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soulwillower · 2 years

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rude boy [remastered] • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader smut)

hi i've decided to start off my remastered series with a reader fav :) hope yall like it! this one is much more dirty ig, so lmk if thats smth yall wannt more of.

requested: hii💕 could u do a richie smut where he kinda hates her and so does she…but the sex is good lol? i got inspired by rude boy by rihanna haha

+ @kennafild Ohhhh pleeeese, Rude Boy (Richie Tozier) 💖💖💖 it’s my favorite

warning: swearing, dirty talk, light choking, use of bitch + slut, semi-public sex, slight voyeur themes, unprotected hate sex, they are not fucking nice to each other, reader slaps richie and it awakens somethin in BOTH of them, unedited

[losers + reader are aged up to college, 20+ in this.]

remastered version: 2.8k.

♡

it's quiet as you wipe around the coffee machine, the orange light still on under the buzzing bright fluorescents. you make a note to yourself to turn it off when your manager leaves.

you sigh as the last customer walks out the front doors of the diner, a small receipt lingering where she'd sat for hours, making googly eyes across the bar counter, playing with the stupid straw of her shake. walking over, you don't even have to look at it to know there's a number scribbled on it with most likely a name, probably a heart. your stomach recoils in disgust, snatching up the paper and shoving it in the waistband of your skirt, figuring the trash was already taken out for the night.

your boss walks over to where you stand at the counter, wiping it off with a rag. “she's finally gone?” she asks and you nod, rolling your eyes. your manager chuckles with a shrug , "kid is a menace, but he sure brings in a lot of service."

it makes you huff; it gets on your nerves , but you know she's right. sadly, that menace is the very reason your tips are so high. she pulls a sweater over the uniform, sounding exhausted, "right, well i’m gonna head out. can you and richie lock up?” she asks as you resist the urge to gag at the name of your coworker, but you nod nonetheless. “yeah, of course.”

she leaves a few minutes later and you pull at the collar of your stupid, synthetic retro diner uniform. it’s red and black and awfully cheesy. employees are allowed to choose between a matching red skirt or black slacks - it’s an old school kitschy diner on the outskirts of derry that pays shitty. but a summer job is a summer job, and the tips weren’t awful so you can't really complain.

but the worst thing by far about working at the diner came in the form of a 6'2 nightmare with a sharp jawline and a serious nicotine addiction. richie fucking tozier.

he’s been a server here the longest and you were seen, to his chagrin, as the most responsible, so you two were trusted to close the diner together most nights. didn’t mean you got along though, not at all. he was loud, obnoxious, a slacker, and a scrawny, phony asshole. you’ve never liked him and he’s never liked you, and that's just the way it is. he is the worst part of every summer and winter break, and you can only be thankful that you never went to derry high.

there were some pretty decent people on staff, thankfully. you liked your manager, and you like mike, who worked dish, and many of the servers were more than tolerable. but richie fucking tozier.

during shifts, richie always played music on the jukebox and serenaded loudly to every boy and girl who stepped foot in the diner as they sat at the counter and swooned. he barely did his work and got way too generous of tips - you know it’s solely because of his looks, because he is an awful server and an even worse human. but he has curly, fluffy dark hair, freckles, and a face sculpted by aphrodite. he always smelled like cologne and cigarettes, always had his shirt unbuttoned way lower than necessary, and walked with a stupid bounce in his step that some people saw as charm.

as you finish mopping up the dining area, you hear footsteps and your eyes catch richie’s beat up, lyric-scribbled red high tops. “richie! i just mopped there!” you yelp at him as you snap your head up to stare at him in anger. he just shrugs, “you missed a few spots anyways.” he says through a mouth full of chocolate milkshake.

you fight the urge to slap the glass out of his hand, “could you stack the chairs?” you ask him, trying to stay civil. last time you and richie locked up together, you'd argued so bad that he’d thrown a glass and shattered it. you’d both gotten in huge trouble.

“why can’t you?” he asks, his voice awfully teasing. you glare at him as you sit down, throwing the mop as it hits his chest. he catches it against him, the handle making a clacking noise when it hits the star of david chain on his bare chest. you scoff, why did he have to wear his uniform unbuttoned like that?

“fine, i’ll stack the chairs. you mop.” you grumble, getting up to lift the chairs. you hear a screeching noise but you refuse to look, knowing he’s sitting down and that would just fuel your fire. as you lean over one of the booths, something makes your head turn and you see richie just in time for him to snap his eyes away. your eyes widen - he was just checking you out. god damn these fucking skirts. “what are you looking at, tozier?” you spit venomously. as much as you don’t want to admit it, there was something really hot about the way he was staring.

“shut up.” he grumbles, getting up and locking the doors before walking back into the break room. once you finish out in the dining area, you walk towards the back to see him checking over the kitchen. “hey, did mike take out the trash before he clock-”

“yes, of course he did, y/n.” richie cuts you off. you cross your arms, “i’m just trying to get our job done! christ, richie, you make me so fucking mad.” you spit. he turns to look at you, his eyes bold and his cheeks splattered with pink and freckles. “i hate that i have to fucking deal with you. i should fire you.” he hisses, turning off the dishwasher and walking over to the front counter. you're hot on his heels.

“that's rich. you’re a fucking nightmare to work with! and you’re not my fucking boss!” you yell, glaring at him. "well the chart begs to fucking differ.“ he spits, a chipped black fingernail pointing to where the employee chart lists your names, him being slightly higher than yours because of experience. you think briefly you might deck him in the face. "we’re payed the same, you fucking bonehead!” you all but yell, stepping up to him. “and i do so much more work than you! all you do is flirt with everyone until they take pity on you and give you a tip.”

you expect him to scream back at you, but instead he looks extremely pissed while taking a step closer. “do you know how fucking jealous you sound right now, y/n?” he hisses. something makes you turn bright red in the face, but you scoff at the absurd accusation. “jealous? of who?” you all but yell, your arms flying up. it’s only now that you notice that he has you with your knees against the break table.

“of all the people i fuck.” he says, his voice calm but sinister and dangerous. you scoff again, “i hate you.” you say, leaning towards him. something about the way he looks makes you want to hit him as hard as you can but also shove him against the wall and make out with him. he chuckles as if something about what you said was funny, “i don’t hear you denying it, princess.”

you roll your eyes, turning to wipe the counter and hide your flushed face. "you're so immature. it's just not professional."

he scoffs, converses crossing as he leans back against the dessert case, "professional? I've seen you light a cig on the burners in the back. I've seen you eat food off a customer's old plate!" he hisses, tossing the rag he was using on the floor. narrowing your eyes, you turn, "you do that shit too! everyone does."

he rolls his doe eyes, shaking his head until something on you catches his eye. reaching quickly, he grabs the receipt from your waistband, your reaction too slow as he lifts it high above your heads, far out of reach. "richie," you protest, annoyed. maybe flustered.

his smile is bright and teasing, "what's this, y/n?" he murmurs, reading it as he holds it up to the light. you brush hair from your face, flustered as he raises a brow, "is this your-" he looks at you, "is this your number? you were going to give me your number?" he's astounded. you panic, "no, it's - it's from- its trash." you argue. he stares at you, disbelieving. "you have the hots for me or somethin' toots? that's so cute." he's smirking. "you know that's not true." you hiss.

"listen, i know i csn be intimidating, but if you maybe just tried a smile, y-" but angrier than ever, you shove him back in aggravation before he can finish. he stumbles back from your force, hands falling back to steady himself. "FUCK," he yells, hand shooting back up to his lips. "y/n! why isn't the coffee machine off?" he yells. you blink, huffing, "I was going to turn it off, but someone decided to be a fucking pain in the ass!" you counter.

"well what, were you just schlepping around out here while I was closing?!" he hisses. you want to scream, "you know what? you're a fucking asshole. you can close yourself." you smile, sickeningly sweet as you lay a sarcastic hand on his arm. patting it, you move to shove past him.

his fingers are tight as he stops you, wide, angry eyes staring you down. he pulls you eye level, leaning down to you. "you're not leaving me, sweetheart." he sneers. you glare, "you can't stop me. why don't you call your girlfriend for company?" you sneer back. ripping your arm away, you turn around and hear a mutter under his breath, "jealous bitch."

without thinking, you turn around and smack his cheek so hard it echoes in the empty diner. it's quiet for a moment, his cheek bright red and blossoming. your hand stings.

"oy vey," he whispers, large hand holding his jaw before he smirks, shrugging it off. his tongue runs over his teeth and you bite your lower lip to hide your sudden arousal. he nods curtly, laughing gently to himself in disbelief.

"well, that was actually kind of hot, princess." he mutters, and for some reason that’s it. the princess, that’s all it takes for you to smash your lips against his forcefully.

it’s a kiss that it so rough it’s almost violent; fueled by hatred and adrenaline and something akin to attraction. it happens so quick, you're almost dizzy. he’s pushing your hips harshly into the counter behind you so that you’re sitting up on it, him immediately stepping between your legs. your hands are on his neck and they thread into his hair as your teeth clash and noses hit each other. you hated him so fucking much.

his hands move up so he’s grabbing your bare thigh with one hand, metal cool against your heated flesh and digging in. the other hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer to him, causing your stomach to flutter with desire. you pull away and immediately attach your lips to the column of his neck, not wanting to have to look at his awful, handsome, heart-stopping face.

he ruts up against you and you feel the outline of his cock, making you moan against his neck. his hand slides up and under the hem of your skirt, squeezing your hip as you suck a bruise into his throat hard, teeth biting his flesh. he pulls away from you quickly, looking at you with fury. his hand grasps your neck, taking you by surprise and coaxing a moan from your lips before kissing you again.

it knocks the wind out of you with his force but you quickly recover, dragging your hands down his chest and tracing his bulge with your fingertips. he grunts as he pulls away and looks at you. his eyes bore in to you, his lips swollen.

"you want me so bad," he smirk, "that you'll let me fuck you right here in the diner? anybody could see." he whispers in your ear, fingers softly toying with your throbbing pussy through the your underwear.

you’re gasping but you recover your breath and shoot him a glare. “well? are you gonna fuck me or are you just going to stare at me like a goddamn airhead?” you spit. he glares at you and pulls you up by your shoulders, spinning you and bending you by the waist so your face is pressed against the cool of the counter.

“oh yeah, this is much better.” he replies snarkily as he pulls your skirt up and grinds against your ass. "so pretty without your fucking attitude." you moan quietly and you hear him undoing his belt buckle. you’re aching and you can feel excitement bubbling in your stomach, wiggling your hips slightly in need.

what you don’t expect is a harsh smack to land on your ass, making you gasp in arousal. his hands squeeze your ass and you look back to see him pumping himself, sliding your panties down your legs. your eyes widen slightly, noticing how big he is, but you groan in impatience, “can you hurry up already?” you spit.

he glares at you and shakes his head . "you're fucking pathetic. just begging to be fucked in this skirt, aren't you?"

through your ecstacy you hum, "pathetic?" you gasp, "cute coming from you, richie. you're basically dreaming about fucking me every day. don't think I don't see you look at me." his cheeks redden as you turn back to smirk at him. his hand snacks your ass forcefully, pulling another satisfying moan to fall from your mouth. "for such a dick, I'm surprised you could even get it up. good boy." you smirk. his face contorts, jaw clenching.

brows furrowed in anger, he thrusts in all at once, making you moan so loud it burns your throat; he fills you up perfectly and you drop your head to rest on the counter as he starts to thrust.

he’s not forgiving; he fucks into you hard and deep and you have to bite your hand to keep from moaning his name in pleasure. you wouldn't be caught dead moaning his name . you’d never hear the end of it. his hands grip your hips so tightly you know there’ll be marks tomorrow and he’s muttering swear words quietly, adding to the wetness between your legs.

he’s hitting the perfect spot inside you and one glance behind you shows his face just as contorted in pleasure as yours is. you hate to admit it, but he’s fucking hot and the expression is perfect on him.

he’s fucking you into the front counter, your sight falling to the diner windows across from you. he pulls your hips back to meet his thrusts you can’t help but whimper his name. you can hear his smirk in his voice, even when your eyes are clenched shut. “sorry, princess, I didn't hear that.”

you groan, half in pleasure and half because you hate how good he’s making you feel. “i fucking hate you s-so much, tozier.” you say, trying to stop your moans but failing miserably. his hips are snapping into yours and you clench around him, knowing you’re about to cum embarrassingly fast.

he hums at your words tauntingly, “say anything you want, slut. but i know it's been five minutes and you’re about to cum on my cock.” he mutters the words and you moan again, your toes curling in pleasure. he thrusts deeper into you and you let out a strangled scream as you hit your peak. your fingers grasp on the edge of the counter as richie plows through your high, chasing his own.

you start to whimper, feeling overly sensitive. he chuckles darkly, “so good. you’re fine.” he mutters, his hands squeezing your ass. he thrusts a few more times before his hips stutter and he finishes inside you with a low moan. his chest is pressed on your back and you can’t seem to catch your breath, feeling limp and extremely pleasured. your legs shake.

holy shit.

he pulls out of you, making you whimper at the sensation and he pulls up your panties, rubbing the seat of your clothed core with his thumb. the stimulation makes you jolt as he pulls your skirt down. you wait, not sure what to say, but richie doesn't waste one moment.

“fuck you.” he whispers in your ear and then he gets up, pulls his pants up, and walks towards the breakroom.

you stand up, to save the last bit of dignity you have, listening to him in the other room grab his keys and jacket, and leave eventually.

you stand there with the now burned old coffee, breathing heavily, unsure what the fuck just happened but knowing you loved it way too much.

tag list. @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozierr @sft-core @daughter-of-the-stars11 @oceandog13 @upamongthestars @fiantomartell @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @loverloserr @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie @decafcoffew @etaerealboyv @itlover8000

#richie tozier x reader #jewish richie tozier #richie tozier smut #losers club x reader #losers club smut #soulwillower remastered series

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ne0nwithazero · 7 months

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What are Lava's opinions on worms and digging holes? Also what's everyone's fav drinks? If you haven't answered something like that before

Worms are friends and digging is a fun bonding activity to do with your big brother :) Extra effective to use all your arms when digging!

As for drinks, like I mentioned in the last post, a lot of the cast doesn't eat heheh But it wouldn't hurt to imagine <3

Lava would like bubble tea, I think :) That seems fitting Host strikes me as a tea person, I feel they could be convinced to try it if it was a nice-smelling tea :) Mike would enjoy smoothies Tenna feels like they'd like fizzy drinks :'D Klieg would love the blackest coffee you could find, if he was physically capable of drinking, he'd 100% have a coffee addiction Button likes Monster energy drinks I'm sure Match wants the knock-off version of whatever Button is having HEHAHEA

#Jay Asks #Anonymous #Lava #Host #Mike #Tenna #Klieg #Button #Match

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sinner-as-saint · 5 years

Text

Call An Avenger

requested! I couldn’t tell if anon wanted fluff or smut so I wrote a bit of both.

Run-through: Y/N is a new member of the Avengers cast. And while doing a fun, playful interview promoting the new movie, things get saucy.

Themes: language, fluff, slight smut

“Alright Y/n, you’ve been set with Sebastian and Chris for the next one, starting in 10 minutes. They need to set up your mike so, hurry up a little bit would you, darling?” Linda said, typing furiously on the screen of her phone.

Linda was your assistant, and also one of your best friends.

You were currently the most talked about person in Hollywood. You were a successful singer, who also acted in some hit movies. And soon, another one would be added to your list because you were the newest addition to the Marvel family, quite a significant one actually.

Your recent movie was an Avengers one, and acting alongside some of the biggest actors in the industry, caused a lot of pressure but you were somewhat handling it like a pro.

You and the Avengers cast were travelling around the world, attending conventions, meet and greets, doing interviews and talk shows – promoting the movie. And so far you were having fun, and you actually grew close to quite a lot of them.

The closest friends you had so far were Scarlett, RDJ himself, Tom and Chadwick. However, you couldn’t help but feel a sort of tension whenever you were around Sebastian or Chris Evans. Of course, you were fan of them way before you guys did a movie together but there was definitely something wonderful in the air whenever one of them was around.

One of the traits of your character in the movie is that, she can be quite flirty and seductive to get to her enemies or to lure them into her traps, so you had to be physically close to both the actors during shooting and you couldn’t help but feel certain sparks in certain places whenever one of them touched you, or looked you in the eyes.

The feeling was weird to you, you had never been one to imagine yourself with more than one partner. Yet here you were, dreaming and crushing on two very good looking guys who were good friends to each other and to you, and who were way out of your league.

“Y/N! Seriously honey, hurry up!” Linda yelled, pushing you into in front of the camera, into a chair. Right in between probably two of the most gorgeous beings you had ever seen.

“Hello guys!” you chirped, setting down so one of the people working could set up you mike at the back of your dress.

“Hey y/n!” Sebastian said, giving you a slight wave, a gorgeous smile and a mini heart attack.

“Oh hey there y/n!” Chris said, giving you a warm smile, and another mini heart attack.

As you sat down, you realized that the chairs were placed really close to each other, to a point where when you sat down, your arms were each touching a muscular bicep of each men.

And there is was again, the sparks, the wonderful feeling in the air along with their addicting cologne mixed together.

A couple of minutes later of you guys just catching up and having a casual conversation, your interviewer walked in, smiling at all of you.

You thought he was rather cute, a little bit nervous but cute nonetheless.

“Hi guys! My name’s Joe. Okay, I know we don’t have much time because of your crazy busy schedule, but I have just a few questions and a fun game for you guys. So, you ready?” he asked, a very charming smile on his face.

“Yeah! Let’s go!” said Chris, sipping his coffee.

“Sure, bud!” Sebastian said, adjusting himself in his seat.

“Yeah, let’s do it!” you cheered.

“Okay, first question goes to the lovely Y/N who is making my heart race by how gorgeous she looks right now, right so, being so young and a new member of the Marvel family, how excited were you when you found out that RDJ himself wanted you to play this character?” Joe asked.

You smiled at him before answering.

“I mean, being a hardcore Marvel fan for so long now, I have to say I thought I was losing my mind when RDJ’s people called my team to talk about it. I was absolutely thrilled and nervous at the same time. I mean, I had just wrapped up a world tour and instead of taking a break and working on new music, I had to shoot for a least five months which was no joke, but I got to meet the people I had idolized for so long now, plus, I made some great friends so, yeah I wouldn’t change it for the world,” you smiled, trying your best at answering carefully.

“Well, I’m sure all the fangirls and fanboys will absolutely love you in this! Now, Chris, it is said that you, Sebastian and Y/N are quite the pranksters on set. What would you say was your best prank till now, as a trio?” Joe asked, and while Chris answered the question, you and Sebastian just looked at each other and absolutely died laughing as you remembered clearly which one it was.

“Oh my god! So, once Ruffalo mentioned that he has this weird phobia of someone chasing him with poo on a stick, right? And we all thought it was all bluff so, we decided to test it out…” he trailed off laughing out loud, slapping his left boob. Classic Chris.

“And he legitimately freaked out! We all thought he was acting but turns out, Ruffalo really does have a phobia of people chasing him with shit on a stick!” Sebastian told the remaining story, laughing as well while Chris recovered from his laughter fit.

“Plus, it wasn’t poo at all, it was, I believe something we stole from one of the makeup trailers, oh Mark,” you added, shaking your head at the memory.

Joe asked a couple of more questions before moving on to the game he had planned.

“Alright, so this is an easy, fun game called “Call an Avenger”, and I’m gonna give you guys certain everyday life scenarios and you have to tell me which Avenger you’ll call to help you out in that situation, okay?” Joe explained, and the three of you nodded.

“Right, you’re stuck on a deserted island,” he asked.

“Iron Man,” the lot of you answered, at the same time and then looked at each other and smiled.

“That’s true, Tony Stark would get you the hell out of there, safe and sound. He might even adopt you later to be honest,” you added and the two men agreed.

“Okay, what if you’re trapped in an elevator,” Joe said.

“Oh,” you all said and went into deep thought.

“I mean, I’ll go with Iron Man again, he’ll definitely know what to do,” Chris said, sipping his coffee again.

