked like a heart with someone’s initials in it. S and something else, you couldn’t tell for sure. “Beautiful name for a beautiful gal.”

Your cheeks felt hot as his blue eyes traveled over your body.

“It’s going to be a fun seven weeks with all you bonnie lasses around.” He grinned. Nat looped her arm around yours.

“Down dog. We still have half the camp to show off.”

“You know where to find me. Pool looked like the lake when I got here.” He raised his hands up as he walked backwards towards the pool again.

“Come on, before we lose Janie.”

“He’s hot!” She defended.

“You just like him because he got your name right on the first try.”

“He’s intelligent too!”

The cabins were next. Ten white painted buildings split in half with about eight beds on each side and a shared bathroom in the back. They formed a circle around a fire pit with log benches.

You had cabin room 14. Janie was the building next door in 15 and Nat with 16 sharing with her. They took turns explaining everything.

“Your bed is the only non bunk and the chest underneath locks so anything you don’t want the campers to find should go there.”

“Basically all your shit. I had a copy of Crime and Punishment stolen last year. Fucking Crime and Punishment like any of these kids could read Dostoevsky.”

“Showers are in the back. Hot water is sparse so if you want some, move quick and early.”

“Breakfast is at 8. Coffee tastes like shit unless you pour half a pound of sugar in it.”

“You can vape just outside but if you smoke you gotta ask your neighbor counselor to watch your kids. At least thirty feet away or they’ll snitch too.”

“Weed is only for days off because they'll either snitch or demand you share. That goes for kids and counselors.”

“Days off are randomly assigned but you should get one every other week.”

“I don’t recommend sleeping with other counselors but if you must, go to your car.” Natalie said.

“We’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is in an hour. You can meet everyone else then.”

“Thank you guys for everything.” You felt overwhelmed just a bit.

They left, still arguing about Johnny. He was cute but the break up wounds were still fresh. You didn’t want to sneak around either. You weren’t a teenager anymore.

You haphazardly dumped the contents of your duffle into the lock chest before shoving it back under the bed. You had seven weeks to organize it.

The bed was okay. A plastic covered mattress with an old sleeping bag. You should have brought your own pillow. Maybe a Target run on your next day off whenever that was.

The ache in your muscles from driving all day hit hard the moment you sat down.

There was a knock on the door.

“Hey sleepyhead!” Sophia came in. You rubbed your face as you woke up. Out the window you could see the sky looked darker, a blue summer evening. “I’m glad you ended up coming.”

“Yeah. Thanks for getting me the job.” You stretched, your shoulders cracking. “It’s nice to get away.”

“I’m sorry about you and Ale.” There it was. She was nice but always craved gossip.

“It’s okay. Just wanted different things.”

You shrugged. It wasn’t a bad breakup, no arguing, just a slow and painful demise. He’d even offered to let you stay with him when the lease ended and he found out you didn’t have a place to go. You chose this instead.

“Well, let’s get you something to eat. The food is incredibly mediocre but I heard a rumor that the lifeguard has beer and weed for the fire pit.”

She was not wrong about dinner. Hot dogs with a slice of Kraft cheese melted on top with a bag of chips as a side.

You sat with Nat, Sophia and Janie.

“There are my lovely ladies!” Johnny sat down, forcing his way between Cel and Sophia. Nat looked like she wanted to kill him. “Coming out to the lake tonight? Hope you all brought swim suits or birthday suits.”

“Jesus Christ.” Nat groaned.

“I think we’re gonna have an easy night. Some of us had long drives.” Sophia motioned to herself and you. “Just some girl time.”

Johnny pouted.

“Fair enough but I do expect all of you at the bonfire tomorrow.” He pointed at all of them, even Nat. “Especially you new girl.”

He got up and jogged off to another table of girls.

“Am I allowed to call him a slut?”

“What happened to dog?” Janie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Dogs can be trained.”

You all laughed. You’d been worried that you wouldn’t fit in. All the other girls knew each other for years at this point. Janie and Sophia had been coming here since they were kids. Nat met Janie in high school and got a job as a junior counselor with her the first chance they got.

It wasn’t a super attractive job and the pay was shit but it looked good on resumes and college applications apparently. Showed responsibility. Most of your experiences with camp were from horror films.

The sun was still out as the four of you walked back. Sophia was your cabin neighbor, taking care of room 13. It’s where you all gathered.

Sophia and you sat on her bed while she did your nails.

“Red looks nice on you.” It was a bright cherry red. She’d picked it out, saying they should all match.

The evening was spent talking and laughing. You asking questions about camp life and getting advice from the other girls.

You had friends back home but you were glad you fit in so fast. Any anxiety and fear for the Summer slipped away as the sun set.

“I’m beat.” Nat yawned. It was almost midnight now. Janie agreed and the two wandered off back to their cabin.

“I’ll head back too. Thank you for being so welcoming, Soph.”

“Absolutely! It’s nice to get fresh meat every once and a while. It can be tough with the kids so some people get jaded. I hope you have fun this Summer and if you don’t you can blame me.” She laughed.

The air was cool on the little porch out front. Most of the other cabins had their lights off by now and the center was lit up with fireflies, neon yellow dots.

There was an orange dot out towards the back of one of the cabins across the way. A cigarette. The man smoking it seemed larger than any counselor you’d seen but it was dark and he was half hidden behind the building. It was Johnny’s cabin, you think. He was big.

He waved and you waved back. He dropped the cigarette and stamped it out. The little corner fell dark and you went into your side.

You didn’t realize how quiet the world could be as you curled up in your sleeping bag. No hum of electronics or cars. No people yelling above or below you. Just the stillness of the stars.

It was an early morning. Johnny was running around the circle of cabins playing music to wake everyone up. He was shirtless again and his shorts seemed shorter than the day before. You wouldn’t complain.

“So why did you choose this wonderful vista as a summer job?” Johnny asked, jogging up next to you as you made your way to the dining hall.

“Needed a break. Get out in nature for a bit. I grew up in the suburbs and just broke up with my boyfriend so I guess I wanted to breathe for a bit. You?”

“Running from my previous life of crime.” He smiled. “Nah, just also trying to get away. Was military back home, knee injury did me in. Didn’t know what else to do. Hiked part of the Appliachian trail. You know, it's the same mountain range as the Highlands. Felt like I had to see them. Haven’t really felt like going back home yet.”

“You hiked alone?” You raised an eyebrow. You knew that it was one of the longest and hardest trails in the country.

“Had a mate with me but I’m on my lonesome now.” He opened the door for you. Sure, he was boisterous but he seemed harmless one on one. Maybe a little dogish but he wasn’t going to hump your leg unprompted.

“Shirts are needed in the dining hall, Mactavish!” Sophia called. He held up his hands in surrender before fishing out a cropped muscle tee that had been shoved into his pocket. It was a nice change of pace to be around a man that wanted to show off his own skin rather than try to get girls to show theirs.

You told yourself before you got here that you wouldn’t look for that kind of distraction. It wasn’t worth it, especially not this early. You could look though. No harm in that.

Bacon, Eggs and self-serve cereal was today’s breakfast. You joined back up with the girls from last night. Orientation was supposed to take up most of the day so they encouraged you to grab a couple pieces of fruit and a protein bar.

“Only fill up your water bottle in here. There are fountains elsewhere but I think they taste weird.” Said Janie.

You were put in a group with Johnny, Sophia, and another guy named Warren. He and Sophia were long term counselors so they gladly took on the role of being you and Johnny’s tour guide. Johnny had been hired because of his lifeguard training so he already knew the layout of the lake and pool. You were scolded for not having proper shoes for hiking.

“What’s your size? I might have an old pair in my car.” Sophia offered. “If not I think there’s an L.L.Bean like two hours away. We can go on our next day off.”

You weren’t sure if you could afford brand new boots so silently hoped that Sophia did have that old pair and they fit.

“Don’t want ya getting blisters all summer.” Johnny said. He was doing the hike in crocs but apparently did have boots back at his cabin.

You didn’t do the full trail but Warren pointed out the different routes and how difficult each one was and which ones kids could do by themselves and which ones they couldn’t. The fields were next. A soccer field and baseball field were across the way from the cabins. It was a loose definition of each. One was a huge patch of grass and the other a diamond of dirt. Both looked a little off size wise. There was the sports supply shed that had all the equipment in it. Only a couple counselors had keys to it.

“People kept using it inappropriately.” Sophia smiled.

There was the art building, the rec hall, a path leading towards the archery field and riflery field.

“Riflery?”

“Yeah. We used to teach kids how to shoot. Mostly clay pigeons but it was one of the programs cut after Covid,” Warren explained.

“Shame I missed it. Could have taught the kids trick shots.” Johnny joked, pretending to aim a rifle backwards over his shoulder.

The horse stable was also closed. Too expensive to have horses here for even half the season.

The Lake was the last part of the tour. It was on the other side of the road so to get there was an underpass to get there. It was large enough for five adults to walk side by side comfortably but the yellow light from the lamps gave it a sickly vibe.

It ended a little ways before the beach. There were several rows of Kayaks and another shed filled with life preservers and paddles.

“Wow Johnny! You cleaned it up well.” Warren clapped him on the back. For a moment Johnny looked irritated that he’d been touched but he shoved that emotion out of the way to make room for his usual excited self.

“Yeah. Cleaned up the best I could.”

“It looks great, Johnny.” You were impressed. He’d even sprayed the kayaks down, bright clean plastic in a rainbow of colors.

“Yer making me blush.” He laid a hand over his heart.

The lake was gorgeous. Cream colored sand feeding into sapphire waters. You could just see the beach on the other side, a small empty dock with a path leading into the woods. The camp side had a floating platform about thirty feet into the water.

“Campers have to swim there and back to pass the swimming competency test.” Sophia explained. “If you can’t swim on your own you’re stuck in the buoyed area.”

There was a ten by ten foot area cordoned off by buoys, keeping to the shallow end of the lake. Made enough sense. No one wanted to fish a dead kid out of the water.

“Let’s head back. We don’t want to miss lunch.” Warren clapped his hands together.

The four of you made the trek back to the dining hall. You did feel like blisters were starting to form on the back of your ankles. You’d have to put band-aids on them later.

The rest of the afternoon was spent going over itinerary for the following week. Campers would arrive tomorrow between ten and six. It was a day mostly planned out for settling them in with an inaugural bonfire that night. After that it was seven weeks of regular old American camp adventures.

You went back to your cabin the moment you had free time. Your ankles hadn’t started to bleed but they were bright red and throbbing. You applied the bandaids and grabbed another pair of socks to wear the rest of the way.

There was about an hour and half before dinner and final orientation from the camp managers, who, you had been told, often made themselves scarce throughout the summer to avoid having to do their jobs. You settled on top of your sleeping bag. A nice breeze came in through the screen door. Janie had told you that it was the best way to keep the building cool.

You thought about Ale. His smile and deep laugh. How he’d wake you up in the morning with kisses to the back of your neck. How he loved your hair and ass. How he’d whisper in Spanish to you. You still had the English/Spanish dictionary he gave you shoved in a box back in the city. You missed him. Your cowboy. He would have been so disappointed to hear the stables were closed. Maybe you’d call him after all this. Ask to work something out.

