#figured i might check in with y’all considering i absolutely lost it the other day due to stress and then dropped off the face of the planet

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

The Problem with Perfection Chapter 10 spoilers!

Hey all! So, a couple people asked for this, so I figured I’d post it. It’s chapter 8 of the companion to TPWP, The Problem with Mondo, which corresponds with chapter 10 of TPWP. Yes, this confuses me a lot too, the fact that the chapters don’t align. -.-

Anyway! Don’t read this if you’ve not read TPWP chapter 10, since it will definitely spoil that chapter, ha. Warning for an overabundance of foul language and some sexualized thinking, as well as an absent thought of suicide, same as in TPWP. This chapter is super long, about 20,000 words, and I’m posting all of it because... why not, am I right? Ha.

I did cut a few sentences from this chapter because they might spoil things for later chapters of TPWP, but they don’t really contain anything major.

The chapter is below the cut! Hope y’all like. :-)

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Mondo is angry. Blindingly angry. So angry he doesn’t know why he’s angry, but honestly, what else is new? He just knows that he’s angry and the reason he is angry is that goddamn motherfucking kid and his goddamn motherfucking glasses-

 “They! Are!! Glasses!!! Just!!! Wear them!!!” the boy grits out, thrusting his goddamn hand out towards Mondo, looking like he is about five fucking seconds from bashing his head against the goddamn wall. Mondo almost wishes he fucking would, to save him the fucking trouble! Unable to help himself, he scowls and crosses his arms, shaking his head firmly, so fucking pissed it ain’t even funny. 

 “No! I ain’t no fuckin’ nerd!” Mondo yells back, glaring like he was born to do it. Unfortunately, it seems so was Ishimaru, as the kid is glaring like his life depends on it, as fiery and beautiful passionate as ever. That goddamn motherfucking... 

 “Just! Wear them! The doctor says you need them! You don’t have to wear them all the time! Just when you’re reading! Stop! Being an idiot!”

 “Me?! I ain’t no fuckin’ idiot, you’re a fuckin’ idiot! If ya think I’m gonna wear that shit, yer outta yer goddamn mind! Now get that shit outta my face, ya fuckwad, or I’m gonna bash yer head in!” 

 “Like heck you will! You’re all bark and no bite, Owada! Now just! Wear! The! Glasses! You said you were okay with them when you bought them! I will force you to wear them, don’t think I won’t!” 

 “Oh, you motherfuckin’-!”

 “U-uh, g-guys?”

 Mondo and Ishimaru turn, as one, to glare at the intruder on their private fucking conversation. Okay, so maybe they’re in the middle of the hallway outside their dorm rooms, but fuck! That don’t mean shit! Eavesdropping is a nasty fucking habit and if this goddamn motherfucker doesn’t butt the fuck out right the fuck now- 

 “Shut up!” the pair shouts in unison, before turning to glare at each other again. 

 Mondo doesn’t know why he’s so angry. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, or why he has been doing this for the past week and a half. From hot, to cold, to hot, to cold, again and again and again, never fucking ceasing. One minute he’s fine, relaxed as shit and not at all angry, maybe even feeling kinda good, and then the next...

 And he doesn’t know why. Why he’s doing this. Why he’s fucking ruining this shit, like he fucking ruins every fucking thing. He... h-he just... 

 Things had been okay, you know? Between him and Ishimaru. At first. Sure, they weren’t really friends, evidenced by how they are still referring to one another by last name, but they’d been friendly enough. Mondo had taken care to keep his anger in check, and— to his surprise— it... it hadn’t actually been that hard. It seems that Ishimaru can be pretty fucking cool when they’re not at odds. 

 He’s also a great fucking tutor. He somehow manages to not sound sanctimonious and pretentious when explaining shit, instead looking so fucking earnest and like he genuinely wants to just... help. 

 Because of that, they’d gotten along pretty well those first few days. Ishimaru had been determined to get him brought up to speed before they started the fucking novel, so he’d taken care to spend a couple hours a day hanging around Mondo, at various times. The pair usually spent an hour or so in the library after class ended, but more than that, they just... they would walk together between classes, Ishimaru rambling on and on about what they’d just learned about in class. Mondo doesn’t know why he’d allowed it, usually not caring about shit like that, but somehow... somehow, it had been nice. Hearing Ishimaru talk about the shit they’d learned, the kid better able to impart knowledge in the ten fucking minutes they had between classes than the teachers were able to in the hour plus they had. It’s not at all the sorta shit Mondo would have expected himself to enjoy, let alone look forward to, but shit. There they were. 

 But then... Mondo got stupid. He overstepped his bounds and got fucking scared, fuck. 

 They’d been in Ishimaru’s room. Mondo doesn’t know why he’d made the offer to go to the kid’s room rather than the library, like they usually did, like was safe, but he... he had. And the kid had fucking accepted, and so there they were, sitting on the hall monitor’s fucking couch, sitting too fucking close. The kid was reading the short story Teach had assigned to the class, the pair realizing it was just... easier, while Mondo waited for the nurse to contact the eye doctor for him, since it turned out that yeah, his eyes were kinda fucked up, shit. 

 He had felt so fucking weird inside, the first time the kid had read to him, since they’d been in the library and he’d been nervous someone would see them and think Mondo was an idiot who needed to be fucking read to, but... shit. This time it had just been... different. Without the fear of being judged (since Ishimaru never fucking judged him, not ever, god fucking damn), he... he’d been able to listen to the kid reading without any fucking reservations. And he’d had to admit that- that he... he liked it. A lot. Like... fucking a lot. 

 So fucking much that it had made him feel relaxed for the first time... shit. Prolly ever. Ishimaru just had a nice sounding voice, ya know? It was strangely deep, at times, when he got lost in the story, his words not too fast but not too slow. He actually emoted when he spoke, too, the sound not a dull and dry monotone like so many fucking other people he’s heard read before. It just... made him feel so fucking calm inside, like the monster inside of him had been fucking purring. 

 And... and then...

 Mondo had let his head drop down onto Ishimaru’s shoulder, eyes closing in contentment, the kid faltering for one split second, breath hitched, before he’d smoothly continued, like it had never happened. And with his eyes closed and his head resting on a warm, comfortable shoulder, hearing that wonderful cadence from that wonderful, beautiful mouth... he hadn’t been able to stop the thought. And the thought he had was... 

 God, his voice is so fucking nice, isn’t it...? Wonder what it would sound like screaming your name as you pound the fuck outta him. He’d prolly be loud as shit, so fucking passionate, clawing you to all hell, but damn if you’d mind. Shit... wouldn’t that be fucking nice...

 He had been, to put it mildly, freaked the fuck out. 

 His eyes had shot open the second the thought had crossed his mind, heart fucking pounding as he wondered where the goddamn fuck that shit came from. Ishimaru had been startled, looking at him with his wide fucking eyes, lips opened softly in shock, voice faltering for the first time and Mondo... Mondo couldn’t fucking handle it, holy fucking shit. 

 He’d immediately stood and stammered out some bullshit about needing to check on his hog, before fucking bailing, eyes wide and heart an absolute mess. He had, indeed, gone out to his hog and rode around for a bit, not wanting to think, but he’d been unable to help it. To stop it. And it... it made him feel...

 He’s not gay. Okay? He’s fucking not. There’d be no fucking problem if he were, but he just ain’t. He likes chicks, something he knows better than anything else, something he’s known since he was a fucking kid, goddamn. He’d even made sure to look at his porno mags that night, reassured when he felt his dick harden so fucking hard as he saw the tits and pussy that always made him so fucking hard to see. 

 So, he wasn’t gay. He fucking couldn’t be gay, and it’s not possible for him to like both, so he figured that the thought had meant... meant Mondo wanted to fucking pound Ishimaru’s head in, not- n-not any other meaning of the word that it could have meant. He guessed that he didn’t like being around Ishimaru as much as he had assumed and that he actually hated him, after all. 

 As freaked out as he’d been, he took hold of that idea and fucking ran with it. He told himself that he hated the kid, of course he hated him, his voice was fucking annoying as shit, not nice, not nice at all! 

 And so, the next day, he’d been cold to the kid. So fucking cold. And when the kid had tried to approach him after home room ended, looking open and earnest and so fucking cute-

 Mondo hadn’t been able to handle it. His stomach had clenched, and his heart had fucking lurched, and he told himself it was hatred he felt, it had to be fucking hatred. And so, he’d snarled at the kid, telling him to ‘get the fuck away from me, freak!’ before he’d run off, heart aching so fucking stupidly. 

 He had considered skipping class, getting on his hog and fucking booking it, but he needed to give his girl a break, and he still kinda wanted to try the whole ‘giving school a chance’ thing, so he’d eventually decided to storm into class, even if he’d been five minutes late. He’d refused to look at Ishimaru, though, thinking that seeing his stupid fucking pathetic face would fucking destroy him infuriate the shit out of him, and as soon as class ended, he’d shot out, not needing to pack anything up since he’d not fucking brought anything, shit. 

 That had kept happening the rest of the day. Every class they had together (which was pretty much every fucking class, god fucking damn this school) Mondo would carefully keep his eyes off the kid, ignoring the feel of sad, hurt, bright red eyes as they bored into him. After the second class, the kid had tried to chase after him, tried to talk to him, but Mondo would fucking turn and head the opposite fucking direction of their next class, and he knew the kid wouldn’t dare risk being late, so he’d give up pretty quick. He’d constantly be looking in class, though, lips pulled down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Not that Mondo was fucking looking! Shit! 

 It wasn’t until Ishimaru had cornered him outside his dorm room that night, looking so fucking hurt and upset and not a little bit annoyed that they’d managed to resolve things. 

 In that Ishimaru had been so fucking annoying that Mondo had immediately started yelling, causing Ishimaru to yell back, his words bleeding hurt, making Mondo feel like absolute scum. They had been loud enough to garner the attention of most of their classmates, even fucking Togami gracing them with his condescending presence, which had made Mondo even more pissed, honestly, wanting nothing more than to be anywhere fucking else.

 It was when the kid looked about ready to fucking cry that Mondo had had enough. His insides were squirming, and he felt so fucking scared, for reasons he still doesn’t understand, but he... h-he hadn’t wanted to make Ishimaru cry again. After spending several days interacting with Ishimaru, having a lot of fucking conversations that hadn’t actually ended in the kid’s tears, he... he hadn’t wanted to go back to that. 

 And so, with all the confused fucking emotions swirling inside him, he’d yelled ‘fuckin’ fine, ya goddamn bastard! I’ll fuckin’ meet you and do that goddamn fuckin’ assignment tomorrow! Now leave me the fuck alone!’ before storming into his room and slamming the door shut so loud it made even his ears ring. 

 He’d then promptly stormed into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it could go, the water fucking hurting, but he’d wanted it to. He just... he’d felt so... so...

 Confused...

 He’d never felt this way for anyone before. So angry and scared and confused and yet also so fucking happy, so bizarrely, stupidly happy. Ishimaru fucking... he made him happy. And he didn’t know how to handle that, because clearly, he still hated the kid... right? Right? What other option was there? Why did he want to hit Ishimaru (and he had to want to hit him, it was the only fucking option that made any fucking sense) if he didn’t hate him? 

 But he’d agreed— stupidly— to meet with the kid for another fucking tutoring session after class the next day. And while the thought had made his insides squirm, he... fuck. He hadn’t wanted to make the kid cry again. God, did he not want that. Even if he did hate him— which he must, he must— he... fuck. 

 He couldn’t make him cry. 

 He wasn’t his goddamn old man.

 And so, when he got out of the shower, he’d resolved to contain his anger the next day. He’d push it down, keep it locked up tight tight tight, and he wouldn’t let it hurt Ishimaru. He’d gotten into bed (still hated it, but he was slowly getting use to the ridiculously plush material) and fallen into a fitful sleep, dreams full of wide, hurt red eyes, a sad voice begging him to explain why he was hurting him so. He’d woken an hour early with a start, heart pounding, and had spent the remaining time until he usually got up doing push-ups again and again and again, until he didn’t remember the dream anymore. 

 And then, when he went into class, carrying his supplies for once... he’d given the kid a small, sheepish smile, stomach roiling with all the emotions within it. He’d then spent the rest of home room doodling absently on the notebook Ishimaru had helped him pick out from the school store, doing his best to not think of everything and psych himself out. He’d even managed to feel almost calm as he let himself draw, something he rarely allows himself to do, but always has kinda enjoyed, even if he’s shit at it.

 Once home room ended, he’d waited for Ishimaru at the door, telling him as casually as he could that the nurse had contacted him the day before, saying she’d scheduled an eye doctor (he still can’t remember the official name Ishimaru called the dude, shit) appointment for 3:00 the next day, hesitantly asking the kid if he had wanted to come along. He could tell that the kid was taken aback, clearly not having expected such a thing, but he’d still stammered out an acceptance, looking so flustered it wasn’t funny when Mondo turned to look at him with a small, soft smile. He’d not meant to look at the kid like that, but he’d just... been unable to help it. 

 The rest of the day had gone well, the tutoring session going nicely like it had before that stupid fucking bullshit two days prior. It had happened in the library again, which Mondo figured would be safer. He’d almost started to hope that things would stay that way, stay as calm and easy and nice, but then-

 Mondo got angry. Again. 

 He doesn’t even know why, he never fucking does, but the kid had just... he’d been so fucking patient, helping Mondo pick out a pair of ‘reading glasses,’ since the doc had said he had pretty bad close-up vision and would be benefited from having prescription reading glasses, not just the over-the-counter stuff you find at drug stores. Mondo had felt so fucking lost, no idea what any of the bullshit meant, but Ishimaru had... he’d been so fucking helpful, explaining the complicated terminology and shit, helping him find a pair that didn’t make him look too much like a fucking nerd. And the pair he settled on was honestly kinda nice. It was a rectangular silver metal frame that had deep purple plastic on the sides, and it actually make him look kinda cool... if a bit nerdy. He’d given the salesperson his school insurance card and was pleasantly surprised to find he’d not have to pay a penny for the frames, since the school covers shit like that. 

 It was then, as he and Ishimaru exited the shop and the kid absently commented that the glasses made him look very smart that Mondo just... fucking lost it. 

 And he doesn’t even know why.

 It just... it made him feel weird inside. Being around the kid. Being soft with him. And he was. Soft. Soft and kind and fucking gentle. And the kid was the exact same back. The entire time they’d been in the shop, Mondo had been thinking how nice it had felt. How domestic. The panic and fear had been slowly rising in him the entire time they’d been in the store, and he’d done all he could to push it the fuck down, but he... he hadn’t...

 He’d left the kid standing there, looking so fucking confused, as he hopped on his hog and drove away. He’d not cared how the kid would get back to the school, he had refused to ride with Mondo since it made him ‘nervous’ anyway, so it wasn’t his fucking problem.

 And that pattern just... kept repeating. Mondo would get angry, say something toxic to the kid, and storm away. The kid would wait a couple of hours, maybe try and talk with him after class or something, only to eventually corner him and force him to talk to him, looking so fucking fed up, but also so fucking upset and sad and confused. Like he didn’t know why Mondo was doing this to him. Like he didn’t know why Mondo was being so fucking difficult. Like he... he didn’t...

 Didn’t know why he fucking bothered...

 And… honestly? Mondo didn’t know why either. Why he kept trying. Why he was so stubborn, always chasing after Mondo even after Mondo fucking shoved him away, sometimes literally. Even when Mondo would get so fucking nasty, making tears build up in the kid’s eyes, frustration clear in his every movement. 

 For almost two weeks this occurred, again and again and again, and Mondo... Mondo doesn’t know why the kid doesn’t just leave him already. Why he doesn’t just say ‘the hell with it,’ realize Mondo isn’t fucking worth it, and leave his ass. Like every other person on the face of this goddamn planet... 

 It’s only a matter of time until he does, though. Leave him. It’s what always was going to happen, since Mondo couldn’t ever hope to hold onto someone so very, very good. So very, very nice. Mondo is poison. He’s gas. He only knows how to destroy and break and hurt. 

 He’s not allowed something nice. 

 He’s not allowed someone nice. 

 He’s just...

 Not worthy of it. 

 Case in fucking point...

 “Look. Owada-kun,” Ishimaru spits, hands clenched around the stupid glasses case that he for some reason has (Mondo doesn’t even know how he’d gotten a hold of them, shit), looking like he wants to crush them, shit. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this! You picked them out! You said they were fine! Why! Why have you changed your mind!”

 Mondo scowls at the words, heart racing and swirling and hurting, hurting, hurting, and he doesn’t wanna be doing this, wants to stop, but he can’t, he can’t, he fucking can’t! He doesn’t know how to stop this, doesn’t know how to make this go away, all he knows how to do is break and hurt and destroy, destroy, destroy-

 “I ain’t changed shit! I never fuckin’ agreed ta wear fuckin’ glasses, now get the fuck outta my face!” 

 It’s a lie. They both know it’s a lie, he can see the anger rising on Ishimaru’s face as he processes the abject lie. Mondo had, in fact, agreed on the glasses, had even kinda liked them, but he can’t concede that, can’t say he does, if he does then- then that means he’s okay with this, this weird thing he has going on with Ishimaru, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that, handle the proof that Ishimaru is so fucking amazing, the proof that Mondo doesn’t fucking deserve him, proof that... t-that he... 

 Mondo can’t take it. He can’t fucking take it! He tries to leave, to get away, to fucking end this shit already, but then Ishimaru is grabbing hold of him, holding so fucking tight, and Mondo tries to break free, tries to get away, but the kid just doesn’t fucking let go, and Mondo is so fucking freaked out, he just wants to leave, please god, let him just leave, don’t let him break this fucking kid again, god, please- 

 “You-! You are the most infuriating, pig-headed, arrogant... jerk I have ever had the misfortune to meet! If I never saw your face again, it wouldn’t be long enough!”

 “Oh, I’m so wounded, please don’t call me anymore fuckin’ names like that, how the fuck am I ever gonna recover?!” Mondo snarls, sarcasm so thick he’s sure even Ishimaru will be able to pick up on it, wanting to stop but not being able to. “Grow the fuck up, ya cock suckin’ assfucker! Learn some better fuckin’ insults or don’t even bother tryin’ ta play!”

 “Just because I am too sophisticated to resort to such foul language does not mean anything! You may be a lowly, classless heathen, but I, for one, refuse-”

 “Oh, so now ya think yer fuckin’ better than me?! I told ya already, y’ain’t goddamn shit, Ishimaru! Ain’t no shit at all!”

 “I am one hundred times the man you will ever hope to be! And if I’m not... feces, then you’re not even worth anything at all! Y-you’re... you’re an amoeba, so tiny and insignificant that it’s a miracle you think you’re relevant at all!”

 “What the fuck did ya call me, ya son ofa bitch?!”

 Mondo sees the kid open his mouth— likely to fire something back, barely any space between them— holding onto Mondo’s arm so fucking tight, like his life depends on it or something, looking so fucking pissed and angry and hurt and fucking beautiful, so fucking beautiful, god fucking damnit-

 But before the kid can say anything, another voice pipes up, the same voice as earlier, making Mondo’s rage reach a paramount, oh god-

 “Aw, come on! I thought you guys resolved things already, do you really have to do this?! Please!” 

 Mondo turns to the fucking eavesdropper, snarling at the beyond fucking average boy. Naegi turns super fucking pale at the look, but he doesn’t cower away for once. Mondo doesn’t care. He’s far passed the point of caring. 

 “I told ya ta stay the fuck outta this!” 

 Naegi frowns, but Mondo doesn’t give him a chance to say any other stupid ass thing before he’s turning back to Ishimaru, eyes practically spitting fire as he stares so deep into Ishimaru’s that it feels almost like a physical embrace. It makes Mondo’s breath hitch for some stupid fucking reason, his stomach swirling as he looks deep into the most gorgeous fucking eyes he’s ever fucking seen-

 But he can’t feel things like that, so he pushes it firmly away. 

 He can hear their eavesdropper fucking sigh, soft and almost disappointed, and that should make Mondo even angrier, but something in Mondo is feeling so fucking weird now. G-god... he doesn’t even know how to begin to describe it, other than it feels like he’s on fire, but not even in a bad way. Ishimaru is staring at him, eyes wide, anger in them, but also something else, something Mondo can’t understand, no matter how much he fucking wants to. 

 He can’t let this end here. He wants to let it end, but he fucking can’t. He... h-he needs to figure out how to settle this, how to make this stop, how to not be as fucking pathetic as he knows he is. He... he needs to prove that he’s not as worthless as they both know he is, as weak, as nothing, so fucking nothing. Everyone knows it, knows he doesn’t belong here, knows that Ishimaru is so much better than him it’s not funny, but he- he needs to prove that he has something going for him, that he... he can do something, even if he’s worthless in every other regard, every other aspect, even if Ishimaru is better than him everywhere else he just needs to prove he can beat him at fucking something, god-

 He’s issuing the challenge before he can stop himself. 

 And god, is he so fucking afraid. 

 “You think yer so perfect, don’t ya, Ishimaru? Think yer better than me? Well... well, yer not, an’ I can fuckin’ prove it. I bet I can beat you, hands down, any day of the fuckin’ week. Y’ain’t better than me, ya shit fuck. Y’ain’t nothin’,” Mondo hisses, lying through his fucking teeth. Ishimaru is better than him. He knows it. He’s always known it. He hates it, though. Not being good enough. Not being worthy. He... he wants to be. Good enough. For... f-for... 

 Ishimaru’s eyes are shiny again, even despite his glare. 

 Typical. 

 “What?! Y-you guys aren’t going to- to fight, are you? Guys-!”

 Mondo breaks his stare down with Ishimaru to shoot that goddamn fucking bastard a single, solitary sneer, before turning back to Ishimaru, chest heaving with all the emotions he carries within him. 

 “Nah. Ground floor, there’s a sauna. Ya know it?” 

 Ishimaru blinks slowly, sluggish, before nodding slightly, looking very fucking confused. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are pulled down, and he looks so fucking cute stupid, god. After a moment, though, it seems he understands what Mondo is getting at, the challenge he is suggesting, as his face lights up, eyes bright and passionate once more, an honest to god grin on his face. 

 Holy fucking shit... 

 “Aha! A simple endurance challenge! If that is your gauntlet, then I happily accept! I will wipe the floor with you!” 

 Despite the anger that is still flowing through him, Mondo can’t help the small smile that passes on his lips, something about the enthusiasm so fucking... not cute, not cute, not cute at all, but maybe, a little, teeny tiny bit... endearing? He pushes it away, though. It’s not helpful, here. 

 “Yer fuckin’ on. And you,” Mondo points blindly to Naegi— who ‘eeps’ at the gesture, fucking coward he is— not able to look away from Ishimaru for a single fucking second, “will be our witness. Got it?!” 

 As intently as Mondo is staring at Ishimaru, he doesn’t see the other kid’s response, but he can hear how Naegi splutters, the kid clearly not as enthusiastic about the idea as Ishimaru and himself are. Bastard. 

 “W-what?! Now?! B-but it’s so late... g-guys, are you sure this is a- a good idea-?!”

 “Yes, ya fuckin’ moron, it’s a fuckin’ great idea!” Mondo snarls, at the exact same time Ishimaru— eyes bright and feverish— exclaims, “yes! It is an excellent idea!” 

 Uncomfortable at their agreement, Mondo finally tears his eyes away, ignoring the churning feeling in his chest as he storms down the hall to where the bathhouse is, mere meters away. Ishimaru stares after him for a stunned second, but quickly spurs himself into motion, using his long-ish legs to catch up quick, head held high as they march determinedly on. God... he’s so fucking...

 Shit. 

 When they reach the bathhouse a few moments later, Mondo firmly pushes aside the rational voice inside him that is screaming at him not to do this. He knows his limits when it comes to endurance. While he’s not the best at running, he has great endurance for other things, especially pain and discomfort. (This sentence was removed due to ~~spoilers~~) 

 But Ishimaru... fuck. He’s so fucking passionate, so fucking determined, but who knows what his endurance is like? If he’ll be able to keep up? And it shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t give Mondo pause, but he... he can’t help the stab of concern that fills him as they enter the room, Mondo grabbing a ‘closed for repairs’ sign and putting it in front of the entrance, not wanting anyone to interrupt. 

 He hates the feeling and pushes it away as he turns to glare at Ishimaru, pointing a finger, not wanting to deal with such weakness, but he... he can’t quite manage to force it fully away... 

 Shit. 

 “Alright, here’s the fuckin’ terms. First ta tap out is a fuckin’ bitch ass loser who ain’t worth shit. The one who lasts the longest is the official winner. We ain’t allowed ta touch the other or do anythin’ ta them directly, this is strictly an endurance challenge. Oh, an’ we’re gonna do this fully clothed. What do ya say?!” 

 Mondo sees Ishimaru’s eyes widen when he gets to the last term, the kid fucking shaking his head sharply in denial. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. He’d added that last clause in last minute, realizing as he detailed the rules that they were gonna be fucking half fucking naked in there, and his mind had shorted the fuck out. He’s been in saunas fully clothed before, he knows he can handle it, but he isn’t fucking sure he can handle sitting nearly nude beside Ishi-fucking-maru...

 But of course, the kid wouldn’t fucking agree. Of fucking course...

 “I do not agree to that last term, but I agree to the rest!” 

 Glad his angry flush fully disguises the fucking embarrassed flush he can feel rising on his face, Mondo just nods tensely, sneering, as he storms over to the water cooler in the corner. 

 “Alright, whatever, fucker. Ya got five minutes ta prepare. Then, we’re fuckin’ doin’ this shit.” 

 With that, Mondo grabs a paper cup and downs some water, feeling so impossibly tense. He can feel Ishimaru staring at him, mouth partially open, but he gets spurned into action when Naegi shifts awkwardly beside him, chasing the kid away to one of the lockers, where he... he fucking...

 Starts taking off his fucking clothes...

 Holy. Fucking. Shit. 

 Mondo is staring. Mondo knows he shouldn’t be staring, knows it’s wrong to be staring, but he can’t fucking help it. His eyes are like magnets, drawn to the kid, watching as he takes off all of his fucking layers, folding each one so neatly and carefully as he sticks them in the small fucking locker. The kid hesitates a little when he gets to his fucking tighty-whities (of course the kid wears that shit, of fucking course), but ultimately, he doesn’t take them off. Instead, he bites his lip and grabs a white towel, wrapping it firmly around his waist before putting the rest of his stuff away. Mondo firmly pushes down the stupid as shit rush of disappointment and tells himself to stop staring, to look away, but god, he fucking can’t. Ishimaru, he...

 He’s so fucking gorgeous, so fucking hot, so fucking sexy-

 Mondo feels himself heat the fuck up when Ishimaru turns abruptly and looks him straight in the eyes, looking fucking startled at something. Feeling strangely caught, Mondo looks away as quick as he can, pushing away the stupid as shit thoughts, marching over to a locker stiffly. Shit... he’s gotta fucking get laid one of these days. The tension is doing fucked up shit to his brain... 

 He takes his time putting some of his more fragile shit away, like his crappy cellphone and his key card. He does, honestly, consider taking off his uniform, or at least taking off his duster, but he just... shit. Can’t. Not with how strange he feels inside, his mind’s eye still stupidly forcing him to think of Ishimaru, his stupidly muscular back flexing with every move he made. It means nothing, fucking nothing, but he... shit. It prolly would be better to remain fully clothed, duster included, even if it does put him at a disadvantage. But ya know what, whatever. Doesn’t matter. He knows his limits and knows that he can last longer in the sauna than Ishimaru, even when fully clothed. Shit...

 When the five minutes he gave them are up, he meets up with Ishimaru outside the entrance to the sauna, fully intending to slide it open and step inside, when-

 “Owada-kun, you cannot seriously be considering entering the sauna fully clothed! It’s suicide!” Ishimaru exclaims, sounding fucking concerned as shit. His eyes are wide, and his brows are furrowed, and he’s biting his fucking lip, god fucking damn, and it’s messing with Mondo’s head so fucking much. Why... why the fuck would he care?! Huh?! They’re not fucking friends! Why would he care if Mondo did try and kill himself, huh?! World would fucking be better off for it, shit! 

 Deciding to definitely not say that, Mondo just sneers at the kid, crossing his arms stubbornly. 

 “Just ‘cuz yer a fuckin’ pansy ass bitch don’t mean I am! Now, ya ready ta do this, or are ya a fuckin’ chicken?!”  

 His face flushed, Ishimaru doesn’t even bother to answer, instead just yanking open the door and entering the sauna with a stubborn tilt to his jaw. 

 Staring after the kid for a split second (pushing down the disappointment that he didn’t press the issue harder, proving to Mondo how fucking right he is), Mondo enters on Ishimaru’s heels, the heat not even bothering him one bit. 

 It’s nothing compared to the fire that constantly burns within him. 

 Sliding the door shut behind him, leaving Naegi outside to do whatever the fuck he wants while the contest takes place, Mondo marches over to where Ishimaru is sitting, taking a seat an arm’s length away. He can feel bright red eyes on him, but he determinedly pushes the feeling away, trading a few snide comments with the kid, not even feeling the heat really. 

 About ten minutes in, Mondo will admit the heat is getting to him a little, a thin sheen of sweat making its way onto his skin, which is more uncomfortable than anything. Ishimaru looks a little woozy, so Mondo taunts that the kid should just give up now. Ishimaru just laughs, saying how he never gives up, ever. Fucking pretentious bastard. 

 After half an hour, he can admit he is feeling kinda uncomfortable, the heat becoming somewhat unpleasant, but he’s still feeling pretty good, all things considered. Ishimaru looks flushed as all hell, though, his cheeks bright red and sweat clinging to his muscles. The kid tells him— unprompted— that he’s doing fine, and Mondo’s brain feels too stupid to allow him to do much else than glare, shit... 

 After around fifty minutes, the kid... he looks fucking awful. Mondo isn’t doing too hot, the uncomfortable feeling spreading to be extremely uncomfortable, but he knows he can handle it. The kid, though... he looks like he’s starting to lose it. Ishimaru mentions absently that he’s starting to feel cold, which honestly concerns Mondo, since he knows that shit is a bad sign, but his head is too stupid to remember why, so he just says it’s prolly not good. The kid doesn’t call it quits, though. 

 Instead, he actually... talks... huh. 

 “Y-you can take off your uniform... if you w-want... I- I won’t judge...” the boy mumbles, sounding super fucking exhausted. Mondo tries to snort, but it’s a lot harder than it should be, shit. 

 “N-nah... I’m... I’m... I’m good,” Mondo finds himself muttering back, looking at the kid intensely, wondering why he isn’t giving up when he so clearly feels sick. Mondo finds himself muttering about how red Ishimaru’s is, likening him to a hot spring monkey, of all things. The kid mumbles back about being born with a red face, which makes no fucking sense, but ya know what? He’s too tired to waste energy on this shit. He’s got a challenge to win. 

 After what he figures is an hour and five minutes, the warning bell rings, telling them they have five minutes until curfew. Mondo figures the hall monitor will end this now, since he wouldn’t dare stay out past curfew and risk breaking one of his ‘precious rules,’ but the kid doesn’t seem to even notice the bell had rung. S-shit... that... that’s not good, is it...? 

 Mondo gets distracted from his stupid as shit concern when a new voice pipes up, shocking Mondo. Huh... he hadn’t realized the kid was still out there. Shit. 

