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twola · 2 months ago

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Devil's Backbone - Interlude I

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Interlude I: Saint Denis, 1888

CW: Nudity, smut, sex work, and terrible 19th-century ideals about women

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

“I told you, rent is due on the first of the month. If you ain’t got the money, you ain’t got a room.”

The worn leather bag is dumped unceremoniously at your feet. You hold back an indignant cry at the rough handling of your items, all you have to your name.

“Please, I just need a couple of days. I’m sure I can pick up some laundry or cleaning jobs.” You plead, but your once landord has no pity for your situation.

The haggard old man raises his hand to silence you. His knuckles are gnarled, his beard yellow and patchy - probably from the drinking he did at all hours of the day. Alas, there were only so many places a near penniless young woman could rent a room by herself. These places had a certain kind of proprieter. This one being a nasty old drunkard that you were half certain spied on the poor women that paid for rooms in the boarding house.

“No money, no room.”

“I have nowhere to go.” You say miserably, the small satchel at your feet being the extent of your worldly belongings.

“Go on down Rabulione Street. Talk to the madam there.”

A pit opens in your stomach when you realize the building the old man refers to. Its a couple of streets away. Red curtains in the windows. Men entering and leaving at all hours of the day. A mean looking guard at the door.

“That… that’s a whorehouse, sir.”

He sneers down at you, “You heard me. What else are you gonna do? You ain’t got no husband, ain’t got no daddy, ain’t got nothing. And nothin’ can’t pay rent. At least use the cunt you’ve got there between your legs.”

To that, you cannot respond, utterly shocked. The old man takes the opportunity to grab your bag and drag it down the hallway, and it takes half a second for you to come out of your daze. Not quick enough, however, to prevent him from tossing the bag out onto the stoop of the building. Out into the shaded street, somehow always damp, as you dash to pick up the back and not ruin everyhting inside. The door slams behind you.

Sighing, you close your eyes, breathing in the hot, humid air of South Lemoyne that seems to stifle one’s lungs. Knowing there was nothing left for you at this boarding house, you shoulder your bag as you step out into the street, doging a cart as it clambers down the cobblestones.

Two rights and a left. You are ignored by people going along their day. Perfumed women with parisols and coifed hair. Men wearing starched shirts. Men also wearing dirty, old rags that smell of fish and the stench of the canning factory. Without even paying attention to where you were going, you find yourself in one of the courtyards off the streets, a bit quieter than the main thoroughfare.

You peer through a wrote iron-gate in the interior courtyard, where petticoats and unmentionables hang on wire across the yard.

A dark-haired woman, not much older than you, dressed in a corset over a lacy chemise, sits on the stone bench next to the water pump. Water spurts out into a bucket as she pushes and pulls the handle. When the bucket seemingly has enough water, she pulls a rag out from between her breasts.

She sighs, spreading her legs and hoisting her skirts up, taking the rag and wiping herself mindlessly. Your stomach falls to the floor when you realize what she is doing, cleansing her womanhood of her previous customer. With a weight in your chest, you watch as she sighs again and tosses the rag into a pile of dirty laundry as she pulls her skirts back down to cover herself.

You step back from your vantage point, holding your bag close to your chest as you blindly rush out of the alley, back to Rabulione. Was this your future? You had nothing. Papa left you nothing when he died, just enough money to get you out of Richmond and on a train. Just enough to get you to Saint Denis.

Your stomach pangs - from hunger, or fear- you weren’t entirely sure anymore.

It’s quite by chance, you think at first. A stumble when getting off the trolley. Dragging around your bag and losing your footing. Thinking you would be falling to the ground roughly, you braced yourself for the inevitable pain.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, a pair of hands catches yours, steadying you while your bag falls to the ground. Once you catch yourself on your feet, you look up to who had saved you from a painful landing.

A young man with dark hair, clean-shaven. A silken waistcoat buttoned nicely over his torso. New looking clothes, clean pants and shoes. He smiles gently at you as he holds your forearms.

“Are you alright?”

You nod, blushing as you draw your hands back out of his grasp. He immediately reaches over and grabs your bag from the ground, pulling it over his shoulder.

“Oh, thank you sir. I apologize for being quite clumsy.”

“Nonsense, ma’am. Let me help you.”

The man holds out his hand to you to guide you away from the trolley stop, back to the side of the street with less people and movement, “Can I walk you somewhere, a hotel?”

“Oh, I.. I actually… well-” You blink, and know in that instant you can’t tell him you are a homeless vagrant. Not while he’s still holding your hand gallantly, holding your bag and waiting on where to take you. You have no other choice, other than the house on Rabulione.

God forgive me for what I’m about to do-

“I was robbed, sir, on the road outside of town. I was travelling to town and my coach was attacked by outlaws.” You claim, pulling the first thing you can possibly think of from your head, “They took the rest of my bag and my money…”

“Oh, mercy, here, you poor woman, let me take you to the saloon at least - get you a meal.” The man blanches, taken aback at your sob-story. He places your hand upon his forearm, winding your arm around his, “Come, the Bastille is right over here. Are you from Saint Denis?”

You shake your head, a blush painting across your face as this man, seemingly well off and put together, walks you down the street in Saint Denis as if you were some sophisticated woman instead of a peniless orphan, hours away from going to a whorehouse.

“Here, let me get you dinner. Sounds like you could use a whiskey too.” The young man smiles at you as he holds open the door.

One whiskey turns into two. Into three. Turns idle chatter into innocent flirtation turned into a hand placed on your lower back. Turns into you leaning into him, inhaling his scent of fancy cologne. Turns into him inviting you back to his apartment on Milyonne. Not that you had a choice of much else, but the blanket of whiskey and the attention of a good-looking man has you agreeing with him, taking his extended hand, and walking down the streets lined with gas streetlamps until you reached the door where he ducked inside.

His apartment is everything the flophouse you were staying in was not. A bedroom. A sitting room with a couch. A desk in the corner, filled with books and paper. Electric sconces on the wall. You marvel at the grandeur of it, and quickly kick off your shoes when you realize there is a rug, a rug of all things atop the hardwood floor. Frederick places your bag on a small sidetable next to the couch before returning to you.

“If may be so forward….”

With one quick step, Frederick presses against you, cupping your face in his hands, and leans down to press his lips against yours. You’re shocked at first, and it takes you a moment to return the kiss. But you do, your hands timidly finding his ribcage. He’s a slim boy - soft and lean in places, his body had not been carved by the harshness of field work.

His hands work down to lay on the small of your back, and he presses you closer to him so that you can feel the hard line of him against your belly. You shiver with a new feeling: was this want? Was this the unholy feeling that your father’s fire and brimstone cursed?

It settles low in your belly, a smouldering flame that grows and grows. Frederick pushes his hips against you briefly, as if to get some kind of relief, and moans into your mouth as he does so.

That was a new feeling. That smouldering fire in your gut blazed in a wave that made your blood sing. You can feel moisture collect between your legs, sticky in your drawers. Frederick’s lips move from yours to trace along your jaw to land upon your neck.

“Can I be forward again?” He whispers into your skin.

“Yes-” you gasp as he suckles on your neck, and your knees go weak for a brief moment. Your hands clutch at his forearms, and by a force utterly foreign to you, your body moves against his, your hips pressed forward.

Frederick groans aloud, pulsing his hardness against you, and his hands skitter to your back, where he begins to pull at the laces of your dress.

The old, frayed cotton dress flutters to the floor at your feet. Instead of continuing to strip you, Frederick kisses your cheek, taking a step back and unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off, and tossing it to the floor. He’s breathing heavily, hands shaking slightly as he goes to unbutton his pants.

You kick your shoes off, knowing where this is going. You may be young and inexperienced, but you can tell this man desires you fiercely. This man of means, does he have an apartment to himself? The way he dresses? If you lay with him, he will feel magnanimous to give you a little something and save you from the streets.

He pushes his pants and drawers to the floor. A thin trail of hair spreads from his navel into volumnious curls at the base of him. His cock springs upward once release from its confines as he stands there next to the bed. Expectant. Excited. Aroused. He steps closer to you, pawing at your hip through your chemise.

“You’re beautiful.” He moans into your ear, guiding your hand to his cock, ruddy-red with blood and encircles your fingers around it. With his hand over yours, he guides you to stroke him, gently, back and forth, back and forth.

He lets out a long, hot breath as he guides you to pick up the pace, and as you grip his girth, he shakes with thinly veiled arousal. His other hand paws at your hip, grabbing your ass cheek and squeezing hard. It is several moments of this before he reaches for you again.

You blush as he pushes down the sleeves of your chemise, baring your breasts, down to your belly before catching on the waistband of your bloomers. He pauses, leaning in to kiss you once more before his hands weave into the cotton of your bloomers and pull them slowly down, over the swell of your hips, until the fabric of both your chemise and drawers fall to the floor, leaving you as bare as him.

“Even more beautiful,” Frederick whispers as he traces his knuckle down your décolletage, grazing your nipple, which pebbles with gooseflesh at the soft touch.

“Come to bed, Ruth.”

He’s sweet. Almost as if we were together.

Frederick leads you to his bed, larger than any you’ve ever slept in yourself. A gentle hand on your hip guides you to lay in the soft sheets, the exorbiantly clean cotton. He hits a switch on the wall and the overhead light goes out. Your heart pounds loudly between your ears. Christ, let this gamble be worth it, you plead to some deity above as you stare at the brass light fixture on the ceiling. How, even off, it glows ever so faintly. How the polished metal gleans with reflection of light from outside the window.

His hand probes between your legs, and you immediately return to yourself, shivering as you bite back a moan. Regardless of your fear, trepidation, and hidden wishes, you cannot help succumb to human pleasure. Many moments pass, where he ruts against your thigh as you mewl as he slips his fingers inside your body.

Frederick covers your naked body with his - thin, wiry, the frame of a man who never knew the toil of manual labor. The moisture that gathers between your legs easses the way for his fingers. He groans when he pulls them out, climbing fully atop you and spreading your legs.

You suck in a breath, your nails digging into his shoulder as he presses his cock inside. Tears prick at the back of your eyes as he pushes further in, he groans in your ear as his length slides completely within your core, filling you.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you grow used to him, and it is not until you feel him gently tap your chin that you open your eyes again.

“Look at me. You’re making me think you’d rather be somewhere else.”

He smiles down at you, brushing back that blonde tendril of hair that incessantly curls over your face.

You don’t know what to do, and in an attempt to keep your wits about you, you arch your back, causing your hips to tilt, taking him in even deeper. You mewl at the stretch, and he swears, dipping down and taking your lips in a desperate kiss. Frederick begins to thrust his hips against yours slowly, gently, fully.

Pain slowly dissipates, making way for pleasure, burning up your spine. That slow-burning flame flickers through the night, where you and your bedmate spend the next hours exploring each other’s bodies.

“Ruth.”

You blink awake, but your eyes flutter closed again with exhaustion. This bed is so comfortable, for once.

“Ruth…” A warm touch of a knuckle brushes down your spine. You smile against the pillow.

Your eyes shoot open a moment later when you realize that you’re naked; with a bedmate and between your legs is sore as anything. You rocket up to a seated position, gasping, finding that next to you, the young man from last night reclines against his pillow, equally naked, his dark hair mussed. His eyebrow remains cocked, and your movement has pulled the sheet down his frame, the sparse dark hair trailing down his chest to his stomach, fanning out in wiry curls at his…

His gaze lowers from your eyes to your chest.

You smack your hands over your breasts, realizing that they are entirely on display.

Frederick chuckles under his breath, pulling the sheet back up and holding it for you to cover yourself. “I’m sorry… couldn’t help it.”

You snatch it with one hand, the other moving to try and tame your curls, wild from last night's activities. A pit in your stomach opens up as more and more of the night flashes in your mind’s eye.

“So…” Frederick pulls himself up and out of the bed, stretching his back for a moment before looking around amongst the piles of clothing on the floor.

You hold the sheet to your chest, trying to hide your naked body. Oh, God, here it comes. Here it comes where this man kicks you out of his bed and apartment, where you are in the same predicament as you were yesterday, having given up your maidenhead for nothing.

“Do you want to get breakfast?”

“I don’t…. What?” You blink, ready to tell him that you have nothing, no one, that you were no better than a whore-

“Come on, let’s get dressed. There’s a coffee stand down at the market that makes the best pastries. My treat.”

Frederick pulls on his pants from where they were on the floor and opens the wardrobe to get a new shirt. You stare at him as he pulls his arm through one sleeve of a checked blue shirt.

“Are you alright?” He smiles at you, before stopping, frowning with his shirt halfway on, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” you shake your head, biting back the blooming soreness in your hips. You shrug your chemise on over your head and start to redress. By the time you are decent, Frederick is waiting in the sitting room for you.

“Come on, we can get coffee, and I can take you where you need to go.” Frederick extends his hand out to you gentlemanly. That half smile remains on his face. “Though I’m hoping this isn’t the last time I see you.”

The brittle porcelain of your facade cracks. “I… have nowhere to go,” you exhale as your eyes water over. “I, I have nothing - I wasn’t robbed-” your shoulders begin to heave as you try to stifle the sob clawing out of your chest. Your hands clench at your sides, grasping at the fraying cotton of your dress as a hot tear tracks down your cheek.

You are greeted with silence, and that pit in your stomach widens. But then Frederick’s hand closes over yours, pulling it up between you, and you look up at him incredulously. “I have nowhere-”

“You do, You can stay here with me.” He says, rubbing your thumb gently.

You look down at his hand, his fingers wrapping around yours. “I have nothing.”

He lifts your hand to his and kisses the back of your palm. “Stay with me,” he repeats.

Its like the rest of the world around you fades away. You look up at Frederick in this opulent apartment. How he smiles at you so fondly. The feeling of his lips on your hand. The sound of his voice moaning your name last night in his bed. The blazing path he carved inside your body, that you feel even now.

“Alright.” You whisper, and Frederick leans in and kisses your cheek.

“You bled last night. You hadn’t laid with a man before, had you?” Frederick asks quietly, still holding your hand.

Utterly humiliated, you stare at the ground as a hot blush blazes across your face.

“You don’t have to share my bed. I’m not forcing you to sleep with me for you to stay.” Frederick nicks his head toward his bedroom, then toward the couch in the sitting room.

“Why are you doing this?” You look at him incredulously. Men weren’t supposed to be kind. That’s what Papa told you. Oh, Papa would be so disappointed in you now…

“I woke up this morning and thought it was a dream at first, that this beautiful, perfect girl spent the night with me. And I looked over to find that it was true.”

You blush. Frederick reaches up and gently, slowly, tucks that wayward tendril of hair behind your ear.

“Maybe I’ve been studying too hard the last couple of years. I…” He, too, blushes slightly. “I hadn’t lain with a woman before. Other things, sure, but not like last night.”

Oh, he was so endearing. You can’t respond for fondness. Frederick squeezes your hand. “Will you stay, ma’am?”

“I have nothing to give you, sir.”

“Your company is enough.” He smiles, taking your hand and quickly kissing your knuckle before letting it go.

Half a smile creeps across your face.

It is only a few days of you sleeping on the couch in the sitting room before you quietly pad toward the bedroom door in the middle of the night, pushing it open quietly and sneaking inside.

The light is on, however, catching you by surprise, as Frederick sits in his bed reading a book, clad only in a union suit.

He looks up, and you’re mortified, thinking you’d find him asleep at this late hour. You thought you would just sneak into the bed and work from there. You certainly did not expect to have a conversation about it.

“Ruth?”

“I…” you trail off and swallow your fear down. You gather your thin chemise in one hand and crawl into bed, settling next to Frederick. He smiles, closing the book he was reading and placing it on the nightstand.

You’re sure the flush on your cheeks blazes scarlet in the light of the sconce on the wall. Deciding to go for broke, you pull the ribbon from your hair, letting the curls cascade over your shoulders. Frederick watches, entranced.

“May I kiss you, sir?” You ask as you turn toward him, timidly.

His hand immediately cups your cheek. “Please do, ma’am. I’ve been wishing for it.”

He meets you as you lean into him. He meets your fervor, never overpowering, never taking control. He lets you set the pace, set the tempo. He lets you open your mouth to him first. He lets you press your tongue against his first.