You drifted off daydreaming about the scent of his cologne.

“Bonnie! You’re gonna miss dinner!” Johnny was knocking on the screen door. Maybe Nat was right in being annoyed by him all the time.

“I’ll just miss it.” you sighed, rolling over on the bed.

“You never know which meal is your last. Best not to skip any! C’mon or I’ll drag ya myself.”

You would have thrown a pillow if you had one. How did he always have so much energy?

He jogged literal circles around you on the way to the dining hall.

“How are your feet?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“You were limping on the way back to the cabins earlier.”

“Oh…yeah just blisters.”

He tutted at you.

“Got to get you some good shoes soon.”

Dinner was the same hot dogs as the previous night with a bonus of a bowl of lettuce, cherry tomatoes and a slice of cucumber.

There was an excited energy in the room. Most people who’d snuck in alcohol or drugs said tonight was the best night to use it all. An unspoken competition of who could drink the most and still function when the first campers started to arrive. It could be fun, you mused. You were never a big partier in college and what was this if not a perfect chance to make up for that.

The boys built up a nice fire, each poking and prodding their own side with their favorite stick. You sat on one of the log benches next to Sophia and Janie. Johnny was across the fire, his arm around the waste of another girl counselor. Ceilidh you think it was. Pronounced like Kay-lee, she’d said. Pretty name, Gaelic. Made sense for him to go after a piece of home.

“Glad he’s finally left us alone.” Nat chuckled.

“I think they’re cute.” Sophia said. You pushed down the twinge of jealousy you felt seeing her giggle at his joke.

Warren came around with a cooler filled with a hodgepodge of beer. He was his fraternity’s president and one of his responsibilities was to get rid of any extra at the end of the term to avoid trouble. Dry campus issues.

You grabbed a Modelo. Ale’s old go to and one you’d gotten used to drinking. It left a familiar warm feeling in your stomach.

You drank, you danced, you ate s’mores, you laughed with your new friends. The stars seemed so bright and clear out here. Janie had you all lay out on your backs in the grass nearby as she pointed out each constellation.

“That’s the big dipper and above it is the little dipper but Draco is the constellation between them. If you guys tell me your star signs I can point it out for you.”

There was laughter nearby and you glanced up to see Johnny and Ceilidh sneaking in the dark towards her cabin.

You had another beer. And another. Maybe one more after that.

Someone offered you a hit off a joint so you did that too.

The four of you were laughing and stumbling back to Sophia’s cabin. You had no idea how late it was. The fire was dying out. Warren said he would make sure everyone got back inside all right. The designated driver of drunken counselors. He was a good guy.

You found yourself laying on your side on one of the empty beds. Sophia and Janie were on her bed, half asleep against each other. Nat and you were talking about your childhoods.

“I broke a bone three years in a row, each time in May. I missed field day every time. My mom once pulled me around in a wagon so I wouldn’t feel left out,” She laughed.

“How did you break so many bones?”

“Catholic school where the playground was just a parking lot. I was a wild kid. I broke my arm tripping and falling against the priest’s car. I dented it too. I thought I was going to hell.”

There was a shrill noise. Loud and stomach dropping. A scream cut off. You and the other girls all jumped to attention. It was silent except for the crackling of the fire outside.

“Fisher cat.” Janie said, trying to convince herself.

“Or a fox.” Sophia added.

“Did you guys hear that?” Warren said, coming in.

The four of you nodded.

“It sounded close. I’m gonna check it out.”

“By yourself?”

“One of the other guys is gonna come with me. It’s probably just an animal. If you see Johnny tell him to go check on everyone. I want a headcount before we all go to sleep.”

You all watched from the window as Warren met another guy holding a flashlight and a baseball bat. Sophia turned on the porch light. They disappeared between the cabin’s across the way.

“Johnny and Celilidh went off together. Should we try to find them?” Sophia offered.

“Maybe we should just stay here. Safety in numbers.” Janie answered.

“Safety from what? It was just an animal.” Nat insisted.

“Didn’t sound like an animal.” You thought. No one else would say it but you were all thinking it. A slide show of clips from horror films played through your mind.

Four sets of eyes darted around, looking out windows and the front door, waiting for some masked killer to seep through the walls.

Bang!

You all screamed as Johnny flew through the door, clutching his stomach.

“We have to go now!” He grunted. Blood was pouring between his fingers.

“Oh my god. What happened? Where’s Ceilidh?”

“Dead… fuck.. She’s fucking dead. Fucker came in through the window in the bathroom. I tried to fight him off. I’m sorry.” He gulped. “We have to go now!”

“You’re bleeding. Please let me look.” Janie reached out and he pushed her hand away.

“Don’t have time. We have to go. Get my car keys. I can fit us all.”

“What about everyone else?” You asked. There was so much blood, it was dripping on the floor now.

“I don’t know… when..when’s the last time you saw anyone?”

There was another scream from outside. Silence took you over again.

“Please… we can get out and get help but we have to go now.” Johnny pleaded. His bright blue eyes were watery and his tan skin was stained red down his legs.

“I’m going.” Sophia said, grabbing her backpack. “Fuck this. I’m not fucking dying like it’s a movie. We’re all going. Johnny, do you need help?”

“No, I can manage. I need to get my keys though.”

“I have mine. We can just take my car. It’s an SUV.” Sophia urged, crouching down to look out of the door.

“No…no…I…I uh…I have a gun in my car.”

“You brought a fucking gun to camp?” Nat’s jaw dropped.

“Old shotgun. It works. I’m trained for this. Get to the car and I… I can kill him.”

“You’re bleeding out, Johnny.” Janie cried, reaching for him again and once again being pushed away.

“Come with me.” Johnny looked at you.

“I…I…I don’t know.” You were shaking. It didn’t seem real. Too cliche. A real life spree killer running around the woods of a Summer camp. Sophia was right, you didn’t want to die like it was some movie.

“He knows I’m weak. He’ll go after me first. We’ll get my keys and if he shows up… you take them and run.”

“You..can’t sacrifice yourself.” Your voice warbled.

“It was my job to do that. If I can’t die saving my country, I’d like to die saving a group of pretty girls.”

Johnny was pleading. He seemed to know he couldn’t do it on his own. You thought about Ale saying you needed to stand up for yourself more. You never did. You didn’t stand up to bullies in high school, rogue professors in college or shitty demeaning bosses. You didn’t even stand up for yourself when Ale said he wanted a break.

Nat was saying how you should all just run to Sophia’s car. She had her keys. Sophia was agreeing. Janie was crying silently.

“I’ll go.” You forced the words out like vomit. It was that or actual vomit.

“Okay.” He almost smiled. “Sophia, turn off the lights. We’ll give you a signal when it's safe to come out. Then we all run to the parking lot.”

“What’s the signal?” Janie sobbed.

“I’ll whistle.”

You were shaking so much you worried you’d fall right down the front steps of the cabin. Johnny was in front of you, shoulders hunched up, his eyes darting everywhere. Sophia turned off the lights, leaving the two of you in near darkness. The fire was nothing more than orange smoldering logs.

“You seem like you’ve done this before.” You said quietly, finding yourself holding the bottom hem of his shirt.

“Like I said. It was my job.”

You walked on your tiptoes, trying not to make any noise. Your heart cried for the others. Even if you didn’t know them. You didn’t hear or see anyone. Maybe they all got out? They escaped already…or the killer was chasing them deeper into the woods.

You didn’t want to die. In the movies it always seemed so prolonged. The stabbings and bleeding out. Johnny had been hurt and he was still going on, trying to save you and everyone else.

“Stay here. I’ll go check to make sure it's clear.” He said. You’d made it to his cabin, whole body still shaking just on his porch now. Your heart leapt into your throat as the door creaked open.

“Be careful, please.”

He winked at you before heading in. You picked at the skin around your nails, a nasty old habit that you tried so hard to kick. You could forgive yourself for this relapse. It seemed an appropriate time to scratch out anxiety.

The step behind you creaked. Any light from the fire was blocked out. A arm wrapped around your neck and pulled you flush with a wall of muscle. You screamed for Johnny as a knife cut into your stomach.

It hurt worse than you thought it would. He was stabbing you over and over. All those movies and none prepared you for the sound that came from being stabbed yourself. The rush of blood in your head. You kicked and scratched the best you could, catching the gap of skin between his gloves and sleeves. Flesh caught under your nails and tore. The knife cut sideways across your stomach. Something wet and heavy hit the floor by your feet.

“Fucking cunt.” The man growled. You could have thrown up if it didn’t feel like your stomach had been torn open.

You hit the porch face first, no strength left to even try to hold yourself up. Blood pooled in your mouth. He stepped around you and in the corner of your eye you could make him out.

Large, well over six feet and bulky with large shoulders. A half skull mask covered the top part of his face. His head was buzzed. He had a hunting knife in his hand and it dripped your blood onto the wood and onto your face.

“Johnny!” Your killer called. You’d doomed him too. He could have gotten away. Johnny would die and it would be your fault. They all would now and it was your fault.

You closed your eyes as the throbbing subsided. You didn’t want to listen. He was so nice. He didn’t deserve it.

You didn’t deserve this.

You closed your eyes and let yourself slip away.

You heard music. Loud obnoxious music and singing from an off key baritone scot.

You opened your eyes and you were in your sleeping bag in your cabin. It was Sunday morning again.

Shout out to @ceilidho for being an inspiration to me to write darker fics and letting me use her name for a counselor.

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actual-changeling · 1 year

Text

An angel and a demon walk into a bar.

It sounds like the beginning of a joke, one that would have annoyed Crowley greatly before- before. Maybe it would have been mildly amusing, were it not for the fact that it is a pub, not a bar (a mere technicality that somehow still mattered), and it is the first time in seven months that he is looking Aziraphale right in the face.

He chose the place, walked right out of the bookshop and across the street the second Aziraphale looked at him with his stupid purple eyes and opened his mouth. Same table, same drinks. New silence.

A demon leads an angel into a pub so he does not kiss him again.

Less of a joke, more like the beginning of a nightmare he has had every single time he tried to sleep, woken by whispered words either confirming his worst fears or greatest desires; both incite fear, one way or another.

The low table between them is enough of a barrier to prevent a repeat of their last interaction, it has to be, although this time Aziraphale is looking at him with violet-coloured longing and an apology on his lips, no longer pleading, no longer angry. He is asking for forgiveness, and if that isn't a deeply ironic twist of fate.

Before either of them says a single word, Crowley finishes his drink and raises his hand to order another one, clinging to the familiar sting of alcohol in his throat to burn away the questions lingering on his tongue.

An angel followed a demon into a pub because he loves him.

Aziraphale wishes he could tell himself Crowley looks like he did seven months ago, that he hasn't changed, but he is done lying to himself, to either of them. Behind his shades, dark, darker if that is even possible, he can feel his golden gaze heavy on his face, familiar and the answer to an empty longing in his chest.

His drink goes untouched as Crowley downs one, then another, and it is after the third that he finally begins to talk.

"What do you want?"

