#i could like aggressively chew on them and shake my head violently like a dog playing with a chew tou

[chaoticshark98]

blorbos… (og template below ! )

https://x.com/deadbeatescape/status/1777859287185784993?s=46&t=pRR39vdNyF588ujQ008FHw

[splat-dragon]

I find myself somewhere I—I never thought I'd be What do I do now? So much has changed ~Nothing I've Ever Known, Bryan Adams

For one of the first times since she’d woken up in West Elizabeth, it wasn’t raised voices that woke her, but soft voices and hoofbeats. It was hot, but not nearly so hot as she’d grown used to, and so she allowed herself to enjoy it, blinking slowly awake. She yawned, tongue unfurling in that way of a dog’s, before licking her lips, finding them dry and rank of morning breath—oh, but she missed toothpaste!

The voices that continued to speak outside were familiar, so she didn’t hurry as she stood, stretching luxuriously, bones and joints popping in a way that had her sighing—she’d been so stiff, it felt so nice!—before bracing her paws and shaking herself off, working out the last of the kinks in her joints. While the shack was more comfortable than the dirt, it wasn’t too nice on her bones.

“What were you thinkin’?” an old man’s voice grunted suddenly, and her ears had perked up as she’d raised her head to see a familiar freeloader standing in the doorway looking back over his shoulder, clearly not having seen her or, at least if he had, not paying her a lick of thought.

“I don’t know… she said she wanted it!” and she couldn’t help but to snort. Even when she’d been playing the game, however-long-ago, before she’d gone back to a Chapter Two save to roam because there was nothing to do in the epilogue and she missed the gang, she’d thought that had been damn stupid. Abigail had admitted that she hadn’t seen a picture, that she had only read about it in the newspaper (well, had someone else read it to her, but potato potahto), John could have easily gone and found another ranch, one she would have loved even more, one that wasn’t a shack in the middle of a field of dying grass, one that wasn’t near cougar and puma spawns, and wasn’t a stone’s throw away from a forest filled with Skinners, cougars, and grizzly bears. It would be more expensive, sure, but in the long run the cost would be far less, and even when she’d been playing as John and Jack was little more than a handful of pixels the thought of him near that cougar spawn made her anxious.

Then again, if he had bought any other ranch, the epilogue would be a hell of a lot shorter than it already was, but still.

“She ever seen it?” ‘Exactly!’ she thought, nodding her head. She’d never been one to hate Uncle like a lot of players did, never one to hit the antagonize button, preferred to just ignore him if anything—he was lazy, for the most part useless, but in the end he gave his life for the Marstons and so she couldn’t hate him. But here she agreed with him wholeheartedly. “What are we gonna farm here? Rocks?” and that brought a snicker from her chest, and she wondered idly what it sounded like—clearly they couldn’t understand her, else she’d probably have ended up shot, being a talking dog and all, though considering the strange things that John had seen maybe not, but those men from before surely would have set her brains to leaking out on the dirt. Trotting forward, she stuck her head out the open doorway, momentarily blinded by the harsh sunlight, only to find she hadn’t been missing much as she made out Uncle’s broad form, ass pointed her way, stooping down to pick up a stone.

“We?” John echoed, and for the first time she recognized the resignation in his voice.

“You don’t have a hope here, without a wise hand at the tiller.” she tilted her head as she looked between the two, realizing for the first time that she had no clue what a tiller was. Whatever it was, though, Uncle was useless at it, whatever it was, considering he was useless at everything except for the very end of the first game. Around the ranch he did nothing, from what she could recall, and only caused trouble in town. But she liked him because, in the end, he cared for the Marstons, willing to give up his life for them if he had to.

She took no small amount of amusement out of watching them argue, jaw hanging open in a dog’s grin, the drunkard of an old man simply saying ‘no’ as the young gunslinger tried to force him to leave. John was younger, much more dangerous, and could have hauled him off the property, so watching Uncle no-sell him was hysterical.

Living with them, she supposed, wouldn’t be so bad.

“So, you think I’m an idiot?” John grunted, glaring at Uncle as though he’d thrown horse-shit at him, not just a rock.

Yes.’

She ducked out of Uncle’s way as he walked into the shack, half expecting a blow, but he only raised a bushy eyebrow and laughed, “No… I know you’re an idiot!” moving to sprawl out on the floor and grab one of the half-empty bottles of whiskey the dead men had left lying around. She wrinkled her nose, trying not to think about what might be floating around in it, cigarette butts and dead flies and ants and other bugs, and who knew what else besides.

How in all hell had Uncle survived to be so old?

She retched as she saw something float down the neck of the bottle and into Uncle’s mouth, and hurried out of the shack before she could see anything else, stopping to look for John. He was scowling as he gathered up Rachel and Nell the… she was pretty sure IV, leading them by the reins to the tree she’d spent the last few days tied to, and just the sight of it had her fur standing on end, and though she knew he wasn't like them, and that they could pull their reins free from the low branch he was tying them to, it put a sour taste in her mouth.

Not caring to go anywhere near the tree, she waited for him to approach the shack before trotting up to him, wagging her tail and offering a friendly “whuff!”, finding it much deeper than she’d expected, although then again she hadn’t exactly been expecting anything.

John looked at her in surprise, eyebrows raised, and asked “So you stayed, huh girl?” and she lolled out her tongue, dropping on her haunches and thump-thump-thumping her tail on the ground to try and make sure that she came off as friendly—considering that John was a tall man, and she came eye-to-hip on him, she knew she was a big dog, and a big dog with a deep bark was an intimidating dog, and she’d survived days of starvation, dehydration, and near heatstroke, and didn’t care to be shot dead the next day by the man who’d saved her, thank you very much. Slowly, ready to jerk back if she tried to bite, he reached out, and she couldn’t help but to sigh as he scratched under her chin, oh, oh!, but that felt good! Her tail wagged violently enough to throw up puffs of dust and, as he dug his fingers in deeper, her butt began to move with it. That, that, was pure pleasure.

But, of course, all good things have to come to an end. And it was her own stomach that put an end to this one, rumbling so loudly that even John, with his weak human ears, could hear it. He snorted a laugh, withdrawing his hand, and she absolutely did not lean forward, seeking the touch, no sir, asking “Ya hungry, girl? Bet they didn’t feed ya much, did they?” And, okay, she really was. She hadn’t eaten since waking up in… Red Dead Redemption? The Epilogue? West Elizabeth? Whatever you want to call it, she hadn’t eaten since waking up in it, and now that she wasn’t so distracted by the heat and her own thirst, her empty stomach was screaming at her, was all she could think about.

A strange sound pulled her from her musings, flopped-over ears perking up as she watched John dig through his satchel—he could pull anything out of it or, at least, she thought so. Was this world following the game’s logic? Could he somehow fit fifteen squirrel carcasses inside it with plenty of room for other things? Or did it follow real-life logic?

If she didn’t find out from him, she’d have to test that, because the curiosity was killing her.

And then, joy of joys!, he pulled out a handful of dried meat. Her eyes locked on it as she began to drool, tongue lolling out and saliva dripping to the ground as though she were some common street cur, a whine spilling from her throat without her meaning it to. He chuckled, unwrapping the rags that held them together, and tossed it to the ground at my paws, throwing up a cloud of dust. Very, very slowly she looked up at him, glaring as though he had done so just to hurt her, though really she couldn’t blame him. Even though she’d been nothing but well behaved, she’d been half out of her mind most of the time he’d known her, so how was he to know that she wasn’t bad tempered? And, besides, feeding a stray dog can be dangerous; you never knew if they were food aggressive, and in a time without rabies shots being bitten by a stray could be fatal.

So, sighing, and still looking at John as though he’d betrayed her, she took the dried meat in her mouth and beginning to chew, finding it surprisingly hard— seeing as most of her teeth were different from what she was used to, and made for sheared, not chewing, at that. The meat was tough, dry, tasteless and filthy but she was so hungry that, at that moment, it was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.

“If you’re gonna stay,” John said suddenly, and she gulped down the last few bites of the mystery meat (maybe venison? She’d never had it before, so she couldn’t say, but the meat had so little taste she wouldn’t be able to say what it was even if she had, “then I suppose you’re gonna need a name.”

‘Oh,’ she thought, licking her lips to try and get the sand off of her muzzle, plopping down on her haunches and looking up at him. Well, she couldn’t exactly tell him her name, could she? If she tried to write her name in the dirt then who knew what would happen? Sure, he was John, but even he would know that a dog shouldn’t be able to write!

...at least, she really hoped so.

Besides, knowing Uncle, he’d probably try to earn money by putting on shows of the ‘Amazing Writing Dog’ or something like that. No thank you.

Well, she sighed, bringing a hindpaw up to scratch behind her ear, she hoped he picked a good name for her or, if she was lucky, he’d manage to stumble across her real name. Probably not, her luck didn’t tend to run that way. As most could probably guess, considering she’d been turned into a dog, sent into a video game, and damn well nearly killed.

Although, considering he’d named his horse ‘Rachel’, she didn’t have high hopes for a good name.

He tried a handful of names - Brownie, which she refused to even acknowledge, Floppy, which was just insulting, Pepper, which she actually liked but surely he could do better? Wait, what was she thinking- Greenie? Wow, and she’d thought Brownie was bad. John sighed, running his fingers through his greasy hair, “Jesus, I’ve never met such a picky animal before!” ‘Well, get used to it!’ “Abigail named Jack, and Old Bob as old as dirt and a Bob through and through.” she looked up at him, and blinked slowly in a manner more befitting a cat than a dog. Still not impressed, John. Old Bob had had a mostly human name, Rachel had a human name, try a human name on her other than Pepper! Please? At least one? Cain had had a human name, it wasn’t like he’d never known a dog with a human’s name. And, she remembered, Rufus had a human-ish name too, so why was he so averse to giving her one, too?

Aw, hell, she remembered then that Jack-or was it Abigail?- had named Rufus.

‘Please, God, why me?’