He simply, loosely holds your waist as you slide yourself over him. He holds your hand as you pull your chemise up and over your head with the other one. He lets your fumbling fingers unbutton the pearled buttons of his union suit before shedding it also.

And when you ease yourself onto his length, he lets you rock your hips at the speed you control, kissing up and down your neck, and you find what pleases you. He moans your name as the night goes on, and when you and he are spent, he draws you into the tenderest of embraces.

The next morning, you awaken intertwined with him, and for the first time since Papa died, you feel safe and wanted.

April, 1891

Saint Denis, Lemoyne

Dearest Mother,

I know this news may be irksome to you, but I have married Ruth here in Saint Denis. As much as you wanted, nay, pushed for some society woman, there is no room in my heart for anyone other than her.

She may not come with the pedigree of a name you were so fervent on procuring - but she is the most supportive and loving of women. She is already the best wife a man could ask for, and with God’s blessing, she will make the most wonderful mother to our children.

I am taking a leave of absence from the firm. The practice of law is soulless, and I cannot hope that this is going to be the rest of my life, idling away after paperwork in Saint Denis. I yearn for, nay, need something more than this. I am taking Ruth, and we are headed west.

Father would have understood.

We will visit Philadelphia and you when our travels take us back eastward.

I pray for your continued health and hope that the rheumatic cough you spoke of in your last letter has passed.

Your son, Frederick

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x female reader #twolafic #rdr2 fanfic #devil's backbone #red dead community #red dead oc #red dead redemption fanfiction

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chil-aglia · 2 months ago

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𝐃𝐨 𝐈 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦? |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

[So, I'm stuck with you?]

Be sure to read the tags on my Ao3 so you guys know what you’re getting yourselves into.

Art above is done by me. PLEASE feel free to make your own art and idk tag me in it or something—

Warnings: None really

And of course, a quick thank you to my awesome beta reader @cimmerian1275 who helped me out a lot with this chapter! Very talented and please, go give them a follow, like their work, etc.

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Young Leo had never been so cautious, yet so curious in his life before until now. He was kept on strict bed rest with hourly check-ups from the turtles and Draxum, it took him about a week and a half to get used to their sudden visits and to remember all their names.

He was bored but lacked the energy to actually get up and move around, mostly because he was a little…hesitant on walking.

He… hadn’t actually walked before, and he didn’t know how to function or control his body properly. He barely spoke unless he asked a question that he had to answer, such as if he was in discomfort or if he remembered anything.

That… that was another thing he was still trying to comprehend. The brothers (as he learned that they were family) kept referring to him as ‘Leo’. And had told him that he was their ‘leader of the Resistance’.

…

Honestly, he had to tell them to stop the information dumping as it gave him a pounding headache whenever he tried to take in all this knowledge in such a short amount of time.

‘Leo’… it didn’t sound right to him. He wasn’t sure why or how, but he just had a strong sense that he wasn’t this Leo that they kept calling him by.

He wanted to tell them that. But…

Maybe he didn’t have the heart to tell them how he felt, maybe he didn’t actually know if he himself was right about that gut feeling. He could be Leo…right?

Nights where everyone had left him alone were the most bizarre thing for him. Because every time he figured he was drifting off to sleep, he would just… feel a presence hovering somewhere nearby. As though they were right next to him. And he swore… he swore he heard a voice every now and then distantly talking, but he could never pinpoint where it was even coming from.

Which was the predicament he was currently in right now. It had struck 11:00 pm according to the clock on the wall (how could even tell the time? He didn’t remember learning how to read it when he would wake up still in stasis and Draxum was there, talking to him before he would go back to sleep).

Young Leo couldn’t keep his eyes closed for very long, sleep constantly seemed to elude him.

He felt that presence again. This time it was stronger, like it was actively trying to grab his attention. What was it?

He shook his head a little out of frustration, and tightly closed his eyes just trying to will himself to sleep out of sheer determination.

Sleep… sleep… sleep… slee—

He gasps, eyes flying back open, but his vision wasn’t met with the dim landscape of the med room like it should have been. No… he was in some kind of dark place. No light seemingly visible.

He felt in a strange way, detached, like this was some sort of trippy dream.

Except he knew it wasn’t. Or at least, it didn’t feel like a dream.

He took a step forward through the void—

Wait, a step?

He looked down at himself, blinking in utter puzzlement. How was he standing? How was he walking? Perhaps a trick of the mind, he didn’t quite understand.

”Weird…” He mumbled under his breath in confusion, before he froze upon a strange tingling feeling that prickled at the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. Somewhere in this void space. He sucks in a sharp breath, gulping as he opens his mouth to speak.

”Show yourself…!”

He coughs; his inexperienced vocal cords weren’t quite ready for him to be shouting, even in this weird head-space. “Show… yourself.” He demanded again, less shouting involved as he wearily gazed around at his surroundings, turning in a circle in hopes of spotting someone.

“—is way…!”

Huh?

It was faint, but there was a voice echoing to him. He turns around, this time recoiling in surprise when ahead in the distance he spotted a blue glow, pulsing in and out as it captured his attention. There was a tugging feeling in his gut that encouraged him to creep closer, like he was tied to an invisible cord pulling him forwards.

He hesitantly walked one step. Then two, and finally set course. He was slow though, clearly unsure about this strange light that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Or… was it even a blue light?

The more he seemed to get closer, the more he began noticing a silhouette beginning to take form, standing still, waiting for him to approach and be at arm's length.

”—almost… to me!”

They were shouting for him. Waving their arms out in his direction.

Who…?

He stops, suddenly becoming aware that maybe… this could be a trick.

A trap of some sort, or a very trippy dream. What was going on? Who even was this? And why… Why did they feel familiar but also unfamiliar? Like a stranger that he had never met before, but also had?

His legs were moving again. Closer and closer and closer…

He halts, stopping to stand directly in front of what he first presumed was just a blue light. But upon closer inspection, it wasn’t. It was clearly a turtle, a very tall and broad turtle.

One that looked… quite unnervingly similar to him but older, but with less stripes visible on his arms. From what he could briefly remember that Draxum spoke to him about when came in and out of consciousness during stasis, his specific species of turtle is known as a Red-eared Slider.

And it was unmistakable that this older turtle was the same species as him. They both had lime green skin, a mustard yellow plastron, and a green-blue carapace with a teal pattern. Two red crescent-moon-like stripes arced over their eyes, yellow stripes on the upper arms, black eyes, three fingers on each hand, and two toes on each foot.

But this turtle was donning a blue bandana with tails dipping down his shell, dark blue fingerless gloves, and a similarly blue belt. Attached to the belt were a pair of blue pouches (one on each side) and a familiar-looking emblem that he noticed the three brothers wore on their clothes somewhere, but with this turtle, it was placed in the centre.

They wore dark blue pants, dark blue footwear, and white wraps on their arms and calves.

Tying it all together, they wore a blue hooded scarf.

With black eyes staring directly into young Leo’s, they opened their mouth.

”So… you’re the one I’m stuck with?”

Whether they meant it to be sarcastic or lighthearted, young Leo just couldn’t seem to understand, let alone process what he was looking at. He knew who this was, he didn’t know how, but he somehow did.

What?!

How should he respond? Fearful? Surprised? It was pretty much a given that he must have looked utterly shocked to the other turtle in the void.

“Y… you’re—“

“Leonardo? The one that my brothers have been calling you, for the past couple of weeks now?”

Oh, he sounded agitated. Wait… why is he mad?

“You’re the one inside my head.” Young Leo bit back, glaring slightly as the older—no, the real Leo, who blinked down at him, probably not expecting such a sharp response or tone from the total stranger. “Trust me, I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be. But, it would seem like I don’t have much of a choice.”

No choice?

Ah, right… Mikey did mention that he’d saved Leo’s soul and transferred it into his younger body. So, that must mean he literally has no way of leaving now. Not that he would know how to get him out.

Hold on… since this is Leo, who had turned away from him, seemingly mumbling under his breath about ‘getting stuck here’ and ‘the Resistance needs me’.

Young Leo froze upon a realization.

He wasn’t Leo. How could he be when the ‘leader of the Resistance’ he’d been hearing about was standing right in front of him?

If he wasn’t Leo… then, who was he?

“Hey, kid? You okay? You’re kind of staring off into the nothingness right now.”

Young Leo—hm… maybe he should call himself something else—blinked and focused back on the actual Leo, who had been watching him carefully, arms crossed and invisible brow raised in mild curiosity. The way he acted and even held himself gave off the impression that he was quite the important figure, so sue him if he was a little lost upon discovering Leonardo apparently lived inside his head.

“I’m fine.”

Leo didn’t say anything in response, as though he was thinking deeply about whatever it was that scratched at his mind. With an exhausted sounding sigh, Leo shakes his head and rubs at his temple, “This is the worst… I need to get back to doing my job, but I can’t like this.” He grumbled under his breath, tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor as he spoke.

Young Leo—who still needed to pick a new name for himself since that was taken— could only observe, biting his lip, feeling as though he was maybe somehow at fault for Leonardo getting stuck in this situation they’ve both found themselves in…

Was he supposed to even be here, instead of Leo?

Was Leo going to take control of his body?

Was he stuck here permanently?

What is he supposed to do in this situation??

Leo gazed down at him, staring wide eyed as he groaned and placed a hand over his face, shuddering briefly. “Kid, I can’t read your thoughts, but from what I can tell, I’m able to sense your emotions. So just… calm down for a second and let me think.” He somewhat snapped, narrowing his eyes at the young mutant who nervously stepped back, squinting his own eyes indignantly back at the older turtle.

Before either of them could speak, they were interrupted when a muffled voice could be heard calling out, it sounded familiar, the two turned to try and figure out where the voice was even coming from, but both were suddenly blinded when there was a bright light shining at them.

When they did manage to get some of their vision back, rapidly blinking to clear the daze out of their eyes. Leo noticed what appeared to be a control stand of some kind in the middle of the vast void, resembling a podium of sorts. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it felt rather important and not something to ignore, he walked over before stopping just in front of it, tilting his head.

Young Leo followed after, standing next to Leo as he observed the foreign object. What was it?

He was the first to reach out, grazing only the tips of his fingers against the middle of the glowing… screen? Panel? Before jumping back when a blue light shot out from the middle. Neither of the two had even managed to think about what was happening when two hazy circular holes opened up ahead, the sudden brightness briefly burning their eyes as the two circles blinked open and shut.

It was like they were eyes.

No wait… they are eyes.

“—eo! You with us?”

What?

Young Leo stared up at the two larger eyes ahead of him, recognising a familiar face in view. Donnie was waving his hand in front of him, shining a little penlight at his eyes.

Young Leo briefly recoiled from the strange transition before he finally felt like he was back in the real world. No void surrounding him. And no Leo standing next to him.

He blinks, flinching back and slapping Donnie’s hand away from his face, grumbling to himself as he rubbed at his eyelids. Donnie leans away and quickly pulls up a holographic screen from his tech gauntlet on his wrist.

“You were out of it for 15 minutes. I was becoming worried. How do you feel? Tired? In any pain? Do you know where you are right now?”

Shut up… my head hurts.

Is what he wanted to say, but he kept his mouth closed, still processing what he just went through back in that mindscape of sorts he seemed to now be sharing with Leo.

Leo!

That had him sit himself up straight and grabbing Donnie’s arm, looking wide eyed up at him. “L-Leo!” He coughs out, clearing his throat as it felt dry and raspy still. Donnie only watched, looking at him in both concern, yet suspicious of his behaviour.

“Are you remembering that you’re Leo?”

In response the young mutant couldn’t help but glare, shaking his head slightly as he tried to figure out how to say what he wanted to tell him.

“Leo’s..n-not..me!”

He hoped that statement got through to Donnie. And judging from the conflicting look he was receiving from the soft shell, it seemed Donnie had heard what he said. But what he said seemingly wasn’t the response he was exactly hoping for.

Donnie pulls away, humming to himself and typing away on the holographic purple screen. “Subject is experiencing what sounds to be a severe case of amnesia and possible delusion. Subject also seems to be having difficulty understanding who he is. Strange… his vitals seem to be in working order—“ Donnie began to rant to himself, standing up and pacing around the room. The young turtle felt a little like he hadn't truly been heard.

He’s not Leo. Leo was inside his head, yes, but he wasn’t him!

“D-Don—“

Because of his inexperienced vocal cords, he couldn’t say much without stopping to cough, sounding as though he was choking on his own words. He lifted his hand towards his throat, the feeling of having difficulty breathing in and out straining his body.

Breathe, damnit!

His vision gradually became a little blurry, like he was on the verge of passing out.

Breathe, breathe, breathe—

A harsh pat on his shell had him gasp in a greedy and sharp breath of air, his eyes widened and flickered around to see who did that, but no one was near enough, Donnie was in the corner mumbling to himself, focused on his note taking.

“I got you, kid. It’s all right.”

Leo? How was he able to help him breathe normally again? He actually felt someone slap him on the shell, but… but that was impossible.

….right?

Taking in bigger gulps of air, he calmed down as much as he could, body trembling slightly from the overwhelming pressure but he was able to keep himself propped up right, watching Donnie turn back to look at him, his face furrowed.

“Leo—“

“Not… Leo..”

Donnie paused, and looked a little bit baffled at him. “…Um, okay, if you don’t want to be called Leo, then… what should I call you?” Donnie asks, whether it was because he just wanted to make him feel more comfortable around him or for some other reason that he couldn’t quite understand, the younger mutant thought about it.

What should he call himself?

His eyes narrowed down at his lap in deep thought, beginning to recall bits and pieces of memories he had when he woke up from time to time in that tube.

…..

………

Oh, he knew now. A faded memory of a time Draxum was reading to him. The first time he woke up.

He’s surprised he can even recall that.

He didn’t recall the exact story of whatever book Draxum was talking to him about, but a name kept popping up that seemed to grasp at his attention quite a bit.

Caden.

He didn’t dislike the name, if anything it sounded pretty cool, and it wasn’t even difficult to say, so there was that too.

“Caden…”

Donnie hums in acknowledgement from the name. “Caden, huh? Very well.” Donnie agrees, nodding his head and clearing his throat. “So, Caden, are you feeling all right now?” He inquires, mentally taking note of every detail, no matter how minor, that he spotted as he observed the turtle in bed.

Young Leo—no—Caden, shook his head. “Not… really.” He replies, wincing a little bit at the headache he felt, “Head… m-maybe?” He adds, noticing the way Donnie nods along with him, “Your head hurts? Did you bump it?” He asks, leaning over and gently guiding Caden to lean his head down so that Donnie could look at the back of it.

“Not sure…”

Donnie didn’t like the sound of that, but he didn’t want to potentially alarm or trigger anything by mentioning it to Leo… ah, guess he should call him Caden now, huh?

“We’ll keep an eye on it. Here, have some water, get some rest. And we’ll continue to monitor you more tomorrow.” Donnie explains the plan, handing over a cup of water to Caden who hesitantly takes it and sips at the beverage.

Donnie pauses for a moment to observe, before he sighs and walks away, heading for the exit. “Good night, Leo.” He says, walking out and leaving Caden in the dark.

“….I’m not Leo.”

-----

Mikey always was the one to try and cheer up his brothers, and offer his help wherever he could. He’s always been a nice guy, and the Resistance really helped him show off the caring and empathetic nature of his.

Mikey knew Leo must’ve been terribly bored sitting in that med room all day, for the past couple of weeks. And he could tell something was eating away at him, sometimes he’d walk in and just see him staring off into the distance with a blank and distant look on his face.

Donnie had told them of his recent discovery a couple days ago, where Leo kept insisting to be called Caden. Mikey didn’t quite understand, but if it somehow made Leo feel more comfortable for the time being, then he’ll give it a try.

The mystic warrior wandered the halls, heading towards the private med bay where those with more severe injuries or illnesses resided. It was also just far more spacious than the usual med bay they had. Leo often said that he wished to make the medical rooms bigger and more comfortable for everyone, but Donnie would shut him down about it and call it wishful thinking, also something about not having the space or equipment for it at the moment either.

Mikey hums along to a tune from one of the opening scenes of a Jupiter Jim movie that he’s adored since he was a teenager. Such a shame he didn’t have time to watch movies these days.

What he would give to have an old fashion Hamato movie night marathon again…

Arriving in front of the door to Leo’s room in the med bay, he carefully creaks the door open, poking his head inside, in case his older brother who was in a younger body was asleep.

