#he walked! kinda. he was able to push himself up and like crab walk around for 30 seconds or so

[emelkae]

Happy venting in the tags! Basically my dog wasn't doing well but he's improving fast, and I have nowhere else to talk about it.

[preciouspeterbparker]

i wish i were, part 3

part one

part two

summary: it’s getting harder to pretend that everything is okay. 

word count: 4.2k

warnings: step- inc*st, smut, underage sex, suicidal ideation (oops), ANGST, depression, self-harm mention (doesn’t actually happen, just intrusive thoughts), it’s all mentioned very casually so if this is triggering for you please don’t read!! <3 , ambiguous ending 

this is the last part y’all! thanks for going on this ride with me. this was my first multi-chap fic and it kinda gave me the confidence to know that i’m capable of writing longer stuff without it being super shitty lol. sorry that it’s taken me so long!! 

love you all

- bloo 

It's getting harder to pretend that everything is okay.

Peter hates to say it, fuck, the thought physically pains him, but he’s glad the school year’s almost over. He’s glad that it’s almost time for graduation, time for Tony to leave for the special summer program MIT invited him to participate in. 

He just wants to stop feeling like this, never wants to feel like this ever again. He always feels heavy, weighed down, like his clothes are soaking wet. It’s a feeling that goes deep into his bones, leaving him cold, aching, and tired. 

It’s a good thing there’s not really any work left to do for school, other than exams; Peter spends most of his time in bed, headphones on and staring at the wall, the one that separates his room from Tony’s. 

He keeps hearing Pepper’s voice in his head. He thinks you hung the moon, babe. It’s so cute. The words make him burn inside, make him want to dig his fingers in and peel his skin back until the feeling spills out of him. Until his blood spill out, until he doesn’t have to deal with this anymore- Fuck-

That’s how his brain is working, now. The intrusive thoughts have reached new levels. Peter’s always had them, he’s been passively suicidal for most of his adolescence, but it seems that any minor inconvenience has him ready to end it all. But it makes sense, he supposes. He’s already hurting, already weary and withdrawn. It really wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge. 

Too bad he doesn’t really want to die. He just wants everything to...stop. So that he doesn’t have to feel like this.

And because the universe is obviously enjoying fucking with him, the first thing he sees walking out of first period is Pepper walking down the hallway, a faded black t-shirt hanging from her shoulders, exposing the bright red of her bra straps. 

Peter recognizes the garment immediately.

It’s the Black Sabbath shirt, the one he’d kept under his pillow for over a week. The one he’d spilled multiple loads of cum onto before finally putting it in his laundry and carefully slipping it back into Tony’s room once it had been washed. 

And now Pepper’s wearing it. Which means Tony gave it to her.

Peter stops, freezes right there in the doorway of Mrs. Flannigan’s classroom. He blinks, staring blankly in the direction the blonde had gone. His classmates protest behind him, pushing forward until he snaps out of it. Taking a few stumbling steps to the side, he leans back against the wall.

He feels like he can’t breathe. Some kid walking down the hall looks at him funny, and he realizes that there are tears rolling down his cheeks. Hastily wiping them away, he slowly pushes himself off the wall and starts making a hasty exit to the bathroom, head down and eyes trained on the linoleum. 

Then- 

“Hey, Peter- Wait, Pete what’s wrong, what happened?”

Shuddering, barely able to contain the sob that threatens to rip its way out, Peter ignores Tony, just pushes past him and doesn’t stop moving until he’s locked in the private restroom. 

With his back to the door, Peter slides down til his butt’s on the cold ground, arms wrapped around his knees as he tries to muffle his cries as he sits there, shaking.

He just wants it to stop.

***

Something’s up with Peter, and Tony has a sinking feeling that it’s got something to do with him. But he doesn’t know what he possibly could have done. 

They’d had such a nice time celebrating his birthday. He even had a new photo in his wallet, a polaroid of him and Peter cheesing goofily into the camera. Looking at it brings a smile to his face. 

He really does love his little brother. Though he was young, Tony can remember life before Richard and Peter came into their lives. He remembers being an only child as lonely hours spent trying to entertain himself while his mom was busy working, trying to support him as a single parent. He’d been ecstatic upon meeting Richard and finding out that he had a little boy, too, that he was going to get a brother. 

Tony knows that he and Peter haven’t been spending as much time together as they usually do, but he just chalked it up to it being his senior year. He wanted to spend the time with his friends, with his girlfriend, making the best of their last bit of time together before everything changes. 

Peter’s words from his birthday ring in his head. I don’t want you to...forget me. Maybe he’s feeling left behind? 

He’s only got a little over a week left until graduation, and then a week after that he leaves for MIT. That’s not much time at all.

The teen resolves to make some more time in his schedule to spend with his younger brother. Rhodey and the guys and Pep can deal for a couple days. 

***

Peter’s pulled out of the clusterfuck of ruminative thoughts that have kept him awake for the past week by the squeak of his bedroom door being opened. He blinks under the covers, instinctively curling in on himself. He’s been under here for hours, but he still feels so cold.

Tony’s voice comes through the small crack he’s created between the door and the jamb, one eye peeking inside. “Peter? Are you….” He pauses and clears his throat before continuing softly, “Are you okay?” 

The lump under the covers that is Peter shifts a little. His voice is dull and monotone when he replies, as apathetic as he can muster. “...Just leave me alone, Tony.” So much for that. Even saying his brother’s name hurts, a lot more than he thought it would, making his voice crack pathetically. Peter pulls his hands up to his chest and tries to quell the sudden surge of emotion that rushes through him, stifling a whimper. Please just go away. 

Of course, instead of listening for once in his fucking life, Tony opens the door further so that he can slip inside. It closes behind him with a soft click and he takes a tentative step towards the queen bed that’s pushed up against the walls in the corner of the dark bedroom. "Pete…" Peter can hear him softly pad over to the nightstand and flick on the small lamp sitting there. His breathing in the quiet room is near deafening to Peter. “I…” He hovers there for a minute before sighing and sitting at the foot of the bed. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong. So that I can… I just want to help, Pete.”

The silence stretches on uncomfortably between them and even under the covers, Peter can feel the worried gaze burning him alive. 

His skin is crawling with how badly he wants to crawl out of the covers and into Tony’s lap, the way he would when they were younger and he was upset. He needs to get Tony out of here. He can’t- 

Peter moves so that his head is exposed, but he looks down at the bed rather than the other teen. "No, it’s fine. I mean I-, I’m fine," Peter sniffles, blinking furiously in an attempt to will the tears away. Fuck. His- fuck, his throat is tight, he can't swallow. His mouth falls open, a shuddering breath escaping as the muscles in his throat spasm. "I get it, Tony. I promise I get it, I really do. I do. She's-" 

Fuck. He must really be exhausted, he wasn’t supposed to say that, wasn’t supposed to let on the truth of why he’s upset. Peter's eyes flit around like he's on speed, darting from one focal point to another without him truly seeing anything. His voice is hoarse, thin. It's as small as he feels. Miniscule. Insignificant. He’s gonna ruin everything but he can’t make himself stop. "I mean, I can’t- I can't compete with-" The words come to an abrupt halt, his mouth snapping shut. 

Tony nudges Peter’s foot with his knee. “What? Peter.” He bumps against Peter again until the younger boy looks up to make eye contact. 

That stupid fucking crease forms between his older brother's eyebrows. Peter wants to slap him. Or kiss him. Mostly he wants to scream. 

"Peter, what? Compete with who? Are you talking about Pepper? I know we haven’t been spending much time together, but I’m gonna fix that before I leave, I promise. I don’t want you to feel left behind, not at all but I still don’t get- What’s this got to do with -," Tony starts, placatingly. But there’s something in his eyes, in the barely there tremor in his voice- And Peter suddenly realizes that Tony knows, has to know at least a little bit. 

He swears his vision flashes red for a second. "It has everything to do with her," Peter all but shrieks, nails digging crescent-shaped welts into his palms. He feels overwhelmed, trapped. Like a hermit crab without its shell- vulnerable, horribly exposed. It comes out without his consent, and so does his fucking stutter. Fuck it all. "And I know- I know- I know I'm fucked up, Tony, I know it, but I love you, the way that you love h-huh-her.” 

He takes a shuddering breath, reeling from saying the words out loud for the first time. “I'm sss-suh-sick, and g-gross and you- I know I'm a fff-fuh-freak and nnn-now- now you’re gonna hate me!" Peter sobs, his entire body shaking as he works himself towards an anxiety attack, a panic attack, a heart attack, fucking something. “I can’t even fu-fu-fu-fucking talk-” There’s snot and tears running down his face, he’s upset himself so much he can’t get through a fucking sentence. He knows he’s making a fucking fool of himself. He’s so stupid, why did he ever think that anything could come from this. He just wants it all to stop, he wants Tony to leave so that he can figure out some way to fix this, to make it all go away-

Tony’s staring at him, mouth parted, dark eyes wide and concerned. "Baby, what- I could never hate you, babydoll." It’s like the nickname comes out instinctually, the sound of Peter’s stutter instantly taking him back to the way he would console Peter when they were much younger, pulling him into his arms and rocking him like his own little baby. 

He climbs on the bed and burrows into the nest of blankets and pillows that Peter has created, but he stays sitting up. His arms wrap around his baby brother and pull him up into his lap so that he’s close to his chest, in spite of the younger’s attempts to squirm away. “Calm down, Pete.” Tony presses his lips to Peter’s head when his cries only increase, frowning at how hot the skin of his forehead is. “You’ve gotta calm down,” he soothes. “C’mon, it’ll get better once you calm down, baby, you know that.” One of his hands glides up and down Peter’s heaving back. 

Gasping, Peter shakes his head. He buries his face in the space where Tony’s pec and arm meet, taking a shuddering breath through his mouth. He’s trying to calm down but it’s not working. “I’m so- I’m so ssss-sss-suh-sorry, Tuh-Tony!” He feels like he’s gonna pass out. Shifting a bit, he pulls his head back in an attempt to get some more air. They almost make eye contact but he hurriedly looks away. He’s ruined everything. Tony hasn’t reacted to his confession yet but Peter knows that it’s gonna be bad, it’s gonna be so bad when he does. 

What’s he got left to lose?

Peter can't help himself; he leans in. The tips of their noses brush, and he pauses there for a moment. He can hear Tony's sharp intake of breath through his own heaving as they finally lock eyes. The look in Tony's chocolate depths is- Peter doesn’t really know. Tony's never looked at him like this before, no one has.

“Tony,” he whispers shakily, breath catching in his throat before closing the distance between them. Time stands still for a moment before something breaks, the tension snapping like a rubberband pulled too tight. Their mouths meet and Peter immediately whines at the feeling of Tony’s lips on his, body instinctively arching up against his brother’s, too lost in it to feel embarrassed of how easy he is to get worked up. 

It’s...everything he ever dreamed of.

Tony’s hands move to cup his cheeks, and Peter’s own hands find their way into the other’s dark, wavy locks as their mouths move against each other. There’s a swipe of tongue across his bottom lip, timidly asking for entrance. The younger obliges immediately, letting the warm muscle slide into his mouth where it meets his own. It sends shivers down his spine and he keens when his tongue is sucked into the wet of Tony’s mouth. His dick begins to fill rapidly in his sweats, leaving him feeling lightheaded and a bit disoriented.

Peter’s never made out with anyone before, but this- 

He thinks he understands what all of the hype is about, now. 

They pull apart, both gasping for air. Tony moves his head slightly, taking heaving breaths that blow onto the exposed skin of Peter’s neck, and his entire body seizes. The elder brother pauses, eyes darkening, before he latches his mouth there and sucking, hard- Fuck, Peter swears he’s about to cum in his pants. 

“Tony.” The name is all but ripped from his throat, ragged and wanton and filthy sounding. He didn’t know he could feel this good. There’s precum steadily leaking from the slit at the tip of his cock, and though he can’t see it at the moment, he’s sure there’s a wet spot staining the crotch of his pants. 

More moist air on the sensitive skin of his neck, now slightly red from being rubbed by the stubble covering Tony’s chin. “Shit, Peter,” comes the eighteen year old’s wrecked gasp and his hips shift, nudging his own erection against Peter’s thigh. “Fuck, fuck.”

Peter feels like he’s losing his mind. “Tony, Tony lemme- Wanna touch you, please-,” he says, unable to put together a full sentence. The cock he’s been dreaming about for almost a year is within his reach and he doesn’t know how they got here, has no idea what’s going to happen after, but he’s so fucking close to getting what he’s wanted for so long but thought he could never have. His hands flutter restlessly near the front of his brother’s basketball shorts and the bulge that’s pressing insistently against the loose material. 

“Yeah,” Tony gasps, shifting Peter out of his lap so that he can lie down on the bed on his side and then he pulls Peter down with him, facing each other. “Me too, can I…,” he trails off, the fingers of his right hand running down Peter’s body from his shoulder down to the sharp point of his hip bone. 

All Peter can do is nod jerkily, already reaching to tug at the dark red fabric that’s wrapped around the older teen’s waist. He lets out a desperate, frustrated sound when they get caught, but Tony’s hands take over for him, so he pushes his own pants down to his knees instead. His dick hangs down heavily once it's free of its confines, and there’s a quiet thud as Tony’s slaps against the dark hairs smattered across his lower belly. 

Looking at his big brother’s cock for the first time in the dim lighting makes Peter’s mouth water. He can make out the slight shadow of a vein running the length of it, and his tip is big, a drop of precum sitting there just waiting for him to lick at it. He’s bigger than Peter, in both length and girth. It’s perfect, something right out of his fantasies. 

Tony rocks his hips forward and their erections rub against each other, prompting them to let out synchronous groans. “Holy shit,” Peter whines, his own hips stuttering as they start to rut against each other in earnest. They quickly get into a slightly stumbling rhythm. It feels so good, their cocks both so hot, so hard. He already knows this is going to be over before it really even starts but he couldn’t care less. “Tony, Tony, yes-”

The brunette all but growls. “That’s it, Petey. Fuck, your cock feels so good, I never- Shit,” Tony pants before spitting into his palm and wrapping his hand around both of their shafts. “Fucking hell-” His toes twitch against the inside of Peter’s ankle. “Pete-”

Peter’s movements get jerkier, his hips stuttering at the feeling of Tony’s wet hand, the way their dicks are sliding against one another. He’s so close, so fucking close. “Please,” he whimpers, fingers digging to Tony’s shoulders where he’s holding on in an attempt to ground himself. HIs tongue licks at his brother’s bottom lip. “Wanna cum, Tony, lemme cum-”

“Yeah, fuck, yes Peter, cum, cum for me-” Tony groans, the speed of his stroking increasing. The rhythm is jerky, and it’s so uncoordinated when combined with their frantic undulating, but it feels amazing. 

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Peter chants as his orgasm slams into him like a brick wall. His muscles lock up, and there are probably crescent-shaped welts in the skin of Tony’s shoulders and back. Thick, white ropes of cum shoot from his cock and make a mess in his brother’s hand. A whine escapes him as he grows more sensitive in Tony’s grasp. 

The feeling of the warm liquid smearing over his erection is what does the older teen in. He crushes his mouth to Peter’s as he cums, fucking into his fist and rubbing against the other’s softening cock, licking lewdly into the wet of his mouth. “Pete,” he sighs, pulling away after he’s ridden out the wave of his orgasm. 

“I love you,” Peter whispers contently, snuggling in and pressing a kiss to a freckle on Tony’s shoulder. This is everything he’s ever wanted, to be held in his big brother’s arms like this: like a lover. Maybe he was worried for nothing, maybe everything will be okay. Sure, they’ll have to hide it from everyone, especially Mom & Dad, but once they’re both in college… They have different last names, no one would ever have to know. They could be happy. Peter just wants to be happy, just wants this feeling to stay. 

Tony shifts slightly and takes a deep breath, the puff of air ruffling Peter’s sweat-slick auburn curls. “Pete,” he says again, softly. “I love you too, I do.” He pauses, pulling back slightly and loosening his hold on the younger boy and rolling onto his back so that they’re both looking up at the ceiling. “But I-”

Peter freezes, the afterglow fading instantly. His heartbeat picks up, and there’s a slight ringing in his ears. He grips the sweat damp comforter in his hands, fingers twitching restlessly, stroking back and forth over the fabric in an attempt to soothe himself. No. No, no no, this isn’t- Tony- He can’t-

Another heavy sigh. “We can’t- We can’t do this again, Pete,” Tony says into the quiet of the night, still slightly out of breath from exertion. His voice is soft, gentle. He’s trying not to hurt Peter; Peter thinks that’s bullshit.

There’s a lead weight in his stomach. He feels like he’s drowning. He feels like he’s gonna be sick. He feels dirty. He feels- 

He’s so tired of feeling.

Tony hesitates before pulling his shorts up and sliding out of the bed. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over Peter’s hand, jerks back when the younger immediately tenses and recoils from the touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispers before hastily making his way to the door, shutting it gently behind him. 

“Just go, Tony,” he croaks before rolling over in the bed, away from the love of his life his brother. 

Peter lays there for the rest of the night, unmoving, staring at the ceiling, tears running down the sides of his face, seeing nothing. 

If only he could feel nothing, too.

*** 

“Where...where ya goin, Pete?” 

Peter is putting clothes in a small duffel bag. He makes a mental note to remember to grab a new thing of toothpaste when he gets his toiletry bag together. “I’m, uh, gonna go stay with Ned. For a few days.” More like a few weeks, but he doesn’t need to tell Tony that. 

It’s only been two days since they- 

Peter’s already had enough. He can’t be here, he can’t skirt around the elephant that is his feelings towards Tony, can’t handle the awkwardness in the air as his stupid fucking brother tries to go on as if nothing ever happened. As if it meant nothing to him. 

As if Peter meant nothing to him, means nothing to him.

Peter can...he can be okay with that. He has to be. But he can’t be here. He can’t.

“What about mom and da-” Tony cuts himself off, and Peter can tell that’s not what he is really trying to ask. Of course he’s so fucking disgusted, so fearful of someone else knowing, that he can’t even say it. No, what he really means is- 

“I didn’t tell them I kissed you, Tony,” Peter hisses, tears burning in his eyes. He yanks the zipper of his bag closed, biting back a scream when it gets stuck for a second. “I’m not stupid. Why would I tell them what we did? I don’t want them to hate me, too. Don’t worry about what I told them, they said I could go.” 

Maria and Richard are under the impression that Peter’s just stressed about his grades and going a little stir crazy. When they’d talked last night, Mom had frowned gently at him, mentioning how down he’d looked lately and letting him know that he was loved and cherished. Dad had actually been the one to suggest spending some time with Ned; maybe seeing his best friend would help pull Peter out of his funk.

If only they knew. 

Tony gapes at him, an incredulous look on his face. “But what about Tuesday? You’re gonna miss my graduation? For what, to fuck around with Ned? Peter-”

Something in him snaps. He clenches his jaw, swallows harshly. Glares tearily at his brother. “Would you please just stop it?” 

The taller boy sets his shoulders and crosses his arms, defiant. “I don’t want you to go.” His eyes are narrowed, searching Peter’s face. For what, the younger has no idea. Nor does he care. 

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Tony,” he yells, glad that Mom and Dad are out at the grocery store, getting supplies for Tony’s graduation party. His voice cracks on his brother’s name. Always on his name. “Not anymore. I don’t- I know you don’t- Do you know how much it hurts me? To- to hear you? To know, to have to listen to-”

Tony’s mouth opens, but no words come out. “Hear us? You- you heard us? When?” His eyes are wide. He must realize exactly what Peter’s talking about, when he’s talking about, and he looks uncomfortable, vulnerable in a way that Peter’s never seen him before. Something ugly deep inside the younger teen feels satisfied for a moment before it deflates. He’s left feeling just as drained as before. 

Tony continues, “Peter, I-” He cuts himself off, looks away. 

Of course he can’t even come up with something to say.

“For fuck’s sake, Tony, you don’t have to explain everything to me!” It comes out as a sob. Peter feels like he’s a volcano; the words are erupting and he can’t do anything but allow it, powerless to stop them. “Nothing you say will make it better! I know you’re straight! I know it’s- that it’s wrong. I know Pepper is-,” he chokes, gasping. Why is this happening? Everything is going so fast. How is he freezing and on fire at the same time? 

“She’s gorgeous and I’m just the path-th-thetic little br-brother who th-thinks you hung the moon.” Peter’s spluttering, flapping his hands at his sides as he tries to do something with the energy humming inside him. He wants out, he needs Tony to go so that he can finish packing. He has to get out of here. 

Tony takes a step towards him. “No, Peter, how could you-”

Peter’s sniffling, eyes squeezed shut. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, trembling. Why won’t Tony just leave him alone? He just wants to be alone. “I know I’m ugly and I- I bet you can’t w-w-wait to go to MIT, to go away from me!” 

“Babydoll,” is what leaves Tony’s mouth, so soft Peter almost doesn’t hear it. His hands are shaking as they land on his younger brother’s cheeks. Warm tears are gently brushed away by his thumbs. “Pete.” 

Brow furrowed, Peter slowly opens his eyes and blinks the tears back in order to look at his brother. Tony looks...scared? What does he have to be scared of? 

Peter tries to pull away, out of Tony’s grasp but the older teen just clutches him tighter. “Tony- What? It’s fine, j-just stop! Let me go, I need to finish-”

Tony closes his eyes and crashes their lips together.

don’t hate me 

@spidey-sins @silkystark @thegreenmetblue @snailshome @hp-nv-221b @lemondrop313  

if you wanna be untagged lmk 

[scolopendress-tag]

Have some Asra n Muriel disorganized headcanons: animal themed!

Asra's most likely to answer quetzal if you ask for his favourite bird (he had a close up encounter with one his first time in nopal and had never seen a bird like it so it's a special memory), but he also appreciates all others. He also loves dart frogs and his favorite reptile would of course be perfect lavender angel baby fictional fantasy pythons. I'd also see him loving dragonflies as well.

He will see literally any animal generally and always say "they're one of my favourites!", though. It doesn't matter how many times he's said it that day or how many animals he's said it about. It's almost without fail he'll point one out and say it's a favourite.

One of his favorite animals is always the one in front of him Right Now, as a quick reference.

Plus, he loves to point animals out on travels or when out and about Vesuvia, so get used to hearing it!

He may attempt to catch critters occasionally too, or just pick them up, these will be mostly bugs usually. He just likes to cup moths in his hand on occasion and the watch them flutter out and I think he should be allowed to! Or just cradle bugs in his palm and watch them walk around for a bit. If it's a reptile or amphibian somewhere it could get stepped on or dried out or eaten he will still scoop them up and carry them to the brush.

[Cont. after cut]

Nothing he ever handles seems to get too upset or stressed, even when it's an animal that otherwise would. They just seem to be more relaxed if it's Asra who's touching them. Sometimes reptiles just come up to him (or even crawl onto his hand, as a few lizards have,) curiously enough. Though they may still refuse to be touched even then, they're notably not bothered by his presence when for others they'd run away. It's not something Asra's ever noticed to be odd, nor would it be overly noticeable to most people, but it's definitely something you can recognize if you pay attention.

Asra would also love to run on the beach sometimes, namely as a kid, maybe making himself invisible or otherwise undetectable until he's right up on a big flock of seagulls before giving them a hearty boo! And watching them all fly away all giggly. As an adult he may still stir up flocks for fun sometimes, or just to see how pretty it is to watch them all fly at once.

In general he just loves watching birds or bugs or whatever be it fly, always so effortlessly. Maybe he wishes he could fly himself. It certainly would make things easier he would come to think time to time growing up in Vesuvia.

Plus, he likes to collect the feathers that flutter down. Back when he sold masks, they were something he incorporated into them often. Then, too, he would also sit by the river after wearing himself out practicing hydromancy or what not, and a few times dragonflies would perch on him. He'd always gasp n grin all big and goofy when they did.

Muriel doesn't pick favorites really when it comes to animals (barring wolves and bears), but he does mirror Asra's 'one of my favourites' statements by saying "they're one of Asra's favorites," Occasionally.

While Asra's animal encounters or observations are typically brief, Muriel is more than content to just watch animals long periods of time. He can spot or at least know where to find some seriously elusive ones. The only one such animal Asra seems to have luck like that with seems to be foxes.

If you want to see an animal, local to the area around Vesuvia namely, Muriel can probably help you with that, granted he trusts you. This includes dens, hives, and nesting sites of course, things he will stop by occasionally in his forest to check on. His luck/skill in finding these things can't seem to be mimicked by even the most skilled animal trackers, you'd think they were practically just showing themselves to only him.

Muriel is also content to let animals do their thing and not interact with them much. Birds, butterflies and similar may land on him occasionally and he's always enchanted by it though, and will make no move to prevent an animal being on or touching him. Similar to Asra, he will also remove any animals in bad spots and put them somewhere better. He's a bit more effective at this though, as he tends to be looking down anyways, while Asra has probably smooshed a few pillbugs and snails before while doing his own thing- eyes elsewhere.

If Muriel did ever nerf a bug accidentally he would probably feel pretty damn bad, and if it wasn't reduced to a mere smear he would return its poor bug corpse to nature so that it might reclaim it. He'd get over it quick though if he was in a good mood prior, just give him a moment. If he was upset over something else already and he killed one, I could see it even pushing him to tears or rather making it worse if he was already at that point.

Asra would probably be like 'awh.... :( oof, I'm sorry lil guy...' and sweep it into nature if he could, but otherwise he would not be impacted too much.

Asra would purposely kill bugs on a few occasions even, pest bugs namely - like flies or mosquitoes or, of course, plague beetles. He may even instinctively lash out and flatten a bug that simply resembles a plague beetle enough, particularly if something had his anxiety or panic (ptsd trigger from the plague??) going. Otherwise plague beetle resembling beetles he'd be a little unsettled by, or uncomfortable to be around, but not enough to necessarily kill. He'd either move it somewhere else, try to scare it off, or move away from it. Muriel doesn't have many hang ups on plague beetle resembling bugs, though he would probably kill the real deal readily.

Any dead animals not in a wild area (like left in the city or on a road,) Muriel would move as long as it wasn't yknow. Too nasty. Birds that hit windows, starved or sickly scavengers, anything that dropped in a heatwave or was claimed by a flood, things like that, recent deaths. It pains him to see at all, but pains him more to leave them just.... There. Some he may bury, others he may leave out in places where there's animals he know will take it for food.

Injured or sick animals Muriel would try to help best he could, and he's successfully done it a few times. If it's blistering hot he'd also likely leave water out here and there for the animals of the forest, and he may enlist Asra's help with this to replenish water in natural water basins as well in droughts.

Muriel can handle animal death okay, hunting and fishing is a thing he does to some degree, it's just the preventable or senseless ones that hurt, it's worth saying here. It's just sad. He'll be okay after though, unless there's something more nefarious and upsetting at play.

Asra helping unwell/hurt animals would mostly consist of magic healing, but beyond that he wouldn't know what to really do besides bring it to Muriel or any animal experts near him. He doesn't come across these situations too often thankfully, though. Domestic animals he would take in more readily, and would let crash at the shop for a while if he can. If it's a livestock animal he'll ask if Muriel wants to take it in, or even in the case of an ownerless pet animal. If not, he can ask around. See if anyone wants a new dog or cat or... Goat. I just imagine those are the kinds of animals he's most likely to find in need, being in the center of Vesuvia.

Moving on from that....

Animal knowledge!

Asra likely doesn't know a ton about animals outside of ones that feature prominently in magic and myth, he's just good at identifying them and overall tends to appreciate their presence. Identifying animals can make for good pass times on long travels, or if he just sees something particularly neat he may simply want to know what to call it. He also probably learned most the common local Vesuvian species names growing up, probably through reading, though the bulk of his knowledge of the nature he grew up around is probably botanical- foraging can be dangerous! Plus, magic knowledge probably leans more heavily on plants than animals as well.

If Asra can't identify an animal, though, he will simply make up a name for it on the spot. If he finds out it's ID later he will still refer to it as his made up name followed by AKA/sometimes called/locally known as [real name]. He also tends to refer to tons of animals as the infamous, famous, legendary, revered, etc. Regardless of relevance, commonality or obscurity. He just thinks they all deserve such titles, and when has a little flair ever hurt?

"Ah, MC, look! It's an Abramesmerwhymsical Zadithi midnight-billed stilt-wader! Though it's sometimes also known as the famous crab-plover," Kinda shit. He enjoys it.

Muriel doesn't actually know the actual names of a ton of animals species. He knows of a few though, not to mention the Asra-given names that stuck with him. Despite not knowing their names sometimes still, he can tell most all species apart readily, and juveniles from adults, males from females, things like that. He watches animals of the forest regularly and is in tune with the local species life cycles, breeding or rearing seasons, migratory patterns, unique behaviors and everything else. Though his knowledge is probably limited to Vesuvian species, he's able to quickly pick up on other animal's traits and such when outside of Vesuvian territory, and is generally good with animals as is.

He knows what doves/pigeons and owls and vipers and mice and geckos etc are. He may not know that a specific species of such is called like, namaqua doves, omani owls, ocellated mountain vipers, cario spiny mouse, kotschy's middle-toed geckos n shit. It's not like he has NO idea, species names are weird and can be long winded so....

...He just doesn't know that dunnocks aren't actually called stripple-caped tseepers.

But he doesn't need to. <3

If he does learn the real names for them though, he is quite glad and will use the name readily. If you're looking at a Muriel who's in the city more, he will probably read up on this information himself, but otherwise he would of course treasure it if MC told him.

The only reasons he doesn't even know the names to begin with is mostly because the names you'll hear out and about most commonly only cover a fraction of species to start, and everything else youre mostly going to have to study via reading or classes. Neither of those seem to be things a young homeless Muriel would care to pursue lmao.

Annnnd

I forgot what else I was going to add and lost track so, I'll maybe add more later. I'll probably also amend this as I may find I don't agree with my own statements the next day and also I don't proofread so. I hope u enjoyed these feel free to add on or add differing opinions!

[generallybarzy]

smile like sunshine iii

Monday: ~7k words

Previous 

summary: After some family drama being revealed last night and a rude awakening this morning, the last thing you wanted was to spend the day stuck with your family, and Mat has the best solution for that. You run off to be alone together, reminiscing back to the summer of 2008 and each of you trying to understand and control these strange, emerging feelings.

an: Sorry it took so much longer, I appreciate your patience! Honestly not even sure if this chapter has a plot, it’s just slow burn and mutual pining at this point. Things are starting to heat up so there’s a warning for some smutty thoughts ahead ;) 

It’s the summer of ‘19, eleven years after you first met Mat Barzal, and things are bound to be a little different this time around. 

Usually, the first night at the beach was so refreshing after running around like carefree children in the sun the whole day, but falling asleep last night had been no easy task, not with your heart racing and your mind circling around different scenarios- both real and fake- of you and Mat. Already, all the near kisses and comfortable, lingering touches with him throughout the previous day had you feeling butterflies, nervous, and giddy, and longing around him. And after on and off sleep all night, you wanted nothing more than to lie in bed for a bit longer and fantasize, but there was one thing dampening your hopeless romantic mood.

The yelling.

There was a reason you wanted Mat to come with you on this trip. It was the same reason you approached him the first day you met, the same thing that had you thinking back to him years and years afterward. The arguing, the fighting, the tension in the house, the way you'd always end up on your own. Both of your siblings had texted you early this morning, saying they were heading out to their friend’s places, friends the three of you had made after repeated years of coming here, so you were on your own until Mat woke up.

You were at the beach, for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t your parents just hold it together? You threw the pillow over your head and groaned, just trying to drown out the noise of your parents fighting in the other room. Over what- you had no idea, and they probably didn’t know either. Well, they lasted a good 24 hours without fighting, you’d give them that.

There was a small knock on your door, and when you could do nothing but groan in response, it cracked open slightly. “(Y/N)?” Mat poked his head in, hair still soft and messy from sleep, speaking gently, carefully. “Can I come in?” He saw a nod from you and sent you a soft smile. Any other time, you would marvel at how cute and soft Mat looked right after waking up, but you weren’t in the mood for that right now. He closed the door quietly behind him and sat on the edge of your bed in silence. You knew he was here to comfort you, but you didn’t feel so comfortable when you could still hear the arguing in the other room.

Mat’s heart was aching for you. He could see how much it was hurting you to hear your parents yelling, and wanted nothing more than to hold you against him and kiss your cheeks and tell you everything would be okay. He wasn’t going to put himself into your family drama, but part of him was so, so angry at your parents for not being able to hold it together for you and your siblings. He wasn’t quite sure how to help, but he let his hand fall to your leg and rub comfortingly, and as he caught a glimpse of the beautiful scenery outside the window, he knew what you needed. “Want to head outside?”

“Please.”

It was beautiful outside, stuck in that early morning haze where it was all misty and blue and the first glimpses of soft yellow sunlight were only peaking ever so shyly over where the sun hid beneath the horizon, not yet sure if it wanted to rise or not. Waves crashed against the ever-changing shoreline, coming all the way up to lap your ankles at times. You were walking barefoot in the wet sand with Mat, toes sinking in and leaving little prints behind you. His arm was laid across your shoulders, pulling you against his side so that his cologne filled your nose. His T-shirt was all wrinkly and looked like he slept in it, and his exposed arms and legs were already looking all tan and golden even in the dim lighting of the morning. As much as you loved the comforting silence, he must be wondering. “So now you probably get why I wanted to bring someone along on this trip.”

“Yeah.”

There was a second of mutual sighing before you decided to continue.

“They’re great, ya know? I love them, I love my whole family… but separately. Not together. I hate it when they’re together. Does that make me shitty?”

“No, of course not.” He squeezed you closer into his side, tilting his chin down to rest against the top of your head, wanting nothing more than for you to smile again. “You still love them, and I can see how much it hurts to deal with that. I get why you didn’t want to be alone on this trip.”

“I’m used to it. Whenever they’re together this happens. Every year. And we all just… split up and go to our separate friend’s houses. That’s where my siblings are now, and where they’ll probably be all day.”

He was silent for a few more moments before stopping in his tracks so he could properly focus on you, hands smoothing from your shoulders down, down your arms. You gave him a weak smile, but he noticed the tears gathering in your eyes and sighed and sucked up all his courage to pull you against him, arms squeezing around you tightly and chin dropping to your head. “I can’t believe you have to put up with that every year. That’s so shitty. I can’t imagine how it feels.” He knew you probably didn’t want any pity, but he truly, truly felt so hurt for you. “I’m sorry.” There was an excruciatingly long moment where you did absolutely nothing- and Mat worried you were about to push him away- before you wrapped your own arms around him and squeezed back.

“Thanks for being here.”

“Of course.” He stayed still for a moment, just breathing against you and reveling in the feeling of your body pressed against his again like that morning you cuddled in the motel- of course, you had no recollection of that, but it was easily one of his favorite parts of this trip. So far. He was contemplating leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead- Would that be too much? Not platonic enough? She’ll hate me for it. Or she might love it- when you uncurled your arms from his waist. He let go on your cue, not wanting to make it awkward, even though it had already dragged on much too long for just friends.

He stepped back, trying to pretend he hadn’t just been thinking of kissing you, already feeling like this day- this week- was going to be magical, even if you came out still just friends. “So, it’s just us today, huh?”

“It’s just us.”

“Great. Well, I might have an idea…” He paused to think for a moment as if he hadn’t already fantasized and planned this in his head all night. “I know we only have your family’s car here, so I was thinking we could walk to this car rental place I saw nearby and get our own for the week and maybe go someplace further up the beach to be alone.” It sounded truly magical, getting to go out alone with Mat, get away from your family, and just get lost in him- the real him, and not the memory you had been holding on to and reminiscing about for years. But, unfortunately, it just wasn’t realistic.

