#wttrw

[goobergamer]

Welcome to the Real World, Chpt. 3/?

Summary: ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge.

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red. (Sargington modern war vets AU)

Pairing: Sarge/Washington (Red vs. Blue)

Warnings: No common triggers this chapter, please ask for specific tags!

First chapter on Tumblr here: (x). Also crossposted to AO3.

Dark walls the smell the smell they’re there can’t find a way back hurts blood dirt the smell can’t find them can’t find a way just them there so long forever never going to get out it’s just going to be us in the dark just going to be us forever just going to be YOU—

Wash wakes halfway sitting, noise ripping through a throat already raw, blanket damp with sweat from where it’s wrapped around his waist. As soon as he can pull in a deep enough breath that he’s sure his legs won’t just fold under him, he stumbles out to the bathroom, turning the water on cool and standing under the spray, trying to imagine the water washing the memories away, the cold freezing them out of his head.

Most nights it’s something, but it’s not always that bad.

When he can finally see black after closing his eyes, Wash steps out of the shower and pulls on some clothes, leaving his hair damp. He shambles down to the first floor, about to put on coffee when a few loud thumps ring out from the front door. If he hadn’t been trained to control his reactions, he might have jumped right out of his skin.

He stares at the door for a couple seconds before grabbing a kitchen knife, placing it on the dining table within his reach but out of view of whoever is on the other side. His rational brain tells him that he won’t need to stab anyone who comes to his new house here, particularly anyone who comes and knocks before entering. The rest of his brain really doesn’t give a shit. He leaves (to his credit, only the one) security chain in place before opening the door.

Sarge stands there with two steaming red mugs in hand. When Wash reopens the door sans chain, Sarge silently hands him one before walking to his usual seat.

Wash looks down at the mug, filled with light-colored coffee. If the gravel in his throat is any indication, Sarge probably heard him through the walls during the night. Wash feels both very awkward at the thought, and very touched at the quiet gesture in response. He takes a sip; Sarge added cream and sugar where Wash usually drinks his black, but the sweetness is a welcome change.

When he joins Sarge on the porch, Wash says, “thanks for the coffee,” unsure if he should add anything else, but Sarge seems all too ready to wave him off, much to his relief. “No need.”

They soak in the sun in comfortable silence today, and by the time he reaches the dregs in his mug, Wash has lost the tang in his lungs that the dream left behind.

---

He must have my schedule figured out, Wash muses, when knocks again sound at his door as he steps out of the shower a little over a week later. He throws on a T-shirt and jeans before padding down the stairs as the knocking grows more insistent.

He pulls open the door to see Sarge with something in his hands once again...though this time it’s a shampoo bottle and red towel. “Um, good morning?”

“Morning, Washington,” Sarge grumbles, clearly not thinking it’s a very good one. “Power’s out in my half. I can fix it, but not before a shower. I see yours is on, proving my suspicions that mine has gone out with the sole purpose of spiting me.”

Wash runs a hand through his damp hair and wonders if it’s worth asking why he needs a shower first, where he had gotten training as an electrician (if he has any at all), why Sarge just came over assuming Wash’s worked before seeing him, why Wash’s being on proved the...spite theory? Before promptly deciding against all of it. Though they’ve started conversing more when they meet in the mornings, Sarge frequently makes it a challenging battle of words and often illogical wits over the smallest topics. Too little coffee in Wash’s bloodstream for that just yet, and it isn’t like anyone else needs the shower now. He unlocks the chain before stepping aside, waving Sarge in.

Sarge glances around as Wash guides him through the kitchen and into the living room, taking it in. Not that there’s much to see. The furniture he’s built drowns in the open space, and there aren’t enough boxes waiting to be opened to fill what’s left. Wash isn’t bothered by the bareness, but it is easier to notice with a second person’s perspective there. To his credit, Sarge doesn’t comment.

“Bathroom’s upstairs on the right,” Wash says, gesturing toward the stairs. He figures Sarge can find his own way there and back; he isn’t sure if Sarge is the type to poke through the other rooms, but it isn’t like there’s much for him to find there either.

After Sarge heads up to the bathroom, Wash walks back to the kitchen to put on two servings of coffee, figuring that he can return the favor of the other week and give Sarge his morning fix. As it drains into the pot, he wonders if he should just leave a second mug out and head to the porch with his cup. Waiting would be courteous, right? ...I don’t know that there are specific courtesies for this. He finally just lets it be, sitting at the table while he waits. Sarge has been slowly flipping Wash’s routine on its head; may as well go all the way.

“You know, Washington, I’ll give you points for creativity! Most people with loose cabinet doors tape them shut.” It takes Wash a moment of blank staring as Sarge enters the room, towel hung around his shoulders, before he realizes what Sarge is talking about; the medicine cabinet over the sink left wide, a strip of duct tape securing it to the wall.

Wash thinks about the last time he willingly looked in a mirror, at the military clinic before he shipped back home for care. You and me, he had remembered. A constant recurrence, but that time something was different, something wrong. His image, distorting, still him but not really him, both of them but that wasn’t possible because it was just him now because he was alone and—

He shakes his head a little to dispel that memory before it can become another black pit, swallowing his attention away for hours on end. “I...don’t like mirrors.”

Sarge just stares at him a moment before huffing, turning to pull back the seat across from Wash. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, ya look fine.”

Wash...doesn’t really have an answer for that. It’s...flattering? As much as at misses his point by a mile. “I...Thanks. Sarge.”

“‘Course!” He pours table sugar into his coffee, and slowly, their usual conversation picks up, full of blustering and bluffs (“I picked up electrical work doing robotics!” “Somehow I doubt that.”) and a fair bit of humor. By the time Sarge sees himself out, Wash really is starting to consider it a good day.

[ladnav]

不知道哪個國家的網友投稿 #VAИDAL #網友投稿 #middlefinger #thehead #做人好難 #你他媽給我笑喔 #WTTRW #novandal #? #vandalism #streetstickers #用貼紙摧毀世界 #stickersdestroy 摧毀世界的工具 https://goo.gl/VCOZxU https://www.instagram.com/p/Bq_jshIBUVM/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1kgeduyx6rbv3

[of-rats-and-asters]

Fanfiction: Welcome to the real world -chapter 3

Chap. 1 / Chap. 2 / Hi everyone! First things first, I want to thank Glittercracker once again for the *amazing* beta-reading. Thank you so much for bearing with me and my awkward mistakes lmao. Also thanks to voxiferious for the help with some vulgar expressions XD And also thanks to you all, readers! I am amazed to see this story seems to interest quite a lot of people, this is very gratifying ! All kudos, comments and bookmarks mean a lot and keep me going! Thank you all! Once again I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

“You’re crazy”.

“Safu! Let me explain at least!”

“He’s the most dangerous convict we’re currently hosting. Possibly the most dangerous convict we’ve ever hosted. He was put in jail for a freaking murder attempt! For God’s sake Shion, what are you thinking?”

Shion let out a tired sigh. “First, he was only suspected of murder attempt, no proof has been made against him. They put him in jail for the violence and prostitution – let me speak!”

She didn’t understand him. Shion had come after work once again to discuss the arrival of VC-103221. She had heard of this Nezumi long before he came to their establishment. As a psychiatrist, the federals had asked her opinion on Nezumi’s transfer to the NCIR. She had never hidden her concern about the project. Criminals who showed no remorse, no fear of authority were prone to backslide. However, she hadn’t been the one deciding, and here she was now in this delicate situation. Shion was known for his kind heart and optimistic mind. But both as his best friend and a practitioner, she was worried for him. Nezumi’s outburst against Arugo earlier this day had led to a formal investigation. Several testimonies had shown that Arugo had been the one starting the fight. But it didn’t excuse Nezumi for his violence. It was his second day in the facility, and Nezumi was already making waves… Shion knew well that during the next weekly meeting, there would be demands for a psychiatric examination on him. And for some reason, he had come to ask Safu to volunteer.

“I hope you realise this is corruption. This is a serious matter, Shion, I don’t understand you.”

Shion looked down at his fingers, twisting them. His voice was soft and a tiny smile was showing on his lips.

“He’s… uncanny, for sure.” Shion’s gaze rose to meet Safu’s. “But I swear, I feel it deep inside me, he’s not a bad man. He’s full of wrath but… he looks like he had such a tough life. He deserves more time. To adjust. To get to know us. But…”

“But he’s an insolent, infuriating and provocative jerk. Shion…” Safu huffed before taking her head in her hands. “What are you doing to me? OKAY. I’ll volunteer.” Shion’s face brightened immediately. He looked like a puppy who just saw his owner bringing the leash for the morning walk.