He looked, suddenly, deep in thought, and she wondered what he’d come up with this time. Fluffy, maybe? Was she fluffy? Seeing herself in the puddle was only a vague memory, hazy and faint considering she’d only been half-conscious, so she needed to find somewhere to get a good look at herself.

When he spoke, it was under his breath, “What was the name of that woman in Jack’s book?” and she tilted her head in aroused curiosity—which book? In the game (at least, in the epilogue) she’d only ever seen him reading about King Arthur, but of course he’d have read plenty others off-screen, so all she could do was look at him like, well, a curious dog. “Gin… Guinev-Guinevere?”  The rather extravagant name was rough on his tongue, stuttered and awkward, a five-dollar word in a fifty-cent mouth, but it was a name she liked , much better than Brownie, Greenie, Floppy or even Pepper, and she feared what other names he might come up with, so she perked her ears and showed her interest, looking at him intently. She could live with that name, quite happily in fact. It was extravagant, far more-so than the one she’d had in her other life.

“Of course that’s the one you like,” he sighed, the surprised expression on his face turning resigned, “who comes up with those names, anyways?” 

“Not you, clearly!” and he better use that name, she refused to answer to anything else he came up with. “Fine, Guin… shit, you’re gonna need a nickname, that’s a hell of a mouthful. Ginny, I’ll call ya Ginny.”

Ginny, she could live with that.

[som3thingcr3ative]

Khaleesi

This was a totally self-indulgent idea I had. I don’t fuck with season 8 of GoT, so this is set in two different times- in Westeros, Daenerys has just freed Mereen and is staying there for a little while until she has gathered her strength for a play on the Iron Throne. Beyond that, this will be pretty canon divergent. GRRM himself will even make an appearance in later chapters. 

Synopsis:  It started at a party one fall night. Everything can be traced to this fateful day- the time travel, the wizard, the magic, the dragons… even the government involvement. It all started here.

Rhaegar Shade has never truly known what it is to be normal: he’s never looked normal, he’s never acted normal, and he sure as hell doesn’t have normal pets. He has tried to fit in, but he never truly found a place where he belonged- until the Mage George R. R. Martin decides it’s time. D&D aren’t taking GoT seriously on screen. Up until now, they were showing what needed to be shown- but GRRM knows exactly what will happen if they remain in control, so he does the only thing he can about it. 

He adds a pawn to the board, one who was removed from play long ago, if only to keep him alive. 

Pairing: (In later chapters) Daenerys x Jon Snow, Rhaegar / Daenerys and Rhaegar / Jon.

Warnings: Concussions, break-up, almost-rape, self-doubt, bad coping mechanisms (running away from problems)

Game of Thrones season seven episode seven played on the massive television attached to the wall of Rhaegar Shade’s basement as the twenty-somethings assembled there became increasingly drunk. 

“Cheers to our own Targaryen, Rhaegar the King of Parties!” One frat boy loudly announces, standing on Rhaegar’s couch with a sloshing red solo cup of beer in one hand. Rhaegar smiles and nods graciously, used to this at his age. His white hair and violet eyes had won him the name from his adoptive mothers, who were massive Game of Thrones fans at the time of his adoption. Two years old and diagnosed with Alexandria’s Genesis, there was no doubt that the name fit. He truly did look like a Targaryen. Now twenty-three, an ER nurse at the local hospital, Rhaegar had submitted himself to a night of torture- but only for his girlfriend. 

“Cheers!” Jasmine yelled, squeezing her boyfriend’s middle with the arm wrapped around him, raising her own, well-policed red cup in excitement. Rhaegar smiled at her, this time a true smile. The two had met a year before and had been dating for seven months at this point, Jasmine instantly taken with his unusual looks and sweet demeanor. She was the reason for the party. Twenty-one years old, in college for graphic design, she had decided to host a viewing party for the infamous show before the eighth season came on. Rhaegar thought it was useless; everyone there -save himself-would be too drunk to remember what happened. 

His girlfriend, thoroughly intoxicated, slipped her hand down his back to squeeze his ass- he flinched, watching her stagger away toward the alcohol. He followed, grabbing her hand to stop her. 

“I think you’ve had enough.” He says, turning her to face him. 

She rolls her eyes. “Babe, don’t you think it’s about time we had sex?”

He flinches again, watching her sway in place. “No,” He says, entirely sure, “For two reasons.” Jasmine frowns, reaching around him to grope him again- he smacks her hand away. “You’re drunk, and you know I don’t want it.”

“You’re a guy, you’re supposed to want it.” She complains, her words slurring. “I think it’s just an excuse.”

“You’ve had enough.” he repeats, sick of this same conversation. Every time she has a drink, the ‘issue’ of his sexuality- or lack thereof- comes up. Every single time, she complains about his Asexuality, despite their agreement. He knew, reasonably, that she would have needs that he didn’t. Instead of letting it fester into a problem, he’d told her that should she have those needs, she was free to have sex with other people- so long as she was safe and he knew where she was. When she was sober, it was never an issue. Now, however, she was getting handsy and disrespectful. He takes her drink and sets it on the nearby counter, then, guiding her by the hand, takes her up to his room to sleep it off. 

While she stumbles up the steps in front of him, he keeps a steady hand on her back. She mumbles something under her breath that he can’t hear. 

“What?”

“I said… I said I want to have sex!”

He shakes his head, keeping an eye on her feet and the stairs. She trips, but he quickly catches her and sets her right again. “I’d say there’s plenty of guys around, but they’re all drunk and so are you. You can do whatever you want in the morning.”

“I don’t want them, I want you.” She complains, turning around to him, nearly falling backwards. 

“We’re not having this conversation on the steps.” He says, finally just lifting her bridal-style in his arms and carrying her the rest of the way. Once she’s safely on the bed, he lets her go. “You’re not like this sober, Jasmine.”

“But I want you…”  She purrs, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and kissing him- hard. 

Rhaegar can taste the alcohol on her breath. He knows, logically, that when she’s sober, Jasmine is sweet and kind- but this side of her, the drunk side, the side that he’s seeing in a new light- this side scares him. He pushes her away, but she only rears back and smacks him across the cheek. 

Shocked, he simply stares at her. 

He closes his eyes and turns away from her. For a split second he feels her hand against his back, but he moves away- she knows better than to force him, he thinks. She respects him more than that- but he’s wrong and her hands return, insistent, tugging at his jeans. 

“Jasmine,” He growls, “Let go!” He grabs her wrists, trying to release her grip on him to no avail, so he takes her shoulders and shakes her lightly. “Stop!” 

She only becomes more and more aggressive- she smacks him again, then kisses him. He pushes her away, tells her no, tries to leave, but she’s stronger and more angry when drunk, and the logical, sweet woman he has come to trust is gone. 

His breath coming too quickly, Rhaegar shoves her away a little harder than he should- a little harder than he intended, but it does the trick. She backs into the headboard, staring at him with lust-blown eyes. He stares back, trying to remember to breathe through the realization that he was almost raped. 

Still, her next words hurt. “I’m done.” she says. “With this. With you.” 

“What?” He breathes, head spinning. 

“We’re breaking up, dimwit.” She says. 

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and gathers his thoughts. “Because I won’t have sex with you?”

“Because you’re a broken toy and I’m done trying to fix you.”

“I’m not broken.” He growls, fists clenching. Targaryen fire, he thinks as his blood heats. Maybe my moms were right about that. “There’s nothing for you to fix. We’ll talk about this when you’re sober.” 

She huffs, but slips under the covers nonetheless. “Find somewhere else to sleep.”

“It’s my bed,” he protests, but even as he says the words, he realizes he doesn’t want to be near her. Rhaegar still places a cup of water and tylenol on the nightstand for her, a trash can beside the bed. He leaves the room quietly, his heart still pounding. 

In the basement, the party has continued unrelenting. The credits are rolling on screen, so he shuts off the TV and climbs onto the sofa.

“You guys know the drill.” He says, loud enough for the party to stop around him. “Call your Ubers, finish your drinks before they come. I’m not going to have any drunk drivers.”

He climbs down from the couch amid the groans, but the drunks pull out their phones anyway and arrange for their rides. He’s quiet as he starts to clean up- unattended drinks get poured out and thrown away, trash collected, the passed-out party-goers left where they are. He gets Ubers for them himself, then makes sure each person goes into the right car, awake enough to get home safely. 

When everyone is gone, Rhaegar falls into his couch and stares at the ceiling toward Jasmine. 

“Seven months.” He mutters. There’s a dull ache in his chest, the crash of adrenaline still in his veins. Just how much he didn’t want what happened can’t be overstated- he didn’t have the urges everyone else seemed to have, didn’t want the same things they did. For him, things were simpler- he was driven by work, a passion for what he does. He worked so that he could live comfortably, so he could pay for his animals- the horse and his two wolf-dogs. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship when he met Jasmine, but it seemed that they were a good match. 

At the time, he thinks bitterly. Yeah, he realizes, It’s over.

He can’t be with someone who almost raped him. 

And he can’t tell anyone, either. He knows that it wasn’t his fault- he’d told the exact same thing to rape victims all the time at his work- but when he was the victim, it was harder to believe. 

He stops himself from thinking what if- he shuts down the part of his brain that is telling him he’s weak for being at her mercy. I didn’t want to hurt her, he thinks. Even though she was hurting me.

Rhaegar won’t be that guy. He’s not a violent person, despite the occasional anger. He’s never hit a girl outside of the sparring ring- jiu-jitsu, karate or muy-thai- and had never raised a hand against Jasmine. 

Shaking his head, he resolves to go do the one thing that never fails to clear his mind. 

He leaves a note on the counter for Jasmine-

Gone riding. Be back tomorrow. -R

Then Rhaegar Shade, his mind in shattered pieces, packs a bag, gathers his two wolfdogs and leaves his house behind in favor of the barn.

The barn is quiet when he arrives at four in the morning. He lets the dogs out of the trunk of the SUV, then takes his bag and walks into the main barn, heading for the last stall in the row. Around him are the calming sounds of horses chewing hay, nickering to each other or sleeping. He flicks on only the most necessary lights to avoid bothering them, then sets his bag down and opens the stall. 