He froze when he noticed the bed was empty, making him panic inside as he urgently scanned the room.

Oh no! Donnie’s gonna be so pissed at me for letting Leo escap—

His mind paused mid panic, looking over at the corner of the room in utter bewilderment and disbelief. Leo was standing. Or trying to at least, using the wall as support to hold himself up as his legs trembled like a newborn deer’s.

Leo was panting and sweating, gritting his teeth and gripping at the bare wall for something to hold onto. It was both fascinating and concerning to watch. Mikey figured that Leo probably shouldn’t be trying to walk by himself, but he also knew that he was incredibly stubborn and that this was also potentially a great big first step for recovery.

He’s shaking…

Mikey frowns, watching how the young mutant's body was shaking and trembling quite a lot. Even letting out a shuddering exhale. He most certainly had to be cold, given how he wasn’t in the warmth of the blankets in the bed and had little to cover himself with right now.

Mikey wondered what he could do to both help Leo from freezing his tail off and to hopefully help him gain back his memories.

His cloak!

Mikey beams at his idea, quickly turning back around and scuttling down the hallway towards the direction of Leo’s bedroom.

He felt rude for passing by members of the Resistance without stopping to say his usual hello and check in on how they’re doing, but he could do that another time when he wasn’t so busy with something else more urgent.

Reaching Leo’s room, which was far from where the usual sleeping quarters were for the Resistance members, Mikey flings open the door and looks around.

It was clean, surprisingly. Raph probably tidied it soon after Leo was transferred to the underground lab, floating in that stasis tube of his.

Mikey walks to the wardrobe, opening it and scanning the area for a certain shade of fabric. He remembered putting it in here when they first brought Leo back from the battlefield.

Please don’t tell me Raph moved it… oh, here it is!

Mikey picks up what he was looking for. The big cloak that Leo would always wear. But it was dirty and still had some dried blood staining it.

Mikey grimaced at the pungent smell of it too. It was a good thing he was going to wash it, otherwise Leo might actually die from the stench alone.

Mikey jogged out the door and headed towards the laundry room, which was mostly just a room with cubicles of running water and soap for people to come in and wash their clothes if needed. The brothers shared a small cubicle for their clothes, less of a hassle and gave more room for others who had to clean their clothes.

He eagerly dips the blue fabric into the water, grabbing a bar of soap and scrubbing it as hard as he could to clean off the grime and blood. Oh, how he misses washing machines that would do it all for you.

He didn’t quite know how long he had been scrubbing for, but it was long enough for his arms to begin aching something fierce. He pulled out the blue fabric and was satisfied with the end result. No blood. All clean looking, and smelt fine.

“Now for some mystic dry cleaning.” He muttered, using his abilities to wring out the water, drying it off in an instant. Draxum often told Mikey to not waste his powers on ‘frivolous things’ and simple tasks like drying off clothes, but it wasn’t like this was actively hurting anyone.

Proud of his work, he exited the laundry room and made his way back to the med bay. He wondered if Leo was still trying to walk or if he gave up and went back to bed.

Guess he’ll find out when he opens the door that he soon found himself standing in front of, once he’d turned the corners of the hallways in the direction of the med bay.

He grabs the handle again and opens it carefully, peeking inside to see that Leo was currently still struggling to keep up, he didn’t look like he had moved all that much and he was mumbling to himself, like he was talking to something. Should Mikey let Donnie know about that?

His body was shaking still, and that was more than enough reason for Mikey to confidently waltz in, smiling down at young Leo and draping the cloak over his shoulders. Young Leo, who insisted on being called Caden, stilled at the sudden feeling of being engulfed in something so abruptly. Blinking, he looks over towards Mikey who smiles down at him.

“I cleaned your cloak. Figured it could help with your memories having something familiar, and stop you from shivering so much.”

Caden could only stare, flabbergasted that he didn’t even sense Mikey coming into the room or even approach him. He was so distracted on trying to get his body to move and obey, that everything else was obsolete and unimportant for him to be paying attention to.

Wait a second, his cloak?

Caden tilted his head in confusion. He didn’t have anything that belonged to him. Coming to the conclusion that this was Leo’s cloak, and that Mikey was still claiming that’s who Caden was.

“Thanks…”

Mikey smiles, perking up in hopes that this was helping with the memory problem.

“But I’m not Leo.”

Mikey slumps his shoulders, frowning before he catches himself and instead chuckling awkwardly, rubbing the back of his nape. “Right, Dee said you’re going by Caden now, right? Cool name, where’d you pick it from?” He asks, hiding away the disappointment he felt at the lack of progress, but Caden catches the look, which causes him to tilt his head away from the young Hamato in guilt.

“A book… Draxum read to me.”

“Barry read to you?”

“In the tube…”

Mikey ‘ahh’ at the comment, before softly chuckling. “Is that how you’re able to talk? Normally if someone was in stasis for a long time, they’d have trouble talking, right?” Mikey hums in thought at his own question, whereas Caden just shrugs his shoulders.

“Maybe.”

He grips the cloak around his shoulders, his legs wobbling a bit from lack of support of the wall as he turns around to face the direction of his bed, he hesitantly steps forward, clenching the cloak in his hands tighter as he quietly made his way back to the safety of the mattress. Mikey watched, hovering nearby in case Caden collapsed or needed some support.

But he didn’t, and managed to climb into bed without assistance, dragging the blue cloak across to rest in his lap. “Um… you did well for your first time walking! Been practicing?” Mikey curiously wonders, as Caden hums in response. “I wanted to get used to walking. I don’t plan on staying in this med bay the whole time.” He sternly states, his face briefly morphed into one of grim determination.

Mikey for a moment saw Leo. That was the same face he made when he was set on something. It made Mikey’s heart flutter happily, Caden, as he liked to be called, may insist he wasn’t Leo, but that familiar expression alone had given Mikey a spark of hope.

“Sure, whatever you say bro.”

He ignored the indignant look he received from Caden as Mikey walked by, patting Caden on the head and waving goodbye as he skips out the room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thus the start of pain begins

APOLOGISE FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES THAT WERE MADE, I TYPE PRETTY FAST AND OFTEN DON’T SEE THEM UNTIL I ACTUALLY PUBLISH THE CHAPTER. THEN I’D TRY AND FIX ANY MISTAKES WHEN I SEE ONE.

Quotev - Do I Look Like Him?

Ao3 - Do I Look Like Him?

First Chapter here

Next Chapter here

Taglist:

@turtl3sk3tch3s

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mullermilkshake · 8 months ago

Text

Toji goes for a drive.

MINORS DNI - Tags: Yakuza AU, Toji is a taxi driver, references to Fem! reader, graphic depictions of violence, drowning, murder.

Toji needed a front.

A front to prevent you from ever knowing about his current ties to the Yakuza. His tattoo was the only give away that you had to go on though as the good girl you were, you didn't ask too many questions.

He needed a front to keep that simmering pot from over flowing.

So, Toji begrudgingly took on taxi work at his own convenience and in some ways it actually made his life easier in the long run while doing his side work for the Ryomen clan.

Toji was currently sitting in Tokyo traffic, making his way towards the docks before he was due to home. A quick trip and nothing too complicated, a run of the mill job for someone less important to him.

Satoru Gojo asked Toji through Nanami as a favour. He only took this job because he owed Nanami. Otherwise, Gojo could have shoved his head up his ass for all he cared.

The man got on his last nerve more so than the fucking traffic he was sitting in. The reason he ever did anything for Gojo was that the man took in his son.

The only reason.

Bang, bang, bang!

Oh right, that.

The banging and shouting from the trunk was Toji's current job. Some asshole from the outskirts making a pass at Gojo's girl. Crazy bastard. He didn't know all the details from Nanami but it was better that he didn't, all he heard were the words overreacting and making a big deal out of nothing.

Gojo being the other crazy bastard in this scenario.

The traffic moved on and it was a straight run to the docks, it was past nine in the evening so it really was a quick dump and run.

Toji wandered why Gojo couldn't have had his own men take care of this, or even him himself. He was one weird guy and didn't understand how his girl even tolerated him.

Sometimes, like right now, Toji thought that he must have been one of the sane ones in this world. You tolerated Toji at least, so he must have done something right.

When he arrived at the docks, Toji pulled up by the waters edge and climbed out of the car. He trudged over to the trunk and opened it with speed to grab the little prick by the scruff of the collar.

"P-please! I didn't do anything!"

Toji didn't use any energy against the struggling man. "Sorry, that's not my problem. I just wanna get paid," he yanked the man out of the cramped space right over to the edge of the concrete above the churning water.

"Wait... wait! Please- please I can give you anything-"

"Nah, I’m good. Don’t hit your head on the way down."

Toji used this moment of his confusion to work out what was going on to grab his ankles and knock him backwards, like a high school bully holding a poor kid upside down.

The man kicked and thrashed at the choppy water keeping him from surfacing from under the water line. It was a boring really and far too simple for Toji's tastes, watching a man struggle with no fight until his legs stopped trying to kick him off.

"That's done then," Toji let go of his legs and let the water batter him on the side of the concrete.

Toji would call Nanami at a pay phone to confirm the job was done when he had the chance on his way home.

If he took the short way home, he'd be back in time to take you out for dinner.

Dinner sounded good right about now.

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #yakuza au #fushiguro toji x reader #fem reader #jjk #jjk fushiguro #reader insert #toji x you #x reader

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thlayli-ra · 8 months ago

Note

Whump Prompt - Shock Collars, Gunther/Cody with references to Randy and background Cody/Randy, please? ❤

I'll give you some puppy eyes of my very own!

(Also I'd definitely owe you another fic in return 👀)

How could I resist (and YES! I'll definitely send another fic prompt your way at some point!) Enjoy! 😙❤️

I'm also tagging @paladinofmoonlight as this will tie in slightly with your request fic.

Trick - 'Shock Collar'

Characters - Cody Rhodes, Randy Orton, Gunther, CM Punk (cameo), Drew McIntyre (cameo), Ludwig Kaiser (mentioned), Giovanni Vinci (mentioned)

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Winner's Room, non-con/extremely dub-con (implied), shock collar, pet play, trauma

(This fic is based in my Winner's Room AU)

The only man that Cody Rhodes avoided in the back was Gunther. And that was because Randy himself told him to.

He could still remember the night after Crown Jewel had wrapped when he'd sat up waiting for Randy, growing more worried with each passing hour until at long last his husband returned. Cody knew something wasn't right the moment Randy shuffled onto the bus, noting how his hoodie was zipped right up to the neck, his head bowed and feet heavy, like they were dragging great iron chains behind him.

'Randy?'

His husband stumbled back with fright, suddenly realising that he was not alone. 'You're here?' he gasped, meaning to say 'awake' - he'd been hoping Cody would be asleep. The blonde rushed to his husband and cupped his face in both hands. Randy flinched at the touch and Cody's alarm spiked when he saw his husband's eyes. He looked... haunted.

'Where have you been?'

Randy turned his face away with shame. 'With Gunther,' he replied.

A stone sank into the pit of Cody's stomach. He knew, of course he knew. It was a PLE night and Randy had lost, of course Gunther would come to collect his winner's rights. Yet even so, hearing it drip like acid from his husband's mouth made it sting all the more.

But something didn't sit right. Usually it wouldn't take this long for a quick fuck or a blow job. A winner would only need maybe half an hour, an hour tops with their prize to reap their rewards. Why had Randy been gone for close to six? 'Tell me what happened?' He was answered with silence, not even a flicker of eye contact. 'Randy? What did he do to you?'

'I'm worn out, he'd replied and Cody's shoulders slumped with defeat. 'I need some rest. We can talk in the morning.'

But they didn't.

Cody thought it best not to pry. Until Bash at Berlin. He'd been as surprised as anybody when Randy had challenged Gunther for another match for the World Heavyweight Championship. In the weeks leading up to the event, he brought up his concerns with his husband.

'What if it ends up like last time?'

'It won't be like last time,' Randy protested as he knotted up the laces of his boots. 'I know what I'm doing.'

'I don't doubt that,' Cody sighed. 'It's just... when you got back, you were so... traumatised and I just can't stand to-'

Randy cut Cody off by slamming the heel of his boot against the bench, the wood colliding with the metal locker door with a great clang. Cody glared up at his husband, who refused to meet his eye. 'It won't be like last time,' Randy said again, except his voice was weaker than before. Fragile, like a whisper on the wind.

To his credit, Randy was right; the match was nothing like the last time. Cody watched it on the monitors in gorilla, cradling the aches and pains in his own body from his match with Kevin Owens, as his husband fought bravely against the Austrian behemoth. Two bulls battering one another in the arena, each taking turns to gore the other, their skin turning red and breaking from the brutal onslaught. Randy managed to disable Gunther's hand, his greatest weapon, then, when he dumped the Champion through the announce desk, a spark of hope shone bright. Cody watched his majestic husband pose to the crowd and began to imagine the gold belt glistening around his waist. The pride and glory of his victory.

But then, back in the ring, right when Randy was poised to deliver an RKO that would end it all, Gunther locked on a sleeper hold, and no matter how the Viper tried to snake his way out of his opponent's clutches, it was not enough. The blood drained from Cody's face as Randy's arm went slack, stopped breathing as the ref lifted up the lifeless limb and let it drop to the mat.

'No...' he shook his head at the screen, his bad knee almost buckling under him as he turned and hobbled towards the curtain. Just as he got there, it was tossed aside and the towering frame of Gunther walked through. He took one ice-cold look at his fellow champion and sniffed, walking past Cody towards the back. Shortly after, the curtain twitched again and this time, a ground down, exhausted Randy shuffled through.

'Randy!' Cody wrapped his arms around his husband, never heeding the sweat and grime of the ring as he held his husband close. Their moment was cut all too short by a shrill whistle and they both turned to find Gunther waiting on his trophy.

'I have to go, Codes,' Randy sighed, his voice breaking as he forcibly prised the blonde off of him.

'NO! No Randy, you can't!' Cody fought back, grabbing at any part of his husband's body and clinging on for dear life. 'Please! Don't go with him! I'm begging you!'

'Cody,' Randy lifted his lover's chin. His fingers were trembling. Cody choked at the sight of his husband's face, the fear and terror in his grey-blue eyes. 'Don't wait up for me this time.'

'Randy, please... no!'

'I have to,' he uttered and softly placed a kiss on Cody's lips. 'I love you.'

Then he left. Left with that monster, who leered at Cody when he wrapped his hand around the small of Randy's back and lead him away. And Cody just had to accept it. Just had to shower and dress and head back to the bus like it was all ok but the dread gnawed at the pit of his stomach and he felt like throwing up and he couldn't eat and he couldn't sleep but Randy told him not to wait up for him so what could he do? He sat on the bed and he tried to read and tried to look at his phone and tried to watch tv but he couldn't focus at all.

At some point in the night, the exhaustion of waiting took over and his eyes fell shut, only to be woken up again some time later to a strange noise coming from the living area of his bus. Shuffling off the bed, Cody limped over to the bedroom door and opened it, hobbling past the bunks and the kitchen area until he found a figure hunched over in a chair, its face hidden behind his huge palms as it wept fitfully.

He said nothing, just placed his arms around Randy's shoulders and held him tight. Once again, Randy flinched at the sudden contact but when he realised there was no danger, he coiled his own large arms around Cody's waist and cried into his chest like a scared little boy.

'I'm so s-sorry, Codes,' he hushed out between sobs. 'I'm s-supposed to be strong-'

'You have nothing to be sorry about,' Cody told his husband sternly, a spark of flame lighting up in his blue eyes. 'It's Gunther who's going to pay for this.'

'Cody!' The blonde was pushed back, Randy grabbing his upper arms in a vice grip. 'Don't you ever go near that bastard, you hear me? You stay the hell away from him. Promise me!'

'Randy, I can't just let him get away with what he did to-?'

'PROMISE ME!'

The once proud warrior's face was wet with tears, his eyes blood-shot and frayed by a thousand and one traumas. He suddenly looked so... small. So vulnerable. The snake had had his venom sapped from his body, his fangs yanked out with rusty pliers.

Cody shook his head from side-to-side sorrowfully. 'Just tell me what he did to you.'