“There’s no way I can afford to rent a car for the week.”

“I’ll pay.”

“No, Mat, I can’t let you pay for that.”

“Why not? I mean, I have the money. And it was my plan anyway.” He could see how much you wanted to fight for this, but also knew that you wanted nothing more than to get away, so he smiled and wrapped his arm over your shoulders again. “Consider it an early birthday present.”

“I thought the outfit was my early birthday present?” You seemed almost offended that he was spoiling you so badly, and it was kinda cute.

“There’s plenty more to come, (Y/N).” You smiled, biting your lip in that way you did when you were excited, and Mat couldn’t help but smile back. “Speaking of presents...” You saw him reach into his pocket out of the corner of your eye but thought nothing of it until he was reaching out a closed fist to give something to you. His hand hovered over top of yours for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, but you were too lost in the swirls of honey and green of his eyes and the warmth of his hand to notice the mischievous sparkle and the smirk on his face. His hand opened above yours.

“Ew! What the hell?!”

You may have reacted a little dramatically, shrieking shortly and jumping against Mat’s body as you tossed the dead crab to the ground in disgust, but you couldn’t help it. A dead crab??? That was so gross. You wanted to yell at him for ruining what was a really sweet moment, but hearing Mat howl with laughter beside you was like heaven. As you watched him cackle, bent at the waist with tears in his eyes, you caught a faint waft of deja vu. He had done the same thing to you repeatedly when you were younger when you were more gullible. His smile, his laugh, the early morning sunlight reflecting off his skin: this was exactly like eleven years ago when you were childish carefree and friendly. When you were best friends.

When you didn’t have to worry about being attracted to him.

Embarrassed by how easily you fell for that, and how you had been gazing into his eyes only moments earlier, you punched his shoulder. “Mathew Barzal!!! Are you still eleven?!”

“Are you? I can’t believe you still fell for it!”

“Shut up! You know I hate those!”

“Obviously.” he caught a glimpse of the smile on your face and knew you really couldn’t be mad at him. He mimicked your reaction with drama and fell into a new fit of giggles.

“I’m never going to trust you again.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You couldn’t help but smile, no matter how much you wanted to continue scolding him. Yeah, you would still trust him, and you’d probably fall for anything he tried. “You’re so stupid, Mat.”

“Maybe,” he continued laughing and pulled you against him to continue your walk down the beach. “But you know you love me anyway.”

You have no idea.

It was crazy that you were here with him- Mat Barzal, your childhood friend and NHL All Star- after eleven years. It was crazier that so much of his character hadn’t changed at all since he was young, the humor, the mischief, the childishness. Crazier than both of those things, though, was how quickly and easily you were falling in love with your best friend.

Mat was right, your trek to the car rental place was only about five minutes, five minutes of walking in the warm morning sun with Mat’s arm around your shoulder, and after some paperwork and licenses showed, you and Mat were choosing a car for the week. Originally, there would have been no way for you and Mat to escape- you’d all traveled together, crowded into the family SUV, and you know your parents would never give you the keys, and even if they did, it would be really inconvenient if you and Mat left and they needed to go somewhere. Now, it was liberating, freeing, knowing that you could go places on your own. And after all the work was done, Mat immediately gravitated towards a certain car that caught his eye.

“Oooh, what about this?” It was a classic- maybe 70’s- a powder blue convertible, sleek and long, the type of car you could imagine your parents sneaking away with, sipping milkshakes in and making out in the backseat in their teens. Despite its age, it seemed to be recently updated to include some sort of Bluetooth add-on on the dash so you could listen to your summer playlist.

“Wow, that’s, like…” Amazing? Something of your hopeless romantic fantasies? Absolutely. “It really doesn’t seem like your type, Mat.” You tried to stay realistic, but the hopeful smile on your face gave it away, and Mat leaned in closer, running a hand across the finish.

“Wouldn’t it be so cool? Like an old movie. Imagine driving down the coastline, blasting music, all warm in the sun, with the wind in our hair….” holding hands across the console, hands sliding up each other’s thighs, pulling over to lay on the hood under the stars, making out with each other desperately in the back seat….

“Okay, you make a pretty compelling argument.”

“So this is the one?”

“Let’s do it, Barzy!”

You had never, ever in your life, felt as free as you were now: flying down the empty coastline highway with Mat, wind in your hair and smiles on your face as you sang along with him to your summer playlist, searching for a place to pull over and run to the water. You sat in the passenger seat, sipping on a fruity smoothie you had convinced Mat to pull over for and laughing and smiling and feeling absolutely free. Liberated. You had the entire day with Mat, only Mat, nobody else. Nothing could touch you out here- none of your parent’s fights could get to you, no responsibilities could plague your mind right now- no, nothing could touch you but the sun. And you knew the sun would never betray you.

Speaking of the sun, Mat was behind the wheel, laughing with that beautiful, gleaming grin, his smile flooding warmth through your body just like the sunshine was warming your skin. You were flying down this empty straightaway, laughing and squealing as Mat sped up, trying to see how fast the two of you could go. His hair had grown out a little bit since the season ended, and was blowing back out of his face, looking so soft and just begging you to touch it- and you had to physically restrain yourself from reaching over to glide your fingers through the dark locks.

“Mat, turn it up!” You squealed in joy and threw your hands up into the air as your favorite song came on. Mat glanced over at you with a laugh, his eyes gleaming behind dark sunglasses.

“This is the life, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take long for the road to open off into a little rest stop: a parking lot and public changing room settled between the road and a wide, empty beach. There was nobody around, just you, Mat, and the ocean. The moment Mat had put the car in park, you were jumping out, grabbing your bag of swimsuits, sunscreen, and miscellaneous hygiene products out of the backseat.

“Shit, look at this view.” Mat was right. From where you stood in the cemented parking lot, a sandy hill sloped downwards for a bit only to flatten out onto the beach and open up to the wide expanse of ocean in front of you. Mat ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it back behind his ears after the breeze had pushed it out of place. He was wearing the shirt you’d convinced him to buy, the color really making the hints of green in his eyes pop, and the top few buttons were undone, revealing golden collarbones and more below.

“It’s pretty.“ You watched, awestruck, as Mat stretched, bringing his arms high above his head, and lifting the end of his shirt list to reveal the indents of his hipbones disappearing down into his shorts. Oh, fuck. You had to get out of here before he drove you insane.  “I’m gonna go change, Mat. Take the paddleboards down to the beach a while, ‘kay?”

“You got it.”

You rushed to the changing room, momentarily cringing and wondering when the last time it was deep cleaned was, and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were sunkissed and flushed red hot, obviously visibly affected by Mat. God, these feelings you had for him… were they just physical attraction, or were they actually more? He was just so hot. But he was also so good to you. He cared for you, and took you away when it was becoming too much, he was always your distraction when life was too overwhelming.

Mat was really gonna be the death of you.

You quickly changed into your favorite bikini, ignoring the twinge of self-consciousness. “Alright, girl.” You looked at yourself in the mirror, psyching yourself up. “Just you and Mat today. Control yourself. He’s your friend. You can’t keep daydreaming about him and undressing him in your mind.”

As you opened the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, you were stopped in your tracks as you saw Mat down on the beach, shirtless and golden, rubbing sunscreen on himself. And you knew then that the little speech you gave wasn’t going to be enough to get you through this week. It wasn’t hard to mentally undress him when there was only one piece of fabric keeping you from knowing what laid between his hips and thighs. Who knew what was under there, right? Look away, look away, don’t stare, don’t stare.

You tried your hardest to push it out of your mind.

“You need some help there?”

He turned around in the middle of trying- and failing- to reach a certain spot on his back. “Are you offering?” He’s wearing that sly smirk on his face, and your knees almost shake at the look he gives you.

“Nevermind, I’m sure you can reach it yourself.”

“Wow,” Mat feigned a hurt expression. “I can’t believe you’d let me burn. What a friend you are.”

“Alright, you dummy. Only if you help me, too.” He hands you the sunscreen and turns around so you have access to his back- his golden, toned back. You try to ignore how warm and smooth and taut his skin felt under your palms as you smoothed the cream over him. And Mat was holding his breath, trying his hardest to ignore the gentle movements of your small hands, rising across his back and up over his shoulders. “There, that should be good.”

Mat turned, skin gleaming in the sunlight. “Let me help you now.” You couldn’t believe this was actually happening- the classic, cliche rubbing sunscreen on each other’s backs, and you almost fell apart when his big hands rubbed over your shoulders, down your back. His hands were so big but so soft and gentle against your shoulders. “That’s a pretty small bikini. Aren’t you worried it’s gonna come off in the water?”

You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or if he was genuinely worried, but you shook off the feeling that he could be looking you up and down any second. You were friends. He doesn’t look at you like that. “I’m just trying to tan today.”

“You’re not gonna come out to the water with me?” He was pouting. This 22-year-old man was pouting because he thought he��d have to play in the water by himself.

“Mat, you’re such a big baby. I’ll be in the water. Just not in the water.”

“What do you mean?” He seemed confused at first but lit up with a smile when you lifted the paddleboard.

“Come on, Barzy, let’s hit the waves.”

You waded out into the ocean together, shrieking and laughing when the water splashed up to your thighs, cold against your warm skin. One part of the beach curled in almost a hook shape, creating a little pocket of the ocean with very little waves, too deep for you to just stand in but smooth and steady, the perfect place to just lay back and relax without being interrupted by crashing waves. Mat was quick to dive in and swim around, not minding how cold it was, but you were trying not to get your hair wet. Not yet, at least. You wanted to lay back and soak up the sun, maybe daydream about Mat for a while.

Oh, daydream you did, and it was embarrassing how hot and bothered it was making you just watching Mat.

He had spent a while swimming around you in circles, and you had certainly enjoyed watching the way the water rippled over his back as he moved, the way his muscles flexed and stretched and the way his skin glowed in the sun, the way that every now and then he would throw his head back so you could see every breath in his throat as he ran a hand through his dripping hair. “Mat, it looks like you’re tanning already.”

He laughed, taking on a teasing voice. “Were you watching me?”

“Maybe I was.”

He turned to where you were laying on your stomach in that tiny little bikini, eyeing him up and down behind those dark sunglasses. “Oh, yeah?” He floated on over, letting his eyes glance across you as well. He couldn’t help the heat that curled through him as his eyes dragged over your skin: the smile on your lips, the way your legs were swinging playfully in the air, the curve from the small of your back to... He swung his arm towards you and playfully sprayed you with seawater, causing you to shriek and cover yourself up from his attacks.

“Mat, that’s cold! Stop!” You splashed water back at him, spraying him right across the face, but nothing could wipe that beautiful grin away. Damn him, he was too cute.

He grinned crookedly in a way that you knew- you just knew- that he was planning something. He crossed his arms on top of your paddleboard and leaned in, his wet hair falling over his eyes and dripping onto your arm. “Better get used to it, you’re coming in!” He put his hands on the side, tipping it dangerously close to flipping. Oh no, no, no, as hot as his smirk was, the last thing you needed right now was to be wet and up close to his body.

“Mathew Barzal, I swear to god, do not flip this board!”

“Too late.” He rocked you back and forth daringly, a smile splitting across his face and making it impossible to not smile back. He had such a dumb effect on you, he could always make you smile, no matter how you were feeling or what was about to happen. And then you were splashing into the water next to him, grabbing frantically at anything that would keep you from drowning. Of course, the first and only thing your hands could contact was Mat’s smooth, slick skin. Your arms wrapped around his bare sides as you came to the surface, rubbing the saltwater out of your eyes and gasping.

Mat was laughing, the loud, beautiful cackles that would sound obnoxious and annoying if they were coming from anyone other than him. They reverberated through his body and into yours, soaking you to the bone with happiness. He was practically vibrating against you, and you would’ve laughed too if you hadn’t just been pushed into the water.

“Mat!” You slapped his shoulder and he struggled to control his giggles. “This isn’t funny! I could’ve drowned!”

“Nah, you couldn’t have.” He squeezed you where he had one arm wrapped around your waist and the other on the paddleboard to keep the two of you afloat. His arm was big and firm and secure yet gentle. “I’ve got you, see?”

Yeah, he got you, alright. His big hand was on the curve of your waist, your legs were tangled around his, you were pressed chest to chest, feeling every little giggle and breath from him, and your hands were gripping at his shoulders. You tried to ignore the feeling of his toned abdomen up against you, pretend as if it didn’t spark something hot and inappropriate in you. And maybe it was just the way you were holding onto each other for dear life or the way your bodies seemed to mold together perfectly, wet and shivering, but something was drawing you towards his lips.

Mat wanted to stay like this forever, locked in a right embrace with you, floating weightlessly out in the ocean. You had your arms in a vice grip around him, pressing your wet chest against his. He knew you didn’t mean this in a sexy way and he definitely wasn’t supposed to be thinking like this, but damn- being almost naked and having your wet body, soft and smooth and warm, up against his- who wouldn’t be getting turned on? He was gonna savor it. But when he caught himself focusing on the way your lips were puckered into a little pout, he knew he had to put out the fire building up in his stomach.

“Your hair is a mess.” Mat reached a hand up and pushed aside the wet locks of hair that were sticking to your face, tucking them behind your ear delicately.

You splashed him with water, making sure to target his own hair. “Oh, I wonder who’s fault that is?”

“Woops.” Mat laughed again, squeezing you as he did so and moving around with you in his arms.

You continued to splash and swim and play with Mat until he seemed to finally be worn out, and the two of you decided to lay on your boards for a while to rest and dry off under the sun.

Mat was lying next to you on his own paddleboard, his dark hair air-drying all fluffy and haloing around his head, and arm thrown over his face to block out the sun. Seeing as his eyes were covered, you couldn’t help but glance over and check him out, watching his bare chest rise and fall with each breath. You let your gaze travel shamelessly down his golden, toned chest and ribs and abdomen to where that V shape was disappearing into his shorts, and you just knew your mind was going to wander to the immaculate layout of his stretched out body when you were alone in bed tonight.

God, he was so attractive.

This isn’t love, this isn’t even a crush, you had to tell yourself over and over. You’re just attracted to him, like millions of other girls out there. He’s attractive, he has charm and humor, and good looks, that doesn’t mean you love him. It was taking everything in you to hold yourself back from jumping into fantasies of the two of you together- you wanted to hold his hand, kiss him, hug him, cuddle him, call him “baby”. But that’s only because he’s hot, (Y/N). Really, why else would you think of these things? Maybe because he had always been the one you relied on to distract you, even when he wasn’t physically there. He cared about you, he always put you first, he remembered your summer together after ten years apart. And he took you away when your family became too much.

“Mat?” He hummed in response and looked over. “I’m sorry you have to deal with my family’s shit. We’re only a day in and they’re already fighting”

“It’s fine. I’m here to distract you from that, remember?”

“Thanks.” You went back to laying in silence and thinking. Thinking about how crazy it was to be here, to be with each other again. “You know, the only reason we ever met in the first place was because my parent’s marriage was falling apart.” You glanced over at Mat to find him propped up on one elbow, his toned upper body turned towards you. “I never would’ve approached you as a kid if I wasn’t just… so desperate for a friend. For anyone to hang out with.”

“Shit,” he sighed, pushing some hair back behind his ear. “I’m sorry we had to meet under such bad circumstances.”

“Don’t be. If my parents falling out of love caused me to meet you, I can deal with it.”

He laughed, “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m a star.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are, Maty.” He smiled at you and butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“Yeah, our story’s pretty great, don’t you think?” He sighed, soft and thoughtful as if he was contemplating something and flattened down onto his back again, crossing his arms behind his head. “It’s weird. We only reconnected last year but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Or for the past eleven years, at least.”

Your heart almost burst out of your chest with Mat’s words. Yeah, you did feel like you’ve known him all your life. You broke your eyes away from his and focused your gaze and the sky, finding it easier to spill your heart when you weren’t looking at him. “At that game, the night I found you, it was so crazy. When I heard your name I just… felt like it had to be you. I was trying to put the pieces together but I just couldn’t imagine that it was actually you. And my friend got me to look up some pictures, and I just… I can’t even describe how it felt.”

“It probably felt the same as when I saw you in the bar.” Mat couldn’t help but think back to that night. He had been at the bar, on his phone when some pretty girl caught his attention. “You really made it to the NHL, huh?” He didn’t know what this girl meant, and those words rang in his ears for a few long seconds, but there was something about her… the way she carried herself, the nervousness in her voice. Before he could figure it out though, she was rambling, how sorry she was, how he must not remember her, “the summer of ‘08?” And then he knew it was her.

“Did you recognize me?”

“Well…” Mat shrugged sheepishly. “Not at first, honestly. But I knew there was something familiar.”

“It was your smile that did it for me.”

“What?”

“I was looking through pictures, and I wasn’t sure if it was actually you or not. I mean, you’ve obviously changed since you were eleven years old. But when I saw a picture of you smiling, I knew. Your smile hasn’t changed a bit.” Mat’s heart pounded, ached, in his chest. Wow. He looked over again and caught your gaze, making note of your red cheeks.

God, he was so in love with you.

“Did you ever think about it, Mat?” Because hell, I thought about you constantly. “About that summer?”

“Of course I did. I mean, I did get a lot busier, but every now and then something would remind me. Summers weren’t the same after that.”

It was so strange to know that all these years you were thinking back to that childhood summer together, Mat Barzal had also been thinking about you. “You know, I was so scared to approach you. I’m glad I did. You’re just as cool as you were when we were children.”

“You’re pretty cool too.”

You laid in silence again, pleased with the little conversation you had just had, and stretched out in the sun, finally completely dry again. Mat watched as you stretched out, moving your hips a little bit and extending your legs, and had to look away to keep his composure. If only you knew what you could do to him.

“We should probably go get something for lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah, let’s head back.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of warm sunshine and joyous laughter and pictures of Mat- just Mat. Mat’s skin, his arm around your shoulder, his skin touching yours, his hair drying all fluffy and soft and dark in the sunlight. And as you flew down the empty road again, smoothies in your hand and greasy takeout food secured between you and Mat, you couldn’t help but take out your camera and snap some pictures of him sitting beside you, his hair blowing back and a smile on his face. You wanted to document this entire week. You wanted to remember this day forever.

Hours later, with full stomachs tired bodies and warm hearts, you settled back with Mat against the hood of the car as the sun began to set in the background. It was cooling off a bit, so he had thrown on his Hawaiian shirt again but opted to keep it unbuttoned. You sat next to him, fiddling with pieces of string and little shells that you were trying to make into a bracelet.

“Mat, if I made you a bracelet, would you wear it?”

He glanced up from his phone, where he was trying to take a photo of the moon beginning to rise over ocean, and let out a short laugh when he saw your work. “Of course.”

“Even after this week? When we’re back in New York?” He hesitated a moment and you laughed. “Come on, it’s not gonna look that bad.”

“No, but, I don’t know... You can’t just make me jewelry. People will think we’re dating or something.” As much as Mat wanted that to be a reality- as much as he wanted to wear that bracelet for you and hold you and kiss you and tell you how much he loved you and have you to himself- he knew it wouldn’t do him any good to constantly have a reminder on his wrist of how he fell in love with his best friend and couldn’t be with her.

“Friendship bracelets?”

Friendship. Friendship. But he pushed a smile onto his face. There’s no way he could say no to you. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Let me measure you then.” You leaned over, taking his wrist in your hands and wrapped the string around his wrist. Mat tried to ignore the way his heart jumped at just the feeling of your fingertips on his wrist. It wasn’t even romantic, it wasn’t even cute, but it was you, and you were touching him. Sometimes he hated his body, how it would react so strongly to the simplest things you did as if he was still a teenage boy in the midst of puberty who couldn’t control himself.

He watched, mesmerized out of the corner of his eye as you focused on braiding little shells onto the string, the ocean in front of them forgotten. You had no idea what you did to him. You got tired of working on the bracelet soon, setting it aside and laying back next to Mat, smiling up at the stars that were only beginning to peek out from the fading blue of the sky. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening- you were laying on the hood of a car next to your childhood best friend, the center of your attention, NHL All-Star Mathew Barzal. But none of the titles mattered when you were together. When you were together, he was just Mat. Your Mat.

“My friends can’t believe I’m on vacation with you right now.”

“Oh yeah? Am I the coolest person you’ve met on vacation?”

“I’d say yes, but I don’t want to inflate that ego of yours.” You knew he was joking, though. He wasn’t one to brag, or to boast about his accomplishments, which was refreshing to see in a professional athlete, and you weren’t expecting that when you first approached him. “Actually, I met a pretty cool guy here a few years ago. I was sixteen, and he could drive already. He might be the coolest guy I ever met.”

“Ooh, a summer romance. Sounds dreamy.” He couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy and sarcasm in his words.

“Shut up, Mat.” You laughed as he rolled his eyes next to you. "You know, I kinda wish we would've been older when we met. Like, in our teens."

“Oh yeah? Why?”

You could have told him. Told him you wanted to hold him, kiss him, lose yourself in him, and see what would’ve happened had you been teenagers that summer. But you shouldn’t. You couldn’t. “I don’t know. We would’ve had more freedom, I guess. We wouldn’t have to be hanging around our parents all the time. I just wonder what would’ve been different.”

There were a few silent moments while Mat processed what you said, gazing up at the stars above and thinking it over and over in his head. Was he overthinking? Fuck it, maybe he was, who cares? He rolled onto his side, propping himself up with an arm, the metal cool against his sun-warmed skin, and caught your gaze, searching, questions evident in his eyes. “I think I have a few ideas.” Before you could ask what he meant, he was leaning in. Your mind went hazy, unable to process the moment: your faces were close, much too close for friends, his fingers were grazing across your jaw and his lips looked so, so soft all of a sudden as he stayed there, inches from your face, waiting, your cheek encased in the warmth of his palm.

He was waiting on your cue. Waiting for you to do anything. Don’t leave me hangin’ here, babe.

You could practically hear your own heartbeat by the time you rolled onto your back. No, no, you read it all wrong. He’s not trying to kiss you. You were friends. He was leaning in to hear you better. Stupid hopeless romantic brain trying to find love where there is none. “Yeah, if we were older when we met, we would’ve at least tried to stay in touch with each other.”

“Yeah, we would’ve.” Mat rolled back over, staring up into the stars with burning cheeks and a pounding heart, hoping you didn’t realize what he was trying to do there. Rather have you unaware than rejecting him, right?

“Mat, remember when we used to mess with crabs?”

“And you were super scared of them?” He laughed as you shook your head, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping in. “Yeah, of course, I remember.”

“Wanna go recreate that memory?”

“Oh, for sure.”

So you headed down onto the beach, barefoot and way too close to each other, with nothing but your phones as flashlights in your hands.

The first time you did this together was 2008. You and Mat had snuck away from where your parents were talking together on the porch and made your way down to the beach quietly. “Shh, we can’t let them know we’re leaving.” He had whispered to you with a little smirk. You were both only ten or eleven, but already Mat had you wrapped around his finger. You followed him, holding his hand, as he led you down to the beach and announced you were going to look for crabs- the ones your parents had told you not to go near. And you looked and looked and looked, and soon you found one. It wasn’t impressive, but to your young minds, it was huge and dangerous.

You remember daring Mat to touch it, but as he got closer and closer you began worrying and begging him to stop, to the point of tears. “It’s fine” he convinced you “It’s really not that scary.” But as he approached it, it ran off in your direction, causing you to jump and screech in fear. That was the first time Mat had to console you, rushing to hush you before your parents came and found the two of you. He hugged you and promised to scare away the crabs. And that was the first time he hugged you.

The first of many.

“Woah, look at the size of this guy!” And now it was 2019, eleven years later, and Mat was the same, always there to console you and save you, even if he was the one to cause your distress. “I’m gonna touch him.”

“Mat, that’s a bad idea. What if you get pinched?”

“I won’t.”

“Famous last words, Mat…” Of course, the more you told him not to, the more he wanted to do it. Before you could stop him, he was already approaching it, crouching down and grabbing it between his fingers. “Mat! Don’t do that!”

He stood up with it in his hands, smirking and coming closer to you. The crab was flailing its big claw around and snapping, and you knew it would attack anything in reach. “Wanna touch him?”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“You sure?”

“Mat, if you bring that thing any closer to me I’m gonna punch you. Put it down!”

You saw the grin shit-eating grin on his face and rethought your words. Before you could clarify yourself, Mat was shrugging. “If you say so.” And the moment it was back in the sand, it was running towards you, and, though you tried to keep your composure in front of Mat, you couldn’t help but jump and squeal in fear. That had Mat bending over at the waist, cackling and wheezing at your reaction.

“Mat, shut up!” But the more flustered you got, the more he giggled.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’ll protect you from them!” And he pulled you into his side, his arm fitting perfectly around your waist, tucking you against him and holding you firm, his laughs vibrating through your body and making you smile once again.

“You’re a dick.” But the smile on your face said otherwise, and Mat knew.

“And you’re still scared of crabs.” He laughed again and poked your side, teasing, gentle. “Some things never change, huh?”

That’s true- you both knew it. Some things never change. Like how Mat still loved to tease and poke fun at you, after all these years. How he was still the one you fell on when you needed something. Or how he still wants nothing more than to help you and keep you safe. And you still had Mat wrapped around your finger.

But some things do change.

Standing here in Mat’s arms with his giggles washing over you, the moon rising above you over the ocean, you knew. Things had changed. You had grown, matured, and so had he. And so had your feelings.

You’re not just friends anymore.

[issamhysa]

Catboy! Ragnarssons: Beach Day

A/N: I had to. I really tried not to, but I just had to.

Tagging @piratecult​ cause this is for you! Surprise! I mean I told you about it so it’s not really a surprise but please just take this from me.

Literally as soon as your feet touch the sand, Hvitserk is barreling straight into the ocean

He pushes people out of his way, and you’re pretty sure he knocked a cone of ice cream out of the hands of a little girl in his excitement

And that’s only within the first minute or so

You manage to get an umbrella

Courtesy of Bjorn and Ivar staring at people until they move

After Ubbe is able to successfully wrangle Hvitserk out of the water, you line them up to slather sunscreen on them

You spend a full minute trying to get Hvitserk to stop fucking moving away from your hands because he thinks the lotion is really cold

Ubbe stays perfectly still while you do it, and scrunches up his nose when you put sunscreen lotion on his nose

Bjorn chooses to do it himself, really

And even though you know that grumbling little Ivar isn’t going to go into the water with you all, he still lets you slather sunscreen on him

When it comes to you; Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Ivar always argue over who gets to put sunscreen on your back

So while they’re bickering, Bjorn helps you out

Anyway, when you’re all ready, Ubbe picks you up, throws you over his shoulder, and bolts into the water

He gives you absolutely no time to get used to the temperature before he and Hvitserk toss you into the ocean

There goes your plan to keep your hair dry

You spend the first 5 minutes in the water hopping over the waves so you don’t swallow gallons of saltwater on accident

Bjorn’s kinda just looking on, making sure Hvitserk and Ubbe don’t get too rough and try to murder each other or something like that

But the second he looks away, they’re holding each other’s heads underwater to see who can hold their breath for longer

Or trying to climb onto each other’s shoulders to drown the other

It’s ridiculous

Ivar watches from his spot under the umbrella, absolutely vibing to your beach playlist

He doesn’t really like the beach

The sand is annoying, and he can’t really swim, and he absolutely DETESTS being wet

But he also dislikes being far from you, in case anything were to happen

So he’ll grab his swim float and join you for a little while

He’ll float alongside you in his little shark-mouth float

You can thank your best friend for getting it for him

He pretends to hate it, but if anybody but him touches it, he can and will drown the other person

After you and Bjorn swim around for a little while, Ivar floats a bit too far into the ocean and screams for his life and Ubbe and Hvitserk finish their little game of ninja, you all head to the shore for a bit to take a break

You all chill under the umbrella for a little bit

Ivar’s head is in your lap as you gently drag your fingers through his hair, and Bjorn is snacking on chips

While the three of you are relaxing, Ubbe and Hvitserk are roughhousing on the sand

They come back with their hair is sticking up in different directions and completely covered in sand

When it comes to dusting sand off, there are two types of people

There’s sweet, gentle Ubbe, who sits and does his best to brush it off

And there’s Hvitserk

He just violently shakes himself off

Which effectively covers you, Ivar, and Bjorn’s poor unsuspecting bag of chips before he can do anything about it

Needless to say, Bjorn chased Hvitserk around the beach for a solid 5 minutes while you, Ivar and Ubbe lounged under the umbrella

At one point, you decide to tan under the sun, and the boys join you

Ubbe and Ivar are successful, but poor Hvitserk only ends up a bit red in the face

As for Bjorn, he’s definitely sunburnt

And you better start mentally preparing yourself for when he starts complaining the next day

The boys go back to the water and you decide to stay under the umbrella for now

Hvitserk comes back a bit later with a whole fucking starfish in his hand

He’s really excited and keeps asking you if he can keep it

He’s only ever seen a starfish in Finding Nemo, so his knowledge on them is pretty limited

So he’s freaking out because it’s a freakin’ starfish!

Until it starts walking in his hands

Boy’s never shrieked any louder

You come to realize Hvitserk had NO idea starfish could walk

He would’ve dropped the poor creature, had it not been for you grabbing it before he did

You do your best to safely return it to the ocean while Hvitserk stays in his spot, frantically wiping his hands on his trunks to get rid of the feeling of the starfish’s little feet off his hands

Poor baby will never be the same again

You spend the rest of the evening walking along the shore, collecting sand dollars, seashells and hermit crab shells

Ubbe is chasing after live hermit crabs

It’s really not going so well

Every time he goes to snatch one up, it burrows under the sand

So Ubbe just ends up tripping and falling face-first into the sand

Then you have Hvitserk trying to pull a Baywatch and tripping over some child’s abandoned sandcastle because he wasn’t paying attention

Maybe you didn’t have the relaxing beach day you were hoping

But in the end, you did spend time with your boys

And that’s what matters

Definitely not that Ivar is chasing Hvitserk with a probably terrified starfish

[lampmeeting]

If you still need a toki/mags prompt, can I suggest 40 or 42? (I made this for you / is this ok?) I'd love to see anything anyone else picks instead too so don't worry about this one if there are others!

ohh thank you!! “is this ok?” grabbed at me immediately :O

this one gets a bit lewd and a little sad........sorry...(but it’s sweet!)

also post-doomstar, but maybe like 3 or 4 months after the other fic (sorry it’s mostly in magnus’ apartment again haha, the poor man doesn’t get out much)

=+=

A kiss on his way out the door became a regular occurrence. A quick press of lips, a soft sigh, a softer smile, and then Toki would head home. Magnus didn’t know what the fuck it meant, hadn’t really felt up to analyzing it yet. He just knew he liked it when it happened, and obviously it was something Toki wanted to do since he initiated every single time. Even so, once Magnus was left alone in his apartment, there would come that not-so-small voice in the back of his head screaming doubts at him, as it liked it do.

After what you’ve done, you don’t deserve this. Especially not from him.

The next time Toki flew over, Magnus had promised to take him to that really nice aquarium over in Scottsdale. Toki had been talking about it for weeks and texting him pictures from their website. “They gots the movings stairs with a fish tanks all arounds you!” And he was right, they did, and Toki dragged Magnus up and down that escalator at least a dozen times.

Well, maybe dragged was a strong word. Aggressively encouraged, perhaps. Magnus wasn’t really a fish guy, but he had to admit his heart swelled with affection as Toki stared up at the curved glass of the tunnel, pointing out fish as he saw them and tugging at Magnus’ arm.

“Looks at that ones! Oh oh! That ones! And those ones! Oh, wowee!”

The touch pools were Toki’s favorite, though. He flinched with a squeak each time he poked a grippy sea anemone, and he gazed with wonder at the scuttling underside of a horseshoe crab as one of the handlers showed it off to him and a bunch of gathered kids. He tried to get Magnus to pet the stringrays but every time one started to glide close Magnus lost his nerve and popped his hand out of the water to a chorus of children’s laughter. He really wasn’t a fish guy. Still, the brief humiliation seemed worth it if only to hear Toki’s laughter like music over the other voices.

After a visit to the gift shop, they rode the bus back to the Home for Wayward Musicians where Magnus was still set up. Things were...better, he supposed. The job was good. He wouldn’t say rewarding exactly, but it was whatever. And he wasn’t being kept tabs on so strictly anymore, had more freedoms. Still didn’t have a car, but Toki had convinced Offdensen to have a proper lock installed in the door and to remove the security cameras. Dude wasn’t even their manager anymore and he was still taking care of shit. Magnus understood that inability to walk away.

Once inside, Toki took a running dive onto the sofa, hugging his new stuffed whale, sprawled out on his back. “This was the best days evers!”

Magnus peered down at him, resting elbows on the back cushions, exhausted and achy in his chest, but content. “Glad you had fun, buddy.”

“And you hads fun, toos?”

He did, actually. “Yeah.”

Toki smiled, smooshing his cheek into the fuzzy whale. “That’s good to hears.”

Magnus realized he was smiling back and cleared his throat, ears warm. “You wanna get a pizza or something? I dunno about you, but that jellyfish funnel cake in the food court didn’t really do it for me.”

Toki’s eyes twinkled. “Yes please! Ooo!” He sat straight up. “Cans we gets that place whats has the reallies good, um, tir--tirs--um, tirmas--”

“Tiramisu? You mean Parlor?”

“Yeps!” Just as Magnus was about to fret about the cost, Toki added, “I wants to pays for it, toos.”

“What? No way, you’re visiting me. You’re not paying for dinner.” That hurt to say because Parlor was fucking expensive as hell, but it was the principle of the damn thing. He was trying to be a less shitty person, after all. And besides, Toki was only able to come see him every couple weeks, so in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t too terrible.

“But you pays for the aquariums,” Toki said. “And the bus. Ands my whale.”

Magnus felt like he was arguing over the check at the end of a date. No, no, honey, of course you’re not paying. Put your wallet away, this is my treat.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re my guest and I wasn’t raised in a fucking barn. I’ve got this, so don’t you even--uh, what’re you doing?” He almost laughed. “Are you texting right in the middle of me fucking talking to you?”

Toki was on his phone, tapping away with his thumbs, the whale nestled in his arms. His tongue poked out and Magnus fell silent, watching it play across his wet lips. Oh, that was...oh.

After a moment, Toki held up his screen with a smug grin. “Ha! Reads it and weeps!”

Magnus blinked hard to clear the daze from his head and squinted. Order Completed - Thank You! Oh, that crafty bastard had ordered the pizza online! “Hey, not cool, man. You can’t just do that!”

Toki sat there and giggled up at him. “But I dids it!”

The pizza came (Toki had picked Magnus’ favorite, the margherita, damn him) and they ate and watched Dirty Harry and had a few beers. Magnus was still feeling a little gripey about Toki getting the upper hand, but about halfway through the movie Toki finished off the last bite of his tiramisu and reclined into Magnus’ shoulder, and that improved his mood more than he wanted to admit.

“I likes this movie.”

“It’s a classic for a reason,” Magnus said, casually throwing his arm around the guy. Couch cuddles were a normal thing for them now--just something else he refused to think about too hard. It was enough to just enjoy it.

As he settled in a little closer, Toki made a small, relaxed sound in the back of his throat that could’ve easily doubled as a moan, and Magnus’ heart throbbed with a weird skip. His breath caught for a second and heat pooled heavy in his hips. Fuck, he was not doing this right now. He was too old to get hot and bothered just from the sound of someone’s voice. And it didn’t help that Toki kept shifting and rubbing up on him.