 “U-uh guys? It’s almost curfew, shouldn’t you... stop? I know you both want to prove how big of badasses you are but... don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

 Mondo scowls at the meaning of the words, knowing that he sure as shit ain’t gonna back down first. He’s already so worthless. He’s gotta prove that he can at least do this, of all fucking things.

 “Shut up!” he barks, at the same time Ishimaru does, making him feel fucking wigged out at how they’re both on the same page again. 

 Naegi replies back to them, saying something about it being nighttime, and a tie... it honestly offends Mondo, but before he can reply, the kid is... talking... saying something about how in a true competition, there are no ties. That you either win or you lose, and that... that’s the only thing that matters. It honestly kinda pisses Mondo off, even if he agrees fully, so he fires back how he will push the kid right up to the gates of hell, meaning it fully. 

 He tells Naegi to leave then, knowing that this might drag on a lot longer than he had anticipated. Shit. He knew Ishimaru was fucking stubborn as shit, willing to do absolutely anything to reach his goals, but this... this is just madness. Utter madness. As Naegi leaves, Mondo cannot help how he stares at the hall monitor, who looks so fucking sick right now. He does his best to ignore it, to wait the kid out, but when roughly fifteen more minutes pass and the kid isn’t tapping out, despite looking half dead, he... he can’t help the worry that he feels. And then, when the kid closes his eyes, barely breathing, Mondo... s-shit... 

 “Hey... man... are you... are you okay...? Ya don’t... don’t look so good...” 

 Mondo listens, getting really kinda freaked, when Ishimaru lets out a soft puff of air, almost like he’s trying to laugh but can’t find the energy. He lolls his head over to Mondo, the first movement he’s done in minutes, but his eyes are still closed, which looks so fucking freaky. It takes him far longer than it should to open his eyes, and when he does, they... shit. They look glazed, like the kid isn’t fucking in there, like he... he’s...

 Already dead...

 F-fuck... 

 It really does look like that, though. Eyes glazed, mouth partially open, chest so scarily still... o-oh, shit. Shit, what if he... what if he is dead...?! Y-yeah, he just moved, but he- he looks so still, it... Mondo... 

 But then the kid is speaking, and he sounds so very out of it, but at least he’s alive, thank god... 

 “I- I’m... I’m fine, I...” 

 Oh, shit... no, he... he’s not fine, is he...? Shit... s-shit...

 “Shit... man... no, y’ain’t. I know my... my limits. I’ve got some time... left in me... but you... shit. Just give up, dude. Just... just give... up...” 

 It makes something in Mondo clench when he sees the kid’s face screw up, like he wants to cry but just has no tears left within him. And then he... he’s speaking... 

 “No... n-no, I can’t... I- I can’t... give up... I have to... have to...”

 The kid stops, then, and Mondo feels so fucking confused, his head all stupid because of the heat, making it hard to think. What? He has to... what? 

 “Hafta... what? What... is so important... ta ya?”

 The kid blinks, like he hadn’t expected to be spoken to, before opening his mouth and muttering words. It... it’s like the kid doesn’t even know he’s speaking, the words sounding so fucking slurred and soft. Mondo has to strain to hear them, even though the silence is oppressive between them. 

 “I can’t... give up... must... restore... honor... family... f-family name...” 

 Mondo furrows his eyebrows, his lips turned down in a frown, not... not understanding...

 “Yer family... name? What… what about it?” 

 Ishimaru blinks, like he can barely understand what Mondo is saying, and fuck is that scary... 

 “I must... fix his mistakes. I must... I must bring honor t-to... to our name... my grandfather...”

 Okay, that... that doesn’t make any fucking sense... his grandfather? The fuck? Shit... Ishimaru needs to stop this, he... he’s not making any sense...

 “What? The fuck... the fuck ya talkin’ ‘bout, man? Shit... Ishimaru, yer ‘bout ta... ta fuckin’ pass out... why can’t ya just... just give up, man?” 

 Ishimaru isn’t looking at him anymore and is instead staring blankly at the steam that is billowing around them, looking like he’s not aware where the fuck he is. It makes Mondo’s stomach clench, the concern rising. He... he doesn’t wanna give up, needs to prove himself, but he... Ishimaru... f-fuck... 

 And then... Ishimaru starts talking again...

 “It... it’s all up to me to fix it... t-to make it better... m-make it- it right-! I... I can’t... give up, I... I’m not... not allowed to... give up... giving up is- is wrong... and immoral, and- and I am not wrong! I... I’m not- not immoral... I... I’m better... better than my grandfather... better than myself... better... than...” 

 Okay. Okay. Okay, it’s official. Mondo is fucking freaked the fuck out. What... what does any of that even mean? He... Ishimaru...

 “Fuck, dude, yer- yer scarin’ me... what the hell does… does any a’ that even… even mean? Yer the fuckin’... Ultimate Moral Compass... ‘course yer not- not... immoral...” 

 Ishimaru is shaking now, eyes still glazed, staring at the steam as if it holds the answer to life itself. And fuck... it’s so fucking creepy... 

 “But I am, I am... I’m worthless, I’m nothing... my grandfather... he’d done so many terrible things, had hurt s-so many people... he’d ruined... ruined Japan... e-everyone hated him... hated me... I have to do better... to be better... to fix... my grandfather’s... mistakes...”

 His grandfather? Who the fuck is his grandfather? And why... why does he even matter? Even if he was so fucking terrible, Ishimaru... he ain’t... he...

 “Dude... y’ain’t... ain’t yer grandfather... yer yer own person... an’ frankly... I kinda... kinda like... s-shit. Just... stop this, man. Just admit it. Admit it’s... too much...” 

 The kid shakes his head, and Mondo doesn’t know how he’s able to even hear him, as far fucking gone as he looks, but fuck, he’s clearly responding, ain’t he...? 

 “Nnnn- n-no! I- I... I can’t... can’t admit... weakness... god I’m so... so weak... pathetic... the children, they’re right about me, they’re all so... so right... I’ll never... amount to- to anything... I’m worthless... pathetic... scum...” 

 H-holy shit... Ishimaru he... he can’t fucking believe that... can he? No... n-no, he... he ain’t none of that shit, Mondo is, Mondo is, but not- not Ishimaru! He... he’s fucking... he... 

 “Ishimaru... Ishimaru, stop... s-stop! Y’ain’t... none a’ that is... is true... yer the best... goddamn person I ever... ever met, ya... ya never gave up on me... no matter how horrible I treated ya... ya just... wouldn’t leave... I tried ta make ya leave, why... why wouldn’t ya leave...” 

 He hadn’t meant to ask the question, voice so fucking soft, but he couldn’t help it. It’s been plaguing him for weeks now, wondering why... why Ishimaru bothered staying... why he didn’t just leave his ass... why he didn’t just... give up on him... like everyone always does... 

 “Me... leave? Why? Where would I... go...? I’ve n-never... had a friend... if this is... is friendship... then what else can I... do? I don’t... w-wanna... be...... alone.........”

 Oh... oh, shit... suddenly, so many things make so much fucking sense. Why the kid always seems so fucking nervous and awkward around people, though he tries his damndest to hide it. Why he is always alone, never seen really talking to anyone, not without a reason. Why he always... always does his best to extend olive branches to people, offering to tutor or help or do whatever is needed to... to get them to talk to him... g-god... he never would have thought the kid would have no friends, even though it’s so fucking obvious when Mondo thinks about it. He’s just... he’s just so fucking bright and full of sunshine... Mondo can’t imagine people seeing that and not... not wanting to... 

 It’s right then, in that moment, brain stupid from heat, halfway gone but not fully gone yet, that Mondo... Mondo makes a decision. 

 If they survive this stupid fucking challenge... he... he will be Ishimaru— no, Kiyotaka, his name is- is Kiyotaka... he will be Kiyotaka’s friend... and he will be a fucking good one, the friend that the kid... that he fucking deserves...

 If the kid even wants to be friends with him... 

 “Fuckin’... shit, man. Yer not... alone... I’m here. Ishimaru... Kiyotaka... I’m right... right here...” 

 The kid shakes his head, breath still shallow, but now it’s wavering, shaking... trembling... g-god... fuck...

 “No... no... I’m alone, I’m alone. Everyone... always leaves... my mother... my grandfather... even my father would leave... if he could... he’s never... never understood me. No one... understands me... I don’t... even... understand...... myself..........”

 Oh. Oh. Oh. This... this poor fucking boy... he... s-shit. Shit... this... they gotta fucking stop this... they... 

 “I... I understand ya. Yer... yer like me... ain’t ya? Shit. We gotta... gotta stop this, man... what are ya... tryin’... ta prove?” 

 Kiyotaka is shaking again, looking like he wants to cry but just... can’t. God... god... fucking... god.

 “Everything. Everything. Every… everything… I have to prove them... wrong. I have to prove... that I can do this. If I... if I give up... i-if I let myself give up... then I fail. I fail, I fail, I fail, I fail, I fail. I c-can’t... fail, I can’t... g-give up... or else... what is... the point... of me...?” 

 Point? The point? Why... why does he have to have a point? Shit... he’s so fucking amazing, he... he doesn’t have to have a point... no more than just... just being... 

 “Ain’t gotta... have a point man... ya can just... be. Be... Kiyotaka. What’s so wrong... with that?” 

 The blank look on the kid’s face grows, his voice soft, weak. Trembling, like he doesn’t mean to say it, like he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Mondo has never heard someone sound so... so... dead before... h-holy shit...

 “Everything. Everything. Everything. E-everything... is wrong with... me... I- I’m too... too much. T-too passionate... too vibrant... I- I hurt... hurt my own eyes... I hate... l-looking at myself... hate... b-being myself... if I could... be someone else... I- I would... gladly...” 

 No. No. No, fucking... no! Ish- Kiyo... Kiyotaka can’t fucking believe that... yeah, he’s so fucking passionate, so fucking bright, but that... that’s not a bad thing... he... he’s so fucking good... so fucking... amazing... and he... Mondo wouldn’t...

 “I wouldn’t. Want that. Yer... fuck. Yer somethin’... somethin’ special... I thought I... I hated that ‘bout you, but... man you... you shine... I don’t deserve... someone as... as wonderful... as you...”

 Kiyotaka is shaking his head again, barely breathing, looking so dead, so very, very... dead...

 Oh, god...

 “I- I’m not... wonderful. I’m not... anything. T-the children... they hated me... t-they all... hated me. My f-father... hates me. My mother... if she could s-see me... now... s-she’d hate me... too. Why... w-why do I bother... trying...? W-why... why don’t I just... g-give up...” 

 N-no... no, no, god, please... no... Mondo feels pressure behind his eyes, and he doesn’t think he has ever felt such pain. Because that... that sounds so goddamn familiar... he always has seen Kiyotaka as so different to him, so much better, so much brighter. But if the kid is to be believed... he... he thinks of himself like... like Mondo thinks of himself, and he... he can’t... can’t fucking stand that thought, oh god... 

 “Kiyo... Kiyota- Taka. Kiyo... Taka. Just... ya don’t hafta... give up... but yer... yer gonna kill yerself if ya... keep this up... s-shit...”

 Mondo feels himself go cold when Kiyotaka responds, sounding half dead, looking so... so nothing... 

 “Kill... myself? No... I’m not- not that weak... not anymore... not... n-not again... but maybe... maybe... m-maybe it would be better. If I weren’t... weren’t...” a pause. “Alive...”

 What?! No... no, no.... nonononononononononono-!!! He... he can’t... he can’t-

 “What?! Dude... no... god... fuckin’... dammit! Ya can’t be... serious... Kiyo... Taka, ya can’t...”

 “I am. I am. I- I am. If I wasn’t... so weak. If I wasn’t... s-so afraid. I know... k-know how to fix it... a-all of it. How to... t-to make it better. My father... would be happier. The children... w-would be happier. And I... I... I’d be... I’d be...”

 A pause. Inhalation of breath. And then... softly, so fucking softly...

 “Dead...” 

 No. No. No, fucking-! No. This... this is so fucking stupid, why is Mondo doing this, he... he has to stop this. This kid ain’t gonna stop, he can’t fucking stop, he won’t stop until he is fucking dead, and Mondo... Mondo can’t... he fucking can’t-

 He can’t lose someone else... not during another fucking challenge that he fucking issued... he just... can’t.

 “Okay. That’s it. This ain’t... fuckin’ worth it. If y’ain’t... gonna quit... then I! I fuckin’... I fuckin’ will. Ya... ya win... Kiyo... Taka... ya... ya win. Now, c’mon, man. Let’s… let’s get outta here.”

 With all the strength he has left, Mondo stands and hobbles over to where Kiyotaka is sitting, looking like a puppet with its strings cut. He’s not moving, barely breathing, and his eyes are so glazed over Mondo doesn’t think he can even see right now. Mondo has never seen someone look so still before, and it scares the ever-loving shit out of him. Especially now that he... he knows that... that the kid has tried... or at least wanted...

 Fuck. 

 Fuck. 

 Fuck.

 But he doesn’t have time to hate himself for issuing this stupid ass challenge. He doesn’t have time to waste. Gathering all his strength, he bends down, and he wraps an arm around Kiyotaka, heart stopping when he feels how boneless he is, not moving at all. But then, as he starts moving towards the door, he feels the kid start to struggle. It’s weak and doesn’t sway Mondo even a second, but fuck does it relieve him. The kid is even able to walk a little, barely. It... it’s good. 

 The second he manages to get the door open, however, the cool air almost torture on his overheated skin, he feels Kiyotaka gasp, all the fragile strength he had gone as his knees buckle, making him deadweight. But Mondo hasn’t spent the majority of his life lifting weights for nothing, so he just adjusts his grip, taking on more of the kid’s weight. He doesn’t lift him, doesn’t have time for that, but he drags him bodily over to the bench, accidentally throwing him on it since he’s not really at a hundred percent himself. He sees the kid start to topple, then, and he immediately moves forward to steady the kid, the skin under his hands far, far too warm. Oh... shit, that’s not... not good, oh fuck...

 “Goddamn shit. Ya look... fuck man. Why didn’t ya just... dammit. Ya need water... I’ll be right back.”

 Mondo stand abruptly then, feeling clumsy and wrong. His chest feels so fucking painful, like it’s being sat on by an elephant, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more concerned for anyone. Well... other than one person... but shit, he can’t think of him, not now. Not now. Not when Kiyotaka needs him. He takes off his duster as he strides forward, tossing it carelessly on a bench, too fucking hot to deal with that shit. He needs to go quick, needs to... to get back to Kiyotaka... and he needs to drink some water himself, fuck, he’s so fucking dehydrated... fuck. 

 However... once he’s at the water cooler, filling up one of the paper cups for himself to drink, he hears the kid muttering again, the words making no goddamn sense, but damn if it doesn’t make his heart clench...

 “...they won’t, they won’t, they won’t... I’m alone, again... all alone... everyone has left... everyone leaves me in the end... why would I expect anything different... why would I expect-“

 Shit. Shit. Shit. Mondo quickly finishes filling the cup and downs it, filling the second one as quickly as possible while the kid rambles on about being alone again. As soon as the cup is full Mondo practically teleports back to the kid’s side, an odd sense in him that he never, ever wants to be anywhere else... 

 “Shit, Kiyotaka, I’m here. I just... had ta drink myself, shit. Now c’mon. Drink this. Please, man. Fer me. I can’t... ya can’t fuckin’ die on me, man... f-fuck...” 

 He carefully places his hand on the back of Kiyotaka’s neck, lifting it gently up, so he can get the kid to drink some water. He knows that the boy is prolly dehydrated as fuck, and he seriously hopes that’s the only thing wrong with him, because if it isn’t... s-shit. He can feel Kiyotaka struggle as he moves him, his lips moving, muttering those fucking words again... 

 “W-why am I so weak, I need to... to be stronger... to be... better...”

 God, is everything this kid says gonna make his heart break? God... he’s not equipped for this, he doesn’t know how to be kind, to be gentle, but after all the shit he has done, all the pain and misery he has needlessly made this wondrous, incredible, sad fucking boy go through... he owes it to him to not only try, but to succeed. 

 Even if it fucking kills him... 

 “Shh... hey, it’s okay. Y’ain’t fuckin’ weak, man, yer goddamn incredible. Now c’mon. Stop fightin’ me. Let me take care a’ you. You... you’ve been so strong fer so long. Let me... let me help you...” 

 With that, he slowly presses the cup against the kid’s lips, and he feels as he struggles, whimpering softly, scared. Shit, he... he prolly has no idea what the fuck is going on, is so fucking disoriented... 

 He begins whispering to the kid then, not knowing what to say, but just... knowing he has to say something, something soothing. He hums softly as he decides to just... let the soft words that he’s been gathering for weeks now out of his heart, telling Kiyotaka that he is there, that he will always be there, promising that he’s not alone, that he’ll never be alone again, that Mondo will take care of him, he promises... he promises... 

 And then he... he says...

 “Open up, Kiyotaka, shit. P-please... I’m beggin’ ya man... just... drink some water...” 

 The kid... Kiyotaka stops struggling then, and finally, finally opens his lips. It’s just a little, a small amount, but it’s enough for a small trickle of water to get passed his dry and cracked lips, which is so fucking relieving. But then... then the kid startles again, a soft sound of distress getting released as he panics, taking too much water too quick. Oh, shit... 

 So fucking scared, not knowing what to do but knowing he has to do something, Mondo lowers the hand holding the cup but doesn’t put it down, moving his other hand to rub soothing circles on the kid’s back, shushing him softly. 

 “Aw, shit. Slowly, man, slowly. That’s it, nice an’ easy... I’m gonna try that again, okay? Go slow this time. Idiot.”

 With that, Mondo moves his hand back to Kiyotaka’s neck and brings the cup back up to his lips, praying that he will drink this time. He’s so fucking dehydrated and if he won’t drink, Mondo is gonna have to call an ambulance or some shit, because he needs liquid, and fast. 

 Luckily, this time when he asks the kid to open up, he does so immediately. And then, when he tips a little of the liquid into his mouth, the kid doesn’t panic and just... sips it. Slowly. Mondo can see his throat working, moving slowly, swallowing the water, and fuck... he’s never felt so relieved in his life, watching the kid drink some fucking water, god... 

 However, then the kid is letting out a sound of desperation, seeming to realize that he is so fucking thirsty or something. He sees the kid’s hands try to come up, wavering so fucking much as they try and force the water down faster, but Mondo stops him, knowing he needs to go slow. 

 “Aw, shit man, stop! Ya gotta go slow. Yer dehydrated, ya can’t drink it too fast... trust me, man. I got you. I won’t let you down. Not again. I… I promise.”

 And he means it. He fucking means it. He has failed this kid so many fucking times, but he won’t this time, and he never will again. Because now he... he knows that this kid fucking matters. He’s always known that, from the minute the kid had run into him and knocked his world on its side, but- but he... he’s always been so afraid of it. Of the feeling. Of what it means. 

 But he’s not afraid of it. Not now. Not... not anymore. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, why this boy matters so fucking much to him, but it just doesn’t matter now, and he refuses to let his goddamn fucking nonsense ruin this shit anymore. This kid has faced some truly horrible fucking things, things that Mondo has barely scratched the surface of but can tell have damaged the kid so fucking much. He has scars all over his chest and back, which Mondo has noticed before, of course he’s noticed them, but now he’s really starting to realize what exactly they mean, and it just... it’s fucking him up inside, and all he wants is to bundle this kid up and never let him get hurt again, keep him safe from all harm, and Mondo has always felt like that, always wanted that, but now, for once...

 He’s not afraid of it. 

 And he won’t back down. 

 Not unless Kiyotaka wants him to...

 (But even then. Even then, Mondo will do everything he can to keep him safe. He won’t stalk the kid, but he will make sure that no one dares to lay a finger on him. He’s firmly under Mondo’s protection now. Nothing will change that. Absolutely nothing.) 

 Knowing that Kiyotaka needs to drink more, so he’s not so weak (physically. He’s so fucking strong emotionally, so fucking strong) anymore, he presses the cup back to the boy’s lips, his heart lurching softly when the kid immediately opens up and drinks, slowly, not even needing Mondo to remind him to go slow and steady. Mondo is so fucking proud of the kid, like a fucking mother hen, but he doesn’t care. This kid deserves all the softness in the world. If there’s one thing Mondo is sure of, it’s that. 

 It doesn’t take long for the cup to run empty, but the kid needs more, so Mondo gets up to refill the cup. But then he’s fucking crying, sad and pitiful, and Mondo immediately returns, holding him close, saying to him, “aw, shit, I’m just getting more water, alright? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

 And when Mondo is forced to leave again— though god does he not want to— he keeps talking. Promising that he’ll be right back, that he’s not leaving, that he will never leave again... promises that he will never break, and not just because he doesn’t break promises, but because he fucking means the shit out of them. More than any promise he’s ever made before. 

 He’s back soon after, bringing two cups with him this time, helping Kiyotaka drink, and drink, and drink. Mondo doesn’t know much about severe dehydration, just knows that it’s important for the person to be given fluids, preferably sports drinks, but since he doesn’t have that shit, water will have to do. If Kiyotaka doesn’t get better after the third cup, Mondo’s gonna try and see if he can take him to the nurse if the lady is still there. If not... shit. He’ll prolly have to call an ambulance, since he doesn’t think Kiyotaka could handle riding on his hog to the hospital, which is at least a ten-minute ride away. He’s hoping he won’t have to do that, though. Hopes that drinking the water will be enough to help him. He also hopes that it’s just dehydration that’s the problem... fuck. 

 The good thing is that Kiyotaka is drinking willingly. And the more he drinks, the more lucid he appears. He still seems very out of it, but about halfway through the third cup, he starts blinking rapidly, like waking himself from a dream. His eyebrows furrow, and he starts looking around a bit. He takes in the bathhouse and even looks down at his chest, like he’s just then noticing that he’s half naked. Mondo allows him to do this, but always makes sure the kid is still drinking, wanting to make sure he gets at least three cups in, since he had to have lost a lot of water while sweating. Mondo himself isn’t feeling too hot and knows he needs to drink more, too, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t ensure that Kiyotaka is okay before doing anything else for himself. 

 Mondo knows the exact second that things slot into place for the kid, since one second he’s loose and pliant in his arms, allowing him to hold his neck and give him the water, and the next he’s sitting ramrod straight, eyes wide. It startles Mondo a bit and he straightens up from the hunch he’d found himself in, so fucking relieved to see some lucidity in those bright red eyes. Fuck, but was that glazed look terrifying... 

 “Oh, shit. Are ya back? Ya really fuckin’ scared me there, dude, the fuck...? I was ‘bout ta take yer ass ta the nurse, consequences be damned. Shit, should I still do that...? Kiyotaka?” 

 The kid is just staring at him, his skin far too pale, his eyes moving back and forth over Mondo’s face as he seems to try to be figuring something out. They then widen somehow further and then-

 “Aw, shit! Fuck, man, what the hell!”

 Mondo stares wide eyed at the kid as he abruptly stands, his body shaking horribly, looking like he just saw a ghost, shit... Mondo is afraid the kid is about to collapse so he stands quickly, hands hovering to ensure he doesn’t fall, but the kid doesn’t seem to notice him. Oh... shit... he’s not better, is he? God fucking dammit...

 “W-w-w-what... w-what... h-h-happened?! I... I didn’t... oh god...” 

 Mondo sees Kiyotaka sway then, looking like he’s about to faint, scaring the absolute shit out of Mondo. Rushing forward, he grabs the kid by his shoulders, holding him upright. Part of him wants to pull him close, to wrap him up and never let him go, but he can tell the kid is super fucking freaked out, and he doesn’t want to make him panic, shit. 

 “What the fuck... aw, shit, y’ain’t better. Okay, that’s it. I’m takin’ ya ta the fuckin’ nurse. Goddamnit...” 

 Mondo tries to move Kiyotaka, then, carefully guiding him over to the door so they can make the stupidly long walk to the nurse’s office, mind racing a mile a minute as he tries to determine if it wouldn’t just be better to call the ambulance now. On one hand, he doubts the nurse is still there, since it’s well after curfew, but on the other... calling for an ambulance means he might have to explain this shit, and he just... shit. But he needs to do right by Kiyotaka, and if that includes getting himself in trouble, he’ll fucking do it. He doesn’t care what happens to him, just as long as this wonderful, incredible boy is safe. Huh...

 As distracted as Mondo is, he doesn’t expect any resistance to his movement, expecting Kiyotaka to be as pliant as he previously had been. As such, when the kid fucking pulls away from him, weak as it is, Mondo isn’t expecting it and thus is unable to keep his grip. And he watches, heart stopping, as the kid slams into the row of lockers, collapsing immediately to the ground with a soft noise of pain. 

 Shit!!!

 “Shit! Kiyotaka, are you fuckin’ alright?! What the hell, man?! Stop bein’ an idiot and let me take ya ta the nurse, fuck!” 

 He doesn’t mean to sound angry or anything, he’s just so fucking scared, needing the kid to cooperate so he can just get better already and not make Mondo worry he’s gonna fucking die or something... but given the way that Kiyotaka glares at him (or tries to glare, Mondo can tell he’s still a little out of it and can’t quite put the usual amount of passion into it), he can tell the kid intends to be difficult, looking at him like he doesn’t want Mondo to come any closer or something. Mondo immediately says, ‘fuck that,’ though, and rushes to the kid’s side, kneeling down, his eyes bleeding with his concern. He watches the kid blink, some more lucidity rising within the red, as he opens his mouth to speak. 

 “W-wait! I don’t... dang it. I don’t need to go to the- t-the nurse! I’m just... confused. Give me... give me a moment to... collect myself!” Kiyotaka says, his chest heaving with the effort of speaking. Mondo looks at him firmly, ensuring the kid means it and that he’s not just saying random, nonsense bullshit again. 

 Once he’s satisfied that the kid is, in fact, lucid enough to make that decision, he nods stiffly, still feeling so very, very concerned. 

 “Alright... shit, fine. If ya say so. But ya gotta drink some more water, alright?! Slowly. I should drink more too, fuck...”

 Mondo stands, then, and walks over to the water cooler again, hands tingling unpleasantly as he leaves Kiyotaka’s side. He quickly fills up two fresh cups of water and hurries back, handing the kid one of the cups as soon as he is by his side. 

 As soon as the kid takes it, Mondo flops down to sit beside him, so close they touch, and begins to drink his water, finding comfort in being able to feel the kid warm against his side. He is honestly thirsty as fuck, wanting to gulp it down again, but he forces himself to go slow, not wanting to be a hypocrite. He notices after a second that Kiyotaka isn’t drinking and is just staring at him blankly, eyes glazing over again, which scares him more than he is willing to say, fuck. 

 “Dude. Drink. Or I’m draggin’ ya ta the nurse, kickin’ an’ screamin’. Don’t think I won’t,” Mondo rumbles, startling the kid out of whatever fugue he’d entered into. The kid glares at him lightly, not nearly as strong as Mondo knows it could be, but at least he doesn’t try and counter him. He just brings the cup to his lips and drinks the cool water slowly, his eyes darting back and forth as he thinks hard about something. They don’t glaze over again, though, so Mondo lets him be and just drinks his water, every cell in his body so fucking aware of the kid sitting directly beside him. It honestly would scare him, how much he cares about this kid, if he’d not already decided to not care about that shit anymore. He cares about the kid. He doesn’t know why, he just does. End of fucking story. 

 Mondo doesn’t know how long they sit there drinking their water, and he doesn’t really care. He usually hates sitting still for so long, his skin crawling to get up and do something already, but strangely... he doesn’t really mind it too much. Sitting here, beside Kiyotaka. It... despite the worry he still feels, there’s also a strange calmness inside him now. Like... like something inside him that had been out of place and broken for years is just... gone, allowing him to breathe easy for the first time. It’s so strange but also... so very, very nice...

 Eventually their cups run empty, and Mondo is about to offer to get them both some more water again when the kid speaks. His voice is low and shaky, but it sounds a lot better and more lucid than it had before, which relieves the shit out of him. But then he comprehends the words, and he...

 “O-Owada... back in... in the, uh, sauna... I didn’t, um. Say anything strange. Did I?” Kiyotaka asks softly, looking very nervous. It concerns Mondo a lot that the kid apparently doesn’t remember what happened in the sauna, but he supposes it makes sense. He had been super fucking outta it... 

 He still takes his time to think about it. He usually just blurts out his words, no thought put into them at all, but this... shit. This matters. And he has to be so fucking careful if he doesn’t want to hurt the kid again. And god, does he not wanna do that... 

 Finally, he figures he’ll go the safe route and figure out what, exactly, the kid does and doesn’t remember. If he remembers nothing, then maybe... maybe it would be better to keep it that way, shit... 

 Ignoring the way his heart clenches at the thought, he sets his face into a carefully neutral expression, revealing nothing as he speaks, voice a low rumble. 

 “That depends. What do ya remember?”

 Mondo watches, heart clenched strangely again, as Kiyotaka bites his lip gently, eyes unfocused as he thinks. They’re not glazed, though, so Mondo thinks he’s just concentrating, not zoning out. After a few moments, the kid glances up at him, expression open and searching. It makes Mondo want to gasp, everything in him swirling, and when the kid speaks, still looking at him, he... h-he... 

 “I’m… I’m not sure. It’s all... fuzzy. I can’t quite tell... what is real or not. I have no idea what I said during that last part, though... just fragments of old memories and thoughts.” Kiyotaka pauses, his hands shaking lightly. He looks away then, down at the ground, and Mondo feels so strangely bereaved... “But I... I remember you... you said... things. About- a-about me. Y-you... you called me... wonderful. Special. H-heh! H-how r-ridiculous! I must... must have been- been hallucinating! Aha!” 

 The kid sounds nervous, frantic, like he’s afraid Mondo will hurt him, like he’s afraid Mondo will laugh at him, will tell him that he... he’s wrong, that Mondo hadn’t said that, that he... he doesn’t believe that...

 Which is bullshit. Because he did say that. And he’d meant it. Means it. Fully and completely. 

 Mondo consciously forces his shoulders to lose the tension that had entered them unbidden at Kiyotaka’s frantic words, sighing softly, a wry smile rising on his lips as he looks at the kid. The kid looks so fucking scared, so desperate, like he doesn’t believe that Mondo had said that shit, but that he wants to believe it. 

 And, shit... even if he hadn’t said it, he sure as shit would say it now. Because Kiyotaka truly is wonderful and special, ain’t he...? 

 Heh... 

 “Nah. That, uh. That happened. You really don’t remember what you said?” he asks as casually as he can, his head tilted in question, hoping he’s hiding the way his heart is racing well enough, but honestly not really caring if he’s not. He... he doesn’t want to keep shit from this kid. Not... not anymore... he watches as Kiyotaka shakes his head weakly, moving his eyes to stare at his hands again. It makes Mondo’s smile widen, eyes soft as silk. Heh. So... so fucking cute...

 “Heh. Makes sense. Ya weren’t exactly all there, ya know. Kept mumblin’ bits a’ nonsense. Could barely make sense a’ ya myself, tell the truth. Somethin’... somethin’ ‘bout yer grandfather. ‘Bout needin’ ta right his wrongs. An’ then there was somethin’ ‘bout other kids? An’ hatred? Ya mentioned how yer da don’t understand ya, how he hates ya, or somethin’. An’ ‘bout how... how ya... ya hate yerself. Which I think is fuckin’ bullshit, ya shouldn’t fuckin’ hate yerself, yer incredible, but whatever. There was a lot a’ other stuff too. ‘Bout not givin’ up, ‘bout havin’ ta prove people wrong. Some other shit, too, but I don’t really ‘member it all, sorry. But... shit man. Is that... is that real? Did ya... did ya really mean alla’ that?” 