The grey eyes shimmered with fresh tears, Randy's face scrunched up with despair. 'Please Cody,' his voice was hoarse, on the brink of falling apart again, 'please don't make me say it.'

His heart broke in two at that and he couldn't bear to torture his cherished lover any more. 'Ok,' he said and pulled Randy into another bruising hug, one that he hoped chased away the demons. 'You don't have to tell me. And I'll stay away from Gunther. I promise.'

He may not be able to ask The Ring General what had transpired, but there were other ways to skin a cat and one possible lead as to what had happened after Bash in Berlin was the very man that Cody found himself catching up with during Raw the following Monday. CM Punk should have been in high spirits after winning both his match and his bracelet back but he seemed a little on edge around the blonde. Cody's suspicions were confirmed when Punk, pretending to swipe through his phone, softly uttered, 'and how's Randy?'

Cody narrowed his eyes at his friend. 'What do you mean, "how's Randy"?'

Punk looked up, fidgeting in his chair. 'Well he lost his match on Saturday, right?'

The two men eyed one another, Punk feeling the noose tighten around his neck, Cody the one pulling the rope. 'You know something, don't you?'

The veteran cast his eyes down. 'I dunno what you're talking-'

'Punk,' Cody crouched down, not allowing the tattooed man to escape. 'If you know something then tell me. I need to know what happened, I have to know what Gunther did to him.'

The mere sound of Gunther's name sent a visible shudder up Punk's spine and his hazel eyes lost focus, staring away into the middle distance. Just like Randy's had done. 'That's not for me to say,' he replied at last. 'You have to ask Randy about that.'

'I tried but he won't talk to me,' Cody heaved a frustrated sigh, 'and he told me to stay away from Gunther.'

'Good!' Punk shot back. 'He's right! You stay the fuck away from him, Cody, you hear?'

The blonde scrunched up his face. He was getting real sick of hearing this. Like he was some withering flower, some princess in a tower who needed protected. 'You don't understand Punk, you didn't see the way Randy was afterwards. That rat bastard hurt the man I love! How am I meant to ignore that?'

'You have to,' Punk ordered him. 'It's for the best. Anyway...' Punk got to his feet, 'I'm the one gunning for Gunther next. Now that Drew is in my rear-view mirror, I'm gonna go out there and lay down the challenge.'

'And let me guess, did Randy put you up to that?' Cody caught the older man's eye, noting how Punk dragged his tongue along his bottom lip.

'We're only looking out for you, Cody,' he said before heading to gorilla.

Punk was a dead-end but Cody had one more possible lead. If Punk had been hanging around the arena on Saturday night, it was likely with his own winner's trophy. Cody found Drew McIntyre leaving the men's locker room, looking nervous as if he was running late, which was odd because he wasn't dressed for a match. In fact, his attire was a bit strange in general for Drew - blue jeans, walking boots and a black zip hoodie.

Cody called his name and the large Scot paused for a moment, glancing up at him. 'Drew, you got a minute?'

'Make it quick, Rhodes,' Drew warned, twitching impatiently.

'Why? You got somewhere you need to be?'

The Scotsman didn't appreciate being interrogated. 'Spit. It. Out.'

'Fine,' Cody didn't see any point in angering the already cantankerous Scot. 'I need to know what happened after Bash in Berlin.'

The blue eyes flashed, growing large for a split-second, betraying the startle at the mention of the PLE's name. But as quickly as it came, it disappeared again and Drew pulled his lips back, baring his teeth.

'Out of my fucking way,' he snarled, shoving Cody aside, and that was that. He had exhausted all of his leads and was no further forward in finding out what had happened to Randy. Slumping back against the wall, Cody bumped the back of his head against the hard brick and tried to fight down the disappointment.

There was one last witness he could try, one final lead. He knew for certain that Gunther would be there here tonight.

But he couldn't do that to Randy, not after seeing the fear in his eyes. He couldn't add to his pain. He had made a promise and he was going to stick to it.

However, in this business, promises are so frequently broken.

With Punk on the shelf after Drew's ambush at Raw and their subsequent Hell in a Cell match, Gunther was in need of a new opponent so Hunter made the announcement at Bad Blood, that Cody would be facing him at Crown Jewel. Randy went ballistic, but no amount of yelling and debating would change the trajectory. With a heavy heart, Cody was forced to break his promise to his husband.

And come the day of the PLE, he would discover the horrors that Randy had faced first-hand.

The only thought that ran through the blonde's head as he lay on his back staring up at the bright lights above was of his husband kissing him before the match, holding him tight. 'Win, you hear me,' he'd said, unable to hide the croak in his voice. 'You must win!'

Cody had fought hard. Had given the Austrian as good as he got. But Gunther was bigger, stronger and more sadistic. He had worn the blonde down to the ground and still kept on kicking. Cody was certain he had a cracked rib or two from the vicious chops, every breath he dragged in stung like a knife plunging into his chest. He was only vaguely aware of the ref's hand smacking the canvas for the one, two, three, hardly noticed the victor get to his feet to have his arm raised.

It was only when the boards swayed beneath him as two chunky knees crashed down beside him and a fat finger tenderly trace a line of sweat down his brow and cheek that the implications of his loss hit him.

'You are mine now, welpe.'

Gunther didn't wait for him to stand on his own. He hauled the dazed blonde onto his shoulder and carried him out of the ring, but instead of heading up the ramp to the back, Gunther marched towards the announce desk and left through the stunned crowd. Cody slumped like carrion on the hunter's back, trying to make sense of the pattern of strange hallways and doors. Through the lifting haze, he could hear something, a booming voice yelling his name over and over.

'Randy...?' He tried to lift his thumping head, finally shaking the cotton wool in his brain loose. 'Randy, where-'

He was dropped down from Gunther's shoulder and thrown into a dark room. The light was flicked on and he saw a couple of neatly packed bags on the benches realising that Gunther had not taken him to his designated locker room, but somewhere else instead. Bunching up his fists, Cody turned and found the Austrian locking the door tight behind him.

'Alone at last,' Gunther said, walking calmly across the room to lay the key to the door on a bench, easily within Cody's reach. A test, the blonde surmised, the games have begun already. 'No crowd. No officials. Just you and me.'

'Good, I've been hoping for a chance to talk,' Cody puffed out his chest defiantly. He was not afraid of the Ring General.

'Well then,' Gunther gave a wry chuckle, clanking his brand new, diamond-encrusted belt down pride of place for his defeated opponent to see. 'As you say, "what do you want to talk about?"'

Cody took in a steadying breath. 'Crown Jewel. Bash in Berlin. What did you do to Randy?'

'Hmm.' Gunther ran a finger along the gold edge of the championship then straightened up, Cody stepping out of harm's way as the Austrian moved past him towards his possessions. 'You want answers.' Glancing back over his shoulder, Cody saw the key, sitting right there on the bench, a fingertip away. He could grab it, rush for the door, get out.

But the pull for answers was too strong, too important. He stayed put.

Behind him, Gunther was rummaging through one of the bags. 'You see that beautiful belt, right there?' Cody's blue eyes moved from the key to the Crown Jewel Championship. 'That belongs to me, to prove that I am the better champion. A king of champions.'

Suddenly, something wrapped around Cody's neck and jerked him backwards, choking him. His hands went to his throat, fingers grasping at a leather strap and he tried to pull it away but it tightened even more, almost lifting him off his feet.

Then he was let go, landing awkwardly on his bad knee and almost crumbling to the floor. Both hands grasped the garrotte around his neck, finding what felt like a dog's collar.

'And as King of Champions,' Gunther went on, his voice booming directly behind him, 'you belong to me now too. You want answers? You want to know what I did to Randy?' Heavy footsteps thundered around him, Gunther walking into his line of sight. Cody spotted what looked like a remote in his large hand. 'I will show you, welpe.'

'What does that mean?' Cody hissed at the Austrian, but Gunther didn't seem to hear. Or care.

'Dogs don't talk,' he said, cryptically, confusing the blonde. 'Now, let's start with a simple command, shall we? Sitz.' He looked expectantly at Cody who glared right back, not understanding this bizarre situation at all. 'Sitz!' Again, Cody refused to move. 'I said sitz.'

'I don't under- AAAGHHHH!!!!!' A bolt of electricity screamed across Cody's head and down his spine. Every one of his muscles were momentarily paralysed and his legs fell out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the tiled floor. He sat panting on the ground, gasping with shock.

'That's it, braver hund.'

Cody's mind was whirring, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. Shock collar, his mind cried out in panic. He put you in a shock collar!

'Let's try another,' Gunther's frame seemed even larger now as it loomed over Cody like a great, terrible beast. 'How about-'

But before he could finish, the moment was interrupted by the shrill sound of a cell phone ringing. Gunther went searching for it, allowing Cody a moment to draw breath and assess his dire situation. He could stall no longer, he had to get the key, it was right there and-

'Randy.'

Randy?!

'Yes, I have your bitch right here with me,' Gunther sneered down the phone, his cold eyes finding the fallen champion at his feet. 'A fine specimen he is too. A pure-bred pedigree, from a distinguished lineage, same as you, Randy.' The Austrian trailed his fingers up between Cody's shoulder blades, making the blonde shudder as his captor playfully ruffled the platinum bristles at the back of his neck. 'Such a beautiful creature.'

For the first time that evening, the fear began to claw at him. He looked up at Gunther, reaching for the cell in his hand. 'Please, let me-'

'Do you want to speak with him, Randy? Here.' Gunther held the phone close and the tears almost rushed in when he heard his husband's terror-laced voice.

'Cody? Are you there?'

'I'm here, Randy,' he said, swallowing down his anguish. 'I'll be fine.'

'I'm coming for you. Just hold on.'

'Randy...' Cody took in a quick breath, steeling himself. 'Don't wait up for me, ok?'

'Tell me where you are!' Randy's panic cranked up several notches. 'I'll come find-'

Gunther pulled the cell away, cutting the conversation off. The two men locked eyes as the Ring General took several steps back and placed the phone down on the floor. Cody could hear the small, tinny sound of Randy's voice calling his name frantically and it tore his hear to shreds.

But then, Gunther walked away to the other side of the room, leaving the cell behind. Cody sensed another game, feeling his skin prick with nerves when his captor brandished the control in his hand. A threat. 'No more distractions,' he boomed, his thumb hovering over the large red button on the remote. 'Let's continue with our training. Next command; steh.'

'You want me to stay?' Cody scoffed up at the huge gargoyle. 'Is that it?' Gunther said nothing, only stroked his calloused thumb around the edges of the red button. 'Well, I say, over my dead body!'

Cody leapt forward, arm stretched for the cell when another bolt shot through him, fiercer and longer this time. He fell on his side, his whole body turning as stiff as a board, stretching out like a piece of taffy on the hook.

Then it released him.

He was closer now, he just had to reach up and-

Another bolt, even stronger than the last. It went on for close to ten seconds before it let him go.

The pain was unbearable, his body felt like was being roasted from the inside out. But he gritted his teeth, lowered his brow and heaved his trembling hand from the tiles to grab the-

'AAAAAGGHHHHHHHHHH!'

He was on fire! His blood boiling in his veins! The pain convulsed through him, making his helpless frame judder like a fish caught on dry land. He screamed until his lungs collapsed.

Gunther released his hold on the button. Cody's tattered breaths filled the air, trying to breath through the agony.

'I expected you to be difficult,' Gunther muttered. 'What else could I expect from Randy's bitch. But I broke him eventually, and I will break you too.'

A pocket of bile threw up into Cody's mouth. He spat it out with contempt.

'I am nobody's bitch!' he declared, struggling up to one elbow, a feat which took every ounce of strength and spirit he possessed, 'and I am nothing like Randy.'

Tilting his head slightly, Gunther chewed over Cody's brave words. 'We'll see.'

He slammed his thumb over the button.

'AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!'

Droplets of tepid water broke Cody from his stupour. He found his face pressed down on the tiles and feared for a moment that the rivulets rushing down his face were piss but fortunately it didn't taste like it. It was only water.

'Wake up, Cody,' Gunther's deep, menacing voice vibrated into his skull. 'I didn't give the order to rest.'

His arms were numb, dead to any feeling. So were his legs. Only his neck creaked slowly up to allow him to turn his head and find his captor. He was settling back down onto the bench, taking a swig from the water bottle he had used to rouse Cody from unconsciousness. He looked tired. They had been at this for hours now.

'You are one stubborn little scheiße, I'll admit that,' Gunther said, leaning back against the wall, dribbling the last dredges of water on his brow. 'I had Randy fully trained by now.'

'M'said before,' Cody's clumsy lips tried to form words. 'M'nothing like... Randy...'

'Yes, I see that now.' The Austrian paused for a moment, sitting as still as a grim sculpture. After a while, he leaned over and reached into a bag beside him, pulling from it something long and strange, with a tangle of leather tails dangling from one end. A flogger! 'You actually remind me more of someone else.' He inspected the item, holding in his hand like a precious bar of gold. 'Of Ludwig. Or, to be more precise... of Marcel.'

Cody blinked at that. Trying to find the connection between himself and Gunther's snivelling lackey. Or why his previous name was so significant.

'Marcel was a difficult dog to train too,' Gunther went on, teasing the thick strands of leather though his fingers. 'Stubborn, resilient, intelligent. Too intelligent. Just like you, he absorbed all the pain I inflicted on him and gave me nothing in return.'

Some feeling finally returned to Cody's body. Merely a flicker, but enough for him to draw his quivering arms underneath him and push himself up. He slumped against the wall behind him, keeping his chin up to observe his captor as he spun his tale.

'But just like you, he had a weakness,' Gunther's cruel, evil eye found his and held on, like a locked jaw. 'He had Fabian.' Giovanni, Cody realised. Ludwig's long-time tag partner and another of Gunther's lackeys. Former tag-partner and lackey. Not anymore. Not after his teammates had turned on him and violently exiled him from Imperium.

'I made a bargain with him,' Gunther went on, 'if he submitted to me, then no harm would come to Fabian. He didn't care about his own welfare but the man he loved... that was a different story. He finally gave himself over to me, unaware that his lover had already sold him out for his own worthless life.'

Cody's chest tightened, overwhelmed with empathy for his fellow victim.

'You see, there is a certain finesse with dog training. It's not always about getting quick results. Sometimes, it takes a little time, patience. All it needs is a single break-through, one moment for a bond of trust to be forged between a master and his pet. And over time that bond grows, link by link.'

He had lost him. Cody couldn't follow the logic or why it related to him, but he could sense the danger growing closer every second. He flinched when Gunther stood up and took a step towards him, but he did not tread any closer. Instead, he placed the flogger on the ground between them then returned to his spot on the bench, his mammoth arms resting on his open thighs.

'From this day on, I promise never to claim my winner's rights over Randy again.'

Cody hitched a breath. Had he just heard him right? This couldn't be true. There had to be a catch!

'If...?' He locked his blue eyes onto Gunther's.

The Austrian smiled broadly, letting out a laugh like the rumble of thunder. 'You are a smart one,' he grinned, proudly. 'Letting Randy go means I have a space in my kennels that needs filling. Perhaps you know someone willing to take his place...?'

There it was!

Cody's gaze sank to the floor. He understood. The dog-catcher had the cunning stray cornered and had looped the leash slip around his throat. He looked at the flogger lying there, waiting.

And he knew what to do.

Letting out a wince of pain, he fell onto his hands and knees. His body was numb but he forced it to crawl on all fours across the tiles, grunting with each pain-filled, hard-fought inch, until he reached the flogger and bent his face down to it. Opening his mouth wide, he wrapped his tongue around it and pulled it in, his teeth crunching down into the worn leather of the handle to keep it secure as he lifted his head back up.

That was the easy bit.

Cody hesitated, fighting that last piece of him that demanded he drop the flogger and grab the key still sitting there on the bench and make a dash for the door. But he remembered Randy, remembered that haunted look in his eyes and the tears on his cheeks and he couldn't bear a repeat of his husband's torment.

So he crawled over to Gunther.

'Braver hund,' his master smiled triumphantly, putting out his palm for Cody to drop the flogger in. He was rewarded with a gentle ruffle of his master's hand through his hair, trembling at the touch. Discovering that he hated Gunther's tenderness far more than he hated his brutality.

'Now,' Gunther leered, stroking his hand all the way down Cody's bare back until it hit the waistband of his wrestling tights. Cody suppressed a gasp when the strange fingers slid right in. 'Let's see if you're ready for breeding.'