Thoughts racing, he traced fingers up and down Toki’s arm and tried to keep his breathing steady for the rest of the movie, barely noticing when Toki snickered at the tits in the topless bar or gasped as Harry dodged bullets fired through the roof of the school bus. When it ended Toki yawned into his whale and announced that he should probably have the jet brought around and start the long flight back home.

Magnus suddenly realized he didn’t want Toki to go at all. Sometimes he had thoughts like that, but never this strong. He wanted to hold Toki snug to him and tell him to call the jet off. He wanted to watch another movie. Play a fucking game. Talk. Anything to keep him in the apartment. But he didn’t say anything, just let Toki get up from his arms and stretch until his fit stomach peeked out between shirt and pants.

He averted his eyes, saw the whale still left on the couch. “You taking this guy?”

“Nopes, he can lives with you. He keeps you company whiles I’m gone so you don’ts gets lonely, okay?"

Magnus’ throat tightened just a bit. “Okay.”

They walked to the door and Toki grabbed him around the middle in a loose hug, grinning up at him. “It was goods to sees you, Magnus. You ams doins, um, reallies great, and I’ms, um.” The grin twitched a little and he went kinda pink high up on his cheekbones. “I’ms prouds of you. S-Sorries, that sounds silly, I thinks...”

“No,” Magnus said quickly, “it’s, uh. It’s fine. That’s good to hear, actually. You, uh--” He swallowed. “--you make it easier, y’know.”

Toki’s eyes went wide and round and looked like two twin aquariums in his head. “Toki...helps?”

“Well...yeah, of course you do, buddy. Of course you do.”

“Oh.” Toki trembled against him. “Ohh, wowee.” Then he craned his neck up and pushed his lips to Magnus’, kissing him firmly. He was delicious, tasting of rich coffee and sugary marscapone. Magnus savored it and waited for him to pull away like he usually did, but Toki twisted fingers in his shirt and moaned and didn’t let him go.

Holy shit, this was new.

And Magnus wanted it.

He reached to cup Toki’s jaw delicately with one hand, his other sliding down to hold him at the small of his back. Toki shuddered and his mouth fell open, deepening the kiss, and he forced Magnus backwards until they thudded into the wall.

“Oof--”

“Sorries.”

“S’fine.”

They continued their crushing kiss and Magnus drew Toki’s hips against his own. Toki gasped, rocked into him, and fuck the guy was already hard. All right, so this was certainly a thing that was happening.

Magnus slipped his hands under the hem of Toki’s shirt to grip at his waist, marveling as core muscles flexed and moved beneath his fingers. How was he in such good shape? What did he do? Magnus tried to think back to when he was that young, all the energy in the world, could get his dick up at the drop of a hat. Better times, man. Could’ve done without the raging smack habit, but, y’know, live and learn.

Fuck, Toki wasn’t slowing down. His breath was fast and needful as Magnus raked hands over him everywhere he could touch. “Magnus--” The kiss broke for a second, long enough for Toki’s pleas to leak out. “More--”

Magnus brushed lips teasingly along Toki’s jaw, his earlobe, down the length of his neck, earning a shaky “oh, fucks”. The earthy smell of the day’s sweat filled his nose, but also the distant scent of strawberries. God damn, was that his shampoo? It made his mouth water and his senses swoon. As he reached the base of his throat, Toki let his head tip back into Magnus’ waiting hand, surrendering to him with a shivering groan.

All right, now was Magnus was hard. He could get off just listening to this. But as he took a moment to adjust himself in his jeans, reality, unfortunately, caught up to him. Every doubt he’d been stuffing down, every nagging feeling that lingered in the wake of Toki’s goodbye kisses, they crowded in on him now and demanded to be dealt with. He pulled back and Toki rubbed bleary eyes, obviously confused.

“What’s wrongs?”

Magnus tried to steady his breath. He didn’t know how to explain himself. “Just, uh. I dunno, Toki. Is this...okay?”

Toki seemed to sober a bit at the question. “Is whats okay?”

“What we’re doing.”

“Magnus.” Toki heaved a frustrated sigh. “Is totallies normal for two mens to kiss each others and be--”

“I know that,” Magnus said, and he couldn’t help the slight laugh that huffed out of him. “I know that very well, trust me. No, I meant, like, us specifically. Is this okay for us.”

“I thinks sos. Why wouldn’ts it?”

“Because of, well--” Over Toki’s shirt, he pressed a palm to his back where he knew the knife scar still marked his skin. “This.”

Toki had shown him the scar a few months ago, was almost excited to. He’d said the lights had made him heal faster and better than he should’ve, and the scar was only barely raised and felt smooth to the touch. Magnus still didn’t know what he thought about lights and gods and prophecies. It all felt so far away from him, and when he thought about what he had seen that night, the star and the bolts of white electricity, Toki felt far away too, even moreso than he was already.

“Oh,” said Toki. “Right. That.”

“Yeah.”

“I know we don’ts...talks about it very much,” Toki said, looking down and fiddling with the buttons on Magnus’ shirt. They really should talk about it more, Magnus resolved. It would be good for both of them. “But, um. Evens though you hurt me and dids bad things, ams givins you the second chance. I know you wasn’ts my friends before, but you ams my friends now. And you makes me happy, and I cares about you, so I’ms not gonna gives up on you.”

Magnus’ heart beat in his throat. That just might’ve been the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him. “I...care about you, too.” He tried to squeeze out more words, like thank you for one, but there was an honest to god possibility he’d start to choke up.

Toki seemed to understand his difficulty and smiled as he brought Magnus’ hand back to the curve of his cheek. “Kiss me agains.”

“If youre sure it’s okay.”

“Is more than okays.”

This time it was tender and unhurried, still just as heated but without the frantic urgency, very unlike any kiss Magnus has ever experienced. There was a love in it, something gentle, something that made him ache so sweetly inside and at the same time catch fire.

“I don’ts wants to go,” Toki sighed into his mouth.

“Then don’t go,” Magnus said, burning, their foreheads touching. “I’m so fucking tired of missing you when you’re gone. Stay with me tonight? Please?” To say please, to ask for such a thing aloud so blatantly, it was like cracking his chest open all over again, exposing his heart.

Toki nodded, rubbing their noses together, and he took Magnus by the wrists and drew him away from the door. “Lets me takes you to bed.”

“Toki...”

“Lets me takes care of you.”

Magnus allowed himself to be led. And in the comforting darkness of the bedroom, with his arms curled over Toki’s strong shoulders, he allowed himself to be loved.

[silver-wield]

FF7R: What if?

I’m back with more analysis!

So, I caught a youtube theory that said because the whispers are gone now, every single event they interferred in is retconned. I was gonna be like, that sounds interesting, but then they went off on this huge tangeant that ended in – you guessed it – Cloud dying 😒

Even though it literally contradicted their own evidence they'd stated earlier in the vid.

Sephiroth says he won't let Cloud die, but then we've got Cloud having seven seconds to make a choice and sacrifice himself for the greater good. Even though Sephiroth literally said he won't let Cloud die. This is why I don't listen to theory vids where they have people live or die because it ignores canon and the devs have said canon still counts, so until we get evidence otherwise I'm gonna go ahead and say Cloud lives and please stop trying to FF15 him because that is the absolute suckiest ending for a guy who absolutely has earned and deserves his best ending – which is ALIVE. He deserves to be alive!

(Not to mention the other theories starting that Sephiroth is the good guy now...like seriously? Stuff like this makes me want to cry. Sephiroth isn't good and Cloud doesn't deserve to die. How tf is this FF7? This is the worst kind of fan fiction trash and it belongs in a dumpster fire!)

And that's my tangeant lol

So, back to the whispers and the what if. If their influence is now undone and everything they interfered in is gone I wondered what that meant. So, Imma gonna follow the ones we know about and see what conclusion we get. I've got a chart of each appearance they make in Remake, so these are the actual events they interfered in.

Let's mosey!

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven’t played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it’s gonna be huge lol.

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that’s cool and we’ll agree to disagree.

You’re also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I’m grabbing them from Youtube and it’s frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Please check my master post to see if I've already covered your question, thanx

Recap time!

Chapter 2 is the first time we see the whispers and their purpose here is to keep Aerith from leaving the area before Cloud arrives – because they meet in the OG – they then later chase her away – also OG – leaving him to fight the security forces alone.

So, we can't actually see them yet, but their purpose at this point is to keep Aerith from leaving the area so she can have the whole flower conversation with Cloud.

What if?

If Aerith wasn't forced to remain there, then she'd have evacuated along with other residents and gone back to sector 5. She'd never meet Cloud, never agree to go back to Shinra and the story of FF7 wouldn't happen.

Aerith is about to stay and fight alongside Cloud until a whisper chases her away, allowing her to deliver her OG line of, “Nice meeting you.”

What if?

If Aerith stayed she'd have remained with Cloud until the station, where he'd been forced to get her onto the train with Avalanche. She'd have met them and Tifa much sooner, possibly joined their cause and potentially died in the pillar if she wasn't able to convince Tifa she could go along to Don Corneo's.

The other option is Cloud would've taken her back to sector 5 once they got to sector 7 and they'd have avoided the rooftop walk, he'd have gone back to sector 7 because that's where he lives and they wouldn't have met again.

Chapter 3 is their next appearance after Cloud gets a futuristic flash of the plate collapse. They appear to distract him and prevent him from questioning what he just saw.

What if?

Cloud could bring up the plate's structural integrity around Avalanche or the neighbourhood watch. They could increase patrols around that area and get a jump on Shinra's attempt to collapse it. The increased security could mean they're successful in stopping the plate from falling.

(Don't tell Cloud this, he'll drown in guilt forever lol)

Still in Chapter 3, during the scene at Seventh Heaven where Cloud isn't included in the next reactor mission. An intangible whisper floats near the ceiling, observing events.

What if?

Since this relates to Cloud being part of the reactor 5 mission, his not going would be catastrophic for those who went instead. Why? I'll get to that in a sec.

Near the end of Chapter 4, whispers appear in Cloud's room while he sleeps. Their purpose is to ensure Cloud remains asleep(?) while they incapacitate Jessie (see conclusion for my theory).

What if?

Well, they failed, since Cloud woke up anyway, but if he'd slept through the fighting then Jessie would still be injured and he'd be on for the mission.

So, we're at the reason for the whispers last two appearances. With Cloud off the reactor 5 mission, Jessie, Barret and Biggs are the go to team. That's not what's meant to happen.

What if?

Oh, I like this one. This one has a huge impact.

Jessie goes on the mission with Barret, leaving Tifa and Cloud behind. Biggs is waiting over by the reactor the same as before.

While on the train, the security measures activate the same as before. Since Cloud was the one who suggested jumping from the train, these two won't think of it. They'll fight the bots off until they arrive at the station where they're either captured by security forces or killed on the spot.

If by some chance one of them realises they need to get off right away and they jump the same as our triple A trio did, they'd likely die during the crab warden battle.

If by some miracle they get past all of that and complete the lighting the path section to get the cargo platform moving and make it into the reactor, they're still caught by Shinra and then executed because only Cloud knows how to dispose of the Air Buster's components.

So, to put it in simple terms: they die.

Neat huh?

The very end of Chapter 7 where Cloud is falling from the scaffold into sector 5's church (what religion is this church for anyway?). Whispers appear to slow his fall and keep him alive.

What if?

He dead lol

What else should I say? He fell 300m and he's not invincible.

In the sector 5 chuch after the Reno fight, Cloud is about to kill Reno and whispers appear to stop him and drag him and Aerith away.

What if?

Another fun one.

Reno dies, the security forces either die or retreat from Cloud. If Aerith isn't traumatised by witnessing a murder right in front of her, she and Cloud walk out of the church and he takes her home, instead of the detour over the rooftops and through the scrapyard (because they'd have taken less time walking along the main road and arrived well before Rude got there in the helicopter).

Rude would've gone to the church when Reno didn't answer, found him dead, come after Cloud for revenge, been killed or badly injured and Cloud would've fixed his reputation around that sector as a badass murderer who you don't mess with.

Elmyra would've sent him on his way because she doesn't want her baby hanging out with a killer and Cloud would've arrived back in sector 7 well before Tifa had the idea to go to Don Corneo. He either would've gone with her or they'd have stormed the mansion instead of the route that actually happened. They may have still been dropped into the sewers, but with a day in hand before the operation, would've arrived back in sector 7 before Shinra arrived and saved the pillar.

Whispers cover the church and block specific exits, leaving the route to the roof open. When Aerith falls (twice) they save her.

What if?

Cloud would take a different exit besides the roof, which would lead to a similar result as above where he avoids Rude at the station and has more time to get home instead of being forced to stay overnight because “it's getting late”. He'd help Avalanche save the plate and wouldn't have to let Tifa go to Don Corneo alone.

For Aerith, the whispers saving her mean she's uninjured and can cross the rooftops. The whispers also prevent Reno from taking her back to Shinra by force.

We don't see the whispers again until all the way over in chapter 12, where they appear to block Cloud, Tifa and Aerith from reaching the pillar.

What if?

Since Cloud is the only one to go up the pillar to start, we'd see him arrive in time to save Wedge and Biggs, then move up with them to save Jessie before reaching Barret.

If we include the previous what if with Reno being killed and Rude injured then the person piloting the helicopter won't know who Cloud is and won't be as vindictive in attacking him. This means the pipes won't fall from the platform and Tifa won't go up there.

Tifa and Aerith would go to 7th heaven to get Marlene and evacuate the sector, Tseng would still appear to threaten Aerith, but Tifa may well be strong enough to deal with him On the other hand, she might not and wind up dead.

If we discount the chapter 8 what if and Reno and Rude are fine, he and Rude have Cloud, Biggs and Wedge pinned down with no solution in sight until Tifa meets up with them (the pipes would still fall here). They'd move on to meet up with Jessie and Barret as a large group, where they'd still save the plate from falling and likely kill Reno and Rude with their larger number party.

Chapter 12, Whispers surround Rude as he tosses Tifa aside and pushes the plate separation button.

What if?

Cloud or Barret would've killed Rude and stopped the plate separating.

Chapter 12, Whispers surround Wedge, keeping him in place until a piece of the plate drops on him.

What if?

Wedge would escape with his cat out of sector 7 and our triple A team wouldn't find Deepground later on. (Kinda odd, seeing how they then drag Cloud away from discovering more about his past once they're there, but it looks like the whispers don't consider their own actions aside from ensuring the current OG canon event takes place. Wedge needed to die, so they dropped shit on him.)

Chapter 13, Whispers appear during Deepground when Cloud is about to remember the experiments carried out on him.

What if?

Cloud would remember his past much sooner, likely have a breakdown right then and there, which makes him incapable of rescuing Aerith. Tifa wouldn't have the benefit of the lifestream to deep dive into his subconscious and help him, so it would likely take a lot longer for him to repair his fractured psyche. Aerith would be experimented on by Hojo, forcibly impregnated and likely killed.

After their big interference in chapters 12 and 13, we don't see the whispers again until Chapter 16, where they appear to drag Hojo away before he can spill the beans to Cloud.

What if?

Cloud is told of his fake persona and recalls the true events of what happened to him. He likely has a mental breakdown, making him useless for the rest of the escape from the lab. The team gets caught and probably executed as an example of what happens to those who go against Shinra.

Aerith is recaptured and the experiments on her continue.

Chapter 17 and whispers surround Aerith, trying to prevent her revealing the truth about who their real enemy is and other events to come.

What if?

Aerith would reveal all about Sephiroth, his role in things and possibly other details that only she knows because she's got some weird meta!Aerith thing happening this time around. She'd be a far less mysterious character and the team would know exactly what they're facing instead of being left in the dark.

At the end of chapter 17, Sephiroth stabs Barret and kills him. Whispers immediately appear to bring him back to life.

What if?

Well, Barret's dead. That means there's no one to help Aerith and Red in the mech battle as they're escaping, meaning they'll either die or be recaptured.

If they escape still and get out of Midgar, not having Barret in the team means the events in Corel change and the possibility of them not getting out or losing the battle to Dyne becomes a possibility. If they're stuck in Corel prison forever, then they're stuck forever.

If they manage to escape, there's still a huge Barret shaped hole in the team formation and they're in trouble anytime they need a long range fighter, and while Barret does fly off the handle whenever he's ranting about something, he's also got a huge heart and offers a perspective that's different to the others. He holds Cloud and Tifa together when they lose focus and is pretty much the team dad. Without him around they're not as strong emotionally or morally.

Still chapter 17 and the whispers surround Cloud as he tries to go after what he thinks is Sephiroth, but is actually a cloaked figure carrying Jenova away.

What if?

I'm suspicious about the identity of #2 here. On the one hand, stopping him from taking Jenova away means she returns to her tank and the threat from her is gone, but on the other hand, what if the reason why they were stopping Cloud is because he knows #2?

In Crisis Core we learn that Cloud was kept in the #2 tank beside Zack, but he never got a number tattoed on his arm. Because of his S cells he won't degrade and turn into a remnant like the others, but (someone correct me if I'm wrong here) Zack has G cells and would degrade eventually. It's all well and good saying he died, but what if he didn't? Before the crisp packet I mean. What if his body was collected by Hojo, had further experiments done and given a tattoo, only because he doesn't give a fuck which one of them was in which tank, he tattoos the wrong number on Zack and so he turns into #2.

It seems far too simple the whispers appeared to stop Cloud from getting to Jenova when that's a remnant that with a number that has potential revelations that would fuck Cloud all the way up.

So, he stops the remnant, learns their identity and freaks tf out and becomes useless for the rest of the escape. They're likely captured by Rufus and executed. The world ends because no one can stop Sephiroth.

The whispers appear to stop Wedge and push him out of a window, restoring canon with his death.

What if?

Does anyone think it's strange they're so insistent that Wedge dies? Why? They've tried to kill him 3 times and he's only a minor character and his being alive wouldn't affect anything.

Unless it does.

Cait Sith theory anyone? If Wedge is somehow transferred into the moogle body that Cait Sith uses then him being dead would be very important because his consciousness would be needed to pilot the moogle. We've got a lot of cat references with Wedge and he's the kind of short, squat shape the moogle is, not to mention he's desperate to be relevant to everyone. So, maybe he doesn't talk when he's the moogle, but he's self aware enough that he wants to do his part for everyone. We only find out after he dies again that it's actually him. Cue tears from Barret.

Whispers cover the Shinra building, causing a delay in our heroes departure when they stop to look at it.

What if?

Well, there'd be no road battle and everyone would get out of town a lot sooner. Maybe the whispers did just wanna see a fight.

Honestly, this one stumps me. There's so many of them. It's like a miniature version of when they cover Midgar. So, what's happening inside the Shinra building that needs them to do this much to contain it? You gotta remember, we're not always getting all the info. There's other things happening besides with Cloud and the gang.

Hojo's inside, so is Rufus and the Turks. They're obviously trying to prevent a change or delay it enough that things continue regardless, but hiding the team from Rufus who has to send troops after them doesn't seem right. I'm betting something else happened here.

The whispers appear to hold up the collapsing roadway so our heroes escape.

What if?

Well, they dead, so this one's simple lol

The whispers in the past cover Midgar.

What if?

Now, if this is an all time consequential event. This one matters. Which makes me question what's happening in the Shinra building that matters.

The glittering result happens only in Zack's scenes and the lingering glitter is then seen in the present, which indicates some sort of ripple effect going out from that point in time.  So, let's track it.

Let's assume that Zack reaching Midgar is what's being prevented here and now he's gonna make it alive. Zack's death is the first jolt that brings Cloud back to himself enough to get to the city, where he then finds Tifa. If this doesn't happen because Zack is caring for Cloud, then he'll end up in sector 5 instead and still very sick. His recovery will be a lot slower and it'll be Zack who goes about with Aerith. Cloud might not recover at all by the end of the game since it's Tifa calling to him that wakes him up.

Avalanche would likely fail the first bombing mission, since they needed Cloud's expertise to get in and out. They might die in the attempt.

There's no plate fall because Avalanche failed and Shinra needed them to blame for it.

Aerith has no reason to go with the Turks and there's no rescue afterwards.

Sephiroth would still retrieve Jenova, but there'd be no one to chase after him because Zack wouldn't be inside the Shinra building because Aerith wouldn't.

Sephiroth would still need a reunion puppet to get the black materia though, so there might be several attempts before he succeeds, but I believe he would eventually even without Cloud. Meteor would be summoned and the world would end.

And that's why Zack has to die.

Whispers linger around several grunt soldiers as Zack prepares to fight.

What if?

Just confirming what I said above about Zack being a necessary key part in the machine that needs to be taken out if things are gonna continue along the ideal timeline where the planet doesn't end in a fiery ball of death and destruction.

Conclusion.

I'm not gonna add the giant whisper battle because that's obvious, but there's definitely some inconsistences happening with what the planet deems important. There's huge events that actually make a difference when you track them and then there's some that make you go “wtaf?”

Most of the whispers interfering is to keep people alive or ensure continuity. They don't get in the way otherwise.

Except one time.

Chapter 4, where you even hear a voice ??? saying to sleep and dream sweet dreams. That doesn't seem right.

I mean, it sounds like Sephiroth and if I was gonna make a reach, the whole dream imagery has been very clearly linked to Aerith in Remake, so is he saying to remain within the dream so that reality can't happen? If Sephiroth wanted to succeed he'd prefer Cloud to avoid reality right? He told him to run away, to live, to leave, to avoid things. He wants Cloud to choose not to fight.

He's a bad guy (no redemption bullshit please), but his motives are much more complicated this time round. He's been very closely linked with Aerith a few times. He touches her. She's the only person beside Cloud he touches. Sure, it's a vision, but the devs still had it happen. And Sephiroth's voice is heard coming from Aerith's direction at the end of the game.

It's obvious this Sephiroth isn't the same as the OG one, but how much is he aware of? I don't believe the whole time travel theory. I do believe the meta!theory, because Sephiroth could get info from the lifestream the same way Aerith did at the start when she's staring at the mako coming out of the pipe. He could still be OG Sephiroth using what he learned during his little dip to manipulate events in his favour. There doesn't have to be a need for time travel to do this. Aerith's changing stuff without being a time traveller ffs. People need to stop going “well it's Nomura” and acting like anything ott is a go.

What I'm getting at is people need to stop looking at this from a mile long distance and screaming time travel because that's all games and films have done lately and look at it using the actual evidence we've got in the game. What we got is the whispers had clear motives for what they did, except one time when a voice was heard. Yall need to look at this shit the devs are dropping in front of your noses because this is where the plot is happening.

[stellar-alley]

Of Scales and Sea Glass

•Chapter 4•

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: Richie literally finds out what it's like to be a fish out of water.)

Also shout out to @ambitiousskychild on tumblr for being my beta!

~

Eddie jolted upright in bed at the sound of screaming, Richie screaming.

“EDDIE!” Richie shouted, “EDDIE”.

Eddie threw the covers off of him and jumped out of bed. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he ran to the bathroom.

Someone’s in the house, someone’s found Richie, he got out of the tub somehow, his wounds opened up again, his scales fell off, he broke his glasses-

Eddie’s entire being froze at the sight of what was in his bathtub.

He has legs. HOLLY SHIT HE HAS LEGS, AND HE’s- oh god he’s naked, so naked…

“What. The. Fuck.” Eddie’s jaw was on the floor, eyes wide with shock.

“You can say that again! I’VE BEEN DECAPITATED!” Richie shouted, obviously confused and angry.

He was still in the tub, and his upper half hadn't changed, no that was the same…. But it was his lower half. Instead of a long blue tail that flopped over the edge, Richie had long pale legs. They were as smooth as a baby’s butt, with feet and toes and everything. Eddie’s gaze flickered over to his hands that were running up and down his new legs. The human noticed the lack of claws and webbing that once connected his fingers. And there were no scales whatsoever.

“Holly shit,” Eddie gapped, unable to form any other sentence that wasn’t filled with pure and utter shock. He felt like he was gonna pass out.

Richie has legs. Like- actual legs, no tail or scales, just legs, human legs.

“Eddie fucking Kaspbrak what the hell did you do to me?” He demanded, his eyes still as blue as ever, but now there was a fire that burned behind them.

“ME? How is this my fault?” Eddie demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Something inside him warmed at the continuation of their iconic banter.

“Who else could it have been? The damn tooth fairy?” Richie ran his hands through his hair, suddenly the anger replaced by fear. “What happened to me?” His voice grew quiet.

Eddie grabbed the shirt he’d gotten from Bev and tossed it at Richie. “Cover that up,” he gestured to his privates.

“EDDIE THIS IS SERIOUS!” Richie tried to sound serious but now he was kinda over being shocked. “How did this even happen…?” He closed his eyes and pushed his glasses up his face so he could rub his eyes.

Eddie began investigating the tub for some magical crab or weird potion, instead he found the red button had been pushed. “Fucking hell…” He turned to the mer, “Did you push the button after I explicitly told you not to?”.

Richie’s face went blank, “Maybe…”.

“You dumbass! That button drains the water from the tub! The lack of water must’ve caused all this,” Eddie vagley gestured to Richie’s new legs.

“HEY! How the hell was I supposed to know what’d happen? God- fuck can you just get me out of the damn tub? I don’t wanna be in here longer than I have to be.” Richie held his arms up and did the little grabby motion with his hands.

“You’re sooooo needy,” he dragged out the O in an over dramatic tone. “First put the fucking shirt on so I don’t have to keep staring at your junk,” Eddie ordered as he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked the other way to give Richie some privacy.

Richie sighed, “And you say I’m the dumbass. I’ve never worn a fucking shirt before!” Richie threw the shirt at Eddie’s head.

Eddie began to laugh as he yanked the shirt off his face, “Oh god. We’re so sad.” He shook his head.

Richie couldn’t help but join in, Eddie’s laugh was contagious. “Whatever, I’m sorry Spaghetti, just please help me,” Richie said, his tone was not serious but the message was.

Eddie got Richie to lift his arms over his head and the human pulled the shirt onto the mer. He fixed the arms as Richie looked down at the design and scoffed. After Eddie wrapped an arm around Richie and helped him up and scooped him out of the tub. Once Richie’s feet were flat on the bathroom floor, he leaned on Eddie and straightened up, standing tall. Eddie’s stomach dropped as he noticed the height Richie now had over him.

It didn’t take too long for Richie to catch on, and when he did, a devious smirk played over his lips. Looking down at Eddie he cooed, “Hey short stuff.”

“Hey chicken legs,” Eddie retorted, staring down at Richie’s bony legs.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Richie smiled at his human.

Sure it was a struggle but Eddie got Richie into his room and helped him into a pair of his bigger shorts. Even though they were big on Eddie, they were a little tight on Richie, but even if he did mind, he didn’t mention it. They were red and rode half way up the mer’s thighs. Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t stare at the view for the first few seconds when Richie initially put them on. But he snapped himself out of his little horny trance as he knew they both needed to eat.

Let’s just say that going down the stairs while supporting someone who’s taller than you, who’s also never walked before, is hard to say the least. But once they finally made it into the kitchen, Eddie sat Richie down in a chair and went to go start making food.

After brunch, Eddie was determined to help Richie learn to walk, or at least stand on his own. Since Eddie was not going to be able to withstand much more of all this physical labour, he could already feel his bones aching from the amount of lifting he’s been doing lately. So they started with the basics: standing.

Eddie helped Richie off the chair and held onto his hands (while ignoring the heat in his cheeks) as he let Richie find his balance (which he didn’t have a lot of). The mer wiggled and wobbeled before he was able to straighten his knees and tilt his chin up. Eddie took a step backwards, in hopes of getting Richie to follow, but instead it ruined his center of gravity and Richie began to fall forward.

The two landed on the kitchen floor with a big thump. They both moaned and groaned.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Richie mused from where he laid, on top of Eddie.

“Heh… Yeah,” Eddie agreed, but in all honesty he kinda liked the closeness (aside from the sprouting pain in his back). Richie was all warm and clingy, a new side he’s been able to experience since he’s gotten legs.

By the time dinner rolled around, Richie was able to safely say he could stand on his own, and walk slowly. This made it a hell of a lot easier on Eddie when it was time for them to head upstairs for bed. Instead of Richie leaning all of his weight on the shorter male, he simply kept one arm on the banister and the other around Eddie’s waist.

“Okay, so I’ll grab a pillow and a blanket and sleep for you for the tub-” Eddie began before he was interrupted by Richie.

“What? No way in hell am I going back to the tub,” Richie complained from where he stood in Eddie’s room, watching Eddie rifle through his closet.

“Fine. You take my bed while I go sleep on the couch in the living room,” Eddie offered, finally finding a spare blanket, he flung it at Richie.

The blanket covered Richie’s head, he yanked it off, messing up his hair (Eddie found it adorable). “What? Eddie, no. This is your house, you take the bed,” Richie insisted as he balled up the blanket in his hands.

“Whatever you say Trashmouth, you want the couch you get the couch-”

“No- holy shit you’re clueless. Eddie, sleep with me.”

Eddie stopped, dropping the pillow in his hands. “W-What?” His voice shook.

“There’s clearly enough space for both of us in your bed, so I don’t see why we can’t just fucking sleep togeher,” Richie wildly guestured to Eddie’s queen-sized bed.

Of course that’s what he meant. It’s not like he’d want to actually sleep with you…

“Oh! Um- If that’s alright with you,” Eddie scrambled to grab the pillow he dropped.

Richie scoffed, finding flustered Eddie cute. “I’m the one that offered.”

Eddie mentally slapped himself. “Yep, right, sorry,” he stumbled on his words.

I sound like fucking Bill.

With that the two boys got ready for bed, Richie simply staying in the clothes he’d been wearing as they were comfy and still clean. While Eddie scurried off to the bathroom to change into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a vintage Voltron shirt. The two shuffled into bed, Eddie stayed on the very edge as he worried he’d internally combust if he continued to be so close to Richie. While Richie tossed and turned in an attempt to find a good position.

“Goodnight Eddie,” Richie said before a yawn escaped his lips.

Eddie looked over at the beautiful boy in his bed and smiled to himself. “Goodnight Richie.”

~

Eddie opened his eyes, and he couldn’t see. The water that engulfed him blurred his vision. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he last took a breath. Maybe that’s why his lungs burned like the fires of hell. Suddenly he couldn’t stop himself, and he opened his mouth, determined to breath, but instead was met by a mouthful of cold, salty water.

“Eddie!” A distant voice called out to him.

Something glowed off in the distance, it came into view as Eddie’s vision began to haze. It wasn’t just a fish, it was a mermaid, his merman.

Richie.

“EDDIE!” The voice was now louder, closer.

Suddenly Eddie was gasping for air as someone shook his shoulders.

His vision cleared and he saw Richie leaning over him, eyes filled with concern. “Eddie! Hey, are you okay?” His voice trembled as he hesitated to let go.

Eddie had trouble forming words, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. Then, he became aware of the thick layer of sweat covering his body, and how oddly wet his face had become. He’d been crying. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. So instead of answering he simply wrapped his arms around Richie and buried his face into his neck.

Richie immitaly hugged Eddie back, rubbing soft circles into his back with one hand while the other held Eddie’s head as he softly sobbed. “Hey… It’s okay. I’m here now, you’re safe,” Riche cooed, softly stroking Eddie’s hair. The two had been sitting up for a while, so Richie slowly lowered them down to lie on their sides. The mer held his human and whispered sweet nothings to him until they both drifted off to sleep.

Eddie woke up to find an arm draped over his torso as he huddled close to Richie’s chest. As much as his thoughts told him to move, to go make breakfast, to not get attached because of the inevitable, he stayed there. He stayed in Richie’s arms and let the world turn around them.

“‘Morning Eds,” Richie croaked.

Eddie melted at the sound of Richie’s morning voice, low and gravely. He tensed, about to slither out of Richie’s grasp before he could let go, but instead of letting go, he held Eddie tighter. Eddie melted even further, thankful for the warmth the mer brought him.

“How was your sleep? Better?” Richie asked, running his hand through Eddie’s messy morning hair.

“Better” Eddie confirmed.

Eddie was a bit distant for the next couple of days. His eyes couldn’t properly focus on anything and his mind was all hazy. Richie noticed and tried to ask him about it but Eddie just disregarded him, saying he was fine even though Richie could tell he clearly wasn't.

Eddie might act oblivious but he knew well enough. He knew that everyday he spent with Richie would only make his feelings stronger, making it so much harder to let him go when the time came.

One night after dinner, Richie had fallen asleep on the couch. When he woke up again, the house was dark, and Eddie wasn't beside him.

“E-Eds?” Richie groaned as he slid his glasses on. He sat upright and looked around the silent house. “Eddie!” he called out again.

Carefully, Richie stood up from his seat on the couch and took a couple steps towards the kitchen. He was halfway there when a cool breeze blew past. He looked in the direction of the wind and saw the screen door was open. Richie let out a sad sigh. “Eddie…”. He grabbed a blanket from the couch, wrapped it around his shoulders and proceeded to shuffle towards the door.

Another gust of wind blew past as Richi stepped out onto the back patio, he shivered under the warm fabric of the blanket.

Eddie sat on the first step of the patio, knees pulled closed to his chest, his arms folded overtop and his head down. Neither of them spoke as Richie sat down beside him. He felt Richie scoot a little closer, their knees bumping against each other and their shoulders brushing each other.

Richie didn’t ask if Eddie was okay, because the answer was obvious, so instead he asked, “Are you cold?”

Eddie simply responded, “No”.

Richie huffed. “That’s such bullshit”.

In response Eddie let out a breath of air from his nose as his lips smiled a sad smile. Without another word, Richie got as close as he could, and wrapped a blanketed arm over Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie unwillingly melted into Richie’s touch, leaning a head against him.

“What’s been going on with you lately?” Richie rubbed Eddie’s arm.

Eddie didn’t meet Richie’s gaze, nor did he answer the question. Instead he looked out into the ocean that sat before them and asked, “Do you miss it?” his voice weak and distant.

“Yeah, Eddie, I do. I spent my entire life there.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “But that doesn't mean that’s where I wanna spend the rest of my life. It means that I like spending time here, here, on land, with you,” Richie elbowed Eddie slightly.

Eddie stiffened and pushed away from Richie so he could turn to look at him for the first time during their conversation.

“What does that even mean?” His face scrunched up in confusion.

“I mean what I said, Eddie! I like it here, I like you, I thought all the hints were kinda fucking obivious,” Richie turns red as he gushes.

Eddie’s breath hitched with the sudden wave of emotions that hit him. “Y-You like me…?” Eddie asked quietly.

“Yes, Eddie, I-I do. Like, a lot” Richie stumbled over his words as he began to worry that he said the wrong thing. “Sorry- I, um, that was stupid, I should’ve just kept my mouth shut-” Eddie shut him up by leaning in and kissing his lips.

The kiss lasted a couple of seconds, a spark ignited in the two as they pulled apart. “I like you too Rich, like, a lot,” Eddie admitted, quoting Richie.

Richie giggled like a little school girl, “Cool…” he blushed. “Can we uh- kiss again?” Richie requested sheepishly.

“I’d be pissed if we didn’t kiss again,” Eddie raised his eyebrows as Richie put a hand behind Eddie’s head and closed the distance between them.

This kiss was different from their first kiss, when Richie needed it purley to gather what he needed to be able to speak, but now there was more emotion in it. Something pure and raw that filled both of them with a warm feeling in their chests. Their lips moved insync, as if they were made for eachother, two puzzle pieces finally getting together.