“Thank you Safu, I love you so much, you’re the best.” He took her warmly in his arms. As her head laid on his shoulder, he missed the bittersweet expression on her face. “Yeah, Shion… me too…”

Nezumi woke up with his heart beating fast and sweat rolling between his shoulder blades. The air was fresh and he was shivering. He guessed he must have had another nightmare but he couldn’t remember it. And for all he knew, he didn’t care. Only the present mattered. He extended his arm to fetch the clock, and saw it was only 4 am. He had awoken almost an hour too early, but already too late to get back to sleep. So he’d better get up, and simply go through his morning work-out. The routine, the regularity of the exercises were what grounded him. It felt good, to push hard on his arms, to get his heart to beat fast for a reason, to get his brain to empty and his back to burn. This morning especially, the effort was even more rewarding than usual. His sharp breath breaking the silence. Time to shower, he decided.

The shower. Oh! This was the best reward he could have. He had made the right choice, he thought, as warm water was running on his head, slowly reaching his scalp, and along his spine, down his thigh and between his ankles, giving him delicious chills. He was so much better here. Alone, calm. Busy, even. And most importantly, he was not permanently shut in one of those atrocious concrete cells. If there was a fire, he thought, the flames would rise to the sky.

Nezumi didn’t think very often of the past. But the previous day’s odd vision was still in his mind as his lower back burned once more beneath the scalding water. But was it too hot or was it only his mind playing tricks once more? Anyway, it was time to get clothed and go outside. This time he took a backpack and a few books as he made his way to the cafeteria. It was still very early – too early – and very few men were sat at the large tables. Nezumi considered taking a seat too, but the glares he received and the whispering quickly made him change his mind. Too early to deal with this shit. He took an apple, and walked to the bus area. But the drivers weren’t there yet. Checking his watch, Nezumi repressed a sigh. One hour left… He could have just sat next to the bus, but he didn’t like staying there. When he was reading, it was easy to sneak behind his back. Looking around him, Nezumi noticed the building Shion had come from the previous day. It was a bit further away, and gave a nice view on the cafeteria. He supposed he would also hear the driver when he arrived. Once he reached the entrance, he was glad to notice the stairs. Sitting there, he took his book, and started reading. .

.

           “Nezumi?”

Startled at the soft call of his name, Nezumi almost dropped his book as he got up to face the source of the voice. “Shion…” Nezumi muttered, as his heartbeat slowed to a decent rate. He wanted to shout at the other man for alarming him. But of course, he couldn’t do that. Instead he searched for this watch, fumbling with his sleeves.  “Am I late?”

“Don’t worry, you still have half an hour. I always come in advance.” Shion smiled as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t entered Nezumi’s safety zone without the other man noticing. A bright smile, and kind ruby eyes that pierced through Nezumi’s mind. “You’re reading?”

“Wow, your sharp mind struck once again, I see.” Nezumi’s tone was defiant, his gaze dark. Shion’s eyes widened a bit as he took a step back and cocked his head on this side.

“Wow. Good morning, too, Nezumi.” He looked offended.

Of course. He couldn’t understand his reaction. Nezumi gave a sigh, his shoulders dropping. “I am sorry, Your Majesty. Please forgive my rudeness.” He really needed to get his shit together, rules here were different.  He got up, shoving his book back in his bag and looking up at Shion, who was staring back from the top of the stairs. His head was still cocked but his eyes had softened. With the rising sun reflecting on them, they wore an almost mystical look.

“Why do you call me that?” he asked.

“Call you what?” Nezumi replied lazily as he took the first steps toward the bus, which was now open for them to climb in.

“Your Majesty. It’s inappropriate!” Nezumi closed his eyes as Shion’s voice reached his ears. He was right behind him, having to trot to catch up with him. Suddenly he felt the smaller man’s hand closing on his arm. It took all his will power, and a sharp inhale to avoid turning too violently on his coordinator.

“Is it?” he breathed through clenched teeth. Shion’s stare at him was serious, and unwavering. His grip was strong but not painful. An easy twist of his wrist and the roles were reversed, Nezumi taking Shion’s arm to pull at him and whisper in his ear, “It doesn’t seem inappropriate to me. I didn’t choose you but still you have complete power over me. You live in a wealth I’ve never achieved and certainly never will. You think you can change my life but you have no idea what world our folk lives in. You’re there, commanding people when you have no right to, when you’ve never had to prove anything whereas we always have to prove ourselves. You’re unreachable…”

To this, Shion took a step back, seeming unsure what to say. “You’re wrong…”

“Pardon me?” Nezumi snorted. “We’re not allowed to go in the same buildings as far as I know. I can’t even put my hand to your throat – ” he raised his free hand to place his fingers lightly over the white-haired man’s wind pipe, feeling his heavy gulp as he did so “ – without risking being taken away immediately by your guards.” The last words were merely a murmur, a string of air brushing at Shion’s cheeks.

Shion shook his head at the statement. His eyes locked on Nezumi’s glare as he pressed his hand against Nezumi’s, thus forcing his throat harder against the other man’s palm. “You can reach me,” he whispered. “We live in the same world Nezumi. Only we don’t have the same view of it….”

Nezumi huffed at the ridiculous sentence. He shook his hands away and resumed walking to the bus, but stopped when Shion spoke to his back.

“It’s like the forest, Nezumi… Like I showed you yesterday… Some are broken and ill, but with care and time… I am sure we can nurse them back to health and beauty.”

Looking over his shoulder, Nezumi answered flatly, “I am not so sure, Your Majesty. Some fires burn the forest to the roots, and the only things left are  ashes that gather in your airways and choke you as you breath them in.” And with this, he left the coordinator to take a seat at the back of the bus. His back itched but he ignored the minor discomfort.

Once arrived in the forest, Shion brought the group to a new area where they started collecting samples again. The other inmates worked in pairs. They all had their roles. Some were there to collect the samples, others had to organize them. They took notes and talked light-heartedly. Nezumi observed them as Shion was occupied collecting soil, looking fascinated at the numerous insects he saw, noting everything frenetically on a small notepad. His curious eyes so focused, they looked almost brown.

At some point, an inmate started using a large liana to whip a colleague, shouting lewdly as he did so. Everyone laughed, rolling their eyes as Shion asked for them to calm down and get back to work, hiding a small smile. Nezumi would have imagined a coordinator would be harder on them than that. He didn’t understand how Shion managed to get his team together with such a lenient attitude, but still. Somehow it worked, as everyone was getting their work done.

At the lunch break, everyone took their sandwich and sat on the ground, chewing happily. Shion was once again chattering with everyone, asking for news. One of the guys’ wife had given birth the day before. She had been pregnant right when he was imprisoned for stealing money at his workplace.

“Hey boss, you think they’ll let me see my baby at the hospital? I made my appeal a few weeks ago but they said I’d have to wait to get the answer. The wife isn’t too happy, but well you know… hormones n’ everything, she ain’t an easy one!”

Another guy burst out laughing. “Admit you only wanna have your way!! Hormones, hey?”

Almost everyone laughed loudly as Shion answered to the guy softly, telling him he had asked the hierarchy, but as he only had a few weeks left here before being released, he would probably have to wait. The guy’s shoulders dropped in disappointment.  

“And you, boss, you have a kid and a wife waiting for you at home?” another asked.

Nezumi didn’t miss few men snickering, looking right at him. “As if that fag would ever go for a woman.” Nezumi pointedly ignored them as Shion smiled. “No wife for me, guys… And as for kids….” He patted the ground, holding a flower delicately between his fingers, “I guess this forest is sort of my baby.” He smiled tenderly at the flower.

“And now…. Time to baby sit again everyone!” He winked at the group, getting up again as they were half-heartedly complaining. “Nezumi, come with me!”

Nezumi got up and gathered his stuff before following Shion. Silently he took the boxes his coordinator handed him. “I want to collect some flowers with their roots. We’ll grow them back at the facility.” Nezumi nodded, getting to work.

���Your Majesty?” he asked after a while.

Shion was kneeling beside him. His hand deeply buried in the soil, he stopped moving, waiting for the other man to continue.

“Do you have a family? At home, I mean…”

“Here is my family, Nezumi.” Shion smiled easily. “I live here, you know.”

“Yeah, one of the apartments above mine, I saw that. But… don’t you have parents, friends, outside of here?”