Bitter, sharp, spit at his feet with an anger he expected and yet doesn't know how to react to. Underneath it is pain—more pain than any being should ever have to experience—and instead of trying to carry some of it for him, he only added to it.

"I want to apologise."

"Fine." Crowley shoves his empty glass away and gets up. "I don't forgive you."

Reflexively, Aziraphale reaches out and curls his fingers around his wrist when Crowley tries to walk past him, blinking up at him with eyes the colour of dying Myosotis.

Forget-me-nots.

They both freeze, the point of contact a crack in the walls they have spent centuries building and seven months rebuilding, and he knows he has made a mistake immediately.

Crowley stares at him, still as stone, until he suddenly rips his arm out of his grasp, almost cradling it against his chest. With dawning horror, Aziraphale realises he is shaking, tremors running through him like waves breaking apart on a rocky shore.

"Don't you dare touch me." Panic, not anger. Pure, unfiltered panic blooming beside a mountain of fear that could outlast an eternity.

"I-" He doesn't know what he wants to say, what he is trying to say, what he needs to say to make him stay. Oh, the irony of it all.

Crowley leaves the pub, and the Supreme Archangel stays behind.

Not a demon anymore, not technically, he is done with sides, and deeds, and choices; he never makes the right ones anyway. His wrist hurts with the ghost of a kiss, and he cannot get the glint of purple where summer sky blue should be out of his head.

The Bentley is waiting for him, providing an escape from the noise, the people, him.

Apologies instead of I'm coming back.

A sickening aura of holiness tinged with the burn of ozone instead of books and dust and soft, silly angel.

Seven months of waiting, of pleading with God, of cursing Her, cursing him, cursing the entire fucking world for taking and taking and taking from him without pause, without even a fragment of mercy.

For this.

An angel returns to heaven. Crowley curses the stars and cries.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #emptying out my tumblr drafts which are usually full of posts that weren't worth posting #but this one was actually fun to finish #sorry no more fluff back to the angst #this is 700 words long my god i have issues #one short tumblr post and i end up with a fic #anyway #shoutout to the people that get the bojack horseman reference

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fakegingerrights · 11 months

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Bloody knees and bruised cheeks

[Crosshair brainrot go brrrrr. TW: Alcohol, bar fights, questionable attitudes towards cloning, blood and broken glass. And Crosshair being a flirt in his own way. Crosshair x gn!Reader]

“This seat taken, Sunshine?” The obviously drunk man’s breath hot on your cheek as he leaned in far too close for comfort.

“It is.” You bit back, glancing nervously at the bartender and hoping he’d get the creep off you. You knew your boyfriend had said he might be running late, but an hour and a half was pushing it.

“Well, I don’t see a name on it. Lemme buy you a drink.” The man cajoled, swirling his own cheap beer in his glass.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You leaned as far away as the barstool let you without tipping over. “I’m waiting for someone. And he wouldn’t like you hovering like this.”

“Is that a threat, Sweetcheeks?” The man growled, leaning even farther into your space. A cold voice snarled behind him, sending a ripple through you as you turned back to look at the newcomer.

“Yes.” Crosshair snarled, standing there in all his dusty and carbon stained, red and black armored glory as he placed himself between you and the drunk.

“That’s what you’re waiting for? A labgrown meat droid? I should take you home anyways and show you how a real man fucks.” The drunk slurred, lurching to his feet and squaring up to Crosshair. Cross didn’t budge, but you could tell he was too tired for this.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.” Crosshair’s voice was flat and cold, a hard promise. The drunk snarled, smashing his glass of half full beer against Crosshair’s pauldron, shattering it and sending shards everywhere. As soon as Cross was in the clear for self defense he grabbed the drunk and had him pinned on the bar.

“Care to-“

“Corascant guard is already on the way. Uh… sir.” The bartender fumbled, glancing at the bouncer for the bar. Crosshair grunted at the title. “We’ll take it from here if you want to take your girl home.” The barkeep offered. Even he could see the exhaustion in Cross’s shoulders.

“Great. Next time don’t let creeps get that close to an uncomfortable lady.” He hissed, passing the swearing drunk to a beefy looking zabrak. The greasy man took the opening and broke free, swinging wildly and connecting with Crosshair’s jaw just as he was turning away. As he did, you caught sight of a dripping red line cut into the side of his cheek just under his eye, presumably from the glass shattering.

He staggered but was quick to break the man’s nose and send him sprawling. The zabrakii bouncer got ahold of him now, pulling the drunk away.

Gingerly, you slipped your hand into Crosshair’s, getting his attention. “Let’s go home. Tonight’s a bust anyways. Unless you want to wait for the guard to get here and haul you to a hospital to patch your cheek up?” You murmured lowly, already knowing his answer and pulling towards the door before he even grunted a negative. There was a fine tremor in the very tips of his fingers as he tightened his grip on your hand.

The bar you two had planned to meet at for drinks was only a few blocks from your tiny shoebox of an apartment. Crosshair hissed and stepped away from you only a minute into your walk, shaking like a dog and sending residual splinters of glass tinkling to the ground.

“Bastard got glass in all the chinks of my armor. I’ll have to have Tech send it through a scrub cycle again.” He growled sourly. “Damn stuff got everywhere.”

“I can scrub it out when you get home. Call it a thank you for taking care of that guy.” You fumbled with the keys as he hovered behind you.

“I’m your boyfriend. That’s my fucking job.” Crosshair hissed softly, a hand finding your chin and lifting it so you met his eyes. He had taken his glove off to rid it of splinters. His hand was cool against your skin, fingers still trembling slightly in his exhaustion as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, nipping at them a little with a smug quirk of his mouth. He tasted like blood and ozone.

“My stars get a ROOM!” One of your helpful neighbors yelled from the apartment next to yours. You flipped them off without looking, dragging Cross inside and hardly even pausing the kiss.

His hand shifted from your jaw to curl protectively around your neck, the motion making you sigh into the kiss as you reach up to cup his cheek, only for him to hiss and pull away as your fingers meet the unpleasantly warm and tacky sensation of half dried blood from the cut on his cheek.

“Let’s get you out of your armor and blacks.” Your murmur, your voice slightly throatier than normal. At this close you could see the dark circles under his eyes and the rapidly darkening bruising along his jaw where he had been punched. He just grunted an affirmative as he fumbled with the catches, carefully removing each piece.

After he got all of it but his boots, there were several small shards even still that littered the floor. He took off the top of his blacks too, shaking the garment out. You gasped at the sight of bruised ribs and a row of neat stitches above his hip covered in thin medical film to keep them dry.

“It looks worse than it is.” Crosshair filled in the silence. He dropped the top of his blacks in the pile with the rest of his armor and gingerly flopped down on the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes as he sighs, tension slowly seeping out of his body as he relaxed.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, let me look at your cheek. And don’t get blood on that couch, it was my grandmother’s.” You call over your shoulder, grabbing a bag of frozen peas for his jaw and looking for the medistrips in the first-aid kit.

“Ah. So that’s why it smells like mothballs and old lady perfume.” He groused from his sprawled position.

“Har har har.” You rolled your eyes, catching his soft smile at the banter and grinning to yourself.

“I’m stealing your shower when I’m done.” He grunted, carefully sitting up and blinking as he took his arm off his eyes.

You sat on the tiny coffee/dining table in front of him, armed with a damp rag, first aid kit and your frozen vegetables. He took the peas and pressed them against his jaw, sighing at the contact as you dabbed at the bloody mess on the other side of his face.

“This is gonna sting a bit.” You warned as you doused a clean corner of the rag with hydrogen peroxide once you got the blood mostly cleaned up.

“When does it not.” Cross hissed rhetorically, his grip tightening on his knee as you cleaned the cut and made sure there was no glass embedded in his skin before carefully applying the medistrips and butterfly bandages you found. The cut wasn’t deep and you didn’t think it needed stitches, so it probably wouldn’t scar either.

“There you are. Now go shower, you smell like beer and a teen boy’s lockerroom.” You tease, helping him to his feet as he took the peas off his jaw, working it a few times to check for stiffness. Crosshair pouted at the insult but went, ducking into the small bathroom as you went through your drawers to come up with a pair of sweats and an oversized teeshirt for him to wear.

You knocked on the bathroom door before walking in, setting the clothes on the toilet glancing at Crosshair as he stood under the hot spray, rolling his neck appreciatively.

“You’re gonna send my water bill through the roof.” You tease, grabbing him a toothbrush and mint paste and passing it to him.

“That’s your fault, giving me access to the shower.” He snarked right back, sighing as he washed his hair, fingers combing through suds and silver curls. “Want to join me and make the most of it?” He offered, but you shook your head.

“Don’t think me joining will get you any cleaner. Might even do the opposite.” You wink as he rinses off again.

“Worth a shot.” He shrugged, turning the water off and motioning for a towel. You passed it to him with a fold exasperation as the two of you brushed your teeth and he got dressed, forgoing the shirt and toweling his hair off.

As you changed into nightclothes yourself and slipped into bed next to him, he seemed happy. Content. You pressed your face into the spot just above his sternum and sighed as one arm wrapped around you and the other tucked under his head, propping him slightly above you. You relaxed into the embrace, missing the words as they rumbled in his chest.

“What was that?” You mumbled sleepily, looking up at him.

“I said thank you.” He murmured right back, kissing your forehead. “And you’re out of conditioner.”

“Ass.” You accuse, snuggling closer.

“Proudly.” He agreed, a smile tugging at his lips. You were silent for a long moment and he almost thought you were asleep when you spoke up again.

“Why were you late?” You whisper into the darkness. Crosshair rumbles sleepily.

“Got jumped by vulture droids as we changed hyperspace lanes. Tech outflew them, as always.”

“And the mission?” You ask, listening to his slow heartbeat as he replies.

“Successful. Can’t say much else, unfortunately. Not sure when I leave again, before you ask.” He presses another kiss to your temple and tucks your head under his chin. “Go to sleep already, I’m tired.”

“Fine, fine.” You grumble. “Hey Cross? I love you.”

“I…” He paused, feeling stupidly off guard at the phrase even though you’ve said it a dozen times.

“I know.” You whisper, before he can doubt himself. “You don’t have to say it for me to know.”

“I love you too.” He whispered back, smiling sheepishly at the rush of elation and nerves he got even now every time he did. “I always will.”

#the bad batch #gingerwrites #star wars #the clone wars #tbb crosshair #clone wars #crosshair #crosshair x reader #soft crosshair #tbb crosshair imagine #tbb crosshair x reader

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azulock · 11 months

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what they smell like

I was made to spend one hour walking the mall with a friend for him to choose a perfume, so thank his indecisive ass for this. Anyway, here, perfume choice headcanons for the guys, cause smell is a love language if you are weird enough for it.

Mikage Reo

Let's face it, he is ultra rich, got that generational wealth, so he has a library of perfumes and colognes, and all the best hair and skin products, so he smells good all the time. Will vary the perfume according to occasion, season, time of the day, if he is gonna be indoors or outdoors and such. Doesn't try to keep to a type of smell, or specific notes, his brand is more about general vibes. Low key always wearing expensive shit, even though it may smell simple.