“Uh, think I’ll go with Ant Man, I mean, he could shrink down and do his thing, right? I’ll say Ant Man,” Sebastian replied.

“Oh I’ll go with Winter Soldier, Bucky it is for me. I mean, c’mon, that metal arm and those muscles could get me out of there rather quickly,” you answered and Sebastian looked at you with a shine in his eyes and a big smile on his face. And if you didn’t have a crush on the man, you wouldn’t notice how he slowly, but certainly, inched closer to you.

“That’s fair, okay next, you need to make an ex jealous,” Joe wiggled his eyebrows, smirking.

“Y/C/N,” the two men said, simultaneously.

“Chris, I mean, Cap,” you corrected yourself quickly, then you realized that they both had chosen your character.

“Ooh, drama!” Joe added, as the three of you started playfully bickering.

“Wait, what? Why not me?” Sebastian complained.

“Wow! I mean I can’t say that I didn’t like that, and why Seb can’t say Black Widow or something, man c’mon, why can’t I have Y/C/N all to myself?” Chris said, laughing. A warm feeling took over you when he said the last part and you tried your best not to show it.

“And I can’t say I’m not offended! What, now Bucky isn’t good enough for you babygirl?” Sebastian teased, smiling. But his smile soon faded as he slowly realized what he had just said. And you tried your best not to smile like a crazy person while he tried his best to cover up.

You noticed Joe’s head shot up as soon as Sebastian referred to you as ‘babygirl’.

“He is Seb, it’s just that, I believe Cap is more cut out for that job,” you explained, placing a hand on his knee gently and smiling up at him.

Your team would most definitely review the interview before it airs so you were sure that Linda would force them to cut that part out or else she’d have their heads.

“Okay okay, don’t argue Avengers, we still need you. Alright next, you badly need a date for an event,” Joe asked again.

“Thor,” you replied, with a smirk.

“Wow, that was quick,” Chris pointed out.

“Yeah, like you didn’t even give us a second thought,” Seb argued further.

You laughed.

“I mean, I had to go with my favorite Chris so, yeah,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your words.

Chris dramatically placed a hand on his heart, faking that he was actually hurt by your words while Sebastian said something along the lines of ‘at least there’s no other Sebastian in the cast’.

“Ooh, shots fired, I mean you’re out here breaking hearts y/n!” Joe said, laughing along with you.

“Yeah, I thought I was your favorite Chris, what the hell?” Chris placed a hand on your shoulder and shook his head in disbelief.

“And I thought you loved me! We kiss in the trailer Y/N! What about that?” Sebastian added.

It was true. You did share a kiss, briefly, in the trailer. And your fans went crazy. There was all these ship names going around, edits and fan accounts based on people who hoped that you and him end up together. Then there were those you preferred you and Chris together after a video of you both goofing around on set got out.

“Oh my God, Joe! What have you started?” you pleaded.

After a few more rounds, Joe said goodbye and the three of you walked away.

“Y/N c’mon, you need to change for the next one,” Linda yelled from across the room and you rushed into the changing room, leaving behind the two men. Or so you thought.

The changing room was quite spacious, with full length mirrors, a set of clothes hanging on the side, a dresser table with a bunch of makeup laid in front of it.

You closed the door and wasted no time in getting out of the navy blue bodycon dress you initially wore, leaving you in just your lacy, black matching set of underwear. Leaving your dress on the floor, you walked over to the clothes that were hanging, and tried selecting one to wear for your next interview. But that was until you noticed something in the mirror. Two people standing behind you, unmoving.

Your eyes widened as you turned around, your hands trying to hide as much of your body as they could, but the two men smirked at the sight of you.

“Aww c’mon now, nothing we haven’t seen, doll. We’ve worked out together before, haven’t we?” Chris cooed, walking towards you slowly.

“What the hell? If anyone finds us here, we w-,”

“They won’t, doll. We made sure of that, now where were we?” Sebastian answered, walking towards you as well.

By then, you were blushing. Hard. And your heart was pounding inside your chest.

They moved towards you to the point where your back hit the wall and they stood right in front of you. Through the wall, you could hear Linda barking orders at other people.

“Seriously, is this because of something I said earlier, and do you always do this? Together?” you asked, surprised at your own question.

They smirked.

“No, but it’s worth a try though isn’t it? I mean, we feel the sparks too,” Chris said, leaning closer to you, “but you’ll have to be quiet, yeah, baby?” his hands reached around you and worked on unhooking your bra, his lips leaving light kisses along your jaw and his beard tickling your skin.

Meanwhile, Sebastian knelt down and managed to get you out of your underwear, his lips kissing your inner thighs as you tried your best to hold back a loud moan just by looking at him in between your legs.

“Remember babygirl, be quiet. We don’t wanna get caught now, do we?” Seb said as his mouth left deep red marks up along your inner thighs.

Well, you thought, this was a one-time thing right? So, it was totally worth the try.

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satoshi-mochida · 4 years

Link

The 2020 Steam Game Festival: Spring Edition, which offers free-to-play demos and spotlights a selection of new and upcoming games, will run from March 18 at 10:00 a.m. PT / 1:00 p.m. ET to March 23 at 10:00 a.m. PT / 1:00 p.m.

The Steam showcase features over 40 titles from studios that originally planned to exhibit at showcases such as the Indie Megabooth, Day of the Devs, and The Mix during GDC 2020, which was postponed to summer.

Here is the full list of games with demos:

Indie Megabooth Demos

Backworlds (Logic Ember Limited) – Play for Free

Duster (Coldrice Games)

Evan’s Remains (Whitethorn Digital / maitan69)

Filament (Kasedo Games / Beard Envy)

Going Under (Team17 / AggroCrab)

Hundred Days: Wine Making Simulator (Broken Arms Games)

HyperParasite (Troglobyte Games / Hound Picked Games) – Play for Free

Neon Noodles (Vivid Helix) – Play for Free

Mystic Pillars (Holy Cow Productions) – Play for Free

Quench (Axon Interactive) – $9.99

Tunche (HypeTrain Digital / LEAP Game Studios)

Sons of Ra (Pharaoh Hound Games)

Superliminal (Pillow Castle Games)

We Are the Caretakers (Heart Shaped Games)

We should talk. (Whitethorn Digital / Insatiable Cycle)

Wings Fund Demos

Later Daters (Bloom Digital Media)

Lord Winklebottom Investigates (Cave Monsters)

Pushy and Pully in Blockland (Resistance Studio)

Day of the Devs

Chicory: A Colorful Tale (Finji / Greg Lobanov)

Heavenly Bodies (2pt Interactive)

The Mix

Aeolis Tournament (Beyond Fun Studio)

A Space for the Unbound (Toge Productions / Mojiken Studio)

Coffee Talk (Toge Productions) – Play for Free

Curious Expedition 2 (Thunderful Publishing / Maschinen-Mensch)

Divisadero (Team2Bit)

Eldest Souls (United Label / Fallen Flag Studio)

EleMetals: Death Metal Death Match! (Wallride)

Embr (Muse Games)

Garden Story (VIZ Media / Rose City Games)

Haven (The Game Bakers)

Hazel Sky (Another Indie / Coffee Addict Studio)

Liberated (L.INC / Walkabout / Atomic Wolf)

Jack Axe (Another Indie / Keybol / Mike Studios)

Jay and Silent Bob: Mall Brawl (Interabang Entertainment / Spoony Bard Productions)

Mighty Fight Federation (Komi Games) – Play for Free

Neverinth (Another Indie / CreAct Games) – $15.99

Operencia: The Stolen Sun (Zen Studios)

Klang 2 (Tinimations)

KungFu Kickball (Blowfish Studios / WhaleFood Games)

Moncage (Optillusion)

Raj: An Ancient Epic (Super.com / Nodding Head Games)

Recompile (Dear Villagers / Phigames)

Retrograde Arena (Another Indie / Freemergency)

Rising Hell (Toge Productions / Another Indie / Tahoe Games) – Play for Free

Roki (United Label / Polygon Treehouse)’

She Dreams Elsewhere (Studio Zevere)

Spiritfarer (Thunder Lotus Games)

Vigil: The Longest Night (Another Indie / Glass Heart Games)

When the Past Was Around (Toge Productions / Mojiken Studio)

#Haven game #Coffee Talk #Eldest Souls #HyperParasite #Steam #Steam Game Festival: Spring Edition #Gematsu #'Haven' is on there again. =D #'Haven' 'Coffee Talk' and a few others are the only ones I recognize. ^^;

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captainkippen · 4 years

Text

I don't know where I'm going with this, it's just a piece of free writing because I felt inspired. Might keep going and turn it into a short story or something.

TW: Implied abuse.

1994.

The door clatters open like a twister is blowing through and I jerk up with such violence I almost slide right off my seat. There are a few bleary-eyed moments of confusion as my heart calms down before a takeaway cup of coffee is thrust under my nose and I'm forced to take it before it ends up decorating my shirt.

"Rise and shine, loser. You fall asleep at your desk again? You know you're gonna have permanent keyboard marks on your face if you keep doing that."

I bat Jay's hands away from my neck, saving myself from one of his terrible massages. He keeps telling me he has magic hands, but I'm pretty sure the crick in my neck only sticks more stubbornly when he tries to get rid of it. I give my shoulders a roll, sighing into the satisfaction of feeling my joints click, and swivel around to face him.

He's dressed in the same clothes he wore to mall yesterday and the heavy stench of too many cigarettes clings to him which means he probably spent the night at Ricky's - our local 24 hour diner - periodically ducking into the alley to burn through a new pack of Marlboroughs. A fresh smudge of dark purples and blues stains the skin around his eye. I hope he at least gave his brother a bruise back to match.

"What time is it?" I punctuate my question with a yawn just to make a point, but he just grins and holds up his watch.

7:15AM. Wonderful. At least he waited until he used the front door for once. My parents fret about him breaking his neck every time he leaves scuff marks on the window ledge to avoid waking them up.

"Did you actually get any sleep last night?"

"Did you?" He fires back with a raised eyebrow, shrugging off his jacket and flopping onto my bed to grab the latest issue of Rolling Stone from where he left it strewn across one of the pillows last time he crashed here. Comfortable silence falls as I admire the way his fingers bend the magazine back. There's this little crease that forms between his brows whenever he's concentrating, physical evidence of him trying to force his brain to focus on one thing at a time and not the myriad of random thoughts bouncing in there at any given time. I hide my smile in my coffee - he knows I'm not really annoyed, but I refuse to give up the illusion. It's a ageing routine, but one I never get bored of.

I count the minutes until the silence breaks. One. Two. Thr-

"So I was thinking," he says, the sighs like he's exasperated at his own inability to keep words in. It's one of the many things I like about Jay - he always speaks his mind. It makes it easier to understand him.

"Dangerous task for you."

An unimpressed middle finger greets my words before they're completely out. I hold back a snort.

"Sorry. Go on?"

We've known each other since we were seven. Across the street neighbours. He was the first person I met when I moved in with my foster parents. In a street full of unfamiliar tree and looming white houses he sat there on the curb pretending to fish with a stick and a piece of string. He'd called over as I got out of the car, asked if I liked trout. I didn't even know what trout was. That was okay. It was gross anyway, apparently.

I don't remember ever making friends so easily, like we just fell together and that was it. No fuss. Ten years on and the surprise hasn't waned.

"You guys want breakfast?" My mom pokes her head around the door with a tired smile, interrupting whatever train of thought Jay was hopping on.

I shake my head and lift my coffee, ignoring the disapproving look she gives me. Coffee is not food nor is it particularly good for you, but it's also not worth a battle over nutrition before eight o'clock.

"All good here, Mrs H." Jay smiles, all teeth and charm and twinkling eyes, then pats his stomach as if to confirm it. It's a smile that's impossible to disagree with when it's directed right at you.

"You sure? Alrighty then," Mom says, doubt creeping into her tone despite her fond look. She was forever trying to feed Jay, convinced he was too skinny. Worried he wasn't getting enough to eat. I can't say I blame her - some days Jay looks like he's auditioning to play Mike Teevee right after he got put through Willy Wonka's stretching machine, but it's all an illusion. I've watched him consume an entire box of donuts in one sitting more than once. His stomach might as well be a trash compactor for all the junk he eats. Plus he always has snacks tucked into the glove compartment of his car in case of emergencies, right alongside a sock full of laundromat destined quarters, a spare toothbrush and his shaving kit.

"Sawyer, honey, can you please clean up a bit in here? It looks like a bomb hit it. Guests don't want to sit in this."

"Half of this is his mess!" I splutter as my mom smiles and disappears back down the hall. "He's not even a real guest!"

Jay only laughs and ducks out of the way when I throw a balled up sock at his head. Asshole.

"So as I was saying..."

"As you were saying," I roll my eyes, gesturing for him to continue.

"I think we should do something."

"What, like go to the movies?" There's nothing good out at the moment, I'm pretty sure. We spent all last weekend debating whether or not to go see the latest Keanu Reeves movie only to spend all our cash on popcorn and get kicked out halfway through because Jay's running commentary made me laugh so hard I choked.

"No man, like... something interesting."

"...bowling?"

He shoots me an unimpressed look and I raise my hands in surrender. What else could he possibly have in mind? Our town only has three things to do; movies, bowling or the mall. We've been cycling through each option all summer. It's the same thing every year and it does get old after a while, but it beats sweating to death outside and spending all day playing video games sets my dad off on the perils of computer addiction. If I ever have to hear another lecture about technology rotting my brain it'll be too soon.

"For a writer you sure are lacking imagination."

"Well what do you suggest, then?" I huff.

There's a gleam in his eye and the warning lights start flashing in my brain just a beat too late. I know that look, it's the kind that got me put in detention three weeks in a row last semester for filling Roy Jackson's football helmet with food dye after he called spread a false rumour that Mary Harring blew him in his backseat. In my defence, it was all Jay. In his defence, I didn't stop him. Principle Ikener's never looked so disappointed. Roy Jackson's face was pink for a week. Scraping gum off the bleachers has never been so satisfying.

"Okay, hear me out first, alright," he says as I groan. We both know I'm already doomed to agree, but we play the part like he has to convince me anyway. Like I said, an ageing routine.

There's a pause in which I repress a sigh and let him dramatically drum roll his fists through the air and then he says, "Europe."

The word is emphasised with jazz hands and I can only stare at him for a moment, my brain trying to compute it. Did I mishear? Did he get part way through a sentence then forget the rest? He stares at me expectantly and it's all I can do to repeat the word slowly after him. His resulting nod is reminiscent of my aunt's excitable golden retriever.

"What about Europe...?"

"We should go."

"What?"

"To Europe," he insists. "We should go."

"You want us to go to Europe."

He looks at me like I'm being deliberately stupid. "That's what I said."

"But... why?"

Summers at home are dull. Three long months of sweltering heat and so many snow cones we make ourselves sick, and weeks on end of trying to think of new things to do, but it has never been so bad that we've resorted to leaving the country before. I'm confused.

"You're always talking about how much you want to travel! And we've got time. two and a half months before school. Think about it, we could be spending that time on the beaches in Spain, or looking at fancy architecture in Italy! I can drag you 'round some museums, you can force me on a tour of places famous English writers lived and we can get sick of each other in style."

Morning light spills through the window and highlights the dustmotes in the air. The bruises on his face seem darker with his face haloed in gold. I get another whiff of cigarettes and realise the smell is staler than usual.

"I don't know," I say. "My parents-"

I get a set of pursed lips in response. His expression is strained.

"Your dad is always saying we should broaden our horizons. He'll be thrilled. Besides, think of all the cute European girls we'll meet."

"How would we even afford it?"

It's a deflection. For a pair of teenage boys, we're both pretty good with money. Weekend jobs at Blockbuster and Baskin Robbins. I still have money saved from my Bar Mitvah, mostly because I've never really wanted anything enough to really splash out. My clunky computer works just fine and I'm content with books and notepads. Jay saves like his life depends on it, and maybe it does. Money for gas and food for the infinite hours spent avoiding his own home. Money for college. Money for escaping.

He stares me down.

One, two, three days since he left the Rolling Stone on my pillow only to pick it back up this morning. I'd noted his lengthy absence yesterday, but I'd just assumed he'd gone fishing. I should have known something was off.

"Please?" There's a desperate edge to his tone that rugs at my heartstrings and it's all I can do not to demand he tell me why he's suddenly so keen on visiting Europe when he's never expressed any such desire before. Instead I just sigh.

"Okay, but you get to convince my mom."

#my writing #tw implied abuse

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denbroughbill · 5 years

Text

non stop paranoia

pairing: kasplon (mike hanlon/eddie kaspbrak) side reddie summary: "but, maybe it would be easier if he was straight. richie hitting on him, inviting all of these boys inside their shared dorm, giving him nicknames, maybe that all wouldn’t bother him so much if he was actually straight. there was this nonstop paranoia in eddie, that felt like richie did everything he did on purpose, like he was trying to get under his skin." (or where a misunderstanding leaves people under the impression eddie is straight) read it on ao3 here!

It had rained in Portland for three days, and the rain was no longer putting Eddie at ease. Rain normally calmed him, he could curl up next to his window with a good book, and blissfully fall asleep to the sound of a heavy storm tapping against his roof. He watched the street lamps and car headlights reflect on the wet street, head against the window with a tight jaw and clenched fist as the events of the past days replayed in his head. He made a grade on an essay lower than average, submitted two past assignments later than the turn in date, resulting in points marked off the top. It seemed his mother called every hour, on the hour, making it impossible to study. And that’s when he could actually study in his own dorm, because it seemed like his roommate could not keep his dick in his pants, or less he would explode.

Eddie’s frustrations overflowed and he groaned out loud, causing his Uber driver to check on him from the rear view mirror with a raised eyebrow. Eddie rolled his eyes and sighed, shaking his head, and the driver’s eyes went back to the road.

“You’re not even going to ask what’s wrong?” blurted Eddie, another thing he didn’t really mean to say.

The man didn’t move his head, responding monotonically, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Eddie grumbled angrily, sinking back into the seat with his arms crossed. He watched the passing scenery as the car pulled closer to his dorm building. Instead of stopping at the front and letting Eddie out there, they drove towards the student parking lot. The cold expression and monotone voice from the driver, and this suspicious act didn’t feel right to Eddie, fear replacing the anger growing in his belly.

He parked and didn’t say a single word, but had not unlock the car. Eddie gripped his key ring tightly, a key in between each finger in a wolverine like defense to protect him from whatever the man in the front seat tried to pull.

He looked at Eddie from the rear view mirror, and casually explained, “I live here.”

Eddie released the grip on his keys as he released his breath, a huge sigh of relief escaping his mouth.

The driver laughed softly, apologizing before further explaining he was looking for his umbrella. And Eddie laughed, too, realizing how foolish it was to think he was being kidnapped, when it’s not surprising that a college student would drive for Uber part time. Their laughter soothed the unsettled tension packed in the car.

Eddie graciously thanked the other, but refused when he offered to share his umbrella.

“We’re going the same way,” he said, opening the umbrella. “It’s no big deal, really.” He assured, walking along side Eddie.

Before Eddie could ask for himself, the other spoke up. “My name is Stan, by the way.” Stan was taller than Eddie, which made sharing an umbrella a little difficult, and had been driving for Uber since his first semester started.

Stan’s eyebrows raised in surprise when Eddie introduced himself. “Eddie, yeah. We’ve met before, sort of.”

“Met before?” Eddie was good with faces and names. He’s never met Stan before, he was sure of it. He had never seen his slender face, or hazel eyes.

Stan gulped, “In passing. I’m a friend of Richie’s.”

Eddie wanted to apologize for him. He wasn’t too sure how Richie conjured a line of suitors outside their dorm room. He wasn’t exactly convintely attractive, but maybe there was some underlying charm or humor there Eddie wasn’t aware of. Eddie shook his head, that couldn’t be it, Richie was overall terrible.

“He never called me.” Stan mentioned, deadpanned.