Shion took his time to answer. “I have my mom, but she lives in town and I can go see her fairly often. As for my friends. Well my colleagues are my friends. There is also Safu. She works as a psychiatrist here you know. We went to school together.”

Nezumi hummed. “You look like a workaholic to me.”

“Find a job you love and you’ll never have to work a day in your life, as the saying goes.” Shion’s voice was cheerful. “And you Nezumi, don’t you have a family, friends, waiting for you to join them outside?”

Nezumi froze, his silver eyes looking empty for a second, before he closed them. “Why would I burden myself with people? I’m great on my own you know.” Shion seemed to hesitate. Nezumi caught his eyelashes – white, he noticed – fluttering, and his Adam’s apple moving as he gulped. Eventually he spoke, his voice careful.

“I’m sorry Nezumi… I checked your record yesterday.” Nezumi didn’t answer, but he resumed working, gaze focused on his task. He should have known better.

“It says you were suspected of trying to…”

“You should know when to stop for your own good, your Majesty.” Nezumi’s voice was gentle but his eyes were hard. “Don’t try to understand me, the only ones who tried are now dead.”

Shion fell silent for a few seconds, looking at the other man. He was quite beautiful, this man. His muscles stood out below his T-shirt. Even stained with dirt, his hands were elegant; his long, raven hair attached in a ponytail apart from a few strands sticking to his neck. His neck, so delicate and strong at the same time. Pale skin that led to a strong jaw… and even stronger eyes. Mesmerizing eyes the color of a blade. Shion breathed deeply. This beautiful man, who had spent more years in prison than most of the convicts here. He reminded him of shattered mirrors, whose numerous facets were so hypnotizing, but showed a distorted reflection of reality. Shattered mirrors were both amazingly entrancing and extremely sharp. So sharp.

Suddenly his eyes got teary, he didn’t know why. Nezumi’s eyes widened at the sight of the first tear rolling along Shion’s cheek. But as Shion resumed working without a word, he did the same.

When it was time for them to get their dinner, the convicts all went to the cafeteria. Most of them were exhausted from their day of hard working, and so the ambiance was rather quiet, considering the amount of people gathered in the building. Nezumi got himself a plate and a place next to a group of silent guys who didn’t seem to be too much of a nuisance. He ate his supper tranquilly. His mind wandered to the day’s events. Shion was too curious for his own good. He had the feeling the man wanted to get to know him. To get inside his skin, inside his head and analyse him like he analysed the pieces of bark they collected. You’ll only find fire. And at this rate you’ll end as scorched and hurt as the others. The others. There was a time when he wasn’t so hostile to his fellows. But that time was over now, and the only contacts he still sought were those from whom he had something to gain. Speaking of which…

“HEY! The rat! I heard you were a whore back in prison!” The man calling out to him seemed rather smug, all his friends laughing heavily around him. Nezumi was used to it. He could have ignored the remark but right now it seemed a nice distraction enough. Turning in his direction, he took note of the broad shoulders and nice enough lips. The guy looked rather clean. A good point for him. It was a change from those scums he had to hang out with lately. Yeah, this guy would do, after all.

Nezumi winked at him, lips turning up oh so slightly.

“Are you interested?” He got up, taking a few steps toward the guy, who stopped laughing altogether as whistles could be heard around them. “I can give you a sample if you wish.” The words were breathed against the guy’s neck as Nezumi sat on the table next to him. The guy turned to him, an eyebrow quirked in defiance. “Bored already?”

Nezumi’s smile broadened. “You have no idea…” Over the guy’s shoulder he could see a few guards speaking to one another, one of them running to the coordinator’s room. The image of a single tear rolling down a pale cheek, above a reddish scar flashed in front him. His lips crashed against the other guy’s, and he ignored his surprised inhale as he kissed the man fully.

In all honesty it wasn’t a really good kiss. The guy was apparently self-conscious, and he lacked the boldness Nezumi craved. But still it was lips, and tongue, and around them he could hear the whistles and people cheering excitedly. It was enough to clear his mind and get his body to go numb. The guy cupped his jaw, letting a moan as Nezumi licked his lips and it was enough of an invitation to get closer and grind against him. The guy’s breathing was hard and Nezumi could feel him shaking as he took his hands lower on his body. But right when it was getting interesting he felt a strong grip on his shoulder and didn’t have time to register as he was brutally thrown away from the panting guy’s lap.

“NEZUMI!!! IN MY OFFICE! NOW!”

Shion’s furious glare paralyzed Nezumi for a second, and he was still so far gone. But his coordinator didn’t give him the time to think further as he took him by the neck and strongly pushed him onward. This woke Nezumi up, and he broke away from the white-haired man, noticing his own rasping breathing as he retorted, “Hey, give me a break will you?!”

“How. DARE. YOU?!” Shion was furious. Almost scary. His blood-coloured eyes were fixed at Nezumi in a threatening glare. Nezumi shook his shoulders looking at the door, then at the man. “Show me the way, sir. I’m new, here, if you remember.” He dropped in a tone that was, hopefully, nonchalant.

Shion took him once again by the T-shirt and dragged him, mumbling something that sounded a lot like, “The hell I know you’re new here….”

They arrived in Shion’s office and the door slammed hard behind them. Shion didn’t take the time to sit behind his desk, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Explain yourself.”

Nezumi looked at him dumbfounded. He felt dizzy, blood slowly coming back to his brain as he took in his surroundings. He was starting to note the number of potted plants in the place, when Shion punched the door, startling him.

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF!”

Well. That was unexpected. “What is there to explain, if I may ask?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Like why the hell were you almost getting off on that guy’s lap in the middle of the fucking cafeteria?”

“Well I didn’t know making out was forbidden, you told me nothing about it yesterday.”

“That. Is not. The. Question.” Shion was trembling, his face red and eyes still furious, but his breathing was getting steadier.

Nezumi decided this little game had lasted long enough. He was tired, and needed to be alone “The guy made advances on me, I wanted to kiss him, we kissed, end of the story. What’s the issue with that?”

Shion’s exasperated sigh was enough of an answer. “Nezumi the guy was almost coming on you!”

“Well it’s not my fault if I’m a good kisser. Wanna try it?”

Nezumi didn’t expect Shion’s slap but the guy was too slow and he was faster, catching Shion’s hand before it hit his face.

“WHAT’S THE PROBLEM WITH YOU?!” the white-haired man almost howled at him.

“I could ask you the same question,” Nezumi growled. “Do you often hit your men, Shion?”

Shion looked like someone had just punched him in the face. Suddenly he started shaking, blushing heavily. His arms went limp. Nezumi released him, judging he was no threat anymore. Still he kept a cautious eye on him as Shion sat on his chair, taking his head in his hand.

“Please, forgive me, I forgot myself.” Shion’s shaky voice was low. Under Nezumi’s scrutinizing gaze, he took a series of deep breaths before finally raising his eyes. “What got into to your head Nezumi?”

“And what got into yours? We were only kissing. Nothing to panic about to my knowledge.”

“Normal people don’t go nearly having sex in public right after their arrival in an inmate reintegration center….”

“I arrived three days ago!”

“Still, Nezumi. What were you thinking? Did you want to get something from him? No one is allowed to use money here you know.”

“I’ve had enough,” Nezumi barked, turning around, but as he tried to open the door, the knob somehow refused to obey. “The fuck?” he growled, looking at Shion. “You locked us in?!”

“I wanted to have a proper talk with you.”

“Great! Don’t you have better things to do Shion? Your days are longer than mine and still I’m exhausted. Let’s be done with it.” The last sentence was almost a plea. Shion sighed deeply.

“I can’t have you prostituting yourself again… It’s for your own good….”

“For fuck’s sake SHION, I. Was. Not. Prostituting. Myself. I just freaking kissed a guy, that’s all!!” Nezumi was now gesturing broadly, hands above his head. Clearly frustrated way beyond his usual tolerance level.

“Nezumi you need to understand. Don’t give them reason to throw you back there…”

“That’s none of your business to my knowledge!”

Shion’s eyes hardened “Actually. It is. As your coordinator I’m responsible for your actions. But you’re right, I’m exhausted. You exhaust me. I still have a meeting in 10 minutes I need to attend. So I’ll let you go for now, but I don’t want to hear more about you tonight.” Nezumi’s relieved sigh was audible to the both of them. And he hated himself for that.

Shion got up to unlock the door. Before they parted ways, he took a last look at his convict. “Nezumi. You have to know. They’ll request a psychiatric examination for you. I won’t be able to prevent it. So if you want to avoid being sent to I-don’t-know-what-medical-facility. Please. Behave”. Nezumi’s eyes widened. Shion made an attempt at reaching toward him before obviously thinking better of it and dropping his arm.