 Mondo doesn’t really mean to ask the question, knowing the kid needs to be allowed to rest and relax, not be asked stupid fucking questions, but he can’t help it. He’s not lying when he says he doesn’t quite remember everything. It’s all starting to blur in his head, and while he’s fairly certain he remembers the most of it, some details are starting to slip away, and he just... did the kid really say all that shit, or had he imagined it, too? Shit...

 But then... then, after a moment, Kiyotaka, he... h-he...

 “Aw, shit,” he mutters under his breath, which seems to just make the kid cry harder. It breaks Mondo’s heart so much, hating seeing his tears. God... this kid just always fucking cries around him, doesn’t he...? Shit... shit! H-he didn’t want to make the kid cry! G-god, he... he wants so badly to hold the kid, to keep him safe from the sorrow within him, but would the kid even want that? After everything he’s done, all he’s taken from him, would he actually want to be held in his arms? It’s his fault he’s crying, his fault he’s in this situation, and he doesn’t know if Kiyotaka would want to be anywhere near him, let alone in his arms! But he... he wants so, so badly to... t-to...

 “Please, man, don’t cry, shit, I’m sorry! I... aw, fuck it. Come here.” 

 Mind made up, Mondo darts forward and— carefully as he possibly can— wraps an arm around the kid, pulling him gently to his chest, firm and tight. He can feel the kid struggle against him, and it kills him inside to feel it, especially when the kid starts frantically apologizing, like he thinks Mondo is going to hurt him or something. He thinks it might be best to let him go, to apologize and never touch him again, but he... h-he thinks the problem isn’t that Mondo is hugging him, but that the kid thinks Mondo is upset. So maybe... if he can reassure the kid that it’s okay, that he wants this, maybe... m-maybe he’ll stop struggling so hard... and maybe... m-maybe...

 “Shhh. Shh, c’mon. It’s okay, Kiyotaka. I’m here. Y’ain’t alone. I got you. Ain’t got nothin’ ta ‘pologize fer, ya got it? Yer okay. We’re both okay.” 

 He keeps his arms steady on Kiyotaka, praying to any god that will listen that he’s doing the right thing, that he’s not hurting the kid more, that this is okay, and then... after a minute... after a minute...

 The kid stops. Stops struggling, stops apologizing. His chest is heaving, and his eyes are still leaking tears, but he doesn’t seem distressed at Mondo holding him anymore. At least... Mondo hopes he isn’t. And then... t-then...

 Kiyotaka buries his head in his chest, firm and present, hiding his face. His arms come up too, fists curling into Mondo’s tank top, clutching it like his life depends on it. And then he... he just...

 Lets go.

 The kid is crying so fucking hard, chest heaving, sobs loud and noisy, and fuck, does it hurt. Mondo feels so fucking helpless as he holds the kid, doing all he can to rub soothing circles on his back, whisper soft words in his ear, doing all he can to remember the shit Daiya would say when he was little and he still allowed himself to cry, not yet realizing it was wrong of him to do such a thing. He feels like it’s not enough, never enough, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s never seen the kid cry so hard before. Before he- he would always stifle it, keep it in. 

 Mondo hadn’t realized it at the time, but seeing the kid truly let go now, he can see just how hard he would fight to keep his tears and true sorrow contained, and he feels so much for the boy that he can’t even begin to describe it. It’s like... a sad kind of pride. Like he’s proud the kid was able to keep going despite the sorrow and despair he clearly feels, but also so, so fucking sad that the kid had to do it. That he had to keep this all in, unable to have anyone to share his burden with, to shoulder the pain and anguish he so clearly feels inside. Mondo... M-Mondo knows what that is like, what it’s like to have to always keep everything in, never let it out, and he... he hates that Kiyotaka knows it, too. The pain.  The loneliness. 

 Maybe they really aren’t so different... are they? 

 Fuck... and who knows? Maybe that’s why he’s always cared so much about this kid. He... he just reminds him of him so goddamn much. Of... of the kid he used to be, before he built up walls so high around that child that he’d never see the light of day again. Of the scared little boy that he was, wondering why his parents hated him, why he was never good enough, why he didn’t fucking matter. He’d always been so scared and sad back then, so small and weak. Kinda like Kiyotaka is now, even with how fucking strong he knows this kid to usually be. 

 But...

 But he had Daiya, didn’t he? Even when the whole world was against him, (This sentence was removed due to ~~spoilers~~) he... he always had Daiya. Daiya, who loved him. Daiya, who cared for him. Daiya who raised him, Daiya who taught him, Daiya who sacrificed fucking everything for him. (This sentence was removed due to ~~spoilers~~). It didn’t matter that he was scared, or that he was weak. Daiya loved him regardless, and he always, always kept him safe. 

 Kiyotaka... Kiyotaka never had that... did he? He can’t say for sure, but the kid has never mentioned a sibling, either older or younger, which makes him think he’s an only, no sibs, bro or sis. Which means that he... he didn’t have anyone always on his side. Someone who would protect him no matter what. Or someone that he could protect, no matter what. His da is clearly not that great, if Kiyotaka’s words about him hating him were to go by, and his ma is gone, who knows for how long, or what his relationship was to her when she was around. He... he didn’t have someone to protect him... to keep him safe, from all harm... to... t-to love him...

 Eventually the kid stops crying so hard, the desperate sobs petering out into soft, quiet ones, his breath hitching only slightly every few seconds. And then, a little while later he... he stops sobbing entirely. The tears have run dry, his body has stopped shaking, but he... he doesn’t move away. He just stays there, in Mondo’s arms. 

 Like he belongs there... 

 “Ya feelin’ better?”

 The words are said softly. Gently. He doesn’t wanna spook the kid, knowing how fragile he prolly feels right about now. Mondo gets it. He hasn’t let himself cry fully in years, not even... h-heh. Well. Point is, while he’s not truly cried in years, he remembers how fragile it leaves you feeling afterward. How shaky. 

 And when he sees Kiyotaka’s eyes dart up, looking scared and afraid, Mondo doesn’t tense up. Doesn’t try and hide the openness on his face. He lets the kid see it. The softness. The care. The... the affection, because god, does he feel affection. He lets the kid see it, and he feels the kid settle against him, the fear vanishing, though the lingering sorrow remains. God... how Mondo wishes he could take that away...

 “Yes. I... yes. M-Mondo... t-thank you. I... I’m sorry...”

 Mondo can’t help the way he reaches out at that, hand gently grasping a warm, wet cheek. He realizes absently that that’s the first time the kid has said his name, and god is it making his insides squirm. And he can see the kid look at him with wide, watery eyes, lips open on a soft gasp, looking almost... dazed... shit...

 “Don’t. Thank me. Apologize. Ain’t nothin’, got it? I... I didn’t mind. At all. So, don’t... don’t apologize. It’s alright. You’re... you’re alright.” 

 And he means it. God... does he mean it. It... it had felt nice. So very, very nice. Holding Kiyotaka. Comforting him as he cried, somehow not fucking it up as badly as he’d been fearing. He’s always been so fucking shit at comforting people, feeling like he has to be tough all the time, unable to comfort since tough people aren’t soft and sympathetic. But here, with Kiyotaka... h-he’d been able to be soft. Kind. Gentle. All the things he’s secretly yearned to be for so fucking long, but never was able to, since he doesn’t lead a life that is suited for such things. He always has to be so tough, so strong, but... but with Kiyotaka... with this wondrous, amazing, incredible, beautiful boy...

 He can be soft. 

 And he will never be able to thank Kiyotaka enough for giving him that ability. 

 And when Kiyotaka smiles at him, wide, bright, unrestrained...? Mondo can’t help how he smiles back, wider than he’s ever felt it go before, heart beating so softly and yet meaningfully, feeling so very much for this precious boy. He... he’ll never be able to repay him for this... will he? For what he has given him this day... even if they are never this close again, even if Kiyotaka doesn’t want anything to do with him after this, he’ll never forget what this felt like. What it feels like to be soft. And gentle. And... and kind. 

 But... shit. Shit. 

 Now that they have this... now that he’s tasted this... what happens now? He... he doesn’t wanna... 

 “Shit, man. The fuck we do now? I... I don’t wanna go back ta how it was. I... shit. I was a goddamn monster ta ya these last few weeks... since we met, shit… I... goddamn it,” Mondo mutters, feeling his smile fade as pain fills him, remembering all the shit he has done to this poor, amazing kid. The shit he’s said. The way he’s acted. Kiyotaka gave him so much today, but he hadn’t earned any of it, had he...? He can see the kid shaking his head, looking frantic, like he doesn’t agree, and Mondo can’t help how he glares. Lightly, but it still makes the kid flinch back, proving how much he’s hurt him, and how much he can still, potentially, hurt him. God... he doesn’t wanna ever hurt him... not again… “No, don’t deny it. I was a fuckin’ moron. I just... I ain’t ever... I don’t get you, Kiyotaka. What I feel... when you- you look at me...” 

 And it’s true. He still doesn’t quite get it. What he feels. Why he feels it. It... he thinks he might kinda get it, might kinda realize what this feeling is, why he wants to protect this kid so badly, but it... it doesn’t quite feel like it fits. And he just... he just doesn’t know... but... if not this then... what else? H-heh... 

 Sighing softly, feeling so confused but strangely not angry about it, Mondo allows a wry smile to rise on his lips as he presses closer to the kid, as close as he’s always secretly longed to be, since that first day when he held him but not ever close enough. One of his hands is curled loosely around Kiyotaka’s waist, while his other is still gently cupping his cheek and has been for a little while now. He notices dimly how they are almost bare, Kiyotaka wearing only his underwear while Mondo is in his thin tank top and loose black pants, and he can feel the kid’s heat as it presses against him, oddly intoxicating. Mondo’s hair is down from its pomp, having been knocked loose sometime in the sauna, and it’s been years since someone outside his gang saw him without it up, it makes him feel so naked to have it down, but he... he doesn’t really care. Not when it’s only Kiyotaka who sees it. 

 He... he wants Kiyotaka to see all of him... every last part. 

 Because he... he views the kid like... like a... 

 “It’s like yer my brother or somethin’. Like... my nerdy, dorky little brother. Someone I gotta take care of. Protect. Keep safe, from all harm. I never... shit. I had my brother, but he... he’s gone now. I can’t... I couldn’t protect him, fuck. An’ I… f-fuck. I can’t protect you, either, can I...?  No, I… I can’t... I can’t... a-and why the fuck would you want a fuck-up like me, anyway? You... god, you could do so much better... why would you want someone like me as your brother, s-shit...” 

 The thought stabs Mondo through the heart, the realization that as much as he may want to have this with Kiyotaka, to have a brotherhood with him, they... they likely never will. Because Mondo has messed up too much. Because Mondo ruined their chance before it ever even had the opportunity to live. Because Mondo is so fucking broken and damaged that no one in their right mind would ever want him as a brother. Daiya was forced to have him, and he was so fucking amazing that he chose to love him anyway, but Kiyotaka... he doesn’t have to be stuck with him. He doesn’t owe Mondo anything, anything at all. In fact, Mondo is the one who owes Kiyotaka. So much. So very, very much. Kiyotaka wouldn’t want him. He just... he wouldn’t. 

 And as he feels the kid freeze against him, breath stuttering and harsh, he... he knows he’s right, isn’t he? S-shit... he shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have thought himself good enough to deserve such a gift. Kiyotaka, wanting him like that... wanting him at all... while he may have been soft and pliant in his arms a moment ago, seeming like he was at ease, that doesn’t mean it was because of Mondo or anything that Mondo did. He’d been through an emotional time and he’d needed comfort, and Mondo had just been the nearest warm body. Doesn’t mean he trusts Mondo or that he wants anything from him at all. He’d have to be the world’s biggest fool to think Kiyotaka could ever want him, want him at all. 

 And Mondo... he may be a fool, but he ain’t that big of a fool. 

 Heart aching painfully in his chest, Mondo can’t help how he pulls away, not wanting to force Kiyotaka to be near him when he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve it at all.

 “Shit, I was right, goddamn it, aw shit! J-just forget I said anything, I- fuck!” 

 Mondo hands come up to clutch at his hair, then, the grip tight and painful but he doesn’t care. He wants it to hurt. To ache. It’s what he deserves for fucking this whole thing up, for being so woefully unworthy of being close to such a bright and beautiful boy. Maybe, had he been better— a better person, a good person— he could have been worthy of it. Had he never let his insecurities get in the way, had he just accepted what he felt as true the minute he felt it, not pushed it away in fear, maybe... maybe then, he could have had this. Kiyotaka, as his friend. Kiyotaka, as his brother. 

 But no. No, no. He had pushed it away. Had been afraid of it, so very afraid. Had let his fear turn to anger, like he was so wont to do, and ruined everything before it even began. 

 He deserves all the misery he feels for how stupid he’d been... 

 Mondo gets jolted out of his thoughts when he feels a soft, tentative hand touch him, his eyes wide and manic as he looks at Kiyotaka, who looks so fucking afraid, god. H-he scares the kid so goddamn much, like he scares everyone, because he’s a monster, a senseless beast that only ever hurts people. Breaks people. He’s not allowed nice things, not allowed good things. Not allowed to be gentle, or soft, or kind. He... he’s just not... 

 To his utter shock, he can see Kiyotaka smile at him. It’s soft, and hesitant, and... and beautiful... but it can’t be real. It... the kid is trying to be kind, trying to hide his fear to make Mondo feel better, because he’s so goddamn nice, so fucking good, shit- 

 “N-no! Don’t worry! I was just- not expecting that! But I- I feel- the same. I feel- the same! I would be honored, Mondo Owada, to be considered your brother! I’ve never had a brother, never even had a friend, but I couldn’t imagine a better one than you! Y-you... you’re incredible...” 

 He... he... does he really mean that...? Does he truly... truly wanna be Mondo’s... Mondo’s brother? The kid is so bad at lying, and it hadn’t sounded like he was lying, but... but it... shit. It can’t be true, it can’t... after all the shit Mondo has done, how could the kid ever see him positively, even a little? Mondo isn’t a good brother, he’d always been so shit to Daiya, taking and taking and taking and never giving. He’d taken everything from Daiya, never satisfied with what Daiya gave freely, so he stole the most important thing in the end. 

 H-he’d just steal everything from Kiyotaka too. 

 It’s what he does... 

 “Ya can’t mean that, Kiyotaka... I’m a goddamn mess... and you... you are... shit. You’re goddamn perfect and I’m hot dog shit, ya can’t... y-you can’t...”

 And it’s true. Mondo has more to say, more to confess, but his throat is so thick, and he doesn’t know how to say it. To confess all his crimes to Kiyotaka, to let him know how unworthy he is. He- he hears Kiyotaka take a deep breath, and he doesn’t wanna hear what the kid has to say, doesn’t wanna hear him agree, but then he’s speaking, and his words... t-they... 

 “Mondo... I- I’m not perfect. I... I’m not. B-but that’s okay! I do my best, but so do you! I can see how hard you try and sometimes that’s all that matters! You’re not... dog feces! You... you’re so much more, Mondo...” 

 No... n-no, the kid, he... he doesn’t understand, he just- he doesn’t understand! Mondo, he has to... has to tell him. N-not all of it, he’s not strong enough to confess it all, he’s always been so goddamn weak, but he- he has to... a little. Enough so the kid knows. So he stops feeling pity for him and realizes that he... 

 He’s just not worth it... 

 “No. N-no, I ain’t shit, goddamnit, I...” Mondo has to stop, feeling so fucking conflicted. On one hand he wants to confess, on the other hand he wants to be selfish, and he just... h-he just... 

 But he can’t. Be selfish. Not... not about this. 

 Not with Kiyotaka. 

 With a soft sigh, he feels the tension inside him melt away, his body relaxing with the decision he’s made. All of his emotions— both good and bad— fade away until all he feels inside is... is...

 Cold resignation...

 “I hate myself. Always fuckin’ have. Heh. There, I... I fuckin’ said it. I love the gang, don’t get me wrong. I love bein’ with ‘em, bein’ a part a’ somethin’ bigger than myself. I love leadin’ ‘em, ridin’ my hog, wind in my hair... I fuckin’ love it. Even bein’ here, unable ta lead directly, I still like callin’ the shots from behind the scenes while my second in command implements it an’ shit. Means somethin’, ‘least. But... I dunno. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle ofa fight and I’ll just... wanna stop. Quit. Do somethin’... do somethin’ else fer a change. But I… heh. I can’t. I promised my bro... Daiya, I... I promised him I’d keep the gang together. He built it from scratch an’ I... I can’t leave that. I made a promise, a man’s promise, ta keep us together. So, I... I gotta keep doin’ that. Can’t stop. Ever. Not ‘til the gang is dead an’ shit, all the members movin’ on ta do better shit with their lives. An’ me… heh. Not much use fer me after that, is there?”

 Mondo pauses, and then looks down at his hands, a small, sad smile on his face. 

 “But you? Yer gonna go places, man. Shootin’ fer the moon. Prime fuckin’ Minister, shit, man. Never met anyone with such high goals, really. Never met anyone who wanted ta do that sorta shit, change things from the inside. Heard ya in class, talkin’ ‘bout yer plans an’ shit. Wantin’ ta make the world a better place, havin’ such hope for this garbage planet. Ya... ya’ve got drive. Determination. An’ I know yer gonna do it, ya know. Succeed. More than any a’ the other chucklefucks we go ta school with, ‘least. Yer just so... determined. Got such passion. I... I admire that ‘bout ya, always did.”

 Mondo pauses again, and he… he laughs. It’s sad, and pathetic, and it... he... h-heh...

 “But that… heh. That ain’t me, Kiyo. Ain’t me. I ain’t got plans, ain’t got any fuckin’ clue a’ what I’m gonna do after school ends. They got me takin’ fuckin’ leadership classes an’ shit, but the fuck am I gonna do with that bullshit? I can lead a gang, yeah, but that… heh. That’s ‘bout it, Christ. An’ ya… yer gonna see that one day. And yer gonna leave me. And I’ll be happy fer ya, ‘course I will, but... sh-shit. God... goddamnit...” 

 Mondo doesn’t know where he’s going with this. He doesn’t know what he’s saying or why he’s saying it. His head is so jumbled, so scrambled, and part of him wants to tell Kiyotaka everything. About his parents. About his brother. About what he did, what he stole. He wants to confess so, so badly, to see the hatred and anger and rage on that kid’s face when he realizes how big a piece of shit Mondo really is, horrified that he’d ever felt pity for such a pitiless creature. 

 But...

 He can’t. Can’t do that. He... he can’t burden Kiyotaka with his bullshit. And knowing the kid... he’d still try. To feel pity. To feel sorrow. He- he’s such a good person, so bright and shining. He’s the kind of person who would see a merciless and dangerous monster like him and think there’s something worthwhile in it. It wouldn’t be until his neck is snapped under Mondo’s uncaring hand that he’d realize he was wrong. And maybe... maybe not even then. He’d die, thinking Mondo was better than he was, even if it were Mondo who killed him. 

 God...

 So, he can’t tell the truth. Can’t burden the kid like that. But he... he can’t let him get close. Even if he... he really wants to... 

 “I’ll just hold ya back. Ya don’t want someone like me, Kiyo. Ya don’t want someone like me at all. So... I ‘ppreciate yer words. But it may be best ta leave this here. Ta... ta forget ‘bout this all and just... move on. I’ll leave ya alone and ya won’t hafta-”

 “No!” Mondo hears echo through the room, cutting off his words so thoroughly. It startles the fuck out of him, and he can’t help how he stares, wide-eyed, up at Kiyotaka. It’s weird, looking up to see the kid, but he’s sitting upright, almost standing but not quite, knees firmly planted on the floor. But seeing as how Mondo is crumbled pathetically on the floor, sitting back on his thighs, he has to look up to see Kiyotaka. And he looks... looks so...

 Scared...

 But...

 Not... not of- of... of Mondo...? 

 “Mondo, please! I just... look. I- I try to be perfect, but I... I’m not! And I know you aren’t either! But... but maybe that’s okay! Maybe... m-maybe... maybe we can learn to be not perfect... together? I, ah. I don’t know! A-all I know is... I want to be f-friends with you, Mondo Owada. I don’t care about your flaws; I don’t care that you’re in a gang! I just... I want... w-we can be brothers. If you want... we can be brothers. I want... I would want nothing more than to be your brother! Your kyoudai!” 

 Brothers. Brothers. Kiyotaka wants them to be... brothers...

 It’s too good to be true. Too fucking good to be true. Mondo doesn’t get nice things like this. He doesn’t get soft, kind, gentle things. He gets shit. He gets cruelty. He gets anger and hatred and rage. He gets angry fists and cruel words, and a suspicious look on his back at all fucking times. After all the shit he has done, the people he has hurt, the lives he has ruined, he... he doesn’t deserve... he just doesn’t... 

 But as he sits there, staring up at Kiyotaka with wide eyes and an open mouth, he... he remembers something. Something the kid had said, in the sauna. How he... he never had a friend before. How everyone always hated him. And it could have just been insecurity talking, the kid thinking people hated him when they really didn’t but judging by the scars, he... he would doubt that. 

 He’s never had a friend. He’s never had a brother. Someone to keep him safe. To protect him from all harm. Someone to hold onto, someone to tell him it is alright. That he is alright. He... he hasn’t had that. 

 And Mondo is the worst choice for a brother. He knows it, okay? He’s so fucking awful it’s not funny. But... but he... the kid doesn’t seem to get that. And Mondo is too weak to explain why he shouldn’t want it. And, as such, he... Kiyotaka wants to be friends. Brothers. With him. 

 Mondo is a mess. He messes everything up, ruining everything he touches. He... he doesn’t want to ruin Kiyotaka too. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He... he never...

 But maybe...

 Maybe...

 It’s stupid. God, so fucking stupid. But maybe... if he tries hard, so fucking hard... if he is careful, keeps his anger in check, does all he can, he... maybe he...

 He can be Kiyotaka’s brother...

 And keep him safe...

 It makes him smile. It’s small at first, tentative. Like a stiff wind will blow it away. But as Kiyotaka keeps looking at him steadily, earnestly, he... he feels the smiles strengthen. Feels as it grows wider and wider, until it fills his whole face, his eyes squinting with how wide it is. He’s never felt like this before, so scared and terrified, but also... also... 

 Hopeful.

 “Ya... ya really mean that, Kiyo?” 

 Kiyo. Mondo doesn’t really know why he’s calling the kid that, nicknames aren’t super common in their culture, but somehow, he... he kinda likes it. He doesn’t know if the kid does, he should ask, but before he has the chance to, the kid is nodding. Enthusiastic and bright, a shaky grin on his face. He still seems a little out of it, but god, is he trying... fuck that kid is so amazing...

 “Yes! Of course! I always mean everything I say! I would not lie to you, Mondo, I promise you that! We shall be the best kyoudai! You’ll see! Aha! This is fantastic!”

 Oh, god... this kid is so fucking cute! God... h-he really shouldn’t be thinking that, should push it away like he always pushes stupid ass thoughts like that away, but he... he’s allowed to see his brother as cute... right? Or, well... his little brother. Though... fuck. Is Kiyotaka younger than him? He seems like it, as naive and endlessly optimistic as he is, but fuck, he doesn’t actually know. Mondo is usually one of the youngest in his class, since his birthday is at the end of the year, but he’s always felt decades older than the chucklefucks he goes to school with. Maybe it’s ‘cuz he was forced to grow up so fucking fast in order to survive, shit. 

 But you know what? Whatever. It doesn’t matter if Mondo is older or not. He’s the older brother regardless. That shit is felt, not necessarily determined by birth order. Daiya was his older brother in more ways than just because he was physically older, after all.  

 At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that... that Kiyotaka wants this. Wants... wants Mondo. And Mondo doesn’t deserve it, had never deserved it, but fuck, is he a selfish bastard. But he won’t take this shit for granted. Now that they are brothers, Mondo will go all fucking out. No fucking reservations. They are brothers, now, and Mondo is the big brother. The ani. It’s his duty and obligation to keep Kiyotaka safe from all harm, including (and especially) from Mondo himself. And he won’t. Hurt him. Not now, not ever. If he ever does, he will stab himself in the gut, commit fucking seppuku, he swears he will. He’d rather die than hurt this precious, amazing, incredible boy ever, ever again. 

 And so, Mondo grins, and he laughs, and he lets his arms reach forward and wrap around the kid, like he’s been wanting to do since he ripped himself away the last time. Part of him is afraid the kid won’t want it, or he’ll realize how stupid this whole thing is, but Kiyotaka doesn’t even tense at all as he goes willingly into Mondo’s arms, melting like warm putty against him. Like he... he belongs there...

 S-shit... 

 “Okay. O-okay. Kiyotaka, I... I’ll do my best. I can’t promise ya anythin’, know I’m a goddamn fuck-up who ruins everything, but... but for you? I’ll try. That... that’s all I can offer... heh…” 

 It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but he feels Kiyotaka wrap his arms around him, holding on so very, very tight, and it... it feels...

 Like coming home... 

 “That is all I could ever ask of you, my kyoudai! Y-you’re not a- a screw up! And- and your best is more than enough!”

 Shit. Shit. No one... no one has ever told him that before. That the best he offers is more than enough. It’s never been enough, he’s never been enough. He’s a screw up. The unwanted kid. The person who is good for violence and anger and rage, and that’s about it. 

 But here, being held by this remarkable fucking kid... hearing him say that it’s enough... that he’s enough…

 Maybe he’s inclined to believe him. 

 Wow... just...

 Wow...

 After a minute Mondo pulls back, knowing they need to talk about stuff, knowing he has to make promises, and it makes his heart sing when he feels the kid resist, arms refusing to let go at first. It makes him laugh softly, especially because he fully understands. But he doesn’t intend to go far. Just... he needs to look the kid in the eyes. He... he needs to see those beautiful as sin eyes...

 Pressing his forehead to Kiyotaka’s, soft and gentle and intimate, he can’t help how he smiles, eyes shining with the light he feels inside. And Kiyotaka... he...

 He looks at Mondo like he fucking matters... 

 “I’ll be good. Fer ya... I’ll be good. Promise, Kiyo. And ya can hold me ta that, got it? This is a promise between men. That means I gotta keep it.” 

 The kid looks stunned, eyes glazed but not in a bad way, breath hitched, and it... it makes Mondo feel...

 “Likewise! I- I will do everything I can to be the best brother I can be! I promise! We shall be the best kyoudai in the world! That’s a Kiyotaka Ishimaru guarantee!” 

 The enthusiastic words make Mondo laugh again, and he pulls away to wrap an arm around the kid’s shoulders, ruffling his hair gently like Daiya would always do to him. He notices that the hair is a bit longer than it once had been, and fuck, does he like it. The sweat from the sauna had made all the gel run out and his hair is now soft as it dries, curling lightly around the kid’s ears and it just...

 It’s so beautiful... 

 But ruffling the kid’s hair makes it fall in his eyes, which makes the kid let out an annoyed sound, adorable again, and Mondo can’t help the way he laughs. God, this kid makes him so goddamn happy... he’s never felt this happy before... never...

 “Yer the absolute, goddamn best, kyoudai. Kiyo. Hey, uh... is it okay if I call ya that? Kiyotaka’s just a bit of a mouthful, ‘sall. Ya got any other nicknames I could use?” 

 He looks at the kid at that, Kiyotaka’s (or should he say Kiyo? Does the kid like it? Shit...) mouth pulled down in a thoughtful frown. A moment passes, and then- 

 “A-ah! Kiyo is fine! If you’d like! B-but... well... m-my mother. She called me... Taka. Y-you could use that, as well! If you’d like...” 

 Taka, huh? Taka. Taka. Yeah... yeah, he- he likes it. He likes it a lot! It suits the kid, and while Mondo still does kinda like Kiyo, he might like Taka a bit better. And if the kid wants him to call him that, then shit... who is he to deny him...?

 Smiling, soft and gentle in a way he’s never been able to be before, he nods. 

 “Taka... heh, I like it! Alright, Taka. Mondo ain’t exactly got any good nicknames fer it, but ya can call me that, if ya’d like.”

 Mondo watches as Taka blushes lightly, lips still partially open as he breathes in and out slowly. His eyes are kinda glazed still, but he seems present enough. Just... like he’s thinking of something. Mondo wants to reach out, wants to pull the kid into a hug again, wants to always, always be touching him, but he keeps his distance. Just... just for now. But later... 

 The kid shoots up again, interrupting Mondo’s thoughts, looking so enthusiastic again, eyes bright and smile happy. Holy shit...

 “Oh! I can always call you kyoudai!! That way the whole world will know our manly bond!” 

 It makes Mondo laugh again, harder, and he can’t help how he reaches out to ruffle his hair again, needing to touch him at least a little. Kyoudai, huh? ... yeah. Yeah, he likes that, too. Daiya was always ani to him, the proper name for the big brother, and Daiya usually called him shit like ‘kid’ or whatever, so it’s not like Taka calling him that will bring up any bad memories or shit. It’s just... something for them. Their own, little thing, for them and no one else. 

 Him and Taka. Taka and him. Two... two kyoudai...

 Incredible... 

 “Alright, Taka. If ya’d like. Now, it’s fuckin’ late. I ain’t even gotta look at a clock ta know that. Come on, kyoudai. Let’s get ya ta bed.” 

 Mondo stands, then, realizing how fucking late it is. The kid always gets up stupidly early, he remembers Taka saying that once a little while ago, so he knows they should be heading to bed soon. He feels strangely reluctant to do that, never wanting to part from this beautiful boy, but- but he’s the big brother. He has to keep his little brother safe and healthy, and that includes ensuring he gets a good night’s sleep. Even if it means they have to part ways...

 As Mondo stretches, he sees Taka stand as well, his body flushing bright red as he looks down at himself and seems to notice his state of undress. Like he’d forgotten or something. Mondo hadn’t. Not... not for a single second. Shit... 

 He feels his eyes dart down to the kid’s chest, unbidden, and he feels the small smile die on his lips as he sees the long, jagged looking scar that goes from Taka’s collarbone to the bottom of his sternum, right over his heart. How... how the fuck did he get a scar like that...? It doesn’t look like one that would come from surgery or something, since it’s too jagged, and it also doesn’t look accidental. But... but how the fuck... 

 “How’d ya get that? The... the scar?” Mondo finds himself asking softly before he can stop himself, his hand rising absently to trace the length of it. Fuck, but it feels as jagged as it looks... angry and painful. H-he hopes it doesn’t hurt anymore... 

 “A-ah... that...” Taka mutters, his body flushing. It jolts Mondo out of the fucking fugue he entered, and he removes his hand quickly, feeling embarrassed. S-shit... he shouldn’t have asked that, it ain’t his fucking business. Yeah, they’re kyoudai, but that... that don’t mean he’s earned the right to hear the kid’s dark history. He still has to earn that shit. He knows that.

 “Aw, shit! Taka, ignore me. Y’ain’t gotta talk ‘bout that shit. Uh, shi-shoot, I mean... stuff? Sorry… heh, know ya hate swearin’ an’ sh- stuff. Heh…” 

 Taka blinks at Mondo’s rambling words, which makes him feel strangely nervous. He doesn’t let it take over him, though. Doesn’t let himself get angry. But strangely... the anger he usually feels when embarrassed or nervous just... never showed up in the first place. Huh... 