Runar, his black friesian, greets him with a puff of warm air. Rhaegar’s heart finally slows at the sight of his horse, his long-time companion. He takes a deep breath of the barn’s warm air and wraps his arms around the horses’ large neck. 

“Hi buddy,” he says. “I missed you.”

Runar nickers, folding Rhaegar against his chest and raising his front leg in a hug. Rhaegar laughs, feeling the weight on his shoulders and heart lift. Clarity is an odd thing, but it comes to him in that moment. He realizes that he’s better off without Jasmine. He doesn’t need someone who pressures him to have sex- he doesn’t need someone who thinks he’s broken or in need of fixing. Before her, he’d had plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that he’d never experience sexual attraction, that he could very well be alone all his life because of it. 

He realizes that he doesn’t need to worry about it. 

With Runar in front of him and the two dogs sniffing around behind him, he realizes that everything he needs is right there.

So it’s with a smile that he grooms his horse, with a calm heart that he puts on the saddle, breast collar and bridle, then the saddle bags with his phone, water bottle, pocket knife and snacks. Rhaegar leaves a note for the barn staff that he’s out on the trails and won’t be back until that night, just so that they won’t worry about the empty stall. He leads Runar and the dogs out of the barn, then puts on his backpack, mounts his horse and rides off into the first rays of morning light. 

~

Back to reality, Rhaegar slips into his house quietly, having put the wolf-dogs in their enclosure in the backyard. It’s seven in the afternoon, the outside world is dark and he’s pleasantly tired- but when he looks up, he sees Jasmine leaning against his kitchen counter, still in the clothes from the night before. She’s nursing a drink.

“We need to talk,” Rhaegar says, dropping his keys into the basket by the front door. He takes an immediate right into the kitchen, digging through the fridge for a snack.

“That’s never good.” Jasmine replies, raising her eyebrows at his back.

He doesn’t bother to answer her snide comment; when he turns to face her, his eyes are dark and emotionless. To her credit, she notices and seems to realize that he’s being very serious. “What do you remember from last night?”

Jasmine frowns, her eyes losing focus as she concentrates. Slowly, the words come. “I remember…the ninth episode… A couple of shots from Brad, a drinking game.” She pauses. “I remember trying to get some, then waking up with a hangover.” Again, she stops. “Are you mad that I had sex? I thought we had a deal?”

“You didn’t have sex last night.” He answers, matter-of-factly. “When the last episode was over, you were wasted. I took you up to my room to sleep it off.” Her eyes widen.

“I tried-“she stumbles over the words. Then: “you?”

“Me.” He affirms, his gaze stone-cold. “You tried to force me.”

She just watches him for a very long second.

“I can’t do this anymore Jasmine. When you’re drunk, you’re brutally honest- I know you can’t either. We’re done.” Rhaegar turns away from her, intending to get a plate from the cabinet when something breaks over his shoulders- there’s a sharp sting as glass cuts his face and neck, then shock as he raises his hand to the cuts. The alcohol in whatever she was drinking soaked the back of his shirt and added an extra insult to injury. He looks at her without feeling anything- anything but cold. Rhaegar leans against the counter, supporting his weight on his arms. “You need to leave.”

Jasmine spits at him- he flinches, but otherwise doesn’t react, doesn’t even move until she has gathered her things and slammed the door behind her, leaving him to clean up her mess once more.

He gets every last piece of glass from the floor and counter, then cleans up the mess in the basement almost robotically, the whole time feeling cold and empty. How did I ever fall for her? He wonders, thinking about the abusive qualities she showed from the very beginning; she was manipulative, bitchy, vain and untrustworthy. There wasn’t any substance to her- she was shallower than the kiddie end of a swimming pool, with all of the bland personality of a stale ham sandwich. What did I ever see in her? He thinks, numb. I guess I was attention-starved. Makes sense.

When his mind threatens to drift to the night before, he shuts it down, turning instead to other things; he has the next three days off from work before working 18 hours straight, so he decides he’ll spend it with Runar and the dog-beasts in the woods. That thought in mind, he cleans up the basement, puts the trash on the curb, then starts packing for an overnight trail ride.

 ~

The next morning cannot come fast enough. There’s something in the air, something he can’t quite define that sets his senses on edge. He hadn’t slept well, plagued by nightmares. All of these things make him eager to get out of the house- with his bags packed the night before, Rhaegar gathers the dogs and leaves for the barn.

Runar seems to feel the uneasiness as well- he’s pacing in his stall when Rhaegar arrives, puffing at the window. He only calms down long enough to be groomed and tacked, then sets off at a trot toward the state park lands.

Barely two hours in, Rhaegar’s skin prickles with electricity. He turns in his saddle, staring up at the trees and the sky beyond- nothing. They are about half an hour out from the electric lines and there’s not a cloud in the sky- and he’s not alone in feeling the odd sensation. Fenrir, the darker of his two wolf-dogs, snarls into the tree line, hackles raised. Runar stops suddenly, leaving the four in a small clearing. Bane joins Fenrir, the two circling around Runar’s legs. 

Something’s off- Rhaegar knows that. He can feel it deep in his bones. Anxiety creeps up his limbs as he checks the woods. There’s nothing around for miles. Most of the other riders aren’t at the barn until the afternoon, and none of them ride as far as he goes. He could be gone for days at a time and no one would think to look for him. 

A tree cracks behind him with an earth-shattering sound. He hears it whistle through the air, hears the wolves bark and snarl as they retreat from it, hears Runar scream in a way only horses can scream- and then he feels the horse rear. Everything happens in a split second. The first tree slams into a second tree as a rip appears before him- a black, writhing mass in what had been open air, like a claw rent through fabric. The electric charge runs through his body and muscles that had been holding on for dear life suddenly go slack. He can’t do anything as he falls off backwards, sliding over Runar’s back to the unforgiving ground. 

Rhaegar doesn’t even have a chance to yell before his head slams into the ground and he is rendered unconscious. 

[winterromanov]

i want to hold your heart (in both hands) - bechloe fic

No-one else gets a Beca to go home with. She’s literally the only person on this Earth who can say that. (or, the five times Beca Mitchell was really fucking drunk, and the one time it was chloe instead. 4k words. prompt - how drunk was i?)

(i) why did you have to go like that

The ICCA’s are the biggest win the Bella’s have had in years, so understandably the after party has to be pretty spectacular. Spectacular turns out to be Stacie and Cynthia-Rose’s hotel room, apparently—not that Chloe’s complaining, because everything she needs is right here, her weird and messed-up family high on adrenaline and drunk out their minds.

Well. She says high on adrenaline. But Beca is just high.

“Where did you even get pot from?” Chloe asks, as she watches Beca spin round and round and round in the hallway, her shirt a blur of blue mixing with the cream of the walls. There’s a glass of wine in her right hand but most of its now on the floor or her shoes. Chloe’s actually kind of glad, because Beca really doesn’t need any more to drink, but Beca’s the kind of person who adamantly argues she’s sober when puking up vodka in the bathroom. “You can’t have got it from one of us. Aubrey has, like, a sixth sense when it comes to illegal substances. She’s a human sniffer dog.”

Beca laughs, stumbling violently as she finally stops spinning. Luckily Chloe’s not a total mess yet so she reaches out just in time to grab her, gripping onto Beca’s floppy forearms. “Chloe. Chloe. Why are you all blurry? And why is everything green?” Her hands reach out and start touching Chloe’s face, fingers prodding at her cheeks. “God, your skin is so soft. Like, if I could make a blanket out of your skin, I totally would.”

“You’re not making a blanket out of my skin, Beca.”

“A blanket out of your skin?” Beca says, like this is a completely new concept to her and not something she mentioned seconds earlier. She steps back but Chloe clings on, because someone has got to keep this bitch from falling over and slamming her head on the wall. “That’s gross, dude! Why would I even do that?”

Beca’s look of total outrage is so fucking funny but Chloe chews her lip, trying to supress a laugh. “Did Jesse give you the pot?”

Beca narrows her eyes in an extremely drunken way that makes it look like she has no idea who Jesse is. Chloe’s heart shifts uneasily in her chest, thinking about Beca and Jesse. It’s weird. She doesn’t know why its weird, because that whole thing was far from a surprise—she arranged a mix for him, sang to a TV audience for him, kissed him like the whole world wasn’t watching except it was—but she’s the one who has seen Beca naked, so—

“It might have been Jesse,” Beca says, her words slurring and tripping over each other, “But it might have been someone else. Wearing red. But he smelt amazing.” She makes a point of sniffing Chloe’s shirt, her face suddenly inches away from her skin. “You smell amazing too. Like fucking—rainbows, or some shit.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Chloe asks, humouring her, “Because last time I check rainbows didn’t smell like anything. Maybe damp air or something.”

“No, no, no! Don’t be stupid. Rainbows are the best smell ever. They smell like…”

For a second, time stops, and Chloe can see the way Beca’s eyes drift to her lips and she wants to (like, so, so much) but Beca’s sort-of got a boyfriend now and Chloe’s many things but she’s not that girl. “You’re very drunk right now.”

“I am not drunk,” Beca says, as expected. The moment is snuffed out like a candle but the electricity remains, stuttering under the surface. Beca squirms out of her grip and it’s like she’s miles away, not metres, because Jesse just so happens to open the bedroom door opposite and catches her like a safety net.

“Ah, Mr Bond,” Jesse says, in a low purr—his limbs are as loose as hers are but he somehow manages to scoop her in perfectly, like she’s always belonged inside his grip. Chloe smiles at the exchange. She’s never noticed the way her stomach just falls before, like the floor is going to swallow her up, forget she was even here. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Beca smiles giddily. Chloe wishes it didn’t kill her, seeing her so happy with someone else. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

And they kiss, again, like there’s nobody watching, except there is. Chloe tears her eyes away. There’s a Sia song playing in the other room and a shit-ton of tequila and they’re still ICCA champions, which is something, even if it’s only half the happy ending she kind of wished for.