This is where, with gritted teeth, Eddie thought to cut their conversation short. As nice as Stan was, he didn’t plan on speaking about his roommate’s sexual conquests with his uber driver. They nodded and waved good night, and Eddie sighed in relief once the door was closed, lucky enough to dodge an awkward conversation. He dropped his book bag by the door. He did not text Richie to let him know he was coming back, but it is his dorm room too, and he studied at the coffee shop as long as he could before they closed. He scoffed to himself. How could someone be so selfish, to engage in some sexual rendezvous and not even obtain the manners to let them know you want nothing further? Eddie shook his head, making his way to the small kitchen they shared.

He found Beverly Marsh, legs swinging from where she sat on the counter, eating ice cream straight from the container. He knew her name because they took environmental science together, and because this isn’t the first time Eddie had walked in on her here.

They both froze. spoon hanging from Beverly’s mouth. Eddie opened his to speak, but was interrupted.

“Bev! What’s taking so long?” Richie called from the bedroom. “We’ve got about an hour until Ed comes back. Get in here!”

Eddie closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he composed himself before nodding. He said nothing to Beverly, but headed back to the door, grabbing his book bag from the floor.

He locked the door behind him, turning swiftly and almost bumping into to Stan. “What are you doing here?”

“I- uh,” Stan blinked, still adjusting from almost slamming heads with Eddie. “Thought you would need a place to retreat if Richie..” he paused, seemingly trying to find the most polite way of putting it. “had company. You want to hang out at mine?”

The night was turning in ways Eddie could not have possibly thought of before he left out that evening. He shrugged his shoulders, almost defeated. He can’t even enjoy laying in his own bed after wallowing in his emotions and a matcha latte. “Sure.” Eddie managed to crack a small smile, trailing behind Stan as they walked to his dorm.

All dorm rooms came with everything a student needed, and not many people embellished. Eddie put up a poster or two, but him and Richie’s dorm was minimalist at best. Stan’s dorm, however, had plants. A lot of them. An ivy that seemed limitless, protruding from an overhead shelf and stretching out to rustle Stan’s hair. “Water?” he offered from the tiny kitchen, not brushing the leaves away from his face.

“I’m okay. You have a green thumb?” Eddie questioned, still near the door. He wasn’t comfortable enough to drop his bag, or remove his jacket yet, and wasn’t exactly welcomed in.

“Oh, no.” Stan blew a gust of air upwards, making the leaves sway. He bumped the refrigerator door with his hip, closing it, then returned to the tiny living space. “It’s my roommate’s. You don’t want to sit?”

Eddie giggled, sitting down on ridiculously patterned armchair, and gripping his bookbag in his lap. He was surprised it wasn’t covered in plastic, by how ornate it looked, maybe Stan thrifted it from a resale shop. “Are you drinking wine?”

“Yeah, wine. It’s a Friday, we’re in college.” Stan responded nonchalantly, sitting in a chair across from him. It wasn’t a matching furniture set, another piece bought second hand, but had to be comfortable. Stan sat with his legs stretched over an arm of the chair. “It’s boxed Franzia, not that fancy.” He assured, raising his glass and taking a sip.

Eddie nodded. Stan was comfortable in his own dorm, of course, but Eddie had yet to even shed his own jacket. He wanted to open his body language, in some way that said, ‘I can make friends and be cool under even the wackiest of circumstances! Thanks for letting me in your dorm room!’ but instead, he peered around, examining the place, quiet.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” Eddie asked.

“My roommate’s out, so you can relax, really.” Stan responded.

“Is he out doing what Richie does?” Eddie tried to ease up, cracking a joke, and Stan laughed, trying his best not to choke while sipping his wine.

“Oh, no. Not unless Richie gets paid for what he’s doing.” Eddie raised an eyebrow.

Stan explained, “He’s at work. Mike’s working.” and Eddie nodded.

Just mentioning Richie’s name made Eddie’s ears heat up. Why he was stuck with inconsiderate, sex addicted jerk as a roommate, instead of one who gardened, was beyond him. It wasn’t just the constant sex partners that bothered Eddie, it was how he left laundry in the living space when the hamper was in the bedroom, or how he drank Eddie’s almond milk, when he had a half gallon of dairy right next to it.

He thought back to earlier when he confronted Richie, about how he hated leaving his own room for Richie to fuck.

Richie just laughed at Eddie, standing outside their door this evening, “You don’t have to leave,” he patted Eddie on the shoulder before he closed the door on him, “Hell, you could join sometimes.”

Eddie groaned exasperatedly, throwing his hands up. “Ugh!” He was glad Mike was not there, because he was loud. He looked over at Stan, who was staring at Eddie, wide eyed due to his sudden outburst.

“Sorry.” Eddie squeaked. He had originally not planned on venting, but as he poured out his frustrations on his Uber driver he just met hours ago, anyone would’ve thought Eddie was the one drinking wine.

Stan listened, though, nodding tentatively as he tried to piece everything together. He sat up, crossing his legs as a therapist would before setting his glass, without a coaster. “So, you’re mad Richie hit on you?”

Eddie frowned, crossing his arms over his bookbag. “Well, yeah. Where does he get off doing that? Why would I ever stoop that low?” He shook his head, looking over at Stan.

“Oops, I didn’t mean—“

Stan shook his head, finishing what was left in his glass, and constraining his laughter. “No, don’t apologize.” He grinned. He leaned back, wine taking effect as he smiled, thought back to when he slept with Richie, and spoke with ease. “I mean, it was fun.”

Eddie sat up, unimpressed. “Fun?” he asked. “Don’t you want a relationship more than.. fun?”

Stan pondered for a moment before shrugging his shoulders in agreement, and nodding. “Well, yeah. That’s why I’m not seeing him now.” He stood up, making his way back to the kitchen to pour another glass. “And what Richie and I had is not what I would call a relationship.”

Eddie groaned in response, leaning back against the chair, frustrated.

“I mean, come on, you’ve never thought about it?”

Stan raised his head from behind the kitchen bar as he heard Eddie exclaim. “Yuck! As if!”

And Stan nodded silently, shrugging, and directed his attention back to his glass. He said monotonously, “Oh, my bad. I didn’t know you were straight.”

Eddie sputtered, “Straight?”

“Yeah. That’s why you’re so offended. Because you’re straight, right?”

He had no trouble speaking what was on his mind tonight, but Eddie stopped to ponder. He definitely was not straight— he came out before leaving home for college, an argument with evil words from his mother that still left a sour taste in his mouth when he thought about it. But, maybe it would be easier if he was straight. Richie hitting on him, inviting all of these boys inside their shared dorm, giving him nicknames, maybe that all wouldn’t bother him so much if he was actually straight. There was this nonstop paranoia in Eddie, that felt like Richie did everything he did on purpose, like he was trying to get under his skin.

Eddie wasn’t exactly open about his sexuality, but he wasn’t ashamed of it, either. Maybe somewhere deep inside of him, he could have some sort of weird, jealous crush on Richie. But he wouldn’t admit to it now. As he opened his mouth to deny Stan’s idea, someone walked into the dorm.

The possibility of Eddie having any sort of interest in Richie was washed away. His mother would faint at the sight of how Eddie eyed the boy up and down, almost salivating while unshamelessly checking out the tall, dark, and handsome man. The sight of his straight, sparkling white teeth made Eddie’s head spin, but he cleared his throat, and that bought Eddie back down to earth.

“Uh, hey. I didn’t know Stan was having company.” He said, closing the door behind him. He tossed his jacket on the empty chair Stan was sat in.

“Oh, hi.” Eddie sprung up, wiping his hands on his pants before extending one. “I’m Eddie. I was getting ready to go, really.”

“I’m Mike.” he grinned, and had a firm handshake. “You can stay, you’re not bothering me.”

Stan emerged from the kitchen, glass in his grasp. “Mike! Welcome home!” he waltzed to where the two were standing, and threw an arm over Eddie’s shoulder, almost toppling him over, as Stan was significantly taller than me.

“This is my friend, Eddie.” He slurred his words as he introduced him. Apparently, the wine started to kick in. Eddie thought Stan was a different person when he was drunk, and he definitely had too much to drink, as drunk on wine as a middle aged, lonely, housewife.

He snorted when he laughed, leaning closer to Mike. “He’s straight, can you believe that!” What was suppose to be a whisper embarrassed Eddie, and Mike cracked an awkward smile, removing Stan’s arm from Eddie’s shoulder.

“Someone’s had too much to drink,” Mike sighed as Stan collapsed into his chest, and he wrapped an arm around him. “I’m sorry, but it was nice to meet you, Eddie.”

Eddie nodded, waving goodbye to the both of them, and let himself out. He leaned his back against the door once he was outside, and hung his head, embarrassed. Letting out a huge sigh, he held his head in his hands. The rain poured heavily, storm crashing on the roof of the dorm building like his thoughts, and all hopes of ever impressing Mike, crashing down as well. He dragged his feet back to his dorm, the only other faces he saw this late in the halls were from disheveled people like Beverly, retreating to their own room after sleeping in someone else’s.

He rethought the events as he prepared for bed, washing his face and changing into different clothes. He emerged from the bathroom, and Richie was fast asleep, snoring as usual. Eddie tossed and turned, the snoring keep him awake. He scoffed under his breath, mumbling to himself how dumb it was to allow both of them to think he was straight. The thought of Mike’s handsome face made Eddie’s stomach turn, he didn’t even have a chance to be turned down by Mike, like he expected he would be, before Stan blew it for him.

His eyes shot open when he realized he left his bag at their dorm. He rolled over on his side, curling up, and buried his face deep in his pillow, like he was shielding it from embarrassment. Eddie had to face them both again, and he was dreading it. As if this day wasn’t bad enough, it was almost like he had to relive all of it tomorrow.

#eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #mike hanlon #kasplon #meddie #reddie #it 2017 #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #stan uris

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chikaraspecial · 5 years

Link

If Mike Quackenbush sent postcards home to West Lawn about his career, the messages would go something like this: “Traveled the world, met all my heroes, had some pastry in a quaint cafe;”

“Revived interest in niche dialects of wrestling from Mexico and Britain, teaching them to everyone I know;”

“Hi everybody, went to Florida to reshape storytelling for NXT. Love, MIKE.”

Fact is, the man known across the globe as “The Master of a Thousand Holds” doesn’t write postcards. He writes tomes.

Since the summer of 1998 with the arrival of Fantastic Finishers from London/Kappa Publishing, Mike’s written a total of 8 books and about 500 magazine articles on the topic he’s most passionate about: professional wrestling. His most recent book, 7 Keys to Becoming a Better Performer - A Book for Fellow Pro-Wrestlers has been touted by some of the most powerful players in the business, like Alexa Bliss and Sasha Banks. The influence he’s amassed in the last 25 years isn’t limited to the written word, though.

As a public speaker, he’s opened minds to the beauty of the craft, and being present for one of his locker room speeches is akin to going to wrestling church. Actually trading holds with him in the ring is a rite of passage in and of itself. The biggest influencers on the independent circuit today, like David Starr and Joey Janela, campaign for the chance to lock-up with Mike, pleading their cases both publicly and privately. His body of work though, once centered on his live performances, has shifted focus in recent years.

For a period of 37 months, he didn’t perform at all, walking with a cane until he was physically able to do without in 2016. During that time, his landmark oration at Ignite Philly 16 crystallized the state-of-the-art for a new generation of wrestlers, and the “downtime" saw Quackenbush collaborate with artists from outside the genre. He functioned as a dramaturge on the ballet piece "Takako vs. 9 Lives," he wrote an original song that was recorded by an Emmy-award winning artist, and later trained Charlie Cox’s stunt-double for the Netflix series Daredevil, just to keep busy.

And for anyone else, that would be a resume suitable to retire upon. But that doesn’t really scratch the surface of what Wrestling’s Renaissance Man has achieved, because it completely misses his most fascinating creation: CHIKARA.

The creative risk-taker of wrestling; CHIKARA is the immersive, addictive universe that sprung up in the barren wasteland of 2002. When the popular trend was to try and ape the infamy of the recently-deceased Extreme Championship Wrestling by being gratuitously edgy, Mike zagged the other way. He celebrated nerd culture and comic book tropes with CHIKARA, naming live events after Talking Heads albums and creating pro-wrestling’s equivalent of the classic Alan Moore graphic novel, Watchmen. His famously secretive methods have introduced time travel into the overly-serious world of wrestling, produced alternate reality games and at least one movie that we know about, to say nothing of the feat wherein he coordinated a single, long-form saga that tiptoed between 9 different organizations. (For the record: CHIKARA, Wrestling is Cool, Wrestling is Heart, Wrestling is Intense, Kaiju Big Battel, Wrestling is Art, Wrestling is Respect, Wrestling is Awesome and Wrestling is Fun!) When I asked him why he took on writing and producing Kaiju for a period of 2 years, Quack quipped: “I needed one that started with K.”

This morning, over cold brew coffee, I asked Mike if he regretted any of the offers he turned down through the years, keeping his career entirely off the “big stages,” and firmly at the independent level. Curiously enough, at the end of the 90’s, both WCW and ECW came calling. “Those weren’t right for me, and if I’m going to rearrange my whole life, or uproot and move to Atlanta…the deal has to be right. I have no regrets about that.”

In 2019, a few new opportunities from “bigger stages” have presented themselves as well. “I’ve had a number of fulltime offers of late that would require me to relocate. That’s not the right thing for me at the moment, either. Maybe soon, it will be. But not right now.” Is it conceivable that a CHIKARA series finale is coming? “Without a doubt. I already know exactly how it ends. I can tell you what the final four minutes contain, pretty precisely.” I asked if he would tell me. He politely declined.

And what’s right now, on the 25th anniversary of his debut? A curated playlist of some matches he’s hand-selected from his career that's just gone live, here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAClYaV5Tw6qywoB9TGQiL5j1LCTzFuKq

And what’s next, I asked Wrestling’s Renaissance Man? “I might try that vanilla scone.”

#CHIKARA #Chikara Pro #IWTV #Independent Wrestling dot TV #Mike Quackenbush #Mike Quackenbush 25th Anniversary

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bugheadfamily · 6 years

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This week the spotlight is on Holly ( @my-broken-bones-are-mending90 )! Click the read more link below to get to know our member!

Spotlight by Mila, @jughead-jones | Graphic by Katie, @betty-cooper

Holly | @my-broken-bones-are-mending90

Name: Holly

Age: 28

Location: Greer, South Carolina

Any other languages aside from English people can contact you in?: I wish. I majorly flunked Spanish.

Favourite Riverdale characters and ships?: Bughead, is my favorite ship obviously. I had a thing for Midge/Moose for a while but I kind of knew they wouldn’t happen, I also ship Mary and Fred. I have an appreciation for Varchie and I hope to see them get even more development as a couple in season 3. My absolute favorite characters are Jughead and Betty.

Favourite moments from S1 & S2?: I love the scene in season 1 where they’re in the diner and Jughead kisses Betty’s hands after his birthday party. It was one of the sweetest scenes I had ever seen. One of my favorite moments in season 2 was when Veronica refused to leave Archie after they had sex in the shower. AND the scene where Betty decides to save the diner and she’s thinking about why it’s important.

What are your hopes for S3?: Seeing Jughead and Betty as a strong/crime solving couple. Meeting Jellybean and Gladys. I would love to see Archie and Cheryl self-destruct together just so they can utilize KJ and Mads chemistry some more. BUT then they can go back to their significant others.

Other fandoms you’re into?: I am heavily into the Stranger Things fandom.

What are some of your favourite movies/TV?: Elementary, Sherlock, This Is Us, the Mentalist, Stranger Things, Boy Meets World. My favorite movies are Breakfast at Tiffany’s and You’ve Got Mail are my two favorites EVER.

Favourite books?: the Little Prince, Nancy Drew, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, Sherlock Holmes, the Charlotte Holmes Mysteries, the Magician’s Nephew.

Favourite bands/musicians?: Taylor Swift, Michael Buble, Sleeping At Last, Frank Sinatra, Kelly Clarkson, Barbra Streisand.

If you could live in any fictional world which one would you choose and why?: Probably Narnia. It was the first fantasy world I really ever was invested in. Who wouldn’t want to be “once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia”.

Favourite food?: Pizza and French fries.

Favourite season?: Winter.

Favourite plant?: Sunflowers!

Favourite scent?: To wear? At the Beach from Bath & Body quite consistently and recently I’ve fallen in love with cinnamon and vanilla by Hempz. THEN I love the smell of coffee.

Favourite colour?: Pink or glitter. Is glitter a color?

Favourite animal?: Dogs. BUT dolphins are a close second.

Are you a night owl, an early bird, or a vampire?: I am both an early bird and a night owl. BUT I usually get the most done in the afternoon or late at night.

Place you want to visit?: France, China, Australia, Italy, Greece, anywhere I can see the bottom of the ocean.

Do you have pets? If you do, tell us a little about them: I have one dog, a doxie/black lab mix we adopted from the shelter almost 3 years ago. Her name is Ember and she thinks she’s a guard dog even though she weighs less than 50 pounds wet. She likes to eat iceberg lettuce and white rice.

Tell us a little about yourself?: I am the oldest of 5 kids, 3 sisters (Heather, Hannah, and Katherine) tand 1 brother (Andrew). I am a freshly minted auntie to an 8-month old named Roger, I have 25 cousins and I am the oldest grandchild on my dad’s side.

Fun or weird fact about you?: George Clooney was filming Leatherheads where I live, he turned around and I waved. He waved back. A weird fact is, I can wrap my whole arm around my neck and touch my ear.

Asks for fanfic authors:

How long have you been writing?: I’ve been telling stories my whole life, I’ve been writing fan fiction for 14 years.

Which is your favourite of the fics you’ve written?: My favorite Bughead story I’ve ever written is a one-shot called Dreams. It didn’t get a lot of attention though, so it kind of disappointed me.

Favourite fic/chapter/plot-point/character you’ve ever written?: One of my favorite chapters to write was in my story “the Boyfriend Plot” when Jughead and Betty had a makeout session to Just My Imagination Running Away With Me by the Temptations. It was a turning point in the story for Betty and the song choice reflected how Jughead was feeling pretending to be Betty’s boyfriend.

Which was the hardest to write, and why?: Hello Darkness My Old Friend. It dealt with addiction, so I was constantly aware that I could be triggering somebody and also, it was filling a wish prompt so I was always uncertain if I was matching the vision of the person who requested it.

How do you come up with the ideas for you fic(s)? (examples: Do you draw inspiration from real life? Listen to music? Get inspired by TV/movies?) Do you have an process to your writing?: I draw a lot of inspiration from movies, literature, movies, and TV shows. Usually when I get an idea for a new story, I’ll jot down ideas in a moleskin my dad got for me. Then I’ll start gathering stuff for my book covers and playing around with it until I get what I like. THEN, I’ll build a playlist. Which is one of my favorite parts of the process.

Idea that you always wanted to write?: Fanfiction wise, I would like to write a story where the female character sends the male character a Christmas present while he’s at war. Then he comes to see her because her letter or present got him through it. Fiction wise, I’d love to write a series about the Biltmore or a YA novel about Hades and Persephone.

Favourite character to write?: Betty or Mike from Stranger Things, hands down. I can relate to both of them on so many levels. Otherwise it’s Patrick Jane from the Mentalist or Sherlock Holmes from Sherlock or Elementary. I’ve been told I have a knack for getting their voices.

Best comment/review you’ve ever received?: There was one from @lilibug--xx on High Society recently, I was flattered because I think she had just won best overall smut writer in the Bughead Fanfiction Awards. SO, to be noticed by her was just spectacular for me.

Best and worst parts of being a writer?: The best parts of being a writer is stringing together words and sentences that will really move somebody. The worst part of being a writer is the crippling self-doubt I subject myself to.

Do you have any advice to offer?: Write for YOURSELF. Not for other people, if you want to write it and you can’t get it out of your mind. Just do it! Don’t try and write something that you think people will want to read. It’s a recipe for an unsatisfied life.

This is the eighth instalment of Bughead Family’s Member Spotlight series. Each week, a member’s url is selected through a randomizer and they will be featured in a spotlight post. In order to participate, please join the Bughead Discord (more information found here). Thank you.