 He watches, then, heart clenching, as Taka smiles at him, soft and gentle as ever. F-fuck...

 “I... I don’t mind! It’s not exactly a pleasant story, but I trust you, kyoudai! And... I don’t mind you cursing! Much! It... it’s what makes you, you! Just as long as you don’t do it in class or in the halls!”

 He... doesn’t mind him... cursing...???? After all those warnings, all of those detention slips, he truly expects Mondo to believe he doesn’t mind it when Mondo fucking curses? 

 But... huh. He can’t detect a lie in the kid’s words. He looks as earnest as ever, and it just... god. Mondo can’t begin to describe how he feels right now, just that it feels... soft. 

 Taka... Taka makes him feel soft. And fuck, is it not bad... not bad at all... 

 Unsure of what to say, what to do, Mondo just laughs again, since that’s the only thing that even slightly manages to express the softness that he feels inside, and he smiles at the kid gently while nodding. He should feel stupid, ridiculous, but he just... doesn’t. 

 God... 

 He watches then as Taka walks over to the locker he’d used earlier, seeming to want to no longer be partially nude. Mondo doesn’t mind it, has never minded being around naked dudes, but he guesses not everyone can be like that. As the kid dresses, he starts to talk. And the story he tells... 

 “It was one of my middle school bullies. I, er... wasn’t well liked, as a child! They never liked how I would get them in trouble, not to mention... ah. M-my, well. My grandfather,” Taka mutters, voice turning nervous as he talks about his grandfather, glancing at him anxiously. 

 Mondo still isn’t entirely sure what the kid’s deal with his grandfather is, but he can tell it bothers the kid, shit, so he does his best to not look at all judgmental, even though the fact the kid was fucking bullied makes his blood fucking boil... shit. He’d expected it, honestly, but it still fucking angers the fuck out of him, Christ…

 Luckily, it seems his anger at that isn’t too obvious, since the kid continues then, voice less shaky and upset, even though the shit he says... 

 “One day, one of them was... particularly angry. I’d gotten him suspended, you see, for a week. It was his own fault, he was the one who had scratched profanities into the headmaster’s car, I’d just been the one to report it! Still, he was... angry. So, after school, he had his friends hold me down while he cut this into my chest. A reminder, he said, to mind my own business. I think he was going to do more but was interrupted by something. It was most unpleasant!” 

 Holy. Fucking. Shit.

 Holy shit, holy shit!

 What the goddamn shit?!

 Some goddamn motherfucker... carved that shit into Taka’s chest...?! And how the fuck can Taka sound so casual about it?! Mondo has never felt so much rage directed towards someone he’s never met, but holy fucking shit, that goddamn bastard had better hope Mondo never meets him, or else he is fucking dead. The thought that anyone could ever hurt this wonderful boy in such a way is just so... insane to Mondo. How people can see him and not want to keep him safe from all harm is just... he doesn’t get it. Even when he told himself he hated the kid, he couldn’t bear the thought of actually hurting him. Not really. 

 And Taka he... he looks so fucking sad, right now. But also, just... resigned. Like he expects that treatment and, while it sucks, it’s just... life. Which is so much fucking bullshit, holy fucking shit-

 Mondo unintentionally lets out a strangled noise, his anger and rage choking him inside. He sees the kid look up at him and sees panic rise in his face when he sees the anger Mondo so clearly feels. Oh, shit... shit, he’s not mad at Taka, he’s not at all, but he can’t make the anger go away, because... because... 

 “They fuckin’ what?! What the goddamn shit?! Please tell me ya got those fuckers expelled!” 

 He had to have... right? Taka is so gung-ho about rules and shit, he- he must have told on those fuckers and got all of them expelled... r-right? 

 Wrong...

 “A-ah! N-not exactly! I... I never reported them! I rarely ever did, to tell the truth... it wouldn’t have mattered, see! The teachers didn’t like me much either; they only ever believed me if I had proof, and even then, only half the time! And they never much cared when I got hurt... b-but it was okay! I persisted and never let them break me down! My struggles made me stronger! Aha!” 

 W... what? He... he... oh, oh god... n-no... 

 “Y-you... what?” Mondo whispers, his eyebrows furrowed, his hands shaking. He has never felt so horrified before, a terrifying realization overcoming him. Because he... he was right, wasn’t he? This kid... h-he was abused. Horribly so. 

 By literally fucking everyone, holy fucking shit-!

 “I mean... that’s just... how it was? I handled it, though! I never gave up! They... they did not break me!” 

 Oh. Oh. Oh, this... this poor fucking kid... his poor fucking kyoudai, having to go through that nightmare, actually believing that it was just... normal. Just... how it was. But he... he can’t actually... actually believe he deserved it... r-right...?

 “Goddamnit... that’s why ya keep tellin’ me ta... ta punish ya, ain’t it? Taka, please tell me ya don’t actu’ly think ya deserved that shit?” 

 He can’t. He can’t. Please, god, he... he can’t...

 Mondo watches, heart breaking so thoroughly inside his chest, as Taka looks down at his uniform jacket, the only piece of his get up he’s not yet wearing. He’s frowning gently, like he actually has to fucking think about it, oh god, no...

 “I- I... I suppose so... I mean-! I... I don’t know. They all hated me... s-so... they must have had a good reason... r-right? To... to hate me. I... I must have deserved it... right?” 

 No. No. No. Mondo... he can’t fucking handle this shit. So many things make so much sense now, and he has never hated himself more. For not seeing it sooner. For not allowing himself to care about this boy all along. For maybe even reenforcing this goddamn bullshit, making the kid think he is right, when he sure as shit ain’t. He...

 He can’t help how he moves. Swift and quick. He- he just needs to be near the kid, needs to hold him, reassure him that no, he didn’t. Didn’t at all. He needs to do what he should have done weeks ago, in the laundry room, and reassure that kid that no. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt. Not... not ever... 

 He stops, though, when he sees Taka look up at him, terror in his eyes, like he... he thinks Mondo is going to fucking hurt him. He wants to go forward, wants to hold the kid so fucking bad, but he doesn’t have that fucking right, so he stays where he is, all the sorrow he feels surely reflected in his eyes. And as the kid looks at him, he... he relaxes. He still looks upset, but he doesn’t look scared. That... that’s something...

 Right? 

 “No. Fuckin’ no. Y’ain’t deserved any a’ that shit, goddamn, man… and I promise ya, Taka, I’m gonna make sure ya see that one day, even if it takes the rest a’ my goddamn life. And that’s a man’s promise.” 

 And he means it, fuck does he mean it. He had never meant anything more. He will spend the rest of his goddamn life ensuring that this wonderful kid knows how special and amazing he is, and that he never, ever deserves to be hurt. It’s his life’s fucking goal now, the one thing that fucking matters. He will take care of Taka for the rest of his goddamn life, even after the kid finally wises up and leaves his ass. He will watch from the shadows, keeping a careful eye on him, there to keep him safe from all harm. This kid will never know pain again if it’s the last fucking thing Mondo does. He swears. 

 As the kid looks at him, he sees the softest and most beautiful smile he’s ever seen lighting up the boy’s face. His eyes sparkle with it, and he’s looking at Mondo like he’s important again. Like he... like he matters. And Mondo...

 He won’t ruin this shit. He just... he won’t. 

 This matters too goddamn much for him to let it slip away. 

 “T-thank you... thank you, kyoudai. I... thank you.” 

 Mondo smiles gently at the kid, moving forward to tentatively wrap an arm around his shoulder, squeezing gently, needing to touch him but not wanting to overwhelm him, god. 

 “Ain’t gotta thank me, bro. Now, we really should head ta bed. Got school tomorrow an’ I don’t want my bro ta be tired! Come on, kyoudai. Let’s get goin’.” 

 Taka nods quick and puts his jacket on, buttoning it with practiced fingers. The kid turns back to the locker, frowning gently at whatever he sees inside. Mondo watches as the kid reaches out and grabs it, his breath hitching when he sees the kid is holding the glasses case that started this whole fucking mess. He... he honestly had forgotten about that shit, to tell the truth, with all the drama that just occurred. But as he looks at the kid, who is looking so softly at the glasses case, like they’re precious to him, he... he knows he owes the kid for the shit he put him through earlier, for no fucking reason. He can’t quite find it in him to regret what happened, not when it ended up like this, but he... he has to make it up to the kid. All of it. 

 So, quick as a wink, Mondo darts his hand out and carefully takes the case from Taka, ignoring the startled sound the kid makes. He can feel the kid watching him with wide eyes, but he doesn’t let it stop him as he opens the case and— without a single moment’s pause— puts the glasses on his face, blinking at the foreign feel. It... it hasn’t changed his vision much, since this shit is only supposed to help with close up shit, but it... huh. He guesses it ain’t so bad... 

 “Huh... I guess they ain’t that bad... tell me, kyoudai. How do they look?”

 He hadn’t really meant to ask the question, but he just... couldn’t help but remember the shit he’d done the last time he’d worn the glasses and Taka had told him what he thought. He... maybe he wants to show that it’s different, now. That he won’t get angry, not this time. To prove that he will never hurt Taka, never again. Not... not ever again. 

 He watches as the kid flushes bright red, mouth open slightly again, and- and god, is it an attractive look on him... s-shit... and then the kid is smiling shakily, giving a shaky thumbs up, and that’s even... even worse... or better, heh... 

 “You look amazing, kyoudai! They suit you well!” 

 A-amazing, huh? Shit... no one’s ever said he looks amazing before... he’s had a couple of people call him hot, or even sexy once or twice, but never... never amazing...

 He adores it... adores... Taka... 

 It makes him smile again. Soft. Happy. So goddamn happy... he will never be able to repay Taka for the happiness he gives him... not even if he dedicates the rest of his life to trying. Which he will. He... he will...

 But it’s late. So fucking late. They... they need to get to bed...

 Even if Mondo never wants to part from this amazing kid...

 “Ah, cool. I guess. Now, c’mon! Bed! Ain’t gonna be the reason ya can’t focus in class tomorrow, ya nerd!”

 With that, Mondo turns to grab his duster off the bench he’d tossed it on earlier, shrugging it on carefully, before finally exiting the bathhouse, Taka on his heels. 

 Shit...

#The Problem with Mondo preview #Mondo Owada #Mondo's POV #Kiyotaka Ishimaru #Danganronpa #Danganronpa fanfiction #My fanfic #Ha hope y'all liked it #:-)

[cloveroctobers]

• JENIFER “JEN” MARLOWE •

IG Info/bio: @/justjenw1n | 220k followers | Fashion | just a LUVer who owns a lovely blog that you’re more than welcome to check out here... astoldbyjenmarlowe.co.uk 🪞🛍🪄

22 (24) (25 in 2021) years of age

From London, England

Her family has French origins

Tends to visit once a year mainly with her family

For her 18th bday, her parents also sent her to Paris with her bf that she’s been dating since she was 14

they broke up since he wanted to stay in Paris to pursue his dreams and she felt like she needed to be back home...which she felt Paris was not

Extremely close to her parents, some may say a little TOO close...

See, I feel like jen comes from a family that spoils her where her parents did everything and took care of everything for her. She had the privilege and didn’t have to work too hard to get things she wanted so that made her a little bit different than a few of her friends, hell—even her bf

Didn’t have to work until she reached her twenties

She also didn’t have too many friends because her parents felt like her cousins and/or her sibs were really only allowed to hold that title

However her parents had some sort of a soft spot for her when they allowed her to date her bf at 14 since he came from a nice background...

And to have at least 1-2 best friends...

I can’t decide if I see her having 3 other sibs with her being the second eldest, or her being the eldest with a younger sister? I can also see her being a only child too? Idk y’all can decide

Because her family is a tight knit one, she values everything they say and do...which is canon/evident

She got her thigh tattoo in Paris and even thought about asking her parents permission but her bf talked her out of it

she later showed them that night while he was in the shower. Her mother openly disapproved saying it was, “unladylike or unclean” while her father was more lenient towards it 

Her mother even scheduled her for laser appointments but this was one of the things jen was sure of, she loved her tattoo and she didn’t want to erase it from her body which led to her mother not speaking to her for about a month—even tho they live in the same household

I feel like she looks more like her dad with her mom’s hair and smile

Got into fashion due to her maternal grandmother who seemed to live a extravagant life as a old time actress, she always had and owned the finest of things

Jen loved having sleepovers there, it felt like she had her own personal Liz Taylor inside of her nan...but better!

Definitely found inspiration through Liz Taylor, Kate Moss, Victoria Beckham, and Naomi Campbell

she had no clue what she wanted to do in life (she never had to think too hard about it until now, it’s true what they say about your twenties) and she made the choice not to continue thru with uni & I’m not going to make her out to be the stereotypical “dumb blonde” I think she did well in school—so she kinda just chilled after it was all over

Her first job at 20 was probably working in retail where she learned all about the bs you put up with but she loved clothes! That never changed

So she decided 6 months into her job that she was going to make a fashion blog

she made one separate from her tumblr but kept it under construction since she needed to brain storm what exactly this blog would entail

It didn’t take too long to her to figure it out by how she wanted the blog to look then discussing pieces from celebs/models then slowly discussing her own wardrobe + advice

She didn’t immediately gain success for it —altho she did have a good 1k people follow her thru her tumblr where she also provided the link to her separate blog... but she worked/works hard at it, hoping one day it’ll get her somewhere and that maybe she can get paid for it too?

Retail fucking sucks and people are horrible twats so when she was approaching 21 she deff quit with her parents still hammering...more so her dad on what she needs to do with her life but she found happiness in her blog and no one was going to take that away from her —not even her parents

‘What’s the use of working if it doesn’t make you happy?’ She thinks but again! she has the privilege of living under her parents roof and not having to pay bills so she didn’t have to worry too much rn she knows they’d never kick her out right?

she has two bunnies named “bugsy” and “Lola”—u know the reference right?

I feel like she values the flinstones & jetsons because it was something her dad loved watching as a kid and still does , probably has the dvds showcased in her room that she watches when she feels sad

Seems like a smiley person but when she’s sad? It kinda sucks to see cause she turns into a whole different person and she always seems happy with a smile so wide that turns her eyes squinty

If she disagrees with something, she’s 100% giving her opinion whether you like it or not? Wrong is wrong. But when the shoe is on the other foot? She hates being wrong LOL or doesn’t view herself being wrong. Doesn’t take accountability well...at all!

She’s also showed her ass by being a gossiper and fake as hell with Allegra about mc with the whole, “let’s pretend like we’re there for her” if you’re not fucking with somebody just say that or SHOW it sis cause that snakey shit will come back to bite you in the ass (I forgot about this lol as I’m replaying)

she’s all “mega resting bitch face” until she breaks out into a large smile

Libra sun? + Virgo moon? + Gemini rising?

I feel like she only knows what she wants when it comes to relationships but not with the rest of life?

Lol she was very determined with levi in the beginning, explored shit with jake, (I can’t remember if that was after you/mc showed a interest in him or not in that route? I’m doing a talia/Rohan route rn But that’s kinda foul if she’s smiling in ur face and then boom goes and does what she wants but hey that’s the game right? Fck that tho) and then stood by Tim after only some time?

She wasn’t feeling him in the beginning either cause he thought she was too posh for him and snakey which he’s right to some degree but she’s also right if she finds him too immature for her liking

To you jim? Ten? Stans— Idk what their ship name is but it probably wouldn’t have worked out in the long run either because I don’t see both of them wanting to change themselves completely to satisfy the other. (Tim tried) Sure if you’re showing unhealthy behaviors and are open to diminishing that for yourself then trying to work on your relationship then that’s great! But they already started from the jump not liking each other’s personalities/characteristics....

And hey! Ofc I know people grow to like things they might have disliked about you in the beginning but you can also find yourself not fully accepting it in a relationship and that doesn’t mean you didn’t try

+ it’s been hinted at that they’re not endgame & if you love yourself some Tim not platonically then this works in ur favor. if not? Then you can keep them endgame by all means! For me? That endgame shit is a no! For those that don’t gaf about either of them that’s fine too lmao

YES I feel like they were both hurt over the breakup and it probably happened right around the holidays or either a couple of months after Christmas/New Years 2019

Jen is probably the type to keep checking up on her ex, not necessarily talking to them but finding out who they’re with now

and if it’s Tim with mc she’s definitely gossiping about the shit with erikah and Allegra or making shady tweets or posts on IG for sure

“5 outfits to wear when you run into your ex” type posts on her blog looool

She hopes if she runs into Tim, she’s looking her best and she would 80% go up to him & mc/his new girl if not mc and be all huggy with him and holding conversation before she even thinks to acknowledge mc/new girl and when she does it’s a shady convo with fake smiles

Absolutely loves watching housewives so she was prepared for that moment if it ever does come

Her parents openly didn’t like Tim which made him feel like shit since it seemed like jen never defended him in front of them but again, she values her parents opinion and always wants their stamp of approval that’s just the way the girl is/ was brought up

She owes them everything but deep down knows that in her relationship with Tim she could have been a little more understanding of his needs like he was with her love for her parents...but she’ll never admit that

Doesn’t get over breakups as easily as it may seem like her exes do in her opinion.

It sure didn’t take long with Tim to date mc/new girl months after they broke up! Which was like a slap in the face

The ex bf she spent time w in Paris who looks like Matthew Noszka is now engaged, lives in AMERICA—& of all places??? California to be exact, and just released his debut album!! She knows which songs are probably about her, it’s a nice album she screamed about it for hours into her pillow and cried for what felt like weeks

Lost her voice over that breakdown too

Her mother even went as far as sending a nasty letter to this ex bf’s new address...since ya know? jen’s dad is a private investigator & all!!! but dad had no knowledge of this being done

She’s still fond of Levi and jake but not like in love with them? Like she thought/felt she was with Tim but she still considers them her mates

Maybe in 2021 she’ll be open to dating again and hopes erikah and Allegra will be her wingwomen when the time comes BUT she’s focusing on her blog rn and it’s the best it’s ever been!

She had the show to thank for that now that she has a manager and is getting paid for running her blog now! That’s right this girl is officially employed!

“At least one good thing came from the show ;) 🧽🥐🥂” type of tweets

There’s never not a moment where she’s not connecting her posts whether thru ig or Twitter to her blog: astoldbyjenmarlowe.co.uk!!!

Both erikah and Allegra talk a little shit about that together...WHEN they DO talk, the pair only really socialize when jen initiates it but if one pisses the other off?? they’re going to gossip about it with the other forsure

She doesn’t look that tall to me? Taller than erikah? 5’2-5’5 the 5 is pushing it for me? Maybe? lol I’m still deciding between her and Allegra far as height and I’m too lazy to go back and see what I put for her

Hates straightening her hair, that pin straight look is not cute to her. She loves having waves and body to her hair

Get her eyebrows micro bladed since she doesn’t have much hair up there to begin with

Adores French cuisine, always has since she was a little girl. Bisque used to be her fav back then and all that she would eat

Loves spring season especially pastel colors when it comes to her wardrobe

The type to say one thing and do the complete opposite

I feel like she probably has a little bit of lisp and it’s not really noticeable until she says some words, she’s insecure about it and thought it had something to do with the structure of her teeth and begged her parents to get them fixed but it literally had nothing to do with them

Yet she still got colorful braces in middle school even tho her teeth were pretty straight. She didn’t have to wear them for a whole year, thank goodness

Went to speech therapy to help

Has stacks of fashion magazines even from the early 90s all over her room: her night stand, her vanity, her closet, underneath her bed etc...

Adores the Hadid sisters, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, & Georgia May Jagger

Makes the best white chocolate chip (that’s right, white not just regular chocolate) banana bread but cooking/baking? Isn’t really her thing

Early riser

Loves yellow: yellow phone case, yellow laptop, yellow room, yellow tulips, yellow shades, etc...

Getting Prada shades was probably one of the best things that happened to her, s/o to her nan for granting her this wish

Words of affirmation is her love lanaguage, this girl is a talker and a bit of a thinker too I mean duh? She runs a blog

Likes bright colors on her toes but nude and clear polish on her hands?

Loves a good mascara but she also loves magnetic lashes but is trying her best to grow her lashes out rn! Thanks to erikah for sending her some good ol’ coconut oil!

Smokey eyes? Set her up

Gets a belly ring, and two more tatts one in between her boobs and the last on her ankle & that one she shed a tear over!

Maybe she’ll start changing her physical attributes more so than the way she carries her life at first? (Or ever) She’ll cut her hair below her collarbone to the top of her chest, and maybe she’ll try a light light LIGHT brunette (she loves being a natural blonde) with blonde highlights? Who knows

loves espadrilles and wedge sandals

Loves going wine tasting and visiting vineyards, if she’s vacationing? You can bet ur ass she’s looking for a vineyard to visit

Deff a lightweight

Here’s her unpopular opinions on s2: Thought Felix was a wannabe Tim and hates the fact that he follows her, thought graham was unattractive and said so to Allegra who snickered, thought marisol’s clothing choices were rather boring,

didn’t feel 100% bad for Hannah but disagrees with the way Gary and noah spoke about her + the way Gary tried to slide back over to Hannah on her comeback episode

but doesn’t feel like Lottie is wrong for choosing Gary after Hannah left

isn’t a fan of priya but is glad she’s doing fashion since jen strongly believes in if something isn’t making u happy then u need to let it go

Thinks Hope should have won and cannot tolerate Bobby. Feels he’s WORSE than Felix,

would be open to dating Ibrahim or Carl from that szn

has spoken to Harry from s3 due to his drunkenness and actually made a friend out of him? But low key wants to get to know seb? Take that info as u will 👀

Her anthem: Michelle — SUNRISE

#litg #litg jen #litg tim #litg mc #litg oc #litg erikah #litg Allegra #litg Levi #litg jake #litg headcanons #litg headcanon #litg moodboard #happy new year lol I I’m back at it? #personally didn’t hate her but also wasn’t crazy about her after she said that shit cause it’s like? I can’t trust anything u say #yet Idk why I feel like Allegra will try to regrow herself first over jen #jen just seems like she’s stuck in her ways idk #litg2 #litg s2 #litg3 #Litg harry #litg seb

[heyheydidjaknow]

FUCK YOU TIME! I’m aware I’m an hour and a half late, but I finished the chapter, so HA. I know nobody cares, but I’m happy with myself. Previous chapter is at the bottom of the page, of course.

Chapter 4

"Why, pray tell, don't you trust me?"

"Because you're being paranoid." Mikey gets into position at the top of the ramp as you scroll through your phone absentmindedly, watching your friends back home sincerely mourning your death. "I am an ex-peer-ee-onsed skateboarder and ninja. This is gonna be epic."

"As someone who saw that episode," you reassure him, sighing at your mother's inactivity online confirming your suspicions for the umpteenth time, "you are absolutely going to get in trouble." The lair is a mess, the ramp more so, and the entire situation is so obviously the inciting incident that you're half convinced that the universe itself is pranking you. You slid the phone into your pocket, not really in the mood to start crying again. "In fact, this is directly related to the theme of the episode. In other words, don't do it."

"Relax, dude." He sets himself up. "I am totally gonna make this jump and it is going to be sweet."

"Theme?" Donatello pipes up from his place on the ground in front of the ramp. "The first major constituent of a clause?"

You blink. "No, the new Subway footlong. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's the definition of theme."

"Who uses that definition? Grammar teachers?"

"The dictionary."

You are dumbfounded. "Why would I— do you know how people usually use that word?"

"People usually use that word at all?"

You look over at Raphael and Leonardo, who are on the floor next to him, and who seem completely disinterested. "Do you guys—"

"No. Who uses the word 'theme'?" Raphael rolls his eyes. "Mikey, do you plan on jumping today?"

"Wait, so none of you have ever used that word in a literary sense?"

"There's a literary sense?"

You sigh. "In hindsight, I guess that makes sense, since— Mikey, you're gonna get grounded for it."

"Will not."

"Will too. Donnie, when you inevitably get grounded for this, after your grounding is over, come to my apartment. I'm teaching you literary analysis because that is ridiculous." You get to your feet. "Oh," you say, "before I go, when he grounds you, don't go out. If you get into trouble while you're out, get me, and if he asks why you're tired, say it was a movie marathon, and if he asks which movies, Lord of The Rings. See ya." You run out as you hear the shouts of their father telling them to stop.

You walk back up to the surface via the empty subway tunnel. You had quickly realized that it was infinitely less gross than going through the sewers, and your apartment already smelled enough like raw sewage from the amount of time you had started spending down there. You have considered buying new clothes with your quickly appreciating bank account, but you could not bring yourself to look, even with your new freedom. Maybe it was a lack of motivation? You do not exactly know. More likely is your complete lack of inspiration and faith in your own choices, but what do I know?

You start down the street to your building. You would not go so far as to say it felt like home, but you had become more accustomed to it. You had learned the bellboy’s name, nodded to neighbors. It is not a stunning amount of progress, but it is progress. You spend most of your days now, if not re-watching whatever episode is relevant next, for the first time, cyberstalking people you knew from back home. How courteous of that organization to give you an up-to-date feed of life moving on without you; at least you get to see your cousins.

You do not remember the actual walk. You remember getting to your apartment, walking right by your refrigerator, and collapsing onto the bed.

You feel like shit.

You roll onto your back, going right back to stalking. You are not sure why you bother making yourself feel worse. You tried messaging them to absolutely no avail. You cannot comment on posts, either. You know this. You still grasp onto this shred from your past. It just makes you sad. Why are you doing this to yourself?

You feel a lump rise in your throat. You close the window.

You curl around your pillow, hugging it tightly. You the sound of your fingers against the screen was the only thing to permeate the room. You are following a tangent, looking for a book you were interested in a century ago. Something about a pervert? You forget.

You miss home.

—

You do not even need to look up from your phone; the panting is enough. "I'm going to take a wild guess."

"I know you said to come get you," Donnie gushed, "but it was 2 in the morning and I totally forgot and I was freaking out about this new invention and—"

You set the e-book down, walking over and grasping his hands gently. "Take a deep breath, alright? You're gonna be fine, so long as you chill out and think."

"Baxter Stockman is serious business."

"I know, honey, but you gotta calm down, alright?" You slowly pull him down to sit on the bed.

"He snapped my staff with his freakin hand!"

"You are going to go through at least 2 more of those bad boys. Breathe with me." You inhale deeply. "In."

He mimics you.

"Out."

He follows suit.

"Okay. Are you good?"

His breathing slows. He swallows, nods. "Okay, I'm calm."

"Awesome. Now, I'm gonna give you a mini version of our lesson, alright? Is that okay?" The irony of you trying to calm down the trained ninja is not lost on you.

"Yeah, alright." He nodded.

"Alright. Let's start off with the basics." You sit yourself up properly. "Now, this is a kid's show, right?"

"If you say so, yeah."

"The thing about kids shows is that there's usually a moral to each of the episodes."

"Okay."

You put up one finger. "At the beginning of the episode, you guys got grounded, right?"

He nodded.

"You guys snuck out, and you got into a fight with Stockman. That fight is the reason he's after you, right?" You try to speak relatively clearly and, more importantly, calmly.

"Yeah." He seems to respond relatively positively to this.

"And then,” you continue, putting up a second finger, “Mikey losing the t-pod and not telling anyone is what lead to Stockman getting powerful, right?”

He nodded.

“In both instances, the problem was a lack of transparency, right? Not asking for help for fear of getting in trouble?”

He nodded again.

“So,” you nod with him, “the way to fix this is?”

“To ask for help regardless of whether or not it will get us in trouble with Splinter?”

“Exactly.” You smile encouragingly. “Why?”

“Because that’s the message of the episode?”

“You really are quick to catch on.” You get to your feet. “I’m not surprised you’re the brains of the group.”

“Really?” His eyes lit up.

“Most definitely. Now,” you get to your feet, “as much as I love when we talk, and as much as I owe you a lesson on how to identify these sorts of things on your own, I’m sure your brothers could use that advice right about now.”

“Right!” He gets up. “Thank you, again.”

“My pleasure, my guy. Oh, hit me up when you’re off of your grounding so I can figure out a lesson plan.”

“You got it.” He climbed out of the window. “See you then, Y/N.”

“Kick their asses.” You wave as he disappears into the night.

Your smile slowly slides off your face as you close the window. You pick your phone up to check the time.

You toss it onto the bed. ‘I’m making cupcakes.’ You have not eaten in what feels like a while. You are already out of bed. Might as well.

--

“She called me honey.”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you, there’s no way that a girl like her is going to be into you. You’re delusional.”

“Honey is a pet name!” Donatello’s voice rises slightly. “And—and she invited me to her place after we aren’t grounded!”

“Let him believe.” Leonardo pipes up from in front of the television. “I think it’s nice that he and she are as close of friends as they are so quick.”

“For the record, I’m rooting for ya, bro.” Mikey takes another bite out of his pizza. “Sure, you’re a little creepy, but so is she, so it works out.”

He scoffs. “Aren’t you three forgetting something? Like, I don’t know, that we’re turtles? Is the fact that she’s an entirely different species not a factor?”

“Part turtle.” He speaks incredibly fast. “Our DNA is mutated with—”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re holding onto that technicality real tight, aren’t you?” He stabs the dummy in the gut. “A technicality that I’m sure she cares about.”

“I did the research.” He gets to his feet, running over and grabbing a diagram from his lab. “We’re physically compatible.”

“Donnie. Brother. No.” He stops. “Please tell me you didn’t seriously look into whether or not you could fuck her. I know you like this girl, but come on.”

“I didn’t go out of my way to research how our reproductive system works for this.” He tosses it back into his lab, sliding the door closed. “I did that research a while back. I just had to investigate reproduction on the female end to make sure everything worked.” He stands up straight. “Theoretically, we are fully capable of reproducing with humans.”

“Theoretically?” Leo looks back at him.

He feels his face go red. “Well, there isn’t any clinical research done on the subject. We’re the only ones of our kind, after all, and I don’t have any female samples to use.”

“For fuck’s sake, Donnie, do not ask her for ‘samples’.” He gags. “That’s just fucking gross.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“You were. I’d bet money on it.”

“Ten bucks says he still will.” Mikey drops the rest of it down his throat.

“Hey!”

“Dude, you’re freakier than I am. I love you but come on.” He lays back on the couch.

“Y’all are just gross.” He stabbed the dummy in the neck, sand pouring out of the hole. “We need a more durable dummy.”

“You could just not break the ones I make.” He sits down on the couch. “That’s an option.”

“It’s a literal punching bag. It’s a show of love.”

The episode ends. Leo walked over to the two on the couch, sitting on the other side of his lanky brother as Michelangelo scrounges for crumbs. “Look, it might be jumping the gun a bit to start researching if you guys can have kids. You guys aren’t even in a relationship.”

“I know.” He rubs his face with his hands. “I dunno, man. What am I doing?”

“Exactly.” He pats him on the back. “I’m not saying it could never happen, but this is a little much.”

He sighs. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“We wouldn’t lie to you.” He gets to his feet. “I’m gonna go meditate for a while. You wanna join me?”

“I’m good.” Donnie hopped over the back of the couch. “I’m gonna go work on this thing I’ve been working on.”

“Alright, man.” He walks off to the dojo.

He steps into his lab, sliding the door closed behind him. He sits at his workstation, a half-finished robot sat on the table. He slides his tongue in the space between his teeth absentmindedly as he goes back to connecting wires.