-x-

(ii) just because i’m a mess doesn’t mean this has to end

Chloe knows something’s up the minute she walks into the Bella house and sees Jessica, sitting at the kitchen table, chewing aggressively on a pale-pink thumbnail. When she closes the door, the noise alerts her as well as Stacie, Lilly and Cynthia-Rose, who are all sat round the corner on the couches. They’re giving of the weirdest vibe and it makes Chloe feel very uneasy.

“Why do you all look so terrified?” Chloe asks incredulously, dropping her bag by the coffee table. “Did one of you smash my Spice Girls mug? Because that was limited edition and one of my favourites, so if you have—“

“Beca’s in the closet,” Stacie blurts out, “And she won’t come out.”

“In the closet?” Chloe manically turns around and spies at least half a dozen shot glasses littered across the kitchen table, which can only mean one thing. “Okay. So which one of you let Beca day drink?”

“We couldn’t stop her!” Cynthia-Rose squawks, arms flailing madly, “She said she had a taser in her purse!”

Chloe narrows her eyes. Cynthia-Rose shrinks back on the sofa, as if she’s attempting to melt in between the cushions. “Really. Where do you think Beca would get a taser from?”

“I have a supplier,” Lilly says. No-one hears her, as per, so Chloe just stares at her, faintly annoyed. “Do any of you guys want a machine gun?”

Chloe shakes her head. There’s a loud bang from upstairs and the light-fitting shakes, and everyone in the room looks unanimously terrified. It’s… not the first time Beca’s got in the closet and it never usually ends well. She’s pretty sure Ashley still has a scar. She breathes deeply, in and out, mentally preparing herself for the shitstorm that is inevitably occurring around them. “Okay. Okay. Is anyone up there with her?”

“Amy is,” Stacie says, “But we haven’t seen her in a while so who knows if she’s still alive.”

She’s probably still alive, Chloe reasons, because Beca can be a fierce little fuck when day-drinking but at the end of the day she’s still only five foot two and Amy has vividly retold the time she wrestled six crocodiles and The Rock simultaneously on numerous occasions, so. Amy’s resourceful. She’ll have fashioned a makeshift weapon from tampons and pencil shavings if needs be.

Chloe grabs a bottle of water, a packet of chips and a hockey stick for good measure, before heading into battle solo.

-x-

Beca and Amy’s room looks like the aftermath of a tsunami.

Chloe wades through piles of clothes and toilet roll and notebook paper. A broken toaster lies desecrated on the carpet (she’d always wondered where that had gone) and a string of photobooth pictures are half-melted inside. She can just about see that the warped, grinning faces are Beca and Jesse.

Oh, honey.

She leaves the hockey stick by the door and follows the muffled shouting. Amy’s trying to wedge open the closet door with a spatula, her face streaked in black warpaint (eyeliner) and a very determined expression, gritting her teeth. Beca is basically just screeching. Every so often she can see a glimpse of her tiny fingertips, fighting to keep the door shut.

“What is going on?” Chloe whispers harshly. Amy breaks off her mission for a moment, panting, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. She eyes the chips in Chloe’s hands and takes them for herself.

“You brought snacks!” she says, ecstatic, ripping into the bag. “I have been working pretty hard. She’s being a hot mess. Emphasis on the mess. Also hot, because it gets toasty in there if you sit with the door shut for too long. Trust me. Just because it has no windows, doesn’t mean you should make it into a sauna.”

Chloe doesn’t want to know the story behind how Amy managed to work that out. Like, ever. “Why has she been drinking? Is she okay?”

Amy swallows a mouthful of chips. “Movie nerd dumped her. She’s a bit bummed about it. Started slamming the vodka as soon as she got in and hasn’t stopped for several hours. She also smashed your Spice Girls mug, so don’t blame me for that. I told her it was limited edition and she just started crying.”

Okay, so her assumptions are basically confirmed, and she’s not even that upset about the mug, not when Beca’s in this state. A broken heart is more pressing that some broken china, even if that china is a limited edition signed-by-Baby-Spice mug and everything. “Yeah. I saw the… toaster.”

“She tried using the barbecue, but that thing is definitely broken and I thought she might accidentally set the house on fire. I was like Beca, yes, I totally understand why you’d want to burn everything that reminded you of that dick, but maybe not our house too? Because I know we all have little regrets after we’ve been drinking but that would be… like, quite a big and expensive one and also you might go to prison for arson.”

“True,” Chloe nods. She leans forwards, knocks lightly on the cupboard door. There’s definite movement from inside but no response, like Beca’s trying to pretend she isn’t in, which doesn’t really work with a closet. “Beca, I know you’re in there.”

“Fuck off, Amy!”

Even when drunk, it astounds Chloe that Beca can’t tell the difference between their voices. “Beca, sweetie, it’s Chloe. Can I come in?”

There’s a moment of quiet, then a small voice: “Chloe?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” she says, “I’m coming in, so, like, please move any sharp things you’ve got in there—“

She slowly pulls the doors open and Amy stands on guard, spatula at the ready. The sight she beholds is both extremely sad yet somehow adorable. Beca’s curled amongst a fur coat and several pairs of boots, a huge beanie covering her hair, her face streaked with tears. A half-finished bottle of vodka hangs loosely in her left hand.

When Chloe crouches down and brushes some of her damp hair away from her face, Beca chokes out another sob, a loud wail which is totally unlike Beca—she’s the kind that usually sits on her emotions until she eventually bursts, days’ worth of anger or anxiety or depression exploding out of her without limit, usually when drunk. This is Beca blown wide open. The side that nobody is usually allowed to see. Maybe that’s why she’s in the closet, after all. Maybe this is what this whole thing is.

“Oh baby,” Chloe murmurs, wrapping her in the tightest hug imaginable, “I’m sorry. I know, it sucks, I know.”

“I was going to dump him anyway,” Beca says, definitely wiping snot on Chloe’s sleeve, “He wasn’t supposed to do it first.”

Chloe’s not sure how much of that is true. Beca’s always been quite reserved about her relationship, like it was only ever hers, not to be discussed with anyone else. Maybe it would have helped if she had.

(Maybe it would have helped if Chloe didn’t try to change the subject every time Jesse was brought up in conversation, reminding her of what he’s got and she doesn’t.)

Chloe clambers into the closet beside her, shutting the doors, Amy knowing where she’s not needed. They hold each other for a long time. She’s not sure how long, but it’s safe and warm and home, and maybe Beca’s realising the same things she is. Or maybe she isn’t.

“I’m sorry about your mug,” Beca says hoarsely after a minute or maybe an hour. “Sometimes I get mad and inadvertently break things. I never mean to, you know? I don’t break anything on purpose. Things just… naturally shatter around me.”

Chloe presses a kiss to her forehead. Yeah, she breaks things. Everyone does. But Beca—she always tries to put things back together again. And that’s the important thing.

(A few weeks later a mug appears on the sideboard. It’s a Spice Girls mug, signed by Baby Spice, and Chloe grins as she unfurls a note.

I got this shipped over from the UK as nobody over here listens to the Spice Girls anymore, so you better appreciate it. –B

P.S. I promise I’ll never break anything of yours ever again.)

-x-

(iii) you’re alright love

“Hello, you’ve reached Chloe Beale! Pretty please leave a message after the tone and I promise I’ll get back to you!”

Message One (1:56am) FROM BECS

Wow, okay, so you’re not answering, which is—cool, I guess, it must be pretty late in Atlanta? I can’t remember. I’m fucking stupid. Anyway, call me back when you get this. Bye!

Message Two (2:03am) FROM BECS

Yes, I know, another message but like… I’m stuck at this party the label are doing and it’s so dull, you know? It’s like I keep scanning the room looking for you. But you’re not here. And whenever I realise that I think of you waving me goodbye at the airport and I—okay, I’m way too sober and this is way too sappy for me to even begin, fucking Christ. Talk to you later.

Message Three (2:46am) FROM BECS

Holy FUCK these drinks are strong. I feel like I could be in space, but I’m not in space. I’m in LA. And you’re in Georgia. Why are you in Georgia? Can’t you come over here? My apartment is so lonely without you

Message Four (3:15am) FROM BECS

CHLOE!!!!! Oh my god, I’m so fucking drunk and one of the guys I work with keeps giving me the eye and I’m like dude? I’m gay? And I have a girlfriend who I love very much? And she’s two thousand and one hundred and seventy-five miles away which I totally did not just Google on my phone in the bathroom or anything?

Message Five (5:38am) FROM BECS

I don’t know what I’m doing, Chloe. I don’t think I can live here much longer. There’s like this… hole, yeah a hole, and I thought I could manage it like I always do but I can’t and the only person who can fix it is you, and… holy shit, what am I even doing? Is this vodka talking? I think it might be, but also I think it might not be, and I just want to be in bed with you right now and not at this stupid party with these stupid people who aren’t you. I love you so much. It’s actually sickening. Freshman me with her earspike and Doc Martens is looking at me right now thinking who the fuck are you? But freshman me was me before you, and thinking about a time in my life without you in it actually makes me want to cry. Ugh. How many months is it until I see you again?

Message One (7:59am) TO BECS

Okay so you’re the one who isn’t picking up now, which is a bit much to be honest, after all those messages. They were beautiful, Becs. Very poetic, but also very drunk. I’m sure you won’t remember any of them but don’t you worry, I definitely will. I’m not going to forget gems like I love you so much it’s actually sickening in a hurry. For the record, everything you said was what goes through my head on a daily basis. My life is so empty and boring without you in it. I miss you more than Brownie Batter Ben and Jerry’s and believe me, that’s quite a lot. I totally love you, Beca. And to answer your question, it’s exactly three months and twelve days until we’re reunited at the airport like all my favourite romcom couples rolled into one. I’m definitely going to catch you in my arms and spin you round, by the way. Just so you can prepare for it. Call me back when you get this.

Message Six (12:07pm) FROM BECS

I have just woken up discovering that last night I left you exactly five voicemail messages, one about fifteen minutes before I passed out on a fucking garden table. Excuse me while I die of shame then set myself on fire and never live this down for the rest of my life. I still totally love you, though.