Randy broke his promise. He was waiting for him.

Cody jumped when he opened the door to his tour bus and found his husband there on the steps, on the brink of sleep. As soon as he saw Cody though, he jumped back to life and grabbed him up in a bruising hug.

'Cody! Are you-? Did he hurt you? Talk to me.'

But what could he say? How could he begin to explain?

'I feel dirty,' he said at last.

Randy understood. 'Let's run you a shower.'

His husband took great care with him, letting Cody strip himself then helped him into the small shower unit on the bus, turning the water up good and hot. Cody didn't have enough energy in him to stand, instead sitting on the floor with his knees bunched up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them protectively while Randy gently scrubbed away the filth of Gunther's winner's room with soap and a sponge. He asked no questions, knew better than that. Knew better than anyone.

Even now, Cody could see that trauma in his husband's grey-blue eyes and wondered if he now looked that way too. Now that he had endured the same torture. But he had only received it once, Randy had lost to that monster twice in a matter of mere months.

Cody reached out and grabbed his husband tightly by the wrist. Randy gave a start and stared wide-eyed at his lover who used his other hand to cup the Viper's bristly cheek.

'He told you you were weak,' Cody said, his voice steady as a rock in stormy waters, bashed and buffeted yet standing firm. 'You're not, Randy. Don't believe him. You are the strongest man I know.'

The Viper's jaw fell slack, hanging open as words tried and failed to come out. His brow furrowed and his eyes blinked, each time manifesting more spots of light which blurred out the grey-blue. He gave a wobbly nod and tried to look away.

But Cody grabbed his chin with both hands and lifted his head back up proudly. Pulling him in under the hot spray, he brought their lips together and kissed him passionately. And when the kiss was over, he rested his forehead against Randy's, drinking in the warmth and love from his husband, filling his empty soul back up to the brim again.

'We both are,' he said. 'We're both stronger. Together.'

#Thlayli-writes #cody rhodes #randy orton #candy #gunther #imperium #wrestling fanfiction #wwe fan fiction #fic request #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw torture #tw pet play #Thlayli's Trick or Treat #winner's room au

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gothicthundraog · 2 months ago

Text

RANDOM TALES OF DRAKGO

Chapter 1-5

Random Tales of Drakgo

Chapter 1 Before

Shego slammed her empty glass down in anger, flipping through her magazine again. There she was—a full article mind you—but still as vague as ever for Villains Weekly. She should be flattered but she was furious. They made her sound like she was a group versus a single person, so when she got any job offers and she arrived for the interview, they seemed shocked. She rolled her eyes and groaned. It was a male-dominated field she was in, so would it kill them to at least put words like, 'She' or 'Her' in the article? She supposed they were trying to not make it seem sexist, but it would help her out a lot more if the moment she showed up to meet with a new job, she could avoid all the inappropriate jokes and references.

"Another, Shego?" asked the female bartender at the Villain's Inn. Shego had become a regular, which wasn't Shego's goal.

"Yeah," said Shego with a sigh. "Did you see this crap?"

"Hey, don't complain, at least you're getting recognition. Most hench-women end up turning into 'villain hoppers' just to get a foot into decent villainy. Sure, there're a few villainesses who didn't have to. You're lucky, you are getting your name out there without having to crawl into bed with anyone," said the bartender…what was her name? Lisa…Deena…Mina.. Gina?

"True," said Shego with an eye-roll. "Not that most of the villains I've done a few jobs for haven't tried. The last one was the worst. He acted like it was in my job description. Uh, no, my contract was for one job. Steal some sort of graphite laser out from someone else. Done. End of the mission."

"How long did it take you?" asked the bartender—maybe it was Deena?

"Knowing Shego, an hour, tops," said the male bartender as he brought over clean glasses. Kyle... Conner... They really should wear name tags.

"Half," smirked Shego, then groaned. "You know, you can be a villain without being a creep."

"Someone send them a memo," said…Casey? "So any new contracts?"

"I haven't decided. I was going to look through the want ads and see who tickles my fancy this time," said Shego as she held up the magazine. "I removed my contacts from here. The magazine did do one thing—it got my name buzzing, so now I have choices. Though I am hoping to find one that pays for a room this time. No offense, but this place is an overpriced dump."

"We know," said the two casually, before they attended the other bar patrons as the regulars arrived.

Shego sighed and flipped through the articles, smirking as she saw Dementor's face on the 'Busted' list. Whoever this Kim Possible was, she was taking out villains left and right.

Good for her.

Shego smirked, glad for once it wasn't some Global Justice punk who was poorly trained or Team Impossible—a bunch of showboating guys trying to act like a GI Joe. She looked at the hiring ads.

Housekeeper. Nope. Side-Kick. Nope. Too long term.

Accountant. Yeah, no.

Henchman. Could be something quick.

Jewel Heist. Easy money.

Assistant. No, that means long…wait.

Shego looked at it again. It had short-term and long-term listed. Benefits. Room. Vacation. That implied more than a month, but it said negotiable. She read the short article and shrugged. There was an asterisk by the article, she flipped back through and found herself reading Dementor's article.

"Dr. Drakken?" asked Shego, so that's who she'd had to out-steal under for Dementor. The name sounded familiar; a past article she was sure.

"Did you say Dr. Drakken?" asked…maybe it was Gina. "I hear he's a bit of a contract nut, really over-complicated at times. Conner, didn't Paulson and Wayne work for him?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess he's the mad scientist type, you know. Keeps to himself, kind of a loner, crazy schemes, odd inventions. Though I guess he's got really good healthcare, he's super picky," said Conner as he filled someone's drink. Shego looked at the clock.

"Hmm," she looked at the article again. "Resume?"

"Yeah, he's old school," said Conner, and Shego tapped her nails against the bar in contemplation.

Negotiable?

Chapter 2 Beginnings

Drakken spun his triangle ruler on his workspace for what had felt like hours. He was looking at his new plan to take over the world. Or rather, his revised 22nd plan, but who was counting?

…His last assistant, that's who. He rolled his eyes. Peters, Pauls, whoever… He forgot their name now. Assistant number four was a total bust, and making a robot to do his work hadn't gone over well. He rubbed the scar on his eye—no not well at all. He'd put an ad in Villains Weekly, but the reality was, good help was hard to find. He'd given thought to just hiring a mercenary, but he didn't like the idea of competing with other villains and most mercenaries weren't exactly secret keepers, contract or not. Besides, all the good ones were always booked.

He spun around in his chair. He supposed attempting to get the things he needed on his own wouldn't be the worst thing. In his beginning of villainy, he'd been able to scrape by.

"Yeah, no," he grumbled to himself and grabbed Villains Weekly's new issue and flipped through it. It had all the latest successful schemes and failures. He'd managed to get in the magazine once or twice, mostly just mentions and shade thrown by Dr. Dementor.

Drakken glared at a picture of said villain and grinned. He'd been defeated by some teenager. The humiliation brought a little joy to Drakken.

He flipped to the ads again and stopped as he glanced past the 'Featured Hench' section—yet another mention of the up-and-coming Shego, who got a whole page this time. Drakken glanced over it. This person had more mentions in the magazine than any other mercenary, hired hand, or henchman than most had had in the last year or so. Whoever they were, they were no longer listed in the 'Hiring' group—probably booked for the next few years. He found his own article and re-read it.

Assistant Needed

Looking for a Full-Time Assistant.

Competitive Pay and Benefits.

Looking for general villain assistance; combat, stealth, theft, and general villainy.

Short-term or long-term acceptable; one-year contract required.

Vacation Pay for longer terms.

Negotiable.

Drakken kept reading. Perhaps he should have spent the extra and just made it more detailed. He only had a few more sentences, mostly talking about himself in a briefing and then his contact information to send the resume.

He noticed an asterisk near his name and frowned as he flipped back through the magazine. He growled and closed it. Of course, Dementor had to throw shade at out-swindling him in getting the graphite laser he needed for his latest magnetization plan.

He grumbled. He needed to figure out something else for his hovercraft in the works. He tossed the magazine and looked around his lab. Several unfinished projects lay around, and he'd started looking more and more at Henchco products—speaking of which, he should go get the mail for his latest recipes.

"Something to look forward to, at least. I hope it's banana nut muffins this week. I need a better recipe," said Drakken. He was used to talking to himself or to his tools. Perhaps he should make something that could respond.

As Drakken mused he was even more excited to see he had been sent resumes for two new applicants in the mail. His excitement turned to bitterness rather quickly. Just two henchmen trying to find work, one a former agent of Dementor's. Drakken tossed it in the trash. Dementor would find a way out of lockup and that henchman would most likely run back squawking all the details about Drakken's devices.

He stopped as he came across a package with a signature request. He hadn't ordered anything, and he had a P.O. Box for anything from his mother. And he was not dealing with her with the mood he was in—it was bad enough he spent his Sundays mocking-up fake clients and radio static. He then remembered this week was a theme week for that. He groaned; why had he done this to himself? He could have simply told his mother he was working with orphans or something in a country far away. She wouldn't have known.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number for the package.

"Are you sure this is mine?" asked Drakken as the delivery person handed him a clipboard. A large box sat in his entryway now.

"You're Dr. Drakken? This is your address?" asked the delivery man. Drakken nodded. "Then, yes, it's yours."

"Thank you for your astute observations," glared Drakken as he shoved the clipboard at the man as he left. He turned and looked at the box. "What is it?"

Drakken shrugged and opened it. There was no return address on it, nor any note. He watched as the cardboard fell away and just stared. He felt like this was some sort of joke, or... He was so confused. There stood the graphite laser that Dementor had taken out from under him.

Drakken was a mixture of excited and nervous. This seemed like some sort of trap. What if it was a trick from Dementor or another villain? He walked into his lab and froze at yet another surprise.

They're sitting at his lab table was a woman, her legs crossed and her face looking a mixture of bored and smug. Drakken had a series of questions filter through his head as he stood there. Where did that laser come from? Who's she? How had she gotten in? Is she green? What do I say? His mind ran a mile a minute, and he kept his face as neutral as he could.

"May I help you?" asked Drakken, keeping his distance as he walked around his lab.

"I believe you're looking for help?" asked the woman as she held up a torn-out page of Villains Weekly.

"I am," said Drakken, and he took a few steps closer. The woman was, in fact, a pale green. "Did you send in a resume? How did you get in here?"

"It's kind of my thing," shrugged the woman. She took a drink of his coffee. "Is this Colombian? I think a resume never does a person justice; actions speak louder than words. Did you get my package? First one's always free."

"You... You sent me the laser?" asked Drakken with a raised brow, and she shrugged. "Why?"

"Well I saw Dementor's little statement about it, and he's not using it. Honestly, it was like taking candy from a baby." She shrugged and stood. "That is the graphite laser you need for magnetization, correct?"

"Yes, it is," said Drakken. He wanted to thank her for it, but he was well aware he had to be skeptical of gifts in the villain world. "How much?"

"As I said, the first one's a freebie," said the woman. "After that, I'm rather fond of green."

"I see that," he smirked, as she indicated to herself. "I usually require a paper resume...but, terms?"

"I don't do long term, normally a standard one-month, one-job deal. But depending on the benefits I may be swayed," said the woman.

"Health. Vision. Three paid sick days. One week vacation, depending on term length," said Drakken. He moved around the desk and opened a drawer and pulled out a copy of his standard contract. "In case you care to read it over."

"Always," said the woman. Her eyes were fixed on him as she took it. Drakken noticed her gloves had claws on them.

"Titanium?" he asked, and she smirked. "Combat?"

"Fashion," she grinned in return. Drakken raised his brow, but by her expression, it was a joke.

"Experience?" asked Drakken, and she rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, did you send a resume?"

"You expect me to steal a laser, ship it, break in here, and type up a resume in the five hours the magazine has been out?" asked the woman. Drakken opened his mouth to agree that was a bit much, but she spoke first: "Because I did."

"Really?" asked Drakken as the woman handed him a thin black folder.

"Hope a functional-grade resume is what you are looking for. I find my skills to be more of an attribute than who I may or may not have worked for," said the woman. "Just to make sure we're clear—I have worked for Dementor in the past. Unfortunately for him, he's a leech, and I don't work for pond scum."

"Hmm?" Drakken looked at the woman and then at her resume. He thought about the laser, and then his eyes fell to her name. "Shego? I'd assume someone of your caliber would be booked with mercenary work."

"I'm very picky," said Shego. "Meaning, I choose who I work for. No one calls me."

"How did I get so lucky?" asked Drakken. He was skeptical, but a part of him wanted to re-read that article in Villains Weekly again.

"I happened to be free, you made a post, I had access to a laser," said Shego. She raised a brow. "Also, I hear you're a stickler for contracts. Not many villains are."

"There are guidelines for a reason..." Drakken glared. He'd been getting crap for his contracts for years, but a written contract, unless amended... He shook his head. "Contracts are often ignored nowadays. We are villains, but we are not savages."

"Six months," said Shego after a minute. Drakken raised a brow. "I don't do a year contracts. In fact, it's normally a month. But I would be willing to do six months."

"I suppose I could work something out," said Drakken. He tapped his fingers on his desk where Shego still sat in his chair. "If I could get to my papers, Shego?"

Chapter 3 Awkward

Shego walked around the lair trying to familiarize herself with her new temporary place of employment. The island was isolated and it was a reality that besides the postal boat, she and Dr. Drakken would be the only ones on it for a majority of the time. The place was also massive, with a series of long halls with secret doors and chambers. Typical villain overcompensation; she added to her list for figuring out her new boss.

Shego found herself in the lab as she heard a noise that turned out to be the graphite laser. She watched as Drakken fiddled with it, muttering away to himself. Perhaps he'd forgotten he'd asked her to start today.

"Dr. Drakken?" asked Shego. Drakken dropped the tool he was working with and hit his head as he stood up. Shego covered her mouth to hide the grin.

"What?! Oh, Shego." He looked shocked to see her there, and his apparent anger faded as he rubbed his head. "When did you get in? I said 7 am, it's..."

"6:58," said Shego. She'd been there longer but why bother?

"Oh, so it is," said Drakken. Shego noticed he looked a little uneasy compared to the other day, but he seemed to shake it off. "Have you had a chance to look over the final contract then?"

"Yes, signed and dated," said Shego. She indicated to his desk where she'd dropped it. "For the next six months, I'm all yours."

"Ah, yes," said Drakken. Shego watched him closely. He hadn't made an inappropriate comment. Point to him. "Well we should get you settled then. It shouldn't take long to get the laser polarizing the metal for my hovercraft. I will need a few things yet, though."

"Am I following you?" asked Shego as Drakken drifted out of the lab. He was still muttering to himself. "Guess so."

Shego followed behind him as he seemed to be ticking things off verbally, things he would or wouldn't need she supposed. She wasn't sure this salary-based pay was going to be better or worse than a single job, as he seemed to be saying a long list of things. She walked casually behind him, waiting for him to say something specific to her. She rolled her eyes as he prattled, but said nothing.

"Right, so here you are," said Drakken as he indicated to a door. They had walked to the other side of the lair. "I had it cleaned, so all you have to do is fill it."

"What?" asked Shego, as Drakken messed with the door handle of the room.

"I will have the handle replaced, sorry," said Drakken as he tinkered with it. Shego gestured for him to move and he did so. "I can get—"

"I got it," said Shego and with a small plasma blast the door came loose. "It needs a new knob now."

"Did you...? Well that's rather...fascinating," said Drakken. Shego saw him look at her hand. "Is that natural or induced by a power source?"

"Natural," said Shego with a shrug. Well as natural as it could be. He didn't look terrified like most—something she would have to work on later.

"I'm sure that's very useful," stated Drakken. She noticed his grin, which he quickly shook off and looked in the room. "Well I'll get this changed tonight then, but here you are. Mi casa es tu casa."

"Mi casa su casa," corrected Shego. She smirked, he raised his brow as she looked in the room. "Is this an apartment? In the lair?"

"Yes, it makes commuting far easier and in case of emergency...I find it gives more privacy as well. There is your own entrance and exit too," said Drakken. Shego noticed him shift a little like he was trying to remain on topic or avoid saying something. She frowned. "Is… Is this okay?"

"Depends. Are you a creep?" asked Shego. She gauged his response: shock, confusion, and then an eye roll.