#bughead #riverdale #bughead family discord #member spotlight

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stanleyuriis · 7 years

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the losers club aesthetics

bill denbrough : the smell of fresh cut grass; papercuts; the feeling you get when you chug a glass of ice cold water after a run; sloppy handwriting; bitten nails; being afraid, yet thrilled, about getting lost; sprinting across an empty football field; burning your tongue on hot drinks; photobooths; pushing friends in a cart in the store;

stan uris : the first inhale after coming up from swimming; clotheslines; baby blue; freashly clipped nails; cold lips kissing warm hands; tracing shapes on a lovers back; violin music; gasping between kisses; fruit infused water; tears on your best friend’s sweater; calling friends swear words while grinning; the shuffling sound of a deck of cards;

richie tozier : jumping into an autumn leaf pile; the feeling of a big drop on a roller coaster; hands caressing a lover’s cheeks; long eyelashes; thin blankets; hickeys; screaming at the top of your lungs; headrushes; throwing a punch at someone; writing on a chalkboard; washing dishes alongside a loved one, humming, and kissing each other’s cheeks; party tricks and hidden talents;

beverly marsh : french braids; lighthearted debates that turn into yelling matches; ice cream melting on your fingers; fish tacos; button up shirts with dainty underwear; caffeine addiction; long nails tapping on a desk; a sharp inhale when making out; feeling light-headed after a sleep in; winning a stuffed bear at the fair; giving someone a thirty dollar tip; warm coffee going cold;

ben hanscom : whistling; finding an onion ring in your fries; picking up bits and pieces of languages while traveling; waking up ten minutes early; a collection of partially filled notebooks; the crack of a baseball hitting a bat; the sound of shes against loud wood floors; studying on the green; wearing someone else’s jacket; writing with your non dominant hand;

eddie kaspbrak : blushing from ears to chest; lightning bugs on your hand; aching fingers and wrists; cursing when spilling coffee over your notes; running your hands over tall grass; doodling on a lover’s skin; your lips and fingers turning red from berries; resting your head in someone’s lap; sloppy handwritten love letters; sneaking into an open window; the moment before you get picked up for a first date;

mike hanlon : tilting your face towards the sun; jumping as high as possible on a trampoline; tapping toes to the beat of a song; apple cider; the scent of an extinguished match; broken cinnamon sticks; the smell of sharpened pencils; dancing in the rain; random bloody noses; eating all of the chocolate in an advent calendar at once;

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get-a-new-lease-on-life · 6 years

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Amber O’Brien and Mercy Ross: Awkward Friends Bond Awkwardly

Excerpts from “A New Lease on Life” and “Gallery of Memories”

“Oi, Blundie!” The sudden call at Mercy’s back startled her, but the speaker’s appearance was even more surprising—short and pudgy with frizzy rust-brown hair in pigtails and a bright, crooked grin that seemed all upper teeth. Mercy had seen the girl before—had been assigned to the same classes with her since Kindergarten—but neither had ever made any effort to make an acquaintance. After all, Mercy was shy and the other girl was hard to understand. “Kin I set'ere, mibbe?”

“Who’s askin’?” Mercy frowned down into her lunchbox, hoping the other wouldn’t see how red her eyes were. Their class was on a field trip, after all, a day trip to a larger town’s science museum—she was supposed to be having fun, not crying over bullies!

“Ah’m Amber O'Brine,” the green-eyed second-grader answered thickly helping herself to the nearest empty chair regardless. “Dinnae mind those dolts nae mair, ‘ey’re coarsin’ ya 'cause'ey’re feart'a ya. 'ey cannae handle a girl wit’ class, ya knuw?”

While Mercy struggled to decipher what she heard, the group of kids at the nearest table—the rude brats from another school who’d teased Mercy relentlessly for wearing a dress on a field trip—started catcalling at the brunette and mocking her thick foreign burr. “Haw!” She shouted back. “Stew it ya clarty toonsers! Yer all honkin'a smawg!” Without missing a beat, she turned back to Mercy, offering her chubby hand with a bright smile. “Dingy tha dafties , 'ey need a kip. Friends?”**

“Like I’ gotta choice?” Mercy mumbled still trying to figure out what Amber said.

Delirious and red as a beet, Donatello stumbled out the door, drifting vaguely toward the empty lab mumbling unintelligibly under his breath. Amber and Mercy watched his retreat, one amused, one bewildered.

“Was it something I said?” Amber asked Mercy, finally turning to meet the blonde’s grey-blue eyes. Mercy shot her a 'we are not amused’ deadpan and jabbed her thumb at the space behind her; taking the hint, Amber returned to her place, taking up the comb and scissors again.

“Nope,” Mercy answered dryly as chunks of matted blonde hair fell all around her; good riddance, she thought. “You just blew his mind, that’s all…an’ if his brain’s as big as you say it is, you may'a just triggered another Chernobyl.”

“Hey!” Amber retorted, shaking the comb at her. “I was nowhere near Chernobyl when the meltdown happened, thank ya very much!”

“Only 'cuz ya weren’t born yet,” Mercy teased back. Amber couldn’t help but grin; she’d missed the playful banter with Aaron and Mercy so much it was ridiculous. She couldn’t have Aaron, but maybe with Mercy, at least, her new life would be a little easier. Should the words cross her lips, though, she knew her friend would become uncomfortable, so she settled for a more accepted response: insulting her.

“Face forward,” she ordered with a smirk and a light slap to the back of the blonde’s head, “or I swear ta bog, I will give you the world’s saddest mullet."

The door swung shut on a silent, still bathroom; Amber and Mercy stood staring at the steel panel door, questioning what just happened. Finally, Amber broke the silence.

"Did he just…” Mercy nodded.

“Yup,” she answered blankly. “He did.”

“Donatello just Howl’s Moving Castle’d me?!” Amber squeaked at her friend, her normally low voice painfully shrill. “For real?!” Finally getting a hold of herself, Mercy smirked back.

“Leave it to you to turn a movie title into a verb,” she teased, then added in a sing-song tone, “He thinks yer gorgeous,”

“ACK!” Amber flinched, swatting at her friend.

“He’s got a turtle crush!”

“Mercy!”

“You wanna kiss'im,” Mercy taunted as Amber chased her around the bathroom with the scissors. “You wanna hug'im, you wanna love'im—”

“Ya wanna DIE, DON’T YOU?!”

“You’re certainly takin’ this well, Merse,” Amber commented off-handedly as she set aside her glass and took up the knife again. “Ya’d think you were in another city rather than another world.”

“Meh,” Mercy retorted as she sliced a stalk of celery into strips. “Yer over-reactin’ enough fer both of us, I reckon; freakin’ out over everythin’ ain’t gonna help any.” Amber shrugged, the smooth slide of knife through meat calming in its familiarity. “Ain’t ya worried this’ll screw things up?” The sudden query startled Amber from her near-trance, and she fastened confused green eyes on her lifelong friend.

“Huh?” she uttered. “Screw things up how?” Mercy rolled her eyes and tossed a stem of celery leaves at her face. “Hey, don’t waste that! I dry those for soup!”

“Nerd. Findin’ ourselves in their world, events changin’, plots shiftin’ to revolve around us, any'a that ring a bell?” Mercy snarked. “We could be screwin’ up the timeline just by bein’ here.” Amber stared back, wide-eyed and silent; a flush spread from her cheekbones outward. “Didn’t think'a that, did ya?”

“Well…” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “…not…really, no. Never occurred to me.” The blonde scoffed, tempted to chuck another piece of celery at her.

“It’s official,” she deadpanned. “The fanfiction addict fails at fanfiction.”

“Ya serious, ain’t'cha?” Raphael asked, golden eyes wide in disbelief. “Ya think—ya think I gotta chance with Merse?” He winced, suddenly glancing out the door as though hearing footsteps nearing. Amber didn’t comprehend Raph’s reaction and jumped upright when the blonde herself stormed through the kitchen into the utility room, covered head-to-toe in potting soil, mulch, peat, and clay dust and gently cradling a naked jalapeno plant like a newborn.

“God-fuckin’-dammit!” Mercy snarled as she yanked out stashed supplies—a large basin, another planter, a more securely tied harness, a ladle, bags of dirt, mulch, and peat moss—and proceeded to replant the evicted vegetable with a gentleness that didn’t match her loud temper tantrum. “I TOL’ Mike that hanger wa'n’t tight enough! I TOL'im it was gonna slip if any'un bumped it!” As she worked on repairing the damage she continued bitching and griping but drifted further and further from intelligible complaints and into random expletives too slurred and butchered to discern their origin. Raph stared wide-eyed across the table at Amber, who shrugged.

“She’s a lil’ protective'a the green stuff,” she stage-whispered.

“I heard that, Dillweed!” Mercy snapped, ducking her head around the doorframe long enough to shoot her friend a venomous scowl. “'at chucklehead Mikey’ better be protective of'is BALLS, 'cuz I’m'a smash'em!” As though finally noticing his presence, she quirked a smirk at Raph. “Oh, hey Asshat.” Without further ado, she returned to remedying the situation. Wide Hazel eyes met amused green ones over the table.

“That answer your question?” Amber teased lowly snagging the Scotch bottle to top off his glass. “This one’s on me—you’ll need it.”

By the time Amber finally got up the nerve to meet Mercy in the railyard she was quaking in Kimber’s hoochie boots and dreading the tongue-lashing to come. “H—Hello?” she called out inching through the doorway.

“I take it you two idjits finally made up?” Mercy drawled behind her sending her through the roof again. Amber whipped about wondering how Mercy was managing to sneak up on her so often. Was the blonde taking lessons in ninja from Raph?

“Eh…” She faltered, avoiding her friend’s eyes. “…mibbe?” Mercy paced toward her like a cougar stalking a wounded deer, her blue eyes hard.

“I remember that smell, ya twat,” she pointed out dryly, “an’ I highly doubt you an’ Sir Geeks-a-lot had angry sex in the pantry.”

“There was no sex!” Amber blurted out. “We—It just—Gah!” she burst out and yanked on her braid again. “We just got carried away, but there was no sex, no nudity, no missing clothes even!” The blonde stared her down, scrutinizing her expression for any sign of a lie. “In my defense, I ain’t gotten laid since April of 2011!” The moment the year was out of her mouth, Amber paled and her jaw dropped, the year difference finally hitting her. She left behind the year 2011 and woke up in 2016—did she seriously endure a five-year dry spell in Limbo?! No wonder she nearly screwed Donnie against the pantry shelves!

“So ya just humped against the Heineken,” Mercy summarized bluntly. Amber winced but nodded. “Good thing I don’t drink that shit. 'Bout time you two quit fightin'—I was gettin’ sick'a chewin’ ya both out all the time.”

“S-Sorry,” Bree mumbled in embarrassment, scrubbing her cheeks dry. Honestly, she just met this Amber person and already she spent twenty minutes crying on her. “I—”

“Oi, don’t go beatin’ yerself up,” Amber chastised gently. “Us lahssies gotta stick together, right?” Through the utility room doorway, she heard Mercy whistle and holler,

“Heeeere, Lassie—C'mere girl!”

“Haw!” Amber fired back at the cackling blonde. “Put a sock in it, ya bleach blonde!” Bree stared at Amber like she just grew antlers, seeming to have forgotten her embarrassment and sadness; mission accomplished.

“Lassies?” Bree repeated in confusion, one brown eyebrow disappearing behind her bangs. “You’re Irish?” Amber laughed aloud at the thought; her Gran'da would have turned red and sputtered oaths at the thought.

“Hardly, Hardy. Mum’s family’s from Scotland, some of it stuck.” The younger woman sat silently contemplating things for a bit, then admitted something aloud.

“Mikey was right.”

“Pardon?” Bree blushed slightly but gave a sheepish smile.

“He wasn’t allowed to tell his family about us, but he told me all about you guys…he said you’re compassionate and unfiltered, Mercy’s sarcastic and bristly, and that you’re both a riot and prone to spontaneously insulting each other.” Amber chuckled into her coffee at the thought.

“That’s us a'right,” she admitted. “We’ve been friends too long to take each other seriously.”

“That’d imply I take anyone seriously,” Mercy snarked bustling through the door. Just shy of the table she turned a shit-eating grin to Amber. “What’s wrong, Lassie? Is Timmy in the well?”

“Bite me, Blundie.” Mischief managed, the blonde held her dirt-stained hand out to Bree with a lopsided smirk.

“Mercy Ross, professional plant nut; looks like ya a'ready met the crazy Celt.” Bree couldn’t help smiling as she accepted the handshake.

“Actually, Mike said you’re both a little crazy…crazy can be fun, though, right?” Noticing Amber’s gaze drift toward the pantry, Mercy gave a suggestive eyebrow waggle. A dark blush streaked from the brunette’s nose outward and she suddenly became utterly fascinated with the lip gloss print on her coffee mug.

“You’ve gotta be a little crazy to keep up with this crowd,” Donnie pointed out as he strode toward the coffee maker, a dimpled smirk splitting his face. “Welcome to the family, Briallen.”

From the moment Mercy led Leonardo into the Dojo, he was bullish and impatient. Now, after being warned that he was babying Beverly, he was beyond irate. “I’m not being overprotective,” he insisted sternly. “You don’t know her—you don’t know the sort of challenges she’s faced, or what she has trouble with! How could you even begin to believe you’d understand what’s called for and what’s excessive?”

“No, Ass-Breath, I don’t know her,” the blonde grumbled at him. “Other'n what ya’ve told us, I dunno a damn thing about 'er, but it don’t take knowin’ someone to see the obvious. She’s feelin’ stifled, I kin guarantee it.”

“And on what are you basing this assumption?” he demanded staring her down. “Your addiction?!”

“Fracture in L3 and L2,” Mercy recited in an almost deadpan, “surgically fused to L1 an’ L4. Stable fracture in right kneecap. Four ribs bruised, two cracked. Hairline fracture in left hip socket. Nerve damage in back surroundin’ fractured vertebrae. An’ on top of that,” she added with a stern glare, “three years restricted to a cane, four years 'a torture disguised as physical therapy, an’ a whoppin’ eleven years 'a pain management an’ opiate pain pills.” For a few breaths, Leonardo just stared at her in disbelief, then he stated,

“You lost me.” Denim blue eyes rolled, their owner heaving an exasperated sigh.

“I’m saying I’ been in yer shoes, Dumbass,” she clarified shortly. “I’ seen what happens when ya get too careful with those ya care about. That braided lunatic,” she called out loudly enough to be heard in the kitchen, “thought it’d be fun ta jump in front of a bus!” Sure enough, Amber hollered out from the kitchen,

“Oi! I was hit by a van in the crosswalk—there’s a difference!”

“How’s the GED goin’ Scotch-Bright?” Mercy asked around her pizza crust

“Slowly,” Amber admitted. “I still suck at algebra an’ apparently I peeved-off the instructor today.” She answered Donnie’s questioning glance with a shrug. “What? It’s not my fault the test he wrote up had more spelling and grammar errors than a kindergartner’s Christmas list. I just corrected'em.”

“Grammar Nazi,” Mercy accused pointing a fork at her.

Three women walked into a bar: a spunky brunette, a skinny blonde, and a sulking woman with greying brown hair. It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke, but none of the women were laughing—they were there for one reason and one reason only.

“You’re sure you wanna go through with this?” Bree asked Amber softly as a waitress approached. “It might be easier to go through with sober.” The older woman just nodded; she had incredibly high pain tolerance, but this was a whole 'nother ball game.

“What can I getcha?” the waitress chirped, and Mercy sent the other two a scrutinizing glance.

“I’ll just take sweet tea—no booze,” she answered, and Bree seconded the request. “This one, however,” she added slinging one skinny arm around Amber’s shoulders and triggering an embarrassed blush. “We need'a get'er smashed. She’s a Scotch-snob—any suggestions?” Not long after, the chipper waitress returned with a tray of drinks, two completely innocent and one absolutely reeking of what smelled like several varieties of alcohol. The stench curled Amber’s nose hairs and made her stomach throw tantrums…but if it did the trick, wouldn’t that be worth it?

“If this kills me,” she warned Mercy dryly, “I’m'a haunt yer ass.”

“'long as I don’t wind up spewin’ pea soup. Chug it a'ready—it stinks.”

“Pea soup’s possession, Dingbat,” Amber grumbled, fixing the glass with a suspicious and wary glare. “Well,” she muttered lifting it to her lip, “Down the hatch, be ready to catch.” The first tentative sip made her choke, and she had to force herself to swallow. “Dear God!” she rasped staring down at the glass in horror. “'is shit tastes like Tussin!”

“Tough noodles,” Mercy drawled. “We’ve got twenty minutes to get you hammered—grow a pair an’ hurry up.”

Maybe there was something to be said for facing things sober after all…

A loud scuffling at the front door drew Donatello from his ruminations. The Lab floor was no longer mined with bits and pieces from the control box, but he hadn’t had the heart to move on beyond that point yet. Hoping and dreading the source of the racket outside, he hurried to the door and popped his head out to look…only to gape in absolute disbelief.

Amber was back—clearly just shy of drunk and leaning on Mercy for support. The blonde led her inebriated friend to her and Donnie’s bedroom, kicked the door open, and they disappeared inside. Confused, he followed, listening in on the hushed conversation.

“Nez-time,” Amber slurred as Mercy eased her down onto the bed, “I’m'a stay sober fer-it—tha’ wiz crap…”

“No one said it’d be easy,” Mercy reminded bluntly dragging the trashcan over by the bed for easy access. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen ya drunk—this’s hilarious.”

“’m no’ drunk,” Amber argued sourly. “’m fuggin’ blootert!” Without further ado, the wasted brunette passed out completely.

“I’m'a just pretend I know whatcha said.”

“So how’s work going?” April groaned in annoyance, picking at her pizza crust.

“My new boss is a tyrant,” she grumbled in answer to Donatello’s question. Every time April and her fellow reporters took a story on-air, it had to be written up before hand, and the 'big boss’ was a complete grammar Nazi. “She chewed me out for a ridiculous typo today—said 'if you can’t properly spell 'Bronx’ maybe you should go work there.’ Auto-correct is gonna get me fired.”

“Hey, I thought you were workin’ at the pizza parlor!” Mercy teased Amber. “When’d ya take up journalism, Grammar Nazi?”

“I didn’t,” Amber answered with mock offense; if she was April’s boss, she wouldn’t be dodging cars to deliver pizza. “Hence the pizza sauce on your chin…Messy.” Instead of embarrassing the blonde, however, the remark just made her turn to Raphael and point at her face in a hint; sure enough, the burly ninja swiped the trace of sauce away and sucked it off his finger, intentionally holding eye contact with the blushing blonde. “Oi! Some of us are eatin’ here, ya horndogs!”

“Not my problem,” Mercy teased a little too breathlessly, completely ignoring Casey’s cringe and Splinter’s dirty looks.

“You're…yer invitin’ us to come with the family?” Amber asked Casey in disbelief. “You - You’ll let us come stay with y'all in Northampton for the trip? But–"

"Yer not Kimbuh Bryant, right?” Casey cut her off avoiding her eyes in favor of his plate. “You an’ Blondie ain’t gonna hurt anyone, an’ yer part of the family now, right? Why shouldn’t ya come along? It’s just a weekend.” He winced at April’s elbow to the ribs, then added with an awkward pacifying smile, “Dis one, at least. Maybe once we’ve all gotten used ta one another, we can take longer trips.”

Amber turned wistful, watery eyes to Donnie; sure enough, he winked at her in confirmation of his interference, and the hand on her thigh squeezed again. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse and her smile weak. “We’d love to go with y'all,” she admitted quickly glancing at Mercy for confirmation only to cringe at the sight of the blonde trying to feed Raphael a breadstick. Surely that wasn’t meant to look suggestive…right? Amber needed to get laid before everything around her started looking sexual!

“One question,” Mercy asked brusquely, took a bite off the breadstick she just shared with Raph, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Are there cows? It ain’t the country if there’s no cows.”

“Da neighbors got cows,” Casey answered blankly. “An’ chickens…an’ I think dey- even gotta donkey. Why?”