‘She used the past tense. Had, she said.’ He bounces his knee absentmindedly, reaching for the soldering iron. ‘But she called me honey. She called me hot stuff. Is that an insult?” He tests the joints. ‘I don’t remember.’

He sets his project down for a second. He opens his laptop, smiling gently at his screen saver. It is a photo you had emailed him of the two of you to show you how it worked.

��I should make a camera. Or find one. A digital one.’ He sighs, closing it. ‘She is absolutely gorgeous.’

He goes back to work, still feeling your fingers around his.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

#donnie x reader #donatello x reader #2012 donnie #donatello #tmnt donatello #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #tmnt donnie #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt 2012 #fluff #angst #2000+ words #x reader #if i add more tags will people see this more often? #I dunno #I mean #I’d feel bad if people didn’t like this for whatever reason. #Sunday? #nyc #pizza #apartment #red velvet #red velvet cupcakes #baxter #baxter stockman #skateboard #I can’t turn back now. we’re on page 27 in my word doc. #that’s 10955 words. longest time I’ve stuck with a thing since 7th grade. #the y/n is most certainly going to die. you know the episode. I’ll release that chapter separately

[the-phoenix-heart]

Sorting Hat Chats - Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind

Oh man oh man oh man was this movie good. It’s a new year, so here is a special post for y’all! For my New Year’s Eve I had a Studio Ghibli marathon of three movies lmao. 

As always, here are the basics of the system I’m using. 

I did not need even half an hour of screen time to be sure that NAUSICAA was a Badger Bird. Oh man I have never seen such a beautiful Badger Bird. She cares about everyone and everything, Kushana and Kurotowa do bad things but at the end of the day she wants them to live and let’s them go back to their home. She’s protecting the baby Ohm as a child, she doesn’t want to kill the insects or Pejite either, she just cares about everyone. She cries after realizing she’s killed people because she let her rage get the better of her. 

You could easily read her as a Badger secondary, because she has a powerful model she built for her people, but she’s a Bird secondary first and foremost. The first thing we see her doing is collecting spores and fangirling over the shed skin of the Ohm and just being an all around scientist. We later learn that she has her own secret room that she irrigated herself with soil she gathered herself to grow non-toxic plants because she wanted to help her father. That’s just so Bird secondary. And she always has a plan! She has this rapid Bird that kicks in during combat situations. She’s so smart and brilliant. 

But of course she has a Badger secondary model and it’s gorgeous and healthy. She picked it up for her people because she realized that she had blind spots and that her Bird secondary wasn’t what her people needed. They needed a Badger secondary to lead and she’s fantastic at it, because of her primary probably. She’s popular with the people, she takes care of everyone, she works hard with everyone, she’s awesome. She’s so fucking cool I love her!

(Side note: If you’re drawing Nausicaa I will only accept buff girl Nausicaa. You cannot tell me the girl who planks on her glider and can take out like six Tolmekian soldiers isn’t a muscular girl. You just can’t.)

And I’m starting to think that your primary and secondary can feed into each other sort of. Nausicaa if she weren’t a Bird secondary would’ve probably never felt an innate curiosity about the Ohm and the other bugs, but she is, so she’s curious about then and then she doesn’t dehumanize them-she wants to protect them because he learned about them and considers them people to! 

LORD YUPA is a total Bird primary. He says it himself early on that he’s searching for the truth. His truth is very Badger though, he checks on other villages and towns, and he saved a squirrel-fox(?) thinking it was a human baby. But what he really wanted to do was find the dude from the legend and unite the world of nature and the world of man. He played it off like it wasn’t what he wanted, but we all know that’s what it was. 

As for his secondary, Bird. Him and Nausicaa get along so well because they are both Bird secondaries. They’re both interested in the Toxic Jungle and they’re both incredible strategists. He’s a strong warrior because he’s honed his skills for so long and that’s how he knows how to work things out. He understands how to calm Nausicaa down and negotiate with the Tolmekians. 

ASBEL’S primary I had a little trouble figuring out. Honestly he was like the least interesting character to me lmao. Anyway, I think he’s a Snake primary, who builds models based on the main girls in his life (PLATONICALLY). He loses his shit when Lastelle dies and takes out a bunch of Tolmekian ships and only loses his nerve when Nausicaa tells him to stop because she looks like Lastelle. Then he aligns himself more with Nausicaa because she reminds him of Lastelle. 

So I’m guessing his model is either Badger or Lion, but I’m leaning towards Badger because the two main villains are Lions. 

Oh and his secondary? Lion. Pew pew shoot the ships and kill the bugs. I don’t know what you want from me, that’s the best I can articulate it. 

KUSHANA is a Double Lion and in my opinion she’s a fascinating one. She cares about power and strength like any other Lion, but you can see she’s not just a power hungry princess or whatever, she’s someone who genuinely believes what she is doing is right, and is also someone who is incredibly insecure. The way she absolutely loses it when the villagers says she is nothing like Nausicaa and they can’t believe she’s a princess is so interesting. And she’s not just a black and white bad guy! She’s a woman who has lost to these bugs and sees them as dangerous and sees the Toxic Forest as needing to be put to death. We see that she cares at least something about Nausicaa, or that she was just wowed by her. 

And there is something about that scene in the middle of the Toxic Jungle where she’s trying to be in control of the situation. Nausicaa asks her what she’s afraid of, and it’s being out of control, and the trauma about the bugs. She needs to be in control and-I’m getting off topic. 

Okay so, her secondary is a Lion, she shoots people and points her superweapon at the bugs she wants dead. She’s a shouter and woman who inspires her soldiers to fight. 

(Another side note: best line of the movie goes to her, “Yes and whatever lucky man becomes my husband will find worse than that.” alkrgjskbf)

KUROTOWA is fun and also a Double Lion, that might just be why he and Kushana get along. He talks about his dreams and ambitions that have been reawakened in him, so he probably got burned or just suppressed his Lion for the good of his country. He’s hear to win and be powerful. Glory Hound Lion.

And his secondary, again, shooty-shooty, slicey-dicey. Also good at rallying his soldiers. 

(Can you tell where my priorities were with this post?)

Nausicaa - Badger primary/Bird secondary, Badger secondary model

Lord Yupa - Bird primary/Bird secondary

Asbel - Snake primary/Lion secondary, Lion or Badger primary model

Kushana - Lion primary/Lion secondary

Kurotowa - Lion primary/Lion secondary

#sorting hat chats #sortinghatchats #this may be lazy but i think i was just more invested in kushana and nausicaa #i really liked lord yupa and kurotowa but i didn't have as much to say about them #studio ghibli #nausicaä of the valley of the wind #nausicaa

[nat-20s]

PROMPT! the first time the s1 archive gang hangs out outside of work (any variation of the group, doesn’t have to be All of them)

This is only the Archive Assistant sqaud, bc I’m sorry Jon, but no bosses allowed. Also it’s VERY silly and soft bc sometimes u just wanna write nice things u know

(also also fuck I lovecompletely missed that this said “first time” they hang out but uhh. I hope u like it anyway.)

Tim Stoker like to think that, sometimes, not to toot his own horn, but he can be something of a genius. When a cousin’s cousin had offered to let him use their cozy little cabin for a night or two in exchange for help with moving, he had been struck with what could only be humbly described as “inspiration of the most divine nature”. For, as nice as a Friday evening away from it all by himself sounds, it’s so much nicer for a Friday evening away from it all to serve as Archival Assistants Bonding Time™. Or well, more like Tim and Sasha, Who Are Already Best Friends Forever, Figure Out What Martin’s Deal Is, Because For A Guy So Chatty, He Sure Is Mysterious Time™, but that’s not nearly as catchy. Truly, his plan was brilliant, bringing two compatriots and an excessive amount of food and drink to a spot away from the prying eyes of the world and bosses, and feast in the openness and silliness that comes from having a great fucking time.

His plan, and his genius, were tragically derailed. While he knew on their drive up that the air was rapidly getting cooler, Tim couldn’t have even pretended to predict that an hour into their stay would bring a freak blizzard that means they’re snowed in for the next three days, which was 3 times longer than he had accounted on spending with his coworkers/friends. There was more than enough food to last them, and almost enough alcohol, but as Sasha so kindly put it:

“First you make us reenact the first scene of every bad teen slasher movie, now there’s a fucking white out. If we lose power, I’m telling you, there is absolutely going to be a murder.”

“Pfft, no way. The guy who owns this place is one of those weird ass prepper types, there’s a back up generator for the back up generator. And even if we did lose power, we’re all much more the “huddle for warmth under a shared blanket in front of the roaring fire” types than the “get panicked and stab someone in darkness” types, right? Back me up here, Marto.”

Martin, who at three shots in is both hilarious and mean, directs his response to Sasha. “in the event of a black-out I vote we kill Tim. I can take him down and you can finish the job.”

Sasha tips her cup at him, saying, “I like the way you think,” at the same time that Tim yells out, “Hey! Why am I the one dying?!”

Sasha tells him, “Duh. This whole thing was your idea, which makes you the Dr. Black* of this situation. Any good mansion murder mystery dictates the the host dies first. Then, in a moment of entirely unplanned synchronization, her and Martin start chanting, “Host dies first! Host dies first!”

“Okay, you know what? Fuck both of y’all, it’s not my fault that you’re both thoroughbred city slickers that can’t handle being in a cabin with plumbing and running water and electricity. Didn’t either of you go camping as kids?”

Sasha replies “No I’m far too pretty for that,” while Martin bursts out laughing. It takes about 20 seconds for him to settle down. Wiping away a tear, he elaborates, “Sorry, sorry, just. Can not imagine my mother on a camping trip.  I mean, sure, she probably hoped at one point or another that I’d be lost in the woods as a child, or maybe even now, but I think that’s a bit different.”

Tim leans over the kitchen counter, placing his chin in his hands as he says, “Oh shit, Martin lore. Spill the deets.”

Sasha, who’s loyalties tend to sway towards whatever’s most interesting in the moment, piles on with, “You called her your mother, not your mum. That’s means she’s pretty much a right bastard, or a member of the aristocracy, which is just another term for right bastard but you got to grow up as a rich kid. Am I right?”

It’s clear the the two of them have made a grave mistake. All joviality flees Martin’s expression, and he shrinks down both his physical presence and his voice to something that could easily be overlooked if someone wasn’t paying attention. “Oh, um, well, I definitely didn’t grow up as a rich kid. And, it terms of the ‘right bastard’ thing, she’s not- er. That’s to say, she’s- she’s sick and. She’s doing the best she can, given, given everything.”

Martin pointedly looks at his hands while Tim and Sasha panickedly look at each other. They go to either side of him, and when he doesn’t flinch away, they each place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Tim immediately feels the itch to fill the heavy quiet, and he happens to know he has quite the talent for blazing on ahead after these kinds of moments. It’s how he’s survived basically party for the past decade. “Ooookay, I’m gonna go ahead and say that all depressing familial reveals shall be held off until at least the second night of being trapped. While Sasha may have irritatingly few skeletons in her closet in that regard-”

“I have Tory grandparents?”

“We all have Tory grandparents Sash, that’s absolutely nothing. As I was saying, while Sash’s family is boring and semi functional, you and me are gonna do some fuckin’ commiserating on our journey from work friends to friend friends. However, I’m going to have to be 40% drunker, go through a decently strong hangover, and then once again get hair of the dog drunk before I can even start to consider heading down that path. And in that spirit, I think it’s time to start up the drinking games. Truth or dare might end up a bit too heavy for our needs, but Never Have I Ever should suit us just fine. I know I’m gonna regret saying this considering Sasha is 100% going to target my ass, but I think we should establish that whoever puts all ten fingers down first has to chug the rest of the box wine.”

Sasha pipes up with, “Ugh, no, not drinking games, that’s such twenty-something bullshit. I expected better from you.”

“Hey, Martin is a twenty-something, so that still works fine actually-”

“Tim!”

“What?”

Martin’s directing wide, bordering on frantic, eyes at him, and Tim is almost certainly missing something, though he can’t for the life of him figure it out. Sasha’s head is bobbing slightly between the two of them, and shes apparently able to parse what Tim has not. “Oh! Martin, uh, I already know that you’re 2, and it’s cool.”

“Did..did Tim tell you or?”

Tim scoffs out an “I wouldn’t!” even though there’s a distinct possibility that, entirely on accident, he would, and Sasha makes a reassuring coo. “No, no, babe, nothing like that. It’s just that, uh, the Magnus Institute is kind of notorious for not doing any background checks pretty much ever, so when I get a new coworker, I..do it myself.”

Martin’s face blanches, and his eyes somehow get even wider. “Oh god, please don’t tell Jon or Elias, I know I don’t have the credentials, but I really need-”

“Woah, woah, I’m not gonna do that. First of all, archival assistant squad, we ride together we die together in a snowed in god forsaken log cabin, secondly, it’d be hypocritical as fuck if I got up your ass about qualifications. Not a single one of us is qualified for our jobs, not even Jon. Maybe especially not Jon. It’s like, raise your hand if you have a degree in library sciences. No one? Okay, cool, that’s not weird at all for an archive. Actually, maybe bring that up next time he gives you shit. He’ll be all like ‘bluh bluh, you didn’t document this spooky bullshit well enough, it’s not up to the High Standards here at Spooky Bullshit Emporium’ and you can be like ‘whatever buddy, you’re an English major, what do you fuckin’ know?’. It’ll be devastating. He’ll be devastated.”

Martin laughs in the manner of someone who knows that they shouldn’t be, and his shoulders relax into  a lower position. “Why would you want me to devastate him? I thought you guys were friends?”

“We are, which is why we all collectively need to get back at Jon for acting like such a prick. He’s always been a bit temperamental, but I honestly don’t get what his deal is, especially with you. I mean, c’mon, you’re great, being mean to you is like kicking a puppy.”

“Thanks? I think?”

Tim pipes up with, “Oooo, since drinking games are apparently too childish for Sasha, what if instead we play ‘What’s Jon’s Deal Anyway, Featuring, Seriously, Why Target Martin, The Baby of The Archives’-”

“-That feels a bit reductive of who I am and I also I think I’m technically older than Jon?-”

“-Whoever comes up with the best explanation, and by best obviously I mean most entertaining, gets an all expense paid trip from the other two to one of the charity shops I know we all frequent.”

Sasha snorts, “Wow, a whole twenty quid, who could resist such temptation. But also, I’m in, I think I have a winner and I have a violent need to out-cardigan Jon.”

Martin’s relaxation is gone again, which Tim thinks need to be fixed through aggressively passing a glass of wine towards him. He takes it without protest, takes a long drink, and says, “This seems more like 3 am conversation than a 9 pm one.”

Sasha gives an encouraging nudge, prompting another drink, and replies, “Yeah, well, I am not gonna make it to 3 am. I’ve got about an hour until the Alcohol Sleepiness sets in, and I know Tim will be right behind me.”

“Sashaaaaaa, you’re ruining my reputation as a young-at-heart, party-all-night kind of guy.”

“Babe, you’ve complained about your bones aching often enough that you’ve never had that reputation.”

“Surrounded by mean drunks, that’s what I am. I should be pitied.”

Martin shoots a glance towards Sasha, then replies, “You’d be more pitiable if this entire thing wasn’t, you know, entirely your own fault.”

Sasha nods sagely, “It’s true. If you were pitiable then maybe you wouldn’t have to die first.”

“You know what? I am uncomfortable with the energy that’s been created in this room, how about we divert some of that towards complaining about our bosses, as coworkers who are hanging out and having a good time and not bullying me are supposed to do.”

Sasha giggles slightly as she leans down and presses a kiss to Tim’s cheek. “Aw, sorry, Tim. I promise to double cross Martin when if becomes killing time.”

Tim melts a little, even as he’s replying, “Wait, when?” Martin takes another sip and says, “Whatever. I could take you both.”

How the hell are you supposed to resist a set up like that? With an over the top wink and cheesy grin, Tim says, “I bet you could, big guy.”

He’s expecting a slightly flustered reaction, maybe a higher pitched voice and a blush, if he’s lucky. He gets all of those things, but it’s Sasha saying, “Oh my god.” Martin only gives him a raised eyebrow and level stare, and Tim makes a mental note to reevaluate his dedication to only considering Martin in a strictly platonic fashion. Sasha continues talking, cutting through the..tension? with, “Okay, now I am uncomfortable with the energy that’s been created in this room. Tim, tell the studio audience what you think is up with Jon.”

Tim blinks, hard, gives a shake of his head, and says, “Oh, obviously the Jon we know is dead. His ‘promotion’ to Head Archivist was actually Elias killing him off and replacing him with a robot that has the command If: see Martin Then: be dick. Don’t worry Marto, now that Sasha is aware of the issue, she’ll surely be able to reprogram him.”

Sasha hums a bit, then says, “I buy it. I think my explanation’s better, but Elias does seem the “kill a dude and replace him” type. Like if I was gonna suspect any particular person of murder he’s in the top five.”

“Seriously? Elias? Somehow has middle manager vibes even though he’s the head honcho Elias? Mr. ‘I probably wore boat shoes and khaki shorts for the entirety of university’ Bouchard? Voted most likely to put a thin layer of mayo in between two pieces of white bread and claim it’s a sandwich Elias? The area man that’s almost certainly gone on record as saying that golf and networking are his favorite hobbies Elias? He’s far too boring to have committed a murder.”

Tim’s looking at Martin with shock and delight, and he knows Sasha is wearing the exact same expression. “More of this. Please describe more of the things that Elias is.”

“I mean, sure? Uhh, guy that would pay $80 for a dime bag because you told him it’s a premium strain. Person that ironically says things like “kids these days” and “the youths” and you know he’s talking about people well into their 30s. Genuinely believes that if you can afford a cell phone then you shouldn’t be complaining about being  poor, because apparently a one time purchase of around a hundred bucks is the same as trying to pay monthly rent. Tells people to haul themselves up by their bootstraps. Thinks he got to where he was ‘without anybody’s handouts’ even though he’s had a trust fund since he was 15. Writes weekly editorials to the local newspaper complaining about the liberalization of media, and they’re like ‘sir, please stop submitting to us, we’re just trying to talk about Lisa’s gardening club’ because they can’t professionally tell him to fuck off. Thinks salt and pepper are the only spices one could ever possibly need, everything else is simply excessive. Somehow gay and homophobic. Like, yes, he’s taken a male lover, but he’s also seconds away from calling you a slur at any one time. Actually, no, that’s too interesting, and I refuse to believe he’s had a lover. Legally, he cannot have a lover, I’ve decided, so just gay and homophobic, both in theory alone. Has said that Boris Johnson is “a bit much, but really not so bad, and much better than any of the alternatives, really.” All of the cousins in his family banded together and officially got him banned from any sort of major holiday dinners. Basically every shitty boss you’ve ever had, especially if you’ve worked retail, rolled into one.”

Tim lets out a low whistle. “Damn, all right. Get fucked Elias.”

Sasha emphatically agrees, “Get fucked Elias.”

They all clink their glasses together, and then there’s a beat of silence before Martin says, “I’m pretty sure robots can’t get eye bags.”

Tim and Sasha let out a “huh” and “hmm?” respectively, so Martin elaborates. “You posited that Jon had been replaced with a robot. Pretty sure robots aren’t able to look that tired.”

Tim snaps. “Drat, you’ve pointed out the one flaw in my impeccable logic. So what d’you think is up with him? I know you don’t have the Before The Archives comparison, but I think you could provide a fresh perspective.”

“Oh, fuck, I don’t know. Two months ago, I might have had some choice words, but first off, you all genuinely got on, so it didn’t really make sense for him to be awful all the time, and secondly ever since the, um, worm thing, he’s actually been pretty nice? I haven’t heard any snide comments, and whenever I mess something up he’s a lot more, um, gentle about explaining what wrong. He actually complimented my work the other day so. I guess I think Jon’s deal was that he was stressed out and I was very nervous and not very good at my job and he picked up on that?”

“So you think he’s like a horse.”

“Explain.”

“He sensed your fear and he became skittish and irritable in kind.”

“Horses can sense fear?”

“Horses can sense everything.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Right?”

“Guys, we’ve gone on like four different tangents in one conversation. Martin, I’m very glad to hear that Jon’s changed his behavior towards, because it means I don’t have to yell at him on your behalf, you’re getting to see the person that me and Tim both know who is actually pretty cool, and also mostly because it feeds perfectly into my winning theory.”

“What, you’ve got something better than Martin’s ‘accurate but boring’ reasoning or my ‘super cool but now that I think about it for .5 seconds actually kind of a bummer robot’ knowledge?”

Sasha’s incredibly self-assured when she says, “I sure fuckin’ do. Jon’s secretly been in love with Martin the whole time, and he’s been previously overcompensating by acting like he hates him.” which makes Tim choke on air and Martin emphatically reply, “Fuck off, he is not.”

“No, no, hear me out, I have, I have receipts, as the kids say. First point of evidence: Martin’s stupid hot, and there’s no way that Jon is straight, so obviously he’s not gonna be impervious to that.”

“What?”

“Oh come off it Martin, it’s just a fact. Like, me personally? I don’t even do the whole romance thing, but the first time I ever saw you I blacked out slightly and thought ‘Now there’s a man I could raise some ferrets with.’.”

“I, um, I, well. Is that...supposed to be a euphemism for something?”

“What? No, I’ve just always wanted ferrets, and asking someone to raise pets with you is like the height of romance, I’m pretty sure. Back me up here Tim.”

“On the ferret thing or the Martin hot thing?”

“Either? Both.”

“Aight. Yes, asking someone to raise ferrets with you is basically a marriage proposal if that someone is Sasha, and I hate to break it to you Martin, but you’re incredibly good-looking. We’re all incredibly good-looking, to the point where I think the only qualification for the archives staff is being a straight up hottie. OH! We should name the group chat “straight up hottie squad”. Anyway, yep, point for Sasha.”

“Not a point for Sasha, even if I believe you about about my, em, physical attractiveness,-”

“-Don’t have to put belief in a fact, Marto-”

“-that doesn’t mean anything. By that logic, he’s equally as likely to be in love with either of you, and my money would be on Sasha if it was anyone, because you’re clearly his favorite.”

“Ah, but that’s exactly why it isn’t me, but thank you for the transition into my second point which is: Jon is the kind of person that sees anything that might make him vulnerable and starts aggressively defending himself against it, and what’s more vulnerable than a crush? He’s not crushing on Tim, because Tim’s fucking great, but sometimes he’s also the walking, talking embodiment of sensory overload, and while I myself I love that, Jon clearly gets a bit overwhelmed by it at times. He’s not into me, because he knows better than that, and overall I’m pretty non-threatening to his whole thing, so of course he’s going to be the most relaxed around me. You, on the other hand, are single, hot, kind to animals and people alike, and make a great cup of tea. Incredibly crush worthy, thus incredibly threatening, thus Jon acting like That.”

“Hmm, this still seems like something that comes from watching one too many corny rom coms, and that’ s coming from someone who loves corny rom coms.”

“I also love corny rom coms, but that’s completely beside the point. Because, okay, sure, if Jon had just been a weird asshole to you, I wouldn’t be like ‘oh, yeah, that’s a classic case of covering for something’ but you’re right about him being nicer since the worm thing. So nice, in fact, I shall be bringing in Timothy as my star witness that’s going to blow this whole case wide open. Martin, you may not have heard how Jon has started to talk about you, but me and Tim sure have.”

“God, yeah. Like if we thought he wouldn’t shut up about you before-

“-which he wouldn’t-”

“it’s gotten way worse now.”

“I think the whole life threatening worm woman flipped a switch for him and now he’s all fuckin. ‘Oh, Martin should stay in the archives, let me give him the place that I sleep.”

“Oh, Martin, I don’t think he should go out on too many research trips anymore, I’d much prefer for him to be ~nice and close~”

“Oh, Martin, good lord, did you know that his tea is quite good? I’m think it might actually be the best I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, Martin, his work’s rather improved, don’t you think? It’s really quite impressive, especially considering all the stress he’s had to endure.”

“Oh, Martin, I just want him to take me into his big, strong arms and whisk me away from all of this.”

“He did not fucking say that last one.”

Sasha throws her arms up in the air. “He may as well have!”

Nodding sagely, Tim replies, “This whole thing holds water. I vote Sasha gets the shopping trip. Martin?”

Martin stares at his drink as if it has any ability to give him any sort of answers, then lets out a sigh with his entire body. “You know what? It’s probably nicer than whatever the fuck is the truth, so sure, why not? Let’s get Sasha her cardigans.”

Sasha lets out a whoop. “Hell yeah! Can’t wait for spree, assuming all three of us get out of this cabin alive.”

“Okay, nope, clearly Sasha needs another distraction. Got any suggestions, Martin?”

“Uh, wasn’t a karaoke machine part of the sales pitch for this place?”

“Martey babey, yes! I wouldn’t have thought you’d spring for that sort of thing!”

“If this were a public bar or something where I’d have to listen to drunk strangers and they’d have to listen to me, then no, I’d rather have my brain pulled through my nose a la mummification. But with only you guys and fourish drinks in? I’m down to clown.”

“Sash, you with us?”

“Dunno, what songs are there?”

Tim shrugs, and heads to the storage closet that contains all the various entertainment equipment. It takes a bit of searching, and a bit more digging, but he’s able to unearth the ancient portable karaoke machine. He also grabs some of the jigsaws, mostly on the thought that sometimes a bitch just wants to hang out with their friends and do a puzzle. Also because in light of the fact that they’re stuck inside with no sort of access to the outside world for two days longer than planned, there’s pretty much no way that they’re not going to reach a point where they all say fuck it let’s do a puzzle.

Plugging in the machine, it takes a solid several minutes to boot up, which is the perfect length of time to take it upon himself to take one for the team and chug the box wine himself, with Sasha and Martin chanting in the background. When he finishes, they cheer, and then Martin immediately shoves a glass of water for him to down as well, muttering something about how he wants him to be alive in the morning. Tim can tell he’s well inebriated by now, because the simple thoughtful gesture is enough to make him a little bit misty-eyed, and Sasha can attest to alcohol turning him into the world’s biggest sap. In order to avoid prevent himself from becoming the kind of person who says “I love you” in a gradually more sloppy repeat, he starts flipping through the discography of the now running machine. “Alright y’all, it looks like we got 80s songs or...80s songs. Ooo, they have the Grease 2 soundtrack.”

That gets him a well deserved “No!” from both parties, with Sasha adding on, “Not even if it was Grease 1. I’m putting an embargo on musical theater in general.”

“Oh come on, some musicals are better than other. Right, Marto?”

“I’m with Sasha on this one.”

“Boo. But fine, what do you want?”

Martin and Sasha glance at each other, and Tim’s amazed at how well the bonding night-turned-long-weekend has gone so far, considering they seem to have already mastered the art of silent communication. Martin speaks first, with, “They got Dolly Parton?”

The process of scrolling through individual letters to type is achingly slow, but luckily all he needs to get through is “DO” before she shows up. “They do.”

Sasha says, “Do they got 9 to 5, by Dolly Parton?”

Tim’s eyes light up with realization as he says, “They do,” and in a moment of spontaneous understanding, all three of them know that they’re not simply going to sing 9 to 5. No, they’re going to do a  full blown music video for the benefit for nobody but themselves, because why the fuck not.

The next hour is spent in a very silly fashion. They figure out how to use the cabin’s layout to their advantage, assign various parts of the song to each person, and practice their inexpert choreography a few times with the song tinnily blasting from Sasha’s phone. The final result is hardly of professional quality, but it is of making them all giggle quality. It starts off in a relay like manner, each of them in a different area to coordinate with “Tumble of out bed and stumble to the kitchen” (Sasha on the couch), “Pour myself a cup of ambition”, (Tim at the coffemaker), and “Yawn and stretch and try to come to life” (Martin at the fridge), with them finally crowding around the karaoke machine together to scream sing the chorus. Despite their practice, they quickly go off key, and while they might end up with low points for accuracy, they get full marks on enthusiasm.

When the song ends, it takes them a few minutes to settle down into something less giddy. As they do, Sasha, out of breath, says, “Fuck me, I’m sleepy now. What the hell?”

Tim hums in affirmation. “Goddammit, I’m tired too. Let me guess, Martin, you’re young enough that you could go all night?”

“No? I’ve never pulled an all-nighter in my life. Actually, I know that it was supposed to be in case the power went out, but huddling together under a blanket in front of a fire sounds really nice? I mean, um, if you guys were down.”

Sasha leans her head against Martin’s shoulder and takes on the expression of a deeply content cat. “Mmm, I call Martin, he’s warm.”

“Absolutely not, I also want to leech Martin’s warmth. You good with being in the middle?”

Martin’s practically beaming, but his voice manages to almost fake being put upon. “I suppose it’s a sacrifice I could make.”

With Sasha already half asleep, Martin brings her over to the couch, while Tim gets them all set up. He manages to find the kind of big, fluffy blanket that all cabins should contain and wraps it around their shoulders. Luckily for them, the fireplace is gas lit and can be put on a timer. He sets it for 30 minutes, even though all three of them are going to be long passed out before them. Sasha is already softly snoring away, and Martin’s head keeps drifting down and snapping back up. Tim curls up against Martin’s other side, and even though all three of them are going to wake up with aching backs and worse heads, he thinks he really just might be a genius after all.

*Why is Mr. Boddy’s name Dr. Black in the UK. I hate that. Why would you not have the dumb joke of  naming the victim “boddy”. Hey brits explain your crimes.

#anon #replies #nat fic #tma #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james

[hystericalweenie]

Just Another Day at the Office Series - New Experiences

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Seven: Confessions

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n had found herself stuck in a scenario she’d never thought she’d ever have to face: she’d been catching feelings for a coworker. While she attempted to adapt to her new job and work load, she also had to get used to these new feelings and figure out what the fuck to do with them. George made her want to take risks, she didn’t care about the potentiality of a broken heart with him, because falling in love with him made it seem worth it. Is George falling for Y/n too? Will he be able to reciprocate her feelings?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! Also, thank you to all the anons that sent in ideas! They were so helpful! I can’t figure out how to screenshot them and put them in here :( but y’all know who u are <3 

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s some extreme smut y’all... NSFW content, continue at your own risk

“What are you doing here?”

My arms were crossed and my eyebrows looking angry. A confused expression painted his face, telling me that he wasn’t sure why I was upset.

“You weren’t answering my texts, I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he confessed, his eyes softening in embarrassment. 

“Oh.” I looked down at the floor, not sure what to say.

He brought his hand to the nape of his neck, scratching awkwardly.

“I, uhm, I’ll leave,” he announced.

No.

“I saw you and Faith at that restaurant down the street,” I blurted, my words jumbling together quickly in anxiousness and fear that he’d leave. 

“Oh.” He dragged out the “o” vowel, accentuating the word, making me more nervous.

I held myself back from bringing my fingers up to my mouth and gnawing on my nails, not wanting to show him how anxious he’d truly been making me. 

“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” he confessed.

What?!.

I think my expression was able to display the emotions I was feeling, considering I could feel the color drain from my face in shock and that familiar nervous knot in my stomach made me feel like I could bend over and retch all over his shoes. 

“No,” he began, putting his hands up defensively. “Not like that; we broke up, because she’s gay, Y/n.”

My eyebrows angrily furrowed as my confusion heightened and I wasn’t able to form words. 

“Huh?” I was able to muster, given the situation I’d just been informed of.

He chuckled lightly, bringing his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, looking down for a moment as if he was searching for the right words to say.