I think on his daily life he'd wear something floral and herbal, slightly sweet, like jasmine, lemon grass, some watery notes. Now for perfume itself, for warmer days it'd be something with marine and citric notes, like ambergris and lemon, it gives an ocean freshness that matches the season. And for colder days it'd be something woody, smokey, and a bit sweet, so like oud and vanilla, and maybe some amber to make it warm and deep.

For curiosity, ambergris and oud are some of the most expensive shit you can put in a perfume, so is real jasmine.

Nagi Seishiro

Has whatever Reo buys him, and only uses perfume when he has to. Only reason he doesn't smell like Axe is because Reo got rid of that shit and stockpiled him with better smelling body spray and high quality soap bars. Probably receives Reo's hand me downs, but some smells he considers too strong so he doesn't use.

Likes to smell like water, and my e a bit citric - reminds him of lemon tea. Probably smells like seawater and wood on a daily basis, maaaaybe a bit of mint, he smells like a little ship drifting in the waves, very chill. As for perfume, for sure picks one thing and sticks to it, again water, but now with lemon, and mandarin, and maybe amber underneath, has the slightest kick, but still chill.

Shidou Ryusei

Looks like he wouldn't care, but he does, and smelling just right without giving away that he cares is a conscious effort. Aware enough to have like a winter and summer perfume, but probably sticks to the same cologne all year round, or at most he'll have a second one. He tries to stay on brand with his smell, and it definitely does give off the same vibe as him.

His cologne is probably earthy and spicy, and maybe a bit floral, so like, cinnamon and cloves, and flowers like iris or magnolia. It projects the same fire his personality has but with no way the same intensity. For the perfumes it just takes that basis and ramps it up, for warmer days it's something more earthy and floral, so like spices and iris or carnation, with maybe metallic notes to give it a punch. For colder days he leans more into spicy and woody, with peppers, sandalwood and patchouli, with some leather thrown in there and maybe incense.

Sendo Shuto

He tries very hard, may not have PhD levels of understanding but he understands enough. A little afraid of venturing too much, but probably has two perfumes and a couple of colognes. The colognes probably keep a more low-key vibe while the perfumes venture out just a bit. Overall, likes smelling fresh and clean. Probably stopped relying on deodorants when he noticed Oliver doesn't.

His cologne is like a fresh out of the bath smell, but all day - find you a man who smells clean. So water notes, a bit floral, like jasmine or lavender, and citric like lemon. The perfume doesn't stray too far from that, just variations on a theme. I think they'd all have that rain smell, like ozone, but he'd have a warmer one - which leans more into woods, like oak, and a bit of leather; and a fresher one - which leans into the citric aspect, like grapefruit and mandarin, and maybe a hint of coconut to make it a tiny bit sweet.

Oliver Aiku

Red flag, professional fuckboy. Learned enough to always smell nice, cause he never knows when he might need to shoot his shot. He knows a good smell makes for a nice first impression, leaves a mark on someone's memory and makes them want to be closer to you, so he always makes full effort. Will have multiple colognes and a couple of perfumes, divides them by season and that's enough for him. He does have a specific type of smell he sticks to, and sadly it's all the red flag ones - never trust a guy who wears musk.

His cologne is going to be earthy, warm and welcoming, it smells like sandalwood and oak moss, with something of leather and even notes of water. Now for perfumes he is pulling in the red flag smell: musk. For the warmer days he is going to pull that fresh rain and marine smell, with a bit of spices, like ginger or cardamom, but the leather and musk are still there in the background. Now, for colder days he lays more on the woody and sweet smells, like oak and cedar, as well as honey and vanilla, the leather and musk still hold strong in there too, might have some smokey notes or even whiskey notes too if he wants something extra.

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #oliver aiku x reader #ryusei shido x reader #seishiro nagi x reader #mikage reo x reader #sendo shuto x reader #there was a chigiri and kunigami ones but it became too much let me know if you'd like those

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isa-belle1367 · 29 days

Text

Imagine desmond manages to survive the end and has to go back into normal society.

Now, this is remembering the fact that Desmond has lived through so many lives that he can barely remember his own. Along with the fact that he is now part Isu due to his arm absorbing power from the eye.

I feel like due to him being part Isu now, no one would trust him. They would be able to sense something is wrong, that he's not fully human. But they are also weirdly drawn to him and feel compelled to do as he asks.

And when they look in his eyes, they see the lives of dozens of people. Millions of memories cramped inside his head to the point he could barely think. If you look into his eyes for too long, you can almost hear the crowd of voices.

He also has many weird habits. He is very picky about keeping knives sharp and always holds himself as if he's prepared for a fight at all times. Sometimes, he starts talking with an unfamiliar accent or will switch languages entirely, and they are almost never the same.

Or when he gets mad, the area around him reeks of ozone from his arm. One time, a guy was harassing a girl on the street, and his arm crackled and caught his hoodie on fire. He didn't notice until the guy ran away screaming "fire!" And when he realized, he just sighed, pulled off his hoodie, and stopped out the fire like it was a normal Tuesday.

Other times, he will randomly look over his shoulder as if someone called his name even though no one was there. He then just sighs, mutters something in a different language, and goes back to his conversation.

One time, you asked him to grab you something from across the bar and immediately disappeared into the crowd. You were completely unable to see him despite him being perfectly in view just seconds ago. You don't find him again until he taps your shoulder and silently hands you what you asked for. You have no clue how he managed to come up behind you like that. Especially because you were behind the bar, and you kept one eye on the only entrance the entire time.

#he doesn't know how to be a person anymore #so he has to relearn #also one time one of his old friends from bad weather came up to greet him #asking him where he had gone off to as he disappeared off the face of the earth like 2 months ago #and desmond responds with “sorry do i know you?”#despite hanging out with them just 2 months ago #but there are to many memories crowding his head #that his own start to fade #point is desmond forgets how to be normal #also i doubt he would be fully updated in his languages #as he learned the versions from hundreds of years ago #same with the accents #nobody knows where they are from #because they are from hundreds of years ago #assassin's creed #desmond miles #desmond #sad desmond

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fanfoolishness · 3 months

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Lightweight(s)

The Bad Batch's first ever night out on the town, early on in their careers. Fluff, silliness, alcohol, general shenanigans and boys being boys. ~4200 words, somehow!

---

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” said Hunter, casting a wary eye at the entrance of 79’s. Booming music spilled out onto the platform, waves of synth-funk and pounding bass already half-deafening. The neon lights made his tongue prickle with the taste of ozone.

“Hey, how often do we get to shore up on Coruscant?” Wrecker asked, shoulder-checking him on his way out of the cab. “C’mon. The regs are always goin’ on about this place. I wanna see what the big deal is!”

”The big deal is alcohol, of course,” said Tech. He folded his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at the garish neon and the clusters of clones in off-duty blues and standard issue armor milling about. “And the chance to imbibe it aggressively. I’ve heard some of the tales that come out of this place, too, and things don’t always end well. I suggest we take a more moderate approach, given none of us has ever had the chance to drink before.”

“We’ll be fine, Tech,” Crosshair said, adjusting his toothpick. “We’re defective, remember? I’m sure we could drink these regs under the table.”

”Don’t get cocky,” said Hunter, though he had to admit he was curious. “It’s not a contest.”

They’d just come off their fifth ever mission, riding high on how they’d managed to pit two tactical droids and their armies against each other with epic results, and he thought of the medals they’d been awarded for it. He’d stowed his safely in his bunk on the Marauder until he could figure out what to do with it, but every time he glanced at it, he couldn’t help but feel a fierce pride. They did deserve to blow off some steam after that.

Wrecker led the way into the bar, more than a few clones turning and staring at him — then at the rest of them as they filed through. Too tall, too short, too broad, too skinny. Though they were wearing their blues, there was still no hope of blending in. A few stared at Tech’s goggles and Crosshair’s silver hair in particular; most were smart enough to avert their gaze at Wrecker’s bulk, given Wrecker would happily give them a shove if they mouthed off.

Hunter watched the other clones’ faces carefully, ready in case anything started, but they made it to the bartender without incident. Under the pounding music, he thought he heard a few whispers, but nothing major.

The clone behind the bar tilted his head, giving them an appraising look. “Ninety-nines?” he ventured, his face impassive.

”What gave it away?” Wrecker laughed.

“Problem?” Crosshair drawled, leaning over Wrecker’s shoulder.

”No problem. Money’s money,” the bartender said with a shrug. “What’ll it be?”

The four of them looked at each other. They hadn’t gotten that far.

”Four harvest brews,” Tech said. The bartender nodded and turned away. Tech leaned in close to them to be heard. “It’s a reasonable first drink. Lower proof, known to be easy to drink. I suggest we see how that goes and proceed from there.”

“Did you research the menu ahead of time?” Hunter asked, already knowing the answer.

”What do you think I was doing in the cab?”

”Lower proof,” Wrecker said. “Does that mean it’s for lightweights? ‘Cause I’m no lightweight.”

“We’d noticed,” said Crosshair.

”Careful, Wrecker. Don’t let it go to your head.”

The bartender returned with four large glasses of foamy amber ale and Hunter reached for his credits. The Republic didn’t pay much, but they had nothing else to spend it on. Why not this?

The bartender held up a hand. “Want to start a tab?”

”Yeah!” Wrecker said before Hunter could stop.

“All right, sure,” Hunter said, feeling only slightly uneasy.

They took their drinks to a far corner of the bar, where a bunch of regs clustered around a table lined with two sets of glasses. Hunter watched curiously as one tossed a small light ball into the air, bouncing it off the table until it clattered against the opposite side’s glasses harmlessly. He groaned, the clones beside him shoving him and telling him to get it together.

”I propose a toast. It’s traditional.”

”All right, what do you think?” Hunter asked Tech.

”To Clone Force Ninety-Nine,” Tech said, raising his glass high.

“To the Bad Batch!” Wrecker crowed, clinking his glass enthusiastically.

”To the Bad Batch,” they echoed, raising their glasses. They each took a drink.

”Phawww,” Hunter groaned, his nose wrinkling, sticking his tongue out. The ale was bitter and malty, with an odd sour note. It clung to the inside of his mouth, and he wished they had some ration bars on hand to cut the taste. “This is beer? It’s horrible.”

”I dunno, I kind of like it,” said Wrecker, taking a huge drink. He coughed and sputtered. “Maybe I don’t like it that much.”

��Perhaps it’s an acquired taste,” said Tech, looking less than pleased with his drink. He took another sip, grimacing slightly. “Or perhaps the intoxicating effects make up for the musty flavor.”

”I think it’s fine,” said Crosshair, drinking a quarter of his glass in one go. He stifled a cough by chewing frantically on his toothpick, and Hunter rolled his eyes.

”So we just… sit here? Drinking?” Wrecker asked, doing just that. He looked puzzled. “That’s really what people do here?”

”I suppose,” Hunter said. “You put it like that, it really doesn’t sound like much.” He tried his beer again, bracing himself, but it wasn’t as bad the second time around now that he knew what to expect.