“Goodnight Nezumi.”

As the other man left, Shion rested his head against the cool doorframe.

[scoopsgf]

Heyyyy!!!

Hope you have been having a good day!

Do you think that in the actual show Rory and Jess could have ever actually worked when they were teens or do you think that they needed to try again when they were older?

hmm tbh i think they needed to try again when they were older to make it really work. like i suppose i could see them making it as teens if they’d actually had some kind of breakthrough and started really communicating (which is kind of the premise for my welcome to the real world series) but even then jess had a lot of shit to work through so it still would’ve been kind of rocky. that said, if they’d gotten away from SH and dean, and if lorelai had started to come around to their relationship more, they absolutely would’ve had like 10x more of a fighting chance

[nikeschroeder]

A few of my works are included in the group show WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD #WTTRW @gudbergnerger which opened yesterday in Hamburg. Pop in if you’re around. (at Gudberg Nerger)

[ultimateremixcollection]

EJAX - WttRw (EJAX Remix) by EJAX https://soundcloud.com/ejax123/ejax-wttrw-ejax-remix Here More By This Artist At http://soundcloud.com/ejax123

[goobergamer]

Welcome to the Real World, Chpt. 4/?

Summary: ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge.

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red. (Sargington modern war vets AU)

Pairing: Sarge/Washington (Red vs. Blue)

Warnings: Alcohol use in this chapter

First chapter on Tumblr here: (x). Also crossposted to AO3.

Wash is a chronic homebody rapidly chewing through the books on his shelf and the TV shows he can stand to be semi-present for. The phone never rings when he’s there, but he still can’t help and check every morning and night hoping the voicemail light will have come on.

He’s pretty sure he saw a couple of his teammates when he was taken in by the medical team, half-coherent. No one has been in touch since, through his care or discharge. He’s not sure what he expects them to say. Wish you were here, xoxo? Sorry you’ve cracked? (He’s not crazy.) Thanks for compromising the mission, asshole? How could you have fucked up so badly?

Wash isn’t sure. But he thinks he’d take any of it over the dead light and the dial tone.

---

It just keeps getting hotter as they approach midsummer, and one day when Wash steps outside straight into a wall of humidity, Sarge joins him only to suggest that he come inside for coffee so they don’t just up and die on the porch from the weather.

Wash is pleasantly surprised when Sarge gives him a tour of the downstairs space; it’s cluttered, but not a junk pile as he may have guessed. Rather, the home looks lovingly lived-in. A card table is open in the corner of the living room, with parts and tools for some sort of electronics project scattered across it. The TV stand is covered in small piles of DVDs; at quick glance Wash sees serious war documentaries mingling with old family sitcoms.

Of course, it still shows little signs of Sarge’s quirkiness beyond the multiple locks on the door. Despite the gun cabinet standing against the wall with his scarlet beret sitting atop it, there’s a shotgun casually leaned up against the coffee table that Wash only hopes has the safety on. Everything that can come in different colors is red in Sarge’s apartment; upholstery, painted wood, you name it. There’s a strawberry Yoo-hoo balanced on the couch armrest, and Wash halfway wonders if the flavor was chosen to fit the color scheme.

They take their coffee on very red chairs at the very red table in the kitchen. Sarge is polite enough to only harass Wash for two straight minutes about how he takes his coffee (“Washington, without sugar you’ll have no energy to defend yourself!” “Defend myself from what?”) The new location doesn’t change much until Wash asks, “Which way to your bathroom? Is your side of the duplex the same as mine?”

“Flipped. Upstairs to the left.”

When Wash walks into the bathroom, it takes him a moment to register what’s off. At first he thinks Sarge had installed a full-size towel rack above the sink, but after stepping closer, he sees that a bath towel has simply been strung across the medicine cabinet to cover it.

He remembered, Wash realizes. He remembered the mirror.

Something in his throat tightens, almost imperceptibly. It was a small, simple gesture, but an appreciated one all the same, at a time when the world feels minimal in its kindness.

---

When Wash hears a knock on his door early one evening, he only pauses a moment before opening it without the chain in place, having an easy enough guess of who it will be. “Hey, Sarge. Something you need?”

Sarge is leaning against the doorframe all too casually, an atypical grin splitting his face in two. “Washington, when was the last time you went out anywhere?”

Wash pauses for a moment, thinking. “I go running every day? Beyond that, I picked up groceries three days ago.”

Sarge switches battle tactics. “When was the last time you went somewhere to do something fun?”

Wash has a sinking, suspicious feeling he knows the ballpark where this is heading. “...I don’t mind grocery shopping.”

“...Well, that answers that.” Sarge chuckles. He doesn’t seem too surprised. Wash supposes he can’t really be insulted; a serious answer to Sarge’s question would have been ‘on shore leave over a year ago’.

“There’s a legion a couple towns over,” Sarge continues. “A few of the guys I know are catching up there tonight! There will be drinks! General merriment! And YOU are cordially invited!”

“I wouldn’t know any of the people there.”

“I can introduce ya’!”

Wash knows that Sarge isn’t the type to take no for an answer when his mind is set on something. And he has to acknowledge that he has become a hermit in the months since his discharge, to an unsustainable extent. At some point he’ll have to reconnect with the real world. May as well do it with a friend to guide him. “Alright, fine.”

“That’s the spirit!”

They take Sarge’s Ford, a decades-spanning oddity; the truck itself is from the 70’s, but has a new high-tech radio system Sarge says he installed himself. The radio will only tune into an obnoxious polka station from god knows where and which Sarge will claim no fault in his installation process for. The drive is still nice with the windows rolled low, Sarge resting his elbow on the sill as he steers with one hand, Wash turning in his seat so the early evening sun shines down on his face.

They’re quickly hailed by a chorus of both greetings and heckling from a far table when Sarge leads the way into the Legion. There’s one chair left open for Sarge when they approach, but he grabs another one from an empty table and plants it next to his own for Wash, the nearest guy shuffling over to make more space.

“Men, this is Washington,” Sarge announces when they’ve settled in. Wash receives some amicable nods and hello’s from the ensemble; apparently Sarge doesn’t think more introduction is necessary, and neither do they. “Washington, this is Tucker, Caboose, Donut, Lopez, Simmons, and Grif.” There’s a surly element to his tone when he introduces the last one, who seems unperturbed, just offering Wash a late “‘Sup?” before some earlier conversation picks back up.

Wash takes the time to examine the group unnoticed, observing that they look ragtag in more ways than one. They’re all young, younger than Wash, though it's not always easy to tell under the scars; the majority of this group look like they had to physically claw their way out of warzones. Wash can pick out four prosthetics between what he can see of just two of the people at the table, and with the extent of Lopez’s, he might guess prosthetic legs were hidden out of sight too. Grif and...Donut? sport some major scarring visible above the table. Grif’s scars, a layer of patchworks across his cheek and down one arm, look too clean to be from anything in-field; skin grafts, maybe? With Donut’s ear and eye gone, and the side of his nose and lips halfway there, it’s easy to assume that he took something hard straight to the face.

“—Before I can catch whatever gave Private Pinhead that stroke of inspiration, I’m going to get a drink!” Sarge huffs, brushing off a conversation with Grif to rise. “You want something, Washington?”

“Oh, I—whatever you’re getting is fine. Thanks.” Wash reaches for his wallet to offer him payment for the drink, but Sarge has already moseyed over to the bar.

“So, Washington, how do you know Sarge?” Simmons asks, all attention now turning to the new guy.

“He’s my neighbor.”

“Man, that sucks,” Tucker replies, though obviously without true rancor.

“Could be worse. He could live next to Donut,” Grif says.

“Hey!”

“That’s right, has Lopez gotten his insurance pay back after that fire yet?”

“No.”

“Hey, I said sorry, I didn’t think a hair dryer could overheat like that! I guess I’d been doing too much blowing.”

Amidst a chorus of groans, Sarge returns with a pina colada in each hand. “Can’t believe the bartender didn’t card me! They’re supposed to card anyone under forty.”

“And why would they card you, again?” Wash asks as he takes one of the drinks. Sarge’s efforts to convince Wash that he’s some ludicrous age are drowned out by amused laughter from others at the table.

The longer Wash is there with them, the more he feels himself settling into the rhythm of the conversation, becoming comfortable enough to laugh and joke along. By the end of the night, he’s been wrapped up into a number of ridiculous and crazy anecdotes that tell him two things: Sarge surrounds himself only with those that are as insane as himself, and that Wash has had the best night in as many weeks despite his hesitation before he came.