“Well, strap me to the luggage rack an’ hit the road,” Mercy grinned. She missed her family’s livestock—missed being around cows, especially—and if she hadn’t been already convinced by the 'weekend in the country,’ the cows sealed the deal. She loved cows, after all… “Don’t bother settin’ up a place in the attic fer Scotch-bright, though—she’s sleepin’ with the nerd.” Amber choked on her iced tea and Donatello had to start whacking her on the back to clear her lungs.

“Mercy!” the brunette objected shrilly, her voice hoarse from the tea she inhaled.

“What?” the blonde asked her embarrassed friend with feigned confusion as Casey sputtered in disbelief. “Y'are.” Amber hid her face in her hand, sure it was turning as purple as Donnie’s mask. “Better lock the pantry, too, Case—those two’re deviants.”

Amber swatted blindly at the source of the tickling on her nose, growling under her breath. When her eyes finally opened—shooting daggers over her being woken up—she registered Mercy Ross leaning over the back of the bench seat before her, grinning like a lunatic and holding the end of one of her braids. Clearly, she was tickling Amber’s nose with it to wake her up. “Gi'off, Blundie,”- Amber grumbled at the blonde, yanking her hair loose and settling herself more comfortably in the nook of the van’s back seat and the wall.

“Ya slept the whole trip, Scotch-Bright,” Mercy teased with a toothy smile. “We’re at the farmhouse—the guys’ve already carried everything inside, even.” Amber blinked at the revelation, wondering how she could have slept through an entire car ride with Casey and April—specifically Casey’s road rage and bitching or April’s crazy driving. “C'mon in a'ready.”

Still a little out-of-sorts because of her strange dream, Amber collected her carry-on and unbuckled, stretched the kinks out of her spine, and stoop-walked her way from the backseat of the van to the sliding door. She hit the ground with a stumble, shook herself as though to wake herself up more, and took in her surroundings. Mercy hopped down from the van’s middle seat with much more grace than her still-half-asleep friend. The two stood silently for a moment, staring at the big red barn before them. “If that’s the farmhouse, I’m callin’ bullshite.”

“The house is behind us, Genius,” Mercy laughed, swatting at Amber and leading the way around the van. As she rounded Casey’s old van, the farmhouse came into view—old and rustic, but not quite as big as she’d expected. "Speakin’ of freaky dreams,“ Mercy teased jabbing Amber in the side, "Casey said this place has a pantry.” Predictably incensed by the taunt, Amber swatted at the blonde, her face red.

“Hey, you two,” Casey called out from the doorway. “If yer comin’ in, behave yerselves!”

“What if I don’t wanna behave?” Mercy shot back, and Casey rolled his eyes. “What? Well-behaved women rarely make history, right O'Brien?” Amber rolled her eyes and stumbled past her without a word. “Wait…I smell cows!—Jason, ya said yer neighbors have cows, right?” Before Casey could correct her or answer her, the blonde took off like a shot to seek out her quarry.

Dinner was just like any other dinner the odd family shared—Mercy and Raphael flirted outrageously to annoy the rest, Mikey talked almost non-stop, Leo shot his brothers reprimanding looks over lapses in manners, and everyone ate far more than they should have. The only unusual occurrence was Amber repeatedly squirming and shifting in her seat as though favoring a sore buttock. Leo refused to contemplate the reason, after having run into the guilty couple earlier, and pointedly ignored her blushing and the creaking of her chair. Unfortunately, someone didn’t get the message.

“You okay, Sis?” Michelangelo asked after yet another loud creak; in her embarrassment, the brunette dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter and tried to cover up her embarrassment by taking a long swig of water. Red-faced with embarrassment, she nodded in answer and tried to focus on her casserole. Misinterpreting her reaction, Mikey turned a glare on Donnie, completely missing the brainy turtle’s horrified expression. “Bruh, I told ya you need'a bug-bomb that loft,” the youngest scolded. “Somethin’ probably bit her!”

Amber choked on her water and started hacking it back out of her lungs; though he’d normally assist by whacking her on the back, Donnie just stared at his brother in silent horror. “We don’t need Sis turnin’ into Spider-Dudette over some radioactive spider bite from your mad-sciency stuff out there,” Mikey continued uncontested despite Leo kicking him under the table. “That kinda stuff never works out well, even in comics!” Still coughing and beating her chest, Amber screeched her chair back from the table and rushed out of the room before she embarrassed herself further.

Mercy glared at her friend’s retreating back. She recalled the suspicious tooth-marks on Amber’s wrist not too long ago…and she suspected this was another such incident. Grinning slyly, she hollered out the door at the fleeing woman, “Didja at least bite it back?” A gruff curse rang out on the stairs in reply, and Mercy noticed that Donnie was practically purple in the face; she silently interpreted this as a 'yeah, she did.’ Meanwhile, Mikey continued on in his tangent about radioactive spider-bites being a menace to public safety and started listing off the first signs of having been bitten by a radioactive spider. Leo wouldn’t look at anyone and he seemed to have lost his appetite.

Mercy turned to Raph, glanced pointedly at the mortified genius and Amber’s empty chair, then shot her boyfriend a suggestive eyebrow waggle. Raph, easily following her train of thought, cringed in disgust and elbowed her in the side. Supposedly oblivious to the tension filling the room and not connecting the dots for himself, Mikey continued his rant unhindered.

At least, Leo considered as he stared down his half-empty plate, Amber and Donnie were stinking up the barn’s loft this time instead of the pantry.

Amber storms into the shabby kitchen like a woman on a mission, only to stop dead at the counter and dig through the cooler on the floor. As every time before, she is faced with the painful truth that she forgot the Scotch…as every time before, she feels torn between tears and sarcasm. “Why’s the rum always gone?” she mumbles pathetically.

“Ye drank it awl, Jack,”# Mercy snarks through the open window startling her. “Ye an’ yer damn peanuts!” As her heart rate calms, Amber grins,

“Finally, someone who gets me! Where’ve ya been all my life?”

“Straight an’ surrounded by cows,” Mercy teases ducking through the kitchen door. “Fortunately for you, Pretty-Boy stocks actual rum—says'e makes a mean mojito.” The blonde shrugs noncommittally. “Wouldn’t touch it with a twenty-foot pole wit'a stick on th'end, but I don’t drink.” Amber smirks at the mental image of Mercy jousting with a living mojito and turns to dig a glass out of the cupboard.

“Don’t really wanna drink,” she admits as she draws tea from the jug on the windowsill. “Jus’ miss home again…miss when things actually made some farkin’ sense.”

“More farkin’ sense than Donnie bangin’ that heap'a bolts instead'a you?” Mercy suggests slyly, her denim blue eyes grinning as widely as her lips. Amber slumps down at the counter, almost missing the barstool.

“I think yer filter broke, Merse,” she suggests dryly. “Yer startin’ to talk like me.”

“Blame Raph” Mercy shrugs drawing a glass of tea for herself and downing it in a single breath. “He’s not one fer holdin'is tongue, an’ don’t see why I do…filters’re overrated anyway.”

There’s something freeing about belting out music as horribly as one can, and Donnie’s become rather fond of his and Amber’s impromptu song-murdering sessions. Crammed into her usual shower stall like sardines in a can, the couple serenade the presumably empty bathroom with completely god-awful acapella singing, one with a goofy grin and the other with a washcloth covering his cartilage-shielded ears. Some days that washcloth is the only thing standing between him and total hearing loss.

“One night in Bangkok makes the hard man humble - Not much between despair and ecstasy! One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble - Can’t be too careful with your company - I can feel the devil walking next to me!” By the time they’ve effectively slaughtered the entire song, they couldn’t keep a straight face to save their lives; they break down laughing at themselves and each other. “Yer brothers probably think we’re torturing a cat,” Amber wheezes as she rinses the coconut-scented suds out of her hair.

“Nah,” Donnie teases openly watching the bubbles trail down her slick skin. “Mikey’s singing on the other hand…”

“Will you two shut up a'ready?!” Raphael’s sudden outburst—coming from the furthest stall—makes the couple flinch. Amber’s cheeks flare scarlet at being caught showering with her mate. “It’s too damn early fer dis!” Donnie opens his mouth to fire back a retort, but another voice cuts him off.

“If yer awake enough ta bitch,” Mercy reminds Raph in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “yer awake enough to scrub my back. Shut up an’ do yer job!” Hazel meets grey-green, both pairs of eyes torn between horror and embarrassment. Somehow they never heard Raph or Mercy enter the bathroom…or guessed that they weren’t the only couple prone to sharing the shower in the morning. Some things, they decide with a mutual nod, are better left unheard.

“Hi!” an all-too chipper voice interrupts Amber’s daydreaming. She startles, turning to greet the speaker, her left hand deep in her purse clenched around her can of mace; old habits die hard, especially old habits born from being stalked by crazy Purple Dragon punks. The source, a perky blonde co-ed leaning over the counter of the perfume and cosmetics hub, puts Amber’s mind somewhat at ease. The much younger woman’s big blue eyes are eager behind her oversized glasses and the tops of her likely padded breasts are nearly spilling out over the neckline of her pink baby-doll tee. “Have you ever considered trying a new fragrance? Maybe a little something to attract a man to your life?” It takes everything Amber’s got to keep her impending 'why me?’ face from surfacing, but she manages. She’s a lone woman loitering by the wedding ring display; naturally, everyone’s going to assume she’s a bitter single person.

“Thanks for your concern, Hon,” Amber remarks carefully, raising her hand from her purse to show off her clearly occupied ring finger, “but I really don’t need another one. I’m just bored stiff waiting for my friends.”

“Well, let’s get you unbored!” the clerk chirps excitedly—clearly too horrified by Amber’s bare face and lack of perfume to accept the 'no.’ What follows can be best described as a long, frustrating exercise in patience. No, she doesn’t wear makeup and doesn’t want to wear makeup—it irritates her skin. No, she isn’t interested in any so-called 'hypoallergenic’ makeup, it’s not worth the hassle. Yes, she’s sure. Yes, she’s happy not wearing perfume, the stuff stinks and her 'husband’ has 'chemical sensitivities.’ The last one she has to do some serious BS-ing on. Donnie’s not shown any signs of chemical sensitivities, unlike Mercy, but he and his brothers all have incredibly sensitive noses; a light scent might be strong enough to give him a migraine.

“Look…Zephyr, is it?” Amber points out irritably after glancing at the clerk’s nametag. “I’m not in the market for any makeup, perfume, or whatever—I’m just here because my smart-ass friend got lost in the fitting room.” Zephyr stares vacantly at her, her big empty blue eyes bright behind her dramatically sweeping blonde bangs, seemingly unable to comprehend that her company isn’t wanted. Amber casts her eyes about, frantic for escape, and finally one appears - a flower-decked poster advertising hypoallergenic perfume. “Then again…” Well, if it got Zephyr to look away long enough for her to retreat, it might work. “I don’t suppose that brand has anything really light and tropical, maybe with mango and coconut?” Though she intended to stump the clerk by asking for something unlikely, she quickly realizes she instead presented a challenge. Blue eyes brighter than ever, Zephyr ducks down to dig through the glass case then pops right back up, presenting a bottle of perfume like one would present an Oscar.

“It’s called Island Escape!” she giggles completely missing Amber’s crestfallen expression. Well, that didn’t work! “The fragrance is based around fresh mangos and mandarin oranges with notes of coconut and papaya and just the slightest hint of passion fruit!” Before Amber can even get a word out, Zephyr sprays into the tiny cap and holds it out for her to sniff…as though she could even smell a skunk over the stench from the rest of the perfume.

“What smells good?” Mercy pipes up behind Amber startling her. “Usually this counter stinks like a French hooker.” The brunette chokes back her laughter and turns nearly purple, both at Mercy’s complete lack of a filter and Zephyr’s disappointed pout. Seemingly not realizing she said anything off-color, Mercy ducks forward to tentatively sniff at the cap offered, and blinks in surprise. “Hey, that’s you!” she points out to Amber with a grin. “Y'ought'a try that!”

Great…now she has two pushy blondes trying to force perfume on her.

Friends like those two can really make your life a mess, but boy is worth it!

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ghost-chance · 6 years

Text

Amber O'Brien and Mercy Ross: awkward friends bond awkwardly.

"Oi, Blundie!" The sudden call at Mercy's back startled her, but the speaker's appearance was even more surprising—short and pudgy with frizzy rust-brown hair in pigtails and a bright, crooked grin that seemed all upper teeth. Mercy had seen the girl before—had been assigned to the same classes with her since Kindergarten—but neither had ever made any effort to make an acquaintance. After all, Mercy was shy and the other girl was hard to understand. "Kin I set'ere, mibbe?"

"Who's askin'?" Mercy frowned down into her lunchbox, hoping the other wouldn't see how red her eyes were. Their class was on a field trip, after all, a day trip to a larger town's science museum—she was supposed to be having fun, not crying over bullies!

"Ah'm Amber O'Brine," the green-eyed second-grader answered thickly helping herself to the nearest empty chair regardless. "Dinnae mind those dolts nae mair, 'ey're coarsin' ya 'cause'ey're feart'a ya. 'ey cannae handle a girl wit' class, ya knuw?"

While Mercy struggled to decipher what she heard, the group of kids at the nearest table—the rude brats from another school who'd teased Mercy relentlessly for wearing a dress on a field trip—started catcalling at the brunette and mocking her thick foreign burr. "Haw!" She shouted back. "Stew it ya clarty toonsers! Yer all honkin'a smawg!" Without missing a beat, she turned back to Mercy, offering her chubby hand with a bright smile. "Dingy tha dafties , 'ey need a kip. Friends?"**

"Like I' gotta choice?" Mercy mumbled still trying to figure out what Amber said.

"Was it something I said?" Amber asked Mercy, finally turning to meet the blonde's grey-blue eyes. Mercy shot her a 'we are not amused' deadpan and jabbed her thumb at the space behind her; taking the hint, Amber returned to her place, taking up the comb and scissors again.

"Nope," Mercy answered dryly as chunks of matted blonde hair fell all around her; good riddance, she thought. "You just blew his mind, that's all…an' if his brain's as big as you say it is, you may'a just triggered another Chernobyl."

"Hey!" Amber retorted, shaking the comb at her. "I was nowhere near Chernobyl when the meltdown happened, thank ya very much!"

"Only 'cuz ya weren't born yet," Mercy teased back. Amber couldn't help but grin; she'd missed the playful banter with Aaron and Mercy so much it was ridiculous. She couldn't have Aaron, but maybe with Mercy, at least, her new life would be a little easier. Should the words cross her lips, though, she knew her friend would become uncomfortable, so she settled for a more accepted response: insulting her.

"Face forward," she ordered with a smirk and a light slap to the back of the blonde's head, "or I swear ta bog, I will give you the world's saddest mullet."

The door swung shut on a silent, still bathroom; Amber and Mercy stood staring at the steel panel door, questioning what just happened. Finally, Amber broke the silence.

"Did he just…" Mercy nodded.

"Yup," she answered blankly. "He did."

"Donatello just Howl's Moving Castle'd me?!" Amber squeaked at her friend, her normally low voice painfully shrill. "For real?!" Finally getting a hold of herself, Mercy smirked back.

"Leave it to you to turn a movie title into a verb," she teased, then added in a sing-song tone, "He thinks yer gorgeous,"

"ACK!" Amber flinched, swatting at her friend.

"He's got a turtle crush!"

"Mercy!"

"You wanna kiss'im," Mercy taunted as Amber chased her around the bathroom with the scissors. "You wanna hug'im, you wanna love'im—"

"Ya wanna DIE, DON'T YOU?!"

"You're certainly takin' this well, Merse," Amber commented off-handedly as she set aside her glass and took up the knife again. "Ya'd think you were in another city rather than another world."

"Meh," Mercy retorted as she sliced a stalk of celery into strips. "Yer over-reactin' enough fer both of us, I reckon; freakin' out over everythin' ain't gonna help any." Amber shrugged, the smooth slide of knife through meat calming in its familiarity. "Ain't ya worried this'll screw things up?" The sudden query startled Amber from her near-trance, and she fastened confused green eyes on her lifelong friend.

"Huh?" she uttered. "Screw things up how?" Mercy rolled her eyes and tossed a stem of celery leaves at her face. "Hey, don't waste that! I dry those for soup!"

"Nerd. Findin' ourselves in their world, events changin', plots shiftin' to revolve around us, any'a that ring a bell?" Mercy snarked. "We could be screwin' up the timeline just by bein' here." Amber stared back, wide-eyed and silent; a flush spread from her cheekbones outward. "Didn't think'a that, did ya?"

"Well..." she admitted with a sheepish smile. "…not…really, no. Never occurred to me." The blonde scoffed, tempted to chuck another piece of celery at her.

"It's official," she deadpanned. "The fanfiction addict fails at fanfiction."

"Ya serious, ain't'cha?" Raphael asked, golden eyes wide in disbelief. "Ya think—ya think I gotta chance with Merse?" He winced, suddenly glancing out the door as though hearing footsteps nearing. Amber didn't comprehend Raph's reaction and jumped upright when the blonde herself stormed through the kitchen into the utility room, covered head-to-toe in potting soil, mulch, peat, and clay dust and gently cradling a naked jalapeno plant like a newborn.

"God-fuckin'-dammit!" Mercy snarled as she yanked out stashed supplies—a large basin, another planter, a more securely tied harness, a ladle, bags of dirt, mulch, and peat moss—and proceeded to replant the evicted vegetable with a gentleness that didn't match her loud temper tantrum. "I TOL' Mike that hanger wa'n't tight enough! I TOL'im it was gonna slip if any'un bumped it!" As she worked on repairing the damage she continued bitching and griping but drifted further and further from intelligible complaints and into random expletives too slurred and butchered to discern their origin. Raph stared wide-eyed across the table at Amber, who shrugged.

"She's a lil' protective'a the green stuff," she stage-whispered.

"I heard that, Dillweed!" Mercy snapped, ducking her head around the doorframe long enough to shoot her friend a venomous scowl. "'at chucklehead Mikey' better be protective of'is BALLS, 'cuz I'm'a smash'em!" As though finally noticing his presence, she quirked a smirk at Raph. "Oh, hey Asshat." Without further ado, she returned to remedying the situation. Wide Hazel eyes met amused green ones over the table.

"That answer your question?" Amber teased lowly snagging the Scotch bottle to top off his glass. "This one's on me—you'll need it."

By the time Amber finally got up the nerve to meet Mercy in the railyard she was quaking in Kimber's hoochie boots and dreading the tongue-lashing to come. "H—Hello?" she called out inching through the doorway.

"I take it you two idjits finally made up?" Mercy drawled behind her sending her through the roof again. Amber whipped about wondering how Mercy was managing to sneak up on her so often. Was the blonde taking lessons in ninja from Raph?

"Eh…" She faltered, avoiding her friend's eyes. "…mibbe?" Mercy paced toward her like a cougar stalking a wounded deer, her blue eyes hard.

"I remember that smell, ya twat," she pointed out dryly, "an' I highly doubt you an' Sir Geeks-a-lot had angry sex in the pantry."

"There was no sex!" Amber blurted out. "We—It just—Gah!" she burst out and yanked on her braid again. "We just got carried away, but there was no sex, no nudity, no missing clothes even!" The blonde stared her down, scrutinizing her expression for any sign of a lie. "In my defense, I ain't gotten laid since April of 2011!" The moment the year was out of her mouth, Amber paled and her jaw dropped, the year difference finally hitting her. She left behind the year 2011 and woke up in 2016—did she seriously endure a five-year dry spell in Limbo?! No wonder she nearly screwed Donnie against the pantry shelves!

"So ya just humped against the Heineken," Mercy summarized bluntly. Amber winced but nodded. "Good thing I don't drink that shit. 'Bout time you two quit fightin'—I was gettin' sick'a chewin' ya both out all the time."

"S-Sorry," Bree mumbled in embarrassment, scrubbing her cheeks dry. Honestly, she just met this Amber person and already she spent twenty minutes crying on her. "I—"

"Oi, don't go beatin' yerself up," Amber chastised gently. "Us lahssies gotta stick together, right?" Through the utility room doorway, she heard Mercy whistle and holler,

"Heeeere, Lassie—C'mere girl!"

