#he just stabbed himself in the bottom of his foot with a stick

[skyward-floored]

My dad doesn’t always give off Hyrule energy but when he does he does

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of charmed serial killer Simon. (Part 1 is here.)

This part is heavily inspired by this particular Badjhur audio “Surviving the Slasher” from, like, a long time ago. Where he’s a killer. Easier to find than expected, thank you masterlist. It permanently has a room in my pea brain, no rent, utilities included.

You’re out with your little friends again. Simon scoffs to even call them that. You give them so much more than they even try to give you - support, encouragement, time, energy.

One of them has a shitty deadbeat boyfriend that’s throwing a flat party, so they’ve dragged you along per usual. You’re still swearing off alcohol after the last time you went out - when you got a ride home with him. So you’re totally sober when the rest of the idiots suggest “investigating” the abandoned hospital on the other end of the block.

You go with them as the only fully-sober one, but spend the whole, stumbling trip trying to convince them to go somewhere, anywhere, else.

Apparently the boyfriend fancies himself something of an urban explorer because he knows just how to get in, bragging that he’s going to start some stupid internet show looking for ghosts there. You end up getting knocked into a half dozen times just trying to keep your woozy friends from getting tetanus.

It doesn’t take long at all for someone to suggest hide and seek. You try adamantly to put your cute little foot down - reminding them that it’s dirty and structurally unstable and there could be people just trying to camp out in peace in here. You’re adamantly ignored and your friends scatter.

And Simon starts to hunt.

Oh, he wishes he could have seen your face when the screams first started. If you recognized the shriek of Addy, the one who yanked you away from a proper apology when you first bumped into him at the bar. Wonders if you felt anything when Simon stabbed her boyfriend in the stomach and sent him stumbling away to incite more terror.

Of course you did. His pretty little chatterbox, coming to the rescue as soon as you heard their cries.

You get yourself lost trying to find someone, anyone. He picks off your group one. By. One. He finds you trying to triage a nasty slice to Heather’s thigh. She was talking shit about you just two days ago to Addy.

And oh, how brave you are, trying to stick with her to the very end. All it takes is one well-placed throw and you’re scrambling back as Heather burbles blood.

He takes a single, loud step towards you - and you bolt. Such a smart thing, you don’t even glance back to see if he’s following. He’s not; there’s still trash to take care of.

You find one more friend - one he doesn’t mind so much, mostly because you just met tonight. She’s crying, making a fuss and you’re trying to soothe her while still focused on escape, letting her cling to your arm.

Simon starts herding you both towards an easy exit. A few well placed foot falls here, a jaunty whistle there. He loves watching your big eyes dart toward the noises, how you get low like a bunny hiding in brush. Always put yourself between your new friend and wherever you think he could come from.

Your friends’ blood is beginning to dry when he decides it’s time to wrap things up.

He appears in a doorway, and you shove at your fellow survivor, make her squeeze through the rusty door first. You’re just starting to follow when he snags you around the middle. You yelp, feet kicking at air, tugging at his soaked hoodie sleeve.

He shoves your back against a wall and presses close, the flat of his knife against your pretty cheek.

“What did we learn tonight, hm?” he mocks.

You’re flinching away, but know better than to struggle or scream. So clever.

“W-why are you doing this?” you ask.

How sweet, that you can’t understand the motivations of monsters like him. He indulges you.

“To teach you a lesson,” he answers. “Get better friends.”

You look furious, even as tears well in your eyes. He coos over them, tugs the bottom of his mask up enough to lick them as they fall down your cheek.

“S-Stop, that’s - that’s so gross,” you hiccup, pancaking yourself to the wall.

He snorts in amusement and tugs his mask down again.

“Now, I know you’re a good girl with good manners, so let’s see them.”

You blink at him, eyes soooo big. Don’t understand what he means.

He tuts. “Say: thank you, ghost, for teaching me a valuable lesson.”

You press your lips together in a tight, pouty line. He wants to bite them. Instead, taps the point of the knife against your jaw. A silent threat that’s he’s still debating if he means.

But you manage to get the sentence out, stuttering, voice breaking halfway through. Mm, he’s missed hearing your gratitude. It’s almost sweeter this way than all the times you said it in his car.

“You’re very welcome, sunshine. Now, off you go, before I decide to teach you something else.”

You don’t hesitate when he steps back. Peel yourself off the wall and wriggle out to freedom.

Simon chuckles. What a fun little playdate, he’s so glad he let you go that first time. He’ll have to arrange another one soon.

Previous | Next

Masterlist

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 14: Like the Saying Goes... You Can't Teach an Old Dog New Tricks, But You Can Teach a New Mutant Old Tricks

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Mikey is thrust into an empty room with cameras placed in each corner of the ceiling. He fidgets with his new tail, rubbing the edges of the scales and spikes that slowly rise as his anxiety grows. The scales on his shoulders have lifted, creating quills. He didn't have those before... did he? He can't remember.

He has a vague recollection of what he looked like before whatever happened to him... he knows that he didn't have the long tail. He knows that he didn't have the claws. He thinks he had the spots... maybe. He's not sure.

A hatch opens from the other side of the room. A creature hops in, sniffing around. It has bright red and pink eyes, white fur, and long ears. It's just a little bit smaller than Mikey, but something in his mind tells him it used to be very small. The way that the fur is malformed and mangy, the way that it is uncomfortable with its gangly legs that flop around and flail as it tries to move. There are antlers crowning its head, its paws are hiding sharp claws like Mikey's. It has a mouth full of misshapen fangs and teeth that stick out and stab its lips, causing cuts and scars across the bottom half of its face. It is drooling uncontrollably as it hops around the other end of the area, exploring.

Mikey chirps at it in interest, creeping closer.

Friend?

The creature turns its head in his direction.

It shrieks at him, the teeth criss-crossed and tangled. Its eyes are wild. It lunges sloppily at Mikey, gaining speed.

Mikey screeches in fright as he runs in the opposite direction, dodging the attack. The creature rams into the walls savagely and clumsily. It knocks several of the teeth out. But they instantaneously grow back. It turns around, searching for Mikey. One of the ears twitch when Mikey's nails scratch against the floor. The mutant jackalope's head does a full 270 degree turn and stares blindly at Mikey. It runs at him again, snarling and growling. Mikey tries to run away again, but the creature suddenly jumps -- much higher than Mikey can -- and pounces on him. Mikey falls against the floor, staring up in shock at the jackalope, who drools all over him. It snarls, snapping its jaw, trying to bite his head. Mikey moves back and forth, avoiding it as best as possible. It keeps getting closer. One of the fangs snips Mikey's bottom lip, tearing the skin. A profuse amount of blood spurts out, staining the white fur of the rabbit. It licks the tooth with a long snaking tongue, and the sound it makes almost resembles grotesque laughter. Mikey lifts his feet up underneath the creature and kicks it off of him. The creature goes flying and lands several feet away, crashing onto the floor. It wriggles and flails about in a terror, trying to get itself back up.

LET ME TAKE OVER, Instinct demands. LET INSTINCT KEEP YOU SAFE.

Okay, Mikey whimpers in his thoughts. Do what you must...

Mikey's thoughts grow soft and pliable as he lets the savage warrior mentality in him take control of his body. There is a shift, and suddenly every part of him can be commanded and controlled like a puppet, every ability and new feature at his order.

Mikey can't do that. But Instinct can.

Instinct doesn't wait for the jackalope mutant to get its footing back. He crawls up the side of the wall, situating himself at the ceiling as he watches what it will do.

The rabbit finally gets up and sniffs the room. Its head turns in every direction, as if it is looking for something... but the eyes don't move. The ears do.

It's blind. The creature is blind. It is listening for him.

Instinct silently starts to crawl across the ceiling, making his way to the other side of the room where the discarded teeth from earlier are.

He scales down the wall as the jackalope inspects the room for him. Instinct carefully reaches out and takes the long, sharp fangs in his hands. The rabbit's back is to him. It will never see him, it doesn't hear him. Now is the time to strike.

Instinct lunges at the rabbit, stabbing the broken fangs deep into its back. The monster makes a quick cry of pain before falling to the floor, writhing and wriggling and bleeding. Instinct pulls one of the teeth out of its back before stabbing again, and again, and again.

The mutant stops moving. The room is silent again. Instinct lets Mikey back in.

Mikey groggily looks around, trying to figure out what happened in his absence. He looks down at the poor thing underneath him. He looks at his hands, covered in red.

Mikey starts to cry.

A door opens behind him, startling him. He turns around, whimpering in fear.

"Well done," one of the scientists say, as several guards wearing thick gloves, helmets, suits made to protect them from savage animals come in and take Mikey by the arms and drag him away. "Well done, 'Mikey'. That was quick work. Let's see what else you are capable of, hmm?"

.

.

.

Mikey wakes up, and the first thing he feels is someone wiping tears away from his cheeks. He opens his eyes to see Red Raph standing there, whispering loving shushes at him. Leo is asleep on the beanbag again.

Mikey whines at Raph. He wants to tell him what he saw, what he did. He wants to ask him to hold him tight and never let him go again. He tries.

"Chirrup," he croaks.

Miraculously enough, Raph gets the message and wraps his arms over and under Michelangelo, lovingly lifting him up and cradling him close.

"You okay, big man?" he asks, rocking him back and forth.

Mikey nuzzles his face into Raph's shoulder. He sniffles and sobs without making a noise. Raphael hums a gentle tune to him, like he used to do when he found Mikey having a nightmare as a kid...

Huh. Mikey remembers that. That helps...

Mikey smiles at the happy memory. It replaces the ache in his chest from the bad memory...

Mikey smiles even more when Leo gets up and joins them, rubbing circles on Mikey's head. He purrs at the touch.

"Morning, Miguel," Leo says with a smile. "How're you doing?"

"Chhrrrrr..."

"Ready for some breakfast?" he asks with a smile.

Mikey's tail wags with all its might. He's starving.

.

.

.

Raph didn't expect to find Mikey crying in his sleep. He'd asked what he was dreaming about during breakfast, and Mikey had sheepishly signed something about a mutant that he'd had to fight in the labs. But he didn't give many details. Raph wanted to offer comfort again, but for whatever reason Mikey flinched when he touched his shoulder and refused to return the affection like he had that morning. Something felt off, Mikey felt far away...

Raphael had resolved to do something with Mikey that would make him smile again. That's what he's doing now, as Leon and Donnie are cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast.

Raphael follows after his baby brother, who trots back to his bedroom to play with the paints he and Leo found last night. He's dipping his hands in the small bottles and scribbling messy doodles onto the sheets scattered across the floor.

"Hey Mikey, whatcya drawin'?"

Mikey looks up with a shy smile and signs to him.

'Brothers. R-A-P-H, D-O-N-N-I-E, and L-E-O.'

"You remember our names?" Raph asks with excitement.

Mikey nods and signs that he and Leo practiced their names the night before. Raph smiles brightly as he sits across from Mikey.

"That's amazing, Mikey! I'm so happy for you!"

Mikey's shy smile grows bigger. He squeaks out a gleeful beep, his tail wags and the very tip of it taps against the floor several times.

"Hey, I know you're busy with drawin' and artsy stuff, but do you think Raph could try sumthin' with ya?"

Mikey nods, intrigued. He wipes his fingers off on the paper, and gives Raph his full attention.

"Okay. Now, this is just an exercise, it's okay if it doesn't work on the first attempt, but we might as well try, right?"

Mikey purses his lips and tilts his head in confusion.

"I want to see if I can help you figure out how to talk again."

Mikey's eyes go wide as saucers. Is he serious? Could Mikey actually talk again?

"I know, I know, but you can make sounds with your throat, right? It's just to try. Can we try?"

Mikey nods ecstatically. He so badly wants to talk again, he's so desperate to communicate with his voice.

"Okay! Great! Let's try this... I know you can growl. Can you make the growling sound for me? Grrr?"

Mikey nods and begins to vibrate his vocal chords.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrghh..."

"That's great! Okay, now just the 'rrrr' sound."

Mikey mimics Raph as he purses his lips and produces a softer growl, enunciating just the 'R's.

"Great! Now, try saying 'ah'?" Raph asks. "I've heard you do it before, it's easy, right?"

Mikey nods, making the 'ah' sound, opening his mouth wide and unintentionally giving Raphael a glimpse of the many sharp fangs and canine teeth he has now.

"Good, good. Now, let's try a new one. Can you make the 'ff' sound?"

Mikey's expression falters. He concentrates, following Raph's instructions as best he can. He presses his teeth against his tongue and blows air through.

"Thhhh...?"

"Try it like this," Raph says, pointing to how he bites his lower lip.

Mikey tries, but bites down too hard at first and yipes.

"Gently!" Raph yelps nervously, reaching for Mikey. "Gently! Don't bite down so hard, just... softly place your upper jaw on your lower lip."

Mikey tries again, carefully resting his teeth against his lip and gently blowing.

"Fffffffft? Ffff!"

"Nicely done!" Raph congratulates. "Okay, let's review those sounds again. 'Rr'?"

"Rrrrrrrhh..."

"Ah?"

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"

"Ffff."

"Pffff!"

"All three together?"

Mikey clenches his fists and concentrates hard.

"RRrgghh... Aaaahh... Ffff... RrAhhPpFfff... Rrrraafff... Rraff? Raff. R-Raff! Ah!! RAFF!!"

Mikey looks up in shock and sheer delight. His eyes sparkle and he almost starts crying.

"RrAAaFfFf!!" he shouts in excitement, pointing at himself and then at his brother as he realizes what he had him learn to say. "Raff! Raff!"

"You did it, Mikey!" Raph cheers ecstatically, grabbing Mikey's hands and shaking them with joy. "I knew you could! I knew you could do it!! Hey, wanna go show our brothers?"

Mikey nods furiously.