“They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots,” Sarge says fondly in the car on the way home.

“I can see why. They’re good guys.”

“We’re there every week. Just let me know if you want to come along again.” Washington looks at Sarge, but Sarge is cheerfully watching the road as he says it.

It’s an unexpected offer, but certainly not unwelcome as he thinks about the dark apartment he’s about to return to. Remembering the warmth of the rum and the night’s festivities is a strong pull. “I just might take you up on that.”

[goobergamer]

Welcome to the Real World, chpt. 1/?

Summary: ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge. -(x)

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red.

Pairing: Sarge/Washington (Red vs. Blue)

Warnings: None for this chapter I don’t think, please ask me if you need specific content tagged for!

A/N: *shows up after over a year of hiatus* hey have some sargington modern war vets au

Thanks to Aryashi and another tumblr user (please @ me if this was you) for plot help ...2 years ago now! It wasn’t wasted!

Current chapters on tumblr: (1, 2, 3, 4)

fic was crossposted to AO3: (x)

It’s a sultry August day outside, and the Veterans Affairs Outreach Coordinator’s office isn’t much better. A box fan chugs along in the corner, only succeeding in stirring up the air around Wash’s legs as he sits stiff-backed in his chair across the desk from the paunchy adviser tapping away on his computer.

The man has been rambling on about service and medical history for some time, taking down details that could impact Wash’s benefits. Wash, for his part, answers the questions mechanically and leaves the system to decide his fate. His mind fades in and out like the heat waves shimmering outside the window. Everything major would already be tucked away in his file, accessible to the man. There’s no reason for Wash to drag up any gory details in his mind for what’s simply an excess of precautionary paperwork.

“...Alright,” the man says, “with all of that covered, let’s talk housing. You’re staying in a motel right now, right? Nothing permanent yet?” He waits for Wash to nod before continuing. “Within the past year, we’ve begun providing reduced-rate housing opportunities for vets on disability. You would qualify, so if you’re interested we can set up a tour of one of the duplexes this week and--”

“No, that sounds alright. I’ll take one.”

“Are you sure? It may be good to see the layout, meet the neighbors if anyone’s already moved into the other half. Your benefits could potentially cover some apartments in the area that aren’t under our management.”

Wash shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure it’s fine.” He has nowhere in particular to go, so one roof over his head is as good as any.

The man pauses, but simply replies with another “alright,” before moving on. “The duplexes have all of the major appliances, built-in counters, et cetera, but are otherwise unfurnished. Do you have any furniture for it?”

“No.” Wash hasn’t been on this side of the ocean for more than small stretches in years, and had always stayed with teammates when doing so, so there’s nothing in storage to pick up.

The man nods, seeming more at ease with this dismissal than the previous. It’s likely a common enough circumstance for new vets. “Alright. You don’t have a car yet either, right? It will probably take a couple weeks for us to get the paperwork settled for you to move into a place, so during that time we can set up some days for you and me or one of the other coordinators to go and rent a U-Haul, stop at some places for you to pick out and purchase some furniture. Okay?”

“Sure, sounds good. Any day works for me.” Again, it hardly matters to him. But Wash plays it safe; he hasn’t just gotten himself out of the hospital only to be sent back with people fearing him a suicide risk if he expresses too much lack of concern for this transition. It’s just a far cry from what he’s used to, having to consider the appearance of end tables important. “Is that all you needed today?”

The coordinator pauses a long moment, seeming to evaluate Wash from over the desk. “Corporal, if you’re interested, there are groups around the state for veterans who have been through similar experiences. We can provide you transportation to chapter meetings, it could help--”

“I’m not a Corporal anymore. And thanks, but I’m fine.” His tone is carefully neutral. It’s been carefully neutral for weeks, always in the face of help he doesn’t want, or need.

The man nods, obviously not intent on pushing the matter. “Okay. If you ever decide you want to go, just give me a call and we’ll make it happen.” He slides Wash a business card, who pockets it without looking it over. “Otherwise, you’re good. I’ll be in touch within the next few days to figure things out for the move.”

Wash gives a perfunctory goodbye and leaves the office, putting all of the matters from his mind, though he can’t shake the feeling of the coordinator’s eyes following his back all the way down the hall.

---

“You’ve got a pretty good place, been renovated since the last guy moved out West. Your neighbor’s been there a few months now. He’s...an interesting guy, but keeps to himself as far as I know. And if he makes too much noise even if you talk to him about it, just let me know,” the coordinator (should have learned his name by now) tells Wash as he navigates a van along narrow backroads. There’s a cargo trailer hitched to the back filled mostly with boxes; besides the mattress and boxspring, Wash had chosen all build-your-own furniture. He has quite a nest egg built up from his years of active duty on top of VA benefits and loans, could have easily afforded to get some sturdy pre-built stuff, but he needs something to do with his hands, something to keep his mind sharp. When time isn’t floating around without any concern for him, the minutes drag painfully long.

Wash hums noncommittally at the coordinator’s comments; a little bit of noise from a neighbor wouldn't hurt. It’s better than the quiet. Far better than the loud.

He shakes his head before that line of thought can go too far, rolling the window down to let the warm breeze coast his skin. There, there are the good memories, patrolling streets in armored cars, not active firefights, but the rare peaceful moments when they could cup the wind in their hands and watch the landscape pass by. Almost seemed like a vacation, sometimes, when he ignored the gun resting in his lap.

He’s pulled out of his reverie as the van rolls offroad into a gravel driveway, laid in a circle around the wide porch stairs of a two-story duplex, empty save for a worn red-and-white pickup he assumes belongs to his new neighbor. The house has pale yellow siding, with two doors on either side of the porch and a couple upstairs windows in each half visible from the front. Nothing too special, but Wash isn’t looking for special. Wash isn’t really looking for anything at all; he’d easily take “nothing in particular” so long as it has four standing walls.

While the day is young and the coordinator still feels limber, they focus on the heaviest items in the trailer, dragging in the bed, a flatscreen Wash had bought for white noise, a few tables of varying sizes, and a boxed-up sectional couch. A handful of other items follow it, some secondhand books purchased half at random and a small shelf for them, a bag of thrifted clothes, but there will still be plenty of empty space in the duplex by the time it’s all sorted. That’s fine with Wash. With mainly white walls and pale hardwood, it will look clean, austere. He’s seen enough grime to last him through at least this lifetime.

Wash is carrying one of the last small boxes up the porch steps when the other front door swings open wide, what’s presumably his neighbor tromping onto the porch to look him over. The man is a good fifteen years older than Wash at minimum, he’d guess. A few rugged scars line his face, one running through his gray hairline and leaving a patch missing in its wake. On the short end of the stick, but with his bulky shape and heavy stance, he’s built solid.

“You can stop right there! I don’t want whatever you’re sellin’, proselytizin’, abandonin’, or thinkin’ about TP’in’ my house with!” the man calls out to Wash, voice gruff with a southern twang.

Wash glances down at the box in his hands. “Oh, I’m not here for—I’m moving in, I’m your new neighbor.”

“Really? Ain’t been one in a while, since the last guy went AWOL.”

“Uh, yeah, I heard he moved out West?” Since the man on the porch seems to have stood down from his posturing, Wash supposes he’s in the clear. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Sarge,” his neighbor offers. “You?”

Sarge? Really? If Sarge lives in this housing, then he’s out of whatever branch he had formerly inhabited, so not much of a “sarge” anymore (Army? Air Force? Which ones use that nickname?) and it’s a little odd to pull that on Wash, especially when there’s no confirmation that he was a lower rank.

Well, Wash can proffer the same level of distance, himself. He isn’t about to start demanding to be called “Corporal”, feels too untrue now that he’s here, but with the time and significance it had held, his codename still feels real. “Washington,” he replies, coolly.

Before either man can comment further, the coordinator steps out of the house, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of a hand. “Phew, alright, I think that should be the—Oh, hey, Sarge.”

You call him Sarge too?

“Stephen!” Sarge practically shouts over Wash’s thoughts, walking over to the coordinator. “Did’ja get my voicemails?”

“Yeah, Sarge, I got them.” The coordinator—Stephen—looks even more worn out just from that one question. “I don’t think we’ll be able to help fund construction on, uh, ‘an underground bunker with automated security’?”

“Damn cutbacks...Just take the money out of my life insurance!”