“Well, we could always play a game,” Crosshair said slyly, glancing at the regs clustered around their table. “You know we could destroy them.”

”You don’t even know what they’re playing,” Tech admonished. He adjusted his goggles. “Then again, the rules do appear to be exceedingly simple. Throw the ball into the other team’s cup, they take a drink. The more intoxicated they become, the less able they are to throw accurately at the other team’s cups. It’s basic enough for even the wildly intoxicated to grasp. I suspect the wild intoxication is the point.”

”That sounds like a recipe for a fight to break out,” Hunter said, a dozen different incidents of fights they’d had with regs sober coming to mind. “C’mon lads, forget them. We’re celebrating kicking ass together, who needs the regs?” He raised his glass again. “Wrecker! You nailed Plan Forty-two. That was one helluva bomb!”

Wrecker laughed, taking another swig. “Yes it was! I almost thought I wasn’t gonna have enough chargers ‘til Tech helped me rig those downed droids to blow. That was awesome!”

”The ensuing explosion was nothing short of tremendous,” Tech agreed. “Truly inspired! I was happy to assist.”

”Well, what about Cross’s ricochet taking out half of ‘em before they even got going?” Wrecker said, clapping Crosshair hard between the shoulders. Crosshair nearly choked on his toothpick and took another drink, his cheeks flushing faintly reddish.

”It was easy,” he said, but Hunter knew he was pleased.

“Easy nothing. It was one for the books,” Hunter said, and Crosshair gave him a faint, surprised grin.

”Don’t forget Hunter’s planning,” Tech mentioned. “We’d never have gotten that trap laid without his enhanced senses.”

“All part of the job,” Hunter said warmly. Huh. He felt a little warm all over, come to think of it.

Wrecker drained the last of his glass, and not to be outdone, Crosshair did the same with his. “I don’t feel anything,” Wrecker said, disappointed.

”Me neither,” said Crosshair, though Hunter thought his voice sounded a little different, even accounting for the loud music. His face looked more flushed, his cheeks uncharacteristically ruddy. Tech was giving him an appraising look.

”It is not instantaneous,” Tech said. “Perhaps you should give it a moment before —“

”Another round!” Wrecker said, getting up to his feet. “C’mon, Cross, let’s try something different.”

”You’re on,” said Crosshair, following as Wrecker parted a way through the crowd with his massive shoulders.

Hunter turned back to Tech. “I have a bad feeling about this….”

---

Bad feeling? What bad feeling?

Hunter snaked an arm over Tech’s shoulders, gripping his arm hard. “Ahhh, glad we came out tonight,” he said. He felt pleasantly warm and more than a little giddy, and everything was just funny. “Just a couple bad batchers out on the town!”

”You could hardly call Coruscant a town,” Tech corrected, his cheeks pink and his goggles slightly askew. Instead of leaning away from Hunter’s hug, he completed it, his arm draped loosely around Hunter’s waist. With his other hand he gesticulated dramatically. “It is an ecumenopolis with the city structure covering all natural features entirely except for a sliver of the planet’s tallest peak, which has been preserved as a —“

”Tech, Tech, Tech,” Wrecker said, draining his second drink and then patting him on the shoulder. “Drink more. Smart less.”

”Shots?” Crosshair asked, elbowing a reg out of the way as he came back to the table. He had four tiny glasses balanced in his hands, each filled with blazing layers of red and pink and yellow liquid. “They call it a Kamino Sunrise. 79’s special.”

“We are already exhibiting sufficient signs of intoxication,” Tech pointed out, letting go of Hunter. He’d drawn the word sufficient out far longer than he needed to, enunciating each syllable. He held out his hand, tapping his palm as he counted. “Slurred speech, jovial attitudes, and an expansive broadening of our normal personalities. Trying these shots may put us over the line from tipsy to — what do the regs call it — wasted.”

”Live a little, Tech,” said Crosshair. He slammed the shots down on the table save one, a bit of liquid spilling over the rims. “Come on. We live or die like men.”

”What does that even mean?” Wrecker roared, laughing and swiping one of the glasses. “Hurry up!”

“I am living! But I am also not eager to completely obliterate my exceptional critical thinking skills,” Tech said defensively. “However, in the interest of brotherly camaraderie, I will try this shot against my better judgment.”

Tech and Hunter picked up their shot glasses, and Hunter gave Tech a look of Well, here goes nothing. They clinked their glasses together.

”To… to…what are we toasting this time?” Wrecker asked.

“Uh….” They stared around at each other, Crosshair nibbling his toothpick, Tech staring off into the distance, Hunter’s mind a complete blank. He stifled a giggle.

”To Lula!” Wrecker announced.

Hunter met his brothers’ eyes, and they nodded, roaring, “To Lula!’

They slugged back their drinks, and Hunter had time only to perceive burning sugar spicy sweet before he’d gulped the thing down. A wobble passed through his legs almost instantly, traveling like a wave from his head down, making everything glow.

“Uh, Cross? What was in these?”

“I dunno. I’m not a barkeep,” Crosshair said, weaving slightly where he stood. He caught sight of the regs at their table and grinned. “C’mon. Let’s get ‘em.”

---

The battle was fierce.

The regs had been less than welcoming. But with Wrecker looming and cracking his knuckles, Crosshair glowering, and Hunter’s relaxed shrug to say you may as well make it easy on yourselves, the regs had relented and given them a go. (Tech, for his part, had simply shaken his head and rolled his eyes at the whole idea.)

Hunter figured they were sorely regretting it now. They’d added this round to their tab (hope we brought enough credits!), which had gone a long way towards the regs playing with them. And like Tech had said, the game was easy. But it turned out bouncing the ball before it landed in a cup meant the other team had to drink double. So did calling which cup the ball was going to land in before tossing it. Absurdly, the effects stacked if both things were accomplished.

Which made Crosshair even more deadly than usual.

He sidled up to the table, toothpick jutting from his mouth, looming over the playing field like a vengeful Venator. Hunter could swear one of the regs, a shiny by the looks of him, was actually shaking. He nursed an ale, keeping watch on the situation. Funny how the beer seemed to taste a lot better now than it had in the beginning. He took another drink, grinning.

Crosshair was merciless, especially with Wrecker egging him on. It was hard not to. Hunter couldn’t help but whoop with both of them as Crosshair scored hit after hit. Even Tech whistled once or twice, one of those shrieking whistles with two fingers hooked into his mouth.

It was a massacre. Occasionally the other team managed to land a shot, but they were pretty damn gone and they missed far more often than they succeeded. The few times they did land a shot, Crosshair gamely took a drink each time. He started slurring his calls, but his aim was as good as ever.

“Cup six, two bounces.”

“One bounce, spin off the rim of cup two, it’ll land in four. Trust me.”

“Two bounces off the wall, back onto the table, it’ll hop into three --”

“Cup nine from ten feet back, come on, give me some room--”

The regs on the other end of the table groaned. “Come on! Someone else has gotta take a turn! He’s cheating!”

Crosshair drew himself up to his full height, instantly incandescent with rage, his eyes snapping. He spat his toothpick to the floor, raising his fists. Oh kriff -- Hunter had time to think before he jumped out in front of his brother, pushing him back with a hand on his chest. Crosshair staggered into Tech, who managed to catch him before he fell.

“No he’s not,” Hunter bellowed, whirling to face the regs. He glared at them, showing his teeth. He’d learned pretty early on with the skull tattoo it was a good way to scare people off, and two of the regs took a step back, sweating. “But if you’re a bunch of cowards who can’t handle it when someone’s better than you --” He puffed out his chest, crossing his arms.

“Hey!” Wrecker cried, leaning heavily on Hunter’s shoulder. “Hey Hunter. Why can’t we all just -- just get along?” He hiccuped, grabbing one of the cups off the table and taking a drink. “These guys ain’t so bad. They’re tiny. And they suck at ale pong. But maybe we should all be friends.”

Hunter snorted, looking up at his brother. “Now I know you’re drunk.”

“Not drunk! Just…” Wrecker searched for the word.

“Just drunk?” Tech supplied helpfully.

“Yeah! That’s it, drunk!”

Hunter buried his face in his hands.

Crosshair shoved past him, jerking a finger at the regs. “This isn’t over,” he snarled. He went to lean a hand on the table but missed, and promptly crashed to the ground in a pile of long flailing legs. The regs erupted in laughter.

Tech was bending down, helping Crosshair back up to his feet. Wrecker let go of Hunter and leaned down, elbowing Tech out of the way and hauling Crosshair up so fast he nearly fell over again. “Hey, little brother!” Wrecker said loudly. “You all right?”

“I’m fine, I just -- I must’ve --” Crosshair slurred. His face suddenly looked pale, and he gripped Wrecker’s arm hard. “Ooh. Dizzy.”

“Let’s get you to sit down,” Tech said. “I tried to warn you.”

“Shut up, Tech --”

“Listen to him, Crosshair,” said Hunter. “Don’t make me pull rank.” Crosshair glared, but the fight was going out of him.

They shambled their way back to a free table. Crosshair was very definitely wobbling. Wrecker was steady, but he was loudly singing something ridiculous. Some pop song from the bar? Hunter focused, or tried to. Everything was coming through muzzy and muted. His senses had never been so dull in his life, and he wondered vaguely if this was what normal clones felt like all the time.

Hunter pulled up a seat at the table, peering at Crosshair. Wrecker was still humming off-key under his breath. Tech had disappeared. Where had he gone to? Hunter pulled his gaze away from Crosshair, glassy-eyed and pale, and saw Tech over at the bar.

“Oh he’d better not be getting another round,” Hunter muttered, thinking of Crosshair. Although he felt fine, if a little wavy around the edges. Maybe he’d get one more beer before they headed out, ride this feeling a little further… Nah, that probably wasn’t the best move right now.

“See ya,” Wrecker said suddenly, getting to his feet and taking Crosshair with him.

“What? Where are you going?” Hunter called after them.

“He’s gonna upchuck!” said Wrecker cheerfully, bustling a tilting Crosshair off into the crowd. “Wanna come?”

Hunter groaned, torn between following them and waiting for Tech. He got to his feet, wending his way through the crowd until he found Tech at the bar, having an argument with the bartender.

“I’ve calculated our tab, and you have been wildly undercharging us!” Tech accused. “It’s highly suspicious --”

“It’s half-price night!” the bartender protested. “Don’t you remember me telling you when you came in?”

“No,” Hunter said. He leaned in. “Tech, what gives? If they want to charge us less, who cares?”

Tech opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He pursed his lips. “Well. I suppose it’s his prerogative.”

“Look, we’d better settle up. Whatever it is we owe you,” Hunter said heavily. The bartender gave him a price and he paid it, wondering what was going on with the pricing, but not caring enough to find out.

“Have a good night guys, all right?” the bartender said. “And here’s some water for the way home. You’ll need it.” He slid several bottles of water over to them and Tech and Hunter gathered them up.

“You just had to bring up math, didn’t you?”

“It doesn’t make any sense. There is no special, Hunter. I saw others close their tabs at the normal rate.”

“Maybe he charges less for defective clones. Credit error in our favor, right?”