Raph stands up and ushers Mikey out, who zooms away quickly but halts to wait at the end of the hall.

The two waltz into the kitchen where Leo and Donnie are just finishing up the dishes.

"Excuse me, boys," Raph announces, swelling with pride. "But Mikey has something he'd like to show us!"

"Oh?" Leo says, pausing a conversation he and Donnie were having. "What's up, Miguel?"

Mikey saunters into the doorway with ego and self-admiration, sitting himself down and lifting his head up high to loudly proclaim...

"Raph."

Donnie and Leo freeze.

"Did... did he just... Mikey, did you just say Raph??"

Mikey and Raphael beam.

"He sure did! We've been working on phonics and enunciation."

"That's so AWESOME!!" Leo yells, running to Mikey and wrapping him up in a hug. "Ohmigosh! Can he say my name, too?"

"Well, he only just learned how to say my name, but we can practice yours. You wanna give it a go, Mikey?" Raph asks.

Mikey nods and chirps before repeating the only word he can say.

"Raff! Rapfh! Raph!"

"Okay, I think you can make the 'ee' sound alright, so let's focus on the 'L' for now. Make the 'rrr' sound again for me?"

Mikey does, and Leo practices along with him.

"Rrrrr..."

"Rrrr..."

"Okay, now, while you make the 'R', press your tongue against the back of your teeth."

Mikey looks confused, but Leo gives it a go.

"Rrrrrrlllll--! Ah! Hey! I never realised that... How did you know to do that?" Leo asks.

"When Mikey was a turtle tot, he had that speech impediment where he pronounced his 'R's and 'L's as 'W's. I had to help him figure out how to say them properly," Raph explains. "I guess that's why I wanted to do this speech therapy with him."

Leo and Mikey share a smile and awww at him.

Mikey goes back to focusing on the enunciation, making a soft rumble from his throat that turns into the Rrrrrrgh sound. In the middle of the 'R's, he presses his tongue against his teeth.

"RrrrrrrrllllLLLLL!" Mikey bounces and laughs. "LLLLL! LLLLA! LA! LALALALA!"

Leo laughs along with him. Donnie smiles and huffs out a soft chuckle. The room is laughter and smiles and the lightest feeling of happiness and genuine joy that has existed in this home since Mikey had been taken from them. In this moment, there is healing and wholesomeness. And nothing could break it.

.

.

.

Over New York, a series of small drones fly through the skyline and scan over the city, searching for something... or someone.

One such drone hovers over a specific area, going round in circles as it scans a series of buildings and alleys.

The scans and video footage is transmitted live to a security room in the Techno Cosmic Research Institute Labs, a branch of the Earth Protection Force. A woman is watching the video feed, eyes never blinking and expression totally blank. Her gaze darts from computer to computer, screen to screen. She is looking for anything out of the ordinary.

A door behind her opens. Two men with walk into the room, one in a white lab coat and one wearing a dark uniform and carrying a small weapon on his belt.

"Ah, hello Ms. Campbell," the lab coat greets as he stands behind her, leaning against her chair. "How is it coming along?"

"The drones are functioning properly, Dr. Chaplin," she states flatly.

"Is that so?" he asks, his tone irritated. "Then explain to me why drone 5574 keeps going in circles?"

"Drone 5574 is programed to locate the escaped experiment," she responds cooly. "It is following the embedded tracker."

"A stroke of genius to install trackers in them all," Dr. Chaplin sighs with exasperation. "In case events like this occur... But why is it just circling the one area?"

"It cannot use the artificial recognition software to locate the experiment."

"Why is that?"

"Could the experiment have removed the tracker?" the young man in black uniform asks, stepping closer.

"Impossible, it was unconscious when we inserted it, completely sedated!" Dr. Chaplin says with aggravation and exasperation.

"Then, perhaps the drone is malfunctioning?"

"Ms. Campbell here says all the drones are working properly," he rebuts. "She is never wrong."

"I suspect that the experiment is hiding," Ms. Campbell states. "Either in one of the buildings, alleys, or perhaps even in the sewers."

"Hmm. It could be. Have you detected any movement from the alleys?"

"Negative."

"I doubt it could have lasted this long hiding unseen in any of these buildings... my guess is it's in the sewers. We'll start searching down there... In the meantime," Dr. Chaplin says, turning back to the agent behind him, "Bishop, take a small group of men and do some reconnaissance. I want to make sure he isn't hiding in plain sight. Any idiot could see him and sell him to some circus sideshow or -- god forbid, post a selfie with him. The last thing we need now is publicity, so be discreet."

"Very well. What are you planning to do?" Agent Bishop asks.

"The sewers are too reckless of a place to send a squad in yet. We'll send in some drones to look around."

Dr. Chaplin smiles.

"We'll catch him again soon. There's no doubt about that. He is TCRI property. He could hold the key to so many genetic discoveries and uncoverings... but first, to recapture him. Ms Campbell, I trust you don't mind staying here to watch the feed?"

"I will be fine," she says, still not having taken her eyes away from the video feed.

"It's almost like you were made for this stuff," Dr. Chaplin jokes, as he and Agent Bishop walk out of the room, leaving Ms. Campbell to watch the computers alone again.

Prev || Next

[tangledinink]

heyyy guys. is this a bad time? srry i know its the autism contest today (go vote for donnie) but uhmmm second chapter of my i'm sorry, teenage mutant what now? fic is out. read it on a03 or below the cut!

[ previous chapter ]

Out of the three of them, Leo was the fastest. Donnie was a close second, and Raph brought up the rear, but none of them were slow by any means. Donnie knew, in the back of his mind, that their Dad was more than capable of some shocking speed when the situation called for it, though he was typically more inclined to amble.

 But goddamn. He always kind of forgot just how fast their dad could move when he heard one of his children scream. 

 They could already hear him opening Mikey's door and demanding to know what happened by the time Leo, Raph and he were even breaking the top of the basement stairs, their hearts thudding in their ears because oh my god. Mikey was either just attacked by one of those shady alley cats that Dad told him not to feed, or he had finally managed to stab himself through the hand with a pencil while trying to do that flip-trick thing he liked to do-- one of the two. 

 "What's going on!?" Leo demanded as the trio skidded to a halt in front of Mikey's door, with Raph crying, "Are you hurt?!" At almost the exact same time, all three of them bunched up around the doorway to see what was going on.

 The good news was there were no maniacal tabbies in sight, nor any writing utensils sticking out of his little brother's palm. A good start. The bad news was the smoldering scrap of paper and wire sitting on his baby brother's burnt desk.

 "I don't know!" Mikey wailed, his eyes wide and beaded with tears. Their father kneeled down next to him, placing a hand over Mikey's trembling shoulder in what was likely an attempt at comfort. "I was just sitting here working on a sketch and my notebook caught on fire!"

 Donnie blinked slowly.

 "It caught on fire?" Leo echoed, his voice cautious.

 "Yeah! It just-- it just went up in flames!" Mikey sobbed. "All-- all of my sketches are ruined...!"

 Raph visibly hesitated, exchanging a look with their father before he spoke, "Uh. Well. The important thing is you weren't hurt--"

 "Your notebook just spontaneously burst into flames? On its own? With no outside intervention?" Donnie deadpanned, his lips pursed. He stumbled slightly when Raph smacked him on the shoulder, glaring at his brother. What!? Like he was the only one thinking it! Come on, were they seriously not wondering the same thing?

 "It did! I swear!" Mikey pressed, tearing up all over again. "I really– I wasn't doing anything--"

 Donnie glanced wildly between his brothers and father, gesturing at the youngest slightly. They didn't seriously – There was no way– 

 "Science doesn't work like that!" He squawked. "You can't have fire without heat and fuel, it's literally basic physics! They're the main ingredients of an exothermic reaction-- does nobody else in this household respect the sanctity of the fire tetrahedron?!"

 "Donatello." 

 "Oh, but when I cause an explosion, it's a problem--"

 "Donatello." His father's voice was a bit harder this time, and immediately effective at stopping Donnie mid-tirade, his frame freezing in place and his lips still curved into a slight scowl. "Why don't you and your brothers go back downstairs? I have this under control." 

 Donnie scowled, his brows bunched together and his lips set in a deep frown, and he really thought about protesting or even refusing for a moment, not wanting to be so easily chased away. But, after a moment longer, he relented, turning to trudge back the way he came with a dramatic huff. "This is so unfair." He muttered as he went, his two brothers right behind him. The three retreated back to the basement, and Donnie's foot had barely even passed the bottom step before Leo turned on his heels to face the other two, giving a wild wave of his hands.

 "What the hell was that?!"

 "Hey," Raph muttered, as if he actually cared about any of his brothers swearing nowadays-- it was just reflex.

 "No, I agree with Leo." Donnie immediately declared, crossing his arms over his chest. "There's no way his notebook actually just burst into flames. I mean, you could maybe convince me that some electrical equipment overheated, but there's no way there would be that dramatic of an effect, and I see no reason why it would center on a notebook of all places, unless Michelangelo was sitting there with a high-powered magnifying glass and directing a sunbeam, in which case he definitely went into my room--"

  "Yeah, what Donnie said. But the, like, the sane bits." Leo interrupted. "I'm pretty sure homework doesn't just set itself on fire."

 "What, you think he's lyin'?" Raph questioned.

 "Well either that or he's finally lost it. Like, this isn't just Mikey weird, this is, like. Weird weird ." Leo insisted.

 "Why would he lie though?" Donnie questioned, a brow quirked. "Surely he's not that desperate to get out of doing schoolwork. He's been doing really well as of late-- And if he needed to destroy evidence, I can think of about thirty-seven other, much more effective methods just off the top of my head that he could have employed. And none of them involve him physically endangering himself nor scaring the absolute living atoms out of the rest of us."

 Raph kept quiet, seeming to consider this for a moment, before his eyes got wide, his face paling a bit.

 "You don't-- you guys don't think he's smokin', do ya?" 

 "What?! No way! Come on, Raph, don't be crazy." Leo scoffed. "First of all-- What, and throw away his whole athletic career? You know how much he loves skateboarding and dancing and 'razzing his tazz' and all that. He's not that stupid. Second of all, there are about eight million other places he could go if he wanted to smoke in secret besides here. Like… literally all of New York City. Or even just, I dunno, the balcony?! Not his own room? I'm pretty sure we would have noticed by now if he was smoking in his room!" 

 "But why else would he be lighting stuff on fire!?" Raph cried.

 "I dunno. Maybe just for fun or something? Donnie lights stuff on fire all the time."

 "HEY!"

 "You do, don't try to deny it."

 "That's DIFFERENT, it's science--"

 "Anyway. What teenage boy doesn't go through a 'lighting stuff on fire' phase? I'm pretty sure I read that in one of Dad's parenting books one time." Leo concludes, planting his hands firmly on his hips as if that were the end of it. Donnie rolled his eyes.

 "You didn't. Raph didn't." He pointed out.

 "Which means, statistically, Mikey definitely has to!" Leo replied.

 "That's not how statistics work--"

 "Bup-bup-bup-bup. Both of you, chill. Look, Dad said he's handling it, so he's handling it! We don't gotta sweat it. Just let them work it out, come on. I bet they'll be done before we finish even one round of Smash Bros."

---

 "Michelangelo."

 Even when he spoke, prodding him gently with his words, working so hard to keep his voice steady and even and calm, his youngest son wouldn't look up at him. Wouldn't meet his eyes. He kept his head down, sniffling weakly and making soft, hiccupy sounds that sank wetly to the floor around them. Yoshi was no stranger to his children's tears, but that didn't mean it ever got easier to hear. It made his chest twist.

 "Mikey." He tried again, idly rubbing the teenager's shoulder. "Tell me again exactly what happened--"

 "I promise I'm not making it up!" Mikey immediately cried, his head bobbing up, the little rainbow beads in his hair clicking softly against one another. "I swear, Dad, it really did just catch on fire! I swear I'm not lying or anything! Why would I-- I-- I mean, my, my sketches, all my homework, my notes, you know I wouldn't--"

 "I know." Yoshi assured quickly. And he did. Michelangelo was certainly no angel, contrary to what his name might suggest, and he was just as capable of getting into trouble as the rest of his boys were. Did he really think Yoshi was dumb enough to not be aware of that tagging thing he was doing with his Posca's? And how many parent-teacher conferences had he been called to over the years? And which one of his sons was the only one who had ever gotten suspended for fighting? 

  But a liar, Michelangelo was not. As much as he tried, he just didn't have it in him-- he always cracked with even the barest amount of pressure, much to his brothers' chagrin. It had taken years off his life when they first moved up here into the city. He had spent weeks and weeks driving their cover story into the four of them and subtly teaching Michelangelo in particular how to divert and distract and dodge. 

 Without meaning to, his eyes flickered down to the small golden bracelet encircling his son's wrist, the tiny orange gem inlaid in it catching the light for a moment. One of a matching set of five-- one of which was on his own arm at this very moment.

 "Remember, my son, what do you do when people start asking too many questions?" 

 "CRY!"

 "That's right! Good boy!"

 (Wait, was it his fault he cried so easily now? He's getting distracted. Focus on the now.)

"I know you're not lying to me, Mikey. You are not a very good liar." He teased, smiling the tiniest bit. He wasn't rewarded with the smile he was hoping for, so he pressed on. "I'm sure that whatever happened, it was an accident... And that there's a reasonable explanation! I'm sure. Perhaps there was just a short circuit somewhere, and a spark caught your paper. I will have your brother look into it. I'm simply glad you weren't hurt." 

 Mikey paused, frowning a bit, his eyes searching and unsure. Yoshi fought to keep his face as calm and reassuring as he possibly could.

 "I'm sure your teacher will understand, I will... write her a note. And, uh... we will get you a new desk..."

 "You believe me?" Mikey said, brows knit together in a crease. "And...you’re not mad? I'm not in trouble?"