“You have term life. Nobody gets money unless you die. And cost isn’t the only reason—”

On that note, Wash decides to take his leave. Though Sarge doesn’t seem bothered with his nearby presence for the conversation, he isn’t sure that he’s supposed to be aware of the particulars of Sarge’s benefits. And frankly, he doesn’t really want to hear more of the ridiculousness that his new neighbor had in mind for their yard.

“Thanks for all of the help, Stephen. I’ll let you know if I need anything. Nice to meet you, Sarge.” He shuffles by them to his door, leaving Sarge to tangle the coordinator further in conversations on his ideas for doomsday prep and questions regarding if insurance companies realize he’s faked his own death, whether they could take their money back.

Inside his new home, it’s still, and quiet. A large part of Wash has been looking forward to this, the promise of a space where there’s no thunderous sounds or movements to split his head open, make his skin crawl; nothing unless he allows there to be. But as he stands in the entryway, Wash finds that there’s no big sigh, no settling moment as he inspects his new home. He finds he feels largely the same.

[goobergamer]

Welcome to the Real World, Chpt. 2/?

Fic Summary:  ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge. -(x) 

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red. (Sargington modern war vets AU)

Warnings: No common warnings for this chapter, ask me if you need specific content tagged for!

First chapter on Tumblr here: (x). This chapter crossposted to AO3 here: (x)

The first rain since Wash’s arrival to the house three days prior sees sheets of water falling to the porch steps. It takes him a couple of trips between the kitchen and the rest of the house to realize that what’s falling outside the front window is far heavier than the rain on his other two sides of the complex. Pulling on a jacket and braving the waterfall to reach the bottom of the stairs, he spies a gutter full to capacity with wet leaves, spilling what it can over the rim. Odd that there would already be so many in the summer.

Or perhaps not so odd. Did Stephen say anything about gutter cleaning?

Maybe. Wash’s guess is as good as anyone else’s; physically present he was for their meetings, mentally present? Not so much.

Well, there is someone he can ask now. Sarge has been living there for at least a few months already. He should have had an idea of what maintenance comes with the place.

At Wash’s knock, Sarge’s door swings open a few inches before stopping short, no fewer than three security chains holding it in place. He squints out the gap before recognizing Wash, his expression shifting to one...slightly less suspicious. “Washington.”

“Uh, hi.” Wash feels out of practice in conversations with normal people, let alone a man who’s clearly a fair stretch beyond that. “The, uh, gutter’s overflowing, and I was wondering if they hire someone to do cleanings here?”

“Nope, that’s on us.”

Joy. At least it isn’t a one-person building. “Okay. Do you want to come out now to do it, or we can--”

“No can do,” Sarge interrupts, face impassive. “I don’t do heights.” And he promptly slams the door.

After giving it a long, incredulous stare, Wash walks back to his own side. He has some sense that even if he were to knock again and Sarge actually opened the door, the conversation wouldn’t get much further.

He climbs out an upstairs window onto the porch’s overhang with his makeshift gutter cleaner, a broom. The thought crosses his mind to leave Sarge’s half of the gutter untouched; it would probably still drain from Wash’s pipe, but he would get his point made either way. In the end, however, he brushes the rest of the leaves off the side of the porch. May as well get it while he’s up there instead of being a (well-deserved) asshole; there’s already one frustrating neighbor in the complex, there doesn’t need to be two.

---

Routines are good. Routines are normal. Routines make Wash feel efficient with his time, as opposed to aimless with the amount of it he just can’t fill.

And routines mean that nothing is wrong, that everything can be expected because it is exactly the same as it has been. Wash of course would never lean on that, never let his guard slip, but it’s comforting all the same.

Get up at 6 (though waking up often happens earlier, not by his choice). Out of the shower by 6:30. Coffee on the porch by 7, before the summer heat bears down. Like clockwork. He’s maintained it for two weeks in the duplex now.

Except today, when Wash steps out with his drink, something is wrong. He senses, before he really sees, the moving shape out of the corner of his eye, and jerks his hand back, instinct ready to transform his mug of burning hot coffee into a weapon.

He pauses, thankfully, when the figure is fully in his line of sight; Sarge, sitting on a kitchen chair he must have dragged out, holding his own coffee mug. Apparently unaware of his near brush with second-degree burns, or at least ignoring it, he offers a gruff “morning, Washington,” as a casual greeting.

Wash mentally counts back from 5, straightening up as his heartbeat slows to somewhere within the range of normal. “...Hey, Sarge,” he finally replies, tone clearly conveying his confusion. “...What are you doing out here?”

“A man can’t drink coffee on his own front stoop?” Sarge squints at him, challenging.

Not when you haven’t done it any time before now. “I mean-- I-- Nevermind.” Wash doesn’t need the routine. Sarge doesn’t need to drink his coffee there either, but Wash can already guess who would more easily fold.

With a small “hmph”, Sarge nods, seemingly victorious in whatever nonsense he thought was going on. He takes a sip of his coffee, and after another moment of staring, Wash leans his elbows on the railing and imitates the action.

The two remain there, silently drinking and watching the road, until Sarge’s cup finally drains. He promptly stands up, nodding at Wash when the movement draws his eye, and returns to his apartment.

Wash doesn’t know what to make of it. Sure, not everyone lives on a schedule, but why change it up this particular day? There’s nothing special about it. It’s no cooler or hotter than usual. No more or less sunny.

There’s no special reason he shouldn’t, either, he reminds himself. But the thought had still gnawed at him every time Sarge shifted and Wash had to work not to twitch.

It makes more sense--not much, but more--when the next morning, Sarge is back out there again.

---

A little over a week more, and Wash has made tenuous peace with Sarge’s now daily presence during his morning coffee. They greet each other, and say goodbye when one or the other clears out, but not a whole lot is said in between. It would almost be easy to ignore him there once they’re settled in...if Wash isn’t growing more curious about Sarge, against his better judgement.

He knows, logically, it’s the water in the desert phenomenon; beyond the cashiers who ring him up for his once-weekly grocery trips, he hasn’t had much engagement with people over the past month. While that’s by his preference, it still isn’t what he was previously used to, sleeping in tents or on floors packed with five or six other people he had been training with or fighting beside daily for years. However much of a closed door he is, Sarge is still a little bit of necessary human interaction.

Today is sticky-hot, even so early in the morning, and Sarge emerges after Wash, sporting a red tank top and a worn pair of cargo shorts.

“Washington.”

“Sarge.”

With formalities out of the way, Sarge settles into his chair. Wash intends to turn toward the road, hazy as the dew burns off the asphalt, but before he can something catches his eye. Though there is a rough-hewn scar on Sarge’s nearest shoulder, Wash’s eyes are drawn to a splash of color above it. Tattoos of military origin are typically recognizable in style alone, but this one in particular is startlingly familiar, with its similarity to the Recon Jack skull tattooed on Wash’s chest.

They aren’t a match, though, and Wash’s question is answered when he reads the banner script beneath it: ‘USAF Combat Control’.

“You were special ops,” Wash realizes aloud. He isn’t familiar with many standard military units outside of the Marines, but he has at least a passing knowledge of the high-level special operations forces he could have come across on collaborative assignments. The Air Force’s Combat Control Teams, trained on combat support and communication behind enemy lines, are one of them.

Sarge’s brow furrows at the sudden break in the silence, before he follows Wash’s line of sight to the tattoo. He huffs, as though disgruntled that Wash has somehow noticed something completely out in the open. “You’re damn right I am.”

The skull is surrounded by two curling wings, with a parachute in the backdrop. I don’t do heights. So either he had been lying to get Wash to clean the gutters alone...or there’s something significant there.

Not that it’s exactly his business. He plays it safe, asking, “how many jumps?”

“More than you.”

Likely true. Definitely frustrating in its evasiveness. “I don’t recall mentioning what I did.”

“And I don’t recall making a guess! My answer still stands.” But it doesn’t take long for Sarge to start poking for more info. Perhaps Wash hasn’t been the only one curious. “You don’t get scars that big by paper pushing. Unless they’ve started handing out medals for paper cuts.”

Maybe Wash being straightforward in a gesture of goodwill will encourage it in his cagey neighbor. Besides, it’s not like he feels any inclination to hide the info Sarge is after. It’s his past, for better or for worse. “Marines. Force recon.”

Sarge grunts in reply, but his begrudging recognition seeps through. Wash had trained in spec ops as well, with an emphasis on reconnaissance, gathering intel deep within enemy territory. Though Sarge had probably parachuted more, as he’d said, it would have been for his role’s focus and his age. Wash has his own areas of greater experience he could claim. They’re on fairly equal footing, as far as things go.