-x-

(iv) i’d be a fool to let you go

“Fuck. How drunk was I?”

Beca’s stood barefoot in the kitchen, staring at some rather impressive handiwork—every inch of their kitchen is covered in post-it notes, top to bottom, in a range of colours and sizes. The grill, the counter, the back wall, the television: literally every available surface is electrified with fluorescent pink or yellow or green. There’s a leftover sandwich out on the table (evidence of Beca’s late night snacking) and even that has a post-it note, Chloe peeling it off with her finger and sticking it on Beca’s forearm.

“You’re alarmingly precise when fucked,” Chloe remarks, “These are all, like, perfectly symmetrical.”

Beca narrows her eyes then nods. She wanders over to the refrigerator and opens it, letting out a sigh of relief on noticing that the inside has been left untouched by her post-it rampage. “Where did I even get all this shit from? I don’t remember going to a stationery supply store. Or did I? Those places aren’t usually open at three am, are they?”

“None that I’ve heard of,” Chloe says. Beca turns, utterly stumped. She looks really adorable when confused. It’s hardly Chloe’s fault that she’s just so kissable—even if she’s basically destroyed their tiny kitchen with her late-night interior design sessions. She slinks her arms round Beca’s waist and Beca grins, ridiculously happy, kissing her back with a fervour that having their own apartment together allows.

It’s perfect. She’s in her pyjamas, with her girlfriend, in their own little apartment. It feels like a reward. Something they both deserve. Finally.

“I can’t believe I’m here, with you,” Chloe murmurs softly, “I’m actually living with my crazy girlfriend.”

“You’re going to start regretting it when I keep pulling stunts like this,” Beca says, snatching a quick kiss, “This is why you should always come with me to parties. Then at least we can cover our whole house in sticky notes together while drunk out of our minds.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you,” Chloe says, and it’s the complete and honest truth.

(It’s something Beca always has to hear. I won’t leave you like everyone else did. It’s everything. It’s everything.)

-x-

(v) i’ll still fall in place

FAT AMY

So which one of you bitches gave short-ass a triple fucking vodka

The girl is off her FACE and embarrassing me in front of my boyfriends

STACIE

Boyfriends? U bitch. Unfair that u get all the dick

FAT AMY

It’s my birthday Stacie the least I deserve is some mediocre ex-Treble dick

AUBREY

???

FAT AMY

Oh my God Aubrey you cannot tell me that the vow was a lifelong thing

Because if that’s the case Beca literally dated one of those douchebags for 2 years

Also: she’s just started twerking

She’s killing my vibe and it’s MY BIRTHDAY

LILLY

I killed someone once for a twinkie.

FAT AMY

…

@chloe please come and pick up your gf

I’ve told her I’ve recorded her dabbing on snapchat and she still doesn’t seem to give a shit

CHLOE

Where the hell r u ????

FAT AMY

Outside by the speakers

She’s started beatboxing and it’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever seen

And I’ve seen Bumper’s cock

AUBREY

AMY

DON’T EVER SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT EVER AGAIN

ASHLEY

I’m near the speakers, I could come and help sober her up a bit?

FAT AMY

Sorry who are you?

Doesn’t matter anyway, Red’s claimed her

And NOW they’re kissing

I can’t believe that twerking-beatboxing-dabbing mess is getting some and I’m not

IT’S MY BIRTHDAY

CYNTHIA-ROSE

Wait Amy where are you?

FAT AMY

Bitch don’t even pretend you’re looking for me

I know what you want

And they’ve both disappeared sooooo

CYNTHIA-ROSE

:(

EMILY

I’ve just seen Chloe and Beca go upstairs! Are we having a slumber party? I forgot my pajamas but I could go back and get them?? :)

FAT AMY

You sweet summer child

-x-

Interlude – i filled a little book with your poetry

Fat Amy’s bed is big, like if she moves she’ll fall off the edge of the world.

But her whole world is right here, her head resting on her chest, eyelids fluttering shut and a smudge of red lipstick on her cheek.

Her world is five-foot-two and feisty and drunk and she’s beautiful.

-x-

 (vi) kiss my first love with you on repeat

It’s three am and Chloe’s head is all swirly and her whole body feels weightless, like if it wasn’t for Beca’s arm anchoring her to the sidewalk she’d just fly up and up and up, sitting among the clouds. Today has probably been the best night of her life. But then—she’s with Beca, so every night is probably the best night of her life, and its days like these that she realises she’s the luckiest person in this entire world. No-one else gets a Beca to go home with. She’s literally the only person on this Earth who can say that.

“Dude,” Beca says, her voice the only sound in the silent street, “Can you at least try to walk in a straight line? I can’t keep you balanced and I’d rather you didn’t get run over by a truck. The medical bill would be monster, to start with.”

“Yes, Beca,” she replies, folding in a little too far and causing Beca to stumble, “But I’m not straight, am I? How can you expect me to walk in a straight line when I’m not even straight?”

Beca bites her lip, grinning. “Oh. Wow. You got me there.”

“I did, didn’t I? God, I’m so funny. You’re so pretty.”

“Thanks, Chlo,” Beca replies, smirk prevalent, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Chloe’s smile is giddy and contagious, happily drunk, her heart beating twice as fast in her chest. Because it’s 3am, and she’s with Beca Mitchell, and everything couldn’t be more fucking right.

“We should get married,” she says, suddenly, like a revelation. They pause in the middle of the street for a second and Beca looks back at her, eyes wide. “Wouldn’t that be the best? We’d be like… we’d be us, but married.”

Beca doesn’t say anything, and looks like she might cry. Then she bursts out laughing.

“Chloe. We’re already married, you weirdo. You really are drunk.”

Chloe presses a hand over her chest, overwhelmed, tears pricking at her eyes. It’s like she’s been told the most wonderful thing ever. Oh yeah. She’s already put a ring on it. “Oh my god. That’s awesome. You’re beautiful. I love you.”

Beca grins and it starts to rain, like actually pour, the clouds rumbling with thunder and soaking them through. Beca gasps, looking up, water trickling down her cheekbones. It’s honestly too perfect a moment to waste.

Chloe grabs her face and kisses her, in the middle of the street, the air smelling like heat and summer and tequila, and she’s kissing her wife and she’s drunk and yeah, this is definitely the best night of her life.

[battle-goats]

Project Cooperation Chapter 2

I’m finally updating my BakuDeku fic.

Summary: When the class is assigned a group project, Bakugou is forced to set aside his general apathy for his classmates to achieve a passing grade.  Worst of all, Deku is part of the group.

Read on Ao3

Deku dropped an open notebook on Bakugou’s desk the next day during lunch.  Bakugou scowled at it as his lunch box slid forward and he dropped a piece of hot dog.  He picked it up with his chopsticks and shoved it in his mouth.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded as he chewed.

“Our project proposal.  We have to submit it on Friday.  This is what we came up with yesterday after you left,” Deku told him.  Bakugou glanced at it. “Everyone else has agreed to it, but we need you too.”

Bakugou picked up the notebook and skimmed through what was clearly a rough draft of their project proposal.  It seemed someone had had the bright idea of choosing a topic that Bakugou would be interested.  The history of explosives and it’s uses in combat.  The only person who was enough of a nerd to come  up with a topic like this had to be Deku.

He looked up at the other boy, but didn’t immediately say anything.  He wanted to watch Deku squirm for a bit.  Sure enough a few of Deku’s nervous habits started to show, he toyed with his fingers and he was beginning to mutter quietly.  Bakugou set his chopsticks down and and shoved the notebook into Deku’s arms.

“Fine, we’ll go with this.  But you asswipes better do your part,” Bakugou said.  He went back to eating his lunch while Deku shuffled away, cradling the notebook in his arms.  Bakugou shook his head and looked away.  They’d known each other for years, and Deku would always be Deku.  Weird, nervous, shifty.  Bakugou’s eyes trailed down to Deku’s scarred arm and hand.  Bakugou looked away and angrily shoved some rice in his mouth.

Bakugou once again sat in Deku’s living room while they worked in silence.  No one else was here.  Deku had brought his laptop down from his room as he ran various searches for resources.

“Where the fuck is everyone else?” Bakugou asked.  He jotted down a new bullet point on their to-do list.  Deku looked at him from over this laptop screen.

“Well, Kacchan, they’re - they’re afraid of you,” Deku said.  He was leaning away from Bakugou, as if he was ready to bolt in case Bakugou got violent.  And given what he’d just said, it was likely.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Bakugou snapped.  What the fuck kind of bullshit of a group project was this if he was working with one other person.  He gripped his pencil tight and grit his teeth.

“You’re an aggressive person, and people find it intimidating,” Deku said.  Bakugou snarled and jumped up out of his seat.

“I’ll fucking-!”

“Just, like that, Kacchan.  Besides, not everyone thinks you’re intimidating.  You have friends, Kirishima-kun and Sero-kun and them.  Plus, I don’t think you’re intimidating.  Not anymore,” Deku said in a rush.  Deku smiled nervously when Bakugou stepped around the table to loom over him.

“Getting along, boys?”

They jumped when Deku’s step-father shuffled into the room.  He paused to eye them carefully, his sunken eyes glancing between them.

“Ah, Toshinori-san, yeah, just getting some work done,” Deku said with a laugh.  Bakugou scoffed and dropped back into his seat.  Bakugou watched as the tall man walked through the living room and into the kitchen.

“Fuck, his eyes are still creepy,” Bakugou muttered.

“Be nice!” Deku snapped.  Bakugou backed down.  Deku was very defensive of his step-father.  Bakugou didn’t blame him, though, so he didn’t press.

The went back to work as Toshinori-san shuffled through again with a cup of orange juice.  He paused to ruffle Deku’s hair and glanced at Bakugou before he disappeared down the hall.  Bakugou furrowed his brows in thought.  That had been an odd look, he’d gotten from the man.

“Kacchan?”

Bakugou glanced at Deku.  He’d turned the laptop around so Bakugou could see the screen.