 "No, you're not in trouble."

 "But-- My desk is burnt-- I mean, when Donnie--"

 "You're not in trouble," Yoshi repeated. "Just… be careful, my son. I do not want you to get hurt." 

 Mikey stayed quiet for a moment, staring their father down before they finally gave a very slow nod.

 "Okay..."

 "Good boy." He said, offering him a small, albeit forced smile, rubbing his son's shoulder in reassurance one more time before he got back up to his feet (with an exaggerated groan of effort.) "It is late. Go get ready for bed. We'll worry about the desk later."

 Watching his son's muted nod, Yoshi made his exit, closing the door firmly behind him and inhaling deeply--frozen for just a moment now that his son's eyes were not on him.

 Michelangelo was not a liar.

 That was what worried him. 

---

“I’m just saying—“

“Raph.”

“That if you were—“

“Raph.”

“We would help you! We just want you to be safe!”

“Raph! For the last time! I don’t smoke! I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my entire life!”

“I’m saying, I mean, if you DID, I mean, Raph wouldn’t be angry! I just.” 

He sniffled loudly.

“I JUST REALLY CARE ABOUT YOU AND—“

“Okay well, now I am gonna start smoking.”

“NO!!!”

---

Yoshi floated through the next few days, muscle memory, thankfully, filling in for him while his brain was occupied elsewhere. It was a good thing that his family had been to approximately eight-million martial arts tournaments over the past decade, or he may have been in trouble. Luckily, everything was, by now, second nature-- ensuring everything needed was accounted for, getting everyone to the gymnasium on time, signing in to each event and finding a seat... 

 He wanted to be present. He wanted to be aware of what was happening around him, to pay attention to the tournament, but it was a struggle to even keep his eyes open. The act of ‘sleeping’ had recently been superseded by that of ‘pouring over Hamato Clan scrolls,’ searching desperately for some sort of an answer or explanation, or even better, a solution.

 Yoshi had never regretted his choice to turn his back on his ‘destiny’ before. He had never regretted choosing not to finish his training, and failing to unlock his ninpo. What use did he have for such things? And what benefit could he possibly find in throwing his life away for the sake of a 'what if,' a what if that had never come to pass in his clan's history? Perhaps life had not turned out exactly as he had planned, and all his choices as a young adult had not exactly been the wisest, but... 

 This choice? No. He had never regretted it.

 Until now.

 Now, his bones ached with remorse. Perhaps if he had learned it himself, he would be more useful now in ensuring his son's safety. He had lit his notebook on fire for god's sake-- What if he had hurt himself? What if the fire had spread?! And how was he supposed to keep his children safe when this power wasn't something that he understood, nor something that they were even aware of themselves?

 He grumbled softly to himself, squinting a bit and hunching over in his seat on the bleachers. Uncomfortable-- these always hurt his back. Thinking about this, it hurt his head. For the thousandth time in his life, he wondered if he was making the right choice as a parent. As a person. He didn't want to deceive his sons. It was never his intention-- It wasn't his plan-- But--

  "Yoshi."

 Yoshi Hamato started slightly in response to his own name, momentarily distracted from the rather consuming task of pushing two small children on swings in tandem. He had tried to negotiate taking turns, but Raph and Mikey had insisted they wanted to swing together...

 He grit his teeth a bit at being interrupted in the middle of an outing with his children by what was, he assumed, a fan or reporter, but when he turned to face the voice, he froze in place. Ice climbed up his throat and lodged itself there.

 "... Hinata."

 They looked different from the last time he saw them-- older, certainly-- but he still recognized the face of his cousin right away. Not dragging his eyes away from the other, he slowed the two children's swings to a stop, leaning down to speak to them.

 "Why don't you boys go and play with your brothers in the sandbox for a little bit? My arms need a break, and then we can swing some more."

 "I don't wanna play in the sandbox!" Mikey immediately protested, his eyes wide. 

 "Mikey--"

 "Come on, Mikey. It'll be fun." Raph interrupted, taking his little brother's hand in his own. "I'll let ya bury me!" 

 The four-year-old immediately lit up at that, wasting no time at all in throwing himself off the swing and sprinting in the direction of the sandbox, where Donnie and Leo were already gathered. Raph followed after, but not after just a moment of hesitation, glancing at their father for just a second before running off.

 As helpful as his eldest’s reaction was, it made Yoshi’s heart twist to think on it too hard. He wasn’t the eldest by much. He was still a child as well. 

 This was why they had moved to the surface. This was why Yoshi had chosen to risk exactly this scenario. But he had still hoped it would not happen. And he did not think it would happen this quickly.

 Rising up to his full height once more, he narrowed his eyes at his cousin, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest or plant his hands on his hips. He was not a teenager anymore.

 "Why are you here, Hinata." He slipped easily into his native tongue, knowing that Hinata would do the same. He would never forget the language he spent the first eighteen years of his life speaking, but now, after all this time, he would admit, Japanese almost felt foreign in his mouth.

 "Yoshi! It is so good to see you again-- After all this time, we all thought-- I mean--"

 "We both know perfectly well you are not here for pleasantries, Hinata." He snapped, his temper flaring for a moment, getting the better of him. "You did not travel all the way to New York to say ‘hello’. Why did you come?"

 "... We heard in the news, that you have children. What a surprise for all of us, after how adamant you were growing up...!"

"And what business is that of yours?"

 "Yoshi," Hinata said, a sigh weighing down their voice. "I know that you never completed your training, but--"

 "And they will never start."

 "Yoshi, please, be reasonable."

 "I am being reasonable!"

 "You are the last direct descendant of the Hamato Clan, Yoshi! You, and now them! We have a duty! A responsibility to the world!"

 "Them!?" Yoshi hissed, gesturing violently to the sandbox across the playground, where his three children excitedly worked to try to bury their older brother. He struggled to keep his voice down. " They have a responsibility to the world?! A duty to fulfill?! They are children!"

 "You think I am not fully aware that it is a great burden to bare!? Do you think the rest of us have reveled in it?!" Hinata spat. "Just because a task is difficult does not mean you can abandon it, Yoshi!"

 "Why!? What is stopping us!?" Yoshi threw up his arms. "If you are content wasting your life preparing for the return of a scary story, be my guest! But you will not drag my children into it. I will not send them away to be raised without a parent. I will not sacrifice them for some supposed greater good. And I will not be convinced otherwise." He hissed, each word burning his lips from how cold they came out-- a surprise each time. 

"Yoshi. Please. We are your family. We cannot do this without you."

"Listen to me carefully, Hinata," Yoshi said, his eyes narrowed into slits. "The Hamato Clan will have no part in my sons' lives. They will not train them. They will not speak to them. They will not attempt to make any form of contact with them. And if any of you do, then you will be hearing from my lawyers. None of you will touch a single hair on their heads."

 He leaned in a bit closer. 

 "And if anyone attempts to, then I will break all of the fingers on their hands, and worry about the lawyers later. Do you understand?"

 Hinata kept quiet for a moment, their eyes searching the other, as though they were trying to decide whether or not their cousin was serious. Eventually, their shoulders slumped. 

 "... Your grandpa missed you, Yoshi."

 "Stop."

 "He was devastated when we heard you had gone missing."

 "Hinata."

 "Until his dying breath--"

 Every muscle in Yoshi's body jerked and tensed, coiled tight and hot. His lips curled into a snarl, and he clenched his hands into fists.

He walked away. Hinata did not follow him.

He sat with his children in the sandbox until he was sure Hinata was gone. He pushed Raph and Mikey on the swings for five minutes longer, as he had promised, and then he let Leo and Donnie have a turn, to be fair.

 Raph asked him who the person from before was. Yoshi told him it was an old friend. Mikey asked him if he was sad because he seemed sad. Yoshi smiled and said that Mikey should not worry about it, and he was fine. They did not ask any further questions, and Yoshi was relieved.

 He brought his sons home, parked them in front of the television, and locked himself in his room to weep as softly as he could.   

 He laid in bed and he wept until his eyes were swollen and his head ached. He felt stupid for being so upset. Hadn’t he renounced the Hamato Clan ages ago? Nothing had changed— He always knew that this would be his response if his family sought him out again. Hadn’t he known that his Jiji was surely gone by now, given the time that had passed? But still, it was different for it to be confirmed. It was different for everything to be spoken out loud and real and definite and unable to be taken back.

 The term ‘uncontrollable sobbing’ had never really meant anything to him before. He had cried before, sure, but this was different. He hadn’t thought it could be so literal. This was horrendous.

 When he finally ran out of tears, he curled up on his side, hidden beneath sheets and blankets, feeling rather pitiful and unsure of what to do with himself. His chest was all hollow and empty now, like something had been carved out of him. And all that was left was this deep, terrible frustration.

 The world felt so hideously unfair in this moment. He thought of every other human on the planet who didn’t have the same problems as him, who had families without destinies or sacrifices, and he resented each and every one of them. He thought, “How could they do this to me?” He thought about his mother, and his jaw set. He thought about the hours of training he had endured as a child, and his face flushed with anger, heady and dark. He thought of Hinata, who he had grown up alongside, played with, shared secrets with, and he wished they were here— or anyone, truly anyone in the world was here in their place— so he could kick their teeth out of their skull and stomp on their throats. 

 How dare they try to take his children from him? 

 Seething, lit up red in every part of his soul, simmering like oil, he slowly sat up, inhaling long and slow before letting it out again. No. The Hamato Clan and their traditions would never touch his children. They would not so much as graze the silhouettes of their lives. His children would never be kept awake at night learning lore and stories from fabricated scrolls. They would never be informed of their purpose in life, nor told that they had no say in it. They would never be taught to fight, never endure hours of martial arts lessons, never cry or beg for their training to finally be finished for the day— 

For the second time that day, a sudden noise startled Yoshi from his thoughts, and his head bobbed about at the low thud and scrabble from the living room.

 Ah. Mmm… Yes. Of course. His beloved and innocent sons. One of his eyes twitched a bit, and he debated his next action for a moment. He didn’t especially want to interact with any of his children given his current… whole emotional situation, but, after a bit of hemming and hawwing, relented that he probably should go and check that no one was injured. Grumbling a bit to himself, he dragged himself to his feet, shuffling down the hall to peer around the corner and into the living room.

“Give up now! You’re no match for me and my super rad skills!” Leo shrieked from in front of the TV, his mouth set in a mischievous grin. 

“Oh yeah?” Raph echoed his younger brother’s smile before leaping at his brother. “Watch this! POMPADOUR PUNCH!”

Yoshi noted dimly that whatever cartoons he had left them with had long been exchanged for one of his many films, which was now flickering across the screen. Donatello’s doing, he assumed. 

“Mikey! Cover me! We gotta get to higher ground!” Leo yelped through laughter, throwing himself at the couch and attempting to climb up the back of it. Michelangelo, as instructed, koala-hugged his oldest brother’s legs in an attempt to slow him down. 

“Donnie! Raph’s been got! You gotta stop Leo!” Raph barked, very obviously trying to rope the purple one into the shenanigans and include him in the fun. 

 Donnie gave a determined chirp and a nod in reply, his expression turning very serious in such a way that Yoshi had to smile a tiny bit. 

 “HA! I’d like to see you try! No one can stop a NINJA!” Leo crowed, striking a pose to mirror Yoshi’s own younger self on the television. It certainly wasn’t CORRECT, but… It wasn’t bad, either. His boys were still young, but Yoshi had, admittedly, taught them some of the basics of stances and things of the like when he needed something to keep them busy in the sewers… He was a bit surprised that his children had retained any of those lessons, but it was evident in how they held themselves that they did. 

 And… letting them watch Kung-Fu movies probably had an influence as well, admittedly.

 Sighing softly, Yoshi leaned against the wall, resting his cheek against the cool drywall. He thought, absently, of how he and his cousins would play this way when they were small and met at family gatherings, and his shoulders slumped slightly, the tight muscles unwinding. He thought of how they would train together, coaching one another through difficult stances or sequences and celebrating when they finally got it down, and the heat in his cheeks slowly tempered and faded. He thought of the pride he wore so brazenly as a child— proud of his destiny, proud of his heritage, proud of the abilities he had built for himself. Proud to be a Hamato. He silently wiped at his face, brushing some of his hair from his face. He had thought he had run out of tears, but perhaps he hadn’t.

 The frustration and anger were gone now. The hollow was simply hollow now— empty and worn. Yes, something had been carved out. He recognized the grief. And he was still completely sure of himself when he said that the Hamato Clan would never touch his children.

 … But he supposed that, perhaps, he didn’t have to abandon every part of his past.

 It might be okay if they dipped their toes into some of the traditions. Perhaps they could still be Hamatos on their own.

“Point!”

 Had he fallen asleep for a moment there?… Yoshi cursed himself internally when he realized that he had missed the entire match in favor of old memories. His eyes refocused on the scene before him— his son standing over a somewhat shaken-looking opponent on the mat, the referee gesturing to Donatello in victory.

 He was too busy lost in his thoughts to pay attention. He wrinkled his nose a bit, but he could see Donnie’s head turn, glancing to the stands to search for him in the crowd. As soon as he was able to catch his eyes, Yoshi offered a small smile and an appraising nod, which earned him a barely-contained beam in response.

 As soon as the eyes had been removed from him, Yoshi let out a breath, slumping against the wall. A close one… Now was not the time to be worrying about such things. Given the family’s hectic schedule, Yoshi was not able to be present for nearly every competition his sons participated in… He owed it to them, at least, to be present when he did. 

 Though, truth be told, he doubted he had missed too much. He had known before the match had even started that Donatello would win. At an event this size, there would be very few other competitors who would pose any real challenge to any of his boys.

 They were quite good. After all, he was the one who had taught them to fight in the first place.

