Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regular training sessions with Blue Team were becoming less and less common as the team grew more infamous around Inkopolis. Not just the Plaza, not just the Square, but the entire city knew of the idiot team by now. Team Yellow could only have bragging rights in the fact they were the first to witness the idiocy, back when the team had just started at the age of 13. To be completely fair, they had been 13 at the time too. Now, as most moved on to the splatlands, or stayed in their apartments, the team had all celebrated their 18th birthdays and beyond. Even as they reached that age, some things just never changed.

Some things, like Movie Nights.

“Come on Gas, you’ve been hogging the microwave for the past ten minutes,” Tako would roll her eyes as she leaned against the counter of the kitchen, only for the gas mask wearing fiend to turn his head in a slow, humorous way. His voice ever since puberty was deep and demanding of attention, but the wielder, a shy, yet blunt guy.

“You and I both know that making noodles takes time,” Gas would murmur with a matter of fact tone, grinning as he watched Tako shake their not yet microwaved bag of popcorn in front of his face like a threat.

“It only takes time because you make it like it's the hardest thing in the world,” Tako rolled her eyes again, then turned away to walk to the living room--which was technically the same room. Apartments were cheap, and you were never too far away from your friends on a movie night. Olive owned the apartment, and had a pull out bed from her couch, which had apparently cost a lot of money. Tako almost wondered why as the creaking, uncomfortable metal and fabric mech unfolded in a quick motion that Olive’s fingers had been trapped in before. Tonight however, Olive had set it up before everyone arrived, and was now sitting on her prized couch bed… or would it be a bed couch? Paintball was late, too, meaning nobody would be there to harass Gas to stop hogging the microwave.

“Tako, have you still not gotten the popcorn?” Olive asks this, even though she already knows, with a big grin on her knowing face. Moving around the corner to look at Olive, Tako would visibly scrunch her face and groan, moving her mesh ball cap over her eyes. Her hair is tied up in a bun through the back of the mesh, and holds the hat securely as Gas tries to knock it off with his hand. The maximum annoyance!

“I would already have popcorn if Paintball were here! When he gets here, Gas, you’re not even gonna think of microwaves,” Tako would spin around to face the tall noodle master, who would laugh quietly into his gas mask, until he burst out laughing and began to cough. Olive, pulling cornrow extensions out from their hold in her hair, also decided to giggle. Tako groaned, “yeah, laugh it up, but when he’s in--!”

“Hey, sorry, my car wouldn’t start,” speak of the devil, Paintball would arrive with the snacks. His sworn duty, as the resident richest of the gang. Not that he really had much money either… his apartment was just nicer, and he had a car, and he had an actual bed! Olive would argue that she won because she had both couch and bed, but she was wrong.

“Paintball! Tell Gas to stop hogging the microwave! He’s on his third bag o’ noodles,” the trained voice of a younger sibling, something Tako prided herself on, was sure to get Paintball as an older sibling to respond appropriately! Paintball walked in, kicked his shoes off by the door as it shut with a click, and approached the situation with his tired expression revealed, his mask not on his face. Perfect, this meant Tako could read his expression and win!

“Three minutes to boil, and two minutes to eat,” Paintball would quietly remind as he walked past Tako with his bag of goodies. If Gas didn’t have his mask on, Tako would be able to see the wolfish grin as Tako’s hope was shattered. She let out a mourning war cry and shook her hands in grief, an overdramatic act to try and get pity. She got none.

“You guys are a nightmare,” Olive tuned in, leaning back in her chair as she continued to unbraid her cornrows, leaving Tako defending her honour for her treasured and beloved microwavable popcorn.

“Gas is my nightmare every time we have movie night at your house Olive! Why don’t you buy a kettle? God,” Tako’s hissy-fit was running out of steam, and she was slowly accepting that she would only get to use the microwave when the movie had started. 