“Remember when I told you about my last relationship? That things just didn’t work out?” He used his hands to gesture as he attempted to explain the situation to me.

I nodded, recollecting the memories from my sofa.

“Your last relationship was in college?”

I gulped. Did I let that detail slip?

“Yeah,” I began, scratching the back of my neck. “I haven’t really had the time for a relationship since I started working full-time.”

I hoped he wouldn’t be able to tell that I was lying. I prayed that my inevitable blushed cheeks wouldn’t turn scarlet. I begged that he wouldn’t think I was weird for not having been in a relationship for so long.

“How long has it been, then?”

I chewed my lip. Fuck. I felt like Bree had asked me the same question just yesterday, except in a different context, of course. Though, my answer remained the same.

“Two years,” I cringed at my own answer, before gesturing my hand out to him. “How about you?”

“Almost a year,” he admitted with a shrug. “Only lasted a few months, things just didn’t work out.”

“Well, I wasn't receiving much from her side of the relationship, figured she just wasn’t into me,” he used his hands to gesture again, staring into my eyes as he explained himself. “Well, that’s how the relationship ended. But, she told me a few months ago that it had nothing to do with me; she’s gay, she’s been gay, she just wasn’t in a place where she felt comfortable to come out until then. Since then, her and I have been friends and sometimes she’d hang out with Dean and Andrew, as well. Yesterday, she came with us to visit Andrew in rehab. We went for lunch afterwards, which is when you saw us.”

I froze at the explanation, realizing how dramatic I was being and how much I’d overreacted without letting him explain himself first. I groaned, bringing my palms to my face.

“God, I feel like such an idiot!” I exclaimed, my voice muffled against my hands.

He grabbed my hands, gently bringing them to my sides as his amused expression stared back at my exposed face.

“You were jealous, huh?” He chided, smirking down at me.

I rolled my eyes as I felt my cheeks redden. 

“Love, you have nothing to be jealous about,” he brought his hand to caress my face, pressing his lips to my forehead. “Although, I find it adorable.”

I tried not to melt right there, my cheek in his hand as I looked up at him, admiring the way his locks sat perfectly on his head and his pink, plump lips were curled in a lazy smile. His eyes were soft, blue abyss staring down at me lovingly, whilst I attempted not to get lost in them.

I brought my face to his, my lips brushing softly against his own. I knew I could have tried, but I was in too deep. The taste of his lips brought me peace, the scent of him brought me serenity and eased all of the anxiety I’d been previously experiencing. There was no way in hell I would’ve been able to just let him slip through my fingers; I wouldn't allow it.

That week had gone by fast, much more quickly than I would have liked. George’s birthday was on Friday, and I had no idea if it was expected of me to get him something or not. Hell, I wasn't sure if he’d wanted to spend his day with me. 

Nonetheless, I woke up extra early, so that I’d have time to do my hair in waves and put a little more effort into my makeup than normal. I wore a sexy black pencil skirt, knowing that he loved that way it hugged my figure. I paired it with a blouse, showing enough cleavage that I knew would drive him crazy. I finalized the look with a pair of heels, making my exposed legs appear longer. Satisfied and giddy, I rushed out of the apartment with endless thoughts of his reaction.

Grinning as I greeted the receptionist and getting into the elevator, chewing anxiously on my lip, I awaited my floor. Once the doors slid open, I made my way to my desk, my legs carrying me with a confident stride. Dean’s eyes lingered on me over his computer, as I sat myself down in my chair. 

“Hi, Dean,” I spoke to him, leaning my head away from my computer to meet his eyes.

I noticed a faint blush on his cheeks, his eyes peeling from his screen to look at me.

“Morning Y/n,” he began, clearing his throat. “You look lovely today, by the way. Not that you don’t look good any other day, bu–”

“Thank you, Dean,” I interrupted him, grinning at the adorable brunette.

I kept to myself, working silently until my nerves took over me. My heels were tapping nervously on the ground, wondering what his reaction would be like. I fantasized about his fingers wandering up my legs, grasping my bum with his large palms. I could feel the wet patch in my panties beginning to form at the thoughts, finally getting up from my seat and marching toward the elevator. Pressing the button as the doors closed behind me, I flattened my skirt and tousled my hair, hoping to perfect my appearance during this intermission. 

The doors slid open, revealing a figure in a button up and slacks.

It was him. 

I gulped, grabbing his collar and pulling him into the elevator with me, pressing the closing door button along with a bunch of random floor buttons, truly not caring about anything else but him. His lips attached to mine in an instant, his hands resting on the small of my back before lowering to my bum, squeezing my ass, causing a moan to escape my lips. Our tongues fought for dominance, my fingers wrapping around his neck and pulling at his hair eagerly. 

“I can’t take you here in the elevator, love,” he complained, his voice raspy with lust and his minty breath hitting me before attaching back onto my lips again.

The doors opened, causing us to quickly peel away from each other as someone entered the elevator. We exchanged glances, eyes wide at the intruder. They reached over, pressing their desired floor before pulling their phone out and entertaining themselves with the tiny device momentarily. The multiple lit up buttons flashed back at me, reminding me that I’d pressed buttons at random. The next floor that the elevator stopped at, George and I piled out quickly, laughing at the awkward situation. We found the stairs, opening the door to the abandoned, dimly lit flights of narrow stairs. He grasped my face with his palms, bringing me back to his lips.

This time, our lips moved with less eagerness, instead at a slow pace, our tongues less involved. He pulled away, finalizing our kiss with a peck. 

“Happy birthday,” I sighed blissfully, my lips swollen.

He bit his lip, bringing my face toward him again to peck my lips once more, resting his forehead against my own.

“Best birthday ever,” he admitted. “Thank you, my love.”

His thumbs stroked my cheekbones before he pulled away, grasping my hand as we made our way down the stairs. I intertwined our fingers, trying to bite back the giddy smile that threatened to make its way onto my lips. My stomach erupted with butterflies, as our footsteps echoed throughout the abandoned flights of stairs.

“You have any plans today?” I asked, gently swinging our hands.

He shrugged. “I think Dean wants to get drinks somewhere after work, but that’s it.”

I nodded, wondering if he was hinting at making plans. Once we’d reached his floor, he brought the back of my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss before untangling our fingers.

“Text me tonight? We can do something?”

I blushed.

“Of course, George.”

He walked over to me, fixing my hair for me before fiddling with my blouse and skirt, flattening the wrinkled fabric and fixing the disheveled top. He stepped away, scanning me and smiling in satisfaction before pressing a quick kiss on my cheek and opening the door, leaving me a blushing mess. This man was going to be the death of me.

I slipped my heels off, my sore feet carrying me to my bed. I plopped onto my stomach, pulling my phone out. 

Me: What do you feel like doing later?

Buzz.

George: Hmm...

George: Wine and movies at mine?

I grinned.

Me: That sounds perfect.

George: Does 8 sound good? Sorry if that’s a little late, Dean and I are going for dinner and drinks right now.

Me: Nope, perfect. Have fun, don’t get plastered ;)

George: I know my limit, love

George: I’m not like you ;)

Me: Omg. That feels like forever ago now, when the hell are you going to live that down?

George: Never.

George: I’ll text you when I get home

Me: Sounds good. See you then, birthday boy!

George: *insert... Is there a birthday emoji?

George: Never mind.. See you, Y/n

I was glad my hair was at least done, it was one less thing for me to do. However, with two hours to spare, I wished that I had something else to do. I fixed my makeup, powdering the spots that’d managed to get shiny throughout the day and reapplying my lip stain. I began picking out an outfit, shoveling through the hangers in my tiny closet. I settled on my usual jeans and flattering top, dressing myself and leaving my bedroom to watch television with Bree, listening to her rant about her day.

After enduring her complaints about her coworkers, I received a text message from George.

George: I’m ready whenever you are

I looked at the time on my phone, realizing it was already past eight o'clock, and I’d lost track of time. I grabbed my purse and rushed out of the apartment, practically jogging to my car. I started the vehicle, hearing it roar to life before making my way to him.

Finally arriving to his building, I texted him, letting him know that I’d arrived before I waited for him to meet me at my car. He walked me inside, leading me to his apartment as I eyed his outfit, which consisted of jeans and a white tee. With such a casual outfit, he managed to make it look so good. We entered his home, the familiar scent of sandalwood and vanilla welcoming me. A bottle of wine and two empty glasses sat on the coffee table in front of his sofa, awaiting my presence. I smiled at the gesture, taking my jacket off and following him to the sofa. He poured the red deliciousness into my glass before pouring himself a glass and bringing it to his lips.

He grabbed the remote controller, starting some random movie and wrapping his arm around me, pulling me into his side as the opening credits rolled. I sighed in content, breathing in his scent as my head lay against his chest, his skin warm through the fabric of his shirt. His fingers traced my arm, drawing shapes and patterns at random whilst his eyes remained concentrated on the screen. The simplicity of this moment, yet the weight of sincerity it held, made my heart ache for him. It was at this moment that I’d realized I was fully emerged in George, there was absolutely no way that I could have turned back, even if I’d wanted to. I longed for him, I needed him.

“George,” I called to him softly, turning my head to look up at him.

His eyes gazed down at me, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. His deep blue eyes bore into mine, awaiting an explanation for the way I called his name, his curly light locks contrasting. His skin looked soft and calm, no angry creases or lines except the concerned ones between his eyebrows. His lips were slightly puckered in a curious pout, slightly stained with wine. I devoured these features, wishing I could look at him forever. But staring at him made me miss the physicality of him, the sweet rhythm of our lips together and the feeling of his hips rolling against mine.

I needed more with him.

I needed him to make love to me. I needed to feel him inside of me, filling me up like his dick was meant to be there. I needed him to stretch me out and fuck me into tomorrow. 

I needed this; I needed him. 

 “Y/n?” he brought his hand to my face, gently stroking my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I need words, love.”

My lips trembled from my thoughts, my core dripping and aching in agony as I devoured his features once more. 

“You,” I whimpered, with a gulp. “I need you.”

He bent his face down to me, his hand moving to my chin to lift my own up to meet his lips. He stilled, his lips barely brushing mine.

“You have me, love,” he confessed, his thumb moving to drag across my bottom lip. “Any way you need me; I’m all yours.”

I moved up to my knees in an instant, crashing my lips onto his as my hands went to grasp his face, my lips moving feverishly against his. His lips adapted to my rhythm quickly, tongue slipping between my own. He was quick to grab at my thighs, pulling my legs around his waist before standing up and carrying us to his bedroom, our lips still connected. He waisted no time, kicking his door open with his foot and closing it the same way behind us, gently laying me on the bed. He kicked his shoes off, peeling the fabric of his shirt off of his torso. I did the same with my shirt, revealing my lacy black bra that I’d worn in case he’d end up seeing me in my undergarments. I scooted myself up on the bed as he made his way on top of me, his lips finding their way back to mine. 

His lips began trailing down my jaw to my neck, finding my sweet spot and gently sucking. My fingers went to his hair, tugging as breathy sighs left my mouth, the feeling of his mouth nibbling and sucking at the pleasurable spot. Positive that he’d left a bruise, he moved to my chest to repeat the same thing on one of the valleys of my breasts. His locks tickled my face, erupting my senses with the smell of his shampoo. I lifted my body as his fingers slowly wrapped around the band of the bra, going to the back to unclasp it. Successfully moving the bra off of me, his mouth went to latch onto one of my nipples, causing me to moan at the sudden sensation. 

The feeling of his tongue lapping at the bud, his hand moving to massage the other breast, was almost enough to drive me over the edge. I could feel the obvious wetness in my panties as my core dripped more and more by the second, my hips bucking for some kind of relief. His mouth left my nipple, moving to the other one and repeating the same actions. My fingers continued to thread through his locks desperately, my hips bucking against his stomach. 

His lips released from my nipple with a pop, looking up at me and meeting my y/e/c eyes with his blue ones, looking darker than ever with lust. His eyes continued to gaze into mine as he unbuttoned my jeans. I lifted my hips, helping him slide the fabric off of my legs. He moved himself down, his lips pressing over my clothed core. I moaned aloud, the sudden tease giving me stimulation. I could feel him grin, his fingers hooking around the band of my panties before painfully slowly peeling them off of me. His arms hooked around my thighs, pulling them apart as he gazed at my heat. 

“Christ, love, you’re dripping,” he observed in awe.

I watched as his lips pressed to my mound, to each inner thigh, before finally latching to my clit. My jaw went slack as I watched him, his dilated pupils meeting mine as his tongue moved against me. The sensation made my eyes roll to the back of my head, giving me relief and better pleasure than I could have ever imagined. As his tongue lapped slowly at the sensitive bud, I felt his finger tease my folds, my hips bucking in reaction. His finger finally entered me easily, slipping and curling right into my clenching walls. He kept at a slow rhythm before adding another finger and lapping at my clit more quickly. His fingers began to speed up at as well, causing my back to arch. 

I felt my climax near, before he pulled away. I gasped at his action with a frown. He quickly unzipped his pants, his briefs following suit as his cock slapped against his stomach. My lips parted at the sight, before he moved to his nightstand. 

“You don't need one,” I cleared my throat, my legs still open as I lay there. “I’m all covered.”

He eyes widened, and I swore I saw precum beginning to leak out due to my words.

“Shit, are you sure?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing. 

I nodded, recollecting memories of taking my birth control on the dot for the past week, knowing that this moment was inevitable. He walked back over to me, moving back on top of me. He pressed his lips to mine, giving me a sweet kiss before pulling away and positioning himself.

This is it.

He rubbed his tip up and down my heat, coating his tip with my wetness, before slowly pushing into me. His face hovered above mine, watching my expression as I felt him carefully slide his entire length into me. It was uncomfortable, his large size was something I’d not been used to. He stopped, pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

“Let me know whenever you’re ready for me to move,” he assured me, his hand coming to my face to stroke my cheek and push a few strands of hair out of my face. 

I nodded, my eyes closed and my forehead creasing at the pressure as he allowed me to adjust to him. I forced myself to open my eyes, meeting his blue ones. I concentrated on the blue orbs, eyes moving to the freckles on his nose and the disheveled waves on his head. His swollen, plump lips called for mine, as I attached mine to his without thinking. I pulled away, eyes absorbing his features once more, and I felt myself open up for him. It amazed me that I could find such comfort and peace so quickly in his features. I gave him a nod, letting him know that he could begin moving. He pressed one more gentle kiss onto my lips before slowly pushing himself out and moving back inside of me.

His hips moved gently against mine, still keeping at a careful pace. I was quick to adjust to the movements, beginning to find pleasure in the feeling. I could feel him stretching me, feeling all of the veins and ridges of his bare cock against my walls. I sighed, giving him more confidence to pull more of himself out and reenter me with a little more force. Our lips attached to each other, moving together at a rhythm, similar to the one he’d been fucking me with. His hips rolled against mine, feeling him go deeper into me as my fingers went back to his hair, needing to tug on the soft locks. 

I wrapped my legs around his hips, giving him more access to fuck me deeper. I moaned against his lips as his pace began picking up, hearing the sounds of him moving through my juices, his skin slapping against mine. His thrusts became deeper and harder, bringing me close to my edge.

“I-I’m close, George,” I informed him, my lips pulling away as our foreheads rested against each other.

“Cum for me, angel,” he encouraged me, thrusting himself deep enough to brush a certain spot that drove me to my orgasm. 

My eyes shut as my vision went fuzzy, feeling myself clench around him whilst I rode my high through his thrusts, bucking my hips to meet his own. He quickly pulled out of me, his hand going to his cock as he pleasured himself. I moved myself under him, causing him to finish himself over my breasts, his mouth agape and his eyes half-lidded. The sight of his cum on my breasts was enough to make him hard again, his pupils dilated at the sight underneath him.

“Can you go for another round?” I asked, looking up at him after noticing his already-erect penis.

He blissful, fucked-out expression turned into a smirk.

“I thought you’d never ask, angel,” he admitted, bringing me back up to his lips. 

We kissed with much more force this time, as I rolled myself on top of him, his juices meeting his chest as well. But we didn’t care–we needed to feel each other again. I sat up, straddling him, before raising myself up and positioning his dick at my entrance once again. I slowly lowered myself onto him, feeling him blissfully fill me again. I didn’t need to adjust this time, instead, I began swirling my hips almost instantly. His hands immediately went to my hips, his fingers digging into the skin, guiding me against him. My own hands went to his chest, looking down and watching as I moved against him. 

His hands snaked up my back, pulling me down to meet his lips. We kissed sloppily as I began moving faster against him, feeling him deeper and deeper inside of me, hoping he’d hit the spot inside of me again. I pulled away, sitting back up and rocking my hips faster, feeling my second climax approaching. Without warning, he lifted me up by my hips and began pounding into me, chasing his own release. And with this faster, harder, and deeper pace, he hit the spot I’d been searching for, and he hit it over and over. I screamed in pleasure, clenching around him, as I felt him spurt inside of me, hitting the spot again whilst I rode my high, the stimulation causing me to roll my eyes back and my thighs quiver. 

I raised myself off of him, watching his juices, mixed with my own, slowly drip out of my entrance. I plopped next to him, my chest heaving up and down, my body exhausted from all of the energy I’d just exerted. 

“I need to take a fucking shower,” I breathed with a laugh, looking down at my chest, still littered with his juices whilst more of him dripped out of me.

I turned my head to look at him, noticing he’d already been looking at me.

“Be mine, Y/n.”

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #x reader fic #x reader #smut #1917 #1917 cast #fanfic #fanfics

[owlways-and-forever]

Not Giving Up

Summary: With Neil going into septic shock, Claire is desperate to try anything that might save him. Now she just has to convince Dr. Lim to do the same, and see if her gamble will pay off. Starts after the conversation about religion.

A/N: I have very little medical knowledge, so I'm skipping right over the surgical bit. This is just a short, quickly written little one shot because I just finished s3 last night, and I just cannot deal with that. I'm sure there will be more Melendaire to come though, because I desperately need them.

Idk if y’all are interested in this but figured I’d tag yall @shaunthegooddoctor @neilrnelendez . If y’all (or anyone else) want to be tagged in any future TGD fics (in which Neil will never die before he’s 80) let me know :)

WC: 1651 | Read on: AO3, FFnet

o . o . o

“Claire, he’s got severe sepsis,” Audrey commented, her expression beyond sad. “Even if he did recover, he’d be immunocompromised. He’d never be allowed back in an OR.”

“‘He’d be alive ,” Claire protested, desperation creeping into her voice. “Dr. Lim, are you really going to deny him a life-saving procedure just because his quality of life might decrease?”

Audrey hesitated, trying to figure out what she would do if this were any other patient. What if it was a stranger? It  was too hard to imagine. What if it were Andrews? Or someone who wasn’t so deeply entrenched in her heart? But it was no good, she just couldn’t untangle her feelings for Neil.

“Please, Dr. Lim, just let me take it to Melendez and see if he wants it,” Claire pleaded. “If I talk to him…”

“No,” Audrey interjected firmly. She pulled the resident aside, to a miraculously empty patient’s room. She dropped her voice, no longer speaking as Chief of Surgery, but woman to woman. “Claire, he will do anything you ask him to, even if it’s not in his best interest. He won’t care, he’ll do what you say without batting an eye. You have to know how he feels about you.”

“I…” Claire stammered, not sure how to answer that. Being in love with your boss was awkward enough, but it was even more so when his ex-girlfriend was his boss and the one standing in front of you arguing about how to save his life.

“It’s okay,” Audrey soothed. “It doesn’t bother me. I care about him immensely, but it’s different with you. He’s different. It’s fine, I’m not in love with him. But you are, Claire, and that means you can’t be impartial about this. You’ll do anything to save him, and he’ll agree to anything to make you happy. That’s dangerous.”

“Then you talk to him about it,” Claire bargained, not giving up that easily.

“Frankly, I don’t think I’m impartial enough,” she replied, fixing Claire with a wry frown as she considered the options carefully. This was the hardest part of being Chief, putting aside your feelings to make big decisions. “Murphy just got back to the hospital. Tell him your idea and have him pitch it to Melendez. Without you in the room. If Neil consents I’ll get Andrews to do the surgery.”

Claire opened her mouth to protest, but Audrey cut her off.

“I can’t do it, Claire, I just can’t. Andrews may not be as good as me, but he’s still a damn good surgeon,” she said, attempting a joke.

Claire nodded and scurried away, on a mission to find Shaun as fast as possible. Time was of the essence, after all.

o . o . o

She sat in the chair reserved for family and friends, bouncing her leg up and down, elbows on her knees and her chin resting on her clasped hands. Waiting was agony, and she needed it to be over. She needed to know, one way or another, what was going to happen. But mostly she needed him to be alive.

Claire’s eyes flicked from his body, laying complacent on the bed, to the monitors that were beeping his vitals. Still no change. Which was good, because he wasn’t dead. But he wasn’t awake yet either.

She lost track of how long she had been sitting there, waiting for Neil to wake up. Exhausted, she was beginning to drift in and out of consciousness, not quite sleeping, but not entirely aware of the room around her either. She didn’t see his eyes flutter open, just narrow enough to see her figure sitting there, holding a vigil, the rosary she’d gotten for him tightly clasped in her fingers.

“Geez, you’d think I was dying or something,” Neil quipped, his voice barely a whisper.

Claire’s eyes snapped up, meeting his and taking in his full, conscious state. He had the ghost of a smile on his lips, and his eyes were hinting at their usual sparkle. Neil was awake, and his vitals were still good. She felt like hyperventilating and crying with happiness. He was going to be alright. She stood, hands still clasped in front of her face, tears building up in her eyes.

“Hey, come here,” he beckoned, his tone soothing.

Claire obediently crossed the little room until her thighs bumped against the hospital bed’s mattress. She wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him and rest her head on his shoulder, sob her relief into his papery gown. Neil reached for her as much as he was able, only strong enough to lift his arm a few inches from the bed, but Claire caught his hand in one of her own, sitting down softly on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” he croaked, his throat still raw and dry from the surgery. “Shaun told me it was your idea.”

“Thank you for doing it,” she whispered in reply. Suddenly, Claire felt overcome with guilt. Had she been selfish to insist on this procedure? He was alive but it might have changed his whole life, and not for the better. “You might not be able to operate again though.”

“I know,” Neil replied, nodding slightly, the oxygen tube bunching under his chin at the motion. “But there are worse things.”

“Yeah? Like what?” she sniffed, having trouble believing that there could be anything worse for him than a life on the sidelines.

“Like never telling your friend that you’re completely in love with her,” he said, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling as if he was asking god to give him the courage to say what he needed to. Or maybe he was just in pain, his abdomen had been carved open hours earlier, after all.

Claire tamped down any hope she felt at the statement. He had, after all, stopped her when she’d tried to tell him about her feelings earlier in the night. Why else if not to save her the embarrassment of confessing her love to someone who didn’t reciprocate? Even if it had saved his life, she was still a fool for falling in love with her boss.

“Claire?” he asked, looking at her significantly as his voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Was ‘friend’ too vague? Should I have said ‘star resident’ instead?”

Well there was absolutely no way he was talking about Morgan.

“Me?” Her voice failed her, but it didn’t matter. He understood.

“Yeah, you,” he whispered, a shy smile appearing. “I love you, Claire.”

“Ohthankgod,” she breathed, her body relaxing a little at his words. “I love you too.”

“I know,” he answered, confident in a way that only Neil could be. “Why else would you try so hard to save me?”

It was meant to be a joke, but they both knew there was some element of truth to it. She loved him so much that she just couldn’t let him go. She smiled and snuggled in next to him, encouraged by his words and his prognosis. After that night, she just wanted to hang onto him and never let go.

“Claire?” Neil said hesitantly, brushing his nose softly against her forehead and following the touch with a gentle kiss over the same spot.

She craned her neck to look at him, smiling at him to prompt him further.

“When I get out of here, I don’t want to take things slow.” His expression was thoughtful and sincere, conveying that he meant every word he said with utter certainty. “I don’t mean physically, that’s… I’ll follow your lead, and there’s no rush there. Hell, my doctor may not clear me for much exertion for a while.”

They both grinned at the stupid joke.

“But,” he continued, “I don’t want to hide things or take it one day at a time or anything like that. Which is maybe stupid, given how many relationships I’ve killed in this hospital. But I know you’re different, Claire, and I… I just want to be with you.”

“You sound like you’re about to propose,” she teased, mostly because she wasn’t used to hearing him take that tone. Sure of what he wants, but nervous how she might react.

“If I had a ring, I might be tempted,” he replied, laughing a little. “But you can go ahead and take the spare apartment keys that are in my office, because I want you there as much as you want to be. Always, if I’m really honest.”

“That sounds nice,” Claire answered, fighting a yawn.

Despite her desire to stay awake and continue their conversation, exhaustion was finally catching up with her now that the adrenaline had worn off. She wriggled a little bit until she was lying on her side, her arm draped over his chest so that her hand could curl around the far side of his neck, and one leg resting gently on top of his. Neil slid his arm beneath her ribs, wrapping it around her waist so he could hold her tight as she dropped her head against his chest, savouring the feel of his heart beating.

“Get some sleep, Claire. I love you,” he whispered, even as she was already drifting off into a dreamland, and he pressed a kiss into her curls, breathing deeply. He was more than content holding her like that, falling back asleep with her small frame clinging to him.

Dr. Lim appeared in the doorway to check on her patient, smiling at the setup she found. Quietly, she backed away, sliding the glass door just so that the couple wouldn’t be disturbed. They’d had a long road to get to where they were, and they would have a lot of challenges ahead of them. The least she could do was give them one night of peace, where it didn’t matter that he was an attending and she was his resident.

#the good doctor #neil melendez #claire browne #melendaire #audrey lim #gen writes #tgd ff #tgd fic

[purkinje-effect]

The Purkinje Effect, 36

Table of Contents. Go to previous.

____________________

Geek slouched alone in the floor of Hancock’s Statehouse room. Down to his gloves, tank, and jeans, he routed through his duffel, armor, and jumpsuit and laid out everything in his possession. He picked uselessly at what remained of his savings, and quickly returned the caps to their stash in one of the inner pockets of his boiler suit. He found himself snacking on a tub of shortening, rather than accomplishing the task of taking inventory. His gaze fell on the two bottles of Buffout he’d collected from the gym in North End, and his pursed mouth wandered askew.

After Park Street Station, he never wanted to touch a chem again. Even tobacco and spirits felt suspect, and he’d never really considered them chems per se.

He wanted to talk to Hancock. He’d wanted to talk to him since they got back inside Goodneighbor’s walls. But the mayor had made himself scarce and unapproachable, sticking to the corners of people’s vision. The only times he’d seen him in the past twenty-four hours was a quick pop into his room to grab some chems, and when he had taken a short nap upon returning home from their excursion. Geek was pretty sure Hancock had been floating around the Third Rail, but he hadn’t bothered to press interaction. He absolutely did not want to enter another subway if he could help it. Where would he even begin talking anyway?

And it wasn’t like he could talk to ‘Choly about it, either. The chemist had stayed in the Hotel Rexford and not been seen at all. Geek had half a brain cell to suspect that ‘Choly had somehow left town without the Neighborhood Watch noticing, but the rest of his brain cells knew that didn’t add up either. No, the last thing he wanted to do was hunt down the little cretin.

He picked up Cronus, turned it this way and that in his hands. His pursed mouth flattened into a long wide line. A gloved fingertip trailed one of the edges. With a brittle, loud noise he slapped the broad side of the blade against the floor. Again, a third time, until part of it snapped off the once-wrench he’d built it atop. His jaw seared. He grabbed for the ball peen in a tool apron, applied it to the remainder of his work. As the pieces freed from his shiv, he shoved them into his mouth and swallowed them without a care for the possible consequences on the way down.

The shiv was still Cronus, with or without his sweat poured onto it.

He pulled everything back together, keeping the chems set aside. He glanced to the coffee table which normally boasted his boyfriend’s spread and glassware, then stood with a stiff snort, carrying the two bottles of steroid supplements. Then he descended the spiral staircase on his way to the one person he felt would talk to him these days.

Sorry, Dais. He gesticulated on his way out of the Statehouse and across the plaza. We had to go save a Synth imprisoned by Triggermen in a vault. Oh! Sorry, Dais. Hancock didn’t tell me that he meant for us to help him do somethin’ completely different, when he agreed to work with us. Daisy, we should be worried about some a the chem-weapons our new chemist has. Daisy, so sorry. Got trust issues now--

Geek stood before Daisy’s Discounts, and stopped, watching. A ghoul looked to be throwing hands with Daisy from across the counter. He wasn’t sure whether to step between her and this short bespectacled ghoul with a patchy red ducktail, faded muddy leather jacket, and high-rolled trousers demonstrating mismatched socks and spectator brogues. It seemed like neither was intent on landing any hits despite their animation toward one another. The unfamiliar figure slapped his elbow against the back of his hand repeatedly. The longer Geek stood there, the more he felt Daisy’s exhaustion and this other ghoul’s exasperation, like pressure descending upon the space. What got him really staring wasn’t the glowing uranium green hatch marks all along his bare right arm. It was yet another Pip-Boy owner.

Daisy tossed a glance to Geek, to let him know she was aware of him, but she didn’t let up gesturing with animation. The other ghoul said nothing, and kept his attention on Daisy. Daisy slowly began verbalizing bits and pieces. Everything out of her mouth felt like an incomplete thought, but Geek could tell now there was some manner of conversation taking place. And it was about him. He flushed deep pink, and did his best not to frown.

“--No, the three of them are in a rough patch after what happened in the vault, but-- No, I’m sure we can get together enough forces in Goodneighbor to reclaim the-- Cecil! Damn it all!!” No amount of raking one hand along the back of the other could convince the ginger to ease off.

The ghoul turned to Geek. He gave a few dials and buttons and impassive tweak, then resumed gesticulating, this time toward the pink ghoul.

The Pip-Boy emanated a voice something like a Mister Handy’s, though too modulated and mechanical: “You’re the Geek, then.”

“I, what of it,” Geek stammered in bewilderment. “What’s--”

“I might be upset about the ongoing damages to my library,” the Pip-Boy continued on Cecil’s behalf, “but your detour saved one of the only people in Diamond City I still respect. So I owe you thanks.”

“I don’t-- I don’t understand--”

Geek’s attention flitted between Daisy and Cecil, desperate for a modicum of explanation. Cecil went in for a handshake, only to notice Geek’s hands were full. Cecil’s demeanor jilted to a cool fixation upon noticing the particular chem.

“Oh. Buffout. Full bottles? Are you looking to unload them?”

“Cecil,” Daisy hissed, slouching on the counter, and not even bothering to move a muscle. “If the Geek is interested in selling them to me, I will set them aside for you. And you can buy them. From. Me.”

Geek glanced up at the store front sign, then back to Cecil. Supposing it’s fair she dislikes anyone but her doing business in her shop.

After watching the Pip-Boy screen a moment, Cecil soured and lost his patience with the whole thing.

“I’m going to the Den,” his Pip-Boy announced on his way out of the plaza and around the corner.

“...His library?” Geek still glanced in the direction Cecil had left.

“That was Mr. Cecil. He’s the curator of the Boston Public Library.” Daisy let out a long, beleaguered sigh. “I’m sorry, dear. Did you need something?”

“...I thought I did... Never mind.” He squinted, unable to shake the rhyme. “No. The library curator? I thought you said the library was full of super mutants.”