---

Donnie caught sight of their father in the doorway just a moment later, pausing in his climb up the back of the couch to try to tackle his twin brother. The other three caught on quickly, glancing back around at Yoshi with wide eyes. The transition to the surface had been an adjustment for all of them, and they still sometimes had a bit of trouble remembering what was OK for the sewers VS OK for polite society— But generally speaking, their Dad didn’t always appreciate roughhousing and shouting, nor climbing on top of furniture.

 Yoshi gave a soft exhale of laughter through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He was sure that, eventually, they would all figure out that freezing upon eye contact would immediately clue him in that they knew they were breaking the rules, but… not yet.

 Not yet.

“You changed the movie.” He remarked, wandering into the living room to join them.

“We wanted to be ninjas.” Mikey volunteered from the floor, his little head popping up from behind the cushions. “Like you, Daddy!"

Of course. Ninjas like him.

 He bit the insides of his cheeks. That? Maybe not… today. But…

 “ … How would you boys like to learn to talk like ninjas do?"

[ next chapter ]

[peacockpenis]

my favorite hits in ppgw

the scissors — if you didn’t know, chris uses a pair of scissors to cut his tie. the scissors are then put into the dresser, until nana is unable to get a spoon (due to being stuck) so max grabs the scissors as a replacement. when he grabs them, he holds the bottom half of them — the sharp half. chris does the same when using them to feed the medicine to the actors, hiding the fact that these scissors have some sort of sticky end or pin that will hold them in his pants. when he feeds max, the struggle there (controlled by max) allows chris to adjust the grip to then stick the scissors right into his thigh— making it look like he stabbed himself.

doggy door — rather simple actually — robert throws up a hand against the chest to make the sound of his head hitting it (the knap) and reacts as if he hit it. the door itself is very thin so that it doesn’t hurt when it hits him. using trevor, gill, and francis as cover with their chainsaws and such, one of them removes the door to reveal the hole that looks as though it’s been sawed — the door is easily removable otherwise.

liza/mary dress — the liza dress is thrown on over mary’s, but more funny, the bit where the door opens on annie half changed is an extra costume change — the mary dress never needs to come off to put on the liza dress, so that bit is fully an addition to her changes to reveal the bra. ridiculous.

robert on fire — they use robert’s fall from the window as the shadow to put a fire-safe sleeve over one arm, which allows him to catch it on fire a moment later. a clever use of one gag to prep the next!

tree crush — the trees are both operated by hydraulics — they don’t actually fall but are lowered like a lever. the tree also doesn’t fully hit the ground — the body of it remains several inches above the floor. plus, lucy is off line for the hit, meaning she’s not even in the actual line of fire but rather upstage. she wiggles her foot underneath the tree after the initial hit.

missing hook — more noticeable onstage, but chris drops his hook during the increased fog at the end of the first forest scene, and trevor grabs it on his way out. sometimes it’s seamless and you don’t notice he’s lost it until the reveal, sometimes the hook rolls center stage.

boat hits — all simple but effective — the boat to the crotch hit dennis and annie take is to the inner thigh, plus dennis usually keeps one hand at the thigh to catch it early. the hit is given a slapstick sound from offstage to make the knap. both hits of the boat to the head are intercepted by a hand, and since the actors are upstage the audience doesn’t usually catch the hand coming up.

peter’s fall — it’s a dummy. you knew that.

world of make believe hits — again, a hand intercepts the bowl when max swings it, usually a solid foot from the face.

trevor’s hit — my personal favorite. the edge of the table is thinner than the rest (just in case) but again, trevor intercepts with his hand pretty much a foot from his face. if you watch he’s very focused on this hit because immediately after he has to dive forward for his upside down hang. also, after he’s pushed off while unconscious, he’s taken down just out of view in order to allow the next set change.

THE PIRATE SHIP — a lot here, but that boat is fully being balanced on a fulcrum the full time so carefully. kudos to everyone on that. seriously the fact that they have to keep the boat so it doesn't tip until the reveal that it CAN tip is wild.

lucy’s boat hit — when lucy’s rolls forward, she catches the rail with one hand and puts her head on her own hand, rather than actually smacking it. she’s also as in control as possible during the whole sequence — she pulls herself up and down with the rope there.

door hits — a few classics during the end sequence! we get the door open, the slapstick cue and then sandra (behind the door, fully safe and off line) falling into trevor

peter pan slap — some beautiful stage combat from sandra, who is slapping fully off line and the slapstick gives us that lovely slap for jonathan. just a classic.

captain hook’s launch — at one point chris is launched across the boat when it tips the other direction. and while the boat does tip, it’s the actor who does the jump to make it look more dramatic. he’s not actually launched.

francis’ final hit — another favorite: francis is fully offline of the chair. he’s crawling upstage of where the will be pushed in and often makes it further than where the chair stops, but takes the hit fully visually — he does have to intercept cause he’s not even on the same plane as the chair.

[writingsbychlo]

Spirit 👻

you placed one foot in front of the other, slowly, taking deep breaths as cassian followed behind you. the floorboards creaked under his weight, and you jumped. your heart was racing, so fast you could barely feel individual beats anymore. your skin was clammy, a thin layer of cold sweat sticking under your clothes, and you felt as though you might as well crawl right out of your flesh at this point.

"I can feel her spirit, like she's gonna' come back and fuckin' eat me." cassian mumbled, darkness flooding in, and you scoffed, turning on your heel to stare at the vague blur of his figure in the dark.

"would you cut it, you're gonna freak me the fuck out." you reached out, poking roughly, and the warrior before you yelped as you stabbed at his ribs with your finger.

the weaver's cottage was dark and long since abandoned, and yet nobody had dared come in here, to trespass on this haunted land until now. you were searching for a little vase, and you had no idea how you were supposed to find it with only cracks of moonlight between boarded-up windows, and the red glow of cassian's siphons to guide you, but you had to.

something creaked, somewhere else in the house, and you paused, standing stock straight as cassian bumped into the back of you. "did you hear that?"

"who's trying to freak who out now, huh?" he mumbled, tickling a finger along your arm to mimic a spider, and you slapped at him. he was chuckling near your ear when another floorboard creaked, and he stopped abruptly. it was closer than the last. "okay, I heard that one."

something scuffled, a piece of furniture to your right creaked, and then something soft slid over your calf, and you screamed. untrained, unrestricted and utterly powerless, you screamed. cassian copied a moment later as something slipped across his cheek, and your hands shoved at his chest. "fucking run, cassian, move, g-"

an arm slipped around your waist, and you thrashed for all of a second in panic, before a deep chuckle rang in your ear, warm lips pressing to your cheek. the darkness cleared, and as swirling shadows shifted form around his body, the glow of blue met red and you softened in his hold.

"azriel! what the fuck are you playing at?" you pinched at his arm, his laughter only increasing as he dropped you, and you turned to swat at his chest. "you scared the life out of me! what the fuck?"

"oh, c'mon, baby. I couldn't resist. you and cassian have been freaking out about this haunted house for days, I had to come fuck with you a little bit."

you huffed, brushing yourself down as the beating of your heart finally calmed. "you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"what if I told you that I found the vase?" he beamed, tipping your chin up with one finger and tossing the vase to cassian to catch, who was now rooting around in things on the table curiously. azriel leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"alright, I suppose you could-" there was a creak from the livingroom, and you grinned. "you already got us, you can stop now."

azriel only stiffened. "that wasn't me."

the door slammed shut, a heavy set of footsteps upstairs, clear as day and distinct, and yet nothing else moved. the air itself seemed to still. the light outside faded as though the moon itself had fallen from the sky and every star had gone out. the light faded more and more from their siphons with every footstep that came down the stairs, stopping at the bottom. just on the other side of that door.

you could no longer see azriel in front of you, where his face has been bare inches from your own, it was so dark. you only knew he was still there because you were holding him.

warm breath puffed over your cheek.

"boo."

cassian screamed, azriel ducked and tugged you down to the ground with him, and someone else laughed. the darkness cleared a second later, light coming back in, and who else would be propping himself up on the kitchen table, howling with laughter so hard he had tears on his cheeks, other than;

"oh, for fucks sake, rhysand!"

[0and0its0doctor0]

They say we’re crazy I say well maybe that’s true

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of schizophrenia, Eating Disorders, Medication, Mental health

Summary: Spencer is having a bad mental health day so you try to help him. Word Count: 1,119

Spencer sighed as he scanned the page in front of him again for the 5th time. He could read faster than the average person and could retain copious amounts of information but for some reason right now nothing was sticking. It was like every time he read a sentence it crawled out of his head and he completely forgot about it. He rubbed his tired eyes and almost smacked his table. He was getting frustrated. He had so much paperwork to do and everything had a deadline but his brain seemed to just want to dissociate. The words on the page were starting to shift and move around on the page causing Spencer to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. A gentle finger on his chin was pulling his lip from between his teeth. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” You said looking at him, your thumb brushed along his bottom lip gently to make sure he didn’t actually make himself bleed.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” You asked, sitting on the edge of the table trying to distract him a bit. “Everything and nothing all at once.” His voice was quiet and he kept his gaze on the paper in front of him. He was staring at it like it had personally offended him which at this point you were thinking it might actually have. You knew he hated bringing his work home because he tried to keep his apartment a safe space where he could get away from the hazards and trauma of the job but he didn’t have a choice. 

You ran a hand through his hair and he leaned into the touch briefly resting his head on your thigh for a moment. His breathing evened out for a quick second before he got too fidgety and had to sit up. You could tell he felt guilty by the look on his face. “Hey, have you eaten yet today?” You asked, tucking some stray curls behind his ear. He shook his head no and you frowned. “Did you eat yesterday?” You asked and he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t remember.” A sigh left your lips and it was your turn to bite your lip. You guys didn’t live together yet and you didn’t get the chance to spend the last few days together because he had been gone on a case and you had been busy with dance classes.

“Baby you need to eat.” You said and he looked up, a slight glare to his gorgeous hazel eyes. “Did you eat? You need to eat too.” He snapped and you raised an eyebrow looking at him slightly taken aback by his attitude. You had some issues with food yourself but you weren’t expecting him to throw it in your face. His features softened and he rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” He said and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. His hand was shaking. “Why don’t I make us both a sandwich?” You suggested and he nodded. He kissed the back of your hand and went back to his paper as you stood up and walked into the kitchen. 

Spencer looked up towards the corner of the room by the front door and noticed the shadows were starting to twist and turn. His fingers twitched towards where his gun was usually holstered on his hip only for him to remember he had already locked it up when he got back from the office. You watched him from the kitchen and you felt your heart break a little. He finally stopped staring at the corner of the room and went back to his papers, switching to a different file. He clicked his pen repeatedly and as much as you loved him you were about ready to stab him with it. You were humming to yourself while you made sandwiches when the sound of something hitting the wall made you jump a foot in the air while accidentally slicing into your palm with the knife you were holding. You ignored that and quickly ran into the other room to see papers scattered across the ground and Spencer clutching his hands in his hair tugging on it roughly. 

“I can’t focus. Nothing is working.” He said frustratedly and you frowned. You gently pried his fingers out of his hair and pushed the files across to the other side of the table. “You are taking a break.” You said and that was when his eyes noticed the blood on your hand and his mood immediately shifted. “What happened? Are you okay?” He asked, grabbing your wrist and looking at the cut on your palm.

“It’s fine Spence, it's just a little cut.” He stood up and pulled you into the bathroom where he cleaned and bandaged the wound. When he was done he kissed the bandaged spot and sighed. In the light of the bathroom you could see just how deep the circles were under his eyes and how pale he looked.”Don’t get mad when I ask you this okay?” You said before pointing to the medicine cabinet. “Have you been taking your medication?” You asked and Spencer looked guiltily at the mirrored cabinet before shaking his head no. “Go sit on the couch.” You said watching as he walked out of the bathroom and flopped on the couch. 

You grabbed his pills and the sandwich you made him and sat down next to him. You handed him the pills first and a cup of water. He sighed but tossed them back and dry swallowed them, setting the cup on the table along with the plate you just handed him. He laid down on the couch with his head in your lap and you gently stroked his hair. “It will get better. I promise. We will get through all this together.” You whispered quietly.

“To be diagnosed with schizophrenia, a patient must have psychotic, "loss-of-reality" symptoms for at least six months and show increasing difficulty in functioning normally.” He muttered into your stomach and you decided to just let him talk. It usually made him feel better. “What if it gets worse? What if I wind up like my mother?” He asked looking up at you and you stroked a finger down his cheek. “You won’t. We will keep on top of your medication and deal with the symptoms. But just remember you aren’t alone. You will never be alone.” You leaned down to kiss him briefly before going back to petting his hair. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep against your stomach. You looked down at him lovingly. You wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

[discount-limeade]

Slipknot: A Review

This is a JOKE. That being Said.....

Conrad's Ratings On How much "Pull Game" The Knot Members Had. (And if they use Spray or Stick Deodorant)

This is 100 Percent Biased. This isn't a News source, welcome to My Hyperfixation.

Pull Game: We're gonna Loosely Define this as, If they could Hypothetically get bitches.

0. Sid Wilson

9/10

Starting Strong, Sid's got it on Lock. Docking One Point Because The Hyperfixations can Be DETRIMENTAL to getting bitches and Some people might not think Transformers are Cool.

Spray: Old Spice

1. Joey Jordison

8/10

Joey was For SURE getting Hoes in the Book. No questions. But this Specific picture (because I chose it), What in the 'Just Crawled out from under the Sink' is he doing.

-1 For Posture, tighten up man. Your neck is about to be at a Permanent Right angle. -1 for, idk I feel like he'd Say some strange shit.

Stick: He puts it on by going through the bottom of his shirt.

2. Paul Gray

7/10

Personally, LARGE fan of Paul. But we gotta think about this Logically alright. It's 2000, you're approached by this Man, he offers you a Cigarette. You take it OBVIOUSLY, he's just a being Nice.