“Because I don’t drink tea, and I’m not buying a kettle just so poor Takoroka gets her sad sad popcorn,” Olive would hum, leaving Tako to throw her microwavable bag to the counter. Sometimes, she really hated her best friends in the entire universe. Only sometimes though. Tako would divebomb onto her favourite spot of the bed-couch-bed, and leave Paintball to be sorting out the snacks. Chips, chips, more chips, soda. It was all there.

“Are we watching something good tonight?” Paintball asked this question every movie night, and it dictated whether he would crack open a pepsi, or a mountain dew. Tako didn’t really know why besides the fact a pepsi brings a good movie to earth, and a mountain dew brought the bad movies up from hell. Or something like that.

“We’re watching Barbie Fairytopia, the entire series through,” Gas’s voice called from the kitchen as the microwave beeps with completion. Just as Tako got her hopes up and leaned up in the couch-bed-couch, the microwave’s dull hum began again. There’s a small bit of shuffling, and as Tako turns to face Paintball, the acne ridden face is scrunched up as he drinks a green can of sugar.

“Come on Paintball, I’m sure it's not that bad,” Tako murmured, giving a playful nudge as the man sat beside her on the couch with a creak.

“His younger sister used to watch it all the time, I’m pretty sure he’s a professional on the quality of Barbie movies,” Olive recalled from beside Tako, pulling more extensions out from their prison of her hair. The chaotic bundle on one side of Olive’s head versus the slightly greased, untouched hair on the other, was one reason Tako thanked the world for manageable hair. Paintball hummed in agreement and laughed.

“If there was a moment where we weren’t watching a Barbie movie in the car, something was wrong,” Paintball added with a fond smile, and watched as the dvd player whirred to life from a remote. From there, the beginning screen opened up with pink decorating its entire screen.

“I still don’t get why we don’t watch the new Barbie movie,” Tako would sigh, leaning forwards, reaching for a bag of chips, and leaning back into the couch with a click of the mechanical nightmares underneath. Gas would have another beep of the microwave’s dying wishes echo through the apartment, and then, after only a second of seasoning the gigantic bowl of sodium, he walked into the living room and sat down with his prize, chopsticks firm in hand.

“I am not paying for a streaming service, that’s why,” Olive rolled her eyes as she moved to press play, leaving Tako with her bag of chips and a silent whine of ‘popcorn grief’ or something. 

“Plus, Amazon Prime is shit anyways,” Paintball concluded, and as such, the movie watching began. Olive, uncomfortably pulling out extensions, Tako, pulling at chip bags to replace her beloved popcorn, Paintball cracking open a pepsi in secret, and Gas pulling off his mask to eat his noodles obnoxiously.

Together, they were Team Yellow, and away from turf war, they were just a friend group. That’s just how life was, for most teams, but it was in moments like Movie Nights, that it really felt special.

“...Wait, did I lock my car?”

“...Want to check?”

“No, this is the best part.”

It wasn’t even that long before Paintball’s tough exterior melted with a couple more pepsis to compliment his happy mood, infodumping about the voice actors and how the movie was so good at the time, explaining the Barbie: Fairytopia universe. Gas, with all of his quirks, listened happily with autistic pride. Tako had tuned it out to help Olive undo her extensions, with a couple of knots and complaints here and there.

When the movie was over, Olive was halfway through her hair. Gas had fallen asleep already. Paintball was digging into the last bag of chips. Tako, moving to go abuse the poor microwave again.

“Have I ever told you guys that I love you? So much,” Tako’s voice was happy as she waited for the popcorn to start banging against the bag with the force of its exploding pop. Olive, smiling fondly on the couch, simply nodded.

“We know, Tako,” Olive murmured, unwrapping another bit of extension. Honestly, Tako didn’t know why she wasn’t cutting the extensions off. Paintball would laugh as well.

“You tell us you love us everytime we hang out,” A happy chime, that moved into snickering from both Paintball and Olive, leaving Tako flustered and laughing as well.

“Yeah… I know. I want to remind you though,” Tako murmured, the rapid-fire popping of the salty, buttery goodness rattling in the microwave. She grinned, “I love you guys.”