“He is. And, unfortunate as it is... it is.” She only got up long enough to fetch herself a beer, and seemed in marginally better sorts with her whistle whet. “When the mutants moved in, I was confident--but not certain--that he stepped out of the house at the time, so to speak. It’s a shame for the library to fall out of his hands like this, and for him to come home from his errand like this, but I’m glad he’s still kicking. One of a handful of the prewar ghouls that still haunt the Commonwealth.”

“Came to apologize for not reclaiming the library yet, but... You did the same thing Hancock did. You sent us to make sure somebody that matters to you was okay, but didn’t want to admit it might turn out t’be a rescue mission.” He swatted his train of thought away before continuing. “You are so goddamn good at your job that I don’t even have to know I’ve got questions, an’ you’ll answer ‘em.”

He set the Buffout on the counter. She softened, smiling genteel despite having little clue what he was on about.

“My job? Sweetheart, I’m just a gorgeous, brilliant, humble gal running an odds and ends shop in the ruins of Boston’s red light district. So you are interested in unloading some goods. I’ll give you ninety-five caps for the pair.”

He nodded impatiently, unable to get rid of the chems fast enough. She counted out five caps from a satchel and gave him the rest, which he shoved into his caps pocket. With a pointed, insistent enthusiasm, he excused himself.

“Boston’s gonna have its library back one day.”

She was scared we wouldn’t find him alive. He thought back to her asking her favor, and recalled her sheer, genuine attachment to the location itself. Hancock had to know who Cecil was, going into this. That’s how he deduced Daisy had put them up to it.

He knew Daisy’s answer to the question ablaze in his eye as he stormed across the plaza to the nearest Neighborhood Watch. Now he needed to know Hancock’s answer to the same damn question.

Why’d you mislead us, when y’know we would’a said yes?

The Watchman waved toward the stoop to the Third Rail, not even having to deduce what Geek wanted. So he did what he didn’t want, and he entered the bar that had been a subway terminal in another life.

Ham stopped him with a pair of gentle, insistent hands on his shoulders.

“Geek, I know ya don’t know me too well. But I’ve got to warn you. I don’t like when trouble kicks up in this place. Don’t be that trouble, capisce?”

“Ain’t got a single intention of that, man. What, you worried Hancock’s gonna start somethin’ in his own bar? Don’t sweat it.”

The tuxedo’ed bouncer relinquished, and Geek continued downstairs in search of the mayor. When he didn’t locate him in the main seating area, he couldn’t even pay mind to Magnolia’s performance on stage. He slipped down the hall to the VIP lounge, and stood right before the corner turned, and listened with great resentment. Oh goody. Worst case scenario. Hancock and ‘Choly were talking, and he could smell Mister Handy fuel before he even got to the hall in the first place.

“Leader’s got to be trustworthy just as much as he’s got to trust his compatriots,” Hancock continued coolly. “You and Geek sounded like you had your heart set on clearing out the library, laid out a ton of financial and sociopolitical ground we stood to gain. But she sent y’all there to check on somebody. I was pretty sure he was safe, but I was very sure Valentine wasn’t. And I didn’t trust either of ya to make the moral decision to focus on Valentine when given the choice. So, ah. Thank you. For making me check myself.”

“You’re forgiven. ...Though, if you really wanted to thank me, truly thank me, you could show your gratitude with a kiss.”

“You’ve got a strange economy, to prioritize bartering in tokens. But... you’ve been bending over backwards since you stepped foot in my town, presumably in some attempt just to earn some. I suppose I could... give you a little peck.”

After a tense and awkward quiet, Geek could hear some clothing rustling, and Hancock’s boots hitting the floor.

“A peck, nothing more, nothing less.” The ghoul mused, diffusing his displeasure into dreaminess. “This ghoul’s not running the bases anymore. Already got my home run.”

'Choly broke the long pause with abjection.

“...When was the last time you know of that Sticks was in town?”

A tall figure came up behind Geek. The pink fellow didn’t have to turn around to know the man wanted trouble.

“You got a habit of snooping?” He had a somewhat shrill, sarcastic, mid-tone voice. “I’m told your bubblegum butt shouldn’t be here.”

“Did Ham sic you on me!”

“Melancholy did. He warned me that you might be following him.”

Geek put his hands up, incredulous.

“I was lookin’ for Hancock!”

“I was just leaving.” ‘Choly leaned hard into his cane, standing several paces from Geek. “Ugh, you have an awful eavesdropping habit. If you want to watch, or be included, you should just say so--”

“Sir!” Angel blurted out, coming along behind him. “You’ve paid good money to enforce a restraining order. Such invitation is both unwise and contrary to your investment.”

‘Choly couldn’t even muster rolling his eyes at his Handy.

“Come on, MacCready. I need to work out some things with the other Rexford tenants.” He glanced over his glasses to Geek, exhausted to his soul. “You heard Angel. Don’t be my shadow. This mercenary is a formidable ex-Gunner, and he’s in my pocket.”

The tall man in a cream duster followed along with the chemist and robot. Geek hemmed as he watched them scale the stairs at ‘Choly’s pace. He couldn’t shake the grief, and did his best to read the room where he stood. A bald patron lounged at the seating area near the end of the bar, where some white picket fencing provided a safety barrier at the edge of what had once been the loading platform.

Wearing sunglasses, flannel, and a pleasantly stupid grin, he waved warmly to him with unsettling familiarity. Geek approached him, scalp prickling, and narrowly made himself sit at the patio furniture with him.

“The fuck are you doing here,” he asked the man.

“Hey, now...” The man grinned, hands up in defense. “Everybody’s welcome in Goodneighbor. Even me!”

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #ghoul oc #the purkinje effect #maccready #rj maccready #oh no melmac has begun #deacon #daisy #cecil #ham #melancholy #mister handy #angel

[starshipsandsuperheroes]

Top 5 DnD moments from a campaign you were in?

Ok so this is the most difficult ask to answer because when I sat down to come up with my top 5 I accidentally came up with a list of my Top 46 that I might post later and offer to expand on any story that piques anyone’s interest because lbr all I ever want to do is talk about the incredible stories I feel blessed to be able to tell, because my friends and party members are so fucking talented as actors and as storytellers and are just wonderful people and I -

Anyways

I’l put my top 5 under a cut, and y’all stay tuned if you want more where this came from for the teaser version of what I consider my “best of” list

Ask me my top 5 anything!

This is literally the hardest list in the world but ok in no particular order

1.) The Ship In A Storm

I’ve told this story before on here so I’ll keep it brief, but the moment that truly led me to understand how DND really could be anything was the day wizardsoup had us roll initiative to help handle a ship caught in a storm.  The campaign’s no longer running, but it changed how I play, no word of a lie.  We made skill checks and decided what needed to be done (and the order it needed to be done in), then on the storm’s “turn,” based on what we had done/not done, the action progressed accordingly.  It was creative and flexible and so so cool, and was super formative in my understanding of what you could actually do with DND.

2.) Slightly Damaged Horse Mug

From the Ambiscade campaign, run by my wife of twelve years wizardsoup.  This is a more recent one, and decidedly not a long one, but in raiding a criminal group’s hideaway, ding-dong-diddly-dick’s mullet cowboy bard found the best fucking item ever to come out of an investigation check, the Slightly Damaged Horse Mug.  Does it do anything?  Well it holds liquid.  Is it magic?  No.  Does it have a slightly damaged horse head protruding from it that gives it a certain… je ne sais qui?  Absolutely.

3.) The Eris Arc’s Culmination

The longest campaign I’ve ever played in has run for three years, and we’ll be going into our fourth year come September.  The first arc of the campaign ran for a little over a year with sammygiddings at the helm (where she remains, champion of DM’ing and my heart).  It’s a campaign based and flavored in antiquity, blending Greco-Roman and Egyptian mythological theming primarily with splashes of other mythologies here and there for taste.  I’m so fucking lucky to be a part of it, y’all have no idea.

The arc, for the most part, saw us retrieving items off a list provided to us by an “ally" in an attempt to gain power necessary to locate and rescue the gods from whatever had been slowly taking them and hiding them away.  Eventually, we learned that the angel worked for Eris, the manifestation of chaos older than almost everything in the world, whom we had previously identified as the antagonist of this campaign.  Unfortunately, everything we did in our attempt to stop her played straight into her hands.  We led her to Heh, her counterpart, in an attempt to get his help - which is what she had wanted all along.  Almost like it was nothing had our two demigods get kidnapped alongside the one we had gone to find so we could warn him, since it turned out that list was actually meant to more give the universe a hard reset, and the secret ingredient was three demigods.  

The session where everything broke down, the party (save for my and one other PC) travelled to the Shadowfell to free the gods, while the demigods tried to frenetically figure out how to not get used for Bad Ending Soup.  The party was on top of their fucking game, freeing the gods so they could return to their domains.  We managed not to get made into Soup, but it was primarily because Heh was looking out for us - when Eris moved to strike after a particularly moronic “What are you gonna do, kill me?” on my part, he leapt out and engaged her in battle.

It was a fucking treat to watch.  They fought each other like it was the best thing that had happened to them in hundreds of thousands of years, and sammygiddings played the parts incredibly.  There was a rip open to Tartarus, which would imprison either of them were they to fall.  Eventually, Heh caught her in a hug, whispered to her a moment, and tipped the both of them down the pit.  The utter silence that the room was filled with will never leave me.  I just remember shaking, looking around the rest of the room in disbelief, and the utter silence followed by the quiet murmuring that started up as we processed that it had really worked.

Also, after something like that, reuniting with your party Hits Different.

4.) Snow in Giza

This is a moment from during the Eris arc when the Gods Getting Taken thing started to go in a very serious direction.  Our paladin suddenly lost access to his powers, and, knowing what that might mean, we rushed to Giza (his home city and the location of the temple of Horus, his father) to see what was going on.  He jumped off the boat and sprinted through the city, my character hot on his tail to make sure he didn’t run into trouble alone.  

We made it to the temple and pushed past the perimeter the Temple of Mat (basically the police) had set up to find the ceiling cracked, the statue fallen, and the clerics in disbelief.  What really sticks out in my mind, though, was when we left the temple.  The paladin and I were the only two PCs from Egypt - which made it all the more impactful when we stepped just out the doorway and sammygiddings, in an artful moment of setting a terrifying tone, described the small, white, cold flakes that had begun to fall from the sky.  It was snowing in Giza.

It wasn’t a huge moment, technically?  But for whatever reason, every time I think through that experience, I lose my entire mind because it’s so vibrant.

5.) The Popcorn Fight

I debated for a while which experience from the Lakewood Campaign (a wild west, anti-capitalist, anarchist, and overall delightful campaign) I was gonna put on this list.  I almost put our Astral Plane Adventure, but I could dedicate an entire post to that, so I picked something a little more succinct from literally two sessions ago - the popcorn fight.

The characters in this campaign have taken a long time to get to what most parties fall into easily.  There’s been, for a long time, a lack of trust, a lot of secrets, and conflicting motivations between characters that made it hard to settle into a comfortable rhythm, mostly as a PC but even to some extent as a player.  The story was thrilling, the characters were electric, but the conflict made it difficult for them to connect.  

Recently, that’s started to shift a lot.  Our characters trust each other, even if they won’t say it.  Dare I even speak it, they like each other, and they care for each other.  I could have told you this was the direction everything was going without this moment, but the popcorn fight solidified it.  Having retrieved an NPC party member from a deal gone wrong (long story) with the help of a guest player, the main party returned to where we’ve been staying, and immediately our snack devolved into a full-out food fight.  Said NPC party member was hanging by the door, and had almost decided to go out again, when she realized what was happening inside and came in to join us in battle.

It was lighthearted and fun, something rare to find in this campaign.  More than that, it was a sign and manifestation of something shifting in the party’s dynamic that was really fulfilling.

Ok sorry for the ASS long answer and I’ll probably post the abbreviated list of my favorite moments with the offer to elaborate on any of them for anyone interested in a bit lakjsdfa ty for the amazing question and excuse to ramble about how creative and talented my friends are

#GOD this got long I'm sorry alkdgsjalksdfa thank you for asking it though!!! #literally any excuse i will take to ramble about the insane shit we get up to #also hi!!! hope you're well!! #frickle-frackle-paddywackle #ask

[two-are-the-trees]

31 Days of Poe Day 8: “The Devil in the Belfry”

“The Devil in the Belfry” is so strange that it seems more like an episode of “The Twilight Zone” than a short story by Edgar Allan Poe. This is one of Poe’s more humorous and satirical stories and while it does contain the supernatural element of the devil, the focus of the narrative is definitely on the inhabitants of the town and their rather odd and precise way of life.

The story takes place in a little Dutch town where everything has been perfected and runs like clockwork (quite literally as the townsfolk have an obsession with clocks and keeping time.) No one seeks anything or anyone outside of the town, everyone has the same style of house and grows the same cabbage, and everyone lives by the regularity of the town bell tower which always chimes the hour without fail. Everything changes, however, when a mysterious stranger comes over the hill one day and uproots the town’s entire way of life.

Poe’s description of this town’s regularity and uniformity is exaggerated to the point of hilarious absurdity. Poe describes the architecture of the town, a very distinct and unusual style, and then claims that every single house in the entire town shares the exact same look to the point of being identical. The only thing the townsfolk seem to grow is cabbage and they all eat primarily sauerkraut. They even have carvings and decorations of cabbages on their houses and buildings. Everyone in the town also shares the same preoccupation with knowing what time it is. Each person has a watch that they look at constantly, between every puff of their pipe, and, like the cabbages, clocks appear everywhere in town. This bizarre uniformity could almost be a plot point in a science fiction dystopia, where everyone has been conditioned to behave exactly the same.

It’s no surprise then that even the slightest change would be a major event for the town. In fact, the appearance of the devil is rather mild, all things considered. All he has to do is stand at the top of the ridge that leads into the town’s valley and immediately the entire town gathers to see the mysterious figure. The main reason for this is that no one thinks about what is on the other side of the hill and no one feels any need to travel beyond it. Therefore, anyone at all coming over the hill is a town scandal, which doesn’t bode to well for the town’s ability to handle a crisis. The mysterious devil causes more of a stir just by the way he walks, as his unpredictable movements are blasphemous to the townsfolk who always like keeping time, even with the regularity of their steps. From here, the disruption can only escalate, until the villagers are affected by the stranger in ways they could never predict.

Would I recommend “The Devil in the Belfry?” Maybe. I personally wasn’t that interested in the story, but I do think that this town that Poe creates is a wonderful vehicle for satire and I think a lot of modern readers, especially from the suburbs or small towns, would get quite a bit of amusement from it. If you have never read any of Poe’s more comedic works, I think this story is a good one to check out. He writes satire in a very on-the-nose way and this story allows for many different potential targets to poke fun at.

For more analysis (which contains spoilers!!!) please read below the cut!

What I really love about this story is the catalyst moment that sends the entire town spiraling into chaos. I mentioned before that the entire town was already rustled just by the entrance of the devil and his seeming lack of care for order. It’s once he starts ringing the hour in the bell tower, however, that we realize just how nutty this town really is. Even though the devil has just brutally beaten the belfry man, the townspeople don’t really think that anything is wrong until the devil finishes ringing 12 o’clock and then proceeds to ring once more to make it 13 o’clock. It’s only at this point that the townspeople go absolutely berserk, thinking that they’ve lost a whole hour and gained this cursed hour thirteen. The fact that it is the clock ringing 13 o’clock that essentially curses this town is a wonderful Poe-esque touch as the number thirteen signifies bad luck and the occult.

One might think that this event represents the introduction of corruption into a sort of puritanical society, perhaps even a staunchly religious community with their conservative ways of life and their value of tradition. However, the ridiculousness of the town’s rigidity and the oddness of their habits makes it clear that this is a community that was already deeply troubled before this devil came to ruin it all. Essentially, nothing has really changed, it’s just that the clocktower, which symbolizes the routine and reliability of this town, was wrong one time. This town has been so closed off and so monotonous in its everyday life that it is completely unable to cope with change of any kind. That’s really all the devil represents: change. Therefore, we can read this event not as a disaster that ruined a perfectly good community, as the narrator claims at the beginning, but as a demonstration of this town’s lack of stability. There are many, many communities that this story could apply to and I’m sure anyone can think of a personal example. That’s one of the real strengths of this satire, that it is so absurd that it transcends any one specific target; it can represent any community or society that closes itself off from change.

So, what do y’all think? What is this devil’s purpose coming into this town to upset everything?  Are there examples in your own life or in history that you can tie to this satire? If you would like to add something, please comment on this post or send me an ask! You can also use the tag #31daysofpoe to write your own response post!

#31daysofpoe #edgar allan poe #gothic literature #gothic #halloween

[timehealsfanfictionbka]

Time Heals.....Chapter Twenty-Five

Chris started frantically fixing up his living room when he caught a look of himself in the large mirror hanging above his mantle. He was really losing his mind. This isn’t a date. Hell, she didn’t even want to talk about this confession and here he was running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off trying to impress her. He really wasn’t anticipating this being how his life would go.

Robyn tapped her fingers along to the song playing on the radio. Her nerves were shook but she really didn’t want to think about why. She still hadn’t come to terms with Chris’s confession two weeks ago and she wasn’t sure if she ever would. She suspected that he was in love with her, there was no way that she couldn’t know to be honest. The constant concessions, phone calls, and visits were a dead giveaway. Honestly, he was driving over an hour just to sit on her couch with her, if that wasn’t love, what do you call that? She wasn’t sure if she could continue to separate her feelings from their friendship. It was too similar to when they were children. It was difficult to not get wrapped in the nostalgia of it all. They were literally inseparable and it was starting to become that way now.

It felt like no time had passed before she pulled into his driveway next to a black SUV. As she turned off her engine, the front door opened and Chris leaned against the door frame. Her body betrayed her as her heartbeat sped up a bit and butterflies filled her stomach. It was too familiar. She took a deep breath as she grabbed her purse off the passenger seat and exited her car. She smiled as she walked up to the stairs. Chris gently pushed off the door frame and met her halfway to the door, “hey.”

“Hey you.”

“You look different.”

Robyn raised her brow, “different? How?”

“I don’t know. I sense something different about you.”

“Well, nothing has really changed.”

“Eh, I don’t know. So what you wanna do?”

“I don’t know. You invited me over.”

“I just wanted to be around you but I don’t think you just wanna sit in my face all day.”

“I don’t remember saying that besides we could talk.”

“About what? I doubt you drove an hour to sit and talk about our daughters all day.”

“No, but-”

“But what?”

“Nothing. You have nothing in mind?”

“I mean we could go out but then again I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Robyn rolled her eyes, “I’m not that weak, Mr. I Can’t Deal When Someone Calls Me by My Full Name.”

Chris scoffed, “you just had to bring that up.”

“You always bring it up, Christopher.”

“I think something where we don’t have to talk is best, you gonna make me not like you.”

“You’ll get over it, you always do. So movies?”

“I’m down. Let me grab my keys.”

Chris walked inside, grabbed his keys off the key hook then closed the door behind him, “what movie do you want to see?”

“We’ll have to find out when we get there. Who’s driving?”

“I’ll drive. Give me a reason to try out my new car.”

Robyn frowned, “new car? It looks just like your old one.”

“I got an upgrade.”

“You’re in the middle of a divorce and you bought a new car?”

“Yea, it’s my money, I work for it every day.”

“You know retail therapy is a slippery slope.”

“Whatever.”

Robyn followed Chris as he walked to his car. He unlocked the door and climbed in the driver’s side. Robyn stared down at the door handle as Chris turned on the ignition and rolled down the windows.

“What you waiting for?”

“You seriously not gonna open my door?”

“What?”

“Chris, get out and open the door.”

Chris huffed and climbed out of the car then went over to the passenger side to open her door. Robyn slid into the car and Chris closed the door. He climbed back into the car and put on his seatbelt, “I don't remember you being so particular.”

“I don’t remember you being so rude. How dare you not open my door?”

“It’s not like it’s a date.”

“Since when did that matter? You can’t be chivalrous to me because we aren’t dating?”

“No, I just didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

Robyn rolled her eyes, “you get on my nerves. What kind of movie are we going to see?’

“I think a comedy would be good.”

“Comedy it is.”

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

Chris threw his arm around Robyn’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss her temple, “you ok?”

“I’m good. That was a good movie, a lot more romance than I expected.”

“I thought you would’ve liked some romance considering you haven’t been with anybody in years.”

“Exactly why I don’t watch romance movies. Nobody has time for that mushy, gushy shit.”

Chris chuckled, “I like seeing happy people.”

“Odd considering how unhappy you’re supposed to be.”

Robyn took a sip of her soda as she cut her eye to Chris.

“Who said I was unhappy. I’m getting divorced, the world isn’t ending.”

“I guess.”

“Did you come out here to really hang out with me or to check on me?”

“I can’t do both?”

“Depends on why.”

“Since when did I need a reason to be a friend.”

“You always need a reason. I don’t need you to pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you. I actually do care about you regardless of how much I don’t like that I do. And as much as I still need time to get my mind together, I know ghosting you didn't put you in a good space. A part of me wanted to rectify that.”

“Pitying me.”

Robyn nudged him in the rib and Chris pulled away from her, “You make me sick, you know that.”

“You love me though.”

“Don’t remind me. So what are we gonna do?”

“What is there to do?”

“I’m not talking about right now, I’m talking about-”

“I know what you’re talking about and the question stands. I’m still married. You won’t even entertain the idea of conversing with me about our feelings. There’s not much left for us to do unless we talk about it.”

“I don’t know how to.”

Chris stopped and grabbed Robyn’s hand to turn her to face him, “you always tell me that we’re best friends. And if that’s true then talking about it shouldn’t be so difficult. It was fairly simple before.”

“We were in high school. We didn’t have kids together. We had no expectations. It was different.”

“What was so different? Honesty was everything to us then, why can’t it be the same now?”

“Because honesty now has more serious complications then us not talking to each other for a few days. What are we gonna tell our kids? Our family? How do we deal with Tiana?”

“I’m not worried about Tiana. My mother believes we’ve been in love with each other since we were children. And our daughters are children, I’m not gonna sit down and explain our adult relationship to them unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Robyn sighed, “you’re asking for a lot.”

“Am I really? We’re here. We’re talking. We��re hanging out. We’re halfway there.”

“Ugh….now I really wish you would’ve stayed in Paris.”

Chris laughed and pulled her into his arms. Robyn wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed the side of her face into his chest. He pressed a kiss in her hair then against her temple, “I love you, you know that?”

Robyn nodded her head, “I’m hungry.”

“What you want to eat?”

“Steak and potatoes.”

“Any particular restaurant?”

“Your house.”

“Mine? You want me to cook?”

“Uh yea. You owe me a meal as many times that I’ve cooked for you.”

Chris sighed, “That is very true. We might have to go to the supermarket, I don’t think I have any steaks to cook.”

“No problem. The supermarket is on the way to your house anyway, well if we go the roundabout way.”

“Then let’s do it. Anything else you want?”

“We can probably pick up some beer. I got a taste for a Corona and lemon.”

“You are the only person I know who drinks Corona with lemon and not lime.”

“I like being different. Come on, this should be a quick trip.”

“Considering how lost I always am in the supermarket, not too sure.”

“You got me. This will be a piece of cake.”

“Ok.”

They continued to the parking lot and to Chris’s car. Robyn’s face frowned as she noticed a figure standing next to the driver’s side of the car, “who is that?”

“Where?”

“Standing by your car.”

Chris squinted as they started walking closer and his body visibly relaxed as he noticed his mother standing by his car.

“Mama? What are you doing here?”

Joyce smiled as she moved to hug them both. Robyn shifted from Chris’s side to stand a few inches away from him. Joyce chuckled, “you didn’t have to move, Angel.”

“It’s fine. What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. Surprised to see you two out though.”

Chris ran his hand over his head, “we went to see a movie.”

“And the girls?”

“My mother is in town so they’re spending time with her,” Robyn interjected.

“Oh, that’s great.”

“Did you need something, Mama?” Chris asked, “when you texted me, I didn’t think you were gonna show up here.”

“I told you that I was coming because it was on the way to where I have to go.”

“You did?”

“Check your phone.”

Chris pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen. Opening his message center, he saw the unread text message, “Didn’t even notice that. I think it was while me and Robyn were talking.”

“Talking? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

Robyn’s face started to turn red and Chris dropped his head back, “Mama, don’t.”

“I didn’t do anything. I just thought it was interesting to watch.”

“Mama.”

Robyn reached over and grabbed the car keys from Chris, “I’m gonna sit in the car while y’all finish talking.”

Joyce waited until Robyn closed the door before turning back to her son, “you two seem in a better place.”

“We’ve always been in a good place.”

“Not good. Better. I’m guessing you two talked.”

“Not yet and considering what just happened, I’m pretty sure she just changed her mind about talking about it anyway.”

“Why? It’s not like I didn’t know.”

“First off, there was nothing to know.”

“Chris, y’all have had this thing about your relationship since the day you brought her home to meet me. I sensed it then and I’ve never stopped sensing it. I knew something was up when y’all just stopped being friends but it wasn’t my place to say anything. Even though you two having babies together wasn’t what I thought happened.”

“Me either but it is what it is. Honestly, she just wants to forget about everything and I just got her to agree to talk to me about it but I think she’s gonna renege.”

“Angel, I wouldn’t have said anything if it was gonna make her uncomfortable.”

“I know, it’s just Robyn can be fickle sometimes.”

“You’ve always been the one person that could talk her into anything. She just plays tough with you.”

“She used to play tough now she really is tough. Tough as hell.”

Joyce chuckled, “Angel, if you believed that you wouldn’t still be trying.”

Chris smirked, “you always did know me too well.”

“Just keep working on her, it’ll be alright.”

“Is this what you needed to see me about?”

“No. I just needed to see you. It’s been a few weeks, you’ve been avoiding my calls and not answering the door. I just wanted to be sure that you were ok.”

“You always did worry so much.”

“Next time I call you then you need to answer me so I don’t have to pop up on you.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Get back to Robyn before she changes her mind.”

“Will do.”

Chris hugged her before walking her back to her car, “Let Auntie know I’ll drop by and see her later.”

“Will do.”

Chris helped Joyce climb into her car and waited as she pulled out of the parking lot. Taking a deep sigh, he walked back to the car. He cautiously opened the driver’s door and smiled as he noticed Robyn had fallen asleep. It was apparent that the movie had tired her out.

He carefully climbed into the car and turned the key in the ignition. He reached over and slid on Robyn’s seatbelt before placing on his own. Chris grabbed her hand as he moved to drive out the parking lot with the other.

#chrianna #timehealsfanfiction

[sol1056]

hey im the anon who asked about how you knew the stuff, sorry i wasn't too clear on what. i just read the post explaining EPs and how the behind the scene stuff worked and i wanted to know how you knew all that, like are you involved in the industry? or just a nerd?

gotcha! Well, remember how back in S1/S2, people kept pointing out Hunk could be… awfully nosy? always getting into things, asking questions?

I was over here going, YES HUNK IS MY PEOPLE. 

It’s a hallmark of a certain type of engineer: insatiable curiosity, and never satisfied with only one answer, always sure there’s more to discover. Okay, we’re not all engineers — a lot of us are Russian Lit majors — but the key is our drive to discover. We take apart, put back together, connect dots close and far, turn things around and study them from a new direction. We’re those people who randomly show up in your part of the building, poke our heads in the room and say, “so, what do all y’all do here? what’s this do? hey, what’s that?”

Despite the fact that most of us seem to be (strangely) strong introverts, that doesn’t stop us. We’ve got questions for everyone. We’ll talk to total strangers all day if we’re on the trail of a particularly interesting idea. In a nutshell, we’re utterly shameless.

I did post-production back when NLE was relatively new and the compositing applications required massive nearly-mainframe computing power. I was mostly in the sfx/cg areas, but I weaseled my way into the color suite pretty regularly. I sat in on editing sessions and was a happy lunch-fetching lackey if it got me a chance to watch the compositing team. Any lull meant a chance to chat up directors, cinematographers, producers, etc. I totally took advantage. 

It’s been awhile since I did that – and since then I’ve been a roady, a mental health & substance abuse admin, a doorman, and even owned a bookstore, before going corporate. But for every wacky thing I’ve done, I’ve also kept in touch with people I met. Frex: the friend who got me the post-production job is now an executive producer. Yes, I do call him with questions. He’s used to it. If he doesn’t know an answer, he sends me to someone who does. (Another reason we’ve been friends for so long.) One answer is never sufficient, never a reason to stop there.

Meet one novelist, get introduced to six more, and three of them write for TV. Oh, that’s handy. Should save that contact, could be useful someday. It’s actually rare for someone to say no, come to think of it. idk, as long as I can get access, I can usually get the person to tell me something I can use. 

However, since my actual area of expertise applies across many industries, I’ve worked all kinds of places. A lot of it’s client-facing, and if you think that means I’m not wandering around the client site poking my head into rooms and cheerfully interviewing people on the spot, then you haven’t been paying attention.

Now that I work at a multinational corporation, I have literally thousands of people in my network, including everyone who’s moved on to a new place. You might be surprised how many people are fine with, “hey, I work at X with Y, and Y told me you’d know this.” Of course, everyone has a bias and a view limited to their own experience, so you can’t stop there. You can’t really understand a situation without knowing the agendas of all the players. You gotta ask a bunch of people, make sure you’re getting the most rounded sense of things. 

Not really a hardship for me. It’s kinda the whole point. 

People are people everywhere (outside cultural quirks), and it’s rare I’m ever researching a single person (I’m not an investigative journalist, if you were wondering). Most of the time, I’m looking for the industry-based cultural expectations. As in, “given X and Y, what would someone who does A generally think is a reasonable action, in this situation?”  

The key is to have a believable reason for asking, and being a writer definitely qualifies. “I’m researching for a story, and I have a character who do X. I wanted to know if it’s realistic for them to know Y. Who do you think would be the best person to ask?” I frequently cold-call, and I never ask “is there someone there,” I ask who they think is the best person. A lot of times it ends up being someone that the phone operator knows (personally or by reputation) who’s full of bizarre trivia and enjoys a chance to show it off. (Plus, it’s amazing what you can learn about a person from all the other subtle cues people are unaware they’re telling, when they’re focused on their area of expertise.)

That’s how I ended up interviewing the Director of the DEA about whether a non-US-university degree would satisfy the education requirement. His letter of introduction got me monthly lunches for awhile with the DEA director in my city. (Oh, the stories I heard.) It’s how I learned about sheep subsidies from one of the top execs at the USDA, and that there’s a single surviving Civil War widow still getting a VA pension. Going in person is even more fun. You could wind up talking to one of the very few artists in the world whose speciality is touching up pre-Renaissance books so the repairs aren’t visible. Or the art historian whose job is going through the nation’s attic and identifying century-old fakes. 

I’ve talked to embassy officials from five different countries, NASA biophysicists and astrophysicists, OSHA inspectors, Nobel prize-winning economists, police detectives, celebrity chefs, environmental lawyers, arena-level sound-people, race-car drivers, potters, opera singers, patent examiners, train mechanics, fire marshals, foley artists, and club DJs. I’ve interviewed fashion photographers, farriers, puppeteers, lighting designers, Catholic bishops, bioethicists, rabbis, fighter pilots, public radio personalities, newspaper editors, chemists, club organizers, war correspondents, Episcopalian nuns (yes they exist), textile artists, prison architects, midwives, cabinetmakers, tall ship sailors, haute couture seamstresses, and civil engineers. On and on and on. 