“Awful young to be out of the game now, after all that training,” Sarge comments, another probe. Wash turns his attention to his coffee, now growing lukewarm; while he appreciates that he’s gotten Sarge talking, that isn’t first full-length conversation material by a longshot.

“You aren’t that old, yourself,” he finally evades.

Sarge barks a laugh at that, but apparently his own discharge isn’t first conversation material either, because he drains the last of his coffee and waves Wash goodbye for the day.

A/N:  Sarge's shoulder tattoo: (x)

Wash’s shoulder tattoo: (x)

[ladnav]

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[of-rats-and-asters]

Fanfiction: Welcome to the real world - chapter 1

Hi everyone! This is my first real fic, that I intend to actually finish AND publish. I am not a native English speaker, so please forgive any mistakes I might do. Constructive criticism is appreciated! I already have something like 4 chapters written for this story, but I have quite a lot planned already. I hope you will enjoy it!

Thank you so much to Glittercracker for the beta on this first chapter, it means a lot, and I actually learned so much!

Cross-posted on A03 (same title, username: lauraacan)

"Welcome to the real world" title comes from the song "Carry on" by Yules (I love this band, give it a go!)

The real world is risky territory for people with generosity of spirit – Hunter S. Thompson

“Welcome everybody. Thank you for attending to today’s emergency briefing. As you may be aware, a few new convicts will be sent to us shortly. They are coming from the Center Prison. As usual we’ll discuss their repartition. But today’s a bit special considering the potential dangerousness of some individuals….”

The day’s repartition meeting was starting on a more serious note than habitually. Shion was sitting straight on his chair, listening attentively to his superior’s speech. Shion was working for the National Company for Inmates Reintegration (NCIR). It was a company whose specialty was allowing soon-to-be-released convicts to work outside of prison, to help them get used to normal life again. There were multiple branches and specialties within the company. Shion was coordinator of the ecology center. His main job was to lead groups to research nature, making a lot of field work, such as taking samples or making observations, and working pair with the laboratory for the analysis. The convicts came and went, usually staying a few months. They were allowed a place to live, mostly shared apartments. However they were not given salary, to avoid any conflict related to money between convicts, but everything was provided for them, including access to some activities and hobbies. At each new arrival the whole team of coordinators would meet together to decide the attribution of all individuals. Case by case, according to personal preference and also personal history.

 But today was not an ordinary meeting. There was an odd atmosphere, a bit tense. The prison representative, a middle-aged man wearing a beautiful black suit, was showing a few beads of sweat on his forehead.

“…. And now our last case, the most… complex one. His convict identity is VC-103221. He goes by the name of… Nezumi. Yes, the rat. He’s… he’s a bit of a spirit, you’ll see. Was confined for multiple violent altercations, suspect in a murder attempt case. But that wasn’t why we locked him up this time. We caught him prostituting himself.”

At this, a nervous collective laugh could be heard.

“Don’t let yourself be fooled, he’s an incredibly smart, dangerous person.” The man in suit looked sternly at the team in front of him. He seemed somehow apprehensive.

“But if he’s that dangerous, Sir, how is it he is allowed to work with us?” Shion asked seriously. “We usually work with low-key criminals, or people with a deep wish to get back to normal life, and who proved their good will in prison…”

The representative looked quite unsettled. His hands were shaking slightly.

“VC-103221… was not an easy prisoner. Multiple accidents related to him were recorded while he was on the East Block of the Center Prison. We tried getting him sent to the West Block… only to find he started prostituting himself again… Well he really made the guards’ life a living hell, making hunger strikes and stuff like that… We also suspect he started trying to corrupt some of the guys working there. Until we found an arrangement. He wants to see the sky, see; He was rather clear about it, and threatened to do horrible things if he was kept locked inside…. We figured out we might as well give it a try, under close surveillance of course.”

To that, there was a low, but excited murmur running across the room.

“Hey, Shion, this guy would go nicely in your department!” A man laughed smugly. “That is not nice, Takashi, Shion, you’re not obliged, we could… maybe get him to work on public roadworks? What do you think?”

The man in charge of public roadworks roared in opposition, stating he already had enough difficult cases, that because he was a strong man, he always ended up with the hard guys.

Shion looked at his co-workers arguing with wide eyes… What was the issue? Nezumi was apparently a complex case, but nothing about it said he was such a terrible guy… most of their convicts had been involved in violence. Okay the murder attempt was a bit upsetting but before judging, one should always know the exact circumstances. Plus, if they allowed him to come here, he couldn’t be that dangerous. After all he certainly wasn’t the first prisoner to make things hard for guards. As for prostitution… Shion felt his heart tightening. How could a person resolve to sell their body this way? He was feeling sad for this man… What must his life have been? He must have gone through terrible things…”

 “I’m taking him.”

 Silence fell, heavy on the room… Everyone looked at Shion with wide eyes. What a sight it was. Everyone turned to this skinny young man, with incredibly white hair, almost unnatural. Red eyes that seemed rather unsure at the moment, but which carried a resolved flame nonetheless. And this red scar wrapping around his skull, like a snake waiting to launch… A curious mix of weirdness, fragility and determination. However his young age and slightly old-fashion clothing ruined all hope of credibility.  

“Are you sure, sir? I think you lead the ecology segment…”

“Yes, I am sure this will be perfect for our new addition. He will work outside, in nature moreover. An appreciable change from concrete cells. And I will make him my personal assistant to keep an eye on him, and avoid any group work that could lead to any issues. Is this alright?”

The prison representative nodded, looking pleased at the seriousness on Shion’s face. “It’s settled then, please prepare yourselves to welcome your new convicts next Monday.” And with that, the meeting ended and each coordinator left the room, getting back to their departments.

              On the next Monday, the bus carrying the new convicts arrived at the NCIR at seven in the morning. A group composed of a dozen men got off the vehicle to meet their coordinators. Shion easily found his new recruit.

The man was walking a few meters behind, apart from the others. Shion could have noticed the long raven-coloured hair hanging from a loose ponytail. He could have noticed the way that he carried an obviously heavy duffel bag on one of his shoulders as if it was nothing. Or he could have noticed the way the man walked nonchalantly, as if he owned the place, without the doubts and hesitancy that people usually showed when coming here for the first time. But Shion didn’t notice any of this. Instead, all he saw were the striking grey eyes. They were the color of silver. Or the color of a summer storm, Shion couldn’t decide.  They were stunning. Shion had rarely seen eyes that looked as wild as those. He felt like he was watching an untamed panther. A panther scrutinizing its environment, taking in every single detail, carefully planning for its next hunt. And then the panther’s eyes found Shion’s, and he found himself breathless.

“Well, are you eventually going to speak, or should I go around the place on my own?” The low voice snapped Shion out of his reverie. The man, he only then noticed, had stopped walking, and was smirking at him, a few meters away.  

“What?” Shion managed to reply

“What kind of guard are you seriously? The people around here should really worry about their staff’s qualifications!” Nezumi – Shion remembered – was looking pissed now, his arms crossed and his right foot tapping the ground nervously. And now that Shion thought of it, his deep tone seemed a bit off, compared to his androgynous built. How unexpected.

“Coordinator, actually. Not guard.” The words escaped from Shion’s lips on their own.

“What?” Nezumi answered, sounding dumbfounded.

“I am Shion. Coordinator of the ecology center. Your coordinator, actually. So I think you should show me a little more respect if you want things to go along well.” Shion tried to make himself tall, his back straight and his gaze decided. But all he received was Nezumi’s hysterical laugh.

“OH WOW. Oh my god, this one is pure, that’s for sure!!! Listen to him speak. Respect!! A fucking true Royalty” He laughed a few more seconds before Shion took a step towards him. All of a sudden, as if someone had flicked a switch, Nezumi straightened. “Respect, your Majesty… is not something that is owed to you… It’s something you must earn.  At least, that’s the way it works in the world I come from. You know, the real one.” His tone was harsh but there was an amused light in his eyes. Shion swallowed.

“Then maybe you should follow me, and decide for yourself. We’ve lost enough time as it is, come with me, I’m going to show your place, first.”

After which Shion turned on his heels and headed towards the housing area. He accelerated his pace and looked resolutely onward, trying to hide the way his legs felt weak and shaky. Nezumi followed, his bag still on his shoulder, and seemingly unable to repress a small laugh. They took only a few minutes to arrive in front of a tiny house.

“Here is your new place. This is a shared apartment, you’ll be with two other guys. They’re already working right now, but…”

“No way,” – Nezumi cut in right away.