“Love you too, Tako,” Olive hummed happily.

“Love you, Tako.” Paintball said honestly.

“Wub bu…” Gas slurred through sleep.

There just wasn’t enough time for them to truly get to laugh before the microwave was done its work for the night, Tako sat right in between her friends, and the second movie would play. Dang, this friend group was rad.

Nobody except Olive would make it through the movie without falling asleep, with Paintball having put up a good fight before he ended up snoring alongside the ever loud sleep apnea ridden Gas mask. Tako on the other hand, breathed quietly as she laid on Paintball’s shoulder, hat pulled over her eyes as Olive sighed with contentment. Her hair was a mess, but entirely undone, ready for new styles to be tried tomorrow. It only took two movies, and they had a third one. Maybe next time.

Olive would click the TV off with the remote and pull a blanket to her side, yawning as she laid against Tako and closed her eyes. So, yeah, movie night was a good night.

Chapter Text

Skateparks were their home, in a way. Safari grew up around them, because of Beanie’s family being skaters. He never really got into it, but Beanie wanted to learn to rollerblade. Being her friend, it just felt right to learn with her, even if he ended up knocking a tooth out once.

So it was no wonder they met the loud proud Backwards Hat, to which the boy’s father owned a Skateshop and park. Blackbelly Skatepark. While Backwards was cleaning counters for his Dad, Safari would talk to him and help adjust a skateboard truck with a screwdriver. Beanie would in turn be rolling on the skatepark, only occasionally coming into the shop for a drink. Maybe that was when they became the legendary friend group, or maybe it was when they met Cleats.

The Soccer player had walked into the shop on a hot day, exhaustedly looking through the store and begging for a glass of water. The day was hot enough that even Beanie was inside, leaving the four all sitting inside the air conditioned building. Maybe it was just long enough for the greatest friend group to ever live to be born.

…So when BlackBelly Skatepark became a turf war sensation, Backwards and Beanie were off to the races, leaving Safari and Cleats to follow with caution. That was probably the best friend group ever’s formation… and the best green team ever! Maybe not the greatest, bestest, most legendary roommates though.

Safari lived on his own for awhile, but when Splatsville opened, Backwards and Beanie wanted to move there right away to see all the wonderful new things. Waving goodbye to Backwards’ Dad was hard, and maybe waving bye to his neighbours was hard too, but Safari would go wherever Beanie went, and wherever Backwards went. Cleats moved with her older brother however, and just ended up staying with the team anyways.

Everyone had paid a quarter of the rent, but everything was bought by different parties, depending on how long everyone could go on without something. A quaint little house for four close friends. Safari paid for food and kitchen tools often, leading to the retro-fridge incident, Cleats paid for beds and comfort, leading to the bunk-bed incident, Beanie paid for a majority of the decor, leading to the lamp-explosion incident, and Backwards… Well, none of them really were clean freaks, but none of them liked doing washing by hand. Backwards had a discount through a family friend, and obviously, Backwards ended up paying for the washing machine. Affectionately named Swabeena Cleanie, because obviously a washing machine needs a name.

Everything ended up getting thrown away in some sort of incident sooner or later. Some sooner than others, but many of their purchases lasted forever! Like Swabeena Cleanie, who was in her second year of functioning without incident.

“...Beanie, did you put the red with the white?” Safari would murmur quietly, staring at the grief of the poor washing machine. The entire white appliance was red, leaving it unknown how it could have done so. It oozed and leaked a red substance that turned pink with water diluting it. Safari didn’t even want to look at his clothes inside the beast.

“I don’t think that’s how that works, ‘Fari,” Beanie mumbled, frowning as she was the first to open the biohazard. Inside, damp, wet clothes stained in a vibrant, unusual red laid, and the red only spread onto Beanie’s hand as she picked up a pair of socks. Dyed the same bright scarlet as the rest of the mess.

“Just my luck, I put my jacket in there,” Safari grumbled, scratching his eyes and pinching his brow as he pushed his long green hair aside. Beanie let out a gasp.