“What do you think?” Deku asked.  Bakugou glanced at the open document to read through what Deku had been working on.

“Yeah, that’s good for now.  I’m gonna get going,” Bakugou said as he started to pack.  Deku’s mom breezed by on her way to the kitchen.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner, Katsuki-kun,” she suggested.  Bakugou opened his mouth to snap before he realized he was talking to Deku’s mom.

“Ah, um, okay, Auntie,” he mumbled.  Midoriya Inko smiled brightly, and it was like looking at an older, rounder Deku.

  Thirty minutes later Bakugou was seated across from Deku’s step-father as they ate dinner.  The tonkatsu was delicious, but he was distracted by Toshinori-san’s intense gaze.  The man was thin and gaunt, and always would be.  He was the only one not eating tonkatsu.  He had a bowl of miso soup, rice, and a protein shake in front of him.  Bakugou recalled Deku mentioning that the man had suffered a debilitating injury to his stomach that left him unable to eat most solid foods.  

Bakugou took a few bites out of his tonkatsu and didn’t pay much attention as Auntie Inko asked Deku about his day.  Toshinori-san was still staring at him.  Bakugou was never the type to be intimidated, but Toshinori-san was creepy to look at.  His cheeks were hollow and his eyes sunken in.  And he kept fucking staring.

Bakugou wanted to say something, except Auntie Inko was right there.  And he wasn’t about to say anything rude.  He and Deku might have had their issues growing up, but he wasn’t gonna be shit to Auntie Inko.

Dinner finished and Bakugou silently insisted on clearing the table.  Deku gently nudged Auntie Inko out of the kitchen and started washing the dishes.  Once the table was cleared, Bakugou jumped when Toshinori-san cleared his throat.

“I am aware that you and Izuku have a rocky history,” he said.  Bakugou was frozen where he stood.  The man had hardly said anything, and yet he felt like he’d been warned.  For what, he didn’t know, but the feeling hung in the air between them.

“We’re only working together for this project.  Once it’s over, I’ll go back to ignoring him,” Bakugou said.  It was true.  After middle school, he had basically stopped picking on Deku.  Those spoke very little, though they were forced to interact every day thanks to their seating placement in class.  They both went out of their way to avoid any unnecessary interaction

Bakugou retreated to the kitchen with the last of the dirty dishes and put them in the sink.  Deku was already halfway through washing and the draining rack was already full.  Bakugou located a dish towel and quickly dried off the clean dishes.

“You know you don’t need to do that, Kacchan,” Deku said.

“I fucking know.  But your mom fed me, and I’m no fucking ingrate,” Bakugou said.  They worked in silence, and Bakugou expected it to feel awkward.  But it wasn’t.  It was almost companionable.  Bakugou wasn’t sure if he liked it.  He glanced over when he noticed Deku quietly humming.  His eyes were bright and alert, and Bakugou noticed a few freckles across Deku’s cheek and over his nose.  There were the four that made the little diamond pattern on each cheek, and then a lighter smattering across his nose and down his neck.

Bakugou looked away.  His ears were hot and his heart rate had gone up.  He snarled and finished drying the bowl in his hands.  He put it away and declared himself done.

“I’m out of here, later,” he announced.  Bakugou headed to the living room and grabbed his school bag.  He headed for the door and shoved his feet into his shoes.  Deku’s bright red hi-tops were ridiculous sitting there.  He scoffed and walked out the door before anyone could stop him.

Bakugou slouched home and tried everything in his power to not think too hard about how comfortable he felt standing next to Deku like that.  While he had his friends, he felt completely at ease in such a painfully domestic setting like that.  It was scary, but exciting.

[rason-rodd]

Red Hood And The Outlaws : Loyalty (Chapter 2)

[Read the Chapter on AO3]

[ Chapter 1 ]

Chapter 2: Track Me If You Dare

“ What do you mean ‘someone burnt the cargo’?” Black mask yelled                   “ The wagon arrived in flames.”               “ Didn’t I pay men to keep it safe?”         “ They’re dead, sir”

Jason tried to hide his smile but inside he was gloating. At least, someone had the guts to put a spoke in Black Mask’s wheels. He was just disappointed that it hadn’t been him but he knew his time would come.

“ I don’t care if they’re dead. Do you have any idea of how much this shipment cost?”               “ I suppose …”   “ Millions of dollars” He slammed his fist on the dining table “ It cost millions of dollars”       “ I’m sorry sir”   “ Get out before you join those incapable bastards”

The man obeyed and hasted his path trembling, knowing that his boss was pretty serious when it came to threats.

“ Looks like you have a bit of a problem” Jason said dabbing his mouth with his napkin             “ You think?” Black mask screamed throwing his fork violently on the table, which eventually landed on the floor with a clinging noise. “I want the head of the son of a bitch who did this on a silver platter and I want it now”   “ You should be careful. You don’t know what you are facing. Judging by the casualties, this is clearly not Batman but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be worried”               “ I don’t care who it is. The bastard’s dead already”     “ You have a plan? Already called some nasty mercenaries?”                                   “ Oh I have one in mind”

Jason stopped chewing when he felt Black Mask’s evil eyes on him.

“ I’m no mercenary” Jason declared     “ But you work for me. And we both know that you’re the man for the job”       “ No offense but I think I could have appreciated the compliment if it had been from someone else” “ You’re fearless. It’s good. But what happened last night can’t happen again. I have a new cargo arriving in two days, much bigger, much more expensive and much more important. No way a damn vigilante - or whatever it is - sabotages this.”                 “ I’ll go inspect the train, but I won’t kill anyone. Not if they don’t deserve it”                 “ I like a man who follows his moral code. It shows character. But I like better the smell of my enemies’ burning flesh.”

He loved burning flesh, right? Then he would have enjoyed seeing this massacre. Bodies burned to ashes and limbs not even attached to their respective bodies anymore were scattered across the wagon while the thick wooden floor was stained with dry blood and the air reeked of charred flesh and smoke.             Walking with precaution, Jason looked at the place with certain disgust. Whoever had done this was definitely a bloodthirsty, merciless and aggressive killer. Those men had been butchered and judging by the different stretches of dry blood around the bodies the murderer had taken its time to kill.

“You actually enjoyed it, didn’t you?” Jason whispered

But something called Jason to mind: the cutting marks on the bodies. Though the corpses were severely burnt, the cut weren’t precise or linear which made him realise that no type of blades had been used. On the contrary, the bodies had been turned to pieces like a lion would have killed an antelope: throat slitting and damaged limbs to prevent escaping.

“Claw marks and bites” Jason frowned his eyes “What kind of sheep was this train transporting?” he joked

But the joke was momentary as Jason spotted strange prints near the windows. They were paws prints, huge, bigger that his hand, tracing a precise trail towards the window. But what was stranger was that those prints were leading to other prints, human foot prints … No they actually turned into human footprints

“ Shapeshifter?”

He only knew three persons in this world able to transform into animals. One of them was Beast Boy but never would he go on a rampage like this and kill a dozen of men in cold blood. It was not the Teen Titans way. It was not their way of bringing justice. The other two however, Cheetah and Bronze Tiger, were more likely to do so. But the prints were canine-like not feline judging by the two lobes at the rear of the heel pad and the very distinct claw marks, which made Cheetah and Bronze Tiger out of the suspect list and Jason realised he had no clue on who could have done this. Only the small size of the human feet let him think it was a woman. But he wasn’t willing to do a Cinderella chase in Gotham City. However, perhaps someone had heard about her.   He ceased his phone and looked for Bruce’s number in his contacts but once his finger on the calling button he changed his mind. No he could handle it without the bat just as he had handled everything else before. Was it pride? Probably but he knew deep down that he had all the qualifications to manage a Shapeshifter. It wouldn’t be his first fight against one … if there would be a fight. After all, those bastards may have deserved what happened to them... No, Black Mask deserved it.               However that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t look after this … vigilante? Was that the right word? No certainly not. But whatever this Shapeshifter was, he would go after it to find out.

Jason’s phone rang. He answered, rolling his eyes at the sight of the name on the screen.

“ So have you found the bastard yet?” Black Mask’s stiff angry voice demanded           “ Not yet. But it appears you’re dealing with a Shapeshifter – some kind of canine - and judging by this carnage, she is not in the mood to let you get away with your business”                   “ And I won’t let him get away with his life. Find him!”                 “ I said ‘she’” he insisted pissed by the fact that he had barely paid attention to what he had said “ So this bitch is as good as dead and I’ll have her head above my chimney” “ So you want me to bring you her head? Must tell you right now. I’m not into beheading people” “ Don’t worry. I’ll collect it myself. Find her. Bring her to me so that I can make her suffer before I slash her head off. I’ve always wanted a wolf’s head in my smocking room. What a nice trophy it would be”

Jason hung up without adding anything. Black Mask’s mantra had a nose to piss him off even more than Bruce’s. Hopefully his infiltration in Black Mask’s business won’t last long and he will eventually go back to his old good life of now lonely outlaw.       He got out of the train by the window that had been used by the Shapeshifter to escape. Perhaps he would find something. The wagon was scratched. Long claw marks had scraped the metal grey body, which let Jason guess that she had jumped from the train as it was still moving. Suicidal for any human being but for someone able to turn into an animal not so much apparently.               But then, something caught Jason’s attention. A plastic bag was stuck in a rear wheel. Jason frowned and kneeled by the wheel. He removed the bag with precaution and stared at it. Residues of a white thick powder were stuck to it. He touched it, felt it between his finger and then smelt it. It smell like chemical and gasoline but apart from that it was almost odourless. But it was enough for Jason to get was it was. After all, he knew that shit all too well.

Gotham City – 15 years ago

Jason was painting on the damaged glass coffee table in the tiny living room of the degraded apartment he was living in with his mother, Katherine Todd. The TV was on. On the screen, his mum favourite telenovela about rich Colombian families encountering many problems, a Hispanic version of the Young and the Restless somehow.       Jason had put it on knowing that his mother would be happy to see it once she would step a foot in the apartment after a hard day at work. But what little innocent Jason didn’t know at that time was that his mother was not passing her day at work anymore but in the Narrows with drug dealers, leaving him all day alone with for only company a television, few old books and a palette composed of primary colours that had blended with time. His dog, his only friend and comfort in his poor miserable life, had disappeared few months ago. His mum had told him he had run away to find a mate but deep down he felt it as a lie.