"Haw!" Amber fired back at the cackling blonde. "Put a sock in it, ya bleach blonde!" Bree stared at Amber like she just grew antlers, seeming to have forgotten her embarrassment and sadness; mission accomplished.

"Lassies?" Bree repeated in confusion, one brown eyebrow disappearing behind her bangs. "You're Irish?" Amber laughed aloud at the thought; her Gran'da would have turned red and sputtered oaths at the thought.

"Hardly, Hardy. Mum's family's from Scotland, some of it stuck." The younger woman sat silently contemplating things for a bit, then admitted something aloud.

"Mikey was right."

"Pardon?" Bree blushed slightly but gave a sheepish smile.

"He wasn't allowed to tell his family about us, but he told me all about you guys…he said you're compassionate and unfiltered, Mercy's sarcastic and bristly, and that you're both a riot and prone to spontaneously insulting each other." Amber chuckled into her coffee at the thought.

"That's us a'right," she admitted. "We've been friends too long to take each other seriously."

"That'd imply I take anyone seriously," Mercy snarked bustling through the door. Just shy of the table she turned a shit-eating grin to Amber. "What's wrong, Lassie? Is Timmy in the well?"

"Bite me, Blundie." Mischief managed, the blonde held her dirt-stained hand out to Bree with a lopsided smirk.

"Mercy Ross, professional plant nut; looks like ya a'ready met the crazy Celt." Bree couldn't help smiling as she accepted the handshake.

"Actually, Mike said you're both a little crazy…crazy can be fun, though, right?" Noticing Amber's gaze drift toward the pantry, Mercy gave a suggestive eyebrow waggle. A dark blush streaked from the brunette's nose outward and she suddenly became utterly fascinated with the lip gloss print on her coffee mug.

"You've gotta be a little crazy to keep up with this crowd," Donnie pointed out as he strode toward the coffee maker, a dimpled smirk splitting his face. "Welcome to the family, Briallen."

From the moment Mercy led Leonardo into the Dojo, he was bullish and impatient. Now, after being warned that he was babying Beverly, he was beyond irate. "I'm not being overprotective," he insisted sternly. "You don't know her—you don't know the sort of challenges she's faced, or what she has trouble with! How could you even begin to believe you'd understand what's called for and what's excessive?"

"No, Ass-Breath, I don't know her," the blonde grumbled at him. "Other'n what ya've told us, I dunno a damn thing about 'er, but it don't take knowin' someone to see the obvious. She's feelin' stifled, I kin guarantee it."

"And on what are you basing this assumption?" he demanded staring her down. "Your addiction?!"

"Fracture in L3 and L2," Mercy recited in an almost deadpan, "surgically fused to L1 an' L4. Stable fracture in right kneecap. Four ribs bruised, two cracked. Hairline fracture in left hip socket. Nerve damage in back surroundin' fractured vertebrae. An' on top of that," she added with a stern glare, "three years restricted to a cane, four years 'a torture disguised as physical therapy, an' a whoppin' eleven years 'a pain management an' opiate pain pills." For a few breaths, Leonardo just stared at her in disbelief, then he stated,

"You lost me." Denim blue eyes rolled, their owner heaving an exasperated sigh.

"I'm saying I' been in yer shoes, Dumbass," she clarified shortly. "I' seen what happens when ya get too careful with those ya care about. That braided lunatic," she called out loudly enough to be heard in the kitchen, "thought it'd be fun ta jump in front of a bus!" Sure enough, Amber hollered out from the kitchen,

"Oi! I was hit by a van in the crosswalk—there's a difference!"

"How's the GED goin' Scotch-Bright?" Mercy asked around her pizza crust

"Slowly," Amber admitted. "I still suck at algebra an' apparently I peeved-off the instructor today." She answered Donnie's questioning glance with a shrug. "What? It's not my fault the test he wrote up had more spelling and grammar errors than a kindergartner's Christmas list. I just corrected'em."

"Grammar Nazi," Mercy accused pointing a fork at her.

"You're sure you wanna go through with this?" Bree asked Amber softly as a waitress approached. "It might be easier to go through with sober." The older woman just nodded; she had incredibly high pain tolerance, but this was a whole 'nother ball game.

"What can I getcha?" the waitress chirped, and Mercy sent the other two a scrutinizing glance.

"I'll just take sweet tea—no booze," she answered, and Bree seconded the request. "This one, however," she added slinging one skinny arm around Amber's shoulders and triggering an embarrassed blush. "We need'a get'er smashed. She's a Scotch-snob—any suggestions?" Not long after, the chipper waitress returned with a tray of drinks, two completely innocent and one absolutely reeking of what smelled like several varieties of alcohol. The stench curled Amber's nose hairs and made her stomach throw tantrums…but if it did the trick, wouldn't that be worth it?

"If this kills me," she warned Mercy dryly, "I'm'a haunt yer ass."

"'long as I don't wind up spewin' pea soup. Chug it a'ready—it stinks."

"Pea soup's possession, Dingbat," Amber grumbled, fixing the glass with a suspicious and wary glare. "Well," she muttered lifting it to her lip, "Down the hatch, be ready to catch." The first tentative sip made her choke, and she had to force herself to swallow. "Dear God!" she rasped staring down at the glass in horror. "'is shit tastes like Tussin!"

"Tough noodles," Mercy drawled. "We've got twenty minutes to get you hammered—grow a pair an' hurry up."

Maybe there was something to be said for facing things sober after all…

A loud scuffling at the front door drew Donatello from his ruminations. The Lab floor was no longer mined with bits and pieces from the control box, but he hadn't had the heart to move on beyond that point yet. Hoping and dreading the source of the racket outside, he hurried to the door and popped his head out to look…only to gape in absolute disbelief.

Amber was back—clearly just shy of drunk and leaning on Mercy for support. The blonde led her inebriated friend to her and Donnie's bedroom, kicked the door open, and they disappeared inside. Confused, he followed, listening in on the hushed conversation.

"Nez-time," Amber slurred as Mercy eased her down onto the bed, "I'm'a stay sober fer-it—tha' wiz crap..."

"No one said it'd be easy," Mercy reminded bluntly dragging the trashcan over by the bed for easy access. "Don't think I've ever seen ya drunk—this's hilarious."

"'m no' drunk," Amber argued sourly. "'m fuggin' blootert!" Without further ado, the wasted brunette passed out completely.

"I'm'a just pretend I know whatcha said."

"So how's work going?" April groaned in annoyance, picking at her pizza crust.

"My new boss is a tyrant," she grumbled in answer to Donatello's question. Every time April and her fellow reporters took a story on-air, it had to be written up before hand, and the 'big boss' was a complete grammar Nazi. "She chewed me out for a ridiculous typo today—said 'if you can't properly spell 'Bronx' maybe you should go work there.' Auto-correct is gonna get me fired."

"Hey, I thought you were workin' at the pizza parlor!" Mercy teased Amber. "When'd ya take up journalism, Grammar Nazi?"

"I didn't," Amber answered with mock offense; if she was April's boss, she wouldn't be dodging cars to deliver pizza. "Hence the pizza sauce on your chin…Messy." Instead of embarrassing the blonde, however, the remark just made her turn to Raphael and point at her face in a hint; sure enough, the burly ninja swiped the trace of sauce away and sucked it off his finger, intentionally holding eye contact with the blushing blonde. "Oi! Some of us are eatin' here, ya horndogs!"

"Not my problem," Mercy teased a little too breathlessly, completely ignoring Casey's cringe and Splinter's dirty looks.

"You're…yer invitin' us to come with the family?" Amber asked Casey in disbelief. "You - You'll let us come stay with y'all in Northampton for the trip? But--"

"Yer not Kimbuh Bryant, right?" Casey cut her off avoiding her eyes in favor of his plate. "You an' Blondie ain't gonna hurt anyone, an' yer part of the family now, right? Why shouldn't ya come along? It's just a weekend." He winced at April's elbow to the ribs, then added with an awkward pacifying smile, "Dis one, at least. Maybe once we've all gotten used ta one another, we can take longer trips."

Amber turned wistful, watery eyes to Donnie; sure enough, he winked at her in confirmation of his interference, and the hand on her thigh squeezed again. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse and her smile weak. "We'd love to go with y'all," she admitted quickly glancing at Mercy for confirmation only to cringe at the sight of the blonde trying to feed Raphael a breadstick. Surely that wasn't meant to look suggestive…right? Amber needed to get laid before everything around her started looking sexual!

"One question," Mercy asked brusquely, took a bite off the breadstick she just shared with Raph, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "Are there cows? It ain't the country if there's no cows."

"Da neighbors got cows," Casey answered blankly. "An' chickens…an' I think dey- even gotta donkey. Why?"

"Well, strap me to the luggage rack an' hit the road," Mercy grinned. She missed her family's livestock—missed being around cows, especially—and if she hadn't been already convinced by the 'weekend in the country,' the cows sealed the deal. She loved cows, after all… "Don't bother settin' up a place in the attic fer Scotch-bright, though—she's sleepin' with the nerd." Amber choked on her iced tea and Donatello had to start whacking her on the back to clear her lungs.

"Mercy!" the brunette objected shrilly, her voice hoarse from the tea she inhaled.

"What?" the blonde asked her embarrassed friend with feigned confusion as Casey sputtered in disbelief. "Y'are." Amber hid her face in her hand, sure it was turning as purple as Donnie's mask. "Better lock the pantry, too, Case—those two're deviants."

Amber swatted blindly at the source of the tickling on her nose, growling under her breath. When her eyes finally opened—shooting daggers over her being woken up—she registered Mercy Ross leaning over the back of the bench seat before her, grinning like a lunatic and holding the end of one of her braids. Clearly, she was tickling Amber's nose with it to wake her up. "Gi'off, Blundie,"- Amber grumbled at the blonde, yanking her hair loose and settling herself more comfortably in the nook of the van's back seat and the wall.

"Ya slept the whole trip, Scotch-Bright," Mercy teased with a toothy smile. "We're at the farmhouse—the guys've already carried everything inside, even." Amber blinked at the revelation, wondering how she could have slept through an entire car ride with Casey and April—specifically Casey's road rage and bitching or April's crazy driving. "C'mon in a'ready."

Still a little out-of-sorts because of her strange dream, Amber collected her carry-on and unbuckled, stretched the kinks out of her spine, and stoop-walked her way from the backseat of the van to the sliding door. She hit the ground with a stumble, shook herself as though to wake herself up more, and took in her surroundings. Mercy hopped down from the van's middle seat with much more grace than her still-half-asleep friend. The two stood silently for a moment, staring at the big red barn before them. "If that's the farmhouse, I'm callin' bullshite."

"The house is behind us, Genius," Mercy laughed, swatting at Amber and leading the way around the van. As she rounded Casey's old van, the farmhouse came into view—old and rustic, but not quite as big as she'd expected. "Speakin' of freaky dreams," Mercy teased jabbing Amber in the side, "Casey said this place has a pantry." Predictably incensed by the taunt, Amber swatted at the blonde, her face red.

"Hey, you two," Casey called out from the doorway. "If yer comin' in, behave yerselves!"

"What if I don't wanna behave?" Mercy shot back, and Casey rolled his eyes. "What? Well-behaved women rarely make history, right O'Brien?" Amber rolled her eyes and stumbled past her without a word. "Wait…I smell cows!—Jason, ya said yer neighbors have cows, right?" Before Casey could correct her or answer her, the blonde took off like a shot to seek out her quarry.

"You okay, Sis?" Michelangelo asked after yet another loud creak; in her embarrassment, the brunette dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter and tried to cover up her embarrassment by taking a long swig of water. Red-faced with embarrassment, she nodded in answer and tried to focus on her casserole. Misinterpreting her reaction, Mikey turned a glare on Donnie, completely missing the brainy turtle's horrified expression. "Bruh, I told ya you need'a bug-bomb that loft," the youngest scolded. "Somethin' probably bit her!"

Amber choked on her water and started hacking it back out of her lungs; though he'd normally assist by whacking her on the back, Donnie just stared at his brother in silent horror. "We don't need Sis turnin' into Spider-Dudette over some radioactive spider bite from your mad-sciency stuff out there," Mikey continued uncontested despite Leo kicking him under the table. "That kinda stuff never works out well, even in comics!" Still coughing and beating her chest, Amber screeched her chair back from the table and rushed out of the room before she embarrassed herself further.

Mercy glared at her friend's retreating back. She recalled the suspicious tooth-marks on Amber's wrist not too long ago…and she suspected this was another such incident. Grinning slyly, she hollered out the door at the fleeing woman, "Didja at least bite it back?" A gruff curse rang out on the stairs in reply, and Mercy noticed that Donnie was practically purple in the face; she silently interpreted this as a 'yeah, she did.' Meanwhile, Mikey continued on in his tangent about radioactive spider-bites being a menace to public safety and started listing off the first signs of having been bitten by a radioactive spider. Leo wouldn't look at anyone and he seemed to have lost his appetite.

Mercy turned to Raph, glanced pointedly at the mortified genius and Amber's empty chair, then shot her boyfriend a suggestive eyebrow waggle. Raph, easily following her train of thought, cringed in disgust and elbowed her in the side. Supposedly oblivious to the tension filling the room and not connecting the dots for himself, Mikey continued his rant unhindered.

At least, Leo considered as he stared down his half-empty plate, Amber and Donnie were stinking up the barn's loft this time instead of the pantry.

Amber storms into the shabby kitchen like a woman on a mission, only to stop dead at the counter and dig through the cooler on the floor. As every time before, she is faced with the painful truth that she forgot the Scotch…as every time before, she feels torn between tears and sarcasm. "Why's the rum always gone?" she mumbles pathetically.

"Ye drank it awl, Jack,"# Mercy snarks through the open window startling her. "Ye an' yer damn peanuts!" As her heart rate calms, Amber grins,

"Finally, someone who gets me! Where've ya been all my life?"

"Straight an' surrounded by cows," Mercy teases ducking through the kitchen door. "Fortunately for you, Pretty-Boy stocks actual rum—says'e makes a mean mojito." The blonde shrugs noncommittally. "Wouldn't touch it with a twenty-foot pole wit'a stick on th'end, but I don't drink." Amber smirks at the mental image of Mercy jousting with a living mojito and turns to dig a glass out of the cupboard.

"Don't really wanna drink," she admits as she draws tea from the jug on the windowsill. "Jus' miss home again…miss when things actually made some farkin' sense."

"More farkin' sense than Donnie bangin' that heap'a bolts instead'a you?" Mercy suggests slyly, her denim blue eyes grinning as widely as her lips. Amber slumps down at the counter, almost missing the barstool.

"I think yer filter broke, Merse," she suggests dryly. "Yer startin' to talk like me."

"Blame Raph" Mercy shrugs drawing a glass of tea for herself and downing it in a single breath. "He's not one fer holdin'is tongue, an' don't see why I do…filters're overrated anyway."

There's something freeing about belting out music as horribly as one can, and Donnie's become rather fond of his and Amber's impromptu song-murdering sessions. Crammed into her usual shower stall like sardines in a can, the couple serenade the presumably empty bathroom with completely god-awful acapella singing, one with a goofy grin and the other with a washcloth covering his cartilage-shielded ears. Some days that washcloth is the only thing standing between him and total hearing loss.

"One night in Bangkok makes the hard man humble - Not much between despair and ecstasy! One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble - Can't be too careful with your company - I can feel the devil walking next to me!" By the time they've effectively slaughtered the entire song, they couldn't keep a straight face to save their lives; they break down laughing at themselves and each other. "Yer brothers probably think we're torturing a cat," Amber wheezes as she rinses the coconut-scented suds out of her hair.

"Nah," Donnie teases openly watching the bubbles trail down her slick skin. "Mikey's singing on the other hand…"

"Will you two shut up a'ready?!" Raphael's sudden outburst—coming from the furthest stall—makes the couple flinch. Amber's cheeks flare scarlet at being caught showering with her mate. "It's too damn early fer dis!" Donnie opens his mouth to fire back a retort, but another voice cuts him off.

"If yer awake enough ta bitch," Mercy reminds Raph in a tone dripping with sarcasm, "yer awake enough to scrub my back. Shut up an' do yer job!" Hazel meets grey-green, both pairs of eyes torn between horror and embarrassment. Somehow they never heard Raph or Mercy enter the bathroom…or guessed that they weren't the only couple prone to sharing the shower in the morning. Some things, they decide with a mutual nod, are better left unheard.

"Hi!" an all-too chipper voice interrupts Amber's daydreaming. She startles, turning to greet the speaker, her left hand deep in her purse clenched around her can of mace; old habits die hard, especially old habits born from being stalked by crazy Purple Dragon punks. The source, a perky blonde co-ed leaning over the counter of the perfume and cosmetics hub, puts Amber's mind somewhat at ease. The much younger woman's big blue eyes are eager behind her oversized glasses and the tops of her likely padded breasts are nearly spilling out over the neckline of her pink baby-doll tee. "Have you ever considered trying a new fragrance? Maybe a little something to attract a man to your life?" It takes everything Amber's got to keep her impending 'why me?' face from surfacing, but she manages. She's a lone woman loitering by the wedding ring display; naturally, everyone's going to assume she's a bitter single person.

"Thanks for your concern, Hon," Amber remarks carefully, raising her hand from her purse to show off her clearly occupied ring finger, "but I really don't need another one. I'm just bored stiff waiting for my friends."

"Well, let's get you unbored!" the clerk chirps excitedly—clearly too horrified by Amber's bare face and lack of perfume to accept the 'no.' What follows can be best described as a long, frustrating exercise in patience. No, she doesn't wear makeup and doesn't want to wear makeup—it irritates her skin. No, she isn't interested in any so-called 'hypoallergenic' makeup, it's not worth the hassle. Yes, she's sure. Yes, she's happy not wearing perfume, the stuff stinks and her 'husband' has 'chemical sensitivities.' The last one she has to do some serious BS-ing on. Donnie's not shown any signs of chemical sensitivities, unlike Mercy, but he and his brothers all have incredibly sensitive noses; a light scent might be strong enough to give him a migraine.

"Look…Zephyr, is it?" Amber points out irritably after glancing at the clerk's nametag. "I'm not in the market for any makeup, perfume, or whatever—I'm just here because my smart-ass friend got lost in the fitting room." Zephyr stares vacantly at her, her big empty blue eyes bright behind her dramatically sweeping blonde bangs, seemingly unable to comprehend that her company isn't wanted. Amber casts her eyes about, frantic for escape, and finally one appears - a flower-decked poster advertising hypoallergenic perfume. "Then again..." Well, if it got Zephyr to look away long enough for her to retreat, it might work. "I don't suppose that brand has anything really light and tropical, maybe with mango and coconut?" Though she intended to stump the clerk by asking for something unlikely, she quickly realizes she instead presented a challenge. Blue eyes brighter than ever, Zephyr ducks down to dig through the glass case then pops right back up, presenting a bottle of perfume like one would present an Oscar.

"It's called Island Escape!" she giggles completely missing Amber's crestfallen expression. Well, that didn't work! "The fragrance is based around fresh mangos and mandarin oranges with notes of coconut and papaya and just the slightest hint of passion fruit!" Before Amber can even get a word out, Zephyr sprays into the tiny cap and holds it out for her to sniff…as though she could even smell a skunk over the stench from the rest of the perfume.

"What smells good?" Mercy pipes up behind Amber startling her. "Usually this counter stinks like a French hooker." The brunette chokes back her laughter and turns nearly purple, both at Mercy's complete lack of a filter and Zephyr's disappointed pout. Seemingly not realizing she said anything off-color, Mercy ducks forward to tentatively sniff at the cap offered, and blinks in surprise. "Hey, that's you!" she points out to Amber with a grin. "Y'ought'a try that!"

Great…now she has two pushy blondes trying to force perfume on her.

Friends like those two can really make your life a mess, but boy is worth it!

#OC #Fan fiction excerpts #fanfiction #TMNT #Amber & Mercy #Awkward friends bond awkwardly #A New Lease on Life #Donnie/OC #raphael/oc

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srepgames · 4 years

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The Steam Game Festival regresa con más de 40 demos hasta el 23 de marzo.