“It’s ridiculous, but -- Ah. Where did Wrecker and Crosshair go?”

“I think Crosshair overdid it,” said Hunter. “They’re off to the ‘fresher. Let’s go find ‘em.”

They found Wrecker guarding the far stall in the busy restroom. Crosshair was slumped against the wall of the stall, cradling the toilet with one arm.

“Yikes,” said Hunter.

“I did warn you,” said Tech.

“He’s taking it like a champ,” said Wrecker proudly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “Hey! You guys brought another round? I could go for somethin’ else!”

“It’s just water. And you’re in the bathroom,” said Tech in disgust.

“Aww, man!”

Hunter crept into the stall, crouching beside Crosshair, who had leaned his head against the wall with his eyes closed. The stall smelled of sick and sweat, nearly enough to turn his own stomach. “Cross. You all right?”

Crosshair cracked open one eye and glared blearily at him. “At least no one had to hold my hair back,” he muttered.

Hunter bristled. “Oh, you are such a little --” Then he grinned. “Yeah, I think you’ll be all right. Come on. Ready to get out of here?”

Crosshair closed his eyes, wincing, then swallowed. “Eurgh… another minute.”

Hunter hurried out of the stall, slamming the door shut behind him.

---

They finally made it out twenty minutes later, after Crosshair swore he was done puking. He was still wobbly on his feet but the glassy look in his eyes had faded. Wrecker was steering him through the crowd, clearing a path with his vast arms. Tech followed them, chattering to himself about inefficient business practices, while Hunter brought up the rear. The crowd had started to thin out by now and it was noticeably less jam-packed and quieter. Time to get a move on.

There was a lull in the music, and his ears pricked at a conversation carried through an empty pocket in the center of the room. It was the bartender, talking to someone. Hunter paused, listening, keeping his gaze averted so as not to alert the bartender he was being listened to.

“Damn, I’m glad I followed my instinct with those ninety-nines.”

”What do you mean?”

”Well, they may have been defective, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know a shiny when I see one. Gave ‘em the shiny special.”

“Isn’t that where you only serve ‘em half strength of what they ordered?”

“Yeah. The brainy one almost figured it out, but the leader called him off. Can you imagine how messed up those clones would have got if I’d let ‘em have the full-strength stuff? Bunch of lightweights.”

”Kriff.”

”Yeah. Poor bastards. Shinies always overdo it.”

Hunter swallowed. They’d been drinking half of what they thought they had? Crap. That was embarrassing. Shiny special, indeed.

He caught up to the others as they squeezed out through the front door and into the stale night air, finally free of the music that had been dully pounding in the background for hours. Tech turned back to him. “I’ve called a taxi. Should be here in twenty. I suggest we find a spot to sit down -- far from the edge of this platform, judging by the way our reflexes have been affected.”

“My reflexes are fine,” said Hunter, reaching for his knife to show off. His hand hit fabric and he remembered he’d left his vibroblade with his armor back on the ship. He gave Tech a flustered grin. “Okay, fair point.”

They found a spot to sit against the wall, well away from the plummeting empty space at the edge of the platform. For a moment, they were quiet, leaning back against the wall and sipping the water the bartender had sent them off with. Hunter shook his head. That clone had had their number, all right, as embarrassing it was to admit. He wondered if he should tell the others, but he kept quiet, his senses slowly coming back to him.

Speeders whizzed by in the dark, flashes of multicolored lights zigging against the blue-black void and the neon across the shaft. Their engines were bright little hums pressing against his eardrums. He could feel their wind against his hair, the closest thing to real wind one could find this far down. He watched them go, on and on, entranced.

Hunter looked over at his brothers. They all looked drowsy, eyes heavy, faint smiles on their faces. Tech yawned, leaning against him, head drifting to Hunter’s shoulder. Hunter adjusted, making it easier for Tech to lean on him. Beside Tech was Crosshair, his face slack and unfocused, his cheeks flushed, arm slung around Wrecker’s shoulders. Wrecker was still humming, a cheery little nonsense tune.

“Not a bad night, lads, all in all,” said Hunter.

“It was certainly experimental. We shall be better prepared next time.”

“You were over prepared! I coulda kept going.”

“And we all might have blacked out if we’d tried to keep up with you.”

“Don’t fight,” Crosshair mumbled. “Fun night.”

“Even if you puked your guts out! Ha, good thing I got you in there in time.” Wrecker looked way too pleased with himself. Hunter would have gently smacked him if Tech wasn’t in the way, burrowing further into Hunter to get comfortable, his goggles digging into Hunter’s shoulder.

Crosshair shifted, giving Wrecker something like a hug. “Wrecker, you’re the best,” he mumbled. “Had to tell you.”

“Me? Thanks, Crosshair!” Wrecker said, clearly delighted.

“Best… brother. ‘Cept when you hog Lula. Miss her,” Crosshair continued, closing his eyes, sounding half-asleep already. “Best brother. ‘Cept Tech. Or Hunter. Way better than those regs,” he rambled.

“I am clearly the best brother,” Tech announced, his face still jammed in Hunter’s sleeve.

“Nuh-uh! He said I was the best first!”

“He said I was the best last,” Hunter countered. “Beat that!”

“You are all… absurd. Yes. That is the word.”

“You’re just jealous!”

“All you… best. Best brothers…”

“Aww, I think I like cuddly Cross!”

”I suggest we do not tell him of this in the morning. He appears to have avoided alcohol poisoning, but not by much. He may blackout and not remember.”

”Not tell him? Are you kidding? I’m gonna tell him every day!”

Hunter chuckled to himself, taking a drink of his water and trying to get comfortable against the wall until their taxi came. He watched the speeders zipping back and forth, his brothers arguing at his side, and he thought there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

---

Morning on the Havoc Marauder.

”Am I dead?”

”You are not dead. You are merely hungover.”

”I think I’m dead.”

”Have some water. Again, I must assure you, you are not dead.”

”Hunter, am I dead?”

”No. Listen to Tech. Drink some water.”

”But —“

“That’s an order.”

”Fine. Also, I hate you both.”

”Sure.”

”I find that unlikely.”

”Wrecker. Am I dead?”

”You better not be. I’d be pissed.”

“Aw. You’d miss me.”

”Yeah, I mean, probably.”

”I hate you too.”

”Love you, Crossie.”

”Don’t call me that — uggh. My head…”

“Just take it easy, Crosshair. It’s a while back to Kamino. Sleep up, take your pain pills, and drink some water. …lightweight.”

”I am not!”

The ship filled with laughter, and Crosshair took his pain pills, scowling fiercely enough to kill.

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #79's #the clone wars #hunter bad batch #crosshair bad batch #wrecker bad batch #tech bad batch #alcohol #drinking #my batcher fic

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phantomtwitch · 2 months

Text

Masterpost

PhantomTwitch | 30-something | she/her

Hi! Welcome to my blog! It's only taken me over a decade to finally do this. I love cartoons and writing and all kinds of other things, and I have the kind of lame sense of humor that makes three year olds laugh hysterically and anyone older than ten roll their eyes most of the time.

This place is a disorganized disaster (kind of like my brain), with this post probably the closest thing to any sense of order I've tried to impose on it. Below are links to my various writings, as Tumblr's search bar sucks and most of you are probably members of the phandom that stumbled across one of my works somewhere and came looking for more.

(Though whether that's the case or not, you're welcome either way!)

I write a lot and genuinely love it. The only part of writing I actually hate is coming up with titles and summaries. Sometimes I get a decent flash of inspiration for a title, other times? Ehhhhh.

I'm happy to answer any asks and will, like many, happily ramble on endlessly about my fics.

I rarely post WIPs, so unless noted, all of the works below are completed as of this time and on AO3.

Danny Phantom Fanfics

Echoes

There was something wrong with Danny Fenton.

Nearly eighteen months after a lab accident left him hospitalized, his friends and family assumed he was still recovering from the side effects of his near-death experience. But after witnessing Danny do something ghostly, they begin to suspect something much more sinister is afoot and set out to save their friend from the clutches of the evil ghost possessing him.

As The Ice Begins to Crack

Little by little, as the public’s perception of him changed, Danny’s ghost form continued to reflect it. He looked more human every day, more confident, and more like the superheroes from the comics they used to read on the floor of Danny’s room as kids. As the months passed there was a moment when Tucker began to forget, to wonder if what he saw when Danny first stepped out of the portal that day was nothing more than a nightmare.

Inspired by this post on tumblr from paenling

Doubt Comes In

For InvisoBang 2023.

When Danny Fenton returns on the first day of spring after being kidnapped by the Fright Knight, something is off. His teeth are too sharp, his skin is too pale, and when he’s angry, the lights flicker as a harsh chill and the scent of ozone permeates the air as if heralding an approaching storm. There are moments when he is impossibly still, more statue than flesh, more ghost than human, and little by little everyone wonders if the child sitting in their midst is truly still Danny at all.

Scars He Hides

For Ecto-implosion 2023.

The portal accident left Danny with scars that glow whether he's Fenton or Phantom. He's done his best to hide them, but it's only a matter of time before someone finds out his secret.

Beyond the Grave

For Ecto-implosion 2023.

At the start of his freshman year, Danny Fenton disappeared. But much as Dash didn’t care and preferred to focus on football, it’s hard to avoid thinking about it after seeing Fenton dig himself out from an unmarked grave in the woods.

What We Have Been is What We Are

Based on this tumblr prompt from MadameTamma here

Maddie has a near death experience when an invention blows up on her in the lab. Her spirit is suddenly thrust from her body, and Clockwork appears to guide her down the Path, presenting her with a chance to learn from her past as her life flashes before her eyes. Little by little there are signs that she's missed something, that there's something off with Danny, and she finds herself risking her very existence to learn the truth.

So You Have Wished It

Something is wrong. Something has changed.

The signs start off so small, so easy to dismiss, but little by little it begins to spiral until Sam can't ignore it anymore and she's forced to face reality once again.

(This is a one-shot from part of a bigger AU I am working on currently)

My Body Is a Cage

For Angst Fest 2023

His friends aren't sure how much longer they can keep this a secret. Every time a ghost appears, Danny dies again. And every time Danny dies, they bring him back.

It doesn't help that no matter how much they try to explain to Danny what's happening, the truth never sticks.

Unnamed Electric Core OneShot

Currently on Tumblr only, now a bigger WIP, but this can still be read on its own. Another No One Knows AU with the ghosts being creepier than in canon.

Unnamed WIP

Currently on Tumblr only, this was inspired by yet another MadameTamma prompt where Danny does not remember being human. Body Horror fic and currently a WIP.

#masterpost #my writing

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humiliationstories124 · 9 months

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New college friends get a show

My junior year in college, I went for a study abroad program in Australia. This was a big step for me. I was a naïve farm boy from rural Pennsylvania. I had never been on an airplane before. My mom is afraid of heights; my dad is afraid of water. That combination meant that any family vacations were limited to short jaunts in the car.

My social development was a bit hindered by my upbringing. Growing up, my mom's best friend had been a duck. I, myself, wasn't quite that sheltered, but I still had missed out on many of the social opportunities of my peers. My mom was a neat freak, and thus never let me invite any friends over.