Jason heard suddenly the key turning in the keyhole. His face illuminated itself. His mother was back. He got up, ceased the tiny painting he was doing on a piece of paper he had torn away from an unused telephone book and came to welcome his mother with a bright smile.

“Mom! Look what I’ve painted. It’s for you”

She barely looked at it or paid much attention to her own son. Jason’s smile faded as his mother went to slump in the sofa whose springs squeaked under the weight of her light body. He grabbed her arm with his free small hand, shaking her. She gritted her teeth in pain and Jason immediately removed his hand. Her arms were covered in bruises.

“Did you hurt yourself mommy?” he asked worried     “ I’m fine” she said patting his dark head as she sat straight on the couch    

She searched for something in her handbag. Jason stared at her still holding his painting in his hand. She put out a tiny bag full of something that looked like baking soda to him.      

“Are we going to bake mommy?”             “No” She said before spreading the content of the bag on the table.

She drew a line with the powder and then took the paper Jason had in his hand before rolling it between her fingers. She put it in her nose and snorted the powder in one go before lying back on the couch, her eyes closed. The paper flew from her hand and Jason took it back, heartbroken. He unfolded it and looked at the not yet dried painting covered with this weird white powder with tears in his eyes.

This hadn’t been his first heartbreak, and it hadn’t been the last.

[ezra-blue]

You’ve Got Something - 33

For @baronvonriktenstein‘s Messy!AU

33: A Devil In Your Details

Gojyo’s clearly struggling, and Hakkai doesn’t know how to help but to start showing his frustration. Luckily, someone else might have the right idea.

Word Count: ~3300

TRUST ARC - PART 4

33: A Devil in Your Details

Gojyo was usually a lot more enthusiastic with his meals. Hakkai had grown used to Gojyo shoveling every bite in and complimenting him as he chewed. Hakkai would often consider scolding him for talking with his mouth full, but Gojyo's genuine excitement was endearing.

Gojyo shuffling cauliflower through his bearnaise sauce and watching his meat go cold was disconcerting.

“I picked up this recipe in France, believe it or not,” Hakkai tried, pointedly swiping some of the sauce up with his fork. “The sauce, anyway. I've found it goes well on nearly everything, steak, eggs, fish... er, what do you think? Did you like it, or is it too lemony?”

Gojyo didn't respond, his eyes down, but Hakkai leaned in and Gojyo snapped to attention, as if he'd just realized Hakkai had been speaking. “Oh, uh. Yeah. It's really good. It's just as good as everything you make.” He cast his eyes down again, and Hakkai knit his brow up.

“Ah, er, do you... how was your day? Busy?”

“Um. Same as always, I guess.” Gojyo finally speared a slice of his meat and chewed slowly. Hakkai felt a tiny hint of relief – he was eating, at least – but something was very wrong.

Hakkai pushed his plate away. “Gojyo, has something happened?”

Gojyo jerked to attention again, eyes wide like a dog who'd been caught chewing a shoe. “Uh – I...” He grimaced and put his fork down. “Don't worry about it, okay? It's... it's something I gotta deal with.”

Being told not to worry only ever made Hakkai worry more, and he fretted silently as he and Gojyo washed the dishes together. He knew Gojyo was watching him now, as his fingers trembled and made the silverware clatter in his fingers, as he tried not to fumble his good copper. He nearly dropped his best saucepan, but Gojyo dipped low and caught it before it hit the ground.

“Jeez, watch it!”

“Sorry!” Hakkai clapped a hand to his mouth, then accepted the pan as Gojyo hoisted himself back to a stand, setting it aside, somewhere safe. “Ah, good catch. I, er, I--” He sighed, and grabbed onto Gojyo's arms. “I'm just concerned.”

“You're still worryin', huh?” Gojyo bit his lower lip, but Hakkai set the pan in his hand down so he could run his fingers through Gojyo's hair, then down the two narrow scars on his cheek.

“I'm afraid I have to.” Gojyo winced at Hakkai’s ministrations, but Hakkai shook his head. “You're important to me, and if something is hurting you, I want to alleviate the pain.” Hakkai couldn't tell if the touch was soothing or only riling up stress, like angry fish yawping at an insect on the surface of a stream. “Please talk to me.”

Gojyo caught his hand, then kissed the back of it. “Dammit, I'm stressin' you out, huh?” He ran his thumb over Hakkai's knuckles, tracing his long finger bones. “I had somethin' rough come up at work, okay?” He broke eye contact. “It's got me low, and I wanna deal with it, but I don't know what to do about it yet. And I can't talk about it yet, okay?”

“Is it that bad?” Hakkai frowned. Gojyo didn't say anything, he just shivered. It might have been a weak nod. “Gojyo...”

“Tell me ya understand.” Gojyo’s voice was low and tender, like his bedroom voice but with devastation instead of intimacy. “Tell me you'll wait 'til I can sort it enough to explain it right.”

“I'll understand anything you have to say. Please.” Hakkai tried to push a little closer, tried to wrap an arm around his waist. Gojyo, however, pulled back, and Hakkai felt as if Gojyo was trying to put up a barrier with that casual smile.

“Once I figure it out, I promise.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “Uh, I think I gotta go home. Got some stuff to take care of around the place, and all.” He kissed Hakkai on the cheek. “Think you could see me out?”

Gojyo kissed Hakkai good-bye at the door, and Hakkai watched, forlorn, as Gojyo clambered into his car and drove off. Ryuu wound around his ankles, mewing for attention, and though Hakkai crouched to pick him up and scratch behind his ears, the empty space inside of him remained a black void, an empty space, a vacuum. Nature abhorred a vacuum, and that darkness left by Gojyo's absence, in the wake of Hakkai's confusion, quickly filled with something even blacker, something toxic.

He set Ryuu down and took up his cell phone, not even hesitating as he scrolled down into his contacts and dialed Koumyou's phone number. The phone rang a few times, but Koumyou picked up. “Good evening, Hakkai. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

Hakkai forced a half-hearted chuckle, even though his free hand was shaking at his side. His control was dwindling fast, and though he knew it, he was doing nothing to stop it. “I'm afraid it's not pleasant.” He crossed his arm over his chest and began to pace behind his sofa. “I'm concerned about Gojyo.”

Hakkai heard the rustle of a newspaper, then the closing of a door. “Yes, I can imagine you might be.”

That smarmy -- what did he know? Hakkai felt his temper fraying, but had no capacity to do anything about it. Why bother? "I need to know what you and he have been discussing."

Koumyou didn't hesitate, matching Hakkai's sharp tone with firm admonishment: "And you know very well I can't disclose anything. It confuses me that you are asking, since you know my commitment to my patient's privacy."

"But he's not merely your patient.” He bit the word off, and his weak attempts to control his voice failed: “He's my lover, and someone I dearly, desperately want to trust!" Hakkai balled his hand tight, fingernails digging into his palm. "It frightens me that he's hiding things! What if he's tricking me? What if all this, this subterfuge, this distance he's making, what if he's just been humoring me all along, keeping me at arm's length, just so he can turn around and hurt me like--" He choked on the words, and Koumyou sighed.

"Hakkai, please listen. Take a deep breath, hold it, release it slowly." Hakkai heard Koumyou inhale, and nervously tried to match it, but air burned in his throat and his exhale scraped the whole way out. "Hakkai, is this a healthy thought pattern, or is this borne out of paranoia?"

Hakkai, like a dog baited, bit back, "I've been wounded before, I see no reason to leave myself open to being wounded again--"

"Yes, that is true. But you know yourself prone to paranoia based on that same pain." Koumyou's calm was palpable. Hakkai wished he could touch it, hold it, feel it, crush it. "This is just how you have chosen to shoulder the burden of your truth."

"I chose nothing!"

"Perhaps it was thrust upon you, but Hakkai, listen." Koumyou spoke even slower, as the hair on the back of Hakkai's neck prickled up. "Those experiences are in your past, and perhaps you can take those lessons and apply them to the future, but is this situation truly the same as the last? Is it possible you are letting your past mistakes cast a bad light on the new experiences?"

Hakkai gripped the phone tight and dug his heels in. "I learned from those mistakes! That's why I can't let it happen again!"

"Have you, now?" Koumyou hummed. "It seems to me you intend to relive them. What do you stand to gain from forcing yourself to relive something so painful over again?"

"I intend not to!" Hakkai was shouting, he could feel the walls close, his voice too loud, his form too small to contain his fury. "If Gojyo is going to hurt me, I'll cut him off before he gets the chance!"

"Ah. I see the young man I knew three years ago is still a part of you." That caught Hakkai off-guard, and he stumbled as he realized what he was doing, how angry he'd become. "Do you intend to release that anger on others before you know if they have earned it?"

Hakkai struggled for words, the anger in him warring with the sense Koumyou was offering. "I... I'm not..."

“Has Gojyo seen this side of you?”

“I...” Hakkai couldn’t answer, not even the denial. He’d wanted this part of him to die.

"We never finished helping you release that anger." Koumyou no longer sounded the calm, detached professional; he actually sounded sad. "I know you still live in pain, and that pain can so quickly lead you to anger. It’s a frightening thing when your passive aggression becomes violent.” Hakkai closed his eyes, breathing slowly, the way Koumyou had taught him. He could feel his taut control returning, like a manic being strapped to a hospital bed. “You shouldn't have to live with that poison boiling in your soul. Certainly, such anger is warranted sometimes, but it must be controlled, used only as needed. I speak to you as a friend, Hakkai, with your best interests in mind: your reaction is valid, but it is extreme."

Hakkai shivered at this, but he tried to reflect and realized he couldn't remember what he'd been saying. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"Of course you are. Hakkai, if you wish to speak with me face to face, you have my telephone number." Koumyou paused. "And, again, as a friend? Your Gojyo doesn't deserve that anger. Please temper it before you speak to him next."