Don’t neglect official avenues, either. The Department of Labor, the International Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners, the Screen Writers’ Guild, the list is nearly endless — any organization, union, or federal/state dept that sets or guides policy. Everyone has a bias, so what people consider normal is sometimes… not. Or they just didn’t know (or saw no need to know, the fools) the reason for A over B. You have to check the rules, because a discrepancy between what you’re told should be done versus what people tell you is actually done… is also useful to know. 

(Labor practices are definitely one of those areas, since federal labor policy is something every company must observe. It’s the law. So when a workplace seems to be violating the law, it raises a lot of interesting questions.) 

And finally, of course, there’s traditional research. Textbooks written by people in an industry can be particularly interesting, especially if it’s a book meant for readers outside that industry (which usually means a lot of firsthand anecdotes to round out the gaps). Popular articles, academic essays, post-mortem white papers, TED talks, interviews. You need to do your basic homework, because there’s no waste of someone’s time quite like asking them a question that’s patently absurd once you get past common assumptions. 

I once explained the plot of a popular SF show to a NASA astrophysicist, and his response was simply, “Every word you used was English, but those words in that order make absolutely no sense at all.” Kind of a dead-end, there. You can’t come at a top-level expert with intro-level questions. 

Since I don’t always know who I’ll stumble over next, being an information sponge means I at least have a whole encyclopedia of analogies. If I can find  common ground (cars and houses are two of the best), I can at least get a basic idea of the person’s meaning. “Oh, so it’s like when you turn the key in the ignition, and the lights don’t come on because the battery is dead?” 

It’s asking the right questions, using an open and friendly approach, and having the right timing. Remember: there is no such thing as unskilled labor; there is only undervalued labor. That is, their time is also valuable, so be brief, open, and sincere. Treat every person as if they’re an authority in something, even if you haven’t figured out what that is. 

The world is a massively complex place, and contains more things than are dreamt of in our philosophies, all of it waiting to be discovered.

Or, the shorter version:

btw: I don’t actually recommend going in person to the Dept of the Interior, though. You’ll get lost. Like, instantly. That place is MASSIVE.

#research #asking questions #to paraphrase bertrand russell #it's a good thing #to hang a question mark #on things you've long taken for granted

[thatlittlered]

While We're Young | One

This version is a rewrite of its original.

Summary: Following Bill’s injury and all that came with that, his future beside Fleur seems vague. Will the arrival of a beloved from the past and the remembrance of an oath long-forgotten help him find the way to happiness?

Chapter I: Home

Bill sits comfortably on the worn-out chair in the kitchen, legs hoisted up on the table seeing that his mother is not around to see. He flicks another page of ‘The Daily Prophet’ and inhales slowly, breathing in the powerful scent of floor polish.

The scent of molten sugar attacks his nose then and as if on instinct, his hand reaches for the counter. His mouth waters at the sight of the sugar-coated almonds that stay there untouched in all their colorful glory.

With the skill of a typical Weasley - raised and trained for this very task - Bill makes quick work of sneaking a handful of them out the jar and into the pockets of his dragon-printed pajama bottoms that look a little too small for his size. Not surprising, considering they’re stolen from Charlie’s old things.

There are even candle wax stains still showing on the sleeves from all the times – a giveaway of all the sleepless nights of his younger sibling, writing away about his latest findings with admirable passion.

The doorbell rings and he almost jolts at the sudden, piercing sound. Such was the silence that prevailed before; something extraordinary for the Weasley residence, to say the least. His mother’s downstairs folding laundry and for once, the twins hide quietly in their bedroom, not wreaking havoc in the rest of the house. Whatever they’re planning, they’re being sneaky this time.

The ring sounds again and Bill can’t help but cringe at how loud that sound is.

It’s been that way ever since Fred came up with his brilliant prank and absolutely ruined the whole entire system in the process. Ever since, it’s been considered a torture device inside the Weasley threshold - that’s how Ginny likes to call it at least - and Bill can’t help but agree with that statement. Still, noone bothers to get it fixed so it remains this way.

They’ll get used to it someday, perhaps.

“William! Could you come down for a second, dear?”

His eyes roll to the back of his head at the sound of his full name. It’s always been a nuisance, yet the many years far from home with brand new acquaintances meant only a specific few would ever call him that these days.

His mother just happens to be inside that list.

Long legs drag him downstairs while his hands remain buried in his pockets as if to ensure the stolen treats will not escape.

“Mum, if this is about getting that dye stain out of the carpet, I’ve told you a million times I have no idea how it got there,” his breath seizes rather quickly upon spotting the figure in the doorway.

“Now, now. You’ve always been quite the talker, Mr. Weasley. I suppose old habits never die.”

You’re standing there with sparkling eyes and a smile bright enough to light the room and Billy almost loses his footing right then. He takes in the sweetness of your grin… a couple of bags by your feet.

Before he knows it, he’s walking towards you and his arms scoop you up like a child until you’re safely tucked inside his loving embrace. He holds freely, clasps your neck as tightly as he can, and mingles his breath with your own.

 The sudden contact makes you laugh, wrapping yourself around him as if to keep yourself from falling, although he’d never let it happen.

Eyes roll shut from both parts. You lay kisses on his neck and taste his freckled skin, he buries his nose inside your hair and makes a home there – the smell of freshly baked biscuits ever-present.

You smell like memories if such a thing is possible, it almost makes him think nothing has changed.

He loves it.

Bill is the first to open his eyes and gets to admire the flutter of eyelashes, a couple splattered marks upon your cheeks that weren’t there last time he saw you. Then he’s distracted by your smile when your eyes meet.

 “Hi,” he whispers it like a secret promise, mouth barely hovering above your hair as he does.

“Hello there…It’s nice seeing you too.” 

Your tone is teasing, light and sweet just as you.

He laughs and it’s a loud, breathy sound that you’ve missed so very much.

“Of course it’s nice seeing you. I missed you so much.”

“Same goes for me, Willy.”

The nickname is but a strange, heartwarming sound after all these years.

 “Please say you’re back permanently, or I might cry.”

“You know I can’t say that.”

Bill frowns and opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him.

“What I can promise you though is that I’ll stay long enough for you to grow tired of my presence.”

“I would never. I just wish you could have let me know a bit sooner, you deserve a better welcome.”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?” you beam and he melts.

“I have your mum to thank for that, she was so lovely to keep it all under wraps until I got here.”

Another sigh escapes him. It’s playful this time – childish, almost.  

“Of course she did. Conspiracies seem to be mother’s point of expertise.”

“Oh, hush. You can’t blame her, I only wanted to have a little fun.”

“So shocking me brings you joy, huh?”

“You should have picked up on that long ago.”

Bill laughs again, pure joy coursing through his veins.

“Come on, love, let’s get you somewhere before the others know and try to steal you away.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Weasley! Do take me away.” you giggle and he mirrors it – hands interlocking.

Tugging you towards him, he ushers you up the stairs and out his window, climbing the wall before making your way to the roof where the two of you settle like it’s second nature.

 It is, in so many ways.

You’ve spent hundreds of nights up here, looking up at the stars and stealing glances at each other whenever you managed to sneak away from family dinners on every holiday vacation spent in his home.

The constellations shine just as bright tonight while you use your hands to map them.

Bill watches you instead.

“You’ve changed so much.” it’s a whisper from his mouth that almost gets lost in the passing zephyr but your hearing catches it somehow. Blue-green orbs are peering down at you.

You laugh and lift your head from his lap to smooth his hair, “Says you. You’re not wearing the earring, I could hardly recognize you.”

He shakes his head but the smile fades from his lips when images of the new pair of scars scathing his face come to mind. You fail to mention them and he won’t ask why.

“So where will your highness be staying?”

“I haven’t quite figured out that part yet…”

Billy smiles and kisses your nose in affection.

“Good, you’re staying with us. Under no circumstances would I miss out on your snoring, my darling.”

“I don’t snore!”

Check out the next chapter.

I tagged all of you lovely people who were interested in this series in case you wanted to check out the new version. I hope I didn’t forget anyone, I love y’all. Let me know if you want to continue in my taglist for the rest of this rewriting journey. Tags: @hufflepuffhopes @ohleahdarling @poisonsin @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @girl-next-door-writes @thepoet1975 @littlemisstrancy @lupinsbaby @geeksareunique @gayspacenerdd @lost-in-t-h-e-abyss @snitchinolsam @caesarsaladsalad @svenjafangirlt @marveliskindacool @buttercup337 @zombiedixon89 @fvckjamesbarnes

#bill weasley #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley series #bill weasley x oc #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter universe #harry potter series #new series #series #the weasleys #the weasleys imagine #the weasleys x reader #rewritten series #while we're young #while we're young series #rewritten chapters #check it out

[davewakeman]

Talking Tickets 10 April 2020: StubHub! Viagogo! National Rugby League! And, More!

Hey There!

Thanks for being here again this week.

Is everyone good? Let me know!

I know the weeks are likely dragging and the news can be a bit depressing, but I just want y’all to know I’m here if you need me.

If you are enjoying this newsletter, tell your friends and colleagues to sign up by visiting this link.

If you are interested, I’ve set up a Slack Channel and I’m finally starting to figure out how to be engaging in there. We’ve got folks in all kinds of areas like venues, tickets, secondary, and more.

As this week is Passover and Easter, if you are celebrating, my thoughts are with you and your families!

To the tickets!

———————————————————————————————— 1. Can the business of sports survive the coronavirus? 

I have to say that I actually took a walk to get this story in a physical copy because I didn’t want to miss it.

Where my thinking has been the last week or two isn’t so much how things will be different, but how will they remain the same.

I think there are a few things you really have to think about:

Historically, things rebound to something that resembles normal more times than not.

This virus and the financial crisis created by it is highlighting some areas of weakness.

The biggest challenge that folks are likely to encounter going forward will be due to trends that were already evident but folks were not taking action on or were not looking at like declining attendance, the purchasing power of fans, and the need for better marketing and branding.

I’ve been working on a longer piece collecting all of my thoughts, but it is taking me a little longer to get it all together.

We’ve definitely seen that seemingly invincible teams, leagues, and organizations are on weaker footing than we might have imagined…and I think the big opportunity is going to be in solving that problem.

Do I think sports business will survive? Yes.

Do I think everything will be different? No.

Do I think trends that should have been getting attention all along will be the ones that cause the greatest pain over the next year or two? Absolutely!

What’s your take?

2. Viagogo lays off a lot of staff and it is probably just the start of a tough period for a lot of folks:

170 people being put on protective notice for 30 days is, unfortunately, likely the start of a longer more painful challenge for Viagogo. Because if you follow the trends in the Asian countries that were dealing with the coronavirus earlier on, you’ll see that they had shutdowns starting in January and their events haven’t started coming back online yet and my friend, Greg Turner, from China says that it is likely going to be May before things really start to get fully back to normal.

That just means that in Europe and the States, we have had much less aggressive mitigation tactics in a lot of places…so to expect that magically our events are going to come back on a faster timeline is likely unrealistic.

This is one of those things for my US readers should be especially painful as we still don’t have a complete stay-at-home order for the entire country and no clear unified plan for dealing with the coronavirus.

A 50 different state plan likely just means we are going to be struggling through this shutdown.

Why?

Because as long as a significant number of folks in the States are getting sick, likely in any part of the country, people will be afraid and if they are afraid, they are not going to events, concerts, and sports. I think you see this in the examples that Andrew Cuomo uses when he talks about the return of Broadway on June 7.

So despite rosy proclamations from Donald Trump, I think we August or September is likely a more realistic timeline to plan for based on available information and using other countries’ experiences.

Though the National Rugby League is going to try and start back up on 28 May. The AFL is looking at putting teams in zones that could start as early as June…at which point, I could be entirely wrong.

And, the Bundesliga is thinking of doing fan free games even earlier.

Let’s hope I am.

Who should my Bundesliga team be?

3. We still are going to have to grapple with how quickly fans and guests will return:

When we are dealing with something without precedent, we don’t really have anything to judge likely outcomes against.

Lo and behold, we are facing something that we’ve never had to deal with before and so we have no way of knowing what to really expect.

I know that folks are likely to push to get events up and running as quickly as possible…I mean, I’m totally ready for some Premier League action.

But we also have to consider the damage that might be done by coming back too soon with fans in the stands.

I do like the consideration that the Oak View Group is giving to cleanliness as a safety issue and the idea that you are going to have to have some sort of seal of approval in the near term to give folks peace of mind. But I’d also add that while OVG’s CEO, Tim Leiweke, talks about partnering with organizations that ensure hospitals are clean, that hospitals are notorious for being havens for viruses and there are many cases annually of folks getting sick from contamination during hospital visits. This just means I would challenge folks to think bigger and badder…because the opportunities are likely huge.

And, the downside of someone getting sick at a show or game in the near term is likely to be huge!

4. StubHub and refunds stay in the news this week:

How to approach the story of refunds, postponements, cancellations, and doing right by the customer has been one of the things I’ve been scratching my head about for the last week or two.

I know the economics of the ticket business. I was always iffy about the amount of debt that Live Nation was carrying as they touted “greatest quarter ever” or whatever they said each quarter. And, I recognize that the envelope on on-sale dates, restrictions on tickets, and refunds for a while.

Tim Chambers has called it “postponement as a strategy” and I think the backlash on this could be severe.

StubHub is now facing a lawsuit, bad press, and the suspicion that they’ll have to declare bankruptcy…which could really wipe out fans.

5. A few random observations to close out this week: 

I wanted to highlight a few fun things at the end of this one because so many of the stories this week have been far too heavy.

First, one of the greatest PR dunks I’ve ever seen came from the NHL as their coronavirus response is covered comparing to the NBA. The PR person at the NHL that pitched this idea and got it through deserves a huge raise!

Second, the WWE did a crowd less, two-night Wrestlemania spectacular. People watched it. Gronk seemed to be a hit and I was amused because I think the last time I watched wrestling, people still acted like it was real. WWE and wrestling is the most amazing thing!

Third, Amy Kline and her Corona Choir have T-shirts! Amy has gotten a lot of press for bringing her neighborhood together to sing during the coronavirus and now they have created T-shirts with proceeds going to support another member of the ticketing community who has lost income due to the shutdown.

Finally, I’m a resource for your coronavirus break! Besides the shameless plug for me, Activity Stream has put together a great resource with a bunch of different ways you can learn and improve during this downtime.

—————————————————————————————————————-

What am I up to this week?

Check out my blog at DaveWakeman.com and my website. I’ll probably have a couple of new pieces up this week.

Check out the back episodes of my podcast. I’m going to share the audio files of my webinar series there starting over the next few days.

I did a great live podcast with Andy Romero-Birkbeck yesterday on mental health, mindfulness, and sleep. You can get the replay of it here. It was my first live podcast where the audio was shared in real time, but I think it turned out very well.

I’m also doing a new webinar this week on Tuesday about rethinking your ticket business’s strategy after the coronavirus. Folks want more strategy! I’m here for y’all!

Finally, join me and my buddy, Ken Troupe, and a bunch of folks from around the world for a cocktail this afternoon at 5 PM EDT. We are hosting a virtual happy hour. You can make fun of me and Ken, have a drink, make some friends, it will be great! Ken promises me the link works this week.

Please follow and like us:

Talking Tickets 10 April 2020: StubHub! Viagogo! National Rugby League! And, More! was originally published on Wakeman Consulting Group

#sports business #tickets

[fostertoforever]

Emotions

This morning, someone asked me how I was doing on my way into work. Just a nice, “How’s it going?” I, of course, politely replied, “Good! How are you?” with a fake smile and carried on with my morning. But, friends, I totally lied. The truth is, I’m a total mess today. How am I feeling? Foolish. Heartbroken. Guilty. Selfish. Worried. Angry. Frustrated. Sad.

Being a special education teacher, I sometimes ask my students to identify and describe how they are feeling- to put a name on their emotions and then dissect that emotion and address the issues. So, I’m going to take my own advice today and do this myself.

You see, since 2014, my heart has contained the idea of a special little person. I knew she existed, but she didn’t have a clue about me. Over the years, I did my best to keep track of her. I thought of her nearly every day, prayed for her almost every night, and anxiously waited for the hopeful day I’d finally get to meet her. This special little person is P’s biological sister, who looks so much like him, it makes my stomach drop and my heart swoon. We were told we’d be getting her at birth, and so we prepared for another newborn, only a year after getting placed with Baby P. But bio mom had other plans and fled the state. She fled states three different times to keep child services off her trail. This fact angers me to no end, but that’s the way it is. Meanwhile, my husband and I kept our home open for this baby girl. I kept track of her through social media (hell hath no fury like a worried mama) and would repeatedly call social services in whatever state they were in to give them her name and hope they would check on her. Every picture posted, I fell more in love.

Fast forward to months ago…we find out P2, as I’ve called her in previous posts, was (finally) placed in foster care, but out of state. She wouldn’t be coming to our home until the case progressed. My husband and I quickly contacted the social worker and made sure they knew who we were and that we had her bio brother. And then we waited. In the months of waiting, Baby C has captured our hearts, P is growing and learning and doing so, so well, and we had a failed adoption, which nearly broke me. A few days ago, however, the case worker finally called me. She wanted to schedule a time to speak with us at length, and so we scheduled a time for the next day. Meanwhile, however, I was convinced this meant we were finally going to get P2 in our home! Excitement and happiness overwhelmed me. “Oh my gosh! Can you imagine three kids at Christmas! It’s going to be amazing!” I said to my husband. I was up late on amazon looking at toddler beds and clothes and trying to figure out what carseat we would get, could we get her into PreK soon, and making Party of 5 references. Like a big, fat fool, y’all. And so, I finally got the phone call from the caseworker. And nothing could have prepared me. Once again, I jumped the gun, and got way to excited…she informed me P2 is still in foster care and they are still working with bio mom, but before the case went any further, the worker wanted to make sure I knew what we were getting into…

Deep breath. I just totally took a deep breath as I’m typing this. And wiped my tears. Because, after typing this, and publishing this, I’m not sure you all will think the same of me.

The caseworker informed me that P2 has some major developmental issues. I won’t get into too much, but basically, this sweet girl, has a rare genetic disorder that causes major behavioral issues, mental health issues, intellectual disabilities, developmental disabilities, failure to thrive, autism, seizures, severe speech and language delays, and high risks of anxiety, depression, and schizophrenia. P2 currently has many of these disorders/disabilities/symptoms and needs extensive therapy to address these. They aren’t sure how much of her problems stem from this medical diagnosis and how much of it is because of the environment she has spent her life in, up until being placed in foster care. Stunned and overwhelmed, I asked her if things might have been different for P2 if she had been placed at birth in a loving, supportive home where she could’ve received intensive intervention from the first signs of delay. I already knew the answer to this, of course, but I wanted to hear it from child services. She said, “Yes. Absolutely.” And so, upon receiving this news, I tried my best to process it, and make sense of it. How could this have happened? The system is supposed to save these babies!

Foolish. Yet again, I got entirely too excited without thinking. This reminds me of past behavior like buying baby items for the baby we wouldn’t have and planning an adoption party for the adoption that wouldn’t go through. Blah. I’m a fool.

Heartbroken. I’m at a loss for words and my heart is breaking for this little girl. I’m heartbroken because she didn’t get help from the beginning. I’m heartbroken because she didn’t stand a chance with her bio mom and yet, the system couldn’t and wouldn’t intervene until it was way too late. I’m heartbroken thinking about what kind of future this little girl has. I’m heartbroken thinking of the future I had in mind for her and I’m heartbroken for the reality that that’s not what is going to happen.

Guilty. I feel horribly guilty because my heart is telling me this is my child and has been from the first time I knew she existed. My head is telling me, however, we can’t do this. We can’t take this child. We are not even close to being equipped to handling a child with severe needs. If we had had her from the beginning, it would’ve been different, but to introduce her to our home, take her away from a good, loving foster home, would be very difficult for her. I feel guilty because I truly wanted to raise her with her biological brother. I feel guilty because I know we cannot give her the best life she needs in our current situation. My health still isn’t good. We don’t know the future of Baby C. P has various issues and needs way more attention than we give him now. We both work full time jobs and struggle to make enough time for our current children, let alone, a little girl, who would need around the clock care. I feel guilty because I think this makes me a bad person. I feel guilty because helping children like her is what a do for a living and I’m not willing to do it for her. I feel guilty that I know we’re not good enough for her. That the home she’s in now, with loving foster parents, is where she needs to stay.

Selfish. I feel selfish for even considering not taking her into our home. I feel selfish because the idea of giving her all the love and care she needs would take away from my time with my other children, who need me too. I feel selfish that when thinking of her future, I know she might never get better and need to stay with us forever. And what kind of mother am I that I wouldn’t do that for my child?

Worried. I’m worried that she may resent me one day. Why wouldn’t her brother’s mommy and daddy take her too? I’m worried that she’s not in the best place, even though child services tells me she is. I’m worried I’m not going to be able to let her go. I’m worried I’m going to always think of her and regret this decision. If this the right decision?

Angry. I’m so angry with bio mom, I can’t even put it into words. Like a deep, burning, raging fire within. I want to beat the snot out of her...and that’s the PG rated version of my feelings.

Frustrated. I’m frustrated with the system. I’m frustrated with bio mom. I’m frustrated with myself. I’m beating myself up. I feel like the worst kind of person.

Sad. I’m just sad, guys. I’m sad for P2. This feels like a loss. I’ve lost yet another baby I had a whole life planned out for. And I’m grieving again. I know it’s not the same, but it’s there. I’m sad for her losing her bio mom from her life, which is inevitably going to happen because bio mom has never and will never get her crap together. I’m sad for P, who would’ve been a remarkable big brother, because he already is to Baby C. I’m sad for my friends and family, who are feeling this loss with me and who are supporting my husband and me with this extremely difficult decision. I’m sad that I know some of you reading this now will think we’re making the wrong decision and that we’re horrible people for turning our backs on this little girl. Believe me though, nothing you say to me or think of me, however, is any worse than what I am saying and feeling of myself right now.

And so, with all of this, I say goodbye to P2. Not in my heart, of course, because I don’t think I’ll ever truly let her go. I’ll think about her all the time, as I think about the other babies we never got to meet. She’s in a good home and getting the love and support she needs. I’ve been assured that’s where she’ll stay, and for that, I am so thankful and relieved. Sweet girl, I hope you know you will always be loved by us. I’m so sorry.

~Mama Jess

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West Week Ever: Pop Culture In Review - 7/7/17

I took last week off, but I hope y’all had a great 4th of July weekend. Life’s still kinda kicking my ass, so this’ll be an abridged edition this week.

I finally got around to watching a movie! It’s been on my list since I first heard it was in pre-production, and I’m amazed it took me this long to watch it, considering my love for the source material. The Founder stars Michael Keaton as Ray Kroc, the “founder” of McDonald’s who really just stole the concept from the McDonald Brothers. A down-on-his-luck shake machine salesman, Kroc happens upon the fledgling McDonald’s restaurant in Southern California. Knowing a good thing when he saw it, he pretty much insisted on becoming a part of the operation, mainly focused on franchising the business. And that’s when things get interesting. I LOVE McDonald’s. You can hate me all you want, but like Jim Gaffigan says, “Everyone has their own McDonald’s”. Mine just happens to be the actual company. I don’t know enough about the history of the company to know how factual an account the movie was, but it was sure damn entertaining. Keaton is amazing in it, and I feel like anyone would enjoy the movie even if they think they don’t give a rat’s ass about McDonald’s as a company. I highly recommend this film.

We finally got our first trailer for Marvel’s Inhumans, and now I realize why they were so hesitant to release it. MY GOD THIS LOOKS TERRIBLE! It looks like Into The Badlands – a show that I hate because people fawn over it when it looks like something that would’ve aired after Xena on Saturday afternoons 20 year ago. Yeah, I even told one of the Badlands creators that when he confronted me over my “appraisal” on Twitter. Badlands is a bad show, but it gets “diversity points”, so folks give it a pass. This show doesn’t even get diversity right, so it’s really just a shitshow in the making. I hate hate HATE that this is considered an official part of the MCU, even if it’s just a part of the never-referenced TV wing. Anyway, this trainwreck debuts in IMAX on September 1st, but will officially air on ABC beginning September 22nd.

Speaking of diversity points, CBS lost all of theirs when they let the Asians go from Hawaii Five-O last weekend. Daniel Dae Kim and Grace Park both left the show after salary negotiations broke down as they requested pay equal to their costars. I’ve never seen more than 15 minutes of that show, but I know the dude from Lost seemed pretty important to things. He was basically the White guys’ interpreter to all things native. CBS has claimed that they offered them sizable increases, which weren’t deemed acceptable to Park and Kim. Now the Five-O showrunner, Peter Lenkov, is now joining the side of the network, saying that CBS made “generous offers” to the stars, yet they decided not to renew their contracts.

This has turned into a discussion of race in Hollywood and how things still aren’t equal across the board. I’m a big fan of billing. Billing is important, and should go to the most well-known star. It’s the reason all the ’89 Batman posters say “Jack Nicholson” first. Dude was a bigger star. Now, I didn’t watch Lost and I didn’t watch Battlestar Galactica, but I still recognize Kim and Park from those shows. Maybe it’s just because I’m a geek and folks were always talking about those shows. The show’s star, Alex O’Loughlin? I can’t name a thing he’s been in. Don’t know that dude from Adam. And the other lead? James Caan’s kid? Whatever. Y’all mean you couldn’t pony up the cash to keep Lost Dude and Battlestar Girl? We’re not talking about big names here so, unless there was a favored nations clause where O’Loughlin would have to get a raise if they got raises, thereby thwarting the whole “equality” thing, I don’t see what the problem was. As has been pointed out, all O’Loughlin and Caan had to do was stand in solidarity with their costars and this would’ve been a non-issue. Word on the street it O’Loughlin is quitting at the end of the season anyway, so it’s not like we’re talking another 5 years here. He couldn’t keep his ego in check for a season? Nah, for too many folks, as long as they’ve got theirs, they don’t care if you’ve got yours.

We also got a trailer for Pitch Perfect 3, forcing me to reiterate that NOT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE A TRILOGY. I know everyone involved likes money, but sometimes there are natural, built-in ends to things. That thing was a 2-movie franchise and that’s it. Don’t forget – I lived that life. I was in the same competition the Bellas won in the first film (we came in 2nd), and I experienced the aca-graduation blues that the girls experienced in the second film. That’s pretty much it. There’s nowhere else to go. I mean, sure there are some random outlier outcomes. One of my groupmates is a hit producer in Asia now. Another is a pretty big pop star in Hong Kong. The rest of us? Dead-end jobs and bills. I used to occasionally do karaoke, but even that got to be too depressing. That shit is fun while it lasts, and then you’ve got to move on. So, in that vein, I can understand the plot of the 3rd movie, with the girls wanting to have one last hurrah, but I don’t really understand the concept of putting them on a USO tour. Is that something the troops wanna see? Has Pentatonix been dropped into the theater of war? It just seems kinda farfetched to me, and I was fine with how things were left in the last movie. Sure, I’ll see it, but it won’t be in a theater.

Things You Might Have Missed This Week

Hide grandma’s wallet – QVC is buying out Home Shopping Network.

After 3 seasons, The Carmichael Show has been canceled by NBC. I really wish someone else would snatch it up, as it’s a smart show

Netflix has renewed Dear, White People for a 2nd season. Meanwhile, they canceled Girlboss after one season. Reed Hastings giveth and he taketh away.

Speaking of Netflix, hearing the cries of fans, Sense8 will officially conclude with a 2-hour finale special

Netflix also renewed one of my favorite original shows, F is For Family, for a 3rd season.

Apparently a series based on the popular Step Up film series, called Step Up: High Water, will premiere on YouTube Red, where absolutely NOBODY is gonna watch it.

Fuller House season 3 will coincidentally premiere on the 30th anniversary of Full House, September 22nd.

Make your vacations weird again, as Cirque du Soleil has purchased Blue Man Group.

Patton Oswalt is engaged to 80s actress Meredith Salenger. Ya know, the same Patton whose wife died last year. I guess we all grieve in our own ways…

Lack of interest brought down The House, which bombed at the box office last weekend. It was reportedly Will Ferrell’s lowest live-action opening for a major studio.

Nick Fury will reportedly be making his MCU return in 2019’s Captain Marvel

HBO is reportedly getting the True Detective band back together, with a 3rd season to star Mahershala Ali

Nixing speculation that she was still up for the White House Press Secretary job, Kimberly Guilfoyle has reupped her contract with Fox News

Rob Lowe and his sons will chase the supernatural in The Lowe Files, and I literally cannot wait.

New game show, Snap Decision, premieres August 7th. Hosted by David Allen Grier, the show breaks precedent because it will debut on GSN and in syndication on the same date.

The world’s leading (and only) bar scientist favorited my tweet this week

We’re gonna do something different here this week. Usually, if you’ve been paying attention to the week’s news, you can at least try to figure out who or what had the best week. Some weeks it’s harder to choose something than others. Then I remembered, “Will, this is YOUR site.” After all, this is all pop culture through my lens, so it’s my rules. So, sometimes I might choose something that meant a lot to me that week, while you were none the wiser. But I bring it up on the site so that we’re all on the same page. And that’s the kind of pick I have this week.

After watching The Founder, I was left thinking, “Michael Keaton is a goddamn national treasure”. After watching Spider-Man: Homecoming last night (yeah, we’ll talk about it next week, when more of y’all have had a chance to see it), I was thinking “Why have we been sleeping on Keaton the past 20 years?” I mean, with the exception of The Other Guys, I honestly hadn’t seen a Michael Keaton movie since probably Batman Returns, and yet Birdman is the one considered his “comeback vehicle”. In The Founder, he really made you feel for a traveling salesman who was at the end of his rope. After a string of laughable failures, he finally found something to which he could hitch his wagon: McDonald’s. And while he also had to prove this to everyone in his sphere of orbit, most importantly he had to prove this to himself. He really needed a win, and Keaton did such a great job conveying that.

In Homecoming, Keaton plays Adrian Toomes, better known as the Vulture (though he’s never called that by name in the film). Not unlike Alfred Molina’s Dr. Octopus, he’s something of a sympathetic villain. Were it not for the fact that comic book franchises deal in the good/bad binary, you could almost relate to him and understand where he’s coming from. He’s a modern-day working class guy who feels ignored by the fat cats up on high. He doesn’t have evil goals. He simply wants to provide for his family, and he has a code of honor that dictates he must do whatever it takes to make good on that promise. I felt that Keaton did a great job expressing the plight of the working man. Sure, he got to utter some cheesy villain dialogue, but that simply comes with the territory. If you stopped for a minute, and ignored the fact that Spider-Man HAS to win, you realize that Toomes is actually kind of on to something. Again, though, I’ll get into more Homecoming thoughts next week.

My pal Chad pretty much swears by Michael Keaton as his favorite actor – a lot of that having to do with his immense love of 1989’s Batman. I’ve gotta say, I was never a huge fan of Keaton’s Batman, and when Chad would laud Keaton’s praises, I wasn’t really seeing it. I see it now, though. I have seen the light and I am healed! Dear Hollywood, more Michael Keaton, please! He pretty much impressed me on two different cinematic fronts this week, and that’s why Michael Keaton had the West Week Ever.

#80s #A Cappella #Batman #Comics #Marvel #Movies #Politics #Race #Social Media #Syndication #Television #West Week Ever