Eddie broke away from Richie, his breath shaky as he spoke. “Richie we can’t do this. Y-You’re gonna leave one day-”

“One day,” Richie confirmed, “But not today, so please, can we just live in the moment? We don’t know when that day will come, but we’ll deal with it then. For now let’s just makeout, okay?”

Eddie thought about the hundreds of times he wished Richie would say that, and everytime he blocked the thought out, knowing one day Richie would leave. Today was not one of those days. For once, Eddie allowed himself to be happy and feel the emotions as they came. So that’s what they did, they made out.

~

“Okay we’ve gotta go shopping,” Eddie declared as he plopped down on his bed beside Richie, who was lying on his back, reading a comic book.

Richie dropped the comic onto his chest and looked over at his new boyfriend. “I have no clue what that is,” he said with a smile, excited.

“It’s when you go buy new clothes,” Eddie informed Richie as he laid down beside him.

“Why do you need new clothes?” Richie asked, turning onto his side to admire Eddie.

“Well we need to go shopping to get you some clothes. You can’t keep wearing my small clothes-”

“But I like them, they smell like you,” Richie whined as Eddie turned over.

“Well that won’t be too hard to fix now will it?” Eddie smirked as he slid closer to Richie. “I was thinking, this could also be a good chance for you to meet my friends,” Eddie suggested, nervous of the answer he’ll receive. It’s been about 3 weeks since Richie first washed into Eddie’s pool and one week since Richie got his legs. Since then, the mer has actually gotten pretty good at walking. Maybe not the best at running and dodging obstacles, but baby steps. Sure he still leans on Eddie sometimes but that’s more because he’s clingy and adores his short human.

“Wait- serious?!” Riche perked up, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at Eddie, “That’d be so cool, I’ve been wanting to meet them for, like, ever,” Richie smiled.

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Yeah of course! Any friends of yours are friends of mine,” Richie smiled warmly, leaning down and giving Eddie a quick kiss.

~

The next day Eddie and Richie got ready and waited for Bill to come pick them up. Eddie wore a light blue tee he tucked into his jeans and he leant Richie another outfit of his, this time it was an old shirt his mom had bought from Freese’s that was too big on Eddie, yet it almost fit Richie like a crop top (and Eddie was loving it). Accompanied by a pair of old khaki shorts. The hardest part was when Eddie showed Richie what shoes were.

“Over my dead body,” Richie crossed his arms over his chest in protest.

“Well that can be arranged,” Eddie grumbled, jokingly.

Richie smirked and leaned down, wrapping an arm around Eddie and leaning his head on top of the short male’s. “What was that babe?”.

Eddie looked up at him. “You literally can’t go out without them.”

“I’ll wear them if I can be the small spoon tonight,” Richie stuck out his lower lip and widened his eyes, a face Eddie dubbed his sad puppy face.

“You’re so sad,” Eddie kissed him quickly before tossing the shoes at him.

It was a struggle but Eddie finally showed Richie how to tie his shoelaces. They both stood up at the sound of Bill honking his horn.

“Oh, it feels like my feet are in boxes,” Richie deadpanned as his knees wobbled again, just like they had when he first learned to walk. Immediately he stumbled, leaning on Eddie for support.

Eddie turned and looked at his boyfriend with concern. “You okay Rich?”

Richie nervously laughed and stood on his own, slowly finding his balance. “Yep! I’m all good.”

Eddie led Richie out and to Bill’s car, opened the back door, and slid in, beckoning for Richie to follow. Bev was already inside, she and Bill talking about something Georgie had done recently that resulted in him shooting milk from his nose.

“Eddie is this the dark and mysterious man you keep ditching us for?” Bev asked as she turned to face the two in the back seat.

Of course The Losers had picked up on Eddie’s constant disappearances, and Eddie couldn’t lie to save his life, so he admitted he met someone, an internet friend from out of state of course. He wanted to tell them the truth, he really did, but he didn’t feel right doing it without Richie beside him. So he did his best at lying, making up some elaborate story about how Richie was someone he’d met online and was moving to town and needed a place to stay. Also that he had social anxiety and needed time to settle in before he was ready to meet anyone. Eddie also sprinkled in the fact that said friend had some weird physical thing that meant he had trouble walking sometimes. Surprisingly, everyone bought it.

“Yep! Here he is, the elusive Richie,” Eddie laughed nervously.

Richie grinned and stuck his hand out. “Richie Tozier the honour is all mine.”

Bev reached out and shook his hand and Richie pulled her hand closer and kissed her knuckles, making her blush. Eddie couldn’t shake the twang of jealousy that shot through him.

“Beverly Marsh,” she introduced herself. “I’ve heard lots about you.”

“All terrible I assume?” Richie said in a british accent, he smirked and nudged Eddie.

Bev joined in, placing the back of her hand on her forehead. “Ah yes darling, terrible, absolutely wretched.” She swooned in a matching accent.

“I’m Bill,” the third male smiled warmly from the driver's seat.

Richie kept going, this time switching to a weatern accent. “Well howdy hey Big Bill. How’re you doing on this fine morn’?” The two shook hands.

“H-How’ve you been settling in?” Bill inquiries.

“Me? Oh I’m doin’ fine. Just livin’ my best life with my whittle Eddie.” He gave Eddie a peck on the cheek as Eddie stilled and Bev gasped.

“Eddie you didn’t tell me the site you met Richie on was a dating website?” Bev asks in shock at the sudden show of affection.

“N-No that’s not where we met-” Eddie started.

“What’s a dating webs-” Richie cut in.

“But YES! We’re dating” Eddie concluded, not wanting to dig himself into a hole or reveal too much about Richie.

“Wow E-Eddie didn’t think you were lo-looking for a relationship,” Bill winked at Eddie through the rearview mirror.

When the foursome arrived at the mall, Eddie jumped to get out of the car. He ran around to Richie’s side to help him out. Richie had never been in a car before, or in shoes. The last thing Eddie needed was for him to trip and fall flat on his face. As they walked towards the mall’s main entrance, Eddie kept a firm grasp on Richie’s hand. Yes he loved the physical affection but he was also determined to stay beside Richie so he didn’t get lost or kidnapped or something.

Let’s just say the mall blew Richie’s little fish brain. It was a little overwhelming. He almost fell over a couple of times, but he had Eddie to lean on.

As the four Losers walked into the main area of the mall, three of the four stiffened at the sound of a loud laughter that erupted from behind them. Richie almost kept walking until he felt Eddie’s hand tighten around his own. He stopped and looked around to see the other staring at something, someone.

“Well if it isn’t Derry’s resident Losers Club,” Henry Bowers called out as he and his goonies approached them.

“Fu-Fuck off Henry,” Bill hissed, steping infront of his friends in a defensive manner.

“Su-suck my d-dick Bu-Bu-Bill.” Henry’s friends laughed as he mocked Bill’s stutter.

Eddie looked up and shot Richie a worried glance.

Henry caught wind of their silent conversation and addressed it. “Well look at this, does little wheezy finally have a faggot boyfriend?”

Richie’s blood boiled at how much pleasure this brought the Bowers Gang. He drowned out their comments and focused on the drinks they held in their hands. Richie took a step back, pulling Eddie with him only moments before the drinks exploded, soaking the bullies in their sugary beverages.

The Losers didn’t wait to see Henry’s reaction as they used the explosion as a distraction to bolt from the bullies. Bill led the way with Bev in tow, Eddie pulled Richie along as they darted past stands and zig zagged between customers.

“That was amazing!” Eddie hollered, shooting Richie a proud grin as they finally slowed down.

They met up with the rest of The Losers Club at the food court.

Mike waved them down when he saw them enter. “Hey guys!” he greeted.

“Hey Mike,” Bill smiled and took the seat beside him.

Ben got up from his seat and offered it to Bev, she gave him a kiss on the cheek and took it, Ben stole a chair from the other table.

“Wait, where’s Stan?” Eddie questioned as he took a seat with Richie, across from Bill and Mike.

“He went to grab a smoothie,” Ben informed him.

“Okay I wanted to wait but guys, this is Richie, my uh-” Eddie hiestated, “boyfriend.”

“Hello,” Richie grinned and waved.

“Your what” Stan suddenly appeared behind Mike.

“Hey! Stanley’s here,” Eddie piped up.

“Yes, and he’s very curious. When did you two become an item? I thought you were online friends,” Stan handed Mike a smoothie and took the other seat beside him.

Richie opened his mouth to respond but Eddie spoke. “Yeah we’ve been online friends for a while, and when he came to stay with me, we realized we had feelings for eachother.” Eddie became tense, lying always made him nervous. Richie noticed and put a hand on his knee, relieving some of the stress. Eddie let out a breath.

The group went to various stores, Bev dragged them to makeup stores, Bill dragged them to bookstores, Mike (politely) dragged them to a kitchen appliance store (he likes cooking and needed a new whisk). Then they stopped in one of the big clothing stores and made a mutual agreement to go and look in their own sections as everyone had different styles.

For a change, Eddie let Richie pull him around as he wanted to let the mer choose his own clothes. After jokingly picking out a jockstrap and a D cup bra, he finally decided on a variety of Hawaiian shirts with loud prints, some shorts, a pair of jeans and an array of T shirts (Some plain, some graphic tees). Eddie showed him to the changing rooms and waited outside for Richie to change.

Richie carefully stripped and replayed the memories of Eddie getting dressed in hopes that he’d be able put everything on correctly. His first outfit was a Hawaiin shirt that was covered in pastel pink and blue flowers and a black muscle top, paired with a pair of black shorts. He stepped out of the changing room and shyly turned to Eddie who was now blushing at the sight of seeing Richie in something other than his own clothes.

“How do I look?” Richie asked, worried about the amount of colour.

“Richie you look really good,” Eddie smiled in approval.

Richie blushed but covered it up as he struck a pose, stroked his thigh and asked, “You like what you see?” He wiggle his eyebrows seductively.

Eddie covered his face with his hand, now red as a tomato and sighed. “You’re so weird.”

After a long Richie Tozier exclusive fashion show, he decided on the items he wanted to buy. He went back into the changerooms and put his normal clothes back on. When it came time to put his shoes on, he took a seat on the bench in the corner of the room and mindlessly itched his ankle. Something felt off.

Glancing down, Richie’s entire being froze at what he saw. A small patch of skin around his ankle had become tough, hard, and almost blue. Richie snapped his eyes shut. This cannot be happening. His breath hitched as he carefully traced the rough area with his fingers. If he focused hard enough he could feel the vague outline of scales.

He moved the hand from his ankle and raked it through his hair. He could feel tears biting at his eyes as he grimaced. “Fuck,” he weekly whispered.

“E-Eddie?” Richie quietly called out from the changeroom.

“Yeah, Rich, everything alright?” Eddie asked from outside the door.

Richie exhaled and asked Eddie to assist him with his shoes. Eddie wasted no time and slipped inside and did Richie’s shoes. Once they were both up and on their feet, Richie wrapped Eddie in a hug.

“What’s this for?” Eddie asked.

“I… I just really like you,” Richie breathed. One hand on Eddie’s neck while the other was in his hair, he held him tightly, as if he were about to pop a tail and get swept off by the tide.

“I really like you too Chee,” Eddie knew what he’d done the moment the word left his mouth.

Richie stopped and slowly, dramatically pulled away from Eddie, holding his shoulders tight. “D-Did my Eddie Spaghetti just create a nickname for me?” he gasped joyfully. He released Eddie’s shoulders and looked to the ceiling, fanning his eyes as if he was about to cry. “looks like miracles are real.”

“Oh god,” Eddie groaned as he hid his face in between Richie’s neck and his shoulder.

“Say it again! Say it again!” Richie begged as he pulled Eddie away so he could look at his face.

Eddie let the moment last, anticipation rising before letting out a soft. “Chee.” He watched his boyfriend literally melt at the words.

Richie leaned down and kissed Eddie, and in that moment there was nowhere else they would have rather been.

Word Count: 4995

Aw there's so much tooth-rotting fluff in this chapter I think I need to go to the dentist. LOL I'm a comedic god, I know. I hope that y'all enjoyed this chapter and are excited to see what happens next with Richie and that little patch of scales... Anyways until next time, So Long and Goodnight.  

~

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier @ghostnebula @bellarosewrites @s-s-georgie @lermanslogan @iamcupcakefrosting @madidraw @gazebobullshit @thoughtfullyyoungduck @aangzukos @ambitiousskychild @reddieonwheels @breadheadscorpius @opinions-you-didnt-ask-for @faz-se

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

[ends-of-the-wayward-storm]

KH OC Week 2020–Day 6: Life’s Perks

Nothing Beats Homemade

[This time I had a plan! Partially. I got the gist of it before filling in the finer details. Anyway this was actually kinda cute to write, but it’s a bit long, I think. Got to practice more with writing some characters which is always nice. :) Hope you enjoy!] @khoc-week

————

“Here you go.”

Seifer frowned as he took the letter from Erica. “At least this was on time.”

“Mail comin’ in late’s the worst, y’know?” Rai commented.

“That it?”

“Looks like it,” Erica replied, giving her messenger bag one last search. “Hope you have a good day!”

“We’ll see about that.”

Erica briefly frowned before setting her skateboard down and heading off. That was the last piece of mail for today, which meant the weekend was officially hers. She wondered what they’d be able to do this time. Last week, Ax—Lea decided to try his hand at skateboarding. He thought he’d be a pro at it since he considered himself pretty good with balance.

That is until he crashed into someone with a large bag of groceries. Needless to say getting the eggs and ice cream out of his hair took way too long for his liking.

Approaching the post office, Erica slowed down to pick up her skateboard. When she pushed open the door, a little bell rang from above it, alerting a woman with brown hair picked up in a bun.

“Any issues today?” she asked.

“Nope! Everyone got their mail,” Erica replied.

“That’s good to hear.”

Erica hung her bag up just as her Gummiphone buzzed. Fishing it out of her pocket, she felt it buzz a few more times as messages from her friends kept popping up.

“Plans for the weekend?”

“Looks like it.”

“Then I hope you have a good weekend.”

“You too!” Erica gave the woman a wave before exiting the post office and leaning against a pole.

—Pence: Hey Erica! We’re headed to the Bistro for lunch tomorrow. Wanna come with us?

Ooh that sounded fun!

~~Sure!

—Olette: This would be your first time at the Bistro, right?

—Roxas: I think so.

—Olette: It’s amazing! You won’t want to eat anywhere else.

—Lea: Sounds like it’s the best in town.

—Hayner: Sure is.

Erica laughed to herself before tucking her Gummiphone away. Setting her skateboard down again, she set a course for the train station to head home.

————

The next day, Erica was quickly making her way over to the Bistro. She hoped she wasn’t too late. The train was having some minor technical difficulties, but luckily they were able to fix them.

Up ahead, a boy with a sort of wizard’s hat was walking down the street.

“Hi Vivi!” Erica said.

“Hello,” he replied just before she passed him.

After a few more moments the Bistro was in sight, and the rest of her friends were by the steps leading down to it. But what was strange is that they all looked disappointed.

“I’m here!” Erica announced.

“Oh. Hey,” Hayner said dejectedly.

She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“We just found out the Bistro’s closed for renovations,” Pence replied.

“Oh. . . .”

“Seems we’ll have to find another place for lunch,” Isa said.

“I guess. . . .” Hayner pouted.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to think of something,” Naminé said.

Roxas glanced to the ground in thought for a few seconds. “Maybe we could make something.”

“What would we make?” Xion asked.

“Good question,” Lea commented. “Any ideas?”

Pence hummed. “My dad makes a really mean quiche. Maybe we could try that?”

“Quiche?” Xion repeated.

“It’s kinda like a pie but without the sugar and sweet stuff.”

“Can’t be that hard, can it?” Lea said.

“You said that about the skateboard,” Roxas teased, leaving the redhead spluttering for a comeback.

“A-anyway, whaddowe need to get?”

“I think I have what we need over at my place,” Pence said.

“That makes things easier.”

So the group followed Pence over to his house in hopes of saving their lunch plans.

“I was so looking forward to that crab biscuit thing,” Hayner complained.

“Crab bisque,” Isa corrected.

“Yeah whatever. Point is I’m not getting it.”

“Hayner,” Olette warned.

“I think it might be fun trying to make something,” Erica said, getting a nod from Naminé.

“Besides, you’ve had Pence’s dad’s quiche before.”

“I know,” Hayner moaned.

The group finally approached Pence’s humble abode, and he dug around in his pockets before pulling out a key. “My parents aren’t home but they know I have friends over sometimes.”

Inside was your average but quite cozy home, and there was a very nice vase of flowers on the kitchen counter.

“Nice place,” Lea said.

“Thanks!” Pence said. “Make yourselves at home. Oh, make sure to leave your shoes by the door.” After doing that himself, he began to search his kitchen for the needed ingredients. “Let’s see. . . . Eggs, check, pie crusts, check. . . .” He muttered a few more ingredients before stopping. “Aw man!”

“What’s wrong?” Naminé asked.

“There’s no ham!”

“Can we use something else instead?” Erica asked.

“I’m pretty sure we could, but my dad’s recipe’s the only quiche recipe I know.”

“Maybe we could make something else?” Xion suggested.

“What about pizza?” Olette said.

“Give me oooone second.” Pence scouted the fridge and cabinets. “Yep! We’re good to go!”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Hayner said.

As Pence grabbed the ingredients, the others went to wash up. “Anyone like pepperoni?”

“I do!”

“Sure,” Lea replied.

Once everyone gathered in the kitchen, preparations began. Two pizza crusts were placed onto baking sheets and pans, and the oven was set to preheat.

“I figured we’d cheat a little bit with the crusts since someone’s hungry,” Pence said, earning a look from Hayner.

“There’s always next time,” Isa said. “Assuming Hayner won’t object to it.”

“Hey!” Hayner snapped.

“Okay. Roxas you’re in charge of putting the oil on the cheese pizza, and Xion can do the other pizza,” Pence said. “Make sure not to put too much.”

“Got it,” Roxas said, and the group fell into a comfortable silence for a bit. “I wonder what they’re doing renovations for.”

“Could be technical stuff,” Lea said.

“Or they could be fixing other things,” Erica added.

“Maybe. . . .” Roxas inspected his pizza after a couple moments. “Is this enough?”

“Yup,” Pence said.

“What about mine?” Xion asked.

“Perfect. Now we’re going to do the same thing with the pizza sauce.”

Naminé watched Roxas and Xion thoughtfully. “It kind of looks like you’re painting something.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Erica said.

It didn’t take too long for the sauce and the toppings to be put on. And once the pizzas were seasoned, they were placed into the oven.

“And now we wait,” Pence said as he set the dial timer.

“So, what do we do until then?” Erica asked.

“We could play a game,” Olette said.

“What about cards?” At that, the former Organization members exchanged brief looks.

“I think I have some in my room,” Pence said before heading down a hall. A few moments later, he came back with a deck of cards. “Go Fish seems like a good one to start with.”

“Someone we knew was an expert at card games,” Isa said.

“Yeah. So much of an expert it wasn’t even fair,” Lea remarked.

“I won a few games,” Roxas said.

“Me too,” Xion added.

“I guess you just had terrible luck,” Isa said.

Lea sighed. “I just don’t get a break around here, do I?”

The group laughed at his expense, which ultimately tugged a smile out of Lea.

Erica studied the hand she was dealt. “So uh, who goes first?”

“I think Isa’s supposed to go first,” Hayner said.

“All right.” Isa eyed his cards. “Any 2’s?”

“Aw man!” Hayner forked over two of them, and the blue-haired man couldn’t help smirking.

The group managed to make a full circle at least once, and already Naminé seemed to be taking first place with Isa not too far behind. Once they got to Erica a second time, the timer buzzed, startling Xion.

“I’ll get the plates!” Olette said, leading the others to set their cards down as the pizzas were carefully taken out.

“That smells really good,” Erica said.

“Right?” Pence agreed.

“Hey do you still have that lemonade from yesterday?” Hayner asked.

“Think so.” Pence served everyone their slices as the lemonade was poured out. “And lunch is served!”

“Thank you,” Naminé said.

“No problem.”

Isa took a bite before a small smirk made its way through. “Huh. Not bad.”

“Nothing beats homemade!”

“Oh, wait wait! Let’s get a picture!” Olette said. Everyone went behind the counter as they tried to squeeze into frame.

Roxas briefly bumped into Naminé. “S-sorry.”

“It’s all right, Roxas,” the blonde said.

“Little to the left, Hayner,” Olette said as Erica blew a stray curl out of her face. “Um Lea could you bend down a bit? You too, Isa.”

“How ‘bout I take the picture?” Lea suggested.

“That might be a better idea.” Olette handed her device to him.

“I think you still need to bend down,” Pence said.

“Maybe put it higher?” Naminé said.

Lea raised the device, and everyone managed to fit into the soon-to-be picture. “Uh which button are you supposed to press again?”

“I think the red one?” Erica guessed.

Xion squinted at tiny numbers counting up on the screen. “What are those numbers there?”

“I didn’t do it,” Lea said instantly.

“It’s been recording this whole time?!” Pence exclaimed.

“Oops,” Olette said. “Um push the red button.”

Lea did as told, and the numbers stopped counting. “All right now what?”

“Press the button next to the red one. Now everyone say cheese!”

“Cheese!” mostly everyone said before the picture was taken.

“Nice photo!”

As everyone continued with their meal, Roxas kept occasionally glancing to the pepperoni pizza.

“Can I try that?” he finally asked.

“Oh sure!” Pence gave Roxas a slice, and Roxas took a bite. But after a few seconds, he let out a cough.

“That’s . . . really strong pepperoni.”

“Really? Never really noticed,” Lea said.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Isa said as Roxas debated on taking another bite or not.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, y’know.”

“Yeah. Not everyone likes pepperoni,” Hayner said. Roxas frowned, and Lea snatched the slice right off of Roxas’s plate.

“We should do this again some time,” Naminé said.

“This was pretty fun,” Erica agreed.

“How ‘bout tomorrow?” Olette said.

“I don’t see why not,” Isa said.

“Then it’s settled! Tomorrow it is.”

As Erica watched her friends discuss tomorrow’s lunch (which Pence promised would be his dad’s quiche), she smiled to herself. She was sure they still would’ve had this much fun if they had gone to the Bistro, but somehow having it just be them felt more special. I guess nothing really does beat homemade.

————

[resident-fungi-fren]

A Rose By Any Other Name

Chapter Summary: Janus learns how his absence affected the sides, and Logan likes flowers.

Ships: kinda hints at loceit and past intruceit.

Warnings: illness, breakdowns, flashbacks, (kinda) repression, its based off of dwit and pof, so keep that in mind...

Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Pardon me Logan, but may I have a word?”

Logan was in his room, reading a book about amphibians. Janus had come in, and was waiting in the doorway.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Go ahead, you may ask me.”

“I’m Thomas’s desire, and I know when he has a big desire, and recently he’s given up on one. It was a really big one too, something he wouldn’t easily give up on. What happened?”

He knew, of course, how the callback originally went. But he played a major role in the courtroom. How had his absence changed things?

“It’s a complicated issue Dee, one I’m not sure I can explain properly. It would be best if I showed you. Would you be adverse to a trip down the memory archives?”

Dee hadn’t ever gotten to go down the archives before, atleast, not with full access. He could steal snippets here and there, but full memories? He was curious now, what he would find.

“That sounds excellent Logan, would you be alright leaving now?”

The logical side rose from his seat, straightened his tie, and moved out the door past Janus, the side in question following quickly behind.

“After you’ve learned the way, you should have full access to the memories, since you’re a ‘light side’ as Roman puts it. Ah, here we are.” Logan had stopped in front of a door, labeled “MEMORY LANE.”

The hallway, or lane, was long and filled with seemingly endless rows of shelves, much like inside out. Instead of glowing spheres though, each memory was a flower. It was a haven of petals and sunshine, and Logan walked through the rows, carefully tending to each plant like a devoted gardener.

“It’s one of my roles to attend to the memories, and I will admit, I find it quite relaxing to tend to the plants. They need close care to stay in good condition. Weeding the plants helps to keep the memories accurate, and it prevents cognitive distortions. Watering them keeps them fresh, and makes it easier for Thomas to retrieve memories. The sunshine simply keeps them bright, and helps Thomas remember the details.”

“He really has a subconscious thing for flowers, huh?” The comment slipped out before Janus could think about it, and he quickly regretted it. Logan had turned back to face Janus, and his expression was openly curious, and Janus knew he wouldn’t be getting out of this one.

“What do you mean? Have you seen some other flower-based phenomena within Thomas’s psyche? To my knowledge, it was only the memories.”

Janus sighed, and praised whatever god was out there that he could still think on his feet. “If I tell you, would you promise not to tell the others?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “I will not disclose anything you share with me, unless it would be harmful to Thomas for it to remain secret.”

Well, he’d take what he could get. With another sigh, he rolled up the sleeve of his left wrist, exposing a few of his roses. In this light, he could now see what the dimness of his room hid, and the sunshine revealed the different hues of the roses. Some were a soft yellow, while others were tinted more orange. Even the reds had mixed shades, some being vibrant, while others were darker, a deep shade of crimson. There were even a few shades of coral and white in the mix. It was, for lack of a better word, beautiful.

Janus stared down at his arm, having pushed up his sleeve all the way to reveal the roses twining up his arm, entranced by blossoms. Logan too was staring, though his gaze was more calculating, and Janus realized he had to say something, before Logan took it upon himself to discover the meaning behind his markings.

“They’ve been there since I appeared, but they haven’t changed at all since then.” He felt the lie clog up his throat, and he turned away to cough up a couple petals into his hand, discarding them before Logan noticed. “I’m not sure what their purpose is though, I probably haven’t been around long enough.” There, that was close enough to the truth that it shouldn’t cost him a rose.

Logan seemed to accept that explanation, and with a reluctant promise to discuss the matter more later, he moved down the aisle, finally stopping at a row a little ways in.

This section was packed with flowers, too many for Janus to name. He saw roses and daffodils, holly and tansy. He recognized carnations, chrysanthemums, columbine, and hydrangeas. But even hidden among the hues of reds, purples, and yellows, he saw so many shapes and sizes of petals he wouldn’t know where to begin.

“This was a very emotionally charged event for Thomas, so there is more variety then you’d find in most memories. There is a total of 36 plants in this section, so I advise to get the gist of it, you look through the aloe, amaryllis, anemone, begonia, belladonna, black-eyed susan, carnations, columbine, crab blossom, hyacinth, hydrangea, hyssop, marigold, myrtle, roses, and tansy, to start. Simply sniff a blossom, and you’ll enter the memory, see it exactly how it happened.”

Well that wasn’t a lot to take in. But he still moved towards a flower, picking what he was pretty sure was a begonia, and took a deep whiff.

----------------flashback-----------------

Thomas burst in, yelling about his callback. Roman freaked out, and Patton was supportive, until he learned the date, nothing had changed there. This time though, “Foe-gan” didn’t appear, and there was no courtroom. Patton said it was wrong, and so Roman quietly gave up, pushing his dream behind him. Thomas never admitted he’d rather go to the callback, and that was that.

Until Remus came. Without Janus to rein him in, he’d gone off the deep end. It hurt to see him like that, and Janus felt the regret welling up inside him.

The darker twin was almost feral, tearing savagely into Thomas’s mind, bringing out everything Janus had worked to hide away, forcing Thomas to confront all his worst fears. It took all four of the light sides to rein him in, and they locked him in the subconscious, where he wouldn’t have nearly as much influence. Where he couldn’t hurt anyone but himself.

Thomas went to the wedding. That didn’t change. He came back though, and he snapped. All the stress, the anger he’d been repressing, Thomas had reached his boiling point.

Patton and Roman came in to defuse the situation, though that didn’t help much. Patton insisted that they had done the right thing, even if it didn’t feel right. Roman finally spoke up, saying that he wished they’d gone to the callback, and that maybe Patton wasn’t always right.

Logan came in then, saying that it was impossible for Patton to be correct 100% of the time, and that in this case, it was more likely then not that he’d made the wrong call. He pointed out how the callback had more to offer Thomas, and the huge decline his mental health had taken since choosing to go to the wedding. How even now, Thomas had gained no joy from the event.

Patton continued to insist that they’d done the right thing, that it had to be right, that it couldn’t have been a mistake because then he’d madeamistakeandhewaswronganditwasallwrongandwhatwasevenrightanymoreand-

Patton blew up, screaming and howling, holding his head as Lilypadton burst forth. Roman and Logan tried to calm him down, but Patton was gone, and he no longer knew what right and wrong were. He was being forced to re-examine everything he’d been taught, and this time Janus wasn’t there to help him through it.

Luckily someone else was. Virgil finally came in, and told Patton to breathe, to let Thomas breathe. The anxious was able to calm Morality down, and then explain that he was pushing Thomas too far, and that he needed to ease up. Thomas couldn’t keep going like this, giving every bit of himself to others, and Patton was finally able to see how he was hurting his host.

He apologized, and finally admitted that the wedding wasn’t the best choice, that maybe they should’ve gone to the callback, and explained the situation to Lee and Mary Lee.

Then it was Roman’s turn to be angry. Everything he had sacrificed was for nothing. His dream was about to come true, only for Patton to pull him back, and change his mind later? He was furious, that no one had listened before, that Patton hadn’t even given him a chance.

Janus heard Roman’s words echoing in his mind as the memory ended, harsh and broken. “You said you trusted me, I thought I meant more to you then that. Thomas, I thought I was your hero.”

------------------End Flashback------------

When Janus came too, he was holding an anemone, a flower he knew meant forsakenness. He wasn’t sure how to process what he’d learned, so instead he turned back to Logan, who’d been tending to the plants while Janus reminisced.

“What happened? After Roman left?” The logical side turned and faced Janus, placing his hands behind his back.

“Well, we made a plan to prioritize Thomas’s mental health in the future, and how to start putting him first. When we went to check on Roman, he said he needed some space, but after a few days he seemed to be back to his normal, extra, self. That was about two weeks before you appeared, so I supposed your existence is in response to Thomas deciding to start putting his desires first.”

Logan turned and gathered up his tools, before heading towards the exit. “I hope this was an enlightening experience for you Dee, now if you’ll excuse me, I have some more work to attend to in my room.” With that, he left, leaving Janus alone with the memories.

Knowing what he knew now, Janus had only one move in mind for the future. Whatever it took, he was going to find a way to see Remus again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

so this chapter kinda had a funky format, sorry bout that, but it was late

Taglist: @steampunk73

[iphoenixrising]

For 900 Followers! Dr!Tim: Arkham Breakout

So, there was once upon a time this Ask aaaaand then this Ask.  Then babe asked how things are going for a certain Dr. Drake, so...you know, it’s really a standard Wednesday when he’s literally caught in the middle of a massive Arkham breakout :D

**

Some day, he’s really going to have to reevaluate his life choices.

Volunteering for rounds at Arkham Asylum is definitely going to be on the list for review.

Sure, at the time, no one else from Mercy General was stepping up to volunteer (honestly, you’d have to be a patient here to willingly step up for this assignment. It’s fine, he’s been called worse).

Sure, he might have gotten friendly with some of the less insanely deranged inmates because really, considering how many times some of them had come through his ER to be patched up after a confrontation with one of the Bats, it was only a matter of time before they knew him by name.

Sure, he actually started to like wandering around the halls, talking with the inmates when they weren’t clutching stab wounds, contusions, and broken everything.

Sure, he might have been doing some side research on MacGregor's Syndrome (just some fun with genetics and incurable diseases), so the guards let him talk with Victor Fries a few times. And though short, their conversations were amazing, giving him a second thought about cryogenics.

Sure, maybe he enjoyed sitting outside Poison Ivy’s cell to ask her questions about her publication on cellular regeneration in plant hybrids.

(He brought her a sad, droopy orchid in thanks. She was actually smiling when he left, so he’s already got a resource when he needs it.)

Sure, he didn’t think it was dangerous enough to mention it to Dick or Jay.

The sounds through the Bluetooth in his ear, the lowly muttered curses from the Red Hood, the muffled boot falls, the rev of a massive engine, all of it is soothing in the fact they’re on the way to help him out here. Ass-kicking vigilantes for the win. But, still.

He’s well aware there’s going to be some conversations about why the hell he’s in Arkham in the first place once this is all over.

None if it makes him feel any better about the current sitch, not when the Joker, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, the Clock King, and Poison Ivy are moving through Arkham Asylum’s cafeteria, looking like a whole lot of shit has hit the proverbial fan in the works.

How do I keep getting myself in these situations? Is the real question here.

But Dr. Drake just focuses on the emergency at hand, fumbling through his doctor’s bag for more gauze with one bloody glove since what he’s pressing against the awkward stab in Jim Newman’s belly is already saturated, and his other hand is in mid-stitch.

He gives a customary glance to where the Mad Hatter is rolling around on the floor after someone took out his face with one of the trays.  

The mashed potato mess is going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up later. Tim is pretty sure the perpetrator is one of the Hatter’s previously employed thugs, probably pissed off his 401-K got cancelled when the last heist didn’t really pan out.

Really, bad guys don’t have good medical insurance. Shouldn’t that just be, you know, a requirement?

He stays hiding behind his circle of protectors with the snatch-and-stich, most of whom are still tensely watching the progression of the Rogue Gallery through the general population, probably wondering if even one of those crazy fucks has some kind of mind-altering drug, high-test explosive, or some other painful way to die hiding in their jumpsuits.

Tim tries to make it fast, feels the pressure of the situation just by glancing down at Jim’s terrified eyes rolling back while he gets his side sewn back together without general anesthesia. It probably beats bleeding out all over the floor, but Tim knows that’s little consolation. At least the scar won’t be too bad.

(Probably.)

The guard with the nasal fracture in the circle with them is crouching low, fingering his side arm, looking pretty on the edge of terrified himself at the group of other guards with their hands up, prodded in the back with their own guns by some inmates that have obviously chosen crazy to side with.

Perfect.

They’re probably all going to die.

“Well, well, boys. We have a golden opportunity here,” the Clown Prince of Crime chorts with his sickening smile, makes Tim literally cringe with two more to go.

Even if his hands are shaking and the comm in his ear blanks out because they must be on the way (please, God, let them be on the way), Tim is quiet about it when he presses a fresh gauze pad from the already opened package and tapes that sucker in place without drawing too much attention to himself.

Mike Monohan, an inmate in his circle of protectors, plays a mean game of Uno, and flicks his fist open to a flat hand, the international sign for stay back and shut up.

Staying back and shutting the hell up it is.

“We could have so much fun now that we have the Warden here with us,” the Joker is saying, gesturing to the narrow-eyed Warden thrown down on the floor, right on top that wasted pasta salad.

While the rest of the formerly-fighting, raging inmates are wary and listening, Tim crab-walks back, finger over his mouth aimed at Jim. Sliding his arms under the inmate’s, he slowly, quietly, starts pulling his patient back in short bursts, trying to get them under a table without catching anyone’s eyes.

Dr. Crane has found his mask, is pacing around the frozen inmates and guards with the creepy mask, and the Clock King is standing behind the Joker like some kind of Enforcer.

Dr. Fries is leaning against the wall in his suit, the freeze gun holstered.

Dr. Isley is close to him, the two of them talking low whenever the Joker’s back is turned.

Harvey Dent shoves the Warden down on the floor, gives him a very pointed No moving, or it’s curtains for you.

Shauna Belzer waits serenely behind the Joker, the sock puppet on her hand snickering, eyeing the inmates over his shoulder.

Temple Fugate is tapping his foot impatiently, the glint by his right side is a pocket watch.