-1 for possible Off puttingness. -1 Approachability (??). -1 When he lets you hit the bong he tells you it's not that bad and you end up coughing your eye out.

Stick: He looks like he has a Cool Sock Collection.

3. Chris Fehn

9/10

In our Hearts we all Know this man was a Ten. The eyebrows on His Mask Here are Very Good, which May Cancel out this lost Point.

-1 For Public Masturbation.

Stick: There's a Bite Missing

4. James Root

7/10

Now, if this was Blonde Jim, 10. I'd Find no reason to criticize, but it's not and this One picture will dictate his Entire Rating.

-1 Gay. Self Explanatory. -1 touched his balls and Wiped his hand on your neck. -1 pissed and didn't wash hands.

Does NOT wear deodorant and if he does it's that Paste organic kind.

5. 133

6/10

Once Again We All know he's Ten. Love a Strong Silent Guy. You know how this goes though, the picture selected Has Sealed his Fate.

-1 for, is this a school photo??. Update your portfolio. -1 I don't have my shots and those definitely have something. -1 he looks like a Train Guy. -1 beer cooler says 'for the boys'.

Stick. Looks like he tried to finger it.

6. Clown

5/10

Yo look how Whimsical he is. We got Elderman Shawn here. Physically, jumping this man's bones. Personality wise, he makes me MAD AS FUCK.

-1 if you pulled his hair it would come out in CLUMPS. -1 smells like fish. -1 definitely has a Foot Fetish. But I'm not talking NORMAL foot fetish I mean this man wants to put HIS feet on YOU. -1 says 'Honk Honk' when he grabs your Tits. Fucking YIKES. -1 keeps Muttering to Himself about The Circus, You should probably go...

Stick? It's Somewhere amongst his Things.

7. Mick Thomson

10/10

Any Day of the Week. He's just Got everything Going Right. Possible only downfall would be How strange his Wrist is Bent up in this pic but I will not Dock him for that.

Stick. He gets the Twin Packs to Share With Crew.

8. Corey Taylor

4/10.

Before you Say it, Yes, I would. But this isn't about That. This is about the fact that He gets NO BITCHES. And I'm not Talking about the Occasional, I mean this guy has never doesn't even know what Sex IS.

-2 he's COMING UP THE STAIRS FROM HIS DWELLING. -1 eats His own Ear wax. -1 how do you have lice and you only have Maybe 13 Pieces of Hair. -1 there Are Juice Stains around his mouth. -1 ate a mouse.

Spray. He likes to Stab The Cans So they Explode.

-----

In conclusion, I started Writing this at 4 am. It is now almost Seven. Have a Wonderful rest of your day.

[panfluidme]

Snake Bite

Martin gasped out in pain, feeling something sharp enter his left calf. Chris and him had decided to do two solo parts of the outing to gather even more information, so he was currently alone. He looked down at his injured leg and sat a black mamba slithering away.

His calf was bleeding a little, swelling just a little. He was lucky it had only bit Martin once. Martin gritted his teeth and stood up. He was going to radio in, but found that his communicator was missing, likely in Chris' bag again. Martin didn't mean to keep it in there so often, but he found it so much easier than to carry it in his own bag, and Chris didn't seem to mind.

He stood up and walked, well, limped away. He carried his bag and removed his shoe and sock to help with blood flow. He found a small clearing and sat down. He used the first aid kit in his bag to clean and cover the bite. 

I must've been in its territory, Martin thought as he dug through the bag to see if he had any flares or a button he could press that would alert them that he needed help. 

This wasn't the first time he had been bitten by a snake, but it felt more painful this time for some reason. Maybe it was because it was the first time he was bitten when he was completely alone. Not even Chris was there to help monitor him or call the others.

Martin groaned when he couldn't see any flares or a button to press. He did see his phone, but found it dead. Great, another time of him forgetting to charge his phone. Only, this time, he was hurt and had no way to contact anyone. 

Everything around him started to blur, causing him to take a sharp breath in. He thought then started to gather some sticks nearby. Luckily, it was a dry day so he could make a fire and use it to make a fire. 

Once the fire was going, he added some grass and green sticks to turn the smoke white. The clearing was by some water, so he took off his jacket and dampened it. He wrung out all the excess water and covered the fire with the jacket. He made three smoke puffs then waited a bit before doing it.

Martin repeated this cycle until it was hard to keep his eyes open. His lips and tongue felt like someone was stabbing needles into it, causing him to curl in his bottom lip. 

Chris was crouched, taking notes of a sleeping mink. He looked around to make sure no creatures would come and hurt him if possible. He noticed a small line of smoke that turned into three puffs. Chris' heart jumped to his throat, and he jumped up. He carefully avoided the mink and ran towards the smoke puffs.

He selfishly wanted it to be someone he didn't know, wanted it to be some stranger he could help rather than Martin being hurt and needing help. Chris ran faster, following the smoke puffs. It took him what felt like too long. During that time, he noticed the puffs had stopped and it was now one long trail of smoke.

That caused him to slow to a stop and stare at it. Did that mean that the person got help or was something that hurt them so bad, they couldn't continue to make the puffs. 

Yet, when Chris tried to move, he found himself frozen. Why hadn't he heard from Martin in some time? He tried to think then face palmed. Martin probably put his communicator in Chris' bag again, and Martin never charged his phone. 

"Come on, move," he snapped at himself. "Someone needs help."

That got him running towards the smoke again.

Martin was laying on his stomach. The fire was a foot away, his wet jacket next to him. Everything hurt, it felt like he was being stabbed repeatedly with pins and needles. He felt like he was going to cry, he was in so much pain. 

Someone grabbed him and rolled him over. Martin tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't. He groaned and mumbled some nonsense. 

Chris carefully tried to pick him up, but struggled. Martin had thrown up, so he had lost a few pounds. But that didn't make it easier. He carried Martin then got a few feet away before falling down. He groaned and grabbed his communicator.

"Aviva, Koki, Martin's hurt. I don't know what hurt him, but he's not looking good."

"What's your location?"

Chris told them and set Martin down. He checked Martin's temperature, gently stroking Martin's sweaty hair out of his face. He then checked over the other symptoms and tried not to react. "Hurry, I think he was bitten by a black mamba."

"Do you know how long ago that was?"

"No, but it must've been at least two hours ago."

Martin groaned and rolled over, throwing up. Chris winced and gently stroked his head, gently pulling him away from the puddle of the vomit. Chris vaguely acknowledged them telling him to stay put. 

The younger Kratt brother was getting more and more worried as time went on. Martin wasn't looking any better as time went on. Chris occasionally checked his pulse and his heart jumped every time because it just got slower and slower. 

He couldn't lose Martin. It was so scary to think of that. Martin had always been the one to protect him.

Aviva and Koki helped Chris put Martin onto the stretcher. They had Chris wait outside of the small med bay with Jimmy while they took care of Martin.

The next hour was the worst hour of Chris' life. Jimmy stayed by his side the whole time, carefully rubbing his back. When the door opened, the two girls stepped out. They both wore the same tired frown. Chris' heart stopped, he immediately knew what that face looked. 

"He's gone...?"

Aviva nodded and shut her eyes. "He is. I'm sorry, Chris. We really did try."

He didn't say anything, sinking down to his knees. Jimmy sat next to him after looking at the two girls. Chris' body shook as he sobbed, hiding his face in his hands. Nothing was said for a while, the only sound being Chris' cries.

[casspurrjoybell-25]

ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS - Chapter 7

*Warning Adult Content*

- Jayce -

The next morning, it snowed on and off.

Dylan seemed constantly busy, rearranging things and counting food and other supplies and Jayce started to feel useless.

He was also bored out of his mind.

"Can I do something to help?"

Dylan stopped what he was doing and looked around the cabin.

"I'm low on firewood. If you want to split some, the axe is on the wall by the door."

He glanced over near the door.

He didn't know the first thing about splitting wood but he didn't want to tell Dylan that.

He didn't want to be any more useless than he already was or get another lecture about how he was a clueless hiker and should never have been out here.

He took the axe off the hook and went outside.

There were plenty of logs behind the cabin.

He wasn't sure how they all got there in the first place but they were too big to put in the stove.

He selected one of the logs and rolled it away from the others.

Once it was set up on the ground, he stared at it.

What was the best way to go about this?

He studied the axe and decided he was probably overthinking it.

All he needed to do was swing it down and hit the log.

His first attempt resulted in him hitting the log and getting the axe stuck about one inch into the log.

He put his foot on the edge of the log and tried to pull the axe out.

When it finally budged, he stumbled backwards, almost falling.

Okay, maybe this wasn't so easy.

Focusing on the log again, he tried to hit the same spot as before.

He missed by an inch and only succeeded in making another crack in the top of the log.

After ten minutes of trying, he finally had the axe buried about halfway down the log with enough space to stick his hand in between the gap.

This was going to take forever.

He clearly wasn't cut out for this.

Frustrated, he put one hand on the edge of the split part to brace himself and then yanked the axe out.

But when he did, his hand slipped.

He yelped as he felt a searing pain in his left hand.

He dropped the axe and held his injured hand to his chest, protecting it with his other hand.

It must have been loud enough for Dylan to hear, because he came running outside.

"What happened?"

"My hand slipped," he said, trying to blink back the tears stinging his eyes.

"Let me see."

Dylan pulled his hands away from his chest, grabbing him roughly by the wrist.

A huge splinter of wood had pierced the skin on the outside edge of his palm.

The splinter entered at the bottom of his palm, just above his wrist, and the tip of the splinter was sticking out up near his pinky, having gone all the way through.

He turned his head away, not wanting to look at it.

His hand was already beginning to throb.

"At least it wasn't the axe," Dylan said. "Come on."

He followed Dylan into the cabin and sat on the bed, holding his injured hand awkwardly in the air as Dylan opened a cabinet and got out a first aid kit.

Dylan bustled around the kitchen, starting to heat some water and getting a clean white washcloth out of a container in the back of one of the cabinets.

When Dylan sat down with all the stuff, including a bowl of the hot water, he took Jayce's hand and examined it, gently turning it over to get a better look at the splinter.

Blood was starting to pool around the entry point and drip down onto his wrist.

Dylan sighed.

"There's no good way for me to get it out other than pulling it straight out. It's going to hurt."

Nervous, he swallowed hard.

"Okay."

"I'm worried about causing more damage when I pull it out. You could end up with smaller splinters breaking off and getting stuck in your hand. They'll be absorbed by the body eventually but there's a risk of infection that we'll have to..."

"Dylan, just do it. You're not making this any better."

Dylan nodded.

"You might want to look away."

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head.

He wasn't ready for this but he felt Dylan's hand on his and a stab of pain as Dylan grasped the end of the splinter.

He braced himself and tried to think of something else as a distraction.

It didn't help.

He wished Dylan would have yanked the splinter out in a second but he supposed that could have made things worse.

He tried to be quiet during the agonizing few seconds it took for the splinter to be removed but a whimper escaped his lips.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Dylan said quickly, sounding almost as distressed as he felt. "It's out now."

He held his hand to his chest and rocked back and forth a few times, trying to breathe through the pain.

His hand continued to throb.When he regained his composure, Dylan took his hand again.

"We still need to clean it out. I'll try to be gentle but this isn't going to feel good either."

Dylan submerged his hand in the bowl of water and he hissed as the wound stung.

The water turned a light red and he felt sick looking at it, so he looked away.

He kept his eyes closed as Dylan washed his hand and disinfected it.

When he thought it was safe to open his eyes, he watched as Dylan wrapped a bandage around his hand, taking care to make sure it wasn't too tight.

For someone Dylan's size, he could be quite gentle when he wanted to.

"Thanks," he said, looking down at his bandaged hand.

Dylan leaned back in the chair.

"You've never split wood before, have you?"

He managed a half smile.

"What tipped you off? The fact that it took ten minutes for me to get halfway through one log?"

Dylan shook his head.

"I should have known better. If you haven't spent much time outdoors, of course you wouldn't have done this before. I should have shown you what to do."

"It's not your fault I'm useless."

"Just because you don't know anything about the outdoors doesn't mean you're useless. You haven't been exposed to this stuff until now, so you're not going to be a natural at it." Dylan's voice grew softer. "You shouldn't say you're useless."

"And you shouldn't keep thinking everything is your fault. My mistakes are my own."

"I'll stop feeling responsible if you stop putting yourself down."

"Why?"

"I know I'm just average. Most people forget about me. The guys I date get bored with me and tell me they don't see it going anywhere. I don't stand out at work. Even my family doesn't care. My older brother is married with two kids and my parents give him all their attention, probably because he's doing things the right way. They weren't happy when I came out and even though they said they still love me, it doesn't seem like it. We haven't been as close since and last year they forgot to send me a Christmas card."

He realized he had just said all that to Dylan, who was still sitting quietly beside him.

"Sorry," he muttered. "You don't need to know all of that."

To his surprise, Dylan put a hand on his arm and squeezed.

"Don't be sorry. And they're all wrong. I don't think you're average or forgettable. It was brave, although stupid, to come out to the mountains on a whim. You didn't know anything but you tried anyway. Same with the axe out there. You're determined and that counts for a lot."

He was caught off guard by Dylan's kind words.

A pep talk was the last thing he'd expected from this grumpy, quiet man.

"Hey, I think this is the most you've said since I got here."

Dylan's cheeks turned pink, and just like that, he shut down again.

Without saying a word, he began gathering up the first aid supplies and the bowl of water.

When Dylan opened the door to take the bowl of water outside to dispose of it, Jayce spoke up.

"Thank you. For taking care of my hand and for what you said. I appreciate it."

Dylan paused for a split second and then continued outside, closing the door behind him.

Jayce slumped down onto the bed.

He liked the kind, gentle man Dylan had been for those few minutes and he didn't understand what made Dylan act so standoffish when he was capable of being friendlier.