The reminder of why he'd called in the first place sent a bolt of pain through Hakkai. "I understand. Goodbye." He hung up, and immediately felt himself deflate.

How long had it been since he'd done that?

It took all of Hakkai's strength for him to carry himself to a chair before his knees buckled, and he put his face in his hands. Ryuu was crouched under the dinner table, hackles up, keeping his distance; he'd frightened him. He'd frightened himself. "I'm not that same monster. I'm... I'm not..." His self-assurances fell flat even to his ears, and he found himself staring at his palms. "I don't want to be angry at him. I don't want that."

Despite his frustration, he knew that exploding at Gojyo would likely just put him off. He was obviously in a precarious position himself. He was certain that if Gojyo weren't stressed, he'd likely laugh it off and then cold-shoulder him for a little while. Unloading on Gojyo when he was struggling under his own burden could break him, and he knew as well as anyone how fragile Gojyo was under his surface.

“Oh, Gojyo...” He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could stop seeing red. “Gojyo, I don't want this for us...”

Gojyo only knew his mind was wandering again when his elbow slipped and jostled his toolbox and the wrench clattered from the workbench to the floor, jostling him aware again. Goku looked out at him from under the minivan he'd been looking at, as Gojyo ducked down and picked the dropped wrench up up. Goku grinned at him.

“I didn't see that, boss.”

“Sure.” Gojyo hoped his expression was at least a half-smile at the joke, then shrugged, lowering his head again and glancing back down at the daily manifest, pretending to read it again. He knew he should have been working on a tire replacement, but for the life of him, he couldn't concentrate. He groaned and rolled his hips back against the table, then heaved a sigh. He knew that standing around, mulling Banri's stupid blackmail in his head over and over wasn't getting him anywhere.

It was just making him miserable, the same kind of miserable that was making it impossible for him to enjoy Hakkai's company for the last few days. 

How the fuck was he supposed to choose between sinking back into being a lowlife just when he’d thought he’d escaped that fate and losing the person who made being good really worth it? He’d thought he’d earned Hakkai, that Hakkai was his sign that he was on the right path. What the fuck gave Banri the right to pull him back the wrong way? And how the fuck was he going to have his cake and eat it too when he obviously hadn’t overcome the pain Banri could dredge up so easily? He could hardly remember the last time he’d finished a meal; even Hakkai’s cooking had felt hollow. The compulsion to starve was a really, really bad sign.

He was definitely more scared of losing Hakkai by a long shot, but all of a sudden, he couldn’t see a way where that wouldn’t happen.

"You look way down." Gojyo snapped to attention when he realized Goku had vaulted to sit on the bench beside him, swinging his feet off the ground. Goku leaned over, his usual goofy grin in place. "What, you need a pick me up? I can watch the shop if you want a coffee." He winked, and Gojyo groaned and shook his head.

Coffee sounded good, but his stomach twisted into knots at the thought of drinking it. Let alone having to come face to face with Hakkai to take it.

"I'm fine, short stuff. Just, junk on my mind."

"What, for real?" Goku guffawed, then knocked on Gojyo's head. "Your skull doesn't sound heavier than usual!"

"Quit it, ya damn punk." Gojyo's laugh tumbled carelessly loose and died before he could mean it as he brushed Goku's hand back. "It's just... stuff. I'm alright, okay?"

"I don't believe you, but whatever." Goku shrugged and began to swing his feet again, letting his focus drift to the opposite wall. "Hey, Gojyo?"

"What's up, monkeybrains?"

Goku hesitated, and the table rattled as he drummed his fingers on the surface. "Um." He stopped, and turned to look at him. "How do you tell someone you love 'em?"

Gojyo took it in, then grinned. "What, he doesn't know?" He elbowed Goku in the side, and Goku cackled and pushed him back.

"I dunno! But I wanna say it! I wanna say it so I can hear it and he can hear it!" He hunched down like a spring coiling tight and ready to burst skyward, all his teeth showing in a wide, wide grin. "I'm his first serious boyfriend, and he's mine, so I'm gonna be the first guy to ever tell him that! I mean, other than his dads, y'know?" He chuckled a little, and when Gojyo laughed along this time, he meant it.

"Well, parents don't count. Uh, I mean, I guess they count, but it's a different kind of love, yeah. Hopefully." He scrunched his nose, and his fingers gripped the edge of the bench as he tried to shove that thought back. "But, uh, I dunno."

"I was just thinkin' of sayin' it next time he takes me out or something, or if he has me over. Just part of the conversation. 'Cause someday, I wanna say it to him every day." Goku's cheeks were a little pink with the excitement, his hands warm as he nudged Gojyo's arm again. "How'd you tell Hakkai?"

Well, fuck. This conversation was about to hurt. "You're assumin' a little too much." Gojyo crossed his arms, and Goku deflated.

"You gotta be kiddin' me."

"I wish it were that simple, but it ain't."

"No, no way!" Goku threw his hands out. "You mean you ain't actually said it yet?!"

"No." Gojyo thought there should be a "fuck" somewhere in that statement, but his bitterness walled it back and let it reverberate in his chest. 

"Why the heck not?!" Goku jumped off the work bench, gesturing aggressively at Gojyo. Gojyo ducked his head down and dodged Goku's glare.

"Same reason you probably ain't just blurted it out to Sanzo yet." He jabbed a finger into Goku's chest. "You don't wanna hear him say, 'I don't feel the same.' 'Cause that sucks."

"Gojyo!"

"No, you know what? Hakkai is smarter than me. Fuck it, he's better than me.” The words scraped Gojyo as he said them, but it was the honest truth. His truth, he thought, echoing Koumyou in his mind. “He's sophisticated and educated and he knows how to live clean and make things good, and he's the prettiest fucking guy I know. What the fuck gives me any right to stake a claim on him?"

Goku set his hands on his hips. "He likes you."

"Fuck," Gojyo scoffed, and advanced a step away from the table. "Maybe he shouldn't. Besides, you talk like a big shit, but ain't you scared? Shit like that can scare a dude off, and trying to put that word where it ain’t wanted destroys everything around it damn fast, and you know Sanzo ain't the warm and fuzzy type."

"So?" Goku stood his ground even as Gojyo tried to tower over him. "Maybe I'm scared. It is scary, putting yourself out there like that! But I won't know unless I try." He brought his fists down in front of his chest, clenching them tight with determination. "I love him. Nothin's gonna change that, and he might as well know. I ain't askin' him to say it back, but if he does, that'll make the risk worth it." He huffed, puffing his chest out, and Gojyo raised an eyebrow at him. "It's worth it, ain't it? Being loved back?"

Even the thought of that made Gojyo's maelstrom of frustration feel a little smaller, like a spot of light was beating the storm back. "Yeah." He closed his eyes for a second, just imagining that he could have that. "I guess." He stepped back, leaning on the table again and apprising Goku, toe to tip. "So, tell me, O Wise Monkeywrench, let's say you do love your Sanzo, but you got this thing that you gotta do. If you do it, well, it ain't a good thing and it could cause you big problems in the long run, but if you don't do it, and you do the right thing instead, you risk losing Sanzo." He held both hands out. "What do you do?"

Goku didn't hesitate. "The right thing." He crossed his arms. "Duh."

Gojyo sucked his cheeks in. He'd expected Goku to struggle, but no. "That simple, is it?"

"Yeah! I mean, even if doing what's right means Sanzo'll stop talking to me, would I want him if he's really okay with me doing something wrong?" Gojyo bit his lip, as Goku fidgeted and added, "And, really, what are you gonna do that's so wrong, anyway?"

Gojyo let his shoulders fall. "Eh. I wasn't a good kid, y'know."

"So? You're not a kid anymore, boss." Goku crossed his arms, brow furrowed. "You grew up, and even if you did wrong before, you're doin' right now!" Goku gestured around him. "You changed! Everyone does! Heck, I'm breathing proof!" He beamed again and thumped his own chest. "The 'me' here isn't the 'me' that was here before. Not yesterday or last week, or even before that."

"Yeah?" Gojyo raised an eyebrow, and Goku nodded, his shoulders steady, self-assured.

"Yeah. I mean, yesterday, I'd only changed oil a thousand times, tomorrow, it'll be a thousand and six, y'know?" He grinned broadly, and this time, when Gojyo laughed, he really meant it. Goku let him laugh, but grabbed his shoulder. "Look, I dunno what's got you so worried, but look, Hakkai likes the 'you' that you are, and the 'you' you've become. I mean, up until you got into this funk, you've been way happier than you were before you met him." He set his hands on his hips. “But, see, that you? That you wasn't the you that did bad stuff, that's the you that got here, into this garage, and helping me pay my rent. The you that does the right thing, that's the you Hakkai likes. Maybe even loves.”

Gojyo felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and his knees locked tight in case the floor was about to follow. “Wait, you really think?”

Goku's expression flattened, eyebrows low, lips thin, disbelief plain in his eyes, but then he smirked. “You mean you can't tell?”

Gojyo didn't have to ruminate on that long. Those flutters in his chest when Hakkai looked at him, the butterflies, the seafoam churning in his chest and guts, the ache of longing he felt whenever he looked at Hakkai, it all matched with his desire to hear Hakkai's voice, to sit and talk for ages about everything and nothing or just to be beside him, to fall asleep at his side and wake up with their limbs all tangled, and Hakkai - if his actions spoke to his thoughts - wanted the same. Hakkai invited him in, opened his doors wide, greeted him with a smile, Hakkai worried for him when he was worried, and when he touched Gojyo's hand or palm, his fingers trembled a little. He was feeling the butterflies too.

“Yeah, you know what? You might have it.” Gojyo put his hand over his mouth, trying to cover the pink in his cheeks but only succeeding in smearing oil down his face. Goku snickered at him, but he didn't care, he couldn't stop his smile. “Fuck, if he does... I gotta tell him, yeah.” He clenched a fist, determination setting in. “And I know what I'm gonna do.”

His decision was made.