“You didn’t really, did you?” Beanie would look up to Safari’s tired expression with wide, shocked eyes, to which the tall inkling would sadly nod. She sighed, “Safari I’m so sorry,” a genuine apology, and a grieving frown. That was another Jacket ruined. Another bajillion coins spent on a nice piece of clothing.

Leaving the crime scene wasn’t an option. There was red, everywhere, with no known cause, leaving the two to get in their least-loved clothing and kneeling down to pull out the mess. The water, and the damp clothes, mixed into a gooey consistency that made even the strongest of adults cringe. Swabeena Cleanie ’s innards were all red, even if the inside of the spinning drum once shined a bright, reflective silver.

“What could’ve done this?” Beanie eventually asked the question that had been silently mumbled for the past ten minutes. Safari lifted his favourite shirt in defeat and shook his head as a bit of the red goop dripped onto the tiled floor.

“I don’t think we’ve been against anyone with red ink lately, so that puts ink stains out of the question,” Safari shook his head side to side and grabbed another piece of clothing, dropping it with a wet slap. He shivered as he picked up another bit of clothing, pulling it apart. 

“Well, think! What’s red and sticky? Maybe jam,” Beanie grinned with a laugh, but continued pulling the ruined clothes out from the machine. Safari stifled his urge to laugh along, trying his best to stay focussed on the chaos.

“I dunno, but we better get the evidence out before Backwards gets back from… whatever he’s up to,” Safari frowned, shivering as he grabbed a cloth to wipe the machine down. As the cloth pressed against the plastic surface, it grew slick and red quickly.

“I can call Cleats to help us lift the Machine out,” Beanie would hum, tapping her chin a minute as she opened a black bin bag. She shook it open with a rustle. Safari couldn’t help his jaw drop.

“And do what with it? Throw it out front? And what about our washing? What will we tell Backwards? Oh, we threw out the machine and our clothes are ruined,” Safari would admittedly slam the washer door onto his finger and groan, pulling it back out hurriedly and soothing it with a sucking motion on it, only to regret it. The red staining tasted terrible. Swabeena watched with her all knowing washing machine eyes, another drip of red rolling down the door.

“We… We can ask Rider to buy us a new one, easy as pie,” Beanie would grin wide, piling the clothing into the bin bag and readying a mop. Safari would stare down Beanie a moment.

“We are not asking Cleats’ brother to buy us a washing machine,” Safari raised an eyebrow, only for Beanie to already be dialling Cleats with one hand, then half-assedly mopping with the other. She held her phone between her shoulder and her cheek. Safari would sniffle once he’d successfully cradled his hand for a bit, and go back to helping with cleaning up.

Cleats came home in less than an hour, which was pretty late for Cleats, but it was clear once the passenger door opened to her little sedan, that she had brought help. Rider. The muscular man didn’t say much to either Safari or Beanie besides a hello, and was quietly guided to the mess. A wide grin formed on Rider’s face, as he began to snicker, leaving Cleats to stare in horror.

“What did you guys do to the machine?!” Cleats screeched, her dreadlocks whipping around with such speed, Safari had to pull back to not be hit by them. 

“We didn’t do anything! We went to take out our washing and it was like that, honestly,” Safari put his hands up defensively, waiting for his strong friend to end up pummeling him, but it never came, instead just a defeated sigh. He peered between his fingers to see Cleats give a light punch to her brother’s arm.

“Quit laughing Ri-Ri,” Cleats would grunt, walking to the crime scene and grimacing at the pink, stained tile floors and the washing machine’s streaky cleanup. Rider, going back to his cool, stoic face, would move forwards and get down on one knee, opening the machine. The door opened as if it were a spaceship, slow and off-putting, only for the illusion to go away once Rider would grumble with disdain for the red to drip to the floor.

“Have you tried running it again?” Rider would ask the question as he was already sticking his head into the drum of the washing machine, leaving Safari and Beanie to look at eachother quietly, then shake their heads.