"No," he said firmly. She shrugged and walked inside her new apartment. "Have you run into many?"

"Unfortunately," said Shego as she looked around. The room held a dresser, single bed, television, and lamp; standard.

"I assure you, I have far too many things to do than harass my assistant," said Drakken. Shego smirked and nodded. "Once you get settled, I'll be in the lab."

Drakken made his way back to the lab and let out an audible breath as he relaxed. Or, tried to. Why was he so nervous around her? He hadn't been the other day.

He went back to his laser and rolled his eyes. He knew why. Having a bumbling assistant wandering around was one thing, but she was not an idiot. She was a sought-after mercenary and he'd managed to secure her for six months as his assistant. The last thing he wanted to do was have her think he was a creep and book it, and he wasn't one. Evil megalomaniac, twisted, conceited, and petty at times. He wasn't delusional about being those things, but a creep he was not. He also didn't need that gossip in the villain community. He smirked as his laser began to glow the proper color.

"Finally, took long enough," said Drakken as he twisted the laser spectrum and placed a test metal under it. "Won't be long now and the hover car will be running flawlessly. I do need a couple of parts, but first the metal. How much fuel do I have from the first test? Uhg! None? How, but when? That idiot Piers or Paul or…doesn't matter, he's gone."

"Do you talk to yourself a lot?" came Shego's voice. Drakken spun around. She sat in his chair watching him.

"I find myself to be great company," said Drakken with a shrug. He waited for her to say something, but she only sat back in the chair. "Unpacked already?"

"I travel light," said Shego. "Anything I can assist you with?"

"I'll have to move the hover car closer after I've stabilized the laser, so if you could get the pallet, that would start the process," said Drakken. He indicated to where the pallet sat. "Do you know how to use one?"

"Why wouldn't I?" asked Shego. Drakken saw her brows furrow.

"Well, I ask, because my former henchman and assistants did that," said Drakken, indicating to a large dent in the wall. He watched her un-stiffen. "It's automatic, but it has a kick to it."

"I can handle it," said Shego as she got up and walked over to the area he indicated.

"All right, so let's test this... Oh...okay, that's not good," said Drakken as the piece of metal seemed to vibrate. With a loud shuffling sound, the round test metal flew and connected with his belt. "Oh come on... Nope... Ow. Are you kidding me? This is not what it's supposed to do."

"Where do you... What's happening?" asked Shego as she halted with the hover car on its temporary lift.

"I seemed to have reversed the polarization on the laser," said Drakken. He attempted yet again to remove the large circular plate.

"Have you tried clipping your belt off?" asked Shego, tilting her head as she walked over to him.

"Can't reach it at this angle. Shego can you turn that laser head and switch the knob to yellow? I'll just have to neutralize it," said Drakken. He saw Shego's eyes go wide. "What?"

"You're going to have me fire a laser at your crotch? Is this some sort kink or something?" asked Shego. Drakken froze in horror. "I mean, it's not the first time I've come across it, but most slide this in at the end of my contract terms...except that one time."

"No, this is not—what?" asked Drakken. He had a serious concern about other members of the villain community at that moment. "I just want this thing off of me so I can finish working."

"Just checking. At least you don't have to go to the bathroom," said Shego as she fiddled with the laser.

"...Why?" asked Drakken. The mere mention of not having to go made him remember the four coffees he'd had that morning.

"Hmm, this isn't going to work," said Shego, flipping the switch up and down. "The toggle is broken."

"Oh, just great," scoffed Drakken. He went to kick a nearby stool but found his leg could only move so far with the plate.

"Calm down," said Shego. "I'll get your belt. You know I usually charge extra for this."

"Excuse me?" asked Drakken. He felt a wave of discomfort hit him.

"I'm kidding." He rolled his eyes as her hands reached around him from behind. "So does it latch or clip?"

"Both," said Drakken. He grabbed the plate. "If you can clip the top and bottom, I can pull this and it will let go."

"Uhm hmm," said Shego. She was attempting not to touch him, but if anyone walked in it would look like she was hugging him from behind. "Hey Dr. Drakken? Fact. I have gold in my claws."

"Why is that... Your claws are titanium with infused gold? So they're magnetic and you're stuck then," asked Drakken taking a deep breath. "May I ask why?"

"I liked the sheen and they were out of diamonds," said Shego with a sigh. "So, how fond of this belt are you?"

"Not too much, but I'd rather we'd fired the laser than you using your nifty powers near my lower half," said Drakken. He knew that was what she was going to do because her shoulders slumped. "Can your gloves come off?"

"Can you pull the release switch for them? It's under the flap of the sleeve," said Shego. Drakken looked down and began fiddling with her wrist armor. "Hey Dr. Drakken?"

"Yes?" asked Drakken, as he felt the clip on her wrist.

"This is awkward," said Shego.

"I agree," said Drakken. He felt shaking. "Shego? Are you...are you laughing?"

"No," but she was.

"I'm glad you find this funny," Drakken grumbled, but he smirked a little.

"Is this going to be a normal day around here?" asked Shego.

"I hope not."

Chapter 4

Observations

Shego walked through the large shared kitchen of the lair. It was late—really late. But tomorrow was Saturday.

Officially her second week with Dr. Drakken was over and she didn't have to work till Monday morning. Apparently, they would be initiating his new device or something. Something about a tick or whatnot. She rolled her eyes. She'd just stolen the plans, she didn't ask why or how it would take over the world. She was sure he'd shared it when he was ranting and muttering to himself.

She looked in the fridge. Not a single thing quick she could pilfer.

He hadn't said anything about food to her and she'd yet to have time to do shopping. That was a lie, she had loads of time. Most of her time was spent sitting around, and watching him work. A few errands here, steal a plan there, jack a circuit, and run to the hardware store for bolts. She shrugged. This assistant work was cake honestly, but a little lackluster.

She opened the freezer and smirked. Frozen yogurt galore. She yanked one out and grabbed a spoon, debating on heading back to her apartment before sitting at the small table instead. On her way there she hadn't seen Drakken in his lab working. So she expected he might be sleeping, for once.

"About time," she muttered to herself.

She honestly didn't know when he slept. When she left he was in the lab every night and when she got there in the morning he was already working on his projects. He was definitely unusual, even for a Mad Scientist or Evil Genius as he claimed. She'd only worked for two others who were labeled like that in the villain world, but they were both weird in their own ways: overly chatty, uncomfortable talking to her, no boundaries for personal space, and normally much...much older.

Drakken was chatty, but mostly to himself. On the off chance he remembered Shego was there, he'd get quiet and mostly mumble. He had no problem barking orders at her or giving her lists of things to do, and occasionally he tried to make a joke about something she had no idea about. He seemed pretty aware of boundaries. In fact if she got too close, he'd take a step or two back.

She realized he kept to himself more than seemed typical. Most villains at least went out and socialized—that's how she had met most of her early clients. Villain parties, clubs, lounges, social events... In two weeks, she'd yet to see him leave the lab let alone the lair. And she noticed that he tended to forget the days, like today. When she said she would see him Monday, he looked confused and then looked like he wanted to say something, but nodded and went back to the...nano-tick thing.

She rolled her eyes and ate her frozen yogurt. She heard the sound of a wave runner from outside.

"It's three in the morning," muttered Shego as she left the kitchen and went to the large balcony on the side of the lair.

In the moonlight she could in fact see the light of a wave runner headed towards the lair. Her brow rose and she put down her frozen yogurt. She was glad she opted to stay in her normal attire when walking around the lair outside her apartment; it felt too casual and uncomfortable otherwise. It was part of her job description to be a bodyguard when needed, so off for the weekend or not, if she wanted to get paid...she needed Dr. Drakken to be alive.

She wondered then...apart from Dementor, did Drakken have any other villain rivals? Most villains did, but only a handful were actually plotting each other's deaths—something she herself was not going to partake in. That's what henchmen were for.

She scaled the side of the cliff with ease, getting close to where the wave runner pulled into a tunnel to the inside of the lair. She didn't know there was an entrance there, and she followed.

She made it just for the door to close in front of her. Now she was a little annoyed that Drakken hadn't told her about this entrance; she'd had to take the stairs, and frankly, they were tedious.

It wasn't hard to figure out it was her boss on the wave runner, so she casually walked the rest of the way as she saw him getting off of it. He was muttering to himself as he did so, seemingly in a pleasant mood. She walked up behind him as he began taking bags off the watercraft, still humming away with delight.

"Do you like piña coladas?" asked Shego as she recognized the song. Drakken yelled and jumped, his apparent purchases flying out of his hands. Shego caught a few things before they fell.

"Shego! What...what are you doing up? Doing here? Why?" asked Drakken as he caught the rest of his almost-falling bags. "I mean, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I didn't know there was a ground entrance," said Shego, deciding to ignore his anger as she gestured to the door.

"It's on the cameras," sighed Drakken. He took a deep breath and began walking up the stairs, then turned noticing Shego wasn't by him. "Are you coming?"

"There are cameras?" asked Shego, a little agitated and a little annoyed.

"...I forgot to show you that," said Drakken. He nodded. "Monday morning, first thing."

"You went grocery shopping in the middle of the night?" asked Shego, walking up the stairs behind him.

"No, I went shopping earlier. I went out in the middle of the night," said Drakken. He gave Shego a strange look. "You know I've yet to see you leave apart from missions. You should get out more."

Shego shook her head in shock as Drakken shrugged and walked up the stairs casually. I need to go out? Her last two weeks played back in her head. Had she pegged Drakken wrong? Did he have a social life? Was he playing her? Where had he gone? He didn't smell like alcohol, so clubbing hadn't happened. His clothes weren't a mess; a little wet from the wave runner, but that meant no casual evenings with someone. She was both intrigued and confused.

"I will figure you out," said Shego with a smirk, "Dr. Drakken."

Chapter 5

Music

Drakken drove the hover car in deep silence. This was not supposed to be how the day ended, and honestly, he felt like he had embarrassed himself in front of Shego. They'd only been working together for three weeks now, and their first big plan had been foiled by a teenage cheerleader and her bumbling sidekick, who apparently couldn't even remember the name 'Dr. Drakken.' He glared at that even harder. How hard was it to remember that? He knew their names: Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable. Well, two could play at the game, Stoppable...

His thoughts fell flat as Shego shifted awkwardly in the seat to his left. Maybe putting the steering column in the middle wasn't the best idea, but it was the only way they could keep the craft balanced.

"So, that didn't go as planned," said Drakken. Shego's eyes flared and she nodded as she looked over the edge. "How's your eye?"

"I'm fine," said Shego as her hand reached for her eye.

"You..." Drakken was cut off.

"You don't have to fill this awkward silence with chatter," said Shego. Drakken nodded.

He drove on. It was probably one of the most awkward drives of his life. He wanted to get to know her a bit better considering they resided in the same lair; her apartment was on the other end of the living quarters, but they would be working together for six months. Six awkward months. They were strangers, and she seemed hell-bent on keeping it that way. At least the distance between him and his past assistants had been from his end. More often than not, they shared far too much about their lives with him. So much so, he'd banned them from the lab. Something was unsettling about living with a stranger, working with a stranger... He was starting to see why she only did one-month contracts. She seemed to not like company at all.

"Mind if I turn on some music?" asked Drakken. He was being courteous. She shrugged.

"Knock yourself out," said Shego through a grumble.

"Thank you," he said and turned on the radio.

Shego idly watched the landscape as Drakken bumbled with the radio. What had she been thinking... A six-month contract? Really? Just because he didn't come off as a creep... She glanced at him and shrugged.

At least he wasn't a creep.

Too many villains had turned out to be just that: over-egotistical, dramatic, creeps. She could live with egos, with drama, with whiny demands, and with full-blown temper tantrums...but she couldn't deal with creeps. It was hard enough being in a male-dominated field. Your boss making sexual advances and suggestions was not something she could tolerate. She kept her distance for that reason. No ties, no connections. Job done. Gone. She heard music and sighed. At least the radio was working. She found her foot tapping to the beat; she knew this song. She was almost going to hum along, but instead, she heard the music go up a bit more, and then the person next to her began singing.

"It's my life. And it's now or never..." Drakken sang along as if he'd forgotten she was even there. Normal, really.

She looked at her blue boss next to her, singing without a care in the world to Bon Jovi. She was waiting for him to remember she was there, so she turned. He glanced at her in mid-verse. Her raised brow did nothing to discourage him. In fact, he shrugged and nodded to her still-moving foot, as if indicating that she should join in. Shego shook her head and looked back over the edge. He sang on, and she just stayed silent. The next song came and she thought he'd stop, but he sang on... Her brow shot up. Was he rapping? She spun in her seat and just stared at him.

"We ain't nothing but mammals, well some of us are cannibals…" he sang.

"Are you seriously singing Slim Shady?" asked Shego as Drakken continued the verse.

"It's not singing Shego, it's poetry to a beat and tempo," he said before continuing on. "Will Smith don't gotta cuss in his raps to sell records..."

"This is happening," said Shego. She heard herself snort, and didn't miss the smug grin on Drakken's face. The signal changed.

"Oh," said Drakken and he fiddled with the buttons. A different song started. "Well, this will work... "This is the story of a girl. Who cried a river and drowned the whole world…"

"You know, you're actually pretty good," said Shego. Drakken shrugged and kept singing. He nodded towards her tapping foot again.

"Your clothes never wear as well the next day. And your hair never falls in quite the same way…" he sang confidently. Shego listened a little bit more and found herself muttering.

"This is the story of a girl…" Shego sang quietly.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" asked Drakken. Shego glared at him but he sang louder.

"Who cried a river and drowned the whole world," said Shego loudly, "And while she looks so sad in photographs. I absolutely love her, where she smiles."

Twenty minutes later and Shego could barely keep it together as Drakken finished singing a Backstreet Boys song with as much dedication as a band member. She'd been on board for half the song, but her fighting laughter had gotten in the way of continuing to sing along with the radio. At one point two songs had blended and in a moment of weakness she sang the other song, and he matched tempo. She was actually a little let down as they pulled into the underground of the lair.

"You know Shego, you should consider going to a Friday night karaoke with me," said Drakken. "It's a blast, and there's always free appetizers."

"Karaoke," said Shego. She looked at the grinning man next to her and scoffed. "That's where you go? You go to karaoke."

"Ohm, when I get around to it," said Drakken. She saw his smile fade quickly and he frowned. "Not every Friday or something."

"I'm not the karaoke type," said Shego with a shrug.

"Nonsense, Shego. Everyone can karaoke. Some shouldn't...but they do. Karaoke on Friday is not a competition," said Drakken with a smirk. As the moment drew on, his grin broadened. "But I would win if it was."

"Someone's a little conceited," said Shego with a smirk. She shrugged. "Maybe."

"Free appetizer, entertainment, half-off drinks," said Drakken. She shrugged again. "You're a decent singer so..."

"Decent?" asked Shego with wide eyes. "I think I'm better than decent."

"I mean, you're better than most there," said Drakken. She saw him smirk as they headed inside. "But not me."

"Did you just throw shade?" asked Shego as Drakken casually walked into the lair. He turned around and shrugged.

"Slim shade..." He walked out of view.

"Oh my..." Shego scoffed and smirked. "Okay, I see how it's going to be."

TO BE CONTINUED (Link above For More While Waiting to Post the others here on Tumblr)

#random tales of drakgo #kim possible #drakken #shego #drakgo #fanfiction #gothicthundra #fanart

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internetgiraffekid1673 · 1 year ago

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I spent the entirety of this week reading BatFam comics and it DID NOT help the brainrot go away. I’ll make an extended rambling post about it later, but for now that means it’s time for Robin #2! Have some Red Hood! No, I didn’t read any Red Hood stuff, I just have an order in my head for how I’m drawing these idiots!

Initial traces with half-baked backdrop! Sooooo, Jason has two commonly used costumes, and I think it kinda just depends on the writer which one he gets (someone tell me if there is any rhyme or reason to which one is used). And sometimes they even mix and match like giving him the full helmet, but short sleeves and a vest. I couldn’t decide which one I liked better till I drew them a couple times, so you get both! On the one hand, I really like costume number #2, since it actually HAS a Red Hood and it allows for more expressiveness in his face. But, on the other hand I also really like the long sleeves and the biker jacket look, and it makes more sense practically to wear a full headed helmet.