Geoff Keighley ha anunciado que The Steam Game Festival: Spring Edition, un evento digital que permite probar demos exclusivas de futuros juegos, correrá del 18 al 23 de marzo.

The Steam Game Festival regresa esta vez con más de 40 títulos de estudios que originalmente planeaban exhibir sus títulos en Indie Megabooth, Day of the Devs y The Mix de GDC 2020, que fueron cancelados por la pandemia del Coronavirus.

Los títulos que están disponibles en The Steam Game Festival: Spring Edition son:

Indie Megabooth

Backworlds (Logic Ember Limited)

Duster (Coldrice Games)

Evan’s Remains (Whitethorn Digital / Maitan69)

Filament (Kasedo Games / Beard Envy)

Going Under (Team17 / AggroCrab)

Hundred Days: Wine Making Simulator (Broken Arms Games)

HyperParasite (Troglobyte Games / Hound Picked Games)

Neon Noodles (Vivid Helix)

Mystic Pillars (Holy Cow Productions)

Quench (Axon Interactive)

Tunche (HypeTrain Digital / LEAP Game Studios)

Sons of Ra (Pharaoh Hound Games)

Superliminal (Pillow Castle Games)

We Are the Caretakers (Heart Shaped Games)

We should talk. (Whitethorn Digital / Insatiable Cycle)

Wings Fund

Later Daters (Bloom Digital Media)

Lord Winklebottom Investigates (Cave Monsters)

Pushy and Pully in Blockland (Resistance Studio)

Day of the Devs

Chicory: A Colorful Tale (Finji / Greg Lobanov)

Heavenly Bodies (2pt Interactive)

The Mix

Aeolis Tournament (Beyond Fun Studio)

A Space for the Unbound (Toge Productions / Mojiken Studio)

Coffee Talk (Toge Productions)

Curious Expedition 2 (Thunderful Publishing / Maschinen-Mensch)

Divisadero (Team2Bit)

Eldest Souls (United Label / Fallen Flag Studio)

EleMetals: Death Metal Death Match! (Wallride)

Embr (Muse Games)

Garden Story (VIZ Media / Rose City Games)

Haven (The Game Bakers)

Hazel Sky (Another Indie / Coffee Addict Studio)

Liberated (L.INC / Walkabout / Atomic Wolf)

Jack Axe (Another Indie / Keybol / Mike Studios)

Jay and Silent Bob: Mall Brawl (Interabang Entertainment / Spoony Bard Productions)

Mighty Fight Federation (Komi Games)

Neverinth (Another Indie / CreAct Games)

Operencia: The Stolen Sun (Zen Studios)

Klang 2 (Tinimations)

KungFu Kickball (Blowfish Studios / WhaleFood Games)

Moncage (Optillusion)

Raj: An Ancient Epic (Super.com / Nodding Head Games)

Recompile (Dear Villagers / Phigames)

Retrograde Arena (Another Indie / Freemergency)

Rising Hell (Toge Productions / Another Indie / Tahoe Games)

Roki (United Label / Polygon Treehouse)

She Dreams Elsewhere (Studio Zevere)

Spiritfarer (Thunder Lotus Games)

Vigil: The Longest Night (Another Indie / Glass Heart Games)

When the Past Was Around (Toge Productions / Mojiken Studio)

#The Steam Game Festival #PC #Noticias

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newtonrants · 7 years

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Kwentong Barbero

It was too hot.

Yes, I know that every day has been uncomfortably so. But it’s definitely worse today. I tug at the mess I call my hair, slick with sweat, and decide to hijack every electric fan at the house.

By the time I had two electric fans, one in each hand, my mom calls my attention - she had a newspaper and a steaming cup of coffee in hers - and tells me to go head to the barbershop before it becomes too hot outside.

I check the clock: 12:02 pm. The sun has long pounded on the hard concrete, basically transforming them into burning charcoal. It wasn’t a pretty prospect.

But not unlike elementary school where the regulation haircut is part and parcel of the code of conduct, keeping one’s locks in check remains a prime directive. It is for that reason that I found myself pedaling my old, beat-up bike towards the nearby subdivision at 12 o clock in the afternoon.

Haircuts, Manny Pacquiao and Rocky Balboa

After 15 minutes of biking underneath the now-cancerous rays of the sun, I arrived at Roland’s barbershop. Set between a butcher’s shop and a burger joint, Roland’s has been my go-to for haircuts for almost a decade.

His shop looked nothing out of the ordinary for a barbershop: two barber’s chairs, a long, rectangular mirror and a desk containing enough scissors and blades to make Freddy Krueger giggle with delight. Lest I forget, there are the standard FHM posters and calendars plastered on walls featuring scantily clad women that everyone in the shop take turns looking at like an unspoken contract.

As I lay down my bike in front of the dingy shop, Roland calls me in and bids me to sit on one of the open chairs. It was a slow day, as the middle of the month isn’t peak season for barbers. I settled into my fugue state reserved for haircuts, boring class lectures and listening to Mike Enriquez over the radio at ten in the morning.

“Alam mo p’re, napanuod ko kanina yung Rocky. Ang lupit,” said one of the regulars, engrossed in a chess match with one of the other barbershop tambays. He was playing the white pieces, and his king was currently exposed with only a couple of pawns to keep it company. The end was nigh for thy royalty - probably what triggered this sudden verbal expression.

“Ayos diba? Idol ko yun. Lupit ng katawan ni Sylvester Stallone dun. Batak, parang si Pacquiao,” said Roland.

“Sino kaya mananalo dun,” said another fellow, smugly taking the white king off of play. “Checkmate, brad. Atsaka feeling ko si Rocky. Mas matangkad yun. Mas mahaba yung abot.”

“Pacquiao pa din. Madami nang nakalaban yun na mas matangkad sakanya, dinadaan lang sa bilis,” said Whitey, named for the chess pieces he played.

This particular debate went on for several more minutes. All the while my head resembling more and more a rather steamy siopao, for the shop only had one electric fan, and it was broken.

“Si Rocky mas mabilis gumalaw, p’re. Mas kaya niyang tumakbo. Puro yun ginawa niya sa pelikula. Hindi tulad ni Pacquiao, puro takbo sa pulitika nalang ang inaatupag,” said Roland, to everyone’s laughter.

As the last few snips chopped off what remained of my uneven hair, Whitey and Blacky chimed in on why Pacquiao have not won any of his recent matches: him losing himself completely in Duterte’s politics, his convoluted stances on religion and LGBT rights, and his race to build political capital.

In this manner, Pacquiao can learn a lot from what happened with Rocky. The first Rocky movie was good - it was an inspiring story of a boxer fighting for the underdog with his own sweat and blood. It stands today as one of the greatest boxing movies in history.

But the rest? The five sequels that had the misfortune of being produced? Utter crap. Convoluted plots, poorly written characters, ridiculous dialogue served as the perfect recipe to ruin a perfectly good movie.

From hometown hero to hated politician, the parallel runs deep in Pacquiao’s narrative. He should have learned to take the hint: quit while you’re ahead.

*cue in Gotta Fly Now*

Shaving, Duterte and Marawi

With my hair all butchered, Roland eased my head backwards for the shave - the final part of this monthly ritual. He pulled from his cabinet a bottle of shaving cream and a box of blades that put the fear of god in me. See I’ve never been a fan of blades, blood and gore, especially during my high school days when having watched the movies Saw and Final Destination marked your journey into “manhood.”

Snapping out of that particular trip down memory lane, the shop’s old, dusty radio piped up, delivering a news report in that perennial radio voice we’ve all come to hate - most likely one of the numerous Mike Enriquez clones clogging the AM airwaves. The news report was on Marawi and its liberation from the Maute fighters.

“Alam mo, pasalamat talaga kay Duterte patay na yang mga terorista na yan,” exclaimed Roland, with that patriotic fervor you only see in war movies where the good guys kick Nazi butt. “At dun sa drug war, ngayon wala nang drug addict sa subdivision. Buti nalang talaga binoto ko siya.”

I had a dilemma on my hands. On one hand, there were some corrections to be made about Duterte’s so-called “success” in Marawi. On the other, Roland had something extremely sharp gliding across my neck. I was - quite literally - on a razor’s edge.

As my budding double chin quivered in fear and indecision, I blurted out: “Paano po ang mga taga-Marawi? Yung mga binomba ang tirahan at nadamay sa crossfire na tinatawag nating collateral damage?”

The silence was deafening. I felt blood on my throat as Roland’s razor slipped. It was a small scratch, but it was all I needed.

“Hindi po mesiyas si Duterte.”

Marawi is in such a state of destruction that who knows when they’ll ever get some semblance of normalcy. Yolanda happened years ago, and yet things are still far from normal, why would Marawi be any different? Years in the future we’ll most likely see the same stories, the same news reports: backlogs in delivering relief aid, corruption in the selection of private contractors.

History repeats itself, nothing is ever new.

This self-inflicted catastrophe brought by gunfire and fusilade, through constant bombing operations over civilian spaces has left nothing but destruction. I see no victory here.

“Hindi po mesiyas si Duterte”

Thousands lay six feet under following Duterte’s massive war against drugs - his words - with the drug cartels still in force. Three months turned into six. It’s well over a year, and despite several high-profile deaths and cases of abuse by our national police, there remains no justice to be gained for all the victims.

Roland stared at the me plastered on the glass panel. There was confusion in his eyes, but somehow also measured understanding. He flashed that smug grin, and did something that caught me by surprise: he laughed.

“Ang laki mo na, Allan. Hindi ka na yung dating pumipikit kapag ginugupitan. Inom nga tayo minsan tapos dun natin ‘to pagusapan,” Roland said, brushing off the hair from my neck. “Yan okay na. Wala ka namang bigote o balbas eh.”

I handed him P70 for the haircut and the shave. He waved it away. “Sa susunod na. Ikaw na bahala sa pulutan,” he said. I said thank you and waved goodbye, picking up my bike from the pavement

It was still too hot.

But it wasn’t because of my hair. It was because for the first time after starting to work at corporate, I felt alive. Who knew that Roland’s would be a one-stop shop for all my existential crisis needs?

I pedal away.

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preciouslilpitches · 7 years

Text

Apritello Oneshot: “For You”

I’ve never posted my writing on here before, but I just had this huge inkling to write this. I got my inspiration from a movie called “Blue Jay” featuring Sarah Paulsen and Mark Duplass. It’s also named after a song by Gavin James, which I happened to listen to the ENTIRE time I wrote this. Anyway, here goes nothing:

When Donatello woke up face down at his desk for the sixth time that week, he took the protective goggles off of his head and wiped the drool from his arm. A small light was the only thing illuminating the lab, casting dark shadows over all of his forgotten projects. When he stretched, the joints in his arms popped, and he felt himself blinking to adjust his eyes to the room. His head pounded, reminding him. Need caffeine. The turtle shuffled to the door, which he pried open slowly. Though quiet, the entirety of his family occupied the lair. Michelangelo sat, playing video games, and Splinter read a newspaper on the couch beside him, thick glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Raphael relentlessly punched and hit their training dummy; Leonardo was in the kitchen, preparing a kettle for tea. Next to the sink, a small contraption hissed and gurgled with the makings of a large pot of coffee. Zombie-like, he walked over to it.

“Morning, Don,” his brother said.

He sighed, but said nothing. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a sizeable mug, placing it on the counter rather harshly. He knew what was coming. You missed training again. You can’t keep staying up late. Blah, blah, blah. Once his coffee was poured, he took a gulp, not caring that he’d singed a few taste buds.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

He brought the mug up to his lips again.

“Mike made some muffins. Blueberry. They’re in a plastic baggy in there.” He pointed to the small place they kept the bread. “There’s also some fruit cut up in the fridge.”

He blinked.

No lecture?, he thought.

“Don…”

Spoke too soon.

“We have to talk.”

He nodded, praying to whatever’s out there to make it quick and painless. He had projects to attend to, after all. Important ones. Some that would even benefit his family. (Like fixing the air conditioning…) His brother got up and began to walk. He followed. Just then, his T-Phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d patched into the police network, and wired the system to give them notifications when something happened. It was the only thing that made his phone go off these days, besides when Michelangelo sent him pictures of cats, or science memes. He ignored it; there was nothing worth going out for anymore. In fact, it’d been almost two weeks since the last time they went up top as a group. As they walked, Donatello felt the pounding in his head begin to subside. They stopped at the entrance of the dojo. No way. I’m not even done with my first cup of coffee yet. Leonardo slid the door open, allowing the turtle in purple to go through first. He rolled his eyes, and the phone vibrated again.

“I’m getting worried about-”

The phone buzzed again, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

Shit.

“Leo, we have a problem.”

“What is it?” he asked, striding over to him in two steps.

“Foot bots. Possible sighting. At the docks.”

That night, they took to the rooftops.

He had to admit that he was relieved to get out of the confines of the lair. He saw it in his brothers, too. There was a sort of freedom about it, despite them being on their way to “keep the streets clean” or whatever Leo liked to call it now. He especially saw it in Raph. He didn’t think he would ever see him smile again. Of course, there was also the possibility that they would be destroying some foot bots… Which would explain the shit eating grin that split his face when they arrived at the docks.

The gangs had quieted down. After The Shredder was defeated, Karai attempted to bring honor back to the name of the foot clan, but it was all for naught. The Purple Dragons, along with two other small gangs, didn’t take to her severing ties with them too well. Instead, they started an all-out gang war. They wanted what they deserved; what Oroku Saki wouldn’t give them. And they were ready to take it. The battle between them lasted almost six years. The Purple Dragons ended up getting the largest portion of the land, the Foot the next biggest. After headquarters was blown up, Karai fled the city.

Much to their father’s dismay, that was the last time any of them heard from her.

And that was upwards of four years ago.

Tiger Claw took over for the Foot, but kept it on the down low. It’d been months since there were any reports of disturbances from any of them, until two weeks ago. This was the second report of foot activity, and they had to be cautious.

“Over there,” Mike whispered, jutting his chin to a shipping container on the opposite side of the dock. It was decorated with yellow caution tape, and it smelled as if there had been a fire. They snuck closer, and that’s when Donatello saw it.

“Holy shit,” he said, gaping at the wide open doors.

An assortment of drug paraphernalia littered the inside. Or at least what was left of it. He followed the damage to the center of the thing, where the blaze started. Leonardo and Raph rooted through what didn’t fall apart at the touch.

“Guys, someone deliberately lit this thing up.”

“How do you figure that?” Raphael asked.

“See how it starts in the middle, and goes out? They must’ve- aha! Here!”

With a pair of tweezers, he picked up a match from beneath the ash.

“Why would The Foot get involved in this?” Michelangelo asked.

“‘Cause their leader’s a good-for-nothin’ pussy cat.” Mike fist bumped him, and he rolled his eyes, before reciprocating the gesture.

“That’s definitely a contributing factor. But it’s probably for financial reasons. The more money you accrue in the city, the more power you accrue in the city. People pay millions for this stuff. I’m not sure why though. It’s highly addictive nature is extremely detrimental for your body. Not to mention all the brain cells-”

“I call bullshit! Don, don’t be a hypogriff-”

He smacked his forehead and sighed.

“It’s hypocrite. A hypogriff is a creature from-”

“Whatever! All I’m saying is, you know your way around a bong.”

Raphael howled with laughter and smacked Mike’s arm, as Donatello’s face reddened. Leonardo spun around, looking confused and angry. They’d agreed to never tell him of their endeavors in recreational marijuana with Casey. Donnie just happened to be patrolling with them the night he first tried it. He’d smelled them when they came home before, but he thought nothing of it. As long as they came home safe, there was no reason to panic. Leo and Splinter were oblivious.

He was obviously repulsed at first; drugs compromised your judgement... Blah, blah, blah. Needless to say, Casey and his brothers basically bullied him into trying it. Don side-eyed his younger brother, who looked contrite. His heart softened a little. I really was being a bit two-faced. He smiled slightly up at him, and he nodded.

“Raph! Shut up! Dangerous mission, remember?” Leo eyed the other two skeptically. “We’ll talk about that later,” he said. The turtle in purple grimaced. Aren’t we a little old now, for you to play this holier than thou shit?, he thought. He hated the way Leo acted like their father. Like he was so morally sound. The truth was, his katana spilled blood too.

“Guys, I’ve got something,” he said. Reaching behind a charred box, he pulled out a shuriken embedded with The Foot emblem.

“So this wasn’t their shipment- it was someone else’s?

“Why would they sabotage someone’s shipping container? They’re already the toughest gang out there.”

“To prove a point,” Donatello and Leonardo said, simultaneously.

Outside, a voice could be heard barking orders.

“Salvage all that you can. The Boss lost a lotta dough for this, and he’s pissed. And if I catch you pocketin’ any of it, I’ll wear your fingers as a necklace.”

Immediately, the turtles vanished into the shadows.

“Aw shit, man. Look at this. There’s maybe one kilo here that’s any good.”

Leonardo noted that there were three inside, two out. His nose wrinkled at the smell of cigarettes and body odor. He glanced down and saw guns holstered to their hips. Stealth would be their friend, this time. He removed a hand from the wall and held a finger up to his lips, finding Raphael’s eyes in the dark. He signalled the others. Before they could even pick up a crate, they were knocked unconscious in near silence. By the time the others realized there was trouble, Leonardo swung down from the ceiling and struck them both.

They took the long way home, “in case of emergencies”, in Leo’s words. But they all knew he wanted to stay up top as long as possible. It was a gorgeous summer night. And with Splinter’s age, he needed their help more and more. Donatello reminded himself to run some more tests on him when they got home. They passed Kirby’s apartment on the way, and his heart sank. Until a familiar sound reached his ears.

He would know that laugh anywhere.

He skidded to a halt, peering over the edge of the building. His brothers stopped a few yards ahead, realizing he was gone, and ran back to him.

There she was.

Her hair was long. To her shoulder blades. Her skin was sun-kissed, her body as fit as the last time he saw her. He gulped when he realized the luggage she was hauling out of the trunk was the same luggage that-

Kirby ran down the steps and greeted her, throwing his arms over her shoulders. He smiled. The opposite door of the taxi opened, and his eyes went wide. His stomach dropped. No way, he thought spitefully. No fucking way.

“Is that- with a- holy shit,” Mike exclaimed behind him.

Raph stood beside him and stared, too.

“C’mon, guys. Sensei’s gonna start to get worried.”

“Dude… It’s eight o’ clock. He’s probably watching Days of our Lives re-runs.”

“He watches The Young and the Restless.”

“Who cares!” he said, leaping over the edge of the building and onto the fire escape. Raphael followed, as did Leonardo. He stared still, as they entered the apartment complex, and his family snuck around to the back.

“No fucking way,” he whispered, before vaulting over the edge as well.

April had to admit that she wasn’t surprised that Mike tapped on the window. She’d texted them that they were visiting. Then again, she supposed she wasn’t in the T-Phone network anymore. They began to pile in the window, and she almost felt relieved that she didn’t see him. But she searched anyway. When Raph came in, they locked eyes, and he shook his head. Her face blazed as bright as her hair, and her gaze fell to the carpet. She turned away, to Michelangelo, who was barreling toward her with his arms wide.

“April! How are you?!” He practically yelled in her ear, as he wrapped his arms around her. She grinned; she’d missed his big bear hugs.

“I'm good, Mike. What about you? How's Ice Cream Kitty?” His face dropped. “Oh… oh, no. I'm so sorry.”

“It's all good… She was old. She’s not in pain anymore,” he said. His lip quivered a little and she cursed at herself in every language she knew how. “I'm trying to convince Leo to let us get a puppy…” Mike raised a browridge at his brother. He rolled his eyes and stepped up.

“I told him it wouldn’t be fair at all to keep a dog in the sewers… But enough about us, how are you?”

She blinked.

No one had asked her that in a long time. Not since-

“We’re great,” Casey said, smiling. She spun around to see he had her in his arms, swaddled in a blanket. Her eyes peeled open and she yawned.

Michelangelo practically squealed.

“I thought I saw you with a carseat, but I- oh my goodness, she’s so cute! What’s her name?!”

April smiled and took the baby.