“No, we just threw out all our ruined clothes,” Safari would reply quietly, getting a drop of the jaw from Cleats.

“My new socks were in there! Were they safe? Oh please,” Cleats’ expression would leave Safari with no real idea how to respond positively, so instead, he turned away to avoid eye contact.

“W-Well we called you right away,” Beanie’s nervous smile eased zero nerves, but Cleats kept her grief to herself as Rider pulled his head out of the machine with a hit of his head and a curse to the world. Then, he peered up and lifted a small, red and probably-once-white object.

“What’s that?” Cleats murmured, squinting down at the item. Beanie abandoned standing beside Safari to get a closer look, rushing forwards and awkwardly looking at the object. Safari hesitated, then turned around slowly.

“It’s red paint. Acrylic,” Rider would murmur, shaking the bottle, and quickly noting that the lid was missing. He peeled the bottle of paint, or what was left of it, and revealed the crimson that had caused the problems to begin with.

“Which one of you was painting? Safari,” Cleats raised an eyebrow with an accusatory glare. Safari would avert his eyes again, lowering his head now to hide behind his namesake hat.

“I don’t paint,” Safari would murmur quietly, shaking his head. Beanie, the next to be accused, would shake her head before the question was even levelled to her.

“Well it has to be one of you,” Cleats would cross her arms as Rider got back to his feet, throwing the bottle into the bin beside him and washing his hands in the sink. There was a moment of thought.

“How do we know it’s not you, Cleats? Y’know, you’re also a part of this interrogation,” Beanie huffed dramatically, and crossed her arms in a similar manner to Cleats, tilting her head away.

“I don’t even use paint,” Cleats grunted.

“Well, that’s weird, because you came home with white paint on you the other day,” Beanie would raise her hand to her chin and grab it, leaning forwards to look back at Cleats, who quickly grew hot with frustration.

“That’s for the football field, and everybody knows that,” the arguing would pause a minute, only for Cleats and Beanie to turn to Rider, who dried his hands haphazardly on a towel, and turned. He squinted.

“Why are you looking at me? I don’t even live here,” Rider said with a dull tone. Beanie, turning towards Safari, would hum.

“Well, you’re awfully quiet, ‘Fari,” Beanie sniffed, raising an eyebrow and shifting her shortcut hair out of her face. Safari looked back towards the group in a hurried motion, pulling his hands up from his sides and flailing them.

“ Really Beanie? I thought you were on my side here,” Safari’s voice was squeaky and uncharacteristically nervous. Suspicions rushed to his side, and Beanie would gasp dramatically. Cleats, picking up on this, would squint at Safari, who whipped his head to the side to look away again.

“That’s it, Safari’s paying for the machine! You obviously left paint in your jacket,” Beanie’s declaration came with another round of yelling, drowning out the sound of the front door creaking open.

Backwards would walk into his shared home with a cheerful smile, only to hear rioting in the back room of the house. With a hesitant blink, the short stocky male would wander towards the room, with mixtures of red handprints on the wall, and a bag of trash alongside. Oh god, was there an intruder? Hurriedly, Backwards would grab his skateboard from the closet door, and run into the room, wielding his skateboard and cracking it down on the first person he saw-!

“ Ay! What the--” Backwards was cut off by the staring eyes of his friends. Cleats, wide eyed, Beanie, staring down at the floor at the body he had just smashed his skateboard on, and Rider, which he didn’t realise was there at first, who stared at his skateboard. Backwards looked down to his feet, where Safari, his very very best friend Safari, laid with half of his broken skateboard on top of him, and a shiner on his head just forming. 

“Oh my god, you killed him! Now who is going to pay for our washing machine,” Beanie would gasp, though comedic in her tone. She leaned down onto her knees and pushed the broken skateboard off of Safari’s head, and saw that the splintered wooden ride had not hurt Safari deeply, simply dazing the tall man. Beanie smiled, “Safari’s fine, don’t worry.” Cleats would sigh.