So, going to Australia was my first opportunity to escape the (over)protective wings of my mother. Maybe 10,000 miles was overkill -- but I had gone as far away from home as possible. The "you must be home by 9pm on weekends" and other assorted rules imposed by my mother would no longer apply.

Although I was now free of my familial restrictions, I was still a shy guy. I hadn't yet learned how to be comfortable in social settings with other people. For the most part, my Australian experience consisted of going to class, going to the beach (by myself), and teaching myself how to cook.

One thing I learned through my Lonely Planet Guide was that there was a nearby nude beach in Swanbourne. It was just a bus ride, followed by a short train ride, away. It became my escape. The farm boy in me loved nature. The introvert in me was uncomfortable among people. But, I could venture off to the beach by myself. The beach was never really that crowded, and I could set myself up on a towel and enjoy some solitude, either reading a book, watching the waves, or just taking a nap.

I really didn't make that many friends at university. A few times, people invited me out, but the shy guy in me said "no" even though I didn't have any plans.

Many of my classes were quite large; i.e. 200 students in a big theatre-type classroom. It was easy to blend into the crowd and go un-noticed. However, one of my classes (cross-cultural psychology) had just 15 students in it. It was a late afternoon class, and thus was probably half comprised of "non-traditional" students at the university, which did cater to a large commuter population (as opposed to residents like me).

In the class, we would often arrange our chairs in a circle and have group discussions. In my other lectures, I could safely avoid being called upon. But, in a class of just 15, you really couldn't hide. So, this was really the first opportunity that a small segment of my classmates had an opportunity to get to know me, as I presented my ideas in class.

Following one of the classes, two guys asked me if I wanted to go grab a drink. My brain was thinking "no", but for once, the inner introvert was overruled. I guess it was helped that these guys seemed "normal" in class, and so I conceded.

They took me to a bar in Freemantle. With a few drinks, the conversation began to flow a little more easily. It was obvious (from my accent) that I was an American, and they asked the typical questions about where I was from, how I liked Australia, etc. One commented on my tan and cautioned me about the hole in the ozone above Australia. I acknowledged that I was aware of the hole, but I just loved the beach too much. The other asked me what beach was my favorite. I replied, "Cottesloe."

"Oh, are you sure it isn't Swanbourne?" the other asked me.

"No, I don't go there," I said, blushing.

"Are you sure?" asked the other.

I don't know why they were pestering me with such questions. I was embarrassed to admit I went to a nude beach. I pretended that I had never been. However, for some reason, I sensed they knew otherwise. Maybe they were scholars of psychology and I was not a good liar? But, then I started questioning myself -- maybe they had seen me at the nude beach? Was that possible? I had no recollection of ever seeing them there.

It's probably no surprise, I was still a virgin at this point in my life. In fact, I really hadn't even contemplated my sexuality. I assumed I was straight. I had no experience to back up that assumption. I also had no experience in identifying if others were gay. Well, basically, I thought all gay men were like Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

Yet, something about these two men from my psychology class made me start questioning. I ran through various scenarios in my head, and I concluded that these two men were boyfriends.

I really can't explain how the thoughts in my brain evolved. I was confused by the interest of these two men. Was it just the Australian friendliness, and I was reading way too much into it? No one had ever really gone out of their way to befriend me before, and while I was confused, I was also becoming aware that I liked the attention.

Sometime before the next class, I concocted a "scheme". Granted, it wasn't all that well thought out of a scheme. It was a chess game, and I was only thinking of my next move. That afternoon, I put on a scooped tank top. It was my favorite tank top. It was probably more appropriate for the gym than for a class, but then again, everything in Australia was so relaxed (many students even went barefoot to class). The deep arm scoops in the side of the tank top gave good visibility to the sides of my pecs when I raised my arms. And, although I was no muscle god, years of working on the family farm had given me a lean body that, admittedly, I enjoyed looking at naked in the mirror.

I also wore my favorite pair of umbro shorts. Designed to allow unrestricted movement while sprinting during a soccer game, the umbros had considerably wider leg openings than most shorts. I had modeled these shorts in front of a mirror many times before. I knew that, when positioned just so, it was easy to see up the leg holes of these shorts.

So, for that next class, I deliberately selected a seat in the circle sitting directly opposite my two new friends (they always sat side-by-side in class). The classroom was just a circle of desks/chairs, with nothing in the middle. I knew that the two guys would have the ability to take an unrestricted view up my shorts. But would they even look?

I can't even recall what that lecture was about. I was focused on my 'tease' of the two guys. I didn't feel threatened by them. I knew they were boyfriends, and thus they weren't seeking something sexual with me. But, if they liked to look, I was going to let them take a peek.

My suspicions were rather quickly confirmed. I would look over to either my left or right when another student was speaking, and when I returned my vision straight ahead, I would notice the two guys quickly looking away from me.

We went out to drink after the class and several that followed. These guys were becoming my first two friends. A couple times we went to bars, and I learned of the Australian custom of "shouting". Basically, if it was someone's birthday, they bought the entire bar a round. It was a nice surprise of getting a free drink and not even knowing the person.

However, my 21st birthday was approaching, and I was nervous. I was finally coming out of my shell. You only have one 21st birthday, right? But, I knew that I couldn't afford to buy a round of drinks for an entire bar. So, I was contemplating staying in on my birthday.

Ryan and Paul knew my birthday was coming up, and at first did not understand my apprehension about going out on my birthday. "Don't worry. It's custom -- but you don't *have* to do it," Ryan explained.

"Oh," I said, feeling quite relieved.

They arranged to pick me up on Friday night and take me out. Rather than the typical sports bar where we went and watched footy (or rugby), they said they had a different place in mind.

The first thing that struck me when we walked into this place called Connections was the drag queens. I asked Paul, "Is this a gay bar?"

"Yes, it's a gay bar. But, in Australia, it's not like America. Both straights and gays go to the gay bars. Straight people come here because they love the drag shows," Ryan replied.

Still, as I looked around, this bar seemed to be about 85% men. And some of the women -- I wasn't entirely sure they were women.

Perhaps I hadn't thought far enough ahead in this chess game. I had assumed that Ryan and Paul just had "friendly interests" in me. Why did they bring me to a gay bar?

So, we walk up to the bar. Ryan greets the bartender, who appears to know him. "Guess what, it's our mate, James's birthday," Ryan says.

"Oh, so a round on you, eh?" the bartender says, looking directly at me.

"No, no. I can't," I say, turning to my two friends.

"But, you have to. It's your birthday," says the bartender.

"I can't," I reply, beginning to think how miserable my 21st birthday was becoming.

Ryan turns to the bartender and says, "I guess we have to invoke the exception alternative for James."

"Alternative exception?" I ask.

"On your birthday," the bartender says, "you have one of two options. Either you shout a round for the bar -- or you strip to your birthday suit!"

"Wait -- what?" I stammer.

Ryan replies, "Yes, those are the two options."

"Oh shit!" I think to myself. I look around the bar. There's probably 150 to 200 people. But fortunately, I don't know any of these people...well, except for Ryan and Paul. I didn't have anywhere near enough cash on me to buy a round for the whole bar. It was apparent I had no other choice.

I took off my shirt.

"Wait," the bartender said, "You're stripping?"

"Yes," I replied meekly.

The bartender then turned around and reached up and rang a bell. "Birthday boy in the house!" he screams.

Oh man, this was way more attention than I had expected. Now it seemed like all 200 people were looking at me. Although, I guess at first, they were scanning the bar trying to figure out whose birthday it was. But, I presume that became apparent as I started taking off my shirt.

"Take it off. Take if off!" a few guys started chanting from a nearby table.

I can't say that I gave a seductive strip show by any means. Instead, it was really more of a 'get this done as fast as possible'. I unbuttoned my shorts, and pushed my shorts and underwear down. I was wearing flip-flops, and thus it was rather easy to step out of my shorts and underwear. I put my clothes on the barstool next to me.

I noticed Paul pick up my clothes and hand them over the bar to the bartender. For my safekeeping, I presumed, so that no one would steal them.

Not even Ryan's giving Paul a high-five made me realize that in fact, *they* were stealing them.

So, at that point, my hopes for my 21st birthday became 'sit at this bar, with my back to everyone, and drink until it's over.'

However, Ryan and Paul would have none of that. First, they insisted we play a game of darts. I couldn't help but feel that the patrons at the bar were taking more than the typical level of interest in an 'USA vs Australia' game of bar darts.

Then, they insisted we should dance. At first, it was line dancing, and I managed to hide near the middle of the floor. For some reason, though, the 1 or 2 lines of people in front of me would seem to fall apart as the song continued, and I found myself in the front line as we 'boot scootin' boogied' on the dance floor.

Ryan asked me what my favorite song was, and I replied, "It's Not Right, it's OK" (Whitney Houston).

Ryan went to the DJ and made a request. Next thing I know, "my" song is playing. Paul points to a box (a stage/platform) and tells me to hop up. "No, no. I can't," I protest. But, Ryan and Paul each grab me under one armpit and hoist me onto the stage. I can't help it; it's my favorite song. I danced.

For some reason, whoever was the lighting/stage manner at the club, instead of rotating the light around the dance floor like I had usually seen done, was instead shining the light directly at my box. It was kinda blinding, to be honest.

Then the unexpected happened. Well, I guess it shouldn't have been too unexpected. When I used to dance alone, by myself, naked in front of the mirror at home, as I would sway from side to side, my dick would become longer and longer, until it became hard.

Whitney was doing it to me again. The beat was too catchy. And I could tell that as my penis was flopping around, I had reached the 'point of no return'. As much as I was trying to mentally stop it, the floodgates had been released and inflation was a one-way proposition at this point. By the time the song ended, I was pointing nearly straight up (like 11pm on a compass dial).

I jumped off the stage, and Ryan and Paul caught me. Each one managed to catch an arm. At that moment, a young man walked up and asked if he could take a photo of the three of us. I started to say "N...", but Ryan had already said "Yes" to the guy. Paul was on my left; Ryan was on my right. The way I had landed, I had wound up with one hand on each of their shoulders. As I tried to move my hands to cover my privates, Ryan and Paul each gripped one of my arms pinning it to the back of their shoulders. "Oh my god," I thought to myself, "This stranger is taking a picture of me completely naked."

Then, Paul pulls his phone out of his left pocket and hands it to the stranger. "Can you take one with my phone, please?"

"No way!" I thought to myself. It was one thing if it were a stranger, but this is a person I know. These two guys -- my classmates -- are going to have photos of me completely naked. But, in a couple instants, it was over, and the phone was back in Paul's pocket.

I don't remember much more of that night. I know there were a few more times that guys walked up to me, or more often to Paul and Ryan, and asked them if they could take a picture of me. At that point, I had become numb to it. The alcohol had loosened me up a bit. "What, you've never seen an American dick?" I teased one guy as he stood taking photos of me.

When the night was finally over, I walked up to the bar and the bartender handed me my clothes. A young man sitting at the bar asked me, "In America, is it a tradition that a guy strips naked in a bar on his birthday?"