Make it a chibi! Here, I do any remaining stylization by using my trace as a reference for a free handed drawing. For my style, that means make them chibi and make them precious. I don’t care if he’s an angry murderer, he is also a cute baby because that’s just how I draw. This is also when I really got a feel for what it’s like to draw each costume. By the time I was done, I had made a decision.

Characterization pose! Yup, I went with Biker Red Hood. I’m a real sucker for superhero costumes that are actually just really iconic plainclothes, so a really cool custom bike helmet, cargo pants, and a leather jacket are my vibe! I might still oscillate between the two in future drawings depending on what I need for that specific one, but anything with, like, a continuity will use this Red Hood. Like in the Nightwing post, the Red Hood text is traced.

A quick note about the scars: I know Jason got dumped in the Lazarus pit, but I think even before he accumulated a billion new scars by hanging out in the League of Assassins and then being a mob boss, it probably didn’t have enough time or juice to fix his old injuries. Too much power went to fixing his brain and all the injuries accrued from clawing out of his own grave and then bumming it on the streets of Gotham. I specifically included some head trauma from Crowbar and the Batarang scar from the incident in Under The Red Hood which still haven’t read and probably won’t get to for a while. I am also an advocate for the autopsy scar if I ever draw him with that much chest showing.

Finally, I mentioned in the tags for the last post that I colored Dick a little more brown because he is Romani, and that my Jason and my Damian are also not white. I head-cannon Jason as either half Latino or half Brazilian, and I tried to reflect that here.

Nightwing Edition Here!

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maarrgarr · 2 years ago

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The Unknown Heir.

part thirteen.

masterlist of the Unknown Heir.

Gojo Satoru x fem! reader.

Synopsis: The reader returns after being gone for two years and leaving her boyfriend, Satoru, without giving him a reason. But now she doesn't come back alone.

Warning: English is not my first language, possible grammatical and spelling mistakes, some plot changes.

"Where the hell were you?" he asked you. You motioned for him to speak quieter; if Ryusei woke up, it would be a problem. "We went for a walk. What's up?" you asked, confused. Satoru sighed. "Go away and leave him," he said, referring to Ryu. You looked at him quizzically, but decided to heed him. It made you nervous that Ryu and he were so close, and at any moment your son might wake up.

It didn't take you long to get to the room, it wasn't very far from the place where you found Gojo, which made you think that maybe he was coming from there. When you entered, you closed the door behind you. You put the things on a table, opened the sheets, laid Ryusei down carefully, so he wouldn't wake up, and covered him up.

As you left the room, you came face to face with Satoru again. His expression told you that he was not at all happy. For a moment, you feared that he had discovered that Ryusei was his. "How could you even think of letting them go alone?" he asked. His face was almost five centimeters from yours, and you realized that his eyes were killing you. You frowned, not understanding what he was talking about. "What are you talking about?" you asked. "How the hell could you think of letting Tetsuo and Rumi go off by themselves knowing it was a special grade curse!". Your eyes and mouth widen. "No, no, I was told it was fourth grade," you tell him. "Well, it wasn't, Y/n! You shouldn't have let them go alone; they're freshmen! And as long as I'm not here, they're your responsibility." Your eyes filled with tears without you being able to help it. "Are they...?" you asked fearfully. "No, but they are badly hurt, and all because of you". His words were bitter and struck you deep in the heart. "I tell you, Gojo, they told me it was fourth grade! If I had known it was a special grade, obviously, I wouldn't have let them go!" you defended yourself, though inside you felt guilty.

For a moment there was silence between the two of you, until he broke it with a bitter laugh. "Why don't you go away again, don't you realize that we are better off without you? Go away, Y/n, you don't seem to have done badly anyway, in these few years you've already had a child. It doesn't surprise me anyway, you were always very quick for some things." As soon as he finished speaking, your hand slapped his cheek. "You know nothing, Gojo, absolutely nothing. I've put up with enough nonsense from you just because you're upset that I dumped you. Yes, Satoru, I left you, I left and I had a child. Get over it," you told him. You could see through the glasses that those words hurt him, but everything he'd said before had hurt you too, and you'd put up with enough. "I'm over it now! Don't think you're so important, Y/n. I haven't cared what you do with your life for years."

His words reached deep into your heart, almost breaking it. But, at the same time, he made you open your eyes. His words destroyed the little hope that your heart had: you two no longer had anything, he no longer felt anything for you.

"Glad to know we have something in common, Gojo. I didn't think about you either in these years, I was more busy with other things" your pride spoke for you. And with your eyes fighting not to shed tears, you turned away from him and you started heading towards the infirmary.

Satoru stood there, taking in what had just happened. Trying to swallow what you told him and regretting the lies he told.

TAG LIST: @jellykingsblog, @dummyf , @nyfwyeonjun , @lenasvoid , @yyxy27 , @staygoldsquatchling02 , @whoami-72 , @blackcatpandora, @descargueestoporgojosatoru , @iluv-ace , @mommasbigd , @guenievresworld , @idktbhloley .

#gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #jjk gojo #jjk x y/n #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru #satorugojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x you #gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk

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deadratdonoteat · 9 months ago

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Yuji Itadori x reader

Damsel In Distress

Y/n needs rescued and a pink haired teen does just that. With a little movie date!

Tags- fluff, trapped, movie night, movie references, Snacks & Candy, matching Oonsies

W.C= 1.5k

This is not how my mission was supposed to go. I struggled against the restraints. The stupid curse that was supposed to be an easy fix now held me captive. My arms were getting tired from being behind my back. The dinghy chair that I was tied to was not comfortable. No doubt someone was coming to rescue me. I doubt it will be soon but at least it’s something. The curse was hiding behind the door to the room. It was a fat glob. Looked dirty.

“Why are you waiting by the door? No ones coming for me,” I called out to the green gooey curse. It just mumbled something that wasn’t english. What a waste of time. The rope had to be cursed, my knife wasn’t cutting it. I’m going to be stuck here forever. Right as I was coming to terms with my fate the door was flung open. The door smacking the curse.

“Don’t worry L/n! Help is here!,” the blurry figure shouted. My eyes weren’t used to the bright light from the open door. I already knew who was calling for me. The new first year that I briefly met at the school. Yuji Itadori. The one people would whisper about, something about a curse within him, I wasn't listening.

“Oh Itadori! My savor,”I say sarcastically. I saw the pink haired boy looking around. Probably looking for the scary curse holding me captive. “It was hiding behind the door,” I told him. Itadori whips his head to the door he flung open.

“Oh Yikes Sorry little guy,” Yuji apologizes as he slowly closes the door, revealing the gross looking curse. He made quick work of it. He turns back to me with an eyebrow raised. “How did that weak ass curse do this to you?” He asked with a genuine tone. Anyone else would have made fun of me.

“He had a civilian captive and when I tried to help her she pushed me into the chair instead,” I retold the events. Yuji had a finger on his chin as he nodded along. “Itadori?” I asked. I caught his attention, he tilted his head. “You mind untying me?” he rushed over after i finished my sentence. He made quick work of the ropes. I stood up as soon as the bindings were off. Blood rushed to my head. My vision developed dots. I started swaying.

“Wow L/n, are you okay?” Yuji asked, grabbing my shoulders. I leaned into him.

“Yeah yeah, I just stood up too fast,” I answered him. He was warm. His arms were supporting my weight. His chest is not as soft as I thought it would be. With my vision coming back and blood returning to my legs, i straighten my posture.

“Thanks for the rescue, Mr. Itadori,” I said in a dramatic tone while bowing to him. He laughed. Amused by the formality.

“Of course L/n! I’ll always be there to rescue you,” He announced loudly

“Your personal Damsel In Distress,” I started walking forward.

“I love Hercules! It's a good Disney film,” he stayed behind me to make sure I could fully move.

“Not everything I say is a movie reference,” I said as I opened the door.

“So you don't want to watch Hercules in my room and make Gojo Sensei buy us snacks?” He said cockly.

“Calm down there! I never said that,” I laughed as we both stepped outside, the warm setting sun hitting us both.

“So 8pm in my room?” His smile glowed in the sunlight.

“Of course,” We walked shoulder to shoulder.

When you two asked Gojo to get snacks he was a little bummed out about not being invited but he just winked at Yuji before skipping away. It was a bad idea to leave Gojo alone with his card. He came back with way too many snacks and matching onesies, mine being a f/a onesies while Yuji wore a cat one. Gojo took so many photos there black dots filled your vision from the flashes.

“Why didn’t we go with Gojo-sensei?” I asked while taking a seat on the small couch Yuji had in his dorm.

“Are you complaining about all these snacks?” he asked, dumping the snacks on the coffee table in front of us. Looking at the varieties of sweets, looking for my f/c. Grabbing it and opening while leaning into the cursed user's shoulder. The movie started.

Yuji laughed at about every joke in the movie. I forgave him when he offered me some piece of candy from his pile, he fed it to me like a baby. Sometimes I would hear a deep voice speak and then Yuji would slap his cheek. The credits began to roll. I sat upright. Stretching my back. Thinking about the potion I was just in. My back was pressed against Yuji’s chest. His arm wrapped around me. We were straight up cuddling? Pushing the thought from my head.

“Yuji are you alright?” He gave a nervous smile when I asked.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well sometimes your voice would go super low but then you’d smack yourself,” I explained, he looked nervous.

“You're the only one who doesn’t know about him..” he started but trailed off. I raised a brow

“Who?”

“The curse that I’m a vessel for..” he looked away, not sadly but a different emotion

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you think the counsel wanted me dead?”

“I thought you were on trial because you killed a bunch of people,” I tiled my head. No one ever told me why Gojo-sensei had to speak up to the counsel men. I never cared enough to ask.

“WHAT??” Yuji shot up, matching my up right position.

“Yeah, i thought you were like a crazy murderer,”

“And you still hang out with me??” He started to raise his voice.

“Well we all do things we’re not proud of,” I nodded with my words. The pink haired teen started laughing. My face grew hot with embarrassment. Was I wrong?

“I’m a vessel for a once powerful curse, Sukuna,” He told me suddenly, with a serious tone. My head fell to a tilt again.

“Who?” I asked, his eyebrows going up. He seemed surprised that I didn't know. His cheek started to change.

“Never heard of me, doll?” the mouth that morphed spoke, the single eye trained on me. I backed up from my spot. The mouth grew into a smug smile, seemingly amused by my fear.

“EW! Yuji what is that!?” I exclaimed. The mouth frowned trying to open its mouth but was slapped by Itadori’s hand. Yuji laughed at the situation. He grabbed his stomach from laughing too much. I was still so confused by the random mouth that appeared on my friend's cheek. The teen whipped his tears of joy.

“That was Sukuna, the curse inside of me,” He explained. It clicked in my head. After more questions I was fully educated on the situation.

“So it can hear all your thoughts? Sukuna I mean,” I corrected myself from calling him an ‘it’.

“I think so…Im not actually sure..” He put his finger to his chin.

“I can.” The oh so scary curse appeared on the hand that was resting on Yuji’s chin. Nodding my head. An idea and question popped into my head.

“Wait” leaning over to the pile of junk food. I unwrapped a sweet. Putting it up to the cursed mouth.

“Can you consume food while being just this mouth?” I asked while putting the candy closer to the mouth.

“L/n be careful,” Yuji said, worrying that Sukuna would bite off my fingers. The eye stared at the candy then at me. I don’t think he knew if he could. The mouth frowning.

“Come onnnnn it’s good!” I persuaded the curse, swaying the candy in front of it. As Sukuna glared into my eyes he opened his mouth slowly. Even though he didn’t open very wide I shoved the sweet in, pushing it all the way in and quickly pulling back just in case.

“Wow, I can taste it!” Yuji called out. He seemed to be savoring the candy as if it was really in his mouth.

“Do you feel the candy or is it more of a phantom touch?” I asked. My eyes switch between staring at the hand mouth and Yuji. The teen opened his mouth to prove there was no candy.

“That's so cool!” I exclaimed. I saw Yuji’s throat move so the curse must have swallowed the sweet. Right as we were about to change the subject-

“Another!” a demanding voice shouted. Looking down at the cursed mouth, it was grinning. Guess the King of curses likes sweets.

The rest of the night was spent talking while occasionally feeding Sukuna candy. Watching a stupid romcom that neither of us were very interested in. I left Yuji’s dorm around midnight. I was supposed to leave earlier but we got lost in conversation. I’m sure Gojo-sensei won’t like that I was in a guys room for so long. I checked my phone for the time again. Seeing the new wallpaper that Gojo set when he stole my phone for pictures. It was a picture of me and Yuji with our arms interlinked, wearing the silly onesies, smiling big.

Maybe I should get kidnapped more often if this is how it will turn out.

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synthshenanigans · 1 year ago

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I'm curious as to peoples idea for what he'd do for the next power hour so

[These all being popular ideas or ppl he's mentioned]

This was all just a ploy to get you to read my info dump theory on the concept of a Chonny Jash Power Hour loser HAHAHA

Im joking tho. Not about my CJPH theory, that is very much real but I'm not forcing you to read it lol

However if you're curious, my inane rambles are further down :}

[Long Rant Post Below]

Okay so I'm gonna start with the basic idea I got it from; that being Nerd. Nerd already foreshadowed the THDPH & the WWPH [Even down to the last song for each of them] Not only that, but he references the stuff hes done in the past as well with a break/pause inbetween.

[This is what I mean]

The first three being all stuff he already did. BDG with Pocket, Tally Hall with Vol.1 & then Cage by Tim Minchin being the start the power hours.

The next two being the power hours he would do after this song [Memento Mori & Charlie's Inferno-Will Wood & That Handsome Devil]. But those are the only songs he would reference in Nerd, leaving no more clues as to what the last one would be. The only thing left in it is the video game references & Stairway to Heaven in the ending. [Which oddly enough also fit the pattern in a way. StH being about dying and the afterlife like Memento Mori & Chonny's Inferno and the video game references being all covers he made on his old channel]

While the VG refs could be a hint at a Videogame or Toby Fox Power Hour, I think at most, if its a clue at all, hinting at the next thing he does is recovering old songs.

----

Next, a couple of his songs reference his past stuff. Fine, I'm Fine has a good amount of lines that vaguely refer back to songs from the before [heres a post that goes more into it that's pretty cool!!]. And more importantly Dear Machine references Pocket, Dream (Outro from Calamity) & wings of wax. Pocket being later used in Nerd & the mention of Icarus coming back in Art. Not only that, but the voice in the very end Thermodynamic Lawyer is the exact same [if not very close to] voice filter/effect he uses in Dear Machine. Even down to the British accent he does in it. [Tho it is fairly normal for a music artist to reference their older songs in their music so it could be nothing]

Speaking of Dear Machine tho, quick thing to add about it is that it shows he not against covering his own songs. While yea technically its just a different version of Ode of the Cog, DM,HtC in a way counts as a cover of OotC. Same goes for bargaining/compromise & The Ballad of Dr. Jekyll.

----

Another idea with a CJPH is that in the CJFS discord theres a "Question of the Day" Channel. Where, as the name says, a Mod or Helper will ask a CJ related question & everyone can give their idea/imput on it. For Day 100, as a special fun lil thing, they asked Chonny if he wanted to give a question for that day. His question being:

And yes he does say that he doesnt plan on doing anything like that in future [if he even were to do it]. I fully believe he wasn't lying there & honestly I never saw him redoing any song ever until I had the idea of a CJPH [aside from stuff like Spring and a Storm & Storm and a Spring obviously]. But this is the best idea I could ever see him doing that. Also that question was from early August so a fair amount of time has passed. Whether thats enough time to equal "at least in the near future at all" I have no clue, but it is a thought.

----

One of my last points [that I remember atm lol] is on how he would end the power hours. Cos like, while yea he does whatever he wants & doesn't rlly follow what anyone says or asks [which I 100% agree with & is completely valid btw], I'd imagine he'd still want to end the PHs with a bang. Which is why I originally didnt think the recent one would be Will Wood.

He's stated a couple of time that hes one of his favorite artist & he definitely knows that a huge chunk of his fan base listen to WW as well. So why not end with that? Why not end with one of the most requested artist people wanted him to cover? Why wouldn't he end with a power hour of the artist that was his #1 on his Spotify Wrapped? What else could he do after that? Well maybe he'd go with his #2 artist? WHICH IS JUST HIMSELF BBYYYY

Plus, the name Power Hour already comes from this:

So it's very likely he's had himself play multiple times in a row & had a "Chonny Jash Power Hour".