The inmate’s face is almost white with the effort to slide under the heavy table, even with Tim to help push him under.

“Fun, boss?” One of the inmates eagerly pushes through the frozen crowd, “is it the kinda fun what might break us outta here?”

“Chucko!” The Clown seems happy to see his previous henchmen, and from his point crouching by the edge of the table, Tim can see that sick smile gets wider. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hiya, boss,” the orange-clad henchmen seems just as happy to see the villain, “M’ sorry Mister Joker, but the cops took away my mask.”

“That’s all right, Chucko! The Gotham City Police never did have much of a sense of humor, but we’re all going to have a little fun before we break out of here anyway, huh huh huh.” It’s kind of sick how the Joker pats the henchmen on top the head like a dog, even worse considering the henchmen grins dopily back.

“As long as we stay on our time table,” Fugate interjects, “we have approximately one hour and thirty-seven minutes before the next shift arrives. Less if anyone makes it to the control room and radios for help. The, we will have Police and Special Forces descend upon us. Not to mention the Bat and his brats.”

“Hu-hu-hu, I guess you’ll have to keep an eye on the time, then, won’t you, Tempy?”

The Ventriloquists’ sock scrunches up, “we need to be out of here as soon as possible, Clown. I have a very important person to pick-up out of a locker in the bus station.” Which explains the sock instead of the creepy puppet, Ferdie.

Two-Face sneers at the circle of inmates effectively shielding the shaky doctor from first glance, turns to look at the gathering of other super villains, “I want out of this shit-show, Joker. I don’t get out, you are gonna have a bad fucking time on the inside. Any questions?”

But unruffled as ever, the Clown Prince of Crime just smiles at the group, eyes taking in the terror from half of the inmates, “of course, of course, Harv. We all want out, don’t we? And we’re going to do just that!...After we have play a little game with the Warden and his numbskull guards. Won’t that be worth sticking around?”

A hand tugs at Dr. Drake’s scrubs, and he glances down at the injured inmate, his eyes probably wide and terrified as he feels hearing the Joker talk about shit like games–

(Not fun for the whole family. Really, just your faces getting cut off, no big deal.)

“– gotta get to the infirmary and hide,” Jim hisses up at him, “who knows what they’ll do to ya. All of ‘em are nuts.”

“I can’t just leave,” he whispers back, eyes for the real problems here.

“Doc, there’s nothin’ you can do against these guys. They’re the real deal, and they will straight up murder you. I work for Two-Face, and you don’t wanna dick around with him.”

He’s listening, but his eyes are all for Fugate helping Jervis Tetch to his feet, trying to see if he’d broken his face in the first round of rioting–

And the idea, the plan, on how he could get everyone in this cafeteria out of this alive is right in his brain pan. Risky, but really the only shot he can think of.

“Stay down no matter what,” he tells Jim, pats the inmate’s hand gripping the hem of his scrub top, “I think I’ve got a way out of this.”

His legs shaking, knees knocking, Tim pulls away from Jim’s grip and takes a few steps closer to the inmates hiding him. He pockets the comm in his ear, leaving it on for when his vigilante boyfriends might actually make an appearance.

He takes a deep, trembly breath, watches intently as Fries walks over to look at what is obviously a very broken face.

“He probably has a nasal fracture,” Tim says loudly, cringing internally when everyone, everyone turns and stares right at him. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

Mike is glaring at him, eyes narrowing in displeasure that he gave himself away, but, you know, thwarting break-out attempts means he needs to be able to move around the baddies.

None of that stops the painful lurch in his chest when that sick grin is absurdly delighted.

“Oh! I guess that answers that question, doesn’t it?” The Joker throws his head back to start laughing.

“What question?” One of the inmates interrupts the maniacal peals of laughter, looking around confused.

The shiny barrel, one of the guard’s side pieces, goes off like a bomb exploding, and the body drops with a hard thud in the sudden silence.

“That’ll teach you. Never ruin the punchline!”

And that sickeningly delighted grin turns on him, the barrel with a whisp of smoke still curling from the barrel.

“And as for you, well, I suppose there is a doctor in the house!” The laughter is loud and manic, echoing off the walls, a cacophony of insanity.

But.

Tim sees Victor Fries straighten noticeably, and hopes that maybe he can play his cards right to avoid getting himself killed.

**

“This is really going to hurt. There might be pain meds in the Infirmary, but I have no idea. I’m not permanent staff here,” he tells Jervis Tetch and Temple Fugate, gloved up at, looking critically at the mess that is currently the Mad Hatter’s face. “We can also check if they have a portable X-Ray because you are seriously going to need it.”

Tim clicks off the penlight and palpates the swollen area gently, “from what I can tell without any secondary evidence to support it, is you have a crack in the maxillary, which is why your eye is almost swollen shut. Yes, the swelling will go down, but cracking a bone this close to your eye could mean shards are going to cause more problems than you would want to deal with if you like being able to see.”

And even if the Mad Hatter is–

One. Scary. Mind-Controlling. Psychopath.

– his squashed face is obviously panicked.

“If you are a doctor as you say, then you will fix it – or you shall pay.”

“Mr. Tetch, I don’t know if Arkham is even equipped to do major surgery. Without the right tools, I could run the risk of permanently blinding you.”

He finally releases the swollen area, completely bullshitting with a straight face and intense eyes (he’s done more complex surgeries in a few back alleys and rooftops, but no one really needs to know those details), pointedly takes the villain’s pulse while glancing at his watch.

“Not to even mention your risk of infection here. Considering the number of organic material that could get into an incision on your face, it’s too much of a risk here at Arkham. There’s a reason why the Warden stopped allowing major surgery on inmates twenty years ago. One of them being nearly impossible to keep a sterile enough room in tact after the many escape attempts.”

Temple Fugate makes a strangled noise he covers up with a cough.

“Next issue is appropriate staffing. You’ve got RN’s, psychiatrists, one other medical doctor. But to be honest with you, Dr. Isley would be the best choice to keep you under during general anesthesia, taking her knowledge of chemicals into account, I mean. But, we run the risk of infection since her current state was caused by a combination of pesticides. That is not enough people to assist during major surgery and monitor your vitals while you’re under. If you code while you’re on my table, I don’t have enough qualified people to bring you back.”

While the Mad Hatter goes pale, blinking his good eye, Tim folds his arms over his chest and gives the villain his most sincere look.

“Your best bet to save vision in that eye is to take two inmates in an Ambulance and have them drop you at the hospital. They can say you got in a fight and the on-call here told them to get you to Gotham General immediately. Their OR has more state-of-the-art equipment than Mercy, and they could reconstruct your ethmoid flawlessly.”

He breaks a disposable ice pack and works it with his gloved hands, gently applies it to the area, and picks up the villain’s limp hand to hold it himself.

Jervis tries to slouch his eyebrows down, but flinches at the pain radiating from his injury, holds the ice pack tighter.

“After all those fights with the Bats, this certainly won’t be my last.” The neuroscientist mutters to himself, “Very well, Doctor, I’ll take my business into the city as you suggest, but don’t think this gets you any immunity from that pest.” And well meaning head nod to the Joker, gun still at his side while the Warden of Arkham is tied to a support pole in the center of the cafeteria.

“Perish the thought,” he closes up his doctor’s bag, giving the villain a wave before going back to where the inmates injured in the dinnertime scuffle were laid out on tables waiting for him. He figures it’s fine because he’s pretty sure he know how to handle that guy.

(Again.)

He leaves Fugate and Tetch to talk out the details, relieved neither of them realizing he dropped the tiny tracking device from his stethoscope in the band of Tetch’s hat when he turned the villain’s face to look closely at his injury.

He’s on his way to his next emergency because Jim is breathing hard and rapidly losing color, surrounded by four other inmates, but the dangerous gangster slash lawyer hovering by Jim’s hand is the real danger, not the muck they call potato salad still painting the walls.

“All right, let me through,” while he’s sliding between Rodney the Hammer (for obvious reasons) and poker-playing macrame enthusiast, Big Earl McCalister (a name from Jay’s life in the Narrows).

He re-gloves, puts his Arkham-specific bag down by Jim’s shoulder and unwinds the steth to check the usuals.

“Doc,” is the deep rasp of Two-Face’s I’m not happy tone. “This is one of my guys, you get me?”

“Read you like a book,” he replies without looking up, checking the skin around his stitches, “none of that changes the fact I don’t have what I need to help him.”

Tim curses softly, eyes going to Jim’s, noting the profuse sweating. The blade went in at least two inches, so they could be looking at intestinal perforation, which he is in no way equipped to handle in the fucking cafeteria of Arkham Asylum. He could possibly do a peritoneal lavage verify fluid out of his bowel is spilling into his abdominal cavity, but the slight swelling and discoloration are sure signs Jim needs laparoscopic surgery.

Now.

“I need you to listen to me,” he starts haltingly, but a hand on his forearm stops Dr. Drake cold.

Like he’s in a horror movie, his eyes go to where Two-Face has leaned over the injured thug on the table, and the ruined side of his face is prominent enough for him to see the excessive scarring.

“Yer gonna tell us what you need to take care of my man here,” is a not-fucking-around kind of dangerous, making Tim suck in a deep, deep breath just to try and keep himself calm.

(They’re on their way. They’re coming for him. They wouldn’t leave him here.)

“He needs an actual hospital with medical staff,” falls out of his mouth firmly, “I don’t have the people or equipment or the surgical staff I need to operate on him here. What I can tell you is that his lower intestines have probably been punctured, and he’s going to die of sepsis shock in less than an hour if we can’t get him into an OR.”

The sickly yellow eye narrows on him, assessing, and the pilfered gun in the gangster's other hand makes a soft click.

“There’s an ambulance here somewhere. Arkham has one for emergencies. Your guys can take it to Gotham General and no one would be the wiser,” Tim shrugs and looks back down at his patient. “As is, you can threaten me all you want, but attempting surgery here, is only going to end up in infection and probably death. I have no supplies of blood, IV fluids, antibiotics, or qualified staff. The nurses and MDs you do have here are good, but not trained at all for major abdominal surgery. There’s no way I can open him up and repair the perforation without killing him.”

And it’s a tense moment when Tim finally looks up at the gangster’s face, his own jaw set

“Then we gotta get ‘im out,” and Two-Face looks down at Jim Newman’s face.

Jim, eyes glassy with pain, reaches out a bloody hand, “ ‘Face?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries, Jimmy. We’re gonna take care a’ ya.” And in what is an impossible-to-predict move, the burned side of the gangster’s face tries to lift up in a half-smile.

“M-My little Tracey, ‘Face. If I don’t–”

“Hey,” and it’s Tim drawing the sluggish eyes, “we’re going to get you taken care of, right?” And he glances up at Two-Face, swallowing hard, but keeping his gaze steady.

“Yeah,” the mass murderer looks back at him, an assessing something in his bulging eye, “yeah, we are. You, Doc, you gonna tell my man Vinnie what ‘cha need, and he’s gonna get it.”

The hulking thug still in his orange jumpsuit steps up to Jim’s side while Two-Face makes his exit, going straight for the laughing mad man gleefully shoving pies in the Warden’s face.

“Is your real name Vinnie?” Because honestly, his mouth is going to get him every damn time.

The thug just smiles.

Welp, okay then. “I need a gurney to transport him to the ambulance. I’m going to check his wound and re-wrap it.”

He’s already reaching in the bag for more gauze pads, pulling back the layers he’d already applied, checks the skin around the stitches, wishes he had a cuff to get Jim’s systolic pressure but estimates it’s down to 80 and dropping.

All it takes is for Vinnie to nod and two lackeys are scrambling to get down to the infirmary.

“Thought...thought I told ya ta get gone, Doc,” Jim wheezes, gritting his teeth as Tim gentle presses just his fingertips against the slight swell.

“Couldn’t leave you,” he replies without looking away.

After long seconds when he hurriedly pulls a syringe and antibiotic, hoping to give them some time then scrambles for a notepad and pen, scribbles instructions quickly while muttering aloud, “administered augmentin...probable perforation of intestine or bowel…”

He scribbles something at the very bottom and tears the paper off his notepad, slides it in Jim’s jumpsuit pocket.

“Make sure the ER doctors get that. It tells them what I’ve already given you so they don’t mix other antibiotics or painkillers.”

He pointedly ignores the fight breaking out between Two-Face and the Joker, but notices Vinnie turns completely away to watch the proceeding shouting match ending in guns pointed at other another.

“Fuckin’ stand down Clown, or I’m gonna make ya a stain.”

“C’mon Harve! Where’s your sense of humor? Ha ha ha haaa!”

“He’s going to get us out of here you ass!” Crane shoves his creepy mask right in Two-Faces peripheral, something probably dangerous clenched in the fist behind his leg.

“We can get ourselves out,” Belzer replies serenely, “we’ve all done it before after all.”

“That means we need to get going,” Fugate is pulling Tetch along with an arm over his shoulder, the other holding the ice pack against his face. The pocket watch makes an appearance, and Tim tapes fresh gauze pads down, mentally preparing to roll Jim off the table and shove it over if bullets start flying.

(Please, please, please hurry.)

Vinnie seems to get the tension suddenly in the room, milling inmates all freezing in place, eyes for the boatload of crazy in the center of the cafeteria by the salad bar.

“But we were just starting to have some fun!” The Joker almost screams, gesturing wildly with the gun to the hacking Warden.

“As usual,” Dr. Isley sighs, calmly walking in the middle of the two villains in the middle of the showdown, “you aren’t using your brain.”

“C’mon Red! I know you want to get out and visit our little Harl, but we have a golden opportunity here!”

Tim sucks in a hard breath when Dr. Isley’s eyes narrow dangerously, and oh God, oh God, oh God.

His eyes dart to the corner of the salad bar where Dr. Fries is leaning, the goggles over his eyes not showing at all what he’s thinking. But, but, Tim notices the ice gun is not longer in the holster at the side of his leg, instead it’s in hand with the doctor’s finger on the trigger.

A subtle shift, upper body moving because that suit has got to be heavy, and Tim isn’t imagining Dr. Fries is looking right at him around the Joker’s back.

Tim’s eyes shift down to his patient, muscles tightening in preparation for something.

“That’s enough,” is robotic through the suit’s speakers, kind of like Jay’s syths Tim thinks crazily when his heart starts to pick up when the Joker tilts his chin down and narrows his eyes right back at Poison Ivy and Two-Face.

If he wasn’t suddenly terrified about a Rogue Gallery Throw-Down, he would be fanboying right through the mashed potatoes.

“Stay out of it, Freeze Pop,” the Joker’s voice is low and utterly fucking terrifying.

“This accomplishes nothing but waste precious time,” Freeze deadpans, “it gives us less time to get far enough away from the Batman.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to remedy!” And the Joker straightens, easily lowers the gun, smiling right at Two-Face’s shiny .45. “We just take some hostages along for the ride.”

Because, of fucking course, the Joker’s head swings over to stare him right the fuck down.

“Especially Gotham’s little darling, here! Why my stars and garters! I believe it’s the indomitable Doctor Drake! AH HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!”

And his heart jumps right up into his throat, choking him on his next breath.

Leaning to talk out of the corner of his mouth, the Joker’s eyes are all for the frozen civilian, “He was on the news, Harve, remember? The little do-gooder on the bridge.” The low drop of the Joker’s tone on that word, on bridge, hits Two-Face in the right way, making the gangster’s attention shift.

(Oh shit. This is bad, getting more bad, getting so, so, so bad.)

“That was you?” The other gun falls and Two-Face turns on him while the Joker is doing that cliche steeple-fingers-and-look-insane kind of thing, and that just really makes him want to take a step back. He should probably run, but it’s more likely Two-Face would shoot him in the back if he tried, so he’s got no other choice but to improvise.

With the copper taste in the back of his mouth, with the possibility he’s about to die horribly depending on the level of utter crazy in the room right now, Tim Drake straightens his spine, crosses his shaky arms to hide the fact.

“There were children, Mr. Dent. Children that didn’t deserve to die on a collapsing bridge.”

Jim Newman tenses on the table under him, still going pale, still on a ticking clock, and some of the other inmates are cowering back. The Ventriloquist looks eager to see what happens, her sock puppet whispering in her ear; Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and Clock King are looking at him intently, uncomfortably so. Poison Ivy sighs and arches a put-upon brow.

“I patched people up and put them in cars to get off the bridge. Your bombs did what they were supposed to do,” is more accusatory than he feels. “I just tried to keep the victim count down.”

“The other one didn’t go off. You have something ta do with that, Doc?” The question suddenly very, very important to how the next six seconds are going to go.

So Tim calculates what he’s going to say for a split second, “I was being hit with debris and pulling little girls out of cars,” which is true, “I only saw the Batman for a few minutes, and I didn’t have anything to do with another bomb.” Mostly true. B already knew it was Two-Face before Tim ever got a surprise ride on the Batplane courtesy of the blood-loss-and-shock express.

The new train leaving the station is I-might-die-in-Arkham-Asylum.

All Aboard

“Now Harve,” the Joker starts, tisking.

“Shut-up, Clown,” because the glint is the famous coin appearing in Dent’s unblemished hand.

Some crazy instinct makes him step away from the gurney, eyes all for the inevitable flip, hoping, praying his luck is going to hold out long enough to get a message out to the ER staff and stall long enough to keep them here until the vigilantes make a dashing, in-the-nick-of-time entrance, and really just save the day.

(Please please please save the day.)

“Got a fifty-fifty chance, Doc. I’m hoping ya got some extra luck.”

His breath gets caught in his chest at the twing when the coin rolls off Two-Face’s thumb into the air, is hyper-focused in the moment, doesn’t even notice Victor Fries straightening from his slouch to watch the proceedings. Fixes his eyes on the palm of that ruined hand–

–and the arm holding the gun slowly, surely rising.

The coin doesn’t make it back to that hand, gets slapped out of the air instead, and the gangster actually chokes.

“You-you son of a–!”

“Harve, Harve,” and for the first time, Dr. Drake can say he’s seen the Joker actually frowning, miffed that his plan is going sideways, anger simmering under the insanity, but it just goes to show he’s special kind of psychopath when he stretches his neck out to put his face less than an inch from the ruin side of Two-Face’s, and smile.

It’s telling how the Joker doesn’t even flinch at the cold rage across from him.

“He has more potential in the ‘hostage’ category, than the ‘dead’ category, Harve, and we need a nice little nest egg.” One white finger carelessly, comically pushes the barrel of the gun down to the ground with that sickening grin in place. “You and I both know–”

The he-he-he literally makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“–those caped do-gooders roll over for a nice hostage.”

The stare-down is like something you read about– the Joker is intense while Two-Face glares silently back, that yellow eye fixed.  

The inmates around the Rogue Gallery are shifting, trying to stay out of the way in case the guns come back into play, and everything Dr. Drake has been trying to do seems to go immediately, irrevocably sideways.

The stand-off is interrupted when one of the inmates hurriedly scoops up the coin and brings it back, holding the scratched surface up, presenting it like a gift.

Two-Face doesn’t bother looking at the inmate, just snatches the coin, eyes narrowing on the Joker’s grin.

“As much as I fucking hate you, Clown, you got a point. We’re gonna need some leverage.”

“Oh, you flatterer. You don’t have to hate so much that I’m right, hu hu hu. Good! Now we can get this show back on the road and execute the Warden, right?”

The childish stomp jars Tim out of panicky brain-freeze, lets him suck in a choking breath at the crazily entertaining back-and-forth, and his knees wobble a little in weakening relief.

(He keeps himself calm by running through the last year of crazy shit he’s gotten his hands into since he’s been dating certain adorable, entertaining, and very, very late, vigilantes. He’s been up against some of these psychopaths, ninjas, and is the go-to guy for every kind of strange alien bacteria Booster Gold could possibly pick-up during his travels.)

Out of his peripheral, he sees Dr. Fries slouch back, head turned and looking at him, utterly unreadable with the goggles and glass dome.

The Ventriloquist, however, is pouting like she’s missing out on a good show. Great. At least someone wants to see him dead in the next few minutes.

“You have approximately forty-five minutes before the next shift will begin showing up for work,” Temple Fugate inserts, “and we need people to drive our Hatter friend to the hospital along with Dent’s right-hand man. It’s a perfect cover to get us through the gates without alerting authorities. Thus, whatever you intend to do, do it now.”

The impatience draws the Scarecrow’s attention, “expediency is preferable, ladies and gentlemen. I still have reserves hidden in Gotham, and I don’t need Bats on me before I get to them.”

“Fantastic!” The Joker laughs loudly, back arched, “then we get to–” and he spins on the heel of his spat, finger out to point at the Warden still tied up in the center of the cafeteria, pie remnants dripping off him.

But the Joker trails off with a “eww,” when the Warden is obviously gasping for air, his lips turning an unnatural shade of blue.

Like his life wasn’t hanging in the balance a few seconds ago, Tim snatches up his bag without looking away from the distressed Warden and takes off around the table while the guys waiting for Vinnie’s signal with the gurney move in to load up Jim Newman.

He skirts around the inmates, and already has his stethoscope in his ears, listening to the sickening sound of arrhythmia.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Tim turns to shout at the gathered criminals, and his eyes slide up to the panicked Warden.

“...heart attack...last year,” the Warden gasps weakly, leaning into the ropes.

The Joker sputters, “I can’t kill him if he’s already dying! Where’s the fun in that?!”

And it’s a terrifying moment when the villain stalks up next to him to glare in the distressed Warden’s face, pointing a finger like he’s berating a naughty child.

“You’d better not shuffle off this mortal coil until I have the perfect joke to send you out!”

Tim ignores the villain fairly vibrating with anger, and keeps calculating, rooting around in his bag for a similar medication to the one he gave Nightwing back when the fear gas almost killed him, one that will help thin the blood and hopefully make sure the Warden survive the night.

He fills the syringe and quickly injects the Warden in the side of the throat, not bothering to waste time untying him to look for a vein.

“This medication is hopefully going to put him back to a normal rhythm,” Tim fills in as Dr. Crane, Dr. Isley, and Dr. Fries join their little pow-wow. “I don’t know any of his history to know if this is going to even work–”

Dr. Fries gets closer to the Warden, goggles seemingly fixed on his face, “do you have a history of arrhythmia, or a family history of heart problems?”

Still gasping for air, the Warden just nods.

“Give me a few details,” the villain demands. “Start with your parents.”

To Tim’s surprise, Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane listen intently to the Warden’s details about his family medical history while Tim keeps two fingers on the Warden’s pulse and listens closely, hoping the uneven pitter-patter evens out to at least under 100 beats per minute.

“I doubt they have an echocardiogram here,” Crane snarks to Isley when the Warden is gasping and Fries turns to a random inmate, demanding water and aspirin immediately.

“Of course not,” Dr. Isley sighs with a shake of her head, “anything more involved than a bandage is too much for these nitwits to handle.”

Multitasking like a boss, Tim looks at the biologist, psychologist, and geneticist over his shoulder, “there’s not even an electrocardiogram here to monitor his sinus rhythm. There might be defibs in the infirmary if we hit worst case scenario–”

“Those were removed the last time we broke out,” Scarecrow shrugs nonchalantly. “I think someone used it on a guard.”

Ivy steps up, fingers moving in a gimmie motion until Tim hands over his stethoscope. “It’s still faster than 100 per minute. What was that you injected? Beta blockers?”

“Yes, Dr. Isley,” he accepts his stethoscope back, not mentioning how there was a little more than just Beta blockers in that syringe.

“Good,” and she turns back to her fellow non-medical doctors that seem to have opinions on treatments. “If they get him to Gotham General in time, they can perform–”

“For now, we must get him down and elevate his feet. The staff can take necessary measures from there,” Fries is already behind the Warden, untying the ropes. “It will give them time to escape without impeding treatment.”

“Agreed,” Crane and Isley turn together and very pointedly stalk toward the mass of inmates still standing around the cafeteria waiting for how this little sitch is going to pan out.

The Joker and Two-Face flank them, making it an utterly terrifying meeting of bad guys.

“Listen up,” Crane makes a terrifying figure even still in his orange jumpsuit. “You are going to let the medical staff treat the Warden. If any of us find out he died, then there is going to be a reckoning.”

The Joker’s laugh punctuates the severity of the message.

“We’re the ones that get to kill him, understand? And once he’s back to his normal, healthy self, we’ll give this another go!”

“Until then,” Poison Ivy’s eyes glint dangerously, “we expect everyone to behave.”

Tim is helping Dr. Fries lay the Warden on his back, “since when has everyone been moonlighting as MDs?” He asks breathlessly while Ivy heards the full-time medical staff away from the general population and closer to the panting Warden.

“You would be surprised how much time one has for reading in here,” Fries fills in. “On a different note, I am impressed with your latest article on McGregor’s Syndrome.” Fries holds a hand down to help him stand, “Nora’s case is too far advanced, but your preliminary findings are exciting nonetheless.”

Shaky, Tim allows the medical staff he’s familiar with take over with the Warden and accepts Dr. Fries’ hand. “Everything is based off your research, so really, I’m the one that should be grateful for your help.”

The supervillain makes a humming noise and squeezes his hand, “whatever you do,” is low, just between the two of them, “do not antagonize any of them. You will make it out of this alive if you are careful, Dr. Drake.”

The hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest really has nothing to do with things that are hilarious.

“Staying alive is my top goal tonight,” but the bravado doesn’t cover up how badly his hands are shaking.

“We shall see if you manage to accomplish it,” Fries deadpans as the huddle of supervillains breaks up.

While he’d been assessing the Warden, Jim Newman has been loaded onto the gurney, already prepped for the ambulance ride, and the Mad Hatter’s ice pack finally melted, so he’s really feeling the need to be in a hospital with plenty of nice narcotics.

“We are out of time,” Fugate flips his watch closed, facing the rest of the escaping Rogue Gallery, “we leave now or risk getting caught.”

“Well, when you put it that way–” and the Joker turns on him, reaches out to wrap bony fingers around Tim’s wrist, clenching down tight. “I suppose you’re out of time too, right Doc?”

Two-Face has no problem getting close enough that Tim can see the residual scarring, can trace the deep grooves, wonder if a second try at plastic surgery would be helpful or destructive at this juncture in the supervillain’s life. “You don’t make trouble, you’ll see tomorrow. We have an understanding here?”

“Yes,” he replies breathlessly in the face of two utterly terrifying murderers. “I’m going to do what you say.”

“Stay smart and I’m not gonna have to flip for you again.”

And as Tim manages to snatch his doctor’s bag while he’s pulled behind members of the Rogue Gallery, he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, hopes Dick and Jay can follow wherever in the hell the villains are taking him.

**

Which is to the ambulance bay where two rigs and a car with Arkham Asylum on it are housed. He almost facepalms when the keys are hanging up on a wall hook.

Temple Fugate is already dressed in EMT clothing while Crane takes off his mask to put on another set as Jervis Tetch and Jim Newman are loaded in the back.

Shuna Belzer hops in the driver’s seat of the other ambulance while Tim is shoved up into the rear by Joker and Two-Face. Dr. Isley and Dr. Fries join him, sitting on the opposite bench with the empty gurney between them.

“Now, now, good Doctor,” the Joker’s manic grin is even creepier in the lighting, the madman holding the doors almost closed. “If you try to misbehave, our Plant Queen and Freezy Pop are going to have to spank you for being naughty. And trust me, kid. You don’t want that kind of spanking.”

Tim’s eyes are wide as the doors close, his chest getting tight when the Joker locks him in, and for the first time since this whole mess started, his eyes feel heavy and hot without an emergency to focus on (but he still has a plan). All he can do is blink rapidly, try to stop it before it starts, before he gets a little hysterical about everything.

(What if they just leave you here?)

At this juncture, he has no idea what their plans are for him, if he’s riding along just to get shot in the head and left in a ditch somewhere outside Gotham City limits, or if the nice psychopaths really might let him go.

With all of them, it’s a 50/50 really.

(A toss of Two-Face’s coin...)

So he doesn’t feel bad leaning over, bracing his forearms on his knees, one hand over his eyes to keep Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley from seeing it while the ambulance roars to life and jerks forward.

“You did well back there,” Poison Ivy’s voice floats over his head, makes him look up with his nose still pink and eyes still watery. “Most doctors are intimidated around criminals like us. You are...a refreshing change.”

“Everyone is a person when they’re sick or injured,” he replies lightly, scrubbing at his face.  

He doesn’t see her mouth curl up in a smile. “Criminal or not doesn’t matter in my line of work.”

“He is quite accomplished,” Fries isn’t looking at either of them, idly staring out the windows in the ambulance doors. “Anyone taking on genetics would have to be.”

“Hm,” Dr. Isley hums, “a simple medical doctor also taking on genetics–”

“Botany isn’t that much different,” he defends lightly, eyes narrowed.

It’s telling when the terrifying criminal leans forward, one fist braced on her knee, and draws him in with the history of Physiology and the mind-blowing chlorokinesis.

She pauses when he calls her Dr. Isley respectfully when he disagrees, and eventually even Dr. Fries joins them on the discussion when they move to microbiology.

It’s close enough to talking with colleagues that he almost forgets about the whole hostage thing for a few minutes while the ambulance rolls down from the mountains and splits ways with the other rig going toward Gotham General while their rig is heading toward Midtown, probably to pick up that puppet the Ventriloquist was yelling about.

He’s in the middle of arguing mitosis with Dr. Fries when the obvious sirens cut through the air. The ambulance jerks forward, accelerating.

Tim doesn’t hit the floor, but only just.

Dr. Fries opens the small window to the front, “what is going on?”

“We’ve been made, Tasty Freeze,” the Joker snarls with the EMT cap pulled over his forehead. “Someone ratted us out!”

“Step on it, Bells. Get us gone,” Tim hears Two-Face saying.

The sock puppet on her hand turns to look back at Fries. “Might wanna buckle up, kids! It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

In a creepy movement, Fries and Isley turn to him.

“Sit down down and hold on,” Isley tells him, wiggling her fingers. Something up her sleeve moves, worms down her hand and fingers while Tim watches with clinical curiosity.

Tim gasps, watching the small plant growing under her mental coaxing, the long stem dividing, wrapping around the bolted legs of the bench he’s sitting on and form a makeshift harness around his shoulders and chest.

When he expects the vines to be thorny and coarse, terrifyingly restrictive, it’s actually kind of okay. The plant is warm and alive almost a heartbeat against his chest and arms, securing him to the bench.

The sirens on their ambulance start to wail and the Ventriloquist shoves her foot on the gas to make the rig lurch and speed faster, dodging around traffic.

“Where are you going?!” He can hear the Joker shriek, “the docks are that way!”

“I told you,” is the nasally voice of the sock puppet. “We’re going to get Ferdie first!”

“Oh no,” Dr. Isley mutters a second too late.

Because the Joker reaches over and jerks the wheel out of the Ventriloquists hands, yelling “getting away from the cops first, idiot!” and the ambulance careens sideways, skittering across the busy highway and smashing into a sedan minding its own business, and a tire on the rig blows while the villains in the front are fighting over control.

So Tim expects the rig to to smash into something, maybe even flip over and skitter across the pavement while the plants keep him from being thrown all over the back. He doesn’t expect Poison Ivy to lunge across the empty gurney just before the ambulance is airborne, throwing her arms around him, and shoving his face in her shoulder to protect him from the next few minutes of grinding metal and breaking glass.

The side of the ambulance splits on impact, twisting metal cuts through the vines holding him, severing the makeshift harness, and not even the remaining tendril could keep him and Dr. Isley from being thrown out of the rig onto the hot Gotham street.

The jolt of the landing drives the breath out of him, is when he slams his head hard enough that moving immediately is a real bad idea. The road rash is going to be shitty, but the blood in his eyes and woozy quality to life once he can raise his head probably means he’s just hit concussion city.

“D-Dr. Isley? Dr. Fries?” Sounds rough from his throat, sounds choked.

He’s dizzy when he pushes himself up, trying to keep from vomiting at the abrupt turn his stomach takes when he sits up, blinks at the the too-bright street lights.

Dr. Isley is laying a few feet from him on her side, breathing but not moving.

“No! No, no, no,” but his limbs feel heavy and sluggish when he tries to stand up and fails. He settles on hands and knees because at least he’s not going to throw up now, so he’s already winning for the night.

“Dr. Isley!” But he’s already assessing before he even touched her shoulder to roll her over, shaky hands assessing her neck, cracking open her eye lids, and by some miracle, he’d been wearing his Arkham-Only medical bag when they were thrown from the ambulance in the first place.

It proves to be moot when Pamela’s eyes flutter over while he’s taking her pulse and blinking rapidly to keep his vision clear, trying to be gentle but firm when he presses on her belly, and looks over every inch of her jumpsuit to make sure he hasn’t missed any indications of injuries.

“Oh thank God,” he whispers when her eyes dart up to him, and Tim leans back just a little to swipe his forearm over his eyes to make sure he doesn’t, you know, cry all over a patient.

“Dr. Isley, are you able to sit up? Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” He doesn’t realize he’s gone from taking her pulse to holding her hand.

“No,” she replies faintly, pushing herself up, “I believe I’m all right.”

“Okay...okay, that’s good. That’s so good, but I’ve got to check on Dr. Fries and the others. Just-just call for me if you start to feel worse, or sleepy or anything! I’ll be right back.”

Standing the second time is really a win when adrenaline hits him somewhere in the spine, and that small secret smile of hers convinces him she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But the vines flattened and slightly writhing under her makes him hope they cushioned her fall.

He uses all the strength in his weak arms to pull at the ambulance doors until they damn things open, and he can see Dr. Fries laying in a sprawl of metal suit and limbs, weakly gasping since the glass dome of his helmet has been broken.

“Dr. Fries!”

And the concussion has to take a back seat for the moment because time really isn’t on their side.

His brain starts working while he makes his way back into the ambulance, stumbling before righting himself, and gripping the villain under both arms, straining to drag him out of the ambulance and lay on the Gotham street.

The dome has a broken piece with frigid air escaping, and with the goggles askew, he can see the pupils are almost blown.

“Hold on, hold on,” he’s chanting and pulling everything out of his bag, searching for–

Duct tape and a Bolin Chest Seal.

Without any idea if the seal can stand-up to the frigid temperature of Dr. Fries’ suit, Tim makes his hand stop shaking to peel the backing off and apply it around the broken area, ripping the duct tape with his teeth to help reinforce the cracks.

Dr. Isley falls to her knees beside him abruptly, watching him apply a final strip. Together, they hold their breath while his breathing evens out and the visible eye flutters.

Luckily for them, police cars and a legit ambulance are quickly closing in on the carnage, so he can finally, finally, rest.

–or would have, but Two-Face kicks the door to the front of the wrecked rig open and stands out with the gun still in hand.

“It was you,” the gangster is dragging one foot, snarling wildly, “you got us caught. I shoulda gutted ya back at the nut house while I had a chance!”

The Joker woozily climbs out after him and just face plants into the street, something slurry like “anyone get the number of that bus?” while Shauna Belzer is already running away from the scene with the sock puppet leading her way.

“Harvey,” is a warning in Dr. Isley’s tone.

“Shut up, Pam. You know it was him!” The gun is wavery, but Tim is still one hundred percent sure the shot is going to be accurate enough to be bad news for him. “There ain’t no other way!”

“I was in the back the whole time,” he tries, subtly sliding an arm up in front of Dr. Isley, and the other over Dr. Fries. “There’s no way I could have alerted anyone about anything.”

“I ain’t taking anymore chances on you, no more flips, no more hiding, just curtains,” and the hammer goes back–

The next second, a blast of light takes over the sight of the gun barrel pointed at his chest, and the gangster’s hand and weapon are instantly encased in a block of ice.