Shion’s voice hardened. – “I don’t think you understand. We’re not here to negotiate. You were assigned this area after a full check up on your profile and record. We chose your roommates so that the possibility that you all get along is as high as possible.”

“I don’t want to share. You see, I’m a loner, a rat.” Nezumi added the last remark on a sarcastic tone.

“Rats are social animals, actually.” Shion answered matter-of-factly.

“Well I am not.”

“I already told you, you don’t have a choice.”

“We always have a choice.” Now Nezumi sounded really annoyed.

“Well you can still be sent back to prison, if you prefer.”

Nezumi bit back a sigh.

“I think, your Highness, that you don’t understand…”

“Don’t call me that. And no, I don’t understand your reluctance. You were in collective cells back in there, and here it will be way more comfortable AND you will be with nice guys. They’re nice guys, I swear.”

“You don’t understand. Of course you don’t.” Nezumi almost growled the last sentence, exasperated as he was.

“Then explain to me, or I’ll never be able to help.”

“You know why I was put in prison?”

“… Yes.” – Shion was starting to feel uneasy. Guys around here rarely talked of the past.

“Then you should know why I’m not …. Comfortable to share my place with other guys. Even if they’re so-called nice. Find me somewhere else.”

At this Shion found himself speechless. He hadn’t considered this. He quickly stammered

“Well… if that’s… if that’s what is worrying you, they’re both married men, and well… they’re not into… well we did made sure you weren’t with sexual criminals, or I don’t know… They’re here for real minor stuff, and a short time too…”

Nezumi burst out laughing at this. Shion stopped abruptly, looking lost.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, I wouldn’t mind it at… all but you wouldn’t want me to do anything against the law would you…” Shion suddenly wanted to punch the irritating smile out of Nezumi’s delicate features.

“How dare you say such a thing? You’re lying!”

“Am I?” Now the bastard seemed rather smug, with a small smirk on his face.

Shion felt burning inside. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think of the man’s words. Somehow this Nezumi seemed rather confident, but Shion didn’t want to trust appearances.

“Let me make a call, I’ll see what I can do… but first I really need to show you the whole facility, the cafeteria and also the bus area where you’ll have to go every morning for your job, from Monday to Friday. By the way? you’ll start real work tomorrow. I’ll explain you everything once we’re there. It will be easier.”

 A few hours and a complicated phone call later, it was decided that Nezumi would be housed alone in a little room below the coordinator’s apartments. It was a small basement, an old storage-room that was abandoned for lack of light. But Nezumi swore it was perfect for a rat. Although he was sarcastic, it was a relief for the team to have come to an agreement with the already difficult man. Shion’s boss had wanted him to be sent back to jail immediately for lack of cooperation but Shion had pleaded for a little more time to be given to the convict. He wanted to give the guy a chance, because obviously no one else would. Plus he was absolutely convinced that such a difficult temperament could not be reasonless. He wanted to help this strange man.

A few employees helped bring a small bed to the newly arranged room, and they managed to re-establish water to an adjacent place that once served as a bathroom. Apparently, although the place was now full of shelves and dusty boxes full of archives, there had been cells a while ago, before the construction of the houses where inmates now lived.

And now they were left alone in the small room. It was with some curiosity that Shion observed Nezumi carefully preparing his bed in the far end of the small room. He had finally discarded his bag. Half of its content were books. Nezumi placed them carefully on a metal shelf on the side. Shion was fascinated by the almost tender way the man handled his precious belongings. The way his hands ran along the worn out spines like if they were an old friend’s skin. Or a lover’s. It was a stark contrast to how Nezumi almost threw his clothes on another shelf, not looking back at them.

“I should let you know, Nezumi, there are some rules here considering housing…”

“Mmh…” Nezumi barely rose his head. He was busy sorting his books on the shelves, in a careful order that seemed to make sense only to him.

“Well first of all, no alcohol in the facility, no smoking inside the buildings. No drugs of any sort. No pets…”

“Do goldfishes count?”

Shion looked at Nezumi with a stern face. Nezumi’s eyes shone with amusement. “And rats? Are pet rats allowed?”

“This is no fun matter, Nezumi, this is very serious. But there is one important thing: all convicts must be in their respective rooms after curfew”

“Does it mean I can have other convicts visit me before curfew?” Nezumi asked with a tone too innocent to be trustworthy. And his smirk betrayed him anyway.

Shion, however, didn’t see any of it and smiled broadly “Well you’re quite social in the end! Of course you can have other convicts come see you, it’s actually great to have social interactions as long as you do nothing illegal or violent...” Nezumi’s expression dropped altogether.

“Too bad…” Nezumi’s ironic tone slayed Shion’s enthusiasm the way a butcher cuts through bones. Hard and fast.

“Nezumi, please be serious one minute! You’re here to prove yourself reliable for society standards!”

“Do I look the “reliable type” to you?” Nezumi retorted. He took one step towards the white-haired young man in front of him, relishing on the other’s surprised face as he leaned to whisper to his ear “A leopard cannot change its spots, Shion”.

The low tone of Nezumi’s voice over his name sent shivers along Shion’s spine. This man in front of him sure was a strange one. The air around him was heavy. Standing so close to his face, Shion could see the pulse on his neck, the fine strands of hair at the back of his head that were too short to be held in his ponytail. Shion found himself feeling faint as he breathed in the dark-haired boy’s musky scent. His breath quickened as he tried to think of something to say, but he had already forgotten what he was supposed to answer.

“Unless.” And Nezumi leaned even more, his lips brushing his coordinator’s ear slightly “you prefer to be the only one to come see me. I’m sure I can make an exception for some time, but I should warn you, I am not a one woman man…”

Shion suddenly felt nauseous. “You must be joking” he breathed. He shut his eyes, pretending it would hide his embarrassment although it was obvious the whole world would be able to see right through him.

When soft fingers pressed below his chin, Shion had to repress a startled hiccup. It took him a couple of seconds before daring to look to the other man’s eyes. But as soon as he was caught in the mesmerizing, almost hypnotic silver, his breath came easier, and his heart settled to a more peaceful pace.

“I apologize for my rudeness, My Lord.” Nezumi whispered softly. He let go of Shion’s face and took a step back, and executed an elegant bow. “I was indeed joking, of course, but as I see this matter makes you so uncomfortable, I will make sure to refrain myself from mentioning it to you anymore.” Shion let out a relieved, not caring to correct this definitely odd man for the title he kept insisting on calling him by. “Now, if you please, I shall ask for a little privacy. Though your royal company is highly enjoyable, it is late already and I need to take rest for tomorrow’s hard work.” Nezumi’s smile was all teeth and reminded to Shion of the old tales her mother used to tell him. Those where wolves charmed little girls to follow them into the darkest of woods…  

Shion didn’t understand the mysterious man and his mood swings… and although he felt his presence was somehow dangerous, it was with an odd pinch to his heart that Shion returned to his own apartment that night.

[ladnav]

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[ladnav]

明天放假今天我要貼貼紙 #VAИDAL #logo #做人好難 #你他媽給我笑喔 #WTTRW #愛你媽的心 #middlefinger #fingerheart #中指癖 #stickers #taiwan #streetstickers #用貼紙摧毀世界 #stickersdestroy 摧毀世界的工具 https://goo.gl/VCOZxU

[scoopsgf]

hi hi i was reading earn enough for us w car's outside by james arthur playing in the bg (that song is so them at the beginning of the fic btw) and i just wanted to say that i am in love w ur writing and the fic and it made my day better so <3

HI I LOVE YOU this made MY day better <333 u are darling to me

[scoopsgf]

aaaaahh i’m reading the sequel now and i’m already loving it!!! but i’m at the thanksgiving dinner scene and the tension is SO palpable that i keep having to stop and pace and do something else like every paragraph 😂 the fact that it’s so uncomfortable to read is a compliment to your writing!! i feel like i’m right there and trix is giving me shit for going to community college too!!! ok ok back to it i WILL get through this dinner i gotta support jess!!

I FORGOT TO ANSWER THIS!!! but oh my god thank u thank u thank u that is. the best compliment ever omfg i love you <333

[ladnav]

上海好難笑(下) #VAИDAL #海外特拍員 #做人好難 #你他媽笑屁喔 #WTTRW #thehead #virus #中指癖 #shanghai #vandalism #streetstickers #用貼紙摧毀世界 #stickersdestroy 摧毀世界的工具 https://lihi1.cc/yrtEd https://www.instagram.com/p/B0m40yXn6H-/?igshid=9hd05xnoeo34