It felt like one step forward and two steps back.  

[pizzaqueen]

Probably too long to be called a snippet but a bit of Eddie having to deal with drunk!Steve in the fic I’m working on. Not really sure about it but I’m in a sharing mood!

The keys have to be in Steve’s pockets, right? So, Eddie sinks his hand into one of the front pockets of Steve’s jeans, a confusing heat rushing his face. The warmth of Steve’s thigh bleeds through the thin lining into Eddie’s palm; Eddie’s heart beats hard.

“Hey,” Steve says, “are you getting fresh with me, Munson?”

Eddie freezes, hand still in Steve’s pocket. “What?”

“Because I don’t put out on the first date.” Steve snorts. “Wait, that’s not true…” His head rolls back against the wall as he laughs.

Eddie exhales, long a slow. “This’d be a pretty shitty date,” he says.

“I’m a great date,” Steve says, bottom lip sticking out. Then he laughs again. “That rhymes.”

Swallowing thickly, Eddie shakes his head and keeps fishing around for the keys. Then there’s a jangling sound and Eddie looks up. Moonlight glints off of the bunch of keys Steve’s holding up with one finger; they tinkle softly, like wind chimes, as Steve jiggles them.

“Other pocket.” Steve winks and then he pushes away from the wall, and tries to open the door. He stabs the key at the lock—over and over—until Eddie swipes the keys from him.

“Give me those,” Eddie says, then easily slides the key into the lock, turning it and opening the door.

The house is dark and quiet and cavernous. Eddie’s been here once or twice, and it always strikes him how damn big it is. It makes him feel whatever the opposite of claustrophobic is. He shakes himself and makes sure the door will stay open, then tugs on Steve’s arm. “Okay,” he says, trying to get Steve’s arm around his shoulder again, “let’s get you somewhere you can sleep this off,” thinking about finding a couch or something. There’s a living room down here somewhere, he’s sure of it.

But Steve shrugs him off and stumbles for the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed.” Steve trips over his own feet and sits heavily on the third step.

“You can barely stand, how are you gonna get upstairs? ‘Cause I’m not hauling you up there.”

Steve shrugs again and turns, starting to crawl up the stairs on his hands and knees. But the stairs are the kind that have gaps in between each one and Steve’s hands keep going through them. It’s actually kind of funny and a crueller man might see how far Steve can get on his own. But Eddie’s not that man, so he goes over and pulls Steve to his feet. Or he tries, but Steve is all dead weight and flops back down. Eddie could just drag Steve back down and leave him at the foot of the stairs but, fuck, what if he throws up and chokes on his vomit. A rockstar death, sure, but not cool. And not for Steve.

So, Eddie gets his arm under Steve’s, drags Steve to his feet, and looks up the stairs. “Right,” he says, “let’s do this,” and takes the first step.

[shivada-jade]

soulmates!

soulmate!au because im weak. you're weak too.

characters: bennett, zhongli, diluc ➡ mentions: barbara, lisa, guizhong, hu tao, kaeya, crepus warning(s): bennett luck (he gets hurt a lot), wrote this at 2:48am so my writing may or may not make sense

bennett: feels the same emotions from the other, but the emotions have to be strong and genuine

he never understood your sudden bursts of sadness. it would come at the most inconvenient at times.

for as long as he could remember, the emotions that weren't his are mostly sad. he asked his dads about it and gently told him his soulmate system is feeling emotions from the other.

after crying from an unknown pain, he made it his soul purpose to constantly be happy all the time, no matter how unlucky he could be so you can be happy too.

his dads worry when he falls down and scrapes his knee, but he would always reply with, "i'm not hurt! my soulmate is hurt!"

he would then clutch the fabric on his chest tightly, like he's been stabbed with a sword and say, "my soulmate hurts right here."

he heaves a breath, "it doesn't compare to whatever luck i get."

"this pain is bearable," he convinces himself when he comes out a hilichurl camp in cuts and bruises.

"your soulmate needs you to be happy for them," he chastises himself for shedding a tear when another adventurer wronged him.

he visits barbara to heal his wounds and asks how she always looks so... happy, so smiley.

"all it takes is one smile to make yourself happy. it can be a slow process but it works!" she singsongs, "miss lisa showed me a study about it."

ever since barbara explained, he smiles the brightest of smiles in mondstadt. he refuses to let other adventurers let him down, worried he might hurt you more than it is.

soon, he finds out that he feels no sadness coming from you. he feels no weight on his shoulders. he feels happy after Good hunter ran out of food for him.

these are not my emotions, he thinks, a wide grin creeping it's way to his face.

he lets out the loudest laugh, giggles, and various joyous noises. he's never felt so happy in his life. for once, he feels lucky, because for once, you're finally happy in the other end of his invisible red string of fate.

his luck skyrockets when he sees a person around his age, with a gorgeous smile adorning their features. he knows its you, sitting by the fountain making wishes. he knows it's you when he sees your eyes that hold so much emotion.

it was as if his heart was tugging him to where you sat.

he's never felt so lucky to have you as his soulmate.

"thank you giving the best smiles"

zhongli: every time he passes his soulmate, he hears the sounds of bells ringing

now, zhongli never thought he would have a soulmate because of his past title of 'archon.' soulmate systems are a tricky thing. he knows there are so many ways to know your soulmate system.

the common system was their first words tattooed on themselves. many others had the ability to know when they meet them, in other words, a count down.

but zhongli never had those two, nor did he have faith in the soulmate system until the lantern rite festival.

walking by the busy streets, he muses to himself how pretty liyue is under the blanket of the moon and stars. he hears the merchants call to customers, attracting and waving at them to buy their products. he hears the clink of the mora in their bag is loud; the laughter from the children young and old marry a soft smile to his face.

he freezes, hearing something that should not belong in the lantern rite. the sound of bells ringing. it isn't any cow bell, or school bell. it's the sound of echoing, melodious wedding bells ringing his ear.

he vaguely remembers his friend guizhong mentioning about this rare particular soulmate system when she still roamed teyvat.

a soulmate!

zhongli stands straighter, eyes grazing on the sea of people, trying to see if anyone stopped to hear the bells he heard. he mutters a few apologies when people bump into him with lanterns in their hands, but that doesn't matter to him.

fate brought someone for him to love. it's just that... he doesn't know where.

he walks forward, he walks backwards to where he came from. he walks to the docks then to the top of liyue harbour, but he can't hear the sound of the bells again.

he doesn't panic. he doesn't rush, because he knows fate will bring you back together. he just doesn't know how long until he'll hear the bells again.

it came to him a surprise when he hears the bells everyday after that.

everyday when he sits at third-round knockout he hears the sound of bells behind him, but when he turns, he knows you've left already.

he sighs, blowing on his tea before taking light sips. it seems he won't be meeting you today.

one day, the ringing just stops. there's no sign of you, or your presence. zhongli assumes you're just taking a sick day, or you've decided to rest, but after a week of not hearing the bells, he worries.

archons, how he wanted to look for you, but he doesn't even know who you are. hu tao encourages zhongli to take the day off and look for you, so he did.

walking aimlessly in liyue, doubt crosses his mind. what if you were here for a business trip and left? it wasnt until he passes by a stunning figure he hears the bells again. he stiffens and turns to you when you stopped next to him.

"thank goodness," he says, slightly covering his smile with a gloved hand.

your eyes sparkle as you look at him, "thank goodness indeed."

diluc: lost possesions will come to your soulmate

for as long diluc knows, strange things always end up in his possessions: hairclips, pens, coins, and archons forbid- his soulmate's overdue bills.

his father laughs when younger diluc comes home dragging a wagon and the biggest teddy bear in history, because how on teyvat does someone lose a teddy bear taller than a door. crepus watches his son struggling to drag the big toy home and sees his other son pushing the wagon from behind, also struggling.

"what do you have there?"

all the response he gets are grunts. the side of his eyes crinkle with mirth, seeing his two sons having trouble bringing it home.

"father!" diluc calls out with a grin missing two of his front teeth, "i don't know where it came from. it's like it appeared from the sky."

"it actually did fall out of the sky!" kaeya says, "we were at the vineyard and i saw diluc get crushed!"

"i did not get crushed."

"did too," kaeya retaliates, sticking his tongue out.

that was the first time diluc heard of this certain soulmate system. lost things from his soulmate go to his possession; lost things from diluc go to his soulmate's possession.

crepus glances at his boys and gets an idea. he calls for them to follow him, and they do, obediently. he leads them to his room, pulling out a treasure chest full of frilly clothes, dresses, outfits that range from a farmer's outfit to a noblewoman.

"this chest is where your mother kept her favourite things," crepus pulls out a necklace from the bottom of the case. "this necklace was particularly her favourite."

diluc can see why. he's mesmerized by the ruby sparkle it hangs. the gold chain complimenting the red jewel and making it complete.

crepus clutches the necklace, looking at it longingly before placing it back in the chest. he places out all the old clothes from the container and lays it on his bed.

"you can keep your soulmate's things here like i once did. your pops is getting too old anyway, i-"

kaeya interrupts crepus jumps on the clothes that are on the bed, creating a havoc in the room. he jumps on the bed with so much energy even after diluc tells him about the story of the 5 little monkeys jumping on the bed.

though, crepus is having none of that. he picks up diluc by his small arms and flings him to kaeya, looking like a bowling ball knocking down a pin. the two boys gasp for air, shooting dirty looks at their father before they chase him out of the house.

the corner of diluc's mouth twitch up ever so slightly, remembering when he first knew of his soulmate. it would take a very observant person to notice his smile. he polishes the glass behind angel's share's counter. under the filtered sunlight, the glass glints. satisfied with the cleanliness.

the chest his father game him was fill of trinkets his soulmate had lost over the years, and good grief. his soulmate must be the most disorganized person ever. he remembers walking to dawn winery and a sack of mora drop on his feet. it wasn't a pleasant feeling, but the thing that has diluc worried is how his soulmate tends to lose the biggest things like a 7-foot-tall teddy bear.

diluc is about to place the wine glass on a cupboard until SMACK.

a thick paper hits his face from seemingly nowhere and so he knows that is his soulmate losing the tenth thing for the day. he has a room dedicated for the things his soulmate has lost, and he thinks he might need a second room.

he pulls the paper off his face and his eyes widen in shock. this two-inch thick paper are legal documents. loan agreements. overdue loan agreements.

[Name] [Last Name]

he notes the name in his head. [Name] owes the fatui 35 thousand mora as interest. what kind of reckless person- then it hits his mind. that sack of mora that fell from the sky was that 35 thousand to pay off the loans.

he knows where to go. he leaves the wineglass on the counter for charles to pick up and hastily grabs his coat and leaves the door.

"liyue, liyue, liyue, and the fatui." he chants in his head. loans. he greets his maid before ascending to his room. he snatches the mora that dropped on his feet and sprints out the door to retrieve his stallion.

a few hours at most to make it to where his fated partner was at, and so he sets off.

arriving at liyue is strange, seeing diluc's attire did not match the city, and seeing his hands are holding the reins of his horse tightly. a strange traveler from a foreign land... with a majestic stallion. he looks like a prince straight out of a fairytale.

he lightly pats his horse, urging to go a bit faster from the trotting they were doing until he meets the gaze of a distressed person in front of the fatui.

"i swear! i had the money and the papers just today!"

diluc scoffs, knowing who they were now, and they did not have the money today. they lost it a week ago.

"listen," the masked fatui grumbles. "im just here to do my job. if i don't have the money in my hands right now i'll-"

diluc jumps off the saddle and unloads the sack of mora from the side, dropping it on the fatui's hand with a seething glare, yet still polite.

"i believe they owe you 35 thousand? sounds about right, no?" he says, letting his diplomatic side show a bit. "for the sake of it, why not amuse me and take this, david. hmm?"

the fatui goes rigid, hearing his name. he slowly lifts his eyes up, "master diluc." he curtly nods and skittishly walks away. one time david spilled drinks at a mondstadt political gathering. he spilled it on diluc.

the ragnvindr waits for the fatui to walk away before turning to his, supposedly love of his life.

"you're the one who lost a 7-foot-tall teddy bear when i was six," he points out, waiting for your response.

his soulmate sheepishly smiles, "well- i would have a good defense but hey, did you at least enjoy having a 7-feet-tall teddy bear fall on you?"

"i did, along with a glass mug falling on me as well."

"i just cant believe how you never lose your stuff!" they retort, "the only thing i got was a missing tooth from you."

the tip of diluc's ears turn the same colour as his hair, but still wears a stoic expression. "i'm diluc ragnvindr," he greets, slightly bowing his head.

"and i'm yours"

part 2: with ganyu, kaeya and thoma

[mintmatcha]

addressing issues - kyotani kentarou

well! here's part two to this drabble ! special thanks to Amy (@saetyrn9) for helping me out!

tw: hurt comfort, discussion of relationship issue

The pancakes are raw in the middle. You try to pick around the batter, stabbing only the burnt bits with your fork, but it's a bit of a hopeless task. The gluey texture sticks to your tongue and the tingle of baking soda fills your mouth with each bite.

 "Don't eat that." Kyotani tosses the spatula into the sink with a sigh. The smell of burnt sugar clings to the air, even though all of the windows in the apartment are propped open. He's still in his pajama pants, loose things now splattered with batter, but he's pulled on a sweatshirt- one that he stole from your closet months ago. "I ordered food. It'll be here in 20."

You place the fork down. "Thank you for cooking." 

He slinks over, shoulders slack with defeat, and plops himself at the table. Tiredness weighs on his features; neither of you slept very well last night, but he was out of bed long before you even woke. "Don't thank me- I fucked it up." 

He expects anger. Maybe discipline. Sometimes you wonder if that’s all he’s ever known. 