"No, not in America; it's not," I replied.

"Then why did you do it?" he asks me.

"Because it's a custom in Australia," I reply.

"No, it's not," the young man says.

And then I notice that Ryan, Paul, and the bartender have the biggest, shit-eating grin on their faces that I have ever seen in my life.

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impulsivefanwriter · 1 year

Text

Lava Fall (Remastered)

A ninjago fic snippet based on SPBNR by @kittydemon9000 rewritten in honour of the 2-year anniversary of the discord server! This one is to all the wonderful memories and friends made in that amazing group. Here's to many more years of great times and creative ideas!

————

Being kidnapped isn’t an everyday occurrence, but in Shogun’s line of occupation, it may as well be with how often it seems to happen.

Heck, his little brother has the worst luck out of all of them— though his sister seems to come a close second.

So it’s to no real surprise (at least, to him) that Shogun currently finds himself in a rather… precarious position.

As in a “tied to a chain, dangling over lava just like Nya back in the Fire Temple” kind of precarious position.

Yeah. Just an average Friday evening.

Below him stands the gloating four-armed warlord himself, a positively pompously smug grin stretched across his features. Two hands rest on his hips, and two stay crossed before him.

“I asked you to join me, yet you refuse. You’re as stubborn as my buttface of a brother.”

Despite the childish insults, Shogun knows better than to underestimate this world’s Garmadon. Instead, he levels the villain with a burning glare. “Let me go, or face the consequences.”

Garmadon smiles— a cruel, wretched thing, honestly— and places two hands on a lever. “Let you go? That can be arranged.”

Lava gurgles under him, seeming to draw closer lava surrounding Lloyd’s cage, lapping at the metal floor and splashing against the bars. The Fangblade plummets as Kai lunges forward, not for the weapon, but for his little brother, too late, he’s too late, too unworthy, too much of a failure—

Shogun’s face is the definition of a furious snarl, but before he can spit out a barrage of insults so stinging it would melt Garmadon’s helmet, one of the doors to the cavern bursts open with an explosion. Shapes burst through the smoke, and Ninja Force come raining in.

“Smith!” Lloyd not his Lloyd but still neither should be near a volcano not after— shouts, green hood pulled over his face and missile launcher— WHO GAVE THIS KID A MISSILE LAUNCHER— propped over his shoulder. “Hold on!”

Garmadon’s army pours into the room, narwhal spears and pufferfish flails at the ready. Cyan leaps forward with her trident raised above her head. She brings it down in an arc with a furious war cry, melted tip scrapping against a lobster-themed shield with an unpleasant screech. Behind her, Black follows with a swing of his hammer, slamming the shield away and sending it spinning into the lava pit below. The metal hisses as it dissolves into a glob of orange spittle and vanishes.

Red charges in after his sister, twin katanas reflecting the glow of the lava so bright they almost appear alight with flames. He disarms one unprepared General with a move that makes Shogun proud— looks like he was paying attention in weapon training after all— and spins to hit a second, sparks flying as metal contacts metal. Shogun squints. For a split second, he thought he saw the base embers of Spinjitzu, but if there were any, they quickly fade into the chaos of the fight.

A flash catches his attention, and Shogun turns his head in time to catch a whiff of ozone and charred fish. A General runs wailing from the room, smoke trailing after them like a scarf. A (fearfully) screaming Blue snaps his wrist again, and his flail strikes out like lightning. Next to him, White makes perfect precision strikes with his bow, quips of “Nice Shot!” and “Good Aim!” in an impression of that announcer in that sports video game Smith played with the others falling from his lips.

“We’re coming!” Green yells, scrambling down the path his team clears toward his father. Whenever a General crosses his line of sight, the missile launcher clicks in warning. The more foolish Generals find themselves knocked aside in explosions that rattle the volcano, sending Smith spinning on his chain like an angry disco ball.

His vision blurs for a minute from the motion, and he tries not to hurl into the lava below. Instead, he focuses on the sounds of metal clashing, the shouts of combat, and the pounding slam of explosions and hammers-that-really-shouldn’t-be-rattling-the-volcano-this-much.

A feeling surfaces in his gut, clawing steadily upwards and wrapping icy fingers around his heart. It’s a feeling that ties lead to his feet, that grips his hair and yanks his head back, that throws him forward onto his knees like a spiked heel to his back.

It’s a feeling of helplessness.

Stupid, consuming helplessness.

He hates it.

His friends, his family, are fighting below, and he can’t do anything.

When Shogun stops spinning, the feeling only worsens, climbing up the inside of his throat with a thick glob of sticky horror.

Cyan’s disarmed, her trident slowly sinking as it melts away in the lava. Her fists, blood staining her knuckles, collide with any General near her.

CRACK, a General’s jellyfish helmet shattering into glass shards.

CRACK, the jaw of a crab General breaking.

CRACK, Cyan’s hand against metal-plated armour.

She drops back with a wounded howl that’s his SISTER who just got hurt, and he can’t help her. Her brothers are there in an instance, one slamming the General with the butt-end of a katana and the other lighting them up like a firework with a missile. The General flies out of the room as if fired by their boss.

A screech drags Shogun’s horrified gaze away from the three siblings and to a squirming Blue held by the back of the gi like a kitten. The orca-themed General sneers, spinning the lightning ninja around. Before they can toss him into a wall, a bright flash fills the chamber. Some kind of force smashes the General into the wall instead. Blue goes sailing out of their grip—

And over the railing of the pathway.

Shogun’s heart stops.

Before the half-formed wail of his brother’s name can burst from his mouth, however, a streak dives under the railing and over the cliff edge. Black snatches Blue’s wrist and digs his other hand into the craggy rock wall, praying for a handhold.

... ... ...

Through some miracle, he finds one. He clings there, holding Blue against the wall as the pair dangles over lava.

A General reaches over the railing with a spear aimed at Black’s hand below them, but an arrow knocks the spear from their hand. White bodyslams them out of the way and helps Black and Blue up in a lull of combat.

More Generals pour into the cavern as alarms wail, nearly spilling others into the lava pit below. The Ninjaforce tense, adjusting grips on whatever weapons they have remaining.

But before the fight can break out anew, Garmadon gives a pointed cough that seems to echo louder along the rock walls.

Shogun jerks as he’s lowered on the chain a smidge.

Silence falls.

“So—” Garmadon stretches the word out, savouring the attention as his fingers tap the lever with casual slowness. “You surrender, or he drops.”

Six faces pale beneath hooded masks.

Green swallows. “You wouldn’t. You spent all this energy to catch him. You won’t drop him.”

There’s an edge of pleading to his voice, a desperate hope that some tiny part of Garmadon wouldn’t do it. That his father isn’t that despicable. That Green by association isn’t that despicable.

Garmadon rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you goody-two-shoes are all the same. You sound like my whiny butt-faced brother. “Don’t do this, Garmadon!” “You’re better than this, Garmadon!” I am better. I’m stronger. I’m gonna rule Ninjago City! I thought I could use Shogun on my side to do it, but if he’s just gonna stand in my way—“

The chain drops another few centimetres.

“—then I’m more than ready to drop him.”

Shogun has enough.

Smith has enough.

Kai has enough.

Burning fury, hotter than a thousand suns, roars through his gut. It melts the frozen helplessness clamped around his heart, burns away the sticky glob of horror in his throat, and spits out of his mouth in a jet of orange flames. “Do it, coward.”

A thicker silence follows the last syllable. The Ninja Force and generals alike look on with horror, the former with fear for their friend, the latter recognizing a phrase that would immediately get any of them fired if they dared utter it.

Even Garmadon blinks, stunned.

Then his cruel smirk returns. “So be it. If you’re not for me, you’re against me. Our dance was fun, Shogun. Too bad you won’t be sticking around for an encore.”

He yanks the lever back with two hands.

Someone screams.

The tether keeping Shogun chained goes slack as he plummets, the string holding him helpless severed in a single move. As he falls, lava fast approaching, his expression betrays no fear.

He keeps his burning gaze drilled into Garmadon’s the whole way down.

—————————

Lloyd doesn’t know what to do.

Smith had casually dropped into their lives one seemingly uneventful day, and he’d stuck to them ever since. He’d been the best addition to their friend group they could’ve ever hoped for.

And now he’s been dropped, literally, back out of their lives.

“SMITH!”

The scream comes from six people at once, six ninjas scrambling to the railing and stare at the lava’s centre where the melting chain vanishes below the bubbling orange surface.

Logically, Smith’s buoyancy should mean he’d float. Yet the chain plating drags him down below the spitting lava in a heartbeat, gone from view.

A mercy on their eyes, to avoid seeing the flesh melt from his bones.

Kai drops to his knees, katanas clattering to the ground. “He… he can’t be gone.” His voice is hollow, a snuffed candle. It reminds Lloyd of how lost Shogun sounded earlier. “He can’t be.”

“…Sensors indicate 0% chance of survival…” Comes Zane’s voice, grief-struck cold and crackling with static. “I— I wish it was /j instead of /srs.”

An expression steeped in horror and guilt washes across Nya’s face. “The last thing I ever said to him—“

Cole stands silent, his watering eyes speaking volumes to the turmoil rumbling inside. Jay crashes into his side, shaking as he hiccups and gasps for air.

And Lloyd… Lloyd can’t think. Can’t see. Can’t feel.

Smith is gone.

And it’s his father’s fault.

Lloyd growls, slowly turning to face Garmadon with eyes blazing green. He flexes his hands unconsciously, nails sharpening into claws as green and gold scales march over his skin.

He throws himself forward with a wild roar, claws aiming for Garmadon’s throat. The move catches even the warlord off-guard, his Generals too surprised to react.

But before Lloyd can attack his father, before he can hurtle the anguished insult burning on his tongue, the lava pit behind him explodes.

Everyone, ninja and Generals alike, scramble back as the geyser of lava swallows the remains of the dangling metal chain whole. The spray spits and sizzles as it hits the surrounding rock. A wave of heat radiates out.

No one, not even Kai himself, notices that a couple drops land on his skin without burning him.

The air punches from Lloyd’s lungs.

Striding out of the lava, completely fine as if he’d merely taken a plunge in the pond in the park, is Smith.

What. The. Duck.

Lava dripping from his fingers, Smith climbs up the rocky cliffs and pulls himself over the railing. He shakes himself off, flicking a glob of drying lava from his shoulder with utmost casualness. Droplets of lava hit the grated floor.

There isn’t a scratch on him. No burns, no cuts, not even his clothes look singed. The only change, honestly, is that his stormy expression somehow manages to look even more murderous.

He raised his hand toward Garmadon.

His fist erupts into flames.

WHAT. THE. DUCK.

“So—“ Smith draws out the word as if it’s an inside joke between him and the warlord. “You asked me to join you. I refused. I asked you to let me go. I’d count that as refusing.”

The flame grows brighter, flaring higher. His eyes glow like a hearth.

“So I say it’s time for that encore.”

#spbnr #same people but not really #ninjago #lego ninjago #Lego Ninjago movie #the lego ninjago movie #Kai Smith #kai #kai ninjago #kai jiang #Imp's Writing

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