“I am so, so sorry,” Backwards desperately whined, throwing his skateboard aside and gently soothing his broken friend on the floor. Safari gave an exhausted hum and a thumbs up in response.

“Why would you even do that, Baku?” Cleats at this point was pinching her brow, and trying to process her entire afternoon so far. 

“The red! I thought one of you got murdered,” Backwards’ story was met with a snicker from Rider, which spread around the room, leaving Backwards (and the semi conscious Safari) to be the only ones not laughing.

“Well one of us got murdered, it’s just the washing machine,” Beanie would nudge her head to the side, guiding Backwards’ gaze to the pink stained machine he held so dear.

“No! Oh, my dear Swabeena Cleanie , she’s ruined,” Backwards’ grief overpowered his guilt, and he climbed off the floor to rush to his lifes’ work’s corpse. The washing machine that he had paid for, and him alone.

“Don’t worry, Safari’s paying for it, because he did it,” Beanie grinned.

“No I didn’t, it was the paint bottle,” Safari moaned, crawling his top half off from the floor and rubbing his head, long hair beginning to fall out from its man bun and slick to the side.

“Paint bottle?”

“Yeah, someone left a paint bottle in their pocket or something, so it exploded,” Rider quietly explained, though already moving to get out of the cramped room. Four of them was already a struggle, but five? No, there wasn’t much room left.

“So, since Safari probably did it, we’re getting him to buy you a new one. We were going to try and hide the fact it broke from you,” Cleats shrugged, giving Backwards a pat on the shoulder. The silence was deafening, and as it continued to go on, there was a well timed air-conditioning hum to break it. Backwards cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Wait, but you said a paint bottle,” Backwards tilted his head up to look at Cleats, then looked down to Beanie, and Safari, then Rider, who was barely peeking through the door by now.

“Well yeah, none of us paint,” Cleats murmured, quietly peering at Beanie who was smirking at her knowingly. It was then that Backwards began to laugh and looked away from the group. At first, the assumption was that he was crying, but as he threw back his head and cackled, confusion grew instead.

“What, what’s so funny?” Beanie asked.

“You guys, Safari didn’t do it,” Backwards said through his giggling fits, “I promised to help Metry and her friends do their laundry.”

“Well what does that have to do with anything? It’s clothes,” Rider asked, now interested, seeing as someone he knew was involved with this rapidly unfolding drama. 

“They all do painting lessons,” Backwards said softly, before bursting back into laughter. Safari was the first to start laughing along, only for Rider to start laughing next, and soon, the whole washing machine room was laughing, minus the victim of the crime; Swabeena Cleanie .

“Am I still paying for the machine?” Safari asked eventually, taking a deep breath. He didn’t exactly have that much money to pay for it, and while he was sure his friends were mostly joking before, he still wanted to make sure.

“...How about we all put a bit towards it this time,” Cleats murmured, with distinguished hums of agreement going through the room. Rider sighed softly and walked out after the solution was found, giving a hurried goodbye.

“Then, well, I dunno. They told me they need me to come over with my pick-up truck next week, so they probably want me to pick up a new machine,” Rider’s voice was deep and smooth as he leaned back in his chair, feeling his hair be pulled and adjusted by nimble hands. Behind him stood Metry, who undid his dreadlock pony-tail and played with the tightly woven strands. She giggled lightly.

“Sounds like me and the girls are going to have to check our pockets more,” Metry would keep her voice high and playful, fussing with the hair.

“You don’t even wear pants very often, what pockets do you have?” Rider laughed gently, feeling Metry’s hands smooth over his head a minute.

“Skirts nowadays come with pockets,” Metry would quietly reply, voice now deep with focus as her acrylic nails began to pick and dig at something on Rider’s scalp. Eventually however, she giggled, “Oh, Ri-Ri, your hair’s all red on the top.”

…Maybe he should start charging his younger Sister for the errands he runs for her everytime it ruins his good looks.

“God damn it.”