Stretching across the table, your hand finds his cheek and cups it. Morning stubble prickles along your palm as you give him a little squeeze. He's frozen in your touch, neither pulling away nor leaning in, but his eyes close. 

"Thank you." you repeat, firm.

He turns to kisses your palm and his lips linger. They’re soft and waxy- he’s been using that chapstick you gave him. "Anything for you." 

You two stay like this, connected by only your touch, for a long time, much longer than justifiable. Just as the moment feels infinite, Kyotani breaks away. 

"We're avoiding it." he says. He takes your hand into his, placing two more quick kisses before setting you down. As he pulls away, you tighten your grasp and interlace your fingers with his. There's a flicker of surprise, the slight raise of his brows, but he settles into the contact, drumming his fingers along your knuckles. 

"I know." you sigh. "We…. don't have to talk about this if you don't want to. We could just… move on."

He takes a deep, stabilizing breath. "That's not healthy." 

The clock chimes. It rings through the kitchen, filling the space where your response should be. He raps in your knuckles with his finger tips, tapping patterns you can’t quite follow.

"Okay." 

"Okay." he repeats. Kentarou digs into the hoodie's pocket and reveals a crumpled ball of paper. As he unfurls it, you can catch a couple words scribbled in the margins. 

"Did you… take notes?" you ask. He flushes immediately, aggressively trying to smooth wrinkles down. He's scowling at the mess of graphite smeared across the page. The tips of his ears are scarlet, bright against his blonde. 

"I … I'm not good with all this. This makes it easier." He shoots you a quick glance. "Is...that okay?"

"I just didn't expect it." 

The sink's dripping again. It's a random droplet that collects at the faucets' rim before falling into the collection of dirty dishes below with a tiny plink. It catches your eye, the way it gathers slowly; maybe you could ask the landlord-

Ken's right. You are avoiding it.

"I don't like it when you yell." It feels good to state the obvious. The bounce of your calf shakes the table, jostling your joined hands, but it barely registers.  "It makes me feel shitty. Really shitty." 

There's still a weight of something upsetting you; it itches in the back of your throat. "And… and it scared me."

He clutches your hand tighter. There’s a slight tremble in his throat, the miniscule shake of his adam’s apple, as he swallows, but he doesn’t let anything reach his face. The firm hold of his brow is stoic, controlled, even as his body betrays him. 

"I’m sorry.” his voice is firm. He opens his mouth to say something else, but only draws in a breath. His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, running over the chapped edges slowly as he contemplates in silence. “I... I’m sorry.”

“I know. I know you are.” 

“I.. I just…”  Kyotani’s unusually frazzled as his eyes flick down to the page in front of him. If you strain, you can make out some of the scribblings, but he adjusts away from you, covering the writing. “It's dumb, but…” he traces over his writing with his finger as he reads.  “Sometimes, I feel some type-a way and… it, it comes out wrong. It’s easier for me to get angry than admit that I’m hurt. It’s not fair to you. It’s not an excuse.” he looks up at you. “I’ll work on expressing myself better.”

There’s a sincerity in his voice, a gentle truth that you want to cling on to, but that itch under your skin hasn’t gone away. The situation’s still bothering you, still begging to be addressed. As you turn over it all, the squeeze of his hand no longer feels comforting- it feels overbearing.

“Kentarou, I don’t even know what I /did/.” you try and pull away, but he’s holding too tightly. Exacerbation boils in your chest, bubbling over quicker than you can control. “One minute, we’re having a good time with your friends. The next minute you’re yelling at me and storming off! I don't understand what I even did!" 

"But-"

The waver in your voice rings through the room as you give a final tug. “I can’t live like this,  constantly hoping that I don’t push your buttons. It makes me feel like I’m living in a minefield.” Reluctantly, he releases you, hand still dangling over the ruined breakfast. His steady look has finally broken into one more recognizable, with downturned mouth and a glassy sheen to his eyes. It’s blinked away quickly with a sniff, replaced with his usual sternness, but it was there. “It can’t happen again, Kenta.”

“I understand. “ he says immediately. 

The sink drips again. It’s all you can look at, that little shine in the corner of your eye. The uncomfortable squirm building in your stomach begs you to keep watching it, to focus on it until nothing matters. You’re only brought back to the conversation when his chair squeaks across the tile as he pushes away from the table. In a few strides, he’s at the faucet, wiggling the handle with just the delicate touch of his ring finger. “I’ll fix that tomorrow.” 

Of course he will. He’s always clanking around your apartment, burying himself into a new task wordlessly. Wordlessly, without request, he strives to make your life better. 

“I don’t even know what I did.” you repeat. The blonde leans over the sink, hunching over his elbows with a sigh.

"It's a dumb reason."

"If it matters to you, it's not dumb." 

He says it without looking at you. "I don't like it when you call me maddog." he states firmly. "It hurts. Really fucking bad."

Your anger deflates, suffocated by the sudden weight of guilt. "I didn't know that." 

He shrugs. It says all he needs to. 

“I- your friends call you mad dog though." 

“I don’t like it when they do it either.”

“But you don’t yell at them.” 

"They call me mad dog because they think I'm mean. Feral." he shoves his hands into the sweatshirt's pocket and kicks at the tile. His sock, a pink polka-dotted thing he must have fished out of your drawer, skids across the tile. It doesn't match his other sock- a Kentarou staple."I don't care if that's what they think of me." 

 Kyotani gives you a half smile. "But I care how you see me."

You stand and slink over, reaching for the drawstrings on his hood. He straightens at your presence, but doesn't reach, instead just letting you fiddle with the frayed cloth. Neither of you can meet each other's gaze, instead just staring at the floor between you. It's not until now you realize that you are wearing the other pink sock. Sliding your foot in between his completes the set. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."  The weight of him suddenly leaning against you, relaxing into you, almost knocks off your balance, but there's a comforting warmth to him.

"Still love me?" he rests his forehead against yours as he talks, his fingers are trailing over your sides and gathering up the hem of your shirt.

"Of course." you tug the strings, tightening the hood around his neck, "Still love me?"

He grips your hips and pulls you flush against him as a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. "Always will." 

His lips trail lower until they are almost aligned with yours, breath warm and sweet. You rise up ever so slightly to close the gap. The first kiss is fleeting, just a test of the waters, but the next one takes its time.The drag of his lips, the taste of mint on his breath, the hum building in his throat: it suddenly hits you how much you've missed him. As your hands slide into his hoodie, your hoodie, pocket, dragging him closer, Kentarou changes the pace and showers your face with a barrage of pecks. It's quick and needy, leaving you no time to even breathe. 

"You know-" you manage to as you dodge his mouth, arching your back away from him to catch your breath. He grunts out something adjacent to a whine and dips with you to press against your forehead."I don't think you're mean."

 "You don't? Even after all this?" As he continues tracing kisses down your face and neck, tickling you with his stubble, you laugh and squirm, but he's holding you steady. 

"I think you're a big softy."  you giggle.

"Hey now. Don't go around saying I'm soft." he nips at your neck with a warning growl, but  you can feel the curve of his smile. "It's only for you." 

[baka-monarch]

Dirt Crawlers

Look @darkeninganon , I beat you to writing the slug thing!!!! :)

(brain just randomly started thinking of story and I just decided to write it now before I lost motivation/inspiration)

Part 2->

TRIGGER WARNINGS: BUGS, FEAR, MENTION OF DEATH, FEELING SMALL, VERY GROSS DISCRETION

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Tommy watched Dream as he pushed the door to their hole in the ground open The younger Dirt Crawler was practically bouncing with excitement. Today was the day, finally Dream was taking him out on his first hunting trip. It was the perfect day for hunting as well, since it hadn't rained for weeks and was so bright and sunny out (as Tommy could tell from the blinding light coming through their burrow door) that there was no way it would rain; so there was no risk of them drowning in a puddle or getting dragged down to suffocate in mud. It was also the afternoon by now, judging by where the sun was, which meant almost no birds out hunting at all. Yeah, now would be the perfect time to get some food.

"You remember all the rules I told you, right?" Tommy was startled out of his thoughts by his older brother's voice.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I know I know!" The teen rolled his eyes. The rules had been drilled into him ever since he was a kid, ever since their parents were still around.

"Okay, so remember that we're only hunting aphids- no attacking ants, ladybugs, termites-"

"Mantises,"-He cut off Dream's words-"slugs- yeah yeah, I know boss man! We don't fight anything that isn't an aphid!!" Tommy climbed out of the burrow with that in mind. He already knows what happens if a Dirt Crawler tries to fight anything other than an aphid, he's been told the horror stories thousands of times. Ants will swarm you if you hurt one, ladybugs can headbutt trample and eat you, termites can take a limb off with one bite, and mantises- of Prime Tommy really does NOT want to think about fucking mantises.

"I'm just making sure-" Dream added as he climbed out to stand next to Tommy, kicking their burrow door closed behind himself. "I know how adventurous you can get at times and I don't want to risk anything." The elder puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder and looks into his baby brother's eyes seriously. The world is a dangerous place for someone only half an inch tall, and he wants to make sure his baby brother is safe.

"Stop worrying so much- I'm not gonna leave your side big man." Tommy smirks into their serious gaze and gives his brother a comforting pay on the shoulder, making them sigh with relief.

"Good- because I don't know what I'd do without your annoying voice." Dream jokes with a slightly forced chuckle and ruffles the teen's curly blond hair. Tommy only groans in annoyance and pushes his hand away, which only makes Dream let out another fond chuckle. "C'mon, we don't have all afternoon!" The elder doesn't give Tommy any time to fix their hair as he grabs their hand and pulls them off into the towering grass blades.

It's a few hours later when the two brothers find themselves watching from being blades of grass as several aphids hop around on the dirt, having called off of the grass after the two tiny people had shaken their plant homes with the help of a light breeze. Dream pulls out a small sword and turns to Tommy to make sure he's holding his own sword correctly. Once the eldest is sure the time is perfect, he gives a signal with his hand and both split- Dream running in from the right and Tommy from the left, both catching the tiny bugs off guard and using that to their advantage to slice off the heads of several before they can jump out of reach.

"You did it!" Dream smiles up at Tommy who himself is smiling proudly. They were running low on food, and now with Tommy's help, they're both sure to have more than enough aphids to last them for a week or more at least. "This should be good- you, did good Toms." The green clad Dirt Crawler walks over to his brother and ruffles their hair, and this time Tommy does not complain. "Now help me bag them up-"

"Yes sir!" Tommy gives a small thumbs up and starts to fill his sprig woven bag with the dead aphids as Dream does the same. It's all fine until one of the aphid bodies gets up and starts to limp away- Tommy missed it's head. "I'll get it!" He calls over to his brother, who gives a nod of acknowledgement before Tommy chases after the aphid, knowing he can easily catch and kill it since it can't jump.

Tommy doesn't notice anything suspicious as he approaches the injured aphid. He doesn't look around at his surroundings as he gets out his sword. He doesn't look up as he stabs the bug and finally kills it. He does however scream after looking up to see where the droplet of slime had come from on his sword after landing the killing blow.

Dream snaps his head up to attention, his eyes wide with fear for his Tommy as he looks to where they'd run off to- and he almost screams as well. "IT'S A SLUG!!!!" He's quick to run over and grab Tommy's arm and start to drag the petrified teen away before they can be eaten.

Tommy doesn't hesitate to follow Dream once he snaps out of his state of fear. As they run Tommy tries not to think about the humongous slimey being of pure squishy muscle, with four eyes that stared at him with nothing but hunger, and a large gaping mouth that was opening and closing, ready to eat it's lunch with the rows upon rows of tiny razor sharp teeth that could allow the disgusting giant to swallow him whole. Tommy shivers, yeah that's going to be haunting his nightmares- oh well at least slugs are slow, so he and Dream have plenty of time to run away…. Or so he thought, before suddenly his running is slowed significantly by something making him stick to the ground. The teen looks down, and sees he's stepped into a trail of familiar slime that has him now stuck where he stands.

"Dre- Dream!?" He yells to his older brother, who also finds himself slowed by the slime trail. Dream looks at his brother sadly, and grabs their arms before desperately trying to pull Tommy free as the slug approaches at a slow orgilating crawl towards them.

"Tommy- Tommy, look at me!" Dream said, keeping his voice firm, trying to give his baby brother something to focus on. "Don't look back- don't- d- don't look behind you. Just focus on me, we're going to get out of this." At least Tommy is close enough for Dream to pull them into a hug. He lets Tommy bury their face into his chest, letting them cry as he glares up at the omnivore that had successfully hunted them down on Tommy's first aphid gathering…

"I- I'm scared…" Tommy admits quietly, something they usually would never do, but Dream can understand in this situation: getting stuck while running from a slug is certain death for any and all Dirt Crawlers.

"I know… I know, but it's going to be okay, I promise…." Dream whispers softly and weaves his fingers into Tommy's soft golden curls, something that's always calmed them down, no matter how old. He hugs his small brother close, closing his eyes so he can savor one last moment with them…

BOOM-SQUELCH!!!

The sound is loud and disturbing to hear for the absolutely miniscule brothers, and they both open their eyes wide in surprise and fear of what happened. All that can run through Dream's head is that the slug must've been crushed by something, but what? A deer? A wolf maybe? Possibly even a skunk even if they aren't in this area? The only way to find out is to look up- and up- and up and up and up and-

"Fuck." Dream doesn't cuss often, but for this occasion it feels necessary.

"Wh- wha-" Tommy begins to ask but cuts off his own words as he feels all his breath leave him in fear, as he looks up too.

A giant. An actual giant. A person, thousands of times their size was standing right on top of where the slug had been only seconds before- and it seemed like they didn't even notice they'd crushed anything.