“What the hell!?”

Dr. Fries pushes himself up, his freeze gun in hand, the seal around his domed helmet still working to keep him breathing. “It would be in poor taste to allow you to kill the young man that saved my life, Dent.”

Wearily, Dr. Fries drops the freeze gun while Two-Face falls to his knees with the heavy block encasing his fist and the gun.

Tim automatically winds his arm around the shoulders of Dr. Fries’ suit, helping the villain stay upright while the slamming of brakes and opening of doors signal the GCPD to the rescue.

Commissioner Gordon himself questions the young doctor, eyeing him critically when he insists Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley weren’t really trying to escape, but went along with the Joker’s plan to make sure he, the civilian, didn’t wind up dead.

“I’ve worked with Dr. Fries before,” and even though he told the young uniform no about the blanket and ride to Gotham General, he’s regretting it now because he’s starting to get cold his head is aching, “I published a paper about McGregor’s syndrome a few months ago. Early stage treatment. He helped me with the background, so yeah, he didn’t want me to get hurt. And Dr. Isley protected me when the ambulance flipped over. If there were trying to escape, they wouldn’t have saved me, or stopped Two-Face from killing me.”

“All right then, Doctor,” Gordon eyes him while he closes his little notebook, “I’ll have a word with the judge and the Warden. He’s fine by the way, and asked me to thank-you. He’s in Gotham General, about to go into surgery.”

“What about Jim Newman?” He asks quickly, rubbing his arms when a light dusting of rain makes him even colder.

“They were still working on him last time I checked, but everything looks good from what they said.”

And since the Commissioner is taller than him by at least a few inches, he can look over Tim’s head to signal another officer to their little pow-wow on the back of the intact ambulance.

Tim had immediately waved the gaping EMTs off to pick up Two-Face and Joker, had slapped a bandage on his own head and did a quick saline wash of his road rash.

He’d personally helped Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley into another ambulance, his expression troubled when the double-doors closed on them, and the rig took off through Gotham. It had been enough for him to seek out the Commissioner and tell him exactly what had gone down tonight so Poison Ivy and Dr. Freeze wouldn’t face further jail time.

(The flutter in the night, gold and black of Robin’s cape, or well, maybe he’d just imagined it. He’s got a pretty rocking concussion after all.)

Detective Renee Montoya is someone he’d worked with on more than one occasion. When she whistles low at the obvious damage, he knows the bruises are probably going to be beautiful tomorrow.

“Montoya, Dr. Drake doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Can you give him a lift when you head back to the station?”

“Absolutely, Sir–”

“To Arkham,” he interrupts blearily, “my car is still there. I need to pick it up.”

Both cops arch a brow at him, but Tim just stares back without further comment.

“All right. To Arkham it is.” Montoya grins at him and crooks a finger, leads him to her car sitting on the outskirts of the accident.

And really, Detective Montoya is a kind soul, stops long enough to get awful drive-thru coffee for him to sip on while they drive back to the Asylum, and she listens intently as he tells the story with a little more depth the second time.

“I’m glad you aren’t badly hurt, but you still should consider going to the hospital, Tim–”

“That’s not necessary, Detective.” Concussions not withstanding, he thinks as he sips his coffee. “I would probably go to work instead of rest anyway, so moot point even I went to Gotham General instead. But, I mean, how did the GCPD get control of Arkham and come after us so fast? I didn’t expect anyone to come after us.”

Except certain masked vigilantes, but, you know, prison breaks are really time consuming.

Montoya side-eyes him again. In her career, she’d brought more than one perp into Mercy Hospital’s ER, guarding handcuffed suspects, usually sporting a variety of injuries tangling with the Bats of Gotham. More than once, it was her or Bullock or another cop on one of Dr. Drake’s gurneys bleeding out, and the guy was absolutely unshakeable, pulling miracles out of his ass.

So yeah, she knows the Doc and his odd tendencies to get tangled up in too many...situations. Many of which lead right back to the city’s resident vigilantes.

(As a detective, she put together at least seven incidents in the last 24 months connecting their good doctor with the Bats. Crane taking over the hospital, kidnapped by the Joker, the bridge. Reported sightings of JLA members in Gotham hovering over Mercy General, and she would bet her badge it was the superheroes bringing their Batman to see Drake. Then the question as to why else would the Batman come out during the day and save what appeared to be one person? Unless that person was his personal physician. Not to mention that time someone got a few pieces of security footage with a Robin that was...taller, not as smooth jumping from rooftops. Oddly enough, some unknown masked crusader running with the Red Hood chasing this, what, fourth kid wearing the tunic? Given the evidence, Renee has theories.)

She might smirk a little at his very obvious deflection, but it also triggers every instinct she’s cultivated as a cop in Gotham City.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Doc, but it looks like the night crew had a hand in settling down things at the Asylum. Not to mention we got a call from the Head Nurse of the ER at Gotham General about a note you apparently left. That was probably after an anonymous tip to the station made us aware the Clock King, Mad Hatter, and Scarecrow were on their way to the hospital in disguise.”

He smiles into his coffee and appreciates the blasting heat all the way back up to the madhouse on the hill. She notices he doesn’t ask who the night crew is, and just adds it to the list of evidence.

It nice when Montoya walks him back inside, apparently not trusting him to get through to the infirmary at the back of the Asylum and get the keys to his car without another incident.

(She probably has a good reason.)

He makes an effort to keep it together in front of the detective when they make their way through the throng of police officers, extra guards, and personnel filling the hallways. The itch on the back of his neck could be the events of the night catching up to him, the anxiety on the edges of his consciousness that looks a lot like smeared cream corn and stab wounds, aching palms and exhaustion in every bone of his body.

It could also be how closely Montoya is watching him while they walk further into the compound.

His keys are on the same hook by the keycard access door, and it’s finally a spark of luck when a uniform on the premises catches her on their way in, pulls her aside to talk about something. (“They were here from what the inmates say,” the uniforms tells her low, “Red Hood and Nightwing were pretty brutal this time. The Bat had a hard time wrangling them in.”)

He gives a small wave with keys in hand to let her know he’s on the way out.

She puts a hand on the uniform’s shoulder to pause their conversation and give him another long look. “You should get some sleep, Doc. Take a few days off. I’ll bet you’ve got some… people looking out for you that will agree with me.”

For absolutely no reason, his face starts to get warm. “Thanks again for the ride, Detective.”

With her card in his pocket (not that he doesn’t have a collection of them from GCPD back on his desk at Mercy), he calmly adjusts his bag over the blood stains on the side of his scrubs and makes sure his badge is visible.

He keeps it the fuck together when he walks out of Arkham through the thinning throng like nothing is out of place, like he hasn’t just gone through half of the Rogue Gallery and lived to tell about it.

He absolutely doesn’t notice the vigilantes going through a particular vent as he starts down the maze of hallways to get the fuck out.

His battered Civic (because the nice car is only for special occasions, why chance getting it blown up?) looks more like safety than he’s ever associated with it before. Maybe that’s why his knees abruptly go out on him when he’s at the driver’s door, but it’s fine, fine to just take some time to sit, get his lungs full of air for the first time since this shit-show started.

(They had to take care of things like good saviors of the city and he survived, he’s good. He’s good. He’s good. He’s going to go home, make coffee, get a shower, and wait up for them to ask how the night went on their end. Just as soon as his knees get strength again–)

The crunch of gravel somewhere behind the car is what shakes him up from the blank time since he sat (fell) down to now. Before he can be up and moving, it’s Jason, his boyfriend, kneeling there beside him instead of the dangerous vigilante, the Red Hood.

He barely registers when Jay reaches for him, wraps him up in a tight embrace, talks gently against his hair

(“S’all right, Baby. Gotcha all caught up now, don’t I? Time ta go home, yeah?”

“J-Jay, what-what are you...?”

“Sorry, Timmy. They already gotcha out by the time we got here, n’ by the time we got those fuckers back in their cells, we gotch word there was an accident and GCPD was on the scene! Dick lost his fucking mind when we heard it over the radio.”

“O-Oh. It’s...it’s okay. I’m okay. I-I’m okay.”

“Mmhm. We’ll be the judge a’ that, won’t we, Baby?”)

It’s so easy to slot himself against the front of Jay’s body, the leather against his cheek is cool and worn and the smell of brimstone, gives him a reason for another deep breath.

It’s so easy for Jay to slide the driver’s seat back to make room for longer legs, to maneuver Tim in the passenger seat and buckle him in without complaints, stupidly lifting him instead of helping him stand.

E - we’ll go with Edmund, he thinks lazily when exhaustion sets in and the movement of the car keeps him aware enough to know Edmund isn’t going to be the worst concussions he’s ever had, so the night ends on a high note after all.

It’s better because Jay drives with one hand while the other has a grip on his wrist that is just this side of a little too tight, just what he needs to be able to drift because that hold is safe. At some point he’s burrowed down in the Red Hood’s famous leather jacket with the belt over his chest, and it smells like Gotham and brimstone enough to keep him grounded, so all he has to do is stare at the comm in Jay’s ear and drift.

“I got ‘em, Dick. He’s movin’ but he needs one hell of an aftercare hour if ya know what I mean.” Pause.

“Get the fuck off this wave, Demon. Ain’t nobody asked yer ass nothing anyhow.”

Another pause and a side-eye.

“There’s blood on ‘im, Alf, don’t look life-threatening, bruises n’ scrapes more n’ likely. Prob’ly a concussion ‘cause he ain’t trackin’ well, are ya Baby?”

He’s down in a soft, sleepy place, doesn’t feel like he really has to answer if it brings him closer to the surface. He manages to wiggle his fingers up to rub at Jay’s wrist, checks in as well as can really be expected.

Seriously, it’s been a rough fucking night.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. S’okay, baby, ya done good t’night, yeah?  Me n’ all the Bats are proud as fuck, you feel me? Some a’ the worst of the worst n’ ya kept the body count low. Whazat? Naw, Dickie, we’re almost there. Gonna be waitin’ on us? Not you, Rob, got school inna morning, ain’t cha? Time fer little birdies ta go back ta the nest.”

Tim cracks his eyes open when the soothing roll of movement finally stops, but Dick is already there opening his door, barefoot with sweats and a hastily thrown-on t-shirt, bodily lifting him even though he’s all kinds of awake now.

“Oh my God,” and those arms get so, so tight.

(It feels so nice.)

“C’mon, put me down,” is huffed more by habit than conviction because really, he’s good with the damsel in distress act this time.

“You’re taking years off my life, Tim, and I’m a seasoned vigilante,” is about as deadpan as mother-hen Dick Grayson can get.

“If I ain’t a’ died already, ya’d be getting me close t’ it,” a soft kiss to his forehead, “no more gettin’ caught up with murderin’ psychos.”

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

“Apparently, it ain’t been stickin’.”

He hums a little and lets his eyes flutter closed again, lets them talk over his head while they take the fire escape up just to slide in his window.

He rouses enough to get a shower, tries pushing them bodily out the door to stop hovering, but it’s not like that’s going to happen.

It’s still feels really nice when they’re absolutely gentle with him, sliding his clothes off, touching the bruises and road rash with soft, hurt noises. It gets worse because he takes the time to really wash in case there’s residual debris, finally gets pulled under the hot water with a wall of muscle and security bracketing him in.

Jay washes his hair while Dick holds him by the hips, the two of them talking gently about what happened after they left the Cave and headed to the Asylum for pound the baddies into pudding time.

They had just worked their way to the cafeteria when they get word some of the Rogues escaped in ambulances, alerting the GCPD while they wrangled inmates back to their cells and took care of the captive staff.

B himself took the Warden to Gotham General once they had things well in hand, and the bats monitored the police radio when mentions of the accident heading toward Dixon with Gordon on scene. Rob jumped outta the big car fast enough to intercept GCPD to see Tim moving. It’s more hilarious than it should have been when Jay clucks his tongue and tells him to stop making friends with bad guys.

“I ain’t saying Pam n’ Vic are bad ta have on yer side,” a wet kiss to the top of his head, “but why don’t cha stick wid’ Ives and leave ‘em ta us?”

Dick is kneeling down gently washing his battered knees, “not to mention the conversation we’ll be having tomorrow about why we didn’t know you were moonlighting at Arkham and working with Victor Fries.” The warning in his tone makes Tim just sighs and lean back against Jay’s chest to let the two of them hold him up.

“Demon brat’s got something ta say ‘bout it, too,” said in his ear, “little asshole was worried as fuck. Don’t let ‘im tell ya any different.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow, let him know I’m okay,” and he absolutely will, if anything, to avoid Robin showing up at Mercy with another sandwich and soup to shove at him.

“Good idea, Baby. He was fighting like hell until we found out you weren’t even there.”

He doesn’t laugh at the insinuation, but he might just snicker a little.

He manages to step out on him own, but Jay takes the towel from his hands to get his back and Dick lifts him by the hips to set him on the sink so they can put salve and gauze on his injuries themselves.

They keep him distracted through the process with easy kisses and updates on Jim Newman, Hatter’s face, and Fugate’s excuses of coercion because, “I’m clinically insane. Of course I went along for the ride.”

They tell him they’re sending Pam a nice fern and Victor some data sets from B’s own trials with McGregor’s since it’s just good manners to thank supervillains for saving innocent civilians.  He mumbles back about pasta salad and guns in his face. How playing Uno with some of the inmates has somehow made him cool enough not to die during a breakout, which they should take as a win considering the circumstances.

He must look about as bad as he feels because they get more gentle when he finally gives them what they desperately want, details about what went down. It’s woozy ramblings more than his usual high-level short and sweet because Shauna Bellzer is probably still out there looking for Ferdie, because the Joker apparently remembers him and is actively checking out shit like YouTube, and because now Two-Face is probably going to want him dead since that whole bridge fiasco is a point of contention.

He might wobble enough or sound shitty enough for Jay to take it as a reason to steer him toward the couch and cuddle the hell out of him, do that thing where he kisses the back of Tim’s neck in the right spots to make him shiver.

Dick runs a hand through his hair while he answers B’s wave with the last tag-up of the night, listens to the Dark Knight ranting about the clean-up at Arkham and going over the damn place yet again to check how the crazies keep escaping. But whatever Dick says in reply is lost on him when the world around him gets fuzzy at the edges again. He doesn’t realize how tight his hands are fisted in Jay’s shirt until fingers are trying to massage them open.

He might mumble something payment in kind because really? He did the job for them this time. One less shit show for them to fight (you’re welcome), so he really does deserve cuddles and warm showers dammit.

He totally earned it this time.

Dick eventually hangs up and unapologetically smushes him further down against Jay and coos softly, so he might have said it out loud, but can’t be bothered to care when he finally sinks down, comfortable and safe with that he’s just suddenly–

–out.

When he blinks again, arms over his hip and warm bodies bracket him in. It’s still early enough for him to sigh and sink back down for a few more hours, the ache in his bruised muscles secondary when his bed is full. It’s enough for him to sleep without nightmares of guns in his face and echoing laughter.

And if they wake him up with kisses to his stomach and chest, with bare hands sliding under his pajamas, with oh so gentle lovemaking, with talking against his throat and hip about how relieved they are, how brave he is, how strong he is, how he really oughtta have a Kevlar suit all his own and a domino on his face just on principle.

If they coddle and cuddle him, demand he tell them everything again from the beginning, take him back to the bedroom when his chest stutters at the most frightening parts, if they make him stay close until nightfall when they have to move into the shadows and be the protectors Gotham City needed. If they argue with him about resting instead of leaving to run the Gauntlet at Mercy with Steph and his team. If they check in on him half-way through the night and maybe just kidnap him for an hour to check his knees and the road rash. If they make him take two aspirin and drink a bottle of water, claim mid-patrol sandwiches for the win.

If they tell him they love him before they go back to it and leave him on the roof of the hospital with a fully belly and stars in his eyes, mouth still swollen from their kisses–

–then he’s going to to back to work with a stupid smile on his face and fight harder to save lives, to beat back the darkness of Gotham in his own way. He’s going to run until his lungs are on fire and his legs are wobbly. He’s going to answer calls from fucking space, and race the clock when the heroes of their world are facing mortality and need a doctor with hobbies. He’s going to keep track of the ninjas spying on them and be a safe place when the night life is killing his most important people. He’s going to do everything he can to keep moving. He’s going to fucking fight the good fight and it’s going to be by his choice every time.

Because this?

This is his life.

[packsbeforesnacks]

I’m Not As Think As You Drunk I Am || Noah & Winn

TIMING: Sunday, May 3rd, 2020, After Midnight LOCATION: Bottomless Booty & Noah’s Townhouse PARTIES: @noah-kalani & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Two bros, chillin’ in a king bed. (Because of Winn’s dick, see?) WARNINGS: Nudity and tomfoolery.

“It’s just,” Winn started, slurring his words very definitely slightly (he hoped), “I feel for the kids, y’know? They tried so, so, so hard and to get beaten in the last game in overtime? It’s just… unfair.” He’d long since stopped eatin’ the seafood spread out in front of him and Noah. The younger man sat across from him, picking off some truly delicious shrimp. Bottomless Booty was a little kitschy, but Winn kinda liked it. Not a spot he would’ve chosen for a date (not… that this was a date), but the food was very good. And the booze was doin’ the job. “But shit, buddy, I feel like I’m suckin’ up all the air in the room. This is supposed to be about you!” He held up his mixed drink to Noah. (They’d toasted already, but… why not.)

Taking a swig of his third (no fourth?) beer, Noah sat back in his booth, studying all of the slightly sad, and slightly drunk Winn in front of him. He wasn’t quite sure how this celebration “date” had devolved into this. Okay actually, no, that was a lie. He knew exactly how they had gotten there, with three margaritas and fifty dollars worth of crab and shrimp, but honestly? He didn’t really mind it. It had been a long time since Noah had let loose and gotten drunk with a friend. “I know the feeling and it definitely sucks buddy. But at the end of the day a game is a game. Someone has to win and someone has to lose,” he replied with a small shake of his head. “Well, you are paying for this lot.” He motioned to the carnage in front of them, “So, the least I can do is listen to your troubles.” He winked at the other dude, before picking up a stray piece of shrimp and swallowing whole.

Winn felt himself flush at the wink, still holding up his glass to Noah. Stop that, Winner. “Well,” he mumbled, suddenly self-conscious. “Thank you, Noah.” He smiled, soft and loose. “So, don’t think I’ve ever asked ya, but… Why be a vet? I mean,” he dropped his voice low, “you’re, like, part dog, so I get it, but…” He winked back, partly in belated response to Noah’s wink and partly because he was funny, dang it. Winn lowered his glass, finally. It, unfortunately (?), did things to Winn to see Noah take down that shrimp whole, but he pushed it down. What was with him and men and food? Best not to examine it. “Fuck, am I glad we Ubered, bro, I’d be a smear on the highway if I tried to drive now. Not that…” He paused, considering Noah. “I mean, I’m not drunk. Not. Definitely not.”

If this was a normal day, Noah would have noticed the way Winn suddenly flushed red at his wink. But alas it was not a normal day, and flirty Noah was already too drunk to listen to the voice in his head telling him he was steering this ship into uncharted waters. “No problem bro,” Noah replied before picking up his beer and raising it yet again to the other’s very drunk toast, clinking his glass against the others, fingertips accidentally making contact with Winn’s. Oops. Placing his glass down before him, lest he injure everyone around him, Noah figured shoving more food into his mouth would be the next best course of action. “My dad was a vet actually,” he started around a chew, before remembering his manners. “So, I always grew up with animals, even before becoming,” he leaned in, “part dog.” Grinning from ear to ear, he straightened, fingers searching for a napkin as Winn confessed to ‘not being drunk’ “Yeah, and if you’re stone cold sober, then I’m Queen Elizabeth,” he joked, tossing the used napkin playfully at the other man.

Winn, damn him, had a half-thought to hold Noah’s hand as their fingers brushed. Just a little hand-holding between bros. But he restrained himself. Barely. (His hand did, shamefully, chase Noah’s glass. But that was totally fine. Totally.) “Ah,” Winn said, intelligently. “Makes sense to go into the family business.” He had just enough memory, just enough tact, to know not to pursue Noah’s family any farther, at this point. Not while they were drunk. (Not that he was drunk.) “What’s your favorite aminal?” Wait, aminal? “Animal,” he corrected, sheepishly. Noah’s napkin hit Winn’s chest, bouncing down into his lap. Lap. Shit, he had to piss. How had he not noticed? He should bring that up soon. He started to scoot out of the booth, before realizing he’d asked a question of his friend. “Piss?” he said helpfully, listening attentively to Noah.

“It’s cliche I know, but my favorite animal has always been a wolf.” Noah grinned, ignoring Winn’s slight stutter of his words. “Oh Me? No.” Noah shook his head assuming that’s what Winn meant when he mentioned piss. “But I can get the check while you’re doing it?” he asked, trying to be helpful, because, yeah, neither of them probably needed to stay and sink further into a drunken stupor, especially as Winn kinda paused at the end of the booth eyes slightly glazed. Oh boy. Winn was really really drunk wasn’t he? “Come here, big boy,” Noah said motioning for the other man to stand up and come closer to him, plan already in motion. See, Noah was gonna be a responsible drunk. He was gonna get everything paid, and both of them in an Uber, and everything was gonna be a-okay. But first. Money. “Need wallet to pay so we can go,” he grunted, reaching for the obvious bulge in Winn’s ass pocket before realizing. This was Winn. He was grabbing Winn’s ass. A man he had not established these “bro I touch your ass because you touch mine all the time” protocols with. Shit. Noah. What the actual fuck.

Wallet? What was… where was his wallet? Noah had mentioned something about the check. Right. They definitely had to pay. And Winn had to piss. Hmm. Winn stood at Noah’s call, almost trancelike, and walked towards Noah. He tilted his head a bit at “big boy,” even as drunk as he wasn’t, Winn scoffed a little bit. It wasn’t, like… Noah wasn’t small. He could take Winn. Had. Jacked up on Full Moon juice and bein’ pissed that Winn had given him the ol’ sniff. Which, if Winn wasn’t careful, was definitely going to happen again. He knew he wasn’t steady, and as Noah groped at his ass, Winn felt himself sling forward a little into Noah’s personal space. Did he always have to smell good? Fucking hell. But… Why was Noah grabbing his ass? It felt nice, but, like… Noah was, like, strai— Wallet. That wasn’t where his wallet was. That was his phone. Winn grunted low and close to Noah’s ear, and mumbled, “Front.” Thinking that maybe Noah wouldn’t catch the drift, Winn took his hand and placed it on the front of his pants, where his wallet bulged out… He hoped? He really, really hoped. His head leaned into Noah’s shoulder for a moment, as he snickered. He was a mess. They were a mess. This was a good night.

And now it was Noah’s turn to blush, the events unfolding before him like some sort of weird, sexy horror movie. Okay, well, maybe not a horror movie, per se. But it was definitely not Noah’s usual light-hearted, comedic, “Oh, I'm definitely not touching my super hot wolf friend’s dick right now, and having a panic attack because maybe I kinda like it?” genre, that was for sure. Moving his hand from Winn’s crotch, Noah grabbed the wallet, easing it gently out of the other man’s pocket and ignoring the weight on his shoulder. Because, yeah, leave it to drunk as a skunk Winn to make him have a bisexual crisis in the middle of a pirate-themed restaurant and then have the nerve to lean in for CUDDLES. Who did this motherfucker think he was? “Okay, go piss now,” Noah said gruffly, turning the other man around as fast as he could before they scared all the children. “I can handle this,” he said, waving the wallet in Winn’s direction. Hopefully, the other man was just sober enough to do that on his own, because Noah definitely needed a few seconds.

The bathroom, when Winn eventually found it, was somehow also pirate-themed. He was pretty sure he saw a “wipe your booty” sign, which, were he way more sober than he was right now, would be… mildly funny. Since he was drunk, it was hilarious. But. No laughing. Pissing. Right. When he wandered out of the bathroom a couple’a minutes later, Winn noticed Noah sitting at the booth, right where Winn had left him. Man, he had a pretty friend, huh? He should definitely tell him that. Definitely. He slid into the booth next to Noah, pushing the other man into the dividing wall between the booths and the tables in the main area. “Hey,” Winn said, dopey smile on his face, head leaned into Noah’s shoulder. They were super close. Winn loved bein’ close with his bros. Felt good, man. “You’re super hot, bro. You know that? Suuuuuper,” he dropped his voice low, feelin’ like maybe Noah could use some teasin’. Winn hadn’t teased him at all today! “Hot,” he finished, yawning. Noah’s shoulder was super comfy. He could get used to this… Then, because, well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he added, “Baby…” His voice was low, sleepy, a little mumbly. “I’d kiss you so nice.” And then, well. Then, Winn was asleep.

Once the hormones of the moment dissipated and Noah Kalani was able to get a breath of fresh air, he put the rest of his “I am a drunk yet responsible adult” plan into action, starting with motioning the waiter over for the check, and ending with ordering an Uber for the both of them. When Winn beelined for him, Noah should have known what was going to happen next, the older man sliding in and leaning on his shoulder. It had been a long time since anyone had been this, well, physical? No wait, that wasn't the right word. Cuddly? Caring? Gentle? Supportive? to him in a long time, and it was safe to say it was, well, kinda nice. Especially coming from someone who he knew actually meant every word. Even the ones that sent a full body flush down his spine. “Winn?” Noah asked, trying not to blanch too hard, thoughts still spinning of Winn and Kissing, and of Winn wanting to Kiss him. And… how would it even be to kiss a man? But the answer he was looking for never came, because of course Winn Woods would choose now to pass the fuck out. Goddamnit. Shaking all of the thoughts out of his head (because one crisis at a time, Kalani) Noah elbowed the other into submission, somehow getting them out of the restaurant and into their awaiting Uber.

Winn may have been drunk (and, alright, yes, he could admit, now, that he was drunk), but he was still a pretty light sleeper. Noah’s body pressed up against his, trying to guide them out of the restaurant, jostled him enough that he woke up and, bare minimum, held himself up as Noah guided him. He’d have to thank the man later. Had he mentioned kissing? Winn hoped he hadn’t said that aloud; he just wanted to mess with Noah, not freak the other guy out. The world went woozy again, as Noah put him into the Uber and, safety be damned, Winn refused to put on a seatbelt. Not when there was a Noah. He was a wolf, he’d be fiiiiine. The Uber was surprisingly roomy, enough for Winn to slink down in his seat, to tip over to the side, and to have his head land in Noah’s lap. Oops. “I’m sorry,” he said to… Noah? The driver? It was unclear. “We tip well. Five stars. Just lemme nap, pleeease.” Okay, so. To the driver, then. Here, in the darkness of the car, in the quiet, Winn felt… safe. Lo— Ha, no. He reached his hand back, under (?) his body, to grab at one of Noah’s (extremely nice) hands, guiding it to his hair. “It’s still your lap, buddy, just…” He laughed at the joke he was about to make. “Pretend I’m a dog. Pet me, Kalani.” He winked. His eyes were definitely closed, but, like, it was an emotional wink. Noah would feel it. Before passing out again, Winn felt a gentle, tentative hand in his hair. Oh.

While wrestling a whole almost 200 pounds of Winn into the car was relatively easy in the grand scheme of things, getting a seatbelt on him proved even more difficult. “Winn. Stop moving,” Noah said through gritted teeth, before simply giving up and letting the other just fall into his lap. And any other time he’d have just bro-elbowed him back into place, but for now the younger boy let it slide, too tired to care. His drunk mind focused on getting them both home safely. And preferably with the least amount of moving. But of course Winn had other ideas, grabbing Noah’s hand and spouting useless babble Noah’s drunk ears barely registered. “Your buddy okay back there?” the Uber driver asked tentatively, as if only to gauge the possibility of cleanup—or worse, shenanigans—the thought of which made Noah look down at Winn and roll his eyes. Leave it to Winn to make everything awkward again, and then stick him with the cleanup duty. But, for some odd reason, looking down at the man in his lap, he couldn't find it in his heart to be mad at the big lug. In fact, he felt oddly protective, the wolf in him comforted by the fact Winn was close and warm and nice. Was this what it was like? Having a pack? Noah didn’t know, but what he did know is that the brute in his lap wanted to be petted, and he guessed he would oblige. “He’s fine… He’s just drunk,” Noah responded quietly, brushing a stray piece of hair out of Winn’s eyes. Because yeah. Winn was just drunk. Noah was just drunk. None of this meant anything because they were both just drunk.

To Winn’s credit, he was a calm and quiet lapdog. He drifted in and out of sleep, only occasionally shifting his head to nudge deeper into the warmth that was Noah, feeling just… nice. Was he snoring, just a little, or was that a drunken thought? Noah’s hand, petting Winn just as the older man had asked-begged, soothed him, the wolf enjoying it as much as (if not more than) his human self did. The car eventually stopped outside of Noah’s house and the door cracked open, letting the cool spring air in and rustling Winn fully awake. He was… slightly more sober? Decently-slightly. He could make it to a door without any help, definitely. Instead, what Winn said as he half-rolled out of the car was, “Help me?”, stretching his arms and legs out and into Noah’s waiting grip, half-falling on the man. “I could go home, I’m fine,” he said, leaning against the younger man for support. “But I don’t want to...” Wait, had he said that aloud? Eh, fuck it. It was true. “Thankyouuu!” he called back into the car as Noah shut the door.

Feeling the car come to a stop, Noah jerked out of his drunken stupor, fingers intertwined in Winn’s hair, hazy eyes looking out for his aunt’s townhouse. Okay yeah, they were here, cool. Now to get both of them out of the car. Untangling himself from the other man, Noah reached over and pushed Winn’s door open for him, a grin erupting on his face as Winn practically fell out of it on his own accord. Yup, that about summed the night up. Exiting the car himself, Noah walked around to heed Winn’s pleas, pulling the dude upright again almost effortlessly. Winn was lucky he chose to get drunk with a dude who could haul him over his head and benchpress him. “I will not let your drunken ass go home by yourself, maaaate,” he grunted out as he hauled Winn up the steps to his front door, hand digging in his pockets for his keys. “Bros need tuh look out for bros,”he said, if only to fill the silence as he fumbled with the lock. Damn depth perception. Finally, the door swung open, revealing, by the hall light on, one of his large ass water bottles left on the entryway table with a note that said: “Drink me, bitch.” Aunt Leah, man, the Real MVP.  Taking a large swig himself, Noah carefully held out the bottle for Winn, chuckling as he grasped at it like he’d never had water in his entire life. “Thirsty, huh?” Noah snorted before he hauled them further into the house. Usually, he’d dump his friends on the couch, brownie points accomplished, but today? Nah, today he headed up the stairs. Winn had had a weekend it seemed; he deserved a bed.

The next thing Winn remembered was water being tipped into his mouth. He grasped at it, nearly (but not!) dropping it, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. One chug, and it was gone. “More,” he gasped out, before realizing that was maybe not a good idea. “Wait, no. Not more. Yes more, but not more in me, more near me.” Winn had never been inside Noah’s house — well, not more than the entryway, guiding Noah’s snoring body to a couch, but he knew he was being led up stairs. He wasn’t as sleepy, which was… good, probably. And he felt, like, a little guilty, which meant that he was definitely sobering up. Wolf problems. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but then, louder: “Sorry, really. I’m… sorry.” Oh fuck, was he getting emotional? “This was supposed to be about you, babe, I mean. Buddy. I mean. Fuck.” They landed at the top of the stairs, and Winn suddenly felt a strong urge to hug the other man. So, he did. “Wanna hang with you sober, get to know you, I really… like you, Noah,” he said, smiling against Noah’s neck. “But we gotta stop meetin’ like this.” He let go of Noah for a second, looking into the other man’s eyes. The moonlight cut through a nearby window, and Winn re-realized, for what had to be the millionth time tonight, how beautiful the other man was. Winn leaned in, he could just… No. He chickened out, not willing to take the rejection, not willing to make Noah hate him, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he planted a kiss to Noah’s cheek, hugging him again, tightly. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. What for, he wasn’t sure.

Standing at the top of the stairs Noah just looked over at Winn, drunken mind not really comprehending what was going on right now. Winn was sorry? Why was he sorry? “Why are you sorry?” Noah voiced aloud as Winn started hugging him. And then he said the sentence that Noah was most familiar with, something that he had been told by countless women… and now one really drunk bro. I really like you. Oh. OH. Winn liked him. Oh my god. Winn liked him. That's why he was sorry, because he liked him. “Wait, what?” Noah breathed out, slightly confused. Why would Winn of all people like him? I mean, don't get him wrong, Noah knew he had a lot to offer (he was smoking hot and had his life relatively together), but at the same time… his brain trailed off looking at the man in front of him. This was Winn Woods, okay? Like, all hard edges and smooth talking. He was one of the boys, Noah’s boys, and while Noah had no problem with Winn being gay… Man, was he too drunk for this. But then Winn was kissing him, or rather Winn was kissing his cheek, and Noah's brain actually short-circuited right then and there, the feeling of stubble on his face for the first time almost too much. “Winn.” Noah placed a hand on the other’s chest gently before realizing how Winn might take that. A clear stop. A hard no. Rejection. Noah had been on the receiving end of this hand enough times to know what it could be construed as. “Wait, no. This is. I’m not pushing away. Just. I need to…” He trailed off, not really knowing how to vocalize what he needed in the moment, but hoping Winn would understand.

On the plus side, Winn figured Noah didn’t hate him. And, wasn’t… rejectin’ him? What was there to really reject, though? Winn was physically affectionate, he’d kissed bros on the cheek before! And Noah was straight, so, like, he didn’t think Noah would reciprocate the, like, lust for Noah that Winn had. He knew what this was, and he was alright with it! But sometimes, your bro just looks… extremely good. And you kiss him on the cheek, and it’s a pleasant tingle in your lips because your bro’s skin is, like, so warm. Ugh. He was too drunk for this. And not drunk enough. He barely processed what Noah was saying, figuring that he needed no more cheek kisses. Awright. Winn could do that! Easily. He followed Noah to the other man’s room, taking a token stop in the restroom (good, he’d probably need that before dawn!), and sat at the edge of the other man’s bed. Was there a tension in the air? Naw, Winn was probably imaginin’ it. “Sooooo,” he drawled. His voice was still slurring, a bit, but he figured he sounded… better? “Couch? Floor? I can do either, just need, I’unno a blanket or somethin’. Pillow, we’re… not animals.” He winked at the other man, unsure if Noah could even see it in the dim light coming in through the window. “Or, hey!” Winn said, an amazing idea coming to his head. “This bed’s big enough for the two of us. We can, like, squeeze together, it’ll be dope. I’m super warm, bud, I’m a great bed-buddy.” He smiled. Amazing idea. Yes. Winn patted the spot on the bed next to him, rolling over and making room for Noah and pulling off his shirt. (Didn’t want to get too warm.)