Of course theories are just theories so there's always the chance I'm wrong & just insane. And again he does whatever he wants whenever he wants so who knows what it'll be. I just think id be an interesting idea for him to do.

As for how a Chonny Jash Power Hour would look? Maybe each song being a cover of a song from a past album or single? I'd imagine one from the before. & Covered in Discontent [maybe Gothic Whore?]. Like remake Pocket since its been referenced so much, tho that's still just a BDG cover so who knows. the before. would be interesting just to see how his perspective has changed since he originally wrote those songs. Gothic Whore he already has 2 songs that have a story version & a him version so I can see him doing another.

I HIGHLY doubt he'd do anything related to Vol.1 as its his completely separate thing & he doesn't rlly wanna touch any song that's TH/HMS related until whenever he feels like starting Vol.2 [which is valid lol]. If anything I could maybe see like TWWAY, Special or maybe Greener? Or go a different route with the og I'm Gonna Win or like a more outta the box one with like Just a Friend [only cos be did a 20 second "cover" of it in Mucka Blucka]. Again, I do not see him touching anything Vol.1 related but still something to entertain ig? [4th TME cover; The Chonny Electric when/j]

Tho maybe he'd just remake songs that he he fully made [like the before. or Gothic Whore], since those are more of actual Chonny Jash songs rather than the others just being covers. Would be very cool to maybe see a remake of some of his Majora's Mask song tho [no this isn't me coping over HEAL not being on spotify shush]. Or maybe he'd do songs from his old stuff like Don't Take it Personally? [also not me coping over wanting that song on Spotify too]

Idk these are just my thoughts on the idea of a CJPH [or even a Can of Soup Power Hour/j]. Either way I am gonna say idc what he'd do, BDG or Streetlight Manifesto are my other guesses, but anything he makes is always rll good & fun so I'll be interested to see whatever it is.

But ya know considering I typed all this out in the span of an hour & a half I kinda hope im not wrong PFFT

#apologies if there's any grammar or spelling mistakes lol #i just typed a lotta insane ramblings so im bound to mess up somewhere. also i am dyslexic #if you actually managed to read all that. Congrats & thank you :D! Also why tho! you're insane for listening to me being insane/j #I hope I made sense at least #And if you spent any time even glancing at my text thank you a lot but I hope you aren't bored lol #also its still gonna be a bit since he does a power hour but still curious as to ppls ideas of it #at least it BETTER be awhile. bro better take that damn br8k #chonny jash #moss post #KJ is going insane again

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aurescentia · 3 days ago

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For the @corrodedcoffinfest Somewhere Over the Rainbow pop-up event - prompt: red

ao3 || Song: Stay by The Blue Nile || WC: 2,464 || Rating: T || CW: language, references to bad parents || Tags: Eddie Munson in a Band, forming the band, Coming of Age, Friendship, Backstory, Not Canon Compliant, Former Corroded Coffin Members

"The red guitar is broken

To beat the drum of youth again

Take too long to say"

Nineteen eighty-three is not going to be his year.

Eddie decides this as he’s standing in a pawn shop in Muncie, staring through a glass case at his guitar. Or, what used to be his guitar, before his pop had gone and hocked it.

They weren’t even three-quarters of the way through the year, but Eddie decides he’s ready to call it. It’s been three months since Al stole his gear and the van to pawn for some quick cash, one month since his arrest over a laundry list of felony warrants, and barely a week since he rescued the van from an early junkyard grave.

That’s without mentioning the shit before with Derek, Randy, and Phil – breaking up the band, their Party, and obliterating their friend group back in March.

Even by Eddie’s low standards, he was more than ready to chalk the whole of ‘83 up as no good.

And then there’s now – today – when Eddie finally found the place where his gear had been dumped, all the way out in fucking Muncie with nowhere near enough cash to buy it all back. He’s been crunching the numbers, trying to decide what pieces he could afford this trip and what would have to wait. It’s been an agonizing, humiliating day, and all he wants to do is pull a Munson special and rob the store blind.

“Kid, you’ve been here for an hour. Either pick somethin’ or get out,” the attendant says, spitting a mouthful of sunflower seeds into a crusty paper cup.

He wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. Instead, he hunches his shoulders and points behind the case at the Soloist.

“I’ll take that,” Eddie mumbles, eyeing everything else he’s being forced to leave behind.

The Jag, his Twin Reverb, and an LPB-1 that won’t break his heart if some other schlump buys it. But – it’s the principle of it all, isn’t it? They’re his. Gaffer-taped shitty, botched mods and all.

He’s still sullenly mulling over his wealth of bad luck, white-knuckling the Jackson as he trudges toward the entrance, when Eddie overhears something interesting.

“The Firebird’s cool, I guess. But I still think you should go with the EDS-1275.”

“I’m not Jimmy Page,” he hears another voice mumble in response. “And I like the Firebird.”

“O-kay, there’s that. But what about the Mosrite?”

Sensing impending disaster, Eddie feels himself gravitate toward them. He can’t not say something.

“Man, what is your obsession with the double neck shit?”

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to get a new guitar, shouldn’t it look badass??” a towheaded shrimp of a kid says, nudging his friend playfully.

“I’m still adjusting to electric, I don’t need to throw another neck into the equation,” second kid says, frowning at the selection behind the glass.

Eddie’s hovering a few feet behind them now, watching as they edge closer and closer to the Firebird. He can see the immediate appeal, all sunburst and warm wood colors, but he knows better. He has to say something, fast.

“You could get the Firebird,” he says, just loud enough to give them whiplash as they turn. “But if you’re gonna spend the money, you might as well get something that won’tsnap at the neck.”

“Also, they sound like shit, but I guess that’s just personal preference,” Eddie adds, because he can’t help himself.

The two look at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Uh-huh,” the blonde kid says, nodding skeptically. “So, what’s your recommendation, since you know so much?”

He ignores the sarcasm, glancing behind them at the other guitars on offer, though there really isn’t much. It’s not that kind of pawn shop.

It’s as he’s stalling for time, inspecting each available guitar, that he realizes he recognizes these two from school – Jeff and Gareth, he’s pretty sure. He’s seen them running around town, riding bikes, and fighting each other with cardboard swords like complete dorks.

And they were in Band – which Eddie considered below him, but respectable enough not to give them a bad rec.

“Probably the Jaguar,” he says, still staring at the case, not quite looking at them.

The odds of them running into one another in a pawn shop thirty miles from Hawkins seem crazy, even to him, but not impossible. He was there, too, after all.

“Good starter if you’re moving to electric. Decent sound, versatile.”

“Best option at this dump, at any rate. Cheap,” Eddie adds, shrugging. He doesn’t mention that it used to be his guitar. Is his, if he had the cash.

The blonde – Gareth – wrinkles his nose at the suggestion.

“Isn’t that kind of… old hat?”

“And a Firebird isn’t?” Eddie retorts, adjusting his grip.

Eddie’s watch beeps, and he winces, glancing at the time. Turns back to nod at the other kid – Jeff.

“Gotta run, but listen– get what’s right for you.”

“Don’t listen to the cashier and, whatever you do, don’t buy two-neck gimmicky trash,” he sighs theatrically at Jeff, who nods, confused.

Then he’s shooting them a quick, two-finger salute as he stalks off toward the door without another word.

As wrong as it felt to hint at the Jag, it felt right recommending it to the guy. He probably wouldn’t buy it, and Eddie would probably never find out anyway, but it truly was the best option in that dump.

Maybe, Eddie thinks, locking the Soloist in the van, he’s done enough karmic good to find what he’s looking for at his next stop – Dirk’s Collectibles, the only sad excuse of a comic book shop for two hundred miles.

Inside, it’s dull and dusty and familiar in a way that makes him feel like maybe the whole day wouldn’t be a complete bust. He bought back one of his guitars, he’d have enough cash to return next month, and he did something nice. Pretty solid Saturday, if you asked him.

Eddie moves through narrow aisles of unmoved merch, letting muscle memory guide him. Dirk’s only offered one measly shelf for DnD shit, but it was enough to keep him coming back. Especially now, when they might have –

Holy shit. They had it.

The Dungeon Master Rulebook. Eagle-eyed, he spots the book from half an aisle away.

Without his old crew – no Derek, Phil, and Randy – he still wanted to plan new campaigns, even if it was, a bit optimistically, putting the cart before the horse. Make a good impression, be well-prepared for any new friends because, hell– maybe next year things would start to look up for Eddie.

“– don’t even have enough people to play yet,” a voice mutters from an aisle over.

“Yeah, yet. C’mon. Let’s at least check out what they have in stock.”

The voices make his hackles rise with eerie familiarity. Eddie, ever himself, can’t help but speak up, loud enough to be heard over the aisle.

“Think you’re looking for this aisle.”

There’s an almost comical pause, feet shuffling, as they move in unison to investigate the siren song call of Eddie’s eavesdropping.

“Oh, come on. Not you again!” Gareth sighs when he catches sight of him.

“Me!? You’re the one following me around,” Eddie accuses, turning so he could fully face Gareth and – yep, of course, there’s Jeff, too.

The three of them converge at the halfway point in the aisle, only a handful of steps away from the book Eddie is itching to reach out for and grab.

Jeff, he notices, is carrying a guitar case. His guitar. He wants to comment, maybe congratulate him for not taking Gareth’s earlier bad advice, but he’s still in the middle of being accosted by this snotnosed twerp.

“What are you even doing here? Aren’t you like, thirty?”

“I’m a senior. At your school,” Eddie adds when Gareth opens his mouth. “And I could ask you the same question. What are you, twelve?”

“I’m fifteen, asshole. And he’ll be sixteen in December,” Gareth says, gesturing to Jeff, who looks embarrassed to be caught in the middle of this, tucking the guitar case behind his back like he didn’t want Eddie to know he’d taken his advice.

“Okay, and?” Eddie asks, rolling his eyes. “The sky is blue, I’ll be eighteen in November. Are we just stating facts?”

He isn’t sure why he’s stooping to this level, arguing with a freshman in the sacred halls of Dirk’s, but the kid’s annoying and part of him wants nothing more than to see him eat crow.

“Alright, dickhead. We’ll be out of your way in a minute,” Gareth grumbles, turning away from Eddie to inspect the shelves between them, clearly in search of something.

Eddie, anxious and irritated at being ignored, turns at the same time, eager to grab the DM Rulebook and get the hell out of there. But just as he’s reaching for it, Gareth’s hand snaps out, both of them reaching for the same, singular copy. Probably the only one they’d have in stock for months.

“No way, kid. I was here first, I get dibs.”

“You were here when the dinosaurs went extinct, I think you’ll be fine waiting a little bit longer,” Gareth says through gritted teeth, trying to tug the book out of Eddie’s hand.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing with this shit,” Eddie hisses, feeling immature but desperate enough to tug right back.

“Hey, why don’t we –” Jeff tries to cut in, setting his guitar down so he can squeeze between them.

“Bullshit! Jeff and I are practically experts. We know these books like the back of our hands,” Gareth snaps.

Both of them give another valiant tug, but Eddie’s got a solid six inches on Gareth and manages to yank the book out of his hand. He isn’t anticipating it, though, and Eddie sends it flying into the shelves, clattering down by their feet.

He shamelessly dives for it, but as he does, Eddie collides with Gareth, who must have had the same idea. Then Jeff’s shoving them both away, the heel of his sneaker resting on top of the book, keeping it out of reach.

“Hey! Why don’t we settle this the old-fashioned way, huh?” Jeff asks, plucking another book – Advanced Dungeons & Dragons – off the shelf, waggling it in front of them like a peace offering.

“We can test you both. I’ll ask a question about a random page, and whoever answers right wins. How’s that sound?”

Eddie wants to roll his eyes and say it’s excessive. But, he thinks, watching the way Gareth glares, offended, at Jeff, this might be a good chance to show off, save face. No way he knows this book the way Eddie does.

“Seems fair to me.”

“Seems like Jeff wants to walk back to Hawkins,” Gareth mutters, but he nods at him anyway.

Jeff flips through the book at random, stopping partway through and skimming the page. Satisfied, he closes it, using his finger as a bookmark.

“Okay, on ‘go’, whoever says it first. Got it?”

They both nod, eager for Jeff to prompt them.

“Right... Page forty-six, Clerics. What’s the first spell listed under Third Level Spells?”

Eddie’s pretty sure he knows. Like, ninety-nine percent sure. He glances at Gareth, who looks just as eager for Jeff to give them the signal, arms crossed tight over his chest.

“Aaand, go!”

There’s a clamor as they fight to shout over one another in a rush.

“Continual Light!” and “Cure Serious Wounds!”

Jeff frowns, reopening the book to check his reference. Eddie’s pretty sure Gareth listed the first Fourth Level spell like a complete chump.

“No good. You were both off.”

Eddie opens his mouth, ready to ask which of them was closer, when someone interrupts them.

“Isn’t it ‘Animate Dead’?”

All three of them whip around at the sound of another voice, someone eavesdropping on their lopsided argument. It’s another kid their age – from their fucking school, jesus. The transfer student he’d seen painting himself into the background of every hallway.

He wore an Anvil pin on his jacket, and the sight of it had almost made Eddie take pity on the poor, lonely sap more than once. But there was still the bad taste of old friends lingering on his palate, and he hasn’t quite managed to say hi to him yet.

Now, here he is, looking embarrassed that he spoke up at all. All four of them stand in stunned silence, unsure what to make of New Kid and his outburst.

“T-that’s right, isn’t it? Page forty-six, first spell under Third Level? ‘Animate Dead’?” he squeaks nervously, adjusting his hold on his stack of comics he has clutched to his chest.

An incredulous pause – then Jeff’s laughing, breaking the silence; loud, surprised laughter that has him bent over with it.

“You nailed it,” he wheezes, grabbing the book up from the floor and offering it to the kid. “You win.”

And something about that – Jeff, shaking with laughter as Gareth’s face goes from pink to red in outrage, New Kid’s awe; this whole day – makes Eddie laugh, too. It’s enough to break the tension.

“Uh, thanks?”

Before Gareth can argue against the victory, a head pokes up from around the corner, making all four of them jump, startled out of their hysterical bubble. Dirk himself.

“Store’s closing, guys. Better check out,” he says, disappearing back into the aisles from whence he came.

In the wake of Dirk’s departure, there’s just this… moment for Eddie. An understanding that he’s had fun bantering with three other dorks from his hometown. That they – somehow, impossibly – share some of his interests. Jeff plays guitar, for chrissake!

There’s a pause where all four exchange a look. Eddie knows it’s now or never. If he doesn’t say something now, they’ll go home, and he’ll probably never talk to them again. Everything’s tied up in this one, fragile moment. So, he’s gotta make it count.

“Well, boys,” Eddie sighs, eyeing Gareth as they turn toward the checkout counter. “I have a wealth of bad opinions, and I’m sure you’ve got plenty of awful ones you’re dying to share.”

“Seems like we have a lot to discuss, so… why don’t we do this again? Say, lunch Monday?”

New Kid looks up, eyes wide like he’s unsure if he’s included in this. Eddie doesn’t hesitate, just nods, and New Kid’s whole face lights up. Caught up in his elation, it makes Eddie feel… something. Maybe even something good.

“Sure, okay,” Jeff laughs, answering before Gareth can open his mouth and snark back. “I’m in.”

Gareth, to his credit, barely even balks, taking Jeff’s easy assurance in stride.

“Fine. Me too. I guess,” he acquiesces.

“There we go!” Eddie grins, slinging his arm around Gareth and New Kid.

And he thought maybe – maybe – things could finally start looking up.

please check out @corrodedcoffinfest for all the other entries, or to generally see what they've got goin' on over there. always tons of cool shit!

and if you want to follow along for the rest of the week, you can find my posts here on tumblr, or saved to the Spectra series // Corroded Coffin Fest Collection on ao3 for everyone's submissions.

#corrodedcoffinfest: somewhere over the rainbow #prompt: red #corrodedcoffinfest: fic #corrodedcoffinfest #stranger things #eddie munson #corroded coffin #gareth stranger things #jeff stranger things

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