"Human…" Dream mutters quietly, remembering the word from a story their mom told him once before Tommy was born. Giants- humans- weren't supposed to be here. Dirt Crawlers almost never had to deal with humans… yet here one stood, having unintentionally saved the two brothers lives, and Dream realized in a moment how close they both were to that death dealing foot, and if the human hadn't seen the slug, then if they took another unfortunate step- "R- run- we need to run! Run!!" Dream shouts and starts to pull Tommy, and his brother quickly gets the message as they both pull themselves out of the slime to start running.

Dream doesn't let go of Tommy's hand the whole time as they both run as fast as they can, but it doesn't feel fast enough as every time Dream looks back the human looks just as close as they were before and- oh gods they were looking down at them. Dream pushes forward, trying to pull Tommy even faster with a feigned hope that maybe, just maybe they can at least get to the burrow in time and be safe until the human leaves-

Dream bounces back off of something hard and smooth, he can't see it but he can feel it. Tommy rushes forward to stand beside him and starts to bang on the invisible wall; it's a fruitless effort however as both know that anything used by humans is guaranteed to be too strong for either to break through. Only a few seconds later they feel gravity change and they're sliding down the wall, Dream grabs Tommy and hugs him, wanting to make sure that wherever they land his brother is safe more than anything. They eventually hit a bottom, made of another invisible wall- and as Dream looks up he meets two massive eyes, twice as big as himself, staring directly at him and his brother.

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Mcyt g/t list:

@trashpumped @lorie-the-little-ghost @encaos @i-am-a-weeb @wyforyu-gaming @5unfl0writ3r @colorfulsiren @moonmwah @iwasgoingtohellanyways @echoslime @wilbur-simp @trouble-off-grid @lilsyxx @smogs-0 @hello-world-im-snow

[rodeoxqueen]

草莓珍珠奶茶-Strawberry Pearl Milk Tea 

Dante/Reader 

Summary: You take Dante out for his first bubble tea experience. 

Tags/Warnings: 18+, Suggestive/Sexual/Crude Humor, Fluff, Reader’s Gender Not Mentioned, Dante Does A Cuss

He’s always wondering what kind of beverage was in your hands, this giant plastic cup with a giant colored straw that you seemed rather fond of. 

You showed up to his shop with one in tow ever since a store opened up in Redgrave. The sound of the straw being shanked into the lid was what let him know where you were in the office. 

Eventually, he decided to ask when you sat on the side of his desk during the after hours of work. 

“Hey, what are those? You drinking caviar or something?” He asks, tapping his knuckles against the cup. 

“These aren’t eggs Dante. It’s tapioca.” You snort. 

“Tappa what?” He tilts his head. 

“Tapioca, it’s really good.” He goes to put his mouth on your straw and you push his face gently away from the prized possession. Dante pouted at his deferred attempt.  

“I’ll take you there tomorrow, get your own.” He rolls his eyes. 

“It’s no way better than strawberry ice cream.” 

So the next thing he knows, it’s tomorrow and he drives you to the bubble tea store on his motorcycle. 

You end up in line at this very minimalist and cute little cafe with animal decorations all over. Dante sticks out like a sore thumb, dressed in black and red leather. You hold his hand as you wait behind a rather long queue. 

Dante’s attention span is short-circuiting. He taps his foot to the beat of some peppy J-pop song playing in the speakers. 

Eventually, he starts audibly groaning his boredom. 

“This is the second time they’ve played Plastic Love.” 

“It’s cute, I don’t mind.” You say, doing a little dance number with your hand still intertwined with Dante’s. 

“This is so boring, you actually wait for this? Could’ve gotten a pizza and a sundae by the time we made it to the front.”

“Dante…” 

“How about you wait here and I’ll go get us something while we wait-” 

 He goes to pull his hand away from yours. 

You grip his hand suddenly, glaring at him from the height difference. He looks down and chuckles. 

“Dante, if you don’t wait in line and be patient, I swear to god-” 

“Whoa whoa, just playing with you.” He teases. You’re basically a little puppy trying to be intimidating. 

When it begins to near your turn to order, Dante finally decides to read the menu. He’s never heard of several things on the pink pastel posters. 

“What do you usually get?” Dante asks, seeing these strange machines and topping trays behind the registers. 

“I just get one of their specials,” You gesture to the third menu. 

“Huh, they’ve got a lot of weird things here. What the fuck is grass jelly?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you something you would want.” 

He gently bumps your hip with his. You do it back. 

“God, why are you so thick?” You laugh as he smirks. 

Before he can throw another one-liner, the cashier asks what you want. He tunes out this long series of questions you answer for your drinks. 

He’s busy watching the machine that puts the plastic cover over the drinks, elevator music playing in his head. 

Finally, two rather large drinks come to his field of vision, and you reach over to take them. He snaps out of his daze and takes the beverage from your hands, smirking at how much bigger his were compared to yours. 

“You wanna take this outside?” You asked him, putting your wallet back in your pocket. 

“Like to fight or to drink this?” He genuinely wondered, holding up his pink-colored cup. 

“Which one do you think?” 

The two of you opted to sit outside in the warm afternoon on a lone bench that was near the street. 

“Pick a straw.” You hold out two red and white straws that were wide enough to stick his pinky through. Not that he did, although his intrusive thoughts told him to. 

Obviously, he took the red one, looking at his pink slushy-like drink. For some reason, there were these weird lighter pink pearls at the bottom. 

You stabbed the lid, relishing in the pop noise it made. Dante copied, jolting the cup. 

“Cheers.” You clinked plastic with his and took your first sip. Dante did as well, hit with the familiar and refreshing taste of strawberries. 

“Aw babe, you didn’t!” He smiled. It was as if you blended a sundae, and he helped himself to another sip. 

You posed with your chin on your shoulder. He made a face at a boba pearl being in his mouth. 

“Do I chew this or do I swallow this?” He asked, his incisor resting on the offending pearl. 

“Bite it.” He did so, popping the membrane. The contents of a very syrupy strawberry-flavored popping boba greeted his tastebuds. 

“Holy shit.” He kissed your forehead. 

“You’re welcome-Hey!” You realized it was a trick so he could duck down and drink out of yours while you were distracted. 

He took a sip, smirking at his trickery. 

“Not as good as mine.” He commented, noting that your pearls didn’t pop. 

An afternoon passed, sitting hand to hand with Dante. It was a well-deserved Saturday, getting to spend time together without worrying about anything for the time being. 

The two of you had reached the bottom of your respective drinks, yours more quickly as Dante continued to help himself to yours and his own. 

Dante relaxed in his seat, his arm around you as the sun turned more saturated in color with its slow descent. 

“Hey, sweetums?” You looked up to the sound of him shaking the nearly empty drink.  

“Hmm?” He gestured to the boba pearls at the bottom of his cup, a toothy grin on his face. 

“Suck my balls?” 

You practically cried as you curled up on the bench, raucously laughing. Dante slapped his knee and laughed with you, wiping tears from his face. 

“Oh, that was so well-timed!” He wheezed and slid down the bench. 

You were in a fetal position, in disbelief of what he just said. You limply held your drink in your hand, dangling it to the ground. To others, you two looked totally in the midst of a shared mental breakdown and thus steered away from the scene. 

“Why? We were having such a romantic moment!” 

“It was an important question!” He refuted, trying to catch his breath. Pedestrians tried their best to ignore your foolery. It wasn’t easy, the sounds of your laughter echoing through the streets. 

These strawberry-flavored dates became a staple from now on. 

[crispyjenkins]

Naboo Obi Gets to Do the Kiss Thing

(okieeeee not sure how to describe this in a way that makes sense but this drawing by @bureau-pinery​ will alas not actually happen in All We Have is Hunger, for reasons™ but tosh, @atelier-dayz​ and @mandalorianbrainweasel​ all had something to say about jango getting to kiss obi-wan in his makeup and i am a weak, weak man. SO here are two separate little UA takes on how that kiss could have gone, if i could have worked them into hunger-canon (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) which i couldn’t because: pining. i need them to keep pining into the sequel. you don’t understa–

(also you sort of need to have read hunger ‘verse up through chapter 6 to understand these T◡T srrys)

ca. chapter 6

  Jinn carries Maul’s corpse out of the Theed power generator on his back despite the blistered wound across his ribs, and doesn’t quite look at Obi-Wan walking beside him, despite having given Obi-Wan his cloak as a sort of shock blanket. 

  Which is a little ridiculous considering he’d had no problem looking when Maul had Obi-Wan on his back, one foot crushing his shoulder into the floor as he tauntingly held the end of his lightstaff inches from his throat. In Jinn’s defense, he had been struggling not to fall into the melting pit at the time, only an arm and his eyes visible over the edge as he had to watch Maul leer down at Obi-Wan as if deciding what best way to tear him apart. 

  In Obi-Wan’s defense, Jinn had only managed to pull himself back onto the catwalk after Obi-Wan had dislocated his own shoulder wrenching it out from underneath Maul’s boot, and after he had stabbed Jinn’s lightsaber under Maul’s raised arm right through his chest to the other side. Zabraks have two hearts, Obi-Wan had learned while fighting Savage, and knew he’d hit both of Maul’s when he released a single breath and dropped at Obi-Wan’s feet.

  Though injured himself, Jinn had reset Obi-Wan’s shoulder and fashioned a sling out of his obi belt, and Obi-Wan had not protested when he draped his Jedi robe around him. He made no offer to carry Maul.

  The pilots haven’t returned by the time they reach the hangar, but there are heaps of deactivated B1 droids scattered between it and the throne room, so they must have succeeded in taking out the control ship. Reaching out with the Force, Obi-Wan can tell Padmé has already subdued Gunray, and he’s just relieved they don’t have to run anywhere else; if he had his way, he’d never have to do more than a brisk walk for the rest of his life.

  Captain Panaka sees them first as Obi-Wan leads them into the throne room, where the Guard is cuffing Gunray and Haako to each other and Padmé is already delegating tasks to the other humans swarmed around her desk.

  “Messere Naberrie!” Panaka calls with relief, all heads jerking in Obi-Wan’s direction while Jinn bends down to lay Maul on the floor by one of the columns as respectfully as possible. Obi-Wan doesn’t wait for him, making his way to the other Naboo and trying not to look like he’d just been through hell. Panaka and Jango break away from the group, Panaka hurrying down the chamber to help Jinn, but Jango heads right for Obi-Wan, unbuckling his helmet from under his chin as he goes.

  “Are you alright?” he demands, and Obi-Wan’s mind flatlines. 

  His curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his scowl is terrible, and Obi-Wan can almost hear him swearing Jinn out in his mind, but no one’s ever looked at Obi-Wan like that.

  When Jango pauses with a confused frown, Obi-Wan keeps walking, because, kriff it, he’d just almost died again and he doubts Jango’s going to stick around on Naboo very long once his contract is up, and he’s always been stupid for brown eyes dark enough to ground him.

  Besides, he’s still got one working hand to set behind Jango’s neck and gently pull him forward, and two working ears to hear Gunray choke and make a sound like he’s dying.

-----

ca. chapter 4

    When the Queen invites Jango to her quarters that night, with their arrival to Naboo looming the next morning, he pretends he hadn’t known she would ask to extend his contract. Obi-Wan stands off to the side in a new set of silky lavender tunics with his hair pulled up away from the high collar, and shoots him a smug wink when Jango takes his seat across from the Queen. Or, the one that had him sign the contract the last time, at least.

  No one in the room seems surprised when he agrees to the new contract, to continue to keep the royal party safe until the occupation is dealt with or both the Queen and her advisor are dead. As if Jango would let that happen.

  Obi-Wan follows him when everything has been signed and filed away, smiling as he gently grabs Jango's wrist to change his course from the sleeping quarters towards the galley instead, with the murmured promise of alcohol. Somehow, his grip is already loose enough that it doesn’t set off Jango’s instincts to free himself from whatever the kriff is around his wrist, but, tearing his eyes from their hands back to Obi-Wan’s face, Jango realises there’s no “somehow” about it. Because, of course, Obi-Wan already knows.

  Jango shoves the part of his mind that sounds an awful lot like Arla back into its box, and lets this stupid, beautiful man lead him down the stairs to the deck below. Of course he already knows. 

   He almost expects it, when Obi-Wan barely enters the room before turning and gently pushing him against the wall next to the door. Jango hadn’t realised at the start of this contract what an eventful hub the galley would become, and he’s honestly going to miss it a little bit, after he leaves Naboo. After Obi-Wan is no longer a foot away, looking at him like he’s trying to decide if he wants to drown in this.

  Being able to count all your relationships on your hands doesn’t exactly give you the widest range of experiences, and though he’s rarely been the one against the wall, Jango likes to think he’s got a pretty good idea of what to expect by now. Yet, it still startles him when Obi-Wan closes the space between them just to press that fondly-exasperated smile against his lips and then stay there — which is around the time Jango’s mind finally catches up to this being a thing that’s actually happening, that this stupid, beautiful man knows what he’s doing. 

  And Jango isn’t quite sure how it happens, but by the time either of them think to pull away, he has a hand in Obi-Wan’s hair, red locks spilling over his fingers as the wooden pin holding it all up comes loose. Kiss-drunk is a good look on him, Jango thinks, wet lipped and slightly dazed as his hair falls down around his face, though Jango can’t fathom how absolutely none of his makeup had smeared.

  “We haven’t even started drinking yet,” Jango mutters breathlessly, just to see Obi-Wan’s whole face twist up even as he tries to tamp down an equally-breathless grin.

  “Oh, yes, very classy, Jango,” he grouses, but does nothing to dislodge Jango’s hand, or to pull away.

�� Smirking, Jango swipes his thumb over Obi-Wan’s deceptively-chapped bottom lip. “You’re the one that kissed me, or'dinii.”

  Obi-Wan scoffs, and drops a kiss onto Jango’s open palm. “Stop calling me names, and I might still give you a drink.”

-

Mando’a: or’dinii — “fool”, “moron”