“This is Mae,” she said. Raphael stifled a laugh, and Leonardo gave him a look. “It was Casey’s idea. And I was so doped up, I didn’t really notice. But it grew on me.” She stroked the child’s head and smiled. “You wanna hold her?”

“Do I?!” Slowly and carefully, she placed Mae in his arms, watching as she snuggled up to his plastron, and closed her eyes. “Wow, April- she’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Leo peeked his head around Mike’s shoulder and gazed down at her.

“She looks so much like you… She’s wise, like you,” he whispered.

Tears stung her eyes.

They stood there, for awhile, just staring. Even Raph came over and peered skeptically down at the baby. She saw his eyes soften though, and he stroked her cheek with a finger. Mike pulled out his T-Phone and snapped a quick photo of her. April realized how tiny she looked next to them; how small she looked in his massive hands. Kirby broke the silence.

“You guys wanna stay for a late dinner? We were just gonna have some pizza delivered.”

“Oh, no… That’s fine,” Leo said, still looking at Mae. “We should get back to Splinter anyway… Thank you though, for the offer, Mr. O’Neil.”

“Oh, please, call me Kirby. I insist.”

He nodded.

Just then, the baby’s face turned down in a frown and she started to cry; a piercing wail, causing them all to flinch. Mike tried to bounce her, console her, but she was past that. It was full-blown fit time. Raph stepped away, made uncomfortable by the noise, and Leonardo glanced over guiltily.

“She’s probably hungry. She hasn’t eaten since before we got into the city. I’ll take her. Case? Can you grab the diaper bag? I might as well change her too; she should be getting to bed soon.”

“Yeah, babe. Hold up.”

“Well, we oughta hit the road,” Raph said.

“It was so nice to see you!” April shouted over the child wailing. “Tell Splinter and D-” She gulped. “ Don that I said hello, would you?”

Mike nodded, walking over to plant a kiss on her cheek and the baby’s head.

“I’ll tell ‘em.”

He winked and they were gone.

Donatello woke to a pain in his shoulder. He was face-down at his desk once again, feeling the overwhelming need to ingest caffeine. When he glanced over at his T-Phone, a slough of messages littered the screen. They were from his brothers.

M: Hey, we’re gonna hang @ Mondo’s crib. Wanna come?

R: Slash will be there. And Leatherhead.

L: It would be good to go see them. Get out of the lab.

R: Or don’t. It’s whatever. We’re going anyway.

M: Ya never know, dude, there might be some hot mutant chicks there. ;P

L: Or you can see your friends you haven’t seen in years... That’s good, too.

R: Yo… you coming or not?

M: Guys, I just tried to wake him up. I thought he was dead! He’s def not coming with us.

L: Just to let you know, Sensei’s going too. So you’ve got the lair to yourself. Maybe you could load the dishwasher? Vacuum the dojo? Thanks.

Truthfully, Leonardo’s comment would’ve made him mad any other day, but he figured it was the least he could do, after sleeping through a day with friends. Don made a mental note to send them a quick apology text. He did feel a little guilty, but… Well, for starters, things never really sat well with he and Mondo. And Leatherhead was just uncomfortable around him, after the last time he had an episode and they were together… Don reckoned he still had the scars around his neck… And then there was Slash. Who’d apologized relentlessly about his behavior. But he couldn’t help being suspicious. When someone tries to kill you, and then suddenly changes their game, there’s reason to get skeptical. His joints popped as he got up, and he shuffled to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. After his first two cups, he loaded the dishwasher and took the trash out, where they would pick it up for patrolling the next time they were up top. He thought back to last night- how great it felt to feel the fresh summer air against his skin. To finally feel like he was doing something worthwhile. Until… He remembered her slim figure. Her long legs, her freckled skin, and her long hair. The glint of the wedding ring in the light- the luggage. Casey fucking Jones getting out of the cab with a car seat. A baby… She had a baby. He shook his head. He knew it was wrong of him to be angry; it was her life. And she was happy. Isn’t that what he’d wished for?

Donatello grabbed the vacuum and started working in the living room area. He forgot how long it took to clean the place- which is why they always did it together. The first Saturday of every month. He turned on Beethoven’s 5th, focusing his thoughts on the music and the tasks at hand. It was three hours before he finished cleaning the entire lair, including his own room, which had grown messy from his nights in the lab. He kept the music going as he began to organize his lab. Certain sized washers, nuts, bolts, nails, etc, in different buckets, putting all of his projects together… He was welding some pieces together for a part for the Shell Raiser when he heard a noise. His hand instinctively went to his bo, and he slid the welding helmet up. Quietly and carefully, he clicked to the security cameras on one of his monitors, but they showed nothing. He unsheathed his weapon and creeped to his door, which was ajar. When he saw a shadow approach, his eyes went white and he melted into the darkness of the wall. The footsteps got closer, and he jumped out, ready to strike.

Only it wasn’t an intruder.

“April?!”

“Oh! Don! I’m so sorry! I just-”

“You scared the shit out of me! What-what are you doing here?”

He took off the helmet and sheathed his bo.

She stared at the ground.

“I… Honestly, I don’t know… I wanted to… I should-I should leave.”

“No! No, stay.”

“I can go. I should go.”

She turned to leave and he put a hand on her shoulder.

“No. April. Please. I insist.”

She smiled.

“Okay…”

“Coffee?”

“Oh God, yes please,” she said. The two made their way into the kitchen, and he pulled out the beans to grind them. She cleared her throat and went to the sink. Above it, was a cabinet, where they kept all the mugs. She grabbed two, and put them on the island. He looked over at her, and she realized what she’d done. Her face went hot with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry… I…”

“No, I… I just couldn’t believe you remembered where they were.”

“Had you forgotten that my Dad was kidnapped by the Kraang? And then turned into a giant, mutant bat? I spent a lot of time down here,” she said, smiling. Donatello laughed softly.

“You’re right. You did practically live here for a couple years. How is Kirby?”

“He’s alright… He’s been… Seeing a doctor. Getting mutated twice really took a toll on him. He’s better, though. Not like before, with the night terrors and the wandering…”

“That’s good. I’m glad he’s doing better.”

“Yeah, thanks… He’s been having nightmares lately. Calling me late at night. I mean, I’m usually awake anyway, but… I’m kinda worried about him.”

“Oh… I mean, if your Dad can get through all of that, he can get through this. He’s strong… How’s your job, Professor?”

“It’s fun, actually. My students are all pretty enthusiastic. They actually want to study Biology. It’s not like when I was interning at the high school and the kids just wanted to look down my shirt. It’s really cool to see how passionate they are about it… But what about you? How have you been?”

“Uh… I mean, nothing’s really changed. Ice Cream Kitty passed away. That was pretty hard on Mike… I started an online business. Basically, people pay me to update their websites and fix any viruses. It doesn’t pay much, but it helps for when the washer breaks or the place floods.” She blinked.

“Yeah… That’s happened a couple times. Once, there was at least three inches of sewage in here…”

“Oh my God. That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah… It took a really long time to get the smell out… It hasn’t happened in a couple years, though… Other than that… No big changes here.”

“Mike told me about Ice Cream Kitty last night… I’m so sorry.”

“I mean… She was mostly his, but she was nice to have around…” The room went silent for a bit, as the liquid poured into the pot.

“Why didn’t you come by last night?”

He froze.

“I… didn’t think I’d be welcome…”

“Oh… Don, of course you are. Always.”

“W-what’re you doing in the city, anyway? Don’t you live upstate?”

“Yeah, actually… We renovated the farmhouse. We were gonna get an apartment closer to the university, but then I found out that I was-” she stopped. His shoulder twitched.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“Pregnant. That I was pregnant... And we decided to buy the house. And it’s nice, ya know, raising my daughter in the house I grew up.”

Donatello felt a pang in his chest.

April has a daughter.

“That’s so great. I’m really happy for you… What’s her name?”

He grabbed the mugs and began pouring.

“You’re gonna laugh…”

“What? Why?”

“It’s Mae… With an ‘e’.”

He smiled, taking a sip of his coffee to hide it.

“I know, I know… I’d said that I never wanted to name my child that… And people always suggested it as a joke… But there were some complications with her birth, and I was so doped up… The doctors were asking for a name, and Casey just said it… But it grew on me, ya know? She’s such a sweetheart. Big, brown eyes… Red hair, though, surprisingly. Though, she’ll probably grow out of it. Here, I’ll just…”

He set her cup in front of her, and she brought out her phone. When she clicked on the button, her screen popped up. Behind the time, was a photo of a beautiful rosy-cheeked baby, grinning with half a tiny fist in her mouth.

“Oh… Oh, wow… April, she’s…”

He blinked away tears.

“W-what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing… I dunno, it’s this new thing… where I cry… Old age or something.”

She smiled uneasily.

“God, we are getting old, aren’t we?” When she looked down at her cup, she gasped. April looked up at him with that look; the kunoichi smile. He felt his stomach stir.

“You made it black…”

“Y-yeah… That’s how you always took your coffee…?”

“I just… Casey always puts creamer in mine… But you remembered…”

“Oh…”

The room fell silent again, and the two sipped from their mugs.

“I know this is weird, but… Would you wanna see some of my projects?”

“Dude, yes! I would love to!”

She began following Donatello, who was already rambling on about an article he read about thermodynamics and quantum shortcuts, and she couldn’t help but feel an impending sense of dread at the thought of his solitary life below the city. He was so damned smart. He was lightyears ahead any of her peers at the University. He could've taught their courses at the age of sixteen. He’d played a part in saving the world more times than he could count on both hands.

And yet, they would never accept him.

She’d been there when they called him “freak”. When they put up signs reading “We don’t serve mutants.” When he pulled a woman’s baby from a fire and she screamed and ran away. She was there, dressing his wounds as he held back the tears and the anger at his own form. She knew what he was thinking: If only I were human… Donatello single handedly created a retromutagen for not only her father, but the entirety of New York. April had watched as he used his smartphone to hack an entire Kraang data base. But he would spend his life in hiding. Everything he did- even some of the best scientific discoveries of the twentieth century -would go unnoticed. It probably wouldn’t be in their lifetime that some of his discoveries would even be made by the scientists who would actually get credit for it. That was the life of a ninja, was it not? Hiding.

She shoved the thoughts from her head, and wandered about the room, clutching the mug against her chest, knuckles white. He was still talking when she approached his locker. He’d told her that it was all old junk from when they were kids. Pictures, toys, boring stuff. Still… it’d been so long. She reached for the handle and he ran over.

“Wait! Stop!”

“What’ve you got to hide, D?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Before he could protest again, she flung the door open. He stepped back, rubbing his neck awkwardly with one hand, and she blinked. At her eye-level, was the music box. A thin layer of dust coated it, dulling the glow of the gold heart that decorated the top. She pulled it out, setting her mug down, and opened it. An out-of-tune song could be heard playing, and fifteen-year-old Donnie smiled up at her. Tears stung her eyes, and she shut it.

“You… still have this? Don, I-”

“Yeah, I just… well, you didn’t- I mean, I-”

She ran her hand over it, feeling immense guilt waft over her.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m-”

“Don't.”

She turned to him quizzically. His expression softened and he smiled, taking the box from her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Donatello reached past her, to put it back, and his plastron brushed against her chest. A barely audible gasp escaped her lips as he stepped back, closer than before. His figure towered over her, and she felt her eyes fall to his bobbing throat. They stood in the silence for too long, before he coughed and stepped away.

“Hey, do you… wanna do something fun?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Do you wanna have some fun?”

“I dunno, you're scaring me…”

“Just come with me.”

“I can't believe we’re actually doing this,” April whispered, concealing herself in the shadows of the alley. She knew it was juvenile, but she felt her heart hammer in her chest anyway.

“We’re fine. I’m on the lookout,” Donatello encouraged her, pressing his hand into the small of her back. Six hours ago, she would’ve felt uncomfortable with the contact, but she barely noticed it as she broke out in a nervous sweat. April crept toward the wall of the old building, and pulled the bandana over her face. She rolled and cracked her neck.

“C’mon, you sissy!” he teased, winking when she glanced back to shoot daggers at him. She raised her arm and shook the can, surprised by the rush of joy that warmed her chest. The red paint stained the wall and she grinned beneath her temporary mask. He gave her a thumbs up, and she was ready to laugh when the door swung open. A booming voice cursed at them in Italian, and they booked it around the corner. The two huddled against the wall, and Don stifled a laugh, peering around the edge of the brick. As the man got closer, the shadow of a gun came into view. The man yelled again, brandishing the weapon in the air.

“I’ll get you thugs! I’m not jokin’ this time! No more mista nice guy!” He fired a warning shot in the air, causing them to flinch. Her laughter ceased immediately, as Donatello pressed her into the cold brick, his arms on either side of her head. She watched as his eyes went white, and his left hand twitched toward his bo. After a few minutes, the man walked away, mumbling. April huffed, realizing that she’d been holding her breath.

“Phew! That was-”

“Shh!”

He got even closer, and his breath rolled down her neck. She blushed when she shivered, goosebumps rising on the skin that his breath touched. His nictitating membranes slid back and he relaxed.

“We’re clear,” he said, looking down into her eyes. He blinked a few times, before stepping away, turning his attention to their recent art project. It read:

WERE CUMIN FOR U NEXT, TIGER CLAW!

The red paint corrected every mistake in the poorly written threat. Adding an apostrophe and the rest of the word ‘you’. The word cumin was crossed out and written as ‘coming’. He smiled, thinking back to simpler times, when their grammatical and spelling errors were things that really mattered. When they watched the news cover the story about their graffiti.

“Jesus, you’d think they'd at least know that cumin is a spice…”

“Well, they spelled Tiger Claw right,” she said, tossing the can into a trash bin. She stood next to him, admiring the new and improved message.

“Nice work, professor O’Neil.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against him. Glancing at the time on her phone, she gasped. He looked over, concerned, and she dialed the number. She turned to hold a finger up at him, and walked around the corner.

“Hey, babe… I know I've been out awhile, but- oh. Oh, really? That's… Yeah that would be great. I shouldn't be long. I just ran into… an old friend. Give her kisses for me. There's breastmilk in the fridge. Alright. Bye. L-love you too. See ya.”

He raised an eyebrow when she got back, and she guiltily turned her gaze to the pavement.

“It's almost sunset… you wanna-”

“Yes,” he blurted.

She grinned.

When they finally got to the rooftop, their slurpees were practically melted, but she didn't care. It was the best seat in the house. One of the only places in the city that you could see the entire skyline, without a building obstructing the view. They talked and drank as the light faded away, huddling under a blanket and laying on a few old sleeping bags. He was pointing out constellations to her when she turned to him.

“It’s such a clear night,” he whispered, grinning.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“I've been… taking anti-depressants.”

His eyes went wide and a browridge furrowed. She gulped.

“Doc says it’s really common in new mothers, but I… I haven't even told Casey. He just thinks that I have it all together. That I have it all figured out, and the truth is, I look at her and I-I feel nothing… Well, not nothing. But I look in her eyes and I just… I’m waiting for the motherly instinct to just sink in, and it… doesn't. How is that fair to her? How can I be a good mother if… if…”

She began to cry. Hard. Sobs racking her body like dry heaves. He pulled her into him. She inhaled his familiar scent, waiting for him to say some scientific facts to make her feel better, but he just held her there, in the crisp night air. She sniffed and pulled away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Okay, so I told you something. Your turn.”

“What? No, that's-”

“Rules are rules.”

She wiped her nose with a sleeve of her sweater.

He put his head back, staring up at the stars. Donatello took a deep breath and swallowed.

“Sensei is sick,” he almost whispered. Tears gathered at the edges of his eyes and her gut twisted.

“What?”

“It's… cancer. H-he asked me not to…” His throat worked and his mask stained a dark purple. “Sorry, I… it’s the first time I've said it… out loud. And- God, I'm sorry.” He wiped his eyes with his wrist wraps and looked at her. “He asked me not to tell my brothers. He wants to do it himself.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed, and they sat quietly for awhile.

“Donnie…”

“Yeah?”

“Will you kiss me?”

He blinked, taking his hand out of her grip.

“April-”

“Please?”

He was hovering above her in an instant, licking his lips. She gulped, wrapping a hand around the base of his skull and pulling him in. She relished in the taste of him, his labored breath against her cheeks. He wrapped a massive hand under her back, and lifted her, wrapping her legs around his torso. Don attached his lips to her neck, and a moan escaped through her teeth. Caught off guard by the noise, she recoiled, and stumbled to her feet, gathering her purse.

“Shit,” she whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He got up too, guiltily rubbing the back of his neck. She kept her eyes to the ground.

“I have to go,” she said.

“April, no, I’m so sorry-”

“God, Donnie! I'm-I’m fucking married!”

“I'm so sorry…”

“I just- I’m married. I h-have to go. I have to go.”

“April, wait! I’m sorry-”

“Would you stop saying that?!”

He blinked.

“But I-”

“Just stop! Stop apologizing!”

“Oh, that's rich,” he spat.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that at least I am apologizing, April! I’m trying to-”

“Oh, so you're expecting me to?!”

“YES!” he boomed. “You left! You bailed when it got hard! I was ready to-to-”

“What, to wait for me?! You know that's not what I wanted!”

“No, of course not. You wanted me to just run away with you, and leave my family!”

“I never expected you to do that!”

“No, but you wanted me to! And did you ever think about I wanted?! That I was willing to make it work?! That it wasn't just all or nothing for me?! I was prepared to spend the rest of my life with-” He stopped, jaw working and turned away from her.

“You're the one who broke it off! You-”

He spun around then, storming over, towering above her.

“You gave me no other choice! You wanted ‘normal’! Any sort of normal you could muster up from all the shit that's happened. How could I keep you from having that?! And I don't blame you. I guess I wasn't human enough for you- or, maybe I just wasn't enough asshole-”

“Don't fucking bring Casey into this!”

“He brought himself into this!”

“That's not true, and you know it, Don!”

“He was pining for you since the day you met! And you just- you dangled him in front of me! He was always the more normal choice. The most obvious one. But instead, you chose me. You chose me, April! And no matter how many times I asked, you always told me he wasn't a problem. And then you give me a goddamn ultimatum!”

“I still don't see what he has to do with-”

“He has everything to do with it! Need I remind you of all the girls he brought home?”

“Shut up! He’s not like that anymore! He's grown up. A lot. Which is more than I can say for you!”

“How about what he did to Raph-”

She cut him off with a stinging slap, and he tumbled to the rooftop. April gasped, reaching for him, and he shrunk away, getting himself up. He turned his back to her again, and spoke up, his voice low and wavering.

“That was supposed to be my life.”

“Don-”

“No. Please, just let me say this?” She stayed quiet, waiting as the wind picked up. “All I ever wanted was to be accepted by humans. And all I was ever taught was that they never would. And then, you came along. God, I can still remember the day we met. When against all odds, you took my hand anyway. And that was the first time I ever had a spark of hope that maybe I wasn’t a disgusting freak of nature. Then again, when all odds were against me, you loved me. Me. An accident…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I would give anything to have what he has.” Donatello faced her, finally, tears staining his mask and her lip quivered.

“Why didn’t you fight for me?” she asked, sniffling.

“We were so young, April, I-I was scared.”

He stepped closer, as did she.

“I was scared too!”

“And how would it be fair of me to ask you to give up your life? To give up any semblance of a normal life? It would’ve been so selfish of me to ask that of you!”

“So you just… let me go?” she asked, her fist clenched beside her.

He smiled sadly up at April and crossed to her.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

She blinked, and looked at the ground guiltily. Don tilted her face up to his, still smiling, and fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Yes.”

“And you’re happy?”

“Yes I am,” she whispered.

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

April sobbed then, doubling over, clutching a hand over her mouth. Don gulped, and pulled her into a fierce embrace. He kissed her head, tearing up as he realized she still used the same shampoo. He closed his eyes and thought of her daughter; that both her parents would attend her kindergarten graduation. That they both would take her to the park; and out to dinners after her school plays. Mae would have every opportunity he didn’t; graduating high school, college, having a career. A normal family…

Donatello hugged her tighter, and he knew.

He’d made the right decision all those years ago.

#apritello #april o'neil #donatello #TMNT 2012 #fanfic

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