Watching Winn back away without a care in the world, Noah breathed a small sigh of relief. He could live another day without having to do some major introspection on his own life and why he kinda wasn’t like all the way put off by Winn’s kiss. Excellent. Leading the other down the hall, Noah pointed to the door on the right of his own and motioned that that was the bathroom, lest Winn need it or anything before opening the door to his own room. He was lucky he chose to clean up his space before going out on his date, (no, wait, that was not a DATE) bed nicely made and no dirty clothes in sight. Placing the small ratted wolf stuffed animal that sat in the middle of the bed on his desk for safekeeping, Noah just rolled his eyes at the other. He was going to let Winn take the bed anyway, but he guessed he could also be in it too. Hopefully… maybe… “Fine. We can share the bed, it is a king-size after all.” He shrugged, trying not to make too much of everything lest he have another heart attack. Cuz you know they were just two bros, sharing a bed after a cheek kiss. Five feet apart cuz they weren’t gay. Or at least Noah wasn’t. Gay, that is. Turning around, Noah pushed it all out of his mind, preferring to think of Winn as one of his footballer friends as he went to rummage around for sleep clothes. Yes, Marco and everyone had slept in his bed before. In a very non-gay way. So, why did this feel any different? “Also, here.” Noah threw a pair of basketball shorts at Winn before stripping out of his jeans and into his own pair. “These will be better than those.” He motioned as he turned around just in time to watch Winn pull off his shirt in a way that should not have made Noah raise an eyebrow but also. Damn Winn. Like, Noah was a jock, and he’d been around plenty of muscled men, but still just. Damn. And also were those… nipple piercings?

Winn ran a sleepy hand down his chest, scratching at the light dusting of hair on his stomach, as he watched Noah strip out of his jeans. Damn. Bro had legs… and, well. Winn wasn’t going to be a creep, ‘course not, but that was a nice ass. Noah was starin’ at his chest and, like, Winn was a good-looking guy, but why would a straight dude be givin’ him the once-over? He ran his hand back up his chest, realizing as he glanced a hand across his piercings. “Oh, right. You didn’t know about the bars! Forgot you were the only one not on campus that day.” He flicked one of them, ‘cause why not, and winked. Winn caught some basketball shorts to the face for his ogling. Was he supposed to… change into them? Awright, sure. Jeans weren’t comfy, ‘specially not when cuddlin’. Winn stood from where he’d rolled on Noah’s bed, and shucked his jeans. Winn had forgotten something important, something he failed to realize as he walked around the bed. “Oh, bro,” he said, stark-ass naked, to Noah, trying to get the other man’s attention. He looked distracted. Weird. “D’you have, like, mouthwash? Or, uh, an extra toothbrush? Booze breath plus dog breath plus mornin’ breath would be… bad, for our friendship.” He laughed, and glanced down, immediately realizing that the emperor had, uh, no clothes. “Shoot.” Winn quickly jumped back onto the bed, grabbing the basketball shorts he’d forgotten, slipping them on, and, well, giving Noah an eyeful, most likely. “Oops,” he mumbled. “It’s, like… bro. Wolves, you know? We get real… comfortable with nudity, and, like, I don’t like wearin’ underwear all the time, ‘specially with jeans, and, um…” Winn knew he was blushing and brought a sheepish hand up to his hair, running it through. “Well,” he started, laughing, “you already, uh, felt it, right? Seein’ it must not be… worse? I am… going to go look for some mouthwash and take a leak and, uh, like, whichever side of the bed you want. BRB.” Well. Embarrassment sure was one way to sober up.

“Why? Did you put out a PSA that you were getting them pierced or something?” Noah replied, rolling his eyes as Winn fondled his nipples in his general direction, the sudden amazement now lost on him after that. Noah picked up his shucked off jeans and t-shirt, folding them neatly and placing them on his desk chair, not paying much attention to Winn. “Yeah, I’ve got mouthwash in the bathroom, and if you want a toothbrush just let me…” He trailed off, eyes finally catching hold of the real elephant in the room. Because surprise, there was now a dick. Winn’s dick, to be exact. Literally, Noah turned around for two seconds and all of a sudden he was transported into Magic Mike. Except with way more tangible DICK. And it wasn’t that he had never seen dick before, oh no no no. He’d seen plenty of dick before. Nice dicks, too. But there was something about Winn's dick that just. Noah could feel his full body flush crimson against his will. Goddamn. He was too drunk for this. But as soon as the dick was there, it was gone, Winn realizing what a predicament he must be putting Noah in and grabbing the shorts (but not before giving Noah a moonful). Hoping that that was the last of it (because, really, how much worse could it get past accidentally seeing your new friend’s unsolicited dick), Noah flopped face first onto the bed, mind just done for the day. “I'm not uncomfortable with nudity,” he groaned out into his pillow, begging Winn for the love of God to stop talking before he made it even weirder. “I just need you to take it all of this down a notch, pal.” Lifting his head slightly, Noah hoped Winn heard his plea before he scampered into the bathroom.

Winn was, just barely, sober enough now to feel, like, a little bit bad. This, probably, wasn’t as bad as the sniffin’ incident, but… well, it wasn’t great. At least, this time, Winn was drunk. He knew he was a lot when drunk, and Noah hadn’t ever had to deal with that before. So. No more drunk Winn for Noah, not for a while. Winn had to prove that he could be, like, a good friend and a fun person to hang around that could literally keep his dick in his pants. He’d just forgotten. Really! (God, he hoped Noah believed him.) Winn swished the mouthwash around, spit, and thought about his life and his choices. Noah hadn’t kicked him out of bed, yet, so… That was a win. Cuddlin’ was still on. This night was still good, he still felt good, but it was a pleasant buzz, not an all-consuming torrent of booze and emotion. He was the epitome of control. Noah had left the light on for him, but was snugly in the bed, toned back to Winn. Winn wouldn’t have taken Noah for a little spoon, most straight guys were weird about that, but Winn was happy for the contact. He turned the light off, toeing off his socks (and, really, how had they stayed on?) and flinging them in the direction of his shirt and jeans. Winn slid into bed and under Noah’s sheets and wrapped an arm around the younger man’s torso, breathing soft onto the skin on Noah’s neck. “Hey,” he whispered, not knowing whether or not Noah had passed out already (he hadn’t reacted when Winn had come back). “Just wanted to say that I had a good time tonight. Thanks for takin’ care of me, and lettin’ me stay over. I appreciate it.” He pulled the other man closer, settling in for the long haul. He yawned. “Good night, bro. See you in the mornin’.” The last thing Winn remembered was the warmth of Noah’s body next to him, the other man’s presence easing both Winn and the wolf into a peaceful and, for once, uninterrupted sleep.

Using the five seconds he had in his bed alone, Noah rolled over slightly, eyes finding the wall. It was safe to say this night was not exactly the one he had planned, you know with the whole surprise kiss, and then the surprise dick. But honestly, as far as drunken nights went this one was really not that bad. Because yeah, what’s a dick among friends. Yeah. Friends. Frowning slightly at that word (for reasons only his subconscious knew), Noah sighed, snuggling his way into the sheets. His tired body was already starting to drift off against his will, but not before he registered Winn sliding in. And normally, Noah would have gently elbowed the other man to his own side, setting clear boundaries. But man. He’d already seen the guy’s dick, and ass. And he was just. He was so touch-starved at the moment that he couldn’t help but melt into the arm around his waist, part of him grateful that he had a bro like Winn to hold him. Even if just for a little bit. “It’s all no problem,” Noah mumbled out, rubbing his cheek against his pillow slightly as he settled. “Night Winn.” And with that, Noah drifted off into his own unconscious, sweet, sweet sleep finally calling his name.

[arcanesupern0va]

Down With The Rickness; Ch4: Every You, Every Me

Summary: Nova is stressed so Rick tries to make things a little more interesting by taking her to Aeon, a casino outside of time and space.

A/N: Thar be smuts here. And no Halloween chapter because... well this happened instead. I have to thank my beta, my-sun-my-baelish, for all of the help she's given me. It was her idea to bring Flesh Curtains Rick into the story and he will definitely be back. I cannot wait. :D Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think. :D

CW: Smut, drinking, gambling  Pairing: Rick Sanchez/Reader Word Count: 8508

My ao3

Masterlist

~Rick In The Water~

|Ch3: Scene Of the Crime|

Things fell back into a comfortable pace when we finally made it home with Rick even sleeping in my room more often than not. The coffee I shared with Beth every morning before she left for work was already awkward enough without Rick stumbling loudly out of my room, much to her chagrin. She insisted she didn’t mind, that she was happy for us, but I could still see the twinges of jealousy in her eyes as she watched her father stumble out of my room in my robe in search of his own cup of coffee. 

In an attempt to reconcile with her, I spent most of my days scrolling through job listings. On one particular afternoon, I had taken up my search across from Rick when he was at his workbench. I let out a guttural groan after scrolling through the same thirty listings I’d seen for the past two weeks, earning me a raised eyebrow from the irritable scientist sitting on the other side of the workbench.

“Y-You mind keeping your existential despair down over there?” Rick asked, looking up from whatever he was working on with an unconvincing scowl on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was my overwhelming stress bothering you?” I asked, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes as I tried to mask the grin forming on my face.

“W-Well, yeah. Yo*uuurp*u mind taking it elsewhere if you’re going to be a nuisance?” he growled, returning to his gadget with a dramatic huff.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry,” I smirked, rolling my eyes as I gathered my laptop to stalk off.

“I was gonna go out in a little bit, i-i-if you wanted to come with me,” he offered, spinning around in his chair and looking genuinely surprised I had taken his complaints seriously.

“Wouldn’t want my- what did you call it? Oh- extentistial despair to distract you in anyway,” I sighed, resisting the urge to grin at him again.

“W-Well, I was hoping it would get your mind off of it.”

“Aren’t you just so thoughtful?”

“I-It’s been said... from time to time-” 

“Never. I think you mean never.”

“I-I’m sure someone’s had the wrong idea before.”

I sighed, turning away from Rick and walking to the edge of the garage in contemplation. I could choose to stay here and commiserate over why failure seemed inevitable on the job front or I could go out with Rick and just lose myself in an adventure with him. As I weighed between responsibility and fun, my eyes fell onto my old house next door. It filled my heart with a petty glee to see the house falling into minor disrepair as weeds invaded the formly meticulously kept garden and small groups of crab grasses sprouted up across the lawn. Once the police had finally given me access again, Rick, Beth, and I started destroying the cameras that had kept me locked in the house. It was cathartic to say the least but I still hadn’t stepped foot back in since. There were too many memories haunting those walls and I’d sooner tear the place down than go back into it.

“Alright, let’s go,” I sighed, tearing my eyes away before the nightmares could find their way back in. I sat my laptop down for a moment, a low moan leaking out as my legs stretched as a chill ran down my spine at the sheer relief in it. With a yawn, I headed for the door to go change out of my pajamas and into something more suited for adventure.

“D-D-Don’t worry about getting dressed,” Rick stopped me, making one last adjustment to his device before pulling himself out of his chair with a groan and directing me to his ship.

“Rick, seriously?” I asked, gesturing down to my cartoon covered sweatpants, tattered tank top and flip flops. “I’ll be like, two seconds. You telling me you can’t wait?”

“N-No,” he growled, “You don’t have anything to wear that would fit in where we’re going. We’re going to have to stop along the way.”

“Oh,” I gasped softly, following him to the ship. “So, where are you taking me then?”

“Look, will you just take ‘it’s a surprise’ as a sufficient answer so I can have a bit of fun with this?” Rick scowled as I climbed into the ship, eyeing him hesitantly.

“I mean, I suppose I really don’t have much choice otherwise, do I?” I asked him, eyes narrowed at him as a smirk played on my cheeks.

“That’s what I love about you, you always catch on quickly.”

Our first stop was at an off-world intergalactic mall. Rick sent me into a large dress shop, shoving a large wad space cash into my hands and instructing me to “go nuts”. He departed with a kiss on the cheek as he headed into a Blips and Chitz further into the mall, muttering something about unfinished business.

The humanoid eel creature at the counter turned her nose up to me at first, eyeing my shabby attire until she caught sight of the fistful of cash I was carrying. Her demeanor shifted in an instant, ushering me past the clearance rack I had been eyeing to instead show me the latest gowns they’d just received. She ensured me I would be on the cutting edge of whatever charity gala or ball I would be donning the gown to as I flipped nervously past gowns with price tags I couldn’t read.

“I-I don’t know how much this is-” I held out the wad of cash in my hand to her nervously “-I was just kind of sent here and told to ‘go nuts’’.”

She eyed me suspiciously but remained silent as she quickly counted the money, handing it back with a satisfied smile. She started pulling gowns down, holding them in front of me to get an idea of what would look best before leading me to the lavish dressing rooms in the back of the store. Sizing proved to be no issue as the fabric adjusted itself around me, being snug in all the right places and scooping around my breasts in a scandalous way. After a montage worthy amount of changing, we decided on a long, black sleeveless number. It boasted a light train following behind me and a neckline I knew Rick wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of. She grabbed a pair of heels and a set of jewels for me to wear before pushing a large device over my head, letting it rest on my shoulders. Panic set in as my hair began pulling away from my scalp gently before it was doused and dried my hair quickly and a light spray methodically worked its way over my face. A soft chime rang out and the clerk lifted device with ease, handing me a mirror to take in my appearance. I barely recognized the face staring back at me. My hair fell gently over my shoulders in delicate waves and my makeup was done with skill I’d never possess. The sales clerk led me over to a full length mirror and I was taken aback by my reflection.

I looked so… elegant.

The clerk pointed to the rest of my outfit, sliding my heels and jewelry over to me. The heels were matte black with five inch heels and I stood up nervously in them, I was relieved to discover they were fitted with a balance technology that made walking as easy as if I was barefoot. The jewels hanging from my neck and ears sparkled with purple and blue hues, adding the perfect pop of color to offset the dark gown with the added benefit of accenting my eyes.

“T-Thank you,” I stammered, staring into the mirror to take in the finished product. I handed her back the wad of cash, waving my hand away as she offered me my change as I continued to thank her profusely. I wandered out of the shop in a haze, barely noticing when Rick approached me looking over his shoulder nervously until his eyes fell on me.

“H-Holy shit, Nova,” he gaped, looking me over completely. “You look fucking amazing.”

“I know, right?” I grinned proudly, looking down in amazement at my own cleavage.

“Are you ready then?” he asked with a grin, his eyes struggling to meet mine.

“I guess we’re not going on the usual kind of adventure then?” I trembled, my confidence gone at the reminder of the uncertainty ahead of us.

“You could say that.”

We landed in a large valet, the dinginess of Rick’s ship incredibly apparent next to all of the flashy ships parked around us. A Morty came out to greet us, taking the keys out of Rick’s hand before climbing into the ship and flying off to a garage. My eyes bulged at the sight, turning quickly to Rick with my eyes narrowed.

“Are we back on the fucking Citadel?” I hissed, looking around for the sea of Ricks and Mortys going about their daily lives.

“N-N-No,” Rick assured me quickly. “W-Well, kinda. N-N-Not really. This is a getaway for Ricks. It was built as somewhere to put all the Rickless Mortys and also give Ricks a place to relax when shit gets too serious.”

“So, there’s still going to be a shit ton of Ricks here,” I groaned, walking toward the entrance. The large doors slid open smoothly, allowing me to storm right into a large casino filled with Ricks and Mortys just as I had feared, but also a large variety of other otherworldly creatures. I stopped in my tracks as I looked over the sea of people gambling obscene amounts only to shrug off their losses and slide another tower back out into the circle.

“Welcome to Aeon,” another Morty greeted us. “Do you have a reservation in our hotel for the evening?”

“Y-Yeah,” Rick confirmed, pushing past me gently to handle the Morty in front of us leaving me to continue staring out over the casino floor. A large cluster of Ricks surrounded a craps table, cheering loudly after the shooter let the dice fly out of his hand. Another Rick was ordering a drink from the Morty cocktail server before turning back to a poker table. He looked at his hand, a look of irritation growing on his face as slammed the cards down, tossing a couple chips on top. I didn’t get to see if he’d won as Rick grabbed my hand gently as the Greeter Morty led us to the elevator to show us to the room Rick had reserved for the night.

The room was extravagant, with a full bar directly in front of us as we entered. A Bartender Morty portalled in and Rick ordered himself a drink immediately, allowing me to venture further into the luxurious room. A large four poster bed with delicate fabric draped down sat in the middle of the next room with a large television and sofa at the foot of it. The bed’s linens were quite possibly the softest thing I’d ever touched and I found myself running my hand over the fabric again and again. Rick entered the room behind me, quietly watching as I was mesmerized by a blanket.

“It’s alright, I guess,” he shrugged, setting his empty glass down and pointing to another door in the corner of the room, “You should check out the bathroom. True whirlpool jets, Nova. I’ve gotten lost in those damn things more times than I can count.”

“You’ve been here a lot, I take it?” I asked, breaking my attention from the linens to follow Rick’s suggestion.

“Yeah, this place isn’t called the Aeon for nothing,” Rick explained, “Time literally doesn’t exist here. You could spend ages here and no time passes. It’s outside of the ebb and flow of time.”

“So- Wait, what?” I asked, mouth agape as I turned to face him.

“Don’t think too hard about it, okay?” Rick smirked, “Let’s just put it this way, you could stay fifty years in this place and Madi wouldn’t think you’d been gone longer than an afternoon.”

“B-But, wouldn’t I be ancient by the time I got back?”

“Nope, I’m telling you, no time passes. You won’t age, you won’t gain any weight from any of the food you technically don’t need to eat… The only consequences you face here are with your wallet.”

“That’s… that’s crazy. So you could live here, forever?”

“I-I mean, if you had an infinite amount of money, sure. The fifty years thing was just an exaggeration, this place is not cheap.”

“I can tell,” I grinned, gesturing around to the expensive decor around the room.

“The Flesh Curtains have a show tonight,” Rick remarked, picking up the daily itinerary from the dresser.

“F-Flesh Curtains?” I sighed, biting my lip to resist a laugh.

“So, back in the day, my friends Birdperson and Squanchy formed a band called Flesh Curtains with me. Most Ricks do it but don’t stick with it. These guys are from a timeline that stuck with it and became a success.”

“I hardly consider playing in a casino success,” I said with a snort, glancing over at Rick in disbelief to find him staring at the pamphlet with a glassy look in his eyes.

“Psh,” he said finally, shaking the look away and clearing his throat. “It wouldn’t be so bad, I guess.”

“You wanna go back downstairs? Maybe we’ll go see the show tonight?” I offered softly, moving closer and lacing my hand into his. A devilish grin spread over his face as he pulled the door open.

“You know how to play blackjack, right?”

When we made it back to the floor, Rick made a beeline to the first empty blackjack table he could find. The Ricks around us watched us pass, not taking their eyes off of me until Rick shot them a dangerous look. The Morty at the table greeted us, scooping the cards back up and deftly shuffling them again before loading them back into the shoe and waiting for our buy-ins.

“Player’s cards?” he asked, bored. Rick tossed me a handful of colorful bills before pushing his over to the dealer along with a black card. Morty quickly cut out his chips, calling out the total and waiting for his supervisors approval before sliding two stacks of black and green chips across the table to Rick. He turned to me expectantly, raising an eyebrow when I hesitated.

“How much do I give him?” I whispered to Rick, unable to read the symbols on the money.

“Just give him all of it. Trust me, it’s enough.”

I pushed the money across with a trembling hand, earning a sigh from Morty as he counted it up and slid me my own stack of black and green chips.

“Place your bets.”

“Alright, so all you have to do is play one at a time,” Rick said, pushing the chips closer to me. “You’ll be playing the minimum so if you start doing well, feel free to up your bet.”

“I see we have a special guest tonight,” the floor supervisor Rick remarked as Morty started dealing the cards out. “Not often we see a Nova in-”

“-In here. Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot,” I waved him off, not meeting his gaze. I tried to remember the basic strategy rules for blackjack as Morty checked his own hand for blackjack.

“I-I bet,” Floor Rick stuttered, looking between my Rick and I. Rick ignored him, tapping the table to get another card. Nineteen. He waved it off with a satisfied sigh, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his lab coat. The Floor Rick grabbed an ashtray, sliding in front of Rick before turning his attention back to me.

“Eleven,” Morty said, moving his hand from Rick’s hand to mine.

“Double it,” Floor Rick said with a shrug, “It’s a good hand for doubling. All you need is a ten.” I sighed, sliding another chip up next to my initial bet, wincing as Morty slapped the card down on top of it and quickly went to his own hand. Twenty One.

“Twelve. Sixteen. Bust,” he called out flatly as he played his own hand out, quickly paying us our chips and scooping the cards up before chucking them into the discard rack.

“Nice one, Nova. You two let me know if you need anything,” Floor Rick said with a sly grin, pushing himself away from the table and going to check on another table.

“I seriously hope every fucking Rick in this place isn’t going to be on you like that all night,” Rick groaned as Morty dealt out another hand.

“Well, even if they are, I can handle it,” I assured him.

“I-I-It’s just fucking annoying,” Rick grumbled, watching Morty bust his hand again. 

We play for another hour before the Supervisor Rick made his way back over to us, making more uncharacteristically friendly conversation with me before being relieved to go on break. The Relief Floor Rick was also enamoured by my presence but kept it to himself, watching me silently from the adjacent table’s computer system.

“Twenty one,” Morty declared, scooping our bets up and placing them in the rack. Rick groaned in frustration, counting his chips angrily.

“That’s five fucking hands in a row, Nova. This is mathmatically fucking impossible,” he lamented, eyeing the stacks of green in front of me suspiciously. “How in the hell have you been doing so well?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” I shrugged, sliding a stack of five into the circle and looking at his expectantly.

“There’s no such thing as fucking luck,” Rick grumbled under his breath, slamming a chunk of black chips into the circle and looking up at Morty.

“W-Wait, before you deal-” I interrupted, holding my hand up to him and smiling softly. A cocktail Morty had come by, calling Rick’s attention away in search of something strong enough to drown his sorrows in. “Do you guys get tips? Like, as a paycheck or something.”

“Y-Yea. Usually doesn’t amount to much though,” he remarked spitefully, his eyes resting on Rick’s back as he spoke.

“So if I put money up for you, you get it if we win?” I grinned devilishly. He nodded quickly, his eyes lighting up as I slid a chip in front of my bet with a wink. “Let’s make you some money kiddo.”

Morty started dealing the hand out as Rick turned back around, handing me a small glass as he watched the hand come out. Another fifteen for Rick and two sevens for me, with Morty showing a six.

“Split them, Nova,” Rick suggested, waving his hand off before pulling out another cigarette.

“Since when do you smoke?” I asked, wrinkling my nose as I slid more chips out and signaled for the split.

“It’s a casino thing. Something about this place just makes me want a cigarette,” he shrugged. “You’re betting for Morty? Y-Y-Your streaks coming to an end now.”

“Eleven, Au- er -Nova,” Morty stammered, focusing his attention on the cards. I slid another six chips out, doubling the hand for a solid nineteen. The other hand turned into seventeen, leaving me to wave it off and hope for the best.

“Looks like I’m doing just fine,” I smirked, looking over to Rick. He didn’t respond, gesturing to Morty’s hand across the table.

“Twenty,” he called out mournfully, scooping up the bets and thanking me.

“Here, just take it,” I said stubbornly, not taking my eyes off of Rick as I tossed him a couple chips for him to drop in his toke box.

“T-T-Thank you, Aunt Nova,” he said, his cheeks flushing at my name again. 

“Tonight in our Event Center, come see Flesh Curtains, only at Aeon!” a voice called over the intercom. Rick checked his watch, sighing inwardly as his slid his remaining chips across to Morty.

“Color me up,” he ordered, sliding our money to Morty before turning to me, “You ready to go see the greatest band in existence?”

“Greatest band, huh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him as he grabbed his money and finished his drink. He didn’t respond, taking my hand and pulling me through the sea of aliens and Ricks headed to the Event Center. The Mortys scanning tickets looked frustrated as devices were thrust into their faces by desperate fans. Rick pushed our way to a lone Rick standing guard, flashing his black card again and speaking in low tones. Whatever he said must have had an effect as the Rick dropped the rope, allowing Rick and I through to the back door and into the cavernous theater.

Seats were squashed together as aliens milled into the theater, finding their seats. Rick moved around them deftly, pulling me behind him to a small door by the stage where we were met with a bored looking Morty who let us pass after Rick flashed his card at him again.

“So is that just a ‘get whatever the fuck you want’ card?” I asked as the door to backstage closed behind me with a soft click.

“I guess you could call it that. I used to be in here all the time. I’m an Ultra member here.”

“Where in the hell is all this money coming from?” I demanded, quietly jealous of Rick’s seemingly endless supply of income.

“W-Well, you see- I’ve made some things that- W-Well- You remember Scar, right?” he stammered, running his hand through his hair.

“Yes…” I drew out, ignoring the ache that echoed through my chest at the memory of the Rick that saved my life.

“Well, I d-did that- I DO that a lot,” he said, shifting awkwardly before returning his hand to his hair.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so while I may not have a lot of Earth’s currency, I do pretty damn well otherwise,” he explained hesitantly as we approached a large door with a star bedazzled to it. Rick knocked that same knock he used on Scar’s door, tapping his foot impatiently before the door swung open to reveal another Rick that made my jaw drop.

“Rick N-682, as I fucking live and breathe,” he smirked, shaking Rick’s hand before his gaze rested on me. This Rick was a sight to behold. His loose blue tank top dipped lazily down to his jeans, giving me a tantalizing view of his navel. I pulled my eyes away from his skull belt buckle long enough to notice how much younger than my Rick, confirming his claims about time’s effect, or lack thereof, here. He nodded in acknowledgement at me before leading us into his dressing room, a small grin playing on his cheek. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, drinking in his every movement as he talked caught up with Rick.

“I see you haven’t changed,” Rick remarked, his eyes tracing to a closed door before meeting the other Rick’s gaze. “This is my Nova, by the way. Nova, this is Rick F-287.”

“Just call me Ricky, it’s a lot easier,” the much more laid back version of my Rick assured me.

“Oh! Another Nova!” a voice called out from another room. My reverie was broken when another… me appeared out of a makeshift bedroom wearing an excited look and more fishnets and dark makeup than I’ve ever owned. I felt out of place in comparison to her relaxed wear but I had to admit, I looked fucking hot. 

“Baby, why don’t you don’t you introduce her to the others,” her Rick suggested, gesturing behind her.

“Oh! Sure, come with me,” Punk Nova grinned, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind her. I spared one last fleeting glance back at my Rick before she closed the door behind us..

The ‘Others’ it turned out was more… Novas. This Rick had a veritable harem of Novas just hanging out in his dressing room. My vision spun at the sight of them, my knees going weak before Punk Nova grabbed me by my shoulder and led me over to the couch.

“You okay?” a Nova with bright pink hair asked urgently, coming to rest at my side. She was a stark contrast to the punk Nova who led me in here, wearing a tight lilac t-shirt with the Flesh Curtains plastered on the front with a short blue skirt and neon makeup. My tunnel vision was becoming worse as I stared into her face blankly. It felt like I was looking through one of those filters Madi had on her phone but I could feel her hand on my back rubbing soothingly.

“Seriously, P-465?” another Nova with long dark hair chimed in, pulling her away to give me space to breathe. 

“Goddammit, Kat. It’s Pinkie. You know that,” she reared back at annoyed looking version of me.

“K-Kat? P-Pinkie?” I stammered, trying to make sense of everything. “Y-Y-You’re not Novas?”

“It’s only fucking Pinkie when you’re not on my last goddamn nerve,” Kat retorted before looking back at me with a sigh. “No, we’re Novas. We’ve adopted nicknames so we can keep each other straight. It gets old when some says Nova and five people respond.”

“Y-Y-Yea, makes total sense,” I nodded numbly. “W-What are you all doing here?”

“Why don’t you just get your head on straight, first,” Punk Nova said comfortingly. “I’m Riff, by the way. That’s Harley-” she pointed to a fourth Nova with red and black hair “-and fuck knows where Norma went. She’s new around these parts.”

“S-So, you guys are h-here because you want to be r-r-right?”

“Of course we are! We lost our Ricks, so Ricky takes care of us,” Pinkie gushed, staring at the door. My stomach churned at her infatuation with the rockstar, knowing exactly which dark part of me that stemmed from.

“Ugh, she makes it sound so weird,” Kat groaned, glaring at the pink haired version of her. “My Rick blew himself up, so I tried to go to the Citadel for help because I was heartbroken. They couldn’t help but they sent me to… him. He took me in and he does take care of me but it’s not how Pinkie makes it sound. I’m not helpless without him. I just didn’t want to… be without him.”

“I’m sorry I love him, Kat,” Pinkie shot coldly, “I don’t want him to think I’m taking him for granted.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Riff swore, “just shut the fuck up Pinkie.”

“Rick knows how I feel about him,” Kat hissed, advancing toward Pinkie.

“Kat, don’t.” Riff tried to mediate between the two but the fury in Kat’s eyes was unlike anything I’d ever seen in the mirror. “She’s not worth it.”

“You know he hates it when you two fight,” Harley groaned, finally pulling her nose out of the book she’d been reading. “He’s about to go on stage, he doesn’t need you at each other's throats.”

The bickering between the four continued as I watched, unable to believe any of it. How were these girls… me? Sure we were physically identical for the most part but the difference in our personalities was glaring.

“Ladies, ladies,” Ricky mitigated, clapping his hands as he entered the room. My Rick followed closely behind him, the smirk lurking beneath the surface coming to fruition as he met my eye.

“She started it!” Pinkie cried, running into Ricky’s arms. He groaned, pulling her away to look her in the eyes.

“Come on Pinkie,” he growled, “This is just fucking juvenile, you know that right?”

“She kept egging me on,” Kat snarled, standing up defiantly.

“Just- Don’t,” Ricky chastised her, holding up a finger in her direction to silence her. “Pinkie, you need to knock this shit off.”

“I don’t get why she’s here,” Pinkie whined, shooting daggers at Kat.

“N-682, why don’t you and your Nova head out to the balcony seats. I need to take care of this,” Ricky sighed, giving my Rick an apologetic look.

“So that was… weird,” I murmured as we walked back out into the amphitheater to our seats.

“What? Seeing yourself in a thousand different variations?” Rick asked with a grin. “You get used to it.”

“I can’t believe you just let me nose dive into that situation,” I grumbled, shaking my head.

He checked a small sheet of paper that Ricky had given him before pushing through a thick curtain to a small balcony befitted with cozy couches with an excellent view down to the stage. A small group of tittering well-to-do’s were huddled together speaking in low tones, only stopping to lift their piercing gaze to us. Rick shot them a dirty look, pushing past them and flopping down on the couch in front row.

“You would have seen them either way,” he shrugged, kicking his feet up onto the railing, much to the disapproval of the others. “You gonna sit down or what?” 

“Oh shit,” I swore, earning me a dirty look of my own. I sat down on the edge of the couch, back rigid as I fiddled with the hem of my dress. “You know, I think I took our adventures for granted.”

“Oh, did you now?” Rick grinned, raising an eyebrow over at me. “You don’t like your taste of opulence and decadence?”

“Let’s just say, I felt a lot more comfortable in dirty pawn shops and cheap arcades,” I muttered, earning a grin as loudspeaker sounded.

“Hello and welcome guests of Aeon Casino!” an announcer declared as the lights went down and focused on the stage. “Tonight we have a special treat for you, brand new material from the Flesh Curtain’s new album ‘Pushing Buttons’!”

Three figures emerged onto the stage, the crowd roaring with excitement at the sight of them. I recognized Rick immediately but he was joined by what looked like a large bird and a cat. I turned to Rick, my brow furrowed.

“Birdperson and Squanchy,” he shouted over the crowd. “Come on Nova, can’t you just relax and have a little fun?” he asked, pulling me back onto the couch and putting his arm around me. I let out a sigh, trying to emulate the same devil-may-care attitude Rick always had but the eruption of the crowd as the Rick on stage grabbed the mic set me right back on edge. Rick noticed my stiffened demeanor, pulling me in closer and kissing the top of my head.

“What’s up, you pieces of shit!?” Ricky screamed into the mic, surveying the crowd with a smug grin as they roared in delight before passing the mic back to Birdperson.

“Thank you for joining us tonight,” Birdperson said, his voice monotone. I raised an eyebrow at Rick but only received a gentle headshake in response, his eyes trained on the group down below. 

The music was loud and abrasive but I had to admit, I loved it. The group of snobs behind us finally started letting loose as the show went on and they downed drink after drink. They even started sending drinks our way, much to Rick’s delight. When our drinks emptied, another appeared in its place, courtesy of our new friends behind us. Soon enough, one of the women with them grabbed my hand and pulled me in close, dancing sloppily as Rick watched with a bemused grin. My ears were ringing and my cheeks hurt from grinning but I was finally feeling relaxed. No one to judge as I danced and drank, Rick even joining in.

“Squanch you and good night!” the cat on drums shouted before letting out one final drum solo. The show lasted three hours but it truly felt like no time had passed. A large alien bodyguard appeared in our archway, informing Rick and I that Ricky wanted us to come back by his dressing room for an after party. I thanked the group behind before Rick and I followed the creature back down the hallways, pushing through a sea of screaming fans that were just desperate for a glimpse of the band they seemed to live their lives by.

“N-682! You made it!” Ricky shouted, tripping over a large bag of empty beer bottles as Rick pushed his way into the dressing room. While it hadn’t been necessarily clean before, it was truly trashed now. The door to the bedroom had been ripped off its hinges, leaving a perfect view of the Novas doing a line with Squanchy. A group of aliens were spread out on the floor, countless bottles surrounding them as they told stories of antics past while Birdperson sat rigidly in a corner chair, his foot calmly tapping to the beat of the music blasting out of the stereo next to him.

“Rick,” he said evenly, “it is good to see you.”

“‘Pers, my man. Always a pleasure,” Rick said, playfully smacking Birdperson’s shoulder before pulling up a chair next to him. This left me standing awkwardly in the doorway holding my arm and wishing I could just go home or at least back to the room. I opened my mouth to tell Rick but Ricky grabbed my elbow gently.

“Hey, yo*uuurp*u okay?” he asked softly, wearing a look of concern I’d only really seen on my Rick.

“Y-Y-Yeah,” I stammered, shifting nervously and giving my lie away. “I’m just not really good in… social settings, I guess. Plus I’m a little drunk and I’m not even sure why I’m admitting it but here we are.” Ricky chuckled at my rambling but said nothing, nodding over at my Rick and leading me away from the din of the party guests. He opened a door, finding the room occupied by creatures in what looked like a compromising position, slamming it shut quickly as he continued his hunt for somewhere quiet. He finally circled back, going to the only door he had skipped, opening it with an apologetic look.

“Sorry this might not be ideal.”

“This is a bathroom with fresh vomit,” I grinned, holding my fingers under my nose to block most of the smell. The toilet was overflowing with vomit and the sink had its fair share as well. Now this is what I was accustomed to when it came to adventuring with Rick. Dirty surroundings and smells I’d rather not be smelling. I could feel the tension melting away from my shoulders already.

“S-Somehow it doesn’t seem to be bothering you all the much,” he remarked, flushing the toilet fruitlessly.

“This is what my life usually consists of,” I shrugged, “Hell, you get me out of this dress and into some running shoes and I’ll be top of my game.”

He raised an eyebrow, disappearing for a moment and returning with a change of clothes. He held them through the doorway, giving me the privacy to change. I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped out of the heels and into a black pair of running shoes. I was grateful to get out of the dress, no matter how beautiful it was and into a pair of leggings and Flesh Curtains tank top. I peeked around the door to find Ricky coming back down the hall with a large bottle and two red cups.

“Oh no, no, no,” I grinned, stepping away from him. “I’ve seen how this timeline goes, a bottle and two cups never ends well for me.”

“Oh come on, Nova,” Ricky grinned, pouring a shot into the cup and handing it over to me. “You said you were already drunk. I think that ships sailed.” I considered a moment, biting my lip to fight back the grin playing on my cheek as I stared at the cup.

“How does alcohol even get you drunk here anyway?” I asked, eyeing the bottle. “Rick said there were no consequences here.”

“Nova, this is a fucking casino. Without booze, this place would be entirely pointless.” 

“Alright then, fine,” I relented, taking the cup and trying to fight the grin spreading over my face. I don’t know what it was about him. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was because he was Rick, even if it was just a different version of him. Maybe it was just the fact he was so kind.

“I knew you’d see reason,” he grinned again, drinking straight from the bottle.

“So why in the hell are you being so nice to me?” I asked, sputtering from the liquor. He raised an eyebrow at me in confusion so I continued, “Like, I’ve been on the Citadel enough for twelve lifetimes. The Ricks there don’t seem to care much about Nova’s there. There was one ready to kill me just to kill my Rick.”

“Oh, damn. I dunno. I like Novas,” he shrugged, pouring us each another shot. “I’m sure your Rick would say I’ve become soft with fame, but I just don’t like seeing Nova’s upset.”

“My Rick would say he’s become soft,” I snorted, taking another drink. “So why do you have a veritable harem here?”

“H-Harem?” he coughed, choking on his drink. “Do you think I keep them around to just fuck them constantly?”

“Well, I mean… what else you be doing with them?”

“Treating them like human fucking beings? If a Nova I meet doesn’t want to sleep with me but needs somewhere to go, I help them. It’s pretty fucking cut and dry,” he explained, “Some stick around, like Pinkie, but some will inevitably move on, like Riff or Kat. I’m a fucking millionaire. I can swing it.”

“But, you’re a Rick, right?” I asked, holding my cup out for more. “From what I’ve come to understand, Ricks don’t do anything without there being a benefit to them.”

“Look, I mean, whatever benefits I get from being around a sea of Novas is inconsequential,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck before downing the rest of his drink.

“Aha! I knew it!”

“Who told you that, anyway? That’s a pretty depressing way to view a guy who’s supposed to lo-care about you.”

“My Morty,” I shrugged, sliding down against the wall. “He’s been, uh, pretty insistent on it lately. He wants me to just leave Rick and just go after someone better.”

“Ugh, Morties,” he grimaced, “Look, don’t listen to that twat. He really doesn’t know shit about shit.”

“Agree to disagree on that one, compadre,” I dismissed lazily, my limbs becoming far heavier than I remembered. “W-Where is Rick, anyway?” 

“He was out there talking to Birdperson last I saw,” he reassured me, sliding down against the wall next to me.

“H-He isn’t worried about where I disappeared to?” I slurred sadly, offering my cup back over to Ricky.

“Come on, sweetheart, he knows I’m with you,” he chastised me.

“H-H-How does he know you’re not in here making moves on me or whatever?”

“Because he knows I’m not one of those Ricks,” he growled. “You really don’t trust how he feels about you do you?”

“Wh-Why should I? He never says anything either way,” I mourned, downing the shot and quickly asking for another.

“Look, I can’t speak for your relationship, but I know that Rick. He was one of the first ones I met when the Citadel formed. There are Ricks out there that don’t care about their Novas. Hell, I heard about one a couple months back who let his Nova overdose because if she couldn’t keep up, then she wasn’t all she was chalked up to be. Do you really think that sounds like the guy you’re with?”

“No,” I admitted shamefully, my head drooping slightly as the alcohol weighed it down. “I’ve just been through a lot-”

“Y-Y-You don’t have to launch into the story, I know it all too well,” Ricky stopped me quickly, holding up a hand. “We Ricks aren’t good with the whole… emotional openness garbage. There are a couple oddballs out there but if you think you’re going to get some soft ‘I’ll love you until the end of time’ crap, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

I didn’t respond, staring into the murky liquid. Ricky didn’t push me, allowing me to lose myself in my thoughts for what seemed like hours until my eyelids started drooping. I felt Ricky push past me gently, pulling the door out and disappearing through it before I lost the fight and let my eyelids slam shut.

“N-Nova. H-Hey Nova, come on. Let me help you up, sweetheart. Let’s go home,” a gruff voice murmured. I could feel my limbs being tugged softly as they were pulled over a set of shoulders as I was brought back up to my feet. “Come on, baby, I’ve got you.”

 “Wh-Wh-What happened?” I asked, trying to open my eyes. “Where am I? Wh-Who are you?”

“Oh jesus, you really got fucked up,” he chuckled, adjusting fruitlessly over his shoulders before letting out a frustrated sigh. “This is not fucking working. Nova, baby, I need you to hold onto me as tight as you can, okay?”

“O-Okay, mystery man,” I giggled. My arm was brought back around his neck, only for him to lift me up, bridal style. I tried to open my eyes again and caught a glimpse of blue hair before they slid shut again. “Which one are you?”

“I could be any Rick in conceivable existence,” he laughed darkly, “and there would be nothing you could do about it.” I recoiled away from him, trying to fight my way out his embrace to no avail. “Jesus Nova, I was joking. It’s me- I’m your Rick,” he groaned, pulling me in tighter. 

“Oh, good,” I nodded, tucking my head back into his chest. The rhythmic bounce of each step lulled me into a complacent state and by the time he sat me back down, we were in his ship, rocketing through space. 

It was dark when finally landed back in the driveway. Most of the alcohol had left my system, leaving me with a throbbing headache and parched throat. Rick pushed his door over, making his way over to my side to pull me out himself.

“Oh shit, you’re awake.” His voice was husky as he surveyed my lazy form, chuckling to himself before walking over to his workbench. He started mixing chemicals, testing his concoction by taste until it seemed to be satisfying enough. He brought his finished product back over to me, offering it to me.

“No offense, but what the fuck is that?” I asked bluntly.

“L-Look- Just drink it okay? Your fuckin’ head hurts right? This will make it stop.”

I grabbed the cup out of his hand, smelling it once for good measure before downing it. The taste was vile but the pain in my head and stomach stopped up instantly as my vision cleared up. I pulled myself out of the ship, surprised to find my legs steady as I stood up.

“Wh-What was in that?”

“It’s just my hangover cure,” he shrugged. “It’s been saving my ass over the last twenty years.”

“Thanks, Rick,” I murmured, moving closer to him. “For everything. I had a lot of fun.”

“Y-Yeah, no problem,” he stammered, his voice gravelly as he rested his hand on the small of my back. 

My head may have been cleared up by his “cure” but being this close to him was intoxicating all on its own. I bit my lip as I looked up at him, earning me a low growl as he pressed his lips to mind, kissing me desperately. I returned his kiss eagerly, pulling him closer to me. He picked me up with ease, carrying me over his workbench.

“Are you sure you wanna do this out here?” I breathed, breaking the kiss to both of our frustration. “Beth-”

“Beth’s asleep,” he growled, reclaiming my lips. I wanted to continue arguing but his wandering hands pushed the thought right out of my mind. He worked his hand up under my shirt, pleased to find no bra underneath. My breast was cupped in one hand while the other worked its way into my hair, curling around my hair to pull my head away from him. My neck exposed, he watched me squirm underneath of him. I was completely under his control and he was enjoying every moment of it.

“R-Rick- Rick please,” I begged softly, desperate for stimulation of any kind.

“All in good time, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear, lingering just inches away. “What do you want me to do to you, Nova? Tell me what you want.”

“R-Rick, I-”

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl.”

“I want- I want you, please,” I cried desperately, “I want you so fucking bad.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I know that,” he chuckled darkly. “I want to know what you want me to do to you right now. Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to make you scream my name until you forget your own?”

“Jesus, fuck yes, Rick,” I gasped, biting my lip again. He growled softly at the sight, panting softly as he dropped his hand from my breast, searching instead for the warmth below. He traced his fingers around my thighs, making sure to avoid the most sensitive area.

“So you want me to slide my cock in right here?” he asked, tracing a large circle around the throbbing mound between my legs.

“I need it,” I pleaded, clawing at his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer.

“Who am I to deny you?” he cooed in my ear, releasing my hair and gripping the sides of my yoga pants. He tossed them to the side as the cool air swirled around my exposed lower half. I shivered as I watched him unbuckle his pants, letting them fall lazily to ground as he pushed his way between my thighs. He dragged the tip of his cock up and down my moist slit.

“Oh Rick, oh fuck,” I murmured, my hands firmly rooted on his shoulders.

“Say my fucking name, Nova. Let the neighbors know who’s fucking you,” he growled, continuing his assault on my clit to torturous effect.

“Rick!” I moaned. At my compliance he slid the tip in, sliding it in and out slowly.

“Louder, Nova. I don’t think they heard you,” he ordered, his voice being over by a slight pant.

“Fuck, Rick! It’s you! Rick fucking Sanchez!” I shouted, letting my head fall back. He slammed into me finally as I continued screaming his name as loud as I possibly could. I released his shoulders, laying back on the table and pulling my knees into my chest. He quickened his pace, using his thumb to massage my clit gently.

“Fuck, Nova,” he panted as he buried himself in me, “You feel fucking amazing.”

I could feel my orgasm building, only moments from my release as he fell into a steady rhythm. I would have made there had it not been for the garage door swinging open, slamming into the dryer behind it.

“God fucking dammit, Dad!” Beth bellowed, shielding her eyes from the sight of her father burying his cock into her best friend. “I cannot fucking do this anymore, you guys need to stop!”

“H-Hold on, honey,” Rick grunted, quickening his pace.

“R-Rick, no- Stop,” I insisted, pushing him away from me. He conceded, pulling out of me and bending down to pull his pants up.

“What the fuck do you want, Beth?” he snarled, turning to face his daughter, taking care to shield my exposed form. I looked around desperately for my pants only to find them dangling haphazardly on the Meeseeks box.

“I want this to fucking stop,” she demanded, avoiding my gaze. “You’re waking up the entire fucking house. I sure as fuck don’t want to hear it.”

“B-Beth, I-I’m sorry,” I blushed, pulling my shirt down as much as possible.

“You know what, I don’t want to fucking hear it, Nova. Your daughter is asleep in this house,” she hissed, finally meeting my gaze. A look of fury I had never seen before distorted her features as she glared at me, turning to disgust as her eyes drifted downward. “Dad, you need to stop this, now. Nova, it might be time for you to start looking for somewhere else to live.”

“B-Beth, wait- please, no,” I begged, tears streaking down my cheeks.

“You know, I’m starting to think Jerry was right about you two,” Beth said coldly, “I thought I was okay with it when it meant Dad would stay but I was wrong. What you’re doing with him is wrong. He’s my fucking father, you sick fucking bitch,”

“Jesus fucking christ Beth, stop,” Rick cut in, advancing toward her. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that.”

“Why not?” she asked hysterically. “You two didn’t consider my feelings in the situation. I’m just supposed to be okay with it? Even when the thought makes me feel sick to my stomach?”

“Your fucking hangups are not our problems,” Rick snarled. He grabbed my pants off of the shelf, tossing them back to me. I slipped them on quickly and pushed past Rick.

“Beth, I’m sorry. We were really inconsiderate, I’m so fucking sorry.” I pleaded with my friend to see reason but the cold, clinical disgust in her eyes assured me it was a lost cause.

“You need to leave,” she repeated coldly. “Madison can stay here until you have somewhere to go but I suggest you go back to your house tonight. I don’t want to see you here in the morning.”

“Beth, she’s not going anywhere-”

“No, Rick. It’s fine,” I conceded, wiping the tears away as I pushed the garage door opener.

“No, Nova. You’re not going anywhere,” he roared, pushing the button again. “I-I can fix this.” He started digging through the drawers at his workbench, finally extracting a large gun with two discs. He pushed a couple buttons before aiming it at Beth, pulling the trigger. She crumpled to the floor, eyes glazed over.

“Rick! What did you do to her?” I asked, horrified. “Did you kill Beth?!”

“Wh-What? No?” he retorted, insulted by the accusation. “I just erase the last half an hour from her memory. I’m going to put her back in her bed, when she wakes up she won’t remember any of this.” He pulled a vial from the device, loading it with another before sitting it down on his workbench.

“S-So, everything’s okay now?” I asked numbly. He nodded quickly, pulling Beth over his shoulder. “I’m just- I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Y-You okay?” he asked, stopping at the door to face me.

“I-I’m fine,” I murmured, pushing past him. I couldn’t get Beth’s words out of my head as I went into my room, locking the door behind me before collapsing in my bed.

“He’s my fucking father, you sick bitch.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time for me to leave.

[lesbian-raichu]

HAPPY ENTIRE MONTH OF HALLOWEEN

Here’s a short scary story - this is “Case 45: Medical Institute of Arkansas” (Continued under the cut)             Heya Sunshine, Found this out in the woods near the clubhouse. Looks like a letter or something spooky like that so I figured it might be something you’re into. I started reading on the way back it but tripped like a dumbass - I can’t fucking walk and read, I’m like a kindergartner. Skinned my hands and everything so the paper got kinda crumpled and gross. My bad. But uh, having blood on this sort of shit makes it more legit maybe? I dunno. You’ve got a better stomach for mysteries than I do. I keep thinking I hear shit behind trees and it’s not even night yet lmao. I’m gonna drop it on the table for you. I’ll call you after my classes are done.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Love,                                                                                                           C

Medical Institute of Arkansas

Log date: 10.24.2004

Name: Sarita Makwana, Chief Physician

Forgive the frankness with which I am to depict what has transpired. After today, I believe it allowable. I am writing this both to make sense of this and to convey to others what occurred here. Patient zero, James Allison Fitzgerald was committed to my care this morning, by his wife. Initial symptoms were arrhythmia, excessive hypertension, risk of stroke. It was Nurse Ellen Suzuru who performed the MRI, and who deduced based on strain of the heart that there were arterial clogs.

You know what? I am forgoing the lingo. I have no idea when this will get out. I have no idea if anyone will get to read this.

Suzuru did the scan, and as a result, the decision was made to operate. With respect to whomever reads this, I frankly don’t give a damn if we made the right choice or not. We could not have known. The thing about the scans, from what we could see, was that his ribcage looked abnormal. Several of us dismissed it as an injury, a poorly regrown bone, maybe a deformity of the third and fourth ribs. It was inconsequential, if a dying man is brought to a doctor, that doctor has few options. His wife disclosed that James had been experiencing trouble breathing for approximately three days prior to his entry, and that the pains in his chest had started merely an hour before he entered our care. I remember she rambled about a trip to France they had gone on, worrying about salmonella poisoning from snails, and I attempted to calm her down. Her husband was 6’4 and 360 lbs, heart conditions were not improbable. God, I am so tired.

We sedated him and proceeded to open him up, with the plan to insert a few heart stents to improve blood flow. The initial appearance of everything however, was fine. Confoundingly so. James was healthy.

If anything, there was some strain on the heart, but no blockages, blood flow was fine. For all intents and purposes, James had simply overexerted himself, yet when he came in he was half-conscious. At this point, I was confused but intrigued. A healthy dying man, only 40, no pre-existing health conditions. The most I could figure was that if his ribcage was poorly formed, it could  place stress on the organs, but his wife insisted to one of our nurses - Kinnings - that he was as healthy as an ox before last week. And at this point, perhaps I can only laugh, because it feels almost like a joke.

We were paying attention to the wrong thing.There were two other doctors with me - Uzumaka Williams and Desmond Corrigan. Williams said she had cut her hand, and was sent out immediately. I didn’t know how she managed it at the time, she wasn’t holding anything, just examining the patients heart, when she jerked back. She insisted she was fine, but left to avoid contaminating anything. Corrigan left after her to call my assistant. It was after about fifteen minutes of examination, right as the thought crossed my mind that I should simply stitch him up and send him to neurology, that I saw his breastbone, and the ribs curving out of it. I had not cut it out of the way, but somehow it was pushed aside, as though malleable. His ribs had been moved. Corrigan came back with Suzuru, and I asked if he had done anything, or if he’d seen Williams, but he denied both. There was no reason to lie. I wasn’t paying attention. If I had been, I would have noticed that his ribs had moved.  I perhaps would have noticed that the beeping of the heart monitor was not coming from the heart monitor at all. I would have noticed that despite the fact that I felt the patient’s heartbeat, he was dead by the time he came in. Perhaps I would have noticed that James Fitzgerald’s ribs were not ribs at all.

How many doctors does it take to realize that the patient is already dead?

That was my initial assessment, anyway.

I feel ashamed in saying I froze, but we all did. There was a long, loud creaking noise, like a door opening. The sound of beeping was being perfectly mimicked, but no one’s mouth moved. There are different types of fear. The subtle: a general feeling of unease, a pit in the stomach. The frenzied: screaming and crying and begging. Then there is the overpowering: the silencing, no scream can leave you. You’re afraid to utter a sound, afraid to breath, afraid to twitch or run.I could not turn around. God bless Desmond, who tried to attack. God bless Ellen, who tried to get its attention. My good friends, may God bless them, God save them. God help me.

I never turned around. Whatever was inside James’ body was now protruding out of him, able to control his mouth just enough to mimic the beeping, before falling silent. The opening I had made in his chest was stretched, long angled white rib bones - used as legs - lurched him forward, towards Ellen. James’ head lolled around, his mouth agape, tongue out, discoloured and bloated. The legs were segmented and thin, like that of an arachnid, and the host body was dragged along like a puppet, James’ toes dragging and swinging against the ground. I watched, frozen, as two of the sharp, eight protruding bones, stuck into her body and twisted her around, as though she were a mop on the floor. It thrashed her around in the air, and then threw her against the wall. It did the same to Desmond, poking him through the eyes, jabbing his neck erratically, piercing it several times, and shaking him madly in the air with a leg stabbed through his abdomen. An image in my head was of a child shaking a dead goldfish in a plastic baggie. Trying to make it live. Aggressive and spasmodic, able to move with extreme speed in one second, and be eerily stock-still the next.

It swiveled in my direction, twitching like a spider, or a crab, and suddenly James was making sounds. Sobbing, gargling screaming. It felt like there were words in there, distorted. The stresses on syllables felt wrong, like a movie being rewound. He ended the sentence with a long and loud gurgling howl that shook the equipment in the room. At the time, I thought I was spared. I was stabbed once, in my side, thankfully missing my lungs. With monstrous speed, the creature jerkily scuttled away. I stayed with their bodies. I was certain that someone had to have called for help, but it only took me a few hours to realize that even if it came, I wasn’t sure any of us could be saved.

I consider myself a decent doctor. I may be in nowheresville, Arkansas, but I graduated magna cum laude from my university, and chose to stay where I was close to my family. With this in mind, I have to insist - this is not an illness to be cured. This is a parasite, some bone-like tapeworm. I realized this in that time alone, and that with the screaming I heard in the building, both human and parasite, that they were looking for living hosts. Poor Desmond and Ellen were of no use to them.

God I am so tired. I’m going to take a moment. Funny. This isn’t really a report anymore. I’m back. I recorded them, the parasites. I was right about one thing, and wrong about another.

They are speaking, for some reason, backwards. Begging. Calling for loved ones. Asking to be killed.

Which of course means I was wrong. They were never dead. “Consumed” is maybe a better word. The parasite begins its control through the spine, then connects to the brain stem, keeping their human hostage like a flesh puppet. I caught a glimpse of Uzumaka, the spindly legs extending from her torn chest hoisting her around, dangling with her mouth torn at the corners, the sounds she made were the worst of them all.

The Medical Institute has been quarantined. I managed to talk to a few other doctors in Cardiology and Gastroenterology that called the room I was next to. They told me how the parasite was being transmitted. They told me the authorities are planning on burning the building. Several cops that tried to enter to save survivors were killed. The others I heard. The frenzied snapping of bones against tile, the sobbing screams, and the trails of congealing blood that followed the sounds gave me all the information I needed to know. The phone call was cut short, the other doctor had hung up on me while I spoke to them. I went back to my colleagues, my friends, their bodies cold. I have no idea what will happen now. If the quarantine is breached, then God help us.

My hand is seizing up at this point from writing. It’s the only loophole, though. I realized it before Uzumaka did. It’s transmitted through blood, whatever these things are. The smallest cut is too much. Luckily I was stabbed through my right side. I’m left-handed. I lost my motor skills sometime during the phone call, when my colleagues hung up on me, unfortunately, and I suppose my ribs are currently being dissolved by the creature taking their place. I’m writing this in the infinitesimal chance that amidst the destruction, maybe carried by an errant breeze through the window, this letter will get out, and people will know what happened to us. Though that might be selfish, as even this page might be contaminated. If I am being honest, I am too tired. I can’t do more. One of the officers is in the room, across from me, still apart from the body hanging from those towering bones, eyes plucked out, half of his face torn away. And funnily enough, I can understand him. I hear his words, no longer backwards, still wracked with agony.

My name is Sarita Makwana. I am a doctor at the MIA. I love my family. God bless them. God protect them.

And God save me.

[squishybellies]

Overfull (Dr Phelboto Mizer x Reader) (Stuffing)

Quick note: Mizer's speech is just gonna be an English Translation because of cross-compatibility reasons.

 Hoo boy this might not have been as good an idea as you'd hoped, you could already feel your face flushing as you lay adjacent to the ginormous figure before you, who already seemed to be letting out some soft whines. You and the doctor had been a bit bored over the past day and wanted to try SOMETHING to provide some marginal bit of entertainment, and he seemed hungry so naturally you both fetched something to eat. Well… something turned into quite a few bits of something, and you just became a bit too enamoured with just how much this dude could pack. It didn't seem like he had ever experimented with how much he could eat either- which you supposed did make a bit of sense considering the quite alien location you found yourself stuck in. How long have you been here anyway… it's had to have been weeks at this point surely…?

 You looked over the towering figure once more, trying your best not to stare at what a monster of a gut you had given this… well, monster. Lets see here… 4 slices of french toast, 2 chicken breasts, one bowl of hummus and crackers, an entire king crab, and an amount of pancakes and syrup that you had honest to god lost track of. "Hhhf…." You could hear him moaning more, weight pressing against your conscious. You decided to approach him, snuggling next to his side. He extended an arm around your small form, hugging you closer. 'You holding up there, buddy?' You asked politely.

"Hhhf….yes...I- *uffff* I'm just not used to this feeling is all-" he muttered a bit, cheeks turning a bright green, and fingers tapping together. 'Is this uh… is this normal for a grey-zoner after they eat?" He stretched a little, clothing barely clinging on to his taunt orb of a stomach, you could clearly see a few diamonds of pale flesh sticking out where the buttons used to fit to his relatively thin form, and the buttons in question appeared to be almost digging into his stomach uncomfortably. "It's just… I haven't really felt like this before after eating- *ugghhhh*" he placed a hand over his stomach. "I feel… *urp* really bloated-" 

Oh Lord, you blushed pretty hard at that, your brain seemed to blank out for a moment and you could only seem to utter the words. 'Y-yeah… you kinda… over ate.' "Uuugh…. It feels weird." He whined some more. For a brief moment you wondered if he was trying to tease you. He HAD looked through your belongings along with the head doctor when you came here. 'Here' You weren't sure you should touch him on what you presumed to be a pretty sensitive and possibly intimate spot just yet, no matter how much you really, really wanted to. Thusly, you wriggled out of his grip and bent over, moving his free hand to the side. 

From there, you walked around him to the hand that was placed on his bloated gut, and placed your own two hands on his, guiding his hand to rub circles across the surface, before letting go when he seemed to get the hang of the motion. "Aaaauuu~ thank you." He leaned back a bit as he continued to rub, taking a second hand on such duties as well. You couldn't see yourself right now but you probably looked like a blushy mess. Your hands quivered a bit nervously, he looked really soft….

Without thinking, you reached for his belt, which was digging into his full belly, and undid the buckle, erupting a surprised squeak from Mizer as his stomach surged forward. You tried not to look directly at him as you reached for his shirt, untucking it from his pants so his tummy would have more room. His shirt rode up his stomach and you could see the entirety of his belly up to a bit of his chest, it looked like his gut was slightly pressing against his ribs, too. "W-what was that?" Mizer huffed a bit. "I mean it *hic* helped but-" He sighed from the sudden relief he had. "Well… thank you nonetheless." He gently rubbed crest of his belly with a finger. 

He winched, moaning from all the pressure within him, stomach letting out a loud rumble. You decided you'd already made enough of a move, sneaking behind him and cupping your hands on the bottom of his belly, pressing down slightly to help relieve him from the pressure. His syringe seemed to bubble when you did that.. was he happy? A shiver went up your spine as you felt his stomach rise and fall with each breath he took, and you lightly kneaded the surface with your fingers. The surface was soft, like dough, but the rest of it was taut and solid. 

"Thank you for the help *hic*..." His stomach seemed to slosh and bounce every time he hiccuped, you had to admit it was pretty cute. 'No problem.' You smiled. "Ooohgh… remind me to never eat this much again." He placed his hands on his sides. You blushed a bit and ran around to his front, firmly planting your hands on his stomach and rubbing it for him. "Gosh you're kinda *huurp* touchy, huh?" He pat your back with one of his hands, unintentionally squishing you against that soft belly. 

Another deep breath escaped Mizer's lips. You blushed and muttered 'You know… I kinda like it when you're full-' Mizer's eyes lit up, "hm?" He seemed pretty surprised. 'Y-yeah… you look pretty cute with a happy tummy~...' Mizer blushed deeply "yeah?" 'Yeah…' "I uh….*hfff* kinda like it too-" he stuttered. "And your touches just warm my heart-" You could feel yourself getting pretty warm. "Oooh~" he moaned again. 'Still pretty full, huh?' You giggled a bit, rubbing down on him again, placing your other hand on his side to rub there too. Gosh he was so large… you defiently filled him up to his limit. He whined, pushing his tummy further into the curvature of you palm. "Ah… yes… like that."

He hugged you happily, this all felt so very soothing and comforting to him. And her be lying if he wasn't feeling a bit warm himself. Well, warmer then he would have been anyway. You squirmed a bit, embraced between a softening tummy and cushy arms. He let go and you continued to rub away. Your touch felt extra amazing now that he was so full, almost as if his stomach had become more sensitive because of such happenstance. A faint smile could be seen on his face, one eye closing groggily. 

You pressed a thumb into his swollen stomach, causing him to let out a whimper of delight. At last you stopped, feeling his tummy soften a bit from the aided digestion, now able to get a grip of flesh in a couple of spots. Both of you lay down, lazily cuddling each other, feeling all happy and warm inside. You let out a yawn, and Mizer soon follows, and as you both fall asleep peacefully you both can't help but think, "'We should do this again sometime!'"

[hazyheel]

WWE Smackdown Live 9/17/19 Review

Despite the fact that this wasn’t the strongest episode in the world, I actually liked it a lot. The segments that bookended the show were both pretty strong, and we saw a huuuuuuge announcement for the upcoming debut on Fox. Big stuff happened here, and the matches were pretty good. Unfortunately, it was dragged down by some stinkers. Just a few, but boy were they bad. Here is my full review of this weeks edition of Smackdown Live!

New Day vs. The Revival & Randy Orton: Holy crap, we started with a match! Wild, it feels weird but good. Big E started out with Dash Wilder, and immediately started to beat down the heel with clubbing blows to the chest and a splash on the apron for a near fall. Kofi was tagged in, and after some swift bending the rules, the heels took control and beat him down a bit. However, the New Day hit some of their tag team offense on Orton, with Woods and Big E taking down the Revival. During the commercial, The Revival isolated Woods and started to work over his knee. At one point, Woods tried to hit his slingshot DDT, but Wilder caught him and tossed him out over the top rope, which Orton followed up by back body dropping him on the announce table. We went to commercial again, and Kingston received a hot tag as we came back. He Took down everyone, before giving Orton an SOS for a near fall. On the outside, Big E flattened Dawson with a lariat, while Wilder nailed Big E with a tornado DDT and then swept Woods’ leg, only to eat a dropkick from Kingston. He went for a suicide dive, but Orton intercepted him and gave him a hangman’s DDT. The heels then went for the RKO machine, but Big E pulled Orton out and pushed him into the post. Woods then took out Wilder with a Limit Breaker, and Kingston pinned Dawson after a Trouble in Paradise.

As the New Day celebrated, Brock Lesnar showed up! Things were very intense, but the crowd didn’t pop big. Lesnar and Kingston stared each other down, and Kingston told Woods and Big E to leave. Heyman then got on the mic, and said that Lesnar wanted to challenge for the WWE Championship, and they booked it for the Friday Night Smackdown premier rather than for a pay per view. Kingston accepted, and Lesnar gave him an F5, which was sold beautifully. 

Grade: B+. The match was good, some fun action to open up the show. Love to see this show open up like that. Plus it was a pretty decisive victory, and feels like the feud is probably over. I was only going to give this a B, but I was really excited for the challenge from Brock Lesnar, although the crowd gave 0 craps. I think it was really fun, and is a huge main event for the first Fox show. Very good opening this week. 

Sasha Banks & Bayley Interview: Banks responded to Becky Lynch’s challenge inside Hell in a Cell.  Then Baylyey hopped in and said that although Banks was fighting Charlotte tonight, she didn’t want to talk about it. This promo was weird and kinda overdone. It was odd, just odd. 

Erick Rowan Sit Down interview: They gave Rowan his first name again! Fun. Michael Cole conducted the interview. He asked about Luke Harper, which Rowan responded to by saying if he wanted to know his story, talk to him. Then Cole asked about the attacks on Reigns, to which Rowan said he wanted to scare him. Cole loudly exclaimed “You tried to kill him!” And Rowan told him to watch his tone. Rowan then said that he was sick of being disrespected, so he took the chance he needed. Cole asked about why Rowan betrayed Daniel Bryan, and Rowan said that Bryan disrespected him. This was short, and all I could think about was how Cole was asking super biased questions. I know journalism, and this was bad journalism. 

Ali vs. Shinsuke Nakamura: Before the match, Sami Zayn demanded respect for him, since he is in a lot of pain. He hyped up Nakamura, and introduced him. He then told Ali that although he beat Nakamura a few weeks ago, he’d lose here. Ali was very nervous as Nakamura and Zayn surrounded him. Ali attacked Nakamura first, but Zayn held his leg and allowed Nakamura to attack him. Nakamura took Ali out with a Kinshasa. The match did not start. 

Grade: B. Fun little fight to get Nakamura over a bit. He and Zayn are fun together. This was effective and short, very efficient. I liked it, But it sucks that Ali had to be sacrificed here. 

Shane McMahon backstage: Owens walked into the building, took a seat in the audience. Shane was going to take care of it, but one of Owens’ lawyers served him. Huh, alright. 

Shane McMahon promo: Shane came out wth a whole bunch of security guards, and the papers. Shane told Owens to get in the ring and tried to settle it there. So Owens walked to the ring, but security stood between him and Shane. I guess the lawsuit was wrongful termination, worth 25 million. Shane called the case weak, but Owens said that it was strong. Owens pointed out that when he was fined for attacking a referee (Elias), but Shane didn’t fine himself when he attacked Owens’ last week, while he was the ref. He then said that even with the ref in his corner, Shane couldn’t win, and tapped out. So now, Owens just wants to hurt him, and wants to hit him in the wallet. He also said that part of the suit was that if he wins, he will be able to fire Shane. Then Owens walked out as Shane looked at the suit. 

Grade: C-. Why is Owens supposed to be badass, and yet he solves his problems with lawsuits? If he was a tough as nails son of a bitch, like Steve Austin who they are desperately trying to model him after, he would’ve walked right through security and beat Shane’s ass. A lawsuit isn’t awesome or exciting. But given that I enjoy soap opera stuff, I can’t bring myself to give it lower that C-. I think this is damaging to the badass Owens, but I’m kinda intrigued. This could be an interesting storyline, but I doubt anyone else will agree. 

Charlotte Flair vs. Sasha Banks: Some guy come out, who I guess was a rapper. I think he is the Ric Flair drip guy? Maybe? I dunno. He just brought out Charlotte, and then fist bumped her. Bayley came out with Banks, and actually helped distract Charlotte and gave Banks control early on. When we came back from commercial break, Charlotte started to fight back with a series of kicks and chops to banks, finishing with a fall away slam. The two continued to fight, and Flair locked in a Boston Crab, but Banks pulled her into a rollup for a near fall. Charlotte then put Banks on the apron and kicked Banks to the outside. She then climbed to the rope and nailed both Banks and Bayley with a moonsault. She tried to capitalize, but Bayley held her foot, which got Banks a rollup for a near fall. Banks then tried for another, but Charlotte rolled through and went for the Figure Four, but Bayley ran in to attack for the DQ. 

Bayley and Banks continued to beat up Flair, but Carmella showed up and superkicked Bayley, who looked shock. Flair got the last hit in on her, and the faces stood tall. 

Grade: B. Another pretty good match, but I bumped it up just a bit into a B because of them establishing Bayley’s next challenger. Carmella makes sense considering how much the fans like her after the R-Truth stuff, but that doesn’t mean the match will be great. We will have to see about that. But I think that Charlotte should’ve lost here, just to give Banks some momentum. People need to get wins to get over, and Banks could use a real win. 

Baron Corbin Coronation: He put on the whole getup as Corey Graves raved about him on commentary. Corbin then got on the mic and put himself order. Then he brought out Chad Gable, and made some short jokes. Corbin said that he was just like the fans, because he will always come up short. Gable then slammed him through the throne and beat him with the scepter. Gable then ripped up the cloak and smashed the crown. 

Grade: D+. I really wanted to like this more, but I am worried about what destroying all the props means. They may just ditch the king gimmick this time around, and that would suck. I also hated the short jokes, those are stupid. I’m fine with these two feuding, and I’m fine with the one short joke where he “dreams big but comes up short,” but the rest of it was bad. I really hope that King Corbin is still a thing, because that’d be a waste of a tournament. 

The B-team vs. Heavy Machinery: Tucker and Curtis Axel started things off. Tucker just tossed Axel around for a bit, and the B-Team (who I think are heel now?) double teamed him a bit and tried to keep him on the mat. Knight got the hot tag after rolling over Bo Dallas’ back and delivering a huge lariat. Otis then got hot tag, and he was in trunks, which looked very.... different. He beat up Dallas a bit and they hit the compactor for the win.

Grade: C+. Squash-o-roony.

Daniel Bryan Promo: He quickly crapped on the fans for accusing him of attacking Roman Reigns. He said that he still didn’t attack him, and declared himself exonerated. Then he said that he saw Rowan and realized that he had talent and took him under his wing as Tag Team Champions. He saw Rowan as his equal (yikes) and treated him as a friend. Rowan then came out, no Luke Harper in sight, with a mic. He said that he never felt like an equal, he felt like a puppet. Bryan never asked what he felt about things, and said he wouldn’t be disrespected. Bryan then told him to do something about it, because he already destroyed their friendship, and he couldn’t do anything worse. So, Harper ran in from behind and they kicked Bryan’s ass a bit, but then Roman walked down as Bryan was hit with an Iron claw. He dodged Harper and gave Rowan a superman punch and beat him down, but Harper quickly got ahold of him and they beat Reigns up together. They double powerbombed him into the post, and tore up the padding to expose the concrete. Security tried to stop them, but Harper kicked their asses. Then Rowan grabbed a section of the barricade and nailed Reigns with it, before clearing the announce table and giving Bryan a double high cross through it. The heels stood tall as they closed out the show.

Grade: B+. This was a fun segment that was pretty exciting, and seems to show where things will go from here. This is almost a Daniel Bryan face turn, but I don’t think he has fully turned face just yet. He is gonna probably be kinda heel until he and Reigns have a tag match against Rowan and Harper. This was a really fun segment, and I’m looking forward to seeing where it goes. Highlight of the night. 

Overall Grade: C+

Pros: 6-man tag; Nakamura beat down; charlotte vs. Banks; ending beatdown

Cons: lawsuit angle; coronation